#“bet you’d cry if I died” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kissenturine · 5 months ago

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𝐂𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 tartaglia x m!reader — 3.8k words, not proofread, minors do not interact

TO NOTE: amab reader, reader is a dom at first then switches halfway through, reader is mentioned to be wearing lingerie, light feminization (childe says pussy once), use of good boy amongst other pet names, light degradation, praise (for both reader and childe), childe sucks reader's dick, childe also eats reader's ass, cockwarming (childe can't take it LMAO), no aftercare written but it is given, childe licks ur fingers to clean them, mating press, dirty talk. lmk if i missed any!

KAI SAYS: almost 4k words of pure smut haha but like omg i wrote this so late at night with my tip so pls spare me AND!!! this is my return post so...

Tartaglia knows you’re doing it on purpose now, because how can you not be? He whimpers, his cheeks flushing a rosy pink as he feels you clench around him. “Baby, please.” He whines out, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I-I can’t—baby, it’s been thirty minutes.” Thirty minutes he’d been buried to the hilt in you; his dick hard and twitching as it stuffes you full.

Tartaglia whines. He could faintly hear the sound of you taking a deep breath, but that’s not what he was focusing on. No, he was focusing more on the way you squeeze him as you inhale. It was on purpose, he knew you couldn’t just be faking this.

With a deep breath, doing his best to steel his nerves, Tartaglia pressed his thumbs into the joysticks of his console again. “I…” He murmurs softly into the skin of your neck. “I don’ think I can beat this level.”

“No.” You coo in that sickeningly sweet voice of yours. “You can.”

Tartaglia nods his head, your encouragement helping lift his mood somewhat. But, true to his word, he dies yet again. Tartaglia lets out a pathetic whine when he’s greeted with the ‘You Died!’ Screen for the nth time tonight. This bet was made specifically with his torture in mind. You knew he would never beat this level, so to “motivate” him, as you put it, you would sit nice and still on his sensitive cock until he beat it.

“Can’t you move just a little, please.” Tartaglia begs, his dignity long gone. You’re evil for this, he thinks, but all of that is lost when you shift your hips slightly, his mind going blank at just the smallest friction.

He feels his tip bump your prostate, and Tartaglia knows he’s hit it when you moan out, your mouth right by his ear as his fingers press harshly against the buttons of his game console. “P-please!” He whines again. “I-I need you t’move, just a little, just a little, please.”

“Maybe, if you last another thirty minutes, I’ll consider it.” You hum, and Archons Tartaglia thinks he's losing his mind with the way your breath trickles over his ear. “But, if you make it through the level…” Your voice trails off, but Tartaglia knows what you meant.

If he makes it through the level, Tartaglia could finally fuck you. Push you against the bed, wipe that stupid smirk off your face, maybe make you sit on his face until you cry. The options, at least to him, are endless.

You trail your hand over the neck of his shirt, and Tartaglia’s eyes dart from the screen to you. You, all dressed up in your white lace panties and thigh highs, with your chest arched against his chest and here he was, still fully clothed.

Well, only thanks to you.

You, like the cruel man you are, wouldn’t let Tartaglia strip. You’d forced him to watch as you changed, stripping off your pyjamas and slipping on the lace lingerie while he sat there, half sure he was drooling. And then you’d gone and pressed him to the edge of the bed, forcing him to sit as you pulled out his leaking dick, not even bothering to pull his sweats all the way down. Then you sat your pretty hole on his dick, and Tartaglia couldn’t pull his eyes away from the way your ass practically swallowed him whole.

And then, began this whole ordeal of pure torture.

You’re sat on his lap, facing Tartaglia as his arms wrap around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder as he looks over your body and behind you to the console gripped tightly in his hands.

Tartaglia’s eyes dart to you, and they widen as he watches you shift on his dick, your tip forcing its way over the hem of your panties, now drooling pre all over his shirt. Tartaglia squeezes his eyes shut. You press a kiss right under his ear and Tartaglia twitches inside you. You let out a lewd moan and he doesn’t think he can take it anymore.

Not another thirty minutes, or another five.

Tartaglia’s hands shake, and he’s forced to watch his in-game character die again. “Fuck…” He whispers, trying not to roll his hips into your heat. “I… You’re torturing me. Can’t take this.” He whines.

You shake your head. “C’mon, baby.” You coo, using the nickname Tartaglia always uses for you. It sounds almost mocking the way it slips from your pretty lips, but he doesn’t dwell on it. “You might wanna hurry up, or I’ll have to pull out my old dildo to help me…”

No! Tartaglia thinks, and he voices such thoughts with the aggressive shake of his head against you. I can do better than a stupid dildo!

“P-Please don’t.” he says weakly. “I’m trying, I’m trying.” Tartaglia starts to concentrate on his console once again, doing his best to ignore the squeeze of your ass and the warmth of your walls.

Your tip drools pre across his shirt, twitching gently against the fabric. Tartaglia’s mouth waters. He wants to taste you, wants to bury his face between your thighs and lick every drop up. It’s an indulgence he wants to become reality more than anything.

“Can I at least touch you, please?" he asks desperately, gaze not leaving your tip. Tartaglia wants to be closer to you, to have a hand on your soft skin, to play with your dick that was so close to the cumming. He’s ready to do anything in order to make you cum, to feel you pulse around his dick. He’s losing his mind, and the game was the least of his worries. Tartaglia wants you.

"Touch me before you finish the level, and there'll be consequences." You hum. "And trust me, if you think this is bad, just wait until you see what I have in mind." you press your lips gently against Tartaglia’s neck, trailing from his adam's apple to that sweet spot right under his ear. "I'm sure you'd deprive some sick form of enjoyment from that, though."

Tartaglia whimpers at the threat. He doesn’t know what would be worse: the current situation or the punishment you offer. Sick form of enjoyment… His mind echoes. He would most likely enjoy anything you gave him right now.

And like an answer to his prayers, you shift on his dick again. Tartaglia watches as your tip pokes above the fabric of your lace panties, even higher than before. The used-to-be white was now a dark grey with the way your pre had stained and wet through the fabric. Your panties were completely soaked through, the bulge from your dick covered in pre from your leaking tip, poking just above the hem.

Slowly, you tug your dick out of the panties, making sure to slather your fingers in your precum before pressing them against Tartaglia’s lips. "Clean them up." You whisper, and the sound of your voice almost makes him melt.

The instant your fingers press against his lips, Tartaglia is eagerly licking them into his mouth, his tongue swirling your digits around and coating them in his spit. He didn’t hesitate to continue sucking on your fingers, despite knowing they were already clean enough.

“Such an eager boy,” You murmur as you yank your fingers from Tartaglia's lips. There’s a string of drool that connects your hand to his pouty lips as he gives you another pleading look.

“Will you let me touch you now?” He begs, “Please, I’ve been so good for you!” Tartaglia licks his lips, savouring the faint taste of you. He wants more, he wants to grab you by the waist and bury his face between your thighs and suck you off until you’re nothing but a mess inside his mouth.

You bring your fingers back down to your dick, swiping them over your tip and harshly pressing them against Tartaglia’s mouth. “Suck.” You command in a harsh voice, completely ignoring his previous question.

Tartaglia’s lips go back around your fingers again. He doesn’t need to be told twice when you’re the one telling him. He easterly laps at your fingers, ignoring the drool that threatens to spill from the corner of his lips. You press your fingers down against his tongue and he chokes lightly, lifting his blue eyes to meet yours,

When you finally pull your fingers out of his mouth, Tartaglia buries his head into your neck about to ask to touch you again—only for you to beat him to it. “You get two minutes to touch me, but you can only use your hands.” You start. “And, we have to stay in this position. No pulling out or thrusting." You press a kiss against Tartaglia’s lips. "Think of it as... encouragement to finish the level faster."

Tartaglia nods happily at your words, pulling off your neck to get a better view of you. “Thank you—thank you, baby, needed this.” He slurs as his eyes rake down your exposed body before honing in on your sensitive cock. He wishes you’d let him lick that instead of your fingers, but you were clear on your rules for the two minutes.

Tartaglia has two minutes, a whole two minutes to make you feel good. There’s no way he’s let them go to waste.

He wastes no time when the game is finally paused. Tartaglia cups your balls gently, feeling the weight of them in his palm. He massages them slowly, his thumb rubbing up and down the underside of your dick, feeling the warmth and the leaking pre that slipps down your shaft. Tartaglia knows nothing can make you cum in this position, but he can make you squirm, he can tease you.

His other hand wanders up, his fingers ghosting over your skin, drawing circles around your nipples before pinching them gently. He wants to hear you moan, to see you writhe. Tartaglia needs to know he was pleasing you. He gazes at your face, waiting to see a reaction, anything to show that he’s making you feel good.

Your eyes roll back and your dick twitches hard against Tartaglia’s hand. “T-Tartaglia…!” You moan out, your back arching into his chest. Tartaglia’s fingers pull gently at you nipples, tweaking and twisting the nubs between his thumb and pointer finger. Your eyes roll back and Tartaglia whines at the sight, sliding his thumb faster up and down your dick, rolling it over your tip before sliding it against your slit.

He feels your hole clench around his dick, and Tartaglia has to squeeze his eyes shut in concentration to stop himself from bucking into you. He’s about to roll his hand again when it’s suddenly pushed away from your leaking dick. You yank his hands off your nipples too, panting as you do. “Two minutes have passed.” You mumble.

Tartaglia knows you were close from the way you sounded to the way you jerked your hips into his hand. “I’m sorry.” He whines, sounding like he’s carrying the weight of the world in his heart.

With a deep breath, Tartaglia focuses back on the game again, he hopes that this time he’ll finally beat the level. He’s determined, he wants to make you cum, to please you. He needs to win.

You slump against his shoulder, clearly needy. Tartaglia sucks in a breath. You were so close. He thinks. His focus turns back to the game, moving the joystick and pressing the rounded buttons as skillfully as he can manage with you taking his cock to the hilt,

Tartaglia feels you lean forward, your hands dipping under the hem of his shirt. “I wanna see you…” You whine and his face flushes. Tartaglia doesn’t have time to respond before the game console is slipping from his hands and you’re tugging his shirt off his figure.

Another eternity passes as Tartaglia picks up the console once again, doing his best to beat the level. He closes his eyes—just about to give up when the victory music blasts throughout the bedroom. “Finally—fuck, fuck, baby.” Tartaglia groans, tossing the console and pouncing on you.

His lips press against yours, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth. Tartaglia is kissing you harshly, his lips flush against yours as your tongue gently swirls with his.

He pulls away after a minute, both of your faces flushed and panting. “I-I’m sorry it took me so long.” Tartaglia apologizes. He wants to please you, make you cum, see you lose control just because of him. He was desperate to feel you squirm against him, he wants to see the way your face would twist in pleasure when he fucks you just right.

Tartaglia slowly pulls out, hissing as he leaves your comforting warmth and is met with the harsh, cold outside air.

“Let me take you, please…” He begs, his eyes filled with desire and the need to have you. Tartaglia wanted you—no, needed you. His hand wanders back to your dick, wrapping his palm around your shaft and quickly jerking you up and down at a messy pace.

Tartaglia would do anything to have you come undone on his dick.

“Uh-huh.” You whine, and Tartaglia thinks it’s cute how all your confidence diminishes the instant you're offered some dick.

He watches you twist your body to lay flat against the bed on your back. Slowly, your legs splay into the air before you pull them back and bend them at your knees. Your ass, all empty and clenching around nothing, is now fully exposed to Tartaglia. Your hole is stretched already, from the much too long of a time you spent just sitting on his dick. Your own cock lays across your tummy, twitching and drooling uselessly,

Tartaglia sucks in a breath at the sight of your hole. His dick is throbbing at the sight, pressing angrily against his tummy, so hard and needy. He wants to do nothing more than bury himself inside you, to feel your warm muscle clench around him once more.

Slowly, he lowers himself into a kneeling position right in front of you. Tartaglia dips his head to your ass, pressing light kisses across the curve of your thighs. He trails his mouth down to your dick, taking the tip into his mouth. His eyes roll back at the feeling of finally having you in his mouth. Tartaglia sucks harshly, bobbing his head up and down your length. He runs his tongue over the underside of your shaft.

Tartaglia swirls his tongue around your overly sensitive tip, watching and depriving pure enjoyment of the way your hips buck into his mouth messily. You throw an arm over your face, trying to muffle your breathless moans and flushed face. Tartaglia gives you a harsh suck for warning, letting you know that if you don’t remove your hand now, things would get worse.

You, of course, comply, pushing your hand to the sheets and clenching them in your fist.

Tartaglia hums happily, the vibrations travelling across your shaft. He feels you twitch in his mouth and your legs thrash beside his head, squeezing and pulsing by his ears as he goes faster, making sure to let the drool spill from his lips as he moves his head.

Tartaglia pushes his lips down to your base bringing a hand to fondle your balls gently and you whine, your back arching off the bed. Your hand goes to tangle itself into Tartaglia’s hair, pushing your dick deeper down his throat. “I—holy shit—I’m c-close!” You whine, and that was enough of a signal to pull off your dick.

Tartaglia smears kisses across your ass, ignoring your desperate whines and cries, before eventually leading to your puffy hole, all nice and stretched for him. He’s quick to bury his mouth against you, already feeling his brain go mushy at the feeling. His tongue slips into you easily, and you whine at the feeling.

Tartaglia fucks his tongue into you with great fervour, not even caring for his hard dick. All he can think about is the taste of you on his tongue, the way your hole clenches down so nicely against his mouth and those sweet, sweet moans of: “M-More, please, need you so bad!” That slip from your lips and get his hips rocking his dick into the side of the mattress.

Tartaglia’s tongue pushes and prods into you, again and again until he hears you moan loudly. His eyes dart up, barely able to catch the way your back arches. Your legs shake around him yet again, your thighs squeezing around his ears, which only drives him to thrust his tongue into you further. Drool slips down his chin, but he doesn’t care, all he wants is to taste you again, and again, because, fuck, if he died right here, between your thighs, he would die a happy man.

“Right there!” You cry, Your legs threatening to squeeze tightly on Tartaglia’s head. He pushes his tongue in again, thrusting it in and out of your hole with a scary precision, making sure he hits your prostate every time.

“O-Oh, my—fuck, can’t take it!” You whine and he smirks against your tightening hole. “I need you, please, please, please, pleasepleaseplease!” You’re a complete mess, babbling nonsense as he eats you out, eyes rolling back and legs shaking in ecstasy,

All it took was him shoving a finger in, curling it in time with his tongue, for you to cum. Tartaglia eagerly pulls off your ass, watching as your dick twitches against your tummy and ropes of cum shoot from your member. He waits until you're finished before pressing his face against the mess you just made and licking it clean.

Tartaglia looks up at you from his position against your belly. “I….” He whines. “I’m still hard.” He gives an apologetic smile before going back to his first position in front of the bed, this time standing up. He lifts your collapsed legs, throwing them over his shoulders as he slaps his cock beside your limp one.

As quickly as he can, Tartaglia grabs the bottle of lube from the nightstand and smears it all over his shaft. “Help me out, pretty boy.” He whines and you whimper at the nickname. Slowly, you push yourself onto your elbows just enough to push your hand to his dick and help him spread the lube.

Tartaglia doesn’t even bother to continue once you start, only throwing his head back with a loud groan. “That’s it, o-oh, archons you’re good at this.” His eyes squeeze shut and Tartaglia has to stop himself from cumming on the spot for the nth time tonight. He doesn’t even bother to lube your hole, only murmuring a sweet, “This pussies wet enough for me, right?” before he’s pressing a messy kiss to your neck.

“Not a pussy.” You slur, but he doesn't take any mind.

“D-Don’t worry, baby.” Tartaglia coos as he presses his thick tip against your weak hole. “Promise it’ll feel so good…” He wants to be inside you, to make you come again and again.

And suddenly, he’s halfway in, the thick of Tartaglia’s shaft being swallowed almost whole by your pretty ass was almost enough to make him cum right then and there. You whine lowly, back instinctively arching into him, forcing yourself deeper onto his dick.

“Fuck, baby, look what you do t’me.” He groans, pulling out so it’s just his tip stuck in your pretty, clenching hole. Tartaglia fucks his tip into you, watching it messily slide out then in, then out then in, over and over again until he can’t take it anymore and can’t help but want more.

Tartaglia—like the pathetic man he knows he is—can’t take it anymore. He pushes in fully, but just before he does, spits a large glob of drool from his lips to the tip of your spent cock watching it twitch under the feeling. He laughs, watching your dick twitch back to life. “And to think you get off to me spitting on you.” He murmurs, before finally thrusting in fully, in one, harsh movement.

The moan you let out is so pretty and high, and Tartaglia can feel his balls grow heavy at the sound. Your voice isn’t nearly as loud as the lewd squelch of his dick pressing in, in, in and against your prostate, his tip knocking easily at it.

Tartaglia pistons his hips into you, basking in the moans and pleas for “more, more, more!” that slipped from your pretty lips. He’s pounding into you, and Tartaglia watches your head fall back against the pillow. Your hands shake as you desperately reach out to grab onto the sheets for leverage as he pushes your legs up, leaning down onto your body as he forces you into a mating press.

And, oh, Tartaglia feels like he just slipped so much deeper into you, and with the way your walls squeeze and clench and you moan his name like a mantra—Tartaglia is sure he’s just died and reached heaven.

His thrusts start to lose their rhythm, but they still manage to fill you up so much that, before Tartaglia can process what’s happening, you're crying out, your ass clenching so tightly against him he thinks he sees stars.

“I—I’m close, ‘m so close!” You cry and Tartaglia can’t help but bury his face into your neck as he thrust into your ass.

“Me too, baby.” He whimpers out. Tartaglia reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his much larger ones, before letting out a loud moan. “Together, please, baby, cum together.”

And you’re eagerly nodding your head, a mix of “yes” and “please” leaving your lips. Tartaglia isn’t even pulling out anymore, just knocking his hips against yours—no rhythm or pattern, just instinct as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Cummin’ o-oh—fuck!” You whine and Tartaglia instantly does too, feeling the way your dick spurts thick ropes of white onto your chest and his only drives him to the edge. He buries himself as deep as he can before collapsing onto you, pressing his full weight onto his hips. Tartaglia shoots a thick load of his seed into your awaiting hole, whining in content as he feels you milk his cock, squeezing down on him.

You’re panting, laying on the bed with Tartaglia pressed on top of you. His arms snake around your waist, tugging and twisting your connected bodies so that he’s spooning you, his chin resting on top of you’re head.

After a minute of rest, Tartaglia’s arms squeeze around your waist. “Love you, so much.” He murmurs tiredly.

“Promise?” You giggle back, despite the feeling of your exhaustion weighing heavy on your eyelids.

“Always an’ forever.” Tartaglia whispers sweetly. His arms encircle your waist, pulling you closer as the two of you bask in the afterglow in each other’s arms. “I’ll love you, always and forever.”

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turtletaubwrites · 10 months ago

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Numbers Game ~ Part 2

Isn’t That Right, Little Rabbit?

Thank you again @discordantwritings! Now I can blame it on your request if I go way overboard with this, lol

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 2173

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Summary: Crocodile and Mihawk make sure that you understand the details of your new arrangement, starting with where you'll be sleeping.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Alcohol, Swearing, Angst, Smut, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Canon Typical Violence, Manipulation, Humiliation, Blood and Violence, Pet names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Guilt, Possessive Behavior, Masturbation, Brief Imagined Sexual Acts including; Choking, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, F/M/M Threesome

A/N: Once again, these boys are VILLAINS. Dynamics are already shifting, but they are possessive, controlling, and not so subtly threatening to the reader, plus violent toward Buggy. Please do not read if these themes may be triggering for you!

“Let’s get an early start tomorrow. You’ve got a lot of work to do, numbers girl,” Crocodile teased, a hint of threat in every word. “Do you have your own quarters, or did you sleep in his tent?”

He gestured to the beaten body at your feet, and your mouth went dry.

“I…”

Mihawk shifted beside you, his eyes piercing, always judging.

“You were gonna run away with him,” Crocodile continued. “We can’t have that, not when you need to make that money back.”

You stared at your knees, shaking your head slightly.

“Let’s go find some nice rooms then, and you can have one between Mihawk and I.”

“D-Don’t touch her.”

Buggy’s muffled demand made the men on the couch laugh, the deep sounds vibrating through you. You bit your lip to hold in a sob.

“Looks like you’ll be useful in keeping the clown in line as well,” Mihawk mused, his monotone voice doing nothing to calm your fear.

“Don’t fret, numbers girl,” Crocodile said, finally moving his arm on the back of the couch to touch you. He rubbed his huge hand along your shoulders, sending electricity coursing through your body.

“We’re just protecting our investment,” he chuckled, hand resting on the back of your neck now, index finger tapping softly. You were frozen, heartbeat pounding in your ears.

I bet he can feel my pulse under his fingers. He can feel my fear.

“Mihawk, why don’t you call for Mr. 3? Make him find us some adequate quarters.”

“Our arrangement doesn’t involve me taking your orders, Crocodile. Why don’t you call for your own lackey?”

“Don’t be so stiff now, swordsman. I’m gonna accompany miss Y/N to Buggy’s quarters. Make sure she packs her things.”

“Don’t frighten our little rabbit too much. We need her at her best.”

Your hands were clenching on your lap, fingernails piercing the skin of your palms.

“Agreed. But her best is as far away from that trash clown as possible. Right, Y/N,” Crocodile asked, leaning down until you felt his hot breath on your face. “He didn’t listen to you. He didn’t appreciate you, and you almost died because of his stupidity. You owe him nothing but disgust.”

He gave Buggy a light kick, and you hoped your small whimper was covered by Buggy’s groan of pain.

Mihawk’s long fingers touched your hand, gently lifting and opening your fist. He traced along the shallow crescents of blood you’d drawn, what sounded like a satisfied hum leaving his throat.

“It’s true, Y/N,” Mihawk let out, voice raspy and dangerous. “You have an opportunity to live an interesting life. Don’t disappoint us by lowering yourself for that clown.”

You were shivering now, practically vibrating beneath their soft touches.

“Say it, Y/N,” Crocodile commanded.

“Wh-What…”

He kicked Buggy again, this time sending his body across the floor. Gasping, you fought not to cry at the broken sounds Buggy was making.

“Say it.”

“I won’t… I won’t lower myself for that clown.”

Shame curled in your stomach as they both praised you, thumbs rubbing possessively over your skin. Crocodile held your neck, while Mihawk brought your hand to his mouth.

He pressed your knuckles to his lips, the chaste movement feeling sinful under his stare. Crocodile squeezed your neck ever so gently, and your eyes fluttered closed. The weight of their attention stripped you raw, your body mixing excitement and fear.

No. No, this is wrong. Don’t react like this.

Failing to school your breathing, you tried to ignore the heat that was pooling between your legs, an aching pressure in your core was betraying your mind. You needed to squirm, needed to press your thighs together, but you managed to hold yourself still.

These men are villains. They’re pirates.

But Buggy is too, you thought, remembering how badly you had wanted to escape an ordinary life.

You had met one dangerous man, and you ran away with him without a second thought. Desperate for adventure, for freedom. For pleasure.

We have to get out of here.

“You are an intriguing woman, Y/N,” Mihawk’s voice practically purred beside you. “Let’s get some rest. I’m looking forward to watching you work.”

Mihawk sipped his wine as he watched you stand, Crocodile guiding you out into the hall.

“Lead the way, sweetheart.”

Thankfully, he wasn’t touching you anymore, but your body still felt electric. Even the press of air as you walked felt delicious on your sensitive skin.

Guilt hit you like a ton of bricks as you walked into Buggy’s quarters.

Crocodile puffed on his cigar as he watched you pack, his eyes assessing every movement, every item you picked up. You dug through the mess, feeling like you were outside of yourself, watching your body as it moved for you.

Yes, Buggy had put you in danger. He’d made promises he never kept. He didn’t listen to you. You watched him lie to his people, again and again, bullshitting his way through every situation.

But he didn’t deserve to be treated like a human punching bag.

Your quivering lip brought you back into your body, tears of shame building up along your lash line, not spilling over yet.

“That’s enough,” Crocodile huffed, picking up your bag, and pulling out a colorful top. “What sort of trash did he buy for you with my berries? We’ll have to fix this. Come on.”

He nodded toward the door, dropping that shirt onto the bed instead of returning it. Crocodile carried the bag for you, pulling away as you reached for it.

Buggy had bought that shirt for you. He’d bought a lot of circus style clothes for you, and it had been fun to dress up with him.

But it hadn’t felt like you, and you had started to get annoyed at all the gifts he bought for you. All the gifts that were really for him, especially when you’d begged him over and over to stop spending frivolously.

You sighed, those ungrateful thoughts stabbing you with guilt again when you remembered the state he was in.

Galdino scowled at you as he and Mihawk waited in the hall. Mr. 3 had clearly gone to bed already, and didn’t look pleased to be handling your sleeping arrangements.

He kept his feelings to himself though, leading the way.

Buggy had created this little city, Buggy Town. Karai Bari island was small, with not much more than palm trees and mountains, but he’d had his people build this town that looked like circus tents.

You had admired it, that he built this whole thing from nothing. It had started to feel like home.

I need to get as far away from here as possible.

Finally walking to the end of a long hall, Galdino pointed out the two doors on opposite sides for Mihawk and Crocodile. He gestured to the door at the end of the hall, sandwiched between them, announcing that it would be yours.

“No windows, right, Mr 3,” Crocodile checked, crossing his arms.

“Correct. I hope it’s all to your liking.”

Galdino scurried away, sparing you a quick glance. His look of annoyance was gone. Was that pity?

“Let’s take a look.”

Crocodile had opened your door, motioning for you.

You walked in, shrinking as you passed him. It was a really nice room. Meant for guests, so it wasn’t as insanely circus themed as most rooms.

You moved toward the bed, but froze at the heat at your back.

Crocodile moved behind you, setting your bag down. He inspected the room, even lifting items to look underneath them, checking the walls, and behind the couch. He stepped into the attached bathroom, and you heard the sound of drawers opening and closing.

“Come now, Crocodile. Miss Y/N is smart enough not to try anything untoward,” Mihawk drawled from the doorway. “Especially not with the two of us within earshot. Isn’t that right, little rabbit?”

“Of course, sir,” you choked out, voice hoarse with stress.

Your blood went cold at the sight of Mihawk’s lips curling into a small, pleased smile.

“Fine,” Crocodile grumbled, thankfully heading for the door. They left your room, but the scarred man leaned back in, dark eyes holding you still.

“Be ready early. We need you to get a handle on the finances as soon as possible. You need some new clothes.”

Your lips parted at his tiny smile, and you stood dumbly for a few minutes, staring at the door he’d closed.

It felt like hours before your body started to breathe, your knees going weak as you stumbled to the bed.

Everything replayed, your mind spinning with pain, fear, and shameful need.

Sleep seemed impossible, like you’d never meet it again.

Buggy’s face, Buggy’s cries.

Crocodile’s hook around your throat.

Mihawk’s fingers tracing along your bloody palm.

Their threats, their demands. Their hands on your skin.

Tears of frustration burned your eyes, and you chewed your lip to keep from sobbing. You didn’t want to think of what they’d do to you if they heard you crying.

You felt delirious. Whiplash sent manic laughter through you, and you had to bite down on your fist, until it turned to silent sobs.

Exhaustion tormented you. Each time you got close to sleep, more shifting emotions would tear at you.

And through it all, you fought against that.

There was no way you could examine that, not with the pile of guilt, shame, and danger riding you.

But the further into exhaustion you fell, and the longer your chaotic thoughts kept you from sleep, the less able you were to resist it.

That need.

With a few more tears of guilt streaming out, you let yourself have this moment.

It doesn’t mean anything. I just need to relax. It’s okay.

Those comforting words faded out as your mind brought you back to that velvety, green couch.

Crocodile’s hand was so big, you couldn’t believe how much of your shoulders and neck it had covered. You wondered if he could wrap those thick fingers all the way around your throat.

Your breathing hitched as your body heated up, hips twisting against the sheets as your legs started to spread open.

Mihawk’s hypnotizing eyes, his lips on your knuckles. The way he’d looked so pleased when you called him ‘sir.’

Your head felt fuzzy as your hands rubbed along your skin. You touched your neck, then ran your hands along your chest, massaging your breasts through the thin fabric of your top.

You let out a quiet gasp as your fingers worked their way down your stomach, nails teasing along the skin of your hips.

Your mind tried to stop you, flooding you with guilt again, but you shoved it out.

Fingers dipped down, drenched with your need as you remembered that couch again. Slick was coating your thighs as you felt the heat of them surrounding you, tapping their glasses against yours. Promising you that you’d never be bored with them.

When they both had their hands on you, you had to fight not to moan, not to grind your thighs together. You’d felt your body betray you then, your aching pussy dripping from so little touch.

Now your fingers were sliding over your clit, breath ragged as you imagined how else they could have touched you on that couch. If Mihawk’s sharp tongue could make you scream. If Crocodile’s huge fingers could make you melt in his lap.

You were aching for more, more, your body near panicked as you chased your high. You shoved two fingers inside yourself, curling up, having to twist your body to try to reach that spot. You whimpered thinking about the swordsman's long, skilled fingers, about how big Crocodile was, how big every part of him had to be.

Finally, your mind gave you the image of both of them taking you at once, until you drenched and ruined that gorgeous couch. The thought of them thrusting into you, taking you, using you, it sent you twitching into bliss.

Your body was shaking, your back arched as your aching fingers fought desperately to keep going.

You had done so well, been so quiet.

But at the last stretch of release, a moan of pleasure was torn from your throat.

Still twitching with aftershocks, you held your breath, straining your ears.

It wasn’t loud. And it’s so late. There’s no way they could hear that.

But Mihawk’s veiled threat echoed through your mind.

‘Not with the two of us within earshot. Isn’t that right, little rabbit?’

You clenched your thighs together, shaking your head as you tried to comfort yourself. The fear of them hearing you touch yourself overrode your guilt over what you’d just done.

At least you were starting to pass out now.

Maybe this will all be a dream. And I’ll wake up. And Buggy will be okay.

You fell asleep to comforting lies. Dreamt of deep voices, and strong hands.

And woke to someone banging on your door.

“Time for work, sweetheart.”

Fuck.

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Oops, I'm obsessed again.

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @caniseethefourthsword

Part 3

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saerins · 2 years ago

Text

─── 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

+ itoshi sae x f!reader | wc 4k | content: angst, best friends to lovers to strangers type beat, i did not proof this besties

notes: lmao me , thinking i could get away from this man . guess who’s back with more sae ??? <3

summary: you’re the one sae can’t get over. he’s beginning to think he never will.

the freshly cooked bread is on the floor. it litters the nice marble tiles. the chit of paper with the order writes mr. rin hatoki.

“i'm tired of this, sae.”

sae doesn't say a word. he's listless, sitting on the kitchen table, staring at his own reflection on the glass, wondering where it all went wrong.

“why don't you love me anymore?”

it's weird. he can hear the sorrow. he can feel the pain. yet he feels nothing.

“what does she have that i don’t?”

maybe you're right. maybe he's an asshole. maybe this is his punishment.

the first time sae laid eyes on you, you were five and he was six.

he saw you playing with rin on the slides, and he remembers the way you smiled at him when rin told you sae was his older brother.

and even back then, even if it was a tiny crush based on superficial reasons like how sae liked your smile or your eyes or the way your hands felt on his when you locked hands and forced him to play with you and rin, he remembers you mocking rin and calling sae nii-chan.

sae remembers how he cringed inside because no. no no, he didn’t want you calling him that because that wasn’t what he wanted you to know him for. he didn’t know what he wanted exactly, but definitely not an older brother.

"itoshi-kun!"

“sae,” he corrected you, watching as you ran up to him on the field.

he loved the soft smile you wore on when you heard him. he especially loved the first time you said his name.

“sae.”

the first time he saw you cry, it was when you scraped your knee after some boys accidentally pushed you over.

you were nine.

sae scared them away afterwards.

you weren’t exactly sobbing—he found out you were funny like that, like you wanted to cry but didn’t want to let anyone see. but it was frustrating because sae wasn’t just anyone. or so he liked to think.

“get on,” sae told you, getting down on one knee with his back turned to you.

“what?” you sniffled, vision still blurry from your would-be tears.

sae craned his neck to look back at you, a faint smile on his face. “come on, i’ll carry you home.”

“i’m not weak, you know,” you argued, and sae would’ve told you to just accept his offer when he realised you already did, obediently climbing onto his back and wrapping your arms around his neck.

it was a relatively silent walk back. sae could hear the rapid beating of your heart though.

maybe it was a tiny crush too. the kind that stuck with you for three years and four months and threatened to stick with you for the rest of your life.

“hey, sae?”

“hm?”

a pregnant pause. you held him tighter before ultimately loosening your grip.

“mm, nothing.”

sae really wanted to hear you. but he let it go.

it was torture, really—you were fifteen when you got your first boyfriend. some guy called oliver aiku. who looked way too old for you, by the way, but fine, if you said he was only a year older than sae, who was he to question you?

sae hated it, really. watching you at the swings, laughing along with him, watching oli feed you ice cream. and you said oliver was a good striker too? sae bet he was better.

what did he have that sae didn’t?

and sae thought he’d love to witness the day when the two of you broke up. but he never counted on the fact that you’d be a mess when your heart was broken.

you ignored sae and rin for a couple of weeks, choosing to stay isolated, refusing to see anyone. you weren’t even replying sae’s texts.

[17:34] hey y/n, pick up the phone, idiot.

[17:34] rin misses you.

okay so that last part was a lie, but it was fine, rin didn’t have to find out.

[17:35] hey sae. :)

[17:35] hmm… so you don’t miss me?

sae had to do a double take at your text. since when did you become this cheeky? he didn’t even know why he was suppressing a smile.

it took him less than a minute before he got up.

[17:36] maybe.

[17:37] be at your place in 10, let’s get ice cream.

funny how he wanted to replace all of oliver’s memories. sae wanted you to lick the ice cream that he was holding. sae wanted you to play on the swings with him. everything him, no other stupid boys who would make you cry, who didn’t deserve you.

that was exactly what sae did—asked you what you did with oliver. you’d answer him, and he’d do the exact same with you, and he’d rewrite all the memories you thought would be so hard to forget, the very same memories you thought would be impossible to replace. yet sae did it, replaced the bad with the good.

sae wasn’t a mind reader, he couldn’t tell what you were thinking as he got you ice cream and fed it to you, couldn’t tell if you liked how he walked with his arm around your shoulder. couldn’t tell if you knew what he was doing.

he wished that you knew how he felt—then that’d make one of you. because sae had no clue.

“hey, sae?”

“hm?”

he got deja vu there.

and this time, you continued.

“do you do this for other girls too?”

sae nearly choked on that question because no, he didn’t do nearly as much for other people in general. you were the only one he’d ever put this much effort to.

“no.”

he can still remember your little smile to this day. it was pretty, even prettier since it was because of him. it was like a silent knowledge you both shared—you didn’t want him to do that for other girls, and he didn’t want to share you with other boys.

simple, but complicated. complicated because you were both shit at feelings and shit at admitting but it was still beautiful, if only because neither of you ever strayed.

back then.

“what about a house?”

“i’ll buy you the nicest, cosiest one there is.”

“anywhere in the world?”

sae nodded. “anywhere you want.”

“i want to open a bakery one day. you gonna help me with that?”

“i’ll help you with anything you want.”

you giggled. “yeah? you and what money, sae?”

he rolled his eyes, resting his head against his palm, elbow propped up on your study table. “when i become the best soccer player in the world, genius.”

sae flicked your forehead gently, as he remembers he liked to, smiling softly when you winced in faux pain.

it’s funny how comfortable he felt talking about shit like that with you, only half-joking. it was an innocent conversation on how sae said he would be able to take care of you when you were both older. even if it wasn’t his place, even if he wasn’t even your boyfriend yet then.

“oh? so i’ll get the world’s best soccer player itoshi sae all to myself?”

it all sounded dreamy and attainable when you were both eighteen and sitting on cloud nine. when the both of you were dreamers with rose tinted glasses and honeyed tongues to match.

“is that a confession, y/n l/n?”

he remembers he caught you off guard. he knew because the way you behaved when you were flustered was already ingrained in his mind. the way you fumbled over your words, the way you couldn’t hold eye contact, the way you made him melt with how you seemed so vulnerable for a split second.

“what if it was?”

that was the first time you ever managed to render him speechless. only because of how honest you were being. only because sae wanted you to want him and you did and then he was reduced to some infatuated idiot.

“good, me too.”

and maybe that was his first mistake. when he didn’t make sure you knew he wanted you for more than just that moment, that he had wanted you for a long time coming.

maybe that was the first in line for the domino effect.

life hit hard and fast by the time sae made a name for himself as one of the best midfielders in the world. he opened his eyes and saw that japan was not for him—he wanted more for himself, for his career.

sae wanted to move. and at the time, he wanted to bring you with him.

“how’s spain?”

it was the usual call the two of you had—a routine set in place because sae found he’d miss you too much if he didn’t hear from you for a while. it sucked that he couldn’t bring you with him now, not when he wasn’t best yet and not when you had a degree to finish.

“great, i play in the official match tomorrow, starting eleven.”

mundane updates about each other’s lives. he’d tell you about his soccer trainings and you’d fill him in on school. but for sae, it wasn’t enough. so he took a leap of faith this time, he was sure what he wanted.

“hey, what if we moved out here next time?” sae asked, cutting you off.

you stuttered, flustered and overwhelmed. in hindsight, maybe asking you that sort of thing when the both of you weren’t even officially together was kind of a stretch.

but sae had been sure at that point of time.

“there’s a lot to consider, sae.”

it was that tricky line where you were both more than friends but less than lovers and sae knew that over the phone wasn’t the ideal place to do it but he didn’t want to drag it on any longer.

“i mean, we’re not even together and we’re both just still kids, and—”

“then be mine.”

“i- what?”

for the first time, he was thinking about the future. and it had to be with you. he couldn’t imagine it another way. and when you agreed to be his that day, when you agreed you’d consider it for the future, sae was happier than he let on.

for the first time, the future was a little clearer. become the best midfielder, find a good forward worthy of his passes, and when all that was done and dusted, he’d always come back to you at the end of the day.

sae had thought hard about it.

but evidently not hard enough.

reality hit like a truck.

because fast forward five years into the future and you had moved out to spain to be with sae, your future husband, the diamond ring nestled comfortably on your finger.

moving in with sae was fun, exciting. it was a new place, new continent, new start. sae was with you every step of the way, choosing the house, choosing the furniture. turned out, being one of the most in-demand soccer players paid way too well.

what sae never considered was the gravity of what he asked you to do—uproot your entire life to be with him. you were both still young and full of life and loved seeking thrills and you both failed to grasp what the consequences would be.

it was harder than you bargained; adjusting to the new country, learning a new language, making new friends and learning the culture. sae was a pivotal part of your support system, but sometimes he didn’t have a choice; he couldn’t be there for you a hundred percent. he had soccer, contracts to fulfil, people to please. you needed him more than you realised.

and when you moved in together, both of you saw sides to one another you never really saw before. like how you get frustrated when sae messes the entire bedroom up after you spent the entire day cleaning the mansion. or how sae shut down whenever he was having doubts about his team, his plays.

it was difficult. but it still worked.

for a while.

but arguments were getting more frequent. and sae forgot why he did this in the first place. maybe you should’ve spoken up more too, whenever something bothered you, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt this resentful.

you blamed sae for asking you to move out here. but it was what you wanted too.

it got to a point where there was an animosity between the both of you that you couldn’t handle. the type that made you sad because somehow sae turned into someone you didn’t even recognise.

“where’d you go last night?”

sae sighed, like you were a bother, but really you weren’t. he was just being a dick. it was never okay to just abandon your fiancé at home all because of a dumb fight which he couldn’t even remember by now.

“stayed over at the captain’s,” was all he told you. didn’t even bother explaining.

he wishes he did, then maybe you’d stop getting the idea that this relationship had hit a dead end.

“is that what we’re going to do now? just leave the other one alone, not talk when we fight?” you were soft, because you were tired. you’d been tired for a while.

you were tired. sae lost track of himself. everything was a mess and neither of you had the capability to handle it. sae was thinking maybe he made a mistake, and you were thinking it wasn’t too late to turn back. he couldn’t be bothered to remember how you got here in the first place, and he missed all the signs you gave him.

how you had stayed up late just to wait up for him whenever he had practice. how you agreed to be with him through everything and kept a smile on your face even when things were hard on you personally. how you cooked for two even when sae said he wouldn’t have time for dinners at home, just in case.

he’s sorry; you thought of him way too much, and he didn’t give you enough.

“sae, say something, please?” you were on the verge of tears, and he was on the verge of giving up.

sae knows what you wanted to hear now. but back then, he didn’t. he was too pressed on his own feelings that he just couldn’t find it in himself to think for you.

“what do you want me to say?”

you sat next to him on the couch, and he could hear you sniffling. he didn’t turn to look at you, didn’t ask about you, didn’t try to console you. for his own good. because he thought he knew where it was going, and it was better if he didn’t.

“sae… do you still want this?”

that was the first time he was unsure. because what he knew was that there was no one else for him. there was only you. he wanted only you, but everything turned out like this and he felt conflicted, tired.

he just wasn’t sure.

“i don’t know.”

but that was as good of an answer to you as any.

you’d watched him over the years. you’d tolerated all of his misgivings, you’d watched him train even when he was injured, even when you begged him to rest. you’d supported him throughout everything. you were everything to him, but at that moment, sae failed to tell you, and you couldn’t hold on to something that seemed so futile, something that was hanging on by a single thread.

something that might’ve snapped at any moment.

the next day, all sae woke up to was the engagement ring on his bedpost and your absence from his life.

it’s been another five years since then.

sae’s back in japan. for some reason.

no, not some. just one. just you.

to think that up until now, sae still thinks of you. you’re always there somehow, in his memories. when he scores a goal, he still instinctively looks for your face in the crowd. when people interview him and ask him about possible partners, his first thought is your name. when he goes on his socials, he looks for you first. it’s habit.

sae’s jealous, still. even after four years apart. he still loves you. he’s still stupid. he’s still too late.

you’re happy now, if your posts are any indication. you live with him too. sae sometimes wishes he was him. then maybe he’d get to feel you again, be around you, hover over you and annoy you to no end. maybe he’d get to hear you call his name again.

but that’s a long shot.

you’re about to be mrs mikage soon. reo’s a lucky guy, whoever the fuck he is. sae hates him, but it’s biased. he’s probably good to you. he helped you build that bakery you always wanted, after all.

the bakery sae always orders from under a fake name because he doesn’t know whether you hate him and he’d rather not risk it. it’s the only way he knows how to hold on to you, to still feel close to you.

so he’s mr. rin hatoki.

“tell me!”

his girlfriend’s voice is shrill, it brings him back to the present, to his current predicament. to the fact that he’s been trying to put you in the past, but he’s not able to. and she knows it, too. she’s not dumb.

she probably stalked you ever since she first started dating him. she probably knew all along that the breakfasts sae buys for her is his pathetic excuse to just support your business. she probably knew that from the start, she stood no chance against you.

“i beg you, sae,” she’s crying now, and sae feels bad for regressing to this state, to hurting other people but most of all, he feels bad for flat out wishing she was you. “just break my heart already if you’re going to do it.”

two years with her down the drain. because he can’t forget about you.

sae doesn’t even look up at her because he’s filled with the vision of you smiling in his head. that’s all he’s staring at.

she asked what you had that she didn’t. and sae only knows the one answer is his heart.

“you’ll never be her.”

sae stares at you from the driver’s seat. he’s parked on the opposite side of the road, it should be safely tucked away enough that you won’t notice.

you’re closing up. you look like an angel. you’re dawdling, slowly mopping up the floors, your hair so messy and you’re still so perfect.

he wants to go there, wants to run to you and hug you, wants to grip onto you and take back what he lost. but he of all people knows that’s impossible. so he stays in his driver’s seat, stays in his fantasies, stays away from you.

maybe he should just drive away. maybe he should stop pining for you. this is stupid.

especially stupid when he sees your future husband pull up and run up the sidewalk, runs into your arms, carries you and spins you around and presses a kiss onto your perfect nose.

sae can only vaguely make out what he’s saying.

“have a surprise for you at home, baby.”

and sae can’t tell what you said, but he can tell you love him by the slow, affectionate kiss you give him, the way you wrap your arms around his neck and laugh against each other’s lips.

“wait here for a bit, yeah?” reo tells you, and you nod, obedient.

it’s like a drug, now that he’s here, sae wants to stay and watch the show play out to the end. he watches as you store away your broom and mops and as reo walks back to his car—wait, no, fuck, he’s walking to sae’s car.

fuck fuck fuck.

reo makes sure you’re back in your bakery and out of view before he smiles at sae. “i’m very honoured that a world-class soccer player is stalking us,” reo beams at him the moment sae winds down his windows. “wanna go over there and talk to her?”

he definitely knows of your history with sae. it doesn’t bother him though, apparently. not if he’s offering sae the chance to talk to you, and alone, by the looks of it.

sae’s not really sure what he’s doing, taking reo up on his offer. he walks through the doors to your bakery and the shopkeeper’s bell rings, inciting you to spin around, expecting reo, but your eyes widen when you see sae there instead, sheepishly standing there, staring dumbly at you.

“sae,” you call his name, breathlessly. “w-what’re you doing here?”

“i… don’t know.”

he doesn’t. zero clue. fuck.

you’re not smiling, you’re apprehensive, you’re still in shock as to why itoshi sae didn’t contact you ever since you left him and why he chose now of all times to show up. there’s tears in the corners of your eyes and he knows you’re trying not to let them fall. the corners of your mouth try not to but they form a small frown.

“i just wanted to tell you…” sae trails off because he starts to remember everything.

he remembers five years old and you on the slides. he remembers your nii-chan and how he hated it. he remembers your smile and him being lovestruck and pathetic. he remembers making you happy and then making you sad, going from everything you loved to everything you grieved. he remembers all the signs he thought you didn’t give. he remembers your newly opened bakery and the heart on his first order chit. he remembers his now ex-girlfriend hating his guts and throwing your bread on the floor.

most of all, he remembers how happy you look with reo.

so sae swallows all the words he wanted to say and gives you a knowing smile. “just wanted to come by and wish you a happy marriage.”

i miss you. i still love you. i want you back. i want to be yours again. i promise i’ll love you properly this time.

he bites back all his words.

your expression turns soft and you smile at him for the first time in five years. “thanks, sae,” you tell him, holding your hand out.

sae shakes it, resisting his urge to pull you close.

“how are—”

“i have to go,” sae interjects, because he doesn’t think he can act any more normal than this. he wants to see more of you, but he forces himself to leave, and you understand anyway, you and your weak knees because as much as you’re over itoshi sae, your lover, you still miss itoshi sae, your best friend.

reo walks past him on the steps, noticing his rush. “hey, leaving already?”

sae doesn’t stop. “yeah.”

“look, y/n’s clueless but,” reo continues, raising his voice slightly as sae gets farther away. “thanks for all the support!”

sae stops short of his car, turning around to look at reo, who’s looking at you, cleaning up the last of your cash.

“what are you talking about?”

reo turns back to sae, hands in his pockets. “i wanted to thank mr rin hatoki personally so—” sae’s eyes grow wide at the mention of the name— “thank you.”

how does he even know?

“you know, she was so nervous when it first opened, thinking that nobody would buy anything,” reo tells him, and sae listens, swallowing the lump in his throat. “i wanted to be the first customer but apparently a mr rin hitoki beat me to it.”

reo sighs, noticing how sae’s eyes are now glued onto you.

“y/n’s the kindest person i’ve ever met,” reo continues, turning his back on sae. “if you want forgiveness, it’s always there for you.”

reo’s revelation and offer sticks with sae, but he shelves it in the corner of his mind. when he sees you, crescent eyes and all smiles, sae drives off.

it’s fine. knowing you’re happy is enough.

that’s a lie. it will never be enough for him, but he’ll just keep trying to convince himself. sae loves you, and he might just love you enough to let you go.

2K notes · View notes

majoryeager104 · 8 days ago

Note

I NEED MORE TOUYA HEADCANNONS PLEASEEEEEEEEW

AHHH OK IM ON IT RN HERE U GO <3

Summary: Touya random hcs w and w/o s/o

Warnings: Language, Touya being too precious for this realm

He definitely has a teddy bear from childhood that he stole from the house after he woke up from his coma

It has a few little burn marks on it, but he thinks that gives it character

Can’t fall asleep without it

Unless he has you, but still

That teddy bear is always within arms reach when he’s trying to sleep

One time Toga found it when she snuck into his room for a jacket cos she was cold

She’s been sworn to secrecy (he threatened to burn up her cardigan collection)

The first time you slept in his room, you asked about it

At first he was defensive

Like “yeah it’s mine tf u gonna do about it”

But then one day he walked in to see you asleep on his bed

Cuddling his teddy bear

He coulda died then and there

Definitely one of the very few pictures he has on his phone

Because he’s barely on that thing

It’s probably not the first one he’s had

I bet he accidentally burns them up on missions

So he just never takes it with him anywhere

Which always scares the shit out of you

Bc what’s the point of having it otherwise

You didn’t get it till he showed you all the pictures he had of you on there, and you realized he just didn’t want to lose them

Bc it’s a burner phone, so he doesn’t use it for much else

He has another phone for work, but that’s the one he keeps for pictures of you

And all the videos and memes you send him

He looks at them like a week after you send them

Yes he’s one of those 🧍

But he does look at every single one

You make him playlists too, and he DEFINITELY listens to those

Bc he’s music addicted (might be a bit of projection hehe)

But yeah

It’s just a whole phone he keeps just for you

He wants those videos, memes, playlists, and cute photos of you bc he’s scared that one day he won’t have you anymore

But he’d never say any of that out loud

Even though he knows you’d understand

Bc he’s scared

Moving on before I cry

He’d like Taylor Swift

Hear me out guys

The emotional lyrics? The topic of betrayal? The style? The vibe? He’d love it. (Secretly ofc)

He’s literally “who’s afraid of little old me”

Like I can see him singing “The smallest man who ever lived” while crying in the car

“WERE YOU SENT BY SOMEONE 😭😭😭WHO WANTED ME DEAAD”

He’d secretly adore her country eras too

And you may or may not have dragged him to the Eras tour

And he may or may not have secretly been looking forward to it

He wore all black (he’s literally reputation) and ended up with a shit ton of friendship bracelets by the end of the night

He still has them

Tucked away in a drawer

never to be seen by anyone else

But you ofc because the two of you trade

Moving on tho hehe

He’d be either a heavy af sleeper, or a light af sleeper

No in between

Like hes either not moving or he’s not sleeping.

Maybe both

He probably watches you sleep when he can’t though

And if you have a nightmare he’d wake you up and get you water

And if he had a nightmare, he’d either wake up in a panic and just lay on top of you

Or you’d wake him up, and he’d still lay on top of you

You’re his personal pillow now

But he’s your heating pad

So it’s fair.

(He’s also this song tbh lmaooo and all the songs I mentioned are from TTPD but that’s because the album is so Touya coded ughhh 😭😭😭)

#dabi x reader #touya x reader #bnha dabi #bnha touya #mha dabi #touya todoroki #dabi headcanons #mha touya #touya headcanons

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allthingswhumpyandangsty · 20 days ago

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Hi, big fan of your work in the whump community :3

Do you have any prompts/thoughts for one of my favorite phrases: "I thought you were dead" ?

thank you so much!!

dialogue prompts in responses to ❝I thought you were dead.❞

❝I’m not dead, babe. I just ghosted you.❞

❝cheating death is what I do for a living.❞

❝that was weeks ago/months ago. people change.❞

❝not dead. I am Death.❞

❝and it sucked. being on the verge of death. would not recommend.❞

❝that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I literally cannot die.❞

❝no, but you will be if you don’t start running.❞

❝a bullet to the heart can’t kill me. you, out of all people, should have known my heart has already been blackened and dried up a very long time ago.❞

❝surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.❞ (the classic one, I couldn’t not add this.)

❝of course, you did. after all, it was you who tried to kill me.❞

❝darling, you’re going to have to try harder than that.❞

❝this is gonna sound crazy, but I am dead, and apparently I’m assigned to be your guardian angel now.❞

❝you know I’m not actually real, right?❞

❝no, you left me to die. I was just a survivor.❞

❝yeah, yeah, I heard that before.❞

❝I am.❞

❝did you really have so little faith in me?❞

❝me too! another thing we have in common.❞

❝I did, but it turned out death didn’t want me.❞

❝who’s going to look after you if I’m dead?❞

❝I’ll always come back to you.❞

❝dead? it was just a cut on a finger. stop being so dramatic.❞

❝sorry to disappoint.❞

❝boo.❞

❝you’ve made sure of that, haven’t you?❞

❝I’m stubborn just like that.❞

❝is it because I disappeared from your life for 20 years?❞

❝why? what happened? why would you think that?❞

❝oh, I am. and so are you. welcome to the land of the dead.❞

❝I’m a ghost, and I need your help.❞

❝I don’t have much time. you have to find my murderer.❞

❝I am. you’re just hallucinating.❞

❝if I am dead and you’re talking to me, doesn’t it mean you’re dead, too?❞

❝I’m not Dead. I’m (insert character’s name).❞

❝I did. I just crawled out of hell.❞

❝hell was boring anyway. so here I am.❞

❝you can’t get rid of me that easily.❞

❝nothing could kill me. not even death.❞

❝you know I’d never leave you.❞

❝God says it’s not my time.❞

❝well, this is awkward.❞

❝oh, I am. I’m here to take you with me.❞

❝did you cry?❞

❝did you mourn?❞

❝oh please, I was gone for less than an hour.❞

❝there’s been a misunderstanding. It wasn’t me who died.❞

❝I understand why you’d think that.❞

❝I can explain.❞

❝I am, and you will be just as dead as I am if you don’t turn around right now.❞

❝you’re not gonna believe what I saw on the other side.❞

❝why? you already replaced me?❞

❝I was hoping so too.❞

❝I really need to stop dying. let me tell you that shit is not fun.❞

❝I’m sorry if my survival is so inconvenient for you.❞

❝I have always been dead.❞

❝I died a long time ago, actually.❞

❝what are you going to do about that? try and kill me again? because it certainly didn’t work the first 6 times. but hey! maybe seventh time’s a charm!❞

❝I fooled you, didn’t I?❞

❝I’m not going anywhere.❞

❝I’m sorry. do I know you?❞

❝it’s a long story.❞

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padfootdaredmetoo · 10 months ago

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Can you write something for: "being Tommy's wife"? Please. The girl would have been raised by Polly, who raised and loves her like a daughter. She grew up with the boys, especially Tommy. She witnessed Finn's birth and everything. When he goes to war, he promises to stay with her when he returns. Another, Tommy's brothers have her as a sister so they will defend her as one, Ada and her are best friends and Isaiah had a crush on her as a kid... Kisses, sorry for the long thing, I love your stories, see u later 🩷.

Hey Love,

I am deeply sorry this took a million years to write. Thanks for sending this in and for being so kind. I'm so happy that you enjoy my writing. Hope you like this one <3

Warnings: Peaky related themes like violence, murder, drunk dads, beatings, suicide, childbirth - and of course kissing and cuteness

You had always been close with the Shelby Family. Your mother died in childbirth leaving you without siblings, something that was easily remedied with the constant chaos of your next-door neighbors. You were often lumped in with them as your father worked constantly. You traded what extra things you had for their company. You weren't rich living on Watery Lane, but you always had extra bread which was kind of like being rich.

As you got older you started to understand what happened down at the Betting Shop. You remembered Arthur taking Tommy aside and telling him to keep you as far away from there as possible. So he took you down to the cut and you spent most of your time with the horses in Charlie’s yard.

Those moments were your happiest. Tommy was always around to get into trouble with. One night when your dad had laid a beating on you for ruining a pair of shoes in the stable he’d helped you climb out of your window across the ledge and into his bedroom. He’d fixed your swelling cheek with some ice wrapped in a kitchen towel.

There was an unspoken easiness between the two of you. John and Arthur were different. John was always teasing you loudly and Arthur was always laughing. Always fun and games until someone was giving you a hard time, then they were all business.

You’d been there for Finn’s birth. A memory that was both happy and sad. You normally avoided the Shelby parents at all costs. Mrs. Shelby had a dead look in her eyes and she would twirl around the kitchen talking to ghosts, other times she would cry out in the night so loud you could hear her in your own apartment. Mr. Shelby was mean. Not much to him other than that. Finn was special, he was the first baby you ever held. You had to help Polly clean him off and get him sorted when he was born. You remembered sitting down once he had been fed and fallen asleep. You sat down covered in after birth swearing you would never have children. Ever.

Watching Tommy come into the room and hold his sleeping brother with a look in his eyes, something deep inside you reconsidered.

Polly was alright, she’d always put bows in your hair and read your tea leaves. Out of all the adults in your life, you had the biggest soft spot for her. She had all the juiciest stories that made you want to go out and start living your own life.

Something you were just on the cusp of doing before the war started.

The boys left and you tried not to let it break you. The unmovable safety they had brought you was gone and the city seemed vicious. Tommy wasn't there when your father was drunk… Tommy wasn't there at all. You’d stayed awake all night before he left. Laying there with him talking about everything you wouldn't be able to talk about while he was gone. Well, almost everything. You held his hand and laughed till your ribs hurt at all his jokes about what it would be like and what he would do while he was gone. Anything to keep the truth of it at bay. You wanted to tell him how you felt but you didn’t want him to carry more burdens with him when he left. You promised him that Ada, Finn, and John’s kids wouldn't starve and he’d kissed your cheek and promised he’d come back for you. Those words haunted your every moment.

To avoid your father and the emptiness of missing Tommy you threw yourself into your job as a mid-wife. At the end of the day you would sneak food out of your pantry and bring it over to Polly. She ran a tight ship void of all the things you had enjoyed about her when you were a kid. She was hard on the kids and they were mostly Ada’s responsibility as Polly shouldered the betting shop. There was a balance, most of your money went to the household and Polly was always grateful for your help. Things were fine until they weren't. Young boys who weren't quite yet fighting age had started up gangs and more drugs and conflict swept through the streets of Birmingham. You ended up working while also causing lots of trouble.

The worst night of it came just before Tommy had come home. You’d killed another stupid idiot pushing his wrapped body into the cut in the middle of the night. It was exhausting, for every life you brought into the world you ended another. A cycle you didn't think you would ever end up in. You knelt by the side of the river letting the rain soak through your clothes. Looking down into the black water you could feel the same pull that took Mrs. Shelby. It was calling out to you softly but you shook your head. You had a lot more fight still left in you.

______________Tommy’s POV

Coming home wasn't the relief he thought it would be all those years ago. He came home and you hugged him tightly. While you looked like you were bursting with life he felt like like he was dead on the inside. Your cheeks were flushed and your eyes bright. Your fingernails had a pink tinge to them. He’d hoped it was from your job as a midwife but he knew how bad things had gotten here. He could feel it in the way people looked at you on their walk home from the train station. Settling in was awful. The nightmares that kept him up at night, the sad sense of rejection that was growing around you. But the weight of the business is what was crushing him. He needed you and Polly out of it, he needed to step up as a man should. You especially should have never had to get your hands as dirty as they were. But there you were all those names etched into your soul, and you still looked at him with girlish adoration, as if he wasn't the man who had commended your life.

Things between him and Polly had never been worse, any move he made she would disagree. You still kept looking at him with your big eyes full of emotions he didn't know how to feel anymore.

Ada was a few years younger than you but you were both old enough now that it wasn't noticeable. He saw the both of you sitting on the front step watching some men moving furniture out of the house down the street. There were glasses of wine between you and the sun made the flush of your cheeks look so red. Ada mumbled something and waved to Isiah as he passed by and both of you burst into giggles. That’s when he realized if he didn't make good on his promise, you wouldn't be around. Men looked at you with fear, but they also acknowledged the fierce competence and loyalty you have. By the time he got the business up, and then got it legal, you would probably be married off. He hated the sense of panic he felt bubble up in his stomach. Just once he would like to feel something pleasant.

All day he thought about what to do. They were drinking beer around the table. He was always happy listening to John and Arthur tell jokes. It made him happy that they had managed to keep more of themselves alive than he had himself.

“Going to head out for the night. I’m on call tomorrow so I can only help around the house.” You looked at Polly who nodded. Your eyes flashed to him for a second before wrapping your wool shawl around your shoulders.

“I’ll walk you home.” He could feel John and Arthur’s eyes narrow in on him as the silence rolled through the room.

“You haven't forgotten I only live next door have you?” You smiled at him and gestured for him to come along. He followed you down the stairs and out the front door. Three steps to your front door and you turned to look at him.

“Well, this is me.” You pointed at the door giving him a smile. “I’d invite you in for a drink but my father wouldn't approve.”

“Walk with me?” He asked and he wished there was more emotion in his tone. You raised your eyebrows and he almost wanted to laugh.

“A private meeting with Mr.Shelby. Wow.” You linked your arm in his and he could tell that there was hurt under your humor.

“Things-” His voice trailed off as he lost all the things he had thought about telling you. He wanted to tell you to marry him but that was much to forward you deserved something nice and for it to move at your own pace.

“Are different” You finished. “You're not you, Polly is pulling her hair out, and your secret-keeping is making it impossible to help with the business.”

“Precisely.” He said in a cold tone. He wanted to explain but the words were still gone.

“Well, fix it then.” You said in a short tone. “You came home and made a mess of things, so fix it.”

“It’s not that easy.” He pulled a cigarette out and offered you one. You nodded and he lit one, taking a drag then watched as you took it from him. Your lips perched where his had been a moment before. His eyes focused on your mouth and he could feel the tension become obvious.

“I want to make things right between us. I’m just not sure how.” He said the words slowly finally dragging his gaze from your mouth. Your cheeks had flushed again and he fought the urge to stroke your cheek.

“Thomas. All you have to do is trust me. Then talk to me. We spent our whole lives that way. Only four years were apart.” There was pleading your eyes and he wondered if he would ever be able to deny you anything.

“Alright. I want to shoulder most of the business.” You sighed and he continued on. “Not because you and Polly aren't competent, but because things are even higher risk than they have been. I want to shoulder the consequences. To do that I need to keep you out of it.”

“I don’t want you to face things alone. Not the risk or the consequences.” It was his turn to let out a sigh.

“I know you don't, that’s why I -” He what? Was in love with you, wanted to marry you? Wanted to build you a life that would make any other woman on the planet die of a jealous heart?

“You what?” They were by the cut now and you turned to look at him. You were angry and you had every right to be.

“I want to marry you.” He blurted the words out and ran a hand through his hair. Your hands flew to your mouth and you looked at him with wide eyes illuminated by the moonlight. Was this positive or negative? The regret and embarrassment started to creep up his neck when you lunged at him.

He stumbled slightly before properly handling your weight. Your arms were tight around his neck and all he could smell was the perfume along your neck. He took a deep breath, the first real breath he had taken since leaving France. He wanted the weight of you pressed up against him all the time. The feeling you brought him was enough to keep the demons at bay. How selfish was it of him to take this easy path out. He should have worked out a proposal and should have courted you properly.

“We don’t - we could -” He tried to figure out what he wanted to ask.

“Shut up and let me have my moment.” You said before pulling away enough to kiss him. It was soft and slow and he knew without a doubt he was yours forever.

After a good amount of kissing, he smiled at you and meant it. He walked you home and then took his beating from Arthur and John.

“I don’t care if God himself descended from the sky to claim her. She’s my sister and you won’t hurt her Tommy.” Tommy couldn't remember the last time he heard his brother’s voice sound so lethal.

“You’ll be held to the same standards as any other dumbass wanting to date her,” John added.

“Trying to do the opposite of hurt her.” He said wanted them to see he was trying to make you happy too.

“That’s what they all say,” Arthur said with pointed eyes before bursting out into a booming laugh. “I want this to happen, brother I do. Just don’t mess around with her.” Arthur gave him a rough pat on the back and John started to make jokes about all the ways Tommy could disappoint you.

Eventually, they let him go up to his room. You had already climbed across the ledge to his window and gotten into his bed.

“Took you long enough.” You said it as a joke but there was something in your voice that gave you away. You were starting to think he wasn't going to show up.

“Boys had to rough me up a bit first.” Tommy shrugged his jacket off.

“Why? what did you do?” Her eyes looked him over with concern.

“Showed an interest in you. They had to do the usual.” He said absently changing into his pj’s trying to seem unbothered by your gaze watching him closely as he undressed.

“What’s the usual?” You whispered.

“Bit of a beating, the usual threats. Part of dating someones sister.”

“You mean any guy that’s wanted to date me has been roughed up by the three of you?!”

“Yeah.” Tommy leaned against the wall looking at you laying in his bed in your night clothes. Head propped up on your arm.

“I thought I was ugly.” You whispered still in shock over this news.

“What?!” Tommy laughed again.

“None of the boys ever asked me out over the years. I thought I was ugly.” Tommy moved across the room and into the bed to assure you that you were never ugly.

_____________________________

It took a lot of time to get out of that house on Watery Lane. Your father had passed before your wedding and Arthur walked you down the aisle. Ada and Poly felt all was right in the universe once you joined the family properly. They had a lot of fun planning the whole thing out. Your honeymoon was in the new house, a massive thing that Tommy had built for you. It was large but warm.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #shelby family #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby x reader

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all-mirth-no-matter · 1 year ago

Text

Time After Time | Chapter Eleven

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: You join the Shelbys for Christmas Eve dinner.

Warning: language, alcohol, smoking, ethnic slur, heavy fluff, probably bad retelling of Greek history don’t come at me

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 11: Dazed & Confused

I bet you know just what you’re doing. You’re not the type that’s used to losing. First you build me up, then with just a touch, leave me here in ruins. Something ‘bout your eyes, I can’t even walk in a straight line, under the influence. Oh, I’ve been dazed and confused, from the day I met you. Yeah, I lost my head, and I’d do it again. Either I’ve seen the light, or I’m losing my mind. There’s something ‘bout you, that’s got me dazed and confused. — Dazed & Confused, Ruel

God you felt so stupid. It wasn’t like you were a stranger to this house — hell, even a stranger to having dinner at this house. But after meeting Tommy, it didn’t feel like just having dinner at a friend’s place anymore. Would this nervous feeling ever go away?

You’d gone all out for this special occasion, with Ada’s help after you’d expressed your nerves. She’d been far too giddy for your liking over your anxiety. But you let her take you shopping that morning and helped you tame your hair and even refrained from fighting her when she shoved a deep red lipstick into your hands after claiming that it was too dark for her to wear.

Your hair had to be re-managed after your shift at the pub that afternoon. Apparently, Harry closed the place for Christmas Eve night. You thought that was a mistake, surely men were looking for some drunken solace after the children had gone to bed, but you bit your tongue at Harry’s excitement and accepted the extra time off.

After the age of twelve, Christmases in your house had become a less-than-joyful time of year for you. It felt like a switch — one year you were a happy kid surrounded by excited parents drinking hot cocoa and waiting for Father Christmas — and then the next you were fighting over hanging tree lights, complaining about going out into the crowded malls, sitting in three separate rooms of the house to numb yourself with whatever was on the TV at the time. The littlest things would set off your mother, leaving you either raging with anger or crying in the garage waiting for your father to get home.

The magic had disappeared along with your childhood. And it only got worse after your father died. You’d been reckless those first couple years, sneaking out any chance you got to run around town with your friends. When you left for college, you selfishly dreaded coming home during the breaks. That’s when your mother’s psychosis started to get worse.

Looking back, you couldn’t help but wonder if your mother hadn’t been alone for all that time, if she’d had someone to confide in or even just to talk to, if her sanity could have been salvaged, even just a little. But deep down you always assumed it was something darker going on inside her that made her act the way she did. By the end, if she wasn’t numb, she was crying, and you just had no idea how to handle her.

After her death, you simply avoided holidays, always volunteering to work the extra shifts or treat it as if they were any other days of the week.

Since arriving in 1918, you’d been so preoccupied with surviving, with trying to figure out what was going on, the idea of Christmas or any other holiday had been nonexistent. Which is why you’d been surprised at Tommy’s (or technically Ada’s) invitation to a Christmas Eve dinner.

Fidgeting with your dress, you stood nervously at the doorstep and knocked. Behind the door, you could hear the sound of voices and pots banging, even a gramophone playing.

The door swung open to reveal Ada, shouting her hello before pulling you inside for a warm hug. You chuckled at your friend, who clearly had been enjoying some pre-dinner drinks, and walked further into the house.

The betting shop doors were open, the tables that usually hosted piles of books, papers, and money now cleared and replaced with plates, napkins, and silverware. You took a scan at the guests around, surprised at the number of people here.

You recognized a few of them — the two men who’d been with Tommy and his brothers last night at the Garrison, Benji, and the man who stood out on the streets preaching. Then there was Martha sitting near the fire with Polly at her side, looking better but still not completely on the mend. Finn ran past you, shouting as the older of John’s kids chased after him. The rest of the men in the room you didn’t recognize.

“Y/N!” Polly shouted, finally noticing your arrival as she left Martha and pulled you in for a hug. It appeared she’d also been indulging in some pre-dinner drinks, this being the most affection she’d ever shown you. “Let me get you a drink and then introduce you.”

She shoved a glass of something brown in your hands, a quick sniff indicating it as whiskey, and began to walk you around the room, starting unfortunately with the group of men Benji was with.

“Lovelock, Scudboat, and Hancock, this is Y/N. A family friend and barmaid at the Garrison. She’s under our protection, so you know what that means.”

“Aye ma’am,” Scudboat smiled, nodding his head respectfully before lifting his hand. “Nice to meet you, miss.”

You smiled genuinely at the man, already appreciating his vibe. Lovelock didn’t offer any words, but nodded and gave you a smile and handshake as well.

Hancock, or Benji as he’d introduced himself to you as, gave you a smirk. “We met last night,” he said suggestively, lingering his hand around yours longer than you thought was appropriate. “But it’s good to see you again.”

You didn’t respond, pulling your hand away and instead offering a polite smile. Luckily, Polly pulled you away to work the room.

Jeremiah was the name of the preacher, accompanied with his young son, Isaiah. You were curious how he fit in with the group, but saved your questions for another time.

Charlie and Curly worked at the Yard down by the Cut. You realized this must have been the ‘Uncle Charlie’ that Tommy mentioned the other night. They were both quiet, but nice. Curly was beginning to ask you if you liked horses, but Polly shoo’d him before pulling you along to the next man.

Danny Owens, or Whizz-Bang as he mentioned everyone called him, said he could only stay for a drink before going home to his wife and kids. He was fidgeting with his hat, muttering something about wishing Freddie or Barney could be there. Obviously you recognized Freddie’s name and wondered if you’d finally get to meet Ada’s mystery man. It wasn’t the case though as you finished the rounds of introductions.

A shout of the men behind you caused you and Polly to turn, seeing Arthur and John enter the room. They welcomed everyone around them with a loud greeting. You kept your eyes on the doorway, waiting for the one family member who had not yet arrived.

As if on cue with your thoughts, Tommy walked into the room quietly, leaning against the door edge to watch the scene. His eyes scanned the room until they fell to you. The corner of his mouth rose in that familiar resilient smirk, obviously unused to being caught doing his surveillance. He gave a subtle nod over his shoulder before pushing off and turning toward the family room.

Your heart raced a little as you took the bait, excusing yourself and grabbing your drink before walking across the betting shop floor. When you walked through the door into the family room, you heard the gentle shut of the door behind you, but your eyes were transfixed on the tree in front of you.

You’d noticed it when you first walked in, but now, the simple Christmas tree was lit with candles tied at the end of its branches.

The last time you saw a Christmas tree lit up, it’d been multicolored and flashed like a bad shop neon sign, glued to the plastic thistle of a fake tree. The sight of it at the time had made you groan at the very idea of the holiday you dreaded, thinking about all the money that was wasted during this time of year on stupid decorations like that one and worthless presents that would just end up in the garbage in a month.

But this. The real fire dancing on the wicks, sending beautiful shadows across the whole room against the lush pine leaves. It was enough to take your breath away.

“We lit it just now with the kids.” Tommy’s deep voice behind you brought you out of your trance as you felt him move to your side. “We’ll re-light it again before they go to bed.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” he replied as you finally looked over to him, his eyes already on you. The implication of his words and that look made you blush.

You bit your lip as you shook your head and the possible compliment off. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” you found yourself admitting.

Tommy’s brow creased. “Do they not have Christmas trees in America?”

“Um, they do. Just not decorated with real candles,” you replied, not exactly lying but not responding with the whole truth.

You weren’t entirely sure when electric tree lights would be invented, or common place, even. To avoid further questioning, you asked one of your own, a genuine query you couldn’t help but wonder now that the bewilderment had faded.

“Does the tree ever catch on fire?”

He chuckled softly, “Yeah it has. That’s why we only light it for a little while each night, usually before the kids go to bed. This year it hasn’t yet, surprisingly. But the year before we left, Finn was tryin’ to light it for John’s kids and lit the whole bottom row on fire. Luckily Pol was there to put it out before the house caught.”

You were watching him as he told the story before he let a short breath out his nose and a crinkle in the corner of his eyes, as if reminding himself of his own memory had been a pleasant surprise.

He cleared his throat, his smile returning back to his neutral expression as he busied himself with pulling his cigarette box out of his pocket and lifting out a stick. He ran it between his lips before lighting the end, the action causing you to lick your own lips before you remembered something.

“I, um — I got you a gift,” you said, feeling suddenly very embarrassed.

He paused at your words, his brow creased as he watched you pull a small box out of the handbag you’d been carrying.

“A gift?” He repeated, turning his body away from the tree and toward you.

You shrugged, trying to shoo away your nerves. “Yeah, ya’know, it’s Christmas. It’s not anything super fancy, but saw it this morning when Ada took me shopping and I just, I don’t know, I thought you might like it. Sorry it’s not wrapped,” you lifted the box and offered it to him.

Tommy took it tentatively, his brow hooked as he examined the plain cardboard. “You didn’t have to,” he said, not yet opening it.

“I know. It’s just — it’s a thank you,” you finally spat out, your eyes chancing a look up to meet his, “for everything.”

His brow was still creased as he looked down, and your embarrassment and stupidity reached it’s peak as you realized how much of a mistake this probably was.

Did people not get each other gifts in the 1900s? Ada hadn’t said anything when you picked it out and asked if she thought this was something Tommy might like. She had given you a shit eating grin, but hadn’t deterred you or told you you were being weird.

“I’m sorry,” you found yourself saying, turning away from him to try and hide how red your face was. “You don’t have to use it, you don’t even have to open it, I’ll just take it back and we’ll pretend this never happened—“

“Y/N,” Tommy’s voice said softly, causing you to look back over at him, the box open on the table and the cigarette case now in his hand.

It was a simple case, minimal decoration around the border, but the minute you saw it, it made you think of Tommy and his damn cigarettes. Part of you wanted to get it engraved, something snarky about killing his lungs — but you could only afford the case, so you got it on a whim. It’d definitely been more than you could afford, but it was the holidays, you reasoned. You’d start saving again next week.

Tommy tested the case, using his thumb to click the flap open, then closed it again. He did that a couple times before letting out a humored breath out of his nose, the corner of his cheek rising as he pulled out his box and moved a few sticks into the case.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely as his eyes found yours, lifting up the case to emphasize before smiling back down at it. “It’s the best Christmas gift I’ve gotten in years.”

You swallowed, dropping your head as your cheeks reddened again. The feel of his fingers against your cheek caused you to lift your head again, not realizing he’d gotten so close. Your eyes found his, serious and soulful as he peered down at you, the light from the candles dancing off the glassy orbs. God, he was beautiful.

A bang on the door caused you to jump before stepping away. Polly shouted from the other side, instructing you both that dinner was ready and to get our asses out there.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Every time.”

Tommy met your laugh with his own softer one as you turned toward the door. Before you could reach it, he grabbed your arm and spun you back toward him, pulling your body against his as his lips crashed against yours.

He wrapped the hand still holding your gift and his lit cigarette around you to curve your body against his, his other hand raking through the base of your head and neck, nearly lifting you up to meet his hunger. Without a second thought, your own hands found themselves around his shoulders as you clung to him, your kiss matching his eagerness. You tilted your head and opened your mouth just enough for him to dive in deeper, breathing in sharply through his nose as you let out a needy moan.

Fuck the dinner, screw all the people on the other side of the door. You’d let him take you right here on the couch, on the floor, you didn’t care. All you cared about was his hard body against yours, his hands gripping at you, his mouth and where else it could consume you.

When you found your feet flat on the ground again, he pulled his lips away just enough before giving you another slow kiss, then another, before pulling away completely.

He smiled as you caught your breath, still surprised and slightly disoriented from the action. You thought he was going to kiss you again as he brought his hand back to your cheek, but instead he used his thumb to rub what must have been smeared lipstick off your face. A pathetic whimper left your throat at the disappointment.

“Better not keep Pol waiting,” he said easily, adjusting his suit and sliding his new cigarette case in his jacket pocket before pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his own lips. You watched as the white fabric turned red from your lipstick and smirked, thinking of other scenarios where you could leave pieces of you with him throughout the day.

He noticed your look and rose a brow as you licked your lips, shooing those ideas away for more socially appropriate ones as he opened and held the door open for you.

Ada and Martha were helping to set the table when you joined them, grabbing two plates from Polly before adding them to the make-shift dinner table. Once every seat was served, Ada pulled you into a chair next to her. You looked at the head of the table, expecting to see Tommy but surprisingly it was Arthur who stood up and rose his glass. To his right sat Tommy, then John and Martha; to his left was Polly, then Ada and you.

Arthur cleared his throat, causing everyone to quiet and turn their attention to him.

“Um,” Arthur cleared it again, pulling down at his vest as he fidgeted. “I um, I’m not much for speeches. But um, I wanted to— wanted to thank you. This year— these years, being away, it’s been—“ his voice chocked as he looked toward Tommy.

Tommy smiled up at his brother and stood, gripping Arthur’s shoulder as he held up his own glass. “It’s been good to be back,” Tommy said simply, finishing Arthur’s prompt, possibly not in the same direction Arthur was heading, but a good detour to keep the moment light. He continued to keep his arm on his brother’s shoulder, as he addressed the rest of the room. “We all know the hardships and blessings we’ve been dealt, this year especially. And soon, it’ll be a new year. A fresh start. This is our opportunity to seize, and we’ll be damned if we’re going to let it slip.” His eyes flicked to you before rising his drink higher. “A toast, a simple toast, ya brotha’?” He pulled Arthur closer as he chuckled, rising his own glass higher with his brothers. “To good fortune, good health, good horses! Happy Christmas!”

“By order of the Peaking fuckin’ Blinders,” Arthur added, his voice strong again.

Everyone exploded with cheers as they raised their own glasses and shouted “Happy Christmas!”

The night went on as everyone ate and talked. You were enjoying the dinner, laughing as you watched the family dynamic between the core Shelbys as they enjoyed each others company. Everyone’s inhibitions and guards seemed to be set aside tonight, giving you what you assumed was a rare glimpse at what dinners pre-war must have been like for the group.

On the other side of you sat Charlie and Curly, and you were grateful that Benji had been placed at the end of the other side of the table, just far enough so that easy conversation wasn’t possible. But you felt his eyes on you, causing you to shift in your seat every now and then when you’d catch his gaze. After the second time it happened, you found yourself sighing, knowing you’d have to have an awkward conversation at some point with him to convince him you weren’t interested.

The dinner party was winding down, with most of its guests already gone. Even Ada had given you a kiss on the cheek before whispering that she was sneaking out. She wiggled her eye brows, causing you to roll you eyes and shove her away, whispering your own ‘be safe’ back at her.

Of course, Benji took the opportunity to swoop in to fill the opening.

“Your first Christmas in Small Heath?”

You nodded, taking a sip to keep your mouth busy.

“I’ve always liked winter over summer. Sure, it gets bone cold, but there’s less smoke in the air during the winter,” he mused, topping off his own glass and offering to do the same for you.

“That so?”

He shrugged, “Dunno, just feels like it, I guess. Maybe it’s more to do with the days being shorter.”

You nodded, slightly surprised at the insight. “Could be.”

“Do you have to go back to the Garrison tonight?”

You coughed at his unexpected turn in subject. “Um, no, Harry closed the pub for Christmas Eve.”

“So you’re free, then? We could go get a drink—“

“We have a drink,” you replied, holding up your glass. “And we’re guests at a party.”

“Come on, no one would miss us if we left—“

Scudboat appeared behind Benji, dropping a weighted hand to his shoulder. “Gotta go, Hancock.”

Benji’s brow creased as he scoffed. “Now?”

“Aye, it’s Russel. Just got the order.”

Benji huffed, “It’s Christmas Eve. Can’t we do this after the holiday?”

“You know the drill. It’ll hurt his family more to see that face Christmas morning. Will make him think twice next time. Tommy’s orders. Now!”

Scudboat left you both as Benji turned back toward you, blowing a big breath out of his nose as he cursed under his breath. “No rest for a Blinder.”

No rest for the wicked, you found yourself thinking, your tongue too tied to say the words aloud. Russel — you recognized the name of a copper from the family books. He’d been one of the more recent discrepancies you’d alerted. And now he was going to get beat up, or cut, on Christmas Eve.

And it was on Tommy’s orders. You swallowed down a big gulp of your drink as Benji said his farewell.

“Ready?”

Tommy’s voice behind you caused you to jump startled. You turned to face him, his own expression seemed slightly perturbed as he watched the Peaky boys leave the shop.

“Ready for what?” Your voice wasn’t as strong as it normally was, feeling both caught off guard as well as slightly uneasy about the darker side of Tommy.

It wasn’t like you were an idiot. You knew this came with the territory. Tommy Shelby was a gangster, as much as he wanted to call himself a businessman. Violence was as much a currency of this business as money. And here you were, contributing to that violence.

But you knew the world you were now a part of wasn’t that simple. Maybe this copper deserved it, maybe he didn’t. If you were going to be a part of this company, you’d have to trust the people making the calls, even if it went against your own moral code.

Did you even have a moral code anymore? Were you just making excuses?

“To talk, like I promised,” he replied, his eyes finally moving back to you. “Unless you’d rather join Hancock.”

His jealousy caused you to chuckle, despite your prior thoughts. “I told you last night I wasn’t interested in him.”

He hummed, “Maybe you ought to tell that to him then, eh? This way,” he placed his hand to your back as he directed you back toward the house.

You noticed him exchange a look with Polly before leaving the room.

“Where are we going?” You asked hesitantly as he directed you toward the stairs.

He didn’t answer you, instead taking the lead as he brought you to the top of the stairs and opened the door. “My room.”

The room was small and plain. A bed even smaller than yours in the corner, a nightstand, a chair, a dresser, and a fireplace. The decor was also minimum: a mirror hung at the head of the bed, a lit lamp on the nightstand, a crucifix on the wall by the door, and a few other photos and paintings dispersed between the walls, nightstand, and fireplace, which was also already lit.

The air smelled different in the room. There was something else, in addition to the outside air, sweat, and cigarettes that you’d grown used to. Your eyes searched for a source, but gave up when Tommy closed the door behind him.

“You’re not worried someone will hear?” You asked as Tommy chose to sit in the chair by the nightstand, leaving you to either continue standing or sit on the bed.

“This room is pretty sound proof, long as we don’t do any shouting. The other guests will leave through the betting shop doors. They won’t stay for long, Pol knows that we’re here and will clear them all out soon enough and lock up behind ‘em. I’ll walk you home when we’re done,” he said, pulling out the cigarette case.

He pulled out another stick and ran it across his lips, causing you to lick your own and making you fully aware that you were finally alone in a bedroom. God, your stupid libido. First you were questioning your own morality, and now all you wanted to do was jump his bones.

“Did you, um — did you drink the tea yet?”

Your eyes flicked back toward him, surprised at his question. “That where you want to start?”

He shrugged, lifting up the case before setting it gently on the nightstand. “I hadn’t intended, but in the spirit of gift giving, seems as good a place as any.”

You turned away from him, anxiously avoiding his question by continuing to examine the room and get your mind out of the gutter. The box in question was currently sitting in your dresser drawer, shoved in there after you’d finally unpacked so you wouldn’t have to look at it.

“And why not?” Tommy followed-up, taking your silence as a no.

You shook your head, taking a deep breath before answering, “I have to think about it. I’m convinced it’ll either give me a seizure or just end up being a really bad cup of tea — both of which I believe will happen before it lets me talk with the dead.”

“Perhaps you should talk to Pol. She’s always been more in tune with that side of things, she could offer you some guidance.”

“Maybe,” you mumbled, still unconvinced.

“We’ll revisit that another time, eh. Where is it that you want to start, then?” He asked.

Your mouth felt dry as you tried to consider your options. Honestly, you’d expected Tommy to take the lead in this debrief, almost demanding answers or explanations. You hadn’t expected him to hand you the reigns, and you found yourself struggling to get a grip.

He was watching you as you considered his question, refusing to speak first. You took a gulp of your drink before finally sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“My nightmares — the two dreams that I had in the wagon, I’ve never had dreams like those before. I’ve had realistic dreams before. Mundane or stress-induced dreams where I’m living out my normal day and then wake up and can’t believe I have to do it all again. I’ve had dreams of memories, replaying of certain events. Hell, I’ve even lucid dreamed, where I recognized a dream I’d had before and been able to change the dream. But I have never in my life had dreams like the ones I had in that wagon.”

Tommy’s eyes flicked toward the wall across from him, some recognition in your words. If you hadn’t been so lost in your own recounting, you might have picked up on it, but instead you continued on.

“It felt so real — more than a memory, like I was actually standing in that garden, feeling the wind against my face. But it wasn’t my memory. It wasn’t me. It was like I was watching and feeling the memory of another.”

“Whose?”

You swallowed before looking back up at Tommy. “I think I was dreaming about the story of Cassandra and Apollo.”

You left out the part where in your dreams Apollo just happened to look exactly like Tommy, just with golden eyes. The logical part of you knew that your brain was just inserting what it knew into the dream. Wasn’t it a known fact in your time that people only saw the faces of those they knew in their dreams? That’s all it was, you told yourself.

Tommy took a long drag of his cigarette. “You goin’ to explain who those people are, or just leave me in the dark?”

“Do you know much about Greek mythology?” you asked, trying to gauge how to approach this.

Tommy shook his head. You took a moment to collect yourself, your brain ready to jump into explanation and story telling mode. This was one of your favorite subjects, after all. You took a sip of your drink before leaning against the wall, making yourself more comfortable on the bed.

“Where I’m from—” you started, swallowing as you decided to stop trying to hide the little details of your life — if you were going to do this, you might as well dive in. “I got to learn about it in school, mostly in language arts or social studies. I asked a teacher once why we were taught Greek over other mythologies, like Norse or any Asian religion — she seemed to believe it was because of the influence the Ancient Greek, and then Roman, society had over Europe, which then influenced Western civilization. There’s written records on top of word-of-mouth story telling that has lasted tens of thousands of years. And the influence they still have on philosophy, architecture, military, governance, agriculture, medicine — hell, even the word alphabet is Greek for alpha and beta, the first two letters of the Greek alphabet. Shakespeare wrote plays based on the mythology, Renaissance artists created masterpieces in an attempt to bring it to life. She said it was close to the same reason we learned about Medieval stories even though there’s no historical truth to King Arthur and Camelot. But we all learned them. And it started with literature.”

Tommy blew a puff of smoke, seemingly unimpressed with your pretense. “Ok.”

“Two of the oldest works of literature that’s still widely referenced are Homer’s epic poems — the Iliad and the Odyssey. The stories are pretty significant because of their themes about fate, glory, heroism, pride, wrath. And there’s so many phrases that originated or were inspired by the stories: an Achilles heel, Trojan horse, a face that launched a thousand ships, stuck between a rock and a hard place—”

“You’re losin’ me, Y/N.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’m just — I’m trying to figure out how to make it make sense. The Iliad tells the story of the Trojan war, a ten-year battle between the ancient cities of Troy and Sparta, mostly focusing on the abduction of the Spartan Queen Helen, and the hero Achilles who was recruited to help save her. That’s a crazy oversimplification of the story, and honestly I’ve read so many retellings I’m not even certain on the actual story anymore. But it’s really quite interesting if you want to hear about it some time — I think you would especially find the character of Achilles interesting—”

“Y/N,” Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he waved his hand along. “Madam Despoina said you were named after a Trojan princess. That was Cassandra, ya?”

The sound of Tommy saying your middle name out loud for the first time made your chest tighten.

You nodded, avoiding the feeling. “A Trojan prince was the one who stole Helen, the Queen of Sparta, so the Spartans and the Greeks attacked Troy to get her back. Cassandra was a Trojan princess who was also a priestess.”

Tommy hummed, “And you said that God gave her the gift of prophecy, but then He wanted to fuck her and she refused.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his retelling. “Something like that. But the Greeks didn’t believe in just one God, they had a pantheon of gods, goddesses, titans, and other creatures who all had roles they played in the creation and general day-to-day motion of the world and its people. One of those gods was Apollo.”

He leaned back in his chair, “The god Madam Despoina kept going on about.”

“Exactly. He was the god of, well, a lot of things — but he’s mostly tied to references of the Sun and light. He’s also the god of music, the arts, medicine, archery, town building, and prophecy.”

“And that’s where the Delphi come in?”

“Yep. They were priestesses who spoke his word at his temple, where people would travel from all over for a consult with the oracles. The Greeks considered this temple to be the center of the world.”

“So the princess wouldn’t fuck this god Apollo, so he cursed her. Why not just take back the gift?”

“A common myth is that a god couldn’t undo the work of another god, even their own work. So when Cassandra wouldn’t sleep with him, he couldn’t take back his gift of prophecy. He cursed her instead. She had no choice but accurately predict the future, but no one would believe her. Throughout the war, she tried to warn the Trojans, her family, of the dangers of their actions, but they couldn’t believe. Eventually, the visions of disaster and frustrations of being called a liar and madwoman drove her insane.”

“Why didn’t she just lie? Say the opposite and then they’d believe her?”

You shrugged, smiling at hearing the same question you’d asked your own teacher. “I don’t think she could lie. I don’t think she could even stop herself from telling the prophecies, otherwise I don’t see why she wouldn’t have just shut up early on.”

“What happened to her?”

“She predicted the fall of Troy, and the deaths of her family, we well as her own death. Before that, during the siege, she was raped, and then given away as a concubine to one of the Greek Kings. She and the King were then killed by the Queen and her lover.”

“And what happened to Helen?” he asked, genuinely curious it seemed to the story.

“In Homer’s story, Paris, the Trojan prince who kidnapped her gets killed along with most of the rest of his family, and she’s reunited with her Spartan husband.”

“Lucky her.”

You scoffed, “Comparatively, I guess.”

“Does the story match up with your dreams?”

“Kind of. In the stories, it’s always implied that either Cassandra promised that she’d sleep with him in exchange for the gift and then refused when he came to collect, or that she didn’t promise him and he just assumed that she’d give herself to him if he gave her the gift. Madam Despoina seemed to imply that there was another side to the story.”

“Which is?”

“In my dreams so far, it seems like maybe they actually both were in love with each other. But then something shifts and he’s cursing me— her. And that’s when I wake up.”

“That explains why you kept saying you were cursed,” Tommy mused, taking another sip of his own glass before reaching for the bottle that was already on the nightstand and refilling it. He offered to refill your own glass, which you accepted. “And the main question — what does that all have to do with you?”

You took a deep breath, taking a big gulp of your drink, the warm liquid burning down your throat. “I think Madam Despoina thinks that my mother named me after the Cassandra from this story. It seemed like she was implying that I’m a descendant of Cassandra, or I don’t know, maybe a reincarnation? Both of which are ridiculous.”

Tommy’s brow creased, “Why?”

You shook your head, flopping down to lay flat on the bed, setting your glass on the nightstand. “Because it’s just a story, it isn’t even real! Homer wrote the Iliad like hundreds, maybe thousands of years after the war would have happened. If it even did at all. There’s some evidence of civilization in the area Troy is thought to have been, and even some evidence of war I think, but still. Now, the odds of Madam Despoina being a descendant of the Greek Delphi may be more likely, since there was more evidence of the temple discovered and records found. I still think it’s highly unlikely, but who am I to question her. Maybe some distant relative passed along the stories and traveled across Europe.”

“That’s the rumor,” he nodded. “Came from Balkan gypsies, they say. Would explain why their clan is so deep and connected.”

“As well as the divinity shtick.”

“And the tattoo, it connects you,” Tommy added as he stood up out of the chair and walked toward the bed, lifting up your legs and sitting at the end of the mattress, pulling your legs back to drape over his lap.

“I got this tattoo on a whim,” you said with a shrug, as of trying to shake it off your back. “I just drew it one day and decided to get it for my first tattoo.”

He chuckled, “So, what, after everything you’re just goin’ to chalk that up to a fuckin’ coincidence?”

You huffed, “I don’t know. What else am I supposed to believe? That I thought of the tattoo because something in my blood or heritage or some mythological corner of my subconscious knew that one day I’d need to meet a Balkan gypsy family of fortune tellers who’s ancestry dates back to my own?”

“Is that harder to believe than the two of us having dreams of each other before we’d ever even met?” He asked, the question feeling like a cold splash of water.

“No,” you groaned, throwing your hand over your face. “Both are just as ridiculous.”

Tommy rubbed your leg reassuringly. “Just one more question, and then I’ll drop the subject — for now at least.”

You sat up, realizing you were practically in his lap as you waited for him to continue.

“When I went to speak with Madam Despoina alone, she told me that our fates were entwined. That I shouldn’t repeat the follies of her god and that if I listened to you, if I didn’t push you, if I trusted you, we would achieve so much more together than apart. That you can predict the future, and I would be a fool to take your advice lightly.”

“Tommy, I can’t—“

“Can you predict the future?” He asked softly, running his fingers along your jawline.

“It’s not that simple, Tommy.“ You looked between his eyes, swallowing before dropping your gaze. “I know things. Not everything, I can’t predict Ada’s future or tell you what Harry’s going to have for dinner a week from now. But I know that the prohibition amendment will pass in America at the beginning of the year. I know the worker strikes will only continue to get worse. I know the Irish will continue to fight against the British government for independence, and eventually between themselves. I know that jazz music is going to be everywhere.”

“You knew when the end of the war was goin’ to be,” he added.

“And I know other things — things I can’t—“ you swallowed, lifting your eyes back to his and bringing your own hand to his face.

“Perhaps you are Cassandra,” he said, his eyes moving down to your lips, “and this time, I’m to believe you. I’m to protect you from this bloody curse.”

Your breath hitched at his words, “You— you believe? Me, all this? How?”

“Talk to Polly. Drink the tea. Who bloody knows if Madam Despoina is telling the truth or if she’s a fuckin’ nutter. But I trust my gut, and my gut has wanted you from the moment I saw you in my dreams.”

“Really?” You whispered with what little breath you seemed to have.

He smiled, humming. “And since you yelled at me down by the Cut.”

“I didn’t yell,” you chuckled, feeling the mood lighten again, your face just a breath away from his own.

He pulled you forward just enough for your lips to meet for the fourth time that night, kissing you softly. You kissed him back, the build up from tonight and two nights before making you needy.

“Tommy,” you whimpered when his mouth left your own for your neck. You swallowed thickly as an insecure thought crept through your mind. “I’m not a doll though, Tommy.”

“I know,” he said against your skin, his breath causing you to shiver.

“I don’t know how to help you,” you added, suddenly worried about whatever promises Madam Despoina seemed to be making for you.

He pulled away from your neck to meet your eyes again, running his hand through your hair. “You’ve already helped me, Y/N. I don’t care if you can tell the future — I don’t care if you can’t. I just know…” he paused, his adam’s apple bobbing as he rest his forehead against yours, “I need you, Y/N.”

>> next chapter

<< chapter masterlist

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#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc #Tommy Shelby reader insert #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x reader #thomas Shelby x oc #tommy shelby x ofc #thomas Shelby x ofc #fanfic #time after time #mine

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sykokilljoyy · 2 years ago

Note

hello 🤍 i really enjoy ur writing and would like you request a w2s x reader- where they both attend ethan & faiths gender reveal party together and he ends up getting major baby fever and also just very soft, in love, clingy harry. thankyouuuu :)

baby fever - wroetoshaw imagine

request: hello 🤍 i really enjoy ur writing and would like you request a w2s x reader- where they both attend ethan & faiths gender reveal party together and he ends up getting major baby fever and also just very soft, in love, clingy harry. thankyouuuu :) words: 797 warnings: none! a/n: hes actually the sweetest shut up. also thank you for your patience!

TLDR: harry just loves his partner and wants a baby.

Festivities were high, the energy of your friends bubbling through the crowd as you all stood outside, looking on at the beautiful decorations set up for Ethan and Faith’s gender reveal. It had been a special few months, a lot of celebrating and congratulating your friends for their massive milestone in their relationship.

Whilst it was emotional, seeing the man you’d known since you were a teenager, grown up with a beautiful girlfriend and a baby on the way, you couldn’t help but be elated for them.

Feeling a strong arm pull you into his side, your boyfriend, Harry, dragged you from your thoughts.

“You alright?” He muttered to you closely, pint in one hand and the other tucked around your hip.

“Yeah, yeah, I think so,” A sniffle crumbled your entire facade, earning a sympathetic smile from Harry.

“Come here,” He pulled you fully into him, placing a kiss onto your forehead and feeling you bury your head in his chest.

The cameras weren’t on yet, only a few handheld ones capturing Ethan’s friends and family’s bets on the gender of his future child, and so you let yourself have a little cry before the spectacle starts.

“I’m just so happy for them both,” You cried with a smile, a chuckle reverbarating through Harry’s chest.

Pulling you from his warmth, he tenderly put his hands on your shoulders, looking you in the eye, a soft smile on his lips, “I know, love, now come on, lets get you a drink and go see them.”

Wiping your tears, making sure not to smudge any of the makeup you had spent an hour on in the morning, you grabbed Harry’s outstretched hand and followed him through the crowd of Ethan’s loved ones.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with talking, laughing, singing and dancing as friends and family managed to catch up and celebrate before the big reveal. Both of you had been dragged from couple to couple, mums and siblings, cousins, distant friends and people you’d never even heard of before. As tiring as it was, the excitement still hadn’t died down.

It was Harry that surprised you most. Usually, these bustling social events would drain him until he was empty. He’d be distant and sensitive, usually a drink in hand. Today was different, however.

Not once had he left your side, his tone giddy and exciteable as though you’d only arrived moments before. Clingier than usual, his hand was slotted comfortably around your waist and hadn’t budged once. You pinned his flushed excitement down to happiness for his friend’s announcement, but something about the elated grin on his face whenever he introduced you as his girlfriend had your heart leaping from your chest.

“Yeah, I think it’s gonna be a girl!” You smiled at the camera pointed towards you, bright pink badge pinned to your jacket.

“I’m putting £250 on boy, so it better be one,” Harry laughed towards the lens, his tone playful and light, before smiling at the cameraman.

“Perfect, got it, thanks guys! Enjoy the afternoon.” With that, the cameraman walked onto another, gathering bets for the intro.

Nonchalantly, Harry looped his shoulder around you, taking a sip from his drink, “I can’t wait for us to throw something like this one day.”

Looking up at him, you grinned, “A gender reveal, or a really extravagant bet?”

“A gender reveal, you know. Our future kid is only gonna get the best.”

Shocked, you choked slightly on the drink you were sipping, halting your walk, “What?”

Stopping in front of you, Harry turned to you, confused, “What? You don’t want that?”

A slight sinking feeling reached his stomach, and you could see as his brow fell that his nerves crept in, “Of course I do, you know I do! I’ve just never really heard you bring it up, Harry.”

“I know I don’t talk about it much, but I love you, a lot, and I can’t wait for the day we have a little Harry running around, you know,” His words were soft, almost soft enough to distract you from how sheepish and nervous the man looked in front of you.

“Oh, come here,” You spoke, the warmth of his words hitting you in the chest, matching his flushed cheeks, you pulled him towards you. Though usually his hugs were gentle, as though you would break in his arms, this embrace he held you tight and flush against him.

“If this wasn’t Ethan’s big day, I swear I would propose right this second,” Harry mumbled into your hair, and you pulled back, about to speak when he continued, “But just know, I’m gonna marry you one day, Y/N, I promise.”

“I love you, Harry,” You whispered, the words delicate on your tongue.

“I love you, Y/N,” A kiss met your lips, sweet and special, as though the whole world had turned their backs, as thought it was only you.

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dyeher · 1 year ago

Text

includes| miya osamu x fem! reader x miya atsumu— smut (840 words)

content| Cream Pie, Praising, Degradation, Double Penetration, Their dicks do be touching (i,e do not read this if you are not comfortable with themes that may reflect hard incest).

notes| welcome back old ass content.

you’re spread open on the dining table of your apartment, left leg over osamu’s shoulder, right leg held open by atsumu. you want to say this situation started out purely by accident but, you’d be lying. getting fucked by the miya twins has been a fantasy of yours since you first met them. of course, you were never brave enough to actually say anything about it but, atsumu has never been very good at hiding his attraction to you and well from the way osamu usually glared at his brother’s forwardness you’d assumed he was equally attracted to you.

it never helped that they’d sometimes team up to tease you whenever they could. this turned out to be your downfall, and it was during a teasing session that they’d learned of your desire to be fucked by them both. you didn’t even say anything out loud, but it was your silence after osamu had jokingly pointed it out that you never complained about their tag team teasing, that it was almost like you wanted it.

it’s how you ended up here. the thick vein along the side of osamu’s cock dragging against your gummy walls whenever he was inside you, and the mushroomed head of atsumu’s cock bumping into the entrance of your cervix. it was…everything you’d imagined and more. you figured they’d be competitive at least but, they weren’t, they worked like a well-oiled machine to make you into a crying mess before they even begun to fuck you.

by the time you realized they were taking turns fucking into your slicked-up cunt, you were three orgasms in.

“she’s so fuckin’ tight,” atsumu hisses, “the tightest little slut, fuck.”

“she’s such a good girl,” osamu coos, “god, look how well her pussy’s taking my cock.”

the mixture of atsumu’s degrading words and osamu’s praise let you dizzy, had your cunt clenching around air when osamu pulled out in time for atsumu to guide his cock in. the process repeats itself until you’re full-on crying, sobbing for one of them to stay put, to fuck you properly.

“we’re both getting in there, princess,” osamu assures you, the meaning behind his words don’t register until atsumu chuckles.

“bet her pussy can do it,” he pushes against your legs until your knee is pressed against your side ono the bed and osamu mirror’s his actions. you realize a little too late what that means but your cunt clenches at the thought of them sharing you like that, filling you like that. osamu slaps his cock against your pussy before lining himself up.

“if ya can’t take it, just tell us to stop,” he says, “and we will.” you nod and he eases himself back into you, fucking your walls slowly, teasingly, coaxing your slick out, drawing breathless thank yous from your parted lips. he leans down to kiss you, it’s slow and gentle, but firm, grounding, he tastes like spicy shrimp and mayo, the kind he makes at Onigiri Miya, it’s delicious, per usual.

he pulls back and you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch atsumu squeeze the head of his cock next to osamu. the sensation is new, and your body reacts immediately, squeezing and sucking at them.

“ah shit, “atsumu curses, he leans his head against his brother’s shoulder when he bottoms out.

osamu stares at your face, your eyes are rolled back, and your breath are coming rapidly, “ya okay pretty girl? want us to continue?” he doesn’t try to hide the strained quality of his voice.

you can feel them, atsumu’s deeper than osamu but the stretch, oh God, the stretch was maddening. you barely nod before they begin to move, atsumu pulling out and osamu grinding against your walls.

“fuck, ya feel s’good,” osamu moans, “so fuckin’ tight.”

“yer cunts fucking stretched,” atsumu smacks at one of your breasts, and chuckles when all you can do is moan. “this really the first time ya did this?” atsumu knows you can’t answer, as they both speed up.

osamu wipes at the tears that begin to trickle down your cheeks and coos about how pretty you are, while atsumu grunts about how much of a slut you are for being able to fit both of them in you. it takes them less time than you expected to have you creaming around them, especially with atsumu’s fingers shoved into your mouth and osamu’s fingers toying at your clit.

they cum soon after, filling your cunt together, pulling out with an embarrassing pop. astumu prods at your entrance experimentally and they make identical sounds of surprise when he easily fits four of his fingers inside of you.

they step back to watch the way your hole gapes at them, leaking their cum down between your ass cheeks and onto the dining table. it dawns on you in the recess of your mind that, they’ve probably done this before. you chuckle at the realization that despite their short-comings and teasing nature with each other, the miya twins like to share.

#atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu smut #osamu smut #osamu miya x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hq: beyablade.

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shadowdaddies · 1 year ago

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hello! Dorian and reader had a bad argument and reader acts like she's right but then she understands she's wrong and now she has to make it up for him? And it's very hard for her. (And Dorian teases her a little about it?)

Thank you

I don't know what came over me when I wrote this. I couldn't write a serious argument with Dorian so I changed it a bit to be a prank on Chaol. It's so silly, it's low-key a crackfic. I giggled the whole time I wrote this

The Bet

Dorian x Reader silly fluff

You gave Dorian a deadpan stare as he arched a challenging eyebrow at you. Rolling your eyes, you scoffed at him. “You cannot convince Chaol that you’re a ghost! He’s not that stupid, Dorian. You’ve seen him so many times since you and Aelin forged the lock - you’re the godfather to his children!”

Dorian simply gave you an arrogant smirk, shrugging a shoulder. “Do you want to make a bet, then? I say that I can convince Chaol that I died and I’ve been ruling Adarlan as a ghost, you say that I can’t... Whoever is wrong has to go down and listen to Mort rant for one hour without interrupting him.”

With a sound of disgust, you shook your head and sighed, “Dorian, that’s horrible.” But you couldn’t help the smirk on your face as you shook his hand and winked, “have fun with Mort.”

~~~

Chaol and Yrene arrived with their children that evening, their little girl Josefin giggling as you scooped her up in your arms. “You’ve grown so much since I last saw you!” You said, giving your goddaughter a kiss on the cheek before giving Yrene and Chaol hugs. You were rocking their baby boy, Brullo, in your arms when Chaol pressed, “where is Dorian? You think he’d be here to greet us by now.”

Confusion crossed your features as well as the question, and you became slightly worried as you yourself wondered where Dorian was. Before you could answer Chaol’s question, Dorian entered the room, looking more solemn than you’d ever seen him, a bluish light flickering around him. Chaol rushed over to embrace him, but Dorian merely held up a hand, halting Chaol in his tracks.

With a dramatic sigh, Dorian clutched his chest as he turned nearly transparent, a faint glow around his form. The rest of you stood frozen in shock, Dorian looking up with a sorrowful look on his face as he spoke softly. “I did not know how to tell you in writing, Chaol. We had only recently discovered that nothing could be done.” With a shaky breath, Dorian continued, “I died that day that Aelin and I forged the lock. I’ve been able to appear for some time in my old form, much like Elena, with our similar raw magic. But it seems to be fading, and I don’t know how much longer I will hold onto this spirit form.” Dorian choked out the last part with an overdramatic sob, crashing to his knees before Chaol to hide his fake anguish.

You gave Dorian a flat look from where you stood behind Chaol and Yrene, about to speak when Chaol himself started crying. “We’ll get through this, Dor. Yrene and I will help, we’ll figure this out together.” You cut him off, “Oh. My. Gods. What is wrong with you, Dorian?”

Chaol and Yrene whipped around to look at you, shock on their faces at your insensitivity. Dorian fell over laughing on the ground, returning to his normal appearance - Yrene quickly understanding Dorian’s stupid prank. “You’d better be glad that your goddaughter is playing out front, Dorian,” she scolded through the smile that tugged at her lips.

Chaol looked at Dorian, tense for a moment before playfully shoving him in the chest. “You asshole,” he said as you all laughed at Dorian’s antics and Chaol’s concern. You stomach dropped when you realized what this meant for you, though, and Dorian flashed you a charming smile as he declared that he had won the bet.

“There was a bet?” Yrene questioned, and you sighed. “Yes, because Dorian convinced Chaol FOR A SECOND that he was a ghost, I have to go listen to Mort talk for an hour.” Chaol let out a rough laugh, clutching his stomach as he shook his head. “No way you’re doing that on your own. Dorian deserves that punishment too for pulling that shit.”

~~~

And that was how you found yourself with Dorian, sitting on the damp floors outside the tomb as Mort droned on, making snide remarks about how the kingdom was once so great, now ruled by two idiots. You snickered at Dorian, pushing past him to run up the stairs when the hour was up only for him to catch you around the waist, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he teased, “I did win the bet, and I’ve yet to claim a prize since I had to join you... I’ll be thinking about what I want.” You rolled your eyes as Dorian took your hand, tugging you along as you went to join Chaol, Yrene, and your godchildren for dinner.

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yangbbokari · 1 year ago

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hiii, im back again!! I’m totally inlove with your part 2 of the bet !! I just thought of another angst (I know sorry 😭) but what about stray kids pushing reader away, avoiding them at all costs because of something (idk😭) and reader thought the wrong idea and started to overthink but reader ended up going on a walk but ran into a friend and started to talk to them, not noticing the time, the sun setting, And their phone blowing up with miss calls and messages from their lover. They totally forgot about everything. Then reader finally heads home after their friend telling them they have to go and once they walk in they see their worried/sobbing significant other.

- 🧈

sry that this took so long anon😭I've just been real lazy as always

Needed Space

Pairing: Han Jisung x gn!reader Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/comfort Warnings: Yelling, crying, language, i think that's it Summary: You give Han the space he wanted so badly and he grows worried. A.N.: Hehe 🧈 anon…. I got lazy again as u can see but I’m finally done😭

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was the week of the comeback so you knew it’d be busier and Han would be more stressed. But even so, you didn’t expect him to distance himself this far.

It got to the point where only a few words were exchanged and you only saw him about twice a week.

One day, Han decided to take a quick break. It wasn’t really a break since he was still working on different pieces of music, but at least he got to stay at home.

“Hey… Hannie? Have you had something to eat yet?” You timidly asked as you stepped into the room. “Hi, baby. I’ll eat in a bit. Just let me finish this real quick.” You softly sigh, walking up to him and made him look at you. “You already said that hours ago. You need some food in your system to finish your work.”

He shoved you away, nearly knocking you off you’re feet. “Look. I already told you I’ll eat later! I don’t have time to humor you so just leave me the fuck alone.” Your boyfriend didn’t even spare you another look before returning to his work.

You could only nod your head slowly. You slipped out of the room and grabbed your things. You knew he was just stressed but you couldn’t help the tears that pricked your eyes.

You thought about tell Han that you’d be out for a minute, but he did tell you to leave him alone. So you just left the house. ~~~ You didn’t even notice the amount of time that had passed until the sun began to set. Your phone had died a while back but you wanted to spend a bit more time by yourself.

Seeing the sun set, you knew it was time to finally return home. You hoped that Han would have cooled down down by the time you got back.

You didn’t really want to return to an angry Han so you trudged your way home. The pebbles and leaves seemed so much more interesting all of a sudden.

There was still a good distance between you and your home when you heard someone running towards you. Your terrified eyes quickly softened when a very disheveled Han stopped in front of you.

He wrapped his arms around you and cried into your shoulder. Pushing you away a bit roughly, checking your sides to make sure you weren’t injured.

“Wh-where were you? I got so scared.” He asked, still worried.

Your eyes held the softest comfort in you for him. “I was just at the corner cafe, baby.”

“We’re you going to leave me? I saw that all your most important assets were gone and I began to think that I finally scared you away for good.” He threaded his fingers through his hair rapidly before continuing to ramble to you. “I didn’t mean to yell at you, sweetheart. I was just so so stressed and frustrated. I know that’s no excuse to treat you the way I did. But I’m just trying to explain to you because… because… because I’m scared you’ll leave me and I just really want you to stay by my side.”

“Hannie…”

“Please don’t leave me…”

“Hannie…”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Hannieeee….”

“You mean everything to me and I really don’t want to lose you.”

“Hannie!!”

He slightly jumped as his eyes met yours. “Y-yes?”

“You’re rambling again. It’s fine. I know you were stressed and that’s why I gave you the space to calm down. You mean a lot to me and I wouldn’t risk losing you over a small argument.”

Han let out a breath of relief with a smile before hugging you. “Thank you for forgiving me. I’m so sorry. I can’t promise but I’ll try to be better for you.”

The two of you walked back home together. You were glad that he was by your side and so was he.

#skz fanfic #han jisung fanfic #han jisung angst #han jisung fluff #han jisung hurt/comfort #Eheheheheehehehehehehe #mumu writes

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the-chosen-fanfiction · 2 months ago

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Jesus | What Once Was | Platonic

Jesus is stronger than any past and provides a family where others have failed.

Requested by Kalie

TW: Abusive behaviour (both physical and verbal), mentions of death at childbirth

They’re absolutely gorgeous, handcrafted with the utmost care, coming to life right inside your palm as you turn the little wooden statue around to inspect it further. It is as if nature itself slipped right into the woodcarver’s hand and streamed from his fingertips into the delicate doe that the decoration resembles. It is as if you’re standing in the middle of a luscious forest, surrounded by the same trees that the statuette in your hand is made from, and coming face to face with the small deer at the edge of a lake.

Oh, how much you’d have loved to have this toy as a little girl, how many adventures you’d have taken it on, how you would have played around with it wherever you went—

“—What do you think you are doing? Put that down!” You’re snapped out of your awe by the voice of your older brother Caleb. “I’m so sorry,” he directs himself towards the merchant offering his wares, “She doesn’t know when to keep her hands to herself, and everything she touches either breaks or dies.”

The salesman’s kind smile evaporates and twists into something more uncertain as he looks from you to Caleb, taking the carven doe from you and putting it back where it used to sit. You flush in embarrassment, turning away your gaze. You are used to appearing smaller than you are. Caleb yanks you with him by your wrist, nails digging into your skin.

Usually, the youngest child of the family is the most precious one, coddled by their parents or protected by their older siblings. Due to circumstances, however, your family sees you as a curse more than a blessing.

Caleb pushes you into the custody of two of your sisters who are busy browsing the fabric stall. “Look after her while I go get meat. Make sure she doesn’t mess up again.”

One of your sisters, Orpah, grips your arm.

“I thought abba assigned you to babysitting duty today, Cal.”

“I am not bringing her there again since that ridiculously humiliating display from last time.” Caleb hisses, referring to the time you went to purchase meat and apparently bought the wrong kind, sending your oldest brother into a fit upon him finding out.

Orpah rolls her eyes and turns to your other sister, Susannah, who lets out a scoff.

“Fine. We’ll watch her. Make sure she doesn’t get herself killed, even though you bet we’d love to see her try.”

You swallow hard upon hearing their verbal abuse, their lack of care when it comes to you, their youngest sister. Abba never stuck up for you, either; even he acknowledges an edge of truth to the source of their behaviour towards you.

You don’t think it’s fair at all. It wasn’t your fault that eema lost too much blood while she gave birth to you, nor was it because of you that her heart stopped moments after her final push. From that moment on, the burden of her death was bestowed upon you, the blame either lingering through in the background of every conversation or blatantly shoved down your throat through ungrounded accusation. Your siblings saw you as the black sheep of the family, the one who took their beloved mother from them, whereas your father saw your survival as a trial of Adonai as well as a punishment for his sins.

This kind of existence is no existence at all. Day after day you wait eagerly for nightfall so that you can cry alone in your bed and wonder if things will ever change. If they’d be better off without you. You’ve considered running away from home, but know that you wouldn’t be able to survive all by yourself.

“…Did you hear what I said? My, you really do have sheep dung in your ears.”

You blink as Susannah gives you a death glare, looking at you like you have just stepped on her toes without apologising.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, go get us some fruit.”

Orpah impatiently crosses her arms as she glowers at you. “Be quick about it.”

A pear and a persimmon. You know their preferred fruits by heart by now — learnt so the hard way — so you don’t need to ask before heading over to the nearest fruit stand, your sisters right behind you to keep an eye on you. At the stall, you browse the wares for a bit longer than necessary. You pretend to be selecting the finest specimen from the displayed ones, the merchant giving you an odd look. Giving her an apologetic smile, you quickly grab the two requested pieces of produce.

“How much?” The merchant names her price. You pay for it with the little allowance you have left and slide the items into your pocket heading back to your siblings to hand over the fruits.

“Here.”

Susannah inspects her persimmon as if assessing it for imperfections. Orpah pushes her tongue against the inside of her cheek as she raises an eyebrow at you, not even as much as looking at the pear in her hand. “This one is bruised.” she hisses. “Look.”

Susannah snickers as you lean closer to your older sister, apparently in on something, but you don’t have time to process what it might be about. Without warning, Orpah tosses the pear against your face.

Staggering back, you reach for your nose — the impact is not that bad, but it hurts nevertheless — your head momentarily spinning as you let out a noise that makes both your sisters laugh in mockery.

“You should have known better.”

Sudden tears sting behind your eyes, for you feel humiliated in a crowded area, where several dozens of people bear witness to the scene your sisters are causing. Their laughter shunts through your chest, stinging deeply, the lump in your throat growing to the point you are short of breath.

Without another thought, you turn away, rushing through the masses whilst hiding your face from view, tears streaking down your face as you run.

You don’t notice a handful of men and women surrounding the Teacher they’ve been following for a while as you rush through the crowd. A few concerned glances are sent your way before they turn to their Rabbi, Who gives them a certain look — the kind appearing on His face when He needs to do something without them asking questions until later. He nods in your direction, and the rest of the group silently follows Him.

Finding yourself in a remote alleyway, you lean against the wall as you heave for air, your lungs burning as you collapse behind a few barrels that fishermen have left there after their trades to be picked up later. Seeing white specks in your vision, you feel your shoulders start to shake. Behind the safe wood, you deem yourself secure and hidden. As a shadow casts over you, you feel your breath hitch inside your throat, immediately realising that you have been found.

“Hey, now.” The voice does not belong to any of your siblings. Still, you remain right where you are as your heart races inside your chest. A subtle brush of fabric being disturbed. Someone is approaching you.

Cowering, you hide your face from the shadow darkening above you, flinching as if afraid to be hit again. Instead of being met with a closed fist, however, you feel a warm hand land on your shoulder. Regardless of its gentleness, you jolt.

“Daughter.” The voice of the Stranger is warm and melts right through the layers of your heart, causing it to stutter inside your chest, “Daughter, look at Me.”

Tears leak down your face as you shake your head. No matter Who this Man is, you are not worthy of looking Him in the eye. “I want to see your face.”

The request is made so warmly that you can’t help but remove your hands from your raw face. The moment a warm hand cradles it, tilting it upwards, you open your eyes again.

Pools of deep brown gaze down at you with a gentleness you’ve never seen on anyone ever before.

“My daughter. (Y/n).”

Your chin quivers as you attempt to find the first question to ask. The Stranger thumbs away a tear and smiles.

“You don’t need to say anything. All you need is Me. My Name is Jesus. Come, stand up. You don’t need to hide from Me.”

You feel some strength come back in your legs at the command, and you straighten out to stand next to the Man Who introduced Himself as Jesus. Surrounding Him are a few people with curious yet kind eyes.

“There.” Jesus muses. “Now we can properly see you.” He readjusts your veil so it sits better on your hair and looks at you with an expression that floods you with unfamiliar warmth.

“I am glad I met you here today,” he whispers, “That we run into one another while you are surrounded with the people who you should have been able to call your family.”

Your vision blurs, but Jesus shushes you and shakes His head. “There is no need for tears anymore. You have been hurt enough. I know how you afraid you have been. How you have felt about yourself. Today, that all changes.”

“There you are, you little—”

Caleb freezes in his spot as he pushes through the crowd of Jesus’ followers and sees you standing near the Man Who treats you with more kindness in a single minute than your own flesh and blood ever has done in more than twenty years of your life.

“Who are You?! Get away from my sister.”

“She is no longer your sister.” Jesus states, “For you have never been her brother. She is a daughter of her Father in heaven.”

Caleb frowns, shaking his head in confusion, rage starting to seep into his features.

“What kind of nonsense are You spewing?! Our father is back home in—”

“You and your family—” Jesus lets His gaze go over to your sisters, who have gathered behind Caleb upon hearing the commotion. “You and your siblings as well as your father, have blamed this young woman for something that was not her fault. You have treated her like cattle, to be talked down on, hurt her in ways that I don’t even want to say out loud. I am here to declare, no more of that.”

Your oldest brother grits his teeth as Orpah puts her hand on his arm. “You know nothing about our family, You—”

“—You will no longer hurt her. You will no longer hurt My creation.”

Your face warms upon the words Jesus is saying. He is speaking with such authority that you don’t even consider it for a moment, accepting His words right away, believing them, for you had been depraved from any comfort of the sort all your life; This Stranger right in front of you, He is all you needed, and then, somehow, you realise that He is more. More than just a Man telling people they are loved and wanted. More than just a Man rebuking others for their wicked behaviour. Your entire soul is suddenly flooded by this understanding, and a large smile spreads over your expression.

“(Y/n). As I said, I know you have been hurt by those who were supposed to protect and love you. But I will teach you a different kind of love. A true, Godly love. I will redefine the meaning of fatherhood for you. You will learn it is supposed to be like. What a true Father is supposed to do for His children.”

“Don’t listen to this nonsense, (Y/n).” Caleb hisses, “He’s a madman! Some random rabbi with a Messiah-complex!”

Jesus can’t help but let His lips quirk upwards at the irony of the latter statement, but no one catches on.

“(Y/n).” Jesus ignores your brother, focusing on you completely. “Will you follow Me?”

There is no hesitation in your voice. “Yes!” you breathe, “Yes— Yes, I will!”

The crowd of Jesus’ followers around you lets out a breath of happiness and seems eager to get to know you, whilst Caleb, Orpah and Susannah deeply frown.

Your brother steps forward in an attempt to grab your wrist and pull you away, but two men of whom you don’t know the names yet shield you from him, looming over your sibling, who swallows hard.

“Our— Our father will not be pleased! This is not the end of it, (Y/n)! You’ll be hearing from us, soon! Come on, let’s go.”

With your sisters in tow, Caleb stomps off without as much as a look back. You let out a sigh of relief as your tears dry on your cheeks at last. Jesus smiles down at you and releases your face. Just now, you turn to the group standing with you, sniffling a bit as you smile.

“Uh, shalom shalom.”

You are greeted with a few shalom’s from both men and women.

“These are my followers,” Jesus tells you, “They will be your new siblings, if you will. And this time around, they will be kind and loving to you. It seems like they can barely wait to meet you. How does that sound?”

You can’t help but laugh a little — genuinely so, which you haven’t done in a very long time — and nod, running your hands down your tunic. “Oh, I… I think I’d like that very much.”

Jesus chuckles, nodding. “Very good. I’m sure they can tell you more about Me, too, hm?” As Jesus looks up at His followers, they all eagerly nod.

Your heart swells with sudden happiness, a sensation you don’t even think you’ve truly experienced before, and you step forward to meet them more closely, surrounded by unexpected gentleness and acceptance. You have been so parched for Truth that you welcome the new feeling with open arms, at the precipice of something you have been dying to have in life.

The Messiah fondly watches how His students involve you into their day right away, sensing the way the yoke of your family falls from your shoulders, replaced by His soft one.

#the chosen #reader insert #the chosen x reader #chosen x reader #platonic #the chosen jesus #jesus x reader

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munson-blurbs · 2 years ago

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hiii i've gone through your whole masterlist and i'm obsessed with your works <333 an idea popped into my head and i just know you'll be able to bring it to justice because you're so talented hehe would you be down to write a friends to lovers fic about grooms man!eddie x bridesmaid!reader, like maybe it's nancy and steve's wedding, and everyone in the party just teases them like "oh so are you guys gonna be the next ones to get married" just so they'll admit their feelings to each othee once and for all hahaha sorry if it's too specific! love you <333

Eep this was so fun!

Warnings: some angst, language

WC: 2.6k

Divider credit to @firefly-graphics

“There we go.” You gently weave the clip of Nancy’s veil into her hair, fluffing the tulle so it brushes her shoulders. “Nance, you look stunning.” Her curly hair is perfectly coiffed, falling in soft waves. Her dress is classic and elegant; an off-the-shoulder bodice with a full skirt. Even her makeup is perfect, with eyeshadow shimmering on her lids, lips painted a soft baby pink.

“Seriously,” Robin agrees as she hands the rest of the bridesmaids their bouquets. “Steve is gonna lose his mind when he sees you walk down that aisle.”

Max pipes up from behind her. “I’ve started taking bets on how long it’ll take him to start blubbering.”

“Personally, I think it’ll be as soon as he hears the music,” Holly adds, smirking. This makes everyone giggle, and no one can disagree.

Once the laughter dies down, Nancy beams, looking at her bridal party. “I can’t thank you girls enough for everything you’ve done to make this day so special.” Her voice breaks on the last word, and maid of honor Robin dashes over with a tissue.

“Don’t cry! You’ll smudge your makeup!” she warns, contorting her face at her own words. “God, I sound like such a priss!”

“Yeah, but you’re my priss,” Nancy teases, carefully dabbing at the corners of her eyes. She turns to you with a smile. “Y/N, could you go see if the guys are ready? I have this fear that one of them is gonna show up missing a tie or a shoe or something.”

“I’m also taking bets on that,” Max calls out. “My money’s on Mike.”

You take Nancy’s hand and give it a little squeeze. “No problem. I’ll make sure everyone is fully dressed.”

She thanks you and pulls you in for a hug. “I’m so glad the gods of dorm assignments made us roommates,” she says as she lets you go. It seems like ages ago that you’d lugged your suitcases into the tiny dorm room your freshman year of college, greeted by the shy girl with big dreams of being a New York Times editor. The two of you had become fast friends, writing papers and cramming for exams together. After college, both of you had landed jobs at The Indianapolis Star, and the shared experience of being women in journalism had only brought you closer.

It had also brought you closer to Nancy’s friends from high school, many of whom were in the wedding party.

You rap on the door to the groom’s suite three times. “Is everyone decent?” you ask, pushing open the door slightly.

“10-4, we’re good to go!” Dustin’s voice calls back. He’s been taking his best man duties seriously–perhaps too seriously–since Steve first asked him to take on the role. You walk into the room and squeal with excitement at the guys in their tuxedos.

“You all look so handsome!” you gush. “Just wait until you see your bride, Steve. She looks even more beautiful than usual.”

Steve smiles, already blinking back tears. You’ll have to report back to Max that he didn’t even make it to the chapel before crying.

A clamoring comes from inside the restroom. “Stupid tie; won’t stay straight!” Eddie Munson grumbles, flinging open the door in frustration. “Does anyone here know how to–whoa.” He stops mid-sentence when he notices you in your lilac dress, accessory woes all but forgotten.

“Need some help?” you offer politely, trying to calm your nerves at the prospect of being so close to him. Eddie just nods, and you pray that he doesn’t notice your trembling fingers as you adjust his tie. “There; now it’s perfect.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “You, um, you look really…wow.” He blushes as he trips over his words. He’d been shy around you ever since you’d moved to Indiana after college two years earlier, but he’s never been this tongue-tied. Probably just nervous about the wedding, you think, shrugging it off.

“Good wow, I hope,” you tease, finding yourself unable to make eye contact with him. His gray suit is fitted to his body and his usually unruly hair is pulled back into a low bun. If it wasn’t for the signature rings adorning his fingers, the D20 cufflinks, and the guitar pick necklace peeking out from under his shirt, you might not even recognize him.

“Y-yeah, of course!” He rushes, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You blush at the compliment. “Well, you look very wow, yourself.” He looks more than wow; he’s downright gorgeous, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. Especially in front of a crowd.

“Okay, lovebirds, save it for your own wedding,” Dustin jeers with a roll of his eyes. “We gotta start lining up.” He reads out the pairs:Mike with Holly, Lucas with Max…and Eddie with you.

You loop your arm through Eddie’s, waiting your turn to walk down the aisle. Steve and Dustin are already at the altar; the former has tears streaming down his cheeks, and Nancy hasn’t even started walking with her father yet.

“He’s such a mess,” Eddie whispers to you, making you laugh.

“Careful,” you warn jokingly, “you might be the same way at your wedding.” Your heart skips a beat when you imagine him in Steve’s spot; only instead of Nancy, you’re the bride.

You and Eddie part once you make your way to the front of the chapel; he takes his place next to Mike and you take yours alongside Holly. Everyone stands when Nancy enters, and you find yourself nearly as emotional as Steve. Her eyes are glued to her groom, and she can’t seem to stop smiling.

Your gaze briefly shifts to the groomsmen, and you’re taken aback when you realize Eddie’s looking back at you. He notices the tears brimming in your eyes and quickly pokes his tongue between his lips to make you laugh. You mirror his action and he grins, looking down at the ground before he gets caught causing mischief.

The ceremony is simple and sweet, with Nancy and Steve reading handwritten vows. After promising to love and cherish one another forever, the minister pronounces them husband and wife, and all the guests burst into applause.

Steve places a deep, passionate kiss on his new wife’s lips, and the recessional starts. You hook your arm around Eddie’s once more and head to the cocktail hour.

Nancy grabs you as soon as you enter the sunlit room. “Can you help me with my bustle?” she asks sheepishly. “This dress feels like it weighs a hundred pounds!”

You nod emphatically, ignoring your growling stomach. You really worked up an appetite being a bridesmaid. “Of course, Mrs. Harrington,” you say with a smile.

You’re kneeling on the ground of the bridal suite, determined to hook the loop around the buttons dotting the back of Nancy’s dress, when you hear a knock on the door.

“Special delivery!” Eddie’s voice alone makes you blush. Nancy, always astute, catches your pink cheeks in the mirror and makes kissy faces. You swat at her playfully.

“Come in, we’re decent!” you call back, and he enters with a plate of hors d'oeuvres.

He extends the plate out between the two of you. “Figured you ladies might be hungry,” he says. Nancy grabs a mini quiche, but you don’t want to get grease on your hands while touching her pristine white dress.

“You can just leave the plate there,” you tell him politely, jutting your head toward a nearby table. “I’ll have some when I’m done with this.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. Max told me you’ve barely eaten anything all day, and I’m not waiting for you to faint. Really cuts into our dancing time if you’re unconscious, y’know?” He pinches a mushroom cap between two fingers and motions to your mouth. “How’s it?”

“Delicious,” you report. “Hit me with another.”

He laughs and obliges. This time, his fingers gently graze your lips, and you have to stop yourself from visibly shivering.

“Thank you,” you say softly, retreating into yourself after the accidentally intimate moment.

“Not a problem,” Eddie replies, unfazed by the ordeal. “Anything else I can help with?”

“I think we’re good here!” You finish fastening the bustle triumphantly, and Nancy breathes a sigh of relief now that she no longer has to drag the long train.

Eddie nods and steals a bacon-wrapped scallop from the plate. “I’ll see you two out there, then,” he says, but he’s only looking at you.

With Eddie safely on the other side of the door, Nancy looks at you with her arms folded across her bodice. “Now do you believe us when we say he’s in love with you?”

You bark out a laugh. “Because he brought a plate of food? It was for you, too. Is he also harboring a secret crush on you?”

“He didn’t feed it to me,” she shrugs, giving a knowing smirk. “And he didn’t mention dancing with me, either. Only you. And the way he looks at you? Come on, Y/N.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter. “Let’s just get you to your husband.” You can’t let yourself develop stronger feelings towards Eddie. You’ve been through this before–everyone convinces you that a guy likes you, you let yourself get attached, and then your heart gets broken when he inevitably starts dating someone else or says he only sees you as a friend. No, that can’t happen again.

The band plays song after song as you and your friends dance the night away. Robin, four shots of tequila deep, starts a conga line to Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.” Between the endless barrage of photo taking and the sheer happiness radiating through you, your cheeks hurt from smiling.

Eddie’s among the group of you on the dance floor, laughing and moving along to the beat. This is probably what he meant by ‘our dancing time,’ you think; to your dismay, you’re disappointed by this realization. You could, in theory, ask him to dance to a slow song–it is 1992, after all–but you can’t stomach the idea of him rejecting you. Or worse–taking pity on you.

“Having fun?” Max shouts over the music, and you give her a thumbs-up. “How about you?” she asks Eddie, who’s sulking now that the band is playing some overdone Madonna song.

“Would be better if we could get these guys to do some Metallica or Black Sabbath,” he jokes, although you suspect there’s some truth to his statement.

Max rolls her eyes and says, “Don’t worry; you can have a metal band play when you and Y/N get married.” Your eyes widen at her brazenness, and you try your best to be inconspicuous as you shuffle back to your seat.

“Y/N!” Max calls after you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Her cheeks are flushed, though it may be from the drinking and dancing.

“‘S not just that,” you mumble, slumping into your seat. “Sure, it’s embarrassing; but it’s also…I don’t wanna get my hopes up.”

“Get your hopes up?”

“Yeah, get my hopes up that…that he feels the same way about me.” You feel your voice warble, and you take a deep breath to quell your emotions.

“Are you kidding?” Max asks incredulously. “Eddie is pathetically obsessed with you; it’s so obvious.”

“Then why hasn’t he asked me out? We’ve known each other for two years, Max. Two years. And he can make me feel like the most special person in the world, but he never makes a move.”

Max is uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, chewing on a painted fingernail. “You didn’t know Eddie back in high school,” she starts, “but he’s basically spent his entire life being rejected, especially by girls.” She sits down next to you and rests her palm on your knee. “He asked this one girl to prom–a cheerleader–because he thought she was into him. And maybe she was, I don’t know. But her ex-boyfriend ‘won her back’ the day before they were supposed to go together, and she left Eddie in the dust.”

“That’s…that’s terrible,” you manage, a bitter taste settling on your tongue. “I had no idea…”

“He’s told us a hundred times that he wants to ask you out. He has all these plans: dinner and a movie, or a concert; one time, he even thought of taking you to a cooking class because you mentioned how you went to one in college and really liked it.” She snorts at the idea of Eddie using a stove without burning the place to the ground. “But every time, he second guesses himself and chickens out. And every time, we give him shit for it.”

“So what do I do?” You gnaw at your bottom lip anxiously, looking at her through your lashes.

Max pauses, considering her options. “Wait here,” she says finally, bolting from the table and making a beeline to Lucas and Dustin. She whispers something to them, and they nod in unison. You watch as Dustin sprints outside, where Eddie is smoking a cigarette. Lucas talks to the band, who is in between songs. They’re nodding their heads and discussing something, and Lucas looks satisfied when he hops down from the stage.

Your pout softens when you hear the opening notes of “Nothing Else Matters” by Metallica. You glance over at Eddie, who is making his way towards you with a shy smile on his face. When he gets to your seat, he extends his hand.

“Can I have this dance?” he asks. You can see in his eyes that he’s nervous, maybe even more so than you.

“Of course you can,” you reply, taking his hand and joining him on the dance floor. You drape your left hand over his shoulder and his places his on your waist as the two of you sway to the music.

“It’s come to my attention that I’m an idiot,” he hums in your ear. “And that there’s someone really, really important to me that I’ve been hurting, and I didn’t even know it.”

You shake your head, hair tickling his face. “‘S not your fault,” you tell him. “I could’ve said something, too.”

“That is very true,” he teases, twirling you gently. “Maybe we can be idiots together?”

“I’d think we’d better, considering everyone’s already started planning our wedding,” you joke back. “Although I’d prefer to start with a date.”

Eddie holds you closer, pressing a light kiss to your nose. “I think that can be arranged.”

The two of you dance in comfortable silence, just holding one another. You rest your head on his chest, breathing in the scent of musky cologne and cigarettes. You feel so safe, so loved, with his strong hand holding the small of your back. “Hey, Eddie?” you murmur.

“Mhm?”

You shift your body slightly so you can look at him. His dark brown eyes are focused on you and you alone. He runs his tongue along his lower lip, and his jaw twitches slightly with nerves.

With all of the courage you can muster, you lean in and kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He pulls you impossibly closer, resting a hand on your cheek and caressing it with his thumb.

“Can’t believe I waited this long to do that,” he muses. “I really am an idiot.”

“I don’t know what’s more unbelievable: Eddie Munson kissing me, or Eddie Munson in a tux.” You laugh and kiss him again.

“Well, you’d better get used to the first one,” he says with a smirk. “But the second one isn’t happening again until our wedding.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #requests

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timaeusterrored · 1 year ago

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(Let it out)

V doesn’t cry for a while.

You’d think after everything he had been through, losing Johnny, Jackie, and T-Bug, and losing himself would cause him to break. But it doesn’t. He doesn’t cry for a while.

He doesn’t cry until about two months after he and Kerry are married, and he’s admitting to himself that the relic ruined him in deeper ways than he thought. Rogue passed over the torch of the Afterlife to him, promised she’d still be around if he needed anything, and that was that.

Vax was standing in his massive penthouse, sounds of a bath running upstairs and soft music playing over the surround sound. A calm night, the husbands still deep in their honeymoon phase and their “holy shit can you believe we lived through that?” Phase.

“Vax?”

V wasn’t aware of the tears running down his face until warm hands cupped his cheeks and wiped them away. No judgement or harshness, just pure concern from his lover.

He tried to answer, say he was okay, but his voice broke and a sob wracked through him. He covered his mouth as Kerry brought him closer, petting his hair and whispering to him. He wonders how long this had been anticipated. How long people were waiting for him to break.

He cried for Jackie, the first one he lost in this chaos. Then for T-Bug, who died quicker than he had time to process, he didn’t even know she was dead until a week later. Then he cried for Johnny, the one he came to see as his other half. By the end of it, he was ready to accept that he and Johnny were one. That he could find a way to save them both. He loved Johnny, in such a way it hurt to not have him anymore.

He cried for his lost youth. For Vex, who had to become a mother quicker than anyone ever should. For himself, raising the both of them on the streets for 15 years. Then he cried over the burn on his hand, a signal for the start of the worst years of his life. Maybe if that night had never happened, he would have never met him. Maybe he could take showers like a normal person and swim in his perfectly good pool.

And then he cried for Kerry. For the poor man that didn’t deserve any of this. Who probably thought he was signing up for some fun with a young man and got stuck with a wrecking ball instead. Vax had spent the last few years trying so hard to be that. He hated watching Kerry take care of him after the space station, waking up to Kerry holding him to his chest after a nightmare. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, it was supposed to be the other way around.

“Hey… sweetheart, look at me.”

Vax felt his face being pushed away from the safety of Kerry’s shoulder. Back to the harsh reality of Night City… but in that moment, he was in their living room. Warm and safe from any horrors in the city below. The warm hands holding his face were full of love and as Kerry promised him on their wedding day, protection.

They couldn’t protect each other in the same ways, but they still loved each other.

Kerry bumped their foreheads together, forcing eye contact. Vax hated eye contact when he was vulnerable like this.

“I love you.”

Those three little words, ones that took them so long to say with confidence. Now he said it with his full chest, eye contact and all.

“How long have to been waiting for this?” Vax’s voice was broken from crying, still trying to catch his breath. But Kerry just smiled.

“A while. Crying on our wedding day doesn’t count either. Had bets with everyone going. I thought you’d cry about a month after you came down, Judy had two-“ Vax started laughing before Kerry could finish teasing him.

“Hey…” Vax closed his eyes, holding his husband’s wrists.

“Hey handsome.”

“I love you too.”

#cyberpunk 2077 #kerry eurodyne #cyberpunk kerry #kerry #cyberpunk v #male v #male v cyberpunk #vax eurodyne #kerry x v #kerry eurodyne x v #Kerry x male v #v x Kerry #cyberpunk V x Kerry #Kerry Eurodyne x male V #EuroV #male v x kerry #otp: supernova #cyberpunk fanfic #cyberpunk fandom

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yandecifi · 10 days ago

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What It Means to Be Made of Stardust

☆ chapter one

⋆ masterlist

⋆ cw: child abuse, sa, mental illness

hawks/reader, psychological, wip longfic

You can feel him behind you. His hips are snapping into yours, his breath ragged and close to your ear. Despite this, you can still hear the whirr of the ceiling fan. It’s strangely loud.

You can see him from the corner of your eye. Wings spread wide, one hand against your back while the other shoves your head into the mattress - you really only feel the last two. You go to speak. You can’t.

Aizawa’s speaking at the lectern, hands gripping the sides as you watch his lips move. You can’t seem to hear him speak.

Whirrrrrr.

“…went to Hawks.” You jolt at your name. “It’s up to you if you want to continue your internship at the same agency.” A shaky breath leaves you as you realize he’s not calling on you. “That’ll be all.” The class erupts into chatter as Aizawa turns to his desk.

“Are you going back to Gang Orca’s?”

“Haha! Yeah, I think I will too!”

“Last time was fun!”

“You and Tokoyami going back to Hawks?”

It takes a moment for the question to register. It came from Kaminari, who’s turned around in his seat and staring at you expectantly.

“Uh.” You blink. Then, you grin, leaning forward on your desk. You can’t seem to hold eye contact with him. “Duh! Where else?”

“If only I could intern with a friend.” A second voice chimes in from behind. You turn, though you already know who it is. “You and Hawks hang out, like, all the time.” Mina then leans in, a hand over her mouth as she looks around. “I bet Tokoyami’s jealous.”

You laugh. “Oh, c’mon. We both know he’s not the type.”

“Okay, true, but it’s still crazy how well you two get along.”

“Yeah, doesn’t he, like,” Kaminari squints at you, "pick you up from school?”

You open your mouth to respond, but Mina’s faster. “Every Friday, Kam! Every friggin' Friday!”

“Whaaat?” You awkwardly laugh as the blonde stares at you, mouth open comically wide.

“Is he replacing Mina or something?”

“Denki!” The pink girl suddenly leans over, pulling you into a bear hug. “Take that back!”

“Guys, guys.” You manage to placate them. “I just hang out with him sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”

“But you haven’t been hanging out with us!” Mina’s grip suddenly tightens, forcing a choked cough out of you. “Am I actually being replaced?”

“What? No, Mina - please let go I can’t breathe- ” She jumps back, releasing you. Kaminari's got a dumb grin on his face.

“Turning a bit red there, huh?”

“Shut up.” Right as you’re about to tell off the cheeky fucker, someone hits the side of your head. You look over like they’d just called your name.

“Food’s gonna be gone if you don’t hurry up, losers.” He’s beauty, he’s grace, he’s all scowls and frowns on that disdain-filled face. It’s Bakugo. If you can’t tell, it’s Bakugo.

“Oh, shit.” The three of you look around the room. Most of the class is gone already, save for Sero waiting at the door and Aizawa-Sensei sleeping at his desk. God, what wouldn’t you give for a nap right now? You’re running on, like, four hours of sleep.

Mina lets out a small, panicked squeal as she drags you from your seat. Kaminari, Bakugo, and Sero follow just behind as she leads the way to the cafeteria.

“Oh no, the chicken’s gonna be all gone!” You lift a brow at Mina as she pulls you along.

“You like chicken?”

“No, but you do! Last time it was out you looked like you were gonna cry!”

“What?” You burst out laughing. “When did that happen?”

“I don’t know - like, a couple months ago? Doesn’t matter!” Your laughing dies down.

“Oh.” Right.

Right, the day after your sixteenth birthday, when you’d shown up to school dressed in a tank and sweats that weren’t yours. You had changed into a spare uniform in Recovery Girl’s office and spent the entire day in a state of aloofness.

“You guys excited for your internships?” Mina’s voice makes you flinch out of your skin.

“Hell yeah! Who isn’t?” You feel Kaminari poke your side after a moment. “Except for this one.”

“Huh?” Your face scrunches up as you turn back to face him. “I am, though!”

“Uhh, okay, sure.” You hear Mina giggle as the blonde rolls his eyes. “Why are you so not excited, then?”

“Yeah, you went crazy last time.” Mina joins in as she pulls you around a corner. “You didn’t stop talking about Hawks for weeks when you got accepted. Now you don’t talk about him at all.”

“Guys, guys!” The five of you push past the cafeteria doors. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m excited! If I knew you wanted me to tell you more about Hawks-”

“No, God, please, that is not what I meant.” Mina scoffs as she pushes through small circles of chatting students, holding hands with you as she makes her way through the crowd. “I’m just worried.”

“What? About what?”

“I mean, you’ve just been so withdrawn lately, y’know?” She looks over her shoulder for a moment, black eyes meeting yours. “Something on your mind?”

Ever the socialite, Mina’s ability to see through even the slightest change in behavior is astonishing. She’s so good at it, in fact, that she can apparently notice your unusual behavior before you can.

“I’m… withdrawn?” Your voice comes out small as she leads you and the guys to the regular table.

“Uh, yeah.” You turn to look at Sero as he speaks with an obvious tone. “You don’t talk, don’t pay attention - you even avoid us in the dorms. Did you think we didn’t notice?” His quirked eyebrow and accusing eyes leave you fumbling for an explanation.

“No, no I just-”

“Are you guys making fun of her again?” The teasing voice comes from the table you’ve stopped at. “You never give her a break!”

“Not this time, Kiri.” Mina and Kaminari slide in next to Sero while you join Bakugo and Kirishima. They quickly form their own little world, the redhead chattering away as he shows off something on his phone. Bakugo grunts along every now and then with crossed arms.

“So, you going to say something?”

The words that come from Kaminari make you freeze up. You look at him - golden eyes, golden hair - the question rolling around in your head.

The room is dark.

“So, you going to say something?”

“I don’t…” Your words are broken up by panting breaths. Your head’s hot and fuzzy. “…know your name.”

He grunts in response as the grip on your wrists tightens.

“What?” Your brows furrow as he burrows his head into your neck again.

You feel bile rise up in your throat.

“I don’t-” You cut yourself off, gasping as he bites into your shoulder. “I don’t want to.”

“Say it.” He licks where he’d bitten you. “Or I’ll give you a

hickey.”

“Huh?” You slap a hand over your neck. “What?”

“I said,” Mina huffs, “it’s no biggie. If something’s on your mind, tell us. Maybe we can help.”

“No, no. Nothing’s on my mind. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Everything’s been… weird with you, lately.” Kirishima's slumped over on the table, a concerned look on his face.

“Guys. I’m fine. Seriously. I’ve just been out of it.”

Mina frowns. “You promise?”

“Yes, Mina.” You laugh a bit. “I promise. Can we go get food now?”

“Fiiine.”

You shuffle out of the table with the rest of your group, nodding along with Mina as she complains about finding foundation in her color. You try not to think about it. It. You have no name for it.

You enjoy naming things, usually. It gives whatever you’re naming some personality, some life - maybe that’s why you haven’t given it a name. You’d prefer it staying in that tiny recess you’ve made in your mind, far, far away from everything else that is real.

“Yay! Look, they have chicken!” You smile at Mina as she excitedly points at the dish.

It. It. You have no name for it. You want to keep it that way. Let’s keep it that way. Let’s keep it that way?

“Let’s keep it that way.”

You stare out of the car window. Buildings and people fly by.

You try not to squirm.

You flick your eyes to your father’s. His gaze, one that has been shamelessly taking you in, immediately wrenches itself back to the road. You’ve learned that he always stares at you when you’re not looking.

You turn back to the window. The only thing you can hear is the gravelly sound of the car’s tires speeding down the road.

A quiet lisp catches your ears. You don’t turn your head, though your attention is fully on the sound. You already know what it is. It's your father, mouth contorting, opening, and closing in rapid succession, hands gesturing to someone who isn’t there. He’s speaking like a mime, face fully and angrily animated as he mutely talks to nobody.

Your thumb rubs soothing circles up and down the back of your hand.

“Thank you.” You say to Lunch Runch, punching in your lunch number.

“Should I post this?” Mina shoves her phone in your face, a photo of her and Kirishima singing on screen.

“Mhm.” You take a nice, deep breath. “It’s cute. Where’d you take it?”

“At the sleepover Saturday.” She scowls as she brings the phone back. “You should’ve been there. Then I’d be posting a bunch of cute photos of you.”

“Minaa,” you whine, laughing a bit. “I’m sorry! I'm training with Hawks on weekends.”

“He sucks.” She mumbles. You frown when you see she’s genuinely upset.

“No, Mina, he doesn’t.” He really doesn’t. “Um, how about I watch a movie with you tonight?”

“You’re not gonna fall asleep?” Her narrowed eyes shoot to you, honing in on you instead of her phone. You feel a bit nervous under her harsh gaze.

“I won’t.”

“You’re not gonna bail last minute?” You wince. She’s definitely trying to rub in any guilt you’re feeling.

“I won’t.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“YAY!” Her mood does a complete 180. She’s got a beaming smile on her face as she leans in and gives you a one-armed hug, her food nearly sliding off of her tray in the process. You stiffen, caught off guard - and then you melt. Your face warms up. You shyly pull your tray a little closer.

“Duude, what the hell?” The two of you look over at whatever’s got Sero mock gagging. It’s Kaminari, who’s shakily holding his tray with one hand and squeezing a mayo packet with the other. Squeezing mayo onto his already almost entirely white hamburger, that is.

“What, man? It’s just mayonnaise!”

“That’s your fifth packet!”

“God, Kam, what’s wrong with you?” To your disappointment, Mina draws away from you and joins their banter. You watch as Kaminari desperately tries to defend his questionably large amount of mayo, the group letting out loud laughs and retching noises. Except Bakugo, obviously, because he’s too busy staring at you.

You flinch, nearly dropping your tray. “Jes-”

“Jesus.” He curses for you, reaching out a hand to steady the tray. “Calm down.”

“I am calm.” He retracts his hand. “You just scared me.”

He snorts. “You’re such a pussy”

“Asshole.”

“Pussy.” You roll your eyes in an attempt to look annoyed, though your smile betrays you. He just always has to have the last word, doesn’t he?

You and your friends reach your table soon after. Kaminari and Mina chat as they sit down, Bakugo begins neatly eating his meal, Kirishima babbles about upcoming classes, and Sero’s still staring at Kaminari's burger with a mix of awe and disgust. You spend the rest of lunch on your phone. You do, however, occasionally throw a word or two into the group's conversations.

Once lunch ends, the rest of the day passes like usual. You get through English and Math just fine. Well, you’ve been assigned an essay, so you’re feeling a bit shitty - your final class doesn’t make up for it, either. Hero Studies! It’s an exciting class, sure, but it’s left you exhausted. It was tougher than usual. Your friends disagree.

“You kidding? He went easy on us, honestly.”

“Really?” Sero nods, leaning back on the dorm couch. Mina is sitting next to you, munching on a bag of chips that she offers you every five minutes. Bakugo and Kaminari are having an intense gaming session on the carpet in front of the couch, controllers audibly clicking and probably breaking. Kirishima cheers them on.

“Really. Yeah, we might’ve sparred each other-” Kaminari's groan of defeat interrupts temporarily. He must’ve lost, considering the way Bakugo’s raising his controller with a snarky grin. “But it was really just analysis. Working on our weaknesses and stuff, y’know?” Sero reaches for Mina’s chips as he speaks. She smacks his hand away.

“I guess. Yeah.” You watch Bakugo flaunt his unimportant victory like he’s just won the Grand Prix.

“Maybe you’re sore from last week’s classes?” Mina smacks away Sero’s second attempt at chips. You hum in response, reaching for the bag.

“Yeah, that’s probably it.” Mina gives you easy access, and you leave with a good handful of chips. You have to hold back a smile at Sero’s quiet ‘what the fuck?’.

“Excuse me?” You jolt at the familiar voice. You turn to face the door, the rest of your friends curious and leaning over as well. It is weird, after all, because what could Aizawa be here for?

Your teacher doesn’t look happy. He never does, but it’s a bit more apparent right now - his voice is sharp as he says your name and he’s holding open the front door like he doesn’t want to be there. “Your father’s in the parking lot.”

Fuck.

Your face scrunches up in what can only be described as a mix of a cringe and a wince. You turn away, like maybe you can just go back to what you were doing - but no, the sound of the door slamming shut brings you back to reality.

God. Fucking.

This is the third time in the past two weeks. To cut it short, he’s mad at you because you aren’t coming home on weekends. You aren’t returning his calls or texts, either, and that has him practically steaming at the ears.

‘Fuck’ is written all over your demeanor as you keel over, hiding your face in your hands. Your friends watch in silence.

You know, logically, you shouldn’t be doing that. You know he’s just going to keep coming to school, that he’s just going to keep getting angry at you until you answer his damn calls and visit his lonely ass. But the satisfaction you’re getting, even when this isn’t helping anything at all - ugh! So therapeutic! Yes, you’re petty, but the knowledge that you have this one power over him feels good.

“You gonna tell your old man to leave?” Your head lifts at Bakugo’s gruff voice. “Sensei’s lookin’ real tired of it.”

You push yourself off of the couch. Bakugo is right - your teacher looks done with this. You need to grow up.

“I’ll be right back, guys.” You trudge to the front door. A chorus of ‘see you’s and ‘be back soon’s follow you out. You can’t help but curse again, though, when you hear their chatter pick up as the door shuts.

You notice it’s gotten cooler since earlier. There’s a breeze now, rustling your hair and the trees as you walk across campus. It kind of helps the pit in your stomach.

You hate this song and dance but keep doing it. You hate when he bitterly vents everything annoying him onto you, when he justifies it because you haven’t talked to him in a while, you’re ‘catching up’ - you hate seeing him. You hate his energy. You hate the aftertaste he leaves behind. You hate him.

You’re afraid. Yes, deep down, you’re afraid, though you’d never admit it aloud. That’s what the pit is: the bundle of nerves you’ve been shoving down since Aizawa said ‘father’.

You spot your teacher up ahead on the cement path. Great, you think, you can apologize in advance for your father’s passive aggressiveness.

“Aizawa-Sensei!” You shout, jogging to catch up. He pauses and turns to face you. You’re glad to see he’s waiting for you - he doesn’t totally hate you, yet. He even slows his pace when the two of you start walking again. “I’m sorry about him. Again.”

He sighs, bringing a hand up to pinch his nose. “I understand you can’t control your father.” You stare down at your feet. “But this - it isn’t any of U.A’s business.”

He’s being… direct, this time, huh?

“Right.” You swallow. “Sorry, Sensei.”

The rest of the walk is silent. You don’t mind, and neither does your teacher. He’s never been all that talkative and you’re afraid of pissing him off further.

Your hands start to fiddle with each other the closer you get to the parking lot. You can see the U.A gate, now - the front entrance. He’s probably just outside it. The last time you saw him he was raging, absolutely furious that you hadn’t listened to him. How will he react this time?

“He's right over there.” Your steps stutter to a halt. Your teacher has stopped at the bottom of the small staircase, farther than the last two times. He probably doesn’t want to hear it when your Dad raises his voice.

You don’t turn back to face him. For some reason, you can only seem to focus on the pacing figure that’s circling just outside the gate. It reminds you of a piranha.

“Okay.” You finally look back at your teacher. “Just, uh - can you not leave?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, his brows furrow, his mouth opening, no doubt to say something. A distant shout cuts him off.

You turn back to the gate. The piranha has stopped circling, it’s spotted you - it shouts something loosely resembling your name.

“Uh, okay,” You’re speaking to yourself at that moment. The nerves are getting to you. “I’ll be right back.”

“Alright.”

You start the descent. Continue it, really, since you’ve been on the descent since Aizawa opened the door. Your heart’s been beating faster and faster, your breathing speeding up - the knowledge that he’s waiting for you and mad always holds you in a state of suspense. Paralysis, really.

The suspense is coming to its peak. Your thumb’s digging into your hand, your steps quick but short. You want to take your time, piss him off, look like you could care less that he’s here - but with his eyes on you and what feels like no way of escape, you are a cornered animal. Your eyes drag through your surroundings. You’re looking at everything besides the man waiting for you.

You want to see Hawks. Just the thought of him brings a small smile to your face. Then you remember yesterday, and you start rubbing both sides of your neck with your hands.

You don’t realize how fucked up your vision is until you’re passing the U.A gate. You’ve got… what? It feels like a film over your sight, everything looks wonky - it’s like, like… you can’t quite put your finger on it.

Your breath hitches when you realize you’re here. You’re here. Your father’s right in front of you.

It doesn’t feel like that. You stare at him, him and his strange expression, and he feels surreal.

“Hi.” You say, eyes wide. You’re staring at him but not really - you’re staring at whatever this thing is doing to your vision. This… feeling.

Your father’s face is tight. Neutral, at first glance, but then you see the way his jaw is clenched and his eyes. You can never seem to stare directly into them, like they’ll burn you like the sun. They’re so intense when he’s angry.

He really is like the sun, in a way. Bright, glaring, making sure he’s always in your life despite being so far away from it - omnipotent, yet doesn’t even have a brain. He sees everything and yet you can’t look directly at him. He’s, though you’ll never admit it, intimidating.

He doesn’t respond to your greeting. He just stares down at you with those eyes, the fists at his side clenching and unclenching, and the way he’s looking at you makes you think he’s picturing all the ways he could break you limb by limb.

He grinds out his first sentence. You don’t think you hear him right.

“What?”

“We’re going home.” He repeats. You blink up at him with the stupidest face. Then, you look away, processing his words properly.

“Oh, uh.” You try to find a way to put this without accidentally siccing him on you. “I’m not allowed to leave campus.”

“I’m unenrolling you.”

“What?” For the first time, you're the first to raise your voice. Your head jerks back up to him and you cannot believe what you just heard because that must’ve been a fucking joke.

“You clearly don’t appreciate everything I do for you.” You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. “I’m tired of working so hard for a - for a bitch.”

Your eyebrows furrow, your mouth opening and shutting like a confused carp. He - what?

Were you a bitch? He has been working your whole life. You should be grateful for that.

He grasps one of your shoulders, tight like iron, pressing into that specific spot that makes you shrink and squirm. “We’re going home.”

You look down at your shoulder. You’re involuntarily holding onto his wrist.

What would Hawks do? What would Hawks say? Would he agree? Would he tell you you’re a bitch? No, no, he would - he would -

“You - you -“ You feel your eyes start to burn as you try prying him off of your shoulder. It doesn’t hurt, per say - it just feels wrong. He’s pressing it wrong.

“You - you -“ He mocks like a child, his seemingly calm demeanor suddenly changing to that of a fucking schoolboy. He makes a face to go with it, even, and you stare at him in shock because he’s never done that before. His voice is condescending, nearly joyful as he leans down. “What? Fucking what?” His free hand holds onto your other shoulder. Though it doesn’t press into you like the other, it still makes you want to get away.

He sticks his face in close and then shakes you violently, his strength legitimately starting to scare you. You can’t wriggle out of his grip. You can’t get away.

This is different. This is different. This is uncharted territory - you’re feeling a different sort of fear. No, dread? Apprehension? Disgust?

Disgust because you didn’t think your father was capable of acting in this stupid, unbelievable way, because you knew he was bad but he’s never -

he has.

You can’t speak. Even when he stops shaking you, you can’t move, and this is that paralysis - you’re stuck. You can’t do anything. You’re at the mercy of your own mind and your father’s rage.

Is this how your mother felt?

You turn to look at Aizawa. Luckily, he’s seeing what’s happening, and has just started on a brisk walk. A walk with purpose - like a missile honing in on it’s target.

You should probably yell. Scream, make a scene, something - but your thoughts are too busy clouding your head up. You can’t think straight. You just feel scared, you’re scared, your father’s pulling you by the elbow. Fuck, fuck, you need to stop - he’s dragging you to the car.

“Dad!” You manage, digging your heels into the ground. It slows him down a bit, makes him struggle to continue pulling you along, and relief floods your system because maybe everything’s fine, but then he yanks you forward with more strength than you thought possible.

“Hey!” You hear, and your teacher has broken into a run, but the bulldozer that is your father doesn’t stop for a second. You stumble as he drags your heels along the concrete, he’s gripping your arm so tight it hurts, the door to the car’s opening - ah, shit -

The door slams shut the moment you hit the backseat of your car. His car. He’s mumbling curses as he hurriedly hops into the front seat, fumbling with his keys.

You sit up so fucking fast. You press yourself against the door so fucking fast, hands nearly tearing the handle off, but the door doesn’t open and the engines are already roaring.

You frantically look out the window. You’re already pulling out of the parking space. Your teacher follows, banging on the front seat window and shouting for your Dad to open the door. Your Dad, meanwhile, is acting like he isn’t even there.

Your teacher stops yelling and banging when the car is fully out of the parking space. Instead, he runs back inside U.A, which is logically the best decision but he’s leaving. He’s leaving. You’re alone.

You’re not, actually, not if you count the man in the front seat.

Hunched over like he’s driving a race car, which he kind of is with the way he’s going fifty in a twenty, he is entirely frightening. From his unusual posture, to the way he’s whisper-yelling to nobody, to the way he’s breathing heavier than you - oh, you should calm down.

Your lungs are on autopilot. They don’t even finish a breath before they take in another, they’re forcing your mouth open so you can take in more air though it somehow feels like less.

You need to calm down. You need to calm down. This isn’t happening, right? You’re fine. Calm down.

Your father slams his fist onto the dash. “Shut up!” You were already quiet, though, or you swear you were - is it your breathing? It’s hard to tell how loud your gasping is when all you're focused on is the panic clawing up your throat.

What’s going to happen? You’re alone with your Dad. He’s taking you somewhere. Where? Home? What’s he going to do when you get there? Oh, God, what’s he going to do?

A part of you tells you why. It shows you why - he’s going to fly into a rage, he’s going to do you like he did Mom -

So you sit there. You’re paralyzed. Your back is pressing into the corner of the seat, hands wrapped tight around the handle that just won’t budge, eyes bulging and unblinkingly trained on the man your mind is violently fantasizing about.

None of it is fantasy.

Or, at least that’s what your mind tells you for the rest of the ride.

#bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #fanfic #angst #hawks fanfic #hawks x reader

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