#I’m gonna kill this drag- NO YOU’RE NOT!!! I WILL SHOOT YOU!!!

[thereweredragonshere]

Idk some weird assassin au I came up with fkn ages ago (this was drawn like 2 months ago and it was literally just so I could draw Hiccup with a gun. That’s it.)

[arieslost]

ok i don’t know if it’s just me who gets really giggly when it’s late at night but imagine laying in bed with lando and you’re just rambling about smth so stupid that it ends with you two just giggling at nothing. like getting full on stomach cramps from laughing but there wasn’t even anything funny to begin with

anon u and i are the SAME! once its past midnight i always end up becoming a victim of the late night sillies ��

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

1:30 am | ln4

you knew you were up too late when you nearly tripped over the loose edge of the blanket you and lando had been sharing on your way back to the couch, and when he had caught you before you could hit your head or anything, you started laughing.

“oh, no,” he’d groaned dramatically. “got the late night giggles already, huh?”

“uh-uh,” you shook your head, even though him saying the words “late night giggles” was enough to make laughter start bubbling up in your throat again.

something always shifted in you when the clock struck a certain hour at night, and lando had only been witness to it a handful of times before you moved in together.

now, you’d managed to get through the rest of the movie the two of you were watching without laughing, even if it meant biting your lip hard and refusing to make eye contact with your boyfriend. it was bad enough feeling his eyes on you every time he wanted to see your reaction to something that happened on the tv. making eye contact would just take you out entirely for no reason whatsoever.

which is why you think you’ve successfully avoided making a fool of yourself when you’re both finally laying in bed with the lights out at the fine hour of 1:30 in the morning.

“you’re so far away,” lando grumbles, dragging your body into his so his one arm is around your shoulders and your face is nestled in his neck.

“better?” you ask, smiling when he shivers as your lips brush his skin.

“mhmm.” he’s quiet for a moment, running his fingers up and down your arm. “you’re gonna come to miami, right?”

“yeah, if you want me to.”

“what kind of question is that, babe?” he cranes his neck in a way that tells you he’s fixing you with a judgy look even though you can’t see each other.

you shrug, feeling the giggles building up again for no reason whatsoever. “i dunno.”

“obviously i want you there, why wouldn’t i?”

“i dunno,” you repeat. “it’s miami. maybe you just wanna party with all your homies.” and just like that, you’re laughing again.

“oh dear god, here we go,” he sighs, pressing his lips together to repress his own laughter as your body shakes against his. “my homies? when have i ever referred to any of my mates as my ‘homie’?”

he sounds so incredulous that you laugh even harder. “oh, you’re so british! i can’t call them your mates, lan. it sounds too weird.”

“so homies is the word you went with? why can’t you be normal and just say my friends?”

“why can’t you be normal and say your friends?” you shoot back, and that does lando in.

“it’s not funny,” he tries to admonish, and it’s entirely true, but it’s a moot point when you can barely understand him through his laughter.

“stop laughing then!”

“you stop!”

naturally, that makes you both laugh harder still, to the point where you have to roll away from him, clutching your stomach from how badly all the laughing is making it hurt.

“i can’t breathe,” lando gasps from behind you.

“stop laughing,” you repeat. “you’re killing me.”

“i think i’m dying,” he continues like he didn’t hear you, and he honestly might not have because your face is half shoved into your pillow in your attempts to stifle yourself.

a few more minutes go by of the two of you absolutely losing your minds before you’re finally able to catch your breath.

“ow,” you whine, holding your stomach. “i think i just grew a six pack.”

“i think mine just became ten times more defined,” lando says, voice raspy from all the exertion on his vocal chords.

“ooh, lemme feel.”

“absolutely not, because you’re going to tickle me,” he grabs your wrist out of thin air. “i know your tricks, baby. i’ve laughed more than enough tonight thanks to you.”

“not my fault you’re weird and british.”

“i love you,” he says sweetly, pulling you back towards him and kissing your forehead. “now’s where you say, ‘i love you too.’”

“i love you too,” you reply dutifully, blindly reaching for his face so you can kiss him properly. “even though you’re weird and british.”

he kisses you again. “i thought it was especially because i’m weird and british.”

you snuggle into his side, now thoroughly exhausted. “please don’t make me laugh more, lan.”

you both know he’s right, of course, but you usually need to have the last word, so he lets you get away with it. he does love you, after all, even though you had him in stitches over nothing at 1:30 in the morning.

word count: 790

masterlist — join my tag list here!

note: this was sooo self indulgent, like i was laughing as i wrote this because the term “homies” is so silly to me for some reason. also helped me test my dialogue skills!! n e wayz…

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

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[seresinhangmanjake]

What if feyd's wife brought up the idea of having another child? How will he react? I loved his boy and all of your fics btw. You're a great writer!!!

Feyd-Rautha x wife!reader

Summary: You want another baby, but after what happened with your first pregnancy and birth, Feyd is hesitant. 

Warnings/Notes: Thank you for your kind comments, anon. I hope you like this! Mentions of smutty stuff but not anything extreme. I'm still gonna go with 18+ though. I don't think there's anything else. Typos, I'm sure. This is also part of the His series, but you don't have to read it first.

Words: 1400

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Your bottom lip is worn raw. You’ve spent three hours nibbling on the delicate skin as you stare at the ceiling, waiting for the sun to rise. When it finally does, your little boy stirs in the bed between you and Feyd—nightmares, poor thing—but he quickly settles back into sleep, his lips parted with light snores. 

Iron seeps onto your tongue. Swiping your finger over your mouth, it pulls back coated in red. “Wonderful,” you mutter.

“What did you do?” Your husband asks, making you gasp and shoot up in bed. He chuckles, his brow drawing close at your skittishness. Careful not to disturb Fionn, he pulls back the covers and walks over to your side. His palm cups your chin. His thumb runs over your lip, collecting a droplet before sticking it in his mouth with a wicked grin that makes you playfully roll your eyes. “Morning,” he says, leaning in to kiss you. 

You press a peck to his lips. “Morning.”

“That’s all I get?” 

You debate not doing this, not dragging down another morning, but you can’t help it. It's an impulse at this point. Unable to be contained. 

“I want to talk about it,” you say.

Feyd’s features solidify into stone and he straightens his spine. “We already talked about it,” he replies before turning for the bathroom. You hop up and follow after him, closing the door behind you as Feyd twists a knob so water can cascade into the deep tub. 

“I want to talk about it again.” Ignoring you, he puts his hand under the water to test its warmth. “I’m not going to let it go.”

“No, you’re not, are you.”

“You honestly don’t want another one?”

“What I want is my wife alive,” he says as he strips off his silken sleep pants. “I already had to watch you die once.”

“I didn’t die.”

Feyd’s chest inflates. He’s been holding in an explosion for days and you don’t know how long he can manage that. “Fionn won’t be up for hours,” he says, getting into the tub and finding a comfortable position. “Come join me.”

“Feyd–”

“Clothes off.”

You sigh and slide the straps of your nightgown down your shoulders until it falls to your feet. With your hand in Feyd’s, you step into the pool of heated water and get cozy with your back to his chest. You lean your head against his shoulder as he takes hold of both of your hands, his fingers playing with yours. 

“I didn’t die,” you remind him, keeping a softness to your voice. You tilt your chin back and plant a kiss on his jawline to ease the truth of your argument so it doesn’t induce a bout of rage. You’re good at that, after years of dealing with his fits. 

“I thought you did,” he says. “For a moment, I felt it as if you did.”

“I know, but–”

“What if it were me?” he says, and your heart leaps into your throat at the suggestion. “Would you want me doing something again that almost killed me the first time?”

That's not exactly fair, and you want so desperately to spit those words right back at him. It’s not as if you haven’t had to catch your breath once or twice when he goes up against a prisoner who has not yet lost the skills that came from years of training on their home planet. You’ve cleaned up a few nicks on your husband’s skin from a blade, and yet, he continues to fight without you saying a word about it. Even if it went against your wishes, he would continue. 

“I watch you in the arena all the time,” you tell him.

“That’s not the same. You know I’m going to survive,” he says, and you hate that you can’t argue his point because you do know that. He’s too skilled. The nearest he’s come to serious harm—harm that would not have even come close to resulting in his death—was against an Atreides. And while it was a harder fought duel, there was nothing sloppy about it. Feyd still ended the life of that man with the beautiful maneuvers of a practiced warrior.

Reaching for the last bit of logic you can, you say, “You don’t know that I won’t survive.”

Your husband groans, a rumble that vibrates against your back. “I don’t know that you will,” he says. “Don’t you understand that? I need you. Fionn needs you.”

“Feyd–”

“I love you and you would dare to leave me. You’re fighting me on this for the second time now.”

You swallow hard, trying to remove the lump in your throat, before you twist your body so you’re facing him. The water sloshes over the edge of the tub as your legs straddle his hips, but neither of you give the mess and ounce of attention. Your fingers weave at the back of his neck. 

“I’m not leaving you,” you tell him. “I’m not leaving Fionn. I just want to bring more into our lives.”

“We don’t need more,” he says. “I don’t want more.”

His words poke a needle through your chest and into pumping organ behind your ribcage. “At all? You’ve never imagined it? A brother for Fionn? A little girl you could train to be as strong as you?”

Feyd’s eyes fall from yours. His fingers tighten at your waist. “Stop it,” he demands, and by the way he continues to avoid your stare you suddenly see that he has, in fact, thought about it; that it has been considered. All this time, you’ve assumed he brushed off the idea without so much as bothering to picture what another child would be like for your little family. But no. You were wrong. And you wonder what images of that future he’s conjured up in that mind of his. What scenarios he’s denied the possibility of simply because he is scared. 

“You have imagined it.”

Feyd huffs. “So what?”

“What’s it like?”

“Without you?” he asks. “Miserable.”

“And with me?”

Your husband takes a deep breath that exhales as a slow but heavy stream of air through his nose. “I told you to stop.”

“I can’t.” You press your forehead into his. His arms wrap around your waist and pull you in closer. “Feyd, I can’t. Can’t we just try?”

Feyd leans back and looks up at you, examining your features with an intensity that suggests he doesn’t already know the shapes and planes of your face by memory. It brings forth a blush that heats your cheeks; a blush he’s always able to work out of you, one way or another, even after nearly seven years together. It makes you want to make your baby right now, and if he agreed, and if your son was not sleeping just in the other room, you would. You’d touch him and harden him and slide down onto him, writhing and shifting your hips until he was groaning and filling you. 

“Please,” you whisper. Your hands plant on his cheeks. Your thumbs run across the sharp edges of his cheekbones and you move in to capture his lips in a kiss that then travels to his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. “Please,” you say between more kisses. You say it again, punctuating the word with a little nibble on his collarbone. 

Feyd shifts underneath you. You can feel him grow thicker against your core. With a suck in of air, he pushes your hips down harder onto his lap, but then he holds you still. And it’s for the best. You weren’t trying to start something anyway, not here, not now. 

“We’ll talk to the doctor,” he says as you rest your head into the crook of his neck. Relief floods your whole body. “But if he says no, then it’s not happening. And if he says yes but then something happens to you, I’m killing him, so you should be prepared for that.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me,” you swear to him. And you do believe that, genuinely, in your heart of hearts. “And I’m always prepared for you to end someone's life. I wouldn't have married you if I thought you'd be any different.”

Feyd almost chuckles. “You didn't have a choice in marrying me.”

“Yes, but I wanted to marry you anyway,” you tell him. “Murder and all.”

---

A/N: thank you for reading. Let me know what you think. If you have any ideas or thoughts on the His series, I am open for requests.

[shotmrmiller]

PAUSE! OH MY GOD. writing a soap smut got me thinking. 

As a medic in base, you see the 141 guys all the time. Whether in passing or because they get injured, you’re always interacting with them. Your particular lack of response at Ghost’s irritated glare after reprimanding him for being unable to keep his stitches intact during training is what solidified your friendship with Johnny— what Soap tells you to call him.

Every time Johnny goes out, he likes to drag you along and this is where you notice peculiar interactions between him and Ghost.

The way Ghost gives Soap Johnny his full attention when he’s speaking, turning his entire body to face him, even if it’s something completely trivial. Or how Johnny stresses over Ghost who’s injured on your med table and Ghost will comfort him. When going on a mission, if one goes, so does the other.

You wonder if there's something else going on.

—

You get your answer.

One day you’re knocking on Johnny’s door because it wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried to weasel out of a physical. You’d think getting shot would hurt more than a vaccine but here you are— about to twist his scottish ear off. The door finally opens, and you barge in because you aren’t about to cause a scene in the middle of the hallway when you freeze. 

Ghost is in Johnny's room, lying on the bed. If looks could kill, Ghost’s would’ve leveled the base. And he’s naked under the sheets— if that tree trunk-sized bulge is what you think it is. It doesn't even look hard. Bloody hell. 

You shift your gaze towards Soap, and your eyes drop— he's clad in nothing but a towel that hangs dangerously low on his hips. 

Massive. These men just walkin’ round with weapons in their pants.

Shaking off those thoughts, you shift your attention to his face.

“Meet me at the clinic in 10 or so help me god, Johnny.” and walk out the door.

You hear a muffled "Yes ma'am" , and a hiss escapes your lips.

That cocky smile Johnny had means he definitely saw you ogling them. 

—

A week passes and it’s a friday. You can’t wait to lock yourself in your barracks room and watch movies the entire weekend— you plan to start as soon as you're off the clock.

And then other medics twist your arm into going out for drinks.

Now you find yourself seated at a table in a lively bar, indulging in shots of tequila. As you glance around, your eyes catch sight of Soap and Ghost standing near the bartender. It appeared that some woman is talking to Johnny and he has a polite, detached smile on his face. Always too kind to strangers.

Then she starts caressing his thigh.

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. Right in front of Ghost’s salad? You lock eyes with Ghost and he looks murderous. Jesus.

You usually don't stick your nose in others' business, but if you don’t intervene, Ghost might actually kill her in her sleep. Besides, tequila has always made you bold.

With a confident stride, you make your way towards Johnny and remove that woman’s hand before settling yourself snugly on his lap— and you wrap his arms around your waist.

“And who is this?” you ask Soap, but the girl questions back.

“No. Who are you?” 

Bitch. 

Curling your upper lip, you answer, “I’m the one he comes in every night hoping it takes. Now leave before I make you,” completely ignoring the massive bulge pressing up into your arse.

She looks at you with a bewildered expression, but doesn't move so you finish off with, "Try it. Just a warning though, it'll be hard to fight when the fight ain't fair."

You cock your head to the side with a taunting expression and the woman scoffs before walking away. Noticing she left her almost full drink behind, you give it to the bartender to toss in the trash. She's just gonna have to get another one.

Your act comes to an end, so you shift to stand up— and realize that the arms encircling your waist tighten, keeping you on his lap. His clothed cock.

“Ye didnae think we’d let ye go after yer little show, did ye?” 

Unless Johnny’s speaking french, he just said we. You'd be nervous but you aren't about to decline what could be the best sex of your life. The want you feel in Soap's pants has you riding a certain high— it makes you feel confident.

Grabbing onto the edge of the bartop, you swivel the stool you're on to face Ghost. 

“And this okay with you? I wouldn’t be stepping on any toes, or nothin’?”

Ghost swiftly lifts you from Johnny's lap and places you onto his own.

“Does this answer your question?” and draws you closer before grinding his erection against you.

And it sure as hell does. Slapping the counter, you ask for some water. If this night is going to end with you sandwiched between these two, you want to remember all of it.

reader's a boss ass bitch. GET IT CHILE.

[ayyy-pee]

𝟛 𝕀𝕤𝕟'𝕥 𝕒 ℂ𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕕

Discord 18+ - Twitter - JJK Masterlist

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Suguru Geto x Female Reader

WC: 5.4k

Summary: It's Satoru's birthday. And you give him the best gift he could ask for.

Story Warning: Established Relationship, Smut, Threesome, Blowjob, Mutual Masturbation, Female Masturbation, Male Masturbation, Cum Eating, Profanity because come on..., Anal Sex, Ass Stuff, Vaginal Penetration, Vaginal Fingering, Cute Lil Nicknames, Oral Sex (M/M), Oral Sex (F/M - female receiving and male receiving), Creampies, Gojo Satoru moaning and groaning and whimpering and whining and..., Three way Sex??, Suguru Getting Fucked in the Ass While He Fucks Reader - HELP!!!

Art by: Ilameys (Twitter)

It’s Satoru’s birthday.

And currently, he’s receiving the best gift he could have asked for from his sweet girlfriend. It’s incredible, practically has him on the verge of tears. He's so grateful for you.

When you’d first come to him with this proposal, honestly? Satoru was wary. This could change things for you both, in either a good way or bad. But, the most surprising part was that Satoru still ended up saying yes. And it’s a good thing he did because he’s not finding it in himself to be able to regret it when you’re doing that with your tongue.

“Oh, you’re gonna fucking kill me.” Satoru’s head lolls back, mouth opening slightly as a soft groan leaves his lips. Right now, he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, legs spread wide as he lets you have your way with him. You’ve got your pretty lips wrapped around his most sensitive area, slowly working him closer and closer to his release.

You hum sensually around him and his back stiffens, the vibration of your voice shooting straight through his cock and up his spine and it’s got his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Ah –” he pants, hand coming down to find purchase on the back of your head. He pushes your head down, forcing your throat open to take his entire swollen length down your throat until you’re gagging and squeezing around him and he’s whimpering, hips thrusting up mercilessly. 

“Like that, baby.” He whines, watching how you sputter and choke on his cock. “Just like that. Fuck, you’re gonna make me–”

A pair of arms wraps around Satoru’s shoulders from behind just before a warm pair of lips press a kiss to his temple, along his cheek, a hot tongue dragging along the shell of his ear. And Satoru thinks he really might cum down your throat until he hears a soft –

“Easy, Satoru.” 

It’s immediate, the way he releases you and you come up for air with a rough gasp. Your hands find Satoru’s throbbing length automatically, stroking him lazily as you catch your breath.

“Thank you,” you choke out, voice hoarse from the abuse your throat just took. “He almost fucking killed me.” You scowl at Satoru who scowls right back before he pouts.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He coos down to you gently. He runs his fingers over your cheek softly. “Just got excited about my birthday present.”

There’s a quiet chuckle behind him and a large pair of hands come down to run along Satoru’s bare chest. “Be gentle, Satoru. Don’t wear yourself out before I get to have fun with you.”

Those lips trail sweet kisses along Satoru’s jaw before moving down his neck, all while those hands find his swollen length. Satoru’s head falls back again, a deep groan following. His pleasure overtakes him. So much so that he doesn’t notice the bed shifting with movement. Doesn’t notice when you release your hold on him to trade places. Doesn’t notice when you move onto the bed behind him and lick along the pulsepoint in his neck.

It’s only when his cock enters the wet cavern of another mouth that his eyes shoot open and his back arches against you at the same time his hips rut forward. The sensation is overwhelming, just as good as you, but different. Has him seeing stars in the best way. His gaze falls to his lap, eyes connecting with a pair of golden orbs peering up at him just as his tip nudges at their throat, slipping even deeper once they open up for him.

“Fucking hell, Suguru,” Satoru grits. You’re biting down on his neck, sucking lightly, marking him and Satoru’s eyes roll back again. The vision of Suguru buried nose deep in the tuft of white hair that sits between his legs as he takes Satoru down his throat…You touching him, kissing him, moaning lustfully in his ear…Suguru’s muffled groans…It all has his head swimming, has his heart beating thunderously in his ears.

Satoru turns his head to the side, catching your lips in a fiery kiss and your hands fly to his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue delves deep into your mouth. He claims you greedily, grunting and panting into you, nipping roughly at your lips, already swollen from Satoru fucking your face just moments before. 

This is heaven, Satoru thinks. Pure fucking nirvana. He would have never guessed that he’d be ending his birthday like this. Being catered to by his girlfriend and his best friend. It’s a dream come true. He only hopes every birthday after is just like this one because if you ever ask to do this again, he’ll agree without hesitation.

It’s all so incredibly obscene – the view of you three pleasuring each other. The sounds coming from the three of you. Suguru moaning and slurping as his head sloppily bobs up and down on Satoru’s dick. You, whimpering into Satoru’s mouth after every wet kiss.

“You taste so fucking good, ‘Toru,” Suguru rasps quietly after coming off Satoru’s cock with a loud POP. You hum in agreement, suddenly breaking the kiss and leaving Satoru chasing your lips with a whimper. It’s so cute, his hair disheveled and cheeks dusted an adorable shade of pink.

You giggle when he tries to reach your lips again and you gently comb your fingers through his snowy locks. It has Satoru shuddering beneath your touch.

“He does, doesn’t he?” You ask the man between your boyfriend’s thighs, pouting as you watch Satoru lean forward again, desperately trying to get to your mouth once more. So you take pity on the poor man and give him a soft peck to appease him. “He tastes so sweet. Right, Sugu?”

You gaze down to watch Suguru nod, running his tongue flat from the base of Satoru’s cock to his head, where a shiny new bead of precum begins to form. He wraps his lips around the angry red tip and sucks greedily, taking every drop he can. It has Satoru falling back on the bed, sucking in a sharp breath, a string of curses shortly following.

“Is Sugu doing a good job, babe?” You coo, still running your fingers through his hair. Satoru nods quickly, a high pitched “mhmm” rushing past his lips. Meanwhile, Suguru has now taken to delicately catering to Satoru’s balls with his tongue, lapping and suckling his sack while his fist pumps his cock.

“Gonna cum, baby,” Satoru softly, his hips thrusting into Suguru’s hand as he chases his high. You dip your head, kissing him sweetly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, gonna cum, ‘m gonna cum,” his voice rises, abdomen tensing as he feels his release quickly rushing from his balls.

You turn your attention to Suguru who laps hungrily at Satoru’s tip. “Open up, Sugu.” You tell him and Suguru opens wide, groaning when Satoru’s hips come up one last time before you watch thick ropes of cum spurt from his tip and land on Suguru’s tongue. Satoru’s thighs shake with his release, a garbled string of curses falling from his lips. And you caress his skin gently, whispering sweet words to him, talking him through his release.

Satoru thinks this must be such a sexy sight for you – watching your boyfriend unravel beneath the touch of his best friend. He can tell by the way you squeeze your thighs together as you speak to him, seeking some sort of relief. It’s so cute how you’re getting off watching someone else get him off. But he wants you to feel good, too.

So he reaches for you, his large hand squeezing your thigh, voice choking out, “C’mere” while Suguru presses soft smooches to Satoru’s softening cock. Your boyfriend pulls you towards him, tapping your legs, indicating what he wants you to do – spread them and sit on his face. 

And who are you to deny the birthday boy?

You move to position yourself over Satoru, facing the head board, but he stops you, twirling his finger in the air, a goofy grin splayed across his face. “Turn around.” His voice comes out rougher than he means for it to, but he’s trying really fucking hard to hold it together because at the moment, Suguru’s nimble fingers are caressing along his inner thighs, his thumb is brushing against Satoru’s hole and Satoru’s hips are bucking up on instinct. He’s already getting hard again, but he’s still so sensitive from his last release that he fears he might cum again, and soon if Suguru keeps it up.

You turn, now facing Suguru and watching his ministrations that have your boyfriend squeezing onto your thighs for dear life. “Want you to watch me fuck his mouth while you fuck mine.” He tells you.

You sigh softly, try to squeeze your thighs together again to find that sweet relief you’ve been getting while watching Suguru suck your boyfriend off, but Satoru’s head blocks your way. He laughs, smacking your ass harshly and pulling a loud yelp from you just before he pulls you down to his face.

The force has you falling forward, quickly catching yourself so that you’re now on all fours, inches away from Suguru’s face. His golden eyes look up into yours as he hollows his cheeks before he swallows your boyfriend’s cock all the way to the base again. At the same time, Satoru growls into your core, sucks at your swollen clit, eliciting a pornographic moan from you that echoes throughout the bedroom.

Suguru is so good at that, at taking all of Satoru. You love the way his tongue flicks at his tip, how he laps at Satoru’s pretty dick with his pink tongue, how his eyes bore into yours while he has Satoru whimpering into your sopping cunt. And on the other end, you wish it was you making Satoru’s legs shake, making him thrust involuntarily into your mouth, making him cry out when you suck him just right.

It’s driving you crazy.

And Suguru must know it because his eyes never leave yours. You can tell he’s enjoying this, too, his eyes narrowing with joy when your mouth falls slack as Satoru runs his hot tongue along your folds. Satoru takes your clit into his mouth again and sucks, moaning into your cunt when you gush onto his tongue.

“Ah, Satoru, right there, baby. Shit –”

It’s Suguru who moans in response, watching as Satoru eats you out while his friend now lazily strokes his cock.

“You’re fucking sexy,” Suguru sighs, eyes raking over your body before landing on your mouth. He bites down on his lip and you can see his mind going a million miles a minute right then. He leans forward, softly licking Satoru’s tip before he asks. “Can I kiss her, Satoru?”

Your eyes widen just slightly when Satoru lifts you off of his face. “Only if she wants to,” he grunts before he’s back to devouring you like a man starved. Suguru’s eyes are still locked onto you.

“Is that okay with you, pretty?” He asks, letting his tongue hang out of his mouth so he can tap Satoru’s cock against it. “You wanna kiss me?”

Your breath hitches and you mewl quietly, fists clenching the sheets on either side of your boyfriend. Suguru’s lips are so pretty, so swollen from sucking Satoru off. He’s so fucking sexy. You want to kiss Suguru so badly, it has you clenching around Satoru’s tongue as he thrusts the muscle into your walls. So you nod eagerly. Yes, you want to kiss him. He knows you want to, but Suguru is so much like Satoru that you know what it is he wants. He wants you to say it. 

“I–” you bite back a moan as Satoru licks a fat stripe over your clit at the same time Suguru licks one up Satoru’s dick. “Wanna kiss you, Sugu. Wanna kiss you so, so bad.”

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest and he stands, closing the gap between you. He doesn’t kiss you just yet, though. He just watches you with hooded eyes, your chest heaving with each heavy pant as Satoru wrecks your pussy with his tongue. It’s then that Satoru decides to slip a finger into your tight hole, groaning when you cry out his name and clench around his thick digit.

And Suguru takes advantage of the moment, quickly leaning forward. His mouth claiming yours, swallowing every cry of Satoru’s name. Your head is spinning, the familiar taste of Satoru on his tongue mixed with his foreign one making your heart race. Suguru holds your face still while he slides his tongue along yours, bites your lip, grunts into your mouth. His free hand finds one of your hands and places it on Satoru’s length, wrapping your fingers around your boyfriend and using your hand to jerk him off.

“Good girl,” Suguru purrs against your lips and both you and Satoru let out a pathetic whimper. Suguru’s lips are back on yours immediately, his hand guiding you along Satoru’s cock, squeezing at the tip before sliding back down to the base. “So good, sweetheart.” He lets go of your hand, kissing you before he stands and takes his own cock in his hand. “I saw the way you were taking Satoru’s dick in your mouth earlier. Can you do it again for me?”

Satoru smacks your ass, pulling back just enough to mutter, “show him, baby. Let him see how you take my cock down your throat.”

You think you and Suguru are just as good. Hell, Suguru could probably give you some pointers but who gives a fuck about any of that when you’ve got your boyfriend’s face buried between your legs and his best friend’s dick in your face, begging to watch you please your man?

You fist Satoru’s cock, squeezing hard and reveling in the way he gasps into your core. Then your lips wrap around his length, eyes set on the way Suguru stares down at you. He strokes himself, tongue poking his cheek as he watches you in amusement.

“Cute,” Suguru mutters, smiling when Satoru hums.

Satoru pulls away from you again, brows pinching together as he tries to catch his breath while you take him down to the hilt over and over again. “Fuck, baby. Suck my fucking dick, just like that,” Satoru rolls his hips up and in this position, he’s so much deeper, you’re struggling not to gag before he’s even touched your throat. “You’re so – ah, ah, shit – oh, you’re so fucking good. Such a good fucking girl for us.” 

He’s gasping desperately now, words catching in his throat and coming out as broken sobs and he pushes his hips up into your face, wanting more. But Satoru thinks he might cum again soon if you and Suguru keep swapping his dick like this. His balls already feel so tight, ready for another release.

He can hear the wet slap of Suguru fucking his hand as he watches you suck him off, as Satoru eats you out and it has his mind lighting up with ideas. Satoru wants you, of course. He always wants you, but he wants Suguru, too. And as his eyes watch Suguru get off watching you, clear desire in his eyes, Satoru thinks he has a solution that will make you all very happy.

You’re halfway down his shaft again when Satoru taps your thighs, signaling for you to get up. You do so immediately, Suguru slowing his motions, though his chest still rises and falls rapidly as his eyes stay locked on you. Satoru motions for you to lie down, so you do. He turns to Suguru, candid as ever when he asks, “You wanna fuck my girlfriend?”

You see the way Suguru’s eyes widen and then they’re closing, little crescent moons on his face as a sly smile spreads across his lips. “Real fucking bad, Satoru.”

Satoru nods, lips in a thin line as he processes this information. He holds his hand out to Suguru who takes it and crawls onto the bed with his knees. He runs his fingers through Suguru’s dark strands and then he tightens his grip, pulling Suguru’s lips onto his. They’re both groaning, hands in each other’s hair as their tongues tangle.

“I want you to fuck her, too,” Satoru grunts into Suguru’s mouth. “And I wanna fuck you while you do it.” His friend moans back into him, pulling Satoru closer, their hips colliding as their desire takes over. You look on, fingers idly rubbing your clit as you watch the two men practically fall apart any time their cocks brush against each other.

You want them both so badly, you don’t know what to do. But it’s not about you. It’s about Satoru and what he wants. And whatever he wants, you’ll do. So you watch and wait, playing with yourself while your boyfriend and his best friend caress each other. And it’s only when you finally whimper, feeling left out that the men finally break the kiss.

“I’m sorry, baby.” Satoru says, lips pink and puffy from his intense makeout session. He pouts, looking back at Suguru briefly who is right back to staring at you, his gaze observing the way your fingers play with your pretty pussy. Satoru grins, because he can see in the way Suguru watches you, that he finally understands why Satoru loves you so fucking much. And he hasn’t even fully had you. Not yet, anyway.

“Do you want Sugu to fuck you, baby?” Satoru asks when he sees you bite your lip as Suguru begins stroking his cock again. You nod quickly, without hesitation. Because like Suguru, you want to fuck him real fucking bad, too. “Use your words, beautiful.”

“I want Sugu to fuck me, ‘Toru,” you whine, slipping one of your fingers into your core. It’s nothing like the feeling of Satoru’s fingers stretching you but it makes your back arch off the bed just the same.

Behind Satoru, Suguru hisses, squeezing his cock in his fist. “I don’t know if I’ll last long, though. Not when you’re making cute little noises like that.”

Suguru is as honest as Satoru always is. No wonder they’re so close.

His response makes your boyfriend throw his head back with a loud laugh. “I probably won’t either. You good with this? I mean, it’s been awhile since we…” Satoru motions between the two of them and Suguru chuckles.

“I’ll be fine. Just make sure it’s wet enough.”

With that, Suguru moves past Satoru, golden orbs staring into your eyes as he crawls between your legs. “If you ever want to stop, let me know.” He tells you, gently. Then he’s leaning forward to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

Your arms come up, wrapping them around his shoulders and pulling him into another kiss. Satoru simply watches, his hand already wrapped around his dick and pumping slowly. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited to see this. “Be good to my girl, Sugu,” he groans, squeezing his tip. 

Satoru is mesmerized, watching the way Suguru grips your waist and squeezes the soft flesh. How that same hand slowly caresses a path up your torso, through the valley of your breasts where he stops briefly and takes his time taking each pebbled nipple between his fingers. How he swallows every soft whine and moan that falls from your lips with a kiss.

Any other person pulling this response from you would have Satoru fuming, but he loves you both more than anything in this world. In different ways, but his body reacts to you both just the same – with pure and raw desire. If it’s not him giving you this pleasure, he’s glad that it’s his best friend.

Suguru presses his hips into yours, his length resting between your folds. You push your tongue into his mouth with a soft sigh and Suguru sucks gently on the wet muscle, grunting when he feels your wetness cover his length. His cock pulses erratically against your core, twitching with need every time you moan into him, any time you roll your hips upwards and rub your slick cunt against him.

“Shit, beautiful. You keep that up and I’m gonna cum before I even get to fuck you.” He presses his lips hard against yours, breathing against you. “You already feel so goddamn good. So fucking wet. Can’t wait to fuck your pretty little cunt.”

His words have you reeling, arousal dripping from your core as you clutch his shoulders. You want this, you want him, you need him. And you tell him that. “So fuck me, Suguru.” You keen into his mouth. “Need you to fuck me so bad, please, please.”

“Ahh, fuck,” Suguru buries his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply before letting out a shuddering breath. His hand slips between your bodies, gripping his cock and lining himself up with your entrance. Behind him, you can see and hear Satoru rummaging around in your bedside table, only for a brief moment before he’s back on the bed.

His voice calls to you and you see his hand press to the center of Suguru’s back, pushing him forward, just a bit so that you have a clear view of him over Suguru’s broad shoulders. “Eyes on me, baby. Okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe.

Suguru slips into you, bottoming out immediately and you arch into him, your sensitive breasts pressing against his bare skin. He’s thick. Thicker than Satoru and stretches you so deliciously, you have to gasp in order to catch your breath. It doesn’t help that over his shoulder, you can see the pride on Satoru’s face. Like he’s proud of you for taking his best friend so well. He probably is. Which only makes your walls squeeze down on Suguru even tighter.

You can hear Suguru shushing you shakily. But he’s trying to keep his composure, too. Trying not to drain his balls in your sweet cunt in the two seconds he’s been inside you. 

Behind him, Satoru runs his hand gently along Suguru’s spine. “Feels amazing, right? I love that tight little pussy.” He says, and you can feel Suguru nodding his head, unable to answer. His breaths are still shaky, quiet grunts being panted against your skin. “Does he feel good, baby?” He asks you. 

And you hum, your fingers playing with the hair on Suguru’s nape soothingly.

“I know he does,” Satoru agrees. “He’s got an amazing dick.”

You can hear Satoru pop the cap to something you can only assume is the bottle of lube you keep in your nightstand, because you hear the telltale sound of liquid spurting from a bottle and feel Suguru tense for just a second above you. Satoru taps his cock against Suguru’s ass, loving the way the man’s muscles tense each time. He has one hand on your knee while he peers down at you, drinking in the sight of your flushed face, body glistening with sweat and your eyes glazed over with lust. 

‘Stunning,’ he thinks to himself. Satoru wants to watch your fucked out expression when it’s the only other person he loves buried inside you. He touches Suguru’s back, muttering. “Don’t leave her waiting, Sugu. Fuck her.”

It’s all Suguru needs to hear before he pulls his hips back slowly, all the way until his tip sits inside of you. And even just the tip is so heavy, your walls clench involuntarily, trying desperately to suck him back in.

“Shit, ‘Toru. Can’t believe you get this pussy to yourself all the time,” Suguru growls. And then he bottoms out, again and again, fucking you at a brutal pace. You cry out, gripping onto Suguru’s shoulders tightly as he pounds into you. His hips piston into yours, immediately finding your g-spot and pushing you closer and closer to your release. Your eyes threaten to shut, the pleasure taking over, until you catch sight of Satoru. He shakes his head in disapproval, his words to you echoing through your mind.

“Eyes on me.”

So you force your eyes open, watching Satoru who is now focused on running his length between Suguru’s ass cheeks. He’s slick with the lubricant Satoru has used and ready for him, but Satoru is enjoying watching the way Suguru’s hips move against yours way too much, how well you’re taking his friend, how you’re clutching onto him while he stuffs you full of his cock repeatedly.

“Oh, you’re doing so well, baby.” Satoru praises. And it didn’t really matter which one of you he was speaking to because you and Suguru both whimper in response.

Satoru loves the way his friend’s dick disappears into you. He loves how you spread your legs just a little more to accommodate him. He loves how your toes curl when Suguru hits your sweet spot. And he loves how Suguru’s balls tighten a little more with each thrust.

He knows you’re all close to reaching your peak at any moment and as much as he’d love for you all to fuck each other until the sun came up and his birthday was long over, Satoru can’t take being left out anymore.

Pressing his hand to Suguru’s lower back, he halts his friend’s movements just for a moment. He’s not able to hide the lopsided grin on his face when he hears the way you both whine in protest. He’s tempted to make you both wait, drag it out a little more, but when he spreads Suguru before him, sees the way his hole twitches in anticipation, he tosses that idea out of the window.

He bites down on his lip, because Suguru’s hole is just as pretty as he remembers it. Tiny, brown, cute. He can’t wait to fuck it. And clearly Suguru can’t wait either, because he opens his mouth and groans:

“Satoru.” He smashes his lips into yours. “Fuck me, Satoru.” His pleas come between muffled kisses, but Satoru can hear it all the same.

He obliges, pushing his tip to Suguru’s entrance and slowly rolling his hips forward. “So needy,” he grits out. Because just as he remembers, Suguru is so fucking hot, so fucking tight, he can’t do anything but fully focus on getting his cock as deep as he can go. And just as he remembers, Suguru takes him so fucking well, fits him like a glove. Satoru presses his weight into Suguru once he’s completely buried inside and hears a quiet “oh my god” fall from your lips as Suguru inadvertently pushes himself deeper into your core. Next to your head, Suguru balls the bedsheets into his fist.

“God, Sugu. Still so good. Still so fucking good.”

Suguru feels his length throb painfully. He needs to cum so badly, he can’t take much more. Between your cunt gripping him so tightly, threatening to milk him of every drop, and Satoru’s cock stuffing him to the brim, he’s about three pumps away from blowing his load. And you’re not doing much better. Your mouth is slack and you’re staring almost blankly behind him at your boyfriend as he slowly pulls out and drives his hips forward again.

“Shit, shit!” Suguru cries when Satoru gives him a harsh thrust that has him tapping the sweet spongy spot in your walls. The moment Suguru hits it, you’re letting out your own strangled cry, back coming up off the bed.

Every thrust from Satoru has Suguru pushing deeper into you in turn, has all three of you crying out as you fuck each other closer to your releases. Your moans, grunts and curses fill the bedroom in tune with the sinful sounds of skin slapping.

Satoru is leaned forward now, hands gripping Suguru’s waist as he slams into his friend frantically.

“Oh fuck,” Satoru grunts. “Fuck her, Suguru. Fuck her pussy while I stretch your ass for me.”

And Suguru listens, timing his thrusts with Satoru’s so that he’s able to fuck you and be fucked by Satoru. His brows are tightly knitted together, forehead glistening with sweat and nostrils flared as he gives everything he can and takes everything Satoru has to offer.

It’s all too much for you – too much to feel, too much to watch, too much to hear. And it’s the two men above you moaning each other’s names that has you tumbling over the edge.

Your orgasm crashes over you so quickly, so unexpectedly, that band in your belly snapping before you can even stop it and you’re screaming some jumbled blend of Satoru and Suguru’s names as your walls convulse and contract around Suguru’s cock.

Then it’s Suguru, who can’t hold on a second longer, toppling over the edge with you when Satoru leans forward and bites onto his shoulder as he fucks into him relentlessly. Simultaneously, your cunt is sucking him in, begging for him to paint your walls. And he wants to, he’s holding on for a moment of reprieve, for Satoru to give him even the smallest window to pull out of your vice grip. But then you say the words he wasn’t expecting, even as your eyes are glued on Satoru and the way he fucks his ass. 

“Cum in me, Sugu. Fucking fill my pussy. I need your cum so bad.”

You’re begging him, the same way your cunt is begging. You want him to flood your walls, and in that moment he doesn’t give a fuck if Satoru approves or not. You do, and that’s all that matters to him.

He lets Satoru slam into him again and again, tapping his prostate repeatedly until finally, Suguru’s mouth falls into with a loud groan, his dick twitching within the confines of your walls as he floods your pussy with his seed. You’re still squeezing around him, your greedy little cunt milking him for all that he’s worth until he’s whimpering pathetically into your mouth with hungry kisses.

And finally, it’s Satoru who reaches his peak once again. His unblinking stare drinks in the sight of you two losing yourselves in each other. He was already so close, barely holding on, but now he fucks into his best friend, watches as he and his girlfriend pant into each other’s mouths, thinks about the fact that your pussy is probably so full of Suguru’s thick, hot cum that it’s likely leaking onto your bedsheets and soon enough he’s spilling himself into Suguru’s ass hole.

He clenches his teeth, biting down the guttural moan that threatens to escape him. And he’s shuddering, physically shaking as he keeps fucking into Suguru, hoping to empty every last drop into his friend while he has the chance.

“Fucking damnit,” he grunts, thrusting two, three more times before he falls forward onto Suguru’s back with a sharp gasp. He’s completely spent. He wouldn’t be able to get his dick up again even if he wanted to.

Tomorrow, things will go back to normal and you’ll likely never speak of this again unless another special occasion rolls around, or you all find yourselves in the mood again. So Satoru leans forward, reaching over Suguru’s shoulder to cup the back of your head and pull your lips to his, effectively breaking the kiss you and his friend were sharing. Satoru presses his lips to yours roughly, suddenly feeling petty and possessive. Then he turns to Suguru and claims his mouth as well, just as possessively.

You all stay like that for a while. Still connected, both through your kisses and through your groins until Satoru sighs in exhaustion, before he climbs off of Suguru. Suguru follows after, pulling out of you with a quiet hiss. They both lay on each side of you, wrapping their arms around your tired body as they nuzzle against you.

Satoru laughs quietly to himself next to you.

“What?” You ask, your brow coming up curiously. Your boyfriend shakes his head, a goofy grin on his face as he looks between you and Suguru.

“Nothing. Just…this is the best birthday ever.”

[kitkat13001]

⋆｡°✩🎃 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚝

>> tomura shigaraki x civilian!reader

>> cursing, reader is scared of horror movies, mentions of serial killers, weapons, typical halloween stuff etc

tomura’s pretty sure your ear-splitting, blood-curdling scream can be heard across the entirety of japan. 

all he had done was tap on your window, same as he had every time he visited you. except that he had done so as you were in the middle of a horror movie, and now he’s pretty sure his ears are bleeding. 

he’s quick to climb inside and cover your mouth, shushing you gently with his arms around you while he waits for your heart rate to return to normal. 

“your neighbors are going to start asking questions,” he grumbles once he lets you go (after you’ve stopped shaking). 

you wave a dismissive hand. “they don’t give a damn. they’re all ten times worse than i am. ‘sides, if any of them give me shit, i’ll just send my evil villain boyfriend after them.”

this elicits a laugh from him. 

you settle back onto the couch while tomura makes himself comfortable, hanging up his coat and taking off his shoes before coming to lay out beside you. 

he squints at the screen, the horrified face of jamie lee curtis staring back at him. “whatcha watchin’ that’s got you so freaked?”

you bunch up the blanket all the way up to your face, burrowing into his side. “halloween, 1978. one of my coworkers bet i was too scared to watch a horror movie, so i’m gonna show her.” you murmur a spiteful ‘bitch’ under your breath and it makes tomura chuckle. 

“oh yeah,” he agrees sarcastically, nudging your leg with his own. “you and your little blanket against the world.”

you shoot him a look, sitting up to glare at him. “i can be brave!”

tomura just stares blankly, not dignifying you with an answer. he knows you can’t, but he doesn’t want to burst your bubble. 

you huff at him before collapsing back against his side, hitting play on the movie. 

the actress is mid-scream—you had to have known based on the way the movie was paused—but you jump anyway when she screeches. 

tomura tries not to laugh. 

it goes on like this for the next hour. you’re watching the movie from behind your blanket, nails digging into tomura’s arm, and he’s watching you as you jump and flinch and bury your face in his side. 

you sit, horrified, as the credits roll. 

“that was awful.”

“yeah,” tomura agrees, throwing a piece of popcorn at the screen. “the kill scenes were shit.”

“but the music was so damn creepy!” you insist, shivering. you lay against him for a while longer, letting the credits roll as you get comfortable. 

tomura’s nearly dozing off when he feels you tug on his sweater sleeve. 

“tomu, i have to pee.”

he peeks one eye open at you to give you a look before he leans his head back again. “okay?”

“come with me!”

“to pee?!”

“what if michael myers is in the bathroom?!” you cry, pulling on his sleeve insistently. 

he groans loudly, grumbling and complaining the entire way to the bathroom as you drag him with you. 

you shove him inside first, flicking on the lights with a yelp. 

“now check behind the shower curtain,” you tell him with a shooing motion. 

“you’re shitting me.”

“tomu!”

he huffs, knocking your curtain aside to check for serial killers. “see? no psychopaths in here.”

“except for you,” you giggle as he scowls at you. you make your way to the toilet, but he flicks the light off and you scream. 

he snickers at your cursing, dodging the roll of toilet paper you throw at him when you come out of the bathroom. 

“you’re such an asshole!”

he pulls you in as you grumble, but succumb to his warm embrace. 

“don’t be such a baby. you know i’d never let anything happen to you. some psycho with a knife’s got nothin’ on me, sweetheart. it’s me they should be scared of.”

you give a little ‘hmph’, but his words ease your nerves a little. that, and the warmth and safety of his arms around you. 

the way you burrow further into him, hands gripping the sides of his hoodie, makes him smile a little. tomura’s not capable of a significant amount of good, being a villain and all. but protecting you is, and will always be, second nature to him. 

i just watched halloween for the first time and was thoroughly creeped out. i hate horror movies, in case it wasn’t obvious. but i wanted to write something for tomura for the spooky season! stay tuned for spooky dabi :p 👻

- 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚢 !

[miazetomer]

Heartless | Rafe Cameron x pogue(ish)!fem!reader (Part II)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fluff, angst, smut, drug use, alcohol use, takes place during season one, the usual

Summary: You never really felt like you belonged anywhere. Your father was a pogue, your mother a kook. You felt out of place in The Cut, in Figure Eight, at the Academy. And Rafe Cameron certainly didn’t make things easier, he knew how to push your buttons, grinding your gears in just the right way, but he loved the little game you two played.

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♡♡♡

You groaned as you woke up in the morning, your head just absolutely pounding. An arm was wrapped around your waist holding you flush against someone’s chest and your legs were tangled up with someone else’s legs. You were scared to open your eyes, because you recognized that person’s scent. You knew exactly who it was. You squeezed your eyes together before opening them, blinking a couple times as your vision came to focus. When you opened your eyes your suspicions were confirmed. You were in Rafe Cameron’s bedroom.

Fuck.

You tried to slowly get up, untangling yourself from Rafe, only for him to tighten his grip on your waist.

“Rafe, I have to get up.” You muttered, rolling your eyes as you tried to sit up again. Finally Rafe let go of you and you stood up and quietly moved around the room collecting your dress and shoes.

“Keep the shirt.” Rafe mumbled into his pillow right before you were about to leave. Just as you opened the door the one thing you didn’t want to happen, was happening. Topper was leaving Sarah’s room.

“Oh, come on.” Topper said, looking over you. Obviously the scene was bad. You were leaving Rafe’s room, in his shirt, in the morning.

“Finally.” Sarah muttered, peaking her head out the door as she looked at you.

“Nothing happened.” You grumbled, closing the door behind you softly.

“So you’re telling me you just slept in there?” Sarah asked crossing her arms. “Not a single thing happened?”

“Can you guys have this conversation anywhere else besides right in front of my door.” Rafe huffed as he opened the door.

“I’m gonna kill you.” Topper said, pointing at Rafe.

“Woah, chill Top, nothing happened.” Rafe held his hands up as he looked over Topper like he was crazy.

“See, I told you, nothing happened.”

“Not even like a cuddle? You both stayed on your own sides of the bed?” Sarah asked, desperate for any kind of information, hopeful that maybe her brother and best friend could finally get along.

“Well…” Rafe responded, dragging out the word, earning a ‘seriously?’ look from you.

“That is so not nothing.” Topper said, throwing his arms out in front of him.

“Ok, ok so we cuddled, that doesn’t mean anything.” You deflected, trying to make this sound not as bad as it seems.

“Cuddling is so much more intimate than sex.” Sarah added, her eyes grazing over her fingernails as she picked at them.

“Ok, let’s not get crazy here.” You chuckled. “It was one night.”

“That doesn’t mean it was the last time.” Sarah said, shooting you a look of approval.

“Trust me, it was a one time thing.” Rafe responded, before he walked back into his room and shut the door, leaving you in a state of shock.

“What a dick.” Sarah grumbled, shooting daggers with her eyes at the door.

“Alright, I need to go.” You muttered before walking downstairs and out of the house.

What a dick, you thought to yourself as you walked to your house. Come on you knew you two didn’t exactly get along, but when you cuddle with someone all night long and let them keep your shirt, it had to mean something.

“Good morning.” Your mom said with a smile as you walked into your house.

“Morning.” You mumbled back, heading for the stairs.

“How was your night?” She asked, looking up from her cup of coffee.

“Fine.”

“Just fine? You’re wearing a guys shirt and holding your outfit from last night in your hands. Did it finally happen with Rafe?”

Your mom was the only person who thought you had a crush on Rafe. She always thought it would be a cute boy/girl next door story. Even when he would make fun of you she would say, ‘Sweetie, he just has a crush on you, that’s all.’

“Mom, gross.” You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “No, nothing happened between Rafe and I.”

“And that’s why you’re wearing his shirt? Sweetie, guys don’t just give girls their shirts.”

“Mom, God, you’re worse than Topper. Nothing happened.” You repeated before running up the stairs to your room.

You walked into your room with a big sigh before closing your door. You walked over to your window that faced Rafe’s room, he was sitting at his desk that faced your own room. He looked up and saw you, flashing you a smile. You returned your own sarcastic grin while flashing him two middle fingers before you closed your window and pulled the curtains closed with a huff.

Get out of my head, get out of my head, you repeatedly thought to yourself, rubbing your temples with your index fingers. You quickly tore off his shirt, tossing it somewhere in your room. You needed to shower, you needed his scent off of you.

You walked into your bathroom, turning the shower on. Checking your phone one last time before you stepped into the shower, you saw a text from Sarah.

sorry my brother’s such a dick :(

are you still coming over later? you promised me a pool day

You sighed and typed out your reply, a simple ‘yeah’ and got in the shower, letting the steaming water run over your body. You stood in the shower for a long time just trying to scrub every surface of your body clean of Rafe Cameron. But you couldn’t stop thinking about last night, the way he held you, the way his breath felt against your neck, the way he tightened his grip around you when you tried to get up, like if he let go of you he would lose you forever.

You stepped out of the shower, drying off with a towel and then pulling your thin satin robe on, tying it off at your hips.

Walking into your room, you lingered in front of the window, debating on if you were gonna open it up or not. Your hand clutched the curtains, sighing you pulled the curtains back and there he sat. Looking at your window with that glare he always seemed to have, sitting back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. Glaring, like how dare you close your window. You huffed and opened the window before walking towards your balcony. You definitely needed a bong rip after the night you had. Your balcony looked towards Rafe’s own balcony, but his lacked furniture or any personality. Whereas yours had a couch and a coffee table and fairy lights everywhere, because you hated the outdoor light, the lack of warmth it provided. You sat down on the couch and crossed one leg over the other as you pulled the bong into your lap. You looked up and saw Rafe open the door to his balcony, hesitating for a second before stepping out.

“Care to join me?” You asked, lighting the bong and bringing it to your lips.

“Maybe another time, Thornton.” Rafe responded, throwing your words back in your face from last night.

“Funny.” You scoffed, setting the bong down after taking a hit.

“When are you coming back over?” He questioned, leaning against the railing as he played with his ring.

“Who said I was coming back over?”

“Come on, I know you, you’re coming back over.”

“I don’t know.” You answered his question, leaning back and crossing your arms across your chest. “When I feel like it.”

“Real cute. Love the attitude.”

“I know you do.” You smirked, standing up and leaning against your own balcony railing.

“I’ll see you later.” Rafe said, standing up and taping the railing with his hand before walking back into his bedroom. You sighed and walked back into yours. You stopped in front of the window and smiled to yourself, you knew Rafe would be watching, he always was, any chance he could get.

You turned your back to the window and undid your robe, letting it fall down your shoulders. You weren’t gonna give Rafe the satisfaction of turning around, just like last night. But, you turned to the side, giving him just enough to see the curve of your boob and the prominence of your nipple. You swear you could hear Rafe gulp in his bedroom. You smirked and walked towards your closet, flicking on the light as you dug through your bikini drawer attempting to find a red bikini. It was Rafe’s favorite color and who said the teasing had to end in your bedroom.

♡♡♡

“Real classy, Thornton.” Rafe muttered, plucking your vape from your bikini top.

“Give it back.” You groaned, moving your leg to just tap him in his balls, but he caught your ankle before you made contact.

“You’re gonna have to be quicker than that, baby.” He smirked looking down at you.

“Ha ha very funny.” You said through gritted teeth, pulling your leg away from him. Standing up, you went to grab it from him only for him to pull it away from you. “Rafe, come on.”

Rafe tossed your vape onto the lounger you were laying on and quickly picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder.

“Rafe, Rafe, no.” You pleaded, smacking his back and kicking your legs. “Rafe!” You screamed as he jumped into the pool with both of you.

When both of you surfaced you glared at him, only to have him laugh.

“Oh you wanna play this game?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. You quickly swam over to him and climbed onto his back, throwing yourself backwards as you dragged both of you down into the water.

Rafe swam up, bringing you both to the surface, only for you to throw yourself back again, plunging you both into the cold water.

“Are you done?” He asked when you both broke the surface again. You were still clinging to his back thinking about if you wanted to send both of you underwater once more.

“Maybe, maybe not.” You answered, clinging to him a little tighter.

“Well then can you get off of me, your boobs are weighing us down.”

You gasped and slapped the back of Rafe’s head playfully, hard enough to make it sting but light enough that it was obviously playful.

“You’re the one constantly looking at them.” You muttered, letting go of him and treading water next to Rafe.

“Well you’re the one who constantly has them on display.”

You scoffed and pulled yourself out of the pool, wrapping a towel around yourself.

“You’re a dick.” You muttered, sitting down on the lounge chair.

“What was that?” Rafe asked, pulling himself out of the pool.

“You heard me.” You responded, staring right into those annoying blue eyes.

“No, I don’t think I did.” Rafe crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at you, testing you.

“I said, You’re. A. Dick.”

Sarah was looking between you two, like she was waiting for a bomb to go off. She knew Rafe had a temper, everyone knew Rafe had a temper. You, however, were the one that tested it most. You didn’t care if he got mad at you, why should you? It wasn’t like he was your boyfriend, and even if he was, you probably still wouldn’t care.

“That’s why you climbed into my bed last night then? Because I’m ‘a dick’? And that’s why you told Gianna to get out of my room when you came up to see me? Because I’m ‘a dick’?”

“Who?” You asked, looking up at Rafe through squinted eyes, the sun blaring down on you.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, you know exactly who I’m talking about.”

“Oh, you mean the girl who has no interest in you? Who’s been telling everyone at school that you’re the last person she needs to cross off her list to officially have fucked the entire football team. That Gianna?”

“You’re a fucking bitch.” Rafe scoffed, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist.

“Really? I’m a bitch? That’s why you asked me to join you in the shower last night?”

Sarah gasped, trying to hide it behind a cough.

“Whatever.” Rafe scoffed, walking inside. But, you were quick to follow him, not done with this conversation.

“Really? That’s all you have to say?” You called out, following Rafe closely behind.

“Always have to have the last word, don’t you?” Rafe said, turning around. At this point you two were chest to chest. The tension in the air was thick and you couldn’t tell if it was bad tension or if it was sexual. Probably a mix of both.

“Oh please, if anyone always had to have the last word it would be you.” You rolled your eyes. “All you have to do is apologize and I’ll drop the whole thing and we can go back to being the best of friends.” Your voice was laced with sarcasm, but you were being honest about the apology. You wanted an apology. No, demanded it.

“Apologize for what? Saying the truth? You’ve walked around here all summer with your tits on full display for everyone to see in the smallest bikinis possible. I’m pretty sure the one you wore the other day barely covered your nipples.”

Of course he remembered that bikini. You wore it specifically for him. Every bikini you wore this summer was hand picked, for him. But, he didn’t need to know that.

“So what, now you’re my father? You don’t get to decide what I wear. You’re not my boyfriend, you’re not my father, you don’t get to tell me what to wear.”

“You’re right, I’m not your boyfriend so next time you want someone to snuggle up with after a party, go find someone else.”

“You said it yourself Rafe, it was a one time thing. And last I checked, it was you who tried to get me to stay in bed longer.” You said, pressing your index finger into Rafe’s chest.

Rafe sighed and rubbed his temples like you were annoying him in some sort of way.

“Fine, I’m sorry, is that what you want to hear?”

“Not like that.” You scoffed, rubbing your forehead.

“You make things absolutely impossible.”

“Whatever.” You said, before walking back outside. You dropped your towel onto the lounge and pulled your jean shorts on, buttoning them with a huff.

“Wait, don’t go.” Sarah pleaded, grabbing your wrist to stop you.

“I’m not gonna stay here with him, Sarah.” You said, looking down at her with sad eyes. You always got sad after you and Rafe fought. You should be used to it by now, but everything was so confusing. One second everything was fine, and the next you two could be going at it.

“Alright, I’m not gonna keep you here.” Sarah dropped your wrist and let you pick up the rest of your stuff. “You’re gonna be at the party, though, right?”

“I don’t know, I might have to go see JJ, just do a little check up on him.” You sighed, looking off towards your house.

“Okay, well if you come then make sure to stop by my room first so we can get ready together.”

“Alright, alright.” You said with a small smile.

“Promise?” Sarah asked, holding her pinky up.

“Promise.” You confirmed, wrapping your pinky around hers and leaning down to kiss your thumb, her doing the same thing. It was how you two made sure to keep your pinky promises.

♡♡♡

“When are you gonna realize that apologizing is gonna make things so much easier in the long run?” Sarah asked, leaning against Rafe’s door frame.

“What are you talking about?” Rafe scoffed, looking up at her from his phone.

“When you two are married, which is going to happen, it’s going to make things so much easier and less complicated if you just apologize when you’re clearly in the wrong.”

“We are not getting married.” Rafe protested, looking back at his phone.

“You think I don’t see the way you look at her? The way you’ve looked at her our entire lives? It’s not just a small crush, you’re in love with her and I think that terrifies you.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about Sarah.” Rafe scoffed, putting his phone down.

“All I’m saying is, see where some flowers and jewelry gets you. And nice words.”

♡♡♡

You stepped out of your bathroom, drying your hair with a towel. Your window was shut, the curtains were drawn, even the curtains that covered your balcony door were closed. You had completely shut Rafe off from even a gaze into what you were doing.

You quickly texted JJ to let him know you wanted to see him. You hadn’t seen him in two weeks and the guilt was eating away at you. He responded quickly, telling you he was at the chateau.

You got dressed in a cropped sweater and a pair of jean shorts before pulling on a pair of shoes and headed downstairs, your hair still wet from the shower.

“Heading out?” Your mom asks from the kitchen. She was cooking dinner and for a second you felt torn. Should you go see your brother or should you stay and have dinner with your other family.

“Um, yeah, I just felt like I needed to go see JJ.” You explained, fiddling with your fingers.

“Oh, Sweetie, you don’t have to feel bad for wanting to go see your brother.” Your mom said, coming over to you, putting her hands on your arms in a comforting way.

“I’ll be back later.” You sighed, grabbing your car keys from the bowl in the foyer and walking out the front door.

Your car wasn’t anything crazy, it was a 2009 yellow Jeep Wrangler. Your mom got it for you when you turned sixteen. She wanted to get you something that wouldn’t be stripped for parts in The Cut but still looked nice enough.

“Dude, wake up.” JJ said, shaking you from your sleep.

“What?” You groaned turning over with a huff.

“I think your mom left a car for you out front.” He was practically jumping up and down with joy for you.

“What?” You said, shooting up out of bed.

You both ran downstairs and outside looking at your new Jeep.

“No way.” JJ muttered, running his hand over the car.

You opened the door and found a note inside.

‘If you come home, you’ll get your dream car.

Love,

Mom.’

You sighed as you crumpled the note, shoving it into your sweatshirt pocket.

“Come on, help me find the keys.” You smiled as JJ jumped into the passenger seat, digging through the glove box.

“Looking for these?” Rafe said, stepping out from around the corner, holding the keys to your car.

“Fucking creep.” JJ grimaced, looking at you with a confused look.

“What are you doing here, Rafe? And where did you even come from you?” You asked, looking around to see where he could possibly come from.

“Relax I just needed to pee and I definitely wasn’t gonna knock on the door.” He explained, holding his hands up. “Your mom asked me to drop this off for you. Happy birthday by the way.”

“Of course she did.” You muttered, because who else would she ask to drop off the car.

You sighed as you pulled up to the chateau, getting out of the car with a slam of the door.

“Woah, what did the car do to you?” JJ asked, coming from out back.

“Just a long day.” You mumbled walking up to him before smiling and giving your brother a hug.

♡♡♡

Your mom was still cooking in the kitchen when she heard the doorbell ring. She sighed and wiped her hands off on a towel before walking over to the front door. When she opened the door she saw Rafe pacing your porch, talking to himself as he held a bouquet of flowers.

“Hi Rafe.” She said gently, with a small smile.

“Hi Ms. Thornton.” He responded, slightly embarrassed that he was caught in the state he was. “I, uh, was looking for y/n.”

“Well, she’s not here right now, honey, but I can make sure she gets these when she comes back.”

“Oh, uh, o-okay.” He muttered, slightly holding the flowers out. “Well, I kind of had like a whole speech planned you know so…” He added, withdrawing the flowers back to his side.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to sit out here and wait for her. I just am not sure what time she’s gonna be back.”

“Oh.” Rafe mumbled, thinking for a second, before extending his hand out again with the flowers. If your mom gave them to you, he wouldn’t have to deal with the whole speech thing and you could just go on with your life. “Just make sure she gets them, please.” He said, before walking off and back towards the Cameron estate.

Your mom smiled as she shut the door before walking back into the kitchen.

“Secret admirer?” Doug asked, his eyes pointing to the flowers in her hand.

“They aren’t for me silly, they’re for y/n.” She explained with a smile, removing the flowers from the wrapping and adding them to a vase with water.

“Don’t tell me they’re from that Cameron boy.”

“Of course they are, Doug, who else would they be from?”

“Laura, you have got to give up on this whole ‘they’re destined for each other,’ thing. That boy has been nothing but trouble to her their entire lives.”

“He just likes her Doug, that’s all, and I think he has a hard time showing it.”

♡♡♡

“So, how are things going with you and John B?” You asked Kie with a smile as you both sat on the back porch of the chateau, the boys were out back building a fire.

“Things aren’t going that’s the problem.” She sighed, taking a hit from the blunt you two had rolled before handing it over to you.

“You know how serious he takes no pogue on pogue macking.” You responded, taking your own hit from the blunt, rolling your eyes at the stupid rule. “You just have to go up there and kiss him, Kie. It’s the only way he’s gonna see.”

“No, I don’t think it’s like that.” She sighed, looking down, playing with her fingers. “I mean, would it work on Rafe if you did that to him?” She was smiling as she looked at you.

“Oh, sweetie, I don’t even have to kiss him to get him where I want him.” You smiled back, patting her leg. You told her all about the night of the party and what happened this morning, how he called you baby.

“So are you guys gonna kiss and make up?” She laughed, taking the blunt back.

“Nope, I’m gonna make him wallow in self pity. He needs to know he doesn’t get me that easily. I’m in it to play the long game, Kie, I like what we have now, no need to complicate it.”

“What you have now? You mean constant fighting?”

“We’re not actually fighting, it’s just a stupid game we play.”

“So instead of having sex, you guys just say really mean things to each other?”

“Exactly.” You nodded with a big smile on your face.

“I don’t know, it seems like sex would be more enjoyable.”

“It seems that way, but I’m not giving into him that easily. I need him to suffer, just a little bit longer.”

You were laughing with Kie when you felt your phone vibrate, looking down at it you saw you had a text from Sarah.

hey are you still coming?

you sighed and typed out a quick ‘yeah for sure.’

“Alright, I have to get going, give the boys my love.” You said, standing from your spot.

“We’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Hopefully.”

You got in your car and made the drive back home. No music, just the windows down and your thoughts.

“Hi, Sweetie.” Your mom greeted you with a smile when you walked inside.

“Oh, Jesus.” You jumped, hand to your chest. “Mom, how many times do I have to tell you not to do that.”

“Sorry, it’s just I was so excited for you to come home.”

“Why?” You asked, narrowing your eyes as you looked at her.

“Because Rafe dropped something off.” She sounded giddy, like a little school girl as she made her way into the kitchen. And there you saw them, flowers. He actually got you flowers. And not those raggedy ones you would get at a grocery store, no these were nice floral shop flowers and they were all your favorites.

“Wow.” You said, looking down at them as you held them.

“That’s all you have to say? The boy dropped off flowers to your house. Hand delivered!”

“Mom, they’re flowers, it’s not like I’m gonna go over there and profess my love or whatever.”

“Why not?” Your mom whined, looking over at you.

“Okay, I’m going up to my room, I have to get ready to be at the Cameron’s in like five minutes.”

You sighed and grabbed the vase of flowers as you went up to your room. Opening the door to your balcony, you set them down on the little coffee table that was out there.

You quickly grabbed your outfit for the night and your makeup bag before running out the door, shouting ‘goodbye’s’ to everyone.

“Hey Top.” You said as you walked up the stairs to the Cameron’s house. He had gotten there at the same time as you, with cases of beer in his hands.

“Hey.” He muttered, trying to get the door open.

“Need some help?” You asked pushing the door open.

He mumbled a quiet ‘thanks’ and walked inside, setting the cases down in the kitchen.

“Is everything okay, Top?” You asked, lingering in the kitchen for a second.

“Oh, um, yeah. Just going through something with Sarah.” He sighed, starting to put the beer in the fridge.

“You know you can talk to me.”

“It’s just…It feels like she’s pulling away from me, you know?”

“Well have you talked to her about it? Like really talked to her?”

“Obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t be upset.” He said, looking at you like you just asked him the most absurd question.

“Right…Well I’m gonna go, I have to get ready.” You muttered, walking towards the stairs.

You walked into Sarah’s room, throwing your stuff onto her bed.

“Hey.” She said with a smile as she sat at her vanity getting ready.

“Hey.” You replied, sitting on her bed. “You know the weirdest thing happened today, Rafe came by my house and dropped off flowers. And he got me my favorite flowers.”

“Oh really?” Sarah asked, turning around to face you with the biggest smile on her face.

“You wouldn’t have anything to do with that would you?”

“Absolutely not.” She answered, turning around to resume her makeup. “Did he get you anything else?”

“No…Just flowers.”

“Of course.” She muttered applying her mascara.

♡♡♡

You held a drink in your hand as you walked through the party, trying to find Rafe. Of course he was sitting on the same couch he always sat on when there was a party at the Cameron estate. You sighed and sat next to him.

“Not having fun?” You questioned when you noticed the look on his face, poking his face playfully with your index finger.

“I’m having a great time.” He answered, taking a sip of his beer.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“We need to talk.” Rafe said, standing up from his spot on the couch. You sighed and stood up, putting your drink on the coffee table before grabbing his hand so he could lead you through the crowd. He squeezed your hand every once in a while to let you know he was still there, or at least to check you were still there.

You walked past Sarah who sent you a smile and thumbs up and you just shook your head, indicating it’s not what she thinks it is.

When you got to his room, he reluctantly dropped your hand before closing the door behind him. You stood in the middle of his room and crossed your arms over your chest.

“So, flowers.” You said, looking down at your feet. “How did you-”

“Look, I just want to say I’m sorry.” Rafe cut you off, rubbing his hands down his face. “What I said was not…Not nice.”

You looked up at Rafe with a cocked brow indicating you wanted him to continue.

“I shouldn’t have said anything about the way you dress or your boobs.” Rafe continued, looking at the ground as he fiddled with his fingers. For a second you relaxed your stance, dropping your arms to your side. You sighed and ran a hand through your hair. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I thought we were joking around but I didn’t realize how upset you would be at what I said.”

“And this morning? When you said ‘trust me it was a one time thing.’”

“I just said that because I figured you were thinking it. I mean we fight like a lot, probably more than two people should, I figured you would only want it to be a one time thing.”

“Rafe, you have got to stop assuming things. Just because we fight a lot, and we do fight a lot, doesn’t mean I would be opposed to like a cuddle every once in a while.”

Rafe looked up at you, finally, with a smile on his face, he stepped closer to you and you put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“Doesn’t mean it’s happening tonight Cameron, you’ve thoroughly pissed me off.” You said before stepping out of his room, smiling to yourself with your head held high.

♡♡♡

“Well, it seems like both our girls are pissed at us.” Topper sighed, sitting in between Rafe and Kelce on the couch.

“So what you’re saying is, I have a chance with Ms. Thornton over there.” Kelce smiled, looking over at you.

“Not a fucking chance.” Rafe said, shooting a look towards Kelce. “Besides, I just made up with her, so you’re the only one in the doghouse buddy.”

“Like made up with words or did she finally let you hit it?” Kelce asked.

“Dude, gross.” Topper said, disgust growing evident on his face.

“With words you fucking idiot.” Rafe replied, smacking Kelce upside the head. “And flowers.”

“Wait, did you go to the flower shop across town that carries only those specific flowers she likes?” Topper asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Obviously.”

“Dude you’re so whipped it’s crazy.”

[deadghosy]

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐇! ||𝐙𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐄!𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄

Synopsis: accidentally killing one of the most popular Slytherins, you tried to bring him back only for him to not be the same as before.

Inspired by American horror story; Coven

Viewer discretion: brain dead Theo, choking, biting, slight panic attack, Zombie!Theodore not knowing personal space, gore/blood/death mentionss.

MONSTOBER

Shit… shit.. shit…..SHIT! You don’t mean it! You didn’t at all! Your eyes are blown out wide at the dismantled body in front of you. You can’t believe you killed him…You didn’t mean to kill him. Your heart beating loudly in your ears as you fell to your own knees. You slowly felt tears prick your eyes.

You were only practicing your magic. Your own magic. Not Hogwarts, not dark magic. Your own. You didn’t hear Theodore coming from behind you. But it was too late as he startled you into shooting him. Shooting him with the magic that killed him. A pool of blood reaches to you. Scatters of brains sprayed the crisp green grass. You scream backing up, gripping your wrist as a sort of calming gesture. But it’s helping. You kept saying, “it’s not your fault.” But it is, isn’t it? You gotta fix this. You can’t let anyone know that you killed the Theodore Nott. Not a single witness.

Dragging Theodore’s body. It felt sickening. You couldn’t really pick up his damn body. He was taller than you! And with his playing quidditch, he definitely has some pounds on him.

Finally getting to your dorm. You set him on the floor, getting your magic book your folks had gave you so you could practice your own family magic. That’s where you found the spell to bring back the dead. Without hesitation you chanted the words, placing your dominant hand on the bloody chest. The lights flickered in your room, each word you chanted a green and gold aura surrounded you and the dead Slytherin. As the spell ended, you opened your eye and waited it out.

Soon, Theodore stared to groan softly. His normal dead eyes looked..more dead. You gasp shocked. He looked emotionless as he only eyed you in your dorm. His skin was so pale that you started to curse in your mind. Before you knew it, Theodore snapped and attacked you. Gripping your throat with a strong grip, grumbling nothing but mumbles. You clawed at his arm. “Th-theo! Sto-" he suddenly stopped. Loosening his hold on your neck as his eyes looked normal before returning to that dead look. He let go and sat down like a child.

You coughed holding your neck. Getting your breath back. Theo stared at you again. With that dead look that made you shiver. “I…I’m sorry Theo..you must be mad I killed you. But you’re back.” You smiled a weary expression. Theodore tilt his head, clearly confused with his own emotions. Narrowing your eyebrows you slowly moved towards him. Reaching your hand to him, he bit you. “AH! MOTHER FUCKER!” You kicked him at his chest gaining a small groan. “Gr…aughh..” you let out a groan, getting up you checked if the bite was deep only to sigh out of relief. “Fuck…fuck…okay so you don’t really have the normal brain. Fuck me…”

You hissed still holding your bitten hand. Theodore however seemed to be in his own world. His messy brown hair sticking to his forehead after your kick. It seemed he was actually thinking for once as he’d seen you walk back and forth. You were also in your own world. Thinking about how you were gonna talk to the professors about your mess. Or more so your own people. Maybe they can make him more normal? You didn’t seem to realize a tall brooding body behind you. You turned around to only flinch.

He towered over you. Theodore opened his mouth, his lips chapped lips sticked together as he did so. “…Y…Y/N…..” your eyes widened. Backing up with each step, he stepped to you closer. Theodore grabbed your arm, pulling you close to him. “Y…y/n…” you couldn’t believe it…no fucking way. Theodore started to hug you. And you just stood there confused and scared. Was he slowly gaining his memory back? Or was it some sorta of confusion? Connection? Whatever it was. You didn’t know if you liked it or not. As whatever this Theodore was doing, he was making sure you won’t leave his side.

[rafetopia]

𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

- 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧

pairing: canon!rafe cameron x fem!dark!reader (she a little crazy too)

genre: action (?), smut, teeny bit of fluff & angst -> 18+!!

words: ~5.2k

warnings: shootings, mentions of guns (obviously), fire, mentions of death, dom!rafe, not so subby but bratty reader, prison break, (slight) daddy kink, (sexual) choking, hair pulling, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex

summary: after her efforts of getting her fiancé out of jail the legal way, (Y/N) has to take on different measures to get him back

note: this is kind of a second part to “till death do us part” but it can be read as a stand alone too.

also please go easy on me, I obviously have yet to break anyone out of jail, and I’ve not been chased by the police that often yet so if there some parts that seem unrealistic to you- please ignore them

“Get on your damn knees, Cameron!” Shoupe was screaming at the young man, as he ran out of the water.

“Baby? Baby where are you?” Rafe screamed as panic overcame his voice. 

He frantically looked around him, but there was no sign of his girl. The second he reached land, he turned around, trying to find at least a sign that she was alive but there was nothing. It wasn’t until he heard Deputy Plumb scream “I got her!”, that he knew she was alive. She dragged her by the shoulder, her grip so tight, that the girl was sure it would leave marks. 

“Let go of me!” She yelled, trying to get herself free, as the older woman dragged her to shore. 

“You wish…” Plumb gritted through her teeth, knowing exactly that she would try and run away the second she would let go of her.

But (Y/N) would never run away without the love of her life and by the way the male Officers were throwing themselves on him, she knew that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. 

“Let go of him!” She screamed, but her wishes stayed unheard. “I swear to god if you hurt him, I’m gonna kill you, all of you!” She continued, not caring about the consequences her threads might bring with them. 

Rafe tried to free himself from the Officer's grip, but he wasn’t strong enough to fight off four male Officers, especially not with the anger they had in them. “Would you calm down?” Shoupe ordered as he turned around to look at you.. “Only gonna make things a lot harder for the both of you.” 

The moment (Y/N)’s feet had dry land under them, she tried to fight herself free again, but Plumb's grip was tight, a little bit too tight for Rafe’s liking. “If you hurt her, I swear I’ll fucking kill you.” The face of the young man turned red, as he so desperately tried to fight himself free so he could protect her. He saw the tears forming in his love’s eyes and to say it drove him insane was an understatement. 

He wanted to fight himself free, wrap his arms around her, and carry her away but before he could even attempt to do anything, he had Deputy Thomas’ fist in the face, sending him to the ground with such force that he blacked out for a second. The moment he regained consciousness, he heard her scream in pain. 

“You bastard!” She cried, before fighting herself free of the woman’s grip and launching towards the Officer. “He wasn’t even doing anything you disgusting piece of shit!” She screamed, as they contained her and brought her to the ground next to her boyfriend. 

He was lying on his stomach as they started to cuff him, and she softly caressed his eye, which was already swollen. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna get you out of this.” She sobbed, as they took her hands and put them behind her back, before cuffing them together. 

“You’re gonna pay for this.” She mumbled through gritted teeth, as they were dragging him to the police car. 

“Would you stop with the threads now, Miss?” Plumb hissed at the girl before she turned her attention towards her boss. “Let’s take her with us? So she can calm down.” 

“I am calm you fucking bitch!” 

“Okay.” The officer chuckled, before dragging her towards the other car. She was about to go inside when Rafe turned himself around and looked at her. 

“I love you, baby.”

“Till death do us part?” She smiled.

“Till death do us part.” He answered, before the Sheriff shoved him into the car.

“If that fat pig hurts him again, one more time…” She mumbled before Plumb pushed her into the other car.

………….

That was six weeks ago. Since then, she had tried everything in order to get him at least out on bail but the judge was hard. She consulted the best lawyers and brought up the way they treated the two of them during their arrest but hence the drugs in their system and the statements of the arresting officers, no one was able to do anything. She tried to do it the legal way, she truly did but she never had a chance. Especially not now when they started investigating her and her entire family. 

She knew she was screwed and she would have to take action soon if she didn’t want to end up in a prison cell herself. After her last visit, she was able to visit him once again, thanks to her amazing ability to convince people to do whatever she wanted and her outstanding talent for blackmailing but after her last visit, they completely blocked her out. Being investigated for fraud and money laundering, really took away all her family's credibility, leaving her with nothing but her last resort. She had to break him out of jail. 

So there she was with a smile on her face, watching the flames, as they grew bigger and bigger, until almost swallowing the whole building. Screams were echoing from the front of the building but she didn’t care. It was almost as if she didn’t hear them. Officers trying to escape without getting thrown back into the flames by Kildare’s most sinister criminals, and prisoners, trying to use this opportunity to get their freedom back.

(Y/N) knew it was a risky plan, she knew there was a chance that he wouldn’t make it out of there in time before either the cops or the flames got the best of him but it was her last chance. Tomorrow, they were planning on transferring him to the mainland for his trial, the big one. The one that determined whether he was guilty of his crimes, or if he was innocent and she damn well knew, the chance for the second one was less than zero. 

She was hiding behind the building, hoping he would know where to find her. She had the car ready, in case they needed to make a run for it, just like they had always joked about. 

The smoke had gotten worse as the flames made their way around the building and anxiety slowly burned its way through her body. She tried to calm herself down, as she unconsciously played with the pink “Bratz Doll” lighter between her fingers. Did she do the right thing? Would he make it? What if he didn’t? Then she would’ve killed the love of her life.

She took a peak around the corner where she saw Sheriff Shoupe arguing around with a group of firefighters. She hadn’t heard them come. His clothes were gray from the smoke and he was coughing a lot, but other than that he seemed fine. She appreciated the fact that she did not just kill Kildare’s new Sheriff, only a few months after her fiancé had killed the first one. Shortly after, more police cars arrived at the scene, followed by the loud noise of what she assumed to be a helicopter, landing on the other side of the building. She knew if he hadn’t made it out by now, then her whole plan would most likely have been for nothing. 

She quickly made her way back to her car, where another wave of anxiety overcame her. She tried to think positively but the tears in her eyes were starting to get through. It couldn’t be. She couldn’t be the one that killed him. She was smart and resourceful, her plans never failed. But this wasn’t a rational plan. She was desperate. 

(Y/N) watched, as the flames started to swallow the building whole, besides the fireman’s efforts to stop it. She tried so hard to hold on to the last piece of hope but she had given up. She was about to get into her car when she was stopped by a familiar voice.

“You weren’t about to leave without me, now were you sweetheart?” He coughed, causing her to freeze in her tracks. 

She turned around and was met with her fiancé, covered in soot from head to toe. His once orange prison suit was now gray, the orange barely visible anymore. He was coughing a lot but between his coughs, he was smiling. She squealed in happiness, before jumping into his arms. 

“I thought you didn’t make it.” She whispered, almost crying into his neck.

“Nah, you can’t get rid of me that easily baby.” He chuckled. 

Hand in hand, they ran to the car as fast as they could. Just when (Y/N) was about to turn the ignition, she was stopped by the familiar *click* of a gun.

“Don’t you dare, turn on that car, (Y/L/N)!” The woman coughed out, her words barely hearable to the other two.

“Told you Plumb,” She smirked, as she pulled down the window. “Told you, you’re gonna pay for this.” And with that, she turned on the car and drove away, trying not to get killed by the bullets that came flying after them.

As they got chased through the streets of Kildare by what felt like the entire police department, Rafe tried to fire back with the gun she had brought. He had climbed into the backseat so he had a better angle, without his feet blocking her stick. He had tried to convince her to switch seats, but as stubborn as she was, she insisted on driving.

“I swear to god Rafe, if you get shot I’m gonna finish you off myself.” She yelled as he almost got hit by a bullet. “Just shoot something, it’s not that hard to hit someone, you must know…”

He gave her a bitter laugh. “It’s certainly not that hard to put your foot on that damn gas pedal either! Just let me take over!”  

“No, I can do this! I’ve always wanted to do this!” She giggled, after dodging an old man who had started to cross the street but wasn’t fast enough in turning around. “Oops!” She laughed. “We almost killed our first-grade math teacher.” 

“No, you almost killed our first-grade math teacher. I liked that guy!” He yelled back into the car, after trying and failing to hit the cars behind them. “Can’t hit anything with you driving like a maniac!”

“How else would you want me to drive, mister?”

“Just let me fucking do it?”

“Fine.” She mumbled, before jumping out of her seat. Before Rafe even realized what was going on, she had climbed into the passenger seat. “Go and take over the fucking car then!” She yelled, as she grabbed another, but slightly bigger gun from beneath the seat and leaned out of the window, almost shooting Rafe himself as he was still leaning out of the window as well.

“Oh my god.” He mumbled, as he jumped into the driver's seat, “Are you fucking crazy?” He waited for a second as if he really thought she was going to reply, before continuing, “Of course you are, you just broke me out of jail with a pink “Bratz doll” lighter…” He chuckled, as he knew goddamn well you wouldn’t use anything else to light something up, let it be a candle when you’re taking a bath or some wood when you’re lighting up a fucking detention center.

Rafe still had the other gun, so naturally, he tried to take over not only driving but also shooting. With his foot on the gas pedal, he leaned out of the window and started shooting. He thought he held the car steady as he hit multiple tires of the police cars behind them but if it wasn't for (Y/N) and her taking over the steering wheel, he would’ve driven them both straight into a café. 

“Goddamn it!” She yelled, “But you’re calling me crazy?” 

The officers quickly lost control over their cars as the bullet holes drained the air out of their tires and before they could do anything about it, they were clashing into each other. One of the cars crashed into a restaurant, and the screams of the people were even louder than the terrible sound of the sirens that had chased them. 

 “See, just let Daddy handle it. There’s a reason you’re my designated passenger princess.” He grinned satisfied.

“See, let daddy handle it…” She mocked, “If it wasn’t for me you would not only still be in jail, but we would also both be lying dead on Papa Joe’s Ice Cream counter you bloody idiot!” She yelled, almost spitting into his face out of anger. She was expecting some sort of accountability from him but all she got was a laugh. “No I’m fucking for real Rafe Cameron, disrespect me like that again and I'll send your ungrateful ass to hell myself.” 

“Gosh how much I missed your little attitude.” He grinned, before placing his hand on her thigh. “Can’t wait to fuck it out of you.” 

“Keep up your attitude and the only thing you're gonna fuck for a very long time is your own damn hand.” 

“We’ll see ‘bout that.” He smirked, before turning his attention back on the road, earning nothing but an evil side eye from the girl next to him. She might be in a mood now, but he knew goddamn well that she'd come begging for his dick soon enough.

“Got a boat parked at Layla’s beach rental.” She stated simply, without looking at him. “Maybe you can press on that gas pedal a little more since you’re so good at it, and get us there before more cops show up and have taken over the marsh…” 

Without saying anything, he headed towards her best friend’s rental property, where the boat was waiting for them. It wasn’t as big as the Druthers, but it was more than enough to get them to the Mainland. Neither of them cared about where particularly, they just wanted to get as far away from the outer banks as possible. 

As they were getting the boat ready, they could hear the sirens already approaching. While Rafe loosened the Anker, (Y/N) started the motor. They were about to drive away when The officers, such as Sheriff Shoupe and Deputy Plumb jumped out of their cars. 

“We got company.” (Y/N) stated as Rafe took over the wheel. “I thought we got them good back there but apparently not good enough.”

He hit the gas pedal and slowly drove the boat away from shore, trying to ignore the amount of guns that were currently pointed at them.

“Put your hands up and step away from the wheel!” Shoupe yelled through a megaphone. “I repeat, Rafe Cameron, and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) put your hands up and step away from the steering wheel. Do not make me repeat myself.” 

Rafe’s gaze went from the officers, who had all pointed their guns at the two of them, to her. She was standing steady, her hands not up in the air like she was told. He knew she would never oblige to them, (Y/N) was that kind of girl that would be rather dead than locked up, he knew that. Her eyes met his and in that moment it felt like the world stopped. He saw the fire in her eyes and it was burning brighter than ever, almost as if she was enjoying this. There was not an ounce of fear in them, there never was, except for the time she thought he died in the flames but he didn’t know that. He knew exactly what she was about to do which left him with only one option. She gave him a soft smile, before leaning in for a kiss. She didn’t plan on occupying his lips for that long, since she knew every second wasted could cost them their life but she didn’t care. This could be the last time she tasted his lips so she had to take her time. In a swift second, she pulled the gun out of her jeans pocket and started firing. 

The next few moments didn’t feel real for either of them, but the bullet holes on the boat proved that they were. Rafe had taken over the wheel as he sped away from the scene, while his girlfriend gave him cover. In this moment, Rafe experienced what true fear felt like. With every shot fired, there was a chance it could hit her, and alone the thought of it made him dizzy. (Y/N) on the other hand, had never felt more alive. She reveled in the gunfire that they, especially her, had started but her excitement soon died out when not only her bullets went out, but they also started getting shot at from their left, as police boats started to get closer to them. 

“Baby, I’m out!” She yelled out, trying to keep calm. 

“Here, take over.” He commanded as he pulled out his own gun. “And baby?” 

“Yes?” 

“Hit that damn gas pedal this time!” 

She smiled, before turning around and really hitting that pedal. It was the boat her dad had gifted her after she got accepted into college and it was a damn fast one. Other than a car, (Y/N) knew exactly how to drive a boat and soon their pursuers had to learn this the hard way. She was fast and soon, the officers had to let them go but it wasn’t only because (Y/N) was too fast for them and Rafe knew that. They had hit two of the officers. 

“Baby… baby they stopped.” (Y/N) squealed as she let go of the wheel and jumped into her boyfriend’s arms. 

“Thanks to you, princess.” He laughed softly. “You were amazing. You have no idea how much I love your crazy ass.”

“Oh, I know.” She chuckled, before leaning in for a kiss. “Now are you finally gonna fuck that attitude out of me, or what?” She didn’t have to ask twice, as he had pushed her into the cabin before she could even take another breath. “Shouldn’t we put the boat on autopilot first?” She giggled against his lips.

“Right.” He chuckled, before pushing her onto the couch. “Be right back!” He hurried outside and put the boat on autopilot while making sure one last time that they weren’t followed anymore. 

When he came back, she was lying on the couch, her upper body resting on her elbows and her legs spread, revealing the hot pink thong she was wearing underneath her baby blue jeans skirt. He mustered her body, his eyes traveling from her beautiful face, down to her tits that were barely covered underneath that black excuse of a tank top. The further his eyes traveled down her body the more saliva built up in his mouth, as he couldn’t wait to bury his head between her folds. 

With the biggest smile on his lips, he hopped on top of her, where he was welcomed by her tongue exploring his mouth. She gently placed her hand on the back of his head, so she could push him closer to her. They both had waited for this moment for months, so they didn’t want to waste any time. He didn’t want to waste any time, as he had yet to thank her for getting him out of there in the first place. 

As his tongue fought for dominance, he gently pulled them both up, so they were sitting. He helped her remove her top before she quickly hopped out of her skirt. He held in for a second, taking in the image in front of him. She was wearing a hot pink lace bra, covered in heart-shaped embroidery, matching the thong she was wearing. He didn’t recognize this set of lingerie, she must have gotten it while he was locked up. “You look perfect, princess.” He whispered as he crawled back on top of her. 

“Thank you.” She smiled, “But I need to see you as well, baby. Been too long since I felt those abs beneath my fingers.”

“Patience.” He smirked, before leaning back in. 

He quickly buried his tongue inside her mouth, before she even had the chance to take control. He enjoyed her longing to take over once in a while but not this time, not after what she just did for him. He had to be in charge tonight, not just because he had been behind bars for the past three months, but also because he had to be the one making her feel good tonight. He had to be the reason for every ounce of pleasure she was experiencing, it was his way of showing his gratitude towards what she had done for him, what she had risked for him. Not that anything he could ever do could ever make up for that. But if he was being honest to himself, a small part of him had to assert dominance to show her who was in charge, despite what he just did for him.

He let his fingers slide down her thighs, slowly to build up the anticipation she was already drowning in. “Baby…” She moaned into his mouth as if this would make anything better. Instead, it only motivated him to go slower. He knew how much it tortured her but he also knew her reward would be even bigger in the end. 

As he slowly let his fingers dance over her skin, he moved his tongue over to her neck, where he started nibbling on her earlobe, her sweet spot. As he worked himself over her skin, she filled his ears with sweet moans, that got louder and heavier the closer his fingers got to her core. He slipped them in without a warning, causing her to gasp out in pleasure. Her hands were sliding over his overall, gripping the rough material for dear life, as his fingers started to slowly but surely destroy her from the inside. She tried to bury them deeper by pushing herself onto him but he had loved her long enough, so he knew exactly what she was doing. 

“What did I tell you, baby?” He chuckled softly against her skin, sending goosebumps all over her skin. 

“Can’t help it, I… I need you.” She cried out desperately. “Need to feel you inside of me… “ She paused, “Deep inside of me.”

“Need to taste you first, baby. Need you to cum all over my face, can you do that for me, princess?”

“Hmmm.” She hummed, as she pushed herself further onto him. 

Rafe laughed in amusement but decided to grant her her wish. In a second at least. He planted a soft kiss on her lips, before moving down. Without giving her a warning, he ripped away her thong and buried his face between her folds. 

“Just as sweet as I remembered.” He mumbled, sending another set of vibrations straight through her core. “So fucking perfect.”

“C- can you shut up and…- 

“And what?” He asked sternly as he removed his tongue.

“Just suck me off already, I know how fucking sweet I taste…”

“You and that damn attitude.” He grinned but his expression was dark. “Do I need to remind you who's back in charge?” He asked, but it was more of a rhetorical question than anything else. Before she could even think of an answer, he had his tongue buried inside of her once again at a pace that was faster and stronger than anything else she had ever experienced. It took him less than fifteen seconds to make her cum but if she thought she finally got what she wanted, she was in for a bitter surprise. Because now he wouldn’t stop making her cum with everything but his dick, until she finally got who’s back in charge, and knowing her, he knew they were both in for a very long night.

Even though she knew she soon realized (latest after her third orgasm) that she wouldn't get his dick anytime soon, it didn’t stop her from complaining about it. It wasn’t until Rafe had enough of her, that he took the piece of fabric that was once her thong and stuffed it into her mouth. 

“One more, babygirl…” He cooed, “Give me one more and I promise you, you’ll get what you want.” 

She heard what he said but she was drowning so deep in pleasure and the enormous feeling of overstimulation, that she wasn’t able to process the words that left his mouth. It didn’t take long until another wave of pleasure ran over her body, completely swallowing her up in it.

“Good girl.” He grinned, as he licked her juice from his face. He gave her a second to catch her breath as he pulled off his now gray prison suit. He crawled on top of her, removed her panties, and planted soft kisses on her lips, where she could still taste herself on them. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He whispered into her ear, as his hands reached under her back to remove her bra. 

As soon as it had landed on the floor across the room, he had her nipple surrounded by his tongue. He knew how much she loved this, how it sent shivers all over her skin, and how quickly it became torturous for her, as it made her build up an intense amount of pressure down her core, but never enough to release it. 

“Baby…” She cried out, still a little bit overwhelmed by the four orgasms he had already given her. 

“Say who’s in charge and you’ll get whatever it is that you want, princess.” He whispered, knowing exactly how hard it would be for her to admit that. He knew she had a hunger for power but like he had already promised himself earlier, she couldn’t have it, not tonight.

“Please…” She whimpered, as his fingers traced over his well-toned stomach.

“Say it, darling. Say it or I’ll stop.” He whispered against her skin, His hot breath burning right through to her.

“You…” She cried out.

“Who?” 

“You, Daddy. You’re in charge.” She whispered, “Tonight.”

He chuckled in amusement at her quiet addition, nothing different than what he had expected. Before she knew it, he had slammed his dick into her, causing her to moan out in pleasure. “We’ll see ‘bout that.” 

He started slow, his hands entangled in hers, as his tongue was dancing around with hers once again. He loved starting slow and then going faster and faster until all she could do was cry and beg for him to let her cum. She had her legs wrapped around his back, it was her way of regaining at least a tiny bit of control, as she had the power to pull him in even deeper if she wanted to. And combined with her nails digging deep into his skin, that was exactly what she did. But as his thrusts got deeper and faster, the pleasure started clouding her senses, resulting in her legs letting loose. 

“You think you can just trick me like that, pretty girl? Think again.” He smirked, but the expression on his face was dark. She knew exactly what that meant and before she even realized it, he had his hand wrapped around her throat. 

The faster he slammed into her, the louder and more pornographic her moans got, and the deeper her nails dug into her skin. He was sure by now, that he would have marks all over his back by the time they were done but he couldn't give less of a shit. All he wanted was for his girl to drown in pleasure and if took a bloody back to archive that, then so be it. For her he would drown himself in pain, he would bleed for her, hell he would die for her. And as she had proved earlier, she didn’t feel one single bit different about him. 

The tighter the grip around her throat got, the tighter became the knot in her stomach. He felt her walls tighten around him but he wasn’t done with her. Not yet. In a swift motion, he had removed his dick and swung her around. She was about to complain, but before she got a word out, he had rammed his dick back inside of her. 

“Such a good girl.” He moaned into her ear, as he grabbed a chunk of her hair and pulled her head back, and wrapped his hand back around her throat.

He couldn't see it but the tighter he grabbed her, the brighter grew the smile on her lips, as the tears streamed over her face. He hit her right at her sweet spot, the spot he was only able to hit in doggy and the spot that not only caused her to cry but also made her drown in pleasure. It didn’t take long until she felt her fifth orgasm building up, followed by the feeling of his dick starting to twitch, as he felt her walls suffocating him. Their moans started to sync up as if they had never done anything else before. She struggled to stay on all fours, as her orgasm rushed over her, he shot his load right up her core, before he collapsed on top of her, causing them both to fall on the couch. 

Rafe might have felt like the boss tonight, like he was in charge but what he didn’t realize was that every single thing she did and said after she got him out, was a controlled move to get her exactly where she was right now. So who was truly in charge tonight? The boy that was fucking her into oblivion, or the girl that was screaming through the night, as her fifth orgasm of the night, rushed over her?

They stayed like this for a little bit and as they both tried to catch their breath, he let his hand travel through her hair, gently stroking her head. Normally it was her who did that, but Rafe knew she needed some extra care tonight, especially after what she had put herself through for him. 

After he had cleaned her up, he wrapped them both in a soft blanket. They were lying outside on the deck now, under the sky, because he knew how much she loved falling asleep under the stars. Her head was resting on his chest, as his fingers softly danced over her skin. 

“I don’t think I can ever thank you enough, baby.”

“You know, I would die for you, right?” She whispered, her eyes already closed. “You are my everything, Rafe Cameron, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” 

He knew what she said was true, and that was what made it hurt even more. Alone the thought of her sacrificing herself for him, made his heart bleed but at the same time, a selfish part of him felt good, knowing he was loved by someone this much. 

“I would do the same for you, princess. In a second. Kinda already said that when I was asking you to marry me.” He chuckled softly.

“I know.” She smiled against his chest. 

“Till death do us part?”

“No. There’s nothing that could ever part me from you.”

“Not even with my soul burning in hell?” He chuckled.

“I would follow you anywhere, my love. Even into the depths of hell itself.”

add yourself to my tag list here

tag list: @lexacantsleep @drewstarkeyslut @spideysimpossiblegirl @ditzyzombiesblog @cartiiwannagotoplutoo (this is the prison break fic)

[sophsstarsxm]

abby anderson

Brat tamer

parings: dom!abby x mean!sub!reader

synopsis: reader is annoyed at abby and abby teaches her a lesson.

cw: ROUGH oral and fingering (r receiving), orgasm denial, handcuffs, blindfold, pet names, reader is mean to poor abby:(

note: FIRST ABBY FIC AHHHH!!! also not proofread and VERY rushed.

Masterlist About me!

requests are open!!

Mad would be an understatement, you were absolutely livid. You couldn’t decipher why you were mad at your girlfriend, abby, but you just were and that was enough. You and Abby were going out tonight to the bar with some friends. You knew you had to behave yourself but everything was ticking you off.

“Hey babe you almost ready?” abby asks from the ensuite bathroom of your shared home. “just 5 minutes” you responded. “what?” you hear abby ask while leaving the bathroom to hear you better, you simply rolled your eyes. “i said 5 minutes!” Your tone was laced with obvious attitude and abby just stared. “okay,” abby drags out “,well i’m gonna wait in the car” you widen your eyes for a moment in annoyance then let out a sigh “got it”

Abby didn’t move, she starred at you like a hurt puppy before tensing up “Are you mad at me?” Abby asked with a confrontational tone. You set down your makeup brush before swinging around to face your girlfriend, “Can you leave me alone?” you practically spit out “i’ll be done in 5 minutes, christ, are you that impatient?” you said before spinning back around to face your vanity in your chair. Your words shoot to kill but Abby could take the hits, and she also definitely wasn’t going to let that slide.

She walked over to you and spun your chair around before slamming her hands on the vanity behind you, trapping you and forcing you to look at her. “Abs, what are you-“ she cuts you off with a long kiss. The rough and lust full kind of kiss. Abby hated how bratty you were and thought you needed a lesson to be learned. “You thought you could talk to me like that without being punished? huh?” you were so lightheaded from the kiss that you didn’t respond and that only fueled Abby’s anger. She grabbed your chin and pulled you closer “talk” she spoke in such a stern tone, her eyes piercing through you and creating new desires for you. “i’m sorry” you stuttered out, “It’s too late for sorry, baby, you’re stuck now”

You knew you were in for it, and if you weren’t turned on by the rough kiss you sure are now. Abby kissed down your neck and pulled the straps of your sundress down. She kissed all the way down to the center of your chest, cupping one breast while sucking on the other. Quiet moans irrupted from your throat but that wasn’t enough, abby wanted to have you screaming. Abby switched to give the other boob some attention while simultaneously brushing her hands underneath your dress to pull your panties off. She then pulled away and placed a kiss on your lips again “You can only cum when i tell you to. okay?” Abby says and you nod. “repeat it” Abby said while massaging the inside of your thighs “i can’t cum, unless you say i can” your words fell out of your mouth almost like a moan.

Abby places another kiss that seemed more like a ‘good luck’ kiss before dipping her head down between your thighs. She hooked her arms on your legs and pulled you forward, as well as holding down your wrists that were holding onto the edge of your seat. She licked a long stripe along your soaking cunt. Abby was a huge fan of giving you head, she loved the way you taste, how you writhe and grind your hips on her mouth, and how she feels so much in control. The second you started to let out moans abby sped up. She was eating you like it was her last meal and the sounds her tongue made were vile and dirty. she sucked on your puffy clit and you twitched, your orgasm building up. “oh fuck, abs!” you moaned, your back arching off the chair.

the second Abby removed one of her hands from your wrist your hand flew to the back of her head, pushing her closer. Suddenly, Abby pulled away and you whined “Abby!!!” abby glared up at you and you had to fight back a moan “are you that impatient?” abby repeated what you said earlier, her harsh tone hitting you like bricks and now you understand how abby felt.

abby got up and reached over to your vanity, grabbing one of those fluffy pink headbands used to hold back your hair for when your doing your skincare. she placed it over your eyes and told you to wait. After what felt like hours but in reality was 10 minutes, you felt something cold and metal against your wrists. Abby moved the makeshift blindfold up a bit for you to see what she’s done. She handcuffed you to your chair, you pulled against the cuffs but there’s no use. Where did she even get those? you thought.

Abby reached out to touch the hemline of your dress “Let’s get this out of the way, hm?” Abby ripped the dress off completely, leaving you naked on your chair. “you remember the rules?” Abby asks and you, once again, nod. “Good girl” Her voice was quiet but stern, you could’ve came right then and there. Abby shifted the blindfold down completely, leaving you to rely on your ears to understand what’s happening.

You twitched when Abby started again, licking and sucking your folds. Abby then rubbed your clit with her thumb and you felt like your body was on fire. The pleasure started to rise again, especially when Abby started to fuck you with her fingers. She stuck two digits in, not even waiting for you to get used to the stretch before pumping them in and out of your cunt. “God, you’re so tight” Abby said against your clit, sending vibrations all throughout your body. your moans grew louder and louder. “Abby, oh my god!” you were close, abby knew it by the way you were grinding your hips against her mouth and the sounds of the handcuffs being pulled at.

Abby stopped completely, and your orgasm started to fade “I-what-abby, please! Abby i’m sorry, i’m so sorry! please let me cum” you were on the verge of tears and abby just rubbed your thighs “Poor girl, you can’t handle the consequences of being a brat? Don’t worry baby girl, if you’re good i’ll help you finish” Abby’s words were laced with amusement but there’s nothing else you could do other than obey her rules, and you did.

Abby teased you for wait too long. tears were streaming down your face at this point and you couldn’t take it “Abs, please baby, please” your voice was gone from the screams abby brought out of you. She lifted her head to place a soft kiss on your lips, she undid the handcuffs and removed the blindfold. “i think you learned your lesson now” Abby said. You were red and panting after being denied your orgasm three times. Abby brushed out your hair before snaking her hand down between your thighs again. Your orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave and abby talked you through it. praising you and being way more gentle than before. You’re eyes felt heavy as abby whispered in your ear “let’s get you cleaned up”

taglist: @luvleyjuno @quillzsstuff

[estellan0vella]

Good For You Lee Felix x fem!reader (Peaky Blinders AU)

WC: 20.1K

CW: sex work, reader is a prostitute, talks of war, violence against women, time period appropriate stereotypical views of prostitutes, talks of shellshock, injuries, guns, substance abuse (opium use), death, sort of pre-established relationship General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The sharp smell of brine and steel hangs heavy in the air as Felix’s head lolls back against Minho’s shoulder. The three of them stumble forward, feet slamming against the slick, grimy cobblestones of the Birmingham docks, trying to outrun the trouble they’ve just stirred. Felix’s blood leaks in dark rivulets, soaking through his shirt and onto Minho and Jisung's coats as the two of them hold him between them.

“Fuckin’ hell, Felix,” Minho grunts, his voice low and rough, like he’s dragging each word out of his throat. “You’re heavy as shit when you’re bleedin’ out.”

Felix groans, his face pale under the weak lamplight. “I’m not heavy. You two are just weak.”

“You’ve just been stabbed, you daft bastard,” Jisung spits from Felix’s other side, his breath coming short as they drag him forward. “Shut up and let us save your sorry arse.”

The clatter of distant voices rises behind them, followed by the unmistakable click of bootheels echoing off the cobbles. The sound is distant, but it’s getting closer. Minho snaps his head over his shoulder and hisses a curse. “They’re still fuckin’ comin’. Move faster, Jisung!”

“I’m movin’ as quick as I can!” Jisung snaps, shifting to get a better grip on Felix. The man's knees buckle for a moment, and Jisung shoots him a glare. “Felix, if you die on me, I’ll kill you myself.”

Felix lets out a rough, breathless chuckle. “You talk too fuckin’ much, Jisung. Both of you do.”

Jisung’s face twists in exasperation. “We just stole a crate of guns full of enough fuckin’ weaponry to supply a small army, and now we’re draggin’ your useless body out of here, bleeding like a pig.”

Minho snorts. “He’s got a point.”

Felix coughs, wincing as the stab wound flares with pain. He leans heavier against Minho’s shoulder and mutters, “Your chatter’s not gonna stop ‘em followin’ us, is it?”

“We’re talkin’ so we don’t go fuckin’ mad,” Minho snaps. “Jisung, grab him tighter, will you?”

Jisung rolls his eyes but adjusts his hold, and they stumble faster toward the edge of the docks. Felix feels his head spin again, the throbbing in his stomach worse now than when the knife first went in. He tries to breathe, but the sharp sting of it makes him curse under his breath.

“You need to keep that blood inside you,” Minho says, glancing down at him, his tone serious.

Jisung cuts in, his voice sharp and panicked. “We need to get him to the Garrison. We’re closest to-”

“No.” Felix’s voice comes out harsh and ragged. Both men look at him, startled. “No Garrison.”

Minho furrows his brow, annoyed. “You’re fuckin’ kiddin’, right? You’re bleedin’ out. You’ll die in the fuckin’ street if we don’t get you patched up proper.”

Felix shakes his head, sweat glistening on his brow. “Take me to the flats.”

“The what?” Jisung barks.

“The flats,” Felix repeats, his voice weaker but resolute. “The block not far from the Black Swan.”

Minho swears, his grip on Felix tightening. “You’ve lost too much blood to be makin’ sense, mate. You’re talkin’ about Fenian fuckin’ turf now.”

Felix grits his teeth against the pain and snaps, “I got someone there.”

“Someone?” Jisung echoes incredulously. “What, some girl you’re keepin’ tucked away? You’re gonna get yourself killed for a-”

“Shut it, Jisung,” Felix cuts him off, his eyes flashing despite the pain. “I said I got someone who can patch me up, and you two are gonna take me there before I fuckin’ bleed to death.”

Minho curses under his breath, his jaw tight. “This is a shite idea, Felix.”

“So was smokin' opium before stealin’ the fuckin’ crate,” Felix mutters, his voice weaker now. "We grabbed the wrong one"

“That was your idea!” Jisung hisses, his face a mix of frustration and worry.

“Doesn’t matter whose fuckin’ idea it was,” Minho growls, shooting Jisung a glare. “The coppers are probably sniffin’ around, and Felix here looks like he’s about two minutes from keelin’ over.”

“Then let’s move,” Felix grunts.

Jisung looks like he wants to argue, but he bites his tongue and nods, his hands flexing nervously around Felix’s arm. “We get spotted near that block, the Fenians’ll have us strung up. I hope you know what you’re doin’, Felix.”

Felix doesn’t answer. He just lets his head rest back against Minho’s shoulder, his body growing heavier with each step.

Minho swears again, louder this time. “Right. We’ll get you to the flats, but you owe me a new fuckin’ coat after this.”

Felix smirks faintly, his eyes fluttering. “Deal.”

“Don’t you fall asleep on us, mate,” Minho warns, shaking him slightly.

“I’m awake,” Felix mutters, though his voice sounds far away.

Jisung glances around nervously as they turn down a darker, narrower street. “We’re gonna regret this.”

“Shut it,” Minho snaps. “Keep your eyes open, and keep movin’. If Felix’s  someone doesn’t patch him up, we’ll be buryin’ him in a fuckin’ ditch by morning.”

Jisung falls quiet, and the three of them stumble forward into the shadowy maze of backstreets that wind toward the block of flats near the Black Swan. The sounds of the docks fade behind them, but the weight of the trouble they’ve stirred lingers heavy in the cold night air.

The clock ticks softly in the corner of your small living room, the steady rhythm filling the silence as you turn the pages of Pride and Prejudice. A cigarette burns between your fingers, its smoke curling lazily in the air.

The soft fabric of your green dress shifts against your legs as you lean back into the armchair, the heels on your feet tapping idly against the wooden floorboards. A dull ache still lingers in your cheekbone, and the split on your lip stings faintly when you purse your mouth, but you don’t think about that. 

You’re halfway through a particularly sharp exchange between Elizabeth and Darcy when a thunderous pounding rattles your front door.

You jolt upright, the cigarette nearly slipping from your fingers. Your brows knit together as the hammering continues, each knock loud and urgent, shaking the thin walls of your flat.

“Christ alive,” you mutter under your breath, stubbed cigarette hanging forgotten from your lips. 

When you pull open the door, the sight nearly knocks the breath out of you. Standing there under the dim hallway light are two men wearing razor-lined Peaky caps, holding up a third between them. The man in the middle, blood-soaked and pale as a sheet, is Lee Felix.

“Hey, angel,” Felix croaks with a faint, bloody smile.

You blink in surprise, momentarily stunned, before the softness returns to your face. “Hello, Felix.”

Jisung, the smaller of the two with wide, panicked eyes, gestures impatiently toward Felix with a tilt of his head. “He said to bring him here, to you, so here we fuckin’ are.”

Minho, the taller and sterner one, raises a brow, taking in the gentle smile on your face and the way Felix clings to consciousness. “So, you two are...acquainted?” He jerks his chin toward Felix. “Who’s the girl, Felix?”

Felix lets out a breathy chuckle, though it turns into a cough. “This angel here is Y/N.” He winces as the pain pulls at his wound. “Y/N, this is Minho and Jisung. Don’t let their sour faces fool you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Minho mutters.

You shake off the shock quickly, ushering them inside. “Come in, quick. And shut the bloody door before the whole building hears you.”

The moment they step into your modest flat, you spring into action, clearing the small dining table of books and ashtrays with practised speed. You grab the half-empty bottle of rum from your cabinet, tipping a generous splash over the table to sterilize it, cigarette still dangling between your fingers.

“Put him on the table,” you say firmly.

Minho and Jisung exchange a look before hauling Felix’s weight across the room. “Watch his fuckin’ head,” Minho snaps as they lay him down. Felix groans as his back hits the hard wood, his breaths shallow and laboured.

Jisung hovers, wringing his hands. “We were at the docks-”

"Please don’t tell me anythin’. I don’t want to know”

Jisung clamps his mouth shut, looking sheepish. “Right. Fair enough.”

You glance at Felix’s pale face, eyes flicking to the blood seeping through his shirt. “You’ve really done it this time,” you murmur softly.

Felix grins faintly. “Only because I knew you’d fix me up, angel.”

Minho and Jisung take off their caps, flopping onto your small couch without invitation. Minho pulls out a cigarette and lights it with a grunt, leaning back with a sigh. “This is cosy.”

You glance up briefly. “Biscuits are in the cupboard up there if you want some.”

Jisung perks up immediately. “Oh, bless you, darlin'.” He springs up, rushing to the cabinet to root through it like he owns the place.

You roll your eyes before focusing back on Felix. You grab a pair of scissors and cut open his shirt, the sound of tearing fabric filling the room. Felix hisses as the cold air hits his wound, but you’re already examining it with sharp, trained eyes.

“Can you patch me up?” Felix asks weakly, looking up at you.

You give him a small, reassuring smile, pressing a hand gently to his arm. “Of course I can. I did it in France, didn’t I?”

Felix manages a faint smirk despite his pallor.

You grab the rum again and pour it straight onto the wound without warning. Felix arches sharply off the table with a shout, his teeth gritting. “Fuckin’ hell!”

“Stay still,” you say gently, though there’s no room for argument.

Felix’s breathing grows uneven, his hands clenching at nothing. You stride quickly to the stove, turning on the gas and grabbing one of your old kitchen knives. The faint hiss of the flame fills the room as you hold the blade over it, watching the metal glow.

From the couch, Minho squints at you. “What the fuck are you doin’ now?”

Felix groans faintly. “She’s gonna cauterize it.”

Jisung, halfway through his third biscuit, freezes mid-bite. “She’s gonna what?”

“This is gonna fuckin’ hurt,” Felix mutters.

You glance back at him, soft but firm. “Yes, it is. So prepare yourself.”

You grab a clean rag from the cabinet, placing it gently but firmly in Felix’s mouth. “Bite on that. And don’t you dare scream the whole building down.”

Felix meets your eyes, his gaze steady despite the sweat dripping down his temple. He swallows hard as you step back to his side. “Here,” you murmur, offering him your free hand.

Felix grips it tightly, his knuckles white as he prepares himself.

The knife in your other hand glows red-hot, the sharp edge blurred by the heat. You bring it down with precision, pressing it firmly to the wound.

Felix screams into the rag, his body jerking violently against the table. The smell of burning flesh fills the air, sharp and metallic. Minho and Jisung glance over, both grimacing as Felix’s muffled cries ring out.

“It’s alright, Felix,” you murmur. “Just a bit longer now.”

Felix squeezes your hand tighter, tears springing to the corners of his eyes as you finish the cauterization. When it’s done, you pull the knife back, tossing it into the basin with a clatter.

“There,” you say softly, pulling the rag from his mouth. “It’s over.”

Felix’s chest heaves as he slumps back against the table, his hand still gripping yours weakly. “Jesus...fuckin’...Christ.”

You offer him a small smile as you begin to wrap the wound with clean bandages. “Told you I could fix you.”

You finish bandaging Felix up with careful hands, the sound of his shallow breaths filling the quiet of the flat. Minho and Jisung, sprawled on your small couch, smoke their cigarettes like they haven’t a care in the world despite the chaos outside. You straighten up, wiping your hands on a rag, and glance at them.

“Alright,” you say, folding your arms. “Are you gonna be alright gettin’ him home?”

Felix’s head turns slightly on the table, his voice rough but clear enough. “About that…” he pauses, catching his breath. “Uh, can we lie low here for a few hours?”

You blink, surprised.

“I’ll pay you,” Felix adds quickly. “For your time and for patchin’ me up.”

Jisung nods, flicking ash onto the floor. “We’re too close to Fenian turf right now, love. If we step outside, we’re liable to get our heads kicked in. We’d be outnumbered.”

You look between the three of them. Felix, pale and sweat-slicked, Minho blowing smoke like he’s in his own bloody living room, and Jisung perched on the arm of the couch like a stray cat. You sigh softly, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“Sure,” you say, leaning back against the table. “You can stay as long as you need. Just don’t be makin’ a mess of the place, alright?”

Jisung grins and Minho nods in approval.

Felix exhales in relief, his hand settling over his stomach. “You’re an angel.”

You shake your head fondly, stepping closer to him as he pants quietly, his eyes fluttering shut. His hair sticks to his damp forehead, and instinctively, you reach down, brushing it back with gentle fingers. His eyelids flicker open, warm brown eyes locking onto yours.

“What happened to your face?” he murmurs, his voice soft but edged with concern.

You freeze for a moment before forcing a small smile. “Nasty client.”

Felix frowns deeply, his gaze narrowing as his hand moves up to you. Before you can stop him, his thumb brushes gently over your split lip. The touch is soft, far more tender than it has any right to be, and it sends a pang through your chest.

“I want a name,” he says, low and serious.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Felix,” you reply quietly, pulling back slightly.

Felix’s jaw tenses, his voice firm. “Name.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. You know he won’t let it go. “That guy who works at the docks. The one whose wife went to the nuthouse after givin’ birth. He’s got a scar runnin’ through his lip.” You pause, your voice dry. “Didn’t pay for his time neither.”

Jisung stops mid-chew, his mouth still half full of biscuits, and frowns. Without a word, he reaches into his coat pocket, pulls out a wad of cash, and thrusts it toward you.

You blink at the offering. “What’s this for?”

“Compensation,” Jisung says simply. “For that bastard.”

You hesitate before taking it, shaking your head. “You lot are somethin’ else, I swear. Thank you.”

Felix glances over toward Jisung. “You’re payin’ that prick a visit tomorrow, yeah?”

Jisung shrugs, nonchalant, like it’s just another item on his to-do list. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll sort him out. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good.” Felix’s voice drops low, dangerous even as he lies there half-dead on your table. He lets his head fall back again, his gaze lingering on you.

The silence is broken when Minho pipes up, his tone blunt and cutting through the air. “So, are you a whore?”

“Oi,” Felix snaps, his eyes blazing as he jerks his head up. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth, Minho.”

You hold up a hand before Felix can say anything more, your voice calm and even. “It’s alright.” You glance at Minho, unbothered. “Yeah. Not much use for a war nurse when there’s no war anymore, is there?”

Minho shrugs, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and blows out a long stream of smoke.

Jisung, surprisingly quieter than usual, speaks up. “So, is that how you met Felix, then?”

You nod slowly, a small smile tugging at your lips as your gaze flicks to Felix. “Yeah. Felix is one of the few good ones.”

Felix hums softly, smiling faintly despite the exhaustion in his eyes. “Actually met her in France, y’know. But that’s a story for another time.”

The room is quiet for a moment, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards and the hiss of Minho’s cigarette burning.

With Minho and Jisung settling into their cigarettes on your worn-out couch, you turn your attention back to Felix. He’s pale as a sheet, the blood loss catching up with him, and even though his breathing has evened out slightly, you can tell he’s struggling.

“Alright, Felix,” you say softly, brushing your hands against your dress. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable before you pass out on me.”

He grunts softly, trying to sit up as you help him off the table. He’s heavier than he looks, leaning on you with most of his weight. “I’m alright, angel. I got this.”

“Shut up,” you mutter gently. “You’re about as sturdy as a sack of potatoes right now.”

He chuckles faintly, his arm slinging around your shoulder as you guide him toward your bedroom. You take it slow, your heels clicking softly against the floor, every now and then catching him as he stumbles. Minho glances up as you pass, but you wave him off.

By the time you get him through the door and onto the edge of your bed, he’s panting faintly, sweat slicking his brow again. You help him ease back onto the mattress, fluffing the pillow behind his head as he exhales shakily.

“It’s lucky I like you, Lee Felix,” you tease softly, sitting down beside him on the edge of the bed. “I was readin’ Pride and Prejudice when you decided to bang on my door.”

A faint smile pulls at his lips, though his eyes are still half-closed. “Sorry, angel. I know how much you like readin’ your books.”

You smile despite yourself, gently smoothing a strand of his damp hair away from his face. “You’re lucky I’m sweet on you, or I’d have thrown you lot straight back out into the street.”

Felix’s warm hand suddenly reaches out, catching yours. His grip is gentle, but there’s a desperation in the way he holds onto you, thumb brushing softly over your knuckles. You look down at him, startled by the intensity in his gaze.

“Why won’t you marry me?” Felix asks, his voice quiet but steady.

Your heart skips a beat. “Felix...”

“No,” he cuts in softly, his voice rough around the edges but insistent. “I want to know. I’ve asked before. I’m askin’ again. Why won’t you?”

You sigh quietly, your free hand resting in your lap as you look down at him. “Felix, you know why.”

He shakes his head, not letting go of your hand. “Say it. I want to hear it from you.”

You meet his gaze, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because neither of us leads safe lives.”

Felix’s jaw tightens for a moment before he speaks, his voice calm but firm. “I’d keep you safe. You know I would, angel. You know I’d kill for you if I had to.”

Your chest tightens at the earnest look in his eyes. He means it, every word, and that’s what makes it harder. “And what if you don’t come back one day, Felix? What then?”

“I will,” he replies stubbornly, his hand squeezing yours. “I always come back.”

“You can’t promise me that,” you murmur, but the words lack conviction.

Felix’s lips tug into the faintest smile, his gaze softening. “Then let me promise you somethin’ else. I’ll keep you safe, and I’ll do everything I can to make sure I come back to you. I’m not a good man but I’d be good for you.”

The words settle heavily in the quiet room. You take a deep breath, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand.

“I’ll think about it,” you say softly.

Felix’s brows lift slightly. “Promise?”

You nod, your smile faint but sincere. “I promise.”

Felix exhales, the tension leaving his body as a tired grin spreads across his face. “That’s good enough for me, angel.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. His eyes flutter closed, and his breathing slows, your hand still tucked gently in his. You stay there, perched on the edge of the bed, watching him rest.

You’ve always been sweet on Lee Felix, more than you’d care to admit. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll think about it after all.

The cobbled streets of Small Heath glisten faintly under the weak evening light, leftover rain pooling in the cracks. Felix walks with a steady but deliberate stride, flanked by Minho on his right and Jisung on his left. The three of them are heading to the Garrison, the Peaky Blinders’ stomping ground.

“You know,” Jisung says suddenly, his hands stuffed into his pockets, “you’ve been seein’ that lovely lady of yours for nearly a year now, right? Since the war ended?”

Felix stiffens slightly, side-eyeing Jisung. “Shut the fuck up.”

Minho chuckles under his breath, looking amused. “It’s a fair question. You did say last night that you met her in France, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Felix mutters, his voice clipped. “Now stop askin’ me fuckin’ questions I ain’t gonna answer.”

Jisung huffs, pulling a face. “Miserable bastard.”

Felix shoots him a glare. “Twat.”

The three of them keep walking, boots smacking against the wet cobblestones. The Garrison’s golden light comes into view up ahead, the hum of life and noise spilling faintly from behind its doors. As they push inside, the smell of beer and cigarettes hits them like a wall.

The regular crowd is scattered throughout the pub, but Felix doesn’t slow. He leads Minho and Jisung through the haze of smoke and noise to the back room where Bang Chan and the rest of the Peaky boys are waiting.

Chan is perched at the head of the table, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips as he looks up, dark eyes narrowing. “Where the fuck have you three been?”

Jisung immediately takes centre stage, his grin sharp and boyish as he leans against the doorframe. “Well, after Felix here got himself stabbed last night, we took him to meet his lady friend who patched him up. Sweet girl, that one.”

Felix groans, rolling his head back against the doorframe. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t know shit, Jisung.”

Jisung snickers, undeterred. “What I do know is that Felix here’s a proper gentleman for this particular prostitute.”

The words hang in the air for a moment.

Hyunjin, leaning lazily in a chair with his feet propped up on the table, bursts out laughing. “That’s where you’ve been slippin’ off to? Gettin’ your dick wet?”

Felix rolls his eyes and mutters, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ…”

“Oi, don’t look so sour,” Jisung pipes up, grinning wide. “He calls her angel, you know. To be honest, prettiest girl I’ve seen in a long time.”

Minho nods approvingly, reaching for the bottle of whiskey on the table. “I’ll fuckin’ drink to that.”

Changbin leans forward, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “What, mate, you tired of women throwin’ themselves at you, so you’re payin’ for it now?”

Felix throws him a flat, unimpressed look. “You’re all a bunch of arseholes.”

Seungmin, ever the one to stir the pot, pipes up, his voice edged with sarcasm. “Don’t tell me you’re in love with her, Felix. She’s a prostitute.”

Felix’s head snaps up, his glare sharp as a blade. “Shut the fuck up before I cut your tongue out of your head.”

“Oh, come on,” Seungmin scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re in love with a whore? She can probably tell you’re sweet on her and is playin’ up to it so you’ll keep payin’ her.”

The room goes quiet for a beat, the tension thick enough to choke on. Felix pushes off the wall, stepping forward, his eyes blazing. “She ain’t like that, you fuckin’ gobshite. None of you know her, so shut your mouths.”

Chan raises a hand, his calm, measured voice cutting through the silence. “That’s enough.” His sharp gaze sweeps across the room, lingering on Seungmin before landing on Felix. “If Felix loves a whore, he loves a whore. His choice.”

The room relaxes slightly, though Felix still stands taut, his fists clenching at his sides. Minho, sitting back with a glass in hand, offers a shrug. “She’s a nice girl, minus the whole fuckin’ half of Small Heath for money thing.”

Changbin snorts, leaning back in his chair. “Is this why you go around cuttin’ up half the men in Small Heath, Felix? Because they’re fuckin’ your lady?”

Jisung shakes his head, his tone serious now. “Nah. It’s because they’re smackin’ her about and not payin’ her. Her face was busted up yesterday when Minho and I met her.”

That shuts Changbin up quick. Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, his usual teasing edge gone. “She got roughed up?”

“Yeah,” Jisung confirms, arms crossed, his grin gone. “Split lip. Bruise on her cheekbone. Bastards.”

Chan’s gaze sharpens. “Is that why there was a dead dockworker found in the Cut?”

Jisung raises his hand like a schoolboy. “That was me. Felix asked me to pay him a visit.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “I don’t like lady-beaters, so I went happily.”

Felix doesn’t say anything, but there’s a faint glint of approval in his eyes as he slouches back against the wall again, folding his arms over his chest.

Chan exhales a cloud of smoke, his expression unreadable. “Well. I can’t say I blame you.”

The room falls quiet for a moment, the only sound the faint hum of voices drifting from the main bar.

Felix finally speaks up, his voice softer now, but no less firm. “She ain’t just some whore to me.”

The room turns to him, but no one interrupts. Felix’s gaze is steady as he looks around at the group.

“She’s a good girl,” he says quietly, like he’s daring anyone to argue with him. “And she’s done more for me than most people ever have.”

Chan leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, and tilts his chin toward Felix. “Well then, let’s see this patch-up job, eh?”

Felix sighs, already knowing he won’t get out of this. “For fuck’s sake…” he mutters, but he stands up with a grunt, shrugging off his coat. He tosses it lazily onto the back of the chair before his fingers start working on the buttons of his vest. The room watches, waiting, as he undoes his shirt next, then carefully rolls up his undershirt to expose the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso.

Chan leans forward, squinting slightly as Felix sits back down and rests his hands on his thighs. The white bandages are clean, no trace of blood leaking through. That in itself is impressive. “Seungmin,” Chan says sharply. “Scissors.”

Seungmin flicks open his coat pocket, pulls out a small pair of scissors, and tosses them over the table to Chan. Chan catches them without looking, the blade flashing briefly in the low light.

“Sit still,” he says to Felix.

“I am still,” Felix grumbles, flinching just a little when Chan starts cutting through the bandages.

The fabric pulls away with a faint ripping sound, revealing the cauterized wound underneath. The skin around it is red and angry-looking, but the burn itself is neat and precise.

Chan lets out a low whistle, sitting back and tilting his head as he takes it in. “Well, I’ll be fucked. Your lady did a good job.”

Felix smirks faintly, his expression proud despite the lingering pain in his side. “She’s good at what she does.”

Chan raises an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

Felix rolls the undershirt back down, wincing slightly as he shifts in his seat. “She was in France, just like the rest of us,” he says, his voice quieter now. “War nurse. It’s how I met her. That shrapnel I took to the chest in the Somme? She’s the one who patched me up. Sat by my bedside and everything.” He pauses, a faint, faraway look in his eye. “All the soldiers loved her.”

Changbin grunts, leaning back in his chair and smirking. “A regular Florence fuckin’ Nightingale, huh?”

Felix doesn’t deny it, just shrugs and reaches for the bottle of whiskey in the centre of the table. “She’s got a good heart. Better than most.”

Minho leans forward, slinging one arm across the back of his chair, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “Pretty as a picture, sweet as a songbird. Wore a green dress, looked nice on her.”

Jisung laughs, tapping his glass of whiskey against Minho’s with a smirk. “She’s got a face that belongs in the pictures. Could be a bloody movie star, that one.”

Hyunjin, perched casually with his boots up on the edge of the table, grins like a devil. “Well now we have to meet this lady of yours.”

Felix’s smile drops instantly, replaced with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Not happenin’.”

Hyunjin raises a brow, his grin widening as he gestures to himself. “Worried she’ll fall for my beauty, mate?”

Felix snorts, unimpressed. “No. Just don’t want her meetin’ you pack of fools. She’s a nice girl. Classy.”

Seungmin scoffs, leaning forward with a crooked smirk. “How classy can she be if she’s spreadin’ her legs for half the city?”

Felix’s glare snaps to Seungmin, his entire body tensing as he fixes him with a look that could kill. “Say that again"

Seungmin shrugs, unbothered. “Relax, Felix. I’m just sayin’.”

Jeongin, who’d been quietly nursing a beer in the corner, pipes up softly. “I think it’s sweet, actually.”

Changbin laughs loudly, slapping his hand against the table. “Of course you do. Our soft Innie.”

Jeongin rolls his eyes and grumbles, “Piss off, Changbin.”

Felix sits back again, shaking his head in frustration. “Listen here, none of you pricks are meetin’ her. The only reason Jisung and Minho saw her at all was ‘cause I was bleedin’ out, and she knows what she’s doin’. That’s the end of it.”

The room falls quiet for a beat as the boys exchange looks, smirks hidden behind cigarettes and whiskey glasses.

Hyunjin breaks the silence first, his tone sing-song and teasing. “Felix has gone soft on us, lads.”

“Say what you want,” Felix mutters, pouring himself a drink. “Doesn’t fuckin’ matter.”

Chan watches him carefully, his sharp gaze unwavering. “You trust her, then?”

Felix nods once, firm. “With my life.”

No one argues after that.

It’s early morning, and the pale light filtering through the curtains turns the room a soft grey. You sit at your brand-new dining table, the rich mahogany smooth under your fingers as you absentmindedly trace a groove along its edge. Felix had marched in with the damned thing two weeks ago, stubborn as ever, claiming he wasn’t going to let you keep “that bloodstained piece of shit” after he’d bled out all over it. You’d told him you didn’t mind, but he wouldn’t hear it.

Now, it’s your favourite spot in the flat. You sit there quietly, cigarette between your fingers, the thin line of smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling. A steaming cup of tea sits beside you as you thumb through the worn pages of Little Women. The words blur slightly as you lose yourself in the story, a soft hum of peace settling over the room.

And then your door is kicked in.

The splintering crack of wood jolts you out of your thoughts. The door smashes open with enough force to rattle the frame, and the heavy thuds of boots follow immediately after. Four uniformed police officers spill into your flat like a pack of wolves, their faces hard and eyes sharp.

You don’t flinch. You don’t even move. You just take another slow drag of your cigarette and exhale softly, letting the smoke drift toward the ceiling.

The men start tearing apart your flat immediately. Books tossed off shelves, cushions ripped off chairs, drawers pulled out and dumped unceremoniously onto the floor. The sound of it is deafening.

You finally speak, your voice calm and even, as if discussing the weather. “If you’re lookin’ for somethin’, you can just tell me, and I’ll help you find it.”

One of the officers pauses long enough to glare at you. “Not your fuckin’ business what we’re lookin’ for.”

“Alright, then,” you reply, unbothered, turning another page in your book. “Suit yourselves.”

A heavy thud makes you look up sharply. The flat has gone quiet save for the slow tap of a cane against your wooden floor. A tall man strides in, his polished shoes clicking crisply with each step. He’s older, with silver streaking through his dark hair, and his sharp suit speaks to someone with authority. He removes his hat and nods at you with an unsettling politeness.

“Inspector Park,” he says smoothly, the cane tapping as he moves toward you. “Miss L/N, correct?”

You meet his gaze, your expression still soft despite the chaos around you. “That’s me,” you say with a faint nod.

He hums as if satisfied, then turns to the officers. “Grab her.”

Two of the uniformed men step toward you, rough hands clamping down on your arms and hauling you up out of the chair. Your cigarette falls from your fingers, landing on the floor with a faint hiss.

“Oi, watch the tea,” you say dryly, wincing at the tight grip.

Inspector Park steps closer, his shadow falling over you. He reaches out, his gloved hand gripping your chin firmly and tilting your face upward to look at him. His dark eyes scan your face as if searching for something. “Where are the guns?” he asks, his voice steady and cold.

Your brow furrows slightly, confusion flickering across your face. “What guns?”

The question earns you a sharp slap across the mouth. The crack of his palm against your skin rings out in the quiet, the force of it turning your head to the side. A sharp, metallic taste fills your mouth as blood trickles from the corner of your split lip.

“Where are the guns?” he repeats, his voice unchanging.

You turn back to face him, unflinching despite the sting, your eyes meeting his steadily. “What guns?”

Inspector Park stares at you for a long moment, his hand gripping your face again, thumb brushing across the split on your lip almost mockingly. His eyes narrow slightly as he studies you.

Then he hums, low and thoughtful. “Hmm… You don’t know, do you?”

You blink. “Know what?”

The corners of his mouth twitch slightly, as if suppressing a smirk. He lets go of your face abruptly, turning back toward the men still tossing your flat. “Alright,” he says. “Let her go.”

The officers release you, their rough hands falling away as you straighten your dress with quiet dignity, ignoring the blood on your mouth. Inspector Park places his hat back on his head, adjusting it carefully before speaking again.

“I’ll be back with more questions, Miss L/N.”

You offer him the faintest of smiles, sweet and steady. “I’ll have biscuits and tea ready and waitin’ for you, Inspector Park.”

There’s a flicker of something in his expression, annoyance, perhaps, but he doesn’t respond. He taps his cane sharply against the floor, signalling to the officers, and they follow him out, leaving your flat in shambles.

You stand there in the centre of the wreckage, cigarette still smouldering on the floor and your tea cold on the table. You take a deep breath, smoothing your hands down your dress, and murmur to no one in particular:

“Rude bastards.”

Your hands shake slightly as you reach for your cream coat, pulling it from the hook near the door. It settles over your shoulders, the soft fabric a small comfort in the chaos left behind by Inspector Park and his thugs. You glance down at your blue dress, smoothing it as best you can before bending to pull on your matching cream heels, wincing slightly as the motion tugs at your already aching lip.

Blood drips slowly from the cut, leaving faint crimson streaks down your chin. The bastard’s signet ring left a deeper mark than you’d thought. You press your fingertips to the wound briefly, hissing softly at the sting, before slipping on your cream gloves.

On your way to the small stand by the door, you grab your clutch and slide the switchblade Felix gave you into your coat pocket. You never thought you’d actually carry the thing, but after what just happened, it feels like an extra layer of armour. Felix had handed it to you weeks ago, muttering, “Just in case, angel,” and now you find yourself silently thanking him.

The door groans on its hinges as you pull it closed behind you, unable to latch it properly after it had been kicked in. As you glance over the landing, you notice other flats being stormed, doors thrown open, officers pushing their way inside. Women yell in protest, children cry, and belongings, clothes, photographs, dishes, are strewn carelessly onto the stairs and into the hall.

You swallow hard, keeping your head down as you make your way toward the staircase. A sharp pang runs through your lip as you press your gloved hand against it again, catching another small drop of blood before it falls. Your feet hurry down the creaking stairs, heels clicking against the wood, each step a little faster than the last.

The streets of Small Heath are no better than the building you left behind. You keep your shoulders back and head high as you weave through the alleys, cutting across familiar roads until Watery Lane looms ahead. It’s quieter here, the noise of the raids lingering in the distance, but the tension in the air is unmistakable.

As you approach the heart of Peaky Blinder territory, you spot a black car rumbling down the street, its wheels kicking up dust from the cobbled road. You pause on the pavement, tucking your hands into your coat pockets, watching as it slows.

From a distance, you can see Felix. He’s in the back seat, his face shadowed but unmistakable. Bang Chan is driving, his hands firm on the wheel, with Minho beside him in the passenger seat. In the back with Felix are Jeongin and Changbin, all of them looking out at the mess the police have left behind, homes torn apart, belongings littered across doorsteps.

Felix’s eyes flick toward you almost instantly, as if he’s been scanning the streets for someone. When he spots you, his entire posture changes. Without a word, he shoves Changbin aside, earning a muffled complaint, and climbs over him to get to the door.

“What the fuck?” Changbin grumbles as Felix hops out of the moving car.

Felix slams the door behind him, ignoring the curses thrown his way as he strides across the street, his boots crunching against the gravel. You stop where you are, frozen as his hands come up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing ever-so-gently across the cut on your lip.

“Christ,” he murmurs, his brows furrowing deeply as he takes in the injury. “What happened, angel? Who did this?”

Before you can answer, Changbin leans halfway out of the car window, grinning like a devil. “So, Felix,” he calls, “you gonna introduce us, or what?”

Chan, still at the wheel, smirks. “Yeah, you’ve never jumped out of the car before. Lazy fuck.”

Minho leans back with a grin, turning to face the others. “That’s Felix’s Florence Nightingale.”

Jeongin cranes his neck from the back seat, wide-eyed as he takes you in. “Oh, you and Jisung were right,” he says softly. “She is pretty as a picture.”

Minho throws an arm across the seat, his grin smug. “I’m always right.”

Felix groans softly, his hands reluctantly falling away from your face as he turns to glare back at the car. “You lot are insufferable.” He exhales, gesturing lazily. “Angel, meet Changbin, Chan, and Jeongin. Obviously, you already met Minho the other night.”

You smile politely, despite the blood on your lip. “Nice to meet you three,” you say softly, then glance at Minho. “And nice to see you again, Minho.”

Minho tips his cap with a small, easy smile. “Pleasure, love.”

Felix rolls his eyes, but the tension hasn’t fully left his face. “So,” he mutters, his voice low, “what happened? Was it another client?”

You shake your head slowly, looking past him toward the car. “I think this is a discussion I need to have with him.” You tilt your chin toward Chan, who’s watching the scene unfold with an unreadable expression.

Chan’s eyes narrow slightly, but he nods, seeming to understand as he climbs out of the car. “Felix, drive the car back. I’ll walk with her.”

Felix hesitates, his jaw clenching. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Chan replies firmly. “Get the others back to the shop.”

Felix grits his teeth but relents, stepping back. “Alright. Bring her to the bettin’ shop once you’re done talkin’.”

Chan nods, already climbing out of the car as Felix heads back, grumbling to himself as he slips into the driver's seat.

You turn to face Chan, who offers his arm to you as you both begin walking down the street, his gesture smooth and gentlemanly despite the grim circumstances. You hesitate for only a moment before slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow. 

Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a cigarette, placing it between your lips. Before you can even fumble for a match, Chan produces a lighter from his coat pocket, flicking it open with a click. The flame flares to life, and he holds it up for you, his gaze steady.

You lean in slightly, letting the cigarette catch, inhaling deeply before straightening up with a soft “Thank you.”

Chan nods wordlessly, tucking the lighter back into his pocket as the two of you walk in the direction of the cut, his boots crunching faintly against the gravel. The noise of the streets begins to fade behind you, replaced by the distant lapping of water and the faint calls of the morning hawkers.

“My flat block got raided,” you say softly, breaking the silence. Smoke drifts lazily from your lips as you glance at him.

Chan doesn’t react right away, but his brow furrows slightly. “Raided?”

You nod. “But an inspector came to my flat.”

Chan’s steps falter for the briefest second, but he recovers quickly. “An inspector?”

“Yeah,” you reply, flicking ash off the end of your cigarette. “Tall man. Walked with a cane. Polite enough, but a fuckin’ brute when he wanted to be.”

Chan’s jaw tightens faintly, his eyes darkening as he processes that. “And what did he want?”

You pause, exhaling smoke into the crisp air. “He asked me about guns.”

Chan comes to an abrupt stop, his gaze snapping to yours. You keep walking a few steps ahead before turning to face him, one brow raised.

“I don’t know anything about any guns,” you continue calmly, holding his gaze, “but I figured you’d probably want to know, because I reckon you know exactly what guns the inspector’s talkin’ about.”

Chan stares at you for a long moment, the muscle in his jaw working as he thinks. Finally, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Fuckin’ hell.”

You both continue walking until you reach the cut. It’s quieter here, more private. Chan pulls out a cigarette of his own and lights it, leaning against the low stone wall that lines the water. The river reflects the grey sky above, rippling faintly in the breeze.

“What I’m about to tell you,” Chan says finally, his voice low and serious, “is only known by myself, Minho, Jisung, and Felix.”

You nod, understanding the weight of what he’s about to say.

Chan takes a long drag of his cigarette before speaking again, his gaze fixed on the water. “That night Felix got stabbed, they were stealin’ a shipment from the docks. Job was simple, or so we fuckin’ thought. Only they grabbed the wrong shipment.”

You tilt your head slightly, watching him as he talks.

“They got it to the BSA factory to hide it,” he continues, “and when they opened the crate, Minho, Jisung, and Felix found enough weaponry for a small fuckin’ army. Guns, ammunition. All bound for Libya. Then walkin' through the docks, Felix gets himself stabbed"

You blink, absorbing the information. Slowly, you nod, blowing out a stream of smoke. “So this inspector?”

Chan flicks ash from the end of his cigarette. “I’ve got coppers on my payroll, ones who hear things. He’s from Westminster. He’s been sent here with one purpose, retrieving those guns and makin’ sure anyone who knows about them swings.”

The faint sting of fear pricks at the back of your mind, but you keep your face calm. “So you’re the only ones who know?”

Chan nods once. “For now. I’ll only be tellin’ the trusted ones.”

You hum softly, taking another pull from your cigarette. “Well, this inspector,” you begin, your voice even, “I’ve been hearin’ about him. He avoided service, you know. That’s why they’ve shipped him off down here. He’s hated in Westminster.”

Chan raises an eyebrow, interest flickering across his face. “Oh?”

You nod, shrugging lightly. “A lot of coppers pass through my bed, Chan. One of ‘em told me three nights ago. They don’t like him. Not one fuckin’ bit.”

Chan takes a moment to process that before a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Useful to know.”

Silence stretches between you briefly, both of you standing there smoking, the distant sound of the water filling the quiet. Finally, Chan glances at you, his expression thoughtful.

“How would you feel about bein’ under my employment?”

You arch a brow, a small, amused smile playing on your lips. “How so?”

“You keep doin’ what you do,” Chan replies, “and you tell me what you learn about Small Heath. Things that might concern me and the Peaky Blinders.”

You tilt your head, pretending to consider it. “And here I thought Bang Chan knew everything.”

Chan smirks faintly, the glint in his eye sharp. “I know most things, sweetheart, but there are some things a man will only tell after receivin’ the touch of a woman.”

You huff a soft laugh, taking one final drag from your cigarette before flicking it into the water. “Alright,” you say, crossing your arms. “What do I get?”

Chan doesn’t hesitate. “A steady wage on top of what you already earn. Anyone gets rough, the Blinders will deal with them.”

You nod slowly, your lips curling into a small smile. “Alright, Mr. Bang. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Chan adjusts the cuff of his coat as he turns back toward Watery Lane, nodding for you to follow him. “Come on,” he says, his tone light but purposeful. “I’m gonna tell the rest of the boys about this shitshow. And while we’re there, might as well introduce you as the newest employee.”

You let out a small laugh and shake your head, slipping your arm back through his like before. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

“Time is a luxury we can’t afford, sweetheart,” Chan replies simply, glancing at you with that sharp gaze of his.

As you fall into step beside him, you glance up and ask softly, “So who are you tellin’, then?”

“Seungmin, Changbin, Hyunjin, and Jeongin,” he says, voice firm and steady. “Obviously, myself, Felix, Jisung, Minho, and now you are already in the know. All the other Blinders aren’t goin’ to hear a word about this. This has got to be kept quiet.”

You nod slowly, taking that in. “You think the inspector will come for you directly?”

Chan scoffs faintly, shaking his head. “He’s too smart for that. That’s why he’s shown up on your doorstep. Someone’s probably told him Felix’s a regular client of yours.” He pauses briefly, casting you a sideways glance. “And while we’re on the topic of Felix, you wanna tell me why one of my men is in such a tizzy over you?”

You smile faintly, pulling your coat a little tighter around yourself. “He wants to get married.”

Chan stops mid-stride, staring at you incredulously. “Well, I’ll be fucked.”

You laugh, unable to help yourself. “That’s about what I said.”

Chan’s expression shifts into a smirk, his brows raised as he starts walking again. “You’ve surprised me, sweetheart. And that doesn’t happen often.”

“Believe me,” you say, the cigarette dangling delicately from your lips as you speak, “I was surprised the first time he asked.”

“How many times has he asked?”

You shrug with a small, almost shy smile. “A few.”

Chan’s grin deepens. “And you don’t wanna marry him?”

“I do,” you admit quietly, eyes fixed ahead. “It’s just… it’s more complex than that.”

Chan hums thoughtfully, though he doesn’t push you for more. “I reckon it is.”

The two of you finally step onto Watery Lane, the bustling energy of the betting shop growing louder the closer you get. Men shout wagers, coins clatter against counters, and the general hum of Small Heath’s finest at work fills the air.

Chan gestures toward the shop, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “This is where the magic happens.”

You glance around, taking in the organized chaos of it all—the well-dressed men standing behind counters, the constant motion, the careful way it’s hidden behind the front of an ordinary house. “Felix tries to keep me away from all of this,” you say softly, an amused lilt to your tone.

Chan snorts, shaking his head. “Well, he’s gonna blow a fuckin’ bollock when he finds out you’re now on my payroll.”

You don’t have time to reply before Chan whistles sharply through his teeth, a short, commanding sound that cuts through the noise like a knife. Within seconds, Changbin, Seungmin, Felix, Jeongin, Jisung, Minho, and Hyunjin filter into the dining room at the back. The room is tucked neatly behind the main betting den, a trick to keep the real business hidden in plain sight.

You glance around, lips curling into an impressed smile. “Neat little trick.”

Chan smirks proudly. “I try.”

You settle into one of the wooden chairs at the dining table as the others filter in, pulling out chairs or leaning against the walls. Seungmin’s eyes narrow slightly as he gestures toward you with his chin. “Who’s this?”

Jisung wastes no time, grinning like a cat who caught a canary. “This is Felix’s lady friend, Y/N.”

Hyunjin grins widely, bowing slightly in your direction. “Oh? Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, darlin’.”

Felix groans softly, rolling his eyes as he drops into the seat next to you. “Give it a rest.”

Jisung, clearly enjoying himself, plops into the chair on your other side. “Nice to see you again, sweetheart,” he says with a teasing grin, leaning back comfortably.

Chan doesn’t waste time. He steps toward the head of the table, his voice firm. “She’s also our newest employee.”

Felix straightens sharply in his chair. “What?!”

Chan holds up a hand before Felix can explode. “I’ll explain why in a minute.” He gestures toward Hyunjin, Changbin, Seungmin, and Jeongin. “First, I gotta fill you four in on somethin’.”

Jeongin, ever the youngest but always calm, grabs a bottle of whiskey from the nearby shelf and begins pouring out glasses for everyone. He sets one down in front of you with a polite nod, the amber liquid swirling faintly in the glass.

You take a sip, flinching as the whiskey touches your split lip. Felix, noticing, pulls out his lighter, and without a word, he lights a cigarette and holds it out for you. You take it with a faint smile, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you.”

Chan leans his hands against the back of a chair, his sharp eyes sweeping across the table as the boys settle in. He doesn’t mince words, his voice low and steady, carrying a weight that silences the room instantly.

“Two weeks ago,” he begins, “Minho, Jisung, and Felix went to pick up a shipment from the docks. A simple job, should’ve been, anyway.” He glances briefly at the trio in question. “But these three idiots decided to puff on opium before they went. Isn’t that right?”

Minho shrugs nonchalantly, but Jisung grins sheepishly while Felix scowls at his boots, muttering under his breath.

“So,” Chan continues, ignoring them, “they grabbed the wrong shipment. When they opened it, machine guns, shotguns, grenades, any kind of weapon you’d find useful in a fuckin’ war.”

The room falls into a tense silence as the weight of the words settles on the group.

“Five days ago,” Chan adds, “an inspector showed up here in Small Heath.”

Seungmin, ever the pragmatist, leans forward with a frown. “He’s here to find the shipment?”

Chan’s jaw ticks as he straightens up. “I am the only person who knows where those guns are. And I’ll be the only person to ever know.”

Changbin snorts softly, glancing toward you with an arched brow. “Alright, so why’s she here, then?”

Chan turns his gaze on Changbin, voice sharp. “Because she can give me information I don’t have on the inspector.”

You lean back in your chair, cigarette perched between your gloved fingers as you speak. “The constable was one of my clients three nights ago. He told me the inspector arrived two days before that.”

Hyunjin whistles low, his grin fading as he crosses his arms. “He moves fast, then. Showin’ up five days ago and already raidin’ houses and flats this mornin’? That ain’t just quick. That’s planned.”

You nod, blowing out a thin line of smoke before continuing. “He’s a conscription avoider. Rumour is he busted his knee on purpose to dodge the war. No one in Westminster has a kind word to say about him, and the coppers down here aren’t much fonder. He’s been sent here to fix his reputation.”

The boys glance at each other as you pause. “He doesn’t find these guns? His career’s over.”

Chan nods approvingly. “This,” he says, gesturing to you, “is why she’s now on our payroll and under our protection. She’ll get a fair wage, and if anyone gets rough, we deal with them.”

You glance at Felix, whose smirk is as subtle as a brick through a window. “Inspector probably went for her ‘cause he knows Felix’s a regular,” Chan adds.

You sigh softly, offering a small, teasing smile as you murmur, “My most frequent client.”

Felix’s smirk widens, clearly pleased with himself.

“Right,” Chan says, cutting through the murmurs. “I want one of you to move into the flat next to hers.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “This inspector’s gonna keep gunnin’ for her. Won’t surprise me if he becomes a client himself to try and get close. It can’t be Felix.”

“I’ll do it,” Minho says, his voice calm and sure before anyone else can speak.

Chan nods once. “Good. You’re movin’ in tonight.”

You tilt your head, eyes flicking to Minho. “Any of you lot any good at fixin’ doors? Mine got busted when they kicked it in this mornin’.”

Minho raises a hand lazily. “I’ll fix that for you.”

You smile, gratitude softening your features. “Thank you.”

Minho pauses, then snorts, sitting back in his chair. “Wait. I just volunteered to hear Felix fuckin’ her at all hours.”

Felix’s smirk is immediate, his voice dripping with smugness. “Jealous?”

Seungmin, who’s been silent up until now, quirks a brow and mutters dryly, “And every other man in Small Heath, while we’re at it.”

Felix’s eyes snap toward Seungmin, the playful edge gone in an instant. “Seungmin, shut the fuck up.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Just statin’ the facts, mate.”

You hold up a hand, clearly amused despite yourself. “Boys,” you say softly, your voice cutting through the bickering like a gentle blade. “It’s been a long day, and I don’t need the lot of you fightin’ over what I do or don’t get up to in my own bed.”

That shuts them up quickly enough. Jisung snickers under his breath, but Minho nudges him sharply, and even Felix relents, though he mutters something you don’t catch.

Chan, who’s been watching the exchange with thinly veiled amusement, finally speaks again. “Alright, enough of that. Focus. We’ve got bigger things to deal with than Felix’s love life.”

Felix huffs quietly, but you can see the way his shoulders relax ever so slightly now that the attention has shifted away from you.

The smell of roast chicken and buttery potatoes lingers in the air as you set two plates down on the table, the dishes mismatched but charming all the same. The light of the single lamp casts a warm glow over the small flat, turning the edges of your blue dress into soft ripples of fabric as you move. Your hair is pinned up messily, stray curls falling around your face, but you don’t mind. The front door creaks faintly, sturdy once again after Minho’s handiwork earlier that evening.

Minho, seated across from you, cuts into the roast chicken with a satisfied grunt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his cap tossed onto the chair beside him. “You know,” he starts, mouth half-full, “this whole neighbour thing ain’t too bad if I’m gonna be gettin’ home-cooked meals like this.”

You laugh softly, taking a sip of water before replying. “Only if you keep chippin’ in for the groceries. Food doesn’t pay for itself, Minho.”

He smirks, holding up his fork in surrender. “Fair enough. That’s a deal.” He chews thoughtfully for a moment before glancing at you. “Felix said you was in France too.”

You nod, twirling your fork through a bite of potatoes. “Yeah. Nurse at the Somme.” You pause for a moment, the memories brushing against you like a cold wind. “That’s where I met Felix. Shrapnel to his chest. He was brought to the ward where I was workin’. My ward…” Your voice lowers slightly. “It was called the Final Destination.”

Minho raises an eyebrow at that. “Sounds fuckin’ grim.”

You offer a faint, sad smile. “It was. Soldiers named it that themselves. Most of ‘em didn’t leave it alive.” You take a breath. “They called me their angel in white. I’d hold their hands, tell ‘em stories to distract ‘em. Most of them died.” You look down briefly before meeting his gaze again. “Felix was one of the ones I managed to save.”

Minho sets his fork down, leaning back in his chair with a low whistle. “We all thought Felix was a goner, y’know. Seungmin and Hyunjin dragged him off the battlefield, chunk of shrapnel buried right in his chest, blood everywhere. The rest of us were shootin’ like mad bastards just to cover ‘em.”

“I remember when he came in,” you say softly, staring at your plate as if seeing the past instead. “He was a fuckin’ mess. Barely conscious, covered in mud and blood.” You smile faintly, shaking your head. “And you know what the first thing he started doin’ was?”

Minho raises an eyebrow, smirking. “What?”

“Flirtin’,” you say with a small laugh. “Said I was heaven-sent just for him.”

Minho lets out a loud bark of laughter, shaking his head. “That fuckin’ sounds like Felix. Romantic bastard, even with one foot in the grave.”

You chuckle, a soft warmth settling in your chest as you remember.

Minho picks up his fork again, grinning as he points it at you. “So are you why Felix fuckin’ reads now? ‘Cause I’ve known that man since we were lads, and he’s never so much as looked at a book. I was pretty sure the bastard couldn’t even read. But now, the fucker’s readin’ Jane Austen and Emily Brontë and shit.”

You laugh again, the sound light and easy. “Probably. I read a lot, always have. When he was in the ward in France, I’d recite him quotes while he was in and out of consciousness. Maybe it stuck.”

Minho snorts, shaking his head with a grin. “Felix, readin’ Austen. Unbelievable.”

The mood shifts slightly, and his tone lowers. “Did you see any combat?”

You pause for a moment, twirling the edge of your napkin between your fingers. “Some. One time, a whole group of field medics got took out. They asked for volunteers to go out on the field. Nurses stepped up. I was one of them.”

Minho frowns, clearly caught off guard. “You went out on the field?”

You nod. “We tucked our hair into our helmets, put on oversized medic uniforms. They gave us all guns like we had any fuckin’ idea how to use the bastard things.” You chuckle bitterly. “I didn’t even know how to load it properly. Still don’t.”

Minho shakes his head, visibly impressed. “You’ve got some guts, I’ll give you that.”

You smile softly and shrug. “You do what you’ve got to do.”

Minho takes another bite before looking up again. “So, how’d Felix end up becomin’ a regular?”

“Well,” you start, setting your fork down as you lean back slightly, “he figured from my accent that I was from Birmingham. He promised to come find me after the war was over. And he did.”

Minho’s eyebrows shoot up. “He did?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Showed up on my doorstep Christmas Eve, just after the war ended. Bladed cap on his head, gun at his waist, and that smirk of his plastered all over his face.”

Minho chuckles. “Sounds about right.”

“By then, I’d already started workin’ as a prostitute. He didn’t judge or nothin’. Just sat and had tea with me.” You pause, smile softening. “And then he became my most frequent client. We don’t even fuck half the time. Sometimes we drink tea, and I read to him, or we talk. But he always pays for my time.”

Minho’s fork pauses mid-air, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and laughter. “Wait. Felix sits and drinks tea and talks?”

“Sometimes,” you tease, smirking faintly. “We get real posh and have biscuits before we fuck.”

Minho snorts so loudly he nearly chokes, laughing as he sets his fork down. “Jesus Christ. That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

You grin, taking another sip of water.

Minho shakes his head, still chuckling. “I see why he fuckin’ hid you all this time. You’re a diamond, y’know that?”

You tilt your head slightly, curious. “None of you knew?”

“Not a fuckin’ clue,” Minho admits. “I mean, we all figured he was seein’ some bird, but this…” He gestures around the flat with his fork. “This is not what I expected. Didn’t expect him to tell us to bring him to some pretty woman’s flat to get patched up, either.”

You smile softly. “Well, you save a man from death, he’s gonna trust you to patch him up again.”

Minho nods, a grin tugging at his lips. “Fair enough.”

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence for a moment, the sound of the flat settling around you. Minho finishes off the last bite of his dinner, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. “You’re alright.”

You smile as you begin clearing the dishes. “You’re not so bad yourself, Minho.”

And for once, the night feels calm. Peaceful, even.

Two months have passed since Minho moved into the flat next door to you, following Chan's orders. In that time, the uneasy silence that had once hung between you and Minho has turned into something more comfortable. He’s become one of your closest friends, and the bond you’ve developed over quiet conversations and shared meals has built a trust between the two of you. He’d never admit it out loud, but you’ve managed to break through his tough exterior.

Tonight, Minho lounges in his flat, sprawled out on the couch with his legs stretched lazily across the cushions. A cigarette dangles from his lips as he reads Pride and Prejudice. A request from you, of course. You’d begged him to read it, and he’d agreed.

“You’re makin’ me a bloody bookworm,” he’d grumbled when you first handed him the book. “But fine, I’ll read it.”

Now, two months later, he’s getting surprisingly invested in the story, his eyes scanning the pages as the words pull him in. He leans back further into the cushions, his fingers flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette as he moves through the chapters. Despite his tough exterior, there’s something about the way Elizabeth Bennet handles Darcy’s arrogance that seems to amuse him, and he’s enjoying it more than he expected.

But as he reads, a faint sound catches his attention. A soft murmur from the other side of the thin wall that separates his flat from yours. He shifts slightly, his ear straining to hear.

It’s you.

Your voice, gentle and soothing, drifts through the walls, but it’s not the usual low murmurs you share with your regular clients. There’s no grunting or heavy breathing, no hints of the usual physicality that comes with a visit. Instead, it’s calm. Too calm.

Minho’s eyes flick up from the book, his cigarette momentarily forgotten. He listens carefully, catching bits and pieces of the conversation. Your tone is patient, comforting, almost maternal as you speak to someone, but not in the way you usually do with your clients. This is different.

Shell shock, Minho thinks, his mind clicking into place. You’ve had other men like this. Men who couldn’t bring themselves to be touched, men who needed someone to listen, to talk to. He’s never really asked you about it, but he knows, from the way you’ve subtly mentioned it, that you’ve had your share of war-torn souls, men who came back from the frontlines broken, needing someone to hold the pieces together.

He shifts uncomfortably on the couch, closing the book as he leans forward, listening intently.

He hears you again, your voice soft but firm. “I know it’s hard, love. You’re not alone. I’ll be here to listen, alright? You don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to.”

Minho’s gut tightens. He knows enough to recognize the signs of shell shock. The symptoms, the disassociation, the silence that follows when a man’s mind can’t make sense of the horrors he’s seen. It’s the kind of thing that can make a man flip without warning, and Minho knows you’re too kind-hearted to turn them away.

You continue talking, but Minho can’t quite make out the rest. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is the tone you use, the soft empathy that fills your words. You’ve dealt with men like this before, he knows that much. But it doesn’t stop him from feeling protective.

Minho stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray with more force than necessary. His eyes flick toward the door, debating whether to check in, but then he hears your voice again, low and steady, easing whatever tension had been building.

“You’re safe here,” you say, and Minho feels a small knot in his chest loosen. “Just take a deep breath. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

He leans back again, but his eyes remain trained on the door. He knows you can handle yourself. Hell, you’ve been through worse than this. But still, he can’t shake the nagging feeling that one of these days, things might tip over the edge.

Minho picks up the book again but doesn’t read, his thoughts lingering on the conversation next door. He knows that, sometimes, the men you help aren’t in any state to be helped. It’s a fine line you walk, and he worries, more than he wants to admit, that one of them might cross it.

He flicks through the pages idly, not really reading, but still keeping his ear trained on the walls. He’s waiting. Waiting for any sign of trouble. Shell-shocked men can flip on a dime, and Minho knows that better than most. You don’t need to be touched to snap. Sometimes, it’s just the sound of a voice or a sudden memory that drags a man back into the horrors of war.

His fingers tighten around the book, his mind racing, but the sound from the other side of the wall stays calm. You’re still talking to him, still reassuring him, and the tension slowly eases from Minho’s shoulders.

Minho exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters under his breath. He goes back to the book, forcing himself to focus again. But there’s no denying the soft spot you’ve managed to carve into his hardened exterior.

Minho’s eyes flick to the door as a sudden crash echoes from next door. The sound is harsh, unnervingly violent, followed by a gasp from your voice, strained and panicked.

“Calm down, Eun,” you plead, your voice trembling, a tinge of fear bleeding through the calmness you’re always so good at holding. The sound of furniture crashing against the wall cuts through the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. Then, the worst, your voice, strangled and desperate, as you gasp out, “Please, calm down!”

Minho doesn’t waste a second. He shoves the book aside, eyes wide with instinctual panic. His hands fly to the side table, grabbing the gun he keeps there, fingers gripping the cold steel as he slides it into his coat pocket. He doesn’t bother to make noise, doesn’t bother with anything that might slow him down.

Running, he bursts out of his flat, racing next door toward your door, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum.

He kicks the door in with one swift motion, the splintering sound echoing through the small flat as he rushes inside, gun in hand, his body coiled and ready for anything.

The sight that greets him almost knocks the breath out of his lungs.

You’re on your hands and knees, barely clothed in just your underwear, coughing violently as you struggle to breathe, one hand massaging your throat as if trying to force air back into your lungs.

Your eyes are wide and terrified, and next to you lies the man unconscious, sprawled out on the floor with a shattered lamp beside him. The lightbulb has exploded, glass shards scattered across the room, marking the evidence of whatever struggle you’d just been through.

Minho swallows hard, his heart racing as he takes in the scene. The instinct to protect you kicks in hard, overriding the cold, calculating part of his mind.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, voice rough as he scans the room.

You don’t move, still on your knees, your breathing ragged as you slowly raise your hand from your throat, your face strained. You cough again, the sound raw and sharp.

“Y/N!” Minho calls, his voice tight with worry, stepping forward quickly. His gun stays in his hand, just in case, as he crouches beside you. “Are you alright? What the fuck happened?”

You glance up at him, shaking your head slightly, your lips trembling. “Shell shock,” you rasp out, voice still strained. “He thought he was in France again. He- He snapped, Minho. Thought I was someone else.”

“I’ll be right back,” Minho says sharply, his voice hardening. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

Before you can protest, Minho’s already standing, storming out the door. His boots pound against the hallway floor as he moves quickly, eyes sharp as he reaches the flat next door.

He bangs on the door, not bothering to be polite. The man who opens it looks startled, blinking up at him, but Minho doesn’t waste time with niceties.

“Go find Lee Felix or Bang Chan right now,” Minho demands, his voice low and full of menace. He thrusts a wad of cash into the man’s hand. “Tell 'em Minho needs 'em. And if you fuck me over, I swear I’ll kill you. Got it?”

The man’s eyes widen as he looks down at the money, his expression turning into a grimace of fear. He nods quickly, backing away from the door.

“Good,” Minho grunts, his voice colder now. “Get moving.”

The man doesn’t argue. He darts past Minho toward the stairs, the sound of his footsteps disappearing quickly as Minho hurries back toward your flat.

When he steps back inside, he finds you standing, struggling to pull a robe over your shoulders. Your hands tremble as you finish tying it, but you don’t look at him. Your eyes are fixed on the man lying unconscious on the floor.

Minho pauses for a second, just watching you before walking to the dining table and setting the gun down on the edge. He sits beside you as you sink heavily into the chair. His eyes sweep over your bruised neck and the red marks around your throat. You’re shaken, but you’re holding it together.

“Are you okay?” Minho asks, voice gentle but firm.

You glance at him, the corners of your lips twitching as you force a smile. “He didn’t mean it. It’s just the war in his head.” You take a deep breath, your voice shaky but trying to hold steady. “Eun... he’s usually sweet. Watches half his comrades die over there, and when I’m with him, I just listen. I don’t fuck him. I just sit in my underwear and let him talk. That way, he knows I’m not holding a weapon, that I’m just here to listen.”

You take a long breath, reaching for the bottle of rum you’d left on the counter. You pour two glasses, your hand steady despite everything. “I’ll be fine. I know how to handle it.” You slide a glass toward Minho, and he takes it without a word, letting you pour one for yourself.

“Shit’s fucked, isn’t it?” Minho mutters, his fingers curled tightly around the glass.

You nod, swallowing some of the rum as you lean back in your chair. “Yeah. But it’s the only way to keep ’em calm sometimes.” You glance at the unconscious Eun, then back at Minho. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Minho takes a deep sip from his glass, eyes hardening. “We’ll figure it out. You’re not alone in this, Y/N.”

You smile faintly, your eyes softening. “I know.”

As you both sit in the dimly lit room, the silence stretches between you. There’s a soft tension in the air, but Minho’s presence is a comfort, steady and solid as the world outside keeps turning.

Ten minutes pass in relative silence, the soft clink of glasses and the occasional breath breaking the quiet tension. Then, the sound of heavy boots echoes in the hallway, and the door to your flat swings open.

Chan steps in first, his eyes scanning the room with practised calm. Felix follows closely behind, his eyes darting between you and Minho before falling to the unconscious man sprawled on the floor.

Without missing a beat, Chan's gaze sharpens, his voice low and cutting. “I expected more from you, Minho.”

Minho’s lip curls into a wry grin, his shoulders rolling in a casual shrug. “That wasn’t me. That was Florence Nightingale here.” He nods toward you, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Chan’s expression softens for just a second, but it’s gone quickly. “Nice job,” he says, his tone genuine but with a subtle edge of tension.

Felix, who’s been quiet up until now, crouches down next to you, his hand lifting to examine the bruises around your neck. His fingers hover lightly above your throat, but he doesn’t touch, just inspecting the damage. His face hardens as he looks at the marks, his voice low but filled with disbelief.

“Fuckin’ hell, dollface,” he mutters, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Looks like it hurts.”

You blink, your gaze flicking to Felix’s face before shrugging slightly, offering a small, reassuring smile. “It’s fine.”

Chan, sensing the underlying tension, steps closer, his voice smooth but authoritative. “We’ll deal with him. Don’t worry about it.”

You nod, still trying to remain calm despite the aches in your body. “Please don’t hurt him. He has shell shock. We just talk, but then something just flipped, and he lost it.”

Felix glances at you, still kneeling beside you, his eyes narrowing as he processes the situation. “You talk in your underwear?” he asks, his voice laced with disbelief.

You nod slightly, shrugging. “Then he can see I ain’t got no weapons on me.”

Felix exhales sharply, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jesus Christ.” He stands up, running a hand through his hair. “Fine, but he ain’t bein’ your client no more.”

You look at Felix, nodding in agreement, though you feel a pang of sympathy for Eun. “I agree. I won’t see him again.”

Chan gives a sharp nod before turning to Minho and Felix, his voice firm. “Minho, Felix, get him home. Once you’re done, come back here. We’ve got more to sort out.”

Minho stands without a word, his eyes still calculating, but he nods in agreement. Felix steps over Eun’s body, grabbing his arms to help Minho drag him up. Together, they lift him as carefully as they can, mindful of the fragile state he’s in.

As they make their way toward the door, Chan sinks into the nearest chair, tossing his cap onto the table with a soft thud. He leans back, his eyes never leaving you, his thoughts clearly at work. The soft scrape of the chair legs against the floor sounds too loud in the heavy silence that’s descended.

Once Minho and Felix have left, the door shutting behind them with a quiet click, you sit back in your chair, the tension starting to loosen in your shoulders, but the exhaustion sets in quickly. The adrenaline that had kept you going is fading, and you find yourself feeling the weight of everything.

Chan leans forward slightly. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice softer now.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I’m fine,” you reply, though the lie feels hollow in your chest. “Just need a minute.”

Chan nods, his eyes scanning your face, lingering on the marks that mar your skin. “You’re one tough woman,” he says quietly. “But I can’t keep lettin’ this happen.”

You look up at him, a tired smile tugging at your lips. “I’ve got to do what I can, Chan. It’s all I know.”

Chan pulls a thick wad of cash from his coat pocket, the bills crisp and tightly packed. He places it on the table between you, his fingers lingering just a moment too long before he withdraws his hand.

“Your wage for the month,” he says.

You look down at the money, a small but genuine smile playing at your lips as you nod. “Thanks, Chan.”

He watches you for a second before his gaze sharpens. “How’s it goin’ with the Inspector?”

You sit back slightly, the smile fading, replaced with the exhaustion you’ve been trying to keep hidden. “He comes every week, Wednesday at nine. We fuck, he cries, and then spills his secrets.” You shrug slightly, not making it sound like a big deal. “It’s routine by now.”

Chan nods slowly, his brow furrowing just slightly. “He said anything of use yet?”

You sigh, glancing down at the pile of cash before looking back at him. “He’s under a lot of pressure from Westminster. I mean, he’s been here two months and has found nothin’. I’m steering him to believe it was someone from the BSA, and I think he’s startin’ to buy it.”

“Good,” Chan mutters, his voice low and approving. He leans forward slightly, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. “But?”

You take a breath, knowing what’s coming. “But he’s still keepin’ an eye on you lot. He mentioned raidin’ the wharf where you lot stock your important imports that aren’t on the books.”

Chan’s face doesn’t shift, but his eyes darken slightly. “Alright,” he says calmly. “I’ll get that moved.” He pauses, staring at you for a beat longer. “Has the inspector been rough with you?”

You wince slightly, the question hitting a nerve. But you don’t shy away from answering him. “A few times. Nothing I can’t handle. Minho always comes in once he leaves, patches me up.”

Chan’s jaw tightens for a second, the muscles in his neck shifting as he watches you. “You want out?” His voice softens, but there’s an edge to it.

You shake your head, your eyes meeting his without hesitation. “I can handle it.”

Chan stares at you, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, he nods once, as if he expected you to say that. “Good. I didn’t want to have to pull you from it.” He hesitates, then asks, “He said anything about Felix?”

You think for a moment. “I’ve made him believe that Felix loves me,” you say quietly. “and that I use that to keep a good income. It works. He doesn’t question it.”

Chan’s eyes flick to the glass you’re holding, his fingers tapping on the edge of the table again. “Does he know Minho lives next door?”

You nod. “Yeah. I managed to convince him it was unrelated, something to do with the landlord owing money to the Blinders, and Minho’s intimidatin’ him into paying it back.”

Chan raises an eyebrow, impressed. “You’re good at this.”

You smile faintly, taking a slow sip of your drink. “Have to be.”

Chan leans back in his chair, letting out a slow breath. “You got any drink?” he asks, the first sign of a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah,” you reply, walking over to the cabinet and pouring two glasses, one for yourself, one for him. You return to the table and slide his glass toward him. “Here.”

“Thanks,” he says, taking the glass and looking at you. The faintest warmth in his gaze is all that’s left of the cold, calculated man who usually walks into the room. “For what?” you ask, genuinely puzzled.

Chan’s smile widens just a fraction. “For saving Felix back in France.”

You shrug, lifting your glass slightly before taking a long drink. “Just doin’ my job, like you boys were doin’ yours.”

Chan hums softly, the sound more thoughtful than anything else. “What shit jobs they were,” he mutters, his fingers curling around his glass.

You smile again, a little warmer this time. “I’ll drink to that.” You lift your glass and clink it gently against his. “To the shit jobs.”

Chan laughs quietly, shaking his head as he takes a sip from his glass.

Minho and Felix return, their footsteps muffled in the hallway as they come back from dropping off Eun. The door creaks open, and Chan finishes his drink in one smooth motion. He gives you a knowing glance, his eyes softer than usual.

“I’ll leave you in Felix’s capable hands, sweetheart,” he says, his tone lightly teasing, but there’s a warmth in it that makes you smile.

“Night, Chan,” you reply. You watch him as he heads toward the door, the heavy sound of his boots retreating into the hallway.

Minho, ever the mischief-maker, raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you mean wanderin’ hands?”

Felix, stepping in behind him, smirks. “My hands can be both,”

Minho chuckles but doesn’t argue. “See you tomorrow,” he calls over his shoulder, and you wave him off.

Once the door shuts behind them, the sound of Minho clattering around in his flat next door fills the quiet of your flat.

Felix lets out a long sigh. “Noisy bastard,” he mutters, half under his breath.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “You’re one to talk.”

Felix doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he walks over to the small table, uncorking the rum bottle and pouring a generous glass. He takes a deep swig from it before patting his lap, a lazy, confident grin on his face.

“Come here,” he says, his voice warm with a playful edge.

You glance at him, a smile tugging at your lips as you cross the room. Without hesitation, you settle yourself in his lap, your legs draped over his as you adjust comfortably. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as he takes another drink.

He looks down at you, his dark eyes softening. “Make a toast, angel,” he murmurs.

You raise your glass, your fingers grazing his as you bring it to your lips. “May you be in heaven a full half hour before the devil knows you’re dead,”

Felix raises an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You sayin’ I’m goin’ to hell, angel?”

You smile coyly, tilting your head. “Aren’t we all?”

Felix laughs, the sound low and rich in his chest. “True enough,” he says, taking a long gulp from his own glass. “But I reckon Chan’ll probably run the place. We’d all be livin’ the life of Riley down there anyway.”

You chuckle, swirling the rum in your glass before taking another sip. Felix leans back in the chair, his hand resting on your leg as he watches you with an unreadable expression.

“Felix,” you say softly, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

He hums, his eyes never leaving yours as he takes another slow sip of his drink. “Yeah, love?”

You hesitate for just a second, then speak, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “Once this business with the inspector is done… I’ll marry you.”

His face lights up in a split second, the seriousness in his expression fading to pure joy. He sets his glass down and leans in, pulling you toward him in one swift motion. His lips crash against yours, and for a moment, everything fades. The world, the tension, the uncertainty. It’s just you and him, lost in a kiss that says more than words ever could.

When he pulls away, he’s grinning, his breath a little heavier than usual. “I’ve been waitin’ for you to say that, angel.”

Without another word, he stands, lifting you effortlessly in his arms. You wrap your arms around his neck, your heart pounding as he carries you toward the bedroom.

The door shuts softly behind you, and as he lays you down on the bed, his hands trailing over you with a gentle, possessive urgency, you can’t help but smile. There’s no turning back now. And maybe, just maybe, this life you’re living might finally be worth it.

Felix strolls into the Garrison, whistling a tune under his breath as the smoke from his cigarette curls lazily in the air. His boots click sharply against the floor, a confident rhythm that matches the grin plastered on his face. He’s in a good mood tonight. Too good, by the looks of it.

The moment he steps into the backroom, the entire card game comes to a halt. The chatter dies down, and every set of eyes in the room turns toward him, as if they’ve just witnessed a ghost walking in. Felix’s grin widens, and he takes a long drag from his cigarette before flicking it away carelessly.

Jisung, unable to hold back, breaks the silence. “It’s finally happened.”

Hyunjin, his eyes narrowed in disbelief, adds, “He’s lost his fuckin’ mind.”

Changbin looks Felix up and down, clearly bewildered. “Whatever it is, it’s makin’ my balls shrivel just watchin’ it.”

Felix simply shrugs, unfazed. He tosses his coat onto one of the chairs and flings his cap onto the table with a satisfying thud. He heads straight to the bar, pouring himself a generous glass of whiskey, not bothering to acknowledge the questions or the stares.

Jisung raises an eyebrow, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Did you smoke opium before you came here?”

Felix takes a sip of his whiskey, savouring it, before looking at Jisung. ���No.”

Seungmin, never one to let an awkward silence pass, asks, “Are you drunk?”

Felix shakes his head, giving a low chuckle. “No.”

Seungmin, sensing the tension building, tosses in his own theory. “You get hit on the head or somethin’?”

Felix takes another swig of whiskey, clearly amused now. “No.”

That’s when Chan, who’s been quietly observing, leans back in his chair and raises an eyebrow. “Did she finally agree to marry you?”

Felix freezes for a split second, eyes widening in surprise before he grins widely. “You knew I asked her?!” he exclaims, genuinely surprised that Chan was in the loop.

“Yeah,” Chan replies casually. “She told me. Shocked the shit outta me.” He looks at the rest of the group, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Felix.”

Jisung’s mouth falls open as he lets out a loud whistle. “You proposed to Y/N?!”

Felix rolls his eyes, taking another deep sip of whiskey. “I’ve been tryin’ to get her to marry me since before you cunts even met her.”

Minho leans forward, resting his chin on his hand, still eyeing Felix. “Well?”

Felix smirks, clearly enjoying the attention. “I’m gettin’ fuckin’ married once that Inspector packs his bags and gets the fuck outta Small Heath,” he announces proudly.

The rest of the room erupts into cheers, loud whoops and clapping filling the air. Even Changbin can’t help but laugh, raising his glass. “That’s fuckin’ fantastic, mate!”

Changbin’s celebration dies down quickly, though, as he narrows his eyes at Felix. “Well, why the fuck isn’t Y/N here to celebrate with you?”

Chan takes a long drag from his cigarette and exhales slowly. “It’s a Wednesday.”

Felix chuckles, his gaze turning toward the door. “She’ll be here once the inspector leaves her flat.”

Minho grins at that, raising an eyebrow. “Is this why you fucked her all night long?”

Felix’s smirk is all too knowing, the corners of his mouth curling even further. “Yeah. What’s it to you, Minho?”

Minho slouches in his chair, his hands behind his head. “I had to listen to it all night, you bastard.”

Jisung laughs loudly, clearly finding the situation amusing. “Poor Minho,” he says with a smirk, leaning back in his chair.

Minho, his expression exaggerated in mock despair, nods. “Saint fuckin’ Minho right here. Bang, bang, bang against my wall all night. The poor girl. Can she even walk?”

Hyunjin, always quick with the banter, adds, “Not if Felix did it right.”

Changbin cackles, his deep laugh echoing in the room. “Well, did you do it right, Felix?”

Felix’s grin widens, an unspoken confidence in his expression. “You’ll find out when you’re married, mate.”

Everyone laughs, but Jeongin, who’s been quiet for most of the conversation, chimes in innocently. “Why wouldn’t she be able to walk?”

The room goes silent for a moment as all eyes land on Jeongin. Chan, looking at Jeongin with a bemused expression, shakes his head slowly. “Don’t mind Innie,” he says. “He makes love to all his girls.”

Jeongin looks genuinely confused. “I treat them nice,” he protests, his voice earnest. “That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?”

Jisung bursts into laughter. “You can fuck them hard and still treat them nice, Innie,” he says with a teasing grin.

Jeongin sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes. “I’m just sayin’, I don’t think I need to do anything extra.”

Felix, still enjoying the chaos around him, chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Well, whatever works, mate. Just don’t get caught up in it too much. That’s when you get into trouble.”

Two hours later, you walk into the Garrison with the smooth grace of someone who knows their worth. The green dress hugs your figure perfectly, the heels clicking sharply against the wooden floor, announcing your presence as soon as you step in.

The coat draped over your shoulders adds an air of casual elegance, the red lipstick on your lips a bold contrast against the soft curl of your hair. You take a drag from the cigarette between your fingers as you move through the room, the smoke swirling lazily in the air.

As you pass by the patrons, all eyes follow you. You can feel their gazes like a heavy weight on your skin, their murmurs rising in the air.

"That's Lee Felix's whore," someone whispers too loudly, clearly hoping you’ll hear. "Anyone who touches her wrong ends up in the Cut."

The whispers ripple through the room like a wave, but you don’t flinch. You walk with purpose, keeping your head high, letting their words fall away like nothing more than noise. The patrons look you up and down as you breeze past them, their eyes widening with a mix of fear and admiration.

You continue on to the backroom, the heavy door creaking open as you step inside. Felix, seated at the table with the others, immediately breaks into a grin as soon as he sees you.

"Oh, if it ain’t the bride-to-be," Chan remarks from his chair, his tone teasing but warm.

You smile, a glimmer of pride and amusement in your eyes as Felix immediately pulls you into his lap. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, and you settle against him comfortably, the familiar scent of him grounding you.

Chan watches the two of you with an approving smirk. “So, how was the Inspector?”

You sigh, letting the tension from the outside world fall away for a moment. “Same old,” you reply. “Finishes in a few minutes, cries his heart out about being a failure, spills his secrets, and leaves.”

Hyunjin looks at you sympathetically, shaking his head. “You poor thing,” he says, his tone genuinely pitying.

You nod in agreement, the weight of the past few weeks pressing down on you. “It’s not so bad. It’s all routine by now.”

Minho leans back in his chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he watches you with a knowing look. “It’s sad to hear through the wall. He’s a proper crier.”

You laugh softly, resting your head against Felix’s chest as he holds you close. “He really is. But it works for us. Keeps him talking.”

Chan looks over at you, his brow furrowing slightly. “Anything of note?”

You straighten up slightly, giving him a sharp look. “He’s going to be coming at everyone full force. He’s been given two weeks to find the guns. So Minho and I are setting up a scapegoat for him.”

Changbin, never one to hold back, leans forward, his curiosity piqued. “Who?”

You grin, the plan already beginning to take shape. “We’re setting up that BSA man who lives in my flat building. The one who beats his wife. Gonna make the Inspector believe he sold the guns to the IRA.”

Minho flicks his cigarette and looks at you with approval. “It’ll be easy. He spends most of his time drinkin’ in the Black Swan. He’s been seen with IRA members before. We just have to plant papers in his flat, make it look like he’s involved.”

You nod, eyes flashing with confidence. “Then I’m gonna tell the Inspector that he came to me as a client and spilled his heart out to me. Two birds, one stone.” You look at the group with a satisfied grin. “We’re in the clear, and the Inspector’s out of a job for failin'.”

Chan looks at you for a long moment, the approval in his eyes unmistakable. “You’re getting a fuckin’ raise.”

You smile, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. “Thanks, Chan.”

Jeongin, who’s been silent for most of the conversation, raises his glass with a grin. “To getting the bastard out of Small Heath, so Lee Felix can get fuckin’ hitched!”

The rest of the room erupts in cheers, everyone raising their glasses in unison. The clinking of glass rings in the air as they join in the toast.

“To Felix and Y/N,” Chan says, his voice strong, as the rest of the room follows suit. “May the bastard get out, and may you two live the life you deserve.”

Felix’s grin widens, his arm tightening around you as he leans in to kiss your temple. “I’ll drink to that.”

You chuckle softly, feeling a warmth in your chest. The tension from the past few months is finally starting to melt away, replaced with a sense of relief, and even something more. Hope. The road ahead still has its bumps, but for now, you’re here, safe, and surrounded by the people who have your back.

And for once, it feels like things might actually go your way.

The tea room is quaint, quiet, and comfortably warm, the clink of china and low murmurs of other patrons filling the air. You step inside with the confidence of someone who’s been in rooms like this before, and yet, the anticipation courses through you. The plan is coming together, and you can feel the weight of the moment pressing on your shoulders.

You’re dressed for the occasion. A light blue dress that hugs your frame just right, a cream coat draped over your shoulders, cream gloves, and a matching cream beret perched atop your perfectly curled hair. The red lipstick is bold, a stark contrast to the delicate details of your outfit, and it’s all part of the act. You know how to play your part, how to make the Inspector see exactly what you want him to see.

As you sit at a table by the window, you pull a cigarette from your bag and light it with a slow, deliberate motion. You don’t look around when the door opens, knowing exactly who it is. You wait, letting him approach on his own terms.

The Inspector spots you immediately, his face softening as he walks toward your table. You can see the slight flicker of something in his eyes, something you’ve noticed over the past few meetings. He’s starting to fall for you, and you know just how to use that to your advantage.

"Good evening, Inspector," you greet him with a soft smile, your voice smooth as silk. “I’m sorry to have called you here, but I have something I must tell you. I’m scared, and I believe you’re the only one who can help me.”

The Inspector sits down across from you, leaning in with an intensity that suggests he’s already anticipating what you’ll say. His gaze is hungry for information, but there’s something else in his eyes. Something personal.

"Tell me what worries you, dear," he says, his voice low and thick with concern. He leans closer, his attention fixed entirely on you.

You allow yourself a moment of hesitation, just enough to make him lean in further. Then, you drop the bait. “It’s about the guns,” you say quietly, your voice trembling just enough to sound convincing. You can see the shift in him, the way his posture straightens as he registers the words.

The Inspector’s eyes widen slightly. "You’ve finally found something for me?" His voice has a hopeful edge now, like he’s clinging to the idea that this will be the breakthrough he’s been waiting for.

You nod slowly, your hands wrapped around your teacup as you take a delicate sip. “There’s a man in my flat building, a BSA worker. He came to me as a client last night and... he confessed to having stolen the guns from the docks.”

The Inspector’s face hardens, the weight of your words sinking in. "Where are they?" he demands, the desperation clear in his voice.

You glance around the room for a moment, making sure no one is listening, then lower your voice. "He was sayin' he’s been talkin’ to some Irish folk in the Black Swan. He got paid to ship the guns to Ireland. They’re in the hands of the IRA now. He said it all went down about a month ago."

The Inspector’s face drops, his eyes widening with disbelief. “The guns are with the IRA?” His voice cracks slightly, as though the realization is a blow he didn’t expect.

You lower your gaze for a moment, feigning regret. “I’m sorry I didn’t have better news for you, Inspector,” you say softly. You see the way his shoulders slump, and you know this is hitting him harder than he wants to admit.

You stand, smoothing out the creases of your dress and adjusting your coat. The moment is over, and now you’re done with him for tonight. You give him a soft, sympathetic smile before turning and walking toward the door.

The Inspector remains seated, his hands gripping the edge of the table as if he’s trying to hold himself together.

Once you step out of the tea room, you breathe a sigh of relief. The hard part is over. You turn into an alleyway around the corner, just as planned, and there they are. Felix, Chan, and Minho, waiting for you.

Chan’s eyes narrow as he steps toward you, his gaze sharp. “Did he buy it?” His voice has a tinge of impatience, but there’s also pride in it, as if he’s already expecting a positive answer.

You smile, the satisfaction evident in the curve of your lips. “Of course he did.”

Minho lets out a low whistle. “Shit, that was quick. I was worried he might start questioning you.” He leans against the wall, arms crossed, a cigarette hanging from his lips. “Guess he’s more of a fool than we thought.”

Felix smiles, the warmth in his eyes cutting through the usual sharpness of his expression. “He’s already fallen for her,” he says, his tone teasing but affectionate. “No wonder she’s so damn good at this.”

Chan grins, tapping his cigarette on the ground before putting it out. “Good work, sweetheart. That’s one step closer to gettin’ rid of the bastard.”

You nod, feeling the tension leave your shoulders. “Now we just have to set the trap. Once the Inspector moves on this BSA guy, he’s done.”

Felix chuckles lowly, his hands slipping around your waist as he pulls you close. “He’s finished. And then we get to move on to the next chapter.”

The group falls into an easy silence for a moment, the weight of the plan sinking in. You know the road ahead is still long, but tonight, it feels like the pieces are finally falling into place. And with Felix at your side, you’re certain there’s nothing you can’t do.

The morning air is damp and cold, fog lingering low over the street like a blanket of smoke. The sound of shouts and heavy boots echo up through the narrow lane, breaking the stillness of the early hour. Minho stands next to you in the doorway of your flat, both of you leaning against the weathered frame. Cigarettes dangle lazily between your fingers, smoke curling from the tips like quiet spectres as you both watch the chaos unfold across the way.

The BSA man is being dragged from his flat by two burly police officers, thrashing wildly like a man drowning on dry land. His shouts are loud, almost frantic, but no one in the surrounding flats dares step outside to intervene. Not when the coppers have their batons raised and ready.

“Get the fuck off me!” the man bellows, twisting hard, trying to wrench his arms free from their grip. “I didn’t do nothin’! You’ve got the wrong bastard!”

The officers ignore him, their faces hard and impassive as they shove him toward the steps. When he plants his feet and resists, one officer raises his baton and cracks it across the man’s shoulder. The impact is brutal, the dull thud audible even from where you stand.

You exhale a slow breath of smoke, watching as the man lets out a strangled yell and staggers forward. “That must hurt,” you comment idly, your voice light, as if you’re watching something far less brutal than the beating in front of you.

Minho glances at you sideways, cigarette perched between his lips as he takes a long drag. “Probably,” he mutters around the smoke, his tone as disinterested as yours. “But he’s a wife-beating bastard, so I ain’t gonna lose sleep over it.”

The man collapses to his knees on the cobblestone as another officer lands a sharp blow to his side. “I didn’t fuckin’ do it!” he screams again, spitting blood onto the ground. His voice cracks, a mix of desperation and rage. “I didn’t sell nothin’ to the Irish!”

Minho chuckles quietly under his breath, a sardonic smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, this is a nice way to start my day,” he mutters, flicking the ash off his cigarette onto the doorstep.

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you pull another drag from your cigarette, the smoke filling your lungs before you exhale slowly. “I’d have thought framin’ someone would’ve been harder,” you muse, your gaze fixed on the scene in front of you as the police finally get the man on his feet and start hauling him toward the waiting black mariah.

Minho snorts, his voice dripping with casual arrogance. “For foolish people, maybe.” He turns his head to look at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But not us.”

You meet his gaze, a sly smile tugging at your lips as you nod in agreement. “Not us.”

You both turn back to the street, watching as the BSA man is thrown unceremoniously into the back of the police wagon. The heavy doors slam shut with a loud clang, and the officers wipe their hands on their uniforms as if to rid themselves of the man entirely.

“That’s that, then,” Minho says, leaning back against the doorframe and stretching lazily, cigarette still burning between his fingers. “One less problem for Chan to worry about.”

You hum softly in agreement, a small, satisfied smile still lingering on your lips. “And one more nail in that Inspector’s coffin.”

Minho turns to look at you again, an approving smirk on his face. “You’ve got a knack for this. Chan’ll be pleased.”

You shrug, feigning modesty, but the pride glimmers in your eyes. “Someone’s gotta keep the lot of you out of trouble.”

Minho laughs, a deep, genuine sound, before shaking his head. “Keep talkin’ like that and Chan’ll start payin’ you more than me.”

You smile, leaning back against the frame beside him as the street slowly settles back into uneasy quiet. The BSA man is gone. The trap is set. And Small Heath will never know what hit it.

The flat is quiet except for the faint tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall. You sit with Felix on the worn couch, his arm draped lazily across your shoulders, the both of you bathed in the soft light filtering in from the window.

You’re wearing a cream-coloured dress, one of your nicer ones, the fabric soft and elegant against your skin. Felix’s fingers trail absentmindedly along your arm as he talks lowly about something, his words a faint hum in the back of your mind as you stare out at the empty street below.

Then comes the knock. Sharp. Loud. Demanding.

Your spine straightens, and Felix’s hand stills on your arm.

“Miss L/N!” The voice calls through the door, unmistakable. Inspector Park.

Felix tenses immediately, his gaze darkening as he pushes himself up from the couch. He leans close, pressing his lips to your ear. “I’ll be in the bedroom.” He slips off silently, his boots barely making a sound as he heads to your room, closing the door behind him without a word.

You smooth out the creases in your dress, steadying your breath as you make your way to the door. The knock comes again, louder this time, as if he’s ready to break the damn thing down. You swing the door open, greeting him with a soft, practised smile.

“Inspector,” you say, the sweetness in your voice veiled by a hint of steel. “What a surprise. I thought you’d be back in Westminster, tryin’ to save your career.”

The Inspector stands rigid, his hat low over his eyes, his face set in a scowl. He steps inside without invitation, the door creaking on its hinges as he crosses the threshold.

“I know you set that man up,” he says, his voice low and full of venom.

Your brow arches delicately, your smile unfaltering. “I’ve no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

He steps closer, the tension rolling off him like heat. “It’s all too perfect,” he says. “He just happened to have all the proof in his flat. He confessed to you when no one else can corroborate it?”

You tilt your head slightly, taking a slow step back, giving him just enough space to realize how ridiculous he sounds. “I don’t know,” you reply evenly. “Sounds to me like the case is closed, and your career is fuckin’ done.”

The Inspector’s face flushes red, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You conniving little whore,” he spits, his voice trembling with rage.

Your smile sharpens, your eyes glinting like polished glass. “If you can prove any of your accusations, Inspector, then you’re more than welcome to return,” you say coolly. “Otherwise, I bid you farewell and hope you enjoy unemployment.”

His eyes narrow, his nostrils flaring as he takes another step forward. “It’s for him, isn’t it?” he sneers. “That Blinder bastard. Lee Felix. You lied to me. You made me believe you loved me.”

At that, you laugh softly, tilting your chin up as you meet his glare without hesitation. “How could I ever love a man who injured himself to avoid servin’ his country?” you ask, your voice cutting through the room like a knife. “I spent two years tendin’ to your fellow countrymen in France while you sat at home, hidin’ from the frontlines.”

The Inspector freezes, his entire body going stiff. His hand moves suddenly to his coat, and before you can fully process it, he pulls out a revolver and aims it directly at you. The metallic click of the safety being released fills the air, but you don’t flinch. You hold your ground, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear on your face.

“I love you!” he shouts, his voice unhinged, cracking at the edges.

“I don’t love cowards,” you reply simply, your voice calm and even.

His hand trembles on the gun, his eyes wild as he stares at you. For a brief moment, the silence is deafening. Then, Minho’s door bursts open.

In one swift motion, Minho grabs the Inspector from behind, locking his arm around the man’s neck in a tight headlock. The gun falls to the floor with a loud clatter as the Inspector struggles, gasping and thrashing against Minho’s grip.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” Minho mutters, his voice low as he tightens his hold.

Before the Inspector can react, the sound of doors opening fills the hall. Chan, Seungmin, Changbin, Hyunjin, Jeongin, and Jisung all step out of the surrounding flats, guns drawn and pointed squarely at the Inspector. The hallway is filled with the clicking of hammers being pulled back, the ominous sound cutting through the tension like a blade.

You can’t help but grin, the sight of them appearing like ghosts in the mist bringing you a deep sense of satisfaction. Felix steps out of your bedroom then, slipping up behind you as he wraps his arm around your waist protectively.

Minho looks down at the Inspector, whose face is turning red from both rage and the headlock. “In the eyes of the posh twats in Westminster, you failed,” Minho says evenly, his voice dripping with mockery. “And you did. But not because you were too slow catchin’ the criminal. It’s because we’re too smart.”

Minho glances at you briefly, his grip still unrelenting. “That woman you’re in front of? She’s smarter than all of us. She’s the reason you failed—because you underestimated her.”

The Inspector’s eyes dart between all of you, sweat dripping down his temple as he tries to catch his breath. “At the end of the day,” he spits, his voice hoarse, “all you’ll ever be is a woman. A whore.”

Chan steps forward, his gaze icy as he lowers his gun slightly. “You lost, Inspector,” he says calmly, his tone firm and final. “And ain’t no one gonna believe you lost to a prostitute engaged to a gangster.”

The Inspector goes still at those words, realization finally sinking into his face. He’s beaten. Outplayed. Done for.

Felix leans down close to your ear, his voice soft and full of pride. “You're the smartest one of us all, angel.”

You smile, resting your hand over Felix’s arm as you stare down at the defeated Inspector. For all his threats, all his bluster, he’s nothing now. A crumpled man, bested at every turn. And you? You haven’t flinched once.

“Get him out of here,” Chan says with a flick of his head, and Minho drags the Inspector down the hallway, his struggles growing weaker with every step.

The Blinders watch him go, their guns still in hand, but the moment the man disappears down the stairs, the tension in the room finally breaks.

You turn to Felix, your smile softer now as you glance up at him. “Well, that’s that, then.”

Felix grins, pressing a kiss to your temple. “That’s that.”

The day dawns cold and crisp, the sky over Small Heath a patchwork of slate grey and pale blue. Despite the chill in the air, there’s an unexpected warmth that hangs over everything. A feeling of quiet joy that no one dares speak aloud, as though doing so might somehow break the spell.

You stand in the small chapel on the edge of town, your cream dress simple but elegant, with lace cuffs at the wrists and a modest train trailing softly behind you. Your hair is curled perfectly, pinned back to frame your face, and a soft cream veil falls gently from your curls. Your cheeks are flushed with excitement, the red on your lips a bold contrast to the softness of your gown.

Chan stands beside you, looking sharper than usual in a clean black suit and tie. He tugs at the collar with a slight grimace, muttering something about how “bloody tight” it is, but when he looks at you, his expression softens. For all his roughness, there’s a flicker of pride in his eyes that makes your throat tighten.

“You sure about this?” he asks, his voice low, his usual teasing tone softened into something more genuine.

You smile up at him, your gloved hand resting lightly on his arm. “Sure as I’ll ever be.”

Chan exhales, nodding slowly before offering you a small smile of his own. “Alright then. Let’s get you married, sweetheart.”

The chapel is small and bare, the kind of place where no one expects much ceremony, but it’s perfect for today. A row of pews sits half-filled with the Blinders, all cleaned up for the occasion. They look wildly out of place in their sharp suits, caps left at the door, but there’s something solemn in the way they sit quietly, waiting for the moment to begin.

Minho glances back as the doors creak open, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth when he sees you. “About bloody time,” he murmurs under his breath, just loud enough for Jisung to snort beside him.

At the altar, Felix stands waiting, his black suit tailored just right, his blonde hair swept back neatly. His hands twitch slightly as he adjusts his cuffs, betraying his nerves, but when he looks up and sees you, his face breaks into a wide, boyish grin that’s nothing short of breathtaking.

Chan clears his throat and offers you his arm, leading you forward as the small organ in the corner starts playing. It’s a soft, simple melody, but it carries enough weight to make the moment feel grand.

“Don’t trip,” Chan mutters under his breath as you begin walking, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You roll your eyes, smiling softly. “Thanks for the confidence, Chan.”

“I’ve got to keep you grounded,” he replies with a smirk, though his grip on your arm is steady and reassuring.

The room falls into hushed silence as you walk down the aisle, your heels tapping softly against the wooden floor. Felix’s eyes don’t leave yours for a second, and there’s something so tender in the way he looks at you that it nearly steals the breath from your chest.

As you reach the altar, Chan pauses, turning to you with uncharacteristic gentleness. “Your parents’d be proud of you,” he murmurs, his voice rough around the edges.

You blink, the words hitting harder than you expected, and nod as you squeeze his arm lightly. “Thank you, Chan.”

He steps back, giving Felix a pointed look as he places your hand in his. “You take care of her, or I’ll come for you.”

Felix grins, his fingers curling around yours. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Chan.”

Chan steps aside and takes a seat with the others, leaving just you and Felix standing at the altar. Felix’s thumb brushes over your knuckles as he stares down at you, his grin softening into something warmer, deeper.

“You look beautiful, angel,” he murmurs, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

“And you look nervous,” you tease, though your voice is gentle, filled with affection.

Felix chuckles quietly, shaking his head. “Nah. Just can’t believe I finally convinced you to marry me.”

The ceremony is short and sweet. The priest says the necessary words, his voice steady and calm, though it’s drowned out in your mind by the sound of your heart pounding in your chest. Felix’s hand remains in yours the entire time, his thumb still tracing slow, soothing circles over your skin. When the vows are said and done, and the rings are exchanged, simple gold bands that glint faintly in the dim light, there’s a brief pause before the priest announces:

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Felix doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you to him, his hands cupping your face as he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is warm and lingering, and for a moment, it feels as though the rest of the world has disappeared. When he pulls back, there’s a bright, giddy grin on his face that makes you laugh softly.

The Blinders erupt into cheers and whistles from the pews behind you. Jisung lets out a loud, triumphant “Finally!” while Minho smirks and mutters, “Poor girl doesn’t know what she’s gotten herself into.”

Hyunjin shouts, “Oi, Felix, save some for later!” as Chan rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

Felix laughs, slipping his arm around your waist as he turns to face the group. “Piss off, all of you.”

“You’re stuck with us now,” Changbin calls out, grinning broadly.

Felix presses another kiss to your temple, holding you close. “You alright, angel?”

You nod, smiling up at him. “More than alright.”

As you both turn to leave the chapel, the rest of the boys trailing behind you, there’s a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. The road ahead may not be perfect, nothing in Small Heath ever is, but for now, you’re happy. You’re home. And as Felix squeezes your hand in his, you know that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

“Mrs. Lee Felix,” he murmurs as you step outside into the chilly afternoon air.

You laugh softly, leaning into him as you walk down the steps. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Felix grins, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Perfect.”

The Garrison is alive with laughter, shouting, and the unmistakable sound of whiskey glasses clinking together. The backroom is stuffed full of the familiar faces that have become like family. The air is thick with smoke, the table cluttered with bottles of whiskey, half-empty glasses, and discarded caps that no one cares about retrieving right now.

Chan sits at the head of the table, his tie loosened, a glass of whiskey in one hand as he watches the chaos unfold around him with a smirk. Felix has you tucked close at his side, his arm slung lazily around your shoulders, his cheeks flushed with drink. You’ve been smiling all night, cheeks aching from the endless laughter that fills the room.

Minho, having claimed the seat next to you, slams his glass down on the table with a little too much force. “Right,” he declares loudly, pointing a finger at you. “I’ve decided somethin’.”

You raise an eyebrow, already suppressing a grin. “Oh yeah? What’s that, Minho?”

He leans back in his chair, smug as anything, arms folded across his chest. “I’m stayin’. Permanently. I intend to be your neighbour until the end of bloody time.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine by me, Minho. You’re one of the better neighbors I’ve had.”

“That’s because I’m a fuckin’ delight,” he says, jabbing a finger at his chest before reaching for his whiskey again. “Not like the others, you know, pissin’ about in the hallways. I don’t cause trouble. Well, not for you, anyway. Also, I’ve been thinkin’ about Little Women, you know, the book you lent me?”

You choke on your drink slightly, barely holding back a laugh. “You’ve been thinkin’ about Little Women?”

Minho nods solemnly, waving his glass for emphasis. “Jo deserved better. I’ll die on that fuckin’ hill.”

Hyunjin, sitting across the table, raises an eyebrow and squints dramatically. “Wait, Minho, you can read?”

The table erupts into laughter, and Minho shoots Hyunjin a murderous glare. “I’ll cut you, you lanky fuck.”

“Oi!” Felix says, throwing his free hand into the air like a referee. “No fucking fighting on my wedding day, or I’ll cut you both.”

You burst out laughing at that, pressing a hand to your mouth as Hyunjin shrinks back with a mock look of innocence. “Alright, alright. Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Felix.”

At the far end of the table, Jisung stands up abruptly, stumbling slightly. “I’m off to the bar, no wait, someone, come with me, ”

Jeongin attempts to follow suit, but his foot catches on the leg of his chair, and before anyone can stop it, there’s a loud crash as Jisung and Jeongin trip over each other.

“Fuck!” Jisung shouts as he topples straight into Changbin, sending him flying backwards onto Seungmin, who’s been minding his own business.

The resulting heap of Blinders sprawled on the floor, Jisung tangled with Jeongin, Changbin sprawled flat on his back, Seungmin swearing profusely, sends the rest of the room into uncontrollable fits of laughter.

“Jesus Christ!” Chan calls out, grinning as he watches the scene unfold, his glass raised like a toast.

You and Minho are howling with laughter, tears threatening to spill as you clutch your sides. “I can’t breathe!” you manage to gasp, leaning forward as you try to recover.

Minho, doubled over, topples sideways out of his chair, still laughing, and you nearly go with him. Felix catches you around the waist at the last second, tugging you upright and pulling you safely into his lap.

“Careful, angel,” Felix murmurs into your ear, his grin wide as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Don’t want you breakin’ anything.”

Minho, meanwhile, lands hard on the floor with a thud, pulling Hyunjin down with him in the process.

“Fuckin’ hell, Minho!” Hyunjin groans, his voice muffled as he sprawls halfway over Minho’s legs.

“I’m fine,” Minho declares dramatically from the floor, still laughing as he tries to sit up. “Didn’t spill my drink!”

“Priorities,” Chan says dryly, taking a slow sip of his whiskey as he watches the chaos with clear amusement.

You glance around the room, your head resting against Felix’s shoulder as you smile to yourself. It’s madness, pure and simple. Minho and Hyunjin fighting to untangle themselves from the floor, Jisung trying and failing to help Jeongin up, Changbin still swearing as Seungmin mutters something about idiots. But it’s your madness.

Felix watches you for a moment, his thumb brushing absently along your arm. “You alright?” he asks softly, his voice low beneath the noise.

You tilt your head up to look at him, your smile soft and content. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I’m perfect.”

He grins, pressing another kiss to your forehead before raising his glass toward the group. “Oi! To family, and to my beautiful wife!”

“To Y/N!” the rest of them shout in unison, Minho lifting his glass from the floor as Hyunjin finally shoves him off.

The room bursts into another chorus of cheers and laughter, whiskey glasses clinking together as you lean back into Felix’s embrace, surrounded by the only family you’ve ever known. For once, everything feels right in the world, and you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

“Welcome to married life, angel,” Felix murmurs into your ear, his voice full of affection.

You smile, your fingers lacing with his. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx

[dark-vader28]

before I start I love your work you’re literally my favourite writer on tumblr atm :)

(I never do requests so I might be a bit stiff 😭)

I was wondering if you could do something where the reader is Rodricks neighbour and one of his best friends. And it’s like friends to lovers?

Rodrick takes us on drives with his van often and loves spending time with us. And then one day he confesses. (Idk I’m waffling atp)

aww this is so cute i love this idea and tysm!!

a/n: i’m sorry this is so lazy and poorly edited, i’ve just been so swamped with work but i didn’t wanna wait any longer to write this cause it’s such a cute idea.

———

Greg and Rowley were getting tossed around in the back of Rodrick’s van, flying across with every bump in the road. Music blasted through the van and out the open windows as you and Rodrick sat in the front. For a moment you felt bad for the two boys in the back, one of them being your best friend’s younger brother. But you were over the feeling as Rodrick air-drummed along to the song, nearly crashing the car for the millionth time. You’d gotten used to his reckless driving and if anything, you enjoyed it like it was some rollercoaster.

The van slammed to a stop at Rodrick’s house and Greg slammed against the back of your seat, causing you to laugh. You turned to look back at them, unbuckling your seatbelt in the meantime. They both looked horrified, wide-eyed and disheveled clothing and hair, but they didn’t look hurt. No visible signs of bruises or bleeding anyway.

The radio shut off and you hurried out the car and to the back to help Greg and Rowley out. You knew Rodrick wasn’t the biggest fan of either of them but you didn’t mind them and the sinking feeling of guilt started to return as you watched them stumble out the car.

“Guess he shouldn’t have taken out the seats in the back,” you commented, grabbing Greg’s backpack that had been thrown around.

“Ya think?” Greg replied, pissy and sarcastic. Rowley scrambled to his feet, swinging his backpack onto both shoulders.

“Maybe I can convince Rodrick to let me drive next time, alright?” you suggested.

“Only if you’re better than that,” Greg scowled, glaring at Rodrick who was running inside.

“Be nice,” you warned.

“Why?! Rodrick nearly killed us!” Greg defended.

“He’s my best friend like Rowley is yours. Be nice or I won’t do you a favour and ask Rodrick if I could drive.” Greg frowned but kept his mouth shut, dragging Rowley along with him as they ran inside.

You were closing up the back of the van when Rodrick came running back out. You heard his quiet footsteps and quickly turned around before he could try and scare you.

“You know, maybe I should drive next time,” you told him, going to the passenger seat to grab your backpack.

“What? No way,” Rodrick replied without missing a beat. Your backpack hung from one shoulder as you closed the car door.

“Why not?” you questioned.

“My van, my keys,” he said, dangling his keys in the air. “I drive.”

“Yeah, well one day you’re gonna end up killing Greg and Rowley back there,” you added, shooting him a disapproving look.

“So?” he retorted. You pushed his shoulder, rolling your eyes and shaking your head as you hid a smile.

“You’re a douche, you know that?” you laughed, heading towards your house (which was right beside Rodrick’s). He followed after you. He tossed an arm around your shoulder, a gesture he started doing more and more often that you had grown accustomed to.

“Well, chicks dig bad boys,” he chuckled. You rolled your eyes again, pushing him off of you and he laughed harder.

Rodrick stayed over until about 7 that night, leaving when he figured he should go home before his mom had a fit about him missing family dinner. The two of you hung out nearly every night. More often than not, you were at his house, sat in his garage as he played drums or in his room watching scary movies until you were left holding onto him. You often weren’t that scared but watching horror movies at 3am is a different story. The only reason you ever hung out at your house was when Rowley was hanging out with Greg to spare the both of you from being bothered by them.

You and Rodrick had been friends since your family moved to town. The house right beside the Heffley’s was for sale and your father bought it without hesitation. You then met Rodrick at school, around the beginning of 8th grade. The two of you were sat in the back and you made some half-witted comment about how arbitrary and ridiculous the lecture and class was. Rodrick overheard and the two of you spent the next few weeks insulting and cracking jokes about the teacher in that class. Your desks would always scoot closer together and you had to cover your mouth to stifle the laughter and hide the smiles. By the end of 8th grade, you had spent a majority of the year sitting at his lunch table and hanging out after school. You used to go to the park near your house and torment the other kids there; hiding behind play structures and jumping out to scare them. It became more after that, especially when high school hit. You used to spend an afternoon together once in a while but he started to become an everyday thing, taking drives together when he somehow managed to get his license. Fortunately for the two of you, Rodrick’s mom adored you. Which may be why his parents never had a problem with you spending endless nights there.

But, despite what your parents thought at first and what Greg and Rowley think, you never had any romantic feelings for him. He didn’t feel like a brother to you either considering the way you saw Rodrick and Greg relentlessly bicker and fight. You weren’t like that with Rodrick. Sure, you teased one another but never fought in the way you’d watched Greg and Rodrick fight. You loved Rodrick, not in a brotherly way or in a “i’m in love with you, and i know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable” way. Or at least you thought.

Saturday evening rolled around and you sat up against the headboard of your bed, flipping through some old book you’d had for years. Your eyes flicked over the pages, hardly taking in and reading a single word. Your headphones blared music into your ears and you couldn’t help but tap the spine of the book along to the rhythm until you lost all interest in the book’s entirety. You tossed it aside, staring blankly at the wall in front of you. Normally, it would’ve been a day where you and Rodrick hung out but he had never picked up the phone and called you, or came pounding on your door, or even had failed attempts at climbing through your window (considering your parents were a little less fond of Rodrick, calling him a bad influence and whatnot). His absence left your day empty and it felt tedious with how slow the hours seemed to pass.

Around 9 o’clock, when you planned on having an early night due to your lack of things to do, you could hear honking from the front of your house. Then a shout of your name echoed through the house. You pulled on a jacket, covering up your bare arms, and practically flew down the stairs. Your mom stood at the front door, arms folded over her chest with a scowl.

“That boy, Rodrick, is honking outside. I just put your sister to bed and now she’s up, crying,” your mom frowned. You pursed your lips briefly and glanced at the door.

“Sorry, mom,” you mumbled, sliding into a pair of shoes before hurrying out the door. As you closed it behind you, you saw Rodrick hanging out the window of his van, one hand over the horn while the other held him up. His hand seemed to slip and he honked again. You rushed to the car and hit him as he flopped down into his seat. “Quit honking, or my mom’s gonna kill you,” you urged. Despite the darkness of the night, the pale moonlight lit up his face just enough to see the red of his cheeks as he looked away from you.

“Get in then, or I’ll honk again,” Rodrick joked and you rolled your eyes, smiling, before willingly getting in the passenger side.

“I should’ve asked, where exactly are we going?” you asked, turning your attention to him as he began driving. He was driving slower and much more carefully than he ever had before. His shoulders rose and fell in a shrug and he failed to look in your direction.

“I just wanted to take a drive,” he replied simply, sounding a little sheepish, which wasn’t like him. Taking drives with him wasn’t an unusual thing per se, but the way he seemed quieter and damn near stunned around you hadn’t fit his typical demeanor. Quite frankly, it worried you.

“Don’t you have a curfew?” you asked. He tapped the wheel, looking nearly everywhere but you. He nodded cautiously.

“Yeah, 9 o’clock,” he muttered. You laughed a bit, hoping it would lighten the mood or ease the tension that was weighing a ton.

“Well then, Rodrick, I-” but he interrupted.

“Have you ever liked anyone?” he blurted out. Your brow furrowed, stunned by the randomness of the question. His knuckles looked white from the way he gripped the steering wheel and you feared he would break it off.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” you questioned, avoiding answering. He drew in a sharp breath.

“I was just wondering,” he replied. You bit the inside of your cheek, hesitating on your response.

“Why, you like someone?” you asked, still delaying your answer as you tried to conjure up something to say. What did it matter to him? Better yet, why had the question made you so nervous? You and Rodrick told each other nearly everything. Rodrick ran to you asking for advice when he had a crush on Heather Hills. Why was it so different now?

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t,” he added, his voice going even quieter.

“What do you mean you shouldn’t?” you inquired. His jaw clenched and he brought the car to a stop. You looked around outside for a moment. There were no houses. There was nothing at all really. Just empty land.

It was silent except for the distant chirp of crickets. It took Rodrick a moment before he finally spoke. “Y/n, I-” he stopped, finally looking at you. All words escaped his mind and the rest of his sentence trailed off. He averted his gaze as quickly as he had found it and cleared his throat. He shook his head and shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He buried his face in his hands and your worry reached its peak. He seemed outright miserable.

“I like you,” he spoke, voice muffled by his hands. Your jaw went slack and eyes went wide.

“What?” you asked quietly, not because you hadn’t heard but because you couldn’t fathom the fact he liked you of all people.

He lifted his face out of his hands and repeated himself, louder this time. “I like you.” Your gaze softened.

“Rodrick,” you began softly. His hands fell to his lap, then raised again and gripped the wheel, running his hands over it. Your mind was going nearly a million miles an hour, trying to sort out his and your own feelings. Your heart was practically beating out of your chest and you could hear the thump of it through the silence. You were hoping he would say something as you tried to carefully pick out your words but your head was just a jumble of all the things you wished you could say.

“Yeah, no, I get it,” he said, sounding defeated. You shook your head and your mouth opened but no words seemed to pour out. When there was a lack of your response, Rodrick jumped in. “I’ll take you home. Forget this ever happened, alright?” He finally met your gaze again and you could see the way his eyes were glassy and on the verge of bloodshot. You felt your eyes start to pool up. He turned his attention to the road and started up the car again.

“Rod, I, um, I didn’t mean for you to take it like that.” You desperately racked your brain for any of the right words that seemed to be forming on the tip of your tongue but you couldn’t deliver it properly. “To be honest, I don’t know how I feel.” You let out a light laugh, keeping yourself from the tears about to flow down your cheeks.

You were so enveloped in your mess of thoughts, you hadn’t noticed when Rodrick’s van pulled to a stop right in front of your house. You swallowed the lump in your throat and a hot tear rolled down your cheek. You’d come to the realization you liked him too, and maybe that you always had. It had never made sense to you though; that you felt that way for him. It didn’t made sense now either but it was clear that you did. You both got out of his van and you rushed over to his side. He was heading up his driveway and you stepped in front of him. He stopped, looked down at you through a few strands of his dark shaggy hair that covered his glassy doe brown eyes and you felt your heart stop for a moment. You cupped his face, and moved up to press your lips to his. There was a moment of bliss and ignorance where it felt like the world fell away. But you felt him tense underneath your touch and you slipped away. You let your hand fall away and felt the sinking feeling of regret in your stomach as you started walking away. Maybe if you had seen the dorky bright smile illuminate Rodrick’s face as you walked away, you might’ve felt better but you scurried home and spent the rest of the night thinking you made the worst decision of your life; ruining your friendship with Rodrick in a way that couldn’t be recovered.

The doorbell echoed through the house, startling you awake. You groaned, rubbing your eyes and turning on your side to look at your alarm clock. It was barely 9 am. You yawned and stretched as you sat up, finally getting up as the doorbell rang impatiently again. Your eyes had dark rings and were still red from your night of crying over Rodrick (shamefully and feeling ridiculously stupid for caring so much) but you hardly thought about how you looked as you stumbled to the door. The doorbell rang a 3rd time and you were sure your parents would be mad at you for not answering the door sooner. You swung the door open carelessly, not bothering to look through the peephole first. Despite your tiredness blinding your senses, the strong scent of flowers filled your nose when the door opened and when your eyes focused, you noticed the bright arrangement of colors before you, all blooming and full of life, which you weren’t sure you’d be able to maintain for long.

“My mom picked them, I didn’t know what you like,” the voice mumbled. Your attention flicked up from the flowers to the one holding them. You suddenly wished you looked better; your hair tangled from bedhead, bloodshot eyes, and some old tank top and pajama pants you had for years. Your eyes found Rodrick’s deep brown eyes and messy hair with a crooked smile on his lips. You nearly swooned, gaze softening as you could feel your heart melt.

“Rodrick,” you started quietly. He held the flowers out to you and you took them, a grin spreading across your face. You were speechless. You never took him as the type to give flowers, especially after one impulsive kiss. Not to your knowledge, Rodrick had run to his mom that night and begged her to help him. He didn’t trust most of her advice but took her ideas and turned them into The Rodrick Way. Except for the flowers. That was all his mom’s idea.

“Wanna take a drive?”

———

a/n (again): this was kinda lazy and i hate this but i felt bad for postponing posting this for so long and i can’t keep rereading this and trying to fix it 😭 anyway, i loved the request so much!

[wishful-thinking-is-dumb]

Platonic Yandere John Wick - The Pickpocket

In which you try to pickpocket him.

You don’t know how you ended up in this man’s car, soaking wet from the rain and with a bloody nose. You sit in silence, and so does he. He doesn’t say a word to you while you sit there.

You thought he was drunk, they way he was stumbling down the street. Easy pickings, you had thought . You could take his wallet and he would barely notice.

But as you skillfully reached into his jacket pocket, the barrel of a gun pressed against the side of your head. You froze, your stomach dropping in fear. You were thrown to the ground, face first.

Your face hit the pavement, and a knee was pressed into your back. The man wasn’t drunk, he was injured in some way. You couldn’t tell because he was wearing a black suit, you couldn’t see any blood.

He still hasn’t said a word, gun pressed against the back of your head. You can’t move, his wallet clutched tightly in your hand.

“Who are you?” He asked, no emotion in his voice. He was cold blooded, like he would shoot without a second thought.

He sees that you have his wallet him your hand, and he huffs and rolls his eyes. He’s a bit relieved that you aren’t here for a job, but that you are some random pickpocket.

He takes his knee off of your back and he rolls you over so he can see your now bloody face. The gun is still pointed at your head, as a warning to stay still. You don’t notice that his finger isn’t even on the trigger anymore.

He reaches for his wallet in your hand and you immediately let go, in shock of what has just happened. You are terrified, and your face hurts. You think your nose is bleeding, or maybe it’s the rain?

He puts his wallet back in his pocket and he grabs you by the scruff of your sweater and pulls you to your feet with little effort.

“Please don’t kill me..” You say quietly, you fear that if you scream he will pull the trigger. He still has the gun pressed against you, now lower on your jaw. He doesn’t respond to your plea, looking over your face.

“How old are you?” He asks, still no expression or emotion in his words. The tears start to form in your eyes at this point, and he still doesn’t react.

“To young to be pickpocketing in this part of town.” He answers for you, the gun on your jaw if slightly pulled away, but you know that it is still there.

“Do you have any idea who I am?” He asks, glancing behind him for a moment before he looks back at you. You quickly shake your head, you’ve never seen him before. He scoffs, seemingly disappointed in you for pickpocketing him. Now your all caught up in his work, and you’ve seen him.

“You have no idea what you’ve just gotten yourself into.” He mutters as he starts to drag you back down the street, now gripping onto your upper arm. He pulls you along with him, the gun no longer pointed at your head, but you still don’t dare struggle.

He moves rather fast, as if someone is tracking him. He constantly surveys his surroundings, ready to use his handgun. You still think he’s gonna kill you, he’s taking you somewhere where on one will see him do it. But that’s what you think is going on.

“I’m sorry.. -“ you mumble, but he cuts you off by harshly shushing you. He pushes you against a wall and gunfire rings out.

You flinch and cover your ears as he uses himself as a shield for you. He fires back, and he hits the attacker dead on. The unknown attacker falls down dead, a bullet hole in his forehead. You breath out, eyes wide. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“You’re fine.” He states to you, turning your gaze away from the body at the other end of the street by gripping your chin in between his thumb and pointer finger.

He stars to drag you again, to a part of the city with less people and less cars. He drags you to a sleek black car. A 1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 to be more exact, he pulls the keys from his pockets and he unlocks the car.

He puts you into the front passenger seat first and he buckles you in himself. He closes the door and goes around the car to the drivers side , he gets in and buckled himself in. There is a moment of silence, and he puts his handgun in his waistband. He sighs, seemingly exhausted.

Your hands are shaking, you are in shock of the situation. He turns to you, getting a handkerchief out of his breast pocket. He reaches over the centre console and grips your chin again. He gently cleans up your bloody nose, no emotion on his face.

“You’re a mess..” he mumbles, you flinch when his hand pulls you closer so he can get a good look at the damage.

“Nothing broken, you’re fine.” He finally states, he puts the handkerchief in one of your hands in case your nose starts to bleed again. He starts the car and he peels off if the curb.

[gumims]

from rivalry to romance | ch2: too close for comfort

series mlist

the first thing you hear is thwack.

then another. thwack.

followed by a string of low curses.

you groan, rolling over and burying your face in your pillow. maybe it’s just a dream. a very annoying, atsumu-flavored dream.

but the noise keeps coming.

you crack one eye open and squint at the clock on the nightstand. 6:14 a.m.

what kind of psychopath is awake at this hour?

you sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes and trying to figure out where the noise is coming from. it doesn’t take long to figure it out.

on the other side of the room stands atsumu, barefoot on the carpet, tossing a volleyball up and smacking it against the wall like it owes him money.

he doesn’t even glance your way.

“mornin’, roomie,” he says casually, as if this isn’t completely insane behavior.

you stare at him, still half-asleep, hair sticking up in every direction. “it’s six in the morning.”

“yep.” he tosses the ball again. thwack.

“what are you doing?”

“servin’ practice,” he says like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “gotta keep my form sharp.”

thwack.

“you’re gonna kill me.”

“relax.” he catches the ball mid-bounce and turns to flash you a grin. “you’re already awake, ain’t ya?”

you grab your pillow and chuck it at his head.

he ducks easily, the ball still balanced in his hand. “aggressive, huh? i like it.”

you groan and flop back onto your bed, pulling the blanket over your head. “this is hell.”

“nah,” atsumu says, laughing. “if this was hell, you’d be stuck with samu.”

by the time you drag yourself out of bed and into the dining hall for breakfast, you’re already exhausted.

it doesn’t help that atsumu is sitting right across from you, happily munching on toast like he didn’t just ruin your morning.

“y/n, you look like a zombie,” aran says, raising an eyebrow.

“you’d look like one too if you had this idiot waking you up at the crack of dawn,” you mutter, shooting atsumu a glare.

“hey, it’s not my fault you’re a light sleeper,” atsumu says, shrugging. “besides, you’re my manager now. you gotta get used to my routine.”

“your routine is going to put me in an early grave.”

“good thing we’ve got a week to bond,” he says with a grin.

you swear you’re going to lose your mind before this camp is over.

later that afternoon, coach blows his whistle and announces the next activity: a team-building course.

“you’ll be paired up for this,” he says, holding up a clipboard.

your stomach sinks. please don’t be atsumu. anyone but atsumu.

“miya atsumu and y/n.”

you want to cry.

“well, well,” atsumu says, sidling up next to you with a smirk. “guess it’s fate, huh?”

“more like a curse,” you mutter.

the course looks simple enough—crawl under ropes, climb a wall, and carry a volleyball across a balance beam without dropping it.

easy. except for the fact that atsumu can’t seem to stop being himself.

“ya scared of heights?” he asks when you hesitate at the climbing wall.

“no,” you snap, gripping the rope tightly. “i just don’t trust you to catch me if i fall.”

“i wouldn’t let ya fall,” he says, surprisingly serious for once.

you blink at him. “really?”

“yeah. if you fell, coach’d kill me.”

you shove him. “you’re the worst.”

he laughs as he climbs up the wall, moving easily like he’s done this a hundred times before. “you’re too easy to mess with.”

by the time you get to the balance beam, you’re both covered in dirt and out of breath. you’re also ready to kill each other.

“quit shoving’,” you hiss as atsumu tries to squeeze past you.

“i’m not shovin’. yer just slow.”

“do you ever shut up?”

“nope.”

you roll your eyes and focus on keeping the volleyball balanced in your hands. one wrong step, and it’ll fall. and if it falls, you have to start over.

“careful,” atsumu says, his voice unusually soft.

you glance at him, surprised to see him looking serious.

for a moment, there’s a flicker of something between you—something almost like mutual respect.

then the ball slips from your hands, and atsumu dives to catch it before it hits the ground.

“see?” he says, holding the ball up with a triumphant grin. “told ya we make a good team.”

“shut up,” you mutter, but there’s no bite to it.

maybe he’s not completely unbearable.

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[aothotties]

How they help you get over someone

| Eren | Armin | Jean | Levi |

Word count: 715

Warnings: best friend!Reiner, unprotected sex, pet names (babydoll baby), overstimulation, sex in a bathtub, daddy kink.

You and Reiner have known each other since you were young, you two basically grew up together and never left one another's side. He was always much bigger than you and pretty much everyone around him, so men typically were afraid to approach you for fear that Reiner would kill them for even looking in your direction.

Well except for your ex, for some reason he didn’t seem intimidated by Reiner at all, and for that Reiner has always hated him. 

Okay that’s only part of the reason why he hates him, the main reason being that he’s a scumbag. He relies on you for everything, he takes advantage of your kind heart and it truly infuriates Reiner. 

His anger only worsens when you show up at his front door crying your eyes out about how your boyfriend…ex did you wrong yet again. Except this time he didn’t forget another important date or say something mean, he cheated on you. 

And with the girl he told you not to worry about that. Oh Reiner is absolutely furious, but instead of acting brash, he pulls you into his arms and holds you to his chest. He knows that’s exactly what you need at this moment, not more yelling and screaming, just comfort and actual loving. 

Which is exactly how you end up in his bathtub, you coming on his cock for the second time that night and him whispering in your ear while he guides your hips.

“That’s it babydoll, keep cumming on me just like that.” He rolls his hip upwards slowly as your orgasm rolls through your body.

“R-reiner, f-feels good!” You squeal, picking your hips up only to drop them down seconds later.

He throws his head back at the feeling of your pussy sucking him in with each bounce of your hips, you take the opportunity and suck hickeys on his neck. He lets out a whimper and grabs your ass cheeks before pistoning his hips upward.

You let out a mantra of moans as his tip hits your cervix with each thrust, he pulls you back by your hair and smirks at the fucked out look on your face.

“Look at you, you look so good when you’re fucked out.” He says, rubbing his thumb over your cheek before sliding it between your lips.

You suck on his thumb and squeeze your eyes shut when you feel your climax approach.

“I’m gonna cum daddy!” You say, speeding up the motion of your hips.

You swear his dick somehow gets harder when you call him that, your eyes widen when he wraps one of his big ass hands around your throat and forces you to look at him.

“Y-you can only cum, i-if you promise you’ll leave him for good.” He holds you in place on his dick so you know he’s serious and you feel tears well up in your eyes at the feeling of him edging you.

“P-promise, fuck daddy please I promise. I’m yours.” You grab his strong arms and whine in desperation.

He smashes his lips against yours and picks up the pace of his hips again, you suck on his bottom lip as he continuosly fucks yout sweet spot.

“I’m gonna fill you up so good babydoll, you gonna give daddy such pretty babies.” He says, smirking as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“P-please fill me up, w-wanna give you a baby.” You shudder as the feeling of your orgasm creeps up on you, your thighs slowly beginning to shake.

“Fuck that’s right, come for me baby! ‘m gonna fill that tight pussy up” He says through gritted teeth. 

You drag your nails down his chest as you let out a loud moan, you feel your arousal gush out of your tight cunt and Reiner holds you down in his lap as he shoots rope after rope of his warm cum inside of you.

The sound of you two trying to catch your breath causes Reiner to let out a small laugh.

“Are you okay?” He lifts your face with his finger and you nod, giving him a tired smile

“I am now, daddy.” You say teasingly and let out a quiet moan when he thrust up into you again.

“Don’t tempt me.” 

[tomhockstetter7-111]

Highest Form of Empathy - Chapter 2

2k+ words

Logan X Empath!Reader

It's a blessing and a curse, feeling other's pain. More so when you can take it away, albeit at the expense of your own peace. One-night stands were a usual for you. That's all this was supposed to be. But, seeing someone in so much pain, you couldn't leave him like that. You just couldn't. Besides, it's not like you'd ever see him again.....

CW: N/A

Masterlist

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

Late December, 2005

Calgary, Alberta

Waking to the sound of your alarm, you shut it down and stare at the ceiling. Your brain feels…empty. No noise, no anxieties, no urgencies? Just an ominous, heavy quiet.

'Deal with it later,' you told yourself. Well, now is later, and you don’t even know where to start.

You lay in bed, arm slung over your eyes when your second alarm breaks the deafening silence.

It’s not until you drag yourself out from under the covers and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, placing your feet on the icy floor, that you realize the weight of your body. You want to cry. But, why? Screwing your eyes shut, you spend the better part of ten minutes staring at the wood floor as you try to pull yourself together. You still see his eyes, no longer pools to get lost in, but two voids threatening to swallow you whole. All that pain wrapped in one person…you thought you could handle it.

Walking into work, you’re approached by blonde hair pulled into a stylized ponytail waving cheerfully at you. Amber. You met during lunch break on her first day of work two years ago. She seemed so excited to be here, introducing herself despite the prickly exterior you surrounded yourself in. Try as you did to push her away, her clinginess paired with her cheerful disposition making you recoil, you couldn’t find it in yourself to push her away. Soon enough, the two of you settled into a weekly routine of Friday night drinks. She often jokes that she adopted you that first day, but she was more a lost puppy following you home in the rain. And, what monster kicks the puppy? You never let her too close, though. You learned long ago about the safety of arm’s length.

She wraps you in a friendly side hug and you try not to tense under her touch. “You look like hell.”

"Thanks?" You give an awkward smile.

"Just calling it like it is." 

You shrug her off as you approach the break room.

"So, what was his name?" She asks the question in a high sing-song tone.

"Pardon?" 

She throws a smirk your way. "I'm not dumb. I know that look."

You knit your eyebrows together. What look? Your "look" was a practiced, neutral meant to keep nosy people at bay. Still, you decide to entertain her. "Actually, I don't know." You watch in amusement as her expression turns into one of frustration.

"You need to stop doing that. It's not healthy, you know."

"Why?" You grab your water from the fridge and shut the door a little too firmly. “I’m still young. Let me have fun.”

"You know that's not what I meant. Drinking and sleeping your sorrows away after every hard day. It's gonna affect your work. Not to mention put you in an early grave." 

You brushed off her comments with an eye roll. What did she know? What did anyone know, really? They didn't have to work so hard to block out others' emotions and they certainly didn't know what it was like needing to hide what you are all the time.

"Amber, I've told you time and time again." You put a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. "I'll be fine."

She shoots you an incredulous look. “I’m allowed to worry.”

“I’m not a patient, Amber,” you say as you head towards the door. “Besides, I’ve lasted this long.”

“Not sustainable. If I let my child die, it ruins my track record.”

“Your child’s a grown ass adult. She’ll be fine.” You make your way down the hall leaving no more room for argument. 

~~

Sitting in your office you drum a pen on your desk and stare at the wall. A patient canceled, so, now, you have an hour and fifteen to kill. Unfortunately, you've already lost half of it staring at the wall. 

Your power had a cool down rate, kind of like a video game power up. Depending on emotional intensity and the amount you absorb, it could take between two to twenty-four hours for your brain to return to baseline. Still, you would feel the severeness lessen over time. But, for whatever reason, this round is taking its sweet damn time. It didn’t help that you spent so much of your time wondering what would have caused those feelings. Was he a veteran? Abused, maybe? Shit, maybe his mom or spouse had just fucking died or something.

"The fuck did I get myself into?" You mumble to the air. 

Emotional trade-offs are something you avoid for this exact reason. It’s self destructive, ego stroking, and, frankly, not your fucking job. Therapists are meant to help work through emotions and find avenues for healing, not give a quick fix that disappears after a few days. As tempting as it was to just take away a client's despair during a spiral, it would do more harm than good in the long run. 

On top of that, it just wouldn’t do well to expose yourself like that. You could see the headlines now. "Mutant Therapist Uses Mind Control Powers to Gain Access to Classified Government Files" or “Rogue Mutant Turns Canadian Leader to Human Puppet - Wants Full Control” or some shit. 

Then again, who knows? Maybe they would raise your pay grade if they knew just how valuable an asset you were. You'd always been told you were so easy to talk to, always sitting there quietly as people spilled their woes. Maybe it was a passive effect of your power? You never bothered to look further. It certainly made it easier to empathize with others, though. You could think of a few clients that could benefit looking through someone else’s eyes.

The ring of your office's landline snaps you away from your thoughts. You rush to pick it up. You greet the voice on the other line with your best customer service voice stating both the company's name and that they’ve reached your office.

"Brilliant! I’ve been looking to reach you. How are you today?" He asks.

You blink slowly. "Doing fine. How about yourself?" Isn't it your job to ask how others are?

"Lovely, my dear, thank you. My name is Charles Xavier. I run a school in New York state for gifted children. We're looking to hire a general health teacher and counselor for the students."

"Oh, um...my apologies, sir. But, I'm not trained to work with minors." And, you aren’t. You specifically work with adults because the emotional regulation is so much better than with teenagers. Usually, anyway. Not to mention you know how abysmal teacher pay was.

"I assure you, that won't be a problem. Those attending the school are very well behaved. Furthermore, they really could use someone to talk to that understands their struggle."

"Sorry. I'm not sure I understand. Why is that me specifically?" There was a short silence on the other line. "Hello?"

"I know what you are."

Your heart dropped, hands running cold. "Sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

"No, I think you do. Trust, everyone here is much like you, myself included. I’m merely calling to make an offer. You work with us, help the students, and I can help you to refine your abilities. You have more than you're using." It’s an appealing offer. But, you’re skeptical. The last thing you need is to move back home, or worse, run and avoid any sort of danger. Just because the world seems to be opening up to mutants doesn't mean it is. Plenty of the public are still very much afraid. You know that much by proxy of your job.

You sigh. "How do I know I can trust you? I've built a life for myself here, and I've worked very hard to keep myself safe. I won't leave it behind just to walk into a fire."

"I assure you, you won't.” His voice is calm from the other end and seems genuinely sincere. “I don't expect an answer now. But, if you change your mind, I’m happy to give you my number."

There’s a long pause as you digest his words. "When you say 'gifted children’, do you mean..." you trail off, not trusting your voice.

"I run a school where children and staff with mutations can thrive in a place they feel accepted. We teach the students valid skills like science and literature along with scenario simulations to refine their powers. But…” He hesitates, “these children are still human. Thus, they have the minds of such and require proper guidance."

"How do you even know who I am?" You snap.

"I have several connections around the world. I’ve used them many times to reach out to those who could benefit from our space. That said, I can assure you I mean you no harm. You may reject the offer if you like, and you shan't hear from me again. I only wish to offer an opportunity."

You stare out the window as he talks. Maybe this could be good for you. Having cut off contact with your mother, and with no one to leave behind, except Amber, — you can’t decide if that’s good or bad — what do you have to lose?  "You said there was a number I could call back?"

~~

Friday came and went. You and Amber hit up the bar, the same one from Wednesday, but you spent it mostly in a daze, listening to Amber drone on about clients and work drama while you stirred your drink. A part of you couldn't help but wish the stranger would come back and find you again. Something about him kept you in a chokehold, and it was starting to piss you off. It made everything else seem dull by comparison. You counted two men, both decent enough, who approached you, trying to flirt and offer a good time. But, you could still feel his glare burn into your back, still feel his muscles under your nails, still feel his distress. You just couldn't be bothered. They didn't interest you. Nothing interested you. Not with this pit in your stomach.

"Ok, what happened?" Amber demands the following Monday, having had enough of dull hums every conversation. "You've been off since last week. Don’t tell me it’s that guy."

"Just got a lot on my mind." You deadpan. You sit in the breakroom picking at your salad, cold coffee next to you. You look up at her and can tell she’s not convinced. “I’m fine.”

"I think I liked you better when you were fucking everything that moved." She mutters as she disappears out the door.

"Rude!" You call down the hall before your gaze drifts to the TV, sound lowered. It's tuned to a news channel that seems to be covering a story titled "Cure for Mutation in the Works". Your face contorts in confusion. Yes, you had figured there were people out there who might not want their powers. All those trips to doctors as a child haunted you, constantly sent to be someone else’s problem and treated like you were paranoid or troubled, regardless of the fact you were completely right. They never believed you when you tried telling them about your abilities. They certainly never understood you. No one did. And, how could they? You always wished you could see someone just like you. It’s what led you to pursue psych work in the first place because wouldn't someone with a window into the person's mind be the perfect doctor? It became a blessing. But, the way they talked on the segment sounded as if a cure was a necessity to life. What if someone threw away their talents before they knew how special they really were?

Your mind drifts off to those kids at the school. What had they been through? Do they see their powers as curses, too? Could that change? Moreover, what of the mutants from back in 2000? You vaguely remembered hearing your classmates talk about it back in university. Some guy called Magnetism or something. What had he been through? You couldn’t remember exactly what he had done, or tried to do, all of it a distant memory. But, your roommate told you it would’ve killed a lot of people. It made you shudder. What could motivate something like that? Maybe it could’ve been stopped, nipped in the bud as a child.

With a sigh, you stand from the table and head to your office, abandoning your salad in the trash.

Upon entering, you glance down at the paper left on your desk from last week. It occurs to you. Even therapists have therapists, and you weren’t without your own traumas. Maybe this Charles Xavier, or perhaps one of his connections, could help you with that. At the very least, maybe he could understand.

You grab your personal phone from your pocket and dial the number.

~~

"I must extend my humblest apologies, but you'll be arriving during trying times. I neglected to tell you we recently lost a valued member of our staff in an accident. Tensions are still high." Charles explains.

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry," you give condolences, hoping it translates over the phone. You could understand him neglecting to tell you the first time, not knowing if you’d accept and all. But, it still sounded so heavy.

"It's quite alright, dear. We're managing as best we can. May I ask, what changed your mind?"

"Well…” You stand to look out the window, arms crossed, “After some thinking, I figured the assistance I could provide might be…important. Growing up wasn’t easy for me. I never had anyone I could talk to. Besides, I see other people’s powers and I have to wonder what their lives would be like if things were a little different. If there's any way I can help, I’d really love to."

"Oh, rest assured. There's plenty to be done here, and plenty more coming, I'm sure. If you’d feel comfortable getting to remain with your age bracket, we do have some graduates staying at the mansion that are open to therapy as well.”

“Anything I can do to help. I’ve never worked with openly mutant adults, but I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure the understanding will be appreciated. It’s long overdue for some. But, I do have one more request for you. But, feel free to tell me if it's too daunting."

"More daunting than working with teenagers?" you joke.

"Yes. Well, the staff here is also part of a defense task force. Think of it as a last resort military extension. Again, it's no obligation. But, I would like to extend the offer to participate. I think you could be a valuable asset."

You chew your bottom lip and tap your shoe against the floor. "What does it involve?"

"You would be practicing teamwork in disaster simulations with members of the force in addition to sparring and combat training with coworkers. Based on your CV, and given your abilities and range of movement, you would be going against our top fighter, Logan."

“Do I get a briefing before I get in the ring?” You half joke.

“Of course. I’m not interested in killing you.” Charles chuckles from the other side of the line. “We only want everyone in top shape should the need arise, and stamina is a priority.” You stare out the window, weighing your options when the voice chimes back in. "Again, it's no obligation. Having you here to look after the children would be far more than I could ask for."

You consider what this could mean. Again, it didn’t sound like there was much to lose. Besides regular trips to the gym, it had been a while since you’ve let off some proper steam. Your last martial arts class feels like ages ago. Maybe a few months, but still. Close combat could be a good refresher. Although, should a real emergency arise...but, you can't think of a single emergency that could come from working in a school, mutant exclusive or not.

"Actually, I think I'd be happy to join. I just hope you know I may not be there until-"

"I can take care of your visa. I know several great lawyers. You're more than welcome to come now and we can have the paperwork done by the end of the month." 

"Oh wow. You don’t have to do that.” You smile awkwardly to yourself.

“Please. It’s the least I could do.”

You sigh. “Ok. Well, I guess I'll get organized. I appreciate the offer. Really, I do."

"Of course. I'm sure the children will appreciate you just as much."

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

A/N: Chapter 2 and already an author's note? What is the world coming to? Sorry for putting this up so late. God struck me with diet AO3 curse. I'm fine though.

I'll try not to keep you guys waiting for the next one