#she’ll never know how much he wanted to cry as he killed her. she’ll never know how much he was protecting her

[chryzuree]

I require a RANT !! What ship/au/dynamic/what have you has been PLAGUING you with brainrot?

GENWALDDDDD, i’ve been thinking abt genwald like NONstop, they’re soooo. jst sooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i jst love how doomed they’ve been frm the start!!!!!! oswald was NEVER going to fully be capable of loving genevieve the way she deserved… he was first beholden to protecting lacie, then to learning how to become the next glen. he was prepping to have Oswald be wiped clean so that he could become Glen, so he tried to make sure he made no lasting attachments… but then gen waltzed in and he fell in love anyway. so he spends the whole time denying himself that love (and denying her that love), and it’s sooo miserable.

but gen won’t give up!!!! she loves him too!!! and he’s so kind to her. she won’t accept any other suitor! not when oswald’s the only one that listens to her chatter and that engages in her hobbies and cares abt her! it’s like learning how fresh fruit tastes, then being forced to go back to canned fruit. she won’t let that happen to herself. she won’t accept anything less than this love she’s found!

oswald lets her in the cracks of his armor, jst a little… it’s the only human contact he feels he can truly have for himself, and he knows it’s selfish, but surely it’s fine in small increments, yes? but he still keeps a distance between them—worse still, now that he’s glen…

and that’s where they begin and end. a sweet flirtatious dance. stolen glances and “accidental” meetings and brief moments where his knuckles brush hers before he has to leave again.

then oswald kills her. he kills her, and gen doesn’t know why. she just knows that her lover—who she thought was her lover, but as she bleeds out, did he love her, did she know him at all?—stabbed her right through the heart and didn’t apologize. didn’t tell her why.

she was dead before she could feel him kiss her for first time. she doesn’t know that he did it to save her the same torment that he’ll experience one day. she doesn’t know that even after all this, she won’t get to see him again in the afterlife. he’s banned from the 100 year cycle, he’s doomed to become a chain, he was never hers, even though that was all she ever wanted.

in conclusion:

[oh-theseus]

bloody stones

pairing: astarion x gn!reader, astarion x gn!tav summary: you nearly die and astarion still can't bring himself to be honest with you. word count: 4,018 a/n: first time trying to write for astarion (or just bg3 in general) & i'm not sure it came out how i wanted it to, BUT i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless <333 i kind of wrote this to be like a background for a future thing i think... but no promises bc i am anything if not inconsistent 😭

warnings: descriptions of blood & injury, canon typical violence, mentions of past abuse. lmk if i should add more!

You were fairly certain you had never been as close to death as you currently were. Even while trapped inside of the nautiloid ship, you had felt like you would make it out. Granted, that might have been because you thought Lae’zel was going to kill you if you died, but still. Even then, on a ship that was actively crashing from hundreds of miles in the sky, you’d thought you’d make it out.

That hope is nowhere to be found as Z’rell drives her ax into your lower leg. You have been injured in battle dozens of times but this is the first time your injury has ever made you fall to your knees within three seconds of receiving it. There is next to no pain at first, but then she pulls her ax from your leg, and it feels like… well, like your leg was just split open.

Blood gushes down your leg, and you can’t stand up again, but by the grace of one of the gods, you manage to block her next attack. Her ax meets the blade of your sword with a loud clang that you can hear over the sounds of other blades clashing and spells being conjured. Anger blazes in Z’rell’s eyes and she surges her weapon further with as much strength as she can muster. You met her with the same effort, but you’re losing so much blood so fast. You’re not nearly as strong as she is.

A noise that is somewhere between a cry and a grunt falls from your lips. But you are certain this is it. You’ll die here. In Moonrise Towers with a parasite wiggling within your skull. You’ll die in a blighted land and your friends will go on without you. If they survive, that is. You can feel your arms wobbling, about to give out. Her ax will come down on your neck and you’ll sit here choking on your own blood until you die. Maybe she’ll dig the Illithid parasite out of your skull and consume it just as your Dream Guardian had urged you to do so many times before. You doubt Z’rell would have qualms about it though - if fact, she might just keep you alive while she digs around in your skull. She seems like the type.

But then there’s an arrow embedded in Z’rell’s neck. And now she’s the one choking on her blood, her weapon faltering. You don’t have time to be grateful, not when she’s determined to make a killing blow and take you out with her. It takes all of your effort to roll out of the way, her ax bouncing off of the bloody stone floor where your head had just been seconds previous. Your head is spinning from the movement, and your leg feels like dead weight, but you manage to draw your dagger and shove it deep into the disciples stomach.

Z’rell falls to her knees. Then forward, onto her face. Dead. 

Hands are underneath your arms, dragging you away from the rest of the battle before you even have time to process that you aren’t dead. You have half a mind to kick and struggle, but when you try to push the hands off of your body you stop your fighting. You know these hands.

“Astarion,” you choke out, tilting your head upwards to see him above you, carefully dragging you behind a turned over table. You can feel a trail of blood being left by your leg; for a moment you wonder if Astarion had smelled your blood before he saw it.

“Don’t talk,” Astarion scolds, propping your back against the table. Blood is splattered on his face and armor, his bow slung across his body. Your eyes shift to his quiver where only three arrows remain. If you weren’t so busy trying not to pass out from blood loss, you might have told him you were right when you’d told him this morning he needed more arrows. But you can hardly convince yourself to breathe, let alone make a joke.

Astarion’s face is twisted into an expression you don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear before. There is determination there as he examines your wound, cursing beneath his breath. There’s concern too. But something else dances in his crimson eyes that makes you tilt your head to the side curiously. 

Fear.

Astarion is scared. 

“How bad?” you force out, leaning your head back against the overturned table. Your eyes lock on the ceiling of Moonrise. This had been a temple once. Briefly, as you fight to keep your eyes open, you decide that it might’ve even been beautiful.

“Not terrible,” Astarion lies. You know it’s a lie, and he knows you know that, too. You might’ve looked at him, tried to assure him you would be okay if you believed it. But you’re not quite sure that you do, so you keep your eyes on the ceiling, listening to the sounds of battle slowing down behind you.

Astarion stops talking after that. Your silence and sudden interest in the ceiling is enough to make Astarion certain his heart will start beating again just so it can race in fear. But his hands are quick in grabbing a healing potion from your belt and helping you get it down. They’re faster still as he shuffles through his discarded back for cloth to press to your wound. 

Blood quickly soaks the white cloth and Astarion’s hands, but the vampire doesn’t mind. He can’t be bothered to think about how potent your blood smells, how easy it would be to just take some for himself. He is certain that if you’d been bleeding out in front of him like this when you first met that he would’ve taken every last drop of blood that he could get. But right now… Astarion wasn’t sure he had ever wanted to puke at the sight of blood more.

Astarion isn’t sure he’s ever felt a panic quite like this before. Perhaps when he’d woken up in a coffin six feet underground. Maybe when he’d realized he was a slave to an evil vampire lord. But other than that? No, Astarion had never felt fear like this. Fear that clutches him by the throat, makes his hands start to tremble. Fear that won’t let him focus on the battle coming to end. Not even to see if his companions - his friends - had survived. All he knows is you, your blood coating his hands, and terror coursing through his entire being.

He’s so consumed by his fear that he doesn’t notice you’ve finally passed out. Nor does he hear Shadowheart approach until she’s shoving Astarion away from you, her hands immediately coming to rest above the gash in your leg. She starts to mutter the words of a healing spell and even Astarion can tell that she’s completely spent, that she’s using her last bit of magic and strength to coax your skin back together.

“Wake them up,” Shadowheart hisses, her eyes still locked on your leg. “Wake them up now, Astarion!”

The near crack in Shadowheart’s voice stirs Astarion from his fear driven stupor. His hands are on your face immediately, your name falling from his lips once, twice. His fingers find the pulsepoint at your neck, and Astarion doesn’t dare to move until he feels it. It’s faint, but it is there.

But your eyes are still closed, and no matter how hard Astarion tries, you will not wake up. You’re still breathing, but it’s hard and labored, and Astarion is certain that if he looks away from you for even a moment you will be gone for good. He didn’t know much, but Astarion did know that a world without you was not one he was willing to return to.

By the grace of… something, Shadowheart manages to mend the skin of your leg. She’s exhausted and can hardly stand by the time she’s finished, but she does it. You’re still out cold, and Astarion is not sure whether to start crying or to find something else to kill to distract himself.

“It’s the blood loss,” Wyll assures him quickly, hauling Shadowheart up from the ground with her arm over his shoulders. “They’ll live. But we need to move them. Now.”

The Blade of Frontiers does not waste another moment, leading Shadowheart across the main floor of Moonrise Towers, down into the basement. Astarion doesn’t hesitate to do the same with you, his blood coated hands holding you so, so carefully.

When you wake up, you’re pretty sure you’re dead. You didn’t know what you expected the afterlife to hold, but it certainly was not a stone floor and the smell of mildew. For a second you think that maybe you could be somewhere else (somewhere where you are not dead) but you can’t think very clearly right now. All you can feel is a distant throbbing in your head and a bone deep cold. Your leg… You could feel your leg. That was good, considering the last thing you could recall before passing out was taking Z’rell’s ax to your shin.

And Astarion. You remembered his familiar grip, pulling you to safety. You remembered his crimson eyes, the fear you’d seen in them. But that was it. You didn’t remember passing out or how light you had felt while blood seeped from your leg. For a moment, it troubles you that you can’t remember. But if this was truly your eternal resting place… maybe it was a good thing you couldn’t remember. You’re not sure that it's really something you’d enjoy dwelling on for the rest of eternity.

You’re not sure how long you lay there. You don’t move your body, and your eyes keep falling closed every once in a while. You feel lightheaded, yet impossibly heavy at the same time. All you can bring yourself to do is stare at the ceiling. Maybe there is a god here, because you’re gifted the memory of doing the very same thing before passing out the first time. And this ceiling looks remarkably similar to the one in Moonrise Towers.

That voice, too. The one you can hear in the distance - almost as if they are shouting for you from the other room. The voice is so similar to…

“Astarion?” You breathe out, your eyes finally shifting away from the ceiling. They fall instead to the person beside you. At first, they’re just a jumble of white curls and red eyes. But then your vision clears and so does your hearing. Astarion’s repeating your name, asking if you can hear him. All you can do is nod. At least you know you’re alive, though. Or at least, you’re pretty sure. Your brain is still foggy. The lingering effects of blood loss? Or perhaps one too many healing potions?

You somehow manage to force yourself into a sitting position. Astarion’s right hand splays against your lower back carefully, his left one hovering in front of your body to catch you if you fold in on yourself. When you straighten your back, the room spins so fast you’re certain that Gale’s cast a spell to make it do that. Your hands grip Astarion’s left arm to keep from falling over.

“Easy, easy,” Astarion says softly. You’re not certain of many things right now, but you are certain that you have never heard Astarion use that tone before. One so gentle, so soft. Even when he’d told you of Cazador and the scar that tainted his back. 

“I’m okay,” you reply after a moment. Your hands still grip his arm but neither of you seem to mind it. “I’m okay, promise.” The sentiment is just as much for yourself as it is for Astarion.

Astarion only hums in reply. His eyes are flickering over your face. Like he’s taking you in for the first time - or perhaps even the last. His hand on your back is a welcome weight and the feeling of his forearm under your fingertips keeps you grounded. This is real. You are here.

You are alive.

“Holy shit,” you curse. Your eyes widen and your breathing slowly begins to pick up. You’d been so close to dying, to bleeding out in a cursed land so far from home. You’d never thought you’d be one to care so much about something like this, but the fear that you could’ve died is gripping you by the throat, pinning you beneath its clutches. 

Astarion notices this. Of course he notices. He notices everything about you. The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. How you shift your weight from foot to foot when unsure about something. How your hands flex when you’re growing frustrated. So of course he notices your breathing picking up, your grip on his arms becoming just slightly tighter.

“You’re okay, you’re okay. You need to breathe, love.” He says your name softly then, still in that foreign tone of his. The hand at your back comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. “Breathe,” his voice is firmer now, one you’re used to from him. Maybe it’s that tone of his that compels you to listen. Maybe it’s his hand cradling your face like you might slip away as soon as he lets you go. Or maybe it’s the fact that his eyes are still swimming with that fear you’d seen before you lost consciousness.

It takes a few moments, but you manage to even out your breathing. Those invisible claws at your neck retract, fading into the shadows of the room. The basement of Moonrise Towers, you realize. That was why the ceiling looked similar to the one upstairs. 

Everything returns to you then. The battle, Ketheric, the ax, the amount of blood you’d lost. Astarion’s arrow in Z’rell’s neck.

“You killed her,” you say, as if Astarion had not killed dozens of other enemies during your travels. “Nice aim.”

Astarion visibly deflates as soon as the joke leaves your lips. Your lips quirk into the smallest of smiles despite yourself. But then Astarion retracts his hand from your face, and that small smile falls away slowly. Astarion pretends not to notice it. You pretend like you don’t either; your attention shifts to your right leg, studying the skin exposed by the large tear in your pants. You make a mental note to find new pants.

Your hand trembles slightly as you remove it from Astarion’s arm and bring it down on your leg. Gingerly, you pull the ruined fabric back more and take in where the wound should have been. Instead, your skin looks near perfect. There is a thin scar from where Shadowheart’s healing had knitted the skin together but that is the only indication that your flesh had been torn apart that very same day.

“For a woman who worshiped the Lady of Loss, Shadowheart was rather good at keeping me - us from losing you.”

Your eyes shift to Astarion’s at his slip. You try to not let your face fall when he pulls his arm from beneath your other hand. He leans back in the chair that matches the table you’re laid out on top of, crossing his arms and screwing his face into that expression you’ve grown to recognize as a mask. A flash of hurt floods through you. Selfishly, you wonder how much more you will need to do to prove yourself before Astarion finally, finally trusts you.

“Shadowheart is a good healer,” you say instead of what you want to say. You want to comment on him being scared. You want to point out that he had literally saved your life. You want to tell him that that is not something you just do for someone you’re looking at with sheer indifference. “I think you’re the only one who doubts her.” Your own tone has changed. Despite the hurt in your heart, your tone is sharp.

“I do not doubt her, my dear. I don’t trust her. There is a difference,” Astarion replies with a wave of his hand. You don’t like this game. You hate this game. Why must he insist on playing it?

“Do you trust anyone, Astarion?”

If you were anyone else, Astarion would’ve had a quick retort. Or if you’d said it with anger in your voice. But you’re you and the question comes out with far less frustration than you had wanted it to. Instead, you sound sad. Hurt. And somehow, seeing you look like this is almost as bad as watching you bleed out. He predicts your next words before you say them, but he still winces at them all the same.

“Do you trust me?”

Your question hangs in the air between the two of you. Maybe it’s the lack of blood in your system that makes you say it. You never would have dared to ask something so vulnerable just a few feet from the rest of your companions normally. Maybe it’s the fact that you had almost died. Almost died with so many unsaid words swimming through your mind. Maybe that’s why you say it. Or maybe you’re just tired of not knowing what Astarion is truly thinking and feeling.

“You know I care for you,” Astarion replies after a moment. And you do know - how could you not when you’d seen his fear at the prospect of losing you with your own two eyes. How could you not know that he cared for you when he was so gentle every time he took your blood? How could you not know that he cared for you when he had sat beside you on sleepless nights? 

But that was not what your question was. 

“That’s not what I asked.” You intend to sound firm still. You fail, though, and you sound every bit as hurt and frustrated as you feel. “Why not?” Why didn’t he trust you? Or better, why did he not trust you enough? He trusted you enough to tell you about Cazador and what his former master had done to him. But he didn’t trust you enough to be honest about his emotions - especially his emotions towards you. Why? Why?

You watch as Astarion shifts in his seat. At first, you think he’s going to get up and walk away from you. Instead, he shifts forward, and his left hand finds yours. Your eyes fall to where your skin meets, they watch as Astarion holds your hand on top of his gently. His own attention is drawn to it, watching carefully as his other hand fidgets with your fingers.

“I thought you were going to die.”

His confession is soft, heartfelt. You might even be able to convince yourself he sounds like he might cry. But when he looks up to meet your eyes again, his crimson eyes are clear of tears. But there is pain there. Pain and torment and that fear. 

“I thought you were going to die and I would… And I would have to live with -” He gestures to himself with his hand that had been fidgeting with your fingers. “This.”

Your eyebrows knit together at his words, but you say nothing. You had long since learned that when Astarion was on the verge of opening up, it was best to let him get the words out on his own. Pressuring him had never gotten you anywhere. Well, except for right now. Every other time it had been entirely fruitless. 

“You have shown a kindness to me that I am unfamiliar with. With Cazador… His version of kindness was letting me eat instead of starving. But it always had a price. Always,” he can’t look at you anymore, instead looking intently at your hand in his. “Your kindness - I am learning - comes freely.”

“You are waiting for the other boot to drop,” You say, understanding what he is trying to tell you without directly saying it. When he nods, you swallow thickly. Words seem to fail you as you search desperately for the right thing to say. But there are no words that feel good enough.

Astarion also seems to be at a loss for words. Carefully, you place your hand not holding his under his chin and tilt his face upwards, so that your eyes meet once more. Your hand slides to cup his cheek, and your heart swells when you feel him press into your touch gently. 

“I am not him.”

Astarion’s eyes close at your words. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything except sit there for a long moment. So long that you think he isn’t going to reply. But then he turns his head, and he kisses the palm of your hand. Then where your hand meets your wrist. Then the inside of your wrist. As he places the third kiss to your skin, you let your hand fall away and watch as he picks it up with his free hand.

He doesn’t say it, but you know he understands. He knows you are not Cazador. And you don’t say it, but he knows you understand. You know he is trying. And neither of you say it, but both of you see those three words swimming in each other’s eyes. But you both know they’re there.

“Thank you,” you say after a long minute. “For not letting me die. Not that I expected you to, but…”

But you knew he wouldn’t have saved you a few weeks ago. 

“I mean it. Thank you.”

The fear in Astarion’s eyes finally melts away and that smirk of his falls onto his lips. But this was not his mask - no, this was his real joy. His real happiness at your not being dead and at being able to let a joke slip past his lips knowing you didn’t expect anything because of it.

“I can think of a few ways you could show that gratitude,” he says suggestively. A smile of your own spreads across your face, despite the color that floods it, too. Weakly, you shove his hands off of yours and roll your eyes at him. “You are welcome. I’ll save you a thousand times over if it means I get to see your smile once more.”

“Oh, don’t get soft on me now,” You say through your grin. But you’d like nothing more. A soft Astarion meant a healed one, a safe one. If that meant you were subjected to a few sappy lines here and there, you wouldn’t mind it.

“Hard to be soft with you around.”

“Astarion,” You hiss, realizing the joke you’ve walked yourself right into. For a second you debate getting off of the table and smacking him over the head, but when you shift your leg just slightly, that dizziness returns and has you gripping the edge of the table. 

Astarion is on his feet within a moment, noticing the change in you as soon as it happens. His hand has returned to your back, steadying you as the room starts to spin again. With your head a little clearer now, you recognize the feeling as similar to what you feel when Astarion drinks from you. With how strongly you’re feeling it… you don’t want to think about how much blood you must have lost.

“Rest. Please,” Astarion says in that soft voice again. And truly, who are you to deny him when he’s being so gentle? You let him coax you onto the table, onto the soft pile of fabrics you hadn’t realized had been under your head until just now. You want to stay conscious, to talk to Astarion more, but as soon as you’ve settled back down, you realize just how tired you are.

When you stir hours later, you’re tucked into your bedroll within your tent. And Astarion is sitting not far from you, reading. You don’t say anything as sleep overtakes you again, but you’re pretty certain you could get used to waking up to the sight of Astarion.

And Astarion’s pretty certain he wouldn’t mind it either.

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[shanastoryteller]

Meg is the first choice, of course, but she’s not suited to this type of long term mission and they all know it. The problem is, almost none of them are. The nature of the beast, she supposes.

That’s why it ends up being her, in the end. Well, it’s almost Ruby, but there’s one thing she has that Ruby doesn’t.

How she ended up here in the first place.

She thought Clyde loved her. She thought he’d take her away, from her father and her terrible life, and so when he died too young, before he could fulfill any of his promises, she’d sold her soul to bring him back.

But he hadn’t kept a single promise. She’d died in her father’s house.

“You remember being in love, don’t you?” he asks, cruel in his callousness, which is different than his other types of cruelty. It’s all he has, shining out in a thousand different ways. “You’ll be better at faking it.”

All she does is fake it.

“Yes,” she says.

This mission gets her topside. It’s worth it for that alone.

~

She slips into a pretty blonde named Rebecca first but by the end of the day, the girl’s screaming has given her a headache, and she slips right back out. She’ll probably just think she had a bad trip.

He’d offered to arrange something for her, but she wanted to pick herself, and she’s not interested in having someone crying and moaning in the back of her mind. But it’s not like there are a lot of options.

She could kill one, of course. But she’s never – she hasn’t been topside, before. Everything she’s killed before had already been dead. So she hovers for the next week, looking for some sort of opportunity, for something she can use that’s not going to scream at her.

The day before she’s going to have to either pick someone or risk being sent back, there’s a car accident.

The girl’s heart is still and her body’s warm, blood pooling down her head, but that’s nothing she can’t fix. She settles into the body, jumpstarting the heart and can feel the skin on her head knitting back together. It’s also blessedly, thankfully silent, with her the only one inside this body. The driver who hit her is dead and people are crowding in, a crying girl pulling her free. “Anne! Anne, are you okay, oh my god, I can’t believe that happened-”

She wrinkles her nose before smoothing out her expression.

The name will have to go. She’ll say she’s reinventing herself after tragedy, or something, but she’s not going to walk around responding to Anne. That’s not her name.

Anne’s a sophomore, which isn’t ideal, but she’s beautiful and doesn’t have that many friends and barely talks to her family, so she’s actually perfect.

She’s also blonde.

She’d been blonde before too.

~

All the demons who had run these sort of missions before give her advice, tell her things that will help her. Some of their assignments had lasted months, but no one’s tried to do it for as long as she’s supposed to.

He likes smart girls.

Be confident. Be flirty. He’s shyer than he looks.

He never had a mother. He likes it when girls take care of him.

He likes to take care of girls too. He wants to feel useful.

She’d had dreams, before, of all the ways she’d could escape her father. It wasn’t common for girls to get more than a basic education, but she’d been smart. She could read and do complicated sums and enjoyed the quiet evenings when she balanced her father’s books. She’d thought she might like an advanced education, thought it could get her out of her life, but hadn’t known how to manage it.

Clyde had seemed easier. More attainable. More realistic.

She’d sold her soul for nothing in the end. She hadn’t even got the full ten years of her bargain.

She doesn’t know how much of their advice she can take.

She can be smart, but considering the school they’re at, all the girls will be smart. She hadn’t been confident or flirty, which is maybe why she’d latched onto the first boy who smiled at her. She never had a mother herself and doesn’t know to act like one.

She’s never been taken care of and doesn’t know how to do that either.

There’s no way for her to do this. She’s going to be replaced and sent back below and he’ll be angry at her and she hates hates hates when he’s angry at her, what he does to her.

“Are you okay?”

She looks up, something cold on her tongue, but falters.

He’s standing there, warm hazel eyes and long dark hair, hunching to try and make himself smaller, and a smile on his face that does nothing to hide his concern.

“Do you ever feel like,” she starts, her dead stolen heart beating too quickly, “everything is falling apart around you and you have no idea what you’re doing and like maybe your whole life is one huge mistake?”

Well, fuck. She’s definitely being replaced now.

Except Azazel’s favorite throws back his head and laughs, smile stretching into a grin. “Every day of my life, more or less.”

“How do you deal with it?” she asks, scrubbing a hand over her face.

He shrugs. “Well, my brother would say women and liquor.” He seems to realize how that sounds a moment later and he pales, “Um, not that I’m – I’m not saying, I wasn’t trying to. He’s just sort of a cad, and – I wasn’t trying to, with you, uh.”

She feels herself softening in spite of herself. “So you’re not one to apply that method yourself?”

“No,” he says firmly, eyes wide. “God, I’m just – I’m sorry. I – I’m Sam.”

“Hi Sam,” she returns, with a smile she doesn’t have to fake. “I’m Jess.”

~

She’s not supposed to fall in love with him.

She’s to worm his way to his side. She’s to keep him from running back to his family, to keep him from rebuilding the bridges he’s burned. She’s to keep him distracted and focused on her until his powers activate and then she’s to guide him into using them, to be supportive and loving and to push him straight into Azazel’s arms.

Sam loves his family so much.

He talks of his brother all the time. His father less, the emotions there more tangled, but love no less fierce.

She nudges him away from it, talks to him about how it’s normal for families to grow apart, to say that they’ll understand when he graduates, that he’ll show them they type of man that he is.

By the time he graduates, his powers will start manifesting, and he’ll avoid his family without her prodding. He knows what they’ll think of him, then, and Jess tells herself that she’s helping him. That this is for Sam’s own good.

If he’s with her, then he’s safe. His father won’t kill him while he’s safe at school. He can’t kill Sam for powers that he’ll never know about.

It’s easy to dig into the anger for his father, to use his last words to Sam as a way to hold him at her side. His brother is more difficult. Jess doesn’t do much with that, in the end, tells herself that it would be too complicated, too suspicious, and as long Dean is sticking with their father it amounts to same thing anyway.

The truth is more complicated.

His father will kill Sam if he has to.

She doesn’t think that his brother will. She thinks that maybe he’d choose to protect Sam, over their father’s wishes, over everything he’d been taught, no matter the consequences.

She fears that she and Dean have a lot in common.

She invites Sam over for holidays, makes summer plans with him, holds as much of his attention as she can manage.

She studies and makes friends and laughs and spends so much time with him, but not all of it. It has to be believable after all, has to be constant, in a way that it didn’t have to be with all the other demons sent to take care of him.

Jess lives a life that had been denied to her and tries to do what she was sent to do and does the one thing she was definitely not supposed to do, which is fall in love with Sam Winchester.

~

His brother shows up in their apartment and she knows that she’s going to lose him.

Sam tries to act angry, but she knows him too well. He’s moving around his brother like a flower following the sun and she asks him not to go, tries to find the words to keep him here, but they all get caught in her throat. If she begged, if she threw a fit, if she demanded it of him, he would stay. He’d tell his brother he’s sorry but he’d stay with her and not help him and burn their relationship for good. He loves her enough to do that for her. She knows it.

She loves him enough not to make him.

He kisses her and she knows it’ll be the last time. He doesn’t.

“What did that take, five minutes?” Azazel is right there, breath on the back of her neck, and his anger fury rage pressing down on her even closer. “Over three years at his side and you lost him in five minutes. What a waste.”

“I kept him for over three years,” she says, tries to keep her voice steady, but knows she fails.

She had him for over three years.

“Not good enough,” he whispers, lips on the shell of her ear. “Guess I’ll have to send Meg in after all.”

Pain erupts hot across her stomach and her screams mix with his laughter.

~

Love always burns her in the end.

[writerslittlelibrary]

Mob!Natasha x daughter!reader headcannons

masterlist

a/n: I figured writing some headcanons was a bit less pressuring, and I enjoyed this so much! I’ll definitely be writing more headcanons in the future :)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

Mob!Natasha who found you when you were just a baby. She heard crying coming out of the closet after she had just killed her target. Turns out, he had already found his next victim, you. Luckily, Natasha was just in time to save you from that horrible life and raised you herself

Mob!Natasha who raised you in the safety of her Russian home. Protected, hidden, and far away from the dangers of the world

Mob!Natasha who only allowed Melina, Alexei, and Yelena to see and know about you the first 5 years of your life

Mob!Natasha who started training you for active combat the moment you could stand, wanting you to be able to protect yourself, should you ever end up being mixed into one of her ‘jobs’

Mob!Natasha who loves you more than anything in the world, getting you whatever you want whenever you want it, yet still making sure you’re not becoming a spoiled brat

Mob!Natasha who puts her trusted bodyguard, Bucky Barnes, on any and every outing you go on. You leave the house for a walk? You better count on the fact that Bucky is coming. You want to go shopping? Don’t worry, Bucky will simply come to help you carry your bags. You want to have dinner with someone? Bucky will simply sit a few tables away from you, giving you privacy yet keeping a close eye on you

Mob!Natasha who is terrified when your existence becomes known after you and her are spotted going for a little shopping trip. She will upgrade her security everywhere, putting multiple bodyguards by your side every time you leave the house. Of course, she still trusts that Bucky is the best at keeping you safe, but just to be sure, you get a few more of her men

Mob!Natasha who sometimes allows you to sit in on her meetings, letting you sit next to her, or on the ground, whichever you prefer. It’s not like any of the people she is meeting with can say anything. That is if they want to keep their lives of course. Sometimes, if you forgot to bring something she will slide you her notepad for you to doodle on, or she’ll just stop the entire meeting and order one of her men to fetch you whatever you wish. She gets to decided how her meetings go, of course

Mob!Natasha who knows you adore her henchwomen more than anything. Your personal favourite is Natasha’s assistant, Maria. You know her and your mom have some more going on. You are not blind to the lingering touches and the sneaky looks they send each other. Of course, you are a big fan of Carol. She is just so cool and nice to you, even though she can kill someone with basically a glare. To you, she is the sweetest human on the planet

Mob!Natasha who knows you adore your aunt Yelena more than anyone on the planet. Because of that, she makes sure Yelena gets the opportunity to visit more than enough. Everytime Natasha has to leave for a slightly bigger ‘job’ she simply calls Yelena to keep you company. Natasha knows you don’t need a babysitter anymore, but she likes the idea of you not having to be lonely. Besides, it is much safer for you to be accompanied by your aunt Yelena

Mob!Natasha who knows how much you adore playing board and cards games, so she told her people to never deny you a game, were you to ask. Luckily, you mostly gravitate towards Carol and her girlfriend Valkyrie, and who were they to deny you a game? They loved your company, and they loved playing your card games with you

Mob!Natasha who, when you start dating someone, runs thousands of background checks, does hundreds of checkups throughout the day, and makes sure to give whoever you decided to date a little talk, letting them know exactly what’s waiting for them were they ever to hurt you

Mob!Natasha who had the best private tutors coming to your home to teach you everything you needed to know, giving you the highest level of eduction you’d ever need

Mob!Natasha who knows that you are financially set for life, but who still allows you to go to college if you would ever want to. Of course it would be an expensive, high security private school, but still

Mob!Natasha who takes you on the multiple holiday trips during the year. You want to go to Spain? Pack your bag because Natasha will have planned a trip next week. Obviously you both will simply take her private jet, but she needs a week to book some fancy holiday home for you two to stay at

Mob!Natasha who, despite her fortune, often books small, low budget holiday trips. Everyone knows those small holiday homes are the best and the cosiest. What kind of mother would Natasha be if she didn’t give you that experience?

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @tia-thesimp @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @hor1zond1ar1es @lorsstar1st @superlegend216

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Five: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, one-sided relationship, arm/hand kink, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, suicide/death metaphor[Be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin is and always will be the most romantic man to exist, that is all. Psycho!Stalker!Ani loves counting idk he just does & I know it.[diary entries from Ani] [texts from Luke] extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+

Diary Entry: July 8th

You’d better be glad I’m patient, or else you’d have another dead neighbor.

When I heard the *wwoop* of your phone sending out a text on my computer I didn’t check it immediately. Until I heard four *pings* in quick succession.

‘Lukey, call me.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m in class.’

‘10 mins’

‘Or emergency?’

Remember how I said I like Luke? I like him a little bit less. Who texts like that… just write a sentence like a normal person. One sentence.

‘emergency!!’

Emergency? The panic that flooded my veins was icy-hot as I frantically pulled up a the live feed of your home and blasted the volume.

Nothing.

You were just sitting on the couch snacking on those Extra Toasty Cheezits that you love so much. (Cheezits was a marketing genius for that though, profiting off burnt ones because little weirdos like you lived for that one random burnt piece at the bottom of the bag. Goofy girl.)

That doesn’t seem very ‘emergency!!’ to me. Unless you’ve run out of Cheezits, but you haven’t. I would know.

I chewed my nails, paced the floor, and wrung out my hands. I couldn’t just walk over there and say ‘Hey! Just wanted to make sure you’re okay cause I cloned your phone and saw a concerning text! How can I help?’.

You seemed fine, you weren’t crying, you didn’t look upset. You just started scrolling through Instagram reels and rapid-fire sending them to your sister as if she’d actually watch them all. We all know she won’t, but if you ask she’ll say she did.

‘step out. emergency!!’

‘no, give me 4. it can wait.’

Jesus Luke, are you trying to make me dislike you? I can’t believe you’d make her wait like that. The girl said it’s an emergency. That means pick up the fucking phone, dial her fucking number and say ‘I’m on my way, what’s going on?’

Drop everything and fucking run. I’d jump from a moving train if I got that text from you. Train station who? I have two legs and I can run pretty fast as long as I have the right motivation.

Pass a kid on a bike? ‘Scuse me I’m commandeering this vehicle.’ I’d be the fucking flash with pink tassels and purple glow wheels.

‘Now!!’

The suspense was literally killing me. I was withering away with worry.

‘if it’s the guy again I swear to god.’

Guy? What guy? What had I missed? There was a guy in your life that wasn’t me?

‘just fucking call me.’

Yeah, you heard the girl. Fucking call her already.

“No he did not.” Luke scoffed, as if what you’d told him was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard in ages.

“I swear. I swear he did!” You giggled folding over on the couch.

“There’s no way a straight man did that for you and didn’t try to fuck.” Luke laughed. “I don’t believe you. You’re delusional.”

“I am not!” You defended, not actually hurt by his comment but wanting to prove him wrong anyway.

“I literally don’t believe you.” He let out a snort and whispered something to Han on the other end of the line. “Han said he’s still set on Ben for you.”

“I told you I am not interested. There’s a reason I never texted him!” You retorted.

“Yeah because you lost his number you pea-brain.” He teased.

“No.” You said with a slightly haughty tone. “I happen to believe it was just the universe telling me it wasn’t meant to be.”

“That’s a really good justification for loosing his number.” Han’s voice came through the speaker slightly muffled from his distance.

“Shut up both of you. You’re horrible.” You laughed. “I’m sticking to it. The universe said no and I’m no match for the powers that be, m’kay?”

“Sure babes.” Luke said, you could almost hear his stupid little smirk.

“Anyway. Yes, look I’ll send you a picture of the book okay?” You hopped up quickly and snapped a picture to send to Luke’s phone. “Cause I can’t exactly send you a picture of him helping me with my groceries.”

“Mmhmm I know because it didn’t happen.” Luke said flatly. “Hard to get a picture of a hallucination.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed, Luke was just being protective. It’s not like he was wrong, most men wouldn’t do something like that out of the kindness of their heart.

“This would be so much easier if you had an iPhone. You might be hideous but I still miss your face.” You teased, hearing Han’s booming laugh in the background.

“Whatever.” Luke grumbled, “okay, so what am I looking at here?”

“See it’s this collection of paper that has typed out wo-“

“Smartass. I mean: what’s so… cool? about it?” He interrupted.

“It’s a special edition. $50. He just gave me a special edition book without a second thought.” You said excitedly. “Remember I lost my copy not too long ago?”

“Mmm yeah I think I remember.” He said noncommittally. “You should really keep up with your shit.”

“Hey I’m doing better!” You retorted. “My life is so put together right now. You’d be amazed.”

“Delusional Han I’m telling you.” He snickered quietly.

“Oh my god! Have you no faith in me at all?” You scoffed. “I haven’t forgotten to charge my phone or take my medicine. I’ve kept everything tidy. All my important stuff stays in my bag.”

“You’ve been possessed.” Luke gasped.

“Fuck. If I have then I’ve got the sweetest demon the 7th circle could provide.” You joked. “I’ve even been sleeping better, I think maybe even boogie is happier too. She’s started sitting at the living room window to watch the pigeons again.”

“Aw, my niece.” He crooned. “My *favorite* niece.”

“What about leia’s new-“

“I said what I said.” Luke interrupted.

Diary Entry: July 8th

The way you gushed about me on the phone was everything I could’ve asked for and more. I’ve never been so fucking proud of myself. I feel like I could… I don’t know lift a fucking car or something. I feel good. This is a good feeling, to be appreciated like this.

I want you to know how happy you’ve made me today.

To hear your voice, see your face, watch your body language as you spoke about how we met and our little chat today. I could live off purely that for days. Your giggle is nourishment for my soul, your voice is honey to drink with my tea, your beauty is the sugar in the much-to-big spoon I’d use to stir it with.

That’s what life with you would be like. Tea time. It’s soft, I always think of tea time as being soft; a big blanket of comfort and security. I just feel like it’s the perfect metaphor.

You are the ingredients. The tea leaves, honey, sugar, and water.

I am the the cup and life, fate, whatever it may be, is the spoon.

Can you use all of those things separately? Sure. But would it make much sense to pour hot water on a pile of dry leaves, drizzle some honey and sprinkle sugar into a goopy puddle right on the kitchen counter?

Would it be enjoyable to drink air from a small cup and leave the spoon lonely and unused?

No.

You need me to hold you; you are so many things. All of them are perfect and all of them are uniquely you. But when joined together in a secure little cup you’ll have the opportunity to mesh those things into something new.

A cup is just a cup if there’s nothing in it. Cold and empty ceramic. Sturdy and reliable although delicate when handled irresponsibly.

Fill me with you. All of you.

You’ve already started that you know? Each tea leaf is a tidbit of you.

Your likes and dislikes. Your happiest memories and even your sad ones, your angry moments, your bad days. I love and cherish even the deepest caverns and widest chasms in your beautiful mind. Without them, you wouldn’t be you.

Please believe me when I say that even if the leaves are crumpled or incomplete… it doesn’t mean that they won’t make tea.

Honey, my favorite. Your personality. God you’re so fucking sweet it hurts. Your voice, those lovely lips that speak such well written poetry.

My love, everything you say is a hymn.

I wasn’t a religious man before you. My Goddess, I fall to my knees at the altar for you. Speak to me and you’ll sing to my very soul. Tell me truth, tell me lies, tell me those things that float through the nether. I’ll take it all as gospel.

Ask of me anything and I will spill blood, even if it is my own, to provide you with whatever you wish.

I never understood why honey was akin to the nectar of the gods until I met you.

Now I understand. To taste you is to taste life. To smell you is to breathe freely. To feel you is to be soothed.

Sugar. Do you know how many grains of sugar are in the average tablespoon? Around 60,000. The human eye processes visuals at the average rate of 13 milliseconds per image. Even faster if presented with an image that invokes emotion. Though for the purposes of math, we will go with 13 milliseconds.

13 milliseconds is about 75 frames per second. 60 seconds in one minute. 4,500 frames.

If the average tablespoon holds 60,000 grains of sugar that’s 270,000,000 frames per second.

4,500,000 minutes. 75,000 hours. 3,125 days. About 102 months. Alittle over 8 years.

I use 3 tablespoons of sugar per cup of tea.

That means by our 25 anniversary I will have been graced with every grain of your beauty.

By then I’ll probably need a few more spoonfuls if I plan to survive raising children with you. If they’re as hyperactive as you get sometimes I’ll fucking need it.

Oh well. Just more time for me to bask in your beauty.

All these things have filled me, your cup. All that I need now is water. Your love.

The kind of love that burns so hot that it bubbles up beneath your skin and makes you itch if you’re apart for too long.

That’s what happens when water boils, the atoms separate and bounce around until they come back together as the water cools.

Just like us.

I’m the flame that’s heating your water, the closer I get the hotter it’ll grow until it’s rattling the kettle, screaming to be let out and bring all the pieces together.

Adding that boiling water, your love. It will bring life to me. You’ll warm the cold ceramic shell that I’ve been for so long. Fragile and lonely and horribly handled. I might have a few chips but the foundation is strong and worthy.

A cup is just a cup if there’s nothing in it.

You give me purpose. You make me useful.

I will let our love steep. Let it steep, because you can’t make tea without all the ingredients and a water-worthy cup.

We will stir it and stir it and stir it until the the hand of fate declares us ready, I will be there for you at the *clink* of the spoon against my rim.

I will be there after to hold you until the very last sip.

I will be there until I am broken beyond repair.

If the last sip happens before my ceramic cracks… I will be quick to join you after slipping through the hands of fate.

It’s a long winded way to say that I love you, but if you wanted, I would memorize it and recite it for you every night before drift to sleep.

Diary Entry: July 12th

You’re so cute.

I don’t know how you haven’t noticed that your laundry detergent should’ve run out ages ago. I giggle like a school girl everytime I see you at the laundromat holding it up to measure it out.

I’ve started washing my stuff in the same as you, I love the way your laundry smells.

But I love the way you smell even more.

You just bought some new sheets recently and I took the liberty of ordering the same ones. What luck that we both use a queen size bed huh? The cutesy little strawberry print isn’t exactly my style but I don’t give a shit. The giddy way you opened up your package was nothing short of adorable.

You know what else is super handy about using the same detergent?

You won’t notice when I switch them out.

You’re washing them for the first time today since you just received them in the mail yesterday. I know you’re so excited to put them on and make your pretty pink bed up, I’m amazed you had the patience to wait until today to go to the laundromat. It’s open 24/7, proud of you baby. Prioritizing that good deep sleep you’ve been getting.

You’re welcome, and thank you.

Watching you sleep from the end of the bed is one of my favorite things. It just… I don’t know it makes me feel comforted to be there. It’s the closest thing to sleeping next to you that I can get right now. Then I’ll be getting some good deep sleep.

It’s hard for me to rest if I can’t reach out and make sure you’re safe.

The audio from your room is wonderful ASMR though. Your snores and snuffles and the rustling of blankets while you sprawl out and occupy as much space as your body can manage; it’s soothing to me.

Partially because I know you’re okay, partially because I was able to give you that deep rest.

You wash your sheets once a week because you love the feeling of fresh warm linens. It’s the simple pleasures of life that bring you the most joy. That’s something I adore about you.

So here’s the plan. I’m a man of my word and I promised you a reward for all your hard work didn’t I? I’m also a man who enjoys the killing of two birds with one stone.

Life goes so much more smoothly if you take the time to line up the shot.

That’s why I immediately ordered my own set as soon as I checked your Amazon account. Mine arrived today too and I’ll be stopping by the laundromat just as you’re leaving. I’ve left them in the box and put it at the bottom of my basket though, I don’t want to ruin the surprise you know?

I’m so glad I was able to hear your little chat with your friends. Not only was it a wonderful reassurance, it also allowed me to plan our encounters more closely together. I’ve made myself known to you, I’ve spaced out our previous meetings well enough to leave you wishing you’d catch me out in the hallway even for a quick hello.

Trust me I have been dying to indulge you. But if this whole relationship has taught me anything it’s: trust the process.

See you soon princess, my timer just went off. I’ll be there just in time to watch you nuzzle your face into the last warm item of clothing from the dryer before tossing it in the basket.

Date:

July 12th

You were tossing the last of your clean laundry into the basket when the bell above the door jingled. Purely out of habit you glanced over, instead of the usual stranger or semi-familiar face, it was Anakin.

He seemed not to notice you straight away, keeping his head down and walking to the washer/dryer set closest to the front window.

It was shameful the way you took this opportunity to stare and soak him up. His whole physique just screamed at the primal parts of your brain. The parts that want you to sprint across the laundromat and l seduce him into ravaging you right up against the glass he stood near. Who cares who sees? You’d be beyond proud to be spotted in the throes of passion as long as it was him who was behind you.

The way his arms moved should be illegal. How is it possible for someone to be so… lean? The veins that and corded tendons that roll beneath his skin become even more visible as his wrist gives way to his hands.

Wide palms that would be perfect for grabbing a handful of your ass. Gripping your hips to guide you down onto what you can only assume is an equally impressive cock.

Long fingers as the most elegantly carved necklace. Fingertips that could trace swirling patterns across the vast expanse of your skin. Those same fingertips caressing the slick and swollen folds that just so happened to be in desperate need of his attention.

How could you not be a puddle of a person when he locks eyes with you like that? Like he’s reading the transcript of your soul, his eyes never stayed in one place too long. He needed to take in as much of you as possible each and everytime he was in your company.

How could you not forget how to speak when he walks over to you with such confidence? His towering frame would be intimidating if he didn’t radiate comfort. He seemed like he knew he had that affect on you, or maybe he was just one of those clueless types. That special kind of man who doesn’t realize what a catch they are.

“What’s up sweet girl?” He asked with that same gritty tone that had you feigning for him in ways he’d find unholy.

“Hey Anakin.” You managed to tone down the smile that instantly spread across your face. “I was just about to leave…”

“Well isn’t that a shame.” He chuckled, his eyes darting from your lips to your eyes and back again before he looked up and away. Stretching his arm up behind his head to rub his neck.

“Hmm yeah it is.” You murmured, too distracted by the tiny sliver of skin and dark hair the peaked out from beneath the hem of his shirt.

“Eyes up baby.” He teased, his finger tapping the underside of your chin before you could even register his hand was coming toward you.

‘Jesus Christ.’

If he can make your knees this weak from a few words… it’s almost concerning to think of the state you’d be in after he rearranges your guts.

The blush on your cheeks could’ve been mistaken for a sunburn, never had you felt so fucking embarrassed and flustered at the same time. You couldn’t even be mad.

“Let me help, yeah?” He said, choosing to glaze over your blatant staring and not push it farther with the teasing comments.

Truly a gentleman.

“Oh! Yeah, yeah.” You nodded. “Thanks.”

You managed a soft smile as your brain attempted to rewire itself into working condition again. He closed the dryer and placed your detergent and fabric softener beads into your basket and carried them over to his washer/dryer combo, expecting you to follow.

He sat it down near one of the many metal folding chairs lining the wall and turned to you again, his expression one of concern? Worry? Apprehension?

“You okay sweetheart?” He asked gently. “Did I make you uncomfortable?”

“What?” You asked, eyebrows furrowing. “Uncomfortable? No, no.” You shook your head in realization that he must’ve assumed he’d struck a nerve with his flirtatious comment.

“You sure?” He asked.

Somehow his hands, those strong hands that you just knew would feel like heaven on your skin, had made their way to your biceps. Slowly traveling the length of your forearm to hold both of your hands in his, your fingers curved over his while his thumb rubbed your knuckles.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You nodded, shooting him a bashful smile.

His eyes searched your face like he was scanning for even the most minuscule change in expression, any twitch of your lip or shift in your line of sight that might say otherwise. When he was sure you were being truthful he spoke again.

“Alright princess,” he conceded with a warm tone. “you sticking around or headed out?”

“I’d stay to chat for a bit if I could, but I’ve gotta clock-in, in about… 45mins.” You said, thankful for the change in subject.

Anakin never failed to both confuse and amaze you. Every fucking time you spoke to him. You were tired of telling yourself he was just too damn good to be true, fuck it, he is that good.

In all your years, you’d never had a man check-in with you like that and in such a caring and considerate way… you couldn’t have dreamed up a man like this. It was a small detail of his character, but it made a world of a difference.

If you would’ve said ‘yes, that made me uncomfortable.’ you had no doubt in your mind that he would apologize and mean it. He’d mean it, apologize with his whole chest and make sure that it never ever happened again.

That was the kind of comfort and security that only a fictional love could provide.

But here he is.

In the flesh.

Maybe hearing about this, Luke might change his mind. Luke was only doing his job as your best friend and protector, shielding you from the dangers of the average Brad that you’d dated in the past. But…

Anakin’s not that kinda guy.

“You know, I don’t think you’ve ever told me where you work.” Anakin pointed out.

“Huh, I guess I haven’t.” You realized. “Bluebird Diner. It’s a good place to eat, yummy pie.”

“Oh yeah I’ve been there before!” Anakin said happily, “that butterscotch pie is so good, oh my god.”

“Right?” You agreed excitedly. “That’s my favorite. I’ll have to tell Rosa that she’s getting compliments on it. She’ll be thrilled.”

“Maybe I’ll grab a slice later.” Anakin suggested. “Before I have to go clock-in.”

“Where do you work?” You asked, finding it a bit comical that you were drooling over him but didn’t even know this basic detail of his life.

“The Cerulean.” Anakin nodded toward the window. “Just a couple blocks from here.”

“The Cerulean? What do you do, bartend?” You asked, curious as alittle itch in the back of your mind needed to be scratched.

“Mhm, I do.” He smiled.

“I think… oh my god. I think I’ve seen you there before!” You laughed. “It was a while back but I was there with some friends… you made my drink!”

“Really?” Anakin laughed. “Shit don’t make me feel bad baby, I don’t remember that.”

“I didn’t expect you too.” You giggled. “The place was packed. I can’t imagine how many people you serve a night.”

“You’ve got no idea.” He blew out a puff of air, with a chuckle.

“Well I’m due for a night out soon,” you said with a grin. “You come grab some pie later and I’ll come get a drink from you tomorrow night.”

“Sounds like a deal princess.” He beamed.

Part Six

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate @burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani @ausskywalker @angelsadmired @slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic @allhailbuckybarnes-blog @shadowhuntyi @mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee @doblasftcisco @sweetcheesecakesblog @luvskywxlker @angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled @graveyard-stray @chiaraanatra @jediavengers @zapernz @lunalitva @salted-snailz @queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141 @rorysbrainrot @hopesworlld @lonaah @t8lzw @guiltycherries @syralix @doblasftcisco

THE TAGS LIST IS FULL! But if you want to be tagged I will comment ur username for you. Love you all so many.

[kaleldobrev]

When You're Ready

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: A case hits you particularly hard and all you want to do is be alone

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Cursing (3x), Mentions of violence/blood, Pestering Sam, Fluff, Dean being a good and supportive boyfriend

Authors Note: I did a “Dean version” of this called Hauled Up where reader comforts Dean after his experience with Michael | These aren’t related in any way, but they’re just similar in nature | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

Three Days Ago…

Your hands were hot, sticky, and covered in blood as you held the large hunting knife in your hands. As you held the knife with a firm grip, you stared at the lifeless body of the creature under you. You felt tears start to well up in your eyes, and a few hot tears fell down your cheeks. This particular kill had hit harder for you than it should have; and you were currently debating if you had done the right thing in killing it. The creature was killing in order to provide for its sick child, a child that’s now dead because of the three of you.

“Sweetheart…” you heard Dean say, but his voice sounded so muffled like him or you were under water. “Sweetheart…” he said again, his hands on either side of your shoulders now. He looked down at the body, and then looked to see that the knife was still firmly in your grasp. “Wanna hand me the knife?” He asked, and you shook your head; unsure of why you had said no. “Okay, you don’t have to,” he reassured. “You wanna stand up for me at least?” You hesitated for a moment before nodding; and you carefully started to get up, with Dean holding onto your shoulders in order to help you up smoothly.

You looked down at the ground, almost refusing to look at him. "Hey," he said, tilting your face to almost gently force you to look up at him. "You did the right thing, she was going to kill you," he told you. "You protected yourself," he added. His words somehow seemed so meaningless to you, as it didn't feel like you had done the right thing.

Without a second thought, you instantly wrapped your arms around him; gently crying into his chest. His hands wrapped around you as one of his hands started rubbing your back, quietly shushing you as a way to try and calm you down. "It's alright Sweetheart. Let it out," he whispered into your hair before kissing the top of your head.

Present Day…

Dean was in the War Room with his feet propped up onto the table reading more on the creature that the three of you had killed a few days ago. He knew that you guys had done the right thing, but it was killing him knowing how hard you were particularly taking this case. He wanted so much to help you, but he knew the only way he could was to just let you come to him — not being forced to talk about it when you weren't ready; the same way he processed things.

“She still hasn’t come out of the room uh?” Sam asked, walking into the War Room. Dean looked up and shook his head. “It’s been three days.”

“And?” Dean asked, sounding slightly defensive. “If she doesn’t want to come out of our room, I’m not going to force her.”

“Has she talked to you at all about what happened? Why it affected her so much?” Sam asked. He was genuinely worried about you, as he’s never seen you this affected by a case before.

“No, she hasn’t said anything to me,” Dean stated. “She’ll tell me when she’s ready.”

“Have you asked —” Sam started to say, and Dean quickly cut him off.

“I’m never going to force her to talk about something she doesn’t want to,” he said, as calmly as he could muster, even though there was slight annoyance in his voice. “If this is how she chooses to process, who am I to tell her she can’t?”

“Well, you are her boyfriend and —” Sam began to say, but again, he was cut off by Dean.

“And? Just because I’m her boyfriend, doesn’t mean I have a say in how she chooses to process something,” he stated. His emotions starting to become heightened; more defensive. “She’ll talk about it when she’s ready.”

“As her friend I’m worried,” Sam said, his voice sounding the tiniest bit sad. “I’m gonna go talk to her.” He got up from the chair he was sitting in and turned on his heels, about to walk out of the room. But Dean’s voice made him stop in his tracks.

“Talk to her if you wanna get chewed out,” Dean said, turning his attention back to the book he was reading. He knew if Sam went to go and talk to you about this; ultimately forcing you to talk about it, it was not going to end well for him in the slightest.

Lying underneath the covers alternating between sleeping and crying was essentially all you had been doing the last three days. The only times your routine was disrupted was when Dean came to bed at night and held you, or rubbed your back as you cried gently into his chest; or when he had forced you to leave the room to take a shower, a shower that consisted of you just sitting on the floor and him doing the washing for you.

You were thankful for Dean, thankful that he didn’t force you to leave the room nor did he force you to talk about what had happened; why you had reacted so strongly. You felt as though he was the only one that really understood, understood the fact that this was the way you processed things, as he was similar in this way.

But you knew that it wouldn’t be long until Sam would come and talk to you, or at least attempt to, as you had no desire to talk about it; at least not now any way. You knew that he deeply cared for you as a friend, deeply cared for you like a sister; but you hated how he would force either you or Dean to talk about your feelings when neither of you had wanted to. He was doing it out of pure concern of course; but neither you or Dean liked being pestered, when neither one of you did the same to him.

There was a light knock at the door, and you knew that it could only be one person: Sam, as Dean didn’t need to knock — it was his room too after all. “Y/N?” Sam asked, his voice slightly low. “Can we talk?”

“Is Dean hurt?” You asked, your voice was a little muffled, but you tried your best to speak loudly as you had no desire to get out from under the sheets.

“No but —” Sam began, but much like Dean did earlier. You cut him off as well.

“Is Dean dying?” You asked.

A puzzled look appeared on Sam’s face. “No but —”

“You can leave then,” you said. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“But the hunt the other —” before he could finish his sentence, you unearthed yourself from the sheets and grabbed one of the pillows from the bed and threw it in Sam’s direction, promptly hitting him just below the neck. “I’ll uh…I’ll leave,” he said, quickly shutting the door and leaving.

Sam walked back into the War Room, and Dean didn’t even bother looking up. “How’d the pep talk go?” He asked, turning the page.

“She threw a pillow at me,” Sam replied, sitting across from Dean.

“Ha!” Dean said, laughing. “That’s my girl,” he smirked. “Told you it wouldn’t end well for you brother.”

“I’m sorry if I’m the only one that’s concerned,” Sam stated.

Dean looked up now, closing the book he was reading; and shot Sam a stern, pissed off look. “You don’t think I’m fucking concerned about her?”

“Well you’re not acting like you are,” Sam replied.

“And how would you like me to act umm?” Dean asked. “Enlighten me.”

“I don’t know. Actually trying to get her to talk about what happened!” Sam exclaimed.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that this is how she just fucking processes things,” Dean said, his voice getting more angry and annoyed by the second.

“Well the way the both of you process your emotions is fucking jacked,” Sam knew that he had crossed a line with his comment, as Dean’s face looked like he was about one more sentence away from punching him in the face.

“I’m sorry we don’t process our emotions like you do,” Dean said; getting up from his chair and walking out of the War Room, leaving Sam who was currently holding his face in his hands.

If there was something that Dean hated and loved about you, was the fact that the both of you were so similar. He loved it because you two were always on similar wavelengths; almost as if you could read each others minds and emotions. The two of you just clicked; clicked to the point that sometimes it scared him how perfect the two of you were for each other. But at the same time, he hated it; hated it because he could see how stubborn he could be through you. But the thing that he hated the most, was that because he couldn’t help himself with certain things, he couldn’t help you with certain things — and now was one of those times.

He would never force you to talk about why this case had affected you as much as it did, as he knew that you would talk about it when you were ready. But what Sam had said to him really hit him hard because he was worried about you; but he didn’t want to show it because he knew that if you saw him worried, it would force you to talk about it when you weren’t ready just to appease him — and that was the last thing that he had wanted. He always wanted you to do things at your own pace; much like how you had let him do things at his own pace.

When he had entered the bedroom, the light was still off and he could see your outline underneath the covers, barely moving. “Hey beautiful,” he said softly.

“Hey stud,” you mumbled from underneath the sheets.

“Mind if I come and lie down with you?” He asked, already making his way toward the bed.

“I’d like that,” you said. You lifted up the sheets on his side of the bed so he could easily slide in. “Can I be big spoon?” You asked.

Dean smiled. “Of course.”

Stripping out of his jeans and flannel, he slid into bed and got underneath the covers with you; completely encasing yourselves. You wrapped your arms around him, and snuggled your face into his back, giving it a small kiss. “Thanks for not forcing me,” you said, after a few minutes of silence between the two of you.

“I’ll never force you to do anything Sweetheart,” he replied back, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles. “I love you, and I’ll always support you no matter what.”

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[starlightshadowsworld]

Concept: Everyone’s always talking about Chuuya joining the Agency this. And Akutagawa joining the Agency that.

But have you ever considered what if Kouyou had joined the Agency?

Think about it unlike these two Kouyou actually wanted to leave the Port Mafia. And she almost succeeded in doing so.

So what if she had?

Considering how much she projects onto Kyouka and especially in her desire to leave. I think it’s fair to assume Kouyou was the same age as her when she tried to leave.

Which is also the same age Ranpo was when Fukuzawa met him. So timeline wise this would’ve been in the earliest days of the Agency.

Maybe the guy who got her out was killed during their escape. Because this is the old Port Mafia. This would be 4 years before Mori came into power.

And one does not simply leave them.

Kouyou’s scared, she’s alone and the only way she knows how to survive in this world is through killing. Rumours start to pop up about a ghostly figure (Golden Demon) that kills people wandering the city at night.

Wealthy individuals mainly men and steals them of their money. The ghost however seems to leave the women and girls alone.

Ranpo takes the case and makes himself bait. He figures it was an ability user and manages to catch Kouyou. She tries to act tough but it’s clear she’s terrified.

Then confused when instead of arresting her Ranpo offers her a hand. And tells her that if she comes with him she’ll never have to hurt anyone again.

“What makes you think I don’t want too?! Maybe this is just who I am.”

“Because you’re crying.”

Kouyou recalls that guy telling her the light might seem scary to those engulfed in darkness. But not to be afraid of it. She takes a chance, she takes Ranpo’s hand and it’s warm in hers.

They’re an odd pair. They bicker like day and night but mess with one of them and the other will strike. They have a system, Kouyou takes Ranpo to his case and scares off any would be attackers.

And Ranpo solves the case. But as time goes on Kouyou begins to take her own. She prefers going with Ranpo though so without even asking he tags along.

He teaches her how to relax and go with the flow. To have fun and mess up, dragging her into the most chaotic of schemes. Kouyou will complain but she’ll be smiling.

Fukuzawa adores her. They both go shopping together and he never lets her pay for anything. There’s an understanding between them and he repeats Ranpo’s words that she’ll never need to kill again.

He teaches her self defence and how best to get a cat to come to you. They learn Kouyou and Fukuzawa have the same birthday so they all celebrate together.

And then a year or so later Yosano comes along. Another scared girl like she once was and Kouyou is the one to hold a hand out.

The light didn’t burn me and it won’t hurt you either.

[ninyard]

do you think if aaron and katelyn had kids (twins possibly?) that andrew would make a pact with katelyn not aaron to protect them if anything happened. Been considering it for a while now

I’m imagining what that’d look like and all that comes to mind is if Aaron ever mentioned something in therapy along the lines of not being able to cope if his kids grow up the way he did. They’re talking about the future and Aaron is talking about kids with Bee, and he says something like,

“I really want to have kids. I do. I want to give them what I didn’t have. But I’m afraid that I still don’t know any better, and I’m just going to fuck them up anyway.“

“And what if you did? Or at least, think that you did?” Betsy asks. “What if something happens, or you make a little mistake in raising them, what then?”

And he thinks about it for a minute. He looks at Andrew briefly, he looks at himself. He can’t look at Betsy. Maybe his eyes are glued to the ceiling.

“I couldn’t live with myself,” Aaron answers. “Knowing things could’ve been different and they weren’t.”

I think the deal that Andrew could’ve made with Katelyn, when he finds out that she’s pregnant, would’ve been to always, always, always, prioritise their children over Aaron. It doesn’t make much sense to her - why would Andrew, who has always been so fiercely protective over Aaron, now say to her don’t put him first?

No matter what happens - if Aaron relapses, if he overworks himself, if his nightmares get worse or his past comes back to haunt him, Andrew wants her to promise that she’ll never let the kids suffer for the sake of Aaron. Andrew can always look after him. He can help in anyway he knows how. But what’ll only make things worse is if Aaron starts spiralling, and now his kids start to see him as addict dad, scary dad, angry dad, absent dad. Mommy doesn’t have time to play with us because daddy won’t get out of bed. It’d kill Aaron to become the thing he’s always resented his own biological father for - not being there, not caring about his kids. To hear his kids say I hate you would destroy him.

So Andrew makes her promise to shelter them from that. Aaron will worry and scream and cry don’t you take my fucking kids if she ever takes them away from him while he’s recovering, to her moms house, or somewhere else.

He’ll raise hell so she doesn’t leave with them; but he won’t survive if they stay.

He won’t survive if his kids grow up just waiting for dad to have a bad spell again. Waiting for something to happen. Going to sleep afraid of what mood dad might be in when they wake up. Growing up remembering what it looked like when dad hadn’t showered or shaved in two weeks. What it sounded like when he yelled at mom because he’d been working for three weeks straight. The way his eyes looked when he was high, and they were too young to know what it was.

He’d rather be locked in a bathroom with Andrew outside the door for a month, his kids thinking that daddy’s on a business trip, than expose them to the life he only has because of his fuck up parents.

Maybe that’s a deal Andrew makes with Katelyn. Maybe.

[sahrii]

the echo of water’s touch — akaashi keiji

synopsis ! in which she likes him but thinks the feelings are unrequited and he likes her but thinks he’s always the second choice.

pairings ! akaashi Keiji x fem!reader

warnings ! angst to comfort, crying, misunderstanding or miscommunication?? friends to lovers kind of, idk what else i think that’s it..

word count ! 1.4k words

It was a hushed night. Yet another night where she had to spend the night at his place because of a small squabble with her boyfriend. Or ex-boyfriend. Or whatever he was now. And this wasn’t new, much to akaashi’s dismay, it was the norm.

For quite a while, akaashi tried convincing himself that it’s okay. He’ll get over her, finish his degree, eventually find love and end up in a small, cosy house, decorated with giggles and the smell of cinnamon and coffee. For a while, he thought he’s going to be okay with being her second choice, for being there when she’s hurt, for watching her cry over a man who’s not worth a penny. For a while, he thought being friends with her was as good as it will get, and that it was always how it's supposed to be. 

But after a while, his thoughts were being nibbled at by other feelings, as if the ocean was chucking rocks at the wall akaashi built, eroding it and letting the water seep in. and this water, as it collided with his crisped walls, made a sound. A sound that told akaashi to stop lying to himself. To stop convincing himself that he’ll be okay, to stop accepting the fact that he’s a second choice. And the cracks in the wall grew bigger. And bigger. And bigger. Till the wall disappeared, and all that’s left was the water and its soft hum.

She was huddled on the couch in a blanket that smelled like him, a hint of coffee and caramel tickling her nostrils. He phone was in her hand as she stared at the messages she sent to her so-called boyfriend and all that could be heard was her feeble sniffles. 

she honestly couldn’t tell why she was crying herself. Is it her boyfriend, or the man currently sitting next to her. Is it the fact that she is just beginning to accept the fact that she’ll probably never end up getting over him or is it the fact that her boyfriend is probably out there getting drunk with some girls while she’s sat crying here. Is it the fact that the chances of her encountering a man who smells like coffee beans on a Monday morning, who has ink-black hair and eyes with the blue of a dark night lit up by stars, who holds her when she cries and smiles to her when she’s happy, are near to impossible. She just can’t tell, or rather, she just doesn’t want to know. 

However, her thoughts were muddled when he spoke up. 

“I cant do this,” he whispered. And the whisper was so full of heartache and despondency, and she just wanted to kiss him so bad, but she didn’t. she couldn’t.

Her eyes snapped from her phone to his eyes. His blue, blue eyes that told a story of sorrow and anguish. His eyes are screaming at her, please give me a chance, I will treat you better. Please forget about him, I have been here. I have been waiting for you. Please. 

“you can’t do what?” she breathed, voice trembling with confusion.

“this—this whole thing. I can’t have you come here every time he does something. I cant see you suffering because of a stupid guy that can’t see what he has. Im tired, and maybe im selfish as well—but—” he stopped to take a breath and shut his eyes. And she stopped breathing. 

“im sorry. I can’t take this anymore.” He continued, his gaze avoiding hers while she stared at him like he just killed the last bit of life she had. 

“what—what are you trying to say?” her voice cracked, and his heart squeezed. 

“im sorry,” he apologised again, and met her eyes. His heart squeezed yet again. “I think we should just—I don’t know.” He shook his head.

“stop being friends?” she croaked. For a well-known reason to her, this hurt more than whatever things her boyfriend did to her over the past year. It felt like there was one-hundred knives simultaneously stabbing her already broken heart. The heart that had pieces lopsidedly glued together to stop it from bleeding more, but that glue seemed to wear off and her heart shattered into a million more pieces right then.

“no—that’s not what I wanted to say—” he wanted to elaborate more but the tears skating down her cheeks stopped him. These tears sealed his lips shut and took his voice away. These tears grappled his heart, and he felt so suffocated. He felt like he wanted to grab his own heart and throw it out the balcony.

“then tell me what,” she sniffled as she attempted to wipe her tears away, but to no avail as they just kept coming out. 

He debated whether he should tell her or not. Maybe the friendship was already wrecked by now, so a confession won’t make things worse. He heard the sing of the water yet again. It was telling him: do it. Do it and put your heart to rest. And then he felt the warmth of the water flood his whole body.

“I like you,” he muttered, and her world stopped. her senses were tickled and the small hairs on her arms stood up. And her insides were inverted, and the embodiment of chaos was swimming in her blood. 

“you—what?” her brows knotted together and her cheeks flushed. It was quite incomprehensible. All the years she spent trying to find someone to help her move from the man she loved with every platelet in her blood. All the pain she endured. All the times she physically felt a piece of her heart snap and shatter, that all seemed like nothing.

“I like you. I’ve been in love with you for god knows how long so please, please let me move on,” he rasped out. He seemed sad. He never wanted to admit this, he never thought he would. His jaw was tense, it was so tense it looked like he’s going to break it at any given second.

“I like you,” she replied back as she sniffled. Simple, but enough to make his heart palpitate in his stomach. 

“I’m not messing around—”

“I like you, Keiji. I have always liked you,” the soft hum of her voice caressed his senses. He wanted to store this moment in a bottle of wine and get drunk with it every single night, every single hour, every single minute. He wished he could. 

“I don’t get this. How do you like me back when you’ve spent years of dating random, might I add shitty, guys?” confusion was a good word to describe how he was feeling. Confused, puzzled, and every other connotation to ever exist. Yet he couldn’t deny the fact that his body probably released every single happiness hormone, and he might be hormone deficient now. But its okay, he thought. As long as I have her, I don’t need anything else, he thought. 

“because im stupid and I wanted to find someone to get over you,” her breaths were controlled and eyes less sad than before. 

And he had a smile on his face. It was a smile that resembled the sun spreading it’s light across the surface of the ocean. That resembled the soft hum of the ocean heard inside a shell peppered with the colour blue. 

“you might be just a bit stupid,” the happiness seemed to be entangled with his voice. And she smiled too, partially because she is happy and mostly because he did. 

And the rest of the night was filled with bubbles of memories, floating up to the surface like the fizz in a glass of sparkling water. 

Akaashi was happy. He was grateful for the water that broke down his wall; that screamed at him. Because he gets to live his days from now on listening to the thrum of her voice telling him about her day, and perhaps, in the far future, living in the small cozy house he dreamt of, decorated by giggles, the smell of coffee and cinnamon, and the hum of her breaths.

And she was happy too, for she gets to swim in the blue of his eyes and play with the black of his hair as her heart starts to stitch its broken pieces together one last time, preparing to feel an immense amount of love it has never felt before.

[hyuneskkami]

✮⋆˙ 𝐏𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

⤷ leo valdez x daughter of poseidon!reader

masterlist | event m.list

♡ fandom | the heroes of olympus

♡ includes | songfic (sort of), daughter of poseidon!reader, leo and reader both have glasses in this fic (YES i’m fulfilling my own delusions, leave me alone), ALL CHARACTERS INCLUDING READER ARE 17-18 pls don’t come at me for getting them married 🙏, leo x reader wedding, pre-established relationship, fluff, comfort, beautiful no nonsense kissing and happiness, tbh this is retribution for my previous emercy angst, HAPPINESS, third person pov for like five seconds, not proofread

♡ in which | leo and reader get married <3

♡ a/n | ok shiit. this was supposed to be a newlyweds prompt, but I wanted to write a wedding scene before that, so I completely missed the prompt that was requested ☹️ I still hope this fluff makes up for it a bit, and i'll try to work on a part 2 for a newlyweds drabble (tho I can't promise i'll actually end up writing it, sorry 💀)

♡ wc | 1.3k

✮⋆˙ y/n’s pov

“i’m way too nervous, my hands are shaking and what if I drop the ring? he’ll think i’m stupid! and he’ll leave me right there!”

“n/n? respectfully? shut up,” annabeth sighed.

“this is leo we’re talking about, man, and if there’s one thing I know for sure about him, other than the fact that he loves marshmallows, it’s that he’s whipped as fuck for you,” will’s voice rang out, walking into my cabin.

“trust!” piper’s voice came out of my closet, where she was looking for something decent for me to wear.

“okay… but, now I don’t have anything to wear. that’s another problem,” I whined.

“you could walk out there, and get married in your camp clothes, and it’d have the same effect on him either way,” piper rolled her eyes. “his mouth would like, hang open, and he’d make heart eyes at you—”

“shut up,” I grumbled. “what am I going to wear, pipes?”

“don’t you worry, darling, I got you,” she said, and winked at me, and handed me a denim-leather jacket.

✮⋆˙ leo’s pov

“what if I trip and fall in front of her? will she leave me—who am I kidding, of course she’ll leave me!—”

“she loves you, stop crying about it,” jason said, rolling his eyes.

nico walked in with a red tie and black leather jacket in tow, and told me it was one of the other kids who lent it to him (clearly not).

“oh. thanks,” I smiled.

“yeah, sure. uh, listen, valdez,” nico started. I narrowed my eyes at him. “if you ever hurt her, or make her cry, or anything, I will know. and I will come for your blood. and your organs, because the market is amazing for livers these days—”

“same here,” percy said. “if I see my little sister sad because of you? you’re done for, fire boy.”

they walked over to me, throwing their arms around my shoulder. “got it?”

“obviously,” I rolled my eyes. “and if she’s ever sad because of me, I think i’d kill myself.”

✮⋆˙ 3rd person pov

percy walked with his hand in y/n’s. she walked down the aisle in a black crop top below her unbuttoned white shirt, and a denim-leather jacket strung on top. in that moment, leo could only comprehend how much she looked like herself.

she was fidgeting nervously with her belt while walking towards him.

she looked up, shocked, to see him almost matching with her: white shirt, red tie, black leather jacket, and even the playboy grin.

I like shiny things, but i’d marry you with paper rings…

uh huh, that’s right…

watching him smile at her melted away her anxiety.

he wouldn’t leave her, of course not. they were in this together, forever.

a lopsided grin creeped up her face, setting his heart on fire.

she would always love him, he realised. never would she even think of leaving him.

darling, you’re the one I want, and…

✮⋆˙ y/n’s pov

percy let go of my hand so I could walk further towards leo, leaving me a thumbs-up.

“hey handsome,” I whispered, stopping in front of leo.

“hey beautiful,” he whispered back, still smiling at me.

“even after so many years, you know how to get my brain to stop functioning, it’s unfair,” I groaned, as he chuckled. his hand slipped into mine, lacing our fingers together. his thumb stroked the back of my hand as we turned to chiron, who was officiating our wedding.

he asks all our friends—dressed in shades of either blue or orange—to take their seats. we watched the youngest demigods, who were less than ten years old, walk around the chairs, giving out flowers to everyone.

“dearly beloved,” chiron reads out of his pocket notebook. “we are gathered here today to witness my two little kids join together in holy matrimony.”

everyone laughed and then quieted down.

“you can do your speeches or vows,” he prompted.

I exhaled and started first. “mia cara, thank you. I can’t believe today’s, well, finally here. I remember the, um, first day we met. we were both caught planting something for a prank in coach hedge’s bag, and spent a day in detention together,” I laughed and went on. “well, that was pretty much the day I fell in love with you. i’m so happy I have a boyfriend—well, almost-husband—and a best friend, both in the same person. so, I guess what I want to say is… I love you, leo.”

I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this…

uh huh, that’s right…

his eyes were glossing over, and a tear escaped down his cheek. I wiped it away, and smiled at him.

“oh my god, that was so sappy,” he rolled his eyes at me.

I hit him in his shoulder, and he laughed. “anyway, I think I never told you this, but I knew you before that day.”

I gasped a little bit and my eyes widened.

“it was the day you transferred to that wilderness school, probably around a month before we met. you were wearing the same jacket you’re wearing today, and your hair was in tiny braids, and oh my god, I remember thinking, ‘if I don’t talk to that girl soon, i’ll never forgive myself’ but I waited a whole month because I was too nervous.”

I laughed, “you were nervous for a month?”

“shut up bro,” he groaned. “you were just so beautiful and I thought you looked smart, which, I mean, you are. but then, I found out you were planning some prank for a bet, and I figured that was my chance.”

darling, you're the one I want…

“who knew that the first pranks we pulled would bring us to get married, huh?” I chuckled.

“I knew,” he said, “that was obviously why I did it. anyway, I wanna end this speech or whatever by saying what I thought of you the first day we met: I love you, y/n, and you’re stuck with me for life!”

“I better hope so, you’re not allowed to leave me ever, anyway,” I rolled my eyes.

chiron laughed at us, and called the ringbearers. “it’s time for you to exchange your rings.”

an eight-year old apollo camper and his twin brother walked up to us with matching boxes. each one gave a box to one of us.

we opened the boxes, got the rings out and held them.

leo pulled our interlocked hands up and let go, to slip his ring on my finger. I grinned at him, and placed mine on his finger as well. he smiled when he realised they were the first rings we had bought together after we snuck out of camp for the first time.

“with the power vested in me,” chiron started. “I now pronounce you man and wife. you may kiss the bri—”

before chiron could even finish, leo’s hands were on my waist, bringing me closer, our mouths colliding.

in paper rings, in picture frames, in dirty dreams…

oh, you’re the one I want…

our glasses hit each others’ twice, but neither of us cared. his hands were squeezing my waist, as if it were the end of the world if he let go. my hands wrapped around his neck, and I pulled him in closer than humanly possible.

his kisses were rarely soft and sweet, so today wasn’t a surprise.

tongues colliding, my hands in his hair, and grinning against each others’ lips.

“till death do them part!” a voice rang out from the crowd, everyone else laughing.

“even death won’t do us part, mi vida,” he pulled back, smiling and whispered.

kozumesphone © 2024 | don’t repost my works onto other platforms, or edit and post them even on tumblr, without asking me first • don’t steal my works, steal my heart instead • reblogs and comments are more than appreciated !

[belokhvostikova]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Crying, pregnancy, and brief mentions of body insecurity.

Eddie had told them.

So concisely, and specifically told them all that was forbidden in order to keep his friends from the scrutinizing tears of an anguished pregnant woman, that would have to be followed by a now frustrated father-to-be.

But like clockwork, his word of advice plummeted the second Jonathan Byers decided to speak. In retrospect, he wasn’t at all to blame, in fact, he was attempting to be supportive. And he would have done a great job had his nice words not been targeted to an overly sensitive thirty-four weeks expecting lady.

“Don’t worry,” he’d smiled so kindly, a testament to the Byers politeness that ran through the family, “I’m sure you’ll have a safe and easy delivery. Nothing to stress over.”

But the baby you were carrying was formulated by Munson genes, and the way it head-butted your pancreas, while simultaneously kicking your bladder made it hard to enjoy Jonathan’s sentiment.

“Ugh.” You could only scoff. “What do you know, you’re not pushing a baby out of your vagina.” Doing the one thing he told you not to do: stress.

The panic on Jonathan’s face was quite humorous, at least to Steve Harrington it was. Eddie, on the other hand, was shooting a disappointed glare to his friend. Because he told him. So concisely, and specifically told him.

1. Don’t say anything that’ll upset her.

2. Don’t try to say anything too mushy or nice to make it up for the first mistake, she’ll cry and feel awful about yelling.

3. Honestly, you shouldn’t even really speak to her.

4. But don’t ignore her! She’ll find a way to circle it back to you thinking she looks like a beached whale.

Rule number four had came about after Dustin Henderson tried to maneuver around the monstrosity that was Eddie Munson’s rules. In his own little weird way, he was trying to be helpful after your cries about being big. And Dustin thought it would be a bright idea to say “I happen to like whales.” It did not go over well.

And now, Jonathan Byers was falling into the same cycle.

“No, no!” It was damage control time. “I’m just wishing you and the baby to be okay, I swear. I just want you to be happy and comfortable.”

Bad move. How did he forget rule number two already?

Your face contorted into a deep frown, as your eyes watered, and that panicked look on Jonathan’s face never ceased.

“Oh, god.” Eddie whispered, as the waterworks crashed out.

“That’s so sweet of you!” You bawled. “I was so mean to you, and you were just being niceee!” Your head dropped to Jonathan’s shoulder, wetting his flannel with salty tears that seemed endless. Eddie would thump his friend’s forehead if he had the chance, but instead, he had to do damage control, and his tender hand rubbed your back.

“It’s alright, baby.” He cooed. “It’s totally okay, just let it all out.”

He fervently gestured to Jonathan to add on. This was his mistake, anyways. “There… there.” He awkwardly patted your back. “Yeah, it’s totally okay.”

Steve Harrington was beginning to rethink the whole six little nuggets thing.

Luckily, Jonathan’s words were enough, and you sniffled your way away from his now dampened shoulder.

“I-I’m sorry for crying so much.” Your hurt little face was enough to elicit some aw’s and it’s okay’s from the three men, who jumped to console you.

But then Steve spoke. Unwarrantedly.

“Hey, I’d cry, too, if I had to rip a seven pounder from my body.” He chuckled.

Your face dropped with horror. “Eddie!”

Eddie Munson was going to kill Steve Harrington.

[auspicioustidings]

Ae Fond Kiss - Part 8 (Final)

A Red, Red Rose

Summary: A bombshell is dropped and you look to the future. Words: 2k TWs: mention of miscarriage

So I've lost interest in this fic hence why we have a rushed wrap up because I didn't just want to abandon it :') All parts - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

“We gonna do this forever then Johnny?”

It was a form of torture Simon was sure, them having lunch together once a week every week and making small talk. He missed his best friend. He missed being able to say something outrageous and knowing Johnny would call him a sick bastard and then immediately try to outdo him.

“Eat lunch?” Johnny replied a little miserably, shuffling pasta about his plate.

“Johnny…”

“What dae ye want me tae say LT?”

“Not your LT anymore, retired remember? And Price told me about your promotion.”

Captain John MacTavish did have a nice ring to it, and Soap had more than earned the stripes. In another world he’d have grinned at Ghost, smug as anything and making some comment about being able to order him around now. But instead he frowned and Simon hated it. 

“Talk to me for Christ sake!”

“I cannae! Ye want me tae tell ye how much I miss your wife? How it kills me that she’ll never forgive me and that she’s right about it?”

“Johnny…”

“Or were ye hoping tae hear that I dinnae even regret Las Almas? It’s ruined everything, but I’ve loved you since I broke my fingers on that stupid bloody mask and I didnae even realise until we nearly fucking died! Ignored it even when I did, had 9 years tae think about how either way I was breaking my own heart because it decided it loved two different people!”

Fuck. He was crying. Johnny was crying. And Simon was caught between wanting to kiss him or kill him. He had never expected to be loved back was the thing. He did something unbearably selfish on the understanding it was all one sided, that the fuck was just the adrenaline from thinking they were going to die and they’d forget it ever happened. And then everything had went to shit and he had fallen in love with Johnny’s widow. He’d already lost one person he loved because he was too scared to admit it, he just couldn’t do it again,  selfish asshole that he was. 

“You should regret it. You… we hurt her. Hurt her so bad that we might lose her.”

“Aye. I deserve tae lose her though, never deserved tae have her in the first place anyway. I just caught you in the crossfire of my sins.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Simon said with full derision.

This has gone on long enough. So what? Everyone was just supposed to be miserable forever? They were supposed to just lay down and take it? Johnny looked at him, hurt and confused. 

“I watched you fight every break up. You fought tooth and fucking nail to make it work. When you fucked up you made it up to her. When she fucked up you forgave her. And what? Now that Johnny is dead? Either you still love her and are willing to fight to get her back, or any part of the man I loved died in Russia.”

“You’ve lost yer fucking mind Si, she’s your wife!”

Simon stood, determined.

“And our wife needs to remember who she belongs to and who belongs to her.”

As he started marching off Johnny near choked and scrambled to follow.

“Ye cannae be serious! Leave her be Si! Ye cannae just barge in and-and-”

“And tell her she’ll try forgive us because we’ll spend the rest of our lives making it up to her? That we can start right now by showing her how well you can follow orders and how well I can give them for her benefit? I bloody well can and I’m bloody well going to. Either you’re with me or you can stay and mope.”

“...aye sir.”

–

Once upon a time Joey being at a sleepover was exciting, it meant some much needed alone time with your husband. Now though? The house felt cold, empty. You considered asking Gaz and Price’s partner if they’d come round to hang out, but it felt so messy when they were just as much Simon’s friend as they were yours. It would somehow make you miss him more. 

Everytime he was at the house briefly and you made polite conversation you wanted to cry. You had a few times, only after he was gone of course. That big fucking lummox. You wanted to strangle him, but then again that wasn’t exactly new. And you wanted rhubarb and sugar. Oh you could murder some rhubarb dipped in sugar like your parents used to give you as a kid. 

The door went just as you finished pouring a large glass of wine. Simon stood looking like he sometimes did when you were about to get absolutely ruined in bed and you swore your heart nearly stopped. Johnny was by his side, pupils blown with a blush crawling up his neck as if he somehow knew exactly what images just popped into your mind. Oh. Oh you suddenly wanted them so badly it hurt. 

And damn them for knowing you so well, for being able to fucking tell. Simon’s lips were on yours as he walked into the house, you being led backwards. You were clawing at his shirt as he squeezed your ass until you bumped into the kitchen island and realised how insane this was, pulling away to try find Johnny. He had followed, was swallowing thickly as Simon started to kiss and nip a path down your neck. This was insane. This was certifiably mental. You could not… have a threesome? Have a threesome with your husband and your husband who had fucked each other ten years ago on a mission before one faked his damn death. 

“W-what are you doing? We can’t…” you mumbled, trying to get your head on straight since currently your brain seemed to reside between your legs.

“Tell me what you need princess. Want me on my knees begging against your pussy? Want Johnny to fly you to Hawaii and keep you in the lap of luxury for a month? Want us to be here every single day in the garden announcing to the neighbours that we deserve a fucking whipping for how badly we fucked everything up with the gorgeous mother of our child?”

Christ almighty. So much for Simon being the unemotional and ineloquent one. You couldn’t handle this. You couldn’t handle how much you wanted to just give in. He made it sound so easy, like you could have them both, like they would give you whatever you wanted just to stay by your side despite what they’d done. He was going to his knees in front of you.

“Rhubarb!”

The room froze for a moment as Simon hit the ground with his knees and just stared at you.

“...is that, uh, a safeword?” Johnny asked, seemingly surprised out of the slack jawed, dazed state he seemed to have been in. 

“No. I mean I… rhubarb. You asked what I needed. Rhubarb and sugar, but we have sugar in the cupboard so… just the rhubarb.”

“...ok, rhubarb. We can do rhubarb” Simon said after a moment, taking it in his stride as he snuck a peck to your stomach where his head currently was and then stood. 

If they just left and went to the shops maybe you could… you didn’t know. Maybe you could hurriedly touch yourself to get rid of the ache between your legs and then neck your wine to get rid of the one in your chest. Simon turned and nodded to Johnny and took a few steps, so you picked up the glass of wine to calm yourself down only for Johnny to pluck it out of your hands.

“Unless you’ve suddenly developed a taste for red wine I’d appreciate that back” you snapped at him.

“And since you’ve suddenly developed a taste for rhubarb I’m naw giving it tae ye.”

“MacTavish” Simon scolded, sure Johnny was about to ruin what he was hoping was some reconciliation here.

“That’s not…” you started before you went pale. 

“How ye been feeling recently hen?”

Oh no. Not now. You just assumed you felt sick because of the stress. But then the take away food had seemed so off despite you usually loving it. You kept having to throw up. You were lethargic. And now you needed rhubarb and sugar, something you had only craved twice in your adult life, the most recent being over a decade ago. The last time you were pregnant. 

“What’s going on?” Simon asked, not liking at all how your face just fell as he strode back to you. “What did you do Johnny? It’s ok sweetheart, I’m sorry we just showed up, seemed like a good idea at the time. Just missed you so much.”

The universe had a sick sense of humour. Over a year of trying for a baby with this man. 18 fucking months. And you get pregnant right before your other husband comes back from the dead, the one it turns out your current husband has slept with behind your back? This could not be happening, but all the signs were there. When had you last had a period? You hadn’t even noticed that you were late with everything going on. 

You tried to do the maths in your head. It had been a few months since Johnny had come back, so you were at the very least that far along. 8 weeks. You had miscarried at 10. Maybe you were further along, maybe you were past the worst of the danger. God you prayed you were past the worst of the danger. 

“Si, gie her some room would ye? We’re right here, if ye want us tae be. It’s up to you, you dinnae have tae…” Johnny said, struggling to get out the words.

There was no thought in your mind that you would get rid of this baby, but the fact that he was putting that option out there when he himself had always been so desperate for a big family was something you appreciated more than you could say. Goddamnit, he still loved you. 9 years away and he still bloody loved you. Would still do whatever it took for you to be happy. Even if in that case this meant not having another baby.

How strange that you thought of this baby as his. How strange that you just as strongly thought of it as Simon’s. If the past few months had shown you anything it was that you could look after a child between the three of you, so it wasn’t like they had to be with you to do it. Even if you’d like them to be. Despite it all, you’d really fucking like them to be.

“Princess?”

You took a deep breath and smiled softly at Simon who was looking increasingly alarmed. You caressed his face and it felt like relief to touch him. 

“Maybe we can go a trip to the doctor on the way for the rhubarb Casper. Think we might be pregnant.”

–

A very healthy baby girl with an incredibly healthy set of lungs. You sang to her, love like A Red, Red Rose for your little Rose. You bawled your eyes out when Joey refused to turn down his hearing aids even when she was screaming at the top of her lungs because that was his baby sister and he would never not want to hear her. It was a good thing you could all sign with the way she drowned you all out, even Johnny as clumsy as his hands were with it had dedicated himself to learning since he had got home. 

You were fairly certain your little Rose was making Price broody with Gaz and their partner finding their grumpy old man losing his mind over a chubby baby adorable. Although there was a good chance Price wasn’t making any babies with how you had planted your foot in his groin when he finally came out of hiding. 

You were still figuring things out, but right now? Right now you were happy. You had two perfect children by two imperfect husbands. It was up in the air what your family was going to look like in the future. Did you want to forgive them? Even if you did, would you be friends and co-parents or something more?

That you hadn’t quite decided yet. But you were determined that whatever the future held for you, it was going to be a future full of love and laughter.

[writers-hes]

The Blind Man

You always knew Tommy as the cheerful boy who took care of you. He always knew you as the smart girl that he visited by the docks. The daughter of a prostitute, the son of a deadbeat father; a soldier who protected his country; a whore who protected him; a gangster who controlled Brimingham; and now, a wife. War changes people, you just didn’t realize that war could change you both. (angst, depictions of abuse, poverty, prostitution, canon-typical themes, death, war, time jumps, depictions of mental illness, abusive marriage)

They finally meet.

PART 1 / PART 2

PROTECTION SERIES TAGLIST | PROTECTION MASTERLIST navigation

BIRMINGHAM, 1919

There was nothing discreet with how you dressed. You were in all black, a black veil shielding you from the onlookers. Simon sent some money to Johnny’s wife, Beth, for a proper wake. His house was filled with white flowers and proper food. It’s the least he could do, that’s what he said. You were sitting beside the widow, trying to console her.

“Johnny used to talk about you alot,” she weeped. “‘That’s my girl! That’s my daughter and she’ll go places!’ That’s what he always said. He told me how you grew up in the brothel and how you were always willing to listen to his lessons in arithmetic.” Her eyes were red from crying and all you could do was console her. “Thank you for taking care of him…for taking care of us,”

“It’s nothing, Beth,” you assured her. “He let me into his bunker when my mum died,” you recalled. “He protected me from…from…as much as he could, you know?”

God. Just how many people could you lose in this fucking lifetime? First, your father but you’ve never really weeped for him. You never knew him. Second, your mum. She took care of you with how little she had. Third, Tommy. You never heard back if he was alive or not. Your protector. Fourth, Big Johnny. He’s always been the male figure that you considered as your father. Who’s next?

“I’m grateful for him,” you managed to choke out. You asked your security guards to go somewhere else, maybe a few feet or metres from the house. You wanted privacy. “I’m just so regretful to never have seen him and now he’s gone…”

Johnny died because of a rumble with some of the newer gangs in Small Heath. Some young lads mugged him on the way home and killed him. They threw his body by the docks where they thought no one would ever see him.

Your body suddenly fills with rage. Was this the work of the Blinders? Fuck. Why would they fucking do that? Beth excuses herself from you and you nodded. Picking on the rings on your fingers, you didn’t notice who sat beside you. 

“Seems like we only see each other at weddings and funerals,” You gasped, looking at the source of the familiar voice. How could you ever forget? She told you what you needed to do to survive. 

“Polly,” you gasped, extending your shaky hands towards her. “How have you been?”

“I’m good,” she replied. “Who would’ve thought, huh?” she asked. She lets you clutch her hand for support. “Where’s Simon?”

“He has business in Camden Town,” you replied. “He allowed me to go but there’s security around us right now. We can’t really talk, Poll—he’s going to, he’s going to—“

“I’ve handled it,” she said. “You can talk to me as freely as you would like, okay?” You nodded. 

“I’m sorry for…for leaving,” you whispered. Your voice wavers and you feel the wetness in your eyes. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Darling…”

“He threatened to kill Tommy, Arthur, and John if I didn’t obey,” you confessed. “During the…the war,” You shut your eyes to hide from Polly. Her heart aches. You’ve always been reluctant to show your emotions but you are visibly hiding now. Cowering from the fear of rejection and of humiliation from Polly Gray. “He said that-that he knew people who could finish the job.”

“Don’t hide,” she coos. Your obedience was not in vain but she’d never tell you that. She didn’t want Tommy to act impulsively and she didn’t want you to lose what you already have. “How are you? You don’t need permission from a man, you know,”

“I know,” you nod. “You always told me but…Simon is all I have now. He trusts me and I don’t want to break that trust that I’ve worked so hard on. You told me to take advantage of everything and I am,”

“What have you been doing?”

“I have trusts, bonds, and investments to my name now. Simon couldn’t take them away from me. All sealed with a document that my lawyers reviewed,” you told her. Once a prostitute, always a prostitute.

“Johnny and I taught you well then,” she nods in approval. “That’s good. We miss you,”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Where’s Ada? I’ve to thank her for the house,”

“If anything, she has you to thank. She’s been going there a lot since you left. She said she feels more at peace there,” Polly replied. “When are you leaving?”

“After the burial,” you replied. “I have to leave and go to uh, Italy with Simon,”

“For what?”

“Some…business thing.” you replied. 

“He’s showing you the world?” she asked, gesturing to your clothes. You knew it. It was too much for a funeral.

“Yeah. It’s too much isn’t it? I can-I can change into something else but, he likes these clothes,” you told her. “But can I—“

“No, you look good,” she says, stopping you from your worries. “You look like who you’re supposed to be,”

You look like who you’re supposed to be. If it was any other person, you’d be offended; but this was Polly. She always told you that you didn’t belong in Small Heath. “You’re too pure to belong here forever.” She’d always say. It’s funny, you felt like you never belonged in Simon’s world no matter how hard he tried to put you in it. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to ask about Tommy and his brothers. How could you? You were too scared to know the answer. If Polly didn’t mention it, it’s probably for the best.

“I do wish you’d visit us more but I know your circumstances,” she said. “I received the letter from Simon along with a cheque of a few thousand pounds,”

“Did you encash it?” you asked. 

“No,” she replied. Somehow, that gave you comfort. She couldn’t be bought. “I did it because I was so worried about what could happen to you. It didn’t have any details. It just said that he’d appreciate it if we cease all contact. He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”

“No,” you shook your head. Not yet. “As unimaginable as it all is, he has never. I truly believe that he loves me, Pol. He tells me every day. He heeds everything that I say or do and has never had a mistress but I feel so terrible because I don’t love him that way,” you confessed, feeling like the weight of the world just lifted itself on your shoulders. “I’m terrible,”

“You’re not,” Polly said. “I told you to take advantage of everything but I never told you to love him, did I?”

-

You went home that day feeling lighter. You could always confide in Polly whenever you needed. You were just so heartbroken to know that that could probably never happen again. Your servants have left now. You told them that you didn’t need them during the night because of how small the house was. They stayed at a lodging for labourers nearby; except for the guards. They came with you wherever you go, even if it was only at a distance. 

You were putting away the heavy gold earrings in the vanity in your room. It was dark, except for the lamp that you opened by the bed. 

“You should really change your locks,” Your head whipped, earrings falling on the ground. 

“Tommy?” you asked, rushing towards him in your most comfortable clothes. It was a long sleeved pyjama shirt that Simon owned. Tommy didn’t like it. “Oh my God. You’re here,” you breathed, shaky hands touching his arm. “You’re here…you’re here,”

“And you’re here,” he says, his voice void of emotion. He looked for the pressed flowers in the frame that usually sat on your vanity. It was gone. “You left,”

“I didn’t want to,” you said, removing your hands from him when you felt how cold he was.

“Did you plan on coming back? At all?” he asked. His rage blinds him. Why was he so cold and cruel? Why couldn’t he tell you how happy he was to see you again? He didn’t know how to handle his emotions. Years of longing…of heartbreak…of wondering if he could ever be good enough came down on him. 

“Tommy?”

“It’s just a funny thing, isn’t it?” he chuckled, lighting up his cigarette. “You leave, make your way into the world, and then expect things to be the same.”

You frowned. 

“It’s a funny thing. You promised to wait for me and you didn’t,” he spat. “All I ever looked at was your photo in those four years and you—“

“I didn’t want to leave, Tommy,” you whispered. 

“But you did!” he exclaims. “You left me! You…you left me and married someone else. You decided that I could never grant my promises and fucked someone else. Like a…like…”

“Like what, Tommy?” you asked, stepping away from him. “Like a whore?” He’s never thought of you like that before.

“I never said that,”

“But you thought it!” You sit on your bed. “You see me like how everyone sees me. Fuck,” you shook, shielding yourself away from him. “How could you ruin this for us?”

“No, I’m—“

“Then, what? What is it, Tommy? You come in here to my house and pick a fight. You can’t blame me for the choices that I made! I had no idea if you were coming back. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Wait for me,” he demanded. “I told you to wait for me. I’ve been building us everything that we ever wanted but you were just so impatient,”

“How could I if you never wrote back?”

You looked up at him through teary eyes. You finally gave him the chance to look at you. You looked older, despite the garb that you were wearing. The sparkle was gone. You looked up at him. He’s different. Detached, cold, and emotionless. The blue eyes that used to convey so much emotion were gone. He wasn’t letting you in like he used to. 

You both changed.

A shimmer on your neck catches his attention. It was his mother’s locket. You catch his eyes casting down on it. 

“I forgot,” you croaked, looking away. “I’m supposed to give this to you.” He wasn’t your Tommy anymore.

“No, you should keep it,”

“It’s okay,” you nod, removing the locket from your person and putting it on the bed. It was the first time you’ve ever removed it and it felt like you were removing a leash. “You own it. You should give it to someone else. Someone that’s…that’s not me,”

“Y/N…love,” he tried but you shook his head. “It always belonged to you.”

“We’re not the same people anymore, Tom. You look at me and-and it’s how everyone else does,” you cried. “Like a whore. I’m selling my body and my future for a life like this. Right? I don’t want to have this anymore,” you said. “We grew apart and we’re older now. We’re not the same people,” You don’t love me anymore.

There was hell and there was a place below hell. It was where he was. How could he be so cruel to make you cry? How could he insinuate that you were all the same? How could you hint that he doesn’t love you anymore?

“I waited for you, Tommy. Waited for you to write back and at first, I felt…sad. Then, angry. You think I’m so disposable. So replaceable, right?” you asked. “I sent you letters every week. You always told me you’d protect me but you couldn’t even send me a letter telling me that you were alright. You couldn’t even protect Johnny!”

Maybe if he told you that it was Polly who intercepted those letters, you wouldn’t be so mad at him. Maybe you wouldn’t think that he’d abandon you so easily. Maybe you’d know that you were the only face that got him out of the tunnels. Maybe you’d know that it was your name that made him feel good. Like your name was some prayer he’s worthy enough to say every time that he felt like he was underground again. But how could he hurt you more than he already did?

“You were the one who replaced me,” Maybe you’d finally know that he loves you and that, if you could have just waited a little bit longer, you’d never have to worry if your hair was out of place.

“There was nothing to replace.”

-

Tommy brews in anger. To Polly, to you, and to himself. He couldn’t tell you that Polly intercepted your letters. He didn’t want to cut your relationship with her too. 

“Fuck!” he roared. The barmaid comes in and asks Tommy if he was okay. He shrugs her off but seems intent on staying.

“Do you want me to sing for you?” she asked. He leans back, uninterested. 

“Sure,”

“Happy or sad?” she asked. 

“Uh, sad,” 

“It’ll break your heart,” she says, smiling softly.

“Already broken,” he muttered. Already broken. 

He sits there, unmoving. To be honest, he didn’t know why he was so mad at you. He was truly, utterly, and irrevocably alone now that you were gone. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to being alone. He prefered it sometimes. Maybe it’s because he always expected for the two of you to be alone together. Like you always were. 

The fear of being unknown to you scares him. You’ve always known him—his whole heart and his whole soul. You’ve always known him but now, you’re gone. You’ll never know him the way you knew him. You were too different now and it rips through him like nothing else. You’ll never be there for him like you did. He’ll never know you like he did once. He could never pinpoint it but he hates how he was never enough for you. If only he could provide, if he could only protect, if only…

Here he thought he’d finally have a wink of sleep after four years. 

-

You were on the phone with your husband after Tommy stormed out in anger last night. You needed to be comforted, to be told that you were right and that everyone else was wrong. It was one of the few luxuries you allowed yourself when you were with Tommy but you were positive that you’ve lost him now.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern lacing his voice. “I can always come down there, you know,”

“I know,” you nodded. “I just miss you,” 

“You do?” You could tell that that inflated his ego. “If it’s any consolation, I missed you too,”

“Do you think…do you think you can be here for the funeral?” you asked before you could even stop yourself. Why were you bringing him here when Tommy was around? Were you bringing him here out of spite? To make Tommy what? Jealous? But then again, was it a sin to ask for comfort from your husband? Tommy would never understand. He was quick to tell you what he thought of you yesterday. It was the first time he did it but you couldn’t get it out of your head. If to him, you were a whore, then a whore you’d be. 

It was the only thing you were good at anyway. 

“Of course,” he nodded. “This thing with Solomons is just shit work anyway. I’ll be there the day before. Will that be alright?” 

“Yes,” you whispered. Are you really willing to let him inside the fort you’ve built with Tommy? “I lost my mom’s locket today and I…” 

“You did?” he asked. He knew how important that locket was to you. You begged him to not take it off during your wedding. If only he knew. He bought you jewels but you never wore another necklace. “We can get you another one. Something that’s even more beautiful than the one you had.”

“I suppose so,” you sighed. “I love you,” 

“I love you too.”

And you weren’t sure if you were still lying. 

-

Simon arrives at your house sometime in the morning, before the sun rises. It was his first time seeing your house—being in your house. It was a small, shabby home with flowers. Have you always liked flowers? One of the servants opened the door for him and he entered. Poor you. Did you always live like this? 

He spots you reading a book on the couch when you look up at him.

“How was your trip?” You close the book and sit upright. “I hope it wasn’t horrible,”

“I’m here now,” he sits down, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. “You’ve been on my mind since you left. Is there anything I have to know?”

“I…I talked to Polly,” you confessed. The grip that he has on your waist tightens. “But we only talked about Johnny. She said that the police aren’t doing anything to know who killed him.”

“I see,” 

“But I left after that. I’ve never seen her since,” you said truthfully. “I told her that we couldn’t meet again,”

“Thank you for not breaking my trust,” he said, removing his grip on you. “You know it’s for us, right?”

“Yes, I know,” you nodded. This is wrong. This is all wrong. Why were you understanding him more? Are you only agreeing with Simon because you hated Tommy at that moment? What’s the sudden change? 

You were all gathered at Johnny's funeral. Simon was beside you, holding your waist protectively. Beth was a wailing mess by the coffin. They were putting him six feet under. Last night was the last time she’ll ever see Johnny’s physical body again. You were bowing your head down, trying to keep your tears away. Johnny had been the father figure and now, he’s gone too. 

The ceremony ends soon enough with Simon never letting go of your body. The Shelbys have noticed. Simon was basically hounding you so you wouldn’t have to talk to others. 

“I sometimes wonder if she stopped talking to us because she wanted to or if she was forced to,” Arthur said, looking at you and your husband. Ada was looking at Polly. They were the only ones who knew. They both agreed to never tell a soul because of how messy things could be. Tommy would wage a war if it concerned you. “The question is why is she letting him?”

Tommy walks to where you were. He clears his throat to make himself known. He watches your figure become rigid. Simon was looking at him, his hand still on your waist. If he could shoot this prick’s hand for even laying a hand on you—

“I’m Tommy Shelby,” he starts. “I just decided to come by and offer a quick greeting to your wife.”

“Of course, Mr. Shelby,” Simon replied, his voice was strained and you were scared. Terrified. “Y/N didn’t tell me about you. Have you, darling?” There was a threat in his voice.

“Oh,” you nod, licking your lips. Your voice was wavering. “Mr. Shelby i-is someone I knew when I was a child, darling. He left for the war and…and…”

“We haven’t seen each other since,” he finishes.  “I wish we could talk more,” Tommy added, confirming what he already thought. He didn’t spare you a glance and if he did, he didn’t make a show of it. “Mr. Coventry. Y/N,” he bowed, taking your gloved hand and kissing your knuckles. He walks away, leaving Simon’s anger and your anxiety behind him. 

Simon didn’t speak to you on the way back. You tried but he only dismissed you with a cold shoulder. When you arrived home, he dragged you by the arm to the living room. You watched while the servants dispersed to give you some privacy. It was funny how they always pretended that they knew nothing.

“Do you really think I’m fucking stupid?” he roared, his loud voice vibrating the walls of your home. “You talked to Polly Gray but didn’t meet Tommy. At all,”

“You have to believe me, Simon. I never…it’s my first time seeing him again!” you pleaded, scared for Tommy’s life—scared for yours. Your arm hurts but you have bigger problems right now. What was a little bruise anyway? “I didn’t even know if he was still alive,”

“Can you shut the fuck up?” he asked. “It’s like everything that you’re saying are…are lies! I gave you everything,” he spits. “I gave you and your friends money. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be in that fucking brothel fucking some twat who could never afford everything that I’m giving you. Is that what you want? Do you want to go back there?”

“Simon,” you tried. “I swear, I didn’t know he was still alive. Polly never told me. I—“

“Liar!” he says, stepping closer to you. He grasps your chin tightly, your head unmoving at the pressure. “I bought you. Don’t you dare fucking disrespect me. I own you,” 

“Simon, please…” you cried. “I swear to you I didn’t…”

“Shut up,” he spits. “You’re fucking disgusting,”

He shoves you to the floor and you cry. He leaves without looking at you. He didn’t apologise for what he did. It was the first time he showed you what you were to him. A property. You didn’t sleep that night; you were just on the balcony, looking at the docks, wondering what would’ve happened if you had just waited. 

-

The morning comes and you are tired. Simon just woke up and decided to stay with you on the balcony. 

“I’m sorry, angel,” he whispers. He wraps his arms around your shoulders. “I’m sorry for doing that. I promise to never do that again. I was just…so angry because Tommy Shelby came to us. Do you see why you’re not allowed to be here? Why I hate it when you’re in Birmingham? These fucking rats have no respect,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Simon, you said things,” you whispered, looking up at him. Tears stained your cheeks. Everything that he said replayed inside your head over and over.  What right did you have to demand his apology if he owned you? “You…”

Defeated, Simon sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You know that I’m doing this for us. I’m sorry,”

You could only nod wordlessly, blinking away the tears before they fall again. You didn’t notice the bruising on your jaw yet. You weren’t at the brothel anymore but up to what extent are you truly free? At the end of the day, you’re still weak. You still have nothing. At the end of the day, buttering him up doesn’t matter.

-

BIRMINGHAM, 1912

“One day, we’ll be able to buy those fancy, black cars and drive around London as much as we want.” Tommy said. He was in his work clothes, a greasy white shirt and his shaggy hair falling in different sorts of places. 

“We will?”

“Yes,” he nodded, his shoulder touching yours. You were just about to work when he pulled you away. He asked if you wanted to come with him to The Cut for a little while and you agreed, finding it hard to say no to him. “I’ll get you one and then, I’ll get you a horse.” 

“Don’t forget the house with a big lawn,” you giggled. 

“How could I forget?” he asked. “I’ll buy that first,”

“Would you hate me if things don’t work out the way we want them to?” you asked. “I’m just wondering,”

“Why wouldn’t it? We’re staying together,” Tommy said, casting you a confused look. 

“I mean, you’ll get a wife. I can’t live in the same house as her,” you said. “I don’t want to cause unnecessary problems for the two of you. I want her to be my friend too.”

“I’m not marrying,” he said. “Why should I marry? We come as a pair. Never one without the other. We won’t need anyone else,”

“That would be nice.”

“I get it,” he nodded. “You’re always my main priority. I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about all that yet. As long as you’re with me, I’ll be fine,”

“And if I’m not?”

“I won’t,”

“How are you going to do all this?” you asked. You always believed in Tommy.

“I’ll do everything,” 

“You’re a man of ambition, Tommy. Did you know that you can’t have ambition without being a little dangerous?”

He ponders. He’ll deal all of his cards and fold if it came to you.

There were a million things you wanted to tell him at that moment. He does, too. He looks at you so…lovingly and so naturally that it doesn’t seem like anything anymore. Tommy really didn’t fear anything, except when it came to you. He’s scared to tell you the truth because he might change the course of things. He’s scared to never fulfil all of his promises to you. He’s scared that he’ll never amount to anything other than a greasy boy that you took care of. 

He doesn’t say any of this, though, so he just smokes slow. 

-

BIRMINGHAM, 1919

“I have to do something about it,” Tommy told his brothers, taking a swig of his Irish whiskey. He was composed but his mind was running at a speed that he couldn’t quite catch up on. Were you happy in your marriage?

“Tom, it’s better if you could just let her go,” Arthur replied. “It’s not my place, hm? But we saw them yesterday. Maybe it’s for the best,”

“It’s not,” Stoic as ever, he looked ahead. 

“It’s a bad idea…” his older brother tried. “You’re fighting against a king. You’re not—“

“Why is everyone telling me that I can’t do anything? Why?” he asked. “I hardly recall asking for your permission, Arthur. You and Polly have been telling me what I can and can’t do.” 

“Tommy, think about it. With the fucking guns and taking on this whole…thing with her. It’s too big. So, just let it go, eh? You’ll get yourself killed,” John added. He knew of Tommy’s affections for you. Hell, he knew what Tommy meant. John discreetly watched you and your husband. You couldn’t maintain eye contact, you couldn’t speak freely without a stutter. It was so different from the Y/N that he used to know but Tommy couldn’t be persuaded. He was living on the edge of life in the war that it didn’t matter to him if he died or not. He’s free from the fear of death; he could do whatever he wanted. 

“I’m a man of ambition. You can’t have ambition without being a little dangerous,”

-

BANG! BANG! BANG! 

Tommy feels like the world was caving in. Fuck. He always hated sleeping, no matter how much he craved it. The darkness of his room and his closed eyes reminds him of the darkness of the tunnels. The walls and the tightness of the closed spaces; the unknown waiting on the other side. The lives he lost, the blood that his comrades spilled. He sits up, he hates how he couldn’t sleep because he’s always hearing the gunshots and the bombs in France. He hates being weak. Things were never the same and he so desperately wanted it to be. He couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. He couldn’t see the faint lamp that burned on his bedside table. The ringing in his ears doesn’t subside. It was just fucking dark. 

He looks over his bedside table and reaches for your picture. You always seemed to calm him no matter where he went. No matter what he does, you always seem to ground him.

“Y/N,” he whispered, taking a swig of his whiskey. As if that would just conjure you. He was sometimes convinced that your picture was an apparition of the time when everything was quieter. When his world had no guns and bombs. When you two were together. He frowns, taking his head in between his hands and cries. 

If only he was stronger. If only he was rich. If only he could fulfil all of the promises he gave you. If only.

-

If there was anything he regretted, it was how angry he was when he went to your old house for your first meeting. He’s been waiting to be graced by your smile for years but he couldn’t control the anger that brewed inside him. He was so guarded after the war. But those guards seem to crumble around you, leaving him defenceless and vulnerable like a child. 

A knock on his door arouses him. It was currently just before the sunrise; that hazy blue period that calms him before everyone else wakes. He checked from his window outside but there was nothing. Another knock comes and he sighs, going downstairs to check. He puts his gun behind him. He opens the door and it reveals you.

You were shaking like a leaf when his eyes landed on your figure. 

“I don’t know…where else to…to go,” you whispered. He goes out and looks around to make sure that no one’s there. When the coast is clear, he takes your hand and guides you to the living room. He was hoping that no one heard anything.

“Do you need anything?” he asked. 

“Just…water, please,” 

“Did you walk all the way?” 

“Yeah,” he hears you say while he pours you a glass. “Sorry for disturbing you,” 

“It’s alright,” he tells you, giving you the glass. 

“Yeah,” you replied, drinking the water to avoid any sort of communication with your old friend. “Tommy?”

“Hm?” he asked, sitting in front of you and it’s so different it hurts. He used to sit beside you, knee to knee. He had to blink multiple times to clear his vision—to make sure that you were actually there. “What brings you here?”

“I…I…” you couldn’t say a single word before you broke into tears. It was then when Tommy actually looked at you, the bruising on your chin, your defeated stance. He trembles in anger but forces himself to let it subside and comfort you. “S-sorry,”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, love,” he whispers, sitting beside you this time and rubbing circles on your back. “You don’t have to talk about it,”

“Would you still…would you still protect me?” you asked and you were aware of how selfish you sounded. “You’re right. I’m a-a whore,” you chuckled, looking away from him. “I know I’m being unfair…marrying Simon and then coming here…”

It appals him for you to think that he’ll ever stop protecting you. It disturbs him for letting you think that way because of one argument. 

Your chin was quivering as you tried to form a coherent sentence. 

“I thought…I thought I was free but he laid a hand on me,” you tried. “Gripped my chin and called me his property,”

You told yourself that it wasn’t Tommy’s fault. 

“All because you talked to me during the funeral,” you whispered. You couldn’t stop yourself and Tommy couldn’t stop himself from the emotions that linger. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault that you loved him. 

“Let’s run away,” It’s all his fault. All his fault that he loved you. 

“Tommy…” you whispered, shaking your head. “Did you know…did you know why I stopped talking to you?” you asked him. He didn’t. Maybe the reason why he’s so angry with you was because he didn’t know. “When you were in France, he told me that if I continue any form of communication with the Shelbys…he’ll locate you and your brothers and have the three of you killed.” You reveal to him. “You always said you’ll protect me but I wanted to protect you too.”

Your broken voice was something that he’ll never forget. Your fragile figure was something that he’ll never remove from his brain. You were…miserable. How could you let yourself be miserable for his sake? How could Simon let you cry? How could he break you? You were so strong, the strongest he’s ever known.

“I will kill him,” 

“Tommy, no,” you whimpered. “I’m here to tell you that…that the best way to protect me is to forget about me,”

“You can’t do that to me,” Tommy replied, his voice stern. He was trying so, so hard. “Not when I waited to come home for four years.”

“It’s the best way,” you pleaded. “You can go start a family or…or do something else but if you really want to protect me, you’ll forget about me,” 

You were so defeated, your figure curled to your heart like you were protecting yourself from everyone. Tommy could see the stutter of your body while you tried to control everything.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he tried, blinking the tears away but failing. His resolve was crumbling; popping the joints on his knuckles to ground him. It was then he noticed your nail beds, peeled and crusted with dried blood. You must have been thinking about it for so long. “You’re not giving me a choice here, love,” You must have been hurting.

“He’ll kill you, Tom. I wouldn’t be able to take it if I am the reason why your body’s thrown at The Cut.” you told him. “I let you go once without knowing for sure that you’ll come back alive. I’ll make sure that this time, you are.”

“So that’s it, eh?” he asked. “Your bastard husband threatens my life and you let him control you.” he licks his lips.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” you told him. “That's all I could do. You’re a man…you could have the world. I’m a woman and I can’t have anything unless I make it. This is me making it.” This is me making sure that I’ll never have to think about you. 

You left in the wee hours of the morning and Tommy lets you go without a fight. He thought that he was the one doing the protecting, when you’ve been protecting him all along. You were his most tender wound. Battle scars from France don't compare to the pain he’s feeling in the darkness of the house. Should he run after you? Should he heed your advice? What if he kills Simon? Will you be free then?

“Her husband’s dealing with Alfie Solomons,” he tells everyone during a family meeting. “I’ll deal with Solomons myself,”

“You’re waging a war that is bigger than all of us, Tommy,” Arthur said.

“I’m not asking for approval,” he only replied, his voice was monotonous; suppressing his emotions as much as he could. He swallows. “Information about Y/N’s home life has reached me. She told me that the best way to protect her is to forget about her.” He confessed.

“Well, shit,” Ada replied. “Surely…”

“Surely, I won’t.” he said, voice stern and determined. “I’ll deal all of my cards if I have to. Do you get that?”

“Tommy, it’s a bad idea. She’s right. With the fucking inspector on our throats and Simon Coventry…you’ll get yourself killed.”

“I have decided,”

“Then, what’s all of this for, then?”

“Just letting you know.” he says, looking at everyone’s face of disapproval. 

When he exits the Garrison, Polly runs after him. She was determined to let him let you go for your safety. It was a sticky situation that Tommy was putting himself in. A semblance of power doesn’t mean that he’s powerful but he couldn’t seem to understand that. 

“Tommy, do you want to save her because you want to or is it because you have to prove yourself to you?” she asked him, grasping his arm. 

“Polly—“

“Do you love her because you do or do you only think you do because you need her? It’s alright to let her go, Tom. You have to realise that maybe she’s correct,” she reasoned. “The more you move, the more she’s constricted—“ 

“You took her away from me, Polly,” he spits. “How can I not love her when I need her beside me to even get a wink of sleep? Her picture was all I looked at in France. She is the reason why I’m alive—why I’m here.��You took her away from me and I am taking her back. Does that look like love to you?” he demanded, shaking her arm away. 

“You want to know what blinds a man as smart as you, Tom? Love,” she says. “You’re making things—“

“So I am blind,” he shrugs. “I vowed to protect her and that is a vow that I’ll take to the grave with me, Pol. You could help or not. It wouldn’t matter either way but you owe it to me to try. At least,” 

A beat passes, Polly doesn’t speak. He nods to excuse himself, walking away as the blind man.

-

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I’m so glad you’re still here.

Don’t forget to reblog / leave a comment if you liked it!

PART 4

TAGLIST:  @shelbydelrey @runnning-outof-time @duckybird101 @thenattitude @swordofawriter @litteltourtius​ @trixie23​ @everythingelseisextra​ @majesticcmey @liveat1am @dumb-wh @denabp16 @yvonna-chan @goldensunflowe-r @therosabel @hunnibearrr @dazecrea @daddyslittleattentionwhore @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf @dang-shawty-okay @dasia21 @tsenthusiast1920 @aces-tattooartist @panda-luminary @ttaechi @spencerrxids @i-heart-food @fudge13 @affabletimelady @heartcereql @ce1iat @notalxx @1800-queen-trash

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone XXIII

•John Wick x Plus Size Female Reader

• Howdy, I don’t know anything about guns or Russia besides the little research I’ve done. Please don’t be mad at me if I get facts wrong or say something dumb. Laughing at me, however, is completely acceptable :3. Also, I’ve been going down a rabbit hole of high table & John Wick lore for this story, and there’s lots of references to other JW media (the comics, the Continental TV series, wiki pages).

• Thank you so much everyone who is reading/commenting on/liking this story, it means a lot to me and I love you guys. I started writing this one year ago and feel like I’ve improved so, so much that it’s insane. I’ve been learning to pick out my own style and make it coherent by reading all the other brilliant fanfictions from everyone on Wickblr/Keanublr and I’m insanely grateful I found this little hole of internet. Divider is by @thecutestgrotto

• TW: blood, death, bodies, HEAVY NSFW, gore, guns.

She does, eagerly, jumps under the covers, and he tsks, pulling off his sweater with one hand. “No, honey. Spread your body out for me. I want to see you.”

She almost starts to protest, but the dark look he gives closes her mouth, and she lays flat, naked, looking anywhere but at him, pushing the blanket off on the floor to avoid its tempting sanctuary.

He chuckles. “Spread your legs, babydoll. Wider. There you go.”

She whines, fisting the bed sheets and closing her eyes tight while her pussy pulses uselessly, sure he can see the slick glittering on her lips and unkept hair.

“Look at me,” he tells her, and by god she tries despite the fact that his cock can’t get much harder without fucking exploding into pieces. He undoes his belt, then slips his jeans down, and the outline of his leaking length makes her mouth water.

God, he’s beautiful. She’ll never get used to it.

He says aloud what she thinks. “You’re beautiful. I could stare at you all night.”

She laughs. “Please don’t.”

“Why not?”

“I want you.”

“I can’t stare at you while you have me?”

“Just come here.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll cry.”

His palms catch the end of the mattress, and he kneels down by the edge. The pride he feels in light of this titillating manipulation, as if he single handedly taught her how to sin himself, should be worrying. Corruption looks so pretty while she wears it and nothing else.

He grabs for her ankle, and catches it despite screeches and giggles and protests and pulling.

The phone at their bedside rings, and his teasing teeth stop just short of her neck.

“Did you just break that?” Her fingers twirl into his beard.

He leans into her touch while they both steal an incredulous look at the landline he just ripped from the wall and threw across the room.

It’s not ringing anymore, that’s what really matters. He goes back in for flesh—will kill, with his bare hands, whoever makes his cordless sound off over her needy whimpers.

She looks up at him for a long moment, trying not to laugh or cry, and then says: “can I break that one?”

He has to go.

“Why do you wear a suit?” She asks him, fumbling with the tie.

He guides her fingers, showing her how to cinch it. “Professionalism’s sake.”

“Oh,” she smiles, tracing the indent of his cock with her thumb. “This is professional?”

They’re on the bed again, pressed in tight, tongues rolling together. He pulls away and she wipes saliva off his beard, tugs him back by the tie he just so neatly put together.

“I have to go,” he says, grinding against her, slicking up the crotch of his pants.

“Yeah,” she agrees, digging her fingers into the dip of his beautifully sloped back.

“In the Morning,” he promises, pressing her mouth against his clothed erection with palm threaded through her hair.

“Can’t have you going to work messy,” she says, eating her own cum off of his dress pants.

“You-ah, ah-John. You have to go.” As he teases open mouthed kisses up the seam of her puffy pussy, whispers praises over the den of her clit.

“Gotta go,” he grunts, lifting his hips up so she can wrestle his cock free from its confines and suckle the leaking cum from his tip.

“Can’t let you stain your nice professional pants.” She cleans him so nicely with her tongue that it creates even more of a mess.

She cleans that up, too.

“Please—please don’t stop,” she asks, arching her back, words jumbled and urgent, willing with a deep whine for the increased tempo of his tongue and fingers.

All these delicious plans he has for dominating her benevolence with the elusivity of release, reducing her to begging and bargaining and selfish demands, immediately crumble under the beautiful, breathy way she asks for an orgasm, and he growls at himself and her gushing, clenching pussy for giving in so easily. Still, he eats up her mess and brings her down nice, easy, soft, crawling up her trembling body until he can make her taste herself on his mouth, which she does eagerly and delightedly.

“Don’t go,” she says, post coital bliss somehow softening her up even more. She’s melting into the mattress and pulling him down with her, like sticky boiling sugar enveloping a curious fly.

“I have to go,” he says, clinging to her, still full on suited and with his aching cock tucked back in.

She huffs, reaches for him, to wrap those plump little fingers around where he is crying, twitching, furious.

“Just one more taste,” she asks, rubbing languidly at his pronounced head.

He is cold, calculated, unbreakable, steadfast. He has endured hours of torture and pain and blood and agony. He is an impenetrable force, the enigmatic feared entity of the Bratva, and he bucks and shivers and—

whines, pressing the sound into her throat as she smiles with pride and adoration and idly twirls his hair around her fingers.

If he were a weaker man, or maybe a stronger one, he wouldn’t unstick himself, kiss her cheek, smooth down her wild hair before pressing his face into the thick of it and memorizing the smell.

“Come back to me,” she orders, as he puts on his other shoe.

“Don’t die, okay?” She pleads, as he’s tucking guns and knives into his clothes.

He places one last kiss to the middle of her forehead, unsure of promises, unsure if he can fulfill her request. The only sure thing in his life is the tangible heat and want between them that is burning him alive. He says, after a few seconds pressed against her damp skin, “okay.”

——————-

Winston must have looked through her own closet somehow, because comfy cotton T-shirts and leggings and sweatpants are the majority of what he sent for her. She can’t stop being eternally grateful for his hospitality, despite the resistance she’s put up against it.

She takes a long, hellfire shower, winces when she gets to her pubic bone—her hips are sore, bruised, labia red and raw from beard burn. Inner thighs chafed to hell. It hurts, but she wants to keep all of it as a reminder of her John.

The Continental comes to life at night. The lights dim blue and deep red, music pumps behind colossal forbidden doorways, patrons of all ethnicities and ages and cultures accumulate at tables and cluster on lounging couches.

Bookstore library stranger greets her in the silver-coated dining room. She has a bit of alcohol on her breath and blouse. Despite this, she’s very happy to see her again.

“Hello Ella.”

“Would you like a drink? My treat. They have everything. Straight, narrow, sugar.” Ella puts her hand over her mouth and hiccups. “Excuse me. Get anything you like, dear.”

She orders simple, A fruity cocktail, and sits with Ella for a bit while hearing stories about growing up wealthy and admired. It’s so differently fascinating from her own life, these tales—she’s utterly captivated and brimming with jealousy.

Addie is here, too, graced by inhuman strength in her lithe frame, when she pulls her away from story time to speak privately.

“Do you know who that is?” Addie asks, holding two fingers up at the bar tender.

He delivers two crystal glasses of sparkling water. “She’s my friend, I met her at a bookstore. Her name is Ella.”

“Elena Jovonovick,” Addie corrects with a concerned frown and drawn eyes. “She is the head of the Ruska Roma.”

She blinks at Addie a few times, understanding curtaining over her face. “Oh…”

Addie opens her mouth, but the voice that speaks does not belong to her. Ella—Elena—sidles between them, and motions for another drink. “Addie, sweet girl, what is wrong?”

Addie’s flushed cheeks bleed all their color, but she does not tremble nor fall back despite the look of abject fear held in her face for this tiny woman.

She doesn’t understand the fear, but does understand that the woman she has become friends with is…what? John’s adoptive mother? A slew of emotions typhoon through her. The first, humor. It’s funny, that she she’s meeting his family without his knowledge. Second, anger. Anger because this is the person who took tiny, defenseless, innocent John—her John—and turned him into a harbinger of death.

She starts to say something seething, something that she will regret later, but when she looks at Ella and opens her mouth, she sees a familiar expression—sorrow, regret, profound sadness. Like an abandoned, filthy dog on the street corner. And her jaw snaps back into place.

“Please,” Ella says, sipping at her drink. “I need John Wick’s help.”

—————————————

The doctor was right, he is distracted and sloppy. A mind at war. A hit that glances off someone’s sternum, not killing them. A failed attempt at kicking one of his colleagues away from a butterfly in the femoral.

He grabs some flyaway blood, throws it in the knife wielder’s face, then presses a bullet into his skull.

He tugs a foam plug from his ear to hear what Marcus is yelling from across the room. It’s done, anyway. Twenty two men in, twenty two men out. He wipes sweat off his brow and leans against the cool wall to bring himself back to baseline.

“Did you hear me, John?”

“Yeah, I heard you.”

But he didn’t, and still doesn’t, occupied by the message on his phone that blackens his vision around the edges—whether in fear or rage, he cannot tell.

Rage is simple, clean and cut, as slick as the jacketed bullet he sunk into the skull of Yuri Morozov when one of his bodyguards flexed their finger on a trigger.

“The car’s loaded with dynamite,” Marcus says, swiping some sulphur off his cheekbone, panting from the jog over. “What—what’s wrong?”

It’s an unusual conversation to have while splattered with blood and surrounded by the bodies spilling it. Marcus continues despite the situation.

“Jesus Christ, tell me why you look like that.”

John blinks at him, almost asks him to explain what expression he sees and this concerned reaction to it. He already knows, though, doesn’t he? That his face has become a breeding ground for pesky emotions. “Elena Jovonovick is staying at the New York Continental.”

“Who—“ Marcus guffaws in disbelief. “Who told you that?”

“Does it matter?”

“No—what the fuck. Where are you going?”

“Back home.”

“You can’t kill her John! You can’t kill the head of the fucking Ruska Roma! You know that?” Marcus takes a few leaps after him, but ultimately decides against intervention.

“Where is he going?” Kirill asks over the earpiece when he first hears the snarling squeal, then sees John’s mustang peel onto the boulevard.

“Diarrhea,” Marcus replies.

[jessmaybank]

My best friends brother series; Part 1 - Bubbles & Trouble

Series masterlist

Outer banks masterlist

Pairing(s): Rafe Cameron x fem! Kook reader.

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: After you had been left heartbroken by a fellow kook, you decide to let loose at the Cameron house per Sarahs request. Little did you know, your best friends brother may be the only one there to pick up the pieces.

Warnings: alcohol use, swearing, mentions of sex (smut in the next parts)

AN: In the words of Victoria Justice, my best friends brother is the one for me…

“Y/N please don’t cry! We both know he didn’t deserve you” Sarah protests through the phone, eager to help her best friend.

“I know, I know. But with her? Seriously? You have to be kidding” you cry, tears streaming down your rosy cheeks, painting your skin with your mascara.

After a year together, your now ex boyfriend Jake decided to cheat on you. Ironically, it was with the girl he always told you not to worry about. Turns out, when a man says “don’t be stupid, she means nothing to me. I love you Y/N” what they actually mean is “I’m ganna fuck this girl upstairs at a party whilst you and your friends are all downstairs looking for you”

Dick.

“Why don’t you come round tonight. My Brother is having some friends round for drinks in the hot tub and he said I can join, I’m sure he won’t mind if you come with” Sarah says.

You weigh out the pros and cons in your head, and decide that alcohol, your best friend and her brothers cute friends beats rotting away in your depression pit of a bedroom any day.

“Well, I do need a drink. I’ll be round later, love you Sarah” you say, a small smile creeping up on your face for what felt like the first time in days.

After a rocky patch In their relationship, Rafe and Sarah have actually been getting on relatively well recently. Although you don’t know much about Rafe considering you have been best friends with his sister since you were little, you did know he could be difficult at times. You always made conversation with him at his house or at parties to be polite, but nothing substantial ever came of it. His looks made up for his dry conversation, but you knew Sarah would kill you if you ever went near him.

A few hours passed and you pulled up to Tanny Hill in a blue bikini accompanied by some denim shorts. When you lazily knocked on the door, you were greeted with a topless Rafe. His defined muscles along with his tanned skin definitely made him a sight for sore eyes.

“Y/N hi, Sarah told me you were coming” he says, and you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker up and down your dainty figure somewhat subtly.

What takes prominence over that however, is the smile on his face which is half genuine and half full of pity. Great, Sarah has told him.

“Hey, yeah I hope that’s okay” you say.

He mutters a quick of course and ushers you into the kitchen. You agree almost immediately when he offers you a drink, which he takes notice of.

“She’s just getting changed upstairs. She’ll be down in a sec” Rafe says, when he observes you scanning the room for Sarah.

You smile and mutter a thank you as he puts a drink on the counter in front of you. As he’s about to leave to join his friends in the garden, you grab his arm.

He turns around with a confused but sincere look on his face, his blue orbs dazzling with intrigue.

“Uh look, I’m assuming Sarah told you about my breakup. I don’t want any pity okay, I just wanna get drunk and forget about it. So please, no more sympathy looks. I would actually prefer it if you were your moody self” you say.

Rafe chuckles, and you mirror his actions. His blue eyes burn into your own as he studies you. He’s always thought you were adorable as you always acted shy and innocent around him. Until now, however, he’s never realised how goddamn beautiful you were.

“Sure, I get it” he replies. Without thinking, Rafe brings his muscular arm up to your face, dragging your stray strands of hair from the front of your face behind your ear. The gesture was an attempt to comfort you without using words. Rafe was never very good at using his words, and he would much rather show someone how he felt than tell them.

Your body felt like it was set on fire as he touched you, the small action turning your brain into mush.

The two of you snapped back to reality as the sound of footsteps became louder and louder. Rafe cleared his throat as he pulled away from you, and you instantly grabbed your drink, the desire for alcohol increasing by the second as you looked everywhere but at him.

“Y/N!” Sarah shouts, pulling you in for a hug as she reaches you.

You return a hello as you embrace her petite frame. Your eyes accidentally catch Rafe’s as you hug Sarah. The smugness radiates off him as he sends you a wink, a smirk crawling on his tanned face before he walks out into the garden.

You realise his sympathy towards you was indeed short-lived as he’s back to his normal self. You mentally curse. Maybe pitiful looks we’re the better option after all.

The next hour or two consisted of you, Sarah, Topper, Kelce and Rafe crammed into their luxury hot tub. Everyone was pretty drunk by this point, which you blamed on Kelce for making everyone play drinking games. You even had to kiss Topper during a game of truth or dare which was extremely awkward for everyone involved.

Rafe had been sending you flirtatious looks all night, most of which you have returned with a glare. It’s like he’s trying to get you into trouble. The worst part about it though, was that it took a lot of self restraint not to play along and indulge in his suggestive actions.

“Okay, okay, last one I promise. Rafe truth or dare” Kelce says, before finishing the rest of his drink. You’ve lost count of how much you have drank tonight. It turns out drowning your sorrows is a pretty effective method for solving your problems.

“Dare” he says without hesitation, and you admire his braveness.

“I dare you… to kiss Y/N” he says with a smirk. Oh no.

“Gross!” Sarah yells, her body swaying to the music in the background. It was clear she was the drunkest out of all of us.

Your eyes widen as you realised what Kelce has just said, eyes practically popping out of your skull. Rafe swaps places with Topper to sit next to you, and as you turn you head to face him you notice his eyes turn dark with lust.

Before Rafe could make a move though, Sarah leans over the hot tub to throw up. You’ve never been happier to see someone throw up, and you mentally thank Sarah for never being able to handle her drink.

“I think that’s enough for you tonight” Topper laughs at the blonde chucking her guts up before him.

Sarah’s words are slurred as she tries to reply, and Kelce and topper carry her out of the tub and into the house, putting her into bed.

As the three leave, you can practically feel the tension rising between you and Rafe. You know you should just get out and call for a ride home, but part of you is burning to know what his full red lips would feel like against yours, or how good it would feel to have him inside of you.

You subside your dirty thoughts as you start to get out of the hot tub, but Rafe stops you by pulling you down onto his lap so your back is against his chest.

You don’t know wether to freeze up, or relax under his touch, a flutter of adrenaline pulsing through your veins as you sit on the lap of your best friends older brother.

“What are you doing” you breathe, the rise and fall of your chest an indication of your fast beating heart.

“I think you know what I’m doing” he whispers in a low and raspy tone in your ear. His hand runs up and down your thigh, and you can feel your arousal spilling out of you at his seductive words.

Rafe grabs your jaw and turns your face towards him. Once again his eyes are filled with lust and if you weren’t already sitting down, your knees probably would have buckled.

You don’t know weather it was the alcohol or weather you just wanted to do it, but you welcomed his kiss. The kiss was slow and his lips were soft, which was unexpected, but you loved it. His tongue teased your own as his hand ran down your neck and then into your hair. This kiss held more passion than anything you had experienced with your ex the whole year you were together.

When you felt Rafes fingers run over the place you wanted him the most, you snapped back into reality. He’s your best friends brother, what the hell are you doing.

“Fuck, we can’t do this” you say, pulling away from him.

Needing to get out of this situation, you spring up out of the hot tub, grab your towel and your belongings and rush inside, ignoring Rafes protests for you to stay. You texted Sarah that your leaving, saying that you’ll call her tomorrow and that you hope she’s alright.

Rafe sat there for a while, waiting for his erection to go away before he could find his friends. For some reason, although the had just been rejected, he just couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning with you and him.

In honour of buzzcut Rafe being all over my tik tok feed today, it’s only right I came back with another fic! Im hoping this series has about 5 parts. Enjoy bitches!

[darkbluekies]

I have a silly ask-

So what if reader is also yandere for them.??

I wanna how would they react to it

Also I love the Doctor Kryx Silas you madee!!Been reading it like 50 times!!

Anon♡

Warnings: double yandere, suggestive themes, mentions of killing, jealousy

A/N: thank you so much!! I'm glad you like their chemistry <3

Silas: 

He can’t be more happy and worried at the same time. You want to do everything to please him without asking any questions, you want to cuddle up with him every second of the day and love him unconditionally. But you want to get involved in everything he does and that frightens him. You can’t see his violent side. You’ll cling onto him every time he has to leave for work and will send dark gazes to the men and women who help him.

“No, baby, I want you to stay here. I have to go work if I want to continue being a respected man. No, no, get your hands off of me, little thing. You’re making it harder for me to leave. If you continue- … stop that. Fuck. Fine. I’ll stay. You little trouble maker, if you weren’t as obsessed with me as I am with you, I’d throw you in the basement. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You like everything I do to you … and I love everything you do to me.”

Dr Kry:

He’ll be delighted to know that you love him as much as he loves you, but it’ll make it harder for him to make you stay in your bed. You want to be by his side at all time, want to hold onto him and kiss him. Dr Kry isn’t fond of physical connection — even with you. He loves to hold you every once in a while, but needs his own space too. He’ll let you sit in his lap while he reads for you. You take the initiative to all the physical affection and end up kissing him more than he is prepared for. 

“My dear, wait, you’re bruising my lips. You really need to take your nap now. You can’t keep stalling by kissing me. I’m really happy that you want to be close to me, but I have a job to do. My job is to protect you so can you please let go of my hair? No, I’m not going to let anyone flirt with me, yes, I will be back … no, I’m not letting you come with me. You have to take a nap. I love you, my little sweetheart.”

King Edmund:

He’ll enjoy you being obsessed with him. He will have you sitting in his lap while he’s on his throne, having you kiss his neck and run your fingers through his hair. Edmund won’t be able to hide his cocky smirk. Having you all over him while people talk to him might be the bes thing that has ever happened to him. You’ll whisper to him how you don’t like how certain people look and talk to him while they propose suggestions for him. He’ll turn his head to you and smirk. 

“My dear queen, are you a little jealous today? You want me to kill that woman for smiling at me? Yeah? You’d like that? Then I will, my jewel. I will get rid of everyone. You’re so cute when you’re jealous. You wrap yourself around me like a snake. I’m not going anywhere … and neither are you.”

Jerry: 

Jerry will let her guard down a bit. She will have no worries about you trying to leave her and “exposing” her sweet side to others. She’ll trust that you want her for the rest of your life. Jerry will give you more freedom, even letting you join in on missions every now and then. She'll be more human with you … and even more obsessed. Now that she has you for real, she'll never let you get away from her. And who are you to complain? This is all you could ever want.

"Are you hurt? Why the fuck did you do that?! I told you that I'd be fine! Why did you try to intervene? You could have gotten seriously hurt! Don't try to save me again, baby. I get that you wanted to protect me, but that's my job, got it? You're bleeding a little. You'll be fine. Don't cry. I-If I'm okay? Yes … yes, I am. Why are you more worried about me than yourself? Fucking hell, baby, you're unbelievable. I love you so fucking much. No, you’re not going to try to kill them, are you nuts? I’m not letting you get in more trouble."

Hedwig:

Hedwig will be the happiest girl in the world. She has everything she wants now. Every single thing. You'll hold her hand wherever you go and cancel plans to be with her. You’re clingy, loving and jealous. Can she even wish for more? Hedwig will be more open with you when she’s jealous and not hide her tactics anymore. Why would she need to now that you both think alike?

"Y/N, you’re so good to me. I love you so much. WHat did you say? Of course I’m yours, sweetheart. I’ll always be yours. What? Repeat please. You’d … you’d kill for me? O-Oh … I’m blushing. I’ve done that for you, Y/N. Multiple times. Or … not me personally, but … I’ve made sure to get rid of people for you. You’re not mad at me, are you? Thank you, honey. I love you so much. Speaking of that … that boy who was talking with you today … I didn’t like him. He seems like a good guy, but I don’t want him anywhere near you. Should we get rid of him?”