#hat to muffle the world

[magicfeatherbean4]

“Ah! Shihihihit!” He snorted, “I dohohont wanna! Iihihihike to keheheep them hidden! The whohohorld is lohohoud enough when they’re covered!”

He giggled and squeaked happily, “Wihihhill you drop mehehe in an alligator pihihit?”

Alastor felt a more genuine grin pull at his lips at the musical laughter from the King, something fluttering in his own chest at the sound of it. “We’re almost there.” His hand continued to guide the angel—and plucked him up by the scruff as he tripped once more. “We’re just going to…there we go! Can’t have you hurt yourself now.”

@magicfeatherbean4

[awritesthings1]

All The Things We Don't Say

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Female Reader

Summary: An anthology of your life with Tommy, from friends to strangers to lovers, and all the little moments in between.

Warnings: 18+, implied DV, substance abuse, childhood trauma, ptsd, overprotective tommy, swearing, brief smut, longfic oneshot, feminist themes (motherhood & being a wife in the 1920s).

ao3 link

-

Smash!

“Pick it up!”

Your daddy was a drunk. You remembered the fact since you could walk. He stayed home while the working men left for the factories, then disappeared in the late hours of the morning until his eventual return when the slam of the front door woke the household up. Mother used to hold you at night as she curled up in your bed. She was sick a lot. Always sniffing into the back of your neck when you were asleep. Sometimes the sleeve of your nightgown would get soaked while she muffled her hiccups.

She looked sad, too. In the morning, she kept the curtains drawn and stayed away from the outside world. She told you it was to keep nosey Mrs. Gretel away from her family affairs. But Mrs. Gretel had left Birmingham two months prior.

By seven years old, you were the 'man' of the house. You had gone to sleep one night, and when you awoke, your mother had vaporized into the air like a rabbit in a hat.

“She left because of you,” your father slurred at you.

You hated him.

She left behind her long-sleeve dresses, scarves, and wicker hats that covered nearly every inch of her skin. They were far too big for you then, but when your father came home at the end of the week with a stack of cash, you ran to your mother’s closet, which had remained untouched until then, to find only cobwebs. Gone. Every single one of her dresses. You looked out at the moon in those early hours of the morning and swore to it that when you were bigger, you would get him back so much worse.

And so you were left to clean up his smashed glass bottles and scrub the alcohol out of the gritty carpet. Your little hands struggled to pluck the glass from the floorboards. In a year’s time, they were covered in little scars.

On your tenth birthday, you decided you were grown enough to take matters into your own hands. When he was passed out on the floor from whatever he managed to fill his pipe with, you grabbed the small bottles he hid under a loose floorboard and poured them into the gutter at the back of your house.

You turned to run back to the door when the contents of the bottle were empty, but a ball almost tripped you over. You gripped your tattered skirt before you could lose your footing and snapped your head around with a fierce pout.

“That’s my ball,” pointed a young Thomas Shelby.

You put your small hands on your smaller hips. “You kicked it my way on purpose!”

You weren’t entirely sure, but you suspected it.

“Maybe I thought you were pretty,” he grinned.

You noticed his two front teeth were missing.

“Ewwww! I would never go out with you!” You squawked.

At ten years old, you knew better than that.

Seemingly unaffected by your distaste, he continued. “Do you live there?” He nodded to the house whose roof was falling apart.

“What’s it to you?” You frowned stubbornly, not wanting to admit that, yes, that was your house.

“The curtains are always drawn,” he answered, walking over to pick up his ball from your feet. He was the same height as you were at the time. “My brother Arthur said it’s haunted. He saw a ghost in the window once. He said it was a woman and that she starved to death.”

Your nose scrunched up. "Well, he’s a phony!”

You ran inside said house and slammed the door shut.

He kissed you down by the docks that winter. It was your first kiss, and a clumsy one at that, so you didn’t remember much of it.

By thirteen, you had given in and sold the rest of your mother’s belongings to support yourself. You hated yourself for it, and that nagging voice inside your head told you that you were no better than your father. Oh, and your father? Your father lost vision in his left eye from a bar fight. Too bad it wasn’t both.

Sometime later, a boy two years older than you saw your wandering hand in someone’s bag at the fair and threatened to teach you some manners ‘the hard way’. You bit anxiously on your nails and pleaded with him because he was bigger than most boys his age, when Tommy’s brother Arthur (who you’d seen hanging around the Garrison) came passing by and threatened to ‘toss him about’. The other boy, not all believing in Arthur’s temper, rushed forward, and the two ended up rolling in the dirt, but by then you were gone with a stolen pocket watch in your fist. Nearly two legs and an arm deep in poverty, some quick cash, or a hero complex? You’d take the penny.

At fourteen, a lady knocked on your door. It was a lady of the night who had come to inform your father that he had fathered a son with her. You were glad it was a boy. A girl wouldn’t have stood a chance in the slums of Birmingham. Life was hard, but Birmingham was harder. Your father had refused to listen to the young woman and shooed her off. You never saw her teary-eyed face again.

At fifteen, your father attempted to wash his hands of you by marrying you off to the highest bidder. There was no real auction, but just about anyone who suggested a handsome sum of money did the trick.

“His name is William,” you exhaled, kicking your legs over the edge of the dock.

Tommy laughed. “You won’t marry him.”

“What choice do I have, Tom?”

Your finances were getting tight, and the gloomy pressure to take up working at night like many young ladies was beginning to loom closer and closer. You hated being a woman. Boys would never have to worry about selling themselves to survive.

“I’ll put a gypsy curse on him,” he decided, squinting his eyes from the bright reflection dancing across the water.

You hit his shoulder.

“No, you won't, because then you’ll be cursing me.”

The severity of your situation began to dawn on Tommy. No amount of pestering Polly for change to spare would relieve you of your burden any longer.

“That’s it, then?” He gulped, shifting his glassy eyes to the harbor.

You sighed and followed his gaze.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad. I’ll never have to see dad again, and William promised to take care of me.”

Tommy scoffed.

You frowned at him. “What?”

He shook his head.

“What! Tom—”

“Don’t marry him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, here we go, why?”

“You know why.”

You were engaged to William on the eve of your seventeenth birthday. He was a very proper man and never dared to go any further than hooking an arm around yours on formal occasions. You were never attracted to his thin mustache nor the thick lenses he wore. In fact, he was incredibly awkward at social occasions, always checking his pocket watch and avoiding eye contact with whichever circle he stood in.

Tommy began to fade out of your life around that time. Margaret—a lady who had taken you on to help with the sewing of her family’s tailoring business—told you that Tommy was spotted arm in arm with another girl that week. You expected to feel jealous, but you felt nothing. You knew love would never be your right. Love was for the more fortunate.

You spent that year learning how to be a wife. Surprisingly, it wasn’t too different from what you did as a child—cooking and cleaning up like you did when your father came home, that is. It was comforting to have a routine in place. It meant finality—no one walking in and out of your life as they pleased, and certainly no more growling stomachs. Perhaps being a wife was a skill your mother never learned. You were grateful for William’s mother, who seemed to be more than enthusiastic to show you the reigns.

After a year-long engagement, you caught your fiancé, William, locked in a compromising position with another man.

“Oh,” was all you got out before leaving his house.

You lacked the special ingredient that marriages needed: love.

You sat down at the fountain across the street. William and his lover’s silhouette were visible behind the blinds he had drawn on the second floor, which peered over the sidewalk. You watched their shadows fluster their feathers around the room like headless geese, and for a moment your head surfaced above water and laughter frothed out between your sealed lips. Perhaps Birmingham made you a little mad.

You didn’t go through with the marriage. You suspected William was relieved.

That week, your father left. You never knew whether he left on his own accord or just never made it home one night. Either way, you never really cared to find out.

With nothing left to lose, you knocked on the Shelby family’s door at Watery Lane. Finn appeared around the other side of the door a moment later.

“Is Tommy home?”

Finn nodded, spinning on his heel to alert his brother. When Tommy did appear, his shoulders were tensed. Disheveled hair never looked so stylish on him. When you saw his suspenders (which were hastily thrown on), you wanted to ask who he expected to be at the door that he planned to answer dressed in such fashion but then thought better of it. He peered down at you, then checked over his shoulder before ushering you inside and up to his bedroom.

“It’s… smaller than I thought,” you landed on, taking in his room.

After all these years, you had never stepped foot into the Shelby home. You weren’t the type of person to come door-knocking.

You turned around to face Tommy after hearing him click the lock on his door.

“Are you hurt?" were the first words he had spoken to you in a year.

“No.” You pressed your lips together, eyeing everything from the bed to the view out the window.

Silence followed closely after.

“Then why are you here?” Tommy sighed.

Your vision began to blur then. “I don’t know,” you said honestly, trying to stop your bottom lip from trembling.

Desperately, you pushed your hair back and straightened up, attempting to hold yourself together. You must have looked like a puppet being held together by a string, given how poor you looked.

Tommy’s boots pad across the wooden floor. “You love me?”

Did that word truly exist? How could you answer if you never knew what it meant to love?

You don’t meet his eyes. He licked his lips, pushing your head up to meet his with his thumb. His eyebrows rose expectantly.

“I don’t know what to do, Tom,” you breathed, avoiding his question. “I’m all alone now. No William, no father…”

His lips parted, and you watched with fascination as the cogs turned in his head. “Yes… that is a problem." His breath fanned over your face.

You gagged, a reaction you yourself had not expected, before rushing to his door, only to remember that, yes, he had locked it, before turning to the nearest silver bucket in the corner to empty your guts.

The first thing you heard when you caught your breath was, “are you pregnant?”

No, but when you stand so close to me and I can smell the cigarettes you smoke and your freshly washed skin, I can imagine a future where we are married, and I see your face growing more disappointed as we age together because you married a woman who never knew how to be a mother to your children nor a wife who knew to tend to you with affection by your bedside when you’re ill.

“No,” you choked, spitting out the vile taste in your mouth. “We never did anything.”

You wanted him to know that. You wanted him to think that you never let William touch you because you never loved him, not because William wasn’t interested in girls.

A moment later, Tommy sat beside you on the floor and quietly combed your hair away from your wobbling lips.

“So, if you’re not pregnant and you don’t love me, why are you here?”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. How were you supposed to answer that? After letting your guts loose in his room, you thought he would surely have booted you out the door.

A knock came on the door: “Tommy?”

“A minute, Finn!” Tommy growled at the door, refusing to back away from your trembling frame.

You were so hungry. Margaret had to cut back your hours ever since her husband fell ill. She spent more time by his bedside than keeping the store open, which meant you were making less than usual. The imminent closing of the store hung over your head like a taunting crow, gouging your insides like you were Prometheus. Birmingham your chains, a woman your fate, and the bird your punishment for thinking you deserved more.

“I should go.” You shivered at the draft inching towards your skin from the open window.

Tommy’s intense gaze stuttered, falling to your lap, where you picked at the dead skin around your nails. He cleared his throat, fishing out the key from his pocket. Although it was dull and muted from the years, it gleaned brightly in your eyes as if it were the reward you came for. Flushed, you grabbed it out of his hands without sparing a glance. Electricity sparked in those precious seconds, igniting a deadly fire in your belly.

“You’re cold." Tommy flinched at your touch.

You retreated as soon as the key slid into the hole and unlocked with a click. In your haste, you left the most valuable thing you owned there in his room.

Your heart.

The months went by, and summer arrived. The stories your mother told you left you expecting a bright gleam of air that would wash over the streets and paint each tree and every patch of grass a frighteningly bright green that would even encourage grumpy Mrs. Gretel to come out to preen her stubborn roses that would just not grow. Birmingham left less to be desired. The summer days never came, and that persisting bitter bog thickened, albeit with slightly less rain. There were gray clouds, smoke from the factories, and a shivering north westerly, which pushed said clouds at breakneck speed as if they had somewhere to be. You looked to the sky one day and said a prayer for blue breezes and sweltering sun, but the sky was empty.

Sometime later, men marched the streets armed with guns in their ‘dashing’ uniforms. A war, they said, a great one. Queues lined the street for the post offices and grocers. Rain rivaled the bustle of the city. What did it feel like to love someone so much as to stand in the pouring rain next to the gutter? You wanted that kind of love. Not the love you could only give yourself because even you didn’t want your own love.

One of the soldiers decorated in medals stood on a crate at the port, yelling something supposedly inspiring that captured the attention of many young men. The words honorable and patriotic were tossed in there like a delectable salad, enticing them in the way farmers held a carrot to a pig’s snout.

You pitied their mothers. Their daughters were married off, and then their sons were swooning over the idea of dying. Birmingham was filthy, rotting, and disgusting. You needed to leave.

You kissed Margaret goodbye on the cheek one Tuesday morning. Ever since your pockets turned out empty, you had been working as a bedside nurse for her ill-stricken husband. They were good to you, and they were probably the only people you could consider family.

She patted your cheek and said, "you're doing good to serve this country.”

You hadn’t had the heart to tell her you were leaving because the city was marring your flesh, so you slipped her the sugarcoated lie of wanting to join the war effort so that you might help others who were bedridden, just like her husband.

At the train station, you stood with your suitcases held tightly in both arms. You had to set one down to hold onto your hat as a train full of men waving their caps out the window pulled into the station. Some children weaved between the crowd, wagging a newspaper above their heads, hoping to make a quick penny. To your side, women wept for their brothers, husbands, and lovers.

“Who are you wishing off?” asked an elderly woman who was clutching her cane.

“Oh, I’m not. I’m boarding the next train.”

She laughed, and you wondered how old your mother would be now. Would she have grown wrinkles and settled into a deeper laugh like this woman?

“My dear, you have a bright imagination if you think they will let a woman on any of these trains.”

A sudden anger filled your blood. “Why not?”

“These men are heading straight for London, where they will be shipped away to France to fight,” the woman explained as if it were any other day.

“I’ll catch the next train then.”

She shook her head, and her frail hand curled tighter around her cane. “They’ve stopped the trains so they can transport soldiers to London.”

You frowned. “Then how will I leave Birmingham?”

You’ll never forget her dismissive laughter.

“My dear, you won’t.”

Men boarded the train, clapping each other on the back with a wink and a laugh. When a line of men on the platform thinned, the train whistled, and you looked over just in time to see Polly, Ada, and little Finn standing with their hands crossed over their hearts as they waved to the train.

No. It wasn’t possible.

But it was because you caught the gleam of the razors sewn into their peaky caps. Tommy, Arthur, and John all stood aboard the train, sticking their heads out and waving to Polly and Ada with a grin that wrung your stomach like a wet cloth.

Those countless daydreams you spun, the intricate webs you wove, began breaking down to thin fibers. In one pathway, you stayed there in his room and told him the truth you always denied yourself. You loved him. In another, you stood next to Polly, close to tears, as you begged him to come home safely. There was a resounding click in that moment as your breath stuttered. You had been the person who wiped away those futures, thinking it was nothing but an annoying spiderweb. Oh, how wrong you were!

“Tommy!” You left your suitcases behind and stepped around the old woman as you ducked under hugs and tearful goodbyes.

“Tommy!” You cried again with the gusto of someone who certainly shouldn’t be as concerned as they were considering you left him in his room that day.

Thankfully, his eyes eventually found yours as you pushed through the last line of people. You stood there and stomached all your regrets head-on. It was funny how, up until that moment, you managed to squash every seed of doubt. Why was it that you only realized what you had when it was slipping out of reach?

He never called your name back. He just stared at you blankly as the train pulled away, unlike you, who clung to the image of his frame even as the train disappeared from sight and the crowd began to disperse. You stood there unblinking, hoping to soak up the last of him before you forgot the intensity of his eyes or the humming rumble of his voice. Because the idea of something you held dearly becoming a memory meant that it could as easily be forgotten, and that terrified you. Your eyes were watering now, against your best wishes.

You overheard Polly ushering Finn and Ada off. Finn rushed home without protest, but Ada stopped in her tracks when she saw you hunched over your knees in tears. She smiled weakly before chasing Finn home. It was then that Polly’s shadow approached your huddled frame. She didn’t say anything, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if she expected you to stand and apologize for being such a mess. That’s when a penny clattered to the ground beside you. She squeezed your shoulder once before disappearing.

You kissed that penny as if Tommy would feel the power of it across the country, then ran back to Margaret’s, having forgotten your suitcases.

“Oh…” She exclaimed, slapping her tea towel on the counter when you walked into the kitchen. “You missed your train?”

Dread made your stomach tender and your breath short.

“I’m enrolling in the Red Cross.”

-

Throughout the war, you thought of Tommy every day until your stomach lurched. Would it have worked if you had stayed? Would you both have grown old together instead of subjecting yourself to the spray of dirt when a bomb went off nearby?

A day ago, your supply rations never came. It wasn’t like hunger was anything new, but when your mind was too focused on surviving the perilous weather, it was hard to save other lives. You made work with what little supplies you had left. The morphine went stint within hours of its arrival, and the cries of pained soldiers filled the medical tent all night. You did what you could, wiped sweat from their foreheads, and wrote letters to their mothers and lovers with what supplies you could scavenge. Some were written on cardboard from shell packaging, others on torn pages from the bibles they kept over their hearts. Pens were useless—the ink ran in the rain—so you scribbled everything down in pencil.

Before you left for France, you were warned of the bullets. No one ever warned you about the shrapnel, nor the bombs or grenades. They shattered soldiers’ bones beyond repair and left bodies unrecognizable. There wasn’t much you could do when most of their flesh was missing.

Keeping faith became an impossible task. Supplies were depleted, and nurses were dejected. Sally, who had been writing home for news of her brother, recently had her letters returned with the black stamp. Death—return to sender. She spent only an hour sitting on a trunk, letting her tears fall, before she got back to work. Grief privileged those with time, something no one could afford in these conditions.

Then it came—the day Arthur Shelby was carried in on a stretcher. You were making your rounds around the beds when a truckload of yelling men pooled through the entrance of the tent.

“Nurse!” They all yelled, some limping, others setting down stretchers of men on the dirt between the filled beds.

You and two other nurses dropped everything and ran over to attend to the wounded. They were all covered head to toe in dirt, groaning and clutching limbs that were twisted the wrong way. One in particular coughed and huffed while he fought against hands, which were fruitlessly pushing him back down on the stretcher.

“Let me go!” He yelled, wrestling against an older nurse.

“It’s alright, Mary. I’ll handle this one,” you patted her shoulder as you swapped places.

You dunked a washcloth into a bucket of water to wipe away the dirt in his eyes. “Calm down; you're safe here,” you said, starting your usual script of reassurances.

When the striking blue eyes squinted up at you, your blood ran cold. You froze before taking his head in both your hands, despite his protests. “Arthur? Arthur, it’s me!”

He loosened his grip on your wrist. “Huh?”

“It’s me! Where’s Tommy and John?”

He spat blood and gritted his teeth. “Fucking hell, where’s the whiskey?”

You laughed despite the smell of blood encompassing the tent. You quickly fetched the alcohol you had been using to clean wounds and pressed it to his lips. You weren’t sure if it was whiskey or not, but you reasoned he was in too much pain to be able to tell. He drank it with a groan of pleasure. You didn’t try to snatch the bottle away as he emptied it down his palette; you just sat and grinned at the way he suckled it like a newborn baby while you cleaned away his cuts.

“I’ve never been happier to see you, Arthur.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, his lips still wrapped around the bottle.

You tried to stay by his side for as long as you could before the second wave of patients came tumbling through the flaps of the tent. One of them lost their grip on the stretcher, and the patient went sliding into the dirt headfirst.

“Fuck!” They all swore, abandoning the stretcher to drag the limp man further into the makeshift hospital.

You rushed to help when a hand gripped the back of your neck. You yelped in pain as your hair got caught in a fingernail when they turned you to face them.

And there he was: Tommy Shelby, covered in a thick layer of dirt, heaving for air.

“Nurse! Nurse!” Voices cried for you, but between the ringing in your ears and the wrath in Tommy’s blue eyes, you were frozen in place.

“The fuck are you doing here, eh?” He yelled over the anguished men.

You suddenly felt stupid standing there in your Red Cross uniform.

“I was looking for you, I—”

His dirty hands cupped your cheeks—something you were painfully aware of from the uncomfortable itch from the mud on your flushed skin—and pulled your forehead to his.

“You think this is some fantasy?” He squinted. “You think there’s any fucking moonlight to kiss under here, eh?” He spat.

His eyes held that haunted look you had seen on many soldiers that passed through the medical tent. Your eyes watered. Perhaps it was from the humidity and dirt being kicked up as nurses and patients scuffled around, not because you could hardly recognize the man in front of you. The blood smeared above his eyebrow worried you, so you reasoned that he was mad because it had been leaking into his eyes. Dutifully, you reached to wipe it with the back of your hand. He grabbed your wrist harshly, bringing it down to your side. He was in shock; you scolded yourself.

“Where’s John and Arthur?” Tommy swallowed, flexing his hands.

You led him to Arthur, who had been left in his corner while the nurses attended to more serious cases. It hurt watching the brothers reunite after their ordeal, so you left them alone no matter how much you feared them being discharged before your return. After all, everything you ever wanted sat in that corner, but it would be selfish to coddle Tommy all to yourself. Still, you couldn’t help sparing a glance when you walked up and down the tent, attending to patients.

Later that night, he came to you under the candlelight of your tent. He cleared his throat upon entry. You were lying face-up on your cot when he cleared his throat and peeled back the entrance to enter. The candlelight painted the mountain peaks of his face in a dull amber and the valleys in a frightening shadow. You sat up, pulling the thick cover over your shift.

Tommy kneeled next to you, resting on the heels of his boots. He licked his chapped lips and itched his nose. “You don’t belong here.”

Your grip on the cover loosened. “Huh?”

Nothing prepared you for when he swung his brooding stare towards you. He exhaled loudly before running a hand over his face.

“You should have stayed in Birmingham.” He said it like a warning.

“And done what?”

Vulnerability never looked good on Tommy. His head hung and his fingers itched at the back of his head—a tick you used to love; now you weren’t so sure. Because your Tommy was never afraid, but this man in front of you was alarmingly tense despite the clear efforts to mask it.

What have they done to you, Tom?

Under the dim light of your tent, you barely recognized him. A stranger’s eyes were blown wide in a frightening state of shock, something most soldiers mirrored. War washed out the sweet blue pair you knew, refitting them for a steely weapon. You hated seeing him like this, so still, so unsteady, cocooned into the corner as if afraid to take up space.

You feared you looked no better. Having worked till the point of exhaustion, you usually found yourself awakening against a wooden crate or trunk to the cries of patients who demanded your attention despite your body not having the strength to stand. Today you had been lucky and found yourself crawling distance to your private tent when your knees started wobbling and your head lulling.

The wooden reinforcing of your private tent fought in vain to shelter your bodies from the elements; it still flapped and whipped about, sometimes rocking your cot. Yet Tommy remained still like those life-size stone statues you’d find outside an important building, brooding at the dirt and locked in an internal battle. You shifted to the edge of your makeshift bed and leaned close enough that you saw how the top buttons of his dirtied uniform were missing and most of his clothes were torn.

His arm, which was breaking out in goosebumps, lay heavily across his knee so that he could rest his forehead there limply. He looked in a bad enough condition that you feared the possibility of him succumbing to the wasteland threatening him outside your tent. You wrapped your arms around the scruff of his hair and pulled his face into your stomach, where he could hide from the terrible world. On instinct, his arms wound around your waist, and you felt his warm exhale against your skin through the thin fabric of your slip.

His tin water bottle clanged against the satchel he wore, which made you wonder if he had any time to rest at all if he still had all his equipment tied to his uniform.

“I didn’t…” His voice was muffled by your slip. He cleared his throat again, shaking his head.

When he dropped the thought, you spoke up. “Have you eaten?”

He slapped your thigh haphazardly. “No, do you have a cigarette?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead gently pushing him away so you could kneel beneath your bed and fish a cigarette from your satchel. You pinched one from its tin case, then thought better of it and tossed it on Tommy’s lap. Gratefully, he collected one from the case and lit it with a nearby candle. You watched his chest rise and fall as he took an especially deep drag. His eyes shut as the nicotine rushed to his head.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he muttered under his breath.

“How are you here, Tommy? One of the night nurses should’ve been on watch.”

“Oh,” smoke puffed out of his mouth, and he raised his eyebrows, “there is.”

“Then how—”

“I had to see you.”

The butterflies in your stomach dove. The blue in his eyes appeared translucent as they hazed over like a ghost. His shoulders were slumped dejectedly, and he had a hand pushing through his greasy, unwashed hair to relieve his neck from the weight of his thoughts.

He pointed to you then, with the cigarette nursed between his fingers. “I need to know why you changed your mind.”

“About what, Thomas?”

His voice slurred and slipped into a deeper register from the lack of sleep. "Why you came back. Why you came to France.” Tommy shook his head lazily. “You expect me to believe you had a sudden change of heart? What? You a patriot now?” An amused exhale curled out while he took another drag. “Well I don’t believe it.”

You began shivering despite the way your body flushed.

“How’s Arthur?” You tried to avert the conversation.

“Bloody drunk off his ass.”

“And you?”

Tommy held your stare and swallowed dryly. “Trying.”

“You can go join him if you wish.”

He looked at the entrance of your tent as if he were weighing his options, then shook his head and took another drag before clearing his throat. “It’s different now.”

Naïvely, you sank to the ground beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be.”

He sighed.

“I wish that were true.”

-

The next time you saw Tommy, you were working a shift at the hospital. After the war, you received a medal for your efforts, which easily got you a job in Birmingham. You pleaded with them to send you to any other hospital—London, Manchester, Liverpool—you didn’t care. Anywhere but Birmingham.

“You should be honored to work for me!” Exclaimed the head nurse at Birmingham Hospital, who didn’t seem too pleased with your distaste for the city.

You thought the job would be the final nail in the coffin, but you surprisingly got along well with the head nurse once you had put your animosity aside. So much so, she offered to lease you a room upstairs from hers.

Then came that dreaded night where you were finishing the filing of some documents when a patient was being rushed in. Your ears perked up, and you looked through the blinds of the office to see a man being rushed by. Something small and round had fallen off the stretcher while the nurses paid no attention, pushing him around the corner and down towards the operating theater. Curious, you exited the office.

And there on the ground was one of those peaky caps Tommy and his brothers used to wear. You knew this because you picked it up and nearly cut yourself on the blade that was sewn into the seam. You spent the next hour gnawing on your nails. Your imagination sparked ideas about the beaten man who was lying in an operating room two doors down in surgery. Was it Tommy? Arthur? John? The shadows under your eyes darkened at the thought. No, it was probably some other Peaky Blinder. The Shelby brothers were too careful. Still, you knocked over your coffee in a mad dash to the bathroom, where you heaved up your dinner.

You volunteered to stay until the morning, but the head nurse on duty for the night refused and sent you home. You didn’t sleep at all that night.

The next morning, you arrived early and made a beeline for the emergency ward. You grabbed the admission form and scanned the patient list. There were only two emergency patients who were listed under the final hour of your shift, a woman and a man, which made it easier to narrow it down to the man who was admitted at quarter to midnight in ward four, room seven.

When you peaked through the crack in the door, you knew you had been worried for a reason. Tommy lay under the covers, battered and bruised, with a swollen eye and a nasty scar where he had reportedly received surgery for trauma to the head.

You slipped inside quietly and closed the door. Tommy’s eyes were closed, and his mouth hung open, stealing miniscule amounts of air into his lungs. He looked as good as a ghost.

“Tommy…” You clutched his peaky cap (which you meant to return) between your fingers.

He didn’t move an inch, so you set the cap down by his bedside table, carefully watching the rise and fall of his chest.

What have they done to you, Tom?

On the second week, he woke up while you were cleaning the windowsill. He coughed, and you whipped around in shock.

“Nurse?” He asked hoarsely, blinking away the blinding light.

You rushed to his side, tears bursting like the fountain you passed on your way to work.

“Don’t move,” you urged when he tried to sit up.

“I have to get to London,” he slurred, only half awake.

You weren’t upset that he didn’t recognize you. You weren’t upset that he didn’t recognize you.

“Tommy… it’s me.”

He shrugged your hand off his shoulder with a hiss. “Fucking hell.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“Please don’t move; I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” You couldn’t hide the way your voice broke.

He looked up at you, then, through bloodshot blue eyes. You wished you knew what was going through his head. Happy or sad?

“Am I dead?”

“No,” you smiled weakly as a tear fell.

“Can I have a smoke then?”

-

“I don’t know how to love, Tommy!”

“Yeah? Yeah? That’s bullshit! Why do you keep coming back then?” He pinched your chin, glaring furiously into your eyes. “Eh?”

He stood so close that he blocked the light from the chandelier, which mournfully hung from the ceiling. You shivered in his shadow.

“I shouldn’t have come tonight.”

“But you did!” He accused, pointing in your face.

“It was a mista—”

“You fucking did!”

“Tommy!”

“I’ve had it! If you want to leave, then fucking leave; otherwise, don’t stand there all righteous waving empty threats over my head because I know you won’t leave.” He shook his head with a wild look in his eye. “No… You won’t leave. You won’t leave because you love me. You keep coming back,” he pointed matter-of-factly.

Tommy’s eyebrows danced between being terribly furrowed and alarmingly raised during his passionate monologue. It was rare for him to emit so much emotion these days. The war changed men, and Tommy was no exception. A chilling stillness framed his presence, which even you weren’t excused from. No more laughter, no more dreams of working with horses, because he was above all that now, wasn’t he? It was ambition that ground his teeth together and hollowed his eyes. Still, you couldn’t forget that the anger came from vulnerability, because it took a lot for someone to get under Thomas Shelby’s skin.

You moved to grab your purse, to make good on his word, but he halted your movement by grabbing your shoulders, roughly at first, before loosening his grip. You softened at his frantic demeanor. He was scared—oh,  so afraid of you walking out that door again. But how could you ever explain it to him? You were never born for love. You would never know how to love him properly the way wives were supposed to because what you felt for Tommy was sickeningly deep. So much so that the mere impression of him sealed off your ribcage and ruined any chance of your heart beating for any other soul, so much so that you carried the weight of him in your bones because you could never shake him off.

When you looked back at life, all you saw was the absence of love. You used to imagine yourself growing up and falling in love with a handsome stranger, then getting married in a proper white dress to go live in your proper house. But when you looked in the mirror, you saw a ghost. The pathway of your life was laid out before your eyes once, and what you saw didn’t match the reflection. The man you were supposed to marry couldn’t even look at you, even if you cleaned and cleaned and cleaned until your fingerprints turned white and pasty.

Because what it all came down to was simple. You never got to become the person you envisioned. Instead, you were cursed to live as a blank slate and be consistently reminded of what you were supposed to be and of who you were: no one.

Tommy exhaled in a quick huff, pressing his forehead to yours so that he saw you clearer, without all the tension and bullshit in the way.

“Here it comes, Tommy.” You took a shaky breath. “I love you, but I could never be the perfect wife to you, and I would be a terrible mother.”

There, in all its ugly colors and shades, you hung yourself with the truth.

He shook his head as if he too couldn’t believe your words.

“Fuck’s sake! Forget about all that." His eyes watered out of frustration, but he was still puffing in anger. “I need you. You. Not some whore.”

You bit your lip to muffle the god-forsaken cry ready to erupt from the volcanoes you suddenly found roaring in your stomach. An earthquake overtook your hands the more you fought the inevitable eruption. You grabbed both his hands to stop yours from shaking.

“I have to be cursed; there’s no other way!”

“No!”

“My life slips through my fingers like grains of sand—”

“You’re not cursed!”

“And I can’t stop it, Tommy!”

“You’re not fucking cursed, and I’ll tell you why." Tommy cut you off. He leaned in, licking his lips, which had turned dry from all the shouting, and squeezed your hands. “Because my ancestors charmed dogs with their magic, they didn’t scare little girls with curses,” he paused. “But you… You waved a hand over my head, and now I’m no better than a dog.”

He closed the space between you, pressing his forehead against yours, and stroked both your cheeks, wiping at your tears. You held him there in a meek attempt at reciprocation.

You wished the world were ending so then you could grab Tommy’s hand and say, ‘I’m ready, Tom. The world is ending, so let’s kiss and love each other under the flames without any fear because the world is ending.’

But you were never good at expressing yourself with words, so you sealed it with a kiss, hoping he could taste the unspoken words on your lips the same way you tasted the tears. He responded in earnest, gripping you roughly by the scruff of your neck to seal the promise laden between your lips; no more running.

-

It was just your luck that you would bump into your ex-fiancé, William, while visiting a bar in London with Ada. You were buzzing from the warmth of three sweet liquors and whatever else Ada insisted you try, and everything was starting to seem a little funny by the time he approached you.

He engaged in pleasantries, swishing his wine around the glass and sniffing it occasionally, like many pompous older men tended to do. There was only so much smiling you could afford before you caught your reflection in the freshly wiped bar and realized how poorly your acting skills were. Ada was no help, muttering something about finding a phonebooth and then slipping into the belated and boozed crowd. It was then that the supposed nectar in your glass began to taste like the cleaning products—that nose-scrunching stench. Thankfully, William was too involved in some tangent to notice you muffle a gag into your palm.

The dazzling hum in your ears muffled out all his words. In your drunken state, William appeared to be more confident than what you remembered, but you were unable to decipher whether it was from a change of heart or if he was trying to fall back in your good graces. Otherwise, you were blinded by the roaring bustle of the bar and the delicious swell of music that seemed to reverberate across your being.

Growing a little bored with William’s story, your attention wandered over his shoulder, still being sure to nod every now and then as if you were deeply pondering his words. Not far away from his side, a man seemed to linger—a man who was careful not to reach your eye. You must have laughed a little harder than usual because William turned sharply to the man at his side, gave him a quick once-over, then returned his attention to you, but by then it was too late, and you knew exactly what William’s relationship was with this man and where William’s confidence had come from.

“You’ll make a fine wife and a finer mother someday,” William quickly added.

You cursed the witch inside you, who laughed from her stomach and used his shoulder to steady herself. Once upon a time, that was all you longed to hear, but now, with a half-spilt martini in hand, you couldn’t care less. Both of you had found happiness despite your unconventional circumstances, and there was no more to it. You could close that chapter without any loose threads.

A little drunk, you thanked him, disappeared, and never thought of him again.

-

“I can’t do it, Ada,” you stressed, beginning to feel uncomfortable with the baby in your arms.

Motherhood came rumbling into your life like a rusty engine spitting out oil. ‘Instinctual’, the mothers down the lane from Arrow House had said, ‘it’s like your body has been preparing for it your whole life.’ How awful, you thought, and by the time one of them finished speaking about their experience with their first, your nose was so scrunched in disgust that you would need an iron to flatten out the wrinkles. It wasn’t until now that you longed to be in their shoes, because nothing came naturally to you.

“He’ll latch eventually; he’s just a little fussy,” Ada reassured.

“Is it supposed to hurt?”

“It’s perfectly normal.”

Then, after an hour of rubbing your sons back on the verge of tears, he finally began feeding from you. Ada soothed your back the whole time and cooed softly to calm both you and your unruly boy. Sometimes she brought Karl. He would obediently sit on her lap, playing with his wooden horse, while your little Charles fussed.

One time in the early morning, when you were up attempting to feed Charles, Tommy rushed in alert with disheveled hair and sunken eyes.

“Sorry,” you mouthed, deflated your hardworking husband had been disturbed from his sleep.

He ran his hands over his face and sighed. You mistook his action for frustration and desperately tried to hush your baby. Tommy moved over to the rocking chair where you sat, trying to feed little Charles in your arms.

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispered into the crook of your neck. “How is he?”

You flushed under the moonlight, suddenly embarrassed that your husband had caught you in this vulnerable position with the top of your slip peeled down. Your exposed skin hissed when he pressed a kiss against your pulse.

“I don’t think he likes me very much.”

Tommy inhaled sharply against your neck before resting his chin on your shoulder to peer down at Charles. Charles had settled since Tommy walked into the room, acutely aware of his father as his little hands made a grabbing motion for him. Diligently, Tommy relieved your arms of Charles and cradled him close to his chest. Within minutes, the little baby was gurgling happily and blinking in a way that suggested sleep was on the horizon after all.

Your husband didn’t dare make any sudden noise as he gently set Charles in his cradle. Once he was surely asleep, Tommy guided you up from the rocking chair and into your shared bedroom.

“See?” you hissed, still maintaining a soft voice, “he only wants you.”

Tommy wouldn’t hear any of it, pulling you into his arms as he sat on the edge of the mattress. Your slip was still pooled around your hips, so he took the opportunity to plant a kiss above your breasts, where your heart was.

“He loves you,” he drawled in that husky voice of his. “I know he does because I do.”

Your head ached, but you couldn’t help the way your body reacted to his words and touch. Tommy’s wandering hands teased the silk fabric that clung to your hips as you felt his nose trail down to your breast, where he kissed one of your aching nipples delicately. Suddenly hot, you hummed in delight, the back of his shorn scalp pleasant beneath your nails. A grunt, bathed in that musk of his devours your senses. Inhaling sharply, he took the bud between his full lips, sucking, licking, and nibbling gently while his hands explored further down. Your head lulled back from the pleasure, gasping and withering under his skilled tongue.

The next thing you knew, Tommy was tugging the rest of your silk slip off and reminding you of just how much he loved you.

-

“Charles! Come here!” Tommy called.

Your little boy loved to play in the backyard of Arrow House. Much like his father, Charles adored horses. Big ones, small ones, black ones, white ones—but most of all, he favored his Shetland pony. Tommy had brought it for Charles before he could even walk. He said something about it being important for his son to be raised around horses from a young age. And while you didn’t necessarily disagree, it still stressed you out to hold your baby so close to such a large, muscular animal. You knew the Arabian breeds spooked easily, so you steered clear of them and were able to keep Tommy and Charles happy.

But now he had grown up so fast and was able to run around on his own two legs, climb trees, and bruise his knees on the way down. The sun beat lovingly on the apples of his cheeks as he dirtied his trousers, kneeling by the fence to feed his Shetland (affectionately named Biscuit) hand-picked grass through the gaps.

“Charles! We’re leaving!” You called when he ignored his father.

Stubbornly, Charles spun around to pout his lip and cross his arms. He glared at you as threateningly as a five-year-old could. You bit your lip to hide your smile because he really did look like a little Tommy with those big blue eyes. It would only be a matter of time before he perfected his father’s stare. With a sigh, you shifted your daughter into Tommy’s arms before approaching Charles, who was picking angrily at the grass.

You reached a hand out toward him, "let's go.”

“No!”

“All right,” you said decisively, spinning around, “Ruby will have all the fun then.”

“No!” cried your little boy.

You stuck a hand up in surrender and started walking back to Tommy. “No, it’s all right.”

“No, no no no!” Came his protest, chasing behind you as the gravel crunched beneath his boots.

You paid no attention to him, keeping your eyes trained ahead, silently relieved that your ploy worked. Tommy watched on in amusement while Ruby suckled on her thumb, curiously watching her brother storm closer.

“You hear that, Ruby? We’re going to spoil you,” a short smile played on Tommy’s face as he adjusted her so that she sat comfortably on his hip.

“And me!” Charles added and gave his best pout.

“No, Charles, you said you didn’t want to go,” you reminded him, raising your eyebrows.

“I do! I do!”

“Hmm,” you thought aloud, and held a finger to your chin while looking to the sky in exaggerated contemplation. “Very well, but only if you get in daddy’s car right this instant.”

He climbed into the backseat of the Bentley without further fuss.

When all the bags were neatly packed in the back for the day’s festivities, Tommy came around your side to sit Ruby on your lap. Quickly, he leaned in to kiss you and pinch your cheek, which swelled into a glowing grin.

He smiled back and whispered low enough for only you to hear, “got him wrapped around your finger, eh?”

You laughed. “Him and a few other Shelby’s I know of.”

-

The thundering sound of music could be heard from outside the theater on the corner of Old Pauls. Inside, patrons mused between champagne, dancing, and making a display of their wealth by bidding on little trinkets. It was one of the many charity galas Tommy had to attend because of his new move into politics. Usually, you enjoyed dressing for those sorts of things, but tonight you simply weren’t feeling up to it. Maybe it was the drape of your dress not sitting right or the new leather shoes that still needed breaking in.

Your shimmering smile faded into the crowd as you snuck through the back door in your satin bordeaux dress. Old Pauls sat perched above the cemetery it was named after. Conveniently across the street from the buzz of the theater, it was airily quiet and stuck out from the rest of industrial Birmingham. Your heels clacked across the pavement as you wandered up and down the garden, glimpsing at stone angels and silver plaques. All you had to light your path were the streetlights and the moon.

Your diamond wedding ring twinkled under the stars as you stopped to trace a name. It was the same as your mother's, but with a different last name. Still, you always wondered what happened to her. Had she gotten married to another man and taken his name? You expected to shiver at the idea, but you found that thinking of her no longer unnerved you. She packed up the title of mother when she left you all alone in that cramped house.

Light spilled out onto the pavement across the street when the entrance to the theater swung open. A few men flew down the steps and split off in different directions. Thinking it odd, you remained crouched until they disappeared around their respective corners. That’s when you saw Tommy exit through the same doors, throwing a cigarette and wiping at his brow while he looked up and down the street. Quickly, you stood and waved your arm to get his attention. When he noticed, he stormed down the steps and stalked across the street and through the gates of Old Pauls over to you.

“I needed some air,” you spoke up before he could get a word in.

His eyes wildly flickered back and forth from yours in a frenzy. Under the moonlight, they looked almost translucent, and, save for a ghost of blue, his pupils were wide.

“Why the bloody hell are you out here, eh?” He demanded, gently shaking your head between his hands for emphasis while his eyebrows rose expectantly.

“It’s quieter.”

When he tilted his head to the sky and exhaled, your stomach dropped at the sight of blood. Your ears, which had been tuning out the music, flinched when a shrill cry from a woman rang out the theater doors. The music was gone, now replaced with screams as all the patrons rushed out, tripping over each other like it were a race. You turned back to Tommy, now as worried as the others.

“What the hell happened? Are you hurt?” You urged, gripping his white collar, now red, to inspect where the blood was coming from.

“Not mine,” he cleared his throat, grabbing the hand on his collar to tug you down the street.

The frame of your world stretched a little wider, like light pouring in through open shutters. Car doors slammed, and drivers honked at the agitated crowd who ran this way and that across the road.

“Where’s the fucking ambulance?” Shouted a man who took no care to avoid bumping into you.

You stumbled back, your hand slipping from Tommy’s on impact. Rage flickered across his features briefly, having noticed the man push through you, but he reconnected your hands and continued walking fast. When he reached the Bentley, he urged you inside, holding your hand the whole way until you were seated in the passenger seat.

“What the hell happened, Tommy?” You repeated as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“Someone got shot.”

Your eyes widened. “Are Polly and—”

“They’re fine.”

You sank back into your seat as the engine roared to life. Peaky Blinder’s followed the frenzied crowd, moving together like a pack of wolves onto the streets. They only parted to let Tommy’s Bentley through. Out the window, people were fighting and throwing fists as they all tried to escape the mayhem.

“Why aren’t they letting people through?” You asked after witnessing a Peaky Blinder block the road and refuse to let a car pass.

“Doesn’t matter.”

He never told you anything when it came to business. And although you suspected this was much more than the doing of the Shelby brothers, Tommy’s face never betrayed him. Simply put, if he didn’t want you to know, you wouldn’t.

“Would anyone want to follow us?”

“No.” He exhaled deeply, cleared his throat, and then reached to give your thigh a squeeze.

You knew it was a lie when his eyebrows rose. He only did that when he was worried. Your tongue remained pressed to the back of your teeth the entire ride home.

-

The howl of the wind whistled down into the valley of the gypsy camp Tommy had brought you and the children to.

“Pack your things,” he had said one night after storming through the front door of Arrow House, “we’re going on a trip.”

Charles and Ruby cheered, but you suspected something sinister beneath his intentions.

So, there you were, picking at the grass by your feet while you perched on the bottom step of the gypsy wagon Tommy parked beneath a tree for shade. He kept quiet for most of the ride, absorbed in leading the horse around loose gravel and stones, or rather, he led you to believe he was lost in concentration. Because, when it came down to it, you knew Tommy better than to assume nothing was wrong.

The past week, he had been acting different, jumpy even. He ran into the nursery during the early hours of the morning on edge, as if expecting something to be amiss. You tried interrogating him, but he brushed it off, insisting things were fine. Fine—you began detesting that word. Fine this, fine that, but if things were really fine, then why was he on edge?

Then came the bloodshot eyes and the slamming of his desk drawer when you entered the office. Only this time he couldn’t deny the unmistakable jingle of a bullet, which rattled in the wooden compartment like some sort of airy death chime.

A black hand. One for each Shelby. And since you were now one too, that meant neither you nor the children were subjected to any special treatment. A week, he said, a week for his family to clear up the business while he stayed here watching over you like a shepherd to his flock.

And watched he did, standing next to where you sat, he found peace observing Charles and Ruby as they chased each other around the overgrown field. There he remained for an hour or so, frighteningly still, the only motion being his sharp jaw chewing on a mint leaf, somewhat reminiscent of the soldier in your tent all those years ago. Next to him, tied to the tree, the black steed filled the silence with snorts and grazed favorably on the loose roots and grass patches.

“Ruby was crying this morning. She’s scared, Tom." You sighed.

Tommy hadn’t been there when you woke up that morning in the caravan. He returned shortly after, ominous as ever, just as Ruby had begun to settle.

He tossed the stalk of his mint leaf into the grass and offered you his hand. You looked up at him in question for a moment, slightly suspicious of his intentions. Nevertheless, you slid your hand into his, and he stood you up, sat down on the higher step, and pulled you between his legs to sit on the lower step. He hugged you from behind as he slouched to rest his head on your shoulder, then exhaled deeply.

“We will be home soon,” he whispered in your ear, brushing your knuckles tenderly.

“For how long? Until we get another bullet in the post?”

Tommy’s throbbing forehead found solace in the warmth of your neck.

“You’ve never been one to run,” you continued, “what’s bothering you? We took a vow that we would share everything.”

He nuzzled his nose deeper into your pulse.

Frustrated, you tried to get up, but he held you firmly against his chest.

“Italians.”

“Italians?”

“Italians sent the black hands.”

You waited in silence for more information, but more did not come.

“Speak to me, Thomas.”

“I don’t want you any more involved than you are.”

“They’ve sent death knocking on our door; how more involved could I be?”

Tommy moved methodically, licking his lips and clearing his throat. He squinted his eyes up at the glaring sun.

“It’s nothing you should be concerned about. I’ll keep us safe.”

“Nothing I should be concerned over, Thomas? Just how many people are we at war with?”

He didn’t answer, so you turned your head away from him. Charles and Ruby had since settled by a patch of flowers. Charles was crouched over, helping his sister gather all the yellow flowers for her yellow dress.

The tension broke the surface then.

“Why are you still fighting, Tom? Is this,” you nod to your children and breathe in the fresh air, “not enough?”

You pictured Arrow House and its lavish garden, one to compete with all the wealthy families down the lane. You thought of Arthur, John, Polly, Ada, and all his family that lived to see his success. Everything, from the thoroughbreds in the stable to the fancy cars. The money itself was a testimony to his drive. What more could the gangster of Birmingham want when he already had everything?

You had gone and worked yourself up now because the world seemed blurrier than before.

Tommy, still on his guard, guided your chin to your shoulder so he could kiss the tears away. “It is enough.”

“Then make it enough. You’re respectable now, so stop the fighting.” Your voice broke at the end.

He hung his forehead on your shoulder. Like a flower sheltered away from the sun, Tommy wilted when he was away from his business. Usually, you were a strong enough light to keep him going, but whatever business he had gotten himself into was poisoning him, and ever the addicted flower, he kept running out to the fields, continuing to drink in the sunlight until it was too much and turned his leaves brow. Because business was what occupied his mind day and night, he was unable to turn the cogs of the engine off and let the air out of the tires.

A hand brushes your hair away to kiss the spot beneath your ear, airing out the destructive thoughts.

God, you loved him anyway. An overpowering feeling that ruled over calculating minds like Tommy’s and faint hearts like yours. You were no better than him—both addicted to a little sunlight.

-

The framed photographs on the wall shook as your third-eldest slammed the door to her room closed.

“I hate you!” She cried from the other side.

Your husband, Tommy, sighed to the ceiling, then stalked past you to his study, no longer interested in anything your daughter had to say. They had been at it for the last ten minutes arguing over some boy she was seeing, and your ears were just about ringing having witnessed it from the sidelines. You were left there in the hallway, an unwilling participant in the unspoken feud between father and daughter, and you understood that whoever you went to console would take it that you were siding with them, even though you just wanted to keep your family together.

Going to your daughter was the instinctive answer, but you knew she needed time to cool off. Tommy was the only reasonable choice.

You knocked on the door to his office before letting yourself in.

“Come to lick my wounds, eh?” He mused while smoking a cigarette.

Your lips wormed into a thin line. “This needs to stop, Tom.”

“Yeah,” he said, tapping the ash into his tray, “it will fucking stop.” He points with his cigarette, “I’ll make it fucking stop.”

You sighed. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

The chair screeched as he stood. “I’m her father, and if I say she can’t see that boy, she can’t. It’s only a childish fling; she’ll get over it.”

He poured a whiskey and downed it by the time you walked around his desk so that you were face-to-face with him.

“They’re in love, Tommy.”

“Yeah?” He scoffed. “Well, that can be undone.”

You held his glare, a challenge lighting in your own. “So easily, you think?”

He paused mid-drag, catching onto the underlying meaning in your words. “No,” he said, setting the cigarette down in the ash tray and grabbing your shoulders. “Don’t act like that.”

“Act like what?”

“Like you’re threatening our love over some fucking boy that’s charmed our daughter. They’re too young.”

“He’s sweet.”

“Oh, sweet and nice, I’m sure. But he’ll have no place in this house.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because I fucking said so!” He spat.

“Don’t yell at me.”

“Or what? You’ll leave me?” He huffed in amusement. “You won't; you love me too much.”

“You’re so certain?”

He paused for a moment and stared at you as if he couldn’t believe what you had said.

“Yeah, because we still fuck like two people who love each other, eh? And you’ve not told me no before, so if the day comes and your body no longer wants mine, then I’ll be worried. But until then, don’t test me with empty threats." His face hardened.

He knew you like the back of his hand. All bark, no bite. You loved him inexplicably, even after all these years, gray hairs and all. His face, body, and soul nourished you until you were satiated and full. And even if his eyebrows furrowed at times, you were willing to bet that it was for aesthetic, a shapely shadow gathered over the years from being the stoic leader the Peaky Blinders and Shelby family needed. How could you fault him for it?

Because, at the end of the day, you were a team. Even if he played the role of an overprotective father a bit too convincingly, he only ever wanted what was good for your daughter. Everything he worked for, ultimately, was for his family. A family man. And that came with its virtues and vices because, despite what Tommy thought, he wasn’t perfect; no one was.

Shrinking under his hands, you breathed a sigh and appeased him. “End this feud, Tom. Find peace with her. I don’t care what you do, but by the end of it, I expect to be able to sit down at the dinner table without having to beg my husband and daughter to look up from their plates.” You stroked his hands, which held your shoulders, and finally blinked up at him.

A haze of softness swept across his glare and melted the glaciers to a thin sheen of blue. The seams of exhaustion frayed one by one through his muscles. He nodded, licked his lips, and leaned down for a kiss of absolution. Not entirely prepared to surrender, you tilted your head so that he found the corner of your mouth instead.

“It will be done, love.” He brushed the apples of your cheeks tenderly. “And by tonight,” his voice lowered, “I promise you’ll forget all about it.”

Only then did you accept his kiss, eager to put the grievance to rest. Tommy, on the other hand, had other plans and stepped forward so that you were pinned between his desk and hips. He quickly began to gather your skirts above your waist, but you pulled away just as fast at the hiss of air against your exposed skin. An unsolicited gasp escaped his mouth when your knee brushed him there, and you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, looking deep into his eyes.

“Promise me you won’t break her heart. She might not be old enough now, but I don’t want you to put her off love forever,” you caressed his jaw.

“No,” he agreed, breathier than usual, flexing the hands that were still caught up in the fabric of your skirt.

“And our Daisy may never say it, but I know she loves you dearly. So please, Tom, be gentle with her. I don’t want her to grow up despising you. Tell her you love her, kiss her forehead, hug her.”

He deflated, and you watched him swallow his pride. Cogs turned against the sweltering lust, threatening to deplete the clever thoughts in that powerful head of his in favor of your careful touch. Please, please, please, you begged without uttering a word; agree with me on this, Tom.

Tommy leaned back down to rest his forehead on yours; his face gave nothing away. You were sure he had found something to say, which would make you feel like a fool for asking. However, when you embraced those faint subtleties of emotion flickering across his face like candlelight, so miniscule you might blink and miss it, you found nothing of the sort to suggest any hostile nature. Because Tommy loved you.

“I will.”

-

A/N: Tried doing a long one shot, what does everyone think? Yay or nay? Comment to be added to the tag list!

Taglist: @maliceofwonderland , @fairytale07 , @goblinjnr , @ilovepeoplesdads , @multidimensionalslut

[mashtatosworld]

lust for life

summary: its date night and you bring up plans for the future...

*part of the gdad series

It had been two years since your last real date night - just the two of you.

Not that you minded.

Every outing, every dinner, every event in the last two years had included your daughter, the centre of both your worlds. She was either sitting on Jiyong’s lap, demanding her own plate of truffle noodles, or nestled in your arms, pouting when you refused to give her a sip of your wine.

But tonight was different.

Jiyong was currently occupied, laying out Diva’s tiny designer outfit for the night. Meanwhile, Diva, who had no concerns about your plans whatsoever, was lounging on your bed, completely absorbed in Jiyong’s phone.

You eyed the device carefully. “Is that a good idea after last time?”

Jiyong waved off your concern. “Don’t worry, I put the child lock on this time.”

As if to challenge him, Diva’s small fingers continued tapping the screen, her brows furrowed in concentration. Her little tongue poked out as she aggressively swiped.

“…She’s trying to crack it,” you noted.

Jiyong glanced over his shoulder with a smile. “She’s my baby angel - she’s not hacking into my phone.”

You weren’t so sure about that. They were practically twins, so you wouldn't be surprised if Face ID worked.

Shaking your head, you turned back to him. “Anyway, you don’t need to pick out her outfit. Your mom will be with her. Tonight, it’s just us.”

Jiyong froze. “Wait - just us?”

You gave him a look. “That’s usually how dates work.”

For a second, he looked lost.

His whole world had been wrapped around being a dad, making sure his baby looked perfect, making sure you were okay. But now, realising that he didn’t have to plan for carrying around baby wipes or extra snacks, a different kind of panic set in.

“Oh, shit - I have to look good,” he muttered.

You laughed. “When do you not look good?”

But he wasn’t listening anymore. He was already sprinting towards the closet.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

An hour later, you were sitting in the living room with Jiyong’s mother, both of you waiting.

“Jiyong, hurry up!” you called.

“Five more minutes!” came the muffled reply.

You sighed, exchanging a look with his mom. “He never does this when it’s just us three going out. Usually, he throws on a hat and calls it a day.”

His mom laughed, petting Zoa who had made herself cozy on her lap. “That’s because he’s always focused on dressing the little one.”

True.

Speak of the devil - Diva suddenly appeared, climbing onto the couch beside you, still clutching Jiyong’s phone. You looked down at her, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t break in yet?”

Diva huffed. “No.”

Before you could respond, Jiyong finally emerged.

And damn.

Even Diva blinked at him in surprise.

He had actually styled his hair for once, ditching the headscarves and caps. He was in a sleek, fitted suit - just casual enough not to be stiff, but tailored enough to highlight all the right things.

You ran your eyes over him. “That’s my husband.” you murmured quietly.

Jiyong smirked at your heated gaze, adjusting his tie. “Like what you see, jagi?” he then checked his watch. "Oh, we are really late. Right, Appa needs that back please, Princess."

He signalled for your daughter to hand over the device.

Diva, however, was not impressed.

She suddenly clung to your arm. “No go,” she whined, her voice small.

You knew if Jiyong left his phone behind, she wouldn't bat an eyelid at your absence.

Jiyong frowned, completely overlooking her ploy. He pouted and ran a gentle hand over her head. “Aw, it's ok my baby, we’re just going out for dinner. You’ll have fun with Halmeoni.”

She pouted harder.

Jiyong looked so close to caving, so you did what any responsible mother would do - you exchanged the phone for a cookie.

Instantly, her priorities shifted. “Bye-bye,” she mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate chip goodness.

Jiyong sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She’s so easy to bribe.”

You smiled, looping your arm through his as you hooked a Chanel bag onto your shoulder. “I'll admit, she gets that one from me."

He told his mother to send updates immediately, then, with one last longing look at his daughter, followed you out the door.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The restaurant was beautiful, all dim lighting and elegant decor. You and Jiyong were seated in a private booth, finally able to relax and just be.

Halfway through your drinks, his phone buzzed.

Jiyong immediately perked up, flipping it over to show you a picture his mother had sent.

“Ohh,” he cooed. “She's so perfect. Look at her! We need another one, Jagi.”

You smiled at his words whilst he held the phone out, proudly showing you the pictures of your daughter.

“Okay,” you said simply.

There was a beat of silence.

Then -

Jiyong’s phone slipped from his hand, landing directly into the bread basket.

“…What?” he asked, voice slightly lower than usual.

You picked up his phone, shaking off the crumbs before setting it back on the table. “I said okay. Let's have another baby.”

Jiyong looked like he had short-circuited. “Really?”

You nodded, keeping your expression neutral. “I don’t see why not. My tour is over, and even though yours is about to start - by the time a baby would be here, it’d be finished.”

He stared at you, mouth opening and closing, before slowly breaking into a huge, giddy grin. His eyes crinkled and you saw the beautiful smile of your daughter in his face.

His brows then scrunched as he mentally did the calculations.

“Wait, but... that means, we- we can start trying tonight?”

You smirked, swallowing a sip of wine. “Sure.”

Jiyong shot up in his seat, immediately raising his hand. “Can we get the bill, please - ”

“Jiyong.”

He paused.

You arched an eyebrow. “Let’s actually order some food first?”

His shoulders slumped, sitting himself down again. “Right. Yeah. Food.”

The moment the waiter left with a confused bow, you picked up your menu, scanning the options. Across from you, Jiyong did the same - or so you thought.

Peeking over the top, you caught him staring, chin resting lazily on his hand, lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

Your breath caught. “What?”

His smirk deepened. “Nothing.”

You huffed, hiding behind the menu again, but the weight of his gaze didn’t waver. You could feel it, the heat of it rolling over you, curling under your skin.

“You’re staring,” you murmured, trying to focus on the words in front of you.

“I'm admiring my wife. My beautiful wife.” His voice was soft but deliberate, like a secret only for you.

Your fingers gripped the menu tighter. The way he was looking at you - it felt like the early days, when every glance from him left you dizzy, when every word was a tease wrapped in honey.

You swallowed, lowering your menu once more - just enough to meet his eyes.

Big mistake.

He was still smirking, but now his gaze was darker, his foot nudging against yours under the table, trapping it.

“Jiyong,” you warned, but your voice came out softer than intended. "Focus on your menu."

“I already know what I want.”

Heat shot up your spine.

He stretched lazily in his seat, running his fingers along the rim of his glass. His voice dropped, rich and teasing. “I like hearing you say you want another baby.”

Your throat went dry. “Oh?”

He nodded, tilting his head, studying you. “It means you want me.”

You inhaled sharply, pulse thrumming in your ears. “Well it does take two."

His smirk was all confidence, all slow-burning heat.

“Remember when we made our first?” he murmured, foot dragging up your calf, slow and deliberate. You shivered.

Of course you remembered. You spent days locked in that hotel room unknowingly - but knowingly - making your first child.

Your menu was suddenly very uninteresting.

Jiyong leaned forward slightly, elbow on the table, fingers toying with his bottom lip as he watched you. “You sure you want to sit here and eat?”

You exhaled through your nose, willing yourself to stay composed. “I’m hungry.”

“So am I,” he mused.

You narrowed your eyes. “For food.”

“Mm.” He licked his lips. “Something like that.”

Your stomach flipped. “You’re impossible.”

His voice dipped lower. “You love it.”

You did.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

he really looked at that first pic of diva and went, yes - we need 10 more

but he won. war is over... well - i'll get into that soon

For now, dedicated to all my bigbang fam that need some love right now :

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford

[delopsia]

Characters: Bob Floyd, Bob Reynolds, Rhett Abbott

Event: Moonlit Bull Riding

Premature ejaculation 👀

And I'm adding roses to the bouquet 🌹🌹 <3

Thank you!! ^w^ This was so fun, haha ⭐Join my Starlight Stampede Event! ⭐

Moonlit Bull Riding — Send any kind of thought or request for your rider(s)

Bob Reynolds °.•☆

"Hurry up," you giggle into his mouth, clinging to his shoulders like a piece of Velcro. Every hesitant step backward feels like a risk, this is it, this is when the world spins and you fall right on your ass. As if the firm hands on your waist would ever let you— You're falling. The couch cushions greet you like a soft cloud. Until Bob's rock-solid body collapses on top of yours, knocking the air out of your chest. "Robert!" You squeal, hammering a fist against his chest. He doesn't react.

Did he even feel that? "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," kisses flutter over your face, one after the other, far too sweet and chaste compared to the way his cock rests between your legs. "Are you okay?" "Shockingly, yes," nothing feels broken, at least, otherwise you wouldn't be canting your hips up against him, unwilling to waste any more time than you already have. There's only so much time before his friends come knocking for a very, very scheduled movie night. Friends who are more than capable of getting past a flimsy little lock. But Bob is quick to kick back into gear, using his weight to smother you into the couch cushions and, in turn, dragging his weeping cock between your folds. His tip massages against your clit, rubbing back and forth in short little motions that have your knees fluttering, bumping against his hips. "Bob," dragging out the vowel, you force your eyes to open, peering up at him. Pleading. He reels back just far enough to catch on your entrance, pressing slightly, only to slip past it entirely and— Cum spills onto your pussy without the slightest warning, his hitched moan breaking through the air like thunder after lightning. That's a sight you haven't seen in a while, his pretty cock twitching against you while his orgasm washes through him. "Well, I didn't mean for you to hurry up like that," reaching up, you tap him on the nose. One, two, three times. He blinks with each one. "Oops?"

Rhett Abbott °.•☆

There's a shiver in your hand as you draw his cock out from its confines, fueled on by the rumble of every car that drives past. The last of the rodeo crowd, heading off in their own directions, blissfully unaware that you're even here, wrapping your lips around the local rodeo champions dick. "Fuck, that's it," Rhett grasps the back of your neck, gently squeezing, "'s your lil mouth always this fuckin' wet?" It's a good question that you don't have the answer to. It feels like you're drooling, saliva spilling down the sides of his cock as you flick the tip of your tongue over his slit. There's only so much you can do to catch it before a mess begins to form, sinking down as quickly as you can. "Shit, shit," he jumps, a spur chiming as he kicks his foot at the floorboard. It strikes the gas pedal; the engine roars. Someone yelps. From the sidewalk, you think. Drawing yourself back up to pay attention to his cock head, you can see Rhett fumbling around in the side mirror. He's tilting his head back, sliding that felt brown cowboy hat over his face, concealing his expression. Muffled voices draw close. You do the only thing you can think of. You drop back down, urging yourself to relax as you take him further into your mouth. His tip brushes the back of your throat, sparking your gag reflex, spontaneously fluttering around him. He gasps. "Baby." Cum paints your tongue. Flooding your mouth quicker than you can react, fighting to swallow it down without choking. Tears string at your eyes. The hand on the back of your neck yanks you back up just as you begin to sputter, gasping for air. "You," speaking in between breaths, your voice hardly audible, "are no better than a damn virgin." And for once in his life, Rhett is too flustered to retort.

Bob Floyd °.•☆

Your mouth finds its way to the soft spot beneath his ear, sucking a light red mark into it before he has a chance to chastise you. Stupid Navy and their stupid, bone-headed need to keep him away from you for six whole months. Don't they know who he belongs to? "Has anyone ever told you that you look hot in this uniform?" You muse aloud, half-assedly drawing him out of his slacks. This probably violates some kind of niche code, jerking off one of the Navy's best WSOs in his fancy little uniform. "You," Bobby's groan is so much louder than it was over the phone, "every time I put it on." A sloppy kiss lands further down his neck, not quite what you were going for. "Shhh, it was rhetorical." His cock twitches in your hand. You've done something right. The front door finally, finally clicks shut, effectively pronouncing Robert Floyd home for the first time in what must be a millennium. Such a return should at least warrant using the bed, but you're not suffering through another second without this, not after that excruciating drive home from the airport. Bob's hands are on your face, drawing you to look at him. Eyes meet, and his lips crash into yours. Sloppy. No skill or technique to be found, burned away by the heat of the moment. Saliva drips between your mouths, his teeth nip at your bottom lip. Your wrist twists, working just as recklessly as the rest of you. And maybe you would be able to find the reins of your compsure if Bob wasn't fucking himself into your fist, chasing you every step of the way. Sensitive. So, so, so sensitive. It's a wonder he doesn't— He stills. Gasping into your mouth. Your hand is suddenly wet. "Cumming already?" You tease, but you're already working him through it, flicking a thumb over his tip. Fuck, he just doesn't stop cumming, there's so much of it that it spills through your fingers as you spread it over his cock, makeshift lube. "Oh my god," his eyes roll, lashes fluttering with an aftershock. "Give me...a minute. I don't want this to end, yet."

[nina-ya]

Synopsis: You're cold, Luffy's colder, whats a better way to warm up than for him to steal all of your body heat? Of course sharing body heat can come in many forms and with less clothing. Pairing: Luffy x AFAB reader CW: NSFW MINORS DNI, p in v sex, spit as lubricant, porn with like a whiff of plot • ficmas masterlist • ko-fi • discord server •

The night on the Sunny was bitterly cold; Nami had mentioned something earlier about passing through an area of the sea tonight that would be frigid, but you didn’t anticipate it being this cold. 

You were tucked into the warmest blanket you could find, huddled up in the kitchen with a cup of steaming tea resting in your hands. Deciding the tea wasn’t helping much, you shuffled out to the deck, hoping that moving around might warm you up, the blanket following you as you held it tightly around yourself. 

You paused mid-step when you noticed a familiar figure perched on the Sunny’s figurehead. Luffy was sitting cross-legged, red vest flapping open in the wind, straw hat tilted back and his gaze looking onward as if he didn’t have a care in the world. 

“What the hell are you doing out here?’ you called, your voice carrying over the sound of the wind. 

Luffy perked up at the sound of your voice, his head turning toward you with that boyish grin that you knew all too well. “Hey! You’re awake!” he exclaimed, leaping off the figurehead and landing with a soft thud, his feet padding across the deck as he made his way toward you.

You blinked at him incredulously. “Luffy, it’s freezing out here, and you’re dressed like… that!” You gestured at his scant clothing, your disbelief obvious. “How are you not an icicle by now? I’m so cold, I can barely feel my fingers!”

His grin widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned closer. “I can find a way to keep you warm,” he said, his voice laced with an unmistakable challenge. 

You deadpanned, raising an eyebrow at him. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that when you’re half-frozen yourself?”

It was only at your comment that his bravado began to falter. His fingertips were an alarming shade of red, his nose and ears similarly flushed from the cold. Even his lips had taken on a slightly blue tinge. 

“See?” you said, crossing your arms under the blanket for added emphasis. “You’re probably colder than I am! You’re lucky you didn’t get frostbite yet.” 

Luffy hesitated for a moment as if realizing the truth of your words. Then, with the subtlety of a cannonball, he threw himself forward, burrowing into the blanket you held around your shoulders

“Luffy!” you squealed, stumbling backward as the sheer force of his weight nearly knocked you over. His arms wrapped around you, his face pressed against your shoulder as he sought the warmth of your body and the blanket. 

“You’re warm,” he mumbled, his voice muffled but content. 

“You’re freezing!” you shot back, wriggling under the blanket as his coldness seeped into you. “Get off!”

He only clung tighter, refusing to let go despite your protests. The two of you hobbled awkwardly toward the interior of the ship, the blanket barely big enough to cover both of you as you shuffled along. 

You barely managed to make it through to the inside before you two tumbled to the ground in a tangled heap of limbs and laughter. The fall was far from graceful-- Luffy’s weight knocked the breath out of you and his hat fell askew, but his laugh was so infectious you couldn’t help but dissolve into giggles. 

“You’re such an idiot,” you managed between breaths, your cheeks aching from smiling. 

He grinned in response, nose brushing against yours before he leaned down to capture your lips in a chaste, playful kiss. One kiss became another, soft giggles spilling between you until the sweetness melted into something hungrier, deeper. His tongue flicked along your bottom lip, coaxing it open, and the teasing edge of his grin faded into unbridled desire. 

Luffy shifted, pressing his hips down against yours in a hurried grind, the roughness of his pants grazing the heat between your legs, the friction pulling a soft gasp from your lips. “Does the cold make you horny or something?” you teased, your voice breathless.

Luffy chuckled, his lips trailing from yours to nip at the sensitive skin below your ear. “No,” he breathed out. “You do.” 

He sat up slightly, his hands deft as they worked to untangle the blanket from around the both of you. “Hold this up for me,” he instructed, nodding toward the edge of the blanket as his free hand went to the waistband of his shorts.

You obeyed, lifting the blanket just enough to give him space. Luffy wasted no time, tugging his shorts down just enough to free himself, his cock springing free, flushed and leaking in the chill air. He hissed softly at the cold, spitting into his palm without hesitation and wrapping his hand around himself.

Your breath hitched as you watched, heat pooling between your legs at the way his hand moved over his length, spreading the slickness with messy, uneven strokes. Each pass of his palm along the sensitive head drew a shudder from him, dark eyes flickering up to meet yours with a gleam that was all heat and mischief.

“Move these,” he urged, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants and tugging pointedly. You wriggled beneath him, helping to shove the fabric down just enough to bare yourself to him. The cool air hit your slick folds, making you gasp, but the sensation was quickly replaced by the press of his fingers. 

He groaned softly, dragging his fingers through your wetness. “So warm,” he muttered, his words half-dazed as he spread the moisture, coating his digits before teasing your entrance. 

“Luffy,” you breathed, your hips bucking slightly as his fingers slipped inside. Your body arched into his touch, a moan slipping past your lips before you could stop it. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, pulling his fingers free only to guide his cock to your entrance. His eyes locked with yours as he pushed forward, the blunt head stretching you inch by inch. “So warm,” he repeated, his voice a whisper this time. 

The stretch was slow, almost maddening, and you couldn’t help the way your hips rocked upward, desperate to take him deeper. He exhaled sharply, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you still as he buried himself to the hilt. A groan tore from his throat, rough and unrestrained. 

“Fuck… you feel so good,” he rasped, his head falling to rest against your shoulder. His hips pulled back, the drag of him inside you leaving you trembling, before he thrust forward again, sharper this time. 

Your fingers dug into his back as his pace built, each thrust pushing deeper, drawing moans from both of you. The slick slide of him was sinful, each movement accompanied by the sound of skin meeting with skin, barely muffled by the blanket.

“Still cold?” he teased breathlessly, his grin audible as his lips found yours once again. 

Your only response was a gasped “no,” your body writhing beneath him.

Luffy’s thrusts gained a steady rhythm, each one followed by a shared noise of pleasure. His hands were everywhere-- gripping your thighs to keep them spread wide, trailing along your waist, pulling your hips to meet each of his thrusts. 

The blanket draped over your bodies fluttered with his movements, slipping with each passing second, though you didn’t care at the moment when his cock was currently driving into you, the slickness of your arousal making each slide effortless, sinful. Each thrust filled you completely, his length hitting a certain spot in you that sent sharp jolts of pleasure shooting through your body. 

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, voice airy as his lips brushed against your skin, alternating between open-mouthed kisses and bites that made you gasp. “So perfect…” 

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging as you gasped his name, your voice trembling. His pelvis snapped against your clit with each thrust, adding another layer of pleasure that pushed you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Luffy, please,” you whimpered out, your words spilling out in a breathless plea. The pressure inside of you was building in a rapid crescendo, your body growing more tense with each movement. 

His shit-eating grin was evident in his next words. “Please, what?’ he teased, his pace slowing down, pulling a whine of protest from you, your hips catching upwards to chase the friction. He chuckled, his fingers digging into your hips to still your movements. “Say it.”

“Don’t -- ah -- don’t stop,” you managed, your voice breaking on the last syllable as he thrust forward sharply, his cock brushing your cervix with pinpoint accuracy. 

You clawed at his back, nails threatening to tear the fabric of his vest as you clung to him, your breath coming out in shallow, erratic gasps. The fire he’d ignited in you burned hotter and brighter, until that coil finally snapped, sending you spiraling into ecstasy. 

You clenched around him as you came, your thighs spasming, your head tossing back as a loud cry escaped your lips. Stars danced behind your closed eyes as wave after wave of bliss consumed you, Luffy’s pace faltering for just a moment as your walls fluttered around him, squeezing tightly. 

“Fucking--” he hissed, voice strained as he continued to thrust, chasing his own release. His hold on you tightened, thrusts growing erratic until he buried himself to the hilt one last time, groaning deeply as he spilled inside of you, each pulse of his cock flooding you with his warmth. 

He collapsed against you, weight pressing you into the wooden floor with minimal regard to either of your comforts as your breathing slowly steadied. Your protest came in the form of a muffled whine, Luffy’s weight sprawled on top of you quickly surpassing its initial charm. “You’re so heavy,”  you whined out, trying to push him off of you. 

In the middle of your efforts, the door you guys stumbled into creaked open a fraction before abruptly slamming shut, accompanied by an indignant squawk. “What the hell are you two doing? Right in front of a doorway?!”

The muffled scolding caused Luffy to turn his head lazily, craning his neck toward the closed door with a wide grin. “Oops,” he said, completely unapologetic, his laughter bubbling out. 

You groaned, nudging him with your elbow. “Luffy, get off me before someone else sees us like this!”

His lip jutted out in a pout before he rolled off to the side, pulling out of you and sprawling on his back with no sense of urgency. “Fine, fine,” he said, not an ounce of regret in his tone. He grabbed the blanket and began wiping at his softened cock, thoroughly unbothered. 

“Seriously? The blanket?” you asked, wriggling to pull your pants up as quickly as possible. 

“It’s right here,” he replied with a snicker, tossing it to you so you could clean yourself up too. The blanket bore more evidence of your activities than you’d care to admit, but it served its purpose. 

The sound of Luffy’s stomach rumbling loudly broke the silence that followed, earning a startled laugh from you. 

“Really? Did this not satiate you enough?” you teased, brushing your hands on your pants. 

Luffy shrugged, rising to his feet with the kind of grace only he could manage after such chaos. “I’m starving,” he declared lazily. “I hope Sanji’s awake!” 

“You think you deserve food after that?” 

He shot you a cheeky grin, his hand already reaching for yours to tug you along. “Of course! I worked up an appetite.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips as you followed him toward the kitchen. Sanji’s lack of presence in the kitchen didn’t stop the rubber man from locking onto the nearest piece of food he could get his hands on. You sat on the counter to watch as he enthusiastically dove in, not even phased by the earlier mortification. Though you couldn’t deny that his energy and charm made every moment with him something you wouldn’t trade for anything. 

[wholoveseggs]

Can I request a one shot with the one and only Elijah? He and reader know each other for years but since she is human he never made a move. She overhears Klaus nagging Elijah about being smitten with her and she confronts him and he is obviously in denial, reader tells him to man up for once and he shows her how much men he is? With Consent of course. Would love reading something like this, you are my go to fix for my Elijah obsession

Snow Day

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} A rare snowstorm blankets New Orleans, and the Mikaelsons revel in the icy chaos. But as Klaus pushes Elijah to confront his feelings for you, the heat between you two threatens to outshine the storm.

♡♡ Thanks for the request beautiful anon!! This was partly inspired by Louisiana getting snow for the first time in over 20 years!!! (yikes the planet is on fire)~ ♡♡

6.2k words - Warnings: smutttt, rough sex (He just scoops you up and has his way with you), oral sex (f!receiving), praise kink, shamelessly using this fic to explore Elijah talking you through it (hot), tiny bit of angst, child Hope being adorable, snowball fights, Klaus being Klaus, magical snow forts and a hint of hot chocolate...

The world outside was unrecognizable. Snow blanketed the streets of New Orleans in a thick, pristine layer, muffling the usual lively sounds of the city. It was almost surreal, like waking up in a dream.

You rubbed your hands together for warmth as you stood at the window of the Mikaelson compound, marveling at the sight. The night before, a snowstorm had hit with an intensity no one had expected. It hadn't snowed in Louisiana since 2004. Now, with nearly ten inches of snow on the ground, you were effectively snowed in.

Not that you minded. The compound was warm and cozy, a fire crackling in pretty much every single room. Still, being cooped up had a way of making you restless, your thoughts wandering far too easily to things you shouldn’t dwell on—like your relationship with Elijah.

You had been friends with him for years, but something about the way he carried himself, the quiet strength he exuded, had always drawn you in, leaving you wanting more. 

Lately, though, there had been a shift. His gaze lingered a little longer, his touches felt a little more intentional. You weren’t blind to it, but Elijah was a master of control. Whatever feelings he might have, he kept them locked away, hidden beneath his stoic demeanor.

It made you sad, the way he denied himself any sort of affection. He always pushed away those he loved the most, it was a bad habit he had yet to break.

With a sigh, you turned from the window and made your way upstairs. You had barely reached the top of the stairs when the sound of raised voices reached your ears.

You headed to the balcony, looking down into the courtyard where Hayley and Rebekah were wrangling Hope into a snow suit. A task that the two immortal creatures seemed to be struggling with, much to the little girl’s amusement.

"Can we go now?" Hope demanded, wiggling out of Rebekah's hold. "I want to make a snowman!"

"Soon," Hayley promised, pulling a large warm hat over her daughter's ears. "We have to finish bundling you up first."

"Let me," Elijah said, stepping in with his usual calm demeanor, crouching down in front of Hope.

The little girl huffed, but she stilled as Elijah gently adjusted her coat and scarf. "You must not rush, little one. Proper preparation will ensure you can enjoy the snow without discomfort," he said, his hands moving with care as he buttoned her coat and smoothed the scarf into place.

"Uncle ‘lijah, I can do it!" Hope protested, though there was no real frustration in her tone.

"I have no doubt," Elijah replied with a small smile, "but would it not be faster if I helped? The snow is waiting, after all."

Hope considered his words for a moment before nodding solemnly. "Okay, but only because I want to go faster."

"Of course," Elijah said, his voice soft with amusement. He worked quickly but carefully, ensuring everything was just right. Finally, he held up her mittens. "Now for the finishing touch."

"My hands are going to sweat," Hope muttered, wrinkling her nose as she reluctantly let him slip the mittens over her small hands.

"They’ll thank you once you’re outside," Elijah said, rising to his full height and brushing a stray curl from her face. "There. You’re ready."

Hope beamed up at him. "Thank you, Uncle ‘lijah!" she said, throwing her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly.

"You're welcome, little one," Elijah replied, returning the embrace, the tenderness on his face making your heart ache.

Kol burst into the courtyard then, an excited grin on his face. He was wrapped up in a giant scarf, his coat buttoned all the way up, and his cheeks were rosy.

"Come on, Hope, hurry!" He urged. "I just finished building the best snow fort. It's big enough for the both of us. I know you like to hide in snow forts and scare people, right?"

Hope's eyes lit up, and she released Elijah, running toward Kol and latching onto his hand. "I love snow forts! Let's go, Uncle Kol!"

"That's my girl!" Kol said, leading her toward the doors. "We're going to have a ball, aren't we, Hope?"

"Yes!" Hope said, bouncing along beside him.

The rest of the family trailed behind, Hayley and Rebekah already discussing plans for getting some hot chocolate later.

"Well, look at you, being the best uncle," Klaus said, clapping Elijah on the back with a smile on his face. Although there was a tiny hint of jealousy in his tone.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his antics, heading down the stairs to join them.

"She makes it easy," Elijah said, a fond smile playing at his lips as he watched his family depart.

His gaze drifted to you, his smile growing a little as his eyes met yours. You felt your cheeks flush and averted your eyes, trying not to be so obvious.

"Are you joining us?" He asked, his voice smooth and rich like the expensive whiskey he often favored.

Klaus was pulling on his large coat and scarf, his expression smug as he watched the two of you. A familiar mischievous glint entered his eye, and you braced yourself for whatever he was about to say.

Instead, he didn't say a word, his expression shifting to something close to a smirk as he looked at his older brother. His silence was worse, and the air felt thick with anticipation.

"I don't know, I'm not a big fan of the cold," you said, glancing toward the door where the others had left.

"Oh, c'mon, just for a little while," Klaus cajoled, wrapping a scarf around his neck. "Elijah will miss you if you aren't there."

The heat rose in your cheeks and you cleared your throat, unable to come up with a response.

Elijah shot him a look, grabbing his own outerwear, a long, black, impeccably tailored wool coat and matching scarf. He looked like he belonged on a fashion runway, not traipsing through the snow.

"If the lady does not wish to join, she doesn't have to," he said, his voice level.

"It would be a shame to miss this rare beauty, wouldn't it?" Klaus asked, gesturing to the world outside.

"It's a blizzard," you deadpanned.

"In Louisiana." Klaus grinned. "It's the sort of thing you'll look back on and remember for centuries. And, besides, Hope would love to see you. Don't you want to make a snow angel with her?"

"Fine. But if I get hypothermia, I'm coming for you." You glared at him.

Klaus grinned, clearly pleased with himself, and sauntered out the door.

You pulled on your jacket and scarf, not quite as fashionable as Elijah's, and popped a beanie over your hair. You glanced at him, taking in his refined, handsome appearance.

"Thanks for waiting for me," you said softly, slipping your feet into your boots and tugging on your gloves.

"I don't mind," Elijah said. He gestured toward the door. "Shall we?"

You nodded and led the way out of the compound. As soon as the cold air hit you, you shivered, a gust of wind biting through your layers.

"Are you alright?" Elijah asked, his brows furrowing.

"I'm fine," you insisted, even as another shiver coursed through your body. "Let's just get this over with."

"As you wish." He smiled.

You walked beside him, following the path the others had taken. It was quiet, the world blanketed in white. Tiny snowflakes fluttered down from the sky, dancing lazily around you. The street was empty, the storm keeping most people indoors.

You could hear the faint sounds of laughter and joyful conversation, and the image of Hope's excited smile came to mind. She was a delight, a true ray of sunshine in an often bleak world.

You glanced up at Elijah, admiring his profile. There was a softness in his features that was so rare. He looked peaceful. Little snowflakes sticking to his eyelashes, his cheeks pink from the cold.

You turned your gaze forward, feeling a familiar flutter in your chest. You had always found him attractive, but lately, it was becoming impossible to ignore.

Kol had indeed built an impressive fort, so impressive in fact, that there must have been a bit of magic involved. The snow sparkled unnaturally, as if dusted with tiny crystals, and the walls were impossibly smooth, their edges glowing faintly in the sunlight. 

Hope was hiding inside, giggling madly as Rebekah crouched near the entrance, watching her with a wide smile on her face. Hayley and Klaus were sitting on the bench, chatting idly, while Kol was working on sculpting a large snowball.

Hope jumped out from behind the wall, throwing a snowball at Kol's back.

"Hope!" Kol cried, turning around as he grasped at his back dramatically.

The little girl laughed gleefully and disappeared behind the wall once again.

You smiled, watching the exchange. The sight was so normal, almost mundane. It was strange, seeing the Mikaelsons acting so human.

Hayley joined in on the snowball fight, scooping up a handful of snow and hurling it at Kol. Her aim was true, and it hit him square in the chest.

"Oof," Kol groaned, clutching his chest. "I've been shot."

He toppled over into the snow, laying perfectly still.

Hope squealed, jumping up and running over to him. "Uncle Kol!"

Rebekah snorted, crossing her arms. "You've died. Again. Typical."

Kol cracked open one eye and smirked, grabbing Hope's legs and dragging her down with him.

"Nooo!" She shrieked, giggling wildly as she struggled to get away.

Elijah watched them, a fond smile playing at his lips. It was such a small thing, but it sent warmth rushing through you.

"It's good to see them having fun," he said, his voice quiet.

"Yeah," you agreed, your eyes still on him. "Are you having fun?"

He paused, considering the question. Then he knelt down, scooping up a handful of snow and shaping it. "I suppose so," he said, smiling up at you.

Your heart stuttered at the sight. His gaze was soft, affectionate, and you felt like you could get lost in those dark, soulful eyes.

Then he threw the snowball at you, the icy projectile hitting you square in the face.

The contact was so surprising, so unexpected, that it took a moment to process what had happened. When it finally sank in, you could only stare at him.

Elijah's eyes widened, his face the picture of innocence. "I'm sorry, did I hit you?"

You couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up, the sound light and carefree. "Oh, you're going to pay for that, Mikaelson," you warned, crouching down and gathering snow into your hands.

Elijah's smile grew wider, a playful challenge in his eyes. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about, my dear," he said, scooping up more snow.

You tossed your own snowball at him, aiming for his face.

He ducked, faster than humanly possible and the snowball sailed harmlessly past him.

"Hey! That's cheating!" You cried, gathering more snow.

"There are no rules in snowball fights, darling," he said, a hint of mischief in his voice.

Klaus had joined the fray now, launching a barrage of snowballs at Elijah, while Hayley, Hope and Rebekah were targeting Kol.

You ducked and dodged, trying to avoid the flying snow, while attempting to take out Elijah.

His movements were quick, calculated, and it seemed like no matter how fast you moved, he was always one step ahead.

He was standing a few feet away, a playful grin on his face. It was the first time you'd ever seen him act so carefree, and it was infectious.

"C'mon, darling," he teased, "you'll have to do better than that."

You let out a huff, gathering more snow and shaping it into a tight ball. This time, you managed to hit him, the snow exploding against his shoulder.

"Impressive," he said, his tone light and teasing.

You couldn't stop the smile from forming on your lips, the thrill of the moment, the pure, unbridled joy in his eyes, filling you with an indescribable warmth.

Suddenly, a snowball hit you on the side of the head, sending ice crystals cascading down the front of your coat.

You yelped, swiping at the icy shards, and turned to see Kol grinning impishly. You grabbed a fistful of snow and hurled it at him, the missile landing with a satisfying thwack.

You joined in the fray, the sound of laughter and playful banter filling the air. You lost track of time, the snowy battle raging on.

Klaus wandered over to where Elijah was standing, a few feet from the others, watching the fight with a small smile on his face.

"This is nice," Klaus said, his eyes following Hope as she darted around.

"Yes, it is," Elijah agreed, his gaze fixed on you.

"She's quite a fighter, isn't she?" Klaus remarked, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Indeed," Elijah murmured, his gaze never wavering.

Klaus watched him for a moment, then nudged him lightly. "I was talking about Hope. Who are you talking about?"

"Hm?" Elijah asked, finally tearing his gaze away.

Klaus smirked, leaning closer and dropping his voice to a low murmur. "Don't play coy with me, brother. We both know you're smitten."

Elijah's brow furrowed, his jaw clenching. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, please. The way you look at her, it's like she hung the stars," Klaus said, a teasing note in his voice.

"It's nothing," Elijah said, his expression closing off. "She's a friend. Nothing more."

"That's a lie and you know it," Klaus scoffed.

"Even if it were true," Elijah continued, his tone measured and controlled. "She deserves more than I can give her," he said, a touch of sadness creeping into his voice.

"Ohhh, so you are going with the martyr excuse this time? I should have guessed," Klaus said, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

Elijah looked like he wanted to say more, but you chose that moment to join them.

"Hey," you greeted, a flush on your cheeks. Your breath puffed out in little clouds, and a few strands of hair had escaped from your beanie, curling around your face. All Elijah wanted to do was brush them away, run his fingers along your jaw, feel the warmth of your skin.

Instead, he smiled politely, keeping his hands in his pockets. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah," you said, a little breathless. "This is so much fun. I can't remember the last time I played in the snow."

"Nor can I," Elijah admitted. He paused, seeming to think for a moment. "It is rather invigorating."

"It's freezing," you corrected, laughing softly.

"I'm sure Elijah will be more than happy to warm you up," Klaus teased, shooting his older brother a knowing look.

You felt your cheeks heat up at the suggestion, and you turned away, pretending to admire the scenery.

"Niklaus," Elijah hissed, glaring at him. "It's impolite to suggest such things."

Klaus shrugged, not the least bit apologetic. "But it's true right? Or have I read the situation incorrectly?"

You opened your mouth, then closed it, unable to come up with a response. You were afraid of what Elijah might say, or worse, not say.

"We are just friends," Elijah said, his jaw set.

You tried not to let his words sting, but you couldn't help the pang of disappointment that twisted in your gut.

"Ah, yes, friends," Klaus drawled, rolling his eyes. "I think the rest of us are going to the cafe down the street to get some hot chocolate, are you two joining?"

"I'm going to head back to the compound," you said quickly, before Elijah could speak.

Klaus raised a brow, looking at Elijah with a smirk.

"I'll accompany you," Elijah said, his voice smooth.

"No," you insisted, a little too sharply. You winced and cleared your throat, forcing a smile. "I mean, no, that's okay. I don't want to keep you from having fun with the others. Besides, it's just a short walk. I'll be fine."

"Very well," Elijah conceded, his expression neutral.

Klaus shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he walked away.

The silence that settled between you was heavy, the air thick with unspoken words.

You wanted to ask him what he meant, if there was a chance, or if he was just playing nice. But the fear of rejection kept the words trapped in your throat. You quickly turned away, afraid he would see the emotion written plainly on your face.

"I'm going to head out," you said, taking a step toward the street. "Have fun, okay?"

Elijah watched you leave, a hint of sadness in his eyes. He should have said something, should have explained. Instead, he had let you go, his silence a cowardly choice.

When you reached the compound, you shed your outer layers and flopped onto the sofa in front of the fireplace in the library. A wave of longing crashed over you, a deep ache that couldn't be filled. The feeling was transforming into frustration and anger, a familiar bitterness creeping in.

The sound of the front door opening pulled you from your thoughts, and you sat up, seeing Elijah enter the room.

"I thought you were going to get hot chocolate," you said, forcing a small smile.

"I changed my mind," he replied, his voice soft.

You nodded, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. The silence was almost deafening, the tension palpable.

"So, uh, I was thinking about heading home soon," you said, needing to fill the void. "Once the snow lets up."

"Of course," Elijah agreed, though he sounded a bit hesitant.

You swallowed thickly, glancing at him. "Thanks for having me," you added, your voice a bit hoarse.

"Anytime," he said, and there was a sincerity in his voice that made your heart flutter.

You gave him a small smile, the sadness creeping back in. This feeling of limbo was killing you, the not knowing.

"So, is there, uh, is there someone else?" You asked, unable to hold back any longer. Your voice wavered, but you forced yourself to meet his eyes across the room. “Someone you're seeing?"

"No," Elijah replied, shaking his head.

"Oh, okay," you said, shifting uncomfortably.

"Why do you ask?" He questioned, his tone carefully neutral.

You could have played it off, made a joke, deflected. But the weight of his gaze, the way he was looking at you, it was as if he could see into your very soul.

"You know why," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Do I?" He asked, his brow furrowed.

"Don't," you snapped, frustrated with his cryptic behavior. “Just be honest with me, stop with the bullshit.”

Elijah’s features shifted, his carefully composed mask slipping for just a moment. A shadow passed over his face as he stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as though fighting an invisible force.

"It's not that simple," he said, his voice quiet as he approached you.

"Yes, it is," you countered.

"No," he said firmly. "You deserve someone who can give you what you want, someone who isn't... damaged. Someone who won't break your heart."

"I think that's for me to decide," you said, meeting his gaze.

"And what do you think I can give you?" He asked, his expression unreadable.

"I'm not asking you for anything, this isn't a transaction," you said, the frustration creeping back in. "All I want is to know if you feel the same,"

His dark eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw a glimpse of hope. Then, the shutters fell, and his expression hardened.

"It doesn't matter," he said, turning away.

"No. Elijah. It does matter," you insisted, standing up and following him. 

He didn't say a word, just kept walking towards the door.

"Why are you doing this?" You asked, reaching out and touching his arm.

He flinched, but didn't pull away, and he slowly turned back to face you.

"Why are you trying to push me away?" You pressed, searching his face.

Elijah stared at you, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his dark eyes. Anger, frustration, or perhaps longing. You couldn’t tell, but his inability to make a decision had your blood boiling.

"Just… stop," you said, letting go of his arm, the words sharper now as the emotions clawed their way up your throat.

"Stop what?" he asked, his voice clipped, as if daring you to elaborate.

"Stop being so self-sacrificing. Stop treating me like I’m made of glass. Just... man up and take what you want," you snapped, your voice trembling with anger and desperation.

Elijah’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He took a step closer, and you could feel the tension radiating off him like a storm about to break.

"You think this is easy for me?" he said, his voice low and sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. "You think I enjoy pretending I don’t feel something for you?"

"Then why do it?" you shot back, standing your ground.

"Because I have to!" he barked, his composure cracking as he raised his voice. The sudden intensity made you flinch, you had never heard him yell before, but you refused to back down.

"Why?" you demanded, your voice just as loud now. "Why are you so determined to ruin this before it even starts?"

"You don’t understand," he said, his tone quieter but no less fierce. He turned his back to you, his hands gripping the edge of the mantel above the fireplace. "You deserve someone better than me. Someone who can give you a family, children, a happy life. Someone who doesn’t bring danger and destruction to everything they touch."

"Stop deciding what I deserve!" you shouted, your voice echoing in the room.

He turned on you then, his dark eyes blazing with anger. "And what happens when you wake up one day and realize you’ve wasted your life on a monster? What happens when you resent me for stealing the life you could have had?"

You took a step closer, your own anger boiling over. "You don’t get to make that choice for me! I know what I want, Elijah, and it’s you. If I didn’t want this, I wouldn’t be standing here, begging you to let me in!"

Elijah’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he looked almost stunned. But then his expression hardened again, his frustration returning.

"I am trying to protect you!" he shouted back, his voice shaking the room.

"From what?" you screamed, stepping right into his space.

"From me," he hissed, his voice raw and broken.

The confession hung in the air, thick and heavy. For a moment, neither of you said anything, your breaths coming fast and shallow as you stared at each other.

"You’re such a coward," you said finally, your voice trembling with both anger and sadness.

His eyes narrowed, his anger sparking again. "You think I’m a coward? You think I don’t want you?" he growled, stepping so close his shadow seemed to swallow you.

You stared up at him, defiant, despite the fear and excitement rushing through you.

"Do you have any idea what it’s like to want something so badly and know you can never have it?" he asked, his voice strained, as though the words were torn from him against his will.

"Yes. I'm looking at him," you retorted, your heart pounding.

Whatever control he'd been clinging to shattered, his walls crumbling as he took hold of your arm, pulling you flush against him.

You gasped at the contact, feeling his body pressing into yours, the heat of his breath as it ghosted over your skin, the smell of leather and cologne mingled with something wild, primal.

Without saying a word he lifted you up, pinning you to the nearest wall, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss that stole your breath away.

You gripped the fabric of his suit, kissing him back just as fiercely, letting your hands explore along his chest, his shoulders. You were practically vibrating with want, your body humming with pent-up desire as you felt his arousal pressing against your thigh.

"You drive me insane," he murmured, breaking the kiss just long enough to nip at the tender spot just below your ear, causing you to moan in anticipation.

You were like a moth to a flame, and he was the hottest fire you'd ever known, searing into your soul, consuming you from the inside out. And the way he touched you, it was as though he were afraid he'd never be able to hold you like this again.

He carried you upstairs to his bedroom in a blur of wind and sound, moving so fast you could barely comprehend it. In that moment, you were reminded that he was more than just a man. He was an ancient creature of immense power, and he was about to unleash every bit of that power on your body.

The moment your back hit the mattress he was on you, his hands tearing away your clothes and tossing them carelessly aside. You tugged at his clothes in return, desperate to feel his skin on yours, your breath hitching as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to your neck, his fangs grazing the sensitive skin.

It wasn't gentle or sweet, it was wild, passionate, full of all the words that went unspoken for far too long. You couldn't get enough, you wanted to lose yourself in this moment, in him. You didn't care about anything else.

The weight of him as he covered you with his body, the way his muscles rippled under your fingertips, the sounds he made when he lost control. You didn't expect this side of him, the almost feral desire he was unleashing.

His hands gripped your thighs, pushing them up until your knees were pressed against your chest, exposing you to him completely. His cock pressed against your slick entrance, teasing you, the sensation drawing out a breathy moan.

"Is this what you want?” he groaned, the head of his cock pressing just a fraction inside.

You groaned in frustration, writhing against him, trying to get him to sink deeper.

He chuckled darkly, holding your hips still. "You need to learn to be patient, sweetheart," he drawled, his tone dark and seductive.

You whined, but you knew better than to push him, and you could see the gleam in his eyes. You felt a sharp smack to your thigh, causing you to yelp in surprise, the stinging pain giving way to a dull warmth that only intensified your need.

"Now be a good girl and let me fuck you the way I've always wanted to," he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

The way his accent wrapped around each syllable had a shudder rolling through your body. He gripped your thighs tighter, the blunt head of his cock pressing into you slowly. Your hands gripped his shoulders, and you cried out as he sank to the hilt.

"So pretty when you sing for me," he teased, nipping at your throat.

You couldn't even form a response, your brain short-circuiting as he pulled almost all the way out, the thick head of his cock catching on your entrance. Then, in one swift stroke, he eased back inside you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a messy, desperate kiss as he began to move inside you, each thrust hitting you in all the right places. His strokes were firm and deep, sending waves of pleasure washing over you, each thrust making you gasp for air.

It was everything you had hoped for, everything you'd been craving, and so much more. Your nails dug into the firm muscles of his chest, leaving half-moon marks on his pale skin.

"Do you know all the things I want to do to you?" he whispered against the shell of your ear.

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sent a rush of heat through your core. You whimpered in response, unable to form words.

He let out a soft laugh, his hips moving at a maddening pace, as he teased, "All the places I've thought about having you," he whispered.

You could feel your release coiling deep within you, but he wouldn't let you come, keeping you on the edge. Your mind was clouded with need, and his words only added fuel to the fire.

"Like right here in my bed," he continued, "Or taking you against the window for anyone who might be watching. Or bent over the balcony railing, with my fingers buried inside your wet little pussy while your scream fills the night sky."

The thought alone had you clenching around him, the fantasy sending your body into a spiral of need and pleasure.

"Would you like that? Being my plaything?" he purred.

You let out a needy whine, your nails clawing down his back, drawing blood. You needed him to make good on his promises.

"I think you would," he teased, nipping at your neck, drawing more moans from you.

You bucked your hips, your legs wrapped around him as you tried to take control.

"So eager," he groaned as he released his hold on your thighs, gripping the headboard for leverage, and the new position allowed him to hit even deeper, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

"You want it?" He taunted, his voice ragged as his strokes became more forceful.

You moaned incoherently, feeling yourself start to lose control, and Elijah laughed, his voice deep and husky as he said, "Then take it," as if challenging you to finally fall off the edge.

Your breath hitched, a strangled gasp escaping you as your release finally crested over, and you came harder than you'd ever imagined. Your mind went completely blank, your vision blurred as the wave of euphoria crashed over you.

You were only vaguely aware of the sensation of his cock pulsing inside you, your name falling from his lips as he reached his own peak, spilling himself deep within you.

Your breathing was labored and shallow, your body humming with aftershocks as he began to kiss his way along your neck and down your collarbone, the feel of his lips ghosting over your skin drawing out soft whimpers.

His kisses grew more tender, the touch almost reverent as he murmured against your skin, "So perfect for me," his voice barely above a whisper, the words almost lost to the room.

He kept moving down your body, his lips brushing over every inch of bare skin as if memorizing it. Your eyes fluttered shut, your hands tangling in his hair as you allowed yourself to just enjoy the sensation of him exploring you, worshipping you, like you were his religion, his salvation.

"'lijah," you said breathlessly, feeling him spread your thighs.

He didn't say a word as he lowered his head, his tongue finding your clit and lapping at you, drawing a loud cry from you as he cleaned up the mess he had made. You didn't have it in you to beg him to stop, his ministrations driving you to near-insanity, his tongue dragging through your slit.

He hummed softly, enjoying the sounds you were making. The way you squirmed, softly protesting as you felt yourself falling deeper under his spell.

"More," you whined, tugging at his hair.

He let out a deep laugh, and the vibration had your back arching as your climax rolled through you again, and your release flooded his tongue.

You felt the bed dip beside you as Elijah shifted, and you cracked an eye open, your body feeling boneless as you tried to get your bearings.

"Holy fuck," you said, your voice barely audible.

He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to your temple, and you sighed contentedly. The air was heavy with lingering tension, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you both. Yet, as you lay tangled together, the heat of his body grounding you, the world outside seemed to melt away. For now, there was only this. The sense of finally being together.

"I didn't think you would be such a talker in bed," you said, breaking the silence.

You felt his body shake as he laughed again, a low, throaty sound that made you weak. You shifted, cuddling closer, your head on his chest as you traced circles on his bare skin.

"What?" You asked, playfully nipping at his collarbone. "You can't just say all that to me and expect me not to comment on it,"

"I was just stating facts, nothing more," he said, the smirk audible in his tone.

"Mhm," you teased. "Well, I hope you know I expect you to follow through,"

Elijah laughed softly, his arms tightening around you. "Is that so?" He asked, his voice deep and seductive. "In that case, you should get some rest. I have a very long list of things I want to do to you."

Your face flushed, and you laughed, trying to play it off. But deep down, you were hoping that list was never-ending.

"Don't think for a second I'll be satisfied with one round, I can keep you up for days if you let me," he teased, nipping your neck playfully.

The thought of him keeping you locked up in his bedroom for days, indulging your every fantasy and need, made you squirm in anticipation.

You sat up slightly, pushing on his chest so he was lying on his back, his arms still wrapped around you, pulling you along for the ride. You straddled him, kissing him slowly, savoring the feel of his lips on yours.

"We'll see who keeps who up," you teased, rolling your hips over his already growing cock.

He hummed in approval, his hands gripping your ass as you continued to move, slowly grinding against him. His breath hitched, his eyes fluttering closed as you picked up the pace.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs pulled your attention away, and you heard the voices of the rest of the family downstairs.

You felt your cheeks heat up and Elijah smirked, gripping your thighs as he sat up, pulling you closer and wrapping your legs around him. He kissed along your neck, whispering softly.

"We should probably join them before they get suspicious," he murmured.

You hummed in agreement, not really wanting to move but knowing he was right. You let him lift you up and set you down on the edge of the bed.

"We have a lot to talk about," you said, grabbing your clothes from the floor and beginning to get dressed.

"We do," Elijah agreed, watching you. "I can't promise this will be easy," he warned, "but I want to try, if you're willing."

You turned to face him, taking a step closer and helping him button up his shirt. You leaned in, kissing him softly.

"I want that more than anything," you said, resting your forehead against his, feeling like you could finally breathe again.

He smiled, the look of pure happiness on his face warming your heart. He kissed you once more, slow and tender, and you knew in that moment that nothing would ever feel as good as being loved by him.

By the time you both made it downstairs, the rest of the family had settled in the parlor, hot chocolate in hand. Hope was curled up beside Klaus, who was dramatically recounting his snowball victory to an unimpressed Hayley. "I was vastly outnumbered, of course," Klaus was saying, his tone full of mock gravitas. "But my superior tactics won the day."

"You were hit in the face three times," Hayley retorted, rolling her eyes as she sipped her drink. "By a seven-year-old."

"Details," Klaus muttered, waving a hand as if dismissing the thought. Beside him, Hope giggled, her cheeks still rosy from the cold.

Kol leaned lazily against the doorframe, cradling his mug and watching the exchange with a smirk. "Don’t worry, Nik. We’ll still tell our enemies that you have never been defeated," he quipped, earning a laugh from Rebekah, who was perched elegantly on the couch.

As you and Elijah entered the room, Rebekah's gaze immediately shifted to the two of you, her brow arching with curiosity. "Well, look who decided to join us," she said, a knowing edge in her voice. "Took you long enough. Don’t worry, we saved you some hot chocolate."

Elijah’s hand rested lightly on your lower back as he guided you toward the table, a move that did not go unnoticed by his siblings, who were all eyeing you with a mix of amusement and suspicion.

You glanced at Elijah, feeling your cheeks heat up. "We got… sidetracked," he said simply, the corners of his lips curling into a small smile.

Klaus snorted, but a deadly look from Elijah silenced the impending snarky remark. You helped yourself to a cup of hot chocolate, which tasted sinfully good, the heat and sweetness seeping through you as you settled on the couch next to Rebekah. Elijah sat beside you, his hand resting casually on your knee.

You snuggled close to him and felt him wrap his arms around you, pulling you in even closer as the family laughed and teased one another, enjoying this rare moment of peace and contentment. You smiled to yourself, letting yourself sink into the warmth and love of the moment, knowing that it wouldn't always be this easy but that you would fight for every minute of it.

[4rticbolt]

Death Of Pizzaz |Master-list|

Trafalgar Law x !Fem!Reader, fluffy, spicy, first kiss, yearning Law cause why not, make-out, he's a tease fr, you test his patience, bickering

You have some sharpies to your 'arsenal' and your dear captain is your victim...

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It was creeping into a late evening on the Polar Tang. The crew had tiredly retreated to their rooms after night watch had taken over in navigation. You quietly walked through the halls to your captain's room, surrounded in a dark hue from the seal covered windows and the dark sea. Small circular lights lit up your path, following from the floor to the stairs, overcasting a soft white glow throughout the sub.

You hopped down the final step, gently knocking on Law's door as you couldn't be bored any longer. You had spent an hour trying to fall asleep, but ultimately you gave in and craved the presence of your lover. A muffled "Come in," sounded through the door and you casually strolled in, stuffing your hands in your pockets. An unmistakable clink of sharpies hit against your hands, and you tightened your grip hopefully muffling them.

A little decor couldn't hurt, could it?

Your captain was the unsuspecting victim, as he hadn't taken his attention off the comic he was reading, something he'd have tossed and hidden if it wasn't for your familial gaze. You'd picked up on his nerdy tendencies a long time ago, and Law eventually excepted his fate, giving it up to share with you. His hair was unkept and messy, something you’d come to love along with his flimsy tank, praising the view it gave you.

“What are you doing?” Law asked, reclining silently against the couch. His infamous hat, and sword had rested close by, propped against his desk.

“What I can’t have quality time?” you smiled, feigning absolute innocence as you'd crawled into his lap, soaking up his touch. You always loved these relaxed moments. As it wasn't often he let go, more-overly stressed and constantly planning for the future, he was barely at ease.

But with you in his arms he could make an exception.

He let out a hum in response. "Depends what your after," he mumbled, adjusting himself under your weight, shifting back against the couch's armrest. Law brought his hand to soothingly rub over your shoulder, closing his eyes for needed peace.

You quietly watched as he closed his comic in hand, unknowingly knowing he was listening to your heartbeat, which thudded softly against his upper thigh.

You didn't know it, but your captain tended to listen to your pulse for a sense of comfort, remembering you were there with him: that you were real. That it wasn't some dream, and that he wasn't in some nightmare where you weren't.

He adored when you were like this, needfully resting by his side away from prying eyes—though he'd never admit it. Law would let his guard down with you, settling still in your innocent embrace. He opened his eyes to watch you shift, taking in the way your head gently rested against his hip.

He thought it was a heartfelt gesture really, but when you grabbed his arm and pulled it to your chest he thought otherwise. A soft click emitted, and a cold swipe crossed his skin, leaving him confused.

"What the hell are you doing?" he muttered, quickly pulling away your wrist.

"Nothing, just gimme your arm," you replied, trying to grab it again.

"Seriously? ____ I'm not you're coloring book, no."

"Oh don't be so stuck up, it'll wash off eventually," you stubbornly grabbed his arm again, tracing his tattoos as you ignored him completely. You were off in your own world now, leaving your captain to a very grumpy demise. You didn't pay attention to the way he'd grumble or keep to his lingering gaze.

A few minutes passed and you'd finally fucked up, scribbling over your design, "Okay, that's enough." Law cut sharp to your name, quickly grabbing the pen tossing it aside to his table.

"Really?" he deadpanned, taking in the scribbled pieces.

"What? It'll wash off."

"Yeah, in a few days, it's literally black sharpie you idiot," Law scolded, flicking your forehead with a scoff.

You let out your own huff, shifting in his arms to sit comfortably against him, leaning into his chest. Your head personally thunked against his shoulder, though you eased when his arms wrapped around you again. His lip quirked in amusement as your masked mumbles were only so long-lived.

He often was firm with you. But it could never stay that way. His irritated expression relaxed, and he called your name taking in his scribbled arm.

“You realize these are permanent tattoos, right?” He asked, swiping him thumb across your hip.

"Yeah, I just enhanced em' though." You said absentmindedly.

"I think you should get it re-tattooed like that."

. . .

Law snorted, manhandling you to face him, "I love your artwork and all but I think I'll post-pone that." he remarked, bringing his hands to your sides. You immediately faked a hurt look and he cracked. He couldn't look you straight in the eyes when they grew glossy like that.

“You're serious?" he muttered, swallowing unbelievably hard. You shattered his resolve, and he feared he might not be able to say no.

"You broke my heart Law, I put my soul into that." you said dramatically, seemingly putting an ease to his inner torment, but it only irked him. He flicked you again creating a red spot, and you quietly yelped—covering it.

He really thought you were serious, and he'd been a sucker enough to believe it.

"It just looks better," you retaliated, squirming in his arms as he'd reached a ticklish spot.

"Better? Really? You must've borrowed that soul from one of Bepo's maps then," he snarked, cracking a smile as he'd finally gotten a laugh out of you. He'd come to love that sound the more and more he knew you, every day and every moment he loved to hear it, to see it.

Your chaotic remarks and energy were his livelihood, and he'd at times been too dense to see it. It had taken years before there'd been an ounce of romance in your relationship, and that was after years of trustworthy hardships.

Law had finally backed you off his lap, putting an end to your 'assault,’ which only brought you to hide between his thighs with a muffled "Shut up!"

“Oi, don’t do that,” he stumbled, feeling a pit in his stomach. His arms quickly came up under your's, sliding you upright, which seemed to relieve the strange tension in his stomach. He'd been a fool to say it wasn't a common feeling.

It’d always been a strong feeling, specifically and only for you. And he'd usually been the one to try and ignore it.

He wasn't sexually inclined, as he said he didn't have time for it. It wasn't his main goal, and he didn't have time for that lust and desire—meaning it wasn't his strong suit. You'd been the flirty type in the past, but if he simply wasn't ready—he wasn't ready; and you had never held him to that.

“Don’t what?” you deadpanned, glaring softly.

“Don’t pout,” he sighed, brushing off his blush as he grabbed your chin, tilting your head back. Law couldn’t tell if you were being dense or doing it on purpose. Either way; it was infuriating.

“I’m not.”

"You are," Law interjected, taking in your form atop him. His mind wandered and he knew he was in trouble. Because he knew that no matter what he tried to ignore, he was always wrapped around your pretty little finger. Regardlessly…that's all you were, trouble.

You for once, seemed to quiet. Finally put at a loss for words. Your voice practically died in your throat and you couldn't help but question his intense gaze, you hadn't seen him look at you like that before.

Maybe once or twice but never like that. And it’d always pissed you off when he could put you in your place, before you could even begin to argue.

"I. am. not." you challenged, leaning closer—attempting to hold your ground. But it faltered when he drug his hand to your throat.

“Mm, yeah not anymore,” He whispered, overthrowing your little flirty act with a gentle squeeze your throat. He saw your face light up and he let out a whispery laugh. Law was enjoying himself.

On the other hand, you were internally panicking, opting to lean back, because Law had never been this forward with you. He'd been dense about that kinda thing, but obviously this was not the freaking case.

You swallowed against his hand, leaning back, but his lips caught you before you could own up to it. You heard a groan leave his lips before it swallowed your own, leaving your head spinning. You leaned forward, shifting your hips, and it only encouraged him.

His free hand squeezed your hip, and the hand around your throat tightened, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was more like a handle for him to hold. Your breath shuddered, and you forced yourself to breathe through your nose.

He'd caught you off guard and you couldn't seem get a grip.

You finally parted to breathe and his own blush matched your own. He gave a whole lotta' talk and do behind his pose, but deep down he was just as flustered as you.

"Don't be a smart ass," you muttered, bringing his hand away, but it only tightened around your smaller hand.

“Then don’t stick your head where it doesn’t belong.”

. . .

"What?—I didn't--"

"What?" he asked impassively, keeping a firm hold. He shifted causally beneath you and you knew he was doing it on purpose...that sarcastic bastard.

"Don't what me you know what!" you snapped, trying to pull your hands away, but he held on. His smirk grew and your blush heightened.

"What? That you like my hand around your throat? I figured, I didn't know it'd shut you up though." he leaned forward, attempting to whisper in your ear.

"Trafalgar Law!"

[thrillered]

Spencer at a " Y/N L/N is dead | The funeral roast" pretty please🫶

(Bonus points if after roasting reader he gets all sentimental and reiterates that he CANNOT live without them or he'll just die on the spot)

"Y/N is dead. | The funeral roast" | Spencer Agnew x Reader

this was so fun to write! I hope you enjoy it!

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You were sitting in the blue velvet coffin, a bouquet of fake black roses in your hands and tears in your eyes. You were in the middle of shooting your funeral, surrounded by your friends and coworkers as they roasted the hell out of you. Right now Shayne was playing the CEO of converse, crying over who was going to keep them in business now that you were gone. You looked down at your pair of custom smosh platform converse you were wearing that Ian had bought you for your 3 year ‘smoshiversary’. 

Shayne finished his bit, earning claps from throughout the room. You peaked one eye open, looking to see who was going next. Tommy was stepping up to the podium, his signature lace funeral hat on. 

“Friends, coworkers… those who somehow managed to deal with Y/N, I am here to read the final will of Y/N L/N.” He began, pulling a piece of paper out of his long black leather jacket; a dig at your favorite coat you thrifted. “She left a lot of things for those she loved, I will not be reading those today.” 

You laughed, peeking at the offended looks on everyone's faces. 

“Courtney, Y/N leaves you her sense of humor. There wasn’t much of it but it was stolen from you to begin with.” Courtney gasped while Shayne let out a pfft. He turned his attention to Shayne, “Shayne, everyone knew of the “fake” beef the two of you played up on camera… so to you she left her 17 pairs of platform converse, this way you don’t have to look up to her… maybe now you'll see eye to eye.” 

You pulled a hand over your mouth, attempting to muffle the loud cackle that was escaping you. “Well damn.” Shayne sputtered. 

“To Angela Y/N leaves her entire Le Creuset cookware set. Everyone knew you were jealous of it.” 

“Okay that’s not fair, it’s literally all light blue, it's gorgeous!” Angela exclaimed.

“And finally Y/N leaves Spencer her heart… and yet he’ll still probably ask if she actually loves him.” 

“That's crazy…” You huffed, through fits of laughter. The entire crew clapping and ‘ohhh’ing at Spencer. 

Tommy left the podium, grabbing your knees as he walked by the coffin, knowing you hated it. “I gotcha!” He sneered, making you yelp.

The only person left to speak was Spencer. He was in a full suit and tie, dressed for an actual funeral. He looked really good, you just wanted to stare at him. He approached the podium, a large binder in his hands. 

“In honor of Y/N’s memory I would like to start by going through some of my favorite memories with her in this photo album.” Spencer declared, opening to a middle page of the album. “This is when Y/N and I met.” He turned the binder around, showing a picture from your first day at Smosh. 

Awe’s could be heard around the room. You scrunched your brows, not trusting Spencer to only be nice. “Then I got to know her…” He hesitated, pulling an awkward and tight grin across his face. “Then she passed. That’s my favorite” He showed a picture of you sitting in the coffin, clearly taken today.

“What the fuck?” you asked, “How did you print that so quickly?” 

“The dead don’t talk.” Erin reminded from the seats, earning a middle finger from you. 

“Anyway, time for the eulogy.” Spencer continued, tossing the album away from him, a loud clap echoing in the room as the binder hit the ground. “The world went quiet when Y/N died… mostly because she couldn’t cackle like a banshee anymore… frankly? Pretty peaceful.” 

“Oh my god.” Amanda laughed, covering her face.

“I think we can all agree that Y/N was an integral part of this company and an integral part of this cast.” Everyone nodded, Angela pretending to wipe away tears. “I mean.. Who else is gonna be worse Courtney? Or shorter Amanda? Or Taller Angela? Or less clever Arasha? Or Shayne if he was a lady barista who wanted to be a skater?” 

“Jesus Christ man.” Shayne said, shaking his head in confusion.

“He’s not wrong.” Courtney agreed, putting a hand on Shayne’s shoulder.

“But things will never be the same without her. I am reminded of her constantly… mostly because her hair is everywhere. I don’t know how she still has hair, she literally sheds like a husky; whines like one too.” 

You were shaking your head, holding in a laugh, not wanting to give Spencer the win of your laughter. 

“But seriously, I love you Y/N. I don’t know what I would do without you, I think I would actually die. Please don’t make me sleep on the couch tonight.” Spencer admitted, making eye contact with you, a smile on his face. “You mean the world to me.” 

Spencer sat down. You waited a dramatic few seconds before sucking in a large breath of air, pretending to wake from the dead. “How long was I out for?” you asked, making everyone laugh. “That was some… nice?... things you guys said about me, thanks guys.” 

“Luckily I just came from hell so I can handle the heat… I wonder if you guys will do the same,” you smirked, pulling a folded piece of paper out of your bra, unfolding it and reading it aloud, “Call me sometime, satan? Oops, wrong paper!” You joked, tucking the paper away. 

“Man what the hell?” Spencer asked.

“Well that's where she was apparently.” Shayne reminded, making himself laugh. 

“Okay this is the right one,” You began, unfolding a larger paper. “Tommy… ur gay. Courtney… ur gay. Shayne….” You stopped, staring at him for a moment before simply moving on. “Angela… me and your mom genuinely text, and I want you to think about that.” 

“That’s actually devastating.” Shayne cackled.

“Amanda… we need to hang out more.” You insisted. “But maybe just at my house, I’m tired of having to climb a beanstalk to come see you” You joked, turning Amanda's sly grin into a face of shock. “Erin… Erin Erin Erin….I lied when I said I lost that blue shirt I borrowed… I still have it and wear it regularly.” You admitted. “And you’re not getting it back.” 

“You bitch!” Erin gasped, disgust crossing her features as you blew her a kiss. 

“Last.. and least!” You emphasized, “Spencer.. My best friend, my boyfriend, and my other half… if I’m gone you’re a glass half empty. If you’re gone, I’m a glass half full.” You informed. “That’s all to say: You’re Y/N L/N’s boyfriend, and that’s your most impressive accomplishment.”

Everyone laughed, teasing Spencer with an eruption of ‘ooh’s and agreements. 

“Seriously though, I love you all so much. Honestly the specificity of each roast made me really happy, you guys really know me and that means a lot to me.” You smiled, looking around the room to each and every one of your closest friends. “And a special thank you to Spencer for loving me, even through all the quirks and flaws that were mentioned here, I love you.” You finished, suddenly pretending to have a hard time breathing before collapsing into dead weight. Then quickly waking back up, “You’re still sleeping on the couch though.” You noted, staying ‘dead’ this time.

[girl-celestial]

The Governess

PART I OF III

ARTHUR MORGAN X FEMALE READER, eventual smut. 2k+ words. mdni

content warnings: eventual smut. period-accurate class divide, period-accurate attitudes, emotional dependency, possessive language

READ IT ALL ON AO3

The Braithwaites hired a quiet little governess. Arthur wasn’t meant to notice her, but he did. Now every trip to the manor pulls him in deeper, past duty and reason, toward something he knows he can’t have.

THE horse’s hooves thudded low and heavy against the damp dirt path, muffled by Spanish moss and morning mist. Arthur adjusted his hat against the sun rising lazy over the swamplands, the air thick with the smell of wet earth and something sweeter—magnolia, maybe. Or rot. It was the kind of smell that lingered.

The Braithwaite place loomed in the distance, its white columns catching the light. Grand, in the way old money always was—too proud to die, too mean to fade. Arthur had been sent to talk, or threaten, or flatter. Dutch hadn’t exactly said which. And maybe it didn’t matter. Talking down here was always just a slower way of aiming a gun.

He rolled a cigarette with one hand as he rode, eyes scanning the tree line, senses prickling despite the stillness. Gang business, sure, but down here, everything felt like it could turn to blood real quick. He was only meant to ride in, say what Dutch needed said, and get out before the swamp air stuck to his lungs. Arthur had never liked the Braithwaite place—too quiet, too proud, too wrapped up in old money and the ghosts it bred.

But as his horse clopped down the gravel path toward the manor, something off to the side pulled his attention.

You.

You weren’t dressed like them—none of the silk or shine the Braithwaite women liked to hide behind. Just a soft-colored dress, worn at the edges, clinging a little from the morning damp. Your hair wasn’t fussed over either, half-pinned and tugged loose by the breeze. But somehow, that made you stand out more. You were real. You breathed like the rest of the world.

You were with the children, standing apart from them but watching with a distant kind of care. Not a mother, not a servant. Something in between. There was something calm in your posture, practiced, like you'd learned long ago how to go unnoticed. Arthur didn’t know who you were, but he could already tell you didn’t belong here any more than he did.

A strange kind of curiosity flickered in his chest. Not the usual kind he had for a stranger. This was quieter. Like something about you was already pulling on a part of him he didn’t let many people touch.

You looked up and saw him.

Your heart gave the smallest flutter when your eyes met his. You hadn’t even realized someone was approaching, not until the shift in the wind seemed to announce him. He didn’t look like a man from the manor either—worn coat, rough hands, that slow, steady weight in his gaze. You didn’t know who he was, but the way he looked at you made the world go quiet for just a second.

He tipped his hat, and for reasons you couldn’t explain, you smiled.

Not wide—just a small, careful curve of your lips. A little polite. A little uncertain. A little curious. You didn’t smile much around here. Certainly not to strangers. But something about him didn’t feel dangerous. Or maybe it did, but not to you.

And then he rode on.

You turned back to the children, but your thoughts didn’t quite follow. Not right away.

—

Arthur didn’t care for the way the man spoke—all slow words and sugar-coating around threats. It was the kind of voice that made you feel like something was crawling up your spine. The Braithwaites were always dressed in civility, but you didn’t have to dig far to find the rot. Moonshine was the word that kept coming up—moving it, protecting it, selling it where it didn’t belong. Dutch wanted in. The Braithwaites wanted leverage. Arthur wanted out of the house.

And maybe—though he wouldn’t say it aloud—he wanted to see you again.

The meeting dragged on. Arthur didn’t sit. He barely spoke. Just listened and nodded where needed, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room like he was counting exits. Eventually, the cousin poured himself another drink and waved toward the hallway. “We’ll send word when we’ve decided. I’m sure Dutch is used to waiting.”

Arthur tipped his hat without smiling. “He ain’t.”

As he stepped out into the hallway, the air shifted.

He heard your voice before he saw you—soft, low, just outside the parlor door. Not sweet in that practiced way rich women spoke, but steady. Real. Like you didn’t have to try to be kind.

Then you stepped into view, half-bent as you guided one of the children forward by the shoulder, murmuring something about wiping their face before they bothered Miss Catherine. You looked up, and there he was—standing in the hallway like he'd been waiting for something, even if he didn’t know what.

Your breath caught.

His presence filled the space in that quiet, undeniable way. He didn’t speak right away—just met your eyes and gave you a look that felt different this time. Like he recognized you now. Like he saw something in you that went deeper than before.

And you felt it too.

You’d only caught a glimpse of him before, just long enough to wonder. But now, standing this close, you saw the rough hands, the tired eyes, the way his gaze softened for a fraction of a second when it settled on you.

"Ma'am," he said, quiet.

You swallowed. "You're not one of them."

It slipped out before you meant it to. And for a second, you were sure you’d overstepped—that he'd frown or walk away or remind you where you stood in this house.

But Arthur just huffed a breath through his nose—something like a laugh. He looked past you for a second, then back again, meeting your eyes in that steady way that had already stayed with you longer than it should have.

"Neither are you."

The words hit softer than you expected—not an accusation, not a question. Just fact.

Your breath caught again, held for a moment you didn’t know how to name. He saw it in you. That edge, that loneliness. The way you lived here without ever quite being part of it.

“No,” you said. “I’m not.”

Your voice was calm, but there was something under it—a quiet confession neither of you needed to name.

Arthur looked past you for a beat, then back again. "Didn't think so. You don’t wear the place like they do."

You gave a small smile. “Meaning what?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “You ain’t dressed up in diamonds and spite.”

That pulled a quiet laugh out of you. The first real one in days. "Well. I do my best."

His mouth curved just slightly, like he was letting himself enjoy the sound. You hesitated, glancing down the hall where the children had gone. You should’ve followed. But you stayed.

“You here for something bad?” you asked, voice soft but steady.

Arthur met your eyes, and for a second he didn’t answer. Then, honest as it came: “Maybe. Ain’t sure yet.”

You nodded like you understood. Even if you didn’t.

“I should go,” you said, though neither of you moved.

He nodded once. “I won’t keep you.”

But you lingered. Just a second longer.

“You got a name?” you asked, before turning.

“Arthur.”

You gave a quiet nod, tucking his name somewhere inside you like it meant something already.

And then, because it felt like you had to say it—or maybe because it felt too easy not to—you said, “Don’t let this place ruin you.”

Arthur’s brows lifted a little, but he didn’t laugh this time. “I’ll try not to.”

You walked away first.

He watched until you were gone.

—

Over the next few days, Arthur rode in and out of Braithwaite Manor more often than he needed to.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

Dutch’s dealings with the family were dragging out—more talk of moonshine, hidden routes, old favors nobody wanted to say out loud. Arthur wasn’t one for drawn-out conversations, but he kept showing up. Said it was business. Said it was about keeping things smooth.

But the truth was quieter, simpler.

He kept coming back because of you.

It didn’t start as anything. Just a glance. A look exchanged in a quiet hallway. A conversation that stuck longer than it should have. But after that, you were the first thing he looked for every time his boots hit the front steps.

He didn’t talk to you every time. Sometimes all he got was a glance. Sometimes nothing. But he watched for you all the same.

And when he saw you—just a flicker of a dress, or a whisper of your voice in the corridor—he stayed longer than he had to.

He told himself he was being careful. That the Braithwaites were snakes and he needed to know the lay of the land.

But deep down, he knew better.

You were the reason.

The sky had slipped into the soft blues and purples of evening, the air cooling but still thick with the day’s heat. Lanterns glowed at the corners of the manor, flickering gently like the house was holding its breath.

You stepped out alone, book in hand, your shoes quiet against the stone. The children were tucked in, the halls momentarily still. You hadn’t expected to see anyone.

But he was there.

Arthur Morgan, leaning just beside the steps near the carriage rail, his coat dusted from the road, hat low over his brow. The porch light lit the edges of him, sharp cheekbones catching the gold. He looked more like something pulled from a story than a man standing on your side of the house.

You stopped, before you even thought about it.

“You keep showin’ up,” you said, tone lighter than your chest felt.

Arthur lifted his gaze, slow and deliberate. “Maybe I like the company.”

You tilted your head, skeptical but not unfriendly. “Pretty bold thing to say to someone who hasn’t even told you her name.”

That smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—crooked, faint, but real.

“Don’t need a name to know you’re the only person around here worth lookin’ at.”

Your breath hitched. It was too honest, too unguarded, and it rattled something deep in your ribs. You opened your mouth—to scold, maybe, or smile, or walk away—but then he stepped forward.

He didn’t crowd you. But he reached out, and before you could react, his hand wrapped gently around your arm. He tugged—not hard, just enough to draw you closer. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the tension in the air.

He didn’t touch beyond that. Didn’t need to.

“I see you, you know,” he murmured. “You act like you’re just part of the house, like you’re meant to blend in. But you don’t. You walk different. Hold yourself different. And none of them even notice.”

You froze, breath catching in your throat. His eyes lingered on you—steady, focused. His voice was low enough to feel more than hear.

“You work too hard,” he added, softer. “Bet no one tells you that.”

Your heart pounded. You should’ve pulled away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, your eyes flicked up to his, and your voice came out quieter than you expected. “You don’t talk like the others.”

Arthur smiled again, but slower this time, like he wasn’t used to hearing that. “That a good thing?”

You were just about to answer—something dry, something teasing—when the voice came from behind.

“Miss.”

Your entire body tensed.

Arthur’s hand dropped at once, but it didn’t matter. The moment was already over.

Mr. Braithwaite stood a few steps behind, posture iron-straight, his face unreadable in the dark—except for his eyes, which burned cold.

He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to.

“Inside,” he muttered. “Before you ruin what little place you’ve made for yourself here.”

You froze, shame flashing hot across your skin—not because you believed him, but because Arthur was still standing there, hearing every word. And because it was said like a warning, not just to you, but about you.

Arthur didn’t speak. His face was still, but his gaze hadn’t moved from yours.

“She wasn’t doin’ nothin’ wrong,” he said eventually, voice low.

Braithwaite’s tone didn’t change. “She was doing enough.”

You turned before he could say more, before Arthur could, too. You didn’t want to give either of them the chance to see what you were feeling.

But inside the house, up the steps, and behind your closed door—that place you were so close to ruining—you still felt the ghost of his fingers against your skin.

And for the first time in a long while, you wondered if losing your place might be worth it.

[valacre]

: ̗̀➛ Touch Her Soft Lips and Part

Optimus Prime x Reader - transformers prime

Tyres rolled silently despite the weight they carried; the packed snow did much to muffle him as he neared your home. The sky was a deep blue, and it reflected upon the crystalised snow around him, casting the world in an ethereal glow you’d told him was called ‘the blue hour’. It was beautiful, yet Optimus couldn’t admire it just yet, not until he reached your house.

Winter tyres had never crossed his mind. He hadn’t need for them in Jasper, and rarely did he ever have to drive on snowy or icy roads but coming over to visit you after days apart had been important as he’d grown worried for you. It wasn’t often you stayed away for so long, and if you did then you’d usually give them a call to tell them of your schedule.

The radio silence had gnawed at him, so now, after nearly accidentally sliding off the road as the ice and snow had taken him by surprise, he slowly transformed as your house came into view. The windows appeared mostly dark at first, but upon further inspection, Optimus could see a soft, warm light coming from within the entryway. A light you usually kept on whenever you went outside so you wouldn’t be plunged into darkness should you come home late.

In other words, you were not at home.

Optimus looked around, trying to see possible tracks of your car leading away, but the snow laid out from your garage was undisturbed. Looking closer, he found partially snowed-over footprints leading away from your home and out towards a narrow path leading into the forest. Relieved to see proof of life, he’d yet to set his concerns aside as the footprints were clearly a few hours old. There wasn’t a single cloud upon the darkening sky, and you must have been gone for quite a while.

Trying not to rush, Optimus slowly follows the path, pedes finding unsteady ground as he holds his servos out to push away looming branches on both tall and smaller trees. A few moments where he almost stumbles have him mumbling a few small words in Cybertronian. Not swearing, but merely frustrated by his predicament and slowness. For all that he knew, you could be hurt and freezing in the snow, and here he is stumbling like a young sparkling trying to take its first steps.

The path grants him mercy the further he proceeds as trees grow farther apart and the land opens, revealing a fully open expanse. Optimus takes in the sight that Earth offers him. A great lake stands frozen, stretching far out and over to the great mountain on the other side, its giant peak standing like a hook towards the sky. All had yet to release its hold of the blue hour, though it was the lake whose blue tint stood out the most, the thick ice full of cracks, and it sang as the temperature dropped with the approaching night; ice growing thicker still.

And there, far out in the middle of it, was you.

Moving swiftly and with the grace of one of Earth’s swans, Optimus watched as you spun and slid across the ice. Feeling confused as to how you managed to move so quickly and easily, he tried to look closer as you unknowingly came a little closer, and beneath your feet were blades, gliding effortlessly across the frozen lake.

Yet again feeling amazed by the creativity of humanity, Optimus watched in silence for a while, appreciating and admiring the sight of you. A long, white woollen coat keeps you warm, a flowing blue scarf adorns your elegant neck, and a woollen hat hangs far down along your back, a puffy, woollen ball dangling at the end of it. It looks handmade. It must be made by you, crafty as you are. He smiles, admiring you even more.

“Optimus!” you shout, startled at the sight of him as the light of his optics caught in your peripheral. You’re still far away from him, but your voice echoes and he hears you clearly. He’s sorry for startling you but the warmth that flows through him at the sound of you has him forgetting it almost immediately.

He doesn’t reply but merely watches as you come towards him, a precious flower not made for him yet still seeking his presence and touch. His digits twitch and his optics are soft, never releasing your form as nearer and nearer you come. He sits down on one knee, ice cracking beneath him but no water comes out; all turned solid so close to shore.

“What are you doing out here?” you ask, slightly out of breath as you come to a halt. Your cheeks and nose are rosy from the cold, breath is visible in the air, and Optimus takes a moment to admire the sight. Admiring the life that spreads warmth throughout your small body.

“We had not heard from you in many days. I began to worry something was amiss,” said he, still watching you. Some of your hair was hanging out, framing your face. The dwindling blue light cast you in a lovely glow, your eyes glittering along with the snow and ice surrounding you; perfectly made for the land you’d been born to. Unknowingly, he reached out a servo, and you took it without thought, shocking him and making his spark jitter as you suddenly kissed him, cold but soft lips touching the outer part of his index digit.

“I’m sorry. There was a snowstorm five days ago and I’ve had little to no cell service. I sent messages to Miko, Jack, and Rafael in hopes that they would reach you, but it seems that it was faulty,” said you, smiling regrettably up at him. “I didn’t mean to make you worry, Optimus.”

“You need not apologise, y/n,” said he, intakes deep as his frame threatened to overheat despite the coldness surrounding him, the touch of your lips warming him from within and out. “You did what you could to reach us. I should have attempted to contact you sooner. Forgive me for my lateness,” he said, and your face split as a fond smile stretched across your mouth and eyes, and softly you chuckled as, once more, you kissed his digit, and this time Optimus’s cooling fans kicked in as his spark melted.

“You are now and forevermore forgiven, Optimus,” said you, chuckling still and resting your cheek against his servo as he reached around to hold you. Your feet slid across the ice, and he glanced down.

“These… shoes you wear on your feet. They are adorned with blades."

“Ice skates,” you said, sliding your feet back and forth with ease. “We use them to better travel across the ice, or to perform, or to just play,” you said, shrugging your shoulders as a light shudder passed through you. Being still seemed to give the cold a chance to sink its claws into you, but you resisted when he attempted to lift you up and instead shot him a hopeful smile. “Hey, won’t you join me out on the ice?”

Optimus glanced out over the lake. “Will it hold me?”

“Yes,” you said, sounding certain. “It will. I know it.” And with that, you snuck out from his hold and far too easily slid out further onto the lake, and Optimus felt the need to reach out and grab you again, already missing your softness and warmth.

It took him a few careful steps to test the ice as well as finding how slippery it was, but one step after another he gained more confidence. It didn’t take him long to reach you in the middle of the lake, his optics trained on you as slowly but surely you were cast in a bright green light. Your eyes looked upwards to gaze upon the arrival of the northern lights, and your mouth opened slightly; awestruck.

“Oh, Optimus, look how beautiful it is,” you whispered, unable to look away from the dancing light above you. Likewise, Optimus could cast his optics away from the living painting before him. You, standing amid thick, cracked ice cast in a green glow from above, yet none of it drowned you out. Instead, you were like the stars upon the night sky, glowing bright with life.

“You are beautiful,” said he; unconsciously. Speaking from his spark.

You turned to look at him, startled by his words and frozen still by his intense stare. His optics, so bright and blue, were warm and lovestruck as he bore a tender smile upon his face plate, and your heart fluttered at the sight as your breath caught in your throat. And still, even as the flush of your cheeks was now a mixture of cold and heat, you smiled back at him, admiring the way the light above danced across his frame.

Words were thrown to the wind as eyes and optics stayed locked in silent whispers, and bladed feet hung in the air as warmth engulfed chilled skin, cradling it close and protectively as metal touched soft lips, locked in a moment of ancient and new affection; fragile, but deeply burning love intertwining.

Next Music: Scott Buckley - Hymn To The Dawn & Celestial

[cherrywriterrr]

where you are is home

warning?: blue collar rafe / domestic softness / suggestive at the end

you hear the door creak open at exactly 11:07 p.m.

you don’t need to look. you already know it’s him—because the room shifts. something in the air settles the second rafe cameron steps inside. it’s the weight of him. the gravity. the way he carries the whole goddamn world in his shoulders and still walks through the door like he’s starving for you.

the tv is still playing, soft flickers of an old movie dancing across the living room walls. but the second you hear the click of the door locking behind him, you pause it.

he doesn’t say anything at first. just drops his keys in the little dish by the counter like always, then leans down to untie his steel-toe boots, muttering a low, breathless “fuckin’ finally.”

you glance over your shoulder and catch him in the kitchen light.

sweaty. exhausted. his shirt is clinging to his back, damp with effort.

he’s got grease on his forearm, dried oil smeared in streaks across his hands and under his fingernails.

his work jeans are dusty, heavy with the grime of another 13-hour shift. and god—the hat. backwards. curls sticking out under the brim, his forehead damp, jaw stubbled and tight.

you swear he’s never looked better.

he looks up, eyes catching yours across the room. and then—he smiles. not the kind he gives anyone else. not the cocky grin or the bored smirk or the patronizing sneer he wears in public. this one’s soft. crooked. home.

“hey, baby,” he murmurs.

your heart fucking skips.

“you’re late,” you whisper, already curling your knees up on the couch to make room for him.

“yeah,” he groans, dragging his feet toward you. “framing went over. boss made us stay, said it had to be done tonight or he’d have my ass.”

he reaches you and kneels down in front of the couch with a grunt, hat tipping back a little as he drops his forehead against your knee. you bring a hand up and run your fingers through his hair, damp and thick and smelling like lumber, sun, and sawdust.

“you smell like… wood,” you mumble with a smile.

“pine,” he mutters. “cut beams all day. shit got in my hair, too.”

“you’re filthy.”

“mm. you love it.”

he doesn’t move at first—just nuzzles into your leg, sighing like he hasn’t breathed properly all day. his hands slide slowly up your thighs, rough palms dragging against your skin like he’s grounding himself. you can feel the heat radiating off him, the sheer weight of him. the need to press you under it.

you tug gently at the brim of his hat. “get up here.”

“not yet,” he says, voice low, eyes flickering up. “lemme just… stay here for a second.”

and you do. you let him.

because you know rafe. you know this is how he unwinds. not with words, not with talk—just touch. presence. warmth. you.

after a minute, he finally shifts, groaning as he lifts himself onto the couch beside you. the weight of him sinks into the cushion instantly. he smells like cedar, salt, and sweat. something industrial and earthy. something him. his arm slings around your waist without hesitation, pulling you flush against him.

you wrinkle your nose. “you’re gonna ruin the couch.”

“so?” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck. “i’ll buy you a new one.”

you laugh, and he hums, burying his face in the curve of your shoulder.

“missed you,” he says, muffled.

“you saw me this morning.”

“still. missed you all fuckin’ day.”

you run your hands over his chest, fingertips catching the edge of a sweat-stained pocket. “you been lifting shit again?”

“mhmm. three flights. no elevator.”

“jesus.”

he shrugs. “kept thinkin’ about you, though. kept me sane.”

you blush. even after all this time, even after countless nights like this, he still makes your stomach twist in the sweetest way. and when his hand slides lower, gripping your thigh with a bit more pressure, it only gets worse.

“you eat?” you ask, voice breathy.

he shakes his head. “just coffee. and a granola bar.”

you make a disapproving noise and start to move, but he tightens his grip around your waist.

“no. stay,” he growls. “please. just… need this. need you.”

you let out a soft sigh, sinking back into him.

his body molds to yours like it was carved to fit this shape—this spot on the couch, in the quiet dark, surrounded by the flicker of TV light and the hum of the old ceiling fan. his hands wander slowly, not sexual, just possessive. like he’s making sure you’re still here.

like he needs the reassurance that something in this world still belongs to him.

you lean your head back against his shoulder, fingers lacing with his. his other arm stays wrapped around your middle, thumb brushing the skin beneath your shirt.

he still hasn’t changed. still in his dirty jeans, boots kicked off lazily by the door. work shirt rumpled and riding up slightly. you can feel the dried sweat on his skin. it clings to you, familiar and comforting in its own way. real.

you press a kiss to his jaw. “you should shower.”

“don’t wanna move.”

“you’re getting the blanket dirty.”

“fuck the blanket.”

you smile, eyes fluttering closed. “so needy.”

“you like it.”

he shifts, suddenly—one arm scooping under your knees, the other behind your back. you squeal as he lifts you into his lap, settling you across him like you weigh nothing.

“better,” he says, voice low.

you’re breathless. “you’re insane.”

he just smirks, hat still backwards, hair messy and curling at his temples. “nah. just obsessed.”

he adjusts you slightly, palms rough as they slide up your thighs. the muscles in his forearms flex, and you trace the veins without thinking. he watches you the whole time, eyes heavy and dark.

“you’re mine, y’know,” he says suddenly.

you blink. “obviously.”

“no. like. mine.” his grip tightens just a little. “i think about it all the time. when i’m up there on the scaffold or carrying drywall or some shit. just keep picturing you right here. like this. on me. warm. soft. safe.”

your breath catches.

his voice dips even lower. “i’d kill for this. for you.”

“rafe—”

“not jokin’.”

you look at him, and the intensity in his eyes almost makes you squirm.

you reach up, brushing the hair from his forehead. “you don’t have to. you just have to come home.”

he nods once, jaw clenched. “always.”

his lips brush your collarbone. your neck. the edge of your jaw. not asking for anything—just there. you melt into him completely, and he holds you tighter. like something might take you away if he lets go.

his hands are everywhere now. one on your hip, the other tracing circles on your thigh. not sexual. not yet. just a man claiming his peace. the only place the noise dies.

you kiss him—slow and soft and tired. he groans against your lips, hands tightening.

“you sure you don’t wanna shower?” you whisper again.

“if i do, you’re coming with me.”

“that’s not a punishment.”

“i didn’t say it was.”

you bite your lip.

his voice turns rough. “if you keep lookin’ at me like that, i’m gonna make a mess on this couch. don’t think you want that.”

you laugh, burying your face in his neck.

“stop,” you mumble. “i was trying to be sweet.”

“i know, baby. i’m just sayin’. you get me too worked up.”

he breathes you in again. deeper this time. his hand slips beneath your shirt, fingertips pressing lightly against your stomach.

“love you like this,” he murmurs. “all soft and quiet and just mine.”

“you always say that.”

“’cause it’s always true.”

you lie there like that for a long time. the movie still paused. the world outside gone. just the two of you. his skin against yours, his smell, his weight, his presence. everything warm and real and achingly good.

his breathing slows.

yours matches.

and even though he’s covered in dust and sweat and sawdust, even though his boots are probably leaving marks on the rug, you’ve never felt cleaner.

never felt safer.

never felt more home.

tags: 🏷️ @rafesbabygirlx @rafesfavegf

[cherry-jamm]

(Dream)

🍒 In his fight with Conquest Mark remembers what, or who, he’s fighting for

🍒 word count: 1.3k

🍒 warnings: angst, but also fluff, but in an angsty way ig, violence 

🍒 I’m a fluff hoe thru and thru sorry not sorry, also bro got punched so hard he had a dead wife montage of his very alive partner

(title from (dream) by Salvia Palth go listen!)

Each second that passed only served to intensify Mark’s pain. The rubble underneath his hands cut into his palms like small knives. Every slow drip of hot blood down his face burned his already bloody skin. Any attempt at movement was futile. His body screamed at him, all of his instincts warned him to get up and fly away as fast as he could. Yet, he couldn’t. His cheek dug into the cracked concrete below. Even the ground was hot as he laid there, like he was in a frying pan. 

The ground shook as Conquest landed near him. He didn’t even have to look to see the grin on the man’s face. There was no use trying to escape, but he did anyway. With the little movement he could make he attempted to crawl. He didn’t get very far before one of Conquest’s large hands came down on his shoulder. He flipped the boy over like a piece of paper and smirked down at him condescendingly. There was a stream of blood coming from his nose, but he didn’t seem to care. 

He raised one of his fists. Mark didn’t even have time to try defending himself before the punch collided with his face. The last thing Mark heard was a sickening crunch, likely from his nose.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

When his eyes finally opened he was back on his couch, a controller in his hand. Your warm legs were thrown carelessly over his lap while you talked about something Mark couldn’t quite remember. William was there as well, responding to something you had said sarcastically. 

It was as if his head was underwater. He could see, feel, touch, but everything was still so distant. No one else seemed to notice, carrying on with their conversations like it was a normal day; and at that moment it was. This was before everything. Before the entire world changed. 

“No, I think being pretentious about movies is a huge turn off.” Your voice finally rang out. “I’ve seen your Letterboxd, your top favorite is a French movie from the 1940s. I didn’t even know they had movies that old on there.” Your statement was interrupted by giggles, both yours and William’s. 

“You have Cat in the Hat in your top three, I don’t think you should have opinions on movies.” He scoffed.

“I’ve never not been entertained by Cat in the Hat!” You tried to reason, much to William’s unamusement “You could probably benefit from watching a fun movie every once in a while, instead of turning on La La Land whenever we try to have a movie night.” You huffed childishly. “I cried, man.” 

“I remember that, you did cry.” William chuckled. He turned to Mark, finally acknowledging his presence. “Please tell them that watching a serious movie won’t hurt them.” 

What did he say here? His mouth was moving but he had no idea what he was saying, like a muffled, garbled version of his own voice. Despite not knowing what he said, you seemed pleased by whatever it was. You stuck your tongue out at William who groaned loudly. Then you looked at Mark. 

His heart stopped in his chest at the look in your eyes. Your cheeks had to hurt from how hard you were smiling. 

“I knew you were my favorite friend for a reason.” You wrapped your arms around his warm body in a tight embrace. 

Mark Grayson was your favorite 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

His surroundings fade and blend like watercolors. It’s like floating.

He hadn’t even realized that his eyes were closed when he opened them. This time he was in a car, your car. The two of you were parked away from town, near an old church and a gas station. The sun had begun to set, casting an orange glow over the spring sky. The windows were down and the faint smell of smoke from burning fields battled the cherry blossom scented air freshener in your car. 

The sun kissed your face as you looked at him. “I love you.” You breathed. “I know it sounds stupid, and- and this might ruin everything, but-” Your knees were resting against the steering wheel and you looked away nervously. “But I do, love you.” You hid your face in your hands. Silence hung in the air. 

Mark tried desperately to remember what he said as he watched you fluster even more in the quiet. He didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry, I’ll drive you home.” You mutter. He saw the way your fingers trembled as they hid your face from him. 

“I love you too.” He finally found his voice. A small smile graced his face. “I’ve loved you, for so long now.” His sentence broke off with a laugh. You took your hands away from your face, looking at him with a bewildered expression. 

“Really?” Your eyes were lit up like a child’s on Christmas. A smile matching his broke out on your face. The two of you both started to laugh. “I-I thought you were going to reject me.” You giggled. “I was so scared.” You sucked in a deep breath of air, finally relaxing. 

“I didn’t know what to say.” Mark shrugged. “I thought I was dreaming.” Neither of you knew when you had gotten so close but now your faces were mere inches away from each other as the setting sun illuminated your faces. You made the first move. Your eyes closed and you tilted your head ever so gently. When Mark leaned in as well it was like nothing he had ever felt. It wasn’t like the nervous, inexperienced kisses he’d had before; this felt natural and right and perfect. 

“I love you.” He whispered against your lips as the two of you broke apart. 

Mark Grayson loves you 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

“I don’t want you dying out there.” 

For the first time Mark can hear before he can see. When he came to, he was in your room. Your plush blankets were underneath him and your head rested against his shoulder. He laid on his side. The side not against the bed ached dully. You were pressed against his chest, holding him while being overly mindful of his injuries.

You were shaking. Your hands gripped onto him like he might disappear. “I-I know that you’re invincible or whatever and I am so proud of you for being out there and doing good,” He noticed a small patch of wetness on his shoulder where your head rested. “But I need you here.” If it was even possible you held him tighter. One of his hands held the back of your head as he pressed his lips to the crown of your head. 

“Shh, baby, I know.” He whispered into your hair. “I know, I’m sorry.” In any other context you’d have found his cooing degrading. “I’ll be more careful next time.” You didn’t stop shaking though. Instead you continued to mutter panicked ramblings into his skin, your tears continuing to soak his suit. 

“I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose my boyfriend.” You sobbed, your words finally loud enough for him to understand. Her hand ghosted over his side, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind him why he was here. You were the one to patch him up. Mark could remember it clearly now.

Your first aid skills were elementary at best, and if Viltrumites scarred as easily as humans the stitches themselves would fare worse than the original gash. But in the moment that didn’t matter, all that mattered was you. You were there for him.

“At the end of the day I need you here with me.” 

“And I’ll be here, at the end of every day.”

Mark Grayson would always be there for you

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

[lqfiles]

PAY THE PRICE — 36. an overwhelming realisation

(wc: 2.601 but its worth it TRUST ME..)

it was only around 17:30 when karina, minjeong and you had finally made it back to your apartment complex. even though you initially didn’t plan on purchasing anything, you had returned back bags full of clothing and whatnot as the two had decided to shower you with birthday gifts. of course you had protested, they just didn’t care.

“my legs feel so sore.” you humoured in slight pain, leaning against the the wall of the elevator. “at least we had fun, right?” and minjeong was right. you responded back with a small smile and nod, changing your view to karina who was stuck on her phone. “who are you texting?” you questioned. karina hummed in response, looking up before pushing her phone into her pocket. “no one.” she casually answered back.

with sudden movement, karina had reached forward and tugged the shopping bags out your hands, leaving you barely any time to register it. “i’ll bring these to your room, minjeong has a present for you in her room so you should get off on the third floor with her.” karina suggested, reaching back to grab your purse too. the elevator’s door had opened, leaving you not much choice as karina urged the two of you out before pressing the close button.

you watched the lift go up to the fourth floor and turned to minjeong with a dumbfounded stare. “what was that about?” you mused with a slight laugh. minjeong smiled back at you, nodding her head down the corridor of the third floor. “lets go.” you wondered what both their issues were as minjeong was already walking ahead of you without any other words following.

instead of words, it was you that was following her and you couldn’t help but think there was something off about the silence minjeong remained in. you two reached her door and she turned back to look at you. “i forgot my keys at jaemin’s place, can you get them for me?” she requested with a slight plea, already holding you by the shoulders and pushing you towards jaemin’s door.

again, you were left with no other choice but to comply. jaemin’s room was right next to hers anyways, and you questioned why in the world she couldn’t get it herself. you knocked on his door, and the sound of muffled voices infiltrated your hearing before it went quiet. ‘come in’ was all you heard after, the voice being nothing like jaemin’s distinguishing one. you hesitated, but eventually opened the door to enter jaemin’s dimly lit apartment.

it took you by surprise, the way the dark room had lit up and a chorus of cheers erupted as you entered. your eyes scanned the whole room that had been filled by your 3rd and 4th floor neighbours, all carrying a variant of party decorations. you were even more surprised to see mark and rei, both of them pulling you into the room. “happy birthday (—)!” rei cheered, dragging you to the middle of jaemin’s living room.

at a loss for words, you just gaped at your surroundings, a warmth swelling in your chest. “this wasn’t needed.” you shied away, too embarrassed by all the sudden attention on you. mark, who had found a spot right next to you, threw his arm around your shoulder. “of course this is needed, i’m glad jaemin didn’t listen to your words.” you hadn’t even noticed him slyly slipping a party hat on your head, because something else caught your attention.

“jaemin? this was his idea?” majority confirmed your question, and mark added that ‘both jaemin and karina planned this, they really put effort into it.’ and the surge of emotions you felt as you saw jaemin exit his kitchen with a cake in his grip were enough to almost bring you to tears. he had placed the cake down on the coffee table, carrying a small grin on his face as well as a party hat of his own. his eyes locked with yours a few seconds later.

“(—)! i know you said that you didn’t wanna do anything for your birthday, but i thought it would be nice to spend your first birthday in this apartment with everyone else.. i even invited mark and rei!” jaemin rambled. “i hope you don’t mind.. i also didn’t have time to bake the cake myself so i hope you don’t mind cake from the-”

jaemin almost toppled over from the force you attacked him with. you hugged him with the biggest smile you’ve ever had, almost choking him in the process. “this is so sweet of you jaemin, both you and karina are the best.” you took a step back, placing a hand over your stupidly huge smile. feeling the arms of someone else around your shoulder, you were met with karina who planted a chaste kiss on your cheek. “happy birthday (—), i hope you’re happy today.” it was rare that you’d see karina smile so big, but the smile on her face as she squished you into her for a hug was something you wish you’d see more often.

it was enough to finally bring you tears.

you could hear both mark and who you assumed to be jungwoo, laughing. “no way you’re actually crying.” mark asked in disbelief, though the comforting feeling of his hand rubbing up and down your back showed that it was nothing more than a friendly tease. you really couldn’t help it, and as you pulled away from karina with your eyes filled with tears, you wondered what you had done to gain such friends who’d go out of their way to plan a surprise party for you.

“you’re going to make me cry too.” rei sulked, an endearing smile on her face as she hugged you from the side. jaemin agreed, and if you looked closer, you could see the way his eyes had threatened to gloss a little. he had walked over to you, wrapping his arm around you. “i’m glad you like it, once again happy birthday! and i’m sorry for all the trouble i’ve caused you but i’m glad you’re still sticking with me despite all that.” jaemin also wore an endearing smile on his face.

“this is getting sappy.” jisung cringed from across the room. haewon pushed him aside in return, kissing her teeth at his remark. “let them have their little sentimental moment before we celebrate her birthday.” she muttered warningly. “happy birthday (—)!” isa exclaimed, and a chain reaction of birthday wishes from the rest soon followed after.

“lets cut the cake now.” mark announced right after, already reaching down to the coffee table. jaemin had left your side and rushed to the kitchen to get the utensils as well as paper boards. it gave you time to take a look at the room, it was decorated nicely and everyone was seemingly enjoying their time as they conversed over the soft music playing in the background.

it was too perfect to be to true, though something felt missing. someone was definitely missing.

“we invited him but he said he had other plans, don’t think too much about it.” as if she could read your mind, rei who was still beside you reassured you with a rub to your shoulder. your head turned to her, surprised that she could tell that you were specifically looking for him. you nodded in acceptance. she was right, after all, today was about you, donghyuck shouldn’t be a thought when you were surrounded by all the people you loved.

but it wasn’t that easy, and every now and then, your mind would wander to donghyuck’s whereabouts, as well as his words. he said he would remember your birthday, and all you could wonder for the remainder of the night was how much truth those words really held.

“so i just knock on her door and give her this and the letter?” jaehyun repeated in confirmation, and donghyuck nodded. “just wish her a happy birthday. you can improvise the rest.” donghyuck instructed while he stood in front of jaehyun, grabbing onto his hand before sliding an envelope into it. “tell her to not read it until you’re gone.”

“and do you want me to tell her this is your doing?” jaehyun asked as he started to step towards the door. donghyuck thought about it for a while, before shrugging. “only if she asks.” the response made jaehyun laugh, who’s hand was now on the door handle. “she’s not gonna believe her eyes.” donghyuck claimed with a grin, checking the time on his phone. “i think she came back upstairs like twenty minutes ago, you can go now.” haechan walked over towards jaehyun before patting him on the back. it was their last interaction before jaehyun exited the door and turned to stand right in front of yours.

in those twenty minutes in your room, you had time to come down from the high you were on. you had checked your phone to see if donghyuck had texted you anything, the time already nearing 11 pm, but there was nothing, and you’re not sure if you expected it or are disappointed because you didn’t.

a knock on your door was what broke your train of thoughts, and your first thought was that it must be one of your neighbours. your second thought was unfortunately donghyuck, and it was probably that assumption that made you rush to your front door, heart beating in what you sadly can only assume was excitement.

it wasn’t donghyuck, though you wished it was him even more now. you could feel your stomach drop as you stood face to face with none other than jaehyun himself, the guy carrying a soft smile which displayed his dimples. your heart went from not beating at all, to beating erratically, your breath being anything but regular. were you perhaps dreaming? “you’re (—) right?”

so you were not dreaming. the realisation caused panic to form in your body, your eyes widened in the process. “you’re kidding me..” you muttered. jaehyun found it quite humorous and chuckled at your state. “i heard a lot of nice things about you from mark. its nice to finally meet you.” jaehyun’s words caused your breath to hitch. there was no way jaehyun was right in front of you.

“i’m dreaming right?” you whispered in disbelief which made jaehyun smile. “haechan guessed that you’d say something like that. since it’s your birthday, i’m here with a signed EP, as well as a special envelope that you can only open once you’re inside. i hope you enjoyed your birthday and i hope mark or haechan bring you with them to my next concert, you seem like a sweet person. it was nice meeting you (—).”

it was truly too much to comprehend. you knew that the possibility of meeting jaehyun wasn’t slim due to your connection with both mark and donghyuck, but with their persistent refusals, it was merely a wish, not something you actually expected to become reality. and as jaehyun’s words sunk in, the mention of donghyuck’s name finally caught onto your ears, a subconscious smile forming in your face from it.

“thank you so much.. seriously.” you sheepishly thanked him and jaehyun nodded, taking a step back before his hand motioned into a small wave. “its nothing, i hope you enjoy the rest of your night, happy birthday.” jaehyun bid his farewells before he turned around, leaving you inside your apartment, still not grasping the unreal experience.

you closed the door to your apartment and looked down and the items in your hands. you placed the EP carefully down before opening the envelope. the whole day was full of surprises and you were once again filled with surprise as you pulled out a small paper sheet, containing a hand written letter. the hand writing reminded you of a familiar one that you had seen before. your eyes raked over the words that donghyuck had written to you, a stupid grin stuck on your face as you did so. you weren’t even aware of how hot your body had started to feel, or how your stomach had started to tingle at the stupid words he wrote.

your feet carried you on its own and you exited your apartment with urgent steps. your hand had reached up to knock on donghyuck’s door, and as if he could sense your presence, it had opened after the second knock.

you remember the first time you met donghyuck. he wore a simple white shirt and black shorts as well as his black framed glasses, sporting copper brown hair as he opened the door for you. you remember the resentment you felt when despite his good looks, he was an asshole to you at that time.

now, stood in front of you with the same identical attire he wore that night, you felt nothing but butterflies growing in your stomach as donghyuck looked at you with a smile you could only describe as fondness. “happy birthday sweetheart, did you like my present?” you couldn’t even be annoyed at the teasing tone in his voice, or the use of that nickname you had started to grow fond of.

all you could do was lean forward and wrap your arms around him without any warning. donghyuck stumbled back, taken aback by the sudden affection but quickly reciprocated by wrapping his own arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. and if your heart wasn’t beating like crazy itself, you’d be able to feel the way donghyuck’s heartbeat matched yours perfectly.

“what’s this about?” donghyuck chuckled, remaining his hold on you. you removed yourself from the crook of his neck and took a step back, though donghyuck’s arms remained around your waist to keep you close. you had to physically hold your smile back, not wanting to go overboard. “thank you… that was really nice of you.” you whispered, too scared that your emotions would be overwhelming if you spoke any louder.

donghyuck shrugged, looking at you in amusement. “its nothing. you said you wanted to meet him so here we are.” it felt like the more he spoke, the more your body tingled and heated up. you didn’t even know how to respond back to what he said, which allowed him to continue his words. “now that you met him, does that mean you’ll finally get over this crush you have on him?”

his words were meant to be a joke, simply referencing your previous conversation. but as you continued to stare at him, taking in just how… beautiful he looked up close like this as well as the way your heart wouldn’t stop beating, there was already an answer going through your head.

you think you already have.

your brain wasn���t in the right place, and your body moved before your thoughts did. you leaned closer to him and without much thought, placed your lips on donghyuck’s. it was nothing more than a peck because your mind had registered what you had done. you’re not quite sure why you did it, maybe it was because of the overwhelming excitement you felt, or the gratitude you had, or maybe it was the fact that he had been eyeing your lips for the past five seconds leading up to that.

your excuses didn’t matter, because just as you pulled away, donghyuck pulled you right back in himself, kissing you in the halls of the 4th floor with his hand on your jaw, so soft and delicate that you thought you were dreaming.

you had definitely gotten over jaehyun.

bonus! (haechan’s love letter draft)

previous — master list — next

notes ; happy late mark day 🥳🎊 as celebration we got… ynhae realising their feelings after 36 chapters? POP THE CHAMPAGNE AND FIRE THE FIREWORKS 🔥🎉🥳🎊🍾

TAGLIST ; @90s-belladonna @pnkified @2jisungs @swee7dream @sinisxtea @en-dream @h-aecat @lostinneocity @sunflowerbebe07 @pookime @aerivrs @alethea-moon @hcvenue @prettyrenjunn @manooffline @bath1lda @hyejooistic @emvrd @dojaejunging @odxrilove @hyuckluvr-com @jaeims @ihyucksol @tddyhyck @dalsosapple @https-yeonjun @luvlyrenwoo @yoursyuno @lilacsxjoon @heymsperfectlyfine @mystverse @ne0c0r3 @casperbutnot-theghost @hyuckies18 @w3bqrl @ckline35 @nosungluv @luvvsnae @chcnlcs @cryingforgyu @thatgirlkay @222brainrot @junviadinho @n0hyuck @sinsgaybutthatsokay @choerubies @goldustupmysea @cyber-innie @hyunjungjae @blamemef0rit @lowkeychenle @lecheugo

[pukefactory]

This isn't a request, just a thing I thought of because I'm absolutely ill about DBBQ Ena

So you know the solider Ena theory? Imagine her with an entity/person/whoever who's reminiscent of a war medic

AGAIN NOT A REQUEST I'm just so ill about her and your headcannons/fics have given me life wjnwksnsndhjrjd

(Also hope you're having a good day!! :3)

I hope you’re having a good day, too! Oh, this is actually a really interesting idea—I should make a full post about it soon! I really like it, so here’s a more narrative response to your question that I quickly jotted down (a mini fic, if you will).

It’s like this: ENA was made to kill. She was good at it, and that’s the worst part—no one hates a killer like one who was efficient. She doesn’t quite remember if she signed up for the job or if the war signed her, but her sales pitch has always sounded a lot like a mission briefing. “Aim for the target.” “Pending business.” “Strategic acquisition.” Orders. Always orders.

And then there’s you.

You show up to patch up a scratched-up cog in a world no longer spinning. You’re too gentle, too calm, all wrong for this stage—and still, somehow, exactly what the soldier needed. You carry a tiny satchel of thread and gauze like it’s sacred. You say things like, “Hold still, this might sting,” and, “You’re safe now,” like anyone could be safe with her around.

Salesperson ENA babbles through the pain. She calls it “emotional inventory management,” but you recognize it for what it is: an unraveling. “You know, I used to be extremely productive in situations like this,” she laughs while blood seeps from green cracks. “I could unalive a dozen insurgents before my first coffee!”

You don’t laugh.

Meanie ENA flinches. “Tch. Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I enjoyed it. That’s—THAT’S A LIE, SHUT UP! I was built for it! I was—I was…”

You bandage her mouth shut, gently.

ENA doesn’t cry. Not because she’s strong, but because soldiers forget how. Instead, she slumps forward, hat tipping down, heavy with imagined bullets and words that can’t be unsaid. Her arms fall limp. Her claws twitch. “I’m not doing anything at all,” she whispers from beneath the dressing, muffled and small.

The room doesn’t answer. But you do.

You brush a finger beneath her eye, where war never quite wiped the tears clean. “You don’t have to now.”

And ENA—this strange thing, this contradiction, this ruin in a military cap—just sits there, staring, as though she doesn’t know whether to shoot you or follow you.

(She does the latter. Quietly. With her head low and arms trailing behind, as if guilt were gravity. And when you reach back without looking and hold her hand, neither of you speak.)

[inseobts]

HALLOO

Can I request Luffy's S/O have a special magic and this magic is his own toy universe😭🙏🏻Almost the same as Dorothy Unshworth's magic world, everything she imagines there happens and she controls it with her will

A World for You

luffy x gn!reader

a/n: tried not to spoiler myself black clover so I tried with the small info I got, hope it's good anyway.

words count: 1.1k

tags: fluffy, sfw, humour

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

Luffy lounges on the deck of the Sunny, arms folded behind his head, a lazy grin stretching across his face. The ocean breeze ruffles his messy black hair, and the golden sunset casts a warm glow over everything. His hat tilts slightly, barely hanging onto his head.

You sit beside him, watching the waves, but your mind is elsewhere. You drum your fingers against the wooden floor, hesitant.

Luffy cracks open one eye “You’re thinking too hard” he says, stretching like a cat.

You bite your lip “I wanna show you something.”

His eyes light up “Ohhh! A secret?”

“Kind of.” You take a deep breath, then lift your hands. The air around you shimmers, like heat waves bending reality. Luffy watches, fascinated, as the world around him shifts. The deck disappears. The ocean, the ship, the sky, everything dissolve into a vast, infinite space.

Then, in an instant, colors bloom. A bright blue sky, a candy-pink sun, floating islands covered in oversized fruit, rivers of golden honey. Giant rubber ducks bounce across the air like balloons. A floating sign appears in front of Luffy in bold, sparkly letters:

WELCOME TO MY WORLD, LUFFY!

Luffy jumps to his feet, his mouth hanging open “WHAT IS THIS?!?”

You laugh “My magic. I can create anything I imagine here.”

Luffy whirls around, eyes darting everywhere “So, this is like…your own universe?”

“Exactly. And here, I make the rules.” With a snap of your fingers, a banquet table appears, stacked high with plates of meat, towering burgers, and barrels of soda.

Luffy gasps “MEAT!!” Without hesitation, he launches himself at the food, stuffing his mouth like a starved man “Thish is awshum!” he says, voice muffled by meat.

You grin, pleased with his reaction “I thought you’d like it.”

Luffy swallows and grins at you, his cheeks stuffed “I LOVE IT! Can I do stuff too?”

“You can try,” you tease.

His face scrunches in concentration “Hmm…I want…a GIANT MEAT TREE!”

You snap your fingers, and immediately, a colossal tree sprouts from the ground. Instead of leaves, massive roasted meats dangle from the branches. Luffy’s jaw drops.

“Y/N, I WANNA LIVE HERE!”

You laugh, but warmth spreads in your chest. He’s always so genuine, so effortlessly happy.

Luffy jumps onto one of the branches, tearing off a chunk of meat the size of his head. He looks down at you with an enormous grin “This is the best place ever! You’re amazing, Y/N!”

Your heart flutters “I’m glad you think so.”

Luffy suddenly drops down in front of you, his face inches from yours “So, if you control everything here…that means you can make ANYTHING happen?”

You raise an eyebrow “Yeah?”

His grin turns mischievous “Can you make me Pirate King right now?”

You snort “Nice try, Captain. You gotta earn that yourself.”

“Aww, c’mon! Just for a little bit?” He pouts, but it quickly turns into a laugh “Nah, I’ll do it myself! But this world is AWESOME! Can we come here all the time?!”

You smile softly “Of course. This world is for you, Luffy. Anytime you want.”

Luffy stares at you, eyes wide and bright, before suddenly pulling you into a tight hug “I love you so much, Y/N!”

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat. He’s so close, warm and real, and his words hit you harder than any storm.

Then he pulls back, still grinning “Now make me a meat throne!”

You laugh, snapping your fingers “Your wish is my command, my king.”

Luffy plops down on his brand-new meat throne, sprawling across it like he owns the place. He takes a giant bite of meat, his eyes practically sparkling as he chews “This is the best,” he mumbles through his full mouth “You’re the best, Y/N!”

You chuckle, watching him with fondness “Glad you like it, Captain.”

Luffy suddenly stops eating and stares at you, his grin softening “This place is like…your heart, right?”

You blink “Huh?”

He waves his meat around as he talks “I mean, this world. It’s made by you, shaped by you. So it’s kinda like…being inside your heart.” He grins wider, leaning forward “That means I’m the only one who gets to see it, right?”

Your cheeks heat up “Y-Yeah. I’ve never shown anyone else before.”

Luffy’s expression changes—still happy, but there’s something deeper in his gaze “That makes it even cooler.” He taps his chest “Because that means this place is just for me.”

Your heart flutters. He’s so simple, so straightforward, yet his words hit straight into your soul.

Luffy stretches out his arm without thinking and pulls you onto the throne with him. You yelp as you land beside him, your shoulder pressed against his.

“Hey—!”

He just laughs, wrapping an arm around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world “If this world listens to you, then tell it to make the sky full of stars.”

You exhale softly, still flustered, but you lift your hand. The sky above shifts from bright blue to a deep, velvety black, dotted with thousands of glowing stars. Some twinkle like fireflies, others swirl in spirals, painting the sky in dreamy constellations.

Luffy tilts his head back, eyes wide with wonder “Whoa…” He squeezes your shoulder a little “Beautiful.”

You turn, only to find him already looking at you, not at the stars, but at you.

Your breath catches.

“Luffy—”

“You’re amazing,” he says simply “You make a whole world, and you still don’t see how incredible you are?”

You look away, flustered “I mean…it’s just my magic.”

“It’s you.” His voice is soft, but his grip on you is firm “And I love everything you make. Just like I love you.”

Your heart stops.

Luffy leans in, his forehead bumping lightly against yours “I love you, Y/N,” he repeats, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like he’s saying he wants meat for dinner. Like it’s obvious.

Your face burns “You—you can’t just say that so casually!”

“Why not? It’s true.” He grins, pressing his nose against yours “You love me too, right?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. His eyes are so close, so warm, so full of everything that is Luffy—joy, adventure, love.

You exhale, letting your forehead rest against his “Yeah…I do… idiot.”

Luffy’s grin softens, and without another word, he pulls you fully into his arms. His embrace is warm, firm, and unshakably real, grounding you in a world that is yours but now, somehow, his too.

“Good,” he murmurs, squeezing you tight “’Cause I’m not leaving.”

And in that moment, with the stars shining above and Luffy holding you close, you know—this world truly belongs to both of you now.

[hummingbird24220]

Not super Nsfw but reader being really comfortable with nudity so they go skinny dipping and Sanji is a horn dog about it as well as the other straw hats enjoying the view

(I'm trying to give nsfw requests but I need more guidance about what's allowed pls!)

Heellooo, i love nakey reader. yes yes yes.

Also NSFW - ANYTHING goes aside from non-consentual. I have a nun piece ill post so people can get the vibe. Literally, i will write anything.

Enjoy!

Beach Brains

Various!OnePiece x Reader

Slight NSFW - Naked reader - Boobs mentioned ooOooo

---

The sun was relentless, high in the sky and blazing down on the Straw Hat Pirates as they anchored off a quiet, deserted island. The crew had been sailing for days, and when Nami spotted the lush green trees and glistening waters, she didn’t need to say anything—Luffy shouted “ISLAND!” and that was all the decision-making necessary.

Everyone dispersed the moment the Sunny touched land. Some went off to gather fruit, others to nap in the shade. You?

You went straight for the water.

Without hesitation.

And without clothes.

“Y/N… ARE YOU—?!” Usopp nearly choked on his spit as you tugged your shirt over your head and kicked off your shoes like you were just shedding sand, not every article of clothing.

“Oh,” you said casually, stepping out of your pants, “It’s too hot for all this. You guys should try it.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You ran, full tilt, into the crystalline ocean and dove in, resurfacing with a pleased sigh and your hair slicked back like some sun-kissed sea nymph. Water glistened on your bare skin as you stretched, completely unbothered by the dozen eyes glued to you from the shore.

“…N-Naked,” Sanji whispered, already nosebleeding from the shadows of the palm trees.

“Wow,” Luffy blinked, “Y/N’s really shiny.”

“Why are you all acting like you’ve never seen a body before?” you called from the water, flipping onto your back, arms lazily sculling the waves. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just skin.”

“It’s your skin!” Sanji wailed, dramatically collapsing into a kneel in the sand. “A vision! A blessing! My pure chef’s heart cannot handle such divine beauty without seasoning—!”

“Calm down, Ero-cook,” Zoro muttered, one eye opening from where he was resting against a rock. He did glance your way, though. For several seconds too long.

Nami snorted from beside Robin. “I mean, they’ve got a point. It’s hot as hell. And Y/N looks like they’re living their best life.”

“Indeed,” Robin added with a serene smile, resting her chin in her hand as she watched you glide through the water like you belonged to it. “They’re quite comfortable in their skin. Admirable.”

Brook practically had hearts in his empty eye sockets. “May I see your—?”

“NO!” the crew yelled in unison.

Meanwhile, Franky and Chopper had wandered back from foraging and both immediately froze at the sight of you.

“SUPERRRRRRR—!!!” Franky yelled, striking a pose that conveniently blocked Chopper’s eyes.

You popped up again, grinning as you waved. “Water’s amazing! Come on in! Clothes optional!”

Sanji was already halfway to stripping when Zoro bodily tackled him into the sand.

“This,” Zoro growled, “is how people get arrested.”

“There’s no laws on this island!” Sanji shouted back, muffled by sand and humiliation.

From the water, you just laughed and floated lazily, sun warming your face, blissfully unbothered by the chaos you'd stirred behind you.

You’d stayed in the water for a while, letting the sun and salt wrap around you like a second skin. Floating, drifting, dipping beneath the surface and emerging like something out of a painter’s daydream. You didn’t even notice the effect it was having on the crew—or, rather, you did.

You just didn’t care.

Eventually, you wandered back toward shore, water droplets cascading down your skin, hair clinging wet and wild around your face. You walked up like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sanji was sitting with a towel draped over his lap and his face flushed so red he looked ready to combust.

“Ah—! Y/N-swan, p-please! Let me—! At least let me offer you this towel! No—wait—maybe a robe? A curtain? My jacket? My life?!”

You plucked the towel from his trembling hands and wiped your face. “Thanks, Sanji.”

He passed out on the spot.

“Idiot,” Zoro muttered, still watching from beneath the brim of his bandana. His eyes definitely weren't glued to the way water dripped down your spine as you turned.

“Want me to wring my hair out next to you?” you teased.

Zoro blinked. “...I didn’t say anything.”

You smirked.

Nami, fanning herself with a palm leaf, rolled her eyes. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Just being comfortable,” you said with a shrug, tossing the towel over your shoulder and letting the breeze cool your bare skin. “You all can wear clothes if you want. I’m not stopping you.”

Robin giggled softly behind a book she hadn’t turned a page in for ten minutes. “You’re causing more tension than a government bounty.”

Chopper was still hiding behind Franky’s arm, though every now and then he peeked and immediately shrieked, “I’m sorry!! I didn’t mean to look!!”

Usopp had climbed a tree “for lookout duty” and somehow managed to get stuck when his foot wedged into a knot in the trunk—completely coincidental that it gave him a bird’s eye view of you sunbathing on a towel with absolutely nothing on.

Luffy, sitting on a rock and chewing a mango pit, tilted his head. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Yeah, Captain?”

“Why don’t more people just go around like that?”

You stretched, arms over your head, not even blinking. “Dunno. Shame, maybe. Fear. But bodies are just bodies. I don’t have time to be embarrassed about something I was born with.”

Luffy grinned wide. “That’s awesome.”

Sanji, from the ground, mumbled, “I’m in heaven… or hell… definitely dying…”

“Pervert,” Nami muttered, throwing a mango at him.

But you? You just lay back on your towel, soaking in the sun, skin bare and golden, the breeze your only outfit.

And every single Straw Hat had to deal with the fact that you were either going to drive them to madness... or enlightenment.

The sun was dipping low, casting gold over the ocean like it was being poured straight from the sky. The water lapped gently at the shore, peaceful and warm, and the crew had finally stopped pretending they weren’t watching you. Most had just given up.

Nami was tanning. Robin was sipping something suspicious. Zoro had fallen asleep again, arms crossed over his chest like a cryptid. Usopp was pretending to clean his slingshot for the fifth time that hour. And Sanji? Sanji had reached a spiritual plane of nosebleeds and emotional instability.

And there you were—still naked, chest-deep in the surf, laughing your ass off as Luffy waded in up to his knees.

He couldn’t go further. Devil Fruit. Sea = death. But that didn’t stop him from participating in your latest stroke of brilliance.

“Okay, hold still!” Luffy shouted, holding up two seashells—each larger than his hand.

“Luffy, what are you doing?” you said through a giggle, already knowing full well what he was doing.

“You need a costume! It’s like camouflage!” He slapped the shells onto your chest with a sound that could only be described as wet clack.

“They’re not even symmetrical,” you pointed out, raising a brow.

“Yeah, but it’s funny!” he snorted, sticking a tongue out.

“Great,” you grinned, “now I’m mermaid-core.”

Sanji, from the sand, looked like he was about to die. “SHELLS?! SHELLS?!? ON HER DIVINE BODY?! WHO ALLOWED THIS?!”

“Don’t forget the seaweed!” Luffy added, holding up a long, slimy strand with all the grace of a drunk octopus.

“Oh my god,” you said, but you turned around anyway, letting him drape it across your ass like a seaweed sarong. “Am I beautiful yet, Captain?”

“You’re the hottest sea monster I’ve ever seen!” Luffy laughed so hard he almost fell into the water—and had to flail backward onto the beach.

Sanji, on the other hand, was crawling in the sand like he’d just seen the face of a god. “Please… please let me be the seaweed…”

“Back off, perv!” you called, striking a ridiculous pose. “This is haute couture. Luffy and I are revolutionizing fashion!”

“I call it Boob Armor Deluxe,” Luffy shouted proudly.

“Trademarked.”

“I’m putting this in the logbook,” Usopp said, deadpan, “as the moment the crew finally broke.”

Franky had already put on goggles and was sketching blueprints for a new “Seashell Suit Mk. III.”

Robin, as always, was serene. “This is exactly what I expected to happen.”

Sanji staggered to his feet, arms raised to the sky. “I don’t know whether to cry or thank the heavens. But I will paint this from memory.”

“Better memory than your cooking,” Zoro muttered, still half-asleep.

You splashed toward the shore, still wrapped in your seaweed fashion disaster, laughing until your stomach hurt. You flopped down next to Luffy, both of you soaked and glowing in the dying light.

“You know,” you said, grinning at him as he picked a crab out of your hair, “we’d make terrible mermaids.”

“Yeah,” he laughed, “but we make awesome pirates.”