#if any hate is getting directed to trick OVER NOTHING

[felassanis]

Y'all need to grow the fuck up about the Trick comment like genuinely. 😂

[queen-of-diamonds-xo]

Qatar Heat (OP81)

Oscar Piastri x female! Driver! Reader

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Summary:

A team rivalry for the world championship always makes for tension in the McLaren garage. But what happens when that tension breaks? An unexpected period and an under filled water supply maybe just the thing to break the tension brewing between teammates and rivals, but at what cost?

‘“What’s going on? Are you okay? Should I get the medic.”

The questions fly from Oscar in a panic strain, his eyes inspecting your hunched frame. Scanning quickly for any visible injuries you may have.

Coming closer to you now he places a soft hand on the swell of your back, gentle movements as he rubs small circles on the area. His face crunched in concern as he squinted down at you.’

Warnings;

Dehydration/ fainting, slow burn, both of you are idiots unaware of your feelings, swearing

A/N: ahhh here it is! By far the longest piece I’ve ever written, I hope y’all enjoy. Thank you guys for the support, please Feel free to sent ideas my way for what you would like to see next!

Masterlist

Word count:

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No, no, no.

Not today, now now.

You paced around the drivers room, hands running over your face in frustration. Stomach twisting with the familiar sensation that ran a cold shiver down your spine. This wasn’t just pre-race nerves.

Your face twisted as you felt the first drop of blood, a low spike in anxiety as you scan the room. Gingerly opening drawers and cabinets in search of a tampon.

Drawer after drawer, cabinet after cabinet, your turn up with nothing. A frustrated groan escapes as your movements become frantic, grabbing items from your view and tossing them behind you. Of course, a room full of medical supplies and not a single tampon. You take a mental note to give Zac hell for this after the race. That is, if you can get to the car before the dang event starts.

You bite your lip as frustrated tears fill your eyes. Twenty minutes until lights out and you're stranded in this stupid room.

Of course the room was fitted with just about anything a formula one driver could need, a male formula one driver that was.

You place both hands on the cool counter of the vanity, leaning forward slightly as a wave of cramps wreaks havoc on your insides. A loud shout echoing through the halls of the McLaren garage as your foot collided with the bottom of the cabinet, the force rattling the mirror. Your reflection stares back at you, skin slightly damp and pale. Eyes sunken just enough that the camera will for sure pick up on it. Your mind is swirling with the possible headlines following the race.

The media- a constant criticism of your very existence in f1- not so subtle in their objections to your racing ability, always on the hunt for the next reason why you just aren’t cut out for this sport. (Despite the fact you were currently in position to strip your teammate of his current hold on the championship).

You weren’t about to pull out, that just wasn’t an option.

But the damp sticky feeling of your lower half accompanied with the gut wrenching cramps steadily stabbing your organs weren’t about to make for any easy race.

A soft knock echoes on the door, your ears perking and your heart skipping at the sound. Your head snapping in the direction as a voice spoke, low and controlled, through the wooded blockage.

“Y/n”- it was Oscar.

What did he want? Probably here to play mind games with you. Your eyes rolling at the reminder of the Australians drivers tricks. He barely spoke to you, always a taught and quick exchange between the two McLaren drivers. And when did he speak? A sarcastic response, a witty remark, a comment on your performance not matching up to his. the way he wore that shit eating grin after a good qualifying. The way he flicks his tongue over his lips before he speaks.

God, you hate him.

“I-I heard a shout, are you okay?”

Oscar was shocked as the door to your driver's room flung open, practically flying off its hinges. Your fist collided with his fireproofs- his race suit slung low on his hips- grasping the material before pulling the man inside.

He stood confused as you slammed the door, body whipping around to stare at him- eyes wide in panic as you press your back firm against the wood. Your heart hammering as your mind spirals for ways to ask Oscar what you’re about to. A steady stream of anxiety pulling at your lungs as you fight a losing battle to breath.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

He had never seen you like this. You were always calm, never allowing anyone to see ever the smallest of your cracks. You smiled tight for the cameras, answered questions and criticisms with poise and decorum. Your face on race day never shifts from a hardened stare, a tight line and focused eyes. He respected that about you, never letting anything slip. You never gave anyone the chance to call you emotional, not that they didn’t try.

Now you stood in front of him, shoulders slumped and eyes brimming with tears, heaving heavy breaths. Your driver's room- usually left in a pristine state- ripped apart. Towels and miscellaneous items lay forgotten on the floor, drawers and cabinets left open. Your Face flushed with- anger? Embarrassment?

The Aussie wasn’t too sure, could never get a full read on your emotions.

“What’s goin-“

Oscar was stopped with the raise of your hand, the motion quick as a low groan escaped you again. Your eyes screwing shut tight as you grind your teeth through another shock of cramps.

He couldn’t stop the way he stepped closer to you, hand reaching out slightly as your arms came around your stomach in a tight hold. Your posture hunching over slightly.

“What’s going on? Are you okay? Should I get the medic.”

The questions fly from Oscar in a panic strain, his eyes inspecting your hunched frame. Scanning quickly for any visible injuries you may have.

Coming closer to you now he places a soft hand on the swell of your back, gentle movements as he rubs small circles on the area. His face crunched in concern as he squinted down at you.

Your tensed posture relaxes slightly under his hand, a small smile gracing his lips. This is the closest he’s ever gotten to you, the faint smell of your shampoo, the light bouncing from your shining hair. Even scrunched in pain Oscar took a moment to study your features. Your soft skin dampened with a thin layer of sweat, pretty lips parted just so. His eyes scanning over each line, following the scattered pattern of freckles and moles in a dazed trance.

His heart skipping slightly as another, barely audible, groan fills the room once more.

His stupid cologne fills your senses, making you want to slap him in a hormone filled rage. The very fact that his presence is soothing you, enough of a reason for your anger to spike once more at your teammate.

You scoff at him, rolling your eyes at the pity in his voice. Shoving his hand away from you as your turn to look at the older man in front of you. One hand placed on your hip as your spit;

“Jesus Christ Oscar I’m not dying, I just got my period.”

Oscar blinks, the hand that caressed your back now drawn close to his body. His cheeks flush a deep red as hot embarrassment climbs up his neck. His hand coming up the cup the back of his neck, rubbing over the area bashfully at your words. His biceps flexing under the strain of the action, those godforsaken fireproofs clinging tight to the skin.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’. Can you help me?”

He swallows harsh as he averts his gaze. Eyes casting to the door behind you, seemingly lost in thought. He’s brought back by the clicking of your fingers, hand waving in his face.

“Earth to Oscar are you there? I need a tampon, and I can’t exactly just leave to go and ask for one.”

Oscar nods slow, mind absorbing this information. The frustration in your voice is evident as your bite your lip, willing away the hot tears threatening to spill. Oscars eyes widening slightly before darting around the room, refusing to meet your burning stare. His jaw clenching slight as his eyes flutter closer, a deep breath escaping his nose.

He turns without a word, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Once again leaving you alone in the trashed room.

You sigh as you sink down onto the couch, focusing on your breathing as your attempt to slow your racing thoughts. You allowed the room the blur as your eyes shut, basking in the silence once more.

Little did you know Oscar has prepared for this. Once finding out he had a female teammate at the very start of the season, he recruited the help of sister to create an ‘emergency bag’ for you. One he carried with him to every race, PR event, you name it.

The bag was Stocked with pads, tampons, pain killers, various hair and makeup products his sister picked out. Snacks of various varieties, protein bars and chocolates being the main offenders. Oscar ever going as far to buy fresh pants and undergarments in your size- just incase.

Oscar wasn’t dumb, he saw the way you were treated differently to him as a driver. He also saw that the McLaren management net refused to acknowledge that you didn’t have a penis between your legs. Which usually, is a good thing. The very idea of critiquing your abilities as a driver based on gender has been scared out of the staff by a few (heated) words from Zac in an all employee meeting.

But he also knew the chances of getting you a tampon, without bothering any female employees- was next to none.

Plus, Oscar knew if he did ask a female staff member, you would wring his neck out of embarrassment. He knew you held the weight of the world on your shoulders, the first female to driver a formula one car, the idea of this incident going public enough for the man to cringe.

A soft knock echoes through the room, a simple two strikes.

You opened the door slower this time, your body now hidden behind it. Peaking your head out the gap your eyes meet Oscars back.

Allowing yourself a moment to run your gaze down the rippling curves, hugged taught in his black fireproofs. You don’t register your lip between your teeth as you stare at his waist, a white hot jealousy coming over you as you view the shrunken point of the man’s body. His waist pulled in taught, his broad shoulder extenuating this feature. The race suit hung lowly on his hips, mocking you slightly as it obstructed the perfect view underneath.

He turns to meet you, his biceps tensing slightly as he extends his hand towards you.

Like a shitty drug dealer, Oscar palms a small black makeup bag into your open hand. His face burns red as he scans the hallway.

You can’t help the small chuckle escaping you as you grab the offending item from him. Ignoring the tingling sensation of your skin meeting his, the way his long fingers lingers on yours before pulling away.

“Thanks Osc-“ the new nickname hitting the man like a truck, accompanied with your whispered thanks. Your eyes staring up at him through thick lashes, your head tilted just to view his face.

“I appreciate it, seriously.”

Oscar coughs out a faint reply, something along the lines of “no problem” and “don’t worry about it” escaping him in a rushed string of words. Turning on his heels as he rushes towards the exit, praying nobody will notice the way he has to shift himself in his race suit as he jogs away.

A wide grin spreads across your face as you open the bag, pulling out not only a tampon, but two painkillers, a pair of fresh (tags still on) underwear, a protein bar and a small bottle of water.

Okay maybe Oscar Piastri wasn’t always an asshole.

The roaring groan of engines surrounds you as you pull up to the grid, your car planted in P3. Damp sweat stains your skin from the residual heat emanating off the track, the thick air entering your lungs. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, the blinding lights shining down over the perfect row of cars.

The crackle of your radio rings in your ears as your race engineers announces over the radio

“Piastri and Leclerc ahead. Head down, let’s show them what you're made of.”

A wicked grin creeps onto your face as you shut the visor, hands gripping the wheel tight, your eyes trained on the lights ahead.

The car jolts as the lights go out, your foot planted hard on the floor.

Your reaction was good, getting the jump on leclerc on the first corner. Cars pulling side by side as they speed their way down the track. A quick glimpse in your right mirror tells you Charles is right on your six, a fresh surge of adrenaline courses through your veins.

You're late onto the brakes into turn one, locking up your front left as you squeeze your way past leclerc, his car veering off into the gravel slightly as your escape unscathed. Pushing the car hard as you pull away.

But he’s right on your back, steering his way around your left side through turn two as you go side by side down the straight.

Cars rising to full power as you battle again though turn two, your hands battling with the twitching steering wheel.

You pull ahead of Leclerc once more, revelling as you manage to creep your way out of his DRS zone.

As the race continues you settle into P2. Mind focused on tire management and your strategy in place for the race. Your face is hot as you feel beads of sweat crawl down your skin, mouth drying as you push your car and body to limit. You struggle slightly as another wave of cramps wash over you, teeth biting on the straw of your water supply.

Desperate for relief you try to take a sip- key word here being try.

Nerves spike as nothing comes from your actions. Trying again you pull the straw harder into your mouth, desperate for even a drip of the sweet cool liquid. A frustrated growl rumbles from your chest as your car shifts slightly, a snap of understeer as you speak over the radio, voice harsh as your bite;

“What’s going on with my water supply.”

Your met with silence for a moment, your engineers reasoning;

“Checking now. Head down, let’s catch Oscar.”

Lap after lap you get no update on your water situation, as pit stops come and go the frustration and anger inside you grows. Along with the steady pressure intensifying behind your eyes, your body slumping slightly in the seat.

Your head pounded, your hands had begun to shake. Your breath was coming out in short gasps as you desperately tried to focus on the car in front of you. The shining helmet of Piastri mocking you from P1.

You have given up on the radio, every attempt to get an answer met with a quick dismissal.

“Oscars got the jump on you in sector one, but you're faster in two and three. Overtake is available.”

You can help the words flying from your mouth as you shout over the radio, voice strained with frustration and fatigue, not soaring a thought to anyone who may be listening in;

“Shut up. maybe he’s quicker in sector one because he had a working fucking water supply in his car.”

The words were harsh, spat out between clenched teeth. You can’t help the scoff and roll of yours eyes as the radios crackles again

“Understood.”

Head down. Focus.

You ignore the shaking in your hands, the hot sweat stinging your eyes. The fuzzy feeling in your head and slight blur in your vision. You were not about to let the incompetence of a few shitty engineers ruin your chance of snatching the championship.

Your close being Oscar in the final corner, DRS opens as you scream your way down the main straight. Crowd roaring as the two McLarens come racing side by side down the track, a game of chicken as to who will break first.

A quick glimpse in your mirror shows Oscar taking the inside line, aware of his tricks you go wide around the outside, front wings touching as you cut him off outside of the turn. He breaks hard, both fronts locking as he steers out of your path, a yelp of disbelief escaping the Aussie as you take P1.

You fight Oscar hard through turns two and three, pulling away from him down the next straight.

5 laps to go

Your car veers left into the gravel slightly as the weight of your head strains your neck, your muscles tight as you fight away the ever growing feeling of fatigue. You snap the car back right, body slamming hard against the side of your pod.

You felt heavy, the weight of your body pressed firm in the seat. Your arms burn as you struggle to keep hold of the wheel, not missing the slight snap of the back end. Eyes straining under the weight just to keep them open, knuckled white as you bite back the bile rising in your throat.

Oscar watched from behind you, his heart jumping into his throat as he watched your car closely. Your actions were sloppy, the car slipping and sliding around the track as you battled to keep a straight line.

This wasn’t like you, something had to be wrong.

“What’s up with y/l/n? Something seems off.” He pondered over the radio, voice tight with worry.

“Head down Oscar, focus on the race.” Was the only response granted to him.

His body flushed with anger at the dismissal, his eyes narrowing slightly and jaw clenched tight. He watched your every move closely, not just to find a way around you, but to tame the pit forming in his stomach.

The team hangs from the barriers as you cross the line, cheering loudly at the McLaren win. Their cheers rise as Oscar finishes P2, a picture perfect finish.

You sit in your car as you pull into the pits, lining the car on the P1 position. Your head leans heavily on the steering wheel as shouts echo over the radio.

Something about the championship lead, a race well ran.

A hot and heavy sob ripples through your chest as hot tears stream down your face, your body grown limp in your seat. You couldn’t move, your body muscles screamed with every twitch. Your mind swirled as the noises around you faded into a low whistle in your ears.

Oscar was quick out of his car, ignoring the shouts and yells from the team as he makes a b-line straight to you. His large frame blocking the lights above as he looms over your potions in the car, visor flipped to look at you. His eyes shone with worry and burned with a hint of anger as your head rose, titling up to meet his gaze. His hands tense into a fists as you flip your visor, revealing a rest wave of tears as your hiccup a broken and tired sob.

His voice was cold, dangerous. Disgust filling his words as he forces out a strained whisper. Eyes narrowing as he spoke

“What did they do to you.”

You shiver slightly from his words, his tone dark and eyes darker as the burn into you.

“M-m w-w-water. didn’t ha-have any wa-water.”

Oscar has to fight back the urge to scream at the wall of mechanics behind him. He closes his eyes in frustration as he leans down closer to you. His heart hammered hard in his chest, eyeing your slouched position in your seat.

His now shaking hands making quick work to remove the steering wheel. His frantic movements capturing the attention of everyone around him, the noise quieting into a hush. Cameras flashed as teams look on with worry.

He makes easy work of your helmet, removing the encompassing material of your balaclava as you let out a sharp breath of relief. The slight breeze flowing over your heated and slick skin. Oscars hands come under your shoulders, lifting you with ease out of the car. The sudden movement causes the world to shift, your head leaning heavily on his shoulder as he pulls you from the car, your body practically gone limp.

Charles runs over to the two of you, taking some of your weight from Oscar as the two men steady you.

You were thankful for their driver reaction times as your knees buckle, their arms holding your weight as they lower your gentle to the ground. Oscar kneels beside you, his hand coming to rest on your back for the second time today.

You don’t push him off this time. Too focussed on the tightness in your throat, sobs shaking your frail frame as your gasp to catch your breath.

You feel the burn of bile rise in your throat as you throw up the remaining liquid in your stomach, your hands coming to clench your stomach in a pained cry. Doubling over onto the heated tar of the pits.

Oscar moved quick shouting for a medic, not caring about the flashing cameras or judgmental stares of those around him. His strong arms wind around your waste as he pulls you to sit in his lap, his legs outstretched. His large frame envelopes you as he tightens his hold, his helmet covered head coming to rest on top of yours.

A gloved hand coming up to cup your cheek, holding your gaze firm but gentle as he ran his thumb over the flushed skin of your cheek. Your eyes fluttering closed as you lean heavily into his hold.

“Shh it’s okay. It’s going to be okay, I’ve got you now.”

His voice was a soft whisper, muffled accent thick with emotion as he held your body close.

Your mind a haze of frustration and fatigue as you focus on the steady breathing of your teammate. His soft words the last thing ringing in your ears as your mind goes blank, body succumbing to the heat as you grow limp in Oscars arms.

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Tag list:

@piastri-my-boy @wolfbc97 @presleycaudle @haunteddestinykryptonite @feyrecarol @edgyficuselastica

[satellite-evans]

Unfaithful

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x reader

Summary: Going trough a breakup hits harder whe you realize only your hearts gets broken.

Word count: 1.6k+

Warnings: angst, no happy ending. mention of age gap.

A/N:

I wrote something similar for Chris Evans a couple of years ago and wanted to write it now with Lewis bc I liked the concept xxx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

Love. It’s a difficult word to understand, even harder to feel. Everyone has felt it at least once, but in different amounts. That’s why people sometimes compare it to chemistry. If you pour in too much, if the balance is even slightly off, it can become dangerous. It can destroy you.

And that’s exactly what happened with you and Lewis. You loved him too much. At least, that’s what your friends told you. They spoke in hushed voices, their pitying eyes following you across rooms, as if love had left you fragile. As if you might shatter if someone breathed too hard in your direction. You’d hear what your therapist had to say about it next week, but you weren’t looking forward to it.

What was she going to tell you anyway? That you had issues to work on, that it wasn’t your fault, and that healing takes time? Nothing you didn’t already know. Nothing you hadn’t told yourself a hundred times over in the dead of night while lying awake, staring at the ceiling, willing yourself not to check your phone. Because you knew there would be nothing from him.

But that didn’t stop you from wanting.

It hurt, like all endings do, but this was different. It hurt that it ended for you, but it also hurt that it never truly started for him. That realization struck you in the middle of the night sometimes, jolting you awake with a sharp pain in your chest. You would reach out for him instinctively, fingers fumbling against empty sheets, the cold linen burning against your skin like ice. The loneliness of your bed mocked you, whispering the truth you had refused to see for so long.

“You should’ve seen this coming, Y/N.”

How could you? He acted, he talked, he listened, and he loved like he was yours. In the 29 years of your life, you had never felt more alive than when you were with him. He made you want to do more, to be more. You remembered the way he used to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way his hands always found yours in crowded places. He was your best boyfriend.

Until he decided he wasn’t.

And looking back, you wondered if he ever really was. If it had all been an illusion, a cruel trick you had played on yourself. You combed through every moment, every smile, every touch, every whispered “I love you,” dissecting it all with a surgeon’s precision, trying to find the exact moment it all went wrong.

Was it the first time he hesitated before saying “I love you” back? The time he forgot your anniversary? The night he turned away when you reached for him? Or had he been leaving you long before that, piece by piece, while you remained blissfully unaware, drowning in a love that only you were truly feeling?

In all honesty, you never thought that someone you loved so much could become the person you hated most. But then again, you can’t hate someone you never truly loved, can you?

“There’s a thin line between love and hate,” someone once told you. “People cross that line all the time. Sometimes, just one word can make you fall in love, and just one word can make you despise someone.”

In your case, it was two.

“I cheated.”

You remembered the way he said it—calm, almost indifferent, like he was commenting on the weather. Like it didn’t matter. Like you didn’t matter.

The world had blurred around you in that moment. Your vision tunneled, sound faded, and for a few seconds, it was just you and those two words, echoing through your skull, carving themselves into your bones. You had expected guilt, regret, maybe even tears. But all you got was a hollow confession and a half-hearted apology that came too late to mean anything.

The worst part? You hadn’t even screamed. You hadn’t cried. You had just stood there, nodding, as if accepting the inevitable. As if you had known all along and had simply been waiting for confirmation.

But that was the thing about love—it made you blind. It made you believe in things that were never real.

And now, you were left with nothing but memories and an emptiness you didn’t know how to fill.

The words still echoed in your mind, playing on a cruel, endless loop. They replayed every time you closed your eyes, every time you saw a couple on the street, every time you passed a place where you had once been happy together. The thought of it made you want to pull your hair out. How had you been so blind? Had love really done this to you? Were you so deeply in love with him that you ignored all the red flags?

No. You weren’t doing this again. You weren’t blaming yourself for someone else’s choices. Lewis had painted all the red flags green with his charm and his words.

Until your tears washed the paint away and revealed the truth.

What hurt the most was that he didn’t care. He didn’t care that you stayed up talking to him for hours when you had early morning meetings. He didn’t care that you flew across the world just to surprise him at his race. He didn’t care that you were always the one encouraging him before every challenge. That realization cut the deepest. Not just that he had hurt you, but that he had never really cared if he did.

He. Simply. Didn’t. Care.

And now, you were left alone, with no one to talk to, no one to travel across time zones for, no one to encourage you.

“Why?”

It was just one word, but it held a thousand meanings.

Why did you cheat on me? Why did you make me believe I was yours? Why did you let me fall in love with you? Why me? Why did you hurt me?

It didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t worth your tears. He wasn’t worth your anger, your heartbreak, your sleepless nights.

Lewis didn’t deserve your love. Just like he didn’t deserve your pain.

Alcohol. That was his excuse.

"I—I swear, Y/N. I didn't mean to. I had too many drinks, and when I woke up, she was just… there."

Of course, he would blame it on everything but himself. Why would he take responsibility? Lewis Hamilton, the man adored by millions, was a selfish coward when it came to love.

At least he wasn’t a good liar. His stuttering, his clenched jaw, his hands running through his curls—all signs of guilt. He was suffering in front of you, and you should have enjoyed it.

But you didn’t.

Even now, even after everything, you felt sorry for him. Maybe it was because of your mother, who had always told you to see the good in people, to have empathy.

You wished she hadn’t. Especially now.

Deep down, you had known. Lewis had changed, right in front of your eyes. He went from the man who would rather stay in with you, watching movies on a rare free night, to someone who partied and came home at 3 a.m. You blamed it on stress, on pressure, on everything except the truth.

The truth was that it was all him.

“Whatever. I’m done listening to your excuses, done pretending everything is okay. You can’t even lie to me properly, Lewis. And maybe I should’ve known. You never cared about my feelings anyway.”

His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken. But his eyes—they told a story of regret. And you knew, if you stared too long, you’d start believing him again.

So you looked away.

“Please, Y/N. I don’t want to lose you.”

The urge to slap him, to scream, to break something, surged through you. But you held it back. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing he still had that power over you.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to stand tall.

“And I don’t want to keep waiting, hoping that one day you’ll realize I’m what you want, Lewis. I’m done. I lost someone who never cared about me. But you? You lost someone who would’ve done anything for you.”

His eyes were glassy now, staring straight into yours.

“What are you saying?”

“I was the only one who actually fell in love. You just pretended.”

With that, you grabbed your keys and walked out of his apartment, slamming the door behind you—just like he had slammed shut the door to your heart.

Your first instinct was to drive away as far as possible and never look back. But for some reason, you couldn't. For some silly reason, you looked back to see that he would come after you, begging to stay, but he didn't. The street was empty and cold, just like him.

The moment your forehead touched the steering wheel, your eyes began to cry uncontrollably. Like a leaf in the cold night, your whole body started to shake, and the only thing you could do was cry even harder. It was a blessing you hadn't cried in front of him; you didn't want him to see you vulnerable and broken. Yet every fiber of your being had fought to hold those tears back, and now, they were no longer strong enough to keep them inside. In fact, you didn't want to be strong anymore. All you'd done in life was pretend everything was okay, acting as though words didn't hurt you. As though Lewis didn't hurt you.

You were done.

After drying your face with some tissues you found in your car, you took a deep breath, started the car and started driving.

You had no exact destination in where you wanted to go, you just kept driving. But one thing was clear:

You were never going back. Even if your heart ached, too.

[narfin-frood]

Hi! I'm a big fan of your art, and I just wanted to know, did you study the WOY art style? I'm asking because the way you draw each character, Hater especially, is so expressive! Do you have any tips with expressions? Thank you!

thank you so much!! and to kinda answer your question: while what i do is, technically, studying, that's not what it feels like. i genuinely just enjoy looking at character sheets. a lot of the time they'll include little notes about things you wouldn't think about unless you're told to, like wander's eyes typically angling towards each other at the bottom or sylvia's eyes obscuring the full width of her neck.

(i have any one of these open in my reference panel almost always! not only are these full of tips & tricks for your everyday sketching, they're full of rules for each character, which are meant to be broken in interesting and fun ways.)

[im gonna pack a bunch of other, tangentially related tips and tricks and thoughts into the readmore, including my personal breakdown of hater's expressions specifically, so feel free to give it a click. long post ahead]

a lot of stuff can be picked up by just watching the cartoon as many times as you want. i have watched every episode (minus big fucking baby episode, which i hate) like 6 times over, sometimes more (looking at you the rager), and that has definitely solidified my wander over yonder visual library.

also, wander over yonder's art style already fits in with the way i draw, because i LOVEE long curvy lines and super crisp & clear silhouettes!!

as for why/how i get hater so expressive.... that mainly has to do with the fact that i think he's So Cute. He's So Cute and i wanna Squash Him. and his character design reflects that!!!

his hood is his eyebrow and his eyes may or may not be rolling around in their sockets, and his nose is a little upside down heart. but all of the lord hater emotion is stored in the chin. lord hater has a bunch of specific and VERY malleable options for mouth shapes, depending on what makes the expression and lipsync look clearest.

you can keep it super simple, with a clear divide between his top and bottom jaw, and do several round bumps for teeth, which they do a lot when tweening, like this:

this kind of seems to be his default state, depending heavily on the episode and when it was made and who was drawing him the most, of course.

you can also keep his jaw and skull distinct, but keep his teeth straight and flush with each other, which helps for sharper expressions, esp. anger or frustration, but can also work for a good "squee". he also sometimes pouts so hard his chin eats his mouth, which is, again, cute.

if you're having trouble keeping an expression clear while also maintaining the distinction between his jaw and the rest of his skull, it's pretty common also to forego most of the overt skeleton bits, save for a few hatch marks to indicate teeth (sometimes squiggles or bumps, when he's yelling about it). in my head i affectionately refer to this style of hater expression as the "peanut sans"

none of these convey the intensity of emotion you're looking for? fear not, you can also always just go Full Skeleting. and give his teeth a full outline. this is great for Pain and Strain and Nefariousness.

and then there are a million expressions in between and possibilities within these parameters beyond your wildest belief. nothing should hold you back from a really fucked-up lord hater expression. not proportion. not structure. ESPECIALLY not symmetry. please. make his chin bigger. make his head bigger. make one eye bigger. make him look in two different directions. scrunch his nose up. whatever it takes. by all means. i implore you to have fun

(honorable mention. his W face. the face when he says the consonant W. sometimes OO. i'm. obsessed. with it . he looks. kity)

anyway. lord hater tangent aside. i could also share my own process for expressions, but it really just hinges on what looks appealing/what i like the most/what communicates the emotion i want to communicate the clearest, and it varies between characters and people.

it helps to, again, build your visual library, and look at lots and lots of funny faces, both in real life and in cartoons you like. make funny faces in the mirror and try to focus on what parts of your face change shape or interact with other parts of your face when you do something like smile really wide or drop your jaw. your skin is taut, and there's a bunch of muscle and fat attached to your bones, so when one big bone moves, a bunch of muscles and fat under the surface will shift around too, and understanding that relationship is really helpful in the long run, both for drawing real people and for drawing cartoons.

and the easiest way to retain information like that is to have fun while you study. stop thinking of it as studying and start thinking of it as gathering information on this thing you like a lot and want to do more of, like when you scroll through someone's account to look at all their art, and just. do more of that. do more exploring and observing. since animation is my special interest, this part is pretty easy for me, but it does still take practice to get into that mindset, especially when you convince yourself you have to be super strict and rigid to make it in the art world. focus on drawing and observing what makes YOU happy first, and everything else will follow.

and don't worry about taking notes. don't worry about remembering everything you look at. just look at things you like, and think about them for longer than you usually would. think about the shapes and colors. what makes that drawing so darn appealing to you, besides subject matter and the vague concept of an "artstyle"? you'll be surprised just how abstract what appeals to you can be. for me, with expressions especially, it comes down to random shit like "i like when the edge of a character's mouth creates a tangent with the outline of their head" instead of "pretty eyes" or other, vaguer elements. and that shit i like becomes a part of my artstyle, but only when it fits in and looks appealing, because you can't do stuff like this in every single drawing & retain a full range of expression

ANYway. i hope this made some sense/helped at least a little. i like lord hater a lot. and i also like to draw

[untoldstar]

male yandere! farmer x fem! spoiled city girl reader [Introduction]

lowkey hate this but I still love the concept.

This is based on an ask I got but since it’ll. e jumbled if I put everything in one post I’ll be posting it in parts so as much as it pains me to say this..no yandere shenanigans in this post<:33

You were spending the summer at a farm and you were absolutely dreading it.

You have been living, in your words, the high life but in your fathers words irresponsibly. Going out every night, partying, spending money on stupid things, and it seemed like you were only interested in going to college because of the parties your classmates host. Frankly, your father has had enough of it.

In the middle of his lecture, he had the bright idea to call up an old friend who owns a farm and ask him for a favor, and from the expression on his face you already knew it was something dreadful.

Turns out it was to have you work for him for the summer. To toughen you up a bit. Teach you some responsibility just so you could be a little more mature when you come back (and maybe not turn him penniless like you're about to with the way you're living).

His friend, which you learned his name was Blaze, didn't mind. In fact, he was happy to have an extra set of hands to help around.

Naturally, you threw a fit. You tried every trick in the book you even gave your best puppy eyes and promised not to spend too much money anymore, you would even stop going to so many parties!

Nonetheless..you ended up packing your bags when the day came.

You slammed the passenger door shut and made your way to the cars trunk to get your bags. You could hear both men exchange warm welcomes and rave over how long it's been.

You roll your eyes. A little more and they'll be going down memory lane over coffee.

Your father turns to you when you make it to his side, his face still pleasantly beaming. It was honestly freaking you out "Ah! honey, say hello to my friend, Blaze. He'll take good care of you here." You offer him a tight-lipped smile and shake his hand. You immediately remove yourself from the conversation as your eyes take in the scenery. A large field you can't even tell where it ends. Within it, a house is close to where you're all standing, not small, not too big while the barn is a little further away. You also see a dark blue truck parked close by. You don't see any of the animals yet. He must have animals right? You wince as you think of dealing with their waste.

And the heat. The heat. You have a small tube top and shorts on which would be lovely back in your city but here it does absolutely nothing to help with the intense heat.

Too distracted by your torment, you don't notice Blaze's eyes glancing in your direction every few seconds as he talks to your father taking in every detail of you. Smooth skin, soft hair, delicate hands that haven't worked a day in their life. He honestly doesn't think you'll last a day.

"Well! I'll be off then." You snap out of your daze "Oh. Okay then." You reply curtly. You're being petty and you don't care "Come now don't have that look on your face, lighten up will you? Don't give Blaze too much trouble" with that he makes his way to the car and you almost tear up watching him drive off.

Blaze clears his throat "Here let me help you with your stuff." He leads the way to his house and already you can tell how awkward this is going to be "I take it you're not familiar with working in a farm?" you only offer a small shake of your head "That shouldn't be a problem, you know I didn't wake up one day and decided to milk a cow. I had to learn and work every day...Not just that but everything else, of course." He clears his throat and you giggle. His shoulders relax a bit upon the sounds. You too enter his house and he sets your luggage down "Right, let me give you a tour, yeah?"

He leads you throughout the entire house, which doesn't take long considering its size, he leaves your room for last "This is where you'll be sleeping, this room doesn't have a lock yet but if you want I can install one for ya." you only nod and head inside and shut the door behind you.

What the fuck?

Blaze blinks then huffs knocking on the door "Hey uh- If you're tired from the trip we can start tomorrow at dawn" He looks down as he patiently waits for your response "Yeah that would be great!" He sighs. He doubts you had plans to start today anyway.

Blaze finally walks away from your door rubbing his neck 'Lets hope this runs by smoothly..'

Turns out, he had..a few things to worry about.

The first day was a pain, for both of you, but he'd argue it was more of a pain for him.

"You do it!"

"I'm supposed to be teaching you." he replies gruffly

"What if she bites my hand off?"

"She's a horse you're not feeding a lion- look just put the carrot closer to her mouth." he guides your hand closer and his heart skips a beat. So soft. Your hands were so soft-

He clears his throat "There, it'll just start eating it, it's fine if a little dribble gets on your hand." You grimace and he clicks his tongue "Oi, stop being a brat, a little drool is the least you should be worried about while working here." You whine "Can I just be in charge of feeding Stella here instead?" He crosses his arms "No can do sweetheart." You only pout and continue feeding the horse not noticing how the corners of Blaze's mouth lift slightly.

You kept running off from your chores to play with Clyde (his dog) and of course, he was chasing you around like a babysitter trying to get you to finish your work.

It was truly a nightmare when you had to clean after the animals. You were gagging, whining, he was honestly convinced you were going to start bawling at that point it was quite amusing.

After that, it seemed you were a bit desensitized from that experience and you were managing the rest of the chores with few complaints but for your sake, he won't mention how he heard you cussing out your father while you were cleaning the barn.

When you were finally done with everything the sun was beginning to set. You wanted more than anything to fall face-first into your bed but you stunk and you desperately needed a shower.

When you're done you open the door only to bump into Blaze "Oh, sorry.' You squeeze past him and continue your way to your room not noticing the shade of red Blaze's face turned in your wake.

His pants tighten and the scent of your shampoo and body wash wafting from the bathroom doesn't help.

Yeah..a few things he has to worry about

[in1-nutshell]

HELLO‼️ I hope you are safe and well with the hurricane and I'm so glad that I'm able to finally send a request so here it is‼️

There's not many rescue bots oneshots and I want to change that, so in Rescue bots theres human skater buddy with their head in the clouds leading them to getting into trouble frequently (like nearly getting hit by a car or just getting into the crossfire of the rescue bots shenanigans) and it's like to a point where the whole when they are out on a mission have to keep a spare eye/optic out for the little human‼️

I hope you'll be able to get to this before it's deleted or whatever, but still, I can't wait to see what you come up with for this concept. Thanks, and have a good day/night‼️

Introducing Danger magnet Buddy! love this concept!

Hope you enjoy!

Human Buddy the skater and a danger magnet

SFW, Platonic, Human Reader

RB

The Burns family had known about Buddy’s little quirks for years.

They were after all good friends with Cody throughout their childhood.

The kid had their head up in the clouds or down with their skates.

Luckily, Cody always seemed to find ways to get them back down to Earth.

Too bad there wasn’t much he could do about their terrible luck with dangerous situations.

They never mean to be in these situations, they just happen when they’re around.

It took a while for the Burns to finally understand it wasn’t their fault.

It was a small island, one was bound to get stuck in the crossfire at some point.

When the Bots arrived, Cody made sure to debrief them a bit about his friend’s tendencies.

Heatwave is convinced that Buddy is doing it for attention.

There is now way someone can be THAT unlucky.

Not even on this island.

Kade and him have little talks about Buddy being a ‘danger magnet.’

Kade: “You think they are doing it for attention?” Heatwave: “Isn’t it obvious? There’s no way they aren’t doing it for any other reason.” Kade chuckles. Kade: “We used to think that too… but after a few years of seeing their little dumb face around, you kinda start believing it.” Heatwave: “What do you mean?” Kade: “There a bit of a danger magnet.” Heatwave: “Why is that a magnet you have!?”

He does start believing the existence of ‘the danger magnet’ after a few missions where Buddy just showed up randomly.

Heatwave hates to see Buddy in the line of fire, especially when they have no control over it.

Always reminds his team to keep an extra optic out for the little skater.

Speaking of skates, Heatwave actually likes seeing Buddy skate around the bunker.

Especially when they show off some of their tricks.

Buddy is a bit oblivious to why Heatwave is so insistent to them staying with Cody on com job.

Chase and Boulder are confused.

Why does Buddy go to these dangerous places?

They aren’t durable enough to be so close to the danger.

Chase has a separate file on all of Buddy’s incidents.

Chief Burns: “Chase? You, okay?” Chase is typing on a data pad. Chase: “I am simply reporting Buddy’s latest incident on today’s rescue. Today they were stuck in the same tree as Mister Pettypaws… I still wonder how they got up there with their skates…” Chief Burns: “Oh, don’t think too hard about that Chase. That’s just how Buddy is.” Chase: “Do they like danger?” Chief Burns: “No, they just have a bad record of being in places at the wrong time.” Chase: “… I can try to clean their record if you allow me access to them.”

Boulder takes a more direct approach and asks Buddy why they keep going towards danger.

Buddy just shrugs and goes back to their skates.

The green mech decides to ask the others about Buddy’s behavior instead.

Boulder: “Is something wrong with them?” Graham: “Nothing’s wrong with them Boulder.” Boulder: “Then how come they always seem to be near our dangerous missions? Even Cody doesn’t do that too often.” Graham: “When you’ve known them as long as we have, you start believing the phrase ‘wrong place and the wrong time.’ We can’t exactly explain it, but the best we can do is look out for them. No one can control what happens outside Boulder.” Boulder: “Hmm… I guess you’re right.” Later… Chase and Boulder look at their creation with pride. Buddy is wrapped head to toe with bubble wrap. Buddy: “How am I gonna skate like this?” Chase: “Sacrifices must be made Buddy.”

The pair find Buddy’s skating to be interesting and a bit relaxing… as long as Buddy has the proper safety equipment on them.

 Buddy doesn’t like the ‘creative’ ways the bots are trying to keep them ‘safe’, but the thought is what counts.

Blades, unlike the others, fully understands the phrase ‘wrong place, wrong time.’

But he also believes an outside force is making Buddy go to these dangerous places.

Already has a bulletin board with the red string trying to figure out what could be making the little skater go to these places.

Blades shows the board to the rest of the bots. Blades: “I’m telling you guys! There’s a connection somewhere!” Heatwave: “… How long have you been working on this?” Blades: “Not important.” Chase: “Blades, is it highly unlikely that something is making Buddy do these things.” Blades: “But if you see what happened last month and 5 months ago—” Boulder: “Blades, when was the last time you recharged?” Blades: “Not important.” Heatwave: “I’m calling Dani.” Blades: "Wait don’t!”

He just doesn’t want Buddy to get hurt by being in places they aren’t supposed to be.

Blades has a separate med kit in his subspace labeled ‘Buddy’s’.

The bot loves Buddy’s skates and has already asked Doc Greene if he could make a pair for him.

Heatwave has tried to stop him from getting these skates too many times to count.

He isn’t known for being the best with balance.

Buddy enjoys Blades making little videos and changing music while they skate around.

[cardgamerz]

fallingforyou

part 1 :)

concept: walking through central park, anxious and hungry. you run into schlatt, who you’ve been watching for a while. you get so worked up that you start getting faint…until you literally faint, forcing him to catch you. 

warnings: none!

If you were forced to describe your day in one word, it’d be this: HELL.

You’d slept through your alarm, missed your train by 10 seconds, showed up to work late, and, to top it all off, gotten a stern talking to by your boss for your tardiness. 

Needless to say, you were very grateful when 5 PM rolled around.

Usually, you’d head straight home after work. It was a long journey from the city to Brooklyn, and you hated getting home past dark. Today, though, you felt the urge to walk in the opposite direction from the subway station…and right towards Central Park.

Sadly, you couldn’t say that you frequented it as often as you should, especially given how close it was to your office…but the stress of your day was really making you feel called to the fresh air and greenery.

As soon as you came upon the park’s edge, you could feel the tension begin to melt out of your muscles. You inhaled deeply, fresh air swirling through your airways and causing them to expand.

Your relief lasted for about 20 seconds before you found yourself stumbling in shock at an unprecedented sight.

Did you just walk past Jschlatt????

You whipped your head back to get a good look at the man, who was sitting on a bench and staring idly out into space.

Yup. That was totally him. If the stature hadn’t tipped you off, the “big guy” hat certainly would have done the trick. He wasn’t looking in your direction at first, but soon, your gawking was too much to ignore. The two of you locked eyes. 

After about five seconds of time feeling frozen, he offered nothing but a single raised eyebrow and a lazy wave of his hand. 

You felt yourself go beet red. What the hell were you supposed to do? 

You settled on cautiously approaching him, arms folded against your chest as if they could protect you from the possible verbal onslaught headed your way.

It started immediately.

“So. What’s up with the staring?”

You gawked at him, a little put out at the blunt nature of his words. They lacked any real bite, but…you were already feeling fragile. 

“Uhhhh…I think I recognize you.”

“Oh, really? From where?”

Okay, he was definitely fucking with you. Not one to back down from confrontation, you steeled yourself and replied, “Not sure. You’re not hot enough to be an actor, so you must not be THAT famous.”

His eyes widened at the dig, then narrowed sharply. 

“Careful. I’m not exactly known for my good manners.”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo. You’ll live.”

“Are you a fan or what? I can’t tell. Usually, they’re a lot nicer than this.”

You paused at that. Hm. Maybe projecting your personal frustration onto a complete stranger who just so happened to be a Youtuber you watched on occasion was a bad idea.

“Er–sorry. I’ve had a long day. Can we start over?”

He looked suspicious, but in a surprising display of humility, gestured for you to take a seat next to him.

Sinking down onto the wooden slats, your mind began swimming. Literally. It felt as if television static was playing through your neurons, clogging their processing capacity. 

The feeling vanished as soon as it had appeared, but in its wake left a feeling of intense brain fog. You blinked heavily at the man beside you, who seemed none the wiser to your inner turmoil.

“Um…hey, man. Big fan of the content. Sorry for calling you ugly. I guess.”

“Yeah…you’re good. Always nice to run into supporters out in the wild. At least, it is when they’re normal about it.”

You weren’t quite certain if you could call this interaction ‘normal,’ but he hadn’t run off screaming yet, so you let yourself count it as a win.

“I’m sure you get a lot of…a lot of…uh…what were we talking about…?”

Okay, there was definitely something wrong with you. Your tongue started to feel leaden in your mouth as your brain grew sluggish once more. 

The man beside you cocked his head in confusion at the sudden degradation of your conversation skills, but his expression morphed into panicked concern as your eyelids fluttered lazily.

“Hey–are you good?”

You jerked your head in lieu of a response. 

“Woah, do you…”

You only caught the first half of his question as the ringing in your ears swelled like an orchestra on the cusp of a dramatic moment.

Then, everything went black.

[justmeinadaze]

Inescapable Part 2 (Steddie X You)

A/N: Yes I stole the Jack Skellington thing from Fargo and yes I'm aware its not Halloween but I need this damnit so :D.

Warnings: Older (Early 30s) Prisoner Steddie (Daddy Steve and Sir Eddie) & Young (Early 20s) Fem Sub college student Y/N, SMUT, Dom/Sub dynamics, home invasion role-play, degrading, light slapping, spanking, choking, overstimulation, DP, LOTS of dirty talk, squirting, aftercare, I think I got everything. This is all consenting and a safe word is established.

ANGST, they did break out of prison to see her, the do play with her a bit (taking pictures to show they're watching), they do get jealous and she does what she can to egg that on (brief), cliffhanger ending because I'm me and I love yalls reactions😈 😉.

Enjoy!

Word Count: 4095

Chapter 1/ Tip me <3

How? They can’t… Are they just trying to intimidate me? Scare me? What…

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell startling you three feet in the air. After hastily hiding the letter in one of your drawers, you tiptoed to the front door and breathed a sigh of relief when you saw your friends on the other side. 

Gathering some chairs, you all sat outside as the evening began and you prayed none of them would notice how on edge you were. With every snap of a twig or smell of cigarette smoke, your head would quickly turn in that direction to see what was coming for you. 

Normal people would have been scared at the thought of two convicts threatening to appear at their house but you’d be lying if you didn’t say you were excited to see what they had planned until you remembered they were stuck in a cell and your head would hang. 

“What’s wrong, Y/N? You look sad.”, one of your friends asked as he tilted his head to find your eye line. 

“Huh? No, I’m just tired. With school, work, and everything else…I just need a break.”, you giggle as you try to brush off his worry. 

As the boy nodded, his palm reached out to pat your thigh but when it lingered the disgust that filled your eyes was replaced with curiosity. If they really were watching, they would hate that this boy was touching you but more than anything they would be pissed you didn’t push him away. 

Without fully weighing the consequences, you grabbed his hand and threaded your fingers between his. The boy smiled before scooting his chair closer to yours.

I shouldn’t be doing this… There’s no way they are even here to see me doing something I shouldn’t be. Fuck what the fuck is wrong with me…

“Hello.”

A small child dressed like Woody from Toy Story smiled your way as he held out his little pumpkin for you to give him his candy. 

“Trick or Treat!”

Grinning, you gave him two pieces of chocolate and he beamed right back before handing you a red envelope. 

“What’s this, sweetheart?”

“Jack told me to give this to you.”

“Jack?”, you ask but the little boy just giggles as he runs back to his group of friends. 

Continuing to smile, you shake your head as you glance over the piece of paper he gave you. There were no distinguishing markers or anything indicating who it was from. Finding a couple of Polaroids, a shaky breath leaves your lips when you turn them over. 

Within the photos were images of you from outside your window putting on your dress for the evening. Rising to your feet, your eyes scanned around the neighborhood in search for any sign of them or anything that stood out but all you saw were kids and adults trick or treating. 

“Y/N? Are you—”

Powerwalking into your home, you made a beeline for your bedroom as you looked around and found nothing. 

“Y/N? What’s going on, baby?”

“Don’t call me that, Justin.”, you snapped, slightly annoyed that they had successfully rattled you. 

“I’m sorry. I just…I know you’ve been through a lot these past few months with Derek, the internship denial, and then overworking yourself. I’m here if you ever need anything.”

You needed something but it wasn’t anything this man could give you. However, he may be able to help facilitate what you actually needed…

Roughly grabbing the collar of his jacket, you brought his lips to yours hoping he didn’t feel the cringe in your face at the fact that he tasted nothing like Eddie or Steve. Justin’s hands went to work, pulling your waist to his as he backed you towards your kitchen counter and lifted you onto it. 

The sound of something crashing pushed you two apart and you quickly ran outside to see your friends giggling as someone had drunkenly fallen out of his chair and broke the glass in his hand. 

Nervously laughing, you leaned against one of the cars and wiped away the stray tear that had fallen. 

“Ok, guys. I think I’m worn out for the evening.”

“Oh come on, nana.”, one of your friends teased. 

“No, no. I have a class tomorrow afternoon.”, you lied.

Smiling, they helped you gather the chairs, placing them back inside and you watched as everyone left but Justin lingered behind.

“Do, um, do you want me to stay with you? We don’t have to do anything. You just seem a bit jittery.”

“I’m ok but I do appreciate the offer.”

Your friend seemed to buy your smile and you watch as he gets into his car and disappears down the street. As you turn to head back inside, something on your windshield catches your eye. With a shaky hand you grab the Polaroid that was stuck under the wiper and turned it around to see the image of you making out with Justin on the counter in your kitchen. Underneath were big bold letters written in black marker.

“Bad Girl.”

########################

Running through your home, you double checked to make sure every window was locked and bolted your front and back door shut. You weren’t going to make this easy for them and as the adrenaline coursed through your veins you couldn’t help but smirk. 

This is the most alive you had felt in so long.

“Come on, boys! Is that all you got!?”, you shouted into the void. 

A knock on the back window made you jump before sprinting in that direction as best you could in your dress and bare feet, annoyed when no one was there. The lights in your house abruptly turned off and you squeaked as you realized you were now at a disadvantage. 

Tiptoeing backwards into your living room, your calves hit something hard making you wince when you realized it was your coffee table. Something fell in your bedroom down the hall and you quickly ran to the front door with the plan to cut around outside to your backyard but as soon as you turned the handle you were met with a tall, broad figure donning a Jack Skellington mask. 

Fear froze you only for a moment before you tried to slam the door in his face but he blocked it with a loud slam of his palm and you turned to run towards your bedroom to hide. After shutting and locking the door, you turned in circles debating on where to hide, finally deciding on your closet. 

He’s not trying to bang in the door. Why isn’t he trying to come in?

As soon as you opened your closet door, you got your answer as another figure in a Ghost face mask wrapped his arms around you and covered your mouth as you tried to fight him. With little effort, he dragged you with him as he let his friend in who had been waiting patiently on the other side. 

Casually striding forward, the man invades your space and removes his Jack Skellington mask to reveal Steve underneath. 

“H-How?”

Calmly smirking, his strong fingers pinch your cheeks as his forehead presses against yours. 

“You don’t speak unless you’re spoken to or you need to say ‘Red’ to stop. Do I make myself clear, little girl?” 

When you didn’t immediately respond, he pushed your head against the other man’s shoulder who ripped off the Ghost Face mask revealing an equally annoyed Eddie.

“If you want tonight to go smoothly it’s best to say ‘Yes, Daddy’ or ‘Sir’ when you’re asked something and do what we fucking say.”, he growled between clenched teeth. “Now, was what Daddy said fucking clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Fingers threaded roughly through your hair and pulled back. 

“Not to me, little girl! To him!”

“Yes, Daddy, I fucking understand!”

“So is this what you’ve been doing with your time, huh. Trying to get your needy hands on any fucking man you can. First the picture you sent us making out with some asshole and now we see you dry humping some asshole in your kitchen. Fucking whore.”

“What picture—”

Steve’s palm collides with your cheek making you gasp. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember asking you anything.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

As his angry eyes scan you over, he chuckles as he notices your wiggling in Eddie’s arms start to become less forceful. 

“You don’t even remember sending that polaroid to us do you, little girl?”

“No, Daddy. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”, you mumble as a tear falls down your cheek. You genuinely never wanted to hurt them. 

“Don’t worry, little girl. You’re going to make it up to us.”, Eddie declares before pushing you to your knees between them. You watch with wide eyes as they pushed down their prison sweats and their cocks spring free. The anticipation of the evening had them hard the entire time they spent watching you and as your palm barely makes it around their girths, they hiss and breathe a sigh of relief at the contact. 

Your lips take in Steve first making him grunt as his palm balances on top of your head. 

“Fuck, Y/N. Do you know h-how fucking long we’ve waited to feel your mouth on us?”

Moving to Eddie’s leaking tip, he groans as your head begins to bob while your hand continues to pump the other man. 

“You can f-finally live out your fantasy, Harrington. J-Just—shit—hold her hair like this and…” Gripping your hair tightly, the metalhead thrusts his hips allowing his dick to hit the back of your throat as you gag and squeeze your eyes shut. “That’s it, fuck, and a little whore like her can really take it.”

Yanking you off him, Eddie practically pushes you onto Steve’s cock barely allowing you time to breathe as he fucks your face. 

“And she fucking loves this shit. Don’t you, baby?” After bunching the bottom of your dress around your waist, he aggressively slides his hand under the waistband of your panties and glides his fingers between your dripping cunt. “Yeah ya do. Say it.”

“Yes, Sir, I love it.”

With a smug smile, they take turns using you till your make up and drool streak your face. 

“Goddamn! Her throat feels so fucking good.” Grabbing your neck, Steve pulls you to your feet as his lips roughly crash to yours while Eddie removes his clothes behind you. 

After placing himself on your bed, the long-haired boy wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you on to him, maneuvering your body until you were sitting directly on his face. His fingers rip at your panties, tossing them haphazardly on the floor before shoving his nose between your folds. 

“Fuck, I’ve been dreaming about eating this sweet pussy till you’re begging me to stop.”

You loudly moan as his tongue licks a stripe through you and your fingers promptly cling to his hair beneath you. A hand suddenly touches your side as your dress is lifted over your head and your eyes meet Steve’s before scanning his naked form. God, they both looked so good. 

“Does his mouth feel good, little girl?”

“Y-Yes, Daddy.”

Pinching your cheeks, he glared your way but his eyes soften as they drifted down your neck to your breasts and to your tummy. Sweat was sticking to your skin as your hips rolled and you mewled, shuddering against Eddie as you came. 

Wrapping his arms tightly around you, the metalhead held you still as he continued to devour you. Tears fell down your face as you continued to cum on his tongue but he wouldn’t allow you to leave. You squirmed to get away from him, succeeding only for a moment when you pulled his hair a bit too roughly and he let you go. 

As you fell onto your stomach on the mattress, Steve reached over and pressed his palm against your shoulder blade to hold you down and spank your behind. 

“Hey! Where the fuck are you going? We aren’t even close to done using you.”, he growled as he spanked you again much harder than before. “I would have thought a little slut like you would have wanted to cum on his face some more.”

Lost in his need for you, Eddie pulled at your ankles and lifted your ass till you were exposed for him. 

“O-Oh fuck!”, you groan as he gradually guides his cock into your aching core. 

“How does she feel, Munson?”

He didn’t verbally respond but his palm yanked your hair so your back was against his chest. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. Your pussy is just squeezing my dick. Y-You like this don’t you? Bad little girl letting us stretch out her cunt. I-If someone caught us, you’d be in so much trouble.”

“Oh my god.”

Eddie’s hips slammed into yours and your head leaned against his shoulder as his palm clung to your throat. 

“We—fuck—we jerked off to this moment so m-many times, baby. Do you still want us to fill up your little pussy?”

“Y-Yes, yes Sir, please.”, you whine as his cock continues to punch into the spongy spot inside of you. 

“Beg me, Y/N. Beg for my cum.”

“P-Please, Sir. Please fill me up. I need it!”

You don’t see it but Eddie winks towards Steve as he pushes your face back into the mattress and pounds into you till your body shakes and the coil snaps. As you wait to feel the metalhead’s release, the other boy roughly lifts you off the bed and places you on top of him as he lays back flat with his head on your pillows. 

“Wait, but—”

Fingers wrap around your throat as Steve pulls you down till your nose is to his. 

“What, little girl? You thought after everything you’ve done that we would just give you what you want? You thought you could get away with it because we were locked up, didn’t you?”

“Y-Yes, Daddy. I’m so sorry.””

“Not yet but you will be. Now…put my cock inside that little pussy.” Releasing his hold on you slightly, he allows you to move just enough to lower yourself down onto him, both of you groaning as he sheathes inside you easily. “Goddamn it. You’re so fucking tight. Don’t move…I just want to feel you…shit.”

Your head fell back as you did everything you could to not move your waist. You could feel him deep inside you and any little twitch had him hitting that now over stimulated spot inside you making you desperate to cum again. 

“Hey. What the fuck did I say?! Don’t. Move!”, he growled as he spanked your ass again hard.

“Oh, Steve, you can’t blame her. Little slut like her is just so desperate especially with a cock so close. Right, baby? Say it. Say you’re a desperate little slut.”

“Please… I want to cum.”

“Now she wants to cum. She was just running from it earlier!”, Eddie scolded as he pressed his face to the side of yours. “You wanna cum again you listen to what we say. Good girls do what they’re fucking told.”

“I-I-I’m a desperate little…little slut…” 

At your words, Steve’s palms hold your hips and guide your movements allowing you to grind against him. 

“Good…good girl. We’ll make you deal, Y/N. If you cum again on Daddy’s cock, we’ll fill you up just like you want. We can do it at the same time…” As you bounce harder on top of him, Steve’s hands roam your body and roughly knead your tits. “Has anyone ever taken you here, sweetheart?”

At Eddie’s question, he guides one of his fingers inside of your ass and it takes all of his friend’s energy to not cum on the spot when he watches your mouth fall open in a silent moan as you come undone.

“I’ll take that as a no.”, he chuckles. 

“N-No, Sir. C-Can…fuck…can I have water please?”

After nodding, you watch as he disappears out of your room and Steve searches your bedside drawer before producing a bottle of lube. As you wait you can’t help but reach out to run your palm delicately down his chest. You could feel his eyes watching you as you traced the faded scar just below his neck and down to the darker ones on his side. 

When Eddie came back, he threw his body in front of yours and handed you the glass you asked for, thanking him, and chugging it back. His scars were much darker but like Derek said in his interview with them, they were similar to Steve’s. Just as you had with him, your fingers traced fading marks and every tattoo you passed with fascination. 

When your eyes met his chocolate ones, you rushed forward to capture his lips with yours and without hesitation he took you in his arms, cupping your face to bring you as close to him as possible. 

Mewling, you sink down on to his cock, capturing his own moans on your tongue as you roll your hips. When you freeze, Eddie’s waves tickle your face as he looks behind you to see Steve lathering lube between your cheeks before stroking it along his length. 

“Remember, just say ‘Red’ if you want to stop.”, he whispers.

“Yes, Sir.”

Straddling his knees over Eddie’s thighs and your feet, Steve exhales and guides himself gradually inside of your ass. Your nails abruptly dig into the metalhead’s shoulders as you bury your face into his neck. 

“Hey, hey. You’re doing so good, princess. Look at me, pretty girl.”, he coos as he lightly but firmly tugs at your hair. “There she is our beautiful girl. Are you alright?”

“Hurts, Sir.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“No, Sir.”

Next to your ear, you hear him run his tongue along something before a jolt of electricity runs through you as his thumb slowly circles your clit and Steve inches a bit more forward. 

“Fuck—Good girl, honey. I’m almost…I’m almost all the way in…you’re doing so good.”

“I love you both…so much…I’m so sorry for hurting you…trying to make you jealous.”

When Steve’s hips connect to yours, you shudder as his breath ghosts your shoulder. 

“We—mmm—we love you to, Y/N. Fuck, Ed, I’m not gonna last long.”, he quickly pants out as he hangs his head and does small thrusts to allow you to get used to them both inside you. “Are you ready, baby?”

As you nod your head, Eddie pulls on your hair again a bit more roughly and you know what he wants. 

“Yes, Daddy, I’m ready. Please…I need you both.”

The metalhead’s arms hold you to his chest and Steve’s fingers dig into your hips as they both pump into you in the same rhythm turning you to jelly as you melt into their embrace.

“That’s it, sweetheart, fuck you feel so good. Taking us so fucking well. Who do you—mmm—who do you belong to, little girl?”

“Y-You and…and—fuuuuuck—”

A palm wraps around your throat, pulling you till your nose was squished against Eddie’s.”

“Finish that fucking sentence. Who do you belong to, Y/N?”

“You and Steve.”, you moaned.

“Say it louder, whore, so we know you fucking understand.”, the man behind you growled roughly as he pressed his chest into your back, pushing him impossibly deep inside you. 

“I belong to Eddie and Steve! Fuck, harder, please.”

Both men thrust aggressively into you, Eddie holding you flat against him as Steve’s palm gripped your headboard for more leverage.

“Some…something’s happening…” Your body shook as an overwhelming feeling of pleasure coursed through you and the rubber band in your belly snapped. 

“Oh my God.”

As your arousal warmed him, Eddie grunted loudly in your ear as his pace faltered and you felt him warm your insides. Steve soon followed, circling his arms around you and clinging to your slightly limp form as he emptied inside you. 

##################

You weren’t sure how long you were asleep for but you woke up to the soft feeling of their lips and fingers roaming your skin. When your eyes found Eddie’s in front of you, he gently smiled your way before rolling out of your bed and comically falling to your floor making you laugh as Steve shook his head behind you. 

Bouncing to his feet, the metalhead collected you into his arms and waited for his friend to finish getting the shower ready. After the three of you climbed in, you watched them as they exhaled pleasantly at the water pressure.

Opening your different soaps and shampoo, they inhaled each and every one, even the ones they didn’t use as if trying to capture your different smells in their memory. 

Lurching forward, your arms wrapped tightly around Eddie who promptly tangled his fingers in your hair as he pressed your face into his chest. You immediately felt it within his energy…he didn’t want to let you go and you didn’t want him to. 

Steve gently but firmly pried you two apart, turning off the shower, and guiding you out to dry you off. After placing you on the edge of the bed, he found one of your shirts and playfully pushed it over your head with a big smile that you tried to return but struggled through the tears that were beginning to fall. 

As they began to reach for their prison uniforms on the floor, you couldn’t stop yourself as you ran to grab what you could of their clothes and hugged them to you as you pressed your back to a corner. 

“Please…”

“Y/N, we have to go back. This was for one night.”, Steve sighed as he tried to sound authoritative.

“Make it longer.”

“How? By putting you in danger? Your name is in all our visitors logs and the guards fucking know you by name, Y/N. If we don’t go back, this will be the first place they look.”

“Then let’s leave, Eddie! We can go to Canada or Mexico.”

“And you’d give up your dream of being a lawyer? Just like that?”, Steve responded sternly. “No. We’ve been accused of ruining plenty of lives. I won’t actually be guilty of one.”

“That’s my choice to make, Steve. I can be a lawyer anywhere. Plus, Dustin Henderson and his girlfriend are good with computers. I’m sure they can do something to help.”

At their friend’s name, both their eyes darkened as Eddie took a confident stride towards you.

“If we find out you asked them to do anything, Y/N, I swear to God. Like Steve said, we won’t be responsible for ruining more people’s futures.”

“How Martyring of you, Edward.”, you spit. “It’s ok for your futures to be destroyed as long as everyone else is fucking happy. What about me?!”

“Do you think we want this, Y/N?! Do you think we actually want to leave you?! We spent everything, fucking every cent we had to come be with you tonight! It fucking kills me that we can’t fall asleep with you and hold you. That we have to go back to that bullshit with actual murders and men who have done unspeakable things but… we have to. We have to do this right, honey.”

Sobbing, you slide to the floor and they follow you down, kneeling in front of you. 

“I love you both so much.”

Steve pulls you to his lap, rocking you back and forth as they try to comfort you. 

“Hey, sweetheart. We don’t have to leave until 6 am and it’s only two. How about we lay with you till you fall asleep, baby?”

After nodding, they tuck you under the covers and you promptly lay your head on Eddie’s chest while Steve cuddles your body to him and kisses your shoulder. 

“I love you, Y/N.”, the metalhead coos as he kisses your forehead, his heart breaking as you continue to quietly cry. 

“I love you to, pretty girl.”, the other man tries to sooth as his fingers caress your skin. 

#################

February 5th, 1998

Eddie and Steve, 

I’m sorry I haven’t answered your calls. 

I know after our last visit you both were really worried about me. 

There’s something I’ve been keeping from you… I lied. The prison doctor who looked me over after I passed out did find out what was making me nauseas and dizzy. I thought it was stress but…

I’m pregnant. 

What…what are we going to do?

I’m scared. 

--Y/N

#################

@lemme-slytherin-that-dick @micheledawn1975 @paleidiot @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @noooah @baileebear @dashingdeb16 @nailbatanddungeon @rockmusiciscalming12 @mikeyswifie @poofyloofy @eddiexmunsonlover @dreamliners

I think I got everyone but if I misses anyone please let me know!

[hongjoongspoetry]

Sparks and Bruises | Teaser

🥊 Summary: In a world where everyone at the age of eighteen gets a metal meter implanted on their wrist that shows the amount of danger your soulmate is in. You and Mingi have known each other since high school, but went through a nasty fallout after his love for boxing turned into a dangerous gamble with his life as the price. Years later, you stumble over his injured form on the doorstep of your apartment building. Not having the heart to turn him away like all those years ago, you invite him inside with the intention to clean his wounds, but get a lot more than you bargained for.

🥊 Pairing(s): Underground boxer!Mingi x Real estate agent!Reader, brief Hongjoong x Seonghwa

🥊 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, second chance AU, fluff, exes to strangers to lovers, angst (more than what I planned on)

🥊 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), reader is allergic to peanuts so go with it for the plot, brief description of bruises and cuts, more to come...

🥊 Wordcount: Estimated 12.0K

🥊 Author's Note: Click the image for a better resolution (Tumblr I hate you). So, two more days left until the last fic of the event is out!!! I'm so excited to share it with you guys :3 But first, here's a lil sneak peak

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains mature scenes such as descriptions of minor injuries and explicit language. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!

Masterpost Event taglist

“...Can you imagine that?! He grabbed my stuff and proceeded to lie straight to my face!”

You hummed into the phone at his rambling. A smile graced your face as you neared your apartment building, but disappeared quickly. Hongjoong’s voice became background noise as you slowed down. A figure dressed in all black and a hood thrown over their head sat at the doorsteps. Both arms planted on their knees and head shoved into the palms of their hands. The person was on the taller side and looked quite buff beneath the baggy clothes. You didn’t recognize them as one of your neighbours, but the swooping feeling in your stomach hinted on something else. 

Not heeding Hongjoong’s previous warning of being cautious, you decided to approach the stranger. The clicking of your heels interrupted the peaceful silence of the night and the person immediately looked in your direction. Sharp and angry eyes met yours, and the furious spark swirling in them morphed into surprise. Your heart jumped in your throat as you recognized the person. Of all the people in the world, you certainly didn’t expect to find him at your doorstep.

“Hongjoong? I’ll have to call you back.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

“Nothing– Or well, something, but nothing dangerous– I’ll just call you back okay?”

“...You sure?”

“Yes, one hundred percent.”

“Okay. Talk to you later then.” 

You quickly pressed the red button and lowered your phone. The man was still staring at you, the fear that his imagination was playing a trick on him lingering. That if he looked away, you’d disappear from his line of sight.

Sweat spread along your palms and your pulse was loud in your ears as you walked up to the man.

“Mingi?”

He scrambled up to his feet and took hold of the railing with one hand while the other pressed against his left rib and a surprised wince slipped through his lips. 

“Long time no see, huh?”

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2025. All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed.

[pacifymebby]

Hello❤️ if your requests were still open I was wondering if you'd do peaky blinders headcannons for some of the blinders (it doesn't have to be all if you don't want to do them all) but for them and a female reader who they get put into an arranged marriage with and after they get married they find out she already has a baby or young child? You totally don't have to do it if you don't want to or aren't comfortable with it!! I blame the idea on my current baby fever 😂😂 You're amazing and I hope you're doing well❤️❤️

Tommy

🌿 Going to be surprised but quietly impressed you kept it from him so well. He did his research into you and nothing about a baby came up.

🌿He will however be angry with you and your family because you weren't honest with him. He won't confrobt you immediately however you will notice the change in his mood. How cold and harsh he is to you. You don't know it but every time he shoots you one of those icy unforgiving stares, he's contemplating going to war with your family over it.

🌿At first he believes you have betrayed him, he sees it as your family trying to insult his family.

🌿Won't feel sorry for you despite knowing you didn't want to be married to him. You had the opportunity to be honest with him and for whatever reasons you lied to him too.

🌿However, there's no screaming or shouting, he doesn't threaten you. Honestly every time he looks at you he thinks he could hit you, thinks he could kill you and each deceitful bastard family member you have. The only reason he doesn't is because he doesn't want to act without knowing the truth.

🌿He's angry because someones tricked him, it doesn't matter that its you, doesn't matter the lie, he's just angry someone managed to trick him and every time he looks at you he feels that nauseating rage build inside him... And its because of this he can't confront you. He can't risk being deceived again...

🌿So he has to bide his time, the whole time treating you so cold and unforgiving. He hardly says a word to you, won't stop fixing you with that hateful glare... You feel so alone in that big house and you cry yourself to sleep every night. Tommy watches as you pale and thin and he doesn't feel a shred of guilt because until he learns the truth about you he believes that this is the bed you've made for yourself. That you deserve misery.

🌿But then he does learn the truth. He fibds out exactly why you have that baby, what happened to you, why your family were so keen to sell you down the river and marry you off to any old birmingham criminal they could.

🌿Suddenly he feels terribly guilty, he feels like a fucking fool and suddenly all that anger directed at you will be turned in on himself. He's made a fucking horrible mess of your life and he has things he needs to fix, but the first thing he does is call you into his office...

🌿You're terrified, literally trembling as you stand opposite him barely able to look him in the eyes. You worked out weeks ago that he must know about the child and now you're terrified of what he's going to say to you. You know he isnt affraid of killing, for a moment you're terrified he's hurt your baby...

🌿Before he's even said a word you've crumbled, your sob catching in your throat and then bursting from your chest untameable. He feels his heart break to look at you, you're distraught and in part he knows its his fault for being such a cruel bastard.

🌿 He stands up, let out a small sigh and approaches you carefully. When he touches you you flinch and cry harder and it breaks his heart.

🌿 With his hands on your shoulders trying to guide you into a hug he will apologise to you, "S'alright love, I know what happened yeah, know what they've done to you angel, you're safe now and always will be... Know about your baby too but don't..."

🌿"I'm sorry Tommy, don't hurt her please! I'm so fuckin sorry I... I..." you try your best but you just choke on your apology and can't get the words out. You're trembling in his arms when he finally pulls you in against his chest.

🌿"Hush y/n, shh, it's alright now, alls forgiven, you don't need to say anythin now yeah, alls forgiven..."

🌿He will apologise to you there and then, holding you so tenderly, his arms around you, his thumb stroking your shoulder, his chin resting in your hair as he rocks and calms you carefully.

🌿"S'alright angel, s'alright, no ones hurting your little girl I promise... I understand that we lie sometimes eh? We do bad things to protect ourselves and the ones we love, so I understand why you lied to me alright, I do..."

🌿 "All is forgiven now and I'm gonna bring your little one home yeah, gonna bring her home to her mam and dad but I ask one thing of you yeah, just this one thing angel, you an me we're married now, husband and wife, and we may not have married for love but we made those vows before god and so we must keep them, to have an to hold, for better for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish... Now I promised you those things and I intend to keep my promise... All I ask of you is that you be honest with me now yeah? No more lies, only truth..."

🌿He'll tell you that he wants to help you, wants to help you get your little girl back, wants to help you get revenge on all the people who have wronged you. He'll offer to make sure you never have to see your father who split you and the baby up, sold you off to an evil man.

🌿 "There there y/n, it's all alright now, I know you're a good girl, know you didn't want any of this, an I bet you've been so scared all this time eh? Terrified of everythin thats happened, no one to talk to about it... Terrified of me too?" he'll be stroking his fingers through your hair, holding you so delicately that its impossible for you to remember why you were ever scared of him. "Well you ain't gonna be scared anymore sweetheart... I promise, you ain't ever gonna be scared no more."

🌿He really will keep his promise, the Shelbys are a family of misfits and he'll welcome you and the child into the heart of the family. He'll raise your little girl as his own, and will probably insist upon lying to the child so that she doesn't have to know the true evils of her real father... Not that Tommy thinks hes any less bad really.

🌿He spoils your little girl rotten too, she's a real daddy's girl. He knows the darkness she was born of and into and wants to give her everything all little girls deserve, a good life with no rain. He also probably remembers little Ruby and views your daughter as the second chance he never thought he'd get.

🌿And though you may have been scared of him to begin with, the care, generosity and devotion he shows you leave you weak at the knees and almost dependent on him. You think the sun shines out of him and see him as your only hope in a dark world, the man who offered you kindness and forgiveness when you needed it the most. He picked you up off your feet when you were vulnerable and held you like a little bird with a broken wing. You won't hear a bad word said against him.

🌿You definitely do grow to love him and I believe he grows to love you too, what starts as him trying to do the right thing becomes this mutual respect and admiration, becomes adoration the more he gets to know you, how sweet and kind and good you are. He probably also appreciates your intelligence and understanding which you gained from having such a dark start in life.

Alfie

🐻 Isn't against arranged marriages when it comes to keeping Jewish women safe with Jewish men... Especially when there are so many predatory Shelby esque cunts out there who would take advantage of the young and naive. However, Alfie is against arranged marriages when its "marrying your terrified young daughter off to a mean old man to make peace with a rival gang..." which is what this is...

🐻 So he doesn't want to marry you and honestly doesnt have much respect for your parents who he thinks essentially traded you in for a few quid.

🐻 When your father had come to him, offering his daughter as a bride to clear his debts, Alfie really had considered shooting the cunts head clean off. The only reason he hadn't was the thought of you...

🐻 He'd seen you around Camden Town a few times, you worked in the bakery he often walked by and from what he remembered you were far too young for your father to be offering you up like that. You were practically still a child...

🐻 And that's why he accepted the offer. Because he knew that if he didn't you'd end up getting roped into all kinds of awful things by your shameless fuck of a father... There were other, less respectable ways a man could sell his daughter to clear his debts and he could tell just by having looked at you that those things would kill you.

🐻 On the day before your wedding, the first day he gets to speak to you he gives you this little speech. He comes to see you before you are married, which is bad luck in all cultures but apparently a wide soread myth among Jewish communities, which is exactly what he tells you when you try to hide yourself away from him.

🐻 "Now trust me zieskiet, see these," he'd tap his eye glasses and push them slightly down his nose as he looks at you seriously, "I only wear em when I need to read somet very carefully, and before I came to see you today I tripple checked right because I wouldn't want to do anything to give you anymore rotten luck eh, think you've had quite enough if that eh, can't get much worse than this here deal you've already been dealt can it? Now... Its a technicality perhaps but, it ain't mentioned anywhere in Talmudic literature yeah, neither any medieval writings what I could find either yeah... Its what you'd call a myth zieskiet... And that poppet, is very lucky because I've got a few things I'd like to say to you now yeah, just a few important things alright?"

🐻 He'd pull out a chair and gesture for you to sit down, this is Alfie we're talking about, even he knows he isn't going to be quick about this.

🐻 But he talks really gently to you, very seriously, but very gently.

🐻 "Right then, yeah, a few things I need to say to you now the night before our wedding day, our wedding day which is tomorrow yeah..."

🐻 "I know you're scared of me, don't blame you to be honest, I'd be scared, no, fucking terrified if someone told me I had to marry this mean old man yeah... Cause its true ain't it, I am mean, and I am old yeah, but I ain't ever gonna be mean to you,"

🐻 "Actually darlin whats gonna happen is this yeah, tomorrow when we have our nissu'in right, and then every day and night after that for the rest of our shared life together, I'm gonna look after you yeah, gonna take good care of you an thats a promise right?" the whole time hes talking you're just looking back at him speechless, a little confused and very very uncertain because you've heard so many terrying things about this man, that he's insane, that he's ruthless... And lets face it he isn't exactly coming off sane right now...

🐻 "This here right now yeah, this is me Alfie Solomons promising you y/n l/n that I'm gonna take proper care of you yeah, I ain't gonna hurt you, ain't gonna be cruel alright, won't force you to do anything you don't want to do... I don't expect you to fall in love with this ugly mug of mine yeah, I ain't gonna force you..." he looks right into your eyes then, holding both your hands in his, so serious that you have to trust him. You can see he isn't lying but it only makes you more nervous because you knew he wouldn't be promising you these things if he knew about the terrible deception your family were tryibg to pull off behind his back.

🐻 You feel so guilty then, you hadn't at first because you'd believed him to be just as bad as your father and brothers who were forcing you into this situation. The ones who had taken your child from you and threatened you with her life if you dared tell a soul.

🐻 But this man is so different from all the stories you'd heard, he's being so kind to you. The first man who has been kind to you for quite awhile. And you're still so naive, you want to trust him so badly, you want to believe you really don't need to be scared...

🐻 When Alfie sees the tears escape your eyes he doesnt understand, he thinks he's done something wrong and he panics and drops to his knees holding your hands and looking up at you, desperate to sooth you, he can't believe he's gone and made it worse.

🐻 "What's the matter poppet, what have I said?" but you just shake your head and try to hide your face in your hands scared to tell him the truth, your voice shaking when the words leave your lips. "Theres... Theres a child... A baby..." for a moment he thinks you're telling him you really are only a child and he launches into another speech about how its alright, he's only marrying you to save you from being married off to someone else...

🐻 "Zieskiet, stop crying little one, stop now eh, shh, I just told you didn't I, my only intention is to look after you, so you're only a littlen right you can stay a littlen I ain't gonna force you to be a woman yeah, I'm gonna..." "No!" you sob then, shaking and completely distraught and panicked then because he doesn't understand and he's not listening, "I'm not a child Mr Solomons, I have a child! I've a baby girl and... And... Oh god they're going to kill us both if I tell anyone and now I've told you, they're... My poor girl..." you cry into your hands, Alfie just watching you completely dumbfounded.

🐻 If he thought he lacked respect for your father before he has none left now. Now he really does wish he'd blown the cunts head off...

🐻 He sighs, takes your hands from your eyes and holds them in his, stroking your palms with his thumbs as he speaks.

🐻 "Now see, none of what you've just said yeah, none of that changes anythin of what I've just said... Everything I promised you just now yeah, all of that still stands, seems to me little zieskiet that you are a very scared, very sad little girl yeah, you and your baby need someone to take care of you both alright, someone who will keep you both safe and sound right and that someone yeah, that someones me..."

🐻 He can't hide the disgust at finding out you're a mother, you're so young... how the fuck have you got a child... He has his suspicions however and vows that after the wedding, when he has both you and your little one safe and sound, he'll pay your father another visit... Find out the truth once and for all, set a few things straight, get a little revenge.

🐻 He'll be so gentle with you, will take the baby in and let everyone believe it's his. He will take such good care of both of you. He probably won't even ask many questions of you if he gets the impression that you don't want to talk about what you've been through.

🐻 He'll ask if the father was a good man or not but he's already maade his mind up that unless the mans dead he cant be good cause he abandoned you and your daughter.

🐻 He never really thought he'd be a father, never thought he'd have a family... Always blamed it on his line of work, that it was better to be lonely and not risk losing anyone you loved, but he likes the family he's got now. Actually he loves them.

🐻 He has a fatherly protective sense of duty towards you both and you look to him as your saviour, the only person in the world you'll ever trust. He's so gentle and kind to you, and has demonstrated on more than one occasion that he'd kill and be killed for you and your little girl... That despite that "ugly mug" which you don't actually find ugly at all by the way, you can't help but want him as yours.

🐻 Its one of those "plenty of time to fall in love after the wedding" situations. Over time you adore him and want nothing more than to devote yourself to him.

🐻 Alfie will be such a good father. Sure it will be in that classic grumpy old man kind of way, always fretting about you and the baby, wanting to provide for you both, worrying about your safety, worrying that you'll get sick, worrying that you're not happy etc... He will be totally devoted to you, he'll grow to love the child as if she's his own and he'll love you too.

🐻 And he'll stand by his promise too, he doesn't force you to love him, doesn't force you to be intimate with him, and the first time you kiss him he's so stunned by your delicate fingers tracing the scar on his cheek that he blushes. When your lips touch his he puts a finger to your lips abd reminds you again, "zieskiet you don't have to pretend what did I tell you..."

🐻 "Fuck what you told me I ain't pretending nothin..."

Arthur

🍂 Tommy is forcing Arthur to get married because he thinks it'll force him to get over Linda. His brother thinks it will force him to get his head together once and for all and he pitches the deal to arthur as a clean slate, a fresh start with a pretty face.

🍂 But arthurs a bit uneasy about it, he doesn't believe for a second that anyone would ever want to marry him. No one in there right mind at least.

🍂 "And this girl eh brother... What's wrong with her that she's agreein to all this..." "I don't know what you mean brother..." says Tommy trying to feign naivety, but he knows what Arthurs getting at and knows his brothers skirting close to the truth.

🍂 "You know what I mean Tommy don't get stupid with me brother, you're the clever one ain't you... I've got a reputation haven't I... Now who the fucks giving their daugther away to a fuckin monster like me..."

🍂 And he's right about that reoutation, you are absokutely petrified of him. On your wedding day you're shaking and you can't keep the tears from your eyes. You do well to hold most of them back but Arthur sees them caught in your lashes. You look so sad and so scared and it hurts him to see you like that, knowing he's the root of that fear.

🍂You seem so gently and sweet, so timid. When you say your vows your voice is so wuiet, you're like a littke mouse or a baby bird. So pretty abd shy.

🍂 And Arthurs not exactly s genlte man, he's clumsy and awkward and he's always louder than he means to be, and somehow your shyness only makes that worse. He feels even clumsier and rougher around you and he's so painfully selfconcious because he doesn't want to scare you at all.

🍂 So he has to try and show you his soft side, which he isn't sure he actually has. He tries to ask Tommy for advice but his brother doesn't take him seriously, just shrugs and laughs him off, tells him "if you're so scared of the girl you don't have to speak to her at all... Consumate your marriage and never speak to her again..." but that thought horrifies Arthur who shakes his head and gets frustrated, "Nah, nah Tommy that ain't right, thats fuckin cruel Tom..."

🍂 So he asks Ada who laughs at him but, because she feels sorry for you - she remembers how scared you look the day you got married - she does her best to offer her brother some advice, advice about minding his coarse language, not raising his voice, not knocking furniture over or breaking olates when he's drunk and angry.

🍂 And polly gives him some advice too, about how to hold a hand without squeezing too tight, about how to touch a woman's cheek delicately, how to brush her hair behind her ear without poking her in the eye or making her flinch...

🍂 Arthur takes this advice very seriously and tries so so hard to be a gentleman to you. He really tries not to swear, really tries not ti get drunk or angry. But just as things are starting to work out between you, just as you both stop being so timid around one another he finds out about the baby.

🍂 He gets jumped outside the Garrison by some scratty bastard claiming Arthur Shelby stole his son.

🍂 His first response is anger, naturally. He's absolutely livid that you didnt tell him. He's spent all this time being careful with you, trying so hard to be a good man for you and all this time you've been lying to him, keeping this massive secret. And not just from him either... you didnt tell tonmy and its a betrayal of trust, you've not just insulted him but his whole family...

🍂 He doesn't know what to do, he completely panics because he's going to have to carry this shame to his brother, his brother who will probably kill you and your family for deceiving the Shelbys.

🍂 However, a lot of his anger is down to panic... You have a child, a whole fucking child! Have you been expecting him to be a father to that child this whole time? He isn't cut out for that, he ain't cut out to be a fucking dad...

🍂 He takes a lot of his anger out on the cunt claiming to be the father of your child, he doesnt stop to work out if any of its lies, just throws himself at the bastard because this man isn't pleasant and he's socked Arthur in the jaw and started making all these nasty threats... So all that anger and fear, all the hatred and betrayal, he takes it out on this stupid bastard, beating him within an inch of his life.

🍂 He doesnt kill him though because he needs to know if hes telling the truth about being the lads dad... Your man...

🍂 When he confronts you you get so so scared... You back away trying to put a safe distance between you and Arthur who has just stumbled in covered in blood, wreaking of the drink.

🍂And then when he tells you about the man who jumped him, when you hear what Arthurdid you start crying and suddenly Arthur gets worried, has he potentially killed this man you love? Will you ever forgive him, will you be scared of him for the rest of your miserable lives together... Has he doomed you both to suffer eachother in hate and fear forever?

🍂 But then you throw your arms around him and he realises you're crying tears of relief. That you're holding onto him so tightly, just saying "Thank you, oh thank god, thank you Arthur, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I shouldn't have lied to you I just didn't know what to do, I was so scared, oh god thank you... Know i shouldnt be happy but i am."

🍂 He's confused as fuck tbh, doesnt know what to make of it, struggles to stand there and hold you because he isn't very good with crying women and you're utterly hysterical. He awkwardly puts his arns around you, oats you on the back and just kind of waits for you to explain...

🍂 "ere love don't cry eh, calm down sweetheart, ain't gonna solve anythin cryin like this are ye..." He's awkward, blushing and a little embarrassed, doesn't know what to do and feels totally helpless.

🍂 When you do explain everything, that you were never married to the man, that he ain't your man at all and never was, but that it is his kid and the reason your parents gave you up to Arthur is because they were so frightened of the man that they knew you needed to leave ur city, go somewhere with dangerous people who could keep u safe etc..." Arthur just listens completely baffled, getting more confused but also more upset as the story goes on. He's uoset for you and the more you tell him youre sorry, the more you beg his forgiveness and tell him you didn't mean to use him, didn't mean to cause any trouble, that they didnt give you a choice just packed you off in the middle of the night... The more certain Arthur becomes that he has to stand by you. He remembers your timid delicate face the day of your wedding, the tears in your eyes, the lack of family with you in the church... He realises that this has all been one long nightmare for you and that your fate rests on him. That he can choose to help you or doom you to a life of misery.

🍂In the end he's relieved too, he chuckled nervously and tells you that all considered he's glad he fucked the guy up as bad as he did. "Only fuckin sorry I didn't kill him... If I ever see that bas... Sorry, if I ever see him again I promise you love I will..."

🍂 "You're family now eh love, my family you and the baby and I'll do me best to be a good husband and a fuckin good father too, know I'm not really a good man but I promise you I'll do me best..."

🍂 Will admit he doesnt know what hes doing and you'll say lets face it, his own dads not exactly an angel...

John

🌼 We already know that John isn't going to be happy about the idea of an arranged marriage, especially not one orchestrated by his brother to make peace with a rival gang.

🌼 He will throw a strop when Tommy tells him, he'll be livid, accusing him of treating him like a child, "always fuckin controllin us all whenre you gonna get bored of playing the fuckin puppet master eh?"

🌼 Stupid and pissed off enough to try and start a physical fight with him, shoves him hard and has to be held back by Arthur, who has to try and be balanced. He isn't really in agreement with the situation either but he doesn't want to see John do anything stupid, and he knows that if John hits his brother again Tommy will come down full force on the lad.

🌼 So John will be dragged by his heals to the altar, he's still grumbling when they arrive at the field your wedding is to be held in. He's wearing a real school boy scowl when Arthur and Finn push him up to stand with beside you. He can't see you but you can see him through the veil which covers your face and the sight of his sullen expression strikes fear in you. He looks so angry, he looks like all those bad stories you've heard about the Peaky Blinders might actually be true...

🌼 But when the veil is taken from your face and John sees you for the first time everything changes... You're so pretty, with the soft earthy features, your eyes so emotive, a real deer look about you as you gaze back at him a little shyly...

🌼 Something about your pretty face and your soft features sooths him, calms his temper and suddenly he isn't so sulky anymore. Suddenly he's wearing a shy smile of his own, looking at you like he can't quite believe his luck.

🌼 When the sermons being read and you're both waiting to make your vows, kneeling together at the altar John turns to you with a little smirk and nods, whispers "Hullo," his cheeky smile and the way he's whispering over the sermon makes you feel like a kid being naughty in class. You're blushing and biting back a cheeky smile of your own when you whisper "hello," back.

🌼 He can't help but flirt with you, he knows this should be terribly awkward and that you're probably really unhappy to be there being married off to some stranger with a criminal record but he can't help himself. Your smiles so pretty and once he's had a taste of it he keeps chasing it.

🌼 He's also a little embarrassed to have arrived so reluctantly to your wedding, feels like he's got a lot of making up to do...

🌼 He'll sense your awkwardness and want to put you at ease, he can tell that you're shy, can tell that you feel nervous and he'll want to make you relax. Now that he's seen you he isn't so annoyed to be being married off to you and he wants to show you he's not all that bad either.

🌼 So he's whispering pointless small talk to you throughout the sermon, making you smile and stifle a giggle, earning you reproachful looks from Johnny Dogs who is trying his best to recite the sermon without throttling John for not taking it seriously.

🌼 But John is all, "pleasure t'meet you," shooting you that boyish smirk, making eyes at you like its just you and him having some private joke...

🌼 But he sees your hand shaking when Johnny goes to cut your palms and mix your blood and John remembers that although he can make his jokes and tease and flirt with you, you're probably still petrified of the future that lies ahead. You probably don't want to be doing this at all.

🌼 So when he clasps your hand in his and your blood meets his blood he holds your gaze and leans in to mumble something to quietly, lips barely moving, voice barely above a whisper. "Don't be scared flower." Of course its all good and well saying it but how can he really help you, of course you're going to be scared...

🌼 So later when everyone else is drinking and dancing he takes you to one side, his hand on your waist and then when he realises he's probably being too intimate, snatching his hand away, scratching the back of his neck instead. "Listen y/n I'm really fuckin sorry about all this, know its probably not what you imagined for your wedding day..."

🌼 But honestly, you're not sad to be marrying John. You didn't have dreams of a big romantic wedding or a husband you fell in love with at first sight... But you think that seeing John at the altar that morning is as close to love at first sight as you could possibly get... Yes you were nervous, yes you were shy, scared about your future... But not because you were marrying John... Well, your trembling hand had been a little to do with John but not because you were scared of him...

🌼 So you blush and shake your head and try to tell him he doesn't need to apologise, "I like you John," you say imediately looking at the floor, a shy but cheeky smile on your lips as you stand on tiptoe, brave enough for a fleeting second that you stand on tiptoes and kiss his cheek, leaving him blushing and speechless. "Really I do... I'm happy I got to marry you..."

🌼But John can tell that somethings not right, maybe you're not sad about the wedding or about marrying him but you're sad about him. He knows what sad girls look like, he saw many of them after the war and you look just as torn up as all those young widows...

🌼 Your little one is at your wedding, your mother is raising them, trying to pass them off as her own. And you've done well all day to pretend the little two year old is just a younger sister...

🌼 But John recognises your mothering instinct come out when the child runs over to hug you and you pick them up so lovingly. He can tell that you're not sisters, he can see that cherished look as you nuzzle your nose against hers. And he can tell by the tears in your eyes when you place her down on the ground and send her back to your mother. The way your gaze lingers as you watch her go, you look whistful, forlorn. Like a girl in mourning.

🌼 And Johns annoyed but not because you lied to him and not because he's just found out he's going to have another child on his hands. No, Johns annoyed that you were going to let your mother raise it, that you'd give up your kid just like that... Seemingly guiltless...

🌼But when he confronts you, umable to control his anger, snapping at you, growling the accusation at your through his teeth, breaking your heart because he's got it all wrong... You begin to cry, not hysterically but calmly. The tears running quietly down your cheeks as you look back at him with all this dissapointment in your eyes.

🌼 All day he's been so sweet you, sharing those conspiratorial smirks with you, as if you understood one another... Now you're worried he doesn't understand anything at all.

🌼 "I didn't want to... I don't, its fuckin breakin my heart to let her go... I don't have a fuckin choice they've... They..." you try to explain it to him, that your family forced you to give the baby up to your mother and let her raise it instead so that you wouldn't bring shame to the family, and so that Tommy wouldn't call off the engagement.

🌼 Then he has to swallow his anger, he doesn't want to see you crying and youre shivering there, sniffling in front of him all teary eyed, you're doing your best to stand up to him and he feels pretty guilty. His wife, standing up to him on her wedding night for fuck sake...

🌼 He gets angry with your family then, storming over to Tommy to tell him what they've put you through, to tell him what he thinks of his new in laws. He's suddenly very protective of you and he has this violent streak surface in him, he wants to hurt the people who have hurt you... So Tommy has to yank him to one side, him and Arthur trying to calm him.

🌼 "Its your fuckin weddin day John boy, you can't be fuckin fightin on your fuckin weddin day... Just take your girl and dance with her eh, like a fuckin man..."

🌼 So he does. He takes his girl, straight from her grandmother's arms, picks her up and kisses her forhead, asking her if she'd like to come for a dance with her mammy. The three of you will dance together, him carrying her on his hip as he slow dances with you both. Its a really touching scene but its passive aggressive too and when he locks eyes with your father he's making a threat which is received loud and clear.

🌼 He will make a huge point of openly accepting the child. he'll roll his eyes and nod to the family all self aware and apologetic, welcome to the family I guess.

🌼 That kids going to have so many brothers and sisters to run wild with. You'll actually have a really happy family.

🌼 John won't ask about the dad because hes got plenty of kids of his own and he knows how it works, you don't always love their parents but you love the kids. You'll be worried that he isn't bothered, you'll take it as him not caring about you or the child and when you ask him why he isn't bothered, why he isn't angry? he'll just shrug and say that he does care, you can tell him whatever you want whenever you like...

🌼 "Just don't see the point in dredge up the past when we're happy now," he'll say kissing your cheek, "got a good little family haven't we flower, we're happy ain't we? Why bother about anythin else eh?"

Bonnie

🍀 Bonnie is definitely the most heartbroken of the Peaky boys to find he's being married off to a stranger. He's sad to be being forced into an arranged marriage because he's always harboured dreams of meeting the love of his life, his soulmate and now he knows he'll never get the chance.

🍀 And he feels bad for you too because the chances are you're being robbed of the same thing. He's a romantic soul and it feels bleak and grey to be being robbed of love, the chance to fall in love.

🍀 He also knows that the nature of his life means you'll have to leave everything behind, travel with him and the family and that you'll really be alone in it all. He'll have his family still, not a lot will change for him, but you're being forced to leave everything behind, forced to go it alone and Bonnie is empathetic enough to know how much that will hurt you, how scared you will be...

🍀So he feels guilty too, guilty to be putting you through his own idea of hell.

🍀He is however determined to make the best of it, to be a friend to you if nothing else... He's such a sweet boy and he can't stand the thought of you being uncomfortable... He can't stand the thought that he might be ruining your life or breaking your heart. He's scared that you're going to be scared of him. From the moment he finds out he's to be married to you, to the day you finally meet Bonnie is preocupied worrying about the mystery girl he's to wed. Worrying you will hate him, worrying he won't be good enough, worrying you'll be scared... He's really scared that you'll be one of these girls who cries at the altar or tries to run away... Not that he could blame you for either, he just hates the thought that he could be playing a part in some innocent lassies misery.

🍀 He's a bit cyncial too, about where youre coming from... You can't have a particularly good family if they're giving you up to their enemies to "make peace" he thinks thats all wrong, he thinks they can't possibly love you or care about you very much if they're willing to hand you over to the people they hate most... People they call savages. He knows that if he had a daughter this would be the last thing he'd do to her. That if he had a daughter this was the sort of situation he'd want to protect her from...

🍀So before he's even met you he has all these complicated thoughts and feelings about you. He's been wondering about you for days on end.

🍀 On the day of your wedding hes taken back by how beautiful you look, so pretty all in white...He's genuinely stunned and when you remove your veil from your face with your delicate fingers Bonnie is held hypnotised by your grace. You're fae like, something ethereal about you in the misty morning light. He can't take his eyes off you and when your palms are cut and its time for Bonnie to take your hand in his he is too distracted gazing at your eyes that he misses his cue. Johnny Dogs has to press your hands together himself clipping him round the back of the ear for being daft.

🍀You're very shy, when Bonnie forgets to take your hand you bite down hard on your lip to hide your smile. You can barely look at him and struggle to hold his gaze. Bonnie thinks its because you're scared of him, or dissapointed by him but its not, its the opposite... You think he's lovely actually.

🍀 Sure you've heard about the Peaky Blinders fighter but the stories you've heard about a savage assassin just don't match up to this sweet brown eyed boy kneeling beside you, holding your hand clasped tightly in his.

🍀 Bonnie isn't sure how to act around you, he feels awkward, he feels shy too because actually you're the most beautiful girl he's ever seen and he's sure that the only way he was ever going to end up with a lass as lovely as you was if someone fuckin forced it.

🍀 When Johnny tells him to kiss his bride Bonnie hesitates, his hand hovers by your cheek, his thumb brushing your blushy skin as he freezes, shy but also worried... You have hardly even looked at him this whole time, maybe you don't like him, maybe you're wishing you could runaway afterall.

🍀"C... Can I kiss ye?" he asks, his lips barely an inch from yours, you can feel his breath on your cheek. You want nothing more than for him to close the gap between you. When your lips meet you feel that nervous but sweet flip in your stomach.

🍀Its this one moment of calm, this first telltsle sign of happiness and therefore its over too soon. Because when your eyes closed and his lips met yours your mind settled down, most of your anxieties hushed to a whisper. You would have enjoyed it had it not been for the secret you were keeping, the devestating truth you were being forced to keep hidden.

🍀 All throughout the wedding day Bonnie notices how you seem sad, more than that, you have this whistful, doomed look about you. He puts it down to you being sad about the arranged marriage and keeps telling you he's sorry you've had to do this...

🍀 "I know this ain't what you want y/n and it don't have to be like that between us you know, don't have to be like husband and wife between us if you don't want it... Won't be angry with you for that so don't worry, just let me be your friend eh, don't be lonely y/n, I'm your friend I promise..."

🍀 Throught the day he keeps trying to cheer you up, he's so sweet to you and dotes on you completely, in fact he hardly leaves you alone not wanting for you to be overwhelmed by his family and the peaky boys who are here... Still, his acts of kindness though they touch you, though they make you smile and blush, though you even giggle once at one of his daft jokes, don't really work cheering you up and Bonnie feels terrible because he can't help you. You still seem devestated.

🍀 It gets worse when you ask how long they'll be staying near Birmingham and he has to tell you that they're not. They stayed a day later just for the wedding, the vardos are moving on first thing in the morning and when he tells you you get choked up, your eyes are wide and white... You look terrified.

🍀 Again naive, bonnie puts that down to your fear of him and his family. Your fear of being alone with him, he tries to reassure you, tries to let you know he's there for you, that he'll be your friend, but before he can say much at all you've fled.

🍀 The parties in full swing now and other people are drunk enough not to notice you slip leave, only Bonnie watches you go, standing there helpless and a little heartbroken to watch you running away from him.

🍀You're not running away however, you're running to...

🍀You have to try to find your wee girl, shes with the church in small heath where your parents forced you to leave her that morning.

🍀You're demanding her back but they wont give her up, telling you that you made your decision, shaming you for being a whore... For giving up your child, for having her in the first place... You're desperate, on your knees in tears on the church steps, sobbing your heart out but the priests no sympathy for a wayward girl like you...

🍀When bonnie watches you go at first he doesnt know what to do, hes so scared, he wants to find you, to make sure youre safe... He knows there'll be trouble if your family realise what youve done.

🍀 So he corners your brother and forces him to tell him whats going on. He's clever about it, lies to find out the truth, makes a couple of wild guesses which pay off... Tommy Shelby would be impressed.

🍀 "Listen to me alright mate, that girls been heartbroken about somethin all day..." he hisses, his eyes burning with a fury he doesn't quite understand, "she just told me everything so don't even bother trying to lie about it eh, think your family's done enough lying for one day..." "Whats she told you?" the brother looks pissed off and when he sighs he's fed up, glancing nervously over his shoulder like he doesn't want to get caught. "Theres someone else..." says Bonnie, his voice shaking a little, he doesnt want it to be true, he doesnt want you to be in love with someone else because if you are you'll resent him. The chance of even a friendship for you both dashed on the rocks.

🍀But the brother just sighs and shakes his head, tells him not to cause a scene, "you're gonna be pissed but let's not fight about it here eh, for me sister, your brides sake eh..."

🍀 The brother tells him about the church and the baby and before he can tell you anything else, about the father or the circumstances that have brought you here, bonnie is running off to find you.

🍀He takes Isaiah and Finn with him to the church because for as much as he too is a catholic, a good one at that, he doesn't trust those churches and priests who he thinks have warped the religion for their own gains.

🍀And thats where he finds you, in a heap on the church steps still hammering on the door trying to get in.

🍀When he sees the mess youre in, when he finds out what they've done all his suspicions are confirmed and he's livid. Not just angry however but heartbroken for you because he knows you're younger than him and he can't believe the suffering you've been put through at the hands of the church and your family.

🍀 "And we're the savages?" he smirks to Finn when they pass you and enter the church by "order of the peaky blinders."

🍀 He gets your wee girl back, goes straight in, threating them. "Wheres my fuckin daughter?" "You had no right to take my fuckin daughter away! No fuckin right..."

🍀 And the church know a peaky blinder when they see one so they hand her over to him immediately. The moment he lays eyes upon her he knows he's going to be her father, knows he's going to raise her as if she were one of his very own. He feels an overwhelming sense of duty to protect her and it brings a tear to his eyes.

🍀 Always wanted a little girl and hes already decided to devote himself to her and to you. He can see that you need someone to be good to you and he's made that vow now, your bloods have been mixed, so he has a duty to you. Maybe he won't have that romantic falling in love he'd always secretly hoped for but that doesn't mean he can't try to love you and your little girl as best as he can.

🍀He gives her to you and when you burst into further tears he doesn't know what to do. He's not used to seeing girls so unhappy xnot like this anyway. He's seen his sisters cry over boys and arguments before but he's never seen a lass so distressed.

🍀 "Oh mary thank you thank you," you're sobbing, your body shaking with relieved sobs. Bonnie sitting down beside you trying to hush you and calm you. Making you all these promises to look after you both. "Shh sweetheart, its alright now dove, you're both safe now, I'm gonna take care of you you both from now on dove, I swear it on my life," he says taking your palm in his, kissing the cut which is healing from earlier that day.

🍀Takes you both home, promises you he's going to look after you both. "We're family now love, one that looks after one another, you're never gonna be sad or scared again I promise..." of course being a peaky blinder thats a promise he can't keep, but he'll say anything to reassure you in that moment.

🍀 You're going to be so won over by how loving and caring hes been, you went through something intense that night and got through it together. He saved your life and your wee girls life, you're so certain of that and as a result you feel so close to him. You really trust him, which is something you haven't been able to say about anyone for a long time.

🍀 You will probably talk about that day many times over the years, Bonnie will confess all of his naive hopes that he thought had been stolen from him that day, you'll both share how sad you were, how scared you were that you wouldn't ever know love. And then you'll smile and hold eachother, happy with the knowledge that even if you weren't destined for one another you've still found love.

🍀Your wee girl is going to have like 10 siblings sorry.

Isaiah

🐀You're more pissed off than him, you're so angry and you fight with your parents, you fight with his family, youre cold and so fucking bitter to him.

🐀The morning they tell you you do nothing but scream, you hit your father, beating at him furiously, you feel betrayed by him, by your mother who does nothing but stand sobbing weakly.

🐀And the person you hate the most is Isaiah... When he tries to talk to you, when he tries to tell you "I didn't fuckin ask for this either did I y/n!" you just get angrier, you shove him away, you try to run away.

🐀"What the fuck would you agree to something like this for? Who the fuck do u think you are... You think you should get to own me... I don't even fuckin know you and you're calling me your fuckin wife!"

🐀And Isaiah does feel a little guilty, this isn't exactly what he wanted either... But your temper is foul and you're doing nothing to contradict what he was told about you. That you'd grown wild, that you'd the devil in you, that you needed taming. He gets frustrated with you, annoyed that you can't see that this is bad for both of yous, not just you. Sometimes he wants to shake you and yell in your face, "You think this is what I wanted do you love? You ever stop to think I might have had a sweetheart of my own eh? You think I wanted to be stuck with a sour bitch like you for the rest of me life?"

🐀Sometimes when you are screaming at him he almost does say those things. But he's under orders from his father and Tommy Shelby to treat you right, theres an important alliance in the balance and if he loses his temper with you he could ruin everything. But you don't make it easy, you're angry at your situation and you're taking all that hurt and anguish out on him...

🐀When he finds out about the baby things get worse... All this time you had a way out, a way to annul the marriage and kept it from him. He's so angry with you but he feels like now you're even. You've been hating him this whole time, being truly evil to him, and now its his turn to be mad. He has a right to lose his temper now. He has a right to say all the horrid things he's been thinking about you all this time, your resentment for one another building.

🐀When he confronts you about it you have a huge, messy fight in which your whole backstory is carelessly hung out for all to see. You're screaming at him, hysterical, how dare he lose his temper with you for this...

🐀"This is your fuckin fault so don't blame me for keepin it secret, I had to keep it secret!! What would you have done eh, you and your Peaky fuckin Blinders! Don't blame me!" Don't blame me? You're the one who couldn't keep her fuckin legs closed love! "" Fuck you! Don't you dare talk about me like that, don't you fuckin dare speak about me like that! I'm your fuckin wife!"

🐀And when you say that he snatches your wrist in his, you'd raised your hand to slap him but now he's squeezing your wrist so tight it hurts, he's forcing your hand down onto the kitchen table, backing you up against it until you can feel the edge of the table digging into your back...

🐀"Aye," he says, his voice low and spitting, his eyes so unforgiving, "some fuckin wife you are eh sweetheart..." everything he says comes out a threat and suddenly you feel so small, so vulnerable. He's right up in your face, his hand still squeezing your wrist tight.

🐀"Some fuckin wife sleepin around and lying to me, you let me marry you! I didn't fuckin want you... You could have fuckin stopped it... I didn't want you..."

🐀And that cuts you so deep. You didnt want him either but having him stare you down oike that, each word slashing at you, full of vitriol... It hurts, brings tears to your eyes because you both know you're stuck together, he's saying these things to you now so plainly, so spitefully, knowing he can't take them back, knowing you'll have to face them for the rest of your life...

🐀"What're you crying for now eh, fuckin stop crying girl, don't start cryin now like I'm breakin your heart! You're the one whose breakin mine for fuck sake... A fuckin baby y/n, why the fuck would you keep that secret eh?" "I mean it love stop fuckin cryin, you made this fuckin bed you're gonna fuckin lie in it..."

🐀When you snatch your wrist free and flee from him, you run away without even taking a jacket. You're half blind from your crying, not paying any attention to where you're going as you tear through the Birmingham streets desperate to get away from him. Away from all the Peaky Blinders and the fucking nightmare world they live in.

🐀Isaiah shouts after you, he's angry but not just with you anymore. Angry with himself for letting you go, for letting you run away into the dangerous night without so much as a coat to shield you from the rain. He runs his hands over his cheeks and curses himself, curses you too for being so wild. Now he knows you've the devil in you. You're nothing but a terror head to toe.

🐀But he has to go after you, god knows what could happen to you out there on your own. If he doesn't find you someone else might and though you may think he's cruel, theres plenty more cruel out there and he knows it.

🐀So he searches for you all night on his own, too ashamed if having scared you away to ask his friends for help. He feels almost imasculated by the whole situation, what kind of man lets his wife run away from him like that...

🐀When he finds you you're drunk in some shithole pub half way across the city, its taken him hours and hes soaked through from being out in the rain all night. It's kicking out time and you're the last person in there. Women aren't meant to drink alone but you know the lad behind the bar from your wilder days and he's been letting you stay...

🐀"Alright love, you've had your fun eh, time to come home yeah..." says Isaiah, approaching you. You flinch away from his touch and it hurts him the way you look at him with such fear. "No," you whimper, you look so scared of him and yet so determined to disobey, to remain your own woman. "Come on lass I mean it yeah, we had an argument yeah, you ran away, you got blind drunk and now its time to come home... We'll sort everything out at home, promise..." and he does mean it. He's no intention of screaming with you until the sun comes up.

🐀Whilst he was out looking for you he had a lot of time to reflect on everything thats come to pass between you. The way he sees things now this has been painful for both of you. Both of you have been forced to give up the futures you wanted, both of you are stuck together now... And you made those vows before god, you can't ever undo them, you can't break that oath because you made it to eachother and also to god. And if you've a baby then you have to raise it together. You have to try and get along otherwise you'll be miserable for the rest of your lives, thats no way to be together, no way to raise a child.

🐀He feels guilty for losing his temper, he should have been man enough to understand you, he should have been what you needed... Now he's found you thats what he wants to tell you. That things are going to change between you.

🐀But you haven't given up your fight and you start crying again the minute he puts his arm around you to help you up and walk you home. You're really sobbing, its almost theatrical and it imediately begins to wind him up again... Why can't you see he's really trying for you here?

🐀You're too drunk to walk and in the end he has to pick you up and carry you all the way home where he sits you down at the kitchen table, your head slumping onto your arm. You're a mess and he can't help but chuckle despairingly. How the fuck did he get here?

🐀Still, amid the bitterness and the resentment theres a tiny glimmer of affection, you're just a lass at the end of the day, a lass who's had too much to drink and upset herself. And he does think you're pretty, even when your eyes are all red from crying.

🐀He sighs, pulls the chair up beside you and takes your hand. You don't look up at him at first, your eyes pressed to your arm on the table, refusing to turn your head until he tells you again.

🐀"Fuck sake y/n look at me now eh, I'm tryna talk to you... We're grown ups ain't we... Look at me..." he sounds exhausted and you're exhausted too so you turn your head and he can't help but think you look quite cute in your sulk. Your cheek squished against your elbow, your big eyes watery and sullen looking up at him from where your heads resting on the table.

🐀"I'm your fuckin husband love whether you like it or i like it," he says with a sigh, he wants nothing more than to go to bed but he knows this is a fight which can't be slept on, "so you fuckin listen to me yeah, all this screamin and cryins gotta fuckin stop cause were stuck with eachother and it aint gonna be much of a life if we ain't at least civil eh..." "Uhuh..." suddenly you're a lass of few words, just glowering up at him, hearing him out though he's not sure you're really listening to him.

🐀"You ain't really been behaving like much of a wife girl, and I know I ain't a saint, haven't been much of a husband to you either have I... But thats gonna change now yeah, it fuckin has to change now cause we can't live like this forever... Can't raise a child if we're at each others throats all the time eh?"

🐀You sit up then, your eyes wide but hopeful, you clasp at his hand suddenly alert, really listening to him...

🐀Isaiah smiles when he sees the light return to your eyes. Its the first time he's seen you looking like that... Hopeful.

🐀He's terrified of having a child, so scared that the child will reject him, that they'll hate him for not being their real father... He's scared he'll do everything wrong, scared he'll be a bad example... But he knows that he can't refuse to raise a child because he's scared the kid won't like him... He knows he has to do the best he can for you and yoir little one.

🐀 "So tonight sweetheart, am gonna get you to bed an me and you are gonna go to sleep, no more fighting yeah?" "Uhuh," "Then in the morning you're gonna stay here, I'm gonna go find your littlen and bring em back to you, and then we're gonna raise it together yeah, husband and wife, mam and dad..."

🐀He puts you to bed and for once you let him help you get changed, you let him look after you and help you into your bed and when he's made sure youre settled he tries to get some sleep himself. He's anxious however and his heads so busy with all these worries about the baby, about whether he's cut out to be a dad, that he barely gets any sleep at all.

🐀However the next day when he fibds the child, a little boy, something in him changes. He doesn't take to fatherhood perfectly, he's awkward and he's still very anxious on the indside. But he sees this little boy who needs a father, who needs someone to step up for him, someone who's isn't afraid of anything, who can be confident and in control. He knows that that has to be him and so he does, he steps up because he doesn't have a choice, theres a little boy depending on him.

🐀And your little boy takes to him straight away, he looks up to Isaiah and its clear he thinks the sun shines out of him. Isaiah is kind of proud of that.

🐀And its through seeing how him and the son grow close that you begin to trust him and your anger and resentment mellows, replaced over time by a kind of respect. You admire him, you have to admit that its impressive the way he stepped up to your son when he could have just kicked you both out on the street.

🐀It isnt just the baby he's been trying hard for either, it's you too. He's been doing everything he can to be a caring husband to you and you feel yourself softening up to him over time.

🐀Your respect develops into a friendship, you both know you can rely on one another, that its the three of you now who are a family. It might not be a romantic love which blossoms between you but theres certainly a mutual trust and admiration, a platonic love.

🐀And that friendship twinned with the fact that hes undeniably attractive, makes you wonder what it would be like to have children with him... Whether your little family of three could grow...

🐀You sleep together every night, you act just as a husband and wife should but theres always a distance, Isaiah has been waiting for you to close it for a long time, and one night when he climbs into bed beside you in the early hours, he's been away all night on peaky business and you've been worrying about him all night... He thinks you're asleep when he rests his head on the pillow and you roll over, draping an arm around him, nuzzling into his neck. He only realises youre awake when you leave a kiss at the top of his spine.

Michael

☘️Words cannot truly describe the rage which floods Michaels body when Tommy informs him he's to be married. Not only dies he think it's completely fucking embarassing in this day and age, "the modern world ain't for things like this Tom!" he also believes Tommy is only doing it to sideline him, to punish him and put him in his "place" a place he knows in his heart he does not belong.

☘️ He fights Tommy over it, not as physically volatile as John but certainly still puts up a fight. He tries to spite him through business. He fucks up a couple of deals Tommy wanted him to make just to spite him... Naturally this only makes things worse.

☘️ "Fuckin meet her first at least Michael, who knows maybe it'll be love at first sight..." Tommy is taking the piss, rubbing salt in the wound because knows Michael knows theres nothing he can do. That in the end he has no choice but to do Tommys bidding.

☘️ "Knowing you you'll have picked some fuckin pig for me..." he grumbles, not realising how far from the truth that could be.

☘️ A meeting between you is organised, with Polly and your mother chaperoning. It's the only time you'll meet before the wedding day and you're so nervous. You're terrified that Michael will see you and change his mind, that he'll break off the engagement because you're not good enough. That you'll let your family down.

☘️ You're also scared because you know that Polly Gray has the sight, you know that if you meet her gaze even for a second she will see into your soul and discover all the secrets you're trying to hide. The dark past you're desperate to forget. Because you've already had your heart broken beyond repair.

☘️When Michael sees you he falters, his lips parting, stunned. You're nothing like the girl he'd imagined you would be. You're not deformed or ugly, not some old spinster or s fucking 12 year old being married off early for status. You're simply beautiful, just a girl who looks something close to his dream girl. You're pretty, a little shy, but your smile is sweet and your voice is soft when you say hello. And your eyes are deep and full of heart. Soulful eyes, the kind you don't see much of in Small Heath.

☘️Polly does your readings, this is a condition of your engagement and one you're very nervous about. If it was just any old gypsy crone pretending to read your cards and your palms then you wouldn't be worried. Anyone else would be easy to fool. Polly Gray however isn't a con woman, she really can see secrets. Your hands shaking when she turns it over in hers and traces her fingertip slow and delicate down your love line.

☘️ "Well Michael, I don't think you'll have any complaints with this one..." she says offering her son a knowing smirk, she didn't need to read palms to know that. One look at you and the way Michael was starring at you, was enough to tell her that Michael at least would be happy.

☘️ Polly tells you both then, holding your hand and Michaels in each of hers, acting as a link between you, "you must both try to forgive one another, you must forgive your families too, for what they're asking of you... If you can do this you will be happy together, theres much potential for love here..."

☘️Polly saw the child in those readings she did, but she doesn't say a word, not to you, not to Michael. Not even to Tommy who she knows will be furious. Because she didn't just see the child, she saw everything. She saw how you were knocked up by a man you believed really loved you, how he ran away and abandoned you. How you tried to keeo the baby secret but couldn't when you began to show... How it was your own parents who reported you to the social and accused you of being an unsuitable mother... Your baby was taken from you just as Pollys were and she can see that desperate heartbreak in your eyes. She doesn't need to read your cards to feel the grief which radiates from you.

☘️ So she keeps your secret, and you don't see Michael nor his mother until the day of your wedding. When you walk down the aisle towards Michael you're shaking, you're nervous, self concious of everyones eyes on you. You never imagined your wedding day to be like this, a church packed out with gypsies and criminals, ruthless gangsters watching your hips sway in your white dress.

☘️Michael is still angry with Tommy, he knows what his mother has said to him about forgiveness but he will never forgive his cousin for treating him like a child, for humiliating him by forcing him to do his bidding in such a public and old fashioned way.

☘️ So he hides his attraction to you, he acts sullen and takes his hatred for Tommy out on you. He's treats you so coldly, glaring at you as he makes his vows. You can feel the hatred radiating from him and your voice is shaking as you say your own vows. You want to cry, you're actually scared of him.

☘️ He does everything he's supposed as he is supposed to, kisses you, dances with you, but he's so removed and aloof, so quietly cruel, something about him makes you feel like ice. You feel so lonely as he dances with you, you want to cry.

☘️ Later you're drunk, drinking to try and nurse your fear and sorrow away. You'd hoped when Polly had taken both your hands in hers and told you that you were well matched, that potential for love might blossom in time... But now it seems you're doomed to live the rest of your life loathed by the man youve just married.

☘️ Polly joins you at the bar, slips her hand into yours and leads you away from the party outside. You sit side by side in the steps and she offers you a cigarette. When at first you shake your head, a little wary of the older woman she says, "Don't be silly girl, have a cigarette, look at you for gods sake, its clear you need one..."

☘️ So you let her light your cigarette for you and you do as she says taking a drag and enjoying the comfort of that first inhale. Pol was right, you needed that. "Thank you..." you say quietly but Polly has already moved on. "I know about your son," she says her voice low, at first she sounds perfectly calm, matter of fact, and your heart fills with fear, but when she carries on you hear her change, her voice thick with emotion.

☘️ "My god girl the things you've been through, the things those fucks put us through..." she's clasping your hand in hers, holding it tightly. When you look up at her in confusion her eyes are tearful and suddenly you understand.

☘️ "I'm so sorry love," she says holding your cheeks in her palms, her cigarette smouldering by your eyes. "Those bastards never fuckin tire... If I ever saw the man who stole my babies from me I'd kill him," she tells you and suddenly you're stuttering...

☘️ "But... But michael?" you ask and she nods, she smiles and dabs at her tears and suddenly she's that stoney fearsome woman once again. Wise beyond her years. She clasps your hands in hers and looks you dead in the eyes. "Yes love... I got my son back, but it wasn't god who gave him back to me, we took him back, we took him... Don't lose heart love, you'll see your little boy again..."

☘️ You're scared then, convinced that even if you do get your son back Michael will never take him in. You beg Polly not to tell anyone, you ask her to keep the baby a secret and she understands why you're asking, because she understands she shakes her head.

☘️ "My sons stubborn y/n, but he ain't stupid... He'll take that little boy in, he fuckin will..." theres a threat in her voice then, a grit that chills you. You wonder if she intends to use that tone on Michael.

☘️ Its several days later when Polly tells Michael that you have something to tell him, something important. He's barely spoken two words to you since the wedding, avoiding you at all costs because he feels awkward. Because every time he looks at you his attraction threatens to break his resolve. He can't stand the thought that Tommy might have been right to pair you up.

☘️ "Me mum says you've got somet to tell me love?" he says entering the room, looking down at you where you sit on the sofa. "Says its somet important. Says I'm not to lose my temper, says I'm to be forgiving..."

☘️ You're so scared to tell him, you're shaking but you try to remember what Polly told you. You try to be brave, try to trust that her son is the gentlemen she claims he is and not the cold bastard he has shown himself to be since you were wed.

☘️ When you do tell him he purses his lips, swallows a lump in his throat and then says "did mum tell you about me?" he asks, his own eyes stewed with emotion as he walks to the window and gazes out at the street. The living room is dark and with his back to you you feel cold. He's only turned away so that you can't see the upset in his eyes.

☘️ "She did yeah..." "Fuckin horrid you know... They lie to you, feed you all this shit to make you hate your own family... Tell you you weren't wanted, tell you that your own mum hurt you... Then one day someone else comes along tells you all that was the lie... Wouldn't wish it on anyone."

☘️You're quiet, listening to him talk. You only realise you're crying when a tear trickles quickly over your lips and you taste the salt on them. When Michael turns round he looks you up and down. He feels a kind of guilt when he sees you so forlorn and heartbroken. He knows he's been unkind to you.

☘️ "Been pretty evil to you haven't I love... I'm sorry I shouldn't have done that, isn't you I hate..." he sits beside you and takes your hand in his, "I'll get your son back love, promise, call it a wedding gift."

☘️He lays out one simple condition for you, he'll take the baby and raise it as his own, as long as you promise to keep that secret too. The baby is Michaels, no one can know you weren't a virgin when he married you. It would be humiliating, imasculating. He can't have people thinking he married a "whore."

☘️It hurts hear him say that and he sees the wounded look in your eyes and apologises. "Love I don't think you're a whore..." does that really make it better?

☘️ It takes time but with the Shelby/Gray formidabke reputation Michael is able to bring your little boy back to you.

☘️You're not sad living with Michael, he really is a gentleman when he isn't acting up for Tommy. He takes good care of you and the boy and you live happily together. And you can't deny your attraction to one another. The cards and your palms didn't lie, you really were well matched and you do find love, far easily than most.

[lillyspeakz]

Ok- once again tumblr hates me.

But have these headcanons! I did a mix of everything, nsfw is more towards the bottom so if you don’t want to read those, there’ll be a small warning before hand!

Warning: this is a sadomasochist relationship! There will be more intense scenes in these asks like spanking, slapping, hair pulling etc. so please beware when reading these!

sfw

- You both make it a game to smack each other on the ass, always sneaking them in at random times. You always do it super lightly and run away before he can react and do something else, and he usually doesn’t at that moment, besides smirking at you and shaking his head as he goes back to what he was doing before hand.

- when he does eventually do it back, it’s a little bit on the harder side, making you yelp in surprise. And his hand likes to linger for a bit in that spot, making the sting simmer out as the feel of his warm palm settled it. He always did it when you least expected it too- either bent over the counter on your phone, or when you were reaching super high to get something, smacking your ass and then getting said thing for you

- loves to do it to tease you in public. Now, he knows you know when he’s jokingly doing it or not, but sometimes he likes to trick you. You’re talking to someone and make a snarky comment at what he said? He’ll lightly tap your butt. You roll your eyes at him and are sassy in front of others? He’ll pull you closer just to pull his hand back and bring it down with full force, making you whine into his shoulder as you looked at him with wide eyes. Of course he wore a proud smile.

- ok. If there’s one thing that we know Wilbur loves, it’s to mark you. He loves to make it known to others that you are his and only his, forever and always. So whenever you’re about to go out with some friends or even on a quick errand run, and he sees your neck or chest clear as day besides the neckless he got you, he’s beside himself. Should he mark you or wait until later? But if he waited, no one would know…

- so as any sensible person would… he does it now! And you’re laughing at the whole thing. First it started with him watching you, hands on your shoulders as he soothed them from any tension. Then he started to kiss your cheek and neck, kisses light and full of love. And then- the attack happened. His lips attacked onto your skin, teeth reaching out to nip and pull at small batches, pulling it back in and sucking the patch even more. But the way he did it made it more ticklish than anything else, his breath rubbing against your chest as he sloppily ran his teeth and tongue over your flushed skin, hands brushing over your sides and slightly tickling you all over the place.

- after he was done, you had small marks all over your neck, nothing too big but definitely noticeable. “Happy?” You would ask as he nodded and replied with a wide smile as he pulled you towards the door.

- ok this is very rarely a thing he does outside of the sexual realm but- sometimes he’ll pull your hair. Not hard, but enough to get your attention or pull you back to him when he can’t reach any other part of you. Lost in space? A little tug to your strands do the trick. In someone’s way or going an opposite direction? Grabs a little wad of hair and pulling you back over to him gently, apologizing to the person who was now side-eying them both

nsfw

- ooo boy this is gonna be good! When it comes to sexual interactions and your dynamic, it gets a bit fun. The power play and the energy is so different yet tangles so perfectly, it makes you both smile in delight as the night goes on.

- whenever you piss Wilbur off, he won’t show it until after you both are alone. In the safe walls of your shared apartment, giving you orders to be naked, sitting on the bed

- when he gives you a good minute head start, he goes to the bedroom and finds you sitting so pretty for him. He’d sit next to you and place his hand on your thigh, slowly rubbing and squeezing the skin there.

-then he’d softly demand you to get over his lap, words still soft and gentle, but a little nip was behind each word, patience slowly wearing off as his anger seeped through him.

-once you were finally displayed for him, he couldn’t help but smirk. He didn’t touch you for a good minute or two until he finally smacked your ass, hard. Not giving you any time to react, he smacked your other cheek, and went back and forth. They were hard and relentless as he growled out degrading words towards you and your behavior that night, making you cry out to him, yet a smile was present on your face.

- moral of the story: when Wilbur is spanking you, it’s hard and he doesn’t stop until your ass is beet red. He doesn’t want you to sit properly tomorrow, or at all. He wants to remind you of who you belong to, all day long. They also sting- so you’ll be feeling it for a bit as the action continues.

- when he spanks you, it’s mostly with his hand. He’s not one for toys and tricks and using other things to bring you pleasure when his hand is plenty enough to satisfy you and him. But, on the occasion he’ll maybe use the paddle you bought for “fun”.

- if he’s really mad at you in public, he’ll pull you away from the others into a dark corner, pushing your head into the wall as his hand comes down not once, not twice, maybe not even three times as he tells you to fix your attitude or it won’t end well for you. And you usually obey him! But sometimes you don’t- and let’s just say,,. The next day is never fun.

- ok so remember when i said wilbur loves to mark you. Yeah yeah, so he does it even more during sex. He knows you love it from all the moans and screams you let out as he buries his teeth in your neck while he plows into you. The marks are big and dark and shameless. He places them everywhere! From your neck to your legs. Hell maybe even your arms if he’s feeling like it! (Even if your arms already have rope burn)

- everyone used to and still think it’s because you’re in a bad relationship, but with one single denial to the question and a smile towards the man in question who gave you such bruises- the answer was found immediately, leaving people speechless or cheering you on. Depends on their views of the dynamic.

- so we’re gonna take a moment and breath before we go on to the next ones because OOO.

- hair pulling. This man LOVES pulling your hair during sexual encounters. Sucking him off and you’re going to slow for his liking? Grabbing your hair in his hand and pushing and pulling your head every which way for his own pleasure, not paying attention to your whines and sobs. He knows you know what to do when it’s too much- so why not have fun.

-wants a different angle from where he’s hitting into you? Will wrap your hair around his hand like a rope and pull your body up until it’s just right for the both of you. Your neck is all the way back as your yes roll into the back of your head. Hands barely on the bed as his pace stays quick and hard, losing all senses to keep yourself from going limb.

- you aren’t listening to him when he tells you to do something? Fisting your hair and pulling your head back until you make eye contact with him, a whine slipping out of your mouth as he growls the order back to you, giving you a second chance to do it.

- another thing you both discovered by accident, is choking. And I’m not talking about small pressure on the neck, and take it off when it’s been a couple seconds. I mean full on, hand wrapped around the throat, squeezing and cutting off all breathing access.

- the way it happened by accident was Wilbur was choking you lightly one night, experimenting as you did in the early stages of all of this. Yet you both needed something more, something to push you both over the edge and something different. And out of his frustration, Wilbur leaned his weight onto the hand holding your throat, pushing your body into the mattress even more as he fucked into you harder and quicker, desperate for his release and desperate to feel you around him. He didn’t realize what was happening, blinded by his own desire, until he felt your hands around his wrist, nails digging into the skin.

- you weren’t trying to push him off, in fact your hands tried pulling his arm down more, loving the feeling of not being able to breath at all, face turning a sort of blue as your mouth was opened in a silent scream as you came around him.

- Wilbur was quick to finish after you, the whole situation surreal to him and the look on your face made him cum on the spot.

- after you both calmed down, you both looked at each other and smiled, eventually talking about it- but in that moment, words weren’t needed. It was understood.

- you both never questioned the others actions or motives, knowing one way or another, you would both like it in the end. And if you didn’t, you talked about it. That’s what you needed to do in this relationship with a dynamic was powerful as yours. So different but- tangled.

[wrenaspun]

OMEGAVERSE

Ok listen - my dark secret is that I've spent years going Oh I don't know, I don't think I'll ever write omegaverse... and you sent this in to clown on me but GUESS WHAT! when I try my hand at something I take it SERIOUSLY. This is 6k. It has scene breaks. Bon appetit -

Laurent hated his annual checkups. This was not a quality he appreciated in himself, but it was difficult to reason the feeling away. He saw Paschal in a old house converted to incorporate a homey front-room office, nothing like the old cliche of white walls and antiseptic, but there was still the indignity of being poked and prodded, the feeling of being under examination, the crawling flush of humiliation whenever he flinched from a harmless touch. It was unpleasant. He didn’t like it.

He had always made a point of getting in and out as fast as possible; there was no reason why this appointment would be any different. Except, when Paschal clicked around on his ancient-looking brick of a desktop computer and said, “I’ll renew your suppressant prescription for next year, then,” Laurent found himself tensing.

The word bubbled out of him before he could think: “Wait.” He heard himself as though from far away; it took a moment to register that something had come from his mouth. Paschal blinked once, twice, and then turned to Laurent with his eyebrows raised halfway up his forehead.

The silence stretched out to fill the room. Laurent wanted to say — nevermind, forget it. It was on the tip of his tongue. It wouldn’t quite come out of his mouth. Eventually Paschal was the one to say, “Yes?”

Laurent said, “You’re the one who’s always saying I should cycle off them. Have you just been saying that for fun?” His voice was snappish, too aggressive.

Paschal knew him too well to react. “No, of course not,” he said slowly. “I still believe it would be good for you.”

Laurent waited, half-hoping and half-dreading that he would continue, would say something prevaricating: but you don’t have to, or, you’ve never even entertained the idea before, or even just, what changed?

Paschal offered none of these escape routes. “All right,” he said mildly. “I’ll adjust the amount on your prescription. If you change your mind, you can always make another appointment with me.” It was as good as a taunt, Laurent thought resentfully. They both knew he wasn’t coming back here any sooner than he absolutely had to.

And because no good deed went unpunished, he had to sit through an extra five-minute explanation on how to cycle off his current weekly dosage before he was finally released, clutching his adjusted prescription, blinking and stumbling down the stoop like some new strange creature who hadn’t ever lived in the world before. The paper in his hands felt oddly heavy, weighty. There was some part of him which believed it couldn’t be that easy, and another which wanted to turn around and say to Paschal that there had been a mistake, that it’d been a joke, some strange trick. It wasn’t — he wasn’t —

He kept walking. It was done, he told himself. There was no changing it now. He would have the requisite conversation with Damen tonight, and then he could direct his mind elsewhere until —

Even now, he shied away from thinking about it. Events would unfold of their own accord. There was no point worrying about it. He got his prescription filled and tucked the innocuous little bottle into an inner pocket of his bag where he wouldn’t have to look at it.

—

That evening, he said, “I have to talk to you,” over dinner, “about the checkup.” And then the words dried up; Damen’s interest became concern and then outright worry.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, a little tentative, his broad hand a little too tight around his fork. “Laurent, don’t keep me in suspense.” It was half a joke and half a plea.

Laurent shook his head. Forced himself to say, “Paschal recommended I cycle off my suppressants. At least once. Since I’ve been on them for so long.”

Damen was so lovely that, absurdly, it made the words difficult to say. Any other alpha would accept it without question — would be eager, even — if Laurent had said to them that he needed to go through a heat. Those were exactly the kinds of alphas who’d be put off by Laurent’s first date declaration, I’m never cycling off my suppressants, ever, it’s not even on the table, who’d roll their eyes and walk out on him muttering about frigid bitches —

Not Damen, who had just nodded. All right, he’d said, so unquestioningly open that Laurent had found himself saying more, I don’t like how it feels, except that Damen had only smiled again and said that he didn’t have to explain.

Perfect, at the time, but now he looked worried, and Laurent didn’t know how to reassure him. “You have to?” he asked. “Is there — some kind of problem —?”

“No,” said Laurent. “It’s precautionary. It’s just letting my body reset itself.”

“Right,” said Damen. The silence stretched out, awkward, between them. Neither of them were eating anymore. Finally, Damen said, “Do you want me to — go somewhere —?”

“No!” Laurent barely stopped himself from snapping, that would defeat the whole point, idiot. He felt his jaw twitch. If Damen didn’t want to heat with him — it would certainly be one of Laurent’s graver miscalculations. But this was Damen. The thought that he’d want to leave Laurent alone through a heat was inconceivable.

When Laurent finally looked up, Damen was watching him, brow furrowed. “Laurent,” he said.

Laurent’s cheeks felt like they were on fire. “Are you going to make me say it?” he demanded, and Damen’s face opened into a hesitant little smile that did strange things to Laurent’s stomach.

“Sweetheart,” he said, “I’d be honoured.”

For a moment it was difficult to breathe. It was as though there was something inside Laurent’s chest, blocking his lungs, blocking his throat. He turned back to his food, staring down at the blue florals. “Good,” he said. And then, “It probably won’t happen any time soon.” His body was too used to the suppressants.

“That’s good,” said Damen. “If you change your mind —”

“I won’t change my mind.” Sharply.

“All right,” said Damen, voice soft. Then he reached over and twined their fingers together, under the table, and said nothing when Laurent’s hand tightened as though clutching a lifeline.

—

It took four months, in the end. Long enough that Laurent had stopped thinking about it, for the most part. He didn’t even realise — what was happening, when it first started. He thought he was coming down with something. The ecology textbook he was meant to be editing didn’t seem to make any sense; the words on the page in front of him were swimming slightly. His face felt flushed and overheated, maybe feverish. He tried a few times to put his hand to his forehead, second-guessing the way it felt.

It was confusing mostly because he hadn’t had the chance to get sick recently — it’d been a quiet few weeks, mostly nights at home with Damen. The textbook had him a little stressed because he didn’t know the first thing about ecology, but it was no worse than any other job that the publishing house had pushed on him. But that was how sicknesses worked, he supposed. Random unlucky encounters while they were out running errands. They’d done the groceries — was it last weekend? He couldn’t focus properly.

He kept going anyway, mostly because to curl up in bed sounded a little too tempting, and there was the hope in the back of his mind that he’d be able to fight through it by sheer force of will. He did take a couple of the emergency paracetamol that Damen had stashed in his desk, but he didn’t feel much effect.

“Honey, I’m home!”

Laurent startled and looked at the clock: sure enough, the rest of the workday had ground by. He’d been working overtime for half an hour, actually. What was wrong with him today?

He shook his head just in time for Damen to poke his head into the little office, a frown already on his face. He started, “What are you —”

“Don’t come near,” said Laurent hastily, attempting to roll his chair backwards to little effect — the desk was a rather immovable obstacle. “I think I’m getting sick.”

Damen was looking at him wide-eyed. He’d trailed off, but his mouth was hanging a little open. Laurent wanted to kiss it. He wanted to get up and wrap himself in Damen’s arms and get rid of their clothes, fast, the better to have Damen over him, skin-to-skin…

“Sweetheart,” said Damen, “I don’t think you’re getting sick.”

Laurent still didn’t realise, not even then. It was only when Damen inhaled, a long, slow, indulgent breath that would lay Laurent’s scent thick and heavy on his tongue, that the pieces clicked.

Laurent said, “Oh, fuck.”

He’d been such an idiot. The signs had all been there — the irritability, the flushes of heat, the lack of focus. The way his mind kept returning, like a dog with a bone, to thoughts of Damen’s naked body, the way he’d look pressed up against Laurent, the way his hands would feel… Laurent loved Damen’s hands, broad and capable, graceful and gentle.

“We can still get you on suppressants if you want,” Damen offered, quiet. “They have the medical-grade ones for late-stage preheat. We still have enough time to drive to the hospital.”

There were medical-grade suppressants that could stop a full heat in its tracks, even. The offer hung between them, tantalising.

“No,” said Laurent. “Don’t think you’re getting out of it this easily.”

Damen’s mouth ticked up, which usually would have sent a little thrill through Laurent’s blood and which now made him feel on the point of explosion. He stood up so forcefully that his chair was propelled into the desk behind him, crashing unpleasantly against the wood — Laurent couldn’t bring himself to care. He was darting into Damen’s arms. Damen caught him up without any effort at all, and Laurent buried his face into Damen’s neck where the scent of him was strongest, the earthy, deep smell which was nothing but a comfort.

“Laurent.” Damen’s arms tightened around him, and Laurent felt a little of the tension leave his body. Oh, it’d been such a long day. “Laurent.”

“Hmm?”

“I — we can’t, yet —” and the arms began to push Laurent away, which was awful. “Laurent, please.”

“Don’t you want —”

“I want,” said Damen fervently. There was a hint of a growl in his voice. Laurent realised, in an abrupt moment of clarity, that he was wet. “We need to prepare. You need to take your heat leave,” nodding at the computer behind Laurent. “I’ll email my work. And then I need to get some meals ready.”

“Some meals?” echoed Laurent.

The look Damen gave him was heated. “I’m not letting you out of bed for three days, sweetheart.”

“I — oh.” Even through the faintly feverish texture of preheat, Laurent could feel himself blushing.

Damen tipped his chin up with one finger and kissed his lips very lightly. “You can prepare the bedroom while I’m in the kitchen. I’ll be up in no time.”

“All right.” Laurent could hear the sighing breathiness of his own voice. Damen kissed him again, still light, which was a mercy; Laurent didn’t think he would survive it, if Damen had kissed him properly only to pull away.

“Soon,” said Damen, in the tone of a promise, and then he was pulling away, and then he was gone.

Laurent stood uselessly in the doorway for a full five seconds after Damen had ducked into the kitchen and out of sight, blinking hazily, focusing entirely on resisting the urge to follow Damen like a little duckling.

Email, he thought finally, and tore himself away from the threshold. He tapped out a cursory notice to the publishing house, cc’d his client, slammed the laptop shut.

He was preoccupied as he made his way upstairs, thinking about Damen, about the abnormal sensations within his own body, and so it was only once he had entered the bedroom that he realised he had no idea what Damen meant when he’d said Laurent could prepare the bedroom. What did that even entail? Laurent regarded the room with some bemusement. It was decently clean — neither of them were particularly messy — with a few belongings scattered about on the dresser and bedside tables. Laurent took a breath, but it was difficult to think. Did Damen want the room cleaned before they spent three days rolling around in the sheets? He had never been particularly fussy about such things before. Was there something he wanted, or was it more of a general expression, to prepare the bedroom? Laurent could practically feel the gaps in his knowledge taunting him. Was there a wrong way to prepare a bedroom?

He didn’t know how much time he wasted just standing there, looking over at the bed. Finally, the thought struck him: sheets, obviously. Damen had gone and bought a nice set of mattress and duvet protectors after Laurent had cycled off his suppressants. They were meant to go under the normal sheets, because everyone said the same thing, that heating was a messy experience, that it was hell on bedding. Laurent went to the linen closet on light feet, feeling almost like he was floating from the relief of having found something to do.

He hadn’t actually seen the protectors before; Damen had just called on his way home one day and asked whether Laurent preferred one brand or the other. Laurent didn’t care, didn’t want to think about it, so Damen had made the decision and put the package away when he got home.

Laurent should probably have paid more attention, if only to curb Damen’s tendency to extravagance. He’d bought — it didn’t even seem possible that a single box could hold so many sheets. It was at least twice the amount of bedding that one would find in a standard set. Probably three times as much. Surely heating wasn’t that destructive.

He took what he needed and returned to the bedroom. It took a little longer than usual to change the sheets — they usually did this together, if only because the mattress was ridiculously large — but he managed finally to get everything where it was supposed to be. He was too nervous for it too feel like a real achievement. There was a raw, jagged feeling under his skin, a physical sort of ache. He wanted Damen. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he’d missed.

Just as the crest of impatience was tipping over into a crisis, Damen’s footsteps echoed up the stairs. Laurent, dignity abandoned, leapt to the doorway, looking out. Damen was carrying a bag, one of those reusable totes from the supermarket, heavy enough that his biceps were straining a little with it. Laurent felt his heart pulse irregularly. He was halfway down the corridor, wanting the heady elixir of Damen’s attention and focus.

“Hello,” he said breathlessly, when Damen smiled at him. The smile widened. Damen’s dimple was a lovely tease.

“Hello,” said Damen, bringing his free hand up to cradle Laurent’s cheek. “Do you want to eat now?”

A quick glance down revealed that the tote bag was full of tupperware, all of it steamed up from being freshly cooked. But — “I couldn’t,” Laurent admitted. It was true. His stomach was in knots.

“It’ll keep,” said Damen. “Can I come in?”

Absurdly, Laurent realised that some part of himself wanted to say no. He quashed it carefully and said, “Yes, of course.”

He was watching Damen’s face as they walked; that was why he saw the quick flicker of surprise, of dismay, which crossed his expression as he came into the room. Laurent blamed his hormones on the fact that this felt like being stabbed. He felt himself flame up red, blood rushing to his face.

Damen was looking down at him uncertainly, which was terrible. Then he said, gently, “Laurent, are you sure you want —?” which was worse.

“Of course I want,” snapped Laurent.

“We can still go to the hospital —”

“Shut up.” This was more painful than being stabbed. “I said I would, and I will. I want to — I — why would you think otherwise?” And under the force of Damen’s gaze, Laurent heard himself say, “What did I do wrong?”

The bag of food dropped inelegantly to the floor. Damen was taking hold of Laurent around the waist, still a warm and comforting presence. “It’s not wrong,” he said. “I misspoke.”

“But there was something,” said Laurent, and forced himself to step back. Damen hesitated. “Damen, just say it.”

Damen said, “I thought there would be a nest.”

It was so unexpected that for a moment Laurent’s mind did not compute it. Damen might as well have said, I thought you would grow an extra limb. “What?” he said. “Why?”

A helpless look. “I don’t know,” said Damen. “I suppose it must be more common in Akielos.”

“But nests are —” Laurent hesitated. The words from his adolescence bubbled up, but felt somehow wrong to say. Unhygienic. Primitive, backwards, unsophisticated.

Damen’s expression flickered, as though he was hearing the words anyway. Laurent changed courses and said, “You’ve heated with others before. Other Veretians.”

Now it was Damen’s turn to hesitate, eyeing Laurent carefully as though nervous he would burst into flames at the thought. When this did not occur, he said, “Yes. And there was always — so I suppose that’s why I assumed.” And then, quickly: “But it doesn’t matter, obviously. We can do what you want.”

He stepped forward, but Laurent stepped back, thinking — he felt like his mind was overheating like a faulty computer. He was thinking about books, about movies, the way that the height of romance was always a nest. At the time, he’d thought it was cheesy, mawkish, a cultural signifier more than a gesture real people would be likely to make, the same as covering a mattress with rose petals or turning out all the lights to have dinner by candlelight. And he was also thinking about how the voice in his head was his uncle’s, cold and amused. The extra sheet protectors, Laurent thought, with another flush of embarrassment. It wasn’t overly-stocked out of generosity or even out of extravagance. He was supposed to have used them in his nest.

“Laurent,” said Damen, “I’m sorry I raised it —”

“How,” said Laurent abruptly, and Damen cut himself off, “do you build a nest?”

Damen briefly looked like he was struggling to speak. After a moment he said, “You don’t have to.”

“If I wanted to,” said Laurent. “How would I?”

Damen said, “Have you never…?”

“Never,” said Laurent. And, absurdly, a flicker of anger crossed Damen’s expression.

But all he said was, “You start with the heavier things,” voice even, “and work your way to the lighter blankets. You shape it around you. It’s meant to be comfortable. There’s no wrong way to do it, really, except that going from light to heavy can be less stable.”

Laurent said, “Show me.”

Damen looked at him a little helplessly, but he at least did Laurent the favour of not asking yet again whether he was sure. “Wait here,” he said, and went off to the linen closet, came back with what looked like its entire contents heaped in his arms.

Something about the sight — Damen’s strength, his bulk, harnessed for the purpose of carrying around piles of cloth — tugged fiercely at Laurent’s heart. “Damen,” he said.

Damen said, “Don’t come too close, sweetheart. We don’t want your heat to set in yet.”

It took a moment to understand what he meant; Laurent was not a fan of feeling this slow, this stupid. It was fairly well known — and there were studies to back it up — that preheat would graduate to full heat much faster in the face of skin-to-skin contact with a partner. It was awful, to stay back. Damen knelt on the ground to separate out the different blankets, and then looked up at Laurent.

“It might be better if you sat on the bed,” he said. “I can pass you what you want.”

Laurent went and pushed the single duvet aside and sat. It felt — stupid. It was hard not to feel self-conscious, sitting on an almost-empty mattress and looking over at Damen. “Give me the heavy one, then,” he said.

Damen did. Laurent tried to hold it in his hands, but it was too large to be contained, and tumbled eventually to pool around his legs. Damen was watching him.

Again he said, “It doesn’t matter how you do it. There’s no wrong way.”

Easy for you to say, Laurent wanted to snap, but he restrained himself. He didn’t like feeling this way, hot and angry and resentful.

Damen said, “Do you want me to go?”

“Why,” said Laurent, unable to keep the jagged edge from his voice, “would I want you to go?”

A swallow. Damen said, soft: “It’s an intimate thing, to build the nest. Even more than being invited into it. If you feel uncomfortable —”

“Shut up,” said Laurent. “Shut up.” And he shoved the duvet to one side of him, kicking it into a rough curve around his left side. “Give me the other one.”

Damen shut up and obeyed. Laurent put it along his other side, mirroring the first.

“Next,” he said, and Damen obliged him again. The next blanket was a little lighter. Laurent said, “Take that end and hold it.”

Damen did. His eyes were a little wide, in the manner of one who hadn’t expected this. An intimate thing, he’d called it, and his tone had been soft and reverent. Laurent tamped down on the emotions in his chest and tucked the blanket demonstratively over the top of the duvet beside him, nodding for Damen to do the same.

The worked together, then, layering the blankets around Laurent, the nest slowly building in shape and solidity. Damen’s hands were so — wide and capable, manipulating the fabric, making sure everything fit together, taking time and care with every movement. Laurent heard his words again, an intimate thing, and this time he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Who did you build nests with, then?” He felt hot and jealous and uncontrolled. He wanted to go find whoever it was and tear their throat out with his teeth. “Jokaste?”

A surprised look, which melted into something like a smile. “No,” said Damen. “She didn’t like heats either. She was on suppressants most of the time we were together.” And then, when this clearly did not satisfy Laurent, “When we heated, she built the nest. Alone.”

“Who, then,” Laurent gritted.

Damen grinned at him, wide and dazzling. “My mother,” he said. “In Akielos — we nest as a family, when the pups are young. It’s very common. And she always let me help.”

The knot of jealousy abated. Laurent felt his jaw twitch, humiliation warring with satisfaction. From a distant vantage point, some small part of his remaining sense decided that he was being foolish. But Damen was grinning at him still, his scent rich with pleasure, and it was impossible to feel too badly in the face of that relentless happiness.

“Hurry up,” said Laurent, and he could hear the way his voice came out — nowhere near as sharp as he had intended. He sounded sappy, a little shy. Very stupid. It only made Damen smile harder. His dimple was trying to dig its way through his cheek.

“Yes, sweetheart,” said Damen, and he was the one who took the last blankets and settled them over the edges of the nest, shaping the construction carefully. He looked at Laurent, a little quizzical, and then said, “Lie down.”

Laurent did. It felt — it was difficult to describe how it felt. He’d never known this was an option. Carefully, he turned his head into the soft bedding, inhaling, smelling the detergent they used. It was good, he thought. It was soft, warm — even though he knew it was a simple pacifier to his baser instincts, the appeal came through loud and clear. It was primally, viscerally satisfying to lie in a nest of his own creation, safe in a way that very little else had ever been. Absurdly, he had the thought that he wanted to add curtains to the bed. He wanted to shut out the rest of the world, to have it be just him and Damen…

Damen said, “If you don’t like it, we can push it off and go with your original way.”

“I didn’t say that,” Laurent muttered.

“Speak louder, baby.”

“Come here,” Laurent said louder. Damen’s hand brushed against his wrist.

“Yeah?”

“Hurry up,” snapped Laurent. Damen laughed a little and levered himself carefully into the nest, and oh —

All of a sudden, it was perfect. It was as though Damen had been the only thing missing. Laurent launched himself forward, arms going around Damen’s neck, breathing in, wiping out the rest of the world so that Damen was the only thing that existed, Damen’s warm steady body, Damen’s scent — Laurent inhaled and inhaled until he was faintly dizzy from it. Damen was murmuring into his ear, sweetheart, you’re so lovely, you’re so good, words that made Laurent want to bite him.

He could, he thought dizzily. There was no reason not to. Damen made a pitchy, breathy noise when Laurent’s teeth closed against his neck, and then graduated to a long groan.

“Laurent,” he said, “Laurent —”

Laurent was too busy to reply. Damen’s hand came to cradle the back of his head. Laurent’s whole body felt like it surged in response to the touch, his breath crushed from his lungs, his heart hammering in his chest. Damen groaned again, but this time there was a new timbre to the noise.

“Oh, there you are,” he said, running a hand up Laurent’s side. “Do you feel that?”

Feel what, Laurent almost said, and then realised — he was in heat. Full, proper heat now, roaring through his veins.

It was fierce, all-consuming, and yet it felt nothing like Laurent had remembered. His first heat had set upon him like a wild creature, digging teeth and claws through him. It had been an experience chiefly significant for its pain, for the way he sweated and cried and shook his way through it, the way he had felt fever-hot and thought his heart would burst for hammering. That’s it? he’d thought, in the aftermath, that’s what everyone goes wild for? It was an insane thought to him that anyone would choose to go through it again. He’d arranged to be put on suppressants as soon as he could walk again.

This felt nothing like that. This wasn’t even hot — it was warm, like sitting just slightly too close to a fireside, and it ran through his veins like liquid gold. Everywhere that Damen touched, he felt himself respond, but there was no pain to it, none of the fierce shrieking need which he had suffered before.

Vaguely, he heard himself murmuring, oh, oh, Damen… Nonsense sounds, mostly, interspersed with Damen’s name, and every time Damen acted as though he’d shared the secrets of the very universe, cooing back with his whole heart. Laurent took control of his mouth again and said, “Damen, please. I need you.”

“I’m with you,” Damen murmured. He was working Laurent out of his clothes, fingers fumbling around the same buttons he could have undone in his sleep last night. “Laurent, I’m here. Oh, look at you…”

Laurent looked. Damen was looking at the slick between his legs, the dampness across his thighs. His gaze was bright and eager. Laurent said, “Don’t tease me.”

Damen’s eyes flickered up to search his face. “No?” he asked.

Laurent bit his lip. He was already red and flushed, he thought, which at least camouflaged his reaction. “Not — as much, then,” he said. “Unless you want me to die here,” and Damen grinned. It felt obscene, the wholesomeness of the expression, his peeking dimple, when one considered what he was smiling about.

“Noted,” said Damen, and brushed a finger over Laurent’s hole. Laurent heard himself make a sound like he was dying.

Before Damen, he’d never liked being teased. He’d never liked drawing it out; even when it was just himself in the bedroom, perhaps especially then, he’d used to bring himself off quickly, efficiently, and then box up the experience without dwelling on it. Damen was — the opposite of that. He loved to touch; sometimes he would touch Laurent aimlessly, all night, drifting his fingertips along Laurent’s shoulders and collarbone and neck, his sides, his stomach… And in bed, he would touch Laurent everywhere, light touches and long caresses and cruel little pinches and everything in between. He loved to draw it out; he loved for Laurent to lose himself to it, surrendering his tightly held self-control to start pushing back mindlessly into everything, to make soft noises with his mouth, to say yes, yes, Damen and please, right there.

Even the first time, when Laurent felt most strongly that he should have hated it, he didn’t. He couldn’t. There was something about the way Damen looked at him, awed and sweet; and there was something about the way that every touch became a promise, the tease itself becoming a token of Damen’s intentions.

Damen didn’t break his word. There was something horribly satisfying about begging, knowing that everything one wanted would come. It became a pleasure in itself to say Damen, please, I need you inside, and to be briefly denied, knowing that Damen would do everything, fulfill every promise. Damen would probably fight a god to make Laurent feel good.

“Ah, sweetheart, your scent,” Damen groaned. And then he put his face against Laurent’s neck and just inhaled, long and luxurious. It was like Laurent had been kicked in the stomach, the sudden blow of arousal.

“Damen,” he said, not sounding like himself at all.

“I know,” said Damen. “I know — just let me —” and he moved down, nudging Laurent’s knees apart, inhaling again, god — like it was bliss, like Laurent’s slick was —

And then his mouth was on Laurent, hot and wet and ravenous, and Laurent’s mind went utterly blank. Damen’s touch — his tongue — Laurent came like that, a brutal wave of pleasure that wiped everything else away, the whole rest of the world. All that mattered was Damen, the way he groaned, the way his hands tightened around Laurent’s thighs, the way he kept going and going and going —

Laurent had to push him away after the second peak — had to use far more force than usual. The whole lower half of Damen’s face was wet when he finally raised it, and he was breathing hard. Laurent could feel the movement of those broad shoulders in his thighs.

“Damen,” he said dazedly, all of a sudden finding it difficult to remember why he shouldn’t just let Damen lick him through the whole rest of his heat.

“Laurent,” said Damen, with a grin that was absolutely filthy. He rose to his knees and came up the bed towards Laurent, and he was truly just — a magnificent specimen, all broad shoulders and rolling muscle and strong shoulders. Laurent could have just watched him in that moment and been happy for the rest of his life.

Except not, obviously. Damen kissed him and desire ran through him like a shockwave. He was saying — something, he didn’t know, his mouth was utterly out of his own control —

“I know,” Damen was saying now, lining their bodies up, “you don’t have to beg, sweetheart, I’ll give you everything, anything you want,” and clearly he meant it because he was pushing inside, and Laurent heard himself make a noise he didn’t think he’d ever made before. “I know,” said Damen, biting his neck gently, and the resultant wave of pleasure was so great that it was like coming, just like that.

It was all Laurent could do to grab his shoulders and hold on. His whole body was torn between the urge to melt underneath Damen and the desperate need to move against him, to drive them to go harder and faster.

“Like this,” Damen murmured, kissing Laurent again, holding his hips and pushing inside in just the right way. Laurent’s head fell back helplessly. It felt so good. His mind was breaking apart, almost unable to comprehend it all.

“Knot me,” he said then. His voice was raw; he’d been moaning, he realised belatedly. “Damen, please —”

“I know,” said Damen again. “Sweetheart, you’re so good, you’re so perfect. Like that, yes, Laurent —”

His knot was starting to swell; it was all Laurent could feel, the whole of his awareness narrowing down to that single point between them.

One of Damen’s hands slid to the inside of Laurent’s thigh, pushing his leg outward, making everything feel more sensitive, more overwhelming. His knot was almost too large now, taking real effort to shift in and out of Laurent’s hungry body. Laurent was grasping desperately at Damen’s shoulders, panting, open-mouthed, as his pleasure built impossibly high and then crashed over him like a wave, knocking him off his feet, sending him into unfathomable depths.

“Inside me,” he begged then, feeling beyond his own limits, as though he had been broken into pieces. “Damen, please, I want it —”

Damen groaned and kissed him desperately, their mouths open to each other, and then he finally thrust in properly, tying them together, stretching out the last aftershocks of Laurent’s orgasm.

It was like nothing Laurent had felt before, the way that everything was drawn out — even more than regular knotting, the fact that his body was in heat seemed to mean it was grabbing, greedy, at every chance for pleasure. And Damen was moving slowly, crooning into Laurent’s ear, telling him how lovely he was, how sweet and warm and wet, and Laurent was shuddering helplessly against him.

But even once that wave had crested, and they came back to themselves, it was still new and wonderful; Laurent reached out with one hand to touch the side of his nest, the sheets which were sheltering and protecting him.

“I want curtains,” he said blurrily, his own impulse control too thin and worn to check his words. “On the bed. Around.”

“Yes,” Damen said. It was almost a groan. He was nosing at Laurent’s neck, inhaling. “Anything, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

“I want you,” Laurent said breathlessly. “Kiss me.”

Damen did, open-mouthed and luxurious. And then — he began to move, shifting his hips in tiny, infinitesimal motions that crashed through Laurent’s sensitive body like a tidal wave. The huge bulk of his knot was overwhelming when it was still. It felt impossible that he could fuck Laurent on it. It felt absurdly good.

Laurent wound his arms around Damen’s neck, ran his fingers through the beloved dark curls. “Damen.”

“Once more,” Damen murmured, kissing Laurent’s neck, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. His hands were skimming along Laurent’s sides, the kind of light, gentle touch which drove Laurent utterly mad. “Come for me one more time, sweetheart.”

“I’m already — I’m close.” The heat was lurking under his skin, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

Damen kissed him again, brought one hand down to caress the inside of his thigh, and Laurent was gone. The pleasure was so intense that it was like blacking out, his vision growing spotty, ears ringing. He couldn’t hear the noises he was making, only knew they were coming out because he felt the way Damen’s kiss to his throat vibrated.

They were both panting afterwards, both holding very still, too sensitive. Every time Laurent tensed around the knot inside him, Damen would react, shuddering or groaning or both.

“I lied,” he said eventually, and Laurent was too pleasure-soaked to feel even a flicker of concern. Damen nosed at his jaw. “It’s not going to be just the once more.”

A breathless laugh. Laurent wound his arms around Damen’s neck, kissing his cheek, his eyes, his lovely nose. “It better not be,” he said. “Didn’t you promise me three days?”

[actual-changeling]

I think in like. 90% of "they're handcuffed to each other" scenarios, they would not care. It would barely affect their work at all. They'd keep them on even once they have the key because this is the perfect 'for the love of God, do NOT get kidnapped again' insurance.

However.

There are those delicious 10% right in the middle of the Diana mess that would make for the most painful, angsty, hurt/comfort fic you can imagine. Arcadia, but turned up to 11.

This was not supposed to be anything resembling said fic and instead stay a shitpost—but here we are.

———

They're fighting over who gets to be in charge of movement immediately, and they do not stop . They keep tripping because they decide to suddenly walk in two different directions, and their wrists are chafed and bloody.

They keep going like that for a while until their lack of coordination and teamwork almost gets them killed, and then they're stuck hiding in a small, dark space, forced to TALK.

Imagine a janitor's closet or a small, windowless bathroom.

First, there's silence.

Then, one of them dares to say a word, and suddenly they're at each other's throats, going straight for the jugular.

Petty fighting turns into insults, which turn into months of pent-up emotions spilling out without any control over how, and they both say things they'll definitely regret later on.

Until it finally reaches a breaking point when Mulder—annoyed, frustrated, confused—cuts her off and says, "You're making it personal again, Scully."

Her mouth closes with an audible click, and she freezes before shuffling as far away from him as she possibly can. He realises he has fucked up. A lot.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Oh, you meant it, Mulder; don't backpedal. You meant it now, and you meant it back then too."

"Scully—"

"Shut up."

She's exhausted. So fucking tired. You made me a whole person to get her to stay, and she'd believed him. Damn it all, she had believed him. Just for him to turn it into a lie and destroy her trust within seconds.

"What does it take? For this thing to come up and bite you on the ass? I saw these creatures. I saw them burst to life. You would've seen them, too, but you were infected with that virus. You were passed out over my shoulder."   "Mulder, I know what you did. I know what happened to me, but without ignoring the science, I can't… Listen, Mulder. You told me that my science kept you honest. That it made you question your assumptions. That by it, I'd made you a whole person. If I change now… it wouldn't be right or honest."   "I'm talking about extraterrestrial life alive on this planet in our lifetime. Forces that dwarf and precede all human history. I'm sorry, Scully, but this time your science is wrong."

He had walked away from her without a second of hesitation, and she wishes she could walk away from him now.

Six years of loyalty and trust, and for what? To end up as the second-best, easily forgotten choice? To be wanted not for herself but as a placeholder, a substitute for someone else?

Forgiveness, over and over, without hesitation, and Mulder took it for granted. Of course, she will do what he wants. Even when he goes behind her back. Even when he tricks her into it. Even when he leaves her behind with barely a word. Even when she has no reason to do it except because it's him.

Because it's personal.

It has always been personal, but suddenly it's a fallacy she spun out of nothing and not the foundation of their partnership.

"I shouldn't have said that, Scully, i—"

I'm asking you to trust my judgment. To trust me.

"Mulder, shut. up."

He hadn't trusted her. She still trusts him and hates herself for it. What's the point of trusting someone when the reward is rejection and loneliness? When he stopped trusting her God knows how long ago?

The skin on her right wrist burns with abrasions, but she refuses to budge. Pain is sharp and honest, grounding and constant. She trusts pain more than she trusts him.

Time is hard to tell in the dark, it could be minutes or hours of waiting until she can feel his fingertips brush against her palm; she suppresses the urge to flinch. Mulder's touch is warm and light, not meant to ask but to offer, and her body betrays her mind and allows him to interlace their fingers.

God, she misses him. 

Underneath all that bubbling anger and lingering betrayal, she misses her partner. She misses him and the person she knows she can be with him—lighthearted, happy, alive. Contented hours of searching through files and writing reports have become a necessary sacrifice; suffocating spans of time she counts down by the minute.

It was never about the desk. It is not about Diana, not really. 

Maybe the darkness makes them both a bit braver, a bit softer around the edges, because she lets out a deep sigh and wills the tension to leave her muscles. If they keep going the way they have in recent weeks, they will break apart sooner rather than later, and she doesn't want to lose him, she never has. 

All she wants is to get her best friend back and to keep him for however long the world will allow. Not a clean slate or a new beginning, but a second chance for both of them. 

Caught between either extending an olive branch or ending up alone, it is easy to choose. Because it's personal, always has been, and always will be.

The pressure around her wrist disappears when she stops trying to keep her arm from him, and he hesitantly squeezes her hand—she slowly squeezes back.

"I'm sorry. for all of it. I never meant to hurt you, but I did, and I'm so, so sorry."

Scully pushes herself backward so she is leaning against him again, and when she closes her eyes, she can almost pretend they're somewhere, anywhere else, and she's finally coming home.

"I know, Mulder. I know."

[yaut-jaknowit]

Your Crown is Slipping

Pairing: We'ar-ow (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3967

Summary: After the problem with Dwainet, new issues rise from the clan. Including those that don't think We'ar-ow is who they need. We'ar-ow isn't afraid but has to juggle their new life now. People are starting to question We'ar-ow's leadership. Which has to draw her away from her cabin and leaving you alone more. You see the way We'ar-ow is struggling and speaks with her.

Author Note: Uh oh. There's unrest in the clan guys. How's We'ar-ow gonna balance while dealing with you? Ehehehe

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18

All it takes is one person to start rumors. Then, rumors will fly like a wildfire across the entire clan, destroying your integrity. Everything you’ve known will be uprooted by a single person. A person who wants to take away the precious little ooman they’ve cast to side. Discarded nothing more than rotten meat. An action that should’ve cost him his life but you, sweet ooman, begged for his life to be spared.

When she looked into those pleading eyes, she could not say no. Now, it was returning with a bite that hurt and caused more trouble. You were worth it. But his head should’ve been hung above her bedroom door, warding anyone off. Only if she didn’t fall for your soft cries.

Like any problem, they can be solved. The head of said problem was rooted in Dwainet. A problem We’ar-ow was going to get rid of.

She chuffed lowly to herself in the empty of her throne room. The door closed and locked tight while she had time to think in the lonely space.

Now, without the hunt of figuring out who had hurt you, We’ar-ow had changed her direction. At anytime she wasn’t in her quarters, she had the screen on her gauntlet pulled up with the cameras. Always watching and ensuring your safety. Though halfway across the ship from you, she had Xilomere stay nearby while she preformed her duties.

Today, she hadn’t even offered to take you with her. You had declined the last three times in the last week. We’ar-ow easily read the terror in your eyes. So, today, she left you behind to sleep in the comfort of her bed. The dark bags under your eyes growing only more every day. She knew what that was from and didn’t like it one bit.

Every time she returned to her dwelling, she would pull you to her room and sleep earlier than usual. You needed it. Every time, you would fight against her only to come to the conclusion it was pointless. Then, you were out. To sleep until the morning rose on the ship. We’ar-ow stayed up, more vigilant than ever. She got the necessary amount of hours to keep her functioning.

Curled up on the comforts of her large bed was your still sleeping form. Eyes still closed, chest slowly rising and falling in a deep sleep. One that you needed. She hated the fact that scum was disturbing your rest over his hatred of you. Dwainet lost his precious mate and realized his mistake too late.

You’re hers. Through and through.

A rap of knuckles on the two imposing doors brought We’ar-ow’s attention back to reality. All she gave was grunt. The screen on her gauntlet still pulled up so she would not lose a moment of you. Dwainet already has shown off his hand of tricks, which could include unlocking her doors. She doesn’t fully know who sides with Dwainet’s beliefs.

It needs to be squashed before the spark can grow. She’s worked far too hard to keep this clan peaceful.

The door revealed Dunkot, the head of security. His grey body moved into the room. A soft click sounded next as he strolled over to the base of the stairs. He knelt down on one knee and bowed his head fully. The hunter knew of his mistake and was attempting to redeem the entirety of his title. How could he allow this to happen, to let this slip past him? Her pet was injured because of it.

Her steely gaze was set upon his knelt form. “What news have you brought to me?” she snapped at him, voice firm.

Dunkot returned to a stand and yet doesn’t grow the courage to find her eyes. “The breach in the system has finally been patched. The corrupted data has also been recovered. Night vision was able to capture the attack,” he explained and kept his gaze down cast.

“And those who side with Dwainet during this revolution?” We’ar-ow eyed the grey Yautja closely.

He cleared his throat and swallowed thickly. “I have removed them from rotation and put them in the brig, including Dwainet.” A pregnant paused settled in the air. We’ar-ow notice immediately he had more to say. “If I may, Monarch…” She dipped her head. “Why go through all this trouble over a ooman? He wants it dead. Why not jettison it off the ship? That-“

Before the stupid male could utter another word, We’ar-ow flew down the steps and swallowed his throat in one hand. Due to her larger frame as a female, she pulled him off the ground and held him there, choking him out. He mandibles flared out with a roar that shook the very ground. “That is my pet! That ooman is mine.”

Worst than a dry jungle fire, her eyes were alit with unruly rage.

The Yautja was at her mercy. She could snap his neck if she so pleased. He didn’t want further put himself in harms way by spewing shit from his mouth. An apology would only make things worse.

“I let him win. What kind of message do you think that’ll send to the clan? That I’ll roll over at the misfortune of a male who believes he can best a Monarch. I earned this title,” she growled into his face, ready to tear his features off. “I will not let go until it kills me, and I join Cetanu.”

“Yes, of course, Monarch. You are right,” he agreed with her, anything to let the crushing grip on his windpipe to be let up. She scoffed and released him. The male crumpled to his knees and coughed, rubbing at the new bruise that’ll appear.

A heat glare was set on Dunkot. We’ar-ow shooed him off. “Go. Send me the video as well.” To save himself from further embarrassment and attack, he scrambled away from the Monarch. Out of the room and down the hall he disappeared.

With a huff, We’ar-ow marched back up the stairs and collapsed back into her throne. The room once more empty to any living being. Her gaze returned to the screen on her gauntlet. Her eyes snapped wide at the lack of your form on her bed. Immediately, she flipped between the different screens to find you.

In the kitchenette, bent over and searching through the ice box, there you were. The tightness in her chest loosen. She relaxed into her throne once more and gazed at your form. All safe and sound in her quarters.

The peacefulness was interrupted by a pop from her messages. Dunkot. A video file. We’ar-ow could feel her gut burn and twist at the same time before even opening the file. It would take every cell in her body not to march down to the brig and tear apart that scum for laying a hand on her pet. Once she has her evidence compiled, she’ll set up a court date. Then, he’ll be stripped of his title and deemed a bad blood. Where any Yautja is welcomed to hunt him. But it’ll be her to remove his head from his body. Then, she’ll offer the head to you.

The way her scales crawled with rage she’s never dwelled to before was new. One look at the Monarch had anyone, male or female bolting out of the way. No one dared to stay in the same hallway as her while she marched her way through.

Even as she smashed her code in and entered her quarters, she didn’t stop. We’ar-ow snatched your confused form off of the couch like before and stomped into her room. The bed was welcoming. Your body was thrown once more on the pelts. You weren’t given a second to comprehend the situation before her weight was suffocating you.

Your limbs flailed about, slapping and smacking her, attempting to push her off. It was feeble thought but with all the air pushed off of your lungs, you weren’t thinking straight. “We’ar-ow!” you gasped out with the last bit of air you had.

That was able to snap the giant female out of her shadowed thoughts. She lifted her weight off of you and onto her elbows on either side of your head. Her head was quick to bury its way into the crook of your neck.

Now able to breathe, you heaved for oxygen before putting your hands on her chest and pushing. She didn’t budge, not that you thought she would. It was a good try. “What’s gotten into you?” you questioned, voice disturbing the silence that filled the room. She’s never acted in such a way before that it concerned you more than you thought it should.

Sharp fangs pressed into your fragile skin. Any more pressure would cause them to sink into the fragile flesh. You tensed up, afraid her kindness to you was all a rouse.

They never went further. “We’ar-ow,” you shakily said, heart beginning to thunder in your ears. The pink Yautja moved the fangs and dragged them over the column of your throat. You swallowed at the feeling and laid still under her. At her will.

“He is in the brig,” she finally announced. In the low light, your brows furrowed. Not that she saw. Before it hits you who she’s talking about: Dwainet. You shuttered, nails digging into her back.

“Okay?” you responded, confused on why she’s acting this way if he’s locked away. It doesn’t mean you’re safer by any means though. There were thirteen others that stood on his side during the confrontation. Who knows how many more are out there, lurking in the shadows, such as he did.

The fangs pulled away. Her piercing gaze looked deep into your eyes. “Will you come to the throne room tomorrow?" You huffed. You don’t know why she’s so adamant for you to join her. It puts you at risk. Here, it’s at least safer. Three doors to keep you from the outside world and the dangers that fill it.

“No.” You weren’t going to beat around the bush. “Why do you want me to join you so badly? Want to watch one your clan members rip off my head?” Despite your concern, though waning, you felt anger about the whole situation.

A threatening snarled vibrated your whole body. “You are safe.” Now, that irked you. If only you could push her off and be in a more equal playing ground. But no. She still hovered above you and not giving you room for escape.

“He can not hurt you while in the brig.” This again.

A soured expression passed over your features. You tried to shove the giant off of you again but she didn’t even flinch. It felt like attempting to move a brick wall. “And the others? They’re still out there, hunting me for him. My ex-mate wants me dead for some fucking reason.”

Stinging tears prickled the corner of your eyes. You looked away from her, head turned to the side. We’ar-ow pinched your chin and forcefully turned your head. “You’re mine.” Your face fell into a deadpanned expression.

“Oh, wow. Yeah, that saves me from the fact that a group wants my head.” Your seething anger only growing further as she tried to dismiss the danger of you leaving this room. “I’ve already known your species is only cruel and harsh. No need to rub salt in a festering wound.”

Your heart ached at your own words, disliking the fact that came from you. She’s not cruel. She’s not harsh. Not to you.

The Yautja started to purr softly. “No, don’t do that!” You gave another shove at her, even using your knees into her stomach. That got her to budge but not enough to remove her off of you. “Get off!” She raised a brow at you. It was stupid to demand things of her when she’s the one in charge of every aspect of your life.

Okay, well. That’s not true. But she is the Monarch and you’re just her lowly pet. That she’s fighting for somehow.

We’ar-ow leaned up on her knees, towering over you lying form. You scrambled the moment you had to get to your feet, standing on the bed. Even on her knees, you didn’t reach over her head. Her purr gone.

“I’ve regretted every moment I’ve been on this damn ship. From the moment I even met Dwainet back on earth. I want to go home, back to safety where I’m not being hunted down by someone who I loved. Dwainet was my mate, we shared a lot with each other!” you shouted at her and pointed a finger into her chest.

If you were clear in the head, you might’ve reformed yourself into the timid, shy creature she knew you as. Too terrified to deal with even looking her in the eye. But this, this was completely different.

A huffed sounded from the Yautja in front of you. That only made your anger hit an all time high. Flushed in the face, heated like a flame, you spilled secrets not meant for her ears. “And that’s why I’m planning my fucking escape!” Your voice echoed back at you in the limited space.

All you could hear was the pounding in your ears of your own heart trying to escape. You slapped a hand over your mouth and stumbled backwards, nearly falling off the bed.

The moment you saw her move, your instinct drove you to flight. You sped off of the bed in a flurry of flailing limbs for the only exit. It didn’t take more than two steps for your back to be pressed against a warm surface, trapped all over again.

Hot tears skirted down your face as you struggled against her. A futile attempt to release the hold she has on you. She was going to kill you. End it all. All this trouble you’ve caused. You just spat and disrespected her entirely. This was it. She was going to end you.

Yet, the killing blow never came. You slowly turned your head to look at her. Her facial expression was no different. “I know.”

She knows.

We’ar-ow knows.

Your jaw dropped. “You know?” you whispered the confirmation of an earthshattering discovery. How does she know? How long? Why hasn’t she tried to stop you? Punish you? She let you continue to plan this escape this entire time while knowing your idea.

“Yes. I have known.” She nodded her massive head, long tresses swaying with the movement.

“Why didn’t you stop me?!” You raised your voice again.

“I know a lot of things about you my dear ooman. You will not leave. You are mine.” A hand cradles your chin and forces your head up, exposing the soft tissue of your throat. One claw could spill your life essence and leave you drowning in it. But she does not go for the kill.

You rapidly shake your head. No! You swore this off. Swore off the hurt that would come if this were to happen again. You would not love again. Not her. You’re just her pet. That’s why she cares. The only reason she cares.

There were no more words to be said. You cast your gaze to the ceiling, unable to will yourself to look her in the eye. Anything to stop yourself from bawling out and curling into a ball on the floor at her feet.

Now, there was no escape from this hell, from this torture Dwainet brought you to.

“I will keep my ooman safe. I promised you that. There are cameras in every room, so when I am not in my quarters, you are watched over. I will keep you safe,” she reiterated for the last time. She wanted to get it into your thick skull you are to stay. Stay with her. “And your tablet. It is connected to my gauntlet. I see everything you have looked up.”

We’ar-ow leaned down to press her closed mandibles to your throat. “Maybe one day, I will teach you to fly a ship. Until then, you are to stay. Stay where I can protect you. Dwainet will face his crimes. I will quell this unrest like when I first was crowned Monarch. Everything will return to normal with you at my side, my ooman.”

Sharp tusks raked across feeble flesh, leaving behind goosebumps in their wake. You shuttered at the feeling, unsure if you liked or to fight the feeling growing more in the pit of your stomach.

After a pregnant pause had filled the air for longer than comfortably, you placed a hand on her shoulder. We’ar-ow stopped every movement in her body, waiting. “Will you tell me about how you became Monarch?” you asked, trying to change the subject. You were afraid on where this might take you if you didn’t stop it. It wasn’t a path you were willing to take a risk on. Not when fresh cuts still bled your weak heart.

Her blazing orange eyes searched through yours before casting to the side. A grunt surged through her vocal cords. We’ar-ow pulled away from you, stealing her heat back. With a motion with her head towards her bed, she stalked over to it but stopped. The alien waited patiently to follow her commands.

With nothing better to do, you shadowed behind her and crawled onto the sheets. You don’t know what the creature wanted from you and sat there, looking up at her.

She looked down at your smaller frame before kneeling onto the mattress again. All it took was a singular hand to push you onto your back. Then, she was on top of you, smothering you with her weight. This time, she was mindful of how much pressure was too much. Just enough to feel the slightest struggle to gather air back into your lungs.

The alien felt like a weighted, warm blanket. Forcing herself between your legs so they would either lay limp or wrap around her hips. Her alien face was buried back into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. A need after the day she endured so far away from you.

“You want to know about me?” If you didn’t know any better, it sounded like she was… teasing you. You tensed up underneath her, nails digging into her shoulders. She purred a laugh into your skin. “Do you know what it takes or the process of becoming a Monarch?”

All it took to answer her question was a simple head shake. You could feel her roll her eyes. “Of course, that scum never taught a thing about his culture. Typical.” You nearly snorted if it wasn’t for the reminder of the whole situation. One she either purposefully or not dragged you from.

“As you know, Monarchs are the leader of their clan with a council team. Like… a check in the system. The last Monarch nearly took down this clan if it wasn’t for the council standing up and bringing her down.” We’ar-ow shifted, still between your legs but now on her knees; nearly folding you into yourself. “When a Monarch either steps down or dies, a mourning process begins with the need to search out a new one.”

Fangs raked across your neck, leaving behind heat in their wake. You shuttered at the feeling, eyes drifting close. “It’s a month-long process. Any female is welcomed to step up and take the challenge. The old council leads the tournament, conducting the challenges for them to overcome.”

“Those who step into the ring have but one come to their death. Last Yautja standing wins the title, proving they deserve the title. It’s not one given but won.”

“As for the court, the newly crowned Monarch is allowed to either choose to keep the old council or pick new members. Many choose to pick their own, filled with people they know personally and trust. I, myself, stemmed off and kept the last court. One of my sisters is part of it. I knew many of them before I earned my new title. I preferred to learn about them and grow new bonds then having to decide who would be good for the needed positions.”

Somehow, the alien was able to shift her knees further under your lower back. You were pushed more against her fetal positioned body. Even if you minded, not that you did, there was not a chance to push the hunk of alien off of you. You huffed, amused at her antics.

While your hands rested on her shoulders, you noticed the tension under them, despite being a thickly corded beast. You tilted your hands and dug your thumbs along the countless knots filling her muscles on her shoulders.

It would kill you to say this but the way she turned into putty in your hands was… adorable. You melted at her reaction, not seeing the dangerous creature she had to be.

“By god’s grace. You’re incredibly tense,” you muttered and continued the same motion, forcing the knots to dissipate under your nimble digits. We’ar-ow purred louder than you’ve ever heard. A sound that could defeat you in seconds.

Before you could realize what you were saying, you dragged your hands down her biceps. “Do you want a back massage?” The rational side of you brain suppled it was like a payment for keeping you safe.

That was all.

Her sputtered before amping back up, face burying further into your neck. “What makes you think I need one?” The tone was teasing, allowing for bicker to rise. The same two fangs pressed into feeble skin, testing the limit of pressure. What would be too much to draw blood? Further marking you as hers besides her own Monarch symbol on the back of your neck.

Your hands return to her shoulders. “You feel tenser than a sphertine belt for a car.” She rested more weight on you and made it harder once more to breath properly. Not that you could do much to battle her.

When a confused trill sounded from her throat, you would’ve face palmed. You still haven’t learned they don’t under metaphors, at least not ones like that. “You’re just really tense. Do you want one or not?” You were growing embarrassed at the fact you were offering such a thing to her. A creature who could tear your skull from your body if she so pleases.

The pressure draped across the top of your body was removed, allowing you to fully breath. Her giant body moved to lay on her stomach next to you. Her arms crossed while resting her jaw on them. She looked comfortable as she gazed at you from her spot.

“Well?” she rumbled and motioned her head towards her back.

Despite offering, you were stunned she was letting you. Even you knew showing your back and laying down like she has was an extremely trustful action. You swallowed thickly before getting up onto your knees, knelt at her side. We’ar-ow jerked her head up again in the same motion as before. Your eyes snapped wide. She wanted you to get on her back.

Yeah… it would make the job easier but that? You gnawed on your bottom lip before timidly crawling on top of her, straddling her wide hips. It was a stretch to settle comfortably. We’ar-ow just waited.

Every next movement was slow as you started at the top of her torso, fingers massaging her shoulders. “T-tell me if I do something wrong?” you sputtered, terrified I might push my luck even with her permission.

In return you got a deep groan as the Yautja snuggled deeper into the mattress, content. It encouraged you to keep going, fulfilling your offer till the end.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18

[ssa-writerminds]

Undercover || Part 2

Undercover: Part 1 || Part 2

Warnings: Could this count as angst? Enemies (sorta) to Lovers? One bed trope (eye roll i know, but i like it). Use of Y/N again and I deeply apologize.

Plot: Back at the motel you and Spencer unwind, dealing with the fact that you'll have to share the bed in your own ways. After years of not getting along with Spencer you decide to talk it out, or rather, argue it out...

A/N: I don't remember how I wrote the first part and if I'm being honest i hate how i wrote it SO this is probably very different but I hope you love it nonetheless. I'm so so so sorry for how long this took and I'm still not even fully happy with it... and there's going to be a part 3... BUT I PROMISSSE it will not take as long, and if it does absolutely crucify me and burn me at the stake. 💔💔

-x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x-

Showers are widely agreed to be relaxing. Cleansing yourself of the horrors of the day behind you, maybe some soft, slow music playing to help ease them out. Warm water running over your mind, washing away worries and concerns with it.

That's exactly what you did (or rather tried to do) shortly after checking in to the motel. Paul Anka was the first thing that played through the radio when you turned it on. 'Put Your Head On My Shoulder.' Any other time and you would've sang along or at least hummed softly — but now? It felt wrong.

For in the next room was a man who had been nothing less than hostile for the time he had known you. He was reluctant to even agree to go undercover with your assistance in the first place, and now that the plan he had spent 8 months working on had gone to complete and utter shit? You didn't want to push it.

You stood under the water for a little longer than usual, basking in the comfort that its warmth provided, before you gave in to returning to reality. The reality that was a mildly pissed off, rather volatile Dr. Spencer Reid — whom you would be sharing a bed with that night. Lucky. You.

You could hear the TV playing softly outside when you turned off the shower. At least he wasn't sat in silence, because it seemed like a rather Spencer thing to do: racking his brain for anything he could've done differently, perhaps trying to find a way to mentally put a curse on you for being seen by the unsub when help was 20 minutes away. Maybe that was something he could actually do — put a curse on you — because you never knew with a brain like his and all of the little magic tricks he would show off to the team.

The longer you thought about it the more you realised how, over the past 8 months, you had missed the silly, innocent genius who had sat a few desks away from you for several years... Wait- Missed him?

A soft knock on the bathroom door interrupted your quiet time and you were brought back down to Earth much quicker than you had been trying to avoid (although — with the direction your thoughts were taking you— maybe you were glad it did...)

"Y/N? You done? There's only one bathroom and I kinda have to..." You reached for the handle at a speed which you hoped he didn't take as an act of annoyance, because it wasn't. You just simply didn't wish to hear about the habits of his bladder.

"Yeah sure, I can dry my hair out there." You said rather quickly. So quick that you mentally face palmed and could only hope your cringe was internal and not a physical reaction.

"Oh- uh, okay."

Well... There's your answer.

-- -- --

Spencer finished getting ready for bed in exactly 1 hour and 37 minutes. Not that you were counting... No, you definitely were — because by the time he had reached the hour mark you definitely considered calling for help. Maybe he'd ran out on you, done exactly as Liza had said and gone to live in the desert, too pissed off at you to return to his old life. Could you really blame him though?

It was when you were considering much worse possibilities for his disappearance that he finally emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and a towel draped around his shoulders. You tried to avert your eyes from where a few droplets of water had made the back of his white t-shirt almost see-through. If you looked long enough, you were sure could figure out where each dip and contour of his back laid.... okay you were definitely looking long enough, too long even, what is wrong with you?

He could, without a doubt, tell exactly where your eyes were staring, because by the time you had realised, it was already too late. You could only watch as Spencer rolled his eyes and turned away from the mirror and walked towards the bed.

Luckily for you both, the motel did not lack pillows, and so you had crafted a sort of barrier between the two sides of the bed, separating you from him. Spencer only rolled his eyes again and you had to admit you were a little offended. At least you were trying?

"I can sleep on the couch instead? It's small but I'll probably fit if i just-"

"It's fine."

Well okay then... sorry for trying to make things less awkward...

Is what you should have said. Instead, you just sighed and reached for the remote, stopping a few inches away when another hand came into vision. It withdrew almost as quickly as you saw it and your eyes turned to the source. "Oh, do you want to-"

"No, it's fine. You take it." He crossed his arms and turned over and away from you, pulling the sheets to his shoulders.

Now you were pissed.

You had given him the benefit of the doubt — today (and without a doubt the last 8 months) had been rough. Of course it had been, it was rough for you behind the scenes, nevermind face-to-face with a sociopath — but this? This was childish, immature, and extremely annoying.

But you simply bit your tongue and looked through the channels on TV, or rather the lack thereof... Today you would be the bigger person, it wasn't anything you hadn't been through before. Just take a deep breath and don't let it bother you...

It took about half an hour for your eyes to finally droop, the noise inside your mind to go quiet, the sound of the tv to slowly fade out as you prepared to leave the conscious world behind for a much needed 8 hours of sleep — and then he spoke. Of course he spoke.

"Can you turn it down?"

A small request. You complied.

"Is there anything less bright on?"

An odd one, but sure. TV could be overwhelming when you're trying to sleep.

"Can you just turn it off?"

That's it. You had had enough.

"What is your problem?" You sat fully, crossing your legs and facing him, hands on your hips, full mother-telling-a-child-off mode, because that's exactly how he was acting.

"My problem?" He turned his head, not even bothering to give you the full turn, you were sure he couldn't even properly see you. Turn to face me coward, look me in the eyes when I'm confronting you. It was exactly like a cowboy standoff — which was fitting since you were in the South...

"Yes, your problem! You've been standoffish with me the whole night!"

"Well I'm sorry but I'm a little stressed right now since someone let the unsub I'd been trying to catch for eight months get away." You'd never heard him take this tone of voice before — well, not towards you, and especially not since he was off his mind on... nevermind.

"We. We were trying to catch her. You know- the team? Who I am also a part of?"

"Well you're not very good."

You froze. What was that? Who was that? Because that's not the spencer you knew. Sure, he could be a little blunt sometimes, he could even be a little mean. But he never truly intended to hurt you — far, far different from the venom that had just laced his every word, coating both of your mouths and ears in a sickly silence.

A silence that Spencer physically felt. He felt the way you hesitated, no, completely stopped. Saw the way your eyes widened in an emotion he couldn't quite place. Betrayal maybe? He thought about it, thought about how you had done nothing but try to reassure him and defuse him. And he regretted.

"Y/N..."

No. You shook your head, turning away from him, trying to talk yourself down from the tears that threatened your eyes, the taste of bile that rose, the way your mind raced.

What if he's right? You did let Liza get away afterall... How many times had you messed up in the past? Why did Hotch even keep you on the team? Would he rethink that after this situation?

"Y/N." He spoke again. You threw your legs over the side of the bed, and stood facing the wall, the door. You considered it, and then reconsidered when you realised what you were wearing as PJs — Let's just say it wasn't something you'd want whoever roams the streets at this time of night to see...

"Y/N please..." His voice was softer now. He was half tempted to stand up and walk over to you, to reach out and place a hand on your shoulder, to do anything, anything to make you look at him again.

His mind changed when you walked towards the one place you could possibly hide in this dingy motel room, the bathroom. He winced as the door slammed closed and he heard you sliding down the other side. He listened, and his frown only grew as you quietly sobbed. He decided against knocking — this was his fault and he needed to think about how he could make it up to you.

-- -- --

To be continued...

[abearinthewoods]

have you considered that bell hooks was simply... wrong? what has bell hooks feminism achieved for women?

Emma Watson tried to be a good girl feminist with the #HeForShe "male friendly" feminism clownery years ago and what do men do today? they make memes about her wrinkled forehead on how she "hit the wall" and no one cares. its one sided

also i like how "feminism" is too loaded a term for you but not "mra"

only reason people hate trans men is because they see them as female anyway... esp the incel trans women who hate on them out of jealousy, its misogyny not misandry.. ijbol stop trying to trick women into being your little knights.

also i like how "feminism" is too loaded a term for you but not "mra"

If people tolerated misogyny from mras to the level they tolerate misandry from feminists i'd think MRA was too loaded of a term.

MRA gets a pass because they are the under dogs. there is more recognition of feminist ideals and talking points among systems of authority (HR, School policies, etc) then MRA ideals.

A single feminist (Mary Koss) was able to set the direction of rape studies for over 20 years to exclude the ~80% of male rape victims who were raped by women such that large parts of society still today think the gender breakdown of rape victims is 90:10 and not 60:40.

When MRAs get the power to do that to women you get to make that comparison.

Also people attack the MRA term as a means to dismiss ALL pro-male advocacy. If this wasn't true you wouldn't see feminism-for-men feminists getting called MRAs as a derogatorily remark all the time. Advocating for men while female wouldn't get you called a pick-me. But the ideals about MRAs are just an excuse used to shut down any and all advocacy for men.

This is why trans men have to deal with the same accusations of being misogynistic MRAs based on nothing other then they said some pro-(trans) men.

have you considered that bell hooks was simply… wrong?

I'm not qualified to properly tell you off for this remark, could you ask this of @doberbutts please.

Emma Watson tried to be a good girl feminist with the #HeForShe "male friendly" feminism clownery years ago

Cute. This was the exact kind of feminism i've spoken out against: "The master's tools will never dismantle the master's house." HeForShe played on chivalric ideals of men being expected to go out their way for women's benefit based on nothing more than their gender. You can not get rid of sexism by using sexism. You can not get rid of the patriarchy by using the patriarchy, you can not stamp out toxic masculinity by using toxic masculinity.

Male inclusive gender equality is about calling out chivalry as sexist against men, not just sexist against women.

Male inclusive gender equality is not saying "of course feminists know the patriarchy hurts men too" to shutdown men who try to emotionally vent or debrief about people they have met who pretend otherwise and that men have no issues and thus if they complain about anything they must be sheltered and privileged and a man child (calling men who are "too emotional" man children just reinforces the idea that men have to hide their emotions to be respected as a self actualized adult).

Male inclusive gender equality is about asking why its so normal to use the male gender to refer to something being done in a bad way. (bro gamers, dude bros, mansplain, manspread, the attempt to do the same with bernie bros because the bros reclaimed it for themselves. the "bro vote").

Male inclusive gender equality is about not getting so caught up trying to prove women had some specific and exclusive victim-hood WRT to rape that you accidentally(assuming undeserved good faith) erase 80% of male victims and set back anti-rape advocacy 10 years.

only reason people hate trans men is because they see them as female anyway

Some do, yes, and hate them for it, call them "traitors". others do and accuse them of trying to escape female oppression or gain male privilege

Tell me, which "enemy" have trans men now sided with to be called traitors?

Do you not see how it still requires misandry to work? It still requires seeing men as the enemy to view trans men as traitors to that enemy.

Others on the other hand see their masculinity as something to be feared, and will slowly find excuses to hate them for causing that fear. (Which would be solved, again, by addressing misandry and androphobia and never allowing it to fester among certain feminist circles in the 80s and 90s into what it became today)