#from now on we call the tags The Parlour

[euno11a]

Tattooed Hearts V

Genre: No one to someone Tattoo artist! Jungkook X Reader

Summary: What happened to us? Why did we end up like this? It was only a one time thing. Now it’s ruined us both.

Warnings: fluff, angst, smut, mentions of hookups, insults, arguing, blood, mentions of period, insecurities

Edit: If you’d like to be added to the tag list, feel free to message me or send it to my inbox :)

Pt I • Pt II • Pt III • Pt IV *** Why did you think he’d change? Just because he was nice to you in the flower shop? How naive could you be? You’d walked into the tattoo parlour, it being unusually empty. Walking around a little, you tried to find someone, a customer, RM, V, anyone. But all you were met with, was Jungkook fucking some woman in the break room. You froze, staring at the girl being pounded into. She looked at you, exaggerating her moans even more when she saw you. You clenched your jaw and walked out, not wanting to deal with this today. Not knowing where to go, you wandered around Main Street, trying to get the image of him and the woman out of your head. Your face was wet…why was it wet? Oh god, you were crying over him again. Lock him out, keep him locked out, never let him in again. *** Laying on the couch in your apartment, you stared at the ceiling. You felt numb, curious on why he had such an effect on you. The voice in your head was calling you an idiot for letting him in again. Who did she think she was? Jesus Howard Christ, you were a stupid little girl that got jealous over a player! Why were you so rung up about some stupid guy that can’t keep it in his pants-! Your doorbell…who the hell was ringing your doorbell at 9:30 at night? You stood up, pulling your pj shirt down, looking through the peephole on your door. Oddly, no one was there…you opened your door, feeling and hearing a loud thud onto your floor. “Jungkook?!” You yelled, seeing the man lying on your floor, eyes half-opened. “Hey, pretty girl…” He mumbled out, running a hand through his hair. He sat up, leaning on your doorway. “What the hell are you doing here?” You asked, confused, angry and possibly even a little happy. Jungkook tilted his head up to look at you, giving you a hazy and drink smile. “M’missed you…you looked s-so good in that long thing you were wearing in the flower home…” He missed you…? No, stop it, he’s just drunk. “My long thing…? My dress? What…? Jungkook, why are you here?” You used your foot to move his legs so you could close your apartment door. He laughed, gently grabbing your leg, resting his head on it, “Missed you…needed…needed to see you…” Jungkook nuzzled your leg with his head, pressing his lips to it. “Jungkook, you��re drunk…possibly high. You don’t know what you’re saying. How’d you even get here? It’s too long of a walk from here to your place.” Okay, maybe you remembered how to get to his place from that one time he called you in the middle of the night, looking for a quick fuck. “Baby, I know what I’m saying…miss you…miss your pussy…miss your love…” He mumbled against your leg. Why hadn’t you pulled him off yet? Why hadn’t you kicked him out? Was it because you get bad? God, he looked adorable right now…but what were you gonna do with him? He can’t stay the night! But you have no way of getting him home. Fuck, why was your life so hard all of a second? “Okay, get up. Let-…no, let go of my leg!” You tried to pry him off of your leg, causing you to almost fall. Use your legs, that was the one thing you learned from the gym when lifting things. Struggling, you looped your arms around his waist, trying to pull him up to stand, but he was stronger and he pulled you down. He pulled you down into his lap. “You smell so good, baby…always so sweet…” Placing his head on your shoulder, he closed his eyes. “No! No! Open your eyes! You are not sleeping on my floor!” You wiggled yourself out of his lap, grabbing his arm, dragging him across the floor. At first glance, he didn’t look heavy, but I guess having all those muscles adds to it. Groaning, Jungkook tried to move your hands away, not liking the feeling of being dragged across the floor. “Ow, hurts….m’into that.” He smirks up at you. You drop his arms instantly, “ Stand up, Jungkook. I can’t drag you to my room.” Holding your hands out for him to grab. “Ooo, taking me to your room already?” He smiled drunkly, wiggling his eyebrows at you. He grabbed your hands, pulling himself

to stand up, stumbling into you. “You could at least wine and dine me first.” You’ve already done that to me. You sighed, taking his hand and leading him to your room. He threw himself onto your bed, cuddling up with your pillows. He fell asleep pretty quickly, most likely unaware of his surroundings. You sat down on the floor, looking up at his sleeping form on your bed. Why’d you come? Why didn’t you go to the other girl? Staring at him made tears well up into your eyes, you never should’ve looked at him. He was bad for you, like a parasite you couldn’t get rid of. Something that kept infecting you and burning you to the floor. You shouldn’t have even let him in tonight. “So pretty…su..such a good girl…my baby…” He mumbled in his sleep, you stood up, walking out of your room. Even in his sleep he talks about the other woman. Why try to be friendly when all he does is play you? Just shut up, keep your pretty poison lips shut. You’ve poisoned me enough. *** Rubbing your temples, you stared at the TV in front of you, listening to Lindsay ramble on and on. “He’s in your bed?! Like, right now he’s laying, in YOUR bed?? Oh my god, Y/N, did you sleep with him? Girl, I told you to find other dick! You can do so much better!” You shushed her, “Keep your voice down. I didn’t sleep with him, he showed up drunk last night at my door. He wouldn’t leave. So I let him in and put him in my bed.” You were running off of caffeine, two hours of sleep and a full season of Gilmore Girls. “How does he even know where you live?” She asked sceptically, placing her hands on her hips and looking you up and down. “One of the nights we were drunk and horny, my place was the closest. We came here.” Looking up at her, it posed a question, why did he still remember where you lived? “And he still remembers? Girl, I don’t know if that’s cute or stalker-ish.” “I don’t even want to think about it.” You rubbed at your eyes, the lack of sleep was making it hard to think about the fact you had Jungkook in your bed. The door creaked open, revealing a sleepy looking Jungkook. He walked out and paused, looking between you and Lindsay, then at his surroundings. Lindsay cleared her throat, pointing towards the door, “I’m gonna head out…I’ll see you later, Y/N.” With that, she escaped the situation. Why was god always on her side? Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck, looking towards you. He cleared his throat, “Morning…” holy fuck, his voice was deep and sultry. That alone was enough to make your panties damp. “Can you get out of my house now?” You more so told him than asked, standing to motion towards the front door. “Sure, but don’t you want me to stay a little longer? Maybe some head would get you out of this sour mood.” He quipped, smirking slightly. “Sour mood? Sour mood?! You came to my house at 10 last night, drunk as a pig! Pushing yourself into my house, pleading you missed me and needed me! I dragged your sorry ass from the front to my bedroom, allowing you to sleep in my bed and stay the night, and you’re telling me I’m being sour? You’re lucky I let you in! I could’ve shut you out and called the police, telling them some drunk showed up at my apartment! It’s weird enough you remember where I live, I don’t need you coming into my home! You could’ve gone to that other woman’s house, but nooo, you came here! So quit telling me I’m sour, when I’m the one that let you in even after all the shit you’ve done to me!” Your ramble left him stunned, staring at you with utter shock. He wanted to say things, apologize, talk it out, but no words came out. You scoffed, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the door, opening it and pushing him out. “Stop coming to me when you’re high.”

Taglist: @talyaaas-blog @cassies-cookies

@junecat18

[aristocratic-otter]

Ok, it’s been forever. Thank you for being patient with me. It’s been a mix of life stuff and biting off more than I can chew, lol. And yes, I currently have 11 WIPs (two are secret and aren’t teased below). Yes, I’m an idiot. I hope you like the snips (below the break)!

Thank you to: @nausikaaa, @thewholelemon, @rimeswithpurple, @monbons, @blackberrysummerblog,

@cutestkilla ,@letraspal , @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @whatevertheweather, @wellbelesbian,

@ic3-que3n, @roomwithanopenfire, @emeryhall, @prettygoododds, @artsyunderstudy,

@larkral, @youarenevertooold, @j-nipper-95 for tagging me over the last many weeks.

From Saving Simon Snow 

When Simon returns, he’s chilled to the bone. There are ice crystals trapped in his curls and clinging to his skin and clothing. Where on Earth did he fly to? I know better than to ask. He appears calm right now, but I don’t know how deep that goes. Is he still an emotional mess under the surface? 

From Snow Fox: 

“My apologies, ladies. Important business calls me elsewhere at the moment. Lieutenant Gage will keep you both safe and see to your needs.” Gage will be our prison guard, he means. I nod, tightly, feeling my mother do the same at my side. 

“Good luck with your business, Colonel,” my mother adds pleasantly. Her tone wishes him anything but. 

From Cupid’s Shield

I’m panting now. Something is cresting inside of me. Something I’ve never felt before. Baz’s hands slide down and clutch convulsively at my arse and I can’t help it: I moan. 

Something breaks open in Baz at the sound. A whole body shiver shakes his frame, and then he lets loose. 

From Stars, Flowers and Children

By the time we’ve turned fifteen, Simon has turned the little ramshackle tent I first built on the beach into something more akin to a castle. It has two stories, a bedroom for each of us in the upper floor, a kitchen with a firepit dug into the floor on the lower floor along with a privy room and what he calls our ‘parlour’. He’s built everything we could conceivable need, but I think he gets bored easily, because he’s constantly adjusting and polishing and tweaking the building. His most recent addition is a slide, travelling from a window on the second story down to the beach, and that’s how he joins me this morning, half tumbling, half slipping down its slick surface. 

I laugh and shake my head. We may be growing up, but Simon’s still mostly a child at heart, and I like that about him.

From TikTok Dancer: 

I’m worried. 

Does Baz know Snow is a magical creature? Penny told me, after the first meal all five of us shared, that Baz is a Mage. She could sense his magic, though she didn’t call him out on it. She also told me, privately, that the Pitch family was rather infamous back home in Great Britain. “They’re dark,” she said solemnly. “Pitches can’t be trusted.”

From The Rat and the River 

The stranger is a black man with glasses, I can tell that much. That, and he’s awfully cheerful for a man entering a hot zone potentially seething with deadly infectious particles, given he’s smiling widely at us as he pours bleach over his head.

Everytime his decontamination activities bring him around to face us again, he smiles again and waves. He’s got a nice smile, full of perfectly straight white teeth (product of American orthodontics, I’m sure), and it’s unfortunately contagious. I feel a faint tug at the corner of my lips.

From my Visitor Baz AU (still working on a title)

Being shocked and saddened wouldn’t put Simon off his food. But he’s been different this year. Since seeing the Humdrum as an eleven year old version of himself, growing deformed wings out of his back and then losing them in clumps of gore, and then coming back from a summer in care to find his roommate missing, he’s been more obsessive than ever before, and also somehow fragile. There’s a look in his eyes like he’s one trembling step away from going over the edge most days. And that’s intolerable. It’s my job to keep Simon Snow from falling apart, and I’m damn well going to see it done.

And, I have two CORB partners this year! 

From Corb 1: Baby Mine with @argumentativeantitheticalg

I’m going to find that cat and drain it dry. But first, I’m going to carve its bloody voice box out.

It’s been wailing outside for the last ten minutes, and I’ve got a paper due in two hours that I can’t focus on because of that hideous noise. With a huff, I drop the book I was referencing to the table and stomp over the door, ready to put that miserable creature out of its misery. 

Only, it’s not a cat.

If anyone claims to have witnessed the way I gasp-shriek at the sight of what’s on my doormat,  I’ll deny it. Then I’ll spell their memory. 

From Corb 2: The Stoves Come On At Night, with @ebbpettier

I dream.

I know it’s a dream, in that vague way you know what you’re experiencing can’t possibly be real. But the dream feels…I dunno, comfortable. Like a worn-in shoe. It feels like it fits me. 

I’m at a party. A party from another life, another world

Tags and howdies to: @chen-chen-chen-again-chen, @bazzybelle, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @palimpsessed, 

@frjsti, @fatalfangirl, @melodysmash, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist, 

@mostlymaudlin, @onepintobean, @raenestee, @tea-brigade, @upuntil6am,

@whogaveyoupermission, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @krisrix, @shemakesmeforget, @confused-bi-queer,

@nightimedreamersghost, @angelsfalling16, @mooncello, @shrekgogurt, @cosmicalart, 

@theearlgreymage, @Iamamythologicalcreature, @ileadacharmedlife, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @facewithoutheart,

@martsonmars, @thewholelemon, @bookish-bogwitch, @skeedelvee, @ivelovedhimthroughworse,

@messofthejess, @best--dress, @noblecorgi, @alexalexinii,  @hushed-chorus,  

[snowblossomreads]

Day 16: Ways to Keep Warm

Pairing: Judge Turpin x Wife!Reader

Summary: In where Richard returns home, angry that the courthouse has been closed due to an impending blizzard, and [Y/n] finds a way to use that pent up energy.

Tag(s)/Warning(s): Smut! (Oral fem receiving, allusions to female hysteria, penetrative sex), ownership of spouse (it was in the olden days lol), bold wife!, undue anger to servant, that's about it..?

Word Count: 3.1K

A/N: Evil cackles, if you're were looking for when Turpin was going to appear well wait no more! Please enjoy some warmth with him on these cold (depending where you are) winter nights : D. On ward to the smut. Also sorry for any mistakes of course (is past one am when im editing LOL)

MDNI

"Curse this bloody weather!"

The thunderous shout of her husband's voice seemed to shake the house as [Y/n] padded to the top of the staircase to find what the commotion was about. She hadn't expected him home for lunch, so to see him taking his coat off so aggressively and throwing it at Alice, one of their housekeepers, had her intrigued and mildly confused.

"Richard, my heart welcome home!" She called, coming down the stairs. "I wasn't expecting you back from court so early. Is something the matter?"

"The only thing that is the matter is this wretched weather we have. I swear each year it gets worse," he complained harshly, sitting on the cushioned bench against the wall while pulling his snow-covered boots off. "The courthouse," he hissed, tossing the boot aside with anger, causing the women to jump at the loud thump it made. "Had to recess due to the beginnings of a blizzard. A blizzard, that caught me halfway on my trip back here."

Ah. That would explain the copious amount of snow that had been trekked in, and the many flurries that coated his clothing.

"I'm sorry love, I know how busy you are and I’m sure this isn’t quite the way you wish to spend the day," [Y/n] said sweetly in hopes her tone would assuage his irritation.

As she approached him, she eyed Alice, giving her a nod that meant for her to leave them be. She didn't want the poor girl to feel the wrath of her husband as he never did learn to keep his temper on a leash when things went awry with his schedule.

Curtsying quickly, Alice gave a grateful smile to [Y/n] as thanks before she silently departed to hang her lord's coat somewhere to dry. Going to hand the poor girl something else, when he looked up and saw she was gone, his nostrils flared in annoyance before he shouted,

"Where did that stupid girl go!"

"Richard enough," [Y/n] commanded sternly.

While she loved her husband and held him in reverence as many others did, she drew a line at the way he would talk about their servants. Angry or not. She would not put up with it, even from her husband who was the lord of the house and over her.

Had it been any other husband, they may have lashed out even more. Or worse yet, laid hands on her for being a disrespectful wife. But no, with Richard, he may seem cold with those icy eyes and stern demeanor, but when it came to her, he swore no harm would come to her by his hand or any.

So when she spoke sternly to him, he was neither offended nor angered. He only became silent as he tossed his other boot off with that large frown on his face. Honestly, for a man who seemed frightening to all, her husband very much hung on her words. Only showing his caring side towards her and only in their home.

"Now come, there is no need to for harsh words, I'll put the boots up," she said, picking them up and placing them neatly so no one would trip and maim themselves. "There is a fire waiting in the parlour where we can stay warm. Let us give it some company, and I shall have Alice draw you a warm bath to stave off the chill."

"I do not wish for a bath [Y/n]! I wish to be at court, sentencing those who believe their wrongdoings have no consequences."

A thought popped into her mind. Well if he couldn’t do his job and needed something to occupy him, well she had ideas.

"Well unfortunately, that will not be happening for the safety of you and the others but, if a bath is not what you wish for my lord, mayhap we can find a better occupation that can keep you from going mad?"

That seemed to catch his attention as he looked up at her with a glint in his eyes signaling he was at least pondering her words.

"And what would this occupation be?" He drawled in that rich baritone of his that would always set her body alight.

Smiling at him, she didn't answer, only walking past him and causing him to raise an inquisitive eyebrow as he followed her with his eyes. Once she was at the base of the staircase, she turned her head back to him, a smirk on her lips.

"It involves you following me to our bedroom, my Lord," she purred in the most enticing tone she could manage. "And making use of the energy that you have pent up from not being in court today. Unless you find this to also be not of your liking?"

That seemed to catch his attention, as he stood from the the bench and stalked across the hallway towards her. His strong thick body was quickly pressed up against [Y/n] who groaned sweetly at the feel of her husband behind her.

"Hmm, well if my sweet, and innocent wife is offering," he murmured, causing the hair on her neck to rise as his breath caressed her exposed skin. "I may be yet swayed from working while away from the court."

"Then come along," [Y/n] whispered, turning to face him as she placed her hand on his chest. "I shall endeavour to do my best, and to sway you from doing such a thing."

Her invitation was punctuated with her boldly pressing their lips in a kiss that was not at all chaste. Her tongue licked at the seam of his lips as if asking for permission, and if he was caught off guard by his wife who was usually shy and mild manner he didn't show it as he hungrily accepted her advances.

Their tongues immediately danced with each other as [Y/n]'s hand buried itself in his grey tresses, and a low groan rumbled from her husband's lips as he dominated the kiss.

Breaking away from each other out of breath, and already warmer than they just were, they shared a fleeting glance before they made their way up the stairs.

It was by some miracle, that he didn't take her on the stairwell for all of the servants to see with how many times they had to pause because one of them wanted their lips on the other. When they entered the room, he was already ripping at her clothes, desperate to have his wife's body bared and underneath him.

"Richard!" She gasped in surprise, as he pulled off her night dress that she had still been wearing, exposing her breast to the cold room and causing her nipples to pebble.

A whimper escaped her lips as he strolled behind her before cupping her chest with his large warm hands. Her back arched at his touch as he began to squeeze the mounds, massaging the delicate skin before pinching her nipples in between his thumb and index.

"Mhmm my lord," she whined breathlessly as she melted at his firm touches. It didn't take long before she was rubbing herself on his hardened member that she could feel straining for release in his trousers.

"Oh yes my pretty little wife," he praised, as he leaned down kissing her exposed neck that she granted him more access to by tilting her head to the side. "All bare and soft for me," he continued, sucking at her tender flesh causing her breath to hitch and higher-pitched moans to leave her. "So sweet and…"

He trailed off, one of his hands leaving her tit before travelling down to paw at her opening that was already soaking with desire for him. A loud, needy keen left her throat and he felt the sound go right to his cock that was straining for release.

"And wet for me just like a good wife should be," he crooned in her ear, as he pressed his thick fingers inside of her causing her to suddenly be on her tip toes as he entered her.

"Y-yes Richard my love ah all for you," she squealed as he began to thrust his fingers into her, stretching her wanting cunt. 

The squelching sound of her wetness filled the room as she moaned and whined blissfully as she took pleasure from her husband's skilled fingers. Two fingers became three as he readied her to take his manhood, and when he felt her body quaking against him and her cunt sucking at his fingers, he gave her one last thrust before pulling his digits out of her.

A tiny squeak fell from her lips as she was pushed towards the bed, causing her front to hit the edge of it before she climbed up and crawled towards the middle of it.

Flipping around, she let out a gasp as her husband was right on her heels, his undershirt and trousers already discarded with his pants leaving him naked with his cock standing at attention and weeping with his seed.

Heavens was the sight of her husband stalking over to her delicious. With the sparse smattering of grey chest hair on his broad chest, the slight belly he wore showing how healthy of an appetite he had, and the thick strong legs that she had more than once taken her pleasure on. The thoughts that swirled in her mind only made her body throb with want as she watched him get on the bed with her, towering over her with his stature.

He made her feel so safe, so loved, and with it came the need for her to submit to him, body, mind and soul and she was happy to do all of that.

"Take me, Richard," she wantonly begged bucking her hips in his direction as she offered herself to her husband. "Please fill me up I wish to be warm with your seed," she pleaded shamelessly to the only man who could make blood burn with such lust and want. The only man whose gaze burned her in the most pleasurable way whether he was angry or pleased.

"Greedy little harlot," he hissed, as he knelled in front of her spread thighs that glistened with her wetness and need for him.

A sudden thought filled the judge's brain at the sight of her dripping opening and the grin that grew on his features was predatory. His gaze shot a pang of excitement in her belly and before she knew it, he was pulling her towards him with such strength that she let out a clipped shriek.

Her legs were suddenly being put on his shoulder and her lower body was lifted up from the bed only to have her womanhood angled directly in front of his mouth.

"Richard!" She squeaked abashedly, never having been exposed like this to him but her surprise morphed into an incoherent noise as he began to nuzzle her swollen nub with his beautiful aquiline nose.

The sudden shock of pleasure had her legs going stiff and her hands gripping at the blanket as he alternated from nuzzling her clit to using his tongue to pleasure the swollen nub.

"Oh my- oh my lord Richard!" She croaked, his name falling from her lips in a broken cry as she began to grind her hips against his face while he feasted on her.

Tongue swirling around her nub, he used his fingers to open her dripping cunt before diving into her with his tongue, lapping at her sweet juices that drove him mad at the heady scent that came along with it.

High-pitched whimpers, along with his name, fell from her lips as if she were a woman hysterical. And she was, thanks to the pleasure that her husband showered upon her as she wiggled and moaned his name like a prayer. Her stomach clenched and unclenched uncontrollably at the assault of his tongue inside her, and the way his stubble would rub against her sensitive womanhood had her going insane. 

Her noises had him groaning, and his cock throbbing as it bobbed heavily against his stomach, straining towards his abdomen as it too was ready to taste the sweetness of her soaked cunt. It wouldn't need to wait long as Richard swirled his tongue in her opening once more before licking her slit to clit causing her to shiver.

"Exquisite," he groaned as he pulled away from her throbbing cunt that was swollen with need and shining with the mixture of spit and slick that dripped down her trembling thighs.

Grabbing her legs, and moving them so that they were around his waist, and her lower back was against the mattress now, Richard lined his manhood against his wife's opening before pushing the thick head past her entrance.

The burning stretch of him as he entered her body had tears pricking at her eyes and her lips parting in a silent cry. Inch by inch, he slid into her slowly, teasingly as she trembled beneath him.

She could never get used to how big he was. No matter how much he stretched her out, no matter if he brought her to her peak multiple times, her body would protest that she could not take such a thing when he entered her. Yet it always did.

"So bloody tight," he grunted, before he gave one last push that seemed to be the one that caused him to slip past the remaining resistant and into her velvety channel.

Panting loudly, she let out another watery moan that increased in volume as he finally pushed himself all the way inside her. Her cunt fluttered and squeezed around him as it got used to his size, and before she had time to calm her thumping heart, he pulled out before suddenly ramming back into her.

"Oh god!" [Y/n] sobbed, her back arched and her toes curled as a shock wave shot up her spine at how deep he had pushed himself into her. 

Arms going to wrap around his neck, she brought her husband closer as he began to thrust into her earnestly. Putting all his weight on her body as he moved his hips, he had trapped her beneath him as she writhed with pleasure easily finding the spot that had her insides trembling and her mind thinking of one thing.

"Richard," she pleaded, "yes yes yes, my love yes, please." Her words were incoherent and barely audible over the sound of his cock ravaging her aching cunt.

"Mmm, so warm, ugh, and tight," he growled near her ear causing her to whine and her insides to flutter around his cock. "So perfect for me do you know that my love," he praised as he pulled back to watch her with hooded eyes.

Their hips sat flush against one another each time he thrust in her with speed and force that a man who was twice his junior probably couldn't muster.

"Such a perfect wife thinking of how to keep her husband warm," he growled, as he watched her eyes roll in the back of her head, and listened to her whimpers become louder and louder as he felt her insides begin to spasm, signalling she was close. "Oh yes so perfect, ugh, with such a perfect body, and such a perfect cunt for her husband, " he praised even more, as he slipped a hand in between them to where they were joined just so that he could bask in the loud shriek that left her lips as he began to rub her clit.

She thrashed her head side to side like a woman mad, and her fingers gripped the sheets beneath her as he kept stroking her with both cock and fingers. The pleasure bloomed red hot in her veins and she felt that familiar tingle in her stomach that signaled she was close.

"That's it, there's my little wife," Richard growled, sensing her impending release and snapping his hips against hers relentlessly. His digits continued to rub messy circles against her at the same time causing incoherent noises and words to spill from her lips. "Come for your husband! Come for him so that he can spill his seed in your waiting womb. Be a good wife and let me put a babe in you [Y/n]!"

It was a mixture of his words, and thrusts that had her tumbling off the edge suddenly, and he followed with a loud grunt as her walls clamped down on him milking his aching cock for all its seed.

"Richard!" She sobbed, pulling him closer to her as she trembled from the shock of pleasure and feeling of his warmth spreading inside her.

His arms quickly went to wrap around his beloved as he grunted noisily in her ear while he filled her up. The soft pants and moans coming from him, caused her body to shiver at the deep sounds that buried itself into her bones as they laid spent from their activity.

They stayed in each other's arms, as Richard kissed her neck lazily, and she drew little circles against his neck. A sweet giggle would leave her lips from time to time when his stubble would rub her sensitive skin.

It wasn't until what felt like hours later, even though it was a few minutes, did someone speak.

"So," [Y/n] whispered as she raked her hand through her husband's grey locks. His usually stormy eyes, which were now clear, were trained on her as he raised an eyebrow at her. "Is my husband appeased with the activity that was suggested?"

"Mmm, I am very pleased," he purred, leaning down and kissing her lips passionately. She let out a noisy moan at his possessiveness and was breathless when he pulled away. "But," he started rolling his hips against hers causing her to moan as his cock dragged against her sensitive insides. "I fear my wife has made a mistake in thinking that spilling my seed once in her would rid my energy. No, I think we perhaps need to try it a few more times if you truly wish for me to relax darling."

"Oh no," she moaned as he began to thrust slowly biting her bottom lip. "I intend to make sure ah my husband has had his fill mmm and is thoroughly sated. What kind of wife would I be if I didn't?"

His eyes twinkled at her words before he slowly picked up the pace in what would be a long and pleasurable way to keep them warm as a blizzard began to rage outside.

A/N: hehe well i sure hope that warmed everyone up! Turpin is always a good choice for smut bc he is well..a horny man LOL.

Tag: @deepperplexity it's ur beloved Turpin!!

[mythronic]

Yuuei School of Outcasts (Part 11)

Previous Post (Round 2)

Previous Post (2A Finale)

Obbbvvvviiooouusssly, Toya and Tenko were both in Yuuei, and just a few years before graduation, Tenko was adopted by the Shigaraki family with his sister.

So TLDR; Tenko was initially a Shimura, he and his sister ran away and the Shimura’s unfortunately passed in a heart attack. Tenko and Hana enrolled in Yuuei and were adopted by the Shigarakis (AFO) later in life. Izuku would also be adopted by them during his first year.

Sooooo, yes Izuku and Tenko were adopted by Hisashi Shigaraki. Hana too. Nana Shimura, having been disowned by her family initially had befriended Yoichi after the incident. So well, Nana then realised Yoichi’s brother adopted her nephew, we all know how that’s going.

So yeah! That’s the changes made for this AU for Tenko. Online and in his band, he’s called Tomura as part of his persona, which is where the name comes from.

Tag: mha!school of outcasts

Tōya Todoroki

An occasional smoker, Toya turned his initial bad habit, bad habit, into something less harmful. Toya now owns a tattoo parlour while participating as part of the Rogues, he did Tenko’s, Izuku’s, Hanta’s, Hizashi’s, and Kyoka’s. Toya’s currently living in Keigo’s penthouse, with Tenko and Rumi. In the Rogues, he’s their bassist and composes the songs’ melodies in the band.

Tenko Shigaraki

Tenko studied game development and while his sister studied veterinary. He’s always been the reclusive older brother figure in Yuuei campus and that role still hasn’t shifted after he started the Rogues with his friends, Tenko takes on the ‘Tomura’ persona, being this edgy villain-like figure… Of which no one is scared of, because everyone sees him as the emo older brother who secretly cares about his siblings.

[godfrey-the-chaos-duck]

In her answer to the "get to know your moots better" tag game, @justaboot mentioned she'd love to go backpacking in Ireland.

As someone who lives here, I am making this post for anyone who wants to visit Ireland at any point, and I figure now's as good a time as any.

Weather

It rains like 24/7 here so bring a fucking rain coat. And an umbrella. I'm so serious. There will be mornings where you'll leave your hotel/tent/wherever you're staying and you'll think "It doesn't look like it's going to rain" NO. BRING THE COAT. The sky is lying to you. Just because it doesn't look like it'll rain does NOT mean it's not gonna rain!!

The west and north tend to get worse weather, but rain happens everywhere here.

History

Not gonna get into it here because that'd be wayyyy too long of a post, but a lot of our tourist attractions rely on people having at least some kind of knowledge of Irish history and/or folklore. It's interesting, if a bit depressing at times, but I'm pretty sure that goes for all countries.

Long story short we were under British control for a really really really REALLY long-ass time, and we fought like hell to get our independence. Oh - speaking of which, if you're anywhere near the border between the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland, it's a good idea to avoid wearing orange ESPECIALLY in or around July. This is because orange is seen as a symbol of Unionist beliefs (ie, the belief that Ireland should be part of the UK) and it's a REALLY touchy subject for a lot of people. Do your research. Trust me on that.

Language

First off, most people speak English here (unless you're in a Gaeltacht region, where people mainly speak Irish. These are located in Cork, Donegal, Galway, Kerry, Meath, Mayo and Waterford, and they can be a great cultural experience but it's not for the faint of heart.) However, there are like a zillion different regional accents so good fucking luck trying to understand people 😂😂

The way Irish people talk has some nice quirks, some of which I'll share here.

Craic (pronounced "crack") No, it's not drugs. The word craic generally means a good time or other happenings. There are three main ways the word is used.

"What's the craic?" = What's up?/Any news?

To have the craic = To have fun, especially at a party

"No craic" = Boring, nothing happening at all.

If someone invites you for a "cuppa" or better yet, a "cupán tae" (pronounced "cup awn tay") they want you to come in and have a cup of tea with them. This is usually accompanied by a LOT of small talk, which Irish people are experts at.

Other expressions vary WILDLY by county and sometimes even by region, so I'm afraid I'm not much help to you here.

Things To Do Here

First off, our restaurants are quite overpriced, as are our hotels. However, our healthcare is fairly cheap.

We have SO MUCH NATURAL SCENERY. If the weather allows, definitely go out and explore it! Just watch out if you're hiking, as the rain makes a lot of places muddy and slippy, so maybe bring the good hiking boots. We also don't have a lot of animals that can kill you, which is great!

As I mentioned, we have a lot of places to go that are based in our history, and they can be great places to learn about Ireland's past. But if you're not interested in history (which is fine) there are plenty of other options. We have a wax museum in Dublin, a theme park called Emerald Park (formerly Tayto Park, after an Irish potato chip brand) and a LOT of great theatres, pubs and clubs. Oh yes, if there's one thing we do well here, it's our night life!

We even have a coastal trail called the Wild Atlantic Way, which stretches all the way up our western coastline, from Cork to Donegal.

And lastly, if you're in the area, there is this fucking LEGENDARY ice cream parlour in Sligo called Mammy Johnstons. It's RIGHT next to the beach, and (in my limited experience) it's the BEST ice cream place in the country.

So yeah! Enjoy your trip!

🇮🇪🇮🇪🇮🇪

[buginateacup]

Tagged by @jurijurijurious - thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?:

71 (don't ask me how that happened, I have no idea either)

(Guys there's no number 2 in this thing, where did it go??)

(seconding the no number 2)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Megamind, Reboot, The Queens Gambit, Goncharov, ATLA, Good Omens, Phantom of the Opera, Destiny 2, Alice in Wonderland, Peter Pan, Repo! the Genetic Opera, The Witcher, and Labyrinth

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Tea with Topsy (1,485)

Rings (807)

Presentation (805)

No one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throne (737)

Wait a Minute (702)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes always, I dropped out of the habbit when I first got back into fic writing but picked it up again and now I respond to every comment because if someone is going to take the time out of their day to say they appreciated my work you can bet I'm paying that kindness back!

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Currently Somnia, though whenever I fall at your feet, won't you let your tears rain down on me? comes a strong second and is probably the angstier overall

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably Rings or Back of Beyond. Rings is the one where I really put the work into getting Megamind and Roxanne to a place where they were both happy and wanted to be together, so I can see it contnuing happily even after I finished writing.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really, got flamed a time or two in the ff.net days. The occasional person who doesn't really think

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oh I absolutely do! I love writing smut. I love how much storytelling you can put into smut. You can get SO MUCH character work into smut just by how the characters are connecting.

My absolute favourite is the tension got to much and we HAD to break smut, because there is so much gooey deliciousness I absolutely do not write in the mornings after, where the sex comes easy but the feelings are locked behind a dozen doors.

All my smut tends to involve tentacles or some version of fuckery. The last time I wrote fic that just had a standard dick I think I struggled! XD

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Does roleplay in the DBCA mansion count? Not really, though Nails kind of crosses over with Round the Twist. I'd love to write a PacRim crossover someday though.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Doubt it, though I've never really looked and it wouldn't surprise me if some dickhead scraped my fic for AI.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I've had a couple of fans translate one or two of my Megamind fics into Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? 

Not yet, though I think I'd like to. Dal and I have bounced ideas back and forth a few times and I did scoop and drop all of our Megamind accidentally swears a bluestreak in front of Roxanne but she just laughs at him idea into a google doc that i wil someday get around to opening.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Just one? I mean my ship is more of a theme of dramatic bastard in a big cape and the equally dramatic person constantly needling them back. Ideal OTP is Rick/Evey from The Mummy

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I really REALLY want to write the florist/tattoo parlour Megarox fic but I have literally no idea what to do with it so it will remain a collection of unrelated scenes forever probably, alas.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue. I love writing exchanges between people, especially when they get to be snarky with each other. I feel like I'm pretty good at smut but everyone's mileage varies on that one.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action scenes. I hate them, I'll take any opportunity to avoid writing fight scenes.

I'm also a wordy fucking bitch so I take forever to get to scenes that readers are begging for if I feel like the story isn't there yet.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I'm not bilingual so its something I would need to do with a translator and probably would't flow well.

19. First fandom you wrote for? 

Star Wars. I wanted to impress Grand Admiral Thrawn SO MUCH as a nine year old (still do tbh)

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Ahaha it changes depending on which one I'm working on. Topsy is up there but Ricochet, Recoil, Rebound is one I can always go back to with joy.

Tagging: @nientedal, @owlinabasket, @wendy-daahling

[strwbi-laces]

Happy pandalily

@achilleslikespeas here are the sunny lesbians!!

“I should have listened to Evan,” Pandora thought as she fought her way through the crowd at Camden station. There was no chance she got a walk-in appointment right now. She’d planned this trip down to the last detail, all apart from calling a tattoo parlour to book a session. Ah well, no harm in exploring.

She walked past the market and kept going until the extravagant fronts turned into smaller shops. One caught her eye; Valerie’s. Something about the place pulled at her core.

The first thing she saw was a head of blindingly red hair. Suddenly the name made sense. Then the head looked up and Pandora stopped breathing. The woman was gorgeous. A smattering of multi coloured freckles covered her cheeks. They kinda looked like stars. Or confetti. Pandora’s brain felt like confetti.

“Hey, can I help you?” Yes, please.

“Ah, um, do you take walk-ins?” she stuttered.

She checked her book for a second before smiling at her. That smile could start and end wars. “Oh you’re lucky,” I know, “I’ve got time for a small one. Can you tell me what you want to do?”

So, so much, you don’t even know. “Just a small sun on my stomach. Here, I have a photo.”

While she checked the photo Pandora glanced at her tag. Lily.

“Yeah sure, come on back.”

“So why a sun?” Lily had a hand flat on her stomach which was making it very hard to think. Pandora felt her skin burning at the contact, hot enough to leave a mark. The thought put her in a headrush. Luckily the pain from the needle grounded her enough to answer.

“My twin has a moon and we wanted to match.” She missed one night out and suddenly Barty had 2 new piercings, Dorcas got alcohol poisoning and Evan had a tattoo.

“Oh that’s sweet, I wish I got on with my sister enough to get matching tattoos.” A wistful look crossed her face and Pandora thought that Lily’s sister must be awful to cause her such pain.

“Her loss, you seem amazing.”

“Sweet.”

Lily moved onto the detailing around the sun, focusing more intently. She was biting her tongue, poking the tip past her lips and making Pandora want to die. Her tongue, her lips, her hair. Everything about her was so very red and if Pandora kept thinking these thoughts her face was going to match.

“How’s the pain?” Lily’s voice dropped slightly lower and more sultry than it was before.

“Fine, ah,” she gasped as the needle went over bone.

“You sure? You’re very tense.” She stroked her hand down Pandora’s stomach, “We can take a break.”

“No.” The steady pricks of the needle were the only things keeping her mind tethered and if Lily took her hands off her she might genuinely start crying. “I’m alright.”

“Ok. Not long now.”

Even after Lily had finished, Pandora lay on the bench remembering how to breathe for a minute. It wasn’t until Lily returned to check on her, did she get up.

“So you have the aftercare balm and my number’s on the receipt if you have any questions.” Lily was walking her through the aftercare but Pandora could barely listen. She was too busy staring at the number in wonder while also hating the fact that it didn’t mean to Lily what it meant to her.

“Feel free to call if you ever want any other ink,” Lily paused before saying “or you know… some less permanent marks.”

Pandora snapped her head up so fast she nearly got whiplash. Did she mean…? From the shine in Lily’s eyes they were on the same page.

“Yes! I mean- yeah, I um,” Goddamn it. “Yeah, I’ll call you.”

She spun round before she could embarrass herself anymore. Lily barely managed to yell goodbye before she was out the door. It’s fine though, they could talk later.

[stardustandash]

Aftermath - The Bad Batch

Feel like I should be posting oneshots here too, so here it is under the cut! If you prefer ao3 reading, this is the link.

Summary: “They had survived so many impossible things. The fall of the Republic, the destruction of Kamino, dozens of suicide missions. Injuries popped up here and there, but they’d been lucky so far. Now he had one brother held captive by the Empire, one lost on a foreign planet, and a sister dying on their ship.”

Or, what happened between the railcar crash and Omega waking up in Cid's parlour.

Characters: Hunter, Omega, Echo, Wrecker,

Tags: hurt/comfort, angst

Word Count: 3, 699

“Tech?”

Hunter stirred at the sound of the faint cry. He’d know that voice anywhere, and the warble in it kicked his brain from unconsciousness to full alert. Omega. Hunter pressed his palms into the dirt and tried to push himself upright, only getting an inch or so off the ground before his ribs screamed in protest and he went crashing back down in a cloud of soot and dirt. He took a moment to breathe, tasting ash and pain in the air. A soft thump brought his attention back to what roused him in the first place.

“Omega?” called Hunter hoarsely. He coughed to dislodge the dustiness lining his throat and tried again louder. “Omega?”

There was no response.

Hunter’s heart seized in panic. This time he barely felt the pain in his ribs as he made his way fully upright and took in the surroundings. Wreckage was scattered around them, smoke rising through the twisted scraps of metal that had once been a rail car. Movement on the ground snapped his attention to two familiar armoured figures slowly coming to consciousness. He could hear the moment they both returned to reality, their heartbeats picking up to panic level. He glanced around again, this time finding the small form not too far from Wrecker. Omega wasn’t moving, and Hunter could hear how faint her heartbeat was.

Unfortunately, he could also hear the sound of armoured feet approaching through the forest. Hunter reached for his blaster with one and hand scrambled over to where Echo was working on getting his feet under him. He hauled Echo up to standing, giving him a once-over but not spotting any serious injuries. For once the mechanical limbs were a benefit with their durability compared to flesh and bone. Once he knew Echo was up to watch their backs he sprinted to Omega’s side.

As Hunter approached Omega started to move. Small hands fisted into the dirt as she tried to pull herself upright. Even from a distance he could see how much she was shaking, how her eyes struggled to focus.

“Omega?” Hunter tried to get her attention.

Her eyes wandered past him as her arms gave up their fight with gravity. Hunter slid in, catching her before she could fall back to the ground. Her head lolled and her eyes drifted shut. He could feel the panic trying to sink its teeth into him as he felt blood on his hands. Omega’s blood.

“We have to get her out of here.”

Hunter tried lifting her into his arms but had to stop as his ribs twinged squeezing the air out of his lungs. No, he had to do this. He’d already failed one brother today, he wasn’t going to fail his sister as well. Bracing himself, Hunter went to try again before a large hand on his shoulder stopped him. He glanced up at Wrecker, now upright but off in a way Hunter could sense but not see through the armour.

“Don’t,” was all Wrecker said.

There was so much conveyed in that single word. Hunter looked at Wrecker and nodded, stepping away just as the first shots of blaster fire echoed through the clearing. Hunter took aim at the silhouettes of the stormtroopers marching through the smoke.

“I got you, kid.”

Hunter could hear Wrecker murmuring to Omega as he hefted her into his arms. He tried not to look at the dark spot dampening the back of her jacket and focus on the battle at hand. Blood. He could smell the coppery tang of it in the air. He was so focused on Omega he almost missed the whistling sound of engines overhead.

“We have to get back to the Marauder,” said Echo sharply.

At least one of them was still with it enough to call the shots. Hunter followed mutely behind. Trading shots with stormtroopers on instinct alone, all senses focused on the small figure cradled in Wrecker’s large arms.

They ran, alternating between sprinting and ducking around trees and rocks for cover. Muscle memory took over Hunter as they made their way back to the ship. Run, crouch, check, fire. Run, hide, check, fire. The distant shouts of the stormtroopers and the ships hunting them overhead faded into the background against the quiet noise of Omega’s heartbeat. Hunter clung to the sound as they went.

By the time they reached the Marauder that pulse was fainter in his ears. He planted himself at the base of the ramp to cover Wrecker as he ran for the ship. Once he was on board Hunter and Echo followed, Echo running to the cockpit to get the ship off the ground in record time. Hunter glanced at Omega once as he made his way to the gunner’s mount. Any care he might offer now would be useless if they were blasted out of the sky.

“Get us out of here, Echo!” shouted Hunter towards the front of the ship.

“I’m working on it!”

Three V-wing fighters came into view as the ship lifted above the trees. Hunter grit his teeth and fired. The ships scattered. He could see them coming around to return fire and braced himself in the seat in anticipation. Sure enough, Echo put them through evasive maneuvers. The Marauder dipped and dived, spinning out of the path of incoming fire.

“Stop dancing and get out of here!”

“I just need another minute to calculate the jump,” said Echo voice tight.

The V-wings behind them danced around Hunter’s covering fire with ease. The Marauder was a transport, not a fighter, and without Tech at the helm it would only last so long in a full-on dogfight. They had to get out of there, fast.

“What about Tech, we can’t just leave him there,” came Wrecker’s voice.

Hunter swallowed. He didn’t want to leave Tech behind either. Their brother deserved better than to be left to rot. He deserved all the honours and respect a fallen brother could receive. But if they went back it was likely none of them would ever get off this Force-forsaken planet. He bit down on his lip, the sting of pain driving the emotions away so he could concentrate on the task at hand.

The targeting system blared loudly. One of the V-wings was getting too complacent. Hunter squeezed the trigger and watched it explode into a thousand pieces.

“I can make the jump,” called Echo.

“Get us out of here!” ordered Hunter.

The ship broke atmosphere, and a second later there was the familiar jerk behind the navel sensation of a hyperspace jump. Before the blue light could overtake the gunner mount Hunter was already leaping down and heading for the racks. Wrecker knelt on the floor next to the lowest bunk, one hand keeping Omega on her side. No, now that Hunter was closer he could see his hand was pressed to the dark patch on Omega’s back. Wrecker looked lost as he watched Hunter approach, eyes begging him for some kind of miracle. Hunter wished he could give him comforting words but all he could do was put a quick hand on Wrecker’s shoulder before taking in Omega.

Her face was covered in a light sheen of sweat even as she shivered. Soft brown eyes gazed at absolutely nothing beneath pinched brows. They didn’t need a med scanner to know she was dealing with a concussion. Gently, Hunter peeled Wrecker’s hand away from her back. Fresh blood bubbled up around a piece of shrapnel embedded near her shoulder. He took a deep breath. This was beyond the capabilities of their small medkit. They needed a med centre, or someone with medical skills.

Footsteps from the cockpit signaled Echo’s arrival. Helmet off, he gave Hunter a despondent look. Hunter knew his own expression wasn’t much better.

“Do you know of any medics we can take her to? Does Rex have anyone?” asked Hunter.

“Not anyone with enough equipment to handle this,” said Echo, shaking his head.

Hunter felt his heart drop. Losing Tech was hard enough, he didn’t know if he could handle losing Omega too. The galaxy seemed intent on forcing him to watch his loved ones die without being able to do anything to help.

“What about the droid?” said Wrecker.

“What droid?” asked Hunter.

“Omega’s friend, AZI-whatever. He’s a medical droid, right?”

A spark of hope. “Set a course for Ord Mantell, AZI can help her.”

Echo nodded, heading straight back for the cockpit. Hunter looked at Wrecker and guided his hand back to its place on Omega’s back.

“Keep an eye on her, I’m going to go get the medkit,” said Hunter.

He slowly levered himself upright, all the aches and pains from their mission making themselves known. As he walked into the ‘fresher he caught Wrecker running his free hand through Omega’s hair and heard the low rumble of his voice murmuring promises to her.

The medkit was in the cabinet below the sink. Hunter pulled it out and flipped it open, taking in all the items labelled in Tech’s neat arubesh. His heart pulsed with grief. Tech was always the best at keeping his head in these kinds of situations, always calm and collected with a steady hand for patching the rest of them up. The memories and sorrow snuck up on him, choking him with grief. Dozens of successful missions in the war and after, Hunter had stopped thinking that death could come for his family. Sure it was a threat, but they had survived so many impossible things. The fall of the Republic, the destruction of Kamino, dozens of suicide missions. Injuries popped up here and there, but they’d been lucky so far. Now he had one brother held captive by the Empire, one lost on a foreign planet, and a sister dying on their ship.

Hunter ran a hand down his face and flipped the medkit shut. Sitting on the ‘fresher floor wasn’t going to help anyone. He brought the medkit back out to the bunks and saw that Omega’s eyes were now shut, her breaths a little shallower.

“She’s getting worse, Hunter,” said Wrecker sadly.

“I can see that,” replied Hunter, putting the medkit on the bunk and pulling out bacta patches and sanitizing spray. “Help me get her jacket off?”

Wrecker nodded. The two of them quickly stripping Omega’s jacket and top away without jostling her too much, Wrecker quickly pulling up a blanket to preserve her dignity. Hunter grabbed the bottle of sanitizing spray, nodding at Wrecker to hold Omega’s arms. He knew how much the spray stung.

Worry pooled in Hunter’s stomach when Omega didn’t so much as flinch at the spray. He knew without looking he’d see that same worry mirrored on Wrecker’s face. Next he gently applied bacta patches around the shrapnel sticking out of her back. He wouldn’t dare remove it here on the ship. That would be a death sentence for her. Then with a gentle hand he probed her skull, finding a large bump beneath the blonde hair at the back of her head. Her helmet had probably saved her from having her brains splattered across Eriadu. The thought made Hunter nauseous. He never should have brought her along for the mission. He should have gotten her more armour than a simple helmet.

The what-ifs weren’t going to help them now. Right now they had to focus on keeping Omega alive, and then go to ground. Omega shivered under her blanket, no doubt shock trying to take hold. Warm. She needed to be warm. He glanced at Wrecker, ever the space heater.

“Strip your armour.”

“What?”

“Down to your blacks, come on. We need to keep her warm,” explained Hunter.

A look of understanding dawned on Wrecker’s face and his hands scrabbled to remove his armour. As they settled him into the bunk and a blanket-wrapped Omega into his arms Hunter caught the quiet hiss of pain.

“What hurts?”

“It’s nothing, save the supplies for Omega.”

“There’s not much else we can do for her at the moment. We don’t have a med scanner aboard to check for anything else, but we have the most serious wound dealt with.”

“Where’s the med scanner?” asked Wrecker. His face fell when he realized the answer.

“Where’s it hurt, big guy?” Hunter tried again.

“My neck is killing me,” said Wrecker quietly.

Hunter pressed two painkillers into Wreckers hand and toasted him with one of his own for his aching ribs. They swallowed them down dry. Within moments Hunter was breathing easier and he relaxed against the wall of the bunk. His eyes drifted shut, though he kept himself awake, focusing on Omega’s heartbeat. It was steadier now, but still weaker than he was used to hearing.

He lost time as he sat there.  Hours or minutes later there was the sound of someone moving about the space trying their best to be quiet. He cracked an eye open and spotted Echo picking up Omega’s bloodied jacket and shirt from the floor of the ship. Echo stopped when he noticed Hunter watching him.

“I thought you passed out.”

“Can’t, I gotta keep an eye on her.”

“I have eyes.”

Hunter felt the ghost of amusement pass through him.

“How long until we reach Ord Mantell?”

“Few standard hours, enough time for me to throw these through a cycle and for you to stitch them up. Can’t parade her through the city without a shirt,” said Echo, gesturing with the soiled clothes.

Hunter nodded at him, watching as Echo went into the ‘fresher to throw the clothes into the washer. To his surprise Echo came back and parked himself on the floor near Hunter’s feet and leaned back against the wall. He let out a sigh heavy with emotion and Hunter nudged his leg against his side. Echo leaned into it.

For a while they sat like that, simply taking comfort in each other’s presence. It was soothing, to have the warm body of his brother pressed against him while listening to the continued even breaths of Wrecker and Omega. It pushed back against the dark gaping hole that Tech had left in his heart but it was not enough to lessen the hurt. He knew then, that he wouldn’t be able to lead his family into battle again. It would break him to lose another sibling. Kriff, they might still lose Omega even if she was safe and somewhat stable for now, cradled in Wrecker’s arms. It stung to know that Crosshair was out there alone in a prison cell, but Hunter couldn’t risk throwing more people at a mission where the rescuee might not even want the rescue.

The thoughts whirled around in Hunter’s mind until Echo rose with the anticipation of arrival. As he went to pilot them down to Ord Mantell, Hunter took the job of waking up Wrecker. He let Omega sleep. Force knew the kid needed the rest.

“Come on, big guy. We’re just about planetside,” said Hunter.

“Omega okay?” said Wrecker as he blinked awake.

“She’s still holding on, but I need you to take care of her until we get to Cid’s, alright?”

Wrecker nodded. “Don’t worry, Sarge. I’ve got her.”

Hunter retrieved Omega’s clothes, now thankfully clean if still torn, and together the two of them managed to carefully get her back into her shirt. She remained frighteningly limp between the two of them. He kept his hearing focused on her heartbeat as they worked to reassure himself that she was still alive. That there was still hope.

As soon as the Marauder touched down all three of them shot off the ship towards Cid’s. The streets they passed blurred together at the edge of Hunter’s senses. Nothing mattered but Omega’s heartbeat. Nothing mattered but her shallow breaths. He led the charge into the dingy bar, uncaring about how it must look to see three soldiers thundering down the steps. Not that it mattered, the only people in the place were Bolo, Ketch, and Cid herself.

“Kriffing hell, Bandanna. You refuse my comms, my jobs, for months and now you come barrelling back in here? I should hand you over right now for all the trouble you’ve caused me!” barked Cid from behind the bar. “Whatever you want, I ain’t got it. Now you best get out of my bar before I call in the troopers.”

Anger flared in Hunter’s gut before his worry banked its fire. He could be angry with Cid later, right now they only needed one thing.

“AZI?” called Hunter into the depths of the bar, ignoring Cid.

“Oh, it is you, CT-9901! You have returned to Ord Mantell at last,” said the odd little medical droid as he emerged from a back room with a case of drinks.

“AZI, we need you,” said Wrecker, stepping fully into the bar. The little body in his arms was unmistakable, and Hunter heard Cid’s heart stutter with shock.

AZI floated closer and peered down at Omega. His whole countenance screamed worry. The round lights of his visual receptors lit up as he did a med-scan.

“Oh no, Omega! She needs immediate medical attention,” said AZI in his oddly harried voice.

“Not in the middle of my bar you aren’t,” growled Cid.

Hunter stared her down, folding his arms and glaring. He knew that behind him Wrecker and Echo were fixing her with the same angry look. To her credit Cid stood her ground, not one to be pushed around by intimidation. Instead she rolled her eyes at them and jerked a thumb to the back room.

“Don’t get your panties in a knot, I got a spare cot in a room back there. I can keep yelling at you after you get Tiny sorted out.”

There was no time to take in the relief. AZI led the way through the cramped back of the parlour and into a small room with a cot. It looked rarely used. There was a coating of dust over the shelves and countless piles of old junk, but little of that mattered to Hunter right now. He gestured for Wrecker to put Omega on the bed and tried not to hover.

AZI wasted no time in peeling away her shirt to look at the wound and the bacta patches around it. The droid began to pick at the edges of one before stopping to look at the three clones.

“I believe this will go faster if I do not have an audience. While your concern for Omega is valid, none of you have had medical training, and your presence will only be a hinderance for the procedure.”

“We can help,” insisted Hunter.

“Hunter, there’s nothing we can do for her that can’t be handled by AZI. If he needs one of us, he’ll call,” said Echo with a hand on his shoulder.

Hunter let himself be steered out of the room back towards the bar and deposited on one of the barstools. Echo and Wrecker took up the seats on either side of him, whether in camaraderie or to make sure he stayed out of AZI’s way it was hard to tell.

Time passed oddly while they waited. Echo gave Cid the story and she gave them a round ‘on the house’. At some point Hunter realized Bolo and Ketch had cleared out and the door to the parlour shut. Through it all Hunter could hear the faint rhythm of Omega’s heart beating in the other room. As they waited Echo kept mentioning that he needed to tell Rex what happened but never quite managed to make it out of his chair, held in place by concern. When AZI returned all three of them were on their feet before he could even make it through the door.

“How is she?” asked Hunter.

“I am here to inform you that Omega is now sleeping peacefully and I anticipate her recover fully in a few days’ time. She has suffered a severe concussion, which will require rest and no screens to heal. She also suffered a puncture wound to her back, which has bled quite a bit but was not very deep. As well, she has a broken femur. I have reset the bone and applied bacta, as long as she stays off her feet while it heals she will be fine,” explained AZI as he trailed after Hunter towards Omega.

Hunter didn’t know what he was expecting. Omega still lay asleep on the cot, a hint of bandages peeking out over the collar of her shirt. There was a little chair, dusty and covered in the random detritus of the parlour in the room. Hunter pushed the stuff off and settled himself in at Omega’s side.

“I uh, should go tell Rex what happened,” said Echo quietly. This time he actually followed through on his words, as if the sight of Omega scared him away.

Hunter let him go with a nod. Rex did need to know, and Echo needed some time to sort himself out. They all did, but Hunter wasn’t going to leave Omega’s side until she woke up again. He took one of her hands in his own, feeling just how painfully small it was. Wrecker sat on the edge of her cot and looked at her like she would vanish if he glanced away.

“What do we do now,” asked Wrecker quietly.

There was a defeated look in Wrecker’s eyes. One that Hunter felt reflected in his own.

“We wait for Omega to get better, then head back to Pabu. We can stay there, try and make a life for us, for her,” said Hunter.

Saying the words aloud to Wrecker felt like a promise. They would heal, go back to Pabu, and try and carve out a life away from the Empire. They could have a funeral for Tech there. Omega could grow up without any more fear and truly be a kid for once. He saw the agreement on Wrecker’s face and knew they were on the same page. They just had to let Omega recover, and then they could be free of the Empire, forever.

[zipzin]

Boomerang - Act Two: Winter 2018, Part I

Chapters: 42/? Fandom: Legends of Tomorrow, Arrow (TV 2012) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Sara Lance/Ava Sharpe, Laurel Lance & Sara Lance, Quentin Lance & Sara Lance, Dinah Lance (Arrow) & Sara Lance Characters: Sara Lance, Ava Sharpe, Laurel Lance, Quentin Lance, Dinah Lance (Arrow), Oliver Queen Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, they meet when they’re 11, they are super competitive, will sorta follow canon, Slow Burn, excessive soccer playing, Season/Series 03 Summary: Act Two: Winter 2018, Part I

Chapter 42: Act Two: Winter 2018, Part I

Sara crossed her arms as Rip as he poured her whiskey.

“Not to be overly sentimental, but, uh, I’ve missed this place,” he gave a half nod.

She wanted to strangle him, but stuck to refusing the whiskey he’d so thoughtfully poured for her. “We’d love to reminisce with you,” Sara drawled, “but your Time Bureau’s on our tail.”

“Makes us slow to help you out,” Mick grabbed the bottle when Rip nodded to him and Sara bit back a smirk at his bit back sigh.

Rip cleared his throat, “I’ll get down to it then. When I permitted the Legends to keep the Waverider-”

“Nobody permits us to do anything,” Nate cut in and Sara hoped he was still able to channel all the anger he had about Amaya leaving.

“I had an ulterior motive,” Rip finished.

“Why does that not surprise me?” Sara sighed.

“For the last give years, I’ve been chasing a phantom. A name whispered across time and in every language.” Sara nodded her head to hurry him along, “Mallus.”

“The phantom mollusk?” Nate asked, “An evil shellfish?”

Sara looked back at Nate and Mick, when Sharpe had let it slip that there was some greater threat, she’d expected, well, a lot more than that. They were freaked out about some squid? Should she start calling him Ishmael?

“Mall-us,” Rip emphasized each syllable, “An evil so ancient and powerful that the Time Masters dared not speak his name. Now, I believe that he is recruiting allies from throughout time to his cause. Now, anachronisms are the result of your breaking time.”

“It was her idea,” Mick pointed at her.

Sara shook her head and sighed. Every. Single. Time. It was like she was back in high school, Laurel willing to throw her under the bus for any indiscretion their father caught wind of. It wasn’t even her! It was some alternate universe her that didn’t exist anymore!

“But these outliers,” Rip continued, “They are most certainly the work of Mallus. Now, the Time Bureau is a bureaucracy and lacks the imagination to understand this particular threat. And Director Bennett objects to my crusade.”

Sara hummed. How convenient that they’d run into each other.

“I’m alone out here,” Rip flashed his saddest eyes.

“So what I’m hearing is,” Nate looked at them, “your hot new girlfriend dumped you and now you’re crawling back to your ex.”

She felt a wave of nausea roll through her. Really, not how she would have phrased that.

“And I’m no one’s side piece,” Mick stood. Sara could agree with Mick on that.

“You know, I think they’re onto something here,” Sara loved this particular brand of devastation on Rip’s face, “Look sweetie,” she mocked, “We would love to take you back, but we don’t know how we can trust you again.”

“Would circumstances be any different if I were to call off my hot new girlfriend’s pursuit of you?”

Okay, so she was going to force Nate to spar for that one. Maybe convince Ray to give him some sort of serum so he couldn’t steel up just to make sure it really hurt.

They all looked at each other, humming and wincing before Sara stuck out her hand, “Deal.”

As Rip shook it, Sara kept her face blank to not show exactly how much relief she felt. This was the easiest deal she’d made in years.

Sara paced around and around the Parlour, feeling every single eye drilling into her as they waited for her to come up with some magical solution to Nate being kidnapped by a vampire and taken to god knows where. What she wouldn’t give to have a warlock with her. Too bad the only one she knew she had no way of contacting, let alone getting him through time without being tracked.

She clenched her fists and then released them. At least Rip had stopped talking, he’d started going on and on about historical records until Ray of all people had told him to shut up, and now he stood bent over the table staring at an old map of London like it would speak to him.

He was too casual about this whole thing. Nevermind that this was apparently what he’d spent five years on. Nate was missing! Gone! Could be having his blood sucked out at the moment because apparently vampires were alive and well and he had no solutions beside a name the Time Masters were scared of. She hadn’t even had time to unpack that.

He can turn to steel, Sara reminded herself, he can turn to steel that can stop bullets. A vampire is nothing. He just needed to be alive.

“Sara?” Nate’s voice crackled through the ship.

They hurry out of the room and step over the still prone bodies. There’s the faint sounds of fighting farther in, but Sara followed Rip automatically as he found them an exit avoiding the the main section of the house. She knew that it made sense to leave Darhk there. Three people jogging out is a lot less conspicuous than three people and a top secret dead body they’re killing men for.

Could she have just taken his head?

She discarded it the second she thought of it, it would have taken too long and the knife she has on her wasn’t made for beheading. She widened her eyes as they slip past two hulking guards who don’t give them a second glance and they’re out into the night. Her gaze fell onto Rip’s back as he steered them to where the Waverider is invisibly parked.

How did Darhk get here? Why did Rip act like it was fine, like this wasn’t the man who’d murdered her sister and so many others, the man Sara had spared once and it felt like it had cost her everything but her soul? What was going on? Who was Mallus? What did Darhk have to do with it? Why wasn’t Rip showing anything but vague surprise?

They needed to let him call the shots, or at least think he’s calling them. They needed this amnesty. She doesn’t think he’s slippery enough to arrest them after they’ve completed this mission (and she has half a mind to try and strand him in time somewhere if he tries), but she’s scared that he’ll keep pushing this mission a little farther and farther.

It won’t stay in London, no, he’ll need them to investigate three decades earlier in Beijing, or the close future in Nigeria. They’ll spend the whole year as he promises them that he’s taking care of it, it just requires a little more time. One more mission. This tiny task.

And he’ll probably ignore their advice the entire time, and somehow, she knew that’s going to be their problem.

It was a scene out of a horror movie. Sara hadn’t been a stranger to death for a long time, but all she could think was about how unnecessary this was. Rip was the only one still alive and as she looked at him, he could barely stand.

If they were seconds later he would be joining the others on the ground.

There’s a wild feeling in her chest that tells her he deserves to be with the agents he sent to a slaughter.

Darhk is back.

Darhk is fucking back and he knew everything.

Nate and Ray are slowly ushering the onlookers away as they begin to secure the scene. She doesn’t even know what to do with the countless bodies. Amaya and Zari are staggering back to the Waverider and Sara followed them.

“Zari,” she called, “Can we talk?”

Zari straightened and nodded and Amaya gave her a long look before breaking away.

“I’m sorry, I just, she talked about my brother-”

Sara held up a hand, “You couldn’t have known she was in league with Darhk like that. I mean it was stupid, yes. Please never go off alone like that again,” Sara would have laughed if she wasn’t so exhausted, “But right now my priority is him.”

She nodded up at Rip who was walking about twenty feet ahead of them. His shoulder’s were drooped and and hands twitching as he seemed to be in a deep recollection of the night.

“Okay?”

“Just, tell me what happened.”

“I walked in and went to see that woman-”

Sara waved her hands as they started to climb into the Waverider, “Skip to the part where you’re in the room and Rip shows up.”

Zari gives a serious nod as Sara leads them towards her room while Rip had gone towards the Parlour.

“They moved the body into the room and the woman did some intro and then Rip revealed himself and told them to stop. A portal opened and that’s when all those,” Zari’s eyebrows furrowed, “Time Bureau agents showed up.”

Sara nodded at her to keep going.

“They surrounded the place, unhandcuffed me, and Rip demanded she show him Malice?”

“Mallus apparently,” Sara shrugged.

“Right,” Zari frowned, “Anyway, she said some cryptic bullshit about how he’s everywhere in time and dead and alive. And Rip demanded to speak to him.”

“To Mallus?” Sara frowned, “He didn’t make a move towards Darhk’s body?”

“Nope,” Zari shook her head, “And like, I thought this all was weird, but then it got really weird, the woman like seized. Her whole body contorted it was really gross and I think her eyes went black? And then she spoke like, I don’t know like it was another voice? It was all deep and sounded kinda like a man?”

“She was possessed?” Sara leaned forward.

“I guess? She, he, it? I don’t know, the thing addressed Rip and he was like,” Zari did a decent imitation of a British accent, “I’m not here to speak to your puppet, let’s meet face to face.”

Sara had really hoped that this whole story was going to make her less angry.

“They did this weird you can’t see me and live mortal, I am a god. And then it was like some energy came and infused the body and he floated up? And became alive?” Zari rubbed at her eyes, “And that’s when the fighting started.”

“Okay,” Sara sighed, “Thanks, and again, never go off on your own again. Especially in the past.”

Zari nodded once and then walked out. Sara rubbed her eyes and then sighed again to herself.

“Gideon?”

“Yes, Captain Lance.”

Sara swallowed, “Please give me a line to Agent Sharpe.”

“That will require me to pull down some of our defenses.”

“I know.”

There was a pause, “Of course, Captain.”

“I don’t have time to deal with your idiocy, Lance,” Sharpe spat at her as she appeared on the screen in front of her. She looked harried, a bit of flyaways escaping from her perfect bun and a rumpled collar. “We’ve just had a squadron of agents go dark-”

“I have some information about that,” Sara cut her off.

Sharpe paused, eyes narrowed, and she could see a hint of relief enter her eyes. Sara wished she didn’t have to crush it.

“Oh?”

“Rip Hunter,” Sara sighed.

“Director Hunter?”

“We tracked an anomaly to 1895 London and found Rip there,” Sara said, ���And in exchange for help with the anachronism he believed was linked to Mallus, he would give us amnesty with the Time Bureau.”

Sharpe’s lips twitched, “He told you about Mallus.”

“Yes,” Sara rubbed at her temples, “And we tracked down the anachronism to the displaced body of Damien Darhk.”

“Darhk?” Sharpe’s mouth was open, “Sara-”

Sara held up a hand to stop her, “They, an occult order and Mallus, I don’t know were doing some kind of resurrection ritual and Rip and I disagreed on what to do. We wanted to recover the body and he wanted to, interview them? I guess? He was obsessed with speaking to Mallus. So, his response was to lock us in the Waverider as he went out, allowed them to resurrect Darhk, and led a dozen agents to their deaths.”

Sharpe’s mouth was wide open, “I-, uh, are you okay?”

“Agent,” Sara clenched her jaw, “I will give you Rip’s location in exchange for amnesty. Rip implied this mission wasn’t exactly by the book, but I’m unsure if the agents he sacrificed knew that.”

Sharpe looked at her, eyes searching her face, and then nodded, “I believe we can make that work. I will call you shortly.”

Sara nodded and with a wave of her hand, Gideon ended the call.

She can’t watch as they pulled him into the portal. He’s always been about convenience, about not worrying about other people’s sacrifices because there’s nothing left for him to lose.

But he’s not been wrong about the threat.

She’s exhausted.

She knows this was the best outcome they could hope for. Knows that in the long run, Rip answering for being an asshole is better. And knows that he’s right, this Mallus is a threat.

Darhk is a threat. She held onto that, and she sighed.

They’ll find him and they’ll stop him. They don’t need Rip for that.

It curdled in her gut.

[thebitchkingofangmar]

20 Questions for Writers

@elvain my beloved tagged me, so here i am, once again—

my brain is empty in terms of who to tag, so please friends, lovers and co-conspirators, if you want to do this, consider yourself tagged.

answers under the read more <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3? Not many, actually. 11, and none of them from active fandoms. I do have one original piece published there, that I'm extremely proud of, tho.

Before becoming active in the Tolkien fandom again, I posted most of my fic directly in tumblr, like a beast. I also have a lot of unpublished fic.

2. What's your total AO3 word count? I think 30k aprox

3. What fandoms do you write for? Tolkien + dragon age

Used to write a lot of 00Q, The Arcana and Les Misérables.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? My love, like flowers; I'd be home with you; And then I met you (we walk this road); A little closer to the edge; Bury me with the desert flowers

None of them for active fandoms, all of them for fandoms that give me war flashbacks, but no love is ever wasted so: a) if you like The Arcana go nuts, and b) bc my OCs from the last two are getting their own original thing >:)

5. Do you respond to comments? I try to

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? It's not the ending per se, but the first half of my half original, half dragon age fic WIP "The Song of Dirthalath" has some heavy hitters. It technically begins with the ending and it does not get better from there.

For me, one of the heaviest parts to write was "God of Bitter Things" — it deals with substance abuse as a form of self medication, unrequited love, misunderstandings, enemies to lovers only your enemy is a fucking God, parental abuse, falling out of a window and crumbling in front of your best friend's dad because you think you're a hideous, reprehensible person who loves someone who hates them and loves to hurt yourself with it.

Second comes "Resurrection No. 1", also from SOD, where, I quote:

Dirthamen knew it, as he knew what came after. In vain he tried to reach him, instead he demanded him not to touch me. "Why do you always have to do this?" It was not what he meant to say, but it was what he meant to anyway. "Because I hate myself!" The elf wearing Quenath's face yelled. "I died that day! I died. I was standing in the middle of my parents' fucking parlour with nothing but broken ribs— and— and— and that Declaration of Disownment and they let me believe you abandoned. I said not to touch me. "I always knew you hated me. I always knew you would never love me like I loved you, and that was okay by me. I didn't want you to love me, I didn't know how to tell you, and I'm used to it. I'm used to being discarded and berated for having the audacity to exist, breathe and think differently than I should. I hate myself so much I wish I didn't exist sometimes, and I loved you more than anything. All I ever wanted was to be a scholar and you ruined it for me. You humiliated me, just like my parents did. And you abandoned my best friend!" "I can live with you hating me, I can live thinking you knew, O Serene and Mighty God of Secrets and decided to ignore it and hurt me with it regardless, but what I do not understand is what do you want from me, chasing me around as an ill omen of everything I've ruined for myself and everything I left behind that I didn't, and I can live with you abandoning me but why did you abandon Kaleya?" Not a thing moved, not an atom changed. The only thing Dirthamen could hear was the hyperventilated sobbing of a person who now had no right to a name. It was the laws of his Father, it was the rules he himself thought appropriate to Piety — betrayers, traitors and those worthy of being severed from their Kin as a punishment for their own impiety were not worthy of being recorded in history. "Q—" the God of Knowledge, Family and Secrets stopped himself, and for the first time, he begged: "Please, please tell me how to call you."

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? PLEASE READ MY AO3 PUBLISHED ORIGINAL PIECE A WORSHIP SONG OF OLD, JUST PLEASE READ IT

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not directly lmao, but I was in a server with someone who passive aggressively dissed my OC Anatole and in retrospective, it's hilarious as all shit.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I do. It's gay and insane because I'm touch starved and my OCs live in kinkland.

10. Do you write crossovers? Nope.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? No that I know of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? I've translated fics, in the days of yore

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? I am constantly co-writing, just not for Tolkien

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? All my all-time brain eating ships are OC x OC 😔

But! All the ships I've shipped for the longest all come from Tolkien.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Listen, if I don't finish it, I'll reuse it. Nothing is ever wasted here

16. What are your writing strengths? I think pacing. Not just in events but in the way I write. I'm very comfortable writing dialogue too.

Non-fic exclusive though, it's world-building and social constellations. Society to me is very much a web, and it is integral to my writing to integrate this. Characters are shaped by the societies they live in and I am very conscious to include that to the best of my ability.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Consistency and planning.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Babes, lmao babes, my fics have footnotes. Go ape.

Seriously tho, question 16 all over again. Language shapes you so much. Go ape. It's a great excuse to learn about another language.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Tolkien!! When I was in 5th grade.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? Once again: Worship Song Of Old.

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

@sometypeofbirthstone aksjdksk saph u the real mvp :')🖤💫 i stg i need someone to write this au 😭

When the whole party is down but your bard is up

[cafedanslanuit]

♡   —   pairing: denji x reader

♡   —   summary:  An 80's-themed diner is where your boyfriend takes you the first time he decides to pay for your meal. As you balance your feet on the tall stool, you can't feel but feel giddy— Denji always finds new ways to make you fall even harder for him.

♡   —   tags/warnings: traditionally feminine presenting reader + she/her pronouns (gets called 'girl' once), no devils mentioned, suggestive conversation (mentions of petting & sending nudes), LOTS of fluff, denji is an ass and a sweetheart at the same time, puppy love feels

♡   —   a/n: this is my first csm fic!! i was heavily inspired by this post by my lovely friend @ofoceansandtombsanew <3 "he loves you, so he says it. he likes being with you, so he says it. he wants you, so he says it" i was so in love with that line i ended up writing this c:

♡   —  masterlist

Universe must have my back Fell from the sky into my lap And I know you know that you're my soulmate and all that

“You look really pretty today."

It’s not the first time you’ve heard those words, especially from him. However, just like the very first time he said so, you feel heat rising to your cheeks as your lips curve into a sweet smile. You happily balance your feet, the stool too high for them to reach the floor, and wonder how you have never heard of this place before. It has a retro vibe present, from the jukebox sitting at the back of the diner to the polka-dot aprons on the waitresses.

This could be your new favourite, you think, and the idea of your boyfriend knowing you’d love this place as much as you do makes you happy, sure, but also reminds you he cares for you as much as you care for him. The idea of him walking around the city, spotting a new diner and his first idea to be about wanting to experience it with you makes your heart do a flip.

You love how he carries your presence within him.

“Thank you. You look good too,” you say, caressing his bicep with two fingers, feeling the texture of the navy blue button-up he was wearing. “All dolled up for me.”

“You noticed?” Denji grins, puffing his chest. “I stole this one from Aki. It never creases. Look,” he says, scooting closer to you on his chair. He grabs a handful of the shirt and squeezes it tightly. A couple of seconds later, he releases it, leaving no trace or wrinkle at all. “See?”

“My mom used to say that’s how you know it’s a good fabric.”

“Has to be. I stole it from Aki, after all.”

You chuckle, nodding your head. “You did say that, yeah.”

“Wanted to look good today. You always look so nice when we go out,” he says, not-so-subtly eyeing your cleavage before looking back into your eyes. “Always got people around us staring.”

At these words, you scrunch your nose with a small smile.

“You know I don’t care about that.”

“Mmm, but I do,” he hums. He leans in closer, a devilish smile on his face. “I like it when they do.” His confession comes in a whisper. “Makes me feel all giddy and shit. Like I won.”

Laughter bursts out of you loudly, your shoulders shaking as you do. When you look at him again, he has a proud smile on his face while his teeth slightly bite his bottom lip, his eyes focused on only you. The ice cream parlour slowly disappears around you as your chuckles come to an end. Now, there’s nothing else but your boyfriend and his inexplicable charm. His gentle eyes, his messy hair, his―

His lips. Chapped but oh so very soft and warm. They always feel like home and you can’t help but feel drawn to them every time he makes you this happy. A content sigh escapes your body and you realize how badly you want to kiss him.

So you do.

You grab both sides of his boyish face and kiss him. It’s soft, but the surprise is enough to make him gasp before he wraps his arms around your torso, holding you tightly against him. You press a second kiss on the corner of his mouth and then a loud, third one, on his cheek.

“Love you, baby,” you mutter, nudging your nose against his skin. You kiss him one more time before pulling away with a love-struck expression. Your arms now circle his neck, fingers idly playing with his hair, while he drums his own on your waist.

“I love you too. And not because you’re like― so fucking hot.”

You snort. “I’m not hot?”

His eyes widen, a glint of fear running past them. He puts his big hands on your cheeks, squishing them together and bringing you closer to his face. “I mean not only because of that!! You’re really hot, you’re like― like, the other day I was watching porn and I couldn’t get myself to finish so I just opened your Instagram.”

Deji’s cheeks grow red, only now realising the weight of his words. You take his hands into yours and slowly put them down, resting them on your lap along with yours. Your lips stretch into a mischievous smile, and you look so devilish he can’t help but swallow thick.

“What photo?” you ask.

“Huh?”

“What photo did you…” you roll your eyes playfully, your tongue grazing your upper teeth. “You know.”

“Oh,” he blinks. “Hm, let me remember.” He presses his palms on your thighs, slightly balancing himself as he accesses his memories. His eyes go around the store, and you can almost hear the gears turning inside his head. You know he’s going to talk about the beach ones. “Right― okay, okay, I got it. It’s the one I took, yeah. The one at the park, with the dress.”

“That’s not a sexy photo,” you point out, cocking your head to the side. “I’m just sitting on a bench.”

Denji shrugs. “It’s my favourite. You look pretty. Also, that was the first time you let me sneak a hand under your dress.”

“Ah, I remember now,” you reminisce with a grin. “Behind that tree, right?”

“We were interrupted by that fucking chihuahua.”

His grimace earns him another kiss, this time on the tip of his nose. You chuckle at the memory of how the tiny dog latched onto the bottom of his jeans and wouldn’t let go, no matter how much he shook his leg. When it finally left (taken away by a very embarrassed owner), you took notice of the hole in your boyfriend’s jeans.

The date ended with you trying your best to sew it back together at his apartment. Denji had only found red string, so you were very careful to make it look good against the faded denim. Once you were done, you added the tiniest of hearts at the end of the stitch, only for him to see. That’s all it mattered, anyway.

“Next time, just ask,” you say. You take one of his hands between yours and rest your chin over it, looking at him intently.

“Hm?” His thumb strokes your cheek, making you smile.

“I mean, if you asked, I could send you more… interesting photos. Of me.”

It takes a couple of seconds for him to understand what you’re implying. But when it does, he gets noticeably excited. He shifts on his seat, straightening his back, and he passes his free hand across his dishevelled hair. His lips open and close a few times before he speaks again.

“Really?”

Your grin gets even wider. “Yeah. Call it ‘boyfriend perks’,” you wink. “Might even add a polaroid for your wallet. Keep me with you even when you’re away and―”

It’s Denji’s turn to lean in and join your lips together. You hum into the kiss, letting go of his hand and allowing him to press your body against him. The force of the kiss makes your chair tilt, and you hold onto his shoulders as you feel yourself losing your balance. Thankfully, he notices it and quickly pulls away from the kiss to grab your seat, successfully steading you.

Once he deems you’re safe again, he leans back, taking a good look at you. A charming and crooked smile appears on his face and you can’t help but imitate him, warmth spreading inside your chest.

“You’re so cool,” he sighs, mostly to himself. “And so pretty. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Mmmm, all you’ve called me today is pretty,” you whine, playfully feigning offence. “That’s all I am to you?”

“I mean, I’m paying today,” he shrugs. “So, yeah, all you need to be right now is pretty. Just sit there and look pretty for me.”

You feel your cheeks reddening, but decide to egg him on.

“Is that what you do for me when it’s my treat?”

Denji snorts and rolls his eyes. “Of course. I make sure I take a shower every time I see you. I don’t do that for anyone else.”

“And I’m eternally thankful for that. In fact―”

“Are you guys ready to order?”

Both of you look up, only now noticing one of the waitresses had finally decided to approach your table.

“Yeah!” Denji grins, putting an arm around your shoulders. “I’ll have whatever my girl’s having.” His smile drops a second later, and he gets closer to you. “No, wait― what are you ordering? I wanna know if― Maybe―” he trips on his words, full-on doubt, while you watch him with an amused smile.

“Wanna take another look at the options?” you suggest. He meets your eyes and nods.

“Yes,” he pouts and you hand him the laminated menu. “Go on and order for yourself, though. Anything you want.”

“Thank you, baby.”

You take a couple more seconds to appreciate your boyfriend, his eyebrows furrowed while his eyes go from one choice to the other. The navy blue button-up makes him look a bit older but his messy hair gives away his inexperienced heart. Even with his wandering hands, there’s innocence in the way he loves you― in the way he lets himself be loved. He’s greedy and demanding and wanting, but so tender. Soft. Yearning.

You wonder how long will your heart keep fluttering for him as it does now. Sighing, you hope the answer is forever.

He is, after all, your new favourite too.

[val-made-a-mistake]

❝the garrison rat❞ CHP 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

previous / next

summary: torn apart by an unexpected loss, you find yourself unable to leave birmingham. you’re aware that people notice you drinking in the garrison every other night, you’re aware they call you nicknames, but you don’t care about any of it— at least, not until you start speaking to john shelby. he’s looking for a wife and you vowed to never love again, which makes things a bit complicated.

warnings: basically everything horrible you can think of. ANGST, vomiting, gore x1000, friendly reminder that this is the peaky blinders we’re talking about so even more guns and gunshot wounds, everything to do with pregnancy and infertility…this chapter is a lot honestly i think we all need to hug it out after this one

word count: 3.5k

tag list: @datewithgianni @1950schick @clementinesjourney @cbouvier23 @smailaway @cedricscoffin @buckysjuicyplums @belledawnidk @wandering-poetess @bobafett-tea

a/n: you know that scene in friends where ross is yelling PIVOT over and over while he tries to get a couch up a staircase? no spoilers, but that was basically me writing this chapter regarding the entire vibe of the series thus far lol. i stayed up most of the night to write this.

//////

To you, hospital food tasted like wet sand.

Esme had brought you a banana from the Shelby Parlour and you’d eaten almost a quarter of it several hours ago— but the nurses had to come and take the remains because even though your stomach was pulsating and needy, crying out in pain, you hadn’t been able to keep any food down after the surgery. Bowel movements were an absolute nightmare, the mere thought of it made you nauseous to the point where it was hard to stay in the world of reality.

Your stomach was covered in jagged, bright blue stitches from bullet removal, which ached and stung every time your chest rose to take a breath, and there were tiny white claw marks pressed into John’s hand from squeezing it as hard as you could when another wave of white-hot pain raced through your brain.

(He said it barely hurt, though, so your hand remained firmly clamped around his.)

At one o’clock in the morning, sixteen hours on, the intensity of your pain had decreased enough to keep you in the world of reality, so you were awake and conscious while awaiting the final test results from the doctor.

She got hit in a rather critical area, the nurse had told John, refusing to look at you the entire time. There could be unfortunate complications from this.

If only you knew what the fuck that meant.

“You okay?“ John whispered, finally giving you an excuse to stop thinking about the ever-continuing tinnitus ringing in your ears, and you looked at him.

“What time is it?” you mumbled back.

Pausing, he checked his watch, then said, “1:33.”

You looked at him blankly, and he grimaced sympathetically, reading your mind. “He should be here soon, love.”

“I want that fucker dead,” you mumbled, trying to roll over on your other side but immediately regretting it when your stitches burned and screamed in pain.

When you looked back at John, there was a revengeful type of passion burning in his eyes, and that same uncomfortable shudder from earlier crawled up your spine as he said, “You should be able to see him die. He fuckin’ shot you.”

You blinked rapidly as tears burned hot behind your eyelids, but you clenched your eyes shut for a moment, refusing to let them fall.

Sam wouldn’t have wanted you to lie to yourself, so the truth was this: you just hated feeling so broken. This was your second hospital visit in, what, two weeks? It wasn’t that being a Shelby warranted more trouble than you being a Lee, but that they were two equally shitty options in a shithole corner of the world, and now that you were bound by blood to another man, sworn to live out the rest of your life as a housewife, you weren’t sure if you could ever leave Birmingham and feel freedom ever again. Run away and leave everything behind.

And after this bullet in your stomach, you weren’t sure if you could ever function like you used to ever again.

Both you and John looked up at the same time when you heard the sound of footsteps growing closer to your room, and anxiety made your heart leap into your throat.

There was a small CREAK, then the doctor politely edged the door open and shuffled inside.

His face was somber, and your heart immediately plummeted into your stomach, expecting the worst.

“Mrs Shelby,” he started, his voice low with respect. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news.”

//////

When you woke up the following morning, even though you were still covered from the waist down in itchy linen sheets, lying in the same hospital bed with your stomach aching and pinching with recovery pains, confirming it hadn’t been a horrible, horrible dream, something was distracting you.

It was the bright sunlight filtering through the room, like a beacon of hope.

Actually, it reminded you of your first morning after with John: the tender smell of his skin, the feeling of your bodies gently pressed together, the warmth, the satisfaction, the residue of Polly’s perfume…

And then finally, the panic.

The bad news of last night came crashing back down onto you, and your stomach churned horribly in a way that had nothing to do with your stitches as you sat up in bed, blood thundering to your brain as a single word echoed in your mind.

Infertile.

John, the Englishman, would probably pronounce it differently than you, the American, would, but the meaning was still the same: you can’t have kids.

You.

Can’t.

Have.

Kids.

Esme would have scoffed at the sudden traditionalism, but you had the sinking feeling like you’d failed at life the longer you thought about it, and there was a horrible feeling gathering in the pit of your stomach, a feeling that you had no idea how to deal with, let alone contain, and it felt like your mind was speeding years into the future, unable to get all the unspoken promises expected of a husband and wife that had now been broken out of your head, and—

You stole a glimpse at John, who had dozed off in his seat, but instead of calming you, it only made the panic in your chest rise. Impossible to know what he was thinking while he was sleeping.

God, impossible to know if he still wanted you.

You closed your eyes and raised your hand to gnaw on the nail of your thumb, a habit you’d neglected for weeks on end.

Fuck fuck fuck.

A shitty situation all around, but eventually, you resolved to go back to sleep.

//////

In your dream, you fell into the Parlour a swollen-lipped mess, the heat clouding your ability to think straight as John’s lips flew onto yours again—

SMASH!

—you’d staggered straight into something glass and it shattered, but that didn’t matter, he was pushing you into the betting shop as you threw your arms around his neck.

He swiped at something on the table and you heard it get broken, not like you cared since he was already lying you down onto the wood, kissing you like a man starving, and you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him so close you nearly forgot how to breathe.

As he sucked a bruising kiss into your neck, your voice came out a grinning whisper.

“You don’t want any more kids, do you?”

John was already shoving his hand down the front of your skirt, and you couldn’t see his face, but when he spoke you knew he was playing into the game.

“Maybe I changed my mind. You never know, after all. It’d be cute to see you pregnant.”

You rolled your eyes, then bit your lip as his fingers met your clit and your gut twisted in the most pleasurable way.

“Fucker,” you mumbled, but you said it with love.

Instead of waking with a start, your eyes calmly opened as the dream faded into nothingness, and you laid motionless for a moment as bleak, unchanging reality settled in.

For the first time in God only knows how long, you were completely alone in your hospital room.

The room was dark, and still you closed your eyes, hating how this all felt like a sick joke.

In the thick silence, you wondered where Esme was, and if she was angry that you hadn’t been able to get her cocaine. You wondered where John was, if he was tracking down the shooter like he’d promised. Your mind wandered to the kids, and you wondered if they knew what was happening, if they were worried about you— according to Polly, the only thing they knew was that you’d had an accident and had ended up in the hospital.

Like you’d fallen and scraped your knee.

Your tears were hot and fast and they made you feel dirty, like the sadness was filth staining your cheeks, but knowing it would’ve been worse to hold them back, you let them fall, slapping a hand over your mouth so the nurses wouldn’t hear your choked, anguished cry.

Worst of all, you were somehow thinking of what you’d be doing at this very moment in time had Sam still been alive.

You wanted to say in Paris, tidying your new apartment, polishing your French skills and waiting dutifully for the arrival of the baby growing inside of you, but the more realistic answer would be still in Small Heath, only living in the huge Lee house in the country, and Esme would probably still be wanting cocaine, and you’d still brave the whorehouse for her, and you’d still get shot, only by a Shelby brother this time around…

Jesus, John could’ve been the one who shot you.

At that thought, tears ran down your jaw as a new wave of sadness overcame you, making you feel pathetic.

Yeah, you really didn’t like thinking about this.

//////

You were discharged from the hospital days later with the stitches still in your side, and John gingerly led you to the car.

“You’re gonna want to come out to the outskirts tonight,” he mumbled in your ear before you climbed into the seat. “Tommy thinks we got him.”

You glanced back at him and John grimaced at you.

“Fuckin’ monarchist. Thought he could mess with the Blinders and get away with it.”

You said nothing and refused the hand he held out for you, and even though your stitches burned and screamed and wailed like usual, you climbed into the car yourself.

//////

POW! POW! POW!

“NOT SO FUCKIN’ PROUD NOW, HUH?”

POW! POW! POW!

You’d honestly lost count of how many times John had punched him, but nonetheless, with the man who shot you pinned to the ground by Tommy and Arthur, he was hardly interested in stopping: when you briefly caught sight of your shooter’s face in the moonlight, one of his eyes was swollen shut and quickly turning purple because of the force of John’s punch; there was a nasty yellowish-green pus leaking from his ajar lower lip, and the longer this went on, the more it seemed clear John was about to literally beat him to death with his fists.

John was yelling as loudly as he could over the sound of his own cacophonous violence, yelling himself absolutely hoarse, his voice strained with fury and hurt and sadness and fucking intense emotion you didn’t even know a human could experience, fury so strong and reverberating, you had to reflexively shiver for the man who’d rendered you infertile.

“YOU SHOT MY FUCKIN’ WIFE!” John roared, yanking a handful of his hair and tugging him upward only to slam his face into the ground over and over, and the stitches on your stomach twinged uncomfortably.

The Shelbys had promised it would be satisfying watching the life bleed out of him, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone else ever again, but you weren’t sure how you felt knowing that John could inflict this much pain with his bare hands.

(And you’d specifically drove to this clearing so no one would see this man die.)

“Ah, lookit that, he’s fuckin’ cryin’ now,” Arthur called out, lifting him slightly to check his face. “I really can’t believe it. He’s fucking crying.”

Then the man screamed, horribly, anguished and regretful and clearly in unimaginable pain, and the force of it made your ears ring when you weren’t even particularly close to him.

It might’ve been traitorous to do it, but a part of you cringed for him. Sure, you might’ve had a lot of issues in your life, but you usually jumped to sadness, not anger.

And if it was anger…well, it certainly wasn’t of this magnitude.

“Finish him off, John boy,” Tommy shouted over the cries of pain, holding the man down as he writhed.

“Y/N, you want to see this pathetic fuckin’ rat before he dies?” Arthur yelled over to you, and with the colour rapidly disappearing from your face, you took a few steps forward on shaky legs, hoping that when it was over with, you’d just be able to forget about this quickly.

“Hold on a minute, lads,” John told his brothers, fiddling with something hanging on his waist, concealed by his coat. “I got an idea.”

An electrifying beat, then he looked at you, and it was like all the air had disappeared from your lungs.

His face was grim. “Y/N, have you ever shot a gun before?”

Hating what was about to happen, you silently shook your head as your heart started beating out of your chest.

No. No. No.

You can’t do this.

He’s not going to make you do this.

He can’t make you do this. He’s a good man.

And then the cold, numbing realization:

He’s gonna make you do this.

“It’s loaded,” John told you, stepping forward to wrap your shaking hand around the thick black handle of the gun, “All you have to do is point and pull the trigger, alright? It’s gonna kick, but don’t let it scare you.”

As you examined the gun in your hands, Tommy and Arthur finally stopped pressing your shooter into the ground and stood up, looking over your shoulder at the gun.

“Berettas are fuckin’ nice,” Arthur mumbled into your ear, but you had no idea what that meant.

“Aim square for the back of the head,” Tommy told you on your other side. “And step back so you don’t get his brains sprayed on ya.”

Heart in your throat, you went backward by about two steps and shakily pointed the gun downward at the crying, sniffling man who had all but accepted his fate, and suddenly it was like you were incapable of feeling anything at all.

What happened next came incredibly quick yet simultaneously in slow motion.

You squeezed the trigger and the force of the bullet coming out of the gun made your hand sting, but then an absolute geyser of blood burst from the man’s fucking head, and you opened your mouth to shriek but suddenly it was like your brain was underwater so you couldn’t even really hear it, you just stepped back reflexively as bits of an organ erupted from his head and effectively sprayed you.

You almost fainted when you realized the man’s brains were in your hair.

It was like one minute you were standing and the next you were on the ground, vomiting the remains of the vegetable casserole Polly had made earlier that afternoon, but your head was spinning, you weren’t processing anything correctly, you couldn’t hear or see anything, there were random words echoing in your head instead of actual thoughts, all you knew was that there was a man dead on the ground and you had brains in your hair and you killed him you killed him you killed him you killed him—

You felt a hand on your back and the first thing out of your mouth was a hissed, “Don’t touch me.”

Luckily, the hand immediately rescinded, and as you slowly became aware of your heart racing in your chest and the tinnitus rushing in your ears from the close-range gunshot, you leaned forward and brushed the detritus of a murder out of your hair.

You were dry-heaving now, weak on all fours, but it just didn’t feel enough.

Being infertile made you feel dirty already, but now you were a murderer, and it hit you like a truck.

JOHN FUCKING SHELBY HAD MADE YOU INTO A FUCKING MURDERER.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you choked out as the same hand brushed your back again, and completely mindless, you leapt up, shoved John’s hand away from you, and started running.

//////

It took what felt like hours to get back to Watery Lane, and you were choking on your own tears by that time, completely out of breath from running and holding your skirt up out of the way because your feet were moving faster than your brain. Your hands were covered in dirt and blood and the hem of your skirt was dipped in vomit and stained with grass, you probably looked like you belonged in an insane asylum.

You ran past the Shelby Parlour entirely and ripped open the door to the Lee house, blindly running up that cramped staircase that you knew from experience led to Esme’s room.

You could hear a stampede of footsteps downstairs and yelling in Romani, evidently because a stranger had just randomly burst into Zilpha’s home, but you didn’t even care, you pushed the door open and collapsed inside, so drunk on adrenaline you couldn’t even feel your stitches anymore.

Of course, Esme turned around to see you dishevelled and bloody on the carpet and immediately became concerned.

She was in front of you in an instant.

“Y/N, what the fuck happened to you?”

“I killed the person who shot me,” you tried to say, but it must’ve come out completely incoherent because you had to suck in a massive breath, the first full breath you gave to your lungs. “I - I-“

Esme’s eyebrows furrowed and she knelt in front of you. “Slow down, I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“I - I killed a man,” you gasped, your eyes darting desperately across her face as the words formed on your tongue erratically, “The man who shot me. I shot him in the head in a clearing outside town.”

Esme’s eyes widened, and you hesitated, suddenly becoming aware of the chaos this would cause if you said it, but in the end you said it anyway.

You looked her in the eyes and it was like your head stopped spinning.

“John made me.”

You knew immediately that you’d rekindled the gang war between the Lees and the Shelbys when Esme’s face darkened.

“He made you?” she repeated. “Y/N Lee, your husband made you kill someone?”

You nodded hopelessly and buried your face into your hands. “I couldn’t say no.”

Esme immediately wrapped her arms around you and you leaned into her as your shoulders shook, trying not to outright sob in front of her.

“I - I - I don’t want to start something,” you blubbered into her shirt.

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” she said from above you, pulling away slightly. “You know damn well you could’ve gone to the Parlour and told Polly, right?”

You looked at her quizzically.

“And I suppose you could’ve gone to Ada’s apartment,” she continued. “But you went and told me, the dirty Lee girl who can’t get married off because she causes so much trouble.”

You could only blink.

“Because you know what I can tell the rest of ‘em. You know what the Lees can start,” she said, and the weight of what she was saying pressed on your lungs until it was hard to breathe again.

“Just give the word and the Lees will be behind you,” she finished, and there was a thick silence that hung in the air.

“John is my husband,” you whispered blankly, and Esme finally snapped.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, how did you even get here?” she shouted, gesturing wildly to your muddy clothes. “For crying out loud, did you run all the way from the outskirts?”

At that moment, there was loud thumping up the staircase, and a split-second later the door was flung open by Zilpha Lee, red in the face and yelling something in Romani.

Evidently not for the first time, Esme immediately whipped around to scream back, and only half-understanding the Romani language, you tuned it out and let your brain go underwater again, Esme’s voice echoing in your mind the entire time.

Just give the word.

She wanted you to be at literal war with your in-laws, which was insanity considering you’d only been married for a week.

Insanity considering you knew you loved him.

Insanity considering that before this, you believed he loved you.

But at the same time, John had made you kill someone. He didn’t put you in harm’s way, but he’d made you witness a horrible thing, and made you perform something that would surely haunt you for the rest of your life right after that, and after how badly you’d reacted, you weren’t sure if you could forgive him for that.

And selfishly, you’d always wanted an excuse to leave Birmingham.

And you’d never wanted to be married in the first place.

Let alone be married into the Shelby family. The Peaky fucking Blinders.

Just give the word.

Your stomach was pulsating again, and dread filled you when you realized you were about to vomit, only there was nothing left in your stomach to come up.

The urge in you got to be too strong, akin to an avalanche: blood suddenly thundering to your brain, you shoved past Esme and Zilpha and utterly flew down the stairs, into the hallway, and out of the door, until you were running down the middle of the Lane like a maniac all over again.

It didn’t matter. You were shivering and crying and the rainwater was pelting down hard on your back, but the plan was coming together at once.

I need to get out of here.

[its-all-or-nothing94]

The Singer - Part 5 // Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Liv gets a message from Tommy inviting her back to Birmingham. Of course, she is everything but amused about it and lets him know that...

Warnings: Language, physical violence, slight rape attempt

A/N: Here we go with chapter 5 - if you wanna be tagged, let me know :)

Mayfair, London, 1919

Liv is sitting in her flat in London when Ayla rushes in.

"Morning, Liv," she greets her, and Liv looks up from her tea. "I've got something for you," she says, waving an envelope in front of her face.

"What's this?" asks Liv, reaching for the envelope.

"A booking. From Birmingham. Very generous, if you ask me." Liv looks at Ayla questioningly. A booking from Birmingham? What could that be? She quickly opens the envelope and begins to read.

Dear Miss James,

We take the liberty of contacting you directly.

We would like to book you for a performance at the official ceremony for the licensing of our betting slip. Of course, we will generously compensate you for this performance. Please find the amount on the enclosed sheet.

Please also find the date, time and place on the enclosed sheet.

Hoping to hear from you.

Shelby Company Ltd. Thomas Shelby

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Liv mumbles to herself and takes the enclosed sheet.

The amount is indeed very generous, but anger spreads through Liv. How dare they! And how can her own brother be involved in this? Sure, she hasn't seen Will for a long time. He and Liv have been distant since the war, but still, she can hardly believe her eyes.

"Well what do you think?" asks Ayla, who has now also helped herself to a cup of tea.

"I think you should organise train tickets to Birmingham for us."

"Great! You'll take the booking request then?"

"No, I won't. But I will kick someone's fucking arse!"

Small Heath, Birmingham, 1919

The next day Liv gets off the train in Birmingham. Her anger has not subsided. If anything, it has grown. She calls a taxi for Ayla and herself, and then they are driven to Small Heath. Not straight to Watery Lane, of course, the taxi drivers don't dare, but close enough. Liv briefly looks at her watch. They must be at the Garrison. So she walks purposefully in the direction of the pub. On the street, she can hear people whispering.

"That's Olivia James." "Is that Liv? What's she doing here?"

Ayla tries convulsively to keep up with Liv. "Liv… Wait," she says out of breath as Liv stops outside the pub.

"I'm sorry for what you're about to witness," Liv says, then yanks open the doors. Behind the bar, Harry immediately looks up and his eyes grow wide.

"Miss James?" he asks in surprise, and then Liv spots Grace. She stares at them angrily. Grace tries to stop Liv just as she pulls open the doors to the small parlour.

"You can't go in there!" Liv, however, doesn't listen.

All eyes shoot to her. Arthur, John, Polly, Will and Tommy stare at her.

"Liv?" asks Will, confused, but Liv walks purposefully towards Tommy.

She punches him several times in the chest, pushing him backwards. He is not prepared for this, which is why he staggers backwards a step.

"Are you actually taking the piss out of me completely?!" she shouts angrily.

None of the other Shelbys intervene and Tommy, too, just lets her freak out. They all know better than to stand in the way of a raging Olivia James.

"What the fuck, huh?!" she exclaims, taking out the letter. "Fuck, I knew there was something different about you when I saw you Cheltenham, but this is really a new fucking low, even for you Tommy!" She shoves him again. "First, you tell me you don't care about me, and then something like this? What the fuck is wrong with you?!" yells Liv, looking Tommy in the eye with rage.

She crumples up the letter and throws it at Tommy. "I will now take the liberty of telling you directly. You are a fucking bastard Thomas Shelby!" Liv lashes out and slaps Tommy across the face.

There is silence all around. No one would normally dare to do something like that, but with Liv it surprises no one.

She snorts angrily before turning on her heel and storming out. She drags a completely confused and uncomfortable Ayla with her and then pushes the doors out of the garrison open.

Outside, Liv stops for a moment and then takes a deep breath. "What the hell was that?" asks Ayla, still confused, but Liv gives her no answer.

Just as she is about to light a smoke, she is grabbed by both arms and a bag is pulled over her head. Her cigarettes fall out of her mouth.

"Hey!" protests Liv, trying to free herself but her hands are held back.

"Easy, Miss James, or we'll kill your friend right here and now."

Meanwhile at the Garrison, Tommy's brothers, his aunt and Will look at him questioningly. "What have you done now?" asks Polly then, taking a drag from her smoke. Tommy looks at her and presses his eyebrows together.

"Honestly… I don't know," he says and John picks up the crumpled letter.

"What's this?" Tommy snatches it from John's hand, unknots the paper and reads the lines.

"Fuck," he curses, then runs out of Garrison.

"Liv?!" he shouts, looking around, but he can't spot Liv anywhere. Arthur, Will and John follow him.

"What the fuck is going on Tommy?" asks Arthur.

"Liv received a letter, with a booking request from Shelby Company Ltd," he says and the three others look at him in confusion. He spots the unlit smoke on the floor and picks it up.

"We certainly didn't send her that letter. So it must have been someone else," Tommy says.

"Fuck," Will now curses. "Campbell…"

Liv notices herself being tied to a chair as they finally pull the bag off her head. Next to her, she spots Ayla looking around with fear filled eyes. They have also tied her to a chair and gagged her. In front of her, Liv discovers two men looking at her.

Hateful, she looks at them and spits at their feet.

"Pretty cheeky, don't you think Fred?" one asks and the other nods before coming towards her. He grabs her by the chin and scrutinises her face.

"But no less pretty because of it." He lets go of Liv.

"Now then, my little songbird. Where are the weapons?" he asks and Liv frowns.

"What fucking weapons?" she asks, squeezing her eyes shut.

"The ones your friend is hiding."

"What friend?"

"Well, that Peaky devil. Thomas Shelby." Now Liv starts to laugh.

"Are you fucking stupid?" she asks. The man, however, doesn't seem to find this funny at all, because he slaps her face with the flat of his hand. Liv sees stars in front of her eyes for a moment. Ayla tries to scream, but Liv only hears her whimper.

"That's the end of being cheeky," he says sternly and leans down to Liv. "Where are the weapons?" he asks again.

"What fucking weapons? How the fuck am I supposed to know where Tommy hides his fucking weapons? We haven't been in contact for years!" The man looks at his accomplice and then back at Liv.

"Well then, let's find out if he still cares about you," he says and pulls out a knife.

Liv tries to hide her fear as best she can. The man takes Liv's hair and cuts out a strand. Then he presses it against Liv's cheek. When he takes it away again, Liv sees the blood on it. It seems her cheek split open when the man hit her. He smiles confidently before the two leave the room, leaving Liv and Ayla alone.

Gritting his teeth, Tommy looks at the strand of hair in front of him. Blood is on it. They have her. They have Liv. And they're using her against him.

"Fuck!" he exclaims, banging his fist on his desk. At that moment his aunt enters his office. Concerned, she looks at the strand of hair.

"You have to do something Tommy. And you have to do it now. If they hurt her… You'd never forgive yourself."

"Oh yeah, you think I don't fucking know that myself eh?!" he shouts angrily, glaring at his aunt.

"Just give them the guns and get Liv home," she says sternly and Tommy looks her in the eye.

"It's not fucking that easy Pol! No," he says, shaking his head. "I have to find her myself." With these words Tommy leaves the office. Shaking her head, Polly looks after her nephew.

Liv and Ayla have been sitting in the dark room for what feels like an eternity now. It is stuffy and damp and Liv suspects they must probably be somewhere near the docks. n an old warehouse. She feels her arms beginning to ache from the position and she puts her head back. Why on earth did she come back here? She knows the answer to that all too well, of course. Tommy fucking Shelby. He just still gets under her skin and after so many years. And he knows how to drive her up the wall.

When Liv almost falls asleep, she hears the door open and is immediately wide awake again. She looks ahead and an older man with a moustache and bowler hat approaches her. She squints her eyes and watches his every move. He approaches Liv and then stands about two metres in front of her, eyeing her.

"Miss James. It's an honour to meet you. I'm Inspector Campbell." Liv raises her head arrogantly.

"I wish I could say the same to you," Liv returns and Campbell's lips twitch. He walks up to her and scrutinises her face. He lifts a hand and briefly grabs the laceration she has on her cheek.

"Sorry about my men." Liv jerks her head away from him.

"Sure you are," she says sarcastically. "You're making a big mistake here Inspector. I have friends. Friends in high places," Liv then says with narrowed eyes.

Campbell clasps his hands behind his back. He pulls up a chair and sits down opposite her. "If you want to use that to refer to Mr Mosley, don't worry. I know from reasonable sources that you two haven't seen each other in a couple of months and besides, you're not the only one with friends, Miss James."

He puts on a smug smile. "It would be a lot easier for you and for me if you would cooperate with us Miss James. Then you won't get hurt and we can finally wrap things up here and Shelby will get the punishment he deserves."

"I don't fucking know where the weapons are! How many times do I have to say this? Tommy and I are not friends! Not for years!" Now Campbell smiles even wider.

"I know," he says and Liv looks him in the eye in surprise. "You're not here to tell me where the guns are either."

"Then why else?! Fuck! Your men…"

"I know, I know. They're not exactly the brightest candles on the cake, but they're useful."

"What do you want from me?", Liv then spits out.

"As I said before, I have very reliable sources Miss James. And they have informed me that you are still one of the most important things in Thomas Shelby's life."

"So you want me to be the decoy?" Campbell nods curtly.

"You're very clever, I'll give you that. Shelby will do everything he can to track you down. He'll also know by now that I'm behind your invitation and he'll try to make a deal."

"You want to trade me for the guns? You're really fucking dumber than you look. Tommy doesn't care about me anymore." Campbell's smile on his face doesn't go away.

"And I think you're wrong on that very point, Miss James." With those words, Campbell stands up and walks towards the door. "You watch her. She is not to be touched, do you understand?!" he says to his men and then walks out of the room.

Liv, still bound, stares at the floor in front of her. They have now also gagged her to keep her quiet. Again and again she hears Ayla whimpering beside her. Suddenly one of the two men stands up and comes towards Liv.

"What are you doing?" the other asks, but he ignores him.

"She's quite pretty, isn't she?" he asks as he stands in front of Liv and takes her chin in his hand. "I bet she's a good fuck. I heard she was Tommy Shelby's girl."

"Come on, leave her alone. Campbell told us not to touch her."

"Like he'd find out," the other says then, eyeing Liv's body.

"I'm just wondering what's hidden underneath." He reaches for her dress and begins to pull it up. Liv now begins to whimper as well. They can hit her all they want from her, but she definitely doesn't want to be touched where it doesn't belong.

"Don't do that Titus," the other now says again, slapping the latter's hand away.

"What's the matter Fred? Haven't you ever wondered what a superstar looks like under all those clothes?"

Again Titus reaches for Liv, but Fred tries to dissuade him again and they wrestle for a moment, sending Liv flying to the floor, chair and all. She feels her elbow hurt and probably bleeding, but she doesn't care because the fall has caused the cloth in front of her mouth to slip.

"You know what? Do whatever you want!", Fred then gives up and looks down at Liv before turning away. Titus grins and then leans down to Liv.

"Please," she pleads and a tear runs down her cheek.

"Shut up," he just says sternly and slaps her face again. Liv now tastes blood in her mouth, but she doesn't care, because she notices his hands on her dress again. She tries to escape from him somehow, but it is difficult when you are tied to a chair.

"Maybe I'll just knock you unconscious and you'll stop struggling. Well, what do you think of that?" he then asks and grabs her neck. He squeezes and immediately it cuts off Liv's air.

Her eyes grow wide and just as she thinks she is losing consciousness, she hears a gunshot. The grip on her neck loosens and then Titus falls backwards. She feels his wet blood on her face and then tears her eyes open, but her vision is blurred.

She can make out screaming and then another gunshot. Liv is still on the floor. She can just see some legs in front of her, but then she can't manage to stay awake.

When Tommy flings open the door and he, Arthur, John and Will rush into the room, he is almost breathless. The image that presents itself shocks him deeply. A man is bent over Liv, who is lying on the floor tied to a chair, and is choking her.

Tommy does not hesitate for long. He raises his gun and shoots the man in the head. No one touches Liv like that. No one. Next to Liv he sees another young woman, also tied to a chair, crying. While the others take care of the second man in the room, Tommy runs towards Liv.

He pulls the dead body away from her, but he quickly realises that Liv is no longer conscious. He quickly unties her and then takes her in his arms to examine her. She has a laceration on her cheek, a split lip and bruises are already forming where the bastard choked her. Anger rises in Tommy. How could he let this happen to her.

"Liv!" he then hears Will shout, kneeling on the floor next to Tommy.

"What's wrong with her? Is she still alive?" he asks quickly, checking her pulse. Relief rushes through him as he can feel it.

"We have to get her to Polly, Tommy!" he says then and Tommy looks Will in the eyes. They are the same eyes as Liv's, looking at him now with concern. Then he nods and lifts Liv up.

Arthur has meanwhile released Liv's escort, who throws herself gratefully around his neck, which seems to confuse Arthur slightly.

[jjkafterhours]

Part 4 of reversal of the heart? <3

To the people who request for more parts, I hope you realize how happy it makes me (´ ^ ω ^｀)

REVERSAL OF THE HEART

PART FOUR

PAIRING;; Toji Fushiguro/Reader

TAGS/WARNINGS;; angst, slowburn, mentions of childhood neglect because the Zenins are asshats, Toji is still awkward asf @brumous11

WC;; 2k+

NOTES;; This is mostly a filler chapter, but I think Toji needs some more love don't be afraid to interact if you enjoy my writing :3, I love getting your kindhearted messages

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

“I’m fully aware, of how awful of a person I am.”

“You need to go outside more.” You decide. “I won’t have you sitting at home, being sad.”

Wow, she did not even try to sugarcoat it, Toji thinks when he nods. It isn’t exactly a nod of agreement, but more of relent. After all, husbands were supposed to spend more time with their wives, and he had not been exactly accommodating when they were back at the Zenins. Their presence plagued his mind; a family of abusers and brainwashed people with power and reputation in their hands. One of the most prestigious families in the Sorcerer world.

Prestigious. It was the most pretentious way to describe them. It made him want to throw up.

He had barely noticed his new wife, trying to shut himself down, away from his surroundings, trying to think of a safe haven which he had found in his life. He could only think of one place, and that brought too many memories now weighed heavy with guilt and shame.

Maybe he really did have to go outside more. The walls were closing in too quickly.

She’s saying something, he finally notices when he turns to look at you. He’s puzzled when you raise an eyebrow. He had not heard you. It was a recurring thing; sometimes this is how your conversations broke off when he was suddenly snatched up by a particular line of thoughts. However, you did not mind.

“I was wondering,” You repeat, running your hands through his hair. “Where we should go next time.”

Oh.

He shrugs, and then realizes that his lack of enthusiasm was not helping. He could not help it, he was tired. He had taken a few days off in order to take care of his their kids, but they were asleep (understandably so, he was not going to wake them up early on a weekend). So his option was to spend time with you, or wander out, perhaps to have another try at the rigged pachinko parlour.

He wonders if you would enjoy that. You would probably think that it was another one of his addictions. Ha.

With that in mind, he walks out, mumbling whatever excuse comes to his mind. Not that you exactly were hell-bent on knowing where he was at all times, especially with the irregular hours his line of work kept him busy in. He respected that, however, something like annoyance tugged at the back of his head. Were you really going to not ask about anything?

“Take care.” You call out to him, nonchalantly. You were surprised at him randomly wandering outside with seemingly no real purpose, contrasting with the reluctance with which he provided you company. You wonder if your presence really made him that uncomfortable all of a sudden. Yesterday had gone so well…

He does not realize that he had not answered your question until much later.

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

Toji was four when he was taken to the Disciplinary Pit. He could hear the distant cries of a woman, begging the head of the clan to spare him, to take it out on her for failing to give birth to a strong child.

His mother.

He did not understand why his mother seemed to panic at the mention of the Pit. When he had asked the servants about it, they merely looked at him with pity, and vaguely answered something about how punishments and training sessions were handed out.

One of them approaches him, a rope in her hand. He wonders if it was a beating; but could not discern as to why he would be receiving it in the first place. He had not stepped out of line at all, and even when he had, his mother had been the one to administer any sort of punishment, which usually involved sending him to his room, forbidding him to run outside and play. Beatings were mostly reserved for the older members, and only if the crime threatened the clan’s interests. How could a child do anything of the sort?

He wonders if his uncle wished to see him. Naobito Zenin was one of the mostly respected (and feared) clan leaders to rule over the Zenin household. People would step out of his way whenever he approached a situation.

He frowned. Had he been not listening to his teachers?

He froze, feeling a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see his uncle, his expression scarily blank. He stared into the man’s eyes, certain that he had done nothing wrong, but could feel his stomach twisting slightly. The hand moved to his head, and Naobito Zenin stroked the top of his head with surprising gentleness.

He smiles reluctantly, pleasantly surprised by the show of affection from the man who seemed to have little time to attend to his family members, and had personally arrived to meet him. However, his thoughts were locked in a conflict, unable to remove the image of his sobbing mother out of his mind.

“I think he is ready.” Naobito announced, still smiling down at him.

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

The clanking of coins rings in his ears as he shoves his money inside the machine slot. Partially it’s to block out his uncle’s voice in his head, and the events which occurred shortly after. The other reason is because he is irritated. It’s not more than a few thousand yen; he could not afford to throw money at whatever would provide some sort of distraction, he had a family to take care of now. Terrible memories or not, he had to get his shit together.

I should have never had kids, he thinks, then immediately regrets it, when the image of his son appears in his mind. However, he pushes it down. Raising kids was hard, and it wasn’t like anybody had given him some sort of instruction manual. He allows himself to be annoyed with them, his children, his wife whom he could barely manage seeing every day, knowing fully well that she was a placeholder for his grief. A dull throbbing pain begins to form in the sides of his head, as Toji struggles to concentrate. The other players seemed to keep their distance from him, seeing the stoic expression on his face, the usual banter in the parlour dying.

He thought that he had gotten used to the stares and side-eyed glances, but it frustrated him even more. It made him wish that he could just mingle with the rest of the crowd. He was not interested in small talk or any sort of conversation, but he would be glad to slip by, unnoticed. Heavenly Restriction had placed a shadow over his life, his absence of cursed energy making him an defect piece in his clan, an anomaly among the Sorcerer world, and his physical prowess leaving him unable to mingle with the rest of the population.

Toji hated having the spotlight on him like this. Part of him thought of leaving; they probably thought of was one of the members of the shitty gang in the neighboring town, but he crushed it. He would rather walk back home angry, rather than feel dejected about it.

The music from the machine suddenly rises up into a crescendo, and he glances up to see the three slots slowly line up.

7.

7.

7.

Ah.

“No fucking way.” He hisses, waiting the screen to turn black, wondering if it was some sort of sick joke. The casino owner had mentioned something about buying new retro-style machines, and perhaps this was one of them-

He grimaces as the animated characters began to dance on the screen, whistling in the background as the battered thing begins to pump out some obscure jingle which must have been popular in the 90s. A bunch of streams explode in the pixelated screen, announcing that he had just won the jackpot. The machine continues to play the god-awful happy-go-lucky music, almost demanding him to be happy as it spits out an armful of pinballs. The owner of the casino congratulates him; while the bystanders are not exactly convinced. He isn’t either, but he does not care either way. He’s one of the “loyal customers”, meaning that he has probably lost half of the jackpot money from his earlier failed attempts, not that having a bit of extra money bothered him. He wonders what he would do, certainly not try his luck again.

He reaches for a pack of cigarettes, perhaps with the slight intention to annoy his wife. Then he stops.

Why am I doing this, he thinks, and walks out of the aisle. He wonders if he should take his family out shopping. He had considered buying gifts, but he had little idea as to what they really liked. Another consequence of not spending enough time with them.

He decided that he would stash up the money somewhere when he returned home, and then later give it to his wife when she would go shopping. The kids would probably prefer her company anyway.

“I just won the jackpot.” He says aloud to himself, and some of the passersby shoot him a confused look. He returns their looks with a shark-like stare, and they scamper off. Sure they did not expect him to, seeing how he says those words with an incredible lack of enthusiasm, like he had gotten coupons from the ramen shop. He snickers to himself; it seemed ridiculous, him saying those words.

Suddenly, he remembers. Shoes, he thinks. Megumi needs new shoes. And hadn’t Tsumiki been complaining about her stockings getting worn? And her…well. It was not liked they talked much about anything, much less about what she liked or did not like. With his luck (no, really), he would probably end up buying flowers which she was allergic to.

He was glad that he had managed to sum up that bit of information. At least he was trying.

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

Tsumiki is waiting for him and runs up to him with a smile. It lightens up him up somewhat; the image of his family waiting for him at home. Toji squeezes her for a few seconds longer than he usually does, before letting go to see Megumi anxiously standing outside the kitchen, slightly leaning against her hip as he peered at him. He looks like he wants to say something, but his voice fails him and he disappears into the kitchen instead.

“You’re back.” You say, as you hear his familiar footsteps creaking against the floorboards. They are slower than usual, so you expect him to stop on the way to tell you something. Megumi’s expression is troubled, trying to debate whether he could stay or not.

“I,” Toji’s gaze wavers, and settles on his son. “I think you should take the kids out.” He sees your expression go blank for a moment, and then tries to explain.

“Megumi wanted new shoes. There’s this new model he’s been wanting for some time…” His voice awkwardly trails off in the end, as he looks at his son to elaborate. Megumi opens his mouth, then closes it, wordlessly nodding. Toji scratches the back of his neck. “And Tsumiki needs new clothes.” Stockings, he wanted to specify but it felt awkward. He felt like he had just barged into you cooking in an attempt to make conversation. Judging by Megumi’s expression, they had been chatting.

“You won’t come with us?” You ask. Toji shrugs.

“Work.” He replies. “Took too many leaves.” (His work did not exactly have ‘official’ leaves, but he was anxious. Again, nothing wrong with having extra money in your wallet.)

“Don’t think that this means that you’re not going out with me tomorrow.” You announce, and he nods.

“Where are you guys going?” Tsumiki peeks into the kitchen, curious.

“Your momma’s taking you both shopping.” Toji replies.

“Your dad’s trying to slip out of the date I planned for us.” You say at the same time and he flushes. However, Tsumiki’s eyes sparkled with joy.

“When?” Immediately, all three of them glance at him, and he pauses, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

“I mean, you could go this evening too, if you wanted.” He says. She claps her hands together in excitement, and you raise an eyebrow.

“I suppose it’s a nice surprise.” You say, smiling faintly at the prospect.

“Where are you and dad going?” Megumi asks shyly. You ruffle his hair and he squeaks in surprise, ears turning red. Like father, like son, you think.

“To the ice-cream parlor.” You grin. “We’re trying to taste all the flavors.” And as expected, Tsumiki perks up at that.

“Hey, um…” Toji falters slightly. He wishes he could just casually talk to his son like you could. Megumi clearly had not completely warmed up from the argument which had ensued a few weeks ago; all he could hope was that the boy was not angry at him. Megumi’s looking up at him, and it encourages him to finish his sentence.

“Have fun.” He mumbles to himself, before he begins to make his way out.

“Wait.”

“Huh?”

He freezes, feeling your lips on his cheek, soft as a petal. It’s the second time he has been surprised today.

“Now go.” You say, with a grin. “I’ve set your breakfast on the table.”

PART FIVE PART SIX PART SEVEN PART EIGHT

[angryschnauzer]

Old Friends New Memories

Summary: A chance meeting means you run into a very old friend and reconnect, but with you both having considerable emotional baggage, can you re-ignite what you had left burning all those years ago. A last minute Christmas Eve fic based on this post

Fandom: Henry Cavill, Hellraiser Hellworld

Pairing: Mike (Hellraiser) x Female Reader

Word count: 2565

Warnings: Angst, NSFW, 18+, Happy Ending. Talk of past abuse, gaslighting, male domestic violence survivor, gaslighting, drugs, drug addiction, rehab and therapy, impotence, therapy, mild references to assault, rebuilding relationships, mild sexual acts, nudity, oral sex (female recieving)

A/N: This is very much a ‘fix it’ fic to bring Mike’s character on from Hellraiser events, explaining that what happened in the movie was in fact a very bad drug fuelled trip. And somehow i am also writing angst again. But it has a happy ending. 

I do not operate a tag list but if you follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications you’ll get an alert every time i post something new, plus be able to find all my past works. Everything can also be found on my AO3

Henry Cavill Masterlist

You had  run into the local school to collect your nephew up from soccer practice as your Sister was stuck at work. He came out of practice super excited by the new coach ‘Michael’, chatting all the way back home about how awesome he was. It was only when you were dropping your nephew off did he realise he’d left his backpack there. You offered to drive back and grab it as your sister had arrived home with takeout for their dinner.

The soccer pitch was empty when you got there but the gate still unlocked, so you started to search the bleachers for the bag before someone called out;

"Ma'am? Can i help you?"

Not looking up you answered;

"My nephew left his backpack…"

You stood and turned, the air being sucked from your lungs as a sudden blast from the past stood in front of you;

"Mikey…"

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck;

"Yeah, its been a while…"

"Yeah…"

"The last time i saw you..." he trailed off

"Yup. Same bleachers, only then we were under them…"

He visibly blushed as the memory of that night came back;

"I should really take you out to dinner... to apologise…"

Laughing you nodded;

"That'd be nice. Though you'll let me finish before you do this time, yeah?"

Mikey grinned;

"I can assure you the 19 year old Mikey S i was is a million miles away from 30 year old Michael Syverson i am now"

“I’m glad to hear that”

“So, tomorrow night?”

“Sounds good”

You both faltered for a moment, bodies jerking slightly before you laughed and hugged. Enveloped in his arms you were surprised by a number of things; how familiar it seemed and yet how different. Mikey had always given the best hugs, probably due to how freaking long his arms were, but before it was like getting a hug from a barely padded fence post. Now however he was solid and huge. Your arms no longer fitted around his torso, there was a deep valley in the centre of his chest that you could rest your head in, he had filled out and you felt completely surrounded by his presence. 

Reluctantly you eventually pulled apart, Mikey pulling his phone from his pocket;

“So, can i get your number?”

-

Mikey had invited you out for dinner the following night, Christmas Eve, and had picked you up at 7pm. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, perhaps a dive bar or a greasy diner, but he’d pulled his Toyota into the parking lot of a small family run Italian restaurant, one you’d been meaning to try but had never gotten around to. It turned out the meal had been fantastic, the dishes you’d picked laced with garlic and lemon, flavours hitting your taste buds like tiny fireworks. You’d chatted about old times, he’d been attentive and asked what you’d been up to since the end of high school which you happily filled him in on; college and onto animal care, working with kennels and pet parlours before last year you’d moved back to town to open your own pet salon. 

When Mikey wasn’t asking you questions you found yourself getting distracted as you couldn’t help but to simply stare at him. He’d blossomed into a truly handsome man, gone was the boisterous teenager, instead what you found was a quiet and contemplative adult who considered his words. The same crooked smile was there, as was the expressive eyebrows, but there was something dulling the spark, you didn’t want to pry, but you hoped whatever it was was only temporary.

But throughout the whole meal the atmosphere was relaxed and friendly, a comfortable aura between the two of you. When the check came you split it, there was no discussion or argument, and the drive back to your place was fun as you sang along to the radio playing Christmas songs. As he pulled onto your driveway you smiled and turned to him;

“Would you like to come in for a coffee?”

“A co…coffee?”

You took a deep breath;

“Whatever happens happens, i’m as nervous as you are, but i’d also really like to continue the evening with you. Plus you can meet Pandora and Doof”

“Pandora and Doof?”

“My cat and dog”

Laughing Mikey turned the key and killed the engine;

“Yes, i definitely want to meet Pandora and Doof”

Once you stepped in the door Pandora did what she did best, a quiet ‘miaow’ from the darkness, just her eyes visible in the low light;

“Oh you have a void!” Mikey laughed softly, before patting his thigh and your big black cat strolled from the living room into the hallway. Before you could say anything else a low growl came from the kitchen, and you turned and called out;

“Doof, its ok. He’s a friend”

You turned and grabbed a dog biscuit from the jar on top of the hallway shelves and handed it to Mikey;

“Give him a moment, he’s protective of me around men”

You slipped into the kitchen and turned the light on, and Mikey could hear you talking to your dog;

“Doof, you be nice to Mikey, he’s a good friend. Good. Nice person. All good. OK?”

“Woof”

A moment later you appeared in the doorway, holding the black labrador’s collar as you slowly walked along the hallway to where Mikey was still standing, before he crouched down and patted his leg;

“S’ok boy, i’m good”

Doof started to wag his tail as he approached, before he sat in front of Mikey and let out a quiet ‘woof’, to which Mikey handed him the dog biscuit;

“Can i pat your head Doof?”

“Rowwwwwww”

You watched as they bonded a little, before Doof sat on his foot and you smiled;

“Hey, i need to let Doof run around in the garden and do his business, did you want to have hot cocoa on the back porch?”

“Yeah sure, that’d be nice”

Ten minutes later you were both sat on chairs, watching as Doof did zoomies in the grass before randomly stopping to investigate scents. Sipping on the minty hot cocoa Mikey finally spoke;

“I got a question… well, a coupla’ questions…”

“Sure”

“You said we were both nervous. What are you nervous about, and how could you tell i was nervous?”

You took a deep breath;

“Full honesty, right? We’ve known each other too long for any lies or hiding things, right?”

“Right”

“What i’m nervous about is getting my heart broken again. And i don’t just mean that when i left for college and we parted ways, that hurt… god that hurt like hell, but i’ve had my heart broken time and time again since then. I’m nervous you haven’t changed, even though it seems like you have. I would rather reignite an old friendship than have a night together for the sake of old lovers” you paused; “Was that too honest?”

Mikey shook his head, staring down at his mug;

“No, its refreshing to hear…”

“And i can tell you’re nervous, you have the same tick you had when we were in grade school, you rub your thumb of your right hand on the back of your left hand. So…”

Mikey was silent, looking out into the darkness of the fields behind your property;

“I’m nervous… because i’m scared to try dating again”

“With me?”

“In general”

“What happened Mikey?”

He turned to look at you properly;

“Can you call me Mike?”

“Of course”

He took a deep breath;

“I’m divorced”

“Oh, i didn’t even know you’d married”

“It left me with some issues. Financial. Emotional. Physical and mental” he let out a low single laugh; “This is the first date i’ve been on in 5 years…”

“No way…”

“I just found it easier to not date. Too much to try and hide” he looked at you; “But with you… i feel i can be open and you won’t judge me”

“Of course i won’t” Just then Doof padded softly onto the porch, climbing onto your lap before settling his large body over your legs and his chin on the arm rest.

“She fucked me up. We met when i was 20, i was big into the party scene, bouncing from dead end job to dead end job, literally just partying away each weeks wage on drink and drugs. We ended up in Atlantic City and when we sobered up i found out we’d gotten married. After that she changed. I was young, she was older. The gaslighting started at that point, now i can see it for what it was, but then i thought it was simply the affect of the drugs. And when we were both high she got addicted to…” he trailed off, leaning back and pulling his shirt up. You could see the silvery scars across his torso; cigarette burns. 

You sucked in a sharp breath, but stayed quiet, giving Mike the time he needed;

“The final straw was when she got her hands on a cocktail of drugs. I have no idea what was in it, LSD, Ketamine, Coke, jesus christ it was awful. She thought she’d killed me, so instead of calling the cops she buried me in a wooden box. I woke up24 hours later and had to claw myself out. Thankfully she was lazy, or high, and hadn’t covered the box with dirt. The EMT’s said that was what probably saved my life so i didn’t suffocate”

You stayed silent, tears welling and threatening to spill, before Doof quietly moved and got off your lap, crossing the distance between you and Mike and climbed onto his lap, settling his snout on his shoulder against his neck. There was a moment of quiet and calm as Mike closed his eyes and rubbed your dog’s back;

“Thanks Buddy” he cleared his throat; “So anyway… at that point i stepped away. My time in hospital helped me start to get clean. Through the rehab i found some free legal aid and after i managed to get a job the next step was a divorce. I moved back home and tried to get my life restarted. My Mom helped me go to community college, i flunked most of high school so i managed to get my diploma and then found i really enjoyed sports studies. That led to a job coaching soccer, to the point i now have a job at the high school. Assistant coach and i run private sports lessons like your nephew attends”

“Mike, i don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry you had to go through all that, but i’m glad you have found a path to carve out a way for yourself”

“Yeah, but it’s lonely. Anyone with any sense left town and got away to college, few ever returned. Those without any sense are now in jail or dead”

“And dating hasn’t…”

“That’s the emotional and mental part. Its hard to hold down a relationship when you can’t… ya’know… stay hard…”

You watched as he rubbed Doof’s ears, giving him time as you stayed silent.

“And yeah i went to therapy, i went to a doctor. My girlfriend at the time was understanding. But she was also desperate to be a Mom, and it wasn’t something i could do. The doctors confirm there’s nothing wrong with me physically, fuck, i can get hard by myself and wack one out, but the moment… well therapy helped but it didn’t help”

You both sat there in silence, before you finally cleared your throat;

“Stay the night”

Mike’s eyes snapped up to you;

“You heard what i just said, right?”

“Yes. And i’m not saying ‘fuck me’, i’m not saying ‘i can cure you with my magic pussy’. Just stay the night. I’ve missed you, more than you can imagine. Going off to college seemed like the greatest idea, but my dating life has been a disaster”

“It can’t be worse than mine…”

You smiled softly;

“This isn’t about who’s was worse, but there’s a reason why Doof doesn’t trust men in my house. I had to make a choice, and I chose Doof and moved back home. My wounds didn’t leave scars, but that doesn’t mean i don’t remember them. I started afresh”

Mike let out a slow breath;

“Sure, i’d love to stay” he looked out to the back yard and smiled; “Plus its started to snow. My Toyota will never get home in this”

Standing you held out your hand as you patted Doof’s behind;

“C’mon Doof, bedtime” the dog lazily stretched and slid off Mike’s lap, before you took Mike’s hand and pulled him up; “Bedtime for you too”

“Why do you call him Doof?”

At that moment the dog turned to look back just as he got to the screen door, walking straight into it;

“Because he’s a giant doofus”

-

As the daylight streamed into the room you opened one eye and was greeted by a pair of dark eyes and a wet nose;

“Hey Doof”

“Woof”

“Okay, lets let you out to go potty”

A groan sounded behind you;

“Nooooo”

Laughing you turned, and couldn’t help but to take in how gorgeous Mike was as he lay next to you, his hair messy and his stubble longer, but those bright blue eyes as welcoming as ever;

“Ok we need to teach Doof to unlock doors so he can take himself out for potty”

You laughed and playfully patted Mike’s side;

“Don’t worry, you need to get up too… we both have a garlic issue. There’s a spare toothbrush in the cabinet”

-

As you watched Doof scoot around in the snow you waited for the coffee machine to warm up, slowly letting the dark liquid drip through. A thick pair of arms circled your waist and a bristly kiss was pressed to your cheek;

“Has he peed yet?”

“Not yet. I’ll hook the screen door open and unlock the doggy door, he can let himself back in”

“Good”

Turning in Mike’s arms you pressed a soft kiss to his lips which he repeated seconds later, then again, before eventually you both deepened your connection as lips parted and his tongue danced delicately over your own. When the need for oxygen finally took over and you parted, he hooked his finger into the vneck of your tshirt, not so subtly peering in;

“C’mon, i may not be able to do stuff, but i can do other stuff, and i wanna see how those titties have grown”

“Oh…”

“And ya’know, taste that pussy”

As the pair of you made your way back to your bedroom you grinned;

“Oh that’s a thing now? I recall you not wanting to do that last time…”

“Yeah, i was the Doofus then”

On cue Mike turned and walked straight into the doorframe, thankfully not hard but enough to make him bounce off of it;

“Yeah, completely different now” you teased

With a grin he grabbed you and walked you backwards to the bed, pulling your t-shirt off and grinning when he saw your breasts;

“Perfect, excellent shape. 10 out of 10”

He slowly got to his knees as he pulled your panties down, never breaking eye contact before he pushed you back and set you softly on the bed;

“Now, let me give you a Christmas present”