#sometimes my outside voice says yes when my inside voice says no

[tearfulangel]

poor little bug on the wall, thinking there’s no one to love her at all

[chaussetteblanche]

and they were roommates pt. 3

pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader summary : life on campus with a killer on the loose, the FBI makes an arrest word count : 2k warning : canon-typical violence, swear words (one use of the f-word) A/N : thank you so so much for all the love on this story !!! I'm so glad you all enjoy it <333 I'll probably do a part 4, it may be the last part, idk yet :)

part 1, part 2, part 4

"Spencer, I realise your concern, but lots of women look somewhat like this." It wasn't lost on Spencer what Hotch was trying to do by calling by his first name. "Hotch, she- she could be right next to them. She fits his type right down to the colour of her eyes!" "Spencer, man, you need to think rationally." Derek placed a hand on Spencer's shoulder. "Lots of women have that hair colour and length, it's in style right now, right Emily?" "Yeah, definitely." "Look, I just- I need to make a call."

When Spencer had called you sometime in the evening, you'd been expecting him to tell you he was going to come home late and to not wait up for him. What you weren't expecting was for his voice to be the most serious and stern you'd ever heard it. "Don't go outside until I come home, okay?" He knew it was entirely irrational. The unsub only took women in broad daylight, you weren't facing any more risks than usual. But he couldn't take a chance. Not with this. Not with you. "What? Why?" "Just- I'll explain everything when I come home, I'll be there in a couple hours, but please, don't leave the apartment. And make sure everything is locked." "Spencer, what's going on?" "Can you just-" He paused, forcing himself to remain calm. "Look, do as I say, please. I'll explain everything later, I promise." You hesitated for a moment. Luckily for you, you weren't working at the bar tonight. Luckily for Spencer, you liked him enough to indulge him. "Okay." "Thank you."

"Oh my God, no, absolutely not!" "Y/N, it's for your safety, don't you understand that?!" "My safety? What about my life?"

This was the first real fight you'd ever had. You'd had disagreements, of course, he didn't like you leaving your empty cups and glasses all over the place. You told him off for waking you in the morning by making too much noise. Sometimes you'd get jealous if Geoffrey slept in Spencer's bed rather than yours. Yes, you'd had your fair share of arguments, but none quite like this.

"I'm not asking you to give up your life, you're being totally-" You scoffed loudly, interrupting him. "Spencer, you might as well! Do you realise what you're suggesting I do? You want me to give up on going outside, not go to any of my classes, not see any of my friends, not go to work, don't you see what bullshit that is? It's putting a cross on my social life, my education and my work!" You gesticulated angrily as you speak, feeling heat rising to your face. "I already told you, it's for your own safety." He sighed loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. He wasn't even looking at you. A tiny, tiny piece of you wanted to slap him. "I will not stop living my life because some psycho thinks it's fun to kill innocent girls! I won't!" You crossed your arms over your chest and resisted the urge to stomp your foot.

"You're being incredibly childish right now." You hated how he managed to stay calm. You wanted him to get just as angry as you were, livid even. It wasn't fair that you were the only one getting upset. "Are you making all the girls who look like me give up everything for the sake of their safety?" Your tone was mocking and mean but you didn't have it in you to care at the moment. He met your eyes at last, lips turned downwards into a frown. Finally, some sort of emotion. "Don't do that, Y/N," he warned in a low voice. "No, I think it's a valid question. Is your boss making an announcement to the press that all the girls in Mary Washington University who look like the three last girls should stay inside? Is he?" you pushed. Spencer looked away from you again, shaking his head in disbelief at your attitude. "No, he isn't."

"Then why do you expect me to do that?!" You threw your hands in the air, beyond frustrated. For a logical person, Spencer's behaviour wasn't making any sense at the moment. "I don't expect you to do it. I want you to do it, I need you to do it." You could feel his calm facade breaking, piece by piece. "Why, Spencer, fucking why?!" "Because!" He finally exploded, jumping to his feet and slapping his palms onto the table. You didn't jump. "Because it's you, Y/N! I can't work this case if I know you're in danger every single day! If I know yours could be the next dead body students ogle at on the university's front lawn! If I know it's your picture they're going to hang up next to the other victims! I just can't do it!"

Oh.

You let yourself fall down on the couch, running your hands over your face. You were both stepping into uncharted territory. You'd tip-toed this line before but had never crossed it yet. And this was not the way to do it. You were not going to cross the border from friendship into something more by screaming at each other. Spencer seemed to read your silence as distress.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell." He softly trudged over to the couch and sat down next to you. "No, it's okay, I- I kind of wanted you to. I'm sorry for getting so upset." You take his hand in your lap and intertwine your fingers. "I understand, I'm asking too much of you, it's selfish." He gives your hand a squeeze. "I just can't stand the thought of anything happening to you." You sit in silence for a little while, processing.

"I just can't hide while I wait for other girls to be killed, Spencer, it wouldn't be fair." Sometimes, Spencer hated how good of a person you were. If your morals and personal ethics were some of the things he liked about you the most, he couldn't help but curse them in this moment. "I don't care about fair," he mumbled, hating how puerile he sounded. You cooed and laid your head on his shoulder. "I know, I'm sorry."

"I won't promise you anything, but I'll try to always be with someone around campus. I'm usually with my friends anyway. And I can share my location with you all the time if that's reassuring for you." "I'd like that, thank you. And... what about when you're at work?" "I can ask Paul to walk me to my car." Paul was the manager at the bar you worked at, Quantequila. His past was a mysterious blend of prison, MMA fighting and crochet clubs. He liked you plenty and you knew he wouldn't mind walking you to your car for a while. "Thank you."

Over the next week, you did just that. Many students started moving in groups and avoiding being alone at all costs after the FBI released the profile and the pictures of the last victims.

"We're looking for a local white man, early twenties. He may have moved here a year ago, we figure he's either in his first year of BA or MA. This is someone you don't notice, he's shy and introverted, he doesn't participate in class and he won't talk to people if he can help it, especially not women. This man is a loner and does his best to be invisible. We think he stalks his victims for a while before attacking them, so if you start seeing someone you've never seen before in strange places, please notify us. My name is Aaron Hotchner and you'll find the hotline on the screen you're watching this on."

You always had at least two friends with you whenever you were roaming about on campus. Though no one really spoke about the situation, the energy had changed. People were becoming tense and suspicious. Friends were fighting over who should accompany who, when and where. A place which had once gathered so many motivated and joyous students now had those very people looking over their shoulder.

You hated it.

Truly, you didn't want to underestimate this killer, but you were getting tired of it all. You'd wish the BAU would just catch him, but, as Spencer had explained to you multiple times, they had incredibly little to go on. What you knew without him telling you was that they needed another victim to predict his next move. Still, you were a person who appreciated alone time and you had gotten none in the last 10 days. So, when two of your friends who were supposed to walk with you from your class to the subway bailed on you, you weren't that upset.

You put your headphones on, listening to your favourite song of the moment and started walking. You had a tendency of getting lost in your thoughts and didn't notice the sound of heavy footsteps following your own over your music. What you did notice though, was the reflection of someone walking close behind you in a cafe window. You looked over your shoulder, frowning. The sun was in your eyes, blocking your vision, but you managed to perceive an average-sized man with long-ish black hair which hung around his face in greasy strands. Not thinking too much of it, you continued on your way.

You didn't think too much of it when you saw him sitting a few tables away from you when you were studying one afternoon at the library. You were captivated by the Middle English poem under your eyes, wondering what the author had meant with the particular use of the kenning "earth-cave". When you looked up and caught his eyes, cold and unnerving, you didn't overthink it. There were some weird people on campus. Who were you to judge?

When you saw him at your grocery store, though, that was when you started worrying. You were picking up a box of After-Eights for Spencer when you saw him looking at oatmeal raisin biscuits. What really tipped you off was that no one really liked those, so he must have been pretending to look occupied. A chill ran down your spine as all the other places you'd spotted him came back to you. Your lecture hall, the cafeteria, sitting in the lawn under a tree, the main hall,...

You decided that the next time you would see him, you'd tell Spencer. You didn't want him to worry if this turned out to be nothing. Maybe the man was just an exchange student? Or had joined during the academic year?

Two days later, the FBI made an arrest. A man named Ben Colton fitted the profile exactly. In his dorm room, they'd found pictures of women who looked exactly like the last victims and of resembling women on campus, you were part of them. You didn't know that, Spencer had felt you didn't need to be aware of that specific detail. The only problem was that the BAU had no physical evidence tying him to the crimes yet. The arrest had been sanctioned by higher authorities while physical proof was searched for. Police dogs and officers had been tearing through all of his possessions while Garcia had gone through his entire online life. Nothing tying him to the murders had been found.

The general public knew nothing of this, of course. To them, someone getting arrested meant they could go on with their usual lives. The man you'd been seeing left and right had left your mind entirely as you celebrated your regained freedom with your friends.

Of course, Spencer had warned you. They were 99% sure this was the unsub, they just needed the evidence. That didn't eliminate the 1% chance it wasn't him. But 99% chances were good enough for you. You trusted the BAU. Specifically, you trusted Spencer. With your life.

So you started living your life normally again. You left for class a little later because you didn't need to walk with your other friends. You stopped sharing your location with Spencer. You put the volume of your music higher again. You started leaving your pepper spray at home. You started texting while walking again.

Needless to say, you were wholly unprepared for the violent blow to your head as you walked to class one morning. How ironic, you thought as you blacked out, that Mary Goldman had probably experienced the same thing exactly two weeks prior.

Taglist : (all of you who asked for a part three <3) @princess-ofthe-pages @usuck @theylovemelody @empressgraytea @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @lillianacristina @venomsvl @user-3113s-blog @pumpkin-cake @redros3y @faunrasthewinterelf @puppykinsthepotato @bookishnerd1132 @bonza-bear @teeshamcbeesha @hades-disappointment-child @princesssparkle2024 @darlingcharling-blog @yasmin12312 @khxna @jamieeboulos

[skyrigel]

Break-up

Characters : Mattheo Riddle, Draco Malfoy, Tom Riddle, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini. Pancy Parkinson ( background )

How Slytherin boys will react when you ask them for break up.

Warning : might be toxic, alcoholism, possesive and obsessive behaviour, Reader feels they are too much ( in Blaise Zabini hc, you can skip that )

Mattheo Riddle

He's not going to listen a word so don't even bother.

He will shut you up real quick in more than one way, speaking too loud, cutting you mid, changing topics and rushing to classes that don't even exist and his most favourite, kissing you.

He would kiss you so hard that every thought inside your head would evaporate in fuzzy vapour, the bubbles in your head popping with each moan that would escape your throat.

“You were saying something?” He would ask so wickedly, amused with the dumb look you have plastered on your face and relishing while your fumble within words.

“ I don't think it's important." He would take your hand, kissing the inside of your palm, his sweet words vibrating through your skin.

“ yeah, not important.”

Draco Malfoy

Ofcourse he would be a nonchalant bastard about it, despite the brimming tears at the inside of his eyes.

“ oh, fancy potter now, don't you ? ” he would snarl, accusingly, his voice harsh and contempt choking him.

Draco would do everything wrong, say the wrong things, do even more.

He would start by parading Pancy around, so desperate that he would also accept Miss Greengrass's date invite.

But he would also cry, as soon as the facade will crumble, he would grip the sink till his knuckles went white, face wet and red with tears that wouldn't stop.

Then a word with his mother would do the miracle and the next thing you know would be a very drunk Draco howling and sobbing his undying love for you, refusing to leave and would make everyone listen how much he loves you, and how you belong with him.

“ Draco.” you winced at the grimness left behind after dries tears, softening.

“ Go back to your dorm.”

“ kiss me night and i'll go.” Draco slurred, you were pretty sure you smiled as soon as he said 'fight' instead of night.

“No.”

“ Yes!” He would lean down at you, pouting, and how much you loved this boy, all his tantrums, all his shenanigans. Your pretty, smart and silly boyfriend.

“Okay.” you breathed, pecking his cheek, tasting his tears and how much you hated it.

“ I'll be good...good for you.” he will be, you thought.

Tom Riddle

“ You decided that yourself ? ” Tom would whisper ever so dangerously, pressing closer, you could hear the pitch silence outside the tapestry.

“ It's not... It's not working Tom.” you knew he loved you but he was gone half the time, half the time with books that were too bold and dark, of magic that was malicious beyond your wits.

“ yeah ? ” He would smear his thumb across your face, kneading your cheek and you tried your best to stay quiet but the arousal that lurched inside you, just by his mere touch, sometimes just the way he looked at you, like he was part of your soul.

Tom would smirk, delighted when you moaned for him like that, he wasn't accepting at first how you drived his crazy just by existing. He wouldn't let you go, never ever.

“ I want to bury my soul into you.” His nose mapping your neck, taking your scent.

“ oh.” you trembled when his hands worked their way inside your shirt, cold rings blazing in your warm flesh.

“ But it will take time my darling.” his disappointment flushed when he looked up at you, breathless and hot under him.

“ so for now...” his mouth twitched, Head boy Tom Riddle, sinking to his knees, eyes glinting so bright. Oh how much he wishes to mingle your souls together, how much.

Theodore Nott

He's going to sensible, furrowing hard but listen when you tell him all the reasons how it could'nt work , he's considerate enough to pat your back, soothing you, when you break down in between.

“ If you need time baby, then I'll be patient.” he would say, kissing your forehead.

He wouldn't sit next to you in classes despite his soul wanting to crawl out of his body and embrace you.

Theo only sometimes snuggled next to you in armchair, you couldn't even blame him for it was too cold

He was on his best behaviour ignoring the totally 'accidental' beat ups of guys who were going to ask you or almost did, but in either way they never showed up.

“ I see you aren't dating anyone.” He would make no attempt to get up from your lap, discarding your homework with a swish of his wand.

“ shut up, or i will pour this ink pot on you.” you would bristle like a cat, it was inevitable not to card your fingers in his hair, scratching his scalp, he relaxed into your touch, chuckling.

“ It wasn't me.”

You sighed, looking at the bruised knuckles because your baby wasn't even trying to be subtle. He could have used his wand, phew.

“ c'mon, now can we please date again ? ” He would look up with puppy eyes, sticking out his lower lip to look extra cute. Shit, you shouldn't have told him that.

“ You guys stopped dating ? ” Draco asked, brow raised in question.

“ hey.” His fingers reached to trace your jaw, arching a little as you gaped a soft, ‘Theo’

“ Please, please, please.” He pleaded, his chin raised, as if he could claim your lips just like that.

“ Get yourself a room ! ” Pancy snapped, Theo only sneered while you looked away flushed pink.

“ Theo, stop.” you whined, when he got up, hawling you up in his arms as you wacked him repeatedly.

“ I've been a good boy.” he would mouth, smiling when you would hide your blush in the crook of his neck.

“ The only thing I am interested in breaking with you,” a pause, “ is my bed.”

Blaise Zabini

“ What did I do wrong ? ” that's his first question and you're already guilty.

“ It's just everything is so messy Zab, it's too much for me.”

He couldn't say anything more, the lump in his throat strangling each sound that passed between his cartilage.

“ Blaise...” you whispered when his whole face, that shined brighter than the whole sky withered away.

“ Hey...” you cooed and nudged him lightly and it was enough to break free the sob that grasped his chest, his whole heart. He hiccuped before large tears streamed down his coppery skin, gleaming in the basking glow of midnight.

“ Don't... please..d.. don't ” he sobbed harder, his whole body shaking.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer till your heart were crossed.

“ I am too much Blaise... Like a black hole.” you could never take away his glisten, never.

“ I love you.” he said, wrapping himself around you, closing his eyes as tear escaped and brushed against your clothes, love lorned and love sick.

“ I love you too.” because how could you not say it back ? When he loved you like you were the most precious one to him.

You will try, try your best and let him shine, protect him from your drakness, you have to try your best.

New Mattheo fic - Don't blame me

Navigation

[sp4ceboo]

A/N: aaaaaand she's back (i had to get the hard thoughts out before i wrote a full length fic, i'm not sorry)

tw: 18+, smut (afab reader, fingering f recieving, piv sex, praise AND degrading ofc, angry sex, 1 spank, overstim, some dirty dirty talk icl, no protection oh dear), sometimes ken sato is a sad little meow meow but definitely not in this fic, they fuck in the basement but atp emi is on the island dw, tiniest weeniest bit of aftercare at the end

wc: 0.73k

kenji sato is seething.

tonight's game was one of the rare times when the giants had lost, and you can feel his frustration in the urgency with which he touches you, pushing you against the cool glass until your vision is filled with the sea outside, silver glimmers flashing in your eyes as fish dart by.

you can feel his frustration in the tension of his movements as he practically tears your clothes off you, and in the low grunt that sounds from behind you as he roughly yanks off his belt.

most of all, you feel his frustration in the way he runs his calloused hands over your skin, over your curves, grabbing handfuls as if to say this is still mine. i may have lost the game today, but i won this, i won her.

ken presses his hard chest to your back with the same fervor that he presses his mouth to the nape of your neck, tongue and teeth coasting over your skin. the glass is so frigid against your bare breasts that it's almost cutting, but you can't get away; he's right there behind you, raging, burning.

you'd be lying if you said you didn't like it.

there's something addictive in the harsh way he grips your hips, the way he sucks bruising hickeys onto your neck - a promise that he'll fuck you until the loss is no longer on his mind, until all he can think about is your sweet, sweet pussy.

you can't help the pitiful sound that leaves you when he kicks your legs apart, his long fingers giving you less than a second to regain your balance before he's shoving them knuckle deep into your cunt.

'so wet for me, huh?' he asks, and you can hear the lingering venom in his voice. 'such a dirty fucking slut, aren't you? turned on because i'm angry? want me to use you, hm?'

'y - yes, ah, yes i - '

the rest of whatever you were going to say dissolves into a moan, your eyes rolling back as ken pumps his fingers in and out of you fast. you scrabble against the glass for purchase, mouth agape, pleas on your lips. he's unrelenting, giving you so much all at once, giving you no time to adjust, but you know that's how he wants you: floundering, trembling, overwhelmed.

you can feel his fingers curling inside you, cataclysmically so. his thumb is bearing down on your clit, rubbing tight, agonising circles, over and over, and all at once it's enough to send you over and you're shattering into a million pieces, his name a broken cry on your lips.

'that's it,' he croons as you come. 'my good little slut.'

not even a moment later, you feel the nudge of the blunt head of his cock, and you whine, knees weak as you babble at him that you're not ready yet, knees weak as he sheathes himself inside your still spasming cunt. tears come to your eyes then, and his hand cracks down on your ass, your whole body jolting in reply.

'you take what i give you,' he growls in your ear.

'please,' you sob. 'take it out on me.'

at your words, ken groans, low and deep in your ear. you mewl at the drag of his cock against your walls, gasping when he presses your body harder against the icy cold glass, burying himself inside you again and again, his pace punishing.

taking a fistful of your hair, he yanks your head backwards, arching your back more for him as he pounds into you. tears slip down your face as the pleasure turns sharp, overstimulation rubbing your nerves raw as his deft fingers find your clit and set you on fire.

effortlessly, he brings you over the edge again, and you're screaming his name, pussy convulsing around his cock as you writhe in his arms. his thrusts become faster, until you're sure he might break you, and then suddenly he's spilling inside you.

you moan as his strokes finally peter out, resting your sweaty forehead against the glass and going limp. one hand on your waist, supporting you, ken pulls out and scoops you into his arms; you nuzzle into his chest, tucking your head under his chin, and he kisses your hair.

'feeling better now?' you ask.

he laughs. 'of course. you take me so well, baby.'

[rbfclassy]

HE MOANS LIKE SUCH A SLUT! — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS...an analysis on how the jjk men sound when they moan like sluts

INFO...moaning, cursing, and other disgusting things that goes on in my brain so beware

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

TOJI

In my head, toji is a moaner and a groaner! Like when he’s really into it, like plowing you to the point where you can’t breathe, he’s groaning and cursing so much. Definitely breathing heavily too. His moans are sort of low pitched to normal sounding, he doesn’t moan high pitched and he doesn’t whimper at all. He curses every five seconds like this man can’t get enough of it. He can’t help himself when you feel so good around him yk? He definitely groans in your ear if he has you in certain positions, he knows you like it when he goes animalistic for you and fucks you harshly. And when he breathed heavily, it’s not like he’s just got done running a marathon but like those sexy heavy breaths. “Fuck, you feel so good around me. You’re gonna make me fucking cum!” Like yes, be vocal!

GETO

Whimpers and moans. He’s not too loud with it but he’s loud enough and that’s all that matters. His whimpers are so high pitched it’s so fucking cute! Like if you’re giving him head and you lick and suck on his tip, baby boy is whimpering and moaning while his hips buck into your mouth, ugh! He sounds so pretty I can’t even. His eyes roll into the back of his head sometimes and he doesn’t really curse much, but when he does it’s so fucking hot because it’s usually followed with praise afterwards. He starts moaning a lot more when he’s closer to cumming and his words start jumbling together before he ends up doing so. Geto just because a mess. You purposely like the positions where he’s moaning in your ear cause it turns you on so much hearing how good you make him feel. “Please, please,” he moans, eyes rolling back, “I’m so close!” Overstim that man!

GOJO

Loud as fuck! I’m talking moaning, screaming, cursing, this man is doing it all. Obviously he’s screaming in a good way! He’s super sensitive everywhere, like his entire body. So if you stimulate two areas at once, maybe even three, Gojo is literally going to combust and start going crazy. He is so loud that you will get a complaint from the damn neighbors. His voice gets all raspy and sometimes even cracks! That’s how you know that man is in heaven! He’ll stutter over his words. Hell, sometimes he doesn’t even say full sentences before he ends up moaning like a damn porn star. He whimpers at the slightest touches so go ahead and tease that man until he’s begging for you to fuck him. His moans are in between normal and high pitched, and when he’s about to cum he gets really loud! Sometimes, you have to muffle his moans with your hand when he’s cumming. “Baby! Baby! Shit! Fuck! I’m gonna cum, I’m cumming! I’m so—fuuuuck!” Slut this man out, thank you very much.

CHOSO

He’s kind of quiet because he’s scared of being vocal. Poor baby want sto moan so bad, but he’s shy! He’ll bite his lip to conceal his moans, so all you hear from him is heavy breathing and small whimpers. He curses under his breath sometimes, but not a lot. Sometimes his moans slip out when you touch him in a place that feels really good and you catch it, his cheeks turn red immediately but before he could protest, you keep touching him in that same spot just to hear how pretty he sounds. Baby is so embarrassed its adorable! He’s covering his face despite the sounds leaving his lips. “S-shit! Feels so good!” He eventually makes eye contact with you, shocked by how much he came and how vocal he was. And it was all thanks to you!

NANAMI

He’s definitely a groaner and a grunter. Like he’s so aggressive with you sometimes and like?? Yes please! Caring and loving outside the bedroom but treats you like a whore inside the bedroom? Thank you for your service. Just imagine him staring up at you with lustful eyes and he’s just groaning from how good you feel! Yeah, sign me up! He talks you through it for sure, like he talks through his teeth. And not in a weird way, it’s definitely sexy when nanami does it cause it’s him. He’s so loud when he’s groaning too. He does it in your ear and it sends chills all over your body, ugh! Sometimes he’ll let out those blissful sighs and throw his head back! This man makes your panties drop! He’s not the type to curse for some reason? I just don’t see it. If he does curse, it’s like once or twice. He’s still sexy! “Yes! Right there, baby! Keep riding me, make me cum.” SIR YES SIR! Orders are followed!

SUKUNA

Where do I even start with sukuna…? Like I don’t see this man moaning or whimpering. He might groan and grunt but literally I see him degrading you and laughing the entire time. Like the times he will moan it will be deep and guttural, but it’s so sexy. He never wants to show or admit that you feel good to him because he sees it as weakness. He doesn’t want you to have that type of control over him. Like I’m all for big scary men acting like subby whores, but sukuna won’t allow that! He does take notice that you do clench around him when he does moan those few times…so maybe he’ll change his mind? Hehe. When he’s really into it he’s groan and digging his nails into your skin and when he finally cums that’s when those moans come out. “Your sloppy hole is only mine to fill up. Understand, slut?” Yeah, sure, cupcake.

repost from my old account!

[charliemwrites]

Unhinged obsessive Johnny Thoughts™️? Unhinged obsessive Johnny Thoughts™️.

Johnny didn’t mean to. He swears he didn’t mean to, please understand.

You’re his favorite server at his favorite bar. He finds every excuse he can to drag one or all of his team there. Yes he likes their company, of course. Likes spending time with them, laughing and joking and building bonds outside of life or death situations. But you are the highlight of those nights.

You smile so sweetly, a little cheeky twist whenever he gets all of the 141 there together. You know all their names - or their callsigns at least. Call Price “captain” with a giggle whenever he groans at you to stop calling him that.

Johnny adores you. Sometimes when he’s alone at the table - the others off smoking or playing pool - you’ll stop by. You don’t have to, but you do, chatting until one of the other servers teases to stop flirting and help bus.

You always blush when they shout that, but never deny it. Leave him with one last warm smile and a promise to top up his drink for listening to you ramble. As if he couldn’t live with your voice in his ears all the time.

You tell him about your masters program. Complain about shitty customers. Admit you broke up with your last boyfriend for calling your hobbies a “silly waste of time.” The movies you’ve seen or watch for nostalgia. He knows when your playlist is on at the bar because you spend your entire shift bouncing and mouthing along whenever you’re not handling a customer.

It’s a slow infection. A creeping, insidious thing that seeps into his blood and corrupts him from the inside out. This awful, twisting devotion for you.

He knows to be careful, loathe to be one of those men you avoid like the plague, trading with other servers to handle. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He’s happy with the flirting and the little kindnesses, happy that you always light up when you see him. That you breathe a quiet “thank you” and squeeze his arm the one time he steps in one a handshake customer on your behalf.

It’s enough. He reminds himself that it’s enough. He doesn’t deserve more than you’re willing to give. He can’t give you the life you deserve yet.

But then one day things go wrong. So, so wrong.

There’s been a rowdy group of men that have been harassing the younger servers all night. You stepped in, older and more experienced, practiced at not giving them the reactions they want. It’s another of the things Johnny loves about you. You don’t need a mask like Ghost to hide your face.

One them especially tries antagonize you, even manages to earn a sharp word when he says something crass. Johnny tenses when the guy (buddies following suit) starts getting loud, aggressive. Towering over you when he knocks over his barstool, trying to intimidate.

Johnny shoves the guy away from you before it can get much farther. Relief washes over you as the owner, a big burly man, finally makes an appearance and kicks the lot of them out.

“A whiskey on the house for Soap,” you ask the bartender, hand pressed to your chest. “My knight in a cotton sweater.”

He smiles for your sake, mind buzzing to see you so shaken up.

“Alright, lass?”

“Yeah, just spooked me is all,” you sigh, a hand to your cheek now. “Think I’m gonna step out for some air. Thank you again, John.”

He lets you go, even though every molecule in his body urges him to bundle you up under his arm, safe and sound. Take you somewhere quiet to smooth your feathers.

Something doesn’t feel right.

He manages to wait exactly one minute and seventeen seconds before he tells a blasted Gaz that he’s going to the bathroom. When he steps out the back door, you’re being cornered by the man, two of his friends hanging back telling him to “leave it alone” but not actually doing a fucking thing to stop him.

So Johnny does. Honestly, he blacks out for a second. The next thing he knows, he’s cradling you in his arms, his knuckles stinging and bloody. The men are nowhere to be found but there’s a pool of blood in the alleyway. You’re unconscious, fainted sometime in the scuffle - or maybe hit your head.

Johnny isn’t himself. He’s not thinking. He’s used to keeping his cool with guns pressed to his head, but this is different. This is you.

He doesn’t mean to. He really doesn’t but it’s the best he can come up with when he just got a firsthand look at how dangerous the world is for you when he’s not around.

Please understand. He has to keep you safe.

[strawberrymochin]

𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑

synopsis- After the wind pillar sanemi shinazugawa bought you out from the brothel, things started to become a hassle for him. His heart seems to jolt sometimes; his breath hitches; tengen uzui, the sound pillar teases him out of no reason. What annoyed him the most was when you started appearing everywhere— in his thoughts, in his dreams but he didn't expected you to appear in the middle of his mission.....

Genre/ warnings- 18+ suggestive content, smut, marriage of convenience, dub-con, profanity, abuse, death, pregnancy, blood (tengen and giyu having their his best life teasing sanemi) minors don't interact.....

w.c- 4.8k (trust me once)

second part of 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 🎐...!

Here! Here get in! Get in!” the crow caws making circles above your head. 

He brought you a long distance, it's almost evening and infront of you in this huge mountain, which the passers by referred to as ‘mt. kaikoma’— stood a shrine-like structure. 

‘danna sama lives in a shrine?’ you thought.

The doors to the structure were made of wood with slight spacing, enough to take a peek inside. Curiosity leads you to follow your inner voice, peeking in through the gaps. 

Your eyes widen, seemingly confused, the interior was totally in contrast to the exterior structure. While it looked like a small shrine from the outside, the interior was much more spacious. In the center of it was a lofty mansion, surrounded by corridors which are probably l-shaped. Certain plants joined the greenery among the little shrubs peeking from the circular courtyard with an open roof. 

You spot a hint of pink. Maybe there was a sakura tree in there too. 

“get in already” you stumble at the crows words. “ehh...is it okay to enter?” you say pointing your head upwards to look at the flying crow. 

“do you plan to stay outside all night then?” your face scrunches up a little as the crow flew inside above the roof leaving you alone. 

You opened the doors slipping in the estate. This time taking a proper look inside at each detail you pointed out before and amongst those— you gasped, there was indeed a sakura tree. 

Upon returning, sanemi found the doors of his estate open and the corridors lit with lanterns. It's been two days since that incident. He was about to step inside the door frame, just when a rustling sound of leaves catches his attention. Having a demon near the estate of a slayer, especially of a hashira, was quite unlikely. 

The estates of hashiras were situated carefully and not so far from each other, enough to conceal themselves from any demon attack and maintain a steady flow of training and maintenance of corps.

Stepping back, he grabs the hilt of his sword, turning around in a swift movement. “d-danna sama?!” You said, gulping as you notice him having his hand close enough to his katana to attack. 

Sanemi's muscles unconsciously relax a bit upon seeing you. “why are you roaming around outside late at night?” he asked, removing his hands from the sword as speculative eyes watched you. “oh....I went outside after lunch for a walk and then lost my way...so it took a while.” you say lowering your head, fingers fiddling as you raise your eyes nervously. 

Sanemi contemplated your image for a while, before turning back and entering the estate. “Get in.” 

“ah...yes.”

“i will get the dinner ready for you as soon as possible. Please take a bath till then.” you said, closing the shoji doors. Sanemi eyed you from the corner of his eye before making his way to the bathroom. 

Sanemi let the towel fall at his feet before soaking in the hot water. He had made a rash decision. Acting upon impulse was something sanemi never did. 

And yet. 

And yet he asked you to wait for him till he gets home. 

Ridiculous. Sanemi scoffed at himself, realizing he could have turned away ignoring your cries. Or maybe he shouldn't have stayed the night over there at the brothel lady's request. A burning sensation crept up his ears.

‘Danna sama’ you've addressed, all his way back, he couldn't focus on one thing. He couldn't tell if he was terribly tired, overwhelming himself from all those missions or he was slacking off. “Nonsense,”  he mumbled, “a hashira can never slack off.”

A hashira can never slack off— because they simply can't afford to do so. 

‘Danna sama’ your voice resonated in his ears once again. For a second, he's not sure either you're calling him or he's just hearing things. Irritated, another sigh passes his lips.

But what will he do? 

Sooner or later this news is bound to spread. What will he say to ubuyashiki? 

“evening! Shinazugawa sama,” a deep voice reverberated among the damp air. Sanemi didn't bother to look up from the tub. He knew, sooner or later this was about to happen, “it's past evening.” said sanemi. 

“oh my bad,” the crow of ubuyashiki announced his apologies from the small square sized window right above the bathtub, the sole source of little ventilation. “i suppose you already know the reason for my late visit,” the crow waited patiently for an answer. When none came, he continued “ oyakata sama wants to summon you at the headquarters tomorrow morning,” sanemi's eyes darted upwards, head still facing the water, “i hope you present yourself. Till then have a good time, shinazugawa sama.” 

When the sound of the flapping of the wings trailed down into nothingness, sanemi realized he's gone. 

Drowning himself completely in hot water, he tried to imagine the possible scenarios, which can happen upon confronting ubuyashiki tomorrow. What questions will he ask? Will the other hashiras also be present? Will ubuyashiki's voice still be gentle and calming, similar to his mother's, for him? 

Unable to find an answer, and a shortage of oxygen pulls sanemi out of the water. Silver strands of hair, previously slithering in water, now sticking to his forehead as droplets of water dripped down his face.

He ran a big palm combing his hair back, getting out of the bath. Sitting there for this long is basically pointless. He dresses himself in a loose yukata, mentally preparing himself for the following day. 

After arranging the dishes on the low table, you smoothen out your kimono as you take a seat on the opposite side of the low table. You kept the doors wide open so that you know if he's done bathing and is ready for dinner. This will be your first time  serving dinner to him. All of a sudden you found yourself questioning if the food you made had enough salt, if the miso soup had the perfect texture, if the rice were evenly cooked. Settling your eyes on the corridors you waited for him, ignoring your heart beating like thunder in clouds. 

Sanemi passed the corridor without even sparing you a look. “d-danna sama!” you rise abruptly wanting to stop him, “ won't you eat?” 

“shinazugawa” he said, “and i would like to eat alone” he continued his tracks again leaving you dumbfounded. 

That night went by shortly, you placed the tray in his room and left. For a second you wanted to ask him, if he's mad at you for leaving the house unlocked or wandering around in the forest after dark. However you say nothing but wish him a good night as you take your leave. 

Upon waking up the next morning you found sanemi's room empty. Assuming he went to work early, you decided to skip on breakfast as you didn't felt like eating. 

Two white haired girls played outside as sanemi waited for ubuyashiki to make his appearance. He felt his stomach churn a bit, walking back and forth, which came to halt as the realization hit him like a sword through his heart. 

He was nervous. 

“sanemi” , the voice of ubuyashiki, made him kneel impulsively. “my child, how was the mission? I hope you didn't get hurt.” 

“The mission was fine. The demons were indeed lurking around that village; however, i killed each one of them.” sanemi wondered if this is the reason he was summoned. Or it's better to say he hoped this was the reason he was summoned. 

“i heard you found a wife during the mission...” sanemi fell silent to his words. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about in the whole world. 

“congratulations” said ubuyashiki. “it's not like that oyakata sam—” 

“i know what happened sanemi......and I'm glad to know you saved her.” 

The chatter of the girls turned to a distant laughter. 

A hand caressed sanemi's head. It felt warm and fuzzy. Fond memories gushed in a sudden moment, as if it were his mother, caressing him for protecting his siblings from his dad. 

“Sanemi,” ubuyashiki's voice trailed down like honey, soothing the wounds, which even he wasn't aware of, “do you know what differentiates humans from demons?” ubuyashiki guided sanemi by his shoulders, making him stand from his kneeling position. “it's our emotions. Our humanity. Our love.....no matter how much they try, they aren't capable of selflessness.” ubuyashiki smiles a bit, “its okay to show our emotions, sanemi. Acting upon it doesn't makes us weak.” 

“oyakata sama” 

“i'm glad to see you start a family. Maybe this way you will be able to mend the misunderstandings with your loved ones.” said ubuyashiki. 

Genya. He was talking about genya. 

“Amane and i would love to meet your wife. So will be the other hashiras. Bring her once she gets accustomed to her new environment.” 

Sanemi bows as ubuyashiki takes his leave. 

But she's not my wife. And before sanemi could say that ubuyashiki was already gone. He stood there, one eye twitching. 

One of the white haired girls stumbled onto him. The girls bowed to him, so did he before leaving. 

I'm cooked for sure. 

Half way back home, sorai came cawing to him in a hurry. Extending his arm, he let his crow sit and catch it's breath before, gabbling on the reason for its appearance. 

Sanemi half-expected a new mission on his way but what he didn't expect was, “The girl! The girl.... unconscious. The girl!” 

Sanemi felt as if a Lightning bolt landed on his head, frying his brains. A million thoughts ran through his head. Forgetting sorai, he rushed back to his estate as the poor bird tried to keep himself afloat in the air. 

The force of sanemi sliding the doors open, caused some of the wood to splinter as he strode across the rooms wanting to find you. 

His movements comes to halt, when his eyes finally point out your senseless body, on the kitchen floor. 

Something stopped. Sanemi didn't recognise it but it was familiar. 

He grabs a gourd, bending down as he lifts your body, so that your head is laid against his chest. Sprinkling some water from the gourd, he taps lightly on your cheeks, as you slowly gain your consciousness. 

Sanemi let out an exaggerated breath, relaxing his once knitted eyebrows. 

“you okay?” the feeling of deja vu ran through your veins. You've heard this question before, in the same gravelly voice. Fluttering your eyelids open, you see those same lilac eyes, much closer than last time. 

What happened? You thought. 

A moment later you were stricken with reality— the embarrassingly close position; the heaving of his open chest, where your head laid; the way his face was so close that you had to fight off the urge not to touch and inspect his scars. 

“y-yeah…I am,” you said, swiggling out of his arms maintaining a healthy space between you two. “then mind explaining how you got here?” 

“ahh… I'm sorry to make you worry Danna sama….but you see—” you tried to change the topics. 

“you don't have to explain, if you aren't feeling well. Let's take you to the kocho’s hospital��.” he whispered the last part as if he was talking to himself. 

But wait! Kocho? Who's kocho?! Causing your master problems such as taking you to a hospital would be so so wrong. What if he abandons you and then you will have nowhere to go. 

You cursed yourself for skipping breakfast.

“i'm fine really….it's just that..” 

“You don't seem so.”

“I skipped breakfast and got dizzy. Nothing serious. I apologize for making you concerned about nonsensical things.” you bat the breeze to him, not wanting to take this conversation any further. 

For seconds sanemi says nothing. He eyes around the kitchen seeing the meals for lunch cooking. 

“I will have lunch here. Get up and wash your face and bring the meals once it's done.” he says as you get a bit happy to avoid the hospital topic. “And you will have your lunch with me. Don't skip meals from now on.” 

“yes.”

Sanemi left the kitchen to your privacy and sighed. You must've not taken your breakfast since he left early. He wondered if you had dinner last night. 

The day went by fast and blurry. You are with sanemi and then he left for demon hunting. He told you to lock all doors and windows and burn  wisteria incense before sleeping. “don’t wander alone at night. I will not be back before tomorrow evening…also there's something I want to discuss after I return…so you better not skip meals again and lie unconscious.” he said.

“Yes danna sama.” You replied before he disappeared in a blink of an eye. 

As the sun rose high, you got down with your chores of the day. Sanemi was supposed to be returning this evening. However something didn't sit right, no matter what you were feeling anxious. He said he needs to discuss something with you. Will he ask you to go away? Will you be abandoned again? Just like your dad will he disappear too? Shaking your head out of these worries you return back mopping the wooden floors. 

The day soon slipped away and it's almost night. There were no door knocks or any sound of someone approaching. Uncertainty filled your mind with lots of thoughts and unable to stop them you decide to step outside and wait for him, even though he asked you not to step out after sunset. 

You make your way fast to the main door and slowly open it with a creaking sound. The pouch of wisteria was secured tight on your waistband and with a lantern in your hand you waited outside for him to return. 

Few hours slip away again but there's no sign of any humane presence. You felt anxiety gnawing the insides of your stomach. Each second felt like eternity to you. He will be safe right? It's not like something happened to him. Right?

“master…hospitalized. Master! Hospitalized!” sorai came cawing to you. The lantern in your hands fell to the ground. It's light diminishing as tears started welling up your eyes.

You followed sorai for the rest of the path till you reached a huge estate, quite similar yet different from sanemi’s. In Front of what seemed like a main door stood a girl few years younger than you. Her hair had light streaks of blue, similar to the color of her eyes. She waved at you, “y/n san?” 

“Where’s danna sama? He's not much injured is he? How did this even happen?” You threw a bunch of questions at her before she could even answer the first one. 

“He's fine. I'm aoi. Follow me and I will take you to him. Okay? Calm down.” she said while escorting you inside as you follow her till you reach a corridor with several rooms. She opened the door of one of the rooms and signaled you to go inside. 

Your feets felt heavy while walking. You don't know what took over you but even when you were already inside the room you couldn't look up at him. It's as if you know that you won't be able to handle seeing him hurt. “Won't you look at me?” His gravelly voice soothed your ears as you slowly lifted your head up. 

His right hand was bandaged tightly. Some of it was even soaked in blood. Other than that it was fine. He was fine, sitting at the bed, looking at you with those same eyes. Relief washed down your entire body before you let out your breath which even you didn't know how long you were holding it for.  You feel something wet on your face and when you bring your hands up to your eyes, wiping it off, it were your tears. 

Sanemi’s eyes widened at you. “You said you will be fine.” Your voice cracks as you close the distance between you two. “I'm fine.” He replies gulping. 

“Liar.” 

“I'm not lying. I'm fine.”

“It will leave another scar.” sanemi eyes at you quite a while, before shifting his gaze to the moon outside the window.

“Do you not like it?” 

Before you could answer him, a girl with purple haori patterned with butterfly wings, brought some medicines. “OMG! Y/n san are you?” 

You nod your head smiling weakly at her. She's so beautiful. “I never imagined shinazugawa san getting a wife,” sanemi started coughing when the girl mentioned you as his wife. “I'm so happy. You're so beautiful too, I bet he got lucky!” You looked at sanemi who's avoiding your gaze, flustered wondering what to answer her. 

“I'm kocho shinobu— the insect hashira.” ‘Oh’ you thought, so this was the hospital he was talking about last day. 

“You don't need to be worried, the wound isn't that deep but it will surely leave another scar.” She said while fumbling with medicines. 

“it’s nothing.” Sanemi grumbles. 

“You shouldn't be like that. Even if the wound isn't deep it can surely catch infections.” 

Shinobu chuckles at sanemi getting quiet at your scoldings. She redresses the wound and gives him some medicines. “Y/n san, I'm glad to be the first one to see you of all harshiras. I believe we can get along well.” 

“Yeah, I'm grateful to you. Thanks for being so kind to me and danna sama.” Shinobu chuckles again, directing a teasing look at sanemi, who was currently admiring the ceiling, before smiling at you. “I will see you at the headquarters. Take care.” 

You bow at her, in confusion. The headquarters? Sanemi, who might have picked up on your confusion, clears his throat, “our oyakata sama wants you to meet all the other hashiras. So we will be going to the headquarters this coming Sunday.” 

“Oh.” 

Sanemi hummed, still admiring the bland ceilings.

You got ready in a kimono, which sanemi brought you one random night and kept outside your room. You thanked him the next day and he just nodded. The kimono had blue flower printed over pink fabric with delicate handmade embroidery leaves. It was so beautiful that you almost felt undeserving of it. Today was the day he was taking you to visit the headquarters. 

You were nervous. So was sanemi. He didn't met with any other pillars in the span of these days. And he couldn't even imagine how awkward it would be to meet one. 

Sanemi wondered what iguro would say to him once he finds out about you. Just a few months ago he bluffed infront of him that he never intends to have a life outside slaying or even look for a wife. The fact that he wasn't bluffing, it was what he'd planned all the way. He never wanted it for himself. Rather he wanted it for genya. He wanted him to have a family, a family which sanemi could protect, a family which he could see flourishing. 

But genya chose to follow his path. 

Be a demon slayer when he can't even use a breathing technique. Everytime sanemi gets a news of him being sent to a mission, he gets anxious. What if—

“Danna sama…” 

“Huh?” He saw you wearing the kimono he brought for you. And you looked beautiful. Gorgeous even. As if you were made of porcelain, pure white porcelain painted in several colors and polished till it glossed. 

He gulped. Your neck was visible. It was slender and smooth. He couldn't help but wonder how'd it feel if it were kissed by his lips. His breath hitched as he directed his gaze away from you. “Let's go.” He said and without bothering to look at you he kept walking ahead with you following him behind. 

The headquarters was an estate even bigger than the previous estates you'd been to. It's even bigger than the biggest brothel in the entertainment district. Its gates are even more magnificent than those of the wind estate. The gates are of polished woods and the courtyard was twice the area of the winds’. There was even a small fish pond at the right of the courtyard. Several trees adorned the scenery and after what seemed a long walk you came to see a group of people awaiting for sanemi. Their gaze on him pierced high. Among them,  you spot shinobu kocho, the insect hashira and bow at her. She reciprocates your actions while another girl of similar age and pink hair squeals out of excitement. 

Sanemi knew this was a bad idea. Considering he hasn't even cleared the misunderstanding of them thinking you are his betrothed. It's true he did buy you out from the brothel but he indeed had no intentions of getting a wife. 

He didn't turn back once in the way not wanting to look at you. Even he didn't know why but the moment he looks at you it's difficult to look at anything else. 

He felt iguro glaring at him. Worse even he could feel tengen’s grin and worse even giyu looking at him with his dead eyes. 

“Y/n san! I'm glad to see you here!” Shinobu said smiling at you, which you gladly reciprocated. 

“Hii! I'm mitsuri kanroji, the love hashira.” She greeted you with the biggest smiles. 

“Muichiro tokito, mist hashira” 

“I’m Himejima gyomei, the stone hashira. I hope shinazugawa treats you well.” 

The other hashiras introduced themselves too and were busy chatting with you while waiting for ubuyashiki. 

Tengen slapped his big palm on sanemi's back. 

“Never thought I'd see you getting married. I hope you can please her well.” He says laughing. He was thankful you were at a distance far away enough not to hear him speaking nonsense. “shut up.” 

“What? You do know how to please her…do you?” 

“I know how to protect her.” 

“Tch tch tch, protection isn't the thing you can always please a woman with. I knew it, you're a virgin, aren't you?” Sanemi almost choked on his own saliva. He again thanked you for being far away to overhear.

“The fuc—” 

“Boy, I can teach you. I've got three wives and I'm experienced in pleasing them.” tengen cocked an eyebrow at him, whereas sanemi tightened a fist to throw a blow at him. Tengen dodged it away laughing. Iguro was flustered enough to be near them and didn't wanted to be part of it, so he trailed away to mitsuri. Giyu stood watching tengen laughing at sanemi with his dead eyes. 

“What?” Sanemi asked annoyed.

“I think you should listen to uzui, if you're planning to keep a wife.” 

“Shut up fucker.” 

Soon ubuyashiki makes his appearance and introduces himself to you. “I see you've got quite lucky sanemi. Your wife is beautiful.” He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment, so did yours but none of you could muster anything except thanks. 

Everyone gave some presents to you as if welcoming you into their family. Something you didn't have ever since your father sold you off. 

Tengen bent down his head to sanemi's level.

“You sure you don't wanna learn. You just gotta be skillful with your fingers and hip—”

“Shut up!” 

“This is the fifth time you're visiting the hospital. How many times do I have to say there's nothing wrong with you?” Shinobu says annoyed that sanemi keeps visiting and disturbing the other patients. 

“I keep having hallucinations. Hearing stuff and also there's problems with breathing. And my heart sometimes…it feels odd.” 

“Does it? What exactly do you see, shinazugawa san?” 

“l…I see y/n.” 

“Let me guess, you hear y/n san’s voice. And your breath hitches everytime you see her and sometimes your heart beats rapidly around her and maybe you start to sweat too.” 

“....yeah.” 

“Please leave.” 

“Huh?” 

“Stop wasting my time and please leave shinazugawa san this is the last warning or k might just poison you.” Shinobu said, preventing the very thin line of her masked demeanor from tearing away.

Things have been weird. It's really weird. And it's becoming a hassle for him to keep up with his work. Or is he slacking off? No, a hashira can never slack off. 

But he couldn't focus on training. During breaks he sees you, when you are at the estate. After slaying demons, on the way back home your voice echoes in his head. ‘danna sama’ it says. He's slowly losing his mind. He's having thoughts he shouldn't have. Moreover his hands are becoming sweaty and clammy around you. He doesn't want to be near you yet misses you dearly when you aren't around. 

Something is clearly wrong with him, yet shinobu never takes him seriously. 

Today he's on a mission again. A demon is seen lurking around an abandoned house, at the outskirts of Morikami village. He's supposed to slay that and save the village people. As per the kasugai crows, the demon is supposed to lure and feed on young boys. However the main thing odd about this demon is when one human’s abducted none are aware of one's disappearance until the next morning when the abducted persons clothes are found on random roads. It seems like the person’s existence is erased from people's minds. 

The village people looked unhealthy as if their energy were sucked out. The air had a hint of sweet musks which isn't normal. Sanemi, while exploring the village and taking in the surroundings, felt odd and dizzy. The smell was bothering him too much. 

Time flows by and the moon's out again, so will be the demons. Sanemi found himself a hiding place on an oak tree concealing his presence, keeping his vision tight on the abandoned houses. There were a bunch of them. He waited long for the demon to take action. However nothing happened. Confused and frustrated, sanemi got down from the tree, deciding to infiltrate each one of those houses and kill the demon. 

As soon as his feet touched the ground, there were sounds, several sounds of people running. He turned around checking his surroundings, hand tight on the hilt of his sword. There was no presence of any humans. The surroundings grew more misty. Sanemi was about to turn back when he felt someone rushing at him. With one swift motion he swung the sword at the demon. It stopped midway, falling to the ground. It's head rolling upto sanemi's feet. He's dead. “Pfft shouldn't mess with sanemi shinazugawa…”

But wasn't it too simple? Before he could think any more, someone tapped on his shoulders. He turned swiftly ready to attack at any moment but halted his actions midway. It was you. Here in front of him in the middle of the night. His heart jolted again, you wore the same kimono which he gifted you. But wait, this isn't time to admire you. “didn’t I tell you not to get out at night! What if—” you put a finger to his lips silencing him. “Shh!” You blinked at him, slowly, your other hand lacing your fingers with him before you dragged him into one of those abandoned houses. Sanemi huffed out a ragged breath, his vision going blurry. You looked so beautiful under the moonlight gleaming on your iridescent skin. So ephemeral, so selcouth. He followed you like a lost puppy, without any protests. The only thing that lingered in his mind and in his vision was you. Soon you guided sanemi into the house, the musk smell was even stronger than before. Your hands now fumble with his clothings, stripping him out of his haori first. You proceed, snaking your hands around his shoulders hugging him. Your skin is ice cold against his erubescent skin. “I want you.” Your voice poured in his ears with echoing lucidity. “Yes.” 

“I want you to be mine sanemi.” 

“Yes.” Sanemi replied. You bring your mouth closer to his. Your lips inches apart to kiss. “Yes, have me.” sanemi closes his eyes, ready for you to have him.

To melt in your arms. 

To be yours and only yours. 

‘I want you to be mine sanemi.’ 

His eyes flew open, pushing you off his body, drawing himself back and away from you. Or shall I say what illusioned you. 

You never addressed him as ‘sanemi’, even when he insisted you do so, you just kept calling him ‘danna-sama’. 

A chill runs over his spine as he takes in his surroundings. Several dead corpses are laid here and there. Floor messy with blood. He looked back at you as his mind grew foggy again. He shakes himself out of those. “Come back sanemi. I want you.” 

“In your dreams fucker.” Sanemi retreated back to the open fields as you cried out an ear piercing cry. It surely wasn't you. 

“You sure seem to have good eyes, hashira. I will gouge them out and have them as cherry in dessert. Come back. To the one you love the most.” The demon's eyes were glowing lucent, luring him back into the abandoned houses again. Urging him desperately to give in.

To the one he loves the most?

Wasn't she behind the estates of wind hashira?

time for taisho rumours:-

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a/n- so sorry i forgot posting this. i hope you like this...pweaswwwee lol. i will do the third part with smut i swear. comments and reblogs are appreciated.

© strawberrymochin 24 | plagiarism won't be tolerated |

[woso-dreamzzz]

Bubbles

Hardersson x Toddler!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Magda brings you bubbles

When Magda comes to visit, she always brings something with her.

Most of the time, it's new toys or clothes or strange little sweets that are kept out of your reach because they might rot your teeth.

You don't get that bit because you've only just gotten all your teeth and you're pretty sure they're strong because Pernille keeps feeding you lots of yummy milk and milk is meant to make teeth strong.

Either way, Magda always brings something with her and this time it's a little plastic bottle thing with a weird long thing inside of it.

There's some kind of liquid in it and Magda grins as she shakes it around.

"Don't let her open it herself," Pernille warns, poking her head into the living room," Because she'll spill it and I'm not going to be the one cleaning it up."

"It's fine," Magda says dismissively," I've got my eyes on her."

Pernille doesn't look convinced but she nods and goes back to the laundry she was meant to be folding. For such a little kid, you sure go through a lot of clothes.

"These are bubbles," Magda explains.

You frown, sounding out the word. "Bubb-les."

"Well," Magda corrects herself," It's bubble mixture right now. Can you say that? Mixture?"

You're in the parroting stage of development right now so you're more than happy to repeat.

"Mix-ture."

"Very good! Here, let me help."

Magda tries to take the little plastic thing from you but you keep a tight grip on her, a disgruntled look appearing on your face when she pulls a bit harder.

"Mine!" You snap," Mine! Mine! Mine!"

"Let's share," Magda says," Momma's been teaching you how to share, right?"

That's true.

Momma has been teaching you how to share.

But only with her and some of the Wolfsburg girls.

She hasn't taught you how to share with Morsa yet.

You think about denying Morsa but, while you're thinking, she snatches the bottle from you and unwinds the top.

She dunks the big long thing a few times before pulling it out and blowing.

A weird thing appears from the bubble wand and you gasp.

It's like a strange circle and floats around before popping right on your nose.

"Oh!" Morsa says, in that high-pitched voice that she sometimes uses for you," It popped!"

You're still in shock, eyes wide and eyebrows shooting up to your hairline.

You go cross-eyed looking at your nose and then back at the bubble wand. You point at it, wiggling your legs happily.

"Again!"

"Again? You want more?"

"Again!"

Magda blows another bubble and you gasp in awe. She points at it. "That's a bubble."

"Bubb-le," You say, looking back at Magda.

"That's right! Bubble!"

"Bubble!"

You reach your finger out to touch it but just like with your nose, it pops as soon as contact is made.

"Bubbles go pop!" Magda tells you and your little head bobs up and down.

"Go pop!"

"Pop! Pop!" Magda continues, blowing more for you.

You haul yourself to your feet, reaching up to touch all the new bubbles. You giggle every time they pop and you wait dutifully for Magda to blow new ones.

"You know," Pernille says, leaning against the doorway," When I told you to make sure she didn't spill it, I didn't mean for you to spill it instead."

"I haven't spilled any!"

"You've let her pop at least half of the mixture," Pernille says," My floors are covered. Someone could slip and fall."

"No one's going to-"

Pernille catches you just as your little foot slips on a patch of popped bubbles, hauling you up into her arms easily.

"You were saying?"

Magda laughs sheepishly. "I'll...I'll clean it up."

"Yes, you will," Pernille says," And in the meantime, Princesse and I will have some bubble play outside." She bounces you. "Isn't that right? You want to play with bubbles still?"

You giggle. "Bubbles go pop!"

[eczlipse]

your stalker - h.j.

summary : jisung has been your stalker for god knows long— you both get paired in class for a project and he tricks you into coming over at his place.

pairing : stalker/perv!jisung x fem!reader

warnings : smut! oral, fem!receiving, needy reader, stressed out (soothing you) , picture taking, lowercase intended. lmk if i missed any!!

wc: 1.6k

jisung didn’t like to call himself your stalker, preferably your admirer. he’d been very secretive about his excessive interest in you. had he followed you home sometimes? yes. had he stolen some clothes from you? yes. would he harm you in any way? that, he absolutely wouldn’t do.

after all, you were his twisted fantasy. and now, he had to face you. you two were put together in class for a science project. unlucky you, you hadn’t paid attention in class, making you have to talk to the brunette beside you.

- hi, jisung. im y/n! nice to meet you.

that angelic voice of yours never failed to make jisung melt. he’d been so interested in you for so long, yet, seeing you and hearing you from up close mesmerized him even more.

he cleared his throat and began,

- nice to meet you.

he tried to play it off cool although inside he was thrilled to speak to you.

- do you know what to do? cause’ i really don’t—

you chuckled, almost feeling embarrassed of your inattentive behaviour in class. you hoped he knew what had been assigned to-do in class today.

- ah— don’t worry about’ it, i can work on it. also um, the teacher did say we had to complete it by midnight though. maybe you could uh- come over and work on it together at mine’s after school?

jisung had lied to you completely. the teacher hadn’t said that you needed to complete it by midnight, he just wanted you over. so clueless, you answered him positively.

- sure, why not? it’d be easier if we bussed back together then… i don’t think have my city bus card on me though.

- no worries, i can pay for both of us.

he seemed excited to pay, excited to be at service to you. jisung smiled, waiting for you to accept his offer.

- alright then, if you insist!

you’d never had really noticed jisung but, from this interaction, he was nothing but a nice guy— right? you hoped to get to know more about, either if it were in class or in the bus— the bell rung, abruptly stopping your train of thought.

it had been last period so you followed along jisung to get to his house. first you both stopped by his locker then followed over to yours, it hadn’t been too far away. as the crowd was so big, you held onto his backpack and attempted to duck down and follow his lead.

luckily enough, you both made it safetly into the bus as he paid for both you and himself. found yourselves a seat, and sat down side by side.

- god, that was so much. you have to deal with that everyday?

you’d been almost out of breath because of the quick movements from earlier.

- yeah— but i’ve gotten pretty used to it, sorry should’ve warned you… this route takes a while so you can sleep if you want.

sleep, the word you’d wanted to hear all day. you’d given him a nod and slowly put your head on his shoulder. falling asleep to the commotion around you, the outside view from the other windows and a surprisingly warm, comfortable shoulder.

jisung had been speechless the whole ride, a part of him wanted to spend the whole ride gazing at you. the other wanted to put his head on your head too, but, he knew that wouldn’t be something you’d want. he’d sneak a couple pictures of you, not in any bad intentions, he genuinely just found you very alluring. even when you were asleep. he’d do other things with other pictures he’d taken of you, not the sleeping ones—

after a while, you both arrive to jisung’s stop and he slowly woke you up, tapping on your arm and gently lifting your head. this action did infact awake you and you got up very quickly. he almost chuckled at your initiative and made you follow him out the bus. getting off, you couldn’t help but notice how captivating his neighborhood was.

- it’s so pretty here, are we going to have to walk a while?

- thanks, and no we’re only a couple houses down.

he assured. checking the time it read 5pm, his parents wouldn’t be home— perfect. a part of him felt guilty for dragging you out here but, it was a friday and he promised himself to offer you an uber to get back. as you both walked under the magnificent sunset, you followed his steps. the walk may have been silent but it felt peaceful.

this had probably been jisung’s dream : hanging out with the girl he’s obsessed with.

- this is it… my parents aren’t home either.

he whispered while he opened the front door, let you in and closed it behind you.

- oh, okay! this is beautiful— where do we set our things down?

- uhm, i guess we could just chill in my room.

- okay, that’s fine.

you both went up the stairs and into jisung’s bedroom. his room had been decorated with posters, figurines and even a couple mangas. it had been so cool to see. you’d been able to recognize a few anime figures, some looking a bit more suggestive than others atleast—

- this is so cool.

you hummed, he smiled at you and grabbed your things as you both sat down on his bed. he opened both of your science books and lended you a pencil to start working.

he couldn’t contain himself from looking at you so much. your beauty had been blissful to him. the way you curved your lip a bit when you were writing, how you fidgeted with your lip if you were stressed or how your eyebrows would curve up if you didn’t understand something. to him, you were the most captivating girl.

as time passed by, he noticed that you’d been stuck on a question. almost as if you were stressing yourself out, constantly writing and erasing, checking your answers and more.

- hey, what’s going on? do you need help? you seem stressed.

he questioned, putting a hand on your hand attempting to soothe you.

- it’s just this uh— question. i keep getting it wrong and— i keep trying to mm’ restart? nothings work—

- maybe you just need to, relax.

he cut off your stuttering and confusion, only to confuse you more…

- how? how can i relax?

you spoke, breathy because of your ranting from earlier.

at that he slowly placed down your homework and lied you down on his bed. then grew a smirk on jisung’s face. did he want to…? you couldn’t lie to yourself and say he was unattractive. because, he really was cute to you. you let him lie you down until he asked you a simple question.

- maybe i can calm you down, hm?

it’s like you were seeing another side to him, you were more vulnerable to him. you knew what he meant by calming you down, especially with the way he cooed at you—

- um, y— yes, sure.

you shuddered, what kind of affect did he have on you? the way he’d been speaking, that grin— that grin had been once sweet, now so enticing.

you let him slowly unzip your jeans, the wetness between your legs growing. he held eye contact with you, just to see how much you’d squirm or if your face would change in any manner.

as you slid off your pants, he began rubbing his hand over your underwear, making you let out a whimper. jisung’s touch was driving you crazy, and you couldn't get enough of him.

not only were you getting wet, but jisung’s erection had been growing since you’d entered the room. he slowly pulled your panties to the side as you felt the first brush of his fingers against your clit. his smirk never left his face as he’d seen you gasp at his touch.

- you’re so wet for me, need more?

you hummed, curving your eyebrows up. he’d melted at your reaction, that face of yours. he’d finally be seeing you aroused, in front of him. for him.

he began slowly rubbing, his fingers dipping into your wet folds. you moaned, digging your head into his shoulder. he then moved himself down to you, now in between your legs. you could see the hunger in his eyes before finally darting his tongue into you in order to taste you. your hips bucked up, moaning his name.

- fu- fuck, jisung—

he licked and sucked, his tongue working at a perfect pace, you couldn’t help but pull on his hair wanting him deeper in you. his pace increased, your moans and his filling up the room. his erection only grew more, palming himself as he pleasured you. this had been his dream, having you, being in between your legs and making you feel weak over him.

- i’ve wanted you for’ so long—

he groaned in between your legs, fastening his pace. you felt your body tighten as you whimpered, tightening your grip on his hair.

- m’ so close—

you cried out, his hand now gripping onto your thigh. with a loud moan, you came, your orgasm washing over you. your body had been shaken, as you heard jisung’s moans of pleasure, tasting you. he pulled back, his lips glistening in your cum, a stain now evident on his pants.

he finally had you to himself.

[annwrites]

⸻ give me your wrists. ⸻

· pairing: dark!jacaerysvelaryon x fem!reader · type: one-shot · summary: jace spoils you in many ways. · tags: cnc, unprotected p in v sex, rope-play, fingering, overstimulation, squirting, oral (f receiving; blink & you'll miss it) · word count: 960

Cool metal slides around your throat, rows of shimmering rubies resting atop your breasts.

Your eyes widen as you stare at yourself in the looking glass. "Jace!"

You swiftly turn around to him, only to find a pleased smirk upon his lips. He knew you would have this reaction. Sometimes you think that's why he does it.

He gently runs his knuckles along your soft, warm cheek. "Yes, my sweet?"

Your hand comes up to caress the jewels. "I don't need rubies. Or—or sapphires, or emeralds, diamonds, or—"

"Pearls, then," he interjects with a raised brow. "No, nevermind that. I already purchased you a string of them. Mayhaps something with amethyst next, then?"

You stare up at him in bewilderment. "Jacaerys, this is too much. All of it."

He firmly grips your chin between his fingertips. "It pleases me to gift you fine things. To spoil you. So let me."

He shrugs. "It is an order. Given by your prince."

You stand, wishing to make him see sense. "The gowns—silk and gossamer and tulle. I cannot so much as wear them outside this room, lest someone suspect. Lest they...lest your mother, or Baela, even, discover I am your—your concubine."

He steps a small step closer, leaning down as his fingers slide along the back of your head, burying themselves in your curls.

"Perhaps I should set her aside, then," he states, leaning down, pressing his lips to your pulse, his experienced tongue flicking against it.

He always does this when you try to have any sort of serious discussion about the potential repercussions for the things the two of you have been doing in his bed.

He distracts you.

With sex.

"You cannot jest about such things," you say, your voice a breathless sigh.

His lips come to hover over your own. "I never stated I was."

He presses his lips to your own then, not wishing to hear further arguments. He desires to have his way with you instead.

Again.

He grips you beneath your thighs, carrying you back over to his mattress—the sheets already covered in the both of you from your early-morning escapades—and he thrusts back inside of you.

He grips your chin in one hand, holding your lips to his as his other fists the soiled sheets while he finds his pleasure inside of you.

His skin slaps against yours, your soft breasts bouncing with every thrust of his long member.

Tears prick your eyes at the feeling of overstimulation.

"Jace," you say quietly, his lips moving back to your neck as your fingers tangle in his hair. "We've been at it all morn. I—Gods—I'm so sore."

He places his lips near your ear. "I'm not nearly satiated, my love."

You whimper, your chin wobbling. "Please."

He kisses your cheek softly, slamming into you, causing you to sob. "Dragons have large appetites. Mine own will require quite a great deal more attention this day."

"How many—mm—more?"

He presses soft kisses to your tear-stained cheeks. "As many as your prince commands."

"I have finished as it is, ah, five times. Please, Jacaerys."

He glances toward the head of the bed, and then back to you. "Do you wish to use our agreed upon word, then?"

You sniffle, considering. And then you shake your head.

"Give me your wrists."

You stare up at him, your lower lip trembling. "Oh, Gods, not again..."

He takes each of them in-hand, slipping them through familiar loops, tightening. He stands, slick cock slipping out of you and bouncing between his thighs as he repeats the same with your ankles at the foot of the bed.

You watch as he begins to stroke himself, a pounding pulse settled between your thighs now.

He runs his thumb along his weeping tip. "Do you not wish to please me?"

A tear slips down your cheek, followed by another. "I do."

"Then this is how you should achieve it. By being at my complete disposal."

He sits on the edge of the bed, slipping two fingers inside your fiery heat, his seed still leaking out of you from earlier.

He arches upward, gently massaging, and your body jerks in response to his touch.

"It hurts, it hurts!"

He ignores your cries as he presses down with his palm, continuing to tease you, fingers slowly easing out and then back in.

"Gods, I don't...ah, I don't think I can take much more."

He leans down, sucking on your clit for a moment before sitting back up. "You've no other choice."

He begins to frantically fuck you then with his long digits, your limbs tightening, pulling against the ropes, but he knows: you are not going anywhere.

Trying to quiet yourself does little good. You alternate between sighs and groans of pain, and squeals of elation.

He circles his thumb over your swollen, pulsating clit and you gasp. "Please stop, not there!"

He ignores your desperate pleas as he continues, your hands twisting around the ropes, your toes curling.

He presses down on your stomach harder and you stare up at him as you cry. "Jace, please!"

"Nearly there. I can always tell," is all he cares to respond with.

You body tightens, your velvet walls quickly contracting.

"Oh Gods, no. No, please! Not again! I can't, not again!"

"Māzigon."

"Gods, please stop!" You scream as you orgasm, liquid spilling from your cunt, further soaking his already damp sheets as the ropes pull taught.

You begin to bawl then. "It hurts so badly. Please, untie me. I am begging you, My Prince."

He leans over you, readying himself. "As I said, it will be as many times as I command."

With that, he submerges himself inside of you, kissing away your tears, mentally making a note to buy you earrings of amethyst as reward on the morrow.

[awritesthings1]

All The Things We Don't Say

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Female Reader

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

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

ao3 link

-

Smash!

“Pick it up!”

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

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

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

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

You hated him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You noticed his two front teeth were missing.

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

At ten years old, you knew better than that.

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

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

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

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

You ran inside said house and slammed the door shut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tommy laughed. “You won’t marry him.”

“What choice do I have, Tom?”

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

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

You hit his shoulder.

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

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

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

You sighed and followed his gaze.

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

Tommy scoffed.

You frowned at him. “What?”

He shook his head.

“What! Tom—”

“Don’t marry him.”

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

“You know why.”

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

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

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

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

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

You lacked the special ingredient that marriages needed: love.

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

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

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

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

“Is Tommy home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence followed closely after.

“Then why are you here?” Tommy sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A knock came on the door: “Tommy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll catch the next train then.”

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

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

You’ll never forget her dismissive laughter.

“My dear, you won’t.”

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

No. It wasn’t possible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dread made your stomach tender and your breath short.

“I’m enrolling in the Red Cross.”

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s me! Where’s Tommy and John?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was looking for you, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your grip on the cover loosened. “Huh?”

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

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

“And done what?”

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

What have they done to you, Tom?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then how—”

“I had to see you.”

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

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

“About what, Thomas?”

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

You began shivering despite the way your body flushed.

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

“Bloody drunk off his ass.”

“And you?”

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

“You can go join him if you wish.”

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

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

He sighed.

“I wish that were true.”

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What have they done to you, Tom?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tommy… it’s me.”

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

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

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

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

“Am I dead?”

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

“Can I have a smoke then?”

-

“I don’t know how to love, Tommy!”

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

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

“I shouldn’t have come tonight.”

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

“It was a mista—”

“You fucking did!”

“Tommy!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!”

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

“You’re not cursed!”

“And I can’t stop it, Tommy!”

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

“Is it supposed to hurt?”

“It’s perfectly normal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

“Charles! Come here!” Tommy called.

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

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

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

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

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

“No!”

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

“No!” cried your little boy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do! I do!”

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s quieter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Someone got shot.”

Your eyes widened. “Are Polly and—”

“They’re fine.”

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

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

“Doesn’t matter.”

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

“Would anyone want to follow us?”

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nuzzled his nose deeper into your pulse.

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

“Italians.”

“Italians?”

“Italians sent the black hands.”

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

“Speak to me, Thomas.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The tension broke the surface then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They’re in love, Tommy.”

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

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

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

“Act like what?”

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

“He’s sweet.”

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

“Why?”

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

“Don’t yell at me.”

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

“You’re so certain?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will.”

-

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

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

[riordanness]

false god — [p.jackson]

pairing: percy jackson x reader

wordcount: 1.3K

warnings: you have a creepy stalker

I run through the shopping centre, dodging stalls and seats and weaving through people. My breath is a little too shallow, my heart rate a little too quick. I’m panicking.

Suddenly, I spot a boy with scruffy dark hair and a simple outfit of a blue hoodie and jeans. He’s outside the bookstore, with what looks like a Greek mythology book in his hands.

I’m not necessarily the best at judging people’s character, but he seems… moderately safe. Definitely safer than what’s chasing me.

I dash up to the boy, grab his arm to get his attention.

“Hi,” I gasp out, breathless. “Um—“

He looks confused, sea-green eyes flickering at me in question.

“Can you pretend to be my boyfriend for a sec?” I ask quickly.

The boy looks (somehow) even more confused now. “Can I… what now?”

“Please?” I add desperately. “There’s this creep following me around the mall, and—“

The boy doesn’t wait to hear more. He grabs my hand confidently and laces his fingers through mine. He seems to notice that my hand is shaking and gives me a reassuring squeeze.

“So, sweetheart,” he says, a little too loudly, pulling me deeper into the little bookstore. “What do you think of this Greek mythology book I was thinking of buying?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the creep approaching us, getting closer and closer.

“Oh, yes,” I say to the boy, and I realise I don’t even know his name. “I love this one. I had it when I was little. It’s great.”

“It’s not very accurate,” the boy mutters, his sea green eyes flitting over the story about Kronos and Zeus.

“Huh?” I forget what’s happening for a second and laugh. “How do you know it’s not accurate? What—you know them personally?”

The boy doesn’t reply, so I drop the subject.

“So um,” I lower my voice. “Thank you for doing this by the way.”

“Of course.”

“I’m Y/n.” My voice is still quiet.

“Percy. Percy Jackson.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Percy Percy Jackson,” I say playfully.

Percy rolls his eyes at me, but he’s got a stupid grin on his face. “Ha, ha,” he says, sliding the Greek Mythology book back on the shelf. “So, do you think he’s gone?”

I shrug. He’s definitely not inside this small bookstore; I would’ve seen him. But he might still be outside.

“Are you here alone?” Percy asks.

I nod. “Yeah. That’s why I—you know.”

“Yeah,” he says, his grip on my hand tightening a little, like a protective gesture. It somehow makes my heart flutter a little in my chest.

“Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you.” Percy glances down at me, then starts to talk normally again. “You hungry?”

I smile. “Actually, yeah, a little.”

“Alright.” He pulls me along, our hands still entangled. Percy leads me to a pretty little cafe, all decorated in mint green. He pulls a chair out for me, and I sit. Once Percy has slid into the seat opposite, he flashes me a smile.

“You see him anywhere?”

I glance behind me, and then shake my head. “Maybe he’s gone.”

“We’ll see.” Percy slides a menu over to me. “Whatcha want? I’ll go order.”

“Um, just a hot chocolate, and one of those cookies with the Smarties in them.” I dig around in my pocket, pulling out a ten-dollar note.

When I try to hand it to Percy, though, he gives me a look. “Dude,” he says.

“What?” I ask, surprised.

“You think I’m seriously gonna let you pay? Dumbass.” He closes my fingers back over the money. “You’re my fake girlfriend. I’m paying.”

Before I can argue, or even comprehend what he just said, he’s out of his chair and heading to the counter to order.

When he comes back, he has a little, cheeky smile on his face.

I give him a look. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

Percy shrugs. “I wanted to. Don’t argue.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay. Thank you.”

“No problem.” He smiles. “So. Tell me about my fake girlfriend.”

I laugh softly. “She’s kind of boring, honestly. She likes to read, do crafts sometimes. Spends way too much time on her phone. Apparently attracts creeps.”

“She sounds pretty cool to me,” Percy says, a grin on his face again.

“Sometimes, yeah.”

“So, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course.” My finger traces over the cracks in the wooden tabletop.

“What made you pick me?”

I glance up, his question surprising me. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, for the fake boyfriend thing.” Percy is a little flushed, clearly embarrassed by what he’s asking me. “There are tons of boys around, and heck, girls too, I don’t know what you’re into. What made you choose me?”

“Oh.” Now I’m a little flushed. “Well, honestly? You looked safe.”

That answer seems to surprise him in the best kind of way a person can be surprised. A shy smile grows on his face, and his sea green eyes get even prettier as they shine at me. “Really?” he asks. “I looked… safe?”

“Yeah.” I shrug one shoulder. “I don’t know how to explain it, really.”

Percy’s smile gets even wider. “You know, that’s pretty much the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Oh.” I’m surprised. “Well, I’m glad. It’s the truth. And you seem to be holding up that assumption so far.”

“I still seem safe?”

“Mhm.” I nod my head.

Just then, the waitress brings our order over. She places a steaming mug of hot chocolate and a Smartie cookie in front of me, and the same in front of Percy. Once we thank her and she walks away, I grin at Percy.

“You copied my order.”

“It sounded good.” He shrugs. “Besides, can’t drink coffee.”

“Why not?” I tilt my head at him slightly.

He waves his hand in the air. “I’ve got ADHD, it like, puts me to sleep or whatever. Makes me super tired.”

I smile. “Hey, that’s the exact same for me. I literally have to drink coffee before bed.”

Percy laughs. “Cool. I thought I was the only one.”

I smile, breaking off a piece of the cookie and popping it in my mouth. “I hope I didn’t ruin any of your plans when I pulled you into this, by the way?”

He raises an eyebrow, a marshmallow in his mouth. “Huh? Plans?”

I shrug. “Like, I dunno. Were you shopping with someone? Meeting up with your girlfriend?”

Percy laughs, and almost chokes on his marshmallow. “Gods, no. I was shopping alone. I don’t have a girlfriend.” He then seems to recover his wits and adds, with a cheeky smile: “Except you, of course.”

I roll my eyes playfully. “Yeah, okay. That’s good. I worried for a second there I messed up your shopping or something.”

“Not at all,” Percy assures me. “And hey, after we finish eating, I’ll give you a lift home, just to be completely safe.”

“Thank you, Percy, I really appreciate it.”

“Course, sweetheart,” he says easily, popping another marshmallow in his mouth.

“Hey!” I protest. “That was my one!”

“My bad,” he says, his voice muffled and his mouth still full.

I want to roll my eyes, but I just kind of smile.

“This is kind of fun,” Percy says. “Too bad it’s fake.”

I give him a slightly confused look. “What?”

“This.” He gestures between the two of us. “Kind wish you weren’t my fake girlfriend.”

I blink. “You—huh?”

“Gods, how obvious do I have to be?” Percy teases. “Y/n, will you go on a real date with me sometime?”

I flush, then smile. “I’d love to.”

[natewriteslol]

Hiii! I read your works alot because it's one of the active twst writers I see (I'm a dead writer myself LMAO)

Savanaclaw, riddle and Azul with a reader who's cheery and often bouncing with optimism that always has the mind boggling stories to tell. What do you mean that they literally man handed a lion because it won't stop messing around? What do you mean they were in a pit full of scorpions because they accidentally rolled down a hill? What do you mean they literally escaped a real decapitation (hinting towards Riddle LMAO) because he put one spoon full of herbs instead of a teaspoon? Like— they could go on forever! And the thing is, they have evidence of it.

Thank youuu 🫶🫶🫶🫶

A/N: Thank u so much I've been trying to stay on top of writing but it can get so hard!! But I really do try to keep this fandom alive w some goodies, anyways I'll stop yapping heres

Savanaclaw, Azul, and Riddle with a cheery, adventurous Reader!

Leona:

He didn't exactly always question your storytelling before he got to get to know you as he would rather spend time sleeping. But it seemed like literally everyone was captivated by your latest entertaining experience.

As you guys' relationship grew, it got to the point where he couldn't ignore you dropping an insane piece of lore about yourself.

"Yeah, I was accidentally poisoned before-"

"What did you just say-"

"It's okay though, the gnome did apologize and I got my stomach pumped but everything is all good!"

He makes sure to keep an eye out on you, and honestly your stories are the main thing that keep him awake during the day especially because they're real. And although it may seem he's nonchalant when you message him about where you're at, Leona always makes sure to respond as he does care.

Jack:

As your first friend at NRC and protector kinda, he would get paranoid when you would sometimes disappear. However at first Jack believed you were an independent person, and wasn't up to any nefarious activity.

Until you came back with a gorgon head in a brown sack where he was studying in the autobiography section in the library talking about that you accidentally defeated it.

He screamed in terror upon seeing the thing, causing for him to be shushed completely by offended students. But he could not care less due to the sliced head within the sack, however he quickly took you both outside and you being you didn't exactly see the problem in this situation.

Once you where in an open area near NRC's well he began to question you.

"Why-? A-And how? Why are you like this, do you know how much danger you were in?!"

"To answer all your questions in order, 1. I got lost and she had a huge problem with me, 2. I got scared and ran with my eyes closed with the sword and BOOM, just clean off, and yes I know I was in a lot of danger and I'm very sorry for not responding to your calls."

He was way too scared for both you and himself to respond and learned his lesson to keep an eye on you more.

Ruggie:

Ruggie always told you that he was a "see it to believe it" type person and he was never really believing your wild tales you would tell even if you came back with a little souvenir. He always just assumed you were pulling his leg for a bit.

Until he texted you one day over Magicam, since it was a slow day at the Savannaclaw dorm. Only for you to reply with a video, making him click on it not knowing what he should expect.

Queue you to being in an extremely angry dragon's mouth,

"Hey Ruuggieee! I'll get back to you later since I'm in a pickle right now, but I promise I'll call you when I'm done!"

He nearly passed out upon the sight because what in all of the sevens' names doing inside of that deadly beast. The beast man ended up walking to Ignihyde to possibly get Idia to track your location based on your I.P address, only for his phone to ring just as he was about to blab about what happened.

It was you!

He quickly picked up his phone to hear your excited voice blaring on the phone, "I told you I would call you back! Anyways, come over to my house I have something to show you."

You ended up bringing home a dragon's tooth and treasure and while Ruggie was overjoyed, he reprimanded you for being irresponsible.

But he wouldn't mind it too much if you brought back goodies like this just make sure to let him know so he could tag along.

Azul:

You were running late to a meeting about mending a contract between students he scammed. Since you know him quite well and is a good friend of his, the students thought your kind hearted nature could persuade him out of binding them to the Monstro Lounge for an entire semester.

He written in a small font on the contract that if you were over 15 minutes late, you would be unable to host this meeting and the deal would be off completely. The white haired boy glanced at the clock as the time ticked and he would have his own free work force.

Until you had to come 30 seconds from it being called off completely out of breath.

"Sorry Azul! But I got you a little present from the desert," you said dropping down in your seat and digging through this brown sack.

The ancient golden scarab of the Hot Sands.

"Is that-"

"The golden scarab included with the jewel eyes? Yup and I did it all by myself!" You said, extremely proud of yourself.

"Do you understand the value of what you have in your hand? And what were you doing all the way out there by yourself I just talked to you a day ago and that is damn near a 5 day journey?"

"I did this since I did the calculations and about an 1/4 of the wages that the students owe you is in the value of this jewel bug here. So if I split the riches with you, will you let them go?"

You did all of this for some measly students you knew in passing? How could you jeopardize yourself like that?

But he at the same time, respected you greatly and for your trouble and kind heart.

However, he told you to not go anywhere without telling him.

And no of course it's not because he cares about you and was scared once you told him where you went...of course not...

Riddle:

Is the first person who noticed you were gone because he likes to keep tabs on his friends. He didn't know what to expect but the red head just believed you were busy.

So, Riddle decided to shoot you a text as everyone was hanging out in the Heartslabyul dorm and he really wanted to see you.

'Good afternoon, Y/N please feel free to stop by the Heartslabyul dorm. Your company is very appreciated :)'

You quickly texted back, 'Hey Riddle! I'm gonna swing by with a surprise ;D'

He smiled at his phone, unknowing as to what you were going to bring by. Thinking you might bring by muffins or a sweet treat as such.

Not the sword of Excalibur.

You opened the door, bursting in loudly with the enormous sword slung on your back as Grim carried two sacks of gold. Everyone was completely flabbergasted, as the sword had been known to be a mythological thing not yet proven like the fountain of youth.

But there it was on your back as you grinned.

Turned out you picked up your first job at an exploration company and they sent you on a death wish mission to get this damn sword. And in contrary to what everyone believed would be the outcome, you succeeded and retrieved the artifact.

Unfortunately for you, you ended up being scolded for about two hours straight for being completely irresponsible by Riddle with some chime ins from your friends.

He admired your intense tenacity and bravery, but Riddle was super worried about you whenever you take on a quest. He forced you to have a partner whenever you go on missions and call him every time you reached an important point to make sure you were alive and safe.

"So... you really do care about me-"

"By the great seven- YES ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU COULD'VE GOTTEN KILLED IN THAT DAMN ENCHANTED FOREST-"

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

Sano Shinichiro - "I Just Love Pathetic Guys"

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•

In which I've made an imagine about how pathetic Sano Shinichiro is and how I think pathetic guys are actually really freaking hot adorable. I just so happen to have a thing for losers and Shinichiro is probably the hottest loser in both the Tokyo Revengers manga and anime.

                                                                                                   

🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧

Imagine; he's talking to his friends about how he was yet again rejected for the nth the time now. You just so happen to be nearby and overhear his sad announcement; listening to his friends tease him about how he scares women away.

Imagine; you approach them after a few moments, when they've switched topics to something unrelated. You take his hand and write your number on it; only saying "call me sometime" as you wave goodbye and walk away. He'd be too stuck in the shock he felt to stop you and ask your name.

Imagine; you receive a call from an unknown number as soon as you step foot in your house. And when you pick up the phone you're met with his timid voice, asking if you're the person who gave him their number twenty minutes ago.

Imagine; instead of directly answering him, you somehow rope him into describing you and your first interaction. Hearing him trip over his words as he tries to keep his composure over the phone and seem proud an manly.

Imagine; you get him to practically beg you to allow him to take you on a date. You can't help but laugh how pathetic he is and you tell him so, but you 'agree' to go out with him anyway.

Imagine; he tales you out to eat and keeps reassuring you that he'll pay for everything but in the end, he doesn't have enough money, so you end up paying it in full instead. You can see how embarrassed he is and as bad as it makes you seem, damn do you relish in it.

Imagine; that during the rest of the date he somehow embarrasses himself in some way, shape or form. He can't even look you in the eye at this point and he walks at least two feet behind you, unwilling to try and lead you anymore lest he make even more of a fool out of himself.

Imagine; he drives you back to your place on his bike in silence, too scared to say anything just in case he has a slim chance of seeing you again. He stops in front of your place and you get off his bike, immediately turning to your front door. But, instead of going inside, you set the things he bought you down at your doorstep and walk back to him.

Imagine; that instead of letting him get the first word in, you tell him how much of a loser he is. You can see how deeply it affects him by how sad he looks, but you're not done talking.

Imagine; you take a fist full of his hair and yank him down for a kiss, smashing your lips together. You tell him how he's your exact type and how hot he was today. That he had better take you on another date or you'd kick his ass.

Imagine; you go into your home and you can still hear the hum of his bike's engine from outside. He's still sitting in fron of your house in complete shock. That is... until you hear a loud but muffled "Yes!" from outside.

Fuck. How can someone so pathetic be so damn hot at the same time? You couldn't wait until the second date.

🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧•♡•🔧

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

[tokkiwrites]

RUN, RABBIT, RUN.

in which kraven loves to watch his neighbor from a far, until watching becomes useless, his hunger growing until he can't hold back anymore.

tags: smut, mean dom kraven, sub reader, dumbification of reader, kraven calling reader bunny, themes of stalking, some violence, unprotected sex (p in v), breeding and more filthy stuff.

he woke up every day, feeling her sweet smell even from across the apartments. it was the same mundane routine every morning: she wakes up, takes a shower, brushes her teeth, makes herself a coffee then gets dressed in the most perfect, stunning clothes and runs to her college classes. yes, the same everyday, but to kraven, it showed that she was disciplined - obedient.

he snarled, feeling himself get hard when he finally saw her through the window. she was putting on her shoes before heading out. kravens bedroom window was looking straight into y/n's living room, and for him, seeing her just when she passed by that window was becoming less fulfilling as each day rolled by.

he wanted her - no, needed her. he needed to bury himself deep inside of her, feel her soft skin, and hear her voice as she pleaded for his mercy. he knew y/n would be the perfect play bunny he wanted all along.

time started to pass by slower, and kraven was only anticipating more and more the moment y/n walks through that door. he wanted to talk to her, make her smile that pretty smile he loves, then make her kneel down at his feet and submit.

and he couldn't wait any longer.

he strolls to the other apartment complex just across his, taking the elevator to y/n's floor. O7:OO PM, she should be here any moment. and so right he was, because kraven could feel her sweet vanilla perfume from 10 miles away. It was driving him insane.

he wanted to eat her, indulge in her sweet flesh , kiss her, and show her that he was the only one she needed. it was clear she was made for him - for him to take and do as he pleases...kraven knew.

kraven was snapped out of his trance when a soft voice peaked his ears up. "Can I help you, sir?" y/n tilted her head to the side, settling the bags she was carrying down in front of her apartment door.

"Oh, hey. i live just across the street, and -- i know this might sound strange, but i think I've found something that's yours." liar. whilst he had something that was hers, he didn't find it, he stole it. a pair of pink cotton gloves that he stole two weeks ago when she went grocery shopping without them.

"Oh my god! I've been looking for them for so long!" she throws her arms up as she takes the gloves and stares at them intently. "they mean so much to me. I got them from my grandparents a few years ago..."

"Yeah, i, uh.. i saw them falling out of your pockets some time ago and picked them up, but I didn't know if i should return them to you directly or to the administrator. I'm kraven, by the way."

she giggled, her cheeks still rosy from the cold outside. "Thank you, kraven, really. I'm y/n, do you, maybe... want to come inside and have some tea?" Oh, y/n, you poor thing.

"I'd like that, sure." kraven shrugs, a smile crawling onto his lips as he followed slowly behind y/n into her apartment. "It's a pretty place you've got here."

"Oh, thank you! I'm an interior design major, you know?" she smiles, taking off her coat and offering kraven a seat.

"Aren't you scared I'm a serial killer or something?" he chuckles, his voice low. "Nope! it's kind of embarrassing, but sometimes i watch you through my living room window. I always thought you were cute... but was too shy to say anything. guess the universe already had plans, no?" she smiles, waving her hands in the air as she makes her way to the small kitchenette area to turn the kettle on.

kraven pushed his tongue into his cheek, trying to remain composed as the girl jumped towards the kitchen. a dress in the winter? fuck, but he loved it so much. it was white, knitted, and adorned with soft lace edges. She had on long white tights and fluffy leg warmers - she does look like a bunny. a bunny he'll eat up any moment now.

"What tea do you want?"

"Oh, any tea is fine."

"Is lavender ok?"

"Yeah, all though--" he licks his lips before inching closer to y/n that had her back turned to him. "I'd rather have you first, then the tea." he finally turns her around full force, trapping the girl between him and the counter.

"What are you--" she looks up at him, her heart almost ripping through her chest. "shh, bunny. do you know how much I've been yearning for this?"

"K-Kraven, I-" she shivers at the sight of the man towering above her. "You want it too. I can feel it." he inches closer and sniffs her neck longingly."Don't you, bunny?"

he grabs her by her hips and pushes his crotch closer to hers.

"I-"

"I don't like stuttering, sweetheart, you know? tell me, loud and clear." she practically purrs as his hand grabs the small of her neck and pulls her in.

"I d-do- please.."

"Please, what?" he sinks his fingers deeper into the soft flesh of her thighs before licking a long strip from her clavicle to her ear. "Want me to use you, huh?"

"p-please- fuck!" she winches as kraven pinches her nipples that indented up through the dress "tsk, i don't like when you say those words, bunny. do bunnies talk like that, huh?" he coos almost sarcastically, before tugging at her hair. "answer me, slut."

"n-no, they don't, I'm sorry, please just touch me, please.."

"I'll think about that." he tugs at her hair once more before pushing her down on the cold tile floor.

"crawl."

without hesitation she makes her way desperately on all fours at his feet, looking up at him through her already teary eyes. "Open your mouth."

y/n couldn't believe what was happening, the way she was willing to obey every command the tall male gave her, it made her feel so helpless and small - she couldn't lie though, she thoroughly enjoyed it.

obliging, she parts her lips and shots her head up to stare at kraven, excitement bubbling up in her stomach. he leaned lower just a little before swiftly placing his thumb inside y/n's warm cavity. "suck. bunny"

nodding, she takes the digit in her mouth, sucking and swirling her tounge around it. she didn't know exactly what to do and how, only she knew how much she wanted to make kraven proud.

"good pet. now..." he paused before reaching to unbuckle his pants "want you to suck this." kraven pulls down his pants, letting his cock spring free, hitting his stomach.

y/n's eyes widened at the sight. she'd never seen something so big -- it was scaring her, but the churn in her stomach pushed her to slowly wrap her rosy lips around the tip of kraven's large member.

"yeah- just like that, bunny. i wanna see you choke on my cock, c'mon." he says before thrusting deep in y/n's throat, causing her to let out a choked out moan. "be good and take it all."

grabbing her by the hair he begins to snap his hips, hitting the back of her esophagus, drool and precum running at the sides of her mouth and dripping from kraven's dick. "fuck, bunny- your pretty mouth takes my cock so so well..."

the praises he was throwing and the low growls gave her a little more confidence -- not only that, but the pool in her panties grew larger, staining through them. kraven could feel it, smell it, the desire and lust, his groans and her whines mixing in the air as he chased his high.

"I'm gonna cum straight down your throat, bunny, fuck- better swallow all of it." he furrows his brows as his moves become more erratic, finally shooting his seed into y/n's mouth. "swallow." he sternly says, staring down at the girl, who was all a mess.

"So pretty on your knees for me, such a good pet." he coos, abruptly picking her up and settling her on the counter. "I'm gonna fuck you so good, fill you up and make you have my babies."

y/n could only moan, pressing her thighs together in anticipation. "that whar you want? huh? want me to fuck you senseless and fill that belly up?"

"please.." his eyes darken, licking his lips he starts stroking himself before ripping y/n's clothes clean off, leaving the girl shivering on the cold surface of the counter.

"I'm gonna make you take this cock every day, it'll be the only thing you think about." he chuckles somberly before plunging straight into her wetness.

"fuck, bunny, you're so wet. you hear?" he laughs as he moves slowly, allowing y/n to hear the wet sounds as he worked himself in.

y/n throws her head back, her head spinning from the fullness in her lower region. "you like that? huh?"

he mocks before pushing in further. "fucking slut."

drool and tears dribbled from her face onto the counter, wet sounds of slapping echoing throughout her whole apartment.

she couldn't believe this was happening, the way his cock felt inside of her, the sounds she didn't even know she could make. all came to a halt when she felt a strike on her thigh, making her yelp. "Down."

she looks up almost disappointed from the sudden lack of friction. "i said down." he growls before he takes her off the counter, bending her over it instead. "look at that ass." he almost wailed as he delivered a hars slap, making y/n arch her back, redness spreading on her skin. the pleasure was pooling at the pit of her stomach -- she didn't know she liked it this rough, she didn't know her hot neighbor wanted to fuck her either, yet here they were.

without any warning, kraven pushes inside of her again, roughly pounding into her core, one arm snaking around her waist whilst the other grabbed her neck, pulling her flush against his chest. "you take me so well, bunny. you were made for me, yeah? all mine to use and-- fuck!" he growls, sinking his teeth into y/n's shoulder, making her cry out. "my pretty pet."

y/n could feel herself getting closer, kraven's dick was hitting her in just the right places - and the way she could see it forming a bump in her lower belly wasn't helping.

"you wanna cum, bunny?" kraven tightens his grip around her neck, plastering another harsh slap on her thigh. "y-yes, please!" y/n sobs, tears mixing on her face with salty sweat.

"go ahead, bunny. cum around my cock." that's it, as soon as those words hit her ears, she released, clenching tightly around his shaft. her legs felt like rubber, if it wasn't for his strong hold on her waist she would've most likely fallen.

"gonna fill you up so so good, bunny-- shit-" he moans as he becomes sloppy in his strokes, hitting deeper and deeper into y/n, after a few more minutes cumming far inside her.

their quickened breaths replaced the loud and sinful sounds that probably alerted all of the neighbors. y/n was sprawled out on the counter, and kraven was still deep inside of her. when he finally pulls out, it causes y/n to whine at the sudden emptiness, semen dripping down her bruised thighs and onto the tiled floor.

"I wish you could see yourself right now, bunny." he chuckles, running his palm through his locks, then down y/n's spine. "You'll be so good to me. I just know it."

⁽⁽ଘ( ˊᵕˋ )ଓ⁾⁾‎  토끼's NOTE : sorry for any grammatical errors  !!! this has 2k words. also, thank you so much for the amazing response to my first post !! I'll get to your requests next week. I've already started writing a little !!!

[sammylkcho]

I beg of possessive sprout/GN! reader :3

- 🐺🔥💅

My first anon with emojis, welcome! It took me a while to write this, especially because it was something I was really excited to work on

I'm so sorry for the delay, I hope you like it!

Warnings/Notes: GN!Reader, possessive Sprout, jealous, just a little bit attitude of yandere, maybe..

For as long as you could remember, Sprout was always attached to you like gum, though it was odd—he was a strawberry, not gum.

More than once, your handler (the same one who managed Shelly) had to separate you both when it was time for your strict bed schedules in your respective rooms. Of course, just after midnight, Sprout would show up in your room with his pillow.

You didn’t mind these little things Sprout did at all—sometimes he even brought Cosmo, and it turned into a sleepover for the three of you! It was fun, and the best feeling in the world was taking a breather from everything around you. Especially for Sprout, who spent all day looking after the little ones at the Gardenview Center, not to mention the “special” days of the week with cooking demonstrations alongside Cosmo.

Sometimes, you felt a bit powerless, unable to share or lighten his exhaustion at the end of the day. You’d tell him he could take a break, even offering to keep a few kids with you (even if you weren’t the most popular toon) so he could get a quick rest, but he always turned it down, saying he was fine.

“I’m one of the mains; I can handle this. Besides, you should rest too! I could make you some cookies with Cosmo.”

You loved and hated that concern of his at the same time; sometimes it was overwhelming because, no matter how much you begged or asked him to take a break, the conversation always veered toward your well-being or baking you something you’d like.

Outside of those topics or the times you’d end up pouting in a corner, feeling helpless, everything was perfect. Being with the other toons was amazing; each had their own special charm that always managed to make you laugh. And of course, always with Sprout by your side (weird)—even he enjoyed being with everyone else.

But as they say, it was all too perfect to be true.

Boxten had been the first to be corrupted by the ichor.

Poor Poppy couldn’t believe her best friend had been turned into something like that. None of you believed it until Poppy tried to get close to him and was met with scratches and bruises marked across her skin.

They managed to pull her to safety just in time, bringing her to the elevator, and Tisha took care of her wounds, as there was no toon around who knew how to treat injuries.

"That… that wasn’t Boxten, was it?” you murmured, barely audible, resting your back against the elevator wall as you placed your right hand on the cold floor.

The sudden grasp of someone’s hand startled you for a moment. Turning, you realized it was your favorite strawberry.

Giving you one of his usual (this time, genuinely warm) smiles, he sat beside you, interlacing both your hands.

“You’re alright, aren’t you?” he asked, tilting his head to one side as he looked you up and down, searching for the slightest scratch.

“Yes.. I’m fine… it’s just, ugh.” With your left hand, you rubbed your face, struggling to find the right words for the whirlwind of emotions and thoughts inside you.

None of the toons had seen anything so violent, perhaps aside from the occasional squabble between kids or adults at Gardenview, but nothing like this.

“That thing wasn’t Boxten! It hurt Poppy; it didn’t seem to show her any compassion!” Your voice trembled with every word, and you could even feel your teeth chattering when you stopped talking.

“We saw him just fine this morning… he was fine…”

You began to sob, small tears escaping your eyes as you tried to calm yourself.

Gently, Sprout pulled you close, wrapping you in his arms and pressing you to his chest, with your face right where his scarf lay, not minding if it got wet from your tears.

“Shh… what matters is that we’re okay now, right?” he murmured.

“But Boxten and Poppy—”

“We’re okay.”

This time, it wasn’t a question; it was a confirmation, and you swallowed all your doubts and fears, nodding without another word.

He gave you one of those warm smiles he saved just for you. It was like freshly baked cookies—warm and sweet.

“We’re okay.” You repeated in a low but audible tone, curling up in his arms, trying to keep all the intrusive thoughts at bay.

When all the toons gathered in the lobby, they seemed like angry animals surrounding a single prey they all wanted to hunt down—Dandy.

The poor main seemed so relieved to see you when you arrived, as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“Oh,” he shouted, calling your name from where he was cornered, “give me a hand here! Some of them think there are monsters on certain floors, which is crazy because—”

“You’re trying to involve Y/N in your lie, Dandy?” Sprout interrupted, his voice so low that it startled some of the toons nearby.

“All I’m saying is that some of you are imagining things that aren’t true” Dandy replied, glancing between you and Sprout.

“And Y/N would understand better the lie you’re all plotting to spread. Right?”

Sprout’s grip on your hand tightened as Dandy spoke to you again, greatly angering him.

Why did he have to drag you into this lie he was planning?

“Boxten… that thing wasn’t Boxten. Boxten would never attack or hurt anyone, especially not Poppy.” You managed to say, shaking your head repeatedly as if trying to erase the image of Boxten attacking Poppy.

You could hear the voices of several toons rising as they confronted Dandy about the corrupted versions of various toons they had encountered or been attacked by.

In the midst of this chaos, Sprout’s voice brought you back to the present.

“Let’s go. We could find Cosmo and do something, just the three of us.” His voice was monotonous, but you didn’t pay it much mind, letting him lead the way.

Days went by, each shorter than the last, or one quicker than the next.

Several toons decided to form groups of eight to explore different floors and extract the ichor from some machines; the reasons for it faded from your mind under the stress and anxiety of possibly losing another toon.

What mattered was that you had Sprout, as unusual as he sometimes was.

You were in the elevator with Sprout, Goob, Glisten, Tisha, and Vee. This time, it was only the six of you since Toddles had been hurt by a twisted, and Rodger wanted to look after her.

As usual, you had your hand interlocked with Sprout’s, a gentle comfort.

The usual music from Dandy’s radio reached your ears, and you realized you hadn’t noticed when he arrived.

You turned slightly to look back at him, and when he caught your gaze, he immediately smiled and waved at you.

Not wanting to ignore him, you let go of Sprout’s hand for a moment and waved back.

Not five seconds passed before you noticed how quickly Sprout turned to look between you and Dandy. Dandy’s smile twisted into something that seemed to taunt Sprout without a word.

You looked at Sprout, noticing the leaves casting shadows on his face, making it difficult to discern his expression.

Before you could say anything, Dandy bid only you farewell before lowering his shop lever and disappearing, as he always did when the elevator reached its destination.

“You can wait outside while Goob distracts everyone, okay?” He took both your hands this time.

His sudden shift in demeanor puzzled you, but you simply nodded, stepping out as the elevator doors opened.

Sprout’s smile vanished once you were out of sight, replaced by a dark scowl.

“You shouldn’t lower yourself to Dandy’s level. He only does that to make you jealous,” Vee commented, her sudden presence by his side not surprising him at all.

“He thinks he’s the center of the universe with Y/N’s attention” he retorted, frowning at the thought of the bothersome flower.

“And you keep playing his "little, stupid and silly game".”

“I’m going to Y/N; I don’t trust Goob enough to keep all the twisteds distracted.” He changed the subject, moving in your direction.

“Let they breathe a little; even I’d feel suffocated if you were on me 24/7,” Vee commented, her tone serious.

Sprout halted, giving her a dark yet blank stare.

“Who are you to debate that?”

Without waiting for a response, he left the elevator, heading toward where you were. He’d left you alone on that floor long enough and still didn’t trust Goob’s distraction abilities.

Meanwhile, Vee grew frustrated with her friend’s childish, ridiculous behavior. He never seemed to leave you alone, even keeping you in the kitchen just for “company” or to show off his culinary skills.

Sometimes, she thought Sprout was even pushing his own limits, but she still trusted he couldn’t be so possessive.

Well.

She hoped you would set some boundaries too.