#he needs rest and this was his way of telling us

[emptymanuscript]

I’ve been thinking about this a bit for myself lately. Because boy howdy is this me.

I’ve been pondering if I can teach specific parts of myself to emotionally regulate.

Partly this is because Anima emotionally regulates very well. Even when she’s unhappy, she can just kind of rock it. And she’s been experimenting with trying to soothe the rest of us when she’s not in control… I say as if she didn’t do that already… she’s been experimenting in her methodology of soothing. She’s been trying out what she does when she is in control even when she’s not. It’s definitely having some increased effect I think.

But then I am thinking the other way around, too. Since, even most of the time that Anima is in control and things are going well there’s this sort of constant tension and panic coming out of Imperius. So could Imperius do self soothing, calming techniques on his own?

And, at this point it’s honestly hard to tell. Imperius is certainly clever enough. I’m pretty sure he is controlled enough if he decides he IS going to do it, he’ll either do it or make it very clear someone else needs to get on the job.

I’m also not sure that I don’t gotta work on it. It’s very easy for me to confuse myself with me <_< look, English just isn’t good for this. Me as in the bus driver vs me as in the bus being driven. Anima, Imperius, and I are all bus drivers on the same bus which is me being driven by Anima, Imperius, and I… and sometimes others, too. I drive the most. Even though we are trying to have Anima drive the most…

Which I suppose is a pretty good argument that I should be trying it independently, too.

Yeah…

*feels my body get anxious for no reason* what is it boy, what do you see?

[camradacheri]

it’s flu season, baby!! and everybody’s sick!!!!

riddle: realized what was coming for him and locked in. his brain has information alphabetically arranged in filing cabinets. he’s opening the “common illness” drawer, getting his ass in bed, and quarantining. he has already requested the classwork ahead of time to stay up to date on his studies. he has created a strict schedule of hydrate, study, sleep, repeat. oh, but you wanted to check on him? NO!! HE’S CONTAGIOUS!!! you’re arguing through his door that it’s okay for you to come in for a second and give him some cough drops and tea and he’s truly touched that you care so much, believe that, but he’s arguing right back that you’re not from this world and this simple flu could be the end of you if you got it. IN FACT!! YOU!!! SHOULD QUARANTINE!!! now he’s texting trey to get your ass back to ramshackle.

8/10 patient, too independent and he won’t let you love him, puts you in sick jail 💔

leona: does not care if he gets you sick. well he cares, but figures he can double down on excuses to not do his work. “can’t go to class this week, i’m sick.” oh, he’s better now? he can go? what kind of upperclassman would he be if he left a poor, sick little herbivore like yourself all alone after you took care of him all week?after all, he’s the one that got you sick 🥺 yeah, he’s full of shit. you came to check his temperature and give him his medicine and he dragged your ass into his germ ridden bed and nuzzled his sweaty head into your stomach insisting he doesn’t need to take any medicine and that sleep will heal him.

4/10 patient, cuddles but they’re cold sweat cuddles and he coughed on your neck and got you sick too 😑

azul: sickness is weakness, weakness is vulnerability, vulnerability is what enemies use to take you down!!! he realized something is amiss health wise when his body did this weird thing where his lung tried to come out of his nose and he convulsed??? he’s read about this before?? he just… sneezed? calmly and quickly collects his upcoming coursework and hauls ass to his office and locks himself in there-no one will see him like this. you’re looking around all doe-eyed for him when jade and floyd, who have been told not to tell you where he is, tell you where he is and you walk in the door and he is just face down collapsed on the desk. you hurry over and put your hand on his forehead and one thing is clear to you, azul has the suds. he tries so hard to brush off your help but he’s so feverish, he’s not even making sense “what would you do if when you okay so he said yes would go?” what the hell is he talking about. he wakes up 2 days later to you gazing at him with a gentle smile while wiping his forehead with a cold cloth. he thinks he’s died and gone to heaven before all the memories come rushing back to him and he realizes he needs to get you to sign an NDA ASAP!!!!

9/10 patient, perfectly entertaining and behaved but is currently drafting ways to get you back under his thumb so -1 pt for his suspicion of you

kalim: OFFICER!!! IT’S HIM 🫵!!!! singlehandedly took down half the school by throwing a party aka SUPERSPREADER EVENT in the middle of flu season!!! he did not consider that aspect at all, he just wanted to celebrate scarabia student B’s birthday…bless his heart. anyways, kalim is sick, so is the rest of the dorm. you get a text from jamil that he needs you to “babysit kalim” for a few hours while he makes sure the dorm is taken care of. how hard can this be? he’s sick, he won’t want to do much. WRONG! kalim is one of those sick people who won’t rest!!! he has too much emotional energy and it’s overriding his physical needs!!!! he’s fatigued but he’s fighting through it to tell you the names of all his childhood pet birds! he’s dizzy but he’s still getting up to show you this cool new dance move he learned at the superspreader party! you have to beg him to show you it later because you’re almost 100% sure he’s gonna yak if he does it. you have to forcibly tuck him into bed and lay on top of him to make sure he does not get up again.

3/10 patient, ray of sunshine but was exhausting to deal with and gets you sick because you had to manhandle him 😷

vil: quarantines immediately. not just for the safety of others, but because no one will see him like this. the thought of someone seeing him when he has a feverish sheen across his face or hearing him choking to death sends chills up his spine. he texts his team to clear his schedule and he disappears from the timeline for 3 days. but you haven’t seen vil all day and that’s not gonna work for you. so imagine his horror when he hears a soft knock on his door followed by “vil? are you alright? epel told me you weren’t feeling too good 🥺”and it’s YOU!!! he sits up immediately, his hair on end, you’d think the girl from the ring was clawing at this door but no it’s just you, the tender hearted prefect who brought him vegetable soup and eye masks. he clears his throat “i’m a bit under the weather at the moment, prefect. nothing i can’t handle. i appreciate your concern, but you can leave now 😊” and successfully sends you away. or NOT! he hears shuffling outside his door and what sounds like you SITTING DOWN??? “it’s okay, vil! i’ll visit you from out here, so you don’t get lonely!” you’ve got to be kidding.

8/10 patient, complains about you continuously sitting outside his door for 3 days but doesn’t have rook throw you out because he secretly enjoys your company 🫶

idia: i know what you’re wondering. how did idia get sick? he never leaves his room? exactly!! HE HAS NO IMMUNE SYSTEM BUILT UP!!! THESE FLU STRAINS ARE FOREIGN TO HIS BODY!!! someone sneezed on his tablet and when it floated back to him to charge, the plague went off in ignihyde! anyways, acts like he’s dying. you go to his room at ortho’s request and open the door and you can’t even see him. is he even in here? wait if you look closely you can see that blanket moving. oh wait! it’s idia! he hasn’t moved in a day. it’s the saddest sight you’ve ever seen. “idia? …do you need some help?” “yes…go do my dailies for me.” you and ortho work in tandem to take care of him for a week, but there honestly isn’t much to do because he doesn’t get up the entire time.

10/10 patient, slept the entire time, stutters out a thank you when he’s better 👍

malleus: i realistically cannot see malleus getting sick. i feel like he would just dodge the flu particles mid-air?? idk maybe he gets a sinus infection from breathing in all that dust from his little abandoned building and gargoyle expeditions. okay, so he has a sinus infection. it’s not uncommon for you to not see him super often throughout the day, so you don’t know until lilia pops by and lets you know that tsunotarou is ill :( you go to visit him at diasomnia with some nasal spray and ice cream and he’s just posted up in bed sniffling in his jammies with this look on his face -> 🥺 it’s already the cutest sight you’ve ever seen but then it gets even cuter because he is so happy that you came to visit him he can’t help but smile! now he’s like this -> 🥹 lets you take care of him and make him sleepytime tea. he also watches all your favorite movies with you and thanks you for caring for him in his “days of ailment” ???

1000/10 patient, lets you help him, is adorable

[whatisthisdrea]

[PLEASE] Terry Richmond [Fic]

-Y/N is conflicted about her relationship with Terry. She appreciates his gentle and protective nature, which makes her feel cherished, but she also craves a deeper, more intense side of him.-

Y/N loves Terry. Loves how gentle and caring he was, how he treated her like something delicate, something breakable. But sometimes, she didn’t want to be handled like glass. Sometimes, she wanted to see what lay beneath that controlled, protective exterior.

She had asked him once—begged him, even—to be rougher with her. To take instead of just give. But Terry only gave her a patient smile, kissed her forehead, and told her no.

So she figured she’d make him show her instead.

She knew how crazy protective he was, knew how much he hated when she went anywhere without telling him. So she tested him. Pushed him. She had snuck out with her friends tonight, leaving her phone buzzing with unread messages and missed calls.

It was past 3 a.m. now. Her phone had been vibrating nonstop for the last hour. Terry’s name flashed across the screen again. Her friend nudged her, giggling. “Girl, you need to answer that before he hunts you down.”

Y/N smirked. That was the point.

She swiped to answer, bringing the phone to her ear. "Hello?" She kept her voice sweet and innocent as if she hadn’t just ignored his calls all night.

Silence. A breath—low and measured—before a voice rumbled through the speaker.

"Babygirl… Where are you?"

The depth of his voice sent a shiver through her. He’d never spoken to her like that before. Dark. Dangerous. Controlled—but barely.

She bit her lip, trying to suppress the thrill curling in her stomach. "Out with my friends," she said, feigning nonchalance.

Silence again. And then—

"Send me your location."

It wasn’t a question.

Before she could answer, the line went dead.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. That reaction was different.

Her friends widened their eyes, teasing her. “Oh, you’re going to get it,” one of them sang.

Y/N swallowed, staring at her phone. Her hands trembled—not with fear, but anticipation.

Terry was coming.

And she had no idea what would happen when he did.

Here’s the continuation, dialing up the tension, control, and dark allure.

Y/N’s phone buzzed.

Terry: I’m outside.

Her stomach twisted in anticipation.

She said goodbye to her friends, masking the nervous excitement bubbling under her skin, and stepped out into the cool night. The streetlights cast long shadows over the pavement, and there he was—leaning against the passenger door of his truck, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Terry wasn’t speaking. Just staring.

That look… it was different. It wasn’t the usual softness she was used to. No patient smile, no warm concern. Just cold, simmering intensity.

Y/N hesitated for a split second, feeling the weight of his gaze drag over her body, slow and deliberate. Her heartbeat pounded against her ribs. You wanted this, she reminded herself.

Terry reached for the door handle, opening it for her. His movements were smooth, controlled—but there was something in the way he did it that sent a thrill up her spine. Not an invitation. An expectation.

She swallowed hard and slid into the passenger seat.

Terry shut the door behind her before walking around to the driver’s side. The silence in the car was thick. Heavy.

He got in, resting his hands on the wheel but making no move to start the truck.

Then, finally—

"Is this a joke to you?"

His voice was low and rough.

Y/N didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

And then, suddenly, his fingers were at her jaw, forcing her to look at him. His grip wasn’t painful—just firm. Unyielding. His piercing blue eyes burned into hers.

"Answer me."

Her breath hitched. "N-no, baby…"

Terry raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. " You know better than to just run off without telling me. And then ignoring my calls on top of it?"

Y/N wet her lips. She could feel the heat rolling off him, restrained but simmering beneath the surface.

"Terry, I’m a grown woman. I don’t need to be told when I’m going out."

She was testing him now, pushing her limits.

Terry let out a quiet hum. A dangerous sound.

"Mmh."

That was all he said before starting the truck.

The engine rumbled to life, filling the silence between them. The air was thick with unspoken words, crackling with tension.

If you listened close enough, you could hear Y/N’s heart pounding.

And Terry? He just kept driving. Silent. Calculating.

The drive home was silent.

Y/N stole glances at Terry, but his expression never changed—focused, unreadable. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, his jaw clenched just enough to tell her he was still holding something back.

Her stomach churned with anticipation.

When they finally pulled into the driveway, she exhaled, reaching for the door handle, eager to escape the heavy silence. She stepped out first, making her way toward the front door. As soon as they were inside, she moved toward the stairs, ready to go up to their shared bedroom.

But before she could take a step—

"Stop."

Terry’s voice was low and firm.

Y/N froze, confused. She turned to face him, heart pounding.

"Go to the living room and sit."

There was no softness in his tone, no room for argument.

She swallowed, nodding slowly before walking to the living room. She sat on the couch, shifting slightly, her nerves dancing beneath her skin. She had no idea what was coming next, and that was what made it so thrilling.

Minutes passed. The silence stretched, thick with anticipation.

Then—footsteps. Slow. Purposeful.

Terry walked into the room, his presence alone commanding every ounce of attention she had.

He sat down beside her, finally looking at her. The usual warmth in his gaze was absent, replaced by something deeper. Darker.

Then, his voice—soft, controlled, but carrying an edge.

"Come here, baby."

He patted his lap.

Y/N grinned, relief washing over her. She crawled toward him, ready to curl up against his chest like she always did when he used that tone—

But the second she was close enough, her world flipped.

A sharp gasp left her lips as she found herself bent over his lap, her body draped over his thighs, ass in the air.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Terry ran a slow hand over the curve of her backside, his fingers tracing lazy patterns against the fabric of her dress.

"You think this is funny, don’t you?" His voice was deceptively soft, his palm resting heavily on her.

Y/N shivered, her fingers curling against the couch cushions.

A sharp smack landed across Y/N’s ass, the force sending a jolt of heat through her body.

She squeaked, her hands gripping the couch cushions as Terry's palm rested heavily on her. His fingers kneaded her flesh, almost as if he were testing her, deciding just how much she could take.

"You had me so worried," he muttered, his voice rough with restrained fury. His hand smoothed over the spot he had just struck, but there was no comfort in his touch—only control.

Another slap, harder this time.

Y/N let out a broken gasp, her body jerking against his lap. Her breath hitched as the sting bloomed across her skin, mixing with something deeper, something raw.

"I thought something happened to you."

Smack.

Tears pricked at her eyes, the mixture of pain and anticipation tightening in her chest.

"And you ignored my calls?"

Smack.

Her whimper was muffled against the couch, her fingers digging into the fabric.

Terry let out a slow breath, his other hand gripping her waist, holding her still. Keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

"You think this is funny?"

Smack.

"You think I enjoy having to track you down in the middle of the night, wondering if you’re safe?"

Smack.

A choked sob escaped her lips. The stinging heat spread, tears slipping down her cheeks. But Terry didn’t stop.

He didn’t care that she was crying.

"I should’ve dragged you out of that place the second I found out where you were ."

Smack.

Her body trembled. She could barely breathe through the overwhelming sensations crashing into her—pain, submission, the weight of his dominance pressing her down.

"I don’t ever want to feel that kind of fear again, Y/N." His voice had softened just a fraction, but the steel in his tone remained.

Y/N hiccupped a sob, her tears wetting the cushion beneath her. "I—I’m sorry, baby..."

Terry hummed, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over her skin. "No, sweetheart. You're not sorry yet."

He adjusted his grip on her waist, his presence swallowing her whole.

"But you will be."

And with that, he brought his palm down again.

Smack.

Terry’s hand came down again, hard and deliberate.

Smack.

Y/N gasped, her body jolting against his lap. Her breathing was ragged now, her fingers gripping the couch so tightly her knuckles ached.

But Terry didn’t pause.

"I called you over and over."

Smack.

"I texted. I waited."

Smack.

"Do you have any idea what that felt like?"

Smack.

Y/N let out a muffled sob, tears slipping freely down her cheeks. "I—I didn’t mean—"

Smack.

She cried out, her body trembling. But Terry was unrelenting, his large hand pressing into her lower back, keeping her in place.

"You didn’t mean to ignore me?" His voice was calm, dangerous. "You didn’t mean to scare me half to death?"

Y/N hiccupped, her legs weak, her body tingling from the relentless punishment. "I—I just wanted—"

Smack.

"You wanted my attention?"

He let out a low chuckle, his fingers tracing over the reddened skin. "Well, baby, you’ve got it now."

Her breath stuttered as he shifted her slightly, adjusting his grip.

"I don’t like being tested, Y/N."

Another smack. Harder. Sharper.

Her body shuddered.

"I take care of you. I protect you. And this is how you repay me?"

Y/N whimpered, her tears soaking into the couch. "I—I’m sorry, baby, please—"

Terry exhaled slowly, his touch finally easing, fingers smoothing over her heated skin.

"I don't believe you "

"Get up," Terry said, his voice softer now, but still carrying the weight of his unspoken rage.

Y/N stumbled to her feet, her legs shaking slightly. The stinging warmth on her ass was a stark reminder of what she had just endured—what she had secretly hoped for. She wiped at her tears, trying to regain some semblance of composure, and met his eyes.

Terry leaned back against the couch, his legs spread wide, and his gaze never left hers. "On your knees," he demanded, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

Y/N's legs trembled as she obeyed, sinking to her knees before him. The coolness of the floor tiles sent a shiver up her spine, and she felt the heat of his eyes on her. His hand reached out, and she braced herself for the touch, for the way his hand would fist in her hair. But instead, he gently stroked the side of her face, his thumb catching a stray tear.

"Look at me," he whispered.

Y/N's eyes snapped up to meet his, her chest heaving with sobs. Terry's hand wrapped around her hair, gently but firmly, and he tugged her closer, so that their faces were mere inches apart. She felt a thrill of fear and excitement race through her as she knelt before him, his hand in her hair, his eyes searching hers.

"You go be a good girl," he said, his voice a low growl, "and suck this dick. Then maybe I'll think about forgiving you."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise and arousal. This was it. The moment she had been pushing for. She hadn’t expected the sudden smack, but it had sent a jolt through her body, electrifying her senses. And now, his hand was on her jaw, squeezing just tight enough to let her know that this wasn’t a request. This was an order.

Her nod was more of a reflex than anything else, her body already responding to the dominance in his voice. The smack had stung, but it was nothing compared to the heat that surged through her when he released her face. She felt the warmth spread across her cheeks, her breath quickening in anticipation.

Without another word, Y/N leaned in, her eyes never leaving Terry’s as she took him in her mouth. His grip in her hair tightened, guiding her, showing her what he wanted. The taste of him was overwhelming, mixing with the salty tears on her lips. She felt a strange mix of fear and desire, her heart hammering in her chest.

Terry groaned, throwing his head back in sensation. The sound was like music to her ears—the sweetest reward for her disobedience. Her hands found his waist, her nails digging into his skin as she worked him deeper, her cheeks hollowing with the effort. He was so much bigger than she was used to, so heavy and thick that she had to use both hands to keep him steady.

His hips began to rock upward, matching the rhythm of her mouth. She felt his control slipping, his movements becoming more erratic as he gave in to the pleasure she was giving him. And she took it all in, her tongue swirling around his shaft, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make him hiss.

Y/N's eyes never left Terry's, watching the storm of emotions play out on his face. His pupils were blown, his breaths coming in ragged pants. She felt powerful in that moment, kneeling before him, holding his pleasure in her mouth. The ache between her legs grew with every gasp she pulled from him, her own arousal becoming impossible to ignore.

Her hands trembled slightly as she reached down, her fingers grazing the waistband of her strapless bodysuit. With a swift, deliberate motion, she pulled it down, her ample double D breasts bouncing free. She felt exposed, vulnerable—but the power was in her control. Her thumbs circled his cock, coating it with her saliva, before she wrapped her breasts around his shaft, creating a warm, tight channel.

Terry's eyes darkened as she began to squeeze, her breasts molding around his length. His grip tightened in her hair, guiding her movements, his hips pushing upward in a silent demand. The sight of him, lost in pleasure, his face contorted with need, was intoxicating. She leaned in, taking the tip of his cock between her teeth, swirling her tongue around the sensitive head. His groan was guttural, deep, and it sent a shiver of desire through her core.

Y/N could feel his cock thicken in her mouth, could feel the tension building in his body. She knew he was close—so close. And she wanted it. Wanted him to lose control in a way she had never seen before. She sucked harder, her cheeks hollowing, her eyes locked on his. The taste of him was addictive, the power in the moment overwhelming.

And then—it happened. Terry’s grip tightened, his body went rigid, and he came. Hot ropes of cum shot into her mouth, and she swallowed, the taste salty and bitter. He was still for a moment, his breath coming in harsh pants, before he pulled her head back, the rest of his release painting her face, her breasts.

"Good fucking girl," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. He caught his breath, his eyes never leaving hers, then reached over and grabbed the back of her neck. His grip was firm, possessive, and Y/N felt a thrill of submission shoot through her as he forced her mouth back down on his still-hard cock.

The taste of him filled her mouth again, and she took him eagerly, her tongue swirling around the tip, cleaning up the mess she had made. Terry's grip tightened, his hips bucking slightly. His hand slid down to the back of her head, guiding her movements as he pushed himself deeper into her throat. Y/N gagged, her eyes watering, but she didn't pull away. This was what she wanted—what she had been craving.

"I'm finna fuck that pretty little throat up, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

[achilles-rage]

Cookies

summary: you and buck bake cookies at 3am.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: hey... how y'all doing... i am finally making my comeback!! if you missed my post from yesterday (i answered a bunch of asks so now it's pretty far down there), i'm gonna be posting again, but probably less regularly. i've been stressing myself out i think by feeling the need to post a fic every 2/3 days, otherwise i feel like shit, so i'm trying to get away from that mindset, so i hope that less fics are okay!! i love and appreciate you guys so much!! anyway, enjoy<33

warnings: none, purely fluff, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

The light from the fridge casts a light across Buck’s face, harshly contrasting the dim light coming from the television as he opens the door to grab the ingredients he needs. 

“The butter needs to be room temperature,” he tells you sadly, glancing in your direction as he places the eggs and butter on the kitchen island. Your legs are dangling off the counter as you watch his every move, the cool counter pressing against the backs of your thighs in a way that makes you shiver in your sleepy state. 

It’s late; 2:30am the last time you checked, and you and Buck had the silly idea to pull an all-nighter, since you both have a few days off of work. Just like you used to do with your friends when you were kids.

“I’m sure they’ll be just as good. And, a lot better than store bought cookie dough,” you tell him with a soft laugh, rolling your eyes. 

Honestly, you’re just glad Buck has agreed to bake cookies for you this late. While you were watching a movie, the main character was making cookies, and suddenly you needed chocolate chip cookies. Like, immediately.

"Definitely better,” he says with a smirk, giving you a wink before pulling out the rest of the ingredients from the cupboards.

He helped you onto the counter before he began his work, telling you that he wanted to make them for you, and that all he needed from you was to sit there, look pretty, and keep him company. And with a face like that, how could you say no?

You watch as he measures out his dry ingredients, then mixes everything together, but he pauses every so often to give you gentle kisses, the ends of his curly hair tickling your forehead each time. When his hands aren’t somehow all sticky from the dough – you quickly learned how messy of a baker he was when you first started dating – he’d place a hand on your thigh, taking comfort in the warmth of your skin and the fact that he could feel the goosebumps under his palm. He always knows that you’re sleepy because you get cold, and your skin erupts in goosebumps.

“What do you think you’d be doing right now if we never met?” you ask quietly after a few moments of silence. He looks up at you from his bowl with furrowed brows, tilting his head to the side. 

“Is this the beginning of a breakup conversation?” he replies in a slightly teasing tone, although you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he studies your expression, and your body language, and your eyes.

Your eyes soften, and you immediately shake your head, giving him a reassuring smile as you hold your hand out. He reaches out for it, not letting it hang in the air for longer than a second or two, and lets you pull him forward until his body is positioned right between your legs, although with his hands all doughy, he opts to place his wrist under your palm.

“Baby, I have absolutely no intention of breaking up with you anytime soon. I was just thinking. How different would our lives be if we never met?” you say as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, letting your hands dangle behind his head as his lay on the counter on either side of you, making sure not to get your pajamas dirty from the dough covering his hands.

“They’d be very different. I’d be fast asleep right now, that’s for sure,” he teases with a cheeky smile. You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. It may have been your idea to pull an all-nighter, but he happily agreed that it would be fun. You didn’t even have to try to convince him.

“I’m serious,” you say with a laugh, leaning forward slightly, “I don’t know what I’d do if I never met you.” Your voice is softer now, a hint of vulnerability creeping in. You met Buck purely by chance, and you still think it’s a miracle that he took interest in you, despite him thinking the exact same thing about you.

“I’d be looking for you,” he says after a moment, shrugging as if it’s that simple. And to him, it is. 

Your eyes soften, and your head tilts to the side as your throat suddenly gets tight with your growing emotions.

“For me?” you ask in a teasing, yet slightly disbelieving tone, and he shrugs again with a nod. There’s no hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

“I’d be looking for someone who makes me happy, and who knows what I need without me even having to think to ask, and who is so beautiful that I can’t even believe that they’re with me. So, yeah, you.” You smile, feeling your face heat up. You can practically feel the love radiating from the deepest part of him and into your chest, and while your entire body suddenly feels warm, your cheeks feel like they’re on fire. Suddenly, you’re not so tired anymore.

“I’d be looking for you, too,” you reply, feeling tears prick your eyes as you lean forward and let your forehead rest against his. Buck has to keep a sliver of his mind occupied on not putting his hands on you, no matter how much he wants to feel your soft skin under his fingers. He wishes he washed his hands before coming over to you, but he wouldn’t have dared to let your hand stay raised in the air longer than a split second, just like he wouldn’t dare to part from you right now.

“Yeah?” he whispers, breathing in the faint scent of your body wash now that he’s so close. He wants to touch you so bad, and his self-restraint is wearing thin.

“Mhm. Except maybe without the snoring. I’ve never heard anyone that sleeps so loud.” You match his tone, letting out a soft laugh as he suddenly pulls his face back with a scoff, his brow raised and a smirk growing on his lips.

“Really? Because I seem to remember getting a text a few days ago saying that someone thought it was too quiet to sleep while I was at work,” he challenges, his eyes moving down to your lips for a second before moving back up to meet your gaze, the smug smirk still plastered to his face as you fight back a smile.

“I sent that in a moment of weakness,” you argue quietly, pursing your lips to stop the grin from making its way onto your face.

“Hey, come on, don’t pretend you don’t love it,” he continues, his hands now raised off of the counter and hanging in the air. They’re dangerously close to your waist; if he could touch you, he’d be tempted to tickle your sides to see that gorgeous smile grace your face, but he holds back. Instead, they just remain frozen, almost able to feel the warmth radiating from your soft body.

“I plead the fifth,” you tell him, reaching down and grabbing his wrists. You saw them out of the corner of your eye, full of dough and dangerously close to your pajama top, and the last thing you want to do is go upstairs and change.

You hold his wrists out between your bodies, and all Buck does is chuckle, rolling his eyes and murmuring a soft “brat” before leaning in and catching your lips in an intoxicating kiss. 

In the heat of the moment, you let go of Buck’s wrists, instead grabbing onto his hoodie and pulling him closer to you while your legs wrap around his waist, and he lets his hands go up to your cheeks. Neither of you notice at first, despite the sweet smell of brown sugar filling your nostrils, and he deepens the kiss, letting his lips work in tandem with yours as he savours the feel and taste of your mouth on his. 

Your noses brush against each other as you tilt your heads, and a low hum escapes Buck’s throat as his tongue meets yours when you part your lips. All you can focus on is each other as the oven beeps behind you, signalling that it’s time to put your cookies in, and Buck’s stubble scratches your face in a way that makes your head spin. You’re pretty sure the fire alarm could go off right now, and you still wouldn’t part from him.

You finally have to pull away to catch your breath, and when you do, you finally notice that your cheeks are now sticky. You giggle softly, and you can’t bring yourself to be upset with Buck about it. Not when he just kissed you like his life depended on it.

“Finish my cookies, Buckley,” you whisper after a moment of looking into each other's eyes, and then he finally pulls away from you, immediately missing the feeling of your thick thighs wrapped around him.

“Yes ma’am,” he murmurs, then dumps the chocolate chips into the mixture before mixing, humming in approval when they’re fully combined.

You take this time to wash the dough off your skin; not bothering to go upstairs to actually wash your face, rather merely using a wet paper towel over the sink to wipe off the residue. You know you’ll regret it later, but right now, you wouldn’t dream of being that far away from Buck. Not when the soft light from the tv mixes with the overhead oven light, and the soft sound coming from the credits of the movie envelopes the main floor of Buck’s loft and makes you feel so safe and calm.

When the cookies are in the oven, Buck helps raise you back up onto your spot on the counter, then makes himself at home between your legs, wrapping his arms around your plush middle and resting his head comfortably on your shoulder. You wrap your arms around his shoulders immediately, letting him melt into you as you wait for the timer. The steady feeling of his breath on your skin makes you feel even more at ease, if at all possible.

You don’t talk for those 10 minutes; you just bask in each other's presence. It’s past 3am now, you’re sure of it, but neither of you care. All you care about is how good it feels to be in Buck’s arms, and to know that you’ve found someone to bake cookies with in the middle of the night, just because you felt like it. Someone to bake cookies for you despite being so tired. Just because he loves you so deeply.

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[agwitow]

"Rumours are always so exaggerated," the boy said with a wry smile. "Ma might've been a heroine, but it's been years since she wielded a weapon."

The old woman frowned. Her eyes scanned him, head-to-toe. "You're too young to be her son."

He smiled. "I suppose getting rid of all of those soldiers and mercenaries stopped rumours from spreading about her other children."

"Other children?"

"I'm the third, ma'am, with two younger after."

"Huh." The old woman studied him again. His auburn hair wasn't a common colour, nor were the golden eyes, but the shape of his face, the way his smile lilted to one side, and how his eyes sparked with silent laughter were all-too-familiar. "Who is your father then?"

"The same as all my siblings. Ma and Pa are still as much in love as when they first ran off together."

"Huh..."

He chuckled. "Seems the rumours don't give any thought to why Ma ran off in the first place."

She smiled in return. "Seems so, lad. What brings you down this way?"

He scratched the back of his head with a sheepish grin. "Normally Ma and one of my sisters come by to get the supplies, but it's the littlest one's first moulting, so Ma didn't want to leave her. And the oldest two are away right now, so that leaves me."

"What about your father?"

"Ah... People tend to be frightened when they see him. Last time he went, we had mercenaries coming by for months. He was especially annoyed by that, as Ma was pregnant with the littlest one."

"Well, suppose it's for the best, then, that you came instead. Have you gotten everything you need?"

"Well... if you'd be so kind as to point me to where Missus Deirdre is laid, I need to lay the offering out before I head back."

She nodded. "This'll be your first time visiting your grandmother. I can take you there."

"Oh! You don't have to go to such trouble on my account! Just tell me where and I'll find my way."

"Nonsense. Deirdre was a dear friend. It's only right I show her grandson the way myself." She accepted no other refusal and called for one of her own grandchildren to mind the store while she was away.

It wasn't far, not after the distance he'd traveled to get there, but it stood apart from the little village in a copse of trees on a small hill, lifted just high enough that the sea was a thin, silver-blue shimmer on the horizon. When he'd paid his respects, he placed the palm-sized honey-oat cake on the stone marking her resting place.

"You'll be heading back then, I presume?" the old woman asked.

"Yeah. It's best not to linger too long."

She nodded slowly, her brows pinched as she mulled something over. "Lad, you let your mother know that those of us who still remember don't blame her a whit for turning down the king. Tell her Old Gwen misses her. She, and all of you, are welcome to come back. And even if your father's a frightening man, we'll get used to him in time."

"Thank you, ma'am. I'll let her know. Though... Pa is a bit more than just 'frightening' for most."

"Ah... a Northern Barbarian, then?"

The young man laughed. "No. Even they are scared of him."

She gaped at him in disbelief. "How can that be? The Northern Barbarians are the fiercest fighters for six kingdoms around! They only fear growing weak, the restless dead, and their gods!"

"There's one other thing they fear," he replied.

"Lad, there hasn't been a dragon in these parts for over a century."

"Well, I suppose that means the Northeners don't spread rumours much. Pa will be pleased to know."

She sputtered her shock. "Wha- b- wh... how?"

He shrugged. "They met while Ma was still doing all the heroine things. When the king wanted to marry her, they ran off together."

"But... that would make you..."

"A dragon-spawn? Aye."

Fear lit in her eyes and she took a step back. "I've meant no disrespect, goodsir."

He sighed. "You needn't treat me any different. I'm still Brianna's son. Deirdre's grandson."

She shook her head, hands trembling. "How could I dare?"

"This is why my sisters went adventuring with the Northeners in hopes of finding husbands. Just 'cause we've got scales and a second form doesn't mean we aren't people."

"Dragons are second only to the gods."

"Right..." he smiled sadly. "I'll ask you kindly to not spread it around, about Ma, Pa, and my siblings."

She nodded quickly. "Of course, goodsir! I'll not tell a soul."

"... Thanks." He paused, frowning, then pulled something out from inside his tunic. He pressed it into her hands. "Take this. You were kind and treated me well, even though I was a stranger."

"What is it?" she asked, opening her hands to stare at the orange-yellow rounded triangle. It was cool to the touch, like metal. The top side was as rough as stone, while the underside was smooth and pearlescent like the inside of a shell.

"A token. And a promise. I'll not cause you any harm."

Her eyes widened. "Is this one of your scales?!"

He scratched his head and grinned sheepishly. "Aye. Did I do it right? Pa said offering a scale as a sign of friendship had to be a serious thing, but it's just one of the scales I kept after my last moulting."

"I've done nothing to deserve such a thing!"

He shrugged. "Well now, isn't that for me to decide?"

She stared at him, emotions swirling across her face too quickly to pick them out.

"I'll be off now. And I'll tell Ma to stop by and say 'hello' the next time she comes out for supplies," he promised. "Until then, take care, Missus Gwen!"

With that, he turned and headed off. She could only watch his retreating back in shocked silence. Once his figure was little more than a distant blot of auburn, she turned to the grave of her friend. "I always said Brianna was a troublemaker, but who knew she'd run off with a dragon!"

"So where are you from, young man?"

"To the north, by the sea." "That's a good joke, lad. The only building there is that old cottage. They say some heroine gave birth to an illegitimate heir there and kills any man or beast that walks within a mile of the place. Killed the king's army, they say."

[sinofwriting]

Burning Satisfaction - Charles Leclerc (Dark Fic) (Part One)

Words: 1,177 Summary: People always said that Charles would do the right thing, they just never actually expected him to do it. Note(s): Slightly Dark Fic, Age Gap of 7/8 years (Reader is 20), Gasly!Reader, Reader is Pierre’s younger sister, barely any physical descriptors are given for reader so she could be adopted (as is usually the case for all my sibling!reader fic). Also Charles calls her ‘Petit’ because she is the youngest aka littlest Gasly. There will be a part two!

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“Cha?” He turns at the nickname, beaming at the girl.

“Petit! I didn’t know you would be coming today.” He’s unable to stop himself from looking her up and down, wishing the marks he left on her just yesterday were visible.

Her eyes dart downwards, fingers tugging at the hem of her top. “I need to talk to you.”

The quietness of her voice makes his smile drop and he sets his drink on the bar, wrapping an arm around her and ushering her into his bedroom on the yacht. Happy that everyone is still out on deck while he had left to grab himself a drink while taking a quick call.

“What is wrong, petit?” Charles asks, voice as gentle as he can make it as he guides her to sit on the edge of the bed, easily joining her, so he doesn’t have to remove his arm.

She takes a shaky breath, eyes focused on her hands that are now resting her lap, fingers twitching and he reaches with his free hand, stilling the nervous movements.

He says her name, her head nearly snapping upwards at it, the sound of him saying it nearly unfamiliar to her. “It is just me. You can tell me anything.” He squeezes her hands.

Another shaky breath exits her mouth and he watches as her throat bobs as she swallows harshly. “I,” she pauses, licking her lips. “I think I’m pregnant.”

His hand that had been unknowingly rubbing soothing circles on her back freezes for a split second.

“It’s just, I’m late. And I’ve never been late. And I didn’t lie about being on birth control, Cha, I promise! I know we used condoms and I don’t think any of them broke, but I’m late, and I’ve thrown up the last three mornings from the smell of eggs.” Tears are streaming down her face, her words growing more frantic, but he’s unable to speak. “But, please Cha, you have to believe me, I take my pill every day. At nine am, no matter what. I have an alarm set.” Her breathing is now choppy and he finds his words, shushing her.

“I believe you. I’ve seen your alarm, it is okay.” He soothes, lifting his hand from hers and wiping away her tears that are still falling. “Have you taken a test?”

She bites her lip, shaking her head. “No. I bought one, it’s in my bag, but I needed to tell someone.”

“So you came to me.”

She nods and it burns how he has to stop himself from looking satisfied at the answer.

“How about, you drink this and we will talk.” He reaches for the water bottle on his nightstand, smiling at the giggle she lets out when he has to lay flat on his back to awkwardly reach it while still keeping contact with her.

“You have options.” He says, the words burning, the idea of all of them burning him, though one for a very different reason.

“I know.” She says, after taking a drink of water. “But I want this baby, if I am. It’s just,” She pauses again, looking so shy and unsure it makes him move closer.

“What? It’s just what?”

She looks at him shyly, fingers back to pulling at her top before he intertwines them with his. “There’s a difference between having sex before marriage and a baby out of wedlock.”

His breath hitches at the words, at the shy suggestion. His want and satisfaction overwhelm him, his grip on her hand tightening, but before she can apologize or take the words back, he lifts her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it, hoping she can feel his love and devotion to her through the small action. “I would happily marry you if you are pregnant.” The last four words are forced out of his mouth in an odd way.

“I know how much your faith matters to you.” His eyes focus on the necklace she is always wearing, the cross hidden behind her t-shirt, a gift from Pierre when she had turned twelve. “And I would never ask that you sacrifice it like that.”

“It wouldn’t just be the baby if we were to get married. I, I want a real marriage, like my mama and papa.”

He smiles, “we can have a real marriage. I would not mind having one with you.”

“But if you found someone else?”

Charles shakes his head. “I don’t believe that will happen.” His voice is so firm, so certain, that he sees the slight uncertainty leave her eyes. “Now, finish your water.”

She immediately lifts the bottle to her lips and he has to look away before he smiles at the easy way she listened to him.

He is thankful it doesn’t take her long to have to use the bathroom and he watches as she gets up and goes to the small bathroom attached, the door closing with a quiet click.

As soon as it does, he’s unable to stop the wide smile that spreads across his face. Head dropping into his hands as he lets out a silent laugh. It had been a gamble if it would work, getting her pregnant. And really he is lucky, she was unlike Pierre, still unpracticed at sex at nineteen, or rather twenty now, and not realizing she should not feel so much leaking out at the end. But it worked. He had gotten her pregnant. Just barely eight weeks after the first time they had sex.

The flush of the toilet has him raising his head from his hands, body itching to stand and open the bathroom door, to stare at the test and watch as it makes his want for her to fully be his, finally be true.

The bathroom door opens with a small click and he smiles at her, opening his arms for her and she doesn’t hesitate, easily sitting on his lap so he can hold her.

“And now we wait?” He asks, running a hand up and down her back.

She takes a shaky breath. “And now we wait.”

The feeling of her in his arms is enough to stop him from going to the bathroom, to stare at the counter and watch as the test changes. It is all too easy for him to lose himself in her warmth, the smell of her, the brushes of her breath against his neck as she breathes in and out.

“Do you think it’s been five minutes?” Her quiet voice breaks the stillness of the room after a while.

“I think so.”

She’s slow to pull away from him, but before she can try and stand, he grabs her waist, keeping her where she is, before one hand raises to gently hold her face, eyes meeting.

“No matter what the test says, it will be okay. We will figure it out.” Charles tells her, waiting for her to give a nod before pressing their lips together in perhaps one of the most chaste kisses they’ve ever shared.

[rosiecosy]

come back home୨ৎ

(ot13 x reader) — angst, comfort

fights weren’t common between you and the boys, but when they happened, they always felt big.

tonight was no different.

you weren’t even sure how it started—something small, something dumb. maybe you were feeling overwhelmed, maybe they were frustrated too. but words were said, voices were raised, and suddenly, the walls of the dorm felt too tight, their voices too loud, the weight of their concern too heavy.

so you left.

you barely registered the way the door clicked shut behind you, barely noticed the cold bite of the night air against your skin. all you knew was that you needed space.

—

your feet carried you to the nearest park without much thought.

it was mostly empty at this hour, the dim glow of streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. the only sound was the distant hum of passing cars, the occasional rustling of leaves. it was quiet. peaceful. a stark contrast to the suffocating tension in the dorm.

you wandered over to the swings, hands shoved into your pockets as you let out a slow breath.

maybe you had overreacted. maybe you should’ve just stayed and talked things through. but it was hard—being the youngest, the only girl in a dorm full of overprotective boys. they meant well, you knew that, but sometimes it was exhausting. too many opinions, too many voices telling you what to do, too many people hovering, worrying, questioning.

and you knew they only did it because they cared, but sometimes… sometimes you just needed to breathe.

you sat down on the swing, the chains creaking softly as you pushed off the ground. the rhythmic motion was soothing, the cool air helping to clear your mind. you closed your eyes, letting the weight of the night settle around you.

—

meanwhile, back at the dorm, the boys were spiraling.

"she’s not picking up," minghao muttered, lowering his phone.

"maybe she just needs a minute," vernon offered, though he sounded unsure.

"what if she doesn’t come back?" seokmin blurted out, eyes wide.

"don’t be ridiculous," woozi sighed, though his grip on his phone was tight.

"what if something happens to her?" mingyu asked, looking way too close to panicking.

"okay, enough," seungcheol cut in. "jun, jeonghan, joshua—you check the streets. hoshi, woozi, dino—stay here in case she comes back. the rest of us will check nearby cafés or parks."

"we’re not splitting up like a horror movie," jeonghan muttered, but he was already grabbing his coat.

—

you didn’t know how long you had been swinging when you heard footsteps approaching.

you blinked, slowing your movement, turning your head just in time to see seokmin and mingyu jogging toward you, relief washing over their faces the second they spotted you.

"there you are!" seokmin huffed, hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

"we’ve been looking everywhere," mingyu added, slightly breathless.

you blinked at them, a little guilty but mostly just tired. "i was just getting some air."

your phone buzzed in your pocket—seungcheol’s name flashing across the screen. you hesitated before answering.

"…hi?"

"where are you? are you safe? why didn’t you answer your phone?"

"i’m fine," you sighed. "i just needed to clear my head."

"stay where you are. we’re coming."

you didn’t get a say in it.

—

when you got back to the dorm, thirteen pairs of eyes were on you.

seungcheol looked like he wanted to lecture you. seungkwan looked like he wanted to cry. dino looked like you had personally betrayed him.

"i was literally gone for, like, twenty minutes," you pointed out.

"twenty minutes too long," hoshi muttered.

"don’t do that again," jeonghan sighed, pulling you into a hug.

"we thought you left for good," dino mumbled.

your expression softened. "what? why would i do that?"

they all exchanged awkward glances.

"…because of the fight?" jun said hesitantly.

you blinked. "guys."

"you left without saying anything," joshua pointed out.

"because i knew i’d come back," you said. "i just needed some space, that’s all."

seungcheol exhaled, rubbing his temples. "just—next time, tell someone, okay?"

guilt crept in at the worry in his voice. "okay. i’m sorry."

they all nodded, still looking a little shaken but relieved.

"now, group hug?" seokmin suggested.

before you could protest, you were pulled into a mess of arms, warmth, and way too much body heat.

"okay, okay, i get it!" you laughed. "i’m not going anywhere."

"good," woozi muttered. "because that was awful."

"never again," seungkwan mumbled into your shoulder.

and despite everything—despite the fight, despite the worry—this felt like home.

[lethalchiralium]

Simon is a liar.

Well, it’s not that he lies often, but he does do it and you have no idea unless it’s with the girls. Getting them to sleep by telling them that they’ll get candy in the morning instead of eggs, telling them the tooth fairy has the day off on Fridays, and even telling his toddler that he goes and saves puppies some days instead of the world. He lies, but not without reason.

But as he follows you around as you shop, he feels the need to lie. Tell you that you look good in an ugly color dress just to get you to laugh. Deny that your grip on his hand hurts. Say that he doesn’t want another leather jacket, even though he does. He wants the one you keep showing him - nice detailing, shiny silver zipper, and thick lining to keep him warm. One that wasn’t ripping at the seams, has cigarette burns, or holes that dotted its worn flank.

“Simon, please, I just want to buy something nice for you.” You say, looking at him with those sweet eyes and genuine care.

He hates himself at that moment when he lies.

“I’m alright with what I got.”

The nod of understanding, knowing that pushing will not get you far, distressed him. He knows he shouldn’t be this way, that he should bend at the knees every time you even begin a sentence. But the leather jacket is something he can’t do that for, and he can’t stomach telling you the reason.

You pull out pretty dresses and tops to show him, he always agrees with the ones that make your eyes pop. Your hand squeezes his every time you walk back and forth in this little boutique and he knows quite well that you’re purposefully passing this perfect leather jacket multiple times. Exposure therapy.

He doesn’t like upsetting you. He knows you want him to have nice things instead of the worn down clothes he has, but he cannot allow himself to have better things when the money should be going towards his children and their needs. He can go without a new leather jacket, even if you had saved over the course of a year for it. He’d rather buy Winnie the dollhouse she really wants, buy Mellie the beanbag she always has him look up online, maybe even something for the baby like a new high chair. He could buy you a nice ring with that leather jacket money, even though you’d say no.

In a way, you two are the same.

You finally stop the games and stand next to the jacket, hand squeezing his impossibly tight before loosening. “Do you not like it?”

“It’s nice.”

“Then try it on.”

He shakes his head. “No, ‘m okay with this. We can use the money on you.”

Your shoulders droop, his heart hurts, and you softly murmur, “Why aren’t you letting me do this for you?”

He feels the need to lie, the itch that takes hold of his throat and shakes it. His head dips down, his eyes level with yours. “Because this jacket means a lot to me. Don’t want to start over with a new one.” Another lie, it doesn’t mean a lot, it means everything.

You stare at him for a while, digging in his eye with such a disappointed glare. Stiff, aggravated, but still docile. “What’s so special about holes and torn seams?”

“I first met you with this on.” He confesses. “First met Winnie with this on. Mellie fits in a wrap in it like a glove, and it was Tommy’s.” His hand comes to rest on your bump where the baby kicks lazily, your forehead rests against his.

In the back corner of a shop, he tells the truth. Says a prayer as he kisses you, thanks God when you finally see the ratty jacket for what it truly is - a symbol of loyalty.

Another kiss pressed against his lips before you move away, your hand brushes his hair away from his forehead before cradling his jaw. “That’s all you had to say. No more lies.”

Simon is a liar, it’s sometimes all he knows. A second skin, a way to protect the keloids made from wounds he suffered forever ago. But when he looks in your eyes, cradles your belly that grows his baby with a ring on his hand that matches your own, and lets you in his marred head, he can’t bring himself to lie to you.

“No more lies.”

[thegoodwitchsworld]

Can I request 40s Bucky crushing on a nurse?? <3 TY!!!

WAIT FOR ME

Warnings angst, fluff, idk what else.

A/N- Thank you for the lovely ask anon, I hope you like this one :)

You miss him. You miss him so much.

Bucky, who asked you out six month ago, and whom you've been dating ever since. And he's the sweetest, kindest man you've ever met, and he looks at you like you hung up the stars and the sun in his skies.

But you still haven't slept with him yet.

Not that he's been pressuring you at all. He's a real man after all- he just kisses you softly and sweetly at the end of every date, and to be very honest you've had dates almost every day since one month. Then he lingers at your bedroom door, smiling sweetly and flirting shamelessly while you nervously play with your hair, turning redder by the minute.

But you never invite him in, and he never asks.

It's not that you don't want him. Of course you do. And so does he. You see the way he looks at you sometimes, as if he would like to rip off your blouse, slam you down on whatever nearest surface is available, and fuck at least ten babies inside you.

It makes your heart stutter. And your panties a mess.

But you can't. You just can't. The risks are too high.

.

.

.

"Robert! We need more gauze here! 2 gunshot wounds!", you shout for help as you kneel beside the wounded man, pressing your fingers into his bleeding abdomen, making him wince.

"How are you doing soldier? I need you to stay awake for me, ok?" You tell the handsome man, whose face is caked with mud and crusted blood.

He jolts as if out of a dream, then slowly grins.

"Doll," he says in an unmistakable Brooklyn accent.

"I'm gonna marry you."

That was the first time you met Bucky. You were used to soldiers flirting with you, but the way HE said it made your heart turn somersaults on the sidewalk.

You blush deeply, turning away from him and signaling Gary and Mark to carry him to the medical camp, before turning back around.

"You should save your energy soldier," you tell him more quietly, a smile threatening your stiff demeanor.

"You can call me Bucky doll," he grins. "Or anything else that fancies your pretty mind".

His wink makes your heart skip a beat, but you roll your eyes for show.

"And you can call me never," you smirk as he blows you a kiss before being carried away on the stretcher.

.

.

He's sleeping when you return to the temporary shed the military has set up, a few miles away from the actual battle site.

He looks peaceful, and so, so beautiful. You feel tears pricking your eyes as you think about the dreadful fates of many of these soldiers.

He stirs in his sleep, his expression growing more troubled. You realise he must be having a bad dream. You lean over him, sitting at the edge of the bed, smoothing his forehead softly with your palm.

It's okay, you tell him. You're okay.

His eyes slowly blink open. It takes him a minute, but when he realizes it's you, he breaks into another one of his heartwarming grins.

"It's you, my angel!" He exclaims.

"You were having a bad dream, " you look at him gently.

He smiles softer now, looking into your eyes.

"That's because I dreamt I asked you out, and you said no."

You blush and smile at his cheekiness, shaking your head in mock annoyance as you turn away to tend to another patient.

His hand on your wrist makes you stop.

"Stay. Please."

His voice is raw with emotion now. You're surprised for a moment, before you gently unclasp his grasp.

"Sleep, soldier." You softly cup his cheek. "I'll be here when you wake up."

That was 6 months ago. He was so injured the military forced him to take rest. And you were so grateful. The day he got discharged, he took you out on your first date to a diner in New York. He was chivalrous and kind and funny, and he told you a million times how much he loved you.

And you couldn't say it back even once.

You touch your hair and smoothen your dress one last time. Bucky's going to be here any minute. You both decided to stay in tonight, his last day before he's shipped off to battle tomorrow.

When the bell rings, you fly down the stairs two at a time and open the door to rush into his arms.

"Whoa," he chuckles. "Somebody was really excited to see me huh?"

You don't bother replying as you bury your nose in his leather jacket, inhaling his scent so that you can fill your lungs with him. His arms wrap around you tight, crushing you against his chest.

When you finally lean back and kiss him, he chuckles as he lifts you up and carries you inside.

"If you had your way doll, you'd keep me standing on the doorway kissing you forever," he teases you.

if you had your way, you would never let him leave. But you don't tell him that.

instead, you just say, "I cooked for you, soldier".

Bucky smiles and pulls you into his lap, kissing every inch of bare skin he can find.

"You're so good to me doll," he tells you. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

.

.

.

"you're so good to me doll," Bucky grins as you gently wipe his face clean of sweat and dust. You smirk at him, rolling your eyes.

"I do this for everyone, soldier", you tell him.

"Yeah, but only I am going to marry you," he says with complete confidence that both turns you on and makes you blush and giggle like a schoolgirl.

He always calls you doll, because "You have eyes like a doll, and you wear clothes like a doll, and you look like a doll..."

"Shut up soldier", you'd blush and swat at his chest playfully, and he always catches your hand in his kissing your fingers softly with that look on his face, daring you to try and deny him what's his.

And you always call him soldier.

You both lie quietly on the couch after dinner, you on top of him, his fingers carding through your curls gently. You play with his dog tags, and he keeps kissing you every few minutes. The radio plays somewhere, a sweet love song.

"What are you thinking, doll?" He asks you quietly, stroking your soft cheek.

"Nothing," you reply. Only that you'll leave me tomorrow.

"Liar", he tells you, kissing your nose. "I'll tell you what i am thinking. When i come home the next time, I am gonna put a ring on your finger and at least ten babies in your belly. And we are gonna be husband and wife and we will grow old together and-"

"Stop soldier," you whisper, putting a finger on his lips, which he promptly starts nibbling, making you giggle before you recompose yourself.

"I am serious though. Nobody knows what tomorrow will bring," you continue softly.

"No, but mine lies with you," he says, his eyes glinting with a determination that scares you.

You both fall asleep that way. You still don't invite him to your bed, and he still doesnt ask.

The next morning he leaves for his mission. You wonder if it's odd that when he kisses you he tastes of desire and longing and promises, when all you can feel is regret and fear and apprehension. You hide your tears behind your polka-dotted handkerchief, waving to him as he boards the ship. He gets on, then runs back to you quickly for a brief moment, dipping you back in his arms and kissing you one last time.

"Wait for me, doll," he winks.

.

.

.

.

3 years later

War has ended, but its remnants hang in the air still, like the smell of cheap perfume in an elevator long after its wearer has left. The streets are full of men who are suddenly too many, and the jobs too few. Women try to keep up with their old jobs and their newly returned husbands. And your hospital is full of patients, some of them severely disfigured. But everything is much more cheerful now, because people have hope for a better tomorrow.

That is, everyone except you.

You lean over the young man, wiping his arm softly with wet cotton before you plunge an injection in it.

"Nurse Y/N?"

You turn around to find Mary, your colleague at the end of the bed. She walks over to you, taking the injection from your hand.

"I'll handle this," she cheerfully tells you. "You go take a break."

You're slightly confused, but you shrug and thank her and walk to the next patient.

"Doll?"

The familiar voice calls out to you.

You stop dead in your tracks, before slowly turning around to face him. Your hands are already trembling. And it's him.

Your soldier.

Your Bucky.

He looks older. And he has a metal arm..? And his face looks rougher and darker and unshaven. And he's the most beautiful man you have ever seen. Your body reacts to him before your brain can process the shock, so you run and throw yourself into his arms and then burst into tears a second later.

I love you Bucky, you whisper over and over. I love you.

They told me you were dead.

His fingers grip your waist as if he's clutching at a lifejacket. His arms crush you to his chest, and his tears soak your neck.

"I love you too, my angel," his voice cracks.

"I love you so much."

After an eternity of trying to fill your lungs with each other, you both finally let go, only slightly. You will never be able to stand being too far away from him again. And you know he's rough and broken right now, but you will help him smoothen the jagged ends and light up the dark places inside.

Then Bucky gets down on one knee with a ring in his hand, and you don't even bother to look at it before you crash your lips into his.

And now he tastes like marriage and ten kids and growing old together.

You get married the very next hour, and when Bucky carries you over the threshold in his arms, you dont have to invite him to your bedroom. And he doesn't ask.

You're his now and he's yours.

In this life and the next.

[vigilante-3073]

Daddy's Credit Card

Cullen Family x Female Vampire Reader (Platonic)

PART 9

Summary: Edward and Bella return from their honeymoon and the family is quick to rally around them. Y/N is quarantined for the safety of the other Vampires while Carlisle tries find a solution for her illness.

TW: Mentions of pregnancy/injury/illness, threats, lack of regard for the feelings of others, secrets/denial, medical testing, blood.

It had been two weeks since Edward and Bella returned home from their honeymoon. Her belly had grown tremendously since their return and Carlisle had no way to see what was inside.

Ultrasound and needles weren't able to penetrate the embryonic sack, but blood tests showed that she was definitely pregnant. Carlisle questioned Edward when they returned home, trying to discreetly assess for whether or not he was sick.

Carlisle was relieved to find out that whatever illness Y/N had was not passed on to Edward. Carlisle still decided to keep Y/N away from the rest of the family in case her sickness was contagious. He didn't need anyone else getting sick in the home, he already had his hands full with Y/N and Bella.

Y/N hadn't been able to keep down animal blood since that day in the woods, she started to desiccate as her body dried out. Carlisle was able to procure human blood for her and it seemed to be the only thing she could stomach for the time being.

Carlisle was uncomfortable with the idea of offering her human blood, but he didn't have another choice.

She stayed in her bed for days on end as her body continued to grow weaker and thinner, dark bags appearing beneath her eyes. Carlisle offered her more blood, but she was continuing to lose weight and he was at a complete loss as to what she could possibly need. In a desperate attempt to try something, he brought her a lone piece of buttered toast.

She looked up at him when he set the plate on the nightstand, "What the hell is that?" She questioned.

"Food," Carlisle said, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her.

"I need blood, not carbs," Y/N grumbled.

"Blood isn't helping you. Try it," Carlisle said, picking up the plate and holding it up in front of her.

She grimaced at the smell, turning her head away, "Don't be like that," He said.

"It stinks," Y/N mumbled.

"You need to try it," Carlisle pressed.

"Did Edward ask about me?" Y/N questioned, attempting to change the subject.

Carlisle sighed, lowering the plate slightly, "He is focused on Bella right now," Carlisle said.

"Who are you focused on?" Y/N asked.

"I'm looking after both of you," He stated, raising up the plate again.

Y/N glanced between him and the slice of toast before reluctantly reaching up and taking one of the four triangular slices. She looked down at it with disgust before taking a small bite and chewing it slowly.

Carlisle watched her, smiling softly when her stomach growled. She began to eat the toast faster, finishing the entirety of it in minutes.

"How do you feel?" He asked.

"I need more," Y/N stated.

"I'll get you more," Carlisle assured, standing up from the edge of the bed. He moved across the room, stepping out of the bedroom and closing the door behind himself.

"What's wrong with her?" Edward asked.

"Edward, you should be with Bella," Carlisle said, keeping himself between his son and the door to Y/N's room.

"Alice was thinking about it. Why didn't anyone tell me?" Edward questioned.

"She told us not to," Carlisle stated.

"Can I see her?" Edward asked.

Carlisle shook his head, "I'm still not sure if what she has is contagious and I can't risk exposing anyone else," He said.

Edward glanced down at the plate, "Did she eat whatever you brought her?" He asked.

"She did," Carlisle nodded.

"Can you keep me updated?" Edward asked, shifting slightly on his feet.

"Of course," Carlisle said.

"Good," Edward replied, turning around and making his way back down the hallway.

Carlisle brought Y/N as much food as she could possibly stomach before he connected her to some IV fluids. He took her vitals and was happy to find that she was doing much better with some food and fluids in her system.

After a few days of calorie-dense meals and intravenous fluids, she was able to function almost normally again. One unfortunate side effect was the need to use the bathroom, which she had not dealt with for a very long time and found to be an incredible annoyance. Her vitals had shown an increase and were finally within the normal range for humans.

She had shown a significant improvement and Carlisle found himself focusing on Bella as her health had continued to decline. The fetus had been starving Bella and breaking her bones.

No amount of IV fluids or food had been able to improve Bella's situation and it was likely that her heart would give out before delivery. Bella had been constantly exhausted and nauseous, but had nothing left in her stomach to throw up.

She was wildly gaunt and pale with almost every bone poking up through her skin. The child was going to kill her, but Bella insisted that Carlisle could change her at the last second.

...

Y/N quickly found herself bored and annoyed at the prospect of being trapped in her bedroom. She stood out on the balcony, staring down at the ground below while silently pondering how many bones she would break if she jumped.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Someone said.

Y/N turned around quickly to find Edward standing in the middle of her bedroom. His eyes were dark and she wondered how long it had been since they had fed.

"Too long," Edward stated.

"What are you doing in here?" Y/N asked.

"I needed to see you," Edward said, taking a few hesitant steps towards her.

"Isn't your wife dying in the next room?" Y/N questioned.

"She is dying and it's my fault," Edward stated.

Y/N stared at him for a moment, caught off guard by his statement, "Wow, I really wasn't expecting you to take accountability for killing your wife," Y/N said.

"Can you talk to her?" Edward asked quickly.

"You do know that she has done every single thing I have told her not to do, right?" Y/N questioned.

"I don't know what else to do," Edward admitted.

"You must be really desperate to be coming to me for help," Y/N said.

"I am... Please, I need you," Edward pleaded, taking her hand in his.

She grimaced at the tightness of his grip and he quickly released her, "I need your help, Y/N," He repeated.

"I can't help you," Y/N replied.

"Can't or won't?" Edward snapped.

"Won't and don't really want to... If you haven't noticed, I have my own problems to deal with at the moment," Y/N said.

The door to her bedroom opened and Carlisle stepped inside, "Edward, you need to leave," He ordered.

"Fine," Edward muttered, storming out of the room.

"Are you alright?" Carlisle questioned, closing the door.

"I'm fine. He just came to beg for my help," Y/N replied.

"He's desperate, Y/N. You can't fault him for that," Carlisle said.

"I told him that something terrible would happen if he married her. It just happened in a different way than I expected," She said, crossing her arms.

"He's your friend," Carlisle stated.

"He's an idiot," Y/N corrected, sitting down on the chaise.

Carlisle made his way over to her, "Be gentle with him. He's fragile right now," Carlisle said.

"I've never been that person and you know that," Y/N said.

Carlisle wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her arm, she held up her other hand and he placed the probe on her finger. Carlisle turned on the machine and the cuff began to inflate as he took her temperature.

"Can I get out of here soon?" Y/N asked.

"No talking," Carlisle instructed, watching the screen of the vitals machine.

He wrote down the values as they popped up, "We still have no idea what you have, Y/N. It also doesn't help that the wolves are watching us. If you leave the house, you'll surely be torn to shreds in your state," Carlisle said.

He removed the cuff from her arm and took the probe from her finger, "I hate this room," She stated.

"I wish I could help you, but we need you to stay here for now," Carlisle said.

"This house is a prison," She grumbled.

"You'll survive," He smiled, putting the items away on the vitals machine.

"What if I don't? What if I die in this room and you wouldn't even let me go to the kitchen in my own home?" Y/N asked.

"Don't say things like that. Your vitals are stable and you're doing well," Carlisle assured.

Y/N rolled her eyes, "I'm climbing the walls, Carlisle. My god, if you're not sick at this point, I obviously can't infect anyone else," She said.

"I'll think about it," Carlisle replied.

"Think faster," Y/N grumbled.

Carlisle smiled, "You never have been a very patient person. I suppose that I shouldn't be surprised by your persistence," He said.

"Now that I can't use mind control, I'll just have to annoy you into letting me go free," Y/N said.

"I've dealt with you for a very long time, Y/N. I don't think there's anything you could do that would surprise me," Carlisle said.

"Don't challenge me, Carlisle," Y/N replied.

"I'll bring dinner in an hour. I trust that you can keep yourself busy until then," Carlisle said, Y/N nodded.

Carlisle stepped out of her bedroom, closing the door behind himself. Y/N stood up from the chaise quickly and rushed into the bathroom.

She moved her tongue around in her mouth before hesitantly reaching in and pulling out a bloody tooth. Y/N looked at it with disgust before her eyes found her reflection in the mirror.

Her mouth began to fill with blood and she spit into the sink, her eyes glossed over with panicked tears when she saw another tooth in the bottom of the sink. Y/N picked them up quickly and wrapped them in toilet paper, stuffing them into the bottom of the trash can. Y/N washed out the sink, rinsing the blood from her mouth before returning to her bed.

She laid down with a grimace, dragging the blankets over her body before settling against the mattress. Y/N's body was falling apart around her and it was infuriating, her joints ached terribly and her hearing was beginning to fail. Carlisle believed that she was doing well, but she wasn't and she didn't want him to know.

Edward clearly couldn't see anything beyond his own issues and Y/N was grateful for that. Edward was begging for her help while on his downward spiral that would ultimately lead to Bella's death. The hell spawn that grew in her belly would be the end of everything and Edward seemed to understand that. Edward wanted to hear Y/N tell Bella that she was making a terrible mistake, but nothing was going to change her mind.

Bella thought that she could have this perfect child and change into a Vampire at the last second. It was completely ridiculous, but she was stubborn and not even her husband could change her perspective on that.

Y/N was dying and she didn't want to spend the rest of her days under a microscope or trying to talk Bella out of something that everyone already knew was a mistake. Carlisle wasn't going to be able to save either of them and Y/N was the only one who was willing to admit that.

...

Y/N sat in her bed with her back leaned against the headboard as she read from her book. She heard some yelling, but couldn't make out what anyone was saying. The curiosity eventually became too much for her and she closed her book, setting it aside before she stood up.

Y/N made her way over to the door, opening it and lingering in the doorway as she heard more screaming. She leaned out into the hallway, looking both ways before slowly venturing out. Y/N made her way out to the living room, immediately spotting a broken Styrofoam cup on the floor in a pool of blood.

Y/N continued on passed the gory scene and made her way into the kitchen. She looked through the fridge before moving on and checking the cabinets for something to eat. Y/N huffed when she found nothing, returning to the fridge and opening the freezer.

"Oh, yes," She muttered, pulling out a small pint of ice cream.

Y/N grabbed a spoon from the drawer, hopping up to sit on the counter as she took the lid off. Y/N ate her ice cream silently as she listened to the screams from wherever everyone had run off to in the house.

It was obvious that something was happening with Bella, but Y/N couldn't be bothered to go and check on them. She paused in her snacking when the screams eventually stopped.

"Sweet serenity," She sighed, taking another scoop of the ice cream.

Y/N watched as Rosalie suddenly rushed by carrying a newborn baby wrapped in a blue towel.

"Is she dead?" Y/N questioned, Rosalie whipped around at the sound of her voice.

"You shouldn't be out of your room," She stated.

"Not like anyone's here," Y/N replied, gesturing to the empty room with her spoon.

"You still shouldn't be out here," Rosalie huffed.

"Did she die or not?" Y/N repeated.

"She did. Edward gave her the venom, but her heart had already stopped," Rosalie said, Y/N nodded and took another bite of her ice cream.

"You know, I usually do my best to stick up for you, but this time you are the one in the wrong. Edward has been awful to you, but he needs you right now and you should be there for him. You shouldn't be sitting here and listening to his wife die," Rosalie said.

"It's not like I can help him, Rose," Y/N stated.

"Nothing can help him. Bella is dead. But he needs someone to lean on right now," Rosalie said.

The infant squirmed in her arms and she looked down at them, "It's a girl. Bella decided to call her Renesmee," Rosalie said.

"That's an awful name," Y/N stated.

"It is, but Bella picked it," Rosalie replied, "I need to get her washed up, but you should go and see him," Rosalie continued, Y/N nodded.

Rosalie made her way into the bathroom while Y/N hopped down from the counter. She set her spoon in the sink and tossed the ice cream back into the freezer before following the panicked voice of her friend.

"Please, please, please, please," Edward whispered softly to Bella. He moved over her body, biting into her flesh while her lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling. Y/N lingered in the doorway awkwardly, taking in the scene in front of her.

Edward's shirt and face were covered in Bella's blood, his blood-stained hands were trembling as he cupped her cheeks, "Come back to me, please, baby. Bella, Bella, please, please," He mumbled shakily.

"Edward," Y/N said.

He looked up at her with wide eyes, "I was too late," Edward mumbled.

"I'm sorry," Y/N replied.

He stepped away from her body, moving over to his friend and pulling her into a tight embrace. Y/N grimaced at the feeling of Bella's blood soaking into her shirt before slowly wrapping her arms around his neck.

"She's gone and it was my fault," Edward mumbled, gripping onto the material of her shirt.

"You're going to be okay," Y/N assured.

He pulled away suddenly when he heard the sound of the Werewolves approaching in the forest, "What is it?" Y/N asked.

"They're coming," Edward mumbled, "Get up to your room and don't come out," He instructed.

"Alice! Jasper!" He yelled, returning to Bella's body and pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Alice and Jasper rushed down to meet him while Y/N reluctantly returned to her room. She washed the blood from her skin and changed her shirt before sitting down on the edge of her bed. Y/N couldn't hear what was happening outside and it was absolutely killing her.

She could hear the growling of the Wolves, but not much else and then she heard absolutely nothing. It was completely silent and Y/N stood up, lingering in the middle of her room as she waited for something to happen.

Had everyone been slaughtered? Were the Wolves searching the house for the child? Would they kill her if she was found?

Maybe it would be a more forgiving death than the one she was destined for. Y/N's heart began to race as she heard footsteps coming down the hallway.

Was this it? Was this the end for her?

[tulentiy]

Planing your pregnancy with Jiyong headcanon

Summery: you and Jiyong decided to start planning to get pregnant

Warnings: obvious talk of pregnancy

A/N: i'm just a girl, i couldn't stop thinking about that idea since i read a father!Jiyong headcanon so yeah, here's just a little something :3

Boyfriend!Jiyong who didn’t want to waste time on a relationship that won’t bring in his life exactly what he wanted - a family. 

When you just started dating, one of the very first questions he asked you was “What do you think about children?” You were having dinner in a fine restaurant, his fingers curled around the stem of the wine glass, circling it around its axis to gather his thoughts as he was trying to ask this question. Your answer would be crucial, he thought, he wasn’t sure he was ready to start a relationship that won’t lead to kids, he wanted it his whole life and being in his mid thirties now only made him more anxious about it. The way his features softened and the small smile stretched on his face upon your answer made your lips let out a soft giggle. Yes, you loved kids and you wanted to have them. Especially with Jiyong, after getting to know him. 

Husband!Jiyong who's making all the appointments with the best doctors in Korea to make sure you're both ready to conceive a healthy child

“Aegiya,” Jiyong lifted his gaze from his laptop to you, while you were cooking some food. You half turned to face him, a question on your face. “Do you have any plans for the next Sunday?”

You sighted, scratching your neck, gaze lost somewhere between Jiyong and the wall behind him. “I don't think so, no. Why?”

He closed the space between his torso and table, resting his head on his palms, his voice low and a little bit uncertain. “I thought, since we both agreed on trying to get pregnant, should we see doctors? I want to make some appointments for both of us.” 

Husband!Jiyong who randomly started making your house the most safe place on earth

One morning you woke up to find Jiyong collecting all the cleaning supplies, sprays, bath cosmetics in a box. You were staring at him going through all of his and yours perfumes, inspecting the labels on the boxes with the attentiveness of a scientist. 

“Yeobo, what are you doing?” Your voice were soft and deep from the sleep. You saw Jiyong shiver and put yet another perfume bottle in the different, smaller box. 

“We need to get rid of everything with strong chemicals and I've also read that strong perfume can affect male reproductive system…” he whispered the last words a bit sheepishly, turning to face you with a lopsided smile and furrowed brows.

You trotted to him, instinctively sliding your hands down his body and wrapping them around his waist, as you peeked into the box over his shoulder, a soft sign flying off your lips. “You're gonna throw it all away?”

Jiyong hummed, placing a kiss on your cheek. “Maybe only the cleaning supplies, I'll get new organic ones, we can keep the perfumes, just don't use these.”

Husband!Jiyong who has quit drinking and smoking cause it's better for your kid 

Jiyong never understood why people only talk about the pre conception health for a future mom: don't drink, don't smoke, don't be stupid and everything the society tell women not to do. He threw all of his cigarettes away and all the alcohol he had he gave to his friends. “Men should stop doing it too, if you want to have a healthy child. You know, the kid gets both father's and mother's genes, right? We both should be healthy.” That what he said when instead of some nice beverage he ordered a fresh juice, when he met up with his friends after an event they all attended. 

Husband!Jiyong who memoriezed your cycle almost better than you 

He knows exactly when your phases change, he has it all in his calendar. It's silly and in the beginning you thought Jiyong was being too extra, but it kept melting you down every time Ji would ask you if you took the specific pills that were only prescribed to take during a specific phase of your cycle. Later, when you were already trying to concieve he'd plan his working scheduel around your ovulation, making sure he'd be with you 24/7, making that beautiful child

Husband!Jiyong who takes his doctor’s advise of having more fresh air too literally 

“Aein, I have a surprise for you!” Jiyong sang as he entered the bedroom, finding you still laying comfortably in the soft sheets. “Get up, get up, get up." You felt his fingers wrapping around your ankle, tugging you lightly to the edge of the bed. "Please, I need to show you something, you'll like it, I swear!"

A few mugs of coffee and a two hours car ride after, you were standing infront of a cottage, huge territory around it with lots of trees and a small pond.

Your puzzled eyes stayed fixated on Jiyong, as he was staring at you with a huge shining smile, eyes darting between you and the house. “Do you like it?”

“Yeobo, what's that?” Your eyes couldn't lie, you liked the view, perhaps too much, and Jiyong didn't fail to notice the glinting. 

He extended his arm to you with his fingers curled into a fist, and opened it slowly, revealing the keys. “It's ours.”

“It's what, it's… Jiyong!?” Living with Kwon Jiyong, you wasn't easily swayed by the presents and surprises, the amount of incredibly beautiful and rudely expensive presents you've received from him was uncountable, the branded clothes, the cars, the custom made watches and rings that would cost someone their whole life savings, but this, this was too much even from him. “What do you mean this is ours?”

Jiyong scratched his neck, his smile starting to twitch just a little. “The doctor said the fresh air is important for your health, and…” he got quiet for a couple of seconds, his gaze getting softer and foggy, almost dreamy, as he looked you over, lingering on your belly. “and when we finally have a kid, wouldn't it be amazing to live here?’ he grabbed you by the waist and pulled closer gently.

"That... That would be amazing, Ji." Words slipped your lips, as you pressed your cheek to Jiyong's chest.

So, that's it for now, thank you for reading and I hope you liked the little hc 💖

[cheralith]

omg Kaiser in Harry Potter au is becoming my life 🩷🩷

Can we PLEASEEEE have a few headcanons about what it would be like for ravenclaw!reader to date slytherin!kaiser?

or just anything from this AU 😭😭 it’s so good

character ; michael kaiser || cw ; gn!reader, no pronouns used, slytherin!kaiser, ravenclaw!reader, hogwarts au, kaiser is pure-blood, reader is half-blood, aged-up characters

because of the fact he's such an emotionally constipated and idiotic person you guys do not end up dating until like... your very late twenties/early thirties. it takes him a horribly long time to even realize he's in love let alone the time it takes for him to say something.

but when he does, it comes out completely by accident. it's during the yule ball, where you and him are supervising the students and the same beauxbatons boy you had gone with all those years ago is back as one of their house's quidditch coach in the same manner that kaiser is. you and him are just catching up in a friendly manner but kaiser's at the side just quietly listening to the conversation.

it's rather hard for him to ignore the way julian loki, whose face is just so graced by age to kaiser's disdain, is looking at you. there's clearly something he wants to continue off from, and when he begins to ask if you'd like to catch up somewhere, kaiser drags you away mid-convo.

per usual, you and him break out into a verbal bicker, going back and forth on very redundant statements that seem to bring the conversation nowhere near and end because on your hand, you don't understand why kaiser's been so pissy lately and kaiser is trying his best to understand why he feels like this towards you. until something slips through by accident, his filter completely vanishing and his innermost thoughts taking reign.

so you and him are just staring at each other in complete shock just trying to digest what the hell he just said to you. you're wide-eyed, kaiser's got a hand over his mouth, a furious blush spreading over his face as he tries to come up with a shitty excuse to try and cover what he just said up, but it's kind of hard considering he did just say, "because he looks like he's in love with you like i am!"

he tries to leave the room, begging telling you to forget what just happened, until you drag him back in and demand him what he means. he tries to word it out, but since love has never really been a good thing to him and its concept was just as confusing as transfiguration theory, he ends up acting on instinct, grabbing your face and letting his lips that collide with yours so heavenly do the talking.

so hip hip hooray stupid pining idiot finally gets what he's been wanting from you after so many years everyone clap

obviously due to the fact that you're colleagues and staff, you need to hide your relationship. and since the students are so nosy, you really have to do your best to act natural around him, especially around the members of a particular hush-hushed club that advocates for yours and kaiser's relationship because they're much more keen than the average student—using any singular crumb that you and kaiser give them to feed their material.

but you find it to be rather difficult. kaiser has been pining and dwelling for you for how many years now??? so best believe he's going to be making up for those lost years and much and as often as possible. good luck, babe.

you'd be walking down a lone corridor, only to turn a corner and getting whipped around and suddenly finding his lips on yours as your back rests against a cold wall. he'd often come into your office hours unannounced, bothering and flirting with you as you graded papers with the door wide open. during meetings, he'd at first shuffle his foot to find yours. then he got more confident; he'd rub it up and down your leg trying to raise a reaction out of you.

it didn't help that kaiser knew how to apparate and you didn't. it's prohibited on hogwarts grounds, but in hogsmeade, which is also where you reside in a small cottage, best believe he'd teleport into your house unannounced if he wanted to see you.

weekends are nice; you and him are able to get away from hogwarts and actually can spend time as a couple, but regardless, you and him still have to tiptoe around just in case any staff that's also taken the liberty of leaving hogwarts for the weekend see you hanging around each other as well.

so, it's pretty hard to try and keep things under wraps. and kaiser clearly grows more impatient and needy. he gets bolder, too. he'd sometimes ask to "borrow you" mid-class just to make out with you in a broom closet for a hot two minutes, leaving you flustered and slightly messy haired to his delight or leave gifts and flowers on your office desk, only signing it off ambiguously with "♡, k." thankfully, you come earlier than your students usually, so you’re able to hide them beforehand.

some of the older students start to catch on—especially since up until recently, it was uncommon to see the two rival professors to be rather close in proximity with each other while pacing down hallways or talking to each other in a more mild manner than what they were used to seeing. is that smile on professor kaiser's face? the hell? does this mean that he'll be more lenient on newt exams?

the news of arch-rivals professor (l/n) and professor kaiser dating really start to amp up when a student had spotted you leaving kaiser's office in the late evening. the student thinks nothing of it at first, until kaiser escorts you out and gives you a small kiss on your forehead.

so it spreads like wildfire and eventually you and him crack and admit to the higher-ups that you and him are indeed in a relationship. cue the immense amount of paperwork that shoulders you and him. but hey, once it's done, everything is at least brought to the surface and there was no longer that stress of trying to hide your relationship.

the only con is that during classes, some of the students would get too cheeky and prod at you and him about your personal lives. "is it true that professor kaiser sleeps in a silk robe?!" "does professor (l/n) know you gamble at hogsmeade with the elves?" "i heard professor kaiser has a ten-step skincare routine, is that true, prof?"

valentine's day also turns out to be quite a stir; for some reason, students now think you and him are experts on love and come to each of you asking for relationship advice. young love, as amusing as it is, is just so very ignorant... especially since it took kaiser more than ten years to confess (maybe not the best person to go to for dating advice).

outside hogwarts, it's more tame. it takes a bit of convincing, but kaiser accompanies you to the muggle world when you visit your parents. he's been in the muggle world before and he found it much more dull than the wizarding world... until you reach your parents' home. suddenly, he's poking his head in every photo album that has a younger, tooth-gapped photos of you and twiddling with regular muggle items like a computer or a television remote.

"is the bread alive? why did it just jump?" he asks, brows furrowed at the freshly toasted bread in the toaster after he flinches at the movement.

"so is there like... a little man singing in this?" he inquires as you play him something from your radio.

"why can't you just let owls do it?" he questions while the mailman drops off the weekly post. "it'd be a lot faster."

you and your parents definitely earn a laugh out of a pure-blood wizard just being rather fascinated with every-day muggle items; especially since you remember kaiser taking naps in muggle studies when you and him were younger, it makes the experience a lot more interesting.

[keferon]

Two Peas in a Pod: part 1

*slips this into your mail slot and runs* I hope you like it, I wanted to give you a gift.

___________________________________

Things were never truly quiet. Electricity hummed. Pipes rumbled as water is pushed and pulled. Metal facets softly creaked under the vibrations. A muted drum of massive pump came from somewhere underground.

It was a poor symphony, but it was his personal, fucked-up, little lullaby. Guaranteed to be a nightly track on loop the droned him to sleep… usually.

And honestly, he couldn't imagine what it would be like without it.

Jazz rolled over to his other side in the shallows of his pool – arching his back just enough for his collapse dorsal fin to slip under him without crushing it against the floor – in the futile adjustment for comfort. After about five minutes of laying still with his eyes closed, Jazz huffed. He hadn't been able to even doze off, it was beginning to get frustrating. He shifted his head – resting on his arm at the dryer part of rubber coated slope of the concrete pier – to peek at the clock just beyond the staff entrance behind the main platform, two-twenty-seven.

Sighing and groaning loudly, he slumped in defeat, the morning staff were going to be on shift in two hours to start meal prep and in the following hour creatures all over will start waking up. When breakfast came at six, the gulls, crows, magpies – the fucking birds would be all over the aquarium squawking and trying to steal food. Then the whole place would buzz till work ended at six pm. Six to six of noise.

Jazz was just thankful that it was a monday, the aquarium was closed, so he didn't have to force himself to be extra cheerful. Just pleasant enough to get through daily check-ups and then maybe, he could try for a nap. But he wasn't optimistic.

Time seem to stretch on forever, every time he glanced at the clock, the minutes barely seemed to move. He shifted and kicked his tail, sloshing water up in a pitiful rain over him. Though the sound of water pattering along the concrete continued, and continued…?

Jazz lifted his head. That wasn't coming from his area, but it was too muddled to make out what it was. A skittering-like sound for sure, did something break? Was there a raccoon in the backend again?

With a quick spin he slipped off the pier and into his pool. The sounds became sharper, but not quite clear. Hurried footsteps of staff, far too many to be on shift at this hour, as he swam into the medical bay at the back. To where the one observation window that overlooked the staff area. Technically, the other way around, but Jazz would use it more than they did to spy on the back-workings.

Placing his hands to still his movement, Jazz saw two more staff rush past with a massive metal cart, recognizing the white shirts. Vets. There had to have been an emergency call that went out. Question was, was it an animal from the here or was it a beach rescue?

While Jazz couldn't see much passed the wide hallways on either side. The sonar map, as fuzzy as it was in his head, was picking up at least seven moving blobs in the hospital ward at the end of the hall. That was a lot of bodies. Too many to be needed for any of the animals here. An injured dolphin being brought in for recovery and rehabilitation, maybe? An oil spill with massive casualties?

Then ten more people joined and suddenly they were rushing out with equipment, heading somewhere off his limited radar. Likely rush off to the loading bay, the truck must have just arrived. Damn, whatever happened, it's all hands on deck.

Jazz pushed away from the window and lazily floated out back to the main area of his enclosure. He was sure his attendant would tell him all the news and gossip when he came around with breakfast. Till then, he might as well continue to try and sleep.

___________________________________

Couldn't have been more than a half an hour, and he felt like he was just about to fall asleep, when the familiar sound of heavy boots caught his attention. Thundering up the metal steps of the staff entrance.

"JAZZ!"

Noooo, it can't be time to get up. He refused to give him any acknowledgement and pretended he was dead just to be extra annoying. They both knew Jazz's hearing was too good for him not to hear the man tip-toe up the stairs. Heck, he could tell that there was another staff member with him, which was unusual.

"Jazz! Buddy– please, get up! We've got an emergency!"

Lights came on suddenly and made Jazz grimace with his eyes closed. "And that affects me how…?" Jazz drawled and lifted his head slightly to look over at them. Though spotting a nervous vet – not his vet either – rushing to prep a needle at the end of a long tube suddenly had him a bit uneasy. Jazz hated needles. Especially jittery hands at the other end of said needles.

"Wounded Mer, same weight class, and fortunately shares the same blood-type as you!" Blaster quickly informed and helped the vet prep multiple soon-to-be blood-bags. He then fixed his mer with a hard look. "Now get your tail over here!"

Jazz was rushing over to the sloped shallows before it fully clicked what was being asked of him. "A Mer?"

Blaster tugged on his arm and Jazz allowed him to pull him where they wanted him. Working as a team they dried, sanitized and banded his arm. "Ready for the poke?"

"Uh," he glanced at the vet, though the nerves seemed to more about the stress that happening elsewhere. Their hands seemed steady. "Just make sure you get it the first time," he said as he closed his eyes tightly.

"Thanks for being so good about this," Blaster breathed heavily with relief and gave Jazz a comforting pat on the shoulder of the arm his was still holding. The jab was harsh to get it through the mer's thick hide and it made Jazz flinch, but otherwise stayed still.

"So… are they like me?" He asked, trying to ignore the thought of his blood being drawn.

"Ya, just like you," Blaster answered softly, starting to calm down now that he didn't have to worry about what would have happened if Jazz had put up a fuss.

"Are they going to be okay?"

"We're doing our best," the vet answered clinically. "They're in rough shape. Likely a turf war judging by the injuries, or a leviathan attack."

"The team is really pulling together on this, even you, big guy," Blaster reassured and gave him another pat on the shoulder.

Jazz tried not to sound excited by the news. "Will I get to see them?"

"If they pull through, you might get more than that. Seeing as there isn't many places here big enough to hold something that big. Hope your ready for a tankmate."

He clenched his hands into fists so tightly they started to shake. He wanted that, he really, really wanted that. Please, please, please. Please don't die.

If Blaster misunderstood his trembling, Jazz didn't correct him.

___________________________________

-GLC

(hopefully there is no spelling errors ^^;)

Oh man oh man OH MAN ORCA JP FIC????

IM VIBRATING ON THE SPEEDS UNCOMPREHENSIBLE TO A HUMAN EYE RIGHT NOW PleASE THIS IS SO GOOD I LOVE IT SO MUCH I WANNA HUG YOU

I have NO IDEA if your spelling is good but it doesn't even fucking matter because the atmosphere?? THE ATMOSPHERE IS FANTASTIC. The VIBE is HERE. IF YOU MAKE THE SECOND PART I WILL GIVE YOU MY FIRSTBORN

[angstywaifu]

Treating You Right - Aaric Graycastle

Summary: You and Aaric grew up together, but you never got along. But when you both end up as cadet's in the riders quadrant, he changes. His behaviour for all those years not entirely being how he wanted to treat you. A/N: I had so many requests for another Aaric fic so I kind of just compiled them all into one. So if you sent a request for Aaric, this is for you! Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. Fingering. Unprotected Sex. Use of pet names (sweetheart). Rivals/enemies to lovers. Masterlist | Links

“You’re staring again.” Sloane teases, pulling me from my thoughts or lack there of.

Across the room, Aaric is in the middle of a challenge with another cadet from Third Wing. And as per usual he’s making it look easy. Barely breaking a sweat as he does it. Like he always has. I’m one of the few that knows who he actually is. Cam Tauri. The son of the King. A son I grew up around and never got along with well. He always acted so up himself. Living up to his title. But since being here, he’d changed. Or maybe he was putting on a front all those years.

“I am not.” I snap back as she laughs at me.

”You were. Like you always do. Starting to think you don’t hate him as much as you let on.” She teases again with a knowing smile.

I roll my eyes at her and shake my head. ”Trust me, I hate him.”

”Then why are you staring at him?” She states with a cocked brow. Gods she was too good at reading me. I’d only known her a few weeks and I felt like she knew me better than anyone.

”Figuring out the best way to take him out.” I point out.

She rolls her eyes at me. “I’d believe you if it weren’t for the fact were on the same squad.”

”Maybe I’m waiting till we graduate to take my shot.” I fire back.

She wasn’t wrong though. I had been staring. And not for the reasons I was telling her. If it wasn’t for the fact we disliked each other, I’d be all over Aaric. And I hated that I wanted that. Hated how I’d started noticing him more since we had been here. And being in the same squad, there was no escaping him for the next three years if we both survived that long.

I’m grateful the library is rarely used by other cadets in this Quadrant. It was the one place I could find alone time with all us first years crammed into the same dorm. The one place I could let my guard down and relax. Or so I thought. The sound of the door opening pulls me from the book I’d been reading for Kaori’s class on the different dragons. Footsteps sound around the empty library as whoever it is makes their way further and further into the space. I prayed they were heading towards another spot in the library. But it seems luck was not on my side as the familiar face or Aaric rounds the corner of one of the shelves.

”Oh great, it’s you.” I say with an eye roll, turning my attention back to my book. “To what do I owe this pleasure.”

”Ouch. And here I was coming to you in peace.” He states as he walks over to me and sits down in the chair across the table from me.

”I didn’t say you could sit your highness.” I throw at him, watching as he stiffens at my words before relaxing again. We both know we’re alone, no one nearby to hear me.

”Well someone’s cranky.” He notes, leaning back in the chair as he clasps his hands and rests them in his lap.

I slam my book shut and look up at him. “And someone needs to shut up. I’m trying to study. So unless you need something, you can go.”

”I’m here to apologise.” He tells me as his green eyes pierce into me.

I cock my eyebrow at him. “You? Apologise? Didn’t think you were capable of that.”

He sighs heavily as he turns his head. “Well I am. I had to keep appearances up for my father. Treat certain people a certain way. But I don’t have to anymore. And I wanted to say I’m sorry for how I treated you before we got here. That I wish I could have treated you how I wanted to. Be your friend.”

I scoff and shake my head at him as he turns to look at me again. “Please, don’t pretend you give a shit about me.”

”I’m not pretending. Not anymore.” He tells me as he leans forward, resting his arms on the table.

I just stare at him, unsure how to take what he’s telling me. Part of my wants to grab my things and storm off, not believe a single word he says. But part of me wants to listen to him. Believe what he’s saying. Because part of me knows it’s true. He was never like his older brothers Alic and Halden. They were cruel and harsh, always bullying me. Something Aaric never did. He would say things to me, but nothing like his brothers. In his own way he was being kinder, but doing enough to not arouse suspicion. My family was nothing to his. My father might have been part of his father’s court, but we were nothing to him. And we’re treated as such.

I grab my book, shoving it into my pack before standing up. “Sorry Cam, but I’m going to need more than some apology to prove what you’re saying to me.” I go to walk past him, heading towards the door to take me back into the Quadrant, but he moves quickly, stepping into my path.

”What do you need then?” He asks me sternly as he looks down at me.

”Prove to me you actually didn’t want to treat me that way. Treat me like you actually want to be my friend or ask for whatever it is you want from me.” I tell him.

He furrows his brow. “Why would I want something from you?”

”Because I’m not sure why you have the sudden interest in being my friend after all these years if you don’t have some ulterior motive. Your family hasn’t given me a lot of reasons to want to trust you.” I point out, Aaric nodding his head slowly. “So prove this is not some ploy on your fathers behalf.”

Over the next few weeks Aaric does start to prove it. Not once does he treat me like he use to. Hell, we even manage to have pleasant conversations which come easier to me than I expect, which earns me a few curious looks from Sloane as she takes in mine and Aaric’s new found friendship, if that's what you could even call it. But it doesn’t last long when we’re thrown into chaos. Not even two weeks after we bond our dragons we’re thrown into being part of the rebellion. All of our squad ending up in Aretia with other fliers willing to defend Navarre from the real threat of Venin and Wyvern. And now we all had to rethink everything we’d ever been taught, meaning all of us we’re drained at the end of the day with adjusting to our new routine and relearning everything. Meaning our squad had barely had time to have some down time.

A knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts. Strange. We’d all gone to bed an hour ago, who the hell is knocking at my door at this hour? I chuck the pack I’d taken on our bonding exercise with the Fliers under my bed and walk over to the door. I pull it open, revealing Aaric whose hand is raised again to knock on my door. His bright green eyes locking onto mine immediately. I open my mouth to ask him what's wrong when he rushes forward, his hands grasping my face as he crushes his lips against mine.

I instantly melt into the kiss, hands grasping the front of his shirt as I pull him into my room as he kicks the door closed behind him. His kiss consumes me, my whole body wanting more of him, giving into the thoughts I’d had over the last few months. His hands leave my face, skimming down my body as they glide over the material of the silk night dress I’d changed into for sleep. His fingers play with the edge where it ends at the top of my thighs before grasping my thighs as he picks me up with ease before turning around. He sits on the edge of the bed, settling me in his lap as my legs settle either side of his.

I break the kiss, giggling as Aaric tries to chase my lips and growls in annoyance. He goes to object but stops when he sees me grasp the edge of the nightdress, his green eyes following my movements as I pull the material up my body, leaving me in just the matching panties as I sit in his lap. I turn my eyes back to him as I discard the material to the floor, my cheeks flushing as he just stares at me in awe. On reflex I go to cover myself up, but his hands reach out and grasp my wrists.

”Don’t.” He tells me, his voice rough and commanding. “Don’t ever cover yourself up.”

I just look at him and nod as I lower my arms, resting my hands on his shoulders as his hands caress my skin, leaving goose bumps where he’s been. I lower my hand to the edge of his shirt, Aaric leaning back to give me room to remove the material from him. I’d seen Aaric shirtless before thanks to challenges and various training sessions in the gym. But I can’t help but stare at the toned and defined muscles of his torso as I trace over them with my fingers, causing him to shiver at my touch.

My eyes meet his again, catching the slight smirk on his lips before he kisses me again. It starts off softer, slower. Almost as if he wants to savour the moment. But it doesn’t take long for it to build in intensity. A moan escaping my lips as his hands grips my hips and pull me down on him is his undoing. His fingers digging into my hip as he tilts his head and deepens this kiss as my hand rests against his neck, the other tangling in his hair. My hips rocking back and forth against his, causing his fingers to grip on to my hips tighter, to the point I’m sure they’re going to be bruised tomorrow. I yelp as he flips us over, my back hitting the bed as he looms over me before gripping the matching panties to my night dress and pulling them down my legs.

”Careful Prince, wouldn’t want someone to think you’re impatient.” I tease as he tosses them to the floor.

His eyes raise to mine as he smirks at me while pulling down the linen pants he wears before getting onto the bed, causing me to scramble back to make room for him as I lean back on my arms. He kneels between my legs, shoving them open as he settles between them.

”Trust me sweetheart, I’ve been patient.” He tells me as he looks down at me.

I open my mouth to reply, but a moan comes out instead as he glides his fingers between my legs before toying with my clit. Fucking hell.

”Seems I’m not the only one whose impatient tonight.” He teases as he continues to smirk at me.

My hands fits the sheets as he lowers his fingers and pushes them inside of me. “Fuck me.” I nearly moan out, throwing my head back as he thrusts them in and out.

”Oh, I plan to sweetheart.” He assures me, curling his fingers inside of me.

The room is filled with my moans and heavy breathing as he continues to thrust his fingers in and out, spreading them wider and wider as he goes. I whimper as he pulls them out, my body sagging at the loss of them. I yelp again as he flips me onto my stomach, grabbing my hips and pulling me into a kneeling position as he settles between them, his cock rubbing against me. I cry out when he thrust in, not wasting any time as he slides all the way in, the position I’m in causing him to hit the perfect spot immediately. I’d already been close from just his fingers. There was no way I was lasting long now he was inside me. I look over my shoulder at him as I push myself up on my hands, watching as he looks down at where he slides in and out of me. His green eyes flicker up and meet mine as he bites his bottom lip. Holy shit, that was more attractive than it should be.

”Doing such a good job sweetheart.” He tells me, praising me as he continues to slam into me. “Feel so good.”

”Aaric… please.” I moan out, lowering my head as my body starts to shake, rocking my hips back and forth to meet his thrusts.

”Please what sweetheart? Use your words.” He tells me, his hands gripping my hips as I start to go limp.

”I’m c-close.” I stutter out as my arms give out, my head and upper body resting against the bed.

My whole body feels like it’s on fire, feels like it’s about to combust as I teeter on the edge. Aaric reaches around, his fingers finding my clit and applying pressure. I cry out as my body starts to shake as I tumble over the edge, Aaric drawing out my pleasure as he continues to thrust in and out while using his hand. A few moments later Aaric’s hips still as he falls forward, bracing himself above me as his hands land either side of my head. Both of us gasping for air as we come down from our high.

”You have your own room, right?” Aaric asks after a few moments.

”Y-yes.” I mutter out, doing my best to nod incase he doesn’t hear me.

”Good.”

I feel Aaric move, the bed dipping to my left before his arms wrap around me, pulling me into his side. My body instantly relaxing at his touch. I barely register him placing the blanket over us before falling asleep with my head against his chest.

[tartagliove]

i've been thinking about farmer boy!ajax...

stardew valley au ✧ fluff ✧ 0.6k words

The little cabin before you could use some work. There are holes in the roof, where tiles have been torn off from wind and rain and time. They match the porch that wraps around the front of the small building, wooden floorboards missing and broken—the perfect trap for you to twist your ankle in. You'll have to watch your step.

Despite all of this, the cabin is charming in its own little way. Windows line each wall of the house. Although dust and cobwebs cling to the glass, they just need a good scrub before sunlight will stream inside all day long. You'll get the best view of the sun rising and setting upon gently sloping fields, which someday will be vibrant with colors and life.

That's the dream, at least.

For now, it's just you and the run-down cabin that could use a bit of love and work before you turn it into your new home. You, your cabin, the birds that warble a high-pitched melody from the trees, and the ginger-haired boy who leans against the rotting wooden fence that lines your property.

You flinch in surprise, spinning to face the stranger.

The first thing you notice is that he's not a boy at all. He certainly looks young, with tousled coppery hair, blue eyes that remind you more of the ocean than the sky, and rather fair skin that is interrupted by constellations of freckles. But the well defined muscles that flex and shift under a pair of denim overalls, and the handful of scars that litter his body only point to years of hard, physical labor.

He holds himself with ease, resting his forearms on your fence. This only serves to broaden his shoulders as he takes his time studying you as you've been doing to him. His eyes seem to blaze a trail as they roam across your body, taking in the nearly pristine sneakers and the stiff new backpack, along with the long-sleeved shirt that clings to your arms from humidity and sweat of the countryside.

"What's a pretty city-dweller like you doing out here on an abandoned farm, hm?" he asks, one brow raised, amusement dancing on his lips.

You fiddle with your fingers, the flutter that runs through you at the hidden compliment overridden by embarrassment that he's already able to tell where you're from. You look nothing like the seasoned farmer that he is, his fingers calloused and scarred.

"It's not abandoned," you say, a bit of indignation in your voice as you straighten your back and stare at him in determination, unwilling to flinch from his all-consuming gaze. "Not anymore, at least. I live here now."

A smile properly stretches across his face. "Oh, really? That makes us neighbors, then. I’m Ajax."

He offers his hand, and you take a few steps forward to grasp it. His grip is warm and firm; a bit rough compared to your own. You shake, once, twice, then release, pulling your hand behind you as if it will help you forget the feeling of his wrapped around yours.

He chuckles and tosses you another grin, pleased. "I’ll see you around then, farmer."

His taunting tone is irritating. The heat you’re feeling is certainly not due to the way he walks away, well-defined back framed by the blue straps of his overalls.

You don’t learn much about your new neighbor from this interaction, but you are sure about one thing. He certainly is not just a farmer boy.

[briefinquiries]

Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 8

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 8

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

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

Chapter summary: After learning about Campbell’s plan to orchestrate an attack against the Peaky Blinders, you rush to warn Tommy before it’s too late. As the night unfolds, the Garrison becomes a battleground, forcing you to confront a past you thought you had left behind.

Word count: 7.1k

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

--

The dim light of Campbell’s office flickered against the polished wood of his desk, casting long shadows across the floor. The air was thick with cigar smoke, curling between the two of you, but you didn’t cough. You didn’t react. You sat still, hands folded neatly in your lap, keeping your pulse steady even as unease coiled in your stomach.

Campbell leaned back in his chair, watching you with that sharp, calculating gaze, the kind that made you feel like he was peeling you apart, layer by layer, looking for weakness. 

“What do you need me to do?” you asked. 

Campbell exhaled slowly, letting the silence stretch between you. The smoke from his cigar curled upward, dissipating into the dim light as he studied you with that familiar, unsettling amusement.

"I need you to make sure all the Shelby brothers are at the Garrison at nine o’clock tonight," he finally said, his voice smooth and deliberate.

Your fingers tensed slightly in your lap. "Why?"

Campbell smiled, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. He took another slow drag from his cigar before setting it down in the ashtray, tapping a gloved finger against the desk.

“Tell me, what would you do if you knew a storm was coming?”

You kept your expression steady, unwilling to let him see the way your stomach twisted at his words. After two weeks of spying for Tommy, you knew Campbell well enough by now. He never asked rhetorical questions. Every word he spoke was a piece of a larger game, designed to see how you would react.

You tilted your chin slightly. "I suppose that depends on the storm."

Campbell exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as if amused by your answer. "No, it doesn’t." He leaned forward, resting his forearms against the desk, his sharp blue eyes pinning you in place. "You move out of its way. You prepare. You ensure that, when it passes, you are still standing."

He let the words settle before continuing, his voice dropping to something quieter, more dangerous. "But you see, the Shelby brothers… they don’t seem to have the same sense of self-preservation." He flicked the ash from his cigar, watching it fall. "They don’t step aside. They don’t move out of the way."

Campbell gave you a slow, knowing smile. He took another measured drag before setting the cigar down, his fingers tapping once against the desk.

"And because Thomas Shelby has been testing his limits for far too long." His tone was conversational, almost lazy, but you knew better. "He believes himself untouchable, beyond consequence. And men like that…" He exhaled a stream of smoke, watching it rise. "They need to be reminded of their place."

A chill crawled down your spine, but you forced yourself to keep your voice even. "What’s going to happen?”

Campbell tilted his head, studying you. "Do you know how many men would pay for the chance to watch Thomas Shelby crawl? How many would seize the opportunity to strike, given the right push?" He leaned forward slightly. "All it takes is a whisper in the right ear, a reminder of debts unsettled, and men will do what they were always going to do. Tear each other apart."

Your stomach twisted. "Who?"

Campbell exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "The who is irrelevant. What matters is that they are coming tonight. And when they do, I imagine it will be quite the spectacle." He sat back in his chair, his expression eerily calm. "A full-scale assault on the Peaky Blinders. Every man they have, armed and ready. It will be quick, brutal, and final."

Your fingers curled against your skirt. “You’re letting that happen?”

"Letting?" Campbell echoed, raising a brow. "No, my dear. I am ensuring it happens. Because Thomas Shelby has outgrown his station, and every empire must fall."

You swallowed hard, your mind racing.

"Men like the Shelbys think they own this city. But power is borrowed, not stolen. And tonight, Thomas Shelby will learn that he is not untouchable."

You forced yourself to nod, slow and deliberate, as if you were considering his words. As if you weren’t already thinking ten steps ahead.

Campbell’s gaze lingered on you, searching for cracks. He didn’t trust easily, if at all, but he trusted that people feared him. That fear kept them in line.

And he wanted you to be afraid.

You stood carefully, smoothing your hands over your skirt, your movements slow and measured. "Nine o’clock. The Garrison." Your voice didn’t waver.

Campbell’s lips twitched, barely, as he lifted his cigar again. "That’s right. And if you’re smart, you’ll make sure you aren’t there with them."

He took a slow drag, exhaling smoke as he leaned back into his chair, dismissing you without another word.

You turned and walked out, resisting the urge to slam the door behind you.

…

The night air hit you as soon as you stepped onto the street, but it did nothing to steady the storm brewing inside you. You moved quickly, each step sharper than the last, your breath coming faster than you wanted it to.

You needed to get to Tommy.

The streets of Small Heath were quieter than usual, the tension thick in the air, the kind that settled before something violent. You pushed forward, ignoring the burn in your lungs as you crossed through the market and rounded the corner to the Garrison.

Inside, the warm scent of whiskey and smoke wrapped around you, but you barely noticed. You walked past the patrons, through the familiar hallways, straight to the back room where you knew Tommy would be.

He was there, as expected, standing over a map spread across the table. Arthur sat nearby, flipping a coin between his fingers, while John leaned back in his chair, boots kicked up on the edge of the table.

Tommy didn’t look up right away. "What’d you learn?" he asked, his tone sounding distracted.

You swallowed, pushing past the tightness in your chest. "Campbell set you up."

Tommy’s cigarette paused midway to his lips. Slowly, his sharp blue eyes lifted to meet yours, the flickering lamp light casting shadows across his face.

You took a steadying breath. "He’s orchestrated an attack against you tonight. He said it’s a gang, someone with numbers, someone who hates you, is coming full force. Armed. Ready to wipe you out."

Arthur swore under his breath, sitting up straighter. John’s smirk disappeared. Tommy didn’t move, but you could see it, the flicker of calculation behind his eyes, the shift in his posture.

"Who?" Tommy asked, his voice calm. Too calm.

"He wouldn’t say," you admitted. "But he said men like you think they own this city. That power is borrowed, not stolen. And tonight, you’re going to learn that you’re not untouchable."

Tommy’s expression didn’t change, but the tension in the room sharpened like a blade.

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. "That bastard’s always talkin’ in riddles."

"This wasn’t a riddle," you said quietly. "It was a promise."

The weight of your words settled over them. You watched as Tommy flicked the ash from his cigarette, tapping it against the rim of the tray. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, measured.

"And what did he ask you to do?"

You hesitated, but only for a second. "Make sure you were all here. At nine."

A muscle in Tommy’s jaw ticked. He exhaled slowly, letting the smoke curl around him before setting his cigarette down.

"So that’s the plan, then?" John leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "We sit here and let ‘em come knockin’?"

Arthur reached for the whiskey bottle on the table, pouring a drink. "Fucking hell. And here I was hopin’ for a quiet night."

Tommy didn’t move, his gaze still locked onto yours, reading everything you weren’t saying.

"What will you do?" you asked.

Tommy didn’t answer right away. He reached for his cigarette again, but instead of taking a drag, he rolled it between his fingers, slow and deliberate.

"We’ll be ready," he said.

John huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah? And what exactly does ready look like when we don’t know who’s coming?"

Tommy’s gaze flicked to him, the barest hint of impatience in his expression. "It means we prepare for anything." He leaned forward, tapping the cigarette once against the table. "If Campbell’s orchestrated this, he’s banking on us being outnumbered. So we make sure we’re not."

Arthur took a slow sip of his whiskey, then set the glass down with a heavy thunk. "You think we should call everyone in?"

"Everyone we can trust." Tommy’s voice was firm. "Not just the boys. I want eyes on the streets, I want the guns checked, and I want every single man walking into that pub tonight to know exactly what’s waiting for them if they try to cross us."

John smirked, but there was something sharper underneath it now– anticipation. "So we turn the trap back on them?"

Tommy didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

You exhaled slowly, trying to push down the weight pressing against your chest.

“How can I help?” you asked.  

Tommy's expression was unreadable. “If Campbell’s right about this, it’s going to get ugly. Men will get hurt. Maybe worse. I need someone I trust to be ready.”

Your chest tightened, but you nodded. “I can do that.”

Tommy studied you for a moment longer. "Then get what you need. When this is over, we patch up the ones who make it through."

Arthur let out a breath, shaking his head. “Jesus. Feels like France all over again.”

John cracked his knuckles, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I’ll round up the boys. Looks like we’ve got a long night ahead of us." He clapped you on the shoulder before following Arthur out, the door swinging shut behind them.

Tommy rested his hands on the table, fingers lightly tapping against the wood in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. His cigarette smoldered in the ashtray, forgotten.

You shifted your weight, glancing at him. “How bad do you think it’ll be?”

Tommy finally looked up, his sharp blue eyes meeting yours. He didn’t answer right away, and that in itself was answer enough.

His jaw tensed slightly, but when he spoke, his voice was quiet, even. “Bad.”

You nodded, swallowing against the lump in your throat.

"Men will die," he continued. "Maybe ours. Maybe theirs. It doesn’t matter to Campbell, long as I come out of this weaker than before." He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing. "He wants us bled dry, either by bullets or by what comes after.”

You let his words settle, the weight of them pressing down on your chest.

"And if he gets what he wants?" you asked quietly.

Tommy held your gaze, his fingers stilling against the table. Then he shrugged, just slightly. "Then we deal with it."

You nodded, though it didn’t make you feel any better.

“You’ll be alright, then?” he asked. 

You hesitated, then nodded again. "Yeah."

Tommy studied you for a second longer, then finally took a slow drag from his cigarette.

"Good."

Neither of you spoke after that. There wasn’t anything else to say.

…

By eight forty-five, the Garrison was packed, the air thick with smoke, sweat, and anticipation. 

Men stood shoulder to shoulder, hands resting near their weapons, eyes flickering toward Tommy as he moved to the center of the room. The low murmur of conversation faded as he pulled a cigarette from his case, lighting it with the kind of steady hand that made people trust him. Believe in him.

You stood near the back, pressed into the corner, heart hammering as you watched. You had done all you could to prepare– bandages, whiskey, clean water, but none of it would matter until the shooting stopped.

Until you knew who was left standing.

Tommy took a slow drag, exhaling as his gaze swept over the men in front of him. When he spoke, his voice was calm, certain.

"We’ve been here before." He rolled his shoulders back, the flickering light casting sharp shadows over his face. "We know how this goes. Men who think they’re bigger than us, stronger than us, smarter than us." He paused, eyes narrowing. "They never fucking are."

A few low chuckles rippled through the room, but the tension remained thick.

"Campbell’s counting on this fight to hurt us." Tommy flicked the ash from his cigarette, gaze settling on each man, one by one. "He’s banking on fear. On hesitation. On doubt." He took another drag, letting the silence stretch before his next words cut through the room like a knife.

"But we don’t hesitate."

A murmur of agreement. Arthur cracked his knuckles, restless energy rolling off him in waves. John stood with his arms crossed, grinning like he was already picturing the fight.

You swallowed hard, shifting on your feet. Tommy’s voice was steady, unshaken, but you knew what was coming.

"You don’t need me to tell you what to do," he continued. "You all know why you’re here. You all know what’s at stake." His cigarette burned low between his fingers. "So we do what we do best. We stand our ground, and we make sure they regret ever setting foot in Small Heath."

Another low murmur. A few nods.

The room shifted with Tommy’s words, tension hanging thick in the air. Men checked their weapons, straightened their shoulders, muttered quiet reassurances to one another.

Then, just as the silence stretched tight, the door burst open.

A boy, no older than fourteen, stumbled inside, breathless, his face flushed from the cold night air. His cap was askew, his coat too big for his frame, but his wide eyes were sharp with urgency.

"They’re coming!" he gasped, his voice cracking slightly. "Loads of ‘em– moving fast. Just turned off Watery Lane."

The room stilled.

Every man inside stiffened, the scrape of chairs and shifting boots the only sound for a long moment.

Tommy exhaled once, slow and measured. "How many?"

The boy swallowed hard, catching his breath. "At least twenty, maybe more. Got guns, clubs, all of it." He wiped his nose with his sleeve, glancing anxiously at the men surrounding him. 

Tommy nodded once, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray before turning to the boy. "Go back the way you came. Don’t stop for anything, don’t look back."

The boy hesitated, glancing at you before nodding and bolting out the door.

Everything moved at once.

Arthur downed the rest of his whiskey in a single gulp, tossing the glass aside. John was already loading his revolver, the other men shifting into position, grabbing weapons, bracing themselves.

Through it all, Tommy didn’t move. Not at first. He just stood there, watching the room settle into controlled chaos, his cigarette burning low between his fingers. Then, without a word, he crossed the room toward you.

Your breath caught as he stopped in front of you, closer than he needed to be. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, flicked over your face, searching for something.

"Stay inside," he said, voice low, clipped. "Hide in the back. Don’t come out until you hear my voice."

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped you. This wasn’t a request. It was an order.

You swallowed hard, nodding once. "Alright."

Tommy didn’t move. Didn’t step away. The tension between you felt heavier than the weight of what was coming.

"Be careful," you murmured.

Something flickered across his face, gone as quickly as it appeared. Then, with a sharp nod, he turned on his heel and walked away.

And all you could do was watch as he stepped into the storm.

…

You sat in the back room, exactly where Tommy told you to stay, but your body wouldn’t settle. Every muscle in you was tight, braced for something you couldn’t stop. Your fingers curled into fists in your lap, nails pressing into your palms.

Outside, the murmur of voices had faded. The last of the men had taken their positions. The only thing left now was the waiting.

You strained your ears, desperate for any sign of what was happening beyond the walls. But the night held its breath, stretching the silence until it felt unbearable.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. It wasn’t peaceful– it was the kind of silence that came before something terrible. The kind that pressed down on your chest, waiting to be broken.

You shifted, adjusting your position in the chair, but it didn’t help. Your body was wound too tight, your skin prickling with unease. The longer the quiet lasted, the worse it became. Every second without gunfire, without shouting, felt unnatural. Where were they?

You clenched your jaw, forcing your breathing to stay even. But the silence– God, the silence– was starting to feel like something worse than noise.

You squeezed your eyes shut, exhaling slowly. You had seen war before. You knew this feeling. The quiet before the first shot, the moment before hell broke loose. But this was different. This wasn’t a battlefield miles away. This was here.

And Tommy was out there.

The thought sent a fresh wave of unease through you. You pictured him, cigarette burning between his fingers, expression unreadable but shoulders braced like always.

Your stomach twisted.

What if Tommy was already bleeding out on the cobblestones?

What if Arthur was lying face down in the dirt?

You swallowed hard, forcing the thoughts away. No. They weren’t dead. Not yet. But the longer the silence stretched, the more your mind raced, the more you felt like you had to move, had to do something.

You turned your head sharply, staring at the door. Your fingers twitched at your sides. Tommy’s voice echoed in your head.

"Stay inside. Hide in the back. Don’t come out until you hear my voice."

But what if you never did?

Your breath hitched, and you curled your hands into fists again.

The silence returned, heavier than before.

Then, suddenly– a gunshot.

Loud. Sudden. Too close.

You flinched so hard it felt like your entire body had been shocked through the spine. Your breath caught, your limbs going rigid as your heart slammed against your ribs.

Then came another shot.

Then another.

Then chaos.

Gunfire erupted outside, sharp and unrelenting. The sound rattled the windows, slammed against the walls, filled every inch of the Garrison with deafening violence.

Your breath came in short, panicked bursts. Your hands shot up to cover your ears, but it didn’t matter– it was too loud, too close, too much.

Shouting followed. The roar of men fighting, of boots pounding against the cobblestones. The war had started just beyond the walls, but your body– your mind– was suddenly trapped somewhere else entirely.

You squeezed your eyes shut, but it didn’t help.

France. The trenches. The screaming. The smell of blood, sweat, dirt, gunpowder.

You gasped, but the air was thick, choking. Your chest ached with the effort to breathe.

More gunfire.

A scream.

Something heavy crashing to the ground.

Your knees buckled.

Your body moved without thought, sinking down into the corner of the room, curling in on itself, hands still clutching your ears, knuckles white. Your fingers dug into your scalp, pressing hard, desperate for something to ground you.

But it was too late. Your mind wasn’t here anymore. 

You were back there. 

Buried in the mud.

Drowning in the sound of bullets tearing through flesh, in the metallic scent of blood, in the thick smoke clinging to your throat, to your skin, to your lungs.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t move.

Another explosion of gunfire rattled through the walls, and something inside you snapped.

Your body shuddered violently, curling tighter into itself, your breath shallow and ragged.

The scent of damp earth, sweat, and blood filled your nostrils. The crack of gunfire tore through the air, so loud it rattled your bones. Somewhere, men were shouting orders, screams, names of the fallen.

You pressed your hands harder against your ears, but it didn’t stop.

Too loud. Too close.

Your breath came in short, panicked bursts, your chest squeezing tight like it was caving in on itself. You needed to move, needed to get up, to do something, but your body was frozen, locked in place as another explosion of gunfire tore through the air outside.

Move. Move, dammit. Get up.

Your fingers curled against the floorboards, nails digging into the wood.

The world tilted.

Your vision swam.

More shouting. More gunfire. Something crashing. Someone yelling– The voices blended together, distant and warped like you were underwater.

You sucked in a breath, too shallow, too fast.

Your chest burned.

Then, a flicker of movement.

Your head snapped up– eyes wide, searching, but you weren’t seeing the back room of the Garrison anymore. The walls had melted away, replaced with barbed wire and smoke. The floor was slick with mud, bodies strewn across it, limbs twisted at unnatural angles.

No. No, no, no, you’re not there. You’re not–

Something slammed against the outside wall of the Garrison.

You jolted so hard your back hit the wooden shelves behind you. Glass rattled.

Another shot.

Another scream.

Your vision blurred.

Your fingers dug into your scalp, pressing so hard it hurt, grounding yourself in the pain, trying to pull yourself out of it. But the harder you tried, the deeper you fell.

The war.

The blood.

The bodies.

You were trapped there, suffocating in it.

Somewhere, beyond the haze, there were voices. Muffled, distant. They slipped through the ringing in your ears, too low to make out.

Your body was locked in place, curled tight against the floor. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your pulse hammering like a drum in your skull.

The voices grew closer. Urgent. A door creaked. Heavy footsteps. 

Suddenly, warm hands cupped your face.

You jolted violently, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as your eyes snapped open.

For a split second, all you saw was the dim light flickering against a dirt-covered face, blood smeared along the temple, exhaustion clinging to sharp features. The same way you’d found him then, half-dead in the tunnels, skin clammy, breath shallow.

Tommy.

Your chest heaved as your vision sharpened, the war-torn memory melting away into something more real.

Tommy was crouched in front of you, his grip firm but careful, steadying your trembling face between his hands. His blue eyes, wide but dark under the weight of exhaustion, flickered over yours, reading everything you couldn’t say.

"You hear me?" he asked. 

Your breath hitched. The blood at his temple was fresh, smeared against his skin, but it wasn’t his. You didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

"You’re alright," he murmured.

Your breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, your body still rigid, locked in the panic that had swallowed you whole. But Tommy’s grip was steady, his thumbs brushing against your skin, his touch firm but not forceful. He wasn’t dragging you out of it– he was waiting for you to come back.

"Can you hear me?" he asked again, voice lower this time, softer.

You swallowed hard and nodded, though the movement felt weak, unconvincing. Your hands still trembled where they rested on the floor, your body too light, too unsteady.

Tommy exhaled, relief flickering over his face so briefly you might have missed it if you weren’t staring at him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the present.

"Good." His voice was rough, but not unkind. His hands lingered for a second longer before one of them slipped from your cheek and wrapped around your wrist, his grip firm, grounding. "You’re alright.”

You nodded again, slower this time. "Not France," you forced yourself to say. 

His eyes flickered over your face, searching. You wondered if he could see how deep you had gone, how close you had been to drowning. Maybe he could.

"No," he murmured. "Not France."

Your breath was still uneven, your skin clammy, but the words felt like an anchor, pulling you further out of the past. You blinked, forcing yourself to take in the dim light of the Garrison, the scattered bottles, the blood smeared across Tommy’s temple. Here. You were here.

Outside, the gunfire had thinned out. Distant shouts echoed from the streets, men running, boots slamming against cobblestone, but the worst of it had passed. The fight was ending.

Tommy studied you, his face still unreadable. Then, slowly, he pushed himself to his feet.

"Can you stand?"

You nodded, but when you braced your hands against the floor to push up, your arms trembled, too weak to lift your own weight. The exhaustion hit all at once, dragging you down, making the edges of your vision blur.

Tommy sighed through his nose, then reached down.

You hesitated, pride flickering weakly, but you took his hand. His grip was solid, steady, and he pulled you up with ease. His other hand briefly landed on your arm, grounding you as your knees wobbled beneath you.

The room tilted. You inhaled sharply.

"Breathe," he muttered.

You did. Shaky, uneven, but enough. The edges of the world started to settle, the present pushing away the past.

Tommy studied you for half a second longer, his jaw tightening. Then, abruptly, he said, “Good. Because we need you.”

Your stomach clenched.

"John’s been shot."

The words hit harder than the gunfire outside.

Your pulse lurched, panic surging up like a wave. "Where is he?"

"Out front," Tommy said, already turning toward the door. "Still breathing, but it’s bad."

You forced your limbs into motion, your body shaking but your hands already reaching for the supplies you had stashed earlier– bandages, whiskey, anything that could keep John here... alive.

You followed Tommy through the Garrison, your legs unsteady, your grip tight on the supplies as you weaved through the aftermath. The main room was in disarray– overturned chairs, broken glass, blood smeared across the floor. Bodies had been dragged out, but the scent of gunpowder and whiskey still lingered thick in the air.

Tommy led you past the chaos, down a dimly lit hallway, toward one of the back rooms.

"In here," he muttered, pushing open the door.

The sight of John nearly stopped you in your tracks.

He was slumped in a wooden chair, his shirt soaked through with blood, his head tilted back against the wall. His breaths were shallow, uneven, his skin pale in the flickering lamplight. A bottle of whiskey sat beside him, barely touched.

His eyes flickered open when he heard you enter.

"‘Bout time," he rasped, his voice raw. "Thought maybe you lot had decided to just let me bleed out over here."

Relief shot through you, he was talking, but as you moved closer, taking in the extent of the damage, the feeling faded.

"The bullet went through," you murmured, pressing your fingers lightly around the wound. "That’s the only good news."

John sucked in a sharp breath at your touch, his body tensing.

"That bad, huh?" His voice was tight.

"I need to stitch you up," you told him.

He exhaled shakily, his jaw clenched, but his gaze was sharp, steady. "Don’t sugarcoat it."

You nodded, reaching for the whiskey.

"This is going to hurt," you warned.

"No shit," John muttered. “Just do it.”

You poured the whiskey over the wound.

John let out a strangled groan, his body jerking violently from the burn.

Tommy was on him in an instant, pressing a hand against his shoulder to keep him still. "Stay down."

John gritted his teeth, his fingers curling into fists. "Fuck off, Tommy."

You clenched your jaw, threading the needle, but your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. You weren’t doing your best work– you knew that. The stitches were uneven, too slow.

John’s whole body tensed as you started, his breath coming in sharp gasps, his knuckles going white where they gripped the armrests of the chair.

Then he started screaming.

The sound tore through you like a blade.

Your fingers faltered, your vision blurring as you blinked hard, trying to push through the growing sting behind your eyes. You were hurting him. You should’ve been better than this. Steadier. Faster.

John’s ragged curses broke into a strangled groan, his body twisting as if he could escape the pain. Tommy gripped his shoulder tighter, but it wasn’t enough– John was fighting too hard.

Then, suddenly, "Where is he?"

Arthur’s voice cut through the air, rough and out of breath. You barely had time to register his presence before he was shoving Tommy aside, gripping John’s arms, forcing him down.

He was a mess– shirt torn, face bloodied, his eyes dark with exhaustion, but his grip was unyielding.

"Hold him," Tommy ordered, stepping back as Arthur replaced him.

John bucked against his grip. "I swear to– fuck, Arthur, let go��"

"Shut up," Arthur snapped. "Just let her do it."

John let out another strangled yell, and your hands shook even worse. You weren’t sure how much more of this you could take.

Then, Tommy’s hands were suddenly on your wrists.

Firm. Grounding.

Your eyes snapped to his, wide, wet, desperate.

"You know what to do," he said, quiet enough so that John and Arthur couldn’t hear. His grip tightened just slightly. "So do it."

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, but you nodded.

Then you forced your hands steady, forced yourself past the guilt, the exhaustion, the panic.

And you stitched John up.

…

The storm had passed, but its remnants lingered, blood-streaked floors, shattered glass, the acrid scent of gunpowder clinging to the walls.

You sat near the back of the pub, absently rolling a strip of bandage between your fingers, staring at the small pile of used gauze and whiskey-soaked rags beside you. The worst of it had been John, but there had been others– split knuckles, shallow cuts, bruises forming beneath torn shirts. Nothing lethal. Nothing you hadn’t seen before.

Your hands ached from the hours spent cleaning wounds, your body thrumming with exhaustion. But sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight.

You exhaled, trying to will the tension from your shoulders, but it wouldn’t go. Your fingers curled tighter around the bandage in your lap as your mind drifted back, not to tonight, but to what came before.

The trenches.

The mud.

The smell of rot and sweat and gunpowder clinging to your skin.

Your throat tightened.

Tonight hadn’t been the first time you’d seen men fall, the first time you’d stitched wounds with blood soaking through your hands. It wasn’t even the first time you’d listened to the groans of the injured, the quiet prayers, the sharp, ragged breaths of men too stubborn to die.

But it was the first time you’d heard gunfire since France.

You closed your eyes, your breath stuttering in your throat. It wasn’t just memory, it wasn’t just some distant recollection of the past. When the shots rang out tonight, when the screams followed, it hadn’t felt like Small Heath anymore. It hadn’t felt like the Garrison.

It felt like then.

Like the walls around you had crumbled into an open battlefield, the floor beneath your feet turning to thick, sucking mud. The scent of whiskey and cigarettes had vanished, replaced with the acrid burn of smoke and decay. 

You sucked in a breath and opened your eyes again.

The pub was still here.

The war was not.

Your fingers uncurled from the bandage, but the tremble in them hadn’t fully faded.

You had stitched up wounds tonight. You had cleaned blood and wiped sweat from men’s brows, just as you had done before. You had done your job. But the part of you that had frozen, that had shattered at the first sound of gunfire, that part still lingered in the trenches.

And it had ripped through you like a bullet to the chest.

The bandage in your lap felt weightless, slipping from your fingers as you exhaled slowly, forcing air into your lungs, forcing yourself to be here. Not there. Not then.

But your body wasn’t listening.

Your chest still felt too tight, your skin too cold despite the warmth of the room. The echoes of gunfire hadn’t fully faded, not in your head. They lingered, stretching between the space of memory and reality, leaving you stranded somewhere in between.

A chair scraped against the floor.

Your body tensed before your mind could catch up.

Tommy sat across from you, his movements slow, deliberate. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned back in the chair, cigarette rolling between his fingers. You could feel his eyes on you, the same sharp, calculating gaze he wore when he was trying to piece something together.

"You shouldn’t be home alone."

His voice was low, steady.

You blinked, the words taking a second longer to register. "I’ll be fine."

Tommy inhaled slowly, but he didn’t light his cigarette. "You don’t look fine."

Your fingers twitched against your thigh. You weren’t sure how to respond to that.

"Come to the house," he said. It wasn’t a question.

You hesitated, glancing toward the mess of the Garrison, toward the handful of men still lingering, speaking in low voices. "Tommy, I– "

"I need you to keep an eye on John."

You stilled. You knew he didn’t need you to watch John. He had no fever, he'd make it through the night. But he said it anyway, because he knew you wouldn’t argue with that– he knew that was the only way you’d stay.

So, for a moment, you let yourself believe it.

You inhaled, slow and unsteady, then nodded. "Alright."

Tommy gave a single nod in return, as if confirming something to himself.

Then, he stood, but instead of turning toward the door, he extended his hand toward you.

You blinked at it, surprised. His hands were rough, knuckles bruised, dried blood at the edges of his fingers. And yet, his palm was open, waiting.

You hesitated only a second before slipping your hand into his.

Warm. Steady. Solid.

Your own hand still trembled slightly, but Tommy’s grip anchored it. His thumb brushed over your skin once, just the faintest, fleeting touch, before he turned and started walking, leading you toward the door. You let him.

Outside, the cold night air hit you instantly, but Tommy’s hand remained firm around yours, grounding you as you walked through the quiet streets. Small Heath was eerily still, the remnants of the fight lingering only in the bloodstains on the cobblestones, the distant sound of men muttering behind closed doors.

You barely registered any of it.

Tommy didn’t let go.

Not until the Shelby house came into view, the glow of lamplight spilling onto the street.

Inside, the warmth of the house wrapped around you. The scent of whiskey and cigarettes mixed with the faint traces of Polly’s perfume, of burning firewood, of home.

Ada was standing near the stairs, her arms crossed tightly, her expression pinched with worry. Polly was beside her, brow furrowed, her gaze snapping to Tommy the second you stepped inside.

"About time," Polly muttered, but her eyes immediately scanned over him, checking for wounds. "John’s upstairs. Didn’t go easy, but he’s comfortable now."

Tommy gave a curt nod. 

Arthur was at the washbasin, scrubbing blood from his hands, his jaw set tight. He looked up briefly as you entered but didn’t say anything. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion.

Polly turned back to Tommy. "What happened?"

Tommy exhaled, running a hand down his face before speaking.

"Campbell set it up. Had a gang hit us while we were off guard. Thought he could wipe us out in one night." His voice was even, but there was something dark underneath it. "He was wrong."

Polly’s lips pressed into a thin line. "How many did we lose?"

"None of ours," Tommy said.

You sat down in the corner of the room as Tommy recounted the rest, how they had prepared, how the fight had broken out in the streets, how John had gone down but managed to drag himself behind cover before they could finish him off.

You barely heard any of it.

Your hands were still shaking.

You pressed them against your lap, willing them to be still. Not here. Not now.

But the gunfire still echoed in your ears. The blood, the screams, the trenches– it still clung to you.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Breathed in. Out. 

Tommy’s voice cut through the haze.

"Come on."

You barely registered him at first. The warmth of the house, the low voices in the other room—it all felt distant, blurred at the edges. But then Tommy’s hand was on your arm, his grip firm, steady. He guided you up the stairs, leading you through the dimly lit hallway, past closed doors, until he stopped in front of a room.

A guest room.

He pushed the door open, motioning for you to step inside. You hesitated for a second, but your body felt too heavy to argue. You stepped past him and sat on the edge of the bed.

Tommy lingered by the door for a moment before stepping further in.

"There’s a basin over there if you need to wash up," he said, nodding toward the far corner. "Blankets in the wardrobe. Polly probably left something you can change into."

His voice was steady, practical. Giving instructions. Making sure you had what you needed.

But you weren’t listening.

You were staring at the floor, your hands clasped together, your fingers still trembling no matter how hard you tried to make them stop.

Your breath was uneven. Your skin felt too tight. You knew you were safe, but your body hadn’t caught up yet.

Tommy’s voice faded into the background, drowned beneath the sound of your own heartbeat.

Then, a shift in movement.

The bed dipped slightly beside you.

And then warm hands were on your face again.

Your breath caught as Tommy’s fingers pressed gently against your skin, tilting your head toward him. His expression was unreadable, but his thumb brushed against your cheek, and it wasn’t until then that you realized… 

You were crying.

Silent, unchecked tears had begun slipping down your face, trailing along your skin, dripping from your chin onto your lap. You hadn’t even noticed.

Tommy exhaled, slow and steady, as he wiped a tear away with his thumb.

"It’s alright." His voice was quieter now.

You nodded, trying desperately to believe him. More tears fell. 

His thumb brushed over your cheek again, a silent encouragement to talk.

You swallowed hard, squeezing your eyes shut for a second before forcing the words out. "I wasn’t here anymore,” you tried to explain. “I was back there. I–" You broke off, your hands curling against your lap. "I couldn’t get out."

Tommy didn’t speak right away. He just held you there, his hands still cradling your face, grounding you, making sure you were here.

"I know," he murmured. “But you did.”

You blinked up at him, your breath still uneven.

"You came back," Tommy said, his thumb brushing against your cheek again. "And you did what needed to be done."

You let out a shaky breath, your vision blurring again. 

"It happens to all of us," Tommy said simply.

You looked at him then, really looked at him. The exhaustion in his face, the tension in his jaw, the bruises darkening his skin.

He knew.

He understood.

That realization cracked something deep inside you.

Your shoulders sagged, your body finally giving in to the exhaustion. Tommy caught the weight of it, his hands never leaving your skin.

"Just breathe," he murmured. “That’s the only thing that gets you through.”

So you did.

In. Out. In. Out. 

You let out slow breaths, trying to even them out while your eyes flickered over his face.

"This has happened to you?" you asked.

A shadow passed behind his eyes, gone too fast for you to catch.

"Yes."

You studied him, but he didn’t elaborate.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet between you was different now– thicker, heavier. His hands hadn’t left your skin, hadn’t pulled away like before. He was still holding you, like he was debating something, like there was something left to be said.

His thumb lingered against your cheekbone, softer now, slower.

Your breath stilled. The air between you changed.

You weren’t sure who moved first. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was you. But suddenly, the space between you was smaller. His forehead nearly touched yours, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb brushed along your jaw, tracing an invisible line before his fingers slipped lower, along the column of your throat.

A shiver rolled through you.

He felt it. His grip tightened– not forceful, not possessive, but firm. Intentional.

Your lips parted, but no words came. 

Tommy’s eyes flickered to your mouth, just briefly, before he inhaled sharply and let go.

The sudden absence of his touch left you colder than before. You watched as he stood, his movements slower this time, less certain.

"Get some rest," he said, voice rougher than before. "You’ll feel better in the morning."

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure you believed him.

Tommy turned, stepping toward the door, but before he reached it, you found yourself speaking.

"Tommy."

He stopped, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

You hesitated, swallowing thickly.

"Thank you."

Tommy held your gaze for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then, with the faintest nod, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

And for the first time that night, you were alone.