#I thought ‘At least he was nice’ when I left but the longer time passes after that appointment the angrier I get | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tinysunshine · 4 months ago

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━━━━━ ✧˖° 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑

‎ ‎ [ 𝗸𝗹𝗮𝘂𝘀 𝗺𝗶𝗸𝗮𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 ] 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭/𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤

female reader, inclusive language. minors dni.

kinks: priest/religious kink, spanking, punishment, oral sex, corruption kink, degradation, dirty talk, guided masturbation, light dom/sub, sex obviously

warnings and triggers: mentions of past sexual assault, abuse (not by klaus), blood play, literal blasphemy, death and violence, hint of stalking, this is more of a horror story than romance

word count: 12.7k

plot with porn, alternate universe. fic visual.

there’s a legend whispered among the people of your town, about a fallen angel named klaus, who resides in an abandoned gothic church, buried deep within the forest. it’s said that if a sinner is brave enough to make the journey, to admit their sins in a confessional to the supernatural entity and offer up a sacrifice of their blood, they would be absolved of all their sins.

when your name becomes disgraced in town and your parents turn their back on you, you’re out of options and decide to make the trek to the church in the forest. every sunday, you sit in the confessional booth, admit to your sins, while klaus orders you to do things for him so you can be forgiven. dirty things. sinful things. he tells you to come back every week until he deems your soul completely clean.

klaus might be supernatural, but he’s far from an angel. He feeds on the unlucky sinners dumb enough to take his legend for word, and with each passing week, each confessed sin, all the time you spend in god’s forgotten house of worship, worshipping the wrong vessel, you come to realize: that although god may have turned his back on you - at least he left you klaus.

“Why are you here?” He asks, and suddenly the fact that you’re staring into the eyes of a supernatural creature isn’t as scary as the fact that this creature is a man. A man is what got you into this mess, the reason you’re here.

He’s got no wings. No horns. No halo. He looks like the average man in your town, although much more handsome. It’s sort of a let down and a nice surprise all at the same time.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your mouth opens and closes like you’re a fish out of water, and you must look ridiculous.

He grabs your chin suddenly, as if he can’t wait any longer to know the reason you’re here. You thought there’d be a confession booth for this, so you wouldn’t have to look into someone else’s eyes to admit the worst thing that's ever happened to you.

The worst thing you’ve ever done.

“Tell me why you’re here,” he orders, locking eyes with you - and you can’t stop it. It’s like you’re in a trance, and the words spill out. It feels natural, even though it’s not. It’s wrong, it’s scary, and you have no control over it.

“I’m here to be cleansed of my sins,” you say, words spilling out of your mouth like vomit, but the guilt that’s been festering for weeks goes away with the release of the words. You don’t understand how it’s happening, what sorcery you’re experiencing that’s letting you share so easily.

“What have you done, little sinner?” He asks, curiosity evident in his voice. You’re almost glad to be in this trance, because it proves something to you - that this ‘man’ is the legend you’ve been chasing, and as scary as it is, you’re going to come out of this situation pure again.

It’s all you want.

“I’ve lost my purity,” you say, and then he drops your chin and stops making eye contact. Stands back from you and looks you over, like he’s inspecting an object. Your entire body heats up, and a random headache comes on so strong that you shut your eyes for a second.

When you open them, he’s looking at your face again. He’s wearing a sinister smirk that only highlights how handsome he is, and you grab onto the cross on your neck, scared. It’s a nervous tick. You’d never guess that being under the scrutiny of an angel would feel so…sinful?

“Do you know what I am?” He asks, crossing his arms. His shirt is black and long sleeved, and in the dark lighting of the church it’s hard to see anything, but it’s like he glows. Skin pale, sculpted face. You nod.

“You’re an angel,” you reply simply, and he actually lets out a little laugh. You wonder why.

“Call me Klaus,” he says casually, and the change in his demeanor is confusing to you. He takes a step back and his eyes trail over your body one more time, from your feet up to your face, although his eyes linger on the cross necklace you’re still firmly grasping in your hand. You quickly let it go, and he chuckles lightly one more time.

“You’re going to be fun.”

────

You walk into the church and head straight to the altar, palm throbbing in anticipation. There’s an offering dish waiting for you, the bowl gold and gleaming, and you swallow hard with anxiety.

This is your third visit, and you know what to do. Step into the church and walk straight to the altar, where a bowl sits, ready for your offering. Klaus explained it to you during your first visit. Handed you a small pocket knife and told you to give him your blood.

Your heart races just thinking about it, the sting of the blade, the way his face looked when he heard the drip of your life essence into the offering dish. His nostrils flared as you squeezed your palm, watching your blood slowly cover the bottom of the bowl. “Enough,” he snapped after a few more seconds, directing you to the confessional booth on the other side of the church. You didn’t look behind you as you followed his directions, but you could hear him drinking from the bowl.

The light ding when he set it back down on the table. The moan it sounded like he made it when he was done drinking your offering. A shiver ran down your spine.

You know the routine now. You walk into the church and to the table in the front of the room, the pocket knife waiting for you. You cut open your palm with your eyes closed - it hurts more than the first time because your skin is trying to heal itself, not given a chance to scab over, bright pink. You drop some blood into the dish, and make your way to the confessional booth.

You don’t know where Klaus waits, but he’s always somewhere, because he always arrives at the confessional booth after you. You always hear him.

Silent until he clears his throat, the sound of his chair screeching against the floor. “Little sinner,” he says, like he’s surprised you come back every single time. You don’t know why - you’re coming back until he says you’re clean. Your palm burns and you press it against your pants to stop the bleeding, letting out a hiss at the rough fabric of your jeans against it.

“Forgive me, for I have sinned,” you say through clenched teeth. You swear you can hear him smirking on the other side of the booth, although you’re not sure why or how you’d know that. Why he would think any of this is funny. Maybe human pain is silly as an angel, when nobody or nothing can harm them.

“Forgive you,” he says, humming like this is a casual conversation. Like he’s contemplating if you deserve forgiveness. “What have you done now?”

You’re not sure how to answer that. “I’m still impure,” you start, speech rehearsed in your head. You try to get all of it out as quickly as possible, not wanting to carry the weight of all your wrongdoings. You wonder how any one else survives on this planet without sinning so horribly, because a week can’t even go by without you fucking up.

You don’t let this thought hit you, but it’s definitely there. Ever since you stepped foot in this church, you can’t go a week, a day, an hour without thinking about Klaus and the possibility of a gleaming clean soul.

“I’ve upset my parents. Again. I’ve upset my…suitor.” You don’t want to go into details. Maybe if Klaus doesn’t ask, you won’t have to tell him all the ways you fucked up this week.

That you didn’t remember to recite your prayers after a long day, that your shirt was too low cut and almost gave your mother a heart attack. That you fed yourself first before serving your brother, and that you’ve been ignoring Peter, your suitor’s, apologizes that are, in your father’s words, not necessary.

You don’t understand how he did the same thing as you and his reputation isn’t tarnished. Just yours, but you’re used to life being unfair.

Klaus doesn’t answer for a second. You wonder if he wants you to continue. His reply is sudden and sharp. “Yes, well,” you hear him standing up, and you get ready to follow him, because it goes without saying that you’re supposed to go with him to the altar. “You shouldn’t be argumentative,” is his response. You want to say I’m not, but you don’t. You just nod, forgetting he can’t see you.

“Yes,” you reply, voice caught in your throat.

“Come,” he orders, and you know he means to meet him at the altar. He goes a different way than you, but you follow him all the same. When you get there, you lose your breath, take in what he’s wearing and sit down on the stairs of the stage while he makes sure your offering is in order.

Klaus is in a short sleeve grey shirt, and when he lifts the bowl to his mouth to drink your blood, a few drops splatter on the material. You wince, because you know how hard blood stains are to take out - you look down at your jeans and know they’re probably done for, thanks to your bloody palm.

Klaus finishes his drink and sets the bowl down, looks down at you from the step above with a poker face expression. “You’re still bleeding,” he comments, and you nod, thinking he’s going to offer you a bandage or something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he walks down the steps, past you, to the pew that’s right in front of you. He leans back in the seat and looks at you like you’re on stage to perform.

“You said suitor,” Klaus says, and you furrow your brows, wondering why he’s honing in on that. He knows about Peter. But does he know something you don’t? Can he read your mind, find out about the truth of your unholiness?

The thought makes your heart rate pick up, anxiety knotting in your gut. You feel like you’ll start sweating, wondering if the truth about what happened will come out. You’d rather have Klaus believe that you chose to debase yourself - not that you tempted someone into sex. That’s even worse, isn’t it? Being so sinful you’re not even aware of it. Like there’s so much bad in your body that it’s just seeping out of your pores.

You grip your necklace in nervousness, and Klaus notices. He sits up, leans his hands on his knees, and fixes you with a look that makes you look away. You’re scared - of him, and of him doing that weird sorcery thing he did the first time you were here.

“Take your clothes off,” he says instead, lighting your entire body on fire. You work up the courage to look at him, and you find yourself obeying. Standing up to kick your shoes off, your jeans, your shirt off too. When you’re left in your underwear and panties, you hear him let out a low whistle, the kind you hear whenever you walk around in town with one of the shirts your mother hates.

You’re not sure why it doesn’t bother you when he makes the same noise as when other men do. Or why Klaus saying, “Beautiful, every inch,” makes you want to show him more, slip the straps of your bra down your shoulders and let him have a show. “So perfect, it’s a shame you’re a filthy sinner,” he’s smirking as he says it, but you don’t see the playfulness because you’re avoiding his eyes.

“Stop,” he says suddenly, voice low, speeding over to you with a swiftness you know isn’t human. He grabs your hand that’s at your side, and as he does, his knuckles skim over your stomach. You feel your entire body scream with want. Lit up, like fireworks. You’ve never felt anything like it before. Have never met a man who’s gotten this reaction out of you.

Although, you suppose, you’ve never been this close with a man in this state of undress - aside from Peter. But this feels different.

“I can smell your blood from here,” he says, picking up your hand and looking it over. It looks disgusting, torn up and scabbing, fresh blood coming out of the half closed up wound - and it’s embarrassing that he can smell it.

“Who told you to come here?” He finally asks, and you don’t know how to reply. You weren’t expecting that. “My father,” you answer honestly, confusion evident in your tone. Klaus nods, before pressing his thumb into the wound on your hand. You let out a cry, and you swear that for a second you see a dark satisfaction grace his face.

“Father,” he murmurs, with more weight on his tongue than the word should carry. He’s silent, looking at you, gazing over your body while putting pressure on the wound. His gaze lingers a little too hard at the bruise on your hip, one that came from Peter the other day, shoving by you while you ran into him when buying groceries in town. He’s so rough since you refused to forgive him, always looking for excuses to be cruel to you.

“Did your father give you that bruise?”

You don’t answer. You look away, once again afraid of the truth spilling out. Because you don’t know Klaus, or anything about him - but you’re frightened that he, someone heavenly, might deem you too imperfect if he knew the truth. You don’t want to answer.

Klaus is impatient. When he lets go of your hand, he storms out of the room for a quick second, only to enter again with his own wrist all bloody. He grabs the back of your head before you even know what’s happening, and shoves his wrist in your mouth, tells you to suck.

“You say you want to be cleansed,” he accuses, venom in his voice. “But you won’t talk. You won’t open up and tell the truth,” the taste of his blood in your mouth makes you want to puke, and you wonder if he’s trying to kill you or harm you. You can’t tell, but you cry out against him. It’s hard to breathe.

“Withholding the truth is just as bad as the sin itself, you know.” He pulls his wrist away from your mouth and focuses on your reaction, but all you can do is look down at your hand. It tingles because the wound heals on its own, so fast you’re suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re in front of a being that's literally magical. You almost start shaking.

You wonder why he doesn’t just use sorcery again to get the truth out of you. But you begin to understand.

He wants you to stutter. To slip up with your words and make a fool of yourself, so that he’ll have an excuse to punish you. You recall what Klaus said the last time you were there - the more blood, the more pain, the more bruises - the cleaner the soul. You gulp at the reality that you’re about to hurt.

Klaus sits on the steps of the stage and pulls you over his lap. He manhandles you like you weigh nothing, spanks your ass red and raw, grips your wrists and your hips and your thighs to keep you in place until they’re almost purple with bruises. “How’s this for purity?” He asks, fingers pressing into the cotton of your panties that covers your core. You’re aroused, and if he can smell your blood, you know that he can smell that. Your entire body heats up in shame.

Euphoria too. You’ll never understand how what Peter did to you makes you unholy, but this, with Klaus, somehow makes you pure again.

But with religion, you’ve learned to not ask questions.

This moment with Klaus tells you that you’re in the right place - because what kind of person gets turned on, feels arousal, when being punished?

When he’s done beating your behind, he pulls up your panties and practically shoves you to your feet. You’re shaky as you stand and put your clothes on, tears falling down your cheeks. Less from the pain of the punishment - more for the pain in your soul.

Klaus shakes his head, almost talking to himself. “It’s dark now. You should go. Come here again, next week.” You nod, and try not to show just how scared you are of walking home in the dark again. Whenever you leave the church, you practically run the whole way, wanting to get home fast, the sounds of all the animals at night absolutely terrifying to you.

You slip on your sweater, your other jacket (you learned your lesson after the first visit, how cold it gets), and your pants slowly, all while Klaus watches you for reasons you’re not sure of. You wonder, now that your body is bruised and hurting, if he’ll give you some of his blood again to heal you up. But he doesn’t.

When he walks away, cold and cruel, you leave the church and begin to walk back home. You’re only halfway home, the moon as your only light, when you see it.

A massive looking wolf halfway behind a tree, loud as it steps on crunchy leaves and twigs. You freeze, but to your relief, the wolf just walks the other direction.

You consider yourself lucky, although the rest of the walk home, you swear you hear the sound of something following you. Maybe you’re just paranoid. You spend the rest of your walk home replaying how it felt to be over Klaus’ lap like that - how arousal pools deep in your belly at the feeling of pain. It’s different than when you’re hurt without expecting it. You knew the smacks were coming, and maybe, just maybe -

You can enjoy that you will be free of sin soon. How nice it feels, just to put yourself in Klaus’ hands and not worry about the future of your soul.

You make it home and sneak in through the window. Your parents know you left, but it’s not like they care. They just seem surprised to see you every morning when you join them for breakfast. Maybe because they can’t believe you’re taking this soul cleansing thing so seriously. You’re not sure.

You’re quiet as you change into your pajamas. As you look in the mirror and gaze, although with a wince, at your bruises - you realize that Klaus healed you of the bruise Peter made so he didn’t have to see anyone else’s harm on your body.

So the mark of his pain would be the only thing on your skin.

You’re flush red at the thought and turn away from the mirror, walking to your bed. You’re just about to turn out the lights when you catch a glimpse of something moving outside your window. It’s a little ways away, but it’s clear what it is.

The wolf from the forest followed you home.

When you shut off your lights, it walks away.

────

You stand in front of the altar, wondering where Klaus is. You wait for him to call you from a pew, to appear out of nowhere. Maybe he knows you’re expecting him now, know his little tricks, and is coming up with another one. You walk to the confessional booth, the church feeling unusually dark, but then again - you’re here at a later time than usual.

You’re in the hall that leads to the confessional when you see Klaus. Only -

He’s not waiting for you.

Klaus stands against the wall, just a few feet away from the confessional booth. You only see the side of him, but you can tell that he’s smiling, the same kind of grin he gives you when he finally gets you to confess or beg him for some mercy. You think back to your last visit, when he had you over his knee, counting out loud as he spanked you for the sin of lying to one of your friends. For the sin of being impure.

For the sin of getting aroused while he punished you.

Something negative stirs in your chest at the thought of Klaus doing that to another woman like you. That he might use his corrective powers to make another woman pure again. To touch her body and look her over, to lick her blood from the offering bowl.

Only now, you take yourself out of your thoughts and look down to Klaus’ feet. There’s a man on his knees, quietly sobbing, and you realize you know him. He’s a baker from your village, a man that has constantly picked fun at you for years. You remember times you were a few pennies short, or when he just wanted to fuck with you - would tell you he’ll give you bread for your family if you’d just flash him in the baking room.

You wonder why he’s here. What he could’ve done worse than harassing women to show their breasts for bread. But it seems pretty bad.

Something inside of you feels pleasure, at the fact that this man that you hate, who’s caused you so much discomfort, is actually hurting. You wonder what Klaus is going to do to him - if he’ll ever be granted salvation. Surely Klaus isn’t going to spank him?

“Too late for redemption. Pathetic. Up,” Klaus says, voice much louder than necessary. The man stands on shaky legs and wipes his face. It happens so fast, you can hardly make sense of it. Klaus grabs the man by the shoulder and brings him close, lunges for his neck while the man screams. There’s a grotesque sound, one you’ve never heard before, but it’s predatory, the grip Klaus has on him.

It all clicks, just as the wheels turning in your mind tell you that you need to go. You run, fast, out of the church.

Klaus drinks blood. He drinks your blood. He drinks blood from the neck of the people begging for his forgiveness.

Panic surges through you as you run through the church. Klaus is not an angel, you realize, and your body breaks out in goosebumps as you run through the forest away from the church.

The man thats’s been touching you, hurting you, drinking your blood - he’s no angel. He’s not from Heaven at all.

Whatever Klaus Mikaelson is - it can’t be good.

The moon makes the graveyard you’re running through look like sharp fucking teeth. You have a feeling that’s similar to the one you felt after the…incident. After your suitor touched you. The reason you’re here in the first place. Because it’s one thing if Klaus is an angel, but taking advantage of you the way he did?

Why don’t you care more?

He’s touched your body. He’s seen you naked. He’s -

Right behind you.

You can feel him. He must’ve finished with the baker and is now following you. You want to keep running but your body freezes in fear. You stop, because he’s closing in. There’s no way you can outrun him, so you decide to hide instead. Make it to a tree and stop there.

You try to control you breathing, because you’re really scared. Klaus never gave an inkling that he’d kill you, but there’s no way the other man survived that...feed. Maybe Klaus was just waiting for the right moment to hurt you, harm you.

There’s a crack of something stepping on a twig.

You close your eyes as he rounds the tree, but when your eyes open after a second it’s not Klaus. Unless…no. It’s a wolf - large, predatory, its eyes glowing in the night.

You take off running, your mind reeling with the fact that it’s the same wolf you saw outside of your window weeks ago. You run until you hear the wolf growl, stupidly going in the opposite direction of your home, but as long as you get away from the wolf you’re fine. Maybe you can make it up a tree, hideout for the night -

But then you fall, over a log, your body shaking with fear and adrenaline. “Why are you following me?” You cry out. “I didn’t see anything, I,” you realize how dumb that sounds. You obviously saw something to act the way you just did.

Slowly, the wolf walks towards you. Big, tawny paws, eyes so scary you shut yours. You wait for it to pounce but it never does. Instead, it stops a few feet in front of you. Looks at you, as if contemplating you.

You look away, but the sound of bones cracking, the horrible sound of muscle rearranging, has you looking again. The wolf’s shape contorts, shrinking, morphing back into the angel you thought you knew.

Klaus.

He looks normal again, although - he’s completely naked. You don’t know if your heart is racing from his perfect, naked body - the first fully naked man you’ve ever seen, or the fact that he’s no longer a wolf looking to kill you.

"What are you?" you whisper, barely able to form the words. Klaus is just looking at you laying on the ground, cupping his…package like you haven’t felt it rubbing against you all the those times you were over his lap.

But if he’s a wolf that means….he was the one following you home?

“Not an angel, love. That much I’m sure,” he says, like this is funny. Like it’s a joke to you. He steps forward, eyes softening in a way that seems almost affectionate. It makes no sense to you.

"I'm a hybrid," he answers, voice smooth.

“Hybrid?”

────

You stand at the entrance to the church again, trying to work up the courage to walk inside. It’s funny, how this time your hesitation is not because you’re scared - it’s because you feel pathetic.

Seeing Klaus as he truly is - not an angel - it should make you run. It should make you never come to this church again, should have you knocking on every door of your village at home, warning everyone of the danger that lives so close to home. You don’t know how long this legend has gone on, you don’t know how long Klaus has been making the perfect trap for the people of your village. Like easy food.

You know now, that Klaus doesn’t have the ability to heal your soul of anything. That the things you did with him - maybe they’re just as bad as the things Peter did to you. You wonder, if that’s the case - why it feels so different then.

After what happened with Peter…you felt ashamed. Wanted to cover your body up. Wanted to hide from the world. But being around Klaus - you kind of feel the opposite. Sometimes you even linger in your window, hoping he’s there in his wolf form, slipping your clothes off and taking too long to put on your pajama top, hoping he sees. You don’t know if he does.

You don’t know what’s wrong with you. Why the monster masquerading as a angel doesn’t have you screaming and locking yourself away in your room for good.

All you know, is that the guilt you felt the first day you came to this church, lessens every single time you see Klaus - and you don’t want that feeling to go away. So you’re here, at night, because you weren’t scared this time to walk here. The greatest threat in these forests has walked you home to ensure you safety before. Has had ample opportunity to kill you - and hasn’t.

You push open the church door. Even though you’re choosing to be here, you can’t help but feel like you’re walking into the mouth of the beast. You take a deep breath, pushing the door open, and step inside.

There, standing at the altar, is Klaus. His arms are crossed, and he’s looking right at you, which is different than the usual times you’ve arrived. Normally, Klaus lets you linger before making his presence known.

You’ve never been one interested danger - you’re a good girl through and through. Or, you were, before the incident. But there’s something about Klaus - something dangerous that calls to you in a way you don’t understand. Maybe it’s the fact that this legend being a sham opens up a world of other possibilities.

Maybe the world as you’ve always known it - a world with god - is a sham as well. You know that should make you scared, but all the thought does is send a crazy relief throughout your body.

You’re going to burn in hell.

But Klaus might be there.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is soft, but there’s a meanness in it as well. His tone is an odd mix of surprise and something that could almost be considered a warning.

You step forward, ignoring the rush of anxiety in your chest, the voice that tells you to leave, dummy. But you don’t listen. You don’t want to.

“I wanted to come back,” you say, voice wavering only slightly.

Klaus exhales sharply, shaking his head and doing a laugh you can tell is one that comes from anger. “Why?” he repeats, his voice suddenly booming. “You know what I am. You saw me. And yet you come back, after all of that? Are you stupid, or just more naive than I took you for?”

You take another step. The pull toward him is like a magnetic force that’s impossible to run from. “I don’t care,” you say, though the words are barely audible. “I don’t care what you are. I just...please don’t make me leave.”

Fuck, why are you so pathetic? It’s embrassing, that you came back here. It’s embarrassing, that you hold onto this beast’s every word like gospel.

Why am I not scared? You scream to yourself. As you get closer, a little voice pipes in from the back of your head.

You are, it reminds you, and you like it.

You think that Klaus is going to ask you why. You think that he’s going to kick you out - although, judging by the way he looks at you, with irritation someone only has for something they don’t despise, you know that’s just your anxiety talking.

A sudden burst of confidence explodes in your chest, and you let it carry you. “I feel…light around you,” you try to explain. Klaus won’t even look at you. Whatever dynamic you two have is insane. It’s cold. There’s no warmness from him, and it’s not like you lead anything to even feel like a part of an equation. Klaus is on a pedestal, literally - and you like it that way. You can’t explain why, but you do.

And he might not be an angel, but he’s powerful enough for it to mean something. Supernatural - and maybe it’s not a gift from the heavens, but one from hell, but you’re not even sure if that matters. Magic is magic. Special is special.

And Klaus is the closest thing you’ve ever come to something extraordinary.

You’re standing by the altar now, on the opposite side from Klaus. He looks at you, with something like pity in his eyes. “Light. You know what that feeling is, don’t you?” he asks. You shake your head. “It’s adrenaline.” You’re still at a loss, not understanding what he means.

“You’re scared of me,” he clarifies.

“I want to, can I - can you,” you cannot believe you’re saying this. “Show me more. Please.” You grip your necklace again, a move that you swear makes Klaus almost roll his eyes, but then you think about what your teacher used to say - at least attitude means youn feel comfortable around me. You wonder if that’s how Klaus feels.

He probably thinks you’re so naive. You play into that.

You worry that he’s going to ask you to say more. Describe in detail what you want him to show you - and even though you’re feeling bold today, you’re not that bold.

He doesn’t.

“Have you ever made a man cum with your mouth?” He asks blunty, stepping around the altar and into your space. Your body heats up, your heart speeds up so fast you’re sure you’re going to pass out. He smells woodsy, warm, like the trees outside - and you wonder if that lingers from his wolf form, or is just what he smells like as a person. You breathe him in, feel his strong hands on your hips pushing you against the altar so you’re trapped.

All these weeks, and you haven’t seen his dick, haven’t felt him in a sexual way beyond the feeling of his hard bulge under your thighs when he has you over his lap, or his fingers teasing you about your wetness through your panties. Little touches, but you’ve memorized them. Think about them whenever you have the chance, to be honest.

You shake your head in response to his question.

Klaus lips curl into a dangerous smile. He’s so handsome, it’s unfair. Like the devil knew looks meant something in this world, and sent his prettiest soldier. “Present your offering to me,” he says, you furrow your brows, confused. Weren’t you just talking about giving head?

You look for the bowl, but Klaus grabs you gently by the chin and chuckles. He lets go. “Your mouth can be the offering today,” and fuck. He pushes you to your knees, and you go easy, looking up at him in all his glory.

He really is glorious. Sculpted abs, pale, perfect skin without an imperfection. It makes sense, if his blood that can heal is running through his veins. You’re a little jealous, of what that level of untouchable means.

“You’ve never done this,” he says, and you can’t tell if it’s a question or not. You nod, confirming. “Shame,” he says, “With lips like that it seems like the first thing a girl like you would learn.”

You blush. Again, you’re reminded about how weird it feels to enjoy what he’s saying - because when Peter talked to you like this, all you felt was disgust. But when Klaus says it, you know that wetness is probably pooling in your panties, your knees jello from how turned on, overwhelmed, you are in this situation.

You open your mouth and look up at him, and then Klaus unzips his pants. He’s hard already, and you can’t deny the thought that you’ve been thinking about this ever since you saw him naked in the forest. It’s primal almost, the strength of this man - it makes sense why you, someone weak and totally human, is on your knees in front of him.

You lick your lips, and Klaus wears that delicious smirk again. He pumps his hard cock in his hands a few times, before running the tip all over your lips. His precum wets them like lipgloss, and you wonder what’s got him so aroused since you just walked in.

Another sinner? A woman, that he plays with like a cat with a mouse? The thought makes jealousy and something in you stirs to be better than her. If she even exists.

But then you see his hands. You didn’t notice the blood at first, but his nails are stained red. It only takes a second for you to realize, and then you get it -

Klaus is hard because he killed someone before you arrived.

“Like what you see?” He asks, looking down at you. You widen your eyes, and he teases you by shoving his cock halfway in your mouth, and then pulling it away. His dick grazes the side of your cheek and he chuckles, and the way you feel on the ground is so utterly degraded.

But it’s controlled, if that makes sense. You know it’s happening. It doesn’t feel like you did, walking through your village with your clothes ripped up after dealing with Peter. It’s - safe? in a way.

Klaus takes a step back to look down at you, thumb and pointer finger running over the smooth head of his cock. He looks like he wants to moan at the feeling, but restrains himself, if only for a minute.

He fucks your mouth after that. Lets you suckle on his dick as he gently pushes it between your lips, so you get used to the feeling. Your mouth stretches, and when he hits the back of your throat you nearly panic.

Klaus grips your hair and reminds you to breathe. “That’s it, love,” he says, voice a coo - almost mocking. He cups your face when he gets a little rougher, slips his finger into the side of your mouth to stretch it even more. Like you’re a toy he’s playing with. He licks over his lips.

“Your eyes,” he murmurs, and you open them wider as he says that. “Like an angel.” It’s not a dirty comment - it’s actually kind of sweet, and that takes you off guard. You sputter around his cock because you forget to relax, and then Klaus lets go of your hair.

He leans against the altar and puts his hands on the back of his neck, arms bent at the elbow like he’s stretching. As you look up at him, gagging around his cock in your mouth, you notice that he’s standing in front of the cross on the wall. He’s a ways away from it, but in this position, it makes it look like he’s meant to be there. Perfectly in the center, his hands and arm position like wings on either side of his shoulder.

He said you look like an angel - but you could say the same about him.

────

“I’ve been too easy on you,” Klaus says the next week, when you’re sitting at the confessional booth. You don’t know why sometimes he chooses to have you talk in the booth all proper, and why sometimes he wants you somewhere else in the church. Nothing with Klaus makes sense - in fact, nothing about this situation makes sense.

And you’re not the only one who thinks so. Everyone in town has been acting weird around you. Avoiding you still, yes, but more so than usual. After your first visit with Klaus, when you came through the door early the next morning, your father literally jumped up from the kitchen table where your mother was serving breakfast. Spilled his coffee all over his newspaper and exclaimed, “What on earth are you - doing back so early?”

You didn’t answer. Just walked to your room and closed the door, ate after the rest of your family left the kitchen.

“Easy on me?” You ask, because you have no idea what Klaus means. Nothing he’s told you to do has been easy. You think about it now, squeezing your knees together as you sit on the other side of the booth from him. The spankings, the blowjob that ended in him cumming all over your necklace.

“Playing naive doesn’t make you holy again. Being meek doesn’t make you immune to sin. You need to learn that,” and for the first time, you actually laugh a little. Because what does Klaus actually know about sinning? He admitted the truth of what he was to you. He knows you come here not to be holy again - but to feel free.

“I know,” you reply, and it’s like something in him snaps. When he speaks again, his tone is mean.

“You know? Well, by all means, show me just how confident you are.” You’re confused. You don’t know what he means by that, and luckily, you don’t have to worry about, because he tells you.

“Tell me what you want. I can smell your arousal from here.”

Woah. That takes you off guard. It’s like your body is trained, to be aroused the minute you walk into this church. To crave the feeling of Klaus’ hands all over your body, to crave the feeling of the pain he brings. The feelings he brings out in you, although not right, are more holy and healing than anything you’ve ever experienced before.

It’s addicting, the feeling of slight freedom you get when you come here. Addicting and appealing enough that you’re able to ignore the different faces of god on the walls of the church as you walk inside.

“I don’t know what you mean, Klaus,” you say shyly, squeezing your thighs together for some relief. It’s warmer out today, so you’re wearing a skirt - maybe that’s why you’re so obvious. Klaus chuckles.

“You step foot in this church and immediately are turned on, little sinner. Practically cum all over yourself when I get close to you. You’re not the shy, inexperienced girl you were when you came in. At least - your throat isn’t. Tell. Me. What. You. Want.”

He punctuates it for effect. Your mind begins reeling, but maybe super religious people are right - not being able to see his face, sitting in your own part of the confessional - it gives your confidence you wouldn’t have face to face.

“I want,” but he cuts you off again.

“Tell me what you think about when you’re under the covers of your bed at home,” he urges, voice low. He’s turned on too. “You really should turn your lamp off at night, by the way. Anyone from the window can see you through the mirror.”

And fuck.

Has he been - ?

“I imagine a mouth,” you admit, cheeks red. Looking down at your hands that you’re playing with in your lap.

“A mouth?” Klaus asks, clicking his tongue. “Or mine?”

“Yours.”

Klaus hums. He’s pleased with your answer.

“Tell me more.”

Your face burns. “I can’t, I, I’ve never done that before. Your…dick in my mouth made me think about what it’d be like…” you trail off.

It’s silent for a moment. You never expressed your desires before, and you feel fucking embrassed. But it’s also empowering. A little spark inside of you burning up the anxiety you always feel about your own needs. You rarely speak your truth. Maybe the shallowness of expressing your desires can be the catalyst for expressing yourself in other ways.

“You want me to lick your pussy, is that it?” Klaus asks, so vulgar you actually choke on some spit. You cough, and can’t see him but you know he’s smirking.

“Don’t be shy, little sinner. You are a sinner, aren’t you? Bad girls ask for what they want, isn’t that right? Haven’t you been raised to be good?” He’s not wrong. “So do the opposite of what you think you should do. Tell me how badly you want me to push that little skirt up and lick you to an orgasm. It’ll be better than your fingers.”

Oh my god. Like a dirty sermon, the words spill out of his mouth. But he’s right.

“I want,” you can’t get it out. Klaus sighs, frustrated.

“You say the words, and I’ll leave my side of the booth and drop to my knees in front of you. I’ve always wondered how you’d taste. Being the first to bring you to the brink of pleasure with my mouth - I’ll never forget it.”

You want this so bad. You sigh, bite your lip, squeeze you legs together again.

“Klaus, I. Please - will you lick me?” God, how fucking embarrassing. How fucking shameless. Your parents would literally dig their own graves if they ever knew you were saying this. You came home with ripped clothes and bruises all over your body after Peter tore your innocence from you even when you said no - and they hate you for it. Imagine how they’d feel now, looking at you begging a creature straight from hell to lick your cunt.

“Good girl,” Klaus says casually, and you feel proud. Nobody has ever said that to you before. You expect to hear the chair squeak, for him to move, to give you what you want now that you did what he said.

Instead, he’s still talking. “Lift up your dress and feel yourself over your panties, sweetheart,” he orders. You do what he says, fingers pressing hard over your pussy through your cotton underwear. It’s painful in a good way, and you’re wet. Probably have a wet spot.

“Tell me. How wet are you? Just from my voice, no?” He’s teasing. Such a cocky, confident bastard. But you nod, and then he reminds you. “Words. Can’t see you.”

“Yes,” you spit out. “Your voice. This place, I,” you rub yourself.

“Take the panties off and touch yourself. How you do at home, with your hands under your covers in your panties and your hand over your mouth.” You open your mouth to ask how he knows this, but you fall short. You do what he says, stand and up to take your panties off, wanting to hear another good girl. After a life without praise, you want that hit of it again.

You sit back down and flip your skirt up, rubbing your clit gently while little moans leave your mouth. “A finger inside. Have you done that? I want you to. For me.”

You’ve never done that. Never tired, but you do what Klaus says and slip a finger inside of yourself. After so much time so pent up, you’re close already. Really. Just a few minutes rubbing your clit, that’s how backed up you are. Klaus must sense it. Because your pussy clenches around your measly finger like it’s hungry and then there’s a slam and he does that speed thing that lands him in front of you.

Your legs are vulgarly spread wide, and Klaus is on his knees in front of you. It feels wrong, him in a position of worship to someone like you. You almost want to tell him to get up, but you’re not that selfless. Not when his necklace hits your leg as he dives between your legs, his hands spreading your knees even further apart. He looks hungry - similar to how he looks when he drinks your blood from the dish.

“Shame you’re not on your cycle,” he says grossly. “That’d be an offering all in itself.”

Klaus licks between your legs and laps up your slick, his warm, skilled tongue feeling like what you imagine heaven feels like. He moves his tongue from your clit down to your aching core. You don’t know why it aches - have never had more than one person inside of you, but god do you want Klaus.

He makes you cum right there in that confessional booth. Three times. Once, on his tongue, and the next two with his fingers buried inside of you. He says you taste sweet, that you could convince a good man to take a deal of eternal damnation for a taste of you, that he’s never seen a pussy so perfect, and all you can do is whine and moan and call out to god.

Klaus pulls away when you do, handsome face covered in your wetness. Smelling like you. Your heart races as he licks his lips. “Call me Klaus.”

────

You stumble backward as Peter shoves you, his hand pressing sharply against your shoulder. The force of it catches you off guard, and you try to regain your balance, but the ground feels slippery beneath your feet. His laugh rings out, harsh and mocking, and you fall backwards, your hands scrambling for purchase. You can’t believe this is happening in town, with people around you watching this - not giving a shit.

Your knees hit the pavement with a sickening scrape, the rough concrete cutting into your skin before you even have a chance to break your fall. A sharp sting bursts across your knee, one ten times worse than the feeling of the pocket knife you use for your offering. You bite your lip, trying to hold back the tears that sting your eyes. The pain is immediate and raw, the kind of sting that burns and throbs all at once.

"Oops," Peter sneers, his voice dripping with amusement. He says he cares about you, that he still wants you, yet he can’t stop tormenting you whenever he sees you. Boys will be boys your mother keeps saying, but surely this can’t be what someone does when they want you? You start to cry, trying to sniffle back the tears.

You glance up, gritting your teeth against the pain, and you meet his eyes. Peter’s smirk widens, and there's no apology in sight - only the cruel satisfaction of someone enjoying the sight of your discomfort. He was bad before the incident, but after it, he’s so much worse. You wish he’d just leave you alone. You can’t believe you ever thought he was handsome - that you were ever excited when he’d come pick you up, or take you out. He’s ugly to you now that you know who he is on the inside.

"Get up," he snaps, his tone cold and dismissive as if this is some sort of game to him. You try to push yourself up, wincing as your scraped knee protests, but your legs feel unsteady, and there's a humiliated heat creeping up your neck.

"Come on, you're not gonna stay down there forever, are you? Oh, well - maybe you are. Spend enough time on your knees at that church, don’t you?" His voice drips with sarcasm. What he says stings more than the wound on your knee - because you’re only going to the church because of what he did to you.

On the flip side, you only know Klaus because of him, so maybe things do happen for a reason.

You want to say something, to snap back at him, but the sting of the scrape and the weight of his presence presses down on you, leaving you feeling small, and it’s hard to muster the energy to fight back. He reaches down for your necklace, and for reasons you don’t understand, rips it off of you.

You look down until he waks away - you don’t want to let him see you cry.

────

“What happened to you?”

His voice makes you jump, and you almost stumble over a gravestone that’s half toppled over. You catch yourself and stand steady, but your heart is beating at an alarming rate at your surprise. This is the first time, in all the weeks you’ve been coming to repent, that Klaus is standing outside of the church.

You’re almost to the front door, but not quite, about to open the door to the broken, barbed gate that was once a protection for the church, but now sits as a reminder of how long it’s been since this place of worship was properly used. Every time you walk past it, you feel something like sorrow in your chest, looking at the locks different couples throughout the years have clasped on the broken fence when it wasn’t so decrepit.

They probably thought their love would last, you think, something like bile rising in your throat at the thought. It’s pathetic and sad, that anyone could ever think that love or another person could save them. That’s the angry, negative part of your brain. The other part of you, the one that wants to believe in good so bad you can almost taste traces of it when the moment is right - well, it can’t even make the locks romantic. Can’t even turn love that’s frozen in time into something sweet.

Maybe the couples who put these locks on the fence are still together, your brain reasons, trying to think on the bright side, but your thoughts quickly tumble to the negative as they always do. It doesn’t really matter though, does it? Those couples, even if they stayed together, are dead now anyway.

So much for a bright sunny day.

You grip the gate with one hand and lean against it, hoping it doesn’t topple over - but you need something to support you to be in the presence of Klaus this close. He’s in a black, long sleeved shirt, a rosary around his neck, and he looks so angry you worry about your safety.

“What?” You ask dumbly, so lost in his eyes and the symbol of devotion around the neck of such a monster you don’t even remember what he said when you first walked up to him. You swallow hard when he sighs, obviously irritated, before crouching down and pulling your knee high sock down to your ankle.

You blush, at Klaus on the ground in front of you. His hair is almost golden where the sun hits it, hands strangely soft where they touch your skin. You think about a story your father used to tell you, about the devil; how he’s not a man with red horns and skin, but a beautiful angel that turned rotten.

You think that’s accurate, looking down at Klaus. His beauty. When he looks up at you, still frustrated at your lack of response, you finally realize what he’s talking about.

The white of your sock has a red stained circle where you knee is, some dirt covering it. Your exposed knee burns, now that you focus on it, from when you fell down.

When you were pushed.

You try to push those thoughts out of your head, because you’re here now, and it’s time for you to repent and move past it all. Isn’t that what your father told you to do, after the fight you had with Peter again? Confess. Repent. Get over it.

“What happened to you?” Klaus asks again, his patience wearing thin. You’re no vampire, er, hybrid, but you swear you can hear his breathing. Heavy, like he’s angry, like he’s upset, and then he locks his jaw and looks up at you and you realize what he’s really mad at.

You really can’t go one day without fucking everything up, can you? You made Peter mad today, and now you’re making Klaus mad. Both have the ability to hurt you, one worse than the other. You feel unwanted tears start to burn in your eyes, and you wish more than anything that you’d had a chance to breathe and change your clothes after you fell into the trap that is Peter.

“I fell,” you say meekly, hating yourself for being mousy, average, annoying. Quiet. So utterly ordinary and useless it makes you want to rip your skin off just to start fresh. Be someone, anyone, new.

“You wouldn’t skin your knee this bad if you just fell. Someone pushed you,” Klaus replies, hand still on your thigh. You try to focus on that feeling, his hand steadying you, anything to keep you grounded so you don’t cry. It works a little bit, because you don’t even hear the concern in Klaus’ voice. “Tell me who pushed you.”

You shake your head and try to pull your leg out of his grasp. “I fell, Klaus, I swear,” you lie, and you hate yourself even more, if that’s possible. You feel bad, after the vulnerability you’ve shown Klaus before, that you’re acting like this now. Why should you protect Peter? It’s so wrong. You’re just scared to admit how badly you fucked up today, how you made Peter mad again, when you’re supposed to be getting better. That’s what Klaus has been helping you with, hasn’t he?

You’re such a failure.

Klaus doesn’t reply. Instead, he leans forward and licks at the bloody wound on your leg. It’s disgusting, and you hold you breath, the feeling of his wet, warm tongue on the owie on your leg such a horrible sensation…

Until it’s not.

He cleans off your knee with his mouth, in broad daylight, before standing up. He looks at you all disappointed, because he can see right through you. Knows you’re lying, knows you’re a screw up, and him looking at you with that expression is just too much.

Your eyes water. You instinctively go to grip the cross on your neck, a nervous tick - only to be reminded that you’re not wearing your necklace. Klaus’ eyes follow the movement. He clicks his tongue, disappointed.

Not like the amusement he usually has when he makes that noise. The fun he gets, out of making you confess.

“Come, little sinner,” he orders, a hand on your shoulder to direct you past the run down gate, into the even more worse for wear church. You follow, doing your best not to stumble, wound on your leg still burning despite the way he licked it clean.

You ignore the other burning you feel, always feel, around Klaus. In this church. Burning of your cheeks, burning of arousal in your core, burning with want in every inch of your body he touches and doesn’t.

When you’re inside the church, Klaus leads you to the altar and orders you to strip and kneel.

“But my knee,” you say before thinking it through, another sin for not just obeying. A woman is supposed to obey, you hear your mother’s voice in your head.

God, you ask, and not as a curse - it’s a genuine plea. A genuine question. Why can I never do anything right?

“When you tell me the truth about what happened to your knee, you’re free to go. Already got my offering,” he reminds you, referring to the blood he lapped up off of your knee. Klaus is sitting a few pews down to watch as you get your shoes off, pull your socks off, something dark in his eyes that you’re not sure is desire or frustration or something else entirely.

He looks too beautiful to be watching you be so useless, the sun shining through the stained glass window casting his pale, handsome face in a mosaics of bright colors. What you wouldn’t give, to look like that. Painted by the sun itself. Instead you’re dreary, dumb, a punching bag who can never get anything fucking right.

You do what Klaus says, get on your knees and stay there until you can’t take it anymore. It hurts, putting all your weight on the wound, but the position is uncomfortable anyway. And Klaus just watches, in the third pew from the stage, while you cry, trying to come up with the words to say what happened without admitting the whole truth to him.

I made Peter mad, you want to say. You want to cry out. I asked him to apologize for what he did to me, and I should’ve left it alone. That’s why he pushed me. Please, just clean my soul of this.

Nothing comes out.

Klaus sends you home an hour and a half later, knees bruised, cheeks wet with tears. He brushes them away roughly when he helps you stand, pulls your socks back up your knees and helps you out the door.

“You waste my time when you lie to me,” he reminds, which you know. “How can I help you if you won’t tell me what what’s wrong?” You don’t hear the pleading in his voice.

All you hear is how big of a disappointment you are.

────

“Here,” Klaus hands you a box just as you pick up the pocket knife from the altar. He comes out of nowhere, behind you, and you can’t help but think that he chose to make himself known that way so he could press himself against you. Your body burns where he touches you, and you find it funny that he put a nice looking box on the altar where you slit your hand open for him.

“A gift?” You ask. You can count on one hand, the number of gifts you’ve received. Your parents don’t belive in shit like that, but you’re excited nonetheless. You don’t wait to open it, and your surprise when you see what’s inside must show on your face. Klaus does a shy smile, an expression you’ve never seen him wear before.

It’s a necklace. Like the one Peter broke. It’s gold, heavy - the same material as your cross one. Only -

There’s no cross on this one.

Just a K.

For Klaus.

It’s a weird gift. You don’t know what to say to it, because Klaus expects you to wear this? An initial of his name? You’re not sure what’s happening here, only that you feel like this is…serious. Sensitive. What?

He must see your face again. But you don’t want to disappoint him. You grab the necklace and hand it to him, turning around and moving your hair out of the way so he can clip it on you. His hands linger, and then cup the sides of your throat. For a split second you wonder if he’s going to snap your neck, but he doesn’t.

“I want you to wear it, when you’re here,” he says, like an order he knows you’ll obey. “But if you ever wise up and choose to…get out of this town, you could probably sell it for a pretty penny.”

You furrow your brows and then to face him. “Leave? What else is there? More shitty towns?” Klaus looks at you like you’re crazy.

“You’ve got no idea what’s out there, do you?” You shake your head, confused. “It’s part of your appeal, little sinner, that naivety - but there’s so much more out there. Art. Music. Beautiful places, and cities. Places where men don’t,” he pauses, and your breath hitches. You wonder what he’s going to say. “Nevermind.”

“You talk like you’re going to leave,” you say, insecurity showing in your voice. Because you’re not sure what you and Klaus are. Aren’t stupid enough to even think that you’re something. But the thought of him leaving when he’s the only thing in your mind, the only decent thing in your life, is just too much to handle. What’s wrong with you? One man shows you a lick of kindness and suddenly you’re worshipping at his altar?

Klaus steps closer to you, grabs your waist. “I’m not leaving.”

You open your mouth but Klaus cuts you off. Looks at the necklace on your neck, his initial, like a brand. “I want to fuck you,” he says suddenly. Your body responds, you feel your nipples harden and your stomach tighten, turned on with just those few words.

You look down, shake your head. You want Klaus to fuck you - of course you do, but it doesn’t change the fact that the thought of sex makes you freeze up. You’ve done everything else, naughty things with Klaus, yet -

You can’t run from your past.

“Klaus,” you want to explain yourself. You’re ready this time, to tell him what happened to you. Why you come here. You want to share. “There was this man. My suitor. He pushed me and he hurt me and -“

“I’m not going to force you.”

You’re frozen after that. He knows. Even better, he seems to understand what happened to you by the hands of Peter, and he doesn’t seem to blame you.

Klaus bends to his knees and runs his hands down leg. It’s gentle, for no reason other than the fact that he wants to touch you.

“What are you doing?” You whisper, and he doesn’t say anything. Just kisses the scar on your knee, up your thigh, and then pulls your panties down your legs. He stands, gets his own pants off, and when he bends you over the altar and stuffs his cock inside of you, you realize that sex was never the issue at all.

Peter was.

“Beautiful girl,” Klaus murmurs. “You’ve got no idea the power you have.” He grabs your hand as he puts his weight on your back, using the altar to to support you while he fucks into you with slow thrusts. You think he’s just going to hold your hand, but instead he bites into it, takes his own offering while he claims your body. He feels so fucking good, stretching you out. Going slow, tender. You never imagined someone like Klaus would fuck you like he actually has a soul.

When you cum around his cock, you keep your eyes open, locked on the cross in front of you at the back of the room in the center of the wall.

“Klaus,” you call out like a prayer.

────

You walk into the forest with Peter, his friends trailing behind you - and you wish you hadn’t come. When he showed up at your place a few hours ago, your father and mother all but shoved you out the door with him. You don’t understand how or why they’re still pushing you into his arms, but you know they just want to get rid of you. It hurts.

Their laughter echoes off the trees. They’re all drunk, except for you, and it’s insufferable. Peter keeps pulling on your wrist, trying to grab your hand, and eventually you won’t be able to fight him off.

His hand isn’t Klaus’. And you wish you weren’t such a pushover - wish you stood your ground and never let your parents tell you, a grown woman, what to do and with whom. You don't want to be here. Not with Peter, and not close to the area where you walk through the forest to see Klaus. You don’t want those memories, the only thing positive in your life, tainted by Peter.

You zone out, breathing in to try to calm down. If you just get through whatever campfire they want to go to, then you can go home. The air is thick with the smell of pine and earth, and for a moment, it almost feels peaceful. But then, Peter’s voice cuts through the calm, teasing.

Mean.

“You really went to that church again this Sunday? This is a far walk from home,” he says, his tone dripping with mockery. The others chuckle, and you feel your face heat up. He’s not asking because he cares. He’as asking to make fun of you.

You bite your lip, trying to ignore them. You’ve heard it before, the constant jabs, but it still stings every time.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” you reply, your voice a little sharper than you intended. You don't know where it comes from, when you’re shaking from being so bold. “It’s important to me.” You want to scarem that he's the reason you have to go, but you refrain. Because these days - he’s not. Not anymore.

You hate him so fucking much.

You should just run back home, but the only thing stopping you is the fact that Peter’s holding the only flashlight. You should have brought your own.

Peter snorts. “Yeah, I get it. You want to be cleansed. You’re all about that holy stuff,” he mutters, and then one of his friends chimes in. “Weren’t so holy when you let Peter pop your cherry though, were you?

His friends laugh again, and you can feel the heat rise in your face, but you try to hold it together. You don’t want to give them the satisfaction of watching you cry.

You say nothing. Peter tries to wrap an arm around your shoulders, but you’re seething so hard you pull out of his grip. Stupid, maybe, because in retaliation, he shoves you, just a little too hard.

Your feet slip on the uneven ground, and you lose your balance. It’s a rough part of the woods, and you twist your ankle. The world tilts as you fall back, your hands shooting out to catch yourself, but there’s nothing to stop you. You hit the dirt, your head on a rock, with a sickening thud, the breath knocked out of you.

For a moment, everything is still. Your heart races, panic spreading in your chest. Peter doesn’t move, just watches, face unreadable.

His friends are silent now, their laughter gone, replaced with something else. Something you can't quite read.

You slowly push yourself up, your hands shaking, dusting off your knees. But even as you rise, the hurt from the fall doesn’t compare to the sinking feeling in your stomach. This is more than just a push. You can’t stand up. You can’t move. Everything feels hazy, and then you hear the urgent voices of his friends. You’re not sure how you missed it before, but now, it’s undeniable. Something’s wrong.

And then everything goes black.

────

You wake up on the hard, cold ground of the forest. Your head is aching something fierce - you’ve never experienced this level of pain before. The minute your eyes are fully open, you let out a cry, laying your head back down on the dirty grass underneath your body.

“Fuck,” you mutter, covering your eyes with your arm. You breathe in, coughing immediately. You sit up with another cry, your body stiff and heavy feeling, every nerve on edge.

That’s when you realize the smoke. There’s a fire at a distance, that much you can tell. You smell the charred odor, along with something earthy - but the scariest smell is the smell of something metallic. Sour.

It’s blood. Coherent enough to look around now, you notice that even in the dark, it’s clear that wherever you’re lying is a crime scene. There’s blood everywhere - but strangely enough, not a lot on your clothes. You know you should stand, but you can’t bring yourself to. The air is too thick, too choking, and your head and your limbs just feel too heavy and -

“You’re up. Fantastic,” you hear, along with the crunching of leaves that tells you someone is walking towards you. You know that voice anywhere, but you’re not sure why it’s here.

Klaus.

The last thing you remember is Peter, and his friends, and walking into the forest together for that stupid bonfire. So how are you here, with Klaus right now? How - what?

Klaus crouches down next to you.

“There’s enough blood here for a baptization,” he says, voice a little too cheery for this eerie situation. You ignore him, even as he touches the back of your head, like he’s checking something.

That’s when you realize - the back of your head is covered in blood, hair matted against your sclap. No wonder you’ve got a headache, but even scarier - with this much blood loss, how are you even awake?

“What? Klaus, I,” he cuts you off. “You’ll feel better once you eat something, little sinner.” He stands up and walks away from you, and you watch him, heart beating too loud and too fast in your chest. You could gag at the smell around you, and your head pounds at every step Klaus takes. Why is it so fucking loud? Why are you feeling so much?

What happened?

Klaus returns with a bloody paper bag. You don’t understand. “What’s going on? Why are you here? Where’s Peter?” But you don’t finish again. Klaus shoves the bag at you, and you open it, a cream threatening to escape your throat when you see what's inside.

“Now,” Klaus starts, crouching back down. “I would never force you to do anything, but in a few hours, you're going to be feeling worse than you’ve ever felt in your entire life. Hunger, like you’ve never known. I would suggest, love, that you take a bite out of the heart, just to keep your appetite at bay while we find you some clean clothes,” the immediate reaction in your body is to hurl.

You want to throw the paper bag with a heart inside of it, but instead your own beats faster. It's like your veins throb, your stomach growls, so hungry for this organ that you can barely contain it. What the fuck is happening to you? And why is Klaus so calm?

“Klaus, explain, please,” you look at him, noticing only now that he’s entirely drenched in blood. Up to his elbows almost, so thick it looks like he’s wearing gloves. Your head spins, making you dizzy, and you stand up because you don’t know what else to do.

Klaus looks at you like you’re crazy. “That’s a heart. You’ve never seen one before?” As if you've seen an actual heart outside of a body before. You lean your back against a tree, your own heart about to leap out of your chest at the disgust you now feel for yourself - because that heart - why does it smell so good?

“Why?” you manage to get out, and Klaus actually laughs. He’s having fun, you realize. This is the first time in all you’ve known him, that Klaus is actually fucking smiling.

“That suitor of yours. He pushed you, although I do wonder what you were doing in the woods with him and the others, without your necklace on,” you want to tell him that you keep your necklace somewhere safe, as to not draw suspicion from people in town. But he just keeps talking, on a high that only death can give him, apparently.

“I tried at first to get him to cut his heart out of his own chest, but as you know - people don’t like to be forced to do things. Even him. So I did it for him. Kind of me, I know.”

Peter is dead. Klaus found you in the forest with him and he killed Peter and the others.

But more than that - you can’t breathe. Can’t think. Klaus takes a step closer to you and places a bloody hand on your shoulder. You’re full on crying now.

“Don’t cry,” Klaus says, as if that helps. “He deserved it. Think about what happened. What you last remember. After we were intimate, before you left - I fed you my blood to heal the wound on your hand,” and you remember that. So why does Klaus sound…desperate for you to understand?

But then everything comes back, and it only takes a second for it to all come together.

Peter - he pushed you. You had Klaus' blood in your system , and all the vampire facts he told you after you found out he was a hybrid came flooding back. Peter -

He killed you. You must’ve hit your head when you tumbled down the hill. And because Klaus’ blood was in your body you -

You turned. You're a -

“No,” you shout, pushing past Klaus. The fear in your body is enough to push past the pain and stand up. “I can’t be this. I’m going to hell, Klaus.” You've never felt an emotion this devastating. This is horrible. You’ve experienced self hatred before, but nothing quite like this. You have an eternity to accept this disgusting, disgusting truth.

Klaus actually looks offended. But he doesn’t get it. How could he? You’ve been trying to be someone new, but the beliefs that have been drilled into your head since you were a child are strong. And you’re scared.

You drop to your knees and plop on your ass, holding your legs to your chest. Klaus comes to you, but not to comfort you. To twist the knife deeper.

“Look around,” he says, voice loud. You don't want to. To see what - blood, smoke? “You’re already in hell. Your father let that man around you. He told you to come to me. You don’t think he knew what I’d do to you?”

You don’t understand what he’s saying. Your father - ?

“He was hoping I’d kill you. Don’t you see?” You don’t know what to say to that. But it’s all clicking, and you’re going to be sick. Your father sent you here to die. It makes sense why he was surprised every time you came home. You cry even harder, body shaking with sobs.

“But don’t worry. I took care of it. You’re holy now, you understand?. Safe. Untouchable.” You look in the direction of the smoke and realize it’s coming from your town. Did he - burn the town down? And maybe supernatural sense are even crazier than you thought, because you focus on the scent of char and pinpoint that the scent is coming off of Klaus’ fingertips.

He grabs the paper bag and sits beside you. You shift away from him. This is too much. You can tell he’s upset by your reaction, but what did he expect? He moves closer to you. “Leave your faith and follow me, and I’ll show you things the Bible never taught you.” But he still drops something on your lap.

It’s your old cross necklace. All bloody. He must’ve got it from Peter. It’s a thought you’ll have to go back to later, to understand - Klaus, giving you back a piece of yourself. Even one he doesn’t agree with.

“I’m going to hell,” you repeat, frozen. You’re looking forward, unsure if you’re even blinking. You can’t process this. You will never, ever get over this.

Klaus waits a moment, before he opens the bag and hands you the heart. It looks smaller than you imagined, but softer. The smell is so vile it’s good and your stomach rumbles.

“Welcome to the club, little sinner,” he says, and without looking at him, you grab the heart and bite into it.

Klaus grabs your free hand and gives it a squeeze.

this fic is a gift for @myklaus ♥︎ thank you for the yaps, the laughs, and the idea!

#klaus mikaelson ㅤ♡#klaus mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #vampire diaries #tvdu #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson smut #klaus mikaelson imagine #tvd #the vampire diaries imagine #the originals imagine #klaus x reader #klaus mikaelson imagines #klaus mikaelson fic #klaus mikaelson x you #klaus mikaelson x y/n #klaus mikaelson one shot

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reiderwriter · 1 year ago

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If your requests are open could I get a fic where Spencer lost his virginity to bau!reader the night before and when he comes into work the next day Morgan is like ‘you look different’ (you know that stereotype that people you know well can tell when you lose your virginity) and bau!reader is like yeah you do why is that Spencer🤨 lmaoo

A/N: This was a really fun request to write! Nice, short and sweet! I hope you enjoy it~♡

Warnings: implied sexual encounter, some suggestive talk, mentions of virginity.

Masterlist || Song Fic Challenge

“Wait, kid, hold up, something’s different. You get a haircut or what?”

You tried your best not to giggle profusely as the blush crept up Spencer’s neck to sit prettily across his cheeks. It had only been an hour since you'd left him sleeping soundly in your bed after a night of well… ravaging him.

Spencer Reid, your beautiful, awkward, nerdy, and charming coworker was no longer a virgin. Nor was he single. And surprisingly, he wasn't all that bad at sex either, a little cautious, but for all intents and purposes, quite the natural.

He certainly hadn't turned into a sex god over night, but you did plan to accost him rather regularly from that point onwards, so you very much were enjoying the abject look of horror passing over his features at that moment.

“I was running late this morning. My alarm didn't go off.”

You stifled a giggle, knowing that his alarm probably had gone off. He'd just been in a completely different apartment and hadn't heard it. Maybe it was still going off now.

When his eye caught yours, he froze still in a flush. It was impossible not to run tour gaze along the length of his body, showing him enough quiet appreciation you thought he'd drop to his knees.

Instead, his hands that were wrestling with his tie fidgeted more, finding it impossible to tie the damn thing like he had every morning for the last five years.

“Having some trouble, Spencer? Maybe I could help you out?” You winked at him to punctuate your question, and all he could do was stand and gulp down a breath, nodding in agreement.

“You do look pretty tired, kid? Long night?” Derek asked, a quiet bemused look hanging on his face. He'd had this same conversation with Reid at least four times in the last year, assuming that every time he came in looking slightly dishevelled, he'd enjoyed a night of pleasure.

It had certainly been pleasing to you, and you were absolutely going to help teasing Reid if you got the chance. You certainly enjoyed doing just that last night.

Grabbing the two ends of his tie and pulling him a step closer to Reid - maybe a bit too close for two people in their place of work - you began righting all of his clothes.

“You didn't wake me up,” he whispered with a pout into your ear, his pout audible even as he tried to keep his face neutral.

“I tried,” you whispered back. “But every time I got close, you lunged for me in your sleep and started grinding your morning wood into my ass.”

The flush that you enjoyed so much was now a fully glowing face. He was so red you expected steam to pour from his ears any minute.

You finish knotting his tie and brush his shirt a little, just as Derek clears his throat again.

“Kid, did you hear me? I asked if you had a long night.”

Spencer's gaze didn't leave yours, though. Even in his embarrassment, he was so intently focused on you that it nearly set your entire body on edge.

“Yeah, you could say that,” he replied, his gaze dropping to your lips. You wished they hadn't, because now you had to stop yourself from jumping him right there in the bull pen.

“Oh shit,” Derek couldn't hold back the laugh that bubbled up in his chest as he stood looking from you to Spencer and then back to you.

“Oh shit. Spencer, I didn't know you had game like that.” His words were wheezed out between fits of laughter, and you were irritated when the focus in Spencer's gaze shattered, settling into a look of discontent.

“Derek, come on…” he groaned, and you put your hand gently on his chest to get him to look at you again.

“Next time, I'll work my hardest to wake you up, Spencer.”

With his jaw hanging open in shock, you pushed up onto your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving him stood like a statue as Derek bent over in laughter, trying to catch his breath.

You smiled in your final triumph just as Emily walked over to greet the two men and opened with a question.

“Weren't you wearing that outfit yesterday, Reid?”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n

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nightsmarish · 9 months ago

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Summary: James has always woken up early, but you and regulus always sleep late

Poly!starchaser x reader (James potter x reader x regulus black) | 674 words

Tw: a cat, James is shirtless, regulus and reader have a little anxiety maybe???, almost a full all-nighter

an: so sorry for no updates! I'm working on a few longer multichapter dc/mcu fics for my other account @nightinthemarsh. Also not a huge fan of this fic tbh

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆ ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆ ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆ ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ

James' alarm is nearly silent due to his fear of waking the other two sleepers in the room. Or at least the other two people that should be asleep.

James went to bed close to eight the night before, the earliest sleeper in the relationship, due to both being a professional quidditch player and waking up at five in the morning. Sitting up and putting on his glasses, it's painfully clear he's alone in the room, bed cold and plushies abandoned on the bed next to him.

The skin between James’ brows crease in concern, slipping pajama pants and his pair of slippers by the left nightstand. Walking out of the bedroom, he notes that most of the lights are off, save for the light that emanates from the living room.

James is nearly quiet as he enters the living room, standing at the bottom of the staircase, but the sight he sees warms his heart. While also causing some worry.

Both you and Regulus are in nearly the exact same spots you were in when James went up to bed, save for the cat that now sits in your lap. A warm glow from two of the lamps allows the two of you to view the puzzle you started the day prior.

The worry in James’ brows never leaves as he walks closer, putting effort into not startling the two of you.

“I thought you guys said you’d be in bed by midnight?” Despite his efforts, both you and Regulus still startle just a bit as you both quickly turn to look at him.

“We were hoping to finish the puzzle.” Regulus tells your shared boyfriend, as if that's the only logical thing to do.

“And we almost have!” James takes his first good look at the puzzle (apart from when he saw it eight hours ago). It was a rather ambitious one, a little over three thousand pieces, but by now it looks close to completion.

“But you really should have headed to bed hours ago.” he crouches down next to the coffee table you both are sitting at to be on your level.

“After we finish the puzzle, right, amour?”

“Of course.”

James looks between the two of you as you return to the puzzle. Part of James feels rather greedy at the moment. Most times when he wakes up, both of you are dead to the world in your shared bed, so he doesn’t see his partners until mid-afternoon or whenever his practice ends.

But, he also knows that the two of you likely don’t get enough sleep as it is, and sometimes that truly concerns him.

“What if we all head back to bed, I can wake back up in an hour or two, and later we can all work on it together.” James’ smile is undeniably warm and his hair is so bloody beautiful all tousled and frizzy, and he's shirtless, and it's so hot and both you and Regulus are extremely weak for this man.

The look you and him share also shows that you both know James could never sit through this puzzle. But the idea of sleeping does sound rather nice.

“Are you sure you are okay with waking up later?” you ask the question both you and Regulus are undoubtedly worried about. Not wanting to impose on James due to your own reckless sleeping habits.

James is slightly distracted as he pets the cat on your lap, the tortoiseshell you lot had decided to get a few weeks ago. “Yeah, it’s fine; it's not a super busy day anyway.”

Sometimes, when he looks up at you, it starts to make sense that his animagus is a stage, because he has the most stunning brown eyes.

Half an hour later the puzzle lay abandoned on the coffee table, cat now laying at the end of the bed, with James two lovers passed out in bed. Even if this isn’t the way his usual mornings go, James couldn’t be happier this morning.

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12raccoonsinadress · 4 months ago

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Hi! So I'd like to request a Tenya Iida x Fem! Reader fic. Where the reader is friends with Tenya until Tenya walks in on Reader getting dressed and it leads to smut and fluff after?

Sensible Choices: Tenya x Fem!Reader (Smut)

Woo! Here's the longest one I've done in a while! Hope it was worth the wait ~💚

Art Cred: Ari Libella (arilibella.artstation.com)

Word Count: 5,280

Third POV

Tenya and you made very good friends. In a world where things were so confusing and uncertain, where nearly everyone had some society altering ability and villains could attack at any time, he made sense. To you, he was uncomplicated. You both valued things like routine, education, and wanting the world to be a safer place. So to others, the two of you being together was a very logical idea, even if only as friends and colleagues. You never really assessed how you felt about Tenya, leaving those thoughts to poke at you when you laid in bed at night, but still left ignored. He was one of your closest friends, and you wouldn't ruin that over what you deemed a silly crush. You couldn't handle the idea of him turning you down and losing him as a friend. He was too integrated into your routine.

Part of your weekly routine was studying with Tenya in your dorm on Friday evenings between dinner and curfew. Responsible as always, he made sure to have his things and be out at least 30 minutes before curfew started, just in case you needed to do anything before bed. Tonight was another one of those useful, but otherwise unnoteworthy study sessions. The two of you mostly worked on your math homework, tackling some of the more tricky lessons in the coming week's test. Between the two of you, it started to make sense.

As you closed the textbook for the evening, you stood up, stretching.

"It looks like it's getting late."

You noted. He checked his watch, closing his textbook as well.

"It seems so. I suppose I should be heading out then."

He stood now as well, gathering his things. You watched as he did, humming slightly.

"You'll have to let me know what you score on the test."

"I'm sure we'll both do well."

He said, turning to you with a smile.

"And if not, we can always go back and review what we missed."

You smiled too. He was so positive when it came to school work, it was a bit infectious. You usually didn't feel too strongly about homework or testing, but he still managed to make the entire thing seem more satisfying to you. You couldn't remember a time before him where you actually looked forward to studying.

He went over to your door, turning back once, briefly.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Y/n. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Tenya."

You felt a slight warmth in your chest as he stepped out. His smile was so sweet. It always filled you with such nice feelings. You didn't choose to dwell on that too much longer though. Instead, you turned your attention to changing into your pajamas and getting ready for bed. You went to your dresser, pulling out your pajamas, laying them neatly on the bed before beginning to undress.

Tenya was hardly halfway to his dorm when he reached for his phone and realized he didn't have it. He didn't think much of it, other than that he must've left it sitting on your desk. He turned heel and began back to your dorm.

Tenya was mostly sure his feelings for you were platonic, no different from the ways he thought about Ochako or Izuku. Then again, he never caught himself wondering how soft Ochako's lips were, or feel a swell of pride in his chest when making Izuku laugh. These things seemed specific to you. He tried to ignore it for the most part. After all, he was your friend, and you were his. His prettiest, most intelligent, and sweetest friend. Nothing more. At least, that's what he told himself.

It didn't register that more than a moment had passed between him closing the door and opening it again, which is probably why it didn't even cross his mind to knock before entering your room.

"Y/n, it seems I left my..."

His voice died in his throat as he saw you. How could it not have? You were standing there, topless, in nothing more than your panties, sleep shirt in hands. His eyes grew wide and his face turned red, mirroring the expression on your own face. The door quickly slammed shut, but it was too late. He'd seen you, nearly naked, and that brief moment was all it took for the image to be burned into his mind.

You quickly got dressed, nearly tripping over yourself as you did. You couldn't believe it. He saw you practically naked. It made your entire body flush red with embarrassment. You wanted to simply die in that moment, just so you'd never have to face him again. You wondered what in the world he could be thinking now. And the slightly dirtier thought, creeping into your mind from the pits of your stomach, you wondered what he thought about what he saw.

He stood on the other side of your door for a long moment, holding it shut as if it would somehow hold his own mind at bay. His first thought was noting how beautiful your body was, immediately followed by a heavy feeling of shame in even indulging the thought. It was completely inappropriate and he shouldn't entertain such devious things. He left to his dorm, not willing to attempt a second retrieval of his phone. He didn't need it badly enough to face you right now. He closed himself in his dorm and sat on the edge of his bed for a long moment, silently. The first thing he'd have to do when he saw you again would be to beg for forgiveness for barging in. And if you were so upset you didn't want to talk to him, it was completely warranted and he'd take any repercussions without argument. He should have knocked. Without question.

Though against his own will, he laid awake that night thinking about you.

Aside from getting his phone back, you and Tenya avoided each other for the following days. Neither of you really knew how to address what had happened, but at the same time it was too awkward to talk without addressing it. The week felt like a year. Occasionally, you'd glance over at him in class, and almost every time you'd see him look away from you. You quickly looked back to the front of the room or at your work, trying not to think too much about why he could be staring. Maybe he was trying to think about how to talk to you again. Maybe he wanted to apologize, but wasn't sure how. ... Maybe he was undressing you with his eyes.

It was getting harder to ignore your crush on Tenya. It was like the more you avoided one another, the more you longed for him. You wanted to imagine he liked what he saw. So much that he couldn't bare to face you. It sounded silly in your mind, and yet the thoughts ebbed into your day dreams more and more as the week went on. If only you knew how right you were.

He'd essentially fashioned his own personal hell by seeing you naked. He couldn't find the right way to apologize to you, so he had to avoid talking to you until he did. He didn't want to lie to you either. Your body was beautiful, but he couldn't say that. He wished he could have seen you under more consensual circumstances, but he definitely couldn't say that. Even with all the attempts to come up with a good apology, he couldn't stop imagining it. Imagining you standing there in those cute little panties and nothing else. It made evenings... difficult to say the least. He wouldn't touch himself though. No matter how much he ached for some kind of relief. As your friend, as someone who respects you so much, he couldn't touch himself while imagining your body. Not without permission. Which he was most certain he didn't have.

Soon enough, but also what felt like twelve years later, it was Friday evening. You paced. Now is when you and Tenya would be studying together. It was almost impossible for you to focus on studying on your own when all you could think about was how incomplete it felt. This wasn't the routine. It was all wrong. You couldn't study in these conditions. You were just about to text him when you heard a knock on your door. You went and opened it.

There before you was a very nervous Tenya, his backpack held by his side. He wouldn't look at you.

"If you aren't busy, I think we need to talk. I also brought my school work, in case you'd rather study instead."

He said, almost uncomfortable. You let him in and he looked at you now, expectant. As much as you wish things could be normal and the two of you could just go over the test from that week, you knew it was time to talk about what happened.

"We should probably talk.."

He walked in, saw you, and left. It didn't feel like you could say much about it personally to start the conversation. Thankfully, you didn't have to. He dropped his bag on the floor before bowing about as deeply as he could without dropping to his knees.

"I'm so incredibly sorry, Y/n! I didn't even think to knock at the time, but that is absolutely no excuse for barging in on you! If you feel it necessary to report me for my inappropriate behavior, I'll accept whatever punishment I am given with no argument!"

You looked at him wide eyed for a moment, surprised by the sudden outburst. You expected an apology, but it hadn't even crossed your mind to report him.

"Tenya, I'm not going to report you. It was an accident."

He looked up now, standing upright again. He looked almost panicked or confused.

"What? Surely you don't think such unbecoming behavior is appropriate."

"I mean, it wasn't polite to not knock and, um, it was sort of embarrassing for me, but it wasn't really inappropriate."

This didn't seem to make him relax. If anything it seemed like he got more tense in response.

"You don't understand. I saw you naked-"

You blushed, not getting why he was being so insistant.

"You don't need to remind me-"

"I shouldn't have seen you like that. It was private. I should be punished for the way it's made me think about you."

The words seemed to rush out faster than he could process them, but once they were out, he froze. He hadn't meant to say that much, but you were being so calm, so sweet. Such a good friend. Too good for they way he'd imagined holding your bare body against his.

"What do you mean by that, Tenya?"

He swallowed hard, looking at the floor, ashamed. He was a horrible friend. You deserved to know that. He was a pervert, and you should be able to report him as such.

"I... I haven't been able to purge the image of you from my mind. It's all I've been able to think about. I wish I had found a way of telling you how beautiful you were before this."

His fists clenched, head still hung in shame. You blushed. He was admitting to having fulfilled your smutty little desires. He had been thinking about your body. He wanted it. He continued, his voice more tense.

"Anything I say now will be tainted by the countless filthy thoughts I've had of you. Between my perverted day dreams, I've only just realized how much I care for you, not only as my friend, but as the person I want to wake to every morning and fall asleep beside every night. Not just because of how beautiful you are, but because this week has been torture without you by my side."

You stepped closer to him, only to see he had tears in his eyes. It made your heart ache. You reached up and held his face.

"I don't deserve your sweetness. Not after proving I'm such a terrible friend. If you can't trust me now, why would you ever even begin trust me as a lover?"

Lover. He was so tense, even compared to how tense he normally was. You couldn't imagine what this week had done to him with all this guilt. He was practically falling apart, and for what? Accidentally seeing you naked? So you did what any logical person would do in your situation. You kissed him. It was soft, gentle. You felt the wetness of his tears in your hands. He didn't pull away from you, as you had almost expected. His arms wrapped around you in a tight embrace and he kissed you back. You held the kiss longer than you had intended. It felt like he needed this. And maybe you did too. You had missed him, and what could have made for a better reunion after such a stressful week? Eventually, when you pulled away for air, he loosened his hold of you.

"I.. Y/n, I don't understand."

"You weren't the only one having dirty thoughts this week, Tenya. I forgive you."

He blushed, more than a little surprised. You decided to elaborate.

"I was definitely embarrassed, but at the same time, I really hoped you liked what you saw."

You admitted. He seemed a little concerned.

"Was there any doubt in your mind that I wouldn't? You're gorgeous, how could I not?"

"Not really doubt. I just hoped you liked what you saw enough to think about me a little more."

You tried to explain in the least perverted way possible. He glanced away, thinking.

"As long as we're being honest. I'll admit that the memory of you gave me some, ah, uncomfortable evenings. Just to say, you have nothing to worry about."

"Uncomfortable?"

"Yes. Thinking about you, your body, in a quite... erotic way. But, of course I couldn't do something as disrespectful as relieve myself while thinking about you. I'm already ashamed to have indulged in my thoughts of you as much as I had."

On one hand, it was incredibly sweet that he suffered as much as he did out of wanting to be respectful towards you. At the same time, however, you wouldn't have complained at all if he had gotten off thinking about you. You would have taken it as a compliment. You bit the inside of your lip, thinking.

"Thinking about me all this week got you that worked up, but you still haven't touched yourself?"

You asked, clarifying almost. He blushed a dark red, but nodded in confirmation.

"I'm sure you're awfully pent up."

He looked at you. You were trying to tell him something, he was sure of it. He just wasn't sure what yet. You continued.

"I just want you to know, for future reference, you have full permission to touch yourself while thinking of me."

His eyes lit up, like you'd suddenly taken all suffering off his shoulders.

"You mean it? You're completely sure?"

"I am. But, only if I'm allowed to think of you too."

Truthfully, you tried to avoid the thought, but now that you knew he liked you so much, you wanted to indulge.

"You want to think about me while pleasuring yourself?"

He asked, voice somewhat softer. He didn't understand.

"I haven't done anything particularly scandalous around you to fuel thoughts of that nature though... Have I?"

"You didn't have to. I'll think of you regardless."

You definitely planned to at least. It felt dirty just talking about it, but so exciting. You gathered he felt the same way based on the color of his face. He was thinking.

"That hardly seems fair. Surely, there's something you could ask of me to make things more even."

That was a tempting offer. You pursed your lips, thinking. A very filthy idea came to mind.

"You could always return the favor.. and I wouldn't mind letting you look for a little longer."

You suggested. He buffered for a moment, processing the absolutely scandalous thing you just suggested. It was beyond filthy and he should say no, especially not in the dorms. You were seniors. You were supposed to lead by example. And yet...

"That seems fair. I would appreciate getting more time to admire you."

"Why don't you start then."

He nodded. It was only fair. An equal trade. So he pulled away from you now. You sat on the edge of your bed, watching him. He took a deep breath before taking off his shirt. This part wasn't too hard, you'd seen him shirtless before. The context made him feel a bit strange though. He looked at you, assessing your reaction. He blushed when he did. You were so obviously staring, then again he supposed that was the point. Still, the way your eyes seemed to trace over his body made his heart pound.

"Should I continue?"

He asked. In part he was nervous. He'd never undressed around a girl before. The other half of him was excited, more than he should be, at the prospect of you lusting for him. You nodded, leaning back a little.

"If you're comfortable continuing."

He couldn't for certain tell if he was comfortable per say, but he knew he wanted to make things even with you. Not to mention the other feelings. So he did. He unbuckled his belt and undid his pants. There was a moment of hesitation. He looked at you.

"You intend on undressing as well, right?"

It felt odd being the only one, but it probably felt worse for you when it happened last time, since you hadn't agreed to being seen that way. And maybe he was also just eager. You pursed your lips, thinking for a moment.

"You first. We'll take turns."

You wanted to enjoy the show. It'd be too distracting to try undressing while also trying to watch him. Though blushing, he decided to finish, taking his pants off and setting them aside. He looked at you now. He felt completely naked, despite still being in his boxers. It was a strangely exciting feeling. You stood up after a moment, walking over to him. You didn't touch, as much as you wanted to.

"You can sit if you'd prefer."

You said simply. In the spirit of making things fair, he did go and sit where you had been sitting, focusing more on you now than the tinge of embarrassment he felt from being undressed.

You took off your shirt, though you decided you'd keep your bra on for the time being. You felt your heart pounding at just how strange this whole situation was. You didn't question it for now, pushing your pants down and stepping out of them. You kicked them off to the side, looking at Tenya now. His eyes were fixated on you and your body. You could see the subtle heaviness to his breathing. His hands fidgeted slightly. That wasn't the only thing you noticed as you looked him over though. You had noted the bulge in his boxers before, assuming it was just the way they fit and nothing more. It was more pronounced now, bigger. It made you blush harder than you already were.

It was tense for a moment, both of you looking at each other, but not moving. He was the one to finally say something, his voice almost sounded ragged.

"Y/n, would it be too much to ask if I could touch you?"

You were a little surprised by the requests, but even so you stepped forward, standing in front of him. He looked up at you from where he was sat on your bed. Gently, and without a word, you reached for his hands and brought them to your waist. His touches were soft, just trailing along your sides, feeling how your skin felt against his hands. They found their way to your hips, resting there. You didn't know what all you had expected, but it was more than that. You had expected him to reach up to your chest, maybe back around to your ass, or just something pushing things a little further. You weren't completely underwhelmed however. After a moment, he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your abdomen.

"I wish I could find the right way to tell you how beautiful you are. Just saying it doesn't feel like enough."

He said softly, not looking up at you. You ran your fingers through his hair, an action that seemed to be enough to bring his attention up to your face. He was being too respectful, holding back when the deepest parts of your desires wanted him to snap, to take you, to ravage you. You knew he wouldn't. He was your kind, respectful Tenya. So you leaned down and kissed him, delighting in how the action made him squeeze your hips tighter in response as he kissed you back. You pushed into him more, and he pulled you in happily, helping you fit in his lap with his arms around your waist. You ran the tip of your tongue against his lips and he took the hint to deepen the kiss, taking control of it and keeping it gentle.

When you finally had to break the kiss to breathe, he looked at you in awe. You spoke before he did.

"If it's not too much, I'd much rather indulge in you now than have to wait until later."

"Are you suggesting we have sex?"

He asked, almost baffled. You nodded, though a little embarrassed about how he reacted.

"It doesn't have to be all the way, if you don't want it to be."

"What about you? And what about protection?"

He knew he didn't keep condoms around. Truth be told, he didn't foresee himself needing them any time soon.

"I've been on birth control since first year."

"Why?"

"Um. Period problems."

He wasn't as put off by the response as you expected, just thinking now. Something seemed to change after a moment, like a new sense of confidence had hit him.

"Alright then. Y/n, I would be honored for you to be the first person I have sex with."

Your heart skipped hearing that, despite the slight silliness in how serious he sounded. You smiled.

"I would be honored for you to be my first too, Tenya."

He smiled wide. You practically melted. His hands moved up your sides.

"If we're continuing, may I remove this as well?"

He asked, referring to your bra. You nodded. Before you could reach back to help, he was already fumbling with the hooks. You let him for a little bit. It was cute to see him try at least. Eventually, he seemed to figure it out, sighing a bit in relief.

"It would appear I'm going to be needing more practice with these."

You laughed softly, sliding the straps off your shoulders.

"There will be time for that in the future."

He blushed at the mere implications of not just getting to be with you once, but again in the future. It would mean you were really his. That he was really yours. He didn't get to think about that too much though because now your exposed chest was right there in his face and he probably couldn't even tell you what his name was anymore. You guided his hands up to your chest, wanting to let him touch, wanting to feel his hands on all of your more sensitive spots. He immediately started to squeeze and pinch, leaning forward to kiss and lick as well. For someone so new at this, he seemed to know exactly what he wanted. And what he wanted was to feel and taste you. His tongue laved over your nipple, his hand squeezing your other breast. You gasped softly.

With nothing but your panties and his boxers to serve as a buffer, you could feel how hard he was, pressing against you. As a finger flicked one of your nipples, your hips instinctively pushed forward, grinding into him. He groaned quietly at the feeling. You huffed, head falling back slightly. You felt his hands move, one staying firm on your hip. You took that moment to catch your breath and regain some of your composure. It was short lived as you realized what he'd been doing. He lifted you with ease, laying you on your back on the bed. He'd been thinking about how he wanted you. He pulled your panties off of you, eyes trained on your face, looking for any sign he should stop. The only clue he received one way or the other was you spreading your legs for him once they were off.

You weren't sure what you expected, maybe for him to start working you open so he could properly fuck you. Which you would be completely and utterly happy with. It seemed he had other plans though as he leaned down, hiking your legs over his broad shoulders. You covered your mouth as he buried his face between your legs. His tongue seemed to follow some sort of pattern that you couldn't quite follow, occasionally brushing your clit and making you squirm. It seemed the sensitive spot didn't go unnoticed, because he focused there for a moment, and when you started to push your hips against his face and whine beneath him, he knew he must've found a good spot. His attention stayed there, toying with your clit with his tongue for as long as you could bare it. You could feel your orgasm building up, though you weren't sure he realized. You moaned out a little louder, which seemed to encourage him more. Your hand reached down into his hair, tugging slighting. You gasped, body tensing as you came on his face. He worked you through it and maybe a little longer than he needed to before pulling up, the lower half of his face wet from you.

"I could stay there forever if you'd let me."

He said, slightly out of breath. You reached for him, wanting him to come closer. You wanted him to lay beside you so you could return the favor and move. He gently took your hand, but didn't fully come to you as you wanted. Instead, he spoke in a low tone you hadn't heard him use before.

"If I may make a request, I don't want you to do the same."

You looked at him, confused. He continued.

"If you can manage it, I've spent nights now imagining how gorgeous you'd look riding me."

He hoped it wasn't asking too much of you. After seeing your breasts, he couldn't help but imagine the way they'd bounce while you bounced in his lap. It was a perverted fantasy, but one he still wanted to see fulfilled if you'd have him. You blushed fairly dark, but pulled him down. He let you this time, laying beside you. You kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips before straddling his lap. You wanted him, and he wanted you too. So why not satisfy you both?

He watched you in awe as you lined him up with you. You felt the tip press against your opening and how it slid in with more ease than you expected. No wonder he wanted to eat you out first. It got you worked up enough to take him. He groaned, grabbing a hold of your hips. You had to steady your breathing as you slowly started to take more of him. It was a stretch, though one you took like such a good girl. You stopped, almost fully down, wanting to take a second. Without a thought, he couldn't help but help you finish out, thrusting up into you. You let something between a gasp and a moan out.

"I'm sorry-"

He said quickly. He was so excited for you, so needy, it was hard to control himself. But he would. He didn't want to hurt you, especially while you were fulfilling his perverted fantasies. You had to take a moment before moving, pulling about half off before slowly sinking back down onto him. He watched you as you moved, loving the sight of your beautiful body taking his cock so well. You started to gradually increase your pace, moaning softly as you did. Before long, all you could hear were the sounds of your own moans, his quiet noises, and the slapping of you bouncing in his lap, just like he wanted.

You felt your orgasm building. You had hoped to get him off first, but it was hard for you to tell if he was getting as close as you were. Your movements started to slow, much to your own distress. He caught on, holding your hips tight and fucking up into you faster than the pace you had set before. You cried out his name, head falling back, inner walls squeezing around him as he continued to fuck you through it. It didn't take much more than that for him to pull you down, pushing into you as deeply as he could, and cum inside of you. Your name came out in a tight stutter as he did.

You both stayed like that for a long moment, taking in what had just happened, breathing in the now still room. You fell forward, laying on top of him. He wrapped his arms around you.

"Y/n."

He whispered. You looked up at him.

"I.. apologies for the way I went about all of this. And even though it would appear we've done things somewhat out of order, I was hoping you would... be my partner?"

You smiled, kissing him gently.

"I'd love to be your partner."

He smiled too.

"Perfect."

He pulled out of you now, making you both sigh at the feeling.

"Lay here and relax. Let me get things cleaned up."

He laid you down on the bed gently, getting up and going to your desk to get some tissues to clean everything up. After that, he pulled his boxers on and went over to your dresser. He pulled out a new pair of panties for you and a sleep shirt. He brought them back over to the bed. You went to get up so you could get dressed, but he stopped you.

"No, allow me. You've done enough tonight."

You blushed, but let him pull the shirt over your head and slide the panties up your legs. He placed the clothes you'd been wearing before in your hamper. He took a moment, thinking before looking back at you.

"Do you want me to go downstairs and get you water or anything else?"

He offered. You held out your arms for him.

"Come here, Tenya."

He smiled softly.

"Allow me to turn off the lights then."

He did as you asked now, coming back over to the bed. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him back into bed with you. He didn't argue, wrapping his arms around you as well, rubbing your back gently. He kissed the top of your head.

"I'm glad you forgave me."

He said softly. You couldn't help but smile.

"Of course, my love."

You felt him heat up at you calling him that.

"My love."

He repeated quietly, holding you a little tighter. You snuggled into him more, letting yourself get comfortable so you could sleep. Tonight wore you out and you were looking forward to waking up in the arms of not just your best friend, but your boyfriend and the love of your life.

#fanfic #mha fanfiction #bnha #bnha fanfiction #mha smut #smut #tenya iida #iida x reader #my hero academia iida #tenya iida x reader #bnha tenya #tenya x reader #mha tenya #tenya iida smut #tenya lida #tenya iida x you #iida x y/n #tenya x y/n

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f1girliefics · 10 months ago

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To Have It All

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Sometimes even the most fulfilling lives have something missing.

Max Verstappen, three times World Champion, should have it all.

Many thought he did.

He was successful in his career, he was rich and yet, he was missing something.

He would be lying if he said he didn't know what that something was.

You.

He was missing you.

Being established in your own career, you once dated Max.

It had been a couple years.

You two broke up due to an argument on both of your part. Max was never around when you needed him and he argued that it was his career.

It was a stupid argument.

Definitely not something you would split up with someone over.

Max has been missing you ever since.

It was his biggest mistake to let you go and he knew it back then, he knows it now.

But ever since you two broke up, you never went to any races. He tried to find you, apologize and make up but you avoided him, and he didn't blame you for it.

The day you two broke up, he messed up in more than one.

He crashed due to a careless mistake with Hamilton and he put out his frustration on you.

He shouldn't have. He had no right to do so.

But it wasn't the first time he blamed you for his mistakes on the track.

Today, as he stood on the podium yet again, on the brink of becoming a 3rd time World Champion, listening to his anthem, he felt empty.

He thought winning was everything, it was all his father ever told him.

And he used to believe it, but he wasn't so sure anymore.

He looked at the sea of people, some even booing at him. He felt their hate, yet he still watched them, hoping to see you.

But you weren't there.

So, once he had his phone back in his hands, he pulled up your Instagram, to his surprise you didn't block him, he looked at your newest shared post, oh how he missed you.

Then, before he knew it was another race day.

He is starting from P1, no surprises there.

He looked at your Insta again and saw a picture of the Paddock.

His heart raced as his stomach dropped.

He was both nervous and excited.

He still had time, according to the picture, you were close to the RedBull VIP.

So, he headed there.

Many people turned their heads as he passed them.

Soon, he saw Christian with his wife Geri as she was talking with you.

Christian soon left giving a small nod to Max.

You looked at Max and he saw you letting out a long sigh.

You looked just as nervous as he did, but you did have the balls to at least approach him first.

"Hi Max,"

"Nice to see you." his voice did not match his nervousness thankfully.

But he also knew that you could read him like an open book. You would know his true feelings even before he did.

“Can we talk?” Both of you said at the same time. You smiled and let him lead you to a secluded room where you could talk.

“I posted the picture hoping you would see it. I guess it worked.”

“You set a trap?”

“And you walked into it.” You shrugged your shoulders as he looked at you dumbfounded. “Congratulations on your many wins this season. You deserve it.”

“It means nothing.”

“That is not true. Your fans are proud of you. And so am I.”

“Are you no longer my fan?” He almost sounded desperate.

“Number 1. Forever.”

“I’m sorry. I regret letting you go ever since. I am a dumbass. I took my anger out on you. If it means something, I still love you.” he held his breath, afraid to move. He knew the next couple of minutes would decide his happiness. He watched as you took a deep breath before you smiled and looked into his eyes.

"It means everything." Max let out a sigh he wasn’t even aware he was holding.

You were quick to rush into his arms and he hugged you close.

He noted how you changed your perfume.

He liked it.

He had you back now. And he knew, at the end of the day when he won, you would be there to kiss him and cheer for him.

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jennifer-jeong · 11 months ago

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Fluff + Angst | Boothill x GN!Reader Homecoming

SUMMARY He thought he lost everything, but you were always here, waiting for him to come home

CONTENT Angst to fluff, happy ending implied basically, mentions of past traumas, ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+

AUTHOUR NOTES Just read Boothill’s character stories… I am unwell… So I wrote this LMAOO enjoyyy GUH I just started playing the game but alas the hyperfixation is already here Also, Boothill, please actually come home please I have soft pity soon

WORD COUNT: 921

Boothill was visiting the Aeragan-Epharshel reserves, seeing what was left of his tribe, his distant family, and because honestly it was just one of those times where he was really missing home. It just hurt because home no longer existed for him. The memories still pop up sometimes. How he searched the entire burnt house for anyone, anything to rescue. It was years ago, but still haunts him, it always will. So that’s why he’s here. Just visiting because why not. No one quite knew him here, but it felt fairly cozy. The few buildings around the area were lively with families and they had farmland and livestock like he always did when he was younger. The sun was setting, lighting everything in golden and orange hues. He enjoyed the warmth on his skin, well, the skin on his face at least. A few of the townsfolk offered him some food since he was just passing by and because the town was so small, everyone knew when there was an unfamiliar face. They also wanted to help him because he helped where he could during the day, just helping people lift and move things, even catching a loose chicken. It was actually pretty nice and for the first time in a while, he smiled, just genuinely enjoying life, watching the sunset, sitting on a bench, eating his food.

It was peaceful and the warm breeze tousled his hair and brushed his face. But he also heard something insane, the name he hadn’t heard in years. It felt like it wasn’t even his name anymore but rather from a previous life in a different body. Worst or maybe best of all, it was your voice.

His eyes were blown wide, mechanical heart somehow racing. Was the robot body driving him insane? The doctor was pretty shady honestly, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she fudged his brain up too.

But still, curiosity made him look around for the source of the voice, even if it didn’t exist.

You watched him look around before shifting on the bench to fully turn to see you. Both your hands were hovering over your mouth, eyebrows upturned as your eyes couldn’t believe it.

When he turned, his eyes locked on your figure. Maybe you were just a hallucination, but hallucinations don’t age, don’t get more mature or taller. You look the same but different, and maybe that was enough evidence for him to believe he wasn’t psychotic.

He stood up slowly, taking careful steps towards you as your hands shook, adrenaline pumping through your body. It felt like it took hours for him to close the few meters between you but once you saw his eyes, you knew. It was him.

“Lord… It really is you,” you breathed out as you reached out slowly, not wanting to spook him but also barely believing that he was actually there. Your hands slowly cupped his face and he forgot how warm things like this felt. Tears pricked at his eyes. At this point he didn’t care if this was a hallucination or not, he just wanted to indulge himself for once. Just believe that he didn’t lose everything. That maybe he could still have you, one of his only friends outside of his family that he had while growing up. His first love that he never had enough time with, not even enough time to confess.

It was almost cruel how you felt the same and how much your heart ached upon seeing his teary eyes, frozen in disbelief, staring into yours. You brushed your thumbs over his cheeks trying to comfort him and show him you really were here.

He started to question himself. Why did he never check out the towns whenever he came back to investigate the IPC on Aeragan-Epharshel? Your house had been destroyed but he never confirmed your corpses, only those of his own family. It was too much, he just assumed the worst at the time.

But now here you are, tears streaming down your face, looking as beautiful as the day he first laid eyes on you.

“Darlin’… what happened to ya fer all these years?” You asked, questioning where he had been but also what happened to his body. You closed your eyes as your eyebrows scrunched together, unable to control your emotions and crying at this point. You quickly pulled him into a hug, arms wrapped around his neck. Reflexively, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in tight. Your chests flush against each other.

God how he wished he wasn’t cold metal right now. He wanted to feel you with his own skin, feel your warmth, how soft you were. But he could only barely make it out with the sensors on his body. Maybe he could get some upgrades? Link some more things to his brain?

He quickly snapped himself out of his own thoughts to finally respond to you. You shivered hearing his voice again.

“It don’t matter now sweetheart. All that matters is that I’m home,” he said slowly and shaky. You squeezed him harder as you started to sob into his shoulder. It made his own tears fall as he started to stroke your back.

“I thought I’d never see ya again,” you choked out.

“Same here darlin’,” he said, voice cracking.

“I’ll tell ya all about it, and ya tell me about yerself too,” he says between breathes, his throat closing from needing to cry. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere this time…

promise.”

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

#boothill x reader #boothill fluff #boothill angst #honkai x reader #honkai fluff #honkai angst #hsr x reader #hsr fluff #hsr angst #star rail x reader #j's silly ramblings

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justpeaxchy · 5 months ago

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'So My Darling'

A/n: I haven't finished my other wip's yet, so in the meantime, I decided to write this rq. Enjoy! 🐢

Warnings(?): none!

Hiccup x !fem reader!

-You realize the feelings you have for Hiccup aren't what a normal 'best friend' should have.

The day was coming to a close, the sun delicately edging the clouds in an orange tint, with a faint pink glow making itself visible amongst the remaining bright colors. You loved sunsets, to say the least; the sight brought a small sense of comfort to your mind whenever endless thoughts seemed to pour in, which was partly happening to you already.

There wasn't much of an opportunity for him to go far anymore, but your search for the past twenty minutes could've attested otherwise. Thinking you had used up all of your chances for finding him, your hopes were quickly revived as you finally spotted him a bit of a distance away, sitting comfortably on the edge of a nearby cliff side. You heaved a light sigh of relief, signaling for your dragon to land on the same area.

The very second your feet touched the ground, you spoke loud enough for him to hear: "And what do you think you're up to, Chief?" You suppressed a grin when his head turned to get a better view of your approaching form, a ghost of a smile tugging on his own lips.

"Oh, nothing.." Hiccup shrugged, "Just thought I should try a new...hideout. I'll give it to you, though, you found me in the same day I came here..!" An amused glint sparkled in his eyes, emerald iris's following you as you went to sit down next to him with a dramatic sigh. Toothless was off playing with your dragon as soon as you both arrived, the tree branch they suddenly found being the very thing that kept them entertained as they were engrossed in tug of war.

"Yeah...I think twenty minutes is a bit too long for me to discover your hideout.." You muttered, Hiccup still being able to hear every word you said above the passing breeze.

"Well, it's nice to know I'm on your mind that much." He said, sarcasm practically dripping off his voice. His words would be something he regretted, however, when you abruptly jabbed his side with your finger from where you sat. "Okay, okay, I take it back!" He raised his hands in surrender as you silently threatened to do it again, nodding in satisfaction when he admitted defeat.

"What a shame...you keep talking like that and you might be here all by yourself again.." You examined your nails as they suddenly became of more 'importance', using all the strength you had left in you not to smirk at the dramatic gasp Hiccup did.

"Oh, so it's like that now?" He straightened his posture from where he sat, his gaze not yet removing itself from you.

"Hey, you started it with your sassy attitude the moment I came up here." You shrugged.

Deciding to return the same jab you did, although it was much lighter than yours probably was, the Chief poked your shoulder, "Me? Sassy? You're the one who's been staring at your hands this whole time and not even looking at me once."

No longer hiding the playful smile that traced your lips, you spoke in a nonchalant manner: "Correction; it was my nails. Not my hand...sort of."

Hiccup faintly rolled his eyes, still pointedly keeping his fixed gaze on you, who was still not returning it. "Will you at least look at me, then..?" His voice was slightly softer than before, the action briefly taking you aback. Since you were known to give in easily when it came to him, you sedately started off with a glance in his direction before fully turning towards him.

"It's nice to know you want to look at me that much." You said, ignoring the exiguous warmth that dusted over your face. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to smile when you noticed his own lips pull upward in fulfillment.

"There. That wasn't so hard, now was it?" He spoke gently, although a hint of amusement was clearly heard by you when he noticed his own words were repeated.

You, who were so observant of Hiccup. You, who were one of the closest people he claimed to have by his side. People often assumed that the relationship you both had was one of a sibling dynamic; it was starting to rub off on you in the wrong way. Growing up on Berk, your attention would somehow always land back on the skinny teenager who tried to prove himself - over and over again. Despite that, you took it upon yourself to really know him, to know who Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the third was. You hadn't expected to get this close with him, though.

If anything, he was the first person you had gotten into a genuine friendship with. There were others your age that you would spend time with, but it was different when Stoick's son came to be around you. You witnessed his bravery, his courage, his selflessness, and his determination when he discovered Toothless. It was always there, but it seemed to be stifled out by the whole village with every attempt he gave to show it. You, however, saw all of those traits - especially when you watched him defend his tribe that always looked down on him. He lost part of his leg because of it.

You were the only other person who knew about Toothless in the beginning, mostly because you found him trying to track the Night Fury when he shot him down, and he had no other choice but to practically beg you to keep the dragon a secret. You were reluctant, not knowing what the outcome might be, but you agreed nonetheless. You became more glad with each passing day that you did; it allowed the opportunity for your friendship to grow, to blossom and sprout into what it was now. However, one burning question still remained in your mind concerning that: what was your guy's relationship?

The immediate answer would be close friends, siblings that aren't blood related, two peas in a pod, everything a friendship should be.

Was that what you wanted?

You witnessed his sarcasm, his caring side, his good-natured heart, his tenacity, and certainly his stubbornness. He was complex, more than meets the eye, and yet he was also very simple to read when inspected close enough. He was like his map; there was always something more to look at when it came to him. He expanded on those traits of his as he matured into an adult, carrying the burden of his father as he became the Chief of Berk. He always reminded you that he was thankful to have you with him through it all, and you were as well, but something in you longed to be recognized as more than a best friend.

You didn't understand why, when, or how it started; that feeling which would always pick at the back of your mind. It grew with you as you left your teenage years, leaving you clueless as to what you were going to do for it.

"Actually, it was a bit hard...considering how you were acting." You muttered, sarcasm coating each word.

Hiccup lightly shook his head, briefly rolling his eyes as he shifted more comfortably in his spot next to you. "Okay, okay, enough of both of our attitudes.." He looked out at the sky around him, the mixing colors of orange and pink creating an ethereal sight while he talked lightheartedly. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of having you come here?"

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes as you kept a subtle gaze in his direction. "No need to sound so weird about it.." Your hand almost reached out for his, but you forcefully told yourself not to carry out those actions with a faint sigh. "I only wanted to...see what you were doing is all."

Hiccup's attention flickered over to your hands that had now started fidgeting, a gentle wind greeting the two of you from where you sat. "Hm. I can tell something is on your mind, y'know... Are you sure that's it?"

You took a deep breath in, relishing in the weather that seemed to be just right; it wasn't too cold like it usually was, but there was enough warmth to make it pleasant enough to stay outside for a longer period of time. Similarly, you often reminded yourself to be that way towards him; you wouldn't allow yourself to be too close with him in that manner, as the cold was barely noticeable, leaving a clement touch to those encompassed by it. However, there was also the warmth. The warmth that provided the comforting embrace of amiability, a distant affection that was still noticeable from afar. The heat balanced out the frigid air.

Nonetheless, the main question still stood: would he let you in? Would he let you in the unspoken of area in his heart that would've made you more than a best friend? The thought always came with a certain emotion of fear; fear that your friendship will collapse into mere dust if you barely mentioned what you truly felt.

"...Trust me, it's nothing important." You mumble, trying to sound as if nothing were bothering you. What came next was a little unexpected, though.

Hiccup slowly moved closer to your hand, gently setting his own on top of it as he tenderly gazed at you. "I don't think that's entirely what you mean..but I won't force you to say anything..." He paused, glimpsing at his hand as it soothingly held yours. "...Let me know when you're ready, okay?"

The Chief: so full of compassion and empathy; dynamic and firm when he needs to be, one who leads the people with courage. He was staunch, persevering, and everything else a leader needed to be. Oftentimes, he didn't even see that in himself, the very flaw he couldn't seem to get rid of. You wanted to remind him, despite if you already did, that he is those things. He is brave, he is strong, and he will continue to become a great Chief for Berk. In that moment, you earnestly wanted to be the one to tell him that, to be by his side when he thinks he can't do it, and to be the one he could find solace in.

To be recognized as more than a best friend.

"...Yeah, I will. Don't worry.."

Much to your surprise, Hiccup didn't let go of your hand, only giving you a small smile before he started rambling on of all the duties he was now getting used to. He may not have known, but you silently acknowledged that you really did have feelings for him, ones that probably wouldn't be going away for a while.

---------

#httyd #how to train your dragon #hiccup haddock #hiccup how to train your dragon #hiccup httyd #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #httyd hiccup #how to train you dragon: the hidden world #hiccup x reader #httyd fanfiction #OH MY GOODNESS I AM FREAKING OUT I AM SO HAPPY I FINALLY FINISHED SOMETHING AGHHHHHHAYYAYAYAAA #This came out a little late but it was still done much quicker than my other works I'm writing rn

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jtargaryen18 · 23 days ago

Text

The Arrangement ~ Chapter 6

Series Masterlist

Words: 9.2k

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: Kidnapping, physical violence, references to prostitution, attempted SA, angst, so much angst.

You fall into a trap and finally learn the truth...

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site.

The sun slanted through the tall sitting room windows, casting long golden ribbons across the floorboards. Dust floated in the light, undisturbed. The past few mornings had been so peaceful here. The sort of peace you hadn't enjoyed since you father left for the war that had taken his life.

You sat at the small table near the window, hands working slowly over the seam of a shirt. It was Arthur’s if you had to guess, judging by the frayed cuffs. The steady pull of the needle through cloth was comforting. The consistent movement of your fingers kept your thoughts from unraveling completely.

A low creak of the floorboards pulled your attention toward the doorway. Arthur hovered there a moment, newspaper in his hand. Then he stepped inside and lowered himself into the armchair across from you. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes flicking briefly to the shirt in your lap.

“You know, Polly would never try to mend mine,” he said, nodding toward the sleeve. “She would’ve told me to bin the bloody thing.”

You smiled. “I don’t mind.”

And you didn’t. You could just picture it. Polly standing over a laundry basket, cigarette dangling from her mouth, scoffing at the sorry state of one of Arthur’s shirts. “You’ve got money now, Arthur. Stop dressing like a bloody scarecrow,” she'd say. You could see her rolling her eyes and hand the shirt off to someone else or toss it in the bin herself.

Somehow, that only made you admire her more. Even when she was grumbling or swearing under her breath, there was a quiet dignity in Polly Gray. She didn’t waste her time on things she considered beneath her, but she always showed up when it counted. She’d taken care of you in her own way. And for all her biting words and clever looks, you did trust her.

Normally, she was here at the house but she'd gone out this morning to run errands. She said she planned to check in on your mother. Try as you might, your doubts and fears kept eating at you. You still didn't understand why you couldn't see your own mother.

For a while, the two of you sat there in companionable silence, broken only by the rhythmic slide of the needle and thread. Arthur read the morning paper and it was nice to have someone else for company. Finn passed through the hallway outside a few minutes later, humming tunelessly and tossing a quick, “Mornin’,” over his shoulder. You returned it with a nod, and Arthur grumbled something about him being late to everything but trouble.

Your eyes drifted to the window, though your hands kept working. Last night kept pulling at your thoughts like a thread you couldn’t knot. Tommy.

The way he’d looked when he walked into the room. Tired, yes, but also… something had been different. His shoulders had softened and something behind his pale blue eyes had cracked open, just a little. The way he’d held you as you fell asleep... There'd been no urgency to any of his actions, no possession. Tommy had made you feel like you mattered, like you were safe.

That was the part you didn’t know what to do with. If you didn't know better, you'd think...

No. You couldn’t let yourself go there. If you did, if you started to believe that Tommy Shelby cared for you--really cared for you... What happened when he no longer needed you? When the message had been sent, when the point had been made?

They’d already pulled your mother out of your home. Neither of you could go back now. Not ever again. Not after what had happened and what people were likely hearing. And after this, you couldn't share a home with Sean O'Grady. Not another single day. You'd be in physical danger from him, and everyone else, because everyone knew you'd been wagered to the Shelbys. You’d have to take your mother and start over. Somewhere new and far away. Maybe you could make it, convince Rory to come with you. He probably would as long as your stepfather wasn't involved.

The truth settled cold in your chest. You didn’t know if you even had the strength for that. You stared down at the thread in your hands, fingers still moving, but slower now. Less precise. Your rhythm faltered.

Arthur must’ve noticed, because for once, he didn’t fill the silence with noise. He just sat there a moment. Watching. Then, softly he said, “Try not to worry yourself.”

You looked up. It was like he could read your mind. Like he could feel the weight of your fears.

He nodded toward the fabric in your lap. “You’re sittin’ here fixin’ shirts and not fallin' apart. That’s strength.” He paused, jaw working like he wasn’t sure how much further to go. “It’s dignity. That’s what it is.”

Your throat tightened unexpectedly. It was the first time someone had ever called it that before. What you did to survive, to stay upright.

Arthur didn’t say anything else. Maybe he figured he’d already said too much. When he finished reading the paper, he flipped it closed with a rustle. Without another word, he rose from the chair and wandered off down the hall. The room felt larger without him, too big for you. A few minutes went by with the sound of the clock ticking filling the space he’d left behind.

You tried unsuccessfully to focus on the fabric in your lap again, but your attention span was lost. Your fingers moved out of habit now, not with real purpose as they normally did.

The sunlight had shifted while you'd been sitting there. The angle of its rays was sharper now, shining on the dust in the air that looked like flecks of silver. A breeze slipped in through the cracked window, stirring the curtains, the whisper of it brushing against your neck. Something about it made you uneasy, though you couldn’t say why.

You set the shirt aside, hands folding it neatly, though you hadn’t finished. You stared at the spot where Arthur had sat. You could still hear his voice in your head. It’s dignity.

The silence of the room pressed in on you. It was like the house itself was holding its breath, waiting. It sparked an uneasy feeling in you, like a wave of dread creeping in.

A soft knock at the open doorway jarred you out of your thoughts. You looked up to find one of the maids standingthere. You barely knew the girl having only seen her once or twice. Her hands were folded tightly in front of her apron, knuckles pale, like she was fretting about something. Something about her expression seemed off.

She moved into the room, her voice low and careful. “There’s something you should know.”

You watched her for just a second, feeling an uncomfortable shift in the air.

She stepped farther into the room, but not with the casual ease of someone running a message or asking about tea. Her gaze darted from your face to the floor, then to the window. Anywhere but directly at you.

It had you straightening in your chair. “Is everything all right?”

The maid hesitated. Then she nodded. Too quickly. “Yes. I mean--” Her voice faltered. She took a breath and tried again. “There’s just… someone asked me to tell you something.”

Your heart gave sped up. All the color had drained from her face. She looked like she’d seen a ghost, or like maybe she was about to summon one.

“Who?” you asked, gently.

Another beat of silence. She didn’t answer that. Didn’t seem like she could. Instead, she swallowed hard, eyes finally meeting yours, but only for a split second. “It’s about your mother.”

That was all it took. Your pulse jumped. Your body went still, hands froze in your lap.

“What about her?”

The maid shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She looked like she wanted to bolt and run. Instead, she stepped a little closer, lowering her voice like the walls might be listening. “She’s… not well.”

What did that mean? “Not well how?”

The girl glanced toward the hallway, then back to you, her voice barely above a whisper. “She’s been hurt. Bad. I... I don’t know everything. Just that she’s at a house on Holling Street. Someone there’s looking after her.”

Holling Street. You knew it. Just on the edge of Small Heath. Your mouth went dry. “How do you know this?”

“Someone told me,” she said finally, hesitating longer than normal. “They said you need to go see her soon. Might be your only chance.”

Your heart lurched in your chest, it was hard to breathe as panic threatened to take you over. You wanted to question the vagueness, the way she wouldn't say who told her, the way her eyes wouldn’t meet yours for more than a second at a time. But fear was already crowding your thoughts. If your mother was hurt, truly hurt, waiting around for answers wasn’t an option.

You had to see her. Right now.

You thought you said thank you to the maid. Your heart was beating so fast you were afraid it would break out of your ribs.

She left quickly. Too quickly.

But you were already sinking back into your thoughts, the sound of her footsteps fading behind the thundering in your ears. What were you going to do?

Could you make it out unseen? Just long enough to check on your mother? Could you make it back without Tommy finding out? You'd have to find a hat to cover your hair and a coat, try not to look as you normally did.

Maybe if you were quick. No one had eyes on you every second. You knew you were supposed to be out of sight right now. Because of his lesson. Because of the game Tommy Shelby was playing with Small Heath, and with you. You weren’t supposed to leave the house. You weren’t supposed to be seen.

But what if your mother was dying? What if this was the one chance to see her, to say goodbye if things were dire, and you didn’t take it? You’d never forgive yourself. Not even Tommy’s fury could compare to that kind of regret. And while you hadn't seen his fury firsthand, you were pretty sure you didn't want to.

You found a dark hat of Polly's in the hall closet and a coat of hers that would work. You were shaking like a leaf but you had to try. You'd do your best to make it back before anyone found out and sent up a couple prayers while you were at it.

You made it out the front door, heart thundering in your chest, eyes scanning the street as if your guilt alone might alert someone to your escape. But you barely made it three steps down the walk when a voice stopped you.

“Miss.” Turning sharply, one of Tommy's men stood just ahead, hands up like he didn’t want to scare you. You recognized him, always quiet and reliable. He was always shadowing the hallways.

“I can’t let you leave," he said. "It's for your protection."

Your breath caught. “It’s my mother,” you said, voice tight. “She’s been hurt. I just need to see her. I’ll be back. I swear--”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, still firm. “Orders are no one in or out. Not without Mr. Shelby’s say.”

“You don’t understand,” you snapped, desperation breaking through. “She might be dying. I need to see her.”

Shaking his head, visibly uncomfortable now, he said, “It’s not safe.”

Your voice cracked. “Then come with me. Please. If I’m wrong, I’ll come right back. But if I’m right--” Tears welled in your eyes. “Please.”

And that’s when it happened. The man you'd been speaking with saw them before you did. He shoved you behind him, drawing his weapon in the same breath.

Four men in dark clothes, moving fast. At first, you didn’t register it. They were just shapes in the distance. Shadows cutting across the sunlit street. But then you caught the way they moved. Not like passersby. Not like men with errands to run. They were running toward you. Their faces were set with intention, hard, flat, unreadable. They weren’t there to talk. There was no absolutely no hesitation in their stride. No shouted warning. Just momentum and menace.

Your breath caught in your throat. One of them looked familiar as they came closer. He looked like a friend of your stepfather's.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, something screamed run. But you didn’t even get the chance.

The shot the man in front of you got off was loud, had you flinching. He missed. One of the attackers didn’t. Another shot cracked through the air and Tommy’s man staggered, blood blooming at his shoulder, then his chest.

You screamed as he dropped to the ground. The intruders were on you in seconds. Two of them reached you first. You twisted in their grip, kicking, clawing -- anything to get free. One of Tommy’s men was down, bleeding out behind you, and others were running in your direction, you heard their shouts, but still too far off. They wouldn't reach you in time.

“Jesus, you idiot!” the man you recognized snarled as he grabbed your arm, yanking you forward. “You fired that fuckin' close to her. What if you’d hit her?”

The second man, the one with the gun still half-raised, shrugged. “Didn’t Sean say he wanted her dead or alive?”

The first man turned to him, and the grin that spread across his face made your stomach drop. “Oh, he wants her, alright.” His eyes raked over you with a twisted glint. “But not dead. Not yet anyway.”

Your blood ran cold. You didn’t know what Sean had told them, what exactly they’d come to do. But that slimy grin told you enough. This wasn’t just about revenge. This was about ownership. About your stepfather taking back what he thought he was owed.

You tried to scream again, but the breath wouldn’t come. Your chest tightened, your limbs shook. And for one terrifying second, all you could do was freeze. You were alone. Outnumbered.

And then you heard it. The low growl of an engine. A delivery truck came barreling up the road, tires screeching, engine roaring. The men turned toward it, and one of them laughed. “Right on time.”

More shouts now. Tommy’s men, two of them, sprinting from around the house. And behind them Arthur and Finn. Arthur yelling something you couldn’t make out.

One of the attackers grabbed you with rough hands, the stink of sweat and pipe smoke clinging to him. You struggled, kicked, screamed. It didn’t matter. They hauled you into the truck like a sack of grain, slamming the door shut just as it roared away.

In that last second, as the world blurred through the rear window, your eyes locked with Arthur’s. He was mid-run, gun drawn, fury on his face.

But it was too late.

The truck disappeared into the street, and you were gone.

***

The first gunshot cracked through the air like a whip. Arthur was already halfway down the stairs before his mind caught up to the sound. Another shot, closer this time.

Then a scream. Her scream.

“Fuck--”

He was moving before Finn could say a word, boots hammering the hardwood, shoving open the front door so hard it slammed the wall.

He saw it all.

One of the blinders, collapsed on the walk, blood spreading across his chest, eyes already going glassy.

And then he saw her. He didn't know why in the fuck she was wearing Polly's hat and coat. Apparently trying to go somewhere. But she didn't appear to want to go anywhere with them. Her body twisted in the grip of two men in dark coats, arms pinned, feet kicking as they dragged her backward toward a truck that came screaming up to the curb. A delivery truck going too fast.

Arthur's stomach dropped. No, no, no--

He bolted forward, rage in his throat and murder in his mind. “No!” he roared.

But it was too late. The truck door slammed, tires screaming. And they were gone.

He gave chase anyway, running full out, lungs burning, boots slamming pavement. But the truck tore off down the street and around the bend before he even cleared the walk.

Arthur stopped hard, hands on his knees, trying not to vomit from the effort and the fury.

“Arthur!” Finn called behind him.

“Stay in the fuckin’ house!” Arthur bellowed, not even turning. But of course the kid didn’t listen. He ran up to him anyway.

Arthur turned, grabbed him by the shirt. “Go get Tommy.” His voice was sharp, surgical. No time for emotion. “You run like hell and you don’t stop until you find him.”

Finn nodded, wide-eyed, then took off.

More of their men were flooding out the side gate now, shouting, confused. Arthur spun to face them, barking orders with the kind of clarity only a man trained for war could manage.

“Car. Now. Bring it around!”

They scattered, and to their credit, they moved fast. The sound of tires, engines, the slam of car doors. It all happened in under a minute.

Arthur turned toward the men loading into the car, their faces hard, eyes sharp. He leveled them with a stare that brought all of them to a halt, complete silence.

“We get her back,” he growled. “Or we don’t fuckin’ come back at all.”

***

Tommy paused in lighting a cigarette when he saw Finn running towards him at full speed. His youngest brother’s face was ghost-white, panic carved into every breath.

“They’ve got her,” Finn gasped. “Arthur said to come get you. Four men showed up, grabbed her and dragged her into a truck.”

Tommy just stared at Finn. Like the world had shifted beneath his feet and he hadn’t caught up yet.

“Tell me again,” he said, voice cold and low. “All of it.”

Finn rushed through it-- the kidnapping, the delivery truck, two men down. Arthur chasing after them with the men who'd been guarding the house.

It hit Tommy hard. The rage, dread, and the failure surged up in his chest, thick and bitter. There was no fear or guilt in that moment. All he could see was the image etched into his mind of her, torn from safety, from him, by men who thought she was still someone’s to take.

And still, despite all his efforts, they got to her. The thought hollowed him out because no matter how sharp his mind, how ruthless his plans, this was different. She wasn’t part of the game anymore.

She was his. And they had taken her.

He should have told her everything. Should’ve never waited. Now the choice might not be his anymore. And that terrified him.

But terror had no place now. There was only the gun, the car, and the ruin he would leave behind.

Crossing to the desk, he pulled the drawer open. Inside it was his old Colt, its black steel catching the light. Tommy pulled it out, popped the cylinder, and quickly checked the chamber. Six rounds. Grabbing another box of ammo, he slipped it into his coat pocket. He blew out an exhale as he tried to keep the anger at bay. This was for blood.

Liam and John ran in then, both of them breathing hard.

“We followed the truck,” John said. “One of the men at the street market saw it turn off toward the edge of Small Heath. Knew where it was headed. It's an old building we've used before to store contraband.”

Tommy’s jaw flexed. “Get the car.”

Grabbing his coat, he checked the gun at his side again. Sliding the hammer back with a click that echoed like thunder through his chest. Tommy was done playing the game. Now he was coming to collect.

***

The men who took you half dragged you through a doorway and into a dark, stale room that reeked of mildew, old sweat, and something sharper beneath it, something like fear. Your heels scraped the floor as you struggled, but they didn’t care. One of them grabbed your arm so tightly it burned, while another shoved you forward until your knees nearly buckled. Polly's hat was snatched from your head, and her coat was ripped from you like they were stripping away the last of the Shelbys' protections. Now, you were unprotected.

Then you saw him. Sean O’Grady. Standing near the far wall, a vision from a nightmare with his hair slicked back, smugness clinging to him like cheap cologne. The grin he flashed you made your stomach turn.

“There she is,” he said with a slow, gleeful drawl, like he was greeting a guest at a party. “The little runaway. Shelby’s whore.”

You didn’t need to ask how he found you. Didn’t need to guess who sent the message the maid delivered to you. You recalled the panic in her eyes, her trembling hands. You knew now that she didn’t want to help him. But she had and you'd walked right into it.

Sean stepped forward, eyes bright with unhinged emotion. “You know, your mum screamed for you.” He smiled wider. “Finest beating I ever gave. And she still begged me not to touch you.”

His words cut deep. But it was the implication behind them that had you struggling to breathe. The maid’s message... It hadn’t just been bait. Some of it was true.

Your voice cracked, brittle with dread. “Is she alive?” You swallowed hard. “My mother. Did you kill her?”

Sean rolled his eyes, like the question annoyed him more than anything. “How the hell should I know?” he muttered.“Probably the Shelbys got to her. Wouldn’t be surprised if they dragged her off somewhere. I don’t care.”

You recoiled, not just from his indifference, but from the wave of helplessness crashing over you. He’d hurt her. Hurt her badly enough that even he wasn’t sure what damage he’d done. Your fists clenched, heart thudding. You weren’t just afraid anymore. You were furious.

Sean kept walking toward you, and you backed away from him until your back met a wall and you couldn't retreat further.

“But it’s time, girl.” He took another step, licking his bottom lip like he could already taste victory. “Time to deal with you. You’re no good to them anymore. But you’ll make me plenty of money.”

His meaning sank in like icewater down your spine. The door of the big hollow room shut with a heavy click and his men stood not too far behind him, smirking. And Sean started rolling up his sleeves.

Your heart hammered so loud that all of them could probably hear it. Your throat was dry. Sean’s eyes gleamed with something sick, triumphant, like he’d already won.

But you wouldn’t let him have it that easily. “I didn’t want this,” you spat, voice hoarse but unbroken.“You’re the one who wagered me like I was nothing. You’re the one who made me into this mess. Not me.”

Sean paused, just long enough to let the grin stretch wider across his face. “Aye, and now look at you.” He stepped closer, slapping you across the face hard enough that your ears rang. You felt the blood running down your nose from the strike. “Dragged through the mud. Passed around by filthy gypsies. Bet you weren’t so high and mighty when they were done with you, were you?”

You flinched, but you didn’t look away. “They never laid a hand on me.”

An image of Tommy's face floated through your mind. Yes, there's been moments he'd been ruthless with you. But he'd never hurt you. He never would.

Sean snorted. “Doesn’t matter. World thinks they did. And that’s the beauty of it. They tricked me into the wager in the first fuckin' place. But I have to admit, I like how it turned out.” Then his voice dropped, and his eyes hardened. “You think you’re better than me?” he hissed. “You think if you’d just played along, kept your head down, and didn’t fight back that you wouldn’t be here now?”

You froze.

“You brought this on yourself,” he said, stepping so close you could smell the alcohol on his breath. Grabbing the front of your dress, he tore it away from your shoulder, revealing your camisole beneath. His meaty fist punched you in the gut, doubling you over. “You shamed me. You turned your mother against me. Now you’re gonna learn what happens to girls who don’t listen.”

His hand reached for your dress again.

A heavy thud as the heavy door flew open. Then a voice, low, furious, and unmistakable. “Don’t fuckin’ touch her.”

The voice cracked through the room like thunder. You turned toward it in disbelief.

Arthur. Framed in the doorway, eyes wild with fury, chest heaving like he’d run straight through hell to get there.

Sean didn’t even flinch. He turned. Surprised, but not scared. “There he is,” Sean said, lips curling with contempt. “The dumb one. Always the one who follows orders, yeah?”

Arthur stepped into the room, slow and heavy, like a storm rolling in.

“Dragged her off, what, to impress your brother?” Sean sneered. “You never could take anything for yourself, could you? Thought you’d break her in, pass her around--”

That was it. Arthur didn’t speak. He lunged.

You barely saw the distance close, just heard the sound of the impact as Arthur’s fist collided with Sean’s jaw, snapping his head sideways and slamming him into the wall.

And then -- total chaos.

Outside the room, the crash of boots on stairs. Shouting. Gunfire. A scuffle in the hallway. Arthur’s men had come in behind him, and they were already tearing through Sean’s goons. Another shot rang out, closer now. You flinched, but Arthur didn’t even blink.

Sean was scrambling, stunned, reaching for something on the floor, maybe a weapon. Arthur kicked it aside and grabbed him by the collar, lifting him halfway off the ground.

“You smeared my good name,” he snarled, breath ragged. “Let's see how dumb you think I am when I beat the fuckin' shite outta you. You should have know better than taking on the Peaky fuckin' Blinders.”

Sean struggled, spit flying, eyes full of confusion and rage. “What? Gonna fight me over a whore now?” he spat, blood dripping from his mouth.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. Before he could answer that, another colder voice did.

“She’s no whore.”

Tommy. In the doorway now, with John and Liam flanking him, weapons drawn and expressions carved from stone.

Sean’s face went pale. Your stepfather had no fear of Arthur Shelby. He was terrified of Tommy.

***

“She’s no whore.” His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. It cut through the room like a cold blade.

Sean froze, still pinned in Arthur’s grip, face covered in sweat and blood.

Tommy stepped inside, his boots deliberate against the floorboards, the click of each step louder than the shouting still echoing down the hallway.

His eyes went to her first. Nose bloodied. Dress torn. Fear written all over her face. The sight of her twisted something in his gut. He'd put her here. It wasn't his intention for this to happen but it was on him just the same.

He forced himself to keep walking. It was time for a reckoning.

He stopped just inches from Sean, his voice low enough that only those closest could hear. “You really thought it was Arthur who had her?”

Sean didn’t answer. He couldn’t, breath was too shallow, his eyes too wide.

Tommy stepped closer, lowering his voice even more. “It was me.”

Sean blinked, confused, then utterly horrified.

“You wagered her.” A pause. “Then you beat her mother. And when you couldn’t find the girl, you came crawling after her like a dog with a bone in its teeth.” Tommy leaned in, nose to nose, his tone flat and vicious. “You raised your hand to my family. And you laid your filthy hands on something that belongs to me.” Another beat. “You’re not leaving this room walking.”

Then he turned to Arthur, nodding once. “Drop him.”

Arthur did. Sean collapsed in a bloody heap on the floor, gasping.

Tommy crouched beside him, pulled his coat back slowly, and pulled his gun. “I want you alive, O’Grady. I want you to feel it. We’re going to take your name, your money, your reputation. We’ll bleed you out slow, ruin every man who ever shook your hand.”

He stood, nodding to John and Liam. “Strip him. Cut his belt. Break every finger if he resists. He’s not leaving this room until we’re done.”

Tommy walked to her as John and Liam got to work and Arthur stood watching with a satisfied grin. O'Grady's screams were already ringing through the room.

Everything else, every ounce of vengeance and strategy and fury, vanished in that moment. She was still against the wall, trying not to collapse in on herself. Her hands trembled. Her eyes were locked on his. He crossed to her slowly, his gun still loose at his side. Holstering it, he took off his coat and draped it over her, hiding what her torn dress revealed.

He expected her to recoil, to flinch, look away. He didn't know what he would have done if she had.

But she didn’t. She stepped into him. Fell into him, really, arms clutching his sides, face pressed against his chest like she’d break without something to hold onto.

Tommy blew out a heavy exhale. As much as he wanted to stay there, to comfort her, there was still business at hand. And she didn't need to see what was coming next for Sean O'Grady. She didn't need to bear witness to what he planned to personally do to the bastard.

"Let's get you out of here, eh?" He spoke only loud enough for her to hear. "Look at me. Don't look away."

Would it be the last time she'd look at him like he was a fucking hero? Her eyes were so trusting as she let him guide her out of the room while her stepfather's screams filled the air. Her entire body was shaking and he let her take her time getting down the stairs, helping her along. At the bottom, Polly waited looking alarmed but not about what was happening in the room upstairs. Her concerned gaze was on his girl, then on him. Still, he could have sworn he saw a flash of approval there too.

From behind Polly, Rory stepped up.

"Rory?" There were tears in her voice and he let her go, watched her make her way to her brother. He closed the distance for her, wrapping his arms around her, holding Tommy's coat to her.

His girl dissolved into tears then, soaking her brother's shirt as he held onto her. His gaze met Tommy's. "Thank you, Mr. Shelby." His voice was sincere, his expression one of gratitude.

Tommy nodded, turning his attention to Polly. "Get her back to the house," he told her. "I'm not finished here."

Polly nodded. Tommy didn't miss the concern on her face as her gaze met his.

***

The car ride was silent. Polly sat beside you, her expression unreadable, but her hands folded tight in her lap. Rory rode up front with one of Tommy’s men and neither of them said a word. It wasn’t until you pulled up outside the narrow stone house nestled in the hills that reality sank in.

You were finally going to see your mother. You didn’t know what you expected. But it wasn’t this.

The safe house was dim and quiet. The air was tinged with antiseptic and the faint scent of illness. The led you to the main room, a smaller space than Tommy's house but much bigger than the one in your home. The curtains were drawn, a fire burned low in the grate. Sure enough, there was a nurse there. Her gaze on you was compassionate and she stepped aside to let you pass.

And there she your mother. Propped against a mound of pillows, her pale skin covered with bruises. One eye was swollen shut, her bottom lip split. Bandages peeked out beneath the collar of her nightdress. Your mother's breathing was shallow, her hands limp at her sides.

You couldn’t breathe. You stood frozen as you stopped at her bedside, every part of you rattling.

Part of the maid’s message had been true. She had been badly hurt.

And Tommy knew.

Polly touched your back gently. “She’s sedated,” she said. “Her pain’s too bad. The doctor comes twice a day.”

You nodded, but the words didn’t register. All you could see was the damage. All you could hear was the voice in your head asking 'Why didn’t he tell you?'

Because he knew and he was behind it.

The thought landed hard, and it didn’t let go. You stared at your mother’s bruised face, at the slow rise and fall of her chest, and suddenly it all started to piece together. Every silence, every look, and lie of omission. Tommy wouldn’t let you see her. Not when you asked. Not even when you begged. He sent Polly. He said she was “resting.”

No, she was sedated. Not recovering or stable. Just hidden.

He must have know that if you’d seen her like this, if you’d seen what Sean O’Grady had really done, you would have started asking the wrong questions. Like why the man who hurt her still walked free. Who really orchestrated the coin toss? Who gave Arthur the idea? Who set the trap, then decided to keep the prize?

You felt it like a slap to the face, harder than the blow your stepfather had delivered to you just a short while ago. The deception, the manipulation, all cloaked in kindness, in protection. In nights when you kept his bed warm. Flashes of the way he'd cared for you when you were feeling poorly flashed in your mind but you pushed those thoughts away. You couldn't think about that now and those pieces didn't fit into the puzzle you were trying to solve anyway.

And Polly… She didn’t say a word. But when you glanced her way, she cut you a look that was quick and heavy with things unsaid. A look that said she knew you were figuring it out. Her eyes softened with something like pity, but her mouth stayed in a tight line. You couldn't help feeling that she wanted to tell you more. But she couldn’t. And that’s when you realized that none of this was her call. Polly had helped carry the lie, but she hadn’t written it. That was Tommy’s hand. His orchestration. Polly was just the one picking up the pieces.

But her expression held more than guilt. It held grief. Not just for your mother. Maybe not even for you. For Tommy. Polly knew what you were about to go through. The weight of the lie. The moment the illusion shattered.

You’ll be the one who pays for it...

And as the realization settled in, your chest tightened, not just with rage, but something far more cruel.

You cared about him. God help you, after everything, some part of you still did. And now it felt like that part of you had been twisted and used. He’d held you, kissed you, took your innocence. Promised you safety and a choice.

But there hadn’t been any choice at all. He'd stolen that too. And it broke something in you just knowing that even now, even in this house, at your mother’s bedside... you were hoping to hear his voice, same as always. You were waiting for him to walk through the door.

Now you knew. Tommy Shelby played the game. Moved every piece icluding you. Held every string. And your mother, this moment, was part of the cost.

You sank to your knees beside the bed, reaching for your mother’s hand. It felt small and fragile in yours. Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t wake.

Rory hovered near the wall, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt. You could see the guilt in his eyes, same as yours.

You’d both been too late.

***

Tommy stood at the threshold of the safe house for a long moment, eyes adjusting to the dim light inside. Her back was to him, seated beside the bed, beside her mother. She was so still, looked smaller somehow. At least Polly got her cleaned up in a fresh dress and the nurse had a look at her. But when she turned and met his gaze, he saw it.

She knew.

He didn’t need words. He didn’t need Polly’s knowing look or Rory’s tension or her absence in his house. It was there in her eyes. The betrayal and disbelief. The break.

He stepped inside slowly. Careful. Not like Tommy Shelby, the man people moved for. More like someone approaching the edge of something he couldn’t afford to fall into.

Without a word, she stood and walked right past him. She didn't say a word, didn't look at him. But he followed her, because he always would. Down the narrow hall, to the small bedroom Polly gave her to sleep in. She opened the door, stepped inside, and he shut the door behind him.

That's when she finally turned. And she hit him full force with the storm that he saw brewing in her eyes.

Her voice broke the silence first. “Did you do this?”

Four words, soft and soaked in grief. She didn’t need to clarify.

Tommy knew what she meant. The bet. The apartment. The lie. Her mother. All of it.

His jaw tensed. His hands curled at his sides.

Tommy nodded.

That’s when she started hitting him. No slaps or theatrics. She pushed him, hard, fists to his chest, and kept going. One blow after another, sobs shaking her body as her fists found his ribs, his collarbone, his heart.

“You lied to me!” she cried. “You took everything--everything!--and you said I had a choice!” Another hit. “My mum... Tommy, she’s... look at her! She’s broken. She'll never be the same. And it’s because of you!”

He didn’t move or flinch. He just took it. Didn’t lift a hand to stop her because he deserved it. He felt every word she threw at him like a blade beneath his skin.

His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “I never meant for her to be hurt.”

She let out a broken sound that wasn’t quite a laugh or a sob. “But you didn’t stop it either.”

He nodded again and didn’t offer excuses. He had none. His hands trembled at his sides. Not from fear, but from restraint. All he wanted to do was hold her. To tell her that none of it--none of it--had gone how he planned. But how could he say that when the plan itself had been rotten from the start?

She pressed both palms flat against his chest, not hitting anymore. Just leaning her weight into him like she couldn’t hold herself up.

And still, he couldn't bring himself to touch her. He just stood there.

She didn’t pull away from him. But her voice came again, quiet this time. Like it hurt too much to feel anything else.

“We can’t stay here, Mum and I.” She didn’t look up. “Not in Small Heath. Not in that house.”

There was no name spoken, but they both knew who she meant. Her stepfather who wouldn't be troubling her ever again. But Tommy knew it wasn't the right time to mention that.

“I know what people must be saying.” Her voice cracked again. “About the wager. About me. About what happened after.” She gave a bitter shake of her head. “You think I don’t know what that makes me now? Even though you stopped him. Even though saved me. That rumor’s going to follow me everywhere.”

She stepped back, arms wrapping around herself now, like she was trying to hold herself together. “I can’t go back to my old life. And I can’t drag my mother from house to house while I try to find work.” A pause. Her throat bobbed. “She can’t care for herself right now. I can’t leave her. And no one... no one is going to hire me now.”

It was then that she met his gaze. Eyes rimmed red. Lashes clumped with tears. But she wasn't defeated, he still saw the fight there. “So tell me, Tommy. What happens now?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at her, absorbing the pain he’d caused and feeling the fury she hadn’t run out of yet. But her strength hadn’t broken, even now.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low. “You’ve got a home with me. Your mum too. I’d make sure she's cared for.” A pause. “But I know you won’t take that from me. Not now.”

Something shifted in him then. The regret twisted sharper, deeper, but so did his resolve. He stepped forward. Then again. She took a step back but he kept coming until her back met the wall. He didn’t need to touch her. His presence filled the space between them like coiled heat.

His voice was quiet, but edged in steel. “You’re wrong about one thing. You do have a choice.”

Her breath caught.

“You can take your mother and go. I won’t stop you. I won’t look for you,” He stepped even closer, his breath now mingling with hers. “Or you can stay.” Another beat. “But if you stay, you’re mine. Not for show. Not for shelter.” His eyes darkened, but his voice softened. “As my wife, who'll give me a family. Not just in name, but in truth.”

She stared at him, frozen, lips parted as if she couldn’t decide how to react.

“Move your mother into my house. I don’t care.” A slight shake of his head, almost a bitter laugh. “I’ll even ask Polly to help decorate the bloody room.” Tommy glanced down, then back at her, exposed in a way he never let himself be. His voice broke, just a little. “But if you stay... if you stay, you’re mine.”

Planting his hands on the wall on either side of her, he caged her in and she let him. She stared at him like she didn’t know whether to run or fall apart. They were almost nose to nose, but he wasn't touching her. If she stayed, it would be her choice. Not his move. Not his manipulation. Hers.

And it was killing him. He saw the emotions warring behind her eyes. Hurt, anger, disbelief… and something else. Something that hadn’t quite died yet.

When she spoke, her voice cracked through the silence. “Why now?”

Tommy blinked. It wasn’t the question he expected.

“You had me. From the beginning,” she said, eyes glinting with betrayal. “Why wait?”

He almost looked away. Almost.

“I thought I could control it.” The words left him like confession. “I thought I control you and how far it would all go."

Her laugh was sharp and bitter, drawing blood. “And now?”

He looked at her like it might be the last time. “Now I’m asking.”

Her arms were crossed. Her body tense. But she didn’t leave and she wasn't pushing him away.

“And if I say yes?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

Tommy’s pulse thudded like a war drum. “Then everything I have is yours. But I’ll expect the same.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and fragile. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Still surrounding her, but now feeling like he’d just stepped off a cliff. If she walked out that door, if she took her mother and never looked back, he wouldn’t stop her. But he’d never be the same.

He watched her, still unsure if he’d already lost her. The silence was thick, too many words unsaid between them—but one kept clawing at the back of his throat.

“Did he hurt you?” The question came low. Careful. Like it hurt to speak.

She hesitated and that was answer enough. But then, too softly she said, “I’ve had worse.”

It hit him like a gut punch. Not because she meant it to or wanted sympathy. But because it was true. It wasn't a brave statement. She was saying it because that was her reality.

He looked down, jaw clenching, breath shallow. What the hell could he say? That he was sorry? That he should’ve gotten there sooner? That she never should’ve been in that situation in the first place?

He’d built the trap and lit the fuse. Even if he didn’t plan for that, he’d been the architect of everything that led her to it. And now here she was, his girl, saying she’s had worse. Like that was some kind of comfort. It didn’t comfort him, it wrecked him.

Tommy whispered her name against her lips before he kissed her, keeping it light, enticing. For a second, she kissed him back, but it was hesitant. At the same time, her hands pressed against his chest, like her mind was doing battle with her body, her heart.

She broke the kiss, confusion bleeding into her expression. "What are you doing?"

Tommy didn't budge. "Give me tonight," he whispered.

She shook her head, trying to push him back. "No," she said, tears pooling in her eyes. "I..."

"Tonight," he whispered, his lips caressing hers again. "That's all. Then the choice of whether you ever see me again or not is yours."

Saying it that way wasn't fair and he knew it. He knew what she'd been through today and how wrecked emotionally she had to be. All of it was on him and he didn't need anyone to explain that. But it was probably his last chance to be with her and he had to try.

Leaning in, he kissed her, soft and slow, his body still caging her to the wall. When she didn't stop him, he deepened the kiss, committing the taste of her to memory. Her hands clutched his shirt, and she was shaking.

It was nothing for him to scoop her up into his arms and carry her to the narrow bed. He'd wanted to go slow, but desperation had him going at full speed in a lusty haze. Tommy needed her, now.

When he lowered himself over her, he took her face in his hands, saw the tracks of her tears catching the faint light from the streetlamp. He hated them. Brushing them away with his tumbs, he claimed her lips in a demanding kiss. She let him, her tongue sliding against his as her hands slid up his chest to wrap around his neck. Her touch wasn't as careful as it had been, but bolder now.

He chained kisses across her cheek to the slim column of her neck, his hands roaming possessively over her body. He used everything he knew she liked against her. His mouth teased her just below her ear before blazing a trail down to her chest. Her fingers slid into his hair as he slid a hand beneath her, unzipping the back of her dress and hauling it down her body with all haste. Her camisole ripped in his hands as he pulled it off her roughly. He got his hands and mouth on her breasts and he didn't stop until her back was arching, a plea for more. Her thighs clamped around one of his and he knew she was looking for friction, looking for relief from the fire he was building in her body. Tommy was all too happy to grind his thigh into the heated center of her, loving the way her lips parted and the chorus of needy gasps and breaths he pulled from her.

Now that his vision had adjusted to the darkness, he saw the bruises all over her body. With care, he pulled down her slip, her drawers. His rough hands smoothed up the insides of her knees, up her trembling thighs. When he reached the apex, he claimed that tender part of her with his mouth. Shyness usually left her hesitant about the act, but she wasn't stopping him now. Tommy loved the taste of her, the way her thighs quivered around his face. Wrapping his arms around her thighs, he held her open, drank his fill. Her hands were restless, pawing at the bedding, at his head. She struggled in his hold, her back arching as he pushed her towards the edge. Tightnening his hold, he doubled down on her efforts, wanting her to come on his face, his tongue.

And she did, breathy cries filling the room.

She was breathless and trembling above him and he wasn't about to let her recover. Tommy stipped off his jacket and dropped it off the side of the bed. The only other thing he did was taking the time to work his belt open, push down his trousers. He couldn't wait anymore and he slid right into her, slow and deep. Despite everything she'd been through, she was still warm, wet for him. He dropped tender kisses over her face as he started to move, holding her to him. When her knees came up, her thighs cradling his hips, his heart squeezed in his chest. When her arms wrapped around him, he had to fight not to come. Not until she got hers.

They moved together in that timeless dance, and he didn't want it to ever end. Her gaze met his as he loved her, hoping what he read there was the same love he felt for her. He choose to pretend it was. He'd done most everything wrong and he had plenty of regrets. But he had to believe some small part of her felt something for him. He didn't know if she'd ever forgive him, or even if he'd ever see her again. So he was making one last plea, without words.

The first time she came on his cock surprised him. Tommy wasn't pounding into her or racing to the finish line. He was dragging it out, closing his eyes to savor those flutters around his cock, the way her fingers tugged at his hair. As his own end approached, he moved faster with thrusts that would have pushed her up the bed without his weight anchoring her. Her breath came in a rush like she'd been running as he felt her winding up again. Her nails were tiny knives down his back, carving into his skin. He hoped those trails were bleeding, that they formed scars. He wanted some personal reminder of her on his body so he could know for certain that she'd been real and for a short time, she'd been his.

The second time she came, he captured her cries in his mouth, a demanding kiss before he went over the edge with her, pumping himself into her like he wasn't going to stop. She took him, took all of it. Both of them struggled to breathe when he was done and he collapsed over her, his head resting on her chest. Her heart was flying, her legs still clinging to his hips. Tommy didn't move, didn't pull out of her. He just listened to the sound of her heart, enjoyed her gentle fingers in his hair.

Neither of them spoke as they lay there wrapped in each other. A tear slid from the corner of his eye, dropping onto her skin. Tommy didn't want the night to end, didn't want to be parted from her.

Before dawn, he rose from the bed, pulling the covers over her as he did and smiling at the way she again moved over into the warm space he'd occupied. Tommy dressed and as he promised her, he left to start the day. He left so she could make her choice.

And he would honor the decision she made, but he was almost sure he knew what that decision would be. And it would leave a hole in his heart.

***

The betting shop was unusually quiet the next morning. Tommy sat behind his desk, cigarette burning slow between his fingers, untouched. The ash tray was already half-full and he hadn’t lit a fresh one in twenty minutes.

He hadn’t slept at all, he didn't even try. He'd just stayed with her, not wanting to miss a minute he had left.

He told himself he had to start his day, it was business and the work had to be done. There was loose ends that needed tying.

But that was a lie.

Tommy hadn’t heard the car leave the safe house. He’d already been gone. He wasn't about watch her go.

But now, the silence was unbearable.

The click of the front door pulled him out of his thoughts. Tommy glanced up as John stepped in, jaw tight, expression grim.

“She’s gone?” Tommy asked, even though he already knew.

John nodded once. “Yeah. An uncle came for her and the mum early this morning. Mother’s brother. He came up from Ipswich.”

The name made Tommy flinch. Ipswich. Far enough to forget him. Far enough that she could pretend he'd never existed.

Tommy leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. He didn’t say anything. He couldn't bring himself to ask if she left a message or if she even looked back.

He didn’t want to know.

John hovered for a beat. “Rory’s outside.”

Tommy looked up. That, he hadn’t expected.

“Wants a word, if you’re willing.”

Tommy nodded once, then rubbed a hand down his face, trying to pull himself together before the boy came in. When the door creaked open again, Rory stepped in. His shoulders were squared, face composed, like he was bracing for something.

He just looked at Tommy. “Am I still welcome?”

Tommy stared at him. Of all the outcomes he’d prepared himself for, this wasn’t one of them.

“You’re not going with them?” Tommy asked, fighting to keep any emotion out of his tone.

Rory shook his head. “My uncle barely knows me. My sister went because of our mum. She’s worried about her. But me?” He shrugged. “I’d just be in the way.”

He didn’t say the rest. That maybe his sister left because of him. Because of the mess Tommy made. But the boy was giving him a straight answer, and Tommy respected that. Even if it twisted the knife.

Deep down, Tommy knew the truth. He’d lost her. But he still had this. Still had the piece of her she’d left behind. And he wasn’t above keeping it.

“If the offer’s still open,” Rory said, “I’d like to accept.”

Tommy looked at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. He rose to walk around the desk, clapping a hand on Rory's shoulder.

“You’re a Blinder now.”

The words landed with weight, not ceremony or promise. And as he looked at the lad, young, sharp, and full of fire, he couldn't help thinking she'll come looking for her brother one day.

And when she did, he’d be waiting.

A/N: It's not the end. Just the end of the first act.

@outlanderuniverseoutlanderuniverse @alyssajunellealyssajunelle @gothic-chinadoll @sparda1234 @mrsnms @alexakeyloveloki @theinheriteddutchess @wiseyouthingluencer @lovinglimerence

#The Arrangement #Peaky Blinders #Thomas Shelby #Tommy Shelby #Cillian Murphy #John Shelby #Polly Gray #Finn Shelby #Arthur Shelby #Innocent reader

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holylulusworld · 5 days ago

Text

The widow (5)

Summary: You trust no one. Not since they got your husband killed.

Pairing: TFaTW!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: the reader is under protection, arguments, grumpy Bucky, angst, grief, mentions of awful adoptive parents, mentions of abandonment

The widow masterlist

The widow (4)

Tonight is worse. You toss and turn, unsure if it was the right decision to tell Bucky about the place where you’re hiding the evidence against the people who killed your husband and unborn child.

Now he’s out there, getting the evidence, while Sam takes his place. Sam is nice, but you kind of miss Bucky’s grumpy personality. At least, he’s not too nice to make you think of your husband and how he picked you up from the ground where someone else shattered you.

“I’m back, and I’ve got it.” Bucky brings you out of your thoughts when he calls your name from downstairs. “Y/N, we should check on the evidence together. We don’t know what we’ll discover.”

“It’s not a good day,” Sam says, stopping Bucky from dragging you out of the room. “I think it has something to do with her parents.”

“Her parents, huh?” Bucky looks at the box filled with manila folders, external flash drives, and lots of pictures in his hands. “What do you mean, Sam? I thought her parents were dead.”

Sam shakes his head and sighs. “You really didn’t take your time to read her file. Her parents are dead to her, not dead."

“How come?” That piqued Bucky’s interest. He presses on, asking Sam why you lied about your family. “Sam? I need to know. If she lied about her parents, maybe she lied about something else too.”

“They are dead to me because they started to ignore me the moment their daughter was born,” you coolly reply. “Before, I was their miracle and ray of sunshine.” You chuckle bitterly. “My real mother died while giving birth; I don’t know about my deadbeat father.”

“Adoptive parents, then,” Bucky says, stepping closer. He lifts the box to show you he has the evidence to bring your husband’s murderer down. “Why did they ignore you?”

You sigh and look at Sam. “Didn’t your friend already tell you?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No. We didn’t talk about your family, only your husband.”

“Ransom was my family,” you snap at Bucky as you pass him by. “He picked me up like treasure while they threw me away like trash. I was six when my adoptive mother got pregnant. Suddenly the baby was their miracle. I sensed that things would change, but I—”

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to,” Sam tries to stop Bucky from making you even sadder.

“Why not?” You wipe your eyes. “You know everything about me.” You chuckle. “It’s nothing that keeps me awake at night. The moment their daughter was born, I had to move into a tiny room. A broom closet at best.”

Bucky blinks as you tell them your adoptive parents were rich, and their house was a mansion with so many rooms they had guests come over every other week.

“Forcing me to move into the room was their way of showing me that I was no longer needed. For six years, they were my parents, and suddenly, I was an inconvenience they had to get rid of.” You shrug when Bucky’s features sadden. “I had hoped my sister, when growing up, would side with me, but she didn’t. While she got everything, I had to work for the smallest things—like a new bag for school.”

“I heard you left home when you turned sixteen.” Sam gives you a cracked smile. He tries not to show too much emotion, to not make you cry. “That must’ve been tough.”

“Yeah, well. They threw her a huge birthday party but forgot that I turned sixteen,” you casually say as if it didn’t break your heart back then. “A few days later, I packed my things and left—never looking back.”

“How did you meet Ransom?” Bucky asks. “You said he saved you.”

“I met him a year later. I worked at a little café, making enough money to continue school and paying for a motel room. The owner gave me the leftovers. I survived somehow and even managed to save some money.”

You smile at the memory of meeting your husband. Closing your eyes, you try to recall his face and the cocky smirk he flashes you while ordering coffee and cake.

“One day, Ransom came to the café with a date. He never joined the girl at the table. Ransom followed me outside when I took my break, and we talked; later they walked me home. From that day on, he came back every day to chat and just spend time with me.”

“I didn’t know you met so young.” Bucky feels jealousy well up in his chest. Why, he doesn’t know. He never met Ransom, and yet he envies your husband.

“It was young love,” you sniffle and wipe your eyes again. “He understood me because, in a way, his family abandoned him too. Only his grandfather didn’t ignore him completely. We were both lost but got found when we met each other.”

Clearing your throat, you walk past Bucky. You can’t look at him, not after baring your soul in front of him once again.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. He watches you walk into the kitchen and releases a breath he didn’t know he held. “Fuck… I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I told you so…” Sam says and takes the box out of Bucky’s hands. “We should check on the evidence. Maybe, move again. We shouldn’t stay here for much longer.”

“You’re right,” Bucky agrees, a grim expression on his face. “The agents won’t give up. I wonder if they had their hands in Drysdale’s death…”

“I don’t know any of the people in the pictures.” You rub your tired eyes. Sam is already asleep on the couch while you try to find out more about the people killing your husband. “Ransom kept this part of his business a secret. Maybe he didn’t want to disappoint me—believing he’ll let me down if he fails.”

“He tried what’s best for his family.” Bucky’s words surprise you. “I would’ve done the same to protect the ones I love.” He looks at you for a brief moment before closing the manila folder. “Let’s call it a day. We won’t find out more today.”

“You’re right. We should get some sleep now.” You yawn and slowly get up. “Maybe tomorrow, we will see clearer.”

Morning came with a surprise. Bucky gruffly told you to pack your things. He wanted to move to another safe house.

You’re grumpier than ever as you drag your feet toward the car. “Fuck, this sucks,” you mutter but get into the backseat without making a fuss.

Bucky carries the box and his bag toward the car. Sam follows suit, waving at you before getting behind the steering wheel.

“Stop being a grump,” he grunts when getting in the passenger’s seat. “We cannot stay in one place for too long. Getting comfortable is not an option, Y/N.”

“Says the biggest grump in the universe.“ You kick his seat like an angry child. “Can I at least know where we are going this time?”

Tags in reblog.

#The widow (5)#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #x reader

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moonchildstyles · 1 year ago

Note

whats this aster curious gazes im seeing ?🥸

wordcount: 2.7k+

—————

Mikaela impatiently checked the time broadcasted on the clock above the auditorium's entrance, trailing after the molasses-slow minute hand. How had it only been three minutes since she last checked and not the twenty she had sworn it had been? She and her group had already finished peer reviewing each other's papers ten minutes ago, but they were all confined to their seats for fear of Professor Rian marking them down for leaving early—one of his favorite activities Mikaela had learned about the hard way during the second week of courses.

"How much longer?" Bria bemoaned from across the table, her own boredom showing in her dull gaze. (Y/N) perked up at Mikaela's side at the question, though she stayed just as quiet as she always was.

"Another thirty," Mikaela murmured, a moment away from rolling her eyes, "I feel like we've been waiting for, like, an hour."

Around them, the remaining groups were still chattering, some speaking about the essays while others seemed just as checked out as them. Running a hand through her long hair, Mikaela convinced herself to stay strong.

"At least it'll be the weekend after this," she reminded the table, looking to Bria, "You're still set on getting your tattoo this weekend?"

Bria plucked up at the question, her brown eyes sparkling in excitement. "Mhm! They called and confirmed yesterday with me, so I'll be in tomorrow morning, first thing!"

"Are you going to be with the same guy that you had the consultation with?" Mikaela asked, picturing the long haired, heavily tattooed man she had seen when she went with Bria the first time to set up the initial appointment. She almost booked one for herself after seeing him; even the scowl and less than friendly demeanor couldn't detract from his... everything.

Leaning across the table as if sharing a secret, Bria raised her eyebrows with a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. "I hope. I might cancel, if not."

Mikaela laughed along with her friend, knowing exactly where she was coming from.

Piping up with a small smile on her features, (Y/N) asked, "Where are you going for your tattoo?"

"It's not too far from here actually," Bria started, settling her chin in her hand as she spoke to (Y/N) at Mikaela's side. "It's called 17Black."

(Y/N)'s expression brightened at the mention of the tattoo parlor in a way Mikaela had never seen before. Though she usually came to class fresh-faced and dewy, there was now a glimmer in her eyes that almost gave the illusion of glitter having fallen in her lashes.

"They're the best," she bubbled, her smile wide, "It's gonna turn out really, really good. You said you know who your artist is going to be?"

"Yeah—um—hold on," Bria muttered, reaching into her bag, "I got his card last time I was in—I think he's the owner, or something." After a moment she pulled out a black and white business card, reading the name off: "Harry."

Passing the card across the table, (Y/N) eagerly read over the stylized font and the glossy logo on the other side. "He's amazing—you're super lucky, Bria."

(Y/N)'s smile wasn't one that could be shaken as she passed back the card. Mikaela thought she looked like she was proud, even. (Y/N) was always so reserved, seemingly more comfortable in the background and only chirping up when needed, Mikaela had never seen her so bright like this.

"Have you been there before, (Y/N)?" she asked, trying to imagine someone like (Y/N) with any tattoos—especially done at a place like 17Black.

Not that there was a specific kind of person that could have tattoos or that the parlor wasn't nice, but she had a hard time picturing (Y/N) with all her ribbons, pink sweaters, and shimmer flouncing into that building and getting a design inked into her skin. Especially by someone like Bria's artist; she was already shy enough, Mikaela doubted his scowls and curt tone would be anything of comfort.

That left her raising her brows in surprise when (Y/N) happily nodded her head. "Yeah! I only have one tattoo, but Harry did it and it's"—there was a moment something dreamy flashed over (Y/N)'s gaze then—"It's perfect."

"I didn't know you had a tattoo," Bria interjected, her expression surely mirroring Mikaela's with her own perked brows and searching gaze as if they had both somehow missed an obvious marking.

"It's really little," (Y/N) explained, settling some in her seat, "It's on my side, like, on my ribs, so people don't really see it."

"I never pictured you with a tattoo," Mikaela added, "And especially on your ribs. You're brave."

"Honestly," Bria started, bouncing full brows over her eyes "I don't know how you got through it, especially with him."

A cinch appeared between (Y/N)'s brows. "What do you mean?"

"You probably had to take your shirt off for the rib tattoo, right?" Bria prodded, watching as (Y/N) flustered some before ultimately nodding her head, "I don't know how to act around that guy—Harry—with my clothes on, I think I would combust if he asked me to take them off."

It wasn't hard to see that (Y/N) was bubbling with embarrassment at Bria's remark—though Mikaela did hardily agree. She wondered if (Y/N) felt the same way; it was hard to picture her getting flustered over someone like Bria's artist. There could be that whole opposites attract thing going on for them, but Mikaela could only really see the scenario where Harry would crush the marshmallow that is (Y/N).

"Oh, I don't know," she muttered half-heartedly, trailing off without a real answer, "You know, he's just..."

"It's okay, I get it," Bria finished for her with a bubbling laugh that had (Y/N) cracking her own polite smile. "He's pretty intimidating, honestly. Not for everyone, I guess."

With her hands a bundle in her lap, (Y/N) tilted her head, "I wouldn't say that—"

Not a moment too soon, Professor Rian made his way back to the forefront of the auditorium—something Mikaela wished he would have done a half an hour prior. "Class dismissed. Next Wednesday we'll do our final draft reviews and the finished essays will be due next Friday at midnight. Have a nice weekend."

"Finally," Bria exasperated, immediately rushing to pack her things just as Mikaela had before Rian had even finished talking.

(Y/N) had done the smart thing and had her things ready to go once they had finished peer reviewing, only having to sling her bag over her shoulder while she quietly waited for the pair of them to get their own shit together.

It was wild how much more awake Mikaela felt now that class had been dismissed, leaving behind the exhausted state she was lulling into at her desk. Shrugging into her jacket, the mental list of tasks she had to accomplish before her sister, Mira, and her boyfriend would be over for dinner didn't sound so bad now.

"What are you getting, Bria? For your tattoo, I mean," she chirped up, peering around Mikaela as they walked into the corridor, steps in sync with one another.

"The moon and some stars and stuff on the top of my hand," she explained, "It's kind of hard to describe without a picture, but it's this whole thing."

"That sounds really pretty," (Y/N) smiled, sincerity in her voice, "Hopefully it won't take too long—I hear the top of your hand can hurt sometimes with the bones and all."

"It might not be so bad if it took a while, right?" Mikaela piped up, shooting Bria a look from the corner of her eye. Maybe, if Mira and her boyfriend didn't overstay their welcome tonight, she'd go with Bria in the morning and see if her artist had a girlfriend or something.

(Or was at least open to hooking up on one of the tattoo chairs).

Leading down the hall towards the main entrance of the building, Bria nudged Mikaela's shoulder. Ahead of them, (Y/N) reached forward and opened the door for the three of them to pass through.

"Definitely wouldn't be bad," Bria laughed, the chill of the winter air seeping through the sleeves of Mikaela's jacket as they stepped outside. "I don't know, I might even—Wait, oh my god."

"What?" Mikaela asked, brows furrowing at the abrupt change in her friend.

Instead of the amused bubbly expression she wore just a moment prior, Bria now looked ahead with wide eyes and gaped lips, her steps slowing over the concrete.

(Y/N) noticed the change in her demeanor as well, peering around Mikaela as her own features molded into something of worry. "What happened?"

"He's here," Bria muttered, looking straight ahead towards the student parking lot, "That's literally him right there, isn't it? Why is he here?"

"Who? Who's her—"

Following Bria's line of sight, Mikaela felt her own words get stuck in her throat when she saw just what had her friend going limp.

As if summoned, Bria's tattoo artist—Harry—had somehow found a prime parking space in the student lot and was now waiting.

He was ever the intimidating figure with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the hulking frame of the black Range Rover behind him. (Because, of course, he would drive a Range Rover). Even with the chunky black cardigan draped over his form, he didn't look any less imposing than when he had stalked through the tattoo parlor. He perfectly matched his car, all black, tattoos tracing over his skin, including the heavy chest pieces on display from the low scoop of his top. A pair of sunglasses were holding his hair back on the top of his head, with his lips set in a firm line, lip ring and all.

"He doesn't go here, right?" Mikaela blanched. Why else would be here, if not to go to class, right?

(Y/N) looked just as bewildered as they were, a cant to her head as she took him in. "What is he doing here?" she muttered, voice quiet enough to be speaking to herself.

Their small trio stood off to the side, out of the way as the rest of their classmates trickled around them as well as other students meandering through campus. From where they stood, Mikaela could see the way the tattoo artist scanned over the student body, searching for something—or someone.

He didn't come to see Bria, right? That would be crazy, leaning on certifiable—even if he was hot.

Mikaela's eyes widened when she saw (Y/N) wave her hand above her head. What was she doing? Did she not think this was weird that he had showed up to campus when he really didn't have any reason to?

She watched as he caught sight of (Y/N)'s waving arm and his features almost immediately softened. Even from where they were standing, it was clear to see the tension releasing from his body in a breath. He pushed off from where he was lent against his Range Rover and started towards the building—towards them.

Was (Y/N) insane or something, and they'd just missed all the signs until this moment? Why would she ask him to come over here?

"He's coming over here, what the fuck," Bria murmured, just as lost as Mikaela.

It didn't take long for his spanning strides to cross the concrete and take him to where their small group had taken root. Seeing him this close again, Mikaela realized her memory didn't do him any justice—he was more than gorgeous. Unfortunately crazy, but still hot.

Had he always had his nose pierced? Had his eyes always been that green? Had they always been pinned to (Y/N) like that?

"(Y/N), do you—" Bria started, only to cut herself off when (Y/N) excitedly bounced up to her toes once the tattoo artist was close.

"What are you doing here, H?" she chirped, familiarity in her voice as she looked up at him.

Mikaela figured she wore the same expression that Bria did, with her eyes wide and brows raised, a fraction away from her jaw dropping as they watched the tattoo artist—H—pull (Y/N) into his arms and drop a kiss on the top of her head.

"Came to pick you up for lunch, if that's okay," he murmured, not sparing a glance their way as he kept the pink marshmallow in his arms. "I also noticed there was an extra jacket lying around my room that I thought was supposed to be with you."

Sheepishly looking down, (Y/N) shook her head. "I forgot, I'm sorry."

Adoration was clear on the tattoo artist's—her boyfriend—features. "'S alright, lovebug. I brought it with me so y'can have it the rest of the day, jus' don't keep forgetting it. 'S only getting colder out, I don't want you to get sick."

"I won't," (Y/N) sighed, looking entirely at home as she clutched his sweater in her hands and fluttered her lashes at him as if he were a king. "Thank you."

Mikaela couldn't help the simmering of her blood beneath her skin, surely a flush painting her complexion as she thought back to just what she and Bria had been saying during class. They talked all about how hot (Y/N)'s boyfriend was to her face, implied he was intimidating and not her type, and she had even heard them freak out thinking he had come to see them. She was never going to pair with them for peer review again.

(Though Mikaela will give herself credit for not speaking about the lingering fantasy she'd had involving one of those tattoo chairs and Harry's hair pulled back so he could focus).

"Um," Mikaela sounded, almost cringing at how stupid she sounded from just a single syllable, "I think we should probably go, but we'll see you next week, (Y/N)."

(Y/N) turned with her expression going bashful. Her boyfriend's hands didn't move from where they were on her waist though he finally looked up from her to see the rest of the world around them.

"I'm sorry," she apologized as if in reflex. Looking at the man behind her, she started with a shy smile on her lips, "Harry, this is Bria and Mikaela. They're the girls from one of my English classes I've told you about."

Back was the expression she recognized from when she had dropped by the tattoo parlor. His features hardened some, going less open and easy to read than they had been just a moment ago. He took them in with a stilted smile on his lips.

"Nice to meet you," he murmured, his gaze flicking to Bria for a split second longer, "Actually, we've met before, right? You're my nine a.m. tomorrow."

"I am, yeah," Bria said, sounding just as lame as Mikaela felt. It was easy to see Bria was floundering for anything to say before she finally settled on, "(Y/N) didn't tell us she had a boyfriend."

His smile turned lopsided at that, amusement flickering in his gaze as he looked down at the marshmallow in his arms. "She didn't?"

(Y/N) looked to the pair of them, biting back a smile as if remembering what was said back in class but deciding it was their secret to keep. "It just didn't come up."

"Right," he smiled, squeezing her waist just enough to get her bouncing at his side with a short huff of laughter pouring out, "Are you ready to go?"

"I think so, yeah," (Y/N) agreed, craning her neck to smile up at him before returning her attention to Mikaela and Bria. "I'll see you guys next week."

The pair shared similar goodbyes, hoping they didn't sound as embarrassed as they felt. Walking away from them, Mikaela watched Harry tangle his fingers with (Y/N), slowing just long enough to press a kiss to her forehead before leading her towards his Range Rover.

"We are the most annoying people in the world," Mikaela said, breaking their silence, "We literally said all of that about him to his girlfriend."

"She's never going to partner for peer review with us again."

Despite the guilt and bits of humiliation floating through her system, Mikaela couldn't shake off just how sweet it was to see (Y/N) interact with someone like that—especially someone like her boyfriend. They were clearly in love, that much she could tell.

"Oh my god," Bria said, whipping her head around to look at Mikaela with horror stricken eyes.

"What?" Mikaela asked, taken aback at the sudden urgency in Bria's voice. Was another person they had lusted over to their partner, about to round the corner?

"I have to see him again tomorrow," Bria whined, "And, (Y/N)'s probably going to tell him what we said."

At that thought, Mikaela really hoped her sister would overstay her welcome tonight—give her a reason to stay in bed and leave Bria to her appointment alone.

—————

this is the first time im trying out this kind of pov so I really hope everyone like it! thank you sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and please lmk if you have any ideas you want to share!

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