#i wanna shove soap down its throat | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

doodleybugg · 2 years

Note

1 is taking a shower

2 walks in by accident

1 asks slyly if 2 can hand them the soap/get that one part on their back

2 does such

1 & 2 have shower sex

yES!!

tags: smut, 17+ pLeAsE, shower sex, daddy kink, cussing, thigh riding, Sirius Black x fem!Y/N, mix of degradation and praise, pet names, slight dehumanization, throat fucking, edging, dom/sub dynamic, spit/drool kink, lmk if I missed any and as always enjoy!! <3

A/N : i think i tried to make Sirius more vocal during sex, since I'm my head he is, but i'm shit at dialogues so please ignore if you think it doesn't really match up, or sounds off, i'm too tired

"Y/N!" Sirius spoke in alarm as you turned the door handle to the bathroom, and you instantly froze.

"Shit, sorry! Sorry! Forgot you were in there" you rushed your words, closing the door again and sighing in embarrassment. A muffled voice sounded from behind the door, and you shouted a quick 'huh?', only to be met with more muffled speaking, so you finally open the door. "Couldn't hear you love, what was that?"

"Can you- pass me that soap?" Sirius asked, and a hand shoved its way from through the slit between the shower curtain and the wall, long finger pointing to a small sliver left of what was once a bar of soap next to the sink. You chuckled, opening the medicine cabinet to grab a new bars to hand to him, and he thanked you by poking his head out for a kiss.

As you moved back to the door, Sirius spoke again. "Darling?"

"Mhm?"

"Can you get this one spot on my back?"

You paused before rolling up the sleeves to your sweater. "Yep, hand me the soap"

"I'm not opening the curtains, the warmth will leave! You get in here"

You sighed and started to undress, making sure to draw back the curtains as little as you can as you stepped into the tub, and Sirius was smiling at you, black hair dripping down his back, light blue eyes scanning you up and down.

"Hi, darling" he smirked, almost animalistically, and you blushed spotting the soap on the edge of the tub.

"You do know you can just say 'get in here, I wanna fuck', right?" You smiled, stepping closer before inching back. "This water is boiling, Siri!"

he chuckled, unaffected by the (to you) burning water, and instead pinned you to the wall, the warmth of his flesh holding you in place, one hand on your waist and the other on the wall next to your head.

"Get in here, I wanna fuck" he mocked, amused by the red tone your face held. You scoffed and pressed your lips to his, but he leaned his head away, to your bewilderment. "Can we try something new?"

You racked your head. What could you two label as 'new'? You've tried almost anything in the bedroom. You furrowed your brow, but nodded, and he took that as a cue to finally return your kiss. Your teeth clashed, and his tongue darted into your mouth, and all of a sudden you two were on the floor of the tub, scalding water beating down on Sirius' back as he hovered above you.

"Open your mouth" he stated, and you obeyed quickly, and a long string of drool fell from his mouth into yours. The warm liquid rested against your tongue, coating your tastebuds in his taste, you almost moaned and he smiled again with how quickly you smiled. "So good for me, aren't you? My little fuck-doll"

"Y-your doll, daddy" You groaned at his words, hips bucking upwards into his, and you felt him immediately go rock hard. He's never usually this patient. By this point, you both would've came twice by now. What was his play here? You didn't have too long to dwell on it before he was standing back up, and your attempt to follow him made him place two hands on your shoulders, keeping you on your knees as he towered over you. Your eyes trailed every detail, the freckles that painted his chest, the small scars on his forearms that had faded decals drawn around them in sharpie. God, everything about him was perfect, you thought as you leaned forward to kiss his red-hot tip, already leaking precum. He hissed at the contact, hands immediately flying to your head, tangling in your hair as he tried his best not to push you, ultimately failing this battle as his hands shoved you until your nose was buried in the hairs at the base of his cock. Tears sprung to your eyes as your tongue swirled around his length, his back arching and he trusted rougher with your every move until he finally came, hot ropes of white shooting down your throat, painting your face as he pulled away, and you licked your lips.

"Fuck" he groaned, recovering quickly from the high as he sat back down, his back shoved against the wall, and he dragged you partway into his lap, straddling his thigh. Your mind was still hazy from his words, that alone almost pulling you into sub-space, and he definitely caught on. "My little doll can't think for herself? C'mon love, I think you have a brain in there" you slumped against his chest, arousal dripping down, soaking the pores in his thigh. His strong hands grabbed your hips, guiding you against his thigh, forward and back, forward and back again, ever time he pressed you down a little more until you were mewling with pleasure, then suddenly he stopped.

"I know you're dumb but you've gotta know how to ride by now, pet, don't you? You're so good at it. Show me how good you are" he continued to urge you as your eyes rolled back in your heads, the heartbeat between your legs so loud you were certain he could hear it. Your arms were trying their hardest to hold you up as Sirius let go of you, and you dragged your cunt almost as he had, and he groaned, helping you get again reach that sweet spot. "Such a dumb cuck-slut, need to do everything for you huh? So stupid for me" his words brought you closer and closer until you snapped, orgasm washing over you as you moaned loudly, and he let you ride out your high, holding you close to his chest as your release washed away in the water.

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hallelujahmeatgod · 3 years

Text

HAIKYUU CHARACTERS WHEN YOU PRANK THEM TELLING THEM YOU DON’T WANT TO SHARE A STRAW

+warning/s: There’s really none, just cursing is all.

+word count: 2227

+note: The characters are very random because they’re the first ones I had an idea for. I want to write for the other ones too, so please do tell me what you guys think about this one.

KUROO

"What did you just say?" He asked, eyes wide from shock.

"I said, grab another straw if you want to take a sip of my drink. I don't want to share a straw." I said, as calmly as I can, immediately looking away from him. Because Lord knows I just want to laugh at his dumbfounded face right now.

He gave me a sarcastic laugh. A laugh that says "are you serious right now?"

I raised a brow at him acting like I don't have a clue as to why he's acting the way he is.

And that was the last straw for him.

"So you literally shove your tongue down my throat and you wouldn't share a straw with me? What's that about?" He said angrily, looking at me with daggers in his eyes.

I laughed and instantly covered his mouth, looking around at the café. "Bitch, shut your mouth. I was just playing with you." I whisper-yelled, while trying to control my laughter.

He rolled his eyes and snatched away my drink. Muttering a "not funny" under his breath, as I continue laughing at him.

KIYOOMI

"Can I try yours?" Omi asked calmly.

I nodded, but before he could grab my drink I pulled it back a bit. "Oh-- can you not use my straw though?" I said as innocently as I can.

He rolled his eyes at me then scoffed. I thought he's actually gonna get riled up, but that's until he said "Brave of you to assume that I'll share a straw with you."

I gave him a dumb look. What?

He raised his brows at me, a sly smirk making its way to his lips. "I'm literally afraid of all kinds of germs, and you are no exception."

Did I really just forget that I'm in a relationship with a germaphobe?

"Whatever" I said, pouting.

I handed him a new straw but then he gave me a look of disgust.

Can I be any more disgusting to this guy?

"Now you're trying to give me a plastic straw? You turtle murderer! Get that animosity away from me." He said, as he dramatically whipped a metal one from his bag.

Just how many does he have in his bag?

"Now, repent from your sins and start using this babe."

BOKUTO

"WHAT?!" His dramatic ass yelled.

"Sit your ass down, right now!" I ordered like a mom.

I pulled him back beside me on the couch as he looked at me sadly.

"What do you mean we can't share a straw? We kiss all the time though and we share more saliva doing that than just sharing a straw." He pouted.

Which is so cute that I had to stop myself from just pinching his cheeks and hugging him.

"I just don't want to share a straw today, okay? Just get another one. I have some in one of the drawers in the kitchen." I said, scrolling through my phone so that it'll seem like it's not a big deal.

I kept on scrolling, but then I realized after a while that he's still beside me.

When I looked at him, I KID YOU NOT, there's tears welling on his eyes threatening to fall. His lips even quivering as he tried holding back the tears.

I instantly held his face and pulled him close. "Oh my, Bo, what's wrong?"

When asked he became more emotional and the tears finally fell. "You wouldn't share a straw with me." He said, sobbing. So I pulled him into a hug.

"Bo, stop crying. I was literally just joking, no need to cry you big baby." I said, chuckling lightly as I ruffled his hair.

He instantly pulled away, looking at me expectantly. "Huh? You're not for real? I can use your straw? You're not disgusted?" He asked and I nodded, giving him a warm smile.

He jumped at me and gave me a bear hug. "I don't like that joke though" He said, pulling away enough so he could look at me.

"I'm sorry, Bo. I won't do it again."

"YAYYYYYY!" He exclaimed, as snot trickled down from his nose. This kid.

"Let's wipe that snot away first though before you come close to my straw, yeah?"

OIKAWA

(Now this is about to turn into a soap opera. Everyone knows this dude is the queen of all drama queens)

"Tooru, baby, use another straw." I said, not even sparing him a glance. Eyes focused on the anime we’re watching.

No reply. No reaction. No movements for a solid moment.

Eventually, he sighed then stood up. I heard him shuffling around so I thought he's actually gonna grab a straw for himself. Y'know, be compliant for once?

But since we're talking about a professional drama queen here, that obviously isn't happening. Duh.

"28th of August, in the year of the Lord. It's a warm afternoon, an afternoon filled with sunlight. Everything's bright, sunny, and happy. But just as everything is fitting into place, everything turned dark '' He monologues, standing at my balcony.

Oh Lord, save me.

"It is on that one afternoon, that Oikawa Tooru's heart has been shattered into million little pieces. It's shattered so good that no glue, not even E6000 glue, can put it back together." He continued, fake crying. Looking back at me once in a while to see if I'm looking at his drama. Then just exaggerating even more, putting his all into it.

I rolled my eyes at him, completely done with him.

"I thought there was love. I thought we felt the same way, that we're on the same page. But I was greatly mistaken! Nothing's fine. I'm torn. I'm all out of faith and this is how I feel. I'm cold and I'm ashamed, not lying naked on the floor-- but I'll think about it. Illusions never change into something real--"

"DUMBASS JUST TAKE A FUCKING SIP. JUST SHUT UP"

And that's all that needs to be said. He darted towards me and easily drank half of my drink, cuddling next to me.

"Now is that hard? It isn't right?" He teased, which earned him a solid smack on the head.

ASAHI

"Grab another straw for you to use, Asahi" I called out to him as he stood up to get some more snacks after he announced that he wanted to try my drink.

"What did I do this time?" He asked quietly when he got back, dropping the snacks on the table.

"What do you mean? Did you do anything?" I asked him back.

He crouched down in front of me so we're at eye level. "You just told me to use another straw. So what did I do, woman?"

At this I immediately broke into a fit of laughter, which made him confused yet concerned.

"You're scaring me right now babe."

"Ohhh~ Asahi, you really are too precious."

"Are you being sarcastic right now? Is that you getting more angry at me for whatever reason? Wait! Are you actually angry at me? What did I do--"

"YO! Breathe." I clamped a hand on his mouth. "Who said I was angry?"

"Well you don't wanna share a straw so I'm assuming you hate me right now" He shrugged.

I ruffled his hair and lightly pinched his cheek.

"I was just messing with you, so no need to be a panic mess." I reassured, caressing his face ever so softly.

His face instantly calmed as he leaned onto my hand. "Don't do that. You know I panic easily over the smallest things. I was about to have a heart attack." he pouted.

I kissed his cheek and offered him my drink, and he happily took a sip.

"Wait till Daichi hears this" I chuckled, earning a groan from him as he hid his face from me.

KAGEYAMA

I'm getting so impatient.

Impatient for Kageyama to ask for a sip of my drink so I can mess with him.

Why wouldn't he just ask? He kept on eyeing it yet still wouldn't ask for a sip.

"You know, eyeing my drink like that wouldn't make you taste it. If you want a sip, get another straw." I said as if I don't care, when in reality I'm watching his every move and expression.

His eyes then diverted from the drink to me, raising a brow. What's he raising his brow for?

"Bold of you to assume I'd like any of that." He said lazily.

Me=Jaw dislocated.

I looked at him not knowing what to say. What does he mean?

"Huh?" Was all my dumbass could muster.

"As if I'd drink that '' He said, sticking out his tongue in disgust. He took a sip from his milk and smiled, completely satisfied. "I'm all good with my milk, it makes my bones stronger. You can close your mouth now."

"B-but you kept on eyeing it"

"Yeah I did. Cause I was asking myself how someone can even consider that a drink."

USHIJIMA

"Can I please have a small sip of your drink? That seems like a new flavor I have yet to try. So if you don't mind." Ushijima asked beside me, looking straight into my eyes as he did so.

Does he really have to be this serious and proper asking for a sip?

I'll never understand how his robotic self works, but I still love it though. I actually find it cute, so it took a lot from me to not break character.

"Sure thing. Just get yourself a new straw." I said, pushing my drink towards him.

I can see he's quite surprised by that since he didn't just do it right away. He gave me a look but then again didn't really say anything. He stood up from our booth and went to get a new straw.

I almost facepalmed when he did so, but then again what was I expecting? That he'd go crazy over it? That he'd have a big reaction? This is Ushijima we're talking about. The only time you'll see a big reaction from him is when that kid Hinata goes head to head with him or when he sees Oikawa CAUSE WHY THE HECK DIDN'T YOU ATTEND SHIRATORIZAWA, DUMMY!

Ushijima is very simple and calm, so he doesn't make a fuss about things easily.

When he got back he just silently put his straw in and took a sip. "That's quite good but not as good as the one you always get." He said honestly. Typical Ushijima.

We were silent for a little bit. Usually I'd be talking his ears off by now with all the gossip I've found out. But I'm still a tiny bit down because of his lack of reaction.

"You're weird today" He said out of the blue.

"What?" I asked, choking a bit from my drink.

Lost. That's what I am. He doesn't really blurt out things like that. I mean, yeah, if he finds something weird, mostly if you're asking him about it he'll say it's weird. But he doesn't really just blurt it out the way he just did.

"You never had problems sharing with me. You don't mind me biting into your food, drinking from your bottle, making me eat the ice cream when you only want the cone, yet you made me get a new straw. It's just new, I guess. That's why it's kind of weird."

He said calmly and I can tell that he's genuinely calm. Like he isn't trying to be calm or he's mad deep down. He's simply sharing his thoughts.

"So you did notice." I pouted. He looked at me and nodded for me to continue talking. "I was actually just doing this thing I saw on YouTube, telling your boyfriend you don't wanna share a straw."

"Oh" He nodded in understanding. "No wonder you're weird today. You'd never do that." He actually said in a very humorous tone, with a small smile on his face.

I beamed and sat closer to him, resting my head on his arm. "Sorry for that."

He shook his head and gave me head pats. "It's fine. And of course I'd notice, I prefer it when you share with me, it makes me feel closer to you. And you've always been sweet to me even though I can't do it well, so I instantly caught on to it."

"You're sweet in your own unique way, more than you realize, Ushi" I said, smiling at him. He returned the smile with an even bigger one. My heart is about to burst, it's not everyday I see this guy grin like this. This smile might be a small one to others but for me this is a whole ass beam!

"Can we share properly now?" He asked, very VERY cutely. It almost brought tears to my eyes. And when I say cutely I mean him just looking at me seriously. In conclusion whatever this giant does I find cute, okay? I'm whipped and I'll even write it on my forehead if I have to.

"By all means"

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quillquiver · 4 years

Text

and it’s good

DeanCas coda to 15x19: ‘Inherit the Hearth’

He hasn’t stopped praying.

From an empty world to one filled with people, Dean has gone to his knees every night—on the floor, the gravel, the dirt—and prayed. Head down. Face pressed to his knuckles. Dear Cas…

From each failed plan to their eventual, anti-climactic victory, Dean shares it all. And when it’s all over, when they wake up the morning after with no Jack, no Cas and no world to save, it’s bittersweet. Confusing. Like being released into the wild after living in a cage.

Where does he go from here? What does he do?

What does he want?

Sam doesn’t have a problem finding his own answers, but then again, he never has; he was the one with the life outside The Life: the college boy, the dreamer. Dean… Dean needs some time to adjust. Regroup. Grieve, maybe—whatever the hell that looks like. So, he serves himself a bottle of Jack, grabs a box of Pop Tarts, and makes his way to his recliner. First day of freedom? Dr. Sexy and sweet oblivion sound awesome.

“Hey, uh, what’re you—” Sam cuts himself off, skidding to a halt in the doorway of the Dean Cave. He’s got that pinched look on his face, the one that means: inevitable bitch face, concerned edition. Dean waves him off.

“Chilling out,” he mutters, taking a long pull from the bottle. “Figure I deserve a vacation.”

Sam narrows his eyes. “A vacation.”

“Yeah, genius. A vacation. You know, a little me time?” Dean takes another pull. “You got a problem with that?”

Sam shifts his weight. Frowns at the floor. It’s weird to see him like this; he’s so big, now, but that move is straight out of his teen years—when he’d been gangly and awkward and angry and unsure. He looks up, resolved, and Dean heaves an internal sigh. Whatever the fuck Sam is trying to do, he doesn’t want any part in it.

“What if you come with me?”

“Nope.”

“Dean—”

“Look, Sammy, we fought the big fight, we won, there ain’t nothing left to do,” Dean says reasonably, bitterly, turning back to the DVD menu. “So I don’t wanna go into town, or to the store, or wherever else you’re planning on gallivanting to today. I’m gonna watch my show, drown myself in booze and pass the fuck out, because that is what I’m owed. Capiche?”

“Eileen texted. I’m… I’m going to go get her.”

It’s weird, Dean thinks, how many times a heart can break. He clenches his jaw and swallows the lump in his throat, blinking rapidly. Allows himself a second—one second—of envy and jealousy before he slaps a smile on his face and nods. “Good,” he says. He means it. “You should.”

“So…” Sam trails off.

“So…” Dean echoes.

“…Come with.”

“Sam, I’m not gonna crash your romantic reunion okay? That’s weird.”

“Dean—”

“Sam.” And there’s more that comes out in that word than he ever intended. It hangs heavy in the air between them before dropping to the ground like a stone. Loud. Shattering on impact. Dean thinks his voice might have cracked and his vision is blurring because this pity? This is fucking worse. Shoving a Pop Tart in his mouth, Dean chews with his mouth open in the vain hope that his table manners will prove an adequate distraction, but that shit hasn’t worked for a long time.

It tastes like sawdust.

“Just go,” he says. “You have to go, man.”

It’s as much a plea for his brother as it is for himself, and for one long, terrifying moment Dean thinks Sam’s going to refuse. That he’s gonna be dragged across the country to witness his brother find happiness in a way he will never be able to have.

…But Sam is kind, not cruel, and when those big eyes of his fill with tears, Dean has never been so happy to have given himself up. He watches as his little brother’s shoulders slump. As he readjusts his duffle.

“I’ll be home in two days,” Sam says. “If you’re dead, I’m gonna pissed.”

“Yeah yeah,” Dean replies, forcing himself to tease. To be excited. He deserves this. “Go sing in the rain or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Sam volleys back, a smile tugging up the corner of his mouth. He looks so happy, and Dean can’t stop himself from mirroring the expression. It hits him all at once, then—a sucker punch to the gut, the heart—that no matter what, he did right by his little brother. That he’s grown up to be smart, and kind and caring, and now he can be happy. And Dean—Dean’ll figure it out. But Sam’s taken care of and that’s… good. That’s a lot.

“Hey, Dean?”

“Mm.”

“I love you,” Sam says. He’s seven and thirty-seven and Dean feels something inside himself ease and break all at once.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I love you, too.”

Sam grins.

***

There’s no more frozen pizza.

It’s already a fucking travesty that the pizza place doesn’t deliver to their secret underground bunker, but Jack polished off the last two pies—and while it’s a little bit hilarious to think of the ‘New God’ (his kid) scarfing down shitty plain cheese in his pjs, it’s also awful, and painful. So Dean slips on his shoes, grabs his keys, and shoulders on the jacket with Cas’s handprint over his hole-y sleep shirt.

It’s not like he’s sober, but he’s done worse.

It feels like a shitty pizza day, so Dean makes a beeline for the Wal-Mart and its frozen section, stocking up on two of every topping from the cheapest brand they’ve got. He grabs popcorn, chips, twizzlers and margarita mix, because fuck it, and smiles at the cashier. It’s not an epic romantic reunion, but this is what normal people do, right? They take an entire day and wallow without the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Dean’s cradling his spoils, twizzler hanging out of his mouth, shuffling out of the garage when—

He freezes.

The kitchen. There’s someone banging around in the kitchen.

Not like aggressively banging—one quick sweep around the area confirms no signs of forced entry—but just like… moving shit. Washing the dishes from this morning, or getting ready to make something new. Dean’s heart is caught between hope and heartbreak and he forces himself towards the latter. It’s probably Charlie, or Bobby or Jody or Donna or, hell, even Jack or Claire. No one else can get in. And if it’s something dangerous… well, Dean doesn’t have a weapon on him, and his damn pizza’s thawing.

But it’s not Charlie or Bobby or Jody or Donna. It’s not Jack. It’s not Claire.

…It’s Cas; freshly showered, dressed in Dean’s fucking clothes, making himself a sandwich.

He’s beautiful. Dean’s shirt—AC/DC, the one with the mustard stain on the collar—is just a little small on him, and he’s humming, and Dean has to blink once twice three times to make sure he’s not a goddamn mirage but no he’s still there, still scooping grape jelly onto the good bread and then putting the dirty spoon on the counter like a friggin’ heathen and—

“Are you gonna wash that?”

It’s sure as fuck not what he’d meant to say, but it gets the job done. Cas drops the spoon—the spoon—and whirls around like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Dean,” he breathes, like Dean’s name is some kind of benediction. Like it’s important.

Dean clutches his groceries tighter to his chest. “A-Are you…?” he asks. Steps forward. Steps back. Stares because he can’t, he can’t— “Are you real?”

Cas is barefoot. He’s quiet when he steps across the linoleum. His hair is turning fluffy where it’s drying and his eyes are blue and bright and he’s a miracle. “I’m real,” he confirms quietly. His hand twitches by his side, and Dean thinks that’s fair. Thinks that he gets that Cas has reservations because of—because.

But they’re unfounded.

Dean drops his spoils because they’re an afterthought; nothing is more important than knowing, than reaching out to touch his fingertips to Cas’s shoulder. To his jaw. He can’t stop the tears from springing to his eyes like he can’t stop himself from laughing. Smiling. And suddenly he has Cas in his arms and he smells like Dean’s soap and Sam’s fancy shampoo, and they’re holding—clutching each other, and Dean turns his head because it has to be now he has to say it now: “Cas, I—”

“I know,” Cas interrupts. “You don’t have to—I know.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, voice high with something like hysteria. The whole thing is so absurd, so insane, so fucked, that it’s all he can do to bury his face in Cas’s neck. To squeeze his eyes shut. To talk. “Well, you’re a friggin’ moron,” he says. “And you got no goddamn idea what you’re talking about, because—because you changed me, too, you dick.” Cas’s fingers dig into Dean’s waist and Dean’s heart pounds like it’s trying to escape and his throat is dry and he’s sweating and he’s gonna be sick, he’s gonna die— “A-And I love you.”

He wrenches himself away, then, glaring like he dares Cas to take the words away from him. “Okay?” he asks, rhetorically. Menacingly. It’s a declaration and a confession and a challenge. And Cas meets his stare unflinchingly. He reaches up to thumb at the wetness on the apple of Dean’s cheek. “Okay,” he says. He nods. Leans in. “Okay.” Their mouths brush. “Good.”

It’s not even a real kiss, so Dean can’t be blamed for how he chases; how he breathes good, in faint agreement like a lovesick fool, and moves until they’re kissing good and proper—slow and sweet and then deep and wet and it’s good, it’s so good, he’s so good.

Later, they’ll have to make every thawed pizza. They’ll drink the margarita mix and share the same popcorn bowl and pay no attention to Dr. Sexy playing in the background. They’ll talk about Chuck and Jack and Sam. They’ll stare. They’ll tease. They’ll flirt.

But for now, Cas twists his hands in Dean’s shirt and Dean buries his hands in dark hair. They pause for breath only to come together, again and again and again.

And it’s good.

#destiel coda #coda fic #15x19 #spn 15x19 #s15 #spn spoilers #second to last coda ever folks #it's fucking emotional #adventures in fanfic

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danniburgh · 3 years

Text

Sharp Around the Edges (Pero Tovar x f!reader)

Pairing: Pero Tovar x f!reader

Summary: He had taken too long to come back; he wasn't getting you easy this time.

Pero wanted nothing more than to reach to you and caress your soft, warm skin, but his dagger was still pressing on his chest and he had to resign to only watch you stand naked next to him.

Word count: +4.5k

Warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, oral sex (f receiving), knife play/knife kink, blood/cum eating. sorry it just happened. Me, a mexican woman, trying to write dialogue in non-modern english gets its own warning.

A/N: first i saw this gif down here and i was like YES I WANT TO DOM PERO TOVAR, and that’s how this was born, i wanna thanks @mouthymandalorian, @purplepascal042 and @starlightmornings for helping me a lot with this bc its the first time i write Pero and i wanted to get it right, anyway enjoy lol

Masterlist // Read on ao3 // ko-fi

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓

gif by @toesure

The sound of the cicadas interrupted your train of thought. It was hot, the air inside the kitchen was warm and besides the screams of the dying bugs outside, the entire inn was completely silent.

You let the cup you were drying on the counter and you brought the same rag you were using to your forehead, wiping the thin sheet of sweat that had settled on your skin.

You couldn’t wait to sink inside a bath of chilled water.

“Ah!” your mother, outside the kitchen, screamed and applauded twice, you frowned and walked towards the small, closed window that let you see the receiving room and the small counter your mom hid behind to count the day’s coin “my favorite boarders!” she let out, you sighed and rolled your eyes before opening the wood shutters and looking at your mother walking to wrap her arms around two tall, broad, armored men.

You felt your jaw tighten when a pair of deep brown eyes lingered on you for a second too long before returning to your mom.

“Mi señora.” he said, you scoffed under your breath as your mom let out a flirty giggle.

“Tovar, Garin, it is so good to see you both,” your mother said in a soft voice that made you want to laugh, “it has been a long time,” Garin, the taller, blond one, only nodded to her and she started guiding them inside the inn “child!” she called out for you, not bothering to turn around to the kitchen, you sighed again because of the tone she used when she yelled and because she kept calling you child, cleaned your hands on your white apron that hung loosely from your waist and walked out of the kitchen.

“Yes, mother.” you mumbled out, feeling that brown pair of eyes stuck to your body; a slight warmness settled inside your gut and you fidgeted with the hem of your apron.

“Take these nice men to their usual rooms,” she said, finally looking at you, “help them get settled while I get some water ready for them.”

“Of course, mother.” you bit your lip as she turned back to the standing men and gently took the small pouch of coin Garin was handing her, you smiled to yourself when she palmed Tovar’s armored bicep and waited for her to go inside the kitchen and out to the water well.

“William, amigo.” Tovar mumbled with that smokey, rough, accented voice of his and you saw him looking at his partner, the blond man looked at him and then at you, knowing what his friend wanted and rolled his eyes.

“I will see myself in.” William mumbled and you nodded at him, Tovar stepped a little bit closer towards you while both your gazes followed William as he walked up the stairs towards the room he always used.

“Paloma,” (dove) he started, stepping closer, you glared at him and he stopped walking, “is there something wrong?”

“Don’t, Pero.” you raised your hand at him, the man frowned at you and you could see the confusion on his face.

“What is wrong?” he asked again.

You turned around instead of replying and walked towards the stairs, he called you again, this time by your name and you ignored him, you heard the heavy steps of his boots behind you as you reached the second floor and you felt the way his rough fingers were trying to grab your hand.

“Palomita,” (little dove) he muttered while you guided him to the room he always slept in when he stayed in the inn, “what did I do?”

“Taking too long to come back,” you said in a low voice, unlatching the door and opening for him, “you took too long.”

Pero tightened his jaw in front of you and stood straighter. Knowing you wouldn’t say anything more, he walked inside the room and turned his head slightly to see you walk away and hear you rushing down the stairs, letting out a tired, nostalgic sigh.

A couple of hours later, a bath with chilled water for the summer heat and the grime he had been accumulating and a rich, packed dinner later, Pero was laying down on the cot in the middle of the small room, thinking about how the thin, rag filled bedroll was doing wonders on his back after weeks of sleeping on a blanket between him and the hard floor.

But his mind kept going back to you, to the way you looked at him when he arrived, how much he had missed your stern stares, how good you looked in those skirts and a loose blouse that reminded him of how soft your skin was, he had missed you whole.

And he knew then you had too. It wasn’t his plan to take too long to go back to you; things, as they often did, went wrong and plans were changed. And he spent nights upon nights yearning in silence for you and your tight-lipped smile he only got when the room was too dark for him to really admire, and your stern eyes that seemed to always read him so well, and your warm skin that until that day had received him openly, and your chapped lips that ate at his mouth and kissed on his body and licked at his skin like no woman had done before you, and the soft curves that made your body the one he wanted for himself and no one else.

At the thought of the pieces that formed you, his cock started to rise. God.

He needed you.

A knock on the wooden door brought him back to reality, and he stood up from the cot and unlatched it, opening it, pulling from the latch.

You stood there, not really looking at him, Pero searched for your eyes, but you avoided looking at him.

“I came to pick up your dinner tray.” you muttered, Pero nodded, narrowing his eyes, he stepped to the side to let you walk in towards the small wooden table in the corner of the room; the tray was emptied and somewhat cleaned on the table and his short daggers were resting next to it, Pero squared up his shoulders and he pushed the door closed slowly.

You let out a sigh when you heard the door being latched, and you turned around to face him.

“No.” you let out, Pero tilted his face and smirked at you.

“No, what?” he teased, you shook your head and stepped back when he stepped closer to you, “I missed you, Palomita.”

“Do not call me that.” you warned him, your stern gaze on him, finally looking at his deep brown eyes, eyeing the hardness of his scar you had kissed plenty of times and the darkness around his lids.

“I missed you.” Pero said again, hardening his voice.

He stood right in front of you and raised his hand to brush at your waist; you took him from that wrist and twisted his arm to the side, your other arm took his opposite shoulder and he let you shove his back against the wall.

Pero smirked at your reaction and took in the hardness of your expression with the admiration of a combat experienced man being subdued by a person who knew him better than most.

“Do not touch me.” you whispered again, leaning to him and tried not to get overwhelmed by his warmth and his fresh lavender and lime scent of the soap bar he used when he bathed.

Pero stood up to the challenge you were giving him. He had told you before how much he liked your fiery nature, the way you commanded the respect you were sure and knew you deserved, and he adored you for not fearing anything or anyone.

The fact that you had him pressed against the wall and stood inches away from his face only made his body fill with more arousal.

He reached you with his other hand and you stiffened; you tightened the grip on his wrist and narrowed your eyes.

In a swift motion you released his wrist, gave half a twirl and picked up one of his daggers from the table; you turned to face him again, pressed him harder to the wall and pointed the tip of the dagger on the skin of his neck, right below the jaw.

“Would you look at that,” Pero let out in a semi proud tone, you huffed, and you nodded your head towards the grip he had on your waist, he dropped his hand and you moved your wrist to twist the tip of the dagger on his skin “I know you can handle a knife, mujer, but I came here to see you, not to die.” he whispered, his breath collided with your face and you felt that same warm arousal you had felt earlier when you looked at him and you felt every time you saw him.

“You want to mount me, Pero?” you asked in a whisper, pressing the dagger a bit harder on his skin, Pero smirked at the seriousness of your voice.

“Of course I want to mount you, Paloma,” he replied “I have not thought of anything else.”

“Would it kill you not to mount me?” you asked him again. He narrowed his eyes once again and glared at you, not understanding your intentions “would you die?”

“Of need, Palomita, I always need you.”

“Liar,” you spat under your breath, gliding the edge down to his jugular, “you would have died on the way out of here if that were true.”

“I was dying inside,” Pero said, hissing when you pressed the edge of the dagger down “be careful with that, mujer.”

“Why?” you challenged, looking at the way the silver blade contrasted with the sun kissed tone of his skin, with the darkness of his eyes, liking the way the polished metal glistened slightly with the reflection of the lit candles, enjoying having him slowly shrinking under your hands “why should I not just slice you open?”

Pero huffed but hesitated to reply. You slid the dagger further down and rested the weight of it on the hollow of his throat. A smirk formed on your face when you saw his Adam’s apple bob at the feeling of the sharp tip pressing on his skin, enough to sting but not enough to break it open.

“I have no suitable answer to that.” Pero whispered and you scoffed, moving to slide your free hand from his shoulder to his face. You leaned in and left a soft kiss on his jaw that made him let out the lowest sigh you had heard from him. The sound gave you a boost of confidence you had never felt with him, and you moved your leg to brush his legs open.

“I should cut your throat open, Pero Tovar.” you said, he nodded slightly “you left me here alone,” you muttered, Pero sighed “you left for months, I should end your life.”

“Preciosa,” he whispered softly, “you should, but I know you will not.”

You growled and Pero felt the sound settle right inside his lower belly. His cock bobbed in interest inside his trousers and you dropped your hand from his face to his chest and fisted his black tunic, pulling him away from the wall.

Pero wasn’t a lightweight, and he knew it, but he knew better than to make himself heavy to stop you from doing what was on your mind. Besides, you were still holding his dagger against his neck, and he wasn’t a fool.

You pulled him towards the cot and dropped the hand that was grabbing his tunic to your side; you moved the dagger from his neck to his cheek and pressed the tip on the place only you knew he had a dimple.

“Undress,” you ordered, Pero breathed in deeply and, as his natural reaction was, he smirked, only to hiss at the way the movement of the muscles of his cheek made his skin slide against the tip of the dagger, creating a small cut that didn’t bleed “careful,” you let out, rising your eyebrows at him, “I am not repeating myself.”

“Yes, madam.”

Pero took the hem of his tunic and you stepped back to allow him to take it off. He dropped it to the floor next to you and looked at you, as if he was waiting for you to press the knife back on his skin.

He would be lying if he said the way you were handling yourself around him didn’t make him feel deeply aroused and fond of you. You weren’t a damsel, by no means you were helpless, but you, gaining control and bossing him around as if you were a commander of a large army, made him look at you in another light.

Pero had issues with authority, yet he would let you order him around for the rest of his life.

You put the tip of the knife on his chest, right above his sternum, and Pero tried to suck the air inside and make his chest thinner to avoid the inevitable sting of the sharp tip almost cutting him.

“The trousers.” you let out, Pero nodded once and unlaced them, letting them fall to the floor, he stepped out of them and slowly kicked them next to his shirt. Leaving him naked and at your mercy.

You let your eyes roam around his naked, muscular yet softened body; and smirked at his half-hard cock.

“Lie down.” you muttered, Pero let the air that he was holding out and nodded again, grasping already the idea you had in mind.

He could let you boss him around for the rest of his life.

Pero sat on the cot and shuffled up. You followed his movements with the dagger, never stopping the touch on his skin; you held it straight; you held it in a way it grazed lightly and pressed sternly at the same time. He was loving the feeling that at any time you could just bury the weapon inside him and leave it at that. But he knew you wouldn’t.

With your free hand you undid the loose knot that held your apron right on your waist, you let it fall down on your feet and Pero smirked to himself when you continued unlacing your skirts, all with one hand while the other held a sharp dagger against his chest.

“You are beautiful, Paloma.” he muttered when you started unlacing your blouse.

“Shut your mouth, Pero.” you said, hiding the pleased feeling his statement made you feel.

“I am telling the truth.” he teased, you stopped undressing.

“And I am telling you to shut your mouth,” you repeated, pressing the tip of the dagger harder on his chest, making him hiss again with a smirk on his face, “you are enjoying this more than I expected.” you said, twisting the blade.

“I am,” he let out, closing his eyes and fisting the sheet when you glided the dagger down, making sure it didn’t cut “because it is you who is holding it.”

You huffed at his words and pulled up your blouse slowly, sliding your free arm off first and then changing the dagger to that hand while you took off the blouse, leaving your top half naked and just wearing your undergarment.

Pero opened his eyes, and you smirked at the lusty dark stare he gave you, he made the motion of reaching to you and you glared at him, raising your eyebrows and he stopped his movement.

“Get yourself hard.” you nodded to his half-hardened cock.

“Yes, my lady.” he whispered teasingly. You groaned at that and knelt on the cot while he fisted his cock and started moving his wrist.

You leaned down to him and pressed the blade harder on his skin, Pero hissed and tightened the grip on his cock, choking down a grunt of pleasure.

“Call me that again, I defy you.” you whispered on his face, Pero’s eyes fluttered closed, making you smirk again and shake your head a few times.

You wanted to laugh at him being clay under your hands but you knew, as he did, that if you laughed, he would take back control, and if he was enjoying being subdued by you, you were enjoying ordering him around.

It was a situation you didn’t think you would find yourself after spending months wondering where he was or if he would return safely to you; the relationship you had with him wasn’t at all ideal; he would arrive at the inn with William, spend a few weeks there, sneak around with you, make vague promises of settling down in a village with you, and go again. You didn’t mind as long as he came back to you.

But the last time he left, he didn’t come back as quickly as he used to, and you soon found yourself mourning him.

So for him to just show up at the inn and wanting to fall into the old routine of bathing and sneaking into your room to fuck you until the sun appeared on the sky outside was the last bit. He wouldn’t get it easy.

Pero closed his mouth, and you scoffed at him only shutting up when he had a weapon aimed at him. You grabbed his wrist, and he opened his eyes, stopping his movements on his cock. You pushed his hand away, and he gulped when you stood up from the cot and with your free hand slid down your undergarment.

He wanted nothing more than to reach to you and caress your soft, warm skin, but his dagger was still pressing on his chest and he had to resign to only watch you stand naked next to him.

You knelt on the bed again and climbed to startle his lap, Pero sighed at the feeling of your slick already leaking onto his thighs.

“Hands away.” you ordered. Pero lifted his arms and left them to rest above his head.

You circled your hips on his thighs to release some of the pressure you were feeling in your core and choked down a moan when his worked up muscles tightened under you.

You leaned down to him, sliding the dagger up to his pulse vein again, and you licked the trail of sweat that had formed on the other side of his neck, Pero sighed heavily and you moved to steal a rough, fast kiss off his lips.

“I am going to fuck myself with you,” you whispered against his lips, Pero nodded twice, already eager, he felt like he was about to burst open if he wasn’t inside you “and I am going to tell you when to fall apart, you will do it when I tell you, do you understand?” Pero nodded again and you lifted yourself on your knees and moved to hover your core above his cock.

You took his cock in your hand, gave it a few strokes with the only purpose of teasing him and lined it up with your wet entrance, you sat on him slowly, staring at him and taking in the way his body loosened up when your warm walls constricted his cock.

A soft moan left your lips when you had him fully inside you, you felt stuffed and you realized just exactly how much you had missed him inside your body, making you feel complete.

“I missed this, Palomita.” Pero whispered out along with a moan when you started circling your hips around him, you put your free hand on his chest and the other kept pressing the dagger on his neck.

“If you did, you would have come back before.” you muttered on top of him, feeling his hard cock already grazing that unknown spot inside you that made your legs shake.

“You were not letting me explain,” he gritted out as you sat up, dragged the dagger back to his chest and started bouncing on top of him “you know things get–ah, carajo, the travels get complicated.”

You let out a moan when he gave a shallow thrust into you and you pushed the tip of the dagger on his skin.

“Stay still, Pero,” you demanded. He nodded again, “I thought you were dead,” the tone of your voice dropped an octave when you said it and Pero narrowed his eyes to you and saw nothing but pleasure and grief in your eyes, “I had no means to know if you were alive.”

“Preciosa…” he let out.

“Shut your mouth,” you whispered, changing the rhythm of your bounces, he growled lowly at the way your boobs bounced with you “I do not want to listen to your explanations,” Pero closed his eyes in pleasure when the lewd noises of your skins collapsing together and your slick leaking out of you and around him grew louder “I will not let you leave after this.”

Pero smiled tightly at that as he opened his eyes, his hands twitching above his head because of the increasing need of clasping your hips and thrusting into you.

“You will ke–keep me bound to your home?” he asked, you nodded, Pero looked down his body, past the dagger held against his chest, at the union of your bodies and restrained his hips from moving to meet you in the middle, “how are you going to make–a mercenary stay put?”

“Just how I am making him lay still while I use him,” you said, Pero sighed in pleasure at your words “I will carve mo–more scars if I need to, Pero, you know I will,” he nodded and took in the way your skin contrasted with his, the way your face quirked with pleasure and anger and the way your eyes looked at him as they always did, “tell me you are going to stay.” you demanded.

“Yes, my lady.” he whispered. You frowned and without stopping your movements you pressed the blade of the dagger on his skin, breaking the surface open.

Pero hissed in pain and stiffened his body as you smirked at the thin trail of blood that came out of the cut.

He moved his hands and gripped your hips. Before you could say something in protest, he lifted your body and pulled you away from his cock just before it started spurting his white seed all over his belly as he groaned in pleasure with his eyes closed.

You sighed at the mess he made of himself and he opened his eyes to face you.

“Preciosa, I jus–” you held your hand with the dagger to him and shook your head to stop him from trying to explain himself.

“I told you not to call me that,” you muttered, he nodded with a smirk. You looked at the cut on his chest and Pero followed your gaze to it. “so, you enjoy that?” you teased, he huffed at you.

“Well, I suppose I do.” he said. You leaned down to the cut and with your fingers cleaned the little blood that had escaped from the opening.

Pero followed your movements and widened his eyes when you brought your fingers to your mouth, tasting the blood.

“I did not peak,” you muttered, pulling out your fingers, leaving the dagger on top of his chest, right below the cut you did “you are going to make me.”

Before Pero could give out more than a nod, you crawled on the cot and knelt above his head. Pero frowned, looking up to you. You opened your legs and put one knee on each side of his face, giving him an unrestricted view of your wet, swollen core. He smirked at you when you turned your head down to see him.

“Eat me.” you ordered. He said nothing, but wrapped his arms around each thigh and brought you down to his mouth.

You let out a relieved sigh when you felt his warm tongue slide from that small hooded button at the top of your core to your entrance, and you leaned to rest your hands at the sides of his belly. Pero stuck his tongue in your wet hole and you moaned roughly when he started humming in pleasure.

The seed that rested on his belly glistened with the reflection of the candles and you brought your hand to it, scooping it and bringing your fingers to your mouth. It wasn’t the first time you tasted Pero’s seed, but you liked it better directly from the source, you liked it better when it was warm.

Pero shivered at the delicate way you were cleaning his mess and slid his hands from the back of your thighs to your ass. You moaned when he started guiding your hips to move around his mouth, grabbing handfuls of your flesh and grazing his teeth on the puffy lips of your core.

“Pero,” you gasped under your breath and threw your head between your shoulders with your eyes closed when his mouth sucked on the little button of you and nibbled at it a few times, “hea–heavens, Pero.”

You arched your back and looked down to your core, finding Pero’s jaw open and watching the movements of his chin as his mouth had you on the edge of your peak, you felt his teeth nibbling again at your thin lips and your hooded button and then his tongue lapping and soothing the subtle sting.

You took his softened cock in your hand, not to get it hard again, but because you had missed its weight and its velvety texture against your work-hardened hands, Pero moaned again at the surprise of your action and the sound reverberated on your core, throwing you over the edge. You hit your peak with a choked moan and Pero kept lapping at your entrance as it kept leaking, eating everything it had to give him.

You threw yourself to the side softly, and the bedroll made a muffled sound that combined with your soft pants.

Pero sat up and the dagger that rested on his chest fell to his lap on the blunt side. You huffed at the way he got slightly startled and he left it at the edge of the cot, his hand immediately finding you and resting over your breast.

“I missed you, Palomita.”

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, “do not leave again, that way you will not have to miss me.”

Pero huffed a stern laugh and leaned down to take your lips in his. His kiss was as soft as a mercenary’s kiss can be, his lips were warm and soft yet chapped and wet.

“Only if you oath to do this to me again sometime soon, amor mío.” Pero teased against your mouth. You gave him that tight-lipped smile he loved so much.

“When the cut on your chest heals.”

pedrito's perma list: @northernpunk @pascalesque @sleep-tight1 @cheekygeek05 @bii-aan-ckaa @letaliabane @starlightmornings @mouthymandalorianalso @supernaturalgirl @metalarmsandmanbuns @purplepascal042 @asta-lily @greeneyedblondie44 @missswriter @juletheghoul @pedro-pastel @agirllovespancakes @maharani-radha

#pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar fanfiction #the great wall #the great wall fanfiction #pero tovar fanfic #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #Jose Pedro Balmaceda Pascal #pedro pascal characters

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spikesbimbo · 3 years

Text

Pretty Please

Req: may i offer the concept of - spike and his babies first time, when he took her v1rginity 🥺 sorta like a prequel type thing to your last spike fic? thank you sm for all your work bb!!

Pairing: Dilf Daddy Spike Spiegel x Reader

Tags: virg1n!reader , hurt/comfort, squirting, oral sex

wc: 2.9k

a/n: i love u anon, tks for making my dreams come true < 3

18+ Minors dni

“You okay doll?”

You nodded slightly, somewhat lying as you felt an ache in your core after he pulled you into his lap. Watching tv as his hand rested on your upper thigh, his thick fingers subliminally working there way up, higher and higher.

Adjusting yourself multiple times, feeling his length grow bigger with each movement, embarrassment rising to your face as you rested your head in his shoulder. Your legs still draped over his, calfs resting on the couch.

He was ignoring the feeling too, not wanting to get his sweet angel worked up and scared of him after unsurprisingly finding out you've never done ‘it’ in your words, the day you two got a little more intimate.

His cock growing harder at the thought of you telling him you’ve never been touched, or even touched yourself before. Internally feeling pain knowing that his baby has never felt a high from cumming, wanting to bring you there.

As your little hands gripped onto the suit that was layed on his chest, your innocent doe eyes looked up at him batting your eyelashes.

Yes you had a crush on him, he was tall, handsome, always took care of you, and he was older. The peek of gray coming through his hair, his big arms lightly wrapped around you, his deep warm voice that soothes you to sleep. It’s safe to say that you were in love with him.

Ever since he snatched you up that day almost a year ago, he’s taken care of you. Wondering why you were different, knowing he usually didn’t favor women, after hearing him and Jet talk about them. And if he did he only kept them around for a night, ‘litteraly’ kicking them out the next morning.

It shouldn’t make you heart flutter as much as it does, knowing you were special. But it was obvious at this point, always holding you hand went you two went out, him saying “it’s because I don’t want you to get lost”, to you asking to sleep with him at night, immediately opening his arms for you to crawl in.

You felt him move you hips, feeling you panties get wetter. Shuffling around trying to get the thoughts out of your head, thinking about how you tried to do what he did last night.

All alone in the shower as you ran your hands up your body. You fingers lathering soap on yourself as you pinky hit your breast, letting out a moan at the feeling. Thinking about how you were moaning out his name like a mantra as he kissed down your body, paying special attention to every nook and cranny, loving how worked up you got just from putting his lips on your nipples.

Your hands moved to your lower region, stopping at your clit like he did, heat rising as at the thought of him sucking on sucking on it. Sliding his fingers in and out, mumbling “you’re so wet for me baby”

But your fingers weren’t enough, nor could you do it right. Not knowing how to do anything yourself as he always did it for you. Trying to imitate the pattern he was working in, rubbing your fingers in a slight circle, even shoving your finger in only fitting one in, not succeeding in the slightest.

Leading to you crying, sobs muted by the water falling down, wanting to do something by yourself for once. Not wanting to rely on him even though you loved it, loved the feeling of his callused hands on you, but you felt burdensome if anything.

Knowing how he always came home tired and stressed, wanting to take care of him by taking care of yourself. Not realizing that they went hand in hand. Your pretty moans and pretty face twisting and turning were the only thing keeping him going.

He felt your wetness growing on him, leaving a patch behind. Remembering how tight you were even though he ate you out for hours trying to get them to fit in. Wanting to feel your walls around his cock, not his fingers.

“You sure you ok baby?” He asked waiting for you to nod, to lie to him again. His hand gripping tighter around your thigh, one of his hands moving towards your waist “Cause I don’t think you are.”

“WelI, i was thinking…. about you.” The throbbing between your legs suddenly grows harder to ignore, almost painful. You cross your legs to try to make it go away because it feels weird.

“Of course, what else would be going through that pretty brain doll?.” His smoky breath meeting yours as he inched closer to your face, knowing where this was going .“what about me, hmm?”

“Um… I-I want to make you feel good, too.” You muttered out, placing your hands on his neck as you turned his head towards yours, gleaming hopefully eyes hoping he would feel appreciated.

“Teach me how to touch you.” You pouted, placing your palms on his crotch, fingers gently grabbing it through his pants. “wanna to make you feel good too.” The throbbing in your core growing harder to ignore, faintly hurting as his knee was bouncing you on him. Trying to close your legs to try distract yourself, but your legs were locked with his, not letting you go in the slightest.

“You wet?” He groaned feeling your soaked panties bleed through his pants. His hand moving towards his cock, grabbing it to calm him down and he couldn't keep his eyes off you know. You don’t answer as you feel his gaze upon you, your confidence fading quickly as you decide to show him want you want though actions, placing your hands on his growing erection along with his. “Fuck, I--”

You look so endearing clinging onto him, batting your lashes as you wait for him to tell you what to do, just wanting to be his good girl. “You wanna make me feel good, make me happy?” He repeated, running his hands up to your lower back after stopping at your ass.

“God angel, you’re driving me crazy” he said pulling you face to face with him now, straddling his big thighs as you couldn’t help but grind on them. Just being with him made you feel so much better.

“I was thinking bout... how good you treat me, I wanna do the same to you. I feel like I can't do anything...” His hand raises your sinking face, forcing your teary eyes to meet his soft gaze as you echoed. “I wanna treat you good, make you feel good too.”

“You even know how?” He says waiting for you to shake your head no.

“You gotta teach me”

“Fuck-. Alright baby c'mere.” he said standing up, holding your tiny hand in his as you followed him into the bedroom, the red and yellow tinted artificial lighting being much more soothing than out there.

You were on your knees, ignoring how the carpet burned against them as you saw his cock up close for the first time. The last time you saw it was when he ‘taught’ you how to touch yourself, being in awe that it was that big, now in your head thinking that every man was as big as him.

He went along with it after you said you couldn't do it alone because you only got off to him. He ignored the fact that it made his heart race in a way it's never before, cumming the fastest he's ever done since he was a teen, thanking god you were inexperienced.

He grabbed your jaw gently, cheeks squished in-between his hand as tried his hardest to not just fuck your sweet little face. “Like this baby.” he said, after his thumb opened your mouth, bringing your lips to his tip. Catching on and kissing it, using your tongue like you he told you. Only staying at the head , too scared to take anymore,

“God damn..” he groaned, his hand being wrapped around the back of your neck. Slightly pushing your head down to which you gag, immediately pulling back, the string of drool still connecting you two. “You gonna be my good girl?”

He took a hold of his cock, stroking it a few times before putting its attention back on you. “Open up” he said as you did what you were told as he slapped his fat cock onto your tongue hanging out of your mouth, precum and spit dripping off onto your chest.

“You gotta use your hands, kiss and lick it.”

“okay” you muttered out, already doing it. Kissing open mouthed on the sides, stroking the vein under it while making it as sloppy as could be. Tongue flicking back and forth on the slit at the top, his moans acting as a guide, letting you know what he really liked.

You seal your mouth around his head again, barely fitting it in your mouth gazing up at Spike, seeing his face flustered as yours. He looks pleased, letting out a small grunt. "Pretty girl," he husks, fingers stroking your jaw. You thriving at the attention and praise, loving the way his voice was when he talked to you, just you.

"Keep sucking on it, and don’t use your teeth sweetheart.” he encouraged, wondering why this was a natural talent for you. You eventually closed your eyes after they were watering too much and sucked. It didn't feel as good as you thought it would, but the thought of making him cum gets you antsy, doing your best to accomplish your mission.

He gives another low moan, while you do the same in response. Loving the idea that you're getting him off instead of himself. His cock barely halfway in while our too lost in thought sucking him dry when you suddenly smell the comforting scent of smoke flowing through the air, relaxing your throat more.

You're drawn off of his cock, held gently by the throat, need racing through your head, chills running down your back. A moan leaves your mouth as his jaw quivers, your breath gasping . His knees shift into a better position, guiding you back to his length. "Fuck. you like it now, don't you baby?" he puffed out, his eyes as hazy as yours. "Taking my cock so well, baby. Swallow like a good girl, okay?”

He slapped it against your cheek again, your drool flicked there along with your lips. You nodded as you took him in between your lips again, pushing teasingly. He takes it into his own hands and starts fucking your mouth. Not letting you catch a break, chasing his high. Snapping his hips in quickly, gagging through it, tears falling onto your cheeks from the pressure.

Spit drooling down your chin, while his fingers dig into the back of your head, knees burning from rubbing against the carpet. You gag for the nth time, shoulders meeting his knees, as you feel hot ropes come down your throat, his curses becoming white noise at this point.

You turned your head down as you coughed up his cum, leaving your mouth falling onto your chest knees as he sputtered. Feeling tears build up in your eyes, scared that hed get mad at you, take back what he said about you being a good girl, his good girl.

“m-m’sorry” you sniffled, feeling the tears fall down you face yet again, but this time from pain, not pleasure.

He crouched in front of you, wiping the remaining with his thumb before connecting his lips to yours. You sucked on his tongue, his cum being swapped between you two as you looked at him with your red glossy eyes. Your way of saying sorry. “It’s okay, Baby, it was your first time, you did so good, okay? Made me cum and everything.” he said kissing you again as you squirmed in his touch.

He stood up, grabbing you in his arms too. Your legs numb and bruised, but you settled yourself on the bed, him following, towering over you. “You like thinking about me between your legs, like hearing what m’gonna do to you ?”

You slide deeper under him, holding the pillow up hiding your face as you quietly admit it by letting out a soft “yeah”. Feeling helpless that he's the only one who gets you like this, is that what this feeling is, pleasure?

You nodded and he moved his dirty hands, wondering all over your soft and pure body as he slowly undressed you completely. Wanting to take in your beauty just for himself, wanting to capture the moment he defiled you, replaying it over and over again in his head forever. Wanting to capture your sweet moans in his mouth as he kissed the pain away, cooing at you with his deep voice for taking a cock too big for your tiny little virgin cunt.

His cock already throbbing again at the thought, lining himself up with you. “Don’t worry, pretty girl” he cooed. “I’m gonna take care of you. M’gonna fuck you so good, angel. Gonna make you cum over and over. Gonna stuff you full just like you want.”

The reassurance comforted you more than it should have, him being the only thing you'd ever had, in a sense. Yes you two might have had sex, but that didn’t mean you two werent friends, event though you wanted to be more.

Wanted to wake up in the morning in his arms, giving him a good morning kiss before he left everyday. But all you did right now was wait; wait for him to get home with jet, and the dog. While you took care of him in the ways you could, but that's how friends acted right? Being on good terms and trusting each other, right?

“It feel good? Doesn't hurt?” he asked as you quickly nodded, wanting him to make you feel good. He dragged his lips to your neck, sucking on the skin, littering every inch with the numbing pain, tracing his open mouthed kisses down to your chest. His spit cooling the heat rising in your body. “Fuck,” he breathed bottoming out. “You’re so tight for me, baby. You like it? Like the way my big cock is stretching you out?

You nod gasps being held back, not being able to catch your breath. The ache between your legs beginning to ease. Grabbing his neck with your trembling hands, getting him to look down at you.. “faster….please” You whispered out, just loud enough for him to hear and it’s all it takes for him to connect his hips to yours. Your lips letting out soft, honeyed moans that already have his balls swelling again.

The pain disappeared as his thrusts became more stable, having a rhythm. Your eyes gazing up at his filled out body, so strong. You were swooning at the man balls deep in you, loving everything about him from his graying hair and downturned eyes, to his smile.

“Wh-… what do I do, w-wanna be good.” you choked out, heavy breaths catching the remains of earlier in your throat. “Shh… lemme do the work, okay? Your little holes clenching so wet and sloppy for me, so tight. Feels so good, baby.”

His hands hook under your thighs, locking you in place as he continues fucking you, getting rougher and rougher with your physical permission. Your back arches as he angles his hips different, his cock hitting you in a new way, his fast thrusts sending you into overdrive. Cum squirting from you, making the mess under you even bigger while he's groaning out at the picture before him. “Fuck baby, that was so hot, good fuckin girl.”

That was all it took for him to release, you precious little body being so lewd beneath him, fuck. Vision turning from black to white as he felt you push yourself into him more. Helping you, still temporary blind, eyes closed as he pulled your thighs closer to himself.

You whimpered in pleasure as you felt the hot liquid filling you up, the warm feeling in your tummy making your head spin. It had your brain turning to mush, the submissive part activating as you spread yourself even more, wanting to show off the filthy part of you.

“Did it feel good?”

God really blessed him with an angel. So pretty, dirty, so willing to please. The fact that he's the only one who has ever seen you like this is getting to his head, making sure it'll stay that way, as he flipped you over leaning your head against his chest.

“You took me so well, sweetheart, so proud of you for taking me..”

You were so tired, jaw aching while keening at the praise. His hands resting on your bare body made all the tension ease, the feeling of him still in you making you get too attached to him.

He laid still, taking in your state as he felt you turn your head to look at him, while he was already admiring you. Flashing you his smile that you loved so much. He curled up with you with his warm body holding your cold one, easing you to sleep with a faint smile on your face. You finally did something on your own.

#spike spiegel x reader #spike x reader

747 notes · View notes

fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Hey Eve! So first of all I wanted to say that I really love how you write arguments- even during escalations, I still respect the characters because you handle the arguments so well. This is kinda silly but I have a friend who I feel like isn't putting time into our friendship and I'm always asking her to hang out, so I feel a bit unwanted by her. Would you be willing to write a fic with that general premise? Idc the characters but your fics help me so much with having difficult conversations

Thank you! I’m sorry you’re going through that with your friend; in my experience, that is one of the worst feelings in the world and I wish you the best with them.

To the anon struggling with their acne that requested Leo and Reg: you are beautiful no matter what <3

SW belongs to @lumosinlove! TW for acne, mild pain, and lack of communication

Regulus’ phone pinged and his heart did its best to make an escape via his throat.

New Message From: Leo Knut

Are you on your way?

It was preceded by six other messages, most with the same general theme. Regulus shoved it back into his hoodie pocket and sank lower into the mattress, wincing as his cheek brushed the pillow. He had never thought acne would be painful, but it had been growing steadily worse over the past week and he could only reschedule plans so many times.

Message To: Leo Knut

Can’t make it

Sorry

See you tm?

Three dots appeared below, then disappeared. They lingered longer the second time.

Message From: Leo Knut

“Shit,” Regulus muttered, feeling guilt twist in his guts. He had been so ready to go that morning—it was just acne, after all—but one too-long glance in the mirror had sent everything crashing down. He couldn’t go outside looking like that. He just couldn’t. It was embarrassing, and painful, and he looked like a fourteen-year-old kid going through puberty all over again.

Someone knocked on the door. “Regulus? Are you awake?”

“Oui.”

The door opened a crack and Dumo poked his head in with a frown. “Aren’t you supposed to meet Leo this morning?”

“I’m sick,” he lied. Dumo laid the back of his hand over Regulus’ forehead and squinted at him in the darkness with a hum. “I already let him know I wouldn’t be there.”

“You look fine to me,” Dumo said, clearly suspicious as he sat at the foot of the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Just stuff.”

“Just…stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Embarrassing stuff.”

Dumo raised his eyebrows. “Can we talk about it? You’ve been avoiding Leo for the past week, and from what I hear, he’s pretty bummed.”

“It’s stupid,” Regulus mumbled, turning on his side despite the sharp pain from the red spots on his face.

“It’s not,” Dumo said gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Not if it makes you this upset.”

“How do I—” Regulus faltered, pressing his lips together. He took a deep breath. “How do I get rid of acne?”

The words came out in a rush; he didn’t expect Dumo to catch any of it, but he simply made a noise of understanding. “If you weren’t the most hygienic person that has ever lived in this house, I would suggest washing your face. It’s different from person to person, but all your brother had to do was outgrow it, so I wouldn’t be surprised if it was similar with you.”

“So I just have to sit here and wait?” Frustration bled into his voice and he scowled, holding the pillow tighter.

“You can still do the things you like, Regulus.”

“I look stupid.”

“No, you don’t.”

“It’s gross.”

“It’s not.”

“How do you know?” he snapped. The guilty feeling returned with a vengeance and he tucked his legs up closer to his body. “Sorry.”

“Everyone gets acne. You just have do decide what you’re going to do in the meantime.” There was a light nudge to the middle of his back. “I suggest putting a shirt and some real pants on, and then meeting up with your friend like you said you would, oui?”

Regulus sighed through his nose. “I guess. These are real pants, by the way.”

“Sweats don’t count. Allez, petit serpent, Leo is waiting.”

Regulus dragged himself out of bed and splashed some water on his face—rubbing soap onto his skin was way too painful at the moment—before changing into real-people clothes and sliding his shoes on.

Message To: Leo Knut

Change of plans

DQ?

He waited in silence for what felt like a lifetime before three dots popped up.

Message From: Leo Knut

See you in ten

A pause, and then a simple <3. Regulus smiled.

--------------------------------

“So.” Leo licked a drip off the base of his cone and laid back against the windshield, letting his head loll to the side as he cocked an eyebrow. “What happened?”

“My face feels fucking awful, dude.” Regulus hummed around the spoonful of minty blizzard for a second. “Being a teenager is the worst thing ever.”

Leo snorted. “We’re not technically teenagers anymore.”

“Still.” He hesitated, then knocked their elbows together. “I’m really sorry, by the way.”

“For?” Leo avoided his gaze and went back to his ice cream.

Regulus chewed the inside of his lip before answering. “The last week of avoiding you. I didn’t want to go out looking like this, but that was such a shitty thing to do to you.”

“It was. Apology accepted.” Leo glanced over and flicked his bicep. “Of everyone you know, I’m literally the last person who would judge you for that. Other things, absolutely, but not acne.”

“I know,” Regulus said quietly.

“Next time that happens, will you at least tell me what’s going on?” His blue eyes turned sad. “I was worried something really bad happened.”

“It won’t happen again,” Regulus promised, and he meant it. They sat in silence on the hood of the car with their ice cream for a while, pointing out weird-shaped clouds with various hums of approval; he wondered how he ever thought staying away from his best friend would make things better. “Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“Wanna see a tiktok of a duck I saw the other day? Made me think of you.”

A smile flickered over Leo’s face, then came out full force as he scooted closer. “Of course I do.”

132 notes · View notes

embrassemoi · 3 years

Text

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 31

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L Warnings: Language, smoking weed, shitty parenting, mentions of death A/N: more of a filler but it helps establish stuff. *unbeta'd

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | ao3 】

Chapter 31: Drowning on Dry Land

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

The week before her flight back, Matthew’s parents invited her over for dinner.

Waiting to greet them at the door was Mrs. and Mr. Gaplin. Matthew’s father, a Half-Maj, was a Potioneer while his mother, an Old-Maj, was a Court Scribe. They wore large, kind smiles as Mrs. Gaplin pulled her into a tight, crushing hug.

After pleasantries, she and Matthew kicked off their shoes while his parents ushered them to the dining room.

“How are you darling? '' Mrs. Gaplin asked, floating plates in their direction as everyone began helping themselves to food. “Matt wouldn’t stop talking about you since we knew y’were coming.”

She side-eyed Matthew who groaned loudly. “Did not!”

“Sure thing,” she added, which caused Matthew to slump in his chair as his parents laughed at him.

It was a nice, charming evening; filled with laughter and heartfelt conversations. His parents continued to gloat about Mathew’s achievements that he hadn’t told her. It caused him to almost get up and run out of the room from embarrassment before moving to boast about Y/N. Even Mr. Gaplin asked her regarding her OWLs which pleasantly surprised her.

A few times, Mr. Gaplin pressed a few cheeky kisses to his wife’s face as Matthew made loud retching noises.

“Disgusting!”

Mr. Gaplin laughed. “Ya sixteen. Suck it up.”

“But you’re still my baby!” Mrs. Gaplin cooed, getting up to collect the plates.

Matthew tried to look insulted but she could see the small smile that threatened his lips as jealousy nipped at her toes.

The next few days were spent staying at the Gaplin household. Matthew’s parents insisted constantly that she should stay over so they could utilize the little time they had left before leaving. At first, the idea made her feel intrusive. Although, her mother hadn’t returned to the brownstone house, preferring to sleep in the on-call rooms at the Brooklyn Memorial Hospital. It quickly got lonely and boring before Y/N finally agreed. Besides, Mrs. and Mr. Gaplin were only around for breakfast and dinner - working for the day but never failed to return; always wearing larger smiles than the previous night.

They made her feel welcomed and warm - even taking her and Matthew to the local pictures. They included her in everything, even their trivia and board games after dinner.

It was quite the change compared to her family life.

Then an identical routine ensued. She would wake up, get ready for the day; spend hours with Matthew; then twilight fell as they stayed awake into the early hours of the morning.

The day before she was due to leave, she and Matthew ran up to his room after dinner. He went to lean on top of the small coffee table, rolling up a joint as she collected her possessions scattered around his room; not wanting to leave it for the last minute.

“Fancy some grass?” He asked in a poor British accent.

“Nah,” she shook her head, “But thanks love.”

Mathew’s smile turned bashful as he stood, turning on the radio in the background. She moved to open his window which was just above the roof of his shed as she stepped out with steady feet. Perching herself down on the blankets and pillows they hauled outside the night prior, she stared at the glowing city splayed in front. From the window, The Velvet Underground flowed softly.

Matthew proceeded to hop out, sauntering over as he threw a flirtatious wink.

“Brough this,” he said, tossing the camera he’d taken from her bag. She caught it as he nestled beside her and lit the joint; placed in his mouth. Billows of smoke clouded around them while she snapped a few photos of the view.

“Ya sure you gotta leave?” Matthew whined, embers of the end of the joint sparking with another huff. “Maybe you can smuggle me. Shove me into that trunk.”

She pulled the camera away from her face, inhaling the earthy, pungent scent. Her head felt a bit lightheaded from it. “A hardcore criminal at sixteen?”

Matthew was mildly amused until a troublesome look passed through his features. “Um — name something ya miss most about home.”

Home. What a funny word — place — feeling. Home was supposed to be something that made your heart glow, feel warm and happy — by that definition, a year ago home would’ve been her little house back in Toronto with the beautiful maple trees swaying in the backyard. Or home would’ve been Ilvermorny and its tall ivory walls. But now, London, or maybe just Hogwarts, had become her home. The scrolls around the Herbology greenhouse, the library, sneaking around past curfew; the Black Lake, Hogsmeade — Lily, James, Marlene, Dorcas, Remus, Regulus…

Unsure of what to say, she opted for, “You?”

Matthew rolled his eyes, bringing the joint to his lips. “Real charmer.” Then, smoke surrounded them. “But really.”

“Why?”

“C’mon! I need an answer! — I don’t know… say somethin’ like… lobstah.”

She chuckled. “Lobster? Really?”

“Or coffee from ya regular cafe.”

Deliberating it for a second, lips tugged up. “Coffee Crisp.”

He snorted. “A candy bar? Really?”

“Or Ketchup chips. Haven’t seen them in London yet.”

“That’s fucking disgusting.”

And then the silence returns but it makes Matthew shuffle in his spot. He blurted out, “Go — more brit insight.”

Y/N felt a bit hazy from the secondhand smoke. “More? You’ll get bored.”

“I won’t,” Matthew replied quickly, sounding oddly sincere. “Please, just… go on. Tell me everything.”

“Um… a friend of mine says crikey a lot. I think it just means to be mildly surprised? — They don’t say bloody or blimey as much as you’d think… Oh! Tea — they really drink that much tea. Also —”

Continuing, Matthew shut off again, going completely silent — not once speaking up or adding funny commentary; only staring at her, simply watching.

“Okay,” she turned to take the joint from his hand, “You're freaking me out. Spill, what's up?”

“S’nuthing.”

Whack!

“Jeez! Would ya stop wiv that! Gonna kill me…”

“Spill.”

“Fine! It’s just that…'' Matthew shifted, obscuring his face. Maybe if she didn’t feel so fuzzy, or if there wasn’t the smoke coming from the blunt or her small headache forming, she would’ve picked up on all the little signs. “It’s just —” he sighed, “I wanna hear ya talk — commit it to memory.”

“Obsessed with me? Not new.”

But that seemed to trouble him more. “It’s just… I don’t know if or when I’ll hear it again…” He looks up to the city in front. “Ya my… best friend. Could never forget ‘bout ya, but s’hard — keepin’ in touch.”

She pats him, encouraging and smiling. Her voice was hopeful, so much so that it made Matthew’s lip quirk up. “We’ll find each other. Always.” She said simply. “You and me, we’re like… salt and pepper. Soap and water — Hansel and Gretel!”

“Fuckin’ Dr. Seuss,” he smiled, that worried look fading away.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

The warm summer breeze flowed around them, just as the sun peeked above the airport. Expanse, clear skies with blue mingled with deep purples and pinks shimmered against the metal from the building.

“Gonna miss ya,” Matthew muttered into the crown of her head. Her mother didn’t want him to come, but Y/N simply ignored that request as he came to send her off.

“Don’t get mushy on me now,” she joked but felt her throat become tight.

“Betta get goin’ — Doc’s lookin’ like she’s ‘bout to butcher me if ya don’t.”

She snickered, pushing Matthew’s shoulder as she picked up her bags, walking backwards while waving. “Write me!”

“Course I will! Until next time!”

“Till next time!”

Once the plane took off, awkwardness swelled among the two women. Not once had her mother said anything to her — not to apologize or see how she was doing — although they never really did talk much. Honestly, she half-expected her to leave her in New York with the Gaplins. Easy to dispose of her.

The next few days Y/N, poorly, attempted to fix her sleeping schedule. It was a miracle that she managed to get up before dinner as her head poked into the master bedroom.

She cleared her throat, feeling herself swaying in place. “Um — hi. I’m making dinner tonight.”

Her mother was dressed in a simple, yet sleek dress. She was bent over, putting on high heels as she looked up.

“The hospital is throwing a party for me — the surgery was a success.”

“That’s amazing! Er — will you be back for dinner though? It’s just that I leave soon and... two parties are better than one.”

She considered her for a long time, eyes mostly distracted by her hair slowly changing to a different colour.

“Sure. But I have to go now.”

“Right, sorry, have fun.”

Thudding down the stairs and the door clicking shut, she followed not too long after. Making her way to the kitchen, she picked up a dusty cooking book, blowing off the dust and cracked it open; flicking through the pages.

Deciding on the seemingly easy noodle dish, she rushed out of the house to the local grocery shop for ingredients. It would be the first time they would be spending any time together. It had to be perfect. But she overestimated that no matter how closely she stuck with the dishes’ instructions, the outcome was a disaster.

The noodles somehow were rock hard. The sauce she made looked grey and was chunky, similar to badly mixed concrete and it tasted horrid. At one point, even the stove exploded into flames as she had to grab her wand and use magic to extinguish the fire.

Potions... She could use a cauldron, use multiple ingredients, make some of the most complicated spells and even had tricks of her own to make the process easier but she couldn’t make a simple dish…

Her face screwed together as she glanced up to the clock; she was going to come home soon as the dinner she made was disastrous. She panicked, cleaning up everything in a rush and decided to order food.

Waiting patiently at the dinner table, her eyes fluttered up to the clock in anticipation. She felt giddy, a surge of excitement rattling throughout her bones at the prospect. Her mother wanted to spend time with her! And she should be home any minute.

But then a minute turned to two, then five, ten, twenty, thirty — then an hour ticked by.

And then another.

Y/N got up, her chair squeaking loudly. Losing all her appetite, she went to her room, sleeping in early.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 20th, 1976

Going through the potential NEWT courses she could take was the highlight of her day. The possibilities were endless.

Wanting to take Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfigurations and most of all, Potions, left her excited for the school year.

But the more she thought about the upcoming school year or potential courses, she was left to contemplate what ther5 future entailed.

Was she ready to give up magic? Something that fundamentally altered her life and moulded her into what she was? Magic was her essence, something she developed and nurtured — but to put her life in danger…

Rethinking that word again: home… Was London her home? Was she willing to leave, move again to be safer? But practicing magic around the world these days for New-Majs was dangerous. Or the potential danger she would put her mother in if she continued with it?

But magic… Maybe home wasn’t necessarily a place — but rather something she carried. In all sense, magic made her heart glow, feel warm, safe and happy — it felt like what home was supposed to feel like. And the idea of being ripped away from it, forcing herself to live a normal, Muggle life…

Magic was home.

So die, but have what she cared and loved most was by her side or live a dull life without magic — ensuring her life would be miserable.

There was a clicking of shoes in the hallway that snapped her out of her thoughts. Her mother came walking by.

Lips smushed shut into a tight line, still annoyed from the other night but was determined to spend some time with one another.

“I was planning to go to Diagon Alley for the first time — to get my textbooks... '' She stood awkwardly. “Do you want to come with me?”

“I can’t,” she replied, so quickly that it had Y/N almost scoff in disbelief. “Work. But have fun.”

She sighed but still waved her off and said a small, ‘I love you, stay safe.’ Her mother only gave her a look, something unreadable and left without a word. With a heavy heart, she grabbed her purse filled with gold and left for Diagon Alley.

Passing through the Leaky Cauldron was an adventure in itself. The shabby, tiny pub was jammed with wizards and witches zipping by.

Diagon Alley was bustling with so much magic she could feel it pumping through her blood. Students were hypnotized by the shiny new Firebolt on display; others were giggling, running around with shopping bags while older witches and wizards took a scroll. Her head turned in every direction; walking into the Apothecary, a potions ingredients and book shop.

Emmeline was there. She gave a tight-lipped smile which she returned.

Emmeline by every definition was nice, extremely kind and neither girl ever had a problem with the other. James was the problem and Y/N would gladly stay out of their feud.

Passing clamouring students, she managed to get all her supplies but stopped in front of the potion ingredients. She took a few minutes, flicking through the Advance Potions textbook and grabbed everything listed needed for most of the potions.

She made her way around Diagon Alley, going through many shops. The shelves were stacked high to the ceiling with books and materials. She spent more time than necessary there but it was beautiful.

As she was paying for her Herbology textbook, a large boom! rumbled the ground. Y/N took her bags, ready to sprint to the Leaky Cauldron but the shouts caught everyone’s attention.

“WE WILL NOT BURN WITH THEM!” A crowd of witches and wizards shouted. Their wands were transformed into microphones as a few shot fireballs up in the air.

“What’s happening?” A woman asked an old wizard. He only shook his head, grabbing a copy of the Daily Prophet, handing it to the witch.

On the front page, there were moving photos of people protesting, similar to the wizards and witches currently shouting.

‘Protests Break out in Light of Muggleborns and Halfbloods Burned Alive

Voldemort and his followers have been attacking Muggleborn and ‘blood traitor' families with the usage of fire. By burning them alive, or their houses. They bonded the witch or wizard with magic, making it impossible to apparate or leave their houses. Their broken wands were found at the scene.

Since then, protests all around Britain and Scotland have broken out. The Ministry of Magic —’

“WE WILL NOT BURN WITH THEM!” The crowd chanted.

Rage filled every inch of her body as she stomped out of Diagon Alley.

If she wanted to stay in the magical world, she had to be the greatest at whatever she did, because if she wasn’t, someone of her status was never going to get anywhere.

Magic was home, and she wasn’t going to let them take it from her. She didn’t want to surrender. They weren’t going to take that away from her.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

Immediately after Diagonal Alley, she began working; taking in her thoughts from earlier to heart.

Making sure to cover any windows from prying eyes, Y/N fiddle with first with new charms. Still unassured by her abilities in Charms, she considered taking another class before realizing all the different routes it led to. To become a Healer, Auror or Potioneer, she needed Charms.

Multiple charms backfired, causing them to ricochet off the walls, leaving a dent or chipping the wallpaper.

After trying out more than half the Charms in the book, there was one spell in particular that she attempted to cast many times, but without fail, was never able to properly cast it. Frustrated, her hand made a sharp flick and the spell spurted out instantly.

She tried again with the same hand gesture. To her astonishment, the charm produced easily. Quickly, she jotted down the note in her book.

Next, she glossed over her Transfigurations and Defense Against the Dark Arts book until her eyes caught onto the word: werewolf.

She learned briefly about werewolves, but that was in third year. And now that she knew a werewolf, it would be good to rehash it.

A werewolf, also known as a Lycanthrope, is a non-magical or magical being who transforms under the rising of the full moon. However, non-magical beings have a greater risk of dying rather than turning.

As the name suggests, werewolves are closely related to the non-magical animal, wolves. However, they have distinct characteristics that make them easily identifiable from wolves.

She flipped the page.

Wolfsbane flowers are poisonous to the non-magical world but it has been proven to have no effects on werewolves like they do on wolves. Werewolves are immune from the poison they emit and there are reports that Wolfsbane flowers help alleviate symptoms.

She underlined that section.

It’s a uniquely magical illness known to spread by saliva and blood. Werewolves are dangerous, blood-thirsty beasts — she flipped the page.

They cannot choose to transform and will no longer retain their human mind. Given the opportunity, they would slaughter their loved ones — flipped the page.

A mixture of powdered silver and dittany applied to bites help seal bite wounds. It’s also commonly put in liquid and digested in anticipation of full moons to help with the symptoms of transforming.

Y/N’s face scrunched as she continued to read.

There is no known cure Potion used to help treat lycanthropy.

She felt oddly intrusive knowing parts about Remus’ condition. But then questions arose. How were there no Potions of any kind there to help werewolves during their transformation?

Pushing the thought away, she turned to the cauldron, picking a potion to brew. They all were fairly easy, some she’d even done before just by playing around. But one potion that grabbed her attention was Draught of Living Death. Even at Ilvermorny, that potion was notoriously difficult.

Starting up the cauldron, she grabbed hold of the sopophorous bean. However, it kept jumping when she tried to cut it. She quickly resorted to another method, running down to her kitchen and grabbing the handheld garlic press, placing the bean inside, squishing it down as so much juice spurted out, even going all over her clothing.

The potion turned into the light lilac like suggested. But then as she stirred, her potion quickly became ruined as she restarted immediately.

Hours ticked by; several items in her room were Transfigured into cauldrons, as she poured the existing solution into the nine other cauldrons as she conducted her experiment.

Stirring counterclockwise was a sham, so she stirred clockwise. Nothing, the potion went bad. The next cauldron, she stirred counterclockwise and then clockwise, alternating between every stir. It showed promising progress before it turned a bright red after the seventh stir, bubbling over.

The next cauldron, she stirred counterclockwise, then clockwise after the seventh stir as the potion turned a pink pale. That’s what the book said would happen. She quickly cleared the rest of the cauldrons, pouring in the pink liquid just in case.

She continued to stir until it became a clear liquid. Surely, that was good enough but she could never be sure. After all, she didn’t know if this was what it was supposed to look like.

Deeply immersed, she hadn’t realized how late it got.

She laid on her bed, her light on as she read the scribbles on the margins of the books she'd penned. The textbook was outdated and everything she’s written down, there were easier ways to perform spells, create Potions and more. The other books must’ve been outdated too.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 22nd, 1976

Today, her attention was drawn to her Herbology textbook as she flipped right to the medicine section. Y/N had sneakily stolen a few of her mother’s medical journals as she scribbled down notes.

She flicked through the diagrams. Wizards and No-Majs were different when it came to their bodies and sickness, she knew that, but their anatomy was still the same.

An opera played in the background as she sat in front of the television. It filled the silence as her mother came from behind her, creeping her way closer to the door.

Y/N called out from where she sat. “Care to join me?”

“Can't, work.” She grunted out.

She placed the pen down, full attention drawn to her. “I only have a few days until school starts… you can’t spend some time?”

Her mom wasn’t looking at her, ostensibly staring at the floor, anywhere other than her face.

“It’s not that interesting, but um - I need help with medical terms and illnesses. You’re the best at that!”

“I can’t,” she said roughly. “Can't you see? You have to stop bothering me when I’m busy.” And then she left again, leaving her alone. Y/N would’ve been more bothered had she not been so focused on her studies.

There was a pattern.

In the Herbology textbook, in the werewolf section, there were a few ingredients used to help alleviate symptoms of Lycanthropy.

Dittany, Powered silver, Powdered Moonstone, Aconite…

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 26th, 1976

“Do you want to —” “Work.”

“But you always have work… can’t you take some time off?”

“You know it’s important to me. Why do you keep trying to limit that?”

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 29th, 1976

She was partially through her Potions and Charms textbook. It was all she could fixate on.

Deciding to take a break, Y/N went to stretch, getting up to talk to her mom who again, was getting ready to leave. She opened the honey-coloured wood draw close to the door. She pulled out a set of keys, fixing her appearance in a nearby mirror.

She had already opened the door.

“Hey mom, I was thinking of getting lunch… Will you be back soon?”

But, there was faint muffling outside the door.

“Ready for our date?”

Y/N, desperate, seized hold of her wrist, pleading. “Please, I leave in a day.”

“I'll make it up to you,” mom replied, “I promise.” And then, the door clicked shut.

Again.

She stared at the door, trying to regulate what she was thinking.

What made them worthy of her time when their’s were limited.

Robotically, Y/N turned to walk to her room, her hip bumped into the drawer which hadn’t been fully closed. Her eyes flew to it, about to push it in as she caught a flash of white.

Yanking it open, she swore her heart could’ve shattered. White envelopes filled the draw; her familiar handwriting scribbled on top of each letter. She picked one up, twisting it over to the flap.

It was unopened.

She picked up another. Unopened.

Then another. Unopened.

Unopened.

All of them were unopened, sealed. Hardly tampered with and there was hardly a wrinkle.

Was there something wrong with her? Something so disgraceful that made her so disgusting that people kept forgetting - pushing her away? Like an insidious disease.

Was she truly that unloveable? That much of a nuisance? What made someone else so much more important than her?

It was too much to process but if she had to describe the feeling, it was like drowning on dry land.

Whatever home was, it shouldn’t feel like this: cold, lonely, sad.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

【 Next Chapter 】

Slang dictionary (+ a bit of history bc i didn’t realize how many ppl didn’t actually understand what I was talking about in other chaps):

Coffee Crisp = a very popular chocolate bar sold in Canada. It was a variation of a treat made by a company from the UK. It was briefly introduced to the UK in the 60s but was pulled back because people thought it was too similar to Kit Kat. From what I know, Coffee Crisp is not commonly found in England (I've never seen it in stores) but it’s sold in Scotland.

Candy bar = US term for chocolate bar / chocolate

Grass = during the 60s - 70s, the term 'grass' was very popular slang for weed in New York bc it featured in vogue.

And yes, the British do drink that much tea.

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thesightstoshowyou · 4 years

Text

Thomas Hewitt x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Hoyt issues an ultimatum and Thomas is the perfect gentleman.

Warnings: Dubcon, “fuck or die,” blood, gore, swearing, fingering, creampie, manipulative reader

~~~

The surface beneath you is cold and hard, like steel left to sit in a dark room. This is the first thing you notice when you wake. Next comes stronger sensation: Pounding headache, sweat sliding down your face, your chest, aching muscles, burning knees. Then comes sound. You hear talking, but it sounds as though your ears are stuffed with cotton or the speaker is three rooms over.

Your fingers twitch. You can move them, at least. That’s a start.

“And I can see why! Look at those legs!”

The volume turns on all at once and you flinch. It’s a man speaking. He’s close, and loud. A heavy thwack follows his words.

“I woulda kept a pretty thing like that too. Can’t blame ya for that, Tommy.” The man’s tone is condescending. He sounds as if he is speaking to a child. You don’t even know who he is but you already dislike him.

Your forehead head feels wet and sticky. Sweat? No, its thicker than that.

“Tell you what, Tommy. I’m feelin’ generous today, what with this bountiful harvest. I’ll let ya’ have a go at her, huh?”

You swallow thickly. Is he talking about…you? Sloshing water, another noisy thwack. Blood pumps furiously in your ears.

“You ever did that to a girl, Tommy? Huh?” Laughter. Thwack, THWACK.

You’re beginning to feel pity for this ‘Tommy.’ It takes monumental effort to crack your eyes open. For a second, you panic. Your vision is halved. You can’t see out of your left eye. Then, you wipe your face across the back of your hand, clearing your eye of the blood caked into your eyelashes. That explains the sticky feeling. What happened?

“Oh, look-y there! Here’s yer chance!”

Your head feeling as though it weighs a thousand pounds, you lift it and glance around. The room spins. You snap your eyes closed once more, waiting for everything to right itself. When you open them again, it takes a moment for everything to come into focus.

You’re in a poorly lit room, like a cellar. The dirt floor is flooded, a few inches of murky water covering most of the floor. Seated on a rickety wooden table directly in front of you is an ancient sewing machine. Along the cracked and chipped walls are dusty shelves filled with dingy bottles. The whole room smells musty, air thick with humidity and something rancid, like old meat. Glancing down, you find yourself on a rusty metal table stained with—

Movement pulls your attention to a man standing near your feet, hands on his hips. He is dressed like a sheriff and he’s leering at you. Something is tugging at the back of your mind, a memory, something urgent. It’s about the sheriff, but try as you might, you can’t bring it to the surface.

“What’dya think of that, girlie? Wanna give ol’ Tommy a try?” You flinch away when the sheriff squeezes your calf. There’s red splattered across the front of his uniform. You hope it’s paint but instinct tells you its not.

“Where am I?” Your words are slurred, your dry tongue thick in your mouth.

“Bonked yer noggin real good, didn’t I?” The sheriff says with a harsh laugh. You focus on his face, on his dark eyes and his cruel lips pulled back in a sneer over yellowed teeth.

Another noisy thwack makes you crane your neck to look behind you. Instantly, you wish you hadn’t. There’s another man there, his back to you. Tommy. His shoulder length hair is dark and his shirt, wet with sweat, clings to his broad shoulders. He’s huge, menacing even when he’s not looking at you. He’s hacking away at a mangled body, suspended in the air by chains and missing several limbs.

Chainsaw. Screaming. Shredded flesh. SMACK goes the shotgun butt to your head.

Memory returns like a punch in the gut and you suck in air through your teeth. You recoil, clawing at the edge of the table to pull yourself away from the monster behind you. These murderers, these animals killed…oh god, your friends…oh god, Annie….

The scream is out of your throat before you register it’s coming. You shriek and cry, scrambling across the table toward the stairs behind you, but you’ve forgotten about the sheriff. One of his hands finds your hair, the other gripping your jaw roughly to hold you in place.

You writhe in his grip, but freeze when Tommy finally turns around. He wears a leather mask over the bottom half of his face. His eyes are hidden under his brow, too hard to see in the poorly lit room. You whimper, sweaty hair sticking to your tear streaked cheeks, heart hammering against your ribs.

“Honeymoon’s over, huh?” Another mean laugh and the sheriff wiggles your head playfully back and forth, “Who’ll it be, Tommy? You or me?”

You sob, the real reason you were kept alive now out in the open. Panic rises and you grasp his wrists, attempting to wrench yourself free. The sheriff grunts, squeezing your jaw painfully in retaliation.

“Ya’ like that, honey? Wanna give Sheriff Hoyt a taste?” His breath reeks of stale chewing tobacco when he breaths out across your face.

The loud clang from across the room startles you both. Tommy has set his cleaver down hard on a nearby table. He’s facing away from you again, his shoulders rising and falling in heavy breaths.

“Weh-hell, Thomas Brown Hewitt! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say yer jealous!”

You blink. Panic subsides, replaced by rational thought. The gears in your head whirl at top speed. Maybe this isn’t the end for you, not just yet. A plan drops into place.

If Hoyt—if that’s really his name—gets his way, he will fuck you, kill you, and that will be that. But Thomas…. You bet that mask he’s wearing is hiding something, maybe a deformity, maybe something else. You’ll also guess not many people have been kind to him throughout his life. People are cruel and if you don’t look normal, most are quick to point it out. Perhaps, if you can win Thomas over, you’ll have a chance at survival. Who would dare challenge a chainsaw-wielding behemoth?

It’s a gamble, sure, but it’s a gamble you must make.

“Alright boy, alright.” Hoyt relents, releasing your head and standing up straight. “I’ll give ya’ twenty minutes. If she’s still dressed by the time I get back, I’m putting my foot down.” He laughs, long and loud as he turns and stomps up the stairs. You’re glad to see him go, but now you’re alone with Thomas.

He still isn’t looking at you. He hasn’t spoken a word this entire time either. Maybe he can’t. You might just have to do the talking for him.

You close your eyes and inhale slowly, steeling yourself. You push down the revulsion and fear and grief, shoving them deep in your heart to be revisited later. You must be calm. This is your only option.

“Um, Tommy?” You try, keeping your voice as level as you can. You swallow to lend moisture to your dry throat. “Is…is it okay if I call you Tommy?” Thomas half turns, glancing at you over his shoulder and giving a curt nod. You scoot to the edge of the table and let your legs dangle over the side, hiking your dress up as discreetly as you can.

“Um. The…the sheriff…Hoyt…. He didn’t really give us much time. Um, if it’s…I mean, I know I’m not—not in charge here, but…if it was up to me, I would…I, um, would want it to be y-you.” You glance up at him under your eyelashes, dipping your shoulder so the strap of your dress slips down your arm.

Thomas turns further toward you, staring. You wish you could see his eyes through the gloom or know what he’s thinking. Did you guess wrong? Is he going to pick up that cleaver and bury it in your skull for your trouble? Desperately, you will your racing heart to be calm.

Finally, he looks away. Reaching behind him, he unties his gore-soaked apron, lifting it over his head and draping it on a shelf. He begins to move toward you but pauses, turning quickly and plunging his hands into a bucket of water near the corpse dangling from the ceiling like a macabre marionette. Hastily, he scrubs his palms and fingernails. Seemingly satisfied, he wipes them on a dirty rag before turning back to you.

Cautiously he approaches, like you’ll spook and run if he moves too quickly. He might be right. When he’s close enough for you to reach out and touch him, he stops, hands moving to his pockets, then behind him, then in front of him again. He’s nervous. He’s never done this before, you realize. That thought is almost a relief. Almost.

You meet his gaze. His eyes are dark blue, deep and expressive. You can see his hesitance in his eyes and his body language, in the way he’s almost half turned away, as though he might run instead.

You bite your lip and reach for his hand. Your trembling fingers close around his and you pull him closer. He lets you tow him, helplessly, until he’s standing between your legs. This close, you can smell him; sweat, coppery like blood, and something pine scented, like cleaner or cheap soap.

You place his palm on your bare knee. Christ, his hands are enormous, palms and fingertips calloused and rough against your sweaty skin. You’re sure he could crush your knee like a soda can with just one firm grasp.

He doesn’t move, simply staring at the hand on your leg like he can’t believe this is happening. A twinge of annoyance burns under the fear. You don’t have time for this. Hoyt could come back at any minute.

You reach under your dress, hooking your fingers in your panties before dragging them down your legs. Thomas jerks his hand away like your skin has burned him, awkwardly clasping and unclasping his fingers as you set the garment on the table next to you. Again, you reach for his hand, pulling him back, scooting closer to him until you can feel the heat from his body between your spread legs.

This time, you guide his palm up the expanse of your thigh, under your dress. He sucks in a breath when you press his fingers to your cunt. You meet his gaze again and find him searching your face. He’s looking for something, maybe fear, or disgust, something….

“It’s—it’s okay, Tommy,” you whisper, voice quivering, “Touch me, please.”

He does, slowly, gingerly. His thick fingers explore the skin at the apex of your thighs, then trace between your lips, learning you. You’re sure it’s unintentional when he teases your opening before moving higher. You can’t stop the shaky gasp that slips from your trembling lips when he brushes against your clit.

Thomas, ever observant, does it again, then applies more pressure, circling the calloused pad of his thumb around the sensitive bud. Your eyelids flutter and, unbidden, your hips buck into his hand. All the while Thomas stares, hardly blinking, watching for your reactions.

Heat curls through your gut, surprising you, at Tommy’s ministrations. He keeps a steady, maddening pace that soon has slick leaking from your neglected cunt. Half-whimpers climb up out of your throat, barely contained behind your teeth.

Thomas eases up and you’re almost disappointed, but then his fingers slip down your slit to find your soaked entrance once more. Testing, searching, he pushes a finger past your folds, slipping into you. Another gasp tumbles from your mouth. Just his finger, thick as it is, is almost enough.

You grasp his forearm, urging him to move his hand. He catches on quickly and soon he’s pumping his finger in and out of you. Pleasure blooms through your core and you grind your hips down into his hand.

“Tommy, can—can you use another finger, please, I need—

You choke on a moan when he wastes no time in obliging, slipping another finger in next to the first. This is ridiculous, you think deliriously. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this wet before. You can feel it dripping down your thighs to pool under your ass and into Tommy’s palm.

The coil of lust within you tightens and you realize with shock that you’re going to cum. This huge, deranged murderer is going to make you cum on his fingers. And you’re not going to help him.

You rock your hips once, twice and then stars explode behind your eyes, knees clamping shut around his arm. Thomas groans above you, his other hand wrapping around the back of your neck, keeping you seated on his fingers when you try to pull away.

Are you sure he hasn’t done this before?

You pant and shudder, finally peeling your eyes open to meet Thomas’ heated gaze. His own chest heaves, the hand on your neck shaking. You swallow, intimidated by him all over again. You think he might bore a hole through your head with his gaze alone. Does he look at all his victims like this?

You shake your head, ridding yourself of your tumultuous thoughts. You have no idea how much time you have left. Hurry, you must hurry.

Thomas must be thinking the same thing because he gently pulls his fingers from your heat. They drip, little droplets splashing into the water covering his boots. He releases your neck to adjust himself and your eyes fall to the sizeable bulge in his pants.

It’s your turn to watch his face as you reach out and unbuckle his belt. Slowly, you pop the button, slide the zipper. He releases a shaky exhale when you run your thumb along the long length of the overheated cock hiding behind his briefs.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper when you free him from his underwear. Of course, his cock is huge just like the rest of him; girthy, long, one massive vein running along the underside. You’re unsure if you can handle him.

Thomas frowns at your words, but you’re quick to reassure him, “I’m sorry, I’m just…you’re, uh, really big so I was just, um….” Your words trail off into nervous laughter, “Will you go slow?” you plead, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Thomas nods earnestly, reaching out as if he is going to cup your face. He pauses, fingers inches from your cheek, and the hand withdraws, settling nervously next to your hip. You take another deep breath. No time, no time.

You scoot forward, spreading your thighs wide to accommodate his hips. You grip him, hard and hot under your palm, and guide him to your slick entrance. Thomas tenses when you hook your leg around his hip, using it to ease him toward you.

Sweat beads along your forehead as he inches forward, taking the lead once you release him and lean back on your palms to brace yourself. Thomas grips your hips with shaking hands, pulling you forward, stuffing you full with his cock.

The uncomfortable stretch is there, certainly, quivering muscles straining around Tommy’s generous girth, but your slickness eases the passage and you feel warm pleasure winning out over pain. Before long, he’s fully seated within you, his haggard breaths washing over your sweaty forehead.

Thomas moves and you gasp, one hand flying to grip the front of his shirt. The drag of his cock along your overstuffed walls is unreal. You sigh, biting your lip in a futile attempt to keep the embarrassing sounds safely in your mouth.

A strained groan leaves Tommy and he jerks his hips forward, wrenching a surprised mewl from your own mouth. That noise, or the way you clench around him must destroy his resolve. The grip on your hips turns bruising and Thomas begins pounding into you with enthusiasm.

All you can do is clap a hand over your mouth, your other hand white knuckled and braced against the table. Each harsh thrust sends a jolt of pleasure up through your gut, causing you to lose control of your words.

“Please, please, pleasepleaseplease,” you chant, not even sure what you’re begging for, your mind hazy with desire. You can barely hear yourself over the noisy slap of skin against skin, the wet squelch of your battered cunt, and the creaking of the rusty table under you.

Thomas trembles, his thighs tensing under yours. He grunts and you can tell from the sound that he’s gritting his teeth. He’s trying not to cum. How he’s lasted this long is beyond you, but he isn’t going to have to wait much longer.

That tight coil has returned, burning hot pleasure zinging up your back and racing across your skin. Thomas moves one hand up your hip to dig his fingers into your waist. He’s so strong, so ruthless in the way he pulls you onto his cock. He could break your spine with little effort.

The coil snaps and you cry out, your body tensing and arching. You grip Thomas’ shoulders for dear life, pleasure pulsing through you in powerful waves as tears spill down your cheeks. At the same moment, Thomas buries his cock as deep as he can, groaning and rutting against you as he fills you up. It sits warm in your belly before trickling down your ass to make an even bigger mess of the table beneath you.

You pant together as though you’ve both just finished a marathon. You glance up to find Thomas studying you again, searching your eyes and face. This time, he does cup your cheek, rough thumb stroking your flushed skin. The action is so unexpectedly tender your breath hitches. The way he’s looking at you—

The door at the top of the stairs bangs open and you nearly leap out of your skin. Thomas jerks away from you to quickly button up his slacks. You reach for your underwear but don’t have a chance to put them on before Thomas scoops you into his arms, cradling you protectively against his broad chest.

“Well, well, well, what have you lovebirds been up to?”

You don’t hear Hoyt’s antagonizing question. You don’t hear anything but the blood pumping in your ears and your own ragged breathing. The way Thomas is holding you, gripping your flesh like his life depends on it, your cunt dripping with his cum, you know.

You know he’s never going to let you go.

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #the texas chainsaw massacre #the texas chainsaw massacre the beginning #texas chainsaw massacre #tcm #tcm the beginning #reader insert #n sfw #thomas brown hewitt #thomas brown hewitt x reader #gore #blood #manipulative reader #dubcon #my writing

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that-wimpy-cowboy-doll · 3 years

Note

Dialogue prompt: Shieldshock (duh) and "You weren't supposed to see/hear that" (whichever version speaks to the muse more)

💕😘💕😘💕😘

Whoo baby this is late but I went with “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” Hope you enjoy, bb. Regrettably the overtly sexy stuff is only mentioned

Darcy did her best to stifle the flush burning its way up her neck, diverting her eyes from Steve Rogers marching his handsome heroic ass into the latest Stark Industries company party.

“He wasn’t even supposed to be here,” Darcy hissed, and brought her glass of champagne up to her lips, draining it. “The last time I saw him, he said he wasn’t coming…”

But there he was, in all his tall glass of Captain glory. Not unnoticed by many of Darcy’s coworkers, men and women alike, who weren’t even trying to hide the lust in their eyes as he made his way through the glass doors from the hallway into the event space.

Not that Darcy could blame them. He looked damn good in a suit. Looked damn good out of one, too, the last time she’d shoved his dress slacks down his thighs on her couch so she could take him in her mouth, make him lose control with his huge sexy hands in her hair and her name hoarse in his throat.

That was beside the point, though. The point of avoiding her famous fuck buddy in public was, well, 1) to protect his Super Duper Hero Complex by preventing her from being used against him by supervillains, 2) to keep the fuck buddy dynamic on a professional, non-work-involved basis, and 3) perhaps most importantly, to keep either of them from catching dreaded fuck buddy feelings. Any kind of public interaction lent toward making them feel obligated to each other, and that was something Darcy’d proclaimed absolutely not happening when they’d agreed to this. No strings attached sex was fun, as long as they kept their passions strictly below the belt.

“I mean,” Jane started, as she always did, to remind her best friend of how stupid she thought the whole arrangement was, “it’s not like you’ll burst into flames if he says hello to you in front of other people. That’s kind of...acting like a human being? The last time I checked?”

If it was possible, Darcy blushed harder, not watching him be accosted by Tony near the bar. “I don’t know, it’s possible I might spontaneously combust if he even fucking smiles at me in public...when we’re alone I can do whatever the fuck I want, but here…”

“You’re a whole-ass baby, you know that?” Jane deadpanned, hunting for the cherry at the bottom of her drink with the tip of her straw. “Just be casual. Like you are for the debriefing meetings.”

This was different, Darcy wanted to huff, knowing that she would sound like a whole-ass baby if she did. Being casual with the person she rang for casual sex in their workplace, in the moment, was one thing. They were still technically at work, sure, but this was a party - she was supposed to enjoy herself.

It was hard to enjoy herself in the same room as Steve Rogers without his lips on some part of her.

“I have...a problem,” she admitted slowly, her champagne glass far too empty for her liking. Jane, meanwhile, wore an expression somewhere between unsurprised and unimpressed. “I think I want to be exclusive.”

“Are you not already?” The incredulity in her best friend’s voice was clear, but Jane propped a hand on her hip anyway to add to the effect. “I haven’t heard about any of your Tinder escapades lately, and from what Thor’s told me, Steve doesn’t really have his eye on anyone else…”

“Just because we haven’t been fucking anyone else doesn’t mean he wants to be with me, too.” He was closer now, shaking hands with some fundraiser coordinator Tony had invited; God, every bone in Steve’s body seemed more warm and genuine than the last. “If I talk to him in public I’m going to want to kiss him in public, and that...crosses a line I don’t know that he’s cool with.”

“There’s this magnificent thing I’ve read about,” Jane said, her PhD voice in full effect, “called having a fucking conversation, Darcy. I love you with my whole entire heart, don’t get me wrong, but I think if you just talked to him...you wouldn’t be on the fence with all this anxiety.”

That was easy for Jane to say. The best sex of her life had wanted her pretty much the moment he’d laid eyes on her, had done his best to make up for his absences in the time they were able to spend together, and Jane’s heart, though preceded always by her big, sexy brain, lived on her sleeve. She and Thor sorted things out without much fuss.

Darcy had known she was several leagues below Steve when they met, and had made an idiot out of herself walking directly into his giant rock-hard chest with an entire tray of coffee that splattered on his Very American uniform. God only knew why he’d agreed to be her bang buddy a month or so later, but she had a distinct feeling it had more to do with what lay on top of her chest rather than the dumb dorky heart that beat under it.

He was making rounds, coming closer, so she changed the subject quickly, Jane performing her mightiest eye-roll while Darcy rattled off something inane about some singer who’d donated to the literacy foundation Tony and Pepper were heading.

“I heard Pepper wants to get Lady Gaga to perform at the ribbon-cutting,” Jane added helpfully, glancing into her emptied glass. “Sounds pretty cool.”

“She was the one who got Weezer for tonight.”

Darcy’s heart stammered in her chest at the voice that had contributed that delightful tidbit of conversation, and the tall, muscular, suited body that accompanied it. Steve’s smile glinted from under his perfectly trimmed beard, the velvet blue of his jacket and pants doing absolutely nothing for the growing whirlpool of want in Darcy’s stomach. Christ almighty.

“Was she?” Jane prompted, looking, to her best friend’s dismay, like a cat with a mouthful of canary. “Darcy loves Weezer, you know.”

Was this it? Was she dead? Had the gala all been some elaborate ruse planned by Stark Industries to murder her fucking dead on the spot in front of the hottest man she’d ever met?

If this was it, Darcy mused, at least she looked really fucking good.

“I didn’t know that,” Steve said, and now he was making eye contact with her, that knowing smile on his lips that could only be held by someone in his exact position.

“They were actually my first concert.” She swallowed, her throat dry. “Right after ‘Pork and Beans’ came out. I was in college and I wore...way too much eyeliner, but in fairness I think I was in the majority there.”

Jesus Christ, stop fucking talking.

Jane smirked at the empty champagne flute in her hand. “Here, I’m out, too, let me get you another one.”

Against her better judgment, Darcy surrendered the glass with only a furtive version of the eye-daggers she wanted to send her best friend. Jane sent her a sly wink before tailing it toward the bar.

“Weezer.” She swallowed again, doing her best not to notice the way his tongue dashed out across his lower lip, his eyes boring down into hers through those stupid long eyelashes. “When do they come on?”

“You haven’t been seeing anyone else.” It wasn’t a question, he was smiling a stupid cocky half-smile that she thought stupidly would look much better between her thighs. “What was it Jane said…’no Tinder escapades’ - was that it?”

It felt like the blood had drained from her body. “You...weren’t supposed to hear that.”

He stuck his huge hands in his pockets, gathering himself up to his fullest height. Fuck, he was so big. She couldn’t get enough of it. “Well...you’re both right about something. I’m not seeing anyone else either, and kissing in public could definitely cross a line.”

Great. If the mortification wasn’t enough, now her heart felt like it had dropped into her stomach. “Yeah?”

He stepped forward, his hand sliding to her favorite place, the small of her back with his pinkie just brushing into her ass. When they were alone, this always felt like him laying his claim, showing her where she belonged, where he belonged. But they weren’t alone. Not even close.

“Yeah,” he murmured, dropping his lips to hers, slotting their mouths together. Her eyes flew shut of their own accord, melting into him, the smell of his pine soap and fresh linens filling her nose. Steve kissed like he fucked, like he did anything: full of passion, vigor, life.

For a moment, Darcy forgot they were in the middle of a gala, lost in his warm body pressing up against her, but when she brought her hands to his collar he pulled away slowly, releasing her bottom lip from between his teeth with a sly smile.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” he whispered, his nose still halfway touching hers, “you wanna dance to some Weezer with me, Darcy?”

She closed her eyes again, a tiny laugh escaping her in a short breath. “Yeah, I’ll dance to some Weezer.”

#darcy lewis #steve rogers #shieldshock

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hatterstan-shameblog · 3 years

Text

Prompt My Own Damn Self # :He’s Not the Guy You Marry, But He Is The Guy You [REDACTED] in the Night Club Bathroom at Two O’Clock in the Morning, Which is Also Important

Summary: Literally what it says in the title, except we find out what [REDACTED] means, which is very fun and exciting. That’s right, everybody, we’re 👏 going 👏 there 👏

Warnings: ‼️18+‼️ Extremely Explicit Sexual Content. Do NOT be uncool and read it if you’re not of age. Otherwise, there’s alcohol involved here (wow what a surprise 🙄), like one mention of drugs, and smoking. Aside from that, it’s pretty straightforward.

Genre: Mediocre Smut

Pairing: Hatter/Fem!Reader

Notes: There are two types of people in this world: people who are very attracted to the weird sexy hat guy who started a death-game pyramid scheme, and LIARS.

Real talk, though: this is pretty explicit. More explicit than I’ve gone in a very long time, so I’m a little rusty. It veers into “hate sex” territory, which was kind of fun to write, honestly. I live for the banter. (Also, the “you” character in this is kind of great? I like her.)

HEY! Just another reminder! This is 18+ so if you’re not of legal age, do yourself a solid and ditch this little thing, okay? Okay.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

It starts with tequila shots.

Salt licked. From your wrist. His chest. The hollow of your throat.

Lime bitten. Held between your fingers. Between his teeth. Between your pushed-together breasts.

Music pulses. Lights flash. He’s got a hand on your ass. You’ve got your lips on his neck.

“Wanna go somewhere?”

“Yes.”

And he leads you, hand on the small of your back, away from the bar. People stare. You like it.

‘Somewhere’ is, apparently, a two-stall women’s restroom, tucked away in a narrow little hallway which runs to the left of the bar. A place for shooting up drugs. A place for scribbling on the walls with permanent marker.

A place for sex. Hot, sweaty, anonymous sex.

...Well, semi-anonymous, anyways. It’s impossible to live at the Beach and not know who the man in red is, the man who sells a shot at salvation for nothing more than a few playing cards.

You lean against the tastefully cream-colored counter which hosts, among other things: a sink stained pink with cheap soap; three forgotten tubes of lipstick; a small mirror, holding an abandoned credit card and two small lines of cocaine; a crumpled up hand towel; a half-finished bottle of Asahi beer; and what was probably once a wedding ring.

“Great ambiance,” you murmur flatly. The harsh light of fluoresent bulbs burn your eyes, diverting your gaze to the white floor, “Been ages since I got fucked in a classy place like this.”

“Ages?” Hatter flicks the lock on the door with a low thunk.

“Hours,” you answer, mournful tone betrayed by a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth, “Had you not come along, my dry spell might’ve gone on through the morning.”

“Perish the thought.”

And he does not so much approach you as he descends upon you, mouth sucking at your collarbone and leg pushing between your thighs.

“Tell me,” he pants into you ear, breath hot and fingers deft as he unties the strings of your bikini top, “How do you want me?”

“Now,” you hiss back, “Don’t care how, just—fuck, just give it to me.”

“Then, if you would be so kind?” He holds a condom between his index and middle fingers.

In truth, you’re glad for it—you’d rather not deal with the mess after all is said and done—but there’s no way you’ll give him the satisfaction of a ‘thank you.’

“Fine,” you huff, snatching the foil square from his grasp, “Don’t suppose you have anything better to—oh!”

Hands on your hips spin you around so you’re facing the mirror. You grip the edge of the counter, knuckles straining, and watch as he reaches around to palm your breast.

“Apologies,” he makes eye contact with you in the mirror, “but I seem to have my hands full at the moment.”

And that’s when you feel fingertips slipping beneath the seam of your bikini bottoms, an insistent press against the slick of your slit.

You spit a curse and fumble with the condom, desperation setting in as his hands continued to dance across your flesh. After some moments (too many for your liking), you’re successful in your endeavor, and pass the unwrapped nuisance over your shoulder.

“Much obliged,” he thanks, removing his hands to sort himself out, “You know, I appreciate—“

“I didn’t come here to talk,” you snap. He laughs in response.

“Ooh, you’re mean!”

And he’s sliding the crotch of your swimsuit bottoms to the side, exposing only what is necessary and lining himself up—and, okay, that’s the kind of semi-impractical hotness you were looking for from this particular encounter. Your muscles clench involuntarily around nothing and you cant your hips back to get him to move it along...but nothing happens.

God, what is this guy’s problem?!

“But, I wonder,” he whispers into your ear, “are you desperate enough to say ‘please?”

Of all the guys to pull for a quick fuck, of course you get the one who’s a total tease. So smug, arrogance blooming as he presses a soft kiss to your left shoulder. There’s no way you’re giving in to this asshole, so you glare at him in the reflection of the mirror.

“Fuck you,” you spit, teeth bared and mouth formed into a malicious smile.

He shrugs his shoulders.

“Close enough.”

You both cry out when he fills you with a single, fluid thrust. And—fuck, fuck, fuck!—that is good. One of his hands curls around the jut of your hip, while the other splays across your collarbone, thumb and forefinger framing the base of your throat in a firm but gentle touch.

Otherwise, he remains still—perhaps he’s being gentlemanly and allowing you time to adjust? No, no, he’s definitely being a tease again.

Seriously, what is his goddamn deal?

Since he seems content to take his merry time, you take matters into your own hands, moving against him in a somewhat-awkward but still satisfying rhythm.

“You,” he says between heavy breaths, “seem eager.”

There’s something in his voice that seems amused, as if he finds your candor endearing. You lean forward a bit, angling your hips so his length is able to sink deeper and, oh, that’s much better.

“Want something done right,” you pant, “gotta do it yourself.”

“You don’t think I’d do it right?”

“Sweetie,” you coo with a condescending smile, “I know you wouldn’t.”

And you’re lucky that guys like him are all the same—arrogant, showy, desperate to prove their sexual prowess—because he finally (finally!) decides to get his sorry ass into gear and make something happen.

The hand that was around your neck gropes at your breasts, the cool metal of that stupid-ugly-tacky ring catching on your skin in an annoyingly tantalizing way. The other shoves its way between you and the edge of the countertop, deft fingertips circling your clitoris in a way that makes your toes curl in your sandals. You bite your lip to keep from crying out as he fucks into you, hips snapping hard but steady against the plush of your ass.

“You know, the people I fuck usually try to be nice to me,” he says, “nicer than you, anyways.”

The hand on your breast pinches your nipple, earning him a sharp gasp.

“Why be nice?” You clench around him, causing his rhythm to falter, “You’re just the means to an end.”

“And here I thought we were making love.”

Teeth scrape down the length of your neck, and fuck—you’re getting close. Your arms are shaking. Your heart is racing. You hate to admit it, but he’s good at this.

“Darling,” he growls into your ear, “I do believe you’re about to come.”

“Shut up,” you snap, trying desperately to sound cool and unaffected despite the fact that your composure is about to shatter and there is not a goddamn thing you can do about it.

“Well, go on then. After all,” he hisses, “I don’t have all night.”

What starts as anger is quickly overtaken by pleasure—white-hot and blinding, enough to make your knees shake and your eyes spring with tears. It’s exactly what you were looking for, exactly what you had been expecting from the most notorious sex fiend at this God-forsaken place.

Apparently, he must’ve come too, because he’s pulling out with a surprising tenderness—gentlemanly in one way, at least. He even makes sure to right your bikini bottoms, making sure that they’re once again covering you completely before turning his attention to himself.

“You know, I didn’t know people could glare their way through an orgasm, but you made it happen.”

“I’m a woman of many talents.”

Before you choose to look in the mirror, you fix the rest of your bathing suit with a tremble in your fingers. You can feel him watching you, and honestly, you’re not sure how you feel about that. Good, mostly, but tinged a bit orange with annoyance. You try not to think about that too much and, with a deep breath, look at your reflection.

The first thing you do to assess the damage of your little liaison is check your makeup—your eyeliner is a bit smudged, but that’s easily fixed with a few swipes of your littlest finger. Your hair, however, is another story, so you set to fixing it with a dissatisfied huff.

You hear the snick of a lighter behind you and the scent of fresh-burning nicotine hits your senses. You turn around to see him leaning against the tile wall with a cigarette between his lips and smoke curling in wisps towards the ceiling.

He raises an eyebrow when you approach him, then chuckles when you snatch the cigarette right out of his mouth and take a long, deep drag. It’s almost as good as the sex.

“You know,” he says, “I think you might be a bit in love with me after my spectacular performance.”

That makes you choke, your lungs switching from laughter to coughing and back again.

“Spectacular?” You quell your sputtering with a gulp, “You were passable. At best.”

“Careful, sweetheart. You’re getting awfully close to giving me a compliment.”

You take a step closer to him, shoulders squared, fingers ashing the cigarette onto the floor.

“Not your sweetheart,” you say, taking one last drag and blowing the smoke directly into his face. You smile when he flinches.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” you say, pressing the mostly-smoked cigarette between his lips, “I have somewhere to be.”

You turn on your heel and begin to walk away, making sure to sway your hips just so as you do. There’s no way his eyes aren’t glued to your ass, and the thought makes you smile triumphantly.

“Until next time, then,” he calls—and it’s cute that he sounds so sure that you’ll come crawling back to him.

You exit the bathroom with a self-satisfied smirk, enjoying the thought of him lighting another cigarette and trying not to chase after you.

Three days, tops. That’s how long it’ll take for him to beg.

You can’t wait.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

also just in case you were wondering, he DID leave the sunglasses on—BUT they were on his head kinda holding his hair back because I truly believe he would do that. also the kimono has pockets and he thinks it’s very cool to carry around all his stuff in there (for example he keeps a granola bar on his person at all times because sometimes you just get hungry yknow?)

#spicy boy #writings and such #hatter #hatter x reader #danma takeru #danma takeru x reader #alice in borderland fanfic #alice in borderland #this took me WEEKS to write oh my god #I’m gonna convert y’all to hatter fans no matter what #it’s a thankless job but someone’s gotta do it #he’s got great hair and a weird outfit what more do you people WANT?!?

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firstfrostfall · 3 years

Text

A Cold Lament - Chapter Three

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

It was cold and dark by the time he reached The Garrison. The air was painfully frigid, so much so, that each inhale he took felt like a whip cracking to his chest. The year would soon be coming to a close, and winter was just beginning.

He needed a drink, and someplace to drown out the quiet before settling in for the night with his pipe. It was almost midnight, and Harry would be closing down the pub soon.

Tommy spent the better part of his day at Charlie Strong’s Yard, doing yet another once over of the stock inside of the crate that they found. They counted each item once, twice, three times- just to make sure it was real after all, and not some sort of fever dream.

Oh, and it was fucking real all right. 25 automatic machine guns, 10,000 rounds of ammo, and a plethora of pistols.

The next order of business was figuring out what they were going to do with them, or rather, where they were going to put them. What a headache. One thing he knew for certain was that someone was going to realize this cargo had gone missing soon enough, and when that happened, he needed a plan.

Stolen guns aside, he had also spent a great deal of time trying to track down his brothers so they could purchase another horse for the upcoming races. Normally, he could do this on his own, but he had bigger ideas in mind. Bigger ideas that he needed his brothers for.

Now, getting the two of them in the same place at the same time was another hassle within itself, not to mention an additional headache.

Harry was behind the bar, humming to himself and organizing the racks of booze against the back wall, label facing front. At the sound of the door jingling, the barkeep lazily glanced over his shoulder with a yawn. Upon realizing who walked through the doors, he cleared his throat and sheepishly wiped his hands on his apron.

“Ah, Mr. Shelby, good evening,” His voice wavered. “How can I help you?”

Tommy nodded his head toward a particular bottle while shrugging off his coat.

He leaned against the bar then, waiting for his hands to warm up while Harry prepared his drink. He listened to the sounds of glasses clattering together, a bottle being uncorked, Harry’s hurried footsteps on the floor, the buzzing of the lights above. No factory machinery whirring in the background, no, it was far too late for that.

“Today was her first day, you know.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, unsure of who Harry was speaking about until it clicked. The favor for his aunt, that’s whose first day it was.

Truthfully, he hadn’t given the girl a second thought since he last spoke to her, and that was a few days ago now. Codwell? Coldwell? He couldn’t remember her surname. Her first name, on the other hand, was simple enough to recall. Anna. It was Anna.

“Miss Caldwell, that is.” Harry continued, clearly recognizing the confusion on his face.

Caldwell. Well, he was close.

“Is she still here?”

“Yes,” The barkeep jerked his chin toward the back room. “In the back.”

Tommy retrieved his cigarette case from his coat and placed it on the bartop, perching an unlit stick between his lips. “How’d she do?”

“She did fine,” Harry shrugged mid-pour, with a small smile growing on his face. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “It’ll take some getting used to, I’d reckon. I’m not sure if she’s ever handled liquor in her life, but she’s a hard worker.” His tone was light, jovial almost.

Tommy sighed heavily through his nostrils while lighting the cigarette. A hard worker. Polly said the same damn thing.

Harry left him alone then and went about tidying up the bar. Sweeping the floor, cleaning soap scum from glasses. Meanwhile, Tommy switched between smoking and drinking, each vice warming his chest. He listened to all of the sounds, broom bristles against the floor, Harry humming, glass colliding with the bartop.

Amidst this, he saw a figure step into the room from the corner of his eye. He didn’t bother to look over, because it could have only been her, Anna. It wasn’t until Harry cleared his throat that he finally turned his head toward her.

She stood there, looking more diminutive than he initially realized. And tired. Her hair fell in loose waves around her, certainly not as neat as it had been before. No lipstick, either. Her blouse stuck out the most to him- it was covered in stains, each splotch in varying sizes and colors. A stark contrast to how buttoned up and proper she looked the other day. A rough first day, he imagined. It was almost comical.

He turned away to hide the smirk that grew on his lips while taking a slow sip from his drink. He hoped Polly was happy, he got the girl a job.

After a bit of small talk (he fucking hated small talk), it was time for him to take his leave. He got what he came for, a drink and some time to think.

He stubbed out the remnants of his dwindling cigarette on the cobblestone ground when he walked outside, deciding that he would light a fresh one almost immediately. Something to keep his mind busy while he walked home. It was far too cold for anything else.

He reached a hand into his jacket, fumbling for the cigarette case when his fingers brushed against something unfamiliar, a piece of cardstock. Confused, he pulled it out, and upon a further glance, it was her crumpled-up resume.

That was when the snow started falling. He stopped walking, barely flinching when the first few snowflakes hit the exposed part of his neck.

Her hands. He thought of her hands. He didn’t look at her hands this time.

He tucked the paper back into his coat and sighed, his breath fogging the air in front of him. He turned over his shoulder, and he saw her. The flickering street lights cast a warm glow over her as she stood there, bundled up in a coat far too big for her frame, staring right back at him.

They both looked at each other for a moment, possibly minutes, before he turned away and kept walking.

She was just another investment for the business and based on her appearance tonight, she’d be a poor one at that.

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The snow from a few nights ago melted just as quickly as it came, leaving nothing but muddy puddles in its wake. Earlier in the day, Tommy had managed to track his brothers down, which was no simple task.

The three of them were on their way to The Garrison to drink, no surprise there, and to discuss plans for acquiring a new racehorse. An Appaloosa, to be exact. A young, flighty, and fast mare. With enough training, it would be perfect for the tracks. Tommy was almost certain of that.

The seller was from one of the riverside camps outside of the city, someone Polly had known from a long time back. This led Tommy to believe that the horse was no doubt stolen, especially since there weren’t many Appaloosas around these parts, which made it all the better deal. He’d probably be able to buy the damned thing at a discount.

“You hear? There’s a new girl working at The Garrison.” Arthur’s voice, loud and gruff, interrupted his thoughts. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Some posh bitch, yeah?” John asked.

“She’s posh?” Arthur raised his eyebrows. “What’s she doing here?”

“Dunno,” John shrugged. “Heard some people say she sounds posh. Haven’t seen her yet myself.”

Tommy was walking a few steps ahead of them, rolling his eyes. They were fucking stupid.

“You think she’s pretty?” John quipped with a grin.

“I’d bet she is,” Arthur replied.

“You wanna put a wager on it?”

“Oh, I’ll put a fuckin’ wager on it.”

He glanced over his shoulder at his brothers, watching as they spit and shook hands on it. Stupid.

It appeared to be a slow afternoon at the pub, with only a few men at the bar and a tiny handful of people scattered around various tables. Harry stood behind the bar, raising a hand to him in greeting while he spoke to other patrons. His brothers all but stumbled into the snug, laughing about who would win the wager. Tommy shook his head.

Anna, however, was nowhere in sight. He thought she’d be attached to the hip with Harry, like a dutiful trainee. It had been a few days since he was last at The Garrison, since the last time he saw her with the stained blouse, and almost a little over a week since he first met her. Maybe she quit. A pity, he supposed, Polly said she was struggling. But it was no skin off his nose. If she couldn’t handle the work, then maybe it was for the best.

He caught Harry’s attention and motioned with his head toward the private room. “We’ll be in the snug.”

His brothers were already lounging in the booth. John chewing on a toothpick and Arthur slinging his arms over the back of the seat.

“I’d bet- not pretty. I heard she sounds like one of those London girls who get too drunk at the clubs and take a cab here by accident.” John grinned, emphasizing each word with a point of his finger.

“No, no,” Arthur shook his head. “If people are talking, she has to be pretty.”

“You wanna place a bet, Tommy?” John turned toward him, still grinning with the pick between his teeth.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” His younger brother huffed.

“Already seen her,” Tommy answered from over his shoulder as he hung his winter coat on the rack.

“And?” They asked in unison. “Is she pretty or not?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” Tommy shook his head. “It would ruin the bet.”

“When did you see her?”

“Who do you think hired her?” Tommy deadpanned.

“When were you going to tell us?” John retorted.

“She’s a fucking barmaid. They’re two a penny around here,” Tommy rolled his eyes, taking his cap off and shoving it into the pocket of his tweed jacket. He finally slid into the booth beside Arthur with a sigh. “It’s not important.”

The shutters to the bar above flew open, and Harry’s head popped through.

“A round of beers for us,” Tommy waved a hand at the barkeep. “Is she here?”

“Miss Caldwell?” Harry blinked. “Uh, yes, she’s in the back.”

Didn’t quit, then.

“ Miss,” John scoffed under his breath, elbowing Arthur in the side. “She’s a Miss .” Arthur started laughing too.

“Have her serve us. Consider it part of her training.”

John particularly seemed to get a kick out of that line.

Harry slowly nodded and closed the shutters.

Soon enough, there was a brisk knock at the main door to their private room. Tommy sat closest to the door and reached for the knob to open it.

Anna stood there, gripping a steel pail filled with beer. She looked at him first, a small smile on her lips. Still no lipstick. Her hair was neatly arranged with curls to her collarbone, just as it was when he first saw her. She was dressed head to toe in dark green, save for the worn cotton apron tied around her waist. No stains on her blouse this time, either.

“ Miss,” John tipped the brim of his cap to her. Arthur chuckled beside him.

“Good afternoon,” She gently placed the pail on the table, smoothing her hands over her apron after doing so. “I’ll be right back with your glasses.”

The way she spoke, crisp and clean, each word clipped and flowing. Something wasn’t right.

When she returned, she dunked each glass into the pail and wiped the remaining droplets from the sides with a fresh cloth before serving each of them. Tommy had to stifle a laugh. What a neat and careful touch.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Tommy shook his head, still smirking, and waved a hand at her. “That will be all.”

She gave them a curt nod and stepped out of the room.

As soon as the door closed, Tommy tilted his head toward his brothers. “Who won?”

John shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh, sliding a few bills across the table toward Arthur.

“I bloody knew it,” Arthur grinned, tucking his winnings into his jacket. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and pointed a finger at his brother. “ This is your comeuppance for cheating at cards the other day.”

“Oh, shut up,” John rolled his eyes and flicked the toothpick to the floor. “I’m paying you your dues. She’s pretty enough.”

“How’d you find her anyway, Tom?” Arthur turned his attention to him, beer in hand.

“I didn’t find her,” Tommy brought his own glass to his lips and shrugged. “Polly did. She asked me to give her a job.”

“How the hell did she find her?” John’s eyes darted between the two of them. “She must be from London or something.”

“Something about a woman from church, I’m not a fucking psychic.” Tommy rolled his eyes. He could feel another headache coming on. “Ask her yourself.”

“You think she’s a whore?” John asked, earning a clap on the shoulder from Arthur. “How much, do you think?”

Another headache was definitely coming on now.

“Let’s talk about the fucking horse, and then we can speculate if she’s a whore or not, yeah?”

His brothers were fucking stupid, gawking over something new and shiny.

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Tommy was the last to leave the snug, insisting that he wanted to finish another cigarette. When he was finally alone, he stepped out into the pub. The afternoon was rolling into the evening, and the sinking sun cast a gilded orange glow over the room. Upon his first glance, it looked like he was the last person left in the pub. The last person except for her.

Anna was behind the bar, her face still and serious while she wiped down a glass. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat that she looked up.

“Mr. Shelby,” She set down the glass on the bartop. “Can I get you anything?”

He shook his head. “I was looking for Harry.”

“He had to step out for a moment, there’s no more ice.”

“Ah,” He placed his cap on his head. “I’ll come back another time then. Good day.”

Tommy turned on his heel toward the door but stopped short when he heard her speak again. He glanced at her from over his shoulder.

“You can call me Anna, by the way.” She was smiling. “It’s been hard enough trying to get Harry to use my name. Always ‘ miss’ around here.”

“Noted.”

He noticed her face drop at his response, or lack thereof, rather. But just as quickly, she started smiling again. She looked away from him and smoothed all of her hair over one shoulder, not a single red ringlet out of place. She reached for the rag she was cleaning with before and went back to work.

He wasn’t sure what came over him, a sudden sense of good nature perhaps, but he decided he’d throw her a bone. He adjusted his cap on his head and turned to fully face her now.

“Harry says you’re a hard worker.”

She laughed at that. Honestly laughed. He knew it was real because it was soft at first, the sound rich and gentle until it ended with a snort. Her cheeks started to tinge pink, at the snort, he guessed. She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head.

“Excuse me for laughing. He’s too kind, really.” Her eyes darted from him to the rag in her hands, and then back to him. “I’ve been trying my best, but I think I’m making a mess of things. I’m sure the sorry state of my apron can attest to that.” She took a step back and tugged on the hem of the apron.

“Nothing on the blouse this time.”

Her lips parted slightly, no doubt surprised. And then she started laughing again. “You noticed that from the other day?”

He shrugged, the ghost of a smirk quirking at the corner of his mouth. “Hard not to.”

“I hope you’ll never have to see me in such a mess again. For both of our sakes.”

Tommy glanced at her hands. Still smooth.

Clearing his throat, he tipped the brim of his cap to her. “Anna.”

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That night, while he sat awake in bed, staring at the wall, he thought of her laugh. It was unbecoming for her, he thought.

John was right, she did seem like one of those London girls who got too drunk and mosied on up here by accident. She certainly spoke like one and carried herself like one, too.

The whole thing was unbecoming.

He did think she was pretty, though. He wouldn’t tell his brothers that.

#tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic

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