#all i could do to make this anxiety this pain this desire to see her again right now now now. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

erideights · 8 months

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Little pieces here and there (4)

Pairing: Buggy x Fem!Reader (One Piece Live Action)

Parts: one, two, three, five

Word Count: 4,2K, i should ask for forgiveness

Warnings: flirting, pinning, (FUCKING) FINALLY, unprotected sex, buggy detaching parts of his body during sex like the freak he is

A/N: i've been building this moment so long that i was, once more, inspired by god to make this chapter the longest ever, i hope you all enjoy and that the awaited smut doesn't disappoint and delivers (let me know, anxiety is killing me, love u all, see you in chapter 5, the final (until season 2) of this series) (again i'm really really sorry for any grammatical mistake!)

Day 5 after what happened during the Arlong Park fight, or what is the same for her = 5 AAP, (Y/N) is sure about three things:

1. With the choice of leaving her mercenary life behind, comes her new position as the ''strategist'' of the Straw Hat crew, a group of very unique people that after a couple of stops along the way, would arrive at the Grand Line.

2. Their next destination is Loguetown, which excited her; she loved the city, she never turned down an assignment that involved working there. They would arrive in a couple of days and stock up on everything they would need before beginning the greatest adventure of their lives.

3. Buggy's nose was real. Very real. And she missed him. Just a bit.

To be more precise, that bit of tension and constant sarcasm around her. She knew he was a pain in the ass, and that his staying on the ship wouldn't have lasted much more than an extra day and a half because one of her crewmates -Zoro- would have unceremoniously thrown him overboard anytime.

But it was really fun for her, so from time to time and in particular, when she passes by the helm, she finds herself remembering that annoying talking head and smiling a bit.

And so, after an entire week, they arrive at the famous Loguetown, the tomb of the most famous pirate of all time, a refuge for mercenaries, pirates and bounty hunters from all corners of the East Blue! No matter what, everything your heart could desire -except for the One Piece- you could find there. Jewelry, weapons, food, alcohol, a good bed to sleep and rest in, or other darker, macabre and adult types of entertainment.

Ah, what a city. Anyone could get lost among its endless alleys packed with people. That's why when the crew splits up, they do it in pairs, making sure that Zoro, who they had already discovered, lacked complete and utter sense of direction, wouldn't be left alone and lost among the city's infinite tide of pirates. (Y/N) is the one who goes with him, both heading to the largest armory in the city to replace his destroyed katanas while Sanji and Luffy take care of the food, and Usopp and Nami go around to do… she doesn’t really remember what. Trying clothes she believes.

She must say, however, that this swordsman is not exactly the most talkative person in the world even though their friendship has considerably grown and deepened during their little journey. Apart from sharing small notes about the city, how many people there are, or what they should do, they don't really talk that much; in her case, because she is absorbed in her surroundings, soaking in every possible detail. Him, silent because his reputation as a pirate hunter is famous around all the East Blue, and of course, in Loguetown there are only pirates. He prefers to stay alert to avoid future conflicts and have a peaceful morning. Not for him, but for his crew.

That's why when a gloved hand flies out of a dark alley, and violently covers the girl's mouth and nose, preventing her from screaming, while another grabs her by the waistband of her pants and yanks her back, forcing her to get in said alley, Zoro doesn't even notice, he continues calmly walking, minding his own fucking business, heading to only God knows where.

Farewell, mosshead.

In a blink, (Y/N)'s back collides with a strong torso, and with her heart in her mouth and adrenaline running wild in her veins, she stretches her right hand to reach the knife she has in the holster on her right thigh to destroy the asshole that dares to try to steal from her. Or murder her. Or that's her idea until she hears a familiar voice murmuring an “I got you” behind her, before turning her head and discovering the biggest, reckless buffoon she's ever met.

Buggy.

Eyes wide open, she screams against his palm, pissed off by the way he scared the shit outta her. Extremely angry, she yanks his hand away from her mouth, turns her entire body around and looks at him with what he would swear, is the most annoyed expression he ever saw in his entire life. Before the clown can excuse himself and his lack of manners, just as she begins to see that stupid smile appear on his stupid face, she slaps him so hard that for a second, he thinks his head will detach from the rest of his body.

Then, and pushed by an outburst of passion that comes out of she doesn’t even understand where, a mixture of adrenaline, surprise, her desire to kill him with her own hands and the -sexual- frustration with which he abandoned her the last time, she grabs his vest, pulls and kisses him. Again, all before Buggy can even react.

The kiss is brief. Really quick, but intense as hell, and she manages to leave him breathless. Yes, him. Only him. Because the moment they separate, when (Y/N) pushes him back, she spits out a heartfelt “You're an idiot!”

What a fucking rollercoaster. He doesn't even remember what he was about to say anymore to greet her. He's in fact, too stunned to speak. Did she slapped, kissed, and insulted him in less than a minute? Oh, she's a freak, just like him. The only difference between them is that she knows how to pretend the opposite. But she can't hide it from him. Not to the king of the freaks.

''I missed you too, baby'' he admits with an amused smile, moving his jaw a little from side to side, as well as his neck; that woman is stronger than he expected.

''Yeah? Because I really didn’t.’’ she spits once again, taking a deep breath. ''Liar'' he retorts, eyeing her up and down. ''Liir'' she instantly mocks, still recovering from the tsunami of emotions that just passed through her. ''What the fuck are you doing in Loguetown?''

''I came looking for my sorry excuses for a supporting cast,'' his crew. Were they still alive? Would have sworn Zoro destroyed all of them but who knew. ''and turns out I found the perfect, shiny, little new supporting star for my show'' he adds, as flirtatious as always around her, approaching (Y/N) again.

''Oh, I feel flattered but as I already told you, I don't like being in the spotlight. I relate way more to the shadow around it.”

He rolls his eyes but nods in understanding, reaching out to grab the girl's waist. ''Mhm. What about a private show, then? We have a play to finish, If my memory's not betraying me.'' He whispers honeyed, closing the distance between the two just a bit more. Cannot stop himself, neither he wants to. He knew as soon as he recognized her on the street, he would not let her go without putting order in their outstanding matters.

She’s about to add her usual sarcastic and smartass remark saying something among the lines of ‘without inviting me to dinner first?’ but she chooses not to. Just for once. ''I could agree to that.'' The girl admits, tilting a smile. ''Not here, tho.'' Pressing the clown's chest with her index finger, signaling for him to stay still, (Y/N) runs her tongue over her upper teeth, taking a couple of seconds to think.

In the end, she raises an eyebrow, and with an amused smile, she asks: “Do you trust me?”

''Not in a million years''

''I knew you would say that.'' She still takes one of his hands, that was still on her waist, and starts walking quite fast towards the other end of the alley, pulling him with her. He doesn’t object at all, despite not knowing where the hell is she taking him, and simply follows her lead, unconsciously squeezing her hand to not to lose her in the crowd.

Not many minutes later, after climbing some stairs and turning a few streets, there they are, in front of a beautiful tavern with windows decorated with ornate dark wooden planks, designing patterns of small squares, offering a beautiful view of its interior. The building was not one of the largest in the area, but it was not one of the smallest either. She knew from experience* that the floors above the tavern were rooms rented to the pickiest pirates. They had enough space to rest comfortably after a long voyage at sea, with a good bed and several locks on the doors and windows to prevent intrusions, attempts at robbery or murder, or a drunken idiot making a mistake and entering the wrong room.

*She knows this because a couple of years ago she needed to sneak in during the night to steal a jade seal from a famous pirate captain, who had previously stolen it from the temple it belonged to a few months before. Getting in wasn't easy at all.

Walking to the side of the building, where the windows of the rooms can be seen better, (Y/N) looks right, then left, making sure there’s no one nosing around.

‘’Here we are.’’ She announces, looking at him with a devilish smirk on her face. ''Now pay attention, here's my brilliant, unique and exceptional plan. It will absolutely blow your mind.’’ He cracks a genuine smile after hearing how she praised herself. She sounded almost like him.

“First step: Throw your head up to that window over there,” she points said window with her index finger, two floors above their heads, “and tell me if there’s someone sleeping inside. Or if you see any sign someone rented the room.’’

Confusion is the feeling that crosses his beautiful face for a second, looking at her with a raised eyebrow and lips pressed into a small incredulous smile. She wants to sneak through the window without being seen and not pay a single berry? Exactly what a true pirate would do. He was starting to fall in love with her.

Without a second thought, his head separates from his body and floats to the open window, slightly sneaking in to check as she asked. And as fast as it goes up, it returns back down, just like a yo-yo. ''Clear'' He confirms, amused.

''Perfect, second step: now throw your right hand, same window, and leave it there.'' And he does as she says, no questions asked, because he could not do otherwise. Because he wouldn't want to do otherwise. He was not made to follow orders and still, deep down, he knows he would follow hers. Or better said… he would follow her around. She was, maybe, not a theatre kid like him, but to his eyes, she shines brightly.

Not as much as him, tho.

Once Buggy's right hand waits patiently on the window frame, (Y/N) grabs the clown by the shoulders and strategically positions him under the window. Then she takes his left hand, bringing it forward. "Third step: with this hand you propel me into the air, with the other you grab me and you help me sneak in."

''And the final step?'' Getting very close to his face, the girl rubs her nose against his and whispers, voice low and lustful, ''You float to the window and meet me inside for that private show you mentioned before.'' He already knew the goal of that whole improvised plan, but he almost purrs when he hears her say it.

Then Buggy throws her upwards without prior notice, way stronger than she expected, and a sweet, genuine laugh escapes (Y/N)'s lips at the lack of gravity and that distinctive tickle in her stomach that rises to her throat. Not even when he uses that floating hand to catch her and guide her to the room, her feet on solid ground again, she’s able to stop laughing.

She expected this whole forbidden getaway to be entertaining, but not so, so fun. There was no point in denying the obvious: the complicity, the chemistry between them is criminal, asphyxiating, palpable, and so, so /real/. It's not only about physical attraction and sexual tension anymore, they were actually really compatible, which could only, and is already, making things one hundred times better.

As soon as she's inside, still giggling a bit, she's quick to reach the door and securely close it, fitting the bolt with a pair of lockpicks that she had on her. On the other hand, as soon as Buggy gets inside the room he chooses not to lose a single second, because every second he wastes is one less that he can enjoy that fantastic woman who is driving him crazy; before she can return to the center of the room, he has already recovered his right hand, thrown his hat to the floor along with his coat, and has rushed towards her, kissing her again, this time without a hurry, but voraciously, passionately, with the irresistible yearning he has been suffering for almost two weeks. He wants-- no, he needs to make her his. The desire making his blood boil. Her warmth, her smell, the taste of her lips-- even her laugh. It was too much. Too intoxicating.

(Y/N) welcomes him, sighing deeply against his lips, tilting her head a little, melting in the kiss, her hands flying to his hair to take out the bandana and pull at his blue locks, to which Buggy responds by grabbing her from the back of her thighs, lifting her up and carrying her to the bed, near the window. He lets some of his weight fall onto her, loosely holding himself on his knees on the mattress. She closes her legs around his waist, pressing him even a little closer against her body, excitement coursing through her veins like poison.

All that little game with the clown was just flirting, huh? Yeah, sure.

For a minute, everything is kisses, stealing each other's breaths, strong caresses on arms, legs, and back over clothes. There are bites at each other's lips, seemingly incapable of getting enough of the other, the attraction between them driving them both so absolutely insane than getting some distance to get naked seems impossible.

“Baby,” raspily, he press his crotch between her legs to let her feel his growing erection under his pants. ''I suggest you getting naked before I rip your clothes off by myself.''

She moans in response, wetter, more aroused by every second passing, unable to even think about playing hard to get this time. ''Aye aye captain'' she manages to whisper back mischievously, separating her hands from his body in order to pull her own shirt up and throw it somewhere in the room.

He grunts, but makes the titanic effort to separate himself from her, standing on his knees in front of her laying body, licking his lips, breathing heavily, eyes half-closed, already fucking her in his thoughts. Of course, seeing her undress for him is quite a show.

After her shirt comes the button and zipper of her pants. Although before getting rid of these, she pulls the scarf around the clown's neck, forcing him to lean over her again, and after it goes his vest. Given the girl's haste, he lets escape a hoarse laugh that reverberates inside his chest and decides to help her with whatever’s left between them; shoes, pants, gloves, and underwear.

''You're gorgeous'' he breathes, taking in her image in front of him. “You’re almost making me feel guilty for what I'm about to do.”

Before she could even ask, or threaten with a ‘don't you fucking dare’ or something among those lines, one of Buggy's hands flies to her own, and pins her wrists against the bed with such force, she hisses, heart in her throat, deafening her ears. She remembers herself, this was all too good to be true, and that damn clown promised to make her beg. He wasn't going to forgive her so easily, was he?

Her fault.

''Sweetheart, open your beautiful legs for me, will you?'' Returning to the bed, the clown settles between the girl's thighs, running -with the only hand still attached to his body-, one of her legs, from the knee to the hip bone in a slow and tortuous caress.

''Now, I'm pretty sure I warned you about what's about to happen last time you took advantage of my... uncomfortable, kinda-hostage situation on your stupid little boat. When you decided to push me to my limit.''

She is too aroused, too turned on to think clearly, her mind clouded by the same rush of hormones that’s making her incredibly wet. Having him now naked between her legs, threatening her in that low tone of voice, exposed helplessly in front of him, doesn't help at all; it is, as a matter of fact, making things way worse.

''You wanted me to beg, right?’’

''Exactly. It's that easy.'' After a couple of strokes, he grabs his erection and runs it slowly through her wet folds, both of them barely containing a moan in their throats at the sensation. He, perhaps, better than her, because (Y/N) involuntarily pushes her hips upwards, trying to get some more. ''Ah-ah. Want me to fuck you, sweetheart? Just beg for it. Beg for /me/.''

Being the proud woman she is, it's not exactly easy for her to seriously beg for something. Joking? Of course, any time, even sarcastically, but something is telling her, her sixth sense probably, he won't settle with a sarcastic remark and dove eyes.

Closing her eyes tightly, she lets herself be carried away by pure and absolute desperation every time he runs his erection through her, lubricating himself with her fluids. He is silent, already tasting the sweet victory he’ll feel when he manages to break her and make her beg. Although this doesn't happen as quickly as he would have preferred.

''(Y/N)'' He warns, and it's the first time he says her name out loud. The first time she hears him, with his raspy voice and his beautiful accent, pronouncing her real name instead of some compliment or silly nickname to call her.

Welcome, breaking point.

''Beg--''

''I need you,'' she interrupts him in a low whimper, lifting her hips. ''Bugs-- Buggy, I need you to fuck me. Now.”

Usually, it's moments like this particular one in which the clown enjoys recreating himself, making others beg a little more, -sex, mercy, forgiveness- doesn’t matter-, taking his good time listening to her moans and cries of desperation. But he can't help it, the second he hears the girl call him by his name, telling him how much she needs him, and that silly attempt of an order at the end, he knows it’s game over, and he decides to give her exactly what she wants, penetrating her suddenly the last time he runs slowly through her folds. A sweet moan of relief and pleasure escapes from (Y/N) chest along with a "Fuck, Buggy--". From him, a hoarse grunt. A shiver runs down their spines, and quickly, Buggy recovers his other hand, freeing her from his grip, to aggressively pull both of her thighs to bring her closer to him, and begins to thrust hard, all shreds of self-control escaping from his body lightspeed.

He pushes into her as deep as he can in no time, burying himself between her legs, face hidden in the crook of her neck, hands keeping her legs open, close to his hips.

She doesn't know what she likes more, the erratic sound of his breathing and panting in her ear, the desperation with which his whole body seems to search for hers or each penetration sending an ecstasy shock through her nerves, but she soon becomes a puddle of sweet moans, whimpers and breathing as heavy as his, one hand pulling hard at his blue hair, the other resting on his abdomen, nails digging slightly his skin with each thrust.

''Oh god, Bugs--’’

''Moan my name louder baby,'' he breathes before biting her shoulder, leaving the mark of his teeth imprinted on her skin. ''I want them to catch us. I want them hearing you scream my name.”

And she does. She moans his name again, just not as loud as he wants. Which means there is something, something he can do better. Something to push her to her limit, to make her a believer, and make her /his/.

Summoning all his willpower, and not before one last, violent thrust, the clown stops and suddenly pulls out of her. (Y/N) complains with a loud cry, opening her eyes to ask what the fuck is he actually doing, how dares he to stop. Thank God, she doesn't have time to threaten him before he speaks.

''On your knees.'' And of course she obliges, on all fours, the simple idea making her completely lose her mind. Only thing, Buggy doesn't intend to keep her like this for a long time; as soon as she exposes herself for him again, he buries himself once more inside her as deep as he can and starts thrusting again, slowly but strongly, ending each thrust with a loud slam. This time, both hands separate from his body, one reaching for her delicate neck, which he circles with his fingers and presses to lightly cut off her breathing. The other one flies to her mouth, pushing between her lips with two fingers that she soaks in her saliva.

(Y/N), unable to articulate a single complaint, sucks, bites and licks them, muffling against them every sound that escapes her throat.

A pleasure shock, like a lightning bolt, forces her to arch her back the moment that same hand flies to her clitoris and starts masturbating it, overstimulating her.

Buggy is really determined to make her his, to not let her forget about him, to become the legitimate protagonist of each of her erotic fantasies, so to finish driving her crazy, the hand he has around her neck lifts her up, pulling her until he forces her back against his torso in a beautiful reference to the day they met and the first time he felt that magnetic attraction inevitably pulling him towards her.

''So. Much. Better,” he manages to whisper between grunts and raspy moans, surrounding her abdomen with one of his arms to keep her in place, close to his chest, sacrificing penetrating her as deeply as he would like but without caring in the slightless because he knows, she is quickly reaching her orgasm. He can feel it in the way her walls contract around his cock, in the beating of her heart in her throat against his hand, and in how her hands reach for anything, trying to support herself; in this case, his arm around her, nails scratching his skin.

''C'mon baby, cum for me.'' He groans, refusing to fall headfirst to his own orgasm because he doesn't plan to finish before her. Under other circumstances he would have done it, he has never been the kind of generous lover who thinks of his partner's pleasure before his own. This woman is breaking some old habits and patterns just being the way she is. And he doesn't care at all.

A few more thrust, the lack of enough oxygen in her lungs and that wonderful pressure on her clitoris, and (Y/N) explodes in an orgasm so strong she begins to breathless moan Buggy’s name over and over again like a mantra, which obviously feeds his ego so, so much, it ends up sending him over the same edge, moaning her name under his breath, resting his forehead on her shoulder, hugging her body tightly as they ride their climax.

…

''Told you I would make you beg'' he cracks a devilish smirk, wrapping his right arm around her shoulders when he finally lies on the mattress.

''Yeah'' she giggles, although sarcastically, recovering by the second, enough clarity to recompose her own ego. ''You also told me you would make me find the One Piece without going to the Grand Line and I cannot see it anywhere yet.''

What a subtle way of asking for a second round, he thinks to himself, clearly pleased -instead of offended- for the way his smile stretches even more, looking intently at her.

“You're right.” He would have liked to lie on the bed for a while, getting back some energy and attack again, but damn him if he ever dares to reject a provocation as bold as that one. He wouldn't forgive himself.

Getting out of bed almost as quickly as he lay down a few minutes ago, Buggy cracks his neck from side to side, and taking one of the chairs next to the table in the room, he turns it in the air, leaving it pointing towards the girl.

He then sits down, leaning on the backrest, relaxed, exhaling an erotic, slow sigh as he exaggeratedly separates his legs in a clear invitation for her to come closer and sit on them.

"What did you say the other day? About liking a man with his entire body, capable of fucking you in his lap and making you scream his name?"

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown #buggy one piece #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy x you #op buggy #one piece live action #one piece x reader #captain buggy

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queenshelby · 6 months

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Forbidden Desire (Part 19)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest, Smut

Please comment and engage xx 😘

For a fleeting moment, Tommy appeared defeated, having never expected such revelations tonight. However, regaining control swiftly, he leaned against the wall menacingly.

"Why didn't you fucking tell me sooner, eh?" Tommy roared furiously struggling to contain his anger. Sweat trickled down his forehead, making him shiver involuntarily as his mind raced through various scenarios regarding his future interaction with you and his son.

"Because you abandoned me, Thomas! You said that you won't, but you did!" you shouted, exasperated and you could see Tommy visibly cringe upon hearing these harsh words, pain etched deeply across his features.

Inhaling sharply, Tommy turned abruptly, walking towards the window without saying anything further.

"No one can know that I am the father of your child, Y/N," he stated matter-of-factly after a brief silence, indicating his demand rather than asking for consent. "Do you understand?" he then ought to ask and you nodded.

"I understand and I had no intention to involve you in his life until now that Polly told me about your plans for Boston," you said vehemently, standing your ground firmly. "Fucking opium, Tommy! I do not want to have any part in this business," you insisted, displaying your commitment to distancing yourself from this kind of life.

"Do you seriously think that I would have put you in danger Y/N?" Tommy murmured softly, a pleading note laced in his question, searching your eyes earnestly before explaining the situation to you.

"Michael is taking on the opium business independently and I made sure that you are not going to be involved in these activities," Tommy explained before telling you "I still love you Y/N. I always will. And I will never put you into harm's way, I promise," Tommy declared solemnly, his tone heavy with conviction. "As much as you might hate me right now, I will always try to protect you," he told you and you looked at him, finally able to read genuine concern in his eyes - a stark contrast to the cold disregard you often witnessed.

For a split second, you considered letting go of your grudges and opening your heart once again to the man you used to love so passionately. But then, reality set in, reminding you why you chose this path and all the reasons why reconciling with Tommy wouldn't work.

Despite his claims, your trust remained broken, his promises unfulfilled. Even though you found solace in seeing him vulnerable and humanized, your resolve only strengthened as your pride refused to let you surrender to the emotional turmoil.

"I am glad, because my son means everything to me now and I need to be around for him so that he has a better life than me growing up," you replied coolly, turning away from him just as Tommy's maid, Frances, barged through the door.

"Mr Shelby, there has been an incident at the Midland Hotel," she informed urgently, her eyes wide with worry, causing your heart to skip a beat.

"There seems to be a fire," continued Frances cautiously, fear evident in her voice and, almost instantly, anxiety coursed through you as this was where your son was staying with your maid.

"Oh my god. I need to go there, right now Tommy," you exclaimed, panicking as images of your baby flashed vividly in front of your eyes. Before Tommy could say anything, you hurried past him towards the door.

"Wait, Y/N!" Tommy yelled but you ignored him, running frantically toward the exit. As you bolted through the house, you could hear Tommy calling your name repeatedly, ordering his staff to follow you and ensure your safety.

Tommy ran after you, following you to one of his Bentleys and helping you get inside. As he jumped into the driver seat himself, he glanced briefly at your flushed complexion and reassured you that everything would be fine.

"You don't fucking know that, Tommy. My son is there, with my maid, at the hotel. What if something happens to him?" you screamed, filled with dread and panic.

"You need to calm down Love. Panicking is not going to help you. Now focus, did anyone follow you from the docks when you arrived?" Tommy asked as, without hesitating, he pulled the vehicle onto a side street, speeding rapidly towards the hotel.

"No, no one has followed us," you replied uneasily while tightening your hold on the edge of the leather seats, anxiousness consuming you whole.

Tears brimmed silently in your eyes, ready to overflow at any moment. Gripping your hand, Tommy reached over and intertwined our fingers together in a desperate attempt to alleviate some of your stress.

All throughout the journey, his focus shifted between driving and checking on you, ensuring your comfort amidst the chaos unfolding outside.

Once arrived at the burning building, Tommy parked the car quickly and leapt out, heading towards the entrance. In the background, sirens grew steadily louder as more emergency vehicles approached.

"You cannot go in there Mr Shelby," a young policeman tried stopping Tommy, brandishing a stop sign in one hand. Despite his authority, Tommy forcefully pushed passed him, determined to find his son, dismissively ignoring the officer's protests.

You felt weak and helpless, your palms sweaty as you struggled to remain composed, clutching onto Tommy's arm for support.

As Tommy navigated through the crowd of concerned faces, pushing aside those who got in his way, a sense of relief washed over you as you saw your son being safely evacuated from the hotel along with your maid.

Your breath hitched audibly, the tension melting away like ice under sunlight.

Their clothes were singed and black smoke covered their skin, visible evidence of the horror they'd endured mere moments ago. Your instinct was to run to them immediately, but Tommy halted your movement, gently holding you back as, in the distance, he saw two men who appeared to be a thread.

"Wait," he commanded sternly, holding you back as he watched the men closely before, with his other hand, unholstering his gun.

"Tommy, what's going on?" you demanded, steeling yourself as you squinted through the dense cloud of greyish smoke enveloping the area.

"The fire wasn't an accident..." Tommy muttered, observing the suspicious duo warily as they casually walked away from the chaotic scene. "And I think that you are the target," he then went on to say while keeping his cool.

"Me?" you asked, shocked. "But you said that I won't be in any danger with this new business deal taking place," you retorted accusingly, unable to conceal your alarm.

"It's not because of the new business venture. It's because of something Arthur got himself involved in while serving time earlier this year," Tommy explained, causing your chin to drop.

"My father went to jail? How did I not know about this?" you asked worryingly but Tommy simply told you not to worry too much about it before hushing you back into his vehicle discreetly.

"I need you to wait here for me while I clean up this mess. Promise me that you won't leave the car," Tommy ordered authoritatively, wanting to make certain that you would indeed wait for him instead of getting involved directly in potentially dangerous situations.

His commanding presence and intensity left little room for argumentation; you reluctantly agreed, feeling a mix of uncertainty and apprehension rising within you.

"Yes...but..." you began, causing Tommy to become impatient.

"Just fucking promise me Y/N! I will make sure your son...our son...is safe," Tommy finished off emphatically, locking gaze with yours to make sure you understood how serious the issue was.

Unnerved, you nodded fervently, promising to adhere to his directive.

Feeling guilty for placing you in such precarious circumstances, Tommy took another glance at you before giving you a gentle yet firm squeeze of your shoulder in reassurance. Then, turning away from you, he marched swiftly towards the hotel, disappearing into the thick clouds of grey smoke obscuring the entrance.

You watched intently, your entire frame quivering slightly in apprehension. After several tense minutes of waiting, Tommy reappeared beside your car window again, dusting the ash off his jacket which was also covered in blood.

His intense demeanor didn't seem to waver, even in light of the terrifying events transpiring before your very eyes.

"Where is my son?" you queried impatiently, your hands shaking nervously as you waited for an answer.

"Moss is driving him and the maid to Arrow House as we speak. He is safe, but you and your family will need to stay with me until things settle down," Tommy responded grimly, attempting to console you as best he could in spite of the dire situation.

A wave of relief surged through you, temporarily calming your nerves. However, lingering concerns regarding your own safety persisted, forcing you to pose additional questions.

"What about the men? Will they not follow them?" you wondered aloud, wondering whether Arrow House was safe.

"Not unless they rise form the dead," Tommy said before taking a seat in the driver's seat again. His tone was stoic and unfazed, leaving no doubt about his determination to put an end to these enemies and restore peace.

"I made sure that message gets through to the man who sent them for you, and I will have my men guard the house to ensure your safety as well," he thus told you and, after that, an eerie silence descended upon you as Tommy drove off.

Unconsciously, you slipped your trembling hand into Tommy's, seeking warmth and security - a gesture that spoke volumes about your bond and affection for each other.

The atmosphere was sombre, tense – reminding you of the gravity of the situation and the danger this life brought with it and you knew that, for the sake of your son, things had to change.

For the first time since you met the Shelbys, you found yourself questioning whether you should continue down this path or try finding solace elsewhere. A life far away from any illegal activities perhaps but, this line of thought was interrupted by your arrival at Arrow House, which is where Moss greeted you out the front.

Seeing your son's face caused tears well up in your eyes once more. Holding your arms open, you immediately took your baby into your arms, showering him with kisses and apologizing profusely for putting him in harm's way.

He was only six months old and still so innocent, but already experiencing terror like this, which pained you deeply as the responsibility you bore increased tenfold. The desire to provide a safer future for him intensified exponentially. All these emotions mixed together within you, creating an almost tangible weight within your heart.

"May I hold him?" Tommy asked cautiously, peeking around you at your precious boy while Moss took your maid inside. With tearful eyes, you looked over at him, nodded, and slowly handed over your cherished treasure to him.

Inhaling sharply, Tommy held the tiny infant against his chest, tenderly rocking him back and forth as if trying to absorb every last bit of fear and turmoil from the day's events.

"What did you name him?" Tommy softly whispered, looking into the deep blue eyes of his son, whose eyebrows seemed perpetually furrowed in concentration.

"I named him Edward," you informed him and Tommy smiled, feeling both love and admiration swell inside him as he cradled the small child in his strong arms. His gaze turned toward you, a mixture of gratitude and sorrow etched across his features. It was evident that the day's dramatic turn of events had taken its toll on him, too.

"He is perfect, isn't he?" Tommy remarked, gazing down at his son who was still nestled snugly in his arms. There was a quiet earnestness to his voice, and you couldn't help but feel moved by his sincerity. "Look at how peaceful he looks, in spite of all that happened tonight, eh" he went on to say and you couldn't agree more.

As you witnessed the tenderness with which Tommy handled the child, it became increasingly clear just how important family meant to him.

"He must be hungry. I should go inside and feed him," you offered hesitantly, making an effort to return to normalcy amidst the looming threats and escalating violence.

Without saying anything, Tommy gave you a subtle nod of approval, indicating that it was time for some respite and comfort. As you headed indoors, however, you noticed Tommy remaining outside, speaking to one of his associates. Curiosity piqued, you continued walking further into the house without interruption, passing through the grand entrance hall towards the dining room, still filled with guests.

Robert immediately acknowledged your presence, asking you what happened while Lizzie gave you a stern look and raised an eyebrow quizzically.

She knew that the child you held in your arms was Tommy's son but did not say anything, choosing to remain silent for now. Her jealousy simmered beneath the surface, and it wasn't until your father, Arthur, questioned whose child this was, that Lizzie spoke up.

"That's your grandchild, I believe," she announced defiantly, drawing attention to everyone present.

"My grandchild, eh? Who is the fucking father then?" Arthur demanded loudly, a hint of anger in his voice as he glared at you in disapproval.

"Just a man I met in Boston, who is not around anymore," you lied, not wanting to admit that Edward's father was no other than your very own uncle.

Arthur scoffed at your explanation, muttering under his breath that there were never really any good men in the world anymore who were willing to take responsibility for their actions.

Meanwhile, you felt your cheeks redden as guilt crept into your conscience, knowing full well that you hadn't been entirely truthful. But you reasoned with yourself, telling yourself that lying about who the father was, served the greater good.

"Well then congratulations, Love. Welcome to fucking motherhood," Lizzie commented bitterly, unable to hide her disdain.

Despite her animosity, you ignored her, focusing on the task at hand: ensuring your son's needs were met, especially during such tumultuous times.

"Thank you, Lizzie," you thus simply told her before she abandoned you to seek out her husband to be, who she knew had disappeared hours earlier, with you by your side.

When Lizzie finally found Tommy outside, she confronted him about bringing you and your son to his house for the engagement party.

"Why would you bring her here, Tommy? And why bring her brat along as well?" she demanded, causing Tommy to become angry. "The child is yours, isn't it? You fathered a child with your own fucking niece!" Lizzie spat just as Tommy pulled her aside and told her to keep her voice down.

Frustrated by her accusatory tone, Tommy replied angrily, "I brought her here because she is fucking family, and so is her son. They need protection. But I didn't invite her to our fucking wedding, Lizzie! Polly did!"

Lizzie rolled her eyes, clearly unconvinced. "Is he yours?" she asked and Tommy clenched his jaw, struggling to control his temper.

"No, he is not," he lied calmly and, again Lizzie rolled her eyes, knowing full well that he was lying.

"I want this whore and her bastard child out of this house as soon as possible. Do you understand?" Lizzie retorted sharply, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

"She is my fucking niece, Lizzie! She will be staying until it is safe for her to return to Boston. Now go inside and attend to the fucking guests. I have things to do, eh" Tommy dismissed Lizzie abruptly, not bothering to conceal his annoyance. He needed to make arrangements for better security and handle various business matters related to recent developments.

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getluckylana · 15 days

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I first found out about you through a long-format interview a few months ago and knew after watching it that you would likely be on the autism spectrum. I am glad you received the proper diagnosis. I'd highly recommend watching the talk by Tony Attwood titled: "Aspergers in Girls (Asperger Syndrome)" on YouTube. I used to smoke a joint and watch it in the tub, crying with relief because I felt so understood. Besides sensory issues, what other symptoms do you relate to with regard to autism?

I always thought autism just meant you were awkward and didn’t understand social cues. I never thought that I could possibly have it because I never viewed myself as awkward in my adult life. My whole life people have always made the comment “you are so quiet”. I just brushed it off as being shy and every friend group I had growing up was based off the fact that I was pretty so the other pretty girls in school invited me into their friend group but I was never anyone’s best friend I was just part of the group.

I thought hating fiction books, only wanting to watch documentaries, not being able to tolerate the texture of chicken/fish/meat, and having an unusually high pain tolerance/not realizing when I would be hurt was just part of my personality or preferences.

For the brief bit of high school I attended I had no friends. I remember walking outside and this boy screamed from the classroom “she’s really hot!” And then another boy said “yeah, but she’s really weird” people kept calling me weird, and I didn’t understand why, other girls made fun of the way I would stand, and I didn’t understand why! There was this really popular girl who was so pretty, and my crush liked her. So I just kind of started pretending that I was her, dressing like her, using her mannerisms, and acting like her and people seemed to like me better. I had no idea this was masking!

As a teen I thought that I had really bad social anxiety, it was extremely bad, I would stutter when I would speak. Even for example ordering something from a counter at a grocery store I would start sweating and stuttering. I just dealt with it.

Going into sex work, people finally seemed to like me and accept me so my social anxiety disappeared. I still always faced the “your so quiet” comments at work events but people still booked me so I was like whatever it works.

My ex always used to complain that I was too introverted. I remember going to dinner with my ex and few other people and I had studied before hand conversations and topics the other people were into, and I was really proud of myself after because I thought that I came off really charismatic at the dinner. This is also masking.

I never even considered any of this to be autism, because I have floated by relatively easily when it comes to socializing due to my looks and having millions of followers. There’s no lack of people wanting to be my friend! So that’s not something that I struggle with as an autistic person.

The biggest hall mark for me isn’t being awkward or not understanding cues it’s having a lack of desire to have relationship’s in general or socialize. I could spend a year in my house alone before I even think “hey I want to go see ny friend or socialize” I’ve done this before and career and goals always comes before human connection in my priorities. I hate this about myself, along with the borderline asexuality I experience.

Other things I struggle with that are symptoms of autism:

1) not feeling how I think I’m supposed to feel in major life events or about certain people. This makes me so sad sometimes.

2) hygiene and all other forms of executive function

3) I can’t put myself in other peoples shoes if it’s not something I personally have experienced. I definitely have a lack of empathy for men because I see them as so different from myself!

And I’m sure there’s more that I can’t think of right now!

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saylorsaysstop · 8 months

Text

Scared | Stephen Strange x Fem!Reader

a/n: i needed a lil bit of angst and also wanted a first-time dad!Stephen fic so... i combined them. here you go 😭

warnings: bit of angst, talks of childbirth (nothing explicit), anxiety

The hours seemed to tick on forever. Another few nerve-stricken paces and Stephen Strange was positive he’d burn a hole into the linoleum floors.

As a surgeon, he had never been nervous performing a procedure. He was the greatest neurosurgeon out there and no one could take away his title. His calm reserve, his steady hand. He was quintessentially perfect. Anxiety didn’t grip him in its vice.

Until the accident. He finally was made aware of his emotions and how delicate he truly could become. He discovered his unwavering ability to exhaust emotion; tears, sadness, happiness, love. It all came like a tidal wave upon his metaphorical shoreline when you happened. When you walked into his life, he discovered that he could feel all of those emotions, sometimes all at once. But fear was the least felt.

Until today. Today he felt fear. He never wanted to experience such a cruel emotion but as he watched you writhe in pain and cry for him to make it stop while knowing this was one problem he couldn’t solve with the wave of his hand, that nature must take its course, he grew scared. He had been waiting for this moment ever since those two lines appeared on the pregnancy test, after the initial shock of oh wow, I’m going to be a dad after not wanting kids, and today in the delivery room, mournful that he couldn’t be more for you than just a hand to squeeze and a shoulder to cry on… and bite. He wasn’t expecting teeth marks on his skin today, but he’d let you do it a million times over if it meant he could get you through this.

“You’re doing so good, baby. I promise. It’s almost over.” he had encouraged you with both hands clasped through yours, his body leaning over the edge of the bed as you worked through every single ache and pain. You held him like a vice until you were dizzy, his voice the only thing holding you to the bed. You blocked out the voices of the doctors, nurses, you only desired Stephen’s encouragement through such a trauma as this.

And when the pain ceased and you felt a sudden emotion of emptiness, the one thing that only you had held on the inside for nine months was extracted from your being, you felt numb.

Stephen held you tightly, awaiting that glorious sound all parents mewled about. His hands were trembling in yours as he waited, and waited, and waited.

“Come on, sweetheart. Cry.” Stephen whispers to a little girl who couldn’t hear him. “What’s going on?” he demands, using the voice he reserved for the operating room.

He hears the doctor and nurse's correspondence.

“Fluid in the lungs” - “Can’t breathe” - “Lips are blue”.

Quickly, his mind whirred and he knew what was happening. His baby girl had entered the world essentially lifeless. He turns to you, feeling as you force yourself up in the hospital bed by way of his arm. You clutch his forearm in a death grip despite your strength having been drained, the wave of adrenaline pulsing through your veins as you struggle to overhear.

“What is going ON?!” you scream at the top of your lungs, pain surging throughout your limbs. You were a brand new mother who hadn’t got to see your daughter’s face and more importantly hear her cry.

“Honey, I need you to lie back down,” Stephanie coaxes, kissing your forehead that was slick with sweat. You look up at your husband whose eyes are fixated on you. “Take some breaths for me, alright?” He knows you’re on the verge of panic so he quickly reaches above the hospital bed to grab the oxygen mask.

“Stephen!” you exclaim, lungs aching. He shushes you and closes his hands around yours. He wouldn’t dare let his resolve down, not now. You needed him more than ever and he couldn’t let you see him fall apart, even though he wanted to bombard those working on his baby and the cause.

“She’s going to be okay. We’ve got to let them look at her.” He smothers his face against your hair, reaches up, and strokes your scalp, “That’s my girl, nice deep breaths. I need you to stay calm for her. Can you do that for our little girl, sweetheart?”

You nod your head. Your ears were ringing so loud after she came out that you didn’t overhear what Stephen did.

“I-I’m scared,” you blubber.

Stephen can feel tears pricking the corners of his eyes. I am too, baby. I am too he thinks to himself.

“There’s no need to be scared. I’ll be scared for us both.” Stephen kisses your temple before moving to your lips, tasting the saltwater tears that had fallen to your mouth.

That was hours ago. Stephen continued to pace the floors. The last he heard was that his daughter was being taken to the NICU for further observation and to be stabilized. Fortunately, Christine had stopped by a few times to check in. She of course had no updates for the two of you, but she was there as a means of emotional support. Each time she snuck in quietly, she’d find a pacing Stephen who she only sighed at.

“Have you sat down?” Christine whispered, seeing as you were finally asleep. Stephen shakes his head as Christine grabs his hand, forcing him to stop. “Stephen. You need to sit.” she leads him to the chair but he shakes his head.

“No, Christine, I need–,”

“To be a supportive husband and great father. You can’t do that when youre footprints are embedded into the floor.” she chuckles quietly but turns serious upon seeing his wary expression. She licks her lips and sighs. “If that little girl is anything like you? She won’t give up. She’ll be a fighter. But she needs a father who can remain strong for her… You can’t stay strong if you’re exhausting yourself. The same goes for her,” Christine looks over at you. “She needs you to lean against during this which means she needs you relaxed and alert. But pacing won’t do anything.”

Stephen draws in a sharp breath and finally takes a seat upon Christine’s pushing of his shoulders. She smiles at him and pats his shoulder.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Stephen.”

He sure hoped so. “Thank you,” he nods his head, appreciative of her friendship despite their past. He squeezes her hand just before she removes it from his shoulder.

“Try and squeeze in a cat nap. You’ll feel better.”

He chuckles, knowing sleep was out of the question entirely. But rather than arguing with her, he nods his head in agreement. When Christine left and Stephen was left alone with his thoughts, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine him finally holding his daughter, and how relief would wash over him the moment he could see her. That’s how he managed to close his eyes and relax. He did it for his two girls. You and that precious little one fighting upstairs.

An hour or so later, when the door to your room opened, Stephen’s eyes bolted open and he was up on his feet in seconds. The woman who delivered your daughter enters the room, pushing a tiny glass cart. Stephen’s heart thudded wildly in his chest, realization washing over him at just who this sweet little visitor could be.

“Hi, Dad,” the doctor whispers.

Stephen gasped quietly at the sight, that relief he clung to after Christine left washing over him. “How is she?” he asks.

“She scared us there for a little while.. she came so fast that she swallowed some fluid on the way out, but she’s perfectly healthy. I didn’t want to wake Mom up. I know she’s been anxious, but would you like to hold your little girl?”

Stephen felt a rush of emotion. He never wanted kids. He thought they were irritabilities, tiny humans who would annoy him forever. He was one of those people who when the kid ran around the dinner table in a restaurant after being told to stop, would smirk when they finally smacked their forehead against the surface. Christine normally always kicked him in the shin under the table and then you started doing it when you began dating. But that all changed the morning you approached him with trembling hands and a positive pregnancy test.

“Yes, please,” Stephen whispers, looking over at you. He was grateful you had finally succumbed to the clutches of sleep. He wasn’t sure how much longer you could keep going, as you were nearing 48 hours of no sleep at all.

The doctor smiles and motions him to sit in the chair beside your bed. She rolls the glass cart over to him and looks down at the sleeping bundle. “She didn’t get to have skin-to-skin with Y/N so would you like to do that? She can do it also when she wakes up, but we find that skin-to-skin holds many benefits.”

Stephen nods his head as the doctor lists the positives such as bonding, regulation of body temperature, and heart rate, among others, tears burning the corners of his eyes. He quickly unbuttons his shirt and pulls it open, his heart racing even faster when the doctor carefully picks up his daughter and leads her to his chest. She rests the baby on top of him and immediately, Stephen feels like a brand new man. The softness and warmth of her skin against his made his serotonin level skyrocket and caused more tears to freely fall.

“Congratulations, Dad,” she whispers in the dimly lit room. “We just fed her in the nursery but when Mama wakes up, we’ll let her try feeding her. Call if you need anything,”

Stephen nods his head and watches the doctor leave, gently closing the door behind her. He looks down at the new life snuggled against him. Her eyes peel open, naturally blue irises glassy as she moves her lips. Stephen could already see you within her. Her sweet little nose, the curl of her lips. He took a small peek under the hat, the tiniest wisps of brown hair visible, sending the new father into a chokehold.

“Oh, my darling girl,” Stephen coos. “You gave Mommy and I quite the scare today… Yes, you did. But I’m so glad you’re here. Do you know who I am? You’ve heard my voice every single day… Whether I was telling you and Mommy how much I love you or bickering with Wong. You’ve heard it. I’m your Daddy,” the words fall like water from his mouth and his chest tightens as he dubs himself with the title. Daddy. He’s a father.

The baby girl gently closes her eyes, lips smacking as she remains rested on his chest. Stephen ran his fingertip up and down her spine, bewildered by how soft she was. He glances over at your sleeping form. He smiles, being the proudest he’s ever been since the day he proposed and the day he wed you. He had you to thank for all of this. His little family. The only family he’s known other than those he’s encountered on his journey.

“My sweet Tessa… Yes, you’re my special girl, aren’t you? I promise. I may not do everything right in life but I’ll do right by you. Thank you for changing my life,” the tears flow without warning as Stephen presses his quivering lips to the side of her head, squeezing his lids shut as he snuggles her closer. You stir gently and awake to the sight of your husband holding your newborn, your heart fluttering.

“She’s okay?” You ask hoarsely.

Stephen’s head lifts at the noise and a smile of relief greets his face. He looked exhausted and you felt bad that he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep except for his small power nap. He wouldn’t dare miss out on anything.

“She’s perfect, sweetheart. You did it.”

The look of utter pride glows on his face. You feel your lungs refill with fresh air as you wince, moving to sit up gently. “Can I?”

Stephen chuckles quietly. “How could you ask me something like that? Of course, you can. Tessa, let’s meet your beautiful Mommy, yeah? I know, I know,” he shushes her as she starts to pout her lips, a pitiful cry on the verge of slipping. Your body felt like electricity had just been shot throughout it, the excitement bubbling.

“Here, let’s unbutton this,” Stephen holds Tessa in one arm while he helps you unbutton your hospital gown. Once your chest is exposed, Stephen places Tessa on you and you fall apart the moment you touch her. Your lips quiver and the tears spill.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, kissing her. You drew in a deep breath, Tessa’s scent making you cry even more. Stephen slips into bed beside you and carefully puts one arm around you while holding his other hand over yours that’s currently on Tessa. “S-she’s perfect,” you cry.

Stephen wipes his eyes through a sniffle.

“She is,” he can’t help but agree. “I’ve never seen someone so little,”

You giggle softly, kissing her head as you lean into your husband’s chest. “We’re parents, Stephen. We have a daughter.”

He smirks, his eyes resting on you. He leans in and kisses your lips tenderly, savoring the taste. As he pulls away, both of you turn your attention down to your newest addition, your hearts soaring over the moon.

#doctor strange #dr strange #stephen strange #marvel #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #doctor strange fluff #stephen strange fluff #doctor strange angst #stephen strange angst

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talesofesther · 1 year

Text

sweet calamity | ch 8

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Series Summary: It was something people described as the sweetest pain, the feeling of when the soul that’s destined to find yours is closer to you. Wednesday saw it as a curse, promised herself she would hate whoever was chosen for her; but it’s easier said than done.

A/N: This chapter is a little smaller than the rest, but I feel like this scene should be its own chapter, otherwise, it won't have the effect I want it to have; let me know what you thought too. Sadly, we're nearing the end :') but I already have other projects in mind. <3

Masterlist | Read ch 7 here

There was no hurry to your steps as you walked up the stairs of Ophelia Hall, fidgeting with two bottles of nail polish in your hand. Anxiety was eating at your insides the closer you got to her dorm.

Ever since last night's dance, she hasn't left your mind not even once.

You dreamt about the words she'd told you. If she knew that, she'd probably make one of those adorable faces and call you pathetic.

But could she blame you? She had been the romantic one after all.

Standing in front of the tall, wooden door, you took a deep breath in and knocked.

It took fourteen seconds for the door to open. Not that you were counting.

Wednesday stood on the other side and you could see her eyes widening the slightest bit when they met yours, but other than that, she stood as impassive as ever.

You awkwardly cleared your throat, "Enid left these in my room last night after the Rave'n," you raised the hand that held both bottles of nail polish, "I just came to give them back."

Wednesday's hold on the doorknob tightened. She blinked a couple of times, extending a hand for you.

Your gaze moved from her eyes, to her hand, and back, before gently laying both bottles on her palm. Your fingertips grazed her skin and you hated this limbo you found yourself in. Unsure of where your relationship stands.

Wednesday, on the other hand, was waging war against her own desires. Her mind was telling her to stay quiet and just let you leave; her heart was having other ideas.

Last night after your dance together, she parted ways with you with nothing but a goodnight and a squeeze of your hand in hers. You didn't tell her if you two were okay, if you still feel something for her, or if you forgave her at all. And this doubt has been pestering her the entire day.

Now, you came to her. It was an opportunity for her to be with you, alone at last; but the time to decide was running out, because you were looking at her with a goodbye ready to leave your lips.

"You may stay if you'd like," Wednesday found herself saying before she could think it through, "wait for Enid."

There was no real reason for you to wait for Enid, but you knew this had nothing to do with her anyway. You stifled a smile, glancing down at your feet. "Alright."

You walked in and Wednesday closed the door behind you. It was suddenly so intimate that you could suffocate. There was only you and her in the room, the electricity in the air was almost palpable.

The moon shines against the half-colorful round window, you could see a strange shape of something standing outside on the balcony.

Wednesday hovers awkwardly beside you, unsure of which step to take when her heart is trying to leap into your hands. "I was about to play a little," she gestures to her cello outside, quiet voice burning with an unusual rawness.

So that's what it is. You glanced outside and back to her. Wednesday is wearing an oversized hoodie, the sleeves will cover her hands if she's not careful; her braids look looser, messier; her cheeks are getting pinkier by the second; her pupils are so big her eyes seem almost entirely black. She looked vulnerable. Not bad vulnerable. Just vulnerable. Relaxed.

You feel privileged.

"If you'd like to listen," Wednesday tries to sound nonchalant but her voice betrays her. She wanted you to listen, to stay.

And now you really want to kiss her. You smile, it hurts your cheeks because of how big it is, "It would be my honor."

Listening to Wednesday play her cello up close is infinitely better than listening to it from all the way down on the quad; she's magnificent, it's like she doesn't even have to think about what note comes next, it just happens naturally. You're enraptured by the way she moves her hands, arms, fingers; by how her head sometimes follows the melody too. She's glowing under the moonlight; ethereal.

If you weren't screwed before, you sure are now — you try to think of a word to describe what you feel for her, but none seems to make it justice.

The song Wednesday chose tonight is not one she'd usually play, it's calmer, tender, gentle on the ears yet still impactful. Each time her fingers press over the cords she feels her stomach flutter. She can feel the way your eyes haven't left her once. She has your undivided attention, and she never cared this much about having someone's attention until now.

Wednesday glanced up at you and she almost stumbled on her rhythm. You're just sitting there, on the balcony's rails, your feet swinging back and forth, moonlight shaping your curves; you're looking at her as if she's a masterpiece, worthy of being in a renowned gallery for everyone to admire; you're looking at her as if she's everything your dreams ever dared conjure up. And no one has ever looked at Wednesday like that.

She doesn't know how to feel, all she knows is that her chest aches for you. She's drowning in the possibility of you and her, of making this a reality.

Part of her wants to play a song for every scar she's ever left in your soul, until it's all mended back together.

It's terrifying what you can do to her. What she would do for you.

The song comes to its end and Wednesday almost doesn't register it. She slowly lifts her fingers from the cords, feeling the familiar burn on the fingertips.

"That was beautiful," you told her, your sentiment escaping you, "thank you for letting me see."

Wednesday nodded, gently putting aside her cello. She sits in silence for a beat. It's a little awkward, moments like these are out of her comfort zone.

"You're gonna fall down if you're not careful."

Of course that's what she says. But it made you giggle.

You looked behind you and way down to the ground with a smile — and it's far, far down. "It'd be quite the tragedy, wouldn't it?" You turned back to her, an eyebrow raised in teasing.

There's something unique about you, Wednesday decides. Maybe that's why the universe entangled your souls.

She wondered if she'd feel it if you died. If a part of her would die with you.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up with the thought and Wednesday shook it off.

"Have you given any thought to…" She clenched her jaw, her eyes focusing on your feet as she got up from her chair, "to what we spoke about yesterday?"

You make me feel a way I never did before.

I don't want it to stop.

I want to make it up to you, if you'd let me.

Just by remembering her words, your heart is already swelling inside your chest. You bit the inside of your cheek, "I did."

Wednesday's gaze snapped to yours instantly, she's expecting you to elaborate, to free her of her misery; yet, hardly daring to breathe, you torture her a little longer.

You extended a hand for her to take, watching the way her throat worked through a gulp before she carefully took it. You closed your fingers around hers and pulled her to you, until her petite body was trapped between your knees.

Stars were dancing in Wednesday's eyes, big as she looks at you all delicate, lashes kissing the corner of her cheeks when she blinks. You interlock your fingers together, and it's only then that her other hand comes to rest on your thigh.

You're killing her slowly, all too sweet with her demise. Wednesday captured the way your tongue brushed over your bottom lip, taunting her. Her breathing lands on your lips; just a tad closer and-

Something white fell on your nose, and then on your eyelashes, making you blink. You looked up at the sky with a soft frown, subconsciously squeezing the hand of a frustrated Addams.

Tiny snowflakes were falling, slow and steady, being carried by the cold breeze until they landed on your clothes and on Wednesday's raven-black hair.

"It's the first snowfall of the year," you whispered, lips curling up in amazement.

Selfishly, Wednesday wanted to have her otherwise useless phone with her, because the snowflakes that fall around you are creating yet another image that she indulges to call beautiful. Though she still had something she wanted to do first — it was probably long overdue anyway;

With impatience, Wednesday let go of your hand. It caused your attention to shift back to her, and you shivered when you felt her other hand sneaking under your shirt, raising goosebumps on the skin of your hip.

Your lips part but you can't breathe. It's a long drop down from your place sitting on the rails — Wednesday takes hold of your shirt, bunching it up on her fist and tugging you closer — you know she'd never let you fall.

A brush of lips, and your soul finds home with hers; it's like you can feel them entangling more than they already were. It's dangerous, it's bliss, it's a road with no way back.

It's white noise and being submerged underwater all the same time. Wednesday pressed her lips more firmly onto yours; her hand, tentative and shy, was tracing the skin of your waist and pulling your body to her; her nose bumping your cheek because no amount of closeness seemed enough.

She pulled back without opening her eyes, only long enough to gasp for air before capturing your lower lip between hers again; she's soft on you, tugging at your heartstrings and changing its rhythm.

You couldn't help the way your hands came up to Wednesday's jaw, burying into her hair and making a mess, as if this was your first and last kiss. She's surprisingly warm, intoxicating; she could be the death of you if she wanted to.

And you'd gladly accept that fate.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 9 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @simp4wanda26 @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @wol-fica @wednesdays-woes

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday addams x you #wednesdayedit #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #wednesday addams fanfic #jenna ortega #wednesday x reader #my story

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senualothbrok · 2 months

Note

Hi hi hi <3

So it probably takes a while for Gale to learn to accept help, freely offered and unasked-for. You have the sense that if Tara had offered him any choice in the matter, he would have declined her assistance with artifacts for the Orb--and if the Orb had offered him any choice in the matter, he would never have asked you for help, either.

What can I do? How can I help? Whatever you need, you have only to ask. Your desire.

Now that you're safe, the world is safe, and you've embarked on this strange new adventure called peace, you realize that Gale still needs some coaxing. Today, it takes all your considerable persuasive skills, and then Gale's love for you on top of that, for him to lie down in your bed and let you soothe away the tension headache that's been gathering for the better part of a day.

"Hush," you say, silencing his protests with a gentle kiss, trying to be stern and soft as you gather his head into your lap.

He's tentative against you, the ever-thinking line in his forehead stubbornly lingering. You run a finger over that line, smoothing it, follow it to its vanishing at his temple and linger over the thin, elegant arc of bone, circling the pulse point there. Tracing a line to his jaw you smile slightly at the scrape of stubble across your fingertips, the softer curl of his hair where it's come out of its tie.

Gale sighs under your hand, the tautness in him loosening. Some of that had been concentration, some of that pain--both have twisted up the muscles in his neck and shoulders, and when you start to loosen those knots, stroking them into relaxation, the sound Gale makes is somewhere between sinful and content.

"Let me," he murmurs vaguely, though you can feel him unraveling, the last of his resistance giving way.

"Later," you whisper.

Hello friend! Domestic intimacy with Gale. It makes my heart so warm. Continuing from your ask...

----

It is a unique privilege, you think, to be in this position. An unparalleled honour, to be allowed to serve Gale.

You know this is a side of Gale that no one except Tara has seen. He has allowed you behind walls erected from years of servitude, when he has given of himself unceasingly, accustomed to receiving nothing in return. So many years with no one but himself to rely on, convinced that any request for help would yield only rejection. It has taken you a long time to show him otherwise. To reassure him that confessing his need would not lead to your abandonment. This is a show of trust from Gale which you will never, ever take for granted.

There is a warmth and suppleness to his bronze-blushed skin which you can never get enough of. You will never tire of the contours of his body, the peaks and troughs where muscle meets bone. You could spend a lifetime learning him through touch alone.

Your fingers have learned the pressure points where Gale’s stress is gathered, the dimples where his ache is greatest. You know when you have reached them from Gale’s gentle moans, the lulling rise and fall of his chest. The heaviness of his head and shoulders against you. The fluttering of his dark eyelashes, and the parting of his soft lips, as he drifts into sleep.

Sleep does not come easily to him. After living so long with the threat of destruction, the looming promise of death, true rest is elusive to Gale. Even now that he is home, even with you by his side, his mind remains so active, his focus so frenetic, that it is difficult for him to let go of wakefulness. You see when the anxieties of the past and present are gathering within him like a storm. You only wish that he could rest.

To see him asleep now in your lap, cradled in your love and care, fills you with a joy that has no equal. Ever so slowly, ever so carefully, you bend down and brush your lips on the smooth space where his thinking line has faded. And you smile at the sight of Gale at peace.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #ask #drabble tennis

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mika-no-sekai-blog · 5 months

Text

Word count: 1000+

Warnings: mentions of war, anxiety

I thought I would have some time to edit it properly, but life is hard lately

Warnings #2: extremely horrible English and mistakes🫣

Part II | Part IV

Days passed since Tamlin left. You had no idea where he was or what he did and even though you where still little bit angry at him, you were worried, too. You had no idea what was happening outside of this forest. Sometimes you were tempted to go to the High Lord's manor and see if he was there, but at the edge of the forest you stopped. For some reason you couldn't leave, getting all nervous and sweaty you always returned back to your cottage.

Forest started to change. It was just small changes, but you noticed immediately. Something was amiss. Colours were fading. All life disappeared during one night. No birds sang in the crowns of the trees, animals were gone, too. You could feel it down in your bones, the urge to flee, the urge to hide. Ground pulsed with magic, waves of it heading to the south. The war had begun. High Lords had gathered and used their powers. World was shaking in its base for hours and then it was over. An agonizing silence followed. It was so unsettling. Who won?

You were unable to concentrate on any work, so you were just sitting in front of extinguished fireplace, gazing into its darkness, cold was biting into your body. How much time had passed since everything went quiet? You were sitting there and carefully listening, waiting for any sound. Day turned into night and night turned into another day. You could hear life returning back, but for some reason you couldn't move from your place. You were still waiting.

Tamlin returned to his estate. He was tired and emotionally drained. Events of the last day played out in his mind again and again, cutting deeper and deeper into his core. It was torture. Feyre's face as she was holding Rhysand's dead body, tears rolling down her cheeks, those pleading eyes, all the love and pain. It broke him. It hurt him to give her last farewell, but there was no hope for him. In that moment he realised she wouldn't return. Never. Under no circumstances. He had no place in her life anymore.

There was only one thing he could do to gain a bit of her forgiveness for everything he had done - he gave up a drop of his power to revive her mate. It wasn't enough, but it was a good start.

Slowly he climbed the stairs and walked into his house. He looked around. Everything was dirty and damaged, servants were long time gone. His home became a beast's lair. He snorted. Indeed, that's what he was. The snarling uncultivated beast. Every room here was full of painful memories and even though he was tired, he couldn't stand to be between these walls. Tamlin changed into his beast form and ran away to the forests.

Tamlin didn't know where he was heading and he didn't even care. He just wanted to be far from his past. He stopped only when a small cottage deep in the woods came to view. Why did he end up here? From all the place he could go.

His chest painfully squeezed. There was another person, another female he hurt even though he didn't mean to. She took care of him, gave him shelter, food and brought him peace when he needed it most. Was she still angry at him? Maybe he should go there and try to apologize.

Quietly making way through the undergrowth he walked closer. There was no light, no flickering flame behind the windows, even her smell was almost completely gone. Tamlin swallowed. What if she left as he told her. She was against it, but she could change her mind after all. There was something about her that attracted him. Not sexually or at least that's what he thought. He just needed her as.. Tamlin didn't know what she meant to him, but that didn't affect the fact that he desired her presence in his life.

Tamlin stalked closer. The cottage was so quiet and dark that he feared the worst, his heart racing up. Standing in front of the door he changed back into male. It was hard to decide if at first he should knock or just walk in without announcing. He closed eyes for a second mentally preparing for whatever was inside. Holding breath he pushed the door open.

Cold wafted over him. Room seemed to be empty without any signs of life. Disappointed he entered and standing in the middle of the room he looked around. Everything was left as he remembered, no signs of packing. Did she leave without her belongings? He came to her armchair. Long fingers traced that piece of furniture without thinking. His eyes widened as he realised it's still warm. In the same moment as he raised head to look around one more time, somebody emerged from the darkness under the stairs and lunged at him.

His body reacted before Tamlin could understand what was happening and claws slid out. He managed to stop himself a second before his claws sliced through the flesh of.. the witch. He should really ask for her name.

She stumbled grasping shirt on his broad chest. Tamlin was so surprised when she rested her head just above his heart. Confused he caressed her arms.

"We won," High Lord rasped in a low voice. She looked up at him, her face empty of any emotions. For a moment they were gazing into each other's eyes and then her legs gave out and she fainted. Tugging her to his body Tamlin lifted her up. "Hey..ehm.. witch," he gently shook her shoulders hoping she would awake. She was so pale, dark circles under her eyes a proof of sleepless nights. Tamlin sighed drawing her closer. "And here I came to apologize thinking you are still mad at me."

He took her upstairs to the bedroom, laying her on the bed. He called out his healing magic, but except of exhaustion there was nothing wrong with her. She needed just good sleep and food. And so he wrapped her in warm blanket and sat down on the edge of bed. Soon enough his exhaustion made itself known and he became sleepy, too tired to keep his head up. Thinking that a short nap wouldn't hurt anybody he lied down on the narrow bed next to the female with blanket between their bodies. As soon as his head touched pillow, he fell fast asleep diving into a realm of dreams.

#tamlin x reader #tamlin fanart #tamlin acotar #tamlin #tamlin x you #tamlin fanfiction #acotar #acotar fanfiction #sarah j maas

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kgficz · 11 months

Text

Saved

Tangerine x Reader

Summary: Tangerine and Lemon were hired to take you to the White Wolf. Will they follow through?

Word Count: 1.5k

The clench in your jaw and the tension in your shoulders became almost painful as you sat across from him.

As people began piling onto the train, all you could think about was the next opportunity to get up and run.

“Don’t even think about it, love. You ain’t going anywhere” Tangerine smirked, not even needing to make eye contact with you as he spoke.

It felt as if he read your mind, sensing your anxiety and immense desire to get the hell out of this situation.

These two men found you hiding out in some tiny apartment in Tokyo. You’d been on the run for a few weeks now since you’d witnessed something you had no right to be seeing.

Typical. Wrong place, wrong time.

At first you were here studying in a new country; next thing, you’re running for your life wishing so badly that you could go home and forget everything that has happened.

Now here you were. Stuck with these two British men on your way to someone who was probably going to want you dead.

A tiny part of you wished these guys would have just killed you already. The anxiety of what’s to come had you panicked beyond all belief. You had never considered yourself a weak person, but what exactly were you supposed to do? You barely got through gym class in high school so getting passed two assassins felt like a long shot.

Tangerines eyes locked with yours, his lips slightly pursed as squinted at you. His gaze was enough to make your heart race and your chest tighten.

You had to admit despite the situation that he was quite handsome, in a rugged/ pretty kind of way.

The doors of the train closed as it began to move onto the next stop. It already sunk in that you had missed your chance.

“What’s your story? Are you finally gonna tell us how ya got into all this mess?” Tangerine asked, raising an eyebrow as he leaned forward on the table between you.

Your mind raced; how did they not even know why they taking you? Are they competing with other people? Is there a bounty on your head in the entire crime system of Japan? Oh Jesus.

“This is going to be a very long ride if ya don’t even talk” he added, rolling his eyes as he leaned back against his seat.

“Leave her alone, mate. How would you feel if everyone was on your ass?” Lemon chimes in, giving you an oddly friendly elbow in your side.

You looked up at him with worry; everything you heard made your scenario worse and worse by the second.

“Oh please, people are on our ass all the fuckin’ time” Tangerine responded with a smirk.

For an assassin, he didn’t seem to have many cares in the world.

After sitting in silence watching these two bicker with one another, you realised how badly you needed to pee.

“I need to go to the bathroom” you announced, gulping as if you’d be in trouble for having a bodily function.

“Well let’s go then” Tangerine answered before standing up next to you.

He held his hand out to you, ready to walk with you. Your eyes switched to his hand and back up to his eyes before you ignored it and stood up.

He followed closely behind as you paced down the aisle.

You turned around and raised an eyebrow at him as you reached the bathroom.

“Go on. I ain’t holding ya hand” he said whilst gesturing to the toilet.

A roll of your eyes made him smile. A part of him enjoyed the attitude you kept giving him.

As the door closed behind you, your shoulders finally relaxed. All the tension in your body has been building and building for days. This is the only moment by yourself you’ve had since these two found you a week ago.

They went on and on about some man who went by ‘The White Wolf’ that was itching to get his hands on you.

You had no idea who he even was but you had a feeling he had something to do with what you saw.

That man’s scream still rang in your ears before you’d seen a bullet shoot through his head. If you had just keep your mouth shut and not yelled in terror; maybe you wouldn’t be stuck here and now.

A loud bang came from the bathroom door, leaving you startled as you turned around.

You heard what appeared to be a groan before further scuffles continued.

A part of you hesitated before you reached for the handle to peak at what was going on.

Tangerine was on the ground, his arms stretched up; his hands wrapping around the neck of the other man on top of him.

The man’s fist collided into the side of Tangerines head.

Blood splatter on the floor next to him before he reached back a returned the favour, his fist hitting the man above him even harder.

You watch as the man flew to the side and hit the ground. It took no time at all before Tangerine got to his knees, reaching to his side for his gun.

Tangerine let out a gasp as the man slammed his fist into his stomach, stopping him from grabbing his weapon.

The gun was tossed to the ground near your feet, causing both men to turned around; their eyes locked with yours.

Without thinking, you reached down to grab the gun from the floor; knowing you had no idea how to use it anyway.

The man attempted to leap towards you to take the weapon. He barely got a chance to touch you before Tangerine pulled him back to the ground, slamming his fist into the man’s neck.

The gasped in pain as Tangerine got to his feet, turning his head to look back at you. He didn’t make a move as he looked down at the gun in your hands.

You hadn’t realised you were pointing it towards him until you saw the worried look on his face.

Everything moved so fast as the man on the ground stood up, his knife gripped in his hand as he launched towards Tangerine.

Your ears rang as the gun went off; everything went dark when you squeezed your eyes shut. Your entire body tensed up as if you were too afraid to move.

You couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes; no part of you wanted to see what was in front of you.

A hand gently wrapped around yours, not taking the gun; but just holding it in place.

“You can open your eyes, love. You’re alright” Tangerine said quietly as he leaned down to your eye level.

The light almost hurt your eyes and you woke up to see him standing in front of you, a soft look shown in his eyes.

Lemon had rushed in at the sound and was standing over the man on the ground, now lying dead because of you.

Pain cursed through your fingers from how tightly you were gripping the weapon.

“We gotta get the fuck outta here, mate” Lemon urged as he stepped over to the two of you. “This is one of the White Wolfs guys”.

“What?” Tangerine replied, confusion wiping over his face. The White Wolf already knew these two had you. He knew they were coming to bring you. Why the hell would this guy come after you?

He shook his head before looking back at you.

“Your luck will be much better with us. You coming or what” Tangerine asked, his voice still gentle despite the attitude.

You felt yourself nod as you loosened the grip on the gun, allowing it to fall into his hands.

The two men nodded at one another as Tangerine place the gun back into his belt.

The doors opened behind you at you all approached the next stop.

Your body felt numb as Tangerine guided you off the train with them, his hand still holding onto yours as if it were the only thing keeping you up.

Luckily no one was around for now, although it wouldn’t take long before someone stumbled upon the dead body back on the train.

It wasn’t long before Lemon had broken into a nearby car. Your mind had been blank since you’d stepped off the train, you couldn’t even recall how you got here.

Lemon jumped in the drivers seat as Tangerine turned to face you. His hand moved to rest in the top of yours now.

“You saved my life back there. I don’t take that lightly. Stick with us and I promise ya I’ve got your back” he stated with no hesitation in his voice

“Are ya ready?” He asked before reaching to open the back car door.

“Yes” you whispered, unable to increase the volume of your voice without crying. Everything was hitting you as you stood here, eyes locked with his.

His hand reaches up to rest on your shoulder for a short moment, provided some small amount of reassurance.

He guided you into the car and got into the front seat next to Lemon.

Your eyes gazed out of the window as you drove. There was no turning back.

#bullet train #tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train #lemon and tangerine #tangerine fic #bullet train fix #aaron taylor johnson #bullet train x reader #tangerine fanfiction

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saint-siren · 11 months

Text

A World For Her Alone | A child of ill omen

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

cw (chapter specific): emotional infidelity, abuse, illness, murder, self harm, suicide, childbirth, vomiting

pairing: claude x fem!reader

summary: in which Claude tries again.

author's note: oh boy.

When he opened his eyes he was in his bedroom. He jolted from the sudden change, looking about him and trying to make sense of what he saw. He was lying on a soft bed instead of the hard, splintery wood he remembered from before. Just a second ago he had been sure to die and now he was home and unharmed. He felt for a wound in his chest, believing that perhaps he’d been saved from his fate, the knights who tried to stop your knight from killing him had taken him back home. But there was no pain there, not even a scar. He had felt the pain searing him for a few beats, the blood drowning him and then there was nothing, there was only this. But it couldn’t have been a dream. He did not dream like this, not so prophetic and pained.

A knock at the door made him jump, every ounce of stimulation made him feel as though he were going insane, as if any moment he would find himself back on the ground. “Come in” He said, in a voice that did not even sound like his own. It wavered with uncertainty very much unlike him, it sounded weak even to his own ears and he resented it. As soon as the butler greeted him with a measuring gaze, concerned he might be ill from the distress on his face and in his voice, he was asking about you.

“You are due to see the lady today. The preparations have been made as you commanded.”

A broken, relieved sound fell from his lips at the words. You were alive. This life he’d arrived in was new, unblemished from the faults of his past and you were the proof. He lived again, you lived again. The day was miserably overcast, the light was a dull gray and much of the room was cast in shadows. This realization of his second life felt like fool’s gold and yet he wanted it badly enough that he reached for it anyway.

“I see…” He murmured “Nevermind that, prepare a carriage now. I will visit her early.”

“My lord, are you feeling alright?” The butler asked anxiously, clearly baffled by the unusually emotional state of him.

“Do I have to tell you again?” He asked sharply, impatient. He sounded like himself again.

The butler looked mortified and had the sense to chasten himself before responding. “No, my lord. I will prepare it right away, I apologize.” He excused himself quickly but not so much so that Claude did not catch a sliver of remaining worry on his face as he looked up at him.

It didn’t matter how he looked, it couldn’t wait. He needed to see you. He needed something to tether him to this bleary new life, to confirm it was all more than a dream, more than a hell made for him where he’d be forever in waiting. He remembered what Felix said. “Do you even know how she died? How long she was held in that filthy, inhumane place?” Had you waited for him then?

This time, without fail, he’d show up for you. Even if it could not change the fact that he hadn’t before.

When he arrived, he was greeted by your parents who were surprised that he was there early but instead of meeting him with an edge of reproach, they apologized profusely for the tea party not being prepared yet. It was ridiculous how much reverence they showed, it was well past courtesy. Claude couldn’t help but notice the way their faces changed when he asked for you, when they told him you’d hurry along and be down in a minute. It was almost as though your name was unsavory gossip, existing only to be whispered and grimaced at.

Nevertheless, they directed him outside to wait for you at the table. His body had never been so wrought with anxiety as then, he thought he might truly go insane with the waiting, the desire to see you again and the fear that in his deserved punishment, he might never.

A sense of foreboding came over him, an insistence this was a doomed desire. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he believed something awful was about to happen. What he didn’t know was whether to trust in it or in his hope, his intention and need. He chose neither and merely observed the beautiful and wretched day he’d come back to, trying to hold fast to the feeling of relief he’d felt when he realized you were still alive but wielding his wariness as a weapon in front of him.

When he set eyes on you, finally, he might’ve flinched. For, even though he wished so desperately that you were here, part of him didn’t expect it to ever really happen. He expected some divine punishment, perhaps it was wishful thinking on par with wishing you would alive and safe. But it couldn’t be a punishment, not if you were here. Not if you were really alive again as he was.

He didn’t want to wait for you to reach him, he wanted to meet you halfway and take you into his arms so that he could feel your heart beating, your breathing, the little sounds of surprise you’d let slip. But he remained seated, somehow, and he was able to ignore the tendrils of doubt creeping into his always so cynical mind. Shortly after you, a figure in red. He could not yet take his eyes from you but his lips could not form words. What could he say to you that would make any sense? And how did he speak without falling apart?

When you reached the table, you stalled a moment, eyes unfocused and dead. You greeted him as you always did but somehow you felt far away from him, from everything. There was a murky look in your eyes, like something waiting to emerge from a great depth. He stood, mercifully his body obeyed, he came closer to you. It hadn’t been like this before. Did something happen to you? It unnerved him see you see you look so dead; even in the sunlight your eyes looked so flat and dark to him that they reflected nothing, conveyed nothing. Unreal, like an ink drawing.

His hand had begun to tremble. Something dark was hanging over this day, over him, over you. Ah, would he wake up now? Would he wake up to the true nature of what he believed was his second chance?

“Are you alright? This isn’t like you.” He heard himself speak, but not from the horror that ruminated in his mind, words that seemed to be at a slight disconnect with his intentions. No…what was this?

Your body was trembling, swaying like a tree in the wind. All of the sudden, life poured into your eyes, something fragile took the place of the shadows. He might’ve been glad for it, for a moment at the least, but he realized that the look in your eyes was utter ruin. Those were not the eyes of his fiancée, not steadfast or bashful and avoidant, these were the eyes of someone who had seen it, the sword falling over her head. Those eyes, he was certain, were his condemnation.

Did you know that he had killed you before? Had the you from his past lent you the view from below?

Lady Diana, whom he had not even considered until that exact moment, finally reached the table. The tightness in his chest immediately unwound. The rose red dress, her golden hair on the wind, these were images he hadn’t known he’d held to until he saw them again. The unwitting euphoria flooded his body yet again, reaching deeply inside his mind and caressing every anxiety. Diana was here. She lived just as you did. That thought was not cause for anything really, it shouldn’t be but…he felt that he wanted to cry when he set eyes on her again alive. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her and she, under his attention, looked bright and curious. Alive. Such a contrast from her before, already cold and dressed in a thin, bloodied gown. Her throat had been slit but from the struggle there were many bruises on her pale skin, along the whole of her body. He ached to see her unharmed like this, the bright girl he had loved well before. He couldn’t help himself, even with the nauseous feeling that accompanied, he longed for her. It was the only thing he could hold on to for the turning of this strange new life. That familiar and far reaching feeling drove itself past flesh, bone, blood, into something immaterial.

It wanted him back.

You dropped a teacup onto the grass, freeing him from the hold momentarily as he turned back to you. His stomach sank to see you, your jaw was clenched and your eyes were glassy with unshed tears. Had you been shadowed by something as he had?

“Are you alright?” He was desperate to know. He felt like he was speaking in a rush, something was creeping up on him as sudden as the clouds blocking the sunlight. Something cloyingly familiar and unwanted. Were you specter or human? Retribution or revision? And what was she, then? What was Diana?

You were the little ghost of something he had killed. You would not respond and he wanted to touch you, so much that his mouth went dry. When had he ever wanted something this badly? He needed to take you by the shoulders, to look into your eyes, maybe his could communicate something to you. Some sincerity that his lips refused to muster. Perhaps if he could only touch you, you’d understand.

“What happened? You’re not yourself today.” He heard it from outside his own body, automatic like breathing. He could not reach you; he was, in all reality, quite far away from you despite the closeness of your bodies.

“I’m sorry…” A wavering voice that sounded as if on the verge of tears. It made him ache inside when you showed him the same smile you always did, the smile that seemed to always be at the verge of collapse. It was as though he could feel the reverberation of the pain he felt when Felix’s sword broke his skin. It was a burning pain, the breaching of his heart. He smiled back at you and soothed a hand over your back.

This was what it meant to be ghost. He understood finally, you were not the ghost, he was. He was immaterial, unable to affect anything around him.

Interestingly, you were different this life in more than the bleakness trapped behind your eyes. You worked with a ferocity and you became a much more cunning lady than you’d ever been before. You were more involved in politics and court, willing to shake hands with twice as many people who before you would not have paid any mind to. When had you ever had any desire to be so congenial to everyone? Had you ever had such ambition in the past life? Your intelligence had always been impressive but now it was frighteningly astounding. It seemed in this life that you had somehow become more proactive in amplifying the position of the marquisate, you were fortifying it against its enemies.

It was just another way in which you were looking after him and he appreciated it but inside, there was a certain hurt that came from seeing you work that hard and be condemned by others for it. They called you a “horrible woman” and rumors swirled around high society about you more so than before when you were merely a “jealous, fearsome lady.” He could only stand beside you and your actions, he couldn’t dispel the notions about you that seemed incessant no matter how ubiquitous your goals were among nobles. He wanted to hunt those who would harm your reputation further, to hold their deeds up to the light and make them see they were not, would never be, in any position to act scandalized over what you did.

He meant what he said, he was lucky to have you for a wife. Even more than that, he was lucky that he was able to make himself express it outwardly. That was a good omen, he thought. This time, things would be different. He was no longer a ghost, he had just needed to see you to come alive. His feelings for Diana, compulsive as they were, would not win him over this time. He would not let them. Maybe he had not been saved completely by god but he had been given the chance to save himself. And he would, he would save you too.

He had all the arrogance befitting of his station.

You had become very protective of your little sister, it was a good thing, he tried to tell himself. If Diana could avoid her death, you would not be a suspect. He knew you hadn’t killed her before but the moment it was murmured into his ear that you might be the culprit, it was decided. And for how many others was that the case – considering how badly everyone wanted you to be a villainess? There hadn’t been a single voice that rose in doubt of you being capable of murdering your sister, the voice had been his and that was buried under the weight of something unmovable.

That was why he agreed when you asked him to look after her one day. He didn’t want to, he hated how his affection for her defiled what convictions he held. He tried to keep in mind that it was for your sake more than anyone’s, to guard himself. But it didn’t work, at the mere suggestion, his heart leaped. He was inundated with a joy that smothered the him that lived beneath. The sweetest of any happiness he’d ever held was to be found at her side, he could not deny that truth but it came with a horrible remorse, a violation of the self that a greater part of him wished to kill.

Diana was glad to have a visitor, no, glad to have him. The thought thrilled his dulled senses. Your parents gave no sense of wariness about having a man alone with their unwed daughter which baffled him, he knew he practically had hearts in his eyes when he arrived, overflowing with anticipation of her. He couldn’t have been more obvious and yet, all your mother did was smile. “It’ll be nice for Diana. She’s really fond of you, my lord.” Her voice was so soft and teeming with the affection she had for Diana, as if she was truly glad for her. Diana was not even her child, born to her or adopted, she came from an affair. At first, he’d thought your mother only showed courtesy out of your father’s desire. But this…it was the smile, the happiness of a mother. And she did not show it for you.

How it felt to be in her room. It was indescribable, what being surrounded by her scent, her books, her things, did to him. Her room to him was like a secret cave, shielded from society. The pink painted walls were not walls at all but barriers from the world itself. All of hell could rage outside and what would they know of it? In that room only, they could get lost inside each other. Diana was feeling better that day, so the two of them were able to have tea together. She showed him some of the books she kept, she would read her favorite parts in her airy voice that always, always betrayed her feelings. She was bursting with happiness at having someone to show them to.

He stayed for hours, captivated by every little detail he learned from her and greedy for even more. She was nothing like a wonderful hostess should be but he liked her that way, she was innocently impolite and honest, unrestrained by the graces of high society. It made her easy to talk to, easy to tease and laugh with. Had he ever laughed so much as he did with her? He felt delirious from the contrast of his headiness and his dread, the heavy stone weighing on his stomach. His body and the greater part of his soul belonged here but his mind was with you. He wondered what you’d think, knowing he promised to be home by dark. You were probably worried and that bothered him, he wanted to be the sort of husband you wouldn’t have to fuss over. He wanted to be dependable and yet it was decided now that he could not.

Diana felt like the center of the earth, a small divot in the earth for him to rest his tired body. Diana felt like a noose around his neck at the gallows, sure and wrested around his neck tightly. The inevitable she. A veritable stranger no matter how he felt he knew her. All he knew was you. You were not important, another part of him argued. You were his wife. You were not Diana.

And so raged his thoughts until he could bring himself to come home to you. He’d been told you’d gone to bed and his stomach dropped with disappointment. He’d at least wanted to bid your goodnight, tell you that he’d come home safely so that you didn’t wonder. He wanted to sleep in bed next to you but his feet led him to another room. He justified it in his mind – you needed to sleep and he would only disturb you. Because he could not control his actions, he made up flimsy justifications for them. Though, he was not sure from which voice they came from. He wasn’t sure which he hoped they came from.

The months that came after were as he imagined they would be, still he could not help but hope, he was yet unused to the kind of weakness he displayed. He was born to be strong, to be responsible for many lives, many fates and yet when was the last time he had felt in control? He needed this dichotomy of his two selves to be a war, he needed it to be something he could fight.

Even in his failure, he treated it as if it were his own fault. When he sent a letter to Lady Diana, feeling as if he had only watched somebody else’s hands write the words, he cursed himself for not trying hard enough to resist. The next time was to be different, he would gather his strength. He told himself this even knowing it wasn’t true, even when the steward gave him Diana’s response and he felt relief soothe every tense muscle in his body. He told himself the next time would be different even when he responded to that letter.

He needed to believe in this second chance. This time around, things were actually going quite smoothly with your relationship. To a certain extent, he’d been able to praise you for your efforts as he hadn't before. He’d made you happy when he told you he was lucky to have you, you looked up at him shyly with a genuine smile on your face, a very rare sight which had only grown increasingly rare over time. It was only in that moment that he was able to feel unconflicted. It was only in that moment that things were simple.

They didn’t stay that way.

A letter arrived to the manor, it was placed directly in his hands rather than yours both because he was the only one who ever received anything from your home and because it was specifically from Diana herself. The steward had whispered the urgency of the matter so he read it at the table before you, even though the him within cringed at the shamelessness of such an act. The larger part of him refused to show such inhibition and as he read the words, his heart only dropped for their contents and not for his wife watching him warily from across the table.

With a shaky breath, he announced to you that Diana’s condition had worsened significantly. He only managed the words because he had to, because it concerned you. The darkness was spreading through his body again, rotting even the reasonable part of himself he’d held above it. He could think of nothing but Diana. Her condition was such that she felt she was going to die, she couldn’t even leave bed without fainting and couldn’t keep down food. The fact that she’d been able to write him would have been a comfort, except that she’d included that she’d had to have her maid write the letter for her.

It shouldn’t have struck him so, Diana had always been ill, this outcome was not a surprising one but he felt as though he might lose his hold on everything if she died. What would he do if he never again saw that smile? He tried to stifle the ache rising in his body, his inner self had not stayed hidden, it objected and raged against the grief. He commanded himself to come together, to grin and bear it if he couldn’t make it go away. But his body did not listen, how could it when his voice was only a whisper?

Claude stood up and announced his departure, he rallied what strength he had to stop himself but it was entirely futile. His body moved regardless of his objections, just as it had the last time. Even so, he strained himself against the almost autonomous machine he’d become, until the very end, he tried to make his body stop. Even the sound of that pleading voice behind him did not give him what he needed. You were begging him to take you along and he kept finding reasons to deny you. It was vile. He knew she was your sister before he was your anything but inside him, woven around his throat was a pressing need to see her. A selfishness that demanded to be alone with her.

The thoughts were stirred up to the surface of his mind easily and they lashed against each other. You didn’t care about Diana, why should you be there? She had asked for him, not for you. You were only trying to cling to him. But why shouldn’t you? He was your husband and he was leaving you behind in matters that concerned your family. No – Diana was hardly your family, if he wasn’t going, would you have even bothered? Of course you would have, he refuted within his mind, you were a dutiful sister even if you weren’t close to Diana. How vile you are, wouldn’t Diana be able to see how little you care for her? Would she have to die knowing her sister curses her for having his affection?

Even though all his eyes saw was the picture of a woman desperate to get to her sister, he was quickly growing agitated with you. Whatever the cost, he simply did not want to be with his wife while he was falling apart over her sister. He thought his face should be the one Diana saw, he wanted to see himself reflected in her eyes. He wanted to be the one to give her hope. No, you couldn’t be there, hovering over his shoulder and serving as the cruel reminder of all that had been robbed of Diana. It didn’t matter if you were her sister or not, he wouldn’t let Diana be unhappy on top of what she was already going through. Why did you insist on being a burden so much?

He shuddered when he felt himself grab you harder than he ever would have and put you from his body. He caught a sliver of your expression and his misery only grew, suddenly stricken by the thought that he might hurt you worse and be unable to stop it again. Would he yet again be helpless? This time, would he be aware and powerless to watch himself harm you? Would he have to watch himself kill you, beat you, betray you — knowing that the difference between himself and this darkness scarcely mattered anymore?

For once, he surrendered and did not try to rebel when his body moved away from you, out the door.

Through the balmy night air, he moved like arrow darting through the sky. He reached Diana, his princess in her tower. Yet again, your parents showed him reverence and did not so much as ask about their other daughter. It was as if they were only expecting him in the first place, no — that they only wanted him in the first place. In consideration of his status, they were courteous and asked about him, congratulating him on a promotion given to him as a knight. He wanted to tell them to shut up, to stop with the small talk if they couldn’t be bothered to ask about you. He was curt with his answers, he didn’t know whether that was by his design or something else’s.

The instant they caught him up on Diana’s condition, however, he was alert. He was fully consumed by the doomed desire for her life to be spared. Every word that came from your mother’s mouth broke him. When he went into her room, finally, he was left alone with her. She was pale, thin, the light had been siphoned from her. When he went over and brushed the hair from her sweaty face, murmuring sweet words of comfort that he’d never been given himself, she opened her eyes and a little glimmer returned to them. Since when had he known of such romantic words when he was a pitiful man who could not even tell his wife once that he loved her? Since when did he have such power that he could return life to this girl?

Diana nearly exhausted herself trying to sit up to talk to him. He’d had to lay her back down as tears rolled down her ivory cheeks from the frustration of her body giving up. It broke his heart, he felt as though he might really bleed to see her cry so hopelessly. She, with her body and her beauty such a temporal, fragile thing, knew that she was withering and could do nothing to stop it. She cried as she squeezed his hand and he could bear it no longer. He leaned over, taking her face in his hands and kissed her until she calmed, until she thought of nothing but him. Her lips tasted like bitter medicine.

When he pulled away, Diana looked at him, docile and sparkling with an ill fated hope. His love for her in that moment caught in every cavern of his heart, it blanketed all else. It was a gentle intrusion like rain seeping in through his clothes. It quieted his better self for the moment. For the time being, he knew nothing but his desire to comfort her. And so he did.

His inner self was already quite tired after a few days, longing for home, for mercy from this place that seemed to revolve around Diana. She’d become the object of his misery and he’d held to the hope that you’d show up soon but you hadn’t thus far. Where were you to save him from this? It was a pathetic thought but it was true that he wanted to be at your side if his body would not allow him to come home. He knew that as long as he lacked control, it was much better to stay away from you and yet he could not deny himself the simplest desire for the sight of you.

He got his wish months later when he needed to return home for work. He saw you in the foyer waiting for him to stop, even though he kept walking as if he didn’t. He raged at himself in that moment, full of righteous fury against his own body. He wanted to hurt himself, to break his bones, to bruise and bleed his frustration, his anguish. But the moment you blurted out the news: “I’m with child!” He was able to stop, everything stopped, his vengeful thoughts and the anger churning inside his heart.

On one hand, Claude felt soft at the thought of a child between you two. You had asked him to start trying for a baby and it was the one time the greater force inside was forced to do something that his inner self was more than approving of. It was satisfying, to finally have some piece of a real marriage to you. It was more than needing an heir, it was wanting to have a family with you who would definitely make a great mother and could teach him to be a good father. His heart was satisfied in that regard.

On another…he was terrified to have a child while he was like this. He was already afraid of hurting you, of the disdain he felt for you. What would he feel for this child? There was no promise that he’d never hurt he child that would be born from you, no promise he wouldn’t be resentful that it wasn’t born from Diana. The fear was like a vice, strangling what joy he’d had about the prospect. This voice inside was like a curse.

And even still, there was another front on which he was conflicted. The greater voice inside made the other conflicts seem like drops of water in the sea. The most pressing issue was that you were pregnant and Diana was about to die. You and this child would force him from her. Why now? Why did you have to be pregnant at a time where his greatest responsibility should be comforting her? How could he tell Diana he would have to leave her for the sake of his child knowing that she could never have the family she desired? Agony filtered through his body, sapping away what warmth he felt before and leaving him empty.

In the end, with such things inhabiting his mind, he could not even express a perfunctory “That’s wonderful” or even tell you that he was thankful to you. He only left, disappearing like a coward with his poorly concealed tears to feel sorry yet again for Diana, for himself. To feel a need to break his own body.

He went back to cheer up Diana, to keep her happy even while you lay at the back of his mind. He knew that he should be there for you while you underwent something so stressful and important but the rest of him didn’t seem to mind ignoring that fact. It was glad to surrender you to thoughts of Diana. He trembled with each sign that she might recover, he died inside at every indication that she would not. He fell up and down the sliding scale of her health and all the while, whispered his love in her ears to reassure her. He felt more justified with every day he spent, that a dying woman needed him more than his wife who had always had robust health and was surrounded by servants and doctors. He strengthened this lie even as a voice of doubt tried to gain his attention. You hadn’t had robust health, not according to Felix who knew you best. Perhaps things would be different in this life but he mourned every single day he spent away from you, he wanted to crawl back home to you. He wanted you to be well, he wanted to make sure you were well.

He could not. His place was with Diana. What pleasure he took in the center of that tragedy, in living in his fantasy of being unburdened and free to love her. It was consolation he felt that he deserved. Soon, Diana did ask to see you and he had to put his greed aside.

Although he did not desire to break the immersion of him living with her functionally as if they were the last lovers alive, her wishes were more important and she was not long for this world. She, who loved you even despite your coldness, had to leave you with something.

When you came, he could not help but notice the difficulty with which you walked. Your skin was wan and you wore a grave expression, the one he’d have been wearing if he had the choice not to smile for Diana’s sake. You were heavily pregnant, he wanted to ask about your health but his mouth would not open. Your parents also did not inquire, although he had hoped with all his might that they would so that his worries would be soothed. He could only translate Diana’s wish to you.

You left nearly as quick as you came once she required nothing else from you, he wanted to catch your arm as you walked by and tell you to stay here the remainder of your pregnancy. It was dangerous to travel, especially looking as sickly as you did. In his stead, who had been looking after you? What was being done for you? He was forced to watch you leave, not even waiting to see you walk through the door before turning back to Diana’s room. His own consciousness screamed for the loss, for the feeling of impending tragedy. The darkness inside relieved the tension in his body and thought only of Diana.

He went into Diana’s room again to find her crying. She refused to tell him why even as he begged for the reason. “Is it because the lady has gone back? She’ll come back soon, it won’t be long at all before I can call her back.” He was scrambling for something to put an end to her tears when his sweet nothings wouldn’t. “No, don’t send for her. It’s nothing” Diana said as she tried to hold back sobs. “What did the two of you talk about?” He murmured as he held her, trying to bring her back to the sated girl she had been. However, his question only seemed to further upset Diana. “I told her that I loved you. How can I confess something like that to my own sister? How can I be in love with you like this? I should have kept it inside until the day that I die.” She sobbed into his shirt. It took hours to calm her to sleep.

He was soft with Diana, reassuring her that it was alright, that you would never blame her for falling in love, that you would forgive her. But when he came home, he was nearing madness with indignation. He was certain that you had lashed out at her in jealousy, if Diana had told him what she was planning to say, he would have talked her out of it. She shouldn’t need to confess to you, who already hated her.

It didn’t matter that his own voice spoke up and refuted, desperately citing that you had every right to be angry with her. What an awful girl she was, stealing away her own sister’s husband when she needed him most and then begging like a dog for her forgiveness, using her illness to force her to be graceful about a situation she should be allowed to have anger about. That denial was thin, it evaporated easily. It was insignificant amongst louder, greater ones that favored Diana.

He took his anger out on you, even though his inner self trusted that you wouldn’t have said anything to Diana. He said awful things to you, feeling like her knight, feeling as though he was seeking retribution for her. He watched you grow smaller before him, your eyes go bleak like they had the first time he saw you. He knew what he was doing to you and he hated himself for it but it was if he were only a player in a story who could not diverge from the role he’d be cast in.

Stop, please, stop.

“Everything you’ve done so far to other people”

Bile rose in his throat as each word left his lips. He tried to stop with all the desperation as one trying to save his own life.

“How can I believe you? You used that same face while scheming against others without a thought”

He knew what his next words would be, he knew they would kill you. And he could see that there was no end. He surrendered to the darkness, he wanted to escape what came next, what he knew would be another sword through his chest.

“That child you’re carrying, is it even mine?”

He left you reeling, with a visceral disgust for his wife whose jealousy knew no limit. To think that she would even choose to attack her sister as she lay in bed dying. He had no doubts that the child had to be his but it didn’t matter to him, he felt that you deserved to be humbled that way. This was the consequence of your actions. If you behaved as an untrustworthy, nasty woman, wouldn’t it make sense to treat you as such?

He went back to Diana, he wanted to be at her side before she woke up.

Diana’s room felt like a place constantly in stasis, the world was on pause when he was there and she was never to die. In his own misery, he had begun to wish that she would finally die. He knew that he would be there until she did so he prayed that she would set him free. Let her die, he thought, Please. Undoubtedly, his eyes must show it. His gaze must be casting the blame he felt she deserved. Why was she still alive, monopolizing his time? If she could only see it. No, if he could only free his body to smother her and end it.

A messenger arrived with news from the mansion. His heart dropped in anticipation. In the halls and safely away from Diana’s ears, the steward told him that you had gone into labor. He saw the fright in the steward’s eyes and knew he absolutely had to be there, regardless of what Diana needed. You mattered more. He said that it was a tumultuous birth and encouraged Claude to be there in more reverent language befitting a servant. Despite the screams from inside, he heard himself brush off the request, citing Diana’s condition even as the steward spluttered objections in shock. He himself was shocked at the extent of his helplessness even though he had no right to be. When he could not win the right to control his own body, when he watched the messenger leave, all hope abandoned him. He was a ghost and this home was his only domain as the world kept turning around him.

Diana finally passed the day after that, as he held her in his arms. Something broke apart and allowed him finally, to vent the anguish he had been feeling for months on end. He cried, he let his fingers dig into his hands so hard they bled. It didn’t matter that he knew the tears were not brought forth out of sadness for his wife, he gave them to you anyway. The only thing worth considering anymore was that he would finally return to you. Those tears were his relief, his daybreak. They were his grief and regret.

However, he was again visited with more news. He was told that you had died giving birth. The situation was further explained to him but he did not hear, all sound negated as he seemed to detach from his worthless body. He had let you die alone. Was he only brought back so that he could watch you waste before his eyes? Why, this time, could he not save you? He had let you die, weak and helpless to even do so much as be there with you as you did.

He’d likely been holding onto Diana as you died. The darkness receded and gave way to grief which weighed his body down, it left him gasping for air as his body returned to his control. He was no longer floating, he was painfully aware of himself, of his failure and what it cost. He reached for his dagger, it was the only thing he could think to do — if this was his punishment, he’d learned his lesson and he would gladly move on to the nothing which surely awaited him. But the steward stopped his hand. “My Lord!” He cried, wrenching the dagger from him and cutting his own hand in the process.

“I’ve already prepared a carriage, please, the daughter Madame left behind still needs you” He was bleeding quite a lot, but he kept his eyes on Claude as he used a handkerchief to wrap it.

The daughter. His child. He’d accused you of being unfaithful, he had said such things knowing they couldn’t be true simply because he knew they’d hurt a fragile woman already in a desolate state. And now she was dead from trying to deliver that child. His child lived same as he did. It was the same as before, same as if he’d killed you himself. Was this all that he lived for?

He allowed the steward to lead him to the carriage, made docile by the numbness that preceded. He came home to the wailing of an infant who, the steward had anxiously explained, had not stopped crying since her mother died. He was urged to rest but refused, he only wanted to see your body, to punish himself further. He wanted to commit it to memory this time, where before he’d abandoned you to a prison far away, he needed now to make himself see.

He wielded the image of your body against himself like a dagger, like his nails digging into his hands. He ripped open his wounds with it, he retched at the sight of you, bloodied and still. He was disgusted at himself, at knowing you had been torn apart for his weakness, as if presented with life he’d taken with his own hands.

He made himself look at his daughter. This pitiful, small thing who resembled him so closely…he’d used her to hurt his wife. He couldn’t bear to hold her and look down into eyes that seemed to damn him with their resemblance. It was as if god had given him his copy to say “You, who would condemn a good woman as an adulterer, have your proof of her fidelity.” When he had demanded an explanation from the doctor, even knowing it was unfair of him, the frail and weeping old man managed to confess that she had declined to save her own life by giving up the child’s.

He wished that reality would break open, would fracture and crumble. He wished that he would lose his sanity so that all that occurred would be rendered nothing to a mind who could no longer comprehend the definite nature of reality. But there was only one way toward even the sliver of a chance for mercy. It would not be given to him as a gift. He held the dagger up to his throat. In the moment before it bit into his skin, he thought of the perverse escape the darkness had offered.

tags: @kage-tobiuo @kreishin @rosephantomhive@yeahdrarry@splaterparty0-0 @dear-dairiesss @qluvrv @hafsuhhh @eissaaaa @ayolk @doan-19 @fourcefulcupid@ariachaos@cerisearan@irisspade@yaesflorist@jcrml@xiaosprettygf@yevenly@amaris08atoshi012022 @obsessed-with-a-fictional-man @softbummiee @cassanderasblog

#claude x reader #wmmap x reader #claude de alger x reader #claude de alger obelia x reader #wmmap fanfic #x reader

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pedroscurls · 1 year

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Third Time’s A Charm (Part 3).

Character(s): Frankie “Catfish” Morales , Reader (female, second person POV) Summary: You and Frankie have a very serious conversation. Word Count: 1,962 Author's Note: This was a very personal chapter for me. Like I’ve mentioned before, Frankie reminds me a lot of my partner (who is a retired Marine), so writing this was special. I know in the movie we don’t really see the effects of being retired veterans trying to become civilians again (mainly only Tom and briefly Will in the beginning), but it’s something I plan on exploring more of, especially with Frankie. So, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It’s literally on the beginning of what I have in store. Warning: Mentions of combat-PTSD symptoms, drug use, and implied cheating.

“Do you love me?”

The question shocked you, but you looked up at him with sad eyes. He couldn’t be asking you this question, especially when you knew that he was aware of what your answer would be.

“You know the answer to that, Frankie.”

He sighed, pulling back for a moment. “So you do.”

“Just because we aren’t together anymore doesn’t mean that I’m gonna stop caring about you.”

“But why?” He asked, genuinely confused.

“Are you asking me why I still care about you?”

He nodded. His eyes were sad. Part of you wondered if there was another meaning behind this question and so you reached out to rest a hand on his chest. Frankie immediately leaned into you and let out a quiet sigh. You could feel the weight he was carrying on his shoulders, the pain that lingered. Frankie was hurting and you didn’t know why.

“Frankie,” you whispered. “What’s going on?”

Frankie looked up at you. He wanted to melt into you, wrap his arms around you and just tell you all of the things that were bothering him. His mind was all over the place and the cocaine… Well, it put the nightmares and negative thoughts at bay. Temporarily, but when he came down from his high, the emotions came at him full force. He knew better than to turn to drugs as a way to forget, a coping mechanism, but lately, it was just too much for him to handle.

“Nothin’. Let’s get you home.” So, he pulled away from you and walked around his truck to enter the driver’s side. You watched him carefully as he bit at his lower lip anxiously. You climbed in and shut the door behind you, reaching for your seat belt as your eyes remained on him.

He didn’t say anything else. He buckled his seat belt and pulled out of the parking lot of the bar, making his way back to your apartment.

The energy between the both of you had shifted. The tension had disappeared. The desire lingered, but the concern you were feeling and the anxiety Frankie was experiencing outweighed it all. So, when he finally pulled up to the curb of your apartment complex, you reached over to rest a hand on his forearm. You didn’t say anything, didn’t want to pry or push him to talk, but resting your hand over him and running your thumb in circles across his skin brought Frankie comfort.

“Thank you for the ride.” You whispered.

“I’m hurting, hermosa.” He admitted. His hand clenched into a fist and you felt the muscles at his forearm tighten underneath your fingertips. “I can’t sleep and when I do, the dreams I have… They’re not great.”

You sighed quietly, removing your seat belt and turning your body so that you were now facing him, giving him your full and undivided attention. “Frankie,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“And my lady,” he added, glancing over at you. “Victoria,” Frankie corrected. “We’re not doing so great. She’s angry at me all the time and honestly, I don’t blame her. My license got suspended, so I can’t fly and–”

You interrupted him. “Don’t tell me, Frankie…” You said quietly. You knew that when things got too rough, he turned to drugs or alcohol as a way to temporarily forget. To him, it was a temporary band-aid that wouldn’t stick, that wouldn’t stay on. It had been rough the second time you got back together because you had seen it firsthand, experienced how his addictions not only affected him, but those around him.

Frankie just nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing to me?” You asked sincerely. You continued to rub circles along his forearm, hoping that you were providing some comfort. “Is it coke?”

Frankie nodded, looking away ashamedly.

“Frankie,” you sighed.

“I’m two months sober, haven’t touched it since.” He added. “But it’s hard. I just feel– I just feel like I can’t get anything right.” Frankie looked over at you, tears stinging his eyes. Up close, you could see the pain written all over his features. It was an all too familiar look you had gotten used to seeing whenever Frankie had flashbacks or whenever a painful anniversary would be near.

“Is that why you asked if I still loved you?”

Frankie shrugged. “Maybe, but also because I’m genuinely curious.”

You rolled your eyes teasingly. “I don’t think I ever stopped loving you, Frankie. Our chance–,” you sighed. “We never did quite get the timing right, did we?”

Frankie shook his head. “I guess not.”

“Listen,” you said. “You’ve been down this road before and you came out on top. You can do it again. You can get through this again.”

“Yeah, but what if I can’t?”

“You will.”

Frankie looked at you, head tilting as he moved his hand to capture your own. He gently played with your fingers before he slowly laced them together. He felt relief wash over him, like the weight he had been carrying was slowly lifting from his shoulders.

“You really believe that?”

You nodded. “I believe in you, just like how I believe in the rest of the guys. Sometimes,” you said, looking down at your entwined hands. “Sometimes we get to a breaking point where we feel like we’ve hit rock bottom, but the important thing is to get back up and crawl your way out of it. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how difficult it may be, you get back up. Always, Frankie.”

Frankie bit his lower lip. “Maybe,” he said stubbornly.

“Stop,” you said. “If I have to pull you out of it myself, I will.”

Frankie smiled at that. It was something that his wife would never have the patience for. She had always told him to get over it, that this will pass, and it only frustrated him even more. Sure, neither you or his wife had been in the military, served overseas, seen the things he had seen, done the things he had to do, but there was one main difference between you and his wife, Victoria.

You showed empathy and even when things got too difficult, you led with your heart, with patience, and you stuck by his side even when it hurt you.

Victoria had started out that way, but as things got more serious and more intense and she got to see firsthand how Frankie dealt with his flashbacks or nightmares, her empathy started to lessen and lessen. She just couldn’t understand that these things don’t just go away. And maybe that was part of the reason why he started using again. Yes, he had Benny, Will, and Tom to talk to about these things, but when your home environment isn’t all that supportive, it just does more damage than it does good.

But Frankie couldn’t even blame Victoria. He knew that he was difficult, that being with him meant that his baggage would follow. Part of him just wished he had known this sooner before making a lifelong commitment to a woman who believed that his PTSD was just something that could go away.

And you… Frankie felt at home with you. A home he wanted to be in. A supportive, loving, and understanding home. He didn’t have to feel like his emotions were a burden on you, instead, he felt comfortable and willing to talk about what he was feeling. You provided a sense of security, a safe space for him (and even the rest of the guys) to open to you. Even when Frankie told you some very horrific stories, he was surprised to see tears in your eyes. And when he apologized and tried to comfort you, he was taken aback by your reaction.

“I’m not crying because of the other person, Frankie,” you said, staring at him. “I’m crying because you had to endure all of that.”

“It was my job,” he replied quietly.

“I know, but I can’t imagine the toll it takes on you.” Then, you reached out for him and wrapped your arms around him in a tight embrace, afraid to let him go. “I promise that I’m always going to be here, no matter what.”

That was the first time Frankie cried in front of you. All the emotions that he had bottled in finally came bursting out. The feeling of your arms around him, your genuine reaction to his admittance of a certain job he had to do overseas… He didn’t realize he was holding his breath, afraid that it was going to scare you away, and when it didn’t? Frankie felt a huge weight being lifted off his shoulders.

“I promise that I’m not going anywhere, Frankie. I’m with you, always.”

“I love you,” he blurted out. Frankie sighed. “I know that I shouldn’t say it, especially since I’m married, but I– I don’t think I ever stopped loving you either.”

“Frankie,” you sighed. “We can’t. You know that.”

“I know,” he replied. “I’ve just been doing a lot of reflecting over the past couple of months and seeing you tonight just brought back a lot of emotions for me.” Frankie glanced over at you before his eyes dropped to look at your hands.

“We missed our chance, Frankie…” You whispered, slowly removing your hand from his. You wanted this as badly as he did, but you didn’t want to hurt his wife, to be the other woman who ended a marriage. “I’m always going to be here for you, but–”

Frankie sighed, interrupting, “Not in the way we both want. I get it.”

You looked at him, noticing how he wasn’t meeting your eyes. You could tell Frankie was deep in thought, so you reached out for him again, but this time, resting your hand gently on his chest.

“I’m here, Frankie. Not going anywhere, okay?”

He looked over at you, eyes soft and filled with regret, sadness, and pain. “Yeah, let me walk you to your door.”

Once you both left his truck, Frankie followed you to your apartment, watching as you grabbed your keys from inside of your bag. The silence that consumed the both of you was filled with tension, filled with the possibilities that this could be more.

“Good night, Frankie.”

He sighed and reached out to rest a hand on your hip, pulling you into a tight embrace. Frankie’s arms snaked around your waist and his eyes fell shut. You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face against him. Having him hold you like this again, feeling his strong arms wrap around you, and his scent filling your senses… It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember that there would be consequences if you both just gave in.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Your heart skipped a beat and you tightened your arms around him even more. “I love you too.”

“I have a lot to think about,” he admitted.

Slowly, you pulled away and looked up at him. Your arms remained around his neck and his arms stayed around your waist. You were so close to him, so close that you could just inch yourself forward to press your lips against his, but you didn’t. You couldn’t.

“You have Colombia with the guys,” you replied. “That’s where your focus needs to be.”

Frankie nodded in agreement, leaning forward to gently press a soft kiss on your forehead. He let his lips rest there for a moment, tightening his arms around you even further to bring you flush against his body.

“You can call me if you need anything, okay?” You whispered, your eyes falling shut.

Frankie nodded and reluctantly pulled away, moving his hands back into the pocket of his pants. “Good night, hermosa.”

—-

Part 4.

Taglist: @harriedandharassed

#frankie morales #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #francisco morales fanfiction #francisco catfish morales fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fanfic #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x reader (you)#frankie morales x you #story: third time's a charm

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silent-raven13 · 1 month

Text

Miles' love

There's days when Miles is overwhelmed with the world, where his anxiety goes haywire and got him going through panic attacks. Sometimes he just needs someone to be comfortable with or be by himself. Mostly he either talks to his Hobie about personal issues, sometimes talk to his parents like stuff about school and relationship advices.

Now, many seem that Miles' is the princess type always being taken care of, always spoiled with love and being cherished like a rare gem. That may be true especially, with his punker boyfriend. Hobie had always shower his Sunflower with gifts, love, anything and everything to make sure he is happy.

But, this isn't about Miles being taken care- No, this is about Miles' being a supportive and loving partner.

Now, many would assume Hobie Brown is a punker without no issues or problems, except if he's being Spider-Punk. All Spider-Heroes have dealt with trauma and lost of their loved ones, and being a Hero- err, he doesn't believe in heroism, anyway, the struggle of protecting the innocent is already relatable with Spider-people.

However, not many knows he too have his own depression, which Miles have been very aware. it started when Hobie mentions his neglectful mother and absent father, how much he hated them for leaving such a dysfunctional family. The worst part being poor with so many siblings and trying to survive dealing with an alcoholic mother. One of the major cause of his depression when he sometimes looks over a happy family, seeing both parents loving their child can hit a nerve.

He always wanted to be loved, to be hold and often to question if he desire it. Sometimes he believe he's trash and desire to be tossed aside, because of his abusive mum's words cut him like a knife. Many think words don't bother him, it's because he had the biggest BULLY of all, his mother! Foul words have been thrown at him in such an early age that he could remember his mom sneered at how much he look a lot like his father or how ugly he is. The distasteful foul slurs she uses in spiteful hate on her children shows how bitter she became when her husband left them- her!

So yeah, he never found loving parents, and his siblings can only do so much. He always wanted to have a family that would love him. In honesty, he does get jealous at his friends' connection with their families. Of course, he loves and cherish the family he build! That's the whole point, a person create their own community, their own family with trust and love. Yet...

Ha, it's always that yet, funny?

The punker yearn to be loved, to be worth it. There's times he believe he give so much and in the end he believe he isn't worth of love. Isn't worth of being with his Sunflowers. Too flawed. Too messed up to be with his darling Miles. No, he sees how much Miles can do so much better than him- WAY BETTER!

Ganke would be perfect him.

Is always his final thoughts or many a bloke with money and kindness would be better for his Miles. These dark thoughts got him restless, spend days not sleeping well. Smoking, drinking and doing a bit of drugs would help numb the pain, and he would carefully to use a little.

Don't want to tweet out being a crackhead on the slums of New York in his world. He refuses that lifestyle, he almost went there and it was hell crawling back out especially without support.

The Punker sat on the edge of his boathouse having a smoke; a little cigarette. Days like this makes him crave for a cigarette. Just when the twenty year old tries to quit, it always comes back to him.

Miles is gonna hate me for this. Nah, he'll for sure leave. i don't deserve him. I don't deserve to be love...

He looks at the river seeing how calm it is.

Everyone is only friends with me because I don't give a shit. No one ask for my opinion or how I'me doing... I'm a shit person.

He sighs feeling his depression hitting hard.

Maybe I should call Miles- No, he doesn't want to see me like this.

He always prefer Hobie when he's cooler. The Punker believed his Sunflower wants him to be the rock, the wall that protects the two.

It's better if I just deal with this on my own.

He had trouble calling out for help, too. It's difficult for him to talk about his personal troubles rather making everything into riddles or jokes. It's a way to shield him off from the world and from his Sunflower. He knows he shouldn't, before he was about to go to his bedroom.

An orange portal opens up right in the middle of the boathouse, Miles jumps out looking at his partner. This time the nineteen year old took off his Spider-man mask to show a frown, to go over to hug him.

Hobie looked surprised for the moment, "Luv, what are you doing here?" He quickly tap his cigarette bud out.

His boyfriend hugs him tighter, "I had a feeling you weren't feeling well."

"How?"

"You're not the only that gone through this kind of stuff." Miles softly spoke, "I noticed yesterday you were quiet and distant like I was a virus. My Spider Senses been going off too. Hobie, what's wrong? You can talk to me." He kisses his Hobie's cheek, "Mi amor, please. I know, your going through with something."

"I..." The Punker frowns giving a sad puppy pout with his inky eyes looking teary then he sighs being silent.

Great, now he'll get mad and leave me. All because I don't want to bloody talk! Hobart, you are one fucking wanker!

Instead of Miles being upset with the answer, he completely understood. See, he had a feeling his boyfriend might be sensitive to talk about certain stuff, so he went to Dr. Sims for advice. Rather than demanding or expecting an answer so quick, it was best to be there to listen. Dr. Sims recommended to be patient. So Miles will, gladly being the partner his Moonflower needs.

Miles cup his punker's face pulling him into a gentle kiss on the lips. "Whatever you're going through, I'm here with you." He pulls him into another tight hug, "We don't have to talk, we can be quiet, snuggling together. You know, you have me to cry on. Take all the time you need, Hobie. I love you and I'm not leaving your side." Another kiss on the punker's cheek.

Hobie felt tears coming down his cheek as he sniffs. Miles wiped them away, and gave another kiss on his boyfriend's face. "Thanks, luv... I don't fucking deserve you." Hobie finally hugs his Sunflower tightly as he weeps to him. "Sorry...Sorry, luv. I just feel like shit today!"

Miles hugs him tighter, with his face being buries into Hobie's shoulder as he spoke, "Bae- mi alma, mi carińo! I love you, and everything about you that includes your flaws. We deserve each other! You're so worth it! I'm happy being with you." He took his boyfriends' face, again to say to his face, "Hobie Laurence Brown, I fucking love you! Your mine and I will never let you go!"

"Fuck, luv. You always have a way for words." Hobie gave a small smile through his cries, he sniffs before kissing his Sunflower. "You're my everything, luv. I just often think-" Miles cut his off, "Don't ever think like that! I will always be with you! You and me are soulmates, remember! You and I made a promise we riding this train till we die."

"Heh, you're right, luv. I just-" He buries his face into his Miles' chest to breaths in his scent. "I'm sorry..."

"Shh, it's okay. Come, I'll take you to your room! Did you eat anything? Had some water?" Miles picks his boyfriend up which caught the punker off guard. It's kinda funny seeing Miles being shorter than him picking him up like a girlfriend, especially when it's a hug carry style. Then again, Spider-man powers!

"Sweeping off me feet, Sunflower? To make me feel better..." Hobie jokes.

"We both know I wear the pants of this relationship!" Miles giggles as he happily carries his boo to his bedroom, so the two can cuddle and spend some quality time. This is the perfect time for Miles to show all his love, self care to his man, and cook for him! This is the perfect cure to making his Hobie feeling better. Everyone needs some self-care from time to time.

It wasn't long till Hobie his cuddling with his Sunflower on their bed having giggles and laughter in the room as they play with the electric guitar. Miles' love is always special to him, and he knows no one will never replace that!

#punkflower #miles morales #hobie brown #spiderman #across the spider verse #fanfic

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