#bc hes gentle! his words and face tell of a desire to be left alone but at the same time of a deep loneliness??n softness.

[onsunnyside]

the cold is finally getting to me methinks bc im longing for king in the north!curtis 😌 big n burly in his bearskin cloak, your scary betrothed!! you're just a princess from far far away and he doesnt have to be nice to you or care about you but you're too sweetly scared to ignore

methinks he tells you that it gets too cold to sleep alone despite u having your own bedroom and clothes would get in the way of heat sharing so you'll have to be naked while you cuddle to sleep 🫣

i've always wanted to write a time period au and this has so much potential and more !!

resources were already scarce in your region and with the harshest winter approaching, your beloved homeland will be the first on the hitlist of bandits or other kingdoms, that is if you even survive the snowfall. and marriage will bring that security and power to your kingdom that your parents have always dreamt of. everyone thought Curtis did it as a favour to your kingdom bc it's so out of character for the king of war and bloodshed to tie himself to someone eternally (much less, someone so sweet and gentle). the King of the North was only ever known as the end, the indefinite death that lurked in every corner.

did you like him? well, how could you like him if he's never spoken to you, apart from the few sentences the day before your wedding and said stone-cold and uncomfortable wedding. oh, and you can't forget his gruff utterances as he passes you in the halls. he was intimidating, to say the least, draped in his bearskin cloak and his blue eyes always set in a steely glare as if he were prepping for war. you wouldn't be surprised if he was, he was known as the ruthless king after all.

You feel his hard gaze searing into your face, yet he's still silent and only quirks a brow. "You're upset." He states blankly, food is forgotten in front of him.

Across the large table, you wipe your nose, the same action that caught his attention in the first place. "N-No."

He clenches his jaw, "You know I hate liars." His deep voice rings through the dining room, the servants had left momentarily as per the king's request. "Come here." You almost say no again, but he raps his knuckles on the wooden table, "Now, princess." You stand from your seat and after a few tentative steps, you find yourself standing between his spread thighs. "I-I miss home." Your voice cracks, "I miss the flowers and the wisteria trees, I miss the pond with the ducks and fish. I-I miss the sky! It was blue—so blue, and there are only clouds over here." You hate to sound so torn, but you're so lonely! You're forced to navigate unknown territory alone, going days without even a conversation with your husband!

now, don't hate curtis. he's a very busy busy man, his kingdom isn't the most feared (respected ??) for nothing and his loyal subjects aren't prospering just because. he's been working nonstop to communicate with your hovering parents, and ofc, spreading the word that the most sought-after princess has been wedded.

you get even more upset when you don't see curtis the next day and the day after that. although your marriage was more of a pitiful agreement, you still expected him to comfort you, or at least to listen to your mindless weeping about the damn sky!

oh... as surprising as it may be for the rest of the world, it turns out Curtis has a heart bc the next time you see him, he's standing by a large door. with an outstretched hand, he brings you close, holding your shocked face between his warm palms and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead (the closest act of intimacy he's shown since your wedding).

"Your homeland plants can't survive here during the time of year, but these can." He gestures to the small garden, peeking out from the neverending snowfall was itty bitty flowers, colourful and vibrant amongst the white. "There would be more, but only so few were found in the forest."

me thinks... when curtis turns total protective husband mode and gives into his desires, he never lets you leave his side. you become his wife in every sense of the word, his other half. if he could, he'd have you on his lap during meetings or as he sits on his throne. don't get me started on the filthy stuff: you're a virgin, and he didn't touch you on your wedding night, apart from a stiff kiss at the altar. he's equally sweet and mean, lots of kissing and touching, but also crude remarks that he whispers in your ear to watch you get all flustered.

also: he persuades you to sleep in his bed naked, it's easy to convince a clueless girl like you. he starts off with some light caressing, then reclines and asks if you want to explore his body instead. one thing leads to another and well... pussyjob with big beefy curtis while he talks about how he can't fit inside you 🫣🫣

[speramusxmeliora]

               lyric starter (s.c.)  \  ‘false confidence’

           a creak of a board makes him look glance behind him, and he almost rolls his eyes. Her. she looked so Serious.                     don’t take yourself so seriously.   “  Look at you, all dressed up for someone you never see. ”  a compliment..? a weird one. she looked ... really nice today, actually.  he wasn’t good with saying things though. it always came out sounding backhanded.          he breathes the salty air in deeply, elbows sinking to his lap from where he sat, slouching over the piers end, staring off absently into the water.

         “ you’re here for a reason.. but you don’t know why...”  he could...see that confusion from a single glance. she looked like she’d just been wandering. but also like she’d been looking for something. he wasn’t sure what. neither was she, from the looks of it.      Silence falls between them, and his lips part-- though he’s silent for awhile. He sighs, voice quiet-- tired. maybe a little sad.         “  you don’t even  like  me...so,  w h y...?    --  Why do you keep  finding  me? ”

                                   {   @amongstmortals  \  ~ Ara }

[peakyblindersxx]

May I request a john smut in which, despite being the cocky beast that he usually is, he manages to get all gentle and intense when, after years of mutual pining, he finally makes love to ada's best friend who's younger and totally inexperienced. Idk I just need this to be fucking intense, like John suffocating his desire for ages and now finally indulging in his worst temptation and showing her what lust is... please i'll burn in hellll

a/n: first of all let me say: this killed me. like, it’s literally all i can think about. god help me. but thank you so fucking much for requesting this bc i liked it sooo much that i decided to make a mini series out of it with the help of my babe @stxdyblr-2k who was sweet enough to offer to ghostwrite on the series 🥰 and to all my other angels who requested fics, don’t worry i will get them done! just wanna give you guys the best quality work i can. my 1st priority are some tommy requests i got, as well as some michael ones after :)

love, abi xxx

whiskey business - john shelby x reader (1 of ?)

warnings: nsfw! eventual smut, slow burn, john being sexy as all hell but also soft

John couldn’t tear his eyes off of you. From the moment you walked into the Garrison, arm loosely linked with Ada’s, clad in a black lace dress that hugged you just right, he couldn’t stop staring. Even Tommy and Arthur had noticed, cracking some joke about him being pussy whipped. The words floated right over his head, his mind on one thing only. The last time he had seen you, you were barely eighteen, cheeks pink as you waved goodbye out the train window to Ada as she sobbed. Ada had always had a flair for the dramatic, but the two of you had practically been attached at the hip your entire lives. So, he consoled her, reminding her that university wasn’t forever, that you would be back soon enough. And back, you were, red-stained lips sipping at a glass of something that Ada had practically shoved in your face. You weren’t a girl anymore, black heels crossed at the ankle as you sat across the room in a booth, laughing as Ada waved her arms, telling some sort of story.

“Just fuckin’ talk to ‘er, John-boy,” Arthur’s voice cut through John’s train of thought like a sharp knife, and he focused his eyes on his two brothers sitting at the booth across from him, clouds of smoke from Tommy’s incessant smoking heavy in the air around them.

“Fuck off,” John returned as he stood, earning a chuckle from Tommy.

“That’s right,” Arthur shouted as John made his way towards the bar, rolling his eyes at his older brothers. “Make sure you show her a real good time, eh?” Arthur’s voice was soon drowned out by the crowd around John, as they parted to let him walk through. He didn’t even see them, his eyes trained on your smile. Fuck, you were pretty.

***

“So, then I fucking kicked him in the balls.” Ada’s eyes sparkled triumphantly as she recalled the time she’d incited a riot, managing to cause great injury to a certain part of a policeman’s body. She did so casually, like it was no big deal. You couldn’t control your laughter as Ada grinned, pleased that she’d been able to make you laugh. “Fuckin’ missed you, Y/N,” she professed, shooting the rest of her gin and gesturing at the bartender to “leave the fuckin’ bottle, already.”

“Missed you too,” you smiled back at her, happy to be back in Birmingham in the company of an old friend. London was beautiful, but lonely. There was something inside you that missed the dirty streets, the crowded pubs bursting with familiar faces.

“Had to come over here myself to make sure it was you,” A deep voice interrupted your reverie and you looked up to see none other than Ada’s older brother John, looking even handsomer than the last time you’d seen him, in a grey-three piece suit, a cigar hanging from his lips. You’d had the hugest crush on him growing up, and the butterflies swimming around in your stomach seemed to confirm that you still found the tallest Shelby brother irresistible.

“Hi, John,” You offered him a shy smile and scooched over as he slid into the booth next to you, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. You couldn’t help but drink in the smell of his cologne, the various drinks that Ada had encouraged you to down making you press yourself closer to him.

“M’kay, if you’re going to fuck, at least wait until I’m gone.” Ada’s voice snapped you out of it and you looked away, a pink blush staining your cheeks.

“Says the one who managed to fuck three of my best mates before you left school,” John retorted, causing Ada to roll her eyes, shooting her whiskey and pouring the three of you another glass each.

“I feel like getting drunk, and I’m not doing it alone,” Ada announced, causing both you and John to crack a smile at her forcefulness.

“Good thing we took a cab here,” you returned, before shooting your whiskey. If you were going to have to stare at John all night, you thought, you might as well be drunk doing it. Wasn’t like he was going to be staring back.

***

Ada was shitfaced, dancing in the middle of the pub. Luckily, Isaiah had stepped in as her partner, making sure her stumbling didn’t cause her to trip and fall. Unluckily for you, this left a tipsy you and John alone tucked into a booth in the corner of the room, out of view. The conversation was friendly, and you were trying your best to keep your mind off the way you could see John’s forearms practically bulging out of his suit. It wasn’t fair, you thought to yourself, for him to walk around looking like that. Especially when you knew that he was probably fucking the latest movie star, or something. It was almost impossible for you to keep your head straight, yet you managed to keep it civil. However, you couldn’t help your gaze from drifting to his lips. God, they were so pink and looked so soft, it was unfair. You couldn’t stop yourself from imagining how they’d feel on your mouth, let alone other parts of your body. Jesus, you were fucked.

A third of a bottle of whiskey later, you couldn’t help but let yourself slide closer to him, heart beating fast in your chest as you sat tucked into his side, his arm around you as you laughed at a joke he’d made, something about the stick up Tommy’s ass. Your eyes shone as they met his blue ones, his arm sliding down until his fingers were brushing against your waist, radiating heat into your skin.

“Y’know, I’d tell you how fuckin’ pretty you look tonight, but I think you already know that,” John rumbled into your ear, lips just barely brushing against your neck. Your breath hitched, and he noticed, a small grin spreading across his lips.

“You’re something else, you know that?” You shot back, a small smile threatening to take over your lips.

“M’not just sayin’ that. Couldn’t take my eyes off ‘ya, since you walked in.” John wasn’t kidding. For a second you didn’t know how to reply, staring up at him with a slight look of disbelief. The whiskey, however, had other plans, and had decided to respond for you.

“Can't keep your hands off me now." You smirked, waiting for him to escalate the moment, anticipation and liquor silencing the blaring alarm in your mind. God, you shouldn't want him as badly as you do.

"Can you blame me?" He muttered, dragging his fingers across the lace of your dress, tracing the pattern's loops absentmindedly, watching your jaw tense and lips part to take a gasping breath, your jacket having long vanished into the chaos of the pub. Your arms wound themselves around his neck, fingers twisting into his short hair. "Fucking come 'ere lass."

His strong arms lifted you onto his knee, gripping a thigh to help you balance, the friction of his rough hand against the stiff fabric pushing your dress up slightly. The need for more and the desire to know him completely intoxicated you far more than anything from a bottle; you'd never felt as though you were on fire from your drunk hookups. His fingers found the zip of your dress, tugging it down desperately, gripping the flesh of your exposed shoulder blades. A small groan erupted from your lips as you felt him chuckle below you, pressing a thumb to your lips to quieten you.

"John," you whined, pouting playfully against his thumb.

"I'll sort you out, I swear," He muttered, slipping his thumb between your lips. Instinctively, you sucked, locking eyes with him, his hand straying from your back to roughly grab your jaw, holding your gaze. "But if you're going to scream your 'ead off, we'll get caught."

"You wish you could make me scream, John-lad."

"Come off it, I could ruin you, Y/N." He stated, lifting your jaw, as though memorising the construction of your face, tone brimming with a cocky confidence only John could make attractive. "You want that?"

"More than anything." The words tumbled out of your mouth thoughtlessly, watching how his jaw tightened in response as you attempted to read his expression. He studied you for what must've only been a few seconds, but the moment passed so slowly, you could barely remember what it felt like to not be examined by his dominating blue eyed stare.

His grip guided your face to his, fingers tilting your chin so John's lips could brush against yours, before pulling you into a heated almost aggressive kiss, the straps of your dress barely grazing your shoulders, the hem of your dress bunching around your waist as he reached down your back to grab your bum in a firm squeeze. Your mouth gaped open in a gasp of pleasure, John taking the moment to run his tongue against your lips, gaining access and deepening the kiss. You were so caught up in the thrill of John's seduction that you hadn't noticed his hand suddenly pull away after moving your skimpy underwear to one side. You had instinctively ground your hips against him, he'd broken the kiss to let out a string of curses, complimenting you through his quickening breaths (“Fuckin’ wet for me already, aye?”), gripping your thigh. But as soon as he had pulled the thin silk from your thighs, the atmosphere shifted, his lip curling in frustration as his hands left your skin as though your flesh was suddenly scalding.

"John?" You prompted, resting a hand on his shoulder, noticing the dark shadows under his eyes for the first time.

"It's getting late."

"What?" Your voice sounded high and whiny, you mentally scolded yourself for sounding so needy. It was embarrassing to be rejected by the man you've admired for many years, but even worse to be openly vulnerable and so pathetic in front of your best friend's brother.

Ada.

Oh fuck.

Realisation hit you, it was either that or the unholy quantity of alcohol you'd downed which turned your stomach. You had gone too far this time. It was one thing to flirt with John and desire him from a distance, it was an absolute betrayal to have sex with him, knowing Ada's insecurity about being used to get close to her gangster brothers- sex, power and politics. You had sworn during those tearful walks around the canal that you'd never hurt her. You couldn't do that to her.

Your sudden panic must've been obvious, you tried to stand up from John's lap, stumbling slightly, only regaining balance due to a sudden arm across your back, anchoring you upright.

"No one has to know. It's our secret yeah?" He muttered into your ear, his words comforting.

You nodded silently, the reality of the situation settling in. Your hands are shaking by your sides, John catches them, locking his fingers with yours.

"It's fine, now. Nothing happened yeah?" He stood up in front of you, his muscular physique looming before you, the creases across his torso reminding you that just a few minutes ago his body was under yours, he was breathless, needing your skin against his, desperate and vulnerable. "I'll zip you up. Turn around."

His hands dropped from yours to fumble clumsily with your zip, struggling in the gloom and fog of intoxication, he eventually succeeded, the lace clinging to the curve of your hips, waist, back and chest again. You wished it was him instead that was skimming your figure but you pushed the thought away with a simple, "Thanks."

"I'll walk you home yeah?" He offered, as he straightens your skirt and his tie, allowing you to fix his crumpled shirt collar and the row of shining buttons below his throat which you'd ripped open as he whispered dirty nonsense in your ear, smirking at how you arched your back and swore back at him through your moans.

"Isaiah already said he would, it'd be better for us both that way. You know how people around here talk." You replied, glancing at the mirror on the wall of the booth to quickly smooth your tousled hair. Despite only recently returning to Small Heath, you'd already encountered the rife gossiping and quickly realised your neighbour was incapable of minding his own business. "Nobody has to know, right?"

John nodded, disappointed but appreciating your rationale and quick thinking despite your state, "Right."

"Good night, John," You said politely, ignoring the tension in his tone and the sudden soft sadness of his eyes, turning your back and walking to the door. Back to the sticky dance floor, back to Ada, Isaiah, Finn, Tokyo, back to spilling drinks, ashing cigarettes, back to noise, safety and far from the man who made your morals vanish with the same lines he uses on probably every single one of his conquests. Fuck it. You were going to enjoy it, you sped up your pace in your heels, trying to ignore your shaking legs. You tried to ignore the guilty twang in your gut when Ada screamed your name across the pub and stumbled over, dragging some lad on her arm, pressing drunken kisses to your forehead and cheeks.

You couldn't help but look back to see his shadow sloping away into the darkness of the booths closer to the dance floor, being bullied mercilessly by his brothers you assumed. You watched him fake a smirk, take the knuckles to his brow from Arthur, snap an insult back to Thomas and settle into his rightful seat. You only shifted your gaze to Ada for a moment but when you looked back up, he was staring at you, jaw tense, icy stare burning into yours, arms folded on the table, the gold chains of his sleeve garters barely glinting in the dim light. He looked away but you could see his cheeks were flushed with blood even in the glow of the oil lamps.

Pretending nothing happened was going to be impossible.

***

to be continued!

[irrelevantwriter]

Embracing Misery

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, unprotected vaginal sex, mention of bodily fluids, funny Rio (he got jokes), secret feelings (bc I love to torture my characters)

Word Count: 3.6K

Summary: Part 3. Rio returns and you decide to take some initiative. 

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all the love and support on these Rio fics! It truly means so much and I am so glad you’re enjoying them. I now bring you part three of a saga that was not at all planned, but has somehow happened anyway. I blame the Rio haze I’m still very much in and my zero chill tendencies. If you guys haven't read parts one and two, then I recommend doing so, for plot purposes. I have some more things planned for this duo so we’ll see what my muse brings. Until then, I hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit. 💗

*Read Part 1 here

*Read Part 2 here

*Read Part 4 here

*Give and Take series masterlist

*Masterlist in bio.

***********************

It was early.

The house was blessedly quiet while your children stayed at their father’s house for the weekend. You soaked up the stillness of the early morning sun rays and crisp, cool air. They washed over you, as if cleansing what the previous night’s sleep hadn’t. You missed your kids like crazy while they were away, but the mornings alone were priceless. It was a time for you to prepare for the day. A luxury you hadn’t been afforded since before the kids were born. But now...now you got to take it all in. Enjoy the serenity.

Or so you thought.

You tied the sash of your robe as you opened the front door, preparing to grab the morning paper, but as soon as you turned the knob you knew what would be waiting on the other side. Something told you he was there. You didn’t need to look out onto the street to see the familiar sleekness of a dark tinted luxury car. You could feel him. Feel his eyes on you as you bent down to get the paper and turned, leaving the front door wide open.

Rio had been gone for nearly two months. You hadn’t seen or spoken to the man in that long. Not even a text message, though the thought had crossed your mind on more than one occasion. You had no idea where he’d been or what he’d been doing while he was away, but you’d had no choice but to conduct business as usual. Mick had been your contact, times and places for drop-offs exactly as Rio had set them up. It was as if he was still running things from wherever he was. As if he could somehow see you without actually seeing you.

During his time away you’d done nothing but think of when he’d return. You teetered on the edge of worry and longing as your thoughts raced between concern for your boss slash lover to outright arousal. You’d spent more than one night thinking about his hands on your body while yours tried desperately to replicate his touch. It would get the job done, but it was nothing compared to that gentle slide of hand or gravelly voice that sent literal shivers up your spine. Your body had missed him. And you had come to the realization that you did too.

You walked into your kitchen, hearing the click of the front door as he passed through the threshold. You went straight for the humming coffee pot, grabbing two mugs from the cabinet.

“Coffee?” You asked over your shoulder, not at all surprised to hear the shakiness in your voice.

“Sure.”

Your entire body thrummed to life at that solitary sound. You hadn’t even laid eyes on him yet and already your thighs were clenching together. Your nipples hardened against the thin fabric of your tank top, your black robe barely concealing the reaction. You poured the coffee with unsteady hands, preparing yourself to face him once again.

When you turned around, you were greeted with a familiar smirk and a magnificent throat tattoo. A tattoo that you’d missed. He looked exactly the same. Same dark button-up. Same dark jeans. Same intense eyes. Same addictive swagger. It all came together to seduce you into a trance. A trance you’d fallen victim to in the past. It was a fog of uncertainty and lust. It was powerful. Merciless. And you couldn’t stop it from taking you hostage if you tried. So...you embraced it.

You slid the mug of coffee across the kitchen island towards him, a gesture that had you experiencing déjà vu. He accepted it and the sugar you offered. You watched as he dressed his beverage. Two spoonfuls of sugar. No milk or cream. He stirred it and then sipped, nodding in approval at the taste. The entire display was odd...domestic even.

His eyes trailed over your body before coming to rest on your face.

“Did you miss me, mama?” He asked cheekily, white teeth on display. They bit sensually into his bottom lip, the action making warmth seep deep into your bones.

You laughed. You’d missed the banter. Missed his blatant want for you. It was a cruel punishment to take away someone’s drug of choice. Rio just so happened to be yours. And you’d been experiencing withdrawals for the last two months. You desperately needed a hit. Needed something to take the edge off.

“Hardly.” You quipped, smiling so that he could see the lie clearly written on your face.

He only stared back. The action was still unnerving.

You turned to pour your own cup of coffee, feeling his gaze ghost across your back. You busied yourself with adding cream and sugar, the clang of the spoon against ceramic the only sound reverberating throughout the house. You took a few cursory sips, testing the temperature of the liquid. It was hot. Too hot. But you drank it anyway.

Turning around to face Rio once again, you were surprised to find the spot across the island empty. Your eyes darted around the immediate area, catching a glimpse of him lounging on your sofa. The same sofa he’d fucked you against. Along with the kitchen island.

You left your drink behind, bare feet walking with a purpose across the cold wood floors. You rounded the sofa and took him in. One leg was crossed over the other, his mug resting against his knee as he steadied it with one hand. His free arm extended along the back of the couch, taking up a fair amount of space on the piece of furniture.

He was a picture of comfort and ease. Looking as if he belonged there. You supposed in that moment, he did.

You observed him for a long time. Long enough for his face to grow serious as he stared up at you. A myriad of emotions swirled within you. All of them seemed to be conflicting. They pushed and pulled in various directions, telling you what you should do while others persuaded you to do what you wanted to do. In the end none of it mattered. You’d already sold your soul to the devil long before you got into bed with him. It was time to accept that.

You wordlessly reached for his drink, moving the mug onto the coffee table. He let you, uncrossing his legs and watching you with a sharp eye. You grasped for the knot that held your robe together and pulled the two ends apart, feeling the material start to give way. It fell open to reveal the tank top and shorts you wore underneath. It was a far cry from lingerie, but it sent the same message. You wore no bra, an obvious fact as his eyes hungrily took you in. Your shorts were cut high, practically underwear and exposing more leg than you would’ve normally felt comfortable with. The robe fell from your shoulders and into a heap at your feet.

You swallowed, feeling the butterflies in your stomach begin to take flight. You focused on him. You focused on the way he looked at you. And how he made you feel. You let that be your guide as you pulled your top up and over your head. The garment joined the robe on the floor as you moved on to your shorts, pulling them down and letting them slide along your thighs. You were left in your demure cotton panties. You were only slightly embarrassed by their modesty, but Rio showed no inclination that he was put off. In fact, his mouth twitched, his lower half shifting against the couch.

You looped your fingers into the waistband of the cotton and pushed them down, baring yourself completely. He’d never seen you naked. Your previous trysts had been rushed with clothes shifted aside and out of the way in frenzied yearning. It’d never been thought out before. And now, here you were standing naked in your own living room, seducing the man you were sure wanted to kill you about as much as he wanted to fuck you.

It was exhilarating.

“What’re you doing?” Rio rasped, gaze locked with yours. His voice was low and tinged with desire. He looked equal parts amused and perplexed, and the thought of him trying to be a gentleman in your current state of undress only made your need for him strengthen.

“Sshh...” You soothed, stepping between his spread legs and straddling his lap.

His hands immediately gripped around your waist, the touch of his bare flesh against yours sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You kissed him, hands sliding up his chest and resting on the buttons of his shirt. He reciprocated your eagerness, lips moving with yours. Your tongue reached out to taste him and he accepted, his hands kneading the flesh of your ass in approval. Your lower body writhed in his lap, feeling the firm muscle resting beyond his zipper.

You longed to feel his skin against yours. To feel the proof of life beat against your own chest. To feel close to him in a way you hadn’t thus far. Your fingers moved swiftly to grant you the sensation you craved. You unfastened each button, pulling his shirt apart and gliding your palms over the smooth muscle of his chest. His hips thrust up into yours restlessly as you explored his upper body. Your lips had yet to detach from each other, completely lost in reuniting. Your nails lightly grazed down his chest and abdomen, feeling him reciprocate the action by nibbling your lip.

His touch scorched your skin, roaming freely. He cupped your heaving breasts, mouth moving to your neck as he attacked your skin with kisses. You threw your head back in blessed relief and pleasure, finally feeling as if you could breathe again. You maneuvered your hands between your bodies, aiming for his belt buckle. You were impatient. Unable to wait for him to fill you. You’d waited long enough. The abundance of slickness that slid from your walls could attest to that.

“Mmmm...” He growled against your neck when you finally pulled him free, your palm easily smoothing over the hard length. His hips rutted into your touch, his own impatience showing.

You moaned when his lips attached to a nipple and sucked. He tortured you with sensations, bouncing between gentle and unyielding. His mouth was hot and wet against your flesh, encouraging your arousal to new heights. You craved more.

Again you took the initiative and lifted your hips, angling his length to fit against your weeping slit. He pulled away from your chest and took you in, watching as you slowly impaled yourself on his cock. Your lips parted as you engulfed him, your breathing accelerating with every inch he filled you. It’d been too long and your body was taut, clenching around him in such a way that let him know just how much you’d missed his touch.

“Fuck…” He groaned when you finally bottomed out, your thighs flush with his. His fingers gripped your hips, his body completely still and waiting for you to move. His brow was furrowed, his lips pouted as he took in measured breaths. He almost looked in pain as you sat unmoving atop him. The notion pleased you.

You moaned when he shifted, his cock nudging your womb. You couldn’t prolong the torture anymore and began to swirl your hips, your palms flat against his chest. It was a new dynamic for you both. Being able to control the moment with him was not something you were used to. His demanding nature was something you secretly loved, but having him at your mercy like this was so much better. You could see every pass of ecstasy on his face. Feel it in the way he twitched inside you. It was addicting.

His calloused hands massaged your breasts as you rode him, his dark eyes glazed over with lust but still holding you captive. He slid along your walls, stretching and filling you to capacity. You only got wetter at the feel of him, the slickness so overwhelming that he almost fell from your tight clutches. You used his shoulders for leverage as you moved, your pace increasing, desperate to come undone with him.

“Damn...yeah, just like that.” Rio exhaled, hands encouraging your hips to keep their speed.

He licked his lips as you bounced, flesh slapping as you fucked yourself. You watched with heavy-lidded eyes as he sucked his thumb into his mouth and then attached it to your clit, rubbing the swollen flesh in sensual circles. You arched your back and whimpered, feeling the tendrils of climax begin to latch on.

“I’m gonna cum.” You confessed, feeling your skin slicken with perspiration. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he continued his assault on your clit, your teeth biting into your bottom lip to keep the moans at bay.

“Do it, mama.” He throatily demanded, leaving no room for argument.

“C-cum...with me.” You pleaded between breaths. He nipped at the underside of your chin and you swore you could feel his smirk against your flesh.

He didn’t waste another second.

You held on as Rio’s hips met yours, his cock hitting your cervix with a brutality that had you seeing stars. Your muscles spasmed from the inside out, your limbs locking as you came. Your walls clamped around him in stuttering patterns, giving him no other option but to feel it all. You held him to you as you shook, feeling yourself dripping down your thighs and his length. He continued to fuck you through it, his control now waning. He buried his face into your chest and neck, holding you just as tightly as he repeatedly thrust up into you.

“Inside me...please.” You found yourself begging, exhausted from your own euphoria but still wanting to feel him release deep within you. It was a sensation you thrived on. It meant he was real. That he wasn’t a figure in the night or a lone man with a gun. He’d been inside you. Painted your walls in him. Claimed you. And you wanted to feel that for as long as you could.

“You want it?” He grunted against your neck, hands digging so hard into your ass that the area would surely be sore afterwards. It was welcomed after his prolonged absence. Just another clue that he’d been there.

“Please…” You whimpered, uncaring that you sounded so desperate.

He said nothing in return. Only thrust harder as he finally came. He held you still against him, ensuring not a drop of his cum left your joined bodies. You reveled in the warmth that suddenly filled you, spreading your thighs wider across his lap. His teeth dragged along your collarbone, eliciting a shiver from you.

It was quiet for a moment, your labored breathing slowly steadying with the beating of your heart. You were pressed against his bare chest, his hands now smoothing across your flesh rather than gripping it. The sensation nearly put you to sleep.

“So you missed me then?” Rio teased, his voice raspier than normal.

You sat up straight, looking down into his eyes that were glinting back at you with boyish arrogance. You cracked a smile and shook your head.

“I’m not answering that.”

“You didn’t have to, darling.” He whispered, face growing serious as he tenderly shifted the few strands of hair that stuck to your forehead.

Laughter bubbled in your throat suddenly, effectively cutting through the moment. His fingers drifted to your lips, tracing them as you broke into a smile.

“Somethin’ funny?” He asked, an eyebrow raised. His own lips quirked up at the sound of your tired giggles, your body shaking above him.

“We haven’t made it to a bed yet.” You said between laughs, pulling his hand from your mouth and resting it on your cheek instead. You held onto his forearm, the sinewy muscle feeling sturdy under your touch.

“There’s still time.” He retorted with a sly smile, his eyes taking in your face in a careful study. The intensity of it was almost enough to make you feel bashful.

You were lost in the moment, ready to let him take you again when a knock at the front door sounded. You scrambled up, hearing a key in the knob.

“Fucking Paul.” You cursed as you grabbed your discarded robe and hastily tied the sash. “Get dressed.” You ordered Rio, that smug smirk still planted firmly on his lips.

You moved past him and through the dining room to the front door, seeing your ex shuffle through the door with a baseball bag thrown over his shoulder. Your son’s bag. He must’ve forgotten something for his game today.

“You mind?” You snapped at him, throwing a quick glance behind you to ensure he couldn’t see Rio through the entryway.

“Well, I called but you didn’t answer. Figured you were still asleep.” Paul supplied with a nonchalant shrug.

“You couldn’t wait until I actually answered the door instead of using a key? A key I was sure I got back from you.”

He rolled his eyes, not making any move to return the item.

Bastard.

“What’re you doing here, Paul?”

“Anthony forgot his mitt. Needs it for the game today.”

You inwardly rolled your eyes, both at your ex and your son. They were mirror images of each other and that extended to their forgetfulness.

You walked to the entryway bench and lifted the pillow, knowing it would be stuck there because that’s where Anthony always left his gear after a game.

“Here.” You said shortly, thrusting the glove over to him. The sooner he got it, the sooner he’d be gone.

The universe was a cruel bitch though.

A shuffling from behind you pulled both yours and Paul’s attention. You tensed as Rio rounded the corner, clothes neatly tucked back into place. He eyed your ex for a long moment, making both you and Paul uncomfortable.

“I-uh...this-,” You stumbled over your words, at a loss for how to proceed. “He was just checking on some things around the house.” You lamely offered.

“What things?” Paul threw back with a raised brow, obviously not buying your answer.

“Just taking a look at her pipes.” Rio quipped, making you cough.

The air was awkward and tense as the two men sized each other up. You could see the suspicion in Paul’s eyes as he took in Rio’s very notable tattoo. Paul’s gaze flicked to yours, attempting to read your face. You opened your mouth to cut through the silence, but Rio beat you to it.

“I gotta go. I’ll be in touch.” He said, facing you and biting his lip. The action was purposeful. A signal of sorts.

You nodded and crossed your arms, watching with bated breath as he walked past Paul. He stared at the man as if he was a nuisance, giving him a quick once over before chuckling and exiting out the door. You released a sigh of relief once the door latched, your shoulders easing now that he’d left. A wave of disappointment followed. You were hoping to spend more time with him before he ultimately disappeared again. You were sure you’d see him at your next drop off now that he was back, but that was still days away. And you’d be damned if you reached out to the man for anything other than business-related topics.

You’d just have to wait.

“Friend of yours?” Paul interrupted your thoughts, face twisted in disapproval.

“He was here to check the pipes. They were making a weird noise. Wanted to make sure they didn’t freeze over.” You explained, your attitude back in full force.

“Sure.” He replied flatly, eyes belatedly taking in your state of undress. “You should put some decent clothes on when you have strange men in the house.”

The chastising tone of his voice made you see red. It was one of the reasons you’d divorced him. Along with the infidelity. And his tendency to be an egotistical piece of shit. Your reaction was a completely different reaction to Rio’s reprimands. Rio made you feel alive...desired. Paul’s goal was to always control and make you feel less than. He’d lost that fight throughout your marriage, but that didn’t stop him from continuing to do so long after it’d ended.

“You need to go.” You demanded between clenched teeth, opening the door for him and gesturing him out.

He took the hint and walked outside to the porch, shaking his head as he did.

“The kids wanted all of us to go out to dinner. Including Erica.” He said as he turned to face you, hand held to the door that you were ready to slam in his face.

You fought the urge to scoff at the mention of his fiancé and instead nodded, a pleasant smile on your lips and pure hate in your heart.

“Sure. Text me details. I’ve gotta go before this cum running down my leg stains the carpet.”

Paul’s face was priceless. And you had the pleasure of slamming the door in it. You smiled victoriously to yourself. The unexpected visit wasn’t so bad after all.

Your two worlds were getting harder to keep separated. That was apparent after the debacle that just took place. Rio was a significant presence in your life. And it was in more than just a working relationship way. That was obvious now. But were you really ready to let that happen? To let him in? The answer was still no. It would always be no. But sleeping with your boss had to have some benefits. And you were willing to find out exactly what those were. Misery and all.

[marahuyos]

anon asked: Hi I really liked that hc with the pointing lips, I didn’t expect to see this on the tag list and my filipino heart couldn’t contain it 🥺 this is my first time requesting for a genshin fanfic heheh. I want to request a hc something to do with Harana, where the characters (albedo, Diluc, kaeya, maybe xiao 👀 and other characters you would like to add) sing from your window to persuade/court you since it’s part of (our) S/O culture so they wanted to impress them with this... IKSNSJS

*:･ﾟ✧ nakilig ako dito putaena AHAHAHAHHA

doing this quickly bc i wanna do it b4 windblume ends sksks. also i’ll go and link some songs fitting for the characters (all filipino ofc. spoilers its all ben&ben HAHAHAHAHA)!

gn!reader

tw: none

✧ Diluc Ragnvindr | Ben&Ben - Araw-Araw

Umaga na sa ating duyan 'Wag nang mawawala Umaga na sa ating duyan Magmamahal, o mahiwaga

• It’s apparent that Diluc can sing since he won first place in the music minigame. He was taught at a young age on playing and dabbling in the arts like any other young noble should. It comes as no surprise that Diluc knows how to sing and play.

• It was you who had to tell Diluc this tradition when the Windblume Festival hits. When hearing the prospect of reciting poetry to your loved ones, you immediately got excited, which made Diluc question your sudden excitement.

• “Back where I’m from, there’s a tradition where a person will sing to their crush if they want to court them. It’s usually underneath a window sill but either way, I do want to experience it at least once!”

• He imprints the sight of your soft smile at the memory of the tradition. He thinks back on his time learning music as he cleans a beer glass. He’s not a bad singer by any means (ngl i thought diluc was voiced by jonah scott bc hoo boy he sings. but imagine my surprise when he was voiced by mishima skks). He can definitely carry a tune but would he risk his entire dignity by singing under your window sill with a song that he barely knows?

• If Kaeya wasn’t there, then maybe. Maybe.

• So he opts for the next best option; serenading in a private and romantic place. It wouldn’t be the Dawn Winery, there is too much traffic to try and attempt to sing. Windrise is an option but Diluc knows that the sisters of the church comes and cleans the statue (and Barbatos knows that he doesn’t want Barbara to faint from his voice). His next bet is Starsnatch Cliff, where numerous Cecilia flowers are littered across the cliff. 

• With that plan, he now attempts to memorize a song from your country. Diluc’s a fast learner, so he has no trouble learning the notes, the lyrics (though his pronunciation leaves little to be desired), and finally, the emotion carried through the music. Now that’s where he struggled since he doesn’t know how to convey emotion compared to other musicians. He tries his best, even asking Venti for help (enrolled is what Venti would use but at least he was paid with the best alcohol).

• Now to actually play the damn thing. He already struggled when inviting you out to Starnsatch Cliff (and bribing the couple that was there away), he hopes that his fingers wouldn’t twitch from nerves. It was when he began strumming his guitar that he realized something: there was no point in proving that he can sing. There was no point in learning a different language when there were many other different things he could’ve done to impress you. There was no need to potentially embarrass himself.

• But it was worth it when he sees your wide-eyes, your parted lips, and the warmth on your cheeks when he leans in closer. It’s worth it to see your eyes shine just like the stars in the sky when you understood the lyrics. It was worth it to see you say the words that Diluc longed to hear from your lips as he sealed them with a kiss.

Dawn has come within our cradle I pray you never fade Dawn has come within our cradle I love you, my ethereal

✧ Albedo | Ben&Ben - Ride Home

Took a morning ride, found a place up in my mind, no one else can see Maybe it's fate that we lose control In circles around, we go We become who we ought to know We just gotta let it go We just gotta let it go

• I think it’s safe to say that everyone knows Albedo can sing when his VA posted him singing. He can carry a tune and play decently on the strings. It’s just that he closes himself off in his research in Dragonspine all the while the Windblume Festival is in full swing. It’s not like you to leave someone behind while everyone is celebrating so you stand by Albedo for the duration of the festival.

• He says that you didn’t have to keep him company, more so if you don’t know anything about alchemy, but you were adamant to not leave the alchemist alone. Albedo can’t help the warmth fluttering in his heart that you wanted to stay with him. He wanted to try and teach you basic alchemical stuff so you wouldn’t feel bored or left out but he feared the shakiness in his voice would hinder him.

• So, you two talk about each other instead. While Albedo didn’t have anything noteworthy to talk about, you said to him about how you wished you can partake in the music game in hopes to play a love song. You told him that you wanted to try and sing a love song to your crush since it was a tradition in your country. While he bristled at the fact that you have a crush, the way your eyes flitted towards him, with a wavy smile on your face solidified his feelings for you.

• Having that information in mind, he quickly makes a harp out of the materials he has on hand. Such a feat is nothing to Albedo but it wasn’t the music that he was afraid of, it was giving his feelings away to you so suddenly. Learning a new language wasn’t so hard (because he learned it when he immediately realized he had feelings for you, what’s stopping him from learning everything?), but he fears that you may take it the wrong way.

• Or rather, he fears that he may do something he regret towards you.

• But he perseveres. When you were up sitting on a rock formation, studying a rare flower, Albedo stood below you, harp in hand. The sight of him, his beautiful eyes that were used to be so sure are now nervously flitting from side to side. His voice was carried out to the wind, deep and soothing just like the winds that caressed your skin. Albedo is nothing short of nervous but he was sure that he had his point across when he sees your blushing smile.

• All fears vanished when you jumped down a giggling mess, saying that this was the best Windblume Festival ever when you leaned in and kissed him.

So I'm coming home to you, ooh You, ooh You're all I need, the very air I breathe You are home, home

✧ Kaeya Alberich | Ben&Ben - Pagtingin

‘Pag nilahad ang damdamin Sana ‘di magbago ang pagtingin Aminin ang mga lihim Sana ‘di magbago ang pagtingin

• Kaeya won’t deny that he’s just as musically inclined as Diluc. As siblings, they’re naturally competitive against one another, always competing to see who can play the better piece. He wishes he could go back to those days, but bygones are bygones. Now, he strums his harp just for fun. Still, he’s not one to serenade to random strangers so it’s a first time for him to be laying his heart out in the open.

• Kaeya, like a responsible captain, steals you away and joins in the festivities with you with an arm around your waist. Reluctantly, you humored him, as you recount previous stories that you’ve experienced. One particular story that he keeps in memory was when you were serenaded once in your own bedroom window. While you had to turn down the one courting for personal reasons, you can’t help but feel warm whenever you remember the memory. Ever since hearing the bards’ sing their songs for the festival, you can’t help the flutter in your heart.

• Now, Kaeya is a very adaptable man, so he quickly thinks the best way on how to confess to you. Sometimes he has to curse himself from being so successful at flirting at absolutely everyone that he knows you could pass it off as being Kaeya. So he figures out the next best thing.

• Now, unlike Diluc, he’s willing to throw away his dignity for you. He’s willing to throw anything away from you because you were already so etched deeply in Kaeya’s heart.

• He’s a fast learned like Albedo, so it wasn’t hard to learn your language and do the correct pronunciation. All that’s left is to sing it and where. He hopes he could sing it underneath your balcony but you lived near the Cat’s Tail Tavern, where the noise has been raucous in this time of year.

• So he decided on going to the safety of your home, “drunkenly” stating that he was too sloshed to go back to his duties so he wishes to stop by your home until he sobers up. It wasn't an uncommon sight to see, so you relented Kaeya in resting on your couch as you prepared some water for him to sober up. At that moment, he prepares his act. 

• With his guitar in hand, he stands up and meets you in the kitchen. With his fingers elegantly strumming against the strings, his silky voice permeated across the house. His one eye watched your own widen at the sight of the man singing. He relished it even more when he sees the recognition in your eyes when you know the song that he's singing. Each lyric has been beautifully sung and amazingly enunciated that you wondered if Kaeya was a native to your homeland. 

• Kaeya wasn't normally a sap like this. He doesn't just do this to anyone. He even wonders what's the point of this when he doesn't even know that you'll accept him for who he truly is-for what he will do when things go awry. He recounts the words of a bygone father and he feels every ounce of sin he’s committed claw his back.

• But your gentle touch sends them away. Your hands burn the sins to ashes as you told him your ‘I love you’ in your language. And he understood it perfectly.

If I reveal just how I feel I hope you won't change how you look at me Admit all secrets I keep I hope you won't change how you look at me

✧ Xiao | Ben&Ben - Kathang Isip

Pasensya ka na Sa mga kathang isip kong ito Wari'y dala lang ng pagmamahal sa iyo Ako'y gigising na Sa panaginip kong ito At sa wakas ay kusang lalayo sa iyo (lalayo sa)

• Could Xiao even sing? Guizhong may have instilled some Liyue music in his veins when he was still a baby adeptus, she may have pulled her hair out once or twice when Xiao keeps breaking the guzhengs. At least Xiao has a decent voice, so Guizhong wouldn’t strangle Xiao with a forced sweet smile on her face. After the archon war and the yakshas fall, Xiao never sang or picked up another instrument ever again.

• Not when he passed Mondstat, hearing the insufferable bard play his tune, hearing the people who’re safe from karmic binds profess their love for one another, it made him sick. But by Guizhong’s hair would he waste this opportunity to leave you alone in the Windblume Festival. Even if he has to drag you away from the crowd in fear of him lashing out. He is not apologetic to him dragging you away but he does wonder why you would rather choose to spend your time with him rather than enjoy the festivities.

• It was at the city walls, you and Xiao enjoying the almond tofu you prepared beforehand. You did most of the talking, talking about random things that you can get. Xiao would always dutifully listen because he-honestly-you’re the only mortal that wormed his way into his heart and now he wants more but afraid of the consequences. He listens to you rambling about a courting method where one person serenades the other while they were in a higher place, just like the city walls.

• Human courting rituals have been the most confusing thing to Xiao; why go through such great lengths just to confess to someone your feelings? Shouldn’t straight up saying it be better and save time for each party? Even when he says this, he can’t help but watch your eyes glimmer at the thought of someone serenading you, in a night just like this.

• He was willing to embarrass himself for you, as he planted his feet on the wall railings. “Wait here.”

• He jumps and before you could say anything, he uses his Anemo Vision to keep him afloat. On his position, he was below you by a few feet. You watched in confusion when he summoned a lyre (and you could make out a scowl on his face, as if he was cursing the instrument) and soon, he began strumming it.

• His harp skills... could do some work. Some tone-deaf bard might have bawled his eyes out if he hears him play, but he was willing to swallow that embarrassment when he gets to have his point across. He hopes that he does, laying his heart like this just for you to take apart, for you to heal, for you to do whatever you want with it. He was willing to be weak and revere to you as someone as grand as an archon. 

• Xiao wasn’t expecting you to understand but when he sees tears in your eyes and your hand covering your mouth, he immediately stopped his singing and hurried to your side. Though, he didn’t have to. You already jumped down and got caught in his arms. He felt your tears soak his skin, your incoherent babbles muffled by his shoulder but he could make out that Xiao’s feelings aren’t one-sided.

I'm sorry For this imagination of mine I guess it's just because of my love for you I will wake up now From this dream of mine And in the end I will stay away from you (stay away from)

[mythicamagic]

Fire and Brimstone: a Sesskag oneshot

For @harlecorn! ♥ Happy Birthday! 🎂

Rated T

A Hellhound remains bound beneath a church, waiting for the chance to enact revenge on his captors. His golden opportunity comes in the form of a blue-eyed woman. Sesskag AU oneshot.

You can read this on Ao3, Fanfiction.net and Dokuga

AN: This takes place in old-timey England. Think Witch Trial era - between the 15th and 18th century. However, I'm largely skipping the old language used in those times bc it would make dialogue feel awkward. If Kagome sounds weird it's bc I've had to lay off the modern talk a bit.

Warning: references to/implies torture

Fire and Brimstone

It was raining outside. Sesshoumaru could tell because a continuous leak somewhere had become his sole entertainment for several hours now. A thin sliver of water dripped from the roof between 10-second intervals, and he passed the time by counting them.

...Eight...Nine...Ten- drip!

A black nose twitched, picking up stale dampness lingering in the air. His body ached, but if he stayed still the wounds remained at a manageable dull, continuous pain rather than flaring white-hot agony.

How long had it been since he'd been dragged down into this dark place? He couldn't recall. Perhaps years. At the very least- months. He'd long since given up looking around at his prison, now laying in a dozing, frozen state.

Hearing something, Sesshoumaru's fluffy ear quirked. The blood inside his ear canal had encrusted, leaving sounds muted, but he could pick up distant footsteps descending stone stairs.

Have they returned to pray and bind me more tightly to their pathetic altar?

Sesshoumaru inwardly sneered, scarred paws remaining motionless. Though incredibly weak due to holy water- with his back and arms impaled with large iron stakes- a powerful, simmering rage in his chest refused to be tempered. His throat burned, belly scorching hot.

The church priest would pay, along with all his snivelling followers. One did not bind a Hellhound and live to tell the tale. Their foolish obsession with witch hunts and stamping out 'evil' within the land would be their undoing. They were fortunate they'd captured him while he'd been asleep.

Torchlight shone an orange hue behind Sesshoumaru's eyelids, but he refused to open them, playing possum.

"Still sleeping, are ye, unholy mutt?" a detestable, straight-laced voice reached his damaged ears, another torch being lit inside the room. "Good. Stay that way. Sleep until our heavenly Lord above casts you back from whence you came, down to Hell."

Oh this one will not be returning empty-handed, Sesshoumaru inwardly purred.

Remaining motionless, he looked for all the world unconscious. He couldn't lash out and tear into the priest as desired, due to a muzzle enclosed around his jaw. So, he bided his time. Rescue was out of the question. Dark creatures such as he received no aid from brethren. Sesshoumaru would just have to conserve energy for now.

The priest murmured a prayer that sent wrought iron hissing anew inside his flesh. Inwardly snarling, Sesshoumaru held himself still, refusing to show pain. His legs trembled slightly, giving him away.

Curse you. Curse you!

Wrath pumped through his veins, a siren song urging him to kill.

Satisfied that his work held strong, the head priest left; the sound of footsteps retreated up the stairs, leaving behind the lit torch.

At least that changed the scenery a little. Not that he had any reason to look upon it. Sesshoumaru panted hard the second he was left alone, sharp teeth clenching hard inside his jaw.

A quiet gasp caught his attention. Sesshoumaru froze. His nose twitched.

No scent?

Frowning, the Hellhound pried his eyelids open. Orange and black shapes shifted, blurry until someone's face came into focus.

Blue eyes gazed down at him. A woman with dark hair tumbling down her back slowly pried her hand away from her mouth.

"They really are cruel," she muttered, shocked features becoming grave. "I might as well refrain from asking if you're alright- since you clearly aren't," the stranger winced. "Sorry, that was insensitive."

Sesshoumaru blinked. What the Devil?

Her lips pursed, attention sliding to the iron stakes in his back. "I don't know how they managed to capture you. Surely that Priest can't have holy powers. He's about as pure as mud."

"...What are you?"

She paused, tilting her head and pushing dark hair behind her ear. "O-oh, that was rude of me, I didn't introduce myself, did I?" smiling, she straightened. "My name is Kagome Higurashi. Who are you?"

His question had been left unanswered, for he was largely uninterested in her name. He sneered, "Sesshoumaru."

"Nice to meet you, Sesshoumaru," she brought her hands together behind her back, smiling with only slight wariness. Her faded dress was slightly torn. Peasant wear. "I didn't expect you'd be able to talk."

"And I did not expect to be joined down here by a little lost lamb. Are you my dinner? They do not typically feed me." Saliva pooled in his mouth, drool pooling on the altar. His jaws parted, eyes glinting as they ran over her willowy form.

Kagome stepped away, huffing and crossing her arms. "While I sympathize, don't get rude. If you eat my soul then you really will be all alone- with no allies. You'll have eaten the only help you're going to receive in this place."

Sesshoumaru frowned as she walked out of his available sight, moving around his left side and picking up something from a shelf.

"You seek to give me aid? That seems counterintuitive for a soul as pure as yours."

He could smell it. The light radiating from within her. He knew her to be foreign from her features- and wondered how a priestess from a faraway land had arrived in such a miserable country rife with turmoil and evil; his hunting ground for the past few centuries.

She reappeared in his line of vision, holding a bowl of collected rainwater. She frowned, "I don't think 'pure' means 'doormat.' These men have caused a lot of harm. Harm should come back to them."

Red eyes cracked wider, interest lighting his red gaze. Kagome set the bowl down, resting a knee beside his jaw on the alter. "I'm trying to help you. Please don't eat me for it," with a wobbly smile, she reached for his muzzle.

Sesshoumaru held still, keen attention fixed on her every movement. Her deep blue eyes were pleasing, face quite beautiful in flickering torchlight. His dry tongue shifted within his mouth.

A Hellhound's purpose was to drag corrupted souls to the underworld. Kagome's radiated a strong, fierce glow.

The Japanese woman carefully grasped cool metal chains, pulling them off from around his face and tossing the muzzle aside.

Spittle-coated teeth immediately lunged- latching onto the coarse fabric of her modest dress, canines resting over her chest. Kagome gasped, hands grasping his jaw. Sesshoumaru tilted his head up, forcing her to lean over him slightly.

Crimson eyes glared up at her, growling lowly.

"What is your motivation, priestess?" a dark rumble growled inside her mind. "Tell me why I see black flames of revenge burning in the depths of your soul. A single blemish in your otherwise spotless self."

Kagome exhaled, and he felt her chest expand and fall with each breath. Gentle fingers ran over the silver fur on his face, cracking his eyes wider.

"The Dutch took me from my country a few years ago. Since then, I've been passed around to different places, picking up different languages. When I was forced onto a boat heading for this strange land- I didn't think anything more of it. I was to be the servant of a reputable house, but the priest of this church took issue with my foreign looks. After that, men dragged me here. You're not the only one who has suffered at their hands."

She withdrew her touch- and Sesshoumaru nearly tipped his head to chase it- unfamiliar with gentleness. Sparking holy powers then collected between her fingers, hovering close without making contact.

"I don't want to hurt you, in fact, I'd rather we were allies," the hushed words sounded genuine. "But I won't let you eat me easily either if that's what you're after. Let go."

Sesshoumaru searched her face, becoming entranced; Drunk off the sparking conviction there. What an odd, strong woman.

Letting out a breath of steam that whipped her hair back, Sesshoumaru relaxed his lower jaw, teeth unhooking from where they'd dug into the material of her clothes. He lowered her back to kneel on the altar, immediately diving for the water she'd provided instead.

Kagome caught her breath, holy powers fading away.

He lapped up every last drop, panting for more, wanting to sate the burning in his throat, but it would do for now. Sesshoumaru lifted his head, words firm with conviction as his chest rumbled.

"If you release me from my imprisonment, I will do your bidding for a time, woman. However, you should be aware of the consequences if you set me free."

She absentmindedly rubbed at the spot over her chest where his teeth had been, lips curving. "I know what'll happen to me, Hellhound," Kagome said quietly. "I accept the consequences."

Sesshoumaru bumped her leg with his nose, resting his head upon her thighs. “Then what do you command?”

"I want you to devour them," she murmured, gaze far away as she stroked mindful fingers through matted fur. "I believe in reincarnation, so I want you to prevent these terrible people from ever getting a second chance at life again. Eat them all- except the Head Priest. Him...you can drag home, to the deepest, darkest place available. Never let him be free from the shackles and iron bars you thrust inside him."

Sesshoumaru's breath shuddered. Their judgement aligned perfectly; and she'd spoken his desires aloud.

He had come across countless souls during his wrathful existence. He knew kind ones as well as those corrupted. This was one of the few times Sesshoumaru felt he'd witnessed a kind person pushed too far, beyond her breaking point. Now a deep well of dark emotion had pooled inside her, magnificent in its righteous fury.

Shifting, he dragged a hot, wet tongue up the length of Kagome's collarbone and neck, leaving a slick trail.

"Such pain...I can taste the ash on you," he purred, looking into her sad blue eyes. His voice hardened, incensed with renewed anger from her hurts and his own. "Free me, and it is gladly done."

Kagome shivered, before moving around his side. Gripping one iron bar embedded through his front leg that jutted into the alter below, she planted her knees wide.

"This is going to be a painful process, I'm sorry. W-will you survive the blood loss?"

The white demonic dog flashing her a jagged smile. "Just who do you think you are talking to?"

With a nod, Kagome steeled herself. Giving a hard yank that sent her stumbling backwards- the long, gruelling process began. Only when the agony died down would a monster with blood-red eyes emerge from the bowels of the church.

And all Hell broke loose.

-----

The church tower collapsed through the roof that fateful night. Bloodshed had begun, soaking the air with a coppery taste that quickly became dwarfed by fire. Earlier rainfall could not deter it- nothing stood in its blazing, enraged path.

White flames roared around the silver monster. He chased men down the church aisle in a frenzied hunger, catching them in his jaws. Of course, he saved the best for last.

The Head Priest trembled against a broken wall while screams pervaded the smoky air.

Sesshoumaru turned, panting. A red tongue lolled, snaking up to lick his bloodied maw.

With a yelp, the man tried to scramble away- only for his robes to be snagged on a broken beam. Heavy paws collided with his back, teeth latching into his clothes.

Within the burning depths of the church, a roaring inferno opened up. The Priest clawed and scrambled at blistering ground, cobblestone turning into scolding cinders beneath his palms. Frightened screams rang out as he was dragged backwards, Sesshoumaru descending with him down a winding, fiery path into the earth.

Everything collapsed inwards with one final groan of wood as structures toppled, the building completely caving into a burning wreck.

Kagome stood alone on a hillside, watching the entire thing unfold. She then smoothed her skirts, crouching by an unmarked, mass grave.

"I hope...you'll feel avenged now," she said softly.

She did not run nor scream. Instead, Kagome waited patiently to meet her fate, setting some flowers down.

A white dog demon covered in patches of ash approached silently. He sat beside her, neither acknowledging the violence he'd just committed.

"This is where you are buried?" he asked, gazing intently at her.

The ghost smiled wanly. "Buried makes it sound like we had a funeral. I was dumped in this hole with a few other women after we were sentenced as witches and burned at the stake. Nothing was left but my charred remains," her voice wobbled. Kagome made to wipe some tears- his sticky tongue licking them away before she could.

She gentled, touching his bloodied jaw. "H-how are your wounds?"

"All but mended," Sesshoumaru drew closer, humid breath fanning over her neck. "You know what must happen now."

Kagome laughed cynically. "Mn, because I'm a corrupt soul, you'll be dragging me to Hell too," she brushed a hand over the fur at his shoulder. Blue eyes hesitated for a moment, afraid of something entirely human.

"Will it...hurt?" she whispered.

If it were possible for a demon dog to ease his expression into something a touch less cold and hungry, Sesshoumaru managed to achieve something almost warm. He didn't answer at first, allowing a moment of silence to stretch between them. When he finally spoke again, his speech resounded inside her head as a soft grumble.

"No. Not for you."

"Oh, I'm glad to hear that," a breath rushed out of her dead lungs, arms wrapping around herself as she glanced at the grave. "I've had enough pain, thank you."

"Indeed, you and I both."

A lily-white hand was offered down to her, sliding into her vision. Kagome's gaze drew up to a tall male.

The yellow moon looming behind his head gave him a halo effect; its gentle glow lining his face and dazzling her. Silvery hair split down broad shoulders, hanging like fine royal threads fit for a King. He wore black robes that billowed like dragon smoke.

Sesshoumaru's inhuman face smiled in an unnerving fashion, though she could tell the intent behind it- the desire to reassure her despite evidence of death on his robes. "Shall we go?" he asked in rich, clear tones.

Kagome stared up at the demon's handsome features. Smiling, she grasped his clawed hand without fear, allowing him to pull her up.

"You didn't have to change into such a pleasing form. I was coming with you anyway."

"My form is pleasing?" thin lips curved, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, Sesshoumaru strolled with her down the hill, a gateway opening up within the earth as a huge chasm, welcoming him home.

"Oh hush, you know it is," Kagome smiled tiredly, walking with the Hellhound away from the fire and brimstone burning behind them. "So...will I be punished down there?" her voice was almost lost, spoken so softly.

Glowing eyes smiled. "There is a place some call the Elysian Fields. I will take you to them."

She stiffened, blinking rapidly to expel the salty tears of relief and gratitude welling up in her eyes. Kagome stopped within the cavern of the underworld, causing him to halt with her. Drenched under harsh shadows of the earth about to swallow them whole, his eyes shone red like glittering jewels.

"I suppose I'll need a guard too," she said evenly. "To make sure I don't escape. I'm a very wicked soul, after all. A heretic."

Sesshoumaru flashed his teeth at her. "Hn, the worst kind. I will see to it personally since this one is best suited for such a difficult task."

Smiling with relief, Kagome willingly walked with him into the jaws of Hell.

End

[oppabimbab]

hottest apology | kim taehyung

genre: smut, slight fluff

starring: taehyung x reader

synopsis: you made him mad so you gave him the hottest apology ever.

words: 2,730 words

tags: jealousy, submissive reader, insecurity, daddy!kinks, handjob, bl*w!job, boob!fuck, fingering, slight dom taehyung, cl*t tease,

side notes: it’s been 3 months since i wrote, holy shit sorry if it’s bad, i have lost my writing skills lol and also its taehyung ff again bc im always obsessed with him bye.

**

It’s been 5 days since Taehyung have talked to you. Exactly 5 days since both of you got into a pretty serious and heated argument. 5 days is quite long for someone like him to be this mad. Well, your boyfriend has been that gentle, calm and observant person that he always be the one who breaks the silence first but it’s different now.

You’re not sure if the thing really triggered him this much to the point it’s making him to do something he never did before—leaving the house. All because of one thing he seems to hate the most.

“Oh my god, Taehyung. Stop being a kid. He just wanted my help, that’s all?” you frowned at him while holding the tone in your voice. You knew he hate it when you sound annoyed and pissed when talking to him.

Taehyung’s jaw was clenched even more at your words as he leaned against the wall with crossed arms. He probably has been waiting you to come home since forever.

“Really? I didn’t know keeping him company at the coffee shop is one of the ways of ‘helping’ him. What did you guys do?” His deep eyes were piercing into yours and swear to God, it gave butterflies to your system. Let alone his croaky voice that filled the room—making your heart raced for no reason. That was hot. Fuck yeah, not a good time to be horny.

You adjusted your position at the bedroom door—exchanging eye contacts with your boyfriend who seemed to be really mad but it didn’t come to your mind that he is actually being serious. Probably he was just moody that you came back late. You tried to convince yourself.

“He was alone and stressed so I kept him company for a while. Nothing much, baby. He is nothing to me. We did nothing.Seriously,” you spoke, defensively even deep inside, you were tired to death. All you wanted was to sleep and For God’s sake, your quick coffee sessions with Seonghwa was random. He just happened to be in the same shop with you. Why did Taehyung think you want to let him get into your panties? Exaggerating.

“Did you even tell me before you met him?”

“No? Because it’s unplanned?”

Just as you thought Taehyung would let this topic go, he looked even madder. His gaze was flamed in fire, his body was tensed and stiffed just like the prominent veins along his neck. He has this habit where he would roll up the shirt sleeves and ruffle his hair when he is mad. Silence filled the room as both of you didn’t say anything.

“I thought I said I hate him. I hate to see you with him. I just don’t want to see you with him. isn’t that clear to you?,” his voice was too low and it made him sound very dominant. Fuck, something was twirling in your stomach.

You jaw was dropped.

“Taehyung! He’s just fr-“

“Who cares? You’re mine. Fucking mine and I don’t like sharing. I never fucking do. I thought you knew that huh?” he stared at you with his flaming eyes and raised eyebrows while chewing his mouth. If stare could stab people, you could die by now. Your mouth felt dry as you’ve lost words to say. Taehyung has never been this mad before.

You supressed a small chuckle to ease the tension.

“Taehyung, are you jealous?”

But what a wrong move. He left the house.

Now, he is giving you the coldest treatment ever. He don’t kiss you, call you pet names, make love to you like he always did or even look at you more than 10 seconds. You thought he would only act up like this for few days but now, it almost been a week. And as ego as you’re, you don’t even start to make up even deep inside, you pretty much understand why he did this.

Taehyung has always been such a protective boyfriend. He made it clear he dislikes Seonghwa and you already promised him to stay away from the guy. You broke the promise and now you need to face the consequences. Swear to God, these 5 days were killing you inside. You missed him so much.

His kiss, his touch, his morning voice, his jokes but why can’t you face him and say sorry? Is it because it’s always him to fix the relationship first? Is it because it’s always him to come to you and say sorry first?

You don’t realise that until one night. One bloody night when you realised that he is only yours and you hate sharing. Your whole body is filled with jealousy and greed when you are left alone at your table in his stupid company dinner as Taehyung is surrounded by so many people, who probably have been waiting for him.

You know he is popular for his kind personality and looks since he composes music for these popular people but you don’t know he is this popular. A sudden jealousy and insecurity hit you like a truck when you finally realised that you’ve taken him for granted after all these while. He chose you over these people yet you did the thing he hated the most.

He will make sure you know how much he loves you—being that home you always go back to when things got hard, let alone showering you with the honesty and security you deserve in this relationship. Few seconds in, you just figured it out—he never did something that hurts you to the point you wanted to leave the house. But you did that to him. You broke this good guy’s heart.

From afar, he’s definitely look good with someone else other than you and it’s giving you an unfamiliar pain in the chest. This fight is longest and the hardest fight you ever had with him and it hurts you even more when his eyes catch yours in the middle of crowded party

but, he looked away.

**

The house feels dead. It feels gloomy and sad when both of you just got home from the party and he didn’t even want to say anything as he goes to the bedroom. Not even a glance. Fucking hell, it drives you crazy.

By the time you got in the room, he just come out from the toilet—freshly bathed. The sweet scent from the shampoo and soaps fills your sense with his naked body in the sight. There is nothing coming out from your mouth as you notice him looking away from your gaze. He feels distant and cold.

“Baby,” after a while, you speak out.

No answer.

“I’m sorry,”

Taehyung looks unbothered when he keeps drying his wet hair with the small towel with his back facing you. Your heart hurts a lot.

“I’m so sorry, I miss you. Talk to me,” tears start to pool in your eyes when you can’t hold the pain of being ignored by a man whom you loved the most. Did he stop loving you? Did he find someone else?

Few steps are taken before you slowly wrap your arms around his torso from behind—hugging him tight as you bury your face on his back. He is very tall and well-built that he makes you feel safe and sound.

Taehyung doesn’t move or push you away—rather than hugging you back, he just let you do whatever you want to do. Good thing because you know what you want to do.

Slowly, you pull away from him and come to face him. You don’t have the courage to look at him in the eyes, making you to come closer to him before kissing his bare chest. Kissing him gives you such serotonin that nothing can explain. It makes you happy and high to the point you want to have all of him for yourself only. Every inches of him.

His gaze—you can feel it. He is looking down at you but the courage to look at him has gone when you know how greedy you are when it comes to him. But you did him wrong. How do you fix this?

The tension fills the room before you finally make some move by tracing your fingers on his torso—admiring his lines with this familiar knot in your stomach. His wet and naked body sting your lower abdomen—making your panty sticky wet. Fuck, you want him. In you. Now.

“Hm?” a husky hum leaves his mouth right after you push him on the bed. He is clearly confused at your sudden gesture but for some reason, he is anticipating it—which brings you another butterflies. He stares at you while biting his lower lip with a small smile appears in the corner of his lips. This guy is fucking hot.

Ignoring him, you get to your knees in front him as he sits on the edge of the bed—with your face only few inches away from his crotch before you bring your hand on the fold of the towel that has been covering his lower body.

“What are you doing?” he says with a small playful smile across the lips, sounded confused as ever. You look at him with a needy eyes.

“Apologize,” you mumble before looking back down to his crotch. This time, it wasn’t covered anymore. It’s huge, hard, raw and delicious—you can’t help but leaning closer as you take him fully into your mouth. A soft whimper leaves his mouth at the sudden warmth.

With your might, you take his length into your mouth until it completely disappear from the sight while your small hand rubbing around his cock. Your head is bobbing up and down—licking and circling every veins around the cock to the head to taste the salty pre-cum that leaves his tip. You moan-- clenching your pussy at the feels. He’s tasted so good, making you moan. A very needy one. You spread his legs before you place one of your hands on his firm thigh to give it a soft rub. He moans even louder. What a sound.

The knot and dripping juice from your pussy keeps making you crazy to the point you wanna beg at him to fuck you right now. You don’t care anymore. It’s been 5 days.

“Mmmm, ahh,” the erotic moan fills the room along with the wet slurping sound coming from your mouth. Taking a quick glance at him with your half-closed eyes, you find him staring down at you with a clenched jaw. His eyes has darkened in desire and lust, body got tensed up and raspy grunts keep escaping his mouth. The eye contacts—oh God, this is sexy. He is feeling good. It drives you crazy.

You suck him even harder—going up and down even faster as his cock twitches every time you lick it. He lifts his hip to thrust even deeper to your throat, making you gurgle around his cock head. You can feel he’s coming as it hardened in your mouth but before he could cum on your face, you immediately stop—making him groan in frustrations. A small smile escape your lips as you let the wet saliva drips to your neck. What a messy blow job but for some reason, this is making your pussy stings in cum.

Without taking your time, you take off your short dress—unclasp the bra around your breasts before you place his cock between them. The next thing, you find yourself rubbing your boobs around his length as he grabs your hair to make you go faster.

Taehyung grunts even louder, moaning to the air at the pleasure. He closes his eyes while groaning like a tiger.

“Ah! Mmm, Your cock feels nice, baby,” you moan as you quicken the pace.

“Oh Fucckk, yeah, yeah like that,” he moans as he boob-fucking you. His breath has hitched and trembling before you could feel how hardened he has become.

“Baby...Ahh! I’m....,” you moan.

“I’m so sorry. Forgive me. I miss you,” you say while moaning loud,looking up to his eyes as you pump harder around his huge cock while licking the tip—begging like a needy puppy. Both you and him are humping on each other—probably he is as desperate as you are. Eyes to eyes. Yes, you’re desperate for him. Only him.

“Baby, cum on my face, let me taste you,” you beg before sticking your tongue out—waiting for him to pump his seed all over your face. You know he loves this shit. It’s his favourite kink.

Taehyung grunts, standing up on his feet, pumping his cock for few more times before the white cum plasters all over your face as it keeps coming from the tip. In just few seconds, you swallow the bitter-salty cum greedily, licking every part of them while staring at Taehyung, who is breathing heavily on the bed. He stares at you for few second before running a hand in his messy hair while chuckling playfully.

“Come here,” without letting you calm down, he pulls you closer to him before pinning you down to the bed as he crawls on top of your naked body.

“That was the hottest apology I’ve ever got,” he chuckles while breathing hard as he traces his finger on your torso to your lower abdomen. Soft whimpers leaves your mouth, it makes him chuckle even more.

“Is it accepted yet?” you ask in breathy voice. He frowns while biting down his lower lips.

“I don’t think so. I need more,” he says, holding a smile.

You look at him. He is fucking handsome with those deep eyes, boyish smile. God, you wish he fucks you everyday. He’s look delicious. Especially those lips.

Can’t wait any longer, you take his face in your hands, you pull him for the deepest kiss, sucking his mouth, begging for his touch. He grunts in the kiss—sucking your tongue, biting your lip almost to stain it with blood.

“Fuck me. Fuck me now, Taehyung,” you whimper in the horniest way ever. Whatever he does, he needs to fuck you now.

“I’m still mad at you,” he grunts before he starts rubbing your clit. You yelp in pleasure.

“I don’t care. Fuck me, daddy,”

Taehyung smiles, satisfied. Probably happy that you become this submissive only for him.

“Sure, let’s remind you how good my fingers are inside your damn pussy” he says as he put 2 fingers inside you without warning—making your body jerks in surprise. He starts thrusting his long and thick fingers inside you, twirling and pinching every part of your pussy—making your body bounce every time he fuck your pussy.

A gush of air leaves your lungs as you scream out loud, while you fist in his damp fluffy hair, pulling his face closer to you. Taehyung keeps fingering fuck you while staring down to see how messed up he has made you become. He chuckles and quicken the pace every time you moan his name—telling him to never stop.

“Why? You like it huh?” he hums, rubbing your clit with his thumb while thrusting another 2 finger inside. You see nothing but stars. Moan and moan.

Arched back, rolled eyes, curled toes.

“Ah~~~~Mmm,mmm,” you bite the lower lip to hold the sound. You’re very sure the neighbour know you’re getting fucked tonight.

“I’m coming. Mmm baby, i’m—Ah!”

“Too soon,” Taehyung replies before quicken the pace. The splashing and wet sound from the pussy juice makes his cock hardened as it rubs your inner thigh when he moves. You cry—holding around his arms for support as you’re reaching your climax.

The next second,you cum around his fingers. Your whole body flinches in pleasure, hitched breath fills the space as he pulls his wet fingers out of your pussy and with your own eyes, you saw him licking the juice while staring down at you.

He licks every parts of the fingers without looking away from your exhausted eyes. Your jaw almost dropped when he smiles at you. Holy shit, that is fucking hot. This guy is sickly hot. You don’t understand.

He didn’t stop there.

“Bear yourself, baby. I’m going to fuck you really hard that you know how I fucking despise sharing what’s mine,” Taehyung says as he positions his cock on your entrance while spreading your legs around his waist. Wide, just for him.

What a long night but you’re not complaining. Not at all.

**

Let me know your feedbacks! XOXO

[goldafterglow]

my love is a dagger

Summary: Jack Daniels is hopelessly gone for you, and you’re starting to think it’s a two way street. Maybe.

Request: “May I please ask for Basorexia and Whiskey please? 🥺” - @scribbledghost (ma’am I’m SO sorry this took me so long and then after the long wait you got whatever this is); taken from this post

basorexia: the overwhelming desire to kiss

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x reader

Word Count: 4.8k+

Warnings: suicidal themes (just a little and not really but there’s definitely a line), sexual harassment, anGST!!, PINING omg SO much pining like folks get ready to y*arn, a little bit of fluff bc Jack is a sweet talking southerner and I couldn’t help it, more angst I rly hope you cry, there’s a cute little lesbian couple in one line so don’t read if ur homophobic! but that goes for all of my work :)))

Author’s Note: Thank the GODS for @catfishingmorales for being my first ever beta reader!!! maybe this one will make any fucking sense at all!!! also a special shoutout to my wife @pascalplease bc she stayed up all night vomiting headcanons with me about this and I didn’t even get to all of them.

Gif Cred: the lovely @coredrive​

Masterlist | Taglist Modifications

“Two single-bed rooms,” he says. No; he manages.

Jack has to pry the words out of his esophagus, the passageway so clogged with sleep that he thinks that if he clears his throat he might be able to clear it.

It doesn’t work.

He tends to add a little brightness and smile to his voice when he talks, always eager to please even strangers. He embellishes his sentences with pleasantries and a chipper shimmer that makes even the most overworked bartender smile and the most destitute rancher crack a grin because he has this uncanny ability to make everyone feel special. But right now, at eleven pm on a Saturday evening after what might’ve been the worst, most emotionally grueling mission Jack has ever completed, he is not pleasant. His words are simply a tool for him to get a message out, his voice choked and flat.

“I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, sir, but it looks like we only have one king-size room available,” the lady informs. She is looking intently at the screen, still typing and clicking like the words might miraculously change right before her eyes.

The powerful Agent Whiskey’s heart falls into his stomach.

He can’t tell if this is the best or worst thing that has ever happened to him. Is this finally the excuse he needs to sweep you off your feet, like the catalyst giving him the strength to overcome his intense paranoia? Or is this the last straw, the final stone before you step off the staircase of his heart and back out onto the run-down open streets without him? Panic floods his chest and he is so paralyzed that he doesn’t even know what to tell her; for once, Jack Daniels is speechless.

Thank god he doesn’t turn around; he’d’ve seen your wide frantic eyes and would’ve known immediately what you’re thinking.

“Oh, it looks like a vacancy just opened,” the hostess chirps, a hint of relief floating on her words. You and Jack turn your heads to your left, where a young couple is saying their “thank you”s as they rack up the handles of their suitcases, hand-in-hand. One girl leans over to kiss the other on the temple with a smile; they both seem so secure. You turn your head back to the hostess; the sight of two people being content was disturbing to you and frankly a little offensive. “Unfortunately they’re on separate floors. Is that-”

“We’ll take them,” Jack gruffs. He wants to sleep, wants to die, wants to be in any existence where your soft eyes aren’t glued to the back of his head because he can feel it and he thinks you might burn holes into his skull just to find that he’s hollow inside.

Empty.

The transaction is quick and a little forced. She hands you both your respective key cards wordlessly, and if your eyes had lingered on her just a little longer you would’ve caught her face falling into it’s default relaxed state of misery. Jack walks with you to the elevator in silence, but he’s still close. He’s always close to you. Often you’ll turn your head in an empty room and anticipate him being there just to be sorely disappointed, though you aren’t sure what you’re always so disappointed for. His spirit haunts your thoughts, floats around your body and does laps around your brain because he is always there when you need him, so much so that you expect him to be there when you don’t need him. You want him to always be there. To always be with you.

Strange thoughts to have so late at night.

Jack sets his bag down beside you, stepping forward to press the button for you; it’s such a small gesture, something that he probably didn’t even think to do since hospitality runs in his bones, and yet you noticed it.

Strange.

The door opens, and he wordlessly puts a hand on your back, guiding you towards the elevator in front of him. Letting you on first. You can’t help but smile a little at him; you can tell he’s so tired and yet he still finds it somewhere in his heart to make you feel so important.

“You know I don’t need that from you,” you tease lightly, turning to look at him as the doors drag shut. The elevator shudders around you, indicating that it’s ready to start it’s journey to the fifth floor.

Jack grins at you; it’s not something he’s doing with his voluntary muscles, something that he thinks is coming off muted because he just doesn’t have the energy. It’s something he doesn’t even think about doing, a visceral reaction to hearing your sweet voice like aloe vera on his scorched throat.

“Well then, darlin’, take it anyways just to indulge your favorite cowboy,” he almost begs, lip pouted and eyebrows raised like he’s a child asking for candy except he’s an addict crying for just one more dose before the night ends because the nights he goes home without the memory of your eyes, your smile, your scent in his system are the nights he can’t sleep through.

You giggle softly, nudging his side gently because you want to crush him in your embrace and lift him onto the barbs of feathers into the moonlight all at the same time. To Jack, it feels like you’ve just kneed him in the chest, hogging all his air and wrapping his head in plastic so he can’t breathe, not that he minds. He’d let you tear at the delicate skin of the inside of his wrists, bite into the gentle flesh of his cheeks until he’s on his knees, bleeding at the seams. He’d let you destroy him if you wanted to.

He sighs a little, so dead, as a flush of air enters the vacuum of the elevator; you’ve arrived. But he doesn’t want to leave yet, wants to wring every last drop of your attention out of your pliable bones, so he follows you out and walks you to your room.

“I don’t need this either,” you say, a yawn stretching and blurring the edges of your words.

“I know,” Jack concedes, rolling his eyes in a way that is so adoring that he might as well have kissed you full on the mouth.

Not that you wanted him to.

“I know you don’t need a lick of help from me, sugar. Maybe I just like giving.” He grins down at you again, his side brushing against yours as you place slow, careful steps down the carpeted floor.

Yeah, he likes giving.

He gives you his leftover coffee when he “doesn’t want it” - it’s a tall cup of his favorite brew. He definitely still wants it. He gives you his blazer when you call his desk landline just to tell him your office is cold because you know he’ll give it to you. What you don’t know is that it’s because he’s completely and utterly whipped for you - he’d strip naked in a snowstorm to keep you warm, hold you in an icehouse as the bite of the frost burrows into the cracks of his dried skin, because he doesn’t need clothes when you’re in his arms. That’s about as warm as he’s ever been.

He gives you his time of day - almost all of it. He’s the first person you see when you step into work, the last face you see when you’re ready to retire. He walks you to your office every morning - he had to beg Champ to switch offices with him so that he could be adjacent to you, but every ounce of dignity lost was paid back to him with royalties in the precious extra seconds he gets to spend rubbing his shoulder against yours. He saunters into your office unannounced daily at 12:35 pm sharp to eat lunch with you, flopping onto your couch with the audacity of a man wet with wealth and simultaneously listening to you rave about your day with the patience of a therapist. Your time is a sacred commodity to him, and he makes sure that he’s earned it.

He gives you his whole soul. Sometimes he wonders if you’ll one day open your purse and find his glass heart sitting there, beating hard and loud and only for you. He wonders if you’d pick it up and smash it against a wall. He wouldn’t mind it at all.

The silence hangs in the air, dancing on your breaths as you seem to be inhaling each other, soaking in each other. It’s strange, the moments you share alone with Jack. There are the ones you share late at night, croaking at each other over the phone about how shitty that one show ended or how beautiful blue things are. Blue like his suffocated lungs, like the ocean of tears that drown him when he looks at you, like the finger you’ve got him wrapped around real tight.

But then there’s the moments when you’re in a room full of people. The briefing room sitting at a table spanning the length of the room that’s completely full of people, a club chock full of sweat and neon energy, the lobby of the lavish estate of a target where the bourgeoisie can swarm and stalk each other. All he has to do is toss you a roll of the eyes, a grin, a subtle brush of his hand against yours, and you are instantly thrown into the web of his affection as you get lost and locked in the atmosphere of his presence. Like, even in a room full of people, he’s the only one around. You’re not breathing in oxygen but the hickory fumes of his skin, the only sound getting registered being his dark honey voice. You’re not quite sure how he does that, distorting reality so heavily that you feel like you’ve traversed to an alternate dimension every time he touches you, pays any mind to you. Every single time.

“This you?” Jack asks, his words like a rubber band to your pulse as you’re snapped out of your train of thought. You look up at the room number - room 513 - and then down at your keycard. It reads the same. There’s a dull ache of disappointment that erupts through your chest, beige and static like the chipped paint on the walls.

“Yeah,” you mutter, turning to face him with your back to the door. He smiles at you softly, gentle like his fragile soul that you always manage to make hurt so bad without doing a single thing, and he opens his arms to you. Nothing out of the ordinary; you’ve grown accustomed to his goodbye hugs. “You’re so needy,” you giggle, stepping forward to bury your face in his pillowy chest and letting yourself sink into the quicksand of his warmth. It’s so easy to get caught up in him like a butterfly to a flower, and yet it’s so hard to pull away. He’s always been difficult to separate from; every time it’s like you’re sewing a microfractal of your esse into the velvet of him. Not big enough for you to notice, but still missing, and it adds up every time until there’s a big gaping hole in your chest that Jack holds claim to and the only way you feel right is when he’s with you.

I know, he wants to say to you. I know I’m needy. I know that you’re the only one, the only person, the only fucking thing that I’ve ever wanted this bad. I know I steal your time and your space and your thoughts but I’m a greedy man. Please forgive me. But he doesn’t say that; he could never say that to you. So instead he buries his face into the top of your head, trying to get a big sleepy lungful of you before he parts with you for the night, and says “Can you blame me, baby?”

You look up at him, eyes bleary and red but still eager to be so close to him. “Always such a tease.” He smiles wide at you, like he’s looking at a whimsical sprite so colorful and magnificent, but it’s just you. What does he see when he looks at you?

“G’night, pretty girl,” he coos, arms still wrapped around you and eyes big and doe-y. Please don’t leave yet, my perfect thing. Except that’s the part that stings him the most; you’re not his. He doesn’t get to say that sacred “my.”

“Good night, Jack Daniels,” you whisper, words fanning on his cheeks like waves of heat from a bonfire. But you don’t move, and neither does he. Not yet. Please.

He’s looking down at you with a certain reverence, like you were sculpted by the angels and placed right here in front of him with intimate precision. And then, without a breath to spare, he leans down and presses a kiss on your forehead so light that you wonder if it even happened or if someone has just thrown a marshmallow at your face. A friendly kiss from a friend that you’re friends with.

It feels like the seams of your limbs are being ripped out as you slowly separate from him, flashing him a soft smile as you take your duffel bag and unlock the door in front of you. You step into your hotel room, the air conditioning immediately sticking to your damp skin. As you close the door you catch him still standing there, looking at you like you’re something so precious.

Platonically, of course.

You sigh as you look around the room, suddenly freezing. The tiny dress you’re wearing doesn’t add much insulation and the big diamond necklaces and chandelier earrings and silver cuffs adorning your body like ornaments become ice on your skin. Kicking your shoes off and into a forgotten pit of the room, you step into the bathroom. Flicking the light on, you stare straight at the bulbs, letting the light sear your pupils just so that you can focus on something other than Jack fucking Daniels. Your jewelry is the first to go, becoming a delicate display on the bathroom counter. Something so pretty, but they’ve left angry dents in your skin that are starting to inflame and you figured it was too good to be benign. Nothing so beautiful, nothing that makes you feel so beautiful, could do so without hurting the paper-thin barriers of your heart. You’d have to be a fool to not know that.

You open up your duffel bag, fishing around impatiently until you find your makeup remover and cotton pads. As you erase the paint on your skin, removing the rough mission from the memory of your face, you start beginning to look less disheveled and more exhausted. Now you can really see the dark circles under your eyes, the discomfort of Rolex’s touching the small of your back and Armani cologne grabbing at your hips while you let it happen. Your body had become free real estate and in just hours you had broken down to feeling like you were stained, a dirtier version of yourself that couldn’t ever be cleaned.

You hadn’t felt so filthy when you were in Jack’s arms.

Eager to try and scrape the mission from your lungs, you peel the tight fabric off your body, letting out a breath of something far redder than relief as it falls to a pool around your ankles. You turn around to reach for the shower handle and grip it hard, letting the cold steel fill your palm as you twist it mid-way. While you wait for the steam to seep into your pores you reach for a bar of packaged soap on the bathroom counter, sizing up the créme box. It’s about a centimeter thick, easily filling your palm, and you frown a little at realizing that most of it will be thrown away, unused. Such a waste.

Turning your attention to the water, you run your hand under the water pouring out of the shower nozzle. It’s warm enough. But you don’t want it to be enough. You want it to melt your skin, to burn through your used body and shed your cells to unleash the layers beneath, the layers that Jack had touched, because thinking that your body has been safe inside his embrace feels better than thinking that you put your head in the jaws of the alligators and hoped they wouldn’t snap.

Once the water is burning, sure to inflame your skin, you step in and close the shower curtain before beginning to let the soap glide along your arms. Except it’s not enough. You’re not clean enough. So you run the bar over yourself again and again, wearing it down as your skin turns hot to the touch until you’re using the tips of your fingers to salvage the last bits of product onto your chest. Shit. You don’t even realize that the bar is all used up until you feel the sensation of your fingers rubbing against your now irritated skin and yet you still feel soiled. So you elect to give up on your sorry attempt at washing away the strange eerie touches and predatory looks and turn off the water, drying yourself off.

The solitude in the air stings.

By the time you’re laying in your bed and looking up at the plain off-white ceiling so that you don’t have to look at the old collections of dirt in the crevices of the wall and carpeted floor, you haven’t thought about Jack for the past 30 minutes. Not since you were washing yourself and the ghost of his fingers scraped your scalp, making you long for the feeling of his chest pressed to your back and the sound of his voice floating into the vinyl of the curtain liner while his hands danced in your hair - 

Not since then.

But Jack Daniels is most certainly thinking about you, and he’s far too deep to bother pretending that he isn’t anymore.

He stands outside your door for just a little while longer after you close it, staring at the fool’s gold embellishment on the front as he basks in the faint warmth of your spirit that lingers in the space of the hall and inside of his bones. He’s not sure how he got so lucky so as to be able to touch you without abandon, kiss your forehead out of greed and hold you in his arms because he really is so needy. He replays the scent of your dainty floral perfume and rewinds the heat of your forehead under his used, chapped lips, trying to commit you to memory as if he hadn’t done this a million time already, as if he hasn’t tried to burn a million of your hugs into the plush cotton of his skin like a brand. Your fading ghost consumes his mind, and by the time it’s whispering farewell to him, he’s already at the bank of elevators waiting patiently for the doors to open for him. Jack does a lot of that; waiting.

The weight of his duffel bag starts to grow and he can’t tell if his tired left arm is getting weaker or if the bag is getting heavier, but he can tell that his nerves are aching because he already misses you.

He’s always missing you.

The trip to his room is quiet, lonely, and as the elevator doors close for him to make his way to the 6th floor he wonders if this is how it’ll always be. Having you so close, seeing you right in front of him, and yet never truly being with you the way he wants to be. Never belonging to anybody, just a wisp of air passing through your life without holding any true substance or having any real meaning to you; but what a privilege to be one of your wisps. To have been in your lungs and have seen what he imagines are wide open plains, vibrant with wildflowers and gentle beasts. He wishes he could stay.

The elevator door dings.

This time he is caught off guard and he inhales like a shudder, eyes darting around the cold yet damp walkway to see if anyone has caught him thinking, caught him yearning.

Hallucinating.

Deluded.

He steps inside of the compartment with his stupid heavy duffel bag, immediately letting it fall to the elevator floor. His eyes find the plastic, cloudy buttons making up the keypad of the elevator. His left arm lifts to press the “6” button but he immediately regrets it, feeling a searing agony shoot through his shoulder. He mutters a little “fuck” to himself like it’ll help balm the pain, and of course it doesn’t, but Jack is a stubborn man and the buttons are to his left, so he shakes his arm out the way you shake out your boots before stepping inside mama’s house and tries again. But his dry, chapped fingers struggle to reach for the buttons, shaking in his own seismic wake. It takes him a few seconds to steady himself, taking temporary control over his body so he can actually touch the button; the plastic is cracked, a small piece having fallen off to be lost, likely thrown away. A discarded fracture in the shell leaving the inner label forever open and exposed, never to be whole again.

The elevator door shuts.

Jack lets out a low sigh, leaving his arms to fall to his sides as he leans against one of the walls. The back wall of the elevator is reflective, muddled and stained but clear enough that Jack can see what has become of him. His stetson is barely on his head anymore, his tie crooked and his collar untucked. He almost feels like a suit monkey, walking around playing dress up with the caveat of poisoning a man’s fresh champagne. But you told him he looked so handsome all gussied up like a proper gentleman worthy of taking a dime like yourself out. So he leaves it at almost.

He does a lot of that too.

The elevator hiccups, and as expected the doors open, inviting him to leave. He looks down at his duffel bag and he can already feel the weight of it on his weeping muscles, but he’s so close to his room and he can’t give up now that’s he’s made it so far, so he uses the momentum of his swinging right arm to sweep the bag up off the floor and drags himself out of the elevator. Not the best thing he’s ever done, but certainly one of his proudest moments.

The sixth floor is less damp, less like a moldy underwater cave and more like he’s at the top of a breezy mountain where the strands of air are like spurs to his cold, tight skin. Crisp. It is different, and yet he feels the same. Like his joyful warmth has drained out of his system, flushed out of his body, and on the inside he is the 5th floor of a shitty decrepit hotel in the middle of fuck all Kentucky. 

He makes quick work of finding his room, the inertia from getting off the elevator being the driving force that gets him down the two hallways and standing before room 645. He pulls out the plastic keycard, adorned with scratches on its surface and stains on its edges, and shoves it into the card reader. With a subtle flash of green and a gentle click, the door gives way for Jack to practically fall inside. He flings the bag as far across the room as his arm will let him, letting gravity control his movements as he is drawn to the white mattress in the center of the room. He releases a groan a little louder than should be appropriate this late at night - he checks the alarm clock on the bedside table to confirm that it’s 11:08. He hasn’t been apart from you for longer than what, 4 minutes? No, he did stand outside your door for a little bit. He decides it’s been 5 minutes.

Oddly enough, the extra sixty seconds don’t make him feel any less fucked.

Now that he’s finally still, his body begins to focus on how sore his legs are as any pain grows from the ends of his limbs and seeps into his chest. He can feel the weight of the night press down heavy on his diaphragm, suffocating him in a way that travels to his eyes and sprays sand like mist onto the walls of his throat. He selfishly lets himself lay there for a second, thinking about that weight being you pressed up against him, face buried in his chest or his neck or in his own face. It’s sacrilegious the way Jack thinks about your touch, the flutter of your lashes like majestic butterfly wings against his cheek, so enticing. So pretty.

His shower is fast despite the way his muscles screech at him to let them rest, begging him to just fucking sit down. When he leans down, back made of creaky burnt red iron, to reach for his sleep clothes, he does a double take; there’s not much in the bag at all. A bunch of small, disguised weapons, communications devices, a pair of grey sweats, a white t-shirt. Nothing oppressively hefty to pull on his tendons; at least, not in a way that could practically drag his shoulder out of its socket. Then suddenly he remembers; he had been holding your bag until you’d both reached the lobby desk. It was a long walk from where you’d been instructed to dump the care and the hotel, so after watching you squirm a little in the freezing air, he offered to take your bag off your back. He’d walked with a bag in each arm for maybe a minute before he realized that his greedy fingers missed being wrapped around your side, missed your melted essence seeping into his stomach, so he’d held both bags in the one left hand for the rest of the thirty minute walk. He hadn’t even noticed how bad he was hurting; perhaps you were too distracting, smile too alluring as your words painted his eyes in lilac and blinded him from his own discomfort.

For being the one person Jack wanted, you sure did hurt him a lot.

Once he is dressed, he lets his sore body absorb into the linen sheets as his muscles finally find some form of permanent relief in the salve of stillness. But this is a dangerous state to be in; when Jack isn’t talking someone else’s ear off, he thinks. He fantasizes, ponders, mulls and muses himself into a state that is suspended between consciousness and sleep.

He thinks about your lips.

You’ve never been too shy to mouth him off, poking and prodding at him and his eccentric cowboy aesthetic. Seeing you walk in every morning and beeline it straight to greet him with a casual fifteen-second hug sends daggers flying into his heart every time, a pain that he’s learned to brace himself for and yet can never seem to be able to handle. And when he looks down at you, adoring eyes and all, he can never help but glance at your lips. It’s always short, a self-indulgent guilty pleasure that he could never admit to, and he thinks about the way they feel against his collarbone when you hold him tight. He thinks about the way they might feel on his own lips.

Sinful.

And then he is thinking about that wretched mission, flashes of luxury clothes and manicured hands trying to feel you up right in front of his eyes. The way you fake smiled at men with money and wrinkles as they leaned into your ear, trying to whisper enticing tales of exorbitant trips to islands that are garishly tropical and dresses so exclusive and designer that no one in the world would own a duplicate. Watching in utter silence because no matter agonizing his need for you is, you’ll never be his.

Suddenly that ache in his body has traveled to his face. It’s so painful to think about you, and yet he takes the jagged edges of his love for you and drags them through his wrists because he’d rather fucking bleed than ever forget you.

Outside his window he hears the clouds crash into each other as an icy downpour beats the pavement. And like a curse, at the expense of his own self-destruction, the image of you in his arms in front of room 513 slices through his brain. Your face right under his mouth, forehead right up against him, your lips right fucking there. And then the feeling of you pulling away. Of you leaving him to rot with the flies, because he’s never going to be strong enough to tell you how bad he needs you,  let you tear his heart into a million pieces for good.

From somewhere in his room the rain begins to fall on his face.

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[orionwhispers]

Swan Song// Thomas Shelby 🍸

(A.N )- holy shit. holy shit. you guys... its finally finished. it took months but its finally done!!here is the long awaited and highly requested lolita wedding. im so happy you guys finally get to read it! i feel like my baby has all grown up lol. there might be errors and stuff bc its 16k words and im exhausted but hopefully you enjoy it. thanks for being so wonderful and patient. ily) also sorry for all the pics in the moodboard being white i try and be inclusive but smh pinterest sucks sometimes, anyone is welcome here. we are all hoes for tommy)

Trigger Warnings; so much fucking fluff, implied smut, some angst and mention of past injury.

PART 1  PART 2

It was one of those dreamy midsummer nights.

When even the sun didn’t want to retire for the evening; the sky a rich, milky blue, and the air still thick and warm like honey. You were on the window seat, clad in one of Ada’s many wedding presents, a blush silk slip and matching robe, a gift she had brought back from her week in Boston.

You were happy. Irrevocably so. The floor and love seat crowded with the people you held closest to your heart, the room smelt of expensive vanilla candles and strawberry wine, and the deep throaty rumble of laughter filled every empty space.

It was perfect. Well - almost.

You missed him.

It was only one night apart, you had spent longer times separated when he went out of town for business or you had a rambunctious girls weekend with Ada and Esme - but still you missed him entirely.

You knew he missed you too. That much was obvious from the disdain on his face when Arthur and Polly laid bare their plans for the night before your wedding. There hadn’t been time for an engagement party let alone a bachelor party - a few weeks after announcing the news Tommy had been due to attend to some business in New York, and he was adamant that you were to come along. He wanted to treat you, show you the vibrant city and all of the glitz and glamour of Broadway, but you knew that was only part of the reason. He didn’t like you out of his sight for too long, the wound on your chest might have been puckering into a scar but the pain was still fresh in his mind and his overprotectiveness had tripled.

After a brilliant few weeks away in the big apple, filled with passionate, breathless kisses and red satin dresses and driving hand in hand down the Brooklyn bridge, you finally returned home - but much like the city you had just left, Thomas Shelby had no time for sleeping. He was knee deep in new deals and navigating his partnership with Alfie Solomon’s, as well as his new venture of manufacturing gin. Despite the long nights and the early mornings, you never felt neglected. You loved him, all of him, and that included his workhorse nature and tenacity. And besides, he struggled being away from you, finding himself noticing the lack of warmth in his office, when at home you would be perched on his lap, pressing dizzying kisses to the base of his neck. He missed the sound of your laugh and the way that you giggled, biting your lip innocently, making him want to bite it even harder.

He loved you, and that god awful summer had shown him that all he truly cared about was having you by his side. So for every night he was at the office, or every morning he was out of bed before you woke up, he made it up to you with a weekend away, or a signed first edition of your favourite book, or a piece of jewellery he had made for you. They might have been material things, but the meaning couldn’t be clearer, he was hopelessly, dangerously, completely, in love with you.

His main present to you though, arrived a few days after his sudden proposal in his office.

He originally wanted to take you into London, show you the finest jewellers by the water and let you choose anything that caught your eye - only the best for his best girl - but, after everything, his plans had changed.

Truthfully, marriage had been on the tip of his tongue since that very first day he locked eyes with you in the Garrison. He knew he had to have you, even before he knew your name, and by the time the two of you first kissed, tasting like sweet strawberries and cigarettes, he knew you would be the woman to take his.

But things got in the way. Marriage wasn’t as simple as it might have been for the people you passed in the streets. Marriage to him was like putting a target on your back, it meant your entire life being intertwined with his, the whole world knowing that you were the woman that made him fall to his knees. It would take everything from you, and the darkness would slowly start to seep into the light that surrounded you, and he needed to keep you safe for as long as he could. He knew he was going to marry you, it was just as clear in his mind as it was that he was the leader of the Blinders, you were the missing piece in his puzzle.

But of course, his plans were blown to smithereens when the bullet shattered your collarbone that summers eve. His visions of red roses and rich wine and getting on one knee, feeling like a goddamn kid again when you gave him that smile as he pushed the ring onto your finger, were flung to the wind. And instead, his honeyed words were swapped with breathless desire and need, whispered in your hair as you were cradled in his arms, in the afterglow of such a dreadful day.

The one thing he knew he could get right, however, was the ring.

It had to be special. It had to be you. Something soft and sweet and gentle, but with an edge - sharp and strong and beautiful. Of course, it would be impossible to find any diamond or pearl that could compete with your beauty, but he wanted you to have the best.

That wasn’t the only reason though.

It had more to do with the jewel that had hung around your neck that day at the ball, the one that haunted him when the sky got dark and you were fast asleep beside him. He had come so close to losing you, only a hair away from the girl he loved being buried, and the thought was driving him mad. He controlled every aspect of his life, but this was something completely out of his grasp, and he needed to stop his dangerous thoughts.

He hadn’t been superstitious since he was a boy chasing his brothers through fields of wildflowers and listening to Polly’s ramblings by the fire, but he had to rule out every possibility. So a few days after he proposed, and with the best doctor in Birmingham giving you the all clear (and triple checking that the house was secured and being watched by practically a small army of Blinders - and a stern warning to Michael, Isaiah and Finn that if even a hair on top of your head was misplaced by the time he got back, none of them would be able to have any children)- he set off.

He told you he was signing a deal in Manchester, but he was really only a few miles away, at the campsite where he had spent the majority of his youth. It was all rolling hills of deep emerald and jade, and fog that curled and twisted around his ankles, and for the first time in a long time, he felt out of place. He had chosen the ring with the help of Polly, who was adamant she knew your taste better than him, something he vehemently denied.

It was beautiful and unique, just like you, and he never felt such a profound rush of love quite like when he pictured slotting it onto your finger. It was big, but not overly so - nothing tacky or too much, Tommy knowing that you never wanted anything glimmering or gaudy and that you’d probably hit him and then faint if you knew the price. But, in his eyes - nothing was too expensive for his little girl. Besides, he particularly liked the way the ring shone in the light, imagining all the men that would fuck off and leave with their tail between their legs when they saw it and realised that the most beautiful woman in the room was already spoken for.

The diamond was brilliant and a “Princess” cut, something that made him smirk because it was one of his favourite pet names for you, and he couldn’t imagine anything more fitting. The band was solid gold, two different paths that intertwined and curled like summer vines, making him think of the lightness and whimsy you carried around you. What really sold him though, were the soft, twinkling rose quartz gems that cocooned the diamond.

“For protection.” Polly had muttered as he twisted the ring between his fingers under the dim lighting in the store. He had rolled his eyes when she spoke but secretly the meaning behind them made his gut twist. Protection was something that he needed you to have in abundance, even if it came from small crystals the size of a half grain of rice.

The ring was so perfect. So rare and alluring and undeniably you, and he walked out the door with the feeling of pure content, something that only even happened when he thought of you. But he knew there was more for him to do. He sent Polly home, ignoring the raised eyebrows she gave him and brushed off the sixth sense his Aunt had always had. And with the ring safely nestled in its plush navy box in his breast pocket, he drove off.

The campsite felt like the past. It felt as though he was visiting somewhere deep in the confines of his mind, somewhere that he had locked and stored away and forgotten about, only now being able to see through the thick haze of smog. He met the elderly woman by the doors of her caravan, noticing the difference between his sharp suit and the furs and shawls she had covering her body. She smiled and invited him in, pouring him a cup of something that smelt like sap and crisp autumn apples.

“It’s been a long time, Thomas.” She said, eyes so dark they almost looked black as she watched him curiously.

“That it has.”

“What brings you to this part of the woods then? I thought you would have forgotten about the rest of us.”

It was a dig, but he refused to rise to it. He wasn’t in the mood for petty jibes.

“I’ve been busy.”

“So I hear.” She exhaled, stirring her tea meticulously with a golden spoon. “They tell me you’re practically running the country.”

He smiled softly and falsely, digging his hand deep into his pocket. “Let’s cut to the chase, eh?” He pulled out the small box, opening it in his palm, and twisting it round so that the clear cut diamond was twinkling right before her.

She grinned, leaning forward on her elbows to get a better look. “It’s beautiful. Must have cost a pretty penny.”

“The woman it’s for is worth it.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“I know why you’re here,Tom. The boys told me what happened at that party of yours.”

He cleared his throat, not liking the lack of control he had over the conversation.

“Right, well then. Just tell me what I need to know.”

She closed her eyes, muttering something under her breath, and Tommy sat back on his haunches, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. Was he really fucking doing this? Sitting in a caravan in the middle of fucking nowhere getting his jewellery cleansed by some batty old woman he knew as a child? It went against everything he believed in, and was the exact opposite of the calm and level headed way he ran his business.

But then he thought of you. And your light. Your sweetness and the sound of your laugh, the curve of your lips and the flowers you wore in your hair and the grass stains on your little white dresses. He thought of the scar that ran along your collarbone, and the feeling of white hot desperation that had coursed through him when he that you might not wake up.

You were worth it. Fuck sensibilities and rationality. He’d drive to the fucking ends of the earth if it meant that it would keep you even just a little bit safer.

After what felt like an age, the woman opened her eyes and raised her head. She used the edge of one of her many colourful scarves to wipe the surface of the gems, her hands moving in quick, rhythmic circles.

“It’s clean.” She said. “There’s nothing bad on it. At least, not that I can see.”

Tommy felt the anvil strapped to his chest suddenly fill and float like a balloon, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he brushed off the relief flooding though his body, and straightened up. “Well I came to the best.”

She smiled, both smugly and bashfully, the way most women felt around Tommy. “That you did my love.”

His fingertips merely brushed the top of the roll of money he had stuffed in his pocket, and the elderly woman sat back, shaking her head at him.

“It’s on the house. Maybe you can bring your girl around one day, I know we’d all like to meet her.”

Not fucking likely he thought. No way in hell would he bring you to a place like this, whilst he still had good memory’s of his youth, he didn’t trust the people that still lurked in the fields around this place.

Wanting to settle the score, he held out a wad of notes. “I insist.”

“And I decline.”

He didn’t like the way the conversation had ended, it didn’t sit quite right with him. He liked to make his deals as open and closed as possible, money was the best way to seal a deal, he didn’t work with favours. “Right, well. Thank you for everything.”

He looked out of the windows of the caravan as he gathered his things. It was starting to get dark, the sky blushing like summer strawberries and freshly sliced peaches, the air still a little thick from the heat. All that he wanted now was to get home to you, everything else had faded to static in his ears. He bit back a grin as he thought of how you would smile, all teeth and round cheeks and wide eyes when he showed you the ring. He imagined it sitting pretty on your finger, the nudge of the jewel against his when you intertwined hands and the way it would dazzle at night, not nearly as beautiful as you as you laid beneath him, sweaty and breathless and ethereal.

As sudden as a gunshot, sharp words from behind him cut through his daydreams like a blade.

“Have you ever considered, Tom?”

He merely paused, not even bothering to spin on his heel and face her. He knew what she was going to say and yet it still felt like a knife digging into a fresh wound as she continued speaking.

“That maybe it’s not the jewels? Maybe it’s you?”

He wasn’t the type of man to back down from a fight, and he was the unrivalled champion of maintaining his composure and remaining calm under every type of pressure, but even he couldn’t deny the shivers that twisted around the bottom of his spine at the implication of her words.

“Yes. I have.”

He could feel her shifting behind him, ready to lure him in, tell him the thing that kept him up at night and clawed at his throat when he watched you sleep; that perhaps he was the poison that seemed to follow you like a dark cloud. He was much too selfish, far too infatuated with you to keep you at arms length. The deafening ache that perhaps you were the reason he finally felt alive, and that maybe he was the reason you would end up buried. 

He didn’t allow himself to think any more, tossing his cash towards her, not even bothering to check if she caught it or if it landed on the floor, instead he raised a hand and walked off, murmuring under his breath. “Keep the change.”

He waited until he was back in his car, with a cigarette between his lips and the sour smell of petrol and ash filling his lungs before he finally inhaled, glad to be out of the fucking fresh air.

—————————————————————

Your reaction was even better than he imagined.

It was dark by the time he eventually got home, and he didn’t miss the buzz of warmth that pulling into the driveway brought. It was bizarre, he had spent so long feeling nothing that meeting you had reignited everything inside of him, he felt like a boy again, nervous and elated to see the girl he loved.

The lights were on, reflecting through the windows like flickering candles, and a pleasant yellow glow engulfed the shadows in the gravel. He could hear voices, (mainly Arthur’s), deep low laughter and the sound of music all throughout the halls. He winced slightly, hoping that whatever ruckus his family had brought wasn’t keeping you from resting. He was certain that this impromptu gathering was his brothers idea of raising your spirits, but Tommy would have felt much more comfortable knowing that you were peaceful and recovering somewhere safe, knowing that you were far too polite to send his family away.

“What the fucks all this noise, eh?” He shouted as entered, his tone was sharp but even he couldn’t stop the tiny grin making its way onto his face as he watched Arthur and John drunkenly dance in the living room.

“Ay! You’re back? How did it go?” Arthur asked, holding out his arms in greeting as his speech slurred.

“Everything’s in order.”

“Hurrah!” Arthur swayed on unsteady legs like a sailor on the rough seas, and

“Bloody hell Arthur, what the fuck are you on?” John laughed,

“It’s a celebration, brother.”

Tommy pushed him aside playfully, tuning out the sound of their bickering as he strode further in the living room, eyes brushing past all of the faces crowded around, his heart stopping when he finally found the one he was after.

You were curled up on the sofa by the fireplace with your legs tucked underneath you, your face flushing deliciously, the spark slowly reigniting inside of you - and Tommy swore that he had never seen something so beautiful. Michael, Isaiah and Finn were crowded around you, looking much younger than their years, playing cards in their hands and big, toothy grins, occasionally accusing the other of cheating. Polly watched from beside the fireplace, something that had once been the beating heart of the house, a place where the two of you coexisted so magnificently. He thought of the flames from the logs and also from deep inside of him, devouring you completely on the hardwood floors, the sound of your moans mixing with the crackle and snap of the kindling. He hadn’t looked at the fireplace since you had been shot, it was too intimate, too personal, memories of early morning laughter and pure carnal hunger when the sun set, his fingertips pressing against the softness of your throat as you melted like paper under him.

Now though, it had been filled with empty wine bottles stuffed with candles, wax dripping and melting down their green glass necks, the room smelling like cherries and lavender. He knew you had put them there, and it made him exhale, because it no longer hurt to look at it, and he knew that eventually, the fireplace would be yours again.

Polly caught his eye from over the sofa, hers glittering and twinkling with suspicion of where her nephew had been, taking a long, poignant drag from her cigarette. He ignored her. He had no doubts that she was completely aware of what he had been doing, and that imagining him back at his roots was conjuring a particular mental image in her head, but right now that was the least of his concern.

He tore though the living room, almost colliding with a dozen bodies, it seemed Arthur had dug up every close acquaintance within twenty miles and invited them over. The room smelt like sour whisky and spilled wine, and he swore he could see his expensive furniture lowering in price by the minute.

He loved his family, he would do anything for them, but God he wished to the highest heavens that they would fuck off so he could spend some time with his girl. If it was up to him the house would be completely empty, nothing but the sound of your laugh and the thump of your heart, fuck everything else.

You were wrapped up in your poker game, head tilted back as you laughed at something Finn had whispered to you, the small creamy corner of your bandage poking out from the collar of your dress. Tommy swore inwardly, the sight making him falter. As quickly as the feeling came, he brushed it away, not wanting you to see him worry, not wanting himself to fall into old and dangerous habits.

Finn saw him first, his youngest brother looking impossibly boyish and playful as he laughed with his friends, a world away from the man he tried so hard to be. One look and he was on his feet, quickly swatting Isaiah and Michael and gathering the cards in his hands. Tommy patted his shoulder fondly, his eyes fixed firmly on you, watching your pupils dilate and sparkle when you finally caught sight of him.

“You’re back.”

Breathless. Angelic. Innocent. It took everything in him to not gather you in his arms and take you upstairs all for himself.

“And you should be in bed.”

He sat down next to you, his knee brushing against yours.

You smelt of home.

Of sweet cinnamon and strawberries and wildflowers, messy hair and woodsmoke. You finally smelt like yourself, not like the chemicals and disinfectants that now filled the halls, making him want to set his whole damn estate alight because the reminders of what they caused were too painful.

“I’ve been resting for weeks, Tommy. Let me have a little fun.”

You gave him that smile. The one that made his knees buckle. The one that would have made him sign his company over to you if you asked - not that there would ever be a time he would say no to you. It was bizarre, how you were sitting there with no makeup on, your hair tied back with a baby pink ribbon, and you were undoubtedly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“Alright, alright, enough with the pouting.” He winked at you, making a kaleidoscope of butterflies erupt in your stomach. If it had just been the two of you he would have leant in and kissed you stupid, but he didn’t want to give his drunken brothers something else to whoop and tease about. He would save his romantics for later, when you were alone, and he could take his well earned time and leisure to ravage you.

He pulled you close to him, wrapping an arm around the edge of the sofa and over your shoulders, keeping you as close and protected as he possibly could, the simple action comforting him immensely. You snuggled into him, his body so warm and firm and safe, and he pressed a kiss to your neck as you relaxed, his lips scorching you like a brand. He felt his whole body exhale, feeling at ease because he was with the people he loved most in the world, with you tucked into his side like you were carved there, and the feel of your fingertips ghosting over his chest. His life was so fast paced and hectic and his mind was whirring a mile a minute, but at that moment, the there was no where else he would rather be.

His patience lasted exactly 47 minutes. His composure and lenience with his family finally snapped when Arthur bet John that he could do a better handstand than him, proceeded to leap onto his hands, flail about disastrously and then crash right into the console table, shattering an array of fine china and imported vases.

“Oh John, look what you did ya’ stupid cunt.” He said when he got to his feet, his hands slashed to ribbons and blood dripping onto the carpet. Esme rolled her eyes, grabbing her brother in law by the collar and dragging him out of the room to bandage him up before he inevitably passed out from all the alcohol.

Tommy straightened out next to you as Mary quickly rushed in and gathered the glimmering shards with a dustpan and brush. He heaved himself to his feet, reluctant to withdraw from your side, and he cleared his throat once before speaking. “Alright, that’s enough for tonight, everybody fuck off.”

You rolled your eyes at his terrible bedside manner, tugging on the edge of his rolled sleeve playfully, making a small smile cross the edge of his lips. Polly pressed a hand to your shoulder as she herded the boys out of the room, each of them mumbling drunken goodbyes and pressing whisky stained kisses to your cheeks, mindful of the placement of their hands and your scar, mainly because of Tommy’s sharp, warning glare.

Johnny Dogs grumbled something along the lines of parting, but instead passed out face down on the carpet, his body rising and falling with heavy snores. Tommy waited rather impatiently as you said goodbye to the remaining guests, wanting nothing more than some well earned solace with his girl.

When you were finally alone, the moon dancing across your skin through the large open windows, soft music filling the room and the smell of sticky split wine following you both, he pulled you into his arms. He looked at your face and smiled. You were ethereal. Golden and glowing in the twilight, eyes sparkling like diamonds. Your face had changed a little in the time you had been together, your body and mind maturing and adapting, but you still looked so young. A breath of clear, fresh air amongst all of the smoke.

He lifted his hand to wipe a few specks of shimmering rose rouge from your cheeks, evidently left from where Esme hugged you goodbye, but you got there first, playfully taking his finger in your mouth and gently sucking and biting at his fingertip.

He felt a fire ignite in his stomach and his trousers tighten. How were you - so small and sweet and innocent, able to control his body like you were a master puppeteer and he was nothing but wood and string? It was baffling to him, an enigma that he craved to solve but knew that he never could. He was completely and incurably love sick.

You were going to be the death of him.

He pulled you even closer, freeing himself from your grip and taking your head in his hands, smashing his lips onto yours. You melted into him, practically putty in his hands. His teeth clashed against yours, the kiss was messy and desperate, as though you were two kids determined to make the most of the time you had alone. He felt everything wash off of him, all of his stress and tension melting down his spine like candle wax. Because, with your body flush against his and his mouth pressed up against your own, he was home.

You pulled away shyly and reluctancy, and he felt the absence of your warmth immediately. He moved to drag you back, not done with you just yet, but he followed your gaze to the man on the floor. Johnny had somehow managed to roll over onto his back, still asleep and snoring, but with his eyes half open, his gaze focused on the two of you. Tommy let out a rare, genuine laugh, and it made you feel like somebody had lit a firework in your chest. He wrapped his fingers against your own and tugged softly, his voice deep and rumbling like the ocean.

“Let’s go upstairs, princess. I’ve got something to give to you.”

Your room was safe and it was warm. It smelt like ripe peaches and fresh mint and rolling tobacco, like leather and lace; innocence and sin. It had finally become yours again, interlocked like your fingers, intertwined like your hearts, something so precious and belonging to just the two of you. It had broken his already shattered heart when you were separated, and looking at you now through heavy eyelids as you sat on your knees in bed, waiting expectantly for him to reveal his present, he took a moment to thank whoever was listening for giving him a goddamn angel.

“You need to stop buying me things, Tommy.” You scolded gently, shifting on your legs.

“I’ll do whatever I bloody feel like.” He replied, undoing his cuff links and loosing his tie. He liked to always be properly dressed and sharp, but around you he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in your sweet comfort.

You watched him, so beautiful and angelic looking under the yellow lights. You smiled to yourself at his mussed hair and natural pink pout; the side to him that only ever flared up around you. You kept your eyes trained on him as he rummaged around the room, taking off his jacket and folding it over a chair before turning around and pointing a finger at you.

“Close your eyes.”

You huffed. “Is that really necessary?”

“Close ‘em.”

You looked up at him teasingly, exhaling loudly before closing your eyes. You felt him moving around the room, listening to the soft creaks of the wood and the sound of his footsteps as he approached the bed. He lifted your arm and you giggled as his fingertips ran down your skin, stopping at the middle of your wrist, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. You opened your mouth to speak but before you could he pushed something onto your ring finger. Even with your eyes closed you could feel his smile.

“Open.”

It took you a moment to register what you were seeing, the surprise knocking the air right out of your lungs. Your eyes flickered from him back down to your ring, your mouth agape. You hadn’t really thought about an engagement ring, flashy diamonds weren’t really up your alley and with everything that had happened tradition seemed to have flown out of the window, but you should have known Tommy would always be one step ahead. It was beautiful. So brilliant and classic and totally you, and you could feel tears pricking behind your eyes, your mouth going dry.

“Oh, Tom! Oh, Tommy it’s beautiful!” All of your restraint was gone, and you leapt onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist as he caught you effortlessly, like he always would. He let out a laugh, slightly stunned from your reaction, and the feeling of your lips pressing hot, quick kisses all across his skin. He held you tight, burying his nose in your hair and pulling you impossibly closer.

He felt your lips at the base of his ear, brushing against his flesh as you spoke. “This must have cost a fortune!”

He shook his head, not even needing words to convey his feelings. To him it was obvious. Nothing would ever be too much for you.

You admired it from over his shoulder, watching the hypnotising way that it glimmered in the light. He gently walked forward, leaning you down so that you were in contact with the bed, tilting up your face so that you were looking him in the eye.

“There’s something else.”

“Tommy - ”

He had already started unbuttoning his shirt, and you sat back and watched as his nimble fingers looped down his torso, finally grabbing something underneath and holding it towards you.

You inhaled sharply, feeling yourself floating.

He had your name engraved on a silver dog tag, much like the ones he had thrown into the cut with Freddie along with his medals of honour. This was what mattered to him, your name carved into the metal, dangling right next to his heart, because it was only you who owned it.

Your eyes met, filled with love and lust and true happiness. A week ago you had been lying in bed, terrified that Tommy might not be in love with you, but now it was clear that the two of you were bound together, that you were the safety of a lighthouse to his wandering ship.

He kissed you - greedily and open mouthed, and you fell into him, letting him devour you. His hands worked quickly, desperate to see all of you, everything laid bare for him, with nothing but the ring glinting under the pale light of the moon. He kissed your neck, collarbone, throat, his hands and calloused fingertips brushing your flesh.

“I love you, (Y/N).” He said and you melted. You never felt short of love around him, but hearing those three words was like a hit of heroin, and you were desperate for more. You knew that he was as well, that he craved your stability and the sweetness you gave him, and you pulled his head from the crook of your neck, getting lost in those ocean eyes.

“Oh, Tommy. I love you.”

—————————————————————

The weeks passed, and the ring on your finger still gave you goosebumps when you saw it - a reminder of the man you loved. Life continued, business slowly dripping back into your days, the hazy bubble of love you had entered starting to pop but never fully dissolving. Tommy was adamant that you shouldn’t start back at work, making it very clear to you that he didn’t want you doing anything until he was beyond certain that you were completely healed.

You hated being stuck in the house however, and still managed to find a way to get a very reluctant Michael to sneak in some accounting work for you to do. Something that made Tommy see red when he found out, only to have you pout and preen and make all of his anger subside, although Michael wasn’t as lucky.

Wedding planning hadn’t been on your mind, not with business booming or the wonderful trip to New York. You were happy with everything, dizzied with love and lust and laughter, and whilst your finger had gotten much heavier, there was nothing in your relationship you wanted to change.

That didn’t stop Polly or Ada however from trying to plan the best party England had ever seen.

You remembered a sleepy Sunday morning with the two of them, and the shrill sound they both made when you said that you didn’t want a big wedding.

“What? Finally something bloody good happens to this family and you don’t want us to celebrate?”

You rolled your eyes, dunking your biscuit into your coffee with a smile. “I’m not saying we can’t celebrate, I’m just saying that I haven’t really thought about it, I just want something small.”

“Small? Every woman has dreamt of her wedding day!”

You looked over at Ada, wanting her to back you up against such traditionalist views. Instead, she held up her hands and laughed, shrugging her shoulders. “I hate to admit it, (Y/N) but I agree with Pol! It’s about time this family had something good happen, and you and Tom deserve a bloody wonderful day. I’ve never seen a love story quite like yours.”

You smiled at her kindness but didn’t let up, stirring your tea with your matching spoon.“I don’t want a fuss! I don’t need a big wedding to be happy, I just need him.”

“Well that’s sweet.” Polly interjected. “But I want to buy some new furs and get drunk and wake up next to a man who likes to buy me diamonds.”

You laughed out loud.

“Since when do you need a man to buy you diamonds?” Ada snorted, staring down her aunt over her strawberry filled pastry.

“I don’t. But they always look better when they’ve been bought by someone else.”

You sighed, watching the two of them playfully bicker, feeling so grateful that the stars had aligned and they were now your family.

“So you don’t have any plans? Not even a date or a dress in mind?” Polly asked, her brisk voice cutting through the banter.

“No.” You smiled. “The only thing I’m sure about is the groom.”

Polly rolled her eyes. “Well that’s going to need to change.”

——————————————————————

Slowly but surely you started to fall back into old habits and patterns, picking up where you left off at the Garrison, and meeting Michael and Isaiah for drinks in the city. Tommy was reluctant to loosen his grip at first, so used to having you all over him in the comfort of your own home, safe and warm under the protection of his watchful gaze and gentle hands. He knew that he didn’t own you, and that he couldn’t keep you under lock and key like a prisoner, but he spent those first few weeks anxiously pacing in his study, dreading the phone ringing and finding that you had once again been hurt because of him.

He kept his work as separate from you as he could. He knew you wanted to be by his side through everything, but the wound was too fresh for him, too raw, and he needed to know that you were safe. So he kept his sins and misdemeanours away from you, making his home his sanctuary and you his oasis, finding religion in your lips and solace in your touch.

You were in no hurry to arrange anything. As much as you loved the idea of Tommy being your husband, you were happy to just let things slowly fall into place and try to regain whatever normalcy you had lost - but your future in laws had different plans.

Polly was a whirlwind. She spent the majority of her free time writing letters and phoning different market vendors from all over the world, her office filled with sugar icing and the finest loose leaf tea that money could buy, all gifts from those wanting to cater what was set to be the “wedding of the century.”

You didn’t mind - even when she stole you away for an entire work day to pick out cutlery and matching table runners, or you came back from the department store with pin pricks up and down your body from hours of having dresses fitted. She was happy, and when darkness seemed to follow the family like a storm cloud, you were adamant at grasping at whatever you could get, even if it wasn’t quite what you envisioned.

You knew Tommy found the whole thing hilarious. How his stoic and level headed Aunt had been swept up in lavender and lace, snapping at bakers over mango whipped frosting and arguing about the best way to cook lamb. It made him so damn happy though, when you came home after a long day - eyes tired but sparkling, face flushed and glowing, the way that he always wanted you to be. The distraction was what you needed, something sugar coated and dreamy to blur everything that had happened, and he knew that you were in great hands with Polly.

He couldn’t even deny that he was looking forward to the day. He knew more than anything that he wanted you to be his wife, and whilst he loved shiny, expensive things, all he truly needed was you by his side. He didn’t want a fuss, he wanted whatever you did, but imagining you all wide eyed and honey lipped at the alter, rings forever symbolising your connection, the sound of your first name with his last.

Well, that he liked.

Even though you were feeling a little out of your depth amongst all of the wedding planning, there were some things that you knew that you wanted. Like, the powder pink roses from the bushes Tommy had gifted you for your birthday to line the stairway, and ocean blue forget me nots in the bouquet - to match his eyes. You even had a hazy vision of what you wanted your dress to be, the hours spent walking through boutiques in London with Ada paying off as you debated A line, trumpet, and ball gown style dresses.

The main thing you were certain about, however, was who you wanted by your side throughout the whole thing. You had a feeling he knew something like this was coming, he always did have a way of knowing what you were thinking, but even Michael wasn’t expecting you to leap out of his wardrobe hand in hand with Finn, holding out a small cupcake with a candle on the top one rainy evening.

“Holy shit!” He squealed, watching as you and his cousin broke down in fits of laughter, clutching each other as you toppled onto the floor, jackets and shirts trailing behind you.“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Surprise!” You managed to say in between deep throaty giggles. “We wanted to catch you off guard!”

“Well you fucking did.” He tutted, “Hiding in my wardrobe! Nearly fucking shat myself.”

Your laughter was infectious, and soon all three of you were close to tears, your bodies exhausted and elated, gripping onto one another to stop from completely collapsing.

“So what was the point of this ambush, then?” He asked finally, his hands on his knees as he gasped for air, his face slowly returning to its normal colour.

You thrust the cupcake under his nose, the tip of the flame narrowly missing singeing the little hairs on his upper lip. “I want you to be my maid of honour! Well, man of honour.” You corrected quickly.

“You want me to be your what?”

Quick to silence his objections, you added - “Finn’s going to be flower girl!”

“Flower boy.” He interjected, “Katie’s flower girl. I’m just doing you a favour.”

“Yeah. Right.”

You and Michael locked eyes for a moment, challenging the other with your gaze. After a tense minute of silence, he broke out in a smile, one of the classic, cheesy ones that you loved so much.

“Do I have to wear a dress?”

You grinned. “Only if you want to.”

He threw his arms in the air in mock defeat, and he seemed so much younger, reminding you of running barefoot with him through raspberry fields, and throwing pennies down a pretty little well.

“Alright. Okay. Yes! Bloody hell.”

You leapt into his arms and Finn whooped triumphantly, partly pleased for you but mostly happy that he wasn’t the only member of the family who had somehow been talked into something he was bound to be teased over.

You felt Michael press a kiss to the crown of your head, his words getting muffled by your loose hair. “God, does Tommy even know what he’s got himself in for with you?”

You smiled, as sweet as spun sugar.

“Nope.”

—————————————————————-

As much as you wanted to stay in the rose tinted bubble that wedding planning had created, more and more problems with the business started to arise, and everything had to be put on the back burner - but it never dampened your spirits.

The hot summer days bled into crisp autumn nights, and you were trading your short lavender dresses for fur lined coats and boots. You celebrated Christmas with everyone, and discovered that a day you never used to enjoy was now your favourite, all because of the man you would up beside.

New Years passed in a flurry of drunken kisses and gold dresses and dancing until the sun rose. You vaguely remember finding Arthur passed out in the bathtub, surrounded by ice and champagne, the gramophone shaking the paintings on the walls. Your main memory was Tommy pulling you down the hall with him, away from the rest of the family, kissing you right as the clock struck midnight with hands tangled in your hair and a smile on his lips.

He often left for weeks at a time, work taking him up and down the country, and that meant that every morning and night you spent together was treasured.

One particular spring morning, when the air was starting to warm up and the days getting a little longer, you were sprawled on Tommy’s lap in the garden, reading from your novel whilst he read the paper. The day was less than half way though and you had already spent the entire morning in bed, making up for all the time you had lost. Now you leafed through your book with strawberry stained fingers, the curl of cigarette smoke twisting around you both.

Tommy had made it certain that he was not to be bothered that day. It had been almost an entire month of nothing but speaking over the phone and stolen kisses before he had to up and leave again, and the only thing he goddamn wanted was to do absolutely nothing with you. He was exhausted, not that he would ever admit it, but because you knew him better than absolutely everyone, you forced him to take a break before the man you loved completely crumbled like a bourbon biscuit.

So when you knew that he was coming back, you gave Mary strict orders to ignore all phone calls or mail regarding the business until the weekend was over. She had happily obliged, so you and Tom were both confused when you saw her running through the grass in her wingtips, her hands still soapy and wet from doing the dishes.

“Oh Mr Shelby! And Mrs Shelby!” She called, her voice so shrill that a few birds even took flight. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Tommy sat up as best he could with you on his lap, his arms snaking around your waist to stop you from toppling over. You could feel the cigarette moving with his lips as he spoke, his accent deep and throaty in your ear.

“Mary? What is it?”

She didn’t reply, instead thrusting a sage green and gold piece of paper at you. You caught it before it fell to the floor, and let out a loud, genuine laugh when you read the script. You felt Tommy leaning over you shoulder, and felt the rumble of his body as he laughed with you.

“Well,” He said finally, pressing his lips to your neck. “Guess we know what we’re doing next month, Princess.”

On July 20th

Please join us for the union of Mr Thomas Shelby and (Y/N, Y/L/N).

The wedding of the century!

————————————————————————————

Polly had organised everything. Whilst you had been dealing with the accounting from the Garrison and Tommy had been building his business, Polly had managed to do her job, and single handily plan a wedding.

Everything was full steam ahead. The house was a flurry of florists and caterers, the grounds were picked and preened and polished by gardeners that had sailed over from Italy and the south of France. It was wonderful, if not a little overwhelming, but it was worth everything to see your future Aunt beaming as she supervised everything.

Tommy had pulled you aside a few times, determined to make sure that this was what you wanted, ready to pull the plug if he even caught a whiff that all of the glitz and glamour were out of your comfort zone. But Polly knew you well - not that you ever doubted her - and everything was beautiful and muted, classic and beguiling, just like something out of a fairytale.

You tried to be as involved as you could, picking out flowers for the bouquets, letting Esme try out a million different hairstyles on you as you sat barefoot and cross legged on the floor like a child, running around the kitchen with Katie, taste testing all of the frosting you could find. More than anything though, you were excited, elated for the day and it had nothing to do with all of the smoke and mirrors, instead it was the man you would meet at the end of the aisle.

You could tell that Tommy was getting antsy for the day as well. He was softer, calmer, his touch on your skin gentle but possessive, calling you “Mrs Shelby” as you came apart under him. He found himself falling asleep a little easier, his breath not getting caught in his lungs, his mind wandering and imagining his favourite girl in a pretty white dress, waiting for him under an arch of blush coloured tulips.

The real surprise though, came the morning before your wedding. You were curled up on the sofa drinking strong coffee and eating honey toast as Tommy finished some paperwork. He was trying to get everything done before the end of the day, wanting tomorrow and the weeks that came after to be nothing but the two of you.

You told him you never felt neglected. You had been by his side through it all, you knew just how demanding his job was, but that still didn’t ease the niggle of pressure at the back of his neck when he had his nose in his books for too long. He truly couldn’t wait until he could shove everything and everyone else aside. All he wanted was his girl in his arms with his ring on her finger, and a bottle of sweet gin.

Everything seemed so within reach, until the front door banged open like a whirlwind, and you heard the sounds of Polly’s stilettos against the hardwood floor.

“Alright you two, no time to lose!”

You and Tommy lifted your heads quickly, your eyes meeting across the room. “Polly?”

“- and Arthur!” An voice added, accompanied by the familiar face of the eldest Shelby.

You smiled, shutting the cover of your book. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Tommy shot you a sharp look that said, don’t encourage them, but you ignored him, getting to your feet to greet them both.

Polly kissed you quickly on both cheeks, leaving you covered in a light layer of sticky red lipstick as she surveyed you both.

The study was the only place the two of you could find solace amongst the craziness of the wedding planning, every other room in the house filled with servants and buckets of flowers, the floors freshly waxed and polished. You could practically feel Tommy rolling his eyes behind you as Mary pushed open the double doors, holding your pastel pink overnight bag.

“Mrs Grey, I’ve packed all of Mrs Shelby’s things like you asked.”

“You did what?” Tommy said, rising to his feet.

Polly brushed him aside, reaching for the bag in the maid’s hand.“Ah. Thank you Mary, but it’s not Mrs Shelby yet, not till tomorrow. Let her be Miss (Y/L/N) for one last night.”

“Polly?” You asked, “What are you up to?”

She winked at you, her eyes catlike and beautiful, filled with the mischief that always hung around her. “You’re coming with me, love.”

“And you Tom, are coming with me.” Arthur said, pointing a finger at his brother.

“No. Fuck off, both of you.”

Polly put her hands in the air, but you could tell she had been expecting his resistance. “No Thomas. She needs a night as a free woman! Lord knows after tomorrow you’ll be keeping her all to yourself.”

Tommy straightened his back and crossed his arms, never one to back down from a fight, especially with his Aunt. “She’s staying here.”

“It’s tradition!” Arthur interjected, his voice already slurred despite it not even being noon yet.

“Fuck tradition.”

You moved forward, blinking up at your future husband. You knew why he was being so stubborn, the day before your wedding would be the prime time for something to go wrong, or something to happen with you, and keeping you within reach was what he wanted. As much as you loved spending every second with him, you also loved his family, and knew that perhaps a night of drinking and laughing and exhaling, was what you both needed.

He looked at you, his eyes unmoving and stern. You didn’t falter though, mimicking his frown and knitting your eyebrows together, trying to knock down the walls he was so insistent on putting up.

“It might be nice, Tom.” You said. “You deserve to have some fun, and it’ll make seeing each other tomorrow all the more special.”

A moment passed and you felt him falter, the corner of his lips moving ever so slightly.

“Alright. Bloody hell, fine.”

“Good decision brother.” Arthur said,

“We’re not leaving town.” Tommy stated simply, laying down the law.

“We wouldn’t dream of it! Johnny brought his caravan down, all of you men are camping in the woods. Us girls are staying here.”

“Aberama Gold doesn’t happen to be one of these men does he?” You said playfully, nudging Polly with your arm. She rolled her eyes but pulled you closer, her fingers toying with the satin ribbons on your blouse.

“Cmon, love, lets go.”

“Wait.”

You felt Tommy approaching you both, his large hands cupping around your face. You melted into him, his touch so soft and so warm. His eyes were so very blue, cobalt and icy, but they made your stomach infinite. He pulled you into him, smashing his lips against yours, not caring who was watching as he dug his fingers into the roots of your hair, dragging you against his body. Breathless, he pulled away, smiling at the frown on your face from the lack of contact.

“Be safe. Alright? I love you.”

“I love you.”

“Alright you two.” Polly said exasperatedly, but you could hear the happiness in her tone. “Let’s go.”

You let her lead you away, smiling at Arthur as he bounded towards his brother, filling him in on the multitude of activities he had planned for the night.

Every single one of them involved drinking.

As you left, Tommy shot Polly a look, one that told her to keep you near and to keep you safe, and she nodded in response. As soon as you made it into the hall she laughed genuinely, squeezing your shoulder.

“You will definitely fit in with this family, (Y/N).”

“Hm?”

“Yes. You have the Shelby woman’s gift.” She leant down, her lips to your ear. “The power to control a strong man like a puppet.”

———————————————————————

So there you were. Wrapped up in satin and lace, a glass filled with blood red wine, your friends happy and tipsy, swapping stories under the moonlight.

Bea and Violet, two of your closest friends from back in the little village had arrived to be your bridesmaids, their eyes wide and glimmering when they had seen the life you now lived. You watched as they sat with Polly, telling her tales of when you and Michael had been young and stupid - not that much had changed.

Polly had invited all of the girls from work and your friends from in the city, and the laughter bounced off the walls and engulfed you. Ada was enchanting, completely beaming as she sat next to you, telling you every embarrassing thing about her brother she could remember as she downed shots of vodka and cinnamon whisky.

Michael was lounging on the floor with one of Polly’s fine fox scarves draped around his neck. Charlotte was curled up in his side with a cigarette, her hand intertwined with his as she watched him with dopey, loved up eyes. You caught his eye and smiled at him, and he winked in response, joining in with the girls’ as though he was one himself.

You had told him to enjoy the night with the boys, but he refused. You partly suspected that it had something to do with Tommy, and that your fiancé had wanted you to have more protection, but you also knew that Michael wanted to spend tonight with you. Things hadn’t changed per say, but there was no denying that the both of you were getting older, and soon you would be a member of his bloodline rather than just his best friend.

You still had all of your wonderful memories, like running through sunflower fields and swimming in the river until the sun set, but they seemed further away now, almost out of reach. Part of you still clung to the past, the innocence of your youth, all peach skies and daisy chains, but there was no denying that your vision was cloudy, blurry, only focused on the future, and the only man that you wanted to be in it.

Somebody flipped the record over. You listened to the thump and rhythm of the music, smiling at those you loved as they danced around you. You adored everyone in the room, even Lizzie who had arrived already drunk and had glared daggers at you every time you turned around. These were your new family, your new life, and whilst you were elated and excited for it all, you also really needed some fucking air.

Almost on cue, Violet toppled over a champagne flute as she kicked her legs like a cabaret dancer, and you sighed playfully as she covered her mouth with her hands like a small child, her eyes as wide as the moon.

“Oh! Oh! I’m so sorry!”

“Violet, it’s alright! I’ll go and get some cloth, you ladies stay here, try not to break anything else, eh?” You said rising to your feet and darting out of the door, the sound of laughter following you like twinkling diamonds. As soon as you could you ran down the stairs, your feet pattering against the carpet, sneaking out of the back door and into the jet black night.

————————————————————-

The moon was round and full, and you sat cross legged on the grass, your bare feet dipped into the lake that wrapped around the property. It was your favourite place to clear your head, under the weeping willow, listening to the sound of the animals around you, the night air brisk yet comfortable. It was hard to believe that in a few hours you would be married, bound to this brilliant man that had swept you up like a rough wave, capturing you completely.

“Not having second thoughts are we?”

You smiled in the dark. His voice cutting through the night like a knife through butter.

“Tommy.” You breathed, turning around and facing him, the spark of his cigarette as bright as the stars above you both. He grinned at the sight of you, his shirt unbuttoned at the top and his sleeves rolled up, looking like a vision under the moonlight. “What are you doing here?

“I should be asking you the same question.”

“I just needed some air.” You said, curling your toes and inhaling the cool air, you felt his eyes all over you, and you wanted to get as close to him as possible, replace his gaze with his fingertips. You were inches apart and yet you still missed him, and you knew that you would feel this way forever.

“Ah. I take it the ladies are just as boisterous as the men. I only managed to get away after Arthur fell into the bonfire.”

“Bloody hell! Is he alright?”

“Burnt moustache and bruised ego. Nothing he can’t handle.”

You were about to laugh but you stopped suddenly, remembering something important.

“Wait! It’s after midnight!”

“Are you about to turn into a pumpkin?” Tommy asked, amused by your change in tone.

“No! We’re getting married today! You can’t see me!”

“(Y/N).”

“Turn around!” You squealed, pushing him away from you and spinning on your heel.

You heard an exasperated laugh.

“I think we’ve had our fill of bad luck, little one. Turn around, I want to see your face.”

He took you in. No makeup and loose hair and still squeezing all of the air from his lungs.

“We don’t have to do it like this, you know.”

“If this isn’t what you want - all the fucking champagne and caviar. We could leave tonight, get married in a fucking courthouse - just us. Or we could do it in Johnny’s field, get him to marry us right next to his caravan. I don’t care where it is or what we do, I just want - I just need to be with you.”

His words made your gut twist, the sincerity in his voice meaning everything to you, knowing that he would move mountains if it would make you happy, and that you would do the same for him. “I think Polly would murder us.”

“She doesn’t scare me.”

“She should.”

“No. I want this. Yes it’s all a bit... much.” you struggled to find the right word, feeling overwhelmed but ultimately completely spoiled by all of the fuss. “But I think it will be lovely. Your family deserve this. You deserve this.”

Looking at you all sleepy eyed, dressed in silk and satin and lace, your necklace hanging in the sweet dip of your throat, the ring on your finger glinting under the summer twilight, he really wasn’t sure he did.

He pulled you into him, not wanting to be apart from you for any longer. You smelt of home, like violets and green apples and vanilla cupcakes, and he felt like heaven, with his strong body and warm hands and comforting arms. Safe in his presence, you mumbled the words that had been the reason for many of your sleepless nights.

“Do you think she’ll come?”

She being your mother. The woman who had nursed you and bathed you and kissed the scrapes and bruises on your knees when you were a child had all but refused to attend your wedding. You understood why. Your trip to visit Michael in Birmingham was only supposed to be a few days, a week at most, and here you were two years later engaged to a man on the other side of England. You had tried to come home a few times, but the visits were cold and severed, Michaels foster parents filling your mother with poison about the family you had entered.

The phone calls stopped. No more weekly letters from your mother or care packages wrapped in string. You still wrote, but you never got a reply, only a small impersonal card at Christmas and your birthday. Michael understood, and always knew how to comfort you. He had also left the only family he had known and entered the strange underground where you both now lived. He was a boy from the sleepy village who had grown into a man.

It was harder for you, being a woman meant that you were held with certain standards and expectations. But, luckily you had Polly and Ada who taught you that you could be more than just a housewife.

It affected Tommy the most though. If anything was bothering you he knew how to deal without immediately, crushing whatever had made you sad with the heel of his boot, using his power to make everything alright again. He couldn’t do anything about your mother though, couldn’t twist her view of him, not when it was so accurate.

He was bad for you and you were too good for him.

It hurt him though, when late at night you would get that sad, wistful look in your eyes. Or when you would wait for the postman every Monday, the disappointment bleeding from you every time nothing came. He wanted to fix everything, but he didn’t know how. He left the bulk of the comforting words to Ada and Michael, and did his best to show you how much he cared in his own way, with gentle touches and shared looks and those three words that always made him feel better.

Your wedding though, was a different matter. There was no way in hell that you would be anything less than happy if he had something to do with it. His heart broke a little the day that the RSVP came back in the post, a simple “unable to attend.” scrawled at the bottom, as though it was a routine doctors appointment and not her daughters wedding day. Tommy knee he had to fix it when he heard the muffled sound of sobs coming from your bathroom, his heart ripping in two just thinking about the tears staining your beautiful face.

He had a meeting in London but he pushed it back, determined to right the wrongs that lingered around you both. His black matte Bugatti looked incredibly out of place as it trailed down the quiet village lanes, the purr of the engine much louder than the bird songs and running water in the background. It wasn’t hard to picture you in the chocolate box cottage that he parked in front of, smiling ever so faintly at the thought of you running through the grass when you were a child, hanging up laundry in the summer, drinking hot chocolate in the winter.

She opened the door after the first knock, her eyes the size of dinner plates and her mouth agape. Usually, Tommy would be firm and curt and rude, demanding exactly what he wanted and when he expected it to be done, but he knew that he had to be somewhat kind to your mother, even if he currently resented her because of the state you were in.

“I won’t stay long, Mrs (Y/L/N.)” He said, not bothering to step over the threshold, knowing that she’d probably scream if he did. “You might not like it but I’m in love with your daughter. I intend to marry her, and as my wife, I want to make her happy.”

Your mother didn’t interject, merely nodded, and Tommy took that as a sign to continue.

“I know what you think of me and you’re not wrong, but don’t punish your daughter over it. (Y/N) is safe and she is happy, and as her mother that should make you pleased shouldn’t it? Not behaving like a child and treating as if she is a stranger. I want my wife to be happy, so put aside your fucking prejudices and buy a nice hat, alright? For her sake.”

The tension was thick and hot and practically dripping over them, but their eyes met briefly, and something flickered between them.

“I hope to see you at the wedding.” He bit, his tone as sharp as his canines, turning on his heel and heading for the car.

He hummed quietly, listening the sounds of the night. The flicker of the bonfire in the fields behind, the sound of drunken singing and chanting that was louder than a siren.

“I think she will.”

You thought about saying something but held it in, not wanting to ruin the tender moment of him holding you against his chest, the heat of summer nothing compared to the two of you.

He moved you slowly, placing his hands either side of your face, his eyes veiled and moonless.“Go and get some sleep.” He said. “Because you won’t be getting any tonight.”

His voice was low and wolffish, and you felt your entire body setting alight at his words and the darkness in his eyes. His hold on you was so tight it was almost painful, but there was nowhere else that you would rather be. You smiled prettily, already feeling the butterflies coiling in your stomach, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him, sweet as strawberry ice cream and fresh honey, the taste lingering on his tongue. You left silently, leaving him grinning dopily, drunk on you and the heat of the evening.

He watched you as you walked away. His eyes never leaving as you stalked back to the house, his gaze lingering long after your shadow grew small, and the front door opened and closed behind you.

————————————————————————

Polly let you sleep in until 8.

You had crashed out after seeing Tommy, Polly had scolded you for leaving and then insisted that you got some beauty sleep, and you practically collapsed into the powder pink pillows on the guest bed.Sleep had come easily, and you grumbled a little when your new in laws had barged in the next morning, pulling back the curtains and letting in the heavy sunlight.

You were ushered into the master bathroom. The claw foot tub had already filled to the brim, rose petals shimmering on the surface, epsom salts dissolving around you. It was warm and inviting, steam billowing around your face as you undressed, and a cup of cinnamon coffee waiting for you on the cabinet by the side, next to an almond croissant from your favourite bakery in London.

You were slightly confused as to how she acquired it, but you knew by now to never question Polly and her methods.

Mary came in not long after, the maid you now thought of as a close friend unable to keep the smile off her face as she helped wash your hair, dragging a soft toothed golden comb over your locks and massaging lavender oil into your scalp. You scrubbed your skin until it shone, washed your body and dragged a razor across any unwanted hair, soothing your skin with thick coconut cream and honey salve.

You could hear everyone on the floors below, the sound of clattering china and rivalling voices coming up through the floorboards. You thought it might make you nervous, but it didn’t, if anything it made you feel more certain. The butterflies in your stomach were a swarm now, and all you could think of was him.

The girls were spread out in the largest guest room. The big windows had been opened, the lace curtains billowing in the warm breeze, and you could see start of the canopy being set up along the great expansive garden, one of yours and Tommy’s favourite places.

Ada squealed when she saw you, even with just a towel around your body and hair, she showered you in compliments.

“You’re glowing!”

“That’s because I’ve scrubbed off ten layers of skin.” You teased, letting her hug you tightly.

The rest of the girls clambered towards you, cigarettes in their fingers and champagne on their tongues. They were a blur of sweet lilac and warm honeysuckle, the colours of their soft chiffon dresses sparkling under the low lights, and you could feel your heart burst at the sight.

“Oh, Pol.” You said quietly, “Everyone looks so beautiful.”

She came towards you, a vision in her golden draped dress. It was covered in glimmering beads and diamonds, and she looked like a starlet on the big screen. She took you in her arms and laughed, “All you need is Auntie Polly to wave her magic wand.” She shook you slightly, running her fingers along the damp skin of your arm. “Come on, you. I think there’s a very impatient man waiting for you.”

Your nails were filed and painted pink, your hair mused and styled by Mary, leaving it long and wavy down your back, the way that both you and Tommy liked it best. You laughed out loud when Bea and Violet showed you their wedding present, a beautiful swan white lingerie set from the dressmakers in the village, complete with high stockings and a frilly lace garter.

“Maybe keep a doctor nearby when he sees you in that tonight.” Bea giggled as you fingered the delicate stitching and fabric.

Not everything was perfect though. One of the caterers dropped a plate of crab cakes and goats cheese bruschetta onto the floor, and one of the mares that was going to lead the carriage to the church had bolted at the unfamiliar hands and raced around the paddock away from the grooms that tried to catch her. Polly had huffed loudly and left with the girls and promises that she would be back with someone’s head, you had nodded, oblivious to everyones anxiety, too dazed at the thought of the day ahead to worry about the little things.

So they left you alone in the big bedroom, staring at your reflection in the golden mirror. It had been a four woman job to get you into the dress. Ada holding you steady by the armpits as Mary and Polly and a unsuspecting servant from downstairs was roped into helping you slide under the fabric, the tulle and lace as heavy as an anvil on you all. Polly had the dress shipped over from Paris after months of searching for the perfect dress, finally ordering one completely hand made and one of a kind, just like you, she had said.

You had never seen Polly cry.

Once, almost, when she had too much brandy at Christmas and she spoke of how much she wished Anna could have been there, the lump in her throat unmistakable as she told you how much she missed her daughter. And now in her nephews bedroom, her smile so wide and her eyes glistening, as she took your face in her hands.

“Thank you for making my boys so happy.”

You could hear her downstairs. The click of her stilettos and the sound of her voice, and once again you were infinitely grateful for whatever cosmic force had brought this wild, brilliant and chaotic family into your life. You turned back to the mirror, running your fingers over the delicate beading on the corset of your dress.

It was without a doubt the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. It was the colour of a fresh blanket of snow, so angelic and pure. There were thin straps at the shoulders, decorated with tiny crystals and jewels. The bodice was cinched and slightly scooped at the neckline, the puckering of your scar showing just above the pristine chiffon.

It had never been something you wanted to hide. It showed that you were alive.

The skirt was wide and full. Layers of expertly fitted tulle and crinoline holding it together, gilding and cascading like a waterfall down your legs and to the floor. There were pearls and thread and diamonds in the shape of flowers stitched right into the fabric, glimmering and twinkling like the stars in the sky when you shifted in the light.

“I’ve left the car running.”

You turned at the noise, smiling when you spotted Michael in the doorway, looking like a million dollars in his rich navy suit and tie.

“Just in case.” He continued.

You rolled your eyes, laughing sarcastically. “Ha. Ha.”

He stepped further into the room, his eyes soft and kind and as wide as dinner plates. The emotion on his face making your heart constrict, his face suddenly so much younger. “Wow.” He breathed. “You look beautiful.”

You blushed, your eyes darting to the floor as he approached you.

“Really, (Y/N). You look... wow.”

“Thanks Mikey.” You said softly, the two of you comfortable in the silence. In that moment nothing else really mattered, you were two kids again, running through waist high grass, sledding down the hills in the winter, splashing each other in the river. So much had changed and yet it would always be the two of you.

He broke the silence first, not one to linger in the past for too long. “This is for you.”

“Oh. Michael. You shouldn’t have! You’ve already done so much.”

“I wanted to.”

He rummaged around in his pockets, finally pulling out a large scarlet velvet box, slowly lifting off the lid. Inside was an exquisite sparkling marquise diamond necklace, intertwined with yellow and rose gold, oval shaped crystals draping and falling from the band like raindrops. Beside it, were two matching earrings, brilliantly cut, so clear that you could see your reflection, the gems woven together like ivy on a cottage. So stunning that you started to tear up.

You gasped, unable to swallow your shock. “Michael! This must have cost a fortune.”

“Nah. I stole it.” He teased, his voice a little shy.

You pulled him in to your arms. He kissed your head, pulling you tightly against him.

“I love you.” He said, his words muffled by your hair. “You deserve this. God, you deserve the world. I am so happy for you.”

You smiled into the fabric of his suit, muffling an “I love you” into the stitched seams. He squeezed you playfully, making you squeal as he hoisted you into the air.

“Careful. If you smudge my makeup there’s a good chance that Polly will shoot you.” You giggled.

“I can handle her.”

“Can you?”

His gaze faltered and you laughed, hitting his shoulder. He spun you around, lifting the necklace from its box and settling it onto your throat, his skilled hands fastening the clasp. You gasped at your reflection, your eyes meeting his in the mirror.

“It looks perfect.”

“I love it Michael.”

He pressed a kiss to your crown, watching as you delicately picked up the earrings and put them on.

“And tell Tommy that if he ever hurts you that I’ll kill him.”

A moment of silence, and then:

“- you’re not going to really tell him that are you?”

You both laughed as he outstretched an arm, looking you up and down proudly, his eyes already a little glossy and big. You thought of how much younger he looked.

“Cmon.” He said, “ I think they’re waiting for you.”

————————————————————

Thomas Shelby never felt apprehensive. He wasn’t familiar with the prickling anxiety that lingered at the bottom of his spine, or the dread that that had settled itself low in his gut, or the way that his palms were growing hotter by the second. He never got nervous. Until now.

Perhaps nervous wasn’t the right word. He had no doubt that you would be walking down the aisle in a few minutes, he knew that you would say “I do.” with as much certainty as him, and he knew that the golden band in Arthur’s jacket pocket would soon be on your finger. But still, the foreboding remained, hanging around his head like a dark cloud.

He didn’t deserve you. He knew that much for sure. He was the devil, his hands stained with blood, his lungs filled with ash, his insides dark and mean. You were an angel, soft and sweet and gentle and warm, the girl that could bring him to his knees.

The church abbey felt big, the summer sun filtering through the stained glass windows, the high ceilings making the room feel vast and empty, despite the crowded benches. He needed you to arrive, to settle the unease inside of him, to light up the room in the way that only you could, feeling every single empty space with your light.

He glanced around the room. Arthur was next to him, nursing a pretty tragic hangover and still a little ashy from his burn, but his smile was bright and he winked at his younger brother. There were plenty of blinders here, working rather than as guests, Tommy was insistent that he wanted as much protection over the day as possible, and even though it was your wedding day, he never would stop protecting you. He wouldn’t put it past his enemies to try something on what should be the happiest day of your lives.

He saw your friends from work. John and Esme and their litter of children. Lizzie and her new boyfriend, hanging off his arm and looking at Tommy with already drunk, hazy eyes. He even smiled as he saw Alfie perched in a middle row, his hat bigger than his head, his beard neatly combed and an array of golden rings on his fingers. Ollie was next to him, watching the room warily, always on guard.

Once Alfie had heard about the engagement he sent over fresh loaves and flowers and then invited himself to the wedding. But he needn’t have, as he had always been on the guest list.

Tommy’s eyes grazed over the person he had been looking for though. Your mother. Sitting in a pew near the front, draped in fine silk and a matching hat, looking entirely out of place but smiling tightly nonetheless. Their eyes met, a single flame of acknowledgement flickering between them. Unspoken but still lingering in the air, that they would both always put you first and that was all that mattered.

“You nervous, Tommy boy?” He heard Arthur say from behind him. He opened his mouth to answer but stopped as he heard noises from outside, the clunk of horse hooves and the rattle of the carriage. He felt his palms sweat and his heart race like he was back in battle, but this time the feeling was so sickly sweet and warm, he felt so fucking happy.

There was so much light when the doors opened. Polly was traditional, and even with all of the immorality in her life, she was adamant that you would both be married in a church. Neither of you protested, Tommy would have said “I do” in front of God himself if it meant you would be his wife. None of it mattered to him.

He remembered the day you came back from seeing the cathedral for the first time. How wide your smile was as you laid curled up in his chest, his lips leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck as you told him all about the ivy covered steeples and wildflowers and beautiful black jackdaws.

You were smitten, and so was he.

There wasn’t much they could do to decorate the church. Back at the house was where the main party was going to be held, but Polly was a genius, and every empty space was filled with tall flickering candles and bouquets of flowers. Everything felt clean and soft and pure, a mixture of old and rustic and fresh and new.

Light. So much light coming in from outside. The day already so sticky warm and wonderful, much like the summer the two of you met and fell in love. Katie came in first, giggling at the eruption of “aww’s” from the pews, everybody watching as she threw small white daisies and coral amber rose petals down the aisle.

Finn followed, looking like an adult in his suit and tie and freshly polished brogues. Then the bridesmaids, coy smiles on their faces, hair curled and polished and smiles that seemed to stretch all the way to the moon. Tommy could feel Arthur’s sly grin from behind him, and knew that he would have a job of distracting his older brother from the beautiful young ladies later on.

The fabric of their dresses swished and swayed under the light, the softness of the skirts and the sharp heel of their stilettos such a wonderful contrast. The ladies whose faces he vaguely recognised moved to your side of the alter, young and impressionable eyes looking around the grand room, obviously astonished and surprised that one of their own was going to be married in such a remarkable chapel.

Ada was next. Polly at her side. His sister and his Aunt commanding the entire room with just the sound of their shoes and the sway of their hips. They looked incredible, such a mixture of power and beauty. Polly’s smile was smug and self assured, but also filled with a certain kindness that was meant just for Tommy. Ada’s eyes were glistening, looking at her brother with adoration and pride, and that playful tease that he knew and loved.

The room was quiet for a moment. The anticipation roaring around like a wasp trapped under a glass, and Tommy could see Curly smiling happily, peering down the aisle as they waited for you to arrive.

For Tommy, his whole life had once been so loud, and then, as if by magic, everything stopped. All of the noise, the blur, the people. They all faded and disappeared. It was like having his head held underwater, the rush of the ocean and the pounding of his blood in his ears deafening him. He felt movement around him, everybody in the pews rising to their feet, the orchestra starting the bridal chorus. His friends and family were smiling so widely, enjoying the ambience and the atmosphere, holding their hands to their chest and wiping their eyes and muttering how beautiful everything was.

He didn’t see any of it. He only saw you.

You had always been the most beautiful woman to him, the kind of woman that made the air leave his lungs and his heart beat a little faster, but oh god, did you look magnificent. In your dress that wrapped and dipped and swayed around your legs like running water, the bodice that cinched you in tightly, exposing the dip of your throat and the curve of your collarbone, just begging him to leave a necklace of bruises next to the diamonds. Your eyes were wide, lined with kohl and blush on your cheeks that reminded him of sun soaked days and strawberry jam and wax stamped envelopes. The curve of your lips, raspberry red gloss that made him think of kissing you until neither of you knew where one of you began and the other ended, his hands in your hair, your legs around his waist.

He felt tears prick behind his eyes. Such a foreign feeling that he almost recoiled. He was so used to being strong and in charge, never letting his emotions bubble up on the surface where somebody might see. But seeing you walk down the aisle, filling the room with love and youth and kindness - knowing that you were going to be his wife, that your days would begin and end with each other, that you would fight and fuck and laugh and cry, tell each other everything, hold him when the shovels got too loud, clean him when he was dripping with another mans blood, be the one you called because no one else would ever compare.

He let his eyes grow glossy as you stepped forward, taking his hand in yours. You were so smooth and soft and small and he was so large and rough and hard, but you fit together like you had been moulded that way, as though there was no where else you two could ever be. So in a room filled with people who respected him and trusted him as a cruel, calculated leader, he let himself be washed away with you,

Because he was in love. And nothing else fucking mattered.

————————————————————���——-

Champagne and crystal chandeliers. Cotton candy coloured roses across all of the banister, wide full petals looking like silk under the lights. Pearl necklaces snapped in half and black satin gloves ripped up the seams, pretty fine china filled with bourbon, and laughter that never seemed to cease.

Tommy had tried to keep the party civilised for as long as he could, but the Shelby clan were persistent, and with the amount of booze in the house, they saw it as a challenge to drink it all.

The wedding dinner had gone well. Only the nearest and dearest invited to a seat at the grand table, you and Tommy at the head, his hand possessively on your thigh, your shoulder pressed against his chest. There were more courses than you could count, great big plates and bowls of honey roast ham and glazed partridges and peach trifle and jam soufflé. Your glasses were never empty and yet everyone was well mannered and kind, their voices a little softer than usual, their jokes a little bit cleaner.

You suspected it had something to do with the woman sat next to you, safely nestled in between yourself and Michael, the two people she knew. Your mother had been quiet but mellow at the ceremony, even going as far as hugging you with tears in her eyes as you gathered outside for the photos. There had been tension of course, but it meant the world to you that she was willing to put on a smile for the day.

You had no doubt that Tommy had ordered everyone to be on their best behaviour around her and you could feel yourself chuckle lightly as Arthur gave a very uncharacteristically charming toast to the two of you. The rest of the dinner passed pleasantly, and you could even see your mother start to loosen up as Ada spoke to her about her favourite novels and the current political climate.

After the plates had been cleared away and the guests started arriving for the party, your mother pulled you aside before you got to the living room.

“This might not have been what I wanted for you, (Y/N). You’re my daughter. I only want the best for you.” She murmured, wringing her hands as though she was willing herself to continue. “And it pains me to say it but... Thomas clearly loves you, and I truly feel safe leaving you in his hands. He might not be a good man, but he is good for you.”

Those words were more precious than all of the diamonds and jewels you had stuffed in your dresser upstairs, that your mother accepted the man you loved.

“Oh, Mum.” You sighed, pulling her into you. She was so familiar and warm and you could feel tears prickling behind your eyes. She held onto you tightly, kissing the top of your head and wrapping her arms around you as though you were a baby again.

“I must go and catch my train. But - I’ll call you (Y/N).” She said, and you nodded wildly, your smile so big you thought your cheeks might split.

You walked her to one of the cars, instructing the driver to take her to the station, waving at her as the car got smaller and smaller in your eyes. You felt Tommy approach you, his hand snaking across your waist, and you let him pull you close. He opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off, kissing him ferociously, letting your gratitude show in your touch. He accepted greedily, devouring you on the front steps of your home, his hands in your hair and your lips between his teeth, the sound of the party and music suddenly sounding so far away.

——————————————————-

With your mother gone, the party was in full swing. People were dancing barefoot because their shoes were stained with blood, sharing wide smiles between friends, the rooms smelling of skin and sweat and expensive perfume. You saw pupils blown up to the size of the moon, horse racing and gambling in the paddocks at the back, whoops and laughter vibrating around the house and shaking the paintings.

Tommy had kept you close, not that you ever wanted to stray. It was obvious that despite the genuine fun and admiration for him and all he had accomplished from those walking through his house with slack jaws, he only really wanted to be with you. It worked for the majority of the time, the two of you nestled on one of the ruby velvet chairs in the lounge, letting the crowds of people come and find you and offer their sincere congratulations.

But as always, being Thomas Shelby came with a price, and he often had to leave begrudgingly, with a tense jaw and closed fist, every time someone (Arthur) tore a painting or someone else, (Finn) crashed a car into the allotment and ripped up all of the courgettes.

He always left with a grumble and obvious annoyance swimming in his ocean eyes, planting a firm kiss to your lips and a promise to be back soon every time somebody called for him. He was never one for public displays of affection, he liked to make everyone know you were his but he preferred to keep his tenderness private. Maybe it was how drop dead gorgeous you looked in your gown, a looser, more intricate number you had donned for the evening party. Or maybe it was the rings you shared, the two solid gold circles looking like a sky full of stars under the lights, or maybe it was a mixture of the champagne soaked kisses and pure, uninhibited bliss he felt when he touched you - but whatever it was, you loved it, relishing the attention wholeheartedly.

You weren’t sure where he had got too this time, and somehow you had been wrangled into a conversation with a very tipsy Lord and Lady something or other, both of them fawning over you, their voices high like children. Your saving grace came in the form of a very tall, very stocky baker, his rings cool and comforting on your shoulder as he pulled you away.

“Yes. Yes. That’s very nice right, I’m just going to take (Y/N) away now, yes. Yes. Finish your drinks.” He waved them off as you laughed, “God, these rich fucks can talk for England. Fucking Liberty. Plus, I’ve seen them finish off all of the crab cakes. It’s not on.”

“No. Alfie, it’s not.” You said with a smile, letting him lead you into the parlour, the room almost empty and the faces that you recognised were pleasantly familiar. You grinned as you thought of how well Alfie knew the inside of the manor, something that you were sure to use as ammunition against Tommy any time he tried to tell you that “they weren’t friends.”

That was how he found you almost an hour later. Somehow the rest of the family had migrated into the room, bar Arthur who said he wasn’t drunk enough yet to be in the same room as Alfie. Tommy had been pulled and tugged in every direction, speaking to people he really didn’t give a shit about just to keep the party running smoothly, for your sake. He was on high alert, Johnny had said his boys had seen a figure running through the back paddocks, and just that alone was enough to send him spiralling. It was probably just a stray, strung out guest trying to get home, but it made his blood feel like it was electric.

He made all his men stay on guard, shut down the gambling and horse racing in the garden and made every single person who worked for him stay on red alert. Perhaps he was over reacting but he would never admit that, better to be overly cautious than have something happen to you. After doing laps of the house, checking on the cooks and gritting his teeth through drunken chats with whoever managed to grab him, he finally made his way back to you.

There you were. Face lit up under the candlelight, eyes tired but still sparkling, obviously exhausted but still enjoying the conversation, wanting to keep everyone happy. You looked ethereal. And for a moment he just watched you from the doorway, captivated by the movement of your hands, the bow of your lips, the way that you formed your words, so careful and light.

Alfie noticed him straight away, smiling cheekily as he pulled you into him. “Mrs Shelby.” He said, putting emphasis on both of the words and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. It was crazy how he could rile Tommy up more than anyone without being tipsy or high, somehow knowing how to push all of his buttons. “If you’re ever in London right, come to the bakery. I’ll show you a good time.”

You rolled your eyes at him, instantly knowing his game. You followed his gaze and saw the man you loved, your husband, watching you from the doorway.

“Tommy.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” He said firmly, brushing Alfie’s hand off you a little harder than he needed to. “I need to borrow my wife.”

God. Were you ever going to get used to him calling you that?

His hand slipped into yours and you melted, his lips grazing your ear lobe, deep accent rumbling like waves. “Cmon, lets go outside.”

You would have followed him anywhere, to the edge of the world if he had looked at you the way he was now, with those goddamn sky blue eyes and that smug, boyish grin.

Instead he led you through the party, playfully tugging on your hand as you both ran, desperate for nobody to see either of you and try to trap you in another mind numbing discussion. He took you through the servants entrance in the kitchen and into the courtyard, one of your favourite areas of the gardens. It was beautiful sculpted, with its high, emerald green bushes and intricately crafted pots and flower beds. You moved towards the fountain in the middle, surrounded by the rows of lilac and salmon tulips that swayed like ballet dancers in the wind.

He cleared his throat as you watched the water drip and fall and ripple down the stem of the fountain, the night sky reflected across it like a painting. It wasn’t chilly out but still he wrapped his blazer across your shoulders, filling your senses with cinnamon and nicotine and whisky sours.

“I want to read you my vows.” He said.

You turned to face him, confused.

“I know we both said we weren’t writing them, and I haven’t, not really, but there are some things I need to say to you.”

You opened your mouth to speak but closed it, watching him under the moonlight, how beautiful and how strong and how vulnerable he seemed all at once. You could feel your heart beating rapidly, your belly coiling and twisting, somehow he always managed to knock you off balance. He came towards you, close enough you could see the faint scars on his face from fights he had both won and lost, see the brilliance in his eyes and the sadness that always seemed to linger deep down in them, the curve of his lips and the sharpness of his teeth, the way that they had clenched around your heart and never let go.

“I deserve a lot of bad things. I do bad things, and I always thought that everything good would be taken away from me. I wasn’t born into a life like this, I’ve worked hard and given my blood sweat and tears to live like this, to get the things I have now. I’ve spent a lot of nights alone. Fuck, I’ve... felt alone since the moment I got on that train to France, and ever since I’ve been trying to find... something.”

“I thought it was all of this, but maybe it isn’t. I was always searching for the next big thing, the next move on the chessboard, the next city to take over. I didn’t realise how none of it made me happy until I walked into the Garrison the day you came here.”

A pause. A beat of silence.

“Look, I’m not the most articulate man, but God, I’m in love with you. I’ve loved you since the very first moment that I saw you. And - and - ” His voice crackles, fizzles out like a firework. “That day that I almost lost you, that nearly fucking killed me. That was when I realised that you were the thing I was searching for. You’re it for me.”

His hands on yours, pulling you in.

“For the first time in my life I don’t have to pretend to be happy. Whenever I see you, I just am. I can’t promise that I’m not going to fuck it up, but I’m trying, you make me want to try. You want to make me be better. You make me better.”

“I love you, (Y/N).”

He said, pressing his palm to your jawline, looking in your eyes with such sincerity and love that you felt as though you were floating.

“Oh, Tommy.” You breathed into the night, swept up and drowning in him, lost in lust and love and devotion, pressing your lips to his. “I love you.”

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

(WHILE COLLECTING THE STARS) I CONNECTED THE                                                                                                                  DOTS

or, how Nesta accepted the bond and decided to give living a try // ao3

Adoption /Self-Discovery/Domestic/Witch!Nesta/Mating Bond/Nessian/found family bc why the fck not/Healing

Heal the scars from off my back

I don't need them anymore

You can throw them out or keep them in your mason jars

I've come home

The first thing she notices is how small the girl is.

Her feet are dangling far from the ground and, even though she’s perched on a stroll and Cassian is kneeling on the ground, he’s still towering over her frame. The top of the child’s head barely sticks above the table. Her tucked-in wings make her look even tinier; tiny and miserable, wrapped up with a blanket like an abandoned kitten.

Nesta’s still high on all the magic. There is dark paint smeared all over her skin and her veins are buzzing with the sheer power that she and her coven has just leeched off the very bones of Illyria. She’s only starting to regain some composer and maybe that is why, for a good few minutes, she stays on the corridor and watches as Cassian patiently asks the girl if she wants something to eat or to drink, if she’s warm enough, if maybe she wants to take a nap, hearing nothing in return except for the stubborn, shell-shocked silence.

It’s only when the child pulls her knees up and hides her face in the material of the blanket when Nesta actually makes her presence known.

‘’Hello?’’ she calls quietly from her place on a threshold, not wanting to spook the girl further.

To Cassian’s credit, he does not whip his head towards her – but, after all, he probably knew she’s been here all along.

He always knows she’s near, just like she does.

‘’Hello, Nesta.’’ He says and there is something so heavy, so terribly dark ringing in his voice that she cannot help but shiver. ‘’Sorry, darling, are you fine sitting alone for a while here? I’ll be right back.’’

He raises his hand as if to pat the girl’s knee, but decides not to half-motion; it falls awkwardly to his side when he slowly raises to his full height.

The girl just buries deeper into the blanket.

Something about her – the clear despair radiating from every pore of her body – pulls  Nesta towards her like a siren song. She cannot tear her eyes off her, even when Cassian ushers her to the corridor, his hand burning her lower back.

‘’Sorry for no heads-up.’’ He whispers, face half-obscured by the shadows.

It’s almost dusk; the lovely pink light of the dying sun makes everything less real somehow. Or maybe it’s still the magic, the leftovers of it from the sabbath, she’s not sure.

She knows why he’s apologizing. Strangers still threw her off, especially here, in this – space they’ve created. The space where she walks barefoot and with her hair unbound, only for him to see. But how he knows that she doesn’t feel comfortable with unexpected visitors, she has no idea. Sometimes, she wonders how the hell Cassian even knows half of the things he knows about her, because she doesn’t tell him even a quarter of them.

Unexpected visitors that make her uneasy definitely don’t include little lost girls, though. Especially since there’s an unpleasant pounding in Nesta’s head when her mind starts to mull over why the girl would be here in the first place.

‘’Oh, stop being an idiot. Why did you bring her here?  Is she- is her mother-‘’

‘’Gone? Yeah.’’

Nesta closes her eyes so tightly that the whole night sky blooms on the underside of her eyelids.

That’s Illyria. – he told her the first time when he came home reeking of blood, his knuckles scraped to the raw meat. – It happens.

And there was not an ounce of acceptance in his voice, only this defeated helplessness. The same helplessness she’s hearing – she’s feeling – now.

‘’She doesn’t have anyone else left? No family?’’

‘’No one. Her father was killed in the war, as far as I know.’’

It happens. Females disappear. Females evaporate. Females appear with their wings clipped, with blood running down their thighs. Females find themselves in the wrong place, the wrong time… especially young, pretty widows, trying to make a living in any way they can, selling whatever they have, including themselves.

Nesta does not have to ask for more details, does not have to dig deeper. Cassian fixes her stare on the chandelier above her head and breaths deeply and, when she looks down, she can see dark bruises blooming on his knuckles, turning them all shades of purple.

Her hands are still cool from the autumn air. He shivers when her thumbs brush across his tender flesh.

‘’Those who did it to her – they won’t do it again to anyone else, will they?’’

‘’No,’’ Cassian growls, his fingers curling around hers. ‘’No, they won’t.’’

She lets her lips curl into a smile, the one that makes Devlon piss his pants whenever he throws a hissy about her coven, or rather about her dragging the clipped females to the woods at night to howl to the moon, as he calls it.

‘’Good.’’ She breathes out.

Her eyes slide on the wooden panels on the wooden panels, back to the kitchen; through the ajar door, all she can see are the black curls, the small talons on top of the girl’s wings peeking from the folds of the blanket.

She’s just so small. She cannot be possibly older than five.

‘’What’s her name?”

“Nicassia.’’ Cassian answers without meeting Nesta’s eyes and something akin to a laugh bubbles in her chest. Nicassia. What a pretty name, swishing like a mountain stream on the rocks, like the wind in the valley.

Ni-cass-ia.

It seems the irony has not escaped Cassian too, because he smirks slightly at her stunned silence.

‘’What are the chances, huh?’’

‘’Yeah.’’ She sounds a bit breathless. Nicassia. ‘’What  - where are you planning to take her?’’

She rather feels than hears his hesitance when he says:

‘’Well. There’s an orphanage in Velaris-‘’

Something tightens like a rock inside her core. Of course.

She bites on her tongue. Stop being ridiculous, Velaris is not the source of all evil in the world. She has no doubt that they will take care of her well there – keep her well-fed and clothed, educate her. Give her the care and attention she needs. Maybe she’ll be treated as something … something else, different, but not worse, Feyre would never allow that. Still-

There’s this nagging thought, coming back to her over and over again as she raises her eyes to the small bundle of misfortune on the stroll in the kitchen Nesta has started to think of as hers – what about the things they cannot give her in Velaris?

Nesta’s been living in the Illyria for three years now; she keeps count of every day while pretending she’s absolutely not doing that. And during this time, she has just begun to grasp the magnitude of her ignorance of how these people live and how they think and feel – but she also knows now just enough to realize that there will be no coming back for Nicassia if she’s sent to the Night Court so young.

No one will teach her the songs to keep the rhythm while sewing – no one will teach her how to sew in the first place, how to weave the promises and good fortunes into the fabric. No one will teach her the strange language, full of whistles and hard vowels, impossible to really grasp for somebody who did not grow up hearing it every day. No one will teach her how to put pebbles on the windowsills for protection or to hang bundles of herbs above the fireplace for prosperity and health. No one will make a rowan necklace for her upon her flowering, every hope, and dream that her mother has for her captured on the rope along with the fruits.

No one will teach her the sacred, secret language of Illyrian females, the rites and rituals of their womanhood. If Nicassia grows up in Velaris, she will be forever an outcast in her own home. Not High Fae and not quite Illyrian either.

She will once sit around the fire with other females just like Nesta does with her coven and she too won’t be a part of the story.

And Nesta cannot bear this thought, cannot help but fixate on it.

‘’Nesta.’’

Cassian’s hand is warm and steady on arm, gentle, when he squeezes it.

He’s always gentle with her now, hesitant almost. She’s trying not to miss the times when he was challenging her with every move, every word, driving her insane. It’s better this way, when everything between them is so delicate, fragile like an eggshell. It’s better like that, she tries to convince herself every day, every night laying alone in her bed, her very skin burning from desire.

Sometimes he sleeps beside her to keep her nightmares at bay, but honestly, she almost prefers the nightmares to this unbearable, painful distance between them.  

‘’You cannot – you can’t keep her, Sweetheart.’’

She knows what he means by that – she knows he means all the sleepless nights and the emptiness still present in her eyes more often than not. Her still too-skinny hands, her still-not-quite mastered powers. How she would not touch booze for all days of the year except for the anniversary of her father’s death when she gets so absolutely pissed that she sleeps through the next week. The fact that they share fears and dreams and silence, trade quiet feelings, small kisses, absent-minded caresses every day, but they have still not traded the actual words, did not dare to voice anything they feel for each other.

She knows he only wants to protect her.

But maybe a time for coddling has passed. Not when there is a child sitting in their kitchen, small and alone in this world and this time, she has power – power, and strength, and will – to help her.

‘’Maybe I can’t’’. she says softly, slowly. Nicassia’s dark curls spill on her shoulders. Nesta’s hands itch to braid it the way it’s supposed to be braided, just like Emerie explained to her one time-  first parted in two, then divided into four strands and woven together (Health. Protection. Love. Devotion.). Nesta’s no Illyrian, but she can learn. She can ask her coven to teach her, to teach her how to sing lullabies in Illyrian, which bedtimes stories she should tell-

Ni-cass-ia.

Nesta thinks about a boy of five, dumped onto the cold mud, taught over and over again in the most horrible way that he has to kill, beg or steal for every little crumb of love in his life, that it will never be given freely to him, that he will never be worth it.

Nesta thinks of a girl of eight, burning with anger too vast to be contained, only learning decades later how to be gentle, how to allow others to be gentle to her.  She thinks of Feyre and Elain, of loving too much and not enough simultaneously, of not knowing how to feel anything without this magnitude of feeling devouring her whole.

Nesta turns around to face Cassian, her hands gripping his too-strongly. There’s fire – fire- burning inside her brighter than any magic ever did, hotter than any rage ever did.

She needs us. – she thinks and then: I need this. I want this.

I want this for us.  

She doesn’t remember ever wanting anything more. She doesn’t remember the last time she has felt so much.

How can they continue to pretend they’re walking on eggshells when she feels every rise and fall of his chest as if it was her own? When she could’ve as well grabbed on this bond between them or hang herself on it, that’s how strong it is. Forged from some ancient metal. Hardened in flames.

Cassian kneeling on the floor in front of this girl. Nesta coming home.

‘’But maybe we can.’’

His eyes burn golden, staring down at her. She can almost hear his heart stumbling in his chest. She’s trembling, waiting for him to tell her, no, to tell her that’s insane and wrong, to try to reason with her.

But maybe her own heart is painted on her face or maybe the implication of her words are too vast, too great to grasp, or maybe it’s that fact that all her walls go down for a moment when she’s too desperate to keep them up and he sees her for what she truly is for a moment, or maybe it’s all of those things altogether or something else entirely – but Cassian doesn’t say no.

He looks to the kitchen again, his jaw clenching and eyes turning soft when one of Nicassia’s bare feet emerges from the blanket to dangle above the floor.

‘’Are you sure?’’

One step, two steps before she’s so close she could’ve counted the freckles of hazel in his eyes.

Be brave.

‘’I want this with you. I want her. Do you – do you want it too?’’

And she means more than Nicassia, or rather – she means all Nicassia can possibly mean, the whole ocean of dreams she has never dared to venture into, so deep they could both drown in it.

In her grand romance novels, he would’ve pulled her into his arms, give her a sweeping kiss. But in these books, there seems to always be a perfect moment for everything, the exact seconds when stars align and the realization comes like a lightning strike. Nesta does not believe in this type of love any more- doesn’t believe in the perfect moments. It was always Feyre’s brand of romance. Everything in Nesta’s and Cassian’s story has always been complicated and ill-timed. She doesn’t expect to be swept off her feet or wooed anymore.

She just wants to come home. Finally, after all those lonely years.  

Cassian doesn’t give her a grand kiss. Instead, he raises their linked hands to his lips and whispers against her skin – quietly, like a secret, like an oath:

‘’I do. Fine then, love.’’

And for a second she can almost see that small boy entering Rhysand’s mother’s cottage in the war camp, craving family and belonging above all reason once again.

Her body turns soft, jelly; her arm raises up, palm resting in the crook of his neck, thumb brushing the line of his jaw. She’s on her tiptoes before she realizes she has even made a move.

For the first time since they met, they meet each other halfway; his forehead resting on hers, his hand pressing hers to his heart.

‘’Fine then, love.’’ She echoes and, all at once, warmth erupts under her skin like a raging forest fire when the bond tugs on her insides and snaps in place, sweet and familiar, the gravity keeping her feet on the ground.

[nctrenjunie]

Questions ~ Jeno (M)

Author: Sera

Genre: Smut

Words: 2.5k

Comment: Hey, I´m sorry that this took so much time. Some of you might already know but I lost a lot of confidence in my writings the past months and I just couldn´t write. But I´m really really happy with this one and I would love to hear some Feedback please!! Next up is renjun!sub. AND THIS>>> ‼‼‼ is very important bcs I get rlly sad about stuff like this so please read. THANK U ALL ❤

Request: 

What time is it?

You wondered, analyzing the gloomy sky. Darker shades painted the right skyline and lighter shades the left due to the big skyscrapers rising up the sky. It almost looked like a canvas or more like a photograph that you could find hanging around in a rich man's apartment, no meaning whatsoever. 

What a view of modern culture a photograph like this could bring to someone's eyes?

There would be thousand of interpretations: the contrast between dark and light could symbolize the cliff between poor and rich, between nature and technology or between love and hate.     

But it scared you sometimes: The lack of interest you had in a stunning view that might change one's perspective of life. But for you there were plenty nights like this, where you would get the opportunity to stare blankly at the breathtaking skyline. Blanking your thoughts out made it easier, you could stare holes thru the sky similar to the void you felt deep inside your body in these nights. 

How could someone enjoy and interpret this superb view without sharing and clarifying their own analysis with someone else?

Perhaps it wasn't your lack of interest that made you fear your own blank thoughts but more over the cold bed sheets next to your side. The longer the bedside kept itself empty the more it reminded you of the big balcony windows through which a cold breeze passed its way into the enormous bedroom. You didn't feel cold tho, your body lying still, shivering once in a while. No, it wasn't coldness but a plain conventional feeling that crawled itself slowly into your body, reminding you of the Biedermeier period. 

Just as you thought your blank musing would stop a cold breeze passed over your body, bringing your hand instinctively down between your legs as you stretched your body out. Your actions made you taste a mild warmth from your core up to your body, forming into a warm shiver that crept itself through your whole figure.

When will he be here? 

You wondered. It must have been a busy day, or week or maybe month. You were sure you missed him but not since when. 

Looking at the ceiling you made out three scenarios in your head to prepare yourself for when the culprit of your coldness enters the room. A) Resisting your desire of warmth you ignore him totally, waiting on the bed for him, just to get up when he lays down, making your way out of the room. B) Trying to contain your anger you want to be left alone for some seconds but as he keeps bugging you, you lose your cool and start to scream out your frustration at his face. Or scenario C) You fail at rebelling against your bodies demand to let him fill you with warmth so seeing him enter the bedroom you greet him with a lust filled french kiss.

You couldn't even come to the point of counting the seconds, waiting for his arrival. Instead, loud footsteps and a drained groan echoed through the gigantic apartment, getting louder with every step as he approached the bedroom. Irritated by the loud turning doorknob, your body decided on its own to stay on the bed, untroubled by the well-built figure that just entered the cold room. 

Suddenly you felt drenched out, tired. Probably not from the other person's presence, but the energy your body planned to put into scenario C) seemed to have left your body the second you looked into his pretty face. 

What a view you might say! round but sharp jawline followed by a pair of long lush lips and a large but snub nose that you loved to peck in the morning. Sadly this angelic face wasn't as bewitching as it should be owing to the blood trickling out of his nose. It took you some seconds to realize that this wasn't the baddest part. The thick substance stuck halfway dried onto his hands, trickling slowly down his veins.   

 Mustering his eyes you noticed a special light into his eyes, letting you now that he needed love. Jeno kept his eyes on you. It was a drained out look, driven by thoughts and questions. Quite confused you must say. An unknown power pressed you down onto the bed, leaving you move less as you watched your love walk into the bathroom. 

It definitely was a questionable silence. Although you could hear the sink running through the bathroom door you made sure to throw scenario A) and B) out of your mind, awaiting the moment Jeno walks out of the bathroom to join you. 

He noticed you mustering his arms down to his hands. There was no scar or blood trace, letting you know it wasn't his dried blood you saw earlier. It didn't scare you tho, at least not like his stern face, tired and confused. 

What is he thinking about?

There wasn't enough time for you to think about that as he called out your name, leaving thick air between both of you.

“Could you come here for a second..darling?”

Taking your time you stood up from the gigantic bed, hesitantly making your way over to him. Your legs trembled a little bit due to the realisation that it must've gotten colder in here. Jenos hand grabbed you gently, pulling you close to him with a little force. A fresh smell filled your nostrils. Observing his face there weren't any blood splashes or scratches left, besides a tiny bit of dried blood coming out of his right nostril. Although the blood touched image of him didn't scare you it seemed that he was disturbed by his own actions today. He mustered you clearly for some time, hands around your hips, trying to find some sort of negative reaction inside your eyes.

Giving him his time to reflect you tried to burn every centimeter of him into your head. His bewitching face made you feel a different kind of warmth. He was shirtless making you anticipate the rest of the night. Black messy hair, broad shoulders, toned abs but not to much and a pair black jeans sitting perfectly onto his hip bones toning his waist in some kind of magical way. Oh god this man drove you fucking crazy. You made sure to go with his rhythm, knowing his sensible mood. He would put away his Glock18 wasn't hanging down his belt. It was one of these nights where he would put away even the smallest weapon away, tired of businesses and fights. 

"Tell me, what's on your mind baby?"

Jeno didn't give you an answer. Instead, this night was made for him to question you and every part of your body. His left hand moved up, slowly and trembling slightly as if he feared to touch you.

"Answer me, can I caress your cheek without feeling you tremble in fear?"

Some might be scared of him but you would never. It perplexed you, almost annoyed you that he asked such a question. Encouraging him to lay his hand onto your cheek you put your hand over his. His soft hand then landed onto your cheek, gently rubbing over your skin. Wanting more of this warm feeling you decided to tap your other hand slowly over his toned belly, up to his shoulder before lying it down behind his neck. Playing with his hair you broke the silence.

"Your hair has gotten longer, I've missed you."

Ignoring his anxious thoughts of you fearing him you continued going through his hair. A small kiss landed on your lips, to short to make it seem enjoyable but enough to unleash a spark. A small moment that made him into the adorable person he is. 

Both of your hands were now in his hair, playing with it wildly, messing it up. Jeno pulled you closer, a gentle but impactful move, his hand kept caressing your cheek and his lips pecked yours shortly before moving down your neck. Expecting some hickey causing kisses you were surprised by short lovely pecks against your sensible skin. Pulling you even closer he embraced you in a tight hug. Kind of surprised you loosened your hands out off his now tangled hair to embrace him.

Going with the flow you waited for his next move. You wouldn't like to explain it as plain  warmth what you felt right now. It was something more powerful, bewitching like a spell. Both of his hands decided it is time to move down your back, sliding down to your ass and back up to your hips. Using them as his guidance he turns you around, pressing your back against his toned abs. A unexpected hand painted a light coloured breeze over your neck before planting dark kisses onto the same spot. Laying your head onto his shoulder Jeno left out a light chuckle. Taking advantage of your relaxed form he plastered more kisses onto your skin, variating between your neck, collarbone and cheek. On some occasions his right hand moved up to bring your lips closer to his. Soft, sweet, rough and sinful kisses were shared. Although the kisses started to get steamier there was still a lovable and caring tension between you and him.

“If I move a little further down your belly, will you moan for me?”

You were breathing extra loud between the kisses. You noticed the change in motion: His right hand moving down your bodyline, over your navel before stopping right on your core. His left hand continued on, moving into the opposite direction to cup your already bare chest. A whimper left your lips owing to him groping your breast softly and a faint pair of teeth biting into your shoulder before licking over the soft abused skin. You  noticed how wet you were with only your underwear on and his hand laying calmly over your core. Tired you animated to move one hand up into his hair.

“Tell me, do you like it if I touch you there?”

Jeno smiled satisfied, feeling you tighten the grasp on his hair as two of his fingers moved slowly down the slit of your core. Playing with your wetness tiny moans left your lips bit by bit. Taking his hand out of your panties he moved his hand up, licking your fluids off his fingers before moving them down again. This time he rubbed a little harder, using your wetness to circulate your clit. Taking your now longer moans as a yes to his question Jeno kept going. You felt your nipples getting harder owing to jenos finger rubbing sensually. You wanted to cum so bad, your body stimulated all over, pulsing from your head all the way down to your core. Your moans became louder as you concentrated on your release. Jeno kept you close to him, stopping you from squirming away from his touches. A harder grasp around his hair and your fast lifting chest indicated your orgasm. Jeno rode out your high, sticking two of his fingers into your pussy and taking them out fastly before repeating his action a few times.

“You're beautiful Y/N.”

Your were sweating against him, his hand still in your underwear whilst his other hand moved your lips to his. A sensual and superb kiss was shared before you had to part due to the lack of air. Although, you still got a glimpse of your own taste from his lips. Picking you up Jeno moved you onto the bed. You were laying there, tired and still out of breath. The skyscrapers illuminated Jenos left side more than the other one. 

If you had the chance you would've taken a picture right here and then. What a beautiful view! It would have looked stunning on the big wall down to the kitchen. Some people might see it as a obscene or pervert picture but for you it would've been a masterpiece.

Jeno between both of your legs, an almost golden light illuminating his form in a unique way you could observe it your whole life. Really messy hair and sweat droplets rolling down his tense face. His lips 1 centimeter a gape giving a preview of the teeth that bit sinfully into your shoulder. His eyes filled with his thousand sins and pure love only for you. Strong muscular biceps and toned veins moving down his underarms to his perfect marmored hands that were fidgeting with his belt before throwing it carefree onto the floor. He looked marvellous, like a ancient greek god and you knew you were his muse. 

Getting rid of the rest of his clothing Jeno moved closer to you. You rubbed up and down his already erected cock as he hovered over you to connect your lips again. Teeth biting on your lips before intertwining his tongue with yours. You felt some precum on your hand. Placing himself in front of your entrance Jeno put you in a more comfortable position, making sure that you're feeling good. His louder breaths became more silent looking you deep in the eyes with his dark brown orbs.

“Let me know, am I allowed to treat you like my queen tonight?”

Moving both of your hands up to his face you pulled him down, pressing a short sloppy kiss onto his so kissable lips. A small smile spread itself over your lips.

“Yes Jeno, yes you are allowed.”

Taking in your words you felt his erect member enter you returning your kiss with a longer one. The kiss was interrupted multiple times by both of your heavy breaths and moans. Penetrating you Jeno kept a steady tempo, holding your head to make sure you're not gonna hit it against the headboard for when he starts to get a little rougher. You couldn't describe the erotic feeling that moved its way from your core onto the rest of your body into words but your screams and pants made it pretty clear. Closing your eyes made you feel everything ten times harder. Jeno moaned through gritted teeth, panting your name sometimes too as one of his hand moved up to go back to knead one of your breast. To put the cherry on top jenos tongue came down to one of your bud. Rolling back your eyes you made sure to let him know that you were about to cum. 

Jeno took both of your legs. Knowing how close both of your orgasms are he put them on his shoulder. Grabbing the opportunity he pounded into your pussy from another angle making sure to hit your G-spot. Not being able to wait anymore you released a second time. Riding out your orgasm Jeno became more sloppier, pounding a few more times before pulling out and releasing onto your belly. A special kind of warmth was shared between both of you.

Both panting for some time he laid next to you now. The skyscrapers illuminated the gigantic bedroom. You plastered a kiss onto his cheek with your last energy. Both of you closed your eyes, chests heaving up and down.

“Speak up, will you promise me to stay by my side?”

“Yes, yes I will Jeno.”

[hartigays]

2 for Harringrove ??

2. “The thought of losing you scares me.”

(these are supposed to be fluff prompts but we going ✈️ end of the world anyway bc i can)

it’s been six months, eight weeks, and four days since their plan at starcourt failed. six months, eight weeks, and four days since the sky turned black and red and the world grew cold. six months, eight weeks, and four days since the gate blew open and effectively ended the world as they knew it.

six months, eight weeks, and four days since billy almost died in a pool of black sludge on the grimy linoleum floors of starcourt mall.

he’s doing better. most of his wounds were shallow, save for the few that went deep enough to nearly take his life. but doc owens had a house full of supplies to suture billy up like frankenstein.

even after owens deemed him fit for travel, they stayed there for a while. billy and the rest of the party. holed up in owens’ house, trying to figure out just how they could possibly ride this out.

two weeks into their stay, they came late at night. the demo-dogs, a whole swarm of them. the group defended the house as best as they could, but it was a lost cause. they were out on the open road by the what used to be considered sunrise.

time has ceased to have any real meaning anymore, if they’re being honest. there’s no morning or night, just darkness and a cold that seeps deep into their bones and refuses to go away.

the line between the two dimensions has been all but erased. the upside down has consumed their world; swarms of demo-dogs prowl the frozen wasteland, the mind flayer takes more and more people for its army each day.

they keep running. from city to city, state to state, just barely escaping the mind flayer’s grasp each time.

the kids don’t smile much these days. el is tired more often than not, weakened and drained from the constant use of her gifts. joyce doesn’t have many soft, kind words to lend out anymore. hopper has distanced himself from everyone, both physically and emotionally. standing guard and pacing around in the night on the fringes of wherever they’ve made camp.

and steve. steve doesn’t smile softly anymore, doesn’t make his goofy jokes or try to cheer the kids up. he just grips onto his bat, wound tight and always at the ready, constantly on high alert.

billy is surprised, given his near-death experience, that he’s actually not the most fucked up person in this broken group. he supposes he was built more for a world like this than most. he’d hardened himself to the world they knew Before. this one just seems to make more sense for someone like him.

violence has run in his blood since he’d exited the womb. fighting monsters and suffering from hunger and exhaustion and living in a world devoid of warmth and happiness apparently just comes naturally to him.

that isn’t to say that billy doesn’t have a lot of regrets. he regrets not telling max that he loved her more, Before. it feels odd to say it now, like maybe he’d only be saying it because they could die at any given moment.

he regrets not going back to california to see his mom when he had the chance. he regrets being cruel to the kids he now spends every waking moment protecting. he regrets convincing himself to waste his time with someone like karen wheeler, something he only did to bury the ugly truth about himself and his desires.

billy certainly regrets not being kinder with steve.

it’d be easier, if he had. it’d be easier to tell steve now that he loves him. it’s another situation where it just seems forced, like he’s only deciding this now when there’s no one left to choose from.

that could never be the case, but billy can’t see steve thinking otherwise. it’s just. billy didn’t let himself feel it for so long. his love for steve crept up on him, from the moment they first met. there was just something about him. and the more his feelings grew, the more afraid he became. the more he lashed out and repressed how he felt.

it feels like a lost cause now. but billy doesn’t quite think things like that carry the weight of any real importance, not anymore. not when they have to fight every day just to stay alive. so, he focuses on that. on finding food, water, shelter. on protecting the party, one day at a time.

billy has had to do a lot of protecting today. they had to pull up stakes at their last camp, another demo-dog pack blowing through. they lost a lot of stuff in the process - food and water, mostly. the demo-dogs seem to learn rather quickly what items to destroy along with the people.

they drove for nearly three days before finding a dilapidated motel in a small nebraskan town. billy, steve, and nancy help hopper do a sweep and clear out any demo-dogs hiding in the shadows. they set up a perimeter not long after.

hopper takes billy and steve on a run into town for supplies. it’s been nearly picked clean by either other survivors, or demo-dogs. they’re still prowling the streets when they arrive.

needless to say, it doesn’t go very well.

billy has to see doc owens immediately upon their return; his arm was nearly shredded by a particularly nasty dog. steve had sprung in at the last moment, beating the ugly bastard off of billy with his bat. now, steve nearly paces a hole in the floor while owens works on stitching billy up.

he doesn’t know why steve is so wound up tonight. they got enough supplies to satiate the whole group, especially the kids. it was a good run.

they’re sharing a room at the motel. no one sleeps alone - it’s one of their cardinal rules. billy heads to it after they eat. steve follows after him and slams the door shut so hard it rattles on its hinges.

“the fuck, harrington?” billy hisses, sitting up in alarm. “you trying to bring a pack of dogs down on us like it’s fuckin’ judgment day?”

“you almost died again.” it’s said with an air of finality. like billy should’ve already known the cause of steve’s upset.

“that’s life now, pretty boy,” billy sighs, rubbing his sleep-deprived eyes. “you really should learn how to get used to that.”

steve cuts him a glare. “you don’t fucking get it, do you?”

there’s obviously something that billy is missing here. he doesn’t quite understand what steve is so bent out of shape about.

“obviously not,” billy says, standing and moving to slip his shirt off before climbing into bed.

he doesn’t quite make it back into the bed. steve marches over and grabs his arm, stopping him before he has the chance.

“i can’t - i can’t lose you too,” steve tells him, his voice breaking. “i can’t watch you die. i won’t. the thought of you not being here, losing you, it just. scares the fuck out of me.”

billy swallows around the lump that has mysteriously formed in his throat. he doesn’t brush steve off when his hand slides down his arm, until it can grasp billy’s and tangle their fingers together. he’s pretty sure he stops breathing, though.

“you won’t,” he says, finally. “who else would keep your pretty ass out of trouble?”

“billy, i’m serious. you can’t keep putting yourself in danger like that. like you did today,” steve begs, squeezing his hand tight.

“that dog would’ve killed you if i hadn’t.”

“yeah, but it almost killed you!” steve cries, releasing billy’s hand to throw his up in exasperation.

“oh, what, so i’m supposed to let you die and just protect myself instead?” billy snaps, his voice raising an octave. “fuck off with that shit. you think you can’t handle a world without me in it? how the fuck do you think i’d feel if i lost you? you ever fuckin’ consider that?”

he’s borderline shouting now, and steve slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide with surprise. billy peels his hand off, taking a steady breath. laces their fingers together again.

“there’s never going to be a time where i don’t pick your life over mine,” billy tells him. “better get used to that, too.”

steve takes a deep breath of his own. he searches billy’s eyes, before squeezing his shut and leaning in. he rests his forehead against billy’s, just breathing together for a moment.

“i’m sorry,” steve says quietly, breaking the silence that has fallen between them.

“for what?” billy questions, his brows furrowing.

“for not doing this sooner.”

steve pulls him in and seals their mouths together. billy emits a soft noise of surprise, his eyes flying open. he feels frozen, like he’s not quite sure if this is really happening or not. but when steve starts to pull away, billy’s brain comes back online.

he yanks steve in closer, kissing him with every last bit of energy he has, and then some. steve’s hand leaves his, only for both of them to grasp onto billy’s shirt, fingers curling into the material. billy cradles steve’s face in his hands, holding him like he’s precious.

he kinda is, if billy hasn’t made that abundantly clear yet.

“i’m so fucking in love with you,” steve breathes when they break apart. “god, i can’t believe i haven’t said that until now. you’ve almost died like, five hundred times and i’ve never told you the most important thing that i could ever possibly say to anyone ever and -”

billy cuts him off, giving steve another kiss, this one warm and gentle. “it’s okay. i - yeah. i love you too. didn’t ever say it either.”

“guess that makes us both idiots.”

billy smiles running his fingers through steve’s hair. it’s long beyond reason, which is both sexy and dangerous.

“we need to cut this soon,” billy comments. “god forbid something grabs onto this damn mop while we’re out on a run.”

“i’ll let you cut mine if you let me trim your beard. it’s getting a little mangy,” steve offers, then makes a face. “god. is this what intimacy is in the apocalypse? cutting each other’s hair?”

billy snickers softly. “i think i have a few better ideas.”

“oh yeah? like what?”

taking steve’s hand, billy pulls him towards the bed farthest from the door, smiling softly. “i think it’d be better if i just showed you.”

steve pauses. and then, “oh, you mean right now?”

billy plops down on the mattress, reclining back on his elbows. he arches a brow. “what, you got somewhere to be, pretty boy?”

there’s only a split-second pause before steve is scrambling to straddle billy’s hips. steve smiles down at him, leaning down to kiss the tip of billy’s nose.

“nowhere but here, sweetheart.”

send me a number + a pairing!

[snowbreeze64]

i call this one: proof i’m going insane

anyways here’s a list of all times webs/and or spiders have been mentioned in 167 episodes of the magnus archives bc i haven’t listened to 168 yet.

spoilers through tma episode 167 because, yeah

UP TO DATE THROUGH EPISODE 167

CONFIRMED WEBISODES (Rusty Quill Youtube Playlist)

#8 Burned Out *

#16 Arachnophobia

#56 Children of the Night

#59 Recluse *

#67 Burning Desire *

#69 (nice) Thought for the Day

#81 A Guest For Mr. Spider

#100 I Guess You Had To Be There

#110 Creature Feature

#114 Cracked Foundation *

#123 Web Development

#136 The Puppeteer

#147 The Weaver

#167 Curiosity

* = Hill Top Road Related

And now, to channel my S2 Jon energy, which is also just BDG

ALL MENTIONS OF SPIDERS AND/OR WEBS IN NON-WEBISODES

#3 Across the Street - the Table is introduced

#9 A Father’s Love - “As far as I was concerned, the sturdy wooden structure was just the home of spiders’ nests and the rusted garden tools my parents would use once a year to attack the overgrown wilderness that was our back garden.” (Julia Montauk about their shed)

#11 Dreamer - “Looking down I could see a web of dark tendrils criss-crossing the streets and crawling up the buildings.” (Oliver Banks about the death tendril things)

#12 First Aid - Hill Top Road relation (Diego Molina)

#19 Confession/#20 Desecrated Host - Hill Top Road related

#22 Colony - Martin investigates Carlos Vittery’s house, finds lots of spiderwebs.

#32 Hive - “Was it the spiders? There were webs in the corners, around the entryway into the attic. I would watch them scurry and disappear in between the wooden boards. ‘Where are you going, little spiders?’ I would think. ‘What are you seeing in the dark? Is it food? Prey? Predators?’ I wondered if it was the spiders that made the gentle buzzing song. It was not. Webs have a song as well, of course, but it is not the song of the hive.” (Jane Prentiss)

#35 Old Passages - “I have the vaguest memories: flashes of a pile of paper, completely covered in cobweb…” (Harold Silvana about the tunnels)

#36 Taken Ill - “Just a sort of spider web design on the front.” (Jon about his lighter)

#37 Burnt Offering - Hill Top Road related

#38 Lost and Found - Jon attacks a spider and somehow makes a hole in the wall, and now there are worms

#39 Infestation - “No, no… it’s just that whatever web these statements have caught you in, well, I’m there too. We all are, I think.” (Martin)

#40 Human Remains - “Yes. She was sat in a wooden chair in the middle of the room. No worms. No cobwebs. Just… an old corpse.” (Martin about Gertrude’s corpse) (Does the sudden absence of spiders count as spiders?)

#43 Section 31 - “The most I could get out of her was that she was originally sectioned for something she referred to as “spider husks”.” (Basira about Daisy getting sectioned)

#44 Tightrope - “Why did she begin recording them? And why stop? If she’d been doing so right up until her death, she would’ve likely gotten through much of the archive, and… moreover I wouldn’t have had to find this tape player tucked away in the storage room, covered in dust and cobwebs.” (Jon about the tape player) (it’s covered in cobwebs! Suspicious! What do you mean old things get covered in cobwebs naturally?)

#46 Literary Heights - “I did go down there to see if I could find anything, but it seems much as it did last time. The only difference now is… all the spiderwebs. They seem to have spread down there. I think I saw some of the larger specimens actually eating the remains of the worms.” (Jon about the tunnels under the archives)

#51 High Pressure - “No… No, it isn’t. I’ve always seen it more like a web?” (Not!Sasha about the Table)

#63 The End of the Tunnel - “We’ve had something of a spectrum from him and his ilk: cobwebs entombing, difficulty in navigation, and now a violent, murderous dark.” (Jon about Robert Smirke)

#65 Binary - “Statement of Tessa Winters, regarding a strange computer program she downloaded from the Deep Web three months ago.” (What? It’s a web!)

#67 Burning Desire - “I looked up and noticed within the corner of the room, where there had been a spider’s web this morning, there was just a faint wisp of smoke.” and “Another held a bag that seemed to be full of candles, while a third had a clear plastic container filled with hundreds of tiny spiders.” (Jack Barnabas about his date with Agnes and the people in front of her flat) (this was already listed in webisodes but i just thought it was interesting)

#68 The Tale of a Field Hospital - “There were a couple of spiders, so I changed routes and found, I think it’s a gas main.” (Jon about exploring the tunnels) (also that gas main *eyes eyes eyes*)

#78 Distant Cousin - “Wrapped around it were thick strands of what I think was spider’s web, stretching back into the table, which I now saw pulsed along its carved channels with a sickly light.” (Laurence Moore about Adelard Dekker trapping the Not!Them in the table) and “Hollow. Just cobwebs and dust.” (Jon, breaking the table)

#79 Hide and Seek - “Of course the table was binding it. The table is webs and spiders. Spiders are something else. They don’t help each other, they oppose, they… they weaken. It was caught in a web, and I…” (Jon about the table...and perhaps Beholding something about the entities?)

#87 The Uncanny Valley - Jude Perry working with the Stranger, so Hill Top Road related?

#89 Twice as Bright - Statement of Jude Perry, Hill Top Road related

#90 Body Builder - “As you’d expect, most of the listings just pointed me towards the their websites, but I spotted a small, square ad box in the lower left corner.” (Ross Davenport, about finding his new gym) (yes i KNOW this is a stretch but the word website has the word web in it so…)

#91 The Coming Storm - “One lighter, gold, spiderweb design.” (Daisy going through Jon’s stuff)

#111 Family Business - Jon and Gerry discuss the entities, including the Web

#112 Thrill of the Chase - “We all met through one of those meetup websites, I-I forget which one.” (Lisa Carmel, about Murder Club) (listen it’s a WEBSITE so it has the word WEB in it and besides THE SPIDERS CONTROL THE WORLD WIDE WEB)

#114 Cracked Foundation - “It was warmer down there, warmer every step, and I found myself brushing cobwebs from my face as I got further down, until at last there I was - stood in the cellar of Hill Top Road.” (Anya Villette about Hill Top Road)

#117 Testament - “I know, I know it’s not exactly intricate, but it felt good leaving my own little web. Oh, oh, Christ, I hope John doesn’t actually listen to these. “Good lord, is Martin becoming some sort of spider person?” No, John, it’s an expression, chill out!” (Martin about his plan.) (also, I’ve been called out by Martin.)

#118 The Masquerade - “DAISY: Shut. Up. It’s just cobwebs. ARCHIVIST: There’s no such thing as just cobwebs.” (Jon walking into some cobwebs while planting C4) (also he’s RIGHT, DAISY)

#121 Far Away - “Just a second of them webbed over the face of a drunk old man stumbling into his car.” (Oliver about seeing the death tendrils in the waking world) and “Honestly, I’m still not exactly sure why I’m here. But you know better than anyone how the spiders can get into your head. Easier to just do what she asks.” (Oliver about why he’s visiting Jon)

#135 Civilian Casualties - “In the last week I’ve seen two different people wearing symbols for the People’s Church of the Divine Host, and it’s rare I go anywhere without cobwebs, anymore.” (Jon about the Institute being watched)

#128 Heavy Goods - “We had some luggage, once, a thrumming silk-wrapped thing of the spider, hiding away in an old steamer trunk.” and “The Spider’s always an easy job, no fuss, no complications, everything planned and prepared. It knows too much to truly be a stranger, but hides its knowing well enough to endure.” (Breekon about his and Hope’s deliveries)

#130 Meat - “I found this tape tucked in a corner of my desk drawer (sigh) covered in cobwebs. I suppose subtlety has gone out the window a bit, and the question is now simply… how much I trust the Spider to have my best interests at heart.” (Jon about the statement he just played. Also the Spider giving him the idea to use a flesh-anchor???)

#134 Time of Revelation - “There are two powers that, to my knowledge, have never attempted to fully manifest. Never had followers set them up for a ritual. Mother of Puppets, and Terminus. The Web and the End. The Web, I’ve never really been sure about. If I were to guess, I would say it actually prefers the world as is: playing everyone against each other. And so on.” (Peter Lukas about the entities)

#137 Nemesis - “Still, the anticlimax is fascinating. I can only assume they were supposed to be bombed at the height of the ritual - maybe by Japanese aircraft, maybe Allied, maybe both. I wonder what stopped it. A Japanese radar filled with spiderwebs, a US destroyer finding itself suddenly alone in the open ocean? Heh. We’ll probably never know.” (Gertrude about the Slaughter’s failed dance party)

#139 Chosen - Statement about Agnes, Hill Top Road related

#145 Infectious Doubts - “Ah. That’s a fair enough question. It was the Web. I didn’t know it at the time, of course, and I would call it an accident, but it never is, with them. It’s only after the fact that you can see all the subtle manipulations.” (Gertrude about the ritual binding her and Agnes)

#146 Threshold - “There is something wrong with Hill Top Road. You know it as well as I do. Some strange scar on reality at the center of - whatever it is that the Spider is spinning.” (Helen about Hill Top Road) and “What a delightful thought. (short pause) I don’t believe so, no. But the Spider’s strings are subtle, so I suppose it’s not impossible. Why?” (Helen about being controlled by the web to eat Marcus McKenzie (door guy)) Also throughout this episode Jon is wondering whether Annabelle is controlling him

#148 Extended Surveillance - “Or that we were being stalked by some freaky spider woman? Don’t tell me you didn’t know about that.” (Basira while beating up Elias) “Look, look - I’ve been doing this a long time now, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned about the Web, it’s that it plays its own game. All you can really do is hope it doesn’t get in the way of whatever your plan is. Because the Spider usually wins.” (Elias about the Web)

#150 Cul-de-Sac - “The Lonely is possibly the most insidious of the powers, I believe. Certainly it is the one that most delights and having you do its work for it, even the spiders seem to have a hard time matching it for sheer seductiveness.” (Jon about the Lonely). Also during this episode he and Melanie argue about whether her therapist is Web.

#157 Rotten Core - “Or Annabelle Cane is trying to manipulate me into thinking it’s one of the other scenarios. Previously, the spiders have made their presence clear when they’ve sent me… hints… but I can’t take that for granted.” (Jon about the Adelard statement left on his desk) (hey wait a minute if the statements refuse to record digitally how did Adelard send his on an e-mail-)

#160 The Eye Opens - “I’ll admit, my options were somewhat limited, but My God, when you came to me already marked by the Web, I knew it had to be you. I even held out some small hope you had been sent by the Spider as some sort of implicit blessing on the whole project, and, do you know what, I think it was.” (Douchard about Jon)

#163 In the Trenches - Annabelle calls Martin, Martin doesn’t pick up

#164 The Sick Village - “That’s - weird; I - I know the Web was wrapped around that phone, but, but I can’t - see her. A, At all.” (Jon about Annabelle)

#166 The Worms - Annabelle calls Martin to neg him over the phone.

Why did I spend over an hour doing this? Hell if I know. Am I any closer to finding out what the spiders want? Nope. So they’ve been helping Jon figure stuff out and got him appointed to the Institute in the first place, presumably so Elias would carry out his ritual, but why if they’ve never attempted a ritual before? They can’t be happy being ruled over by the Eye. What does Annabelle want with Martin? What the hell is going on at Hill Top Road?? WHAT IS UP WITH JON’S LIGHTER?????

[sol-korolevas]

[be still, foolish heart];

pairing: leon kennedy x reader; chris redfield x reader

warnings: minor violence, some cheesy and cliched stuff but idc bc i love these idiots

words: 9k+ 

a/n: i’ve always wanted to write for chris since watching all of the videos with him. so here’s a story with both him and leon. enjoy and please leave any feedback if you want <3

you’ve known leon for a while. that sense of knowing was what made you feel connected to him. as a child, you were seldom seen alone and he was rarely not trying to tease you about being his shadow. it has come to a point that you believe you can read into his mind, that maybe there’s something deeply wonderful about him and you, together.

most mornings saw the both of you shooting at empty glass cans with rubber bands and small rocks, pretending you were cops. your mothers both watched on the kennedy’s wrap-around porch, with knowing smiles on their face.

now you wonder, what were your mothers thinking?

and most of all, what were you thinking when you accepted the job as a police officer alongside leon. what were you thinking when that childhood friend, the kind and brave boy, became the boy that you love.

eventually however, the boy you love was just that, a boy you love. but then you notice the startling emotions you have for him. you think it’s not just love anymore but some ingrained connection that transcends love.

yet still, you call it love.

claire redfield is never written into your fate, but she is written into his. you watch from afar as they hold hands with sherry, that orphaned girl from raccoon city.

you see a picturesque representation of a family. that burdening thought only intensifies when sherry asks if leon and claire are boyfriend and girlfriend. you almost flinch, trying to make sense of the how and the why.

(the truth is that you want to be in claire’s place. you don’t need to hold hands with sherry but you do want to be seen as leon’s girlfriend.)

no, you don’t hate claire and you’re not bothered by sherry’s presence.

“can we adopt a puppy?” sherry asks excitedly as she looks to both claire and leon.

“maybe later,” leon responds with a crooked smile. you’re suddenly aware that his gaze traveled to claire as he said it. so you decided to tear your eyes away to the side, hoping it can relieve the weight clinging to your heart.

you suddenly feel lost and awkward, until you see a truck heading your way.

“hey! over here!” you yell, waving at it, only to watch it drive past you with the driver holding out his middle finger. a tight frown settles on your face before you hear leon laugh.

“well, guess we’ll be walking for a little more,” he says. he winks at you and you feel your face flush before you look away and walk just a little faster.

——————-

time passes and the world shifts.

it’s on every mission with leon and claire that they work so well together, like two puzzle pieces–like a couple. though in retrospect, you should be prepared to accept the fact that your childhood friend is just a friend now.

and yet, where did you slip up? which opportunity did you accidentally let go?

you’re just a third-wheel–claire’s friend and leon’s childhood friend. you’re no longer in the equation that is their relationship.

it’s a sad reality and you don’t think you’re ready to accept and move on.

as you watch leon support a tired claire back to the medical tent, you stand to the side watching them. the gun in your hand feels heavy and cold despite its warm grip. leaning against a tree, you feel your brows furrowing as the injuries on your knuckles flare. the urge to go into an undead wasteland and fight cries within you. the relentless desire to tear and rip apart something, anything, just to relieve all the frustration, the anger, and the jealousy.

it’s not until chris redfield clears his throat that you look up. a bit on edge, you jump back and your finger skim against the trigger. at best, you are mildly surprised, but chris is a man who read microexpressions well.

“did i scare you?” he asks kindly, head dipping to the side. there’s concern etched onto his face and you almost feel bad.

“uh no, just thinking really hard…sir,” you force your voice to sound light. even though he’s claire’s brother you couldn’t skip the formalities. he’s not like his sister and certainly not like leon; there’s something heavy and firm about him, something that makes you half-nervous and half-shy.

not that you think he’s intimidating but–

“you’ve been awfully quiet these days. claire’s worried the missions are taking a toll on you. do you want to take a leave?”

chris’s sudden words set you on alert as you lock eyes. you are at a position where you need comfort from another. at the same time, you also want to be left alone. chris is caring a little too much and that makes you anxious, mind now heavily saturated in a desire to change subjects. most of all, you want to lay down and sleep.

as if he notices, chris’s face softens as he adds, “i can escort you back, (name).” however, you acknowledge that chris isn’t a bad person. claire’s always quick to remind everyone who would listen that her brother is a soft man inside the soldier persona.

in the past, you used to associate chris as nothing but a soldier. looking at him now, you are starting to wonder whether if he has a life outside of wars and battles.

that same curiosity keeps you rooted to your spot.

sensing the quiet, chris extends out his hand, silently encouraging you to take it. slack-jawed, you warily look at it before drifting your gaze back to his face.

chris’s lips curl into a smile, a gentle one, and slowly it dawns on you that he has a natural pull to him. you’re drawn to him like everyone else who has met him. easily you relinquish all preconceived caution about him as you slip your gun in its holster and take his hand.

there’s an awkward pause right when your fingers make contact with his, before he places his thumb against your knuckle and gently pulls you out from the shadow of the tree above.

his eyes never leave your face. the blue of his gaze is filled with warm intent. truly chris is a good soldier, not just with his combat skills but his attentive personality. for the first time, you feel yourself relax a little as he walks you down the path.

and quite suddenly you realize that chris is holding your hand. despite his presence right beside you, you couldn’t help but see a little of leon in him—or at least, the leon from your childhood.

quickly you turn your gaze to the ground, teeth worrying your lips as you attempt to calm your mind.

taking in a deep breath, you tell him, “thank you.”

————-

you’re looking again, thinking of the things that should happen but will never happen. through the twist of fate, once again leon and claire wedged their life into yours.

it all started with claire asking you to move into her family’s house.

“oh and, both leon and chris will be visiting when they’re off their missions,” she said airily. you don’t know how to handle your facial expressions anymore and claire noticed, smiling as she pats your shoulder.

when the boys do visit, you walk out to the veranda, hoping you may find some comfort among natural light and fresh air.

in front of you are countless trees and a private orchard behind them, belonging to a wealthy family. when the wind passes by you can smell the sweet fragrance intermingled with the scent of pine and wood.

the door opens and you turn to see leon coming outside. you are quick to notice the dark bags underneath his eyes. while it bothers you to see him like this, you also know that it’s common. even you had your fair share of insomnia and nightmares that prevented you from sleeping well.

“hey (name),” he says, offering you his boyish smile that you like. “it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“oh yeah, definitely a while,” you respond casually, face still tethered to the front. you think you see his smile pull back into a frown for a moment from the corner of your eyes. try as you might, you couldn’t help but feel bad all of a sudden. this could be your chance to remedy your difficult relationship with him, however one-sided and silly it may actually be.

“so next mission…it’s just me and claire.” he says it slowly as if trying not to set off some kind of fuse. that’s when you notice just how red his cheeks are. though you’re hurt to hear this, you still find yourself leaning against his shoulder.

just like old times, you think.

you close your eyes for a bit as the gradual and familiar feeling of peace overcomes you. “oh, i’ll root for the both of you–stay safe.” your voice sounds too casual and you just notices. leon inhales sharply but he doesn’t say anything; instead, he presses himself against your shoulder. his weight against you calms you, but it also reminds you of your attachment to him.

you wonder if, and when, you will ever learn to move on.

let go (name), let him go.

still, your mind dwells on the terrible things. in the past leon never worked with others, he was a lone wolf. but then things changed and he’s now working with claire and sometimes you and claire.

as always, claire is the abrupt twist in your fates. it’s not her fault, of course not—

“(name)?” leon’s voice echoes inside the back of your mind.

you open your eyes and let out a hum as a response.

“when this is over, not just the mission we’re going out on i mean, but when all of it is over, do you think you’ll stay with as an agent? you’re really something on the battlefield and i heard chris wants you to go on more assignments with him.” he’s scratching the back of his neck as he says this and you hear the uncertainty between each syllable. but you also notice the way he picks his words. the way he says us.

that’s okay, you think.

that’s okay.

you think you feel your heart dropping into a pit of disappointment right then.

it has been leon and claire, then you.

you shouldn’t think about this.

really, you shouldn’t for your own good.

pulling yourself up, you manage to detach yourself from the railing as you steady yourself. “maybe, though i-i do want to try being just an ordinary civilian first.”

you’re preparing to turn when leon catches your wrist in his hand. his lips are parted as if he wants to say something. then it begins to dawn on you.

“(name)...” he utters your name, soft on his lips. “i don’t think that’s possible anymore.” his pale eyes glint with sympathy as your face falls.

“i hate this life leon, i hate how it changed us—how it changed me.” your voice is brittle and shaky as you look at him. his gaze ceases to move from the right side of your arm, the scar from your first encounter with the undead still deep and ugly. but what he doesn’t know is the hidden meaning in your last words.

there’s something unreadable on leon’s face but just as you want to look up he has his hand placed on top of your head. his thumb is rubbing gently against the skin of your forehead.

“not your fault (name), and it’s okay to be angry, it’s okay,” he says quietly. his voice is so soothing that you feel lulled to comfort. that’s when you remember that a piece of him, the leon you knew as a child and the leon you love, is still with him. that is the intricate part of him, both unsettling and nostalgic.

your hands closed into fists as you fight the urge to cry.

after a moment’s silence, you decide to step away from him. he drops his hand to his side but his worried gaze is still trained on you. though you wish you can stay with him a little longer, the need to hide within the comfort of your room is greater.

a little time to yourself may pacify the turmoils ebbing within you.

“thank you, leon,” you say,” and please, come back alive, both of you.”

—————–

claire and leon depart the following morning. you wake to claire telling you goodbye before you hear her going down the stairs. still groggy in your sleep, you swear you hear leon’s voice by your room, talking about something before he too leaves. after their departure, the house becomes quiet and you feel your heart beating within its ribcage. they’ll be gone for a month into yet another battle and during those months–

no, you don’t want to think about it.

so you don’t and you get dressed and head out to the living room. there’s not much to do here besides watch television, hoping in some way you can flush out the worry and unrest with something else.

then you hear someone shuffling around in the kitchen and you remember chris is here too.

you suddenly remember that day he took you back to base. chris even extended his offer to send you home before realizing you didn’t have one anymore. dimly, you also remember that it was him who told claire about your situation.

even outside of missions he looked out for you.

you fold your hands on your lap as you linger upon the array of moving images on the television screen. chris is…chris is doing something; you don’t want to bother him.

“did you have breakfast? claire left some out, but i can definitely make you some good ones,” chris says from the kitchen, “my food is tastier.” you lean forward and see him appear in the doorway dressed in a sweater and jeans with a steaming mug in his hand.

“you sure she’s okay with you talking down on her cooking?” you couldn’t help but give him a teasing smile.

he feigns hurt before setting his mug down on the counter. “oh, claire knows i’m a far better gun handler and cook than her.”

you shake your head and lean back against the couch. “thank you, but maybe another time chris,” you say.

“very well, call me if you need something though.” he moves away and you turn your gaze forward.

the television is now playing advertisements and soon your eyes start drifting to the photographs standing on the table. you hear chris moving around the kitchen area, before you hear his heavy footfalls on the carpeted living room floor.

your hands tighten against one another, subtly praying for something to happen.

a small part of you want to go back to your room, but chris is already here.

“they’ll be back, don’t worry.” chris’s assertive voice pulls you out of your silence. he’s sitting beside you with a good distance put in-between. even out of armory he’s still bigger and taller than any men and women you’ve met. you remember keenly the first time you met him on an assignment. he wielded his fists like a club, smashing through mutated heads.

that’s when you decided that you’re safe as long as he’s here.

later, you asked him to train you in hand-to-hand combat, hoping that it can aid you along the way, should you only have yourself to depend on.

“how’s claire’s house? good?” he inquires, brushing his hand along his jaw. he’s turned to you, with one leg on the couch and the other on the ground. there’s not much room in-between now, to the point where you can smell his natural scent. it’s rather funny, but you notice that the difference between leon and chris is a shower.

today, you feel a different air about him. perhaps this is because he has no reason to be a soldier right now.

“yes! i like how nice it is...being an agent for the government has a lot of perks, i assume,” you say, rubbing your thumbs together as you look at chris. a slight smile crosses your face and you hope chris doesn’t mind your awkwardness. then, you remember that claire is out on another mission and your face falls. “she’ll be okay, leon’s with her too. and i can vouch for claire’s ability to survive” you didn’t mean to add the comment, besides trying to calm yourself down. you suddenly feel empty inside, useless even. if you aren’t useless, then you would’ve been picked to go too.

“both of them are good people, they will be fine. if not, i’ll find a way to get them out, bring them out of their graves if necessary.” chris’s gruff voice pulls you back into reality. you think you see half a smirk playing on his face, but there’s also a tightness to it.

“i don’t want to ever see my friends become an undead, if that’s what you’re trying to do,” you tell him. though you said it in jest, you realize the extent of such an ordeal if it will occur. too many times you had to put down people both familiar and precious to you. you’re not ready to put down a few more, but you know it’ll happen again.

hearing no response from chris, you place the back of your head on the couch headrest, letting out a small sigh. a strange silence befalls and it reminds you of the silence that came between you and chris after your last mission together. idly, you slide your fingers across your knuckles, feeling the scars there.

“thank you for everything chris,” you then tell him, “without you, i suppose i’m...dead.” you think back to the first missions you had together with him, and all of those times chris came to save you and everyone else. if anyone ever truly deserves a break, it would be him. “also i’m sorry for piers.” your voice drifts off, realizing that you shouldn’t have mentioned him.

you turn to look at chris, fully aware that he’s listening and you see a thoughtful expression, though grim and serious, on his face.

a tense silence supersedes the first. you aren’t privy to chris’s stiffness and how his face becomes thoughtful.

“what do you think of my leadership, (name)? all those men, piers, and the civilians. they died because i wasn’t enough–i should be and want to be but i’m not.”

his regular stoic face showing shards of betraying emotions–for the first time, you see him crestfallen, what you see is a man carrying broken pieces and a man filled with grief and lost hope.

you don’t know chris as well as you know leon and claire as a person. at the same time, you’re not born to mend doubts and sow wisdom. but he’s still someone you trust and respect enough that his sadness lingers within you like a bullet.

sitting up straight, you turn your body towards him, pressing a hand gently on his. “i think you’re phenomenal, as a soldier and an individual.” you pause, now at a loss for words. “and i know this may be a bit uncouth of me to say but deaths happen, even to good people. the best we can do is to live on and do what we always do: fight.”

you’re aware that you’re holding the hand of someone who has wielded it as a weapon. you’re aware that this same hand eviscerated countless enemies. but right now, you feel it tremble within your grip. countless scars and calluses etched upon his flesh—all symbols of chris’s sacrifice and of which marks him as a soldier. he’s always a hero to you, a superhuman even, a man larger than life with a god-like aura about him. yet in this moment he feels different—

“don’t doubt yourself anymore chris,” you finally add, eyes drifting to his face. it’s the same unreadable expression he usually wears, but his gaze is penetrative and intense. there is a hurricane of emotions in there that leaves you both breathless and mystified.

the difference between you and him is that of a rivulet and an ocean. maybe your words are not enough to console him, so you express your desire to comfort by squeezing his hand.

his response is simple, just a nod.

you let go of a breath you forgot to exhale.

though you fight like a wolf you are still meek when it comes to social interactions. so you suppose now is the best to distance yourself and leave chris to himself. “i’ll be in my room if you need me chris.”

except chris catches your hand in his grip and you suck in a breath, cheeks flushing at the abrupt contact. his hand swallows yours as he holds it like a lifeline. a thought occurs in you that he could possibly have held the hands of dying soldiers like this, firm and steady.

without thinking, you wrap your other hand around his, hoping it can alleviate more of his doubt and stress and whatever emotions that are plaguing him. but you know that’s not enough. in the end, it will take years and years of rehabilitation to steer chris and everyone involved away from the darkness clawing in their heart and mind.

you slowly exhale before letting it out, saying, “i’m here chris and i promise you that i will be here, with you and everyone else until i die. i won’t give up on you, leon, claire, or anyone else–we’ll win, we’ll win.”

chris is leaning towards you as he places your hands on your lap. his jaws clench, shoulders tensing in a way that makes you suspect that he’s not entirely pacified by your words.

“don’t say leave (name), i—“ he stops and he’s holding your hand so tightly again that you wince. “-don’t want you to leave, not like how piers and the others did.”

memories of soldiers turning into monstrous beasts and soldiers killed in gruesome manners still haunt your mind. there is little doubt in you that chris is burdened with the same imageries, except his comes with the feeling of failure to these individuals.

you remember watching him on several occasions gunning down soldiers under his command. those were all once people who were like him. some of them even knew you and had spoken to you.

and it’s sad to realize you only know of chris’s hurt and torment right now, when he’s baring his all. you also wondered why he chose you of all people to talk to, when he could go to claire or even leon later on.

he’s looking down at his own lap so you say his name. rather than attempt to speak more, you instead smile softly at him, hoping this simple gesture can translate into something hopeful for him.

“i won’t chris, i promise.”

he closes his eyes and sighs.

————–

almost a month later, claire and leon come back. you see claire dragging leon by his hand and you notice how red leon is. claire is smiling and leon looks embarrassed. you try not to think to that image, but to the thought that two of your best friends are home.

chris is not too far behind you, his arms resting against his chest as he welcomes them back.

“congratulations on not dying; also congratulations on a mission well done. i got the reports by the way, you both did great.” he winks at claire and then offers to assist leon with his injuries on his arm. “now if you turn…” he unwraps the bandages around his arm and assesses the damage. “i’m afraid (name) and i will have to put you down with our fists.” chris turns to look at you, briefly smiling a little.

“not gonna turn, i promise,” leon replies with a slight chuckle. you’re aware that his eyes have drifted onto you before he turns his gaze down to chris.

you find yourself feeling strangely calm and happy this time.

these days alongside chris has been your happiest. he gave you peace and you gave him reassurance. if you had met him years earlier then maybe–

“oh (name), can i talk to you after we’re done?” leon’s bright voice brings you out of your thoughts. there’s something hopeful dancing in the light of his blue eyes. of course you couldn’t turn that down, not when he’s the one asking.

“sure, come to my room later,” you say, voice softening a little as you remember chris is here too.

you see chris’s body tensing before he turns his face around. “i think i’m done here.”

for a little while you feel your face fall a little, initially hoping that chris would stay for a bit, even just to talk to you and leon. “claire and i will be fixing something for everyone, call me if you need anything okay?” when he walks by you his arm brushes against yours, causing you to stiffen this time.

gathering yourself, you then turn your attention back to leon. he has a blank expression on his face; either he’s hiding something or he’s oblivious to what occurred. and to be honest, you have no idea what happened either. chris has always been odd sometimes and you attribute it to his lifestyle.

but these days he has been close to you in physical ways. you are fairly confident to think that something is happening between you and chris, something that’s slowly bringing you out from your carapace of sadness from watching leon and claire.

“so i think we’re not needed in their sibling bonding,” you say slowly. you can already hear claire teasing chris in the kitchen. to your embarrassment, she’s asking chris if he found someone yet. awkwardly, you give leon a toothy grin before adding,”i’ll be in my room, come in when you’re ready.”

you turn and quickly walk your way up the stairs.

not long afterward, you hear leon knock on your door. you turn to see him standing against it, coolly looking at you.“you can come in leon, no need to knock.”

it’s then you notice that his hair is longer and stubble has formed on his chin.

leon finds his way next to you, seating himself on the floor beside your legs. he leans back and you have to remember that he still needs a shower. dark stains, blood you believe, clings to his shirt and you can smell something coppery sweet.

unlike a majority of people out there, you are used to it. even as children, both you and leon would climb on your bed soaked in mud-water and grime. now, the only difference is the absence of a mother or two yelling for a change of bedsheets and a bath.

“you probably don’t know this, but the mission was in your hometown.” leon’s voice is quiet as he looks up at you. there’s that same hopefulness in his eyes as if he wants to see you react. you do, of course, because the implication is there.

“the undead are gone?” you say, almost shyly. you can still remember the first night you went back, only to be met with the grotesque images of your friends and, most terrifying of all, your mother. “all gone? the town’s now safe?”

safe isn’t a correct word to say, but you grew up there. to you, that town holds a cherished aspect of your past in you. that town was where you were born, where you grew up, and where you found your first love–

“all clear, we just need to make sure the virus is gone from the water supplies and sewer systems. then, we get to cleaning it all up, but that’s for another crew.” leon smiles and you suddenly want to hug him.

and you do, because you’re both happy and still in shock over the news. you drop to the ground and crawl around to his front, before wrapping your arms around his shoulder. leon doesn’t tense and he returns your embrace with his own. in his arms you feel again the steady wing beats of a bird, caged within your ribs. warmth and affection seep into the cracks of your heart, sinking deep into the marrow of your bones.

in the end, it’s your childhood friend who gave you the greatest gift of all. still, you allow yourself to kindle your love for him in another direction.

it’s time to let go.

you lean your head against the side of his, briefly relishing in the closeness, and selfishly wanting it all for yourself.

“later i want to go back there. come with me?” you ask, voice small.

he’s rubbing soothing circled on your back. briefly, leon’s grip tightens as you let out a contented sigh. “yes, of course (name).”

------------

the day comes quick but steady. though the town is free of the undead, leon and claire both warn ahead of stragglers that might have laid hidden within the buildings. of course, such a trip lures chris out too, insisting that he wants to come.

because of the nature of this trip, only you and leon has a gun by your side.

“honestly, (name) can destroy anything with just fists, give me the gun instead,” claire says, begging chris as she steps out of the car.

“and (name)’s also good with guns,” chris is quick to respond, but there is a warm smile on his face. you laugh at the exchange and then at claire’s pout, relishing in the sibling bond between them.

leon’s laughing too, quietly as he stands off to the side. you look at him and he notices, blue eyes settling on your face as he tosses you his crooked grin. not long afterward, he walks up to you and places his hand on your shoulder, saying, “take the lead (name), and prepare for anything inside.”

you nod and you walk first, leading your small group towards the path that connects to your town.

the few soldiers that are still stationed here gives a brief salute before returning to their stations.

claire walks up beside you, whispering, “chris isn’t talking to them, i think he wants to see this town bad.” she then looks over her shoulder at him. “oh and, i think a certain someone’s presence is making him more vigilant.” she gently prods you with her elbow and gives you a wink.

you know of the implications of her words and you frown a little. “don’t say that, chris is my superior and friend. besides i–” you stop, realizing that you shouldn’t say anything. your hands trail the gun holder, before finding its way skimming across your bandaged knuckles.

“heh, you’re popular (name),” are claire’s words as she grins, a bit too wide for you to be content with it. she pats your head and your mind lingers to leon, who’s talking to chris. you look back and see them talking between each other, sharing some kind of secret conversation. when they see you looking, both of them pause and look away.

noticing them as well, claire adds, “oh i’m just kidding! unless you didn’t hear anything then it’s a secret between me and (name).” she giggles and then steps back to give you space.

you are about to say something when you notice the view in front of you. the past minute has been a picture of a deserted town, with broken glasses and missing shop signs. now, you can see the destruction; the fire, the upturned cars, the dried blood staining the streets and buildings. worst of all is your memory of this place; you still remember what it was like before the outbreak happened.

closing your eyes you let out a shaky breath. you hear claire calling your name, but her voice sounds distant. everything feels far away, but you continue walking. it pains you to see this but you still want to walk ahead.

soon, you stop, muscle memory bringing you in front of the building that was your apartment. you just realize that you and your group have walked a fair way into the town. and save for the conversations at the beginning, no one has spoken. a part of you want to enter the building alone, but you know better than to do that.

“take your time, (name).” it’s chris’s voice keeps you rooted to reality. all of a sudden, the air feels suffocatingly warm. a budding silence ensues, filled with the same silence that almost makes you nostalgic in a deeply disconcerting way.

“i will, but it’s been such a long time. i grew up here, and last time i–” you stop yourself just as you hear a banshee-like shriek coming from the apartment complex. you feel something fall within you, dropping into the abyss of darkness as you sprint into the building.

something roars in your ears as you take the stairs two at a time. the heavy footfalls of your comrades follow behind you, but you’re not listening to anything but the scream. you don’t even have the time to draw a gun before you see something ambling towards you.

“mom?” your voice is small and hesitant as you shine a flashlight at the undead. she is dressed in the floral red dress you bought her, with several deep garish wounds littering her body. you think you make out bullet wounds too, but you can’t find the opportunity to see properly before you’re taking a step back. there’s something behind her, wriggling and squirming as they move. “mom, what’s happening?” you yell, voice high and scared as she continues walking forward.

someone yells behind you and you hear leon calling for you to shoot. then you realize that the tentacles behind your mother are connected to her back. before long, they are whipping across, seemingly trying to get to you and the rest.

a long groan rattles the hallway, crushing your heart even more as you finally take out a gun.

“shoot her (name), do it!” claire says. she’s right beside you, planting half of her body in front of you, jaws clenched and hands shaking. as your mother moves closer, you feel time suddenly stopping.

you’ve shot countless undead and mutated undead before. but this is different because this one is your own mother.

and despite the monstrosity that’s her appearance, you still see a normal woman.

in the flash of a second, one of the tentacles extends towards you. you see red, but it’s not blood. claire has blocked it with her own body, the tentacle penetrating her upper left thigh. you hear the sickening sound of bone and the way its wriggling through her, attempting to slide more in.

a series of gunshots ring out and you hear the awful monstrous screech. weak-willed and delirious, you sink to your knees just as claire drops down, moaning in pain. despite everything, your tears come down as you watch your mother’s body collapse to the ground.

“this isn’t right, this isn’t right…” you mutter, turning your hands palm up as you look at them, sweaty and shaky.

“claire!” leon’s voice resonates inside your head, loud and clear. you watch with lips parted as he pushes past chris towards the fallen woman. he quickly takes her into his arm, gaze lingering on her as he prepares to leave.

an emptiness plunges itself inside your heart as you feel yourself hoarsely whispering leon’s name. a chilling coldness runs down your neck, forcing you to scramble up, only to pitch forth before chris catches you in his arms.

for the first time, there’s something hateful in leon’s face as he catches your gaze. he says nothing and you think it’s for the best. you’re too weak to properly stand but you still turn your attention to chris. “y-you should go with him, i’ll catch up. your sister...she–” you feel yourself retching, the anxiety and horror crawling back up your throat.

he’s suddenly holding the back of your head and you don’t know what to do. shouldn’t chris be with claire? shouldn’t he be mad at you?

instead, chris is pressing you close to him, close enough that you can inhale his scent and feel the entirety of him surrounding you. you tremble as tears roll down your cheeks. many words catch in your throat, words of apologies, words of regrets–just words that you hope that will mend this in some way.

“come on (name), we need to leave,” comes chris’s steady words, as if nothing at all has affected him. he moves, bringing you with him. but it’s slow and you know that he’s doing it for you.

and you cling to him, thinking about what happened and how you fucked up.

this is all your fault, you and your foolish, foolish heart.

----------------

“claire’s getting treatment in a government facility,” is leon’s words, sharp and rushed as he comes into the house. he looks to chris first, as if hoping to hear something out of him. then he looks at you causing you to freeze while gripping your kneecaps tightly. “(name), why didn’t you shoot?” his voice is almost a whisper, but it sounds loud and clear in your head.

“i-i couldn’t, i see it and i see my mother, i’m so sorry,” you say, voice a blubbering mess. you stop talking then just as you feel nausea all over again. you couldn’t find the strength to look at leon anymore, neither could you stare at chris.

“is claire doing well?” chris finally says, his voice a refreshing addition to the tenseness of the situation. you look up to see him standing between you and leon. for the first time, you are glad chris has shielded you from him.

“why aren’t you worried for your own sister, redfield? why are you here?” leon’s unprompted question pulls your attention, forcing you to sit up from the couch as you make your way forward. unsure of why you are drawn to this, you silently watch as chris’s jaw twitches, as if he wants to say something.

his fists clench and you almost flinch, thinking he’s going to attack. every muscle upon him looks stiff, his figure poised to attack. there’s a sudden animosity on his face, and you suspect claire’s condition is only partially to do with it.

“i am, but i’m sure claire will be fine. we already secured the necessary vaccines to stop her from turning, the rest is up to the doctors,” comes his answer, calm and firm as always. he then turns and gives you a brief stare, his gaze softening a little. his fingers suddenly brush against your knuckle and you feel your breath catching in your throat.

instead of responding to chris, leon takes one step forward, body angling towards you. “(name), we need to talk.” his voice is terse and low, but you feel as if he wants chris to hear it too.

without thinking, you trail after him, shooting chris a look of apology over your shoulder as you went. you hope chris doesn’t follow, thinking there’s something wrong. you trust leon enough not to be hurt physically but you’re not sure about anything else.

leon’s hatred can run deep, and if this is what it comes to then–

no, this won’t happen. even if you realize it’s happening, you refuse to accept it.

he leads you to the veranda, the only place that you enjoy to be in beside your room. he has his arm hanging over the banister, eyes staring at the green pine trees. there’s a peacefulness in his face, only to be disrupted by the stiffness of his squared shoulders. you slowly walk up, placing yourself right beside him.

your fingers thrum against the wooden railing, mind unable to process coherent sentences. every time you try, you think back to claire lying on the ground, in pain with a hole on her leg.

this is all your fault

the voice inside your head isn’t yours anymore; you think you’re losing it because it sounds like both leon and claire.

“i never wanted this to happen.” strangely, you do find your voice. and it comes out quicker than you would like to. blinking, you start to realize how close you are to wanting to cry again. normally you wouldn’t be affected so easily but this involves leon and claire and it’s too much.

“oh, i know,” is leon’s clipped response. “but you should’ve handled yourself better. that thing could’ve killed claire and you, and chris and i might even die right there.” the last of his words come out shaky and quiet. he’s not focusing on anything, but he’s also not looking at you.

sensing you wouldn’t speak again, he continues, “the first time i was in raccoon city, a man told me to shoot anyone who’ve turned, uniform or not. that same man turned a few hours later and i had to dispatch him.” suddenly, leon’s face breaks into grief. you stop feeling the apprehension from before as you watch his shoulders sag.

“leon…”

he’s baring his teeth and you know that’s how he keeps himself from fully losing his emotions to sadness. “sometimes you have to do things you don’t ever want to do, for the sake of the many. that’s sacrifice (name), and i need you to understand that. but i promised everyone that i will protect them until i couldn’t, that i won’t let their bodies become hosts to another’s evil.” he’s gripping the railing so hard that you hear the wood creak underneath.

not knowing what else to do or say, you inch your hand toward his. slowly, you slide your fingers under his hand, quietly coaxing him to let go.

taking in a deep breath, leon relents as his hand goes limp in yours. you hold it for a while, before retracting yours to your side. “everything will be alright leon, i p-promise.”

you then look down until you see the white of the floor before preparing yourself to leave. instead, you feel a hand catching your wrist. for a second, you are reminded of chris and then it dawns on you that the man has never left your mind since that day.

before you can ruminate on why chris is so clearly ingrained in your mind, leon’s bringing you towards him.

your eyes widen as he leans close, until his lips are close enough to touch the shell of your ear.

“you and chris share something special, i noticed that,” his voice is low and husky, making your heart churn with something devastatingly warm. “do you like him, (name)?” his added comment makes your breath hitch. right after he says that his grip tightens. the lingering feeling of it reminds you once again of chris’s touch.

this turn from one topic to another, and to the one you least expect, causes you to take a step back. leon follows, his pale eyes never leaving yours. there’s no teasing on his face, but something much worrying, something that makes your heart soar but drops at the same time.

“no,” you croak out, head dipping down again as embarrassment reddens your face.

“no? it’s okay if you like him, (name). i won’t stop you from liking someone; chris is reliable and safe.” his voice is soft all of a sudden, bringing you to the times he and you would share stories together as young teens. but you detect disappointment too, of which makes you think about other possibilities, that perhaps–

“i had a crush on you!” you suddenly blurt out, head raising so you can properly look at him. for the first time today he looks taken aback, shocked even. his grip on your wrist relents a little before he’s holding it hard again.

“you had?” he murmurs. strands of blond hair cover his face, but you notice the change on his expression. a first it’s surprise, but then it morphs into sadness, stark and obvious. there’s a tense silence and you reason that leon’s processing all of this. then, he seems to chuckle to himself, before gripping both of your wrists and lifting them to his chest. “what went wrong, (name), what happened? how did chris come into your life and settle himself in there? how did we become just you and him?”

his words tear at you. those were the same thoughts that occurred in you when you looked at him and claire. but now, it all seems so trivial when leon’s the one saying it out loud. for a second, you couldn’t speak as you try to find the right words.

“you...you love me, leon?”

“yes, even though i shouldn’t. the only thing that kept me back was my own doubts and emotions. but (name), please tell me why you are different now, tell me what changed.” he’s pleading from his voice to the way his pale eyes gaze at you. leon looks so much more vulnerable here that you pause.

you think back to chris, all the times he casually brushes himself next to you when leon’s present. you think back to how tense chris gets when leon talks to you in that friendly manner. then, you think to leon, seemingly oblivious to the times chris is close to you.

of course, leon notices, how can’t he be? he just never mentions it, just like how you never mentioned claire to him. 

then you wonder when did you let leon go. chris’s presence must have aided you in the relent of your feelings, even if a portion of it is still here, covered inside your ruined heart.

then, like heavy rain, your words tumble out.

“leon i–i never stopped loving you back then, i’m sorry-oh god i never thought it would end like this–i thought–i thought you like claire! i see you and her being so close and perfect together i grew envious and sad! but i never wanted to stop loving you leon. but, but then i–i don’t know, i’m not sure if i love you now, or if that love is still as much as my love for you before. i’m not sure, i’m sorry.” your hands drop to your side as leon lets you go. you then bring them up again to hold your head, suddenly feeling confused and dazed as your heart pounded wildly.

you didn’t want to say those things, you just want to tell him that you still like him. now, it feels like you finally severed a loose string that connects you to him.

and leon, being the one who’s always bad with relationships, with his suffering and his inability to find the connection he wants, continues staring at you. you wonder why you know him so well that you can analyze things he told you. all those broken relationships with those women he mentioned, and how he still loves you and only you.

only for you to completely turn it around, thinking that he never once loved you.

that should be something, that he and you are meant to be together. this should be all a trial for you to overcome together. instead, however, you see an ocean of uncertainties. the intensity and passion you feel for him is no longer as strong as before. to you, it would be unfair to tell leon ‘i love you’ when the fire is partially smothered.

“i stand on what i said, leon kennedy. i loved you but i don’t, so you should–you should find happiness elsewhere.” your words come out cruel, causing you to flinch as you step back. he reaches out a hand to you before deciding not to.

your ear is pounding as you head back inside; leon’s gaze is heavy upon your back.

while it pains you, you feel it reasonable to do so. sometimes, letting go is better than holding on. 

---------------------

claire returns weeks later, to a house partially divided. she only hears what chris told her, but she says nothing when you and leon are in her presence. for the past days, leon is trying to go on as many assignments as possible, all so that he can detach himself from you.

you grimly accept that fact, but you also don’t want to be in the house, especially when chris is always trying to meddle in. you don’t hate chris, you never did, you only wish that he never came into your life like this.

the night time beckons you to go out, towards a nearby land that’s just a rolling green filled with nothing but a single tree. you sit down and lean back, breathing slowly as you look up at the stars. in a few weeks leon will be back, but then you will be on your next mission.

and you don’t know whether if you ought to think of chris as more than a friend. romance and desire have nothing to do with being on the battlefield. it’s even highly recommended not to fall in love with a fellow agent or soldier.

but no one can stop the matters of the heart. you’ve lived through that, but you don’t want to live through another one.

the momentary peace you sought breaks as you see chris walking towards you. you almost forgot that he used to come here too and it was he who showed you this place. lazily you wave at him and watch him wave back at you.

he stops and slides down on the other side of the tree. for a bit, you think he’s just giving you space, or maybe you think he somehow knows that deep down you want to be alone.

“am i an open book sometimes?” you ask casually. you place an arm on your bent leg, watching a moth flutter around your fingertips.

“sometimes, yes. but i’m good at reading people,” comes chris’s answer.

“so you should be a psychologist then.” you laugh at your own words, but really you’re trying to find a reason to be happy now.

to your surprise, chris laughs as well, though it’s short and almost dry. “then i reckon my patients will all be soldiers; you would be my favorite one.”

“psychologists are not allowed to have favorites, chris. oh and i think the proper term is a therapist actually…” your words drift off, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. you suck in a breath, body sagging down as you continue watching the moth, now having flown into your open palm. you turn your hand just as the mother walks around it, now making a path across your knuckles.

silence comes between you again, reminding you that you are not a person to hold conversations with. chris isn’t either, you decide, but he at least has his stories.

“may i ask you something personal, (name)?” chris’s voice cuts across the silence, each syllable hesitant but clear. you could guess what he wants to ask, so you drop your hand to the side as the moth flutters away.

“go ahead.”

“do you still love him?”

though you are expecting a similar inquiry, you still feel yourself dry-mouthed. there’s nothing to suggest what chris is currently going through but you can also take a guess at that. it’s now so apparent that chris must have liked you–he probably still does. if you are a better person, you would have made it clear the second you found out that you cannot be with him. but after letting leon go, you are thinking otherwise.

that perhaps, chris can fill that hole in your heart.

and yet, despite that feeling of wanting him, you also realize that he still cannot replace anything.

the hole in your heart has always been open, too deeply wounded for chris to completely fill it.

“yes, i do. but at the same time, i’m not sure,” you admit, looking down to your lap. “and i’m aware that you are fond of me, but i never wanted to tell you this.” you could have left out the last part, but you want chris to know because he deserves to learn what happened that day. perhaps that can change his opinion about you, perhaps, in some silly way, he will let you go.

both of you sought affection, you know that, but it’s not the right time, and certainly not with the right person.

before you allow him to speak, you then say, “will you let me go chris? i never wanted this to happen but i don’t blame you. i just want to be at peace, for once i don’t want my heart to be burdened with these feelings.”

for a moment, you thought you hear chris sigh. slowly you look around, only to see a small part of his body peaking out from the front of the trunk. so you stand up and walk around, deciding that it will be easier to talk to him here.

you squat down in front of him, placing both of your hands on your knees as you study his face. he isn’t looking, but he’s deep in thought. you wonder what he’s thinking; you couldn’t figure it out without overthinking impossible things, but you’re curious.

“leon still holds a place in your heart, even if you don’t love him,” he says it as a fact. chris opens his mouth before curling his lips into a tight smile. that’s the smile you know to be hiding burdens. finally, he leans forward and curls his hand behind the base of your neck. “and you’re alright to let him go? to let me go as well? (name), you know you deserve love, you deserve everything that’s good for all the mess this world made”

almost bitterly you laugh, hand reaching up to wave away whatever words he spoke. “no chris, i think it’s enough for me. love is something i shouldn’t try to find right now. i need space and only that.”

you think he’s going to pull you into him, but instead, he lets you stay here. you recall the times he would do the same thing to other soldiers, except he was lecturing them on morality and discipline.

if you and he had met much earlier, if he had been your childhood friend instead of leon, then tonight might have been different. you could have found love and be in love, but that’s another story.

“i heard your confession that day (name), you’re not exactly quiet about it.”

you raise your eyes up to chris. he has a frown on his face but quickly it turns into a half-hearted smirk. you’re suddenly aware of his thumb rubbing circles on the flesh of your neck, reminding you of the time leon did the same thing to your forehead.

with a heavy heart, you lower yourself. chris doesn’t leave his hand on you for long, choosing then to drop it onto his lap.

“leon and i still share a deep connection,” you say, ascertaining your words. “but, i also moved on from him.” your hands push into the soft ground, fingers digging through dirt just as you close your eyes.

“so he holds a special place in your heart even though you moved on? that’s...that’s a soulmate (name),” chris pauses, eyebrows furrowing as if it pains him to continue. “i was hopeful that you would move on to me. but when i saw you and leon together i realized that you and leon will never separate even if you don’t love him. and then i acknowledged how awful it was for me to think of you in such a way, so i want to let go as well.”

his words shock you, only because he’s now telling you this. you stare at him with a slackened jaw. “thank you chris,” you then reply, offering him a slight smile, before shaking your head. “this could have turned out simpler if we just communicated better, all three of us i suppose.”

this time, chris’s laugh is lighter as he adjusts his position against the tree. “well, we’re soldiers (name), we’re only good at fighting and talking about combat strategies.”

as you both watch the stars and bask in the summer wind, you think you hear a distant voice urging you.

go to him, he waits.

-----------------------

leon calls the next week, saying that he will be back around the early morning. though initially excited, your mood drastically changes when you remember the words you want to share with him. nervousness buds in your heart that you couldn’t sleep. like most nights before, you pace around your room, only stopping when you want to stare at the moon.

hours later, claire comes into your room and tells you that leon’s back.

as always, his appearance could be for the better. dirt and blood and other matters cling onto him as he walks in. somewhere in the middle, his hair was cut, its edges uneven. at the very least, you see that he has shaven.

for the first time since coming out of your desecrated hometown, leon’s smiling.

you think back to chris’s words, that leon’s your soulmate. perhaps that’s why his mood is different; perhaps he feels it too.

a crooked grin spreads across his face as claire fist bumps him, congratulating him on retrieving the necessary information. he then turns toward you, seemingly expecting something from you.

you’re tired but your heart is soaring once more. silently, you cross the meager distance and put your arms around him.

“welcome home leon,” you tell him. you then pause, eyes lingering on claire and then to chris, who has made his way here. “we missed you.”

his smile is all teeth, bright and boyish and reminding you of everything you love about him.

“i missed you too, all of you,” is his soft response.

when your bodies connect, you feel the excitement of being so close to him. this time, however, you don’t doubt yourself or him it’s just this strange, oddly supernatural relationship between you and leon. 

“and leon?” you say, face still hovering close to his. “can we start over? empty slate this time?” 

for a moment, leon looks taken aback. but whatever feeling that’s going through him must be generous, for he says, “okay, let’s start from the beginning, (name).” 

you smile, touching foreheads with him, fondly remembering those days of your youths. 

[hobiwonder]

Teen Idle | (m)

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Smut. PWP

Warnings: Unprotected sex, creampie, blowjob, dry humping, exhibitionism, dirty talk, degrading language, mentions of religion in a negative light. Mentions of infidelity. 

Summary:  “Wish I’d been a teen, teen idle Wish I’d been a prom queen, fighting for the title Instead of being sixteen and burning up a bible Feeling super, super (super!) suicidal The wasted years, the wasted youth The pretty lies, the ugly truth And the day has come where I have died Only to find I’ve come alive” - Teen Idle by Marina

OR: You’d been a good girl and for what? Hedonistic adventures of a church girl turned.... well, bad. 

Words: 6k+

A/n: Bad like this absolutely last minute smut lmao eejhbduefhebfuejdn i wrote this in two days and this was NOT on my list of WIPs until like a day ago so I apologise if this isn’t your cup of tea. But tysfm to @yminie for the AMAZING mood board I forever will be amazed by her talents. Not beta read bc it’s my baby’s bday and i dont wanna be sending over work for her to read over!! pls let me know if you enjoyed. I loved writing hoseok ravage me in my mind :’))).

It was hard to understand what exactly was your place in the world. Ever since you’d been a  young girl, growing up in a conservative house with a preacher for a father and a very strict mother to match – you had known nothing but disciple, purity and how to make conscientious choices knowing that god is watching at all times. Even to think of an anomalous thought earned you a solitary confinement in your room with the holy book itself to make your wrongs in to rights. Your parents couldn’t have the preacher’s daughter being just like those insolent teenagers that you went to school with – could they?

The whole of your youth had been spent singing in choirs, volunteering at church on every Sunday and making sure each moment of your life was free from sin and impurity. You never wanted to be like the drugged, easy harlots that went to your impure school. You were better than that. You were better than them. That’s what you’d been told your whole life. To be better than everyone else in the eyes. It did not matter to you that you didn’t have a social circle surrounding you like the rest of your peers that you witnessed on a daily basis – making out freely and shamelessly on the hood of their cars after school or even before school.

“You’re better than these heathens, y/n. Remember that. The lord will reward you for your resistance.” These words have been spoken to you so many times you’d lost count. Your father was a strict man and every punishment, every lesson came down to this; being better than those ‘heathens.’ It wasn’t to say that you regretted servicing the church as a teenager, spending your nights sorting out bulletins instead of crashing college parties like the girls in your class giggled about in the hallways. Charitable work was regarding high in the eyes of the lord. And this life was temporary. You had the whole of heaven to look towards after passing from this world and the hedonistic people that inhabited it.

You wanted to be nice and virginal because in the eyes of the lord, in the holy book, that was more desirable than being an easy slut. Society still valued the innocence, perceived dependency, and sexual inexperience of a female virgin, while shunning women when they “corrupt” themselves by giving themselves away and you’d been a fool when you’d given it all away to one man that you’d thought was the one for you. But what did you get in return? A cheating bastard who’d been sleeping with his secretary – quarter his age.

“Y-Y/n!” your whole body had been on auto pilot and your feet had taken you straight towards your car while Sehun had ran after you – shirt unbuttoned and haphazardly tucked in to his slacks after the scandalous scene you had walked in to at his office.

“Y/n, wait! I can explain!” you’d been told all your life that rage was a sin too. Never to let the anger consume your brain enough to make it cloudy with bad decisions and yet, you hadn’t cared then when you’d turned out – heaving with so much anger you weren’t sure if it was possible to explode from just one emotion.

“Explain what?! What is there to explain?” Your tone is louder than the gentle croon it always was, speaking gracefully and politely like good girls from noble, pious families did. It the surprise on Sehun’s face at your outburst is almost as surprising as finding out that your fiancé had been sleeping with another woman for god knew how long!

But that’s right isn’t it? God knew everything and he had known about this too. So why did he think you deserved this? Did you not deserve to be happy? With a fiancé, a good job, a ‘good’ family? Where did you go wrong?

You’d given up your body for this man thinking he’d done the same. He’d given you himself in return and you had felt whole – at least then. So why did you feel so conned now? Why did you feel the regret creep up now at giving up your purity, your virginity to a man you had given everything to and gotten absolutely nothing from?

“I can’t believe you’re talking to me like that.” The look of utter surprise with an undertone of disgust had you wanting to hurl your bag to his face – wiping away the contorted expression as if he’d met the most vile person on earth. He was in in place to be chastising you after being caught fucking his secretary and yet he had the nerve to do it anyway?

“Fuck you, Sehun.” That’s the last thing you’d uttered to his face, surprising even yourself at your boldness before you’d dashed out of the lot to where you sat now. The bar that was closest to your work building while you’d been driving by. Your emotional state was somewhere between a mess because of your time wasted with Sehun and feeling bitter as you questioned your whole life. What did you have to show for all those years spent following the rules, being a good religious girl only to break one of the most scared rules for a man that didn’t give a crap about you?

You felt dirty and disgusting and craved the glory that you felt within you – like you were better than the people surrounded by you – pure and almost godly. It fed the narcissist in you that your parents had made you out to be. Always telling you that you were better than everyone else out there because of who you were and how you lived your life. Sure your co-workers thought you a but stuck up. But of course – they weren’t the ones with a modest job, a fiancé, a perfect home at such a young age. They were just bitter that your life was flawless and you had it all while staying pure and remembering god while the heathens out there could never have both.

At least that’s what you’d thought. How did you even fool yourself in to believing that you could have it both ways? Have pre-marital sex while trying to live a life that ensured you your place in heaven. Why did it all seem like a waste of time? You’d been a fool and lived a lie. Thinking that being a good Christian girl instead of living a life like the typical teenager did would ensure that you avoided heartache such as this. But it happened anyway. So why? Why had you been so good? Why did you waste your youth burning up a bible while your peers were out there making these mistakes already; probably learning how to avoid men exactly like Sehun than being a fool almost nearing 30 and never having had intimate relationships – at least not like the one you had with Sehun. You’d given him your virginity for goodness sake.

“What would you like ma’am?” The bartender looked at you – slightly unsurely as you stared up at his face just as confused, having never been at a bar like this alone. In fact, you could count on one hand the times you had visited a bar and it had been with Sehun to attend work functions that you both usually left early to pray together before you went to bed at 10pm promptly. God, you were a fucking disaster. And maybe this was a mid-life crisis because even you weren’t sure you’d make it to 60 years old let alone live a normal life in to your elderly years.

“She’ll have a vodka tonic.” The deep, sultry voice was unmistakably of someone you had known very well at work. Well, known was a bit of an over statement.

The bartender nodded, getting to mixing your drink straight away while all the golden skinned, glowing sharp features and a lithe body and a perfect coy smile that was Hoseok, took a seat beside you on the bar stool. His hair was parted and the tie he’d been sporting at work today was loosened around his neck but the blazer still stayed. He looked like a sin you wanted to commit and you couldn’t believe that your mind was so loose tonight that it had even allowed you to think lustful thoughts rather than filtering them out of your system like you’d trained it to.

“Mr. J-Jung.”

“We’re not at the office anymore Y/n. Please call me Hoseok.” He smiled at you so brightly that if you weren’t so at war with yourself internally; you may have even returned it. Usually you avoided much contact with the opposite sex as you already had a fiancé and looking at strange men was not looked upon favourably in the eyes of god. Especially men that induced such lustful thoughts in your mind… But did that even matter anymore? Why had you done all of that when it in the end you’d been fucked over by life anyway? Were you just another pathetic woman; like the ones you despised and told yourself that you were nothing like them?

“Never thought I’d see you at a bar, let alone, by yourself. What’s happening? Lover boy skip a date to go to church?” He chuckles at his own joke and you can’t bring yourself to fight with him. Because at the moment you were questioning every aspect of your life, every opportunity missed and every mistake not made.

Fuck Sehun. Fuck him. Fuck religion. Fuck the people who fooled you in to thinking that you were special. Because if you were then why did this happen? You were no better than any other woman out there even when you kept yourself the cleanest you could. You denied yourself the pleasures that everyone indulged in – thinking and even feeling to some extent like the godly being you were told to strive to be.

“No. He diched me to fuck his secretary at his office.” Your casual response has Hoseok’s eyes going wide, spluttering for a moment before he’s shaking his head as if trying to wrap his head around what you’d told him.

“First of all, never thought I’ll hear you swear,” He shoots you a smirk before a more sombre look takes place on his face, “Damn. Holy shit. I’m sorry to hear that y/n. How could he do that to… toyou.”

Maybe you’d be offended if the context and the circumstances were different. But they weren’t. And it was true. You had thought yourself to be better than everyone else you worked with and thought that you deserved it all. It was your reward for following the rules that god made man to follow. But of course, where did that get you? A lost virginity that made you feel like a whore with even actually being one, not knowing what was true and what wasn’t and the regret. The fucking regret that in your late 20s you had wasted your youth and never gained the ability to deal with a heartbreak such as this. Suddenly, you craved it all. You wanted to go back in time, fuck every guy on the basketball team, fall in love with all of them just for them to break your heart the next week. Drink yourself to oblivion to numb the pain of said heart break or eat your feelings. Do everything that would prepare you for today so could handle these feelings like an actual strong woman and not one whose confidence lay solely on god. Who waved around a false sense of superiority because she didn’t drink? Didn’t smoke? Had only slept with the man she was going to marry?

You’d wasted all those years like a fucking fool. And of course, Hoseok, who teased you the most about being the way you were – stuck up – to witness your downfall.

“Well, he did.” You’re nonchalantly taking a sip of a drink you’ve never had before but thankfully you’re not spitting it back out like a rookie as the alcohol burns its way down your throat and settles in your system. Already making your body temperature rise and you weren’t even through with all of the glass.

“What a shitbag.” Normally you would reprimand anyone who sore in front of you but today; you just shrugged. Still deep in thought, letting the regret take you over as you downed another glass, the pleasant haze of feeling tipsy tearing down your walls of defence and your inhibitions.

“Well, as much as I dislike you for being a killjoy at work and having your nose in the air every time someone even walks by you; I apologise on the behalf of male species. Never thought any bad would be happening to you.” He’s snorting to himself as he drinks his own glass of whiskey, gesturing the bartender to fill your glasses once more. And while he does; you look at him. Reallylook at him. You no longer want to deny that Jung Hoseok was a devastatingly charming man. He was a favourite around the office and you’d never seen him without some sort of smile on his handsome, sharp face. When you’d first started work at his department; he’d tried to flirt with you on day one but you’d quickly shut him down, holding on to your cross necklace as you told him you didn’t court men that easily. But as you watched his easy stance, the way his thighs spread out naturally to accommodate him and the dishevelled look of his hair from running his hands through it; you wanted him.

You wanted him to make you forget. You wanted to live out each and every fantasy you had and make up for the lost years you spent holed up as a teenager. And who best to do it with the most handsome and effervescent man you knew? Sure, you’d only given him dirty looks each time you caught him in the break room making out with a different co-worker every other week. But you were a hypocrite. Because in this moment, you wanted nothing more than to be one of those girls. You wanted him to fuck you on every surface of every building. You wanted to be an actual whore than pretend like you were treated any better than one. Discarded to the side so easily by Sehun.

“You okay, y/n?” He’s looking at you now and you know that he’s caught the spark in your eyes, no doubt being able to tell that you weren’t the y/n he worked with on the daily basis. You realise; that version of you had died the moment you’d caught Sehun in the act. This was the new you and she wanted to make up for lost time and suddenly, you felt jittery and moist between your legs as you glanced at Hoseok’s fingers circling the mouth of the glass.

“I will be. If you can help me.” Your voice is soft but determined as you stare him square in the eyes. Sometime during the night, he’d somehow moved closer to you, face now inches away from yours as his own shamelessly took in your pencil skirt and your collared blouse. To proper and put together for his liking. And now, to your own as well.

“You really mean that?” His voice is deliciously husky and it sends a chill down your spine but you nod your answer anyway. Not breaking eye contact with his glossy ones.

“I need you to say it sweetheart.” And you will. Because tonight you wanted nothing more than to feel the feelings you had avoided your whole life – thinking that somehow you’ll remain a better person than everyone you knew.

“W-Will you… will you fuck me Hoseok? Show me what good girls can’t have? Make me regret ever not wanting to let you have me on that day?” Even to your ears, your voice sounds foreign. Never being so openly blunt and shameless. But you knew that Hoseok doesn’t care because he’s cursing under his breath, muttering a ‘fuck’ as he rakes his gaze over your body once more. Then, he’s pushing back his glass while he holds on to your wrist – dragging you out of the bar with him.

“W-Where are we going?”

“To fuck.” Your face is going red and the blood in your veins is bubbling from excitement. You were being careless and reckless and yet; you’d never felt so alive before. This really was your new life. And you could do everything you hadn’t in your past one. Hoseok has your hand firmly in his own as he’s pushing you in to a darkened alley next to the bar. The night air is slightly cool and people are still walking by once in a while to access the bar. In an instance, you’re pushed up against the brick wall, the rough edges digging in to your back harshly as Hoseok blankets your body with his own, towering over you. You’re breathing hard and watching his each move while he only places both of his arms on either sides f your head.

“Do you really want this y/n? Because this is your last chance before I have you the way I’ve always wanted.” And somehow, your breathing is getting faster as you stare at him expectantly.

“I am. U-Use me Hoseok. It’s what I want.” I want to feel like a dollar whore. I want your cum dripping out of me. I want to have your cock in my mouth until the day I die.

It was as if your previous self had been so deprived to the point that the new life you suddenly have made you a nymphomaniac as the default setting. Wanting nothing more than to do anything and everything to fill that deep ache you felt inside your soul and now your pussy. Hell, your previous self wouldn’t have even said any of these words even in your thoughts.

And Hoseok needs no more reassurance as he’s pushing up your skirt in a haste – in a public place, mind you, where anyone could walk by and see two figures huddled up against the wall – and then pulling down your modest white cotton panties that were now soaked.

“Fuck, you’re this wet already? I always knew you were so prim and proper to hide the inner slut in you. Weren’t you baby?” And all you do is nod slowly, watching him hitch up your legs as he settles them on his waist to steady you. All the while his eyes grow increasingly frantic, watching you tremble beneath him. In a way – he was also getting to taste the unforbidden fruit and you were more than willing now. Ready to rid yourself of your virtue that you’d held on to so tightly – at least in spirit.

“Answer me, y/n. Did you always want me? Hm? You always wanted my cock?” His voice is gravely and it sends shivers down your spine that’s perched up against the brick wall.

Something about letting a practical stranger like Jung Hoseok take you in such a public setting was so sensual and erotic to you that you were a mess between your legs, sticky arousal smearing the insides of your thighs as Hoseok looked down between you both. But to your surprise – he doesn’t open his belt buckle as you’d assumed he would. Instead – he’s pushing his hips in to yours, mashing his hardened length against your naked pussy and the breath is taken straight out of your lungs.

“H-Hoseok.”

“Yeah baby?” His hips have started to roll a steady rhythm against your soaked core and you know that he’s making a mess of his own slacks every single time he’s rubbing his cock against your sticky core. And affectively helping you get ever so close to that peak you’d been familiar with but never quite so intensely. Sure, you’d thought Sehun was good in bed but in comparison to whom? Hoseok wasn’t even inside you and you were a mess already. The pleasure so intense and concentrated that the noises that were leaving your lips were almost uncontrollable. As if no matter how much you’ll try; they’ll escape you anyway, painting the dim lilted walls of the alley with your breathy sighs and cries of Hoseok’s name.

A man who you were not courting nor were you even remotely romantically involved with. And saying his name over and over again only made you wetter knowing that fact. It was an act of defiance against your own beliefs and you were going to yell his name in ecstasy any chance you got.

“I need you,” your moan that comes out more as a whine only makes him smirk and push his hips harder in to you, pushing your back farther up against the rough brick wall as it grazes your back almost painfully. And you love every second of it.

“Need me where, y/n?” He’s fastened his pace, resorting to now just a quick grind of his hips in between your legs to deliciously put pressure on you bundle of nerves – almost never detaching from your hips at all.

“Ah! I-In me. Oh god. I-I’m-”

“Already? Such a hungry cock slut.” Hoseok tuts, eyes never leaving your face that’s contorted in a look of almost pain because of being so dangerously close to the edge. Your hands are clawing his back and his face is buried in the crevice of your neck, picking away at the threads that held your sanity close until each string was giving away to the carnal lust that flowed all throughout your body. You weren’t wanting to fight any sensation that you felt. But somehow, your mind still tried to fight off the impending orgasm despite knowing that’s exactly what you wanted. You wanted a release. You to let go. But Hoseok isn’t exactly making it easy for you. Because the next thing you know – he’s pushed you down on your knees until you were level with his hips and looked up hazily in to his own hungry eyes.

“You don’t get to cum so easily my dear y/n. Not after all these years I had to put up with your self-righteous attitude only to have your slutty mouth ask for my cock. You need to earn it.” He’s almost spitting out the words while he unbuckles his pants, the sound of his belt buckle opening and the sight of his veiny arms sending another trickle of arousal out of your pussy – panties still around your ankles and skirt still pushed up high.

Slowly, he’s fisting out his throbbing cock that has you gasping when you take in the length and its girth as well. He was bigger and wider than Sehun but a good few centimetres and the thought of his cock stretching you out terrified and excited you all at once. Giving it a few shallow pumps as he smears the pearly white liquid around his length – he eyes you expectantly, gesturing with his chin to come forward.

“Get to work babe. If you want this cock inside you – you better show me how much you want it.” Your eyes most look like a deer caught in the headlights because after a few seconds, Hoseok is cursing under his breath before he’s fisting your hair – only to tilt your face up harshly.

“Open your mouth wide, y/n.” And as if in a trance, you do. With one quick thrust – Hoseok is hitting the back of your throat, making you gag around his slightly salty cock.

“Fuck. Your mouth is a sin in itself babe. And you know I’m the biggest sinner.” He’s spitting out every word between clenched teeth as he thrusts his cock in your mouth again and again. Your jaw already starting to ache as it opened almost painfully wide to accommodate his length while he continued his assault on your mouth.

You’re trying to keep your breathing even and breath through your nose so you don’t faint. The moans that escape you are again – unstoppable. You’d never given Sehun head because he’d deemed it ‘disgusting’ and ungodly behaviour. And yet – you’d found him with his cock buried deep in his assistant’s throat. The act itself with Hoseok’s handsome face peering down at you – lips between his teeth and hands guiding your movements – you can’t remember the last time or anytime in fact, you’d felt this sensual. This erotic and sultry and just plainly like a whore.Giving this beautiful man head in a dark alley with your skirt bunched up to your waist and ass exposed to anyone who could be passing by.

And what do you know – you can hear steps approaching the alley and on instinct, you try to pull away. But it’s hard when Hoseok’s nimble fingers are gripping your hair so tightly to the point where it stings. And with every passing second, you can hear the steps getting closer.

Your voices of protest are muffled while Hoseok only chuckles above you. “You think I care if someone sees you with my cock down your throat? You need to know,” He’s moaning out before he continues, “that your place is on your knees – before me. Like the cock slut you always have been hiding under your granny panties and high collared shirts.”

You can only muffle out a moan around his assaulting member as he continues to fuck your mouth  while lewd, sloppy sounds fill the alley.

“F-Fuck. I’m going to c-cum babe.” His pace has increased and he’s frantically pushing his length deeper and deeper in your mouth while you try to suck on the tip of his engorged head as much as you can. And just when he’s about to cum – a voice all too familiar interrupts you both.

“Y/N? Is… Is that you?” You can hear Sehun approach the two figures he can probably only see vaguely. Your eyes shoot towards his direction and you know exactly the moment he’d recognized your voice and your form that’s sitting on the alley floor.

“Y/N!” Sehun has rushed forwards, grabbing your shoulders in a haste as he pushes Hoseok off of you. You’re sitting there with saliva dripping from your swollen mouth, eyes glazed over while Hoseok is only chuckling as he slips his hardened length back in his pants.

“How dare you do that to her?!” He’s roaring at Hoseok who looks like he doesn’t give two fucks about Sehun catching you with your mouth around his cock. He clearly had the wrong idea. Thinking you’d been forced. Just when you’d collected enough breath and reason in your mind – you push Sehun away forcefully while you walked towards Hoseok who was leaning against the opposite wall.

“Y/N…”

“What Sehun? What do you want?” You’re looking behind you as you walk towards Hoseok – completely throttled and thrashed with your skirt up to your waist – panties around your thighs.

“What in the god’s name are you doing?!” And you can only giggle as you start fishing Hoseok’s cock out of his trousers again – right in front of Sehun.

“Letting this man fuck my brains out.” You don’t need to look behind you to know that Sehun is probably looking at you shell-shocked. Never being able to imagine you this uninhibited and callous with your words. But you get a sneak at his face anyway when Hoseok is flipping you over so that your back rested against the brick wall again whilst he hitched up your legs to his waist again. And the thought that he didn’t care that Sehun was watching before rubbing the fattened head of his cock against your pussy all the while Sehun watched – only made your pussy gush.

You don’t remember the last time you felt this excited, this sexy when you’d been with a man. Not even Sehun who you’d considered to be the love of your life. But now you were finding out that you didn’t know any better and had no other man to compare him to. Of course you thought he was the one because your father approved of him.

“You’re going to go to hell for this y/n. For acting like a disgusting-”

“Slut? I know. I don’t give a shit Sehun. Now go away so I can get fucked in peace. Or don’t, I don’t care-ah!” Just then, Hoseok has pushed his girthy, painfully hard length inside you and Sehun is seething; disappearing from the dark alley just as you’re putting  a hand to your mouth to quieten your cries as Hoseok’s length stretches out your pussy. And he’s looking straight down between you two, watching the way the labia of your pussy stretches around his length.

“Fuck, your cunt is hotter than the 7thcircle of hell my dear y/n.” He’s cursing under his breath, taking in a deep one just as he’s sheathed completely inside you, letting you take a breath as you try to get used to the largest intrusion you’d felt inside you.

“M-Move Hoseok.” You wanted him to wreck you. You wanted him to take his pleasure from you and use you so much so it made up for all the years of being a fool made you miss out on sleeping with every and any guy you wanted to.

“Can’t believe you preached to us all at every general meeting when your cunt is hotter than hell. You’ve always been the hidden devil among us all haven’t you? Hm?”

He’s throwing your hand away from your mouth when you just muffle out your answer behind them with each thrust of his cock inside your channel. You’re so wet that a squelching sound accompanies every thrust inside and it’s making you pink all over.

“Answer me y/n. You’re a cock whore who’s always been hungry for it haven’t you? Yeah?” With each word, his pace had increased the sounds of skin slapping against skin were so loud that they even brought you back down to earth and feel a hint of shame. But the pleasure coursing through you was enough for you to cry Hoseok’s name over and over like a prayer you wanted to have desperately answered.

“Y-Yes. I love c-cock. I want your cock to t-tear me up. U-Use me Hoseok-” you hiccup as tears well up in your eyes, feeling the bulbous head of his hard member nudge your cervix again and again. The natural curve of his dick hitting each nerve ending inside you that you didn’t even know existed.

“Oh baby.” He’s clenching out between his teeth, “I,” A deep thrust, “will.” Another one that has you almost howling every single time he bottoms out.

You don’t know how he’s holding back after being on edge for so long but you can feel him get even more impossibly harder. Almost as hard as stone inside your velvety walls.  

“Fuck you’re so wet Y/N. Did Sehun ever make you this wet? Hm?” You’re pushed up against the wall with each punishing thrust that has a string of continuous moans falling from your lips.

“N-No. You f-fuck me so well h-hoseok.” It’s hard to speak but you love it nonetheless. Saying all the erogenous words out loud only made your pussy gush and clench around him harder.

“You gunna cum baby? You’re gunna cum for me?” You’re vigorously nodding your head while the tears escape past your eyes and on to your already sweaty and teary face while you sniffle away.

“Too fucking bad.” And just like that – he’s pulling out of you and pulling away so abruptly that you fall to the dirty floor in a heap. Pussy leaking with his and your combined fluids while he quickly tucks back his erection that almost look menacing now. You didn’t know why he insisted on torturing you both but you didn’t question it. Loving every second of your hedonistic and spontaneous sexual encounter.

“Come on.” He’s tugging you up on your wobbly feet and dragging you out of the alley. And when you try to pull down your skirt to cover your ass – he swats your hands away.

“No covering up. I want everyone to see what a whore you actually are. You want this to don’t you?” It takes you a few seconds to look at Hoseok’s smirking face and slowly; you nod. Letting him tug you out towards the parking lot – knowing that any passer-by – albeit it being almost 10pm – would be able to see your skirt pushed up with only your panties barely covering your modesty.

And just like that – Hoseok drags you over to his car; a shinny range rover. Pulling open the driver’s seat, he’s sitting inside and pushing back his seat slightly and then within seconds, pulling you on his lap to straddle his spread legs. Both of you are panting and both of you are staring straight at each other; consumed completely by lust as Hoseok gives your wrecked state a once over. He’s reaching out only to rip open the front of your blouse that had been buttoned up high – only to pull down the cups of your bra as your heaving breasts spring free.

“Fuck,” He mutters under his breath, groping the soft flesh between his large vascular hands, “Your tits are amazing. I want to suck on them all day.”

When you moan out in response, he continues, “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Maybe I can drop by to your office for a midday snack, huh? Suck these tits till they’re all puffy and swollen.”

“H-Hoseok. Please.” You’re desperate to reach your peak and now are shamelessly grinding against his hips to get some sort of friction. Hoseok’s bent forward with a nipple in his mouth, licking and sucking in the whole of you areola.

“Oh f-fuck. I’ll c-cum like this Hoseok.” And you were going to. You were so, so close you were about to lose your mind. Thankfully, Hoseok is opening his belt and letting you fish out his hard cock again and within seconds – you’ve taken initiative and impaled yourself on his hardened length.

“Fuck, you’re so hot baby. Just like that.” His hands have now found purchase on your waist as you start riding him like only your pleasure mattered. With the continuous teasing and the exhibitionist that Hoseok has awoke in you – your pussy was plenty wet and even overly so. Making deliciously dirty squelching sounds every time you slid over his pole again and again. Your rhythm increasing as your high built up again – and quite fast thanks to all the edging for hours.

“Yeah, fuck yourself on my cock y/n. Just like the dirty little cock whore you are. Aren’t you?”

“Y-Yeah. L-Love y-your cock.” You’re slurring your words as the car bounces from the sheer force of your pace as you ride Hoseok towards the sun. You could die a happy girl on his cock and when you look at his face that’s watching you like you’re the holiest thing he’d ever seen; you’re crying out your release while he thankfully gets the hint and holds up your hips, thrusting his cock inside you from below to push you over the edge completely.

“Fuck! Hoseok I-I’m-” Your teary face is looking at his own in panic while his hips frenetically push inside your gushing pussy.

“Cum on my cock baby. Let all your cunt juices go. I want to drown in your cum, fuck!” He’s growling and seething out the words as if he’s angry. Livid in fact and it only stretches out your orgasm further – as well as the hand that’s slipped between you both and now strummed your clit to almost a second peak while he chased his own high.

“Fuck fuck fuck I’m going to cum in your dirty pussy y/n. Can I? Fuck I’m n-not going to last. Please baby.”

Your teary face is weakly nodding while your head rests against his shoulder, body bouncing with every thrust inside your sopping and oversensitive walls. The hand on your clit that was incessantly rubbing was so close to make you cum again. And when Hoseok starts to slam your hips down on his lap – sticky and wet sounds echoing through the walls of the confined space in his car, flesh sticking to flesh – you cum once more and with a few more deep thrusts of his cock inside you – you can feel the spurts of his own cum flooding inside your walls.

“Fuck, I-I’m leaking out of you babe.” He’s watching between your bodies as the sounds get even sloppier with his cum overflowing from your pussy and back on to his cock – making a creamy mess between you two. And in that moment, you could only rest your head against his shoulder after having cum for the second time. Your body was worn and tired but your mind was buzzing in the aftermath of your rendezvous. Hoseok looked as beautiful as ever with his golden skin shining with perspiration while he caught his breath – caressing your behind almost lovingly. Love.

That’s not what you were after right now. In fact, even just thinking about it made you want to forget about the whole concept of it all. And when Hoseok looked down at you with a raised eyebrow – you just quietly lean back against the steering wheel, letting him have a look between where you two were joined again.

“Can you f-fuck your cum back in to me?” your sultry tone and your incredibly filthy question catches his off guard for sure. But it’s not even a minute later that he’s ordering you again.

“Turn around y/n. Let’s see that ass bounce.”

And of course, your new self in your new life is more than willing to oblige. Today was the day you had thought you’d died – only to find that you’ve come alive.

a/n: yay or nay? let me know!!

[astralshipper]

OK SOOOO BASICALLY LOL I WAS SUPPOSED TO POST THIS LIKE. FOREVER AGO. I FINISHED IT LATE AND WANTED TO POST IT IN THE MORNING ONE DAY AND THEN. NEVER DID IT. BC I HAVE DUMB BITCH SYNDROME. I AM SO SORRY KAI ILY AND U AND UR FROG HUSBAND R AMAZING AND BEAUTIFUL HE LOVES U SO MUCH!!

Pairing: @kittyselfships Kai x  Lúcio Corr.eia

Word count: 1267 (IM SORRY IT IS V SHORT I WILL WRITE. ANOTHER) ----------------------- Kai’s feet dragged carelessly against the floor as he entered through the front door of he and Lúcio’s home. The door slammed behind him, a bit louder than he intended it to causing him to jump in fright. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he toed his shoes off of his feet so he could kick them off towards the wall to deal with later.

“Kai?” A familiar voice echoed through the house. “Kai, that you?” 

Lúcio rounded the corner with a beaming smile, only to freeze as he caught sight of his husband’s downtrodden look. Within seconds the DJ was next to Kai, reaching up to tug the jacket off of his husband’s slumped shoulders. He hung the article of clothing on a hook by the door and took Kai’s hand to lead him further into the home and into the main living area. Kai collapsed into the sofa cushions with a heavy sigh.

“Babe, what happened?” Lúcio asked softly as he settled down beside his beloved. His eyes shone with his concern and he reached his hands out to grasp Kai’s in a show of comfort.

Kai dropped his gaze to their hands, allowing himself a moment to simply relish in the feeling of Lúcio’s warmth against his skin. The DJ rubbed his thumbs back and forth over Kai’s knuckles, lulling him slowly into a more peaceful state. “Just… everything went wrong. All of it. I feel like… I feel like I can’t do anything right,” Kai admitted in a mumbled tone of voice. One could practically hear Lúcio’s heart shattering at these words, and even if they couldn’t, the look on his face gave way to this fact very easily.

He released one of Kai’s hands so he was able to reach up and cup his husband’s cheek and turn his face so he could look at him. Tears welled up along Kai’s lower lid. His eyes were bloodshot and his lower lip trembled in time with his shaking hands. Lúcio let out a soft sigh and brought Kai into a careful hug. He moved slowly, ensuring that his husband had enough time to stop him if he so desired to be left alone right then. Kai did no such thing. He simply allowed himself to be pulled into the comforting embrace. His head rested on Lúcio’s chest as the other man brushed his fingers through his hair in a calming manner.

 Lúcio hummed along to one of Kai’s favorite songs, and the too rocked back and forth as they sat wordlessly together. Tears streamed down Kai’s cheeks and soaked into his husband’s shirt, but that was the last thing on Lúcio’s mind. Shirts can be changed. What really matters, and what really only ever matters, is Kai. Kai’s fingers grip tightly onto Lúcio’s shirt in a subconscious effort to pull him closer.

Lúcio plants a soft kiss to Kai’s temple. As the tears begin to slow, and the grip begins to loosen, Lúcio decides it is time to speak. “I hope you understand that, that’s not true,” he begins simply. Kai raised red rimmed eyes to gaze at him in confusion. Without needing the question to be spoken aloud, he reiterated, “It’s not true that you can’t do anything right.”

At this, Kai looked down to where his hands were fiddling with the fabric of Lúcio’s shirt. He gave a non committal hum. “I dunno…” He mumbled. A familiar pair of hands cupped his face and turned him so the two could press their foreheads together. Kai’s eyes fluttered shut at the contact, and he leaned into it in search of comfort.

“Kai, baby, I promise you, you are so talented at so many things. You’re kind, you’re adorable, you’re handsome as can be, you’re funny… You’re the whole package. Sometimes we have bad days, and that’s okay. It’s okay to get down. It’s okay to mess up. Your mistakes aren’t what define you.” He brushes his nose over his husband’s in a sort of compassionate nose kiss, wanting to convey his meaning without having to stop his train of thought. “I know that sometimes it can feel like everything you do is wrong, or that you’ve lost every capability you’ve ever had, but it’s just not true. I promise you that much. But I also know that it can be hard to remind yourself of that, especially when the people around you are saying things to the contrary. That’s why I’m always going to be here to reassure you, okay? And if anyone tries to tell you otherwise, they’re wrong. You know I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Kai’s lips quirked up in a shaky half smile. “You’ve gotta say that, though,” he insisted as his hand found Lúcio’s left one and he brushed his fingers over the wedding band sitting snug on his ring finger. Lúcio let out a soft chuckle. 

“I don’t remember that part of the vows,” Lúcio teased with a bump of their noses together. Kai huffed in amusement and sat back to look at the man in front of him. Lúcio’s smile softened into one of adoration and care, and he turned his hand so that their palms faced each other and he could grasp his husband’s hand carefully. He brought Kai’s hand up to his lips to press soft kisses along his knuckles. “I love you, Kai. More than I can even say in words. You’re… You’re everything to me. I can’t believe how lucky I am to be able to be here, by your side, getting to call you my husband. Out of everyone out there in the world, you chose me, and I’ll never stop being grateful for that. You’ve changed my life for the better, and I know we’ve got a long road ahead of us, but I can’t wait to see what the future holds as long as you’re in it with me.”

Kai let out one final sigh, this time allowing the tension in his shoulders to release as he slumped a bit towards Lúcio, who tugged him closer with open arms. “What did I do to deserve you?” Kai wondered aloud. 

His DJ husband let out a hum in thought. “You were yourself. Because that’s enough. That’ll always be enough.”

Lúcio finally leaned forward and connected their lips in a gentle kiss, one flooded with every ounce of his adoration for the love of his life in front of him. The pair moved in sync with a grace that only those who know each other inside and out can possibly possess. Every movement, every action, the other anticipates before it even happens. They run on the same chord, the same mindset, they know each other like they know themselves. Perhaps even better.They are two souls that meet to form one, bound to be together forever, as they were always meant to be. In every universe, in every possible timeline, no matter what stands in their way. These two are fated for one another. And that is never more apparent than when they’re together.

They pulled away just enough to catch their breath, but remained close enough for their breaths to mingle together in the small space between them. Kai was the first to break the silence. “I really, really love you, starshine,” he spoke into the quiet air. Lúcio beamed at this admission, a statement he hears multiple times a day, yet could never get sick of. It excites him just as much every single time.

“I love you too, Kai. More than I ever thought was possible.”