#I missed walking around in the fall because I was sick | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sttoru · 24 days

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sukunas fav concubine being bullied by the other concubines?? maybe they push her into the fountain 👀👀👀

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. being bullied because you’re sukuna’s favorite concubine is nothing out of the ordinary. when sukuna finally notices the harassment you’re going through, he doesn’t hold back.

wc. 2.2k-ish

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine! female reader. fluff, angst (hurt to comfort). heian era. bullying. one mention of d.ecapitation. vile language. reader gets called ‘brat’. beta reading? what’s that

“she’s got nothing going on for her,” “right? i don’t get what he sees in her,” “tch—he’s only using her for her body anyway,” “duhh. he can’t be pleased by her looks. i mean, she’s really ugly. i bet he thinks of her as just ‘nother hole to use. . .”

and the shushed gossips continue. the concubines hanging around the garden have noticed your arrival, though do nothing to stop badmouthing you. they couldn’t care less if you hear what they say.

you’re used to it by now. you’ve adjusted to this life of yours as one of sukuna’s concubines. his favourite at that—which automatically makes you a victim of verbal (and sometimes physical) harassment. the other women in the ruthless sorcerer’s harem can’t stand you.

your eyes are glued to the path you’re walking on. your lady-in-waiting doesn’t utter a single word as well, holding her head low as she follows behind you. you know that the concubines will immediately pick on you if you make eye contact with one of them.

it’s moments like these where you actually miss sukuna. his intimidating presence and (in)direct threats would immediately make the others fall silent. you wouldn’t have to hear them call you nasty names.

though, unlucky you, sukuna’s out on business. uraume is left as a temporary supervisor of the entire estate. to make sure nothing goes wrong. despite all of that, you still find yourself in an unfortunate predicament.

“hey. we’re talking to you,” a female voice rings from behind you. it isn’t your lady-in-waiting, but the brown-haired woman whom you recognise as one of sukuna’s concubines. her name. . . you can’t recall.

she forcefully pushes your shoulder with two fingers. you stumble backwards, nearly tripping over the material of your kimono. you look down at the hem and notice a subtle muddy stain on the cloth now that you’ve accidentally stepped on it.

you curse the woman out under your breath. the kimono is one of your favorites since sukuna had it made and tailored to suit your taste.

“my apologies,” you mumble politely. you do not wish to make a scene as much as you want to defend yourself. not in front of those poor servants who are simply minding their business and tending to the garden.

the lady scoffs. another one joins. soon, four of them surround you, leaving you no place to escape the situation. with every step you take back, they take one forward. it’s intimidating, though you try to make it seem like you’re not afraid of their words.

“tell me,” the blonde one speaks up and her hand trails up your arm. she twirls a strand of your hair around her index finger before harshly tugging at it. you wince, but she doesn’t budge, “tell me what sukuna sees in a worthless slut like you.”

it’s about sukuna every time. you’re getting sick of the way they treat you because of something you can’t control. you don’t know why he favors you out of all the other women at his service. the way you’re treated because of something that you cannot change is getting frustrating.

the brown-haired woman follows the other lady. she pushes you until the back of your shoe bumps against the edge of a fountain. the grande fountain in the yard that you always love to admire.

the tugs at your hair get stronger. your patience is wearing thin. you take some time to reply to the other concubines, hoping to silence them for now.

you look up at the group surrounding you—a grin tugging at your lips as you decide to taunt them. you scoff, “hah. you cannot blame me for satisfying my lord better than all of you could do together.”

audible gasps sound from the group of concubines. they can’t believe you had the audacity to talk back and be disrespectful about it. the comment you made clearly struck a nerve. or in this case multiple.

“oh, you slut!” the blonde one shrieks, clearly more than upset by your doubts about her services as a concubine. in a flash of rage, she gives you a firm push, sending you backwards until you fall into the fountain with a loud splash.

your lady-in-waiting is the one gasping this time. she looks at you with great worry in her eyes, not knowing if she needs to go fetch uraume or not. she doesn’t have much say in the matter either way.

you’re humiliated by this. you can feel the water seep into the robes of your kimono, staining the beloved material. your hair is wet as well, the water droplets falling off the ends of your locks.

“pah, you look pathetic,” one of the lower ranking concubines chimes in—giggling at the unfortunate situation you got yourself in. the others follow with their own high pitched laughs, “serves you right.”

you don’t even know what you should do. your body feels heavy because of the water wetting your clothes. your nails drag along the fountain’s surface, trying to compose yourself before you do anything irrational.

you grit your teeth and take a deep breath. you’re shaking, both because of the cold settling over your body as well as the anger simmering inside of you. you open your mouth to say something, only to be interrupted.

by someone you didn’t expect to see any time soon.

“enough.”

the deep tone sends chills down your spine. the volume of the male voice nearly shakes the ground. it’s powerful, dominant and quite aggressive. as if the owner of the voice is pissed. no, more than that.

the group of concubines freeze, not even daring to turn around and face the unexpected visitor. you notice your lady-in-waiting immediately falling to her knees, bowing at the man whom you know very well.

“my lord,” you stammer out, being the first to speak up and address him. you’re surprised to see sukuna back this early from his business trip. he normally stays away from the estate for days on end.

sukuna’s footsteps are heavy. his strides are menacingly slow. the aura surrounding him makes the others shake—one concubine being smart enough to bow to him. the king of curses is not one to be messed with, especially when he’s angry.

“tsk. have you lost all your respect while i was gone?” sukuna growls, seeing how the group of concubines are frozen in place with fearful expressions on their faces. the fact that they’re not bowing before him worsens his temper, “kneel.”

he raises one hand and they all knew what was going to happen. you squeal and shut your eyes, hearing that familiar and dooming sound of slashes around you. it doesn’t sound like they’ve hit anything, so you peek through your eyelashes.

you see how the group of women have dropped to their knees the instant sukuna raised his hand in that specific manner. everyone knew just what that meant; death to anyone who’s got their head held high in his presence.

you’ve all seen enough people get decapitated by that same action to know that the sorcerer was not playing around.

sukuna scoffs. he walks up towards you, ignoring the pleas of the other concubines that are begging for his forgiveness. his bottom set of eyes look down at them with disdain before focusing on your figure again.

he silently stands still at the edge of the fountain. his large frame looms over you and you find yourself struggling to get up from the water to bow at him as well. you keep your eyes on your lap, “i’m sorry, my lord.”

sukuna hisses at your apology. a warning for you to shut your mouth. you’re apologising when it’s not your fault and that irritates him more than anything. two of his strong arms reach down to pick you up from your vulnerable position.

the king of curses hoists you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. he’s not bothered by the fact that you’re dripping wet. in fact, both of his left arms wrap around your torso in attempt to warm you up.

“stay. you’ll all be dealt with accordingly when i return,” sukuna harshly orders your aggressors as he turns around and walks away from the group. he carries you in his arms, not sparing a single glance at his concubines.

he doesn’t even care that he stepped on one of the women’s hands as he passed by. the high pitched shriek only serves to annoy him, which you notice by the way he squeezes your waist in response.

it’s silent between you two for a bit. sukuna steps inside of the estate, his ominous aura making you hesistant to speak. you decide to stay quiet for the sake of keeping the peace. for now.

sukuna’s breathing is a little heavy. he’s trying not to lash out or say anything hurtful. he doesn’t like raising his voice at you—but sometimes he feels like he needs to. especially when you land in situations like those.

“how long has this been going on?” sukuna asks through a heavy sigh. his red eyes are focused on the end of the hallway, where his chambers lay. the veins in his neck look like they could pop out any second now, “and don’t you dare fuckin’ lie to me, y’hear?”

you gulp. you’ve never been so nervous to answer him, ever. you attempt to respond, “uhm, for quite a while, my lord.”

sukuna breathes in sharply at the revelation. the fact that you did not specify your answer only made him think that it’s worse than you’re making it out to be. he stops in his tracks, two hands on your waist as he forces you to face him.

your body dangles in the air as sukuna makes you look at him from up close, showing you that dangerous look in his eyes. you do not dare to avert your gaze from his as he speaks.

“you should’ve told me the moment they started disrespecting you like that,” sukuna grunts. another big hand grabs your jaw firmly, squeezing your cheeks together. you whine as it hurt a little. he scoffs and releases your jaw with a light push, “pathetic.”

you feel your body get thrown into your original position once more. your head is upside down and your legs hang limply over his shoulder. you try to defend yourself in a quiet tone, “i thought you were too busy. i didn’t want to bother you with such unimportant matters.”

it’s true. as much as you wanted to tell sukuna about the mistreatment you were receiving, you knew how busy he was attending to more urgent business. you didn’t want to annoy him with your own problems that you could easily solve.

if only you could stand up for yourself.

“nonsense,” sukuna raises his voice in a moment of weakness, though remembers that you’ve probably been through enough for the day. he doesn’t need to add to that by treating you like shit as well.

he simply sighs it off, “unimportant, huh? ‘s that how you think i view you?”

you raise an eyebrow at sukuna’s last sentence. you’re at a loss for words. you know sukuna values you more than any of his other concubines—it’s the main reason you’re getting bullied for—yet you never heard him speak to you in such a surprisingly soft way.

almost like he’s disappointed that you don’t realise the extent of his favoritsm. he cares about you more than you actually think he does.

“i-i’m sorry, my lord,” you stutter. you really do not have a clue about what to say. all you can do is apologise as you’re left overthinking that one little sentence he said.

“what a brat,” sukuna quickly regains his usual stoic and stern composure. he reaches his chambers and enters his personal bathroom before putting you down on your feet. he looks down at your short stature, feeling the warmth of your body leave his skin once you’re separated.

sukuna watches you shiver. he wants to get angry at you for not telling him about anything that’s been going on while he’s not present, though he simply cannot at the moment.

he’ll let you off the hook for now. but, he’s surely going to give you your own special scolding after he’s taken care of the other concubines. the man grabs a large towel from nearby and messily wraps it around your upper body.

sukuna turns around to walk out of his bathroom, looking over his shoulder once more, “get dressed into something else before you catch a cold.”

he calls for a couple servants to tend to you while he’s away to take care of those deviant concubines. sukuna watches the three maids rush to your service, preparing you a new set of clothes as well as trying to dry you off.

his gaze lingers on you for more than is necessary, his jaw clenching at the sight of you trembling from the low temperatures you’re experiencing. sukuna’s going to make sure those other women pay for what they’ve done to you.

he leaves the bathroom after that, though not without leaving you an order to follow;

“you’re staying in my chambers tonight.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk x you #sukuna x you #jjk x y/n #sukuna x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk angst #sukuna fluff #sukuna angst

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bkgml · 10 months

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pro hero kats having to do an interview when he’s sick because he signed a contract.

i just know he’s so baby when he gets sick because of that only child syndrome he’s been stuck with. he gets really needy and just wants to be around you. give him love pls.

maybe it’s one of those interviews with the boards that have the peel off stickies on them where he answers questions about himself and his life.

idk whatever u guys think!

he doesn’t want to go.

“baby?” you ask gently and only get a grumble in response.

your hands drift over to trace the muscles on his back. you’re sat up against the headboard on your phone and he’s laying on his stomach with his head on your lap and he’s got his arms wrapped around you.

when you guys woke up this morning you’d planned to walk around the city you’re in, grab lunch and maybe do some shopping before going in for his interview.

but katsuki unexpectedly woke up with a fever and a stuffy nose.

so instead, your day has been filled with tylenol and naps.

“i know you don’t feel well but it’s time to get up.” you say gently, caressing his back while you speak and finishing with a tap on his shoulder to signal him to sit up.

“i don’t want to fucking go to this shitty interview.” he bites. it’s not directed at you and it’s clear from the way he nestles himself deeper into your plush thighs as he speaks.

you lean forward to press kisses to his warm forehead.

“i know,” you coo.

“but you have to. i’ll get you some more medicine before you go, okay?” you murmur against his temple.

he huffs but peels his eyes open anyway, shifting to rest his chin on your thigh while looking up at you.

“you’re not coming with me?” he replies with an unknown quietness, a hint of desperation slipping through.

you smile and kiss his forehead again.

“do you want me to?” you ask and he nods gently before shifting to press kisses along your bare thigh.

“okay.” you whisper.

“we need to get up now though.” you say and he grumbles but stands with you anyway.

the two of you get ready together-slowly but surely, and head out the door.

when the two of you arrive it’s obvious to everyone on set that katsuki’s more annoyed then usual.

his brows are furrowed so deep they practically cover his eyes, and he’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

you explain the situation and the crew agrees to keep this as quick as possible for him.

he puts on his brave face for the camera, goes through about one board in between each cut where he gets a five minute break.

“cut! thanks dynamite, take a five minute break.” the director calls out and you walk to where he’s slumped in his chair, pout on his face.

“hi, handsome.” you smile.

“what do you need? tylenol?” you ask and he shakes his head.

“water?” another shake of his head.

“do you want me to get you a cool towel for your head?” and he shakes his head once more.

“what do you need?” he ask gently.

his hand reaches out for you, misses once and after seeing his brows furrow in frustration you step forward.

the second time he reaches for you he gets a hold on your elbow and drags you forward until your thighs are touching his knees.

he sighs and allows himself to fall forward until his forehead is planted on your shoulder.

you breathe out a laugh and his arms come up to hold you around the waist.

you just stand there and let him do his thing.

every once in while you let your hand travel up and down his back. sometimes you’ll let it slip into his hair, scratching gently.

he lets out sighs and little grunts in reply when you ask him questions. he’s just breathing and hoping the director never yells action again.

“alright everyone, breaks over!” the director shouts and katsuki’s arms tighten around you because he was honestly starting to drift off, but he lets you go anyway so this can be over with.

he does two more boards where he answers questions about pro hero life and the rare question about his childhood and some about you.

there’s a 45 minute dinner break and katsuki spends it in his dressing room.

there’s a couch in there and he wants his half hour power nap.

“here take a tylenol before going to bed.” you say and he pops the pill before laying down and attempting to drag you with him.

“i’m going to get you a cold towel, i’ll be back.”

he groans when you leave but if he’s being honest a cold towel does sound really good.

“hi, i’m back!” you announce while walking back into the room.

when you get close enough his big hands snatch you by the waist and lifts you to straddle him while he lays on the couch.

you giggle and place the towel over his forehead.

“god, your makeup team is going to kill me.” you sigh.

he shuts his eyes and drags his hands up and down your thighs.

“don’t care. i’ll tell them i asked for it.” he mumbles, already drifting off.

“okay.” you whisper.

his power nap did not help him much and in fact probably made him a bit worse.

but you just reminded him that the quicker he got through this, the quicker you guys could go back to the hotel and sleep until morning.

he got through it. had to have little breaks for water and hugs, but he still did it.

when the two of you get home from the trip there’s edits popping up everywhere of the two of you on set.

“katsuki bakugou needing cuddles while he’s sick.”

“pro hero dynamite being in love with his girl for ten minutes straight.”

and all of the comments are filled with shit like,

katsufan118: can he look at me like that?

dynamiteloverrr836: why is he so cute with her

ynnkats4life: my fav relationship

katsuki frowns like his reputation has been completely ruined.

“kats they’re not wrong.” you smile and he grumbles but secretly agrees with you.

“who the fuck filmed us? ‘m getting them fired.” he says.

you slap his chest lightly.

“katsuki! don’t. they’re doing gods work here. i get a compilation of you being all needy.” you smile brightly.

he argues with you playfully but he can agree it’s not all bad.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou x you #bakugou x yn #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader

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awritesthings1 · 4 months

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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

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crypticminx · 4 months

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Telling Felix Catton you’re pregnant <333

Felix Catton (Saltburn) x fem! Reader headcanons xo

AN: hiiii these are some headcanons I made :p im too lazy to proofread Dx if you enjoy lmk if you want part 2! Blink twice and you’ll miss the smut xx

- first of all, your relationship started out as a one night stand situation because for the love of God Felix cannot keep a woman or anyone around for more than a few months—weeks even.

- You, however, were a different situation. He saw other people, you saw other people, but the two of you always kept each other locked in the back of both of your heads. Wether you needed him as a very exciting stress reliever or he needed you to release any ounce of frustration he had, the two of you were just a simple phone call away. And not just drunk booty calls.

- The feeling of his broad shoulders pressed against your frame as he would effortlessly lift you up and pin you to the wall, whispering sweet melodies into your ears as he thrusted with all of his might to make you feel good—no, more than good. He’d never admit it, but for a girl like you, he’d give you everything, even if meant he’d have nothing. “Such a good girl,” he’d purr, feeling you melt under the sound—and for a better word, control of his asserting voice

- The two of you lovebirds were loud, extremely noisy and often torturous for the other students near your dorm, who were either trying to cram for exams or focus on non-sexual activities. You would moan without a care in the world and especially when you felt him release his seed in you for the first time, which you could only assume wasn’t planned nor talked about between the two of you. It felt too sweet, and so pure with how he breathlessly smiled at your sweaty, blushing face after the deed was done. Said smile being enough to make you fall into his little trap and roll back over into another intense round of sex

- With Felix, it was like walking on a dream that never seemed to end. You could be careless, indiscreet and whatever the hell you wanted to be. he provided you with a sense of being free from the real world and wholeheartedly invited you deep into the unrealistic life of Felix Catton.

- That dream, the very one that appeared to be endless, came crashing down. What ruined it? Two little pink lines.

- With an eyebrow piercing that adults despised, a stunning model-like body, and a reputation for tossing girls around like they were paper planes; Felix was fuck buddy material, not father material.

- Sure, he has enough money to knock you up ten times and make sure every child would be provided for, but you were you. Yes, you came from wealth but not the type of catton wealth that would probably leave a child with a ridiculously expensive live-in nanny as if it was nothing. Knowing how your parents felt, there was no way in hell they would be supportive and even just the simple thought of them meeting Felix made you cringe to the point of triggering your morning sickness again.

- You would avoid Felix like the plague you read about in your boring history textbooks and on the rare occurrence you ran into him heading out on his bike or going for a well deserved drink, you would bolt as if you had to run for your life. Facing him was just the beginning of your problems

- So when you finally mustered the courage to tell him and unfortunately for you, it had to be at the university’s sleazy lounge pub, Felix was there in all his glory and sat in his usual spot. Farleigh seemed more interested in drinking than caring about what was being said, a group of girls were scattered around the boys and obnoxiously fake laughed at whatever Felix said, and there was that new guy whose name you couldn’t remember to save your life. Oliver? You thought it was, but that clearly didn’t matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was you and Felix.

- Felix nearly chokes on his drink seeing you walk towards him, your head down and your tail between your legs. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

- You ask him to talk immediately, ignoring how content he looks. How his solemn eyes instantly sparked with life again and his bored expression turned into a relish of happiness. He was thrilled.

- “I’m pregnant.”

- He stares blankly at you, seeing you tear up as if you just admitted something horrible

- A baby? And a baby with you? Nothing about that was horrible. In fact, he often pictured a future with you, even if it seemed insane.

- i he’s not angry. In fact his thick brows soften and somehow in the midst of all the chaos of noise surrounding the two of you, his words are very clear.

- “I’m glad it’s with you.”

#jacob elordi #saltburn #felix catton smut #felix catton #felix catton x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #saltburn 2023

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aajjks · 11 months

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loser ≠ lover (m)

synopsis. He wants you so much, even if you’ll destroy him, because he’d let you.

fem reader x yandere oc.

warnings. yándere, öbsession, masochïstic tendencies, mentions of physical, emotional abûse, unhealthy thöughts, èxtreme obsession, obsessive thoughts.

note. MY FIRST OC!!!!! UHHH IM SO SO NERVOUS BECAUSE IM NEW TO THIS KIND OF THING BUT I HOPE YOU ALL WILL GIVE HIM A CHANCE. HES ALL YOURS TO INTERACT WITH, send fanart?!?? Please I’d be honoured, send asks talk to him!!!! 😭💌

second instalment x

loser boy who worships the ground you walk on!

Who licks off the dirt that trails off your shoes as you walk down the school hallway.

loser boy who is so obsessed with you that he can’t breathe if he can’t get a look at you.

loser boy who can’t feel anything but love for you, passion that pumps so hard in his veins for you, who can’t say a word without stuttering except your name.

Loser boy who follows you around like a lost puppy, who doesn’t care if your ‘friends’ cuss at him, if you call him a dirty dog.

At least you’re talking to him! God, he’s so lucky!

“Goodness fuck off! You sicko! How’d you find my address!?” You spit at him, your eyes filled so beautifully with hues of disgust, your luscious lips curled up in annoyance. He smiles so brightly at you, God, you’re so beautiful.

“O-Oh please! C-Call me more names! P-Please!” He begs, on his knees, his raven hair falling on his grey orbs, his lashes wet as he begs you.

You feel embarrassed, He notices, yet he feels his heart burning from the need to hear you insult him.

It’s been too long.

And that’s why he’s here, at 1 am right infront of your door, begging.

“Fucking masochist! You’re so disgusting! FUCK OFF.” The way your shoe hits his jaw, makes him moan out your name like a prayer.

You groan in anger, he gets up again, you struggle against him, your nails scratch him, the burn feels euphoric, he missed you so bad.

“You don’t understand huh?!? LEAVE. ME. ALONE.” You try to get away from him, the boy doesn’t let you, instead he grabs your legs, wrapping his arms around them, “n-no please! take me back please!” He’s sobbing.

Yet his heart loves the thrill of your resistance, it turns him on so much, his pants feel so painfully tight, “NEVER! You ARE NOT GOOD FOR ANYTHING! You are of no use to me anymore!” you keep insulting him, it makes him feel so relieved.

You hadn’t been talking to him for so long, he almost went insane without you.

“Y-YN p-please kiss me!” He stands up, “p-please!”

“FUCK OFF Ezekiel!” His mind blurs.

His tongue lulls out and he whimpers as you finally utter his name out, it sounds so good, so erotic from your mouth, His name was made for you to call out.

He is so obsessed with you.

“S-Say it again… p-please!” Ezekiel stands up, his knees wobble, the stormy grey eyes are full of lust, craziness.

You roll your eyes at him again, it only makes him so much more excited, he loves your rejection so much, he always has.

Because it’s a unique bond between you, you treat him special, he knows.

“fuck off weirdo.” Ezekiel doesn’t say anything but pushes you against the door of your house, “YN…” he brings his face so much closer to you, he feels scared yet thrilled.

You’re so unpredictable, it makes him shake with anticipation.

“P-Please don’t leave- don’t-don’t abandon me! I-I’m sorry I disappointed you b-but he deserved it.” You raise your eyebrows at his ‘apology’

“No. Get away from me you sick freak! You had no right to beat him up like that, who are you huh? My boyfriend? Please…” you scoff, “you’re nothing to me Ezekiel, absolutely nothing.” You spit again at him.

God.

“You’re just a pathetic man who gets me off. You’re just a pastime you get that?” You point your finger to his chest.

“Y’know you’re lucky you have a big dick and a pretty face. sometimes you’re obedient too and you make good punching bag.” You laugh so cruelly, venom drips in your words.

Yet he takes it as words of praise.

“You’re like my dog.”

Yes he is.

“S-So please just take me back? I-I’m so sorry YN…. Please punish me but not like this! H-HIT ME.” He takes your hand and swipes it hard across his cheek.

You gasp in surprise, Ezekiel looks at you with pure desperation. “Please! I-I can’t live without you,” he bites his lower lip, the mole under his lips becomes more evident.

“I-I can please you! I can help you get off! Please let me- give me a chance- I’ll make you cum as many times you’ll want to- PLEASE GIVE ME A CHANCE AT REDEMPTION!”

“P-Please!”

#yandere #yandere x reader #smut #yandere x you #soft yandere #male yandere #yandere oc #masochistic yandere #ezekiel: loser ≠ lover #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #obsessive love #obsessive yandere #yandere fic #yandere ezekiel #yandere x yn #yandere boy #yandere smut

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xhoneygirlxx · 8 months

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WANTED U

Eddie Munson x Best Friend Reader

summary: when your date is ruined by your best friend, can you stay mad at him when he reveals a secret you've been dying to know?

warnings: fluff, slight angst, Eddie is deep in his feels, two idiots in love. Minors DNI 18+ ONLY! mentions of drinking, Eddie gets drunk. swearing. p in v, creampie (wrap it up kiddos), fingering, body worship and praise. Reader's race/ethnicity is not mentioned! she/her pronouns used. Both Eddie and Reader are in their twenties. Also not proofread, spelling errors and horrible writing!

*if I miss anything please let me know!

a/n: Hi honey bunnies! I just want to thank @ali-r3n for this really cute idea! I'm so sorry it took me forever to post and I'm sorry about the shitty writing! Smut is not my strong suit and I've been plagued with the horrible writers block, so I hope this is okay! I hope you like this and thank you for being so wonderful and patient <3

All you wanted to do was to go on one date. One singular date. For the first time since your high school prom, you were going out with someone who was interested in you. A tinder match that led to multiple conversations, that led to having drinks, to hopefully going back to his place for a well needed time in the sheets.

That was the plan for the night. Then your phone started to blow up with phone calls and texts, an apparent SOS that couldn’t wait. So you had to cancel, mid-date, telling your date that there was a family emergency. You knew walking out of there that Jordan wouldn’t text you back or ever take you up on the second date offer.

It wasn’t like you were heartbroken over it, however you were a little bummed. The whole reason you even got on the dating app was because you were trying to get over your best friend. Eddie Munson stole your heart at the age of fifteen and had yet to give it back. It was a sick cycle that you have been going through for nine years.

You were the lovesick best friend, who just couldn’t take the hint, following him around like a lost dog. Eddie had you wrapped around his finger and you didn’t care. Canceling plans just because he wanted to see you, doing whatever he asked just because, and never dating with the hopes of him finally falling for you.

Those dreams were fruitless however, because Eddie didn’t see you as anything more than a friend. All the pining and unrequited love was killing you, a slow painful death that would put medieval torture devices to shame. It’s not like you could blame the brown haired boy, it’s not like you can pick who you fall for, but that didn’t stop you from wishing it would happen.

So therefore you took the giant leap and put yourself out there, trying to ease the ache of your heart. In the end you ended up in Eddie’s apartment, helping him in his drunken state, get to bed. The emergency that Jeff blew your phone up for, was this. A night out with the guys turned into Eddie getting belligerent and refusing to leave until you came and got him.

The whole car ride there you were disappointed in yourself, the whole reason for your dumb date was to stop yourself from running to the rescue every time he called. You were annoyed and heavily frustrated with the outcome of your night. It almost felt like the universe was against you, whatever god above watching you and laughing every single time you failed to move on.

As much as you wanted to hate the grown man sitting in front of you, you simply couldn’t. His whiskey colored eyes round and glossy, nose and cheeks rosy with the heat of alcohol coursing through him, and his hair messy from the cold night wind. He was so pretty and it was hard trying to stay mad at him, especially when he had a deep dimpled smile adorning his face.

“Alright Eds, I need you to change out of your clothes.” You say sweetly, the pile of his pajama’s hanging in your hands.

Following your instructions, he tries to lift his shirt over his head, only for it to get caught on his head. “Sweets, I need help.” He sounds like a helpless child trying to tie his shoes, and you have to stifle a laugh.

Placing the change of clothes next to him on the bed, you swiftly pull the stuck fabric off of him. When his head is released, he shakes his hair out of his face so he can see you. A childlike wonder flits in his eyes as he looks at you, admiring the way you’re being so gentle.

A small thank you is whispered, you hum in response as you pull the new shirt on him. His eyes close as you gently tug his arms through the hole, soaking up the amount of attention you give to him. It feels like you’re changing a newborn, so docile and content with the way you handle him.

“Can you take your pants off yourself or do you need me to help?” Your voice breaks his sleepy demeanor, droopy eyes looking up at you.

“You gonna buy me dinner first?” Wiggling his eyebrows, he playfully smirks at you.

“Ha ha, very funny.” You deadpan, yet your heart beat picks up at his innuendo.

Surprisingly, he’s able to take his bottoms off and replace them with the pair you picked out for him. Pulling the jewelry off his wrist and fingers, you place them hastily on his bedside table. His eyes follow your every move, like a curious kitty watching their owner. Pulling back the covers on his bed, you gently lay him down and prop his head up with pillows.

“So you have your bottle of water right here,” You show him by picking it up off the table where it’s sat, “And the bottle of Tylenol is right next to it. Now if at any moment you feel like you have to throw up, the garbage can is right next to you on the floor. Okay?”

Humming to you in understanding, he closes his eyes once more. When you think he’s about to pass out, you turn on your heel to grab clothes for yourself. Not getting far, his big hand wraps around your wrist gently, bringing your attention back to him. This time his expression isn’t as content or happy. No, his eyes are glassy with unshed tears and his bottom lip jets out in a pout.

“Please don’t leave.” It’s a whispered plea, innocent and childlike.

“I’m not leaving Eds, just grabbin’ some clothes to change into.” Even with your assuring smile, he’s still frowning at you.

“Please just, don’t leave.” Tugging your arm slightly, he brings you closer to the bed.

“Eddie, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” You’re now concerned with the state of your best friend and why he felt the need to beg you to stay.

“Promise? What about Jacob?”

“Eddie, what are you talking about?” Although he closes his eyes again, you still press for answers.

“I don’t wanna lose you t’some douche. You needa be with me, sweets cause I love you s’much. Don’t wanna lose you to him.” It’s all a slurred mess, his words mumbling together as they fall out of his mouth.

“If you mean Jordan, no I’m not going to leave you for him” You giggle softly, “I left my date with him to come get you. Plus his stories about kayaking were starting to get boring.” You try to lighten the mood, but it only makes his lip wobble more.

“I shoulda made a move, I wanted to b-but I-I was scared. Gareth told me I lost my chance with you and he-he was right.” A few stray tears fall down his cheek and you lift a hand to wipe them away.

The same brown eyes you fell in love with, all those years ago, stare up at you. The heart that’s bleed for him for nine years is starting to heal, the words you so desperately wanted to hear are finally coming to light.

With your own tears glistening in your eyes, you look down at him like you always do. With the biggest heart in your eyes and brightest smile on your face. “You should stop listening to Gareth, Eds. I think you still have a shot, but we’ll talk about this later. When you’re not drunk.”

Bobbing his head the best he can, he squeezes your hand once before retracting it. With his eyes closed and steady breaths leave his parted lips, you get changed and turn off the lights. Maybe the universe wasn’t against you, maybe it was on your side the whole time and just had a funny way of showing it.

The bright sun pouring through the window, wakes you up. The sight before you is one you’ve seen before. The side profile of your best friend’s face, wild hair sprawled over the pillow that lays beneath him. You take this moment in to study his features, the slope of his nose, the way his eyelashes kiss the tops of his cheeks, and how kissable his lips look.

Not much later is he stirring, stretching his limbs out after his wild night out. Cracking one of his eyes open, he winces slightly before running his hands down his face. Blinking once or twice, he finally lets himself wake up, staring straight at the ceiling. You wonder if he remembers what he said or if you should bring it up. Instead you choose to play it cool, or at least try to.

“Good morning drunky! How’d you sleep?” Reaching a finger out, you poke his side.

“Drunky,” he snorts,” I actually slept well, thanks to my wonderful nurse.” He takes a peak over at you, a smug smile already pushing his cheeks up high.

You try to ignore the butterflies in your tummy when you hear his voice, thick and husky with sleep. The giddy feeling rushing through you is written all over your face, covered up by a bad attempt of biting back a smile.

“Well, I’m glad you don’t feel so shitty.” You say, stretching your body to distract yourself from his burning gaze.

“What time is it anyway?” His question comes out in a yawn, loud and exaggerated. Propping up on your elbow, you lean over him to get a look at your alarm clock.

“A little past ten.” Eddie huffs, muttering something about it being far too early. “I know it’s too early for you but that just means we can go to Jerry’s and get waffles to soak up whatever's left in your system.” You coo at him mockingly, fake pouting as you look at him.

“Ya know, I don’t enjoy your fake pity.” Eddie rolls his eyes at you, a frown pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Oh I’m sorry, Eds. Want some ketchup with those cries?” Eddie’s frown deepens like a bratty child, and you eat up every second of it. “Oh, I know! I’ll call a wambulance.” You throw your head back, laughing at your own joke.

With your attention off of him, he sees the perfect opportunity to laugh. At lightning speed, he grips your hands, flipping you over on your back. With the weight of his thighs bracketing you and his hand gripping your wrists together, you’re defenseless.

With a wild glint in his eyes, Eddie wastes no time in attacking you with a finger to your side. Relentlessly, Eddie tickles you to the point there are tears in your eyes from how hard you're laughing, and your pleas for him to stop are swallowed by the oxygen that’s being stolen from your lungs.

“It’s not so funny when it’s your turn, huh?” Smirking down at you, his attack doesn’t relent.

Thrashing around the best you can, you try everything to get him off but with the way his thighs squeeze your legs together makes it hard to do so.

“Okay, Okay! I’m sorry, Eddie! Please!” The last word comes out as the softest moan, so soft that you would miss it if you weren’t paying attention. However, Eddie was and his fingers stopped digging into your sides immediately.

The sound of your heavy breathing is the only thing to be heard. Eddie stares down at you, eyes unblinking and cheeks dusted pink. The usually brown eyes are now dark, the dark pupil over taking the iris. You stare right back at him, chest rising and falling dramatically and lips parted slightly letting the air from your lungs flow out easily.

It feels like the world has stopped, time frozen still for eternity. The mid-morning light painting the two of you in a portrait, cementing the moment forever. Two heart beats synching up together, beating against the bones of your rib cages.

“Fuck it.”

Eddie rushes in to smash his lips against yours. Years of waiting and wondering if this moment would ever happen, now finally laying to rest. The taste of him has been the missing part of your life this whole time and you wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

It’s sweet and slow, his tongue slipping inside your mouth softly. Morning breath be damned, the two of you make out for what seems like hours on end. Parting from each other for much needed air, a small giggle leaves your mouth.

“What?” Eddie smiles, his face as dopey and gooey as you feel on the inside.

“I just wanted this for so long.” You admit, making his smile pull wider.

Leaning back down to you, he peppers kisses all over your face. The snickering that’s leaving your mouth is slowly turned into a whimper when his lips find their way to your neck. A gasp pulls from your chest the minute he finds that spot, eliciting him to suck on it. Hissing when it becomes too much, Eddie is quick to soothe the sting with his tongue.

Pulling his face away from the crevice of your neck, his eyes find yours as his hand glides to find the hem of your shirt. Tugging on it and raising an eyebrow in question, you nod overenthusiastically.

Ripping the oversized shirt over your face, he takes his time to memorize all the details of your skin. The heat of his stare becomes a bit too much, worry overtaking your brain causing you to bite down on your lip.

“I just want you to know that I’ve waited since freshman year to see these bad boys.” Attention still drawn on your bare chest.

“Well, do they live up to the hype?” You question, tone not as confident as you think.

Eddie’s head whips up to you, mouth agape and you swear you can see drool pooling from his lips. “Sweets, you have no idea.”

Diving in, he kisses the doughy flesh of your breasts, going back and forth between the two. Like a magnet to a fridge, his lips find the hardened bud and latches on. Switching between sucking and flicking his tongue, you squirm underneath him trying to find some sort of friction for the ache in between your legs.

“You have no idea how many times I jerked off to the thoughts of this.” Eddie mutters as he moves his attention to the opposite nipple.

Between his admission and the feeling of his warm mouth on your sensitive skin, you moan loudly. The feeling of more wetness pool in your panties alerts you, the overwhelming feeling of need buzzing through you. A small whine comes from you and it catches Eddie’s attention.

Pulling away from your breast and peering up at you, he cocks his head to the side. “What’s wrong, baby? Want some cheese for that whine?”

When his canine teeth shine through his devilish smirk, you whimper. You hate that he’s using your game from earlier against you, teasing you like he doesn’t know what you want.

“What is it, sweets? Tell me what you want.” Fake pity drips from his question and it only eggs you on more.

Eddie’s got you so worked up that you can’t even speak. Lifting your hips to show him what you need, you frown harder when he laughs at you.

“Oh, princess,” He coos, running his thumb along your lower lip, “Be the good girl I know you are, and ask. Can you do that f’me?” Nodding your head, he encourages you with an assuring smile.

“C-can you touch me, please?” Your voice sounds so small and you’d honestly cringe if it weren’t for the fact that you know you’re dripping out of the fabric of your panties onto his bed.

Sighing heavily, Eddie gives your bottom lip a small tug with his thumb, letting the bottom row of your teeth show before it bounces back up into place.

“I would tease you more but you asked so nicely.” Shuffling down your body, he loops his fingers through the sides and guides the thin material down your legs.

Pushing his way through your thighs, Eddie runs the tip of his middle finger up the slit of your sex. His finger grazes lightly over your bundle of nerves, causing you to jolt from the feeling.

“You’re really fucking wet.” Eddie says breathlessly as he parts your glistening lips apart with his fingertips.

Not waiting for your response, Eddie circles his finger around your entrance before plunging it in slowly. The stretch from his finger makes you arch slightly, a muffled moan falling from your mouth. Using the pad of his thumb, he swirls your clit in alternating circles and figure eights.

“More, Eds. Fuck, please!” You beg and who is Eddie to deny you. Pushing another finger inside, he curls them just right and starts going faster.

“Fuck you’re so greedy, baby. Isn’t that right, you’re s’greedy for me, huh?” With his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat and his cheeks a pretty burgundy shade, he looks just as fucked out as you.

Writhing underneath him, you babble nonsense as his fingers hit that spot you always struggle to. “Yes! M’so greedy - Shit!”

“You gonna let me taste you? Gonna let me eat this pretty cunt?” You don’t even get a chance to answer, your body already doing it for you by clenching around his fingers. “Oh she likes that, huh? You like imagining me in between these pretty thighs, baby?”

“Think ‘bout it all the time.” You moan, hips rocking against his hand as you try to chase your high.

“Yeah, sweets? Think about me when you play with this pretty pussy?”

That’s all it takes for you to come undone, gushing around his fingers with a muted scream. Your back arches off the bed, eyes rolled into the back of your head, as the feeling of your orgasm washes over you.

Eddie helps you ride through it, continuing his motions until your tense muscles relax into a jelly like state. When you come back down from your high, you whimper at the loss of his fingers. Moving your eyes to him, you watch as he sticks his middle and forefinger in his mouth, moaning when the taste of you hits his taste buds.

“Yeah, I’m definitely gonna have to eat you out.” Eddie grins at you and you roll your eyes playfully back at him.

“That sounds absolutely wonderful, but” You begin to say and his face drops with the fear of rejection, “I’m going to need you to fuck me in the next thirty seconds.” You smirk and his jaw drops.

After fifteen seconds of pure shock, Eddie shakes his head and tries to play it cool.

“Yeah totally, let me just-” His sentence is cut off when he begins to struggle out of his own clothes.

Once he’s stark naked and hovering over you, you laugh giddily up at him. Putting his forehead to you, he studies your eyes for any sort of regret or doubt.

“Eds, I promise you I want this.” You reassure him, making sure to prove the point with a loving kiss.

With his confidence boosted, Eddie snakes his hand down to guide himself into you. When the tip breaches your entrance, the both of you gasp at the feeling.

Pushing in slowly, he brings his lips back to yours, swallowing your moans. Once he's all the way in, Eddie gives you a minute to adjust before he starts moving.

Nodding your head to let him know you're good, he pulls almost all the way out before ramming back into you, knocking the wind from your lungs.

"Fuuck, sweets. S'fuckin' tight." His voice trembles as he pounds into you.

"You're so big, I can feel you s'deep." You slur, drunk on the way his cock stretches you, hitting that sweet spot with every drag of his hips.

Eddie resituates himself, pushing your knees up to your chest, before bringing his chest back down to yours. This way you can feel him even deeper, which you didn't even think was possible.

You're on fire, belly burning bright with fire. Eddie's everywhere, he's all you can see, hear, smell, touch, think, he's invaded every single one of your senses and you can't get enough.

His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes closed with the pure bliss of being inside of you. It's so intimate yet so dirty and it's driving you insane.

Opening his eyes, he looks down at you like you've hung the stars that shine in the sky.

"I wanted this for so long, sweets. I wanted you, so Fuck-" He hangs his head, speeding up the movements of his hips. A roaring sob comes out of your mouth, the fire in you burning hotter with every drag of his thick cock.

"I'm so in love with you, sweets. Been yours since I was sixteen." Finally he confesses, letting the sacred secret out, only this time he's drunk off of you.

"I love you too! Fuck-I love you so fucking much."

"Tell me you're mine. Please, tell me." He begs and you comply, growing closer and closer to the edge.

"M'yours, been yours since I was fifteen." You confess and it feels like the weight of the world has lifted off of you.

With one last thrust, you come undone with a loud cry. Eddie doesn't let up his movements, now only focusing on his own release.

The way his hips stutter, you know that he won't last too much longer.

"I want you to cum in me, Eds. I wanna feel s'bad." You coax and that's all it takes for the metalhead to come with a stuttering grunt.

Lazily thrusting into you, he finally stops when he becomes overstimulated. The room is once again calm, the now afternoon sun blinds you as it seeps into the room. Heavy breathing and content hums fill the room, while the scent of sex lingers in the air.

Shyly removing himself from your chest, Eddie looks at you sheepishly. "Now what?"

If you didn't know Eddie you'd probably think he's being rude, but you know that he really is just overthinking everything that just happened. In his mind he thinks you're probably regretting everything, even though you told him you felt the same way.

Using your hand to pull some of the hair that sticks to his cheeks away, you smile affectionately at him.

"Well, I was thinking we could still go to Jerry's for breakfast," Eddie still looks at you like he's waiting for the ball to drop, "Then I thought you could keep your promise and eat your girlfriend out. That is, if you're not too full."

"Really?" He looks like a puppy who just heard its favorite word, excited with it's tail wagging back and forth.

Snickering up at him, you nod your head rapidly. Pulling out of you quickly, Eddie runs out of the room and you can hear the chaos of clattering from behind the door.

"Eddie, what are you doing?" More giggles fall from your lips as he races back in with a wet wash rag in his hand.

"Gotta clean you up before we go out to eat, baby. That way I can recreate our masterpiece later." He says wiggling his eyebrows.

Yeah this was the dork you fell in love with and who you were going to love for the rest of your life.

Thank you all for reading! I'm sorry it's not the best!

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x female reader

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bitchimasnake-sss · 5 months

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"doing laundry and taxes with you" ft. the monster trio!

ft. (domestic!) luffy, zoro, sanji x fem!reader

in which, you make their house a home

(a/n: im sick and needed some comfort so this got very long im so sorry!!)

warnings: nsfw towards the end! nsfw stuff includes car-sex, in public, dirty talk, rough sex, penetration, squirting, sanji takes a picture of you choking on his dic- (ahem, not sorry); MDNI (thankyou very much okay byee)

luffy:

they are so precious to me 😭😭

- whatever you do, don't imagine domestic!luffy - don't imagine cold mornings when you're under the cover with him. he's holding you tightly, snuggling against you and whispering a soft, "good morning, baby" - do not imagine him coming back from home and holding you by your waist when you're doing something, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as you asks you how your day was - don't think of him as one of those guys who start a tickle fight when poke him once and laugh at him - absolutely do not imagine his as one of those s/o who are down to make everything into a game "whoever loses mario-kart makes the dinner, okay?" he grins, pulling you down onto the couch with him "oh really?" you laugh when he holds you tighter, "i really want some pasta tonight then" - he ended up making pasta that night - but as i said, don't imagine luffy as that because he is certainly that man and more - he will fret over you when you fall sick, trying to make you laugh your way out of a fever (canon). he won't leave your side, no matter how much you insist that you're fine "what do you need? water? soup? pizza- oh wait no that's unhealthy" a pause, "wait, do you want a pizza? it'll probably be fine if you eat one tbh, right??" - also the kind of guy who will ask his friends to turn their car around (because in no parallel universe do i believe luffy knows how to drive ffs) because you only said "love ya" and missed the i (how dare you, he's heartbroken now) "yn!!" he's yelling from the driveway, "YOU FORGOT TO SAY I LOVE YOU!!" so now you're sticking out your head out of your apartment window, looking down at a pouty luffy, annoyed zoro and unbothered sanji - also, man has TERRIBLE separation anxiety - (people now know that wherever you are invited, luffy is invited too "what are you doing here?" nami hisses as she vaguely looks at luffy, "this is supposed to be a girls night out!" luffy shrugs, "pretend im not even here" yeah, luffy that's kinda hard when you're practically draped over your girlfriend the entire night) - but as it's been established, don't fall for his perfect acts because he is the kind to park in a distant corner of a grocery store parking lot and beg for you to let him fuck you "it'll be quick," he's whining, tugging you towards himself and kissing you senseless, "baby, i promise. just one hit." - he's feral, holding you flush against himself as he fucked you with your top still on and your hands holding tightly against his neck - your arousal drips into his thigh and he's groaning about how good you feel, you feel him thrust into you harder and now you're spasming and cumming around his girth - he didn't infact let you go after one hit. - you both walked into the grocery store 37 mins later with your faces flushed, hair tousled and a familiarly uncomfortable wetness nesting between your thighs - (cause i know he's fucking nasty and he will absolutely make you walk into that store with his essence still inside you. sorry, i do not make the rules :/) - eitherways, best guy ever - he's the perfect s/o that never lets you have a dull moment in your life as long as his annoying ass is around

zoro:

- i will stand by what i've always said. soft zoro is the best zoro. 'nuff said, i will die on this hill. - but god, nobody can ever imagine how soft domestic!zoro is with you by the way he shrugs and grunts off any and all people around him (except for his crew) - frankly speaking, you didn't expect this either when you started dating him - you would have never imagined this green-haired, stoic-faced, dry-ass motherfucker to hold onto you tightly and lightly close his eyes whenever you forced him to see another horror movie - he claimed watching horror movies was the equivalent of mind torture but followed along cause you seem to like them (you don't probably like them that much, you just like his heavy figure against yours as he snuggles in deeper and deeper against you) "this is so stupid" he hisses at the girl in the screen, groaning when she blatantly ignores him, "she will die if she follows the fucking voice!!" you don't fail to notice how shrill his deep voice can get whenever there's a jumpscare (but he will blame the wind for that noise, never admits what he knows is true) - he is so soft in the way he offers to shampoo your hair when you drag him into the shower. his calloused fingers are light, gentle, against your scalp and you can't help but smile when he flashes you a small smile and asks if it's fine - domestic!zoro is so soft in the way he would carry you bridal-style/on his back everywhere (wdym you only had to go to the kitchen?? he can carry you there, he's strong, do you not believe him?) - also, we all have sorta established that he's not a pda guy but my lord, behind those four walls, he needs to be around you one way or the other - doesn't matter if he is just standing at the bathroom door, making small talk as you do your skincare for the night or he's holding onto your hand as you both lay sprawled on your bed, looking at your phones - but don't let his softness make you forget that this man is a piece of shit. - he will purposely stand in front of cabinets and cupboards when you cook and flash you a innocent smile when you get annoyed; he will finish your favourite conditioner even though he said "i don't that conditioner too much"; he will purposely order you random stuff online and everytime you'd open it thinking it's something cute but it'll end up being something green and (cutely) stupid - (you now possess 5 mushroom figurines, 12 frogs doing random shit, a green cheap light saber, a lowkey-fucked up painting of baby yoda and green paper-clips. he doesn't even like green all that much, he just loves to annoy you) - but as i said, don't fall for his sweet facade because he will stop you at the door and fuck you against it before you're heading out in that skimpy dress (yes, he fucks you in that dress) (ofcourse he doesn't mind your dress riding up as long as people can see the marks he left on your body) "ah" he groans, thrusting upwards as one of his hands hold you firm against the door and another plays with your swollen clit, "sorry for ruinin' your makeup, baby. but look at you, you look so pretty, getting fucked right now" - he's sure the neighbours can hear the wood creaking against your weights and your high-pitched, feverish moans as you beg him to fuck you harder (it's the fourth time this month) - he forces his fingers (which were slick with your arousal) down your mouth and watches as his fingers rub away the lipstick into modern art "much better" he would sigh against your skin when he was done, "have fun at the party, babe" - he holds back a laugh cause he knows you can barely walk, much less party (not to mention, you gotta re-do your makeup now.) - so he goes with you, lending you his arm as support so that you wouldn't walk so wobbly "that dress still looks too good on you" he will whisper against your ear, "meet me in the bathroom in five, let me fuck you again" - as much as he is a menace, you wouldn't have it any other way - god, iamsodownbad for him <3

sanji:

it's him officer, he is the one who altered my brain chemistry!

- vinsmoke sanji is the perfect pinterest boyfriend. argue with the wall, i don't entertain wrong views. - what i mean is, he is the boyfriend/husband who will be up to bake a cake at 3 in the morning and eat it with you as the sun rises, he is the one who will hold you hand and groggily lead you to an ice-cream vendor at 1 in the night because you really wanted ice-cream, he is the one to take a thousand photos in any outfit you wear "yn" he's changing his angles every second, shutter of the camera snapping photo after photo, "you look so beautiful, so marvelous, charming, ah- mesmerizing, my love!" - he is the guy to hold your hand in a horror house no matter how scared he himself is. but you call tell by the way his fingers tightly close around yours whenever a jump-scare comes on (no, he is not being strong because he wants to look tough in front of zoro, tf you talking about??) - he is the man who will be looking for halloween decor on the first of september and christmas decor on the first of novemeber, takes the task of decorating his house very seriously (yes, he will out-do linda this time! so what if she bought a life-sized snowman?? he will pay luffy to become one, fuck linda.) - sanji is the guy that posts his girlfriend religiously (at one point, ussop asked you if you were holding him on gun-point and making him post you so much) - by religiously i mean for every one photo of himself, there's six of you like baby calm down nobody's gonna take her away - he also surprises you a lot (with nice surprises, unlike zoro.); he bought you a candle on your one-month anniversary and repurchases it every time you run through it - grocery store runs followed by cooking together is basically your idea of a weekly date - very on-brand with his theme but he has so many candids of you (a whole secret album with the title "my love <3"). there's pictures of you laughing at chopper's new onesie, hitting luffy in the face after he stole your sushi, tasting his cookies, tasting his dic- ahem. - it shouldn't come as any surprise that he has a huge thing for clicking pictures/ taking videos of you as he abuses your body in a way that has you crying for god "san-" "like that, moan out my fuckin' name, darling. tell me who's fucking you like this?" "you" you moan harder, eyes clamping shut, "you you, fucc-k you, sanji" - there's a video on his phone of his dick sliding in and out of your wet cunt as you moan and suck on your bottom lip; there's pictures of you sucking on his dick, giving the camera your prettiest doe-eyed look; there's a video of you squirting around his fingers, face red and body soaked as he keeps going and you're cumming a second, third, fourth time (that's his favourite video, it's insane how many times he comes back to that video) - he loves ruining you with slow sex as he makes you focus on the boring movie or show you're both watching - he gets off off how you try to maintain your composure but then come undone "yn, my love" he rasps in your ear, "come on, keep holding on for me. i'm gonna fuck you so well if you just keep taking me like this." - he ruins you and then gets you the best aftercare - ugh stan sanji for a good life.

a/n: the way i write sanji has me confused as to if i truly am a zoro girlie lmaoo. hope you liked it!! req are always open (also im sorry to the people who requested and i havent gotten around to it, i am just running low on fuel lately)

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mysicklove · 6 months

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𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘

DAY 31: MASTURBATION

With: Izuku Midoriya

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: subish! Izuku, fem/afab reader, izuku masturbates to your voicemail and pretends to fuck you, reader calls him baby, and he calls u hun, needy izuku

A/N: masturbation fics are so fun to write for no reason. anyways, my last kinktober fic. crazy. it doesnt feel this way cause i wrote it halfway through lol.

Izuku was left alone for too long. On the verge of three weeks to be exact.

He wasn't left completely alone, of course. He was just overseas, on an important mission. He was separated from you, but that to his love-sick brain, meant he was left alone. His sleep schedule is all messed up from the times he stayed up late at night to wish you goodmorning, or the times where he woke up super early to catch you before you ate dinner.

He missed you, an ungodly amount. When he comes home to his luxury hotel, and flops onto the bed, the only thing he can think about is you. What it would feel like to wraps his arms around you, and melt in your warmth. The way your fingers would run through his hair, and comfort him from all he did that day.

Of course he had those innocent, romantic thoughts most of the time, but somehow one way or another those fantasies began to change. The touches reach lower, your words begin to drip with honey, and your lips seem to be more passionate, desperate even. Until five out of the seven days, he daydreams about fucking you.

He lays against the bed frame, shirtless, and dick pulled out of his boxers. The trip back to the hotel was long, and he's been thinking about doing this for the past hour now. He prepared everything ahead of time, because if he was doing something as pathetic as this, at least do it right.

The lights were dimmed, and his eyelids are drooping, exhausted from the day. He slowly reaches toward the nightstand and grabs a couple of tissues, setting them down next to him. Then with a sigh, he puts his phone up to his ear, and brings his hand to his cock.

He gulps when he hears your voice, wishing desperately that you weren't asleep. Its got to be around 5 am by that time, and of course he wished he was patient enough to wait a couple hours for you to talk to him. But, he was desperate, and the voicemail you left him a couple hours earlier did the job.

“Hey baby,” Your voice broadcast, and immediately he seems to melt. His eyes fall shut and his hands begins to move up and down his half hard cock. He hums in reply, not caring if you cant hear him. “I miss you. Saw a kid walk by me with your merch on, made me smile,” You say, your voice slightly muffled from a task you must be doing.

He huffs a laugh, head falling to the side. “Yeah?” He breathes, thumb rubbing at the tip, and then falling back down to his shaft in a repetitive motion. You continue on about your day, mentioning nothing too important, just how you went grocery shopping and a nice walk after work. “You shouldnt be working. Can take care of you,” Izuku mumbles, eyes peering open just slightly to watch his movements.

His cock was on full display now, the tip a pretty shade of pink, and beginning to leak. You always called it pretty. A strange thing to say about a penis, but he soaked up the praise, taking pride in his cock now.

The thought made his mind wander. Would you praise him for what he was doing now? He wasnt supposed to touch himself without you, but its been three weeks, you have got to understand. Were you touching yourself thinking about him? The thought sends a thrilling shiver down his spine.

Your voice was now a background noise, just listening to the tone, the sound of it, but nothing of what you were saying. Maybe you were cooing at him. Telling him how good he is doing. Or maybe you were calling him a pervert for doing something so gross without you knowing. He lets out a shaky moan, mewling out and picking up the pace of his hand.

“I miss you,” He warbles into the phone, on top of your speech. What were you talking about now? A dog you saw? Nothing important. Why weren't you touching yourself to his voice? He would die for an audio of that. Or even an audio of where you give him directions of how to do touch himself correctly.

No Izuku, slow down. Don't hurt yourself, baby. Your voice clouds his mind, and he nods, peering back to his cock and slowing his hand down. Thats it. Tighten your hand, and focus on the tip. He obeys, moving his hand up to the head, and making small pumps there. “S-Sensitive there,” He groans to the empty hotelroom, shaking his head from side to side when his heartbeat begins to pick up.

“Went into Victoria's Secret today,” You hum, and his eyes widen, attention snapping back to your voicemail. He quickly turns up the volume and pressing the phone closer to his ear. “Bought something you’ll love. Red is your favorite, yeah?”

Lewd images flash through his head of dark red lingerie sets and he nods. “Fuck. Please,” He moans, wishing he was there to pick it out with you. His dick twitches, and a glob of precum leaks out. Green eyes flicker to it, and he uses his thumb to swirl it around the head, flinger glazing over the slit. “Wanna see,” Izuku pants, growing hot.

You seem to have heard his reply and it makes him whine. “You don't get to see till you get home. A nice reward for doing so good all this time you are away,” You purr, making a short kissing noise into the mic and laughing.

His eyebrows furrow at the possibilities and his mind drifts off from your voice again. Suddenly he is there with you, his rough hands trailing up and down your body. The dark lingerie looks perfect against your skin tone, and his mouth waters at the sight. Well, look how needy you are Deku. Do you want to fuck me that bad?

He nods his head frantically, hand unconsciously picking up the pace. “Please. Please, beggin’ you,” he chants under his breath, his back slightly arching off the frame. He dully notices that the voicemail has ended, but doesnt pay attention to it, too immersed in the movie playing in his head.

His mind cuts the scene forward, growing too impatient and desperate as his orgasm begins to approach. You are under him, sending scratch marks down his back while moaning out. His thrusts are frantic, and he tries to pretend that his hand is you. Its not the same, but it will do.

“Am I doing good?” He mumbles, dropping his phone onto the bed and resting the other hand on his thigh. You nod at him, kissing his cheek with redden cheeks, and lazy grin. A view he has seen so many times that he has a perfect mental image of it.

So good, Izuku. You wanna cum inside?

He moans, louder than he should, considering the thin walls, but he doesnt care at the moment. He never gets to cum inside – this was something he was waiting to hear. “Fuck. Pleaseeee,” He whimpers, eyebrows furrowing and hand frantically moving up and down. His cock is lubed up with pre, and its easier for his hand to move now.

He climbs closer and closer to his high and now hes hunched slightly over on himself. Suddenly, he hears his phone ringing, cutting him out of his perfect daydream. Just a couple of seconds, he just needs a couple seconds more of fucking you, and then he can take this call. He whines slightly, and peers over at it, not stopping his movements.

When he sees your name his eyes light up, and he grabs the phone and brings it to his ear immediately. His hands makes a lewd squelching noise, but he too fucked out to care if you hear.

A couple of seconds go by, and he breathes into the mic, waiting. And then he hears a groggy, “Hey baby,” and he cums on the spot. Groaning into the phone without a care as cum spills out on his hands and his whole body shakes.

Another second goes by, as you wait silently on your side, confused on what was happening, but too sleepy to put two and two together. Izuku's chest rises and falls with every breath, and he stares at his cum covered hand, trying not to let out a sound of complaint when he realized he forgot to cum into the tissue.

He blinks a couple times, exhausted but glowing. “Hey hun. Was just thinkin’ bout you,” He hums, grinning at his sticky hand and closing his eyes when he hears your girlish giggle.

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chaotic-mystery · 7 months

Note

I have something for a request.

So Joel promised your father he would protect you from the Clickers and other people.

So you and Joel are walking through the forest and you start to annoy him. Because you are constantly asking how long does it take to get to the destination.

Joel had enough so he takes your virginity and your ass virginity roughly. So you shut up.

pairing: Post Outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

content warnings: DARK CONTENT AHEAD, PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+ only. Non-consensual that turns consensual. You are responsible for what you read. Daddy kink, rough sex, assplay if you close an eye, pet names galore (little one, pet, playtoy, baby girl, Joel refers to himself as daddy, you get the picture.) mean!Joel, Dark!Joel, choking, reader has hair long enough to pull, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, dacryphilia, pull out game strong, this is post outbreak but before Ellie so you know he got that stamina, Joel takes your virginity. LET ME KNOW IF I'VE MISSED ANYTHING. ||word count: 1.9k || follow @chaoticnotifs so you don't miss anything!||

authors note: This is so out of my normal and honestly I hope I did it justice! I know this isn't everyone's thing and that's okay! I personally pictured game Joel but that's just my preference. As always I love you all 🖤

“Will you please shut the fuck up?! All that goddamn talkin’ you’re doin, you’re gonna get us killed, Jesus Christ.” Joel barked as he turned on his heel, his rifle in hand. Joel promised your dad to keep you safe and while he has for a few years, it hasn’t been the easiest thing to do. You talked way too much for Joel’s liking but a promise was a promise.

“I’m just asking how much longer until we get to the tower…fuck me.” You grumble, annoyed at him for being so moody today. You were sweaty and tired, wanting to go back to the QZ in your little apartment you shared with Joel. He was over all your bullshit for today, sick of your smartass mouth just running and running without any repercussions.

“What’d you say t’me, little girl?” He snaps, the rifle falling to his side as his hand wraps around your throat and he pushes you into a tree trunk. The bark was hard against your back and scratched you, but it was nothing compared to the feeling you were having on your windpipe.

“N-nothing, Joel- nothing!” The words barely choked out of you, just enough for him to hear you beg.

“All you’ve been doin’ since we’ve been out here is talkin’ your pretty head off. What did I tell ya not even five minutes ago? Use that big girl voice since you wanna be big and bad.” Joels lips ghosted over the shell of your ear before he presses a rough sloppy kiss on your cheek. This was all so sudden, so new to you. No one has ever touched you like this, especially an older man like Joel. He was aggressive and mean, didn’t care about the fact his grip on your throat was tightening. He wasn’t in the mood to ask if any of this was okay with you, where his hands were quickly traveling to, none of it. Joel wanted to take what he wanted from you without you running your mouth.

A deep grumble erupts from Joel against your face, another sloppy kiss on your cheek while his tongue licks against your flesh. “Say it again, now.”

“I was just asking if we were close to the tower and-d that I was s-sorry-y!” You cried out, squirming under his touch trying to free yourself. With your back squished against the tree, there was nowhere to go. All you could do was plead and beg for him to let go and leave you be.

“What was that last part you’re leavin’ out, sweetheart?” The smirk on his face is so present in his tone you don’t even need to look at him. Joel’s freehand comes up your side, brushing against the bare skin peaking above your jeans. He could feel you trembling with fear and excitement. Joel knew you were still a virgin, he never let you out of his sight and always took the same work shifts as you so he could keep you close.

“I-ah shit- I said fuck me but I didn’t mean it like th-” Joels hand creeps up to your jaw and grabs it roughly, squishing your cheeks together and your eyes met his.

“Don’t care how you meant it sweetheart, planned on doin’ that anyway.” His smirk never faded and he without warning rips your jeans down, your panties tangled in them as the fabric bunches around your knees. The whimper that escaped your lips didn’t phase Joel as his hands wandered up your thighs to your slick covered cunt.

The guttural groan he let out rattled through your bones enough to make a chill run down your spine.

“Fuck are you so wet for, huh little one? Couldn’t control yourself could ya? Probably love the idea of being my playtoy while I take what I want and you’re beggin’ me to quit..but you know daddy won’t do that.” With his hand covering your mouth and squeezing tightly, your pleads were so muffled he could barely make out what you were saying.

Joel unbuckles his belt and pushes his pants to his ankles before he grabs you by the back of your neck and spins you around, forcing you against the tree once more as his hand pushes against the small of your back to make you arch for him. His hand reaches around your hips to dip down between your folds, rubbing harshly on your clit as the head of his cock nudged against your ass cheek.

You tried everything to pry his hand away from your mouth but he only squeezed tighter, growling at your attempts. “Might as well give up now, it’ll go over a lot better for you if you quit fightin’ me, sweet girl.” He mutters in your ear as he starts to ram his cock inside your entrance. He doesn’t let you get adjusted to him at all and the tears fall immediately down your cheeks. You cry out in pain, shoving his hips away from you but he doesn’t stumble back at all.

“Joel ple-ase it h-hurts” you murmur against his palm and he just chuckles as he begins to thrust inside you.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth before I fill it for you, am I clear? S’okay, you’re just a little virgin, don’t know what you like. I’ll teach you what you like, baby; trust me.” He scolded. It felt as if you were being shredded and ripped apart from the inside out with the way he was carving away at you.

The only manageable response you gave him was a distressed “yes d-addy” which was just enough to make his head toss back while his hips slam into yours so harshly, the faint slapping of your skins echoed around you.

He lets go of the grip he has on your mouth, a string of saliva following from your lips to his palm and he grabs onto your shoulders to keep himself steady. Joel doesn’t dare let you see how much he’s enjoying this; ruining you and taking every bit of last innocence you had. His jaw was clenched tightly to keep his grunts at bay but it was still audible how much he loved feeling you clench around him so tightly, hugging his cock for dear life. Soon enough your pain turned to pleasure and you were fucked out of your mind, gripping onto the tree truck and begging for him not to stop as the pressure built up in your tummy.

“I knew you’d be a tight little virgin but damn sweetheart..” he leans in close and his hand finds its way around your throat once more, yanking you against him, “..you’re gonna be so dickdumb by the time I’m through with you-ughh- you’ll be beggin’ for me to fill you full every goddamn second you’re awake.” Joel’s other hand cups your tit through your thin shirt, kneading away mercilessly as your nipples get stiffer against your bra.

“J-joel please..I..I’m gonna come..” you whine out, body trembling and making it harder to stand up on your wobbling legs. Suddenly your head is being yanked backwards by your hair and Joel’s lustful eyes meet yours, his jaw still clenched tightly.

“Don’t you dare come until I say so. Be a good pet for daddy, mkay? Stay jus’ like that f’me, right there. Oh fuck, baby..” He stops thrusting long enough to put you down on the ground and him right behind you, shoving your face into the dirt with your ass in the air. In no time he finds his rhythm again and gives your ass a firm smack with a chuckle following behind it.

Joel slips the tip of his thumb in his mouth, covering it in spit before he traces over your asshole and goes inside you, groaning loudly as he can feel his cock pumping in and out of you just from having his thumb in your ass.

It’s taking every ounce of control not to come on his cock and disappoint him even more than you already have tonight. With your legs squeezed together as hard as you can, it wasn’t enough to keep your mind off of having the best orgasm you have ever had.

Sure, you touched yourself all the time while Joel was asleep in the next room over back in the apartment, squirming and whimpering like a kitten as your mind wandered to Joel and ran images over your eyes that just made it so easy to come for yourself. This however was not what you imagined Joel would be like. You imagined he’d be sweet, wanting to make your first time feel special and all that stuff you watched in movies before the outbreak. He was none of that.

“You want me to break you in two and just make your world crumble, huh? You filthy little one. You’re my toy now, no one can save you from me.” He spat as his thrusts got sloppy and his grip on your hips got tighter, nails digging into your flesh.

With your body fighting itself to not orgasm, your tears spilled out of your eyes once more, breaths so deep you squeak every time you inhale.

“Cry all you want, brat. They don’t mean shit t’me.”

“Daddy, ple-ease let me come-oh, fuckkk- I- I can’t hold off m-much longer, plea-se I’ll be good, pleaseee.” Trying to speak through gritted teeth, you begged and pleaded trying to reason with him so you could finally release.

“Come on then, let that fuckin’ pussy come all over me. Let me feel what it's like to have a virgin fall apart on my cock and beg me not to fill them up.”

The evil tone was enough to send you reeling and your eyes rolled back tightly as you finally released that pressure you had to put off.

“What a good fuckin’ pet you are for Daddy. That’s ittt.” He purrs, slamming into your hips as he panted loudly.

Your body felt numb and you were still seeing stars, your ears ringing and his moans were so muffled you couldn’t do anything but jolt as the waves of your orgasm washes over you. Soon enough he rips is cock out of your entrance and you feel empty, already missing him inside you.

Joel grunts and cusses loudly as he paints a pretty picture on your asscheek with his cum.

You fall to your side and catch your breath while Joel goes soft in his hand, watching you as he tries to manage his own breathing.

“Maybe next time you’ll listen to me, won’t you baby?”

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carolmunson · 8 months

Text

because you were home.

the first entry of my fall frenzy extravaganza

this request comes in from @sweetsweetjellybean: "i would like to request watching a scary movie with steve and eddie that ends with 2 dicks one hole." summary: mildly inspired by 'the strangers' movie. steddie x reader. you and your two boyfriends watch a scary movie even though you hate them. a scary dream wakes you up to more than you bargained for, but they're happy to make up for it. (aka, carol tries some subtle horror/suspense writing for the first time ever!) cw: 18+, established throuple, dvp (double vaginal penetration), oral (f and m receiving), mmf threesome, pet names: angel, babydoll, sweetheart, etc., reader refers to eddie and steve as daddy/sir once or twice but its not like -- their dynamic -- not a dom/sub scenario (justice for steve being sir for once!), swearing, mild horror elements

“Ooh, shiii-hi-hit. Fuck that.” “What’s happening?” you ask, your voice muffled by Steve’s shoulder where your face had been planted for the last four minutes. “No matter how many scary movies I see, nothing creeps me out like this scene, man,” Eddie shakes his head, another handful of popcorn crunching into his mouth. “What. Is. Happening?” you ask again, frustrated at your own inability to just look – but you didn’t wanna miss out on the scare-factor.

“Nothing, baby,” Steve chuckles, warm and sweet. His big hand gives your bicep a comforting squeeze, running his palm slowly over the skin before he pulls you closer, “One of the weirdos is just standing there, nothing’s happening.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say nothing’s happening – it’s one of the most quietly suspenseful and unsettling scenes in modern horror,” Eddie argues while your head pops up. As soon as your eyes meet his, shining from the light of the TV in the living room, he grins – the one he always does when he’s about to be an asshole.

“Let me rewind it for you,” his smirk lingers when he reaches for the remote, “You can’t miss it – it’s like, niche horror iconography.”

“C’mon Ed, you know she doesn’t like it,” Steve’s defense almost feels patronizing, sinking in your chest even while his arm tightens around you, “She never wants to do movie night when it’s scary.” “No, it’s fine – I’ll just, I’ll watch it,” you sigh, eyes reaching the ceiling with a faux annoyed huff, “For the iconography.” “Atta girl,” Eddie rewinds while you climb over Steve to get between them. If the room hadn’t been so dark, you’d see Ed’s flush while you make yourself comfortable. Always a sucker for affection, he leans in close, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Bein’ so brave.” He starts the scene over again, a few minutes before, both of them scooching in next to you. You’re used to the heat now, the warmth of them near you, tied up between them. At first it was hard to balance it – who touches where, who holds what – but having them both became a waltz you danced well. The both of them easily knowing the rhythms of you and each other in healthy and decadent symbiosis. “Will you just – stay on the phone with me?” Liv Tyler’s voice booms through Steve’s surround sound, the dial tone humming loudly afterwards, “James? … James?” You let a breath out through your nose, watching her walk through the house on the screen, settling on lighting a cigarette before walking into the kitchen. She stands there for a moment before the screen cuts to a wide, you already feel sick. There’s no music, no sound, just Liv in the kitchen with darkness back behind her. With no warning, he appears, the man in the mask, in complete silence.

Your stomach drops, throat feeling tight when you watch him stand there watching her. You hardly feel soothed when he disappears, knowing it can only get worse from here. The killers are in the house.

Steve and Eddie see your face, the way your brows pull in, the way you shrink in on yourself. “Poor baby,” Steve soothes rubbing his hand on your back, “C’mere, I’ll protect you.” “You couldn’t outsmart these guys,” Eddie’s matter-of-fact tone makes Steve tense up, “Sorry. They’re in it for the thrill, man. They don’t care about your macho shit.” “That’s not reassuring,” you laugh, snuggling into Steve while Eddie lets his hand smooth over your thigh, “I need you both to protect me.” “Of course,” Eddie smiles, “We’d both keep you safe, for sure.” “For sure,” Steve nods, kissing the top of your head. Your hand creeps forward to lace your fingers with Eddie’s, still resting on your leg while the movie continues.

“James?” Liv says again on screen, heading to the drawer for a kitchen knife when a bang is heard somewhere off screen. You can’t help it, your face buries itself in Steve’s shoulder when the action picks up, doing your best to be brave and failing miserably. It’s not for nothing, your failure – they both have a great time laughing at you.

You’re pouty when the movie is over, the kisses aren’t helping for the first time in a while. There’s a general unease in your stomach – some horror was fine, but horror that could happen just didn’t compartmentalize as well. Your stomach sinks more when you see Eddie put his jacket on. “You’re not staying over with us?” you ask. Eddie’s shoulders sink while he shrugs on the leather, “Sorry baby, I have an early shift tomorrow. Gotta sleep at mine to be close to the garage. Why, you scared?” You nod, “Is that stupid?” “No,” he grins, “But you have Steve, he can protect you, too.” “You literally said he couldn’t outsmart them,” you try to laugh but it sounds more like a desperate plea, heart rate rising. “It’s a movie, honey,” Steve’s balmy voice soothing you while he comes back in the living room from cleaning up, “Just relax.” “You want the number one tension goblin to relax?” Eddie scoffs, “Good luck with that.” A kiss to both of your cheeks is Eddie’s last parting gift to you and Steve before he goes, the rev of his motorcycle being the only signal that he’s gone for the night. Steve’ burly tan arm wraps around your shoulder to lead you both back to the couch. “How about this,” he starts, pulling your legs over his lap, “We can watch something funny and then go to bed, s’that sound good for you?” You nod eagerly, shoulders loosening up while he flicks through the channel listings. “They have Austin Powers on TBS, you wanna watch that? It looks like they’re playing all of ‘em,” his amber eyes fall on you with a smile, rubbing your shin up to your knee. He changes the channel when you give him the okay, watching you snuggle in on the couch with tired eyes. It’s not long into the first movie that Steve’s nudging you to wake up so you can both go upstairs to bed.

You wake from a dream that makes your heart race in the bad way, losing the plot completely when your eyes open. The room is dark, only some light from Steve’s security cameras outside leaving shadows against the wall from the curtains.You turn and reach your arm out to shake Steve awake but you’re met with nothing but empty sheets, cooled down from the lack of a body there to warm them. You pout while your heart pounds, taking a few deep breaths to try to steady yourself to go back to sleep. He’s probably in the bathroom – but that thought makes you have to pee. With a sigh you get up, gingerly getting out of bed and scanning the room. Even though you fell asleep laughing to Mike Meyers the uneasy feeling in your chest never quite shook away. You pad down the hall to the bathroom, confused when you see that it’s empty. Maybe he went to get a drink or something in the kitchen. You do your business, leaving the bathroom and listening for Steve downstairs from the top of the staircase, peering down into the dark living room. It’s quiet. “Steve?” you call out.

Nothing.

The blue black of the dark house stares back at you, you swallow thickly. The pin pricks of fear that you woke up with creep down your neck and the top of your back, they sting up from the balls of your feet. You try to muster up the courage to call out again. “St-steve? You there?” you call out, your voice weak.

Nothing.

You take another breath, shakier than before. Maybe he’s using the half bath down stairs. You shake your head, rolling your shoulders and taking a step away from the staircase to go back to bed. Two steps in and your body is jolted by the blast of the stereo in the living room, the lights from the machine whirring on while music blares through the speakers. ‘My first lover, My first lover, He was tall and breezy with his long hair down. But it gets a little hazy when I think of it now…’

You run down the stairs to shut it off, certain the neighbors heard it, Your heart hammers in your chest, blood pounding in your ears while you slam the buttons and hold your hands to the cool machinery. You feel sick, bile creeping up your throat while you breathe in and out again.

“STEVE?!” you shout out, tears welling in your eyes, “Steve! This – this isn’t funny…”

But again.

With the music off.

Nothing.

You grab a heavy trophy from one of the shelves, a nationals first place from when Steve won the freestyle stroke in college – no one’s ever beat his PR. You inch through the living room, clicking on a lamp so the room illuminates in a hazy yellow glow. You grip the trophy, base upwards with the points of it at your eye level, arm at the ready. You creep slowly through the kitchen, clicking on the light over the oven, peering into the living room again and over your shoulder. No one. Nothing. You walk forward into the dining room, turning on the light, peering out from the sliding doors to the back yard. Nothing. You take a final breath. It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s just a movie.

Right?

CLANG!

You jump, attention toward the door to the garage in the back of the dining room. You raise the trophy again, mustering up the courage to go to the door. Through the small crack in the bottom you see the lights are on, you swallow again. With a final breath through the nose you clutch the door handle, wrenching it open – ready to swing.

“Woah there, champ,” Steve laughs, looking up from the side of his truck. He pulls off his over ear headphones and cocks his head, “Is that my swim trophy?” “Uh, yeah…” you respond sheepishly, lowering it down to your thigh. Your heart starts to steady, cheeks burning with embarrassed heat while he comes around from behind his truck. “Did I wake you up, honey? I’m sorry,” he says softly, wiping his hands off on a rag. He’s in his sleep shirt but back in his jeans, sneakers unlaced on his feet.

“No I –” you falter, feeling stupid and silly, “I had a bad dream and you weren’t there so like – I don’t know. Then the stereo turned on downstairs and I heard a bang so – why’re you in the garage?” “I forgot about my break pads – they’re swamped at the shop so I told Ed not to worry and I’d just do it myself,” he shrugs with a laugh, “Little harder than it looks but – can’t put her back on the road until she’s all set. Woke up in a cold sweat about it.”

“You um, didn’t hear me calling you?” you ask warily. “Had my headphones on, baby, my bad.” “And the stereo?” you urge, “It was like…really fucking loud.” “That was probably me by accident,” he assures, taking a tiny remote out of his back pocket, “I got the remote for the speakers in here too, so, must’ve sat on it. Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to.” “Just a lil’,” your shoulders droop, heat pricking your cheeks and chest. “Aw, I’m sorry,” he coos, coming toward you to put a sloppy kiss on your cheek, “I’m almost done, I’ll be back upstairs in a minute. Would you get me some water?” “Okay,” you chirp, taking a big breath before heading back into the house. You pad through the dining room and back into the kitchen, reaching over the sink to grab a glass from the cabinet. You let the cool water run over your fingers for a moment, chuckling at yourself for being so stupid while you place the trophy on the counter with a thud.

You fill the glass for yourself first, letting the chill of the water bring you back to center. You take a few sips, leaning against the counter and looking through the archways to the other rooms – sleepy looking with their warm low lights on. You always forget how cozy Steve’s house looks, especially in the fall. You snort, hearing Steve’s soft ‘Shit! Come on!’ from the garage after something else clangs to the ground. You down the rest of the water and turn again to refill it for Steve, humming the song from the stereo. You shut off the water when you feel like someone is watching you, unease brewing in your chest again. You turn around quickly, but no one is there, just the sound of Steve working in the background. Back to the sink you finish filling up the glass, looking up at the window above the counter. Your reflection looks back. You drop the glass, hitting the stainless steel with a shattering fall. Behind you, in the dark of the dining room, is exactly what you’d feared you’d see. Standing there. Idle. Watching you. A man in a mask. You freeze, sharp breaths puffing out of your nose, heart rattling in your chest. You shut your eyes tight and count to three, opening them again only to let out a blood curdling shriek at the reflection – he’s still there, just closer. You grab the trophy and turn around with abandon while Steve bursts in through the side door. “What’s happening, what’s going on?!” he asks, running in. “There’s – there’s there’s, there’s someone in the – in the house – in the house!” You gasp out in stuttering breaths, tears pouring down your face. “Who?! Whose in the house?!” he asks, brows raised, frazzled. “A man!” you screech, “The man! The man in the mask!” “Fuck, fuck,” Steve huffs, rifling into the drawer for a kitchen knife, “Stay here – stay right here and call the police.” You watch him walk toward the living room, “Steve don’t! Don’t! We have to g-get out!” “Baby – just call. The. Pol–”

“My first lover, My first lover, He was always talking tryin to bring me down, But I was not waiting for a white wedding gown...”

The music blares again, so loud it’s disorienting. You scream, eyes blurry with tears while you walk backward to the corner of the kitchen by the fridge where a house phone sits on the wall. Shaking you reach for it, watching as it clatters clumsily to the floor. “Are you calling?!” Steve asks, fear lacing his own voice while he slams the stereo off, “What the fuck is happening?!” “I’m c-calling!” you yell back, seeing him come back into the kitchen with his chest heaving. You reach down for the phone only to realize, to your horror, that the cord is cut, “I – baby I…” “Shit,” Steve huffs, “M-my phone, where’s my cell?” “Upstairs I – oh my fucking god,” you freeze, eyes big and glassy when you see him, the man in the mask. “Wh-what?” Steve asks, slowly turning around, “Oh fuck, fuck. L-look man, hey – I – I don’t want any trouble.” The man stands there, masked head tilting when he takes a step forward. “D-do you want money? Something? My car? Anything man – I swear.” The slow step becomes a full steam ahead, another screech pouring out of you while you see his gloved hand reach for Steve. You cover your head in your hands, shaking, wondering how you can make it from here to the garage unscathed – you brace for Steve’s broken scream.

But instead. A laugh. Two. Two laughs. Two very familiar laughs. “Why would I want your car when you can’t even fix the fuckin’ break pads?” Eddie’s muffled voice echos from behind the mask. He pulls it off, taking a breath, “Fuck, that things hot.” “I fixed them just fine,” Steve hisses in faux annoyance. “H-huh?” you look up with tear streaked cheeks, “Wh-what is this?” “Oh honey, we didn’t mean to scare you that bad,” Steve coos. “It’s just me, babydoll,” Eddie smiles, voice gentle, “It’s me.” “What the fuck?” you ask, still against the wall by the fridge with your heart hammering. “S’just a prank honey, we were just fucking with you,” Eddie says softly, taking a step toward you that makes you flinch, “Hey…you okay?” “No Ed, I’m not fucking okay,” you bark, “What is wrong with you? With both of you?” “We didn’t think you were gonna get so freaked out, angel,” Steve sighs, “I’m sorry. We’re sorry.”

“Are you mad?” Eddie pouts, putting the mask on the counter. “Yeah,” you nod, standing up, “I’m fucking mad. And I’m sure the neighbors are gonna call the fucking cops from all the screaming and yelling.” “Babe, hey, c’mon it was a joke,” Steve’s shoulder slump when you brush past him, “Let’s just get cozy upstairs, okay? We can all go to bed.” “Fuck you,” you huff, stomping up the stairs, “Both of you.”

They follow you like puppies up the stairs, closing in on you when you make it back into the bedroom. Soft apologies and kisses to your cheeks, surrounded by them – their hands, their hair, their scent. Slipping around you like snakes, but sweet – anything to hypnotize you out of how mad you are. “Don’t be so pouty,” Steve coos, peeling off his shirt, “You’re okay, we won’t do it again.” “We’ll never do it again, I promise,” Eddie mumbles into a kiss by your ear, already down to his boxers, “We’re awful, we’re so awful.” Your knitted brows and sour pout stick while they do their best to get you to break, but it’s not until Eddie’s lips catch on that spot just below the hinge of your jaw that you let out a soft gasp. “There she is,” Eddie smirks into the next flick of his tongue and graze of his teeth, teasing the spot until your face relaxes. “C’mon,” Steve whispers, tugging your t-shirt over your head, “Let us make it all better, hm?”

“Lay down, sweetheart,” Eddie encourages while you get to the edge of the mattress. The comforter was still in the mess you left it in when you woke up from your dream. Despite your anger you do as he asks, not protesting while he slips your shorts and panties off without a second of hesitation.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he smirks, “Just how you like it.”

Your thighs part for him on their own accord, barely waiting a second before his mouth makes contact with your already slick center. You whimper and Eddie smiles into your cunt, slurping around your clit to get you stimulated quickly. Can’t be mad if you can’t think straight.

“Mmm, Ed like that,” you whine out, hips rolling up against his mouth.

“Already so wet for us, sweet thing,” he brags in a low voice, “Maybe you like bein’ scared.”

“No I – uhn…mmm…”

Eddie’s first two fingers slip in with little resistance, coaxing soft needy moans out of you with each pump, each soft tease of his tongue. He lets out a dreamy sigh while your legs pull up to your chest, revealing more of yourself to him. He busies his mouth while looking over the expanse of your body, watching Steve lean in to kiss you. Your hand entwines in Eddie’s hair, scratching at his scalp softly while he wraps his arms around your thighs. He could eat you all night. “I know you’re not kneeling closer to me so I’ll suck you off,” you stare up at Steve in disbelief. “I uh…well,” Steve bites his lip, redness building on his cheeks. He looks down at you, kneeling by your face on the mattress with his cock in his hand, stroking slowly. His chain glints in the low light from the sconces above the bed, catching in his chestnut hair – too handsome, it was unfair. “You want me to suck your dick after all that? You think you deserve it?” you ask, eyes rolling when Eddie’s fingers curl up against you – letting out a sinful moan.

“Well when your mouth hangs open like that,” Steve chuckles coolly. He leans down again to capture you in a kiss, stroking himself while he does. He nuzzles your nose when he breaks away, “You wanna sit on my face?” Your breath catches, nodding eagerly. “M’kinda in the middle of something,” Eddie says from between your thighs. “Well you can be in the middle of somethin’ else, Munson,” Steve grins while you change positions to him lying on his back. Your legs straddle over him, ass in his face while you look down the rest of his body. Steve pulls you down firmly, tongue gliding between your folds in a slow back and forth at first, pushing his face in it. You yelp when he flicks his tongue over your swollen, sensitive clit; thighs twitching while he finds his rhythm. “Hmm, you’re close, aren’t you?” Steve teases while pulling away for air.

“Y-yes sir,” you sigh back, hips bouncing gently against his mouth for more friction.

Eddie pulls his boxers off, tossing them on the floor and reaching for a forgotten scrunchy on Steve’s dresser to pull his hair back. He crawls back onto the bed, giving you a soft kiss, “You look so pretty right now.”

“Thank you,” you whisper against his full pink lips, kissing him back. You lean down with him, watching as he kisses Steve’s stomach, right by his happy trail, taking his cock in his ringed hand. A glob of spit falls from his mouth, working Steve’s shaft with a precision only another person with one could have.

Steve groans into your pussy, louder when Eddie takes the tip in his mouth. Your mouth waters against your better judgment, body betraying you when you lean forward onto your hands to meet Eddie at Steve’s cock. You kiss again, both tongues flicking together over Steve’s swollen head making him whimper between your legs. You both let your lips graze his length, leaving wet kisses in their wake before Eddie takes over again. You gather his curls so you can watch him, the visual sending you right over the edge when he starts to touch himself in time.

“Good girl,” Steve coos softly, evidence of your orgasm on his chin while you shimmy off his face.

Eddie comes back up with a breathy smile, hazily letting them direct you while Steve pushes up to sit against the pillows propped up on the head board.

“Think you should get filled up, pretty girl,” Steve says softly, “You wanna?”

You nod, straddling Steve, letting his hands skate over the tops of your thighs while you let yourself sink down onto him. His head thuds back against the headboard, eyes closing when your walls snuggly fit around him – warm and wet.

“Think you can do both?” he asks, pulling you in so you’re chest to chest.

Your brow quirks, “We do that all the time.” “No, no, baby,” Eddie smirks, coming up behind you, “Both of us in the same place.” Your head turns around, looking down at Eddie’s length in his hand, thinking about how thick Steve is inside you already while he thrusts up lazily. “S’not gonna fit,” you hesitate. Eddie kisses your shoulder, “I think we can fit, just keep bouncin’ on Steve for me.” “You like to watch?” you wink while looking back at him, finding a cadence that makes the fat of your ass shake.

“You know I do,” he replies, voice low and gravely – it hits the pit of your stomach. Steve signals Eddie to come forward, crawling up over one of his thighs. “You can do it, babe,” Steve encourages, holding you in place, “You’re already soaked.”

You feel him push in, one hand on your lower back while the other guides his length to aid in pressing over Steve. You let out a low groan, sweat beading at your hairline while your eyes nearly cross from the stretch. Your brows pinch together, mouth hanging open in that desperate way that makes Steve primal with need. “Ooh, does that feel good, baby? Does it feel good?” he asks, voices light and sing-songy. “Y-yeah, oh – oh fuck -” you huff when Eddie does a slow practice thrust, to see where you’re both at. Eddie moans once he finds the pace, unforgiving fingers clutching you for balance. Steve chuckles at your face, forefinger and thumb reaching under your chin to press into your cheeks. “F-fuck I’m so…I’m so, sssooo…” “Sssoooo full. That’s right, so full, aren’t you honey?” he grins, mocking you now with a little shake to your face, “Look at you. You like that? You like gettin’ filled up like this?” “Yeah,” you whine while Eddie starts a steady pace, both men grunting at the pleasure of you tightening around them. The slide of themselves against each other makes Steve’s breath hitch when his hips cant upward in time.

“Shit, Ed,” Steve grunts, fingertips sinking into your hips. He huffs a laugh, shaking his head while he presses a wet kiss to your neck, “Fuck.” “Yeah? S’my dick nice, pretty boy?” Ed winks down, hand entwining in your hair at the root while the other cruelly grips you at the waist. You’ll feel that grip tomorrow, both of them – party favors for the pleasure you’re feeling now. Steve nips at your neck, listening to your panting, your whines – at this rate you look like you don’t even know your own name. You start to falter, leaning down into him while your arms give out, face finding home in the crook of his neck and the dying scent of his cologne. “Hey, you still mad at me?” Eddie asks breathily. Your scalp screams in a delicious sting when he pulls you up by your hair, back arching deep to make you face him. You struggle against it at first, tilting your head down to look at Steve whose tongue has flicked out to tease one of your nipples. “Look at daddy, honey,” he chastises in a low heated tone, teeth grazing the hardened bud, “Look up at daddy.” Eddie’s laugh is low, bubbling from his tummy when you finally relent, leaning your neck back to look at him. Even upside down he’s pretty – hair falling mostly out of the scrunchy he stole, leaving messy curls wild around his face. “You still mad at me, babydoll?” he grunts out, “You still mad?” His free hand reaches around to cup your jaw, leaning in to give you a hungry kiss. He growls into it, pumping deeper in short thrusts. A choked moan pours out of you when they move in tandem, Steve sliding out while Eddie slides in. “Aw, you don’t look mad,” he taunts. Another kiss before his face hovers over yours, grinning, pleased with himself, “You look so gone, holy shit.”

“M’n-not m-mad anymore, daddy,” you nearly cry, voice tight, “Fuck – harder.” “Harder?” his brow quirks, “You hear that Steve? She wants it harder.” “Yeah, I heard her,” he grunts, “Give her back to me.” Eddie lets go of your hair without a thought, dropping you into Steve’s chest like a rag doll. He props you up above him, his big hand around your jaw this time while Eddie keeps both his tight on your waist for leverage. With as much strength as you can muster you hold yourself up on your forearms, limply bouncing forward with each thrust. “You want it harder, pretty girl?” Steve asks, looking up at you – his own eyes are blown, completely flushed from double the pleasure. ��Pl-please,” you huff, “Please, sir.” “Hmm, you know I like when you say that,” he grins, “Ask again.” “Please fuck me harder, sir,” your eyes roll when you feel Eddie’s chest against your back, both of them closing in on you. “So good,” Steve breathes, “That’s a good girl.” You feel the tickle of Eddie’s curls on your shoulder while he leans over you to get to Steve, wrapping a hand in his auburn hair to pull him up for a deep kiss. You listen to them, watching while their eyes flutter closed, pace picking up inside you while their tongues fight each other for dominance – ending in heated smiles, always a draw. Nose to nose they watch each other, your face to the side on Steve’s chest.

“Spread her open for me, Harrington,” Eddie mumbles against his lips, leaning in for another greedy kiss before making the move to push up off your back. Steve pulls him back down eagerly, bicep flexing while he holds Eddie by the back of the head for another searing kiss, “Spread her open, huh? Like you do for me?” “Shut up,” Ed flushes, biting his lower lip while he looks down at him before pressing his lips to your cheek and pushing up. He holds you in place with one hand on the dip between your neck and shoulder, the other grazing down to your upper back. Steve hands slide down to your ass, gripping hard to spread you open from the bottom. With a little more space, Eddie’s pace quickens, your breaths punching in scattered rhythm when Steve plants his feet on the mattress to fuck up into you. “Ohmygod, oh my god fuck,” you cry out, “I c-can’t I’m gonna…oh fuck, I’m so – I’m so close don’...don’stop please.” “That’s it angel,” Steve encourages, “You’re doin’ so good.” “So good, baby,” Eddie adds on gruffly, “Really t-takin’ it.” Steve let’s go of one ass cheek to cup your face, thumb tracing over the supple skin in welcome gentleness. You lean down in a tired slump, lips marrying his – the mint of his mouthwash still on his tongue when it slides into your mouth. He groans through it, hips stuttering – adding more rigid stimulation against his cock while they both thrust deep inside you. You nearly go dumb when they both hit the same spot, clamping down over both of them while you see white. Tears well in your eyes while they fuck you through it, babbling like you’re possessed when the pleasure teeters on becoming too much past your orgasm. “Sh-shit oh, angel that’s it – fuck that pussy’s so..mmm -fuck,” he grunts, pressing his hips up against you while you feel him spill inside.

“Oh god,” Eddie whimpers out, the warmth from Steve’s release coating over his cock, making it slicker. Steve eases out, kissing you passionately while you suddenly feel empty without them both stretching you to the brim. “Get on your back for me, sweetheart,” Eddie instructs, soft and needy, “Wanna see you.” They gently get you on your back, back to soft kisses and touches like before. Eddie can tell you’re already two deep, not wanting to get you past the point of feeling good – and you’re close. “Can you take some more?” he asks, running his knuckles over your cheek, “It’s okay if you can’t.” “I can do it,” you rasp out, chuckling a little, “I’m very brave.” Eddie laughs, caging you in under him with Steve pressed to your side, “So brave, babydoll.” “I’ll go slow,” he nuzzles into your neck, bangs brushing against your ear, “M’still sorry.”

The three of you lay there under the sheets, collecting your breaths on the come down. Steve’s fingers are laced with yours while he lays on his stomach, Eddie’s hand rests on your waist while he lays on his side. “I have to pee,” you frown into the quiet. “Go pee,” Steve murmurs, half asleep into the pillow. “I can’t.” “Why?” Steve’s eyes open. “I’m too scared,” you whine, “I don’t wanna go by myself in the dark.” Steve lets out a famous Harrington sigh, “Do you need me to come with you?” “And do what? Yell at me to call the police if something bad happens?” Eddie giggles, stretching out on the bed, “She’s got a point Harrington.” “Eddie’s right, they’d outsmart you so fast,” you shrug, “Will you both come with me?” “Yeah,” they huff in unison, shuffling out of the covers and lazily finding their bottoms on the floor. They lead you down the hallway, feeling much better with both of them flanking your sides. And it helps of course, that they turned all the lights on.

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

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