#like bricks as steps like stepping stones | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ceilidho · 4 months

Text

take me home, country road

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 2) part 1

The solid hand at your back guides you through the dusty streets towards the courthouse in the middle of town. It’s not an easy walk. Your shoes catch on the skirt of your dress a handful of times in Price’s haste, each time almost causing you to tumble forward before you manage to catch yourself.

It’s patently unfair. The strides of his long legs would easily have you losing him in a crowd were it not for the way he refuses to leave you behind; every time you so much as slow down a tad to catch your breath, the firm hand on your low back presses you forward again. You’d be snippier if you weren’t still addled from the events of just five minutes previous.

“I beg you, please—” you plead, heart skittering in your chest when you chance a glance up to find Price’s face set. Everything about him feels purposeful now, driven. “If you just—if you would just let me explain!”

“Nothing more to know, darling,” he says, not bothering to meet your desperate eyes. Clearly not in any mood to continue arguing with you on the status of your identity.

He tugs you along when he takes a right turn down a road leading into the center of town. The belt of bullets around his waist rattles with every step. It’s a constant reminder of who you’re with and why you should not be with him. Every step feels like a step towards your own sentencing, like accompanying your jailer to your cell. It’s perhaps fool’s luck that the sheriff hasn’t inquired further into your identity or your reason for coming into town. Makes you think that perhaps there isn’t yet a warrant out for your arrest. Maybe that’s only to come.

“Sure there’s more!” you insist. “There’s—there’s—” It’s like the words fly right out of your head, bucked off like a bronc rider. Too much has happened in too short a time. “There’s the matter of—oh, would you quit that, I am walking!” The last bit comes out snappish, peeved as Price pulls you towards the stone steps of a red-bricked building.

The words County Court House are inscribed above the second-story door girdled by a wrought iron balcony. It’s a simple building, far from the colonnaded buildings from back home with their cupolas and hand-carved lintels. Even in size it hardly compares, a meager three stories with perhaps a basement. Still, it catches the eye in a town as small as this, by far the most imposing building for miles around.

It’s also the one he pulls you towards, hand moving from the small of your back to take firm hold of your waist. You flinch at the touch and the way his fingers dig in, almost proprietarily. It’s a physical shock to your system. While you’re not unaccustomed to the rougher ways of men, you’ve also been largely shielded from it yourself. By chance or fortune or luck. Men may take an attitude with you, as they’re wont to do, but none have yet manhandled you the way Price feels free to do.

“Take a big step there now, darling,” he says, lifting the front of your dress for you a tad, to your shock. “No accidents before the wedding.”

“The wedding?” you shriek, face heating at the heads that turn to look over at the two of you.

The courthouse is bustling with townsfolk, still not as busy as in the bigger cities back east, but still clearly at the center of all business activities. The few people that pass you by on the way out of or into the courthouse are bold in their perusal, eyebrows lifting when they take notice of Price at your side—and how could they not, with the size of him and the badge pinned to the lapel of his vest that glimmers when it catches the light.

“If you were expecting something grander, you should’ve turned up last month when I sent for you,” Price says, stern again. In the foyer of the courthouse, you can see the way the long hallway cuts through the building, leading into the adjacent rooms until finally culminating with the courtroom at the very back. You watch as a man slowly closes the door to the last door, shutting the occupants in. “Might’ve been more amenable to it then.”

“I’m not asking for a nicer ceremony—”

“Good, then you won’t be disappointed.”

“—but that’s because I’m not the woman that you intended to marry in the first place,” you finish, quieting to a hissed whisper, conscious of those still lingering close enough to eavesdrop. In all likelihood, the other people milling around probably already know that the sheriff has been waiting for his mail order bride to arrive. They wouldn’t be the first people to mistake you for her.

He pulls you into an alcove off the side of the foyer. When Price turns to face you, no longer just the heavy presence at your side, it takes a moment for you to gather your bearings. He seems larger somehow, with his arms crossed over his chest and feet rooted into the floor, drawn up to his full height. The hair on his forearms draws your eyes momentarily before he steps into your space, forcing you to meet his eyes again.

He stares down at you with an intensity that makes you flinch. “Now, far be it for me to say that I know my wife-to-be by her demeanor alone, given that we’ve hardly corresponded beyond our initial agreement. But I find it mighty strange that a single, unaccompanied woman would show up in town with all of her earthly belongings as I’m expecting my own woman to show up any day. Hardly seems coincidental.”

“Don’t you think I would have sought you out if we were intended to wed?” you ask beseechingly. “Or that I would put up such a fuss now? What sort of bride would do that?”

“You want to know what I think, darling?” The timber of his voice deepens as he lowers his head slightly, wrapping the conversation in a layer of intimacy despite its public nature. There’s a darker note to his voice now, a thinly-veiled anger. “I think you’ve been keeping yourself housed and fed off the back of men like me and the money you’ve been sent to compensate for the rough journey. I think your guilty conscience brought you here because you know that the Lord doesn’t look too kindly on swindlers and thieves.”

“I’m not a thief,” you hiss in protest, affronted. Ironic that you’d be insulted by his words when the truth is far worse.

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” Price permits, a reluctant softness in his voice. “But your conscience did you right. Marriage will suit you far better than a life of crime ever could.”

If only he knew. “You’ve still got it all wrong—I’ve never once even glanced at the matrimonial pages or the personals. And I certainly didn’t come to town expecting to be wed.”

You did, however, arrive in town with a guilty conscience. Even you’re wise enough not to mention that, though.

“Then if you're not her, who are you?” he asks.

It’s clear from his tone that Price doesn’t believe you, but the question itself makes you antsier than even the thought of marrying this man. He still stares down at you in challenge, an eyebrow cocked. If you wanted to, you could easily answer his question and even furnish proof—a letter from an aunt or uncle or a telegram from a previous employer.

That last thought makes your throat squeeze tight. You could furnish proof, but at what cost? You’re still unclear on how much information has been disseminated or whether you're a wanted woman. Though only weeks have passed since the event that caused you to flee in a haste, there’s no telling whether a warrant has been put out for your arrest, no telling whether word has reached a town this far west.

“Not that it matters, but I’m from New York,” you say, scrunching up your nose.

The look he gives you is unimpressed. “I’m sure you lost the accent on the train ride.”

Embarrassment makes you dig your heels in deeper. “I didn’t grow up there, it’s just where I’ve lived for the past few years.”

“And what’s your name?”

“…Elizabeth Smith.”

It’s the first name that occurs to you, but the moment the words come out of your mouth, you can’t help feeling like you’ve made a huge mistake. Price must sense it too because he draws back up to his full height, lips twitching into a small smirk.

“You have family or a post back in New York, Miss Smith?” he asks in a patronizing tone.

“Family.”

“Alright, then it shouldn’t be too hard to get confirmation and settle this whole issue.” He points behind you to one of the unoccupied rooms. “Telegraph’s office just behind you. We’ll get in touch with the Census Bureau and ask them to confirm your identity. And, if you are who you say you are, Miss Smith, then we can put this issue to rights.”

Your blood goes cold. “That’ll—that’ll take time though. I can’t marry you today if they only get back to you in a week’s time.”

Price nods, his expression dissatisfied but resolved. “Wouldn’t be proper for you to stay at the house either, but I’ll make sure the inn lets you stay free of charge until this is settled. You’ll be in good hands under the Pattersons’ watch.”

He doesn’t say it outright, but you hear the implication in his words. You’d be essentially under house arrest, perhaps free to move about town, but certainly not free to take the next train out.

Your pulse thumps nervously at the base of your throat. Even swallowing takes effort now. The weight of his stare takes root in you, a living coil in your belly. No getting out of it. There’s no getting out of this. You don’t know why you thought you could, how you tricked yourself into thinking for even a moment that a man as formidable as the one set in front of you would simply give in. Let you go. You’ve hardly even moved the needle.

It’s there still in his eyes. Not even doubt—something quite far past that. Certainty.

“‘Elizabeth Smith of New York’, was it? Come, we’ll have them start the message and you can give me your birthday as well so it’ll be an easy find—” Price says, attempting to slip around you to head to the telegraph’s office.

“No.”

It slips out of you inadvertently, high and panicked. He pauses at the word. More than just your words. When you look down, you notice your fingers clenched in the fabric of his sleeve, bringing him to a halt. It pulls taut against the muscle of his forearm.

Softness bleeds back into him at your touch. You can see it smooth out the lines of his forehead and the jut of his brow. He ignores the onlookers still hovering by the double doors to twist back to you, now obscuring their view of you. The breadth of his shoulders nearly blocks the rest of the foyer from sight when he looms over you like this. Down the hall, you can hear a gavel pound down on wood and a litany of raised voices in unison from behind a shut door.

“You don’t have to make up stories,” Price murmurs, drawing a hand up to cup your cheek, holding it like a precious thing. “I told you before—all’s forgiven.”

His words remind you of being trapped in his office, drawers stripped down your ankles and skirt pulled up to your waist. Your bottom still smarts from the palm of his hand, still hot and sore to the touch. It’s hardly been long since then and yet it feels like an age ago, like trying to find your way in a dust storm.

You open and shut your mouth, lost for a way out. Caught between a rock and a hard place. Marriage or a jail cell. You swallow. Both sound like a sentencing.

But there are the cold, metal bars of a cell, and then there’s John Price. The first man in an age to elicit more than a passing glance from you. Deep blue eyes crinkled with the folds of old laughter, wide shoulders, and barrel chest. In another time, you think you would’ve jumped at the chance to be courted by a man like him. Keeled over at the very thought of being chased the way he hunts you down now.

“Alright,” you say instead, giving in. The hand fisting his sleeve shakes. “Alright.”

It’s not a pleasant giving in. Your permission is handed over with shot nerves. The coil bunched up in your core burns white hot, hissing and spitting like a rattlesnake.

Still, when he drags a thumb over the slope of your cheek, you fight not to let your eyelids flutter shut. “Good girl. We’ll make it work, love. Won’t be easy, but it never is.”

You don’t anticipate that it will be, but your mouth stays shut. Price must think you mollified, soothed rather than resigned to your fate, because he passes his thumb once more over your cheekbone, this time so tenderly that you wait for his lips to descend upon yours again, sure from the heat in his eyes that he won’t be able to keep from stealing another kiss. You lick your lips out of habit—not just to see the way his eyes follow the motion.

Then the door at the back of the building bursts open to a cacophony of shouts and hollering voices. The moment broken, Price drops his hand away from your cheek, only to take your hand in his this time, pulling you down the hall towards the register’s to await the circuit preacher. He makes you walk on the side closest to the wall, shielding you from the men that burst out of the courtroom, surging towards the doors. You think that someone must have been found guilty because the lot of them look joyous, clamoring over each other for attention.

You think that you might be spared another minute or two, enough time for them to clean up and reset the courtroom, but you’re shocked to find the circuit preacher ready to conduct the ceremony in the cramped register’s office. He and Price shake hands enthusiastically, the preacher turning to you to grasp your hands in welcome before turning back to the sheriff. They have a camaraderie that speaks of old friendship.

The cramped room where you’re married smells of patchouli and moth wings, like holes burrowed into sweaters at the back of a closet. The bookshelves along the walls are stacked with books old enough that you know they’d crinkle deliciously if opened. You try to listen as the preacher begins the introductory prayer. Behind you, another man slips into the room, a witness. He hardly bothers to introduce himself for such a brief affair.

You haven’t been to many weddings, but you always imagined that yours—if you were privileged enough to have one—might have more fanfare. The wedding you actually get is a brusque affair, a brief recital of vows that ends only when the preacher enjoins Price to kiss his wife.

His wife.

Your eyes go wide when a hand flattens along your spine and pulls you into a hard chest, John dipping his head down to kiss your mouth again. His kiss is less chaste this time, not restricted by convention as earlier. This time, his tongue licks hot into your mouth, like no kiss you’ve ever had before, beard scratching your face. His mouth tastes like something you’ve never had before, like heatburst. Hot and wet. Soft and suckling. Any kiss you’ve had before pales in comparison—juvenile fumbling, all dry and half-humiliated, unsure of yourself. Nothing like being kissed by your husband.

Your husband.

He only pulls away when the preacher finally clears his throat, a tad embarrassed. You’re too dazed to feel the same, fingers still sunk into the lapels of Price’s vest, clutched there. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up and your hands to unclench. You feel Price tug your hands away and slip something onto your finger.

The few documents needing to be signed hardly takes any longer. You finally notice the man that had slipped in behind the two of you, a masked man even larger than Price, who nods at him before glancing at you only long enough for you to notice that his eyes seem curiously blank.

“Thanks, Simon,” Price says as the man—Simon—signs under your names, but he only grunts. The ink is still wet when he leaves.

“How was it so fast?” you ask absently, staring at the papers as the ink sits drying and the preacher takes his own copy before handing John his.

“Everything’s practical out here, darling.” His hand holds you by the waist again, relaxed this time. Not worried about whether you might run. “Even the weddings.”

“You don’t…you don’t even serve dinner? Invite guests over? No gifts?” The questions are irrelevant, but you ask them anyway because it’s a way to focus on anything other than the preacher handing you the final copy of the papers and Price leading you back down the hall and out the doors.

There’s a ring on my finger, you think, looking down. It sparkles when you twist your hand from side to side. Topaz, instead of diamond.

“Maybe if you’d showed up on time,” Price reminds you. He no longer sounds upset about it, but it still seems to come out as an admonishment.

You don’t respond to that. Perhaps you’re still shell-shocked, looking at the world through new eyes. It feels unreal that in the span of less than a day, you’ve been plucked up and married off, to the sheriff no less. The one man you would’ve tried your hardest to avoid crossing paths with.

No chance of that now.

“Where are we going?” you ask, still in a daze. The sun makes you squint when you leave the courthouse, making you miss the hat back in your room at the inn. Maybe you can convince Price to let you go back to collect your things.

“I think we’re due for a honeymoon, don’t you, darling?”

You go doe-eyed at that. When you look up, your husband is already smiling down at you, crow’s feet wrinkling at the sides of his eyes.

“Let’s go home.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #john price #captain john price #price x reader #john price x reader #captain price #cod price #price/reader #price x you

2K notes · View notes

the-birth-of-art · 3 months

Text

Kris Kristofferson vs. Toby Keith, 2003, as told by Ethan Hawke in Rolling Stone.

STANDING BACKSTAGE AT THE BEACON Theatre in New York, leaning against a crumbling brick wall in the dark, I could barely see Kris Kristofferson standing to my left. Willie Nelson was in the shadows to my right. Ray Charles was standing beside Willie, idly shifting his weight back and forth. A bit farther along the wall were Elvis Costello, Wyclef Jean, Norah Jones, Shelby Lynne, Paul Simon and respective managers, friends and family. Everybody was nervous and tight. We were there for Willie Nelson’s 70th birthday concert in 2003.

Up from the basement came one of country music’s brightest stars (who shall remain nameless). At that moment in time, the Star had a monster radio hit about bombing America’s enemies back into the Stone Age.

“Happy birthday,” the Star said to Willie, breezing by us. As he passed Kristofferson in one long, confident stride, out of the corner of his mouth came “None of that lefty shit out there tonight, Kris.”

“What the luck did you just say to me?” Kris growled, stepping forward.

“Oh, no,” groaned Willie under his breath. “Don’t get Kris all riled up.”

“You heard me,” the Star said, walking away in the darkness.

“Don’t turn your back to me, boy,” Kristofferson shouted, not giving a shit that basically the entire music industry seemed to be flanking him.

The Star turned around: “I don’t want any problems, Kris – I just want you to tone it down.”

“You ever worn your country’s uniform?” Kris asked rhetorically.

“What?”

“Don’t ‘What?’ me, boy! You heard the question. You just don’t like the answer.” He paused just long enough to get a full chest of air. “I asked, ‘Have you ever served your country?’ The answer is, no, you have not. Have you ever killed another man? Huh? Have you ever taken another man’s life and then cashed the check your country gave you for doing it? No, you have not. So shut the fuck up!” I could feel his body pulsing with anger next to me. “You don’t know what the hell you are talking about!”

“Whatever,” the young Star muttered.

Ray Charles stood motionless. Willie Nelson looked at me and shrugged mischievously like a kid in the back of the classroom.

Kristofferson took a deep inhale and leaned against the wall, still vibrating with adrenaline. He looked over at Willie as if to say, “Don’t say a word.” Then his eyes found me.

“You know what Waylon Jennings said about guys like him?” he whispered.

I shook my head.

“‘They’re doin’ to country music what pantyhose did to finger-fuckin’.”

(source)

#kris kristofferson #toby keith #ethan hawke #rolling stone #willie nelson #i've never killed a man but i've read many an obituary with a great deal of satisfaction

1K notes · View notes

oddinarylani · 7 months

Text

'i wish you'd just care about me' arranged marriage skz.

pt 1: chan, lee know, changbin, and hyunjin.

w: blood, violence in changbin's

pt 2 is ⇀ here

𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷.↴

it wasn’t the best of circumstances. no. the day you were bathed in white, promised to a man, and walked down the aisle by your father to be given to the hands of your husband was one you spent in mourning, swallowed by grief. “i bet you’re so excited, yeah?” the makeup artist asked, brushing a pearly shade of pinkish red onto your lips. she had a soft genuine smile as she asked, surfacing you into reality from the fogginess in your head. you nod, once, “yes, i am.” you lie in an attempt to make conversation easy. most of the guests that day knew of the arrangement, but other’s hadn’t a clue - which made appearances dire to keep up with. part of you was pleased to move onto a new chapter in your life if it meant moving on from life with your parents. but the other part reminded you that you were going into a new marriage completely blind to the man you’d call your husband. you met him one singular time before changing your last name, the entirety of it was spent with your parents talking to his own - glances you cast in his direction, if only to study the face of the man you hoped to love one day.

his jaw was set coldly, eyes focused on the conversation shared between your parents. he was handsome but just stone. was anything there? you would wonder. is there a man beneath that face? the bone beneath his skin rippled in tender structure, ears pierced, nose rounded, and a heart-like shape to his mouth. while there was no longer hope to hold out for, you scrounged up a bit more in the depths of your chest in desire to love him one day. truly love him. and to be loved in return.

two months into your marriage and you still feel the brick wall dividing you from your husband. it wasn’t exhausting all the time, no. you saw him smile; a few times actually. sometimes you think of it when going to sleep. you hadn’t heard him truly laugh, but you still maintained that same hope from the first time you ever saw him that one day you’d be the reason for him to. your new routine as husband and wife took a minute to settle into; with chan slowly rising to ranks of his family’s company and your own growth in the business of your own. your days were spent at home in your office working from home, a lot of calls into business meetings that you kept your mic muted for, and phone calls to overseas clientele for holiday season.

chan would wake in the morning and rise from your shared bed quick to get ready for work, leaving you to fix coffee and shrug on a robe in the cold of your home (winters weren’t kind in the mornings) when he’d leave, you’d have a cup ready for him, cream and a sugar cube. “thank you, have a good day.” he’d wish, already halfway out the door with a small tired smile on his face. “you’re welcome, you too,” you’d say, scrolling through your phone as the door would shut.

he’d take little notice to your attempts at growing your relationship, and you hadn’t had the time to bring it up to him yet that you wanted to try to have a wonderful marriage. you’d step into the living room wearing a new dress for a banquet for the company, smile a bit wider and brighter than usual - he’d look up from the couch, phone still in hand and would give you a thin lipped smile. “you look nice.” you’d rent a movie, one he’d said he’d wanted to watch soon, and welcome him home with drinks by the couch and he’d brush it off, “ah, sorry. i have a company thing tonight. tomorrow maybe?” of course, he’d forget the next day anyway so it would all be for nothing. when he’d come home extra late and you’d be in bed, buddled in pjs in the comforter with a book and the lamp on next to you, you’d muster your best smile and set your book down. “hey, how was work?” he’d sigh, pulling the tie from his neck. “nothing new really.”

and then you’d beg yourself, beg yourself, to just answer the question of why were you in love with him?

maybe it was for all the times you’d get to see him smile, the chuckles as you’d watch a movie, the thank you’s for cooking, and everything in between. maybe you loved him for the way he stumbled into the kitchen almost late for work, his hair a bit messy and his tie disoriented and you stopped him - “wait,” you put a hand up, walking up to him to fix his tie. it was the closest you’d ever been to him besides the day you’d gotten married, you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “sorry, my hands are cold.” your voice still laced with sleep as you straightened his tie and flattened his hair. “i-it’s okay.” he assured, clearing his throat. “eat some on your way to work, coffee’s on the counter. have a good day, okay?” you push a few pieces of toast wrapped in a napkin into his hands, pointing to his coffee before turning back to the stove. “r-right. thank you, have a good day.”

that was pretty cute. you even for a moment thought there’d be hope for you, as his cheeks flushed pink when you started working on his tie. sitting at your desk in your office you’d smile at the thought before catching yourself and smacking your own cheeks.

but time was catching up with you, and the unbearable ache of loving him was almost too much for your heart to handle. you at least needed to know if he felt the same or if he ever could - but in the following days after your realization, you proved yourself right. there was no way. no way this could work out. a steady stream of emotion was constantly running through you; you couldn’t focus on work, you couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat - and you wondered if he even noticed. you were growing increasingly frustrated with chan, and every passing day of limited conversation, barely any eye contact, and virtually no response from chan was wearing you down. one second you were smitten, and the other you were pissed.

and it eventually all came to a halt.

the front door of your house shut loudly, louder than usual. and you had a sneaking suspicion chan hadn’t the best day at work. well. that was a shame - you were still pissed, and to think he had the audacity to come home angry from work when he could barely prove to be a communicative partner was enough to leave your blood boiling. you’d let him have it if given the chance.

“how was work.” it wasn’t so much a question as much as a routine statement. you sat on the couch, shuffling through your movies to find the one he’d been wanting to watch, which upon realization, you didn’t know why you did that when you were pissed at him.

“fine.” he stomps into your shared bedroom, yanking the tie from his throat as he did so. you roll your eyes and keep shuffling with a much heavier hand this time. when he re-emerges from the bedroom, he’s shed his tie but still has on his button-down and suit jacket on, you furrow your brows and sit up from the couch.

“what’s wrong? what happened?” you ask out of the goodness of your heart. he tosses open the fridge, sighing. “nothing. nothing happened.”

“you wanna watch that movie you said you wanted to see?” he runs his hands over his face, closing the fridge door. he looks for a moment as if he’s thinking, his hands on his hips as he swallows. “no. not tonight.” he finishes, beginning to walk out of the kitchen before you stand.

“i really really wish you just cared for me.”

it was quiet, quiet, when you said it. the words left your lips before you could realize that your vision was getting a bit glossy. he freezes in his tracks, whipping his vision towards you at the sound of your voice. there wasn’t venom to your words like you expected there would be, no. just defeat. chan hears it, he hears it in you and all of his frustration, his anger, his annoyance, just melts away. instead, his chest is swallowed with guilt.

“i try,, i try so hard to make this work, chris. i really do.” you wipe your face even though tears haven’t fallen yet, and he thinks it’s to stop them from ever doing so, at least in front of him, and his chest aches. he’s turned to face you now, just six feet away or so, and his brow softens at the sight of you.

“i cook for you and make you coffee every morning and try renting your favorite movie because you said you wanted to watch it and wear pretty things out to work events and when i go out with friends but,, you don’t,,,” you look at him when you speak, he sees that water building in your eyes and takes a step closer to you, almost wanting to reach out but stopping himself before he’s to do so. your head shakes, you sniff one more time.

“because that’s what married people do.” this time he does walk closer, you don’t move, but you don’t look him in the eye either - it seems much to hard to do when you’re on the brink of crying.

“i promised myself,,” you lift a clenched fist to his chest, tapping him once with it, your lips screwing together in frustration though your voice is still soft and tearful. “that as your wife i’d love you one day.” your hand drops from his chest, you wipe your eyes when a single tear spills over your waterline, ducking your head to do so out of his line of sight. “is it too much to ask the same from my husband.”

it’s quiet for a minute, in one way he knows everything to say. every sweet word to soothe over your aching heart, because that’s what he’s suppose to do as your husband, and there’s another part of him that has no clue what to say.

because what kind of husband is he to leave you feeling as empty as this.

“i told myself on our wedding day that,, i never wanted to be the one to make you cry.” his palms come to cup your cheeks, though his large hands end up swallowing some of your jawline and neck as well. your eyes widen a bit at the feeling, “look at me?” he asks, voice quiet. you do so with guidance from his own hands. “i’m sorry. i’m really sorry.” even he has some water building on his waterline, you notice. you frown, feeling his thumbs dry your under eyes.

“i never wanted to make you feel uncared for or unheard. i appreciate everything you do for me. and i’m sorry i’ve made you question if i care for you.” he wipes his thumbs under your eyes once more before his hands lower a bit. “you’re my wife. i care about you so much. and i’ll show you that, i promise.”

you talk for a little longer, but disregard the movie for the night, instead, you settle on curling up beside chris who wraps an arm around you, his cheeks a bit pink as you adjust yourself in his hold. he feels the burn of your own cheeks against his arm. “is this okay?” he asks, his opposite hand settling on your hip. you smile, “of course. i’m your wife, you can touch me. can i touch you?” he hums, scooting closer, giving you the okay to lay your arm across his midsection. you close your eyes for a moment, if only to enjoy the feeling of holding your husband for the first time. the warmth that always seems to naturally radiate off of him, the closeness of his breath, the feeling of being the only woman who gets to see him like this.

“i didn’t know you were so cuddly, mr. bang.” you smile to yourself, his hand stroking soft over your hip. “only when given the chance, mrs. bang.” he replies. “ooh,, too smooth.” you admire.

when silence encircles the both of you, and you feel sleepiness begin to creep up on you, he speaks again, “did you mean it when you said you’d learn to love me one day?” his voice is quiet, so tender - it licks at the wounds of your heart and seals them shut. your heart pounds behind your ribcage and you breathe deep to settle the rage of affection steadily brewing in you. “of course.” you reply, your face beginning to bury in his neck.

“well, that’s a shame.” you furrow your brows, opening your eyes to look up at him. before you can reply he speaks again. “because i love you now.”

𝓵𝓮𝓮 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀.↴

“the summer berries on the bushels in the forest are getting ripe now, i brought you some.” you lift your basket, both hands wrapped around it’s weak woven handle, showcasing your proud supply of freshly picked goods. you set the basket down a moment later, your husband batting a quick eye to the basket before he looks back to his spread of books a second later. “mm.” is his only reply.

lee minho was the protector and guide of the largest castle in the northern part of your land. he was a renowned alchemist and practitioner of magic, known for being aid to a handful of people in the village you were raised in, and most notably - a fierce god of night. a vampire.

it was true the stories of bloodlust and killings that tainted centuries of vampire lore; but lee minho set out to do something different. he hadn’t a care of the human experience, which he shared with that of his ancestors, but he had no need to kill them either. animal blood tasted just as delicious as a human’s. and when befriending a human, their loyalty was like no other. so he didn’t kill them, no, he made pacts and promises, and if anything used them more like pawns but they’d die soon before he did.

and then there was you. his wife. promised to his hand by your family - a pact of sorts, one of which you both hadn’t necessarily agreed to if it wasn’t for both of your families stepping in to further push along the marriage. in a quiet candlelight scenery you were married to your now husband, and your seal of a kiss was shared. which, honestly, you didn’t regret. he was very handsome - and kissing handsome men was always a joyous occasion (well, mostly anyway)

he was rageful. not at you, maybe more to existence itself. he was never angry towards you, he never showed it, but you could see deep within the brown wash of his eyes that he was indeed an angry man. he had a hate you’d only seen a few times, and every time you looked a little too hard you felt yourself look away - to anywhere else in the room. afraid of what it meant, afraid of his own distaste.

“you’re wearing the dress.” he notes. his vision still wondering over the pages in his book. your slightly fallen expression gleams a little at his comment. “yes, of course. you bought it for me.” your hands smooth over your torso, he still doesn’t look up. your lips twist at the sight of your husband’s disinterest, but you turn to wash the berries and leave the room.

most of your marriage to minho felt like a huge disinterest on his side. he’d lived many years, this much was true. but in your short time to live, you longed for a husband who loved you; and part of you thought minho was largely incapable of this. he never showed it. he never showed anything for that matter; he was always so far away. life not only was nonexistent to him as a man, but in his very eyes. he showed not a shred of emotion, and even in your good memories with him, he showed very little. part of you blamed it on his years of living, but yet the other part of you reminded you it was all the more reason to care. every day felt like a slow drag, you weren’t really living, not really. survival maybe. but being bound to this castle with a man who rarely payed you mind left an ache worse than death. were you not to his standards? maybe that was it.

you’d shed too many tears over the situation, now every time you cry you try to pull yourself together in the face of your grief. upon talking to your family, a few members reminded you that your voice was powerful, and you should very much share your opinions to him on the matter if your marriage was to work - but that was the thing. a few months in with the man you were to learn to love, and you felt even now it was helpless. it was a sting that brought you to your knees, god how you wanted to just tell him. tell him you loved him - and hear it from his own mouth.

upon your ravage of feelings and your family’s request, you resorted to writing a letter to your husband. you surely wouldn’t have the guts to face this powerful man in person, not like this. so you took to beginning your note in scribbles in the isolated space of your bedroom.

your lips twitch in thought as you think over the contents of your letter, your hand stilling still quipped with a quill. you’re swallowed with silence in the stillness of your bedroom, word after word is brought to the front of your brain. there’s a number of things you could say, but not enough words in the world to describe how you felt.

“lee minho, i’m unhappy.” you speak aloud as you write, taking a moment to look back at your writing, quickly scribbling the line out before starting again.

“dear husband, i have a few things to bring to your attention.” you nod along as you write, happier with this line.

“i believe if we’re to work as husband and wife, we should talk more.”

“i try time and time again to gain your attention, to bring you happiness in a way i know how.”

“but,, it seems to never be enough.”

“if you don’t want me,” you pause, your fingers fumble with the quill in your hand as your palms begin to warm against the hardwood. your lips twitch again.

against all things in your brain reminding you a married couple should speak of their issues and this was a must in your relationship if either of you wish to continue - an overwhelming feeling of pure grief washes over you and your hand as you still to keep from writing.

every bright moment in your relationship flashes before your eyes like matches starting a fire. it’s so overwhelming that your voice dies, and a tight tug at the back of your throat halts you to a shred of reality you hadn’t dwelled on. you sit further back in your chair, eyes glossing over into thought - lost entirely to the contents of your brain. realization has hit you like a truck in the face of your confrontation.

because what about all of the wonderful times you’ve spent together.

what about the dancing of your wedding day, the golden burn of his watchful gaze, the presents, the meals shared, the wishes of good morning or good night? what about all of the times that kept you so closely tethered to him? what about the times that kept you in love with the man who barely spoke to you.

you take a breath - and as quiet as it would be, it’s blaringly loud in the silence of your bedroom.

“i want to love you. i do. and,, i think i do.” clarity has left your quill, and instead, you write from your heart. what you truly feel.

“i hate that you don’t notice when i try to do kind things for you.”

“i want to work in matrimony of us.”

“i know our marriage is against our wishes, but i want to make it work.”

“i just.. i just wish you cared about me.”

a hand sharply grabs your chin, pulling your gaze to meet that of your husband's golden gaze.

“not care?” he asks, his face screwed into a sort of confused expression. “not care?” he asks again as his expression contorts again, further - until his hand is tender.

you’re so sharply pulled from your own head that you’re left with whiplash. he’s heard you? where was he? did you leave the door open? your eyes are blown wide as you face him in the realization he’s heard everything.

your mouth dries as you look at him, his gaze cuts into your very being and you feel utterly frozen. “no-! i didn’t mean it-” “you do though. i’ve made you feel this way.” his gentle grip on your chin leaves you, and he shuffles away, sitting firmly on your bed. his gaze seems lost, as if he couldn’t keep up with the words you’d admitted.

“minho..” “i do care.” he cuts in. you swallow, your brows melding together as you do so. “i don’t… want you to feel this way. and i’m sorry for doing so.”

in the face of confrontation he seems genuinely distressed, not that any part of you doubted it - but it was comforting to hear the words leaving his mouth.

“if we’re to be married, i want you happy. comfortable. i don’t want you to feel bad because of me.” he explains.

“i just,, i want to work this out. i want us to talk more; tell me what makes you happy and what hurts you.” you reassure, holding onto the back of your chair as minho’s head hangs low. “i’m your wife, i want to hear all of that.” a small smile stretches across your mouth; it’s lopsided and a bit sad, but it’s there nonetheless, and the sound of your voice lets minho’s head rise as he meets your gaze once more.

he sees in you the beauty he sees across the room even as you just sit a few feet away from him. it’s overwhelming, suffocating; and part of him hates it a little bit for suffocating his heart in one swift swallow. you’re all encompassing and human - he’s learned self-control few could achieve, and yet even a few months into a marriage he didn’t agree to and he’s smitten. he wants to reach deep inside his chest and pull his heart out by it’s tethers, and apart of him wants to feel your love to the highest degree he could if just to be surrounded in heaven once more.

“were you lying then?” he pauses, hands wrung together. “when you said you loved me?” a small quirk in the corner of his mouth leaves your face and chest hot.

“i wasn’t lying.”

minho’s made home on your bed, lulled to his side as his pretty eyes wash over your face. you aren’t connected, in fact, you’re a little afraid to touch him - regardless of this fact, your wrist lifts to reach nimble fingers to his face, but you pause, your soft fingers retracting into your palm.

“touch me.” he needs. his hand cupping your own to bring to his face tenderly.

your face is flushed with a dusty pink, the feeling of his face beneath your touch lights the nerve endings in your palm alight. your brow quirks in thought, but not for a moment do you part with his sun-washed eyes.

“how did you become a vampire?” you ask quietly, your thumb strokes the soft skin beneath his eye, his hand stroking the back of your own.

“i was born into it. my family comes from a long blood-line of vampires.” you hum in response, taking a moment to study the wash of sun-like gold that overtakes your husband’s eyes. fractals of evening sun beam through the curtains in your bedroom, creating a soft sleepy haze in your room. dust is seen floating in the room in the portions of sun that reach into the room.

“you’re beautiful.” he beats you to it, realizing he too has been looking at you the entire time. you retract your hand nervously, a smile stretching across your face in sweet embarrassment. “thank you.”

“do you want to be one one day? or do you value your life?” he’s half joking, a floppy smirk on his lips as he sighs a laugh. you hum once more, looking to his mouth to see the slight glimpse of fangs visible to you.

“maybe. if it meant i got to spend more time with you, than yes.”

minho’s smirk widens, his eyes washing from your face to the curve of your jaw, to the drop of your neck. his mouth parts, his hand coming to the curve of your ribcage over your waist, his warm hand freezes you in place. he lowers his lips to the column of your neck, a lowly drunken gaze filtering over his face. “that could be arranged.” his breath meets the tender flesh of your neck before he presses your waist closer to your body, his soft lips meeting your neck in a single kiss.

𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓫𝓲𝓷.↴

“be careful on the job today.” you crane your neck out of the doorway of the kitchen to look at your husband as he tightens a holster around his thigh. he looks up for a moment, face momentarily stricken with something similar to surprise at your well wishes. he looks down a moment later, checks the clip of his pistol, and then shoves it into the holster. “i will. i’ll be back tonight.” the door closes sharply behind him and you’re left in the silence of your home yet again.

there’s a pool of melted ice on top of your coffee, you take a sip anyway, the palm of your hand now wet from the sweat off the glass. in truth, you were trying. very sternly trying to make your marriage work. but with circumstances of said marriage coupled with the dangerous reality of your lifestyles, it felt like your assumed fate was dwindling before your eyes - a thin bow ready to snap under pressure.

being born into crime wasn’t all good fellas or the godfather all the time - no. it was nasty business, some of which you came to regret but again this was the only life either of you knew, leaving the business would be impossible without a gun to your head. you persevered in the face of guilt anyway, not knowing fully how your husband felt about the situation. the sound of your phone ringing brings you out of your head for a moment, leaving you rolling your eyes at the sight of your mother’s name across the vibrating screen.

“yes?’’ your coffee tastes bitter now, too much water - you pour the contents into the sink as she begins talking.

“hey hun, there’s a job tomorrow that’s opened up. one of the boys got canned, we’ll pay his bail through an anonymous source but we have to wait a few days so the cops don’t catch on. you in?” your fingers tug a coffee filter out of it’s wooden box, stuffing it into the machine as you press a button on your grinder.

“mom,” your hand comes to your eyes, rubbing them tiredly. “i told you i was out of the dirty work. i’m doing that shit anymore. and i’m severely out of practice of doing anything hefty.” you explain, the grinder stops, you pour the grounds into the coffee machine. she sighs on the other end, her voice coming through more heated now - pressure started weighing on your shoulders. she says your name with a deadly tone, it leaves you feeling as though there’s a cold metal rod stiff in your back.

“why don’t you ever look out for this family? you think you can just leave and do the bare minimum when your father and i have slaved over making a good childhood for you?” and then you’d argue back and forth until you felt like ripping your hair out and you’d finally cave and you mom would end the call sharply and once again leave you in the silence of your home that was beginning to feel more like a prison.

when you heard the beep that ended the call, you tossed your phone to the couch and let your mind wander yet again - what else was there to do in your seemingly failing marriage and rocky relationship with your parents? you hadn’t many friends unless they were in the business, and that only counted for a few really close ones. you track around your kitchen with your fingers pushed into your hairline, and your mind wanders back to something she’d said on the phone a few weeks ago.

“we found you your husband, is that not good enough for you?”

you hadn’t even the energy to put up with audacity of that claim. so you ended the call and showered, but it still ate at you greatly - because no. no it wasn’t enough. changbin, as dedicated to the lifestyle as he was, and you respected him for his commitment, was terrible at showing you what he truly felt. most conversations were barely that, mostly exchanges if anything - and the few good times you’ve had together were truly the only thing keeping you around if it wasn’t for the godforsaken hope you managed to hold onto.

you saw the good in him - the good he was capable of, and every time you’d suffocate yourself in thought about being three months in and still not working together as a married couple should, you reminded yourself of this fact. it’s what kept you in, what drew you closer to him. because what could you both be? it’s already bad enough you have feelings for the guy and he clearly didn’t feel the same way.

“fuck,, what am i gonna do.” to clear your head you showered again, tying back your wet hair and slumming around the house until changbin arrived back home when you’d be drifting off to sleep. at least you had an opportunity to clean; and when the house was clean, you felt a bit better. you were correct about changbin returning late - you heard a long sigh as he entered your bedroom, the plop of a duffel bag could be heard. when you look at the time on your phone you see it’s just past three in the morning.

“how’d it go?” you ask tiredly from the bed, the bathroom light flickers on and he raises his head a bit. “oh i’m sorry i didn’t mean to wake you.”

“it’s okay. you okay?”

“yeah. yeah, everything went fine. what’d you do today?” you see the rings of exhaustion circling his eyes as he strips off his shirt and hides the smallest of winces.

you sigh heavily, rubbing your eyes as the sink begins to run. “i talked to my mom on the phone. doing a job tomorrow night. cleaned the house though.”

“what kind of job?” he asks as he starts the shower. you talk a bit louder so he can hear you over the sound of the spray. oh he wasn’t going to like the sound of this - these kinds of jobs were everyone’s least favorite in the business.

“there’s a warehouse on fifth, when you’re leaving the downtown area. apparently some guys are trafficking there. gotta take them out.”

“shit.. be careful. small time guys have been trying to make names of themselves.”

“i know, i will be.”

careful you were, but careful was not enough. those guys holed up in that warehouse with every corner covered, not only that, but with automatic weapons with full mags, dressed in black to blend with the shadows. the job was done, the victims released into promised care and with you aid in the following days, be returned to their families or brought to homes, but not without some wounds of your own. the guys dropped you off at the back of your house, granted it was past midnight but you couldn’t be too careful. your home was secluded - but what the law knew was unbeknownst to the organization in regards to this mission in particular.

you left your weapons in the van with the promise of getting them back the next day. “c-clean the blood off it for me, would you?” you grinned, shuffling from the van with your arm slung over your partner. you lean nearly fully into his weight as he aids you in finding your back door. you bang on the big sliding window before unlocking it, letting changbin know you were home.

“we gotta get the fuck outta here. you be careful yeah? call me tomorrow morning.” the driver calls before peeling away from your home. you nod, using the wall to stumble inside your house as the living room is suddenly flooded with light, and your husband walks out of your bedroom with his phone in hand and his brows furrowed.

“changbin,,” you push the door closed, leaving bloody handprints everywhere you touched.

“fuck- okay, okay, okay- it’s alright. come here.” his outstretched hands come to wrap your arm around his shoulders and stabilize on your waist as he helps you walk to your bathroom.

hot spots of pain blossom on your waist, ribs, and leg. it’s throbbing, all encompassing, and leaves your eyes watering when changbin’s palm presses a little harshly into your side. throughout the house your gasps and groans of pain are heard, changbin is working as diligently and carefully as he can to help you to the bathroom, only imagining how much you must be hurting.

“okay, okay- i’m gonna lay you on the floor okay?” he helps you rest along the floor after he’s put some towels down, and kneels by your side before grabbing the extensive first aid kit you kept in your bathroom. you nod, closing your eyes to focus on breathing, but every breath in hurts, and every exhale throbs your wounds.

“where are you hit?” he asks, you now notice his hands are tainted with your blood in just a few splotches. he rummages through the kit, reaching for the hem of your shirt as he cuts through your gear and clothing. “m-my sides, and,, one in my left leg.”

“alright. it’s gonna be okay - let’s get you sewn up. what happened?” he asks as a way of distracting you from how bad this was about to hurt. he pours some alcohol in his hands before barring your torso to his eyes, now seeing the festering wounds.

“t-they-” you laugh because it’s hurting so bad and your eyes are getting glossy as adrenaline leaves your body. “they had automatics… every one of them was geared the fuck up. and not only that but there must’ve been twenty,, twenty five of them and five of us.”

changbin’s head slowly shakes in disappointment that you were set up that badly for failure, his haw is tight - but he remains focused on the task at hand, cleaning you up. he lifts you up with one arm and helps you shred your arms of your sleeves completely, focusing now on the wound near your ribs. “why’d they send you in with only five people? did they want you to die? fuck.”

“seems like it.” you chuckle, his hand stabilizes before he reaches into your wound with medical pliers to grab the bullet still embedded in you. your grip tightens on the towels beneath you, eyes now swimming with tears as you groan at the feeling of the tug of the pliers.

“i know, i know. you’re doing good though, talk about something. tell me about the job or- your favorite music or something.” his hands dip into a bowl of water, returning to your wound to clean you from blood and put some pressure on the wound.

“the job was shit, but,, the guys are gone. all the victims are safe and i’ll work on paper work to get them home tomorrow.” he hums, nodding. he puts a bit of topical numbing around the wound before grabbing sutures to close the open wound. “as far as music,” you laugh to yourself again, your gaze focused on the ceiling. “you trying to get to know me? didn’t think you cared so much for that.”

his hands pause. then lower. he looks at you with a kind of genuinity you didn’t expect from the man you called your husband. “of course i care. you’re my wife.”

“you’re always so focused on the work, on your job. you’re gone a lot. i can tell you care about the organization i just,, i don’t know. i always hoped you’d care for us too.”

he frowns a bit, his gaze is focused back to his hands as he threads the string more diligently through the needle. he’s paused, he has a focused expression and you can tell when you look at him he’s thinking - part of you hopes you haven’t stumped him, or made him uncomfortable - maybe you did hold out too much hope.

“i do care about us. about you. i always figured since we were arranged to be married that you wouldn’t want much to do with me.” when he returns to working on your wound you wince, eyes closing tight. he apologizes quietly, but it’s over quicker than you expected.

“i want everything to do with you, silly. you’re my husband. i want this to work between us if we’re going to be married.” your eyes are still watery and the throbbing hasn’t subsided - you wonder if part of this is delusion since your filter has seemingly disappeared in the face of pain.

he smiles, softly. “i’m sorry that i’ve made you feel that way, and hey-” his hand reaches for yours, the one that bears the ring he gifted you on the day you were married. your eyes meet his as your head lulls to the side, you grasp onto his hand as if he’d stabilize you - and he does. “i do care about you. genuinely.”

you squeeze his hand, the wash of tears that drowned your eyes from pain spill finally. “i care about you too.”

“don’t cry, silly. i’m almost done, let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

after changbin coaches you through treating your wounds, he runs you a quick bath and helps you wash the dirt and sweat from your hair. it felt strange to say you felt an overwhelming trust to him - but maybe that was just the energy he exuded. he helps you to bed, and quickly showers off himself before laying next to you.

his arm wraps around you, and the pain in your side has dulled from the medicine he made you take after closing up your wounds and cleaning them. your head rests on his chest comfortably. “you never answered my question about music.” he says suddenly.

“i’ll play you all my faves tomorrow morning when you cook me breakfast because i got shot.” you grin cheekily against him.

“deal.”

𝓱𝔂𝓾𝓷𝓳𝓲𝓷.↴

“i am to be his wife.” there was no expression in the gaze you cast your parents, hands folded neatly in front of you, ever obedient in the face of nobility. before your eyes, in the face of your youth your life of freedom ever awaiting your embrace is taken from you and shackled. your life is to be given to a man you didn’t know, and when shoved his own in your hands you feel the pulse of forgotten life in your palms. there was more to say other than you didn’t want this, there was more words you could sputter in anger at your parents, other screams and cries for this to not happen, yet you swallow, let your eyes gloss over, and prepare a wedding in the following year to a man you’d meet only once before promising forever to him.

across from you at the altar he stood jaw tight, eyes glassy yet lifeless. when the wedding guests settled and your father handed you off to the prince’s hands, you breathed deep in an attempt to conceal the building tears that sparkled in your eyes. officiant you didn’t know, in the sea of people commending your marriage you knew few faces, and he spoke vows because of remembrance not because of promise. when he lifted the veil from your eyes to look at you, he for a moment faltered and his lips flattened.

you kissed him because you had to. and you slept beside him that night because you had to.

in marriage, you always imagined that life would blossom with a spark of light. as a seal to two people’s testament of their love it would grow into something truly beautiful - it would drink in the sun, bathe in the rain, paint its colors on pages and tell its story on lips through decades. as a young girl, the idea of one day marrying someone that loved you was thrilling to say the least. it was pure; and good. and every notion, every dream, every promise to your life you’d made, was stripped from you in a single evening.

you’d rise from bed when the maids would wake you to dress. you’d be dressed beside your husband, wearing the rings that testified your union, and would watch over the kingdom that would be given to your hands one day.

there was no use in trying, not even from the start.

but you wanted to love him. oh you terribly wanted to love him.

beside him you’d sleep - watching the curvature of his heart shaped lips, the breathing his body exuded - existence. how you were his without him even knowing. only in this state could you see him, really see him. the sprawl of his hair on the pillow before it was to be tied back that morning upon your wake. beautiful he was. when his eyes fluttered open, he wet his lips and you heard him speak - for the first time it felt as though it was to you.

“i’m sorry.”

for the entire rest of the day you spent in a haze in your own head.

two months have gone by, and you were achingly in love with him. but you couldn’t say the same for him; his headspace was unknown. you shared a great castle together, a smaller one just outside the village as your parents lived inside the city walls in the palace, but home felt like a restraint on you. nothing was sacred.

when you spoke, it was matters of business and a shred of the time was talk of personal matters. the only truth you spoke to hyunjin was in the hours before he’d wake when sleep would leave you too early. you tuck your folded hands together under your pillow, your eyes washing over his face as he slept. upon your movement, he turned to his side, his broad shoulders creating lines of his body beneath his sleep shirt. part of you wanted to reach out, to wrap your arms around him and tell him you believed in the both of you, but your thoughts still to silence.

“i wish you cared for me, in the way i care for you.” you mumble quietly.

“but i cannot say it yet. you’re a shadow; yet you’re sorry. i’m so confused in my love for you.”

that’s when he turned over, his eyes open. the maids walk in a second later and your wide eyes glance to them. they pause in their steps, looking between the both of you. had he heard you? surely not. you push yourself onto your elbows as he speaks to the maids, his own hands planted firmly in the mattress.

“i can dress her.”

they quickly excuse themselves after, mumbling as they leave the room hurriedly. the room stills, you’re left in the wake of his words with confusion bubbling through your head and your face suddenly flushed. he stands without another word as they’ve left the room, moving to the closet to fetch your under clothes, corset, and gown for the day.

“hyunjin,” you speak softly.

“i care greatly for you. i do, but-”

you swallow, still sitting on the bed with your legs curled beneath the covers. “you cannot dress me.” you hold a hand to pause him in his movements as he approaches with your day clothes in hand. he swallows, “you’re my wife. i can dress you. if you’d let me.”

hwang hyunjin was one of the most beautiful men you’d ever seen, and this he knew as well - yet the cool confidence he usually carried on his shoulders, in his handshakes, and in his voice, had dissipated. he looked at you with darting eyes that searched your own for the answers he needed, his hands gripped your dress tight.

his hand stretches out to you, offerance of aid. you look to his palm, the gentle length of his fingers, and find his exuding energy welcoming - so you take his hand. it’s warm as your skin washes over his own, his hands were smooth and embracing, and you stand before him with a sharp intake of breath.

“i’ve made you feel this way,” he begins, beginning to untie the laces that hang from the neck of your night dress. there’s a great deal of nerve vibrating through your body at the prospect of him dressing you, but regardless you let him in the wake of his tenderness. and if it meant a moment you could share closer to him - you’d take it.

“you only speak your feelings to me when you think i’m asleep.” at that your breath stills, panic settles in quietly to your bones.

“i-i’m sorry i-” “you have no need to apologize, it’s me. i’ve made you feel this way. and i’m sorry.” when your dress is removed, he kneels at your feet to gather it before letting you step into your under dress. you rest your hand on his shoulder for balance to do so.

“in truth, i can’t tell you why i love you.” he says, his hands working to tie your second layer skirt around your waist, once it’s firm and not uncomfortable, you turn your head to look at him with glossy eyes. “you cannot say such things to me and not mean it. you can’t.”

“i know i haven’t shown it, but it’s true, that i promise you.” with that, he gently guides your arms through the holes of your corset, and begins lacing it, leaving your eyes drowning in tears as your lips tremble.

“you-you haven’t shown it. how am i to know you love me or that i love you when we hardly have a relationship. you’re my husband, i want to love you as one.” you gasp as he pulls the strings to tighten it, his palm laying flat on your back as he tugs once more.

“it’s a promise i make now, to show you i do indeed love you. i want you to tell me when you’re hurting, i want to help, i want to grow with you.” his hands lay along your waist as your corset is tightened. when he rounds you, seeing your eyes fogged over, his heart pangs with guilt.

“i’m sorry, truly. that i have made you feel this way. but please, know my promise is true.” his hands come to gather yours in his grip.

you nod, wiping your face for a moment as you lift your gaze to look at him. “then i’ll tell you. i’ll tell you whatever you want to hear. i want to work to make this kingdom a happy place for our people, we must work together in that regard.”

hyunjin listens, strokes his thumbs across the backs of your hands and you speak for a while longer on your marriage, how you’re both willing to work to make your love make sense, how you wish to be a unit in making the kingdom a place of happiness for your people. he prepares for the day, wearing an outfit the same shade of off-white as your own with his long dark hair tied back into a bun.

he offers his arm to you before you both leave your bedroom, smiling softly. “thank you for talking to me.” he says, opening the door for you. “thank you for listening and talking as well. it feels nice to have this weight lifted.”

“i agree.”

sorry if hyunjin's is written weird i was listening to cornfield chase by hans zimmer and got lost in the sauce.

3K notes · View notes

rosyblooom · 28 days

Text

blooming season🌷 (1) | ln4

"grief is just love with no place to go”

PAIRING: lando norris x fem nepo!reader WORD COUNT: 2.6k WARNING(S): mentions of death & blood, swearing SUMMARY: four years after she fled monaco, y/n is back on the anniversary of her father's death. however, an unexpected encounter with an f1 driver disrupts her plans. A/N: my first time doing this, so probably has errors. if you've got any thoughts or requests pls let me know xoxo hope u enjoy! :)

part 1 <- | part 2

The scent of salt still lingers in the air, but now it feels different, not as welcoming as it used to be. It's a painful reminder of days gone by, days filled with joy and warmth that now seem distant and unattainable. No matter how hard you try, you can't shake off the memories, replaying them in your mind like a scratched vinyl record that refuses to play properly.

Today marks four years since your father's passing, and four years since you left Monaco. You were just eighteen then, fresh out of high school, when the news of your father's tragic car accident hit you like a ton of bricks. In a desperate attempt to escape the overwhelming sorrow, you packed your bags that very night and left before the weight of it all drowned you.

You couldn't bring yourself to attend your father's funeral, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't real. But deep down, you knew the truth—your father was gone, and nothing could change that. Even as you threw yourself into your studies, pursuing a nursing degree, the pain never truly went away.

And now, here you are, sitting alone on this deserted stretch of beach, watching the waves crash against the shore in a steady rhythm.

This spot holds a special place in your heart, known only to a handful of locals—a fact you couldn't be more grateful for. Here, away from the watchful eyes of tourist crowds, you find solace as you simply listen to the earth rotate.

You exhale slowly, leaning forward to brush the sand from your palms before reaching into your bag for the bottle of red wine nestled inside. It takes a bit of effort to uncork it completely, but the satisfying pop is worth the wait. With careful precision, you fill a wine glass to the brim with the rich, maroon liquid—something to take the edge off.

"Welcome back, Y/N," you whisper to yourself, lifting the glass in a silent salute. "Thank you, thank you. I can't imagine anything worse."

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips, a stark contrast to your usual composed demeanour. It's been 1,460 days, yet it feels like your world only just came crashing yesterday.

Needing calm now, you take a sip of the wine, savouring its sweetness, when the sound of approaching footsteps catches your attention, pulling you back to the present moment.

"Seriously?" you think to yourself, feeling your heart plummet like a stone sinking into deep waters. You took every precaution to keep your return under wraps—after all, you paid good money for that privilege.

Arriving just last night, you made it a point to rise at the crack of dawn, a time before the world awoke; a time when it's just you and no one else. You couldn't bear the idea of facing the prying eyes that would surely accompany the day ahead. For once, you didn't want to be known as the daughter of one of Monaco's wealthiest families; you simply wanted to be yourself, stripped of titles and expectations—a daughter mourning her father.

Feeling like a trapped animal, you become acutely aware of every sound and movement, your gaze locked on the figure approaching.

A man.

His brown curls bounce with each step until he comes to an abrupt stop just a few feet away from you.

With a small wave and a nod, he greets you with a simple "Hey."

It takes a moment for you to register that the greeting is directed at you, causing you to tear your gaze away without a response. Your eyes flit between the gentle ripples of the sea and the man settling down uncomfortably close, prompting an annoyed grunt to escape your lips.

“Fuck spatial awareness, huh…,” you mutter under your breath, though not quiet enough to evade his notice. He slips off his black headphones, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Sorry, what?"

You clear your throat, then sit up straight and gesture expansively. "All this space, and you have to sit right next to me?”

He smiles.

Your gaze narrows.

"But I'm not right next to you," he retorts with a playful grin. "You're all the way over there." He points towards you and then at himself. "And I'm right here."

"Well, it's still too close," you snap.

"Sorry, did you buy this beach or something?" he counters, his grin widening. "Last time I checked, it's open to all members of—."

Growing increasingly frustrated, you interject, "No, I didn't buy anything. I just want some personal space. But clearly, that's lost on you."

With a scoff, you spring to your feet, snatching up your towel and cramming it into your bag, sand and all.

"Wait, you don't have to leave," he insists, his footsteps drawing closer. But you pay him no mind, tossing your phone into your bag and hastily gathering the rest of your belongings from the ground.

Once everything is crammed into your bag, you snatch up your half-empty glass of wine and stand upright, only to feel a foreign warmth enveloping your hand and glass. The man now stands directly in front of you, invading your personal space completely; you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his piercing green gaze.

"Look, I'm sorry if I did something wrong, but—" he begins, but you cut him off sharply.

"Way too close now," you snap, attempting to pull your hand away, but he refuses to release his grip.

"You do realise I'm trying to apologise, right?" he asks, confusion evident in his eyes.

"I don't care."

His grip remains firm. "There's plenty of space for both of us here."

"It doesn't matter anymore," you respond, your patience wearing thin.

The struggle continues, your voice growing louder with each tug. "Let go of the fucking glass!"

Suddenly, a sharp yell pierces the air, followed by the hollow thuds of broken glass hitting the ground. Shock washes over you as you barely register the sticky liquid trickling down your hand and onto your toes.

"Ah, shit," he exclaims, snapping you out of your daze. You quickly assess the situation, noticing the shattered remnants of the wine glass scattered on the ground, staining the sand crimson.

Panic sets in as you frantically check your hand and feet for any injuries, your eyes wide with fear. After several anxious moments, you breathe a sigh of relief.

I'm okay.

The tranquillity is abruptly shattered by deep groans echoing through the air, drawing your attention to the man's slumped figure with his back turned to you. His face remains hidden from view.

Though he's clearly in pain, you're tempted to slip on your shoes and make a hasty escape. Today is already burdened with its own weight; you're not sure you can handle any more. You even take a step back, ready to flee, but then something stops you.

A pang of guilt washes over you, weighing you down like heavy bags strapped to your legs. With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly admit to yourself, "I can't believe I'm about to do this."

"Okay, fine. How about you put on your big boy boots and let me take a look at that?" you say, crossing your arms expectantly.

There's no reaction from him, not even a response.

Rolling your eyes, you drop your bag onto the sand and cautiously circle around him until you're face-to-face with his unruly brown curls.

"Hello?" you tap his shoulder, frustration creeping into your voice. "Earth to the stranger who doesn't understand personal space?"

"Seriously?" he retorts, his tone sharp.

His eyes meet yours as he straightens up, his expression guarded, but you simply shrug, maintaining a neutral demeanour, and extend your hand.

"Let me see," you say calmly.

For a moment, he simply stares at you in bewilderment, but then he tentatively extends his hand towards yours.

"I see," you breathe, examining the large cut in his palm with care, mindful not to dirty it with your fingers. Despite the blood seeping from the wound, you release a relieved sigh after a thorough inspection—it's not as deep as it initially appeared.

"Alright," you announce, dropping his hand and clapping your hands together. "Go home, make sure nothing touches that hand, clean the cut, and bandage it. Keep it dry for a couple of days, and then reassess."

Without waiting for a response, you turn towards your bag, sling it over your shoulder, and shoot him one final glance.

"This has been... unpleasant," you remark dryly. "I really hope our paths don't cross again. Goodbye."

"Wait!"

You shake your head and ignore him, determined to continue onward.

"Wait!" he calls out again, desperation evident in his tone. "I don't have any bandages!"

You stop walking, considering his words, but still don't turn around.

"And... I don't have any sanitising stuff either," he adds, his voice trailing off slightly.

Slowly, you turn around and wave your hands dismissively in the air, shouting back, "That's what supermarkets are for! I guess it's time for a shopping trip!"

Just as you're about to spin on your heel and leave again, his voice cuts through the distance.

"Look, you seem like you know what you're doing. Can't you just help me out here?"

Shielding your eyes from the harsh glare of the sun, you squint at him as he begins jogging toward you. "That advice," you shout back, "was me helping you out. Trust me, I wanted to leave way earlier."

For a moment, neither of you speaks as you watch him closing the distance between you. When he finally comes to a halt in front of you, you instinctively take two steps back—you need your personal space.

"So?" he says between pants, waiting for your response.

You furrow your brows, deep in thought. "Well, I don't have anything on me, sorry to disappoint. But like I said, there are shops around here."

You resume your walk, but to your dismay, the guy falls into step with you almost immediately.

"So, what? You have nothing at home?" he presses, his gaze burning into the side of your face.

Refusing to meet his eyes, you increase your speed.

"Right, because I'm just going to invite a stranger," you emphasise, "who I didn't want to be around in the first place, into my home."

His hand suddenly grips your arm, causing you to instinctively rip out of his grasp, both of you coming to an abrupt halt.

"What?" you bark, irritation seeping into your tone.

"You can google me," he offers, his voice calmer now. "Lando Norris, Formula One driver. Search my name up. You'll see pictures—every single detail about me, you'll probably find on the internet. Now I'm not a stranger anymore, right?" he suggests, his gaze pleading.

You remain silent, shifting your focus toward the calm waters as you breathe in and out. It feels as though the world has paused, waiting for you to come to a decision, to reach a conclusion.

Today, the anniversary of your father's death, is a day you've been dreading yet anticipating for so long. Its disruption unsettles you, but deep down, you know you can't simply ignore it. As much as you wish to skip over this chapter of your life, tear out its pages, and never look back, you can't. It's not healthy.

Still, that doesn't mean you can't delay it for a little while longer.

"Fine," you sigh, relenting to the situation, and begin rummaging through your bag until you locate your phone.

Quickly, you extract it and raise it to Lando's face, snapping a photo of him with the flash on.

"What the hell?" he exclaims, blinking rapidly.

"For my protection," you state matter-of-factly. "Just because you're famous doesn't mean you can't be a bad person."

Once his gaze meets yours again, he runs a hand through his hair and offers a sheepish smile. "Fair enough."

You nod, acknowledging his words, and continue your walk toward the car park.

"I'm not a bad person, though," he adds quickly, catching up to you.

"Colour me convinced," you reply dryly.

*********

As you approach the car park, annoyance bubbles within you at the sight of it: filled with cars and swarmed by dozens of people.

"You said you're a Formula One driver, right?" you ask, tilting your head up at Lando.

"Yeah, why?" he responds.

Instead of answering, you grab the hood of his jacket and pull it over his head.

"Why did you do that—" Lando begins, but you cut him off.

"The last thing I need is a mob of your fans, okay?" you interject firmly. "The quicker we get this done, the sooner we can go our separate ways."

Lando chuckles as he adjusts the hood. "I'm really that bad, huh?"

"Worse," you deadpan.

"...Right."

With your raven car in sight, you quicken your pace, relief flooding through you. The last thing you want is for people to realise you're back, especially not today.

However, as if your luck has run out, a woman steps in front of you, blocking your path. You immediately turn your focus to Lando, motioning for him to take a picture with his fan and hurry up.

But instead of the attention falling on him, a weight suddenly falls onto your shoulder, catching you off guard. You clear your throat, preparing to speak, but the woman beats you to it.

"Oh my goodness, Y/N. It's you, isn't it?" the woman exclaims, her voice filled with recognition and sympathy.

You can't reply; your mouth feels dry, your tongue heavy with unspoken words.

No, not today. Please, not today.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Y/N," she continues, her expression radiating pity. It's uncomfortable—the way she looks at you, the way she touches your shoulder so gently. It feels like you're being burned alive, yet you're immobilised, just as you were four years ago when you first heard the news.

"Your father was such an amazing man. And you, I mean, you've been missed. My daughter loves you—"

Suddenly, you're being pulled forward, jolting you out of your trance. You struggle to keep your balance as you try to comprehend what's happening—the woman is gone, and Lando's hand is firmly clasped around yours, pulling you closer to him.

Your personal space has been completely invaded, yet you don't feel the usual urge to pull away. Even if you did, you're not quite sure Lando would let you.

"Your car's the black one, right?" you hear him ask, but the words don't immediately register.

"Huh?" you mumble, still reeling from the encounter.

"That black car over there," Lando points and leans in close, his gaze locked with yours, "that's yours, right?"

You nod, still not quite ready to speak.

Lando releases your hand and holds out his palm to you. "Okay, car keys, please?"

"What? No," you shake your head, rejecting the idea. "There's no need for that."

"Come on, I'm a Formula One driver, remember? I won't crash it."

"It would be irresponsible of me to let you drive in this state," he adds, his voice firm.

"And what about your hand?" you nod toward the injury.

"Like I said," Lando smiles slyly, cocking his head to the side, "I drive race cars; I think I can handle driving with one hand."

Rolling your eyes, you relent, "Okay, fine."

With a sigh, you fish out the car keys from your bag and hand them over to him.

4:05 ───────────ㅇ─ 4:28

627 notes · View notes

aajjks · 1 month

Text

Darkest Hour: Prisioner (m)

synopsis. Who was really the prisoner? Him who was behind bars? Or you? Who couldn’t even escape him, even now

pairing: yan!prisoner!jk x fem!gf reader.

warnings: YÂNDÈRÈ MÄTÜRÊ, DÄRK, öbsëssïön, STÖCKHÖLM SYNDRÖMÈ, ünhëälthy öbsëssïön, pôsessïvènèss, côntrôl, gúïlt trïppïng.

note. FEEDBACK IS NEEDED! ENJOY.

I DO NOT CONDONE THIS BEHAVIOUR IRL, THIS DOES NOT REPRESENT JUNGKOOK OR BTS IRL. DO NOT ROMANTACISE THIS BEHAVIOUR.

[GIF NOT MINE, IT BELONG TO OWNER, CREDITS TO THEM]

Your heart aches looking at him, his backis facing you as he is sitting on the old dirty bed, was he blankly staring at the walls? The walls that were the same thick grey stone as the dwellings of the region,

But instead of a wide window with a flower box there was a mean barred opening with thick metal bars and no glass. The weight on your chest was heavy. As your gaze travelled further, you felt suffocated.

The prison cell was a hollow cube of concrete, one way in, no windows. In there you could have no idea how much time had passed or even if it was night or day. It was totally disorientating by design. Given enough time a person could forget their own name in there. The isolation was total and the stimulation was zero. No sound, no light, no furniture or cloth of any kind. It was all an inmate could do to feel the cool walls, but even they were smooth.

pity, regret, guilt, frustration. The emotions embraced you like a second skin. In the time period of six months, this was your third visit. But this visit felt heavy.

This time... you had come here with a purpose. This time... without the overwhelming urge to see him.

This time with the urge to end this madness for once and all.

It was like this was written in the stars above to occur. your heart felt like someone had put thousands of bricks onto it. You were feeling guilty for what you were about to do.

This was just the weight of the guilt for your next step that would change yours and his life forever..

Maybe for the worst. This needed to be done nonetheless, you needed to overcome this incessant throb in your heart, you wanted it to stop, it wouldn’t.

But you needed to Do this for once, and all you need to end this.

And you will even though it’s not going to end so smoothly.

You knew it wouldn’t. You weren’t hoping for it. Because, after all. You were the reason why he was here in the first place.

You were reason behind your lovers imprisonment. “J-Jungkook. It’s Y/N..” your fingers wrap themselves around the metal bars, the voice from your throat barely managed to escape.

But he heard it.

The culprit turned around to look at you, and your heart skipped a beat, clenching tightly inside your chest. “Y-Y/N! M-My Princess!”

With teary eyes, you watched your lover as he jumped out of the bed and with shaking steps he came closer to the metal bars as much as he could. His long slender fingers wrapped around the bars tightly, you could only see his face barely. But the tattoos on his fingers made you recognize him. The ink on his knuckles being his only signature that could help you identify him in the dark hour.

“Y-Y/N! You’re finally here!” Hearing his voice in a tone so vulnerable made your heart break, you could tell that he was trying to hold back a sob. Jungkook tried his best to at least be able to hold your hands in his but was unable to because of the steel cuffs that held them captive, and the wall of the bars between him and you.

“Y-Yes Jungkook..” you finally look up to see him and your heart almost exploded in surprise. “Jungkook?! You’re cuffed?” To say you were surprised would sum it up. Your eyes widened to see that.

Only silence was your answer in return. Your heart was turning inside of your rib cage. You knew what this meant really well. Gripping on the rusty bars, you looked at him with your eyebrows farrowed and jaw clenched. “Y-You tried to escape,” horror took over you.

jungkook lowered his head, the darkness covering his face. You could only see his dark curly locks. “I-I just m-missed you.” Jungkooks shoulders were shaking, his voice breaking, tears falling. “Look at me jungkook...”

The crying man lifted his head up to look at you with glossy eyes and a red nose. “I-I love you Y/N.... I cant bear to live without you a-anymore. This squared box is starting to feel so suffocating... I want to be with you again Y/N... I can’t live without you..”

His words tugged at your heartstrings. The weight on your heart felt even heavier. He loved you so damn much and you were being so selfish. He killed him for you.

You were the reason.

“Y/N... there’s not a day where I do not shiver from the thoughts of you forgetting about me... or finding someone else. I cry day and night, only in your name... you’re my everything, baby.” Jungkooks gaze was holding so many unsaid emotions in them. His eyes were swimming in longing.

“I-I can’t bear to lose you.” Jungkook confessed, his voice was breaking constantly, coming closer to the bars, he cried. “I love you so damn much, princess. I can do anything to be with you.” The way he was speaking these words was starting to get passionate.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” Jungkook cooed at you, while you cried softly. “No Y/N.. my sweetheart, don’t cry please..”

Seeing you like this broke Jungkooks heart into a million pieces. He wanted to see you happy always,

But with him only.

The way his heart was thumping inside of his chest made it very clear that jungkook’s plan was working. “I-I love you too Jungkook..” the way you called out his name made his eyes almost roll back to head in pleasure. “You’ll wait for me, won’t you, princess.” Jungkook had to be careful with the each word that escaped his mouth, his effect on you couldn’t falter.

He wouldn’t let it..

Waiting for your response was even more frustrating than when he was caught the day for murdering that cop, the handcuffs were the only witness for his crime, in front of you.

“Y-Yes jungkook I will... I’ll always wait for you. I love you.”

Oh... how happy just was he feeling... jungkook wanted to jump upside down. He still had you wrapped around his fingers. “My princess! Fuck I love you so fucking much... no one can love you as much as me.. didn’t I prove that to you?” His tone had transitioned from dark, gloomy to excited like a child getting his favorite food.

“My dad will get me out soon- baby just wait for me will you? I only stayed here just so I could redeem myself- my father has contacted our family’s lawyer.”

The psychotic man chuckled like a maniac. You just gave him a smile, of course- he’s connected. They practically own this country.

“Fuck,” he cursed, licking his bottom lip.

“baby I love you more than anything in this world... and you know it.” Jungkook presses his face against the bars.

You smiled at him again in way that he felt for a moment that he was at the gates of the heaven. Even he actually deserved to burn in the deep, agonizing flames of hell.

“I’ll be out soon Y/N, I promise. Wait for me...”

And you know that he will.

876 notes · View notes

niki-phoria · 3 months

Text

NOT EVEN THE GODS ABOVE CAN SEPARATE THE TWO OF US

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: hurt comfort word count: 731

notes: set in the re4 castle, leon cries (kinda), reader cries, not proofread so pls forgive any mistakes !!

summary: leon can't bare the thought of losing you for a second. so what happens when you disappear for four hours in a haunted, monster-filled castle?

four hours. it’s been four hours since leon found himself in this hellhole. four hours of mindlessly wandering through seemingly endless corridors of concrete and stone. four hours of agonizingly tracing and retracing a maze filled with monsters. it almost reminds him of the haunted houses you’d drag him to, all too eager to bring him along to experience some fake scares for once.

it’s been four hours since he lost you.

an unrelenting chill blows past him again, causing goosebumps to arise along his exposed forearms. monsters don’t care about the cold, he supposes, though it would be nice to have his jacket. with his adrenaline slowly wearing off with each step he finds himself more and more susceptible to the unrelentingly cold castle.

studying the monotone bricks ahead, leon’s mind wanders. he’s distracted. you shouldn’t have even been on the island, much less this close to whatever monstrosities linger far too close for comfort. what if you’re hurt? what if those monsters have somehow gotten to you. what if… the worst has already happened?

leon sighs. his eyes flutter closed for a second as he sends a silent prayer to a god he isn’t sure he ever really believed in. please be okay. if anything happens… take me instead. please be okay.

his heart leaps when he notices a soft scuffle. it’s nearby. something - or maybe someone - is in the darkness. leon’s hand instinctively draws to his knife. his fingers dig into the handle as he grips the blade tightly against his side. ready.

he moves like an animal. a predator - ready to strike at any moment. the stone bricks behind him are ice cold as he presses his back against the wall, silently waiting for his prey.

there’s another step. then another. and then -

“y/n?” he can almost feel his heart cease its beating in his chest. he blinks once. twice. like you’ll disappear in the milliseconds it takes for him to open his eyes again. his knife clatters to the ground in his shock. leon’s fingernails dig into the thick fabric of his gloves. he has to resist the urge to pinch himself in fear of waking up from whatever fucked up dream this is.

“leon.” your voice wavers. a second passes. then another. and another.

and then you’re running at him, all but tackling the man as you jump into his arms. leon stumbles backwards slightly. his combat boots scrape against the concrete floor as he scrambles to maintain his balance. he’s unfortunately not fast enough; the momentum sends both of you tumbling to the ground.

leon’s back aches from where you both slammed into the cold floor below. he’s sure your knees do, too. you’re both covered in dirt. a layer of sweat and grime stains the fabric of your shirt. your hands are bloody and bruised and your arms will be littered with a variety of new scars by next month - you’re sure of it - but it doesn’t matter. because you’re real.

you’re really here. you’re really wrapping your arms around his shoulders. you’re really burying your face into the crook of his neck. you’re really here.

“y/n.” this time his voice is louder. his body moves before his mind does. wrapping his arms around your waist, he sighs, taking in the feeling of you finally back in his arms once again. leon slips his hands underneath the fabric of your shirt, tracing his fingertips along the ebbs and flows of your back.

leon squeezes his eyes shut; his grip around your waist tightens. his heart cracks a little more with each new tear he can feel drip against his skin and stain into the fabric of his shirt. gently rubbing his hand against your back, he hopes that with enough loving touches and whispered reassurances he’ll be able to mend your heart back together.

leon is desperate. dull nails dig into the skin of your hips, as if the lack of separation between your bodies now will make up for lost time. “you’re here,” leon whispers. he isn’t sure if you can hear him. he can barely hear himself over the noise of his own beating heartbeat and your quiet sobs. “it’s okay. i’ve got you.” stray tears escape his own eyes before leon has the chance to stop them. “i won’t let anything happen to you ever again. i promise.”

if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, consider checking out my resident evil masterlist <3

874 notes · View notes

megalony · 2 months

Text

Ballet Dancer

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine, requested by anon. I'm sorry for how long it's taken me to write this for you I hope you will all like it. I'm working my way through some Eddie requests as I'm in the mood to write for him at the moment. Any feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35

Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Summary: The team never knew how into ballet Eddie was... or the fact that he is married to a ballet dancer. Until they get called out to an accident at the theatre.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie tipped his head back against the seat and closed his eyes while his hands moved to clasp together between his thighs. He brushed his thumbs over the back of his hands as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to level out the unease and panic in his system.

He didn't like where they were going on this call out.

He knew exactly where they were going; Eddie had been here over ten times during the last month alone, but never on a call out. Never with anyone from the team alongside him. And he had never been here whilst he was on duty.

It had to be a coincidence. There were going to be hundreds of people here tonight. That gave Eddie a good chance of not having his wife be one of the people they were here to attend to. He prayed his wife wouldn't be one of the casualties they had to patch up. There chances were slim when compared to how many people worked here and would be here visiting to watch the performance.

When the truck pulled to a stop, Eddie stilled himself and took a deep breath, trying not to act too eager to get out. He let everyone else filter out the truck first before he hopped down and grabbed one of the medic bags and slung it onto his shoulder.

"Well this is a new one." Hen slung a medical bag on the gurney and wheeled it down from the back of the ambulance. She moved to follow Bobby onto the pavement and all of them took a second to glance up at where they now were.

A theatre.

"Man, I wonder what they're performing?" Evan tilted his head back and looked up towards the midnight sky where the top of the theatre stretched up like it could reach the stars.

This place looked fancy. Old brick building, stone statues outside. Large marble steps leading up to the main doors and staff stood at the doors to keep people from entering late. It had been a long time since Evan had been anywhere like this; if he was watching a play, it was usually on the tv, not in person.

"Romeo and Juliet."

Eddie internally cringed when he spoke before he had chance to think. He tightened his hand around the bag on his shoulder and jogged up the steps with the rest of the team in his wake. He didn't have to say anything. The staff on the doors opened up for them immediately. They knew an accident had happened and they were waiting for the emergency services to arrive.

"I didn't know you were into ballet." A smile pulled at Hen's lips as they all filed inside, past reception and over to the doors beneath the Main Hall sign.

"Oh, you have no idea."

There hadn't been enough time when they arrived for Eddie to scour through the posters outside and find the dates and calculate which play was on tonight. He must have known already, which one was being performed.

"Romeo and Juliet's a play, not ballet."

"It was a play first, Buck, but it's been styled into ballet too." Bobby clapped a hand down on Evan's back as they matched pace with Eddie who was already through the main doors and walking down the darkened corridor.

Eddie turned towards one of the attendants when he reached the end of the corridor and came out into the hall. The lights were on, basking the large dome hall in brightness so people could see and remain or move from their seats. He moved towards one of the attendants stood at the last row of stalls in the ground circle.

He took a moment to glance behind him at the higher seats that went as far back as the eye could see until the very back row would have but a minimal view of the stage ahead. Most of the crowd were still in their seats. They hadn't gotten up to leave or gone for a drink or acted like this was the interval. There was a lot of chatter though, and Eddie tried not to pay any attention to whatever rumours were spreading around.

"What have we got?" Bobby placed his hands on his hips as he stood beside Eddie and looked over at the waiting attendant.

She was stood with her hands clasped in front of her and an anxious, but now relieved look on her face when they arrived.

"A dancer fell, and knocked into another, who fell onto another… we had to draw the curtain but we couldn't move anyone for the understudies to come on stage."

"The domino effect," Bobby muttered quietly. "Okay, show us where they are."

They had just finished another call out and had been redirected to the theatre instead of back to the station. Another ambulance was on the way as they were told they had a few casualties to get checked over and possibly take to the hospital.

But Eddie was glad they were the first ones on the scene. He had been hoping it would be someone in the audience who had had some sort of accident or problem. Knowing it was a performer only made his adrenaline spike and increase the frantic worry circulating throughout his system. That increased the chances of it being his wife who was one of the casualties.

Confusion plastered on Bobby's face when Eddie sped ahead after the attendant, overtaking Bobby who usually led the way since he was captain. Was Eddie a big fan of ballet? Was he interested in seeing which performers were hurt and who he could attend to? Why was he in such a rush?

Eddie internally cringed when a round of applause sounded as the team weaved around the outskirts of the aisles towards the steps that led up to the stage. They weren't part of the act. They were the first responders, they were here to help. These people shouldn't be cheering, they should sit quietly or go and take a break as they waited to see if the performance would continue or be rescheduled.

The attendant parted the blood red curtain and made enough of a gap for the team to squeeze through, along with their stretcher.

"Fuck." The word spat through Eddie's lips and he felt his shoulders tensing up and quaking when he looked around the mess.

He had been on this stage quite a few times during the last month, even Chris had been prancing around on stage and roamed the theatre when it was empty. He had watched the performance, both from the stalls and from a backstage view of rehearsals.

He shouldn't be behind this curtain in uniform.

He darted around the casualties, all laid out on the floor in various areas of the stage. Eddie knew a few of them by name, but there was only one he was looking out for and that one person was, sadly, one of the people sat on the floor in agony.

His eyes zoned in on his wife and he made a beeline for her.

(Y/n) was sat just to the left of the centre of the stage. Her body was jittering and trembling back and forth and she tried her best to smile when she looked up and locked her eyes on Eddie. But her smile didn't calm down his raging nerves because he could see the tears streaked down her face.

He assessed the way she was sat. Leaning to the left with her right arm curved tight around her chest and her hand splayed out on the left side of her chest.

"Mi amor. What happened?" Eddie slumped the bag down at his side and knelt down beside (Y/n)'s thigh.

Suddenly, he didn't care that the rest of the team were here and freely able to see him become affectionate. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that this was his call. This was his wife and she was the only one Eddie was going to put any focus and attention on. He wouldn't be dealing with anyone else but (Y/n).

He reached his hand out and cupped her chin between his thumb and finger, tilting her head back so they were level. His eyes narrowed and his head leaned forward as he scrutinised every inch of her to see what injuries she had and why she was crying.

(Y/n) moved her trembling hand from her thigh to cup Eddie's wrist and her lips curved into a tepid smile when she looked up at her husband. She could see Anna, one of the girls in the theatre group, smiling over at her. She had guessed that Eddie might just get wind of this call and make his way down here. (Y/n) didn't think so. She thought the team would be busy somewhere else, with a different call or a more demanding call. (Y/n) didn't think they would be here, she thought a few ambulances would be sent out. Not the fire department.

"W-we were doing the lift… I don't know what happened, Thomas stumbled and let go, I knocked Lia on my way down…" (Y/n) winced in discomfort and closed her eyes, trying to lean into Eddie's touch but she opened her eyes again when she felt him move.

"You dropped her?!"

A shiver tore down (Y/n)'s spine and she latched both hands around Eddie's wrist when he looked towards Thomas who was sat a few feet behind (Y/n). She could sense Thomas shuffling back and muttering apologies he hadn't stopped saying since the curtains closed.

"Sorry Eddie."

It had been an accident, although (Y/n) didn't know who had stumbled or tripped first or why. One moment she was being lifted, getting ready to twist and lean to jump into Adam's hold, then the next moment Thomas was falling and his hands were no longer on her hips.

She had only been a few feet high but it felt like she had fallen from the heavens when she crashed down to the harsh wooden floor. On her way down, (Y/n) collided with Lia who then pushed the domino effect and caused another three dancers to cause some kind of injury. (Y/n) wasn't sure what went wrong, but their entire performance was now ruined.

They didn't have the time to switch roles and get enough understudies dressed and prepped ready to continue the show. They would have to stop for tonight and refund whoever was in the audience.

Moving her hand from her side, (Y/n) reached her fingers out and danced them across Eddie's jaw until he pulled his eyes back to her. Rather than staring daggers into her dance partner who was supposed to look after her, not drop her.

"It hurts," She mumbled quietly, trying to stop herself from shaking but for the last ten minutes all she had been able to do was cry and tremble back and forth like a leaf in the breeze. Her hand retracted from Eddie's jaw and she brushed the back of her hand beneath her eyes to wipe away the stray tears.

"What does, mi amor?"

(Y/n) hovered her hand back over her side just below her arm but she couldn't bring herself to touch the area of pain. She had landed roughly on her left side and spasms and jolts like electricity rolled through her. For the first few minutes, (Y/n) hadn't been able to move. She laid, gasping and wheezing and crying until someone managed to sit her up.

Leaning up on his knees, Eddie kissed (Y/n)'s temple before he moved his hands out to try and assess her chest.

He pressed over the right side of her ribs first, just to check there were no scrapes or bruises or fractures there. But when he tried to touch the left side, he felt (Y/n)'s nails scratching into his arms and she cried out. Her head tipped forward until her face was buried against Eddie's shoulder.

"Okay, I've got you. Try and stay still for me, baby." He spoke quietly against her hair while his left arm curved around her back and his hand placed between her shoulders.

He continued to press his fingertips down the left side of her chest, counting two possible fractures and some swelling that was already starting to get worse and strain against her thin top.

"Two ribs are definitely fractured or broken, you'll need an X-ray." Eddie moved his hand round to cup the back of (Y/n)'s neck and his lips smothered the top of her head when she whimpered into his shoulder. This would set her back a few weeks. She wouldn't be able to perform now. (Y/n) would have to take a few weeks off and switch to being the understudy until she was cleared by the doctor.

Perfect timing. Right in the middle of their new show.

At least they weren't on tour. (Y/n) hated touring. She hated being away from home, having to get used to new stages and venues and changes in direction when they were dancing. New changing areas and rushing around in an unfamiliar setting when they had costume changes.

She didn't like being away from her boys either. That was why she had signed up to this theatre group. They stayed at this theatre and every two months, they would learn a new show and routine and switch up the roles and perform something different, but stay in the same venue. It meant the group didn't have to change or be on the road and do a different venue every three or four days. And (Y/n) didn't have to leave home, she could still go back to her boys at the end of the night after a performance.

"Stay still a moment," Eddie mused quietly as he unravelled one arm from her so he could find the stethoscope in his bag.

He listened to her heartbeat before he moved it to press against her back and listen to her breathing. He sighed and nodded to himself when he heard her lungs take deep breaths. The broken ribs hadn't splintered into her lungs which was a big relief.

"Shall we get you up?"

"No," (Y/n) shook her head against his shoulder before she lifted her head just high enough to perch her chin on his shoulder.

Tears began to fall from her eyes again and she felt Eddie's hand move to cup her arm. He smothered his lips against her temple and reeled her more into his chest as he dropped the stethoscope back into the bag.

"Why not, baby?" They couldn't exactly stay here for the rest of the night. As much as Eddie wanted to sit and console her and comfort her, he needed to get her to the hospital. "I'm not leaving you, you know. I'll be right here," He kept his voice quiet enough so only (Y/n) could hear what he was whispering against her ear.

Eddie dared to look around the stage and see what glances he was getting from the team. Evan kept looking over at him with a strange, unusual smile and Hen shook her head when their eyes locked. They were all trying to focus on sorting out the other dancers, but they couldn't stop looking back over at Eddie.

He never told them his wife was a ballet dancer. He never said what his wife did for a living and none of the team had met her. He talked about her often enough and so did Chris because he now started to call (Y/n) his mum. Eddie just wanted to keep his life a bit more private, just for the meantime. He wasn't used to sharing his life with the people he worked with.

"My knee…"

A frown pulled at Eddie's lips and he gently unravelled from (Y/n) so he could turn to the side and look down at her legs. She had been cradling her side when he arrived, he didn't think she looked like she was in pain with any other injuries.

(Y/n) moved her hands to her thighs, digging her nails through her pale cream tights until she created ladders in the material. Her chin perched down on Eddie's right shoulder and she tried to stop herself from crying and hold steady as he knelt in front of her legs and looked at her left knee.

It was swollen already and the mere touch of Eddie's fingers pressing down on the joint made (Y/n) cry out and drag her nails up her thighs to hold herself steady.

"Mi amor… it's dislocated. Can I put it back into place?" Eddie couldn't go ahead and do it without asking first, but he knew the answer. He knew (Y/n) would much rather he do it for her than wait for a doctor or a nurse at the hospital to set it back for her.

(Y/n) didn't have the words so she simply nodded and sank her teeth down into her lower lip. She didn't want anyone but Eddie to look after her. She'd never dislocated or broken anything before. Despite the vigorous training she had done over the years to get herself to this point in ballet, she had only ever pulled muscles or tendons. She hadn't broken anything until now, and she never thought it would happen during a performance with an audience like this.

"Afraid I need to tear these."

"Wouldn't be the first time," (Y/n) whispered, trying to force herself to smile when Eddie scrunched up her tights around the middle of her thigh. He had torn enough of her tights over the past few months, this wasn't anything new.

She watched his lips form a daring smirk that showed his teeth before he easily sank his nails into her tights and stretched the fabric until it ripped apart like a tissue beneath his hold. They were fancy, but they weren't thick or made of any strong material which made them easy to tear apart.

Eddie refrained from tearing them right up to the hilt and giving himself a view of his wife's underwear. He ripped the material down the other way until it was torn apart down towards her ankle. He needed a clear view of her knee and this saved her the embarrassment of taking off her tights in front of colleagues and his team.

His fingers curled around the top of her knee and his other hand moved to prod and assess the joint, wincing each time it made (Y/n) lean back or twitch and groan.

"Close your eyes mi amor."

She did as instructed, bracing both hands down beside her on the stage floor and she tilted her head back and kept her eyes tightly closed. She didn't want to see Eddie put the joint back into place and she didn't want to know when he was about to do it. The blood pulsed through her ears so loudly it was deafening and her breath held deep in her lungs when Eddie's hand moved to get a good grip on her lower leg.

A tortured scream pierced the air, almost as deafening as the horrid click that told Eddie he had put the joint back into place. His fingers dug into her thigh and he kept tight hold of her lower leg, keeping her leg resting over his lap when her leg started to jerk and tremble.

"Shh, all done. All done, I'm sorry baby." Reaching his hands out, Eddie hooked an arm around (Y/n)'s waist and shuffled her across the floor until she was sat level with his thighs and he carefully eased her leg back onto the floor. His arms coiled around her and reeled her into his chest so he could kiss the top of her head.

He looked down in the bag by his side before he looked across at Hen who was just finishing up an assessment on one of the other girls.

"Hen, do you have some morphine in your bag?"

She fished out a packaged needle of morphine and slid it across the stage towards him. Eddie tore the packet open with his teeth and looked down at (Y/n) before he pressed the needle into her thigh.

"That'll help with the pain, baby. Any more injuries I should know about?" His hand moved up and down her arm while his lips went back to kissing the top of her head.

"Just sickness," (Y/n) kept her eyes closed and buried her face into Eddie's chest, scrunching his shirt up in her grasp. The pain had given her a horrid headache and now she felt like she was going to throw up. But other than that, she didn't have any other injuries. Thankfully.

"Let's get you in the ambulance then."

Eddie glanced his eyes around the stage, seeing that Evan was finishing up patching up Lia who had gotten away with cuts and bruises and Evan talking her ear off. Hen and Bobby were waiting with two other girls who needed assessing in a hospital. And Chimney had one of the men on the gurney who had broken his ankle and jammed up his shoulder and he was on his way backstage.

It would be easier to go backstage past the dressing rooms and get out to the truck that way than go back past the crowds and let everyone be oogled at.

"Dispatch, this is Captain Nash. How far out are those further to ambulances? We look to need a third one sent our way."

"Y-you won't leave me, will you?" (Y/n) couldn't bring herself to pull away from Eddie's chest. Her face stayed tucked into the middle of his chest, her nose squashed against the buttons as she panted through his shirt and tried to breathe in his scent.

She didn't want another team coming over and trying to take her away from Eddie. She didn't want Eddie to have to go back in the truck and leave her with strangers.

"I'm not going anywhere without you, mi amor." He smiled into her hair before he turned to look at Bobby over his shoulder. "Cancel that last ambulance, (Y/n) can ride in the truck with us."

Eddie saw no point waiting around for another ambulance to be redirected their way which would take a further ten minutes or longer. They could send the two other dances in the two ambulances that were on their way. And Eddie could carry his wife and take her in the truck with them. Eddie was going down to the hospital anyway, he wasn't straying far from his wife and she needed an X-ray and an assessment.

(Y/n) kept her arms hooked around Eddie's neck as his hands moved down to her hips. He carefully pulled her up with him and stayed on her left side to prop her up. She had her knee bent and her foot held just above the floor, unable to put it down as it added pressure and agony onto her knee.

His hand squeezed her hip every now and then and his other hand moved to cup her arm that was looped around his neck. Eddie let his eyes dart across to Evan who was packing up his bag and moved to stand beside them.

"Right this way, Mrs Diaz."

(Y/n) had never been in a fire truck before.

***

Leaning her head to the side, (Y/n) pressed her face into Eddie's abdomen and curled her arm around his back, keeping him close. She let her eyes fall closed and found herself smiling when she felt his hand rest on her neck with his thumb brushing up and down across the side of her jaw.

She was ready to go home. The morphine had worked to take away the throbbing edge in her knee and had dulled down her headache, but now she felt dizzy and tired and spaced. She wanted to go curl up in bed and try to get some sleep.

For the next few weeks, (Y/n) wouldn't be doing very much. She wouldn't be training or getting up early for rehearsals or going down to the theatre. Her time would be spent trying to push herself into recouperating and playing video games with Chris.

Eddie leaned down and kissed the top of (Y/n)'s head before he drained the last of the rather bland coffee he'd got from the machine in the hall.

"How you feeling?" He murmured quietly while he set down his cup and placed his hand in his pocket.

The team had dropped them off along with their other casualty and whenever they were ready to leave, Eddie just needed to give the team a call. Bobby had cleared it so Eddie could take (Y/n) home, his shift was officially over and he had the next few days off to be home with her and Chris.

"Ready for bed." Her response made Eddie smile and he hummed, darting his eyes over to the door when it opened.

The doctor they'd seen when they arrived walked into the room, a calm smile on her face and a file in her hand which Eddie guessed was the X-ray results. (Y/n) had had both her knee and her chest X-rayed when they got to the hospital, as well as having some bloods taken just to be on the safe side.

As long as the breaks weren't damaging or dangerous, all (Y/n) would need would be to have her chest bandaged and they could go home. Her knee was already in a foam brace since Eddie had saved the doctor a job and put it back in place.

"How are we in here?"

"Tired." (Y/n) kept her arm latched around Eddie's lower back and stayed leaning into his torso with a tepid smile. She liked the feeling of Eddie's fingers running up and down the side of her neck before his hand moved to rest on her shoulder instead.

"Well, I've taken a look at your X-rays. The fourth and fifth ribs are broken, clean breaks though not fractures which is a good thing. In three weeks I'd like you to come back just to check they are healing properly. And your knee will heal within a week or two, no lasting damage there."

That was some good news. (Y/n) didn't want fractured bones, they were harder to heal and didn't always repair themselves in the right way. At least a clean break was easier for her body to repair. Not that she wanted them to be broken, but she knew from the moment Eddie assessed her that they had definitely snapped in some way. This just cemented the fact that she wasn't going back to work anytime soon.

"Can I take her home?" Eddie kept his hand tucked into his pocket while he looked over at the doctor. That was all good news and he couldn't see a reason why they couldn't leave now.

"Well, the nurse took a blood sample on arrival, just to rule out any infections and I had to run a further test when I got the results back."

(Y/n) could feel her face falling and her teeth sunk down into her lower lip as she glanced up at Eddie. Somehow, that didn't sound very good. The doctor's smile wasn't calming compared to what she had just said. Was something wrong? (Y/n) felt fine. She had been fine until the fall tonight, that was the only reason she was here. Nothing else was wrong with her apart from her knee and her broken ribs.

She could feel Eddie's hand tightening on her shoulder and he tensed up beside her as his brows furrowed. What did that mean?

"It seems you're pregnant. Congratulations."

(Y/n)'s jaw loosened but she couldn't find any words.

Pregnant. They were going to have a baby. Now she well and truly couldn't return to work. Once her ribs and her knee were healed, she wouldn't have long before she started to show and she wouldn't be able to perform once that happened. She would have to switch to helping direct the shows and give the dancers their cues and pointers rather than joining in the performance.

When she tilted her head up to glance up at Eddie, her parted lips formed into a smile when she saw the way he was looking down at her. His eyes looked brighter and he was already grinning down at her, trying to bite his lip to stop his smile from spreading so wide.

His hand left her shoulder and moved round to cup her chin and he leaned down, brushing his nose against hers before he captured her lips in a kiss.

His fingers danced across her cheek and (Y/n) reached up to hold his wrist as she grinned against his touch. They hadn't exactly been trying, but this was a very welcomed surprise. They were going to have a baby. Chris was going to have a brother or sister.

"I guess we should be happy tonight wasn't opening night, huh?" Eddie mumbled quietly against her lips, barely pulling back enough to speak before he devoured her lips again.

At least (Y/n) had already had two weeks worth of performing this new play. It wasn't opening night that had gone horribly wrong and she had had the chance to perform as Juliet. Now she was going to have to take a step back. Maybe she could get away with one or two more performances before she had to stop when her bump started to show.

"Hm. So you're happy?"

"Are you kidding? Wait 'til I tell the team."

#eddie diaz imagine #eddie diaz x reader #eddie x reader #eddie diaz #imagine #911 imagine #pregnant! reader #evan buckley #bobby nash

491 notes · View notes

eilidh-eternal · 4 months

Text

Hmmm, how about some Little Red Riding Hood reader and Big Bad wolf-shifter Price???

18+ MDNI | This is a DARK FIC | cw: blood, drowning, predator and prey dynamics

You heard drowning is quick. Painless.

Whoever said that has never drowned before.

In the bleak midwinter, when water turns to stone, the blades beneath your feet find fissures and fractures and carve a place for you in the dark depths beneath the ice.

Falling through ice feels a lot like stepping beyond the warmth of one’s home into the howling, biting wind of a winter storm. It hurts, for a moment, before it numbs you. Right down to the bones. But this is an all encompassing numbness, the kind that seeps through fabric and flesh and bone—that kind that floods burning lungs and creeps into your mind.

Layers of winter garb, thermals, sweater, down coat and jeans, all soak up the frigid water and turn to a leaden weight on your body. You kick, claw at the fading sliver of caustic light, but it slips through your fingers like the rest of the water does—flickers and wavers at the disturbance. A sick parting wave as you sink further and further beyond reach. Beyond saving.

The burning in your lungs from the cold is a thousand times worse when you suck in nothing but water, unable to fight the instinct to draw breath 10 feet below the surface. Thrashing against the frigid clutches of the frozen lake is meaningless. A foolish final attempt to fight for life above the surface, to save yourself from a watery grave.

Another burning breath.

More gelid water to fill your lungs.

Another.

The world grows darker. Maybe it’s because the light at the surface is so, so far away now. Maybe it’s your body succumbing to its fate.

One.

Final.

Breath.

Everything hurts. Glacial waters are good at numbing one’s pain in their final moments, but millions of crystallized frozen droplets feel like they’re slicing into your skin as you cough and splutter, heaving up lungfuls of water and bile. Trying to roll, to wretch onto the frozen ground packed with snow to spare your clothes, is a moot point. You’re already soaked.

The whipping wind off the frozen lake is likely to fuse the fabric to your skin too, and the longer you lay here the quicker frostbite, and hypothermia, will set in. You need to get up. Get up and get moving, or whatever miracle that dragged you from the water will be squandered.

Lifting your head is a monumental effort. It throbs, feels like a ton of bricks, and the cold stiffness that’s settled in your bones creaks and pops as you go, until you can see your bare toes, already turning a dangerous hue in the cold. You linger on that.

Bare feet.

No skates.

No thick wool socks.

An unfamiliar jacket draped over your shivering body like a blanket.

Pushing through the ache in your muscles and the cramping from the cold, you manage to get yourself upright and you quickly pull the collar of the jacket closer to you as a gale of wind barrels into you, plastering wet strands of hair to your face. A shuddering intake of breath fills your nose with the scent of pine and musk. Not the synthetic kind you find concentrated in pretty bottles on a perfumers shelf at the department store. Something wild and incapable of being replicated.

There’s a pile of discarded clothing, a man’s by the look of the enormous boots, flannel shirt and canvas work pants, and tracks in the snow leading away from you into the forest. Wherever they came from, and wherever they’ve gone to, is your best chance at finding warmth.

But wait… Someone had saved you, given you their jacket, stripped, and then left? Maybe they’d stripped down before they’d jumped in, no heavy clothes to weigh them down in the water. They look dry, and that’s motivation enough for you to maneuver stiff, frozen limbs through the snow to get to them.

When you twist to drag yourself closer pain slices from your hip up to your ribs and you suck in a sharp breath that comes out in a strangled moan and a cloud of air in front of your face. Peeling away the jacket reveals the tattered thermal that clings to your skin, grey fabric stained a deep crimson where blood seeps from a gash in your side, dripping onto the snow beneath you.

Fuck. Must have clipped the ice on the way down…

Gritting your teeth against the searing pain that radiates from the wound you manage to reach the clothes, dry by some miracle, and strip down as quickly and carefully as you can. Waterlogged jeans are traded for canvas that still feels warm despite laying in the snow for god knows how long, bloodstained and torn thermal for thick flannel, and you waste little time slipping on the socks and boots, lacing them extra tight. It’s all big, you practically swim in it, but you won’t complain about a little extra fabric to bundle up with inside the similarly large jacket.

Getting to your feet feels like twisting a knife in your side, and you take gasping breaths as you push off your knees, bite down on a whimper when you finally get your feet under you and a fresh wave of pain lances through torn muscle. But you’re up. You have dry clothes.

Someone pulled you out of the water. You’re still here.

Bleeding.

Breathing.

Alive.

Trudging through the snow in boots nearly twice the size of your feet slows you down even more than the shin deep drifts, and you have to stop frequently to take a break, to let the pain subside. Blood has begun to seep into the flannel, fabric clinging to your skin beneath the coat, and it drips, stains the beige fabric at your hips, and splatters onto the snow. A trail of blood left like breadcrumbs as you follow the tracks between towering pines.

It would seem your streak of luck has run its course though. The tracks have vanished, come to an abrupt halt in the middle of the forest.

Panic creeps up on you like a prowling wolf, slinking up your spine and lunging, sinking claws and teeth into your terror-stricken mind.

No, no, no! This was supposed to be your way out, dammit!

You twist around, looking for more tracks in the snow, wincing against the stinging pain in your side, and a scream bubbles up in your throat when you find none.

How the fuck do tracks just disappear?!

Gripped tight by the claws of panic your mind reels with worst case scenarios. Blizzards. Hypothermia. Frostbite. Too busy spiraling to notice the very real threat that stands at your back.

A snarl carries on the wind like a knife, slices through the air and buries itself in your back where the hairs stand on end, every single one from your nape to the tips of your fingers.

A low growl, closer this time, sends a shudder down your spine. But you haven’t come all this way, survived this long, just to tuck tail, curl up and accept defeat. So you steel your spine, ball your hands into fists, and turn to face whatever predator has no doubt followed your crimson trail advertising your weakened state.

A wounded little fawn, separated from its herd. Easy prey.

You may be brave enough to face the thing that’s hunted you down, but it doesn’t stop your eyes from widening, doesn’t stop the fresh wave of panic that courses through your chilled veins and drains the blood from your face, when you’re face to face with the massive fucking wolf ten meters away, golden eyes narrowed with a single-minded focus.

His hunt is over. All that’s left is the killing blow.

Part 2>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

520 notes · View notes

brummiereader · 8 months

Text

MASTERLIST

Hopelessly Devoted (PART ONE)

Summary: A flashback to when you and Tommy were young, carefree and smitten with one another plays out in your head as you sit alone in the Garrison, watching him now in the arms of another woman whilst you desperately hold onto the love you still have for him. Does Tommy share the same sentiments or has his bitterness towards you stained the love he claims he no long has for you?

Warnings: Language, angst, fluff, mutual pining

Authors note: Inspired by the song "Hopelessly Devoted" by Olivia Newton-John. RIP sweet angel.

"We're bloody late again!" your mother muttered under her breath as she hurried up the church steps holding onto her hat from the bitter January wind whilst you are your little brother George, lovingly known as Georgie walked behind her. "Ten minutes until we leave I said" she huffed turning around, scowling at you as you rolled your eyes in response. "Ten minutes! In the time it took for you to put your dress on I had swept the porch and gotten your brother ready. Why did you give me such an unruly child?" she said looking up to the heavens expecting some sort of response. "Out all hours gallivanting about with those Shelby boys, never listening to a word I say. I'm being punished aren't I, for the sins of her father...the bloody fool he was, drinking himself to an early grave, leaving me here to fend for myself with two kids..." she carried on as you held your little brothers hand, a small sigh leaving his mouth as he looked up at you, shaking his head at your mother's relentless rambling. " Y/N let me look at you. Bloody hell child, you look a state!" she frowned as she turned to face you at the top of the steps.

"Can you just stop" you said trying to move her hands away as she pushed your hair back behind your ears, pinching your cheeks to give them a rosy glow. "Look at your dress..." she huffed as she straightened the bottom out, pulling at the frilly pink fabric whilst your little brother reached up to open the church door. "Stay still!" she said as you started fidgeting away from her hands, her overbearing mothering making you feel like you was eight years old again.

" For god's sake I'm not a kid!" you replied rather loudly when the doors fully opened and everyone in their seats turned around to look at the commotion. "Shit" you mumbled under your breath as you looked to the sea of eyes now staring back at you, the loud bang of the church door slamming against the brick wall startling you as your little brother giggled in amusement.

" Bloody Walk Y/N" your mother said through gritted teeth behind you as she took her and George's hat off. Smiling graciously left to right at the people seated along the outer rows your mother politely mouthed small hellos and good mornings as all three of you made your way down the aisle, her normal vocabulary filled with a plethora of her favourite profanities not once leaving her lips. Turning your head you quickly spotted Tommy sitting next to his family with a huge grin on his face, loving every second of the embarrassment he knew you was enduring. As the sound of your heels on the stone floor echoed loudly through the church, your entrance now the focus point of everyone's attention, you finally reached the alter with the Reverend stood beside it. You could almost feel the laughter Tommy and Arthur were holding back as your mother pushed you forward to bow. With a grunt leaving your throat you lowered your head, a small mischievous glint in your eye at the sudden, yet stupid idea to prove to your mother how unruly of a child you really was.

" Forgive me father for I have sinned, it has been mere hours since I last pissed my mother off..." You said dramatically as your mother's eyes widened in embarrassment a gasp leaving her mouth as she grabbed you by the arm and span you back around, all while apologising profusely to the Priest now shaking his head at her. Oh the shame, the humiliation, she would never live this down. The gossip she would have to endure for months in the women's wash house was a fair consolation for her making you wear this god awful dress you proudly thought to yourself as you walked to find a seat. Sighing the Reverend lowered his eye as he turned the page of his sermon, longing to be appointed somewhere, anywhere out of Small Heath. No number of hail Mary's could save this sinful town. As you walked down the aisle the sudden sound of Tommy and Arthur laughing had you biting your inner cheek holding back your own amusement as you watched Polly snap her head in their direction.

" Shut up" Polly whispered as she reached over hitting each of them in the chest. "Bloody kids" she mouthed sympathetically to your mother as you all walked by.

" Girlfriend finally made it" Arthur whispered in Tommy's ear, knowing full well how smitten he was with you.

" Shes not my girlfriend, shut it" he muttered under his breath as you sent him a small wave which he quickly returned.

" Hi ya" Arthur laughed mocking him.

" Fuck off Arthur" Tommy replied as he elbowed him in the ribs leaving him wincing in pain.

" I'll let you have that one baby brother" he laughed rubbing his side.

" No fucking swearing in church!" Polly said quietly through gritted teeth as she hit the back of Tommy's head. It was always an eventful service when the Shelby's attended, which made you wonder what they had done to have their Aunt force them this time.

Walking out into the fresh air, free from the stuffy confines of the church you pushed back your hair behind your shoulders folding your arms as you faced the sun. Closing your eyes you sighed as the rays of light beamed onto your skin. With summer still a long way off you was enjoying the rare event in which the sun broke through the smoke filled skies of Small Heath. That was until you felt the warmth disappear and a large shadow take it's place. Opening your eyes you was met with Tommy Shelby standing right in front of you, a cigarette precariously hanging on the corner of his mouth, grinning from ear to ear.

" Get out the way you're blocking the sun" you said as you pushed him to the side closing your eyes again.

" Hmm, you are looking rather pasty"

" Thanks Thomas, you really know how to compliment a lady" you said taking the cigarette out his mouth as you walked over to sit on the brick wall just outside the church.

"Lady?" Tommy laughed as he sent you a cheeky smile." Nice dress by the way. You look like a flower girl"

" Shut up" you said playfully hitting his arm in response, hating everything about the overly embroidered puffy dress you were begrudgingly wearing. " Have you seen yourself?" you smirked looking down at his outfit "Think your Aunt needs to shorten those" you laughed as you nodded to the ends of his trousers bunched up around his boots.

" They're Arthur's hand-me-downs, the lanky git" he said kicking a stone on the ground that you both watched roll into the road.

" So what did you do this time to end up here on a Sunday morning?" You asked as you turned your head to face him.

" Aunt Pol found out Arthur stole one of the candelabras from the Reverends study. Convinced himself it was solid gold, you should have seen his face when we melted it down in Charlie's yard and it was copper" Tommy laughed as he looked back at you. " Polly was furious said he had sinned enough for the whole house and we were all damned to hell if we didn't come today" he explained further as his eyes lingered on your face, watching the way your nose scrunched up as you laughed, a sight he never got tired of. " So you coming later?" he asked leaning into you as he took his cigarette now stained with pink lipstick back from between your fingers, not that he minded.

" No absolutely not. Do you not remember the last time we followed one of Arthur's genius ideas?" you answered folding your arms having already made your mind up.

" He's got a map this time. Come on it will be fun" he said nudging his arm against yours.

" A map to what?"

" To where this rich fuck has all his liquor stored"

"Can I come?" John said running up to you both after overhearing the conversation, poking his brothers knee with a stick in attempt to get his attention which Tommy quickly put a stop to by giving him a kick in the shin.

" No, fuck off " Tommy said pushing him away from in front of him as John stormed off crying in search of his Aunt. " So how about it? "

" Fine, but only because it's your birthday tomorrow" you said giving in as you both smiled to eachother. "But this better be fool proof. I can't risk getting in trouble with my mum again, she's a few breaths away from kicking me out"

" That's alright, you can come live with me" he said winking to you as you looked up at him through your lashes, blushing a darker shade of pink than your dress." We'll come by to get you at eleven, don't be late ok? "

" I'm never late" you responded as Tommy rolled his eyes flicking his cigarette onto the ground. If there was one thing he had learnt over the years it was that you was always late.

" Thomas Michael Shelby! " Polly shouted as she stormed over to you both, dragging John with her by the arm.

"Shit. Right I'm off" Tommy said quickly pecking your cheek as he jumped over the wall running away from his Aunt. Bringing your hand up to your face you pressed your fingers to your skin, a smile dancing on your lips as you turned around to watch Tommy run into the back alleys of Small Heath, fleeing from the fury coming his way. Thomas Michael Shelby your best friend, your partner in crime and also the boy you had been head over heels for as long as you could remember. What a sorry story your limited love life had already been, endlessly pining for a boy you had convinced yourself only saw you as a friend, desperately hoping he felt the same.

It was just after noon when you Tommy and Arthur made your way over the wooden fencing onto the large mansions land. Having never once left the city limits in all of your eighteen years of life you was taken aback by the sheer size of the house in front of you. Surrounded by luscious green grass, rows of trees adorning its drive way, you was sure it was something only seen in films, a far cry from the mud and dirt of Small Heath.

" Give me the map" Tommy said as Arthur handed it to him whilst he looked over the brick wall separating you and the owner who was outside sitting in a garden chair.

"Arthur he has a dog. A mean looking thing" you said as Tommy stood beside you squinting at the map in his hand.

"Yeh well, he would have still been out with that dog hunting, but you were late" Tommy interjected with a smile on his face, having been right about your constant tardiness.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist Y/N, I've been coming here every day for the past week feeding him leftovers, he likes me. He won't make a peep " Arthur said trying to reassure you as you rolled your eyes at him knowing anything the eldest Shelby said was not to be trusted and far from the actual truth.

" Jesus Christ Arthur" Tommy said throwing the map at his brothers chest. " This is a fucking map for a house in London!"

" Ay?" Arthur said as he straightened it out in front of him. " Where's it say that? " he asked as Tommy snatched it back from him pointing at the words "London" written right underneath the name of the house.

" Well how was I supposed to bloody know. They should have put it at the very top"

" It's in fucking capitals Arthur, how can you not..."

" Right I'm going home" you said as the two brothers continued to argue. As always Arthur's ideas were never properly thought out, often getting you in trouble more than anything else.

" Wait Y/N no, come on stay" Tommy said as he looked back to his older brother widening his eyes in gesture to help him convince you not to leave.

" Y/N " Arthur said as he put his arm around your shoulder. " We're at the back entrance. He probably keeps it down in the basement, it won't be far. You're the only one small enough to shimmy through the window to open the lock on the other side. Come on, dont let us down, it's Tom's birthday tomorrow. "

" Fine. But if I put another ladder in my stockings you're paying for a new pair" you said pointing to him as Arthur placed a wooden crate below the window for you to stand on.

"Atta girl" Arthur said as he turned his head around winking to Tommy as you climbed through the window, quickly making in through to the other side. Pushing past his brother, Tommy went to open the door when the dog Arthur promised wouldn't bark suddenly started to do exactly that.

" Hey! Who's there?" the owner said as you all ran into the house. " Get 'em boy" he shouted as his dog came charging round the corner into the building.

" Fucking traitor! After all the food I gave you" Arthur shouted as you all ran down the hall, making your way up to the second level.

" What did you feed him with?" you asked breathlessly as you ran beside them, Tommy's hand resting on your back making sure you didn't get left behind.

"Sprouts"

"Sprouts!" You and Tommy both shouted looking back at him.

" It's all we had"

" No wonder he bloody hates you" Tommy said as all three of you came to a stop behind a wall waiting for a maid to walk by.

" Sniff them out" the owner said as you heard the sound of the dogs nails clicking on the wooden floorboards, getting closer by the second.

" Shiiit, run! Hide! Arthur giggled as you legged it down one of the second floor corridors, Tommy quickly pulling you into a small storage room to the side as Arthur continued to run down the hall. Breathless, you both looked up at eachother as a fit of laughs left your lips. Bringing his finger up to his mouth Tommy gestured for you to be quiet as the sound of the owner walking along the corridor quickly brought your giggles to a stop. Taking in your surroundings you suddenly realised how close you were to eachother. Cardboard boxes were stacked as high as the ceiling all around you, there was barely enough space for one person let alone two.

" Is he gone?" you whispered to which Tommy nodded, his eyes looking over you as he too started to realise how close you were to one another." You're taking all the space" you said trying to free yourself from the uncomfortable position you was in.

" Y/N my backs pushed up against the door. I don't have any more room to move" he said as you huffed in response moving your arm that was stuck between you to the side. Silence fell upon the small room as you continued to fidget in place whilst Tommy cleared his throat, his eyes darting between you and the surrounding boxes.

" What? Why do you keep looking at me like that" you said with a thrown on your face.

" I'm not looking at you like anything" Tommy replied as he quickly glanced away. With your focus now elsewhere, Tommy's eyes drifted down to both of your bodies pressed up against eachother, biting his inner cheek in attempt to rid himself of all the thoughts going through his mind. Taking in every delicate feature of your face, Tommy felt his heart quicken as he continued to stare down at you. God you were beautiful, he had been wanting to tell you those very words for years, wanted to ask you out, tell you how he felt. But unlike his old brother who seemed to have endless amounts of confidence when it came to girls, Tommy never found the courage to make a move. Instead he begrudgingly tormented himself, watching all the boys of Small Heath try their luck with you.

" You're doing it again, stop it!" you said squinting your eyes as you looked up to see him still staring down at you. " You're making me nervous"

" What else am I supposed to look at, you're right in front of me " he said with a small sigh. Just ask her you idiot, he thought to himself as he peered at you in the corner of his eye.

" Y/N erm, I was wondering..." he started to say when you grabbed his hand your eyes widening in a panic.

" Shh. Did you hear that?" You said as you looked behind him to the door.

" Its just a window blowing open" he replied as he glanced down at your hand still holding onto his. Throwing his head back Tommy shook his head, frustrated that the moment he had finally found the courage to ask you out you had cut him off. Bringing his eyes back down to look at you, Tommy took a deep breath. If he couldn't say how he felt he would show it. What was the worse that could happen?

" Fuck it" he said as he cupped your cheeks crashing his lips onto yours. For a brief moment you resisted taken by surprise at Tommy's unexpected move until your whole body finally relaxed and you quickly melted into the kiss. There was no technique to it, wet, messy, all tongues and teeth. But as your lips interlocked you felt a flutter of butterflies fill your stomach, your hands finding their way to his shoulders as Tommy enthusiastically pushed you back the few centimeters remaining between you and the wall behind you.

" Owh" you said as your head hit the wall, the thump loud enough for anyone to hear.

" Shit, sorry" Tommy said as a small giggle escaped your mouth at his overly keen display. Pressing your lips back onto his the kiss was smoother, a small whimper leaving your throat as his tongue brushed over yours. Moaning, Tommy's hand dropped from your waist to your leg as his fingers travelled under you skirt grazing over your suspenders. Things were getting heated, very heated.

" Wait, Tommy I've, i'm a.."

" Fuck sorry, I wasn't trying to" Tommy awkwardly said cutting you and himself off. " Wait, you're a Virgin?" he asked with a small smile etched on the corner of his lips his brows slightly raised.

" Why do you look so surprised? " you answered back, your whole face scrunched up in annoyance.

" No nothing. It's just I didn't think you was...you know" he replied unable to formulate his own words.

" Oh and you're not? You really think I believed that ridiculous story you told us all last summer about how you gave Irene five orgasms in ten minutes" you scoffed with a laugh as Tommy's cheeks suddenly went a crimson shade of red, his hands dropping from your waist.

" Jesus...thanks Y/N" Tommy said looking away with a huff unable to physically move away from the embarrassment surrounding him.

" Slightly exaggerated don't you think? " you giggled as Tommy looked back at you, his hands now on his hips.

" You done?" he huffed as you bit your bottom lip trying to hold back the laugh that was seconds away from escaping. As Tommy pressed his lips back onto yours the small giggle unable to contain itself finally broke free.

" Stop it, I'm trying to concentrate" he said smiling into your lips as he continued to kiss you, his hands roaming over the curves of your body when the door suddenly flew open.

" Oi oi, what's going on in here then? " Arthur said grinning at you both as you let go of eachother. Rolling your eyes you walked out the small room pushing past him the box of whisky and leg of ham he was holding. "Get to second base baby brother?" Arthur sniggered as Tommy thumped him in the arm.

" Fuck off Arthur" Tommy pouted leaving the room and his older brother in fits of laughter. Both barely out the door, your eyes widened as the owner and his dog turned the corner.

" You little bastards. I've seen your faces. I know who you are! You're those trouble making Shelby boys. And look, you've brought your little whore with you, that dead drunk idiot's daughter. How did you petty little thieves make it out of Small Heath, steal a car?"

" Hey! Nobody gets to call her a whore but us" Arthur warned the owner pointing his finger at him as Tommy protectively pushed you behind him. Now in a stand-off between the owner and his drooling dog growling at you, you watched as he unclasped the large metal chain from the dogs collar.

" Go on boy get 'em!" he commanded when Tommy grabbed the leg of ham out the crate in Arthur's arms, launching it in the dog's direction.

" My bloody ham!" Arthur said, furious his dinner had been tossed to the the very dog he felt had betrayed him.

" Run!" Tommy shouted as you all turned around.

" I'm calling the police!"

" Thanks for the whisky old man" Arthur laughed running down the stairs as you and Tommy followed behind him, mentally noting never to follow one of Arthur's ideas again.

Several hours had passed and you Tommy, Arthur and a girl he had picked up along the way were sitting around a campfire in the local woods where Arthur and Tommy's families two vardos were, sipping on the finest whisky you had ever tasted. You couldn't remember the amount of times they had brought you out here to camp, taking you away for a brief moment from the smoke filled air, from the memories of your father that hung over you thicker than any fogged filled skies, a grief you wouldn't have made it through without them. As you sat looking at the flames of the fire mesmerised by their orange glow Tommy glanced over to you, watching the flickering lights from the campfire cast a golden hue on your skin, desperate to be alone with you again, the kiss you shared earlier repeatedly playing out in his head.

" Come on love, let's leave them to it" Arthur said standing up taking his dates hand after noticing his brother staring at you. " See you in the morning" Arthur winked back to Tommy opening the small caravan door, squeezing the girls bum as they both entered. " If the caravan be rocking, don't come a knocking!" Arthur laughed as he shut the door leaving you alone with Tommy.

" Dickhead" Tommy mumbled under his breath as you looked away, biting your bottom lip at how awkward Arthur had suddenly made everything. "It's getting late" you said standing up as you brushed the mud and twigs off your skirt looking back at the other vardo.

" I'll sleep out here" Tommy said as he sat up throwing another log onto the fire.

" You can't sleep out here, you'll freeze to death. Come on, it's not like we've never slept in the same bed" you said only just realising how different this time would be.

" Right, yeh...ok" Tommy said clearing his throat as he stood up.

As you settled into the small bed you watched as Tommy took of his hat and coat, your heart rapidly beating as nerves started to mount in your stomach. Climbing under the covers Tommy turned to face you, his fingers coming up to brush the strands of hair away from your face. Leaning into eachother, both of you turned your head in the same direction, awkwardly banging your foreheads together, resulting in a fit of laughs leaving your lips as Tommy shook his head at you. It was quite possible you were the giggliest girl he had ever met. Relaxing you recomposed yourself as Tommy pressed his lips to yours in a tender embrace. As his hand moved to your lower back, pressing your body closer to his your breath hitched in you throat, nerves now consuming every movement you made. Pulling away Tommy rubbed his thumb over your hip, in an effort to help you relax.

" Let's just lay here together, yeh?" he said taking the pressure away from you, not wanting to rush you into anything you wasn't ready for you as you nodded your head, thankful for his understanding nature. Rolling onto his back Tommy brought you closer into his side as he stroked up and down your arm, happy to finally have you in his arms.

" I nearly forgot" you said as you sat up leaning across him to pick up your coat.

" Happy Birthday" you said pulling out a small gift wrapped in cloth.

" My birthdays not until tomorrow " he chuckled as he sat up.

" It will be in ten minutes" you said as you looked down at your watch, quickly returning your eyes to him pulling out a gold pocket watch from within the delicate fabric.

" Jesus Y/N...you got this for me, how? " he said with a huge grin on his face as he looked to you.

" All those hours pressing clothes. Took me almost a year to be able to afford it"

"Come here" he said bringing you into a hug as you settled back down into the bed together." Thank you" he added as he pressed a kiss to your forehead feeling happier than any win he had ever won at the races.

With his arm securely wrapped around you Tommy couldn't stop the smile on his face as he looked down at the watch in his hand, it was nicest thing he owned and the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him. Glancing at your wristwatch, Tommy turned the dials to the right time, when you took it from him turning it back a further five minutes.

" It's five minutes too late" he said watching you press the knob down.

" That way I'll always be on time for you" you giggled handing it back as Tommy chuckled shaking his head.

" Yeh just means I won't be on time for anything" he smiled closing the watch, keeping it tightly clasped in his hand as you nuzzled your head into his chest.

" Tommy?"

" Mm-hm?" he said as his eyes were about to close.

" What do you think we'll be doing this time ten years from now"

" The same thing" he smiled as his thumb rubbed over the curve of your shoulder. "Only naked" he said as he opened one eye looking to you.

" Tommy!" You said, giving him a small punch to the arm. " I'm serious, what do you think we'll be doing?"

" The same thing Y/N" he said with certainty as he tuned his head to face you. " You'll be in my arms every night from now on, that's a promise" he said as he looked lovingly back at you before giving you one last peck to the lips as you both closed your eyes, dreaming of the future and everything coming your way. Even though you were both young with your whole lives ahead of you one thing was for certain, in that moment you had no doubts that you wouldn't spend the rest of your lives together and every night in each others arms.

Ten years later...

Laughs and chatter of people enjoying eachothers company hummed around you as you sat quietly in the corner of the Garrison, the drink in your hand untouched as the night you and Tommy spent together this time ten years ago asleep in each others arms cruelly played out in your head. As a tear fell from your eye you looked up across the room to see the new barmaid sat tightly against Tommy's body, his arm resting around her shoulders. Tonight it wouldn't be you wrapped in his arms, tonight you would sleep alone as regret over decisions you had made weighed down your already broken heart. Standing up from your seat Tommy's eyes quickly darted to you, watching you pull your coat around you as you brushed the tears from your face, leaving the Garrison in a hurry unable to withstand anymore.

Clutching your coat around you from the cold night air you pushed the last tears from your cheeks as the pain in your heart dug further into your chest.

" Y/N" you heard your name being called by the very man you didn't want to see you like this.

"Yes Tommy" you said turning around as he waited at the Garrison door.

" I need you to go finish those papers at the betting shop for tomorrow" he said lighting a cigarette as he stepped a little closer.

" It's nearly midnight..." you replied as you watched him pull out his pocket watch to check the time. Quickly closing it Tommy clutched it tightly in his hand as he looked back at you. For a brief moment that's all he did as if the memories of that night had suddenly come flooding back to him. Maybe they had never left, and Tommy's heart was aching as much of yours, either way you could never tell, for just as quickly as his face softened for those brief few moments his demeanor abruptly changed, a scowl now spread across his face.

" The deadlines tomorrow " he said sharply looking to you as you shivered in the cold, your eyes red from crying.

" Ok Tommy" you said like you always did, at his beck and call night and day, desperately hanging onto the love you still felt for him. Without saying another word you turned on your heel heading for Watery Lane.

" You not going to wish me a happy birthday then?" Tommy called out as he watched you walk away.

" Happy birthday Tommy" you replied, the words catching in your throat, tears streaming down your face as you walked briskly off into the night. So much had changed over the years, so many promises broken, hearts broken along with them. But yet you still held on, hopelessly devoted to the man who promised to hold you in his arms every night.

NEXT PART

Tag list: @cosniffee @jonsncws @powellssaturn @jessimay89 @bruher @riseandreigns4u @mariaelizabeth21-blog1

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #hopelessly devoted

897 notes · View notes

titan-senpai · 3 months

Note

Hiii I was wondering if you could do Valentino x reader, where someone is getting a little bit too close to Valentino for readers liking so when he's busy doing something else reader deals with that demon. Have a good day

[Hello! Thank you for requesting! i loved your idea. I hope you have a good day too anon!]

[Warning: Alchohol, Blood, Smoking, Toxic relationship]

A night out with your mans goes horribly wrong as your seeing red.

Stepping out the car Valentino holding the door open, " You look marvelous my dear." He smiled as cameras flashed around us.

I stood up wearing a skin tight black dress with white leather straps around my chest, a fur coat that matches Valentino's white coat with hearts, black christian Louboutin heels. "Thank you dear" I smiled as my lips now covered in a dark red shade curled upwards, as Valentino led us inside his Club.

Walking to our reserved seats as he sat down I put my coat down as I sat next to him crossing my legs smiling as he lit a cigarette to smoke. "Welcome Valentino, Anything i can start you guys with?" A bartender wearing a uniform asked us. "We'll do the usual '' He exhaled putting his hands around my waist.

I decided to stand up " Where are you going doll?" He asked as i looked at him. "Nowhere" i smiled as i sat on his lap " Thats what i thought" He inhaled another puff as he forced my lips onto his exhaling his smoke into me passionately making out right there.

FInally i caught my breath smiling as I kissed his cheek leaving a dark red kiss mark. " You're mine." I smiled at the mark on his cheek. "And you're mine." He puts his hands on my thighs.

" Here are your drinks" The bartender came back, placing 2 pink drinks with a passion fruit on the glass. " I'm going to the bathroom" I said , kissing his cheek again, standing up fixing my dress as I blew a kiss and walked to the bathroom.

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

Before I walked out the bathroom I sprayed his favorite perfume pushing the door open to see a girl sitting next to him with her hands on my man. I stood there waiting to see how it would end. She took a look at my drink and drank it with her pink lipstick now on it. My eyes were seeing red. I stormed there smiling politely " Hi, can i speak to you for a second ma'am " I smiled so innocently "of course dear." the blonde woman stood up drunk from one drink. " I'll be right back dear." I waved to Valentino as I led her to the backroom of the club.

closing the door shut. "What did you wa-" before she could finish her sentence I slapped her with my purse " You desperate piece of shit" I gave her a fist to her face smudging her pink lipstick " You are really a desperate cock whore aren't you. "I grabbed her by her neck pushing her against the brick wall. '' Do you even know who I even am." My pupils turn red and my hair flies up, the blonde bimbo starts choking.

As I came to my senses I didn't want to kill her. I wanted to make her suffer. "Do you know who i am" I asked again letting go of her throat throwing her to the floor. "I don't know- I'm sorry" she cried as she tried to crawl away.

" I am Y/N His motherfucking Girlfriend if you come near him ever again." I walked towards her, my heels clanking on the stone floor. i Bent down, lighting a cigarette exhaling in her face. " You won't see another day." I looked at her with a toothy grin, scaring her away. as i stood up kicking her in the face one more time. Breaking her nose.

" You better run bitch" I turned around to the door again walking inside not wanting to deal with this mess, fixing myself as I walked to Valentino " welcome back doll..." He smiled as he patted the seat next to him, I sat on his lap instead looking for comfort. " You wont leave me right?" I leaned into his neck inhaling his cologne as he held me tight " No doll, I won't leave you" He smiled as he saw the blood on my heels.

grabbing a tissue as he wiped the blood off my heels "You made a mess didn't you?" He asked as he kept cleaning them. I nodded in his neck as I couldn't face him. " That's my girl" He held me closer to him as I whispered into his ears. " You know.. all this got me horny tonight." I smiled running my hand across his chest and to his stomach. "Let's go shall we." he said holding me in his arms as he walked outside.

"Let's go home, my doll..."

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

Enjoying my content? Check out my works here! [ ]

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

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino #valentino x reader #hazbin hotel valentino x reader #x reader #helluva boss #helluva boss x reader

455 notes · View notes

iaure · 11 months

Text

𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔰, 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭

𝖞𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖒𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖑 𝖔❜𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆 𝖝 𝖋𝖊𝖒!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 1: 𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔶; 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 3: 𝔦 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔨, 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 4: 𝔰𝔞𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴

CW: description of family death, ptsd, stalking, harassment, obsession. Written in the third person. Use of Y/N. Y/N acts as a mom/sister to the four teens. This mostly establishes her relationship with other characters.

Spoilers for Spider-Man: Across The Spiderverse.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ not quite sure how i feel about this one Ꮚ≡д≡Ꮚ it's very filler-y and explaining some of the mental process Y/N went through, but it's okay! it's a stepping stone to miguel confessing! we'll get there! ✩ᏊꈍꈊꈍᏊ the new updates tag is also #୨♡୧ gothic updates because of the font i'm using for the titles!

wc: 1.9k

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗻❜𝘁 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗱𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗮𝗿𝗺𝘀.

Y/N wondered what it was like. When her brother leapt to save the child from a falling building, he refused to look at her. They hadn't spoken in years, estranged because they lost sight of when they were kids. Separated by family politics. They hadn't spoken in years. And he knew Y/N was Spider-Woman. He knew, and when she tried to stop him, he just...tore away. Said he wasn't a child, said that he didn't need her help.

He, very evidently, did.

Y/N didn't get the chance to see his body. He was carted away too soon, and the child was rushed into her arms, a little thing sobbing.

That day, Y/N found out she had a soft spot for kids.

Y/N previously had lived her life as normally as possible. She worked as a manager for some joint she never really cared for and did her job as Spider-Woman as quickly as possible. It became a running joke that she never really 'cared'. Well, duh, she cared, or else she wouldn't do it, but she was quite...lackadaisical. Nothing so jarring human death had occurred to her aside from her uncle's death, but it was far easier to get over him. She found out six hours later that this was something called a 'canon event'; things that are impossible to stop, like earth-shattering trains. All you could do was lay on the tracks as comfortable as possible. The woman that told her was good. Beautiful. Heavily pregnant. Surprisingly quick on her feet for being (aforementionedly) pregnant. And she said she was Spider-Woman, too. It took a second for Y/N to process it. But the woman, Jess, was cool, and to be frank, Y/N wasn't too worried. And Jess talked to her about what was effectively an army of Spider-Men, trying to stop anomalies. She asked if Y/N was interested.

It's not like Spider-Woman 7290 had anything better to do, anyway.

The watches were weird, Y/N would admit that. And the tower was like a temptation stairway, to just get lost in and never be found again. The other spiders were kind, waving hello and offering sympathies for her brother. One, a Spider-Moth, kept on bumping into her. It was...funny, to say the least. All had, to some degree, accepted their fates as Spider-Men and Women and Things and Animals and Beasts and everything she could possibly imagine. There was a car, of all things. It was...delightfully absurd, after observing such a hellscape as her brother's death. She was still in her torn Spider-Suit, still bruised with the dirt-marked tear stains down her face. She tried rubbing away what she could, but when Jess shot her a look of concern, she stopped. She didn't need pity. She didn't need worry. She was Spider-Woman. She could do it on her own.

She, very evidently, could not.

Y/N realised that when she saw Miguel. He was massive, built like a brick wall and an upside down triangle with a stare that felt like he was prying her apart at the seams. She tried to match it, but nothing quite felt as harsh as his stare. He seemed downright villainous. If that thing was chasing her, she would've screamed. Y/N was glad he was on the good guy's side. Jess introduced her, and Y/N felt lucky that she was so confident. Spider-Woman 7290 felt like she was shrinking under Spider-Man 2099's gaze. She wanted to run, as stupid as it sounded. Every sense except her spidersense was lighting up, telling her to bolt. The introduction felt like it lasted forever, with how Miguel didn't say a word. And to be frank...it kind of pissed her off. She'd already been through so much that same day. Why did she have to deal with this guy?

"Spider-Woman, from Earth 7290. Also known as Y/N."

Jess said it so matter-of-factly, and Y/N made it a point to look Miguel in the eye. Despite the cold terror that gripped her, she was not going to back down. Who was this guy, even? He reminded her of how her brother was over-confident. Maybe this guy had the past to back it up, but Y/N didn't know that.

And he just stared.

Y/N and Jess shared a look, and Jess put a hand to her shoulder. There was another beat of silence, before Jess cleared her throat. "Miguel? Are you listening?" Miguel seemed to jump, not physically, but mentally, snapping out of whatever haze he was in. He waved a hand, looking away. "Yeah. Sure. Ger her a watch." That wasn't even what Jess had been talking about, and the two women shared a glanced before Y/N looked to Miguel one last time. And he stared at her, as though she were a ghost.

Whatever. Guy was weird. Leave it to a superhero to be weird. He had enough on his plate to let him be a little weird.

Y/N got comfortable in the Spider-Society. She thought it was a stupid name, and she came off a little meaner than most of the other Spiders, but everyone had such similar experiences that it was easy to talk. Pav and Hobie became fast favourites-kids who got dropped in too fast, too soon, and could use some help from someone who gave a damn. Pav didn't seem to quite get it yet, but Hobie did, and Y/N found it easier to try and talk to the two of them than anyone else. Soft spot for kids. More like a soft black hole where if it wasn't those two, she didn't care. Then Gwen showed up, and poor girl needed someone to look after her. Jess cared, clearly, but Gwen needed someone who wasn't so preoccupied with saving the multiverse. Whenever she caught Gwen crying over her father, there was a little bit of rage that built up, because who treats their child like that? What kind of nightmare did Gwen have to go through?

The three started tailing her, following her around. And against all reason...she liked it.

She began prioritising helping them. Jess told her multiple times that they needed to do their own thing, but they were kids. She was about to have a kid! Y/N didn't understand Jess's reasoning all too well, but she wasn't upset, either. Everyone did their own thing. In this case, her thing was taking care of the kids that needed adult supervision. This also meant she had three extra pairs of eyes looking out for her.

Hobie was the first one to notice Miguel. The two of you were out, handing an anomaly (a rogue Doc Ock), when the teen shot you a look. "On your six," He shrugged. "Guess he wanted to watch." Y/N never spun around so fast in her life. She got the barest glance of his neon webs, but nothing more. And the discomfort in her gut began to grow. Pav was next, far less casual about it and positively gushing about it. He thought it was cute, how Miguel 'watched over you'. Something, something, romantic tension. But he went quiet after Y/N said she'd only spoken to Miguel a handful of times. That day, the discomfort was shared.

Little things began to shift around her apartment. Groceries replenished themselves. A Vulture was found beaten so bloody that he turned himself into the hospital, speaking about a Spider that very much wasn't Y/N. Once, her clothes had been washed, folded, and placed on her bed. And Y/N could put up with all of it, if it was just her. But Gwen would stay with her, usually, if she wasn't visiting Hobie or Jess. The apartment was small, but when Gwen walked into the guest bedroom and saw it was tidied up while the two were out, Y/N knew it was an issue. Why Miguel would do something like this was beyond her. He had so much more to take care of than to harass some Spider that he'd only spoken to...what? Four? Five times? Y/N was angry. Couldn't she just live her life? She just wanted to help the kids, beat the bad guys, and go home to relax. Was that a crime? She'd barely looked at him, even. Granted, it was partially because he was still scary as hell. Was he handsome? Sure. But he was so serious all the damn time, and there was the rumour about his dead wife, so Y/N was just pissed.

But whatever. She could put up with it for a while. Just until the next anomaly was figured out: some guy named the Spot.

She'd talked to Jess about putting Gwen on the job. Begged, even. Gwen needed a big break, something for her ego, and Y/N figured some villain of the week ought to do it.

That, evidently, didn't do it.

The situation spun out of hand. Y/N blamed herself, begged Jess to give Gwen some leniency. And thank god, Jess listened. The idea of Gwen suffering because Y/N pushed her in too far, too fast, would eat her alive. But if there was one thing Y/N was curious for, it was meeting Miles Morales. Gwen never stopped talking about him. Was excited as all get out any time he was mentioned. So seeing the young man in the Spider-Society was a treat. He was nice, and it was clear to her that Gwen and Miles cared for one another. How wasn't any of her business, just that they did, and now Miles was encompassed into the small army of children Y/N had amassed.

Which...brought her to this point.

An army of Spiders to her right. An army of Spiders to her left. And the one man army himself to her very front. Y/N was pissed Miguel treated Miles like that. Miles was a child who, god forbid, wanted to save his father. And besides. Miguel had already built up enough bad blood between Y/N and himself, with his little antics. She didn't find it hard to pick sides. Which led her to trying to block off the window Miles leapt out of. Her webs weren't the strongest, but considering it was an active act of treason, she knew she had to act fast. A Spider pinned to the wall there. A Spider dangled from the ceiling there. Buying Miles as much time as possible. The look on his face as he fell...the confusion. The gratitude. Miles had become one of her own, and she was not going to forsake him. But no one can stop Miguel.

He rammed into her, knocking the breath out of her like a bullet the size of Peter Parkedcar. There was a brief moment where Y/N were only spinning, Miguel's arms wrapped around her as she was used as a battering ram against her own webs, flung out the window. Miguel spun back, inexplicably, to place her back in the tower, muttering under his breath in Spanish before he launched himself back out the window.

"¿Por qué me hiciste esto, mi amor?" He had whispered. But she was too far gone. The world was getting hazy, and Y/N had one last thought.

That bought Miles another thirty seconds.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

𓂋

ʚ♡ɞ taglist @neteyamsbulletwound

#spider man 2099 #yandere miguel o'hara x reader #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #divagaciones (per)#yandere miguel updates #୨♡୧ gothic updates

1K notes · View notes

naeverse · 5 months

Text

The Black Rose

🖤 staring: Tattoo Artist Miguel O’Hara x female reader

◽preview:

“Let me taste what this pussy of yours is like and then I'll tattoo that rose on your gorgeous ass.”

🖤 summary:

At The Bloody Inks, the renowned Nueva York tattoo parlor, you meet the skilled, stone-cold and attractive tattoo artist, Miguel O’Hara. Seeking a tantalizing tattoo for your rear end, Miguel isn’t hesitant to get what he wants, especially if it’s a doll like you.

◽tw/cw: Butt Tattoo, Cunninglingus, Dirty Talk, Face-Sitting, Lip piercings Miguel, Needles mentioned, Oral sex, Semi-public, Tattooed Miguel, etc…

🖤 Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Muñeca (Doll), Bebé (Baby)

◽Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

🖤 Word Count: Around 9.6K

(I do not own any of the fanart or photos used! All credit goes to the original artist!)

You were used to getting tattoos, so what made this time any different?

You found yourself pondering that very question repeatedly, as you approached the renowned Nueva York tattoo parlor, 'Bloody Inks.'

Since the age of 18, you've adorned your body with small pieces of inked art, from your ankles to your shoulders. Despite your familiarity with tattoos, today marked a departure from the norm as you contemplated getting a substantial artwork for the first time.

But that wasn't what made you nervous…

It was where you were getting it.

You had a little bet with your friends about your next tattoo, and to your dismay, the idea of a butt tattoo became the central topic.

Secretly desiring one, you were always hesitant due to fears of pain and discomfort on such elastic tissue, the thought of undressing completely from the waist down only added to the nerves.

Yet, here you were, opening the door to the notorious shop…

A bell rang at your arrival along with the crackle of a searing guitar and thunderous drumbeats playing from a speaker. The music’s furious tempo of punk music overwhelmed your senses as you were hit with the smell of ink and antiseptic, and a hint of sandalwood. You stepped inside, your black tennis shoes, on wooden scuffed floors as your eyes roamed the dimly lit lobby before you.

A black leather sofa sat in one corner, a front desk before you, and a few sculptures and decorations covered the worn wooden floors. Despite everything inside, your attention was instantly captured by the gallery of designs that covered the black-brick walls of the tattoo parlor.

There were many sketches and finished pieces that were put on display, an assortment of vibrant colors and intricate details bringing life to the lobby. Mythical creatures, mandalas, floral designs, phrases, and abstract patterns decorated the walls, each one telling a different story and waiting to be chosen and etched onto willing skin.

The counter was empty when you arrived, a soft, dim glow of light hanging from chains on the ceiling cast an amber hue throughout the lobby. You stood patiently at the black desk, fiddling nervously with the bottom of your white t-shirt and pondering if you should go through with this tattoo…

“Oy! We have a customer!”

The loud outburst from a male with a British accent cut through the rather quiet lobby, making you jump. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest whilst you overheard the small conversation between the British male and who sounded like a female coming from further in the tattoo parlor.

“Gwendy, love, I’ve been dealing with the past few customers for a while now. Why not deal with this one, hmm?” The girl responded with a scoff.

“Hobie, you know you haven’t done shit.”

“Ah…you got me there love.” The British guy said with a chuckle. “Well, stop playing around and help the customer.” The girl laughed as you soon heard the sound of heavy footfalls becoming louder and louder. It wasn’t long before the identity of the British male was revealed to you.

The black curtains that separated the lobby from the back of the tattoo parlor opened to unveil an ebony guy with thick black hair and piercings. His hair was styled chaotically on his head, but you had a feeling it was purposeful with the way he carried himself. He had unmistakable confidence and not a care in the world for anyone. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his black jeans, a black t-shirt covering his lean body as his combat boots thudded against the wooden floors.

He came behind the counter, turning his dark brown eyes upon you, instantly making you a little intimidated. “Aye, name’s Hobie, and welcome to the Bloody Inks. Are you here for a piercing or a tattoo, love?” He asked, his slender fingers locating a pen and notepad from his side of the desk.

You chewed your inner cheek, drumming your thumb against the handle of your small bag.

This was your last chance to back out…

To decide to go on with life without the tattoo on your rear or to face your fears and get the beautiful inking.

It wasn’t long before you already had your answer, giving the male before you a small smile. “I’m here for a tattoo.” You said bringing a smile to Hobie’s pierced lips. He glanced down at the notepad, his pen gliding across the page. “Can I see some ID?”

You were used to this question and already had your ID in hand, placing it into the ebony male’s palm. He barely glanced at it before returning it to you. “Nice, have you been to Bloody Ink’s before?” He asked, causing you to bite your lip nervously.

“No, this is my first time.” He looked up at you, his pierced lips pulled back into a smirk. “Ah, great! I’ll make sure the big boss does your tattoo then.” He said with a smile, but you couldn’t help becoming a little more anxious. The boss was going to be the one giving you your tattoo.

The tattoo on your bottom…

You gulped, hoping the male wasn’t scary-looking or a perv.

“O-kay!” Hobie exclaimed, pulling you from your thoughts as he finished writing. “Now, I’ll give you a book to look over the designs whilst the boss finishes up in the back,” Hobie said, pulling a black, hardcover album from under the desk, placing it into your hand, then motioning for you to take a seat on the sofa.

You followed along to his instructions, taking the black book in your hands and moving over to the leather couch where you sat down. Hobie then left, going behind the black curtains and drawing them close once more.

To pass the time and decide upon your tattoo, you look over the many designs inside the book. Each was skillfully sketched by hand and each held their own, unique form of beauty. Your eyes glazed over blazing skulls, graceful elephants, motivating quotes, to lastly land upon a beautiful flower.

You gasped, instinctively reaching out to trace a finger along the intricate lines of the sketch. You could already imagine the rose’s petals on your bottom, sprouting out in full bloom across your right, no… left cheek.

The circular pistil was visible and drawn so full of detail that it felt like it was jumping out at you. A few leaves could be seen peeking out the top of the rose as you felt like this design was for you.

Like it was drawing you in…

…

“Have you decided?”

A deep, husky voice asked inside of the quiet lobby. You jumped in your seat, eyes snapping up to see someone was occupying the counter…

But it wasn’t Hobie…

A tanned male with a muscular, large build was now present. Standing tall and broad, his physique showed proof of his dedication to the wellbeing of his body due to his swell and bulging muscles. His chiseled features were framed by a strong, defined jawline, a sharp nose, and dark smoldering eyes.

His bronze skin held tattoos that were intricately etched on his skin, each design holding a mysterious story across the backs of his hands, on his arms, and even along his chest and neck. They accentuated the contours of his muscles and added even more allure to his already magnetic presence. He placed his hands on the desk, his eyes still trained on you, his taut body dressed in a mere black t-shirt, jeans, and boots, but he made such simple clothes look like it was woven by the gods.

You didn’t know how long you’d been gawking at him in utter shock and disbelief at the magnificence before you. It wasn't until he moved once more, beckoning to you with two inked fingers that you snapped out of your trance.

You gulped, gathered up your bag and the black album, and made your way to the counter.

The closer you got, the more attractive and intimidating he became. His bushy eyebrows were drawn low over his amber eyes and his mouth, holding two ringed piercings on the opposite ends of his lower lip, were pulled into a scowl.

He looked stern, but you pondered if that was just his usual look.

“So have you decided on what piece you wanted?” He asked again, but you were still baffled by how drop-dead gorgeous he was that you almost misheard him once more. “Y-yes.” You stammered, gulping thickly, your finger still holding the page of your desired sketch. He hummed, holding his large hand out to you, motioning to the black book. You complied, placing it open into his palm, the hardcover open to the page of your tattoo choice.

It felt relieving to not have his stern eyes on you anymore, his amber orbs looking at the sketch you’ve chosen in the book. You bit your lip nervously, eyes trained on him whilst he looked over the design before he turned his gaze back up at you. “You know that’s an ass tat, right?” He bluntly asked which made heat rise in the back of your neck.

“Y-Yes, I know.” You replied, causing his eyebrows to rise for a brief second in surprise. “Well…Okay then.” He said, closing the book and holding the page with his thumb. “I’m Miguel, I’ll be your tattoo artist for today.”

Your heart dropped at his words.

You didn’t know to feel excited or nervous as hell, knowing he’d be the one touching you so intimately. “I-It’s nice to meet you.” You replied, giving him a small smile. His eyes lingered on you for a moment too long as he gave you a curt nod, a gesture that hopefully meant, 'You too.'

He motioned with his head to the back of the tattoo parlor, the entrance that was covered in black curtains. “Follow me.” He commanded in a gravelly tone. You gulped, following behind him through the black drapes to venture further into the tattoo parlor.

Instantly when you entered, the smell of ink and antiseptic became more potent, the sounds of the buzzing of the tattoo guns filled your ears along with the playful banter between the two artists from before.

“So Gwendy, you still believe just because you're in your twenties now that you can order me around?” Hobie asked the girl from across the room. She chuckled, looking away from her male client who was getting a skull tattooed onto his leg to over at Hobie. The girl had blonde, wavy hair and black piercings that covered her face. Two studs styled her eyebrow and a hooped one could be seen on her nose.

She smirked at the ebony male. “I didn’t say anything of the sort and stop calling me that. You know my name.” She laughed, eliciting a snort from Hobie. “Aye, but I like Gwendy better than Gwen.”

Miguel groaned in annoyance, looking between the two young artists. “Stop this nonsense and get to work.” He barked at Gwen and Hobie which surprised you, every muscle in his backside tensing up after his outburst. The conversation ceased to be replaced with just Miguel and your footsteps and the buzzing of the tattoo needles, but Miguel’s previous words didn’t seem to affect the two artists’ since after you both left, their conversation started up again.

Miguel grumbled under his breath, his grip on the black album tightening. You walked behind him down the hallway, his tall and broad being completely blocking your view around him. Every time you looked up, you came face to face with his muscular backside that was covered in his black T-shirt that looked to be straining against his musculature.

You clutched your purse while walking down the hallway to watch him enter a room. When you looked over, you saw a name tag on the door that read 'Miguel O'Hara.'

‘This must be his own personal tattoo room.’

You thought, your stomach clenching on cue as you followed him into the room. Your eyes instantly took in the attractive strangers’ workspace, the room you would also be spending the next hour or so in.

The tattoo room seemed to be more grand, more important than the one the two artists’ Gwen and Hobie were in. The walls were decorated, once more, with black and gray masterpieces of artwork, but these were more sci-fi and futuristic than the ones displayed in the lobby.

Spotlights hung from the ceiling carefully positioned to cast a focused radiance upon the vintage leather chair in the center of the room. The space smelled strongly of ink, antiseptic, men's cologne, and…

Smoke.

But not the typical smoke from a fire, more like from tobacco.

You couldn't help but wonder if the fine male smoked. You didn't want to assume or stereotype, but he looked like he would…

Your eyes soon graced over the main attraction of the room, the tattoo chair and station beside it. The seat had a black leather cushion that looked soft and very comfortable. It appeared, overall, brand new as if no one had hardly sat in it. A steel workstation was positioned beside the hot seat, the surface covered in an assortment of tools like a painter’s palette. The main one catching your eye was the needles and the gun.

You gulped, stepping more into the room as Miguel was rummaging through a nearby closet, the sound of metal and items clattering inside. He glanced momentarily over at the flower sketch inside of the black album before returning to get the items he needed.

You’ve learned, so far, that your tattoo artist was a rather quiet man. He barely spoke, and merely did things without providing a reason or explanation. He rummaged through the closet, next to the cabinets of a few counters and then a small chest in the room, trying to find all of the items he needed to, what you can infer, tattoo your desired choice onto your skin.

Your eyes never left him, watching his massive build transverse around the room, moving things, picking things up, putting them to the side all whilst holding an aura of unshakable coldness that dripped from his very being.

It was intimidating, yet alluring, nonetheless.

Once Miguel found the items he needed, he placed them onto the steel workstation.

With the way he was going about things, you would have thought he'd forgotten about your presence; as he was completely engrossed in what he was doing, placing a piece of stencil paper that held the floral design you wanted onto the workstation, along with black ink tubes, napkins, bottles of creams and other things.

However, you couldn’t focus…

You were highly nervous.

You stood nearby, clutching your purse whilst Miguel covered the tattoo chair with a few gray towels, before returning to organizing his workstation, and handling his tattoo gun. His thick, inked gingers deftly glided across the metal tools and inks when he finally looked up at you. You noticed his dark brown eyes roam your figure, meeting your eyes once more as he fiddled with the needles and tattoo gun.

“Which side?” He asked suddenly, placing the gun down on the workstation. You were baffled, confused about what he meant. “W-what?” You stammered, watching him take a seat on a black rolling stool. “You want your tattoo on your bottom, correct?” He asked, causing you to nod at his question. “Then which side?” He inquired once more.

You gulped, biting your lip. You pondered, remembering the artwork of the black rose from the album book and how beautiful it was, briefly deciding with yourself on which side. “O-On the left.” You replied after considering.

He hummed, nodding whilst placing a pair of black latex gloves onto his table.

“Okay, I’m going to need you to undress from the waist down and lay on your stomach.” He directed, pressing a button under the chair with his foot, causing the backing to lean back.

Your heart quickened and your stomach clenched. This was what you were worried about…

The undressing part.

It wasn’t that you had an unattractive body or weren’t familiar with the acts of intimacy, it was the thought of him, a handsome stranger having his stern gaze on your sensitive area.

How he’ll have to be studying your flesh, taking in every curve and dot whilst he worked in etching the beautiful tattoo onto your rear that made you a little reluctant.

You hesitated, clutching your purse once more. Your nervousness started to become palpable as you noticed Miguel looking up at you. He took in your tentativeness, his stern face softening at the sight. He sighed heavily, clenching his jaw as his lip piercings caught in the ceiling light.

“Are you sure about this?” His deep and rough voice filled the quiet room, his movements coming to a halt. You chewed your inner cheek, pondering his question. “Yes…I’m sure.” You replied, causing him to click his tongue. “Then what are all these nerves coming from?” He asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The movement seems to make his pecs more defined against the black fabric.

“I’ve seen you aren’t new to tattoos.” He said, his amber orbs probably taking in the small, tattooed quotes and patterns covering your body in minor spots before meeting your eyes once again. “So what’s the problem?”

You sighed, meeting his eyes.

Strangely, you felt like pouring your heart out to him.

Despite his coldness, you had a feeling whatever you told him would stay in this room…

“I’ve never got a huge piece done before.” You told him, which was partly the truth. Miguel hummed, his gaze on you intense. “That’s it?” You bit your lip anxiously once more, fiddling with the zipper of your purse. “N-No…I guess I’m nervous about…

Undressing.”

You uttered, biting your lip. However, Miguel seemed unfazed, only nodding in understanding.

“What’s your name?” He asked suddenly which made your eyebrows furrow. “Y-Y/N.” You hesitantly replied, bringing a tight-lipped smile to Miguel’s lips. “As you can see. Y/N, for the tattoo you’ve chosen, it’s required that you undress from the waist down.” He said, his amber eyes searching the room before landing on a decoration that sat on a counter.

He stood up, picking up the small porcelain sculpture of a gray woman’s naked body. The piece looked rather small in his massive hands.

“You see here.” He turned the female around, pointing to the left side of the gray sculpture’s plump rear end. “This entire side will need to be revealed for me to work.” He explained, lowering his finger to point underneath the left cheek. “And the tattoo would end underneath the left buttock.” He said, setting the sculpture to the side, and turning his eyes back onto you.

“For other tattoos, I wouldn’t have asked for such things and simply allowed you to keep your undergarments on and work from there.” His tone was gravelly and rough as he spoke to you. “But I'd like to be cautious, so I ask you to remove everything.” He informed you, which made you feel better about the process, but still wary.

Miguel, looked you up and down, tapping his finger against his thick thigh, noticing that you were still hesitant. “How about this,” He began, his words instantly piquing your interest. “I can turn around and allow you to undress and get into a comfortable position on the chair.” He said. “I’ll even give you a towel to cover yourself with.” He proposed with a straight face. “How does that sound?” His demeanor and gravelly tone contrasted greatly with his kind and understanding words.

You thought it over for a while before nodding at his suggestion. He rose from his seat, retrieving a black towel from the closet, and placing it onto the tattoo chair that was already covered in gray towels. He then returned to his rolling stool and turned around to face the wall. “Let me know when you are done.” He said, his voice, husky and deep.

“O-Okay.” You told him, the uncertainty, evident in your voice. Your eyes took in his muscular backside that was straining against his black t-shirt. Every bulging muscle was visible through the fabric.

You bit your lip, feeling rather odd but proceeding on.

You closed the door of his tattoo room and set your purse down on the floor. You exhaled deeply, calming yourself down before looping your fingers into the waistband of your black shorts, slowly drawing them down, your eyes trained on him.

Miguel was completely solid and unmoving. His arms crossed over his chest and his back still facing you. He was so quiet, that you could almost forget he was there.

Well, almost…

When the black fabric of your shorts was nothing but a puddle around your ankles, you stepped out of them, tossing them to the side. You gulped, standing in just your white shirt, black tennis shoes, and panties. You heaved a quiet sigh, chewing your inner cheek.

This was the hard part…

You were about to undress completely…

You exhaled deeply, reluctantly slipping your thumbs into the elastic band of your black panties, pulling them down, and exposing your sex to the tattoo room. You hissed, feeling the cool air against your core. Hastily, you removed them from your being, tossing them to the side along with your shorts.

It felt so weird standing in a foreign place with your rear completely unveiled.

You wanted nothing more than to cover up…

Your eyes shifted over to Miguels’ broad backside, still in its same position.

“Everything alright?”

You jumped at his sudden question, his voice was thunderous compared to the total quietness that had once filled the room. “Y-y-yes.” You squeaked, swiftly moving to climb onto the tattoo chair, laying on your stomach, and placing the black towel over your bare rear to conceal yourself.

After Miguel’s abrupt question, he didn’t say anything else, and neither did you, despite being ready. It took a while for you to tell the sexy, and rather intimidating tattoo artist that you were all set. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest every time you thought you were prepared to do so.

You rested your chin upon the backs of your hands, laying flat on your stomach. You heaved a sigh, feeling rather ridiculous at how scared you were.

You chose to come here, just like you chose to get this tattoo.

‘No reason to back out now.’ You thought, wetting your lips before getting the artist’s attention. “I-I’m ready.” You muttered, causing an instant creak from Miguel’s stool to be heard.

“Good.” He uttered, the sound of the wheels from his seat gliding across the black marble flooring filling the room. You soon felt his presence to your right, seeing him in your peripherals, sitting tall and large on his stool next to you on the tattoo chair. His dark brown eyes continuously glanced over at you before roaming your body, his facial features unreadable. You couldn’t tell if he was checking you out, or was merely looking at you to see if you hadn’t fainted on his chair.

“You seem…tense.” He commented in his usual dead tone. You looked over your shoulder at him to see his large hands attaching a black ink tube to his tattoo gun. His black tattoo arm sleeve was visible under the projecting light of the ceiling as his amber eyes were trained more on what he was doing rather than you.

“Y-yes. I’m still a little nervous.” You confessed, feeling your hands begin to tremble slightly. Miguel looked up at you, the light bouncing off his two lip piercings on his lower lip. “If I start and your body is not relaxed it’s going to hurt like a bitch.” He said bluntly, setting his tattoo gun onto his workstation. His words didn’t help, only causing your heart to quicken in pace and freak you out even more.

Because how could you possibly calm down?

It felt utterly impossible…

You weren’t nervous about the needle, or getting tattooed to begin with. You were experienced when it came to the inking process. What was working the nerves was the thought of his stern gaze and calloused hands feeling up your bare bottom. His gloved thumbs pressed into your rear, his amber eyes trained on every piece of you from the waist down which was making you nervous as hell.

Miguel eyed you, taking in your troubled expression as you lay upon his tattoo chair. Your bare bottom, covered in a black towel and your chin resting on your hands.

“Let me relax you.”

He abruptly said in almost a commanding voice rather than as a proposition. His suggestion made your heart skip a beat. You couldn’t help the naughty thoughts that came to your mind at the thought of him ‘relaxing’ you.

"And h-how would you do that?" You asked, watching him rise from his stool, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you.

"I'm going to give you a massage."

He declared. Your eyebrows furrowed at the unexpected proposal, your entire body suddenly heating up. "I've never heard of a tattoo parlor doing something like that." You admitted, feeling him adjust the chair's height to match his towering 7-foot frame, bringing the seat up to his waist.

"That's because you've never been to the Bloody Inks before," he said, a hint of amusement found in a usual cold voice. "There's a reason we're notorious in Nueva York, Y/N " he explained. "If we did what every other parlor did, we'd be just like any other tattoo shop…

Isn’t that right?”

He whispered, his voice sending shivers down your back. “I-I guess so.” You replied as without warning you began to feel his thick fingers on your shoulders, caressing small patterns into your blades. You gasped, the feeling instantly making you melt into the chair.

“You okay?” He asked, every touch of his thick fingers against your tensed muscles making you shudder. “Mhm.” The hum being pulled from your very being and coming out more forceful than you attended whilst Miguel continued his massage.

Miguel’s tattooed hands were large and strong, tracing the contours of your muscles and pressing gently into them. Suddenly, you winced slightly, the tension resisting his skilled touch. ��Relax,” He uttered, his voice a low rumble that reverberated from the depth of his broad chest. You shakingly nodded, eyes fluttering closed at the wonderful sensations. “O-Okay. I’ll try.” You replied, trying to calm yourself.

You shakingly exhaled, feeling Miguel’s hands move down your back, his soothing caresses focusing on the crease that began the arch of your ass.

“Damn, there's a lot of tension here.” He commented, adding more pressure into his fingers and kneading the soft tissue in that area. You let out a contented sigh, his large hands enclosing around the sides of your waist. His thumbs pressed into your skin through the fabric of your white t-shirt, rubbing small patterns into your lower back. You groaned softly, the sensations he was bringing to you felt so good.

His touch, mysteriousness, voice, coldness, everything about him was so hot.

His fingers soothing places in your back that you didn’t even know existed, bringing you closer to tranquility.

“How do you feel?” He asked, pressing and running his palm along the center of your back, making you shiver. You exhaled deeply, your limbs feeling heavy and relaxed. “Mmm, good. It feels good.” You replied with closed eyes.

“That’s good to hear.” He said, his hands leaving your body.

“But I can’t help but notice you are still tense.”

Miguel said, making your eyebrows furrow as a sense of emptiness filled your being without his touch.

“W-what do you mean?” You inquired, entirely puzzled. You didn’t feel a single bit of tension in your backside. A feeling of pure relaxation filled your being, leaving you confused about what he meant by such things.

But it wasn’t like you were skilled as a masseuse yourself, so you could be mistaken.

“Yes, you are still tensed.” He uttered, running his fingers along the center of your backside, over the curve of your ass to rest a hand on your rear that was covered in the black towel.

“Here, it needs my attention.”

You were shocked and in disbelief, instantly becoming speechless; but despite your bewilderment, Miguel continued talking. “It’ll only make sense to massage where I'll be working. It’ll help loosen the muscles of your rear, making tattooing it less painful.” He explained, but it still didn’t stop the huge blush that spread across your face. You didn’t know how to respond, stuck between your own uncertainties and desires.

“T-this will be… beneficial?” You asked shakingly, trying to push past the naughty and erotic things that were filling your head. Miguel hummed. “Yes, I’ll be tattooing your left buttock, so it’ll help make the tattoo process smoother…

For you, I mean.”

You bit your lip. The butterflies, going rampant in your stomach. You didn’t know what to do or what to say, but then the realization that he was going to have to see and touch your bottom anyway when the actual inking process began led you to put your worries to the side and agree.

“No. I don’t mind.” You said, thankful that Miguel couldn’t see how red you were due to your face being away from him. Miguel hummed, his previous touch seeming to linger upon your skin.

“I’ll have to remove the towel. You okay with that?” He asked, which made your heart skip a beat. You shakingly exhaled, nodding. “Yes.”

You felt him lift the black towel from your bottom, the cool air rushing over your bare rear. You sucked in a breath as before, Miguel didn’t warn you, his warm hands groping your cheeks and instantly beginning to knead the fat of your ass.

This time, the sensations were different.

On your backside, the massage was more relaxing and tranquil, but on your rear, it felt more personal, more…

Intimate.

His touch made you feel pleasure beyond anything…

You bit your bottom lip harshly, trying to muffle the erotic cries that wished to escape whilst Miguel’s calloused hands worked wonders on your rear. His fingers pressed firmly into your left cheek, squeezing the fat before moving along the sides. It was a process that you pondered if it was professional or not, but it wasn’t like you cared.

His fingers knead into your soft flesh, like dough, making you see stars every single time. You were slowly becoming wet, your arousal spilling from your exposed sex to gradually coat your thighs and drench the gray towels underneath you.

The massage was good.

Dangerously too good…

A sudden moan broke free, filling the tattoo room when he roughly groped both of your cheeks in his large hands, spreading them apart. You instantly blushed horribly, embarrassed beyond anything.

“O-Oh my gosh, I-I’m so sorry.” You briskly replied, wanting nothing more than to hide. You didn’t know how the hell Miguel would react.

Would he cease his wonderful massage?

Tell you to leave?

Would things get hella awkward now?

You felt like a complete idiot, mentally facepalming yourself for giving into the pleasure of a total stranger.

But to your surprise, Miguel did something you weren’t expecting.

He chuckled.

For the first time since you met the menacing and large Latino artist, he showed an emotion that didn’t make you feel so freaking intimidated. The sound of the small, deep laughter that passed his lips was honestly breathtaking, and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again.

“No need to apologize.” He replied, drawing your attention back to him and his wonderful massage. His touch on your rear became more soft and gentle like he was taking his time with you.

“It just shows I’m providing you what your body needs.” He replied, moving his hands onto your thighs, caressing them with his thumbs before running his hands up to fully cup your asscheeks into his hands. You moaned softly, your body instinctively arching up into his waiting palms. Miguel snickered, giving your ass another squeeze when everything stopped.

His movement on your rear ceased, his small laughs, movement, everything!

You lay there, waiting for anything to happen when you suddenly felt his pierced lips against your ear.

“Let’s drop the act, Cariño.”

He whispered, his breath warm on your face and his piercings, cold against your skin. Your heart dropped, and your body instantly became hot.

You tried to speak, to deny what he was saying, but your quivering lips wouldn’t form the words.

He snickered at your speechlessness and how flustered you were, the sound sending tingles throughout your entire being and going straight to your throbbing core.

“Let me relax you how we both desire, Y/N.”

He hummed, resuming his touch on your rear, but this time it was different. It was purposefully more erotic. He gave your bottom a sensual squeeze with one hand, his other moving up to stroke your hair.

You couldn’t believe this was happening.

It felt surreal.

Something you'll fantasize about your sexy tattooist…

But Miguel’s fingers running through your hair, massaging your scalp whilst continuing to tease and knead your right asscheek with his fingers made you think otherwise.

You were speechless yet again. You didn’t know how to respond, but your body was doing the speaking for you.

Your juices dripping down your thighs and soaking the gray towels under you, spoke volumes on its own. You shakingly exhaled, trying to calm your excitement.

Miguel chuckled, his fingers continuing their tantalizing play on your rear, tempting and taunting you to give in to the sexy artist.

You bit your lip harshly, eyes fluttering as he, teasingly, brushed his thumb across your slick folds. You gasped at his attempt to entice you more.

“Mmm, you are soaking, Muneca.” He growled against your ear, his lip rings brushing your lobe and making you shudder. He sucked in a breath, running his fingers up and down your slick folds, coating his digits in your never-ending arousal. He groaned at your wetness, cupping your mound, to circle his two fingers around your sensitive bud. You moaned helplessly, trembling with pleasure.

“Muneca, you want this, just as much as I do.” He uttered, pressing his fingers more against your throbbing bud, eliciting a cry to escape your lips and making you wetter.

“Let me relax you.” He whispered, his deep voice filled with desire as he removed his hands to place them on your hips, caressing gentle circles against your sides.

“Let me taste what this pussy of yours is like and then I'll tattoo that rose on your gorgeous ass.”

He proposed once again. His words alone made your stomach clench in want. The gray towels underneath you completely soak with your arousal.

You couldn't stop yourself. The desire blinded you as your head slowly nods at his erotic proposition.

“P-Please.” You practically begged; voice tainted with desperation for more of him. You felt his pierced lips pull into a smirk against your ear.

“Good girl, Y/N.” He praised, nipping softly at your ear before pulling away. His touch left you cold and empty.

“On your knees. Ass up.”

He commanded, his coldness resurfacing right before your eyes. His sternness was even more attractive and made your core throb in anticipation.

You bit your lip, lust blinding your every action, thought, and word as you rose on the tattoo chair. As he instructed, you stood up on your knees and forearms with your ass thrust up into the air.

The cool air continuously brushed along your heated core, making your breathing hitch every time. The position gave him a full display of your wet folds and the gradual drip of your arousal down your thighs. The sight alone revealed your evident desire for him which made you excited, but also ashamed.

This sexy stranger was intimidating, scary, and someone you would, normally, never align yourself with.

So what was different about him that had you practically soaking his chair?

In your peripherals, you saw Miguel move. The mere motion snapped you out of your thoughts as his massive being disappeared from view. Instantly, you became anxious, oblivious to his next actions.

A sexy groan escaped his lips, feeling his amber eyes trained on your exposed sensitive area. “That's a pretty pussy you got that.” He purred, making you blush horribly. You buried your face into your inner elbow, embarrassed for liking the compliment from someone as sexy as him.

Miguel chuckled. “Does someone like my praises? You are a naughty one, Cariño.”

He snickered. Your face, reddening even more. His fingers continued their dance along the skin of your ass, your breathing becoming more shaky and your body burning hot.

His words and touch alone were enough to make you lose control. Beads of your essence running down your thighs.

“Cariño, I've only known you for about 30 minutes, yet, there is something about you that fascinates me. Something that I love so very fucking much….

Want to know what that is?”

He asked, his voice deep and husky, yet sending a shiver down your spine; his fingers ghosting along your skin. “Y-Yes.” You shakingly inquired, curious about his answer, but also anxious for him to cease his teasing and touch you.

He chuckled at your cluelessness, running his nails along your bare rear making you shiver.

“I love that despite your obvious hesitance and, dare I say, fear, you give into your wants, Muñeca

Your desires.”

He uttered, the pads of his fingers barely touching you, but forming goosebumps, everywhere along your skin.

“I-I don't understand.” You breathlessly and honestly replied, trying your hardest to look over your shoulder at the large male but failing every time.

“You don't understand, bebé?” He purred, his fingers leaving your bottom. “Then let me turn those gears in that sexy head of yours.” He whispered, his heavy footfalls slowly walking to stand in front of you. You gulped, glancing up to see him right before you, the growing bulge in his black jeans being the main attraction.

“You come into my shop for an ass tat, yet you were nervous as hell to get it.” He acknowledged. “But despite your nerves, here you are on my chair with that sexy ass all ready for me." He said with a smirk. His hand moved to run through your hair, massaging your scalp with the pads of his fingers once more.

Your eyes fluttered, sinking more into the soft leather, your rear rising. “And even now, I intimidate you, don't I, Cariño?” He asked, his male cologne and the faint scent of cigarette smoke filling your nose, increasing your desire for him.

Regardless of your lust, Miguel did intimidate you. His massive body, bulging muscles, stern-drawn face, tattoos, lip rings, and cold aura made you nervous around him.

That you couldn't lie about...

“Y-yes. You do.” You confessed, eliciting a deep hum from Miguel. “Yet, you are giving yourself to me.” He whispered, moving his hand from your hair to take your chin into his calloused fingers. He turned you to look up at him, your eyes darting to take in his chiseled cheeks, massive neck tattoo, enticing rings on his plush lips, smoldering amber eyes, and dark brown hair that loomed over his eyes.

He smirked, his canines peeking out from his lips. “You are delivering yourself to me on a silver platter, Y/N.” He rasped, caressing your chin and holding your stunned gaze before pulling away. You were left breathless, gasping for air, you didn't know you were holding.

You tried to track him, his huge, menacing form returning behind you and out of your sight. “So love, despite your worries, reluctance, and inner thoughts telling you to stop and turn back.

If you desire something, you go through with it...”

Your eyebrows furrowed. You wondered if Miguel's observation of you was correct.

Were you the type to follow your desires, even though everything in you was telling you otherwise?

You pondered, if the sexy stranger was right, despite only knowing you for a short time.

But that thought soon became nothing but mush in your brain when his sudden grip on your asscheeks made your entire mind go blank. As if dipped in warmth, your body instantly melted like chocolate under his fingertips, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Miguel hummed, his breath brushing along your heated core, only making you wetter.

“And I love a woman that knows what she wants,” He uttered, pressing a kiss to your left ass cheek, making you gasp,

“What she needs…” He whispered, pressing another kiss to your other eliciting another soft moan from you.

“I can tell you are going to be tasty…”

He rasped before finally giving you what you desired and swiping his tongue along your folds.

You cried out, slumping against the tattoo chair whilst Miguel licked at your rear. He groaned, squeezing your ass and pressing his face more into your bottom, licking, sucking and completely devouring you.

You moaned uncontrollably, gripping the leather seat tightly. “O-Oh gosh.” You whimpered as Miguel continued his pleasurable assault, running his skillful hands up and down your spine, brushing your shirt up to feel more of your skin. You were becoming hot and increasingly wet, your love juices spilling from your entrance to be swallowed by Miguel’s eager mouth.

With every suction of his lips and the swipe of his tongue, it made your mind complete mush, time and space becoming non-existent. “So delicious, Muñeca.” He groaned, sloppily ravaging your core, and fucking you with his tongue.

The tattoo room was filled with your whines and whimpers, Miguel’s low groans, and the squelching of your wet pussy. Your entire body was clenching and squirming the closer you got to that sweet end.

Like his hands, Miguel’s mouth worked wonders on you. His tongue moved rapidly across your pussy, seeming to be everywhere at once. Swirling your throbbing bud, thrusting into your entrance, and lapping your delicate pussy lips. a

When it came too much to bear, Miguel held you close, preventing you from moving away from him. It only made you tremble, the pleasure consuming your entire being.

“M-Miguel, I-I’m close.” You cried out, pressing your face into the tattoo chair. He hummed, the vibrations rumbling through you and making your stomach tighten even more. “You want to cum, pretty girl?” He chuckled, moving from your desired spot to kiss along the skin of your bottom. His hooped, lip rings brushed along the skin of your ass and made you even more wetter.

You moaned softly, frantically nodding. “Yes, yes. Please, Miguel.” You whined, wanting him to bring you to your release. You felt his pierced lips pull into a smirk. He pressed a kiss to your right cheek before returning his skilled mouth to your puffy pussy lips once more.

You gasped loudly, his tongue darting erratically along your dripping folds. The feeling was more extreme than ever before as he continued, tugging and lapping at your sweet pussy.

You were so wet, your thighs dripping with your arousal like a relentless rain, its non-stop downpour completely soaking your legs and the gray towels underneath you. You gritted your teeth, the burning in the pit of your stomach becoming too much to bear, begging for a release.

Everything felt so good, you wanted to hold on, to feel more of Miguel’s tongue and hands that roamed your body, caressing you in ways that increased the pleasure by 10-fold;

But you just couldn’t…

With a loud cry, you climaxed hard onto his waiting mouth. Your vision saw white, eyes rolling as your sticky juices covered his pierced lips and ran down your legs. Miguel groaned in pleasure, gripping your cheeks harshly, widening you and licking you clean, whispering, 'So good. Such a good girl for me,’ over and over again.

It was like music to your ears.

Your eyes fluttered as he finished; tugging away from your pussy lips with a wet plop. You were dazed, falling flat against the tattoo chair, and trying to calm your breathing and come down from your epic high.

Faintly, you could hear Miguel’s boots against the black marble flooring, moving around to stand beside you, coming into view once more.

With glazed eyes, you looked over at him, breathing heavily. His chin and pierced lips were completely covered in your arousal. Like a king who had just feasted on a buffet fit for royalty, he used his fingers to wipe it off in satisfaction. “So delicious, Muñeca.” He praised again with a smirk. Your entire body and face flushed at his erotic compliment. You were speechless, not at all knowing how to respond.

For a moment you just stared up at him, still trying to figure out if what just happened, happened.

His amber eyes roamed over your form once more, lingering on your bare rear longer than anything else. He growled, stepping closer once more. “But don’t think we’re done here, Muñeca.”

“I want more.

Just one more taste”

He uttered, the words surprising you, but not as surprising as what he did next…

Everything was a blur, his large being moved so quickly it was hard to follow, especially in your dazed state.

You soon found him underneath you on the tattoo chair, his massive body laying under you and your puffy pussy lips right over his waiting mouth. His large hands roughly groping your rear, and holding you tightly in place.

Certainly, you wouldn't be able to get out of his hold, even if you tried.

You gulped, staring down at him between your thighs in shock. Your mind, not keeping up fast enough. “M-Miguel, w-what-”

“Let me relax you, chica.”

He cut you off, gripping your ass in his large, inked hands and pushing you down onto his mouth once more. You cried out, his mouth even more intense than ever.

Your eyes fluttered and rolled as his tongue circled your clit, teasingly applying more pressure and making you whine. Your fingers, instinctively, found his dark brown hair, gripping and tugging at the chocolate strands and making Miguel groan.

He caressed your bottom with his large, calloused hands, sucking at your sensitive bud with his hot, wet mouth, expertly flicking it. You moaned helplessly. “M-Miguel, g-gosh. It feels so good.” You cried out, instinctively, grinding your hips against his mouth, chasing another steady rising climax. Miguel's eyes fluttered close, savoring your taste on his tongue as he lapped and sucked at your sticky folds.

Your breathing quickened, his piercings grazing against your sensitive skin with every lap of his tongue against your entrance. You were slowly losing it, feeling him gradually ease his tongue inside of you before thrusting you repeatedly with the wet muscle.

You moaned loudly, rutting your hips and continuously brushing his nose into your clit, his tongue continuing its torment. A strangled moan erupted from your throat, the pleasure becoming too much. You shook uncontrollably, gripping his hair tightly and squirming on his mouth.

“A-Ahh, Miguel, I-I can’t-” You tried moving off, but Miguel firmly held you down on his mouth, his tongue, darting in and out of your entrance, fucking you with his warm, wet muscle.

The familiar feeling of scorching heat began to rise in your stomach. You gritted your teeth, his metal ringed, lip piercings brushing against your pussy lips with each suckle. He reached around, parting your lips and sticking his tongue deeply into your opening, messily lapping and sucking you.

Your love juices soaked his lips and chin to be sloppily devoured by Miguel. The room was filled with the erotic sounds of your pussy’s squelches. Silent moans passed your lips, as your head limply fell back to be caught by Miguel’s large hand.

He took your chin in his tattooed finger, pulling you back down towards him. He moved his mouth from your heated core as his intense dark eyes met yours. “I want your eyes on me.” He said, his breathing rather stable, despite almost drowning in your pussy for what felt like an hour. His tattooed hand caressed your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I want to see you cum, Muñeca .” He whispered, pressing kisses along your inner thighs and nipping softly. You bit your lip, a soft moan passing your lips at his pecks. You weakly nodded, almost completely dazed.

He smirked, pressing a long searing kiss to your thigh. “Hmm, good girl.” He uttered parting your pussy lips with two thick fingers and attacking your swollen clit once more. It took everything in you to keep his intense gaze. His dark brown eyes stared intently back at you whilst his tongue and lips moved in a frenzy along your pussy.

Your body trembled horribly, fingers gripping his hair tightly to stabilize yourself.

“M-Miguel.” You whined his name over and over again. The desire to tell him of your reached peak was on the tip of your tongue, but the pleasure was too overwhelming; leaving you unable to say such a thing as your release unexpectedly slammed into you.

With a loud strangled moan, you orgasmed for the second time.

Your body shook uncontrollably as your thighs squeezed around Miguel tightly. Your juices gushed out onto his eager mouth whilst a sensation of pure bliss sprouted throughout your being.

Your eyes rolled as silent and breathy moans busted from the depth of your chest. Miguel didn’t cease his torment, continuing to suckle on your puffy pussy lips, swallowing all of your sweet nectar. His lips and chin were completely drenched in a mixture of saliva and your love juices, but it didn’t seem as if the massive tattooist cared.

Until he was satisfied, Miguel continued to slurp messily at you. You were highly sensitive, squirming on his mouth and whimpering uncontrollably as he held you down with a firm grip on your thighs. When his thirst was satiated, you were relieved to hear a deep hum of delight escape his glistening lips and soon feel him effortlessly lift you from his mouth to rest your bare bottom on his clothed chest.

You were breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath. When you finally came down from your high, you glanced up to see his dark eyes peering back at you. His gaze was intense and stern as always, but your attention instantly went down to his mouth and the mess you’ve made upon it.

His tanned lips and piercings glistened with your arousal. Your essence dripping down to coat the entirety of his chin. Your entire face burned up at the sight.

“Oh my gosh, I’m s-so sorry.” You hastily apologized, still a little jittery from your explosive orgasm. You reached over to grab the black towel that was left discarded on his stool to try to clean him up.

“Don’t.”

He simply stated, capturing your wrist in his large hand to halt your movement. Your eyebrows furrowed, watching him take the towel from you and toss it to the side.

You were confused, your eyes taking in his mouth and chin that was still covered in your juices. His pierced lips pulled into a smirk, his hands moving to caress your bare ass.

“I want to taste all of it, Muñeca. I'm not letting none of you go to waste…”

For the next hour or so, the room was filled with the buzzing of a tattoo gun and Miguel’s deep voice occasionally trying to soothe you.

“Beautiful Muñeca. You are doing well.”

“I promise you, this rose will look good on you when I’m done.”

“Just a little longer, I’m almost finished.”

He whispered, his gloved fingers pressing into your flesh as he applied the last finishing strokes of black ink onto the rose on your rear. You bit your lip harshly, gripping the leather cushion when finally, the buzzing of the tattoo gun ceased. The needle, no longer, harshly pricking of your sensitive skin.

“I’m finished, Muñeca.” He said, placing the gun to the side and soothingly, caressing your waist. You exhaled a sigh of relief, your eyes a little teary.

“You did well, Cariño.” He praised once more, proceeding to clean the tattoo, applying an antiseptic ointment and covering it, all whilst speaking to you.

“Although, you’ve surprised me.” He said with a chuckle. “I thought you’d become a crying little mess on my chair.” He teased, making the two of you laugh. “I won’t lie, I thought so too.” You confessed, feeling him finish up putting a protective sterile bandage over your freshly inked tattoo.

“I wouldn’t have let that happen on my watch.” He said with a smirk, motioning to you with a finger for you to stand up. “Carefully.” He sternly said, giving you a pointed look. His voice had its usual coldness but also held a hint of affection in his tone.

That maybe the sexy tattooist might actually care about you.

You gave him a small smile, watching him begin to pack up his tattoo items and place them back into his closet. You followed Miguel’s words, cautiously rising up and off of the chair. You winced softly, your left cheek a little sore.

You walked over to the body mirror in Miguel’s tattoo room, turning around to admire the fresh inking on your rear through its sterile bandage.

It was beautiful…

Just like you thought.

The black rose was wonderfully sketched and etched onto your rear end. Its petals, pistils, and leaves, were all defined perfectly and coated the entirety of your left cheek.

You couldn’t stop looking at it, finding something else about it that you loved.

Large hands settled on your waist, snapping your attention from your tattooed bottom to up at the hot male through the mirror. He smirked, meeting your gaze through the glass. “It’s sexy, isn’t it?” He asked, caressing your sides as you smiled, nodding.

“You did really well, Miguel.” You complimented, both of your eyes, taking in the intricate linings of the rose on your rear. “I’m happy you like it.” He said, cupping your chin in his fingers to turn you to look up at him.

“But make sure you properly treat it every day. I’ll send you a list of aftercare instructions.” He said, his amber eyes taking in your face whilst he spoke. You bit your lip, nodding. “I will.” You replied. He smirked, glancing down at your lips before meeting your eyes once more.

“Good, now kiss me.” He said in his cold tone, but his amber eyes held a look of fondness in them. You smiled, cupping his face in your hands and leaning in to press your lips against his.

You moaned softly upon the impact, his metal lip rings, smooth and cold, only making the kiss even hotter. You passionately kissed his lips, savoring the feeling of his lip rings and the taste of his plush lips against your own.

When the two of you pulled away, breathing heavily from the heated exchange, he smirked, squeezing your waist before stepping back. “I hate to tell you this, but I have a client in the next 10 minutes.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll see you next time, Muñeca, for your check-up.” He smirked, handing you a business card with his contacts and the address of the Bloody Inks on it.

You smiled, taking the card from him, your hands touching during the small interaction that sent a spark straight through your being.

You couldn’t help but wonder if Miguel felt it too…

There was an unmistakable pull that was drawing you towards him. You didn’t want to leave him, despite only meeting him that day.

The desire to snuggle up in his muscular arms, to feel his touch on you once more was overwhelming, but he was right.

It was time for you to depart…

So after carefully getting dressed back into your panties and black shorts, you pressed one final kiss upon the sexy tattooist’s pierced lips. The kiss oddly felt unending, but not long enough when you finally pulled away from each other, leaving you, even more, hungrier for him than before.

You exited out of his room, walking through the tattoo space of the shared artists of Gwen and Hobie who thanked you for coming, to then leave the tattoo parlor altogether.

You walked down the sidewalk, feeling like a completely different person. You twirled the business card that Miguel gave you in between your fingers. A feeling of bursting adoration for the beautiful inking that adorned your left cheek, knowing it was created by the sexy tattooist.

To you, the stunning piece of art wasn’t just a tattoo.

No…

It was the marking of a memory of a day when a serious, cold, sexy, and dedicated artist came into your life, revealing a different side of yourself- a daring, more confident side that would forever be engraved in your mind.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel excited to see the sexy tattooist again, anxious for all the fun you and Miguel would get up to on your next visit to the Bloody Inks…

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed 'The Black Rose.' Make sure to like, comment, follow, and reblog!! Love you guys!

<3 Taglist:

@oscarissac2099 @powerful-niya @szapizzapanda @mcmiracles @mreowmoreww @thedevax @jadeloverxd @lazyotakuofficial @migueloharacumslut @nattywattyy @homewreckingwreck @kinkybandages

#miguel o'hara #spider man 2099 #across the spiderverse #the blue panther #miguel ohara #miguel #miguel smut #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x fem!reader #miguel o hara #atsv miguel #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #spiderman 2099 #astv miguel #miguel x you #miguel x reader smut

931 notes · View notes