#there is someone in front of me with bright blue hair. someone with their knuckles wrapped in bandages. two boys holding hands. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

little-miss-dilf-lover · 3 months

Text

TENDER CARE. 18+

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary. you’ve been feeling insecure lately and your boyfriend, bucky knows just the way to make you feel pretty

word count. 2847

warnings. 18+ only!! hurt/comfort, reader feeling insecure, lots of hand kissing bc that shit makes me weak, kissing in general, praise, body worshiping, oral (f receiving) little bit of titty stuff, unprotected pinv sex, bucky being the best bf. minors dni

It was late, the evening quiet - the winter moon, a bright slither of silver amongst the dark blue sky.

As you lay in your bed, admiring her -the moon’s- beauty through the condensation of your window, your mind begins to drift, irrationality throwing hurdles at you. Your brain darting back and forth to those same thoughts you've been having more of lately - ones where doubt and insecurity flood any sense of logicality.

You knew you had no reason to feel this way. Your boyfriend always went to grave lengths to ensure you felt loved and appreciated, showing you nothing but tender care. Though, there was just something in your brain, that little green gremlin instilling distrust within you - no fault to him.

You felt isolated with your sense of humility, often feeling as though you didn't have someone to confide in, someone to talk to. It wasn't an easy topic to bring up, and although you felt comfortable enough with Bucky to share your mind freely, this was something that you just could not stomach.

Not only were you thinking about yourself, you were thinking of Bucky. The thought of admitting to him you felt insecure in your relationship felt like the highest form of betrayal. To confess to the man who's been torn apart and stitched together more times than one can count - that you felt unlovable, was something you couldn't bear.

The amount of hurt you would cause him simply by sharing was enough to deter you. So, for that reason alone, you kept it hidden. Letting yourself wallow in the crappy feeling unaided.

Your phone vibrates on your nightstand beside you, the screen obnoxiously bright - the white almost blinding you within your dim bedroom. Teary-eyed, you peek over at the caller ID, your boyfriend's name displayed beside his picture.

You wanted to talk to him - to hear his voice, but you knew your wavering tone would give away your dismal state. So, you let his call go to voicemail, like all his others from this evening.

Feeling guilt-ridden for declining his calls, you pick up your phone, deciding to send him a text instead. But when you unlock your phone, you see a pile of missed messages from Bucky, each text growing more and more worried at your sudden disappearance - his last one reading, 'I'll be over in 10' which was nearly ten minutes ago.

You exhale in frustration, cursing yourself as you wipe your eyes - carefully blotting the sensitive skin with one hand, the other typing a response. You decided on a small, white lie, replying, 'sorry, I was sleeping.'

The second your thumb presses send, you hear a frantic string of taps on your door - the repeated sound of knuckles knocking. You take a moment to situate yourself before making your way to your front entrance, socked feet paddling over to answer.

You peek through the peephole, your boyfriend on the other side - visibly distressed as he rakes through the front strands of his hair. You reach for the handle, unlocking the door with an expression you were sure to be disgrace. "I'm so sorry. I was in—" you start.

"Are you okay? You didn't answer. I got worried— I thought something happened," Bucky cuts you off, walking past you and stepping into your apartment.

You close the door behind him, turning to meet his frazzled features. "I know, I know. I'm really sorry. My phone was on silent, and I was in bed. I didn't see anything til just now," you confess, sharing parts of the truth.

He deeply exhales, gaze softening as he looks over you. He pauses, seeming like he's analysing you, eyes honing in on your evading ones. "What's wrong?"

You knew your gag would be up sooner or later, but you didn't expect it to be this soon. Sometimes, it was like your boyfriend knew things about you before you even did yourself - as though you failed to remember who you were talking to.

"Nothing," you smile, kissing his cheek as you step past him. "Just tired— didn't sleep properly."

"Yeah?" he hums, not quite believing your half-truths. He kicks off his boots and follows you into your room, soft footsteps behind you like a shadow. "How was your day?" he asks, talking like he's scoping you out.

You sit on the foot of your bed, shrugging at him dismissingly. "Same old. How was yours?"

He steps towards you, eyes darting around your room before focusing on you - everything becoming more apparent. "Fine. Good," he nods, softly groaning as he takes a crouch in front of you, kneeling on the floor between your legs so he's level with you. "What's wrong? What's going on?" he asks, eyes following you with the movement of his head, brows narrowing.

"Nothing," you reply, speaking faintly. Responding minimally in case your voice were to break.

"No?" he questions, placing a delicate hand over your knee - the palm emitting warmth onto your skin through the fabric of your pyjamas.

You shake your head, bottom lip beginning to waver under his attention.

"Then what's on your mind?" he asks gently, his tone warm and concerned.

"I told you," you avoid his eyes, looking down at your hands on your lap. "Didn't sleep well."

He sighs at your tenacity to push him away, head cocking to the side. He adjusts the stance on his knees, and your hands scramble for him - reaching out and holding onto him as if you were to stop him from leaving. Though only he wasn't leaving - he was just getting more comfortable.

"I wasn't leaving," he murmurs, slipping his hands into yours, thumb brushing over the back of your hand assuringly. "Did you think I was going to leave you?" he asks, lips lining into a faint frown.

You notice his brows tug upwards in the middle, the tell-tell sign he was beginning to think too hard. "No, I was just— I... don't know."

"Well, I'm not," he responds shortly, speaking like he was being stern with you - tough love. "Now, what's going on with you?" he asks, his grip on your hand tightening with a reassuring squeeze, the silent act encouraging you.

You inhale steadily, letting the air fill your lungs. "I haven't been feeling good."

He keeps his eyes on yours, following you. "Okay, why?" he questions shortly, wanting to get to the root of the problem as quickly as possible.

"I've been sad."

"Why?

You shrug. "I just have."

"I need more than that. Why have you been sad?"

"I don't know."

"Why?" he repeats, brows straightening.

"Because I feel... ugly."

He hesitates, his shoulders slumping at your confession, visibly digesting your words. "Ugly?" he recites, the remark leaving a foul taste on his tongue. "Honey," he lingers, softly shaking his head.

Bucky stills, his forehead creasing with what you perceive to be pity. His mouth opens as though he's going to say something, only for it to snap back shut. He faintly sighs, bringing your hand to his lips. "You know that's not true, right?" he rhetorically asks, pressing a kiss into the back of your hand.

You don't say anything, the only reply being a short exhale and an awkward smile.

"Because I think you..." he pauses, kissing another patch into your hand. "Are the prettiest," a slow smile lining his lips - an expression that's now mirroring yours.

It was so simple. Everything Bucky did to reassure you - he did with ease. Just the tiny, loving act instantly melting the tension in your mind. His care for you pushing away any sense of self-doubt.

He peppers another kiss into your hand. And another - littering a short string of them over your wrist. "Don't listen to your brain, okay? She's not always right," he murmurs, expression softening like it was reassuring his words.

"I know," you nod, weakly smiling at him. "Just—"

"Hard. I know," Bucky finishes your sentence, nodding at you understandingly.

He leans forward and places a soft kiss on the centre of your lips - his own brushing over yours sweetly, the action grounding and comforting. He pulls away first, eyes half-lidded as they glance over you, focusing on the almost pleading look on your face.

Your free hand reaches up to his face, palm enclosing his jaw as you bring him back in for a kiss - lips working over his more urgently than the time before.

"Thank you," you mumble against his mouth, merely pulling away to show your appreciation. "You're so kind to me."

His grip loosens on your hand, now sliding both up to your face, cupping your cheeks as he deepens the kiss - tongue slipping into your mouth willingly. His lips leave yours, trailing a line of kisses along your jaw and down the side of your throat.

"Always," he murmurs, the short word muffling into your skin. Whispering, "I want to show you just how pretty you are."

A soft whine-like hum vibrates in your throat, the noise accepting his words eagerly. Your hand trails into the short strands of hair at the back of his head, fingers grazing his scalp as you hold him to the crook of your neck. Neck tilting to the side, allowing him more access to you as you reach for his jacket, pushing the fabric off his broad shoulders.

He presses a final kiss into a patch of your skin and pulls away, looking at your ever-softening features - eyes and brows growing pliant under his attention. His hands slowly roam down to the hem of your t-shirt, fingers hooking under the fabric as they lift, pulling it off your head in a steady, swift motion.

You sit in front of him, chest bare and on display in front of him, letting him take you in - not shying away like you did earlier.

Bucky remains quiet, his eyes fixed on the lewd sight before him, silently storing the image for safekeeping. He brings his hands up towards your tits, cupping under each - holding them in his palms. "So beautiful," he hums, leaning in to place a kiss on the swell below your nipple, giving his attention to each breast.

He rolls them in his strong hands, delicately playing and toying with them, thumbs skimming over your sensitive, hardening nipples, pressing kisses into the skin above. He looks up at you from between your tits, eyes full of love, full of warmth - looking up into your blissed ones with nothing adoration.

He places a hand over your middle - fingers spread wide as he nudges you backwards, silently and carefully laying you down. Your bare back against the covers with him kneeling on the floor between your spread thighs.

Barely leaning over you, he reaches up to kiss a trail over your abdomen, lips skimming along your jittering stomach as his fingers slip into the waistband of your underwear and pyjama bottoms. He pulls them down - light tugs as he drags them off your hips and down your thighs, grazing kisses over your now-exposed skin as he undresses your lower half.

Pulling the fabric off your ankles, he sets it aside, replacing the material that just covered you with kisses - lips grazing up the length of your legs, chaste pecks over your skin like he was worshipping you. The kisses trail higher and higher, reaching up to the crease between your thigh and cunt where he continues the worship, tongue faintly swiping over the skin.

Your hands worm into the roots of his dark hair, fingers locking on the shorts as you hold him to where you want him, guiding him to the needy little spot between your thighs. Chest rising and falling, inner thighs twitching as the anticipation builds in your stomach.

He situates himself in front of your pussy, lips mere inches away as he softly breathes over it - teasing you, his eyes locked on your trembling stomach above. He places a peck on the bottom of your slit. And another. Lining a stripe of kisses up your cunt til he reaches your clit where he skates past the nub, tongue skimming over it.

Hands working over your thighs and to your hips, he adjusts you, placing your legs over his shoulders - letting them drape freely over his blades as he delves in deeper between your thighs, caressing your plushy folds with his lips and tongue.

You murmur the first half of his name only to be cut off by a whine, the desperate noise catching in your throat when he nips at your clit, his lips wrapping around the mound - tongue skillfully flickering across.

The noises he muffles are lewd and obscene - gruff, soft groans as he adulates your pussy, pushing his mouth in closer. Your fingers tug tighter on his roots at the consuming feeling, back lifting from the bed in an arch, mindlessly grinding your cunt into his face.

Within minutes, you become a twitching, moaning pile of mush, coating his chin with your slick as you cum - thighs clamping around Bucky's head between.

He places a final kiss on your pubic bone before pulling away, standing up with a chubbed-up cock in his pants, the area tenting after tasting you. You hold his gaze, looking up at him with blissed eyes and a stir in your stomach - the sight of him making your cunt twitch.

He wipes the wet from his chin on the back of his hand, briskly drying his stubble before undressing his lower half - tugging down on his combat pants and boxers, letting the material pool around his ankles as his cock springs free. Full length hard and ready, tip leaking precum.

You scooch up your bed, resting flat with your head on the pillow, eagerly awaiting him. Your thighs instinctively spread as he crawls up the bed and between your legs, slotting his lower half between you - anchoring his weight on his hands either side of your head.

He leans in to kiss you, making you taste yourself on his tongue, the residual creamy slick transferring onto your own. Cock absentmindedly rubbing up against your pussy, the faint friction making you whimper into his mouth.

Your hands hook into the hem of his t-shirt, fingers gripping the bottom of the fabric as you guide it up his back, pulling it over his head as you break the kiss - his chest now bare and up against yours.

Balancing on his left metal hand, he dips the other between you, reaching for his cock, wrapping his fingers around the base. He gives himself a few short strokes, guiding his head towards you - pushing his tip through the slick of your folds, coating his cock in your wetness before sinking into you.

You take him at your own pace, walls fluttering and loosening around his shaft as he eases more of himself into you - your pussy swallowing little bits of him at a time. Your hand paws at his wrist placed on your hip, fingers enveloping around the thickness, silently pleading and begging him to get closer.

He looks down at the lewd sight of you spread out in front of him: your brows knitted, eyes soft, lips bitten - natural, unadulterated beauty all desperate and malleable for him. He notices the bliss cloud in your eyes and gives your glistening, stuffed pussy a final once over before hovering back over you, chest lingering above yours.

His lips skim over your jaw, trailing even more kisses down the side of your throat, giving you easing, reassuring pecks as he slips more of his cock into you - distracting you from the dull ache.

"You are so beautiful," he whispers into your skin, sealing the compliment with a kiss. "You really are," he adds, pressing kisses into your shoulder. "I don't know how you don't see it."

You bend at the knee, holding it at his side - the new angle opening your hips wider, allowing that last bit of his cock to slide in, head hitting at the hilt. You keep him snug to you, arms lazily wrapped around his neck, your other leg entangling with his as your lips shadow each other.

The moonlit room fills with soft, wet clicking - the sound of your pussy and sticky skin hitting cuts through the bliss-filled noises that slip past both of your lips, lewd noises surrounding you in the dark.

Bucky pulls his forehead from the crook of your neck to look down at you, eyes hinting at something - like his mind was temporarily elsewhere.

"Earlier," he starts, his voice hoarse as his hips wind into you, cock rubbing your walls so nicely. "When you said that thing," he adds, following your eyes when they bashfully divert away. "You tell me when you feel like that... I'd be happy to remind you just how pretty you are."

a/n. I had an idea for myself, what?? and my first full fic in almost a year??

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky x female reader #bucky smut #bucky barnes comfort #james bucky barnes #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier smut

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donatellawritings · 2 months

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please some toxic, possessive, and straight up insane rafe 🥲

tee-hee … my favorite, sorry if it’s short!

rafe cameron was and will always be possessive of you, you were his girl, and his alone. in recent times, he’d found different outlets when it came to getting his blistering jealous streak under control. when he was of a sound mind, he’d simply put you in check — whispering low warnings into your ear, or lightly nudging the side of your chin with his knuckle. you were pretty good at keep rafe down to earth, enough to where he’d mentally check out of a situation, instead of sending his eager fist into someone’s jaw. again, this was when rafe was of a sound sober mind. once cocaine and alcohol viciously coursed their way through rafe’s veins, he became an exhilaratingly impulsive decision-maker, much to your dismay. it was difficult to bring rafe down from his peaking highs of anger, but you knew that it was simply his insecurities being pushed to the forefront.

you were sat on the couch, your tired doe eyes focused on the trashy reality show you’d been engrossed in for the evening — your swollen lips were slightly parted as you subconsciously held your thumbnail between your teeth, your shiny blown out hair cascading down your shoulder blades as you curled into the couch wearing rafe’s oversized crewneck and lace pink panties that failed to cover the curve of your plush ass. you lazily brought your thumb from between your teeth, and down to your gifted chain as you rolled the diamond ‘R’ initial between your thumb and index finger. your wispy lashes began to slowly blink together as you sighed sleepily, letting out a short yawn as the front door could be heard opening, then slamming closed.

“wh-where’s my pretty girl?” rafe’s slurred voice boomed through the foyer, causing your eyes to open as you flinched out of your dozed off state. an excited gasp left your lips as you crane your head back, holding your arms open with a cheesy grin. rafe’s bloodshot baby blues widened with an exaggerated excitement as he stumbled towards you, “there she is — m’pretty princess, hi baby,” he slurred, earning a small laugh from you as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing a loud and wet smack of a kiss to his dry lips.

pecking his lips, once more, your threaded eyebrows furrowed in confusion as rafe let out a strained sigh, absentmindedly wrapping his hand around the base of your throat. you were used to rafe’s touchy behavior, so you breathed out a small laugh, “y’okay, papi?” you smiled, your heartbeat racing a bit quicker as rafe leaned his forehead against your chest, maintaining his hold on you. rafe remained in this position for a beat, before dragging his head up, allowing your contrasting gazes to meet. his blown pupils took up a large portion of his usually bright blues, his eyes glazed over as he dropped to a knee before you.

rafe’s mouth opened and closed as he struggled to find the perfect words, his hand circling around his head as he forced out a chuckle, “y’know, m’gonna make you my wife, one day, a-and m’gonna take care of you — i’ll give you the whole fuckin’ world, mama,” he ranted, his hand slightly tightening around your throat as he became lost in his own rant. rafe nodded to himself, tapping his chest as he continued, “s’gonna be you and me — i won’t le-let them take you from me,” he cried, his eyes welled with hot tears. you remained silent, leaning forward in an attempt to cradle rafe’s face as he pushed you back down by your neck.

your heart thumped against your chest as rafe suddenly stood on his feet, both of his arms falling at his sides as you took the opportunity to stand in front of him. your small hands gently grabbed his face as your bright eyes search his — you knew that he was both drunk and high, he could barely even look at you straight. “what’s going on? nobody’s taking me from you, rafey,” you cooed with a soft smile, watching as rafe fumbled with the waistband of his belted slacks, your smile falling to a frown as he revealed his gun.

“rafe—”

rafe brought the gun to his lips as he shushed you, a daze smile tugging on his mouth as he brought his free hand to your shoulder, “i’d fuckin’ kill for you, princess — swear, i’d do it and it wouldn’t even bother me,” he mumbled, his lowly hung eyes not missing the way you froze still. your pretty little pout quivered with impending cries, causing rafe’s gaze to widen with dramatized concern, “no-no, don’t be scared, m’the one who s’gonna protect you, baby — why-why are you fuckin’ cryin’?!” rafe rambled, his pathetic whines turning into a deep scream as he forced his forehead to smush against yours. a soft cry seeped through your lips as rafe shook his head furiously.

“you’re scaring me, papi,” you squeaked.

rafe ran a hand through his hair, his chest heaving as he pulled away from you, lightly knocking the butt of the gym against his head. tears streamed down his structured cheekbones as he gestured towards you with a loud cry, “i just wanna protect you, baby,” he sobbed, leaving you an anxious mess as your slapped your hand over your mouth. rafe let out another blubbering cry, the sound of your name leaving his lips causing your heart to ache as he lowered himself to the flower, holding his head in his hands.

you carefully lowered yourself to the floor as you crawled over to your boyfriend, softly tapping your delicate fingertip against his knee, “rafe, please,” you whispered, leaning on your knees as rafe brought his hand to the back of your head, holding you in place by your hair.

your swollen lips remained slightly parted as rafe sighed, “do y’love me, princess?” he questioned, his head cocked to the side as you nodded, tears rolling down your puffy cherub cheeks, “say it,” he muttered.

“i love you,” you spoke sincerely.

rafe nodded wordlessly, releasing your hair from his grip as you took the chance to climb onto his lap, your legs wrapping around his waist as he secured an arm around your back, and one around your neck. “no more cryin’, mama, m’gonna keep you safe,” he reassured, rubbing his gun clad hand up and down your back.

#asks #anon #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron #obx #obx imagine #sweetheart!reader

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brighttears · 11 months

Text

What is Thicker Than Water

Joel Miller x f!reader

No physical description, no use of y/n

Summary: In the aftermath of an attack on you, Joel, and Ellie, Joel cleans someone else's blood off of you. You reflect on your maternal violence, you and Joel connect without needing words.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Vivid descriptions of violence, injury, and blood, mentions motherhood (reader is not a mother), pet name (baby)

A/n: this is purely self indulgent kind of based around inner monologue ? and perhaps a little weird . I have a request that I am going to do! just haven’t had the fluff in me past couple days 😪

—

You feel your screams more than you hear them, all of your attention focused on your fist colliding with his face. Drowning in a vengeful ferocity, you’re barely aware of where you are until something heavy pushes you off of the body. You thrash under the new grip on your arms until Joel’s voice, “It’s me, it’s me.” reorients you, “It’s okay. Ellie’s okay.”

His eyes are wide looking at you and then down to your reddened fist. Carefully, he takes it in his hands to evaluate. “We need to go.” looking past you, he adds, “Now, Ellie, we gotta move.” and then he’s pulling you by your wrist and you fall from one foot onto the next. Everything is blurred and blaring; your hand and face are throbbing hot, pain stabs through the soles of your feet as they land harshly on the concrete and you heave fire. Shouts and gunshots chase you.

“Ellie,” you swing your head around, looking.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” you find her at your side and then you’re back and remember to sprint.

When you get to the truck, you fling the back door open and shove Ellie in before you. Joel’s door slams shut as he jerks onto the road.

In the backseat, you take Ellie’s face in your hands, frantically examining her, “Are you ok?” you ask, gasping raggedly. The truck rattles and bumps.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you see doe eyes looking back at you and a harsh red contrasts in the corner of your eye. Removing your hands from her face, you find the source and stare down at your shaking hand.

“Shit.” Your knuckles are maroon, seeping bright red down into your sleeve.

“Are you ok?” Ellie’s young voice sounds over the pounding in your ears as you continue to stare, unable to understand what you are seeing.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, are you ok?” you shoot your eyes back up to her, panic’s adrenaline having your teeth almost chattering.

Ellie blinks her doe eyes, a mystery flashing over her brow before she responds, “Yeah, I’m ok. Okay?” she raises her eyebrows, trying to find your focus with her eyes until you nod in acknowledgment.

“Joel?” you look to the front seat.

His shoulders are strung up, knuckles white and twisting on the wheel. In front of him is a wash of muted blue and a strip of speckled gray, the yellow divider lines rushing centered under the car. “I’m alright.” he reassures you. Staring straight ahead, all you can see of him is his tense shoulders, taut curled hands, and silver streaked hair. “Ellie, check the rest of her.”

You look down and wet red is spattered over your brown plaid flannel. Ellie takes your shoulders to turn you, leaning around to look over your back, then smooths her hands over your covered arms. She leans down, tugging at your jeans to check over your legs, and then calls to the front, “She’s fine except for her face.”

“My face?” you raise a hand up to touch it and immediately regret it when a sharp pain from your nose electrifies your entire face. You pull away red fingers. “Did I break my nose?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Joel tells you, “Everythin’s fine. I’m gonna find somewhere to stop as soon as I can.”

“Shit,” you sway as you recollect the events prior to being here in the rickety, rumbling truck—

The raider had Ellie on the ground, one hand holding her hands clasped above her head and the other pressing the barrel of a gun against her forehead. Her wailing resounded in your skull and your body went numb. Then you were straddling him, screaming and hammering your fist into his face. You look back down at your bloody knuckles. “Shit. Did you get the stuff?”

Joel sighs through his nose, “No.”

“Shit.” you rub your palms over your eyes and then drag them down your cheeks.

“We’ll find it another way. Don’t worry about it. You’re my main concern right now.” he glances at you from the rearview mirror.

You can feel the adrenaline flowing out of you as your body weighs into the cool leather seat. Knowing that the three of you are all safe, together in the small cabin of the truck, you let your head lean back as your brain smothers you with sleep.

—

“Baby, hey,” a voice ripples from somewhere above you. Barely on the cusp of consciousness, you can’t identify whose it is, but something makes you want to go to it, so you kick your legs and swim back up to opening eyes. “Hey, we’re stoppin’ here for the night.”

“Stop where.” you push yourself awake, blinking your eyes wide. “Oh fuck. Ow.” You reach a hand up to your face but Joel blocks your wrist.

“Come on, we’ll take care a that inside.”

You follow another painful ache to your hand, bloody and swollen. “Jesus.”

“It’s alright, just let me get you inside.” Joel touches your arm, urging you out of your seat, and your feet drop onto gravel.

“Where’s Ellie?”

She appears in front of you, “I’m here.” Her voice is clear and refreshing.

“Okay.” you stare at her, she gives you a soft smile, and then you bring her into your arms, resting your chin over her shoulder. You pet her hair once, shaggy and loosely held in her hairband. Ellie takes a deep breath and it flows over your neck and shoulder. You let her go and the three of you start walking to the run-down motel.

Inside, Joel unloads your gear onto the stiff, tan armchair and fake-wood side table in the corner while you and Ellie sit down on the creaky metal queen bed. He digs out his water canteen and a scrap of cloth, nearing threadbare, and turns to you sitting behind Ellie, combing your fingers through her hair before retying her ponytail, murmuring consolations. She giggles, light but warm hearted, her finger tracing over the flowers on the bedspread. Joel touches your shoulder for you to stand, and then gently guides you into the bathroom just across from the bed with a hand on your lower back.

You lift yourself up to sit on the counter, facing Joel, and he pulls the door in until it’s open only a crack. He takes your chin to turn with his thumb and index finger and you watch his eyes run over your face. “Looks much worse than it is. Just bloody.” Then he takes the cloth and presses it folded around the lip of the canteen, flipping it briefly to wet it. When he starts wiping the cool wetness over your forehead and cheek you look at him quizzically, under the impression that the only wound on your face is your nose. He avoids your eyes so you turn to look at yourself in the mirror. Your reflection startles you.

The thick red running from your nose, over your lips and down your neck, dark and clotted, isn’t unexpected, but the smears and splatter covering the rest of your face are. A slit on the bridge of your nose has coated it almost entirely in red, but the rest of you is heavily freckled with blood that is not your own. It’s gotten into your mouth, it sticks in your eyebrows and passes your hairline. Looking at your reflection, you see a mutilator, a knife, a butcher, a murderer. In your eyes you recognize something that you can’t immediately place, but realize it is a look you’ve only seen in a mother’s eyes. You’re emblazoned with bloodshed, decorated by the inherent aptitude of love. You go to wipe two fingers over a large blotch near the corner of your mouth and there you are met with your bleeding instrument. With a shuddering sigh, eyelids fluttering, you continue to rub.

“Hey,” with a hand on you trap, Joel pulls you back to face him, “it’s okay, it looks much worse than it is—”

“Did I kill him?”

Joel sighs, “I don’t know. Didn’t stop to check, just ran.” he goes back to swiping broad strokes over your face with the cool cloth.

You remember the face under your fist again and Ellie, the way she looked with that gun on her forehead, and then the way she looked at you in the car.

“Ellie.” you whisper, looking into Joel’s eyes and grabbing his biceps, anxiety puckering your brow, “She saw all that. What if she’s scared of me now? What if she thinks I’m gonna hurt her?”

Joel shakes his head. “Kid’s seen way worse. You don’t need to worry about that. This is gonna hurt now, I’m sorry.” he looks back to your face instead of your eyes, moving the cloth to your nose. The pain is stifled by the burn of his words, the reminder of the tragedy of young Ellie. You can’t save her from what’s happened to her before you met her, you can’t protect her from all of it, you can protect her from very little. Death is only one of many enemies. You could kill half the country, beat anyone who even has a thought of hurting her, and you still couldn’t save her. You stay still as he mops up the blood.

When he refolds the cloth you see the bright red starting to permeate it and swallow hard as he starts brushing it over your lips. Joel tips your chin up with a finger and then takes the back of your neck to hold it in place as he slowly drags the damp cloth over your chin and down your neck. “Okay, lemme see your face again.” He whispers, then using his thumb and fingers to rub at the faded spots, his other hand still on the back of your neck. “Does your nose hurt?”

“A little. How fucked up is it?”

“It’s a little bent… kinda cute, though.” He smirks and it slices through your film of gloom and you smile. He stills his hand and watches his thumb resting in the flesh of your cheek.

“You should see the other guy.” you whisper.

Joel chuckles, “I did.” Then he sighs softly, taking his hand away from your face to scan it with half lidded eyes. “Alright, lemme see your hand.” He lets go of your neck and fully refolds the cloth, flipping it over the bottle again to wetten it, then changes his mind and chooses to first run the water over your hand.

“Fuck.” you whisper, flinching as it burns the open skin at the peak of your knuckles.

“I know baby, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t worry about it. Just reflex.” you take a deep breath and he starts wiping at the caking red with the near already saturated cloth.

“I know. I’m still sorry.”

“Is it broken?”

“A little. It’ll heal on its own. We’ll just keep it wrapped.”

‘We’ll’ sounds good coming out of Joel's mouth, meaning us, as in I'm with you.

He runs the last of the water from his canteen over your hand, does some final brushes and blots with the cloth, and then says, “Stay here.” He dips out of the room and comes back with a brown stained tan rolled bandage. He folds the wet cloth to lay over your knuckles, securing it with his hand under yours, palm up, able to hold each side down with his thumb and index finger. He starts wrapping your hand, taking his time, stopping to redo a roll if he’s not happy with it. You smirk unconsciously, watching his knitted brow and lips pouting in focus. When he’s done, he holds it from below again, turning it slightly to make sure it’s to his liking. Joel looks up to meet your eyes and takes his other hand to rest under your jaw and over your cheek. He takes another deep breath as his eyes flicker down to your lips and back at your eyes. He sighs.

There is still residue from the thick pour of blood from your nose over your chapped lips. He can't help himself and brings them to his, transferring copper onto his tongue, tasting the bloodshed as justified. He keeps gentle hold of your wrapped hand until you bring it to rest over his shoulder, then moving to hold your waist instead, fingers, dirty and scarred, digging soft nails into your charred and stained skin. He steps closer to you and you take your other hand to grasp his hair, raising your chest, inadvertently seeking more contact. For the sake of your nose, he’s trying to be gentle, but you thirst for each other, hooked on the stranger’s wine on your lips and tongue. Joel moves closer until he’s against the counter himself, taking the hand from your waist down to splay over where your shirt and pants meet to pull you closer; your bodies are pressed middle to middle, organs to organs. Your back is arched to adhere to him and you roll your hips into the heated contact. When a soft moan slips out of you, you and Joel pull apart, temperature falling remembering Ellie in the next room. Still connected, you’re Narcissus in the pool of each other’s eyes; revealed, wet and tragic; decoded, devastating captives of love.

Copper rolls around on your tongues bittersweet. You thumb away your red mark on Joel’s cupid’s bow and another on his cheek. It’s ironic how easily blood can be washed off of skin.

In the faint vestige spots of violence on your face, Joel reads ‘Ellie’. Again he treasures your eyes and the look he saw in them from the rearview mirror—hysteria, soul gripped so hard it was turning blue, instinctually boring into Ellie, short circuiting in it and asking her twice. He is Narcissus in your eyes. He slides his hand over your neck, finding your pulse with his thumb. “You’re okay.” he whispers.

“I’m okay.” you whisper back.

“She’s okay.”

#the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel the last of us #the last of us hbo #joel miller the last of us #the last of us fic #the last us hbo #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #joel miller tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou #tlou hbo

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writingsbyren · 1 year

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You in January | J.S.

Pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!Reader

Warning(s): Language, brief mentions of alcohol consumption, minimal use of Y/N

Summary: Reader comes to the realization that her heart belongs to someone that is not her fiancée. The only problem? It’s a little too late considering that it’s her wedding day.

Nestled away in the bridal suite, she had a perfect view of where the ceremony would take place outside. She watched as family and friends made their way over, taking their seats in front of the custom, handcrafted alter that was draped in lush greenery.

Everything was perfect. From the bright blue Texas skies that hung above without a single cloud in sight to the freshly cut flowers arranged in beautiful, ornate bouquets that hung at the start of each row. Her heart raced, pounding inside of her chest as the crowd grew in size. Today should be the happiest day of her life. Instead, she was petrified.

As the last of her bridesmaids received final touches to their hair and makeup, panic started creeping in. The sudden tightness in her chest making her feel as though she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. “Are you ready?” A voice asked. Her throat burned from the knot that had formed as she turned to find her maid-of-honor, lips barely turning up as she forced a tight smile. “I just need a minute.” To her surprise, she managed to speak without her voice wavering. Her lifelong friend nodded before ushering everyone out of the suite and into the hall. “Take as long as you need. We’re ready when you are,” she murmured before closing the door.

Slowly, she strolled to the floor length mirror, eyes studying her reflection. The perfect amount of makeup on her face, enhancing her natural beauty and highlighting her best features. Hair styled exactly as she pictured it when she was a young girl, daydreaming about her future wedding. The long, sheer veil that was pinned to the crown of her head, secured by what felt like fifty bobby-pins. Then there was the dress. Despite the picture perfect image before her, she was falling apart on the inside.

With visibly shaky hands, she reached down and grabbed the skirt of her dress, bunching the material in her palms as she stormed to the doubledoors that lead from the bridal suite to the hall.

Opening the door less than one inch, she called for her maid of honor. Immediately, she answered “Yeah?”

She gripped the door handle, knuckles turning white as she swallowed back the bile in her throat. “Is Jake here?”

“Of course, he is.”

She exhaled, unaware that she was holding her breath in the first place. “Can you get him for me?”

“I don’t think we have time for t-“

She opened the door a little wider. That’s when her eyes met her friend’s, a pleading look on her face as she spoke, “I need to see him.” With an understanding nod, her maid-of-honor took off.

Growing tired of pacing due to the heavy weight of her gown, she crumbled to the floor in the corner of the room, a mess of tulle and chiffon pooled around her.

“Y/N?”

The sound of her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the steady noise from the hall until she heard the sound of his voice. When his green eyes met hers, everything went calm. No one else had that kind of effect on her. After shutting the door behind him, he quickly stormed over to her. “Sweetheart,” He drawled as he crouched down in front of her, pulling her into his chest. “Come here. I’ve got you.” He hugged her tight as she clung to him, arms wrapped tightly around his abdomen. That’s when the dam broke, tears that were sitting on her lash line finally spilling over, falling down her cheeks as her panic attack took over.

“I can’t do this,” she sobbed into his chest. Carefully, he cradled the back of her head with one hand. “Shhh, it’s okay.” With his free hand, he rubbed up and down her bare back, trying to sooth her. “Don’t talk like that. You can do anything you want to,” he encouraged, clearly under the impression that she was suffering from cold feet. Normal wedding day jitters. She shook her head from side to side, pulling back enough to peer up at him. “I don’t want to marry him,” she whispered, watching his eyes widen in surprise. He opened his mouth but quickly closed it, still trying to process her words. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, green eyes searching her face. For what, she didn’t know. “I’m sorry,” he paused, running his hands down the length of her arms before taking her hands in his. “What was that you said?” She sighed, closing her eyes as she took a deep breath, grounding herself before saying, “I don’t want to marry someone I’m not in love with.

She fully expected to find him staring at her with a dumbfounded expression when she opened her eyes or for him to bombard her questions. But when her eyes opened, there was Jake in all his glory, handsome and calm as ever. “Okay,” he murmured, getting to his feet, pulling her up with him. “What do you want to do?” He reached forward, taking her face into his warm palms before carefully wiping the tears from her cheeks with a gentle brush of his thumb. A sigh fell from her lips at his touch. He always treated her like fine china. “I just want to get out of here.”

He stopped thinking and tapped into his instincts, jumping into action. “Then let’s get out of here,” he drawled, gazing into her eyes, wearing his signature shit-eating grin. Moving quickly, she dashed to the vanity to retrieve her purse. She threw her phone inside before placing the strap over her shoulder. “Are you sure about this?” He asked one final time, extending his hand to hers, smile still in place. He didn’t doubt her for a second but he wouldn’t be able to live with himself without asking one last time. When her hand met his, it was the only thing he needed before emerging through the double doors, heading directly for the back exit.

Thankfully, luck was on their side as the hall was empty, making their run for the parking lot uneventful.

Except it turned out running across asphalt in a wedding dress was no easy task, so she tugged him to an abrupt stop, which allowed her to remove her stilettos from her feet. “Here,” he laughed, grabbing her heels in his hand before taking back off. She laughed, the sound music to his ears as her veil trailed in the wind behind her.

The couple arrived at his truck and he swung open the door for her to climb inside. Moving as fast as he could, he lifted her dress into the cab, stuffing it inside, making them erupt in laughter. The idea of changing crossed her mind for a split second but she couldn’t spend another second at that venue. “Jake,” she laughed, pulling the remainder of the fabric inside. “It’s fine,” she assured him before he finally shut the door. He rounded the front of the vehicle and climbed into the driver’s seat, tossing her shoes over his shoulder and into the back floorboard before he started the engine.

“Holy shit,” he exclaimed, pulling onto the open road. “That just happened.” The reality of her actions started to sink in. She expected to feel regret, maybe even remorse. But that wasn’t the case. Instead, she felt nothing but relief. She smiled, glancing over at her best friend, who was now her personal savior. With his eyes forward, focusing on the road ahead, she took in the sight before her. Considering the dress code the groom established, she fully expected for Jake to show up in his dress whites. A silent ‘fuck you’ to her former fiancé, who Jake tolerated for her sake. The simple, yet classic suit he dawned would have looked nice on someone else but on Hangman? The look would have brought her to her knees, if she hadn’t been sitting in the cab of his pickup. He’d never looked better. “Y’alright over there?” He asked, glancing over at her with worried eyes. As she nodded, he reached over the console, placing his hand into her lap. “Never better,” she murmured, smiling from ear to ear. His eyes returned to the road but his own smile remained.

After a short, quiet drive, they pulled into the familiar drive at his place. It was a cozy, two-bedroom house, where she felt more at home then anywhere else. She tried to tell herself that it was because she watched over the place when he got called to different duty stations, thus making it feel like a second home. But she knew, deep down inside, it was because everything inside screamed Jake. From the University of Texas memorabilia scattered throughout the house to the countless medals proudly on display, reminders of him were everywhere. The moment they stepped inside, she visibly relaxed. He had to bite back a chuckle as she plopped down on the couch, happily sighing as she ripped the veil from her head. “Do you want to change?” He asked, tossing his keys onto the coffee table. They purposefully left their phones in the truck. “Yeah. Definitely,” she chuckled, looking down at her gown. He disappeared into his bedroom, while she focused on removing the never-ending bobby-pins from her hair.

“I didn’t know if you’d want to shower first, so I laid some clothes out on my bed,” he stated, returning to the living room. She looked up, watching as he shrugged out of his coat before his finger went to work removing his tie. “Figured you could use my bathroom.” Taking a break from her hair, she got to her feet. She strolled to his bedroom, the sound of her dress dragging against the hardwood. She didn’t bother trying to pick it up. She didn’t care what happened to the garment, it was no longer serving a purpose for her. “Jake,” she paused, standing in his doorway. “Thank you.” His lips tuned up into a soft smile as he headed for the kitchen. Shaking his head, he replied, “Go shower. I’ll make us something to eat.”

Standing in front of his bathroom mirror, she finished removing the remaining pins from her hair, silently cussing her hairdresser. As she tossed the final pin onto the counter, an exhausted sigh fell from her lips. Soon, she’d have to explain herself to the very same family members and friends that were in attendance to witness and celebrate her nuptials. But today wouldn’t be the day. Desperate to shower and climb into bed, she reached behind her back to unzip her dress. “Come on,” she muttered to herself, blindly reaching around, feeling for the zipper. It was nowhere to be found. She turned, putting her back to the mirror when she realized why her attempts were coming up empty. The zipper was inconveniently placed directly in the center of her back, completely out of her reach. Without thinking twice, she called for help. “Jake! Can you come here?” When he entered the bathroom, he found her leaning against the counter, a defeated look on her face. He lifted his brows in silent question and she straightened. “Can you unzip me? I can’t reach the damn thing.” She turned, pulling her hair over her shoulder, presenting her back to him. He mumbled a quick ‘mhm,’ before reaching for the zipper.

Looking in the mirror, she met those green eyes that always seemed to stop her in her tracks. The serious expression on his face surprised her, almost as much as the way he gripped her hips in his hands, zipper seemingly forgotten. He leaned down, resting his chin on her shoulder, eyes peering into her soul as he spoke, “I want you to know there’s never been a more beautiful bride.” While she fought to hide the fact that she was blushing, his lips pressed to her bare shoulder before he completing the task at hand. After unzipping her dress with ease, he retreated to the kitchen, leaving her a flustered mess.

Inside his room, standing at the foot of his bed, wrapped in the coziest towel to ever exist, she admired the clothes he selected. Beside a pair of dark gray sweats was a single shirt that she easily recognized as one of his favorites. A plain, white long-sleeved cotton t-shirt with the infamous Gilley’s logo on the breast pocket. She remembered making the purchase like it was yesterday, sending it to him while he was originally at Top Gun. It was their favorite movie to watch after a night downtown. She slipped the sweats on first, rolling the waistband down three separate times, so the length fit her better. But as soon as she tugged the shirt over her head, the smell of Jake clouded her mind. Inhaling deeply, the stress from the day quickly dissipated.

After her shower, she joined Jake in the dining room, where they ate the most incredible spaghetti she’d ever had. Mid-way through dinner, he broke out her favorite bottle of mine, while he indulged in whiskey. She was working on her second glass when he asked her, “How are you feelin’?” He sat his glass on the table before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. She usually loved having his undivided attention but this time was different. No one knew her better than he did, so she knew pretending was pointless. He’d sense her lies within an instant. “Relieved,” she admitted with a sigh before taking a quick sip. “He wasn’t the one. I’ve known that for a long time now.” Lifting her eyes to meet his, she watched his brows furrow. “Why were you with him?” A simple question with a heavy answer. It was time for her to face the music. “I was settling,” she admitted with a slight shrug, swirling the wine in her glass, avoiding his gaze. “Why?” Her stomach twisted into a knot. Here went nothing. She downed the rest of her drink before she answered, “I didn’t think the person I was in love with would ever love me back.” She leaned forward, carefully placing her glass on the table top and pushing it back until it was completely out of the way. There was a breath, followed by a short pause before his hand found her knee. He cleared his throat.

“Who?”

“I think you and I both know the answer to that.”

The corners of her mouth turned up the slightest bit as she met his gaze. All the air left her lungs when he smiled at her. “January,” he muttered, million dollar smile never leaving his handsome, clean-shaven face. “Come again?” She asked, lifting her brows in confusion, which earned a laugh from her best friend as he shook his head. “It was January. Six years ago. We were at Dalton’s house for a party. You were talking to some girl, whoever he was dating at the time. You had on a red sweater and your favorite pair of jeans that always drive me crazy,” he admitted with a soft laugh, while she blushed five different shades of red. Sliding his hand from her knee, he grasped her thigh as he continued, “You had your head back, fake laughing like it was your job. That’s when I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That I loved you.”

Convinced that her heart was moments away from leaping out of her chest and onto the table, she sank further into her chair as his confession replayed in her mind. “Why didn’t you say something?” She asked, laughing lightly. He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders calmly. “I didn’t think you felt the same. I guess I was afraid you’d reject me.” There was that grin again. “Oh, yeah. Rejection. Guess that’d be a first for Hangman, huh?” She teased, making him roll his eyes as they laughed.

After a moment of silence, she took a deep breath, gathering her nerves as she stared into his gorgeous eyes. “I’ve loved you from the very beginning.”

Her words wiped the smile from his face as his eyes flickered from hers to her lips. Finally inching closer, he cupped her cheek with his free hand, lips meeting hers. Prior to kissing him, she thought the sparks that people referred to in romance novels or cheesy romcom movies was total bullshit. But as her lips molded to his, she experienced it firsthand. Electricity radiated throughout her body as his hands found her hips, pulling her on top of him effortlessly. With one arm wrapped around his broad shoulders, she used her other hand to play with the wisps of blonde hair at the nape of his neck. When Jake deepened the kiss by slowly licking the inside of her mouth, she melted in his strong arms.

She pulled away, completely breathless as she gazed into his eyes. “I love you,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his. He closed his eyes, allowing the words to wash over him. “I love you,” she whispered, kissing his right cheek. “I love you.” A kiss to his left cheek. “I love you.” A quick quick peck to his lips.

He couldn’t stop grinning as he stared at her in total admiration. “I love you,” he murmured, breath fanning across her face. Cradling her cheeks in the palms of his hands, he nuzzled the tip of her nose with his. “I’ll love you ‘til my last breath,” he promised before finding her lips again. The way his lips moved against hers, his tongue inside her mouth, his hands in her hair, she knew he meant every word.

She knew that her actions were selfish. Stringing her fiancée along for years, knowing that ultimately, he would never own her heart. No matter how long she ran from it or how much she tried denying it, there was no one else for her except Jake Seresin. As if he could read her mind, he mumbled against her lips, “Tomorrow.” He smiled, kissing her jawline. They would face the mess that she created head on. But more importantly to her, they would deal with it together.

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fluff #jake hangman seresin #hangman fluff #hangman x reader #top gun fanfiction #renxwrites

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radicallxser · 4 months

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fortnite rocket league got me feeling some type of way rn

The air of the car is sweltering, your sweaty palms grip the steering wheel with white knuckles.

Your visor is lit up in a default blue color, the race countdown ticks down to the side. You can see a small cam shot of your car, the paint is chipped and the exhaust pipe is glowing a bright orange.

The damn thing looks like a death trap on wheels.

The countdown ticks even further down, now covering the entire screen of your visor. The bright red letters pass by all too quickly, you can hear the crowd counting down outside.

Your heads swims and your body feels like its on fire.

You squeeze your eyes shut, tightening your grip on the wheel.

5, In.

4, Hold.

3, Out.

2, Open.

1, Gas.

Your car flies away from the starting line. A hideous growl leaves the engine, so loud you can hear it over the obnoxiously loud music blasting into your ears.

The world darkens when you enter a tunnel on the track, a purple car ramps up the wall and Boosts from the ceiling.

An all too familiar purple.

A different car ramps your left, and suddenly your spinning.

Quickly straightening up and ignoring the headlight now being crushed under other tires, you press your foot to the pedal, pressing as hard as the damn thing will go.

The car shakes beneath you as you tear past the other players.

The numbers continue to climb as you drift into another lap. You move slowly up the ranks, your numbers climbing on your visor.

Go.

Your brakes fail the moment you need them.

The person in front of you brake checks, and you move to swerve. Another car collides with yours, lurching you forward. You spin again, then finally the car stops.

Your visor lights up red with 'disqualified' taking up the rest of it.

You lean your head against the steering wheel, tears mixing with beads of sweat rolling down your face.

There's a commotion outside, and you see people being pulled out of there cars.

A figure, dressed in an all purple racing suit starts approaching you. You watch them leap over cars and debris, then sock another another racer hard in the jaw.

You watch the punched racer fall to the ground, then the purple clad racer starts towards you in a jog, shifting into a sprint.

Your savior in purple finally reaches you, ripping your car door off like its nothing.

Then undo your seatbelt so gently for someone who can tear apart cars. They take you into their arms, pulling the helmet off your head.

Your eyes meet the mismatched gaze of Donatello Hamato's. He brushes the hair out of your face, looking you over.

"Those idiots! Look what they did do you...Oh, darling.."

He thumb brushes against your cheeks slowly, inspecting the scrapes and bruises.

"Come on, love. We need to get you patched up..."

He lifts you, pressing your face into his chest and carrying you away from the debris.

Never would you ever have thought you'd be so happy to see your ex highschool sweetheart but apparently God hates you.

#vee writes #donatello x reader #yandere donatello #yandere rottmnt #yandere future donnie #donnie x reader #rottmnt x reader #yandere rottmnt donnie #future donnie x reader #racing au

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themultifandomgal · 6 months

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Tommy Shelby- Out Of The Blue Pt3

Pt1

Tommy and his brothers walk into the Garrison pissed off, then again when isn't he. The Garrison is now empty other than Harry sat on the floor. That's when Tommy noticed the blood. Frowning he makes his way over to see YN lying lifeless on the floor with Harry holding a wound. Immediately Tommy is by YN's side listing for her breathing, its there but faint

"Stay with me YN" Tommy breaths out quietly. Gently he picks YN up in his arms and rushes her to his car out front, ordering his brothers to find the men that did this.

At the hospital Tommy paces back and forth covered in YNs blood. Arthur, John and Micheal walk over to him also covered in blood

"It's done. They're dead" Arthur lowly says. Tommy nods acknowledging what his older brother just said

"Hows YN doing?" John asks worriedly for his best friend

"Fuck knows. Because no fucking doctor will tell me!" he yells out of anger before sitting down on a seat with his head in his hands "they took her to surgery as soon as we got here" he sighs

"She's a fighter, she'll pull through" Arthur says patting John on the shoulder before sitting down. All Tommy can think of is 'what if she dies?' 'What was the point in us hating each other?' this is the point he realises his feelings for YN. She's not just his brothers friend, she means something to him as well.

The Shelby's seem to be sitting in a waiting room for hours before a doctor finally comes over and tells them that YN is out of surgery and in her room. She was shot in her abdomen and lost a fair bit of blood, but luckily pulled through.

Tommy is by her side in an instant, taking her hand in his he places a kiss on her knuckles

"You can't leave me" he says quietly "I've been so stupid. I promise if you wake up, I'll give you whatever you want" Tommy looks at YN's sleeping face, moving a stay hair. He places a kiss on her forehead when John and Arthur walk in with Micheal. Tommy hears someone clear their throat and turns around

"So you finally admitting your feelings?" John smirks

"Shut up" Tommy replies looking back at YN.

It's a few hours later when YN finally wakes up to a bright light making her flinch. She notices the pain in her stomach when she tries to sit up a little

"Hey hey hey carful" YN then sees Tommy standing up and lowering her back down

"Tom?" she croaks

"Let me get you a drink" Tommy gets a glass of water for YN which she gladly drinks with the help of Tommy "do you remember what happened?" sadly Yn nods her head

"George?" she asks looking into Tommys eyes

"Dead"

"Look who's awake!" John shouts walking into the room with Arthur

"Hey John"

"Don't ever do that again, do you hear?" John points at YN who chuckles a little before wincing

"When your able to leave the hospital, your coming home with me" Tommy says "I need to make sure your safe" Tommy strokes the side of YNs face with his knuckles

"For fucks sake" John groans making YN and Tommy look at him "just fucking kiss already. You both obviously want to"

"I'm not having our first kiss in the hospital in front of you two. It will be special" Tommy says looking down at YN who smiles widely.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader

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wolfiemcwolferson · 8 months

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well, here we go, ig.

Charles opens his front door to find a cardboard box that's been taped shut with that clear packing tape, but there are holes cut into it and someone has written BITES in captial letters and it's been underlined for emphasis.

Goddamnit he thinks as he leans down over it, cognizant of the holes on the side. He isn't sure what kind of creature is in here, but it could be anything really. Someone once left a crow on his doorstep.

Hadn't he just been bragging to Alex that he hadn't had an animal drop-off for three whole weeks. Well, now he's got one.

Nothing darts out the side holes and there's not noise coming from the inside, so he picks it up carefully, feeling the weight of it in one corner.

"Hello," he coos, feeling guilty that he's got to get the poor thing in the exam room in the barn of his place before he's willing to open it. That's how he almost got hit by a truck on the highway - chasing a damn chicken because he opened the box.

No, he's learned his lesson.

"I know, sweetheart." He says again, "Just gotta get you round back and then we can see what's happening."

He hurries around the side of the house, kicking the side-door open that doesn't need to be locked at night and sets the box down on top of the freezer, digging for his keys when he hears the tiniest meow.

"Well, fuck." Charles abandons the keys, quick to rip the tape from the box and pull the flaps back to find one orange cat huddled in the corner of the box, staring up at Charles with wide eyes and flat ears. "You're just a little kitten, huh?"

The cat hisses.

"Okay, well, you're a big kitten. Vicious. Biter, huh?" Charles has turned back to his keys, inserting the right one in the lock before typing in the code to unlock the door.

"I need a mouser." Charles says, talking to the cat because he's in the habit of doing that - talking to his patients like they're human and can understand him. He's always done that. Alex says it makes him crazy. Charles invited him to become a rural vet and then tell him he's crazy.

"You could stay and by my mouser," Charles picks up the box where the cat is still huddled in the corner. "I'll give you a check-up," Charles tells them. "You can get all your vaccines and I'll feed you one can of wet food a day in exchange for mice from the horse barn, how does that sound?"

Charles now sets the box done on his desk, shaking his mouse to check his appointment book and also to pull a can of wet food from the filing cabinet behind him.

He sneaks a hand inside, trusting that this stray cat isn't going to bite him, just gives one knuckle to smell, and Charles is shocked when the cat bumps their head against it. "Oh, you're a darling, aren't you?"

Another weak meow from the cat and they unfurl, sitting up a bit straighter and Charles notices they look well fed - taken care of even. "I'll get you some food, yeah? Get you something to eat and then you'll let me examine you?" He turns towards the filing cabinet, unlocking it with his keys to dig a can of cat food from the back. "Make sure you're healthy? And then maybe we can find you a nice place in the barn, yeah? I have some blankets -"

Charles shrieks because the coffee mug on his desk shatters against the floor and a shard hits him in the back of the leg - dull and blunt - but he twists to find a man - a naked man.

Bright blue eyes, light brown hair mussed on top of his head, and completely fucking naked. He's got one leg over the other, perched on the edge of Charles' desk with feline grace.

"Well," he says softly but full of something like teasing, "Since you've agreed to let me stay forever."

Charles blacks out.

#um cat pierre #nobody let me write part two #piarles to follow of course

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rebelwrites · 1 year

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Pancakes, Frenchman And Heart Attacks

Pierre Gasly x Reader

Pierre Gasly Masterlist

Summary: Pierre remembers that you never eat breakfast before work and makes sure that today you ate. Even if it meant potentially causing a heart attack

Prompt: "You brought me breakfast?" "Well you said you always forget to eat before you go to work, so I thought I'd make sure you ate something." Requested by @mehrmonga

AN : first time writing for Pierre 🥰 hope you enjoy I know this is quite short but the cuteness level is high. Ive tagged my Leclerc TagList which is now turning into the F1 TagList

As always reblogs and feedback is highly appreciated ❤️ if you want tagging in future parts let me know ❤️

The sound of kitchen cupboards slammed caused you to jolt awake, your heart pounding at the sound of someone downstairs in your house. Squinting at the clock on the bedside table you groaned at the red 5:05am blinking back at you. It was like it was taunting you as the banging from downstairs only got more regular and louder.

Tugging your boyfriend's hoodie on you stole when you last saw him, and a pair of sweatpants that were lying by the bedroom door, you tried to calm your nerves down but nothing was working. The thought of someone being in the house put you on edge.

As you crept out of your bedroom you swiped the baseball bat that was propped up against the wall. At least you had something to defend yourself with. You found yourself holding your breath as you slowly walked down the stairs trying your hardest to avoid the parts that would creek giving away your position.

The closer you got to the kitchen you could hear someone singing along to the radio, their voice was low so you could quite work out who was invading your home.

Holding the bat up against your shoulder you were ready to swing. But the moment you stepped into the kitchen the person spun around. A wide smile etched on their face.

“What the fuck, Pear?” You breathed, dropping the bat to the ground, placing your hand over your chest trying to slow your heart rate down as you glared at your boyfriend.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” He said with a shit eating grin on his face. “Did you sleep well?”

“You do realise you caused me a heart attack right?” You hummed, raising your brow at the Frenchman. “I thought someone had broken in.”

Pierre shook his head lightly as he wrapped his arms around you, pressing a tender kiss against your lips.

“I’m sorry my love.” He whispered, brushing your cheek with his knuckles. “I was trying to surprise you.”

You couldn’t stay mad at him, one look in his bright blue eyes melted your heart. Wrapping your arms around his neck you let your fingers tangle in his hair.

“Not that I don’t love having you here but it’s not even half 5, why so early?” You chuckled, as he moved away from you, turning back to the coffee machine.

“Making breakfast.” He grinned proudly, placing a freshly brewed mug of coffee in front of you as you perched on the bar stool at the breakfast bar.

Looking around the kitchen you realised he had brought all the ingredients for making pancakes, but not just any pancakes, the best pancakes in the world. Nothing could beat Pierre’s pancakes.

“You brought me breakfast? And broke into my house to cook it! I didn’t think I was gonna see you until the weekend?” You hummed, letting your fingers wrap around the coffee mug.

A smug smile crossed his face as he spun around to face you. “Well you said you always forget to eat before you go to work, so I thought I'd make sure you ate something."

This statement made your heart melt, instantly forgetting that it was so early in the morning.

“And we got back earlier than planned and I didn't need to be at the track until 11 so I thought I’d surprise you.”

“Well, mission accomplished.” You giggled, taking a sip of your coffee letting the taste dance over your taste buds as you watched your boyfriend gracefully move around the kitchen.

Today was going to be a good day, even if it did start with having a heart attack.

@chibsytelford @dragon-of-winterfell @ohthemisssery @a-distantdreamer @sgkophie @stillbreathin @angywritesstuff @miamedyu @enchantedbytomandhenry @scribbuluswrites @dangerouspursepeachbear @micks-afterglow @livo67 @buendiabebeta @pleasedontfollowinlost @ferrarifwendvale @hungryhungarian @theplobnrgone @charlesleclercje @sunf1owerrq @queenslife @panicforspec @inesramoss30 @justme2042 @liv67 @sessgjarg @derpinathebrave @idkiwantchocolatee @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @alynoa @clcspeonies @pleasantducktimetravel @organasith @inchidentwithmax @raaaaabzzz @teamspideyman @marvelousmendess @mehrmonga @sbgal @thattaylorswiftobsessedbitch @mloyer

#pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly imagine #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #formula one #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one imagine

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valeriianz · 1 year

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proof that i have finally started working on @watercubebee's Charro Dream AU. im having way too much fun imagining Hob as a cowboy with a thick accent, but that's for another story... here's a little something to tide you over until I get my thoughts reigned in properly (also thanks to @fractalspaces for helping me with the research!):

Hob sighs, ducking down just as a glass flies through the air and smashes against the wall behind him, reaching for his rifle hidden behind the bar.

Everyone’s guns remained on the table tops, for now. But Hob could feel the tension in the dry air, swelling like a barrel of whiskey until the room stank with it. Hob felt a bead of sweat trail down the back of his neck as he reamerged from the dusty shelves and witnessed the first punch thrown among the shouting; the crack of knuckles connecting with bone enough to get any man sitting to stand, and the women to shriek, running to the walls.

Hob raised his rifle high in the air, bringing the butt of the gun down on his thigh while grabbing the end of the barrel, cocking it loudly while shouting to be heard over the noise of drunken patrons.

“Alright chuckleheads,” Hob drawled, one finger curled around the trigger. “Y’all best wise up before I start aiming.”

“Ah, whaddya know about shootin’, bar dog?”

“I know you aint got nothin’ under that hat but hair,” Hob proclaimed, swinging the rifle forward and getting both hands on it properly. “Shall we find out?”

Before Hob had mind enough to worry, the swinging doors of the canteen squeak loudly with the arrival of someone new. Hob looked over as everyone else did, finding a man dressed in all black standing at the threshold.

A silence falls over the dusty room and the stranger lifts his head, eyes scanning the tables and the men, who are frozen in place, breathing heavily from the brawl that had unexpectedly simmered down. His skin is pale, almost unnaturally white against the black on black ensemble, from his wide brimmed hat, studded jacket, form fitting pants, and boots.

The man’s trailing gaze finds Hob, forcing him to swallow as he slowly puts one foot in front of the other, the floorboards creaking under his weight and the spurs of his boots clinking with every step. His eyes flit to the side as he advances, blue as the sky and twice as bright, silently taking in the scene before him: men openly staring, their mustaches wet with spit and whiskey, begin to whisper among themselves. Hob can hear it, over the prominent buzzing of a fly above him.

The dark clad man raises one eyebrow before looking at Hob again, clearing a space at the bar with his mere presence. Hob sets his gun down, too wary to put it away just yet, and eyes the stranger up and down. He’s built like a snake on stilts; tall and thin, his suit seemingly tailored to his body. Up close now, Hob can see silver embroidery on his black bolero jacket, depicting something like Aztec. He wears a silk tie that looks as if it’s never seen daylight, dark red, like bruised rose petals, creamy smooth against shiny buttons.

“What are they saying?”

“Hm?” Hob intones, taken aback by the man’s deep voice and accent. Though he recognizes it now, along with the man’s clothes. Then he listens to the murmuring around them and has to laugh softly. “El Charro Negro,” Hob proclaims, relaxing his stance and leaning against the bar. “A legend around these parts, and not the good kind, mind you.”

The man is indeed dressed in all black, even his dress shirt and buttons, but his eyes are not menacing, like the myth suggests. Quite the contrary, Hob thinks, as he studies him. He is handsome, and not in the roguish way a cowboy is, but upstanding and bizarre, clean cut and pressed. Hob has a brief thought of roughing him up, in more ways than one, but imagines under those clean clothes and curious gaze lies a quiet power, buzzing just under the surface.

It’s enough to make Hob’s mouth water.

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream x hob #charro dream au #just posting this to show i havent forgotten about charro dream!#my motivation for writing is hiding somewhere #so please have this small intro while i find it!#yeehaw!#my writing

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brittanymoura · 1 year

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the heir & the emissary

Eris Vanserra x OC (estranged Archeron sister)

PROLOGUE

// 8 months post-UTM //

Eris stopped breathing.

The pull was instantaneous. This tugging in his chest, impossible to ignore. He blinked once, twice and then sucked in a gasping breath as if returning to the surface of water.

He couldn’t look away. She was beautiful with long, pale blonde hair which fell in waves down her lithe back. Her knee length, black coat cinched at the waist; accentuating her good figure. Her head was turned slightly towards him as she laughed at something a passerby had said to her. Her bright white teeth on display, eyes and nose scrunched up and a loud, joyful sound emitting from her. She looked absolutely radiant.

He watched as this woman wrenched open the door to the tavern and stepped inside, disappearing from his view.

“Sir, is everything alright?” one of his guards spoke up, having come to stop a few feet from him. Eris hadn’t realized he’d stopped walking and was now standing in the middle of the cobbled road, staring into the distance.

“Yes, everything is fine. We have much more of this town to check on before sundown but I am suddenly feeling incredibly parched. Let’s stop for a drink before we carry on.”

____

Stepping into the tavern, Eris was immediately greeted with the familiar scent of cinnamon. His shoulders sagged as the tension of a long day of travel began to bleed out of him. He took a moment to look about the room; his eyes roving over the few patrons who had gone eerily still at the sight of him. He ignored their wide eyes and rigid bodies as he searched the small space. There she was.

She was seated at a table in the front of the room, a steaming cup sat on the table in front of her. She had her small, dainty hands wrapped around the mug as she stared out of a nearby window.

“You all get a drink and find a table. I’ll be back in a bit.” His guards easily recognized his dismissal and headed off to the bar for drinks. Eris made his way towards her slowly.

He had just begun to approach her table when she glanced up at him, a small smile gracing her fair-skinned face.

“The heir to the Autumn court. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Her voice was like honey. Her blue-gray eyes stared up at him in a piercing gaze.

“Ah, it seems you have me at a disadvantage.” He spoke. She extended her hand in greeting, which Eris immediately took into his own. He lowered himself into a bow and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “I have been making my rounds through some of the local villages to make sure they are doing well and I saw you come into the tavern. You are absolutely stunning and I just needed to know your name…” he trailed off, raising back into a standing position.

“Tegan. My name is Tegan. I am an emissary for the Winter court.” She replied. Her smile grew wider as she motioned to the empty seat across from her. Eris quickly took the invitation.

“Well, Tegan, it is a pleasure to meet you. May I ask what brings you to the Autumn court?” Eris asked, settling into his seat. He folded his hands together, fingers interwoven, upon the tabletop. Tegan raised her mug to the barkeep signaling for another as she dipped her head in his direction. He took a moment to observe her. She had an ethereal beauty about her, shining as bright as the Sun with sharp, pointed features. She wore a braid in her hair, running across her scalp like a band, covering her ears.

“I came to Autumn in hopes of meeting with someone of power. Preferably someone handsome, regal, if a little ostentatious. If I’m lucky, maybe it will be someone who will sweep me off my feet in a forbidden, whirlwind romance.” She breathed. A small, wistful smile adorned her face. “Do you think you can get me an audience with your father?”

Eris watched her from across the table with a look of horror. Tegan burst into laughter, tipping her head to the side and he caught a glimpse of what she was no doubt attempting to hide beneath the braid. Rounded ears.

“I jest!” She exclaimed. Eris’ expression morphed into a deadpan stare. “You are just the person I am looking for. Viviane sent me to speak with you. I have no official business on this trip beyond introducing myself, that you and your court may recognize me in the future.” His lips twitched upward as the barkeep approached the table and slid a drink in front of him. Even as he gave his thanks, his eyes remained on Tegan.

“Well then, I believe you have completed your task. In any case, it seems a beautiful woman has ordered me a drink and it would be terribly rude for me to leave now without getting to know her.” He did not feel the need to mention that he would have stayed regardless. He felt an odd sense of comfort, sitting here with her. It was a foreign feeling to him; one he was not nearly ready to let go of.

“Yes, I imagine that would seem rather callous. It looks as though you will be stuck here, with no choice but to waste away your afternoon with her.” Tegan winked.

And so they spoke…about their courts, about themselves, about the meaning of life, about anything and everything. They smiled, laughed, and drank. Hours passed in the blink of an eye. And when the sun began to set below the horizon and the tavern grew dim, they rose from their table.

Despite having not completed the task he’d set for himself that day, Eris had never felt so light. In all his years of living, he had never felt so free.

“Tegan, it was a pleasure to meet you.” He stated, helping her to shrug on her coat. He glanced around the tavern, giving a small nod to his guards to let them know it was time to leave.

“The pleasure was all mine, Eris.” There it was again. That tugging in his chest, which pulled taut at the sound of his name on her lips. She smiled up at him, peering through her lashes. “Hopefully I will see you again soon.” She placed her hand on her chest, rubbing in a small circular motion and he knew then that she had felt it too.

Eris held open the door with one hand and allowed her to step out into the crisp night air before him. He took her hand in his once more, placing a chaste kiss against her knuckles. “I will be counting down the days.”

#eris x oc #eris vanserra #eris #archeron #eris x reader #acotar #the heir and the emissary

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theinnerunderrain · 2 years

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Knave [Yan! Arlecchino x Gender-neutral! Reader]

Knave: an unprincipled, untrustworthy, or dishonest person.

Warnings: Yandere themes, Arlecchino being downbad, it's a pretty tamed prompt but the end does get a bit darker.

Word count: 1k

Repost

Despite holding the title of "Kanve," Arlecchino was by no means a dishonest or unethical woman.

You might even disagree. She came across as more of a rather dignified and respectable woman, ignoring the fact that you've only had a few encounters with her throughout your shifts at the orphanage. Her words are always firm and proper, spoken with the clarity of a commander who has been leading troops on the front lines for many years.

You could even say you privately admired her.

"Good evening [First Name]."

You bow down, baffled to have encountered her given that the majority of the employees have already gone back to their headquarters to retired for the night. She was standing across from you, her white hair appearing to glow despite the hallway's darkness. Her body was clothed in her work uniform, indicating that she had most likely just returned to the orphanage.

"There's no need to bow down here, the orphanage does not need to be obsessed with such a hierarchy of power."

She motioned for you to stand up as she approached you, a soft smile inscribed on her crimson lips. Another fascinating point would be that Arlecchino is constantly the subject of rumours claiming that she was some sort of compulsive lunatic who only knew how to manipulate people. But she never made an effort to constrain you; instead, she simply treated you just like the other employees within the orphanage.

"I do apologize. Despite your earlier warnings, I appear to have forgotten."

"There is no need to apologise for a simple error. Come along and stroll with me."

The woman's worn-out complexion captures your attention as you peek up in surprise. Her skin appears paler than usual, and the creases beneath her eyes implied that she hasn't slept in a while. Although she rarely exhibited it to others, her face retained a significant degree of softness to it. Without being able to put your fingers on it, you may sometimes suspect that the way she looks at you is a little bit different from the way she looks at the state officials who regularly visit the orphanage, ready to offer some sort of sick suggestions to deploy the children off to some life-threatening missions.

"But my lady, I am not a very interesting person. I am afraid that I may bore you."

Indeed, it is true. One would expect you to be fairly gregarious given that you deal with children on a regular basis, yet you hardly ever communicated with your colleagues outside of the obligatory exchanges.

"You are not required to converse with me; simply accompany me as I walk will do."

In her response, the woman held out her gloved hands for you to grasp. You tentatively press your knuckles onto her palm, and she tugs you behind her as she escorts you outside to the courtyard of the orphanage.

The scent of beautiful flowers permeated the air as the two of you strolled around the garden under the moonlight. Even though the walk was relatively calm, you were unsettled by the stillness as you silently peered into the woman's white hair as she marched forward. Sure, you've met several people with bright red hair or hair that was a sombre shade of blue, but you've never come across someone with such white hair.

While her hair was an odd colour, it prompted you to think of the snow that engulfed most of Snezhnaya's land, making it rather cold but you thought it was quite fitting.

She abruptly came to a halt, and you crashed into her, flushing in shame as you rubbed your cheeks at the sudden pain.

"My apologies."

You stammered timidly before realising she had led you to the fountain within the garden. The woman sat down against the marble columns and watched as you cautiously dipped your fingers into the water. Goosebumps emerged on your forearm as a result of the water's coldness.

She suddenly leaned in and grasped your face in her palms while peering into your eyes. The red stripes in her irises appeared to captivate you as they suddenly turned ominous. You had always been curious about the provenance of her eyes since you had first met her, but you lacked the confidence to probe. Those who had ever enquired about her, according to some, invariably appeared to vanish the next morning.

The woman was now only a few inches away from your lips, her icy breaths fanning over them, seemingly contemplating over something.

No, she shouldn't be acting in this manner.

She swiftly dropped your face, and turned away, the coldness of her hands vanished from your skin. You could do nothing but gawk at her in disbelief and mild surprise at what had just unfolded, thoughts racing through your mind.

"I'm ashamed, I must have been out of my mind, for the sudden inappropriate behaviour."

Arlecchino stated, before rising to her feet. Although it wasn't immediately apparent, you could sense that she was nearly humiliated by the subtle red tinting her ears as she turned away.

"The clock is becoming late; hurry back to your chamber."

She didn't make an effort to reprimand you for your involuntary bow, seemingly still mortified of her previous behaviour. You turned around and approached the estate, but not before casting a brief peek back to see that the woman was still seated at the fountain.

Seemingly oblivious of your gaze, her dark eyes remained fixed on you as you entered the manor, escaping back into your chamber.

"That was wrong of me to do," Arlecchino suddenly sighs, her fingers running to push back her white bangs as she leans back against the fountain.

Although it may not be one of her main virtues, patience is essential, and Arlecchino was prepared to wait for you.

Eventually, the time will come. Even if it meant burning down the orphanage with her own hand. Even if it meant betraying the Tsaritsa and massacring everyone else, she'll gladly do it.

Just for you.

Perhaps her title of the 'Knave' did suit her then you originally thought.

#yandere #yandere genshin au #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #arlecchino #yandere arlecchino x reader #yandere Arlecchino #yandere genshin imagines #genshin impact #yandere x reader #fatui harbingers #fatui #the knave

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innerunderrain · 2 years

Text

Knave [Yan! Arlecchino x Gender-neutral! Reader]

Knave: an unprincipled, untrustworthy, or dishonest person.

Warnings: Yandere themes, Arlecchino being downbad, it's a pretty tamed prompt but the end does get a bit darker.

Word count: 1k

Despite holding the title of "Kanve," Arlecchino was by no means a dishonest or unethical woman.

You could even say you privately admired her.

"Good evening [First Name]."

"There's no need to bow down here, the orphanage does not need to be obsessed with such a hierarchy of power."

"I do apologize. Despite your earlier warnings, I appear to have forgotten."

"There is no need to apologise for a simple error. Come along and stroll with me."

"But my lady, I am not a very interesting person. I am afraid that I may bore you."

"You are not required to converse with me; simply accompany me as I walk will do."

While her hair was an odd colour, it prompted you to think of the snow that engulfed most of Snezhnaya's land, making it rather cold but you thought it was quite fitting.

She abruptly came to a halt, and you crashed into her, flushing in shame as you rubbed your cheeks at the sudden pain.

"My apologies."

The woman was now only a few inches away from your lips, her icy breaths fanning over them, seemingly contemplating over something.

No, she shouldn't be acting in this manner.

"I'm ashamed, I must have been out of my mind, for the sudden inappropriate behaviour."

Arlecchino stated, before rising to her feet. Although it wasn't immediately apparent, you could sense that she was nearly humiliated by the subtle red tinting her ears as she turned away.

"The clock is becoming late; hurry back to your chamber."

Seemingly oblivious of your gaze, her dark eyes remained fixed on you as you entered the manor, escaping back into your chamber.

"That was wrong of me to do," Arlecchino suddenly sighs, her fingers running to push back her white bangs as she leans back against the fountain.

Although it may not be one of her main virtues, patience is essential, and Arlecchino was prepared to wait for you.

Eventually, the time will come. Even if it meant burning down the orphanage with her own hand. Even if it meant betraying the Tsaritsa and massacring everyone else, she'll gladly do it.

Just for you.

Perhaps her title of the 'Knave' did suit her then you originally thought.

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin imagines #genshin imagines #yandere #yandere x reader #genshin x reader #arlecchino #arlecchino genshin #fatui x reader #fatui harbingers #the knave

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lackyghost · 9 months

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Todoroki Touya was six years old when his school first held a mandatory soulmate course, that went over the history of soulmates as they had suddenly appeared hundreds of years ago. The origin of them is something no one could fully understand.

Soulmates are identified by matching marks on their bodies, something that shows up during one's teen years, like a tattoo that will simply fade into existence on one’s body. Sometimes it’s large, other times it’s so small that a person needs help finding it.

Less than 1% of the planet’s population is markless.

Everyone was excited to get their soulmark, to use it to track down their ‘other half’ so they could figure out how their lives were meant to meld together.

Because everyone has a soulmate.

—

Twenty-seven-year-old Touya enters Eraser Head Ink as he does every Monday through Saturday.

Touya is average height at 180cm, lightly muscular and toned. His ears are lined in black studs, an industrial on his right ear, and 10mm gauges in either side with large red fangs through them. He has three piercings in his lower lip, dimple studs, and three studs in his left nostril.

He is, of course, covered in quite a bit of ink, almost entirely done by his mentor and boss, Aizawa Shouta, every piece custom designed by Touya himself.

His left arm is coated in blue flames from his bicep down to the back of his hand, wrapping all the way around.

His right shoulder sports a large green and gray grenade surrounded by pink Sakura flowers that wrap his entire bicep.

He has ‘FUCK OFF’ tattooed across his knuckles in bold black English letters, outlined in bright orange.

His spine from the back of his neck down to his tailbone is covered in a traditional Japanese floral design with bursts of red flowers throughout.

On his left outer thigh is a quote surrounded by vines and bleeding red roses, ‘A soulmate is someone who understands you like no other, loves you like no other, will be there with you forever, no matter what,’ meant as a reminder of the importance of soulmates.

Aizawa is already inside, so Touya shoves the door open with his shoulder, careful not to jostle the hot travel mug of coffee in his hand.

“Morning,” Aizawa says in his usual monotone.

The man has long, curly black hair done up in a loose bun at the nape of his neck. His eyes are black, lined with heavy eyebags that clearly showcase his need for something stronger than coffee. Like Touya, he’s also covered in a significant amount of ink, though he only has piercings in his ears.

“Morning,” Touya grumbles back.

Touya always leaves his small office/station room in perfect order, but he still wipes his table down again before his first client shows up.

This day is pretty slow, he has one client coming in for a soulmark enhancing tattoo—something many people do.

Tattooing over a soulmark is a taboo that many people refuse to do, Touya included, but enhancers are designs added around the soulmark, but never over it.

Touya sighs and sets his coffee down as he pulls out the designs he’s been working on for his client. The man had supplied only that his mark is a circular shape and approximately 18cm in diameter on his back. He wants simple black flowers and vines around the design, so Touya has been working up a few things for the guy to compare.

At 11am on the dot, the doorbell jingles and Touya walks out of his office to greet the man.

“Midoriya Izuku?” Touya questions as he steps closer to the front counter.

“Yeah, that’s me,” the man confirms, nodding his head of wild curly green hair. His wide, bright green eyes are full of excitement as he looks at Touya. “Do I pay now or after?”

“Half now, half when it’s done,” Touya says.

The man nods enthusiastically and pulls out his wallet, flipping through some bills before handing Touya half of their previously agreed upon price.

“This way,” Touya says as he turns and leads the way to his room. “I’ve worked out three different ideas of what you might like.”

He spreads the three works across his desk for the other man to inspect.

“These are amazing,” Midoriya says, smiling excitedly as he leans closer.

Touya hums his agreement, fully aware of his own skill.

“I like this one best,” the man says, pointing to the more traditional design.

“Okay,” Touya says, picking up the sheet. “I’ll get this printed out in a transfer sheet. Take your shirt off. I’ll be right back.”

The man nods and Touya makes his way across the shop to the main office and printer. He hums along with the rock music playing overhead. Something he’d quickly learned about Aizawa when he’d started working here nearly ten years earlier is that his perpetually exhausted mentor has surprisingly good taste in music.

The printer finishes and Touya makes his way back with the original in hand. Midoriya is shirtless as instructed, but he’s seated on the edge of the padded table and Touya cocks a brow at the man.

“You’ve gotta lie down on your stomach for me to put this on,” Touya explains.

“Oh, right,” Midoriya says. “Sorry, this is my first tattoo, I’m nervous.”

“It’s fine,” Touya says with a huff, fighting against his instinctive response to roll his eyes.

He grabs his wipes and pulls his stool up to the side of the table before looking down at the soulmark and freezing.

Midoriya Izuku’s mark is a half-red, half-white fire and ice ying-yang wrapped in green vines on the center of his upper back.

“Holy shit,” Touya says.

“Is something wrong?” Midoriya asks, craning his neck to try to see his own back.

“Have you met your soulmate?” Touya asks, still staring down at the mark.

“No,” Midoriya says.

“I know who they are,” Touya says, moving his eyes to catch the man’s gaze. “I have his phone number. I know where he lives.”

Midoriya’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“I wouldn’t fucking lie about this shit,” Touya says seriously. “I can call him right fuckin’ now.”

Midoriya licks his lips as he considers. “After the tattoo.”

Touya nods and gets to work, wondering exactly what to say to his baby brother.

—

Six months after Touya introduces Shouto and Midoriya, the two move into an apartment together.

Turns out, they both attend UA University and actually shared a couple courses, but they’d never discussed soulmarks, which is shocking in a society that practically begs people to ask about them.

Touya is happy for them, really.

He shows that happiness by spending more time working to push his limits at the gym and ignoring family gatherings.

His professional social media account that doubles as his portfolio had gained hundreds of thousands of followers after Midoriya and Shouto had shared the enhancement to Midoriya’s tattoo, as well as the story of leading the two together.

Midoriya is apparently already famous online as the stepson of a film star, Yagi Toshinori.

It's been excellent for business. He now has appointments scheduled out for months.

Although under Aizawa’s strict rules, he’s required to give himself two full days off every week. He works those out around the schedules of his co-workers, Shinsou Hitoshi and Jirou Kyouka.

So, Touya’s life has changed a bit with his increased popularity.

—

Yesterday, he finished moving into his new apartment. It’s a ten-minute walk to Eraser Head’s, much better than the previous twenty-minute train ride and fifteen-minute walk from his cheap studio apartment.

His new place is modern with wooden floors and granite countertops in the kitchen. It’s a one-bedroom, but the room is large enough for him to have a desk so he can sketch at home instead of camping out overnight at the shop.

The apartment has a large bathroom with a square tub and an open shower, all tiled in grays and whites. The living room looks a bit less pleasing than he’d like, but he isn’t about to replace his old, super comfortable faded leather sofa.

He is much more excited to have a bigger bed after years of sleeping on a twin. Although admittedly, bringing the Queen mattress and bunkie boards up five flights of stairs because it wouldn’t fit in the elevator had not been a pleasant experience.

But, as Touya leaves for work after a night in his new place, he is damn proud of it.

He locks up and makes his way down the street, silently thankful for the warmth of the early fall air.

His ripped jeans tease at his thigh tattoo, and his white t-shirt shows off his hard-earned body as well as his ink.

The only coffee shop on the short walk to the parlor is a smaller place with ‘Plus Ultra Café’ written in white letters across the navy-blue awning.

Touya pushes the door open, jingling a little bell that sounds much cheerier than the one at Eraser Head’s. He steps up to the small counter, next to a glass display case that shows off various pastries.

“One second!” A deep, gruff voice yells out from the room behind the counter, no doubt leading to the kitchen that is the source of the sweet aromas filling the café.

Touya doesn’t respond, instead focusing on the black chalkboard menu behind the counter. He chews at his lower lip rings absently as he reads the coffee options. They have one drink that immediately has Touya’s attention.

“What the hell is a ‘Mexican Spiced Mocha?’” Touya calls out to whoever is in the back.

“It’s literally got a description on the fucking board, genius!” The person shouts out, their heavy footfalls storming closer as they make their way toward the front. “It’s hot chocolate with cayenne and cinnamon mixed with coffee!”

The person rounds the corner, Touya is still looking up at the board, barely noticing the flash of blonde in his periphery. The footsteps fall short and Touya turns his eyes to look at the person.

The man is a bit shorter than Touya, with pale blonde hair that fans out around his head in wild spikes. He has a sharp jaw and angular eyes, the irises a bright scarlet.

Touya turns more fully to face the guy, cocking an eyebrow at the other man’s stunned expression.

“What?” Touya snaps, not caffeinated enough for this shit.

“Nothing,” the man says, scowling as he walks the rest of the way to the cash register behind the counter. “So, you wanna try a Mexican Spiced Mocha?”

“Sure,” Touya grumbles as he pulls his wallet out.

“That’ll be 450¥,” the blonde says.

“Whatever,” Touya says, sighing as he pulls the bills out of his wallet and hands them over.

His eyes lock on the other man’s and he feels a bizarre urge to scratch his left eye. The other man blinks a few times and turns to grab a paper cup.

“Name?” The blonde grouses, holding up the cup and a marker.

Touya frowns. “The hell do you need that for?”

“I’m supposed to write the name on the cup,” the man says flatly.

“I’m the only person in here,” Touya says, narrowing his eyes at the other man.

The blonde rolls his eyes and puts the marker down. “Whatever, Patchwork.”

When he turns his back to start brewing the coffee and hot chocolate, Touya takes a moment to really take in the man. Even with the loose blue and white uniform, the man is clearly well-built.

Touya can appreciate an attractive person when he sees them, and this guy is certainly that.

“One Mexican Spiced Mocha for nameless cranky dude,” the man says as he turns around while capping the drink.

Touya takes the cup from him and sniffs it apprehensively. He takes a small sip and gives a small, surprised hum.

“Not bad, Doll Face,” Touya says.

“What the fuck did you just call me?” The barista snarls. “My name is Bakugou, asshole!”

“Says the guy who's calling me Patchwork,” Touya says, cocking a brow at the blonde.

Bakugou scowls. “Asshole.”

“Takes one to know one,” Touya says, unimpressed. “But the drink isn’t bad.”

“Whatever,” Bakugou says.

Touya rolls his eyes and makes his way to the door.

—

The next day, Touya goes to Plus Ultra again. He’d fallen behind on laundry, so he’d had to pull out an older pair of jeans that are a little too tight and he’s feeling more agitated than usual.

He shoves open the café door with a bit more force than is strictly necessary, and the bell over the door falls to the floor with a loud clatter.

“Ah, shit,” Touya says as he turns and bends over to pick it up.

“What the fu—oh,” the familiar voice behind him ends on a stunted, surprised note.

Touya straightens up and carries the bell up to the counter, a grimace on his face.

“I’ll replace it,” Touya says.

“It’s fine, I’ll hang it back up,” Bakugou says, and then he clears his throat. Touya looks up at the man, whose face is a vivid shade of red.

“You good, Doll Face?” Touya asks, eyes trailing around the flushed hue.

“Fuck off,” Bakugou snaps. “What d’you want?”

“Mexican Spiced Mocha,” Touya says as he places the exact change on the counter.

Bakugou’s face is starting to return to its usual color. “Right.”

Bakugou grabs the cup and immediately turns around to start making the drink, grumbling agitatedly under his breath. Touya eyes the man curiously. He seems almost embarrassed about something.

Touya opts to just shrug it off. He doesn’t particularly care and isn’t interested in finding out.

The door opens behind them, weirdly silent without the cheerful little jingle.

“Whoa, where’s the bell, Blasty?” A familiar voice questions.

Touya turns around to see one of his coworkers, Jirou Kyouka. She’s short and petite, with angular purple hair and black eyes.

“Oh, hey, Touya,” she says, slightly surprised.

“Kyouka,” Touya says with a nod.

“I’ve never seen you in here,” Jirou says. “This place is closer to your new apartment, huh?”

“A startling revelation,” Touya drawls.

“’Sup, Earjacks?” Bakugou says when he turns around. He sets Touya’s coffee on the counter and smirks at the purple-haired woman. “Iced Caramel Macchiato to further stunt your growth?”

“I have nothing else to lose,” Jirou says, shrugging.

Touya grabs his coffee and starts walking to the door, but Jirou stops him with a hand on his shoulder. Touya shrugs it off and turns to glare at her and she winces, having forgotten that the man doesn’t like to be touched.

“Shit, sorry,” she says, taking a step back. “I’ve got this client who wants flowers on her enhancement.”

Touya cocks a brow. “Okay.”

“Well, she wants this specific arrangement of peonies and dahlias…” Jirou trails off.

Touya nods his understanding. “Alright, give me whatever you’ve got so far when you get in and I’ll fix it.”

She gives him a smile. “Thanks, man.”

Touya just shrugs and nods on his way out.

—

Touya has to skip Plus Ultra for a few days while he helps Jirou with her redesign on top of his usual work, but the purple-haired woman brings him his Mexican Spiced Mocha every morning.

“Bakugou sends his regards,” Jirou says on the third day of no Plus Ultra as she sets his cup down on his desk.

Touya cocks his head at her. “Who?”

“The… barista?” Jirou says.

“Oh, Doll Face,” Touya says with a nod as he grabs the cup. “He called me Patchwork.”

Jirou cracks up laughing. “That’s so mean!”

“He seems like a dick,” Touya says.

“Oh, he is,” Jirou says, sniffling as she calms her mirth. “Shinsou and I went to high school with him. You get a nicer nickname over time. That’s where Shinsou’s came from.”

“What was his original Bakugou nickname?” Touya asks curiously.

“Eyebags,” Shinsou says as he walks past Touya’s door.

“Yikes,” Touya says, cringing. The man still has intense eyebags. “How’d he become Mindfuck, then?”

“Tattoos!” Shinsou yells out from the front room and Touya nods his understanding.

“Makes sense,” Touya says with a shrug.

Jirou walks out the door as she talks, “Hey, Hitoshi, do you do drugs while you do your tattoos?”

“Only the sketches,” Shinsou says. Aizawa levels him with a glare and Shinsou grins unrepentantly.

—

When Touya next goes back to Plus Ultra, the doorbell is back in its usual place. The day is warmer than usual, so Touya had opted for a black tank top and dark wash jeans for the day.

“Patchwork,” Bakugou says boredly from his spot behind the counter.

“Are you the only fucking person who works here?” Touya blurts out.

“No,” Bakugou says flatly. “Sparky works the afternoon shifts. Satou works the bakery part, but he’s always in the kitchens.”

“Using someone’s actual name, huh?” Touya cocks a brow as he sets the 450¥ on the counter. “Mexican Spiced Mocha.”

“He’s not a fucking idiot,” Bakugou says flatly.

“That must be a major compliment from you,” Touya says with a huff.

“It is,” the blonde says simply, reaching for one of the paper cups. He clears his throat, cheeks pinkening lightly. “Your tattoos are fucking cool.”

“I know,” Touya says dryly.

“Ah, fuck,” Bakugou says, scrunching his nose up. “Sorry if any are fuckin’ soulmarks.”

Touya grimaces. “Don’t have a soulmark. They’re all tattoos.”

Bakugou makes a small, surprised sound. “Huh. Never met another markless person before.”

“It’s a thrilling demographic,” Touya deadpans.

Bakugou snorts as he starts making the drink. “Right? I used to draw on myself with markers and pretend it was one.”

“That’s stupid,” Touya says. Although he had absolutely done the same thing when he was younger. “Bet your art is shit, anyway.”

“It is,” Bakugou says with a chuckle. “Were yours any good?”

“My art is always good,” Touya says defensively.

“Oh?” Bakugou drawls, smirking over his shoulder. Touya blushes, realizing his admission too late.

“Shut up,” Touya grumbles.

Bakugou huffs, amused. “Whatever. Did you draw your tattoos, then?”

“Doll Face, the only thing I didn’t do is stick the needle in my skin,” Touya says.

“Damn,” Bakugou says as he turns and puts the lid on Touya’s coffee. “Not bad, Patches.”

“I know,” Touya says, cocking a brow, like he dares the blonde to challenge him. “I did all the art on myself and only tattoo my own art on others. None of the generic bullshit people ask for. Not worth my fucking time.”

“You’re a tattoo artist?” Bakugou asks. Touya nods and the blonde takes a deep breath and exhales. “Holy shit. Anyway—you got social media or something? I’ve always wanted a tattoo.”

Touya contemplates that for a moment before nodding. “Dabi.”

Bakugou’s eyes blow wide. “Fucking seriously?”

Touya cringes and grabs his cup from the blonde’s hand before the man can accidentally crush the cup during his small existential crisis.

“You? You’re the fuckin’ soulmark artist who worked with Deku?” Bakugou asks, staring wide-eyed at the white-haired man.

Touya blinks and takes a sip of the coffee. “Shit, this is good. If I have to find a new place to get coffee because you freak the fuck out, I’mma be pissed.”

“Shut up,” Bakugou says, scrunching his nose up. “I don’t give a shit. Just can’t believe you worked with shitty Deku. Nerd’s been insufferable since meeting Half-n-Half.”

“Right,” Touya says dryly. “I’m leaving.”

“Door’s right fuckin’ there,” Bakugou says, frowning.

Touya observes his expression for a moment; the dejection and pain he understands all too well. With a sharp nod, he turns and walks out.

—

Touya doesn’t go to Plus Ultra the next day, Sunday. Partly because he doesn't have to go to Eraser Head’s, and partly because he has no idea if the café is even open on Sundays.

But on Monday, Touya pulls on a pair of black slacks and a long-sleeved, deep blue button-up. He’s supposed to be meeting his family for dinner after his shift and doesn’t want to waste time going home after work to change.

He pulls on his black sneakers because fuck formal shoes, and he makes his way out, ensuring that his door is locked behind himself.

The bell jingles when he steps into Plus Ultra, and Bakugou pops up from under the counter as he approaches, wild blonde spikes as untamed as ever.

“Patchwork,” Bakugou nods to him.

“Doll Face,” Touya says, cocking a brow as he drops his usual cash on the counter. He and Bakugou exchange equally unimpressed looks before the blonde turns and starts making the drink.

“You’re fucking busy,” the blonde grouses. “I called Eraser Head’s and got put on the list for when you start taking clients on again.”

“That’s what happens when you’re good at your job,” Touya says, his pride puffing his chest lightly.

“Right,” Bakugou says, shrugging as he turns.

He leans lightly over the counter to pass Touya his drink and the light catches the man’s scarlet eyes at a new angle.

Touya swiftly moves the coffee out of the way and grabs the blonde’s sharp chin, tugging him closer as the man gasps lightly in surprise. Touya narrows his eyes, glaring at the man as he observes his irises.

There, inside the man’s left iris, is a barely noticeable pale white circlet around his pupil. Touya clicks his tongue and shoves the guy’s face away. Bakugou is bright red and for once in his life, he’s at a loss for words.

Touya grabs his coffee and takes a sip.

“Your soulmark is in your left iris,” Touya says flatly before turning and leaving the café.

—

Once again swamped with large pieces needing to be done, Touya doesn’t go into Plus Ultra the next day. But at 9:00am sharp, Jirou rolls into Eraser Head’s with two cups of coffee and a massive grin on her face.

“You changed his life, Touya!” Jirou practically screams.

Touya drops his pencil and flexes his hands, willing himself to not smack the excessive volume from her face.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Touya snaps.

Jirou hands him his coffee, carefully avoiding the papers on his desk.

He places a protective plastic sheet over them and leans over it while he sips his drink with two hands.

“Bakugou,” Jirou clarifies. “You noticed the soulmark in his iris. I spent, like, half of my night in his apartment taking pictures of his eye so he could see it.”

“Got ‘em with you?” Touya asks.

It’s no secret to anyone that he enjoys looking at soulmarks. He’s one of the few people in the area who can rapidly identify the difference between a soulmark and a tattoo without needing special instruments.

“You know it,” Jirou says as she pulls her phone out.

She scrolls through her pictures and clicks one before handing the phone over. Touya looks closely, zooming in as far as the phone will allow.

The shape is fascinating—the ring itself has jagged edges that mimic an explosion, but it has small cracks with what looks like flames and smoke rolling out.

“Badass,” Touya says as he hands the phone back.

“Think you could draw up a larger version if I sent the images to you?” Jirou asks.

“He wants the design tattooed somewhere else,” Touya says, it isn’t a question.

“Yup,” Jirou says, tapping away at her phone. “There, I emailed all the pictures to you.”

“You owe me,” Touya says, leveling her with a glare. “It’s hard to see. It’ll take a while with all the other shit I’ve gotta do.”

“That’s fine,” Jirou says, waving him off. “You’re booked out for months and he’s already on your list. He’ll never admit it, but he’s about ready to pay anything to get your tattoo on him.”

“Whatever,” Touya grumbles before chugging the last half of his drink.

“No, really,” Jirou says, voice much softer. “I’ve known him for years. He was a bigger asshole in high school, and eventually I found out it was because he thought not having a mark meant he wasn’t wanted or something.”

Touya takes a breath to attempt to calm himself before glaring at her. “Yeah, I’m perfectly fucking aware of how shitty it is to not have a soulmark. Your doll faced friend is lucky that someone finally noticed it.”

Jirou gives him a measured look. “Maybe—”

“No,” Touya cuts her off. “Whatever you’re gonna say, I’ve looked. There’s nothing. Fuck off, Kyouka.”

—

Touya has the next day off work, so he stays in and pulls the images of Bakugou’s soulmark up on his computer, adjusting the size and altering the image to make the mark more clearly visible.

With the alterations, it’s easier to see that the mark covers nearly the entire iris.

Touya diligently drafts the stunningly intricate mark out onto his sketchpad.

It’s a circular pattern in a pale white, only just visible inside the scarlet orb it resides in. It wraps in a circle around the pupil, a little ring with jagged edges, flames and smoke curling around the entire thing.

—

Touya pushes open the door to Plus Ultra with his sketchpad tucked under his arm, the bell once again jingling merrily above him.

“One second!” Bakugou’s voice calls out from the back room.

“Whatever,” Touya says, voice still gravelly with sleep as he approaches the counter. He sets the sketch pad down and rubs at his eyes as he yawns.

“Whoa, you look like shit today,” Bakugou says as he makes his way to the counter.

“Thanks, Doll Face,” Touya deadpans.

“I ain’t gonna lie,” Bakugou says boredly, crossing his arms.

“Fair enough,” Touya says, shrugging and dropping 450¥ on the counter.

Bakugou grunts and turns to make his Mexican Spiced Mocha. Touya picks his sketchbook back up and flips through the pages until he reaches the one with Bakugou’s soulmark.

He stares at it blankly as the blonde makes his drink. Looking at the design brings a weird pang to his heart that he can’t properly discern.

“The fuck’s that?” Bakugou asks as he places Touya’s cup on the counter.

Touya picks up his coffee and holds the sketchpad out. “Your soulmark.”

“Oh,” Bakugou breathes out.

He reaches out and takes the pad with slightly shaky hands. He stares at it with an awed expression in his ruby eyes.

After a solid minute of silence, Touya clears his throat. “I can email the design to you. I don’t give away my sketches.”

“Okay,” Bakugou says, still entranced by the drawing. “This is fucking insane. I still can’t believe I have a mark.”

Touya snorts. “Congrats on the new demographic.”

Bakugou huffs and carefully closes the sketchpad before handing it back to Touya. “Thanks. This… means a lot to me.”

The blonde gives Touya a genuine smile that makes his heart clench painfully.

Naturally, Touya reacts to his body’s attempt at emotions by scoffing and taking the sketchpad back, tucking it under his arm.

“Whatever,” Touya says before sipping his coffee. “Do you know where you want it?”

“I was thinking around my wrist,” Bakugou says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t want any enhancements on it, and it’d be easy for me to see it there.”

Touya shrugs. “Makes sense.”

He stares at the blonde for a few moments, feeling his heart swell with more feeling than it has any right to for a man with a soulmark.

Touya sighs. “Be at Eraser Head’s on Friday at 6pm.”

Bakugou blinks. “Huh?”

“For your tattoo,” Touya explains. He rolls his eyes at Bakugou’s surprised expression. “Just be there, Doll Face.”

Touya turns and walks out the door, not sparing a glance back at the stunned blonde.

He makes his way to Eraser Head’s, finishing his coffee before he steps inside. He tosses the empty cup in the bin and goes straight to the primary printer/scanner to digitize Bakugou’s soulmark.

As the mark is scanned in, showing up on his phone as it’s automatically saved to his entire online storage system, Touya wonders why looking at it makes him hurt.

—

Friday at 6:00pm, Touya sits at the front desk at Eraser Head’s, relaxing on the office chair, head tilted back as he lightly bobs his head and sings under his breath to the music. He’s the last person left in the shop, just waiting on Bakugou.

Touya cracks his eyes open after a couple songs finish and glances at the clock on the far wall. 6:09pm. Touya cracks his neck and stands up.

If Bakugou isn’t going to show, Touya will just deep clean the shop while he has the chance.

He stands up and suddenly feels like eyes are on him. He glances around the shop, even with the overhead lights on, the slowly darkening sky makes him feel like shadows are closing in. He can feel his breathing increase as his heart starts pounding.

“Fuck,” Touya wheezes. He pulls out his phone and dials Shouto’s number, barely holding the phone up with his shaking hands.

“Hello,” his youngest brother says in his usual monotone.

“Shou, I can’t fucking breathe,” Touya says, voice tight with panic.

“Oh, shit,” Shouto says, rustling sounding over the phone. “Where are you? Do you have your anxiety medication with you?”

Touya speaks through gritted teeth. “I haven’t had a panic attack in over a year. I don’t have a single fucking thing with me.”

“Are you at home or Eraser Head’s?” Shouto asks, and Touya can hear a door closing.

“Eraser’s,” Touya wheezes, his chest feels dangerously tight.

“I’ll be there in ten,” Shouto says. “I’m gonna drive, so I’m going to hang up now.”

“Fuck,” Touya says as he hangs up, panting heavily.

He drops his phone and leans across the countertop, gripping the edge tightly and pressing his forehead to the cool marble.

He tries to focus on his breathing—in for five, hold for five, out for five. Repeat.

He doesn’t look up when the door swings open. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but he feels completely drained. His knuckles are white-tight on the counter and his legs feel useless.

The voice that speaks is decidedly not Shouto, however.

“Fuck, what’s going on, Patches?” Bakugou asks as he steps up to the counter.

“Fuck off,” Touya says weakly.

“Should I call an ambulance or something?” Bakugou asks, reaching out to touch Touya’s hands.

“Touya!” Shouto yells before he even opens the door. The bell jingles and the half-white, half-red haired man is at Touya’s side before the door finishes closing, rubbing small circles on his upper back. “What happened?”

“Eyes,” Touya breathes.

“Okay,” Shouto says calmly. “It’s just me and… wait, Bakugou?”

“Fucking Half-n-Half,” the blonde says, scowling. “He’s having a panic attack?”

“Yeah,” Shouto confirms. “Touya, I called Natsuo, he’s on his way.”

“Great,” Touya grumbles, breathing still shaky.

“Okay, we need a distraction,” Shouto mumbles as he runs through ideas in his head.

“A grenade, huh?” Bakugou grouses, reaching out to trace the tattoo visible through the cutoff sleeve on Touya’s right shoulder. “I’m on the UA boxing team, and my stage name is Dynamight.”

“Oh, right,” Shouto says, nodding to Bakugou. “Izuku talks about that a lot.”

Bakugou scowls. “Whatever. How the fuck d’you know Patchwork?”

“He’s my elder brother,” Shouto says and Bakugou’s eye twitches.

“Jesus, shut up,” Touya groans.

Shouto smiles and Bakugou snickers softly, the distraction is clearly working.

“Are you one of Touya’s clients?” Shouto asks curiously.

“I’m late, but that's why I was coming here,” Bakugou says, grimacing at his own tardiness. “I got held up at the fuckin’ gym with Shitty Hair. Shoulda been here at 6:00.”

The doorbell jingles and Touya doesn’t even register the tall, broad-shouldered white-haired man that enters the shop until he’s tugging Touya away from the counter and pushing him back down into the office chair.

“What the fuck, Natsu?” Touya snaps as fiercely as possible.

“None of that,” Natsuo says as he grabs Touya’s wrist to take his pulse. “I’m your friendly neighborhood paramedic, and I’m not gonna take your shit, Touy.”

“Friendly my ass,” Touya grumbles.

Natsuo ignores him and clicks on his penlight, “Look straight ahead.”

Touya blinks and squints at the brightness.

“Knock it off, asshole,” Natsuo chides. Touya forces his eyes wider and Natsuo moves closer, tilting his head curiously. “Hey… um, Shou, do you see that?”

Shouto steps closer to look at Touya’s face and his eyes widen slightly in surprise. Natsuo hums and clicks his light off.

“The fuck are you assholes looking at?” Touya asks, blinking away the new spots in his vision.

“Shut up,” Natsuo says as he pulls his phone out. “Hold still.”

“Fuck you,” Touya snaps.

Natsuo levels him with a glare. “I will knock your ass out if you try to fight me on this, Touya.”

Touya snaps his jaw shut and scowls. Natsuo nods and hands his penlight to Shouto, instructing him to turn it on and angle it a specific way. The paramedic then pulls out his phone and takes a series of pictures with the flash on.

“Get him some water while I look at this,” Natsuo says as he reclaims his pen light.

Shouto hurries off to the small break room while the middle Todoroki brother looks intently at the images on his phone.

“Here, it’s super faint and hard to see,” Natsuo says, holding his phone out.

Touya takes the offered device and blinks at the picture of his left eye. He furrows his brow and opens the image up in the phone’s editing app.

He zooms in, adjusts the saturation and brightness, and stares blank-faced at the very, very familiar soulmark.

“Here’s some water,” Shouto says, holding out a water bottle. Touya nods, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the image. “Do you recognize it?”

Natsuo makes a sound of surprise. “Whoa, do you?”

“You good there, Patches?” Bakugou asks, still standing at the other side of the counter.

Touya’s eyes snap up to meet the other man’s concerned expression. Touya bites his lower lip and leans forward to place Natsuo’s phone on the counter.

Bakugou looks at it and blinks once; twice. He turns his gaze back up to meet Touya's.

Both men have wide eyes as they stare at each other in awe.

“That’s your soulmark,” Bakugou says; Touya nods once.

“Holy shit,” Natsuo whispers. “Shouto, we should leave. Grab my phone and send him the picture.”

“Right,” Shouto whispers back.

The two not-so-quietly leave the shop and Bakugou and Touya continue to stare at each other.

Bakugou makes the first move, rounding the counter and stepping up to Touya. He leans down over the seated man and gently cups the tattooed man’s lax jaw in one hand as he angles his face up and looks into his turquoise eyes.

The blonde pouts, unable to see it. He moves closer, until his breath tickles Touya’s lips.

Overwhelmed by the sudden proximity of the man he’s been crushing on for the past couple of weeks and the knowledge that the man also happens to be his soulmate, the one person who will be his perfect half…

Touya tilts his head slightly and presses his lips to Bakugou’s.

Bakugou stiffens for a fraction of a second and then kisses him back. Their eyes flutter shut as their hands move up to pull each other closer.

The kisses are chaste and soft, tentative first kisses from two people who have spent years believing they would never have a moment like this.

When they break apart for air, they stay close. Bakugou opens his eyes first, Touya a moment later, and they both gasp lightly.

Their soul marks have changed—not all that unusual, but for two people like themselves, it’s stunning to see.

The once faint, barely visible mark is now an explosion of color—orange twisting with pale blue, speckles of red and white all along it.

“Holy fuck,” Bakugou breathes.

“It’s beautiful,” Touya says.

“Guess this means you’ll let me take you on a date, hah?” The blonde says, laughing a little breathlessly.

Touya hums and kisses him again. “Maybe.”

#my hero academia #ao3 link #dabibaku #dbbk #bakudabi #dabi x bakugou katsuki #my hero fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #fluff #soulmates #soulmarks

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how-serene · 1 hour

Note

What about Abner doing his best to surprise you on your birthday? He's probably not the best at playing it cool when he has a secret, especially when he's looking forward to doing something special for someone he cares about :)

With Love

Pairing - Abner Krill x Neutral!Reader

Summary - Abner surprises you for your birthday.

Word Count - 872

Warnings - fluff

A/N - Am I writing about snow in the middle of spring?...yes. Hope you like it <3.

Streamers hung from the ceiling, in a variety of bright colors. Pastel colored balloons, and a mixture of confetti covered every inch of the floor, the carpet no longer visible. Abner tied the final balloon around the easel, his hands making quick work of the knot. He stepped back to admire his work, his eyes sweeping over the room. His feet parted the coating of confetti, the balloons bounced off his sneakers.

Is it too much? He wondered, nervously wringing his hands.

The sound of the front door opening caught his attention, as he stumbled out of the room, gently closing the office door behind him.

You stood in the entryway, fingers clinging onto numerous bags. A blue scarf was bundled around your neck, flecks of snow melted into the knitted yarn. The gray wool coat you wore felt damp, as he pulled it off of you.

“I thought it wasn’t supposed to snow until tomorrow.” He said, tossing your coat onto a hook. You set the bags onto the floor, your shoulders sagging in exhaustion.

“Well they lied, apparently.”

He could hear your teeth chattering. Abner took your hands, rubbing his warm palm over your icy skin.

“You shouldn’t have gone out.” He muttered, massaging your knuckles.

You chuckled, “Abner, I’m fine.”

“I know.” He still couldn’t stop the anxiety from blooming in his chest, at the feeling of your frigid hands in his.

“Come on, help me put these groceries away.” You slipped from his fingers and plucked the bags up from the floor.

“Hold on.” He trailed after you, prying the bags from your hands. You frowned, tugging against the bags.

“Abner-

“It’s your birthday,” he exclaimed, hurriedly walking towards the kitchen. “I want you to go sit down, and warm up.”

“You remembered?”

He felt a twinge in his chest at your words, so soft spoken and small. He turned to look back at you, settling the bags on the counter.

“Yea, of course.”

You nodded, letting his words sink in. They wrapped you in their warmth, fighting against the chill still running in your bones.

“Does this mean you have something planned?” You asked, playfully smiling at his flustered expression.

Abner stuttered, conspicuously glancing at the office door. The sweater he wore uncomfortably stuck to his skin as he felt his body heat up. He rubbed his palms over his thighs, searching his brain for a clever lie. Your grinning eyes watched him, causing his thoughts to go fuzzy.

“Uh-

You wrapped your arms around his waist, your strong hold bringing him back into focus.

“Don’t worry about it,” you reassured, smiling at him. “You can show me after dinner, yeah?”

He nodded, your words soothing his erratic heartbeat.

Abner hummed against your touch, as you delicately tucked a piece of hair behind his ear.

“At least let me help cook.” You pleaded, batting your eyelashes at him.

He sighed, letting his eyes wander over your features. At the most simplest times, he often found himself fondly gazing at you. His heart would swell, threatening to burst out of his chest at the sight of you. Perhaps you knew, which is why you didn’t look away either.

He caved, “Okay.”

Abner fidgeted with the sweater, wrapping his fingers around a loose thread and tugging at it. You stood beside him, patiently waiting for him to open the office door. It was just after dinner, the suspense of your inevitable reaction made him want to vomit. He was surprised he was able to stomach dinner at all.

“What if you don’t like it?” He asked, his hand hovering above the doorknob.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it.”

“How do you know?”

He felt your hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Because it’s coming from you, so that makes it special.”

He swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut as he slowly opened the door. It was quiet, as he kept his eyes closed, scared of your reaction. He could hear the shuffle of your feet as you approached the gift. His stomach clenched, tonight's dinner wanting to lurch up his throat.

“Abner.” You whispered, voice so close to him.

He pried his eyes open, one by one, as you came into view. Tears shimmered behind your lasher, as you broke out into a grin. He stumbled against the doorway as you threw your arms over his shoulders, bringing him close to you. Your body trembled in his hold, as he stabilized you both.

“Oh god, I love it!”

His long arms snaked around your waist, pressing you as close as humanly possible to him. If he listened closely, he could hear your heartbeat thump against his chest. Relief washed over him, nearly causing his knees to buckle.

He giggled at the feeling of your plush lips leaving trails of kisses along his face. Each kiss was left with a ‘thank you’.

“It was perfect, you’re perfect…

You rambled, pulling back to beam at the growing blush on his cheeks.

He searched your eyes, trying to find a hint to prove you were lying.

They twinkled at him like stars, tears clinging to the edge.

“Good.” He said, nuzzling the side of your face.

That’s good.

#david dastmalchian #abner krill #abner krill x reader #the suicide squad #fluff #asks

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macadoodlewrites · 2 years

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The Devil Doesn’t Bargain - Part One (Peter Parker Mob AU)

Summary: Peter Parker is well on his way to taking over his adoptive father’s business – but with new threats emerging, Peter and Tony Stark decide that a deal between rivals needs to be brokered. A marriage proposal between enemies brings Hallie straight into the arms of Peter, and it won’t take her long to realise that escape will not be easy.

Warnings: kidnapping, drugging, dub-con behaviour, torture, smut, swearing

Ships: Peter Parker x OC

Main Masterlist

The Devil Doesn’t Bargain Masterlist

Word Count: 4.1k

Thursday mornings meant one thing - a coffee date with my boyfriend, Eric, at my favourite coffee shop. It was a small café, quaint yet popular. Lining the walls were used books that customers were free to take, and free to donate. I’d done my fair share of this; on the wall furthest from me sat my old copy of Pride and Prejudice, and at home on my bedside table was a battered copy of Wuthering Heights.

Eric walked over to the table that I had chosen, holding our two drinks in his hands - a salted caramel frappe for me, and an americano for him. He looked good in his leather jacket and black ripped jeans, and they set off his black hair so that even under the bright lights of the café, it was as dark as ebony.

“For you, my lady,” he said, placing our drinks down on the table, and took the seat next to me. I picked mine up, the drink cold on my hand, and licked the cream from the top. “I’ll never understand why you choose an iced drink, Hallie. You know that it’s November, don’t you?”

I did know that; my white bobbled beanie and matching gloves were on the spare seat at our table, and my black swing coat was hanging over the back of my chair. Despite the frost on the windows and the gentle fall of snow that was sticking to the pavement, the café was warm. “At least my drink has a little flavour,” I replied, grimacing at his americano.

“I’ll have you know that my drink is a perfectly fine one. Very manly.”

I leaned forwards, placing my face in front of his. “And you need to feel more manly, do you, Eric?”

He brushed his lips over mine, and I smiled. “I’ve got to bring something to the relationship,” he replied. “How else will I keep you?”

I pecked his lips, before leaning back and taking a sip of my drink. “And my interest in you has nothing to do with your personality?”

He grinned, flashing his perfect white teeth. “Or my extraordinary good looks?”

I ignored him, despite knowing it was true. Eric was gorgeous and he knew it. I shrugged instead. “Besides, if you and I were to break up, I’m sure that my brother would date you.”

His pale blue eyes widened mockingly at me. “You really think that I have a chance with Aiden?” He took my hand in his. “Then I’m sorry, Hallie, but it’s over. I’m leaving you for your brother.”

I pulled my hand back and laughed at him. “Get out.”

He snatched my hand back and pressed a kiss to my knuckles, before standing up. “Jealousy is never attractive,” he retorted, still with the same wide grin on his face. “But I do need to go to the toilets. It’ll give you time to accept that your brother and I are the perfect match.”

He walked away and I watched him; I also caught a few other people watching him. There were the usual stares from girls my age or younger, eyeing him appreciatively, taking in his sleek hair and broad shoulders. But there was also a boy at a solitary table at the back of the room, his arm leaning on the back of his chair, who was watching Eric’s movements like a hawk with prey. I watched him, trying to see if I recognised him as one of Eric’s friends, but it was hard to tell under the cap and sunglasses he was wearing. Really? Sunglasses in November?

And then he turned, moving only his head and he was looking in my direction... but through the sunglasses it was hard to tell. No, he was looking at someone else, someone on another table...

I turned back to my drink and took another sip. Eric would be back in a minute, and I could ask him if he knew the boy.

After dating Eric for just over a year, I knew his small group of friends - my older brother Aiden was his best friend, after all. Aiden and Eric had been best friends for years, having attended the same schools, and Eric and I had grown closer over those years, until he’d eventually worked up the courage to ask me out. Both he and Aiden were only two years older than me.

It was hard for me to meet boys - my dad was ridiculously overprotective, although he justified that in his line of work, he had a right to be. He purchased and traded expensive merchandise such as cars, and owned dozens of properties all over the country. His name, and subsequently mine and my brothers’ was famous, plastered onto buildings, and he worried that someone would try to use one of us to get to him, to get some money from him.

I personally thought that he was overreacting; he was only a businessman for Christ's sake! But my father still mourned my mother, and it sometimes made him irrational. I knew that my chauffeur was just around the corner, ready to take Eric and I home, and my two personal bodyguards, Ronald and Chris, were situated around the café.

I was grateful that Eric had entered my life through my brother and passed my father’s test.

Shivering, I looked around the café again, definitely feeling eyes on me like pins in my back. I shifted in my seat, my fingers idly playing with the hem of my dress, tugging it over my tights-covered knees. I wasn’t unaccustomed to people recognising me - I participated in events for charities and businesses, sometimes hosting them for my father, and appeared on magazine covers, occasionally with Eric. We’d been dubbed the ‘IT couple to watch’ when we’d first started dating, and I knew that Eric was slowly making his way in society - he had climbed the way up the ladder with my brother, both of them prominent workers in my father’s business.

And there it was again, the chill down the back of my neck. I turned around slowly in my seat, fiddling with the ends of my pale blonde hair nervously.

The boy was still in the exact same position, looking over in my direction. Now I was certain that he was looking at me, the chills coursing through my body told me so. I stared right back at him with a frown and wished that Eric would hurry up so that we could leave. I wasn’t scared, my bodyguards prevented that - but glancing around to where Ronald was sitting, I felt my stomach drop. He was slumped over in his chair, eyes closed.

And where was Chris.... there stood against a wall, arms crossed. No. He was leaning backwards against the wall, between two posts. Also unconscious.

Something was wrong.

Where the hell was Eric?

I looked back at the boy again. He had removed his sunglasses and cap, and even across the café I could tell that his eyes were dark. And they were certainly looking at me. And then he raised his hand, three fingers mock saluting me before he held them up.

He wanted me to watch, I just knew it.

Three.

One finger went down.

Two.

I looked over towards the toilets, but still no sign of Eric. I looked back at the boy, as he put another finger down.

One.

I had grown used to always having bodyguards, or my brother, father, boyfriend. Always reliant on someone else. My stomach was churning as I realised I needed to find Eric. I stood up, shoving my chair back, eyes still locked on the boy, as his final finger fell.

For all of a second, nothing happened.

And then the shots went off. Three of them.

The deafening sounds of gun fire rang throughout the room, and I ducked my head, falling back against my chair and looked around in panic. My breath caught in my throat as I stared around wildly, trying to see where the guns were, to see who was shooting, and my heart was pounding so loudly in my chest that I was surprised no one else could hear it.

“Everyone out!” I looked over to where the voice was coming from. Someone was stood with the brown-haired boy. He was dirty blond and of a similar age, and in his hand was a rifle. It was pointed up at the ceiling. I stared, with the rest of the occupants of the café, and watched as he looked around, and fired again. “I said out!”

Everyone suddenly burst to life, rushing towards the doors. I froze for only a second before running, trying to push against the crowd to get to the bathroom. Everyone was screaming, calling names as they ran out of the doors.

And then he was there. Eric came rushing towards me, and I almost flinched away at the sight of the sleek pistol in his hand.

“Eric, what-”

“No time to talk, baby,” he snapped. I could feel tears in my eyes as he grabbed my hand in his free one, and tugged me along with him, towards the crowd squeezing towards the door. My knee-high black boots smacked the wooden floor with each step.

Then another shot went off, and I saw a piece of ceiling fall only a handful of footsteps in front of us, halting our steps. Most of the crowd had left, and those that were at the door all continued to push their way through.

“Not you two,” the same voice yelled again, and I chanced a look at boys. I froze at the sight in front of us.

“Eric,” I whimpered. The blond boy had his gun pointed directly at us.

Eric whipped around, the hand in mine shoved me behind him, and the one with the gun was trained expertly at the two boys. How he’d known exactly what I’d meant by the whimpering of his name, I had no idea, but I stayed behind his broad frame.

What was happening? And since when did my boyfriend own a gun, and what more, know how to use one?

“What the hell is happening?” I whispered to Eric, but he ignored me entirely.

“Peter, Harry. Good to see you again,” Eric called. I peeked around his frame and saw that the two boys were staring back at my boyfriend. “I’d appreciate it if you could put the rifle down.”

I recognised both of the boys, and every muscle in my body tensed painfully.

Peter Parker and Harry Osborn.

I’d seen their faces on the news, both members of Tony Stark’s company - but more than that, I’d heard many rumours about them from different circles. At events I’d attended, there was always whispers about them, and their third man, Ned Leeds. Rumours and whispers that involved drug trafficking, planned attacks and disappearances of any of Tony’s opponents, and even murder. And yet, they walked as free men thanks to their influence and Tony’s power and money.

I was terrified.

Why was Eric addressing them as if they were old acquaintances?

Peter’s eyes met mine and he smiled, but it was cold, calm, and wicked. He raised his hand, exactly as he had done when I had first seen him and wiggled them at me. I only stared at him with wide eyes.

His name, his look, the gun that I could see sticking out of his waistband as he held his jacket back, incited absolute terror in me.

“Wish that I could the same, Eric. Truly,” Harry hollered. I noticed that he’d moved his gun so that it was on his arm, tucked into the nook of his elbow and placed over his shoulder, and with Peter’s still holstered, the only ones in danger were them. Shockingly, Harry shrugged with no care, and placed his gun on the ground. Eric’s was still aimed at them.

“What errand has Tony got his little boys on today?” Eric spat, and I shivered. I had never heard him speak so coldly, especially not around me.

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t involve you,” Harry replied. “It involves Miss Whittingham.”

I had moved myself so that I was positioned next to Eric, despite all of my fear, but with Harry’s words, he shoved me back behind him again. His gun hand had not faltered once.

“Hallie, phone Aiden. Now,” Eric ordered, and I stared up at the back of his head. There was sweat on the back of his neck; he was far more nervous than he was letting on.

“What the hell is Aiden going to do?” I whispered.

“Just do it.”

“If you touch your phone, Halston, we will shoot your boyfriend.”

It was the first time that I’d heard Peter speak and his voice was deep, a true New York lilt to it.

“I think you forget exactly who’s holding the weapon here, Parker,” Eric replied, cocking the gun. I started to move backwards slowly, towards the table that Eric and I had been occupying. My bag was still there. “Get your phone now, Hallie, and get out of here!”

“Not without you,” I spat back, and reached for my bag.

“Isn’t it strange that both of your bodyguards were knocked out so easily? No fuss, no mess, nothing. Now Eric, I realise that you are an unofficial third bodyguard for her, so didn’t it strike you as strange that they were taken down so easily?” Harry drawled and exchanged a look with Peter. I stared at them both, hand resting on my closed bag, frozen. My entire body was cold, goose bumps on every crevice of skin.

“What the hell are you prattling on about?” Eric hissed.

“Well, you seem to be under the impression that you are the only one in this room holding a gun.”

I watched Eric’s stance shift and realised that something was wrong - more wrong than what was currently happening. Eric held the gun, I was near the phone, and Peter and Harry had nothing in their hands.

So why did it feel like they had all of the power?

I unclipped my bag and pulled my phone out with shaking hands. I unlocked it.

“But we have connections everywhere, Eric. You should know that, if you want to be in this game,” Harry continued, and I glanced back at them both, as my unsteady hands scrolled to my most recent contacts. I found Aiden’s.

“Even in a place like this, we can control everything,” Peter said, and it felt like he was giving us an explanation, one that was meant to make us feel stupid. I had no idea what they were talking about, but from the way that Eric moved backwards, towards me, I realised that he was understanding.

Both Peter and Harry started to move, rounding the table in front of them, coming towards Eric and me. I pressed Aiden’s number and held the phone to my ear as it dialled.

“The cameras,” Peter whispered, and his words reverberated through my body. “The drinks. Even the staff.”

“Hallie,” Aiden’s voice came through the phone, and I let out the smallest sigh at the sound of my brother’s voice.

“Aid-” I breathed but screamed as a shot echoed throughout the room. The phone slipped from my clammy fingers as I stumbled backwards, hitting the table as the gunshot echoed in my ears. I looked at Harry and Peter as tears of fear coursed down my cheeks. Neither of them was holding a gun, and yet, neither of them looked harmed. I then saw who had fired the weapon.

The barista behind the counter. I’d assumed that he had left with the crowd, but he had clearly been hiding. Peter hadn’t been lying; he controlled the staff.

And then Eric faltered, falling backwards towards me. He turned and I saw that he was holding his shoulder. Blood as red as my lipstick was coursing down his arm. But Eric didn’t look frightened or in pain.

“It’s only a flesh wound, Hallie,” he yelled. “Go!”

Clearly neither of us were meant to be seriously harmed as we were both nearly unscathed, so I did exactly what Eric said. I ran.

My chauffeur could contact my father or brother, send help for us. I ran towards the door, trying to leave the fear behind me, but then he was there.

Peter had crossed the room as I had and was stood in front of the main door, arms crossed. His blazer sleeves and shirt were rolled up, and there was a smug grin on his surprisingly handsome face. Chocolate brown waves fell onto his forehead.

“Going somewhere, darling?”

I skidded to a stop in front of him, and started to move backwards, back towards Eric...and my phone. Hopefully my brother could hear everything and was sending help.

“Please let us leave,” I stammered, meeting his gaze. Dark russet brown eyes stared back at me. “We won’t say anything. Please. Eric needs to see a doctor.”

Peter chuckled. “He’ll be fine, we barely grazed him. But we can do much worse if you make this difficult.” I could hear Harry’s chuckle from the other side of the room and turned. Harry was near Eric, and in his hand was a knife. But Eric was focused on me, his eyes looking at the distance between Peter and I. I started to rush towards him, eyes fixed on Harry.

“Eric, he has a knife-” I screamed, just as Eric turned around, his gun pointed. He fired, but the bullet flew over Harry’s shoulder, and the knife was thrust forwards, making contact with Eric’s stomach. “No!”

It was like time had slowed down as I watched Eric register what had happened; he glanced down at the knife still lodged in his skin and put his hand on the handle. Then he slowly sank to his knees, the gun falling from his hands as he collapsed. I could hear his ragged breathing as I closed any space between us, skidding to my knees next to him. “Hallie,” he whispered. “You need to leave.”

I held his blood coated hand in mine and stared down at his paling face, trying to hold in my sobs. “I can’t leave without you.”

I glanced around at the boys surrounding us, painfully aware of them. Harry was staring down at us like he was bored, even irritated at the sight, as was the boy behind the counter. But Peter was sneering at us, and I watched his eyes attach themselves to the grip of mine and Eric’s hands.

“As touching as this is to watch, he’s going to die. And you’re coming with us, Halston,” Peter spat, and started to reach down towards me. My hand shot out and snatched up Eric’s gun and pointed it up at Peter. He paused, amusement coating his features. “Come on, darling. You’ve never held a gun in your life. Do you even know how to use it?” I slowly stood up and turned so that all three boys were in my sight.

“Aim and shoot,” I quivered, and I tried to muster any ounce of bravery or confidence into my voice. It failed miserably. I was trembling, mascara-blackened tears were staining my cheeks and I had my boyfriend’s blood on my hands and on the hem of my dress.

I kept moving, first pointing the gun at Harry, then the barista, and then Peter. Eric’s breaths were raspy, and I prayed that Aiden was on his way. Although how Aiden could help was beyond me; my brother was about as experienced with guns as I was, but perhaps he could call the police?

“You really didn’t have to make this so difficult,” Peter cooed, and I stared at him. Surely if I pulled the trigger now, it would hit his head. The thought was terrifying. “Now put the gun down and come with us.”

“What do you want with me?” I screamed. None of them were moving towards me, and it was confusing. Sure, I held the gun, but if they swarmed then I wouldn’t be able to fire at them all. “Please, just let me phone an ambulance, and let us leave. My family has money, we can pay you-”

“You think that we want your daddy’s money?” Peter spat.

“Don’t you know who we are? Who we work for?” Harry added.

None of them were still moving towards me and it was churning my stomach like a rolling sea.

“Then why are you doing this?” My throat was dry, my words raspy as I looked between them. I didn’t recognise the barista - he certainly wasn’t the third member of Peter’s usual trio, Ned Leeds.

The rumours said that the three of them never went anywhere without each other.

Further unease filled my chest.

Ned was somewhere in the café.

“Your father has been causing mine too many problems. You are how we are going to fix it all,” Peter provided, and finally took a step towards me. My gun was still aimed at him. “We need you for a little business proposition.”

I blinked at him; my eyes were sore. “What business proposition-”

“I’m fed up with this little game, darling,” taunted Peter, and took another step forwards. My finger tightened on the trigger ever so slightly, but I may as well have been pulling back a brick door, it felt so heavy. “And it’s time to go.” Peter glanced behind me, and all too late, I realised that he hadn’t been scared of my gun or trying to calm me down.

He had been stalling.

A hand viciously tangled itself in my hair and pulled my head backwards. I screamed savagely, trying to pull away but I knew hair was being torn from my scalp. My head was on fire. “Let me go!”

And they did, but only to grab my arm and twist it painfully backwards. My skin was twisted, and arm bent at an awkward angle, as pain flooded through my bones. Involuntarily, the gun fell from my fingers, and my assailants other hand caught it.

They then let my arm go, and hands shoved my shoulders. I stumbled towards Peter in my heels, and before I could slow myself or turn to run, Peter was there, holding my wrists up.

“Stop this, please!”

Peter’s dark eyes stared me down, roaming my face. I didn’t care how awful I looked. I looked back at Eric as I struggled, and saw that his chest was still moving, albeit slowly.

“Good job, Ned,” Peter said, still looking at me. My suspicions had been right. The trio were never apart. “Cameras disabled?”

“All done, boss,” a voice said from behind us.

“Come on then, lets wrap this up,” I heard Harry say.

I tugged my arms as hard as I could, but it was the kick of my stiletto heel into his shin that made him let me go.

I ran to the door as I had tried to before, but just as I reached it, my hand on the handle, an arm snaked itself around my waist and I was tugged backwards. My back connected with a hard, male chest and once again, I tried to break free. My nails scraped and tore at the skin of the arm around me, but that was when there was a small, sharp pain at the side of my neck.

The arm then released me as I turned; behind me was Peter, holding a syringe needle in his hand and smiling at me with satisfaction. My hand shot to the side of my neck. The pain was already fading. I stared at him in shock.

“What did you inject me with?” I whispered.

“Something to help you get some rest,” Peter replied. “You look like you’ve had a tough day.”

“Screw you.”

Peter reached out and turned us, dragging me with him, so that I was facing Eric. It was a cruel and calculated move. “Look at your boyfriend, darling,” Peter’s voice whispered in my ear.

I tried to pull my arm from his grip, but everything was starting to slow down as whatever he had injected me with started to kick in. I tried to move towards Eric but stumbled. My legs were shutting down, as was the rest of me.

Peter’s arm was back around my body as I started to fall, and I had no chance but to let him support my weight as my muscles gave up.

Eric’s pale unmoving face was the last thing that I saw as blackness set in. As I faded away, Peter murmured, “I’m afraid that this is the end of your relationship.” His words were soft. “On to the next.”

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