#again this was my first thought upon seeing the prompt weeks ago

[runnning-outof-time]

Omggg congrats on 3.5k!! That’s incredible! Duuuude this short prompt blurb challenge is gonna blow up! For me, would you be open to doing one with Tommy, using the prompt sentence, “Look at me right now”? He sure can be demanding when he wants something lolol🥰🥵again, congratulations dear! You deserve all the love!

Oh thank you so much for sending this in @tragiclotus ! You’re so right - he really can be! I hope you like what I did with this, and that you’ve been enjoying the blurbs I’ve been sharing! Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Part of my 3.5k celebration — find more stories here!

No One But You

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: self-doubt, worry of past lovers returning…nothing too major

Word Count: 1018

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

She must’ve read the return address a dozen times. Why? She didn’t know. It wasn’t like reading it again was going to make the sender’s name change. But yet she did anyway.

(Y/N) knew who Grace was. She’d heard about her; knew what she’d done to Tommy and his family. So why the hell was she sending him letters now?

At first she spoke to Polly, who told her to hide them. As a clerk at the postmaster’s office, she’d make sure to bring any mail the Shelbys received with her whenever she’d come to visit her boyfriend. When she’d arrive at Watery Lane, she’d follow the older woman’s suggestion and promptly slip the envelope into one of the side table’s drawers; hoping that Tommy wouldn’t find them there. But they just kept coming.

And now as she was walking to Watery Lane with what was the fifth letter Grace had sent, she didn’t know if she could keep up with hiding them. So instead she kept it in her hands, re-reading it until she heard the door open.

She stood to her feet at the sound and walked over to greet her boyfriend, accepting his kiss and shoulder squeeze as a greeting. Tommy knew something was wrong the second he pulled away. (Y/N) wasn’t wearing her usual, welcoming smile. Instead, her expression was blank.

“Has something happened?” he asked her, his brows furrowing together.

“This came in to the post today,” she answered him, extending her hand to hold the envelope out between them.

Tommy’s brows furrowed deeper as he scanned over the words written on the envelope.

“Why does she keep writing you?” (Y/N) couldn’t stop herself from asking, desperate to know why he was still receiving letters from her.

She and Tommy had entered a relationship only five months ago, but she was no stranger to the life that he lived and the company he’d kept in the past. Tommy Shelby was sought after by many, and somehow she’d gotten lucky…or at least that’s what she kept telling herself. No matter how many times his actions reassured her that he was hers alone, that nagging seed of doubt still crept into her mind. Like it was doing now.

“I don’t know why,” he answered with a shake of his head, “I haven’t spoken to her since she left for New York.”

“She’s written to you five times,” (Y/N) couldn’t withhold the information any longer. Tommy’s brows furrowed again upon hearing her admission, so she decided to elaborate: “Polly said that I shouldn’t give them to you; that I should hide them instead. They’re in the side table. I don’t know why I listened to her. I just…I couldn’t bring myself to give them to you.”

Tommy looked down at the letter and back to (Y/N), seeing that she was now biting on her lip, a nervous tendency of hers that he’d noticed fairly early into their relationship.

“May Carleton also came to meet you last week…” she spoke again after silence had hung in the air for a few moments.

“She needed to speak about the horse,” he answered in a nonchalant manner, not thinking much more of the meeting he had with the other woman.

(Y/N), of course, was overthinking it.

“Hey…” Tommy brought her out of her thoughts, making her focus on him again. “I can see you fighting with yourself. Let those thoughts go.”

“I can’t…I just can’t help but wonder if maybe, if maybe that, that with them coming back…” she tried to speak but her mind betrayed her, and the lump that formed in her throat stopped her from speaking altogether.

Not much more was needed to connect the dots though. The clues had been dropped and Tommy was quick enough to pick them up and place them in order. “Those women are in the past, (Y/N). You’re the one I want,” he spoke with sincereity, hoping that it’d quell the thoughts swirling around her mind.

(Y/N) held eye contact with him until she couldn’t anymore. She felt those worries still bubbling up inside of her, even though he’d just flat out told her that he wanted her. She dropped her gaze to her fingers, watching as she picked at her nails.

“(Y/N)…” Tommy tried to get her attention, but to no avail. “Look at me right now,” he went another route, using his index and middle finger to raise her eyes to his again. He could see that they were watery now, and he hated that she was thinking so far into this. He took her cheeks into his hands, pulling her the slightest bit closer to him before speaking again. “There’s no one but you, ok? You’re the one I want to be with. You’re the one I want,” he reiterated his point, his eyes searching hers as he spoke. “Ok?” he asked again after she hadn’t spoken in a few moments.

“Ok,” (Y/N) breathed out, nodding her head the best she could with it held in his hands. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, hoping to steady herself. When she opened them again, they immediately hooked onto Tommy’s intense blue ones. “I’m sorry, Tommy,” she felt that she had to apologize.

“Don’t be,” he shook his head slightly at her statement, “there’s no reason for you to be sorry, love.”

“But I…”

“No,” he cut her off, “I’m going to burn this letter, and any other letter that comes. You’re the one I want, (Y/N).”

A small smile formed on her face at his words. She reached out and gently ran the back of her hand down his cheek, watching as his eyes dropped to her lips. Knowing what was coming next, she closed her eyes, leaning in slightly and meeting him in the middle, their lips finding each other’s in a passionate kiss that rid her mind of all of her doubts.

“No one but you, love,” Tommy whispered against her lips before kissing them again.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @youtifulsunshinelixfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @iambored24601 @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

[ncteez]

my love ⭐️ i love you 🫵☺️ congratulations on 6k, you are so wonderful and amazing and, yes, i love you. i’ll say it again, i love you (aggressive 🤬) u don’t have to do this one bc can i request cheol and prompt #13? IF NOT, i will take the spotify playlist instead <3

(ngl, i forgot the number as soon as i entered ur ask box, but it was like “you can take it, you’ve done it before” hehe)

AGAIN, congratulations and i love u, my favorite person ever

seungcheol + “You can take it, you’ve done it before”

wordcount: 3.9k

tags: huge dick!seungcheol, fuck buddy scenario, he’s super cocky and not the soft boyfriend we want him to be, the one where he was a hook up and now he won’t stop calling at three in the morning, he might be a little possessive and competitive, desperate! desperate! desperate!, reader is very sex-positive and also a sarcastic little goblin, mentions of vernon eating u out while on call with seungcheol lmaoooooo, seungcheol uses vernon in dirty talk lmao, smut (fuck around and find out).

note: i wrote this entirely with you in mind sar, ilysm, i hope u love this as much as i love u & hope u don’t mind that i made vernon a core point of the plot.  not proof read.

~

The Friday night from two weeks ago didn’t cross your mind too often because you’re not too often thinking about the dudes you’ve gone home with from the bar. Given, that was mistake number one. 

Seungcheol, apparently, doesn’t do “hook-ups”. What he does do, according to his texts, is acquire fuck buddies. That’s fine with you, absolutely and totally okay. Mostly because you have at least three other dudes texting you for some late-night release and all of them are equally as hot as Seungcheol, at the very least. 

You guess you just didn’t expect him to ever text again, especially after a two week period. 

Mistake number two was answering his call while Vernon (aka fuck buddy #1), was actively going down on you. It’s not entirely that it was a mistake, if anything it was incredibly arousing to answer that phone and hear Seungcheol on the other line tugging at himself while Vernon was down there flicking his tongue on all of the right spots to get you there at least three times faster than usual. Of course, to Vernon, he maybe thought it was a friend or family member calling, and that maybe it was a game where you needed to be quiet while he intentionally tried to make you moan as much as possible. 

He was a little shocked hearing how loud you were over the phone, internally panicking at the last minute and lunging up to hang the phone up for you while also forcing you to come down from an impending orgasm. Upon realizing it was Seungcheol (aka fuck buddy #?) his confidence was shot down just a little bit. Of course, you boosted his ego right back up by praising, complementing, and giving him the best head of his life. 

Where was the mistake in any of that? It was hot. You loved it, and even Vernon was slightly on board with the idea of fucking you while letting you get other people off over the phone. At least, that was after he got off a couple of times and felt all soft and appreciative of you. 

The mistake was Seungcheol texting you about hanging up when he was close. 

Again, it’s not like you were expecting him to ever call you back after two weeks of radio silence, better yet in the midst of Vernon doing what he did best. 

You could argue that answering the phone at all was a bad idea, and you have no excuse for that, but at least Seungcheol got a little competitive when you explained why the phone was hung up, and who hung up on him. 

“So, you’re not the one who hung up on me?” Seungcheol asks in a slightly annoyed voice. “Anyone could see that you were enjoying yourself as much as I was.”

“Well–”

“Was he afraid I’d get you off first without so much as being in the room?”

“I just think that he–” 

“Does he want you all to himself or?”

“Seungcheol,” You raise your voice a bit, looking around the room and confirming that Vernon has definitely already left. 

Given, Seungcheol called like fourteen times in the span of finishing up your respective orgasms with the messy boy, you weren’t shocked that he answered on the first ring when you called him back.

“What? I’m right.”

“Well, no. You’re not actually.” You respond, rolling your eyes. “Vernon didn’t even know it was someone I fucked until after he hung up on you. He doesn’t want me all to himself, and he definitely wasn’t afraid you’d get me off first.”

Silence.

“You haven’t shown interest since the first and only time we met up, i’m a little confused as to why you’re spamming my phone like some weirdo.” You trail off a bit, and he speaks. 

“Um, because I’m horny?” He answers nonchalantly. “You can’t say you haven’t thought about seeing me again.”

“I can say that, actually. But I wouldn't entirely be opposed to it if you stop trying to go to war with the other people I see.”

“To be fair, I wasn’t competitive until now. You have to admit it’s kind of fun–”

“Yeah. I can admit that.”

More silence for a moment before you hear shuffling on your end. 

“So, were those moans for him or for me?”

You pause, a cheeky smile forming on your lips. It’s not normal for your fuck buddies to know about each other outside of being aware that the other exists, but, like, you don’t know. It was really hot to hear Seungcheol groaning and fucking his fist while Vernon was doing his thing on you. 

“Both of you.”

Seungcheol hums, pleased. 

“I’ll have to try harder next time then, make you forget he’s even touching you.”

“Next time?” You laugh, yawning out the post-orgasm drowsiness. 

“Or you can just come over, we both know you wouldn’t need us both to feel that good.” 

A direct hit to the confidence you just gagged yourself to give back to Vernon. You will never tell him about the competition that seems to be boiling up with Seungcheol, after all, there’s a reason Vernon is number one, and Seungcheol is only just now becoming a face you’ll see more than once.

“I didn’t realize how confident you are about that, is that a promise?”

“Also a threat.” He laughs, seemingly finished with the conversation before letting out a sigh. “I’ll call you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you will.”

~

Man, did he fucking call. A lot. Usually too late into the night or too early into the morning for you to be aware and aware of his need to get off. Does he ever sleep, actually? 

This time though, it’s around ten at night when you get his call and you pick it up for him happily.

“Finally, you call when I’m awake.” 

A breathy chuckle. 

“You gonna come over or are you just gonna argue?” 

You’re going over, fucking obviously. Like, lightening speed going over because even though you’ve only been with him once, you can remember how good he made it feel for you. 

“I’ll text when I get there,” You start, narrowing your eyes at yourself in the mirror. “You’re not gonna make me call him while I’m with you, right?”

“I might.” He says, and you can practically hear that fucking grin on his face.

“I’m not doing that.”

Another breathy fucking chuckle. 

“Did you forget last time? Felt so good I think you would’ve burned a building down if I asked you to.”

That’s fair, but also incredibly unfair for him to bring up. 

“You’re so annoying.” You say, shaking your head and slipping on your shoes. 

“Well, you’re the one on your way to come sit on me, so…”

Again, that’s fair, but it doesn’t stop you from hanging up on him, and him sitting in his room laughing about how much you very clearly want to see him again, but seem to love arguing. 

By the time you get there, he’s ready, Like, so fucking ready. Between reminding himself of how you looked the only time he’s ever been between your legs, to the way you sounded through a muffled speaker while some loser-ass dude was eating you out– yeah, that got to him in so many ways. The fact that you answered the phone while it was happening was one thing, an incredibly hot thing, but the fact that you answered for him at all after so long of no contact was another. 

It’s not like he forgot about you or anything, it’s just that maybe on that night his first option was busy, and so was his second option, and you, his third option, was very busy but still let him in on the pleasure you were feeling. 

Maybe, just maybe, you set yourself up to become his number one that night. He had to get with you again. Possibly to prove to himself that he could be your number one choice too, but mostly because the way you talk to him is fun.

It’s about sex most of the time, if any of your few conversations are to go by, but all of this makes him wonder how you act when you’re not horny. Not that it matters or anything, but still. You’re an interesting lay, and he’s excited to see you again. 

Either way, when you land those little knocks on his door and he rushes to open it. It’s almost like he entirely forgot what you looked like. You look insanely attractive right now to him, to the point that it’s a struggle to even step back and let you in through his door. It’s hard for him not to use his strength against you, rushing forward and making you sigh out his name against the plush grass on his lawn. 

Self control is something he was always proud of, and fuck you for ripping that away from him by so much as fucking other people and still showing up on his porch to let him have his turn. 

You look up at him, noting the way his hair falls in his face and his arms flex as he grips the door knob tightly upon seeing you. 

“Why do you look so fucking good right now?” He blurts, staring at you. 

“Probably because you’re horny?” You smile, taking a step forward and shoving past him without issue or resistance. 

That little shove though. Damn, his skin is on fire just from feeling your fingers pressed against his chest to move him out of your way. Probably because you’re moving him so you can get inside and be fucked. He senses eagerness in your own charade of calmness, turning to watch you bend over to slip off your shoes. 

“Go ahead and take the rest off too, while you’re at it.” He finally says, closing the door and leaning against the frame as he crosses his arms.

You look back at him with a chuckle, your eyes trailing down and noting the size of that thing in his pants. What, the, fuck. You actually managed to forget that you nearly had to do breathing exercises the last time he slid his cock into you. It’s not even an issue, because you really did love to feel as full as he made you. You’re just shocked that you let that slip your fucking mind. 

“Jesus,” You sigh, standing up straight and kicking your shoes out of the way. This time you reach for the hem of your shirt as you walk to him, lifting it above your head and discarding it on the floor as well. “Did you get bigger, or?” You add, instantly grabbing his length beneath his loose sweat pants and gripping it.

The way you nearly see his eyes cross makes you smile wider as you massage him there for a moment. 

“I’ll go ahead and let you think that,” He smiles after the feeling of your hand on him settles within his aroused gut. “Miss me?” He whispers now, pushing his hips forward against your hand so you can feel it twitch in your palm. 

You’d say no, because there wasn’t much to miss outside of the sex, which you were getting elsewhere. But, seeing him now, yeah, you think you’ll at least miss him once you go home.

He notes your small nod before stepping up closer. His chest is right up against you as he looks down at you, eyes fanning over your face and realizing that this time, he’s really going to fuck you. Like, he’s going to give it his all, if anything, just to become your favorite. 

“Come on then,” He smiles, reaching for your hand and pulling it away from himself before guiding you to the room you’ve already been in once before.

It’s the exact same as it was save for different sheets, but your stomach bubbles more than it did that time with him. 

The removal of clothes is quick and mostly unnnoticed, if anything it was just an annoyance to get that part out of the way. 

And then, he’s doing what he does best, sitting back against his headboard, spreading his legs, and patting the bed between them. You’d assume he wants head but no. No, no. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling your back right up against his chest as he rests his chin on your shoulder. 

You feel his hands trail down, no teasing, no playing around. He goes straight to your clit and uses his other hand to spread one of your legs wide open. 

“Did his tongue do this?” He asks, swirling two fingers around your clit before sliding them up and down your folds.

You’re not surprised that he’s playing off of the Vernon thing, so you play along too. Feeling his fingers work their magic on you as you lean your head back on his shoulder and continue to listen to him talk. 

“Was he eager for it? Grabbing your legs and drooling all over himself?”

You hum out of approval at his words, because you damn right that’s what Vernon does and he’s fucking good at it too. 

“I fucking bet he was,” Seungcheol sighs softly against your neck, leaving a warm spot from his breath as he continues to slip his fingers up and down your pussy. He does this for a while, remaining silent and only listening to how wet you get, how swollen your clit becomes. “Did you get this wet for him too?” 

You nod again, relishing in the experience of his slow fingers working their magic on you, but then his fingers stop right at your clit and he shifts behind you. 

“Can’t have that.” He says, pushing his hips against your back and sliding his fingers down, plunging two of them into you in one go while holding you there against him. 

It’s not the feeling of his fingers that turns you on in that moment, it’s the speed of which he plunges them into you and the direct denial of you being just as wet for someone else. Why? You don’t know, but the dynamic is fun considering there is no strings attached at the end of the day, and if he wants to compete in terms of turning you on, you’re more than willing to participate in such an act. 

You can feel his effort with the way he curls his fingers, searching for that spot inside of you that Vernon finds with ease considering how many times he’s been inside of you. Seungcheol, only having touched you once before this, never expected to need your pleasure before his own until now. 

He watches from behind you. A little tremble of the legs, a small moan– he needs your body to react now as he continues to rub his fingers inside of you. And then, right there he feels you squeeze your legs around his hand, your own hands shooting to his wrist as if to still his movements. 

“That it?” He smiles, now putting more force behind what his fingers are doing and rendering you near useless as he continues to work you up. “Didn’t know you would be so sensitive here, listen to it, you’re dripping now.”

He’s going on his little ego boost, enjoying himself, as you sit against him and practically spiral into a world of sex-crazed sensitivity. His fingers hit that spot each time, causing your belly to sear with a burn of pleasure that you can’t help but shake and tremble at the feeling. He’s right, you’re dripping. You can feel it run down your ass, you can feel it against his sheets when you try to lift up for more, only to try and run away from it a moment later. 

And then, there comes the sounds. 

There is no clit stimulation to be had here, and you’re shocked at our your body forces sounds out of you. You could hold your breath, but the sound would only come out even more desperate as his never once stutters in pace.

And by the time he can feel your legs swing open, offering him full reign of your pussy, he straightens out his fingers and fucks them so deeply into you that you’re actually sighing from relief. No words can explain how good it feels, so you don’t try. 

“Come on,” He says between the sounds of his palm hitting your pussy with each inward fuck, “listen to how wet I’m making you.” 

You couldn’t avoid listening even if you wanted to, the sound squelching against the walls. You’re embarrassingly wet, except you’re not embarrassed at all. He’s doing exactly what he intended to do. The only thing is, you didn’t exactly see Seungcheol as the type to ask you to listen to your own sounds, reminding you that they’re for him. Asking you to admit it through more of those sounds, through more of that arousal dripping out of you.

You’ll never forgive yourself for letting him go that two weeks without calling you. 

“You want me to like you more so bad,” You manage to say in a snide way, despite the moan that comes out after. “What about you? You gonna go another two weeks without doing this to me? Giving it to someone else just to boost your ego?”

The way his fingers halt all movements and his cock twitches against your back at those cocky little words. God, you’re just like him. Perfect.

“Why, you want me to call you the next time someone goes down on me so you can make sure I don’t moan as good as I would with you?”

“Maybe,” You smile, fucking your hips forward on his fingers. “Seems to me like you’re into that, anyway.” 

“I am now.” He says, watching the way you fuck yourself against his fingers without shame or embarrassment.

Why wouldn’t you be his number one anyway? 

“Fuck, look at you.” He groans, feeling your back moving against his cock all while chasing the pleasure of his fingers. “You want to be filled so bad.”

Damn right you do. 

“Yeah?” He asks to your silence, taking back over with his fingers for a brief moment before pulling them out and loving how it still drips down his palm. 

You nod silently, letting your legs relax and fall open wide as he shifts behind you. You can feel his hands rub against your waist and urge you to lift. Instantly, you do, because again, you definitely want to be filled up by now, and he’s looking like the best person for the job. 

On your knees, you practically let yourself fall forward so that you can present yourself to him. Face down, ass up. He loves it, quickly grabbing a pillow from behind him and nudging you with it. 

You accept the kind offer and a pillow before he, ultimately, will fuck you into the next dimension. And that’s exactly what he intends to do. 

You’re so wet by now that he can see your pussy pulsing when he grabs his length in his hand, wincing at the sensitivity and ignoring how pathetically heavy it feels in his hand. He knows the relief he’s about to get is going to him him like a ton of fucking bricks, and he doesn’t care. This is the point of seeing you again, after all.

Once again, you forgot. The head of his cock slips between your folds and instantly you’re sighing out of relief and panic. Surely you’re wet enough that the slide will be easier than it was last time. Surely you can handle this.

Except you can’t. At least not immediately. 

He slides in about two inches before he feels your body go frigid. He lands a soothing palm against your lower back when he pauses, struggling not to slam into you all at once. 

“Relax–” He comments, out of breath himself and rubbing your lower back even more. 

He feels the walls of your pussy clench, and clench, and fucking clench, until finally it relaxes around him.

“There you go,” He smirks from behind you, pressing in a bit more and releasing a moan at the way you tense up again. His cock wildly twitches as your pussy hugs only half of his length. Your moan comes out whiny, and he watches the way you bury your face into the pillow. 

He rubs again against your back, encouraging you to relax.

“You can take it,” He says sweetly, pushing past the way you clench around him and pressing in further. “you’ve done it before.” He continues, listening to you pant into his pillow and resist the urge to pull away from him. 

“Goddamn, so good.” He compliments you upon bottoming out. He can feel your body adjust to him and it’s entirely overstimulating, still, he pushes past the feeling and holds himself in place. “Taking all of it like this, shit.”

He struggles not to call you pet names at this moment, opting instead to continue that massage against your lower back until your walls unclench and ultimately, move yourself against him. The moan he lets out this time is ungodly, and it’s like that one movement from you unleashes his control and in an instant he’s pulling out and slamming back in again.

The room that was just small pants and moans has now become that of the sound of slapping, moaning, and practically crying out of pleasure. 

You can’t help the feeling inside of you, a specific type of feral that drives you to meet his hips each time he fucks in, and moan each time his cock hits that same spot his fingers were toying with earlier. That hand on your back helps none by now, as you continuously feel yourself be stretched open by him.

He fucks so deeply, so roughly, and you can’t help but love the difference now between him and Vernon. Which, yeah, Vernon is great with his cock but you’re usually the one riding him to high hell. Seungcheol is really giving it to you right now, making sure you feel every inch, every twitch, every goddamn vein that pulses against your g-spot. 

You really can’t help it, when you lift up entirely, forcing that hand on your back to wrap around your middle, up until that same hand grips your tit and he’s sinking lower on his knees to fuck up inside of you. 

You stay like that, reaching your arms behind him and pulling his head forward, up against your ear as your entire body shakes at each thrust. There, he talks, and he talks, and he doesn’t fucking shut up. You don’t want him to.

His voice is raspy, out of breath, and super deep. It wasn’t like this the first time you fucked him, and maybe that’s because neither of you felt entirely too desperate for the other. Right now though? With him pleading for you to bend back over, but still holding you tightly against his chest? You know it’s because it slows his pace down, and he wants to fuck hard right now. 

“No,” You smile through a moan as he slides in and out of you. “I can feel it more like this.”

That alone is enough for him. He wants you to feel all of him. He wants you to be the one calling when you’re horny. 

“Call him,” Seungcheol rasps out, not once stuttering his pace as he continues to plunge himself deep into you. “It’s only fair.”

And you know, if your phone wasn’t across the room with the rest of your clothes, maybe you would.

~

[alloftheimaginesblog]

breakfast {peter parker}

been going through my inbox to see what old messages/requests inspire me

prompt: “I can't get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you're having breakfast with me in my sweater.”

character: peter parker tasm x reader

The sun warmed your bare leg which had escaped from under the duvet early that morning as you gradually began to wake up. You could hear the muffled noise of the usual New York traffic from the open window, a sound you'd learned to drone out, and as you began to stir, you snuggled in closer to the warmth which was that of Peter Parker.

Upon you snuggling into him, he himself began to stir and wake up, eyes struggling to adjust to the brightness as he opened them, peering down at you confused before he realised the events of the previous night. He smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead as he mumbled a sleepy greeting to you.

"G'morning," you said back through a yawn. Nerves and excitement bubbled together in your stomach as you fully woke up. It had been the first time you'd stayed at Peter's apartment. The two of you had been dating for the last few weeks and last night, you... well, sealed the deal.

He let you shower first as he prepared breakfast. Eggs, toast, beans, bacon and mushrooms. You'd been in his apartment before, he'd made you dinner here, but not like this. You'd never got to use his vanilla body wash; never got to feel his soft towels on your skin, never got to use his toothpaste. It was all rather intimate.

Peter had thought of the issue at hand before you did. When you walked out of the en-suite to his bedroom, you realised that you didn't have a fresh set of clothes to wear but Peter had sorted you something. On the bed lay a large ESU hoodie and a pair of boxer shorts.

I've put your clothes in the washing, they'll be ready in an hour or so, in the mean time here's some of mine to keep you warm. Making breakfast - P :)

You smiled widely as you pocketed the note, you liked to have little keepsakes like that, and you changed into his clothes. They were too big for you but you loved the comfort of them. They smelled like your favourite cologne he owned.

When you walked out, Peter brandished two plates full of food, "Just in time." You sat at the breakfast bar, tucking into your food. You hadn't realised how hungry you were until you smelled the food in front of you and then all of a sudden, you were ravenous. Peter watched you with a smile, "I can't get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you're having breakfast with me in my sweater."

You looked up at him, mouth full and smiling, and Peter's heart grew three sizes. He loved that even though this was your first official sleepover, you were already comfortable with him, you didn't mind sitting wearing his jumper, hair messy and eyes tired. He loved that you didn't mind eating in front of him and you didn't mind to show that you liked to eat. You swallowed your mouthful and said, "Remember how nervous you were to ask me out?" Your voice was teasing and Peter rolled his eyes with a laugh as he sipped at his coffee.

"Best decision I ever made though," he told you truthfully, "now I have a pretty girlfriend."

You spluttered at the word, "Girlfriend?" As far as you knew, it wasn't official yet. He hadn't asked and you didn't want to just assume. You were shocked that he'd said it but not because you didn't want it, you did. You wanted to be his girlfriend, you wanted to be exclusive and hear he was just throwing the word around without you knowing.

Peter's face blanched, "Shit, sorry, I- I didn't - it's too soon, isn't it? I just- shit."

Realising he'd taken you the wrong way, you shook your head, "No, no, Pete!" You had to yell over him for him to stop the quick excuses, "I didn't mean that to be bad, I was shocked, that's all."

He released a breath, "Oh, good." There was a pregnant pause before he spoke again, "So... you want to be my girlfriend?" Here he was, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, and he was bloody nervous over asking you to be his girlfriend.

You grinned, "Of course I do, Pete," you nodded, "I have a boyfriend." The giggle that you let out was the most adorable thing that Peter had ever heard before and all of a sudden, he was taken over by a rather animal urge. He pushed your plate away, pulling you off of the stool you sat on, "What are you-"

He kissed you hard and you knew exactly where this was going, "Last night, we weren't together. Now, you're my girlfriend. I say we need to celebrate that," he murmured against your lips as he navigated the two of you backwards and back to the bedroom.

So far being Peter Parker's girlfriend was a phenomenal experience.

[tugoslovenka]

Safehaven

Summary: You have felt a little insecure in your situationship with Halsin as of late. Fortunately, the druid seems to have taken notice—and takes some steps in consoling your fears and self-consciousness.

A/N: I just want to say this was something of a self-comfort fic. I don’t often see plus size/fat bodies in these fics (I’m responsible for doing the same in all of my work too) and I felt like making active efforts in remedying that. Especially when it comes to Halsin. With that said, obviously don’t take this as anything other than an exercise in writing something different. All bodies are beautiful, I just want fat ones to be more represented in fiction sometimes.

This is also my first time writing in second person and I must say, it’s very unnatural for me to do so. But I hope it at least tickled someone’s pickle.

Also available on AO3!

The tent was haphazardly made. Having lived in Baldur’s Gate for most of your life, nature was not where you felt most comfortable. Although, this entire adventure has been an exercise in understanding yourself ever since the Nautiloid crash a couple of weeks ago. Sometimes you felt utterly useless, having to trek through some of the rougher parts of this strange land. Other times, you felt strong—a leader, even, among your companions. It was an odd feeling, stepping in to mediate a confrontation, consoling others or simply having others come to you for advice.

The anonymity brought upon by the abduction slowly turned into a journey of self-discovery. Baldur’s Gate was too big a city to truly achieve the passions you wanted to. But out here, in the middle of nowhere, with strangers who are equally as confused as you, it’s different.

You’re different.

The shadow looming over you brings you back to the sound of crackling fires and whetstone against metal. In tattered leathers, Halsin stands, a hand outstretched towards you.

“Yes?” you ask, following the bulging veins on his arm until you note some of the scarring on his shoulder from today’s goblin encounter. Your eyes quickly divert to meet his—warm brown, with a speckle of ember that almost glows at night.

“Where have your thoughts leapt?” He cocks his head to one side, observing you with care. The druid had an uncanny ability to sense your discomfort from a mile away. You sometimes wondered if he had an infinite supply of Potions of Mind Reading, topping up each hour just to ensure he was inside your head at all times.

“Oh?” you quip, hugging your own body in response. “It’s been a long day, I suppose.”

He kneels down, blocking most of the light from the campfire. With elbows resting on his thighs, he continues to stare. Instinctively, you raise your knees until most of your body is covered. You wrap your arms around them, placing your chin in between. His eyes simply follow your movements.

“Is that all?” He turns his hand until his palm faces you, offering it in case you felt the need to hold it. You always did, but embarrassment or pride often had the last word in the conundrum of comfort.

Halsin never pushed you to share more than you were willing to, and so very quickly, he retracts his hand. The air is particularly chilly tonight, and even though you handle the cold better than most, the goosebumps spreading on your skin prompt you to involuntarily shake when a gust of wind passes by.

“I do not mean this to offend you, but your tent is…” he trails off, looking at the deflated fabric that could serve as a second blanket if need be. “... Not very—”

“—It’s shit, I’m aware,” you chuckle, letting out a yawn when you feel the shakes come again.

Halsin smiles. Almost immediately, you grin back at him. There is something so captivating about the wrinkles on the sides of his face showing each time he is chuffed with your comments. He would call them ‘direct’ even though you knew he probably meant rude. Not that he would allow himself to say so.

“I was going to say not very safe,” he corrects. “I can feel a storm brewing below my feet. If it encourages the bunnies to burrow, then I imagine it will not be pleasant.”

“After all this, dying from drowning by rainfall sounds rather embarrassing.” Your hands begin to rub your shoulders in an effort to raise your body temperature.

“I know we have both been rather busy as of late, but I do miss you, little one.”

Little one. Your teeth grit at the sound of it. It takes the willpower of a thousand suns to not bite off a chunk inside your cheek when he says it. The first time he did, it was following a particularly generous indulging of your cunt—when he refused to be serviced in return—and wrapped you in his arms instead. A thank you, he called it, for aiding him in the fight against his captors. The second time was after your face was painted in his seed, scorching hot like the anger he had for Kagha’s activities in the Grove. A kiss on the forehead followed. The third time was during a cuddle atop one of the particularly beautiful outlooks near the settlement—where he Wildshaped into a bear to keep you cushioned against the uncomfortable floor.

It was frustrating. Never have you felt so secure yet vulnerable with a person. At times, he made you feel like the most unique flower in a gardenia of preciousness, and yet he almost seemed frightened to touch you. You couldn’t remember the last time his touch was wanting, and it had been a month since your last indulgement.

“You certainly don’t act like it,” you murmur, scooting away until you felt your back hit the tent—or whatever was left of it.

Halsin’s eyes narrow. You have studied his expressions well enough to know this was his way of practicing his thoughts before he felt comfortable enough to speak out loud. He opens his mouth to utter a protest, but the loud cheers from Karlach interrupt him. You both turn to see the tiefling using a stick to gently pet over Scratch’s head, squealing in excitement when he drops a ball with a bark.

You take the time to disengage.

“Nevermind.” Standing, you pat away some of the dirt on your thighs and pull down your top, careful to pull at the bottom until it covers the bits you want it to. The druid is quick to follow, and you find yourself blocked by his giant frame as he looks down at you with concern.

“Come,” he instructs, limply pointing towards a direction away from the camp. “Follow me.”

“Halsin, it’s late and if this storm is—”

“Please.” 

You relent. With a groan, you lean down to pick up the giant blanket one of the tieflings knitted as a farewell present and wrap it around your front. Halsin is the first to move, occasionally looking back to check if you’re nearby. Once you’re far enough that the noise from camp turns distant is when his hand intertwines with yours, squeezing a few times to offer reassurance. 

Rolling your eyes would have been the appropriate response, were it not for the exhaustion you feel in fighting the inside voices and the man responsible for them.

The journey is spent in complete silence, though the tension in the air could be cut with a knife. It takes some time until you reach a nearby creek. Halsin lets go of your hand once you reach a spot he finds appropriate, but not before giving it a gentle kiss. He tells you he will take precaution in scoping the area for any threats. You take the time to sit on a nearby rock, curling the blanket until it covers every inch of your body save for your head.

It doesn't take long. The approaching footsteps catch your attention and you see the large druid return with a couple of branches. He kneels next to you, using some of the nearby rocks to create a campfire.

“I know you are upset with me,” he murmurs, striking two sharp stones against one another until sparks fly in the air. “But I wish to understand why.”

You sigh. “Halsin, is this the time?”

“I miss you,” he retorts, continuing to smash the pebbles more aggressively this time. “And I cannot bear this tension.”

“Tension?” you scoff. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“No, you are not.”

Another spark.

“And how would you know?”

“Because I know you.”

More sparks.

“Do you?”

“It would help if you allowed me to discern what troubles you.”

A flame. A small one, followed by smoke that quickly blows in the wind. Halsin finally turns to you, one knee on the ground as he rests his body weight on one hand.

“Do I trouble you?” you challenge, gently rocking your knee in frustration.

His expression softens. “What?”

“It does seem practiced for you to whisk me away somewhere where no one else can see us any time you want to show me affection,” you snap. “I wonder if I’m the trouble here.”

Halsin shakes his head. The fire next to him begins growing until you feel a wave of heat in your direction.

“You are… anything but. What would make you say that?”

You shrug, pressing your lips together. Either he was rather oblivious at his actions, or just well-rehearsed in the responses he typically gave. You see him searching your eyes, darting left and right as though they would give him the sense he sought for.

“When was the last time you touched me in front of everyone?” you ask, voice lowering barely above a whisper. “When was the last time you touched me with purpose?”

“My heart, you misunderstand,” he responds, inching closer until you can smell the salt and earth his body carries. “My lack of affections have nothing to do with you, but with—with… well, me.”

Another excuse. One that you’ve heard many times before.

“Of course,” you scoff, turning your gaze to the creak nearby.

He reaches through the blanket until you can feel his hand tightening around yours. “Look at me.” 

You do so, reluctantly.

“I have lived for many years. I have taken many lovers. You are not some conquest I keep on a tab of many. I have—the shadow curse, it has been preoccupying my daydreams and nightmares. It has nothing to do with you.”

Your eyes narrow. “Then why come to me in the first place?”

He takes a few minutes before answering. “Passion. Attraction. Long lonely nights that needed—”

“—So that’s the reason. You needed a quick release.”

“No,” he quickly interrupts. “You are much more than a passionate night. But that’s precisely why I don’t wish to rush this. I don’t want you to have the wrong idea.”

“And what idea is that?” you arch an eyebrow.

“That somehow you are a quick solution for my frustrations. Yes, I am lonely and I have been, ever since I’ve had the Grove responsibilities thrust upon me. And yes, you have ignited a spark within me that threatens to explode into a wildfire.” Halsin’s thumb begins circling your hand. “But you are also wonderful. I can hear you speak about your love of painting until I grow old. I can watch you playing with those tiefling children until my eyes wet with tears. I can’t bear to see you fight, because my heart tears each time I see another scar on your body.” 

You search his eyes for deceit, the corners of which begin to sparkle in the dim moonlight. He curls his hand until it’s holding yours tightly, while his other reaches to touch the side of your face. You’ve always compared the rough skin on his palm to tree bark, and you would have melted into his touch were it not for the many questions you felt necessary to ask.

“It has nothing to do with the others or with you. I would happily cradle you in my arms each day, professing my adoration for you the moment the sun’s rays illuminate the skies until it dims down to the blackness of night. And I apologize that I have not done that.” His thumb rubs small circles on your cheek as he speaks, making sure to stare at you as though speaking to your soul.

“Do you mean that?”

“I do.” He tugs on your hand until you allow him to pull it towards his lips. He gives a gentle kiss on your knuckles, leaning his cheek against them. “I was not aware you wished it of me.”

You shake your head. “Much more than that, Halsin. I want you to crave me,” you profess. “I sometimes feel like you’re not willing to take the extra step. It’s as though you pull back from me when I need you most.”

He nods. “I do, but that’s mostly to contain myself. I may be an old bear, but there are some parts of me that I cannot fully control. I don’t wish to cause you any harm should it come to it. I am especially prone to outbursts at this time, given the circumstances.”

You pause. Halsin has sometimes spoken of his drawbacks—the side he’s not proud of as he would say—of being a druid. His Wildshape afforded him many conveniences, though even you have seen the yellow glow of his eyes at the height of his emotions. You didn’t mind it. In fact, you often had to squeeze your legs together to suppress the gushing need that rose from there at the very thought of it.

“Alright…” you trail off, forming a fist with your free hand, letting the anxiety rest there. “I suppose I’m not used to this. I more so felt you had changed your mind—didn’t find what you were expecting.”

“What do you mean?”

You nod towards your body in gesture. It takes him a short while before he understands the meaning, and quickly reaches to rest both hands against your cheeks. He shakes his head. “No. Never. You are important to me, attractive to me, as you are. What a privilege I have been bestowed upon, having mattered to you this much.”

With some apprehension, Halsin begins tugging at the large fur that covers most of your body. It easily slips down, allowing him full view of your frame, curled against yourself. He reaches forward, touching your neck first, dragging a finger from your chin until he reaches the shirt that covers the valley between your breasts.

“All of you—your softness, your plumpness, your swell,” he mutters, leaning until you feel the surprisingly soft lips against your skin. He inhales deeply, lips hovering over your left breast. “It does not matter. I love every bit of it.” Taking a hand, he reaches in the spot between your waist and hips, squeezing delicately. Instinctively, you jump at the discomfort, but he quickly stills you.

“Halsin, you don’t have to say any of this.” The nervous chuckle betrays you when your hand grabs his in an effort to move it aside. To this, he only hums. Before you have time to react, both hands tear the front of your shirt until your upper body is exposed to the elements. The same slow instincts fail to cover it, because his hands have tightened around your wrists before you can do so.

“Besides,” he continues, easily holding you down when you try to move your hands away. “Your voluptuousness makes for a greater resting place for all the seed I’m going to spill on account of this night.” 

Immediately, you stop fidgeting. Blinking a few times, it takes a moment for your brain to understand what your ears have perceived. The druid takes the opportunity to lean forward and take one of your breasts in his mouth. The contact makes you hiss, and still, you are unable to move from his grip. Instead, you moan, not caring for the loudness. His tongue has always been exceptionally good at weakening you. You can feel him twirl it around your nipple, followed by a light teething that prompts you to buck your hips forward.

“Halsin,” you moan, attempting to release from his hold for a second time. Fluttering your eyes closed, you lean back until you feel the tree trunk against your shoulder blades. He follows, not allowing you a moment of peace as he swirls his tongue over your hard nipple. Biting down, he begins suckling at the soft skin when you attempt to close your legs together to satisfy the ache between them.

With a pop, he releases your nipple, cheek resting against the skin as he looks up at you.

“Would you like that?” he wonders, a gentle bucking of his hips making it evident he too was seeking friction. “For me to show you how much I truly crave you?”

You bite your lip in response, hard enough that the metallic taste starts swirling somewhere inside your mouth. Nodding slowly, you attempt to tug away once again, and this time the druid allows it. With newfound freedom of movement, your hands find themselves fisting his messy hair when you propel yourself forward, landing on your knees and capturing his lips in yours. He is solid as stone, unmoving when you do so, and only grunts when your tongues find each other.

Hands begin roaming—his, yours—over soft and hardened bits, frantically looking for somewhere to rest, to hold. Halsin’s are particularly active, first finding your hair, then your cheeks, then your shoulders, then your hips, before finally resting at the front of your belly. You cringe and suck in air on impulse—habit. It only makes him squeeze harder.

“This is the body I have adored since the first time you granted me permission to touch it,” he growls, pulling away from your heated kisses. “I have hungered for every inch of you. Through sleepless nights and anxiety-ridden trips, I have grown to know this is what I want.”

Responding in full sentences is not an option. Not when he dips his head, trailing kisses along your belly, on the folds that he so carefully grabs hold of with one hand—while the other pushes itself through the confines of your trousers to find your soaking nub. Delightful cries escape your lips when he begins circling his fingers, putting enough pressure until your eyes roll in the back of your head from the feeling.

“The stream of pleasures you produce, I will lap like an animal starved,” he coos, free hand pushing you to sink lower, until he has enough space to lodge himself between your legs. “Then I will fuck you until you are mute from screaming. Are you content with that, my heart?”

Gods above and below, you think. You can only nod, and you do so, rather vigorously. The chuckle that escapes his lips seems to contend him for now, and so he momentarily leaves your aching clit to help free you from the confines of fabric. Resting slanted, partway exhausted and panting could not have been a sight to behold, but Halsin’s bulge spoke differently.  

“Please…” you beg.

“No need to beg,” he comments before standing up, hands finding the belt on his pants until they release the cock that bounces lightly against his stomach. “There is nowhere I would rather be than inside you.”

The very thought of having him rut into you was an occupying thought during most evenings. And despite the bruises your throat suffered for days the last time you attempted to take him fully, the gush of wetness sounds the night at the thought of your cunt choking it.

“Spread your legs,” he instructs. “I need to see you.”

You sit up, carefully aligning your backside until you are able to find a somewhat pleasant spot to rest against. Halsin’s hand reaches for his throbbing member, where you spot a bead of pre-cum forming at the tip. He uses his thumb to spread it across his head, letting out a low groan as he does so. Needing no further encouragement, you spread your legs per his command, carefully analyzing his features and how they soften when you present yourself to him.

“Praise Silvanus,” he says, almost to himself. “How beautiful you are.”

Following his line of sight, you look down to see the mess that you have become. Glistening in the fire and moonlight, there is a trail of wetness that begins at your drooling hole, leading in both directions of your thighs. The druid clears his throat, and when you gaze up, you see the faintest glimmer of yellow light leave his eyes as he shakes his head. Letting go of his member, he drops down on his knees in front of you, staring at your pulsating cunt.

The heart that threatens to escape your chest follows the same rhythm between your legs. It’s craving to be touched—to be adored—and as though listening to your thoughts, Halsin leans in to give a soft kiss to your right thigh. Then your left. You look down to meet his eyes, as he meticulously drags his tongue where his lips first kiss, with enough hunger in his eyes to make you audibly moan at the sight.

 “I thought,” you gasp when he bites at your inner thigh. “I thought you said I wouldn’t have to beg.”

“No, but I will indulge in this for as long as I can,” he responds, scattering kisses in painstakingly slow fashion at the soft flesh of your thighs. He uses both hands to hold them, and with no effort on his part, sinks you lower on the stone until you are halfway lying down on your back. With legs in the air, he takes his time to study you.

You can see his hips moving rhythmically despite the control he attempts to assert, as though urging him forward. Still, he takes one hand to glide over your stomach, moving lower until it finally meets your center. You immediately hiss, pushing your head against the rock at the gentleness he offers. With two fingertips, he begins circling your clit again, while his other hand holds your leg in the air for support. 

“How warm you are,” he says, picking up the pace once he finds you are able to squirm too much for his liking. You push your pelvis forward, needing more friction. “How much warmer you will be when I spill all of myself into you until morning comes.”

Intelligent thought leaves your senses the more he speaks, you writhe and moan like a wanton sinner. This seems to please him, and so with no real warning, he slides not one but two fingers inside you. Your head raises to look between your legs, but you are met with the druid’s intense stare as he leans in to kiss your neck.

Closing your eyes, you allow yourself to indulge in the explosions that are firing inside your head. His teeth find their mark at your throat and he begins sucking away while his fingers pump in and out continuously, the heel of his palm slapping against your slickness with each thrust. You don’t notice when, but his other hand has found your nipple, carefully pulling at it to elicit a scream loud enough to be heard in Baldur’s Gate.

“Halsin!” you moan, incapable of saying anything else at the intensity of his ministrations. He smiles against the nape of your neck, biting before moving to kiss your lips instead. Your tongues battle—indulge—in one another’s mouths as he continues this delicious assault on your senses.

He breaks the kiss suddenly, resting his forehead against yours. You whine when he pulls his fingers out of you, noting the considerable lack of fullness he has provided.

“I need to prepare you for me,” he sighs, hands reaching out to his throbbing member once again. He lets out a moan when his soaked hand begins pumping the tip, where you now see a considerable dollop of pre-cum mixing with your juices. “Do you think you can handle three of my fingers, little one?”

His fingers were particularly attractive to you. The way he would whittle with enough dexterity to preplex you. The grip he held his staff with each time he would cast a spell. The roughness contrasting your soft skin any time he would touch any part of you. Though, he had a particular love of stuffing you with them, as you have come to find.

The beads of sweat forming at your temples coupled with the messy hair and half-opened eyelids was enough to define you as fuckdrunk, that you were sure of. Even still, you steel your will enough to nod in his direction.

“Is that a yes?” he muses, fingertips finding your clit once again.

Proud bastard, you think. Smacking your lips, you utter a simple, ‘yes’. It’s barely a whisper and you think he doesn’t register it, but quickly find out his movements are much faster than your reflexes. Three fingers push themselves inside you, and a thumb finds your clit as he continues to stretch you to what seems like impossibility. 

“Sing for me,” he sighs. “I want the spirits in these forests to awaken to the sounds of your pleasure.”

“I need you inside of me,” you mutter, mustering up enough strength to look at him again. “I want you inside of me.”

“Soon,” he assures, quickening his pace until you feel the familiar pressure pooling at your entrance. “I need you to let go first.” As though compelled to, your body releases, all manner of reason escaping you as your screams are carried by the wind of the woods. Legs trembling, you lose control of every limb as you pant, completely encased by a coating of fulfillment you thought long gone.

Halsin only watches you, whispering something your ears do not pick up. A faint buzzing interrupts all manner of sound as you relax your body until he’s able to catch you in his arms before you land on the ground. The firmness of his chest greets your cheek, where you are able to pick up his racing heartbeat.

“Are you spent for tonight?” he asks, hand sliding up your back until it reaches the back of your head.

Quickly, you shake your head. “No. I’m just… I didn’t expect this, is all,” you confess. He hums in approval, and positions you atop his thigh while still kneeling. Your leg bumps against his hardness and he hisses, praising the Oak Father’s blessings before turning to look at you.

“You’re pooling for me,” he smirks. “Had I known you were this eager, I would have done this long ago.”

In response, you begin grinding against the flexed muscle, grabbing hold of his bicep to steady your rhythm. It didn’t take long for the need to take hold, and you soon find yourself moaning as you continue moving against his thigh. You glance down to his cock, licking your lips at the sight of the dribble going down the shaft.

As though challenging him, he swiftly grabs hold of your waist, pushing you onto the cold ground with a soft thud. You lay there, blinking up at him. His hand caresses the curve of your body until it reaches your core. There, he spreads your lips apart, sighing approvingly when he hears the squelching sound of your desire for him. Using a finger to trace your cunt, he lifts it to his lips and begins licking away without breaking eye contact. 

“So tender, so delicious…” he comments, sucking his own fingers until only his spit coats them.

You attempt to shimmy, feeling the stickiness of his cock meet your folds once you move closer to him. His head drops at the contact, a growl escaping his lips when he looks down.

“Can you take me, my heart?” he questions, grabbing his member and lining himself at your entrance.

You bite your lip, taking the moment to admire the beast of a man whose cock was prodding at your entrance—tapping with feather-light touches, enough to drive you to moan.

“Yes, please,” you beg again, searching for grace in his expression—the grace that would compel him to fuck you.

He pushes slowly, enough to give you the accommodation you know you will need. Once you feel him coating himself in you is when he finally moans—deeply—slamming a hand against the dirt to restrain himself. Halsin was thickest at the top, and his mushroom-like head felt as though it split through every fiber of your being even with caution. To say you were not expecting him to split you apart so early was an understatement, but when his hand finds your clit, your wincing turns into mewing as you attempt to swallow his every inch.

Taking the time to push and pull against his cock to the same rhythm of your breaths, you find that the druid has some trouble keeping calm.

“You are a tight little thing,” he chuckles. “Let me in. Open up for me.”

His instructions help you relax enough so he can guide his tip inside you. Once there, you let out a long exhale, suddenly aware of the sweat coating your body. The chills going up your spine are soon replaced by hot flashes once he hits a particularly delicious spot on your clit and you grab a hold of his wrist with both arms, keeping him where you most desire.

“I can feel you squeezing me,” he moans. “While I rather appreciate the snugness of this predicament, I would like to bury my seed deep inside you.”

To this, you only groan. Halsin uses his free hand to wrap around your throat, keeping himself steadied as he positions himself fully on top of you. With one more look, he slides himself deeper, and you wince at the size that is piercing through your core. He growls, tightening his grip on your throat as he attempts to exert some control through sheer willpower alone.

Your eyes roll in the back of your head when a second wave of pleasure coats your body, and you open your mouth to scream. No sound comes, but you feel yourself loosen up completely, giving Halsin the chance to push past until he is buried to the hilt.

The pain that you momentarily feel turns into bliss. You ride the orgasm, clutching onto his wrist as you pulsate on his cock, which only encourages him to push deeper—as though he could. Any further and he would surely be inside your guts. Every ridge, every vein, every curve on his member jabs at your insides, teasing every spot deep inside you—stretching and filling you until you may just burst.

He doesn’t dare move, not yet. He heaves, chest rising and falling as he waits for you to settle. You reach up, touching the fuzziness on his muscles, tracing your hand until it reaches the side of his face. He’s warmer than you know him to be, and you smile at him reassuringly when he gives you a questioning look.

He doesn’t continue.

Instead, you feel yourself being lifted from the ground, yelping as Halsin grabs a hold of you with one arm, positioning you so that you straddle his waist while the other rests against the curve of your ass, keeping you impaled on his cock. You find the prickliness of the tree hit your back and he settles you there before pulling out completely.

The loss of contact causes you to whimper. You look down, finding him slap his member against your folds, slowly pushing between the sensitive nerves, but not enough to enter.

The sound that escapes your lips is part frustration, part eagerness. The arm holding you up is firm, keeping you steadied with no effort whatsoever.

“You have no idea,” he sighs once he traps his tip between your folds. “How much I wish you rut into you. To fill you.”

“So do it,” you provoke, rolling your hips until you feel your entrance beginning to consume him. “I need you to cum inside of me.”

Halsin snarls and straightens you both, hitching you higher until he finds a comfortable spot. With one push, he settles inside you, slowly bouncing you—breasts jerking in tandem with his thrusts. You note his stare and fist his hair, pulling him forward until he captures a nipple into his mouth. Sucking away, you moan at the intensity building inside you for a third time.

Your clit feels sensitive, as though a bruise being rubbed continuously. The only reason your legs are managing to hold is because of his grip, otherwise you are certain they have gone numb. But Halsin shows no mercy, reddening the flesh with his love bites, creating a line until they reach your throat. You feel his fingertips digging into your skin, but whatever pain you will feel tomorrow is nothing in comparison to the euphoria that’s electrifying you. His thrusts become sloppy, hips hitting against yours as he mutters something incomprehensible.

“Take me,” he commands.

Two strokes.

“All of me.”

Three more strokes.

“By the Oak—”

He doesn’t finish his words. A gushing of hotness overwhelms your cunt, as thick, spurts of cum cover your insides. You feel it hitting your most sensitive parts, coating you until you feel the urge to also release. He slams a hand next to you when he stills, bursting with enough seed that you feel certain would plug you entirely. Glancing where his cock meets your core, you see some of it spill out, dropping on the mud between the druid’s legs.

Halsin leans forward until your foreheads touch once again, heaving from the exhaustion that surely has taken hold by now. You push against him, encouraging him to move and allow you room to land on your feet—or at least try to. With a wobble, you balance, spreading your legs until you’re certain you won’t topple over.

The looming figure in front of you suddenly lowers, and you watch him kneel between your legs, focusing intently on your stomach. He presses a kiss there, before saying, “This is good, but not exactly what I had in mind,” he taps against the softness. “I need to fill your belly until it swells completely, full of my cum.”

A shiver runs up your spine. With a finger, he reaches for your entrance, as though examining you. He tuts. “It seems I have my work cut out for me, little one,” he laughs. “Keeping you stuffed is what I intend to do for the rest of our nights together.”

[ataraxiaspainting]

Cupid.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Synopsis: No matter how much soap is used up, even when the bars are all dissolved in the bathwater and the bottles are empty, you know that from now on all you will be is dirty. You will never be clean again. Never.

Warnings: Yandere themes, heavily implied non-con, past violence, manipulation, and kidnapping.

Word Count: 1k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Memoir #02 [06.12.09] by Maria Pseftoga (feat. May Roosevelt)

I Can’t Handle Change by Roar

A Burning Hill by Mitski

No Surprises by Radiohead

A Pearl by Mitski

Liquid Smooth by Mitski

Six Forty Seven by Instupendo

I Love You Like An Alcoholic by The Taxpayers

Bumblebees Are Out by Jack Stauber’s Micropop

Bathtub by The Front Bottoms

"Now the time has come. I put two bullets in my gun. One for me, and one for you. Oh darling, it will be so beautiful." – Misery (1990)

*~*~*~*

The steam rising feels so thick it nearly suffocates you. That does not stop you from burying yourself further into the water, up to your nose and nearly filling up your ears. No, if anything, the steam makes you want to drown in it so much more. You contemplate putting your entire head under, screaming into the water until no bubbles rise to the surface.

But the demon wearing pale human skin would stop you before your escape attempt is successful. That is what he always does, after all.

Your white wool towel and his gray one is placed on the same rack, on your side. On one of the hooks behind the door are your pajamas, the color of strawberry taffy, and small buttercups on both the top and lower parts of the set. There are twenty-two on the shirt and nineteen on the pants. You know this because you have counted them many, many times before, the first-time being weeks if not months ago, when you thought the worst thing Chrollo could do to you is slap you or ignore you if you ever hit him. If you ever succeeded in that department, with his lightning-fast reflexes. You can only remember being that fortunate enough maybe… a maximum of four times, you think, before you stopped, after your initial fears of him killing you were brushed off, and after your survival instincts adapted to fit this particular situation. 

Rebelling by fighting him is not going to help. You know that it is something ingrained in every human, getting physical in the face of a threat, whether it be a real one or not. However, upon your initial confinement in this place, your primal instinct also urged you to escape. You constantly remind yourself that this is impossible due to the numerous locks on the door and Chrollo's ability to summon a seemingly omnipotent book out of thin air. You are unable to flee, thus your survival instinct must adjust to an alternative strategy. Nevertheless, it fails to do so, prompting you to ultimately confront different adversaries altogether; Chrollo's caresses, presents, and offerings of quality time.

But now seeing where that got you now, you regret not attempting to jump out of his car and run for the hills, not caring if he was behind you or not.

“...” You are silent as you push back further and further until the crown of your head feels the porcelain wall. “...”

Chrollo, in turn at your silence, simply puts some water into his cupped hand, letting his thumb play around in it for a little while before releasing it back from whence it came. “Now, what did we learn today? You don’t plan to be silent the rest of the night, do you dearest?”

You're uncertain about your plans, but one thing you do know is that drowning him in the bathtub is not one of them. Despite your desire to do so, you acknowledge that you wouldn't come out victorious. Presently, you feel apprehensive about what lies ahead. If this isn't the absolute depths to which Chrollo would sink, then what could be?

“...” Your mind wanders at a languid pace, not in a slithering manner, but rather with a slow crawl. It looms menacingly, poised to devour you entirely, leaving you voiceless. To prevent its dreadful consumption, you divert your attention to the objects surrounding you, to anything but the one who holds you captive.

“...If you don’t want to chat now, that is fine,” This time, Chrollo scoops water into his palms and gently pours it over his hair. “You can always do so when we get out.”

The water is still clear, so clear that you can still see the bottom of the bathtub. The salts he put were lavender scented, you think, because something floral is in the steam and the small bits of water that make their way into your nostrils and mouth. There is lemon balm, peppermint, and rose petals floating about too, but one or two of them have clung to your body like seaweed you would accidentally walk near when you went into the ocean’s tides, causing you to squirm to get them off. Chrollo most likely finds this amusing, because he does not think much else of you, does he?

“...” There are seventy-three tiles in all on the bathroom floor that are in plain view, not counting the ones underneath the rugs, the bathtub, cleaning supplies, shelving, and the toilet. “...”

You could recount them again instead of putting water over your head too. “Do you want to do anything related to aftercare aside from this?”

“...” Rather than uttering a word, you choose to count the uncovered tiles on the bathroom floor. “...”

The occurrence can be summed up by a single word: dissociation. To shield you, your mind disentangled the emotional pains from the physical ones, rendering you void of sensation, numb. This was done to prevent you from comprehending the true nature of what transpired, what just happened, when his patience snapped and he tied you to the bed by the wrists, ripping and ripping until–

“...”

You and the devil are side by side. 

“There is no need to repeat what happened today, correct? Then everything will go back to normal. Just hope for your well-being that you remember this.” 

“...I will. I will.” The sound of your voice brings a smile to his face, and he cups a handful of water in his palms.

The liquid flows down from your hair, mimicking a gentle rainfall, only to rebound and retreat to its origin. This rhythmic cycle persists, until unexpectedly, your body surrenders to a state of tranquility, defying the will of your mind. Your head tilts backward, and for a fleeting moment, you feel weightless, as if hovering above the water's surface.

Your mind will now be cleansed of the undesirable side of Chrollo, hopefully ensuring that you never have to witness it again.

[maehemthemisfit]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄

ask — Can I ask you that the reader 💋 them while they are 😥 and 💙 in order to 😇 them, (I really hope this makes sense) Characters: Scaramouche & Xiao (This is my first time requesting something, hopefully I did it right ☠️) - requested by @oddshroom

a/n — this took me so unbelievably long to write but I'm working on my emoji asks now! okay so apparently I have no self control when it comes to writing scara so this ended up being 3k instead of 500≤1k so I'm making this separate from the xiao's. also dw love, you did it absolutely right so it was clear and concise <3

pairing — [ scaramouche x gn!reader + 💋 kissing them while they're 😥 having a nightmare and 💙 playing with their hair in order to 😇 comfort them]

edited by: my homegirl @xiao6ao

masterlist / xiao post / emoji prompt list

Since when was the melody of screams this unpleasant? Or perhaps, maybe it was never a sweet tune to begin with.

The crackling of fire howled and filled his ears, yet he watched silently as the flames ate away at the wooden structure, devouring the joyous memories he created there. Ashes sprinkled the blazing air, scurrying around like fire flies and filling his lungs.

His breathing was shallow, huffs of air spilling from his chest and reminding him of how human he seemed. But he could never be human, not when his chest was but a hollow cavern, overflowing with nothing but broken dreams and empty promises. His fingers trembled beside him, and subconsciously, he backed away from the dazzling light.

Why was he afraid? How could he be afraid? After all, he was the one who’d started the fire.

"N-No..." Scaramouche whispered, his eyes widened in disbelief as he took in the scene before him. "This... this already happened. Why am I seeing this again?" He looked to his palms— a desperate attempt at gathering his sense of self— but upon seeing his old attire, he found himself inarticulate.

This can't be. It was like he was back to being—

"Kunikuzushi," That voice... that was- "Why did you do this?" The child cried, clutching a familiar doll to his chest. It was threaded with such precision and care, casting in his mind a fond memory of the weeks he spent learning how to sew such a thing with his past friend.

Then the sight of the child’s charred skin hit him, and the endearing thought was discarded. He looked just as he did so long ago— sick, fragile.

But his eyes, oh his eyes told another story.

Scaramouche remembered his eyes, always full of wonder and curiosity, much like his own when he was just a fledgling. Those eyes that would beam up at him as the child tugged him away to a new discovery. Those eyes that would melt close as a smile formed on the child's lips. Those eyes, that were now boring holes into his own, absent of life and that childlike glee he was once accustomed to. Those eyes that were now swirling with fear, fear that was now directed at him.

"I didn't—!!" Scaramouche found himself choking, misery seeping into the depths of his chest and pouring out into his voice. He felt utterly nauseous at the sight before him, heaving breaths of uncertainty as hot tears began to spill from his indigo hues.

Shakily, he brought a hand to his mouth, searching for the words he wanted to say. "I didn't mean to... you- you broke your promise..."

The child took a step back, "Promise? What promise?" The puppet’s brows furrowed at the confusion on the child’s face, the air getting all the more jeering— threatening to strangle him— the longer they spoke.

"You said we were family. You said you would never abandon me," Scaramouche recalled. Abandon. Just the word sizzled and left a bitter taste on his tongue.

It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair at all.

“I didn’t abandon you,” the boy managed to retort, his voice scarcely a rasp. “I died!” He choked on a fit of coughs as he succumbed to the illness both his parents fell to.

Abandon… die…

Those were two completely different words, were they not? Yet, somehow, the discarded creation had found the two synonymous. The concept of death was still foreign to him all those years ago, and the timing was impeccable, as if someone were pulling the strings to all his misfortune. One betrayal after another. It was a deadly recipe of disaster that bubbled over into impulsive decisions and, finally, the roaring flames before him.

And now, he could only witness this village burn all over again— brick by brick, plank by plank— and watch the terror in the eyes of the one he called his friend, of the people he held close to where his heart should be, resurface from ashes long gone.

Damn it. It's not fair. It's not fair at all.

Another staggering step, and the flames began clawing at the child’s leg, searing deeper into his already charred skin. "Wait! Please!" Scaramouche shouted, lunging forward towards the kid now set ablaze and embraced in the wild, untamed fire. “Don’t leave me—" No, not “—again.”

But it was all in vain. He pleaded. He cried. He called, yet no one came.

His fingers crossed the child's, the doll slipping from the child's grasp and into the desperate puppet's hands. And without skipping a beat, the child burst into cinders before his eyes.

The ground kissed his knees as he collapsed, trembling hands digging into the veil that did little to shield him from the raging light. Within seconds, it was torn to shreds and soaked in the tears that he bled.

He wept, voice barely above a whisper. "Why couldn't it have been me…" Those tears, those pathetic emotions he harbored, why couldn't they stop? Why did it hurt so bad? Why did everyone leave him?

A dry, forced chuckle passed his lips that were drenched with the downpour from his eyes. He wiped them.

"Maybe I am just some faulty being." He looked up at the stars that watched in silence above him, ignoring his pleas for help. Gods… humans… even the stars were nothing but lies.

It was only then that a sensation ran down his neck, causing him to flinch from the sudden sense of touch. He whimpered despite trying his best not to, yet what he felt wasn't in the slightest unpleasant.

He leaned into it, eyes growing heavy with whatever was circling his skin, the pain that drenched him before growing numb as the flow of his tears drew softly to a stop. He felt small, yet safe under this eerie yet familiar touch, like an angel was embracing him and shielding him away from the tragedies that plagued the world.

A trickle of hope poured into him, flooding a soothing warmth through the chest that had been poisoned by a twisting ache. His fist unraveled the tattered veil, his hands now clinging onto something more plush and soft, though he couldn't see.

It told him he was fine. He was safe. He was sound.

Sound?

The air caught his mind, now devoid of the screams that smothered him just moments before. Even the crazed laments of the fire ceased, replaced by the quiet pitter patter of falling droplets— none of which he felt.

What he did feel was something soft showering his face, warm and featherlike, and another delicate touch swaying back and forth over his cheek, creating a peaceful harmony within his settling mind.

Despite the heaviness in his limbs, he pulled himself closer, his legs rubbing against silky fabric instead of the ashened ground of what had once been his home. His arms drew himself closer against whatever was bringing him comfort, the sound of something beating surprisingly washing away the rest of his worries. He drifted far away from the panic that once overcame him, the raging storm in his head now reduced to calm waves of water, carrying him safely back to reality into the arms of an angel.

His eyes, tired and spent, fought to open. His vision made out from blurring colors the sight of another person laying beside him. They leaned into him, and he felt the same featherlike sensation on his forehead. A voice he recognized— he had yet to decipher the words— filled his ears.

It was…

Before his eyes could fully adjust, he was already curling against your chest, fingers softly grabbing your shirt and tugging like his life depended on it. In an instant, the world came rushing in, his lungs breathing in the calming air of the small apartment you shared.

He was fine. He was safe. He was with you.

He called your name, his voice cracking as a groan slipped past him, muffled by his face pressing into you. Memories of his nightmare crashed back in restless waves, threatening to drown him once again. He coughed, attempting to speak through labored breaths.

"I s-saw… my, I-'' Scaramouche hiccuped, his body starting to shake like the harsh winters of Snezhnaya was biting through his porcelain skin.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay, take your time.” You were quick to silence him, whispering affirmations in the mist of night for only his ears to hear. He clutched onto you tighter. “It’s okay love, I’m here.”

After the countless years of suffering the puppet endured, he wasn’t fond of being touched by any living being— at least, not after all the torturous poking and prodding he was subjected to during Dottore’s experiments, whilst promises of “making him stronger” or “unlocking his true divinity” fell on deaf ears as he withered in pain.

But you? He couldn’t help but melt under your irenic touch, something that was foreign to him for decades. It took awhile for him to adjust to your displays of affection, but eventually your arms became his new safe haven, something that was all apparent now as you rubbed gentle strokes against his back, the sobs that were born from his horrid dream now dying down to soft sniffles and hums.

The moon glowed in all its glory in the blanket of night, illuminating the two lovers cuddled closely together like birds in a nest. Its silver glow became sparkles in the stray tears that spilled over his cheeks, your hands calmly wiping them as they fell. He came to realize over some time that the featherlike touches he felt prior were you pressing kisses to his face.

The moon came and fled as the sun put it to rest, painting the darkened skies in shades of blue and red. Its rays glimmered, peaking through the window and shedding its warmth on the both of you. By then, the wandering puppet’s tear stained cheeks were dried, his breathing leveled, and eyes half lidded, swirling with bouts of serenity.

Your hand was idly playing with his hair, gently combing through and dividing pieces that fell across his face. A comfortable silence filled the air, only penetrated by the whisper that flew past your lover’s lips, calling your name. You hummed as his hand slowly crept from under the covers, reaching out to grab yours from his strands and bringing it to his chest. His warm breath tickled your skin when he sighed, the feeling being overthrown when his lips kissed the back of your palm, lingering for nearly a minute.

“Do you…” He spoke softly, still firmly holding onto you, yet his voice sounded far off, eyes distant and hazy. “Do you think I’m evil?”

The question dripped from his lips like dew to a leaf, dropping into your ears for your brain to soak it in. Melancholy sprouted from it, growing vines that entangled your heart.

The word evil ran through your head, such a harsh term to describe someone, you scrutinized. Could you really compare the word to the former harbinger lying across from you? Perhaps his past actions, but…

Do evil people cry genuine tears? Do evil people feel remorse for their wicked deeds? What truly defines evil anyway?

The fluttering of wings fanned your clouded thoughts, your answer becoming clear along with the sound of birds chirping. You tugged at the vines clenching your heart, ripping them with ease as you looked at the man in question.

“Doing good things doesn’t make you a good person,” you imparted, staring honestly into his alluring eyes. He listened intently as you spoke, hanging off of every word like a puppet to a string. “And doing bad things doesn’t make you a bad person either.”

The foggy look in his eyes finally cleared.

“I think you experienced the worst parts of the world before you could understand the beauty of it, which led to your notorious doings.” You adjusted your hand to hold his, and he gave you a gentle squeeze as your thumb caressed circles into his. “But if we look back to your ‘previous incarnation’ without your memories, or your titles before Balladeer, would you call them evil as well? Would the people who knew you then describe you in such a way?”

The question floated in the air. A quizzical frown assuming the puppet’s features. For a second, he was back in his dream again— images of fire and ash tainting his mind. He remembered those eyes that were swirling with fear, anxiety threatening to crawl up his spine again.

He was fine. He was safe. He was…

“I didn’t abandon you,” The child's voice played back in his head, oddly sounding more soft compared to the voice he heard in his dream. Another recollection filled his thoughts— it was the sight of the child pulling him eagerly, a wide grin adorning his chubby cheeks, a giggle followed by his own filling the air as he allowed the kid to guide him to some growing lavender melons.

"I- I can't reach it. Awhh," The child pouted, looking away from the tree dejectedly.

"They are pretty high up," Scara- no, Kunikuzushi observed, bringing a hand to his chin. "You'll be able to reach them if I give you a lift though."

"Really? Oh thank you, thank you, thank you! You're really the best ya know, and d-don't forget it either!" The child cheered, jumping up and down in his small burst of excitement before calming down. He tired easily, no matter what he did.

"I'm the best? But I'm just a mere—"

The small mortal coughed weakly, balling his fist right after and shouting a heartfelt declaration. "Puppet this, puppet that. You're a good person and you're a good friend. There's no if, ands, or buts about it,"

He couldn't help but reciprocate the child's smile.

"I- I guess you have a point," Kunikuzushi hummed, his face blooming a pretty pink as he tried to hide under his veil. "You know… you sound a lot like an old friend of mine.”

The memory faded as quick as it came, his shoulders now relaxed and expression thoughtful. You assumed he reached the same answer as you.

They wouldn't call him evil. Never in a million years.

“I couldn’t either," You answered his thoughts, bringing your hand back to card through his hair. "Which is why I don't think you're the monster you make yourself out to be."

He wanted to laugh, but he found himself without a voice. All those questions he aimlessly sought answers to. He’d even asked the God of Wisdom the same thing, yet her answer was quite different from yours. But could he really take your words to heart— or hold it above the words of a god? Would her answer change if he asked her again? Would your answer change if he wronged you?

He was fine. He was safe. He was good.

The sounds of rain dwindled as the critters of light rustled away, chirping and hollering to the sun’s presence. By now, its light blanketed you both, whisking off the drowsiness as you rubbed your eyes. You were in the midst of calling your lover’s name when his fingers wrapped around your leg, pulling it over his hip to bring you close once again.

He cupped your face, your eyes instinctively closing as his lips embraced yours, the warmth of his touch enough to rival the sun and the shine of the moon. No celestial body could reap what the two of you had sown beautifully together.

You held his past, present, and future, carried his vices and virtues, wiped his tears and tore down his walls even when he built them up too high.

You stayed, even when he couldn't give you his heart.

He was enough, you reminded him proudly each day. He was safe. He was fine. He was loved.

"I love you," Scaramouche found himself mumbling against your lips, breathing out a content sigh when the two of you finally parted.

It was the first time he initiated such a declaration, and while he'd never admit how much it affected him, the shy smile carved into his face spoke it well enough. His passionate gaze lit a thousand flames in your soul and it was your turn to fall into the rabbit hole of his beauty.

With another quick kiss, you touched your foreheads together, your voice a lullaby to his ears as you chimed the words that always made him feel something skip a beat in his chest.

"I love every part of you, and never forget that," you huffed, feigning a pouty expression to entice a smile— which he effortlessly gave.

"Don't worry, I won't," he laughed heartily this time, making an effort to find your hand and intertwining your pinkies. He brought them to his chin, pecking the side of your hand once more. "I promise."

TAGLIST — @sonder-paradise @96jnie @scaramouchenumber1fan @linn-a-a @wisteriaflowersss @ineriris @yesntforno @serramii @shadowmist0706 @jmgrule @imeanwatever @c00kie-cat @xtodorokismistressx @ieathairs @endlessmari @strawberryclumsy @serenity-ren-bliss

reblogs appreciated (⁠っ⁠.⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠っ

[itsabouttimex2]

My Alternate Universes

(AF) Primal Moon:

Twice a year; once in spring and once in autumn, a verdant moon rises to bring the bestial instincts of non-humans to light. Celestials and demons alike struggle to keep hold of themselves, something ancient welling up within them and shifting their thoughts and feelings to a more animalistic state.

The spring moon ends on the summer solstice, the autumn moon ends on the winter solstice.

Each week drives non-humans to feral or uninhibited states, leaving them struggling to control themselves. Violence and kidnappings spike during this time, humans as the usual victims. As a result of this, many people hold rather bigoted and fearful views towards demons and Celestials. Some even wish to oust them from society entirely.

(LMK) Monkie Glaive:

Long ago, monsters of terrifying might roamed the land freely. These beasts tore villages asunder and swallowed up the people inside, leaving naught but cinders of destruction in their wake. When a great Black Dragon came to wreak havoc upon humanity with wings spread wide, only one dared to stand against it- the legendary hunter, Sun Wukong! With his lightning-charged glaive held high, the Monkey King summoned a storm and forced the dragon down from the skies, where he overcame it in single combat! Today, in his honor, we hunters train monkeys as our partners to aid us on the field. With them, we overcome our opponents and forge a brighter future for all of humanity!

(Essentially, a Monster Hunter crossover.)

(LMK) Let’s Start Over:

It’s been years since MK’s story ended, and now yours is just beginning. Upgrading his nickname to ‘Monkie Knight’, he’s working hard to shape you into a worthy successor. As the new ‘Monkie Kid’, you are:

1. An everyday mortal, you were gifted a tiny fraction of MK’s power, allowing you to wield the staff and use his skills. Putting yourself in danger leads to the prompt removal of this privilege, and then you’re relegated to chores and stretches until MK thinks you’ve learned your lesson.

2. A Mystic Monkey in disguise, unaware of your true nature. If he finds out, he’s intent on breaking the news early, trying to keep you from having a breakdown like him. He considers you to be a kindred soul, and frequently offers to help with grooming and personal strife.

Given that MK still hasn’t overcome his trauma, he’s grown extremely protective of his successor, trying to force you down a safe and happy path. He dotes on you constantly, acting almost like a surrogate father. Instead of allowing you to explore and fight on your own, he tags along everywhere to keep you safe. He refuses to truly relinquish his responsibilities to you, instead vicariously living through the safety and security he forces onto you.

Until you get the chance to slip away and meet a resurrected villain that MK had hoped to never see again, allowing you to take the first step on your own journey.

(LMK) Taken Aboard:

Upon his visit to the sprawling Emerald Grove; a massive expanse of forest and rivers, Tang Sanzang finds a mischievous demon child living all alone- you. Taking pity on you, the Great Monk prays to Guanyin for her help, and receives two more tightening bands. Upon being ‘gifted’ these golden cuffs, you ask for the monk’s help to put them on- and are promptly dragged into a long and dangerous journey against your will.

Your fellow pilgrims come to view you as a mischievous little sibling, in need of both discipline and love. They won’t stop Sanzang from activating the bands, but are happy to help with the wounds and tears that come afterwards. They also engage in your tutoring, helping to teach you to read and write and perform basic arithmetic.

All the while, you try your hardest to escape and return home.

[fallatyourfeet]

It's Bloody Three O'clock In The Mornin' - (Alfie Solomons x Reader)

Word count: 1218

Warnings: Swearing. Angst for both Alfie and the reader. Stalking.

A/N: Please feel free to send me a message/comment/ask, I would love to know what you think.

If you like this, please feel free to visit my blog and take a look around! You can find my masterlist in my bio.

It had been a very long and tiring week. Alfie wanted nothing more than to get home and collapse into his bed, but there was something that needed to be done back at the office before he could allow himself the luxury. And thank God he made his way back there.  

At first, as he made his way into the building, he thought someone had broken in, hearing the sound of rummaging papers coming from his dimly lit office. But as he silently crept down the passage, the sound of your familiar sigh travelled up to greet him. And instantly he felt himself relax... Nevertheless, why were you still at work, when everyone had left hours ago? 

Stopping in the doorway, Alfie spoke with surprise, “Y/N? What are you still doin’ ‘ere? It’s bloody three o’clock in the mornin’? Instantly, regret washed over him when the sound of his voice had you jumping ten feet in the air, your hands releasing a stack of papers in a shower across the floor. Now normally, he would have teased your flightiness, but something in your manner seemed on edge and anxious... and rather uncharacteristically, it had the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Because if you willingly chose to spend the loneliest hours of the night, alone, in the dark shadowy office of a notorious gangster, something must be very wrong. 

Spinning on your toes, your eyes washed with relief at the sight of his familiar face, and Alfie couldn’t deny the spark of joy it brought to his heart; you were happy to see him. But the fleeting moment of fear he saw before your relief arrived, twisted like a knife in a wound. And he needed to know... what, or more importantly, who, was responsible for bringing such a look of fear to your lovely E/C eyes? 

Moving to your side, he wrapped a hand around your elbow, stopping you from kneeling down to gather the papers. You were trembling, and it made him anxious in the most instinctive way. Guiding you upright, he tried to catch your gaze, but your eyes flittered around the floor as your lips formed an incoherent apology. Alfie usually restrained himself from physically touching you, not that he didn’t want to, truth be told, it was something he had wanted for quite some time. But what he really needed right now, was to see your eyes. With a soft touch he caught your chin between his fingertips and moved your gaze to his, asking again, “Y/N, what are you still doin’ ‘ere at this hour?” 

He felt pressure on his hand as you tried to lower your head, but his fingertips gently declined you the opportunity to avert your eyes as he waited patiently for your answer. Breathing deeply, you nibbled nervously on your bottom lip, the same look of fear creeping back like a shadow across your face... and he knew then, you were in serious danger. Moving his own head to follow your reluctant gaze, he prompted again, “What’s wrong, Y/N?” 

Shaking your head gently, you blinked long and heavy trying to avoid the intense look in his eyes, and it was clear to him that you were about to lie, “Nothing, Mr. Solomons... there’s just a bit of work I need to catch up with.” 

Letting go of your chin, his hands went to his hips. “Mr. Solomons...? It’s been a fuckin’ long time since you ‘ave called me that... and we both know you never fall behind... So why don’t ya stop with the shit and just tell me what’s going on.” 

A moment of defeat crept upon your voice, and yet, you persisted, “It’s nothing, Alfie... I, I don’t want to bother you... You have enough going on.” 

If Alfie wasn’t so concerned, he would have laughed, nothing you could ever want or need would ever be a bother to him. Making a tsking sound, he spoke, “The only thing botherin’ me is not knowin’ what has you so fuckin’ terrified, yeah?” Alfie’s fingers twitched at his hip, resisting the urge to brush a stray lock of hair back to where it had escaped from behind your ear, “Now tell me... Why are you still here at three o’clock in the mornin? You should be tucked up in bed.” 

Another deep breath passed through your chest, your expression now completely resigned in defeat, your words filling his veins with a burning pulsing rage, “There’s a man... he, he’s always there... at my house.” Alfie’s whole body grew rigid, but he silently gestured for you to continue. “At first, I thought I was imagining it, he would always stand in the shadows in the lane across the street. But... every night he moves a little closer.”  

Almost growling through clenched teeth, Alfie asked, “Who is this bastard?”  

You shook your head, your sweet voice beginning to shake, “I, I don’t know him... every night he’s there. I see him from my window... I lay awake, list... listening for every noise, waiting for him to kick down my door.” Through his building rage he noticed the darkness tarnishing the valleys beneath your beautiful eyes, stark evidence of your sleepless nights; how had he not noticed it sooner.  

For a moment you were silent, your hesitance to continue was evident as you nibbled at your bottom lip, yet, you took another deep breath to steady yourself and continued. Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to him, “I was so relieved when I got home last night... I couldn’t see him anywhere, but I... I found this pushed under my door.”  

Unfolding the paper, he read the message scribbled across it, his fingers holding it taught in his grip, almost tearing it at the edges.  

I have been watching for a long time Much longer than you know Even when you can’t see me, I am here, watching and waiting  

Crushing the message in his fist, he threw it to the ground, barely aware of the guttural sound escaping his throat, his head too heavy with rage to notice. Was this man an imbecile? Too stupid to realise who you worked for, and too unfortunate to know how much you meant to him? Well, soon this misunderstanding would be rectified. And not only this monster of a man, but everyone... would understand the risk they took if they decided they wanted to mess with you.  

Moving his hand up along your arm, he slipped it to the nape of your neck, pulling you into his arms. And even in his anger, the feeling of your hair within his palm and the beat of your heart against his chest satisfied a long-awaited yearning. Biting down his rage... just for you, he relaxed his rigid form, desperately wanting to comfort your trembling body... to make you feel safe... to feel protected. 

Then resting his temple to the side of your head, he spoke, his words harsh and threatening, but his voice, somehow gentle and comforting against your ear. “Nobody is ever gonna hurt you while I’m fuckin’ breathin’... Now tell me how to get into your place without being seen...? Cause you’re gonna show me exactly who this fucker is, yeah?” 

[yujeong]

I saw ur post about wanting writing prompts so I thought why not lol. (This is my first time doing this 😅) but I have a few of AUs on my art blog that I would love to see expanded on like my Tall Pete/Short Vegas au, A band au with Vegas being a lead singer and Pete falling in love at first sight, or Pete being Vegas’ personal bodyguard instead of Tankhun’s. So yea if u find any of these interesting I’d love to see ur spin on it

OMG hi! Thank you so much for sending me this, I'm so flattered you thought of asking me to write sth surrounding your AUs ❤��� It kind of feels like the secret Santa event all over again, I love it haha. The timing is actually a little too perfect, because a few weeks ago, I randomly stumbled upon a YouTube short about the side couple in Laws of Attraction and I proceeded to 1. lose my shit, so much so that I decided to start watching the show and 2. write a whole page full of notes about an AU in which Pete is Vegas' bodyguard, based on the pool scene of said short. So, to give a little context: In this alternative universe, Vegas and Gun visit the main family compound for a meeting. At some point, Korn wants to talk to Gun alone, so Vegas goes to the pool area to find Porsche, along with Pete who follows him. Vegas proceeds to flirt with Porsche, as Vegas does, up until Gun suddenly appears and starts yelling at him for unclear reasons. He escalates it when Vegas asks, baffled, why he's being yelled at, by slapping him and putting his head into the pool. Pete normally doesn't intervene when Gun gets violent with Vegas, but his protective instincts here kick in and he stops Gun from literally attempting to kill his own son. As a result, Gun's anger gets redirected at Pete, who gets beaten up in Vegas' stead. The snippet I wrote for you is the aftermath of everything I described above. I hope you like it ❤️ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Silence, occasionally broken by a faint sound that resembled sniffing. Pete couldn’t tell what it was, but in his state he couldn’t really tell where he was either, so he stopped worrying about it. He tried, instead, to remember what had happened that brought him here, wherever “here” was. The last thing he recalled was the feeling of Khun Gun’s shoes digging into his forearms, which he used in his attempt to protect his head from his boss’ repeated, brutal kicks. Khun Gun wasn’t the strongest man Pete had ever met, but there were reasons he always tried to stay on his good side, and his cruelty was one of them. The cruelty that had so many times been directed at his own son. The kind he was eerily familiar with.

Khun Vegas’ face materialized in Pete’s mind. Droplets of water running down his nose, his sharp cheekbones, reaching his neck. His hair wet and disheveled, his chest heaving from the difficulty to breathe after having had his head shoved into the pool. His expression crumbling with worry, something Pete had no logical way of explaining. Fuck, where was he? Pete could only hope Porsche had protected him from his father’s fury afterwards. Khun Gun was unpredictable; he couldn't be trusted to only be satisfied by lashing out at Pete. Pete needed to go find him as soon as possible. Opening his eyes proved to be a challenge. A heavy fog was clouding his vision, and the pain that was engulfing his whole body was preventing him from doing the simplest of movements. He groaned as he shifted his torso in a futile attempt to get up, resulting in a gasp that startled him into opening his eyes to check where it came from. His mouth was hanging open as he took in the image of Khun Vegas staring at him, fidgeting nervously in the chair he was sitting on. His eyes were red around the corners and he looked ghostly pale. Pete’s breath hitched. “Pete… ?” he said, dropping his gaze to the floor. He always did that when he was feeling guilty about something. “Are you... ?” “I’m fine, Khun Vegas,” Pete replied, despite the numbness in his limbs and the headache that was starting to form. “What about you? Are you hurt? Should I take you to the doct-” “We’re at the infirmary, you idiot,” Vegas shouted, interrupting him, but his voice lacked the usual heat. “Stop acting like my bodyguard right now, it pisses me off.” That’s all I know how to be, Pete wanted to tell him, but remained silent. That’s all I’m allowed. He didn’t really mind Khun Vegas’ words. He’d heard worse things over the years, things that should have probably hurt him. Somehow, Pete had the ability to forgive him anything. The atmosphere grew tense between them. Pete had grown used to that, too, but he had never seen Khun Vegas be so self conscious before. He wondered why the sudden change. “I’m not thanking you,” Pete heard him murmur after a few seconds; he uttered the words under his breath, while staring at his feet. If Pete had a better view of his face, he’d argue Khun Vegas was pouting. Pete could only reassure him. “You don’t have to, Khun Vegas. I was simply doing my job.” It had the opposite effect. The creases between his eyebrows deepened as he lifted his head and stared at Pete. Astonished as his mouth was open agape, likely for a retort that never came. Alternatively, he turned his attention to the small table next to Pete’s bed. He stood up and approached it hastily, grabbing something that was resting on top of it, before Pete could take a closer look. “The nurse said you have to take this,” he said and extended his arm at Pete, revealing a small pill. It was probably a standard type of painkiller. Bodyguards never got any special medical treatment, especially those working for the minor family. It wasn’t worth the trouble. Pete tried to lift his hand to take it, but he bitterly realized it was impossible. He winced as he took a look at both of his arms and found them bandaged, smears of purple popping at places his skin was uncovered. He cursed under his breath. “Ah, I’m sorry, Khun Vegas, I’ll just call the-” Cold fingertips pressed on Pete’s chin. They felt even colder on his lips, the pressure just enough to make him open his mouth. The pill slipped between his teeth easily, with the help of a wet tongue he'd never thought he'd get to taste. Hot air hit Pete’s cheeks. His heart was beating rapidly. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. Water traveled down his throat, taking the pill with it. Pete blinked. His head felt light, his body even lighter. He didn’t know how to describe the feeling, but he didn’t think it was bad. He focused, instead, on Vegas, who was standing above him with an unusual sense of confidence.  “Get well soon. That’s an order.” It was enough to ground Pete back into reality. He was thankful for it.

“Yes, Khun Vegas.” It was only then that Pete noticed how the color returned on Vegas’ face and how his slight trembling seized. “Has Pete woken up yet?” Both of them jumped at the sound of Porsche’s voice. He poked his head into the room, completely oblivious to what had transpired before he showed up. “Oh, he has. How are you feeling?” “Good,” he replied sincerely. The pain didn’t bother him anymore.  A smile spread on his lips as he added, “Khun Vegas just gave me my medicine.” Porsche returned it, though his was more mischievous than playful. “Pete, you should have seen Vegas while he waited for you to wake up. I’ve never seen him crying so hard-” Vegas punched Porsche hard on the shoulder to stop him from talking, which made loud laughter escape Pete’s mouth. It earned him a glare, one of Vegas' serious ones. It'd bring him hell later, but Pete realized he was fine with that.

[wander-over-the-words]

BioFluff Week 2023 Fic #2

Title: Close Encounters of the Rapture Kind

Prompt: Monsters/Costumes

Summary: The one where the Big Daddy and Big Sister suits come in handy, and Eleanor’s going to her first Halloween party, for which there are some ground rules.

Characters: Subject Delta, Augustus Sinclair, Eleanor Lamb; mentions of Little Sisters, Billy Parson, Big Daddies, Big Sisters, Splicers, Sofia Lamb.

Pairing: Augustus Sinclair/Subject Delta, with some family fluff with Eleanor.

Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption and physical assault.

Notes: Second submission for a new BioFluff Week! Here’s the response to the prompt ‘Costumes’! Realistically, I’d imagine Delta would’ve been long-since cured by the time Halloween comes around, but fuck it, I like this idea. Happy Halloween!

All material belongs to Irrational Games.

Fic also available on AO3.

…

“I remember this Sinclair guy from when I was a kid,” one woman says to the other, frowning lightly as they lead their children through the iron gates of the most expensive and lavish house in town, which currently has three HAPPY HALLOWEEN banners strung up above the doors and across the outer fence on either side of the gates. 

“He never used to open his gates to anybody who wasn’t givin’ him cash. He used ta sit on his porch and smoke sometimes, but other’n that, he’d just pop up in town every so often and then disappear again back into his house. Used to give me the creeps, him and this place. No idea why he’d be entertainin’ trick-or-treaters now…”

“Didn’t he go missin’ some time ago?” says her companion, holding her own child by the hand as they walk down the path toward the house.

“Yeah, ‘bout twenty years ago or so. My ma thought she was hallucinatin’ when she saw him in the street the other day, with that girl by his side.”

“Well, there ya go: he’s got a child now. Bet she’s got her daddy wrapped around her little finger an’ asked him to open the doors to trick-or-treaters this year, so he has. Just had a change of heart, is all.”

The first woman hums, clearly holding no hope for Sinclair’s character, but keeps it to herself as the four of them climb the steps, up onto the porch that they used to see Sinclair sitting upon as kids. 

There’s a sense of trepidation in the air; Augustus Sinclair was considered more-or-less an oddity to the people in town at best, since he hardly interacted with anybody who wasn’t a client or staff (either his own or the ones working at the shops in town, during the times he’d magically pop up). The older folk in town knew him better; they would say he was a horrible man and would tell true stories of how he screwed good people over with that ‘fancy law degree’ of his, no sense of morality or empathy to him. Just before he disappeared, he abruptly fired his entire house staff, uncaring how much they were relying on his money or not.

Meanwhile, the kids would share theories of what he got up to in that big house, ranging from being some secret serial killer to actually being a ghost. Made him seem so much scarier during the times he’d appear in town, the suspected murderer or spirit being so much closer to them.

Now, here they are. On his porch. Previously forbidden land. Like something from a legend. 

They share a look, then shake their heads at themselves, feeling silly, and then the second woman encourages her daughter to knock at the doors.

The little sugar plum fairy toddles up and knocks the hardest she can.

It takes a few moments, but then there comes a thump-thump-thump from behind the doors, like large boots hitting wood, and then the doors open, and the two women feel their faces pale as they look upwards.

“Oh, wow!” exclaims the first woman’s son, dressed up in a cardboard costume to look like a robot. 

The little girl gasps, then grins and exclaims, “I love your costume!”

The large diving suit figure stares back silently, yellow-glowing porthole pointed at them all, and does nothing as he simply stands there, bowl of sweets in his hands - hands so big, they look like they could crush the four of their skulls in one fist, which only serves to make the women’s faces pale more. 

“M-Mr. Sinclair?” one of them stammers.

“Nope,” comes from beside the doorway, and Augustus Sinclair pops his head into view before stepping forward to stand beside his…friend, “that’d be me. Evenin’, now. Happy Halloween an’ all that.”

“Uh…who’s…?” the second woman says, slowly pointing at the…person before them.

“Hm? Oh.” Sinclair looks up at them, then pats their arm. “This here is Delta. He takes the holiday all seriously, as you can see. He’s, ah, dressed as a haunted divin’ suit.”

Finally, ‘Delta’ moves: he turns at the waist to look at Sinclair, then looks back at the two women and lets out a little grunting noise.

“Uh - the, ah, helmet blocks his speech, ya see, heh,” Sinclair quickly says. “I’m his little helper for the evenin’, just here to play translator. Ha - I told him this costume was gonna be a pain in the neck ta greet trick-or-treaters with, but he don’t listen ta me, hehe. Like I said before: he jus’ loves this holiday.”

He looks down at their children and hastily changes the topic, clasping his hands together.

“But here I am, gabbin’ - I’m sure your little ones are just itchin’ for some of that candy they’ve been promised.” 

He nudges Delta with his elbow. 

“Go ahead, chief.”

Delta looks at Sinclair, then tilts himself forwards at the waist to look down at the children. His shoulders lifting upwards, he lets out some…noise that - call them crazy - sounds like whalesong, and Sinclair flashes them a grin, even while the women’s eyes widen.

“Aw, he’s just sayin’ that he likes the looks of your costumes,” he says, and the women can only wonder how the hell he knows that.

“Thank you!” says the little girl, curtseying to Delta in her little pink tutu, which prompts another one of those strange noises from him.

Carefully, Delta lowers himself down to one knee, and even when he’s kneeling like that, he looks huge compared to the rest of them, thanks to how thick his body is, seemingly all muscle even when the suit is a little baggy. 

It does nothing to calm the ladies’s opinions of him; they continue to stare at him like they’re worried he’ll drag them into the house and prove those childhood theories about Sinclair being a murderer correct.

However, he doesn’t do anything like that. Instead, he just innocently holds out the bowl of sweets to the children, who, surprisingly, ignore it in favour of descending upon him.

The little robot boy boldly goes over to poke at Delta’s bicep and tug on his sleeve, coming over so quick that Sinclair takes a small step back to keep the kid from entering his personal bubble, while the little girl is staring, fascinated, at Delta’s left hand. After a moment, she reaches out to touch his finger, and Delta passes the bowl to his right hand so that he can offer his left one to her for her to get a proper look at it.

The women look like they don’t know what to do with themselves; it’s obviously not appropriate for their children to just go poking at a stranger like this, but he doesn’t even seem to care that they’re doing that, and to be honest, this…’Delta’ is giving them the creeps.

“Uh - honey,” the first woman tries to say to her son, but Sinclair holds up a hand to stop her.

“Aw, now, it’s alright. He doesn’t mind a little curiosity.”

“Are you a robot?” the little boy asks Delta, tilting himself to look at Delta’s porthole from where he stands by Delta’s side.

“No, no,” Sinclair says in his place, “there’s a man under there - flesh ‘n’ blood, like you an’ me.”

“Are you really super tall,” the girl asks, then, “or do you got stilts on?”

“Ah.” Sinclair holds up a finger. “‘Fraid we can’t tell you that, little lady. Trade secret.”

The boy raps his knuckle against the bottom of Delta’s helmet, testing the material that it’s made from, and gawks when he realises it’s real metal and not something like painted papier mâché. 

“Is that helmet really heavy?” the boy asks. “You must be really strong!”

“Oh,” Sinclair chuckles, “trust me, son, he is. Could lift a car with those big ol’ arms o’ his.”

“Where did you get your costume?” the girls says, undeterred by the lack of a proper answer to her last question.

“Uh,” Sinclair’s smile turns slightly awkward, “I, ah…I know a guy. He, uh, made it an’...I paid for it all.”

“What’re these?” the boy then asks, tilting himself the other way now to look at Delta’s back, pointing.

“Those’re oxygen tanks, son - so’s he can breathe.”

“But what about those ones?” the boy adds, pointing now specifically to the glass tubes that contain some kind of gooey liquids that glow red and blue.

“Oh. Uh.” Sinclair’s smile falters, then he picks it back up, if a little uncomfortable-looking now. “That’s his, uhh…ectoplasm - s-since he’s a haunted divin’ suit and all.”

Coming back around to stand in front of Delta, the boy looks over at his left arm to follow the tube of blue going into Delta’s wrist; Sinclair watches the kid like he’s worried the boy’s going to ask another question about that ‘ectoplasm’, but when the kid doesn’t, the tension leaves Sinclair’s body and he subtly gives a sigh of relief.

The little girl is still investigating Delta’s hand. She pats at the rings on his gloved fingers, then moves around to stand beside him so that she can press her hand to his, the bottoms of their palms matching up, and she breathes a soft “Wow…!” at how much bigger Delta’s hand is compared to hers. She then moves back around to stand in front of him and takes hold of Delta’s finger in the entirety of her little hand, squeezing it and tugging on it to test Sinclair’s answer that Delta really is human and not some spectacular machine he’s programmed. When she evidently feels flesh and not metal or wires, she gasps and turns to her mother.

“Momma,” she calls, “I wanna dress like this next year!”

“Me too, me too!” the boy exclaims quickly.

The women look only more nervous, and Sinclair barks out a laugh before nudging Delta’s shoulder.

“Why, do ya hear that, chief?” he says. “You went an’ got yourself a coupla little fans here.”

Delta lets out a long note of that…whalesong he seems to be talking in (what kind of helmet is he wearing that reduces his speech to that?), before he holds out the bowl of sweets again, giving it a little shake.

“He’s askin’ if y’all wanna grab your candy now,” Sinclair says. “Go on, now - one a piece.” 

The kids look at him like they forgot that was why they came here at all, then both rush to the bowl Delta’s holding out between them, each taking a stripey lollipop from the collection in there with words of thanks, grinning at Delta as he comes off of his knee and gets back up to full height. The kids only just grace his knees.

Just as the children are getting fascinated with Delta all over again, their mothers start ushering them off the porch, telling them there’re still plenty of houses to visit, and so the kids wave goodbye to Delta and Sinclair.

Sinclair wiggles his fingers in a goodbye wave, while Delta waves goodbye to match them, which just delights the kids; they’re grinning and giggling all the way up the path.

“He’s neat,” the boy says to his mother.

“I like him!” the girl exclaims. “He’s pretty!”

Their mothers, on the other hand, are still the picture of nerves as the second leans over to the first and hisses, “I thought you said he just had a daughter?”

“I have,” the first says, “no idea who that was.”

Behind them, the doors to Sinclair’s home are shut - and now that they are, Sinclair grins up at Delta as Delta lets out a long crooning noise, his own version of cheering.

“What’d I tell you, kid?” Sinclair says, hands on his hips. “I knew they wouldn’t be able ta tell you ain’t jus’ wearin’ a costume! I reckon we mighta just found a day where you can blend in!”

Leaning down to put the bowl of sweets on the nearby low windowsill, Delta’s crooning again, his shoulders perked up high in his symbolism for happiness.

His first human contact since arriving on the surface, outside of fellow Rapture survivors, had gone off without a hitch! He’d been worried that his appearance would be frightening for the kids - the Little Sisters only loved him, after all, because they were designed to - and he does feel a little bad for scaring their mothers like that, but they’d liked him! They’d really liked him! Reminds him of finding that one audio tape in Dionysus Park made by that little boy, Billy, who thought the ‘yellow-eyed girl’s’ dad was ‘strong and nice’. 

He doesn’t doubt that there may still be some kids who might find him scary, but for now, he can bask in the feeling of having interacted with people outside of his loved ones. 

Of course, he adores Augustus and Eleanor, and they’ll always be his favourite people, but…it’s nice, to be able to show his (albeit covered) face to other people. Makes him feel a little less like some freak they have to hide behind closed doors.

Delta reaches out and throws an arm around Sinclair, bringing him in for a grateful, overjoyed hug, and Sinclair nearly stumbles with how suddenly he’s brought in, then ends up laughing into Delta’s chest and hugs him back the best he can with their size difference.

Delta squeezes him as gently as he can without harming him, then pulls back to point toward the doors with his free hand, uses the same finger to tap the corner of Sinclair’s lips, then briefly struggles to think of how to communicate his message before he gives an awkward thumbs up.

Luckily, Sinclair understands what he’s going for.

“Aw, now, ain’t that sweet? You think nothin’ of it, honey,” Sinclair replies. “I’m happy ta play translator for ya - not like I got anythin’ in particular to do tonight, anyhow. Though - those kids were gettin’ a little too talkative for my tastes. It’s probably best for me ta talk to the grown-ups, make sure they know you only look a little scary, such is the theme. They ain’t had the experience of takin’ a train ride with you, now, have they?”

Delta croons, still delighted by how this has all turned out, and gives Sinclair another squeeze before letting him go, feeling Sinclair pat his side and pull back from the hug.

“Now, you just watch, chief,” Sinclair says, starting to turn around, looking over his shoulder at Delta and oblivious to the footsteps coming down the stairs, “cause I’m bettin’ that this time next year, you’re gonna have every child in town dressed as little Big Daddies. A-heh. Suppose that’d mean we’d call ‘em ‘Little Daddies’, now wouldn’t we?”

He chuckles at his own joke, earning a laugh from Delta, and then turns his head to look in the direction he’s intending to walk - only to come face-to-face with a Big Sister.

Instinctively, Sinclair scrambles backwards, letting out a burst of a panicked shout and reaching for Delta - which has Delta lurching toward him to protect him, purely instinctual too - before Sinclair’s brain catches up to the situation, and he slaps a hand over his mouth to block off anymore sound. The same hand goes down to his heart a millisecond later, before he fixes the Big Sister with a stern look.

“Now, I thought we mentioned not wearin’ the helmet when you’re home?” he says. “Break the rule if you want, but you’re responsible for the heart attack I get.”

Delta gives him a sympathetic little pat on the back, crooning to him softly to try and be comforting, as the Big Sister reaches up with both hands and pulls her helmet off.

“Sorry,” Eleanor says, hugging the helmet to her chest with one arm while moving strands of her hair out of her face with the other hand, smiling sheepishly. “I just heard the trick-or-treaters and got so excited.” 

She looks up at Delta brightly. 

“How did it go, Father?”

Shoulders rising higher than ever, Delta lets out a long croon of excitement, clasping his hands together with a fondness.

“Aw, those kids had no idea that that wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill Halloween costume!” Sinclair exclaims, grinning up at Delta, all panic from before dissipating in a moment as he’s overcome by pride and secondhand excitement. “Even went an’ got called pretty by that little girl out there! They just loved him.”

Delta lets out another delighted note of whalesong.

Eleanor reaches out to touch his arm. 

“That’s fantastic, Father! I’m so happy for you,” she says. “Your first contact with the outside world! And it’ll only get better once we remove you from your suit, and then,” she grins, “you can come outside with Augustus and me and you can see the entire town, as we have!”

Delta looks as though he could explode from the excitement, the way his body language starts to bunch up, and Sinclair chuckles and pats him on the chest.

“Sure, but if that’s the case, then we’re just goin’ ta hafta hope you’re still beefy enough to carry this here suit on your back. Otherwise, once Halloween comes back around, we’ll have to find somethin’ else for you ta wear to the door.”

Eleanor smiles at her father, then looks to Sinclair, raising an eyebrow.

“Speaking of which, Augustus - aren’t you going to dress up as well…?” she asks, looking him up and down, in his usual attire. “It’s well into the night for you to be without your costume.”

“I’m as dressed as I’m gonna be, honey,” Sinclair replies bluntly, “as a businessman who doesn’t do Halloween.”

Eleanor gives an exasperated scoff while Delta lets out a long note that decreases in volume as it goes and sounds something like booing, giving Sinclair a little nudge in his own way of telling him not to be boring.

Sinclair holds up his hands. “Now, don’t give me that - I told you both from the start: I don’t do Halloween. Only reason I opened the gates at all this year was cause we wanted ta test if your daddy could get away with showin’ himself tonight. That’s it. I just don’t partake in the tradition.”

Delta lets out a huff that echoes in his helmet, and Sinclair looks up at him with mock offence. 

“Why, I just went an’ spoke your words for you, chief, an’ this is how I’m repaid? Heartless of you.”

Delta repeats the huff.

“Downright shameful,” Sinclair says, then looks to Eleanor as she giggles. “You gonna be headin’ out soon?”

Eleanor grins excitedly at him.

Couple days ago, she comes to he and Delta in the evening, while Delta’s watching television on the floor and Sinclair’s reading the newspaper, and requests their attention in that tone that let them know that she - as a teenaged girl - was about to ask for something. Delta’s attention was on her in a second, and Sinclair looked at her over the tops of his glasses, otherwise not moving from the pose he’d been in when she interrupted his reading.

She’d nervously shuffled on the spot, then said, “My friends from school have invited me to a Halloween party. May I go?”

The two of them had looked at each other, then fired off a few questions, like where the party is (across town, at a friend’s house) and who will be there (only people from school). She’s spent time around her chums outside of school hours before, though never late into the evening, and parties are a different deal altogether. Lots of things can happen at parties with teenagers - especially to someone who’s never been to one before - so they (mostly Delta) had been wary. 

But…she’d looked so hopeful, and part of the whole reason of coming to the surface was so Eleanor could be free to be a normal teenager, so…they’d said yes, and she’d been so excited, she’d physically jumped for joy and then gave them both hugs, exclaiming a flurry of thank yous before requesting to use the phone to call her friends and tell them she’s coming to the party.

“I think so,” Eleanor tells him, her hug on her helmet growing tighter as she gets more and more eager to go.

“An’ you’re sure you don’t want me ta drive you over there?” Sinclair asks. “It’s quite a walk, across town.”

“No, it’s alright. I’d prefer to walk - then I get to see how everybody else is celebrating.” She looks towards Delta. “And besides, you ought to stay here, in case any more trick-or-treaters come by, then you’ll have to translate for Father again.”

Delta gives a dismissive wave of the hand and mimes that he could write things down instead.

Eleanor’s smile twists at the end, growing awkward.

“There is no pen in this house that you could hold successfully, Father,” she says, to which he gives an admitting grunt, shoulders drooping slightly. “I’ll be fine, though. I promise.”

She takes a deep breath, nerves joining her excitement in a cocktail that makes her tummy flip. It’s the same way she’d felt when going to school for the first time, and Sinclair had had to give her a pep talk in the car. 

“Alright,” she says with a determined nod, “here I go.”

Eleanor starts to go toward the double doors - only for Delta to slide into place in front of them to block her path, folding his arms. 

From the knot his arms make, his index finger extends and wags at her, while he lets out a rhythmic set of noises that sound like the traditional “Ah, ah, ahh.”

Eyes wide, Eleanor’s excitement turns into confusion, face falling, then looks at Sinclair as he steps up beside Delta to block the doors as well, arms also folded and expression looking more stern than it had a second ago.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he says, “but I reckon the big fella wants ta hear the rules we set, just one last time ‘fore you go.”

Delta grunts in confirmation. 

“Wouldn’t mind hearin’ ‘em for myself, if I’m ta be honest,” Sinclair adds.

Relenting and understanding, Eleanor smiles to herself and holds her helmet by her waist as she threads her fingers together underneath it, in lieu of humbly putting her hands together like a schoolchild.

“I have to be home by ten o’clock - at the latest - and not a second more. Otherwise, you’ll come looking for me - and you’ll embarrass me in front of my friends, for added measure. You would prefer that I stay at the site of the party, but if I do happen to leave the area for any reason, I’m to tell you once I get home. If I do go somewhere else and you find out about it, I will be grounded for anywhere from two weeks to a month, depending on other factors of the situation. As I’m not legally allowed to drink alcohol, I’m not to have any at the party. If I feel that I need to call you to come and collect me, I should. I’m also to be careful not to use any of my Plasmids or other ADAM-related abilities. Oh - and if anybody asks, I’ve come dressed as a haunted diving suit, and you paid for my costume.”

Sinclair - who’s been holding up his hands this whole time, lifting fingers to count off every rule Eleanor mentions - pointedly wiggles the next finger on his second hand to indicate a missing rule.

“And…?” he says.

Eleanor suppresses a laugh, barely managing to not grin as she says amusedly, “And absolutely no -” she gives a little snort, covers her nose and mouth with one hand, then drops it to finish her sentence “- ‘canoodling’ with any boys. Or girls, for that matter.”

Delta gives a very huffy little grunt of confirmation; clearly, to him, that’s the most serious rule of the lot.

“And what do we do if someone we don’t like keeps botherin’ us after we’ve told ‘em ta scram?” Sinclair asks.

Eleanor’s smile drops as she becomes more serious.

“I’m to deliver a kick between their legs and make it clear that they were disturbing me and not the other way around, just in case they try to lie about it to others.”

“That’s right.” Sinclair nods. “Now, there’s one last rule you forgot ta mention.”

Mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ shape, Eleanor looks confused, looking away as she ponders it, then her expression scrunches up as she looks back at him, silently asking what she could have possibly forgotten when she’s certain she’s said everything.

Sinclair’s stern expression gives way to a smile as he and Delta step aside and gesture to the doors in nearly perfect unison.

“Go an’ enjoy yourself,” he says.

Eleanor immediately brightens up, grinning wide, and rushes over to throw her arms around him.

He lets out a little “Oof!” since she’d practically barreled into him, making him take a step back and, still unused to physical affection that isn’t coming from Delta, Sinclair stiffens up immediately and winces. But then he slowly puts his hands on her back to loosely hug her in return, smiling awkwardly.

Grinning still, Eleanor pulls back and then runs to Delta, who is much more receptive to a hug from her; she practically leaps at him to hug his torso the best she can, and he’s all too happy to catch her and hug her close, crooning gently.

“I’ll see you later, Father,” Eleanor says warmly.

Delta strokes a hand over her hair, warbling softly to her, before he lets her go and watches as she excitedly hurries to the doors, practically bouncing, and gives them one last grin before taking another deep breath.

“Now,” she says, “here I go.”

And she opens the leftmost door and disappears through it, out into the Halloween air.

Delta goes to the window, pressing his hands to the glass, to watch her skip down the path and exit through the front gates. He keeps watching until he can’t see her anymore, stands there a little longer in case she comes back, then he sighs softly and comes away.

“She gone now?” Sinclair asks.

Shoulders drooped sadly, Delta grunts a yes.

“D’aww,” Sinclair cocks his head, looking up at Delta with a sympathetic smile, “chin up, now, kid. She’ll only be gone for a few hours, then she’ll come rushin’ back home ta tell us all about it. She’s not leavin’ the nest forever just yet.”

The thought of that happening makes Delta’s heart hurt worse than it did when separated from Eleanor down in Rapture, but he supposes Sinclair’s right. Just a few hours - Eleanor can handle herself for that long. She fought an army of Splicers alongside him down in Persephone, she can handle interacting with kids her own age at a party. 

(Hopefully…He’s prepared to go racing across town if she decides she needs him.)

“I know it’s worry-makin’, her bein’ out in the dark like that, but you oughta get used to the idea, chief,” Sinclair adds. “She’s a teenager now, an’ this is what teenagers do. She ain’t gonna wanna spend every wakin’ moment with old men like us (presumably, in your case) anymore.” 

Delta lets out a gasp, then his shoulders droop even more and he lets out a low, depressed moan.

“Oh - Oh, now, that ain’t what I meant, sugar.” 

Sinclair goes over to put his hands on Delta’s chest, looking up at him with his brow furrowed. 

“Now, that girl adores you, an’ you know that. But you understand, kid, that it’s good for her ta be spendin’ time around folks her own age, don’tcha? I dunno ‘bout you, but,” he gives a puff of a laugh, “I can’t relate to what young people are goin’ on about these days. Besides, you don’t wanna find yourself becomin’ another Doc Lamb an’ restrictin’ her on her comings and goings, now do ya?”

Delta lets out another puff of a gasp, straightening up a little.

He hadn’t considered that. Of course, he’d never hold Eleanor prisoner like that - his worries are his worries, and he won’t allow them to affect his parenting - but he also doesn’t want her to be under the impression that she has to stay home for his sake. He can relate, after all, to her desire to see the outside and not be cooped up in here, lovely and spacious as the house is. He is happy she’s made friends and wants to spend time with them, he is, it’s just…well, he’d missed so much time with her when he’d been dead. Makes him want to spend as much time with her as possible.

But Augustus is right - she has her own life, and it is a good thing that she’s spending time with people who aren’t decades her senior. He gets to spend time with her when she’s home, anyway, and none of her friends can say they get to spend that much time with her, in retrospect.

“Plus,” Sinclair says, reaching for Delta’s hand to hold it, “the time she spends outta the house is time you an’ I get by our lonesome, and I should hope that doesn’t sound like such a bad plan, now, does it?”

Delta straightens, briefly worried he’d implied he wouldn’t like that, then his shoulders lift happily as he pulls his hand from Sinclair’s grasp and uses it to cup the side of his face, rumbling softly enough that it could be mistaken for a purr.

Sinclair smiles up at him and places his hand over Delta’s, nuzzling his glove as he says, “Precisely, pumpkin pie. Y’see? It’s a win-win situation, when ya tilt it on its head.” 

His smile becomes a smirk. 

“Though, while we’re on the topic of romancin’...there might soon be somethin’ else you should quickly get used to, chief.” 

Delta tilts at the waist, curious.

“You know it an’ I know it,” Sinclair points towards the doors to gesture to Eleanor, “that there may come a time when Eleanor starts mentionin’ some boy she wants us ta get acquainted with (or some other young lady cause - heh - we ain’t ones ta judge), and you’re gonna hafta act as though you don’t wanna toss that poor thing through an upstairs window.” 

Delta lets out a little gasp, then immediately growls, his free hand curling into a fist.

“Ha ha!” Sinclair barks. “Well, now, I was just messin’ with ya, but - you’re really gonna prove yourself as one of those fathers, are ya? Shall I…fetch one of your old shotgun shells so’s you can scratch her sweetheart’s name into it and you can show it to ‘em as a warnin’?”

No, no, he won’t do anything like that. He…understands that Eleanor will start to get…interested in people her age, like how he and Augustus are interested in each other, and he’s…fine with it. He is. It’s normal, it’s a regular part of life, he’s fine with it.

And he won’t deny the person entrance to their home, should Eleanor wish to introduce them to he and Augustus - he’ll just take them aside and ask for every detail of their life that he dubs important (like their hobbies and if they have a criminal record and if they’ve ever wanted a criminal record, and what their intentions are toward his daughter, stuff like that) and then watch them like a hawk for the entire time they’re on the property, in case of any canoodling. 

And if they dare to try canoodling with his daughter whilst they’re in his home - why, then he’ll throw them out the (downstairs) window!

(Or, in the very least, make them think he’s going to, since Eleanor would never forgive him if he harmed her…person of interest like that.)

Delta lets out a low huff, displeased, and Sinclair titters.

“Not sure if I’m lookin’ forward to that day or not, now,” he says as he rubs his chin and averts his gaze thoughtfully, then cocks his head and gives Delta a smile. “But how ‘bout for now, sugar, we put the focus on our own whirlwind of a courtship right here, ‘stead of focusin’ on hypotheticals?”

He gives Delta a wink, and Delta perks back up, warbling so delightedly that one might picture cartoon hearts floating about his head.

“You’re speakin’ my thoughts exactly, pumpkin,” Sinclair replies, then starts to tug Delta’s hand toward the living room. “Now, c’mon, let’s see if we can find some flicks on the picturebox or somethin’. Might be that that show you like is on - what was it called, now? The Addams Family?”

Delta grunts to let Sinclair know he’s correct.

“That’s the one. If it ain’t, then we might hafta settle for somethin’ a little scarier, par the course for the holiday. And if that’s the case, then you better make sure you hold me tight, honey,” he cups his own cheek, face creasing up in fake worry, and adds a little more drama to his tone, “cause I might get scared an’ need someone ta bat away the danger. Reckon you could do that for me?”

Delta chuckles, then bypasses Sinclair to sit in his usual spot on the floor, between the couch and the television. He spreads his legs and pats the spot between them to offer it to Augustus.

“Seems like you’re capable,” Sinclair says, then takes Delta’s offer and sits down on the floor between his legs.

Tilting forwards, Delta wraps both arms around him to hold him close, making sure not to lean on him too much lest he hurt Sinclair’s back, then lets out a contented sigh.

“Snug as a bug,” Sinclair says in agreement. “I couldn’t be safer if I tried my hardest.”

He looks over his shoulder to give Delta a smile.

“Happy Halloween, chief - I’m glad this holiday’s worked out so well for ya.” 

Delta gives a delighted note of whalesong, sending vibrations through Sinclair’s back, and then reaches over and picks up the remote from where it lays near his thigh. He holds it out to Augustus, who takes it with a thanks.

“Now,” he says, then points the remote at the TV, “let’s see what’s on tonight.” 

[bahbahhh]

begin again

a lot of change happens in between Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom. let’s fill in the gaps.

zelda pov | zelink | totk spoilers | rated T zelinkweek2023 | @zelinkcommunity

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ao3 appears to be back up more consistently, but I will continue to post full chapters on tumblr.

your comments, kudos, reblogs, likes, feral tags, questions, curiosities, are all so appreciated. seriously, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

read on ao3

chapter 3

for the prompt “letters”

‘You sure?’ Link signs with one hand. He’s sifting through the chest at the foot of his bed, layers of silk and cotton and wool in every color around his feet. He’s started clearing out unessential belongings from the Sheikah Slate in preparation for his travel and by the looks of it, – there are piles of material everywhere (gemstones, rock salt, a heap of shields, a basket of Hinox toenails) – he seems a little overwhelmed he has to manage the sorting manually once again.  

Zelda leans her back against the banister lining the loft that overlooks the main floor to his home. There is a bundle of blue nightshade in the vase by his bed. It glows dimly in the absence of sunlight through the window, like a children’s bedside candle. She used to have one to ward off nightmares after her mother died. 

“I’m sure,” Zelda answers and glances back at the nightshade. Does he just prefer them or does he need the glow? After he emerged from the Shrine of Resurrection, when she was still able to watch over him while he slept, in the shade of a tree, in a corner bed of a traveler’s stable, by a small fire in the wild, she would sometimes catch him jolting into consciousness. Frantically reaching for whatever weapon was laid to rest beside him, pulling back from the spot his body had been, as if trying to escape something unseen and unyielding. For some reason, she always imagined a dozen hands reaching out for him from the dark of his dreams.

He stops sifting through the chest at the foot of his bed and turns to face her. ‘It’s cold.’

“Yup.”

“Really cold,” he says out loud.

“I remember.” She flinches as the words roll off her tongue. Such a simple phrase and yet, spoken to him, after all he’s been through, it feels like a knife in her hands. She knows he’s just being honest, thoughtful even, but the insecure parts of her claim he doesn’t want her to come. She crosses her arms over her chest and tries to keep the edge out of her tone. “I’d like to see the Spring.”

It's the last shrine in the region for Link to clear. Tomorrow he’ll be off to Eldin to start on the shrines there and then he’ll work his way east. An urgent message came in about a week ago from the Gorons. The lava appears to be cooling and they fear Death Mountain will fall dormant before they can commit Vah Rudania into the central vent. No one can recall a time when the Gorons expressed urgency, so Link’s original journey was revised. 

It’s taken two full months to plot out Link’s path. They have to be somewhat strategic about the shrines because he loses the ability to fast travel when he clears one, which isn’t much of an issue at the start, but as the shrines disappear, he will need to rely more upon horseback or foot to navigate back and forth. He is to clear a region, take a monster census, check in with the group running point on the guardian removal, load whatever is left into the Sheikah Slate, and then move onto the next region. They estimate he can clear at least three shrines a day. Originally, the plan proposed more, but Link hinted at the unpleasant side effects of excessive Slate travel and the Summit unanimously agreed to accept whatever he could manage. 

Purah estimates if they stay on track, all Sheikah Technology could be gone in a year. 

A year. 

Link turns back to the trunk. He fishes out a tunic, vest, and trousers, embroidered with the symbols of Rito Village, and tosses them in her direction. Zelda lunges forward to catch it all, weighing them in her arms carefully. Impossibly light for how thick the material is, she can smell the crispness of Tabanthan wind, like it’s woven into the fabric itself. 

She blinks. “Is this your snowquill set?”

He nods. 

“You’ve just finished telling me how cold Mount Lanayru’s peak is.”

He nods and holds up an emerald green doublet. The right sleeve is badly torn. 

Zelda shakes her head, holding out the snowquill set to him. “ I don’t need–”

He gives her a look. It will take him all of a minute to clear the shrine with the Slate, but they have to travel by foot down the mountain to Kakariko because he’s already cleared the rest of the surrounding shrines (hence the need for strategy moving forward). 

“I can wear the doublet,” she insists. He rolls his eyes. The ease with which he accepts personal discomfort has always bothered her, but especially now when it is on her behalf. She wants to tell him doesn’t own her anything, not his best cold gear, not his smile; that she’s better equipped to handle being uncomfortable than most after standing in a festering spring of rot and oil for a hundred years, but before she can protest further, he lifts his shirt up over his head. 

Scars weave like roads on a map across his chest, memories of pain etched forever into olive skin, the worst of which a blossom of twisted flesh on his left side where the guardian carved an entire piece of him out with a fatal glare all those years ago. It’s memory she wishes would erode with time, but clear as the day it happened, she can still feel the scream he let out when it hit him in her teeth.

He pulls his head through the hole in the doublet and makes eye contact with her.  Zelda busies herself with folding and refolding the snowquill set over her arm. She can see him shifting in her peripheral, pulling off his pants, rummaging around the trunk for another pair and some boots that will protect him against the mountain. When he’s satisfied and set, he grabs the Master Sword and exits the loft wordlessly, gifting her privacy when he takes none for himself. She’s left to change and try to diffuse the electric current running across her skin.

Somehow, she does, only for it to return the second she comes down the main floor and he tells her they have to be touching in order for the Sheikah Slate to transport them both. 

“What?” She tries to keep her voice steady. Link holds the Slate out, inspects the space between them, and then steps directly into her. They stand toe to toe, so close she can smell the pepper from the elixir on his breath. “You’ve- uh- you’ve done this before?”

He shakes his head and lifts his gaze to look at her through pale lashes. She can see specks in his eyes so blue it’s like something is always lit behind them. “It’s only meant for me, right?” he says. “It has to register you as part of me.” 

“Oh,” Zelda would be fascinated if her stomach wasn’t knotted so tight. “Should I…?” She lifts her hands toward his chest, hesitating. 

He nods. Zelda swallows. Come on, you walked into the mouth of ethereal darkness completely alone, you slayed the Great Calamity and purged all its malice from the realm, you can touch him. She wraps her arms around his middle and tucks her head into his shoulder. She feels him lift up onto his toes so he can see the Slate, hears him select the shrine, and then the world bleaches white. 

It’s an incredibly awful feeling; to exist and then just not; to splinter into a million pieces of burning magic. At least when she was with the Calamity, her physical body remained, acting like an anchor inside the neverending storm of magic. If there is any doubt inside her about the validity of Link’s theory, about Sheikah Technology being powered by spirit energy, there isn’t now. With her soul is exposed and pulsing like a nerve, she can sense the entirety of the Sheikah Technology network - all the shrines, every guardian, the towers stretching up into the sky, the furnaces burning outside the Labs - all these things without a mouth suddenly have one, and they open wide and desperate, and begin to siphon energy from her.

She comes back to herself in pieces, and when there is enough for her to cling to him, she does, gasping Lanayru’s frigid air into her lungs. She immediately starts shivering violently– although it feels more from shock than from cold. 

He leans back enough to see her face, his hands on her, smoothing hair back from her eyes. He opens his mouth, but his voice doesn’t quite leave his throat. She watches him give up on speech quickly, and instead, tilts his head with concern. 

“D-does it feel that terrible to you?” She gasps.

Link nods. She can see all the color has completely drained from his face. His eyes are sunken, the glow in the speckles now dim, like he’s been wounded and is bleeding out. 

She hates that she knows what that looks like. 

“Every time?”

He’s still inspecting her. Maybe making sure all of her made it back. When he’s satisfied, he steps back and bends over to retrieve the Sheikah Slate which sits in the snow, several inches deep, at their feet. He must have dropped it when he reached for her face. Or it just fell when they reappeared. That’s more likely, she tells herself.

He nods again, and signs, ‘I didn’t try it again for a year after the first time.’ 

Zelda often thinks about why it took Link so long to enter the Sanctum. Initially, after he gained the paraglider and the Runes, he launched himself off the Great Plateau and made a beeline for the castle. Zelda watched him march through the ruins of their fallen kingdom, seemingly fearless and determined to reach her, until he walked into the nest of hostile guardian stalkers crawling over the bones of Castle Town. Calamity slipped out of her hands for a moment, and swirled into the sky to greet him, spewing a fountain of malice so high into the atmosphere it stained the moon. Link ran all the way to Blatchery Plain and didn’t step foot in Central Hyrule again for nearly two years.  

Fear was a big part of it, but as Zelda watched him grow stronger, as memory started to return to him, she couldn’t help but feel like he was searching the Wild for something that could strip him of the destiny he could barely remember. Something that could sever the connection between them. She willed herself to give him grace, to smother the resentment that began to fester in every extra inch he put between himself and the castle. How could she damn him for running from fate when she herself resisted it as long as she could?

Those thoughts are even uglier now, having experienced what it was actually like to use the technology that waited ten thousand years for him. That was made for him.

“Link, you can’t do that more than once a day,” She wraps her arms around herself and shakes her head. 

‘It’s what needs to be done,’ he signs. 

“No,” Zelda steps forward. He doesn’t retreat, so they are close enough to touch again. She holds herself tighter to keep from reaching for him. “It’s not. I’m serious. We don’t need to do this so it's over in a year. We have time. We have help, now. ” 

He looks at her for a long minute. His expression is painfully neutral at first, guarded, but then it softens and at the same time, life starts to bleed back into his cheeks. He reaches out and grips her shoulder, firm enough to register between the layers of Rito feathers; enough to reach the parts of her that feel lost and guilty and alone. 

Link makes for the shrine. Zelda inhales and blinks the tears from her eyes, trying to hold onto the warmth he’s ignited inside her while his back is turned. The Spring invites her forward. She sets her jaw and glares at the eerily still water, unable to lift her eyes to the statue even though she can make out the reflection of the Goddess in the water. 

Does she pray? Speaking of running from destiny and owing nothing. Is devotion all she has to offer? Is it all they expect of her? She can see Link at the shrine in the cave just beyond the Spring. There is a flash of bright light and then a slow creep of darkness as the shrine disappears. She’s squeezing herself so tight her arms begin to ache, fighting against the muscle memory of where her hands go when she’s standing in this spot. 

No, she’ll never pray again, but the thing that was supposed to occupy her hands, the key to her new sense purpose, all of it will be gone in a year. It’s already gone from this place. All that is left is the statue and ice and waters that know her more than she seems to know herself.  

The wind on Lanayru’s peak is as brutal as it was a century ago. It rips at her exposed skin, and she’s immediately grateful to be wearing more than she had the last time she climbed to the top. When she climbed to the top…

Something pulls at the back of her skull, a nagging tiny detail she’s suddenly aware she is missing. It’s enough to force her gaze up to the Goddess, who has her blank eyes fixed on Zelda, waiting, as unhelpful as ever. 

Zelda can’t stop the question from pushing past her lips the second he’s within earshot.

“What’s the date?”

He pauses.

“Today’s date?” She repeats. “What is it?”

He tells her.

It’s her birthday. 

The same day a hundred years ago she failed in this very spot and the Calamity emerged, bringing terror and death and the near end of the world. If he remembers, it doesn’t register on his face. He just looks cold and a little confused. No one else would remember the date, everyone it was significant to is dead.

‘What’s wrong?’ He sweeps his hands in front of her face to get her attention. She didn’t see him approach her through the swarm of her thoughts. 

Above their heads, Naydra, a ribbon of ice, circles the mountain and lets out a groan.  

“Nothing. It’s just I’m…I’m 18.” Zelda replies in a hollow tone. Even as she says it, it doesn't feel true. She can’t decide if she feels eighteen or a hundred and eighteen. It is just a date, and somehow, it’s the same as the moment he recommended they destroy the Sheikah Technology and Hyrule rallied, the instant she realized Purah has been circling Sheikah Towers on maps, when the shrine by his house disappeared into nothing before her eyes. 

It’s time to move on. 

Link was right. It is cold. Pillars of crystal blue ice curve into fingers that point down. Away from the Spring and prayers she will never say again, in the direction of a spot in the distance, maybe the same the Sheikah Eye looks to now, that Zelda can’t quite see, but everyone else seems to trust. 

Snow begins to fall in sheets of white, a storm summoned by Naydra’s descent. It rapidly begins covering the path ahead.  If she doesn’t move her feet soon, she risks becoming trapped. Frozen. 

The fire his touch lit inside her goes out. She looks at him and the light behind his eyes. She’s so desperate for warmth and Purah said it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, anyway-

Zelda lunges forward into his arms, buries her face in the doublet she should be wearing, and lets out a sob that is swallowed by the wind. 

—-

Three weeks after Link leaves for Eldin, a letter arrives in Hateno addressed to her.  

Zelda stayed behind to focus on phase two of the restoration efforts. That has always been the plan, but when she watched Link disappear, face caged by the helm of his flamebreaker armor because he was teleporting right into the beating heart of Death Mountain to see the cooling lava for himself, she couldn’t help but feel regret she didn’t ask to go with him. 

Purah put her to work immediately. There are a few moments that have felt good even without Link there, like when they helped Reede figure out how to update the irrigation system, meaning the village can plan to double their crops next year; or whenever Purah pulls her aside to get her thoughts on the Anti-Aging Rune. 

It’s what needs to be done.

His words replay over and over again in her head. They keep her from doing selfish things, like looking over the proposal stuffed under her bed or cocooning herself away from the world in her tiny cot in Purah’s study. They have a kingdom to restore and jobs to be done; roles to define. Now is not the time to be self-serving. It is time to move forward. To let go of the past. Bury what she can’t destroy. 

Zelda,

I’m hoping the letter survives the heat. When I’m close to the belly of the mountain, my arrows start smoking. Took your advice. There are only ten shrines in Eldin and no one seemed to notice I was a day behind schedule when I reached Goron City. I’m not saying I won’t use fast travel when I need to, but it feels easier to travel how I prefer after what you said. Thanks. 

The bike helps. Did you know I have one? It is shaped like a horse. Climbs the rocky terrain around the mountain pretty good and I don’t feel guilty like I would if it was one of my own. The horse god would have my head. I’ve never asked her what she thinks about a Divine Beast in her liking.  

Anyway, it’s the only thing I think I’ll miss about the Tech. 

Will you write to me? I meant to ask before I left, but it never felt like the right time. Would give me something to look forward to.

Link

Zelda rereads the last sentence three times. Every inch of her is warm and buzzing. Her heart rabbits against her breast so hard she has to set down the letter and fold over herself, pulling air in through her nose until everything slows enough for her to form a coherent thought. 

She has a response ready before the sun sets the same day. 

Link,

I’m glad to hear you are taking care of yourself. Have you been able to rest, too? You said you were a day behind schedule, which means you still traveled dozens of miles of craggy terrain in record time. If you are looking to make a habit out of my taking my advice, please prioritize your rest. 

I didn’t know about the bike. It was more challenging to watch over you toward the end and I’m assuming that’s when you received it. Did I ever tell you I did that? If these letters are meant to have a theme, I suppose I should share something, too, right?  

I would be happy to write to you. I will be leaving for Tarrey Town in a month’s time. I’m not sure when this letter will reach you or when you’ll have time to respond, but I’m to meet with Hudson to hear the rough proposal for rebuilding efforts across Hyrule once the Sheikah Technology is gone. 

Everything is moving so fast. I suppose it all feels fast to me now. It’s a good thing, right?

Zelda

His letter breathes new life into her final days in Hateno. She borrows an old shirt out of Link’s trunk, rolls up the sleeves, and volunteers to help Dantz and his sister Koyin build out the fence for more livestock. The learning curve is pretty steep, she’s never had so much dirt cakes under the fingernails, and although Koyin seems a little annoyed with her at the start, when Zelda shows up with the sun the following morning, ready to work, the tension dissipates by noon.

His next letter comes a week later. 

Zelda,

I’m resting when I need to. I hope you are, too.

We never talked about that, but it makes my memories of that time feel less lonely now. Thank you.

Eldin has the least amount of shrines and guardians, so I’ll be heading east soon. I’ve got the cores.The Gorons plan to use most of the guardian metal in their restoration territories to reinforce the mines closer to the volcano since it withstands the heat well. 

They are sending Vah Rudania into the fire tomorrow morning. It still feels as hot as hell up here, but they are convinced something is changing inside the mountain and want to get it over with. They will be splitting their aid between Central Hyrule and Akkala to help the Hylians once it's all said and done. Yubuno is leading the charge to Akkala.  Say hi to him if you see him. He’s more useful than he gives himself credit for. 

Hudson’s an interesting guy. Watch yourself – not like he’s dangerous or anything, but he’ll have you running errands for him if you aren’t careful. He’s good at selling what he’s invested in and nothing is more important to him than forward motion. Except maybe his wife, Rhondson. I think they had their baby girl right before the Summit. He was anxious about being away. Can’t remember the name. 

If the building is up to Hudson, it’ll be in good hands. 

It does feel fast, but at the end of it all, it's just another year. Important things take time. 

Link

His penmanship is challenging. She can tell he’s either walking or riding while he writes by the blotches of ink and the aggressive slant in his writing which means either he’s lying about the rest, or he’s multitasking because of it. 

They exchange several letters in the six months she spends in Tarrey Town. Hudson is passionate about what he’s good at, and she learns more about infrastructure and the philosophy of construction than she imagined possible. She watches him raise three new homes from nothing in the time she is there.  Everyone in the village plays a part, down to the children who paint the stamps of the town’s symbol; a heart, which Hudson says is the most essential resource they have for the restoration ahead. It’s the kind of thing a real leader says. She’s learned better than to get ahead of herself, but the idea Hyrule could grow without her needing to take the throne, where she is bound to fail them again, if someone like Hudson guided them takes root. 

She half-jokingly starts referring to him as President Hudson. 

Zelda also spends time with his infant daughter, Mattison, whose tiny fingers and bright emerald eyes give Zelda enough strength to keep her teary eyes on the horizon when Purah announces she and Robbie have a plan for the Sheikah Towers– tear them down, too. They propose erecting brand new towers, called Skyview Towers, and they think they can power them entirely with sunlight. A formal prototype of the device to connect them all is also in the works: the Purah Pad. 

Link makes it to Hebra. There are significantly more shrines and a graveyard of decaying guardians in the canyon that splits Rowan Plain and southern Tabantha. The Gorons he traveled with take most of the metal back to Death Mountain, so he goes up into the snowfields alone and takes out a white-maned lynel by the North Lomei Labyrinth. This is one of the regions their strategy must be followed closely, otherwise he risks getting stranded in a blizzard without shelter. He bounces back and forth between Rito Village and the shrines scattered across the mountain range over the course of several weeks. He sends her feathers, and braids of colored rope, and receipts from his stays at Swallows’s Roost and Snowfield stable. She sends him a cherry red Akkala forest leaf and an order from Hudson for a hundred and thirty six bundles of cedar. 

Link sends back a twig.

He’s surprisingly witty, but by the time he’s reached Faron, his humor runs out. His letters grow taciturn, more reflective of how he is in person. He reports on cursory things like the weather and the lack of ingredients for a proper meal. The only glimpse into what he’s feeling comes with how he signs his last letter:  

I never want to see another shrine again. 

By her estimate, he’s still got at least three dozen shrines left between Central Hyrule, Necluda, and Akkala, so she avoids mentioning anything about them and instead, asks where his favorite place in Hyrule is, hoping to break up the droning routine of his days and coax something hopeful back out of him. 

She doesn’t hear from him for six weeks. 

Impa tells her to try not to worry, that he’s known for disappearing for much longer and now that he is known, someone is bound to recognize him and will send an update of whatever has sidetracked him in good time. The lack of urgency from the Sheikah makes her blood boil. Even Paya, who has been known to worry about too much dust and heirlooms, doesn’t seem all that concerned with Link’s whereabouts. It makes Zelda wish she was anywhere else; makes her long for a home she could run back to and slam the door. It’s not their fault the way the wind moves through the pass to Telta Lake reminds her of the sound he made when his last breath rattled past his lips, or the fact she’s barely slept because she’s watching the skies for a Blood Moon (there hasn’t been once since Calamity Ganon defeat). Even though she has no way to warn him properly, it's the only way she feels useful. Like visiting the Spring of Wisdom, or the pause that grips her everytime she passes the inlet to the Goddess statue in the center of Kakariko, or blaming Hylia, it’s another old habit from her old life that activates whenever she feels useless.

She’s about to write to Prince Sidon for help when the updates come in. All the shrines in East Necluda, including the one that sat on top of Eventide Island, are gone. Link was last seen riding a draft horse in the direction of Central Hyrule. Another report says he’s been seen near Lake Hylia, heading north toward the Great Plateau. 

The letter arrives soon after. 

I’m standing in the broken cathedral on the Great Plateau. I guess they call it a temple. It feels like it might have been holy once. Maybe it was the place where something significant happened, or something important was hidden, but if that is true, it's long gone. It's just the first of many empty, rusted places that have told me about myself since I woke up. This is the place where I learned ghosts could speak and I could hear them. It’s also where I first heard your name. 

I followed the plan and came here after the Gerudo region was done. It took me half a day to clear all the shrines. Only the Shrine of Resurrection was left. I was going to paraglide off the northeast wall toward Lake Hylia and prepare for Faron. That’s my problem. I’m always ten steps ahead. Most of the time I have to be.

Zelda, I completely froze. I stood outside the Shrine for an afternoon that turned into another and then another, trying to pull myself together, screaming at my feet to just move, but I couldn’t do it. It feels like the Shrine knows I’m here. Like it’s waiting for me to step back inside. The more and more I stare at this stupid cave, the more I see a mouth that will close the moment I’m inside. 

So I left, took care of Faron, came back, left again and went to Necluda. 

You want to know where my favorite place in Hyrule is? There is a spring on top of a waterfall north of Lake Floria. It's where I first saw Farosh. Came right out of the water and climbed up into the sky above my head. Nearly scared me to death. I can’t really explain it well, but it's where I realized I wanted to actually be here. Ruins and wild and all. It's where I realized I wanted to be the one to save Hyrule. To save you.

I followed Farosh back to the plateau this time. I took one of her scales for courage. Imagine that. I know what I have to do. Just like I did back then, even when I was running and telling myself they had the wrong guy, or if I made them wait long enough, they would find someone else. 

It’s just, sometimes it feels like this destiny asks too much, you know? 

I know what I have to do. And I will. As selfish as it sounds, I just wish you were still with me.

Link

She wipes her mouth. As much as her fingers shake with it, as badly as she wants to pour her heart into a reply – because she knows exactly what he’s saying when he talks about destiny and feeling selfish and needing courage– the letter feels like a plea–

A prayer. 

She shivers like she did on Lanayru. There is gold on her tongue, the taste of pure sunlight and falling stars. Why is it only in moments when he’s suffering can she summon this Power? She pushes the words as they form in her head across all the miles between them, trying to imagine them soaring like birds to where he waits. She tries to imagine them reaching for him and his head turning to the sound–

But there is no way for her to see him now. She’s not confident the magic is even really there, so when the buzz leaves her fingertips and she can actually grip a pen, she sends those words in a letter, too.

Link, 

Come to Kakariko. I’ll go with you. I’m always with you. 

You don’t have to do this alone. 

Zelda

end notes- This fic is set in the same story as like someone would” You don’t have to read it, but it might add a little extra context to this chapter in particular, especially since that fic is Link’s POV.

[runnning-outof-time]

Birmingham | Tommy Shelby x Reader (Part 19)

Previous Part

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: (Y/N) spends some time with the youngest member of the Shelby family before spending the night with the member she's gotten the closest to.

Warnings: language, drinking, smoking

Word Count: 4956

A/N: idk how this many words came out of me so quickly…I’m completely invested on telling the rest of their story now, and I hope you don’t mind the length of the part; I didn’t want to split it and make it have more than 20 parts. This was a fun one to write. Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

There’s one part left! - expect it next week!

(Y/N) remembered the way to the Watery Lane home from when she'd walked there with Tommy a couple weeks ago. She stopped at the door and raised her hand to knock, but hesitated before she was able to as Polly's words ran through her mind: "come right in when you arrive." She heeded to the words, twisting the door's handle and entering the home.

The house was silent as she stepped into the entry room. A nervous feeling filled her as she worried she was overstepping her boundaries. She walked further into the house despite the feeling, knowing she wasn't going to make whoever was inside aware of her presence if she stayed in the doorway.

In the dining room, she found a kid. Her brows furrowed together as she wracked her brain trying to figure out who he may be. Did one of the Shelbys have a child? "Excuse me?" she decided to ask, making the boy look in her direction. "Is Polly Gray here?" she got right to the point.

"Aunt Polly had to run to the market to get a few things. She said she'd be right back," the boy answered with no hesitation.

His words made (Y/N) nod. Of course I'd come when she's out, she thought to herself while inwardly sighing. "Is anyone else home?" she tried another question. Surely this kid wasn't home alone.

"Nope, it's just me," the boy answered with a smile, speaking in a tone that let (Y/N) know this wasn't the first time he'd been left in this situation.

"Oh...ok," (Y/N) nodded slowly as she wrapped her head around the details she'd been given. "Who might you be exactly?" she decided to stop dancing around the unknowns and ask the boy the question that was on her mind since she stumbled upon him. She felt so silly asking the child such a question.

"I'm Finn," he chirped, the smile on his face telling her that he wasn't at all bothered by her asking.

"Oh, we'll it's nice to meet you, Finn, I'm (Y/N)," (Y/N) smiled politely.

"You work for my brothers, don't you?" it was time for (Y/N) to answer a question now.

"I do," (Y/N) nodded, holding her smile for a little longer. There's another Shelby sibling? she wondered, her mind then going back to when she rushed to tell Polly about Grace's schemes. Finn must've been the boy who was sleeping on Polly's lap.

"I'm working on my maths homework," Finn spoke again, his statement having nothing to do with the previous conversation. (Y/N) wanted to laugh at the abrupt change, I guess the introductions are over, she thought.

"Yeah?" she asked, prompting him to continue.

"Yeah," he nodded, "I wanted to go out and help John, but Aunt Polly told me that I need to finish my work first," he pouted slightly as he explained his situation.

"That's smart of your aunt to say...school's important," (Y/N) agreed with the decision that was made by the older woman.

"But none of my brothers finished school!" Finn protested, his brows furrowing to show his distaste with the situation.

"So then you'll be the smart one," (Y/N) smiled, "is there something I can help you with?" she asked him then, taking a few steps over to where he was sitting.

"I guess," he sighed in defeat once he realized that this lady also wasn't going to let him get out of arithmetic.

"Alright," (Y/N) smiled, walking over to the open chairs so that she could sit down next to him, "let's see what you're working on here," she said, glancing over his paper. She was relieved to see that he was working on simple skills...she didn't know how much help she would be if it were any of the harder applications as it had been awhile since she'd really practiced any of them.

(Y/N) happily got into explaining the properties of the skill that he was working on, using one of the questions to show him how to efficiently do it. Finn was happy to have her complete one of the problems for him. A groan came in response when (Y/N) uttered the statement 'now it's your turn'. She was so invested in helping him that she didn't notice that a certain someone had entered the home through its side doors and was watching the interaction.

"Did I do it?" Finn asked, putting the pencil down and looking over at (Y/N).

(Y/N) checked the problem over before looking up at the boy with a smile, "you did," she told him, making a proud smile break onto his face.

"Thank you for helping me," he politely said.

"You're welcome. Do you think you can do the next one?" she raised her eyebrows, watching as he nodded; a look of determination now on his face.

"Tommy!" the unmistakable voice of Arthur Shelby’s came from the room that was adjacent to where Finn and (Y/N) were.

This made (Y/N) quickly look up and find that Tommy was standing in said room, his eyes already locked onto her. She wanted to gasp at the surprise, but instead stayed silent; staring at him like a deer in the headlights as she wondered how long he'd been standing there for. Tommy didn't remove his gaze; keeping it on her as Arthur walked up behind him. He stood still until his brother clapped him on the back and began talking, which finally made him look away. (Y/N) kept her eyes focused on him, a million different ideas of what to say running through her mind.

"I see you're here already, (Y/N)," Polly's voice came from the opposite side of the room, making her finally break her gaze from the man in the other room to see the older woman entering the room with a basket on her arm.

"I only got here a short while ago," (Y/N) answered, her cheeks heating up as she stood from the table and rushed to make herself useful. She couldn't shake the feeling of the intense gaze that was on her once more. "Is there any way I can help you?" she then offered.

"You can help me start dinner," Polly answered with a smile before she looked over at Finn.

"She was helping me with my maths, Aunt Pol!" Finn smiled proudly.

"That's very kind of her," Polly commented, smiling at the boy before she brought it over to (Y/N), who simply sent one in return. "Are you boys sticking around?" she asked Tommy and Arthur as she led (Y/N) into the kitchen area.

"Business came up," Tommy's response was short, his words making Polly sigh.

"Can't even make a bloody stew around here without having enough mouths to eat it," she grumbled, sending her nephews both a glare. She'd hoped that the family would actually be around for the family dinner.

"We'll get some later, Pol," Arthur promptly assured her.

"Can I go with them?" Finn asked with hopeful eyes.

"You've not finished your maths," Polly pointed out, telling him 'no' without even saying the word. Her response made the boy's shoulders slump.

"You'll come some other time," Arthur said to his youngest brother, patting him on the shoulder as he walked towards the archway.

Tommy followed close behind, moving around the kitchen to get to the door that Polly had just entered through. (Y/N) stood next to where Polly was unloading her things, waiting to be of use wherever she'd be needed. Tommy walked past her wordlessly, instead placing his hand against the small of her back as he went by; much like one would do when they're in close quarters with someone. Except they weren't in close quarters at all. (Y/N) froze up slightly at the touch, shocks running through her skin where his hand had brushed as he went. She watched him go, wanting so bad to say something, but her mind was coming up empty.

It wasn't until he exited the room that she looked at Polly again. She felt her cheeks heat up as she found the older woman looking at her with an expectant expression present on her face. (Y/N) smiled at her, trying to play things off like she hadn't reacted the way she did to Tommy's touch.

But, of course, Polly was too bright to believe the act. "I know all of what happened in Sheffield, (Y/N)," she stated, her lips pursed together as she tried to conceal her grin. (Y/N)'s eyes widened and jaw went slack; a wordless way to ask 'what?'. "Ada shares way too much with me sometimes..." she trailed off, letting the younger woman know that she knew about the elephant in the room.

"Do you...will you need help with any of the cooking?" (Y/N) tried to deflect, hoping that her flushed nature wouldn't appear too apparent.

Polly looked her over for a moment before she tasked her with chopping up some of the vegetables. The two women worked silently, and (Y/N) was happy that she was able to get past that topic with only slight hiccups...or so she thought. "Thomas doesn't let very many people in, you know," she brought the topic back into discussion. Her statement made (Y/N) look in her direction. "He acts differently when he's with you."

"He does?" (Y/N) thoughtlessly asked her.

"He does," Polly nodded, "you're good for him. He needs someone like you in his life; someone who'll stay by his side," she said in a definitive tone.

"Oh, I don't know, Pol..." (Y/N) began to speak, wanting to say that she wasn't quite sure where she and Tommy really stood in…those regards.

"I do know," Polly cut her off, an assured expression present on her face, "and I'm never wrong in affairs of the heart," she insisted, raising her eyebrows slightly. (Y/N) only smiled at her, unable to think of anything to say in response.

The two women continued on with making the stew, preparing and cooking it, and then setting out on the table for the three remaining people in the house to eat. They were working on cleaning things up when the door to the home opened again. Ardent footsteps sounded off of the hardwood, and soon Tommy was visible as he quickly made his way over to the kitchen.

"Dinner?" Polly asked him, stopping her wiping of one of the dishes.

"No," Tommy shook his head before his gaze fell on (Y/N), "I need you to come with me."

"Me?" she asked in surprise, gesturing to herself as her eyebrows raised.

"Yes," Tommy nodded, haste present in his tone, "I need to take you somewhere," he kept his reasoning vague.

(Y/N) glanced over at Polly for a moment then. The older woman only nodded in Tommy's direction. Seeing that she'd get no help there, she exhaled a sigh and walked to Tommy's side. "Let's go," she stated, sharing her decision with him. Tommy nodded at her and (Y/N) sent one last glance in Polly's direction before she followed him out of the door.

—

"Where are we going?" (Y/N) asked as they walked to the outskirts of town. The walk was quiet so far; Tommy hadn't shared a lick of information about where their destination was, or why they were even going there.

"I need to check on something," Tommy answered, taking another drag from the cigarette he'd been smoking.

"And I needed to join you?" she asked another question, her eyebrows raised.

"I couldn't come alone," he answered matter-of-factly, "and I can trust you. You won't be on me with questions," he added, throwing his cigarette to the ground before he looked over at her, tucking his hands into his pockets as they walked.

"Oh," was all (Y/N) said in response, now feeling silly for asking questions when the reason she'd been accompanying him was because he thought she wouldn't. But the way he said it didn't make it sound like he was angry that she was.

"We're nearly there," Tommy commented, looking ahead once again.

The two walked up a hill and a graveyard came into view. (Y/N)'s eyebrows furrowed at the sight, but she stayed silent. There was a reason why they'd come here. That reason came into view as a grave that was marked with the name 'Daniel Owens'.

"Fuck," Tommy breathed, aggravation present in exclamation.

"What's wrong?" (Y/N) asked, hoping to gain some insight as she looked at what seemed to be a freshly dug grave.

"They found them," his answer was abrupt, and it made (Y/N) even more lost. Who found what? "The guns...they've found the guns," Tommy spoke again, making (Y/N) realize that she'd voiced her thought instead of keeping it to herself. She couldn't let herself react though...now wasn't the time to get self-conscious over a slip up.

"What happens now?" she asked, hoping that he wouldn't get even more upset by the fact that she was, once again, doing the exact opposite of what he hoped she would.

"I've lost my bargaining power. This copper...Campbell...it's just me and him now..." he trailed off, exhaling the rest of his breath as a frustrated sigh, "fuck," he said under his breath, looking off to the cityscape as he tried to wrap his head around the change of events.

"I'm sorry, Tommy," (Y/N) spoke up after a few moments passed. Her stomach had been tied in knots since the mention of Campbell. That name alone made her realize what had happened and now the guilt was building up higher by the second.

"About what, love?" Tommy asked her, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"I knew..." she admitted, trying - and failing - to swallow the lump in her throat before continuing, "I knew about Grace; that she was working with Campbell; that she was trying to take your family down, and I didn't tell you. I don't know why I didn't, I...I just figured that..."

"I knew about her, (Y/N)," Tommy cut her off before she could stumble through the rest of her admission. His voice held no prominent emotion; his mind was still reeling from his discovery. "Pol told me; before we left for Sheffield. She said that she was going to deal with it; that you and I should focus on what needed to be done," he explained what he had known for a few weeks now.

"I'm still sorry. I shouldn't have kept it from you," she didn't take his statement and let the topic drop, the guilt still present inside of her.

"It's fine, (Y/N)," he assured her, his eyes slightly wider as he tried to get her to realize that she'd not done anything wrong.

"Yeah, but..."

"Love, let it go, eh?" he cut her off before she could explain herself any further. He had a pointed expression on his face, and its presence made her realize that she wasn't going to get any further on the topic. So she nodded her head, conceding to his request. "Let's go," he said then, not having any other reason to stick around the graveyard any longer.

(Y/N) nodded again, adding a soft 'ok' before she fell in beside Tommy and began walking back into the city.

"I saw you with Finn earlier," Tommy spoke again after they'd been walking for a few minutes.

"Yeah...he's a sweet boy," (Y/N) smiled at the thought of the child.

"He needs someone like you to help him..." Tommy began, glancing over at (Y/N) momentarily before continuing, "me brothers and I are no use when it comes to things like that. Pol tries to help, but..." he trailed off again, tilting his head to the side as he tried to think of the proper words to describe what it was that Polly does. He sighed when nothing came to mind, "yeah...it's good he's got you," he decided to end it there, looking at her again.

(Y/N) smiled at the sentiment Tommy had just shared with her. "I'd be happy to help him," she stated, feeling honored that he felt that way.

They turned the corner then, making the Garrison come into view. "Join me for a drink?" Tommy asked her when they were a few steps away.

"Sure," (Y/N) answered with a soft smile, not seeing anything wrong with the offer.

Tommy nodded as he heard her answer and opened the door to the tavern, letting her enter first before following behind her. The room was basically empty, save for Polly and Harry standing at the bar.

"Here he is," Polly stated, exhaling a sigh of relief.

"What?" Tommy was confused by her unusual greeting, his brows furrowed as he looked between the two.

"I just got word from my brother in Digbeth. He said that there's police coming down from Deritend in numbers and that they're asking for you by name," Harry told Tommy the information that he'd been given. (Y/N)'s throat dried up as she realized what that meant.

"Fuck," Tommy breathed, tipping his head back in exasperation. This day was getting worse by the second.

"You'll have to go somewhere, lie low for the night," Polly voiced a possible plan.

"Where?" Tommy asked no one in particular.

"Come with me," (Y/N) suggested before anyone could say anything else. The rest of the group looked at her, and she instantly felt the desire to shrink into herself; now thinking that her idea was bad.

"That's a good idea. Go with her until the dust settles," Polly agreed with the younger woman's suggestion. Tommy didn't say anything right away. Instead he kept his eyes fixed on (Y/N).

"The police are in the lane, Tommy!" Finn's panicked voice came from the door that he'd hastily opened.

"Go on, go," Polly ordered the two, nodding her head to the building's side door.

Tommy only nodded before turning and walking over to said door. (Y/N) hurried along behind him, following him out the door and into the alleyway. Nothing was said as they quickly made their way to her apartment, making sure to take all of the off streets so they wouldn't be found.

A relieved breath escaped (Y/N)'s lips when they were finally behind her apartment's closed door. "I don't think anyone noticed us," she said once she'd finished locking the door.

"We'll be fine," Tommy responded, not an ounce of worry in his words.

"You'll be staying the night then?" she asked him.

"I'd say I would be," his answer was simple, and a surge of something indescribable shot through (Y/N) as she heard him say it.

She found it ironic that Tommy was now hiding out across the hall from where the person who ratted him out lived. Of course she didn't know if said person still lived there, and she wasn't about to go knock and find out, but the idea of it all just seemed so funny to her.

"It's late, I..." (Y/N) paused, wondering if it would be proper to even announce this to him, "I'm going to go and get changed for the night," she decided to continue on with sharing her plans. Tommy nodded after hearing her statement. It's not like he could have really said no to her...this was her home after all. (Y/N) nodded also before she went to her bedroom and changed her clothing for a sleeping gown and a robe.

When she returned to the main room, she found Tommy sitting at the table with a glass in front of him. "I hope you don't mind," he stated, motioning to the bottle sitting on the table.

"I see you found my stash," she grinned at him, moving over to the cupboard to grab a glass before she sat across from him, "I don't mind, you just have to share with me...you promised me a drink, remember?" she reminded him, holding the glass out to him. He got to pouring, filling her glass up halfway.

Silence fell between them then as they stared at each other. (Y/N) kept her hand fastened to the glass, unable to break herself from the trance she felt like she was being sucked into. Why did his eyes have to be so mesmerizing? Why did his gaze have to be so intense? It was like he was sizing her up; his eyes combing over every inch of her face.

Tommy was waiting for (Y/N) to take the lead in the conversation. He knew that she was grappling with something; he could see it in her eyes. He was desperate to know what was on her mind, but he didn't want to force her into saying it.

"Have I done something wrong?" (Y/N) was the first to speak, finally blurting out the question that had been circling her brain since their tense interaction at the Garrison yesterday.

"What?" Tommy questioned her, his brows now furrowed. He didn't expect that type of question from her.

"Yesterday, at the office. That was the first time I saw you since Sheffield, and you seemed closed off towards me. It made me wonder if I...that maybe I did something wrong, or that maybe we did something that you regret," she explained herself, her voice trailing off at the end so that the last eight words were uttered at a lower volume.

Tommy heard them loud as day though. They made him think; wondering why she was caught up on their interaction...why she was second guessing what had happened between them before they left Sheffield? Why would she think that he regretted it? He'd be waiting to do that for so long. "(Y/N), I don't..."

"Police, open up!" a loud voice and incessant knocking interrupted Tommy before he could quell her worries.

The knocking continued as (Y/N)'s eyes widened, realizing that they were surely looking for Tommy. "You need to hide!" she whisper-yelled to him, dramatically pointing to the door of her bedroom. Tommy nodded, still a little too calm for her liking.

She then realized that she was going to have to speak to these coppers. Shit. She walked to the door after a deep breath to contain herself. "Can I help you?" she asked once she opened the door to see two police officers. She hoped that she came off as composed.

"We're looking for Thomas Shelby, have you seen him?" the one officer asked in a gruff voice while the other peered around her into the apartment.

"I've not seen him," (Y/N) shook her head, hoping the interaction would end there.

But of course, it didn't. "You work at the Garrison, correct?" the copper asked another question.

"Correct," (Y/N) gave a brief answer.

"And you've not seen him?" the second man jumped in, his eyebrows raised.

"No, sir," (Y/N) answered with a shake of her head, feeling much more composed now, "I am merely an employee at his establishment." The man who asked the question raised his eyebrows, looking as though her answer wasn't sufficient enough for him. (Y/N) caught that and happily added on, "you don't see your boss and keep tabs on his whereabouts every single day, do you?" she raised her eyebrows right back at him, annoyance seeping into her words.

She was met with silence from both of them. Clearly they couldn't dispute her statement.

"I thought not," she said with a single nod, pleased with the outcome, "it's late, and I'm clearly in my sleeping gown. Are there any more questions you need to ask me?" she asked them, her tone flat as she raised her eyebrows once more.

"No, ma'am," the first officer answered, sounding defeated.

"Good. Goodnight, officers," she said her farewell, not even giving them enough of a chance to respond before she shut the door on them.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips once she was behind the partition again. She was happy that she was able to keep up an innocent front while answering their questions.

She was still taking a moment to herself when Tommy emerged from the bedroom. In her absence, he'd taken off his coat and shirt, leaving him in an undershirt and trousers with suspenders holding them up. Seeing him just about made her melt. He looked so different now; more comfortable and, dare she say it...content.

"Thank you, (Y/N)," he said to her as he walked out into the living area.

"You're welcome," she sent a small smile in return. Silence returned to the room again, and it made (Y/N) remember where they'd left off on their conversation before the officers came to the door. As much as she was wondering what was on his mind, she didn't know if she could take anymore excitement for the evening. "It's, uh...it's getting late. You can use my bed tonight," she broke the silence, offering him a place to sleep.

"No, I'll stay on the couch," Tommy turned down her offer with a slight shake of his head. He didn't want to take the bed from her...that would be very ungentlemanly of him.

"Then I'll stay out here with you," (Y/N) was quick to say, her words noticeably catching Tommy off guard, "in case anymore visitors come knocking," she added, hoping that adding reasoning improved her grounds for saying it.

"Expecting someone?" Tommy questioned in a tone that (Y/N) couldn't quite decipher. She wasn't sure if he was kidding or being serious. She hoped it was the latter.

"No, but I am harboring a fugitive," she decided to go the joking route, poking fun at him as she cracked a smile. She was relieved when he chuckled at her statement.

"Fair enough," he nodded his head, a smile breaking through on his lips. (Y/N) took reverie in the sight.

"Shall we?" she awkwardly asked after a few, quiet moments had passed, wanting to kick herself for how she then motioned to the couch in the room. Her question made Tommy's smile widen though, so she took it as a victory.

They both moved over to the couch. Silence fell around them, once again, but this time it was comfortable.

"I don't regret anything that happened between you and I, (Y/N)," Tommy was the one to break the silence this time. His words made her eyes snap in his direction. He saw her surprise and decided to continue, "there's a lot happening...with the races coming up, and now Campbell finding the guns. My mind's full, but I don't regret what happened between us."

"I..." (Y/N) trailed off, her mind going too fast for her to keep up. She was hoping for him to say something like this, but now that he did, she didn't have a clue of what to say back. "Thank you for letting me know," she lamely said, wanting to kick herself yet again for going the awkward route.

Tommy opened his mouth then, looking like he was about to say something as his eyes searched her face, but after a moment he decided against it and exhaled a slight sigh, looking off to the wall again. "Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked her.

"I don't," she answered with a soft smile, all the while wondering what it was that he was going to say at first.

Tommy nodded upon hearing her answer, standing from the couch to fish his cigarettes out of the pocket of his suit jacket. He then moved to the opposite side of the room, not wanting to be on top of her as he lit up a match. His mind was reeling with all of the things he wanted to say to her. He wanted to tell her that he needed her, that she was important to him, and that he felt that things would turn out fine as long as she was by his side, even moreso, things would be good if she was. But he couldn't...he just couldn't get the words out. And so he stared out the window as he smoked his cigarette.

(Y/N) busied herself with a pamphlet that was sitting on the side table. She tried to focus on reading it rather than the millions of questions that were rushing through her mind. Somehow he quelled her one worry and created ten more. What was he going to say to me?! she wanted to scream to the heavens. But she couldn't, and so she just quietly sat and 'read' over the paper in her hands.

Tommy came back over to the couch once he was finished. By that time, (Y/N) had placed the pamphlet back on the table and had relaxed across the couch. "I'm sorry, I got comfortable," she apologized as she noticed Tommy standing in front of her.

"Don't apologize, love," he brushed her statement off, watching as she hastily sat up and opened a spot for him.

"Here. Sit," she motioned to the open cushion, a sheepish smile on her face as she watched him sit down. He sent a smile as a silent thank you, and got comfortable on the couch again.

(Y/N) yawned, and not much more was said as she twisted herself and tried to get comfortable again. All the moving around probably annoyed Tommy, but the end result most certainly didn't. She finally got comfortable when she rested her head on his shoulder. By that point, she was too tired to care of the formalities, and drifted off to sleep.

Tommy stayed up for most of the night...not because he wasn't tired, but rather because he wanted to savor the moment where he felt like all of his worries were miles away…thanks to the beautiful woman who was sleeping next to him.

Next Part

Tagged: @mgcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @l1-l4 @chlorrox @lostgirl219 @woofgocows @bdudette @mrkdvidal1989 @stephhevring @fictional-hooman @httyd-marauders @nataliewalker93 @rangerelik @thecraziestcrayon @cilliansangel @shaddixlife @tracysnook

SERIES MASTERLIST

[frozenfries]

Coming Home (Chamber x Reader)

Prompt: After a few weeks apart, you finally reunite with Chamber in France.

Word Count: 667

• Chamber had never found goodbyes particularly difficult. Yet with you, he can’t help but look back a few times on the tarmac as you’re called away on a mission and he’s to return back to his homeland for some vacation time.

• His mode of correspondence with you is a mix of good, old-fashioned snail mail and modern handheld technology.

• You’d get a new postcard from him every few days along with digital snaps of his daily activities.

• He prefers short voice memos over text messages, even if it’s just to wish you well in the morning or at night.

• He’s good at keeping himself busy while apart from you, but you’re never far from his thoughts - especially when there’s a chance you could get hurt, or worse.

• Upon meeting again, he nearly swoons when you rush into his arms for a hug.

• It’s moments like these that make him appreciate the little things in life.

The last time you’d seen one another, Chamber had winked at you, his parting words holding a promise:

“I assure that you will not even have time to miss me before we are together again! Safe travels, yes?”

Then you were off, waving to him through the aircraft window until he was nothing but a spec in the distance.

That was weeks ago.

Due to the nature of your work, you two had been separated for an undetermined amount of time over a situation involving Omega Earth. But now that it required some lab investigation, what with Killjoy’s findings, you and Chamber would be able to see one another for the first time in weeks.

And you were running late.

Your train had incurred some unforeseen delays, pushing back your meeting time. Even worse, cell service was limited, so you couldn’t update him about your ETA. When it finally pulled into the station, the doors hissed open and you flew out, hastily descending down the steps. Striding briskly along the walkway, you searched for an empty spot on the platform amidst the throng of people getting on and off the cable cars.

“Mon amour!”

You froze, turning at the sound of a voice you’d recognize anywhere. A few people brushed past, but you paid them no attention. Among the swarm of commuters, you spotted a familiar, handsome face a ways away. It was one that you’d yearned to see for quite some time now. You grinned, your feet rushing toward him as though on autopilot.

One step closer…

As soon as you were within reaching distance, he enveloped you in a fierce hug. “Vincent!” You laughed happily, winding your arms around his neck. Then you leaned in and kissed him right on the lips, taking him by surprise.

Returning your kiss, he closed his eyes and held you a bit tighter before stepping back without letting go. “My, you know how to make an entrance,” he remarked, his brown irises glittering at you fondly. The wind from the tunnels blew against your skin and through your hair, allowing him to commit even the smallest of your features to memory.

Despite the terminal buzzing with activity, it felt like you were the only people there. As though it were built, in that moment, entirely for the two of you alone.

“So,” he smirked teasingly, causing you to raise an eyebrow. “I believe you owe me some time for pain and suffering that I experienced while you were away.” Your eyes widened in brief panic before he placed a hand to his chest dramatically, causing you to nudge him as you rolled your eyes.

Taking your hand, he gently kissed the back of it before lacing your fingers with his, speaking tender words he knew he never would take for granted again.

“Let’s go home, mon amour.”

[bleach-your-panties]

toji, the dick-slinging slasher 🍆💦 🔪❗️- toji fushiguro x fem reader 

🍔: first jjk fic EVER and it's crack lmao.

🍔: this was too good for me not to write

🔪: prompts from the wheel of misfortune, i can't help myself

🔪: includes horror prompt from beyond the grave & kink prompts sir kink, clothed sex, filming/recording, food play, & size kink 

🔪tagging: @bastardblvd, please don't kick me out of town for this mess of a fic 🤣😭

🍟:4.0k words

🍟:warnings: crack, slightly dubcon, non-penetrative sex?, cursing, dirty talk, spitting, age-gap (reader is early 20's, Toji is..undead) & spongebob dialogue. reader is squidward, basically.

🍟: this is not to be taken seriously! mcdonalds!manager!aki and denji from grimetown make appearances.

🍟: loosely based on my experience working in fast food.

🍟: banner made by me on pic collage

🍟: dividers by @/firefly-graphics

"Finally. 10 pm." You let out a deep sigh of exhaustion.

You had just finished mopping the entire lobby over again after a group of late-night stragglers  had came in and ordered twenty McDoubles, extra pickles. What a strange order.

One of them even tried to get into a verbal altercation with you because he claimed that his sandwiches had no pickles and accused you of not giving him any. 

You don't even work the fucking line; you're a cashier, for Christ's sake, even if you’re in the process of being cross-trained.

After dumping the dark, murky mop water outside the front door, you began to roll the bucket back to its designated area in the back of house.

Back there, Denji, your manager's weird associate, was picking at the leftover food from the dinner rush like a scavenging raccoon.

"You're not supposed to be back here." You gave him a deadpan look. 

"You're not supposed to be back here," He mocked you, "Fuck that, I'm starving." 

"Then go home and make something to eat?" 

"Nah, this'll do." He unwrapped a McChicken that had probably been sitting there since lunchtime.

"You're about to have diarrhea out of this world." 

He just shrugged.

You went on about your business with your other little housekeeping duties then took off your headset and nametag once you were done.

God, I hate this job.

You'd just finished university a week ago and upon your rejection of your dream graduate school, you ended up having to move back to Grimetown and live with your parents.

Your old-fashioned parents who don't believe in their grown children moving back home unless they have a job.

So here you are. Working at Mcdonald's with a fresh bachelor's degree under your belt.

"I'm going home. Later, Dingy." You pulled on your coat and grabbed your purse.

"Alright, and it's Denji." 

"That's what I said, 'innit? Peace out."

Denji rolled his eyes at you just as Aki came out of the office. "Hold your horses, Y/N. Where do you think you're going?"

You froze, hand poised to open the door.

"Uh, home? It's almost ten-thirty." 

Aki pulled a cigarette from under his hat, turned one of the grills on to light it, and then stuck it between his thin lips.

"No, you're not. I've decided that I'm going to keep the store open 24 hours now. More money for me-I mean you. Money for you."

You gave him an incredulous look and removed your hand from the door handle. 

"What?! This place is a shithole, it's not built to run 24 hours!" 

As you said this, the lights started flickering.

"See!"

"Denji, stop that!" 

"Sorry."

Aki looked about ready to give up on life but he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. 

"Anyway, here's the keys. You'll switch out with the morning shift at 6 am. Have fun. Don't burn the place down, no matter how tempting it may be."

You didn't know what to do, so you just stood there with your mouth open.

"I can't believe this shit! You can't just leave me here by myself all night!" Snapping out of your little trance, you followed after the dark-haired man.

Aki turned his body halfway to meet your gaze, half-smoked cigarette still between his lips.

“You won’t be by yourself. Denji is here with you.” As if that was supposed to put you at ease.

“What? You can’t leave me here with him; he doesn’t even work here!”

Denji hopped down from the counter and strutted over to the two of you, chest poked out.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, Y/N. I’ll take good care of you~” He then smirked as his eyes trailed over your body in your too-tight uniform shirt and pants.

You swear that bastard Aki purposefully ordered your garments two sizes too small, causing you to have to literally squeeze your assets into the God-forsaken red shirt and black pants every other day.

"You stay away from me." You pointed an acrylic fingernail at Denji without taking your eyes off of Aki.

"No way you can leave me here with Dumbass all night."

"It's Denji."

"That's what I said."

"Oh, but I can. You stay or you're fired. Simple as that. See you later!" He attempted to give you both a half-hearted wave, but you grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. 

"Where are you going?" 

Aki looked at you befuddled - are you actually whining?

He gently brushed you off of him and removed the cigarette from between his lips. 

“I’m going home - where else? I have a life.”

"I have a life, too, ya know!" 

Denji snickered. "How can you? You live with your parents."

“You shut up! No one asked you!” You retorted before sulking off to the back again.

_____

Toji didn’t know how to feel after he was killed by Gojo.

He thought that he’d at least go straight to hell, but apparently, that didn’t happen. Now here he was, in the middle of some…weird ass town in a shitty graveyard where the tombstones were poorly maintained. Damn, did anyone in this piece of shit town even tend to their dearly departed?

“This shit sucks…” Toji complained as he pulled himself out of a shallow grave that someone must have dug and threw him in unceremoniously. After brushing the dirt off his broad shoulders with his one good hand (only hand), he stretched it above his head and yawned.

The town ahead of him was dark, with only a few lights on of some apartment buildings, houses, and businesses that were crazy enough to run their power bills up by staying open all damn night long.

Like one certain McDonald’s….

_____

“Hey, Y/N, look at me! I’m uploading thirst traps to my Instagram story…at night.” Denji winked at you and clicked his tongue, waving his iPhone in his hand.“When else would you upload them, Dumbfuck?” You replied blandly as you lazily flipped through a magazine.”Whoever is thirsting over you is clearly blind or just desperate.” You added.

“Oh, that’s harsh.” He frowned. The two of you were just sitting around, bored out of your minds. No customers had entered the store since Aki left forty-five minutes ago.

Denji paraded around the table you were sitting at, chanting about different tasks that he was doing on his phone…at night.

Then suddenly…

Silence.

“Hey, Y/N, wanna hear a scary story?”

Silence over.

“No, but I know that you’re going to tell me anyway, so let’s hear it.” You rolled your eyes and closed the magazine, now giving the blonde your full attention.

"Okay, so-"

The bell over the door rang and in walked a customer, whistling happily.

"Good evening! I'd like to make an order!"

Both you and Denji stared at him for a long while until you finally decided to peel yourself out of the red leather booth and head to the cash register.

"What can I get for you tonight, sir?" 

"One Big Mac Meal, please, extra onions on that. Oh, are the fries fresh?" 

You looked behind him at the clock on the wall: 11:25 pm.

"No," You stated dryly, "will that be all for you?" 

The man gulped nervously at your lackluster expression and less-than-enthused tone and nodded.

"$8.35."

____

After the customer was situated at a table and munching his food happily, Denji continued with his story.

“As I was saying. The legend of Toji, the Dick-Slinging Slasher.”

You had to hold back from spitting some of your orange Hi-C right into his ridiculous face.

“I’m sorry, did you say ‘dick-slinging?!”

“That’s what I said, yeah.” Denji nodded, not phased by your outburst. 

“Legend has it, that on dark, cloudy nights, much like this one, he stalks the neighborhood looking for unsuspecting bitches to rob.”

“Okay, and that’s scary, because? Sounds like an average day in Grimetown.” You snorted.

"Be serious for one second, Y/N!" He slapped his palms down on your table.

Who is he to tell someone to be serious?

"Alright, alright, I'm listening."

Denji continued, "In his past life, he was a nothing-ass-bitch and deadbeat father who went around stealing from people or assassinating them for money." 

"He got killed by this super overpowered albino that he failed to assassinate and then after that, no one knows what happened to him. I heard that some teens from Grimetown High threw his ass in a ditch as a dare and that's where he's buried to this day."

You couldn't help but bust out laughing; this was the dumbest story that you'd ever heard!

"Denji…I'm still failing to see how this story is supposed to be scary…" 

"Well, when the albino killed him, he mutilated the entire left side of Toji's body, leaving a big ass gaping hole and Toji with only one arm. That doesn't stop him from slinging his community dick to all the unsuspecting bad bitches, though."  

'Okay, this is idiotic. I'm checking out.' You shook your head and got up with your cup, dumping the leftover ice down the drink fountain’s drain.

“Heed my warnings, Y/N! When the clock strikes midnight, he’ll come for you! Guard your booty!” Denji wiggled his fingers and made moaning noises that sounded more…pornographic than ghostly.

“Yeah, alright. I’m going to dust the drive-thru windows.”

____

12:00 AM, Midnight

So those clouds turned out to be storm clouds full of rain that was soon pounding down onto the miserable roof of your little establishment. The roof was leaking in a few places because Aki was too lazy to call the contractors to come and look at it.

“I swear, what is he even good for besides secondhand smoke and micromanaging everybody?” You groaned, placing yet another bucket under a leaking spot.

A loud crack of thunder sounded, and then everything went black.

“Denji!”

“It wasn’t me that time!” 

A few seconds later, said blonde came from the back carrying a heavy-duty flashlight.

“The power’s out. I tried tripping the breaker but got nothing.” 

“Isn’t there a backup generator here?” You asked and he just shrugged.

“Don’t ask me; I don’t work here.”

With a loud groan, you went to grab your cell phone out of your bag to call Aki.

No signal.

“Oh, you’re fucking kidding.”

You replaced the rectangular device inside your bag and retreated to the lobby where Denji was.

The thunder roared louder and the rain pattered harder against the roof and the glass windows.

“Hey Y/N?”

“What, Denji?” 

“This is kind of like the story, right? The perfect setting for Toji to show up.” You scoffed.

“Denji, that was just a stupid story. It’s not true at all! No one could survive with half of their body blasted away!!” You were just about at your wit’s end now, when the customer with the Big Mac came to the counter to ask you for ketchup.

“You’re still here?” Denji asked and the guy just looked at him. After he got his condiments, he packed up the rest of his meal and left, probably to get home and out of the rain.

The next few moments were spent in silence with the two of you trying to figure out how to get the power back up and running.

While Denji was in the back where the breaker box was, you were searching underneath the countertops for some sort of panic button or something.

CRASH!

Either Denji fell or a tree came down outside. You hoped it was the former, honestly.

Tap tap tap tap tap.

“Denji?! Is that you? Did you fall?” You whisper-shouted. You shined the flashlight on your phone to the back, trying to locate him.

“Fall?” 

Tap tap tap tap tap.

The lights began to flicker again and you jumped once you saw Denji suddenly standing beside you.

“Don’t do that! You almost scared me half to death, you dummy!”

“Sorry. Hey, what’s that tapping sound I keep hearing?” 

“Y-you mean…you weren’t doing that?”

SCREEEEEECHHHH!

Lightning flashed at the same time that the lights flickered back on.

At the front door, the tall outline of a burly man was standing there. His wet, dark hair splayed across his forehead and his eyes glowed a menacing red.

“IT’S T-THE D-D-...!” 

Denji’s body seized up as the man put his hand on the door and pushed it open, letting the pounding rain slosh and slide across the tiled floor. His slippered feet stomped through the puddles of water that were forming as he stalked his way toward the both of you. The little squish squish of his shoes through the water must’ve snapped Denji out of his little trance. He then looked at you as if realizing you were still there and in this predicament with him.

“Oh Y/N…I’m so honored that you went to all this trouble dressing up and using my own story to try and scare me! I knew that you liked me!” He chuckled, trying to convince himself that what he was seeing couldn’t be real.

Your mouth gaped open as you could only stare at the huge man coming towards you both now. Up close, he’s quite a looker. Deep, blue eyes, a cocky smirk set upon those handsome features, and a long, diamond-shaped scar at the corner of his mouth.

“Denji…there’s only two problems with your theory, there. I barely fucking know you, so how could I like you, and how could that be me when I’m standing right fucking here?!” You screamed at the idiotic blonde.

“Ah, what a noisy couple the two of you are. Making my fucking head spin.” Toji continued walking until he was right up on you. You had to crane your neck back to look up at his face. He looked right back down into your surprised one.

“You’re a cute one. Judging by that tight-ass uniform, I’m assuming that you work here?”

“Y/N, RUN! IT’S TOJI THE DICK-SLINGING SLASHER!”

Yeah, I think it’s a little too late for that now, don’t you think, Denji?

“Is that what I’m being called now? How lame.” Toji chuckled and before you could blink he kicked Denji into the wall.

“H-hey! Leave him alone, you one-armed prick!” You argued with a shake in your voice, which only amused Toji further.

“Prick? Where are your manners, you little brat? You’ll address me by sir and nothing else. You understand that, bitch?”

Denji groaned from where he was slumped against the wall.

"Sir? Fucking cringe. Next, he'll be expecting you to call him daddy."

Toji ignored Denji's comment and waited for your response. 

You opened your mouth a couple of times but no words came out.

Toji leaned his ear down to your mouth.

"Can't hear you, darling. What was that?"

"Y-yes sir."

He smirked and straightened his back.

"Good girl. Now, what do you serve here?"

"W-we serve food here, sir."

He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes at you before looking above your head to the lighted menu. 

"Don't be a smartass."

He rubbed his thick fingers over his chin while he tried to decide on a meal.

"I think I'll have the Spicy McCrispy meal, hold the onions. Extra ketchup and pickles, large fry, and Diet Coke. Gotta keep it balanced." He chuckled to himself once he'd finished.

"Make sure you make it extra tender, juicy, and hot."

The bile began rising in your throat - both at his words and at the fact that you knew the oil that those crispy sandwiches were cooked in hadn't been changed in over a week.

"$10.96."

Toji stared at you blankly and you just returned it. You both stood there awkwardly staring at each other for a moment.

"$10.96?" You repeated.

"I…uh..left my wallet in my other sweatpants?"

You could feel the sweat dripping down the side of your forehead.

"Forget it. You'll pay for it with the insane amount of explosive diarrhea that you're going to have."

Toji chuckled nervously and leaned against the counter, watching you move around while you fixed his food.

He was instantly mesmerized by how much your ass still jiggled despite the tightness of your pants. 

"Here ya go." Your voice snapped him out of his perverted thoughts.

The tray of food looked surprisingly delicious, but you know that it's old and that the fries are cold and stiff.

Toji didn't care, though; he was just glad to have a meal.

He ate everything greedily, all the while never taking his eyes off of you.

When he finished, surprisingly, he dumped his trash in the bin and straightened up his area.

You had retreated to the back of house before he finished; with the power being restored, you could now focus on doing some other menial tasks that you'd only just now remembered.

"Hey…you! Leave Y/N alone!" Denji warned as he watched Toji begin to follow where you had gone.

"Fuck off, pipsqueak, or I'll kill you."

—

In the back, you'd started washing dishes and prepping some things for the morning staff.

The door separating the back of the house and the lobby swung open and then shut loudly behind you.

"Huh? You? What are you doing back here?"

"Hush now, darling; you wouldn't want your little friend out there to hear us now, would you?" 

"Who, Dickhead? He's not my fucking friend, not by a long shot. Doesn't mean I'd want you to kill him, though."

"You sure got a nasty mouth on you, little one. What, not afraid of me anymore?" 

The rusty blade of a sword made contact with the back of your neck.

"I mean, at this point, I was hoping that you were just a bad bout of indigestion, but that doesn't seem to be the case, now does it, gramps?" 

Toji could feel the left side of his face twitching: "Gramps?" 

You blinked once. "Yeah, gramps. You've probably been dead for ages now, so you're like somebody's rusty old great-great-grandpa."

"Rusty?!"

He pressed his crotch against your ass and let you feel his raging hard-on. Even through your pants, you could feel the weight and girth of his dick.

"Would someone who's considered to be 'rusty' be able to get this hard, baby girl?"

His one hand pushed down on your lower back, making you bend over the sink.

"Much better. 'Face down, ass up' suits you, darling."

Toji continued to rub his hard dick against the seat of your pants while making sure you stayed pressed against the sink.

A few soft moans of surprise escaped from your lips as he continued rutting against you.

"T-Toji.. " Your fingernails gripped the edge of the metal sink. His pelvis pushed against your ass and you bounced it back against him…

"Good girl, so fucking sexy." He growled, moving to grab a handful of your ponytail that peeked out of the hole in your McDonald's cap.

This continued for several minutes; Toji moving his hand between gripping your hair, holding your hip, rubbing his thick fingers over your clothed cunt, and smacking your ass.

This ordeal would have to take the cake of being the weirdest night of your life, with no competition.

"Fuck, Toji…this is so weird but hot…I think I'm going to cum…" 

He chuckled darkly, "So you get off to dry-fucking creepy old men after insulting them, eh? What a pompous, dirty, little slut you are, baby."

His movements got faster, making the sink rattle against its unstable position on the wall. 

Just as you were getting close to finishing in your panties, Toji flipped you around, making your back press against the sink painfully. 

You didn't have time to start a complaint though, because now he was slotting himself in between your legs. 

"Woah!"

You didn't know that your leg could stretch that far, but Toji stretched it until your black slip-resistant sneaker was behind your ear.

He began again with the same movements: thrusting against you with all the intent of a man getting ready to bust a fat nut.

"A-ahh, Toji…

"Hmm, feels good, sugar?"

Sugar.

"Y-yes, Toji…God."

He chuckled and moved to hover over you. A trickle of warm saliva dripped from his lips into your waiting mouth before he cupped your cheeks.

"Swallow."

You gulped, letting the viscous material slide down your dry throat.

With your head slightly tilted back, a blinking red light caught your eye. Toji followed your line of sight and then smirked.

"Does that camera work?"

"I don't think so…Aki never gets shit fixed around here…ah.." A sharp thrust of his hips against your covered clit made you shiver.

From the sound of your moans, Toji could tell that you were getting close.

With that one arm wrapped securely around your waist, the strong man lifted you up high to where you almost touched the dingy, grease-splattered ceiling.

He settled you down onto the line where the food was bagged and prepared to be sent out. There was a stack of brown serving trays next to you, containers of ketchup and other condiments, and…the ice cream machine.

"Toji.. what are you planning?" You asked, bringing your cute and confused E/C gaze up to meet his lustful sapphire one. 

He hummed quietly and pressed his lips against your neck.

"Could have sworn I told you to call me sir, brat."

You rolled your eyes. He just wasn't going to let it go, was he? 

“May I ask what you’re planning to do next, sir.” You huffed like a contemptuous child, making Toji’s dick jump.

With this new positioning, you were facing the camera head-on. God, you really hoped that thing wasn’t actually on.

“Smile for the camera, sweetheart.” He whispered in your ear before biting the shell of it, letting his tongue trail down until he was tasting the metal of your silver earring.

"You're so tiny and light, I love lifting you up as if you were nothing more but a little ragdoll." Toji bit at your earlobe, making you let out a loud squeal. Denji definitely would've heard that.

His hand moved to pull your hair, yanking your head to the side so he could leave a trail of wet kisses down from your ear, across the expanse of your neck and collarbones, and down the valley of your breasts once he'd popped the buttons on your shirt open. 

With the angle he had you at, your chest was positioned right under the nozzle of the ice cream machine and your near-fucked-out self hit the button, making a gush of cold, melted cream-colored confection spill across your chest.

Toji raised an eyebrow at you and failed to bite back a laugh. You, on the other hand, weren't as amused.

"What? You'd rather have something else white and creamy splattered across your chest?"  He asked.

You flopped back on the counter and flipped him off. He began to massage the melted ice cream into your skin.

"Looks so sweet. Got any cherries to go on top?”

“Fuck you.”

A handsome, devilish grin stretched across his face. “You just did.”

"What made you appear here tonight?" 

He laughed outright.

"Didn't you listen to the story, dollface? I'm here to sling dick to all the unsuspecting bad bitches, and tonight just happened to be your lucky night."

—

Aki came in the next morning, well-rested and without a care in the world.

With a lit cigarette between his lips, he fumbled with his massive set of keys until he found the correct one needed to open the doors.

Denji had texted him at some point last night telling him about the storm, so his first order of business today was to check to see if the security cameras were still functioning properly.

He sat down at his desk and popped in the security tape from last night. 

The employees, customers, and vendors that had come in after him would hear a very loud and very distinct shout of 'WHAT THE FUCK?!' from the back. 

----

*ʳᵉᵇˡᵒᵍˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃᵖᵖʳᵉᶜⁱᵃᵗᵉᵈ!

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #12: Dowdy

The captain of the Queensguard knocked on her door for the third time with far more forceful insistence.

"If you don't come out from there in two minutes," she snapped, "it'll be my head on the line."

Vera's lord husband was a patient man in many respects, but he did not abide tardiness in any form - unless, of course, it came directly from the emperor. Every bell of his schedule was accounted for; he even blocked out time for how long it would take him to traverse the corridors of the palace. He had expected the same discipline in Vera ever since their wedding, the same rigid punctuality, and would make it quite clear to her whenever she failed in his eyes.

And despite their name, the Queensguard very much reported to the viceroy.

"I'm finishing my makeup," Vera explained for the umpteenth time.

The doorknob rattled - then there came the sound of the inevitable key scraping in the lock, and the door flew open. Fordola stormed in with all the fury of an invader. "You've been 'finishing your makeup' for twenty bloody minutes. I've watched you do it in under five most mornings this week."

"Sometimes, believe it or not," said Vera, unable to keep her voice from rising, "people make mistakes. And outside of washing one's entire face, mistakes in kohl are not so simple to undo." Even now, she had to hope that no one would look too closely at the slight smear under her right eye.

Fordola levied one of her signature scoffs and crossed her arms over her chest. "Enough of this. You look fine - beautiful, even." The venom in her voice made it clear what she thought of such a distinction. "Is that what you need to get your arse moving, my lady?"

"I need," said Vera, "just another moment of silent concentration. Before my hand slips again."

Blessedly, Fordola gave it to her, and without any of the huffing Vera had come to expect. With only another couple of strokes of her brush and a single line of her pencil, she was finished, her shadows perfectly balanced. "And there we have it. I'm ready."

But Fordola did not move. She continued staring at Vera, and herself, in the ornate desktop mirror that had allegedly once belonged to Mad King Theodoric's mother. "Why even bother?" she muttered.

"What?"

At first, Vera could only interpret her words as referring to her impending meeting with the viceroy in the throne room. Then she saw where Fordola's gaze had fallen: to the ceramic bowl of kohl powder atop the table, its lid still off to one side.

"Don't be daft. I know you hear what they say about you - Livia and all the rest. You'll never be Garlean enough for any of them. It's why His Radiance married you off and dumped you here."

Vera did not stand from her stool. She stared back into the mirror at Fordola's face, at the bitterness clenched in the curve of her mouth, and realized only then that she could not find it in herself to be angry at Fordola for the words she parroted. "I don't wear makeup to look Garlean, Fordola," she said. "Besides, it was Ala Mhigans who invented it."

The young captain could only stare at her, as if she had spoken in some language that belonged to neither of them.

"Thousands of years ago, we wore eyeliner and eye shadow to protect our vision from the sun and, yes, intimidate our enemies on the battlefield. From our ancestors, it spread to Thavnair and Ul'dah through trade. Only now that the Garleans have deemed it a luxury do they think themselves the arbiters of its use." She made to pick up her brushes, to set the lid back onto the kohl, and hesitated at the look on Fordola's face. "…You should try it. See how you like it."

"Absolutely not," she snapped.

"I think it would suit your features."

Something in that statement stunned Fordola enough for Vera to guide her onto the makeup stool. For Fordola, she scarcely needed a plan: she employed bold strokes above and below the eyes, traditional yet masculine in a way that made her irises seem to shine with the same colors as the tattoo upon her cheek. She was finished within a matter of seconds, not minutes; all the same, Fordola took only a moment to admire herself before standing with a scowl. "We're late. And now everyone will see the reason why."

"Or," Vera shot back, "they'll see we look like warriors."

All the same, they rushed to the throne room with as quick of a stride as they could muster, turning the heads of the guards more for their haste than their aesthetics.

The viceroy sat upon the throne, much as he usually did at that hour of the day, and the first petitioner had already been granted admission. His words faded into silence as she approached, until the echoes of her heels against the polished tile filled the chamber.

"Vera," said Gaius van Baelsar. "My instructions were for you to join me for petitions at noon. The time is now twelve minutes past."

Behind his shoulder, Gaius' Undercity minder sneered at her. The prick in red armor whose name she could never remember whispered something to Livia, who bit back a snort of laughter.

Vera readjusted her stance, trying to channel every ilm of her father's posture. "I was tending to an urgent personal correspondence."

Gaius' brow furrowed. "More urgent than your attention to your people? The people for whom you and I are responsible?"

She turned back to the Ala Mhigan man standing, his hands clasped together in front of him, at the foot of the throne. "…No," she conceded. "I apologize, my lord."

But Gaius said nothing in reply, and merely gestured to the man before them.

To him, Vera inclined her head. "I apologize, countryman-" It would have to do, as she had arrived too late to hear his official imperial rank. "-that other matters prevented my timely presence."

The wording was petty, and she knew it; later, she would hear an entire lecture from her lord husband on accountability, and the burden of rule. There would be entire missives sent to Solus and her father about her impertinence, and her selfishness, and a host of other imagined failings. For the time being, Gaius merely sighed and said, "Fordola."

"Yes, ser."

"…See that vanity is removed from her daily schedule."

[v3nusxsky]

Heyy, how are you doing?

Just wanna say i really love your fics, thank you sm for writing them!

So i was thinking, if you thought it a cool ideia, a Lady Lesso x Reader one inspired by Reinaeiry and Chloe Breez's cover of In a Crowd of Thousands.

Something like, R once attended the school and R and Leonora were obviously in love lol, but then R left and they never met again, kinda forgetting a bit about each other's faces but still remembering how they felt back then.

Until R becomes a teacher at the school and they meet once again, not recognizing the other at first, but then slowly realizing and remebering.

Sorry if it's a dumb idea lol. Feel totally free to ignore this, have an amazing week and i hope you're doing okay! ❤️

(also, sorry for my english)

Memories fade but feelings don’t die

*Authors note~ so I'm not really familiar with the song (however I listened to it while writing this and I have to say I'm in love) but I wanted to give this my best shot. I hope it's okay*

Trigger warnings~ none?

Prompt ~ see ask^^^^

You still think of your time at the School for Good and Evil. How everyone cheered for the special reader, the reader who seemed to be extremely gifted, as a younger Never you would stand in the crowds of thousands. That fateful day you managed to somehow catch her eye, and you embraced a love with her like no other. Her regal like stance, her firey hair and her unforgettable personality all caught your attention and for her it was your determination and the ability to draw attention to yourself to get her to notice you. The way you called for her in the crowd of thousands would always stick in her heart. Until the day you were unfortunately pulled from the school without even saying goodbye.

Years went by, years of no contact with the girl your heart still knew but your mind had lost touch with. One day you hoped to find her, maybe in the crowd of thousands just like before. You made your way back to the school this time as a teacher. Finally feeling as though you were where you needed to be.

You were introduced as a staff member for the newly merged school, that was definitely unexpected to see good and evil side by side. Nevers and Evers crammed into the meeting hall, the two deans standing upon the stage ready to begin the school year. The dean of evil was certainly striking, but for some reason it felt more than that, you felt like you knew those eyes. Your memory was hazy due to an accident you'd had while working in your parents guard, so if you knew her before, your mind didn't recognise her now.

For months, you settled into new routines and adjusted to life as a teacher. You seemed to have a lot of dealing with the Dean of Evil, the feeling you knew her before never left you but as much as you tried you couldn't work it out. So when she suggested you sit in on one her lessons, you did so willingly hoping to find more answers.

The lesson was sparring much like the younger Leonora had done years ago, you stood in the crowd of students admiring her teaching skill. You couldn't help but feel this was all too familiar, like it had happened before. When Leonora used a familiar move to spar, you couldn't help but move through the crowds of students to get closer. You called for her, the name only you knew. The recognition flashed over her features as she dismissed her class early.

As soon as it was just the two of you, you knelt much like you'd done years before, "Nora! I remember now" you whispered still not quite believing it. "I knew you would doll, memories fade but feelings don't" she reassured extending her hand to help you stand. "I knew when I saw you in the crowd on your very first day, but I know you had an accident and memories were a struggle, it's why I spent so much time with you just waiting for the day you'd be reminded of how we met" her confession made tears spring to your eyes. She remembered, after all these years she remembered. You shared a sweet kiss before throwing yourself into her awaiting arms, "that day in the crowd of thousands, you noticed me and you've done it again. My heart is yours Nora for as long as you recognise it." She smiled and kissed your head, "and mine is yours little dove. My feelings for you will never die." She reassured before coming to look in your eyes, pads of her thumbs wiping away your falling tears. You'd found each other again and now you wouldn't let go.

Word count~ 821