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heartpascal · 11 months

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is it freedom?

▹— spiderverse (future) found family x platonic!reader

▹— summary: after losing everything, you struggle to accept the one thing you needed all along.

▹— a/n: ok i have been enabled by exactly two (2!) people. (thank you both) SO dare i start a spiderverse series??? IF YALL WANT MORE OF THIS… I WILL DO IT. this is really just a set up thing idk but i feel like arachnid has potential for further parts and ACTUAL found family!! also haven’t tagged people on my general taglist bc idk if you guys want to be tagged in ALL works or just all pedro works :(

▹— warnings: slight across the spiderverse spoilers, not really found family yet, injuries, blood, treating own injuries, stitches, fighting (canon-typical violence yall), dead parents (mentioned a LOT), a whole lot of angst (it’s a spider-person so what do we expect), reader has a whole lot of bad thoughts, loneliness, isolation

masterlist PART TWO

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Had you known what this, this thing, would lead to, you would have never started it. Not that you had done so purposely, at least to begin with, more so happening as an event of pure chance. You were in the right place at the right time, and since then, you had been addicted.

But if you could go back, look at yourself just a year younger than you are now, tell that kid what would come if you went through with saving a life for the first time, you wondered. It was a question that scratched deep in your brain, sending you off balance the more you thought about it; would you have still done it? Would you have saved that person’s life, knowing it would lead to your own falling apart?

You would like to think yes. In fact, you know that back then, when your eyes were bright at the prospect of helping people, when you still marvelled at the world like it was good, you would have been certain that it would be worth it. Why should that person die, just to save you? It’s a harrowing realisation. A conclusion that makes your fingers tremble, your voice shake. Now, you’re not sure you would do it. You don’t think you could bear to face that decision knowing what you know of the world around you now.

It’s something cruel, really, that the spider that bit you gave you these powers, and nothing to go back and fix your mistakes. Your perceived victories. Your losses.

But the worst has already happened, and the only one left to die is you, so you carry on. You don the suit every day, you sew up your own injuries on the top floor of the abandoned offices that you’ve claimed as your own. Each day, you wake when you choose, you sleep when you want to, and you work yourself down to your very bones with nobody to object.

The hollow feeling in your gut is a pain you have no choice to ignore, to smother with assurances that this is freedom. What else could it be? You do whatever you so please, you spend your time swinging through the streets of New York rather than doing schoolwork at home, you eat all the junk you could ever have wanted.

It’s freedom. It has to be.

You tell yourself that you don’t miss the home part of having to do schoolwork, promise your heart that you don’t miss home-cooked meals as opposed to greasy food that leaves you unsatisfied. You swear that you like having nobody to tell you what to do. There’s no other choice, after all.

And each day, when you spend a little bit longer out on the streets, getting yourself into needless fights that the police could certainly handle, you tell yourself it’s because you’re protecting the city. You convince yourself that it’s not because of having an unending rage to satiate, or a permanent feeling of breathlessness when you leave police to handle anything, as if you could relive the moment your father, the captain, was left to handle something he couldn’t.

So, you’re almost relieved by the appearance of something… strange. Something dangerous. This is what you live for — this is your job.

You crouch against the wall, fingers splayed and suit itching where you had crudely sewn it back together across your ribs at an almost too-close call. You hold your breath, you watch. The lenses over your eyes shield your sensitive sight from the harshest colours of this new opponent, who looks almost… unreal. Too different to be a part of reality. He yells out, seemingly glitching? A distorted scream of what is apparently pain, accompanied by flashes of colour that are unfamiliar to you.

“Well, that doesn’t look good.” You comment, eyebrows raised beneath your mask, and the strange looking guy snaps his head towards you, long hair slapping across the goggles over his eyes. He bares his teeth at you, something almost resembling a grin marring his face.

“Spider-man!” He yells triumphantly, cackling as he wipes the hair away from his face, tendrils unfurling from behind his back and lifting him into the air.

“Not quite!” You call back, dodging below the metallic arm that shoots towards where your head was, crumbling through the wall. You try to think back to the jokes you used to tell to rile up whoever you were facing, but find your mind is blank. Instead, all you can think of is questions. “Where the hell did you come from, anyway?”

The man follows you as you spring from wall to wall, heading towards the center of the building where it tunnels up for about forty floors, balconies overlooking the fountain below. “A new spider, eh? Well I’ll take you down just as easily as I have the other!” He tells you, though you’re immediately suspicious of his statement. You’re the only Spider-related hero around, and even if you weren’t, you doubt this guy could squash a worm, let alone you.

“Sure thing, man.” You say, sighing, already exhausted by the repetitiveness that comes with every fight. Your opponents always say they’ll beat you, kill you, squish you, take you down, and yet you always get back up at the end of the fight, and they always remain defeated. When you started doing this, you never would have thought you’d get so tired from winning all the time.

And yet here you are, slipping further and further up the building with the octopus-looking guy chasing after you, metal arms crumbling walls and bannisters on his way up. He falters once more, another one of those glitch-like movements sending him down a few floors, but he’s quick to recover. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy.

You crouch down on one balcony, somewhere around the thirty mark floor-wise, peering down at the guy as he shakes lingering pain from his body. He charges upwards, aiming to reach you quickly with an almost predatory smirk on his face. Before he can even get close to you, however, you’re back on the move, setting a trap for him that he doesn’t even seem to notice.

It’s only when a group of late workers emerge on what you’re pretty sure is the twenty-first floor that you become more anxious about this fight. You don’t like when civilians are involved.

There’s about a dozen of them crowding the balcony, looking up to where you’re facing off with octopus-man above, some having begun to descend the stairs to the next floor before catching on to your presence. You try not to draw attention to them, but their pointing and whispering sets the Spidey-sense off, ringing loudly between your ears, almost deafening in its intensity. Maybe you underestimated this guy. The flash of a camera sends the last hope of him not noticing down the drain, and he grins at you as he switches targets, climbing down towards them with some semblance of caution.

You’re much faster than he is, dropping down and using a web to catch yourself rather than having to climb. It’s hard to stop yourself from yelling at them, cursing them out for being so damn foolish — who in their right mind would stick around a very dangerous fight to take pictures?

Instead, you choose to yell, “Get out! Go, go, go.” And usher them down the stairs, but it’s not difficult to realise that this guy is going to get to them before they manage to descend to the bottom. You shouldn’t be surprised, really. Nothing is ever as simple as it could be, not for you.

The split second decision to drop down and form a net-like web low enough to catch the workers worked out for you in the end, as you swung back up and pushed the workers off of the balcony and stairway just as the octopus man was reaching them. He cursed at you, refocusing his efforts on you as you vaguely noted the workers clambering down after their screaming had stopped. Honestly — did people really have so little faith in you? Had you ever sent anybody to their death before?

“You are just as pesky of an insect as Spider-man!” He growled out, teeth gritted, and came after you with renewed force. He kind of reminded you of that doctor you faced not long after getting your powers, but this guy looked completely different. The doctor you faced — aptly named Doc Ock — had turned himself into some form of a mutant, he had reinforced tentacles which sprouted from his back. Was this guy some kind of copy cat? Maybe he was just delusional.

“I don’t know who Spider-man is, man!” You shout to him as you ascend the building again, trying to figure out the best way to take this guy down. His tentacles seem electronic, so surely you could disable whatever machinery resides on his back?

“That’d be me.” A voice came from above you, two floors ahead of your position. Your head snapped towards it, seeing a man in a blue and red suit, framed by a burst of orange behind him. He didn’t linger up there long, instead moving to leap down to the guy who had turned his attention to the new guy. The closer you looked at this new guy, the more similarities you saw to yourself — his webs looked remarkably similar to your own, the pattern that went across his suit matched your own, even the wide white lenses that shielded your eyes on your mask. Who the hell was this guy?

The octopus man grinned widely, shaking greasy hair from his face. “Ah, finally! The real Spider-man. Got yourself a new protégé, I see.” He drawled, dodging this new guy’s hit straight off of the bat. You tried not to get annoyed at being referred to as a protégé, considering as far as you were aware, you were the only Spider-person around. Where was this guy when you were holding a bridge full of civilians together? Where was he when you took down villain after villain, never once failing to get the guy? No — you were the real Spider-man, if anyone.

“I don’t know who you are, man, but I’m handling this just fine.” You call to the guy, swinging down to rejoin the fight, webbing the villain’s metal tentacles to the wall behind him, before dropping down to kick him towards the wall.

“Oh, so you know how to send this guy back to his own dimension?” Spider-man asks you, eyebrows raised beneath his mask, and as if on cue, the guy glitches once more, ripping his arms away from the wall and just about catching himself on a balcony below before he could fall into your net.

You gape at the new guy, glancing back up to where the burst of orange remains opened, and is that a portal? Is this Spider-man from another dimension? Is that why you’ve never heard of him before? God, if your mother was alive, she’d kill to find out about this. Inter-dimensional travel was something she had spent her life researching. If you didn’t remain so bitter toward her even after her death, you might’ve been sad she wasn’t alive to see this.

But you were bitter, and it made the experience all the worse.

Because you’re pretty sure that that bitterness takes the place of grief within you. It’s hard to understand why you crave to feel that pain, that grief, as opposed to the aching resentment that floods you with the thought of her. It’s such a sharp contrast to thinking of your father, your kind father, the man who threw himself into a battle he couldn’t have hoped to survive, just on the off chance he could save somebody. You hope you take after him.

“Wait— you’re from another dimension?” You question anyway, eyes flickering between the battle and the looming portal above. In fact, you’re so distracted by finding out about that tidbit of information that you miss octopus man aim a tentacle for you, and it snatches you around the ankle. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me—!”

The man waves you around like some kind of rag doll, and you try not to be too bitter about being caught off guard. You should probably learn that getting caught up in your little pity party always ends up badly, always distracts you from that renowned Spidey-sense. You formulate a plan in your mind when the drip of blood around your ankle draws your attention back to the battle at hand.

You web the wall opposite and hold on tight, pausing the movements and letting the dizziness that had come over you fade away. The man growls out in annoyance, and gets closer to cut the webs with another tentacle, which is exactly what you planned for. The tension from the webs launches you towards him when you let go, and in his surprise, the metal tentacle releases you. You wrap around him, and start webbing up the machinery embedded in his back as Spider-man distracts most of the tentacles, keeping them from pulling you off.

His tentacles start faltering, clearly not obeying his movements, and you wrap them up where they emerge from his back, continuing along until the movement is so limited that he has to use them all to clutch onto the nearest balcony.

You crawl up the tentacles in the very same spidery manner that you’re known for, and crouch, watching the octopus man struggle as Spider-man observes from the balcony opposite. “You wanna finish this one off, Spider-man?” You ask, unable to hide any bitterness from your tone at his mostly unhelpful actions throughout the battle.

“Hey, not bad!” He praises, and it annoys you. You’re good at what you do — for the most part. You manage without help constantly, and that’s the way you prefer it. “You’d make a good addition to the Spider Society!”

Now, you don’t know what the Spider Society is. But honestly? You don’t care. You don’t need help, and you prefer working alone, and you certainly don’t like feeling patronised.

“Whatever, man. Just send him back to whatever dimension he came from.” You tell the guy, and drop down as you hear sirens outside, landing on your injured ankle and just about stopping yourself from cursing. Through all the adrenaline and fighting, you’d forgotten about the way the metal had ripped into your skin, drawn blood. It’s just be another place you’d have to sew up your suit with itchy, uneven stitching. “Officers,” You greet as they open the doors, guns drawn, radios murmuring. “All taken care of. Civilians okay?”

“Shaken up, but fine.” The leading police officer says, immediately relaxing and holstering his weapon. You wish it reassured you that the police trusted you now, but it didn’t. Nonetheless, the other officers follow suit. “Thank you, Arachnid.”

The name your world has bestowed upon you has yet to grow on you, but you nod your head regardless, and salute them as you make your way out, swinging across the city, trying to put the existence of the multiverse and inter-dimensional travel out of your mind. Surprisingly, it’s pretty easy when you have a busted ankle to fix up.

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You’re halfway through stitching up your suit, having already sewn your skin back together with as much skill as you possessed in the matter — which was, not much. But the bleeding has stopped, and your stupidly slow healing will take care of it within a few days. You know that the itchy stitches on your suit will just irritate the injury, and though you wouldn’t lose anything if your identity was revealed, it doesn’t feel right to go out into the city with any part of you on show.

No, you wear the suit for a reason. You keep every part of yourself covered because nobody can know it’s you underneath the suit. Not because you had anything to lose, no, you had already lost everything. It was because then you could never make a mistake, you would have to be absolutely perfect, flawless, to make up for the fact that it was you underneath the layer.

So, you settle with a sewn suit that will itch and make the stitches on your ankle sting.

However, when there’s a burst of orange across the room, you have no choice but to forgo the suit, to simply drop the needle and thread and hover your fingers over your web shooters. You wait, nervously, for some other villain to appear. You’re not sure if Spider-man appearing would be better or worse.

But when a foot steps through the portal, it’s nobody familiar. In fact, it’s a suit you have never seen before, made up of dark blues and bright reds, sharp edges and long claws. It’s… unnerving, and considering the silence coming from the person wearing it, you’re not entirely certain of what they’re here for.

A moment later and another person steps through, a woman, with bright yellow lenses across her eyes that filter her irises into an amber. She steps forward, standing beside the person who had stepped through first, and if she hadn’t showed up, you would’ve been tempted to attack. With that being said, you remain on edge, but there’s something… comforting about her presence. Like her presence softens the man’s jagged edges.

She says your name, and then adds, “Arachnid.”

You furrow your brows and curse as you glance back at the suit so crudely laid out on the floor. Still, it doesn’t explain how she knows your name. Was it an inter-dimensional thing?

“Spider-man told us about your work in capturing Doc Ock earlier.” She tells you, as if that explains their presence. You did what you were supposed to do, which was take out the bad guys. “We’re here to offer you a place in the Spider Society.”

You can’t help but wonder if this is some kind of good cop, bad cop thing. She presents an offer which doesn’t sound too bad, and then her sharp-edged companion presents all the drawbacks and the catches. They don’t seem like the type to take no for an answer, either way. You still don’t even know what this Spider Society was! Was it some kind of multi-dimensional cult?

“I already told Spider-man that I wasn’t interested in joining whatever cult you’ve got going on.” You practically hiss, though you didn’t exactly tell him in such blatant words. You were more dismissive earlier, so you’d have to be clear now.

“It’s not a cult,” The man speaks, voice harsh and sharp much like the blades that branch from his forearms. “We work to protect the multiverse from anomalies that threaten to destroy it.”

The woman glances at him in a way that you translate as being vaguely annoyed, like he wasn’t approaching you in the way she had wanted him to. “He means to say that it’s a big job, and we need all the help we can get.” She says, softer, but only in comparison to the man’s harshness. “Listen, kid, you’re good at what you do. We need that kind of talent.”

“You’ll have to find it somewhere else.” You say firmly, because why would you want to leave your universe? This was a lot to think about when you had only learned of the multiverse existing mere hours ago. Regardless, you weren’t about to abandon your city just to go across the multiverse to help other heroes who couldn’t keep a leash on their own villains.

The two of them shared a look, a mere glance, before the woman heaved a sigh. “Look,” She sighed, heavily, like whatever she was about to say was something she didn’t want to be voicing. “Before you make your choice, you should know, your Green Goblin is currently terrorising another universe.”

You couldn’t work out if this was some kind of recruitment tactic, or something. That just wasn’t possible. You had put Gwen Stacy in the highest security prison after all antidotes to her goblin-tech failed. She was stuck in there — permanently. There was no way she had gotten out, let alone gotten out to another universe.

…Right?

It’s hard not to think of the memories at the mention of her—Green Goblin, not Gwen Stacy. Never Gwen Stacy. You wonder if this is where your fear comes from, the terrifying fact that you are remembered only for your mistakes. Because before she was the Green Goblin, she was Gwen. She was everything to you. She was the sun you orbited, the stars that charted your path. And it hurts, it hurts that you can only remember the blood and the dust and the destruction when you think of her.

People aren’t born as monsters, are they?

Like the spider that bit you, that invertebrate that so many fear, it was born the way it was. It was born with those fang-lined maws, with those eight legs and dozens of eyes. It was made into the monster it became, artificially crafted to deliver a venom that changed you forever. But it wasn’t born that way.

Surely, Gwen wasn’t either. She was kind. You remember that about her. You can remember her soft hands that used to hold your own, the loud laughter that always ended in a snort when she laughed at her own jokes, the gentle eyes that stared into your very soul. But those eyes are the very same ones that let her see through your mask, let her see exactly where to hit you to make it hurt. Was that what she was born as? Or is that what she was made into? A killer. A monster.

“Show me.” You say, because what else could you possibly respond? If what they’re saying is true, if the Green Goblin is loose once more, then people will die.

You can’t let her get fresh blood on her hands. Not when somewhere, deep inside your chest, so far down it’s almost unreachable, you have hope for her. You have an innate desire to look for the best in her, even when the Gwen you knew was the first life that the Green Goblin took.

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If there’s one thing you’ve taken from being Arachnid, it’s to expect the unexpected. And you go through the orange portal after Jessica Drew and Miguel O’Hara with that exact mindset about you, staring at where an orange watch-like device is wrapped around your wrist.

It’s in your nature to be suspicious, and these people weren’t an exception to that.

In fact, their presence only heightened that behaviour. After all, what were you to expect from two Spider people, who supposedly came to you for your help?

You weren’t blind, you saw the aged lines of their faces the moment you got close enough to see them clearly, away from the dim lighting of the building. They were adults, adults who had clearly been doing this type of thing a lot longer than you had. You, who was barely bordering on adult, who had fought enough battles already to last a lifetime — so why would they need you?

It didn’t feel right.

And when this Miguel person summoned Lyla the moment you walked through the portal, it felt all the more wrong. She was a hologram of some kind, much higher tech than the kind of thing you saw on your earth. But then again, you had never really been in high tech labs back in your earth. Still, it unsettled you. “Lyla, get me the location of Green Goblin, Earth 5011.” He commanded, and they argued in hushed voices for a moment, before a wider hologram appeared, stamped at Earth 3899.

“How did she get to another universe?” You ask, then, because it doesn’t make sense, and you’re shaking underneath the thin material of your suit. You’re hyper aware of each drag of stitching against the wound on your leg, each patch of fabric you had sewn on in hopes of the suit lasting you just a little longer, because you didn’t have the resource to produce a new one.

“It’s an anomaly.” Jessica Drew tells you, her tone softer than you’d heard it, as if she was attempting to reassure you in some way.

It didn’t help. But how could it? The last time you had faced Gwen Stacy—Green Goblin— you had lost so much. It had been the beginning of the end of everything good in your life. The explosion she had caused at your mother’s laboratory was the very same one that killed her, the very same explosion that sent you and your dad miles apart all while living in the same home. And still, you found a way to hope that there was something to salvage within Gwen.

But not only had you lost your mother, and not long after — your father, you had also lost your closest friend. The one person you had confided in, who knew you from your surface to the deepest level, and she had used that against you the moment the Goblin had taken over.

It had taken everything in you to beat her, back then.

And that was on home turf! How did these people expect you to do that a second time, in a completely unfamiliar place?

“Specifics aren’t important right now. Jessica, you take Arachnid. Lyla, send another one of the teams.” Miguel instructed, dismissing your questions right off the bat. It was frustrating. They were leaving you completely in the dark, and sending you to fight the worst enemy you had ever faced, and they were sending you alongside others like you from different universes. It was like asking you to bare your soul in front of them, to reveal your secrets, your deepest regrets, everything that you wanted to stay buried.

You knew Green Goblin. You knew that’s exactly what she would do. She would undermine you, she would lay your life out in front of you like tiles on a scrabble board. In the end, none of it amounted to much.

Jessica Drew made her way out, glancing at you and nodding for you to follow along. Your moment of hesitation had drawn Miguel’s attention, and he called out to you after a moment of hesitation. “We’ve all faced one like it, kid. It’s easier with others.” He told you, though he held a pained expression on his face all the while. Instead of admitting to the way he had hit the nail right on the head, you simply nodded and followed after Spider-woman.

It was a whirlwind from there.

Meeting up with others. Travelling the length of the so-called Lobby to wherever it was that Jessica was taking you. When you finally arrived, she offered an empty glass box with a mannequin inside, bare. She gestured towards it like it should’ve been self explanatory, but soon realised she’d have to spell it out for you.

You shouldn’t have been so upset by the offer of a new suit.

But you were.

This suit was your life. You had nothing outside of it, not anymore. You couldn’t just throw it away, as if it meant nothing, as if every rip and patch and wonky stitch didn’t mean anything. These were proof that what you were doing was real, that it was worth something. Each stitch proved you had value. You weren’t about to throw all of that away, especially for whatever overly technical suit these people would provide.

You had everything you needed.

And so Jessica led you to the next destination: Earth 3899.

The moment you stepped through the portal, it was like you were hit with a wave of familiarity. And not in a positive, slightly nostalgic way, no— this was chaos. This was the state your world had been in when Green Goblin ran riot, unchecked. She had torn apart buildings, blown up parks, she had set New York City aflame. And she was doing exactly the same here.

It was more contained here than it had been on your earth, and you had to assume that was thanks to the Spider-man already on site, coordinating police, ambulance and fire responses to douse the fires as quickly as she set them. If only the police in your city had trusted you so much, back then.

“Where is she?” You ask, the moment you get close enough to speak to the resident Spider-man of the universe. He looks at you as if you’re familiar, but doesn’t comment, instead just pointing a finger toward a skyscraper just a short way ahead. You’re gone the moment he tells you where to go.

She had the uncanny ability to stay quiet. It had freaked you own back on your own earth, but it was even more terrifying here, where things were ever so slightly different.

“Arachnid.” Gwen’s voice called, and for a moment, you could forget. You could forget every horrible thing the Goblin had done, and you could remember your friend, your Gwen, who had called out to Arachnid more than once without knowing it was you behind the mask. Whether it was for a story or to provide information on your most recent opponent, the voice calling your alias was familiar. But then there was that crackle of laughter, an unnatural gurgle in the way it left her throat, and you turned to see the green-tinged pallor of her skin. “I was so hoping you’d show up.”

You didn’t know how much her appearance would effect you, until you were stuck to the side of the building, staring at what had once been your best friend. You’re so choked up that you can’t even formulate a response, because you want that to be Gwen so badly, but you know it isn’t. The more you look at her, the more Goblin you see, the more you know that the Gwen you love is never coming back.

“Nothing to say?” She asks, and then says your real name, the name she used to say down the crackle of a phone line, or across the school hallway, and she smiles. “I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“You should’ve stayed in prison, Gwen.” You say, your voice unsteady as you say her name aloud for the first time in what must be forever. She seems to relish in the tremble of your voice, and you have to curse yourself for being so stupid, for already showing the vulnerability she was so easily able to pick out.

The Green Goblin tutted at you, stood atop her glider, but the smile you saw didn’t belong to Gwen. “You’re pathetically predictable, you know. You’re like a moth to the flame.” She tells you, and you fear that she’s right, that you’re the same person you were back when you fought her, back when she almost won. She sighs, like something heavy is weighing upon her, but it turns wistful in the blink of an eye. “I’m just glad your dad isn’t here to see this. He’d be so disappointed.”

“Arachnid, focus.” Jessica’s voice interrupts, before you can spiral down that rabbit hole. How did Gwen even know about your father? She was in prison long before he died. It didn’t make sense.

“Maybe,” You say, that familiar tremble around your words. “He did always hope for the best for you.”

She bares her teeth at your words, the only visible reaction before her mask is slipping over the bottom of her face, stretching out up to pointed ears, all metallic and tinted a murky green. Then, she’s attacking.

It’s muscle memory, mostly, you think.

If you don’t think too hard about it, it could be like playing a game with a longtime friend from your childhood. You know the moves to make, you know how she’ll respond. It’s a constant push and pull, a balance which leaves only destruction behind, the path of the Green Goblin’s wrath tangible in each battle scene the two of you leave behind. You can’t beat her like this.

It’s her glitching that gives you a slight upper hand — and you send her careening off of her glider to the ground below.

Your heart squeezes suddenly in your chest as you watch her fall, her eyes wide in what could almost be perceived as fear. If you didn’t intervene, would she die? Would you have put an end to her story, once and for all, when you secretly hope there’s a cure out there for her? You can’t bear the thought of finding out, of watching her die, and so you foolishly dive after her.

A web to her midsection allows you to grip her before she hits the ground, and you set her down with a far more gentle hand than you would ever admit.

She says your name, then, a whispered version of it that sounds like Gwen. You think you can see her in those wide blue eyes, in that stare, and you approach with some caution. “Gwen,” You say, more of a question, “You with me?”

“I’m with you,” She answers, as you reach her side, as you resist the urge to pull off your mask. You’re so preoccupied staring at her expression that you don’t see the blade until it’s too late, your Spidey-sense failing you as you wallowed in your search for someone who was gone. “You sweet, predictable bug.” She spits then, twisting the blade she had sunk deep into your side, and you writhe, trying to move away from her.

“Arachnid!” Jessica Drew calls out, drawing the Green Goblin’s attention, allowing you to pull away from her slackened grasp. You leave the blade where it is, knowing your only slightly enhanced healing wouldn’t make up for the onslaught of blood that would pour from the wound. “I think that’s enough, Green Goblin.” Jessica says, riding a motorbike that you swore she didn’t have earlier. Nonetheless, she uses it to put even more space between you and your villain.

“You need a hand, kid?” A new voice asks, and a gloved hand reaches out for you where you had knelt against the tarmac. You look up, seeing a new Spider-man, but this one has his mask up, showing off his aged face and the bags underneath his eyes. You wave him off, staggering up to your feet, and clench your jaw as you stare at Green Goblin, watch as she pulls bombs from her waistband, barely the size of a chocolate bar, but capable of causing irreparable damage. “Get back to HQ, Arachnid, we can handle this.” Spider-man tells you, in what you suspect to be a fatherly voice, but you ignore him.

Time flies, slips out of your grasp, and you don’t know how long you and the others spend fighting Green Goblin, but she proves to be just as difficult of a foe for them to face as she was for you. Each time the three of you manage to get the drop on her, she slips away before she could be caught. It’s frustrating, and you can even see the way irritation thickens in the air, tangible.

Spider-man, or Peter, as Jessica had called him, is with you, focusing on trying to take Green Goblin down, whilst Jessica Drew is focused on damage control, blowing up Gwen’s bombs before they could hit their intended targets. You’re pretty sure the resident Spider-man is around here, too, pulling any lingering citizens out of harms way before Green Goblin could end them. You’d admit, it works better than you had done alone back on your own earth.

But it doesn’t work well enough, and more than one building is damaged almost beyond repair, and in the dust and rubble, Peter was distracted by the few citizens poking their heads out of the gaping hole in the side of their apartments. He didn’t see Green Goblin coming until it was too late, until she had thrown two of her bombs, one towards him, and one towards the already wrecked building.

Your throat dries up as you try to figure out what to do, who to go for, but in the end, you don’t have to choose.

Beams of glowing orange webs shoot into the bombs where they arc towards their victims, blowing them up and leaving both Peter and the civilians in the apartments without a scratch on any of them. Well, nothing that wasn’t already there before. You see him then, running alongside Jessica Drew, none other than Miguel O’Hara — who clearly didn’t think that the three of you were capable of handling Green Goblin.

“We’ve gotta end this.” Peter tells the three of you, glaring over at Green Goblin after coming so close to one of her bombs.

“You distract, I’ll go in.” You say, the only plan that makes sense. The only plan that’ll work. You wouldn’t be much use as a distraction, not with the blood still pooling around the blade hanging from your side, but you could beat her. You knew you could.

Peter nodded, and he, Jessica and Miguel went in one after another, landing hits on Green Goblin before she could even think to withdraw another bomb, or land a hit of her own, whilst you made your way behind her, swinging as high as you dared to go in your state. She was getting angry, you could tell, a distinct flush rushing up the back of her neck, a tell that Green Goblin shared with Gwen.

It was only when she was starting to turn the tide that you jumped down from your spot against the side of a building, looking for your opening.

She sent Jessica Drew tumbling off of her motorbike, which was your chance.

Green Goblin heard you only a moment before you were on her, not giving her a chance to make a countermove. Instead, you were curling your arms around her, as tight as you could, holding her hands away from her waistband. You gripped the blade in your side and yanked it out, holding it to her chest, breathing heavily through the pain as you bared your teeth at her, her face beside your own.

“Don’t make me kill you.” You say, and try not to hear the pleading in your own voice, the distinctive tone of a beg. You may have the upper hand on her, but as always, she had the power. “Don’t.” You repeat, because you can feel it in your bones that you would do it. If it was the choice between her or the hundreds that she would kill on this world, it would be those hundreds. There was no doubt about it, no questions to be asked.

You may have resented your mother, but she wasn’t the only one who died because of the Green Goblin. You wouldn’t let that happen again.

Perhaps she heard the plea in your voice, the giveaway that you weren’t bluffing, because she went still in your arms, still enough for the other Spiders to approach with some caution, eyes on her hands where you held them away from any weapons, using your forearm connected to the hand holding the blade to her chest to keep her left hand from grasping anything.

“I won’t be asking again.” You tell her, which is as much of a threat as you can muster. Or, more so, a promise.

As Miguel pushed you back with a firm hand, throwing a machine at Gwen’s feet, you think she understands. If the two of you are ever in that position again, there will be no hesitation about it. You will kill her.

“Good work, kid.” Peter says as Miguel and Jessica get to work with getting your Green Goblin through a portal to the HQ. He glanced down at where your hand is now pressing into your side, blood pouring steadily. In your other hand, you still hold the blade that had pierced your own skin, that would have killed Gwen Stacy had she not surrendered. He winces as if it’s him who got hurt, and guides you through the portal after the others. “C’mon, we’ll get you checked out. You not got enhanced healing?” He asks, though you suspect he doesn’t expect you to answer, and you’re glad.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

“I can do this myself, you know.” You sigh, wincing as a Spider-man — who apparently is also a doctor and works in the Spider Society’s infirmary — stitches up the wound on your midsection. It’s uncomfortable, though less painful that when you do it yourself. Still, it’s uncomfortable to accept help from these strangers.

“Ooh, shouldn’t say that to him.” Peter B. Parker laughs, one of the many Peter Parkers of the Society, but the same one who had fought Green Goblin with you. “He’ll lecture you on proper healthcare for days if you give him the opportunity!”

The Spider-doctor glares at Peter, or you assume he does, from the slight squint of the lenses of his mask. He kisses his teeth under the mask, tutting, muttering about “Spiders and their complete disregard for their health. Lucky you haven’t died ten times over from infections.” But he doesn’t say anything that requires a response from you, and he soon finished up the stitches. He goes to offer to fix up the injury on your ankle, but you’re up on your feet before he can even get the words out.

“Now, I gotta get back home to the wife, but Miguel wants to see you. He’ll take you home,” Peter tells you as he walks out of the infirmary by your side, but he stops you in the hallway with a hand on your shoulder, surprisingly gentle. “If that’s what you want.”

Your eyebrows furrowed before you could stop them, and the confusion over his words must’ve been written all over your face.

“Why wouldn’t I want that?” You ask, defensively.

Peter opens his mouth, but nothing escapes. Instead, it’s his expression that tells you everything he’s thinking. The crease between his brows screams pitying, or sympathetic. He’s talking about the way you live back on your earth, about the life you lead, Arachnid by day, and by night. With no room for you, no room for your secret identity. He’s thinking of the way you’ll be returning to a world with nobody awaiting you, with not a soul to look out for you, to stitch you up after a battle. Nobody but yourself, anyway.

You pull away from him, brows furrowing further, into an almost angered expression, and you don’t watch the way his hand falls away from your shoulder back to his side. He sighs when you turn away, scoffing as you make your way through the hallways of the Lobby towards where you think Miguel will be.

It’s overwhelming, all of these people. They all believe that they know you, that they know your circumstances, your story, but the truth is that they don’t. Nobody does, and that’s the way you prefer it. You don’t need a Society of Spiders surrounding you, breathing down your neck, telling you they’re sorry, or not trusting you to handle yourself in your own fights, because you can handle yourself. You’ve spent the last year of your life trying to prove that, trying to prove that you can do good things, that you’re worthy of the title Arachnid. You certainly shouldn’t need to prove that to a whole Society of people like you, most of which had been doing the job a lot longer.

You’re capable and you’re content.

You don’t need a life as your secret identity to be content, in fact, it’s better without one. You don’t have to tell so many lies, don’t have to worry about hurting the people you love, because there are none of them left. There’s nobody to hurt, and there’s nobody to lie to. Why would you want to change that?

The hallway ahead looks familiar, and you follow it until you enter a room where Miguel stands, looking at orange tinted screens on a platform halfway up the room. You enter with the absolute certainty that you want to return to your own earth, and you’re not going to let anybody stop you.

“I’m ready.” You tell him, expectantly.

He scoffs, saying nothing, still staring at the screens in front of him. For whatever reason, the reaction makes you angry — inexplicably so. You’re slinging up to the platform before you can have a second thought about it, and you’re pushing his shoulder so he’ll face you, so he’ll acknowledge you.

He stares at you, unimpressed.

“Send me back to my earth.” You press, brows furrowed beneath your mask, but you’re sure he can see the anger in the way your shoulders tense up.

“Sure,” Miguel said blankly, staring at you as if you’d suddenly change your mind or something. “But you know, there’s a lot more like her.” He added on when you said nothing, waiting for him to send you back to your world so you could give him back the stupid watch still wrapped around your wrist.

You stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language. “There are no more like her.” You respond, feeling that hot press on your chest. You don’t want to talk about Gwen Stacy anymore than you’re sure he’d like to talk about whatever he had gone through in his life. Hell, you don’t even want to think about her, but you know that nobody else you would ever have to face would hurt you in the way that she did. In the way that having to see her as an enemy, rather than your friend, had hurt. So, yeah, there was nobody like her, not for you.

Miguel seems ready to let you go for a moment, but then he’s shaking his head at you. “You have a place here. You can be with people like you. You don’t have to do this alone, anymore.” He says, and you think that is ironic, because you don’t see anybody else in here. To you, it seems like he is doing exactly that; doing the job alone. You can practically see the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I prefer being alone.” You tell him, and it has to be true. It has to be.

His jaw sets, acceptance, you think, and he nods. He glances past you, to where a portal was open on the floor below. Considering that you hadn’t seen him set up the portal, you’d wager that his AI Lyla must’ve listened in and done it for him. You pull the watch off of your wrist, relishing in the way your very atoms seem to sag with the weight of being in another dimension.

“Thanks.” You say, and drop down, landing on your sore ankle but not murmuring a word about the pain. You walk back to your world with your head held high, despite your tattered suit and multitude of wounds that would take days to stop hurting.

Miguel stares after you as the portal closes, eyebrows furrowed. He barely acknowledges Jessica Drew’s arrival in the room, already having known she had been lingering in the hallway, listening in. “Well, that went well.” She comments, glancing between where the portal had been and where Miguel stands, brooding. She knows how much pressure he puts on himself, and she knows that he cares about each and every Spider-person in the multiverse. It doesn’t take a Spider-sense to see the way in which you struggle. It’s a familiar struggle, sure, but there were so many Spiders across the multiverse who had a shoulder to lean on in their hardest times. Who did you have? There was no Aunt May for Arachnid, or Gwen Stacy, or Harry Osborne, or, well, anybody.

Jessica thinks that if anybody were to know exactly how that felt, it would be Miguel.

#heartpascal writes #across the spiderverse spoilers #atsv spoilers #spiderman atsv spoilers #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x platonic reader #jessica drew x platonic reader #peter b parker x platonic reader #peter b parker x reader #spiderverse x reader #spiderverse x platonic reader #spiderverse x you #spiderverse imagines #spiderverse one shot #spiderverse imagine #spiderverse angst #miguel o’hara angst #struggling idk how to tag with a new fandom shhh

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mphountitled · 5 months

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sungchan who’s been such a sweetheart your whole relationship until you decide that you want to break up because you’ve started to notice how absolutely insane the red flags were?? but he NEEDS you, and you need him…you just don’t know it yet. and he’ll do anything to prove that! you out of all people, knows that he’ll always get what he wants.

🎀 anon <33

𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝘿𝙚𝙛𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 | 𝙅𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙎𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣

- Pairings: Jung Sungchan x Fem!reader

- Warnings: College!au, Established Relationship, Language, Angst, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Obsession, Slight Dark fic, Insecurities, Smut (+18 Minors Dni) Breeding Kink, Slight Dub/con, Daddy Kink, Car sex, Choking, Spitting, Grinding, Degradation Kink

A/N: I really liked this request so so so much. I'm not sure if I did it justice, but this was indeed very fun to write

The very ideology of commitment had always been a foreign concept in his head. Not for any self-righteous reason beyond the fact that Sungchan had just never been ‘that guy’.

For the duration of his college career, Sungchan had been all too comfortable, dedicating his time and effort to becoming the #1 draft pick, this goal being something akin to a holy grail in Sungchan's mind. He would honestly rather die than let anything beyond the court take precedence over his mind.

But now Sungchan is yours.

And your head is thrown back in a genuine guffaw aimed at the sky, as you hang on intently to every word another man is saying.

This is the very first thing Sungchan has had to see exiting the gym, with the rest of his teammates swarming around him.

Instead of waiting in the car, like you usually did, a book open on your lap while Classical music oozed out of your phone speakers, you're entertaining his teammate. Your textbook open as your explanations flow from your lips like a waterfall. Seunghan wears a permanent lopsided grin on his face as he cradles the basketball to his side, bending his tall frame down to you and your textbook.

Although you don't notice Sungchan approaching, Seunghan does. The smirk on his face is absolutely diabolical as he raises a hand robotically and waves, before nodding along to your explanations once again.

Unable to move any further, Sungchan chooses to wait out the interaction along the far wall until Anton and Sohee join him in a flurry of their usual banter.

You laugh at something Seunghan says but your eyes are still trained on your textbook. A thought, ice cold and incredibly vile strikes through Sungchan's brain at the very moment.

Maybe Sungchan just was not smart enough for you.

Perhaps that is why you were giving another boy so much of your precious time.

His frown only deepens with the birth of the vile, uncomfortable revelation. All those times he had droned on and on to you about sports, forcing you to watch highlights of basketball games while his head rested on your lap, raking your fingers aimlessly through his hair.

While he was in heaven, you were apparently in hell.

This illogical jumping to conclusions, seems, to Sungchan as your only logical excuse for entertaining another man so closely.

Sungchan does not bother to hide the grim emotions descending on him like a plague. He only leans his back firmly against the west wall, backpack hanging lazily from his broad shoulders while the rest of his teammates scatter on home. Unbeknownst to Sungchan, his face is lowered, causing a wide shadow to cast over his eyes.

"You're glaring."

He does not offer Sohee any justifiable response, choosing instead, to ignore him as he continues his blatant staring.

“What do you think they're talking about?" He asks instead, the confines of his white and orange letterman jacket feeling far too hot.

"Do you know how scary you look when you do that?" Anton snickers, "Borderline serial killer shit."

"He definitely wants to fuck her," Sungchan continues, locked in on this display in front of him. Your book is cradled to your chest now, and you're looking up at Seunghan with a small, imperceptible smile.

"He wants to fuck her, I can tell-"

"How anyone can manage to pop a boner in the presence of a Psychology textbook is beyond me..." Sohee grumbles, dribbling his ball in between his legs.

"In his own fucked up logic," Anton begins, "Sohee's right." He ignores the bewildered expression of the older boy, choosing to roll his eyes over to Sungchan as he explains, "They're probably just talking about school, like they usually do."

"Nah," Sungchan shakes his head, unconvinced, "They just finished an essay on Freud. She fucking hates Frued. Whatever they're talking about... it's not that." You would not be smiling like that if all you had to talk about was psychology. You enjoyed school, but not that much.

"Your fault for going for someone actually smarter than you."

The snicker in Sohee's tone alludes to the fact that it was somewhat of a joke and meant to be taken as one... but the tightening grip on Sungchan's backpack has Anton glaring daggers at Sohee over Sungchan's bowed head.

"B-But," Sohee injects his voice with optimism, "It's not like you don't already have that on lock."

Anton is quick to jump on to the bandwagon, "Precisely," he says, "Girls date from 100, so if she's already let you consummate the relationship-"

"Just say fuck, Anton for the love of God-" Sohee grumbles,

"-She most likely already sees you as the person she wants to spend the rest of her ride with-"

"Fuck fuck fuck, that's what people do in relationships- they fuck-"

"You're a degenerate." Anton murmurs quietly.

And while they bicker, Sungchan did not have the heart to tell them that, for your sake, he had decided to 'wait' on any intimacy because he was so intent on being the perfect boyfriend.

Your perfect boyfriend.

He had spent an embarrassing chunk of your relationship locking away any urges that arose when your kisses got too heated, refraining from stuffing his hands down your pants when you were grinding a little too heavily in between said make out sessions and stopping himself from absolutely ravaging you whenever you reprimanded him, scolded him or corrected him during your study sessions.

Sex was all Sungchan ever thought about whenever you were in his presence, but evidently, you divulge your attentions elsewhere. You did not need him. The farthest you two had ever gone was Sungchan guiding you to orgasm by the sound of his voice.

How pretty you sounded over the phone line, voice heated with lust and veneered with static as you came all over your fingers in your darkened dorm room, imagining it was his. He had uttered so many 'good girl's , so many fits of praise because it was all true. You were a good girl, and he would fight biblical forces if it meant he could preserve that.

"Nah, fuck that," Sungchan pushes himself off the wall, making his way over to you because now Seunghan has his hand on your arm, carelessly handling what did not belong to him, because regardless of the moral repercussions involved, you were his.

"What're we talking about?" Sungchan cannot forget the way your smile dims ever so slightly upon his arrival. It scribbles itself into his memoey like a traumatizing little etch-a-sketch, making his heart sink in vexation and his abdomen tightening into a knot of perhaps, maybe anger.

"Oh, hey-"

When Sungchan looks down at you, he imagines only his face as the only image reflected in your smiling eyes. You were his just as he was yours, and so it should not come off as a shock to anyone when he slyly throws his arm over your shoulder, pulling you unexpectedly into the heat of his letterman jacket.

Your frame is as solid as concrete, the smile you had once adorned now completely gone.

"Hey," Sungchan whispers to you, but he directs his attention to a smirking Seunghan. Very clearly, all too pleased at having roused his teammate.

"Seunghan just needed clarification on psycodiagnostocs," you explain, somewhat nervously, because Sungchan is splaying tiny pecks against the side of your head while never breaking eye contact with Seunghan "T-the paper we have to do on African Epistemologie-”

“I'm sure Seunghan has a tutor for that.” the arm on your shoulder is fashioned of concrete. You couldn't move out of his grip if you wanted to.

“Don't bore him with the details, babe” Sungchan says, keeping his glare stationed on a grinning Seunghan all while bending down to whisper along your ear, loud enough for Seunghan to hear.

“He still needs to work on that Euro step too-”

“Sungchan.” There is a deep tempest stirring in your tone as you glare up at him, wholly and remarkably unimpressed. Before you could complete your verbal annihilation, Seunghan raises a hand, silencing you effectively.

“I'll let you know how the test goes,” Seunghan says, rousing Sungchan more by completely ignoring him, which, evidently, was the goal. “See you around.”

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

To say you were fuming would be a gross understatement. You're absolutely seething as you charge towards the only other vehicle parked in the deserted lot.

Sungchan raises his hand to block away the orange sun, settling on an uneven horizon as he strolls lazily after you, seemingly unfazed by his barbaric display of possessiveness Your hands are shaking as they latch onto the Jeep's handle, and you're barely even able to jump up into the truck before he's grasping at your hips, begrudgingly pulling you up.

“I know how to fucking work a seatbelt-”

Sungchan only snickers, before clicking in the belt, “Watch your tone,” he whispers before motioning to place a kiss on your cheek. You block it, flinching away from him and effectively causing a dark cloud to settle over his once jovial countenance.

“You were unbelievably out of line.” You begin to explain, looking deep into Sungchan's eyes as he leans into the passenger, with his arm on the car roof, effectively caging you in.

“I can't believe you did all that, knowing I need people to tutor!" You exclaim, "Knowing good and damn well that that's more money for me.”

Sungchan's eyes are lazer focused on you as he shrugs.

“You don't need his money.” Sungchan begins, furiously trying to keep his voice even, “You don't need anything from him.”

“I don't need anything from you.”

All is quiet as your words seem to haunt the atmosphere like an archaic apparition come to assert its vengeance on two unsuspecting young lovers. You are unable to know what Sungchan is thinking behind those concrete eyes, all until a smile cracks across his visage. A toothy grin that has him chuckling into the air until he's pulling back and shutting the door.

Sungchan rounds the car, head full of the weight of your words and what they essentially implied.

You did not want anything from him.

Or perhaps, you think you didn't.

Once Sungchan is behind the steering wheel, he does not move. He is only swinging his head sideways after a very agonising beat as he says. “You think I'm stupid?”

Your brows furrow, and your heart kickstarts as Sungchan sits back until his head is resting on leather headrest. His hand is stationed on your thigh, and you're not sure why, but a very stark shiver shoots down your spine, one that is not completely separated from feelings of absolute excitement.

“You don't wanna be seen with your stupid fucking boyfriend, do you?” he's not yelling, in fact his voice is perfectly normal. As gentle as the movements of his hand framing your exposed thigh and nearing the lining of your skirt with dangerous precision.

“Babe-” you shake your head, correcting yourself, “Sungchan, where is this coming from?

“You're ashamed of me,” He says, all to plainly before slotting his large hand underneath your skirt. You exhale shakily as you imperceptibly, almoat shyly open your legs further. Never had your boyfriend admistered any physical intimacy, no matter how anxiously you craved to experience his large hands on hour skin.

Did you need to get him mad to have him claim you?

Your morals and values completely dissolve as you throw your head back, allowing Sungchan's hand to delve deeper under your skirt.

“I see how it is,” he whispers, heavy eyes stationed on his hand under your skirt. The very moment the tips of his fingers brush against your soaked underwear, you're immediately grinding into his hand, hoping your desperation will transfer in your stilted movements. He watches, mesmerized.

“Do I need to be smarter for you?” He asks, mouth salivating at the sight of you grinding so heavily against his fingers. “What do I need to do better? It's almost like-” Sungchan's hand disappears from underneath your skiirt and you nearly whine at the loss of stimulation.

“It's almost like I need to get you pregnant in order to listen to me.” He whispers, seemingly to himself before dragging his gaze to you…

“Is that what you want?”

His eyes are piercing into yours as his hand slowly encircles around your throat. He's bringing you over the center console by a single grip on your esophagus, having your hips straddling his.

All in slow, calculated movements.

The rest of the world disappears as Sungchan attaches his lips to your throat, dragging your hips along the bulge in his sweatpants.

“Is that what you want, baby?” His voice is laden with lust. All his previous emotions spilling out of him in the form of sloppy, wet kisses on the side of your face. “Tell me you want me to cum deep inside you,”

A whine bleeds from your throat, immediately snapping his restraint before he's lifting you to uncover his red, leaking cock. Your eyes widen at the side of it, heart pulsing in your chest when it twitches under your palm.

“Fuck, don't look at me like that,” Sungchan murmurs before crashing his lips onto yours.

You're immediately stroking his cock as the kiss deepens, and Sungchan lifts you again, before guiding himself inside of you.

You're sinking onto his cock with bated breath, and he watches you with a pained, euphoric expression. His cock stretches your walls and you shudder as he forces himself deeper and deeper, mumermiing drunken confessions as he assumes a steady rhythm.

“ I've needed to fuck you for so fucking long, fuck,” he is already delirious as he pushes his hand under your shirt, pawing at your sensitive breast.

“F-Fuck Chan,” your eyes roll to the back of your head when Sungchan acts on an intrusive thought and forces his fingers inside your mouth.

“Open,” he practically growls before hooking his fingers inside your mouth. He drags you closer as he continues to fuck up into you with desperation and urgency. Sungchan slithers his tongue out, dragging it lazily against yours before spitting directly into your mouth, all with his fingers still flattening against your tongue.

“Fuck, you're such a slut,” He whispers breathlessly, causing your cunt to clench unimaginably tighter around his aching cock. “You like that, baby?” He asks, returning his hand to your throat. “You like being my perfect fucking slut-”

“Fuck- Daddy,” the words tumble out of your mouth, not for any other reason beyond it just feeling absolutely positively, right.

They evidently have a large effect on Sungchan because his once confident thrusts stutter into shallow motions, as of he was om the brink of cumming right then and there.

“Fuck- oh fuck, I'm so close.”

You can't even begin to explain to him that you're right there with him because your mind is so utterly consumed with pleasure. Your hands are on his shoulders, nails sinking into his letterman as your eyes go hazy with overstimulation and he watches your expression with that same, fucked out, open-mouthed expression.

“F-Fuck, you're gonna make me cum,” he whispers, “You're gonna make fucking cum inside you, baby-”

He twists your nipple, immediately causing a whine to spill from your hips, your cunt tightening around him again.

“Tell me to cum inside you-” He whispers, cock already twitching in warning, “Tell me now-fuck!”

“Please, please,” He's already spilling inside you as the words try to claw its way, out your throat, and you ascend unto your own orgasm. You scream into the stillness of the car as you push yourself down on Sungchan's stuttering hips, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he murmers broken praises and affirmations.

He tells you you're so pretty.

He tells you youre body is fucking perfect.

He tells you every little thing that has your heart swelling more and more in its cage. All for the boy in front of you.

“Fuck,” he whispers, allowing his thumb to ghost over your nipple while you both breath out, absolutely breathless. “Fuck- I thought I was going to kill him-”

“Why would you wanna do that?” You whisper, “You're such an idiot sometimes, you know that?”

He only nods slolwy, a small grin spreading across his face as he keeps himself still very much inside of you.

“Now go buy me a Plan B, please.”

#riize x reader #riize imagines #riize sungchan #riize #riize angst #riize smut #riize headcanon #riize imagine #sungchan x reader #sungchan smut #sungchan x you #sungchan fics #sungchan fluff #sungchan #jung sungchan #jung sungchan x reader

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estrellami-1 · 10 months

Text

If I Should Stay

Y’all are the best. Seriously. I love y’all. One quick note: if y’all reblog, please include the tag “#if I should stay” (mind the capital i) so people can find the rest of the parts! Thanks so much!!! ❤️

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Eddie does end up following Robin because he does not, in fact, have a death wish.

Even if, apparently, he dies in the future. Go figure.

She instructs him to grab his guitar. “Why in the fuck,” he starts, then reconsiders when Robin whips around to stare at him. “Anyone ever tell you you’re terrifying?”

Robin shrugs a shoulder. “Not as much as they should.”

She stashes her bike in the back of his van and directs him to the Harrington residence, where Steve’s waiting, arms crossed, wondering smile on his face. “Miracle worker,” he calls, and Robin laughs as she grabs her bike from the back.

“Hate to break it to ya, Dingus, but you’re just not scary.”

“I’m plenty scary. I’ve got a nail bat.”

“Right, because that would beat Nance’s sawed-off in a fight.”

“Hey, it could! You never know! They’ve got different ranges!”

Robin rolls her eyes at Eddie, like she’s asking if he can believe it, which. No. No he can’t.

“Sorry,” he says, regretting everything when they both look at him. “What the actual fuck is happening?”

“Come inside,” Steve says, suddenly all business. “We’ve got a lot to discuss.” His eyes find Robin’s. “One of ‘em took Barb last night.”

“Fuck,” Robin whispers.

“Yup. Will’s been missing for two days. Maybe, if we get down there soon enough…”

“Let’s hope so. Which one of the rugrats found El?”

“I think they all did? But Mike’s the one who took her in.” He shakes his head, mouth a grim line. “I saw Dustin today. They’re kids, Robs.”

“So are we,” she reminds him, heaving a tired-sounding sigh. “A buncha kids fighting real-life monsters.”

“Monsters?” Eddie parrots.

Somehow they end up inside while Steve goes to pick up the Party. Who the party is, Eddie doesn’t know. Just like he doesn’t know why he’s in Steve’s Harrington’s house with someone who isn’t Steve Harrington.

“Who’s the Party?” He asks Robin. “And why am I here again? If I die, doesn’t that mean I shouldn’t be here? Should be somewhere far, far away instead?”

“The Party’s a group of kids Steve babysits. They’re the first ones to go through this whole mess. And admittedly, you’re here partially because you can help, and partially for selfish reasons.” She offers him a lopsided grin. “Believe it or not, watching you die was kinda traumatic.”

“Right,” he says slowly. “And you and Steve? How do you know each other? He and Nancy Wheeler are the talk of the town, and if he’s stepping out-”

“He wouldn’t,” she says harshly. “Ever.” She takes a breath. “Two years from now, or a year ago, he and I work together in a mall. Long story short, we get captured and tortured by Russians. High on truth serum, I tell him I’m a lesbian in the bathroom, we help take down the big bad, and boom. Instant platonic soulmates.”

Eddie gapes at her. “What the fuck.”

“Just about,” she nods. “Oh, and the kids love D&D, so you’ll have plenty to talk about. They’re little shits but they’re also kinda great once you get to know them.”

Eddie stares at her. The front door opens, and Steve walks in, followed by a gaggle of preteens and Nancy Wheeler.

“Robs,” Steve says, not slowing his stride as he begins taking the stairs two at a time. “Bathroom. Now.”

Robin grimaces. “Breakdown time,” she murmurs to Eddie, then follows Steve, leaving everyone else staring at each other.

“So,” Eddie says. “I heard you like D&D?”

A dark-haired kid who looks suspiciously like Nancy narrows his eyes. “You play?”

“Play!” Eddie repeats. “I don’t just play, my young friend, I am the greatest Dungeon Master this side of the Mississippi.”

A curly-haired kid begins to grin. “I think we should put that to the test.”

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Fic Taglist: @blondlanfear @do-you-want-something-more @little-gae-shit

#if I should stay #eventual steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #dustin henderson #he’s the curly-haired boy at the end #in case it wasn’t obvious lmao #time travel au #fix it fic #starambles

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veryrockyraccoon · 2 months

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So one of the most common problems people have with DC is that they won’t let their characters stay dead, it makes something that’s supposed to be a big thing that will permanently change other characters and the world around them feel like a pointless footnote. The obvious solution is to let them stay dead, however I would like to offer another option that is specifically geared toward the Robins.

They die but they don’t stay dead, it happens over and over again, their loved ones are stuck watching them suffer and die again and again only to come back and have the cycle repeat. No matter what they do death always finds them.

They lose sight of what life actually means because their own seems to mean nothing, they start struggling to understand things that use to make so much sense, like why people fight so hard to survive or why death scares so many, because they know they’ll never get to actually be dead.

The public starts to view them as demons or gods or something, because they’ve seen Redhood be stabbed through the heart, they’ve seen Nightwing fall and break himself on the concrete, they’ve seen Signal overload his powers and burn from the inside out, they’ve seen Red Robin’s head be crushed by block of stone, they’ve seen Robin choke and spit up blood before falling still because he was dosed with poison, they’ve seen Batgirls throat be slit, they’ve seen the birds die in dozens of horrific ways and they’ve seen the affect it has on the bats, but the birds come back, again and again, but every time they come back they look sadder, like less came back.

The birds don’t view themselves as the gods the public does, they view themselves as servants, servants of Gotham, of the people, of justice and vengeance, they can only pray that when their job is done they will be able to rest.

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moonlayl · 6 months

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The racism and genocide rhetoric jumped out. There is no hiding it. This person just forgot to include “savages” in the comment.

But by the way, this person isn’t wrong. This is the golden opportunity for Israel to kill all Palestinians or permanently force them out of their homes, and they’re doing just that. They get to for the first time actually own all the land of Palestine and end any chance of Israel ever becoming Palestine.

It’s why they’re committing genocide, it’s why they’re continuing to dehumanize Palestinians, it’s why they’re pushing for Egypt to take all the Gazans, and it’s why they’re targeting hospitals, churches, and mosques.

They want the land, and they want Palestinians permanently out of that land. The Nakba has never ended and remains ongoing. They don’t care how many innocents die, nor about their own civilians as hostages.

But guess what? That’s not gonna happen. Because we’re gonna keep fighting and resisting. Bevause we have bravery, but more importantly we have faith. Something they lack and have always lacked.

#anti Israel #free palestine #palestine #free gaza #Gaza #israel is a terrorist state #israel is an apartheid state #Israel is committing genocide

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blue-jisungs · 5 months

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love shot

summary. seungcheol loves playing cupid for you and jihoon because of you two dislike each other

warnings. good ol' e2l but also a mafia-ish setting so the usual: guns, gunshots, blood, cursing, telling people to die. also suggestive at some points !

word count. 7k-ish

author's note. idk whats this but enjoy!!! big shoutout to my beloved @wheeboo for proofreading and correcting my silly mistakes!!! ilysm mwah thank u from the bottom of my heart <333 ++ thank u @weird-bookworm for inspiring me like i wrote 5k of this in one sitting bc of u 🫵

the air in the room was heavy, everyone waiting in anticipation. there was some chatter, only from the most talkative members of the group, yet it was very quiet. the others like you, jihoon, or wonwoo sat in silence staring at the wooden table.

suddenly the door opened and seungcheol came in, dressed in a black coat and his luxurious watch.

this immediately stopped all noise and caused all eyes to look at him.

“our plug just gave us the information that the group is meeting up at an abandoned factory. we’re still waiting for the precise location but i want you all to be ready” he announced, voice stern. the leader of the group scanned all the faces “we suspect it’s the old factory that used to produce cigarettes. since it’s quite big, we’ll need to divide into groups. i’ll also call for backup if my suspicions turn out to be true”

you nodded, eyes scanning a board behind seungcheol’s back. it had all the evidence and necessary photos but by now – because all of the six months you’ve been trying to catch this criminal group – you knew all their faces by heart.

you were a crime fighting organization, one would call it the fbi. but you weren’t really… a government official. you often switched groups, just depending on who’s running low on staff.

some groups, like the one you’ve been working with, had their permanent squad. only because their leader seungcheol (nickname s.coups) had been injured, you were called in to replace him. maybe not in leader duties but your combat abilities were very similar to his… which gained respect amongst the organization.

you liked working with seventeen – that was their group name. they were all unique and special in different ways but also talented, skilled, and laser focused on their task.

you even got to meet them outside the work field, like going biking with soonyoung and seokmin in your free time. or taking a culinary class with mingyu and hansol. and many many others. you really liked them and contrary to other groups you’ve worked with, you were sure you’ll keep in touch with them after the work is done.

they all liked you too. except jihoon… you weren’t sure why but that was okay. he pissed you off too, like always using your mug even though you clearly stated it’s yours, constant snarky comments aimed at you (and your ironic ones fired back at him). you both just didn’t click… you tried to avoid each other, knowing that even a mere meeting on a hallway will cause a quarrel.

which is why you’re all tensed up, legs and hands crossed together, because jihoon was late. he had to sit on the spot next to you and of course he’s manspreading, fakely oblivious to the fact that he’s almost shoving his knee into yours.

the door opened and an intern, taehyun, barged into the room.

“u-oh. hello, everyone. our suspicions got confirmed, it’s the old cigarette factory. they should be there in an hour but we don’t know how many people will be there” he said, eyes focused on s.coups. the man nodded gently.

“thank you, taehyun. so we’ll bring back up, just in case. we don’t know if they’re armed, do we?” the leader asked the boy. taehyun hesitated.

“there’s no official information…” his voice trailed off.

“but?” seungcheol rose his eyebrows, crossing his arms.

“if you mind my honest opinion, i think they’ll be armed. they always carry at least a gun” taehyun said, face serious. seungcheol sent him a warm smile.

“good point. thank you, taehyun. go now and tell the staff to prepare our vehicles”

the intern nodded and left. if you weren’t used to sore muscles because of all the hours of training, your legs would start to cramp because of how squished your legs were in order to avoid touching jihoon.

“good. then, soonyoung you’re going as usual: jun, minghao and chan. wonwoo, mingyu and vernon go together. rest of the team as usual so seokmin, seungkwan, jeonghan and joshua” seungcheol nodded and you swore you saw a ghost of a smile dance on his lips.

“and me?” jihoon asked, leaning forward.

“you’re going with y/n. you’ll work as a pair to sneak from behind” the leader announced and before you could let out a yelp of surprise, he was already going towards the door. “let’s go”

the sun has already settled before you arrived to the location. the ride there was silent, everyone rather serious about the moment: will you manage to capture the drug boss? he always keeps running away, as sand slips through fingers. it was starting to get on your nerves and you were determined to put a stop to it.

arriving to your base, you noticed some extra cars. the backup arrived.

in your all black uniforms, heavy boots and hidden knives behind your belt (and extra one in your left shoe), your team was ready. well, jihoon.

“you’ll go first. entering from the back. we studied the building before so you should be able to know where to go more or less. as soon as you locate them, let us know” seungcheol said and put his hands on your and jihoon’s arm “and no fighting or i’ll fucking kill you”

“yes, dad” you snickered and patted his hand.

“and don’t die, alright?” seungcheol rose his eyebrows.

“as if i would let that happen” jihoon snarled and shrugged off cheol’s hand, leaving. the leader nodded and you followed your partner, hand resting on your gun.

you were lead to the building by the instructions in your in-ear. managing to slip in quietly, you were following jihoon.

the building was consumed by darkness, nothing but silence. going through the corridors, you checked in all the rooms.

finally getting to the main room with all the machinery, jihoon stopped in his tracks. he looked back at you, his dark eyes shining with pure focus.

“do you hear it?” woozi asked, voice below a whisper. you frowned and suddenly heard it:

distant chatter, footsteps, and a shuffle of something moving around. your eyes locked with his (and you became hyper aware that he had his gaze on you all the time), and you gave a small nod.

“i’ll try to locate them more or less. you go check the rest of the rooms… and let’s call backup” he ordered. his gaze lingered on you for a bit longer before he went into the darkness of the factory.

you did as he said, your hand ready to pull out your gun any second.

room by room – nothing. you knew the rest of the team already came inside since you could hear noises of combat. some shouts, things getting thrown. no gunshots… maybe they weren’t armed after all?

for a while your heart skipped a beat. are they all okay? even… jihoon?

you shook your head and while checking in another room, you didn’t notice anything strange. as you began to grow annoyed that all the action is taking place and you’re here, alone and without anything… you heard footsteps, rushed footsteps, as if someone was running away.

you returned to the door, peeking out since the sound came from the corridor.

“fucking beomgyu… i’ll kill him. i knew there was something wrong with that boy”

your eyes went wide, hearing the voice. it was the boss. you knew the voice (and him) too well.

“do we need to do it?” you grunted, arms crossed. a thundering gaze that was supposed to scare seungcheol was rather amusing for him.

“yes. you’re the only woman in our group” he said, shaking his head.

“well, so what? he can go with his friends? with homies for a drink!” you grunted and paced around the room “i respect you as a leader, cheol. i really do. but you know how much i just don’t get along with jihoon…”

“hm, do you? i already see that you started calling him by his name, not his code name” seungcheol wiggled his brows and you came up to him, punching his arm. chuckles left the buffed man’s body and you realised he doesn’t care, at all.

“fuck you” you grunted, grabbing your bag “you owe me a drink after this”

seungcheol’s laugh was the only thing that you heard even after leaving the room.

arriving at the restaurant, you sighed. joining the seventeen group you wouldn’t even think that you’d be send to a “date” with your enemy to spy on your actual enemy. and yet, here you are.

the chatter of people and clinking of glasses hit your ears, the inside of the building taking your breath away. it was so royal and rich, you felt small. well, no wonder that a mafia boss would dine here. and only here.

“hello, ma’am. may i ask who are you here with?” a waiter asked, smiling politely.

“oh. the reservation is set for kwak jiho” you answered swiftly. the fake name was so ridiculous “is he here?”

“ah, yes. mr. kwak arrived shortly before you. let me lead the way” the waiter nodded and you followed them.

there were so many stunning people. some of the faces you knew - due to their criminal record or just because they were celebrities. you made sure to check where your main concern was sitting. park chinhae was sitting there, in all his glory, sipping a drink.

your eyes widened when you realised you’re sitting at the table right next to him. the waiter bowed gently and left, leaving you with jihoon.

he stood up and walked up to you, grabbing your hand and placing a soft kiss atop of it. the action made you freeze, but nonetheless, you kept your façade as best as you could.

“you… you look stunning, my dear” he breathed out, eyes scanning over your figure.

well, you figured that it’s a lifetime opportunity: having seungcheol’s black card to spend on the attire. so you went crazy, as anyone would.

a little birdie (minghao) told you that red (especially the ruby shade) is one of jihoon’s favourite colours. so you picked a red dress, nothing too revealing yet having a nice cut to show your left leg. paired with a ruby lipstick and some pretty, sparkly jewellery off you went. you even decided to go to a professional hairdresser because who’s stopping you...?

and apparently, it worked. or maybe jihoon was so used to seeing you in sweatpants and hoodies that this elegant side of you unexpectedly swept him off his feet.

“thank you, baby. you don’t look bad yourself” you hummed and watched him put the chair away for you. jihoon was wearing an all black tuxedo and an expensive tie. his hair slicked back… he was quite handsome looking this way. not like you cared, of course.

once you were in your seat and jihoon returned to his, you crossed your legs. your heel brushed against his leg and he raised his eyebrow.

“i ordered some wine already, dear” he hummed and when you shifted your gaze to park chinhae, he just nodded. he knew.

the nickname caused a swirl of butterflies to storm your stomach and for the nth time this day, you cursed seungcheol in your mind.

you grabbed the menu that you already studied beforehand – the name of the dishes were code names for different question or orders.

“which wine did you choose?” you asked, tapping the table.

“château haut-brion” jihoon answered, eyes never leaving yours. nothing yet.

“i see” you nodded. suddenly your mind goes blank – what are you supposed to talk about with jihoon? the two of you never met outside work. duh, you barely even talked normally at work…

“what about the food? fancy anything?” he asked, shifting in his seat. you two had secret cameras and microphones that could catch the conversation happening next to you, so technically you wouldn’t have to do anything. however, you were curious if you’ll hear anything useful.

“i… i don’t know” you scoffed and put the menu down, biting your lip in wonder “i think i’ll wait for the waiter to recommend something”

jihoon was about to answer you when suddenly you heard a male voice.

“if i may interrupt…”

you looked up and noticed park chinhae looking at you with a smirk dancing on his lips. he was sitting relaxed in his seat, almost as if he owned the place.

“i couldn’t help but pay attention to such a beautiful lady and if you’re having a dilemma what to choose… i truly recommend lemony mussels with cherry tomatoes and potatoes” the man said, giving jihoon a look that you couldn’t crack. was it some sort of trying to assert dominance? or genuine help?

“ah… thank you mr…” you rose your eyebrow, waiting for his name.

“mr. park chinhae. but such a pretty lady can call me just chinhae” he smiled. you saw jihoon’s jaw clench. you leaned forward charmingly and tapped your red nails against the table.

“well, thank you chinhae. but i’m not a connoisseur of seafood, sadly. i appreciate your help though” you nodded with a playful smile.

“ah, no worries! then, let me take a guess: pork or beef?” he asked, full on ignoring jihoon. you couldn’t lie – the situation amused you.

“lamb” was your reply, eyes focused on the drug boss. he looked at the man he was with and clicked his tongue.

“a woman of a taste, i see. good. such lady is a true gem” only now park chinhae’s landed at jihoon. almost threateningly “then my choice would be rosé-marinated grilled lamb leg with walnut salsa fresca”

you gasped, dramatically covering your mouth with your hand.

“chinhae, you must be a regular here. that’s what i’ll settle for, then. thank you so much, i bet it’ll be delicious” you hummed. the man only winked in response and returned to his friend.

silence fell between you and jihoon, his gaze on fire. was he… pissed?

“what? there’s too many things to choose from” you chuckled and nudged his leg. almost as if to say ‘behave’.

“i’ll be sure to later remind you the dish name at my place” he snarled, his mask slipping off for a second. you let out a scoff, noticing the waiter.

“we’ll see if i even end up there” you teased and relaxed in your seat as the waiter came with wines.

“may i take your order?” they asked.

as you ordered the dish chinhae recommended to you, jihoon ordered sweet and spicy pork chops. a code name for ‘be careful’. you just rolled your eyes at him and once the waiter was gone, you saw a sudden glint in his ebony irises.

“so, aeri… what were you up to this weekend?” he asked, the fake name sounding strange in his lips.

“i went on a trip to yongin with my friends. we had a lovely time there” you hummed. with a corner of your eye, you noticed chinhae smile. well, it was his hometown after all.

“oh, really? what did you do there?” jihoon asked and suddenly placed his hand down, close to yours. looking him in the eyes, the air in the room began to grow heavy.

“we’re a little too old for amusement parks” you giggled and decided to start drawing shapes on his hand with the tip of your finger “so we settled to go see a traditional folk village and art museums, then we went to a bar or two at the end of the day”

jihoon was focused on you, as if the mafia boss next to you didn’t exist. the whole room felt empty, only you and jihoon on the room.

“and you? didn’t you miss me too much?” you teased and noticed the boss picked up his phone.

“i think about you every minute of the day, so obviously i missed you” he said ironically, drawing an eye roll from you “i just stayed at home and binge watched the series you recommended me”

“really? alice in borderland?” you asked, stunned. you didn’t recommend it to jihoon, to be precise, but to be fair you were talking about it a lot lately.

jihoon shrugged and from the side, you overheard a piece of rumble from chinhae.

“–all of it? you better, you smart beast. good job, i’ll see you at the usual, next week–”

“yeah, really. it wasn’t that bad” he shrugged.

shortly after your food arrived and while you chatted (and to your amusement, flirted a lot), jihoon occasionally grabbed your hand. you, trying to show him that two can play that game, from time to time rested your high heel against his leg and moved it slowly. you enjoyed the flushed look on his face, whether it was your antics or the wine.

you managed to catch some words like ‘magazine’, ‘6pm’, ‘make more income’ or some useful – new or old – names being dropped.

you came to a conclusion you wouldn’t get more information. he was in a public space after all.

“shall we have some dessert?” you asked “i’m craving tiramisu”

jihoon rose his eyebrows. tiramisu was a code for ‘let’s end this’.

“why? i mean– are you–?” his eyes widened. you rested your chin on your hands.

“i’m fine, i’m just in the mood for something sweet” you shrugged and jihoon couldn’t crack what you meant. then he just smiled playfully.

“hm, okay. i was hoping we could get some dessert afterwards” he hummed “but tiramisu sounds fine”

you scoffed and grabbed your purse.

“great. i’ll be right back, you can order in the meantime” you said and stood up, noticing park chinhae looking at you. he was talking but you sent him a gentle smile and went to the bathroom.

you took your sweet time, fixing your lipstick and hair. also checking the hidden camera and microphone (which, to be frank, you completely forgot about), you took a deep breath.

then the realization hit you. the whole team was listening to your and jihoon’s flirting.

smacking your forehead, you let out a loud groan. seungcheol will so need to buy you a drink. a couple, even.

reapplying some perfume, you zipped your bag and left the bathroom. only to see park chinhae in the hallway, leaning against the wall and being in the phone. he didn’t see you, back facing you.

“i need all the cargo by friday. ship it to the factory this time because i think someone is sniffing around us” he said, voice low but enough for you to hear “and check that intern. beomhan– ah, beomgyu”

you saw him move and before he fully turned around, you acted like you just left the bathroom.

closing the door and turning around, your heart sped up.

“i’m hanging up” was all you heard before there was a sound of approaching footsteps “hey there”

you turned around and faked a shocked face.

“oh, hello mr. lamb leg. it was delightful, thank you” the corner of your lips turned upwards. you noticed his phone in his hand was unlocked, showing the caller id number. you had to act quickly if you wanted the camera to capture it. and you had to shift your position.

“no problem, it was my pleasure to help such a beautiful woman. may i know your name, though?” he asked, eyebrows rising up. you playfully threw your hair back and crossed your arms, shifting your body weight to your left leg. you noticed the way his gaze lingered on it because the cut in the fabric revealed it.

“it’s aeri” you said and cursed mentally. it’s probably not enough “if you hit me with ‘a pretty name for a pretty woman’ i’ll have to give you a disappointing look”

he laughed and you suddenly leaned closer, fixing his bowtie. it was risky, you could see how he tensed up to your touch. but because of that, you were sure that the hidden camera captured his phone screen before it turned off.

“it was crooked. sorry, i’m a bit of a perfectionist” you apologized and leaned back.

“who would i be to despise a woman’s hands on me?” he flashed you a toothy grin. gross. “is your date boring? you can always leave with me”

your heart skipped a beat. you could. that way you could get more information… or what if he lead you to his place? no, probably not. but still…

“ah, i can see you thinking about it” chinhae hummed. if there was an in-ear in your ear, you’d probably hear seungcheol saying to not even think about it.

you were about to say something– anything.

“y/– aeri!”

you turned around and saw jihoon. fuck.

chinhae put a hand on your shoulder and it took you everything in your willpower not to shrug it off.

“here you are. i began to get worried” jihoon snarled, shooting daggers at the man touching you.

“anyways. my offer still stands, if you want to have some actual fun” chinhae whispered in your ear and began to walk away. jihoon walked up to you, wanting to say something but suddenly turned around.

“she’ll have some fun, don’t worry about it” he said. chinhae turned his head and scanned jihoon head to toe.

“with a man your size?”

you had to tug his sleeve. chinhae winked at you and left, leaving only you and jihoon in the hallway.

“calm down, lee” you grunted and when he looked at you, you just sent him a amused expression “i bet aeri would have some nice time with jiho. but there’s nothing left to do, we should go”

“agreed. i already paid, let’s just go” he grunted and gestured you to go first “i’ll drop you off and don’t even argue. that weirdo could follow you”

how ironic. while undercover at the restaurant, he was walking away from you. and now, he did the same yet now you were the one playing with him.

stepping out to the corridor, you debated your options: you could shoot him. you could harm him and capture. or just capture.

suddenly he took a sharp turn to the stairs that lead to the other floor. you managed to hide in one of the janitor rooms. only when the sound of his footsteps became quiet, you followed him as quietly as you could.

the open space allowed you to see the lights of flashlights far away. you noticed a glimpse of him going into one of the offices. why isn’t he running away…?

quietly placing your steps you approached the room. taking a peek inside, you saw that chinhae is rummaging through drawers.

“where the fuck is it…” he grunted, throwing papers on the ground.

“we’re done here. there’s everyone except park chinhae but he wasn’t even meant to be here, apparently. let’s leave. does everyone copy?”

you couldn’t answer – the man would hear you if you did, and your cover would be blown.

taking a deep breath, you checked if you had handcuffs with you. luckily, you did. swallowing with a beating heart, you walked in.

“hands up, chinhae”

the man turned around and frowned. the room was dark, only streams of moonlight sneaking through the blinds. you kicked the door close, gun pointed at him.

“whatever you’re looking for, it won’t save you” you said harshly.

“a woman threatening me with a gun. never would i have imagined i’d find myself in such a position” he laughed and started slowly approaching you. one thing was clear: you can’t kill him. or seriously injure him.

before you could act, he jumped towards you. and it hits you like a hard slap to the face – you didn’t unlock your weapon.

ducking his attack, you kicked him in the stomach. the man lost his balance and hit the desk with a thud. grabbing the first thing that was in his reach, he hurled a lamp at you. it hit your arm, making your weapon fall out of your hands.

before he could jump and grab it, you kicked it away. landing on the floor, he hastily pulled at your leg causing you to fall next to him. the man didn’t waste any time and grabbed you by your shoulders, climbing atop of your body. one hand cupped at your jaw. as he hovered above you, he tongued his cheek.

“you” chinhae grunted, scanning your face. the moonlight shined perfectly on your face, and you could see the puzzle pieces connecting in his head. in the meantime you tried to sneakily reach for your dagger tucked behind your belt.

he ripped your in-ear and sent it crashing against the wall.

“ah, i should’ve been more careful” he hissed and his hands moved down to your neck. his body weight was crushing you, your sweaty fingers mere millimetres from getting ahold of your blade “such a beautiful woman… what a shame i’ll have to kill you”

“i’d like to see you try” you snarled just when his hands tightened around your throat. the lack of oxygen hit your head, he wasn’t sparing any time. as his hold became tighter and tighter, you struggled to take out your dagger.

mere moments from all the air being cut off, you finally grabbed your knife and stabbed him in the arm, drawing a loud yelp from him. using the sudden shock you managed to roll him over and take a deep breath, followed by painful, hacking coughs. leaning on your hands, you tried to blink away your spinning vision. a sudden kick landed at your arm caused you to fall on the floor again.

“you’re alone, huh? where’s your date?” he growled ironically.

you stood up and noticed your gun. you reached for it, swiftly unlocking it. loud steps of his heavy boots echoed through the room.

“i told you to leave with me. you’d have way more fun, and wouldn’t end up this way” his voice was way too close for your liking.

you pointed the gun at him, standing up. before you could realize, the moonlight shone on his figure.

seungcheol stopped in his tracks, counting all his crew for the nth time. jihoon was talking to joshua, vernon and seokmin; wonwoo and mingyu were on the phone with someone from the company; minghao, jun and chan were comforting beomgyu; soonyoung, jeonghan and seungkwan were counting the captured men.

“what is it?” joshua asked, drawing everyone’s attention to seungcheol. even the backup people were starting to get worried.

“it was… too smooth. no guns, their boss not in sight… and i have a feeling that…” his voice trailed off and he suddenly noticed jihoon getting pale.

“did anyone see y/n?”

the silence that fell amongst them spoke volumes, the feeling of anxiety hitting them all.

“fuck, i knew it.. i’m still getting used to the fact there’s 13 of you now. y/n, do you copy?” seungcheol asked through the in-ear.

he was answered with only silence. but then unexpectedly, there was a gunshot.

the horrifying sound of it ripped through the empty space, causing everyone in the room to stiffen up.

“y/n, say something” jihoon ordered, tapping his in-ear piece as if that was supposed to help.

“the IT guys are saying that they don’t see her in the voice channel” wonwoo spoke up “but she’s in the building. the northern side, where you guys entered”

“jihoon, wait!” seungcheol yelled after woozi ran in said direction.

“always getting in fucking trouble…” he snarled to himself, trying to ignore the heavy feeling blooming in his heart. it wasn’t a gunshot aimed at you, obviously. how could it be? they captured everyone.

he checked all the rooms on the floor and with each passing second, when there was no sigh of you, his chest swelled with fear. hypothetically speaking if you were hurt, he was running out of time.

a sudden, dull noise of something – or rather someone – falling on the floor reached his ears. it came from… upstairs?

he noticed the stairs. fuck.

“she’s on the second floor” he said to the in-ear, almost flying through the stairs. kicking every door open, he finally found you.

you were putting handcuffs on an unconscious park chinhae, a growing pool of ruby blood between your bodies.

“thank goodness… is he alive?” jihoon asked, dropping to his knees.

“you’re worried about him?” you joked, relieved to see that jihoon is fine.

“why would i care about you?” he grunted. oh, so you’re back to normal. good to know.

he checked his pulse and noticed the knife in his arm. you just shook your head and saw dark spots in front of your eyes.

leaning your head exhaustively against the desk, your face twisted in pain.

jihoon should’ve seen that first. but the thing that caught his attention were two guns on the floor.

which meant the unconscious man had a weapon too.

“don’t even tell me it was him” jihoon said, a hint of worry in his voice. you shook your head and he just sighed, walking up to you.

he kneeled in front of you, gently grabbing you by your chin and forcing you to look him in the eye.

“please tell me it was you who fired” he repeated, voice stern and cold. emotionless on the surface but you felt the bitterness of it.

“i’m fine” you huffed, scrunching your face.

the silence spoke volumes and jihoon wasted no time helping you stand up. eyes focused on you, he tried to look for any wounds.

“you still haven’t answered my question. can you stop being annoying for once and tell me who was it?” his voice rose up a bit and you sensed genuine concern. your heart ached upon that but the pain was stronger.

“i’m sorry. it was too late when i noticed” you whispered and felt your knees go weak. thanks to jihoon’s quick reflexes, he caught you, arms wrapping around your body. and that’s when he felt it.

he couldn’t see the blood due to the black clothes and darkness in the room. but he certainly felt it on his hands, and his throat went dry.

“i’ll fucking kill you if you die on me right now” jihoon’s voice broke.

people barged into the room, immediately taking care of the mafia boss.

you just shook your head and jihoon felt more and more warm blood spilling on his hands.

“you’re such an dumb idiot, getting yourself shot” he rambled at this point. the next events slurred into one vague memory. him grabbing you in bridal style, seungcheol shaking your arms, a car ride to the base with jihoon’s fingers interlocked with yours. his voice repeatedly saying ‘don’t die’ and you, struggling to respond with an ironic moment and only managing to mumble a “try me’’ before passing out on his lap.

you slowly opened your eyes, the blinding brightness of the room causing you to close them again. trying again, you looked around the room. hospital room…?

once the events started slowly coming back to you, you noticed a fluffy ball next to your knees. then you realised it’s a fluffy ball of messy hair. jihoon’s messy hair. jihoon, who was sleeping next to you on a plastic chair.

you frowned and tried to look for the wound. with one hand examining your body, because the other… the other was held by the man next to you.

when your shaky fingers stumbled upon the bandage, you saw jihoon slowly rose his head up.

he looked at you, dark circles under his ebony eyes. then they widened in shock upon noticing that–

“you’re awake!” he gasped, back straightening. you could only nod weakly “do you need anything? water? does it hurt? should i call the doctor? are you…”

“water will be fine” you hummed in slight amusement, enjoying this caring side of jihoon. only when he stood up to get some, he realized he was still holding your hand. turning his back to you, so you couldn’t see his reddening face, he started looking for some water.

“what… what happened to park chinhae? you captured him, right? did he say anything?” you asked, fixing your posture. hissing when a sudden wave of pain ripped through your body, jihoon turned around immediately “also… how long i’ve been…”

“two weeks” jihoon replied quietly, placing a bottle of water on the nightstand. you went to open it but struggled, hating the way you were so helpless “you lost a lot of blood, the bullet stayed in your body. we got the best medic but you scared us all to death” he mumbled, grabbing the water bottle and opening it for you. when he handed it back, his caring gaze lingered on you.

“oh i bet” you mumbled before taking a sip.

“that’s what you do the best, apparently” jihoon bit back, opening the blinds in the room.

“i barely woke up and here you go again… will you tell me what happened to park chinhae?” you asked, looking at him.

“you captured him and knocked unconscious so we could transport him. then we had an interrogation, he–” jihoon let out an annoyed sigh, returning back to the chair next to you. he looked tired “he didn’t say shit. in fact, all he was saying was shit about you”

“oh?” you frowned. you were used to this, sadly, since it happened frequently but the way he said that was… hinting that he didn’t leave this in peace.

“yeah. so me and cheol taught him a little lesson about respect for women and then he started talking” he said with a playful smirk.

“jihoon, am i hearing that right? you stood up for me?” you teased, putting the water bottle away. he rolled his eyes.

“whatever. he said the name of his main dealer so we handed him to the police. after wiping out his money, of course” he smiled and his mouth hung open for a while, as if he was thinking about adding something.

but just when he seemed to make his mind and speak out, the door bursted open.

“Y/N L/N YOU IDIOT! YOU’RE AWAKE?” seungcheol yelled out, but you just shrugged.

just when he was about to rush and hug you, you shook your head.

“it still hurts, cheol” you mumbled. he sent you a reassuring yet worried smile, then his eyes shifted to jihoon.

“you’re still here?” he asked teasingly, crossing his arms. you rose your eyebrows “y’know, y/n, he wouldn’t leave your side when you were unconscious”

“can you not?” jihoon grunted, face stone-cold.

“you felt guilty, huh? i remember you saying ‘as if i would let us die’ but there you were, as pale as a ghost when y/n passed out on you” seungcheol snickered and stopped once he saw a dangerous glint in woozi’s eyes “jihoon, could you actually leave for a second? i need to discuss a private matter with y/n”

“whatever” the man sighed and before he left, his gaze lingered on you for a while longer. with a soft click of door closing, seungcheol sat down next to you.

“what is it?” you asked, scared.

“nothing, actually. i just wanted to ask if there’s something between you and jihoon?” he rose his eyebrows. you shook your head, frowning.

“absolutely not” you grunted, looking away. okay, he was good-looking and funny but… not annoying most of the time.

“ah, really? because he wouldn’t leave your side while you were unconscious. he made sure the nurses that took care of you and changed your clothes were female and… beat up park chinhae pretty badly when we interviewed him. and also he wouldn’t say it but i could see it on his face that he felt guilty that it happened” seungcheol crossed his arms “what i’m trying to say is… consider his weird behaviour”

you stared at the leader with a mixture of confusion and awe.

“are you trying to say that… he likes me…?” you mumbled. cheol just shrugged.

“dunno. he acts differently around you. i’ve known him for a while and i just know that something is going on. but he’d rather get shot than admit it” seungcheol scoffed and gestured at you “no pun intended”

you reached for the water bottle and sighed, mind racing. that was a lot to process.

“i’ll go and tell others that you woke up, m’kay? and i’ll also call in the doctor” the leader stood up and smiled, ruffling your hair.

leaving you and your thoughts alone, you stared at the hoodie that someone left on the chair.

jihoon paced in front of the door, his thoughts spinning around him. you were supposed to leave today since the goal was accomplished. everyone bid you goodbye, and even threw a small party. it’s not like you’re leaving forever – you’ll stay in touch with them or join them again. but physically, you won’t be here anymore.

he took a deep breath and knocked at your door. whatever. it’ll be fine.

“yes, come in” your voice chirped welcomingly. he smiled and pushed the door open.

he saw you packing your bags with… his hoodie on.

“oh”

jihoon frowned.

“what do you mean ‘oh’?” he grunted, crossing his arms. you just let out a chuckle and shook your head.

“you’re the last person i would’ve expected to come here” a hum left your mouth as you turned your back to him and grabbed a pair of socks “what is it? one last ironic comment before i go?”

you were met with silence, causing you to turn around and look at him. jihoon looked serious, ebony irises focused on you.

he was practising this. he memorised everything what he wanted to say, even the tone of his voice. but seeing you now caused everything to fly out of his head, lips moving on his own. and before he realized – it was too late.

“i like you”

the socks dropped out of your hands. you blinked slowly, mouth closing and opening like a fish that’s been out of water for too long.

“w- what?” you scoffed and shook your head, trying to bend down to grab the socks. yet, the state of your wound didn’t allow you to do it normally. letting out a hiss, jihoon rushed to help and grabbed it for you. placing the socks in your bag, you were able to see his face up close. to your amusement, you noticed his ears turning red.

“i guess seungcheol told you his assumptions. i like you, okay? the stupid gun thing made me realize that” he huffed, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

“what do you mean?” you asked, playing with him. it’s a rare occurrence that jihoon gets so open and talkative, you might as well use it.

“it’s just… i felt guilty. you were dying on me and it suddenly hit me that life would be horrific without annoying you. and you, yourself. i’d miss you… and stuff. so i guess i like you. i’m not telling you because you’re leaving now but i… i just felt like it” he admitted bashfully, stumbling over his words, all while avoiding your eyes.

“jihoon” you couldn’t help your smile grow.

“and it’s my hoodie by the way” he pointed at the clothing, trying not to think how perfectly the hoodie fits you.

“jih– huh, really?” a gasp left your lips. you were sure it was seungcheol’s or… ah. jihoon probably left it when he was looking over you.

“you can keep it” he said softly and finally, your eyes met. for the first time, you saw that he’s anxious “i’ll get going. don’t die on your way back. bye”

“jihoon, wait–” you laughed and grabbed his wrist. he turned around and his stomach was stormed by butterflies when he felt your gentle hold. “it’s true, seungcheol made me realize this and that”

“that asshole” jihoon muttered, peering at you. you were… smiling.

“so i’ve been thinking about it. i told myself: i’ll be here for two more weeks. if until my leave jihoon won’t say or do anything, i’ll leave like nothing happened. if he does – i’ll tell him the truth” you said slowly, seeing how the gears visibly turned in his head. cute–

“what?” he asked, now being the one stunned.

“you like me. i… think i like you too. apart from being an asshole, you’re pretty sufferable” you grinned and poked his chest.

“what?” he frowned, his face contorting like you just spoke to him in a completely different language.

“don’t make me repeat it” you breathed out, the sudden realization that you said it hitting you.

“does… what…” his eyes suddenly fell on your lips “can i…”

“yes, you can kiss me” you whispered, finishing the sentence for him.

jihoon stepped closer, his hand leaving yours only to be placed on your jaw. the hold was gentle, almost as if he was afraid that he’ll break you.

then, his plush lips landed on yours. the kiss made your head spin – it was so unlike him but then again, so jihoon-y. nothing but tender and respectful, a taste of the chocolate cake that was served during the party lingering on his lips.

before you could deepen the kiss, he leaned away.

“i’m 100% serious about it. i know i’ve been acting like a dick but i couldn’t help it. it’s hard to act normal around such a pretty person” he snickered, thumbs caressing your cheeks “and as much as i’d want to kiss you again, chan was supposed to pick you up”

“but… we’ll stay in touch, alright?” you asked, pouting slightly. jihoon noticed the way your e/c eyes sparkled with hope and he couldn’t help but shoot you a genuine smile.

“of course. do you have any plans for the weekend? we could go on a date… like a normal one” he offered, stepping away.

you nodded with a grin, zipping up your bag. “i’d love to”

out of the blue, the door bursted open. chan was about to yell something when he noticed jihoon.

“what the fuck!” the youngest yelped.

“i hope you fall down the stairs, by the way” almost like a switch, jihoon snarled. however, this time you saw the amused smile on his sneaking lips.

“sure. you too” you shook your head and left with chan, giving jihoon a last goodbye look.

but only for now, because you’ll see him again soon.

masterlist <3

taglist. @mirxzii ,, @primoppang ,, @l3visbby ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @slytherinshua ,, @jiwuu ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @dazzlingligth

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aethon-recs · 1 year

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Tomarrymort Starter Pack: 10 Recs for Getting Started in Tomarrymort

I've compiled a list of 10 medium to longfic recs that I think represent a great on-ramp to the Tomarrymort ship, as inspired by @sitp-recs’ Drarry for Beginners rec list. These are the fics that I would use to on-board people to the ship — gorgeous writing, superb characterization, and just as enjoyable on the first read as the 20th reread.

As always, I am stunned by the talent in this ship! I tried to pick a good mix of different themes/tropes/settings, with a focus on elements that make for a good introductory work: the characters are recognizable; the setting skews more recognizable; both characters in the ship are a meaningful part of the story; the ship is central to the story; and the fics are for the most part complete (or updated within the last year).

(Standard rec list disclaimers apply: please mind all tags and warnings on AO3 before reading; this blog abides by the age-old fandom axiom of don’t like; don’t read; recs are in alphabetical order by title.)

This is Part 1 of a 3-part series — I also have an Intermediate reading list and Advanced reading list coming up for readers who have been with the ship for a longer time.

For now, please enjoy these 1.3 million words of absolutely brilliant Tomarrymort reads that I hope will keep you hooked until the very last word:

Tomarrymort Starter Pack Recs

A Dangerous Game by @cybrid (E, 284k, WIP)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 5 Premise: If Tom’s diary horcrux gains a body at the end of Harry’s 5th year (instead of his 2nd), and then promptly kidnaps Harry and holds him captive over the summer. Lots of smut ensues. Why I rec it: The characterization is truly stunning — Tom Riddle is undoubtedly a psychopath — manipulative, thrill-seeking, kind of an irredeemable shithead — but he’s also dazzlingly charming when he chooses to be, someone whose presence Harry quickly grows addicted to. Their relationship can get incredibly toxic and fucked-up at times, but Harry has top-notch instincts and can hold his own against Tom. The plot is absolutely gripping, with the threat of (the main) Voldemort, who has set his sights on reclaiming his wayward horcrux, looming in the background.

A Future Without a Face by @dividawrites (E, 115k, complete)

Setting: Time-Travel (1940s) Premise: If Harry travels back in time to Tom’s 5th year at Hogwarts, and Tom becomes obsessed with the new transfer student and wants nothing more than to possess him every way. Why I rec it: A 1940s time travel fic told entirely from Tom Riddle POV! Divida absolutely nails psychopath Tom — how he quickly gets singlemindedly focused on Harry, how the idea of possessing Harry consumes him, how he has no compunctions about doing completely fucked-up and destructive things to achieve his goals. There is so much tension between them from the start, so there’s not much of a wait to see some hot Harry & Tom action — and the conflict and tension only continues to build and build in dramatic fashion throughout the rest of the fic.

Either must die at the hand of the other by @metalomagnetic (E, 260k, complete)

Setting: Post-Canon Premise: If Voldemort survives the Battle of Hogwarts and is initially kept prisoner in Azkaban, until Harry takes him into Grimmauld Place under house arrest. Why I rec it: This fic is an incredible exploration of Voldemort at his most terrifying. Even if he starts off the fic with his magic temporarily blocked, he is no less powerful without his magic. The force of his personality is powerful enough for him to chip away at Harry’s initial resistance — @metalomagnetic manages to write one of the most charismatic, brilliantly manipulative, and psychologically devastating versions of Voldemort I’ve ever read. Harry ends up in a good place by the end of the fic, but the journey to get there is a roller-coaster of emotions that have permanently imprinted onto my soul.

In Somno Veritas by ladyoflilacs and @lordansketil (M, 158k, complete)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 6 Premise: If Harry starts appearing in Voldemort’s nightly dreams during Book 6, and Voldemort becomes obsessed with Harry after realizing he’s his horcrux. Why I rec it: This is one of the most unique fics I’ve ever read in this ship! Every scene is told in alternating POV between Harry’s POV and Voldemort’s POV, so you get to see how every scene unfolds from both of their perspectives. Voldemort is so intense and just as terrible as he is in canon, so his character is not at all sugarcoated, and Harry has so much compassion and heart and manages to fall in love with Voldemort anyway. The writing style is gorgeous, with richly detailed and emotionally-laden prose. Also, one thing that pleasantly surprised me is how funny their banter is! There were definitely a number of times where I laughed out loud in the middle of an otherwise really intense scene. Bonus content: also comes with a lovely sequel that made me melt.

Inevitabilities by @shadow-of-the-eclipse (T, 103k, complete)

Setting: Same-Age AU Premise: If Harry and Tom attend Hogwarts together and go traveling around the world after they graduate. A betrayal leads to their break-up, but after many years, Harry returns to find Tom in Britain, and the two of them are drawn back together again. Why I rec it: An excellent same-age AU with unhinged dark Harry and just-as-unhinged Tom. Their relationship starts out quite dark and twisted and unhealthy — and only devolves from there. The fic ends with the two of them as equals — utterly devoted to each other — but in an incredibly fucked-up way: “He loves Tom like a forest fire; wild and all-consuming, he wants to devour Tom, to claim him, to mark him, break him.” Isn’t that absolutely breathtaking?

love is touching souls (surely you touched mine) by @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger (M, 34k, complete)

Setting: Time-Travel (1940s) Premise: If Harry gets thrown back into the mid-1940s and meets Tom Riddle as a young man just graduated from Hogwarts working at Borgin and Burkes. Why I rec it: When Harry accidentally travels back in time and chances upon Tom Riddle as a fresh graduate, he realizes this is his chance to make a difference. While Harry is only in the past for a brief interlude, he leaves enough of an impression to change the trajectory of Tom’s life. The dynamic between Harry and Tom is rife with tension and witty dialogue, and the story is set during Christmastime, which lends a very festive and heartwarming atmosphere for falling in love with each other.

No Glory by @obsidianpen (E, 254k, WIP)

Setting: Voldemort Wins AU Premise: If Voldemort figures out Harry is his horcrux when Harry surrenders in the Forbidden Forest, and decides to keep Harry instead of killing him. Why I rec it: This fic showcases the absolute, terrifying genius side of Voldemort, in a universe where he wins the war and captures Harry at the end of book 7. I am stunned at how skillfully @obsidianpen portrays Voldemort as a brilliant political strategist — the courtroom scene where he manipulates the story and the audience so well stands out as a top 10 fanfic moment in my mind. Harry and Voldemort’s relationship is chilling from the very start, and grows even more unhealthy as Voldemort gets addicted to Harry’s touch due to the presence of the horcrux, but Harry later learns to turn that to his advantage.

The Fire, Burning by @parsimmony (E, 35k, complete)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 6 Premise: If Voldemort discovers Harry is his horcrux after Book 6, and kidnaps him to keep him captive by his side in his bed, inside of a lovely greenhouse setting full of friendly snakes on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Why I rec it: The prose!! I am swooning over the prose! Harry is Voldemort’s captive in this fic, but he is so much more than that — and the emotions that gradually blossom between them have so much richness and depth and are utterly moving that I’m still drowning in the depths of intimacy that were portrayed. Their relationship unfolds in such a gorgeous and unrushed way, and the setting is so unique too — a lush and overgrown greenhouse that’s exploding with exotic plants and friendly snakes around every corner that imbues the fic with a very romantic, dreamy quality.

the pleasure, the privilege by @being-luminous (M, 20k, complete)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 6 Premise: If Voldemort is doused with Amortentia keyed to Harry, and starts sending Harry bizarre and gruesome courting gifts, like the bodies of the Dursleys. Why I rec it: Breathtaking prose! Voldemort somehow ends up more terrifying when he’s trying to woo Harry than when he’s trying to kill him. Every single sentence had me on the edge of my seat, as Voldemort’s ‘gifts’ become more elaborate and devastatingly dramatic, until Harry basically has no choice but to respond to his overtures. The ending is incredibly clever in how it parallels certain plot elements of book 6, with an added Harrymort twist.

The Untouchable by @treacleteacups (M, 75k, complete)

Setting: Canon Rewrite (Books 1-7) Premise: If Harry starts out his first year a little bit more suspicious and a little less wide-eyed and guileless, and subsequently gets sorted into Slytherin. He has many of the same encounters with Voldemort along the way as he does in canon, but his interactions with Voldemort will end up leading him down quite a different path. Why I rec it: A snappy, fast-paced full canon rewrite that still manages to fit in all the essential Tomarrymort plot points, between Horcruxes and Hallows and the major events of books 1-7, in a compact 75k words that doesn’t at all feel rushed. It’s a delightful journey following Harry’s character evolution from an overlooked, peculiar child who relies on wishy-washy wish magic to a confident (and still endearingly peculiar) young man who can challenge and hold his own against the great Lord Voldemort. Voldemort’s obsession with Harry deepens with every encounter that they have, as he finds ways to continually insinuate himself in Harry’s life and his mind and his dreams.

#Tomarrymort Starter Pack #tomarrymort #tomarry #harrymort #aethon recs #tomarry recs #tomarrymort recs #harrymort recs #hp fic recs #longfic recs #ao3 recs #fanfic recs #2023 reads #2023 recs

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burstfoot · 6 months

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Your name is Kristen Wright. You’re barely 10. You’re at the outdoor funeral for your parents, a pair of genius scientists that Terra will never see again. You’ve spent the last two weeks giving false smiles to women and men who pretend to grieve them while spending every moment they think you’re not looking lauding them for their ‘foolishness’ and ‘hubris’. Sitting amongst a crowd of these intellectuals, your feel nothing looking at their crocodile tears, knowing they’re just happy there’s less competition for next year’s grants. Your new guardian grabs onto your hand in an attempt to grant you a modicum of comfort. You stare blankly at the sky above.

You’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away.

Your name is Joyce Moore. You can hardly communicate anymore. Your best friend killed herself trying to replicate the experiment that gave you permanent brain damage. Every scientist at Rhine Lab now treats you like a child at best, and an animal at worst. Your parents have not come to see you. None of your colleagues seem to understand that you are still you, with a sense of humour, good taste in TV shows, and fucking feelings, god damn it.

You’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away.

Your name is Ferdinand Clooney. You’ve lost everything you’ve ever worked for in a futile grab for power. The department of defense has you by the dick after saving you from a group of Pioneers who (justifiably) nearly beat you half to death. It’s playing fiddle to their whims or the rest of your life in prison - or, most realistically, a tragic accident report. Your aspirations aren’t within your reach anymore, and you know that it’s your fault. You will never be Kristen Wright, and it’s eating you alive.

You’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away.

Your name is Parvis Ahrens. You’re not that old. You’re only 58. But you’re losing your mind. Every day, a little more slips away. You rely more and more on encyclopedic entries for information you took immense pride in knowing from your heart. You’ve spent the last few years focused on the pursuit of progress of all else. As part of this, you manipulated your star pupil in an attempt to permanently get her under your wing, outside of the influence of the Defense Director, a weak-hearted woman everyone else seems to think is cold as ice. She has years of life to change Columbian science. You don’t.

You’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away.

Your name is Jara B. Wilson. You feel like you don’t see the girl who lived for you with so long in Kristen anymore. You’re a washed-up movie star, working for her cause above all else. Do you have anything that you’re working for for yourself anymore? She’ll be gone soon. You know that.

She hasn’t even left yet, and you’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away once she leaves.

Your name is Nasti Londrey. Your people have never had a home. They might never have a home.

You’ve always felt alone. You will always be alone. That’s fine.

Your name is Justin Fitzroy Jr. Your dad died a week ago, and the cure has just been found for the hereditary illness that threatens to cut your lifespan in half. It was found by accident.

The sword of Damacles no longer hangs above your neck. Why then, do you still feel so alone?

Your name is Loken Williams. You reach out to a girl you tortured, who you know can’t remember what you did to her, because you’re going to die soon, and you need someone to remember what you did with your life.

Even if she kills you, at least you won’t die alone.

Your name is Trevor Friston. It’s been thousands of years down here. You just want to see your daughter again, and it will be another thousand until you do.

You’re very familiar with the loneliness that wraps around every single nanometer of your circuit board.

Your name is Dorothy Franks. Your whole family was killed in a Catastrophe. Your name is Elena Urbica. Your whole family, besides your twin sister, has disowned you. Your drive yourself head-first into the sciences to distract yourself from the loneliness.

Your name is Ho’olheyak. Centuries of ancestral memories swarm around your mind. Because of this, your lifespan was cut to a fraction of the life you should be living. You are obsessed with the history of your people, and you resent them from tearing your life away from you. You tear over books and tomes of history to find all means of unspeakable knowledge, hoping that somewhere in there you’ll find something that you can connect to.

You don’t even know you’re lonely.

Your name is Muelsyse.

You saw the writing on the wall. Saria and Kristen just had a massive fight. You’ve been drifting apart since college, but the only two people who you’ve felt a real connection to on all of Terra will hardly speak to each other anymore. Do you try and mend what happened between them? Can you? You don’t know what to do besides take all means to protect yourself in the fallout. You wish you weren’t so paranoid, so self-centered, that all you know how to do is ensure your own safety.

Is there anything on Terra for you besides loneliness?

Your name is Ifrit. It’s cold, and quiet, and you’re pretty sure you’ve killed everyone around you. Your eyes are blurred, you hands are shaky, and shards of black crystal stick out all over your body. Before you pass out, you think one thing:

Hell, you might be alone, but at least those bastard whitecoats got what was coming to them.

Your name is Olivia Silence. You pull yourself out of the rubble in a destroyed laboratory, where you see Saria looming over Ifrit, beaten half-to-death. You beat yourself up for thinking you could trust her - that she was there to protect Ifrit, and you. You can’t trust anyone in Columbia. You run to embrace Ifrit with your entire body, to protect her from the cold eyes of Saria standing above her. You look back at her with nothing but fear in your eyes.

You’ve never felt so alone. You have to get Ifrit out of Rhine.

Your name is Saria. You’re barely 8 years old. You went your father in tears, as a group of bullies came after you and destroyed your toy car. He tells you to stop crying. You’re not accomplishing anything by throwing a fit in front of him. He tells you to fight back - take responsibility for your weakness.

You’ve never felt so alone.

You won’t ever be this weak again.

Staring up at the sky, looking up as Kristen’s ark sends her out through the hole she tore in the false sky, you know that you were foolish to believe you could bypass your own weakness through sheer will.

And you’ll be lonely for the rest of your life without her.

#arknights #fic #(i suppose. this is moreso like. an appreciation post in prose form)#arknights spoilers #lone trail spoilers #lone trail #your name is Mayer Stony. honestly you’re doing completely fine

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gay-dorito-dust · 5 months

Note

Hii! Could you do a mizu w reader where one is injured (doesn't really matter which one haha) and it's like a hurt/ comfort?

Take your time and get some rest!!

Write this when I was on the verge of falling asleep, so if any of it sounds like it was coming out of my ass, it was. 🦦

‘Why did you do it?’ Mizu asked, choosing not to look at you but instead focus on your injuried chest with a hard glare.

‘Do what? Protect you from that smiley coward who was about to use unethical means to completely blindside you?’ You replied as though the answer wasn’t already glaringly obvious, you honestly didn’t understand why you had to explain your reasonings as for protecting Mizu and putting your life at risk, but if it meant showing them that someone did give a shit about whether they’d live or die; then you’d happily be that person for Mizu.

‘You had no need to protect me, I could’ve-‘

‘Easily defend yourself, I know Mizu.’ You interrupted them before grabbing ahold of their hand, memorising the feeling of callousness to memory, as you rubbed your thumb against the back of their hand reassuringly. ‘I know how strong and powerful and amazing you are. I’ve witnessed your fighting spirit first hand and it took my breath away. Literally because when we first met you knocked the wind out of my lungs with the butt of your sword, all because you thought I was some stranger about to attack you.’ You finished recounting the tale of how you first encountered Mizu with a small smile. Why? Maybe it was your way to direct their mind to a more happier and healthier memory, rather then have it stuck heavily focusing on the one where they had their back exposed to the enemy; the reason you now had a massive gash running across your chest. A gash that would surly become a permanent part of your body but also a painful reminder to Mizu.

A reminder that you could’ve been easily taken away from them.

A reminder that you’d always selflessly put them before yourself, even if that meant getting hurt, maimed, loosing a limb or worse yet; your life.

A reminder that they’ll have to get stronger if they wish to prevent you from doing so in the nearby future. Mizu knew that their revenge took presidency over everything else, even their own health, but they don’t want you to ruin yourself beyond recognition for them; It just didn’t feel right to Mizu to have you be the barrier between them and the ill intentions of other people. They were strong enough to deal with it but as it’s been made clear countless times before, you didn’t give two shits about that, and instead focused all your time and effort into showing them that they matter so much to you; Which is an admirable and respectable trait to have in Mizu’s eyes.

However that did little to quell the unease they felt upon witnessing your body drop at their feet in what felt like slow motion, just as the first sighting of blood that began to pool beneath you in such quick succession, that at one point Mizu genuinely thought they were too late to save you, this was proven especially more true when you didn’t awaken within the first couple of days after Mizu had stitched and then later covered your wound; all in due to the amount of blood you had already lost. So the feeling of being able to properly breathe again upon seeing you wake up made the uneasy feeling that little bit more bearable for Mizu.

‘While it’s appreciated to know that I can fully count on you to have my back in the heat of battle, it is not a necessity.’ Mizu states, bring the conversation back to where it was needed most, causing you to frown. ‘I should’ve known better than to think that he would honour me with a fair fight. I should’ve known that he’d play dirty the moment he realised the odds were stacked against him.’ Mizu adds, clenching their fists into the seams of their clothing, jaw clenched and their eyes become an unforgiving steel blue; all signs of their underlying rage toward themself and the cowardly man.

‘You didn’t know and that’s perfectly fine.’ You grunt as you slowly sat yourself up with Mizu’s hands supporting your endeavour whilst being mindful as to not reopen your wound. ‘It’s normal to not foresee things before they happen, otherwise it wouldn’t be considered an authentic human experience.’ You let out a little chuckle, all the while Mizu was left to sit there and narrow their brows at what you could’ve possibly thought was so humorous. ‘And to live an authentic human experience is to accept that you have limitations, especially during the moments where you wished you didn’t have any at all.’ You said as you looked into Mizu’s eyes hoping that your words were somewhat getting through to them.

‘We always question ourselves on how we didn’t see it coming, or how we didn’t see the signs but what we’re not taking into account is that we’re human. Not super powered beings of mythical origins nor gods but just plain old humans. We don’t get the luxuries that they do, however if there’s one thing we can pride ourselves in having, it’s how we take these moments to heart and learn from them going forwards.’ You smiled softly, seeing the sea of emotions within Mizu’s eyes. ‘Another thing we can pride ourselves on is our resilience and our willpower to continue paving the way forward. We get hurt but we always get back up because that’s the indomitable human spirit. That’s what we do.’

‘Where are you getting with this and what does it have to do with me allowing you in getting hurt?’ Mizu asked, curious and a little restless as to what this was all meant to mean. ‘The moral of this for you to not beat yourself up over being human for being human is all we’ll ever know how to be until our final breath.’ You explained, lifting their clenched hand within yours to press a kiss to the back of it, before placing it back onto their lap. ‘Instead of focusing on what has already come to pas, how about bringing your attention to the fact that I’m still here and I’m still breathing. Yeah?’ Mizu stayed quiet for a while, allowing for your words to sit with them as Mizu thought long and hard before finally reaching to a conclusion.

‘Only on the pretences that I get to teach you in the basics of defence.’ Mizu said. ‘As a precaution.’ They add.

‘As long as you don’t go hard on me.’ You chuckled, already visualising it.

Mizu gave you an almost missable smirk. ‘No promises.’

#mizu imagines #Mizu imagine #mizu x reader #mizu x you #blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai imagine #blue eye samurai imagines #blue eye samurai x you

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iamnotokaythx · 10 months

Text

part 2 to the miguel fic. its rly terrible and not finished but i need to get this out or ill never finish it

tw: miguel is delusional, mentions of his past, not native spanish so i used spanisdict, none of this is thought out nor proofread and i am so burnt out that none of the plot is comprehensive

“hello?” you mutter. the couch you’ve been draped over feels gross. the room is hot and your skin sticks to the material. leather? maybe faux leather. you push the thoughts away—what you’re more concerned about is where you are.

“y/n! dios mio, okay, good, you’re awake!” miguel rushes in breathlessly from the other room and sits on the floor in front of you. “i always get so… so scared when i use the venom on you. i don’t know what i’d do if you didn’t wake up. i mean, it’s already been two days, if you didn’t wake up soon i’d probably have—“ he rambled before stopping abruptly. “…i’m glad i didn’t hurt you.”

you’re not quite sure how to respond. you try to kick your feet to sit up, but your ankles are stiff. realizing how your skin feels, you realize your feet are tied together with the futuristic cuffs he’d only threatened you with before.

“did you cuff me? what the fuck?”

“i-i didn’t want to! you left me no choice.”

“you have plenty of choice! choose to let me go. i want to go home.”

“i can’t do that. you could get hurt! your dimension could collapse, a villain might kill you, or you might die from a mugging. i can’t let you go.” he’s explained his reasons a million times over. his gaze is pleading for you to understand, to forgive him.

“as opposed to your venom? i think i’d rather take a bullet than that ‘slow and painful death,’ but i’d honestly rather have the venom than spend another year of my life with you.”

you know you shouldn’t have said that. you can practically see his heart shatter at your words. miguel’s eyes widen and he blinks rapidly. tears are threatening to spill from his eyes. he swallows and stands up. a shaky smile pulls itself onto his lips.

“you were just angry. it’s okay. you didn’t mean it. it’s okay. you still love me, right? you—“ his voice breaks. “you love me! you do.” tears prick his eyes and he paces back and forth. “you love me!” he shouts. “say it. say you love me.” he whispers as he suddenly lunges himself towards the couch and gets in front of you on his knees. he sinks his hands onto your thighs, begging you to just please say those three minuscule words.

“miguel, i—“ you used something other than a nickname, it was the first time in a while.

“no—no, no, no, no, no. just say it.” he murmured.

you stay silent.

“you don’t even have to mean it. just say it, okay? …y/n?”

“…okay. sure. i love you.” you decide to appease him because he gets awfully clingy when he’s upset and that’s something you’d rather not deal with. “just tell me where we are.”

miguel’s head shot up. he exhaled in relief.

“we’re in a safe house. nueva york is miles away. it’s-it’s okay, don’t worry, i’ve spent a lot of time and money on this. you’re really gonna like it here. i was planning on moving us out here for a long while, but your little outing was the push i needed.”

“…why do you bother keeping me prisoner? what’s in it for you?” you decide to ask.

miguel’s hopeful smile dropped. “um, i love you. isn’t that enough? i know that the whole ‘permanent house arrest’ is a little too far… but given enough time you’ll be able to earn back my trust. we can go back to nueva york after a while, if you want.”

“is LYLA at least installed in the house?”

“…yes? why?”

“so i have someone to talk to.”

“you have me, cariño.”

“…so i have someone to talk to when you’re not at work.” you correct yourself.

“oh. okay, that’s understandable.” he said absently. he shook his head and flashed a smile. “do you want me to cook you anything?”

“sure.” you reply simply. “i don’t care what.”

“right, you must be starving. it’s okay, i’ll make a little of everything.” he kissed your forehead and stood up, hurrying to what could only be assumed was the kitchen. he hums a song you were able to recognize while he turns the stovetop on and you hear the sound of food cooking. awkwardly, you shamble to a sitting position.

“miguel?”

no reply.

“miguel, can you hear me?”

was he doing that petty bullshit again?

“miggy.” you call out unenthusiastically.

“sí, mi querido?”

“turn the cuffs off.”

“sure thing, amor.” the cuffs on your ankles opened and you stretched uncomfortably.

“i would rather you use my name.”

“it’s just a nickname. would you rather i call you ‘darling’ or ‘dear’ or something?”

“i would rather you call me y/n.”

“you know i can’t do that. you’re my partner. maybe even spouse if we get the chance. i could never just call you y/n!” you can tell he’s smiling from the tone of his voice.

“we aren’t dating.”

“yes we are!” he laughs enthusiastically. “why else do you call me all those cute nicknames? i mean, my favorite’s definitely ‘baby,’ but every time i talk to you you call me some kinda nickname.”

“i called you ‘baby’ when we’d date. and i call you nicknames because you ignore me otherwise.” you correct him this time.

“hm. so we are dating!”

“is that seriously what you got out of this goddamn conversation? no. we aren’t dating.”

“of course, my love. hey, let’s not argue, hm? agree to disagree?”

you sigh in annoyance and stand up from the leather couch. it’s the only leather furniture item, as far as you can tell. the bottom floor seems to be rather big, very well decorated.

some of your favorite flowers are withering in a glass vase. miguel never cut the stems and the water hasn’t been changed in a while.

there’s a large living room, the kitchen, a bathroom, a dining room, and a library/pool table room. on the upper floor, there’s a master bedroom with a balcony that overlooks a lake, a master bathroom, 2 guest bedrooms, and a nondescript closet.

outside is a small flower garden and a lake, as well as a large shed. the entire house is surrounded by trees and there aren’t any obvious paths back to civilization.

“miguel! am i allowed to go outside?”

you look back and see he’s out of the kitchen, walking towards you. when he meets your gaze he paused and you turn back to the window. you feel miguel step closer to you and place his hands lightly on your hips.

“y/n. you know about… my wife. and my daughter. i want another chance with you. i… want you… to want a chance with me.”

…way to completely miss the question.

“get a different me. from some other dimension. one where i’m so terribly lonely that i would fall for everything you say.”

“that’s not funny.”

“it’s hilarious.”

you hear him sigh.

“i love you. i know that you’ll love me back eventually.”

“i did love you, miguel—and quit that petty nickname shit, by the way—i loved you way before you kidnapped me. i don’t know if i can ever think of you as anything other than my captor, at this point.”

“no. don’t say that. you still love me.” he insisted softly. he must be seriously delusional. “it’s been two fucking days of you just… lying there! motionless! i thought i hurt you. i did hurt you. i need to make it up to you—but do you know how scary that was? to see you still and pale on the couch? i can’t do that again. please, just play nice, okay?” his back was tensed and he was blinking back tears again. he must be in a very fragile state, killing his wife and daughter accidentally and then almost killing his partner on purpose.

“fine, we can talk about this later. can i please go outside… baby?” you spit the pet name out like it’s poison. a smile quirks up from under his tear-filled eyes.

“yeah. i planted all of it just for you.” he promised, wiping his eyes and then taking you by the hand and leading you to the backdoor.

—

part 3 coming never probably god i hate everything /hsrs

i am just rly bad at continuing things ok :(

#yandere miguel o’hara x reader #yandere miguel o'hara #x male reader #x dom male reader #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #yandere miguel o’hara x gn reader #tw yandere #miguel o’hara x male reader #miguel o’hara x reader #x masc reader #yandere miguel x reader #male reader

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evita-shelby · 7 months

Text

Torture

Jealous!Tommy Shelby x wife!reader.

Requested by @elenavampire21

Gif by @peakyblindersfan

Cw: some classism, jealousy

He hates parties the most.

Thomas is fine with pretending to care for these people on a workday, but not after hours.

And yet here they are mingling with these fuckers who think they are superior because they buy into the lie that the fascists spew.

They see him as the exception because of his money and brilliance, even Grace had thought she could mold him into one of Them because her desire to join Them overpowered her love for him.

You do not care to fit in with these people, yet your self-confidence and individuality makes Them desire you more.

The women envy you and the men do not even care it’s Tommy’s ring on your finger when they seek you out.

They flirt with you and he wished Churchill had asked for their heads and not their secrets. You never entertain their attempts at seduction, and he knows you wouldn’t betray him like that, but he’s jealous all the same.

Some failed poet takes his chance while Tommy talks business with a man needing to permanently silence someone. When he hears you laugh at something the poet says with that suggestive look in his eyes, Tommy forgets the two of you are on a mission and invents an excuse to leave the place early.

He's always been prone to jealousy came with his selfish streak.

Things you claim are ‘cute’ on him.

“Is Mr. Shelby feeling threatened by some starving artist?” you tease him about it once the two of you get home and race upstairs with a wicked look in your eye.

He’s been chasing after you since the two of you met, Tommy wasn’t even sure who was the cat and who was the mouse.

Tonight he is the cat and he’ll have you as meek as a mouse by the time he’s finished with you.

“They act as if you don’t have an owner, Mrs. Shelby.” He shouts bounding up the stairs after you.

He catches you as the two of you reach the second landing, pins you against the wall and wonders why you didn’t out up a better chase. “You’re my property, y/n. No other man gets to have you even when my ashes are scattered to the wind, love.”

Once you belong to Shelby, you die a Shelby. A rule he thinks you’ve forgotten now that the times are changing.

“As if I could ever want a man who isn’t you, baby.”

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x wife!reader

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 7 months

Text

Making Arrangements Part One

Masterlist | Part Two

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting will be blocked.

Length: 6.1K

Notes: It's a two-shot! Part two will have explicit content.

No beta, we die like Billy Kimber

Warnings: Arranged marriage; mentions of prostitution; canon-typical attitudes toward sex; slow burn; enemies to allies to lovers; Reader has a brother and an aunt; no physical descriptions of non-canon characters; Reader gets drunk

Summary: If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future.

But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man. You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies.

“D’you think you could bother to give them a smile?”

On the face of it, it seemed a fair question, but all things considered, it made you want to punch Thomas Michael Shelby squarely in the jaw. You didn’t, of course—that conduct would be unbecoming of a bride in front of her new family.

You’d been getting knowing looks from the women all night—pursed lips from Ada and Polly, and a wide smile from Esme. It was almost wolf-like, the way she watched you—welcome to the pack.

“I could,” You conceded, nodding, casting your gaze around the party. The revels had only just begun. It was early enough that nearly everyone was coherent, on their feet, but you knew that in just a couple of hours, the party would likely turn to shit. These people would be drunk, coked out of their minds, dancing, and flirting…Probably fucking. You had no doubt that you would be expected to do your wifely chore that evening.

Maybe that was why a permanent frown had been fixed on your lips from the time you’d put on your wedding dress, as you’d walked down the aisle, all the way through the fucking I Dos.

“You’re still frowning.”

You didn’t bother to hide your eye roll before you turned your head fully to look at him. He didn’t give you the same courtesy. He watched the revelers with the same bored speculation as you’d given them just moments ago.

“And this is what your fucking grin looks like?” You snipped. He raised his cigarette to his lips, drawing in a deep drag that sank his cheeks. He managed to cast you a knowing glance, his brow raising.

“It’s the most that you’ll get of me tonight.”

“And of me. Don’t ask me to stoop to something that you won’t bother with. I’m your wife now. At least pretend to respect me in front of them,” You insisted, nodding toward the others. It took him a moment, but Tommy nodded.

“And behind closed doors?” He asked.

“That’ll be none of their concern. And you’ll have to take it up with me later.”

“I intend to.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, and watched. All Tommy did was light up another damn cigarette. You weren’t sure if you married a man or a chimney.

You could hardly believe that you had married the man at all.

Your family had never been a big player in Birmingham, or Camden. You’d kept your head down, stayed out of the way, operated cleanly. When the Shelbys had come to you with a proposition, it hadn’t been for your minor operations in the UK—it had been for your connections in America. They were looking to expand, offered you a good deal, and a union between the two households.

When it had first been brought to your attention, you’d thought that it was a pretty good idea. But when it came down the line that Thomas Shelby had specified an interest in marrying you, well—the thought had become less and less appealing. If you’d cared less for your family, or known less about the mounting tensions that they were facing overseas, you would’ve laughed the idea off. If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future.

But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man.

You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies.

Tommy had spoken to you only once before your wedding day. The meeting had been brief, and he’d done all of the talking. He’d promised to protect you, sworn to never raise a hand against you.

“You know as well as I do,” He’d insisted, “That this is the best way forward for our families. And I know,” He’d leaned in a touch, “That you want what’s best for your people.” He’d reached into his pocket and drawn out a small velvet box, setting it on the table before he stood, straightening his waistcoat.

“You have until tomorrow night. I need an answer.”

You’d sent him your reply—a single slip of paper sent with your brother Lewis that simply read: Yes

“...It was a nice party,” You offered now, unable to stand the silence any longer.

“You didn’t seem to particularly enjoy it.”

“No one left with a bullet wound. In my family, we consider that a successful bash.”

Tommy’s lips quirked just a touch as he nodded.

“Our brothers seemed to get on,” You hedged, desperate to draw this out. You worried that once you stopped speaking, he may…Want to consummate the marriage. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. You’d heard rumors, whispers that Tommy was a good lover, but you weren’t sure that you were ready to find that out yourself.

“They did,” Tommy nodded again. “Lewis and John already seem thick as thieves.”

“Yes.”

The two of you fell into quiet again, and it was a harrowing few moments before Tommy pushed himself off of the dresser. Your hands dropped instinctively to the bed, grasping at the sheets—but Tommy turned and went for the door.

“G’night, then.”

Your brow furrowed as you glanced around. Goodnight? But—

“Where will you sleep?”

Tommy stopped in the open doorway, nodding behind himself. “I’ve a room down the hall.” He turned away, adding, “Shout if you need something.”

You hesitated a few moments longer before you sprung up, darting forward and shoving the door closed before locking it. You drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes and letting your forehead rest against the dark, cool wood grain.

He didn’t take.

You had gone into the room expecting shoving hands and a quick coupling, but Tommy kept his distance. You weren’t sure if you were more relieved or insulted. You turned away from the door, leaning back against it and peering around your dim new living quarters.

Relieved, you decided.

Insulted, you decided.

Tommy had the gall to lean in and peck your cheek when he’d come down to breakfast that morning.

It took everything in you not to shove him away.

Polly made no comment on how wane you looked the next morning, nor did Ada or Esme cast you knowing grins or teases. They all watched Tommy, and the little slip of a shadow that you’d met last night—a birch-pale, dark-haired woman named Lizzie.

You didn’t think that the news had made it back to your family—the fact that your husband had just spent his first night as a newly-married man with a prostitute-turned-secretary while you slept alone in an unfamiliar room wearing the lacy nightie that you’d bought specifically for your honeymoon.

Esme and Ada excused themselves as quickly as they could, but Polly lingered, and offered,

“He’s a prickly sort, and these things take time. Men have their needs and urges.”

“...Right,” You pronounced crisply as you stirred some sugar into your tea, “And I’m a novice in a nunnery.”

“You should’a seen the girls at the party last night,” Lewis groaned.

For all of your irritation during the last few days, you’d been happy, truly happy to see your family enjoying themselves. Carving out your space in the literary scene of London and running a few underground print shops wasn’t exactly a serene existence. You constantly had to move operations, vet workers, stop-up leaks in production cycles and deal with snitches. Your entire family was dedicated to the business, but your brother was the most determined of the lot. Lewis had become the man of the house at a young age, after your father had been hauled into prison for treason.

So to see him let loose a little—well, more than a little, truth be told—was a heartening sight.

“I don’t think I would’ve quite enjoyed them the way you did,” You raised a brow, smile widening as he ducked his head bashfully, “But I’m glad you had a good time.”

“And you?”

The pointed question came from just behind you. You didn’t dare turn to look at your Aunt Pearl. She knew you far too well. You could hide your feelings and concerns well enough from Lew—you had plenty of practice. But Pearl had been a motherly figure, a guiding hand in what would’ve been an otherwise rudderless life. She learned to read you like an open book when you were young, and you had been powerless to change the way that she understood you, even as the seasons of your life had passed.

You turned your head back toward her just a touch, biting the inside of your cheek as you waited for her to go on. It was a few moments of quiet before she urged: “Lewis, go get some air.”

You drew a deep breath in through your nose, fighting to steady yourself, and giving Lewis an encouraging smile and nod before he stood, pushing away from the kitchen table and heading outside. You saw him tipping his head back toward you, trying to catch on the line of questions that Pearl was about to level—as if neither of you knew any better to wait until he was fully out of earshot.

“Who’s Lizzie?” She finally asked. You weren’t sure how to answer at first. You scrubbed your hand over the back of your neck, making sure that you heard the door shutting behind Lewis.

“It’s just…Growing pains,” You finally offered, gaze set stalwartly on the table. “Every couple has them.”

“Where was he last night?”

“How should I know?” “He’s your husband. You’re supposed to know.”

You didn’t have a chance to argue before she strode closer, her hand resting on your shoulder. You didn’t flinch, or draw away. You were used to her hand on your shoulder, her nails digging into your skin. She didn’t dig her nails in just now—she merely rested and waited.

“Growing pains,” You finally offered again as you looked straight ahead. It was as if Polly had her hand on your other shoulder, and was staring you down in warning.

“Pains?” Pearl repeated. “Physical?”

You don’t want to answer, but—

“Emotional,” You blurted. It was another moment of quiet before she hummed. You stopped yourself from turning to look at Pearl—to catch the no doubt heavy judgment in her dark eyes, and the twist of displeasure to her small mouth.

“I see.”

“It’s early,” You insisted. She hummed again, stepping around you to walk toward the window. It didn’t take much to glance over, to see where Lewis was playfully fighting with John and Finn.

“Do they know?” Pearl asked.

“About where he was?” You shook your head. “I’m sure his brothers do.”

“And?”

“And what?” You scoffed. “It’s no business of theirs. Our marriage is between myself and Thomas.”

Pearl turned to face you with a crisp smoothness, her eyes narrowed as she cocked a hip.

“And that’s all you have to say about it?” She asked. You pursed your lips. You had plenty to say about it, but it would land on deaf ears. Any of Pearl’s meddling would spell trouble, and you weren’t about to sic the dogs less than twenty-four hours into wedded bliss.

“Yes,” You nodded firmly. Pearl’s eyes narrowed further before she hummed, turning back toward the window.

“...This is good for us, Pearl,” You reminded her. “The Shelby’s are strong, they know what they’re doing. I just have to hold up my end.”

“And what end is that?”

“That of a doting wife.”

“And mother?”

Doubtful. Thomas couldn’t even be bothered to touch you as it was. But it was early, you reminded yourself. Things could still change. Things would change. They had to.

“Perhaps,” You leveled evenly. “Someday. Time will tell.”

“Time,” Peal repeated, nodding as she rounded you. “Well, if we’re going on time, so far, you’re not managing it particularly well.”

You slid down in your seat a little as Pearl finally left the dining room. Your interest in the day’s paper had been sapped; your tea had gone cold. You didn’t want anything to do with Thomas Shelby, or with his family, not anymore. If you were going to make it through at least one year of marriage, you needed to nip this in the bud.

“I need to talk to you.”

Tommy didn’t so much as glance at you, his gaze trained steadily on a horse. You waited a moment, shifting from foot to foot, but perhaps you shouldn’t have waited. You’d spent nearly two weeks waiting. Maybe he hadn't heard you? You stepped a little closer and raised a hand to touch him. You couldn’t bring yourself to make contact, and your hand curled in on itself just before it could brush his waistcoat.

“Thomas?” You pressed.

“I’m busy.”

“When can we speak, then?”

“Tonight.”

Certain that he meant it earnestly, you turned away and left.

But the evening came and went, and you found yourself sitting alone, stewing in front of your uneaten dinner and eyeing his empty plate. The house was too quiet, and your thoughts were far too loud. You needed to clear your buzzing head—you wanted a drink, and some fun.

“You can’t let them push you around.”

The warning was spoken knowingly. You knew that she was right, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet Esme’s eye. Her gaze was so heavy, so all-knowing—nothing like the bright, uninterested gaze that Thomas often offered you. But Esme was having none of it. She dipped her head into your field of vision and clapped her hand over yours where it rested on the table beside your drink. You shook her hand away lightly, reaching for your drink instead. Maybe coming to the office to nip out of the bottle Polly kept in her desk had been a bad idea. But you couldn’t bring yourself to just sit in that house and rot in your anger.

“No one is pushing me anywhere,” You grumbled.

Esme let out a soft, cruel chuckle.

“I know what it is,” She insisted, “To come into this family and feel on the outside, feel that you don’t have a voice. Becomin’ a Shelby doesn’t erase who you were before.” She reached out again, taking up your drink and drawing in a deep pull before you could argue. As annoyed as you were, you knew that she was right. You nodded slowly, topping the glass up when she set it back down.

“...Should I not bother replacing Polly’s alcohol, then?”

Esme’s smile grew as yours did, and the two descended into quiet giggles.

“We need to talk.”

It was steely when it left you this time. Despite that, Thomas still paid you no mind. In fact, he went out of his way to take his time drawing on his cigarette before fishing into his waistcoat. He pointedly drew out his pocket watch, flipping it open and eyeing the time. The tick tick tick of the second hand passed for several long moments before he flipped it shut again, lifting his gaze to the hustle and bustle of the office around him.

“Later,” He offered.

Later, always later. Weeks of later, of hearing Lizzie’s footsteps and the creaking across the floor as she left the house before you were up and about for the morning. Weeks of sitting alone in that empty house, putting on a brave face for Pearl and Lewis. Weeks of anger and shame eating through your gut.

“Now,” You spat.

He turned his head toward you, brows ticking up. You could feel the pace of the others in the shop around you slow just a bit, and speeding up again as Thomas shot them a glance.

“Alright,” He murmured, resting his hand on your lower back. You let him steer you toward his office, resolute in your irritation. He opened the door for you, waving you inside and shutting the door behind the two of you.

“What is so urgent that you pulled me away from my work?”

“Your work of watching other people count your money?” You quipped in irritation.

“...What is it that you want to discuss.”

“You need to keep your whoring private.”

Thomas’s brows jumped with intrigue, his chin tipping down toward you.

“Explain.”

“I understand that we went into this with our eyes open and a mutual understanding that the actions that we were taking were for the good of our families, but to the rest of the world, we are husband and wife. I will not ask you to stop your carrying on, as I can't imagine that you’d abide by it if I did, but keep it private. I will not step out on you publicly, and I expect to be given that same respect.”

Thomas blinked before he straightened, pushing away from the door and stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk. He muttered something that you couldn’t hear, and you frowned.

“Pardon me?”

“Publicly,” He repeated firmly. “You said that you wouldn’t step out on me publicly.”

“I did,” You nodded.

“Do I get to know the lucky man’s name?”

Your face went hot with indignation. Was he trying to embarrass you? Whether he was or not, it was working. You folded your arms across your chest.

“You’re missing my point.”

“I take your point. You want me to treat you as my partner, and as my wife, you have that right.”

“And will you?”

“You can trust me to be discreet.”

“I don’t trust you to do anything.”

Thomas’ expression closed off, his eyes narrowing a touch, and your stomach twisted with nerves.

“And might I ask why.”

“What have you done to earn it? In our, what, two weeks of marriage, I have hardly seen you. You’ve made no point to acquaint me with your family or your business, and you’ve spent your nights down the hall with another woman. I’m not your wife, I’m a boarder.”

Thomas considered for a moment before he gave a short nod.

“I understand. I will make changes.” “Thomas—”

“I will.”

You pursed your lips together, pushing a sigh out through your nose before you gave a small nod of concession.

“Alright.”

“Anything else?”

“...No.” And, just to seal the deal, “Thank you for your time. And for listening.”

Thomas nodded, straightening up and opening the door for you. You strode toward it, and were nearly through before he rested a hand on your shoulder. You went still, turning your head toward him just a touch. Before you could get a good look at him, Thomas leaned in, brushing a kiss to your cheek. It was the most that he’d touched you since he’d kissed you the morning after your wedding. You thought that he may be making a show of affection for the office, but Thomas turned his head, brushing his lips against your ear.

“If I ever find out that another man has touched you,” He murmured, “I’ll take off the bastard’s hands and give them to you as an anniversary present.”

You balked, shock wracking your chest as he placed a final kiss to your temple before he gave your ass a pat, spurring you into action and sending your scurrying back into the office, and out of his reach.

“It’ll be nice for you to fix up the place and make it your own,” Polly commented.

“She was always going to get around to it of course,” Pearl insisted. You didn’t dare look away from the row of dressers. The one that you had in your bedroom was fine, but it was a bit small. You’d ordered several new pieces of clothing on Tommy’s account—well, on your joint account. Giving the name Mrs. Shelby had incited stunned, wide eyes from the shop keeper’s assistant and prompted fawning and a healthy discount.

Still, as much as you were trying to bring your families together, you realized belatedly that in this case, it was an awful idea. Polly and Pearl had taken every opportunity to take digs at one another, leveling backhanded compliments with smug smiles and drags of their respective cigarettes. The two of them were so painfully similar, and perhaps that was why they seemed to hate one another so much.

“Of course,” Polly echoed placidly.

“I want this one,” You pointed to the one in front of you.

“I’ll find the assistant,” Polly offered, brushing past you. You sighed heavily, shaking your head.

“Please pull it together,” You muttered.

“I’ve nothing to pull together,” Pearl pronounced.

“Please,” You bit out again. “I can’t make any of this work if you and the others don’t, either.”

You heard a deep sigh, chased by the tapping of her cigarette ash beside you.

“I will be myself.”

“I don’t need you to be yourself, Pearl. I need you to be pleasant.”

A little knot of tension unwound as Pearl chuckled.

“Becoming a missus really has given you fangs.”

“I’d rather not use them, if possible.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you.”

“...Are you going to give Miss Sourpuss the same talking-to when she gets back?”

“Lord above.”

“You look like you’ve had a marvelous time.”

Bringing Pearl and Polly to a somewhat peaceful place had been shock enough for that evening, but this took the absolute biscuit.

You might’ve yelped in fear at the sound of his voice if you hadn’t spotted the burning cigarette in the ashtray mere seconds before he spoke. As it was, you didn’t answer right away. You plastered yourself against the backdoor, your hands curled around your key and your purse. Thomas just arched a brow, expectant and silent. He wasn’t supposed to be there. You’d been told that he had business, and you had figured that once that had concluded, he would take care of other…Matters. You'd thought you’d have the house to yourself and have a nice cuppa before going to bed.

You finally managed to push yourself forward, away from the door, your face hot with drink and embarrassment.

“I didn’t think you’d be in,” You admitted.

“You didn’t think I would be spending the evening in my own house?”

“Esme told me there was a family meeting. She said that they can run late.”

“You were misinformed.”

“Clearly.”

You watched Thomas warily as he drifted closer, going tense as he stepped around behind you. You hardly dared breathe for a moment, then let it out as you felt him slide your coat from your shoulders.

“Thank you,” You mumbled as he stepped away with it.

“Were you with Esme?” He asked, tossing your coat over the back of a chair.

“Mhm,” You nodded, taking a few steps deeper into the kitchen. “And Ada, Polly…And Pearl.”

“Where were you?”

“Polly’s house.”

“Mm.”

You watched Tommy round the counter, taking up a clean glass and a bottle of whiskey. You nodded, stepping closer. “Please.”

He poured a good amount before setting the glass on the table. You sat down, watching him do the same. The light in the kitchen was low, casting an orange glow about the room. You felt almost like you were being interrogated as Tommy tucked his cigarette between his lips for another drag. You took your drink up in turn, giving your hands something to do. Besides, finding your husband at home had harshly staunched your blissfully tipsy mood, and you were desperate to get it back. Tommy made no comment as you took a deep swig, and you fought away a wince at the taste and burned as you gulped it down greedily.

“How was the meeting?” You asked.

“Fine…Would you like to know what it’s about?”

“If you’d like to tell me.”

You figured he would let it go there, but he gave a short nod, offering: “We’ve reached a trade agreement with your man in New York.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Lewis can fill you in on the particulars later.”

Your brows jumped. “Lewis was there?”

“The business concerned him, I made sure he was in attendance.”

“I’m sure he appreciated it.”

He hummed, leaning back in his seat. You took another deep swig from your glass, but you couldn’t bring yourself to draw your gaze away from Tommy’s. He seemed so relaxed—though, maybe it was absurd to find a man relaxed simply because he had removed his suit jacket. Still, he looked irritatingly dashing in his waistcoat.

“Tell me about yourself,” He ordered as you lowered your glass to the table. You cleared your throat, shaking your swimming head to try and clear that, too.

“Pardon me?”

“Well,” Tommy plucked up the bottle again, topping your glass up. “As you have reminded me, you are my wife. I ought to know something about you.”

“...Are you drunk?”

His lips quirked with a small smile. “No. But if you keep on like that, you will be.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so, thank you.”

“I have to be drunk to want to learn about my wife?”

My wife. It made you feel oddly warm as he said it…Though perhaps that was the whiskey.

“We didn’t exactly have the most conventional courtship, or wedding,” You reminded him.

“All the more reason for me to learn about you now.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“How about with the things you like.”

“I will tell you,” You nod slowly, “But only if you tell me about yourself in turn.”

Thomas seemed to purse his lips before he sat up in his seat. He held his hand out, the gold of his wedding ring glinting in the light.

“You have a deal.”

You hesitated for a few moments, certain that he was putting you on. But when he didn’t draw it back, you raised your hand in turn, grasping his and giving it a shake.

The first hint of light made you wince and turn away. Your mouth was obscenely dry; your head was pounding harshly. You groaned, rolling away from the window. Oh…You did not feel good. Your head felt like it was going to burst; your stomach rolled like you were taking a rocky transatlantic crossing. Oh, god…Were you going to be sick?

You peeked an eye open, then squeezed it shut again. Oh, no. You weren’t sure which was worse, having your eyes open or keeping them closed. You hesitantly opened both eyes, then groaned more loudly, tucking your head beneath your pillow. No. Having your eyes open was definitely worse.

You heard a harsh thudding, as if a giant has managed to get into your room. What on earth—

The pillow lifted away, and you tipped your head up into the cool brush of fingertips against your forehead.

“How’s our Sleeping Beauty?”

You weren’t sure what flustered you more: the teasing tone of Tommy’s voice, or the way the word beauty sounded coming out of his mouth.

“Right as rain,” You mumbled. “Or I will be, once you stop yelling.”

His chuckle brushed your forehead.

“Pearl is on her way to look in on you. Apparently Esme is doing just as well as you are this morning.”

“I don’t wish this on my worst enemy.”

“Rest up.”

“I wasn't planning on doing anything else.”

“Good girl.”

Before you could ask, or argue, or throw a hand out to slap him on the shoulder, he brushed a kiss to your forehead, then drew away fully. You listened to the retreat of his footsteps, a pause, the scraping of the curtains being drawn closed, and the gentle scruuuuuuh—thump of him shutting your bedroom door behind himself. You only dared look around after a few minutes, when you were certain he was gone. You rolled onto your back, sighing and trying to ignore the thud-thud-thud behind your eyes.

You feel like hell, but last night was sort of…Nice.

Drinking with the girls and breaking down some of the barriers before your families had been a success, but coming home to Thomas was…New. It wasn’t unpleasant, as you would’ve previously thought. You scrubbed your hand gently across your eyes, trying to recall your conversation. You had it in bits and pieces—his love of horses, his devotion to his family, his worries for Arthur and John. You wondered if he told you those things because you’d been spifflicated that he didn’t think you’d remember a damn thing. But you remembered.

You remembered the almost kind way that he’d smiled at you a couple of times. You remembered the way he’d taken your hand and led you up the stairs, steadying you when you’d wobbled and taken uneasy steps. You remembered him turning his back as you’d gotten undressed, waiting for you to get into bed before bidding you a goodnight.

A knocking on the door drew you up from your recollection, and you winced at the sound.

“Yes?” You croaked. The door opened, and to your surprise, two heads poked through.

“You’re in a state,” Polly chuckled before Pearl opened your door the rest of the way. The two entered your room, each eyeing the furnishings that were soon to be replaced. You pushed yourself up, wincing as your head spun.

“Had a night, did you?” Pearl settled onto the bed beside you.

“Could you lower your voice, please,” You grumbled.

“Did you go right to bed when you came home?”

“I meant to.”

“But you didn’t?” Polly chimed in.

“No.” You winced as you raised your voice just a touch. “I…I had a conversation with my husband.”

Polly and Pearl cast one another curious glances, so unlike the cutting looks they’d leveled at one another just a couple of days ago.

“It was fine,” You added. “It was…” Nice? Enlightening? Something you would be happy to have again? “Cordial.”

“Was he drinking?” Polly plied.

“We both were.”

Polly and Pearl each hissed, chased by sympathetic tuts.

“You should’ve quit while you were ahead,” Pearl admonished.

“I certainly know that now.”

Polly took another look at you before she patted Pearl’s shoulder, offering, “I’ll put the kettle on.”

“You’re a saint,” Pearl smiled. You sagged back against the headboard, scrubbing a hand over your brow as Polly disappeared.

“Since when are the two of you so friendly?” You asked. Pearl shrugged.

“We’ve come to an understanding…As you have with your husband, apparently.”

“I think it may be a very different kind of understanding.”

“D’you mind if I smoke?”

“...I don’t mean to sound harsh, but if you smoke, Pearl, I will be sick.”

“Better out than in.”

“Please, no.”

It wasn’t every night—it wasn’t even most nights, but you began to spend time with Thomas. It started with him coming home just as you finished dinner, and progressed to Thomas making it home just in time for dinner. Conversation wasn’t always freely flowing, and a few of those first dinners were a little quiet, and awkward. But as you spent more and more time together, those silences became more and more rare, and when conversation wilted, the quiet was comfortable.

You still slept apart, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d heard Lizzie creeping out of the house as you awoke. Maybe she’d managed to work out which floorboards didn’t creak; maybe Thomas had stopped having her in the house…Or having her at all.

You were certain that the second possibility was the most likely. It still wasn’t the ideal situation, but you appreciated it all the same. Not only had Thomas kept his promise and been discreet, but he was taking the pains to distance you from his romantic liaisons. It was…Almost sweet, all things considered.

“...What are you reading?”

You jolted at the question, sucking in a gasp and dropping the manuscript that had been in your hand. Thomas’ brows rose as he walked deeper into the sitting room.

“You scared me,” You grumbled. “How long have you been here?”

“A few minutes. I called out twice when I came in.”

“Oh,” You frowned. “I’m sorry, I must not have heard you.”

“Clearly.”

He walked deeper into the room, taking up the fallen manuscript and sitting on the green velvet settee beside you. You let your gaze linger, sweeping over him. His jacket had always been removed, though his waistcoat was still intact. His cool eyes swept over the page, brow furrowing a touch as he took in the content. His head began to turn toward you, and you hurriedly stood, rounding to the bar cart.

“Would you like a drink?” You asked.

“Sure.”

You plucked up the bottle of whiskey, uncapping it and pouring a good amount. You rounded back to him, holding the glass out. He crossed his legs, resting the manuscript against it before he took the drink with one hand, patting the seat beside him with the other. You lowered yourself back down hesitantly, acutely aware of the way your thighs brushed.

“What is this?” He asked, nodding toward the pages.

“A book that was sent to us.”

“Topside?”

You smiled a little. Topside was how your family had always referred to the legitimate side of your publishing operations. You were certain that you and the others had said it around Tommy and his family before, but you were surprised he remembered.

“Yes,” You nodded.

“D’you like it?”

“Ah…” You considered before you blew softly between your lips. “I’ve read worse.”

“I’m not sure if that’s an indictment or praise.”

You chuckled. “It’s got a good frame, but the writing is unpolished. Could be good, with a little bit of work.”

“Will you work on it yourself?”

“I may. Need something to do with my time.” It felt like the wrong thing to say as soon as you said it—but Thomas simply hummed, turning the page as he lifted his drink to his lips.

“Redecorating hasn’t been enough of a challenge?” He asked after a moment.

“Well it was, but I’m nearly through. The only room in the house that I haven’t touched is yours.”

“And why is that?” His eyes slid toward you, and the sudden shock of blue made your stomach flip. You shrugged a little, shaking your head.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

Thomas nodded before he turned back to the pages. The two of you fell into silence, and you leaned in a little, reading over his shoulder.

“...Dinner’ll be ready soon,” You told him after a few moments. He nodded, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth, away from you.

“What’re we having?”

“Roast chicken.”

“Vegetables?”

“Potatoes and carrots.”

“Gravy?”

“Of course. I’m not an animal.”

Thomas huffed a soft laugh through his nose. He turned his head toward you a little, his lips brushing your temple. The touch made your eyes slide closed, your stomach fluttering at the sensation. You were so caught up that you nearly missed what he said next:

“We’re going to London tomorrow.”

You frowned, glancing up toward him. “Why?”

“I’ve a meeting.”

“A meeting that involves me?”

“I want you with me.” He turned his head a little more, nuzzling lightly against your hair. “Besides, it’ll be good for you to get out of the house for a bit.”

“I get out enough.”

“I think you could do with a bit more.”

You hummed thoughtfully before you leaned away, patting his thigh lightly.

“I’ll go check on the bird.”

You only managed to get up and take a single step before Thomas caught hold of your hand. You glanced back as he raised it to his lips, brushing a tender kiss to your knuckles. The action was so small, yet so intimate that it made your breath catch in your throat. He gave your hand a squeeze before letting go of it, letting his arm drift up to rest on the settee. You turned away, hurrying toward the kitchen.

Once you were alone, you braced your hands on the counter, drawing in a deep breath and pushing it out again. Your skin seemed to tingle where he kissed it, and you glanced down, as if you could see some discernible change. You shook your head, shaking your hand before you turned to the oven.

Dinner, get dinner together. You could worry about Thomas’ touch and the trip to London later.

Next Part

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#Tommy Shelby x Reader #Tommy Shelby x You #Tommy Shelby/Reader #Tommy Shelby/You #Tommy Shelby fic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Making Arrangements

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