#we are vain & we are blind
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We Are Vain & We Are Blind
Pairing: Dark!Ransom Drysdale x f!Reader
Word Count: ~9.7k
Summary: When you move back in with your parents after a broken engagement, a drunken dare to visit the scary house on the edge of town changes everything for you. Forever.
Warnings: Please note, these warnings are broad to avoid spoilers. Proceed with caution. Horror, psychological horror (including but not limited to: general mind fuckery, memory loss, nightmares) noncon/dubcon, gore, death (see prompt), violence (mostly offscreen), explicit language, oral sex (f!receiving), me wildly picking and choosing from hundreds of years of {redacted} mythology, All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI
Dividers by @saradika
Masterlist
A/N: This is my entry for @the-slumberparty All Hallow’s Tropes challenge. My tropes were The house from all the scary stories; Caught trespassing on private property; and A string of unexplained deaths. I had so much fun writing this one. Thanks so much for hosting Navy and Roo!
I tried out a lot of new things here. Horror! Smut! A ridiculous length! I’d really appreciate hearing what you think, so please drop a comment or reblog if you read it. Or come screech at me about this or anything else in my asks! Thank you for reading lovelies!
Driving through your hometown, you were surrounded by fall colors. It was comforting, in its own way. Just as the seasons changed, so could you. You liked the sound of that, of this being a good change. You needed it. You were ready for it.
You pulled off of the main street and drove the few short blocks to your parents' house, parking on the side of the road. The house was something that hadn’t changed, everything exactly as it always had been. Your eyes drifted to the neighbor’s house, a piece of police tape hanging off the front door. Your brow furrowed in concern. You hoped everything was alright.
You grabbed your duffle from the backseat, deciding that you could wait to bring in everything else. Your entire life fit into your small sedan. You tried not to let that make you sad. This was good. Change was good.
You let yourself in with the key you'd had since you were a child. “Mom? Dad? I’m here,” you called into the house.
Your mom met you in the entryway with a big hug. “We’re so happy you’re here, honey.” She took a step back to look at you, concern all over your face. “I could kill Andy for what he did to you.”
You sighed, “I’m fine, Mom, really.”
“You didn’t deserve to be treated that way.”
“I know, Mom,” you said, softly, both touched by her concern and a little annoyed that she was making you talk about it. You shrugged, “It’s over now.” Trying to change the subject, you asked, “What happened next door?”
Her face fell, “Oh, our poor neighbor died. They found him in the alley behind the American Legion. There was a whole investigation, but the coroner finally concluded that it was anemia.”
“I didn’t know you could die of that,” you said. Wasn’t it fairly controllable?
“I guess you can,” she shrugged, “if it’s bad enough and goes untreated.”
“Oh. Well, he must have been really sick then.”
She shrugged again, “Not that I ever saw, but how much can you ever know about someone you just say hello to at the mailbox? He was a nice young man, though.” She gave you another scrutinizing look, then gently patted your cheek. “Andy never deserved you,” she said and then made her way back down the hall towards the kitchen. “Your dad’s in his den,” she called over her shoulder.
You put your duffle down next to the stairs that led up to the bedrooms and moved through the house to find your dad. You found him in his den, sitting on the worn leather couch they’d had your entire life, baseball on the TV. You sat down next to him and he put his arm around you in a half hug. “It’s nice to have you home, sweetheart,” he said, not taking his eyes off the game.
“Thanks, Dad,” you said, appreciating the distance he was allowing you. The past month had been so hard. All the concern in everyone’s eyes, since it had all blown up with Andy, had become really difficult to take. You were happy to just sit here and watch baseball with your dad in silence.
At the next commercial break, he asked, “We have you for the whole night, or are you already making plans?”
You smiled. “I’m getting drinks with Tineka and David after dinner.”
“That’ll be nice,” he said. “Make sure you say hi for us.”
You got to the bar a little late. Your mom hadn’t wanted to give you up so easily, even though you’d be living with them and working from their house for the foreseeable future. You’d been to this bar a few times before, the nights before Thanksgiving when you were home from college, and drinking legally was still so novel. But not in ages, maybe a decade. You made your way through the Saturday night crowd, searching for Tineka before you found her set up in a booth in the back with her husband David, and someone you hadn’t seen in a very long time.
Tineka climbed over David to tackle you with a hug. “Oh my god! It’s been so long. I can’t believe you’re here!”
You returned the hug a little harder than she probably expected. Longer, too. She pulled back and examined you carefully, concern in her eyes. You just shook your head and smiled. “I’m really happy to see you,” you said.
She beamed back at you and then gestured to the last person at the table. “Look who we ran into!”
“Robbie, hey,” you said with a little wave. Gosh, you hadn’t seen him since graduation. You’d been decent friends your senior year and had even gone to Prom together when neither of you had been able to get another date. You’d lost touch when you’d gone away to school, and he’d stayed home to learn the family business.
“We mentioned that we were on our way to see you, and he wanted to tag along!” Tineka enthused, raising her eyebrows at you significantly. You struggled not to roll your eyes at her; it had been the tiniest crush, and that was so many years ago.
“Welcome home,” he said, sliding over to let you onto the bench seat.
You poured yourself a beer from the pitcher on the table, and you all quickly got into all the customary ‘nice to see you again’ questions. Was it weird to be back in town? Did you miss Boston? Did you know this teacher had retired? Or that that store had closed?
The pitchers multiplied, and when you’d lost track of whose turn it was to cover the next one, Tineka leaned forward excitedly, “Oh, here’s some good town gossip! Someone’s moved into the old Thrombey house!”
“What??” you yelled, louder than you meant to. “No way! I don’t believe it.”
“Wait, what’s the Thrombey House?” David asked. He didn’t grow up here with you, only moving here after he and Tineka got engaged, and she decided this was where she wanted to raise a family.
“It’s this old, abandoned house on the edge of town,” she told him. “There used to be this big, rich family that lived there. This was back in, like, the 70s. It was this old, super-rich guy and all his kids and in-laws and everybody. One night, one of his kids–”
“Grandkid,” you interrupted.
“Yeah, one of his grandkids, he just loses it and sets fire to the house, with everyone inside. They all die, and Hugh Drysdale, the grandkid, just disappears. No one ever sees him again.”
You nod seriously across from her. “And weird shit starts happening on the property. Like animal carcasses thrown onto what’s left of the porch. Or that psychic that went there when we were kids. She said all she felt was pain, and whatever spirits were there had a desperate warning, but she couldn’t get anything beyond that. And then our senior year, that freshman that disappeared around there. And no one’s ever been able to do anything with it. It just stands there, a burnt-out husk. There’s absolutely no way someone’s moved into it.”
Tineka was nodding furiously, but Robbie leaned forward and butted in. “Here’s what actually happened,” he told David. “There was an electrical fire. Everyone died, probably including Hugh.” Tineka took a breath, and Robbie put up his finger to stop her. “They never found his remains because he was burned to a crisp, and there wasn’t enough to identify.” He raised another finger, “It was abandoned long enough that animals moved in and left their prey lying around.” A third finger went up, “All these stupid stories and rumors have made it a beacon for the unwell and scam artists.” Another finger, “That kid disappeared because it’s where all you dumbasses would go to party, and he was drunk and wandered into the woods and got lost or fell or something.” He raised the last finger on his hand, “And whoever’s owned the property over the years probably doesn’t want to be responsible for the cost of demolition, so they’ve just done the bare minimum to keep the city off their backs.”
You turned to look at him, mildly annoyed, “I don’t remember you being this boring in high school.” He just rolled his eyes at you. “Whatever,” you said and turned back toward Tineka. “I still can’t believe someone’s moved in there. They’d have to gut the whole building!”
“All I know,” she said, slurring a bit, “is that someone’s been coming and going, and sometimes there’s a car parked there.”
“What? Have you been staking it out? Says who?”
“People!” she shouted, throwing her hands up in exasperation. Then her face lit up dangerously. “I know! We should go out there right now so I can prove it to you!”
You shook your head. “I walked here from my parents’ house, and I,” you placed both hands on the table to steady yourself, “definitely can’t drive.”
“Robbie can!” You could tell, now that Tineka had the idea in her head, she wasn’t going to let it go. “Right? Please, Robbie!” she whined.
Robbie, who’d switched to water after his second beer, who knows how long ago, looked to David, who shrugged, and then to you. All you could do was grin at him and nod. You hadn’t done something stupid like this in such a long time. The feeling was a little thrilling.
“This is such a bad idea,” Robbie said. “It’s so dark out. You won’t be able to see anything anyway.” He looked around the table again and then slumped in defeat. “Fine,” he gritted. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be out there too long.”
Robbie pulled up to the entrance of the lane leading up to the old Thrombey house and parked the car. Tineka leaned forward from her place in the back seat and lightly slapped your arm. “Alright!” she said, “this is where you get out! Good luck.”
“Wait,” you turned to face her, “I’m going on my own?”
“Yup! That’s how dares work.”
“When did this become a dare?” you asked, starting to get an uneasy feeling in your gut. “What if I get shot for trespassing?!”
“I thought no one could possibly live there,” she taunted.
You tried to look to David for help, but he’d fallen asleep next to his wife. Robbie just gave you a shrug. “Fine,” you said, somewhat angrily. “But if I’m not back in 10 minutes, you better come find my body.” You got out of the car, slammed the door closed, and started your walk down the path.
The lane was surrounded by dense trees, and it wasn’t long before you couldn’t see the car behind you. The wind had picked up, blowing leaves in front of you, and you wrapped your cardigan around you as tightly as you could. A few minutes later, the house appeared before you.
The outside had remained mostly intact, but you knew that it was basically a husk now. Still, it was large and foreboding. Most of the glass in the windows was cracked, and ivy had overtaken much of the siding. As you got closer, you could see that there was, in fact, a vintage beamer tucked against the side of the house. Damn it, Tineka was right. You were about to admit your defeat and go back to your friends when the front door opened. You froze as a man carefully walked out onto the decaying porch.
You could have sworn that a moonbeam suddenly appeared where there wasn’t one before to light him directly. He was dressed in a sweater and slacks underneath a long camel overcoat with a colorful scarf. He looked right at you even though you were sure that the area you were in was too dark to be spotted. “This is private property. You’re trespassing,” he said. Something about his deep voice and insistent stare had you pinned to your spot.
“Um,” you said, trying to look away, but there was something about him that had you transfixed. “Uh, sorry, I just– um, I didn’t think anyone lived here. How– how do you live here?”
He didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow at you. Everything had gone completely quiet. In the moonlight, his skin glowed, looked so pale it was almost translucent, and you felt completely hypnotized. He might have been the most beautiful person you’d ever seen.
“Sorry,” you said again, or maybe just breathed it. “We were just– we were drunk and–” You didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Why were you here?
He looked you up and down. “Hmm,” he hummed. “Not tonight then.”
“What?” you asked, even though you were pretty sure he was talking to himself more than to you.
“Not tonight,” he repeated, grinning a little meanly. “I don’t have much of a taste for cheap booze.”
What a strange thing to say. It’s not like you were inviting him for a drink. What did he mean?
His focus shifted to somewhere behind you, and it was like you suddenly found yourself back on earth. The sounds of the forest filtered back in, and you didn’t feel held in place anymore. As you tried to adjust to the sudden onslaught of your senses, you slowly processed that you could hear Tineka calling for you, and the sounds of Robbie’s car quickly approaching.
“Better run, little rabbit,” the man said. “You don’t want to keep them waiting.”
You turned around to see the car pull up, and Tineka hopped out without waiting for it to stop fully. “Holy shit, you scared the shit out of us! You didn’t come back! This was so dumb, I’m so sorry.”
You turned back to the house, to say what, you weren’t sure. But the man was gone. Maybe he’d never even been there? Maybe you were even drunker than you thought. “I’m not sure what happened,” you said, in a daze, as you let Tineka and Robbie herd you back into the car.
You were awoken the next morning by a knock on your bedroom door. Your mom let herself in without waiting for a response. She was carrying a large vase filled with roses so deep red, they were practically black.
“What are those?” you mumbled, barely awake.
“How am I supposed to know?” she asked as she placed them on your dresser. “Someone left them for you.”
“Wha?” It was too early for this. You rolled over to look at the digital clock on the bedside table. Oh. It was 11 AM. Fuck. You didn’t think you’d had that much to drink the night before, but you felt incredibly hungover. This was drinking in your thirties, you guessed. “Is there a card?” You finally mustered the awareness to say.
“Not that I saw.”
“Then how do you know they’re for me?”
She looked around theatrically. “Who else could they be for? Your father?”
You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for bringing them in, Mom. I’ll be down in a bit.”
She nodded and left.
You got up and examined the bouquet. They were beautiful, but… dark. There was something about them that made you feel a little unsettled. The vase looked old. Vintage. Expensive. No card. No sign of where they came from.
You opened your phone and pulled up the contact you’d made for Robbie the night before. You wrote out the text and hit send before you could think better of it.
Hey, weird question. And please know that I’m embarrassed to even ask it, especially if you say no, but. Did you send me flowers?
His response was immediate.
Nope, not me.
Aren’t you popular
You cringed and tossed the phone on the bed to create some distance. You hadn’t even been back 24 hours yet. Who could they possibly be from?
Late that night, you were wandering through the grocery store aisles, making your way towards the freezer section. Your mom didn’t keep snacks in the house, and you’d had a sudden craving for ice cream. Just as you were coming up on your prey, someone stepped right in front of you and turned around to face you.
“Well, if it isn’t the little trespasser,” the man from the Thrombey house said. It was startling to see him in the middle of the grocery store. He seemed so out of place, wearing his same overcoat and scarf, which from this distance you could now see was silk. Everything about him seemed expensive, even his smirk, and here you were in yoga pants and a too-large sweatshirt. How did he even recognize you? It’d been so dark that night.
“Uh, yeah,” you said, somewhat bashfully, “sorry again.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, with a cold smirk that you were starting to think was just the permanent state of his face. “I kind of liked the novelty of it. It’s not very often that your kind comes right to me, instead of the other way around.”
What the fuck did that mean? Did he mean not wealthy people? Well, you weren’t the one living in a house that was about to fall down. This man was so strange. “Well, anyway,” you said, “I’ll let you get back to your evening.” You tried to step around him to get to the ice cream case, but he followed you there.
“What’s your poison?” he asked. You grabbed a carton of Moose Tracks and showed him, before trying to walk away again.
He kept pace with you. “What’s your name?” he asked. He stepped in front of you again and looked you right in the eye. “C’mon, tell me your name.”
It fell past your lips without you ever making the conscious decision to tell him. He smiled. All of his smiles were a little mean. “You can call me Ransom,” he said.
You’d arrived at the self-checkout. You were so ready to get out of there. “Well, okay, Ransom. It was nice meeting you, but I’m gonna check out now. And let you get back to your shopping.” You noticed for the first time that he didn’t have a cart or basket with him. And he wasn’t holding any items in his hands. He could have just gotten there, not started shopping yet, but something in your gut told you it wasn’t right.
He paused at the opening of the aisle opposite you. “Yeah, I think I’ve found what I was looking for,” he winked, and then turned around and finally walked away.
You tried to suppress the shiver that coursed through you. There was something not right about him. It didn’t matter. He was gone. You paid for your ice cream and walked out the automatic doors–
You were sitting in your car. Something niggled at your brain. You couldn’t remember the walk through the parking lot. That was strange, but you were probably just on autopilot. Plus, you were tired. Exhausted, really. You hadn’t realized just how exhausted you were. There was a twinge in your neck. You tried to stretch it out but the skin pulled a little painfully. You looked at the clock. It was later than you realized. You needed to get home, eat this ice cream, and go to bed.
That night, you dreamt of a river of blood and you were drowning in it. You woke up choking on nothing.
In the morning, you still felt tired, but you could hear your parents moving around downstairs, so you got up and got dressed. You put on a T-shirt and jeans, a cardigan, and then found an old scarf that you looped around your neck a few times.
When you got downstairs, your mom was scrambling eggs at the stove, while your dad read the paper at the kitchen table. He smiled and wished you a good morning, then nodded at your chest. “Is that your passive-aggressive way of telling me to turn the heat up?” He laughed at himself.
“Huh?” you asked and looked down. Oh. The scarf. Was it odd? Now that you thought about it, you weren’t even sure why you’d put it on. It had just felt… important. You didn’t know why. But you also couldn’t take it off. You curled in on yourself, a bit defensively. “I just liked it with this outfit.”
Your mom came over to the table. “Leave her alone, you,” she said to your dad as she set a plate of breakfast in front of each of you. “I think it looks nice, honey,” she said to you as she sat down with her own plate. “Although, maybe a little warm. It’s cooling down, but it’s not winter yet.”
You fingered the fringe of the scarf self-consciously. “I just like it,” you said, quietly. It was just a scarf. You didn’t know why everyone cared so much.
Your dad was the one to finally change the subject. He shook out his paper as he asked you, “Didn't you go to school with Shannon McCready?”
“Uh, yeah,” you said around a bite of eggs, “She was a real bitch. What? She get arrested or something?”
Your mom grumbled unhappily next to you about your language, but you barely even noticed because the next thing your dad said was “No, she died a few days ago.”
You couldn’t say what or why, but something inside of you reacted to that. A frisson of fear crawled up your spine. "What?"
"Mhmm, the obituary doesn't say exactly, but it seems like it was sudden."
"Does it say how?"
He shrugs, "Just says natural causes."
"Natural causes? She was thirty-two!"
He shrugged again and went back to his paper. Your mom blithely ate her breakfast beside you. You couldn't explain why you were so unnerved by this, but something deep inside of you was screaming that it wasn't right. You took a deep breath and tried to ignore it. You barely even knew her. You needed to get logged into work. Focus on something else.
The workday was long and hard. Your exhaustion only built as the day went on and your mind was all over the place. But you finally made it to the end and triumphantly logged off.
You met Tineka for dinner, just the two of you, at a little place right off Main Street. After you’d gotten settled and your drinks had arrived, she’d looked at you carefully. “I didn’t want to bring it up the other night with David and Robbie there, but how are you doing with everything? Really?”
You sighed. “Uh,” you said, “better than I thought I’d be? I mean, everything feels kind of strange, because I was living this whole life, and I just don’t really have any of it anymore? I mean, I was living in Boston with Andy. We had an apartment, a community. We were gonna get married. And now none of those things are true anymore. None of that is mine. That’s strange. But, maybe not bad. I’m realizing that I was kind of unhappy there. More than kind of. But I couldn’t see it until I was outside of it. And, like, moving back in with my parents, it isn’t ideal, but it doesn’t feel bad right now. If feels OK. If that makes sense.”
Tineka nodded. “I think that makes a lot of sense. And for what it’s worth, Andy was a piece of shit and I’m glad you’re rid of him.” She reached forward, cocktail in hand, to clink your glasses together. All you could do was smile. You really had missed her.
Your seat faced the window, and as you chatted, you watched the sun set over the colorful trees outside. It really was pretty here. This wasn’t a bad place to spend the season.
As you were finishing your entrees, you frowned when you saw Ransom walk in. He noticed you too, and, waving the hostess away, made a beeline for your table.
“We just keep running into each other,” he said, once he got to you, that perma-smirk firmly in place.
"It's a small town," you said, nervously. You couldn't explain why this man triggered your fight-or-flight instincts so terribly. You were being ridiculous. He hadn’t done anything. “Oh, uh, sorry. Ransom, this is my friend Tineka. Tineka, Ransom.”
Tineka looked between the two of you, open curiosity on her face. “How do you know each other?” she asked.
“New friends,” Ransom supplied. “We just can’t help bumping into each other.”
He didn’t seem to want to talk about where you’d met. That was his business, so you just nodded along.
He stood there for a moment, in a way that was too confident to be awkward, but still had you feeling a little uncomfortable. Tineka, bless her, had the social skills you just couldn’t pull together at that moment. “It’s packed tonight,” she said. “You’re welcome to sit down with us, although we’re probably leaving soon,” she gestured to your nearly empty plates.
“Thank you,” he said, “I think I’ll take you up on that.” He winked at you as he took the empty chair next to you. Something about it, about him, made you have to look away, focusing on your plate.
“So,” Tineka started, and oh no, that was her casual interrogation tone, “are you from around here? This town is small enough that I’m always surprised when I don’t already know someone.”
Ransom chuckled. “Sort of. I used to have family here, but I haven’t been back in ages. Just in town to collect some things and then I’ll probably be on my way again.”
You could feel him looking at you. His attention was always so much.
“Well, that’s too bad,” Tineka said, giving you a sideways glance you knew meant trouble. “We’re only just getting to know you.”
He laughed. “Well, I’ll admit, I’ve found more here than I expected.” He stretched his arm out and briefly rested it against your chair back. His fingers brushed you between your shoulder blades and you couldn’t help the way you shivered. He dropped his arm back into his lap. When you turned to him, he was looking at Tineka, but you could feel his attention still on you.
“You said your family’s no longer in the area?” Tineka kept probing.
“No, they all passed a while ago.”
“I’m sorry,” you said softly.
“Don’t be,” he said. “It was no great loss, trust me.” There was a darkness in his eyes when he said that that had you swallowing nervously.
“I guess it’s the season for homecomings,” Tineka said, then pointed at you, “she just moved back too.”
He grinned knowingly at you. “Is that so?”
“Mhmm,” she said, pointedly. “Recovering from a shitty ex.”
“Tineka!” you hissed, but all she did was laugh.
“Well,” he said, working his jaw, and you would swear it almost came out as a growl, “I bet he’ll live to regret that.” You couldn’t explain it, but at that moment, it felt like a threat. Which didn’t make any sense. He didn’t know Andy. He barely knew you. But the most disturbing thing was the little thrill that rushed through you at the thought.
While you were having your mini-crisis, he stood up abruptly. “You know,” he said, “it really is busy in here. I’m probably better off getting dinner somewhere else. And I’ve intruded on girls’ night enough.” He then looked right at you and said, “I’ll be seeing you.” That, too, felt like a threat.
As he left, Tineka looked at you excitedly. “He’s hot!” she said, too loudly considering he hadn’t actually exited the restaurant yet. You hissed at her, but she batted it away. “And he’s clearly into you. Seems like the perfect opportunity to fuck Andy out of your system.”
“Oh my god!” you exclaimed and looked to the front to make sure he’d left. “You don’t think there’s something kind of unsettling about him?”
“What do you mean?”
You paused to figure out how to put it into words. “I don’t know, sometimes, just the way he looks at me, I get this chill down my spine.”
She laughed, delightedly. “Yeah, that’s called ‘he wants to fuck you!’ Seriously, this is good. Great, even!”
“I don’t know,” you said. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on that you just didn’t understand.
She sobered and looked at you seriously. “Listen, you deserve this. After all that shit Andy put you through – the women. It’s time for you to get yours. I don’t care if it’s Ransom, or Robbie, or whoever, but you deserve this.”
You rolled your eyes. “It’s definitely not going to be Robbie.” You couldn’t even imagine that.
“Ok, fine!” she said, throwing her hands up. “Then it should be Ransom!”
You laughed. “Ok, Tineka. Sure.”
A little while later, you left the restaurant together. On the sidewalk, Tineka asked, “Did you walk here?” You nodded. “Do you want a ride home?”
You shook your head. “No, it’s not far. I’m good.”
“Are you sure? It’s just so dark.”
“Unless this town really changed while I was gone, I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine. Thanks, but I want to walk.”
“Ok,” she said, but she seemed hesitant.
You rolled your eyes and she backed down. “Hey,” you said, pulling her into a hug. “This was really fun. I love you.”
“Love you too,” she said and pulled away, starting to head back to her car. “Think about what I said about Ransom!” she threw over her shoulder.
You laughed and started walking in the opposite direction, back to your parents' house.
A few blocks later, when you were off the main street, you stopped when you heard a noise behind you–
You were half a block further down now. You looked around, confused. What just happened? How– The pain in your neck was back. It was on the other side now, and worse. You were so tired. A little dizzy. You walked as quickly as you could the rest of the way home.
You dreamt again that night. In this one, you sat in the middle of a large field. The sun shone down on you but you were sobbing uncontrollably. Your tears were made of blood.
You slept through your alarm the next morning, only waking when your mom came in and shook you. You were exhausted still, even though you’d slept a solid nine hours. Maybe you were coming down with something. Even though you had no other symptoms.
You went through your dresser three times until you found your one turtleneck. It seemed important.
Work felt impossible. Your focus was non-existent. You just wanted to lie down.
Late that afternoon, when Robbie texted to see if you wanted to grab a coffee, you logged out early. You weren’t going to get anything else done anyway. Caffeine sounded helpful.
When you met outside the coffee shop, he asked, “Is coffee still ok? I know it’s getting kind of late in the day. We could do beer instead.”
You shook your head. “No, coffee’s good. I’m trying to cut down on how much I drink.” You stopped. You were? When did you decide that? Why? You shoved down the not-right feeling that was crawling up your throat. It was fine. It was good. Healthy. It was fine.
Robbie raised his eyebrows when you ordered a triple espresso, but didn’t say anything. It helped some, but you still felt sluggish. And you struggled to focus on the conversation.
“Are you doing okay?” he asked after about half an hour.
“Yeah, sorry,” you said, trying to shake your head clear. “I’ve just been a little off the past few days. Probably just everything that’s happened catching up with me.”
He nodded. “I heard about all that. I’m so sorry. I’m here to listen if you ever need it.”
You gave him a genuine smile. “I’m fine, really,” you said, “but I appreciate it.”
A few minutes later, as you were trying to decide if you’d been there long enough to politely make your excuses and go home, he said, “Oh, do you remember Alex Higgins?”
“Uh, I don’t think so?” The name didn’t ring a bell, but you weren’t sure if that was because you didn’t know them or whatever was going on with you.
“He was a few years ahead of us? Friends with my brother?”
You shrugged and shook your head.
“Well, this won’t mean much to you, then,” he said, “but he died a few days ago.”
Not right not right not right, your gut said. “How… how did he die?” you asked, terrified of the answer without knowing why.
“They don’t know yet. They haven’t been able to find anything wrong with him. They just found him collapsed outside, I guess.”
You white-knuckled it through the rest of your coffee.
Afterward, you lost over half of your walk home. When you arrived, there was another bouquet of almost black roses on your front porch.
Things began to disintegrate quickly from there.
Over the next week, you kept losing time. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, sometimes even more. Once you started paying attention, you realized it was only after the sun went down. But knowing that didn’t seem to help.
There were more nightmares too. There was the one where you were being chased through the woods by something unseen, under a blood-red moon and the trees came alive to trap you. Or the one where you were back at the Thrombey house and it was on fire. The skies opened up, but instead of rain, the clouds poured down blood. The strangest one had Ransom in it. Blood flowed from his mouth as he choked you with his scarf. They all started to blend together after that. Blood. Pain. Terror.
Even with the nightmares, you slept like the dead. But that didn’t stop you from waking up exhausted every morning. You called in sick to work multiple days. You stopped seeing Tineka or Robbie. What would have been the point? You couldn’t concentrate on anything. You could barely stay awake. And every time you went for a walk in the evening, to try to get some exercise and clear your head, you lost time. Something was very wrong and you didn’t know what to do.
The one person you did see was Ransom. He often seemed to be out and about at the same time you were. The fear you felt for him was still there, but you couldn’t deny that you were drawn to him, too. When he was near. you could feel the chaos that had taken you over the last week finally quiet down. You still lost time with him, but it didn't seem to matter as much. Nothing seemed to matter as much when you were with him. Even if you still felt the instinctual urge to turn around and run away whenever you saw him.
Compounding your troubles, the roses just kept coming. Every few days, another bouquet appeared on your porch. You still had no idea who was sending them. It had occurred to you that maybe it was Andy, trying to fuck with you. As much as you hated him now, that just didn’t seem like him. But you couldn’t think of anyone else who would do it either. You barely even knew anyone in town anymore.
For a reason you couldn’t articulate, you didn’t say anything about any of this to your parents. You couldn’t hide it from them though. They may not have known exactly what was going on, but they knew there was something. You overheard them one night as you came down the stairs to get a glass of water, their low tones coming from the living room.
“She is not okay,” your dad was saying, “and we need to stop acting like she is.”
“She’s been through a lot,” your mom said. “If she wants space–”
“Look at her!” your dad said, trying to keep his voice quiet, but the emotion still came through. “The time for space is over. I think we need to start talking about professional help.”
As quietly as you could, you ran back up the stairs. You weren’t that thirsty.
You spent the next two days in bed. When your mom came in to check on you, you told her you had the flu.
On the third day, you woke up feeling clear-headed for the first time in ages. You were rested. You hadn’t had any nightmares. The fog seemed to have cleared from your brain. When you bounced downstairs and greeted your parents, the relief on their faces made you want to cry. Your work day was the most productive you’d had since you’d arrived at your parents’ house. You finally felt like things were going to be ok.
That night after dinner, you decided to celebrate your good mood with snacks. You got in your car and started driving to the grocery store.
When you parked, you looked up. You weren’t at the grocery store. You were in front of the Thrombey house. You burst into tears. No no no. How had you gotten here? Why was this happening to you? As you were about to put the car in reverse and go back home, the front door opened and Ransom came out. So instead, you got out of the car.
“Trespassing again?” he asked, that smirk always on his lips. Like there was a joke that only he knew about.
“I’m sorry,” you cried. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how I got here, I don’t know what’s happening!”
He came down off the porch and walked over to you. He gently brushed a tear off your cheek and looked you in the eye. “Poor little rabb–
You were sitting in your car, parked in front of your parents’ house. The sun was coming up. How? The last thing you remembered, it was evening. It’d been hours. So many hours. The entire night. You let out a frustrated, guttural cry. You checked your phone, certain there must be so many panicked calls and texts from your parents, but there was nothing. Looking further, you found a text from yourself to your mom, telling her that you were spending the night with Tineka. Had you? Was that where you’d been? You thought about calling Tineka to check but one of two things would happen. She’d be confused as to why you couldn’t remember that you’d just left her house. Or, she’d tell you that she hadn’t seen you in days. Both options seemed equally awful and impossible to deal with. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, and looked up at the front door. In front of it, was an ornate, vintage vase, filled with roses, so deep red they were practically black. No. Absolutely not. You started your car again and pulled back out onto the road in a flurry. This was one mystery you might actually be able to solve and you were going to do it.
The only dedicated floral shop in town didn’t open for another two hours. That was fine. You could wait. You sat in your car as long as you could stand it, and then when you grew too antsy to bear, you got out and paced in front of the storefront.
As soon as the door was unlocked, you were inside the shop, frantically looking through all of the roses.
“Can I help you?” an employee cautiously asked from behind you.
You spun around. “I’m looking for black roses.”
“Oh, uh, so, roses don’t actually come in true black. The closest is a really dark red that looks almo–”
“Yes, I know that!” You interrupted. “That’s what I’m looking for!”
“Well,” they said, a professional curtness in their tone now, “we don’t carry them. You’d have to do a special order.”
That was actually good news. It’d narrow down possibilities considerably. “Can you tell me who’s been ordering them?”
They looked confused. “Like, ever?”
“No! Just in the past two weeks!”
They took a step back. “We haven’t had anyone order them recently.”
You shook your head wildly, desperation taking over. “No, that’s not true! You’ve been delivering them to my house! I just want to know who’s sending them.”
Another employee came out from the back and eyed you carefully.
“Please,” you said, sounding pathetic even to your own ears. “You have to tell me who it is. I have to know.”
“We haven’t had any orders like that,” the first employee said firmly.
“No!” you shouted. “Please just tell me. You have to tell me!”
“Ma’am,” the second employee finally spoke up. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
You stopped and looked around yourself. Another customer had come in. They stood by the door and stared at you. Everyone stared at you.
“Oh my god,” you whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The first employee looked deeply uncomfortable, but the second just folded their arms and gave you a hard look.
“You’re sure?” you asked. “You really haven’t had any special orders?” You felt a few tears fall down your cheeks.
“Ma’am, if you don’t leave, we’ll have to call the cops.”
You took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You left as quickly as you could, trying not to look anyone in the eye.
Once outside and away from the floral shop, you found a bench and sunk down on it, trying to pull yourself together. What was happening? What was wrong with you?
You heard someone across the street call your name and you looked up to see Robbie rushing toward you. He dodged a few cars and then stepped up onto the sidewalk. “What’s wrong? Are you ok?” You started sobbing at that, unable to hold anything in any longer. He sat down on the bench next to you and tentatively put his hand on your back. He said your name again, softly. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
You shook your head. “I think I’m losing my mind,” you choked out. “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
He was rubbing gentle circles now. “Tell me what’s happening. Maybe I can help.”
So you did. You told him about losing time and saying things you didn’t understand, being so tired all the time you could barely get out of bed, the nightmares. He listened quietly to everything and when you were done he just nodded for a moment, then said, “First thing, I think, is that you need to see a doctor.”
You shook your head. “No, I can’t.”
“Listen, I know it’s scary, but I don’t think this is going to go away on its own. This could be a brain tumor or something. You really need to get it checked out.”
“You’re not listening to me,” you growled out, surprised by how upset you were, and how quickly your mood had changed. “I can’t.”
“Ok,” he said, putting his hands up in front of him. “I’m sorry. I’m listening. Why can’t you?”
“I just can’t!” you said, standing up. You were jittery. You needed to move.
Robbie reached out a hand, and quietly said your name again, clearly trying to calm you down.
You couldn’t stop shaking your head. “I just can’t, okay? I just can’t. I can’t. I’m not allowed!”
You both froze. “What–” Robbie stopped then tried again, shock clear on his face. “What do you mean you’re not allowed?”
You didn’t know, exactly. You just knew it was true. No doctors. Absolutely not. “I have to go,” you said and turned abruptly to race back to where you’d parked your car. Robbie called after you the whole way.
Your phone buzzed at you the whole drive home. Robbie. He wouldn’t stop. It continued all day. He was worried about you, his texts and voicemails told you. What you said had really freaked him out. Was someone hurting you? He just wanted to help. You hid in your bedroom and buried your phone in your laundry hamper. You could still hear it buzzing away, but it made it easier to pretend that you couldn’t. Finally, sometime after dark, it stopped.
It started ringing again in the morning, just as insistent as before. You dug it out of your dirty clothes, ready to tell Robbie to just forget what happened and leave you alone when you saw that it was Tineka, and she was calling for the third time.
When you answered, at first you just heard her crying. “Tineka?” you asked. “Are you there? What’s going on?”
“Robbie,” she sobbed, and for a moment you thought maybe he’d talked to her, told her who knows what, but then she continued. “Oh god, Robbie. Robbie’s dead.”
A chill whipped through your entire body. “What?” you breathed. Just yesterday– No. Your mind went to all the people you’d heard about since you’d gotten here. The vague reasons, the shrugs given as cause of death. A pattern you’d refused to see until this moment. You had to know if he was part of it. “Tineka, how did he die?”
“Oh god,” she sobbed, “It’s so awful. I can’t– His throat. It was ripped out.”
You felt time stop. Distantly, you could hear Tineka still talking. Going on about animal attacks, coyotes and bobcats, maybe something escaped from a sanctuary or private owner. You couldn’t explain it, you didn’t know why – you obviously didn’t know anything – but you knew deep down in your being that this was because of you. Something was happening.
Without saying anything, you ended the call and left your phone on your bed. You didn’t get dressed, still in the leggings and oversized t-shirt you always slept in. You moved through the house as quickly and quietly as you could, not bothering to stop to look for your parents. The only things you grabbed on your way out were your coat and your car keys.
As you started driving away, you didn't really have a destination in mind, but once you were about halfway there, you realized that you did in fact know where you were going now. Of course, you did. There was only one place to go. One person to see.
As you pulled up in front of the Thrombey house, it struck you that you’d never seen it in daylight before. The way the sun shone down on it almost made it more eerie. It should not be here, in this daylight world. It was a relic of the night. You shook your head at yourself. Your thoughts had become so strange lately.
You waited in your car. He always heard you and came out, but this time, nothing. You looked to the little driveway at the side. The beamer was there. So where was Ransom? After several minutes of waiting, you got out. You went up to the house, ready to pound on the door until he came out, but stopped at the porch. You could clearly see now how the wood was rotting, the holes that were already there. You couldn’t risk taking a single step onto it. You didn’t know how he came in and out this way.
You looked around, there must be another way in, maybe on the side of the house. As you walked around the corner, you came up short. Lining this side of the house, hidden from the front, was a beautiful, neat row of rose bushes, in such a deep red they were practically black. No. No no no. It couldn’t be. But of course, it was. You were so stupid. So blind. You fell to your knees beside them. It had all started here, at this house. You could clearly see that now, finally. Whatever end came, that would be here too, so you laid down, and you waited. There was nothing else to do.
You didn’t know how much time had passed. You were pretty sure you’d dozed in and out. But at some point, the sun had gone down. Once it was fully hidden beneath the horizon, you heard the front door open and footsteps come around the side of the house.
Ransom crouched down next to your head, his hand gently brushing the hair out of your face. “So you know now,” he said.
It wasn’t a question, but you still shook your head. “No,” you said. “I don’t know anything. I don’t understand.”
He nodded and stood up. You sat up, almost like there was a string in your chest, connected to his. “You know,” he said, looking up at the house. “Ransom is my middle name. I’ve always gone by it, but when they reported on everything that happened here, they used my first name, so that’s the one everyone remembers.”
Of course. “Hugh,” you breathed. “You’re Hugh Drysdale.” You were as sure of it as you’d ever been of anything. Nothing made sense. Everything made sense. He nodded, pleased. “How?” you asked. Hugh had been roughly your age when the fire had happened and he’d disappeared. Almost 50 years ago. The man standing in front of you didn’t look a day over 35.
He crouched down again, so that he was level with you, so that you could clearly see his face in the moonlight. So that you had a perfect view of the fangs that dropped down.
You gasped, wanting to scoot away on your hands, but you stayed pinned in your spot. “No, that’s not– You can’t–” You took a deep breath and gave yourself the courage to say the word. “Vampires aren’t real.”
He threw his head back and laughed. It was wild and loud and cruel. “Come on now,” he said, “I know you aren’t that stupid, sweetheart.”
As you tried to process this, you realized it didn’t actually matter how any of this could be real. There was only one question you actually needed an answer to. “Why did you do this to me?”
He grinned at you, mean as ever. “Because you came right to me, little rabbit. How could I resist an offering like that?” Tears started to run down your face, and he cooed at you, collecting a few with his finger. “I’ll admit, at first, I’d just planned to drain you, leave your body beside the grocery store for some teenage employee to find the next day.” He smiled at the thought. “But that first taste. You have no idea how good you taste, baby. It couldn’t just be a one-and-done. It was as easy as anything to put you under a little thrall. Compel you to forget when I fed on you, make sure you didn’t let anyone else know. The plan was to snack on you while I was here, and once I had everything I needed, I’d bring you with me, keep you as a little pet blood bag until I was bored and done with you. And torturing you was so fun. It made having to be here so much more bearable. But as I broke you down, brought you to your weakest, it made me realize that I’m desperate to see you at your strongest. See you surging with power.”
There was something in his words, in his eyes, that filled you with panic. But also something else. Want, you were terrified to admit. “What does that mean?” you whispered.
“It means you’re mine, baby, and I’m going to keep you. Claim you. Forever.”
It was the last word you fixated on. That was the word that meant everything. That really said what he meant. You took a deep breath, trying to get the crying under control. “And if I let you do that, this will all stop? I’ll be ok again?”
He chuckled. “Sure, honey. If you ‘let’ me do it, it’ll all stop. You’ll get your mind back. The thrall will lift.”
“And if I don’t?”
He tilted his head to the side. “If you don’t, you’ll still be mine. I’ll just make it hurt. Your friend Tineka sure has a pretty neck. Maybe I’ll rip it out, just like I did to your other little friend. Or your parents. Blood is kind of like wine, you know, gets better with age.”
“No, no, please,” you begged.
“Then give yourself to me, right now.” He leaned forward into your space and you fought the dual urges to pull away and to close the distance completely.
You took a deep breath and blinked the tears away. Your torment would stop. Things would be better. Your family would be safe. “Okay,” you whispered, “please. Please, Ransom.”
Without further ado, he pulled you into a bruising kiss, both hands tightly gripping your face, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. He gave you no choice but to sink into it, his fangs still dropped, occasionally nipping into your lips. When he pulled away, you were left gasping for breath.
You had no time to recover before he was pushing back on your shoulders and then slipping his hands under your knees to tip you onto your back. You held yourself up, as much as you could, on your forearms, unable to look away from him. Mesmerized by him, as always. He pulled on your leggings until they ripped in two and tossed them away. He crawled between your knees and then did the same to your panties. You cried out at the sting of the elastic breaking. He smoothed a hand over you, fingers moving through the thatch of soft curls, and growled “Just perfect.” Then he lowered his face to your cunt and slowly dragged his tongue along the length of it. You finally gave in and let your upper body fall back, tossing your head to the side, your hands grasping for purchase in the dry grass beneath you, as he worked you over with his mouth. Little mewls escaped you, beyond your control. You wanted to deny how good it felt; he was a literal monster. He had killed countless people. His own family, in this exact spot where he now defiled you. But you couldn’t think about that right now. You couldn’t think about anything other than his mouth on you, the rising heat in your core, the grass under your hands, the twigs poking into your back. The one thing outside of this exact moment that your brain briefly flashed to was Andy. How he had never felt like this. Never given you this. In his own way, he too, had wanted to drain you dry and then he’d left you with nothing to show for it. His promise of forever had turned out to be empty. With Ransom, you knew that word meant something different. Meant something more. Something real.
Your mewls had turned into soft little chants of “Please,” and “Ransom,” over and over. As you reached your peak and were just about to go over it, he removed his mouth from you. You cried out in frustration and lifted your head just in time to see him turn his and sink his teeth into your thigh. You screamed at the pain. The way it mingled with the intense pleasure you were already experiencing, along with the constant fear you’d been in for the past weeks had you hurtling over the edge. You came harder than you ever had before, your body spasming through it, tears rushing down your face, wetness pooling between your legs. Ransom drank from you all through your orgasm and the aftershocks. As you were finally coming down, he released your thigh, quickly licking up the blood that had dripped down your leg. He reached up to your face and grabbed your chin, forcing eye contact as he viciously bit into his own wrist. He brought his other hand to the back of your head, grasping it firmly, and then pushed his bloody wrist into your mouth. You flailed, instinctively trying to get away, but his hard grip wouldn’t let you move. You choked as his blood filled your mouth. Your eyes were wide, hands wildly trying to release his hold on you.
“Just drink,” his voice filled your consciousness. “Drink. Take it all, sweetheart.” At some point, your body gave in, no longer struggling, trying to dislodge him. You took what he gave you and swallowed. “Good girl,” he cooed as you continued to drink. “Good girl.” You grasped his wrist, latching on with your mouth, suddenly desperate for more. Blackness was gathering at the edges of your vision. It started gradually and then quickly overtook you. The last thing you heard before you slipped into the darkness was Ransom’s chuckle.
You gasped for breath as you rocketed up to a sitting position. You could hear everything. The birds on the roof of the house. The wind moving in the trees. The ants in the ground beneath you. You could feel everything. The hair on your arms, standing straight up. The grass growing in the ground. The electricity in the air. The one thing you couldn’t feel was your blood flowing through your veins. It was still. You knew it was. But something was pumping through you. Power. You gasped again to feel it. You could do anything now. You were sure of it. You’d been so weak before. But now. Now nothing could beat you. With that power was also the most intense hunger you’d ever felt. You needed something, right now. You needed everything. You needed to feed, you needed to fuck, you needed to drink.
A familiar chuckle interrupted your thoughts. You looked up to see Ransom standing above you. That mean smirk that was always on his face. “Oh little rabbit,” he said, “we are going to have so much fun.”
Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, there's a follow-up! 💜
Don't Touch Me, I'm a Real Live Wire
#ransom drysdale x reader#dark ransom drysdale#dark!ransom drysdale#ransom drysdale x female reader#dark fic#knives out#ransom drysdale#horror fiction#chris evans fanfiction#navy and roo's sleepover#kris wrote something#fanfic#we are vain & we are blind
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“self immolation as a form of extreme political protest has a long history all over the world, and aaron bushnell’s death should not be discussed solely as a suicide”
and
“people who are already hurting and vulnerable can do more to help while they are still alive than they could in death, and should not repeat aaron bushnell’s actions”
are statements that can and must coexist, actually.
he felt that he was complicit in genocide as an active duty us service member, and, to an extent, he was. but also as an active duty service member, he was legally not allowed to quit his job as a member of the military.
his final act was to take drastic measures to draw attention to a genocide that many people in this country are turning a blind eye towards, and i commend him for his sacrifice. it should be honored and remembered.
that doesn’t mean i want anyone to feel that they should follow in his footsteps.
he should not have been made, by nature of his employment, to feel that he was complicit in genocide, because those in power should not be funding and supporting it in the first place. but they are doing so, and he made it clear that did feel that way. we can’t change that. that doesn’t give us the right to dismiss and ignore his actions.
“this [genocide] is what our ruling class has decided is normal.” and it shouldn’t be.
keep bushnell’s message in mind as you organize. protest, fundraise, call your representatives. these are actions that have a tangible effect. and they do far more to help than dying.
but i’m not going to condemn him, just as i’m not going to condemn the likes of thích quảng đức. i’m not going to say that his death was worthless, because it brought undeniable attention to the matter at hand, despite attempts by american media to gloss over why he did what he did.
i understand where people are coming from — self immolation is a deeply disturbing thing to witness, even blurred. i was very deeply affected by the video. but that’s exactly why he did it; to get through to people that this matters.
i don’t want anyone else to die, either. but remembering aaron bushnell and what he died for is not synonymous with encouraging suicide.
his last words were “free palestine” and, as people living in countries that are funding extermination, it is our job to carry on that cry until palestine is free.
that means living to see it through. ensure that he did not die in vain.
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DPXDC Prompt. Dead on main with priest Jason: Father Todd brings the Ghost King’s cult into the World of the Living.
So, when Jason dies and returns, the League of Assassins fails to hold him for long because spirits from Far Frozen pick him up after seeing teen through the Lazarus pit.
Jason quickly realizes that, well, they’re kinda obsessed with their cult of the Great One. And yeah the cult of the ruling Ghost King was very popular during the reign of the Pariah Dark but back then the rituals were carried out more out of fear. Now things are different. The population of the Ghost Zone has become interested in the activities of Frostbite and his loyal spirits because of an attempt to understand what kind of ghost the new ruler is and how best to thank and appease him. So Jason had no shortage of stories about the teenager's deeds.
~~~~
Jason to Frostbite: Well, you guys and your lil hobby are nice but I don't understand at all what's so cool about this guy, even if he defeated Pariah Dark and gets along with most of the Ancients…
Danny: *comes to visit Frostbite*, *slips and falls three times, sets the kitchen on fire in an attempt to make coffee then sheepishly smiles at Jason*.
Jason to Frostbite: ... Okay, Understandable, I Hope Danny Has a Nice Day and Some Sleep.
Tucker: Congratulations, you've acquired another Paulina. Great job.
Danny: I'd rather he just asked me out instead of worshipping me. What the hell? I'm just a semi-ghost.
Tucker: Maybe things would be easier if you just gave him your phone number, you know?
Danny: But he didn't ask.
Tucker: Why didn't you ask?
Danny: I couldn't! He's Robin himself, you know?
Tucker: Well, good luck to you idiots to grow old alone near the altars of each other's name.
Danny: Actually lil altar in his honor is not such a bad idea. Maybe this way he'll understand that I like him too..
Tucker: Danny, no!
~~~~
New in Gotham robbers break into Jason's place: Hey, father, God ordered you to share with your neighbors, so bring us some money or we..
Jason, who is talking on the phone with Danny: In fact, he just said that if you don't get out of here now, he will turn a blind eye to the fact that I will use my guns.
Danny*screams internally*: Oh Ancients, he's sooo cool!
Pandora: Honey, we're happy for you but stop flooding us with spam. You have already told 5 times during prayer how good his abs and chest look and how perfect Todd is when he reads aloud. We get it, okay?
Clockwork: Well, I actually enjoy it. It's so much more interesting to watch while listening to the internal dialogue. Show must go on~
Danny: ...Get out of my mind!
Nocturn: Thou shalt not take the name of the Lords in vain if you don't want to share with us, lil blob. So rude.
~~~Team Song: You Are My Religion · Firehouse~~~~
#dpxdc prompt#dpxdc crossover#dpxdc memes#dpxdc au#dpxdc#dcxdp#priest jason todd#dead on main#danny x jason
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psycho killer.... qu'est que c'est
#when i have nothing to say my lips are sealed... say something once why say it again.......#we are vain and we are blind i hate people when theyre not polite......................#chirps#cooperrrrrrrrrrrrrr😭😭😭
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Um for Eddie positions
On your back with your legs over his shoulders
Or laying on your stomach. Like you were laying on your side in bed and he comes in to cuddle up and can’t help himself
Or he bends you over the back of the couch
Or him holding you up against the wall because he can’t wait to get to the bedroom
Or with you sitting on the bathroom sink trying to get ready in the morning
Or on the edge of the pool during a midnight swim
Sorry I’m newly single and reminiscing
Omg never apologize for sending me beautiful, hot thots like this!!! I love them.
I think the idea of Eddie holding you up against the wall because he can’t wait to get to the bedroom is WILD.
Impatient
Eddie Munson x fem!reader
“Eddie,” you huff against his lips when he finally migrates his sucking, biting kisses down your jaw to your neck, giving you a second to breathe. He’s tugging at your layers and beginning to discard them haphazardly right there in the living room.
“Princess,” he replies into your skin, mimicking your tone and breathlessness. You chuckle and in spite of your next words you thread your fingers deep in his hair.
“Eddie, let’s go to bed.”
He’s shaking his head before you finish your sentence.
“Can’t wait. Need you now.”
“Impatient much?”
You start to laugh again but all the humor is replaced with blind lust when you’re shoved against the wall. His hard body is against yours, confined erection pressing and rutting into the apex of your legs.
“Feel that? That’s what you do to me. You wanna be sexy as hell and tell me I gotta wait to go all the way to the bedroom to fuck you. Nah. No dice.”
“The time it took you to say that we could have—.” You don’t get to finish your teasing contradiction because his mouth is on yours and his hand is pushing up your skirt. He finds you wet, exactly as he assumed he would, and your moan spills from your mouth into his.
When he begins fingering you in earnest and you can no longer keep up with kissing him back, Eddie pulls a few centimeters away to watch the way you crumble against the wall.
“Wanna go to the bedroom now, princess?” he asks, smug because he knows the answer. You do your best to stare daggers at him but it’s in vain because your brows are furrowed and your eyes are rolling back with pleasure.
“Just fucking fuck me already, Munson.”
“Somebody’s impatient,” Eddie chuckles. But he yanks down his jeans and pumps himself a few quick times before lining himself up with your dripping entrance.
You both moan, all humor and teasing gone the second he sheaths himself inside of you.
It’s hard and fast as Eddie works himself up to a good rhythm. It’s been a while since he’s had you quick and dirty against a wall, but there’s something so fucking hot about the fact that you’re only a few steps away from the front door.
“Holy fuck, can’t believe you would have deprived me of this pussy,” Eddie whines after a few minutes of sweaty, panting, skin-slapping silence.
You’d roll your eyes if you weren’t already threatening to roll back into your head.
“The room’s like 15 feet away, how’s that deprivation? This is an apartment, not a mansion!”
“I can’t hear you over how good you feel, shit.”
Already so turned on from being fingered, you’re on the edge very quickly, which is good for Eddie because he’s beside himself.
Your head lols to the side against the wall while Eddie bangs you into it. You watch him take his pleasure and squeal delightedly when he reaches down to play with your clit, prioritizing your pleasure as well.
“Fuck I’m close.”
“Don’t hold back, baby,” Eddie grunts.
“You’re just saying that because you’re waiting for me to cum so you can,” you say cheekily.
“You bet your ass I am. Almost busted my load just rubbing up against you.”
“Romantic,” you huff, but he sees how your eyes glaze over and feels your pussy tighten even more.
“Prince Charming for you, only, princess.” He grins and kisses your neck. That’s what does it, if you’re being honest with yourself. You cum hard, seizing around him and feeling him cum only seconds later (he’d been hanging by a thread).
~*~
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forever be ☆ cl16
genre: porn with slight plot, humor, blind date trope, longing, age gap (6 years)
word count: 10.8k
Foolishly, you find yourself being dragged into an unwanted blind date. Again. Lucky for you, so is a special someone.
nsfw warnings under the cut!
18+... m!receiving, penetrative sex, appearance of tit foreplay and slight fingering, a bit of biting and crying (??)
inspired by this and this !
Blind dates were never something you ever thought you would consider. They never made much sense. Why would you put yourself in an uncomfortable position, and then what? You don’t like them and it doesn’t work out?
“Whole lot of bullshit if you ask me.” Kika swears as she tosses her brown locks over her shoulder. You’ve known each other for a few years, but quickly became as close as sisters during all the late night shoots you would have together.
“You can’t be single forever,” she says as you roll your eyes. Ever since you broke up with your last boyfriend, she’s been playing matchmaker. It hasn’t quite worked out.
He’s too vain.
Rude to waiters, no thank you.
He brought his mom to the date!
There was always something wrong and she knew it was only a matter of time before you completely blocked her advice. That is until her boyfriend, Pierre, told her he knew just the right person for you.
“Yikes, don’t put out any bad juju.” Theatrically, you make a cross with your two index fingers. She lets out a light giggle as she throws a pillow in your direction. You yelp as it hits your head.
“Just one more, okay? If it doesn’t work out then we can be done with all of this and have it your way.”
“Threatening me, now?” You wiggle your eyebrows. “One more.”
-
The following week Kika confirms your date over brunch. He’s nice. Very handsome.
Sipping on your iced tea you nod. “I mean as long as he doesn’t ask me if I can help him win an ex-girlfriend back…”
“It happened one time.”
-
Later that night for some reason you grow nervous as you get closer to your date. Palms get slightly sweaty and you hurriedly wipe away on your dress. “What the…” You’ve never been nervous before a blind date, why would you? Deep down you knew things like this never worked out, but why now?
“Here is fine!” Handing over some cash to the cab driver, you climb out as you make your way over to the dimly lit restaurant. Okay. A tad bit too romantic. Taking in a deep breath, you walk in.
You’re quickly reminded why you hate stuff like this. You have no clue as to how your date looks and you’re left glancing around like a lost puppy. Kika had mentioned that he would be wearing something that would make it obvious. Scanning the room you search and everything looks quite normal.
Except for the man who sits with black sunglasses.
“Charles?” He nods as he stands up to greet you with a kiss on the cheek. Startled, you pull back a bit.
“Shit, sorry. Habits.” A nervous laugh is released as you smile and he pulls out your chair to sit.
“It’s okay, I’m not too used to all this European mannerism…” The shy smile that is sprawled on your lips has him almost blushing. You were beautiful. When Pierre had first mentioned his and Kika’s plan, he almost wanted to boot the idea right away. Nothing good ever came out of all this.
She’s super sweet! I’ve met her a couple of times and she’s really down to earth.
But she’s a model? Tell me what model has ever been like that.
Kika slightly punches Charles’ shoulder as he winces. Sorry, he mutters.
Just trust us.
“Oh. You’re not from here?” You shake your head as your eyes scan the menu sitting right in front of you. You had barely met the guy, but his burning gaze was too much.
“No, but I moved here a year ago for work…Still catches me off guard at times.” He makes a mental note of the way you bit your cheek before you look up at him. He gulps.
“I’m sure you’ll get used to it soon enough.”
It surprises you how much he actually listens. It also surprises you even more that you actually enjoy hearing him talk.
“Sorry if Pierre and Kika dragged you into all of this. I just…” He clears his throat before playing with the napkin on his lap. “I had a tough break up a few months ago and he’s been trying to get me to meet new people.”
Not what a girl wants to hear on a first date, but you would be a complete hypocrite if you judged him for it. “Don’t worry, they didn’t. I also went through a break up a few months back.”
He almost wants to laugh. Nice try. Who in their right mind would break up with someone as pretty as you? Long lashes fan your face as you take a bite of your raspberry pastry. The way your plump lips pressed together as you enjoy its taste.
“I guess we’ll understand each other more than I anticipated.”
-
“How was it?” You pull the phone far away from your face as you put it on speaker. Walking towards the refrigerator you take out a plate of fruit. You hum.
“It was alright.” The Portuguese model gasps as she switches to FaceTime. Picking up, you lean against the counter.
“You like him!” Choking on a blueberry you take a step back as if her words stung. Do not! But there’s no use. “Yes, you do! After every other date you would already have a reason ready as to why you couldn’t see them anymore, but look! Oh my God. You do have a heart!”
Frowning, you munch on a strawberry. “I’ve always had a heart.”
Kika lets out a slight pout as she nods apologetically. “I was kidding, of course you do. It’s just that this is the first guy you might actually like after that jerk you luckily now call your ex-boyfriend.” You snort. Kika giggles at the sound before she lays her phone against a pillow. “I just want you to finally meet someone who would actually fit your standards. It’s what you deserve.”
“Well, let’s just not get too ahead of ourselves.”
-
“10 minute break, darling.”
Smiling sweetly, you make your way over to your trailer before you flop down onto the couch. You lay there silently for a few minutes before you actually grab your phone.
Hey. It’s Charles.
Your heart flips as you think of a response.
Hi!
Good enough. Three dots pop up before they disappear.
I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner later? 9pm if that fits with your schedule.
You smile as you tuck your hair behind your ear. See you then.
-
As soon as he sees you skipping down the stairs to him, he immediately feels better about feeling more excited to see you. The way you smile ear to ear when he hands you a colorful bouquet of flowers makes him thankful for listening to Kika’s advice. She likes carnations! Not roses.
“They’re so pretty! Thank you, Charles.” Even with heels you have to tippy toe to press a warm kiss against his stubble. Stepping back you look up with sparkling eyes. “Getting better with this whole ‘mwah’ thing, right?” He chuckles as he opens the passenger door for you.
“Totally.”
As he sits in front of you ordering for both of you, you take the time to notice everything about him. His lashes, his freckles, his pink lips, his dimples, his eyes. You pray that you don’t come off as a creep, but Charles was perfect.
The waiter leaves and he turns to you with a grin. “How was work?” You’re a bit taken back by his question. It’s the most decent one out there, but not even your ex-boyfriend cared enough to ask.
You clear your throat. “Very well. Thank you for asking.”
He nods before saying, “I never asked how old you were…I mean you moved here all alone, I would imagine you’re at least 22?” A slight panicked look crosses his features. You giggle.
“Something like that. I’m 20.” He lets out a breath of relief before taking a sip of red wine. “What about you?”
“I recently turned 26.”
Older. Wiser. You could work with it.
You’re both sharing a plate of tiramisu when he asks, “Would you like to go to one of my races?”
“Oh. Where?” You wish you could jump at the opportunity. I mean, if he’s asking if it's because he wanted you there, how could you say no? But you were flooded with upcoming photoshoots.
“Texas.”
Now you were very interested. Green eyes stare back at you as he waits for a response, but then he shakes his head in a shy manner. “You’re probably busy. It’s okay-”
“I could make it work.” Pearly whites shine back at him. “I’ll make it work. I promise.”
-
You and Charles spend the few days together before he flies off to Texas. You learn very quickly that he is terrified of snakes.
“Ow!”
You had both gone hiking and you were too busy admiring his glistening abs to notice the snake slithering right in front of you both. That is, until Charles shrieked and jumped onto your back. Unfortunately, you weren’t as strong as him.
He quickly rises up and he lifts you up from the floor and starts brushing the dirt off you. He immediately stops when he touches your ass.
“It’s just a little snake, Charles,” you groan as he nods to himself. Of course, he squeaks, but he still hides behind your delicate figure. You want to hurl over laughing but you would hate to make him feel as if you’re teasing his phobia. “It’s probably harmless…”
Just then you turn to the snake and see it making its way to you quickly. You squeal as you jump onto his back. “Go, go, go!” Gripping onto your legs, he starts running down the hill. Once you reach the bottom - which wasn’t that difficult since you had barely started your hike - he sets you down as he huffs. You giggle.
“Oh my God! That was so much fun!”
“No!” He slightly glares as you shut up. “Not fun at all.”
You bite your lip as you try your best to refrain from laughing. “Of course. Not fun at all.”
After Charles’ worst nightmare, you both decide to go back to his flat to cook some dinner after he bragged how he was a top chef.
“I don’t know,” you murmur, “Smells burned.”
Walking over to you he takes a look. “It’s fine! It’s a part of the process, amour.” A skeptical look stares back at him as he shoots a thumbs up and you listen regardless.
Taking a seat on his dining room table, you say a quick thank you when he hands you a plate. It looks pretty delicious, you’ll admit it, but you still had your suspicions. Taking a bite you quickly feel yourself wanting to spit it out, but you urge yourself to swallow. “Wow…Um…Really good.”
Taking a quick bite his jaw goes slack. He immediately spits it back out on a napkin. “Fuck! Oh God.” His face scrunched up as he looks to where you sit pretty, looking back at him with a little smirk. He wants nothing more than to kiss it away. “How could you even…”
“It wasn’t that bad!”
“I could handle your critics y’know-”
“It was awful.”
“What the fuck,” he wails as he shuts his eyes and throws his head back. The sight itself has you almost drooling. Part of you wishes to climb onto his lap and kiss his thick neck. This is probably the face he makes when he gets his cock sucked, you think to yourself, but quickly scold yourself. Instead you place a soft hand over his.
“Sorry. How about we order take out?”
Sitting on his cloud couch you both enjoy warm Chinese food as you watch TV. “I could go to your race,” you speak up, chop sticks twirling. He lights up.
“Are you serious?” He sets his food aside as you nod.
“It wasn’t easy, but yes. I’ll be able to go.”
He cups your face as he smiles. “You’re going to love it, oh, it’s one of the fun ones.”
Charles + Cowboys? Oh, you bet it will be.
As he walks you to your front door he brings up the idea over how you can travel with him through private jet. Have to treat you right since you fixed your schedule to come with me. Reluctantly, you agree.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow then?”
“I’ll be ready.”
He nods as he stares at your rosy lips. Would they feel as soft as they look? Would you taste as sweet as they seem?
“I’ll see-”
His large hands grab your waist as he leans down to kiss you. You're stunned for a single moment, but when you feel his warm tongue, you immediately let go. He kisses you so desperately, it has your knees buckling. Thank God he’s holding you up with his tight grip.
Pulling away, you place your hands over his chest, chest rising up and down. You press a soft kiss against his cheek as you step out of his magnetic field.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Charles.”
-
The game started out innocent, cheerful even, but now?
This was war.
“You’re such a cheater! A bad one, too.” He furrows his brows as he frowns at you. Rolling your eyes, you lean against the small table that separates you both. He can’t help but stare at your chest, lingerie poking through. He has to stop himself from groaning at the sight. “Where are they, Charles?” He shakes his head.
“Je jure! Je jure! I swear I don’t have anything!”
Clicking your tongue you lean back against your seat as you let out a menacing smile. “Okay.” An uneasy feeling bubbles inside as he eyes you, slightly dubious. Alright then, he responds. The game of Uno continues as he grows more and more excited to win. Just one more card-
“What-”
“Oh. Were you looking for these?” Flashing a stack of cards towards him, his eyes grow wide. “Charles, Charles, Charles…” You wink at him, teasingly. “I’m always watching.” The rest happens in a blur and next thing he knows, you're celebrating. Standing up on the table, you sway your hips as you shimmy. He can’t help but smile, even if he lost. “Eat it and burn.” Just then the private jet enters a small wave of turbulence that causes you to fly straight into his lap. You both groan.
“Jesus.”
Blushing, you rub his head before rubbing yours, but he isn’t worried about that. He’s just trying to get over the fact that your ass presses right against him. You had to get off of him now. But the way you move against him to face him has him fluttering eyes closed. “Fuck, are you okay?” Your voice is filled with concern. Broccoli. Asparagus. Cabbage. Broccoli. Asparagus. Cabba-
“Oh God! I broke you!” Your warm hands against his face have him opening his eyes.
“No! You didn’t. It’s just that…I’m trying to get my mind off of…” You’re nodding, urging him to continue as you comb your fingers through his hair. It feels so nice.
“Off of what?”
He lets out a shaky breath as his hands slide down to your waist. A warm sensation enters your lower belly with his touch. “You.”
“Me? Wha- oh.” You feel him now. How hard he is under you. The way his grip turns more firm as he tries his best to keep his eyes open. “Oh Go- I’m gonna get up now-”
“Wait.” His warm hands push you deeper against him. “Just a minute. Please.”
Nodding, you stay quiet, him having his eyes closed as he falls into a pattern of inhaling and exhaling as if it was the most difficult thing to do. For him, it sure did seem like it. And he just looked so handsome. Eyes closed, head thrown back, pink lips turning slightly red from the occasional times he would bite down. So, it made perfect sense the moment you leaned up to kiss his throat.
“You’re gonna be the death of me.”
-
“What happened next?” Kika squeals as she claps her hands in delight. You had arrived a few hours ago and somehow already made your way to your best friend.
“This is a bit too much even for me, but what happened next?”
And Pierre.
There was a bit of hesitation in your voice when you say, “Nothing.” The couple share a small glance before humming suspiciously. All of a sudden, your skin grows warm. “I’m being serious, nothing did! The flight attendant interrupted, letting us know we were about to land. If anything, we got scolded.”
“Ha! He got - what do you call it again - blue balled!”
“Pierre!”
“Qu'est-ce que j'ai dis!”
Raising a single hand, you brush him off, as if his words didn’t matter. “It’s fine. But please…Can we just never mention this like, ever.” They both shake your hand before shooting a thumbs up. “Great.”
You continue catching up about other business. Pierre’s trouble with his car, Kika’s studies, your upcoming photoshoot with Dior. Everyone is so deep into the conversation that they don’t notice when Charles enters the rooms. He comes to a halt, a clear indication that he was surprised by their visit. “What are you guys doing here?”
Kika smiles. “Oh, you know. Catching up.” He nods, eyes shifting to his best friend. His brows furrowed with concern.
“Is he okay?”
But he really wasn’t. Pierre’s lips were tugging a teasing smile, face turning light red from how hard he was trying to suppress his words. If they were in a cartoon, fumes would be rushing out of his ears. The Portugues giggled nervously. “Of course he is!” She stands up in a hurry before grabbing his hand, already dragging him towards the exit. “We should get going though! See you guys later for dinner!”
As soon as they leave, he kisses your forehead. “Hey.”
“Hey. How was your meeting?”
He sighs as he takes a seat next to you. “Same old, same old. I don’t really want to talk about it, if that’s okay.” No problem, you respond with a sympathetic smile. “I think I’m going to shower before we leave.”
Sitting on the bed, you weigh your options. Risky, you hum as you bite down on your lip. Really risky. Without sparing a second thought, you jump up as you swing your dress off, leaving you just in your panties and bra. Walking to the bathroom, you can’t help but sneak a peek in the nearby mirror. Trying your best to raise up some confidence, you apply some lipstick, tussle your hair a bit, pinch your cheeks for that natural blush. Giddy with excitement, you find yourself falling into little twirls.
“Hey, what do you think about– fuck.”
“Ah!” Dropping to the ground, you crawl like a little crab, rushing to hide behind the bed. “Close your eyes! This is–close your eyes!”
“Okay! They’re closed, they’re closed, don’t worry.” His voice is strained, you could tell. Your confidence is long gone as you climb underneath the covers. Part if you wants to rush out the door and never look back. That seemed like a pretty good idea. “Are you–can I…”
“Yes.” Opening his eyes, he finds you wrapped up with the white duvet, only your eyes peeking out. While he’s trying his best to get your body off of his head, your eyes wander his wet frame, towel wrapped around his waist. “Umm…I-I am so sorry you saw any of that…I…”
Making his way closer, your heart thumps against your chest as a warning. Nope. Nope. Nope. “I should apologize, too. I’m sorry for barging in on you, I should’ve made sure.”
“Apology accepted! Long forgotten!” Twisting the bed sheets, you wince. “Would you mind handing me my dress?”
“Your um- your dress. Yes.” He picks up your piece of clothing that lies at the foot of the bed as he hands it to you, leaving enough space for you not to get too uncomfortable. Also, enough for him to remind himself to not do something he might regret. “Thank you,” you softly say. Heat rises up to your cheeks. “Could you please…” You spin a small finger as he chokes. Right, he yelps. He can hear the commotion you cause in an attempt to slip on your dress as fast as possibly. Tumbling, you stand up to grab your heels. “I’ll wait outside for you to change. I’m ready whenever you are.”
Skipping out, he doesn’t even have a chance to respond before the door slams shut.
-
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me. How am I supposed to see him now and not bring this up?”
Grabbing Pierre’s collar, you tug him closer, eyes burning with a subtle threat. “Listen here, old man. You won’t say a word if you know what is good for you.” Blue eyes go wide as he peeps over to Kika who only shrugs.
“Not a word,” he confirms as you let go.
Dinner was…tense. But that was only between you and the Monegasque.
“Steak,” you both say as the waiter nods. “You know what…I think I’ll just do a salad.” Charles clicks his tongue.
“You want the steak, so you should get it. I’ll get the salad.”
“No, well, now I want the salad. Not the steak.”
“You were just drooling over the steak, just get it.”
You glare as you close your menu. “I want the salad.”
“Excuse them,” Kika apologizes as Pierre sits there in amusement, soaking in the show that sits right in front of them.
“No problem,” the waiter beams. “Couple’s bicker all the time.”
“They’re not-”
“You get the steak. I’ll get the salad.”
“No, you get the steak and I’ll get th-”
“You do know we’re a restaurant and we’re not limited to one piece of meat, right? How about I put you both down for the steak?” Opening your mouth, the waiter smiles before hurrying off. “Be back in a jiffy!”
“I have a feeling she might spit in your food.”
“Shut up, Pierre,” Kika hisses. “Though you should start agreeing on what dessert you guys might want if it takes you this long.”
After dinner you were ready to go back and knock out. Just forget about your humiliating day. And that would have been the case if it weren’t for a little someone who wanted to go-
“Golfing! We should go golfing!” The Frenchman grins. “It’ll be fun!”
“Honey, I don’t think they want to. How about we raincheck?” Kika pats his shoulder as she gives him a small peck. He groans.
“Another day, mate. I’m sure this pretty girl wants to get some sleep,” Charles laughs as he signals to where you yawn. This wakes you up though as you scowl.
“I don’t, actually. I wanna go.” Raising his brow he asks, Are you sure? If you’re tired that’s fine, we can go back. “You can go back to the hotel if you want, but I’m staying.” Grabbing Kika’s hand, you both strut away, already heading towards the black SUV.
“What’s wrong with her?” he mutters as he runs his hands through his hair.
“I don’t know, man, what is wrong?”
Confusion crosses the green eyed boy's eyes as he tilts his head a bit. “You know something I don’t?”
“I mean I wouldn’t say it like that, but-”
“Hello? Are you guys coming or what?” The Portuguese yodels as she pokes her head out the window. Her eyes are sending a warning to her boyfriend. Patting Charles' shoulder, he runs towards the car.
“Come one, C. It’ll be fun.”
-
It was not fun.
“Let me show you,” he offers when you swing the club for the 5th time, chipping grass and dirt along the way. You growl a low, It’s fine. I got it. He squeaks when you swing too far back and hit his shin.
“Are you okay?” you whisper as he whines. I’m okay. Can I just show you? “Yes, please.” Standing behind you, he grabs your arms as he gives you advice and demonstrates with you. For a moment you stop listening but the playful grins that your friends wear is enough for you to pull away from his touch, so suddenly, he jumps back a bit. “I think I got it now. Thank you.”
“Very well then.” Making his way over to Kika and Pierre, they all stand with observing eyes. Standing still. Just waiting. Any minute now-
“Would you mind going further into the golf course to see where my ball lands?” You’re not quite sure why or who you’re asking, but as soon as Pierre agrees and starts to make his way over you shout out a quick, “Not you! Uhhh…Charles, could you do it pretty please?” His heart squeezes with your puppy eyes. Y-y-yeah, he mumbles as he jogs deeper into the open area, shooting you a thumbs up as you let out a breath of relief.
“He won’t bite, you know that, right?” Kika giggles when you poke your tongue out. Turning your attention, you push your hips slightly back, knees slightly bent, too. Practicing a few swings, you narrow your eyes towards the flag that points out the cup. Licking your lips, you swing as you hear a quick click with the sudden contact. You can’t tell if it was good, but it looked good enough to you. “Did you guys see that?” Jumping up and down you run towards your best friend as you hug her as if you just won a Nobel Prize.
“That was so good!”
“I was just one with the ball–I felt it in my bones-”
The engine of the golf cart has you both spinning around to where you see Pierre driving to the middle of the field. You squint your eyes. “What is that?” Kika murmurs, grabbing your hands as she leans forwards as if that could help her see clearer.
“Not sure. Is it a hill? It wasn’t there befo…” The figure suddenly angles themselves to their elbows. “Holy shit! It’s Charles!” Squealing, you rush to the second golf cart, immediately pressing on the gas as if your life depended on it. You’re forgetting me! Sharply pressing the brakes, Kika rushes in as she taps your thighs, signaling you to go. As soon as you make it there, you could tell; it’s bad. Blood oozes out of his nose as he swats his friends hand away when he presses tissues against his face. “Oh my God.” Kneeling down beside him, you cradle his face, gingerly.
“I’m okay,” he groans as he brushes his fingers against your hip. “It’s no big deal.”
Your eyes look almost as if you’ve gone crazy, when you shriek, “No big deal? This is–” Blood drips onto your hand as you grow a bit faint. “...not okay.”
“Maybe not now, but I will be-”
“Woah there,” Kika shrieks as your body goes limp. “She’s gone.”
“What?”
“Cool! I’ve never heard of a dead body on a golf course before!”
“She’s not dead, dickhead, she only fainted.” Kika rolls her eyes as she brushes your hair out of your face. You’re sprawled out on the grass, as if it was your wake. “Charles, quick. Try and wake her up.”
The Monegasque winces, rubbing his nose as he crawls his way over to you. “I…Umm…” Give her a big ‘ol kiss, Pierre hollers as Kika smacks his chest. “Sweetheart, are you okay?” He taps your cheek before rubbing a small circle. “This is getting scary - and dark. Can you hear meeee?” Groaning, you begin to rub your head and eyes as he comes to vision.
“Charles?”
He smiles. “Hey, there.” Small smile starts to make its way to your face before you deflate with fear. Looking down at you is Charles, but with dark red blood dripping all over you. Letting out a loud scream as you aim a quick punch. “Fuck me, not again!”
-
“Okay, good, alright. Right there.” Kika and Pierre huff as they drop you and Charles against the cool bed. It had taken lots of explaining to the country club that they weren’t in fact not trying to get away with murder, but much rather, just trying to bed good friends and drop you back at your shared hotel room. It was much harder dealing with the two of you who were completely out of it.
“Kikaaaa,” you whine as you cling onto her arm. “This is sooo nice of youuu. I really appreciated it, I doooo.” You pat her cheek before dragging your hand all over her face as you giggle. She swats you away. Anytime honey, she responds. Charles groans.
“Piereeeee. This is sooo-”
“Yes! Nice of me? No problem, it’s been a long day and it is time for me and my beautiful lady to get some rest!” Tugging Kika away, they shout a quick goodbye before they exit. Tossing over to face you, he rubs your stomach.
“How are you feeling?”
You shut your eyes. “Like hell.” He laughs as he sighs when he feels your hands slide on top of his. “What about you?”
“Like hell.” And you might be a tad bit delirious but the laugh that bubbles out of you is enough for him to forget his ringing nose. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”
Your laugh dies down as you roll over to him. “Even after I almost killed you twice today?” Small fingers softly tap against the dry blood on his nose.
“Even after that, yes.”
-
The next few days leading up to the Austin GP you were able to manage pushing off any rigidness that you had placed between you and Charles. Kind of.
Psst. Where are you? Peeking your head behind a stack of soft tires, you shoot your hand out to haul Kika towards you. She yelps at the sudden surprise. What the fu- “I can’t do this anymore.” She quirks a brow.
“Now you’re just making this complicated on yourself because you want to.”
“What? No! He’s making it hard on me.”
Crossing her arms she asks, “And how is he making it hard on you, if you don’t mind me asking.” You want to stomp your feet in frustration but you stop yourself when a few engineers pass by, sharing a small greeting to you both.
“He’s…too much. Have you seen him, come on, with that obnoxious cowboy hat? Or his cute little mustache?” Kika giggles at the reminder and shakes her head no.
“I have a handsome boyfriend,” she defends. You chuckle.
“Right. But…” Your mind stays put at the image of Charles and all the possibilities that lie within. It was all becoming too much, really. You clap your hands. “It’s okay! I can get over it.”
-
“You looked so good,” you moan around his cock. It’s a bit muffled but clear enough to have him groaning and rutting his hips harder. Choking, you squeeze your eyes shut as you grip onto his knees.
He had thought about this- dreamt about this and every time he thought he would know how to handle it and act cool. But there was no way of acting put together when you’re kneeling in prayer. “Fuck.” With a dirty smile, you grin around his cock before pulling your lips back, twirling your tongue around his pink tip and sliding your warm mouth back down. Letting out a few shaky breaths he says, “Y-y-you need to p-pull away now if you don’t w-want me t-to-''
But you’re deepthroating him so good and swallowing, causing your throat to close around him and that has his voice hitching, cutting off as he lets out one last moan before finishing in your mouth. White cum leaks the corner of your lips before you pick it up with your finger and lick it once you pull away. You giggle.
Climbing onto his lap, you sweetly kiss his face as he smiles. Kissing his red nose, you ask, “Did you like it?” The way you sound, confident, but a bit unsure, is enough for him to kiss your plump lips as if this were the most important kiss of his life. Which to him, it was.
“You’re amazing.” Blushing, you dig your face into his neck as you both sit there for a while longer. The room is quiet and calm as he falls into his own thoughts. Drawing shapes against your thigh, he clears his throat. “Why were you distancing yourself before?” He bites back a smile when he feels you lick his neck.
“I wasn’t pulling away…” His eyes twinkle in response. You sigh. “I was…embarrassed.” His face grows soft as he asks, Why? Looking down to where his fingers trace your lap, you start. “The first day at the hotel - when we got here - I came up with a dumb idea.” The way he’s looking at you has you nervously chuckling. “I was going to surprise you in the shower. That’s why I had stripped down and then you walked out and… I wanted to die.”
He’s laughing now as you smack his chest defensively. “I missed out on that? Noooo!” He wails as he throws his head back. The view takes you back to the first time he cooked for you and did the exact same thing.
You can now confirm: he does close and throw his head back when he’s getting his cock sucked.
“You didn’t miss out on much,” you reassure him, biting down on your thumb, nervously, before letting go. He’s listening now, green eyes dedicated to you. “I’ve never…”
“Had sex?” His voice is pitched with shock as you shake your head.
“Dear God, no. That ship has sadly sailed, but…Never had sex with someone older than me.”
“I’m not that old,” he jokes. You narrow your eyes with humor.
“You’re not,” you agree, “But I’ve only been with guys my age. They never had much to offer, though.”
He hates the idea of you ever being with someone who wasn’t him, but he knows there is not much he can do.
But prove he’s much better.
He pecks your lips. “I’ve heard that can happen sometimes.” His voice is light, slightly stingy, and that makes you smile. “Been there too - if you can believe it. But we can take it slow. We don’t have to do anything until you’re ready.”
And you might be eager and desperate for him, but you know it would be better to hold off and get more comfortable with the idea.
“Thank you.”
-
“How does this make any sense?”
Your eyes flick back and forth - from Xavi to Charles, from Charles to Xavi. Part of you was almost afraid to intervene into the heated conversation.
“Yeah, we’ll bring that up to the FIA.” A heavy sigh is released as Xavi rubs his temples, eyes momentarily shut. “Let’s just stick to the bright side- we did our best.”
The Monegasque rolls his eyes, hands flinging up in response. “And yet it never seems like enough.”
“Look the issue is always something we can fix-“
“That’s the same story I’ve been told time and time again! If it were fixed then we wouldn’t be dropping from P3 straight into a DQ.” The engineer huffs, eyes empty and tired - and while you completely understand where Charles was coming from, you felt bad.
“Charles, I think…” His cold gaze catches you off guard for a moment but quickly softens up with the sound of your voice. “...I mean I understand why you’re frustrated, but I’m sure he is too. Maybe you both should just take some time to cool down and when you’re ready, then you can sit back down to come up with a proper solution.”
For a scary second he doesn’t say anything as you hear a low, grazie tesoro, from Xavi. You’re on edge but when he nods with a small smile, you let out a breath of relief that you didn’t know you were holding in.
“Do you want to stay?” Hmm, you chirp, eyes attentive. Turning on his car, he begins to back out of the parking lot. “Here in Texas. For a while longer before we fly to Mexico. Kika and Pierre are going to and I thought you might want to as well-”
“You’re not needed in Mexico already?” He shakes his head. “In that case; yes.”
-
Pierre had planned a whole year's trip for one single day. And every single activity was a near death experience.
“Horseback riding.”
Sharing an excited squeal, you and Kika hop up and down as Charles finishes up a quick call. The morning had started early, per Pierre’ request, but no one had really complained up until that point.
“Danny Ric recommended this farm just an hour away, but you’re with an F1 driver, we’ll make it there in 10 minutes max.”
“I’m driving,” the green eyed boy interrupts as he snatches the keys away from his best friend. “There’s no way we’ll be safe if you drive.” Sheepishly, Kika agrees. Pierre’ mouth hangs agape. Quickly, he takes the keys back.
“My agenda; I drive.”
-
“I can lose him! Just give me a minute!”
The drive had started out calm. Music was playing from your and Kika’ mixed playlist as you both chatted in the backseat. Charles was screeching every single second due to Pierre’s driving skills. It was great.
“Amore, they have a horse that looks like an Oreo,” Pierres announces as Kika claps with delight. “Rented that one out just for you.” It was a sweet gesture, something that even had you swooning, and all would have been fine if you weren’t running a bit late. “As long as we’re there at 2pm.”
Biting down on your lip, Charles turns back to look at you. Raising up your phone you show him.
1:20pm.
You were still 45 minutes away. There was no way. You’re about to bring it up until Charles silently hushes you. “What’s so important about a cookie looking horse?” he asks, slowly. Kika beams.
“I had one like that growing up. His name was Spot. Technically, it belonged to my grandparents but deep down we all knew it was mine. P, has been on a mission to find a clone of some sort. Kinda sweet.”
Pierre’s winks through the rear view mirror as he switches lanes. A tiny car honks as you flinch. Close one, he mutters. “And dare I say I found Spot’s twin. Reincarnation! Mon amour, you’re going to love him when we get there…”
1:25pm.
Eyes as wide as saucers, he steps on the gas so suddenly, it has you flying against the seat. You let out a scream - you think. “Pourquoi ne m'as-tu pas dit l'heure?” Charles winces.
“You should have been checking the time yourself! You’re the one driving!”
“But you’re supposed to be my GPS!”
“Non, je ne suis pas!”
The Frechman presses harder on the gas. You yelp. “Kiks, you’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had, don’t you dare forget it.”
“No, you are one of the best friends I’ve ever ha- Ah!” The Portuguese clings onto the window in an attempt to keep straight when her boyfriend switches lanes harshly. “Pierre, it’s fine! I don’t want to see my dead horse’ twin that bad.” Swiftly, he turns around as he shakes his head. Charles curses as he reaches out to keep the wheel straight.
“Listen to me Kika; you are meeting that horse.”
“Oh. I don’t feel so good.” Feeling queasy, with all the commotion and awful driving skills, you let out a whimper as you hold your head. A worried Charles turns around to caress your knee. It’s okay, baby. Do you need anything?
“Pierre, seriously, stop the bloody car.” His tone is threatening, but this doesn’t seem to stop Pierre.
“I’m sorry - I am - but we are making it there because we are making it there.” Kika is past asking and has skipped to praying in her native language, eyes squeezed shut.
“It’s fine. I’ll be fi-”
You’re cut off by police sirens, red and blue light dancing through the windows. Your eyes grow wide as you and Charles shared a panicked look. “Fuck,” Pierre murmurs. “Alright, everyone hold on. I’m gonna step on the gas.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Charles spits out before flinging back against his seat, forced to pull away from you. You’re a mess. Pierre, Pierre, it’s not worth it to die young, you wail.
“We’re making it to that stupid horse!”
Weaving through lanes, all of you slide side to side in your seats. Pull over, a stern voice blares outside of the police car. Your stomach strings into nervous loops.
“Pierre, pull over,” Kika finally tries as the situation grows more serious.
“I can lose him! Just give me a minute!”
Speeding is nothing new to the two Formula 1 drivers, but to you and your friend it was. “I’m too young!” Kika and you screech when Pierre does a sharp turn towards the exit. A breath of relief escapes Charles' lips when he notices the cop car had lost sight of them.
Smoothly, Pierre pulls into a dusty parking lot. He grins.
“Ta-da!”
-
“Sweetheart, did a horse already kick you?”
Icing his newly gifted black eye, Pierre mumbles a low; “Something like that.”
Icing his newly gifted fist, Charles sarcastically replies; “Something like that.”
The little old lady smiles warmly before leading the group towards the barn. “We have many beauties for you to choose from. All friendly!”
Almost instantly, Kika spots the horse the group almost lost their lives over. “He’s beautiful!” Running over, she pets him as he licks her hand. Pierre discreetly snaps a few pictures.
“That was really sweet,” you admire. Charles scoffs. Almost dying seems sweet to you? Giggling, you playfully smack his toned chest. “Well, no. But just how hard he tried to get her here…” Kika waves at you both as she climbs onto the tall horse.
“Yeah,” he mumbles. Leading you further into the cabin, you both pet the row of horses. Behind you, Pierre yells out, Buttercup is a fan favorite!
And so, you were introduced to Buttercup. Charles' heart did a double take when a bright smile formed itself onto your lips. You were an Angel on Earth.
After going over the basics, you’re able to take Buttercup on a quick gallop around the open field. Attentive, Charles follows by foot. “Are you sure you don’t want to get on a horsy?”
“Once, when I was a little kid, I fell off one. I was lucky that it was just a pony, but I’ve been traumatized since.”
“Oh.” You try keeping a straight face but can’t help but start laughing. He frowns. “Sorry! I’m just imagining that.” Wheezing harder, you clutch your heart dramatically. He wishes to remember the sound of your laugh.
“Sweetheart! Just letting you know that no candy should be near the horses! Wouldn’t want them acting up.”
Shooting a quick thumbs up, you nod. Peacefully, you continue laughing and learning more about Charles and you love it.
Strolling over, Pierre pats Charles shoulder as they whisper to each other for a while. Trotting away just a bit, you decide to give them a bit of privacy. A few seconds later, they share a bro hug.
“Just don’t do anything stupid again,” you hear Charles warn as Pierre bobs his head. Got it.
“They have a cute little shop here so I went to go buy a few snacks, you guys want some?”
Opening a chocolate bar, he extends his arm out as a truce, brown chocolate glistening under the sun. Your stomach drops.
“Pierre, you fucking di-” Buttercup rapidly spots the candy bar and begins to gallop towards the Monegasque and Frenchman with full speed. Get out of the way, you shriek out as they both make a run for the exit.
“This place is lovely!” Kika hollers as she inches closer to the commotion. Lost, her gaze flickers to where Pierre and Charles jump over the fence, landing on mud, and you and Buttercup chasing after them. “Oh God, Pierre.”
-
“That’s the thing! You don’t think!”
The fight between Charles and Pierre has been going on for what seems like hours and you were starting to get tired of it.
“Charles-”
He gently pushes your hands aside before glaring back at Pierre. “What would you have done if something had happened to her, huh? Oh, you would be a dead man-”
“I think he gets it now!” Tugging on his arm, you pull him towards you. “I’m fine. It was fun.” He looks at you skeptical as you let out a light laugh. “Okay, too soon. But seriously, let’s just forget about it! Nothing happened and we still have a full day ahead of us. Let’s not let it go to waste.”
-
“Dirt bike riding!”
“Are you sure?” Leaning against Charles, you massage your temples at the possibility. Given, it sounds like fun, but you really weren’t looking for a broken bone.
“Always.”
“Be careful,” you say as you tap against Charles' helmet. Only a tiny part of you wanted to join, but decided not to last minute. Kika agreed to stay with you, but deep down you knew she was just as scared.
Smacking your ass, you jump as he lets out a muffled laugh underneath the black helmet. “Wouldn’t want to die without fucking you.”
Blushing, you push him away. “Go already.” A loud laugh follows as he drifts away. The sight of him wearing all black has your head spinning. Sitting down on a small table, under the shade, you take a sip of Kika’s Coca-Cola. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome?”
Everything carries on smoothly. A few close calls, but safe nonetheless. “I didn’t know they were so good at this,” you ponder, gaze keeping up with the 26 year old.
“Me either. Honestly - definitely - surprised.” A pink tint fans itself on her cheeks as Pierre bikes by. “I love it.”
“Get a room.” But you aren’t complaining either. This is definitely a sweet sight. Wanna try? Charles calls out. “No, thank you.”
Biking closer, he opens up his visor, green eyes shining through. “I’ll keep you safe,” he tries. You shake your head. “As if you’re my most prized possession. Newsflash: you are.”
He’s subtle with it, but it’s enough for you to feel as if you’re floating. You just had to be. “Very sweet, but I’m okay.” Leaning close, you kiss his helmet before slamming it shut.
“Suit yourself, chérie.” You feel as if you’re stumbling over yourself as you watch him glide away. You have to remind yourself that people are around and that there is no room for shenanigans. Dirt crunches underneath your feet as you twirl to face the Portuguese.
“I think I’m in love.” Fanning your face, you let out a breath. She chokes.
“In lo- excuse me, what?” Shrugging your shoulders, you spin the yellow straw that dips inside your drink.
“I said I think. Quit acting as if I just said my first words.” Grabbing you by your shoulders, she starts to shake you back and forth. Might as well be! There’s no way ‘you think’! When it comes to you, you always know. Her point has you thinking about your confession. Because she’s right.
You are in love.
What’s there not to love? He’s kind, caring, intelligent, funny, clumsy in a cute manner, he looks out for you (especially when Pierre is near the premises). If anything, it would be impossible not you. Looking up, you see him on the side of the dusty hill, chatting with what looks like to be fans. And he’s just so sweet with them, it only makes you more sure of your sudden knowledge.
“He can’t know. Not yet.”
The bike's loud engine is what snaps you out of your thoughts. Pierre waves as he follows after Charles. “That was awesome! Amour, did you see me-” Amidst of his words, he didn’t pay much attention when he accidentally stepped on the pedal a tad bit too hard, causing him to glide closer to Charles’ motorbike. A loud clash follows as they skid on the dirt, dust causing them to be untraceable for a moment, only bickering coming through.
Hurriedly, you both run over as you wave your hand and cough. Slowly, the dirt settles down, allowing you to see Charles and Pierre on top of one another. They both groan in pain. Charles pushes the Frenchman off him.
“I should’ve known something had to happen.”
-
A few more ideas were thrown out by the blue eyed man but every single one got shut down. “Let’s just get something to eat,” Kika growls. Clicking your fingers, you point at her, agreeing.
And so you and your friends find yourselves in a small restaurant that looks straight out of a Western movie. “Pretty nice, I must admit,” you congratulate. Smirking, Pierre slaps the back of Charles’ head. See? A snarl is enough for him to make a run for it. Giggling, you tippy toe to kiss his cheek. “Does your boo boo still hurt, my poor baby?” Brushing your fingers against his thigh, he flinches.
“Yes, actually, it does. I hate bruises.” Snorting, you throw your head back. He drags you closer to his chest, making you trip over your cowboy boots that he just bought for you. “A kiss might make me forget about the pain though, little lady.” He pretends to tip an imaginary hat.
“Little lady?”
“Bonita? Linda?” Curiously, you quirk a brow. “Carlos…” he explains as you respond with an, Ohhh. Tapping his chest, you slide your fingers through his hair.
“A kiss you say?”
He smiles. “Or something else, really.” Heat pools in between your legs as you try your best to suppress your moans. But the way he’s looking down at you has you almost running away. You kiss his cheek, lips lingering for a single moment. The hand that presses against his chest is able to identify the way his heart speeds up.
“Better?”
“I was thinking more here,” he points to his lips, “But that was just as good.” Walking away, you start making your way to where Pierre and Kika sat.
“You never said where.” His eyes follow you, flickering down to your ass, Levi denim short pressed up against you. It should be illegal to look this good.
“Ahem.” Pulling his attention away, he looks into Kika’s eyes, who scowls back up at him. Shyly, he takes a seat.
Dinner flew by. Laughter and stories being heard by any bypasser, but it really didn’t matter to any of you.
“I think his visor broke!” Pierre wheezes as he clings onto the table. Charles shoots a cold glare.
“You broke it with your foot when you kicked me.” This only seems to make his friend laugh harder. The corner of Charles’ mouth slightly lifts up. You continue talking about your day when an older man makes his way to your booth.
“You guys interested in dancing?”
“Hey, man, that’s my girlfriend,” Pierre responds as he looks up at the man. Who does he think he is? he mouths to the rest of you.
“Oh, I don’t mean it like that. Line dancing. Anyone who wants to join is welcome to.” Extending his hands towards Pierre, he introduces himself. “Ben. I’m the owner of the restaurant.” Pierre lets out a nervous laugh.
“Oh. My bad.” Turning to Kika he says, “You want to?” She doesn’t even bother looking at him as she smiles at the older man.
“Yes, of course! She pinches your hips, you yelp in surprise. “You in?” Tight lipped, you smile and nod. You both look over to the F1 drivers. Charles shakes his head.
“Count me out.”
Pierre nods. “Yeah, me too.”
Sticking her tongue out, Kika grabs your hand. “Okay, losers.” Walking to the crowded dance floor, she jumps up and down. Her excitement eases you as you smile ear to ear. “You know how to line dance?” You nod.
“My grandpa taught me when I was 5.” Cackling, she high fives you as the music starts. You furrow your brows. “Country Girl?” Kika lets out a satisfied sigh..
“Ahhh. Luke Bryan at his finest.” Copying others steps, you both giggle as you stumble a bit at the beginning. Peeking over at the boys, she frowns. “They’re not even looking.” You wave her off.
“It doesn’t matter.” But you can tell she’s itching for a reaction from Pierre. “You flirt,” you tease as you slap her hip. She rolls her eyes, playfully. Pulling her closer, you swing your hands over her shoulders. She tilts her head in confusion. ���God gave us hips and an ass for a reason.” Wickedly, she smiles as she lets loose.
Following the beat, you sway your hips before letting go of one another and spinning like the most seductive ballerinas that ever existed. Running a hand through your hair, you begin to drop to the floor, wide eyes staring up at your best friends who just laughs. Gliding back up, your hands dance across her legs.
“Alright, quit it before I cheat on my boyfriend!” You let out a laugh. “And before Charles kills me.”
“And why would he do that?”
She shrugs her shoulders, tossing her locks over her shoulder. “He looks like wants to kill me and fuck you.” Shocked at her words, you turn to the table and sure enough, Charles’ bruning gaze is directed only towards you. As if no one else existed. Meanwhile, Pierre's mouth is hung wide open. You clear your throat.
“Look at Pierre,” you mumble, trying to get the image of Charles out of your mind. She blushes, sending a kiss over to her boyfriend who smiles suggestively. You shudder. “Gross.” She smacks your cheek softly.
The song ends and you almost wish you could stay dancing forever so there would be no room to see Charles after that. Standing up, he pulls your chair out as you quietly thank him. “Shy now?” His voice is strained, as if he’s trying his best to simply just talk to you, but also filled with tease. You hum.
“Nope.” Your breath hitches when his hand slides onto your thighs. He clicks his tongue.
“I think you might be.” His hand slides swiftly in between your legs. “Just a tiny bit.”
“I-I’m not-”
“Hey,” a voice kills the moment. Charles' attention flickers to the man that stands in front of you. You smile. “Oh, I saw you dancing…”
“And?” Charles cuts him off, but the guy only ignores him.
“Jaden.” He extends his hand out for you to shake. Hesitantly, you do. “I was wondering if I could get your number?”
Stuttering you say, “U-um. I-I…” Looking over at Kika, you beg for help as she raises her brows. No thank you, she mouths. Pierre watched it all unfold as if this were a movie. Awkwardly, you clear your throat. “I’m seeing someone actually, sorry.”
The blond clicks his tongue, running his hand through his jaw. “That’s the thing. He doesn’t have to know. He won’t mind.” Charles can’t help but scoff and stand up to his full height.
“Oh, I think he’ll mind.” It’s almost as if Jaden knew this would tick Charles off as he casually smirked.
“It’s you,” he says, eyes full of judgment. “I had someone else in mind.”
“Yeah, I don’t care what that might be, but you should leave.” Jaden’s eyes meet yours as he takes a seat on the now open chair.
“Merde,” Pierre whispers.
“What do you say we get out of here? I know a hotel nearby.”
Frowning at his words you say, “What’s wrong with you?” You’re caught by surprise when Charles reaches down to drag him by the collar.
“Jaden, is it? I think it’s best if you leave. She’s not interested.”
“Dude, don’t take it personal. Just a quick taste and she’s all yo-” He doesn’t have a chance to finish his sentence when the Monegasque sends a hard punch. He groans, crashing on top of the table.
“Don’t you dare talk about her at all,” he sourly threatens. Turning back to where you stand with Kika and Pierre, he’s about to check up on you, but that’s before he’s yanked back and hit straight in the ribs. Huffing, Jaden stands over him as he grins.
“Too hard on you?”
Standing up, Charles rolls up his sleeves. “Nope.” Which is how he landed himself in a fiery fight with some wannabe GoldenDoodle.
“Pierre! Do something!”
“Y-you’re right!” Jumping in, he tries to pry Charles off as they tumble around. Get off me, Charles mutters. The Frenchman immediately lets go. “H-he said to get off hi-”
“Yeah, I heard.” Desperately, you try yelling for the Monegasque, but it’s almost as if he can’t hear you. Ben, the owner, runs over.
“Darling, if they don’t stop I’m going to have to call the cops.”
“No!” But the moment you see dark blood flowing out of Charles’ lip, you panic. “Fine! Yes! Call them, but hurry, please!”
After what seems like an eternity, when really it was only 5 minutes, the cops show up. “Let go and put your hands where I can see them!” This seems to get their attention as they harshly let go of one another. You let out a breath of relief, Kika hugging your arm. Cuffing them up, they start pulling them towards the exit, boos filling up the small restaurant. Running after them, you tap on the cops shoulder.
“Let him go, please! He was only defending me!” You’re close to crying and this makes Charles feel guilty. It’s okay. I’ll be fine! Just meet me at the police station. Getting closer, Pierre tries to drag you away as you cry. The policeman stops for a moment.
“You…” Pierre looked around confused before pointing at himself. Me? Calling for backup, a new officer comes and cuffs the Frenchman.
“Woah, woah, hey there. What’s this for?” Kika asks, jogging in order to keep up. “Why is he being arrested?”
The grouchy man scowls. “Speeding on a freeway. Sound familiar?”
“It’s alright, Kika! Just meet us in the police station!”
-
“He was driving fast to fulfill my wish, he was only being sweet! And I know he was acting irresponsible, but I swear he won’t do it again.”
Nodding, you push her aside. “And Charles was just protecting me from that dick! Please, he won’t do i-it a-a-again…”
The little old lady behind the desk with a bored expression hums. It’s quiet for a few minutes before she stamps the two papers right in front of her. You both sigh. “Alright. I’ll let them go. But only because I like you both.”
Running up to the guys, you throw yourself on the Monegasque as he lets out a groan in pain. Cradling his face, you press kiss after kiss. “I'm” - kiss - “so” - kiss - “glad” - kiss - “you’re” - kiss - “out.” Smiling, he tucks a stand of hair behind your ear.
“This is the land of the free, right?” Your glare up at him, biting back a smile. Not funny at all, you pout. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Walking up to you both, holding hands, Pierre smiles. “Want me to drive us back to the hotel?”
-
Flinging onto the bed, you let out a few kick-spasms. “Remind me to never agree to anything Pierre says. Ever.”
Lying down next to you, he closes his eyes. “I know I give him so much crap for it, but he means no harm.” Rolling over to your side, you furrow your brows. “Never again,” he confirms. Sitting up right, you wait for him to do the same. Leaning against the headboard, he smiles softly.
“Thank you,” you begin, “For standing up for me.”
“I would do it over and over again with no hesitation.” Letting out a shaky breath, he scoots you to straddle his lap. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
And maybe it is the heat of the moment, but soon you find yourself leaning down to kiss up. His lips are warm, the way you remember them. Your lips are home, the way he remembers them. Sliding his shirt off, you halt when you see the bruises that cover him. You let out a slight wince. “You know what? Another day when you feel better-” He pushes your hips against his as your eyes roll back with anticipation.
“I feel better already.” And then he’s kissing you again, mind trying to keep up with the way your soft hands slide up and down his chest. Long fingers pinch your shirt, tugging it off. His eyes train themselves on your tits. “You’re a fucking dream.”
Unclasping your bra, his mouth immediately wraps around your left nipple. Whining, you brush your hands against his curls. The way his tongue swirls around your sensitive bud has you pushing his face deeper to your chest. He doesn’t seem to mind, free hand going in to squeeze your other boob.
Grabbing his face, you force him to face you, both your chests heaving up and down.
“Fuck me. Please.”
Groaning, he throws his head back. Not wasting anymore time, he switches positions, sprawling you against the white bed sheets. He takes his time taking your shorts and panties off before slipping off his jeans and boxers.
The sight of his dick has you nervous for a split second, but that's cut short when you feel his fingers sliding against your walls. You squirm. “That’s it, amour. Let loose.” His large frame towers over you as he spreads your legs out even more. Almost like an instinct, your legs wrap around his waist. He kisses your forehead. “You need to let me know if you’re uncomfortable.”
“Pinky promise, just…please.”
That's all it takes. Thrusting into you, you both let out dirty, sinful moans. It takes all of him to not snap his hips, just the thought alone being too much.
“You’re so fucking worth it. Worth it all.” Clinging onto his arm, your mind is hazy with the sudden stretch. He’s big and you feel him already brushing against your g-spot. You wonder if you’ll be able to take him.
“Ch-Charles, please move,” you beg, pupils dilated. He starts off slow and you’re almost embarrassed with the way it has you reaching out for him. Begging for more. “F-feel s-s-so good inside of me.”
The way you clench around his cock has him choking on his saliva. “Yeah? Well you feel so good wrapped around me. Warm and-” The sound of his voice has your walls closing around him, even tighter. “...unreal. You can’t be real.”
He lost with the way you squirm underneath him, twisting, almost pulling away, but he keeps a firm grip. “Ch- oh God.” His speed picks up as he fucks your harder. Past boyfriends only put their needs first, but you can tell he was trying to get you to finish first. The realization made your head spin. A tight feeling enters your bottom belly.
Boys? Waste of time.
Men? He was everything.
Rubbing your clit, he admires you. Close? You open your eyes, soft pants being released, the sound of the headboard rutting against the white wall. “I-I don’t know…” He pinches his brows. You let out a shaky breath. “How should an orgasm feel?”
His eyes widen, hips continue their abuse. “You’ve never had an orgasm?” Bashfully, you let go of his burning gaze, watery eyes focused on his pulsing muscles.
“Boys…” Letting out a cry, your bite down on his bicep with the sudden brush against your g-spot. He hisses. Your mouth is open with an O as you drool all over him. You whine when he places his hand over your lower belly. You should feel some pressure here.
His voice is deep, raw and so mature. He sounds as fucked out as you feel. “Do you feel something like that, chérie?” Furiously, you nod. “Words. Use your words.”
“I-I-I do.” Those two words have him almost seeing the future. They are slow and weak, but also sure and his. In this exact moment, he swore he would have you repeating those same words, only in a different location. Teary eyes look up at him. “I feel you everywhere.”
With that you let out a scratched moan as you cum around his cock. The way you arch and squeeze around him is what makes him finish right after. Catching your breath, you look up at him with a twinkle in your eyes. He kisses your bruised out lips.
“You’re fucking perfect.”
#f1#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#charles leclerc#charles leclerc imagines#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc drabble#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc f1#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc angst
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MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE OF SECRET LIFE!!!!!
so i sped-wrote this as soon as i learned who the winner was this morning, tried to post it twice, tumblr mobile deleted it BOTH TIMES... but i will not be silenced ive finally gone to desktop /silly
this will go up on my rough draft pseud soon, but until then please enjoy the results of me being EXTREMELY unwell about the secret life finale. WOOOOOO WE ARE POPPING THE BIGGEST OF BOTTLES TODAY FR!!!!!!!!!!!
Grian barricades himself at the top of the highest tower of Tango's citadel the moment he wakes up.
It's a calculated move, admittedly. There are a precious few places one might still find him if he truly wants to hide, but the Deep Frost Citadel isn't one of them— and with the second Decked Out coming to a ceremonious close, foot traffic here is perilously low. Dawn is a swift-approaching knife on the horizon, and Grian soars above it all, face numb with chill wind, wings brazen and feathers strewn across an empty sky.
He doesn't want to be near when Scar wakes.
And he doesn't want to be found just yet, either. Oh, Scar will track him down. Of that, he has no doubt— but for now, Grian takes solace in the snow crunching underfoot as he locks himself inside this barren tower.
It's dark here, which suits Grian just fine. He doesn't bother lighting a lantern; instead, he huddles right on the floor, letting the ice seep through him. From here, he can just make out the sky as it lightens, bringing with it the dawn of a new victor.
Nausea boils in his throat. With that victory comes a price, and Scar—
And Grian—
Well. Grian hasn't treated him very well throughout the games, now, has he?
He curls in on himself even further, feathers brushing along the length of his chilled arms. Each hair stands at attention, in some vain effort to pull warmth from the surrounding freeze— when he scrubs a hand along his arm, his fingers shake, and the gooseflesh remains stark and raised against his skin.
There was a sand-drenched point when the concept of warmth was all he could register— scorching wind scraping the cut on his cheek, the scarlet splatter of blood across split knuckles. And like the steady drain of life from a corpse, that warmth has drawn away, poison from a putrid wound— it leaves him compacting this cold, this loneliness, to mold it into four high walls around his heart; a fitting tribute to every grain of trust he's rightfully lost. Grian huffs the barest traces of a bitter laugh as his breath mists in the air. A better man would meet Scar at his base, extend his support, no matter how icily it might be met.
But Grian is selfish, and a coward, and will always be a coward— and so instead he sits, marrow freezing, with only the thin garrotte of paltry sunlight wrapping itself around his tender throat to keep him company.
And there he stays, motionless, for long enough that the chill makes a home in him— the glistening, pale yolk of the sun warns him of the passing time, a watery heat that counts down the seconds to minutes to hours until Scar finds him. Grian curls his wings around himself, a pitiful embrace, and waits.
Two hours later, the whistle of rocket-propelled elytra warn him of incoming company. Grian doesn't bother fleeing; he knows Scar, and Scar knows him, and with this last, missing puzzle piece finally slotting into place between them, he's under no illusions that staying hidden for long is feasible. Grian's eyes skitter to a crack on the far wall as clumsy footsteps scatter the snow outside, scrabbling for balance before the muted click of a cane joins them. Footsteps; another, louder click— the door's latch gives way, and a brief, blinding wave of light crashes over Grian's face, obscuring everything but the outline of a painfully familiar silhouette.
Grian has to look away. The door shuts, and for a small moment, neither of them so much as breathe.
Then Scar's sighs— one great, resigned gust. "Grian...."
He says nothing else. He doesn't have to. Grian draws his legs up to his chest in response anyway, heart a frozen pump bleeding ice into his very veins. What can he say? An apology? They're past apologies, now— if Scar wanted to disavow him forever, take the crumpled remains of their friendship and throw it at his feet, he'd be right to do so.
But Scar doesn't shout; neither does he leave. Instead, his cane taps forward, boots sliding into Grian's line of vision— and, with a grunt of effort, Scar eases himself down, until he's sitting at a safe diagonal from Grian's hunched form.
Neither of them say anything for a while.
Eventually, Grian licks his lips. They're chapped from cold, thin and ready to split. "Hi, Scar," he says softly. It comes out weak, thready— a barely-there declaration. Whatever Scar wants here... he can take it. It's the very least Grian can do at this point.
From the corner of his eye, he watches Scar settle, shifting his weight before he lands on something approximating comfort. He takes his time with it, blind— or uncaring— to the erratic snarl of Grian's pulse. His voice is just as quiet when he responds. "So... that's it, then, huh."
Grian glances over properly before he can stop himself, stomach churning; Scar's gaze has slipped to the cutout acting as a window, middle-distant and lost. Locked on something only he can see. Then Scar shakes himself, an abrupt jerk of his head and shoulders, and that glassy look turns to pin Grian directly to the wall behind him instead. "Just like that?"
Grian's fingers tighten around his knees. "Just like that," he agrees, hollow.
Scar mulls that over for a moment. His sigh is a wisp of white in front of them, crystallizing in the glacial atmosphere. "Jeez," he says finally, scrubbing one hand through the tangled bird's nest of his hair. He must have flown across half the server as soon as he... remembered, Grian realizes with a visceral pang. "I didn't... that's a lot of memories to just, um, gain back on a dime, huh?"
Grian darts a sidelong glance at him. Shifts his wings until their primaries lower, sweeping the ground around his feet like a feathered cat's cradle. "I wouldn't know," he says, a quirk of black humor dancing around the edges of his mouth. He swallows. "Since. Well...."
He trails off. Imagines, briefly, that he is a black hole— a quasar. A neutron star. Something so tight and compact it can string him out, erase him; a ball of grief and misery dense enough that it contains its own event horizon.
Scar hums a little shakily into the blooming silence. "Yeah. I guess that would complicate things, wouldn't it." A pause. "Does it always feel—?"
Grian shrugs. "Don’t know that either, Scar."
"Oh." Scar's still looking at him, the searchlight of his gaze burning pockmarks into Grian's skin. "Cool, okay... so...." He hesitates, teeth worrying his lower lip, before finally forging on: "So what now?"
Grian sucks in his own shuddery breath. "Whatever you want, Scar," he says, blank and dull. Every inch of him frozen stiff, awaiting the tipped scales of Scar’s judgement. "There's no going back, after this." The quicksilver flash of a grimace tugs his lips back to reveal sharp, white teeth. "Welcome to the club, I guess."
"It sure is a warm welcome," Scar says weakly. "Got— uh, got your complimentary balloons, and— and um, a whole gift basket of... of...."
He trails off too, the fragile ley lines of his humor peeling off, cracking at the seams. Impossibly, Grian curls around himself tighter.
An apology is nothing but wasted air now, but it dredges from his throat anyway. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Scar. I—" He breaks off, jaw tight. "I'm... I'm not sure what else to say, honestly. I never thought...."
I never thought you'd win. It's a cruel phrase that haunts the air between them, hanging like a smoky pall across their shoulders.
Scar says nothing against it; he only watches.
An uneasy prickle crawls up Grian's spine. "You don't—" He stops himself before he can finish that thought. "Are you— Scar, why are you here?"
"'Cause Pearl's not talking to me yet," Scar says quietly, prompt. "And— and because I remembered. Us."
Grian's throat closes around the word. "Us," he echoes, a rough rasp that ricochets against the deepslate walls surrounding them. The word tears through his ears, distorting with each pass. "Look, alright— I-I don't know if you got the memo, exactly, but— I'm not—"
He breaks off again, lungs jarring, hitching in his chest. Hot prickles sear behind his eyes, but nothing drops— he’s too tired for crying. "I've hurt you a lot, Scar," Grian says at last, lips numb around the words. "I'm not sure if there's much of an 'us' left, at this point."
"I know," Scar says. His eyes reflect the snow-glitter outside.
"And— I wouldn't blame you, if you left right now."
"I know," Scar says again, softer.
"I—” Grian stares at him, helpless. "Okay, then why are you here, Scar?" He gestures between them, an aimless motion that somehow encompasses the breadth of everything that's rotted at their foundations. "If you know all that, then what—?"
Scar regards him with enviable poise. His throat bobs as he speaks. "Maybe, I just— now that I remember— maybe I just want your company, Grian. Is that really so bad?"
Grian stares at him, at a loss. "I don't understand," he says finally, and it comes out plaintive even to his own ears. "I thought you'd be— angry. After everything I've done, after all that's happened.... What's your play here, Scar? If you want to yell at me, be my guest. I think by now I've more than earned it."
But Scar doesn't take the bait. Instead, he shuffles closer— just by an inch. A careful, cautious inch. "Y'know," he says, apropos of nothing, "and correct me if I'm wrong, here— but I seem to remember something about you wanting an alliance before all of... that crazy stuff happened. Is that right?"
Something in Grian's chest spasms. Whatever expression it spreads across his face must spur Scar on, because he scoots closer again, just enough to bring their calves together. The brief shock of warmth explodes through Grian's skin, worming its way underneath the subcutaneous tissue to flood his veins and gnaw at the lingering ice.
After a moment, Scar's lips tilt up— a subtle, fragile smile. "Is it too late to cash in on that?" he asks.
Grian's mind goes blank, white and buzzing, the thin hiss of a creeper drifting through it like smoke. Unfiltered shock threads through his voice. "You want t— what?"
Scar's smile tempers further around its edges, stretching into something softer, knowing. Rounded out. With solemn motions, he reaches into the pocket of his utterly ridiculous safety vest, and delicately pulls something out.
It's a sunflower.
In the frigid gloom of Tango's citadel, Grian gapes, the brilliant yellow petals incongruous with this grim, grit, darkened room. When he looks up, Scar's eyes are overbright, painfully earnest— brimming with a desperate urgency that tucks itself away in the depths of his pupils.
"Can we try again?" Scar says, soft as the new-fallen snow beyond this isolated cell of misery. "Start over? I— I kind of hurt you too, you know. And— for the record, being without you sucks. I don't—" He falters. "I know it's gonna be all weird, y’know, between us… but I don't want to do that anymore. I just... want you here, Grian. That's all. I just want you to stick around."
Grian sucks in a sharp, daggered breath. "You're joking," he breathes, but his heart leaps, tumbling from his throat and onto the floor for Scar to stomp at his leisure. "You're actually— this isn't funny."
"Hey, do you see me laughing?” Scar presses forward once more, a calculated attack, but still slow enough for Grian to track each move, to stop him if he cared enough to. Gently, Scar unwinds one of Grian's hands from his knees, cupping it between his own and brushing the lightest of kisses against his knuckles before turning over Grian’s palm and pressing the flower into it. Grian's fingers curl around it of their own accord, silky petals burning against his fingers.
"So." Scar smiles, tremulous, eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. "Can we still be friends?"
And Grian has always been a raw creature, a tangled wreck of his own selfish greed— he’s craved the honeyed umber of Scar's love since he first cradled it, tentatively, in his palms all that time ago. In the depths of his heart, there will always be that sandstone cliff, the crack of his bones against hard-packed sand, and wings too clipped to fly freely. There will always be that calloused fist around his heart, and beyond his own scrabbling fear, there will always, always be that fervent need to bring Scar close even as he pushes him away.
And where before, Scar had been playing blind, a game with no true rules… now, his eyes trap Grian against the wall, clear as glass— diamond sharp and just as steady. From a winning game, there is no turning back. There’s nothing left to lose here, except this porcelain trust, this shred of hope Scar offers him once more in the form of a flower.
Even after everything, all the memories flooding back— Scar is still here, holding Grian’s heart, and offering up his own in return.
Grian slowly presses it to his chest with trembling, vulnerable motions. "You're sure you want this."
"I'm sure I want you," Scar says, unwavering.
Grian breathes in. Breathes out. Inhale and exhale, both a heavy drag in his lungs. Already, the sun is beginning to strengthen, casting thick rays through the window and splaying them across Grian’s lap. The advent of gilded noon weaves around them, perfuming the air with light and heat.
"Okay," Grian says at last, and it drops from his lips with the weight of a confession; a relinquishment; a solemn vow. "Okay."
This time, when Scar reaches for his hand again, Grian meets him halfway, and the tangle of their fingers nets the sunflower in a promise neatly between them.
#scarian#desert duo#desertduo#goodtimeswithscar#grian#secret life#secret life spoilers#trafficshipping#trafficblr#traffic series#mcyt#hermitcraft#hermitshipping#mcyt fic#shouting speaks#my fics#THREE TIMES THE CHARM PLEASE POST PLEASE POST PLEASE POST I'LL CRY#i had to take an hour in between attempting this again RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH I WILL NOT BE SILENCED LET ME LIIIIIIVE#anyway im so unwell. imm so unwell#gods. scargirls we are WINNINGGGGGGGG LFGGGGG#HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY THIS I CANT WAIT TO POST IT TO AO3#txt
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I want to briefly adress another BIG misconception about Greek gods that has (quite recently) been going on around the Internet. And it is again part due to the Percy Jackson TV show. I insist on the "TV show", because as we now know, the TV show made some changes to the book's original plotline when it came to the gods interacting with their children (like Athena's move with Echidna *cough cough*), and as a result here is what I have been hearing here and there.
"Yeah, well the Greek gods were all assholes, right, but what PJ REALLY got right was that they were especially assholes to their own children and the worst abusive parents ever".
... No?
In fact this is almost a counter-interpretation of Greek mythology, because in Greek myths and legends, the whole point was that, when a god was being an "asshole" as you say, they were an asshole to everybody... except their children. One of the reasons the Greek gods can look "bad" by modern standards is precisely because they had an habit of favorizing their own children, and taking care about them more than about other beings.
The most famous of these myths is of course Demeter's immense love and hyper-protection of Persephone - just look at the trials she went through to find her back after she disappeared.
Another famous example is how Poseidon turned on Odysseus and plagued him with curses and monsters for blinding his son - Polyphemus the cyclop (and the whole point here is that Poseidon favorized his son, despite his son being the actual criminal and monster in the case)
Ares, who was not one of the best gods, still went on an avenging mode every time his children were attacked, from the dragon slain by Cadmos to the rape of Alcippe.
There's how Apollo went berserk after the death of Asclepios. There's how Herakles had planned to be favorized by Fate since his birth thanks to Zeus, and how the entire reason Zeus inflicted on his wife the atrocious torture of hanging chained up by the sky was because he had enough of her constantly tormenting Herakles in the worst ways possible. Even Athena ended up taking care of Erichthonius as her own child despite her not being his true mother - showing that even the virgin, sexless, childless goddess has a mothering side to her.
It all goes back to Gaia, and how she keeps turning against Zeus for each time vanquishing her children - from the Titans, to the Giants, to Typhon - despite these children being again, bad news and even hurting Gaia herself. Another example of "primordial motherhood": Nyx shelters Hypnos from Zeus' wrath in the Iliad, and not even Zeus would dare anger such an elderly mother-goddess. And if we push beyond the boundaries of Greek mythology and into the very late Roman literature, we see this trend continues with Aphrodite's smothering-mothering of Eros during the Psyche legend.
A good lot of conflicts and feuds and problems in Greek mythology was precisely due to how much the gods loved their children, and how protective they were of them - with the problem that the god had the tendency to be blind to whether their children were good or evil, victims or criminals.
This is why, for example, Zeus and Hera's relationships to their children were especially important and unique in Greek myths, in the light of this god's tendency to favorize and spoil and protect their own children.
On Hera's case, her action of, for example, throwing Hephaistos into the sea at birth just because he is "ugly" is meant to come off as massively shocking. Remember that in a good bunch of Greek myths, Hera had a negative, evil, dangerous side to her, that popped up in various ways - from her jealous, vain, angry personality to how in some versions she literaly gave birth to Typhon... Unlike Zeus, who was the "ultimate father", Hera wasn't (in myths, I insist) seen as a postive mother, and was more of a mother-of-monsters avatar (after all, she did command a lot of Greek monsters), or an anti-mother (she was the one who prevented Leto from giving birth, a powerful symbol).
On the other side, Zeus was also seen regularly punishing or being very harsh to his children, but there was the secret to his character: Zeus had to act both as a father, and as a king. He embodied the all loving ancestor and the all powerful father, but he also had to act as the embodiment of law and of justice, and those two aspects of his personality clashed a lot. We see him punish his divine children regularly, but almost always because his role as the enforcer of the law primed over his role as a father - for example when he wanted to throw Apollo into Tartarus because he had caused a Cyclop genocide out of anger. But he still had this same "over-parenting" side as the other gods. Again, Herakles was one of his favorite children and he tried to arrange everything so that he could have the greatest life ever - but his official side as the "political" and "civilization" god caught up to him when Hera tricked him into swearing away the gifts he had intended for Herakles. Despite Zeus' immense love for his son, his oath and the law he embodies took over and prevented him from sheltering Herakles from Hera's hatred. The most revealing case of this "father vs king" aspect of Zeus' personality comes from the Iliad: it is the death of Saperdon.
When Zeus looks upon the Trojan War and sees that his son will soon die, he is very heavily tempted from interfering. He explicitely wishes to save him, and to change the scales of fate to avoid his impending death (because remember in the Iliad Zeus was still the god of fate who literaly weighed humans' destinities in his scale). That's his "father" side showing up. But then Hera, who is by his side, who is his queen and thus his "political" side, reminds him of his duty as a king and of his role as ultimate judge of the world and ruler of the gods. She points out he would break the very own law he imposed of not interfering with the mortal conflict. She reminds him that, as the setter of examples, if he saved Sarpedon, he would create a precedent and other gods could also start saving their own children from the war. She reminds him that he has a role as the god of law and fate, and that he can't allow his personal feelings to interfere in the matter, else he would be unfair and unjust. And thus, Zeus resignates himself to let his son die before his eyes - but he still shows his immense love for him by both sending a shower of blood as a sign of his grief, and then ordering Apollo, Hypnos and Thanatos in person to carry Sarpedon's corpse away (predating future legends about great kings and heroes taken into the afterlife by supernatural figures, like Arthur collected by Morgan and the ladies of Avalon).
In conclusion: having the gods act as if they were all bad, abusive, absent parents not getting involved in their children's life or not caring about them is actually going against what the mythology originally said in terms of characterization. The untold rule of Greek mythology was that, if gods were bad parents, it would be because they were too loving, too protective, too smothering, too spoiling, interfering too much. Not the other way around - unless you were Hera, of course. Meanwhile, having the gods act as "assholes" and bullies towards OTHER GODS' children, now that would be accurate to Greek mythology (this is the very basis of Hera's cycle of legends as a persecuting goddess). But the gods usually stuck by the side of their own children - a bit like how in a school's football or soccer game the parents end up fighting each other because of what their children did or did not do in the game.
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—"POETIC RIZZ" various
SYNOPSIS: Horrible 3AM post—Just a bunch of random quotes/lines from various shows & books that i mixed together (Also diasomnia has the best rizz ngl)
WHEN HE SAYS “ILY”, BUT RIDDLE ONCE SAID
"In vain, I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. One word from you will silence me on this subject forever. And so I beg you, most fervently, to relieve my suffering and consent to be my lover."
WHEN HE SAYS “ILY”, BUT DEUCE ONCE SAID
“This feeling has possessed me, I think and...I wanted to tell you that wherever you may end up in this world, I will be searching for you. I'm not afraid of anything now. I finally understand. I'm in love. We're in love. That means we'll meet again. I'm sure of it. ”
WHEN HE SAYS “ILY”, BUT LEONA ONCE SAID
"I had not intended to love but now, I have for the first time found what I can truly love—I have found you. And I will love you until I die, and if there is life after that, I'll love you then. You're more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same."
WHEN HE SAYS “ILY”, BUT RUGGIE ONCE SAID
“I love you but I know it's not gonna be easy. It's going to be really hard; I'm gonna have to work at this everyday, but I want to do that because I want you; forever and everyday.—I am who I am because of you. You are every reason, every hope, and every dream I've ever had, and no matter what happens to us in the future, everyday we are together is the greatest day of my life."
WHEN HE SAYS “ILY”, BUT AZUL ONCE SAID
"I desire more…than what's within my reach. Who blames me? Many call me discontented. I couldn't help it: the greed is in my nature. Please just bear with me. You pierce through my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it."
WHEN HE SAYS “ILY”, BUT JADE ONCE SAID
"I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.I long for you; I who usually longs without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you. Moreover, you are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love."
WHEN HE SAYS “ILY”, BUT FLOYD ONCE SAID
"I heard what you said. I’m not the sappy romantic you think. I don’t want the heavens or the shooting stars. I don’t want seaglass or shiny pearls. I have all those things already. I want…you. A steady hand. A kind soul. I want to fall asleep, and wake, knowing my heart is safe. I want to love you, and be loved by you."
WHEN HE SAYS “ILY”, BUT IDIA ONCE SAID
"My Persephone, I would have chosen you a thousand times over, the Fates be damned. Even if they unraveled our destiny, I would find a way back to you. All my heart is yours: it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever."
WHEN HE SAYS “ILY”, BUT VIL ONCE SAID
"Darling you are mistaken, and you know nothing about me, and nothing about the sort of love of which I am capable. Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own. Now, tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you, anyway. Yes, you make mistakes, are out of control and at times hard to handle. But if I can't handle you at your worst, then I surely don't deserve you at your best."
WHEN HE SAYS “ILY”, BUT ROOK ONCE SAID
"In beauty of face and soul, no maiden ever equaled you. If I were to be blinded the moment I laid eyes upon your incandescent form, I would not grieve, for in that very instance I have truly gazed upon everlasting beauty."
WHEN HE SAYS “ILY”, BUT LILIA ONCE SAID
"Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad. But I beg of you do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you. Oh, God..It is unutterable. I can not live without you in my life. I can not live without my soul. It is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone."
WHEN HE SAYS “ILY”, BUT MALLEUS ONCE SAID
“I have little left in myself—I must have you. The world may laugh—may call me absurd, selfish—but it does not signify. My very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame.”
WHEN HE SAYS “ILY”, BUT SEBEK ONCE SAID
"I am a gentleman. I have been raised to act with honor, but that honor is hanging by a thread that grows more precarious with every moment I spend in your presence. You are the bane of my existence, and the object of all my desires."
WHEN HE SAYS “ILY”, BUT SILVER ONCE SAID
"I have a strange feeling with regard to you. On some days—I have dreamed and wished I was one of your tears. To be born in your eyes, roll down your cheeks, and to die on your lips."
#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#riddle rosehearts x reader#deuce spade x reader#leona kingscholar x reader#ruggie bucchi x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#jade leech x reader#floyd leech x reader#vil schoenheit x reader#rook hunt x reader#idia shroud x reader#malleus draconia x reader#sebek zigvolt x reader#lilia vanrouge x reader#silver vanrouge x reader#silver x reader
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toxic rafe who makes reader cry
𝒩ℴ𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾 𝓂ℯ𝒶𝓃𝓉
awww ): I obviously do not condone any of this irl, this is purely fiction!!
Warnings- toxic!rafe, name calling (slut), drugs, rafe is on drugs (so shocked aren’t we), mention of blood, overall, I am not responsible for whatever you read, Read at your own risk ⚠️
When Rafe was on a high- he wasn’t himself. He was usually more angry, doing and saying stupid shit without thinking. Usually, he wasn’t this rude to you.
You were at a party with him, you were just talking with your friends friend. Of course, Rafe had just taken a line of cocaine and stumbled upon you. Your friend was in the bathroom so you were left alone with the guy. Rafe stared from afar.
It was awkward until he made a joke about someone, making you crack a smile and laugh. You were feeling a little tipsy, having trouble balancing. He extended a hand out, asking if you’re okay and helping you balance again by grabbing onto your arm.
Rafes jaw tightened, grinding his teeth together slightly, biting his nails as he watched.
“I’m fine, thank you.” You gave him another smile, Rafe got closer to hear the conversation.
The man gave you a smile and nodded, taking his hand off you gently. You both made friendly conversation, asking him where in the area did he live and stuff like that.
But Rafe saw it as more. The music giving him a pounding headache, he mumbled something to himself and walked over to you.
Without looking at you or addressing you, his fist collided with the man’s face.
“Rafe! What the fuck?!”
Onlookers had watched you desperately attempt to pull him off the man as the two fought, Rafe was winning- his knuckles and face bloodied from the man.
Topper and Barry looked at each other, looking at Rafe and grabbing him by his arms and throwing him outside while you followed.
“Dude, the fuck was that?” Topper asked him, voice raised. He looked into his red, squinted eyes.
“I thought you were getting clean.” You mumbled as you stepped outside, heart shattering for him at hearing it.
“Well, I’m fucking not, okay? You’re not my fucking mom, let go.” He said, pulling his arm away from Toppers grip and walking away.
You followed after him, trying to talk him out of driving, knowing how he drove when he was high, you were likely to get into a crash or something.
“Let me drive,” you tried to say, attempting to grab the keys, your attempts in vain.
“No.” Was all he said, you looked back at Topper and Barry who tried to keep up, but Rafe was walking fast, a little fast for you.
They ran after him when he grabbed your arm roughly, practically dragging you into the car as you protested.
They peeled him off you, there could be sirens heard from afar. He tried to fight off the two holding him, shouting and yelling for them to let him go.
“Rafe. You’re going to make shit worse if you run away.” You told him in a quiet voice, gently grabbing his face and looking into his eyes.
“Shut the fuck up, slut.” He spat out, looking into yours.
Those words hurt, a pang in your chest as you furrowed your eyebrows. Topper and Barry held him back as he talked.
“Don’t look at me confused. You’re fuckin’ parading yourself out for every guy to see, you’re no better than a fuckin’ prostitute. Why do you think I was gonna kill that guy?” He spoke, voice laced with venom.
“What?” Tears began to well in your eyes. You let go of his face.
“You’re. A. No. good. slut.” He said, almost in a teasing tone. “And i want you to fuckin’ go home, pack up all your shit.”
Your lip quivered as you looked at him. You both stood in silence for a little before you slapped him.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
It was then that he felt himself become more normal, as he realized he’d done something wrong. All the adrenaline and the drugs had made him blind.
“Wait, baby, I didn’t mean what I said-“ he quickly spoke as you walked away. Barry and Topper held him until you drove away, he saw you wiping your tears before you left.
He choked out a sob, Barry and Topper letting him go. He fell to his knees on the floor, feeling so vulnerable, he didn’t care that everyone else saw him. He just wanted you.
#rafe obx#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x you#rafe outer banks#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe x reader#rafe imagine#rafe fic#rafe cameron x reader#outerbanks rafe#obx fanfiction
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"your a woman, you supposed to take Rhaenyra's side!!"
My dude, why would you discriminate for her just because she's a woman? You guys just go blind because she's a woman. You're the one who give her a pass because she's a woman.
I never understood these feminist fight.
Feminism is about equality, but nothing was equal between Aegon and Rhaenyra.
Their childhood and adolescence were different like the earth and the sky. Their age, their marriage, the way others treated them and in short everything about them was unequal.
When reading F&B I didn't care much for Aegon when he was introduced as this lazy, unambitious sot. But as the war progressed I couldn't help but notice his resilience, courage and intelligence and root for him.
Look at what Aegon was like in the earlier parts of F&B. He drank a lot, groped and pinched serving girls, potentially fathered multiple unacknowledged bastards, and was an all-round dick. He wasn’t as fierce as Aemond, as courteous as Daeron, or as gentle as Helaena. He started a fight at the family feast when Jace offered a dance to Helaena (the same wife whom he was serially unfaithful to). While the Greens launched their coup, he was at some degenerate “revels”. When Aemond murdered 13-year-old Luke, he threw a celebration and called it “a good start.”
But after the Dance’s actual battles began, Aegon really lived up to his title! He had Criston Cole capture Duskendale and Rook’s Rest, and then fought on Sunfyre to take out Rhaenys when she fell for the bait. Despite his crippling injuries, he survived. Even after his sons were butchered and King’s Landing fell, he fought on. Aegon and Sunfyre recovered on Dragonstone, with Sunfyre killing Grey Ghost along the way. Then Aegon and his forces took the castle under the Blacks’ noses. He and Sunfyre won yet another dragon battle against Baela. And again Aegon clings onto life in the face of crippling injuries. Then he traps and kills Rhaenyra while uttering a fantastic line "Rhaenyra: My lords will find me. Aegon: If they search the seven hells mayhaps." He returns to KL as King. The various self-proclaimed monarchs and the Shepherd are promptly defeated. It is a hell of a comeback considering Aegon’s state when he left the capital.
It's remarkable how quickly he grows into his role as king and how devoted to his cause he becomes by the end. He is determined to reclaim his father's throne, to restore order to kings landing by putting down the rebellion and punishing the insurgents, make peace with his enemies, he already plans to marry a Baratheon girl not for love but for duty to get an heir again. From the irresponsible, lazy drunk he supposedly was you would expect him to be vain, selfish and hedonistic, someone who only pursues his own pleasure and expects others to do the hard work, but no the hardships and responsibilities shaped him into someone who takes duty seriously. Even though prone to make rash, and imprudent decisions he also had the favourable quality to listen to the counsel of wiser and more experienced people around him and nearly always follows their advice. I think towards the end of the Dance it's painfully clear he is a better ruler than Rhaenyra.
Aegon had a 13 to 4 dragon disadvantage and a 53 to 28 House disadvantage, does this seems equal to you? Yet he still won (now if you wanna tell me "But Rhaenyra's lineage continued" pls shut your mouth because we are talking about the winner of war and the win you guys are so proud of is a fucking joke)
It’s hard for me to call him a bad King because he was given the worst situation of any King in Westerosi history with a civil war where you’re at a disadvantage starting out. The Greens should’ve been steamrolled but thanks to Aegon resiliency and Rhaenyra’s incompetent they weren’t.
People show you who they really are when they are tested and things are not going their way. Rhaenyra was tested and failed to rise to the occasion every single time. I find Rhaenyra utterly, utterly pathetic, without any redeeming quality as a ruler, as a person, as a woman.
By marrying and having kids with Daemon, she pretty much guaranteed a three-way civil war between Daemon's sons, her bastards, and her brothers the minute she dropped dead. So it doesn't matter if it was Aegon who sat on iron throne, this war was supposed to happen.
We saw Rhaenyra rule. She was a disaster. A ruler who puts their selfish desires above duty will always be a disaster. That's what Rhaenyra was: a selfish entitled person who didn't give a fuck about anyone other than herself. It's a miracle she had such decent kids.
Rhaenyra had a better council. The Sea Snake was wealthy and powerful, Rhaenys was beloved by many and respected as well. Meanwhile, Aegon's advisors were mostly Hightower cronies and quite a few were motivated mostly to spite Rhaenyra. Yet she fucked that up.
Rhaenyra literally was kicked out of the throne because people were tired of her reign, no one had this opposition besides Maegor.
People also like to excuse her cruelty and stupidity during her brief reign as a queen because she lost her children during the war. But Rhaenyra was a selfish entitled person long before she became queen or lost any of her kids. She wanted Aemond, who was just a boy, punished for calling her boys bastards, which they were. She murdered and advocated torture to keep up the lie. Let's not forget how she murdered Vaemond Velaryon for speaking up against Lucerys inheriting Driftmark ahead of trueborn Velaryons.
Or how she ignored the entire reason she was made heir by marrying Daemon anyway when she was made heir to keep that psychopath from the throne. All these things happened before Rhaenyra lost any of her children or got usurped. The losses didn't change her. They just worsened what she already was.
She ordered daily executions, established "knights inquisitors" to hunt down innocent children, would not offer peace terms, imposed ridiculous taxes while throwing a lavish birthday party for her son, and then tried to have her allies murdered.
She is insanely selfish - am I the only one who thinks she's a very very scary narcissist? Never in the whole course of her life has she had a single concern about others - it's always about herself, her children who she sees as an extension of herself. Even the great narcissist Cersei has shown some small sympathy towards Sansa when she was engaged to Joffrey. She never even bothered to visit or care for her father, instead she was chilling with her creepy uncle on Dragonstone.
She uses and manipulates, and tramples over others and treats her allies like absolute garbage. Corlys Velaryon was first grandcucked, then got his son murdered either by her or her husband, then got his granddaughters deprived of their birthrights and betrothed to bastards. Yet for some reason still supports his great abuser. What did he get in return? Being thrown in the black cells for trying to save the life of his innocent and loyal bastard son.
She inspires zero loyalty and devotion from either her people or the nobles. She insults important nobles who have never offended her, doesn't make alliances, calls the small folk scum and taxes them to death. No wonder they call her Queen Maegor and threw her out of the city. She doesn't make one single selfless and smart political decision. The Vale and the North might have supported her on paper - they hardly did anything until the war was almost over - she had no real allies except some semi-god Rivermen who were scared into supporting her by Daemon.
She is an utter coward and liar. Her youngest son and teenage stepdaughter both took to dragon back before her, as she hid like a coward and sent others to die for her. She took it for granted that others should die for her ungrateful and pathetic cause. She gaslights others into lying about her bastards' parentage and maims/executes everyone who disagrees.
She is a cruel, stupid and atrocious ruler with zero redeeming quality. She filled her council with idiots like Bartimus Celtigar and some Kingsguard/Commander who don't know a single thing about ruling. She listened to the counsel of that child-murderer Mysaria. She never made allies or made sensible political decisions. Her eldest son Jace has ten times her diplomatic skills.
She was extremely cruel during her short reign as Queen. She beheaded people daily, filled the city with terror, imposed crazy taxes including taxes on bastards, imprisoned any dissenters, made people pay to watch executions, threw a feast while people starved and resulted in all the dragons being killed.
She never defends the rights of other women, she thinks she is the special exception to the patriarchy. Just ask Lord Rosby's daughter. She usurps her stepdaughter's birthright in favor of her bastards.
She fully deserved her fate, because she spent her whole life avoiding duty and responsibility, using, abusing and manipulating those closest to her, ruled like a tyrant and led to the extinction of her dynasty.
Tell me one positive quality of this utter failure of a Targaryen has and I will refute you.
Aegon suffered much more than Rhaenyra but he didn't give up, all these events only made him grow and become stronger unlike Rhaenyra who fucked everything up and got worse day by day. He lived in real world and knows if he don't fight for himself no one gonna do that, but Rhaenyra was still on her I'm my daddy's princess so I do whatever the fuck that I want era. like a leech, Rhaenyra relied on others to survive, she was delulu. Oh did I mention she sold her crown and ran away like a coward? Did I mention Aegon had to clean the mess that she made?
And did you guys noticed almost all the rulers after Aegon II are mad, stupid, useless, coward? Just like Rhaenyra.
Now you can disagrees with me, that's ok but don't even try to fight with me about her or try to change my mind because it's not gonna work. Idk about you but I don't want my feminist icon to be someone like Rhaenyra.
Oh and if you wanna use "but Aegon was a rapist" card go read the fucking book or this post.
#house of the dragon#house targaryen#house of dragons#aemond targaryen#aegon ii targaryen#hotd#anti team black#anti rhaenyra stans#anti rhaenyra targaryen#pro team green#team green#aemond one eye#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon ii#aegon targaryen#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#alicent hightower#dance of the dragons#aegon x reader#aegon ii targaryen x reader#king aegon#hotd aegon#hotd aemond
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Psycho Killer AU Masterlist
Summary: A drunken dare and chance encounter jump-starts a whole new life.
Warnings: Psychological horror, dubcon, gore, death - See each entry for individual warnings. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI
A/N: All titles come from Psycho Killer by The Talking Heads
We Are Vain & We Are Blind
When you move back in with your parents after a broken engagement, a drunken dare to visit the scary house on the edge of town changes everything for you. Forever.
Don't Touch Me, I'm a Real Live Wire
You take a trip to Boston
Qu'est-ce Que C'est
You and Ransom go to Paris.
I Can't Sleep Cause My Bed's On Fire
In Germany, you and Ransom run into someone from his past.
Continuing AU
#psycho killer au#we are vain & we are blind#ransom drysdale#dark ransom drysdale#ransom drysdale x reader#ransom drysdale x female reader#ransom drysdale x you#dark!ransom drysdale#knives out#dark reader#reader insert#fanfic#vampire au#series masterlist#masterlist#ce characters#chris evans fanfiction#kris wrote something
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soul haze || choi seungcheol
soul glow
summary: you had just gotten home after leaving the seventeen concert early, only for your phone to start ringing with what you think is the biggest joke of the century. it turns out, that maybe you left too early.
pairing: choi seungcheol x neurodivergent reader
genre: soulmates, soul bonds, idol au, angst
warnings: some insecurity, angst, not much
after many requests here is the second part to soul glow! enjoy :)
------------------------------
You kept the lights off when you closed the door behind you, still overstimulated and almost needing the reprieve the darkness allowed. It's also not like you didn't know your apartment like the back of your hand, everything placed meticulously and to your liking.
Locking the door, you maneuvered yourself to your bathroom, needing to remove the make up your friend had put on you before the concert. You could feel it on your skin and that was something that always seemed to bother you when you became overstimulated. You couldn’t help it.
Once you felt that all of it was gone, you used your favorite moisturizer on your skin, loving that it cooled you down and left you feeling like you skin was soft. You know it was on your skin, but instead of feeling it on your skin, it was like it blended in perfectly, not just sitting on the surface.
You were about to get changed into your pajamas when your phone rang, an unknown number coming up on your screen. You ignored it the first time, but the second time and then the third time had you wondering just who was calling you at almost ten pm. On the fourth ring you finally picked up the phone.
“Hello, who—” You were cut off by a man’s deep voice.
“Is this the phone of Ms. Y/n L/n?” Your face turned up in complete confusion, not wanting to deal with an important phone call so late when you were already overstimulated.
“Uhm, can I ask who is calling first before I give that answer?” You try in vain to see who was calling, as they just insist on asking if this was your phone number or not.
“Is this Ms. L/n speaking?”
“Yes. Now can I ask who is calling me so late at night?” You almost spit out, already tired of the person on the other end.
“This is the manager for the group Seventeen who you just saw perform in concert. Now, before you hang up—” You almost look out your blinds, wondering how this man knew you were about to hang up the phone, now thinking this call is a huge prank.
“Please note that you and your friend sat in row 1 seats 8 and 9 and you left the concert early. We also have your friend’s license plate number and both of your ticket confirmation numbers if you still don’t believe me.” Your eyes had now widened considerably, any tiredness now leaving your eyes and body.
You were feeling a little scared at this point and were trying to figure out if you had broken any rule or etiquette at the concert that you didn’t know about. It was your first concert and you truly were worried that you did something wrong now.
“Miss, are you there?” You hadn’t even realized you had spaced out, not listening to the man on the phone.
“Uhm, y-yes I am.” You stuttered your reply. “Am I in trouble?’
“Uhm, no miss, you aren’t in any trouble—” You cut him off this time.
“I promise I didn’t mean to break any rules or anything. It was my first concert and I tried to learn proper etiquette before hand—”
“Miss. I can assure you aren’t in trouble—” You can hear struggling happening on the other side of the phone and a new voice starts talking.
---
Scoups was freaking out now, fearing you had gotten away and they would never find you, he would never find you. He could feel Jeonghan and Mingyu trying to talk to him but all he could imagine was the thought of never getting to hold you.
That all stopped when he heard his manager on the phone, reassuring someone that they weren’t in trouble. He couldn’t stop himself; he just barreled forward and took the phone from his now frozen manager.
“Y/n?” He asks, voice shaky as he feared he took the phone when it wasn’t his soulmate on the other end.
“Yes?” He could feel his heart begin racing, hearing your voice. He knew it was you, then and there. The tingles he felt and the beating of his heart didn’t lie.
He didn’t speak the best English, and he didn’t know how to vocalize what he wanted in his moment of urgency, so he called Joshua over, who was the closest, and told him what he wanted to say.
“Tell her that she needs to come back to the stadium, that we will get a vehicle for her if needed.” He was straight to the point, his urgency almost bordering the line of manic, his fear of you disappearing covering his usual calm nature.
---
“Hi, this is Joshua, Scoups does not speak the best English so he is asking me to translate, is this okay?” Oh, my, goodness. You were now on the phone with one of your biases. You felt way in over your head and that this was all a dream.
“Uhm, hello. I—uh yes, that’s fine. I do speak some Korean but I am still learning.” You mention your knowledge of the Korean language hoping that it would help them communicate if needed. You didn’t know if you would be of any help, you had no clue what was going on at all.
“Oh, that’s awesome. Well, is it possible for you to come back to the stadium? There are some things we need to discuss with you in person. It is very important.” You tilted your head to the side, confusion coming back into your head as shock is pushed to the back.
“I, uhm, my friend just dropped me off at home. I don’t have a way back to the stadium.”
“We can send a car right now. What is your address?” Joshua is quick to respond, ignoring Scoups hitting him in the shoulder and trying to get him to ask you more things.
You give the man your address, hearing the almost stress in his voice. You would hate to cause anyone trouble, especially people who just finished an almost three hour concert and were probably dead on their feet.
“Keep her on the phone, don’t let her hang up!” Someone tells Joshua, making you question everything.
“Who was that? Why do I need to stay on the phone?” You ask after slowly translating their words in your head.
“Uhm, that was Scoups, and we just want to make sure you get here safe!” You can tell the excuse was said by someone else, Joshua just repeating the words.
To be honest, you were so tired and still overstimulated that you just decided to go along with everything hoping it meant you could get home sooner and into bed. You were bordering non-verbal again but you didn’t want to make things difficult for anyone, especially when they claim this was an important thing.
You hated feeling like a burden. Like you were being difficult.
By the time the car arrived for you, you had been asked a couple more questions, just basic things like what your favorite Seventeen song was, or when you became a carat. You think they were just trying to pass the time, but you still had a hard time answering them.
You had grabbed your concert bag, thankful you hadn’t taken anything out of it yet, and made your way out to the car.
It took about an hour to make it back to the stadium and inside, given the after-concert traffic, but you made it inside and the person who drove you there helped you get past security where someone was waiting for you.
“Are you Miss Y/n” He was wearing a tour shirt and black jeans and lots of wires with a small earpiece. You figured he was someone on the Seventeen management or security team. The driver walked you forward, leaving you with a nod of his head.
“Yes, sir.” Your voice was quiet. You tried hard to project your voice but it was like the connection between your brain and your voice box was faulty.
“Please come this way.” The man had such a bright smile on his face with his dimples peeking through, that you almost felt uncomfortable. You were bordering grumpy now, not having slept or bed in bed by your normal time.
“We are very that excited you are here.” The man tries to make small talk, but you don’t understand what he is trying to imply and it makes you even more annoyed. You don’t manage to respond by the time he stops in front of a door to your right.
“You can go on in, Miss.” You nod your head in thanks, before slowly turning the door handle and pushing your way in.
The first thing you notice is a bright, glowing silhouette, surrounding Scoups. You stood frozen, the both of you, just taking each other in. Him seeing you up close for the first time, and you trying your hardest not to faint at the implication of the glow.
You knew what it meant, and suddenly everything made sense for why they needed you back to the stadium, as quick as you could. You were in a haze by the bright glow of the soul bond, realizing Scoups was your soulmate.
You were still frozen in the doorway, trying to make sense of your soul bond when Scoups pushed forward, slowly and cautiously as he watched you. He thought you looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and it caused him some discomfort, seeing you like that.
“Hello, my glow.” His voice was deep, yet soft as he approached you, causing tingles to shoot up your spine.
“Can I—Can I hold you?” He just wanted to comfort you, feeling in his soul that you needed it and he couldn’t help but to take your silence and your doe eyes as a response. You could just feel his arms wrap around you, as if he knew exactly what you needed in that moment, something to ground you, to support you.
The second his arms were around you, the glow you both held disappeared and you both felt like a weight was lifted from your shoulders. Both of your bodies almost immediately loosened, all of the tension leaving your bodies.
“My glow.” Scoups whispered affectionately in your ears, pulling you into the room without letting you go from his embrace.
“I’ve found you.”
#scoups#soulmarks#soulmates#scoups x reader#scoups fluff#scoups seventeen#seventeen soulmate au#seventeen imagines#svt scoups x reader#svt scoups#scoups soulmate#bluemari23
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lay me down to sleep, p.2.
summary: you die in their arms (ft. alhaitham, scaramouche, la signora, kokomi).
notes: 1.1k words, drabbles, angst, reader death, mentions of violence and blood
Alhaitham
In your final moments, Alhaitham can do nothing but hold you.
Your injuries are fatal. Even if a healer could get to you in time, you’re losing too much blood. There is nothing more he can do to save you.
Your breathing is shallow as Alhaitham tries to ease your pain, stroking your face in that way you so love. Your eyes are stuttering closed as you fight in vain to keep your gaze locked on him.
“I want to go on a date again,” you say lightly, as if this was an ordinary afternoon spent lazing around his flat.
“This weekend, maybe. I can take a break.”
Your laughter turns into coughs, and he rubs your back. “Break? Don’t you mean you’re going to ignore whatever assignments the sages give you?”
“They shouldn’t give tedious assignments, then.”
You sigh, your voice growing fainter. “We’ll see each other again, right?”
“We will.”
You have no more words left, and Alhaitham can do nothing but watch as the life drains out of you, as your breathing stills, as your eyes close for the final time. Then, he delicately lifts up your body in his arms.
What foolish Akademiya sage has conspired against him, deigning to steal the life of someone he loves as petty revenge? Truly, how did someone like that rise in the ranks? Did they mean to break him with this?
Death comes to every living thing, returning them to the forest. He will grieve and learn to live without you one day. That is the natural course of life.
But before then, he will rip his enemies from their seats. You were worth hundreds of those doddering fools, and they will pay the consequences of tearing your future away from you, far too soon.
Scaramouche
How dare you.
How dare you.
You traitorous human, with your foolish promises. What gives you the right to give him a heart and then callously rip it right back out? How could you give a puppet a taste of love and expect him to survive without you?
Blood blooms like flowers across your chest as Scaramouche rips the cloth from his shirt to press against your wounds, but it’s not enough. He knows it’s not enough, but if he doesn’t do something, then...
“You are going to survive,” he spits out, voice ragged, even as he cradles you with all the tenderness afforded to him. “I’m never going to forgive you if you die.”
“Kuni...” you say faintly, blood trailing down your chin. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” he hisses.
“I love you.”
Stop. Don’t speak like that. Don’t act like this is goodbye. Don’t give up already.
“You’re going to be okay,” he says, hands shaking. Why is there so much blood? His vision blurs, damned tears trailing down his cheeks.
You raise a trembling hand, wiping away his tears with a gentle thumb. He leans into your touch, clutches your hand to him like it’s a lifeline.
Even as your eyes dim, even as your touch grows cold, he doesn’t stop. If Scaramouche keeps holding you, if he keeps fighting against your wounds, then you would be okay, wouldn’t you?
Stupid humans. So weak, so frail. He would have prayed to his mother, given up on his chance of divinity, and still, you leave him anyways. Tears fall like rain on your face, but you can no longer wipe them away.
Scaramouche should known better. The world is nothing but lies, and now it is not even worth believing in without you.
La Signora
The gods cannot take you away from her.
Not you. Never you.
You, with your blinding smile and your gentle touch. You, who melts the frost around her heart, soothes the heat of her eternal agony.
Why must she pay this price again? Are there not thousands of filthy vermin out there, who deserve this more than you?
Maybe it is her fault, for daring to keep you close. For believing she could be happy again. For forgetting, for even a second, that she is no longer an ordinary woman.
“Don’t... cry,” you say. “Rosalyne...”
Had she been crying? La Signora presses her lips against your forehead. “Who did this to you? Who?”
You shake your head. “No... it’s... it’s okay...”
“I won’t let them get away with this. Tell me.”
“No...” Your breath hitches as you try to force words out of your dying throat. “Be... be happy... Don’t...”
Be happy? Without you? Knowing that, once again, she has failed to protect someone she loves?
You fall silent for the last time. She will never know what it is that you were about to say.
La Signora kisses your face reverently, her final blessings to her guiding light. She can never fulfill your dying wishes for her. It’s far, far too late for such a thing. Her happiness dies with you.
The world will pay the price for taking you away.
Kokomi
Think, think, think.
She has to find some way to keep you alive. Thousands of pages of strategies, hundreds of books, and none of them can help her in this moment. What use is a strategist who can’t save the life of the person she loves?
“Don’t hyperventilate,” Kokomi says softly. “Deep breaths. Come on, you can do it.”
A battle rages around her: cries of agony, the clash of steel. Gorou struggling to keep the fighting away from her. But she can only focus on you, on the arrows sticking out of your back.
It’s too late. That’s what all her training whispers. You’re already gone, and she needs to return to the battle. Her healing is useless at this point.
“Kokomi,” you whisper. “Please...”
“You can make it,” she says, ignoring your pleas. Her vision pulses as she sends another fruitless burst of healing your way. “Don’t give up yet.”
“It’s okay,” you breathe. “It’s okay.”
“It will be okay. I’ll keep you safe.”
“I love you.” How could you be so cruel and say goodbye like that when she isn’t ready? Tears burn her eyes as your breathing slows, and stops. Still, she sends another burst of healing. Over, and over, and over.
Your body doesn’t react, and she clutches you close, burying her head into the crook of your neck. There is no war without loss, but it was never supposed to be you, her pearl, her love. Selfishly, she would have traded eternity for a few more minutes in your arms.
So be it.
If you had to pay the price for the Raiden Shogun’s arrogance with your life, then Kokomi would not stop until she tore down the god from her throne.
#liya writes#genshin impact#alhaitham#scaramouche#la signora#kokomi#genshin impact x reader#alhaitham x reader#scaramouche x reader#la signora x reader#kokomi x reader#i <3 making my fav characters lose their shit
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London || JTK
18+MDNI
Paring: asshole!Jakexreader(f)
A/N: ITS FINALLY HERE! I can’t even tell y’all how nervous I am; this is my first fic AND the first smut I’ve ever written. I’m a Third Eye Blind freak and just generally think this song is one of the sexiest songs in existence so naturally I knew I wanted to write this fic. Big big love and thank you’s for my editor @tommie-gvf. I loved writing this so much and didn’t think it could get any better until I saw everyone’s reactions.❤️🩹
I ask for your patience as I’m a beginner and am very open to criticism. Pretty please tell me what you think!
Summary || Jake has a lover that lives in London. He visits her every time he’s in town, but recently the simmering situationship has taken a toxic turn.
Content Warnings || swearing, alcohol consumption, party setting, toxic relationship, jealousy, over possession, verbal aggression, slight physical aggression, big angst, graphic sexual depictions
Kink Content || dom(m) and sub(f) shift, [semi] public sex, dirty talk; praise & [public] degradation, sadism, zelophilia, katoptronophilia, daddy kink, slight impact play, nipple play, dry humping, hand job, ejaculation(f), oral sex(f receiving), penetrational sex
Word Count || 8.3k+
*disclaimer - I have no idea how to write any European, reader’s origin is up for interpretation*
You continue to refresh your phone screen in hopes that it will load a new message or maybe even reveal a glitch.
“You know,” your best friend, Claire, aspires to tempt you back to reality, “that guy hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since we got here, right?”
A hum in acknowledgment of her bait is the only thing your split attention will allow as you proceed in refreshing your messages. Even going as far to restart your phone.
“He's kind of cute,” you return another hum as she sings further, “like really cute.”
“Go on then, have a go,” you try to push her self-assigned matchmaking duties back on her.
You have no choice but to be shoved back into the rumbustious surroundings of the overpopulated flat party as your phone is suddenly ripped from your hands. Claire raises it above her head not even bothering to investigate what might be holding you hostage. She is well aware of your antics.
“Please don’t tell me you're texting him again,” she lifts the device higher as you futilely lunge for it.
“He said he was coming,” you begin to gather a defense, “but I haven’t gotten a response since I sent the address… maybe hold my phone a bit higher?”
Claire lets out a monstrous groan of frustration and rolls her eyes, “You really are helpless!”
“I know,” you repine and give her your best pleading puppy dog eyes and hold two starving hands out in front of you.
Begrudgingly she gives in, slamming your phone against your awaiting palms. As soon as your phone is back in your possession you return to refreshing your messages, all in vain of course.
Whenever Jake was in London he always visited you, sometimes even flying you out to whatever part of Europe his show was in or just because he wanted to see you. A trail of one night stands that became ritual.
The nights always started out modest, the two of you innocently traipsing about parties and bars accompanied by his brothers. You would all share drinks and stories for hours, belly laughing until you were ceased by sore ribs, as if you had all been friends for decades.
Nevertheless without fail, as the drinks poured further so did Jake’s appetite for you. He'd always shadow you with some kind of seemingly harmless touch; a hand on the small of your back progressed into squeezing your knee and then thigh, to tugging you into him by the waist when he was made uncomfortable or wanted to share a secret amongst chaotic surroundings.
One by one, his brothers would slowly fade out; Sam first, then Danny, and Josh was always the last to let the party die, taking it with him when he went. From that point, the evenings between you and Jake would morph into a primitive and sensual burn. Teasing and tearing at each other until the two of you eventually spent the rest of your night curled around the other. Once again, darting back to your guarded bubble of shy soft intimacy; neither of you willing to accept it was different from anything else anyone made you feel. Time spent together was something the both of you always rushed through days for, memories neatly placed in a treasure chest of beloved keepsakes when it was over.
But lately, it was different. Something brittle and bitter had blossomed. Jake had gotten only bigger and busier. Sometimes, he’d pule about missing you so naturally you’d beg to see him. He’d send beautiful trinkets and fine clothing from whatever part of the world he was in that next week to ineffectively make up for his absence no token would ever emulate.
Though you are elated for him, you are also acutely aware of your need to move on in order to outrun the pining tidal wave that threatens to swallow you whole. You’d tried before, but no man was Jake. And seeing you with other men only spelled him into a envious fit. A sight that tormented you both, the other too afraid to cry out as nothing was ever set in stone.
So instead you’d go to war over some irrelative thing and he’d ultimately swear on his beloved he didn’t give a shit about you and when or if he’d see you again; only to gift you some pretty peace offering in amends to offset the vigorous cycle once again.
Like a vinyl record against the needle, the two of you are going round and round the same circle; different songs, same sonic. You know if the pattern continues, you are slowly headed towards the dead wax. You hope tonight will mend the broken pieces between you as he vowed he’d come to spoil you a few weeks ago.
“You need to cut him off,” Claire has stated her stance on the situationship brazenly before, “all he does is treat you like shit. He entertains you from a distance and keeps you waiting until he wants to get his dick wet.”
Having been through this debate with her many times, you only frown and exhale, “It's not like that and you know it.”
She mirrors your disapproval, “Isn’t it?”
Just as you are forming your rebuttal your phone buzzes in your hands; confiscating your ability to exist anywhere other than your screen. It might as well have looked like you were going to dial 9-9-9 the way you dementedly scramble to open your phone.
JAKE:
Hey, angel. Sorry, I got stuck at this dive with my brothers and now they don’t want to leave. I think we’re just going to spend the rest of the night here. Maybe I’ll catch you next time?
You had not been enjoying your time at this party. You had been ignoring your best friend. You had been ignoring cute flirty strangers. You had been exuberantly anticipating Jake’s company tonight for months. All to be left on read, pathetically pining for hours now; all so you could be stood up by the man.
Your chest bursts with flames of mortified resentment, fueled by his impudence. Irate does not even scratch the surface of how your heart pounds. Your blood is scalding, skin scorching.
Jake made you feel stupid yet again.
Your face must give you away before you can even get out a word of impertinence as you look up from the insolent text to see Claire smugly sipping her drink.
A knowing smirk spreads viral across her face, “He's not coming, is he?”
The last thing you want to do is tell her bitch ass she is right in your state of red. Instead, you offer her a question you know will sate her pride without feeding on your wounds.
A vengeful grin takes hold of you “Cute stranger checking me out, you mentioned?”
You have never seen her look so pleased with herself as she nods in the direction of a man at the end of the bar whose gaze you hold.
There is no way you are going to let this night go to waste. Not after Jake made such a desperate-looking fool out of you.
You decide if he is going to ignore you it's going to be his loss, not yours. You are not going to let him waste your time and you are definitely not going to let him take your fun.
You throw your most alluring eyes and innocent smile at the stranger and wave him over. He returns the greeting and calls some indiscernible phrases out to the bartender before receiving three drinks and walking over to your table.
He is tall, dark, and handsome. The complete opposite of Jake. A promise of great distraction.
He sets the three drinks down at your table pushing two glasses of what he claims to be screwdrivers towards Claire and yourself. He then proceeds to introduce himself as Hunter through an almost seemingly painful giant smile.
You can’t help but compare it to your favorite pretty and childlike grin Jake always wore, a sight you ache for.
You cordially engage in small talk with him, asking and answering the procedural “Where are you from?”, “What do you do?”, and “What do you like to do?”; fitting in the occasional desirous glances and seemingly innocent yet lingering touches when appropriate.
He is definitely funny, but not witty and satirical like Jake’s humor; undeniably intelligent, but not in the philosophical and existential sense like Jake.
You mentally berate yourself for still thinking about a guy who is obviously not thinking about you when Hunter clutches your hand, ripping you from your dissociation.
He points towards the middle of the flat where you see multiple people frolicking about, “Do you want to dance?”
Why the hell not? You throw back the rest of your drink and smirk wide in response. This seems to oddly appease Hunter but you think nothing of it as you feel yourself being towed to the make-shift dance floor.
At first, the movements are modest, just an adventurous activity between acquaintances. But after a few songs, you feel the alcohol rid you of your inhibitions, most likely against your better judgment, but at this moment you can’t seem to wrap your fingers around any care if you tried.
You grind and tangle yourself up with this man you hardly know. He seems into it and you are blissfully swept away from your afflictions, a win-win. So what is the harm?
As soon as the thought has come and gone, you feel it; an overwhelming perilous sensation of being surveilled. You turn your attention over to where you had left Claire at your table to see her deeply engaged in conversation with Josh.
Fuck. Where there is a Josh there is most certainly a Jake.
You whirl towards the flat’s bar to lock eyes with the source of the sinister stare; an infuriated Jake leaning against the countertop, arms crossed. He holds your gaping stare with a blistering nostril-flared one of his own, licking over his salient bottom lip into that bewitching pout and clenching his jaw.
A small part of you threatens to collapse under guilt as if you have been caught doing something wrong. But you find the majority of you seethes under a new tantalizing flame, devouring any clemency present.
Almost drunk off of this new power dynamic, finally, you have the upper hand and Jake is the one squirming. Of course, you want Jake over this clown any day of the week but he had made you wait almost all night, he can definitely handle a few more minutes.
You spin, now facing towards Jake’s beaming acrimony from the bar, allowing him a full access view to you commandeering one of Hunter's hands connected to the small of your back and slowly guiding him down to your ass, the other to your waist. You press your backside against his pelvis and his hips follow, grinding in the motions of your own.
You stretch upward as high behind you as you can, sinking your fingers into Hunter’s thick black curls. Just to sell it, you showmanly lean your head back against Hunter’s shoulder and whisper sweet nothings in his ear when he leans down into you.
You glance up at your petulant victim to see Jake roll his eyes and throw his head back in a deriding chuckle before he slams down the rest of his pint. Jake is most certainly under your spell.
You tell yourself that each song with Hunter is the last dance until you’re unsure how many have passed. Any concept of time you own is completely suspended in the delicious way Jake looks when he is hungry to devour what he can’t have, and in this moment it happens to be you.
Abruptly, you feel yourself being swept towards the nearest wall and your face being tilted up towards Hunter’s as he cranes his mouth down to meet yours.
It is nice. Pleasurable for sure. He is definitely a good kisser, but again all you can bring yourself to think of is Jake’s perfectly pink pouty lips pressed against yours.
There is no point in tormenting Jake if you are just as miserable.
As you are about to break away from the stale kiss, Hunter’s weight that is pinning you up against the wall unexpectedly falters, sending you fumbling to the floor. You attempt to regain your balance but the room is slightly spinning, a likely side effect from the alcohol in your bloodstream. You might have questioned it having only had a drink or two if your focus wasn’t currently employed by figuring your way back to vertical.
A hand makes its way into your line of sight, offering to help you up. You swat away the aid, recognizing it as Jake’s. He huffs and shakes his head vexed. Jake brings himself closer to the whirling stack of bones that you are on the floor and tenaciously claps his rangy hands around your waist; making a show to assign his fingers in the exact arrangement where Hunter’s had just been. He devoutly springs you to your feet as if you'd rehearsed the move. As soon as you gain your footing you step back from Jake and dust yourself off, despite landing on a clean floor.
You inspect your crumbs of clues; the boys glaring at each other and at the brink of verbal warfare. You arrive at the conclusion that a fuming Jake had let all restraint dissipate as he shoved Hunter off of you in his impulsive fit.
“Why don’t you go find some other victim to slam into a wall,” Jake snarls, “she’s had enough for tonight.”
“She didn’t seem to have a problem when she was dancing all over me,” Hunter shoots back genuinely confused, “are you supposed to be her boyfriend or something?”
You race to interject, “He is not,” addressing Hunter but then throw your finger in Jake’s face, “and you have no right-”
Hunter takes one big territorial step to cleat himself between you and your oppressor. An exasperated Jake scowls at your fictitious defender and back to you, his features melting into a sickened sight as if to ask if you are really going to allow him to be vilified as the threat.
Of course protection from Jake is the last thing you will ever need. He could say whatever he’d like but Jake will never lay a harmful finger to you.
However, the hunt makes the game. You subtly shrug at Jake and let the mens’ egos carry out your dirty work.
Hunter sets his fist on Jake’s sternum in an attempt to get him to step back, “Mate, she doesn’t seem to be into it so why don’t you give us some space.”
This is the trigger that detonates the antagonized man just in front of your human shield.
“Oh trust me, mate,” he mimics Hunter in an explosion, the shrapnel riding your blood to your cheeks, “when I say I happen to know what the little slut is into and it is definitely not-” Jake is cut off by a panicky Josh now stepping in between the two before Jake can say anything he can’t take back.
Josh seems to instruct his detesting brother through glances. You always find it hard to properly digest a situation with the appropriate amount of severity when the twins begin conversing with mere facial expressions.
It only lasts for a second or two before Jake refixes his glare towards Hunter. Mirroring Jake, Josh returns to Hunter with an antsy smile and places a friendly hand on his barely-reachable shoulder, as if he is about to deliver bad news.
“Sorry about him,” he starts to mediate, motioning towards his fuming twin he shrugs and chuckles nervously, “tequila makes him aggressive.”
You almost giggle at Josh’s flamboyant rescue. He is a detail oriented man who is verbally quick on his feet. He usually paints pictures you can not poke holes in. So you know he must be distraught or drunk as you hadn't even seen Jake drink an ounce of liquor since he arrived.
However, Hunter doesn’t seem quite as amused as he slaps Josh's hand off and grunts, “Whatever, I don’t do crazy exes anyway.”
He insincerely waves you off and facetiously blows Jake a kiss in one last satirical jab before sauntering off, dematerializing amongst the crowd.
Jake now recoils from Josh’s touch and waits for him to vanish as well. However, Josh’s sight seeks you and bears a disapproving nod, warning you to behave in a glower. For a split second, you forget he is a twin as his protective demeanor is all that of a vigilant elder sibling.
Nevertheless, Josh makes his way back to where he had been so unnecessarily interrupted and dragged away from Claire.
Your attention gravitates to Jake in daggers. Before you can form any thoughts or strategy, venom goes flying past your lips, “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!”
Jake swivels his head around, slightly panicking at all the partygoers that had stopped party going to sightsee this freak show. He never likes to be the center of attention unless he has six strings and a fretboard under his fingers.
Nimbly, he leads you by the arm into the nearby bathroom and slams the door shut.
You throw your arms out in confusion, “Have you lost your fucking mind?!”
He fires back, “No, just my patience with you!”
The room is small enough now that his scent circulates and the offensive smell of beer and bourbon attacks your senses; which explains his uncharacteristic boldness.
“Shit, Jake, you smell like a fucking brewery,” you spit out.
He seems to grasp how sloppy he let himself get. Your words siphon a hint of sobriety as he takes a deep breath and now speaks to you with a much more repealed approach.
You can tell he is still upset but is focusing on his convictions for the moment, “Are you okay? I didn’t mean for you to fall like that.” He hesitates, “And I’m sorry- I have no idea why I called you slut- I didn’t mean-”
You are nearly swept away by the sweet breeze of your angelic Jake; the one that trips over his words when he gets excited and loves to take on whimsical personas of his own invention. Jake that is present and kind, even at the end of the night. But just like a fleeting breeze, you easily withstand his charms.
He may have found his composure but you certainly did not, not that you want to, “I’m fine, Jacob! Want to explain whatever the shit that was?!”
Any remorse present in his tone abandons him, “Oh please, you wanted that! I could see it all over your face while you were messing with that prick. I don’t even know why I'm surprised. You’re like a child who throws a fucking fit. The moment I don't do or tell you exactly what you want you go throw yourself into the arms of some random no-good fuck. I knew you were with him as soon as you went radio silent.”
You narrow your eyes at him. You’re almost suspicious of the blank canvas he’s left for you to fill in with logic; he’s usually ten points ahead when debating, never speaking a vulnerable statement for someone to collapse before him. You are almost hesitant to ask the question.
Your hand finds your hip as a means to reinforce your interrogation, “That’s just it, isn’t it? You don’t own me, Jake! So what if I was dancing with Hunter?”
He rolls his eyes and growls at the mention of his name. If Jake were an ounce more theatrical you swear he would have gagged too.
You cross your arms and lean into the balls of your feet as you sharpen your questions, knowing you have him trapped, “If you knew, why did you even show up then? Why do you even care? It’s not like I’m your girlfriend or anything?”
He blurts out way too quickly to disguise any aloofness, “I don’t care!”
Jake immediately throws his head back in defeat and groans, crumbling under further rumination of your questions, as if they frustrate him as much as they do you, “I don’t know! You just- It kills me to see you- sometimes- you make me so-”
He is struggling to articulate his thoughts without making himself look like the blatant asshole, but you see right through it.
You, however, have no problem spitting the word out. In fact, it progresses the igneous tension between the two of you into a delicious sweltering burn.
You dangle the word right in front of him just to watch him squirm, “Jealous?”
The accusation furrows his brow and tightens his shoulders.
If you didn’t know any better, his sudden dark tone would have you red with shame for such an accusation, “You think I’m jealous? Trust me, kitten, you haven’t even seen jealousy. Go fuck that guy for all I care.”
You giggle and raise a slanderous eyebrow, soundlessly challenging his overtly bogus defense. Your defiance vacillates Jake back to his munition.
He charges towards you, his footsteps following the alignment of his pointer finger swinging in your direction, “What the fuck are you smiling at- You know what?! Fuck this and fuck you! You always do this. Always getting me into more trouble than I bargain for.”
Jake is growling in fragments now, growing taller with every step he takes drawing in towards you, surrendering to your gravity.
“This isn’t me! I’m not this person who gets jealous and fights with strangers at a party,” he gestures his clenched fists towards you, arms length away now, “And I don’t like being angry with you!”
Jake corners you between the wall and a stall, yet his rushing commute ceases to falter, “And what’s worse is I actually think you enjoy this! You must get off on this! I think you want to see me lose my mind!”
Jake is close enough that you are now confronted by the moles that cradle his right jaw, the charming silver starting to streak from his temples, the sculpt in the cartilage of his prominent nose, and the slight uneven curl of his upper lip. Details no camera could capture and no screaming fan could ever have knowledge of; intimate details one would ever amass without his admission.
If he moves any closer he would have to kiss you. He scolded you for getting worked up off his anger when he was doing the exact same thing. The worst part being you aren’t even sure if he has caught on to this rage-driven gravitation between the two of you. His face reads “Caution, stay away,” but his body is imploring you to take care of him. He is right where you want him, giving you all the power once again.
He resumes waving his finger at you and stiffly pokes your collarbone. He opens his mouth to make another point but his words never deliver themselves. You see his very thoughts dematerialize as he touches your buzzing skin.
He doesn’t even lift his finger from you, just lets it fall to the start of your breasts, making your chest heave. He subconsciously presses his body to yours; so close you catch his erratic breaths on your lips.
You hastily retort while he is distracted, “That’s pretty amusing considering you're the asshole that ruined my night, not the other way around, slut.”
He rakes the pad of his finger still connected to you, up your clavicle till it rests at the top of your outermost prominent neck muscle, delicately wrapping the rest of his digits around your throat once he runs out of room. He sinks further into your orbit so that he is now hovering just above your features.
“Look at you, just begging for someone to put you in your place,” he rasps out, ever so slightly applying a teasing pressure to reduce your air flow.
Collecting yourself enough to stream your words out in a lazy river, you dare taunt the feral man that holds your next breath between his fingers, “Look at you, Jacob, absolutely rabid with jealousy.”
“I’ve had it with your little attitude,” his hand delectably contorts further around your throat in a fit of conniption as he roars through clenched teeth, “Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t fucking drag me here to make me jealous.”
“Bite me, Jake,” you roll your eyes at his arrogance.
You expect him to snap at you, to reprimand you for your insubordination. However, to your surprise he laps one long stripe from the corner of your pout to the start of your cheekbone. The action expels your nerves into shock; a shudder slithers its way up your spine.
Jake sighs against the shell of your ear, “Is that why you’re being such a little fucking brat? You just want me to bite you, sweetheart? Is that it?”
Your only response is a whimper as a crackling heat awakes between your thighs and your hips grind into Jake on their own accord; giving him the only answer he needs.
Satiated by your feedback, Jake nearly moans at regaining the upper hand, “I swear- and why should I even care, kitten?”
You urgently squeal, struggling against your constricting airway, “Because it’s your fault! I’ve never craved attention until you did this to me!”
Cocking his head to the side to purport the appearance of a disapproving analysis, he mocks your need, “How did we end up like this, beautiful? We are absolutely no good for each other.”
You don’t bother devising a clever response, knowing he’s already decided to give you what you want.
He clenches his jaw and runs his tongue along the ridges of his teeth, twisting the pink muscle into the crevices of his molars, “It’s rude to stare, kitten. Do I need to teach you how to use that pretty smart mouth of yours?”
You only bat your eyes at him, your expressionless face waiting for what you know comes next.
He raises an eyebrow at you, impatient for some response and mutters, “Say something.”
A shit-eating grin sneaks its way onto your face, “Don’t forget to lock the door, babyboy.”
Jake’s once kind eyes grow dark to an absolutely immoral shade of lust. Heedlessly, his lips crash against yours, the sensation you’ve fantasized about since the last time his mouth deserted yours. He tastes of bourbon and peaches.
He slips his hands around your ass and hauls you up to straddle his waist. You wrap your legs around him as he staggers towards the door lock as you instructed, as if he couldn’t wait to get his hands on you long enough to complete the task first.
Jake places you on the sink and protestingly pries himself back from you, as if starving for more but looking at you was a vital duty he must perform.
His eyes plot you up and down, infatuated with this strand of you, reserved only for him. You don’t have to say a word for Jake to know what happens when he’s away; the way you move for him confesses everything he is already aware of. He is the only one capable of having you completely and utterly vulnerable and unguarded and unadulterated; animalistically yourself.
For the first time tonight, Jake’s pretty pout draws back in a genuine smile for you; a giddy fool and his favorite fix.
He gracefully reaches to untie your wrap blouse and it falls to your sides, uncurtaining your heaving breasts. He hums in satisfaction of your physique.
Jake lightly places his hands on your knees and observes as his fingers featherly dance upon your thighs, only to stop and squeeze into the thick of them until he leaves white imprints. He curls into you, Jake’s perpetually exposed chest rubbing against your newly bare nipples, extracting a hiss from you.
Your core already weeps with need.
The hungry man burrows his face into your neck but stops right before his lips meet your skin, knowing you desperately need his mouth.
He teases you with a tickling whisper, “Fuck- I missed you. They don’t make girls like you in Nashville.”
The ribbing huff of his breath makes you shudder.
You press your hand against his hip, slide it down the curve of his thigh and inward till you map out his hard length through his pants, “I can see, you poor thing.”
Your movement draws a low growl from him in your ear, “Fuck- You see what you do to me, kitten? You see all the problems you cause me?”
You begin to palm him through his clothes and feign out a bratty whine, “Yes, but we always have such a good time, don’t we Jakey?”
Jake begins to eat at your neck while you continue to caress him until he moves down and out of your reach.
He plots out your clavicle, licking down your sternum through the valley of your peaking breasts; delaying his journey to lap one of your nipples into his warm salacious mouth as he gropes the other in his lanky hand. A few mumbled swears fall from you as Jake begins to venture in biting and sucking marks into the supple flesh of your breasts, soothing each spot with candied kisses afterwards.
“Shit- just when I thought these perfect tits couldn’t get any prettier. An absolutely breathtaking sight with my bitemarks,” he pants.
Jake’s mouth resumes its migration south to your goosebump ridden thighs. He sinks his fingers into the flesh of your ass, resting his elbows against the corners of the sink for balance as he lowers the rest of his body to accommodate the angle of your glistening center.
His mouth now takes purchase of where his fingertips had just deserted your thighs, kissing away the residual sting; closer and closer to your entrance till his head vanishes, canopied in between your skirt and legs. You feel the heat of his huffing through the lace of your panties. The sensation alone is enough to make you whine with need. Jake then bites into the material of your damp thong, sampling your arousal as he tugs your underwear to the side using his teeth. Jake plants his lips to yours in a row of delicate kisses, making you quiver with anticipation.
“Wider,” he growls out the demand.
You lean back to let your bare shoulder blades rest against the ice cold mirror behind you in order to grant him better access to your wetness. Jake is entranced as he gapes at how the chill glass spells you to hiss and clench around nothing.
He takes a deep inhale of you and slots the tip of his nose against your entrance. In one agonizingly slow movement he reclines his head so that his nose flits over your aching clit as he sticks out the flat of his tongue to follow the lewd trail.
You open your mouth to sing his praises but all that comes out is his name in a hiccuping squeak.
He then wraps his ample lips around your throbbing clit and nimbly sucks it into the warm plush of his mouth, swirling his velvety tongue around your bud.
The deed elicits a piteous wail to escape you and the confiscation of any remaining control over your restless limbs. Your hips involuntarily swing forward, seeking more of his mouth.
He rewards you with a swift smack against your thigh, “Easy,” he begins to plant light kisses on your entrance, “needy little thing today, aren’t you?”
Having not fully removed his mouth from you, the vibrations of his teasing words sends unexpected ripples of titillation humming through you, instigating your reeling squirms further, “Relax, kitten. I know how to take care of you. I know what you need.”
He finally unlatches his other hand from your ass. You hadn’t even registered the delicious sting of his fingers over the imperious pleasure of his mouth; a pain promising to blossom into pretty hues of purples, blues, and greens.
He delineates the curve of your thigh with his fingertips, finally fluttering over your entrance. Impatiently, he hikes your skirt up to bunch at your waist. He savagely yanks your lace underwear down and over your ankles, not even bothering to wait for you to adjust to help slip the material off. He looks to you with a seemingly innocent goofy grin as he pockets his newly pillaged treasure.
You roll your eyes and press your lips together to stifle your obvious giggle. In a feigned offense, Jake snatches your ankles in his grasp to reestablish his authority and your attention. Slowly, he lifts your legs to settle your thighs around his shoulders, careful not to throw off your balance on the porcelain counter.
You lock your ankles around him as his hands pet up your legs and wrap around your thighs to bore into your flesh. Jake reintroduces his mouth to your soaking entrance, sloppily devouring your nectar.
Though pleasing, you know he is holding out on you. Jake loves to hear you beg; for you to pray for what you know he can’t help but give you.
“Jake, more,” you demand despite knowing it will land void.
He immediately ceases his feed and arrogantly reminds you of your place, “Oh, I don’t think you’re in any position to give orders now, are you kitten?”
Mourning the loss of his mouth, you choke on a sob, “No, Jake!”
He tenderly begins to brush his digits along your skin, “That’s right, but I happen to know that pretty mouth sings a lot lovelier than she barks.”
He moves one of his thumbs to circle over your swollen clit as incentive, making his compulsion undeniable.
You desperately pant out your pleas, “Please- Shit- Please, Jake. I need- Jake- Fuck- fingers?”
“Sorry, baby, you’re not making any sense,” he terrorizes you now, stretching a free digit from your bud to tease your entrance.
You manage to piece together your needs enough to satisfy him, “Jake- please, I need your fingers- need them inside me- I need to soak them- please, baby?”
Your scandalous words draw a sweet moan from him. The vivacious grant of your request tells you he can’t stand to make you wait any longer.
He begins pumping his middle and ring finger inside you, making you mewl his name.
He once again envelopes your clit in his lips and begins to suck and lap you towards ecstasy. You feel the euphoric tension strain your abdomen as Jake curls his fingers around the spot he always seems to effortlessly discover.
“Fuck- Jake don’t stop- please- please don’t stop,” your voice reaches the high pitch only he brings it to.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, you sound too pretty with my fingers inside you to deny,” he coos against your sensitive clit.
Jake’s lustful praises send you into an orgasmic haze as your walls squeeze around his fingers and back arches away from the mirror.
As he feels you getting close, Jake begins to coach you, “Relax for me, beautiful. Can you relax that pretty pussy for me?”
You inventory only enough coherency to wantonly moan, indicating your process of his demand.
“Good girl, that's it. Just breathe and take it,” his praises coerce you into obedience.
Even though every endorphin in your body is imploring you to writhe at Jake’s touch, you do your best to relax and breathe as he ordered. You relent to Jake’s fingers, allowing him to caress into a new spot, a fresh wave of sensitivity finding you.
He knows he’s found the place as soon as you squeal his name in response. He begins to violently fuck deep into you with his hand, pumping in and out of you, his fingertips catching his new target every time, catapulting you into your orgasm. You're consumed by white heat as you soar through your ecstasy.
You’ve cleared through your orgasm yet oddly the tension in your abdomen is not alleviated but is now twice as constricting.
Jake never ceases to send his fingers in and out of you at a furious pace and the pressure that builds is of a different class, requiring your whole body to participate in your release. Where he was once babying his mark, he is now assaulting it; his digits curling into you with every pump. The sloppy sounds of Jake finger fucking you grows louder with every stroke.
His lips swallow your clit, slurping you into his mouth for safekeeping, sending you into overdrive as you approach this new release. Your pussy begins to convulse and contract around Jake but he drives into you faster still.
“That’s it, babygirl, cum for me. I’ve missed having you on my tongue,” his words barely make their way into your consciousness.
Your vision begins to black out as your eyes roll back and your slick sprays his face and coats his hands.
Yet, Jake refuses to cease his assault. Your climax builds within you so tight, it rips its way out of you. Your cunt expels a deluge of liquids and continues to pour into Jake’s hand with every dizzying clench of your cunt. Again. Again. And again. Until you are downpour, trickling past his wrist and onto the tile floor.
“Fucking shit- Jacob- don’t stop- I can’t- I’m still cumming- Ja- Baby- Jacob,” your voice melodically crashes and breaks against waves of rasping screams and swearing whimpers louder still, floating off somewhere in oblivion.
Jake thinks it's the most beautiful you’ve ever sounded. Your body finally gives, and you collapse back against the mirror behind the sink. After a few seconds you peek your eyes open to see the mess you made.
He pulls away from you to stand once again and observes his glistening hand in a gaping awe, unphased by your cum dripping down his chin.
“I love when you do that,” he mutters more to himself than you as he slurps your elixir from his own limb.
He isn’t even touching you but the pornagraphic sight reels a moan from you.
“Does my beautiful girl want a taste of her own orgasm?”
He places his fingers along your lips, waiting for your consent. You stick your tongue out and he slides his digits up along the textured muscle until you stifle a slight gag; the veins that decorate his knuckles pressing into your top lip.
He pulls your mouth closer to his with his fingers, slipping them out just before he slides his tongue between your lips; you further taste your glaze as he licks into your mouth.
He impatiently pulls away from you with a hungry groan and scatters to undo his belt. His pants fall to his ankles, his normally hidden curves now visible; a delectable sight you will never grow tired of. His physique is appetizingly curvier than most men and the very view made your dripping pussy flutter without remedy.
Jake catches your ravenous stare and arrogantly quips, “See something you like, kitten?”
Rather than respond, you greedily grab at him and slip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers. You tug him closer along with the material and shimmy it down to liberate his hard painfully pink penis.
“I missed you too,” you run a finger over his leaking tip, causing his head to roll back in a hiss, “and this pretty cock.”
In one swift movement, you quickly gather your remaining arousal on his face in your free hand and reach down to slather his throbbing dick. You lay messy open mouth kisses along his jaw and neck as you now lightly pump him in your hand.
“Fuck- you’re so hot,” Jake rasps out at the loss of composure; his mouth slacks agape as you continue to jerk him off.
You move your hand to flick at his head and his features further melt in bliss.
“Slow down,” he whimpers, ”I want to be dripping down your thighs, not your hand,” his statement demands your submission.
You can tell Jake is unraveling fast as he starts twitching in your fingers. He is close until he obstinately pulls you away from him by the wrist.
You pout out an apology and he relocates your hands around his shoulders, and grabs your waist as he paints your cheek with open mouth kisses. His tongue works a long stripe behind your ear and sucks your lobe into his mouth.
He speaks through teeth clenched around your cartilage, “You always misbehave like such a brat, but underneath it all my girl is just a sweet thing, aren’t you?”
His intimate words alone render you to a din of pitiful mutters and swears.
You feel him begin to press his hard cock into the thick of your thigh, involuntarily pursuing relief, “You just need someone who knows what you are, hmm? Knows what you need?”
You praise and beg as your center is reintroduced to that familiar ache, “Jake, please. You know what I need.”
The sensation of Jake grinding himself against your leg dissolves all restraint. You try to buck your hips towards him in search of what you want most, but he doesn’t let you succeed. Jake arrests your waist to push you further back onto the sink.
He snickers at your cupidity, “What a greedy little slut. Just came a fucking mess and you already want more.”
You stroke his ego with hopes flattery will seduce him, “Yes- I’m a glutton for you, please, Jake?”
You scoot back up to the edge of the sink and grab at him; mad for his touch. Instead, your ambition is requited with a stinging smack to your cunt as he bellows the command, “Sit still! I’m not going to tell you again.”
You can’t help the fearless groan that echoes throughout the small room.
He bitterly miffs, “Yea? Should have thought about that before you were fucking around with that shit for brains?”
“Jake, I’m sorry,” you gravel, growing more impatient by the second that you can’t feel him.
Your insincere words purchase you no spoils as he taunts you further, “Good- You have no idea. I wanted to break his fucking nose wide open! What was his name again, sweet thing?”
Before you can fashion any remark, he yanks you to teeter on the end of the countertop once again. Jake, shaft in hand, drives his throbbing tip just past your lips, and flicks himself against your sensitive clit.
Your knuckles grip white against the corners of the porcelain struggling to remain in place as you whimper gibberish, “Fuck- Jake- I- MMM- fuck-”
“Look at my good sweet girl, so cock drunk she can’t even remember the pawn she was using to make me jealous a few minutes ago,” he smugly croons.
He featherly runs his fingers through the tresses of your hair. As he smooths down your mane you cave into his touch.
“I fucking hated seeing you with him,” his words drip with scorn, “It killed me. You deserve better because you’re my good girl.”
Lining himself up to press into your labia, he docks his forehead against your clavicle to look down at his toying with you. Slightly arching forward, his pink head only just glides past your entrance.
You are teetering over the line of ditzy, Jake’s tantalizing quips being the only tether before you are too far gone, “What a filthy slut? Playing dirty to get Daddy’s attention?”
Any remaining composure flees from you as the name is growled against your skin and you immediately call it back to him, “Shit- I’m- fuck- I’m sorry, Daddy. Please, fuck me?!”
One hand still residing in your hair, he tugs by the root to guide your ear to his open mouth, “Well you’ve got my attention now, my sweet little fucked out thing.”
Without warning, Jake mercilessly thrusts himself inside you to the hilt. You slap your hand over your mouth to silence the obscene wails tearing through you.
Jake promptly rips your hand away, “Don’t you fucking dare. I want everyone to hear my little cock drunk slut sing.”
Without granting you an opportunity to adjust to his girth, he pulls himself nearly all the way out just to plunge himself all the way back in, driving into that magical spot.
Just as that illustrious need grows in your stomach, Jake pulls out completely. You don’t have the opportunity to protest before he gathers you from off the countertop and twists you around towards your reflection. He gingerly presses his touch into the protruding shape of your shoulder blade, lightly ushering you to lean over the slab of the counter. You surrender to Jake’s decree, not willing to risk your orgasm.
Jake finds your fucked out gaze through the mirror and faintly adjures, “I want you to watch as I fuck you.”
You know better than to mistake his lowly tone for submission. You lean your weight on your elbows as you settle against the sink and raise your head to take in every detail as Jake begins fuck into you from behind.
His pace starts off moderate, but every stroke pierces deep. Your eyes are spellbound by the vision of his pelvic bone slamming into your ass with every harsh swing of his hips.
You do your best to keep your eyes visible as his rhythm picks up, but inevitably your head hangs limp, dizzy from your approaching high. You resign from your efforts once he begins to rock into you faster, burying himself further in your cunt.
You are compensated by a half-lidded Jake forcing your head back up by your chin, “Nah-uh. Look at me, baby.”
You manage to anchor your head where Jake repositioned it, but you are helpless to the way your eyes roll back as he swivels his hips rutting into that sweet spot. Jake grants you exoneration as your walls tighten around his twitching cock, indicating you are close.
Your every muscle trembles as you are abraded by your final orgasm. You're too far gone in your trance. You babble a gibbered language of swears and crying moans as you give into the chemical release.
“Just one more for me, babygirl, you can take it,” he hushes you.
You are strung back from your trip by the stutter of Jake’s hips and hiccuping moans. He is close. You see him tire as he curls around you, his panting grunts tickling your skin.
“Come on, baby,” you root for him despite your own overstimulation, “fuck me full. Want it so bad.”
You are captivated by the reflection of his features contorting under bliss as he fights to keep his hips in motion. You roll your hips to follow Jake’s strokes as his high suspends his stamina.
His eyes roll back as he begins to convulse, his dick jerking inside you. He releases, his lewd moan of absolute venery graces your ears as he empties himself inside you, coating your pulsing walls.
Jake goes limp, briefly taking refuge against your backside as he catches his breath and you come down from your highs together. He lazily litters your skin with kisses wherever his lips can reach.
He sighs against your spine, “Fuck- you’re magnificent. Absolutely electric.”
He wills himself to stand vertical, tugging his pants back in place over his hips before he eases you upright. Assisting you with his steady grip on your pelvis, the steamy skin of his lithe chest sticks to your backside. He wraps an arm around your waist to hold you steady as your knees buckle upon landing, pulling you into him once more. He bows his head to warrant his lips to lathe your neck, savoring the salt of your skin.
Far too consumed to break away from his sloppy kisses, he tilts his head as his eyes hunt for the reflection of yours, “But I meant what I said earlier, we’re no good for each other.”
He nibbles his way up and sucks at the muscle of your jaw, “I like you way more than I planned to but there’s no way we can continue like this, babygirl.”
You go numb; the only sensation present being pins and needles pricking your chest. His words spell you dumb, abolishing any sense to speak or move.
He delicately spins you to face him once again and tenderly kisses the tip of your nose.
Jakes slightly pulls back to skillfully tie your blouse back up for you, “Whatever this is, it's got to settle here.”
“Jake- you-,” you breathlessly chase for the tail of your thought that doesn’t seem to exist.
He squeezes your hands in his, “I mean it, kitten, don’t call me anymore. I won’t pick up for you.”
The tender manner in which his lips love on you does not mesh with his condemning words.
He draws back to see tears you aren’t aware are now rolling down your flushed cheeks.
He lets go of one of your hands to cup your jaw and kisses the salty sadness from your features, “Don’t cry, baby, you’re perfect.”
He envelopes your lips between his one last time before he brings your hand still in his grasp to place his pucker against your knuckles and whisper, “Please take care of yourself for me, babygirl.”
You are prisoner to paralyzation as those enticing amber eyes abandon you; rendering you to nothing but shattered forsaken ruins strewn across an empty bathroom, grasping and grappling to purchase any sort of rationale beyond the carnage.
You’re forced to silently choke on consternation at the sight of his chestnut waves bouncing against his shoulders as Jake weightlessly vanishes through the swinging door.
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The Blind Man
You always knew Tommy as the cheerful boy who took care of you. He always knew you as the smart girl that he visited by the docks. The daughter of a prostitute, the son of a deadbeat father; a soldier who protected his country; a whore who protected him; a gangster who controlled Brimingham; and now, a wife. War changes people, you just didn’t realize that war could change you both. (angst, depictions of abuse, poverty, prostitution, canon-typical themes, death, war, time jumps, depictions of mental illness, abusive marriage)
They finally meet.
PART 1 / PART 2
PROTECTION SERIES TAGLIST | PROTECTION MASTERLIST navigation
BIRMINGHAM, 1919
There was nothing discreet with how you dressed. You were in all black, a black veil shielding you from the onlookers. Simon sent some money to Johnny’s wife, Beth, for a proper wake. His house was filled with white flowers and proper food. It’s the least he could do, that’s what he said. You were sitting beside the widow, trying to console her.
“Johnny used to talk about you alot,” she weeped. “‘That’s my girl! That’s my daughter and she’ll go places!’ That’s what he always said. He told me how you grew up in the brothel and how you were always willing to listen to his lessons in arithmetic.” Her eyes were red from crying and all you could do was console her. “Thank you for taking care of him…for taking care of us,”
“It’s nothing, Beth,” you assured her. “He let me into his bunker when my mum died,” you recalled. “He protected me from…from…as much as he could, you know?”
God. Just how many people could you lose in this fucking lifetime? First, your father but you’ve never really weeped for him. You never knew him. Second, your mum. She took care of you with how little she had. Third, Tommy. You never heard back if he was alive or not. Your protector. Fourth, Big Johnny. He’s always been the male figure that you considered as your father. Who’s next?
“I’m grateful for him,” you managed to choke out. You asked your security guards to go somewhere else, maybe a few feet or metres from the house. You wanted privacy. “I’m just so regretful to never have seen him and now he’s gone…”
Johnny died because of a rumble with some of the newer gangs in Small Heath. Some young lads mugged him on the way home and killed him. They threw his body by the docks where they thought no one would ever see him.
Your body suddenly fills with rage. Was this the work of the Blinders? Fuck. Why would they fucking do that? Beth excuses herself from you and you nodded. Picking on the rings on your fingers, you didn’t notice who sat beside you.
“Seems like we only see each other at weddings and funerals,” You gasped, looking at the source of the familiar voice. How could you ever forget? She told you what you needed to do to survive.
“Polly,” you gasped, extending your shaky hands towards her. “How have you been?”
“I’m good,” she replied. “Who would’ve thought, huh?” she asked. She lets you clutch her hand for support. “Where’s Simon?”
“He has business in Camden Town,” you replied. “He allowed me to go but there’s security around us right now. We can’t really talk, Poll—he’s going to, he’s going to—“
“I’ve handled it,” she said. “You can talk to me as freely as you would like, okay?” You nodded.
“I’m sorry for…for leaving,” you whispered. Your voice wavers and you feel the wetness in your eyes. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“Darling…”
“He threatened to kill Tommy, Arthur, and John if I didn’t obey,” you confessed. “During the…the war,” You shut your eyes to hide from Polly. Her heart aches. You’ve always been reluctant to show your emotions but you are visibly hiding now. Cowering from the fear of rejection and of humiliation from Polly Gray. “He said that-that he knew people who could finish the job.”
“Don’t hide,” she coos. Your obedience was not in vain but she’d never tell you that. She didn’t want Tommy to act impulsively and she didn’t want you to lose what you already have. “How are you? You don’t need permission from a man, you know,”
“I know,” you nod. “You always told me but…Simon is all I have now. He trusts me and I don’t want to break that trust that I’ve worked so hard on. You told me to take advantage of everything and I am,”
“What have you been doing?”
“I have trusts, bonds, and investments to my name now. Simon couldn’t take them away from me. All sealed with a document that my lawyers reviewed,” you told her. Once a prostitute, always a prostitute.
“Johnny and I taught you well then,” she nods in approval. “That’s good. We miss you,”
“I’m sorry,” you said. “Where’s Ada? I’ve to thank her for the house,”
“If anything, she has you to thank. She’s been going there a lot since you left. She said she feels more at peace there,” Polly replied. “When are you leaving?”
“After the burial,” you replied. “I have to leave and go to uh, Italy with Simon,”
“For what?”
“Some…business thing.” you replied.
“He’s showing you the world?” she asked, gesturing to your clothes. You knew it. It was too much for a funeral.
“Yeah. It’s too much isn’t it? I can-I can change into something else but, he likes these clothes,” you told her. “But can I—“
“No, you look good,” she says, stopping you from your worries. “You look like who you’re supposed to be,”
You look like who you’re supposed to be. If it was any other person, you’d be offended; but this was Polly. She always told you that you didn’t belong in Small Heath. “You’re too pure to belong here forever.” She’d always say. It’s funny, you felt like you never belonged in Simon’s world no matter how hard he tried to put you in it.
You couldn’t bring yourself to ask about Tommy and his brothers. How could you? You were too scared to know the answer. If Polly didn’t mention it, it’s probably for the best.
“I do wish you’d visit us more but I know your circumstances,” she said. “I received the letter from Simon along with a cheque of a few thousand pounds,”
“Did you encash it?” you asked.
“No,” she replied. Somehow, that gave you comfort. She couldn’t be bought. “I did it because I was so worried about what could happen to you. It didn’t have any details. It just said that he’d appreciate it if we cease all contact. He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”
“No,” you shook your head. Not yet. “As unimaginable as it all is, he has never. I truly believe that he loves me, Pol. He tells me every day. He heeds everything that I say or do and has never had a mistress but I feel so terrible because I don’t love him that way,” you confessed, feeling like the weight of the world just lifted itself on your shoulders. “I’m terrible,”
“You’re not,” Polly said. “I told you to take advantage of everything but I never told you to love him, did I?”
-
You went home that day feeling lighter. You could always confide in Polly whenever you needed. You were just so heartbroken to know that that could probably never happen again. Your servants have left now. You told them that you didn’t need them during the night because of how small the house was. They stayed at a lodging for labourers nearby; except for the guards. They came with you wherever you go, even if it was only at a distance.
You were putting away the heavy gold earrings in the vanity in your room. It was dark, except for the lamp that you opened by the bed.
“You should really change your locks,” Your head whipped, earrings falling on the ground.
“Tommy?” you asked, rushing towards him in your most comfortable clothes. It was a long sleeved pyjama shirt that Simon owned. Tommy didn’t like it. “Oh my God. You’re here,” you breathed, shaky hands touching his arm. “You’re here…you’re here,”
“And you’re here,” he says, his voice void of emotion. He looked for the pressed flowers in the frame that usually sat on your vanity. It was gone. “You left,”
“I didn’t want to,” you said, removing your hands from him when you felt how cold he was.
“Did you plan on coming back? At all?” he asked. His rage blinds him. Why was he so cold and cruel? Why couldn’t he tell you how happy he was to see you again? He didn’t know how to handle his emotions. Years of longing…of heartbreak…of wondering if he could ever be good enough came down on him.
“Tommy?”
“It’s just a funny thing, isn’t it?” he chuckled, lighting up his cigarette. “You leave, make your way into the world, and then expect things to be the same.”
You frowned.
“It’s a funny thing. You promised to wait for me and you didn’t,” he spat. “All I ever looked at was your photo in those four years and you—“
“I didn’t want to leave, Tommy,” you whispered.
“But you did!” he exclaims. “You left me! You…you left me and married someone else. You decided that I could never grant my promises and fucked someone else. Like a…like…”
“Like what, Tommy?” you asked, stepping away from him. “Like a whore?” He’s never thought of you like that before.
“I never said that,”
“But you thought it!” You sit on your bed. “You see me like how everyone sees me. Fuck,” you shook, shielding yourself away from him. “How could you ruin this for us?”
“No, I’m—“
“Then, what? What is it, Tommy? You come in here to my house and pick a fight. You can’t blame me for the choices that I made! I had no idea if you were coming back. What else was I supposed to do?”
“Wait for me,” he demanded. “I told you to wait for me. I’ve been building us everything that we ever wanted but you were just so impatient,”
“How could I if you never wrote back?”
You looked up at him through teary eyes. You finally gave him the chance to look at you. You looked older, despite the garb that you were wearing. The sparkle was gone. You looked up at him. He’s different. Detached, cold, and emotionless. The blue eyes that used to convey so much emotion were gone. He wasn’t letting you in like he used to.
You both changed.
A shimmer on your neck catches his attention. It was his mother’s locket. You catch his eyes casting down on it.
“I forgot,” you croaked, looking away. “I’m supposed to give this to you.” He wasn’t your Tommy anymore.
“No, you should keep it,”
“It’s okay,” you nod, removing the locket from your person and putting it on the bed. It was the first time you’ve ever removed it and it felt like you were removing a leash. “You own it. You should give it to someone else. Someone that’s…that’s not me,”
“Y/N…love,” he tried but you shook his head. “It always belonged to you.”
“We’re not the same people anymore, Tom. You look at me and-and it’s how everyone else does,” you cried. “Like a whore. I’m selling my body and my future for a life like this. Right? I don’t want to have this anymore,” you said. “We grew apart and we’re older now. We’re not the same people,” You don’t love me anymore.
There was hell and there was a place below hell. It was where he was. How could he be so cruel to make you cry? How could he insinuate that you were all the same? How could you hint that he doesn’t love you anymore?
“I waited for you, Tommy. Waited for you to write back and at first, I felt…sad. Then, angry. You think I’m so disposable. So replaceable, right?” you asked. “I sent you letters every week. You always told me you’d protect me but you couldn’t even send me a letter telling me that you were alright. You couldn’t even protect Johnny!”
Maybe if he told you that it was Polly who intercepted those letters, you wouldn’t be so mad at him. Maybe you wouldn’t think that he’d abandon you so easily. Maybe you’d know that you were the only face that got him out of the tunnels. Maybe you’d know that it was your name that made him feel good. Like your name was some prayer he’s worthy enough to say every time that he felt like he was underground again. But how could he hurt you more than he already did?
“You were the one who replaced me,” Maybe you’d finally know that he loves you and that, if you could have just waited a little bit longer, you’d never have to worry if your hair was out of place.
“There was nothing to replace.”
-
Tommy brews in anger. To Polly, to you, and to himself. He couldn’t tell you that Polly intercepted your letters. He didn’t want to cut your relationship with her too.
“Fuck!” he roared. The barmaid comes in and asks Tommy if he was okay. He shrugs her off but seems intent on staying.
“Do you want me to sing for you?” she asked. He leans back, uninterested.
“Sure,”
“Happy or sad?” she asked.
“Uh, sad,”
“It’ll break your heart,” she says, smiling softly.
“Already broken,” he muttered. Already broken.
He sits there, unmoving. To be honest, he didn’t know why he was so mad at you. He was truly, utterly, and irrevocably alone now that you were gone. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to being alone. He prefered it sometimes. Maybe it’s because he always expected for the two of you to be alone together. Like you always were.
The fear of being unknown to you scares him. You’ve always known him—his whole heart and his whole soul. You’ve always known him but now, you’re gone. You’ll never know him the way you knew him. You were too different now and it rips through him like nothing else. You’ll never be there for him like you did. He’ll never know you like he did once. He could never pinpoint it but he hates how he was never enough for you. If only he could provide, if he could only protect, if only…
Here he thought he’d finally have a wink of sleep after four years.
-
You were on the phone with your husband after Tommy stormed out in anger last night. You needed to be comforted, to be told that you were right and that everyone else was wrong. It was one of the few luxuries you allowed yourself when you were with Tommy but you were positive that you’ve lost him now.
“Are you alright?” he asked, concern lacing his voice. “I can always come down there, you know,”
“I know,” you nodded. “I just miss you,”
“You do?” You could tell that that inflated his ego. “If it’s any consolation, I missed you too,”
“Do you think…do you think you can be here for the funeral?” you asked before you could even stop yourself. Why were you bringing him here when Tommy was around? Were you bringing him here out of spite? To make Tommy what? Jealous? But then again, was it a sin to ask for comfort from your husband? Tommy would never understand. He was quick to tell you what he thought of you yesterday. It was the first time he did it but you couldn’t get it out of your head. If to him, you were a whore, then a whore you’d be.
It was the only thing you were good at anyway.
“Of course,” he nodded. “This thing with Solomons is just shit work anyway. I’ll be there the day before. Will that be alright?”
“Yes,” you whispered. Are you really willing to let him inside the fort you’ve built with Tommy? “I lost my mom’s locket today and I…”
“You did?” he asked. He knew how important that locket was to you. You begged him to not take it off during your wedding. If only he knew. He bought you jewels but you never wore another necklace. “We can get you another one. Something that’s even more beautiful than the one you had.”
“I suppose so,” you sighed. “I love you,”
“I love you too.”
And you weren’t sure if you were still lying.
-
Simon arrives at your house sometime in the morning, before the sun rises. It was his first time seeing your house—being in your house. It was a small, shabby home with flowers. Have you always liked flowers? One of the servants opened the door for him and he entered. Poor you. Did you always live like this?
He spots you reading a book on the couch when you look up at him.
“How was your trip?” You close the book and sit upright. “I hope it wasn’t horrible,”
“I’m here now,” he sits down, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. “You’ve been on my mind since you left. Is there anything I have to know?”
“I…I talked to Polly,” you confessed. The grip that he has on your waist tightens. “But we only talked about Johnny. She said that the police aren’t doing anything to know who killed him.”
“I see,”
“But I left after that. I’ve never seen her since,” you said truthfully. “I told her that we couldn’t meet again,”
“Thank you for not breaking my trust,” he said, removing his grip on you. “You know it’s for us, right?”
“Yes, I know,” you nodded. This is wrong. This is all wrong. Why were you understanding him more? Are you only agreeing with Simon because you hated Tommy at that moment? What’s the sudden change?
You were all gathered at Johnny's funeral. Simon was beside you, holding your waist protectively. Beth was a wailing mess by the coffin. They were putting him six feet under. Last night was the last time she’ll ever see Johnny’s physical body again. You were bowing your head down, trying to keep your tears away. Johnny had been the father figure and now, he’s gone too.
The ceremony ends soon enough with Simon never letting go of your body. The Shelbys have noticed. Simon was basically hounding you so you wouldn’t have to talk to others.
“I sometimes wonder if she stopped talking to us because she wanted to or if she was forced to,” Arthur said, looking at you and your husband. Ada was looking at Polly. They were the only ones who knew. They both agreed to never tell a soul because of how messy things could be. Tommy would wage a war if it concerned you. “The question is why is she letting him?”
Tommy walks to where you were. He clears his throat to make himself known. He watches your figure become rigid. Simon was looking at him, his hand still on your waist. If he could shoot this prick’s hand for even laying a hand on you—
“I’m Tommy Shelby,” he starts. “I just decided to come by and offer a quick greeting to your wife.”
“Of course, Mr. Shelby,” Simon replied, his voice was strained and you were scared. Terrified. “Y/N didn’t tell me about you. Have you, darling?” There was a threat in his voice.
“Oh,” you nod, licking your lips. Your voice was wavering. “Mr. Shelby i-is someone I knew when I was a child, darling. He left for the war and…and…”
“We haven’t seen each other since,” he finishes. “I wish we could talk more,” Tommy added, confirming what he already thought. He didn’t spare you a glance and if he did, he didn’t make a show of it. “Mr. Coventry. Y/N,” he bowed, taking your gloved hand and kissing your knuckles. He walks away, leaving Simon’s anger and your anxiety behind him.
Simon didn’t speak to you on the way back. You tried but he only dismissed you with a cold shoulder. When you arrived home, he dragged you by the arm to the living room. You watched while the servants dispersed to give you some privacy. It was funny how they always pretended that they knew nothing.
“Do you really think I’m fucking stupid?” he roared, his loud voice vibrating the walls of your home. “You talked to Polly Gray but didn’t meet Tommy. At all,”
“You have to believe me, Simon. I never…it’s my first time seeing him again!” you pleaded, scared for Tommy’s life—scared for yours. Your arm hurts but you have bigger problems right now. What was a little bruise anyway? “I didn’t even know if he was still alive,”
“Can you shut the fuck up?” he asked. “It’s like everything that you’re saying are…are lies! I gave you everything,” he spits. “I gave you and your friends money. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be in that fucking brothel fucking some twat who could never afford everything that I’m giving you. Is that what you want? Do you want to go back there?”
“Simon,” you tried. “I swear, I didn’t know he was still alive. Polly never told me. I—“
“Liar!” he says, stepping closer to you. He grasps your chin tightly, your head unmoving at the pressure. “I bought you. Don’t you dare fucking disrespect me. I own you,”
“Simon, please…” you cried. “I swear to you I didn’t…”
“Shut up,” he spits. “You’re fucking disgusting,”
He shoves you to the floor and you cry. He leaves without looking at you. He didn’t apologise for what he did. It was the first time he showed you what you were to him. A property. You didn’t sleep that night; you were just on the balcony, looking at the docks, wondering what would’ve happened if you had just waited.
-
The morning comes and you are tired. Simon just woke up and decided to stay with you on the balcony.
“I’m sorry, angel,” he whispers. He wraps his arms around your shoulders. “I’m sorry for doing that. I promise to never do that again. I was just…so angry because Tommy Shelby came to us. Do you see why you’re not allowed to be here? Why I hate it when you’re in Birmingham? These fucking rats have no respect,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
“Simon, you said things,” you whispered, looking up at him. Tears stained your cheeks. Everything that he said replayed inside your head over and over. What right did you have to demand his apology if he owned you? “You…”
Defeated, Simon sighs.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You know that I’m doing this for us. I’m sorry,”
You could only nod wordlessly, blinking away the tears before they fall again. You didn’t notice the bruising on your jaw yet. You weren’t at the brothel anymore but up to what extent are you truly free? At the end of the day, you’re still weak. You still have nothing. At the end of the day, buttering him up doesn’t matter.
-
BIRMINGHAM, 1912
“One day, we’ll be able to buy those fancy, black cars and drive around London as much as we want.” Tommy said. He was in his work clothes, a greasy white shirt and his shaggy hair falling in different sorts of places.
“We will?”
“Yes,” he nodded, his shoulder touching yours. You were just about to work when he pulled you away. He asked if you wanted to come with him to The Cut for a little while and you agreed, finding it hard to say no to him. “I’ll get you one and then, I’ll get you a horse.”
“Don’t forget the house with a big lawn,” you giggled.
“How could I forget?” he asked. “I’ll buy that first,”
“Would you hate me if things don’t work out the way we want them to?” you asked. “I’m just wondering,”
“Why wouldn’t it? We’re staying together,” Tommy said, casting you a confused look.
“I mean, you’ll get a wife. I can’t live in the same house as her,” you said. “I don’t want to cause unnecessary problems for the two of you. I want her to be my friend too.”
“I’m not marrying,” he said. “Why should I marry? We come as a pair. Never one without the other. We won’t need anyone else,”
“That would be nice.”
“I get it,” he nodded. “You’re always my main priority. I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about all that yet. As long as you’re with me, I’ll be fine,”
“And if I’m not?”
“I won’t,”
“How are you going to do all this?” you asked. You always believed in Tommy.
“I’ll do everything,”
“You’re a man of ambition, Tommy. Did you know that you can’t have ambition without being a little dangerous?”
He ponders. He’ll deal all of his cards and fold if it came to you.
There were a million things you wanted to tell him at that moment. He does, too. He looks at you so…lovingly and so naturally that it doesn’t seem like anything anymore. Tommy really didn’t fear anything, except when it came to you. He’s scared to tell you the truth because he might change the course of things. He’s scared to never fulfil all of his promises to you. He’s scared that he’ll never amount to anything other than a greasy boy that you took care of.
He doesn’t say any of this, though, so he just smokes slow.
-
BIRMINGHAM, 1919
“I have to do something about it,” Tommy told his brothers, taking a swig of his Irish whiskey. He was composed but his mind was running at a speed that he couldn’t quite catch up on. Were you happy in your marriage?
“Tom, it’s better if you could just let her go,” Arthur replied. “It’s not my place, hm? But we saw them yesterday. Maybe it’s for the best,”
“It’s not,” Stoic as ever, he looked ahead.
“It’s a bad idea…” his older brother tried. “You’re fighting against a king. You’re not—“
“Why is everyone telling me that I can’t do anything? Why?” he asked. “I hardly recall asking for your permission, Arthur. You and Polly have been telling me what I can and can’t do.”
“Tommy, think about it. With the fucking guns and taking on this whole…thing with her. It’s too big. So, just let it go, eh? You’ll get yourself killed,” John added. He knew of Tommy’s affections for you. Hell, he knew what Tommy meant. John discreetly watched you and your husband. You couldn’t maintain eye contact, you couldn’t speak freely without a stutter. It was so different from the Y/N that he used to know but Tommy couldn’t be persuaded. He was living on the edge of life in the war that it didn’t matter to him if he died or not. He’s free from the fear of death; he could do whatever he wanted.
“I’m a man of ambition. You can’t have ambition without being a little dangerous,”
-
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Tommy feels like the world was caving in. Fuck. He always hated sleeping, no matter how much he craved it. The darkness of his room and his closed eyes reminds him of the darkness of the tunnels. The walls and the tightness of the closed spaces; the unknown waiting on the other side. The lives he lost, the blood that his comrades spilled. He sits up, he hates how he couldn’t sleep because he’s always hearing the gunshots and the bombs in France. He hates being weak. Things were never the same and he so desperately wanted it to be. He couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. He couldn’t see the faint lamp that burned on his bedside table. The ringing in his ears doesn’t subside. It was just fucking dark.
He looks over his bedside table and reaches for your picture. You always seemed to calm him no matter where he went. No matter what he does, you always seem to ground him.
“Y/N,” he whispered, taking a swig of his whiskey. As if that would just conjure you. He was sometimes convinced that your picture was an apparition of the time when everything was quieter. When his world had no guns and bombs. When you two were together. He frowns, taking his head in between his hands and cries.
If only he was stronger. If only he was rich. If only he could fulfil all of the promises he gave you. If only.
-
If there was anything he regretted, it was how angry he was when he went to your old house for your first meeting. He’s been waiting to be graced by your smile for years but he couldn’t control the anger that brewed inside him. He was so guarded after the war. But those guards seem to crumble around you, leaving him defenceless and vulnerable like a child.
A knock on his door arouses him. It was currently just before the sunrise; that hazy blue period that calms him before everyone else wakes. He checked from his window outside but there was nothing. Another knock comes and he sighs, going downstairs to check. He puts his gun behind him. He opens the door and it reveals you.
You were shaking like a leaf when his eyes landed on your figure.
“I don’t know…where else to…to go,” you whispered. He goes out and looks around to make sure that no one’s there. When the coast is clear, he takes your hand and guides you to the living room. He was hoping that no one heard anything.
“Do you need anything?” he asked.
“Just…water, please,”
“Did you walk all the way?”
“Yeah,” he hears you say while he pours you a glass. “Sorry for disturbing you,”
“It’s alright,” he tells you, giving you the glass.
“Yeah,” you replied, drinking the water to avoid any sort of communication with your old friend. “Tommy?”
“Hm?” he asked, sitting in front of you and it’s so different it hurts. He used to sit beside you, knee to knee. He had to blink multiple times to clear his vision—to make sure that you were actually there. “What brings you here?”
“I…I…” you couldn’t say a single word before you broke into tears. It was then when Tommy actually looked at you, the bruising on your chin, your defeated stance. He trembles in anger but forces himself to let it subside and comfort you. “S-sorry,”
“Hey, hey. It’s okay, love,” he whispers, sitting beside you this time and rubbing circles on your back. “You don’t have to talk about it,”
“Would you still…would you still protect me?” you asked and you were aware of how selfish you sounded. “You’re right. I’m a-a whore,” you chuckled, looking away from him. “I know I’m being unfair…marrying Simon and then coming here…”
It appals him for you to think that he’ll ever stop protecting you. It disturbs him for letting you think that way because of one argument.
Your chin was quivering as you tried to form a coherent sentence.
“I thought…I thought I was free but he laid a hand on me,” you tried. “Gripped my chin and called me his property,”
You told yourself that it wasn’t Tommy’s fault.
“All because you talked to me during the funeral,” you whispered. You couldn’t stop yourself and Tommy couldn’t stop himself from the emotions that linger. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault that you loved him.
“Let’s run away,” It’s all his fault. All his fault that he loved you.
“Tommy…” you whispered, shaking your head. “Did you know…did you know why I stopped talking to you?” you asked him. He didn’t. Maybe the reason why he’s so angry with you was because he didn’t know. “When you were in France, he told me that if I continue any form of communication with the Shelbys…he’ll locate you and your brothers and have the three of you killed.” You reveal to him. “You always said you’ll protect me but I wanted to protect you too.”
Your broken voice was something that he’ll never forget. Your fragile figure was something that he’ll never remove from his brain. You were…miserable. How could you let yourself be miserable for his sake? How could Simon let you cry? How could he break you? You were so strong, the strongest he’s ever known.
“I will kill him,”
“Tommy, no,” you whimpered. “I’m here to tell you that…that the best way to protect me is to forget about me,”
“You can’t do that to me,” Tommy replied, his voice stern. He was trying so, so hard. “Not when I waited to come home for four years.”
“It’s the best way,” you pleaded. “You can go start a family or…or do something else but if you really want to protect me, you’ll forget about me,”
You were so defeated, your figure curled to your heart like you were protecting yourself from everyone. Tommy could see the stutter of your body while you tried to control everything.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he tried, blinking the tears away but failing. His resolve was crumbling; popping the joints on his knuckles to ground him. It was then he noticed your nail beds, peeled and crusted with dried blood. You must have been thinking about it for so long. “You’re not giving me a choice here, love,” You must have been hurting.
“He’ll kill you, Tom. I wouldn’t be able to take it if I am the reason why your body’s thrown at The Cut.” you told him. “I let you go once without knowing for sure that you’ll come back alive. I’ll make sure that this time, you are.”
“So that’s it, eh?” he asked. “Your bastard husband threatens my life and you let him control you.” he licks his lips.
“I’m sorry, Tom,” you told him. “That's all I could do. You’re a man…you could have the world. I’m a woman and I can’t have anything unless I make it. This is me making it.” This is me making sure that I’ll never have to think about you.
You left in the wee hours of the morning and Tommy lets you go without a fight. He thought that he was the one doing the protecting, when you’ve been protecting him all along. You were his most tender wound. Battle scars from France don't compare to the pain he’s feeling in the darkness of the house. Should he run after you? Should he heed your advice? What if he kills Simon? Will you be free then?
“Her husband’s dealing with Alfie Solomons,” he tells everyone during a family meeting. “I’ll deal with Solomons myself,”
“You’re waging a war that is bigger than all of us, Tommy,” Arthur said.
“I’m not asking for approval,” he only replied, his voice was monotonous; suppressing his emotions as much as he could. He swallows. “Information about Y/N’s home life has reached me. She told me that the best way to protect her is to forget about her.” He confessed.
“Well, shit,” Ada replied. “Surely…”
“Surely, I won’t.” he said, voice stern and determined. “I’ll deal all of my cards if I have to. Do you get that?”
“Tommy, it’s a bad idea. She’s right. With the fucking inspector on our throats and Simon Coventry…you’ll get yourself killed.”
“I have decided,”
“Then, what’s all of this for, then?”
“Just letting you know.” he says, looking at everyone’s face of disapproval.
When he exits the Garrison, Polly runs after him. She was determined to let him let you go for your safety. It was a sticky situation that Tommy was putting himself in. A semblance of power doesn’t mean that he’s powerful but he couldn’t seem to understand that.
“Tommy, do you want to save her because you want to or is it because you have to prove yourself to you?” she asked him, grasping his arm.
“Polly—“
“Do you love her because you do or do you only think you do because you need her? It’s alright to let her go, Tom. You have to realise that maybe she’s correct,” she reasoned. “The more you move, the more she’s constricted—“
“You took her away from me, Polly,” he spits. “How can I not love her when I need her beside me to even get a wink of sleep? Her picture was all I looked at in France. She is the reason why I’m alive—why I’m here. You took her away from me and I am taking her back. Does that look like love to you?” he demanded, shaking her arm away.
“You want to know what blinds a man as smart as you, Tom? Love,” she says. “You’re making things—“
“So I am blind,” he shrugs. “I vowed to protect her and that is a vow that I’ll take to the grave with me, Pol. You could help or not. It wouldn’t matter either way but you owe it to me to try. At least,”
A beat passes, Polly doesn’t speak. He nods to excuse himself, walking away as the blind man.
-
A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I’m so glad you’re still here.
Don’t forget to reblog / leave a comment if you liked it!
PART 4
TAGLIST: @shelbydelrey @runnning-outof-time @duckybird101 @thenattitude @swordofawriter @litteltourtius @trixie23 @everythingelseisextra @majesticcmey @liveat1am @dumb-wh @denabp16 @yvonna-chan @goldensunflowe-r @therosabel @hunnibearrr @dazecrea @daddyslittleattentionwhore @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf @dang-shawty-okay @dasia21 @tsenthusiast1920 @aces-tattooartist @panda-luminary @ttaechi @spencerrxids @i-heart-food @fudge13 @affabletimelady @heartcereql @ce1iat @notalxx @1800-queen-trash
#tommy shelby x reader#tommy shelby#tommy shelby angst#tommy shelby fluff#fanfiction#fanfic#tommy shelby fanfiction#peaky blinders#peaky blinders x reader#cillian murphy#cillian murphy x reader#protection!tommy
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