#I've been also trying to quit smoking

[pewpop]

indulging in some zolu, enjoying it even (im still trying to get past ep 10 life has been unbearable)

their ship dynamic is really cool, i love soul crushing devotion paired with matching each other's freak

(also friendly reminder my commissions are open soooooo haha soooo.....)

lately I've been not enjoying writing in English and onestamente mi passa tra la minchia se non mi capisci pk, fra, parlo 4 lingue, impara l'italiano e help me out you know???

[forgotten-daydreamer]

vent moment but my health is a bit worse than i let on, which is weird ik since it seems like complain about it all the time here, and apparently i also look sick, because two separate people in their 40s or 50s asked me, 24, if i needed their seat on the bus. kind of them. but humiliating nonetheless.

[dirt-goth]

So last night was the first show I've gone to since I was like 18 that I put a real effort into Not Drinking and learned a few fun things

1) It was honestly a Lot harder to be in a bar around people drinking and just... not drink... than I expected. I thought I was in a little better place with that step but. Turns out 8+ years of alcoholic emotional avoidance isn't really fixed with a couple weeks (as a guy with other addictions this should not have been a shock)

2) Red bull and cranberry juice is delicious even without vodka. Good news.

3) I felt a lot better today. I remember last night very clearly. I had no hangover for work. Caffeine did its job still.

[la-cocotte-de-paris]

What are your experiences with drugs?

Just weed tbh. But I never purchased anything, I'd just join the circle at parties. Haven't touched it in almost a year now just bc I've been in a different environment.

[sombrashe]

fingertips ∿ nam-gyu x reader x thanos

smut

content reader has a vagina, threesome, oral m!receiving, fingering, drug mention (reader takes one of thanos' pills)

notes the longer version of this post

"Two truths and a lie, ready? Go."

"I have two sisters, I've been out of the country, and I breathe air."

The guys whisper among themselves each one dramatically looking in your direction every so often. You played with your nails, weeks unemployed has led them to get rather long. Scratching at a dry patch above your elbow they finally have an answer.

"The lie is-"

"Wait, shit. It's just one lie? I did one truth, ha. Well, I fucked up. Your turn."

You give them a wide smile, your eyes drooping as whatever Thanos gave you started to take hold. They look at each other before Thanos takes your hands in his. Long fingers bind your hands together and you're yanked.

Embarrassment floods heat to your face as you land sprawled over his legs. Your hands are pinned under you and your only solace is the placement of the bunks kept you three out of most people's view. Just as fast as you were pulled down, you're righted back into a sitting position. Only this time your back is pressed against Nam-gyus chest.

"Two truths and a lie. I'll go."

"I am a rapper, this is Nam-sus first time trying these pills, me and him fucked before."

"Well, the lie is obviously that you two fucked before." They seem to pent up to have fucked before or else they would have again by now.

"Wrong." Nam-gyu lifts his sleeve and shows off the track marks littering his inner elbow. You look between the two of them and their hungry grins as you take in the information. Then you start laughing. It's soft at first, a few quick bursts of laughter mixed with silence.

"That shit would be funny as fuck." Your laugh has upgraded to a genuine cackle as you imagined it. Leaning back, you genuinely can't figure out which one would be on top. Thanos has too much of an ego to bottom but Nam-gyu would be the perfect amount of pathetic to top Thanos.

There's a shout and a ring-clad hand covers your mouth. You all wait a moment, giggles muffled behind flesh. When you've finally calmed down enough you take Nam-gyus hand and hold it against your heart.

"Funny as fuck." You mouthed to a grinning Thanos. He leans forward and tilts his head as if he's going in for a kiss. Passing your lips he whispers low enough for you two to hear.

"Wanna know the story?"

You rub your cheek against his with an excited yes. He pulls away and his surprisingly still fluffy hair tickles your nose. Getting comfortable, you and Nam-gyu have upgraded from a simple hand on your chest to playing with each other's fingers as you listened.

"Our first time smoking together. It was just weed really. Well, we had just smoked a blunt. I think we also did Ketamine, maybe some coke. We start smoking and next thing you know we're both hard and with no señoritas around we took care of each other."

You listen intently. Your lips parted and your head slotted against Nam-gyus neck. Wow. You blink in his direction for a moment.

"Who fucked who?"

"That's not important. Now we need to know if you're gonna join us."

"Obviously, but first I want to know who fucked who."

"You let us have some fun and we'll show you."

Nam-gyu finally speaks up and you sit up at the prospect. Grabbing one hand from each boy you place them over your chest and give their hands a squeeze for them. Slipping out of the bed you pad your way to the door in the far corner. You don't hear them but you know they're both right behind you.

"I have to go. So do they."

The guard hesitates for a moment but eventually lets you three out. Staying a few steps ahead of them you walk up the stairs with them trailing behind you. Entering the bathroom you make sure it's empty before pulling both in for a kiss. It's messy and doesn't work out quite right but you'll be damned if you didn't get your fill. Pulling away you're already panting with restrained excitement.

Neither one wastes any time stripping your top half completely naked. Shivering in the conditioned room, goosebumps litter your skin as you wait. It takes a few minutes, both admiring your tits. A few minutes is all they last before you're being nipped at. Thanos has teeth on your shoulders while Nam-gyu focuses on your jawline. Each one takes a handful and starts toying with your nipples. The sharp pain of teeth against flesh tingles your toes while the pleasure from their eager hand movements has your thighs clenching. You don't know what to do with your hands so you keep them balled up at your side. Only once blood starts staining their teeth do they pull away.

Pain is replaced with a tingling sensation as the pill covers your senses. Wetting your bottom lip you sink to your knees in from of Nam-gyu. Your jacket is folded to kneel on and you look back at Thanos. Once he joins you reach up and yank their sweats down with a little too much enthusiasm. With Thanos, it's a clean pull, just his sweats, his briefs restraining his cock. With Nam-gyu you accidentally catch his briefs in your pull and his cock springs free to slap against you. He lets out a laugh and you glare up at him motioning with chomping teeth what you'll do if he continues. Covering his laugh with a cough you go back to removing Thanos' briefs. You watch as his cock springs free and slaps against his abdomen.

Biting at your nail you take in the scene; two leaking cocks waiting for you to play with. Lifting your chin you maintain eye contact as you lick a stripe up Thanos' cock. Your tongue follows the small vein on the underside before you give his tip small kisses. Pulling away you mimic your actions with Nam-gyus and memorize each of their reactions. Taking a moment to gather some spit you let your tongue drip some down onto the tip of Thanos' cock. Using your hand you jack him off while your mouth is occupied with taking a few inches of Nam-gyus down your throat. Of course, Thanos starts complaining.

"How come he gets head first? I am Thanos the Great, your mouth should be over here."

You flip him off before continuing your movements. Taking Nam-gyu further your nose tickles as his bush brushes against it. Spending a few minutes ignoring Thanos and annoyance has you fucking up your rhythm.

"Shut up for two minutes and I'll give you head."

Going back to bobbing your head the silence doesn't last long. Thanos continues to voice his concerns for a few more minutes until he catches Nam-gyus face change. Hands tangle in your hair and drool drips down your chin. Silence falls over the bathroom and the only sounds that are amplified are your muffled hums and the wet movement of your hands. Two minutes wiz by and you reward Thanos by popping off Nam-gyus dick and onto his.

You work your way down until he's a lump in your throat. Bobbing your head you're only able to get a few breaths in before he's shoving your head down until you're choking on spit and pre-cum. His sounds are much more intimate. Low groans and praise fill the space. Nam-gyu only participates with heavy breathing and long sighs. A little while later you're being yanked off Thanos with a sharp inhale.

Your hand is replaced and both jack the other off until they finish on your face. You're given little warning to close your eyes but you make perfect time and you get a rush of adrenaline. When their breathing evens, you blink your eyes open. Standing, you pop your back and look between them.

Painted nails grip the clean skin of your jaw. Each one spends moments cleaning your face with their tongues. Every so often their lips brush against one another's and they spend time swapping cum. You're thoroughly covered in spit when they're done.

Groaning you grab some paper towels and clean your face with a damp one. Turning you see them both situated and talking amongst themselves. Pushing past them you gather your shirt and jacket and throw it back on. A manicured nail is placed against your chest and you're pushed back against the wall. Nam-gyu slots himself between you and the wall and lets you push up against him.

Two sets of hands are shoved down the front of your sweats. Long fingers pet themselves past your folds and into your dripping core. Cool metal causes your abdomen to clench as it presses against your skin. Your clit is pulled and scratched at. Instead of pain, you feel pure ecstasy at the feeling.

"Oh, holy fucking God."

Grinding your hips forward, deft fingers move in and out of you. Slick sounds fill your burning ears. Burying your face into Nam-gyus neck he leans forward to give you the escape. You're played with for only a few minutes before your orgasm washes over you. Your earlier activities having worked you up enough to cum twice already.

Your jaw clenches and your body tightens. Leaning there you attempt to catch your breath. Removing themselves from you, fingers are then shoved into your mouth and you're ordered to clean them. Whining around them you suck Thanos' fingers clean, your tongue moving between his digits to clean every inch. Pulling his hand away from your mouth you take the back of your hand and remove the extra drool that fell down your chin.

Thanos grins and wraps his arm around your shoulder. Laughing he starts going off about a rap he plans to complete once he gets out of here. You catch Nam-gyu on his other side holding onto his sleeve as he gleefully listens to Thanos ramble on.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

" Dinner Party "

Part 1

Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Potter!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: The Potters throw a dinner party; Mattheo meets the family}

Wc- 4142

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, Harry is a bit of an arse, cussing, sexual themes cussing, just a bunch of fluff and yearning}

Taglist- @helendeath @2dloveshp @hatakemrs

“Well.” Lily spoke slowly. “Look at us now.” 

Lily looked over at you just in time for you to glance up and meet her eyes. She smiled sweetly before she continued. “I think its sweet.”

…

The tension in the room was slowly beginning to ease. You couldn't help but feel a bit of hope grab hold of your chest. Your eyes flickered between your mother and your father. James, of course, ever protective, still held a look of drastic offense as Lily spoke up again. “I know you're a smart girl, I raised you myself. I knew your partner would be a sore subject.” 

She reached her hand over and placed it over James’ leg. She smiled at him, a look to try and convey everything running threw her head at once. They are kids. Our angel will be okay.

“Why? Did you.. not trust my judgment?” You asked cautiously, your hands slowly fisting the cloth of your pants. 

Lily quickly shook her head. “No, no, nothing like that. Quite the opposite.” She mused and turned to look at James who had closed his eyes and began to even his breaths.

“We used to joke you were perhaps meant to be a Hufflepuff. Darling, you have always seen the best in people, even when others couldn't really see it.” Lily offered and James scoffed. Your mother gave a small grimace before she spoke carefully. “Love is complicated. I can attest to that.” She began, eyeing James as if warning him to challenge her. 

“But love is beautiful. That night, at dinner, was the first time I've ever seen you talk back to us. I was distraught, and I am sorry I reacted the way I did.” She began to fiddle with his pant leg between her fingers. Speaking before you could continue. “It was immature. And if this boy puts so much fire in you, I want to at least meet him.”

Your body stiffened and your eyes widened. Looking between your father and mother as you stammered and tried to stutter out something. “M-meet you guys? We've only been dating a few months now.” You tried to defend.

You loved Mattheo, but he wasn't exactly house trained. He was raised by a house elf and saying the Malfoy’s tried to help raise him would be an exaggeration at the least. He could be polite, charming, he was well mannered when he wanted to be, as he had a smile that could take breaths away. 

But he was also Mattheo Riddle, and the idea of putting him in a room with your father, the other most hotheaded boy you knew, was a terrifying one. Mattheo didn't take kindly to being reminded of his father. It felt cruel to put him in a boxed up room with the very people his parents tried to kill. Not to mention, he got emotional when it came to families. 

You acted like you didn't notice at first, for Merlin's sake you were head over heels for this boy. You would sit in his dorm room, bare to your core and tangled together under the sheets. He would be holding you from behind like you were a vice, telling you about his dreams of a family with love like yours. When you would mention your family, he’d grow tense but stay his stoic self when you would ask. 

It wasn't hard to read him like a book, especially since Mattheo basically read it for you. He had changed a lot in the last few months you'd been with him. You used to fight horribly the first month. He was still so used to his single status, he hadn't really had positive expectations set on him. You explained to him what you wanted, you were patient, then he started to talk and communicate with you more efficiently, copying your behaviors to mimic your maturity. He loved how happy you looked when he improved himself, the praise sick boy wanting any bit you'd give him. When he told you he quit smoking, he let you drown him in praise and kisses, using withdrawal as an excuse for him being more handsy with you.

You soon learned from his friends that he had quit months ago, when you first told him you hated them, the cheek. He didn't even have the sense to look guilty when it came to light, just seemed so damn proud of himself.

In all honesty, it was hard not to adore him. Even when he was being a little arse. You had fallen hard for the loaded gun, and he obeyed you like you were the trigger. That being said.. he was still Mattheo, meeting your parents seemed like a bigger step than when he would drag you under his sheets with a silencing charm. 

“What? Don't want him to meet us?” James spoke up, and you snapped out of your thoughts. He sounded almost hopeful, like you weren't entirely serious about him. You gave him a pout and Lily squeezed his thigh tighter. 

“Do you think it's too soon, lovely?” Your mother asked patiently and you bit your lip. The last thing you wanted to do was lie to your mother. Lying to James was easy, he was a bit of a push over when it came to you, and you never lied about anything truly groundbreaking. But Lily, she had been your best friend for years. She was your mother, your confidant, and she knew more about you than anyone else. Probably helps that she's known you since you were welcomed home.

“... I am just scared.” You admitted and James’s expression shifted to soften. He sat up a bit and Lily gave him a soft smile.

“Why?” Your mother prodded and you curled your knees to your chest. 

“Just.. he's never had this.” You gestured around you. “He can be a bit.. reactive when it comes to stress?” You tried to offer the information carefully and James frowned hard.

“Reactive as in?” He leaned closer and your eyes flashed open wide. 

“No, Merlin, he would never. Not to me.” You tried to defend and the look on your mothers face made you realize what you said.

“That's not- no, I don't mean it like that.” You quickly tried to back track. Lily sent James a smirk. 

James looked at her with a furrowed brow and a slight pout. “What?”

“Just reminds me of how I tried to defend my choice of partner to my parents. Then, to your parents.” Lily laughed and James bit his cheek but smiled to see his wife so happy. You watched the two and your heart throbbed a bit. You loved your parents so much. You wanted that with Mattheo. Were you moving too fast? It was likely. Could this go horribly wrong? Most definitely. 

“Okay.” You spoke up and your parents turned to you “I'll invite him.”

~~~

Mattheo was at the Lestrange manor alone, as usual, but this summer was far different. He usually would busy himself with his friends, going to pointless balls the Malfoy’s insisted he attend, sneaking off with pureblood girls he didn't even remember the names of. Or better, going drinking with his mates from school.

This summer was killing him. The silence of the manor used to bother him before, every footstep sounded like thunder, every breath he made echoed in his ears, but now? Merlin. You came from a loud family, you didn't know the pain of it. When he was with you, the louder things weren't always bad. You always talked a bit louder than him, played music in his dorm with his unused radio, talked to him while you ran your fingers through his hair. It was easy to like the louder things now. He hated quiet.

The silence just reminded him you weren't there. He didn't even remember when his nights spent alone with witches of different backgrounds became nights of desperate yearning for you. Neither of you had said it yet, but even if you were just talking now, he didn't intend to keep it that way. He didn't want anyone else. He couldn't have anyone else. And the idea of you with someone else? He'd rather die.

Theodore Nott had been lettering him to try and get him out of the hell house, but the idea of you lettering him back when he wasn't home ate him up inside. Pansy called him whipped, when he lettered her to ask if he had done something wrong. ‘It’s only been two weeks, let her settle.’ Out of all of his friends, you clicked with her the easiest. It didn't help that he got a bit jealous when you talked to his male friends. He's never cared this much.

He was sure you've had to have hexed him.

Slipped him Amortentia.

Or soaked your entire body in it. 

Maybe it was mixed into that lovely perfume of yours? 

He groaned out and covered his face, leaning back from his desk into his seat. He let his arms go slack at the sides of his chair and looked at the ceiling. He was pathetic, but he wasn't scared of it this time. He liked feeling weak, if it was for you. He bit his bruised bottom lip and turned to look at the window. What would you think of him now? Sitting about with nothing to do but need you. He needed the heavenly haze you gave him. He liked to worship you, like you were all he was beyond his family. 

Two days after he had sent that letter, he was starting to wonder if you had realized your mistake. That being with your family reminded you that Mattheo Riddle was no one. Someone who should remember he was no one. Not worth the time you spared him day to day, that he was just some phase. He didn't know if he could recover from you. He might just throw the towel in if you didn't want him. Who could recover from a love like a prayer? A love that made him think of you like it was a threat. You were a threat. To his sanity. To his reputation. To his status. 

And he was a threat to you. Obsession, he had to agree with Draco. You are an obsession.

His thoughts were thrown out when he noticed something coming into view through his window. He nearly knocked his chair over as he stumbled over to open it. The Potter’s Owl.

~~~

“You're invited to the Potter’s Residence for our first dinner party of the year,”

Mattheo thumbed over the invitation in hand. He was shocked when he first read it, not only did he never expect to be invited to the Potter’s, he definitely didn’t ever expect you to tell your parents enough about him to be invited. He was excited, thumbing the invitation over and over.

He had groomed himself properly, he was in a button up shirt and a green vest, his hair was almost tamed. He was holding the invitation, raising his knuckle to knock on the door.

You snapped to attention from where you were looking in the mirror. You were wearing a deep forest green dress, the one you knew Mattheo loved, and your dad seemed to take that as a personal offense, dressed in his red dress shirt that matched your mothers dress.

“I still don't like this.” Sirius grumbled from his seat on the couch, and Remus rolled his eyes from where he leaned in the doorway. “A bit late, darling.” He mumbled as he watched you walk down the hall to open the door.

Lily requested Harry and James set up the table, leaving just you and her in the immediate room.

You took a deep breath, looking at your mom before she nodded and you turned back. Opening the door you were a bit startled to see Mattheo so put together, you had to remember that he was raised as pureblood royalty, you just never figured you'd see him so done up. You bit your lip a bit and he chuckled at this, snapping you out of your daze. You quickly stepped aside and he walked in, wrapping one of his arms around your waist and pulled you flush against his form, not having noticed Lily yet. 

“I missed you, beautiful.” He whispered, leaning forward to kiss you. The second his lips touched yours, you sighed. Like he unwove every bit of your tense frame with just his touch. You couldn't remember a thing, not why you were so worried, where you were, and how your mother was watching you. For ten whole seconds, with just his soft careful kiss, he had made you dumb. He took a sharp breath and sighed after you, stepping closer.

Lily noticed the signs as it got a bit deeper than just a greeting kiss, and she quickly cleared her throat. You quickly pulled away in a fluster, and Mattheo just followed your lips to give you another quick peck, before he pulled back and gave Lily his dazzling look. “Mrs. Potter, right?” He mused and you had to catch a whine in your throat when he stepped back. He held his hand out and Lily moved to shake it, but instead he took her palm and kissed the back of her wrist. “You have a lovely home, ma'am. I can't say I'm surprised, {Y/N} had taken on your style.” He mused and Lily smirked at him.

“So you've been to my daughter’s dorm, hm?” She asked cheekily and his eyes widened and his face dropped. Like a guilty puppy. “I-”

Lily laughed and waved her hand. “Please, don't feel the need to explain. I'm only joking.”

Mattheo blinked a few times and slowly smiled. You and Lily were a lot alike. It looked like he had an ally already. He let go of her hand and stood up straighter. Waving his hand a bundle of Orchids appeared and he offered them to her. “Well, thank you for welcoming me.”

Your heart swelled at the interaction. Maybe tonight wouldn't be horrible. 

“Riddle, hm?” 

Well, it was fun while it lasted.

Sirius stood in the doorway of the parlor room, staring down at Matheo with a harsh glare. Mattheo met his gaze with his usual dissociative state. “Sirius Black, sir? It's nice to meet you.” He mused and offered him his hand. Sirius looked down at his hand then back to Mattheo. Riddle sighed and moved his hand down to his side, a bit startled when you walked up and took it for yourself. 

He smiled at you like a love sick fool, and Sirius felt his lip twitch at the look.

Remus seemed to see it too, ever the helpless romantic, he bit his cheek. Trying to hide a smile. 

Now, Remus despised the idea of you bringing a Riddle into the family. He hated the idea you would possibly, one day carry the last name of the monster that was Tom Riddle. But those thoughts left his head when he saw how you rested your head on his shoulder, your fingers playing with his, like a practiced art, knowing exactly how to soften the blow of rejection from your uncle.

Suddenly, Mattheo was giving that bright smile again, and you felt a bit cocky to be the one to give it to him. Pressing your lips to his shoulder and you peaked over it but just stared at his profile.

“Nice to meet you, again.” Remus mused, offering his hand and Mattheo’s smile only grew, taking his hand and shaking it firm. “Thank you, Professor.”

He shook his head. “Remus is fine.”

Sirius gawked at him in full offense, having lost himself to the boy's charm. 

Before Sirius could make a snappy comment, Lily spoke up. “Well, I'm sure you're hungry, let's go get you fed, hm?”

“Yes ma'am.” Mattheo responded in kind, before glancing down at you by his shoulder and wetting his lips. Leaning down to steal another kiss, Sirius scoffed as he passed you two to get to the table. Remus followed behind him, as Lily waved the two to their seats. 

“Not much for a dinner party, hm?” He mumbled to you and you gave a small laugh. 

“Not all of us are as extravagant as your family.” You teased and he gave a wolfish smirk. “I think you forget, your father is James Potter, famous for his parties if I remember.” He teased and you rolled your eyes before biting your lip. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Not to mention, even if he seems to hate me, Sirius is my family.”

You narrowed your eyes before your eyebrows jumped upward as you pieced together his family tree. Right. His mother was Sirius’s cousin. It suddenly sunk into you just why Sirius seemed to be taking this so seriously. Mattheo was a mix of the two things he hated most, his family and Voldemort. Must be hard to believe anything good could come from those two things.

You shoved the thought away. He could get over himself. You weren't going to throw away everything you and Mattheo were because Sirius couldn't get over his bias. Your father too.

Once you and Mattheo walked into the dining room, it seemed to be going well. There wasn't much conversation between Mattheo and your family, you found yourself talking to each other. Updates on your lives, him whispering how much he missed you, taking every opportunity to drown you in his affections. You were a flustered mess, but smiling the brightest you've had in days. It was like an addiction, his attention. 

You didn't notice Lily's attention on you two, too wrapped up in Riddle. He was the same, looking at you like you were the last person in the world, like you were worth falling for. He sure hoped so, because he was approaching the ground rapidly as your eyes danced his features. It reminded her of something, turning to look at James and was met with the same look as he tried to start up another Quidditch conversation with her. She simply rolled her eyes fondly. How could he not see what was happening?

“So.” Lily spoke up after her conversation with James flickered out. She spoke in a tone that demanded attention. “How did you two meet? When did this start?” She offered and Mattheo bit his cheek and looked at you, for the hundredth time that night. You smiled and looked back at your mom.

“Well, Professor McGonagall asked me to help a student study during lunch periods. I had no clue who it was but I figured it couldn't hurt.” You mused, conveniently not bringing up the bribe. “Then it kind of.. changed. Eventually it just became casual study dates. Like one, I was teaching him how to summon a patronus and-” You lit up as bright as a star as you began your story, before Harry scoffed. Your face fell a bit and you looked over at Harry with a furrowed brow.

Mattheo had to resist the urge to snap at him for taking away such a view.

He looked up at you with a glare. “I've just never met a Death Eater who could use a patronus is all.”

There was a thick silence that filled the room as your jaw went slack. You tried to figure out a way to steer the conversation elsewhere, mouth growing dry.

Lily tried to speak up but Mattheo beat her to it. “Sorry to disappoint, still haven't it seems.” He cheeked and you looked back at him with a laugh. Your mother gave Harry a look that certainly meant danger for him later. Harry didn't even seem to care, just scoffed.

“He summoned a Fox.” You informed your mother and her mouth fell open a bit, her smile brightening. 

“Is that true?” He prodded Mattheo and he nodded. “Yes ma'am.”

Lily looked at James with raised eyebrows, amused, and he shook his head before clicking his tongue. “So. Heard you were in the Quidditch team, what position?” James finally and reluctantly joined the conversation. 

“Beater, sir.” Mattheo mused and smirked, eyeing Harry from the corner of his eye. “Seems someone still miffed over the bludger he took a few weeks ago.”

“Your team cheated.” Harry challenged quickly and Mattheo gave him a wolfish smirk. “Did we? Or is that the only way you'd accept that we got the cup?”

“Watch it, Riddle. I'll make a fool of you next season.” Harry quipped and it actually sounded almost playful. You gave a scoff and Mattheo chuckled. Figures they'd bond over Quidditch of all things.

“Really? A beater?” James spoke up and Mattheo looked over to him with a nod. 

“Sirius was a beater too, we were a fierce team.” James mused and leaned forward. “We created this move…”

Their voices faded out, and you smiled at the scene. It was cordial, almost friendly, as the men at the table talked about the sport with enthusiasm. Well, all safe for Remus who started talking to your mother about a new book recommendation. You just watched how Mattheo seemed to fall into place in your family so easily, and how happy he seemed about it. 

Way too soon, the night was over, and Mattheo was leaving. You and your parents walked him to the door, and he turned to face you.

“Thank you again, Mrs. Potter, the food was amazing. And Mr. Potter, thank you for allowing me to come over.” He mused and your mom shook her head. “Please, anytime sweetheart. Call me Lily.” 

Then, much to your surprise. “Call me James.” Your father mused and took his hand into a firm shake.

Mattheo had this startled look on his face, thrown for a loop before he quickly recovered. “Y-yes sir. I mean James, yes James.”

You giggled and before Mattheo could be given any more surprises, you walked up and hugged his arm. “I'll walk him out of the apparition wards.”

“Don't be gone too long-” James began before Lily covered his mouth and shooed you both off. “Go! We'll be here.” She reassured you.

You pulled Mattheo out the door, leaving Lily to smirk up at James and he groaned. “Okay, the kid isn't that bad.”

“You too!?” Sirius shouted from across the house and Lily laughed. 

~~~

You walked with Mattheo, managed to get just a few yards from the house before his lips were on yours. He had stopped completely, wrapping his arms around your waist and almost toppled you over when he leaned over your frame so easily. You let your hands slide up to his biceps and he gave a low groan, pulling away before he got too far. 

You took a sharp puff of air and steadied your breathing. Your eyes met his deep dark ones. He was looking at you with something so familiar and yet it was hungrier than you'd ever seen before. “Mattheo-”

“Tonight was amazing.” He whispered and took your lips again. This time, you actually managed to prepare yourself. Your hands slipped behind his neck and into his gelled hair. Pouting into the kiss and he smirked. “What?”

“Your hair. I hate it like this.” You mumbled into his lips, not wanting to break the kiss. Mattheo laughed and pulled his wand from his pocket, waving it to return his hair to his naturally fluffy glory. 

“That better?” He teased, giving a toothy smirk as he watched you lick your lips clean of him. 

“Much.” This time, you started the kiss, earning a low yelp from him. He chuckled and pushed you against the wall of your fathers property. Hands roaming lower, as you tilted your head back, his new target being your neck.

“You’ve been driving me mad all night, ya know that?” He breathed against your collarbone, fingers fiddling with the end of your dress. “Had to look your father in the eye tonight, and you still wore this? All I could think of was the last time you wore it.” 

You gave a low gasp when his fingers lipped just under the small skirt. “M-Mattheo-”

“I've missed you, beautiful. The last two weeks were torture, you know that? Know what you do to me?” He mumbled against your skin. Your eyes grew hazy the more he spoke. Like he was controlling you with his words. Suddenly, his head snapped up and he looked just past you. 

“Huh. Do you guys have a dog?” He asked and you snapped out of your trance when you heard a loud roar from behind you. “And.. a stag? You have dogs and deer on your property?” He asked and you simply covered your face and gave a loud groan.

“Dad!!”

[saltnsugarbear]

an inch away from more than just friends (18+)

summary: based on the word prompt "I wanted you to be my first" with Carmy!

title from: "Naked In Manhattan" by Chappell Roan

word count: 5.1k

content warnings: beginnings of smut!!! MDNI!! stripper reader (can still be read as gn!), kissing, swearing, teasing Carmy, innuendos left and right, unprotected sex, brief fingering

side note: if anyone wants to yap about Carmy and stripper reader in my inbox after this, please do!!! they're rotting my brain. i love this dynamic <3 I'm actually so excited to post this raahh!!!

Living in New York was expensive.

This is no secret. But the results meant you worked two jobs. One as a bar tender and one as.... An exotic dancer. To put it kindly.

Two night jobs gave you mostly nocturnal habits, but the tips were good. Most of them were in ones and you couldn't exactly pay for everything with a band of dollar bills.

Which is how you ran into Carmy. Outside of a bank. He was lost and you were in a rush to get to the bar.

"Shit- Watch where you're fuckin' goin'!" You hiss as you stumble back, adjusting your bag strap as you steady yourself.

Your first interaction resembled those videos of puppies and senior dogs. You berating him mildly, him knocking you down with a few sentences and you hesitating before going back to nipping his ankles. You're embarrassed now by the way you trailed after him on the sidewalk. You followed this man just because he ran into you on accident.

Carmy has never told you why he didn't yell at you on that day. Why he didn't tell you off for following him through two stoplights. Just like how you couldn't explain why you felt the need to berate this curly-haired stranger in the middle of New York. It also ended up being a pure matter of coincidence when one of your regulars took you to dinner. A dinner that resulted in a kitchen tour that led you back to the man who ran into you.

You stuck around enough to pry a phone number out of him. He was easy to crack, batting your lashes at him and quiet pleading.

He didn't anticipate quite how many notifications you'd wrack up on his phone. He felt obnoxious, being the person whose phone was always buzzing. You were like a labrador chasing at his heels for his attention. Carmy felt bad about when he tried ghosting you. Letting you lead a one-sided conversation for a day.

Just when he thought he'd gotten rid of his distraction, you showed up in the alleyway where he smoked after work. You were already out there when he got outside, leaning against the wall with a cigarette on your lips. That night you managed to convince him to give you a ride to the club after coming all the way out to Daniel to scold him for trying to ghost you.

The first time Carmy pulled up in front of the club, his face flushed bright pink. When you turned to thank him, you couldn't help but tease him over it.

"Aw, Carmen! You didn't tell me you've never been to a club before," You smile at him sweetly.

"Carmy," He says quickly, trying to clear his throat. "Just Carmy is fine."

His words make you hum, watching him as you rest your head against the headrest.

"Wanna come in? Can give you a free dance for the ride," You offer him, smile widening as you watch flush work over his ears and down his neck.

"I uh- I've got to um- I can't I gotta-" He stutters, trying to get out some excuse.

"Fuckin' with you, Carmen," You giggle as you open the passenger door. "You gotta pay for a dance just like everyone else."

You bid him thank you and goodnight after you climbed out of his car, blowing him a kiss through the window as you went inside. And thus started your friendship with Carmy. Although unconventional, you intrigued him. He had never hung out with someone so.... Brazen. Someone so sure about who they were and so different. Someone like you usually trailed after Mikey, fawning over him in hopes he might take you to dinner or to his bed. You were so different from Carmy that it just... Worked.

You brought a different sort of comfort in Carmy. Neither one of you had any expectations for this, and that was enough.

You took to inviting yourself to Carmy's apartment in the beginning before he started asking you over every night. You never expected him to make you dinner but after a few nights of your intrustion, he started asking about your favorite dishes. Started cooking for someone other than himself or a customer.

Which is how you ended up in his kitchen, telling him about your day before work. Complaining about your car that had been acting up and smoking out of the tire well.

"My car's in the shop.." You pout, leaning against the counter, twirling your pen between the surface and your fingers.

"Yeah?" Carmy asks, distantly. He's making you dinner before you have to leave for your shift.

"'S gonna be... Stupid expensive," You sigh, laying your arms on the counter and resting your chin on your forearm. "And Sierra has been askin' for lots of my shifts so I'm not gettin' as much as usual... Gonna be tight between that and rent... 'S my luck though.."

Carmy glances back when you sigh, heart twisting when he sees how your lip juts out with your cheek pressed against your arm.

Carmy tries not to let his thoughts run too wild. Godforbid he messes a good thing up. But it's really hard when you're looking up at him with wide eyes and mouth twisted in a pout. It's easy to let his mind wander to another scenario where you'd look at him like that. Hands resting on your thighs as you sit on your knees, eyes practically begging him to take off his jeans.

He's quick to turn back to the stove, distracting his mind from those thoughts by focusing on what he knew. Food. Not sex and definitely not how you'd look in bed.

Carmy distracts himself with plating dinner. He pulls out two of his pasta bowls and plates up the chicken alfredo you begged him to make for you tonight. Not that you really had to, he would make anything you asked him to. Carmy can hear your hum of excitement as you stand up straight. You've learned to watch Carmy work from the counter instead of trying to help. It just created a bigger headache for the both of you.

Once he's finished plating and puts the bowl in front of you, you give him a quick 'thank you' befire digging in. You carry most of the conversation, making sure to let Carmy know when you wanted his feedback (you learned early-on that Carmy was content to listen, even when you prompted him for a response. He needed to be invited to share his thoughts with you). To anyone else his responses would seem disinterested, but you knew him enough that anything more than a half stuttered few words was good for you.

Carmy does let you help clean up. Letting you pack up the extra food Carmy has started to include so you could take something to your dancer friends or to take home. Carmy focused on rinsing dishes off before putting them in the dishwasher.

You've both fallen into a routine. Once you're both done cleaning, Carmy goes to his room to collect his things for work. You collect your bag from the living room and slip on your shoes and coat.

When you're both ready, Carmy corals you out the door and letting you lead him to the parking garage across from his apartment building. Again the car is filled by your chatter and Carmy's limited input as he drives you to work.

There's a weird vibe when Carmy pulls up to the curb in front of the club. His fingers tap erratically on the wheel and he looks like he's deep in thought. You're about to climb out of the car when he speaks up.

"Y'know, I could um... I could foot the uh, the mechanic bill for ya?" Carmy suggests.

"What?" You ask, turning back towards him quickly.

"For your car... Could pay it off for ya.." He shrugs like it's not a big deal.

"Carm.." You sigh, preparing to turn down what's actually a great offer.

"'S not a big deal promise. You're tight on money and I don't want y'stressin' and risk missin' out on more.." He says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. It's a moments hesitation before you throw your arms around him, leaning over the center console to give him a hug.

"Thanks, Carm," You mutter in his jacket before pulling away. "Means a lot."

You turn back and open the door before turning back to him. Carmy makes a noise of surprise when you place a quick kiss to his cheek, admiring the light lipgloss stain on his cheek. You climb out before he can say anything, ducking down to peer at him from the sidewalk, "Thank you, Carmen!"

You wave him goodbye as he pulls away from the curb, face bright red and stomach full of butterflies.

He's so fucked.

You hope to God Carmy actually picks up his phone. He usually does but you can never be too sure on Carmy's time on his phone.

You're standing in the alley outside of the club, jacket wrapped around you but it's not enough to warm your legs.

"Hey," Carmy's voice is groggy, making your stomach twist with guilt.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Carm.." You sigh, ashing your cigarette.

"No, what's up?" Carmy cuts you off and you sigh again.

"I uh.... I need a ride.. Guy was bein' a major dick and I... I got mad at him and Angie's sendin' me home early.." You tell him. You hadn't bothered changing before you walked out of the club, only grabbing your jacket before you stormed off.

"Give me ten minutes." Carmy's words are final when he says them. He gives you a moment to object before hanging up.

You don't bother to go back inside to grab your things, running on the anger from your customer and manager. It's less than ten minutes before Carmy pulls up to the curb. You climb in the moment the car stops, missing the double take Carmy does when he sees how much of your legs are exposed. You're too busy taking one last hit from your cigarette before dropping it to the sidewalk. When you turn back into the car, Carmy has to tear his eyes away from your thighs, looking for an opening to pull away from the club. He lets you wallow in silence before it hits you.

"Oh, fuck me," You sigh, leaning against your hand on the door and rubbing at your brow.

"What?" Carmy glances at you briefly before flicking on his turn signal.

"Left my keys in my bag and fuckin'- Left my bag at work and I don't-" You sigh heavily, rubbing your hand over your eyes. "I don't have clothes at your place and I can't get home. I'm such a fuckin' mess tonight, I'm sorry.."

"'S okay," Carmy says, taking the gap in cars to pull into the parking lot.

"Carm-" You start.

"It's okay, really. Just give you some of my clothes and I'll uh- I'll sleep on the couch," He says, eyes scanning for a parking spot as if he didn't just invite you to spend the night.

"I'm not gonna make y'do that, Carmy," You tell him while he prepares to reverse into a spot.

"Not makin' me do anything," Carmy tells you once he's parked in the spot. "Now let's get upstairs cause it's fuckin' cold."

You hadn't noticed before but Carmy's only dressed in sweatpants and one of his stupid white t-shirts. You watch as he tucks his hands into his pockets, trying not to stare at the way how his ass looks and how his thighs fill them out.

"Fuckin' stupid f'not grabbing my pants.." You mutter grumpily, bringing the borrowed jacket tight around you. Carmy huffs a few steps in front of you, taking the opportunity to glance at your legs again. Both of you crowd together as you cross the street and enter the apartment building. The building is warmer, making you loosen your hold on the jacket. Being enclosed with Carmy in the elevator makes you open it even more, making Carmy avert his gaze.

You make it more difficult by tucking in close to him, slipping your phone between both of you to snap a quick picture. He still hasn't figured out he doesn't need to look at the screen. When he looks down at your phone, his eyes catch on the deep cut of your top. His breathe catches in his throat at all the skin there, taking in every inch of it.

Within a moment he tears his eyes away, glancing at the numbers as they ding by. Carmy doesn't pay much mind as you hum next to him, bumping him with your shoulder softly. He's gotten used to your casual affections.

Carmy let's you lead him to his apartment door, slipping past you to unlock the door. You still smell like the body spray you showed him. You kept boasting about how it was vanilla and shea and how much you liked it. One of the girls at work had told you about it, and Carmy mentally thanks her for it. Carmy let's you into his apartment, stepping off to the side to toe off his shoes. You sigh as you step in the space, beelining for the island. You drop your phone and cigarette pack before you start shrugging off your jacket. When Carmy looks up from his shoes he feels like he's fucking buffering.

There's so much skin on display and he has to blink hard to fight getting a hard-on. He's not sure what he was thinking, that you had put on a shirt before storming out of work? With the coat off, Carmy can see where your shorts hug your ass, a little bit slipping out of them. He traces up from there to where your top cuts across your skin, breaking up your lower and upper back. There's something else around your middle, a belt of bead strands that clack when you move around and flash refracted light around the room.

You hum as you step out of your shoes, tweaking a strand of hair as you set your jacket on the counter.

"I can sleep on the couch," You tell him, as you turn around to lean back against the counter. He still cringes as you push yourself onto the counter. Carmy's given up on asking you to not. Now he's kind of grateful for it.

"No, it's fine. You can jus' take my bed, not a big deal. Just for tonight, right?" Carmy has to turn away from you to put his locks in place but he can catch your hum as you kick your legs lightly.

"I guess," You sigh. Carmy shakes his head lightly as he walks past the kitchen to his room. You slip off the counter and follow him, beads clacking as you do.

You're not sure why you're surprised that Carmy's room is bland. The rest of his apartment was exactly decorated until you brought things into it. His bedroom was the one room you hadn't seen yet.

"Boring room, Carm.." You tell him, taking it in before your eyes go to where he's digging through his closet. He gives a short hum in acknowledgment but doesn't say anything. While you wait you cross to the bed, sitting at the foot for a moment before you decide to flop back against the mattress.

"What did-" Carmy starts before he turns around. He cuts himself off when he sees you splayed out on his bed, hands resting on your stomach as you trace patterns on the ceiling.

"What did what?" You ask, turning your head so you can see him. Carmy has to clear his throat, folding the sweater he has in half and then in half again.

"What did that uh- that guy from the club? What'd he do?" He asks, setting the sweater on the mattress before he goes to his dresser. He had to buy it when you told him he can't store his extra jeans in the oven. Mostly because he was using it more now that he had you.

You groan loudly, turning back to the ceiling. "Was jus' bein'a dick! Tried coppin' feels left and right, and when I finally told him to stop being a sleazy jackass he got mad and caused a ruckus about me being an ungrateful bitch and then Angie got involved and well.."

You trail off because after Angie had gotten involved you stormed off and called Carmen. You sigh heavily and Carmy turns to look at you before looking back at his dresser.

"I uh.." He clears his throat quietly. "I don't really have... Any shorts or anything, just like uh.. Sweats, jeans.."

"That's okay!" You chirp, pushing yourself up. You lean back against your hands, tilting your head as Carmy turns back to you. You don't miss the way he pushes his back against the furniture, like he's trying to melt into it.

"This'll do," You grab the sweater, running your thumbs over the fabric softly. Carmy nods and you give him a bright grin. "Be back in like... Two minutes!"

Carmy watches as you duck out of his room and make your way to the bathroom. He crosses to the foot of his bed and sits next to where you had been. He squeezes his eyes shut when he hears the door lock click. He tries filling his head with anything he can to keep his thoughts away from you splayed out on his sheets half-dressed.

It turns out that trying not to think about something only makes him think about it more.

Carmy does everything he can think of. Thinks of Chef Daniel, of the dish he was working on this morning. Of Sugar and how he should call her back. Hell, he even let's his mind wander to his mother. But somehow his mind always turns back to you laying back against his bed.

He opens his eyes quickly as he hears you open the bathroom door and the sound of your beads getting farther. He assumes your putting your things with you jacket in the kitchen. It's maybe a minute before you make it back to the doorway to the bedroom.

You look like a vision in his sweater. It's an old navy-colored pullover, 'Brooklyn' across your chest in fuzzy, white letters.

"Very tourist of you," You tell him, pulling at the hem to look at the words. You glance up just in time to find him rolling his eyes at your words, a soft flush dusting his cheeks.

His eyes follow you as you cross to the bed.

"Needed to get some kind of clothes.." He mutters as you climb onto the bed. He doesn't miss the way you huff, shuffling up to the pillows. When he glances back at you he gets an eye full of your baby pink underwear of your work clothes. His eyes widen before his eyes dart quickly up to your face. You're not paying attention, moving one of the pillows over to rest against the other.

"Carmy-" You start, and he feels like he's been caught red-fucking-handed but you didn't even catch him looking. You turn to sit, legs folded out in front of you. He hums for you to continue.

"Lay with me for a little?" You ask him, like you're asking him to hand you something. Like it's normal.

"What?" He chokes out. You huff, the air from it ruffling your hair.

"Lay with me? Stay a little bit before I go to bed?" You cock your head a little, looking at him with wide eyes.

"And do what?" He asks. He doesn't know why he's fucking asking but Jesus Christ you want him to lay in bed with you and his brain is kind of malfunctioning.

You shrug, "I don't know... Sit and talk?"

Carmy seems reluctant, like he doesn't want to be in the room any longer than he has to. Maybe you crossed a line.

"You don't have to," You start, back pedaling on your offer. "Just usually have some sort of like.... Background noise when I go to bed. But my phones gonna die, don't want to steal your charger from you too, tonight."

"Uh... Sure. Yeah, sure.." Carmy sounds hesitant but he gets up and makes his way to the other side of the bed, sitting back against the pillow you left.

You grin at him brightly, curling up against your pillows and tucking your legs under the blanket.

"Tell me about work," You tell him, eyes darting around his face. You always encourage him to tell you about what he does at Daniel, asking questions if you don't know or understand something.

He starts off with reminding you of the dish he did the previous day before coming back to what he did today. You nod along as he describes the menu and the specific dish he had today. You liked watching how animated he could get when talking about a dish.

You let him talk as you rest your head against your hand. You can't help but trace over his features, watching as he licks his lower lip quickly when he pauses. You don't mean to interrupt him.

"Can I kiss you, Carmen?" You ask him softly. Carmy stares at you wide-eyed, mouth open in mid-sentence. His ears are bright pink.

"What?" He blinks a few times.

"Can I give you a kiss?" You say again, like it's the most normal question you could ask him.

"I- Uh- Sure?" He sounds unsure and it makes you furrow your brow.

"Yes or no, Carm," You prompt him gently.

"Yes," He nods quickly, much more sure this time. You give him a quick smile before you're adjusting yourself. You're sitting on your knees now, shuffling forward until they're pressed against Carmy's thigh.

You don't miss how he fidgets and you grab his hand with your left one. "Just a kiss, Carmy."

That's the last thing you say before you bring your right hand to the side of his face and pull him into you. Your lips are soft, is what he first notices. So is your hand. The kiss is chaste and it feels like it's over too soon.

When you pull away, Carmy trails after you, lips ghosting yours as he tries to follow.

"Carm-"

"Please," He cuts you off before kissing you again. Carmy brings the hand from yours to your face, holding you close. You get experimental, turning your head to change the angle. Carmy follows your lead, bringing his hand from his lap to sneak under the hem of your sweater. He pulls at your hip until you get the hint.

Climbing onto his lap gives you the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pulling at his lower lip gently before you slip your tongue into his mouth. His whine is slightly muffled, letting you explore as you please. His grip on your hip tightens as you lower your weight fully on his lap. You don't miss the tent of his sweats pressing against your lower stomach.

You give an experimental roll of your hips, nudging your core just a little over his bulge. He inhales sharply before pulling away, grabbing for the hand that's holding his face.

"I don't um.. I've never..." Carmy trails off. He won't meet your eye, instead focusing on where his hand is holding your wrist.

"Oh! No, that's okay, baby," You coo softly to him, rocking your hips slowly. "Only ever been with like, two people so don't worry.. Pretty new t'this too."

Carmy groans as you continue to drag your core over the tent in his pants. He drops his head to your shoulder, turning his face so he can press soft kisses to your neck.

The kisses are featherlight as Carmy let's himself get lost in the movements of your hips. He groans quietly into your skin when you slowly pick up the pace.

"I uh-" Carmy starts against your skin. You're quick to slip your hand into his curls, guiding his head back so you can hear him clearly. His face is flushed pink as you look at him.

"I want you... I um- I want you to be... Be my first.." He says ths words softly, his eyes are tracing the skin of your neck, mind wandering to how it would look covered in kisses.

"Carm.." You coo softly, bringing your hand from his hair to guide his gaze to yours. "You sure?"

He nods quickly, eyes flicking between yours. "Please?"

Who are you to say no when he asks so prettily?

"Okay," You giggle softly, bringing him into another kiss. This time Carmy tries taking control, prodding gently until you open your mouth to him. He tries to remember how you kissed him, making you huff before you pull away.

"Don't think too hard.." You tell him, placing a gentle kiss to his chin. You nip softly at his jaw before coming back to kiss him. He lets you take back the lead, letting his hands come to rest against your thighs. You bring your hands to his and lead them under your sweater, resting just over your waistband.

Carmy takes the hint, tracing over the skin he glanced earlier. As if to give him some idea, you slip your hands under his own shirt. You let your fingers skim over his abs, following the light trail of hair up his chest. He inhales when you brush your thumbs over both his nipples, pressing his chest into your hands.

You smile against his mouth, pulling away so you can catch your breathe.

However Carmy takes that as the opportunity to kiss at your neck, ducking to nip at your neck. You whine quietly, slowing your hips down to a stop. Carmy groans when you lift your hips but once he realizes why he's less upset. You tug at his waistband, wiggling it as much as you can without his help.

Carmy helps, lifting his hips and hooking his thumbs in his waistband and shoving them to his thighs. You inhale softly when his cock springs free.

Carmy was humble. To say the least.

He didn't act like he had a big dick. He didn't try to boast about it if he ever got the chance. Blush works it's way down his neck at your noise. You're staring transfixed at his cock like you've never seen something like it.

When you look back up you drag Carmen into a sweet kiss. You kiss him slowly, cradling his face as you drag your clothed core over his exposed head. Carmy whimpers into your mouth, taking your lower lip between his.

He lets you go to catch his breath. He can't think of a time he's been more turned on in his life

"Y-You're panties are so- so wet.." Carmy says between pants. He says them like they're not the filthiest thing to leave his mouth.

"Uh-huh," You nod, placing kisses to his jaw.

"Can I please?" One of Carmy's hands has slipped to your waistband, slowly creeping towards your clit. You whine softly into his neck as he ghosts his fingers lower. You can't help but rock your hips into his hand, letting his fingers skim over your entrance.

"Yes, Carmy, yes." You trace a vein with your tongue. He hooks his fingers into your underwear, already prodding at your hole with two fingers.

"Oh my god," Carmy sighs, pressing his mouth against your hair. His breathing ruffles your hair and he has to shut his eyes at feeling of your slick. He dips his fingers into your entrance, making you bite softly at his neck. He pushes until his up to his knuckles. His fingers reach deeper than your own and the heel of his hand presses delightfully against your clit.

Carmy watches in awe as you pull back from his neck and ride his fingers. He gives a few experimental thrusts that make your jaw drop. After a few minutes of this, you bring Carmen into a quick kiss, tugging at his lower lip.

"Need more, Carm," You tell him, lifting your hips off his hand. Carmy mourns the loss as you reach for his dick. His mourning is short-lived when your fingers encircle him, groaning as you angle his head against your entrance. You sink down slowly, and Carmy feels like he could come with just his tip inside you. He won't, but Jesus fucking Christ.

"So fuckin' warm.." Carmy sighs. He holds your hips tightly, keeping you in place. You put your hands on top of his, squeezing them tightly as you sink lower. His jaw drops open at the feeling of your walls around him. You clench around him gently, pulling him into a messy kiss. He pulls back to breathe when you thighs sit flush to his. Having you seated on his cock alone almost makes him come but he has to tense his stomach to prevent it.

Carmy's head falls back against the wall, chest rising and falling heavily as you sit flush in his lap. You can't help but bring your hands to his face, holding him gently as you take in the sight.

"You're so pretty, Carm.." You tell him softly, soothing a thumb over his cheekbone. You're too distracted to notice the twitch against your walls.

"Don't- Fuck- Don't say that..." Carmy mutters, leaning into your touch.

"Say what?" You're confused, tilting your head to one side with a furrowed brow.

"Call me pretty... Make me fuckin'- fuckin' bust b'fore I can move.." He grunts softly as he adjusts his hips. You squeak when his movements justle you, pressing deeper against you.

"Fuck-" You sigh, ducking your head to the side. You can't help the way your eyes flutter shut, soothing your thumb over his skin to keep you grounded. Once Carmy settles back down you pull him into a slow kiss, taking his lower lip between your teeth to tug at gently.

You roll your hips into his, relishing the way he groans into your mouth. The noise trails into a whimper as you clamp your walls around him, making his hands hold on tight to your thighs. The sound makes your head spin, pulling away to catch your breath and hold Carmy's face back as he tries to chase your lips.

You smooth your thumbs over the curls above his ears, while you collect yourself. Carmy ruts his hips up into you, making you squeal softly at the motion.

"Relax, relax," You pull away to catch his eyes. His pupils are blown wide when he gazes at you, blinking softly. You can't help but smile at him.

"Let me make you feel good.."

[d1xonss]

Rules were Meant to be Broken

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : No Apocalypse AU

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : Fluff / a tiny bit of angst

✧ Word Count : 4.3k

AN ~ Hiii I haven't done a one of these in a hot minute so I'm excited! This was requested a little while ago through anon, and you can click here to read the details of what this oneshot entails. I've never written a young Daryl before so it was fun to try something new. And don't hate me, but I sort of left this at a cliffhanger, so let me know if you guys would want a part 2!

Hope you enjoy! xoxox

You sighed tiredly, forcing yourself to stay awake to try and finish the assignment that was laying on your desk before you. The words on the paper were mocking in a way. Knowing that you had put it off until the last minute and were now paying every possible price of staying up later to get it done as it was due first thing in the morning. Graduation couldn’t come fast enough it seemed like.

School always felt like a crushing weight on your shoulders all throughout your life. A constant pressure and expectation to always excel in everything you did despite how tiring it all was at times. Still, you pushed yourself constantly, feeling an unbearable need to please everyone around you and to prove to yourself that you could always do better. But every once and a while, it was nice to have some kind of distraction.

Though suddenly you were broken out of your thoughts when you heard the sound of a small tapping coming from the outside of your bedroom window. At first you brushed it off, assuming it was your foggy mind playing tricks on you, but then you heard it again. And again. Until finally you peeled yourself away from your chair to open the curtains and find the source of the noise. Only to see Daryl Dixon crouching on his knees in front of you. Your boyfriend.

It was a complicated relationship to say the least, not because there was anything wrong with what the two of you had. But because…your dad didn’t exactly approve. 

Even though you were almost a legal adult, the thought of you going out with the rough, redneck, high school dropout didn’t sit too well with Rick Grimes. He didn’t believe the boy was good enough for you, though not in an overprotective way. But in the way where he truly believed he would never be able to provide for you, never be able to give you what you truly deserved. That, and he was also a terrible influence on you. Ever since you had met, you had skipped school, stayed out way past curfew, and had also tried smoking a cigarette. That there was the final straw.

After your dad had picked up on all the trouble you had been getting into, he had no choice but to forbid you from seeing the Dixon boy ever again. Though clearly…that new rule wasn’t working out too well. It just made you more sneaky if anything.

You smiled brightly upon seeing the unexpected visitor, quickly unlocking and opening up the window just enough so you could stick your head out. “What’re you doing here?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer you. Instead he leaned in and cupped your face, pressing his lips to yours in a soft yet heated kiss, clearly missing you from just the few days you two had been apart. Ever since he had quit going to school it wasn’t often that you had the chance to see each other as much as you used to; but Daryl always found the time. Eventually he found the strength to pull away, still letting it linger for as long as possible before he looked at you with a small smile.

You blinked a few times, still feeling a bit flustered as you stared up at him dreamily, “Hi…”

“Hi,” he repeated with a small chuckle, “Come on.”

Your head tilted a little, “What?”

“Come on,” he nodded back toward where his rusty beat-up truck was parked in the street. “Come sneak out with me.”

“Oh, no I can’t. Not tonight.” He gave you a look that screamed he didn’t believe you. “No, really I have this big assignment due tomorrow and I’m not even halfway done with it. Plus, the last time I snuck out with you we almost got caught again.”

Daryl shrugged, “That’s what makes it fun.”

You rolled your eyes though you couldn’t help but laugh a little, “Daryl…”

“Come on,” he tried to gently coax again, “Quit bein a nerd for a while and just spend the night with me.”

Your eyes narrowed a little when he called you that, knowing it was slightly true with how much time you put into your school work. But you couldn’t stay annoyed with him for long. He knew all the ways to butter you up.

“I’ll get you a slushie from the gas station. One of them coca-cola ones you like so much.” 

A slow smile was brought to your face at the mention of the sweet drink you always favored, and it did sound good right about now. That distraction you were oh so conveniently thinking of earlier seemed to fall right into your lap. Even though you knew you had to be responsible, you couldn’t help but want to spend every waking moment with him. After all, you were young and in love. His bribe eventually caused you to crack as you quickly slipped on a pair of shoes, before hoisting yourself up to climb through the window, making sure to leave it open just a little for when you came back home.

Hand in hand, the two of you ran through the grass and toward his vehicle so you could make a fast and dramatic getaway, laughing all the while he started it up and raced down the street. 

It was nights like these you loved the most, almost as if you were running away from your day to day life to just get out and be at peace with him wherever he decided to take you. Despite what others might think by looking at the two of you, he treated you with the utmost respect and care, feeling like his presence alone was a safe haven. Even though you knew of the things he had been through, his family life and the many tragedies that came along right with it, he was so gentle with you. Like he wanted to hand you the world on a platter, give you everything that he never had. How could you not be head over heels?

It was hard at first getting him to trust you, getting him used to affection and your words of affirmation as he was clearly not used to anything of the sort. But you were always patient with him through it all, watching him let his walls down one by one as time went by. Listening to him when he wanted to talk about his asshole of a brother, to comforting him after yet another fight with his dad. He didn’t talk much during those times. But you were still there if he wanted to. And after realizing that you truly weren’t going anywhere, he became the biggest softie in the world.

“So,” his voice broke you out of your thoughts, “I figured we could stock up on some snacks and head down to the river? There’s this new spot I wanna show ya.”

You nodded in agreement with a small smile, always favoring that specific place considering it was so far out of town. It was so quiet and peaceful out there compared to how it was in the city, a stark contrast of what you were always used to with life moving so fast. But out there, you felt you could just be.

After stopping by the gas station as promised, Daryl began the drive a bit further toward the countryside, having the route memorized by now with how much time he spent out there in the woods. His hand instinctively reached for yours over the center console, giving it a gentle squeeze before raising it up to his mouth to leave a gentle kiss along your knuckles. He felt relief and comfort in your presence, leaning his cheek against your fingers while his thumb traced over your skin soothingly. The quiet rock music playing from his busted radio was the only filler noise needed.

Once you two had finally made it to the designated destination, you came to realize why he had brought you here in the first place. The spot he had conveniently picked had a perfect view of the many stars and constellations, the calming sound of the water only adding to the tranquility you desired. And your usual routine was always the same, the both of you would just bitch about life. Life and whatever wicked curveballs it threw at you, sharing a cigarette that Daryl always provided, and if he was lucky, you’d make out. He’d consider himself to be even luckier if you allowed his hands to wander.

“How long before yer dad finds out yer gone?” he asked with a light chuckle, taking a chip from the bag to pop into his mouth.

You let out a small breath at even the possibility of him catching you, “Let’s just hope he doesn’t at all.”

Daryl scoffed, “Come on, you know he watches out for ya like a hawk. Ain’t much gets past him.”

“You don’t have to talk him up, he’s not here you know.” you joked.

He chuckled again and his gaze lingered on you for a few beats, seeming to assess the situation like he had done many times before. You knew that look all too well, the insecurity behind his eyes that wouldn’t seem to vanish no matter how much you wanted it too. That was another thing he did; he got in his head far too much.

“He still don’t like me, huh?”

You shook your head, scooting closer to him, “No, don’t say that. He just…doesn’t know you.”

“He does,” he gently argued, “He deals with assholes like me on a daily basis, m’ sure I can figure out why he don’t want me around his daughter.”

“Well…then why do you always want to see me?” you asked knowingly as you leaned in closer to his face.

He smirked, “Cause…” he trailed off, feeling a bit embarrassed still to admit the deep affections he felt for you. Almost like he didn’t want to say it out loud as if it would jinx his sudden luck.

“Come on…say it.”

You watched him roll his eyes, “Cause m’ in love with ya, alright? There.”

A bright smile wormed its way onto your face, leaning in closer to kiss his cheek over and over while your hand held his face in place as you showered him with gentleness. He scoffed at your antics but made no effort to push you away, silently relishing in your touch that he could never seem to get enough of. He had never been shown such a thing in all his life, always being lectured about tough love and taking things like a man, to not wear his emotions on his sleeve. And he had to remind himself time and time again that with you, things were different.

Eventually he turned his head to capture your lips on a proper kiss, raising his own hand to the back of your neck to pull you even closer to him. Feeling the warmth radiating off of you. You allowed him to deepen the kiss for a moment, his mouth slotting perfectly with your own before you slowly broke it off to speak again.

“Don’t worry about any of that, okay? I’m here because I want to be…so don’t go thinking otherwise.”

Daryl looked at you for a lingering moment before nodding his head, the familiar small smirk returning to his face, “Maybe we should elope someday to really stick it to the man.”

You raised your free hand to cover his mouth as you let out a small laugh, “Quit talking like that.”

He chuckled against your palm when it suddenly enveloped his mouth, taking the opportunity to stick his tongue out and lick your skin which caused you to immediately pull away with a gasp. “Ew! Daryl!” 

His amusement only grew further upon hearing your protest, leaning in close again to begin to playfully kiss and nip at the skin on your neck. He figured that was a good enough distraction to steer the conversation away from your father even though he was the one to bring it up. He didn’t want to think about it too long, not when he had a limited amount of time with you.

You giggled infectiously, “Hey, wait a second. I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

Daryl pulled back almost instantly, looking a bit worried when you said you wanted to talk. To him that could never lead to anything good. But you quickly shook your head, “It’s nothing bad, don’t worry,” you reassured, “Just…promise not to roll your eyes.”

Now he was very confused, but nonetheless he nodded, “Alright, yeah. I promise.”

“Okay,” you sighed as you prepared yourself to bring up the topic. You had been meaning to discuss it for a while with the event seemingly just around the corner now. But with him making the comment about eloping then brought the idea of proposals. And there was a certain proposal you had been anticipating to hear.

“So…prom’s coming up.” you hinted hesitantly.

That was all he needed to hear before he was rolling his eyes, unable to stop himself it seemed like. You gently smacked his arm, “Hey, you promised.”

“M’ sorry, I just…” he scoffed, “I don’t see the point in goin is all. That stupid shit is too damn overhyped.”

“Maybe it is, but it’s my senior year and I haven’t gone to a single dance.” you tried, “All of my friends are going with dates and I don’t want to be the only one left out.”

He sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face, clearly not too keen on going to any kind of preppy school activities. Especially since he knew if he did attend, he would never hear the end of it from his friends. “I doubt they’d even let me step foot in that place after I dropped out. The situation wasn’t exactly pretty.”

You gave him a look, “It’s not going to be at the school, they rented a nice place. And besides I don’t think they’ll hold a grudge if we just pop in for a couple hours.”

“Hours??”

“Okay, okay, just one hour I promise.” you raised your hands in surrender, “We can drink the spiked punch, take some stupid pictures in the photo booth, dance for one song, and then we can leave.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes a little as he scanned your expression, going back and forth in his head for what felt like a lifetime. What he really wanted was to spend time with you, but not in a crowded room with blasting music filled with a bunch of people he didn’t care for. In fact he couldn’t think of anything worse. But just that one pleading look in your eyes was enough for his defenses to crack.

You smiled sweetly, holding your hands up as if you were praying, “Please…?”

A low grumble of reluctance was pulled from him, no longer able to stand your pouty lip, “Fine…I’ll take ya.”

He watched your face instantly light up at his acceptance, squealing in excitement as you wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. And despite not loving the idea, he couldn’t help but smile at how eager you became, knowing he was doing it all just to make you happy. And if that meant dancing with you at prom like some sappy romantic comedy, he would do it in a heartbeat just to see you smile like that again.

“But I ain’t gonna wear no tux.”

You laughed a little, pulling away just enough to look at him, “I figured you’d say that, and you don’t have to. Just dress nice…ish.”

He hummed, “Yeah, guess I ain’t gettin away with showin up in a shirt and jeans, hm?”

“No, definitely not.” you said with a shake of your head, brushing some of his hair away from his face, “But I don’t know…I kinda like the idea of seeing you a little dressed up.”

“A button down shirt and pants is bout as good as yer gonna get, baby.”

Your smile widened, loving when he called you that, “Deal.”

A smirk crossed his face when he spotted the blush rising to your cheeks, a noise of satisfaction escaping him as he shifted you onto his lap, his hands holding onto your hips. “You got anything else you wanna tell me?”

You leaned forward just as he did, your noses brushing together as both of your intentions were clear, “I love you...”

He smiled, “I love you too.” he spoke before leaning in to close the remaining distance between you, kissing you with a deep sense of passion. Apparently, tonight he was lucky.

The two of you hadn’t realized how much time had passed as you stayed out by that river for hours you were sure, no longer caring about the responsibilities waiting for you back home. No longer caring about the classes you had to attend the next morning or the paper you had yet to finish. Perhaps your dad was right in a way, maybe he was a bad influence on you. But he made you feel free.

It was just nearing four in the morning by the time the truck had pulled back up to your house, the clock on the dashboard of the vehicle only making you realize just how long you were lost in a bliss of happiness. Time really did fly after all. Especially when someone as hot as him was doting on you endlessly, it was enough to make your head fuzzy. And now with him not wanting you to leave just made it all the more harder to get out of the vehicle.

You pulled back for air despite his quiet protests, “Okay, I have to go.” you said for what felt like the millionth time.

“No, no, just a few more minutes.” he pleaded softly as he pulled you back down to his lips, plunging his tongue into your mouth to silence you.

You whimpered a little when he kissed you again, feeling his hands slide back under your shirt to try and unhook your bra. You then laughed at his obvious antics, gently biting down on his bottom lip to get him to suddenly halt his movements, hearing him groan softly at the slight sting and your tongue soothing the pain a moment later.

“I really have to go.” you muttered against his lips, leaving one last parting kiss, “It’s so late.”

“Nah, really it’s early if ya think about it.” he said before leaning up to try and steal another from you. But you quickly dodged it with a small laugh, stumbling a bit to get off his lap and out the passenger’s side before he kept you here all night.

“Aye,” he called quietly just before you could shut the door, “I’ll call ya.”

You nodded eagerly with a smile before closing it with a soft click, turning around swiftly to rush back toward your window. Praying to get at least a few hours of sleep despite the adrenaline running through your veins. Though you attempted to be quiet upon entering back through the small space, you tripped and slid a few times, almost like you forgot how much of a struggle it was to get back inside. Clearly there was some sort of small decline that you always forgot about. With a breath of relief you shut the window delicately once you had landed on the familiar shag carpet of your room, feeling just a little too proud that you had managed to get away with staying out nearly all night. 

Though when you turned around, that high you once felt seemed to plummet faster than you ever expected.

An exaggerated gasp of shock left you when you saw your dad sitting on the edge of your bed, clearly anticipating your arrival for who knows how long. And his scowl was one that could shake the earth.

Your hand came up to rest over your now racing heart, trying to catch your breath from the sudden fright he had given you. “God…you scared me.” you whispered.

“I scared you?” he clapped back without missing a beat, the anger in his tone was crackling.

You had messed up big time, you knew you did. Which was why you couldn’t think of any other plausible response other than a quiet, “I’m sorry…”

He then stood up abruptly, “Where the hell were you?”

You sputtered like a damn fish, opening and closing your mouth to try and think of some kind of believable excuse, “I…I was-”

“Don’t even think about lying to me now,” he said harshly, yet still mindful of his volume in the quietness of the house, “Tell me where you’ve been. Right now.”

A defeated sigh left you, not being able to look him in the eye any longer, “I was…out at the river.”

“Alone?”

“No…no, not alone.” you answered vaguely, still keeping your eyes glued to your shoes. It was obvious he already knew, he just for some reason wanted you to admit it.

Rick folded his arms over his chest and his hands still shook with how furious he grew. Even after everything you had done in the past, this was a new all time low that he couldn’t bring himself to understand. Disappointment didn’t even begin to describe it.

“You were with that punk, weren’t you?” he pressed, really putting his interrogation skills to use.

It was then your gaze panned up to him, his words condescending and cruel to your ears, “That punk has a name, you know.”

“I don’t think you want to take that tone with me right now.” he warned lowly.

“No,” you said stubbornly, “No, this is all such bullshit.”

His eyes widened at your foul language, “Excuse me?” he asked, raising his tone slightly as the fire inside him burned hotter.

“I know I messed up, okay? I know.” you said a bit louder as well, your throat tightening with emotion, “I know I could’ve gotten hurt, or worse, or whatever the hell you always say. But the rest of this whole thing- it’s not fair! I should be allowed to love whoever I want to love. And you just took one look at him and decided to hate him before you ever even tried to know who he really is.”

“I don’t need to know him.” Rick snapped harshly, “I couldn’t give less of a damn what his favorite slipknot song is to know that he’s nothing but trouble. And as I remember, I told you I didn’t want you seeing him anymore, and you deliberately went behind my back and broke all the rules I set in place! All the rules that keep you safe.”

You sucked in a soft breath at his harsh tone, your head beginning to pound with exhaustion and frustration, but the bottom line was you knew he was right. To an extent anyway. You had screwed up in an unimaginable way but at the same time it was you who made the decision to go behind your father’s back. It wasn’t like Daryl held a gun to your head to force you out of the house, you willingly went because you wanted to. Because you would rather be with him in some way than no way at all.

Your hand came up to run through your hair as you attempted to gather your thoughts, “I get it, what I did was wrong and I told you I was sorry. And I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it, but…don’t blame him for something I chose to do.”

Rick’s jaw clenched, “Who’s idea was it to sneak outta here?” You faltered, not knowing exactly how to answer. “Who’s idea was it for you to skip your classes? Or smoke a cigarette, or-”

“Jesus Christ, did he start global warming too?” you asked sarcastically.

“(Y/N).” he warned again.

You scoffed, “I’m sorry, but my God dad, you act like he’s the antichrist or something. But he’s not,” you whispered almost desperately, “If you would just try-”

He raised a hand to stop you from speaking, “No, that’s not how this works. I’m the parent, I’m the one who gets to call the shots, and right now I’m telling you to get comfortable in this room because you won’t be leaving it for a while. You will go to school and come straight home for the rest of the semester. No more friends, no more phone, nothing.”

Your eyes widened, “What? Dad-”

“No,” he interrupted you again, “You’re done, you’re out of chances. I’m not dealing with this anymore, and if I ever catch you with that boy again you best pray I don’t have my shotgun. Now, go to bed.” he commanded before turning on his heel to leave the room, slamming the door slightly behind him.

You flinched slightly at the sound that ricocheted off the walls, your hands coming up to cover your face as you finally allowed yourself to cry. Wondering how such a great night had turned so sour in a matter of minutes. Your dad’s voice replayed in your head over and over again like a busted record, the weight of them settling in now that he was gone, leaving the room oddly silent. Granted he was overexaggerating about the gun thing, everything else was set in stone and you were made well aware of it.

But one thing you weren’t aware of, were the tears stinging Rick’s eyes as he stalked through the house and back upstairs to rest his own head. Feeling guilty for the way he hurt you, though at the end of the day he knew it was all for your own good. After all, how much could that “punk” really care about you anyway?

~ Thanks for reading!

[talesfromawannabewriter]

The Prince's Pet

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

Prince Lucifer stared bored around the room. For his supposed great party for his twentieth birthday his supposed biggest birthday of his other birthdays this was probably the biggest dud of an event he had ever been too.

It had only been an hour since it began, and he could say with confidence that he no longer wished to be here. Not even a few drinks in his belly made him feel better.

He was told by Micheal that something exciting would happen. But knowing his brother he could have just said that to appease him and keep Lucifer from leaving.

He felt an arm wrap around his shoulder and immediately felt his mood lift, if only for a moment.

Ozzie: Happy birthday little brother! Welcome to adulthood! Has it arrived yet?

Lucifer: Thanks Oz, has what arrived yet?

Ozzie: Your present of course! Micheal said that it was brought to our kingdom during the last foreign raid. I have to say when he told me about it, he said with such vigor and excitement in his voice that I knew it had to be good!

Lucifer was about to open his mouth when one of the servants grabbed his attention,

Servant: Your Highnesses please follow me King Micheal's wishes for both your presence.

They both sighed but knew there was nothing they could do. Instead, they simply went with her to where they saw their eldest brother standing at the front overseeing everything.

Micheal grinned at the sight of them: Ah my brothers, glad to see you've arrived!

Lucifer rolled his eyes: I've been here since the beginning Micheal.

Micheal: Yes, yes, Lucifer you are about to have your mind blown Hehe along with other body parts.

Ozzie crossed with arms with a raised brow as Micheal snapped his fingers and called out to the high priests,

Micheal: You two! it is time to deliver Prince Lucifer's present.

They nodded eagerly before one of them dashed off to do just that.

Micheal turned back to his brother with a grin: You're going to love this.

Suddenly, the lights around the room went dark, and the high priest took his place in the middle of the large room for the presentation while Lucifer got comfortable.

Priest: On this evening you become a man your highness and in doing so you have begun to have...urges. Urges that must be satisfied. And so it is with great pleasure that we present you a great treasure taken from far away.

He threw something to the ground and smoke filled the room. Soon though it dissipated, and Lucifer was beyond shocked as to what he saw.

A young man who appeared to be his age was in a red strap-on across his chest and long red cloth with two splits on the sides. He was struggling against the ropes trying his best to pull away.

Priest: We offer you this beautiful wildflower, as a gift my prince.

The man yelped as he was harshly pulled by the ropes and practically thrown towards the young princes' feet.

Priest: That is not at all where this ends my lord, in fact this gift comes with a few accessories of his own.

The priest tried to lift up the slave's skirt but was instead kicked hard in the stomach. Lucifer couldn't help but wince, that looked like it hurt.

Priest: (wheeze) Don't mind what just happened his just a little...untamed at the moment. (clears throat standing up) But in any case, he is not just a man but is also a woman, so you will have twice the fun with only him.

Lucifer couldn't help but take in the beauty before him. He certainly was quite the looker, with wide hips, a large chest, and soft features that were hardened into a glare.

He smirked coming right down to the slave.

Lucifer: I think I shall inspect my desert flower.

He gripped his face with his hands turning it from side to side. For that, he received a mouthful of sharp teeth.

He quickly drew his hand away, desert flower? More like a desert cobra.

Lucifer: Well...he is quite nice I think he will do quite nicely as my concubine.

The young man's eyes widened in horror as he opened his mouth to spit out,

Adam: I will not be anyone's slave! Especially not a spoiled, pampered, palace brat!

Gasps surrounded the room at the slave's indignant words wondering what the prince would do next.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes in anger: You shall show me the proper respect as your master!

Adam: I think you are confused; I am showing all the respect that you deserve.... NONE!

He tore his rope away from his captors and made a dash towards the exit. However, Lucifer grabbed hold and was pulling him back.

Adam: SET ME FREE NOW!!!

Lucifer: BE STILL!!

But Adam refused to obey and kept tugging and pulling trying his hardest to be released. Lucifer was growing worried that the guards might intervene and get rough with his beauty.

He then found a way to stop both of them. In the corner of the room lay a small pool of water that would be big enough for the fellow.

Adam: I SAID LET GO OF ME RIGHT THIS SECOND!!!

Lucifer: As you wish.~

He gave a yank and let go and the slave was tumbling towards it making a loud splash to erupt. Laughter erupted from everyone, and Lucifer felt a little proud of himself.

Until he saw the disappointment in Ozzie's face as he stared at Lucifer. When he turned back to his slave, he saw that he was being hoisted up by a pair of servants and maybe it was just the water on him, but he could have sworn he was crying.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

P*rn ☆  Chapter 6, Fear and despair

Masterlist Word count: 2 k Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Author's note: Ya'll ready to cry?! Me neither... Also, for anyone wondering why I don't English so good sometimes. I am Dutch and nothing is proofread <3

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, alcohol, mentions of domestic abuse, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Mature content under the cut. No graphic content. Mention of abuse.

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'You're not quite here with me.' You look up from the cup of tea you had been absentmindedly stirring since it was put in front of you. He's right. He's always right. Well... Most times. 

Your mind has been a mess. There's the whole Sylus thing, yes, that's something that takes up way too much space in your head. You keep thinking back to last Saturday, sitting on the couch with him watching the rise and fall of sexual tension. Seeing him try so hard to do small talk while pretending he wasn't looking at your lips and body like a man starved. He had kissed your forehead when he left and you leaned into it. Even thinking about it gives you butterflies. 

But there's another thing on your mind. A much more menial thing. Something much easier to discuss with Zayne. 

'How come I never heard you shower when you lived next door?' Zayne tilts his head, looking at you a little confused. 

'That's what you've been stuck on?' You reluctantly nod. It's stupid, so damn stupid, but Zayne still answers. 'When I moved out, Rafayel was talking about a new ventilation system. Maybe it connects to yours?' 

'That makes a lot of sense actually,' you groan, leaning back in your chair defeated. 'I can't believe I've been so busy thinking about that.' 

'You're an interior architect; shouldn't it be logical to you?' He's got a point and a very good one at that. You also could've just asked Rafayel, but no. You'd like to avoid that man as much as possible. He always tries to get you to do work for free, without even offering to lower you rent for a month or something. No way. 

You look around the coffee shop. This is you and Zayne's regular spot. The place is very big and open, but sound doesn't bounce around nor echo. There's tons of natural light and very kind yellow lights when the sun goes down. The furniture is a mix and match of secondhand stuff that's surprisingly pleasing to the eye and most chairs are comfortable. Then again, the chairs that aren't comfortable to you could be very comfortable to someone else. There are tons of plants scattered around, lots of cut vintage decor like old Matchbox cars and very old adverts on metal plates. On the floor are a few rugs that have almost worn into the floor and have major damage where people often walk. Almost looks like the rugs have crop circles. 

It might not be for everyone, even Zayne used to be a little uncomfortable here at first, but it's grown on both of you. The employees are kind and helpful, the music is always good and never too loud. It's a good atmosphere. 

'Anyway, how is the new neighbor?' Your cheek flush almost right away when you meet Zayne's eyes. 'What is it? Are you alright?' He leans over the table to touch your forehead, worried you might be sick. 

'I'm fine, I'm fine. His name is Sylus and he's hot- A LOT, he's a lot.' Zayne chuckles at your antics while you feel your ears burning. Not exactly the information you wanted to share with Zayne. Truly, it doesn't matter all that much in the end. He's like a brother to you and he knows nearly everything about your life. A fact that you wish was still true the other way around as well but he's been too busy to tell you everything. And now that you've dropped the "Sylus is hot" bomb, he's not letting it go until you tell him everything. 

For a professional, cold doctor he's surprisingly desperate for gossip. 

'I'm sure he's a lot,' he says with a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips, 'you were worried he might be loud. Is that the case?' 

'A bit. He's awake deep into the night, so sometimes I hear him moving around in his apartment or playing music late at night. It's nothing too bad though. Though Tara seems a bit cautious around him. Apparently, he's friends with her boyfriend.' A slight frown appears on Zayne's face. If you hadn't known him as long as you have, you wouldn't have noticed. But you do know him. 'What's that look for?' 

'Tara is dating that Kieran boy, right?' You nod and he tries to soften his face. 'Hm, I don't know them very well. It's probably not who I'm thinking of.' 

'Who are you thinking of?' And suddenly he looks real serious. The temperature inside is suddenly a few degrees lower and the bubble we were in feels like a soundproof chamber. 'Zayne, who are you think of?' 

'I wish I could tell you, but patient confidentiality forbids me.'  

“Patient confidentiality? What the hell? Is this even about Sylus?” 

Zayne reaches out for my hand on the table and gently takes it in his. 'Don't worry about it too much. I'm not even sure if it's the same guy.' 

'You're right,' you say, trying to smile as wide as you can while pushing the racing thoughts in your mind down. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

"She has a boyfriend? Shit." Sylus tries to quicken his pace while he walks past the coffee shop before you see him, but he's too slow. You spot him and smile at him. A big smile, one that almost makes his cheeks hurt from looking at it. 

Wait... He's smiling back? 

No matter, he keeps walking. But then he catches the slightest glimpse of the man sitting with her and his blood runs cold. It's like a distant memory, or more like a distant nightmare. He can only hope and pray and doctor Zayne hasn't seen him. 

It's been years, but Sylus still fears the doctor might remember him. It wouldn't be too bad, the man saved his life, but he doesn't want you knowing. Not yet at least. What if he asked how his recovery is going? What if he asked if his scars healed okay? What if he asked if his situation has changed? How would he answer those questions and not revert back to that scared little boy she made him. 

Because all that still feels so raw, even though it's years ago. He should've been fine by now, at least that's what he thinks. Time heals all wounds, right? Three years should be enough. More than enough. 

That being said, his first doxing was her. She put his address out there as a last-ditch attempt to get him to "commit" to her. To make him obey like a fucking dog. 

He isn't even sure how all of it happened back then, but it did. Maybe it was just young love. Yeah, young love at 24. No, he was just naïve and stupid. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” 

What he does know is that he is nearly running home. He's stuck in his own head, tears prickling in his eyes. How does this keep happening at any mention, thought, or glimpse of her? It's not normal. He should be okay. 

It feels like he's picking up a fever as he unlocks the door to his apartment. He faintly hears the sound of his name but his chest is getting tight and he has to get inside. Why does this affect him so fucking much? 

And suddenly he recognizes what is going on. He's having a panic attack. 

He hasn't had a panic attack in the last two years. He's been fine, he should still be fine. Is it because he saw doctor Zayne again? Because he is with you? Because all he can think of when seeing doctor Zayne's face is how much pain he was in and how scared he was? 

“This is not fucking normal. Breathe Sylus, breathe. You know how to breathe. You've been doing it all your fucking life. Just stop panicking!” 

The voice in his head is no help. He slumps against the back of the couch in the middle of his living room, not able to make it to the bathroom to take a cold shower. Cold showers usually shock him out of it. His breathing stays rapid, his eyes looking for anything in reach that can help him but there are dark spots all over his vision. 

He closes his eyes for just a moment. Just a little bit. A second, no more. He wakes up with a few slaps to his cheek. His head feels cold against the wooden floor of his apartment. When did he fall over? 

'Sylus? Sylus? Look at me.' It's you. Your voice is desperate, scared, as you grab his shoulders and try to pull him upright again. He tries to help you, moving ever so slightly to a sitting position. Your hand raises up to his forehead, brushing the hair sticking to his sweaty skin away. 'Are you alright?' 

'Always with you around,' Sylus says, trying to look and sound like a womanizer, but failing miserably. To you, he just looks a bit loopy. His breathing is still ragged and strange. 

'Cute,' you note with a frown, 'now breathe with me.' You grab his hand and press it against your chest, just underneath your collarbone. 'Ready?' He nods. 'Breathe in.' He feels your chest rise slowly as you breathe in with him, your heard thumping under his hand in a steady, comforting rhythm.  

Slowly, the whole world disappears. His eyes are laser focused on yours, ears zeroed in on the sound of your voice and your breathing. To him, you look like an angel. His guardian angel. 

'Breathe out.' 

Your chest falls, he breathes out. It feels like seconds have passed but by the time you let go of his hand, the sun is setting. He last checked his phone around 16:30 before he saw you at the coffee shop, so that means it's close to six, it being wintertime. 

Finally lucid again, his heartbeat slowed, his breathing steady, he asks: 'Why did you follow me?' 

The coldness of his questions shocks you and you answer: 'I felt like you needed someone to be there for you.' 

He lets out a cold laugh, something that sounds close to disbelief but also much much closer to insecurity. A sound you hadn't expected coming from his mouth. He knows you think he's hot, he knows you are attracted to him, but he does not know you. He does not know about your youth, your struggle with panic attacks, your loneliness. But he doesn't need to know for you to be able to help him. 

If only he'd believe that you only want to help. 

'How do you know doctor Zayne?' There's something possessive in his tone, something you wouldn't have expected right now. 

'He used to live here before you. We're friends.' He stays quiet for a while, staring at you but not quite. More like he's looking through you, disassociating. 'I'm gonna get you a glass of water.' You move to your feet, but he grabs your wrist and holds you where you are. He's suddenly back, eyes watching you with immense focus. 

'Do you pity me?' The words sound like an accusation, like he's admitting he doesn't like what happened and that you "had" to see it. So much grief in those few words, a grief that goes much deeper than you can imagine. 

'Pity you?' 

He lets go of your wrist with an angry expression. He quickly gets up, refusing to look at you any longer. 'Never mind. I think it'd be better if you leave.' 

'What? Sylus-' You try to reach out for him, but when he looks back at you there's venom in his eyes. Your hand hangs in the air, halfway reaching towards his forearm. And then you drop it. 'Okay, if that's what you want.' 

He walks you to the door, his chest full of regret, embarrassment, shame. He was doing so damn well and now you've seen him like that. Like a shell, something defective, a bird with a broken wing. In the doorway you turn back to him so that he can't close the door on you. All he can see in your eyes in compassion, adoration and, strangely enough, love. 

'For what it's worth, I don't pity you. My opinions and feelings about you haven't changed,' you hesitate for a second and look down at the ground, 'and I hope you'll still ask me out. I do really want to get to know you. All of you.' 

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[loucifersbitch]

He can't breathe. 

It's been half an hour.

He's soaked through.

He can barely hear through the wind and the yelling and the panic.

He can't see as well as usual, as if his vision has been reduced to a small tunnel, his peripheral vision nearly nonexistent.

He's numb and probably cold - he stopped feeling it around the 10 minute mark - and he can't. fucking. breathe.

Suddenly he hears it. There's a pop followed by a bang and then he's running. He doesn't know if he yelled at the rest of the team or if they heard it, too, but they're all with him as he bursts through a bush and dodges a tree, nearly sprinting toward the area where the sound came from.

He may have long legs, but Chimney’s faster as he cuts across in front of him, yelling something over his shoulder that Buck doesn't quite catch. The rain is so loud and so heavy, but they run as fast as the terrain will allow.

And then it's in front of them, the yellow and white body of the helicopter mangled amongst the downed trees, a weak line of smoke pouring out of the tail and immediately doused by the downpour. And a gloved hand sticking out of the cockpit window, lying on the ground at an unnatural angle. Not moving. Too still.

“Tommy,” he croaks. It's then that he realizes he's crying - has been for a while if the gravel in his voice is anything to go by.

They should've gotten here sooner. They should've found the crash site earlier. They should've left the station as soon as the mayday call came in. They could've saved at least a few minutes by leaving their turnouts behind. They would've -

“I've got a pulse!” Hen yells over the rain. He hadn't even noticed her or Chim move. “It's strong! He's just unconscious. Possible TBI, obvious compound fracture to the left ulna and radius, a few lacerations that I can see from here.”

Buck releases a sob, and his legs give out, but two pairs of hands catch him before he goes down. 

Chim is climbing into the cockpit gingerly, trying not to jostle anything - or Tommy. After a few moments, he yells, “Ravi, I need that backboard!”

“I got him, I got him,” Bobby says as Ravi leaves Buck’s side. Buck leans into Bobby and turns his head to his other side where - Eddie, of course - is also holding him steady.

“We got you, Buck,” Eddie says. Then he adds, “And they’ve got Tommy. They’ll get him out, and we’ll all go to the hospital with him.”

“A-all of you, too?” Buck grits out.

“Yeah, Buck. All of us,” Bobby answers. “You know that’s what we do when one of our family is injured. Tommy’s family, too.”

Buck can only nod. He swallows roughly. He’s already lost the battle with his emotions, but he knows his voice will crack and he’ll break down again if he thanks Bobby out loud.

Time is moving differently than it should. Soon he finds himself in the back of the ambulance with no recollection of how he got there. But he has Tommy’s good hand in his own, and that’s all that matters right now.

Tommy’s cold and drenched, and his face is covered in micro lacerations, and there’s a distinct smell of fuel hanging in a haze around them, but Tommy’s here. His hand is as soft as it always is and his pulse is beating steadily under Buck’s fingers lingering on his wrist. Hen and Chim work nearby, running IVs and giving Tommy medications and moving around Buck without disturbing him. They set his arm as well as they can, and he can hear Bobby in the front seat call in their ETA to the nearest ER, letting them know what to prep for.

They’re almost to the hospital when Tommy’s eyes flutter open briefly.

“Ev-?” he starts to say, his voice raspy, but Buck cuts him off.

“I’m here, baby. We’re all right here. We’ll be at the hospital soon. We’ve got you.”

Buck doesn’t know if Tommy can even comprehend what he’s saying, but Tommy hums in acknowledgement before immediately passing out again.

Then the doors of the ambulance swing open, and Tommy is out of sight in seconds. 

part 1

part 3

part 4

[briefinquiries]

Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 24

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 24

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: Luca Changretta makes his move, crossing a line by targeting the youngest Shelby. In a calculated ambush, the Shelby's are forced into a desperate fight, rattling the foundation of their trust and control.

Word count:  8.8k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language

A/N: I've been so awful at updating, SORRY and thank you all for being patient. maine might lowkey get a snow day tomorrow (rip, but also fingers crossed??), so if we do i might be able to write another chapter :)

--

It had been quiet for days.

The kind of stillness that felt like the whole city was holding its breath. Like something just out of sight was winding itself tighter with every tick of the clock.

The streets were too calm. Even the usual hum of conversation in the betting shops felt subdued, like people were speaking just low enough not to draw attention from whatever shadows lingered nearby. Doors stayed locked a little longer. Eyes lingered a little too long on unfamiliar faces.

Tommy said Luca must be dealing with something in New York. He’d heard rumors, whispers of unrest, tension between families, something about one of Luca’s allies gone missing. A temporary distraction. A wedge in the machine. Whatever the cause, the pressure that had been choking Birmingham like smoke seemed to ease—just slightly.

Polly had gone back to her own house for the first time in a week, insisting she needed real tea and a proper bath or she’d start cursing at people. Finn had started hovering near the older boys again, hopeful and quiet, desperate to be given something—anything—to do. Arthur spent most of the day in the betting shop, sorting the books with a half-smile and a cigarette hanging from his mouth. And John… John cracked a joke at breakfast. A real one. About Arthur’s new haircut, which had earned him a half-hearted shove and a round of laughter that didn’t feel forced for once.

Even Tommy had let himself sit for five whole minutes that morning with a cup of tea he didn’t drink.

Things were almost starting to feel normal again. 

You found him standing by the front window after breakfast, one hand braced against the sill, the other holding a nearly finished cigarette. The smoke curled lazily in the still air, ignored. His eyes were fixed on the street outside, watching the same corner he always did, like he was waiting for something to move, for someone to step out of place. He didn’t blink much. Didn’t shift. Just stood there, tense and silent, like he was trying to piece together a threat he couldn’t quite see yet.

You hesitated before speaking. “Harry said he’s short a hand today. Thought I’d go help at the Garrison. Just a few hours.”

Tommy turned then, his eyes narrowing slightly. “No.”

You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms. “It’s been days since anything’s happened, Tommy.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s when people get stupid.”

“I won’t be stupid,” you said calmly. “I’ll be behind the bar, not out wandering the streets. And you’re going to be there anyway, aren’t you? You said you, John, and Arthur were meeting with someone.”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw clenched, muscles shifting as he stared past you, thinking it through. You could tell he didn’t like the idea of you out in the open, even somewhere familiar. His arms stayed crossed, fingers tapping once against his sleeve, a small habit when he was biting something back.

Eventually, he let out a short breath through his nose and nodded once, sharp and reluctant. “Fine. But you stay inside. Don’t step out for anything. And if something feels wrong—even a little—you tell Harry and he’ll get me straight away. Got it?”

You stepped closer and reached out, resting your hand against the front of his shirt. The fabric was still warm from the morning sun, and you could feel the tension underneath it.

He caught your wrist gently. His eyes locked onto yours, steady and serious and searching yours.

“I mean it,” he said.

You nodded, swallowing. “I know.”

He held your gaze for a moment longer, then dropped his hand. “I’ll be down in the back room by three. Stay where I can find you.”

You headed out for the Garrison just before one. The walk through Small Heath was familiar—same cracked pavement, same rows of soot-streaked brick. You kept your coat buttoned to the collar and your gloves tucked deep in your pockets. The sky was gray, but it wasn’t raining, and the streets were quiet. For once, no one seemed to be staring too long, and no shadows felt like they were trailing behind you.

You kept your pace up, not quite rushing, but not strolling either. The past few weeks had made watching corners, checking over your shoulder, and listening for footsteps that didn’t belong a habit. Even when things seemed quiet, you didn’t let your guard down.

By the time you reached the Garrison, it was already filling up. A few regulars were parked at their usual tables, nursing pints and muttering over the paper. A couple of men from the factory had wandered in early, their work shirts still dusted with coal. The air inside was warm, the floor scuffed, the hum of voices steady but low. 

Harry greeted you with a grateful nod as you stepped behind the bar.

“You’re a blessing,” he muttered, already elbow-deep in washing glasses. “Don’t know how the hell I was going to manage the afternoon rush.”

You smiled faintly. “I missed it here.”

You slipped into the rhythm easily—drying glasses, topping off pints, wiping down counters. The kind of work that let your mind drift while your hands kept moving. Tommy, John, and Arthur arrived not long after and disappeared into the side room with two men in sharp suits and quiet voices. 

Tommy’s eyes found you first.

He gave a small nod as he passed, but he didn’t keep walking right away. He paused at the bar, rested one hand lightly against the edge, and leaned in just enough for his voice to be heard over the quiet hum of the pub.

“All quiet?”

You gave a faint smile, nodding. “So far.”

He studied you for a moment. Then, with the corner of his mouth twitching in something close to a smile, he reached out and gently touched the side of your waist, his fingers brushing the fabric of your dress like he needed to feel you there.

“Won’t be long,” he murmured.

You leaned into the touch, just slightly. “I’ll be here.”

Arthur made a sound behind him, half impatient grunt, half teasing, and John muttered something under his breath about lovebirds.

Tommy cast them both a look, but didn’t take the bait. Instead, he gave you one last glance before disappearing through the side room door with the others. It clicked shut behind them.

You could still hear their muffled conversation through the wall, low tones, nothing distinct. But it was enough to make the space feel protected, for just a little while. Everyone was exactly where they were supposed to be.

You stayed behind the bar, falling into the routine without needing to think much about it. Wiping down the counter. Drying glasses. Restacking the clean ones in neat rows. The usual sounds filled the space, glass hitting wood, stools creaking, quiet conversation in the background.

A few regulars were spread out at the tables, hunched over their pints. Most of them older men, talking low about football scores and council taxes. The radio behind the bar buzzed now and then, playing a scratchy jazz track that didn’t quite fit the room, but no one seemed to care enough to turn it off.

You finished drying a tumbler and placed it on the shelf with the rest, then bent down to grab the small ledger Harry used to track the afternoon’s orders. Nothing unusual. Just another slow, steady day.

You were drying off a short glass when the front door opened with a soft jingle.

You didn’t recognize the man who came in. He wasn’t dressed like a factory worker or one of the usual drinkers that passed through. His posture was straight, his steps steady, none of the tired slouch or fidgeting you were used to seeing in men coming off a shift. He looked put together. Plain coat, well-fitted. Clean shoes. No hat.

He didn’t glance around or take in the room. Just walked straight to the bar like he already knew where he was going and sat down at the far end, quiet and settled, like he had all the time in the world.

You blinked, the cloth stilling in your hand.

He didn’t meet your eye, or say a word. You watched him for a moment, cloth slack in your hand. 

You cleared your throat lightly and stepped a little closer along the bar.

“Can I get you anything?”

Your voice came out steady, casual. But the man didn’t answer.

He didn’t even move.

You waited a beat, brows drawing together.

“Sir?”

Still nothing.

You adjusted your grip on the rag, not because the glass needed more cleaning, but because your hands needed something to do. You weren’t exactly nervous, but something about the way the man sat so still, not moving a muscle, made the air feel heavier. The space behind the bar suddenly felt narrower.

You glanced toward the back room. The door was still closed. You could hear the low murmur of Tommy’s voice through it, along with John and Arthur’s, nothing clear, just the muffled rhythm of conversation.

Everything’s fine, you told yourself.

Maybe he’s just tired. Or lost in thought. Or…

The phone rang, sharp and sudden.

You jumped a little, the sound cutting through the quiet and catching you off guard.

It rang again.

Then, without looking up, the man at the end of the bar finally spoke.

“You’re going to want to answer that.” His voice was low. Smooth. Devoid of urgency, but full of certainty.

You turned to look at him, unsettled by how calm he seemed. He didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

The phone rang again.

A slow, cold feeling crawled its way up the back of your neck. You reached for the receiver, hesitating just a second before lifting it to your ear.

“Hello?”

For a few long seconds, there was nothing but static on the other end. You almost thought it was a deadline, until you heard the heavy breathing. It was light and uneven. Not the breath of someone calm or collected. A little too fast. A little too shallow.

Then, “Hello?”

The voice was small, young, and strained. Your heart dropped. You knew that voice before your mind even caught up.

“Finn?”

A sharp, ragged inhale, he gasped your name. “They’ve got me—” he burst out. “They’ve got me—please—I didn’t know what to do—”

Your heart slammed into your ribs. “Where are you?” you asked, your voice already breaking. “Finn, where are you? Are you hurt?”

“I—I don’t know—” His words tangled over themselves, rushed and panicked. “I was just trying to help—I thought if I followed them, I could find out something—I heard John say they were going to meet someone and I—I thought maybe I could watch from across the street, just in case—”

Your stomach dropped.

“I didn’t tell anyone—I didn’t want to get in trouble—but they grabbed me. They pulled me into a car—I didn’t see their faces—I didn’t see anything—”

He was crying now, or close to it. You could hear the breath catching in his throat.

The words tumbled out, too fast, too choked. You could hear the terror in his voice, that wild edge right before someone starts to scream.

“They said I had to call,” he sobbed. “Said I had to—said if I didn’t—if I didn’t—God, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just wanted to help. I thought Tommy would be proud if I did something real. Please, I don’t want to die—”

Your knees nearly buckled. Your eyes flicked back to the far end of the bar. “It’s okay, Finn. You’re going to be okay. Just breathe— okay, love? Just breathe.”

The man at the bar had his hands folded neatly in front of him, unmoved from the moment he’d sat down. But now—his lips curled. Just slightly in an almost imperceptible smirk. Cold. Knowing. Cruel. Like he was enjoying the show.

Your blood ran ice-cold. But just as you opened your mouth, just as you realized what you were really in the middle of, the voice on the line changed. You heard a quiet shuffle, and then someone else took the phone.

“Put Tommy on the line,” the voice said. It was smooth and controlled. 

You turned toward the end of the bar—but the stool was empty. Suddenly, the man was gone. 

You nearly dropped the receiver. Your voice cracked as you shouted over your shoulder. “Harry!”

Footsteps from the back. Then Harry appeared in the hall, startled, wide-eyed.

“Get Tommy,” you said, breathless. “Now.”

Something in your face must’ve told him everything, because Harry didn’t ask a single question—he just turned and sprinted down the hall.

You held the phone to your chest, pressing it tight like you could somehow stop the sound of Finn’s voice still echoing in your ears. Your breath came in short bursts, your chest tight, the ringing in your ears louder than anything in the room.

You didn’t even notice how badly your hands were shaking until the side room door flew open.

Tommy was first through it, followed closely by Arthur and John. All three of them looked alert, ready for a fight.

Tommy spotted you and stopped in his tracks. His eyes scanned your face, then the receiver clenched in your hand. He didn’t ask again. Didn’t need to.

He was across the room in three long strides, jaw tight, shoulders squared.

“What is it?” he said, his voice low and clipped, already bracing for the worst.

You opened your mouth, but no sound came. Your throat locked up. So you did the only thing you could, and you held the phone out to him.

Tommy took the phone from your shaking hand, his eyes never leaving your face. His fingers brushed yours—steady, deliberate—but the way he gripped the receiver was firm, controlled. Like he was already bracing for what he was about to hear.

He raised it to his ear. No greeting. No hesitation. Just silence.

You stood frozen, watching him.

His jaw tightened almost immediately, the muscles along his cheek shifting. His eyes narrowed, focused on some fixed point across the room, but you could tell he wasn’t seeing it. His whole body went still, shoulders squared, chest rigid, as if he were holding himself back from moving, from reacting.

The room had gone quiet, like everyone else was holding their breath.

“Hello?” he said, flat and even, like he wasn’t going to give whoever was on the other end the satisfaction of hearing anything else.

Another pause.

Then his eyes sharpened.

You couldn’t hear what was being said, but you saw the way his expression changed. First the slight flare of his nostrils. Then his lips pressed into a thin line. His grip on the receiver didn’t move, but something in his stance stiffened, like a pressure valve locking into place.

John and Arthur exchanged a glance, but neither interrupted.

Tommy finally spoke again, quiet and low. “I’ll give you one chance to return him alive.”

Another silence. His eyes flicked down, then away, calculating something even as he listened.

“If he’s hurt, there’s nowhere you can go that I won’t find you.” His tone didn’t rise. He didn’t curse or shout. 

You stepped closer without meaning to, your hands still trembling at your sides.

Tommy nodded once, barely perceptible.

Then, calmly, “Tell him if he touches Finn, I’ll put every man with his name in the ground. One by one.”

He listened a moment longer, then lowered the receiver and ended the call with a sharp click.

You didn’t say anything.

No one did at first. 

The silence in the Garrison was thick—crackling.

Then it all shattered.

“What the fuck was that?” John barked, already moving toward you. “How the fuck did they get to Finn? Where was he? Who the hell—”

Arthur’s voice cut over his. “Where were the guards? He wasn’t supposed to be alone—he wasn’t alone—”

“Did he say where he was?”

“Did they hurt him?”

“Jesus Christ—how—” 

The questions came too fast to answer, their words piling on top of each other, louder with each second. You couldn’t keep up. Couldn’t think clearly. It was all noise—panic, blame, disbelief—and none of it told you what you really needed to know.

Your ears were ringing. Your chest was too tight. You were still standing there, but you didn’t feel your body. All you could focus on was the memory of Finn’s voice, thin and terrified, still echoing in your skull.

You didn’t even notice the tears until you felt the heat on your cheeks.

Tommy reached for you without a word.

His hand wrapped around your wrist, not tight, just firm enough to bring you back to yourself. The noise in the room didn’t stop, but it dropped away somehow. You looked up, and he was already watching you, his eyes sharp but steady, locked onto yours like he was trying to pull you out of the spiral.

“Go home,” he said quietly, just to you. “Straight home. Have Harry or someone walk you.”

You shook your head, throat tightening. “Tommy—no.”

“Yes,” he said calmly. 

“I can’t—please, I need to stay—I need to know. I have to help,” you whispered, voice starting to crack. “You don’t understand—Tommy, there was a man—he was sitting right there. I looked at him. I let it happen—”

“Hey.”

His voice cut through the noise—firm, steady, right in front of you.

He stepped in, closing the space between you, and brought his hands to your face. His palms were warm, thumbs brushing just under your eyes as he held your gaze. Then he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours.

The closeness made everything else fall away, the noise, the panic, the sick weight in your chest.

“Look at me,” he said, voice low but clear.

Your eyes lifted to meet his.

“Breathe.”

You tried.

His thumbs brushed the tears from your cheeks.

“I need you to listen to me,” he said, voice low and rough. “I can’t help Finn unless I know you’re somewhere safe. Do you understand?”

You nodded, just barely.

Because if you tried to speak, you'd fall apart again.

Tommy’s hands lingered on your face for a moment longer, thumbs warm against your skin.

Then, gently, he pulled back. “Go home,” he said again, quieter now, but firmer.

You opened your mouth to protest, but he didn’t give you the chance.

“I’m going to ring Polly. She’ll meet you there.” He was already reaching into his coat pocket, pulling out his cigarette case with one hand, the other still hovering close like he didn’t trust you to stay upright.

You swallowed hard, your voice rasping when you finally spoke.

“How do you know where to find him?”

Tommy paused, just for a second. It wasn’t doubt you saw—he never doubted himself. But something flickered behind his eyes. Something darker.

“I recognized the voice,” he said. “The man on the phone. He used to work for Sabini. Now he works for Luca.”

You blinked. “And?”

Tommy’s jaw shifted. “I’ve had someone watching him for weeks. In case Luca ever used him.” He looked you straight in the eye. “He just did.”

A cold wave rolled through your chest.

Tommy exhaled through his nose, slow and sharp, then reached for your coat from behind the bar and helped you into it with a tenderness.

“Go,” he said again, softer now. “I’ll be back when it’s done.”

You hesitated—but he gave you one last look, the kind that left no room for argument.

So you nodded. 

…

As soon as the front door of the Garrison shut behind you, Tommy struck a match and lit a cigarette. His hands were steady. They had to be. There was no room for anything else.

Arthur was already throwing questions into the air, his voice sharp and too loud. John was pacing in tight circles, one arm shoved halfway into his coat, like he was ready to bolt out the door and take on half of Birmingham by himself.

Tommy didn’t look at either of them right away.

He took a slow drag, let the smoke sit in his chest, then exhaled hard through his nose. His mind was already turning, every moving part laid out in front of him like a puzzle with missing pieces. He didn’t need noise. He needed facts. He needed direction.

And right now, the shouting was just slowing him down.

Tommy’s voice cut clean through the noise.

“Quiet.”

They listened.

Tommy exhaled smoke through his nose, eyes locked on nothing and everything all at once.

“Frankie Rossi,” he said.

Arthur frowned. “Who?”

“He used to work for Sabini,” Tommy said. “Now he’s Luca’s. I recognized his voice on the phone.”

John stepped forward. “How the fuck do you know that?”

“Because I’ve been watching him for three weeks,” Tommy said, turning toward them. “Johnny Dogs has had a man on him since Luca first landed in England.”

He flicked the cigarette into the ashtray and grabbed his coat. “They’re at a house on the edge of Small Heath. Old warehouse front, backs onto the canal. Used to move cargo through there before the war.”

Arthur was already grabbing his gun from behind the bar. “You think they’re keeping Finn there?”

“I don’t think,” Tommy said. “I know.”

The plan was already forming before Tommy even finished speaking.

He moved quickly, heading down to the cellar beneath the Garrison, where the air was cold and close and smelled faintly of dust and whiskey. He pulled back the shelf like he had a hundred times before and opened the lockbox behind it.

Two pistols. A sawed-off shotgun. Boxes of ammunition, neatly packed. The tools of survival. Of retaliation. Of this life.

He handed the shotgun to Arthur without a word. Arthur took it without flinching, like it was an extension of his own hand.

Tommy paused for half a second, his eyes scanning the rest of the weapons before settling on one of the pistols. He checked the chamber. Loaded it. Moved on.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, something tugged at him.

How many more times are we going to do this?

How many more enemies? How many more backroom raids, ambushes, retaliation plots? It had been years of this—years of protecting, losing, rebuilding, and starting the cycle all over again. Every time he thought it was done, another threat came crawling out of the dark.

And now it was Finn.

Finn—who should’ve been in school, not in the crosshairs of men like Luca Changretta.

And you, caught in the middle of it all, tied to him in ways he couldn’t undo. 

He was so fucking tired of watching the people he loved pay the price for the life he built.

For a second, he let himself picture it. Something else, something quiet. A house far from Birmingham. No enemies. No weapons. Just you. Maybe even a family, if you wanted that. A place where no one had to look over their shoulder.

But the thought didn’t last long. Because this was his life. And right now, Finn needed him.

He tucked the pistol into his coat and shut the case.

“Johnny Dogs is already posted across the canal,” Tommy said. “He’s been watching comings and goings since last night. Finn’s still alive.”

“How do you know that?” Arthur asked. 

Tommy didn’t flinch. “This isn’t about killing Finn. Not yet. It’s about leverage.”

Arthur scoffed. “Fucking bastards are using him like bait.”

Tommy nodded once. “That’s exactly what they’re doing. They want me to come to them. And I am, which means he’s alive.”

John strapped on his shoulder holster, jaw clenched. “And if he’s not?”

Tommy pulled his coat tighter, reaching into the inner pocket to check the pistol again. 

“Then we kill every fucking man inside,” he said simply. 

No more questions.

They slipped out through the Garrison’s back entrance, coats pulled tight against the wind. A dark blue car waited across the street, one of the newer ones, quiet and unmarked. Curly was already behind the wheel, engine running low.

He didn’t say a word when they climbed in. Just tipped his cap, eyes straight ahead, and hit the gas as soon as the doors shut.

The drive was quick, no one talking. No one needed to.

The warehouse came into view just off the canal road—weather-beaten and quiet. The windows were boarded, the metal siding streaked with rust. Piles of rotting crates sat near the loading dock, half-collapsed, as if no one had touched them in years.

It looked empty. Abandoned.

But Tommy leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.

In one of the upper windows, tucked behind a broken slat of wood, he caught the faint glow of a cigarette ember. Brief. Flickering. Then gone.

“They’re watching,” he muttered.

Curly killed the engine a block away.

“Park up two streets over,” he told Curly. “Wait there. If you hear gunfire, bring the car ‘round. Fast.”

Curly gave a tight nod. “Right.”

The moment the car slowed, Tommy was out first, moving quickly across the street with Arthur and John close behind. They stuck to the edge of the buildings, boots scraping low over the cobblestone, ducking beneath windows and slipping into the alley that curved behind the warehouse.

Everything smelled like rust and wet wood.

They went the rest of the way on foot, cutting through the alley, boots silent over gravel and brick, hearts pounding in time with the threat.

Tommy stopped at the corner of the building and scanned the loading dock, eyes catching on a narrow side entrance, half-blocked by a stack of crates, but unlocked if you knew how to move right.

He turned to Arthur and John, voice low.

“Johnny Dogs says three inside. Two near the front, one pacing. Finn’s in a back room—tied up, probably watched.”

Arthur’s face was tight, his hands already flexing around the grip of the shotgun.

Tommy went on. “John, you take the rear. Go quiet. If they hear you, they’ll use him.”

John nodded, jaw set.

Tommy turned to Arthur. “You’re with me. Side door.”

He looked at them both—calm, controlled, but cold beneath it.

“We get in. We get Finn. If they point a gun, you shoot. No warning.”

They nodded.

Tommy turned back toward the warehouse before moving. The side door creaked open with a groan, the kind of sound that made every muscle tighten.

Tommy went in first, gun drawn low, Arthur right behind him. The air inside was cold and stale, the sharp tang of oil and old metal cutting through the dust. Their boots moved over concrete scattered with debris—empty crates, glass shards, scraps of rope.

It was too quiet. No shouting. No footsteps. Not even breathing.

Tommy swept the first room with the barrel of his gun. Empty.

They moved forward, careful, step by step, through a narrow corridor that led toward the back of the building. A door at the end hung slightly ajar. A faint light spilled through the crack—just enough to show movement.

Arthur raised the shotgun slightly, finger brushing the trigger.

Tommy glanced back and gave a single nod.

He pushed the door open.

Once they were inside, his eyes instantly landed on Finn. He was tied to a chair, wrists bound in front of him, mouth gagged. His eyes were wide and glassy with fear, blinking rapidly when he saw them. He made a sound—choked, desperate.

Tommy was already moving.

“Clear the room,” he snapped, voice tight.

Arthur swept the far side as Tommy crossed to Finn and dropped to one knee. He cut the ropes with a quick flick of his blade.

“You’re alright,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “You’re alright. We’ve got you.”

But the moment the ropes fell and Tommy pulled the gag free—

Gunfire erupted. 

The warehouse windows shattered as bullets tore through the wall, ripping into the crates stacked nearby.

“Down!” Tommy yelled, grabbing Finn and shielding him with his own body.

Arthur fired blindly toward the upper floor, cursing, the shotgun blasts echoing through the rafters—but there was no clear target. Just shadows moving too fast, boots scrambling over steel beams above them.

“They’re up high!” Arthur shouted. “Can’t get a shot!”

“Cover us!” Tommy barked, his voice raw with urgency.

He crouched low, arm around Finn, trying to move—but more gunfire cracked through the air, forcing them back behind a stack of crates. 

Then, another door slammed open across the room.

“This way!” John’s voice rang out. He burst through the far side of the warehouse, eyes wide, gun raised. “Come on—back entrance’s clear!”

Tommy didn’t hesitate.

He yanked Finn to his feet and threw an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close as they bolted toward John.

Gunfire followed them.

Tommy felt a sudden burn slice across his upper arm—sharp, hot, fast. A bullet had grazed him, tearing through his coat and skin. But he didn’t stop.

“Keep going!” he growled at Finn, forcing himself to keep pace, arm still tight around the boy.

Arthur laid down cover behind them, shotgun echoing through the rafters.

Tommy shoved Finn through the door first, John grabbing him and pulling him clear. Tommy followed a second later, nearly stumbling from the pain in his arm. Arthur barreled through right behind them, breathing hard, shotgun still in hand. He spun to slam the door shut, eyes scanning the alley behind them.

“Fucking trap,” he growled, jamming a rusted metal rod through the handles to seal it. “They wanted us boxed in.”

Tommy turned to Finn, ready to tell him to keep moving, but the look on John’s face stopped him cold.

“Tommy—” John’s voice was sharp, panicked.

Tommy’s eyes dropped.

Blood. Seeping fast through Finn’s shirt, soaking the boy’s side. His knees buckled as the adrenaline started to crash, and John barely caught him in time.

“I’m fine—” Finn mumbled, swaying, trying to stay upright.

“Christ,” Tommy snapped, stepping in and grabbing him before he could fall. He pressed a hand to the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. His own arm throbbed from where the bullet had grazed him, but it didn’t matter. Not right now.

“Help me get him out,” he barked. “Now.”

John adjusted Finn’s arm over his shoulder. Together, they half-dragged, half-carried him down the alley, boots pounding against wet pavement.

Arthur ran ahead. “Car’s waiting!”

Tommy’s jaw was clenched tight, blood smeared across his palm, the boy’s weight dragging heavily between them. Finn was still conscious, but barely—his head lolled, breath shallow, eyes fluttering open and closed.

“Stay with us, Finn,” Tommy muttered, more command than comfort.

“I’m—I’m okay,” Finn tried, but his voice was faint, the words slurred.

“‘Atta boy,” Tommy said. “Just hold on.”

They rounded the corner, and the car came into view, engine running, headlights cutting through the mist. Curly had the back door already open, face pale as he took one look at Finn and swore under his breath.

“Get in!” Arthur barked.

Tommy and John eased Finn into the backseat, careful but fast. Tommy climbed in beside him, pressing down hard on the wound with his sleeve as Finn groaned in pain. Blood was everywhere—on the seat, on Tommy’s hands, on Finn’s shirt already clinging to his skin.

Arthur slammed the door and jumped into the front. “Drive, Curly. Now.”

The car peeled off before the doors were even fully shut.

Tommy leaned over Finn, voice low and steady. “You’re alright. We’ve got you. Just keep your eyes open.”

Finn nodded weakly, but his eyelids were already drooping again.

Tommy looked up at John across from him. “How far to the house?”

“Ten minutes if Curly doesn’t slow down.”

Tommy pressed harder against the wound, ignoring the searing pain in his own arm.

Finn’s head lolled to the side, a low groan leaving his throat.

“Finn!” Tommy said loudly. He glanced down. “Stay with us, Finn.”

But Finn’s breathing was changing—getting faster, more uneven.

And then, he let out a sudden cry. “It hurts!” His voice was hoarse and high with panic.

He jerked beneath Tommy’s hands, trying to twist away. His legs kicked out, heel slamming into the floorboard.

“Don’t touch it! Don’t—don’t—”

“Jesus—” John lunged forward, grabbing Finn’s shoulders as he thrashed. “Finn, calm down! It’s alright!”

But it wasn’t.

The adrenaline that had kept him upright was burning out fast, and now the pain was rushing in, full force. Finn’s body bucked again, arms flailing, knocking into Tommy’s injured arm hard enough to make him grunt.

“Hold him,” Tommy snapped, jaw clenched.

Arthur turned from the front, alarmed. “Christ, what’s happening?!”

Tommy pinned Finn’s torso with one arm and pressed the other down over the wound, even as the boy screamed.

“Stop—! It hurts, Tommy—please!”

Every word was like a blade to the gut. But he didn’t let go.

“You want to live?” Tommy growled, even as his voice cracked at the edges. “Stay fucking still! You hear me?”

Finn sobbed, shaking, but the fight started to drain from him, muscles twitching under Tommy’s grip.

Tommy didn’t loosen his hold. Didn’t let himself soften. Not now. Because if he did, he’d lose the edge—and that could get Finn killed.

So he kept his head down, eyes locked on the blood, and waited for the next corner to bring them home.

The car screeched around the final corner, tires skidding on the wet cobblestone. The house came into view—dim porch light flickering, front steps slick with rain.

Tommy didn’t wait for the car to fully stop.

He threw the door open and climbed out, blood already cold on his hands and sleeves. His coat was soaked through—some of it Finn’s, some of it his own—but he barely felt it.

“John— Get his legs.”

John moved fast, grim-faced, lifting Finn as Tommy took him under the arms. The boy was limp now, head lolling back, face pale and streaked with sweat. His shirt was soaked in blood, clinging to his chest like it had been painted on.

“Easy,” Tommy muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Don’t drop him.”

The front door flew open. Polly stepped out first, already rolling up her sleeves, but her usual composure was shaken. Her eyes locked on Finn, and for just a second, her breath caught. “Christ,” she muttered under her breath, already moving forward.

Then you appeared behind her, barefoot, hair still damp from the bath, one hand braced against the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

Your eyes landed on Finn.

Tommy saw the moment the terror hit you. You straightened, voice tight but clear. “Bring him inside. Set him on the kitchen table.”

Polly turned on her heel. “I’ll get towels. Scissors. Whiskey.”

“Boil some hot water,” you added. “And bring anything clean—we’re going to need pressure on that wound until I can see it properly.”

John pushed past you to open the door wider, and Tommy followed, Finn sagging between them. His body felt smaller than it had just minutes ago—light and fragile and far too quiet.

They laid Finn out on the kitchen table, his body slack, blood soaking through the towel Tommy had pressed to his side.

Polly was already moving—dropping a pile of clean rags, bottles, and scissors onto the counter with a loud clatter, hands working fast. You had your sleeves pushed up now, eyes scanning the boy’s body like a battlefield, checking for exit wounds, for signs of shock, for how much time you had. 

Tommy stood back, silent, his hands still covered in blood.

He felt it cooling now, sticky between his fingers, seeping into his cuffs.

“Pulse is weak,” you said, mostly to yourself, voice sharp and clear despite the paleness in your face. 

“Where is it?” Polly asked, already soaking a cloth in the boiled water.

“Lower left side,” you replied. “Looks like it might have nicked something.” 

The chair scraped loudly as Polly pulled it closer, dropping to her knees beside the table to cut Finn’s shirt away. You took a fresh towel, pressed down hard on the wound, and Finn flinched—still barely conscious, but the pain was enough to pull a groan from his throat.

“I know, I know. Sorry, sweetheart,” you whispered, your hand steady even as your voice cracked.

Tommy leaned against the doorframe, watching. Too still. Too quiet. His hands were stained with Finn’s blood, dried now along the cracks in his skin, soaked into the sleeves of his coat. It clung to him like the weight of every bad choice he’d ever made.

He should’ve done more. Should’ve seen the setup for what it was. Should’ve anticipated the ambush. He’d known Luca was clever—calculated. And still, he’d walked right into it. Dragged John and Arthur in with him. Dragged Finn.

He was supposed to protect his family.

And he was failing. Again.

Your eyes lifted suddenly, catching his, just for a second.

It wasn’t anger in your face. Not even shock anymore. It was fear. The real kind. The kind that stayed in your bones long after the bleeding stopped. And somehow, that look hit harder than the bullet had. Because you were supposed to be safe, too. 

And standing there, helpless, Tommy realized what scared him most wasn’t that he’d nearly lost Finn. It was knowing this wouldn’t be the last time. Not as long as he was in charge. Not as long as they lived in his world.

Suddenly, Polly brushed past Tommy, coming back in the room with an armful of bandages and bottles, her shoulder bumping his as she moved toward the table.

He flinched, barely, but it was enough.

You’d been focused on Finn, hands soaked and steady, but at that, your head snapped up. “Are you hit?”

Your eyes scanned him, zeroing in on the tear in his coat sleeve. Dark blood was seeping through the fabric around his upper arm. It wasn’t gushing, but it hadn’t stopped either.

“Tommy.”

He tried to brush it off. “It barely touched me.”

You didn’t move. “Take off the coat,” you said, voice sharper now. “Now.”

He hesitated, eyes flicking to Finn still unconscious on the table, attention now fixated on him. 

“It’s just a graze,” he muttered, jaw tight. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” you snapped. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’ve bled before,” he said flatly. “Plenty of times. Focus on Finn.”

You stepped in front of him, towel and whiskey in hand. “That’s not the point.”

He met your eyes, and for a moment, there was something almost defensive there. “You think I can’t handle a scratch?”

“Christ, you’re not invincible!” you snapped, your voice rising louder than you intended. 

He stared at you, caught off guard, the anger in your voice slicing clean through the fog of blood and pain and guilt. 

He finally gave in with a muttered curse, pulling his coat off one arm with a wince. The shirt beneath was soaked through, the fabric torn where the bullet had grazed the muscle.

You grabbed a clean towel from the stack and moved around the table toward him.

“Sit,” you said firmly.

“I’ll stand.”

“You’ll sit,” you repeated, already reaching for the bottle of whiskey Polly had left on the counter. “Why do you have to make everything so damn difficult?” 

He didn’t move. Just stared back at you, jaw set, like sitting down would somehow make it real—make him look weak, or worse, make him feel it.

You stared at him, chest tight, rage and worry caught somewhere between your ribs. His arm was bleeding. His shirt clung to the wound. He was in pain, but still too proud to stop moving, too locked into that damn Shelby armor to admit it.

“Fine. Fucking forget it, then. I’m done.” You let out a frustrated sigh, turning your back to him.You shoved the supplies into Polly’s hands, and stepped back. “Here, you do it.”

Polly didn’t ask questions. Just took the cloth and whiskey, already stepping in.

And you returned to Finn, where your help was actually wanted.

Tommy stayed standing for a beat longer, watching you from across the room.

Your back was to him now, hands moving with purpose as you leaned over Finn, murmuring something low and steady. 

Polly moved around him without a word, inspecting the wound. But Tommy wasn’t paying attention anymore.

And he couldn’t even blame you.

He looked down at the towel in Polly’s hands, at the blood on his sleeve. He didn’t want you to see him like this—tired, bleeding, worn down. He didn’t want you to look at him and see someone breakable and vulnerable.

Because if you stopped seeing him as the one who kept everyone safe, then maybe that meant he really wasn’t. Maybe tonight had proven it.

Polly pressed a cloth to his arm, muttering something about stitches, but Tommy barely heard her.

His eyes were still on you. You were kneeling beside Finn, one hand steady on the boy’s shoulder, the other dabbing gently at the wound with a clean cloth. Your sleeves were rolled up, stained with blood. The set of your jaw was tight, your movements practiced—but your face told a different story.

There was pain there. Not the kind that showed up in screams or gasps, but the quieter kind. The kind that settled behind the eyes. That kind of sorrow that came from watching someone small and innocent hurt—again.

Your brow creased, and for a moment, you pressed your lips together like you were trying not to shake. Not to cry.

And you wouldn’t look at him.

He wanted to say something. Anything.

But he didn’t. He just watched you, silently, as Polly dabbed at the bullet graze on his arm. The sting barely registered.

Because all he could think about was how close you were—how your hands moved with care, how your face held everything you weren’t saying—and how far away you felt.

The tension in the kitchen was thick, broken only by the low crackle of the fire and the rustle of fabric as you worked.

Tommy didn’t look away from you, but it was Arthur who finally spoke.

“Is he—?” His voice was gruff, uncertain. “Is he gonna be alright?”

John hovered behind him, pale and restless, arms folded tight across his chest.

You didn’t look up. You were too focused, one hand applying pressure to Finn’s side, the other shifting his shirt back to expose the wound more fully.

“I don’t know yet,” you said, voice low but firm. “It’s still bleeding more than it should.”

Polly looked up from where she was finishing Tommy’s bandage.

“There’s no exit wound,” you said, shaking your head. 

John swore under his breath.

Polly stood then, wiping her hands, her face pale but composed. “What do you need?”

“Boiling water, the sharpest needle you’ve got, and strong thread. And someone to hold him down if he wakes up.”

Arthur moved without being asked, already heading toward the stove. John didn’t move. He just stared at Finn like he was willing him to start breathing normally again.

You were already reaching for the cloth again, pressing it gently to Finn’s side to slow the bleeding while you worked.

Tommy watched from the chair, his arm bandaged, but his entire body rigid. He’d stopped feeling his own pain a while ago.

You cleaned around the wound as gently as you could, your hands moving with methodical focus. The cloth came away soaked again, darker now. The bleeding hadn’t slowed.

You’d stitched worse in the war. You’d stopped worse bleeds, clamped worse wounds—but not in a kitchen, not with a boy this young, not with this many eyes watching every move you made like it was life or death.

You pierced the skin with the needle once, then twice, working quickly, but every time you pressed, Finn’s breathing hitched again—high and sharp, like he couldn’t quite pull enough air in.

Then you saw it.

The rise and fall of his chest had gone uneven again. Too shallow. Too quiet.

Your hands paused.

“Something’s wrong,” you said quietly.

Polly stepped closer. “What is it?”

You looked up—face pale now, voice thin. “I think the lung’s collapsed.”

That silenced the room.

You glanced back down at Finn. His chest was barely moving now, breath shallow and sharp, each one sounding more strained than the last. His lips were starting to lose color. No matter how much pressure you applied or how steady your hands stayed, it wasn’t enough.

“I can’t do this here,” you said. “Not without a proper chest tube. Not without—everything. I can’t—” Your voice cracked. “I don’t think I can fix him.”

Your hands hovered over Finn’s chest like you didn’t know what to do with them anymore. The cloth was soaked through again. You pressed down, but your fingers were starting to shake.

“I don’t know how to help him,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.

The silence that followed felt heavy, like the whole room had stopped breathing too.

Then Tommy stepped forward. “Then we take him to the hospital,” he said, voice low but solid.

You looked up at him, eyes wide, on the edge of unraveling.

Arthur was already grabbing his coat and heading towards Finn without waiting for permission. John moved toward the front door.

Polly gently touched your back. “Go with him.”

Still frozen in place, you nodded once.

Tommy helped Arthur shift Finn’s weight carefully, lifting him with practiced coordination—one arm under his knees, the other behind his back. Finn didn’t stir. His head lolled slightly against Tommy’s shoulder, lips parted, breaths faint and uneven.

Tommy’s sleeves were streaked with blood again, soaking into the fresh bandage on his own arm. He didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

You looked over at him briefly as you grabbed the last of the cloths and followed him toward the door.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, voice cracking.

Tommy didn’t stop walking. But he glanced down at Finn, then over at you—just once. There was a flicker of something in his eyes. Something that almost looked like it might become a reply.

But he didn’t say anything.

His jaw tightened, gaze shifting forward again as he adjusted his grip on Finn.

And then Polly’s voice came, quiet but firm behind you.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” she said.

You turned slightly, caught off guard by the weight in her voice. She was standing in the hallway now, hands stained with blood, shoulders squared.

“You’ve saved this family more times than I can count,” she said. “Tonight included.”

You stared at her, throat tightening again.

Polly didn’t flinch under your gaze. She meant every word—stood there like the house itself wouldn’t be standing without you. Like she knew what you’d done, and needed you to know it too.

But still… you nodded once. A small, uncertain gesture. Not quite believing it. Not tonight.

Then you turned.

Tommy was already at the door, Arthur just ahead of him, holding it open as the night air swept in cold and sharp.

You followed them out into the dark, the weight of Polly’s words still hanging in the hallway behind you.

John had the car waiting at the curb, engine running, headlights spilling light across the cobblestones. He jumped out the moment he saw you, flinging open the rear door as Tommy and Arthur carefully maneuvered Finn toward it.

They worked in sync—Arthur easing Finn into the backseat, Tommy supporting his head and shoulders, settling him gently across the bench. Finn was barely responsive now, his breathing shallow and rattling, one hand twitching weakly as they adjusted him.

“I’m going in the back with him,” Arthur said, climbing in beside Finn without waiting for an answer.

Tommy followed, slipping in next to Arthur, one arm braced behind Finn to keep him upright.

John looked over at you. “Come on then.”

You slid into the front passenger seat, pulling the door shut just as the tires rolled forward. No one spoke at first.

The city passed by in a blur, wet streets, shuttered shops, lamplight glinting off puddles. The quiet in the car felt heavy, like everyone was trying not to breathe too loudly.

In the back, Finn let out a low, pained sound. Arthur leaned in, murmuring something under his breath, and adjusted the blanket Polly had wrapped around him.

“That warehouse was a fucking setup,” John muttered after a while, hands tightening on the wheel. “They were watching us the whole time.”

Arthur gave a grunt in agreement. 

“They knew we’d come,” John added, glancing in the rearview. “Knew we’d be too focused on Finn to see the rest of it.”

Tommy said nothing. You glanced over your shoulder briefly. He was staring at Finn—his expression unreadable, his jaw clenched so tight you could see the tension all the way through his shoulders.

His injured arm was pressed tight against his side, blood still soaking through the bandage beneath his coat. But he didn’t seem to feel it. Or he refused to.

The hospital came into view just ahead—pale brick and glowing windows, too quiet for what it was. John pulled the car up near the entrance, tires crunching over wet gravel, engine still humming.

Before the car had even fully stopped, Tommy spoke.

“Park the car,” he said to John, voice low but clear. “Wait fifteen minutes before coming inside. We don’t need all of us storming in. One Blinder’s enough to send the nurses running.”

John nodded, throwing it into park. “You sure?”

Tommy was already opening the back door. “Yeah. You too, Arthur. She’s coming with me.”

No one protested. Together, you lifted Finn out of the backseat. His head rolled slightly against Tommy’s shoulder, but he was still breathing, barely.

Tommy’s jaw tightened. “Let’s go.”

You nodded, falling into step beside him as the hospital doors slid open ahead of you, the lights inside too bright and sterile after the dark chaos of the last few hours.

The doors slid open with a mechanical hiss, and the second you were through, Tommy’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. 

“We need help!”

Heads turned. A nurse behind the front desk froze for half a second before jumping to her feet and calling for a stretcher.

Within moments, two more nurses and a young doctor came rushing down the corridor toward you.

“Gunshot wound,” you said quickly, breathless. “Male, twelve. Entrance wound low on the left side, we think the lung’s collapsed. He’s losing blood fast.”

“Is he breathing?” one of the nurses asked, already pulling on gloves.

“Yes,” you answered. “It’s shallow—one side more than the other. He’s been like this for at least twenty minutes.”

They didn’t hesitate. One nurse reached for Finn’s legs while another supported his back, and gently, they took him from Tommy’s arms.

Tommy didn’t let go right away.

The second they pulled Finn’s weight from him, it was like something dropped out of his chest. He straightened slowly, blood smeared up both arms, across the front of his coat. The warmth of it gone, leaving only the weight behind.

The nurses disappeared down the corridor with Finn on the stretcher, voices overlapping—orders, vitals, prep.

And then it was quiet again. You stood beside him, still staring down the hall where they’d taken Finn. The doors had already swung shut behind the stretcher, and the sound of rushing feet had faded.

Silence pressed in again. The kind of quiet that made everything feel worse.

You looked down at Tommy’s hands. Blood everywhere. Caked along his knuckles, soaked into the sleeves of his coat, smudged across the edge of his collar.

Still, without thinking, you reached for him. 

Your fingers brushed his first, tentative—but he didn’t pull away. You threaded your fingers through his, gently, like you were afraid he’d vanish if you held too tight. 

He looked down, eyes flicking to the contact, then up to your face.

His hand was warm, but stiff. Like even now, even after everything, he wasn’t sure he deserved this—your touch, your calm, your choice to stay.

For once, he didn’t speak. He didn’t argue. Instead, he just stood there, letting you hold his hand like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

And maybe it was.

In the silence of the hospital corridor, with fluorescent lights buzzing and footsteps echoing from down the hall, it was the only real thing left. 

Just you.

And him.

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[writingfairyy]

What the hell?? Pt.2

A young lady who was a model lived on earth ended in a tragic way.. and ended up in hell somehow? While she cant hurt a fly.. Right?

Warning!!: Cursing, Smoking, Drinking.

Part 1.

" Welcome to the Vees my dear.." Vellvette said smiling, taking lipstick from her pocket. "Pucker up" I bent down to her height as she put that dark shade of lipstick on me " Now your ready." She smirked putting the lipstick away and grabbing a different phone from bag

"I never got your name" She typed away on the phone chewing bubblegum.

" It's Y/N.." she typed some more. " I made you a social media account" Throwing an object that looks like a phone at me. " It's the latest Hellphone.. enjoy it." She smiled. " Pose dear" She pulled out her phone pointing it at the mirror. As i leaned into her smiling.

" Posted!" She typed away. "Let's get you back to val and vox." I nodded following her to another room that looked like another office.

I felt my phone go off like crazy, opening an app called Sinstagram? opening my account Darling_Y/N? seeing 200K followers in a minute? Looking at the tagged post.

-Say Hello to our new play thing.. Y/N <3 @ Darling_Y/N

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"Good Afternoon, My name is Katie Killjoy." " And i'm Tom Trench"

"This afternoon we've got some SPICY gossip about the Overlords." Katie said, showing her spiky smile.

"but also tonight we will have a speech by Lucifer Himself! with the one and only Princess of Hell Charlie." Tom said putting some papers aside. "Stay tuned for more!" She smiled. The camera cutting off " Were done here Bitch." She cursed.

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"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE VEL?!" Vox yelled angrily, destroying a tv in the process.

" Chill Gramps." It's just a post." She laughed taking a seat patting the chair next to her. " A SMALL POST?! SHE'S GOING VIRAL IT'S BEEN 4 MINUTES!" he yelled more. " At Least She's trending." she said as i took a seat next to her.

"Have you figured out what your talent is?" Val Stood across me smoking some more. i nodded showing my hands as they lit up. Making a dress out of thin air. "That's quite interesting.." Val walked closer holding the object... Vox calmed down.

" Can you make lingerie?" Val smiled.

"i can try?" I made a white set with angel wings..

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"Hey Y/N you ready for the runway?" The staff said. Fixing my hair and the cast putting the finishing touches of my makeup. "Yes." I walked to the stage curtain in full confidence " You're on in 3..2..1!" As she said that, I walked to the stage of the Victoria's secret angels catwalk.

Walking around in full confidence smiling at the camera posing and giving the camera a kiss and a wave. walking back spinning around taking one last pose as I walked to the curtain behind screens.

staff helping me take off the heavy wings off as they slip a robe around me, walking to the lounge for the models grabbing a smoothie. as i heard more heels clank around me. " hey Y/N right?" A voice said behind me. Turning around revealing a gorgeous woman with brown wavy hair with full lips. " My name is Adriana" She smiled while grabbing a drink. She had amazing face, Body and posture. I wish i was more like her.

"I loved your walk by the way" She checked her phone. "Thank you! It's such an honor meeting you" I smiled mentally slapping myself for saying that. " No, it's my pleasure. I've been seeing you alot these days, you're going to be a great kid." She waved giving me an air kiss. I walked to my changing room putting my drink down hearing moans in the bathroom. "Honey?" I took off my heels slipping on fuzzy slippers. walking closer to the bathroom that wasn't locked leaning my ear on the door.

"What if we get caught.." A woman said "She won't. just focus on me" that voice.. I kicked the door open. " What's going on here?" I stood there shocked to see my boyfriend shirtless with a model. "how could you Kyara.." I pulled her by her hair away from him. " Ow ow owowow-" she yelled as I dragged her by her hair out of my changing room. " Just you wait.." I closed the door and locked it.

" Let me explain, dear.." He put his hands up. " No explanation. Leave.. were done." I yelled angrily. as heels clanked behind me. yelling at him. turning around to look at the sound as Kyara my best friend was holding a crowbar as my boyfriend held me still 

before i knew it i woke up in hell..

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[hispg]

Love

Pairings: Fuckboy! Leon X Fem! Reader

Summary: Maybe he loves everything about you, or maybe he hates you. Yet he always looks for you when he needs you.

That must mean something, right?

Wc:2.6k

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, p in v, masturbation( m receiving), reverse cowgirl, smoking during sex, mentions of weed and alcohol, slightly praise/degradation, toxic relationship, light angst, finger riding.

An: I should have posted this a few days ago, but recently I've been feeling quite insecure about my writing.Even so, I decided to post it.

Also as a thank you to the 600 followers! Seriously! Last month I had 200, and now I've basically tripled that!I feel very grateful and happy that each and every one of you takes the time to read what I write! Leaving a comment or reblogging, the likes also motivate me a lot! That's very special to me.

If all goes well, tomorrow I'll post 2 pieces of smut, one related to Leon being your childhood friend (more cute and awkward? Idk), and the other will be with breeding kink (🤨). It'll be kind of a thank you to the 600 followers.

Thanks again! 💖💖💕

He loves the way your body lies on the floor, he loves the way you breathe. The breathless smile you give him every time you've just had sex.

Or even the way you let yourself be so exposed to him, lying completely naked, without a shred of shame.

He may love all this about you, but he doesn't love you. If that makes any sense.

Maybe he's too fucked up to be thinking like that, or maybe he's blaming it on the weed. Even if he was quite lucid.

He already knew he'd be leaving soon, it was always like that. Sex without commitment, just for fun. He insisted on muttering these phrases to himself every time he was with you.

You made him feel so alive that he even forgot that it wasn't supposed to mean anything, it was just another fling.

If it was just one more, why did he keep coming back to you? Why was it that every time he wanted to talk late at night he called you, at the very least it had to mean something. Or maybe it was just a coincidence of fate?

He can't say, to be quite honest. He was probably just thinking too much, maybe he just liked you for the affection you gave him, which frankly he adored.

Maybe he'd fallen under that spell.

"Are you leaving?" You ask in a whisper, offering the same sweet smile as always.

"Soon, doll." He says in a whisper, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

It seems you've managed to take his mind off his own thoughts, and now he's looking you up and down with a thoughtful expression.

After a few seconds he responds with a nod, taking a cigarette from his pack and lighting it.

Gestures like that weren't common from him, but it was different with you. And frankly, it made your heart flutter every time.

You knew you shouldn't feel anything for him, you always did. But who says the heart obeys reason?

"Can't you sleep here?" You asked in a purr, laying your head on his lap and lightly kissing his thighs.

He sighed, taking a long drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke away from your face.

"You know I won't." The answer was always the same, he didn't even try to disguise it every time you asked.

It wasn't that he couldn't, it was that he didn't want to. And he wouldn't give in so easily.

Nobody said you couldn't make him have a reason to stay, or that you couldn't induce him to say yes for once.

"Don't look at me like that." He mutters, giving you a weak sideways smile.

He knew that look, he knew all the tricks you played on him. And hell if he said he didn't like every one of the things that you do for him.

You still didn't stop, kissing and kneading his inner thighs, watching him as you did it. Letting him stare into your gentle eyes as you tried to persuade him with your antics.

"You're so fucking dirty…" He says under his breath, taking another drag on his cigarette.

He didn't stop looking at you for a second, his hand coming up to stroke your hair, making it clear that you wanted him to continue, and that you had his permission to do whatever you wanted.

He didn't care, in any case if you questioned him about his softer attitudes, he would just say it was the effect of the weed.

Even if it was just a lie to disguise his pride.

Even if you didn't notice, but his expression was always so gentle with you, even if it wasn't such a lived change, but it was there.

And he couldn't hide it any longer from the moment you nibbled and licked his thighs, making him shudder at the sensation that began to arise in his body. The goosebumps that appeared in his every pore.

"I wanted you to stay…" You say softly, as if it were something just for you.

He even pretended not to hear, but there was no way he couldn't have heard. Your sweet voice echoing so close to him. A plea that perhaps if you asked for more, so slyly, there was a good chance he would give in.

It wasn't long before you were kissing all over his chest, letting your hand rest on his thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze and stroking it with your thumb. You already knew how sensitive he was to certain touches, and you always took advantage of that.

"Doll, you're going to kill me like this…" He murmured, looking at you with another one of his gallant smiles, the one that made you weak in the knees.

"I want to make you happy…" You whispered slyly, running your hands down to his bare midriff.

Your lips found his neck, licking and nibbling, making a point of letting him feel your teeth on his skin.

He couldn't help himself, letting out a soft moan as you had your way with him, it was strangely satisfying that you knew exactly what to do when it came to touching him.

"You do, babydoll, you do." He says softly, reaching down to give your ass a gentle squeeze, as well as a playful slap on your exposed flesh.

You then giggle at him, taking the opportunity to grip the erect base of his cock, giving him wet kisses on his shoulders. You even dared to kiss his nipple piercings, letting your tongue hover on the cold metal, feeling the icy surface on your hot muscle, making you smile against his skin.

Just watching the way he sighed and squirmed against your lips, you could feel your pussy starting to get wet, clit throbbing at the thought of having him with you once again.

His reddened tip was already leaking pre-cum, the liquid sticking to him and your fingers, helping with the impurity of those wet noises.

As soon as you started moving your hand up and down, his grip on your ass became stronger, making you gasp slightly at the act.

You continued with the movements, the wet sounds mixed with low moans and grunts filling your ears.

"You have good hands, don't you?" He said with a smile, sliding his hand down your ass again.

His other hand still held tightly to his cigarette, taking deep puffs, his eyes never leaving yours.

You could feel his body squirming with your touches, his hips moving against your hand for any other kind of friction you could give.

"I bet you're soaking wet, aren't you?" He asks in a cocky way, giving you his usual smug smile.

He knew how turned on you got just by pleasuring him, by having his throbbing cock in your fingers, or even the permission he gave you so that you could pleasure him in any way you wanted.

And then just to make sure he knew what he was talking about, his fingers slid down to the wet surface of your pussy, his fingers playing with your slick, making you moan against his skin.

"Tight little hole wanting attention, isn't it?" He taunts, putting his fingers so deep inside you.

The next thing he saw was you sticking out your tongue, licking the trail of precome dripping from his puffy red tip. The act made him curve his fingers inside you, moving in and out without much effort.

"You're so tasty…" You murmured softly, giving his tip a kiss.

This caused him to smile a little, rubbing his thumb against your clit in a circular motion.

"I want to see you ride, go on, sit down." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

You felt it when he withdrew his fingers from you, resting his hand on the cold floor, just waiting for you to do what he wanted.

And obviously you weren't going to say no.

And you obeyed like a good girl, sitting on his hand as you felt his fingers sinking into you.

"Ah- Shit…" You murmured, feeling your thighs twitch a little as you moved up and down.

He knew your weak points so well that it made you angry, he knew how to make you shudder with just his fingers.

"Such a beautiful little thing, fucking perfect." He grunted, playing with one of your nipples. Rolling and sliding between his fingers, squeezing and pinching.

All this so he could see you moaning and rolling your eyes as you rode his fingers.

You were so beautiful, the way you let yourself be so exposed to him, the way you trusted him with your eyes closed. That should be worrying, but he found it so exciting.

Your breasts jiggling as you moved up and down on his fingers, making a mess of his hand, which by the way was already honeyed with your juices.

"Hmh-, so good," You moaned, leaning on the floor for support as Leon watched your every move.

You moaned and whimpered his name, biting your lip as you stared at his erect member. God, he knew you were dying for him to make you deep-throat him, and don't get him wrong, he wanted it just as much as you did.

Just the thought of his cock buried in your tight throat was more than enough to make his cock throb and twitch, he could feel his blood pulsing to his lower body.

But now, now he wanted you. He wanted to watch as you rode him, as you moaned and begged him to curl his fingers and reach your sweet spots with every movement.

He didn't waste much time and pulled you close to him, sliding his free hand to the back of your neck, pulling you into a hot kiss.

His mouth meeting yours, the way you kissed him so eagerly and sloppily was enough to make him moan and grunt against your lips, his fingers moving in sync with your bouncing.

Your spongy, wet walls pulled him in, accommodating his fingers, you were so wet that he had no trouble sliding in and out of you.

He could do this all day, watch you moaning and whimpering his name, pulling your lips together to try and suppress the dirty noises coming out of you.

And it didn't work at all.

His smile only widened when he heard you whimpering loudly, biting your lip as you rolled your eyes, your orgasm washing over you as you drowned in that pleasure.

"Good girl. Good girl." He whispers, watching as you cream in his fists, your sweet furrow dripping through his fingers.

"Fuck…Oh…" You murmur, stopping your movements, but he hasn't stopped fisting you for a minute.

His skillful fingers caressing your spongy walls, making you look at him slyly.

"Leon… It's too much…" You cry out, pouting at him.

All he does is look at you with amusement in his eyes, leaning down to kiss your nipple, giving your sensitive part a gentle nibble.

"I hope you still have enough breath to give me a good ride." He says with a provocative and seductive tone, smiling cheekily at you.

And well, how can you deny him that? How can you say no when he looks at you like that?

You were incapable of denying such a good proposition.

"Yes… You know I will…" You say slyly, watching as he takes his fingers out of you.

He soon adjusted himself on the floor, spreading his legs and leaving room for you to sit on top of him.

Without any shame, he fisted his own cock, looking at you and biting his lip. His veins pulsed in his cock, which by then was begging for some attention.

The sight was enough to make your cunt throb, your body burning and aching, clamoring for him. And it wouldn't take you long to do what he wanted.

And once again he watched, saw you sit on his lap, your back turned to him as you gave him a view of your plump ass, making him salivate at the sight.

With one hand he held the cigarette, and with the other he instinctively placed it on your hips, kneading the soft skin. He watched as your tight pussy swallowed him, slowly, centimeter by centimeter. Sinking into his lap until he had it all at once.

He watched his cock disappear into your wet folds, and felt when your warmth enveloped him in such a sweet way.

"Fuck, you take me so well doll." Leon grunted, pressing his fingers into the softness of your hips.

"Hm - I'm so full…" You moaned, holding onto his knees as you began to grind slowly.

He smiled sideways, taking one last drag on his cigarette before throwing it on the floor, turning his full attention to you.

The next thing you felt was a warm slap on your ass cheeks, making you swallow and let out a whimper, understanding that he was asking you to increase the pace.

"Good girl." He purred, holding both your cheeks as he just sat there and felt you bounce on his cock.

The view was almost divine, your ass completely on display. He was lost in it, so lost that he could only focus on your moans, on the way you swallowed him completely, his cock appearing and disappearing with every bounce you made.

And there he went, losing all sense and just following the primal instinct to just fuck you, as if it were the last time. His hands gripping your hips tightly as he thrust.

"Leon- mhmm-," You even try to babble, but nothing but incoherent phrases come out of your lips.

Your pussy was so full, so stuffed, that you couldn't even breathe. You'd forgotten how deep he could get into you, how well he could fuck you if he wanted to.

His grunts mixed with your moans filled the room, nothing more than your voices amid the dirty sound of bodies slamming against each other, clashing violently.

If Leon was being honest, he never controlled himself with you, was never able to hold back when it came to you.

His cock twitching as he felt you tighten around him, he grunted so loudly in frustration, he almost couldn't hold back his load.

"I'm going to come inside, you hear?" He says, he wasn't really asking, just warning you what he was going to do.

"Please," You manage to let out a sly little cry, feeling him slap your ass, another one of his requests.

He wanted you to go faster, and you could never deny him that.

Your hips rolling up and down, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you called his name, you even felt that sensation in the pit of your stomach.

Your bodies covered in sweat, heavy breaths coming out in gasps, neither of you could even speak a single word.

You couldn't hold it in any longer, your orgasm flooded you once again, your fluids gushing out, your walls squeezing his length.

And that was the last straw for him, with a loud grunt and a swear word you couldn't identify, he came, thick ropes of cum painting your walls.

Leon just gave you a playful smack on the ass, appreciating you for what you had given him.He knew it had been stupid to cum inside, but he couldn't help himself.

Now all that was left was to wait, he was just waiting until you fell asleep, while you swore that this time it would be different, or that this time he would have some kind of feeling.

But you were dead wrong.

And then he would leave again, break you into a thousand pieces without even looking back.

But then, he would come into your arms, to glue each broken piece together, only to break it again later.

After all, isn't that what love is all about?

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

You came — you called. | Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

credits for the header - ghost's pic by the very talented @ave661 ✦ Word count: 2.2k ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader ✦ Summary: After being abused by your current date, in need of comfort, you call your ex-boyfriend and recurring fling, Simon, to talk. ✦ TW and general warnings: SFW, some kisses here and there but no smut, angst, you guys are in a complicated situationship, fluff, sensitive content (domestic violence) ✦ AO3 | Masterlist edit: I wrote a part 2 in case you're interested <3

A/N: I really need to finish my already started requests, really do but inspiration ONLY gets to me when I'm randomly existing and then a random prompt comes in mind and arghhh gotta write 😭 but I promise - if anyone reading this sent me a request, know I've started it already and I WILL finish. also, thinking really a lot about making a part 2 for this piece and making it smutty. pls let me know if anyone's interested! anyways, not proof read, hope y'all enjoy, x

━━━━━━━━━ ⟡ ━━━━━━━━━

It’s the same place as the last time you saw him. Ironic, maybe. You still smoke the same cigarettes he offered to you once in a promise it would help you calm down from your anxiety; it did. It did a little too much. You still wear that same necklace you refused to get rid off even after you dumped him, after you promised you’d never see him again, never talk to him again. God, hope he doesn’t get mad at that.

Truth is you’ve been failing at that for quite some time. You’ve been seeing him way more than it’s necessary, but contrary to how things used to be before, now every moment with him is a single time that ceases to exist once you get home. He texts; you ignore. He doesn’t text anymore till the next time he misses you. You ignore it till the next time you miss him. This time isn’t much different, only you have a bit more of a reason to be here, unsure if he’ll show up, smoking this damned red Marlboro and feeling like shit. Like absolute shit.

You exhale the smoke, your hair tied back in a ponytail through the cap gap. Hiding yourself.

His big broad figure fills the door in, and he comes inside. To your big surprise, he decided lastly to come; Simon looks at you with a bitter look on his face, his dirty blonde hair trimmed, his beard done, wearing one of his thousand black tight t-shirts and a pair of jeans. He looks the same as ever.

“You came.” You say, surprised as he pulls the chair back and takes the seat in front of yours. 

“You called.” He replies simply, his body relaxing spaciously in the chair with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Yeah, I did.” You let out some more smoke before discarding your cigarette on the ashtray. “But I thought you were still mad at me.” 

He looks at you in silence for a couple seconds, and scoffs.

“And that never stopped you from calling, did it?” He snorts impatiently. “Did something actually happen or are you just lonely and needing someone to help you fall asleep?” You feel derision in his attitude and his voice is dripping with venom and bitterness.

You close your eyes. Can’t blame him, can you? You had your own good reasons to break up with him, although stupidly, without thinking twice - without thinking that you’d end up missing him. Trying to find him in all the wrong places, wrong guys. 

“Well go on, Simon, what else do you still have to tell me?” You mimic him, crossing your arms and your face a little twisted in irritation facing him. “I was single, I still am. I had the right to be with someone else.” 

“I never blamed you for that. I never fucking blamed you.” Simon wipes his mouth with his hand, his ever icy expression breaking into frustration the second you open your mouth again.

“You are blaming me. You-”

“I fucking am not. I’m angry at the poor fucking choice you did. Getting rid of me for that fucker? You’re making a joke out of yourself, even for someone like me that’s fucking downgrading.” He snaps, regretting it the second later and squeezing his eyes for a moment. 

You remain silent. He’s right. He’s absolutely right. 

You stare into the distance of the window by your side, silent - embarrassed, regretful. Your hands together over your lap and your silence put together make him raise his head at you once again, in a sigh.

“I shouldn’t be here. Our conversations won’t ever end in anything good but me taking you to bed, if that’s what you want then I’ll gladly do it without all the trouble.” He states. You tremulously raise your eyebrows and your lips curl in a small hurt smile. 

Ouch.

You know he said it to hurt you. You know he’s angry, he’s hitting all the right buttons to get under your skin, he can’t help it. He can’t help but to be a bastard sometimes, he never learnt different.

Your eye stare down your own hands, you feel your lips tremble and the lump in your throat gets bigger each second. It's hard to hold back the tears, but for your dignity, you try. There's no less brutal way to admit something like that, so you vomit the words all at once.

“He hit me, Simon.”

His eyes open, the pupils slowly dilate like those of a shark that has just tasted blood for the first time.

Simon has blood on his hands. From too many people, more than you could count. And even if that's his job, never in all those hard years with him - you swore - had you ever seen him so pissed off.

The veins in his temples stood out and he swallowed bitterly, his mind empty; If he wasn't an extremely restrained man, then he would have gotten up and taken action right now. A thoughtless attitude that he might later regret - maybe.

“Tell me his address.” He snaps, his blood boiling enough for you to almost feel the heat increasing in his flesh. 

“Simon, no.” You immediately cut him off, shaking your head, almost crying at this point. "That's not what I called you for, I don't want you to hurt anyone. I broke up with him, I don't have anything to do with that son of a bitch anymore, I just-"

He interrupts you with a gesture and claps his hands to his face. He brushes his own skin roughly, as a self-reminder that if he gives in to his own anger, he'll let you down.

When he makes room for his eyes through his hands again and sees your reddened

face, tears streaming down your cheeks - he dies inside. 

He promised he’d always be there for you. He promised he’d never let you down, he’d always protect you, he’d kill for you. He said it plenty of times and you were completely aware that it was true. 

He couldn’t possibly let you down.

“No, please, I can’t- I just can’t when you cry.” He mutters, getting up from his seat and offering his hand. “You come with me. Please?”

━ ⟡ ━

The hot steaming water falls over your head, sweeping your tears as you hug your legs. Simon's fingertips brush calmly your back, he contours the bruises on your lower half like he's grieving. The silence fills in the bathroom if not for the sound of water dripping on your head. He pours some water on your back to soothe your pain - even if you're not feeling any at this point. 

"Why did you not call me before?" He asks, with painful confusion in his raspy voice. His hands are shaking and you know it's pure anger and his own incapability of holding himself back when it comes to feeling anger. You sigh, tired. 

"I don't know. I felt like I'd be unfair to you." You try to explain, your hands caressing your shins while the water runs through your skin. "And because I didn't want to get you in this state." 

His eyes narrow as he stares at you, and you shrug in response. It's clear to him why you don't like to get him stressed - he could never hurt you, but he was a danger to others.

 He waves his hands to shake off the water and stands up, grabbing and opening a clean towel for you.

You stand up, your eyes don't dare leaving his. He silently admires you, although his mind can't think much more than how guilty he feels for letting this happen to you - even though there was nothing he could do about it. You dry your feets on the mat and turn your back so he can wrap you in the towel, and he does so. 

Simon calmly brushes the towel against your shoulders, drying a bit of the water that drips from your whole body and once he’s done wrapping you in the towel, he places his hands on your back and leads you to his room.

His smell is everywhere around and what used to be intoxicating and lustful for you, is now soothing and quiet. You sit on the edge of his bed, silence seeming to be now a whole conversation between the two of you.

Your hand reaches for his and places it on your cheek. You look up at him with kitty eyes, your thumb circles the skin on the back of his hand till it finds the scar you were looking for – one of his oldest ones, according to himself. You close your eyes and snuggle into his hand, giving it a light, calming kiss.

He caresses your cheek and moves your hair from your face.

“I’ll get you some fresh clothes.” He says in a whisper. You nod, and he comes back moments later with a clean shirt of his. You tug it in your neck and quickly put it on letting the fabric run free on your body, loose. 

He starts removing rubbish from his bedside table – an ashtray, an empty can of energy drink, a gun. As you notice he seems to be trying to empty the room for you, you speak out.

"Wait, where are you going?" 

"I'll be in the living room if you need me for anything." He says simply. Before he can leave the room, you stop him by wrapping your hand on his arm. The sudden motion makes him turn around to face you, his dark eyes gazing at yours and seeming already aware of what comes next – a protest. 

"Simon." You use a warning tone, and he closes his eyes. 

"You don't want to have me around now, kitten. I'm far from calm…" He argues, calmly looking down at you now. The proximity burns you, he's too close. 

"I'm not scared." You mewl, your hands on his tough chest, he doesn't move a muscle. Your hands start trailing up to his neck, and you get on your tiptoes to wrap your arms better around him; Simon closes his eyes, drunk by the overwhelming feeling of having you so close to him. He misses you. 

One of his hands holds your wrist before you manage to curl up on his neck, and the other one gently holds on your waist. He bends down enough so he can reach your tiny self. He gives you what you want - his lips slowly catch yours in a slow, calm kiss; the warmth of his lips against yours is medicine to you – soothes all of your pain, eases all of your anxiety. He squeezes on your waist and pulls back once he starts feeling heaty and his breath starts to become uncontrolled, needy. He breaths against your lips, his eyes barely closed and his breath catching on his throat like panting. 

You stare at his lips before going back to his eyes. 

"Stop." He snarls, raising his head a bit, avoiding your face and the closeness you impose on him now. It feels wrong. You need space.

You close your eyes, you understand. It feels wrong. 

After all of this time of failed attempts to let go, to sound nonchalant and be away from each other – after all the fails and the sex, devoid of feeling type of sex, rough, delicious but raw sex, he wants to fuck you straight. He doesn't want to be angry, he wants to take you and make love to you. 

You understand. Feels wrong.

"Will you be fine here? You need to rest and I need to take a walk, clear my head." He mutters, avoiding your eyes for the sake of restraining himself. You nod. 

"I'll be alright. You'll come back, right?" You ask, looking at him - looking for his eyes. He stands back from you and nods. 

"Of course." He assures you, before caressing your hair slowly and giving you a calm kiss on the forehead. "Rest. Do not stay awake waiting for me, hear me?" He snarls, grabbing his keys and a hoodie of his, tucking it in and giving you space. 

You sit in his bed and nods, watching him leave by the room door and close it behind himself. Now alone, you close your eyes exhausted by the lack of sleep you've been having for these past few days; it doesn't take you long to fall asleep, surrounded by comfortable pillows that smell like his perfume – woody and whiskey. 

Walking in the streets, with his hands digging in his hoodie's pocket and tough stomps, Simon's face lit up by the light emanating from the street lamps. His body swings slightly to the weight of his steps, and he breathes heavily. 

After several minutes – more than he probably told you he'd take, he stops in front of a very familiar residence. You should know it wouldn't be any trouble for him to find your abuser's house. 

He took a familiar piece of cloth out of his pocket, it had been time since he last wore it. Now seemed like a good moment. A balaclava, full face mask – handmade, with a skull painted on. Simon hugs you and kisses your scars; Ghost wants revenge. 

[realcube]

dilf december

day five ⭑ shota aizawa ⭑ coffee shop au!

tw implied age gap, mentions of heart failure & brief mentions of suicide

dealing with hyperactive kids all day is tiring. so, as a strategy to help him get by, aizawa will pay a visit to his local coffee shop on his way to work, and orders a sweet pastry along with a caffeinated drink.

not only is a nice treat, but that little bit of sugar and extra coffee gives him the energy he needs to stay awake through the whole day and complete his extra duties too. it's a nice routine he's found himself falling into, popping into the cafe every day of his working week, and occasionally trying out new desserts.

something else that has made him particularly excited for his daily pastry, is the new hire who has recently started serving him. he's been frequenting this cafe for around two years, and for the most part, it was a nice old lady that would be behind the counter. however, for the last week or so, it has been someone else.

a someone else who happens to be a treat for his eyes, while he buys a treat for his stomach.

today, he's headed to work a bit early to grade some papers before class. naturally, during his walk to the train station, he slips into the cafe first to begin his morning routine.

he was only half-surprised to see you standing behind the counter again, hair thrown into an updo, covered by a puffy hairnet, which he could tell you weren't pleased by wearing. though he's never seen someone look so cute in one before. as for your uniform, you wore a white blouse under an apron with the cafe's logo on it, tightened at the waist to highlight your gorgeous figure.

he couldn't take his eyes off you, which made things a bit awkward when you address him, while he's lost in his fantasies, "welcome. are you ready to order?" you ask, offering him a weak smile.

he blinks, raising his eyebrows as he is suddenly snapped out of his thoughts. "hm," he crosses his arms over his chest and approaches the counter, scanning over all the delicious options kept in the adjacent display case. "a croissant, please."

"okay." you hum, tapping that through the system, "and would you like a drink?"

"yes. a triple espresso."

you raise your eyebrows, then explain with a polite smile, "we serve doubles as standard here, so that would be the equivalent of six shots of espresso. if you prefer, i could give you a double which is equivalent to four sh—"

"six shots is fine." he says bluntly.

"uh," you stammer, quite caught off-guard by the man's resounding certainty. "do you happen to be a teacher?"

he quirks a brow, and can't help but smirk a little at your observation, "yes. highschoolers."

"i would've guessed elementary kids." you snicker, idly fiddling with the tassles of your apron, "i don't think i can, in good conscience, serve you six shots of coffee in one drink."

"really? the other lady would serve it to me, no questions asked." he says, in such a dull, matter-of-fact way that you can't tell if he was being sarcastic.

"she also still thinks smoking is good for you, so she's far from a health guru." you joke, and feel quite pleased with yourself as the man cracks the tiniest smile in response, "you usually get a double, don't you? i could do that for you. that would be four shots."

"i've got an early start today; i could use the extra energy."

"well, i don't want you dying of a heart attack, so will a double be okay?"

"for an old guy like me, heart failure is inevitable anyway. may as well enjoy the coffee while i'm still alive." though his inflection sounds serious, you can tell there is a hint of playfulness in his tone.

"well, you'll have a lot more time to be alive and drink your coffee if you stick to a double." you argue, eyes fixed on the screen as you ring up his total, "that'd be a thousand yen."

he hands over a single note, you process it and then start preparing his drink at the espresso machine. since he is the only customer in the store, in order to combat the awkward silence, you intend to engage him in conversation. and fortunately, he strikes it up first, "a double will have to do. though if i fall asleep mid-class, i'll let them know who to blame."

"i have a feeling you were going to do that either way." you tease, entirely joking, however aizawa is stunned momentarily at how you're able to read him like an open book.

"i see you've somehow found a copy of my lesson plan." he says in that indecipherable tone of his.

"i did. and you glad you're only having four shots of coffee? otherwise, you wouldn't be able to nap." you explain perkily, pouring the brew you made for him into a to-go cup and fitting a lid onto it.

"you'd be suprised." it was now aizawa realised how strange this was. where ever his colleagues tried to engage him in vapid small-talk, it filled with the burning urge to blow his brains out, but now he was not only enjoying a surface-level conversation, but going out of his way to participate in it. with a complete stranger, no less.

"oh, i must be dealing with a professional napper." you muse, giggling to yourself as you use the tongs to pick up a croissant for him from the display case and put it into a paper bag. once that was all done, you wrapped it up, placed it on the counter alongside the coffee and gestured for him to take it — but not without slipping a little something into the bag first.

trudging over to the counter, he picks up the coffee and bag in one hand, and uses the other to get another thousand yen note of his pocket and slide it over to you.

"sir, you've already paid." you correct, motioning for him to keep his money.

"this is your tip." he clarifies, leaving it on the counter for you to take, as he turns around to head out, "you're a sweet girl for caring about the health of others."

as he says that, he doesn't make eye-contact with you, but just as he opens the door to leave, he glances over his shoulder and casts you a gentle smile, which you reciprocate.

it did worry him slightly that he may have came on too strong in that interaction, but his worries were put to rest on the train, just as he was about to start eating his pastry, but lying atop it is a napkin with a note scribbled on it:

'if you're okay with double espressos for the rest of your life, my number is written on the back :P'