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kneelingshadowsalome · 8 months

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Immortal (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 3)

"The path to paradise begins in hell."

— Dante Alighieri

Word count: 5.5 k

Summary: He knows now why he always returns to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased. What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead? (Last part of Ghost stories.)

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Angst, fluff, smut. Protective!Simon Ghost Riley. Graphic depictions of PTSD, suicidal thoughts and depression, mild violence. Emotional sex, love confessions, happy ending. Ghost POV.

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

No one has ever scolded him.

He's the one who whips people into shape, who makes them recall who and where they are, that Task Force 141 is no place for fuckery. Now he's the one being reminded of his place.

Somehow it's ok to bring her flowers before dinner, but ever since he started to bring her coffee to get an excuse to see her at work, she began to shut down. He can fuck her doggy style at her place, but if he so much as lifts his mask to kiss the back of her neck at her office, she bats him away like an annoying fly.

And he's fucking confused.

He thought he was doing the right thing. He thought that women like to be courted. Now he's standing in the middle of her apartment, waiting for… he doesn't even know what. Pardon, perhaps.

"Why do you always call me lieutenant?"

"Well I can't call you Simon at work, can I?"

She's chaste and decent. Has been like that for a while now, retreating back to her role of a distant professional.

Something's troubling her, and he tries to get to the bottom of it. Tries his best to cheer her up, even if it's absurd that someone like him attempts to do that.

"Y'could use the alias."

"I'm not going to call you that."

She reads Virgil while making it clear that he's quite ridiculous. A ghost. It must remind her of a children's book rather than something stealthy and fatal; to her, it's a grown man's sad attempt to play a superhero.

"Did you come up with the name yourself?" Her voice has a whiff of irony as she finally spares him a glance from her hard-cover poetry.

"...No," he lies, too soon. Far too soon. She catches him on it, pants down.

"You're a silly, silly man." She shakes her head slowly and returns to her book. Last week, it was Dante who had better things to offer, far better things compared to him – such as a more poetic depiction of hell.

But even with the distant aura he can't quite pierce, she gives him a concept of what it would be like to have a home. A real home where you don't have to dread the evening and everything it brings out in people. Even when he was doing the SAS Fan Dance and lying on the cold ground to have a compulsory 2-hour shut-eye, he never missed home. The weather-beaten trail and a flapping tarp were still a cosier place than the one he'd left behind.

The closest thing to an actual home was always solitude. A few days without routine. A cold shower in the morning to wake him, but not frigid enough to kill the erection. A good, unhurried fap and some stale spit circling down the drain. No one giving him a pitiful eye for tossing old takeaway in the bin and opening the cupboard only to be met with some canned food and table salt.

Now, the first thing in the morning is the sensation of her. Fingertips sneaking their way under his arm and ghosting his stomach, stirring him so softly he doesn't quite know if he's gone to heaven. Home is a sleepy nest and slow kisses followed by the sounds of brewing coffee. Home has become a place of mundane tasks: helping her water the plants and tasting whether the vanilla pudding she made has enough sugar. Changing sheets together, listening to the fitful sea as it breaks upon the shore. Watching how she reads of the Trojan War.

When he just stands there, admiring how her manicured nails glide over the pages, she talks to him again without raising her lashes from the book.

"Did you need something?"

…You. All of you.

Now and forever.

"Ya wanna go out to eat tonight?"

Finally, he grabs her attention. The distance between them is sewn up so fast even a jerk like him can understand he finally made the right fucking move.

"What about your… The mask?"

He shrugs.

"I thought you liked my cooking," she gives him a smile. Sly… Foxy.

"I do. But let me feed you for a change."

He sees in that stare and the way she purses her lips that she's trying to prevent a dirty joke from coming out of her pretty little mouth. As much as he appreciates that little cunning look, as much as he loves when that mouth gets a little dirty, he's more than serious now.

"Come on. Let me take you out."

"Well. If you insist," she smiles, shuts the book, and flies to her closet to pull out a stunner of a dress.

…..…..…..

Her fingertips always make his cock stir. They were supposed to go to sleep – a rare thing, to not slip inside her after a nice lil evening. To his surprise she starts to trace the few hairs on his stomach, threading through them as they thicken below.

He can feel how she gets tense upon seeing that he's hard and heavy before she even reaches there. But she's not tense from anticipation.

"I overheard some of the guys talking about us. Or, well, me."

His cock gives a tug, and she still doesn't touch it.

"How I'm your luxury whore."

The curtain shifts as the wind plays with it: softly, while he's ripped out of the dark safety of the womb.

"Luxury…" She laughs, but it's bitter and thick. "Isn't it funny?"

He's hard now mainly because of the fury that rises. It ripples through his chest and pulls his stomach taut.

"Was it the rookie?"

He hears his voice from far away, from under the sea, but luckily, her hand brings him back. It's placed on him again, this time further up. She likes to trace the cavity between his pecs, pet the hair she finds there, too. Sometimes, she buries her face there and inhales his sweat, then uses that spot as her pillow. It's that very moment when he finds peace if he already hasn't by then.

"You don't have to defend my honour," the night speaks softly.

So, it was the rookie.

Nothing but a boy, younger than Soap and cockier than he was when he left Manchester with nothing but a duffel bag on his shoulder. Nothing but a boy, and she knows how boys are. She knows how boys talk. She wouldn't be in the Force if she took filthy quips seriously.

But this is fucking different. The fantasies of what he'll do to the fucker when he gets back get sicker and more beautiful by the second.

"Just… don't come there anymore unless you're injured. Ok?"

He can't hear her because the vile word overrides even the gorgeous visions of torture. It gathers up his throat as bile, and he barely has time to take a deep breath to force it down before it's too late.

"I'm gonna go take a shower."

"At this hour…?"

"Can't sleep anyway."

He reaches the bathroom just in time before the vomit flies. The power of it forces him on his knees, forces him to take hold of the door frame. Everything he fed to her shoots up, like it was only a dream that he could make her happy.

…Are you just here for sex?

Her shy question echoes from the tiles as another retch pulls the rest of his love out.

He's sweating worse than the time they had to operate him in the field, back when a bullet had worked its way through the naked spot between the straps of his plate carrier. The shower washes some of it away, but the stench stays, the foul word and the insolence, all the shallow things he has given her coat the insides of his mouth no matter how many times he tries to spit it away. The water only does so much, and she's still not asleep by the time he returns to her.

The luxury is waiting for him, silky and sweet.

Wet, even, if he wants.

"Baby… Honey?"

Baby.

He feels his guts in his throat again but swallows them down. She's beautiful, even when sad and sorry. Sorry, and for what? For him, instead of herself and what she's been called, the spite she has had to suffer simply for lying down in the filth with him.

"Are you okay...?"

"Yeah."

He goes to her, pulls her in his arms, and hopes he doesn't smell of puke.

"They're just words. Right?"

I'm more than just your whore, right?

Her hand doesn't shy away from the sweat that breaks through his back. She's not afraid of him, even when he's the monster she never asked for. He can respect that kind of fearlessness.

"You're awfully quiet," she tries.

Baby, please don't go berserk, is what he hears.

"Go to sleep, pet," he calls forth his softest voice, relieved to notice it sounds more like a lullaby than a command. He allows her to kiss him, wondering if she can taste the grave.

"Yes, sir," she breathes a soft smile in his mouth. Then she turns and coats herself with his arm. It must feel heavy around her, but she only gives a happy sigh. "I always sleep better with you. You feel so good… Safe."

He wonders how strange it is that love sometimes feels like pain. Her words come close to a knife slowly being pushed to his insides. They're still burning when she mutters the last essential thing, already half-asleep in his arms.

"They're just words, Simon…"

…..…..…..

He doesn't know much about poetry, but perhaps Dante was right.

The heart of hell is not a fiery lake of torment but an icy, cold, stagnant place. There's nothing there. Everything is frozen: screams, thoughts, even dreams.

He's walked through grey rubble and drenched asphalt, through alleyways of havoc and debris, he's trekked through desolate woodland and marsh. He's run through life like it's a day-to-day race to not get killed, but the worst of it isn't the bullets or the cold or the wind or the rain. It's the sleepless nights, the inertia. His soul in chains. On those nights, he wanted to get killed.

And yet, he's not the only one who has suffered the unfortunate event of being dragged through every plane of hell. He's not the first man to go through the funnel, nor is he the last. It only looks bad in a society where he's supposed to own a credit card and a house. It only tastes like shit when someone asks "How does it make you feel?"

People like him shouldn't go to therapy at all. His solution was to quit playing a modern man the minute he realized he's no longer fit for that role. He's simply a dead body, reanimated to serve a purpose. He's a sharp tool, a weapon. (A zombie.)

He serves the greater good, but everyone knows the greater good is propaganda too. There's no grand fight between light and darkness. Good and evil only conduct people's choices: even his old man must've thought he was making the world a better place by playing the rebel. He told him he served the Queen just to piss that sodded bastard off, but the truth is he never served anyone. Not even himself.

Now, there's an odd purpose to his task. Now, every cell in his body is full of animus.

He's an animated corpse, perhaps, but they forgot to bury the wrath.

"Where's the rookie?"

"Getting stapled."

"Where?"

Which room?

Which fucking room?

He doesn't stay to heed directions. He doesn't need them; his instinct tells him enough. He doesn't even bother to knock, simply barges in, only to see that the boy sits on the bed he used to sit on, in the exact same position as him. And he knows it's not just the blood loss that makes the fucker look so drowsy and smug.

The fury is pierced with an ice-tinged sword as he sees her gentle touch – she's tending to the wounds of an ungrateful kid with the same compassion she gives to all her patients, and the first thing on his mind is that she would make a good mother.

"What're you doing here?"

His voice is soaked in ash, but the boy only looks up from the bed with pure, trouble-seeking gall.

"What are you doing here…? Sir."

She's looking at him too. She's pleading with those eyes. Silently, desperately.

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

Her request only now makes sense as he sees how the boy looks him up and down and sees there's not a scratch on him. There's no reason for him to be here other than to relieve the pain in his loins.

"Well… Have fun," the rookie jumps from the table, and the rage threatens to pull him underwater like a tide. He never needed anything but his voice to stop a man in his tracks. Not size, not rank, not even his reputation, just voice.

"My office. Five minutes."

The boy dares to give him another foul look.

"Is that all you need? Just five minutes?"

He even detects admiration in that stare – like he's some stallion, a prized old stud who receives fine mares to rut. Like the celestial woman standing behind this… boy is just some slag thrown to him like they threw to gladiators of old. His luxury whore.

The rookie finally catches the impending wrath that must swell and roil like sea inside the sockets of the skull.

Yes, boy.

Death is coming.

"Sir," the boy swallows with an arduous blob, then walks out of the goddess's domain, finally with some humility upon those shoulders.

The torture has already begun, and it shoots him full of sweet adrenaline. He tries to mask the rising war from her, but she sees enough just before he leaves her as well. Her words follow him but cannot penetrate the cloak of fury that shrouds him as he goes to prepare for carnage.

"Simon. I just stitched him together..."

…..…..…..

He doesn't solve the problem with a gun or a cock this time.

He uses his fists and a knife.

It should disgust him; how much he enjoys it. It's one of those rare occasions when he almost loses himself in the riptide of blood. The things he imagines are far worse than what he finally allows himself to do. When the boy has a split lip and half his face swollen so bad he can't even see from the bruise, when the wetness dampens the crotch area and threatens to stain the carpet, he lets him go.

"Get out."

He's a different man when he rises from beside that broken boy; from next to the knife he plunged to the floor an inch away from his face to make his intentions clear. The boy is stripped of all arrogance and probably regrets the day he got the splendid idea to insult a woman.

He doesn't have to get his hands deep into paperwork to have the rookie transferred; the boy does it for him. He leaves the base quietly as a shadow and with a face that looks like it has been forced through a waffle maker.

After that, everyone salutes him feet away.

His orders are obeyed without question, without a second's delay on missions. He has never pursued to be loved, but neither has he worked on making people fear him. Now he's not only a source of mystery and intrigue but also fear and wonder.

Soap isn't scared quite as shitless as the rest of them, but neither is he as friendly as he used to be. Price says nothing but he gets a few looks that tell him he has gone too far.

"You shouldn't have," she whispers when they're alone, stopping him in the quiet hallway. She's the only one who doesn't have fear and avoidance in her stare. If anything, the adoration in her eyes has deepened.

He has avoided her strictly, this time obeying her request not to go to her unless he has business there. He doesn't defend himself; he doesn't have the luxury to decide what should or shouldn't be done. He's not a saint nor a judge. He is territorial, though.

"You must be the craziest man I've ever met."

She talks to his shadow as he's standing only a few feet away, unable to touch her.

"Good."

"...and the most incredible."

His sharp intake of air hisses between them as the artificial light casts shadows in electric blue. She tries to thank him for bashing a face in, all her noble Hippocratic Oaths forgotten.

She takes a step – just one, to make it perfectly clear she wants to touch him too.

"You're a brute, Simon."

The woman's eyes are a deep sea of gratitude. He wonders if she's equally as wet between those legs. Her voice says it all: she likes brutes.

The worship in her stare makes him understand why wars have been waged – this is the reason why crusaders sloshed through rivers of crimson blood, why whole civilizations were destroyed. This is why swords are forged and guns are fired. He draws another breath to swear his allegiance, an oath bound in blood.

"No one's gonna call you a–"

She crosses the final breadth of air between them and lifts his mask.

…..…..…..

The waves crash on the shore like clockwork. To him, it's the sound of limbo.

The sea used to pull him in like a seductive pit, especially at night, during the sleepless shifts when he walked to the beach with nothing but the ghosts of all the people he had lost to keep him company. Watching all the futures and should have been's slowly drowning in the sea.

Now he’s here with a living being, and the cold, dead sea has turned into blooming fireworks of crimson and coral. The amnesia has turned into bliss; all the treasures lost in the depths suddenly wash up on the shore like a sunken hoard.

She takes her shoes off the minute they reach the shore, then descends the sands with laughter. She could be from a movie or a magazine, gliding through bleached gold with sunbeams in her hair, sandals dangling from the crook of her fingers, heathers kissing her feet as she dives down the path. Her smile eclipses even the setting sun, and for the first time ever, he thinks it might've been a stupid idea to enlist.

If there’s an opposite to ice and inertia, it's this.

It's her.

"You lied to me," she turns around but doesn't stop walking. "You have been to the beach."

She tilts her head as if reprimanding him, but he knows she's just laughing at his expense. She laughs at his name… She laughs at his broodings, she laughs at his shadows and his hubris.

"Does anyone else know about this place?"

"No."

There's no soul out here but theirs; even the seagulls have withdrawn to rest. She stops to admire the sun, features turning soft as she takes in her counterpart. Apparently, she likes his humble tribute, the scarcity he has to offer. Some hollow bones, his opinion of a beach. Emptiness… A day coming to an end.

"I have no words for this."

"It's just a beach," he offers, and swallows when she turns. When the fuck has he ever felt embarrassed? His mask is gone, so she can see him swallow again as she approaches. It's the strangest thing how she can still cause his heart to hammer in his chest. He's used to stepping into a hail of bullets, driving a truck through a wall, waiting for that last unaware step to lunge forth and slit a man's throat. The organ never wailed then.

Her eyes take in his every flaw and scar, the rotten work on his skin before she wraps her hands around his neck.

"No. No it's not. This is paradise."

She has to rise on her toes to kiss him, and he's glad he got rid of the mask. There's nothing between him and the taste of summer anymore – she reminds him of some bright tropical drink, something pure and sweet and innocent, pure fucking fun, something he has come to understand and define only through movies and tv.

And he knows now why he always comes back to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased.

She has introduced him back to the world: the sun, the birdsong, the simple, good life. How it feels like to have curtains, or bake just because it's Thursday, or walk barefoot on the beach in order to feel the burning sand on your skin.

What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead?

"Simon," she shivers into his mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't want people to think that… That we're just…"

"Pet. I know."

"They said you didn't trouble yourself with relationships."

Years of instinct and training make his spine tingle. He's holding another future in his arms and hopes it's not possible for a sea to swallow a sun.

"They?"

"Well, John. Captain."

Her lashes hide what's going through her mind, but he can tell she's feeling shy from the way she shifts in his embrace.

"I asked about you. In spring. If there's someone… waiting for you."

He wrestles down a bitter laugh. The only lover ever waiting for him was nothingness in that chair; the only wife he came home to was shades, shadows, and dust.

But he's starting to understand what she's trying to say. How, without even thinking about it, he just made the strongest possible declaration of not being here just for sex. He couldn't have sent a louder message with that boy.

Because not only Jonathan Price know that she's his. Soap knows too. Gaz knows too. Everyone working in Task Force 141 knows, even the fucking scrubbers and accountants know what's going on. Everyone knows that Ghost is real, and alive, and troubles himself with a relationship.

"I dreamed of you, you know." Her lashes flutter open, and he's met with the perfect example of total surrender. She's more than happy with the outcome, and why the hell shouldn't she be? Actions speak louder than words. He of all people should know that.

"Love–"

"Do you remember the day I found out you were a smoker?"

"...Sure."

She laughs, taking him back to the odd meeting in the yard when she was prying her suffocating latex gloves off, and he was trying to find some solace in a cigarette because he couldn't have her.

"I was so angry at you. Playing with death at every turn..."

"Yeah. Not the perfect man."

"But you were. You are."

"Pet. If someone's perfect, it's you."

"No… I'm a hypocrite. I wanted you to just–just take me against the wall. After your stupid smoke."

He always wondered if she was suffocating too. In her gloves, in her beauty, in her sterile, medical, professional chasteness.

But he had no fucking clue that she–

"Or during, I don't care…"

Even the thought of her wanting him to tear apart her facades shatters the last sane thought in his head. He has tried to be civil, tried to suffocate the longing, but apparently, he doesn't have to. The image of burying himself inside her cunt while taking a drag from the thing she despises even more than his name or his mask or his guns is too fucking much. The fact that she views a dog like him as a perfect man makes his cock answer her call like a good, stout soldier.

"Is that so?"

She stops breathing for a moment as he takes a drag from her now. She's raw whiskey straight to an empty stomach, the way his mind goes blank from sliding his mouth over the column of her throat. She tastes of sea there, and it's not pulling him in; it's pulling him under. The open-mouthed kisses make her jolt, he even draws out a moan or two; they swell between his legs.

"You like that…?"

She answers to him with a soft whine. A soft nib of her ear, and her hips reply with a roll. The woman tries to latch onto him by gripping his shirt, threatening to do permanent damage to the fabric.

"No walls here, pet. Gotta take you on the sand," he gruffs in her ear, cock hard and ready from her tight little breaths. He could bet half his money that she's wetter than November down there. He could drag his cockhead across her cunt and the sound would be divine.

"Simon–"

"I'll light a cig first."

"Stop teasing," she laughs, voice thick with hunger.

"...Roger that."

His hand is on his belt before he knows it. It's pathetic how much patience he has if he needs to crouch in a downpour and wait for a kill, but at the sight and smell and taste of her, he can't stop himself from wrenching his belt and pants open like a starved dog. It's a rush born of fear - that any time could be the last time.

She seems to shiver from his stare only when she lays herself upon the warm sand, naked as can be. She's like a vision on that beach: leaning on her elbows, thighs slowly parting, revealing the glistening sex between her legs. And she's fucking dripping, like an overripe peach. He could've safely bet all his money on her.

"How do you want me?"

Fucking fuck…

He's walking in a dream: the most beautiful woman in the world is lying naked before his feet, bathing in gold, asking how he would prefer to take her. He doesn't even bother to get out of his clothes; he merely tugs his pants down and crawls between her legs, relishing the tight gasp he gets from being so crude.

Her eyes grow wide at the sight of him there, so close to her core, cock hanging heavy just an inch away from that tight cunt. She tries so hard to look composed while lying under his shadow, to not make it obvious that she wants that ugly thing inside. And it does feel like sin not to spread those legs and plough right in, especially when his fingers meet her silk and find that she's already throbbing.

"Want you just like this, pet," he rasps while dragging the pad of his thumb around her clit. Her back arches on the sand, forcing his fingers deeper into the dripping fruit.

It's different, her wetness; not thick and halfway there, but flowing, leaking, soaking good. The pussy is so glazed that he slips at the first attempt to slide a finger in. Her walls grip him the second he's seated deep, making it known how much she appreciates it that he's not here just for sex.

"Someone's greedy," he's breathing rough, and she whines – he only gets to two fingers before she demands him to fuck her already.

"Want your–I need your cock…"

She's begging, poor thing, almost crying on the sand, and he has no fucking choice but to remove his fingers and grab his cock instead.

"Have to go slow, love."

"Riley–for god's sake, now."

"F' fuck's sake…" He stumbles forward, all but gracefully, forces the tip on her soaked cunt as delicately as he can before pushing right in. She cries from the spread, fingers curling in the sand: a futile attempt to take him in without fainting.

"Tried to warn ya–"

"Don't you dare stop," she gasps, eyes full of love. As always, her wish is his command, and the tightness makes it an endless journey to bliss. The basest parts of him think about dying – having a heart attack on the same beach he almost drowned in, about ceasing to exist just for the sake of knowing that nothing is as good as this.

He's deep as can fucking be, and it's still not enough – it's never enough. He collects her in his arms with a frustrated grunt, cock giving a tight pull only when she's finally safe and snug in his embrace. It's a tight cuddle that leaves them both breathless.

"Hold me tighter..."

It's a soft order, but he can't get any closer: chest plastered on her skin and balls pressed against her ass, the sand grinding against her back as he makes love to her. She’s not made of twigs, but he’s far bigger than her, already threatening to crush her with his weight.

"Tighter…" she begs on his lips, tries to pull him closer with her whole being.

"Pet, I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she sings, completely shieldless. Something warns him of danger, a reset far worse than drowning or being buried alive or shooting himself in a lonely apartment. He tries to calm her down with a kiss: he knows she loves kisses - but there are tears in her eyes, and his heart is hammering, hammering…

"Simon, do you love me…?"

She asks that question right on his lips, and the first thing in his dog mind is that it's a stupid thing to ask when he's balls deep inside her and still trying to get closer.

"Yeah," he almost chokes on it, knowing it could be their wedding day and he would still choke on it because it doesn't taste like salt or metal or grave.

"I love you," she whispers. "Do you understand?"

No. No…

I fuckin' don't–

"And I'll always be here for you."

To his shock, there’s no sea water in his lungs, no dirt in his mouth. He’s not choking on anything, he's not in fact dying at all: he’s floating, somewhere between the sun and the sand and the sea. There's no more rush, no jaws of death snapping at his heels. He doesn't even long for heaven anymore. Not when there's a paradise on earth.

"Love, I need you to–need you to focus," he tries to stutter nonsense while she's pledging herself to him. Of course she only laughs at him: it hits him with the sweetest warmth.

"You're so silly…"

"Yeah? I know."

He's laughing too. It's just a few notes that get taken away by the sound of waves. It's just a breath from deep within, and still… Her gaze drops to his mouth, a flutter blinks back more tears.

"I love it when you laugh..." Her eyes shine brighter than the sun, riding the spine of the sea as one perfect tear rolls down her cheek. "Love it…"

The sun sets in tangerine, his new favourite colour. There's a whole bloom out there in the sky when she comes, fast and bright in his embrace. He comes right after, just from trying to stay inside her warmth, deep inside her, around her, and she says it, again and again and again… Until he breathes.

….….….

"Remember when I said I could've managed? Without you," she asks when they lie on the sand, skin on skin, watching the sun set beneath the onyx sea. The waves rise and break, but around them, the air is still. He's still inside her as she pulls his hand over her heart, entwining their fingers together: it's the softest little arrest, but her squeeze doesn't lack strength.

"I lied too."

"I know."

She chuckles softly. "Is there something you don't know?"

"...Yeah. Why you're here out of all places."

She turns her head from the sunset into the falling darkness of him, and he wonders if that's why she's here... To be with his night. She said that people always get the dark wrong: that it's not supposed to be scary at all. That the purpose of darkness is safety, security, that there are tales where the day chases the night, and the night chases the day. She said it's because they're in love with each other.

"You really don't know…?"

"You were smiling before we met and now you're crying all the time."

She looks up at him with trust and devotion, his daylight, his sun. There's none in the sky anymore, but it doesn't matter. It lives in her eyes.

"People cry from happiness too, Simon."

#ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #ghost x female reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #cod fanfic

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hello-nichya-here · 5 months

Note

Did Sia insult topic of autism somehow?

Oh honey, it's sooooooooo much worse than that.

Sia wanted to make a movie about an autistic girl that manages to connect to people/feel safe and confident through music. So far, nothing outrageous, just a simple concept that would obviously put Sia's music front and center while doing something nice and educating people on autism.

There was controversy about her not casting an autistic actress as it would have been nice representation, but she could have totally gotten away with that since, come on, hollywood hasn't even figured out Rain Man isn't exactly true to life, they're not ready to have an autistic person playing an autistic character. Baby steps.

The real problem started when Sia started promoting the "charity/support group" that was helping "educate" her on the topic to make the movie. The "charity" in question was Autism Speaks - which is absolutely HATED by the autistic community for things like:

1 - Spreading the myth that autism is a mental illness that one can develop/catch like the freaking flue and potentially be cured of, instead of a neurotype, aka something starts in the woomb and cannot be "cured" because to do that you'd need to replace someone's entire nervous system, which is impossible.

2 - Using that myth to get outrageous amounts of money from people so they "search for a cure" - that doesn't exist and will never exist because curing autism is biologically impossible, AND despite the fact that the overwhelming majority of autistic people don't even want to be "cured" (plus, since said "cure" would essentially mean giving the person a new brain, it leads to the question of "Would I even be the same person, or would that just kill and replace me?")

3 - Using the myth of "We don't know what causes autism" (we do, it's genetic) to, of course, get MORE money from people so they can "do research to find the missing puzzle piece" (if you ever see autistic people complaining about a puzzle piece being used to represent the condition, that's why, it was started by Autism Speak's massive disinformation campains).

4 - Falsely "confirming" things like soy milk cause autism with one of the world's most ridiculous "research", losing only to "vaccines totally make kids autistic, buy MY vaccine instead, guys, I am totally not an unbelievably biased person, it's ALL the other doctors/scientists lying to you. GIVE ME MONEY!"

5 - Pushing the narrative of "autism is inherently a tragedy" to distract from the fact that all the money they waste on stupid shit could be used to help autistic people and their families. Instead, they focus on creating more and more panic, making parents in particular despair even more - to the point that one of their "awareness videos" includes a mother talking about how she wants to murder her autistic daughter and then kill herself... while sitting right next to said daughter.

6 - Promoting ABA "therapy" - which was created by the same guy responsible for the attrocity that is gay conversion "therapy." Both have led to unbelievably high rates of confirmed PTSD and suicidal ideation in patients (victims), and ABA in particular has been compared to literal dog training. Very fitting since it was created by a guy who famously did not believe autistic people truly counted as thinking, feeling human beings, and said as much several times. Despite that, it is still praised by some utter bastards because "it makes the patients act less autistic when they're not crying in the corner or trying to jump out a window"

So yeah, working with these guys is a genuinely horrible thing to do since they're basically a scam/hate group pretending to be a charity - and people were STILL willing to give Sia the benefit of the doubt, since Autism Speak uses all their resources to make sure they're the first thing people see when looking up how to help autistic people.

Lots of Sia's fans, both autistic and allistic, warned her repeatedly, politely, that she needed to supporting them IMMEDIATELY as their goal was the exact opposite of the one she claimed to have - aka raise awareness through an accurate portrail of autism. People were even kind enough to name organizations like ASAN as replacements to help her fix any damage done to the project.

And instead of being a decent human being, Sia decided to cry on twitter about how the mean retar-I mean, autistics were bullying her even when she was so kindly using them for her vanity project.

Because yes, that's how the movie turned out. An unwatcheable piece of garbage, with the autistic "character" being so fucking bad even the people who actively use "autistic" as insulted being offended on our behalf - and of course, she was used just a prop to show how awesome Sia's character was.

Seriously, it was so bad the actress playing the autistic girl was sobbing in between scenes because she knew how it was horrible and she didn't want to insult anyone, but Sia is literally her godmother and helped her career by putting her in nearly all her music videos so she felt obligated to go along with it.

So yeah, fuck Sia and fuck Autism Speaks.

#asks #sia #ableism #autism speaks #actually autistic #aba therapy

543 notes · View notes

tsukimefuku · 15 days

Text

blunt trauma ♰ nanami kento

summary: your mission is to execute a curse user. the issue? said curse user is nanami kento, your former high school classmate and the man who you still secretly love.

tags and cw: dark content, no use of y/n, sorcerer!f!reader, villain!nanami, +18, explicit smut (mostly rough with tender moments hate/love sex), unprotected sex (wrap it, ppl), masturbation, oral (f receiving), pv, from enemies to enemies who fucked 👍, drama and angst (i’m a latina who grew up watching telenovelas), mentions of death, canon-typical violence, ptsd, cursing, hurt/no comfort, this man is saltier than the sea and turned it into everybody else's problem.

wc: 7.5k

notes etc.: somehow it became a character study. this is my rendition of what i think gege would make nanami to be like if they followed their original plan and had nanami be a villain. inspo list is so huge i had to make a playlist, i got carried away.

writing/reading soundtrack: playlist link ; main songs → way down we go (kaleo) and daylight (david kushner).

disclaimer: i do not in any way approve of (or encourage) the relationship depicted here. it is toxic and bad for all parties involved. this is fictional and should stay that way.

oh, father, tell me ♰ do we get what we deserve?

It felt like the air had been beaten out of your lungs by the very one and only blunt blade you ever knew when you heard the news from Gojo.

Of course the first thing he did when he finished wrapping things up was calling you. If roles were reversed, and this had been Geto, he wouldn't expect any less from you.

During the School's Exchange Event, Jujutsu High was attacked by multiple high grade curses and curse users.

One of them was your former best friend from high school, Nanami Kento.

"Are you certain it was him?"

"Absolutely," Gojo replied on the other side of the line, "there were traces of cursed energy from his cursed technique. He was also spotted by one of MeiMei's ravens."

"And how many students did he…"

"Two students from Kyoto."

Your head instantly felt dizzy.

"He also killed around a dozen assistants and people securing cursed objects underground."

"Shit… shit," you muttered, forgetting for a few seconds what words were and how to form a coherent sentence. Following suit, your stomach dropped with a sinking ache the moment you made the obvious realization, uttering the most painful thing you had to say in your life — even worse than he's gone, so many years before.

"This will earn him a death sentence, won't it?"

Gojo was silent for a few moments.

"Hey…"

"Tell me. I can take it."

After a bated breath — from your end, mostly — he confirmed your worst fears.

"Yes. It will."

Ever since Geto's and Nanami's defection, you and Gojo had a special type of shared sorrow over each other's failures to save the people you both loved the most. Call it trauma bonding or codependency, but you developed an unwavering sense of loyalty towards one another.

For that reason, he already knew what you were about to ask him, and you only would because you knew he wouldn't find it in himself to refuse it.

"When it happens, please, have me be appointed as the executioner."

"Of course."

Sitting with a glass of whiskey while gazing out of the window in an understated house just by the outskirts of Sendai, Nanami couldn't say he was fulfilled, unable to grasp the concept of feeling in any way elated ever since his teenage years. However, he was definitely satisfied that this plan had worked.

He managed to put a dent into Jujutsu Society, aiding Geto — or, at least, someone that looked like him, not that Nanami truly cared about it by this point — in retrieving multiple cursed objects that would be used for their inevitable fallout.

There had been a few casualties, though.

Two students and many personnel died — or rather, met their fateful end by the edge of his blunt blade —, but some deaths should be expected if Jujutsu Society was to be brought to the ground, down to its last brick.

Ever since that fateful day when he was nothing but a tall child sitting beside the cold corpse of his best friend, Yu Haibara, Nanami had simmered what would become a cauldron of absolute venom-dripping rage against Jujutsu Society.

To hell with saving other people — what about them? What about the teenager that would never grow to be a sorcerer, who became an inanimate nothing before ever getting the chance of making something out of himself?

That face… Nanami could never forget it. It haunted his dreams, even a decade later. Such a stark contrast between the light-spirited smiles and this cold, gray monolith that laid in the morgue.

They had no right to rob their students from their youth, much less from their lives, but that's exactly what Jujutsu High did when they didn't even bother to check the mission appropriately before dispatching Haibara and Nanami to a certain death.

Nanami escaped, but just barely, by the skin of his teeth. Haibara, however, wasn't blessed with the same luck, and drew the short straw when his hitched final breaths met their end against Nanami's shoulder. Nanami, who carried his best friend on his back, desperately tried to win a losing race against death.

Help was late to arrive.

They were too late for Haibara.

And, in a sense, they were too late for him, too.

The worst part, though, was when they were finally being transported all the way back to Jujutsu High. As he glanced over Haibara’s cadaver, now covered by a body bag, one particularly insensitive assistant very rudely stated, “at least there is a body to be buried.”

At least

There is a body

To be buried

Those words echoed in his head for what felt like eternity. Was that the best they all had to hope for? To at least have remains left behind for the mourning?

In any case, that was why, even though he had to kill, Nanami never mangled any of his human victims — something not easy to do, given how his technique worked and how easy it was to split someone in half.

You had noticed this perverted benevolence while looking over the necropsy reports, a realization that just added insult to injury.

Let there be something for the funeral, I suppose, was what he told himself.

In his own twisted way, Nanami figured this was a kindness very few sorcerers received at their tragic ends, and decided he'd definitely be more compassionate than what Jujutsu High put their sorcerers through.

In his eyes, those from Jujutsu High who died under his will were the ones granted a truly merciful death.

His peace was disturbed by the sound of the entrance door being brutally kicked in, flying its way across the living room. He pulled his blunt blade from the side of his armchair with his free hand, but quickly put it down when realizing it was you that had just barged inside.

He knew you very well — well enough to be certain you wouldn't come swinging at him immediately.

"I can see you still have a temper. Destroying the door wasn’t necessary, I would've opened it for you," he stated, sipping on his drink.

"I don't care," you retorted, "I guess you already know why I'm here, in any case."

"I do. You're here to carry out my death sentence," he stated, completely unbothered, as if talking about the weather.

As if he was just mundanely stuck in his ways.

You huffed, placing your hand over your sword's handle.

"Precisely."

"We haven't spoken in a long time, why don't you take a seat?" Nanami inquired, pointing at the armchair right in front of him. "I want to finish my drink."

You glared at the curse user, as he, unfazed, kept gulping on his whiskey. Nanami was wearing a black buttoned shirt, black pants and black oxford shoes, and you couldn't help but see him as a grim reaper — this was a somber look, fitting for the equally somber man who carried it.

For a second, you took in his features — you hadn’t seen Nanami for a few years after the last time you crossed paths.

His shoulders had slightly broadened, and he still bore the same chiseled face, framed by his sand-blond hair neatly slicked back.

Nanami’s eyes traveled over you quickly, apparently doing the very same thing.

Time had left its marks. It was evident you both had grown up — and apart.

You knew this was a shit idea, but entertained it enough that you actually walked towards the chair and sat down. There were definitely things to be talked about, and you just about had a million questions for him.

Most of them, however, boiled down to what you immediately asked.

"Why did you do it?"

Nanami put his glass on the coffee table right in front of you.

"It was a necessary means to an end."

His words came with frost-bitten coldness, his voice embodying the monotone you once loved, but eventually, grew to hate.

You scoffed, incredulous at his reply, involuntarily clenching your fingers around your katana's handle as it laid on your lap.

"Necessary means to an end? Nanami, you killed teenage sorcerers!"

"As I said, and I don't like repeating myself," he interjected, "it was a necessary sacrifice for a greater cause."

"You're such a hypocritical, self-righteous ass!"

Nanami sighed, clearly displeased.

"We have always been able to keep some semblance of respect for each other, despite our… differences. Do not use that foul language with me."

You laughed bitterly, no amusement or fun in your voice as you did.

"Do you think I can still have an ounce of respect for you after what you did? You murdered my people! They were all sorcerers. You killed students, Nanami! Jujutsu High's students! Just like Haibara once was!"

He shot his eyes at you, and the aura of his cursed energy grew sinister at your words.

"Don't say his name."

Yu Haibara, arguably the glue that kept the trio together. You were hot headed, Nanami was intransigent, and Yu was the conciliatory ray of sunshine that kept you two — but you, particularly — from constant quarreling as classmates nearly every day.

But back then, you'd argue with Nanami with love.

This wasn't the case now.

Not entirely, at least.

"He was my best friend too, the three of us were! Do you really think this is what he would've wanted?!" you questioned him, equal parts hurt and enraged.

"I'm not one to ponder on could've or would've been's. Haibara is gone."

"I'm not a would've been!"

You could still remember it. The day you realized why dealing with Nanami and hearing his sharp comebacks riled you up so intensely.

You finally understood you were in love with him.

Ever since the first day you met Nanami, you envied the way he'd be able to keep his feelings in check when you constantly felt like falling apart. You felt jealous at how he was considered a greatly competent individual, regarded by all as the best of your class, while you were basically viewed as a ticking bomb nearing explosion. And finally, it made you livid the way how everyone treated him like the informal leader of the trio when the three of you were out on a mission together.

However, those were the same things that got you to admire your friend and, eventually, fall in love for him.

That day, you asked Nanami to meet you outside after class by himself — much to Haibara's dismay —, because you had something to tell him. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and the unforgiving sun of summer was already setting, casting an orange glow through the leaves of the tree you were both under.

After confessing your feelings for him and bracing yourself for being shot down, because why the hell would Nanami Kento, the brilliant, competent, and mature second-year, have any interest in the chaotic, hot headed mess you were, you realized he actually looked surprised. After taking a few moments to collect himself, Nanami told you how he had thought you actually hated him.

At last, somewhat nervous — but definitely intent on not letting it show —, he confided he had affectionate feelings towards you as well.

Your first kiss was awkward, as it would be expected out of two inexperienced people such as you and Nanami were at that age, but it carried the sweet taste of a blue spring marked by teenage years' innocence.

It felt like a promise.

Unfortunately, such promise was unmercifully cut short the very next day, when Nanami and Haibara were dispatched to their life-changing mission.

What an irony it was that, in the end, you were the one to actually mature over Haibara's death, growing up to be an upstanding sorcerer, loved and admired by peers and students alike, and Nanami was the bomb to blow up in everybody's faces.

What a cruel irony.

"I was there too, and I'm still here, having to pick up the pieces of what you deliberately destroyed!" you rasped, angrily.

"You weren't a 'would've been'? Where were you when we needed you? When I needed you?" his voice didn't conceal the tinge of hurt that those questions carried.

What a fucking low blow.

"Nanami, that's not fair. There wasn't anything I could've done in that situation, and you know that!"

You blamed yourself for a while for not going on that mission with them, until you realized that you too would probably have died if you were there. From the three, Nanami was the only one strong and fast enough to pull off an escape like he did.

He diverted his gaze back to the window.

"You were the one to bring up hypothetical scenarios. Let's indulge in them for a minute, shall we?"

Nanami glanced back at you, and his next words brimmed with bitter resentment, even if his voice sounded more calm and collected than ever.

"You see someone you supposedly love slowly sinking into darkness. What do you do?"

"Don't you dare, you condescending prick! I asked you so many fucking times what was going on. You were the one who shut me out!"

Your voice carried a decade-old pain that resonated from the depths of your soul.

It came from all the times you entered his dorm room with his favorite sandwich after he had cooped up in there for days on end, and he didn't even bother to eat it. Every time you asked him to talk to you, said you were there for him, and was met by a vacant stare.

And, at last, the time when he cruelly blamed you for not being there when Haibara died.

The way he coldly told you about Haibara's last words.

According to Nanami, Haibara said he wanted to speak to you one last time, at least to bid you farewell.

And you weren't there.

Oh, the viciousness with which he blamed you, and decided you owed him something for this perceived failure.

The next time Nanami talked to you, he asked you to leave Jujutsu High with him, just like Geto did, and swore to destroy them. You tried, pleaded, implored for him to reconsider and stay, but the very following day, you were met by an empty room where the person you once loved used to be.

That emptiness had, paradoxically, filled you wholly with grief.

Gojo once told you that nobody could save someone who didn't want to be saved.

You still thought you should've tried harder, in a childish attempt at giving yourself an illusory semblance of control over that clusterfuck of a situation.

This is the gap inside our psyche that feeling guilty tries to fill, isn't it?

We can only feel guilty about the things we could've changed, right?

Your voice sounded decades older than yourself, burdening the weight of multiple lifetimes of hurt and grief. Your soul was too old for your own good.

"How can you find it in yourself to blame me for this?! No… This is a prison of your own making. You built the house of cards that is tumbling down on your head as we speak entirely by yourself."

He huffed intensely through his nostrils — Nanami’s version of a snort —, looking the other way before proceeding, each syllable hitting you with the deadly precision of his cursed technique.

"You abandoned us, leaving me and Haibara to fend for ourselves, just like Jujutsu Society did."

By that point, you began yelling, and your voice reverberated all across the room.

"The hell I did!"

You had to take a deep breath before proceeding.

"I just couldn't get behind this dumb idea that we should become curse users and bring down Jujutsu Society."

"Why didn't you come with me?" he finally asked, in an amalgam of pain, sadness, longing, anger, and stinging resentment. "I would have followed you to the deepest recesses of hell if you asked me to."

You huffed, laughing angrily in between your teeth, before thrusting your words like thorns against him.

"Funny you should say that. You'd go anywhere for me? How about staying? Why couldn't you have stayed for me, then?!"

Perhaps that request was egotistical, but you didn't care. If only for a moment, you wanted to give yourself this small privilege — to want in a world of duty.

"I was the one actually left to fend for myself, right inside the belly of the beast, and you couldn't have cared less."

He stared at you, nothing in his eyes other than the void left behind after his spirit got killed with his best friend so many years ago.

"I didn't stay because… Because," Nanami stated, with a grave finality, "and you're the one who chose to stay. You're still actively choosing to, just like you did back then."

"That's not a good enough answer," you replied with a bad taste in your mouth.

"It's what you've earned," he coldly replied, "but in case you change your mind-"

"Enough," you interrupted him, incredulous that even after everything, this man had the nerve of suggesting you'd ever be interested in running away with him. "It appalls me you would even consider I could… After what you've done? No, never."

Nanami sighed, and for a brief moment, seemed to be actually disappointed under his resigned, polished visage.

"Well, then. Let's get this over with, at once."

In a split second, you pushed your chair on the ground, falling on your shoulders and rolling on your back, dodging his lightning-fast attack. It left a crater behind, right where you were seconds before. Nanami jumped over the fallen armchair, and you dodged him once again, spinning on your heels, unsheathing your sword as you did so, to deal a beheading blow on the back of his neck.

However, right before impact, you faltered, slowing down your movement.

Your own body held you back from taking his life.

He didn't seem to notice.

Nanami bent down just in time to avoid the blow, and swung his blunt blade towards your kneecap. You were quick on your feet, and jumped back, putting a good distance between the both of you.

"I can see you're actually fighting to kill," he noted, getting up on his feet.

"Of course. That's what I came here to do," you spat in his direction.

"You were never the practical one."

You scoffed.

"Guess I learned something from you."

He smiled at the irony of that, but his eyes didn't follow his expression.

Nanami lunged at you, but while you thought he'd deal his next blow in your direction, he hit your footing, having you fall on the ground. Abruptly, his blunt blade descended in your direction, but you were able to catch it and have it slip to your side using your katana supported by your hand behind it, sending a sharp, loud sound around the vicinity, trembling against the bones and flesh of the house.

You rolled on your side when he struck a new hit in your direction, leaving another gaping hole on the floor, and you jumped yourself up.

Before you could attack him, however, he took you by surprise, and you lifted your sword to defend yourself. Nanami hit your katana with his blunt blade, breaking it near where the handle and the steel met, launching your body back on the wall.

The impact knocked the air out of your lungs, and you fell to your knees, unable to recover yourself as you got up. Instantly, you heard his quick, steady steps sprinting their way in your direction.

You were cornered.

This is it.

You braced yourself for the impact, closing your eyes. You remembered his technique perfectly.

Precise, just as he was.

Deadly, just as he was, too.

You were to die at the hands of the man you loved, who had become a murderer and only a distorted, broken version of whom you used to truly love.

This seemed like an oddly cruel way to go.

However, the impact never came.

His blunt blade stopped as it was about to hit your stomach, and you opened your eyes, just to see his face mere inches apart from yours. His mountainous form blocked your view from anything else behind him, and Nanami, at that moment, actually looked like the menace he truly was.

“Why were you appointed as my executioner?” Nanami asked, much to your surprise.

“I asked to be,” you answered, holding his gaze as something went through his eyes. A hint of anger, most likely, and some sense of betrayal, certainly.

“So, you want to kill someone you once loved? You were always prone to self-penitence, so it stands to reason you’d do something idiotic like that.”

You scoffed, grimacing at him, feeling your entire body incandescent with rage.

“I fucking hate you, Nanami.”

He inched his face even closer, brushing your noses against one another, eyes stone-cold and hauntingly vacant.

“I hate you as well.”

For a moment, you wondered if he had really stopped his blade before impact. You didn't expect it, but hearing those words felt like you just had been hit, victim of a blunt trauma, at how much they tore you apart.

The same blunt trauma that severed the Nanami you once knew — the teenager with bangs, who'd always be carrying around a few spare changes to get soda cans from the vending machine for you and Haibara, in his own understated kindness — and this empty monster looking back at you.

"Good. Finish me off, then, and get your revenge for a crime I never committed. Being unfair and an all-around self-centered asshole certainly suits you, fucker."

His hand made its way up your neck, and you were pressed against the wall. The grip was firm, but not enough to choke you — it came more as a warning than anything else.

"I already told you to stop using that foul language with me," he ordered, low voice simmering with genuine irritation.

"Then make me," you challenged him, hoping for this torture to be over as fast as possible.

Just fucking kill me already.

His blunt blade fell with a thud on the floor, and you were confused for a moment, wondering if he really wouldn't give you the kindness of a quick demise. Did he plan on choking you to death?

Did he hate you that much?

His other hand came up, but before you could do anything to try to resist — which would be nothing but a futile attempt at survival, given that Nanami was physically much stronger than you —, his fingers snaked their way through the back of your hair, tugging it at the roots.

His mouth clashed against yours, all teeth, tongue, anger, and hunger, and instantly every nerve in your body flared up with a raging fiery ember you hadn't felt in years. All the pent-up resentment, hurt, and desire you had for Nanami swirled together in your gut, guiding your hands up his hair, as you also pulled on it intently, robbing him of a gasp.

You intertwined your tongue against his, and he unceremoniously bullied his own inside your mouth, leaving no crevice unexplored, as his hand on your neck descended towards your waist, where he clenched his fingers with a vicious grip. You whimpered against his lips, and he grunted in return, pushing his body on yours. His throbbing growing cock could be felt, even through both of your clothes, as he pressed it right against the edge of your pants.

When you finally parted after what seemed like a not-long-enough eternity, you huffed and panted, and albeit less than you, he was panting too.

"I fucking… hate you…" you gnarled, glaring into his eyes. The hazel-brown gaze you once adored was now clouded and dark, like the muddy waters of a deep lake.

"Shut the fuck up," Nanami groaned back, strongly cupping your cunt with his large hand. You whimpered in surprise, and he pulled you in harshly for another kiss, letting go of your hair and sex to sink his fingers on the backside of your thighs, pulling them. You immediately jumped up and threw your arms around his shoulders, as he manhandled your legs to have them hooked around him.

He quickly took you both inside the room, and tossed you on the bed, having you gasping in surprise. Before you could catch your breath, he climbed his way on top of you, pressing your body down, and clashed his mouth against yours again, making you actually lightheaded from a lack of air.

You pushed against his chest, grunting uneasy, and surprisingly, he parted his lips from yours.

"What?"

You panted heavily, nearly hyperventilating, and mindlessly rested your hand on his cheek.

"C-can't breathe…" was all you mustered up to say, trying to replenish oxygen back into your system.

His eyes softened so discreetly you nearly missed it, and his cold-ivory enclosure slightly cracked under the affectionate touch he didn't expect.

Nanami had no idea how much he had craved it ever since you parted ways, and hated himself, just a little, for how much such an innocuous gesture stirred his old feelings up, throwing his heart against his chest in a fluttering rush.

I should be over her by now, dammit.

Nanami also brought his hand up your face, and ghosted over your cheek for a second before sliding his fingers delicately down over it.

You also weren't prepared for that, and your chest tightened all over your heavy heart as you remembered your first kiss.

The way he'd cup your face in his hands.

So delicate, so lovely.

This touch, at this very moment, felt like a painful reminder of everything you had lost.

"Kento…" you cooed, voice strained in your throat, with all the things you were sure you'd never say.

He hummed your name in return, and kissed you while sinking your body against the mattress. This kiss was different, as his lips brushed gently over yours, and his tongue tenderly teased over the seam of your mouth. You welcomed him in, and you both explored these deep waters tentatively, as he upped the intensity after each stroke of your tongues against each other.

He tasted like whiskey, and bread, and the tainted love left behind as nothing but a reminiscence of less grueling days. You couldn't help but feel robbed by him.

You both had been missing out on this for all these fucking years.

"Why did you have to go?" you asked, pulling back from him, a tinge of anger to your cadence, and another of pain in your face.

"Why did you have to stay?" he spat back at you, equal parts saddened and resentful.

His mouth made its way to your neck, and you gasped with the sensation of his warm breath mingled with saliva against your skin, as he licked and bit his way around.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to push him away, and your eyes burned with the prickling sensation of tears that wouldn’t come. You were starved for his touch, his smell, his body, even if this was the murderer of your students, of your friends.

In your head, you felt like digging a hole and throwing yourself in it, to wallow in the misery of realizing that you were about to fuck the murderer of people you loved, and that it felt good.

A pool of heat and fire shot down your insides as your heartbeats throbbed in between your legs.

You hated yourself, and on top of it all, hated Nanami.

Hated that you couldn't help but still love him, even after all he had done.

This was the setting tension in between the both of you, the two extremes of hate and love pulling against each other, all while the tug of war rope refused to snap to either side.

He pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it aside, and you undid his shirt, unzipping his pants. He unzipped you too, and quickly enough, took off your pants along with your panties with a single sharp tug.

Back to rough, but not entirely, it seemed.

His hand glided against your thigh and his fingertips slipped over your entrance, getting completely glazed by your already dripping arousal. He grunted, a guttural and intense sound deep in his chest, giving you another bite on the soft skin of your neck.

"Hate me?" Nanami asked, teasing his digits over your cunt, "doesn't seem like it."

You managed to scoff at him, which would prove to be a mistake.

"Go fuck yours-"

Before you could finish your sentence, he dove two of his fingers inside knuckle-deep, without any hint of a warning, forcefully stretching your walls around them. You immediately let out a whimper so pitiful you wondered if that was really your voice.

He seemed satisfied at that. Perhaps, even elated.

"Good girl," Nanami whispered right beside your ear, nibbling against your earlobe with his teeth, sending shivers down your spine. He began sliding his fingers in and out, and you bucked down against his hand while moaning and mewling, walls sheathing his digits as he finger-fucked your cunt, neglecting your clit as punishment for calling him a condescending prick earlier.

His palm rucked against your dripping folds, echoing wet slaps all throughout the room, as your arousal kept pooling on his palm.

He mumbled softly against your skin, bringing his mouth up to brush against yours, "hate… you still love me."

You instantly drew one of your hands to slap him in the face for this hurtful teasing, but he had quick reflexes — quicker than yours. He dodged himself back as your hand hit the empty sheets, and edged his fingers to hit against your soft spot, pressing it so violently, you let out a strained cry from the shooting overstimulation pain.

"Ah- Shit!" you shouted, face all scrunched up.

"Can't you behave for once?" he chided, "why is it so hard for you to j-just-“

Nanami’s breath hitched in his throat as he grunted, unable to finish his sentence.

You shut him up the only way you could think — grabbing his cock harshly over his boxers. It was extremely effective, and he immediately humped his length against your hand, while lowly groaning.

With trembling hands and a violent snap, you haphazardly pulled his boxers down to his mid-thighs, as his fingers kept mercilessly bullying their way inside you, sending vibrating waves all throughout your body with every thrust.

“Stop… telling me… ah-aaah-“ you rolled your eyes back with a loud moan, struggling to keep a train of coherent thought, gnarling your next words, “what to… ah- do!”

His cock sprang out, slapping against his belly. The tip was already flustered red, leaking with pre-cum, and had a long, prominent vein on the underside.

To punish him back for the roughness, you grabbed his length with one hand, and with the other, pressed the middle of your palm against his flushed tip, glistening his arousal around it with enough force to jump across the divide between intense pleasure and painful overstimulation.

Nanami cursed with a feral voice through his teeth, immediately biting the side muscles of your neck with no semblance of restraint, making sure to leave a purple remnant of pain etched on your skin.

“Ah- ouch! Fuck!” you spat out, tightening your grip around his cock, but weakened enough to release the tight pressure against his tip, letting him fuck into your hand. His hips bucked erratically, and his lips pressed a quick kiss right where he had previously bitten.

He couldn't help it.

Suddenly, Nanami stopped his rutting fingers to press his thumb against your already throbbing clit. That instantly had you seeing stars as you cursed loudly in between moans and grunts, drawing your free hand to his head, ferociously tugging at his hair, as heat pooled in your lower abdomen like fiery embers of coal.

He grabbed your arm, pulling it away from his shaft, and removed his fingers from your walls, having them clenching around nothing at such a sudden emptiness. You began complaining, only to have your voice cut short by his tongue slipping its way inside your mouth, in a sloppy, wet kiss.

Parting from you, Nanami’s eyes were glassy, and you were absolutely sure your gaze must’ve looked just as hazy as his.

In a brief moment, before you realized it, he slid himself down, and unceremoniously lapped at your already sensitive clit with his warm tongue, hot breath tickling against your sensitive skin.

Both of your hands descended towards his hair, brushing over his golden and now messy locks more tenderly than you expected. Nanami suddenly shivered and moaned into your cunt, edging his tongue down your folds and back, eyes fluttering shut the moment he tasted you entirely.

He felt a tinge of pain clench at his chest, realizing this was the taste he had missed out on for all that time — your taste, which would surely ruin him forever.

Nanami’s pain, however, was quick to turn into outrage, as he began sucking on your clit relentlessly, eliciting the most animalistic sounds you had ever uttered.

You instinctively tried backing away, and he pulled on your thighs, holding them with such a violent force that his hand was sure to leave an engraving of his digits over your plush skin.

Nanami was intent on dragging this orgasm out of you by any means necessary.

You had never given him anything he wanted from you — be it the company to fight against Jujutsu High or the same unwavering loyalty he had for you. So this was something he’d take.

If you wouldn’t be by his side, then the least you could do was to cum for him so fervently, he’d be sure to ruin you just as much as he felt like you had ruined him. You owed him that, or so Nanami thought.

“Aaah-- Kento! S-slow d-… fuck!”

You came with a thunderous shout, jolting your hip forward as your thighs tightened with inhuman strength to the sides of his head. Nanami made sure to deliciously lick your way down from your high, applying such a precise and perfect pressure on your clit that you could’ve wept from sheer satisfaction.

After your legs went limp, he slowly climbed his way back to you, pressing kisses all over your body, leaving a ghost of heat wherever his mouth traveled. When Nanami finally reached your face, he put his forearms against your sides, hands over your shoulders, caging you in, as he pressed his mouth against yours in a slow kiss.

You were floating in a calm sea, salty waves caressing your body every time they passed through, and it felt cozy. Inviting, even. As he parted his lips from yours, Nanami gazed into your eyes in the way he used to.

For a second, you got catapulted into the past, and the orange sun that warmed your cheeks through the leaves as you kissed for the first time seemed to shine its rays over again.

With his arms around you, the nonsensical feeling of being protected washed over your heart.

“Come with me,” he whispered with a sultry, husky voice.

“Kento…” you cooed, sighing, wanting nothing more than for this moment to extend for infinity.

But it couldn’t.

You didn’t go with him, so many years ago.

And wouldn’t go now, either.

That wasn’t how it worked for the both of you.

Nanami understood it, and what seemed like another crack against his unwavering walls had formed the moment his brows furrowed above his eyes.

“Fine, then,” he said, with a tinge of genuine hurt to his voice.

You parted your thighs to accommodate his hips, and he obliged, guiding his hand down to align his cock against your entrance. You bent and hooked your legs around him, pulling him in, and as the tip of his length got pressed against your dripping cunt, he gasped slightly over your lips.

Nanami sunk in slowly, going through your already relaxed ring. However, it apparently wasn’t relaxed enough, or perhaps he was just too big, because you could feel every inch of stretching his cock made against your walls as he slowly bottomed out inside your cunt.

His mouth fell open and you exhaled a moan into it, breaths mingling together. You two drank each other in. Nanami pressed his forehead against yours, and you both held each other’s gaze, as he pulled your left wrist above your head, holding it there, pushing you down the mattress by your waist with his other hand.

After a moment for you to take him in, Nanami began rolling his hips into you, while his hand kept bruisingly pressing your wrist against the mattress. You could feel his balancing act of trying to love you and wanting to hurt you at the same time.

You weren’t so different from him in that sense, though. Your nails got dragged down his back with abrasive force, and for a second, you considered drawing blood from him. He grunted, and you saw the spark of cold-hearted anger flash through his now dimmed eyes.

You both wanted to love each other just as much as you wanted to hurt each other.

In a more forgiving universe, perhaps, he’d hold your hand tenderly, intertwining his fingers in yours. Maybe you two would be in the kitchen as he showed you one of his favorite bread recipes, and share quiet moments of understanding companionship when remembering those who had left this world too soon.

But this wasn’t that universe, unfortunately.

He was to die, and you were to carry out his execution.

Except you couldn’t, because even if you still tried to cling on to any sliver of morals, even if his life was something yours alone to take, the mere thought of a world without Nanami was far worse than the reality of a world in which he was a murderer.

You insisted on fighting a losing game, and much to no one’s surprise, you lost.

Good riddance to me, I suppose.

His grunts came hitched and stuttered against your mouth as he was now rutting himself into you, biting your lower lip hard enough to almost pierce the skin with his teeth. You moaned loudly, dragged around with pain and pleasure, the combo that seemed to summarize the gist of your relationship.

He let go of your wrist and descended his hand without a warning towards your already overworked clit, glazing his thumb against the ring of arousal you were leaving around him before starting to make circles around your nub. Your moans came out cracked and faltering, as you tried to resist the instinctive urge of fleeing that the overstimulation was eliciting.

“Give me… one more,” Nanami groaned lowly against your cheek, planting multiple kisses down the side of your face and your chin. His hair — which had already fallen from its usual slick arrangement — brushed against your fluttering eyelids, momentarily weaving golden sand colors over your your vision, and you drove both your hands to the back of his head, pulling him in for another kiss.

You could kiss him like this forever.

You actually wanted to, at that moment.

To his request, you nodded, and this was probably the first time you acquiesced to any request Nanami had ever made to you.

Fulfilled, his thrusts and his finger over your clit became increasingly erratic, as he was now moaning your name against your mouth. You pushed your tongue over his, sliding your hands up his head to tug at his roots, and that was all it took to tip him over the edge.

Nanami came with a muffled groan, having your tongue still pushed inside his mouth, and kept pumping himself inside you trying to keep the comedown at bay. His thick, white cum got glazed all over inside you, and the slaps of flesh and skin began sounding ever more wet than they already were.

You weren’t so far off, with your walls fluttering around him, and he noticed it, keeping his now trembling thumb pressed and circling intently over your clit. With one perfectly applied nudge on your sensitive bud, Nanami finally pulled you over the edge along with him.

Some tears began pooling on the edges of your lashes, and all your emotions — anger, sadness, grief, longing, and a particular brand of despair you cultivated during the last decade — came crashing down as he wrenched your second orgasm from you.

Your body convulsed under him, fluttering walls expelling his softening cock out, as you shouted and grunted into his mouth. You didn’t know if you were more furious at yourself for still loving him, at him for loving you, or at Jujutsu Society for jumbling you both like pawns to be tossed around until you two were broken beyond repair.

Angry at them for sending the young out to have their spirits crushed too soon. For all the deaths no one got to mourn because there was too much work, too little time, and the wounded were always left behind to fend for themselves.

Just like you were.

And just like Nanami was.

You sat at the edge of the bed while putting your shirt back on, and looked back at Nanami, who had his buttoned shirt open over his chest.

“Are you still resolute on your decision of not coming with me?” Nanami asked, with a tinge of eagerness. Or maybe it was just your imagination.

You pondered for a moment, and knew exactly what the answer to that question was.

“Yes. I’m not coming with you.”

For a second, you caught the faintest glimpse of the person he used to be. Something aching to genuine disappointment.

The longing that flashed through him, unfortunately, was quick to go, as he began buttoning his shirt down, averting his gaze elsewhere.

“Why?”

“Because I’d hate myself for the rest of my life if I did,” you stated, sighing before continuing, “and it’s not because I can’t kill you or because I love you that I don’t despise you. You crossed an uncrossable line.”

He pursed his lips, and almost felt regretful for the path he chose.

Almost, since regret now would come ten years too late.

“You can’t go back. They will know you let me go,” Nanami remarked. Be it from him or from looking around this house, Jujutsu High would surely hold you accountable for this — for willingly letting the curse user and murderer, Nanami Kento, escape their wrath.

“I know that,” you replied, a tad bit more defeated than you expected, “that’s why I’m fleeing to Hokkaido.”

He sighed and looked at you. You held his gaze, feeling a little hint of anxiety at what he seemed to be simmering under the surface.

With a warmer expression — or as warm as he could muster it up to be —, Nanami spoke again.

“I truly want you to come with me. You’d be safer. We’d… be by each other’s side.”

For a moment, you faltered, open lips with no sound coming out of them. Blinking yourself back to Earth, you asked, “you mean together?”

Nanami kept silent, but nodded, waiting for your response.

He wasn’t just asking for you to come with him, but to be with him.

You wanted to. You did. Something Nanami never knew was just how much you wanted to follow him when he asked you the same thing, so many years ago.

But even though you wholeheartedly loved him with every minute part of your being, your loyalty lied elsewhere.

Not with him, but with the people he had killed.

Well, at least that was the comfortable lie you were capable of living with.

It would destroy you to realize the loyalty you had for the murderer of the people you loved.

In the end, even if you weren’t a teenager anymore, you were just as much a hostage to your feelings as you had always been.

The ticking took a long time, but the bomb eventually went off.

With a decade’s old delay.

“I… just can’t. I can’t.”

Nanami reclined himself against the wall over which the bed rested, closing his eyes as he supported the back of his head on it.

He never told you, but this moment broke his heart all over again.

He felt pathetically small.

Guess we get what we deserve, after all.

“You really do have a taste for penitence,” Nanami noted, his voice barely concealing the bitterness that tainted those words.

You scoffed, getting up on your feet, ready to leave as the first rays of sunshine began bleeding through the thick curtains that covered the bedroom’s window.

“Go to hell.”

He chuckled, a sound you hadn’t heard in a very long time. However, it sounded off-key. Wrong.

Sad.

“We’re already here.”

At the end of it all, he wasn’t wrong.

You were doomed to always keep leaving each other.

If only the world had been a little kinder.

But kindness, it seemed, wasn’t in the cards for you.

End notes: I’m silently screaming. Oh my, this one took way longer than expected, but I enjoyed the writing process during every step of the way (I mean, if that wasn’t evident already from the fact that I made a playlist for this 😂). I forgot how much I was a sucker for gut wrenching angst. Hope you enjoyed it too! 🦉

Tag list: @actuallysaiyan @diogodxlot @jadedjane @redlikerozez @voiceless9000

@marvelousfanfictionbitch @kentocalls @ohhheymessa @magical-girl-b @simp-manhwa

@codenamesongbird

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moonstrider9904 · 6 days

Text

It's taken me a while to process the fact that Crosshair lost his hand, and I've seen many different takes on the subject. All takes and sentiments are valid and I understand they all come from somewhere, and I'm grateful to have seen such a diversity of opinions before forming my own. Cards on the table, I disagree with the sentiment that Crosshair losing his hand was a bad writing choice on the basis of it meaning that he's now healed.

Let me elaborate (and I will elaborate a lot on this):

I feel like the relation between the hand coming off and the tremor/PTSD stopping is more a symbolic connection that the fandom perceived rather than something explicitly established by canon. It was never said after Crosshair lost his hand "he is now healed because of this." If anything, the way Crosshair was written through season 3 shows us he is putting in effort to healing way before losing his hand. Meditating, slowly opening up, moving past the horrors of Tantiss, etc. These are all things Crosshair does throughout the season that help him move forward. When the subject of Tantiss is brought up again, the tremor returns, and this is a very normal response.

But if I'm honest, I doubt how much PTSD and the concept of healing is truly understood by those so openly criticizing this writing choice, because that would also mean understanding that healing is not linear and it does not come magically through one sole act, deed, or loss. If the aforementioned was understood, so many people wouldn't have an issue with this connection in the first place because, symbolic as it may be, it is not fact. It is a symbol. What we did see was healing being depicted throughout the season: you work through your issues and you do better but then you can be back at square one the next day. Even if you're doing well for a period of time, the source of your PTSD can return, and your physical symptoms along with it, and of course this is normal and valid and it is wonderful to me that this was put on screen with Crosshair.

If it had been explicitly established on screen that Crosshair was magically healed because his hand's no longer there, I would have some other things to say about the matter, but again, it was not. This is something that fandom is coming up with and people are now deciding they have an issue with, because canon did not turn out to accommodate their theories and beliefs. And, even if it had been established that Crosshair fully healed from his past demons because he lost the hand that had the tremor, that wouldn't erase all the healing he had beforehand. I think it's invalidating - to the writers, to anyone with PTSD who relates to Crosshair, and to the character's phenomenal character arc - to assume that Crosshair's hand loss is the most significant part of his healing when he did so much work on himself before it.

And I would also argue that the loss of a limb is a traumatic event in itself, and I question how exactly it would be possible for one trauma piled on top of past traumatic events is supposed to heal someone.

I hate the fact that Crosshair lost his hand as something that happened to him, I hate it because it's Crosshair. Because I saw him getting hurt on screen, more than he already was. Because his whole body was trembling when it happened. Because I witnessed a man I've loved since day one, who's so kind and caring and has grown so much have to go through something so terrible. Because he had to endure pain and suffering yet again. Because I love him. Because my heart breaks for him.

As a writing choice, however, it was shocking, but it led up to a key moment between Crosshair and Hunter, and by extension, the climax of the finale. Yes, it would be significant for Crosshair's hand to have stopped shaking for him to take the clean shot, I wouldn't have objections if that had happened in canon either. But I think the power of Crosshair landing that final shot wasn't in the hand tremor. It was in losing his shooting hand, after a lifetime of equating his own worth to being a sniper, then hearing his brother Hunter, who he went through so much trouble and resentment and forgiveness with, encouraging him. Hunter really said "you can do it" and that was when Crosshair stopped thinking of himself as a sniper, and more as a brother. And he helped saved his sister. And with that, he saved all his other brothers on Tantiss. As a writing choice, Crosshair losing his hand is something that I accept and acknowledge as canon and I have processed the initial shock to the point where now I can talk about it more, and analyzing the scenes further makes it not just sensate writing, but poetic.

Back to the subject of the PTSD, Crosshair was able to rise above losing his hand in the moment on the bridge to team up with Hunter and save Omega, and that is admirable. And even if he was peaceful in the finale, one thing we can say for sure because it actually works that way in reality is that Crosshair will have to do a lot of healing and a lot of coping post losing his hand. I arrive at that conclusion quicker than I would conclude that "he's fine now" because the latter is not humanly possible. Even when people are capable of summoning the strength in the moment, there is a lot of healing and coping needed afterwards.

Being strong in the moment and mustering a smile when things turn out alright does not invalidate the struggle and effort put into getting better both before or after that moment of strength. Crosshair was so brave on Tantiss, but he's not fully healed upon returning to Pabu because no, PTSD is not stored in the hand, and I sincerely don't think that was the writers' intention on what to convey. If anything happens afterwards that we don't see on screen, I would anticipate it's the continuation of his healing process, which is not linear or constant.

And before anyone gets angry and wants to come at me with a pitchfork, let's remember Tech's wise words: Understanding you does not mean that I agree with you. While I see and understand the reasons why many people perceived this writing choice as a lazy one, I only wish to shine light on reasons that to me make this choice make sense. I've suffered PTSD from more than one traumatic event in my life, and for a total of twelve years (and counting) I have put in the work. I have had my share of non-linear healing. I have seen first hand and know this process all too well and it is yet another reason why I think Crosshair's character arc was masterfully done.

Lastly, I want to make one final call to be respectful towards the writers of The Bad Batch for how they chose to write their story. Here on tumblr, many fanfiction writers would be appalled if a reader came up to us spewing the things they hated about our story and how we should change it. I would be appalled too. That is not a cool thing to do to a writer. So let us treat other writers with the respect we want for ourselves.

May the Force be with you all ❤️ Now that the finale's done, us writers have the whole world of TBB to explore, adapt, and make into our own, and all of it will be valid and beautiful. Just be sure to always embrace others for their differences, for that makes you whole.

#the bad batch #tbb finale #tbb season 3 #tbb analysis #tbb crosshair analysis #tbb crosshair #tbb spoilers

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thelargefrye · 1 year

Text

FIRST LOVE … one - shot (18+)

pairing : dragon!wooyoung x witch!f!reader

genre : dragon au, fantasy / medieval, hurt / comfort, smut (pwp)

word count : 4.6k

warnings : language, slight blood, negative thoughts about oneself, cheating accusations, miscommunication, mentions of dragon hunting, nightmares, allusion to possible ptsd

smut warnings : unprotected sex, concept of mates / mating, monster cock!wooyoung, virgins!woo & yn, love making, marking / biting

requested by : bestie @songmingisthighs

wooyoung has been acting strange lately and after avoiding you one too many times, and you finally break down and question what is really going on with him.

WOOYOUNG HAD BEEN ACTING STRANGE LATELY. which at first you hadn’t thought anything about, maybe it was some dragon thing you weren’t aware of. however, it started to get concerning when he began avoiding you more and more each day.

it began with simple and quick responses which slowly turned into just one word answers. then he started detaching himself from you, you go to hold his hand and he would rip it away. like your skin was burning his and it made you feel awful. when he would go out to either hunt or visit the nearby town, he would be gone for longer than usual. then he just stopped speaking to you and even avoided sleeping in your shared bed.

you remember waking up to find him sleeping in the extra room you had at the cottage, the room that you converted into a bedroom when you first met him. it had been years since he slept there and finding him there alone instead of with you made your heart twist and it honestly made you want to throw up.

was this his way of telling you he didn’t love you anymore. that he was tired of you and was wanting to leave. but if he wanted to leave then why didn’t he? why did he keep coming back? did he pity you or something.

“wooyoung,” you decided to confront him one day. the red haired dragon was outside tending to your shared garden — it was his day to tend to it, when you approached him. he says nothing so you decide to continue, “what’s been going on with you lately? you’ve been distancing yourself from me. you won’t even speak to me, let alone look at me. did i… did i do something wrong?”

again, you are met with silence as his back remains facing you. you can feel the tears begin to form and you have to take a quick breath in order to not cry.

“do you want to leave?” you finally ask, feeling your heart break as you do so. it’s only when you ask that does wooyoung stop picking herbs and turn to look at you. his face is void of emotions, which is extremely unusual coming from him, as he looks at you. “if you do… then please just go. i don’t want to keep you here if you don’t want to be,” you add before turning away and heading back into the cottage just as the tears start to fall.

the rest of the day went by with you working on making different medicines and potions, completely ignoring wooyoung. not that he probably noticed anyway since he had been doing the same to you for weeks now. when nightfall came, you continued to stay inside your workroom, still not having the energy to see wooyoung.

when you do eventually come out hours later, you find a plate of food sitting on your small dining table. you feel like crying again due to how even if wooyoung is unhappy here, he still took the time to make your dinner as well.

you know that sooner or later you will have to let him go, and you slowly realized that when you sat by yourself eating a cold dinner while the man you love was asleep in the bedroom down the hall.

THAT REALIZATION CAME SOONER than you thought when you woke up the next morning being alone. you woke up feeling like something was off and once you surveyed the cottage, it was only then that you noticed wooyoung was gone.

he really left, you think as take in the neatly made bed of the room he had been staying in. did he even sleep in last night or did he leave once you finally went to bed? you didn’t want to cry anymore, but the knowledge of finally being alone again overwhelmed you as you fell to your knees and sobbed.

you thought that maybe wooyoung would be different. that he would stay and that you wouldn’t have to bare being alone anymore after the years you had suffered being alone. but no. wooyoung left just like chaewon and your teacher and even your mother.

but you don’t blame wooyoung for leaving. you can’t find it in yourself to hate him because you love him so much. you remained on the floor until the tears finally stopped and then you stood up and started your day.

you hate how easily you found it to fall back in a rhythm of doing everything by yourself, even after it’s been several days since wooyoung left. how your body and mind are just use to doing things by yourself. you can’t help but fall back in the lonely feeling you felt several years ago.

the feeling swallows you whole as you go about your day and even when you have to take the journey to the nearby village to get some more herbs and supplies. even when the villagers greet you, you can’t escape the loneliness and the fact that they will all still have someone at home waiting for them while you will return back to an empty cottage.

after you get your herbs and are making your way back to your cottage when you pass by the village healer’s shop. you find yourself coming to a halt when you watch the door to the shop open and out steps a familiar head of red hair. you’re shocked to see wooyoung as you would have figured he would be long gone by now. especially since it’s been several days, almost a whole week, since he left the cottage.

is this where he went? is this where’s he’s been? so many questions are swarming through your head as you as you watch wooyoung speak to the healer. he looks different somehow, like his whole aura and energy has changed. and most importantly of all… wooyoung was finally smiling.

you felt bitter and maybe a little jealous at seeing him interact with the healer. why was he visiting this healer when you were right there with him this whole time. if he was sick, why didn’t he come to you about it? why did he distance himself and basically shun you away from him?

something then hits you that makes you want to cry and tear your heart out. what if he wasn’t sick and was seeing the healer for another reason? what if… what if the healer was making wooyoung happy when you couldn’t anymore.

you feel the herbs slipping out of your hands and onto the ground, but you don’t bother to pick them up. you don’t have the energy to pick them up as all you had can do is turn and runaway from the sight of wooyoung and the healer and back into the forest.

tears blur your vision as you run through the forest, unsure if you’re even going in the right direction. you don’t care anymore. you don’t care if you make it back to the cottage, you just want to run. run far away in hopes that you’ll never have to see any other human, witch, dragon, or any other mythical creature again. you want to be alone for the rest of your miserably sad life.

alone.

because that’s all you deserve.

you suddenly trip over some up-grown tree roots and falling fast to the ground. your hands and knees slid across the ground the tree roots, scraping them as you fell while the air was knocked out of you. once you manage to sit up, you remain on the forest floor for several moments. you don’t have the energy anymore after knowing that wooyoung has potentially found someone else to make him happy. to make him smile and to receive his love.

what did you do wrong? you question yourself as you look up at the sky. maybe should accept the fact that witches and dragons are never meant to be together. because no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that dragons and witches could never get along, you wanted to prove yourself wrong. you want to prove all the other witches wrong in that a witch and dragon could love each other.

“y/— are — /n— y/n!”

you don’t hear the familiar voice calling for you. nor do you hear the leaves crunching and heavy footsteps as the person searches for you.

“y/n! please, say something! where are you?” you turn to see wooyoung standing a good distance away from you. he’s out of breath as he stares at you before he makes his way towards you.

“y/n?” his voice is soft, softer than what you had heard in the last few weeks, as he drops to his knees in front of you. “what are doing out here in the middle of the forest?”

is that all he has to say after weeks of shutting you out? why is he suddenly caring about you after leaving for a week? why?

he tries to touch you, but you shove his hands away as you feel the tears build up once more.

“what—

“how dare you try to act that you care about me all of a sudden! how dare you act like you hadn’t ignored and pushed me away for weeks before leaving in the middle of the night! how dare you leave me alone, jung wooyoung! i hate you so much!” you sob as you hit his chest weakly.

wooyoung doesn’t say anything at first as he opts to pull you into his arms. you try to fight him at first, but eventually you give up and finally accept that you are in his arms again.

“i’m sorry for acting the why i did and for leaving. i know i shouldn’t have but i was scared and confused. will you come with me, so i can explain everything?” he asks as he pulls you away gently from him to look at your glassy eyes.

YOU’RE SURPRISED WHEN WOOYOUNG turns into his dragon form and heads for the direction of the southern mountains. you want to question the dragon, but you realize you better wait until you land. you knew the southern mountains were filled with all sorts of magical creatures.

you also knew about the dragon oracle that resided in the mountain, having heard many tales about how she had killed many dragon hunters and took in clanless dragons.

your eyes filtered down to wooyoung when you thought of clanless dragons. you knew wooyoung was one which is mainly why he had been living with you since you met him. you remember how scared and wounded he was when you found him on the verge of death near your cottage. how he tried to fight you off and refused your help before you basically dragged him inside your cottage with all your strength.

you remember him telling you how his clan had been burned to the ground by dragon hunters. he wasn’t sure if his family had even made it out, that his mother pushed him to run as a far away as he could. you know wooyoung still has nightmares about what happened to his clan, even years later. you always feel awful when he wakes up sobbing in the middle of the night, all you can do is hold him and comfort him.

hopefully the healer will be able to comfort him from now on like you use to.

you look up from wooyoung to see the southern mountains coming into view. you keep having to remind yourself how faster it is to travel by dragon and how easily they cross lands within such a short amount of time compared to humans.

when wooyoung lands, you make quick work to slide off of him and you notice the small house not too far from where he landed. where did he take you?

“wooyoung, where are we?” you ask turning to see the red haired dragon back in his human form as he makes his way towards you.

“this is… this is where the southern mountains’ dragon oracle lives,” wooyoung starts, “this is where i was this past week,” he adds on as he takes a few steps in front of you in order to lead you towards the home of the dragon oracle.

“why?” you ask as you follow wooyoung up the seemingly earth-made steps. you stumble a little on one step and wooyoung is quick to turn and catch you, pulling you to his chest, your faces only centimeters apart.

your mind flashes back to seeing wooyoung in the village with the healer, and you move away from him and you let out an awkward cough. “thank you…” you mumble before going in front of him.

“her name is seolhyun,” wooyoung tells you once you stand in front of the oracle’s door. he goes to knock, but before he can the door suddenly swings open and there stands the dragon oracle.

she’s older than both you and wooyoung, but is beautiful nonetheless. she looks between you and wooyoung for a moment before they settle on you.

“it’s been many moons since i seen an umbra witch, may your clan rest in peace now,” she says to you as she slightly bows her head and you return it, for reasons you’re unsure of.

“oracle seolhyun, i’m sorry to bother you but—

seolhyun puts a hand up, stopping wooyoung from speaking any further. she looks at you with a small smile as she steps aside as if welcome you into her home.

“umbran witch, please enter, but the dragon must remain out here,” she says and wooyoung looks like he wants to object, but he changes his mind.

you turn to look at wooyoung with a worry glance and he gives you a small smile, “it’s okay, i’ll be right here when you come out.” you hesitate for a moment, not completely sure if you fully trust wooyoung. what’s stopping him from leaving you here while he goes back to the village to that healer.

you don’t say anything as you turn back to the oracle and enter into her house while wooyoung remains outside.

THE INSIDE OF THE ORACLE’S HOUSE is dark with it being illuminated by many candles scattered around the rooms. you notice that heavy fabric curtains drape over the windows, blocking out any and all natural light.

“come, umbra witch,” the older dragon says guiding you through her home where she sits you down in a chair. “do you want some tea?”

“um, sure, please,” you say feeling a little odd at how this all seems.

“your dragon brought you here for a reason,” she begins from behind you as she makes tea for the two of you. “he came five days ago questioning about himself and his inner dragon,” she adds and you remain quiet. “i told him that his inner dragon spirit was yearning for his mate. that it was was starting to reject his human side and confuse his emotions,” she says and you jump at how the tea kettle suddenly goes off, startling you.

she places two cups on the table between you both, one for you and one for her. “you said his inner dragon was yearning for… his mate? what does that mean?”

“dragons like several other species have mates that they are destined to be with for the rest of their life. some dragons are even blessed with more than one mate, our ancestors seeing this as blessing equaling for good things to come or happen,” she explains the concept of mates to you before she takes a sip of her tea.

“so… wooyoung needs to be with… his mate then?” you ask trying to wrap your head around all the information she just dumped on you.

“his first one. wooyoung is destined to have eight mates, but only when the time is right will he meet the other ones,” she tells you.

“his first one?” you echo and she nods.

“when dragons are near their mates, but haven’t done the mating ritual yet their inner dragon become restless and wants to mate with them immediately even if the dragon doesn’t know that’s what’s happening,” she further explains and it suddenly clicks why wooyoung had been acting the way he had been.

it was his inner dragon that was making him act like this. you want to let out a sigh of relief, but your thoughts stop you as you think of wooyoung and the healer. is the healer… his mate? did he bring you hear to let you know that you weren’t his mate and that’s why he’s leaving you.

“do not overthink things dear umbra witch,” seolhyun says snapping you out of your thoughts. “not everything is what it seems, i suggest you speak with your dragon to solve your heartache.”

“who’s wooyoung’s mate?” you ask without thinking and you cringe at how desperate you sound.

the oracle lets out a small chuckle before speaking, “that is not something for me to answer. now go and speak with your dragon, he is waiting for you.”

you and the oracle bid each other goodbye before you are leaving her home. when you step outside you notice the sun has gone down and wooyoung is still where you left him. at the sound of you exiting the house, wooyoung snaps his head towards you and stand up with expecting eyes.

“what did she tell you?” he asks as he walks towards you but refrains from touching you.

“please take me home,” you tell him, wanting the time to think about what the dragon oracle told you. you also wanted time to think about what you wanted to say to wooyoung once return to your cottage.

WHEN YOU RETURN BACK TO THE COTTAGE, wooyoung follows you inside the familiar home which now has an air of uncertainty and coldness to it.

you know he’s waiting for you to speak as he hovers behind you, but you don’t know if you’re ready to speak to him yet. you don’t know if you’re fully ready to accept whether wooyoung might perhaps leave forever after this conversation. you want to prolong it as much as you can, no matter how selfish that may seem.

“y/n…” wooyoung says finally breaking the silence between you two.

“why didn’t you tell me you were going to see the oracle?” you ask, turning to look at him. you were trying hard not to cry. you didn’t want to cry in front of him. “i thought… i thought you— you had actually left,” you add and you notice the dragon licks his lips before he bites his lower one.

you deny how attractive he looks doing that simple action, but you push those thoughts to the back of your mind.

“i don’t know why i didn’t tell you. it was like my mind and body were acting on there own and i didn’t want to worry you more than i already had. it’s not an excuse and i’m sorry for how i acted, i just… i just needed answers,” he explains as you watch his eyes brim with tears and you feel your heart clench at the sight.

“who’s your mate?” you ask suddenly and he looks at you a little surprised and caught off guard by the question.

“isn’t it obvious?” he says looking at you with a lopsided smile as the tears run down his golden cheeks. you hate how beautiful he looks even when crying.

his response is probably what makes you finally cry, as you think about the healer from the village. wooyoung takes a step forward but you take one back away from him.

“please, just go wooyoung, go to that dumb healer and leave me by myself,” you say as you turn away from him as the tears continue to stream down your face.

“healer? what healer?” his voice is full of surprise as he looks at you with wide eyes.

“the healer from the village! your mate!” you shout and you’re surprised by how wooyoung grabs your shoulders and forces you to look at him.

“y/n, my sweet love, that healer is not my mate. you are, you are my mate. the one i am destined to be with forever,” he says looking at you with full seriousness.

“t-then why were you visiting the healer earlier today?” you question him and wooyoung looks a little shocked before a pink color dusts his cheeks.

“because… i-i was trying to make sure that i took the necessary precautions for when we mated,” he confesses and now it’s your turn to feel embarrassed when you get what he means by ‘mated.’ “i wanted to make sure i didn’t hurt you,” he adds on as he lets your shoulders go, but remains close to you.

“woo…” you say trailing off as you cup his face to have him look at you this time. “i’m sorry for assuming the worst,” you tell him and he lets out a small laugh.

“no,” he says shaking his head, “i’m sorry for making you doubt me, but please now that i will always remain loyal to you,” he says as he takes one of your hands and places a gently kiss on your palm.

WOOYOUNG HOVERS OVER YOU, the both of you naked and full vulnerable to each other as you lock eyes. your chest is covered in many love bites and your legs are shaking in anticipation for the two of you to finally become one.

“let me know if you start to feel any sort of pain, okay?” he says and you nod but wooyoung encourages you to use your voice.

“yes, wooyoung, i’ll let you know,” you tell me and he smiles before leaning down to you. wooyoung sits up a little in order to grab the oil he had gotten from the healer, an oil that it is meant to help makes things easier.

he’s about to pout some in his hand when you stop him, and he looks at you with concerned eyes. “let me do it,” you tell him, taking the bottle of oil from his hands before pouring some in your open palm. taking in the sight of his hard cock, you can’t help but feel the excitement and nervousness that courses through your veins.

wooyoung let’s out a long and loud moan as you begin to slowly stroke him. he tilts his head back and you take the moment to admire how his golden skin glistens with sweat and is covered in love bites. he looks beautiful like this and you can’t help but admire him a little longer as you stroke him.

“a-ah, y/n!” he says as he bucks his hips up before he’s reaching for the bottle of oil. he pours some the best he can while you continue to stroke him, covering his fingers in the oil before he’s tossing it to the side. his own hand comes down to cup your pussy before he’s easily sliding in two fingers making you let out a loud moan as the feeling of his fingers.

“fuck, you’re pussy feels so tight, can’t wait to fuck it, love,” he tells you making a heat come over your skin as he fingers you and forces you to listen to the wet sounds that come from your lower half. “it even sounds just a cute as your moans,” he adds with a large grin before he’s leaning over to kiss you.

“w-wooyoung, please, please fuck me,” you say once he pulls away from your lips and he smiles before slowly pulling out his fingers while you give his cock one last stroke.

“lay down, love,” he says and you find yourself in a the same position you were in a few minutes ago. his fingers knead at the flesh of your thighs as he spreads them and he smiles at the sight of your glistening pussy that is covers in both your own juices and the oil.

you feel your legs shake in excitement as he positions his cock at your entrance before slowly pushing in. your arms come up to wrap around his shoulders as moans continue to leave your lips and a large gasp leaves your lips once he bottoms out.

your legs wrap around his waist while his fingers dig into your hips that you know will leave bruises, but you feel too euphoric to care. wooyoung’s cock sits nicely inside you, allowing you to adjust to his size before he moves. you become impatient as you move your hips a little. wooyoung let’s out a small chuckle as he kisses the side of your head before he begins moving his hips in slow strokes before he begins to pick his pace up.

“f-fuck! fuck— wooyoung!” you moan out as you rake your nails down his back as he moves your legs over his shoulders.

“fuck— y/n, i love you so much, gonna let me mate you. gonna let me mark you and come— ngh, inside you?” he voice is strained a little as he continues to drill his hips into yours.

“y-yes! please woo! you make me feel so good, i love you, too!” you cry out before wooyoung is pressing a sloppy kiss to your lips when he pulls away you witness the line of spit connecting your lips before wooyoung is trailing open mouth kisses down your jaw and to your shoulder.

you clench around his cock when you realize what he is about to. the red haired dragon lets out an open mouth moan as he licks a strip up your neck before kissing a spot on your shoulder. you let out a cry once he bites your shoulder, breaking through the skin slightly before he’s pulling away and licking at the bite mark.

you feel your eyes roll into the back of your head as you are overcome with a sudden feeling in the pit of your stomach. “w-wooyoung, i feel— i feel strange,” you tell him.

“want me to stop?” he asks as he slows his pace down a little bit.

“n-no, keep going,” you tell him and he complies as he picks his speed back up and you can’t help but clench down one his cock once again. it’s only then that the feeling seems to snap and your whole body shakes. wooyoung does a few more good thrust before he’s stilling inside of you. sheathing his cock as far as he can before you can feel his come shooting inside your pussy. it’s a weird feeling, you think as wooyoung moves your legs and you once again wrap them lazily around his waist to keep him close to you.

wooyoung is out of breath as he collapses on top of you and you let out a small huff at his sudden weight. you kiss his temple as you rub his back in a soothing motion as you feel him kiss the area around his mark.

“my pretty, pretty mate, you look so beautiful. can’t wait to spend the rest of my days with you,” he says with a slight slur to his words.

“you’re my pretty mate too, youngie,” you tell him with a smile as you hold him impossibly close to you.

wooyoung sits up, hands on either side of your head as he looks you with suddenly serious eyes.

“i meant it when i said i love you,” he says as he leans down rest his forehead against yours. “i will always be here and protect you, no matter what happens when we meet our other mates. you will always be my priority, don’t ever forget that, please.”

his words shock you and you wonder where they suddenly came from, “okay. i love you too wooyoung. forever and always.”

“forever and always, my first love,” he says before kissing you and you spend the rest of the night in each other’s arms, basking in the warmth and love of each other.

honorary tag : @sanjoongie

network : @cultofdionysusnet

tag list (bold means unable to tag) : @frankenstein852 @watamotee33 @kawennote09 @mixling-blog @hwal0v3r @marahleiwhen @harry-the-pottypus @rdiamond2727 @sanniesbum @marvelahsobx @voidcupidz @khjcoo @mysticfire0435 @exfolitae @kangskims @cvpitvno @lzvxndxr @dementedaly @simeonswhore @moonm1st @nvmbheart @acciocriativity

#dragon from the window.#kdiarynet #cultofdionysusnet #ateez x reader #ateez smut #poly ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez wooyoung x reader #ateez wooyoung smut #dragon ateez au #ateez dragon au #ateez fantasy au #ateez angst

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northlight14 · 5 months

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While I’m a big fan of the “Von Karma being a piece of shit mentor and father figure to Edgeworth” concept and there is definitely some truth to those statements, I also wanna address the fact that it is canon that Von Karma was a good mentor to Edgeworth and growing up in that household wasn’t as horrific as it may seem at first glance. Frankly if it was, Edgeworth wouldn’t have been manipulated like he was.

Now just taking that into consideration, that makes the moment Edgeworth finds out what actually happened to his dad so much more heartbreaking. When mini Miles lost his dad, that was his world taken from him. He didn’t have any other relatives to go to and no direction in life. Then in steps a man who he knew his father respected to some degree, offering him a home and guidance, teaching mini Miles everything he knows and inspiring him. The ruthless God of prosecutors himself helping Edgeworth build himself up again.

Then he finds out that the one man who stepped in, the one he was willing to follow, was the very same man who caused his suffering in the first place. Not only that, but he’s spent so long following his teachings, that he himself has essentially become just another version of the man who caused his suffering. And to add fuel to the fire, that father figure clearly knew of Edgeworth’s survivors guilt and PTSD and used it against him and went as far as to frame him for murder.

It is honestly a wonder to me how Edgeworth didn’t completely break down right then and there in the courtroom. Von Karmas betrayal of Edgeworth is definitely talked about a lot in the fandom but the added context of what isn’t shown in the game or anime just makes it all the more heartbreaking

Edit: doing an edit on this post cuz I feel like I didn’t communicate what I wanted the best I could. My bad, y’all. This isn’t me saying that there wasn’t abuse at play. There was. Manfred was very obviously emotionally neglectful of Edgeworth and Franziska and instilled a perfectionist complex in both of them. That much is clear by the way Edgeworth speaks with him in a strictly business like manner. But I think it’s important to acknowledge that while Manfred was a shitty father figure, he still showed Edgeworth some form of kindness over the years. (I also believe that it has been confirmed that he was a good mentor to Miles but if I’m wrong about that let me know). We see that in the anime in particular where it’s shown he favoured Miles over Franziska. And also that’s how abuse works. The abuser will show kindness to their victim because otherwise they can’t manipulate the victim as easily. Manfred isn’t a good person but I think it’s important to look at his relationship with Edgeworth with a bit of nuance. Miles knew Manfred wouldn’t show him mercy in the court room because he knows how important his win record is. That doesn’t take away from the fact that he showed Edgeworth some form of kindness over the years. In my opinion, it just makes the whole situation more tragic

#fucking hate von karma for what he did #edgy boy always has and always will deserve better #it’s such a gut punch as well cuz Edgeworth likely would view vk as the only one who was on his side #only for vk to prosecute against him. not only does Edgeworth know how he is in court but that’s also his only safety net gone and instead #turned agaisnt him #that’s why when phoenix Maya and gumshoe step in it has such a profound impact on him #can y’all tell I love Edgeworth and also love this case?😅#ace attorney #miles edgeworth #manfred von karma #tw abuse

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dykeydean · 2 months

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fic recs

aka, i read too much fic and need to share my favorites

gorging myself on you, still can't get enough (insatiable) - sobsicles

i love this so much. casual confessions from dean. insanely horny and conflicted cas. grocery store confessions <3

rating: M

how we're stuck in entropy - shineforthee

unfinished as of now, but worth it imo. sam makes a deal for cas' life and dean has to grapple with grief and mourning. amazing commentary on grief and dean's mindset, and great destiel

rating: E

don't stop, don't slow - hedderstheowl

trans cas and cas being so surprised by how good sex is with someone he loves

rating: E

love's such an old fashioned word. - hedderstheowl

same author as above bc i cant get enough of their fics. i LOVED this concept and characterization of cas. cas gets revived but doesnt believe hes out of the empty, and treats the world around him accordingly.

rating: E

ignite your bones - ilovehowyouletmefall

such powerful storytelling and writing. loved this front to cover. dean kills sam to get the world back- the remaining of tfw 2.0 grapple with the after effects. dean deals with grief, homophobia, and cas' confession.

rating: E

this whole trilogy but namely sam winchester, ally at law - alittleduck, amidsizedfrog

sam wants to be an ally soooo bad but dean refuses to be an acceptable queer. love this characterization so much

rating: T

the cheapest room in the house - biggaybenny

dean downloads grindr for cas to meet guys and gets jealous when cas talks to guys. angst with a happy ending

rating: E

psalm 40:2 - unicornpoe

cas time travels to meet dean pre-hell. pre and early seasons dean my beloved <3

rating: E

benedictions - kalmialatifolia

priest cas and writer dean. unfinished but i think about this fic at least 3x a week. if you enjoy fleabag, youll enjoy this fic. if you enjoy priest porn, youll enjoy this fic. cannot recommend this enough

rating: E

everyone knows the year doesnt stop until april- fleeceframe

first of all, go check out this author right now i love ALL their fics, but this one stuck with me. early seasons destiel. cas has so much love he doesnt know what to do with it. case fic

rating: M

gold in the edges of our vision - sewingnatural

i fucking love this so much. absolutely amazing religious imagery and symbolism. dean and cas share peaches on a roadtrip and are in love about it. fic that convinced me to go on a roadtrip this summer

rating: T

juxtaposition - rhinestoneangels

this fic is short and amazing. interesting prose, dean in hell, religious imagery. mwah love it

rating: G

where the heart is - goldenraeofsun

claire fic of all time if i do say so myself. claire time travels to s7 and hunts with dean before making her way home. i adore this one so much

rating: M

here, bullet, here - a_good_soldier

dean and his relationship with violence. contains pre series dean and post-canon destiel. named from a poem, this one hits you right in the heart

rating: T

use cinderblocks to build a stairway - pollutedstar

dean, sex work, ptsd, and self worth. heed the tags!! heavy fic but thoroughly enjoyable

rating: M

the soul burns brighter than the sun - wow_thisiswheremylifeis

post-canon fix it. cas escapes the empty and effectively breaks it, while telling everyone but dean that hes alive. they grapple with their relationship and fixing the empty. love it!!!

rating: E

let's take a drive - sobsicles

another sobsicles fic because theyre all 10s. jack reverts to baby age, cas is protective, dean and cas have a complicated relationship. amazing fic with amazing feels. best tag ever: maybe we're all a little scared and that's okay

rating: E

the eye is a mouth. - zeke21

dean, sex work, god, a study on the relationship between all three. fucking amazing fic, really nailed chuck's presence in this. go check out this authors other works too, they're all mind blowing

rating: E

asterism of an f-series ford pick up - disabled_dean

altered my brain chemistry a little bit i think. cas and dean go on a roadtrip and dean is exceptionally horny about it. dean is not normal about love and thats okay

rating: M

maybe i like pleasure pain - tothewillofthepeople

another one that wrecked me entirely. one of the best cas centric fics out there, this fic focuses on cas' recovery post-empty. lovely dialogue and imagery, just amazing all around

rating: M

wyoming, january 1996 - luulapants

THEE dean 17th birthday case. fucking amazing storytelling, takes johns journal entry and runs with it.

rating: T

between sex and death and trying to keep the kitchen clean - ftmsteverogers

jupernatural, kid jack, post-canon fix it with empty confession misunderstanding <3 love it so much, this author is so talented :)

rating: E

#fic rec #masterlist #ezra posts

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queenshelby · 1 year

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Forbidden Desire (Part Three)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest (at this stage accidental), Age Gap, PTSD, Domestic Abuse, Self-Harm, Fluff, Mild Smut

Words: 5,456

Summary:

This plays after Grace’s death but before Tommy becomes a politician. Lizzie is pregnant with Tommy’s child, so it is somewhere around season four.

In this fic, Tommy suffers from episodes of PTSD and so does the reader, resulting from trauma and abuse. They will help and save each other without realising that their connection is much stronger than they could have anticipated.

There will be love, fluff and smut as well as a highly taboo relationship.

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

QUESTION: WHO IS TOMMY TO THE READER? WHOOPS!

One week later….

It had taken you some time to work it out. To get your feelings and emotions sorted. To understand yourself and realise what was happening. You were falling in love with a man you barely knew but who made you feel things you never felt before.

You shared a kiss with him. It was your first ever kiss and, much to your surprise, it felt incredible and was indescribable. It was filled with passion, lust and need and you knew that, never before had you felt what you were feeling now. You felt safe, loved and desired.

Any kind of touch from a man before you had associated with something bad, something harmful. You had never been told otherwise as, all you had ever known was exactly that. Harm, pain and suffering, all of which came from physical contact made by one man.

Your stepfather had hit you, groped you and restrained you on many occasions in the past and, whilst he never forced himself on you in a sexual way, there was one occasion where he tried. He got no further than kissing your neck when your mother walked in on you both and you were appalled by men ever since.

But for some reason, with Tommy, it was different. You were not appalled by him in the slightest and often thought about what some of the prostitutes had said about their customers at Madam Juan. Yes, a lot of them enjoyed sex, at least occasionally. You even watched, once or twice but, again, you felt nothing but disgust.

Some of the girls at the brothel had told you a lot about their work and, whilst some clients had hurt them in the past, these women told you that the majority of men were respectful towards them and, with some of them, being intimate was even pleasurable at times.

Pleasure? This was a feeling you never quite understood until now. One of the prostitutes had explained it to you once or twice but, until now, you never felt anything even remotely close to what one might refer to as pleasure. This tingling sensation in your core was what you heard women tell you about when they wanted to have sex with a man and, until now, this all sounded absurd to you. Until now, the sheer thought of sex made you feel ill and disgusted. But now, you knew what it was about. You felt it yourself for a very short moment just as Tommy was kissing you and, whilst it scared you, you couldn’t help but wanting more.

You wanted more of this sensation. This ache. This need. For him. A man you knew almost nothing about.

***

But, over the past week, while working at Shelby Company Limited, you interacted more and more with your new employer and, whilst he acted more reserved towards you when being around other employees as well, you found that you had a lot in common, shared interests and common standards.

Just like you, Tommy loved horses and he took a liking in music and, as the days went by, you became closer and spent even more time together. He told you about his late wife Grace and his son Charlie. He also told you about Lizzie and the fact that she was pregnant with his daughter.

You kissed, occasionally and secretively but these kisses were nothing like your first. He was reserved and this was probably due to the fact that he knew that you were uncomfortable with the concept of physical affection and intimacy. He knew that he needed to be patient with you and give you some time to figure out how far you wanted to go with him.

If you were anyone else, he would have made his move already but, since he liked you in the same way that he liked Grace, he paid much more attention to your needs.

It was obvious to Tommy that you had been hurt before in a serious way and it was also obvious to him who the cause of your pain was. You did not need to spell it out for him. He simply knew and his intuition was right. His investigations had confirmed it and, unbeknownst to you, with the information you had given him over the past week, he was closer and closer to finally finding for the man behind it all. Your stepfather.

But, the problem was that, in Tommy’s mind, this was not just about money for him anymore. It was about vengeance and helping you heal as, the more he was falling for you, the more he was also starting to hate the man who had, until a few years ago, controlled your life.

***

Until now, only Michael knew about Tommy’s motives for employing you and, whilst Polly had her suspicions about Tommy’s feelings towards you, she could not be certain of his intentions until, one morning, she spoke to her son.

“So, who is this woman your cousin has employed without any experience whatsoever?” Polly asked Michael after having kept a close eye on you for the past week. She did not trust you, although she did not exactly dislike you either. “She is not a whore and she is clearly not a spy” she then pointed out with little concern but, when Michael told her who you were related to, Polly’s chin dropped.

“Ah, fuck” she then said before telling Michael that Arthur may be taking a dislike in the fact that Tommy had employed you without running it by him first.

“I am sure Arthur no longer cares mum. Her mother is a woman who never quite took an interest in him” Michael pointed out, having heard the stories from Tommy.

“Well, you see Michael, I am not so sure. Y/N’s mother was Arthur’s first true love and I fear that, if he knows that Y/N is her daughter, he may seek to reconnect with her even in spite of the fact that, just over twenty years ago, she went off with another man who I assume is Y/N’s father” Polly explained calmly before asking a question of relevance to her and possibly even the company.

“Has Tommy taken an emotional or sexual interest in her you think?” she wanted to now, causing Michael to chuckle.

“Yes, I would say that he has. He likes her” Michael admitted and Polly sighed deeply.

“That is what I thought. He looks at her in the same way as he used to look at Grace” Polly pointed out but Michael didn’t consider this to be an issue.

“And why is that a problem? Arthur was in love with her mother, not her” he thus pointed out.

“It is a problem because, when Tommy is in love, he becomes weak and weakness is not something we can afford right now. So, keep an eye on him when I am gone. I will be in the US for two weeks and I need you to make sure that Tommy focuses on business, not her” Polly then pointed out to her son, seeing that Shelby Company Limited had just signed several export deals in the past two months, all of which Tommy had to oversee.

“Also, where the fuck is Lizzie? I haven’t seen her all week and the paperwork is piling up. Y/N can’t do it…” Polly finally went on to say and Michael reminded her that Tommy had given her a week off following yet another fight between them

“A fight about what?” Polly then wanted to know and Michael simply pointed towards you, causing his mother to roll her eyes. It was obvious to her that Lizzie had taken an issue with your presence at Shelby Company Limited and when, later that afternoon, Lizzie barged through the door in anger, the entire office was made aware of the fact that there was some competition going on.

***

“What the fuck is she still doing here?” Lizzie immediately asked Michael with a stern voice but Michael simply shrug his shoulders in an almost futile attempt to ignore her. He turned around, minded his own business and, just as he did, Tommy popped his head through the door of his office.

He knew that he needed to put an end to it, but did not quite know how.

“Lizzie, a word…” he said, asking her to come into his office just as you were about to stand up and do the same.

“What did the doctor say?” he then asked reluctantly while lightening himself a cigarette. Lizzie has had some complications she claimed and Tommy urged her to get checked out even though he believed that it was simply the result of the last fight they had which happened to be about you.

“Everything is fine with the baby. It must have been the stress which caused the contractions prematurely” Lizzie pointed before reaching for one of Tommy’s hands and placing it onto her stomach.

“I have felt a kick today. The very first one” she told him just before Tommy withdrew his hand from her growing bump.

“There is nothing to be stressed about Lizzie” he told her but Lizzie disagreed.

“Thomas…” she said sternly before carrying on. ”I am having a child, on my own, because the man who got me pregnant does not want to be with me. That is fucking stressful” Lizzie then told him, causing Tommy to sigh/

“Lizzie! I gave you options and I bought you a fucking house, didn’t I? Eh? What else do you want?” he asked angrily while Lizzie broke out in tears.

“I don’t want a fucking house Tommy! I want a husband and a father for my child” Lizzie spat before tears tumbled down her face.

“We fucking talked about this…” Tommy said sternly while trying to reach for her hands with one of his and, before he could finish his sentence, Lizzie interrupted him.

“We did and you said that you would be there for us after Ruby is born” Lizzie reminded him, causing Tommy to nod.

“And I will keep my promise to you. I will care for you and I will care for our daughter” Tommy said before telling her once again that he does not and will not love her. “I told you how I feel Lizzie. I told you many times” he reminded her but she did not want to hear it.

“You did, but you also need to be mindful of the upcoming elections” Lizzie then reminded him, seeing that it would not look good for him to have a child outside of marriage, especially not with her, a woman who was known to have worked as a prostitute for many years.

“And I am fucking mindful, eh. You do not need to remind me” Tommy then spat in response to Lizzie’s suggestion. He knew what was expected of him. Polly had told him many times over, suggesting for him to marry the mother of his unborn child in order to preserve his seemingly perfect image.

“Then what is this whore still doing here Tommy?” Lizzie then asked, angering Tommy even more.

“Careful Lizzie” he cautioned her while withdrawing his hands from hers and reaching for his glass of whiskey instead.

“You are so fucking weak Thomas” Lizzie spat whereas, the truth was, that she knew that he was simply falling in love with you and this worried her. “You employ her and she can’t even fucking read” Lizzie went on to say while, unbeknownst to her, you could hear everything. You were right outside, listening to their argument. “So what the fuck is she doing here? Are you fucking her?” Lizzie then finally asked as, clearly, Tommy was lost for words.

“Enough!” he told her, not wanting to hear anymore nonsense but Lizzie would not let it go.

“Just tell me Thomas. Did you fuck her?” she thus spat again, causing Tommy to shake his head.

“No Lizzie. I did not fuck her, but even if I did, it would be none of your business, eh” he told her. “She is good with numbers, so she is looking after some of the books” he then went on to say just as Lizzie stormed out of the door, running into you, which is also when Tommy realised that you must have heard everything that Lizzie had said to him.

“So she can count, but she can’t fucking read. Isn’t that funny” was the last thing Lizzie said before running into you purposely and then telling you off for standing in her way.

***

Just as Lizzie disappeared, leaving a pleasant scent of perfume behind, you approached Tommy’s desk and placed a bunch of documents on top of the cold cedar.

“Todays’ mail” you said while looking at him with some sadness in your eyes. What Lizzie had said to him about you was hurtful and, even though you knew that you probably should not care, you did.

“Thank you” Tommy said before asking you to sit down but you declined the offer, using work as an excuse which, surprisingly, Tommy did not argue about.

He allowed you to have some space while offering you the opportunity to talk to him about anything that may be on your mind but, what was on your mind was nothing you wanted to discuss.

The truth was that, in light of Lizzie’s comments and remarks, you felt somewhat unworthy. You felt as though you were not good or smart enough and did not quite understand why a man like Thomas Shelby would take an interest in you. You were a petty thief, who could neither read nor write.

You felt as though you were always overlooked; always the second choice – just an option, never a priority, yet it seemed like you had always been watched, judged and compared. You were never good enough at or for anything and there was always someone waiting to let you know what you did wrong and what you could have done better. You were never the best and, no matter what, someone always found a fault in you or your actions and this phenomenon of dislike from another woman was nothing new to you.

But what about Tommy then? Why was he so interested in you? He could have had any woman in the whole of Birmingham but, for some reason, he wanted you.

Was this a game for him? Did it mean anything? You did not know and, at least for now, you did not want to think about it. You simply wanted to better yourself and learn what you needed to learn in order to do well at your first legitimate job. This was your priority and you knew anything else was not as important as your ability to survive comfortably in world as harsh as this.

***

With that in mind, you left the offices of Shelby Company Limited in hurry that night. It was the first day since you started working for Thomas Shelby that you left you on time and without saying goodbye to him, which certainly did not go unnoticed, causing Tommy to follow you.

That night, you went home to your lodging in order to learn how to write and read. You tried to teach yourself these skills after spending your first weeks of wages on utensils, including a book, a pen and some paper.

Unfortunately for you though, learning how to write and read without any help was a terrible idea and you became rather frustrated with yourself as, even your best efforts, were not quite good enough.

You were not getting anywhere with this and unbeknownst to you, you were being watched just as you threw the book and paper into the far corner of the room before curling up on your bed.

You were upset that you could not do better than that and, in the end, you cried yourself to sleep that night. It was too much for you to handle, the pressure of real employment in which you felt as though you were failing.

***

The following morning however, you put on a brave face once again, applied some make up and picked out an outfit you had not worn before. It consisted of a loosely fitting top, tied together with silk and a pencil skirt, matched with a black pair of short heels.

As usual, you walked to work and, as you did, you covered your arms with a long coat, hiding away your scars and the tattoo covering some of them even in spite of Tommy having told you not to bother. According to him, there was no need for you to cover your arms other than with some nice jewellery perhaps. That was, of course, if you liked jewellery he said which, in itself, was a comment that amused you.

Of course you liked jewellery but, every time you stole something nice, you had to sell it again in order to pay your bills and purchase food. Thus, you had no jewellery. Not even a pair of earrings.

Minutes later, at around 8 o’clock

“Where is Tommy?” you asked as you walked into the office but, according to Finn, his youngest brother, he had some business to attend to in London that day.

“He won’t be back today” Finn said and you were almost a little disappointed by that since you dressed up so nicely simply to impress him.

Of course, you could not compete with his expensive suits and his shiny watch, but Tommy always complimented you on your style and that, too, you appreciated.

Most of your clothes were stolen which, of course, he knew so, once, he even offered you some money to buy yourself something nice instead of stealing it, but this was on offer you declined.

You wanted to earn your money through an honest day of labour you said and this is when you found out about Tommy’s intention to become an MP for the Labour Part. This, you thought, was ironic considering that he owned the majority of businesses in the area. He was a capitalist, but people believed him nonetheless when he spoke about socialist values in his campaign. He was smart and convincing. People loved him because he went to France, then built up his empire from scratch before giving employment to the poor. Thomas Shelby was too smart for most and this is why he probably should not be with you. You could not compete with his intellect, although you did a good job laundering his money even with the limited writing and reading skills you had.

Later that day, at around 5 o’clock

Then, just as you were pondering on about Tommy and his hidden skills again, you heard his familiar voice behind you, startling you which, too, was talent of his.

“Get your coat Love” he said just as he zoomed by with a cigarette in his mouth.

“Why?” you asked surprised. It was already 5 o’clock and you were about ready to finish up for the day.

“I am taking you somewhere. Come on” Tommy then said with a smile and, just for a moment, you got lost in his deep blue eyes.

“Where are you taking me Mr Shelby?” you asked cheekily as he reached for your hand and dragged you to his car which was a dark grey Bentley.

“You will see” Tommy said and, right after he had helped you into your seat just like a gentleman would, he sat down in the driver’s seat and drove off to a destination unknown.

As you were driving though, you kept on nagging him, wanting to know where he was taking you and, after a while, he gave in.

“To the state library” he said and you pointed out to him that the state library in Birmingham closes at 5 o’clock. It was now almost half past five and there was no way you could still get in there.

“My sister works at the library and I have asked her for the key. She said that I could borrow it, provided that I do not steal anything so, needless to say, the same goes for you, eh” Tommy chuckled and you simply rolled your eyes, thinking that he was trying to insult you.

“You know that I cannot read, so what would I steal, huh? A book?” you asked and Tommy smiled at you once again.

“I know that you cannot Love, but you have been trying to learn, eh?” Tommy then said while gently placing his hand on to yours while you nodded out a quiet and reluctant “yes”.

“I watched you last night as you were trying to read the paper you took from the gambling den” Tommy then admitted as if there was nothing wrong with that but you immediately told him to stop the car and let you out.

“Why?” Tommy asked while pulling over nonetheless. He was confused as to why you were so upset.

“Because you have been spying on me. That is not acceptable Tommy” you spat as soon as the car came to a standstill and Tommy shook his head gently before, slowly, caressing your face.

“I was coming to check on you Love. I was worried about you after what Lizzie had said that day, but…” he said gently but you interrupted him.

“But what?” you asked angrily. “You cannot invade my privacy like that” you then pointed out, causing Tommy to nod.

“I am sorry Love. I was wrong” he admitted in the most tender tone you had ever heard from him and hearing such an admission of wrongdoing from a man like Thomas Shelby was somewhat surprising.

“Just let me help you, eh?” Tommy then said, seeing that you had calmed down and, again, you nodded.

“Why do you do this for me Tommy?” you asked, smitten and he smiled once more.

“I thought that was obvious” he then said before giving you a gentle kiss on the lips. “I like you” he told you before turning away again and putting the vehicle into gear while you were left with an abundance of little butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

Twenty minutes later…

Twenty minutes later and you finally arrived at the state library on the outskirts of Birmingham and, whilst you did not want to admit it to Tommy, this was your very first time in a place like this.

Books among books covered the walls of the library, climbing the two-story-tall to the ceiling. The library was so big that a tree could have easily grown in the middle of it and everything looked like you were in a fairy tale.

The light was dim as it had already started to get dark outside and the fact that you were there, on your own, with Tommy, made this experience so much better.

Having met Ada Shelby on numerous occasions throughout the past week, you were not surprised that she chose to work in a place like this. Unlike Tommy, Polly and Finn, who were the only ones from the Shelby clan you had met thus far, Ada was rather calm and collected.

She suited a place like this well, a sanctuary away from the harsh world, protecting the people from hatred and welcoming them to a world of peace and knowledge.

And that is exactly how you felt now, here, with Tommy. Protected and at ease. You knew that you did not have to be on guard when he accompanied you. You felt safe for once and he clearly knew that as, more suddenly than usual, he took one of your hands into one of his and guided you through this almost sacred place.

“Come on, let’s find a book to read, eh?” Tommy then said before giving you a choice. “What do you feel like?” he then asked while reading from the map afront the large hallway where each genre was divided into separate sections. “We have books on the revolution, oppression, love, adventure and crime” he finally pointed out and, within a blink of an eye, you chose.

“Love” you said, smiling nervously.

“Love, eh?” he chuckled before reaching for a random book on the shelf and then asking you to follow him. This genre was unfamiliar to him so this book was clearly going to be as good as any.

“Where are going now?” you then wanted to know as he led the way through the very large library.

“Well, since we are reading about love, perhaps we should sit down somewhere more romantic, eh” Tommy then said. He was clearly teasing you but that did not bother you in the slightest.

“I suppose so. You are quite the romantic, Thomas Shelby” you observed with blushing cheeks but Tommy simply broke out in yet another chuckle.

“I have been called many things before Love, but romantic is not one of them” he teased again before, finally, he found a nice desk beneath a large window through which the street lights were shining in.

He pulled a chair out for you from beneath the desk and lid a few candles so that there was enough light for you to read. When he lid the candles, he used the matches he carried with him before returning them into his black suit jacket which, only moments later, he took off.

“Do you always carry a gun?” you asked, seeing that, on top of his white shirt and vest, he wore a black leather gun holster.

“Yes. I like to be prepared” Tommy admitted and you gave him a shy little nod as he sat down right by your side.

“Now, shall we start?” he then asked and you nodded. You were nervous to say the least. You did not want Tommy to see you in a vulnerable state like this and, just as he touched the top of your hand to guide it across the page, you flinched.

“I am sorry” you told him as, again, he had startled you with his touch which he must have realised was a little to abrupt for your liking.

“It’s alright Love” Tommy said before promising you again that he would not hurt you.

“I know you would not. But these are my reflexes. I did not see it coming” you admitted nervously while, once again, Tommy placed his hand on to yours, this time more slowly than before.

“How about this?” he asked as you watched his fingers make contact with the skin on the top of your hand. “Is this better?” Tommy wanted to know and you nodded.

“Good, I will leave my hand there. Now, try again” he instructed and so you did. You kept on reading the words the best you could and Tommy helped you whenever you needed him to.

He sounded out the letters for you and, whilst you were able to make sense of the shorter syllabus, the longer ones took much more effort.

“Very good” Tommy smiled, encouraging you after every half page you read until, eventually, after an hour or so, you needed a break.

***

“Well, I must say that I did not expect a book written by a woman to be quite as explicit as this” you told Tommy as, even in chapter one of the novel, there was a lot of intimacy going on between the king and his maid in this story.

“Would you prefer to read something else?” he asked, hoping that none of this was making you feel uncomfortable.

“No. I want to read this and find out what happens between them. Will they find eternal love, you think?” you then asked Tommy, causing him to chuckle. The truth was, that he did not care. The book did not interest him in the slightest but your company did. He loved being with you, even if that meant reading novels like this.

“Most fairy tales have a happy ending these days, so I would presume that they will, indeed, end up together” Tommy thus chuckled in response just before you read some more, with which he helped.

***

“The women at Madam Juan used to talk about things like this sometimes and I enjoyed listening to them” you then observed as, finally, you finished chapter one.

“What things?” Tommy asked before closing the book. He knew that you must have had enough reading for one night and thus was eager to engage in a conversation with you instead. He wanted to learn more about you and, maybe, even get closer towards you again.

“Pleasurable things even amongst all of the terrible encounters they had” you responded while Tommy carefully took your hands into his again.

“Y/N, these women offer sex to men for money and I am sure that, at least on occasion, they feel great pleasure while doing it. It is within human nature to enjoy sex. We are meant to feel pleasure” Tommy then told you reluctantly, seeing that your understanding of intimacy was quite different to his.

“Well, I have never felt comfortable with intimacy and, whilst the notion of sex is intriguing for me, the majority of men I have met in the past scare me” you admitted in response to Tommy’s observation, causing him to make another one.

“That, I have realised” Tommy told you just before you cupped his face gently.

“You don’t scare me though” you then told him and he appeared to be very pleased to hear that.

“You know that the men who inflicted pain upon these women at Madam Juan are not the norm and I have made arrangements for them. Their actions will be dealt with. There will be consequences and, I am sure that, one day, there will also be consequences for your step father” Tommy informed you before making another comment. “Engaging in sex should never be a terrible thing even if it is done for money and trusting another person is an integral part of survival. After France, I lost my trust as well Love. I stopped trusting many people, but I have since learned that there are some people who can be trusted” he said and your face suddenly turned so much redder than before. You were amazed by his attitude and pleased by the way he interacted with you. He was so gentle and yet knowledge.

“Tommy?” you thus asked after giving it some more thought and in spite of the fact that you were way too shy to actually complete your sentence.

“Yes, what is it?” he asked while still holding on to your hands gently.

“Do you think that you could kiss me again? Like the other day?” you then stammered and Tommy smiled before, slowly, leaning in and pressing his lips on to yours for a split second.

“Not like that” you then said, almost chasing his lips with yours as he withdrew them from you. You were disappointed and confused and wondered whether he no longer wanted you.

“No?” Tommy asked and it was obvious to you now that he was just teasing you. “Show me how you want me to kiss you then” he then told you while never letting go of your hands as, this time around, your fingers intertwined with his gently.

You then inhaled sharply and slowly leaned in. You closed your eyes and pressed his lips on to his almost as tentatively as he did just seconds ago.

Your kiss was light at first and, after about twenty seconds or so, you built some more confidence as the moment of passion had overcome your senses.

Overwhelmed with need, you pulled Tommy closer towards you as you were nervously exploring his lips, then parting yours slightly, finally allowing your tongues to meet.

It was at this point that Tommy pushed his tongue slightly into your mouth, taking control. The tips of your tongues were moving together slowly now, and he was savouring the taste of your mouth that he had been longing for.

Your tongues were intertwined for what felt like an hour, but your body was still facing forwards like you were frozen in motion. The movement of your tongues increased as you kissed passionately. Every second was exhilarating, and neither of you want this moment to end.

Eventually, after kissing each other so much that your lips had turned red, you moved both of your hands to Tommy’s face and the light touch on his cheeks gave him the confidence to continue. Thus, he pushed his tongue deeper in to your mouth, pushing and pulling, twisting and turning. Your saliva was mixing within each other's mouths and you gently bit Tommy’s lip causing, eliciting an inadvertent groan from him which, in the end, pushed you over the edge of wanting more.

“Tell me Love, what do you feel when we kiss?” Tommy eventually asked just after he pulled away from you in order to catch his breath. His hands were now caressing your face before gently running down the side of your neck.

“There is a feeling, a tingling sensation, just like the woman in the book describes it. It feels strange but really fucking good” you explained almost desperately, causing Tommy to smile at you again.

“Does it feel like pleasure?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yes. I think it does. It is amazing” you admitted with blushing cheeks just as Tommy placed a strain of hair behind your ear.

“Good. May I kiss you again then?” he asked and you nodded before giving into his onslaught once more but, much to your surprise, his lips did not remain on yours but, instead, slowly moved towards your neck.

“Is this okay Love?” Tommy whispered against your ear while kissing your sensitive skin before gently and teasingly nibbling on it. His lips and teeth were sparking sensations you had never felt before and all you could do was respond with a low whimper.

“Oh god” you moaned as his mouth finally made its way to your cleavage and, when Tommy groaned against your skin, you suddenly moaned loudly.

“You are so fucking perfect” Tommy murmured against your skin as you grabbed hold of his hair, pulling him towards you. Your head was spinning now and, whilst you panicked a little, your mind was consumed with lust and need.

You suddenly wanted to feel his lips everywhere on your body but, just as you whispered the word “more” against his ear, you both heard a loud noise.

“Tommy?” a man said from the far corner of the library and Tommy sighed angrily.

“Fuck” he spat, not wanting to be disturbed but since this was probably important, he quickly pulled away from you and straightened up.

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

Tommy Shelby Tag List:

@fastfan

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asha-mage · 5 months

Text

WoT Meta: Prophecies, Fated Lovers, and Robert Jordan's knack for finding the nuance underneath the myth

One complaint I've never understood about the way Jordan writes romances is the persistent claim that he over uses the 'prophesied love' trope.

In part for me, I think it's a little bit folks not seeing the forest for the trees. WoT is fundamentally about the relationship between myth and reality: the place where the fallen angel meets the disgruntled academic, the bitter accountant, and the man who never got over being too short. It's a story where the messiah is real and dealing with chronic pain and PTSD from his stigmata. Where a legendary High Queen has to deal with both marching armies to the apocalypse, and the irritating banal realities of being pregnant at the same time. Of course Jordan digs into the idea of prophesied love- it's a huge theme in folklore and mythologies the world over. Jordan wants to dig into what it really means for there to be a person out there that you are destined to be with: that is a match for you, decreed so by the universe itself....and that you get absolutely no agency and choice in choosing. If anything Tumblr, which adores the 'red string of fate'/'soulmark'/'soulmates share pain'/'world is black until you look into your soulmates eyes' (to name a few of the more prevalent ones- some of which Tumblr practically invented), should be super on board for the parade of fated lovers to be found in WoT. It's nothing short of baffling to me that their not more fondly viewed.

And I think that is tied to the follow up complaint: the criticism that Jordan 'uses prophecy love as a replacement for a romance arc'. But that is something that is just. Patently untrue.

Cause the thing is that is how soulmates are often used...in the majority of soulmate au fanfics you find here and on AO3- an excuse to get the really hard part (two characters realizing they are right for each other and love each other, then having the communication skills to articulate that so they can start a relationship) out of the way, so the author can focus on the fluff or angst or other part they and the audience want to get to. And that's fine! But that's not at all what Jordan does. Just like he does with the Prophecies of the Dragon, or Elaida's fortellings, or even just most of Min's viewings- Jordan takes the idea of the prophecy soulmate, this person decreed by some higher power to be Perfect For You and being right about it, and digs deeper, shining it in different lights and attacking it from different angles. Jordan gives the concept of the soulmate teeth, explores the spines and the sharp points of it: is it real love if it's fated and not your choice? Can you trust your own feelings, or are they fate's design working against you as surely as Aphrodite worked against Helen or Eros against Apollo? What is it like, to see someone one day, and know, beyond a shadow of a doubt that you would love this stranger? This question mark? This wildcard?

Rand's relationships with Min and Aviendha, as well as Mat and Tuon's courtship are great examples of this conundrum. Min and Aviendha have completely opposite reactions to the same information that demonstrates their unique strengths and weaknesses as characters and people, while Tuon and Mat's courtship is all about two people who know they will marry trying to figure out what that means, without ever confronting the reality of those prophecies directly.

Min, as befits a Seer who has learned time and time again that her viewings can not be changed, has resigned herself in an almost fatalistic fashion to all of them, and to loving Rand no less. Min knows that she, and two others, will love him, and she accepts its inevitability the same way she accepts Colavere's death, or Logain's glory, or the shattering of the White Tower. What is, is, and there is no sense or point in struggling against it. What concerns her a great deal more is what she doesn't know- she doesn't know if Rand will love her in return, she doesn't know the identity of the other two women who will love him, and she doesn't know if he will fall in love with one or both of the others but not her. Add to that Min's own insecurities about how she stands out and doesn't fit what her society deems 'proper', between her crossdressing, and her offputting manners, and it makes perfect sense that she's worried about making Rand love her. She doesn't mind sharing him- she hates the idea of being in love with a man who doesn't love her in return, of being stuck like 'Elmindreda' of the stories, sighing and pining endlessly for a man instead of being able to act, to take control of her own fate.

So she takes control: she learns to flirt from Leane, works hard at making herself desirable, and also indispensable: with her visions, her advice, even just her emotional support to Rand when he otherwise has no one else. The irony is that whenever Rand thinks of Min prior to her return to his side in LoC, it's about how much he liked her earthy honesty and lack of wiles: how she was earnest and made him feel at ease, and didn't 'spin his head like a top'- and that's still what he loves about her after they get together: the fact that she isn't fooled by his front, that she sees him clearly and refuses to be driven away the way so many others are so easily. The point is that Min never had to change, and in the ways that matter she didn't- she only thought she did because of her own fatalism.

Contrast that with Aviendha, who, after learning about being destined to fall in love with Rand, does everything in her power to prevent that outcome- because she is a warrior, a soldier, who has never yet met a problem that could not be killed, endured, or retreated from. Aviendha values nothing so much as her honor and her word- she has promised to keep Rand safe for Elayne and what greater act of dishonor could there be in that situation then not just failing in that promise, but despoiling (and she does view it that way) said man herself? So she is awful to him in the hopes of poisoning the well of affection or at least keeping him far enough away that she is never tempted. Aviendha hurls contempt and anger at him, berates him, does everything short of trying to stab him in an effort to make him hate her, and it doesn't work. Despite all her efforts to keep her thorny wall up, they are literally made for each other and can not help but be drawn together time and again. Despite all her efforts to insist, to him and herself, that she hates him, she can not hide entirely that the opposite is true: that she likes him, sees his strength and courage and resilience, and is a little in awe of his generous kindness.

This is why she vacillates wildly between wanting desperately to get away from him in The Fires of Heaven, to not wanting to leave his side: they are two planets caught in each other's gravity, with about as much chance of escaping each other. When she resorts to the last recourse of a soldier- retreat- and runs headlong into a blizzard that would surely kill her, Rand follows to try and save her life and she can deny the truth that she loves him no longer, nor can she resist taking him, even knowing that to redress that balance, she will one day have to offer her life to Elayne (as she attempts to do in LoC)- though fate still has other plans in store.

But in many ways the apex of this, the relationship that really shows Jordan's deconstruction of this trope, is Mat and Tuon. Before they ever lay eyes on each other, each is given a prophecy that they will marry the other: not that they'll love each other, not that they will be able to trust each other, not even that that will like each other: just that they will marry. And their strange courtship is a result of this knowledge, as each attempts to suss out the other, to try and understand them without ever overplaying their own hand. Each believes that the moment they admit their prophecy they will destroy any chance of real connection or understanding.

To Tuon, if Mat learns he is destined to wed her he gains something she can not abide: power over her, leverage that could be used to subvert her own plans and visions- because nothing matters more to Tuon than control, especially over herself. So she keeps her 'fortune' secret and tries to figure out: What will it mean to be married to Mat? Will he be a pretty trophy? A liability? A threat to her Empire? Will she have to kill him once she gets her heirs?

To Mat, if Tuon learns of his prophecy, she gains the power to take away his freedom, to snare and collar him and bind him to her, because that's how Mat deep down views marriage: as a binding cord, a loss of freedom, and nothing matters to Mat more than freedom. So he keeps his *Finn gained knowledge secret and tries to figure out: What will it mean to be collared by Tuon? Will she she treat him as a pretty and plaything the way Tylin did? Will she try to use him against Rand and the Westlands? Will she make him a slave and sent him to be beaten anytime he disobeys her? Will he have no choice but to fight her one day, this woman he is going to swear to spend his life with? Will he have to kill her the way he did Melindhra, and carry that guilt of mariticide on top of all else?

So the two stay in their strange limbo, because as long as they don't admit it out loud to the other, they can pretend they are still two people forced together by happenstance, and (each thinks) they can continue to try and understand and figure out the other, to find out where this inevitability of their marriage will really leave them, and if there can be even the faintest possibility of love in such circumstances. And that limbo- that protracted refusal to act as if they are under fate's direction- is what allows them to build a genuine bond of trust and respect for each other, and to start seeing the other person with the clarity that love requires. All this, so that when Tuon finally does play her hand, and reveal the truth....it's obvious they've long since fallen in love with each other (even though Tuon won't admit that to herself), and come to trust each other (even though Mat won't admit that to himself).

And the thing is- all of Jordan’s prophecy romances are written like this: from Egwene seeing that loving Gawyn might be both their downfalls in LoC and seeking him out anyways, to Perrin misinterpreting the 'falcon and hawk' viewing and thinking Faile is a danger to him when she's the love of his life, to Galad and Berelain not even being AWARE they’re fated to fall in love and just....do, at wild first sight (Another classic folklore/mythology trope). They also never find out: always remaining unaware that the Pattern had long since decreed that they would be together and being incredibly funny/annoying about it. The prophesied love is an example of classic Jordan: taking a common, maybe even ubiquitous premise, and asking those complicating questions that allow him to write it as something much more nuanced and interesting and fascinating. And he gets no credit for it, send tumble.

#Wheel of Time #WoT #Robert Jordan #WoT Meta #Wheel of Time Meta #Min Farshaw #Aviendha #Rand al'Thor #Mat Cauthon #tuon athaem kore paendrag #randmin #avirand #mat x tuon #matuon #WoT Book Spoilers #TOM Spoilers #I wanted to write more about some of the other Fated Lovers pairs in the series but this already got insanely long

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vizthedatum · 1 year

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Human-centered communication

Just had a meeting with one of my bosses - right after a court hearing over the phone (more on that later).

And... I'm not a failure and behind? It's weirdly dissonating that even though there are like 4 people I still need to get back to (and a bunch of projects I'm still working on with no finished deliverable), I'm doing as expected in this job where I'm basically an on-call biostatistician for docs at a hospital. Month 2 and my email is full but I have ideas, I'm doing the work, I'm tracking my stuff, and I'm having some major trauma-freezes and trauma-flashbacks (ugh), but yeah! Dissonating because... my brain catastrophizes ("I'm horrible and dumb and not doing anything") but actually... it's going fine: I'm doing what I can do with what I have (and that's fucking fine, Rose, omfg *swats self*), and I'm communicating with people the best I can. The nature of medical research is like this, and I'm doing fine. I'm doing fine.

Plus, my boss told me that at her first ever meeting with the head boss of our institute, she broke down crying involuntarily about her divorce.

So.

Yeah.

(Did not cry but did look kinda distressed although somehow... put together. But only because my gf and my really close friend were there earlier this morning holding my hand throughout the whole thing - I AM SO THANKFUL. Regulation with my community is so essential to my self-care and journey... and I would and am doing the same for them. I love my friends so fucking much.)

People understand people, even if you think you're too much (and not enough at the same time, hah - my fucking brain).

#human centered approach #people first #work life #healing #trauma #heartbreak #divorce #feeling behind at a new job #working while ptsd - what a concept #ptsd #living with ptsd #needing money #capitalism #fucking capitalism #people understand people

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pedroscurls · 1 year

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Third Time’s A Charm (Part 1).

Character(s): Frankie “Catfish” Morales , Reader (female, second person POV) Summary: There is history between you and Frankie. In fact, you have both broken up twice and yet, you still seem to find your way back to each other. Could this third chance be the last and final one? Word Count: 2,339 Author's Note: And we’re here! Frankie Morales officially has my heart. I’m so excited for you all to read what I have in store for this story. We’re in for a ride. Please note that this story will have mentions of drug use / addiction and PTSD, but I will give a warning for each chapter. Happy reading! Warning: None.

Right person, wrong time. You and Frankie knew that concept all too well. You both could never get the timing right, but the amount of love you two shared never faded. It always lingered, always gave you both a feeling that maybe one day, it would work out. You left it in the universe’s hands at that point, a firm believer that if it was meant to be, you will find your way back to each other.

But after he got married, you started to keep your distance. It hurt too much to be around him. You shared so much history with Frankie and being around him, seeing him with another woman that wasn’t you, just didn’t feel right.

Yes, you both still talked, still checked in with each other, but the conversations became less and less frequent.

You never did get along with his wife, part of the reason being that she didn’t like that Frankie was still friends with a woman he had been in a relationship with… Twice.

So, when Santiago showed up on your doorstep one afternoon, you were surprised to say the least. It had been a little over a year since you spoke to the other man, having heard from Will that he had been in Colombia.

But here he was. A smile on his face paired with warm and kind eyes. Santiago was Frankie’s best friend. In fact, he was the reason why you and Frankie had been in a relationship to begin with. He had set you both up on a blind date after believing that you and Frankie would make a great pair, and Santiago wasn’t wrong.

You and Frankie were both shy at the beginning of the date, teetering on being polite and also not knowing what to expect, but after a couple of drinks and a shared interest over planes, you both started to relax.

It was truly one of the best dates you had ever been on and it only kickstarted the beautiful, yet painful relationship with Frankie.

The first breakup was mutual, both too afraid to admit that this relationship could be something beautiful. The breakup only lasted four months before Frankie reached out to you, asking you out for a cup of coffee to see how you were doing. It didn’t take long before you both admitted that you still loved each other, that the feelings you shared hadn’t left.

And so, you both tried to give it another shot.

But the second breakup was painful. You and Frankie had been together for three years before the breakup. You had been accepted into a very competitive master’s program at a college in California, which was a dream you always had even before Frankie. The program would last for two years and you and Frankie had made the decision to end the relationship.

You both agreed that you didn’t want to try a long distance relationship, afraid that it might just ruin the relationship you both built.

“I love you,” he whispered. You both decided to end the relationship a month before you had to leave, not wanting to prolong the inevitable even further.

“Will we ever get the timing right?” you asked.

Frankie didn’t know the answer to that. He hadn’t ever felt this way about someone and while this seemed so painful, to end a relationship without even trying to make it work, it made sense. He knew how important this program was to you, how passionate you were about teaching, about literature, that he couldn’t ask you to stay. It would be selfish of him to ask that of you.

Frankie didn’t want to let you go, but he knew that he had to.

“I guess we’ll find out,” he finally replied.

“Two years…” you said quietly. “It’s only gonna be two years and I’ll visit for the holidays and–”

Frankie shushed you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. He looked into your eyes for a brief moment before he scanned the rest of your features, memorizing every inch of your face, every freckle and mole… This seemed like goodbye.

“Don’t,” he interrupted. “I mean, I want you to go to California without having to worry about me, about us.”

“I love you, Frankie…”

“I love you too, baby.” Frankie was never someone who allowed himself to show emotions, to cry, but being with you had shown him that all he needed was a safe space, someone to show him that it was okay to feel things, to express how you were feeling. But right now, he didn’t want to show his pain, afraid that if you noticed it, you would put your dream on hold to stay here, in Florida, with him. “You’re going to be great.”

“I’m gonna miss you.”

Frankie gently pecked your lips. “I’ll be right here when you get back, baby.”

But six months into your program, you had become so busy, so engrossed in your studies that Frankie had taken a backseat. You knew that he would be okay; he had Santiago, Will, Benny, and Tom. While he didn’t promise that he would wait for you, it still surprised you when you found out he was engaged and eventually married.

Santiago and the rest of the guys always believed that you would come back from California and pick up right where you and Frankie left off. You had spent plenty of time with Frankie’s friends, hearing plenty of stories from their time in the military. You even felt like you were part of their group, teasing Santiago and Benny about the women they tried to pick up, confiding in Will when Frankie was in a slump, and even finding comfort in Tom’s presence.

“Santi,” you finally said. “This is a surprise.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Had to come visit you,” Santiago smiled, pulling you into a hug. “How are you?”

You took comfort in his embrace. It felt like forever since you felt this safe. Frankie and his group of friends always gave you that feeling, that sense of security.

“I’m good,” you replied, pulling back and looking into his eyes. “I heard you’ve been in Colombia.”

“From Frankie?”

You shook your head. “From Will actually.”

Santiago nodded. You let him inside your apartment and shut the door behind you. You walked towards the kitchen, hearing his boots against your wooden floors as he followed you.

“Have you talked to Frankie?”

You shook your head, grabbing two glasses to fill with water. “I haven’t talked to him in over a year. I talk to Will and Benny, though. I get my updates from them. Tom’s– He’s been dealing with the separation, so I haven’t spoken to him either.”

“You haven’t talked to Frankie in that long?” Santiago asked, surprised.

“He’s married and his wife made it very clear that she isn’t comfortable with us talking, so out of respect, I decided that it would be best to keep my communication with Frankie limited.” You handed him the glass. “I hear he’s doing okay, though.”

“You know, us guys always thought it would be you two,” Santiago admitted, taking the glass of water from you and nodding his thanks. “You kept him grounded. Hell, you kept all of us grounded.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Yeah right. Keep you five men grounded? Sure, Santi.”

“I’m serious,” he smiled. “Having you around… It was nice. Frankie always told us–”

“Santiago,” you interrupted. “He has moved on. I still love him, still care about him, but he’s married.”

Santiago nodded. “Right, yeah. I’m sorry.”

“So, what brings you by? Unannounced, by the way. You could have called.”

He chuckled. “Beats the element of surprise.”

You arched a brow, sitting across from him. “What’s going on?”

And from there, Santiago told you about his plan about asking the guys to come back to Colombia with him. You had spent so much time with Frankie and the rest of the guys that their stories about their time in the military didn’t scare you. Instead, it made you sad, frustrated, angry for Frankie, Santiago, Will, Tom, and Benny that they had to endure what they went through only to be cast aside once they were retired veterans.

Santiago’s plan sounded dangerous, but if they could pull it off, the reward would be worth it. But for the plan to work successfully, he needed Frankie, Tom, Benny, and Will to be on board. He needed all of them.

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to react. You noticed that Santiago always had the ideas, never small, always big. He believed that he could get Lorea, while simultaneously seizing worth seventy-five million dollars.

“What do you think? You think I can get all of them on board?” Santiago asked.

“I think that’s a big ask, Santi.” You sighed. You were sure that each man had something going on, but at the same time, you knew how tight knit this group was. You knew that if Santiago showed this much passion to the guys, then you knew that they would back him up. No matter what. “But you know them more than I do, so you tell me.”

Santiago nodded, looking around your apartment. “I bet with your help, I can convince them no problem.”

“No,” you shook your head. “Santiago, I can’t.”

“Why not? You know all of us. We all love you, trust you, and–”

“Santiago,” you interrupted. “I believe in you… I believe in all of you, but–”

“This can be good for us,” he replied. “This money and getting Lorea? Not only will Colombia be safer, but the money can do a lot of good for us.”

“I don’t want the money. I’m not even going to Colombia, so I don’t think I should get any part of it.” You said quietly. “Besides, I can’t– I don’t want to be part of something this dangerous. You can all get hurt, or worse.”

“We won’t. We know what we’re doing. This will be easy compared to what we’ve done.” Santiago reached out for you, his eyes softening, pleading. “Listen, how about you just come by tonight? Benny’s fighting and I’m sure the guys will love to see you. It’ll be like old times.”

“Is Frankie going to be there?”

“I don’t know,” Santiago lied. “Besides, if he is, I know he’d be happy to see you.”

“Santi…”

“Please,” he said quietly. You could tell this meant a lot to him. This mission, giving back to the people of Colombia, to the guys who struggled after getting out of the military… You knew he needed this.

“Fine,” you replied. “But only because I miss Benny’s fights.”

He grinned in triumph, standing and pulling you into a hug. “I’ll pick you up tonight. We can go together.”

“Okay, but the first round is on you.”

—

You were sitting at the front, waiting for Santiago while he and Will went to the men’s locker room. You were drinking a beer, albeit very warm but alcohol nonetheless, as you watched the fights with little interest. The crowd was merely waiting for Benny, and so were you. In fact, you were waiting for Santiago and Will to come back out so that you wouldn’t have to be alone.

There were a couple of men who had come up to you, trying to make small talk, but you had told them you weren’t interested. In fact, you haven't been in a serious relationship since Frankie. The man had set the bar so high that no other man could ever reach. Sure, there were a few that have tried, but you always ended it before it could get too serious.

You were standing now, though, the crowd piquing your interest as you looked towards the cage to see two men, all bloodied and exchanging punches. While this would have deterred plenty of women, this was actually very exhilarating for you. You had always been a fan of mixed martial arts, so you had seen Benny’s fights whenever you got the chance. Luckily, every time you went, Frankie wasn’t there.

The referee stepped in to stop the fight, the man on the ground visibly not defending himself. The crowd roared in excitement, chanting the name of the winner. A couple of minutes passed before the announcer began to announce the next fight. You heard Benny’s name and you cheered loudly, raising your arms in the air (with your beer in one hand).

You glanced over at the end of the hall to see the door open. Benny walked out, wearing bright red trunks. His face was serious, focused, but you felt your heart skip a beat when you saw Frankie. He was walking alongside Santiago and Will, trailing behind Benny.

Frankie was wearing a tan colored and brown collared jacket with a gray v-neck underneath. His jeans sat perfectly on his hips, paired with a brown belt, and boots. Your eyes skimmed him, finally noticing how his curls were tucked underneath his usual Standard Heating Oil hat.

Benny looked over at you, chuckling to himself when he noticed who you were staring at.

They stopped walking and you saw Tom join Santiago, Frankie, and Will, handing them each a cup of beer. Then, Santiago pointed in your direction. You made eye contact with him for a moment before watching Frankie turn around, his eyes finally meeting yours.

His eyes instantly softened.

Yours did too.

And you both stood there, the crowd cheering Benny’s name beginning to fade out.

You saw him and the rest of the guys walk over to you. When he was standing mere inches from you, he let out a small smile. You yearned to reach out for him, to hug him and have his arms wrap around you like before, but in the back of your mind, you remembered that the man standing before you was now married.

He was off limits.

“Hey,” Frankie said. “Long time no see, hermosa.”

---

Part 2.

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

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