#Mr. Shark Week

[nimthecryptid]

Shark cools down at the beach on a hot summer day! 🦈☀️🌊🏝 (2/9)

[oreo-cookies-fan]

Silco: I'm going to reclaim my trauma.

Sevika: Good for you!

Silco: Therefore, I'm going to reclaim Vander's dick.

Sevika: ... what?

[gildartsbf]

I hate this guy, so he gets projection treatment…

[ninjasmudge]

there is a youtube accent and it involves saying 'ok guys' a lot

[giojoedraws]

Mr. Jawsum drawing from a while ago. Fitting for shark week 🦈

[little-fan-stories]

Me: Yeah! Finally a break! First day on vacation, i'll just enjoy my trip and take some rest while being surrounded by nature

Also me: *aggressively type on my phone a fanfiction that i've been daydreaming about in the car about The Bad Guys, also aggressively do sketches of their human version*

[yandere-daydreams]

exhibit #2 - shark week

an installment of the freak shit march gallery showcase.

pairing: yandere!cullens x reader (twilight).

length: 1.4k.

warnings: non/con, afab!reader, dehumanization, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of medical malpractice, blood, slight initialization, and generalized twilight.

After moving in with the Cullens, your monthly cycles start to follow a similar routine.

‘Moving in’ meaning, of course, accidentally signing your rights to autonomy away to your doctor while you were so loaded up on sedatives the he hand to cup your hand in his just to make you hold the pen, and ‘period’ referring to, of course, the week or so you spent bleeding out in a house full of half-starved vampires. Carlisle claimed that it was dead blood and held little to no nutritional value for their kind, citing his children’s ability to attend the local community college without gutting an eighth of the students every month as evidence that your menstrual cycle wouldn’t cause an unwanted stir. When you reminded him that humans craved plenty of things that weren’t good for them, like chocolate and liquor and dubiously ethical affairs with their unnaturally cold general practitioners, he only hummed and asked what kind of products you preferred.

Esme usually noticed first. Sometimes, she’d catch it before you did, show up to your bedroom door with a warm compress and a tray of comfort food with only a kind smile by way of explanation, and you’d notice the pin-pricks of red dotting your sheets later on. Carlisle would usually be at work by then, so she’d spend her morning fussing over you, holding her hand to your forehead and forcing home-remedies past your lips until you manage to make her believe that one of her bitter teas had cured you wholesale. There’s a thin line between how she treats you when you’re sick and how she treats you on your period. One was a monthly ordeal, the other a hyper-rare occurrence in their meticulously sterile home, but both rendered you faint and encumbered, more receptive to her mothering. She liked it when you needed her. You guessed the reason why didn’t really matter.

(You used to assume that, if you were ever unfortunate enough to meet her, Esme would hate you. She’d see you as a homewrecker, as competition, or failing that, as a nuisance disrupting her otherwise idyllic domestic bliss. But, she’d never been that hostile, treating you more similarly to one of her adoptive children than her husband’s kidnapped mistress. It probably helped that her relationship with Carlisle was built more on a mutual affinity for make-believe than anything as fragile as love or passion. He was playing doctor, and she was playing dolls. He’d taken an interest in you for the former pastime, before gifting you to his wife for the latter.)

Eventually, you’d insist that you’d gotten enough bedrest and needed fresh air. That was when Alice would find you – waiting just outside of your bedroom door, her smile wide and your outfit for that day slung over her arm. As a rule, you did your best to avoid Mr. and Mrs. Wrong Side of the Mason Dixon Line, but she was one of the more forceful Cullens, prone to stepping on your heels and holding your preferred hideaways hostage until you relented to whatever form of dress-up she planned out for you. Normally, she’d be satisfied with doing your hair, testing out make-up swatches on someone with a skin tone darker than ivory, making you try on outfits that never seemed to repeat. On your period, though, she was a little clingier.

“Edward wrote from Belgium,” she’d say, absentmindedly curling her fingers inside of you. Most rooms in the Cullen house didn’t have a bed, so she would settle for the floor – letting you lean against an antique loveseat, skirt pooled around your waist and three crimson-stained digits buried in your cunt. “He’s so old-fashioned. Bella just calls, but no, he doesn’t want Nessie around too many screens. As if the poor thing won’t be fourteen this fall. Oh, and Jasper’s coming home tomorrow. He's already sick of Portland.”

Jasper wasn’t allowed within two hundred miles of Forks when you were on your period. Not after the tampon incident.

If you were loud enough, and you almost always were loud enough, Rosalie would come to your rescue. That was why she was your favorite.

Your time with her was largely spent outside, where it was a little more difficult to be tempted by the blood coursing through your veins. You’d sit on a riverbed with a book in your lap while she kept a measured distance, breaking the silence only to remind you to eat or drink or stretch your legs – little human inconveniences the others liked to forget about. Emmett, meanwhile, would take a more active approach to babysitting, pestering you to skip rocks or trying to make you laugh. Occasionally, he wouldn’t make it to your little picnics, and inevitably, you’d find a pair of your panties missing from your dresser the next day. Eventually, they’d turn up mixed in Rosalie’s collection – always nearly torn to shreds. You tried not to hold it against him. At least he had the decency to disregard your personhood behind your back.

You liked Emmett, but you liked Rosalie more. She was the only one who’d raised her voice to Carlisle the night he brought you home, the only one to continually acknowledge the issue of expecting a lamb to live among its butchers. It was nice – having someone willing to advocate for you. Or, to be able to believe that someone might, at least.

Once, you’d even asked her if she’d be willing to let you escape. Not even help, really, just leave a set of car keys where you could find them, or tell you where Carlisle’s security cameras were hidden, or refuse to cooperate while the rest of her family hunted you for sport. She’d taken minutes to answer. Time seemed to be an overabundant resource to eternal creatures. They were prone to letting it slip by in quantities that often made you, a being with fewer days to spare, feel sick.

“If I thought your life was in danger.”

Your life, of course, referring to your humanity. You doubted she’d have so much sympathy for you once you’d been reduced to yet another walking statue.

“It might not be something they plan.” And then, pulling your knees into your chest, “I’m really scared, Ro.”

She hadn’t said anything. When your attention turned back to your book, she asked you to read aloud.

Later on, Carlisle would come home. He’d spare a quick greeting for the rest of his coven, find whatever pantry or cupboard you’d attempted to hide yourself away in, and guide you back to your bedroom.

Intimacy wasn’t uncommon with him, but penetration was saved solely for your period. He was always slow, always gentle, but when you were bleeding, it was nearly agonizing – his hips grinding lazily into yours, his hands curled around your oak headboard, his unblinking eyes never breaking away from yours. No mind was paid to the unmarred white of Esme’s sheets. He’d watch lovingly as pink-tinged arousal dripped down your thighs, murmur sweet nothings as you cried and whined and whimpered for him to stop, that it hurt, that it wasn’t safe. If he felt like talking, he might list off the medical benefits of period sex – pain relief, stress reduction, heightened libido – or promise to be more careful next time, to have more patience in the future. Most nights, though, it was just your desperation, his adoration, and the dull sound of marble against flesh.

He didn’t need to sleep, but you weren’t so resilient. No matter how many times you came, he’d only let you go when your eyes grew too heavy to hold open, when your sobbed protests died down into little, sniffling complaints, when you finally went limp underneath his rigid form. He would sigh as he pulled out, not sparing any words of comfort before taking you into his arms. There’d be a bath, always so impossibly lukewarm, and then some humiliatingly frilly nightgown – more fitting for a toddler from his era than and adult from yours. If you were lucky, you’d still have the energy to insist on wearing a pad to sleep. If you didn’t, then Carlisle would get his way, and you’d be drenched in your own blood by the next morning.

Without fail, Esme would be perched on the edge of your bed by the time Carlisle finished. They’d both tuck you in – a pair of children putting their toy away after playtime – and you would fall asleep to the vile sounds of Esme lapping your blood off her husband’s cock.

[xo2dee]

🗨️ OPIA/GOJO NSFW WEEK 2023 - DAY FIVE: BREEDING

PAIRING: Gojo Satoru/(Fem)Reader.WARNINGS: MDNI/18+ ONLY. Breeding Kink, Vaginal sex, Rough Sex, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Mentions of Pregnancy.WORD COUNT: 2,336. SUMMARY: Honestly, it was a wonder it didn't happen sooner in your marriageOr: Gojo and you explore the wonders of not using a condom.

A/N: i would probably have like 6 kids if i was married to gojo ngl, just bc we wouldnt wrap it up LMAO

JJK MASTERLIST

Marriage was something you hadn’t necessarily prepared yourself for – well, you wouldn’t necessarily say that. Of course, you’d thought about it, more-so as a child whenever you had your Barbie dolls getting married to one another or when you got older and began to watch more Romcoms that usually ended with the titular characters getting married. So yeah, you did sometimes think about getting married, but you would stand by and say that you actually never thought about it.

And boy, when you did get married, you realized a lot of the Romcoms were leaving out the intricate threads of the relationship within.

Your husband was of no issues; in fact you very much loved him and could safely say after years of dating before he popped the big question, that he very much loved you as well. He was handsome to boot, he was so, so, so, so funny, he called you silly names and kissed your cheek when he left the house for the day, he was very attentive to you and your needs, and all in all he actually loved you.

On November 14th (just a year and half prior), you became Mrs. Gojo, your husband being the Gojo Satoru of course. A big name to add onto yourself, but nothing too daunting since you’d been there for each other every step of the way. No, it was more… the intimate parts of your relationship that started to see a change whenever you settled a year into your relationship. And it all started when you found yourself having an urge – families with babies and swollen bellies carrying a life in them that your mind reeling and kept you up at night thinking of the possibilities you could’ve had with Satoru.

You kept it to yourself, but that wasn’t to say you didn’t drop hints. It started with cooing at baby clothes whenever you took him shopping with you, his eyebrow rising behind his glasses but nothing coming from it. Or whenever you took to babysitting your friends kids, bringing it up to him every time you saw on social media someone you knew was pregnant, or the most important when you had announced that you’d be getting off of birth control. He’d been somewhat surprised, asking you if it was for health reasons or others, but you only offered a small smile while telling him that he was welcome to throw away the condoms he had if he wanted to – to which he gladly did, your own interest piquing at how inanely willing he was to just go along with it.

(“Unlimited creampies,” he’d joked, tossing every he had condom away and grinning like a shark once he did so. You should’ve known that he’d really meant it too.)

You should’ve known, however, Satoru could read you like a book.

That’s how you found yourself clutching the pillow underneath your head for dear life as Satoru’s cock was all but rearranging your organs while his hands had a near death grip on your hips in the process.

Your legs took purchase hitched up on top of his shoulders, your heels nearly touching your ears as he literally bent you in half so that he could fuck you better. The temperature in the room was boiling, perspiration lining your bodies down from the forehead to the conjunction of where both of your bodies were currently smacking into one and another. The only sounds you were really able to make out was the smacking of his skin into yours, the headboard of your shared bed knocking into the wallpaper you desperately wanted to change, and your gasped out moans all jumbled in words varying of his name and praises from the ferocity of his movements.

His face was a God-given sight to see; all flushed and his eyebrows knotted together in ecstasy as he kept his jaw clenched yet allowed his poorly concealed groans leave his mouth. It didn’t help you were talking filthy in his ear either, the loud exhales growling and the grip on your hips bruising every time you moaned out his name driving him forward push and stretch your insides as much as he could. Your earlier admission to how you wanted to feel him cum inside of you had seemingly pushed him over the edge, and you hadn’t even gotten the part where you wanted to tell him to put baby in you.

Unclutching the fabric of the pillow you slid your hands out to dig your nails into his back, earning you a grunt and a particular hard thrust as he pulled out back far enough until his tip was resting on your opening before diving back in. It was insane on how good he felt, your toes curling as that ball of fire behind your naval burned further towards your eventual release whenever he fucked into you harder.

You panted out again as your body rocked underneath his in unison to his hips, mouth finding his ear again to push at his resolve more, “If I would’ve known you – mmmGod – known you’d be like this, I would’ve – fuckrightthere – would’ve begged you more.”

Normally Satoru was so talkative; he just talked, talked, and talked, especially in the bedroom. Yet you supposed he more focused on concentrating than anything, his eyelashes fluttering at your words and thumbs digging into your ribcage the more he slid your bodies further up to the bed. It made you purse your lips, his lack of responding to you, and you knew if you wanted to drive him wild you’d have to really tell him what you wanted.

Your fingers traced back up to his nape, curl a few strands fingers around his hair there as you pressed a kiss to his jaw and whispered in finality into his ear, “Satoru… I want you to cum. I want you to put a baby in me.”

Your husband abruptly stopped for a moment, your body and mind nearly seizing in fear that you had said the wrong thing, however he was quick to recover. Meeting your eyes with an intensely dilated pupil as he searched your face, and once he found what he was looking for, he was already moving once more. And you really didn’t have to say anything else to urge him on either.

His pace was faster than before, your eyes rolling and stomach knotting up from the force of his cock stretching and pounding into your pussy, and you couldn’t strangle a moan out as his mouth covered your own. He trapped your tongue without any remorse, sucking on it feverishly as the slaps of your skin meeting echoed throughout the bedroom and the sounds of your pussy wet and garbled reached your ears to make your cheeks warm up. He was already teetering on a side of rough sex beforehand, but by then Satoru was full-blown feral.

He released your mouth with a pop, a string of spit connecting you both as you could only look headily up at him, his cheeks flushed and teeth flashing in a grin. “Mmm, you think I didn’t know? Droppin’ all those hints… I was just waiting on you to say it,” a hand left your body to squeeze your cheeks, puckering your lips as he pried your lips open, “Is that what you wanted? Wanted me to fuck you stupid and fill you up with enough cum that you’d get pregnant? Is that what it was?”

You couldn’t necessarily answer him, his thumb pressing down on your tongue only left you mumbling and keening with gasping whines as he fucked you. Your body grow hotter the more he spoke, however, a weak nod you gave to encourage him onward to keeping talking as you began to feel your climax spiral throughout your body.

“I wish you could see yourself; you got that look in your eye that’s just begging me to ruin you. You want my cum so bad you can’t stand it, can you?” his fingers left your cheeks to pull down on your chin, forcing your mouth to open a little wider as his thumb hooked itself onto your bottom teeth, forcing your moans out into the open air and your tongue swiping forward to lick at the appendage. He gave a breathy laugh, his hips further into you that made you back arch and thighs scream at the way your body was bending to his will, and he leant down far enough to skim his lips over your own, “You’d look so good – with my cum inside of you and a baby fucked into you… Just say it again for me.”

You tried to answer him, you really did, but your mind was teetering on a slippery slope and your body was falling prey to its desires, it was suffocating you. Your breaths intermingled with one another in lost kisses and nips, his own fanning across your burning cheeks and his grunts rising in octave to near moans to signal he was at his own impending release. You mumbled a jumble of something you weren’t necessarily too sure of, his pelvis rubbing against your clit making your eyes roll back and he pushed forward more.

“Say it again.”

His thumb trailed away down onto your chin, an afterthought of saliva following after him, “I want a baby. Fuck a baby into me.”

Satoru’s eyebrows furrowed inwards, one hand slipping away to press against your swollen clit and his thrusts growing to an alarming rate. He had mastered knowing just what spots inside of you to get you to come undone for him; he knew which way to rub your clit as well, a pattern he was doing at that moment that your lower abdomen twitching and curling in on itself in an effort to keep yourself from cumming to early on him lest he was dragging it out. And given how your thighs were beginning to shake and his thrust were begging to grow sloppy and uneven, you knew neither of you would last much longer given all that dirty talk and moaned promises.

His hips pushed into you desperately, nearly hard enough to leave you with bruises and your fingers found purchase to scratching along his back, something that was rewarded with Satoru’s back arching and a groan pushing through his swollen lips. His cock twitched fervently – a pulse when it slotted up fully inside of you, and a warning that he was about to cum.

“Say it again,” he pleaded, fingers twitching on your clit as it was slippery with your own juices. His cheeks grew redder, sweat glistening all across his body and you had half a mind to engrave the way he looked into memory for future reference when he was away and you two more than likely engaged in phone sex. When you didn’t answer him for a moment, he sighed and pinched your clit with a kiss to the side of your mouth, “Please.”

You couldn’t deny him, garbling it on in a mess of whines and sighs, “I want you to cum inside me… Cum so much there’s no way I don’t get pregnant.”

Satoru groaned, "That's it.” His intentions became clear after that, deliberately slamming his cock against that oh-so sweet spot inside of your pussy. Your head began to spin, muscles tightening up and on the verge of your tendons stretching outwards, you could feel yourself losing the hold you had on your orgasm. It started to slip from you, fingernails digging crescents into his back and your toes curling at his heated groans jolting straight towards your clit. Satoru at that point had become desperate, uneven and choppy thrusts jostling you upwards on the bed as his voice tuned out into a whine, "Say my name when you cum – say it." 

You couldn’t take it; mind full of thoughts of your husband cumming into you and finally fulfilling your wants. And even if it didn’t stick that time around, you both could always keep trying, just cumming –

"Satoru!"

You finally came, a guttural cry of his name that you’d never done before and something he picked up om as well. Cunt spasming sporadically around his hot cock and soaking it completely with your cum, you gasped with a radically arched back and nails sunken fully into his skin. Your eyes fluttered in a hazy gaze, ears tuning back in from brief lapse into nirvana to listen and feel Satoru cum inside of you for the first time. He was always a whiner more than a groaner, spilling into your mouth or hand, but he sounded particularly more whiney once he finally jolted forward with a keening gasp of your name and thick spurts of his cum coated your insides. You felt so full – complete, as his cock twitched and throbbed once the rounds of his cum were settle inside of you, a longing sense of more prickling your mind when you thought of what it could accomplish.

Satoru sighed after a long moment, hand falling away from your clit to steady himself as he leant forward to press a wet kiss to your cheek, and pulling away from you with another exhale to survey how you looked. Your legs fell from his shoulders, boneless and weak, and fell open on their own as your breathing slowed down and you managed to catch your senses as your only heard him hum.

It wasn’t seconds later his long fingers were pushing back into your sensitive pussy, your walls clenching around them as a spark ignited up behind your naval as his prodding. His cum was sloshed around into you by his fingers, a light laugh breaking itself free from his chest a moment later when you began to slowly rock your hips to the rhythm to how his fingers were pushing his cum back inside of you.

“Glad you’re as optimistic as I am, because I’ve got a lot of plans for us now…”

[oceantornadoo]

ch3 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: reader has an anxiety attack. price is a traditional possessive mafia man with strong opinions. comments about body image and eating habits but not from reader, her family just sucks. drunk shenanigans occur.

masterlist | next

-

The week before the wedding flies by. Simon tells you he’s already contacted a planner, which is a phone call you can’t imagine him making. Everything left to do only concerns you personally. Dress fittings, shoe shopping, ring sizing. No one expects you to want to say over decorations or location. No one asks your opinion on bridesmaid dresses or table centerpieces. The fantasy of your wedding, a princess fairytale, is shoved to the back corner of your mind, next to hope for a normal family and a love marriage. 

London has better options than Manchester, so you’re flown out on Tuesday for final fittings and a makeup run-through. Unfortunately, your aunt meets you there. She was your father’s older sister, an absolute hag who tormented your mother. Aunt Riley, a title she demands. You aren’t given the honor of addressing her by her first name. That’s not for children out of wedlock.

“I look like a piece of cake. A fluffy, tulle-shaped piece of cake.”

It turns out that Aunt Riley is the wedding planner. She’s already picked your dress, without your consent. It’s monstrous, with layers and layers of fabric at the skirt and a too-tight corset at the top. Long lace sleeves, like from an old lady’s doilies, squeeze the life out of your arms. It’s at least a size too small everywhere. Your lungs barely have room to expand. Aunt Riley states that it’s all the rage with modern brides, and you think someone must have made this as a joke. It’s a sorry imitation of an actual wedding dress, not something designed for use.

“Well, let’s hope it sweetens up Mr. Price. Heaven knows your backtalk won’t.” She huffs out, circling the platform you stand on like a shark sniffing blood in the water. “Let’s take in the waist a quarter inch. Longer sleeves, hide more of her shoulders. Can’t have the families thinking she’s a bastard and a harlot.” She orders the tailor, who scurries out of sight with her notes. You sigh, inwardly, since you can’t actually breathe right now. At least there’s a room at the Ritz Carlton waiting for you after this. The no-expenses-spared part of the wedding has a singular benefit - a jacuzzi you could get swallowed in. You only saw it in passing once you landed, but it’s been calling your name like a siren.

“And you must remember not to frown at him, it gives you lines. Are you listening?” Her voice goes up an octave, shaking you out of your thoughts. “Sorry, what?” Aunt Riley rolls her eyes, downing the complimentary glass of champagne the tailor handed her before approaching you. “I was telling you how to please your husband. You can start by wiping the frown off your face. This is a very important alliance. Do not ruin it for your brother.” Your brother. The one person in the world you’d put up with Aunt Riley for. He’s sacrificed so much for a Made life, even the freedom to love freely, so you can’t dishonor him by ruining this wedding. Your stomach grows heavy, and whether it’s the corset or her words, dread coils in your belly. You straighten your shoulders, then nod at her advice that you will not be taking. John deserves a cordial marriage, nothing more. You will not be hiding your frowns for him. 

Luckily, the tailor frees you from your prison wedding gown before you faint. Aunt Riley delivers you to the hotel with a snail face mask in one hand and instructions for a seven-day juice cleanse in another. Your bodyguards, silent men assigned by your brother, help you out of the car and then station themselves outside of the hotel. “Do this every night, you must rid yourself of those eyebags by Saturday. Start the cleanse tonight, hopefully, it’ll get you to fit in the dress. I’ll be here at 8 am sharp tomorrow for ring sizing. Child, are you listening?” You nod numbly, snatching the products in her hands before dashing to the lobby and into the elevator. “And practice smiling!” Her words are drowned out by the rushing of blood in your ears.

The elevator operator knows your floor number, a fact you’d find creepy if you weren’t trying to stop an anxiety attack. Ring sizing. The dress fitting was a laugh but this is…real. A ring is a collar around your throat, it’s your name in ink on the dotted line. The reality is sinking in - John Price will be your husband. You open your door, body on auto, dumping your aunt’s products in the trash before entering the bathroom. The thought of a bath is laughable, not when you think you could drown. A look in the mirror reflects a frazzled woman in the mirror, with eyebags and discoloration and acne scars, and is that a pimple? You are not the type of woman to be John Price’s wife. You are a bastard and he cemented that fact and now you’re marrying him. You’re betraying your mother when you think about it. He and his father got you sent away and you’re here ring sizing. The logical part of your brain argues that he was sixteen, that your father acted of his own accord, but you aren’t listening to logic right now.

The bathroom walls start closing in, but you’re faster. Running like your ass is on fire out of your room, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. You’re on the second top-most floor but it doesn’t matter, anything to get you out. Time flies in a blur, your vision only clearing once you reach the lobby. Instead of walking out the front, where your brother’s men are, you find a side door, escaping into a street alley. Outside. Fresh air. Now.

The sun’s set. You forgot your gun in the safe. Ditched your bodyguards. Nothing matters as you jog down a cracked London sidewalk, not stopping until you find a park. If you can call it that. It’s a strip of green grass, tucked between two buildings like someone forgot about it. You find the lone bench, tucked behind a tree, and sit, lungs heaving with effort.

You could leave, right? Abandon the contract, hightail it out of London. Go back to your mother…who will just shake her head and tell you you should have expected nothing less from the mafia families. She’ll let you stay, of course, but Simon’s still got his men following her and you would be right back where you started.

You could find a city. One without mafia, without men who think they’re gods playing fate. Get a job, a fake name. Except…how could you fake certificates without your connections? Where is the mafia not? It seems the tendrils of your captors reach across the whole British island, choking out any who disobey.

Maybe John would let you out. If you begged nicely, on your knees. He’d smirk and say he’s won the whole game, this back-and-forth that’s played out for years. Except he wouldn’t let you, not really. You’re not stupid enough to ignore the political factors involved, the whispers of the Shepherd family encroaching on his territory. He needs your brother's weapons and he won’t give them up just because you ask.

There are no options. You’re trapped, a mouse in a well-laid trap. Your breathing comes out fast and stunted, lungs rasping with overuse. You try to put your head between your legs, arms on your head like Simon taught you. Five things you can see, four things you can feel, three things you can hear…Except you can’t see anything. Tears glazing over your vision and this is the end, it has to be-

“Nice night.” A man is next to you on your bench. You didn’t even notice, too caught up in your thoughts. It’s enough of a distraction to pull you out of your mental spiral, breath still coming out too short. You train your eyes on the ground in front of you, afraid if you turn to the man next to you, you might keel over from anxiety. “Huh?” Very witty, idiot.

“Said it’s a nice night. North Star’s out, look.” You shake your head, lacing your fingers behind your head to keep your gaze down. The alternative is too frightening to consider. There’s no way he’s here, this thorn in your side. “Pick your head up and find it, sweetheart.” Even though your brain fog, you can’t shake off irritation at his demanding tone. You pick your head up, searching the sky until you find a star brighter than the rest, blinking at you like an old friend.

“Good girl. Now look, squirrel’s got ‘imself in a tight spot.” You drop your gaze and sure enough, a squirrel is fighting with a takeaway bag at the edge of the park. It’s silent for a bit, the sound of a paper bag ripping echoes through the air as you watch two foes battle. John doesn’t say a word, content to watch you squirm with the fact that he’s talked you off the ledge. You finally drop your hands from the back of your head, setting them in your lap like a prim lady and not an anxious mess. Your thumbs twiddle, itching to pick at your skin, but you can’t because there’s ring sizing tomorrow. Aunt Riley will surely notice. There’s ring sizing tomorrow…

“This has got t’ be the only spot of green in London.” You snort. He’s not wrong. “How’d you find me?” You whisper. He hands you a handkerchief, embroidered JP in dark blue letters, and you dab at the tears in your eyes. “Got men watchin’ yer door, elevator an’ the lobby. Don’t trust y’r brother’s men. Knew the second ya left without anythin’ on ya. Bloody stupid, if y’ ask me.” Of course, he’s correcting your anxiety attack etiquette. Typical John Price.

“Wasn’t thinking about my weapon, to be honest. I’m surprised you came here yourself since you’ve got all these men watching me. Certainly one of them wanted to visit this lovely park.” You finally chance a look at him and instantly regret it. Starlight is rare in London proper but it somehow frames his face perfectly. Even the streetlamps cater to him, highlighting the cut of his beard and the blue of his eyes. You hand him the used handkerchief and he grabs it lightly, callused fingers brushing yours before pulling away. It’s the first time you’ve ever touched, a fact you’re hyper-aware of.

“Someone tells me my wife can’t breathe, ‘m not sendin’ my men to take care of it.” He tucks the handkerchief into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “Not your wife yet.” He clucks his tongue. “Yet.” Well, you can’t argue with that. “Thanks for checking on me, I guess.” It almost physically pains you to say, especially once he grins and turns his head in your direction. “A thank you? Y’ sure yer feelin’ okay?” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest like this is a casual conversation. “I was trying to be polite. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten how to insult you.” A corner of his mouth ticks up, almost a smile. He puts his hands on his knees and rises like an old man and not someone nine years your senior.

“It won’t be so bad, I promise.” He holds out a hand for you to take and you do, immediately dropping it and stepping away once you’re up. “What won’t be?” You ask like you don’t know. He gestures between the two of you like it’s a given. “This. The wedding. Marriage. ‘M not yer new jailer, sweetheart, I promise.” In a moment of vulnerability, you swallow and turn away, trying to find the North Star again. The clouds hide it, light pollution preventing you from your search. “You promise?” You whisper, almost to yourself. 

“I do.” He says it with the same conviction you imagine he’ll use at the ceremony. A slight pressure touches your shoulder, the ghost of a reassuring squeeze, and you turn away from the sky, eyes focused on his suit jacket. “Let’s get you back. ‘S nippy out here.” You nod mutely, and that’s that.

-

Friday is your hen-do with your Riley cousins, getting drunk at a Price-owned club called Midnights. They’re a bit catty but you can’t blame them for the environment they grew up in. You’re given a mission of getting absolutely smashed, enough to forget about your impending wedding. Drinks after drinks are put into your hand, and you’re pretty sure every type of clear liquor is now in your belly. The music has seeped into your pores, veins thumping with your last night of freedom. Like you ever had any at all.

“Are you excited for tomorrow night?” A distant third cousin whisper-shouts into your ear, waggling her brows at the insinuation. You roll your eyes, taking a sip of your fifth martini before answering. “Not really.” She groans, tugging her sister into the conversation. “Come on, I heard he’s great in bed.” Her sister nods with blown pupils, almost spilling her drink on your white dress. “He fucks like an animal. My friend Marie fucked him and,” she hiccups, almost losing her train of thought. “She said he made her come like, five times. He never fucks the same woman twice though. Wonder howitllbewithyou…” She slurs the last sentence, trailing off until she perks back up at the DJ’s change in song. “This is my song, we have to dance!” She drops her drink to tug you onto the dancefloor and you go laughing, thoughts of John Price drifting away as you dance like no one’s watching.

Mafia girls get a bad rep. Your cousins are called innocent or shallow, but they’re the best company you’ve had in years. You soak up all the estrogen in the room, knowing you might never have this kind of night again. It’s exhilarating, to have fun while knowing you’re in a place where you can’t get hurt. At least five Riley bodyguards surround the dance floor and no annoying brother is telling you what to do. You even slipped Aunt Riley, telling her you were doing a spa night at the hotel. If this is what being Mrs. Price is like, it might be worth it.

“Come on, bathroom break!” You swim in a sea of pink bridesmaid party dresses, only on solid footing once you’re in the bathroom. There’s no line, thankfully, but a group of three girls are writing on each other in the corner with a…Sharpie?

“Temporary tattoos! Do you want one?” They offer with beaming smiles - the camaraderie of drunk girlhood. Before you can open your mouth, your cousin snatches the marker and turns you to face the mirror. “No peeking.” The back of your dress is low, almost to your ass, something a Made Man would never approve of. Good thing none of them were invited. Sweaty hands hold you in place as the marker scratches over the skin of your back. She finishes by smacking her lips like she’s eaten a good meal. “Ok, go look.” You turn in the mirror and blink once, twice. You might be drunk but not that drunk, right? Because there’s no way she’s drawn you a tramp stamp in the shape of a heart with the initials JP written in loopy handwriting. It reminds you of a certain handkerchief and you shut that thought down before it settles in.

“Wanker!” You squeal. She throws the marker back to the girls before making a run for her life with you hot on her heels. You’re grinning the whole time.

-

John does not have a stag party. He was planning on taking the night for himself, leaving Gaz in charge of overseeing the dozens of clubs he owns and watching for trouble. He’s just sat down with a bottle of scotch, aged ten years, he’s been aching to try when his phone rings.

“Price.” His voice comes out gruff, probably due to lack of sleep. Since the night he found you on that bench, he hasn’t gotten more than a few hours of sleep. Can’t even take a midafternoon kip. Your frightened face haunts his dreams, the knowledge that you had an anxiety attack because you’re marrying him. He didn’t realize how much you hated him. He hopes it’s only dislike, not fear. If you’re scared of him, there’s not much evidence in his favor. He’s got a list of bodies that could fill a village, and there’s blood in the cracks of his palms. Not exactly husband material.

“Sir, we’ve got an…issue.” Gaz doesn’t continue, which is one of Price’s biggest pet peeves. “Spit it out, Garrick.” Gaz sighs on the other end. “Your fiancee is here at Midnights, doin’ her hen do. Bunch of Riley girls swarmin’ the place. They’ve got guards, but I thought you ought t’ know.” Fuck. Midnights is Price’s biggest club, the easiest to get lost in with its three floors and dark hallways. Because of the layout, it’s definitely on the dirtier side of his business. It’s where he takes clients he doesn’t trust. It is not the place for his fiancee. Wife in twenty-four hours.

He abandons the unopened scotch with a sigh, grabs his coat, and calls his driver. It’s one of Nikolai’s men, renowned for their discreet nature and speedy driving. Luckily, he’s staying at a flat near the church, so he’s only a few minutes away from the club.

“Good evening, sir.” John nods his head in acknowledgment, then dials up a contact on his phone he’d rather not talk to. “You didn’t think t’ tell me she was out?” His tone is firm while Ghost murmurs to someone on the other end. Probably Soap if John had to put money on it. The man sounds a bit out of breath. “Whatdya mean she’s out? Ain’t she doin’ her hen do at the hotel?” Fuck, you didn’t even tell your brother. At least you took guards with you. “She’s at one of my clubs with ‘er cousins. She’ll be safe but Jesus Ghost, ya need t’ be on this. Be glad I’m ‘er keeper now.” Simon swears under his breath. “Her aunt’s s’posed t’ be watchin’, guess they gave her the slip. She’s smart, not gonna run. Check in an’ let me know.” Like John’s going to take orders from a man who can’t even keep an eye on his sister. Someone needs to lay down the law.

He’s at the club in minutes, greeting his bouncer before going in. Gaz meets him at the front, guiding him to the second level so they can look over the crowded dance floor. Sure enough, John spots a few bodyguards at every corner, suited men who are firmly not dancing. It takes a second, but the white outfit you’re wearing makes it easier to spot you. You’re surrounded by girls in pink, presumably your cousins. Before Gaz can comment, he heads down the stairs, pushing his way through the crowd. Even on the verge of blacking out, people recognize who he is, stepping back to make a clear path to you.

“The fuck are you doin’ here?” It’s not the smoothest delivery he’s ever had, but the image of you is pissing him off. Smudged lipstick that he’d rather not think about and sweat dripping obscenely into the cleavage of your dress. It’s white with a dip in the front, giving him a generous view of tits that are about to be legally his. You’re so drunk that it takes you a second to recognize him, a fact that irritates him even further.

“Dancing! Ever heard of it?” You smile and that’s how he knows you’re wasted because you’ve never smiled at him like that. All teeth like you’re genuinely greeting him. Fuck it. He grabs you by the waist and you squeal. Unexpectedly, you’re docile in his arms, following him willingly as he pulls you off the dancefloor and into a quieter section. When he removes his hand, which ended up on the small of your back, it’s…black? A closer look reveals that it’s marker ink.

“The fuck’s on y’r back?” You gasp, then turn so he can see. A surge of blood goes straight to his cock, too fast for him to remember this is you, the Riley brat. There’s a heart with his initials above your ass. It’s a little smudged but the insinuation is clear. It’s something he’ll see tomorrow if you’re in his bed. Which he’s not even sure he wants. He thinks.

“My cousin did it, not me I swear. I would not have drawn that, trust me.” You gush, turning back around. You overshoot and almost stumble, but he reaches out just in time with a steadying hand on your waist. You frown, then shrug.

“Ya didn’t tell me where ya were goin’ and you slipped your aunt. That’s not,” you cut him off by swaying your hips, clearly more into the music than his voice. His grip tightens as he gets a better feel of the fat on your waist, a sensation he didn’t know he needed. “That’s not acceptable. Don’t do it again.” You roll your eyes, then pull back out of his grip. There’s a black smudge on your dress now, but you don’t notice. “Yessir.” You even mock salute, smirking. “You gonna end my last night of freedom? Put me in timeout? Thought you weren’t my new jailer, John.” You draw out the syllables of his name to show your irritation. Your sentence references the promise he made, the one he’s already regretting.

He doesn’t even know what he wants by coming here. He’s a Made Man, and can't have his wife running around freely. And he needed to know you’re safe, sure, but then what? This is his club, there are no worries of any enemies. He’s vetted every manager and knows every bouncer and bartender. You should have told him, that’s true, but he’s not going to drag you out and make a scene. You’re owed a last night of freedom. So why does he want to stay and get a drink, watch your hips sway on the dancefloor without a care in the world? It must be something in the air, some drug residue that’s got into his system.

“Just- tell me next time. And from now on, I’ll be assignin’ y’r guards. Y’r goin’ t’ be my wife, need t’ be under my protection.” You snort, then sip your drink. “Sure. Can’t wait to be Mrs. Price as of tomorrow. You done throwing a hissy fit?” In a moment of teenage retaliation, he takes your drink and throws it out in a nearby trash can. An angered gasp escapes you.

“See you tomorrow, sweetheart. Try not to look too hungover.”

-

When you wake up the next morning, it’s to a pounding headache and a stern Aunt Riley. 

“Cheer up, you insolent child. It’s your wedding day!”

You groan and shut your eyes. This has to be a nightmare.

-

did reader and john just have a moment??? or two???? wedding is next :)

-

@heretoreadanddrinktea

@peachyxrosie

@joufrance

@galactict3a

@exactlyyoungchaos

@trulovekay

@alleycc

@abox-of-rocks

@orangehibiscus

@mismatchsposts

@nova-willow-541

@throwing-up-butterflies

@grossitsluca

@evans-dejong

@popcornlauncher

@earthcole

@backfromthedeadhehehe

@baduzzxy

@thegreyjoyed

@cutelibrariangf

@dearghostling

@mrsmalfoy1005

[nimthecryptid]

Shark doesn't always need a disguise to go shopping, but he does it anyway just cuz he likes to feel pretty~ (and Piranha's just happy to be there) 🦈🐟🛍👗👠✨ (4/9)

[mercurial-chuckles]

Hi hun,

I was wondering for your SMUTTY SEPTEMBER FEST could you write #6 with Bucky. It screams him to me 😍😍

Ablaze

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

This is an entry to the SMUTTY SEPTEMBER FEST Inspired by Asks from @saiyanprincessswanie , @idk2735 , and nonnie. ❤️

Warnings: Mature content ahead | Minors DNI | Smut | Bucky in a tux | Semi-public sex | mirror sex | getting handsy on the dance floor| fingering | edging | possessive!Bucky | dom!Bucky | Happy!Bucky | Fuck out your insecurities!Bucky | Lemme know if I am missing something. Absolutely Unedited! I will edit as soon as I can! :)

Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! Banner credits to me and the photo credits to the internet. Check out my other works: Masterlist

Thank you for the wonderful dividers @buck-star & @steviebbboi :)

This is an Epilogue to one of my favorite Bucky stories that I've written until now. If you do read Confessions of Mr. Grumpaholic, you will get a whole ass orgasmic high reading this!

Indulge Away!

Will post it back up soon :)

Also, it's shark week. So, be gentle with me! Send me some love! ❤️ 😂  This week was particularly hard. I tried writing, but the muse was such a stubborn pumpkin, and I struggled a bit but whipped something out. Hope you like it! I will come back to this and edit it as soon as I can. Did I request that you send me some love? Please do! You will get virtual hugs and forehead kisses.

SMUTTY SEPTEMBER FEST has transgressed into SMUT-BER FEST! Am I complaining? Not at all. So, all my darling hoes, if your muse is musing and you want to submit your story/stories, please feel free to do so. Late submissions are more than welcome! Be wild; have fun!

Also, I'm having trouble retrieving the tag list form, where you entered preferences. Forgive me if you haven't chosen to be tagged in this. Until I get things fixed, kindly bear with me 😂

Tag list: @nekoannie-chan @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @bitchy-bi-trash @theallknown213 @tripletstephaniescp @rogerscut @greatenthusiasttidalwave @zaraomarrogers @shadowrose13-blog1 @king814318 @yiiiikesmish @steviebbboi @bernelflo @saiyanprincessswanie @blushingrn @looking1016 @jvanilly @mimisweetz @navyhua23 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @shadyloveobjects @alexxavicry @feynightlight @astheskycries @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @patzammit @soelstress @8crazy-freak8

[rcmclachlan]

Motivation Monday

Tagged by the amazing @beanarie and @ambernotember ✨

This is the opening to my S3 au where Buck and Tommy meet during the tsunami arc.

+

When Tommy was eleven, Bill Tunstall's mom took him and Bill to go see Waterworld at Sack Cinema City, and for weeks afterward he spent every waking moment daydreaming about the ocean swallowing the entire planet. While his English teacher, Mrs. Reynolds, hadn't been thrilled that he kept forgetting to do his homework on sentence structure trees, she had been grudgingly impressed with his blueprints for the awesome catamaran he was going to build, so it evened out.

The plan was to launch from Tuck Point and sail down past Stellwagen Bank into open blue, fishing stranded people out of the deep or saving them from raiders along the way. He'd toss the name 'Thomas Andrew Kinard' into the sea like chum for the sharks that hung out off the coast of Chatham and forge a legacy where he was known only as The Mariner.

The furthest he got into actually building the catamaran was gathering some fallen tree branches in the wooded area behind his house and tying them together with old fishing twine he'd found in the basement to make the frame. Things came to a screeching halt about two hours later when his dad discovered that Tommy had taken out his toolbox without asking permission.

Tommy spent the next week assuring Mrs. Reynolds that his black eye was the result of catching a foul baseball with his face, but she didn't seem to buy it.

Almost thirty years later, he's hovering above where the intersection of 4th and Broadway used to be when the next surge current hits, and his childhood dream of setting sail in a great flood drowns. So to speak.

+

No pressure tags: @screamlet, @geddyqueer, @setmeatopthepyre, @apollabarnes, @firehose118, @liminalmemories21, @station18908, and @leashybebes

[bobbykumadraws]

Mr. Shark and King Shark hanging out on the beach on a hot, summer day. 🦈⛱🌊

[postgamevibes]

Will Smith x reader nurse, where he meets her on a visit to the children’s hospital and keeps going back to see her

Sorry for the late response, for some reason it didn’t appear in my inbox, but I hope you enjoy it.

Summary: Will wasn’t expecting much from the team’s hospital visit. Smile for the photos, sign a few sticks, keep it moving. What he really wasn’t expecting was you—a pediatric nurse with a quick tongue, warm heart, and a laugh that he can’t stop thinking about. One visit turns into more, and soon he’s making up excuses just to see you again.

Genre: Fluff | Soft Romance | Comfort

*********************************************************

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the kind of sterile hum Will usually associated with away-game locker rooms or long customs lines, but today, it echoed off white hospital walls and pastel-painted murals of cartoon animals holding balloons.

A nurse led the group of the Sharks players down the hall, each with a bag of signed mini sticks and plush toys. A few staff members walked behind, snapping photos for PR. Will hung toward the back, doing his best to stay present even though his mind was still half on their last game.

He didn’t hate stuff like this, he got why it mattered. It was just awkward. He never quite knew what to say to kids he never met before. They were braver than he was, fighting harder battles with smaller bodies, and he didn’t feel like much of a hero in comparison.

Still, he smiled signed a stick, took a picture with a kid in a Mario Kart T-shirt.

And then she walked in.

You.

Scrubs in a cheerful shade of lavender, lanyard with pins from the kids, including a glittery “Cool Nurse” badge. Hair pulled back, a few strands falling near your cheek. You were cradling a clipboard in one arm and talking gently to a boy in bed who couldn’t have been older than six.

Will froze like someone had knocked the wind out of him.

You noticed the group and turned.

“Ah, the cavalry has arrived,” you said with a smile.

Your eyes landed on Will for a second longer than the rest, but maybe he imagined it.

“Which one of you is the one obsessed with Sour Patch Kids?” you asked, arms crossed.

That made Will blink. “Uh me?”

You nodded knowingly. “Mason here heard it on TikTok. He’s been talking about it all morning.”

The boy grinned shyly from the bed, holding up a small plastic bag of the candy. “I saved some.”

Will smiled and stepped forward, kneeling beside the bed. “You have excellent taste, Mason, we might be best friends now.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “That’s what he said about the cardiologist yesterday.”

The visit moved on, but Will lingered behind.

You were checking vitals, humming softly under your breath, one hand tapping against your thigh in rhythm.

He hadn’t meant to speak. He really hadn’t.

But he did.

“You’re really good at this.”

You glanced up, half-surprised he was still there. “Thanks.”

“I mean it,” he said, softer now. “They love you.”

“They’re easy to love.”

He nodded. “Still.”

You gave him a look. “You’re not too bad yourself, Mr. Sour Patch.”

He laughed. “That’s going in my bio.”

A pause.

You tilted your head. “You sticking around?”

He shrugged. “Might.”

Will showed up again two weeks later.

This time, no cameras. No teammates.

Just him, standing in the pediatric hallway with a bag of Sour Patch Kids and a sheepish grin.

“I’m visiting Mason,” he said quickly when you spotted him. “Thought I’d check in.”

You narrowed your eyes in mock suspicion. “Uh huh. And I’m sure that has nothing to do with the fact that the nurses just got a fresh coffee delivery from downstairs?”

“I’m hurt.”

“You’re predictable.”

You let him follow you through rounds, only half pretending it wasn’t the highlight of your week.

One visit turned into three.

Three turned into six.

And somewhere between the giggles of young patients and the quiet comforts of evening shift check-ins, you started to look forward to the sound of his sneakers in the hallway. The way he’d lean against the counter at the nurses' station. The way he’d wait until the end of your shift to walk you to your car, even if it meant sitting in the waiting room for an hour with nothing but a hospital vending machine and Property Brothers reruns.

“Why do you keep coming back?” you asked him once, voice low.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing.

“I like the company,” he said finally.

The seventh visit was different.

It had been a long day tough cases, short tempers, and a stubborn vending machine that ate your last five.

Will found you on your break, sitting on the floor in the staff lounge, sipping lukewarm tea with tired eyes.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just sat next to you and offered a bag of candy.

You took one.

Then another.

Then leaned your head on his shoulder.

“You ever get that thing where your heart just feels… full?, but also heavy?” you murmured.

He nodded. “All the time.”

You exhaled slowly. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Because I’m listening.”

You looked up at him.

And there it was that quiet warmth in his eyes, that safety, that steadiness.

So you kissed him.

Just once. Soft. Testing.

But when he kissed you back, you forgot the heaviness entirely.

Weeks later, after the first real date (and the second, and the third), he came to pick you up from a double shift. You were running late and looked frazzled, but he didn’t mind.

He leaned against the hood of his car, watching the automatic doors slide open.

You stepped out, hair pulled up, cheeks flushed.

He whistled. “There’s my favorite nurse.”

You groaned. “Don’t start.”

“I’m serious. I think I’m injured.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh yeah? What is it this time?”

He stepped closer, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. “Heart-related.”

You tried not to laugh. Failed. “Sounds serious.”

“Very.”

“Well, Mr. Smith,” you said, slipping your arms around his waist, “good thing I’m certified.”

He grinned. “Think I need daily monitoring.”

You kissed his jaw. “You’re lucky I make exceptions.”

[wastingmylifesecondatatime]

Thomas Shelby Masterlist - One Shots/Drabbles

Updated: May 06th, 2025 🔞 = mature Other masterlists: mother masterlist (2019-2024), mother masterlist (2025)

NEW ADDITIONS:

A Symbol Of Love by @garrison-girl-08 (added: May 06th, 2025)

↳ "Standing in your main bathroom of the apartment, you wiped a bead of sweat from your forehead."

36 Minutes by @acewritesfics (added: Apr 4th, 2025)

↳ "Not caring that she's in one of the fanciest restaurants in London, Y/N has her elbows on the table, her chin resting on a closed first while her other hand swirls the wine in her glass around before she takes a sip."

Aces by @queers-gambit (added: Apr 4th, 2025)

↳ "During a terrible storm, you're invited to stay at your boss' house. years of tip-toeing around one another comes to an end when emotions are finally laid on the table."

After The Storm, The Sun by @call-sign-shark (added: March 29th, 2025)

↳ "If there was one thing you had never seen since your wedding with the infamous Thomas Shelby it was his smile."

Ain't She Sweet by @look-at-the-soul (added: March 30th, 2025)

↳ "“How was school, Charlie?” You tried to make small talk with Tommy’s son, he had been very quiet, looking out the window."

Birthdays Are Better In Bed by @runnning-outof-time (added: March 29th, 2025)

↳ "(Y/N) starts her birthday off in the best way possible: in bed with her family."

Don't Touch Me by @calummss (added: March 29th, 2025)

↳ "You are alone in the dark on your way back to your husband, when a man shows up. Tommy wouldn’t let this slide."

Gone With The Leaves by @awritesthings1 (added: Apr 4th, 2025)

↳ "Despite your happy marriage to Tommy, you feel an undeniable jealousy towards Lizzie. Perhaps a day in the forest will do you some good."

Happy Wife, Happy Life by @evita-shelby (added: March 29th, 2025)

↳ "Or Tommy gets drunk and assumes his wife is someone else so he sleeps on the floor instead."

I Believe You Dropped Something, Mr Shelby by @acewritesfics (added: Apr 4th, 2025)

↳ "Y/N leaves her new flat and begins the walk to a pub she overheard a few men discussing, determining she needed to go out for a few hours."

If Speaking Is Silver, Then Listening Is Gold by @queers-gambit (added: March 30th, 2025)

↳ "You require a bit of reprieve after the week you had, and Tommy's a gentleman."

Little You-s and I-s by @multific (added: March 30th, 2025)

↳ "You and Tommy deal with the changes that come with your pregnancy."

Lost And Lucky by @holacia3 (added: Apr 4th, 2025)

↳ "A sunny day at the zoo leads to an unexpected introduction with two brothers."

Me Time by @garrison-girl-08 (added: March 30th, 2025)

↳ "Flicking through your many dresses, you bit your lip."

Mr Thief Shelby by @misstress-riddle (added: Apr 4th, 2025)

↳ ""Sweetheart, are you ready?" [name]'s voice rang throughout the house as she finished placing her coat over her outfit, rummaging through her purse to see if she had enough money to do her shopping shortly after."

My Favorite Story by @runnning-outof-time (added: March 29th, 2025)

↳ "Tommy finds himself spending time in his office for other reasons once he finds out (Y/N)'s interest in the room."

No One But You by @runnning-outof-time (added: March 29th, 2025)

↳ "Tommy assures (Y/N) that she’s the only woman he wants after two women from his past reappear in his life."

No Negotiations by @fallatyourfeet (added: Apr 26th, 2025)

↳ "Tommy thought he had been very careful keeping his relationship with YN a secret, but no, his number one enemy had discovered you. And these things rarely playout well in the world of the Peaky Blinders."

🔞 Revenge by @hllywdwhre (added: Apr 19th, 2025)

↳ "Reader takes personal offense over Sabini’s attack on Tommy."

Runaway by @princessofmarvel (added: March 29th, 2025)

↳ "Thomas has made a deal with a man to help his business. Thomas’s only condition? To marry the man's daughter. Except she doesn’t want to marry him."

Safe And Sound by @misstress-riddle (added: Apr 4th, 2025)

↳ ""Ooh, where are you heading?" you ask Polly who places a hat on top of her head and she sends you a smile as you greet her."

Solace by @garrison-girl-08 (added: March 29th, 2025)

↳ "You had been in a deep sleep, your whole body relaxed."

Tailored by @peakbys (added: March 29th, 2025)

↳ "Your little double life starts to unravel when your husband shows up to avenge his father."

The Brother That Always Wins by @runnning-outof-time (added: March 29th, 2025)

↳ "(Y/N) is oblivious to the fact that three of the most powerful men in Birmingham are interested in her. When it's all said and done though, the brother that always wins, wins."

The Woman In The Painting by @little-diable (added: March 29th, 2025)

↳ "The reader works as Tommy's maid, she knows all about Arrow House, even about those souls that are no longer alive but still around."

Three Years by @runnning-outof-time (added: March 29th, 2025)

↳ "Tommy’s attempts to reconnect with (Y/N) don’t go as he hoped they would."

🔞 Treat Me Wrong by @lovelybucky1 (added: March 29th, 2025)

↳ "“I think we should break up,” you say."

[jetblack4realz]

protector - haymitch abernathy

what a party

masterlist

you attend your first capitol party in celebration of your win - and haymitch is there to save you from the sharks.

warnings: sexualizing, allusions to sa and gross people, spoilers to sotr, age gap of like 3 years

word count: 1.8k

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

your neon turquoise drink bubbled in your hand as you smiled sweetly at another guest, your shimmering blue dress holding you in tightly by the corset.

"yes, it was scary," you told the woman dressed like a hammerhead shark, a large headpiece on her crown that seemed to hit every passerby as she turned. "but, i knew i could survive. obviously it worked out all fine."

"obviously," she crooned with a heavy laugh, whacking another guest as she glanced at her husband who expertly ducked underneath the sharkhead. "so, dear, i've been wondeirng-"

"excuse me."

you turned quickly, narrowly dodging sharklady's headpiece as she followed your movements. the young man standing in front of you was a sight to see - a perfectly tailored navy blue suit that looked suspiciously close to yours, wavy blond hair quiffed in a way that was both messy and perfect, and striking grayish blue eyes accentuated by glittery blue eyeliner you were sure he fought against.

"mr abernathy!" sharklady exclaimed with a chirp of delight. she immediately began fanning her face and stuck out her rounded chest enough that her husband stepped away with an eyeroll. she looked to you, taking out another guest as she did, and gestured to the man by your side. "miss flanagan, let me introduce you to haymitch abern-"

"we've met," he said bluntly, turning to shoot you a boyish smile. "good to see you again, honey."

honey. golden, smooth, sweet - exactly the nickname for a girl like yourself. not that you realized why. it was just the first thing that came to his mind when your grandmother hastily introduced you both backstage of caesar's talk show the night before.

"you as well, haymitch," you answered, mustering a small smile.

he then turned back to the capitol couple who'd had you stuck for the last fifteen minutes, smoothly stealing the fluorescent glass from your hand and offering it to the woman. "you mind if i steal her away for a dance?"

sharklady mindlessly took the glass and nodded with a giggle. "not at all! have fun!"

haymitch nodded at her, grinning lazily as he took your hand and pulled you quickly after him towards the center of the room where the rest of the couples were slow dancing.

his hand found your waist instantly, pulling you closer as his other hand held yours gently, your free hand on his shoulder now. his eyes roamed the room, carefully taking in the beachy decorations in honor of district 4 before meeting yours again. "this is quite the party for ya."

"yeah," you said with a thin smile. "the capitol's been very kind."

"kind enough to let you enjoy it without being strung from the ceiling at least," he said with an ironic smile and a huff of breath. you furrowed your brows in question and he continued: "that's how i spent my victory parties - in a gold cage where people could poke and prod and toss food all they liked. the whole week."

"oh." you looked away from him and at the exotically dressed capitol citizens all here to celebrate you and the murder of 23 other district children. "then yes - i guess they have been kind to me."

"they won't be, if you haven't figured that out already." he tilted his head and tugged you forward gently so your eyes met his again. "did you speak with mags?"

"yes," you replied quietly.

"and you're okay with this?" his grip on your hand tightened a bit as he searched your eyes again.

"if what you both say is true, which i believe... i'll do anything to avoid it," you answered, meeting his eyes more fully.

he nodded, pulling you into him further as he dropped his mouth to your ear and whispered quietly: "then unfortunately, honey, the games are back on."

he spun you out, twirling you under his arm and laughing loudly to catch the attention of surrounding guests, who began to whisper to themselves as he caught you back in his arms.

his mouth was back at your ear. "smile."

and you did, widely, letting out a short laugh as you kept your eyes strictly on the blond boy in front of you.

"you look very dapper tonight, mr abernathy," you told him as the next song began playing, your steps moving quicker to accommodate the new beat.

"and you look absolutely stunning, miss flanagan," he said, winking and earning another laugh from you in response. "it seems as though our stylists have had similar ideas when it came to themes."

"how cute! we match," you giggled.

he spun you again, but stopped so your back was at his chest and he glanced down at you from behind. his grin was the one you were used to seeing in the news - casual, mischievous, glowing a sense of carelessness that only suited the gorgeous rascal of district 12. you smiled back up at him with your own carefully-curated-capitol smile.

you both pretended not to see the flash of a camera in the crowd.

"don't we look great together, honey?" he hummed, chuckling as you rolled your eyes before spinning you back so you were dancing properly again.

"i fear that is the point, 12," you answered quietly as he pulled you closer into his chest.

"it's a good thing we're both so damn gorgeous then, hm?"

you rolled your eyes again, but quickly smiled to cover it as you spotted a particularly interested guest furrowing her brows at you.

"yes, it's a very good thing."

you two continued to dance until the end of the song, haymitch dipping you dramatically with his face too close to yours and a stupid grin that made you want to either slap him or kiss him - both a surprise to you.

once you were standing again he pulled you to the side, his lips at your ear in an instant.

"how do you wanna play this?" he mumbled, his eyes flickering around the room at the all-too-attentive capitol guests. "wanna sneak out now and let 'em talk or drag out the flirting?"

"shouldn't we just jump straight into it?" you wondered as you turned to face him completely, your back to the party and his hands on your arms. "since it's gonna happen anyways?"

"up to you, darlin', but i'll tell you that they love their drama, and if they think they're getting in the way of you and me potentially getting together they'll stay away," he answered, his eyes finally dropping to meet yours again. he shrugged and opened his mouth to speak again before another cut in.

"play the game."

you looked quickly to the side, your heart jumping at the sound of this new man's voice and found yourself face to face with plutarch heavensbee. he'd introduced himself at the interviews before your games as a friend of your grandmother's but you hadn't seen him since.

"i'm sorry?"

a warm smile pulled at his lips and he moved to rest a hand on your arm, pulling away only when realizing haymitch currently had hold of both.

haymitch eyed him warily before letting out a short breath. "mags tell you?"

"she did. she asked for my advice, and my advice is the same to you now: play the game," he said again, returning his gaze to yours. "drag it out, make subtle moves and comments and flirt around each other enough to keep attention on you."

"i thought the goal was to keep the attention off of me," you said with a frown.

"honey, the attention is already on you and is going to stay for a good long time," haymitch said, his head lolling to the side as he eyed you and finally released your arms. "the goal now is to change the narrative. keep them from wanting to be with you to-"

"wanting to be you," plutarch finished with his brows raised encouragingly. haymitch shot him a side-eyed glare for cutting him off.

"and us flirting will do that?" you asked.

"yes. and also staying separate. a game, like i've said. push and pull," plutarch continued. "for example, i will now take you to dance."

"hey, what-?"

but plutarch had already whisked you away, the sound of strings surrounding you.

"see?" he hummed as he swayed you easily, a soft smile on his lips as he met your eyes. "people are looking, aren't they?"

you glanced over his shoulder to see the capitol citizens looking away from you, off to the corner you'd just been pulled away from. "they're looking at haymitch."

"exactly. and soon, when the song ends he will take you away once more and the whispers will begin. it's a very predictable game," he told you. "but for now just smile and dance. and when you go back to haymitch be subtle. you want this to be exciting for them, like a mystery."

"right," you mumbled. "except it's a mystery to me too."

"it's not. that's why you're doing this," he reminded quietly, his brows raised before he spun you. your eyes roamed the crowd and found their attention back on you and the heavensbee boy.

the song was short and your dance quickly ended. you smiled politely and curtsied at the man, him returning with a bow, before someone took your hand.

"you wanna get a drink?" the words were mumbled in your ear and you turned quickly to find haymitch in front of you. you breathed a sigh of relief, nodding shortly.

"yeah," you said, mustering a bit of a laugh. "i think i could use one."

"me too, honey," he answered, his lips tipped into a frown, but turning immediately into a keenly polished grin as he turned and pulled you into the crowd. "'scuse me, folks - coming through."

you held onto his hand tighter as you weaved between people, eyes following you as you followed him. he plucked two glasses from passing trays in one hand, balancing them expertly between his fingers before he finally came to a stop near a bubbling blue fountain in the center of the patio. people were still chattering about, the sounds and smells overwhelming your senses, but as he handed you your bright yellow champagne you felt the slightest bit of calm.

"thank you," you told him, sipping from the tall glass. it tasted like banana candy and somehow you didn't hate it. "you seem to be an expert on pulling me away from social situations."

"one of my more favorable attributes," he said with a lopsided grin, drinking from his own flute of taffy-flavored bubbly. "you'll be experiencing it often."

you heard a muffled giggle from behind you, like some girl had overheard the subtle flirting from the abernathy boy and failed to hide her giddiness. your eyes traveled over the sea of people, already drooping in exhaustion over the idea of having to do this for another two weeks before you finally went home, and then again for your victory tour a few months later.

you steeled yourself and returned your eyes to the blond boy in front of you, smirking and tilting your head at him. you raised your glass a bit. "yeah, i suppose i will."