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awritesthings1 · 4 months

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All The Things We Don't Say

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Female Reader

Summary: An anthology of your life with Tommy, from friends to strangers to lovers, and all the little moments in between.

Warnings: 18+, implied DV, substance abuse, childhood trauma, ptsd, overprotective tommy, swearing, brief smut, longfic oneshot, feminist themes (motherhood & being a wife in the 1920s).

ao3 link

Smash!

“Pick it up!”

Your daddy was a drunk. You remembered the fact since you could walk. He stayed home while the working men left for the factories, then disappeared in the late hours of the morning until his eventual return when the slam of the front door woke the household up. Mother used to hold you at night as she curled up in your bed. She was sick a lot. Always sniffing into the back of your neck when you were asleep. Sometimes the sleeve of your nightgown would get soaked while she muffled her hiccups.

She looked sad, too. In the morning, she kept the curtains drawn and stayed away from the outside world. She told you it was to keep nosey Mrs. Gretel away from her family affairs. But Mrs. Gretel had left Birmingham two months prior.

By seven years old, you were the 'man' of the house. You had gone to sleep one night, and when you awoke, your mother had vaporized into the air like a rabbit in a hat.

“She left because of you,” your father slurred at you.

You hated him.

She left behind her long-sleeve dresses, scarves, and wicker hats that covered nearly every inch of her skin. They were far too big for you then, but when your father came home at the end of the week with a stack of cash, you ran to your mother’s closet, which had remained untouched until then, to find only cobwebs. Gone. Every single one of her dresses. You looked out at the moon in those early hours of the morning and swore to it that when you were bigger, you would get him back so much worse.

And so you were left to clean up his smashed glass bottles and scrub the alcohol out of the gritty carpet. Your little hands struggled to pluck the glass from the floorboards. In a year’s time, they were covered in little scars.

On your tenth birthday, you decided you were grown enough to take matters into your own hands. When he was passed out on the floor from whatever he managed to fill his pipe with, you grabbed the small bottles he hid under a loose floorboard and poured them into the gutter at the back of your house.

You turned to run back to the door when the contents of the bottle were empty, but a ball almost tripped you over. You gripped your tattered skirt before you could lose your footing and snapped your head around with a fierce pout.

“That’s my ball,” pointed a young Thomas Shelby.

You put your small hands on your smaller hips. “You kicked it my way on purpose!”

You weren’t entirely sure, but you suspected it.

“Maybe I thought you were pretty,” he grinned.

You noticed his two front teeth were missing.

“Ewwww! I would never go out with you!” You squawked.

At ten years old, you knew better than that.

Seemingly unaffected by your distaste, he continued. “Do you live there?” He nodded to the house whose roof was falling apart.

“What’s it to you?” You frowned stubbornly, not wanting to admit that, yes, that was your house.

“The curtains are always drawn,” he answered, walking over to pick up his ball from your feet. He was the same height as you were at the time. “My brother Arthur said it’s haunted. He saw a ghost in the window once. He said it was a woman and that she starved to death.”

Your nose scrunched up. "Well, he’s a phony!”

You ran inside said house and slammed the door shut.

He kissed you down by the docks that winter. It was your first kiss, and a clumsy one at that, so you didn’t remember much of it.

By thirteen, you had given in and sold the rest of your mother’s belongings to support yourself. You hated yourself for it, and that nagging voice inside your head told you that you were no better than your father. Oh, and your father? Your father lost vision in his left eye from a bar fight. Too bad it wasn’t both.

Sometime later, a boy two years older than you saw your wandering hand in someone’s bag at the fair and threatened to teach you some manners ‘the hard way’. You bit anxiously on your nails and pleaded with him because he was bigger than most boys his age, when Tommy’s brother Arthur (who you’d seen hanging around the Garrison) came passing by and threatened to ‘toss him about’. The other boy, not all believing in Arthur’s temper, rushed forward, and the two ended up rolling in the dirt, but by then you were gone with a stolen pocket watch in your fist. Nearly two legs and an arm deep in poverty, some quick cash, or a hero complex? You’d take the penny.

At fourteen, a lady knocked on your door. It was a lady of the night who had come to inform your father that he had fathered a son with her. You were glad it was a boy. A girl wouldn’t have stood a chance in the slums of Birmingham. Life was hard, but Birmingham was harder. Your father had refused to listen to the young woman and shooed her off. You never saw her teary-eyed face again.

At fifteen, your father attempted to wash his hands of you by marrying you off to the highest bidder. There was no real auction, but just about anyone who suggested a handsome sum of money did the trick.

“His name is William,” you exhaled, kicking your legs over the edge of the dock.

Tommy laughed. “You won’t marry him.”

“What choice do I have, Tom?”

Your finances were getting tight, and the gloomy pressure to take up working at night like many young ladies was beginning to loom closer and closer. You hated being a woman. Boys would never have to worry about selling themselves to survive.

“I’ll put a gypsy curse on him,” he decided, squinting his eyes from the bright reflection dancing across the water.

You hit his shoulder.

“No, you won't, because then you’ll be cursing me.”

The severity of your situation began to dawn on Tommy. No amount of pestering Polly for change to spare would relieve you of your burden any longer.

“That’s it, then?” He gulped, shifting his glassy eyes to the harbor.

You sighed and followed his gaze.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad. I’ll never have to see dad again, and William promised to take care of me.”

Tommy scoffed.

You frowned at him. “What?”

He shook his head.

“What! Tom—”

“Don’t marry him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, here we go, why?”

“You know why.”

You were engaged to William on the eve of your seventeenth birthday. He was a very proper man and never dared to go any further than hooking an arm around yours on formal occasions. You were never attracted to his thin mustache nor the thick lenses he wore. In fact, he was incredibly awkward at social occasions, always checking his pocket watch and avoiding eye contact with whichever circle he stood in.

Tommy began to fade out of your life around that time. Margaret—a lady who had taken you on to help with the sewing of her family’s tailoring business—told you that Tommy was spotted arm in arm with another girl that week. You expected to feel jealous, but you felt nothing. You knew love would never be your right. Love was for the more fortunate.

You spent that year learning how to be a wife. Surprisingly, it wasn’t too different from what you did as a child—cooking and cleaning up like you did when your father came home, that is. It was comforting to have a routine in place. It meant finality—no one walking in and out of your life as they pleased, and certainly no more growling stomachs. Perhaps being a wife was a skill your mother never learned. You were grateful for William’s mother, who seemed to be more than enthusiastic to show you the reigns.

After a year-long engagement, you caught your fiancé, William, locked in a compromising position with another man.

“Oh,” was all you got out before leaving his house.

You lacked the special ingredient that marriages needed: love.

You sat down at the fountain across the street. William and his lover’s silhouette were visible behind the blinds he had drawn on the second floor, which peered over the sidewalk. You watched their shadows fluster their feathers around the room like headless geese, and for a moment your head surfaced above water and laughter frothed out between your sealed lips. Perhaps Birmingham made you a little mad.

You didn’t go through with the marriage. You suspected William was relieved.

That week, your father left. You never knew whether he left on his own accord or just never made it home one night. Either way, you never really cared to find out.

With nothing left to lose, you knocked on the Shelby family’s door at Watery Lane. Finn appeared around the other side of the door a moment later.

“Is Tommy home?”

Finn nodded, spinning on his heel to alert his brother. When Tommy did appear, his shoulders were tensed. Disheveled hair never looked so stylish on him. When you saw his suspenders (which were hastily thrown on), you wanted to ask who he expected to be at the door that he planned to answer dressed in such fashion but then thought better of it. He peered down at you, then checked over his shoulder before ushering you inside and up to his bedroom.

“It’s… smaller than I thought,” you landed on, taking in his room.

After all these years, you had never stepped foot into the Shelby home. You weren’t the type of person to come door-knocking.

You turned around to face Tommy after hearing him click the lock on his door.

“Are you hurt?" were the first words he had spoken to you in a year.

“No.” You pressed your lips together, eyeing everything from the bed to the view out the window.

Silence followed closely after.

“Then why are you here?” Tommy sighed.

Your vision began to blur then. “I don’t know,” you said honestly, trying to stop your bottom lip from trembling.

Desperately, you pushed your hair back and straightened up, attempting to hold yourself together. You must have looked like a puppet being held together by a string, given how poor you looked.

Tommy’s boots pad across the wooden floor. “You love me?”

Did that word truly exist? How could you answer if you never knew what it meant to love?

You don’t meet his eyes. He licked his lips, pushing your head up to meet his with his thumb. His eyebrows rose expectantly.

“I don’t know what to do, Tom,” you breathed, avoiding his question. “I’m all alone now. No William, no father…”

His lips parted, and you watched with fascination as the cogs turned in his head. “Yes… that is a problem." His breath fanned over your face.

You gagged, a reaction you yourself had not expected, before rushing to his door, only to remember that, yes, he had locked it, before turning to the nearest silver bucket in the corner to empty your guts.

The first thing you heard when you caught your breath was, “are you pregnant?”

No, but when you stand so close to me and I can smell the cigarettes you smoke and your freshly washed skin, I can imagine a future where we are married, and I see your face growing more disappointed as we age together because you married a woman who never knew how to be a mother to your children nor a wife who knew to tend to you with affection by your bedside when you’re ill.

“No,” you choked, spitting out the vile taste in your mouth. “We never did anything.”

You wanted him to know that. You wanted him to think that you never let William touch you because you never loved him, not because William wasn’t interested in girls.

A moment later, Tommy sat beside you on the floor and quietly combed your hair away from your wobbling lips.

“So, if you’re not pregnant and you don’t love me, why are you here?”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. How were you supposed to answer that? After letting your guts loose in his room, you thought he would surely have booted you out the door.

A knock came on the door: “Tommy?”

“A minute, Finn!” Tommy growled at the door, refusing to back away from your trembling frame.

You were so hungry. Margaret had to cut back your hours ever since her husband fell ill. She spent more time by his bedside than keeping the store open, which meant you were making less than usual. The imminent closing of the store hung over your head like a taunting crow, gouging your insides like you were Prometheus. Birmingham your chains, a woman your fate, and the bird your punishment for thinking you deserved more.

“I should go.” You shivered at the draft inching towards your skin from the open window.

Tommy’s intense gaze stuttered, falling to your lap, where you picked at the dead skin around your nails. He cleared his throat, fishing out the key from his pocket. Although it was dull and muted from the years, it gleaned brightly in your eyes as if it were the reward you came for. Flushed, you grabbed it out of his hands without sparing a glance. Electricity sparked in those precious seconds, igniting a deadly fire in your belly.

“You’re cold." Tommy flinched at your touch.

You retreated as soon as the key slid into the hole and unlocked with a click. In your haste, you left the most valuable thing you owned there in his room.

Your heart.

The months went by, and summer arrived. The stories your mother told you left you expecting a bright gleam of air that would wash over the streets and paint each tree and every patch of grass a frighteningly bright green that would even encourage grumpy Mrs. Gretel to come out to preen her stubborn roses that would just not grow. Birmingham left less to be desired. The summer days never came, and that persisting bitter bog thickened, albeit with slightly less rain. There were gray clouds, smoke from the factories, and a shivering north westerly, which pushed said clouds at breakneck speed as if they had somewhere to be. You looked to the sky one day and said a prayer for blue breezes and sweltering sun, but the sky was empty.

Sometime later, men marched the streets armed with guns in their ‘dashing’ uniforms. A war, they said, a great one. Queues lined the street for the post offices and grocers. Rain rivaled the bustle of the city. What did it feel like to love someone so much as to stand in the pouring rain next to the gutter? You wanted that kind of love. Not the love you could only give yourself because even you didn’t want your own love.

One of the soldiers decorated in medals stood on a crate at the port, yelling something supposedly inspiring that captured the attention of many young men. The words honorable and patriotic were tossed in there like a delectable salad, enticing them in the way farmers held a carrot to a pig’s snout.

You pitied their mothers. Their daughters were married off, and then their sons were swooning over the idea of dying. Birmingham was filthy, rotting, and disgusting. You needed to leave.

You kissed Margaret goodbye on the cheek one Tuesday morning. Ever since your pockets turned out empty, you had been working as a bedside nurse for her ill-stricken husband. They were good to you, and they were probably the only people you could consider family.

She patted your cheek and said, "you're doing good to serve this country.”

You hadn’t had the heart to tell her you were leaving because the city was marring your flesh, so you slipped her the sugarcoated lie of wanting to join the war effort so that you might help others who were bedridden, just like her husband.

At the train station, you stood with your suitcases held tightly in both arms. You had to set one down to hold onto your hat as a train full of men waving their caps out the window pulled into the station. Some children weaved between the crowd, wagging a newspaper above their heads, hoping to make a quick penny. To your side, women wept for their brothers, husbands, and lovers.

“Who are you wishing off?” asked an elderly woman who was clutching her cane.

“Oh, I’m not. I’m boarding the next train.”

She laughed, and you wondered how old your mother would be now. Would she have grown wrinkles and settled into a deeper laugh like this woman?

“My dear, you have a bright imagination if you think they will let a woman on any of these trains.”

A sudden anger filled your blood. “Why not?”

“These men are heading straight for London, where they will be shipped away to France to fight,” the woman explained as if it were any other day.

“I’ll catch the next train then.”

She shook her head, and her frail hand curled tighter around her cane. “They’ve stopped the trains so they can transport soldiers to London.”

You frowned. “Then how will I leave Birmingham?”

You’ll never forget her dismissive laughter.

“My dear, you won’t.”

Men boarded the train, clapping each other on the back with a wink and a laugh. When a line of men on the platform thinned, the train whistled, and you looked over just in time to see Polly, Ada, and little Finn standing with their hands crossed over their hearts as they waved to the train.

No. It wasn’t possible.

But it was because you caught the gleam of the razors sewn into their peaky caps. Tommy, Arthur, and John all stood aboard the train, sticking their heads out and waving to Polly and Ada with a grin that wrung your stomach like a wet cloth.

Those countless daydreams you spun, the intricate webs you wove, began breaking down to thin fibers. In one pathway, you stayed there in his room and told him the truth you always denied yourself. You loved him. In another, you stood next to Polly, close to tears, as you begged him to come home safely. There was a resounding click in that moment as your breath stuttered. You had been the person who wiped away those futures, thinking it was nothing but an annoying spiderweb. Oh, how wrong you were!

“Tommy!” You left your suitcases behind and stepped around the old woman as you ducked under hugs and tearful goodbyes.

“Tommy!” You cried again with the gusto of someone who certainly shouldn’t be as concerned as they were considering you left him in his room that day.

Thankfully, his eyes eventually found yours as you pushed through the last line of people. You stood there and stomached all your regrets head-on. It was funny how, up until that moment, you managed to squash every seed of doubt. Why was it that you only realized what you had when it was slipping out of reach?

He never called your name back. He just stared at you blankly as the train pulled away, unlike you, who clung to the image of his frame even as the train disappeared from sight and the crowd began to disperse. You stood there unblinking, hoping to soak up the last of him before you forgot the intensity of his eyes or the humming rumble of his voice. Because the idea of something you held dearly becoming a memory meant that it could as easily be forgotten, and that terrified you. Your eyes were watering now, against your best wishes.

You overheard Polly ushering Finn and Ada off. Finn rushed home without protest, but Ada stopped in her tracks when she saw you hunched over your knees in tears. She smiled weakly before chasing Finn home. It was then that Polly’s shadow approached your huddled frame. She didn’t say anything, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if she expected you to stand and apologize for being such a mess. That’s when a penny clattered to the ground beside you. She squeezed your shoulder once before disappearing.

You kissed that penny as if Tommy would feel the power of it across the country, then ran back to Margaret’s, having forgotten your suitcases.

“Oh…” She exclaimed, slapping her tea towel on the counter when you walked into the kitchen. “You missed your train?”

Dread made your stomach tender and your breath short.

“I’m enrolling in the Red Cross.”

Throughout the war, you thought of Tommy every day until your stomach lurched. Would it have worked if you had stayed? Would you both have grown old together instead of subjecting yourself to the spray of dirt when a bomb went off nearby?

A day ago, your supply rations never came. It wasn’t like hunger was anything new, but when your mind was too focused on surviving the perilous weather, it was hard to save other lives. You made work with what little supplies you had left. The morphine went stint within hours of its arrival, and the cries of pained soldiers filled the medical tent all night. You did what you could, wiped sweat from their foreheads, and wrote letters to their mothers and lovers with what supplies you could scavenge. Some were written on cardboard from shell packaging, others on torn pages from the bibles they kept over their hearts. Pens were useless—the ink ran in the rain—so you scribbled everything down in pencil.

Before you left for France, you were warned of the bullets. No one ever warned you about the shrapnel, nor the bombs or grenades. They shattered soldiers’ bones beyond repair and left bodies unrecognizable. There wasn’t much you could do when most of their flesh was missing.

Keeping faith became an impossible task. Supplies were depleted, and nurses were dejected. Sally, who had been writing home for news of her brother, recently had her letters returned with the black stamp. Death—return to sender. She spent only an hour sitting on a trunk, letting her tears fall, before she got back to work. Grief privileged those with time, something no one could afford in these conditions.

Then it came—the day Arthur Shelby was carried in on a stretcher. You were making your rounds around the beds when a truckload of yelling men pooled through the entrance of the tent.

“Nurse!” They all yelled, some limping, others setting down stretchers of men on the dirt between the filled beds.

You and two other nurses dropped everything and ran over to attend to the wounded. They were all covered head to toe in dirt, groaning and clutching limbs that were twisted the wrong way. One in particular coughed and huffed while he fought against hands, which were fruitlessly pushing him back down on the stretcher.

“Let me go!” He yelled, wrestling against an older nurse.

“It’s alright, Mary. I’ll handle this one,” you patted her shoulder as you swapped places.

You dunked a washcloth into a bucket of water to wipe away the dirt in his eyes. “Calm down; you're safe here,” you said, starting your usual script of reassurances.

When the striking blue eyes squinted up at you, your blood ran cold. You froze before taking his head in both your hands, despite his protests. “Arthur? Arthur, it’s me!”

He loosened his grip on your wrist. “Huh?”

“It’s me! Where’s Tommy and John?”

He spat blood and gritted his teeth. “Fucking hell, where’s the whiskey?”

You laughed despite the smell of blood encompassing the tent. You quickly fetched the alcohol you had been using to clean wounds and pressed it to his lips. You weren’t sure if it was whiskey or not, but you reasoned he was in too much pain to be able to tell. He drank it with a groan of pleasure. You didn’t try to snatch the bottle away as he emptied it down his palette; you just sat and grinned at the way he suckled it like a newborn baby while you cleaned away his cuts.

“I’ve never been happier to see you, Arthur.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, his lips still wrapped around the bottle.

You tried to stay by his side for as long as you could before the second wave of patients came tumbling through the flaps of the tent. One of them lost their grip on the stretcher, and the patient went sliding into the dirt headfirst.

“Fuck!” They all swore, abandoning the stretcher to drag the limp man further into the makeshift hospital.

You rushed to help when a hand gripped the back of your neck. You yelped in pain as your hair got caught in a fingernail when they turned you to face them.

And there he was: Tommy Shelby, covered in a thick layer of dirt, heaving for air.

“Nurse! Nurse!” Voices cried for you, but between the ringing in your ears and the wrath in Tommy’s blue eyes, you were frozen in place.

“The fuck are you doing here, eh?” He yelled over the anguished men.

You suddenly felt stupid standing there in your Red Cross uniform.

“I was looking for you, I—”

His dirty hands cupped your cheeks—something you were painfully aware of from the uncomfortable itch from the mud on your flushed skin—and pulled your forehead to his.

“You think this is some fantasy?” He squinted. “You think there’s any fucking moonlight to kiss under here, eh?” He spat.

His eyes held that haunted look you had seen on many soldiers that passed through the medical tent. Your eyes watered. Perhaps it was from the humidity and dirt being kicked up as nurses and patients scuffled around, not because you could hardly recognize the man in front of you. The blood smeared above his eyebrow worried you, so you reasoned that he was mad because it had been leaking into his eyes. Dutifully, you reached to wipe it with the back of your hand. He grabbed your wrist harshly, bringing it down to your side. He was in shock; you scolded yourself.

“Where’s John and Arthur?” Tommy swallowed, flexing his hands.

You led him to Arthur, who had been left in his corner while the nurses attended to more serious cases. It hurt watching the brothers reunite after their ordeal, so you left them alone no matter how much you feared them being discharged before your return. After all, everything you ever wanted sat in that corner, but it would be selfish to coddle Tommy all to yourself. Still, you couldn’t help sparing a glance when you walked up and down the tent, attending to patients.

Later that night, he came to you under the candlelight of your tent. He cleared his throat upon entry. You were lying face-up on your cot when he cleared his throat and peeled back the entrance to enter. The candlelight painted the mountain peaks of his face in a dull amber and the valleys in a frightening shadow. You sat up, pulling the thick cover over your shift.

Tommy kneeled next to you, resting on the heels of his boots. He licked his chapped lips and itched his nose. “You don’t belong here.”

Your grip on the cover loosened. “Huh?”

Nothing prepared you for when he swung his brooding stare towards you. He exhaled loudly before running a hand over his face.

“You should have stayed in Birmingham.” He said it like a warning.

“And done what?”

Vulnerability never looked good on Tommy. His head hung and his fingers itched at the back of his head—a tick you used to love; now you weren’t so sure. Because your Tommy was never afraid, but this man in front of you was alarmingly tense despite the clear efforts to mask it.

What have they done to you, Tom?

Under the dim light of your tent, you barely recognized him. A stranger’s eyes were blown wide in a frightening state of shock, something most soldiers mirrored. War washed out the sweet blue pair you knew, refitting them for a steely weapon. You hated seeing him like this, so still, so unsteady, cocooned into the corner as if afraid to take up space.

You feared you looked no better. Having worked till the point of exhaustion, you usually found yourself awakening against a wooden crate or trunk to the cries of patients who demanded your attention despite your body not having the strength to stand. Today you had been lucky and found yourself crawling distance to your private tent when your knees started wobbling and your head lulling.

The wooden reinforcing of your private tent fought in vain to shelter your bodies from the elements; it still flapped and whipped about, sometimes rocking your cot. Yet Tommy remained still like those life-size stone statues you’d find outside an important building, brooding at the dirt and locked in an internal battle. You shifted to the edge of your makeshift bed and leaned close enough that you saw how the top buttons of his dirtied uniform were missing and most of his clothes were torn.

His arm, which was breaking out in goosebumps, lay heavily across his knee so that he could rest his forehead there limply. He looked in a bad enough condition that you feared the possibility of him succumbing to the wasteland threatening him outside your tent. You wrapped your arms around the scruff of his hair and pulled his face into your stomach, where he could hide from the terrible world. On instinct, his arms wound around your waist, and you felt his warm exhale against your skin through the thin fabric of your slip.

His tin water bottle clanged against the satchel he wore, which made you wonder if he had any time to rest at all if he still had all his equipment tied to his uniform.

“I didn’t…” His voice was muffled by your slip. He cleared his throat again, shaking his head.

When he dropped the thought, you spoke up. “Have you eaten?”

He slapped your thigh haphazardly. “No, do you have a cigarette?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead gently pushing him away so you could kneel beneath your bed and fish a cigarette from your satchel. You pinched one from its tin case, then thought better of it and tossed it on Tommy’s lap. Gratefully, he collected one from the case and lit it with a nearby candle. You watched his chest rise and fall as he took an especially deep drag. His eyes shut as the nicotine rushed to his head.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he muttered under his breath.

“How are you here, Tommy? One of the night nurses should’ve been on watch.”

“Oh,” smoke puffed out of his mouth, and he raised his eyebrows, “there is.”

“Then how—”

“I had to see you.”

The butterflies in your stomach dove. The blue in his eyes appeared translucent as they hazed over like a ghost. His shoulders were slumped dejectedly, and he had a hand pushing through his greasy, unwashed hair to relieve his neck from the weight of his thoughts.

He pointed to you then, with the cigarette nursed between his fingers. “I need to know why you changed your mind.”

“About what, Thomas?”

His voice slurred and slipped into a deeper register from the lack of sleep. "Why you came back. Why you came to France.” Tommy shook his head lazily. “You expect me to believe you had a sudden change of heart? What? You a patriot now?” An amused exhale curled out while he took another drag. “Well I don’t believe it.”

You began shivering despite the way your body flushed.

“How’s Arthur?” You tried to avert the conversation.

“Bloody drunk off his ass.”

“And you?”

Tommy held your stare and swallowed dryly. “Trying.”

“You can go join him if you wish.”

He looked at the entrance of your tent as if he were weighing his options, then shook his head and took another drag before clearing his throat. “It’s different now.”

Naïvely, you sank to the ground beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be.”

He sighed.

“I wish that were true.”

The next time you saw Tommy, you were working a shift at the hospital. After the war, you received a medal for your efforts, which easily got you a job in Birmingham. You pleaded with them to send you to any other hospital—London, Manchester, Liverpool—you didn’t care. Anywhere but Birmingham.

“You should be honored to work for me!” Exclaimed the head nurse at Birmingham Hospital, who didn’t seem too pleased with your distaste for the city.

You thought the job would be the final nail in the coffin, but you surprisingly got along well with the head nurse once you had put your animosity aside. So much so, she offered to lease you a room upstairs from hers.

Then came that dreaded night where you were finishing the filing of some documents when a patient was being rushed in. Your ears perked up, and you looked through the blinds of the office to see a man being rushed by. Something small and round had fallen off the stretcher while the nurses paid no attention, pushing him around the corner and down towards the operating theater. Curious, you exited the office.

And there on the ground was one of those peaky caps Tommy and his brothers used to wear. You knew this because you picked it up and nearly cut yourself on the blade that was sewn into the seam. You spent the next hour gnawing on your nails. Your imagination sparked ideas about the beaten man who was lying in an operating room two doors down in surgery. Was it Tommy? Arthur? John? The shadows under your eyes darkened at the thought. No, it was probably some other Peaky Blinder. The Shelby brothers were too careful. Still, you knocked over your coffee in a mad dash to the bathroom, where you heaved up your dinner.

You volunteered to stay until the morning, but the head nurse on duty for the night refused and sent you home. You didn’t sleep at all that night.

The next morning, you arrived early and made a beeline for the emergency ward. You grabbed the admission form and scanned the patient list. There were only two emergency patients who were listed under the final hour of your shift, a woman and a man, which made it easier to narrow it down to the man who was admitted at quarter to midnight in ward four, room seven.

When you peaked through the crack in the door, you knew you had been worried for a reason. Tommy lay under the covers, battered and bruised, with a swollen eye and a nasty scar where he had reportedly received surgery for trauma to the head.

You slipped inside quietly and closed the door. Tommy’s eyes were closed, and his mouth hung open, stealing miniscule amounts of air into his lungs. He looked as good as a ghost.

“Tommy…” You clutched his peaky cap (which you meant to return) between your fingers.

He didn’t move an inch, so you set the cap down by his bedside table, carefully watching the rise and fall of his chest.

What have they done to you, Tom?

On the second week, he woke up while you were cleaning the windowsill. He coughed, and you whipped around in shock.

“Nurse?” He asked hoarsely, blinking away the blinding light.

You rushed to his side, tears bursting like the fountain you passed on your way to work.

“Don’t move,” you urged when he tried to sit up.

“I have to get to London,” he slurred, only half awake.

You weren’t upset that he didn’t recognize you. You weren’t upset that he didn’t recognize you.

“Tommy… it’s me.”

He shrugged your hand off his shoulder with a hiss. “Fucking hell.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“Please don’t move; I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” You couldn’t hide the way your voice broke.

He looked up at you, then, through bloodshot blue eyes. You wished you knew what was going through his head. Happy or sad?

“Am I dead?”

“No,” you smiled weakly as a tear fell.

“Can I have a smoke then?”

“I don’t know how to love, Tommy!”

“Yeah? Yeah? That’s bullshit! Why do you keep coming back then?” He pinched your chin, glaring furiously into your eyes. “Eh?”

He stood so close that he blocked the light from the chandelier, which mournfully hung from the ceiling. You shivered in his shadow.

“I shouldn’t have come tonight.”

“But you did!” He accused, pointing in your face.

“It was a mista—”

“You fucking did!”

“Tommy!”

“I’ve had it! If you want to leave, then fucking leave; otherwise, don’t stand there all righteous waving empty threats over my head because I know you won’t leave.” He shook his head with a wild look in his eye. “No… You won’t leave. You won’t leave because you love me. You keep coming back,” he pointed matter-of-factly.

Tommy’s eyebrows danced between being terribly furrowed and alarmingly raised during his passionate monologue. It was rare for him to emit so much emotion these days. The war changed men, and Tommy was no exception. A chilling stillness framed his presence, which even you weren’t excused from. No more laughter, no more dreams of working with horses, because he was above all that now, wasn’t he? It was ambition that ground his teeth together and hollowed his eyes. Still, you couldn’t forget that the anger came from vulnerability, because it took a lot for someone to get under Thomas Shelby’s skin.

You moved to grab your purse, to make good on his word, but he halted your movement by grabbing your shoulders, roughly at first, before loosening his grip. You softened at his frantic demeanor. He was scared—oh, so afraid of you walking out that door again. But how could you ever explain it to him? You were never born for love. You would never know how to love him properly the way wives were supposed to because what you felt for Tommy was sickeningly deep. So much so that the mere impression of him sealed off your ribcage and ruined any chance of your heart beating for any other soul, so much so that you carried the weight of him in your bones because you could never shake him off.

When you looked back at life, all you saw was the absence of love. You used to imagine yourself growing up and falling in love with a handsome stranger, then getting married in a proper white dress to go live in your proper house. But when you looked in the mirror, you saw a ghost. The pathway of your life was laid out before your eyes once, and what you saw didn’t match the reflection. The man you were supposed to marry couldn’t even look at you, even if you cleaned and cleaned and cleaned until your fingerprints turned white and pasty.

Because what it all came down to was simple. You never got to become the person you envisioned. Instead, you were cursed to live as a blank slate and be consistently reminded of what you were supposed to be and of who you were: no one.

Tommy exhaled in a quick huff, pressing his forehead to yours so that he saw you clearer, without all the tension and bullshit in the way.

“Here it comes, Tommy.” You took a shaky breath. “I love you, but I could never be the perfect wife to you, and I would be a terrible mother.”

There, in all its ugly colors and shades, you hung yourself with the truth.

He shook his head as if he too couldn’t believe your words.

“Fuck’s sake! Forget about all that." His eyes watered out of frustration, but he was still puffing in anger. “I need you. You. Not some whore.”

You bit your lip to muffle the god-forsaken cry ready to erupt from the volcanoes you suddenly found roaring in your stomach. An earthquake overtook your hands the more you fought the inevitable eruption. You grabbed both his hands to stop yours from shaking.

“I have to be cursed; there’s no other way!”

“No!”

“My life slips through my fingers like grains of sand—”

“You’re not cursed!”

“And I can’t stop it, Tommy!”

“You’re not fucking cursed, and I’ll tell you why." Tommy cut you off. He leaned in, licking his lips, which had turned dry from all the shouting, and squeezed your hands. “Because my ancestors charmed dogs with their magic, they didn’t scare little girls with curses,” he paused. “But you… You waved a hand over my head, and now I’m no better than a dog.”

He closed the space between you, pressing his forehead against yours, and stroked both your cheeks, wiping at your tears. You held him there in a meek attempt at reciprocation.

You wished the world were ending so then you could grab Tommy’s hand and say, ‘I’m ready, Tom. The world is ending, so let’s kiss and love each other under the flames without any fear because the world is ending.’

But you were never good at expressing yourself with words, so you sealed it with a kiss, hoping he could taste the unspoken words on your lips the same way you tasted the tears. He responded in earnest, gripping you roughly by the scruff of your neck to seal the promise laden between your lips; no more running.

It was just your luck that you would bump into your ex-fiancé, William, while visiting a bar in London with Ada. You were buzzing from the warmth of three sweet liquors and whatever else Ada insisted you try, and everything was starting to seem a little funny by the time he approached you.

He engaged in pleasantries, swishing his wine around the glass and sniffing it occasionally, like many pompous older men tended to do. There was only so much smiling you could afford before you caught your reflection in the freshly wiped bar and realized how poorly your acting skills were. Ada was no help, muttering something about finding a phonebooth and then slipping into the belated and boozed crowd. It was then that the supposed nectar in your glass began to taste like the cleaning products—that nose-scrunching stench. Thankfully, William was too involved in some tangent to notice you muffle a gag into your palm.

The dazzling hum in your ears muffled out all his words. In your drunken state, William appeared to be more confident than what you remembered, but you were unable to decipher whether it was from a change of heart or if he was trying to fall back in your good graces. Otherwise, you were blinded by the roaring bustle of the bar and the delicious swell of music that seemed to reverberate across your being.

Growing a little bored with William’s story, your attention wandered over his shoulder, still being sure to nod every now and then as if you were deeply pondering his words. Not far away from his side, a man seemed to linger—a man who was careful not to reach your eye. You must have laughed a little harder than usual because William turned sharply to the man at his side, gave him a quick once-over, then returned his attention to you, but by then it was too late, and you knew exactly what William’s relationship was with this man and where William’s confidence had come from.

“You’ll make a fine wife and a finer mother someday,” William quickly added.

You cursed the witch inside you, who laughed from her stomach and used his shoulder to steady herself. Once upon a time, that was all you longed to hear, but now, with a half-spilt martini in hand, you couldn’t care less. Both of you had found happiness despite your unconventional circumstances, and there was no more to it. You could close that chapter without any loose threads.

A little drunk, you thanked him, disappeared, and never thought of him again.

“I can’t do it, Ada,” you stressed, beginning to feel uncomfortable with the baby in your arms.

Motherhood came rumbling into your life like a rusty engine spitting out oil. ‘Instinctual’, the mothers down the lane from Arrow House had said, ‘it’s like your body has been preparing for it your whole life.’ How awful, you thought, and by the time one of them finished speaking about their experience with their first, your nose was so scrunched in disgust that you would need an iron to flatten out the wrinkles. It wasn’t until now that you longed to be in their shoes, because nothing came naturally to you.

“He’ll latch eventually; he’s just a little fussy,” Ada reassured.

“Is it supposed to hurt?”

“It’s perfectly normal.”

Then, after an hour of rubbing your sons back on the verge of tears, he finally began feeding from you. Ada soothed your back the whole time and cooed softly to calm both you and your unruly boy. Sometimes she brought Karl. He would obediently sit on her lap, playing with his wooden horse, while your little Charles fussed.

One time in the early morning, when you were up attempting to feed Charles, Tommy rushed in alert with disheveled hair and sunken eyes.

“Sorry,” you mouthed, deflated your hardworking husband had been disturbed from his sleep.

He ran his hands over his face and sighed. You mistook his action for frustration and desperately tried to hush your baby. Tommy moved over to the rocking chair where you sat, trying to feed little Charles in your arms.

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispered into the crook of your neck. “How is he?”

You flushed under the moonlight, suddenly embarrassed that your husband had caught you in this vulnerable position with the top of your slip peeled down. Your exposed skin hissed when he pressed a kiss against your pulse.

“I don’t think he likes me very much.”

Tommy inhaled sharply against your neck before resting his chin on your shoulder to peer down at Charles. Charles had settled since Tommy walked into the room, acutely aware of his father as his little hands made a grabbing motion for him. Diligently, Tommy relieved your arms of Charles and cradled him close to his chest. Within minutes, the little baby was gurgling happily and blinking in a way that suggested sleep was on the horizon after all.

Your husband didn’t dare make any sudden noise as he gently set Charles in his cradle. Once he was surely asleep, Tommy guided you up from the rocking chair and into your shared bedroom.

“See?” you hissed, still maintaining a soft voice, “he only wants you.”

Tommy wouldn’t hear any of it, pulling you into his arms as he sat on the edge of the mattress. Your slip was still pooled around your hips, so he took the opportunity to plant a kiss above your breasts, where your heart was.

“He loves you,” he drawled in that husky voice of his. “I know he does because I do.”

Your head ached, but you couldn’t help the way your body reacted to his words and touch. Tommy’s wandering hands teased the silk fabric that clung to your hips as you felt his nose trail down to your breast, where he kissed one of your aching nipples delicately. Suddenly hot, you hummed in delight, the back of his shorn scalp pleasant beneath your nails. A grunt, bathed in that musk of his devours your senses. Inhaling sharply, he took the bud between his full lips, sucking, licking, and nibbling gently while his hands explored further down. Your head lulled back from the pleasure, gasping and withering under his skilled tongue.

The next thing you knew, Tommy was tugging the rest of your silk slip off and reminding you of just how much he loved you.

“Charles! Come here!” Tommy called.

Your little boy loved to play in the backyard of Arrow House. Much like his father, Charles adored horses. Big ones, small ones, black ones, white ones—but most of all, he favored his Shetland pony. Tommy had brought it for Charles before he could even walk. He said something about it being important for his son to be raised around horses from a young age. And while you didn’t necessarily disagree, it still stressed you out to hold your baby so close to such a large, muscular animal. You knew the Arabian breeds spooked easily, so you steered clear of them and were able to keep Tommy and Charles happy.

But now he had grown up so fast and was able to run around on his own two legs, climb trees, and bruise his knees on the way down. The sun beat lovingly on the apples of his cheeks as he dirtied his trousers, kneeling by the fence to feed his Shetland (affectionately named Biscuit) hand-picked grass through the gaps.

“Charles! We’re leaving!” You called when he ignored his father.

Stubbornly, Charles spun around to pout his lip and cross his arms. He glared at you as threateningly as a five-year-old could. You bit your lip to hide your smile because he really did look like a little Tommy with those big blue eyes. It would only be a matter of time before he perfected his father’s stare. With a sigh, you shifted your daughter into Tommy’s arms before approaching Charles, who was picking angrily at the grass.

You reached a hand out toward him, "let's go.”

“No!”

“All right,” you said decisively, spinning around, “Ruby will have all the fun then.”

“No!” cried your little boy.

You stuck a hand up in surrender and started walking back to Tommy. “No, it’s all right.”

“No, no no no!” Came his protest, chasing behind you as the gravel crunched beneath his boots.

You paid no attention to him, keeping your eyes trained ahead, silently relieved that your ploy worked. Tommy watched on in amusement while Ruby suckled on her thumb, curiously watching her brother storm closer.

“You hear that, Ruby? We’re going to spoil you,” a short smile played on Tommy’s face as he adjusted her so that she sat comfortably on his hip.

“And me!” Charles added and gave his best pout.

“No, Charles, you said you didn’t want to go,” you reminded him, raising your eyebrows.

“I do! I do!”

“Hmm,” you thought aloud, and held a finger to your chin while looking to the sky in exaggerated contemplation. “Very well, but only if you get in daddy’s car right this instant.”

He climbed into the backseat of the Bentley without further fuss.

When all the bags were neatly packed in the back for the day’s festivities, Tommy came around your side to sit Ruby on your lap. Quickly, he leaned in to kiss you and pinch your cheek, which swelled into a glowing grin.

He smiled back and whispered low enough for only you to hear, “got him wrapped around your finger, eh?”

You laughed. “Him and a few other Shelby’s I know of.”

The thundering sound of music could be heard from outside the theater on the corner of Old Pauls. Inside, patrons mused between champagne, dancing, and making a display of their wealth by bidding on little trinkets. It was one of the many charity galas Tommy had to attend because of his new move into politics. Usually, you enjoyed dressing for those sorts of things, but tonight you simply weren’t feeling up to it. Maybe it was the drape of your dress not sitting right or the new leather shoes that still needed breaking in.

Your shimmering smile faded into the crowd as you snuck through the back door in your satin bordeaux dress. Old Pauls sat perched above the cemetery it was named after. Conveniently across the street from the buzz of the theater, it was airily quiet and stuck out from the rest of industrial Birmingham. Your heels clacked across the pavement as you wandered up and down the garden, glimpsing at stone angels and silver plaques. All you had to light your path were the streetlights and the moon.

Your diamond wedding ring twinkled under the stars as you stopped to trace a name. It was the same as your mother's, but with a different last name. Still, you always wondered what happened to her. Had she gotten married to another man and taken his name? You expected to shiver at the idea, but you found that thinking of her no longer unnerved you. She packed up the title of mother when she left you all alone in that cramped house.

Light spilled out onto the pavement across the street when the entrance to the theater swung open. A few men flew down the steps and split off in different directions. Thinking it odd, you remained crouched until they disappeared around their respective corners. That’s when you saw Tommy exit through the same doors, throwing a cigarette and wiping at his brow while he looked up and down the street. Quickly, you stood and waved your arm to get his attention. When he noticed, he stormed down the steps and stalked across the street and through the gates of Old Pauls over to you.

“I needed some air,” you spoke up before he could get a word in.

His eyes wildly flickered back and forth from yours in a frenzy. Under the moonlight, they looked almost translucent, and, save for a ghost of blue, his pupils were wide.

“Why the bloody hell are you out here, eh?” He demanded, gently shaking your head between his hands for emphasis while his eyebrows rose expectantly.

“It’s quieter.”

When he tilted his head to the sky and exhaled, your stomach dropped at the sight of blood. Your ears, which had been tuning out the music, flinched when a shrill cry from a woman rang out the theater doors. The music was gone, now replaced with screams as all the patrons rushed out, tripping over each other like it were a race. You turned back to Tommy, now as worried as the others.

“What the hell happened? Are you hurt?” You urged, gripping his white collar, now red, to inspect where the blood was coming from.

“Not mine,” he cleared his throat, grabbing the hand on his collar to tug you down the street.

The frame of your world stretched a little wider, like light pouring in through open shutters. Car doors slammed, and drivers honked at the agitated crowd who ran this way and that across the road.

“Where’s the fucking ambulance?” Shouted a man who took no care to avoid bumping into you.

You stumbled back, your hand slipping from Tommy’s on impact. Rage flickered across his features briefly, having noticed the man push through you, but he reconnected your hands and continued walking fast. When he reached the Bentley, he urged you inside, holding your hand the whole way until you were seated in the passenger seat.

“What the hell happened, Tommy?” You repeated as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“Someone got shot.”

Your eyes widened. “Are Polly and—”

“They’re fine.”

You sank back into your seat as the engine roared to life. Peaky Blinder’s followed the frenzied crowd, moving together like a pack of wolves onto the streets. They only parted to let Tommy’s Bentley through. Out the window, people were fighting and throwing fists as they all tried to escape the mayhem.

“Why aren’t they letting people through?” You asked after witnessing a Peaky Blinder block the road and refuse to let a car pass.

“Doesn’t matter.”

He never told you anything when it came to business. And although you suspected this was much more than the doing of the Shelby brothers, Tommy’s face never betrayed him. Simply put, if he didn’t want you to know, you wouldn’t.

“Would anyone want to follow us?”

“No.” He exhaled deeply, cleared his throat, and then reached to give your thigh a squeeze.

You knew it was a lie when his eyebrows rose. He only did that when he was worried. Your tongue remained pressed to the back of your teeth the entire ride home.

The howl of the wind whistled down into the valley of the gypsy camp Tommy had brought you and the children to.

“Pack your things,” he had said one night after storming through the front door of Arrow House, “we’re going on a trip.”

Charles and Ruby cheered, but you suspected something sinister beneath his intentions.

So, there you were, picking at the grass by your feet while you perched on the bottom step of the gypsy wagon Tommy parked beneath a tree for shade. He kept quiet for most of the ride, absorbed in leading the horse around loose gravel and stones, or rather, he led you to believe he was lost in concentration. Because, when it came down to it, you knew Tommy better than to assume nothing was wrong.

The past week, he had been acting different, jumpy even. He ran into the nursery during the early hours of the morning on edge, as if expecting something to be amiss. You tried interrogating him, but he brushed it off, insisting things were fine. Fine—you began detesting that word. Fine this, fine that, but if things were really fine, then why was he on edge?

Then came the bloodshot eyes and the slamming of his desk drawer when you entered the office. Only this time he couldn’t deny the unmistakable jingle of a bullet, which rattled in the wooden compartment like some sort of airy death chime.

A black hand. One for each Shelby. And since you were now one too, that meant neither you nor the children were subjected to any special treatment. A week, he said, a week for his family to clear up the business while he stayed here watching over you like a shepherd to his flock.

And watched he did, standing next to where you sat, he found peace observing Charles and Ruby as they chased each other around the overgrown field. There he remained for an hour or so, frighteningly still, the only motion being his sharp jaw chewing on a mint leaf, somewhat reminiscent of the soldier in your tent all those years ago. Next to him, tied to the tree, the black steed filled the silence with snorts and grazed favorably on the loose roots and grass patches.

“Ruby was crying this morning. She’s scared, Tom." You sighed.

Tommy hadn’t been there when you woke up that morning in the caravan. He returned shortly after, ominous as ever, just as Ruby had begun to settle.

He tossed the stalk of his mint leaf into the grass and offered you his hand. You looked up at him in question for a moment, slightly suspicious of his intentions. Nevertheless, you slid your hand into his, and he stood you up, sat down on the higher step, and pulled you between his legs to sit on the lower step. He hugged you from behind as he slouched to rest his head on your shoulder, then exhaled deeply.

“We will be home soon,” he whispered in your ear, brushing your knuckles tenderly.

“For how long? Until we get another bullet in the post?”

Tommy’s throbbing forehead found solace in the warmth of your neck.

“You’ve never been one to run,” you continued, “what’s bothering you? We took a vow that we would share everything.”

He nuzzled his nose deeper into your pulse.

Frustrated, you tried to get up, but he held you firmly against his chest.

“Italians.”

“Italians?”

“Italians sent the black hands.”

You waited in silence for more information, but more did not come.

“Speak to me, Thomas.”

“I don’t want you any more involved than you are.”

“They’ve sent death knocking on our door; how more involved could I be?”

Tommy moved methodically, licking his lips and clearing his throat. He squinted his eyes up at the glaring sun.

“It’s nothing you should be concerned about. I’ll keep us safe.”

“Nothing I should be concerned over, Thomas? Just how many people are we at war with?”

He didn’t answer, so you turned your head away from him. Charles and Ruby had since settled by a patch of flowers. Charles was crouched over, helping his sister gather all the yellow flowers for her yellow dress.

The tension broke the surface then.

“Why are you still fighting, Tom? Is this,” you nod to your children and breathe in the fresh air, “not enough?”

You pictured Arrow House and its lavish garden, one to compete with all the wealthy families down the lane. You thought of Arthur, John, Polly, Ada, and all his family that lived to see his success. Everything, from the thoroughbreds in the stable to the fancy cars. The money itself was a testimony to his drive. What more could the gangster of Birmingham want when he already had everything?

You had gone and worked yourself up now because the world seemed blurrier than before.

Tommy, still on his guard, guided your chin to your shoulder so he could kiss the tears away. “It is enough.”

“Then make it enough. You’re respectable now, so stop the fighting.” Your voice broke at the end.

He hung his forehead on your shoulder. Like a flower sheltered away from the sun, Tommy wilted when he was away from his business. Usually, you were a strong enough light to keep him going, but whatever business he had gotten himself into was poisoning him, and ever the addicted flower, he kept running out to the fields, continuing to drink in the sunlight until it was too much and turned his leaves brow. Because business was what occupied his mind day and night, he was unable to turn the cogs of the engine off and let the air out of the tires.

A hand brushes your hair away to kiss the spot beneath your ear, airing out the destructive thoughts.

God, you loved him anyway. An overpowering feeling that ruled over calculating minds like Tommy’s and faint hearts like yours. You were no better than him—both addicted to a little sunlight.

The framed photographs on the wall shook as your third-eldest slammed the door to her room closed.

“I hate you!” She cried from the other side.

Your husband, Tommy, sighed to the ceiling, then stalked past you to his study, no longer interested in anything your daughter had to say. They had been at it for the last ten minutes arguing over some boy she was seeing, and your ears were just about ringing having witnessed it from the sidelines. You were left there in the hallway, an unwilling participant in the unspoken feud between father and daughter, and you understood that whoever you went to console would take it that you were siding with them, even though you just wanted to keep your family together.

Going to your daughter was the instinctive answer, but you knew she needed time to cool off. Tommy was the only reasonable choice.

You knocked on the door to his office before letting yourself in.

“Come to lick my wounds, eh?” He mused while smoking a cigarette.

Your lips wormed into a thin line. “This needs to stop, Tom.”

“Yeah,” he said, tapping the ash into his tray, “it will fucking stop.” He points with his cigarette, “I’ll make it fucking stop.”

You sighed. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

The chair screeched as he stood. “I’m her father, and if I say she can’t see that boy, she can’t. It’s only a childish fling; she’ll get over it.”

He poured a whiskey and downed it by the time you walked around his desk so that you were face-to-face with him.

“They’re in love, Tommy.”

“Yeah?” He scoffed. “Well, that can be undone.”

You held his glare, a challenge lighting in your own. “So easily, you think?”

He paused mid-drag, catching onto the underlying meaning in your words. “No,” he said, setting the cigarette down in the ash tray and grabbing your shoulders. “Don’t act like that.”

“Act like what?”

“Like you’re threatening our love over some fucking boy that’s charmed our daughter. They’re too young.”

“He’s sweet.”

“Oh, sweet and nice, I’m sure. But he’ll have no place in this house.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because I fucking said so!” He spat.

“Don’t yell at me.”

“Or what? You’ll leave me?” He huffed in amusement. “You won't; you love me too much.”

“You’re so certain?”

He paused for a moment and stared at you as if he couldn’t believe what you had said.

“Yeah, because we still fuck like two people who love each other, eh? And you’ve not told me no before, so if the day comes and your body no longer wants mine, then I’ll be worried. But until then, don’t test me with empty threats." His face hardened.

He knew you like the back of his hand. All bark, no bite. You loved him inexplicably, even after all these years, gray hairs and all. His face, body, and soul nourished you until you were satiated and full. And even if his eyebrows furrowed at times, you were willing to bet that it was for aesthetic, a shapely shadow gathered over the years from being the stoic leader the Peaky Blinders and Shelby family needed. How could you fault him for it?

Because, at the end of the day, you were a team. Even if he played the role of an overprotective father a bit too convincingly, he only ever wanted what was good for your daughter. Everything he worked for, ultimately, was for his family. A family man. And that came with its virtues and vices because, despite what Tommy thought, he wasn’t perfect; no one was.

Shrinking under his hands, you breathed a sigh and appeased him. “End this feud, Tom. Find peace with her. I don’t care what you do, but by the end of it, I expect to be able to sit down at the dinner table without having to beg my husband and daughter to look up from their plates.” You stroked his hands, which held your shoulders, and finally blinked up at him.

A haze of softness swept across his glare and melted the glaciers to a thin sheen of blue. The seams of exhaustion frayed one by one through his muscles. He nodded, licked his lips, and leaned down for a kiss of absolution. Not entirely prepared to surrender, you tilted your head so that he found the corner of your mouth instead.

“It will be done, love.” He brushed the apples of your cheeks tenderly. “And by tonight,” his voice lowered, “I promise you’ll forget all about it.”

Only then did you accept his kiss, eager to put the grievance to rest. Tommy, on the other hand, had other plans and stepped forward so that you were pinned between his desk and hips. He quickly began to gather your skirts above your waist, but you pulled away just as fast at the hiss of air against your exposed skin. An unsolicited gasp escaped his mouth when your knee brushed him there, and you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, looking deep into his eyes.

“Promise me you won’t break her heart. She might not be old enough now, but I don’t want you to put her off love forever,” you caressed his jaw.

“No,” he agreed, breathier than usual, flexing the hands that were still caught up in the fabric of your skirt.

“And our Daisy may never say it, but I know she loves you dearly. So please, Tom, be gentle with her. I don’t want her to grow up despising you. Tell her you love her, kiss her forehead, hug her.”

He deflated, and you watched him swallow his pride. Cogs turned against the sweltering lust, threatening to deplete the clever thoughts in that powerful head of his in favor of your careful touch. Please, please, please, you begged without uttering a word; agree with me on this, Tom.

Tommy leaned back down to rest his forehead on yours; his face gave nothing away. You were sure he had found something to say, which would make you feel like a fool for asking. However, when you embraced those faint subtleties of emotion flickering across his face like candlelight, so miniscule you might blink and miss it, you found nothing of the sort to suggest any hostile nature. Because Tommy loved you.

“I will.”

A/N: Tried doing a long one shot, what does everyone think? Yay or nay? Comment to be added to the tag list!

Taglist: @maliceofwonderland , @fairytale07 , @goblinjnr , @ilovepeoplesdads , @multidimensionalslut

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leonw4nter · 2 months

Text

Through Thick and Thin, Always and Forever

Husband!Damnation!Leon x F!Reader

No one is spared from that stupid blond baby and his arrows, not even two seasoned agents who are were certain that their hearts would never learn to feel something other than guilt, fear, and hopelessness.

After 5 years of dating and now 17 years married, your marriage with him has faced its ups and downs but you two always managed to make amends and continue on smoothly. Lately, it’s been more of a down: minimal talking, less intimacy, and Leon in worse moods. After a particularly big fight regarding his alcohol consumption and the distance he’s been keeping from you, you two refused to talk to each other. The most you two did in interaction with each other is telling each other “good night” before turning to the other side of the bed, backs turned and “good morning” without meeting gazes. Although things between you too are a little cold and tense, you two still held respect for each other and didn’t do anything that meant to harm the other.

You got up earlier than Leon, your husband still sleeping soundly from his side of the bed; eyes still shut, strands of dark hair that fell over his forehead with his arms crossed and small snores leaving slightly chapped lips. You drank in the vulnerable sight of him, sighing and wistfully hoping that things would go back to normal between you two again. After fixing your side of the bed, you head over to the kitchen to start on breakfast. Taking out the left-overs from last night’s takeout from the fridge, you take a pan and add a small amount of oil before putting it on the stove. You decided to opt for reheating using a pan and stove instead of the readily available microwave since you were feeling a little more diligent than usual. While cooking, you realize that the non-stick coating of the pan you’re using is peeling away. There’s some bits of food sticking to the part of the pan that is bare, those bits burning up. The handle is also a lot more loose, the pan being older than 4 years. I’m going to have to look for a new pan I guess, you think to yourself. After a few more minutes of reheating, you plate the food and place them on the dining table.

“G’morning.”

“God you scared me.” You reply with a small jolt of electricity flowing through your body. You place the plates down, Leon getting up to help you with the others. Instantly, your day gets better now that Leon is doing things like these but you don’t push your luck, knowing that Leon is still a helpful guy no matter what and this could be him being friendly but still upset at you.

He waits for you to take a seat before he takes his, scooping some food onto his plate before he takes a bite. You two have breakfast in silence, him reading some article on his phone while you go looking through Amazon for new non-stick pans. Unfortunately for you, you don’t find any pan that looks good so you put your phone down with a small sigh. Breakfast ends silently with Leon doing the dishes and you sweeping around the house. This time, Leon is speaking up more but he’s still closed off but you’re happy that he’s begun to be a lot warmer to you. You thought about going out to buy the pan but your laziness said no, causing you to opt to stay inside and be curled up with a good book.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

I should’ve bought that damn pan yesterday.

Unfortunately for you, your period started today which meant cramps that you swore was just your uterus doing crazy acrobatics. Of course you were extra cranky, all your emotions upped a notch by a hundred but a tiny part of you was thankful for this because Leon began to warm up more. Just this morning, he offered to change the sheets and wash the old one when you bled into it; it’s as if you two had never fought days prior but you aren’t complaining. Now, you are curled up and buried beneath the sheets while clutching at your lower abdomen while waiting for Leon to come back home. You had sent him on an errand to go get you cheese fries and boba tea which should only take him 15 minutes max but he took a little longer than that. You poke your arm out of the sheets, feeling around for your phone before you finally feel it and drag your arm back inside the sheets. You look for Leon’s number, phoning him to hurry up and get home because you needed his company more than anything.

“Leooonn…” You weakly groan.

“Hm? Yes, sweetheart?” He asks on the other end of the line.

“Got me my food?” You quietly ask.

“Yeah. I’m on my way home, just stuck in traffic. I promise I’ll get there soon baby, hang on,” He responds.

“Okay… I’ll hang up now, the screen is giving me a migraine.”

You press the ‘end call’ button, groaning even louder now that you feel a migraine incoming. Can this day get worse?

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Leon finally arrives home with the fries and boba tea but he makes you drink water and take Advil before you have your snacks, hoping to alleviate the migraine you have going on. He also got a heating pad to help with cramps and offered to give you leg massages since your cramps caused spasms in your thighs as well. After giving you messages and looking after you, he slipped out of the bedroom to go show you something. He comes back with a pan, a non-stick one too.

“Baby is that…” You softly whisper, vision getting blurry with the tears in your eyes.

“Yeah. I saw you going through pans on Amazon so I thought I’d pick one up for you instead,” He explains. He goes on to explain his shopping process, going through the nitty gritty of the features of the cookware.

“The salesman told me that it’s made of stone too so it doesn’t retain strong odors like fish and is oven-safe. You’ll have crispy edges and browned crusts too– honey, are you crying?”

You take a big gulp of the boba before setting it down, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweater. Hormones were everywhere, your emotions are a mess, you’re going to be bleeding for the next 5 days and here is your husband: an absolute sweetheart, the only man there is for you. You walk over to him and wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him tight while trying to keep the tears down.

“Thanks, honey. I appreciate it. A lot. Tons, even.” You softly mumble. He brings a hand to the small of your back, giving you small pats as well. You feel a content rumble from his chest, smiling because you know that your fight is now a thing of the past.

“Anything for my girl,” he responds. “Name it and I’ll get it for you.”

“What if I want cuddles right now?” “Your wish is my command,” he agrees. With a pleased smile, he wraps you in a fuzzy blanket before laying at your side and hugging you like you’re a teddy bear. Well, he’s your teddy bear but today you don’t mind having the roles reversed.

NOTE - Today's fic is a little short because I am (1) tired and (2) not having a nice time rn!!! Yeyy!!! It's Valentine's Day today (as of writing) and not to sound like a salty person but everyone getting gifts from either their partner or friends made me feel a lot more alone 😭😭 Like a relationship is not what I'm looking for right now but it won't hurt to yk- receive something, even if it's just chocolate or candy. Anyways, I hope your Valentine's Day went great and if you confessed then I hope your feelings were reciprocated and if not then it's not the end of the world yk, you'll find the right one in the right time <3 Tysmm for reading my fics and I <3333 UUUUUUU (also this fic is inspired by that one reddit story)

#leon kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x y/n #fluff #leon kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy fluff #biohazard #resident evil damnation #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil x you #leon s kennedy x reader

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spacebarbarianweird · 3 months

Note

Oooh! Chronic depression Tav sounds right up your alley! I'm also chronically depressed and I have a similar living condition (messy room, not the horrific torture) to Astarion. Maybe a Tav who can empathize with his messy tent and his depression?

Oh yes, this hits my alley! I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder and depression a while ago plus it seems like I had a severe depression when I was 12-19 years old (but I wasn't taken to any specialists back then).

TW: Anxiety and depression come in different forms, my therapists always told me that I have a weird skill to look absolutely normal meanwhile tests show signs of severe depression. I've based this headcanon on my own experience.

TW 2: A suicide attempt, depression.

Astarion x Depressed!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

You feel off.

Something was utterly wrong with you for the last few years.

You barely eat, sleep too much

Decision-making is difficult as fuck, and you just do what you are told to.

The time is slipping through your fingers and you sometimes realize it's already winter when it was summer a day ago.

You feel like drowning in the dark void.

Maybe you should just end everything? Because life will never get better.

The tadpole suppresses your condition.

You suddenly feel good. You feel strong. You feel alive.

And the Emperor is particularly adamant that you embrace the tadpole potential.ccepting the tadpole potential.

"Remember how bad you felt before? It will get worse if you deny the tadpole. Once it's gone, your mind will drown in darkness again. But accept my offer, and you will never suffer again."

You recognize familiar patterns in Astarion's behavior.

His inability to make decisions.

The mess he made of his tent.

The way he sometimes sits and stares in the distance not moving at all.

That he doesn't really read, staring at the papers with mindless eyes.

Or quickly turning pages without understanding what is written there.

Or an extreme degree of anhedonia. He cannot taste wine or food, his senses are dulled, and nothing brings him joy except blood and sex (both of which have been unavailable to him for centuries).

You want to accept the tadpole. You don't want to go back to where you were. He doesn't want to either.

But when you take the astral tadpole, Astarion knocks it out of your hands and smashes it.

"You're in no condition to make decisions like that, dear," he says, grabbing your arm.

Neither is he.

You fear to have the tadpole removed.

When it is gone, it's worse than you expected.

You can't move. Can't think. The void is killing you.

You don't want to talk to anyone. You can't do anything. The only thing you are capable of is to crawl into the inn and lie there like in a coffin.

It will never get better.

Maybe, you should just off yourself?

And Astarion's absence only proves your thoughts. He isn't there, he's left. He doesn't need a burden like you.

The relapse is so bad you decide to find a way to end things.

You choose a lonely place and takes a dagger out.

You greet death like an old friend.

Only to wake up under a starry night sky.

With a familiar skeleton-like figure close to you.

Withers brought you back. But why? And how did he…

Before you manage to say anything coherent, you feel strong hands around your waist and a familiar scent.

Astarion cries holding you.

"I shouldn't have left you, I shouldn't have... I am so sorry..."

He was ashamed of himself. Of his own relapse.

But he could never thought you would kill yourself.

These six monthes were difficult for him.

Yes, he was free. He could do whatever he wanted.

But he was lonely. He had nightmares. Breakdowns.

He started looking for you only to realize you were dead.

Finding Withers was his only hope.

And you are back. Back to him.

Astarion takes you away from Baldur's Gate to the places you've never been before.

Basically making you run faster than your darkness.

Together you learn how to enjoy things.

You basically ask each other "What can we do rn to make ourselves feel better?"

A swim in the lake? A bath in the inn? A new piece of garment? Just staying together in the tent?

You hold each other from slipping into the void.

Eventually, you are advised to start taking some medicine made by clerics.

You take it once a day and you feel better, almost the same way you felt with the tadpole.

You take the double shot because Astairon drinks your blood to get this medicine for himself.

You both don't feel yourself that miserable anymore. You both cry less.

You sleep better, Astarion doesn't have nightmares.

You are good. Both of you.

It doesn't mean the darkness won't come back - but you are both ready to meet it.

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96

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violetrainbow412-blog · 7 months

Text

Day 15: morning after

Here I need to make a clarification. As you know, English is not my first language and from what I was able to research about this day's prompt it was like "a morning after doing something you might regret" or "a morning with a hangover", so that's what I wrote about. It's honestly my favorite (and the longest) so far and I hope you like it, reblog or tell me in the comments if you do!

Masterlist flufftober 🎀

tw: mention of alcohol, implied smut, nudity, stuff like that (but everything is fluff!)

The first thing Spencer felt when he woke up was the stab of pain shooting through his head, followed by the sun streaming through the window gently warming his body. Everything was spinning for him and he didn't even remember how he got to his apartment the night before, because as a birthday gift the whole team had decided to take him to a bar and somehow, they had managed to completely intoxicate him with alcohol.

He had drunk before but not to that level, so it was the first time he had experienced a hangover of that magnitude. He tried to get up as slowly as possible and once he was sitting on the edge of the mattress he sighed and rubbed his face with both hands to wake up a little. As his vision cleared, he could make out the floor of the room and opened his eyes wide when he noticed a piece of clothing that was definitely not his: a pair of black lace panties. He scanned the rest of the place and also found a matching bra and dress, and his surprise was even greater when he turned on the mattress to find a female body covered by a thin sheet.

The memories of him hit him worse than the hangover and suddenly all his blood rushed to his face. The night before, when he had begun to feel the effects of alcohol, everyone seemed to become lighter, so when a beautiful woman approached to talk to him, he didn’t hesitate to respond to the chat. Even Derek was surprised at how charming his friend was when he wasn't worried about what people thought of him, and it was a good thing the girl enjoyed hearing interesting facts about absolutely anything. If Spencer had ever read about flirting tips that was the moment he applied them and no one was surprised when the birthday boy was dragged to the back of the bar, to probably be kissed like never before in his life.

He remembered that after making out in the dark you had asked if you could accompany him somewhere more private and he had naively offered his apartment. The images of what had happened made him feel completely ashamed and at that moment he hated his eidetic memory a little, because he could see over and over again your trembling body on top of his and hear the noises with which both of you had filled the room.

He had never done anything like that in his life and he didn't even believe he was capable of sleeping with a girl he had just met, probably for fear of not being good enough or of contracting some kind of disease. But, luckily, he searched his mind and realized that neither had happened and the evidence of a metal wrapper on the nightstand calmed him down.

He almost jumped out of his seat when he felt you shifting on the mattress and turned around immediately so as not to risk you catching him looking at you or, worse yet, seeing your naked body.

“Hey,” he heard behind you, your voice slightly raspy, and he tensed completely when he felt your hand caress the skin of his back “Good morning.”

“Huh… hello,” he replied, still not looking at you. Total nervousness could be heard in his voice and you wanted to believe that it wasn't out of regret, or else your heart would have broken a little.

"Are you okay?"

“Yes,” he replied quietly. He gathered his courage and turned slightly in your direction, only to find your soft, worried eyes looking down at him “And you?”

“A little sore, but everything is fine”

Your smile was sweet and your face was so cheerful that Spencer feared he had slept with a teenager. But it wasn't like that, it was just that God had blessed you with natural beauty even with the after-effects of drunkenness and traces of smudged makeup.

"I am glad to hear that"

He couldn't see you bite your lower lip because he was too distracted by the reddish mark on your shoulder that he had left last night and you interpreted his distracted attitude as clear disinterest, without imagining that there was a whole revolution of emotions inside him.

You moved under the covers and when you got out of bed Spencer looked away, as if he wanted to respect your privacy by avoiding seeing your nakedness. With some embarrassment you began to look for your clothes throughout the room to put them on, ready to leave the place with the little dignity you had left. But when you sleep with the most handsome guy in the bar, those are things you take risks, right?

“Well, I guess I’ll go,” you said shyly, holding your bag close to you “It was nice meeting you.”

"Wait!" He stopped you almost immediately, not allowing you to go too far “I'm being rude, excuse me. “It's just… I'm not used to doing this much.”

“Oh, no, no, I don't either. Don't think I'm..."

"No! I wasn't suggesting that either," he continued, feeling like every time he spoke he was only making everything worse "It's just that yesterday he was really drunk and... well, I'm a little surprised at how things turned out."

“And did they end well or badly?”

“Well, or so I think,” he responded quickly. He wanted to tell you that he had loved the way you kissed him if it would take the worried look off your face, but the truth was that he didn't even know if he could say the words without feeling nervous. “What I want to say is that I hope I was… good.”

“You were” you express him sincerely. If he had told you that he was inexperienced in the area you wouldn’t have believed him at all “I hope you can say the same about me.”

"Yeah. I'm just worried that we were too drunk."

“So drunk that you would do something you regret?”

“No, more like having forced you to do something that you regret”

So that was his fear of it? That caught you a little off guard, as you didn't know if it was for fear of legal reprisals or if he was really caring about your integrity. From the gentle way he said it and the expression with which he looked at you, you wanted to believe it was the latter, after all he seemed like a good man and nothing in the apartment looked dangerous. I mean, most of the things that were out there were books and science objects, nothing that screamed get out of here or I'm a jerk.

“Don’t worry, I think we both had fun,” you reassured him. “I thought I heard something about it being your birthday, is that true?”

"Yes, it was"

“I hope I didn't ruin it,” you murmured, sounding honest, because your judgment was too clouded the night before to react coherently.

Of course you hadn't ruined his birthday, how could you? You were a pretty girl who had spent the night with him and now that Spencer was looking at you more closely, he realized how lucky he had been that someone like you had set her sights on him.

“You don't have to leave if you don't want to,” he added, trying his luck a little. “If you allow me to change, we can get something for breakfast and… chat.”

“Do you want to do that?”

“It wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me to just throw you out of my apartment, would it?” He replied and your brow furrowed in disbelief. That man was seriously strange, but in the good sense of the word “I'm Spencer Reid, by the way.”

"I know who you are. You told me last night,” you laughed, a little moved by the shyness he suddenly seemed to have, very different from his behavior at the bar.

"So? You will stay?"

You remained silent and analyzed your options. You never imagined that the man would ask you to stay after what you thought would be your first one-night stand, yet you had ended up in that situation.

"Yes, I will”

“Cool,” he sighed, putting on the sweetest smile you had ever seen.

Was this boy real or had you entered into a hallucination?

“I’ll wait for you… huh… outside, okay?” a part of you wanted to listen to your own words, but suddenly the other felt the urge to do something, impulsive and stupid like everything you had done the night before. “But first, can you allow me to do something?”

“Sure, what is it about?”

You didn't respond verbally, but instead took a few steps in his direction and finally crashed your lips into his, hearing him let out a moan of astonishment. Now that you felt soberer you realized that kissing him was pleasant and you hadn't just thought about it because of the effects of the alcohol.

“I just wanted one more, in case my conversation ends up boring you and we never see each other again” you exclaimed playfully, without giving him time to respond because before he could react you had already jumped on tiptoe towards the exit.

He smiled when he saw that and began to pick up the clothes scattered on the floor, willing to get to know your mind better after having explored so many places on your body.

While he was getting dressed he thought that, for the first time he had brought a stranger home, things were looking great.

taglist: @navs-bhat @reidwritings @tricia-shifting14 @spencerslove @vivian-555 @r-3dlips @rhiannonhippiegirl @taygrls @simp4f1 @sdddoobydoobydoo @taintedstranger

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid x you #flufftober 2023 #prompt list #writing challenge #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid drabble

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sigmoon · 2 months

Text

Stepdad!Fyodor . . . [final part]

Desperate times call for desperate measures. As much as you want to, Fyodor doesn't feel the same way about your relationship as you, and nothing you do seems to change that, not even a joint visit to his best friend. As if things couldn't get any worse, you start to get into serious trouble at college. Eventually, you find out what's keeping Fyodor from being yours alone, but in both cases, you have to resort to drastic solutions.

[pt. 1] [pt. 2]

cw: dark content; stepcest, smut, threesome, double penetration, spitroast, creampies, cheating, power imbalances, implied underage, Nikolai is a creep, teacher/student affair, blackmail, manipulation.

Pairings: Fyodor Dostoyevsky x fem.reader x Nikolai Gogol + Osamu Dazai x fem.reader (separately)

wc: 6.8k

Author's note: I had so much fun creating and writing this series over the last few months! I can't believe I've finished it :< A big thank you to all my readers, everyone who contributed to this work, and all the nice anons and my lovely moots <3

⟢ "I’m so mature, I got me a therapist to tell me there’s other men I don’t want / If I can’t have you, no one will." - SZA / Kill Bill ⟢ "I remember thinkin’ I had you / And I can see us twisted in bedsheets / August slipped away, like a bottle of wine / ‘Cause you were never mine." - Taylor Swift / august

With each passing day, your gleeful anticipation to sleep with Fyodor and his friend only grew. Partly because the idea seemed more and more fun to you, doing something completely different from your previous sexual activities, but mostly because your opportunities to sleep with Fyodor had drastically decreased since the dinner that had almost put your little affair at stake.

And although your mother’s suspicions had turned out to be wrong, Fyodor had deemed it necessary to be extra cautious from now on, to which you had agreed, until it eventually clicked that this meant having notably less sex with him.

Not only did it rarely occur anymore, thanks to Fyodor trying his best to fulfill his duties as a loving, faithful husband, and spending a lot more time fucking his wife, rather than his stepdaughter, but the few times you did get to sleep with him, lacked the passion that had been characteristic the first few times. Each time was a quickie, hurried and devoid of foreplay and aftercare, both essential parts of your lovemaking in its earlier stages.

While your mother was on cloud nine, with an attentive husband like Fyodor, and received all the attention that you felt was your birthright, you were forced to witness their ecstasy, betrayed by the sounds of bed springs creaking, their heavy breathing and suspicious thumping seeping through the walls at night.

Each time you lay in bed with a pillow over your head at night, trying to block out the noises that you ought to make, not her, you grew more and more frustrated, feeling so deprived of your nightly fun, that you thanked the gods when the day finally came– the day Fyodor was going to visit his best friend, and taking you with him to introduce you to a new sexual experience, promising that it would be fun.

But in your opinion, Fyodor could’ve fucked you behind a dumpster in a filthy alleyway and you would’ve been content, as long as he was yours alone, not your mother’s.

Of course, Fyodor had come up with a very fitting lie about how you two were going to spend the day and not be back before evening in advance.

Now that you’d passed your finals (in all honesty, the lack of sex with Fyodor had had a positive effect on your performance at school, at least you’d managed to study well enough to eventually graduate high school, despite your inner turmoil), it was time to find a college to visit soon.

Being the responsible father that your mother knew him as, Fyodor had offered to spend the day visiting several local schools in one go, to help you decide on one.

Your mother didn’t have to know that Fyodor had already helped you apply for a school that was good in his eyes and also enabled you to keep living at home weeks ago and that your destination for the day wasn’t different campuses, but his best friend’s apartment, or, to be precise, said friend’s king sized bed with sheets that felt so expensive it was obvious that he had a generous income that he didn’t have to spend on kids of his own.

You’d long forgotten about your mother’s dreamy smile that she'd flashed Fyodor when he had proposed his selfless idea to help you to her, or how she’d wished you fun and good luck when you had left the house earlier.

Now that you were on all fours on the luxurious satin sheets, your clothes long discarded on the bedroom floor, your mind was on nothing but the men in front and behind you, stuffing you with their cocks.

Nikolai had been giddy and eager to fuck you first, and, after waiting for your approval, Fyodor had allowed it, willing to patiently await his turn. In the meantime, he was enjoying the blowjob you gave him, sprawled out before you with his thighs spread wide.

“God, you're so cute. You feel so fucking good, baby,” groaned Nikolai, his hands, larger and rougher than Fyodor’s, kneading your ass as he buried his cock inside your cunt. “Can’t believe your daddy here waited until you were eighteen to fuck you.”

Fyodor, whose hands gently rested on the back of your head, as you slowly bobbed it up and down his length, hummed in response. “I believe taking advantage of a minor’s curiosity to fulfill one’s desires is wrong. But some people obviously have a different opinion on this.”

“Killjoy,” Nikolai scoffed. He grabbed the soft, supple flesh of your ass harder and gave you a little smack. “Let me tell you, sweetie, I wouldn’t have made you wait. Age is just a number, ain’t it?”

You could only whimper in response. You didn’t quite know what to say, as Nikolai’s words carried something creepy, yet he was much hotter than how you’d remembered him, and his groping, combined with the way your stepfather caressed you as your lips were wrapped around his cock, nearly drove you insane.

“Be gentle with her, Kolya,” Fyodor reprimanded his friend. “She’s not like one of your immature little playthings that you can toss around as you please.”

But before you had the chance to overthink Fyodor’s words, Nikolai firmly held on to your hips and pulled you back against him, making you yelp as you felt the tip of his cock nudge against your cervix. You moaned around Fyodor’s cock, and it almost slipped out of your mouth.

Nikolai enjoyed your reaction greatly, and he cackled before thrusting again, even harder this time.

„She’s not as fragile as you think, Fedya. See, she likes being fucked hard.“

Not quite convinced, Fyodor tilted your chin upwards, searching for signs of discomfort on your face. “Are you alright, sweetheart? We can stop anytime if you want to.”

His attentiveness was truly touching, and despite the man behind you moving in and out of you at a relentless pace, you smiled and kissed Fyodor’s palm. “I’m okay, don’t worry.”

“If you say so…but your word is our command, little one,” Fyodor said and leaned back against the headboard of the bed once more, allowing you to pick up where you’d left off and pay attention to his cock.

“So if Kolya does something you don’t like, tell him. He needs to be put in his place now and then…”

“That won’t be necessary,” replied Nikolai and he reached forward to grab your tits, groping them while he kept fucking into you. “Nobody has ever complained about my performance in bed before.”

It was hard to focus on the task at hand, pleasuring Fyodor, when his friend’s cock, bigger and girthier than his, dragged along your wet walls the way it did, pulling one string of incoherent moans after another from you.

When Nikolai sped up his movements, and shoved your body forward, almost making you choke on Fyodor’s cock as it slipped deep into your throat, you gave up. You gagged and recoiled, coughing.

“Hold on…”

“Aww, two dicks too much for you to handle, little girl?” Nikolai chuckled.

“I need a little break,” you told Fyodor with an apologetic look.

“Take your time,” Fyodor whispered and wiped the saliva that dripped down your chin away with his thumb, but you could see from the deep red color of his cock’s tip, and the way it twitched, that he’d been close to cumming, hadn’t you stopped all of the sudden.

“You’re giving your poor daddy blue balls!” Nikolai laughed, as he once again picked up the pace, grabbing your hips tightly and rutting into you. His pace was relentless and his strength and stamina greater than Fyodor’s, you had to admit that.

“Don’t you worry about me,” Fyodor said. He brushed your hair, that stuck to your sweaty forehead, out of your face and smiled gently. “We’ve got the whole day, and you ought to enjoy yourself. This isn’t about my pleasure–”

“Right, my bad,” Nikolai sneered and reached down to rub your clit in quick circles while he pulled out of you halfway, only to slam his cock right back into your pussy. “I forgot your balls belong to your wifey now. Snip snap, you left them at the altar.” He cackled at his joke and pinched your clit between his thumb and index finger, making you whimper.

Fyodor’s smile faded, and he glared at his friend.

“Shut up, Kolya,” he scowled. “Don't speak so ill of my wife.”

“Ohoo, kitty’s got claws now?”

“She had every reason to not want you to visit anymore. And even if she didn’t, do you seriously think I would’ve let you…do what you had in mind?”

“You're just as sick and depraved as I am, my friend. After all, you're fucking your own daughter...” Nikolai grinned, his smirk a sinister one.

You were slowly getting fed up with their bickering. Too fucked out to properly follow their conversation, you were left lying between them being used like a soulless toy, with neither of the men paying attention to you and your pleasure, like they had in the beginning. What annoyed you the most was Fyodor defending your mother’s honor, as if she had to be mentioned and praised by him in a situation like this.

You sat up to pull away from Nikolai and instead grabbed Fyodor’s shoulders, slamming your lips against his, messily making out with him.

“Shut up already and fuck me, will you?” you growled at him. Your stepfather swallowed thickly, looking genuinely taken aback. Your own crude words made you blush, but whatever it took to get Fyodor’s attention, you were willing to do.

“Hey, what about me?” Nikolai sulked since you made him the third wheel. He looked adorable, hard, needy cock bobbing against his abs as he sat there, forced to watch you make out with Fyodor.

“Watch us,” you grinned and straddled Fyodor, who was still on his back. When you sank down on his hard cock, slowly, drawing a guttural moan from both of you, you kept eye contact with Nikolai. “Touch yourself…”

Nikolai’s eyes were wide like saucers, and he stared at where yours and Fyodor’s bodies were connected. Just like you’d ordered him to, he wrapped his hand around his cock and rubbed it slowly.

From the corner of your eye, you could see that the size wasn’t the only difference between their genitals. While Fyodor was circumcised, and his dick was the first real one you’d ever seen, it fascinated you to watch how Nikolai’s foreskin was continuously pulled back and forth as he pleasured himself. A truly educational experience.

The sight beneath you was beyond beautiful. As you looked down, you cupped Fyodor’s face; lids fluttered shut, a thin layer of sweat on his pale skin, lips parted as whines and muttered curses spilled from them.

“I love you…Fedya, I love you,” you said, and buried your face in the crook of his neck, whimpering each time his cock kissed your cervix.

“I love you…too, honey,” he whispered, and you believed him, believing that he meant it in the same way that you did. One of his hands held your waist, the other stroking up and down your back. “My beautiful girl…”

The gentle pace, the whole sensual moment just between you and Fyodor, only lasted for a few minutes and was interrupted when Nikolai started to get bored of jerking off to the scene before him and sat up on his knees and scooted closer. You felt him grab your ass from behind, kneading the soft fat and watching how a creamy white ring of your arousal formed at the base of Fyodor's cock.

“Ever been fucked in the ass, sweetie?” he asked, and before you could answer, you felt his thumb flick over your asshole.

You gasped, as the sensation was strange, unknown, but surprisingly pleasant.

“N-No…ah, but…that feels good…”

Nikolai smirked and leaned down to drag his tongue over your hole, wetting it with spit. He spread the makeshift lube with his thumb, and carefully applied a bit of pressure, until the finger slipped inside, making you mewl.

“I’m not surprised. Your daddy isn’t into anal, although I've been trying to tell him what he’s missing out on for nearly twenty years.”

“Why would I…when there’s another entrance for that?” Fyodor said through grit teeth and slowed down the pace of his thrusts a bit.

“So narrow-minded,” Nikolai shook his head and slipped another finger inside your ass. You moaned at the stretch, as well as at how Fyodor kissed your neck and collarbones.

“Are you sure you want both of us at once?” he whispered, gently stroking your hair.

“Yes, I wanna try.”

“Yay!” exclaimed Nikolai, and pulled his fingers out of you, spat into his hand and smeared his saliva all over his cock. “Today’s my lucky day!”

The stretch of Fyodor’s cock was already enough to make you see stars. But when Nikolai carefully pushed the tip of his dick inside your asshole, your mouth fell agape and you gasped.

You’d never felt so full before, and Nikolai didn’t give you much time for adjustment, as he bottomed out in one single, slow thrust.

“Shit…ah, so fucking tight!”

You rested your head on Fyodor’s chest while taking deep breaths, still getting used to the foreign stretch in your ass. The sound of Fyodor’s heart pumping blood, like a song that was made just for you to hear, and the feeling of his chest heaving with each breath he took felt like a peaceful wave carrying you.

“Mine,” you whispered breathily, but Fyodor didn’t even hear it, because at the same moment, he groaned and threw his head back into the pillows, as he felt Nikolai’s cock through the membrane that separated your ass from your pussy, when the latter entered you.

You groaned too, feeling the two men moving inside you at once, and your mind went foggy again as they continued using your holes to get themselves off.

“Are you already close, Fedya?” Nikolai groaned, not missing how Fyodor bit his lip in an attempt to last a bit longer. The way you felt so much tighter now, and the pornographic act of fucking you together with another man made it hard for your stepfather to keep his orgasm from crashing down over him.

“Mhmm…” he replied with a grunt. “Ah, fuck!”

Nikolai had reached down, grabbing a firm hold of his friend’s balls, earning a loud whine from him.

“I wanna watch you cum, your orgasm face is priceless,” he panted and squeezed Fyodor’s balls. Nikolai's cock was buried deep in your ass, though it only lingered there before he pulled out halfway and thrust back into you.

It felt amazing, overwhelming but so good. You made a mental note to beg Fyodor to do that to you too sometime, once this was over.

And oh, how right Nikolai was. When you slept with him, you were often too dizzy to properly witness Fyodor’s face when he came, but when you did manage to catch a glimpse of it, while sucking or jerking him off, for example, it was like a work of art, meant to be exhibited in a gallery for the world to see. And yet, it was all yours, and it was especially pretty to look at how his features contorted in pleasure and he let himself go completely, and knowing it was the result of your work.

Unable to voice his approaching release, Fyodor pulled you tighter into his embrace and dug his teeth into your shoulder. You cried out as well, both from the pain and the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you and painting your walls milky white.

“Feels good, dollface?” Nikolai asked you, grabbing your face to make you look at him. “You like being stuffed with your Daddy’s cum, huh?”

“Yes, yes! I love it!” you whimpered, lips swollen and red from biting them. Nikolai had adjusted his position and was fucking your ass at a new angle now, allowing him to drill his cock deeper inside you than before. His pubes tickled the soft skin of your ass, as he buried himself inside you to the hilt, waiting a few seconds, and pulling out entirely with an obscene sound.

“Don’t stop, please,” you pleaded, your focus fully shifted away from Fyodor, who was still recovering from the aftershocks of his high, eyes closed and chest heaving with shallow breaths.

“Little fucking slut…”

Your hole was gaping, clenching around nothing, and Nikolai inspected it with delight.

“Want my cum in your ass, hm? Is one load not enough for you?”

Nodding frantically, you wiggled your ass, hoping that he would put an end to your agony and finally grant you your own orgasm.

“Yes, please…please..”

He grabbed your hip with one hand, and stroked his dick with the other, tapping it against your hole. He was so close he ached already, and even if you wouldn’t have begged him, the chance was low that Nikolai would have managed to resist finishing inside you.

He pushed in a last time, leaning into you with his full body weight, and spilled into you with a groan.

Hot, thick ropes of cum painted your insides, a lot more than Fyodor’s load. As he caught his breath, Nikolai remained folded over your back, pressing down against you.

“Kolya,” Fyodor mumbled, sounding pretty exasperated, and patted his friend's back– understandable, as there were two people lying on top of him, and Nikolai was heavy.

Obediently, he rolled off of you, and sprawled out like a starfish next to you and your stepfather. Fyodor too, pulled out of you and you felt empty again, aside from the two heavy loads slowly oozing out of your holes. You felt filthy but in a good way. Being jizzed on had never felt wrong when Fyodor was involved.

“How are you feeling, darling?” He whispered into your ear, as you snuggled against each other on the king-sized bed. This moment was yours alone, and you wished you could freeze time and stay like this forever. Fyodor smelled like sweat, and you were sticky with cum, but rarely had you ever felt this content after sex.

“Perfect. I’m with you, Fedya,” you hummed into the crook of his neck and kissed him there. “How are you? Was I good?”

“What a question. Of course, you were, you’re my perfect little girl,” was his response.

Next to you, Nikolai had started to doze off, softly snoring. He looked a mess, though you were hardly looking any more put-together at the moment. His blond hair was disheveled, cheeks flushed, and his cock, which slowly softened as it rested against his toned abs, was still smeared with both your bodily fluids.

“He fell asleep,” you giggled quietly and reached out to run your hand through Nikolai’s hair, playing with the strands, soft to the touch. “How cute.”

“He’s always out cold after sex, the moment he’s finished,” Fyodor snorted.

“How do you know?”

Fyodor raised a brow at you and grinned. “I was also young, some time ago. You think this is the first time we’ve done something like this?”

He laughed when your cheeks grew hot, and you shyly looked away. You could hardly imagine a younger version of him sleeping around with Nikolai and a third party.

Your stepfather cupped your face and kissed your forehead. “But none of those little adventures ever compared to you.”

───────────────

You’d had your fun at Nikolai’s, there was no denying that, but essentially, that little adventure had only made your bond with Fyodor stronger. At least that’s how you felt.

While you loved and wanted him more than ever before, the love he showed you at home was that of a father, as platonic as it could’ve been, and no trace of the romance you thought had sparked between you at Nikolai’s was left.

Sure, he was affectionate and kind as you knew him to be, but day by day, it got more difficult to deny the obvious: he wasn’t yours, but your mother’s.

Anyone would’ve been grateful to have parents who had a relationship as loving as theirs was, and you were too, in a way. After all, your father, when they had still been together, had never adored your mother as much as Fyodor did, and you knew that your stepfather’s feelings for her were real. And that was the biggest problem.

Fyodor loved you, he’d never shied away from telling you that, but after each time you two had sex, he kissed you goodnight and he was hers again.

You knew by now that he wasn’t just pretending to only feel fatherly affection for you to keep your secret safe.

The love he felt for you didn’t go any further than that, as deep and genuine as it was, and his nightly desire for you didn’t change that. As much as you wanted him to, he didn’t see you as a partner, a lover, as his.

And it was all her fault.

───────────────

Your first semester in college had started, but instead of connecting with your peers, going out, and enjoying the classes that you would’ve found interesting under different circumstances, you were busy ruminating about what in the world you had done wrong to be undeserving of Fyodor’s love, that your mother was lucky enough to be showered with day and night.

Unfortunately, your lack of focus and drive started showing in your grades, the missed deadlines, and the unattended classes that piled up.

But even that went past you, trivialities undeserving of your energy, as you thought, until one day, one of your professors asked to stay in the lecture hall for a moment once the class had ended.

“Is something the matter, professor Dazai?" you asked once the rest of the students had left the hall, and the heavy wooden door had fallen shut.

“Yes, I’m worried about your performance,” he said and crossed his arms, leaning back against his desk. “If you don’t start taking your education seriously soon, you might fail a few classes, mine included. Do I bore you so much you can’t bother to pay attention to my lecture once a week?”

Shit, you thought. It didn’t surprise you that your professors had a critical opinion about your sleazy attitude by now, but the possibility that you might fail if you kept going like this, hadn’t crossed your mind until now, that’s how mentally absent you’d been.

“No, of course not,” you said quietly, staring down at your shoes. “But I’m having a bit of a hard time at home right now, you know. So–”

“I don’t care,” Dazai interrupted you. “Save your excuses. What I do care about is for you to pass this class, as well as your others.”

Professor Dazai was popular among your fellow students; handsome, and young, compared to most of his colleagues, who all seemed to be about a decade older than him.

His lectures were usually very entertaining, due to his charisma and wit– he was a true heartbreaker.

There were plenty of students who started blushing and whispering to each other in the hallways when he was in sight, and you had often overheard a handful of girls giggling and talking about him in the bathroom as they gathered in front of the mirror by the sink, as they combed their hair or reapplied their makeup.

Ever since your first semester had begun, you also heard rumors about him sometimes, and allegations that he had scandalous relationships with students on occasion.

Naturally, you were surprised at his sudden sternness, another side to him, one that had very little understanding for your laziness.

„Yes, I understand. But I am struggling at the moment. Is there anything I can do to pass after all?“ you asked, hoping to receive some kind of support or advice. Of course, you couldn’t tell Dazai the reason for your poor performance.

„Study? Maybe don’t skip your classes? Get your head out of the clouds and take this seriously, I’m sure your parents are paying a lot of money for you to be here, and they wouldn’t be happy if it all went to waste, would they?”

„Thank you very much, sir,“ you huffed, wanting to turn around and leave the lecture hall. You’d assumed Dazai had intended to give you some useful advice, not darken your mood further.

„However…if that’s too much to ask of you, I could offer you something else.“

„I’m all ears.“ You stopped in your tracks.

„Well, I’m always happy to help my students find solutions when they’re struggling. So, if you’ll allow me to…offer you my support, I can guarantee you that you’re going to pass all of your classes.“

„But I thought you only teach contemporary literature and art? How are extra lessons, or whatever you’re suggesting, gonna help me pass my other classes?“

„You’re not very smart, are you?“ your professor scoffed. „I’m not talking about extra lessons.“

„Then what do you mean?“ You frowned, letting Dazai’s words sink in.

„Lord, give me strength,“ he murmured, then cleared his throat. „What I’m offering you is a little deal between you and me. I have good connections in this institution and more influence than you think. But my help has its price– we’re doing each other a favor, that’s it.“

“What do you want?”

Dazai remained silent, merely raising his brows and letting you fill in the blanks. You had an eerie feeling that there was only one thing left he could mean…

„Sex?“

“Bingo.”

“No!”

You couldn’t do this. You didn’t want this. Yes, he was hot, but not hot enough to be worth cheating on Fyodor with. You shooed away the thought that technically, you and Fyodor weren’t even in a committed relationship, so sleeping with someone else didn’t count as cheating.

„Alright, alright, I was merely trying to help you out. You don't have to, of course. But in that case, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for you,” Dazai shrugged.

With that, the professor turned around, grabbed the stack of books he’d used for today’s earlier lecture from the desk, and made his way to the door.

“No, wait!” you called out, just when he reached for the door handle. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Good. After class next week. Wear something cute.” Dazai winked and shot you a last glance before he left the lecture hall. The sound of the heavy door falling into its lock still echoed in your ears, as you made your way home, paralyzed about the decision you’d just made.

───────────────

For almost ninety minutes straight, you’d stared at the clock on the wall, as if your penetrating gaze would make the time pass faster.

When the bell finally rang, announcing the end of the lecture, you waited for the other students to leave the hall.

You wanted to shoo them all out, so you could just get the thing that awaited you over with, but they took their sweet time, chattering about the contents of the lesson and other trivialities with one another as they packed up.

“You coming?” one of your classmates, another girl that you’d befriended over the past few weeks, asked when you stayed seated.

“Go ahead, I’ll be right there. I just have a question about the assignment,” you said quickly.

“Okay,” she smiled, unsuspecting, and reached for her bag, before she left the room, leaving you and Dazai alone.

Your professor shut the door behind her and pretended to sigh wearily.

“Too bad she’s got straight A’s. I’d love to give her a little private lesson too,” he chuckled.

You grimaced at the crude joke he’d made about your friend but left it uncommented. The less you talked now, the sooner this was going to be over.

You rose from your seat and approached Dazai, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck, trying to kiss him. He pulled back and cringed.

“What are you doing?”

“Kissing you.”

“No, this isn’t how we’re doing this. Turn around, bend over the desk.”

You hesitated but did as he said. The surface of his desk was smooth and cold, and you shivered, though you weren’t sure whether that came from the desk or the chilly atmosphere.

This was a lot different from sleeping with Fyodor, or even Nikolai. While Nikolai had also been less affectionate than Fyodor was with you, even he had enjoyed thoroughly making out with you before he’d wanted to fuck you.

But Dazai not only lacked the affection and liking for physical contact that you were used to, no, he seemed to want as little as possible of that. This was all about the intercourse and nothing else, making you wonder if the other students he’d done this with had even enjoyed it, beyond getting off on the thrill that came with being fucked by a professor.

“I’ll make this quick, I know you’re not into me,” you heard Dazai say behind you, followed by the sound of his belt being unbuckled and his fly being opened. Fabric rustled, he pulled his pants and boxers down. Cool, slender fingers flipped your skirt up and tugged your panties down.

“I could tell from the moment I proposed this to you that you’re already someone else's,” your professor said and kicked your legs further apart with his foot. He leaned forward, his breath fanning against your ear when he whispered: “What would he say if he saw you right now, hm?”

Dazai’s cold fingers brushed over your folds, and you didn’t want to, you tried so hard to resist, but to no use, you could feel yourself getting wet as he collected some of your arousal.

“Would he be jealous?”

One cold finger slid into your pussy, and you gasped.

“Or would he perhaps…” he inserted another finger, “...not even care one bit?”

You froze, paralyzed. This man was sinister, and sadistic in every way, and he fooled this whole institution with a pretty face and a quick wit.

“No,” you whispered, tears beginning to brim in your eyes. “No, he loves me...”

“If he would, you’d be able to focus in class, darling,” Dazai scoffed and pulled his fingers out of you. He reached for a drawer in his desk and took out a condom, opening the package with his teeth. “You think I can’t spot a lovesick girl when I see one? 'I’m having a hard time at home' my ass.” Dazai slid the condom on and aligned the tip of his dick with your entrance. “Your guy loves someone else. Face it.”

With that, he pushed into you, in one go, and you clasped a hand over your mouth to muffle the sob that escaped you, but it wasn’t from the sharp pain that Dazai’s sudden thrust had caused you, but because of his words and the truth that they carried.

───────────────

“Ah-ah, wait a sec…”

*snap*

Still bent over the desk, you squirmed when you heard the sound of Dazai’s phone camera taking a picture.

“What are you doing? Stop” you hissed and swatted his hand away, as he took several snapshots of your cunt.

“Just making sure this stays between you and me, sweetheart.” Your professor grinned at the screen as he swiped through his camera roll. “Pretty, huh?”

He showed you a few of the photos, in all of them, you were seen in the same bent-over position, your hair a mess, your ass bruised with a red handprint, and smudged mascara on your cheeks. You were sore, as he hadn’t exactly been gentle with you, but your heart ached far more than your body did.

“You wouldn’t want anyone to see those, would you?”

“...no.”

“Good girl.” Dazai put his phone back into his pocket and handed you a tissue. “Clean yourself up. And hurry, my next class will be here in five minutes.”

You snatched the tissue from his hand and rubbed the smeared makeup off your face, once you’d pulled up your panties. Just in time, you fixed your disheveled appearance, before the first students came in through the door. Dazai looked as put together as before, nothing about his appearance gave away that he’d just fucked a freshman on his desk.

“See you in class,” your professor said nonchalantly as if nothing had happened.

You nodded briefly and, without looking back, hurried out of the lecture hall and towards the school’s exit. Since this quickie had ensured that you were going to pass this semester no matter what (as Dazai had promised it, and you believed him, why else would he risk his job like this?), you felt zero guilt skipping the rest of your classes for today. You needed to be at home now, you needed Fyodor.

───────────────

Not long after, you stood in the kitchen at home and did the dishes you’d left in the sink earlier this morning, and Fyodor returned from work.

He hung up his coat, took off his shoes, and tossed his keys onto the cupboard. Then, he joined you in the kitchen.

“Hey, princess…had a nice day at school today?

Strong, yet gentle arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you against a warm chest. Fyodor pressed a kiss against your temple, humming quietly as he watched you scrub a plate.

“Hmm…it was okay,” you replied and leaned further into the comforting embrace. This felt heavenly. How you’d longed to be embraced by these arms for hours…

Of course, you felt like bursting into tears and confessing to Fyodor what had happened that day, but you kept your mouth shut. You didn’t want to argue about your reckless decision, or disappoint Fyodor because your grades were bad, nor did you want to admit to him that you’d cheated on him. Dazai’s hurtful words were stuck in your head, though you tried to ignore them. Your eyes stung and you felt a lump in your throat, but you pulled yourself together.

“What’s that smell on you?” Fyodor asked and sniffed your hair.

“What smell?” you replied, and hoped that Fyodor hadn’t heard your voice crack.

“Men’s cologne. Got a boyfriend I don’t know about?” he grinned conspiratorially.

Dazai’s cologne. Of course, Fyodor was going to smell it on you from this close.

“Of course not,” you laughed awkwardly. “We are packed like sardines in the lecture halls, so it must be the cologne of the guy who sat next to me.”

“I was only joking, my dear,” said Fyodor. “Besides, you know I wouldn’t mind if you were seeing other people. It’s a joy watching you grow up, and I guess dating is part of that.”

Don’t say this! You screamed internally. You should mind! We’re in love, aren’t we?

“I’m not seeing anyone. I have no interest in a boyfriend when I have you.”

Fyodor laughed at your pout and leaned in to kiss your cheek. “You’re so sweet. I’m so happy you’re my daughter. But it wouldn’t hurt you to go out more, you know? College is a once-in-a-lifetime experience, you’ll remember that time forever!”

I fucking hope I won’t, you thought, but instead of answering, you leaned up to kiss Fyodor’s jaw.

“Are you free tonight? I’ve got a new bath bomb we could try together…” you whispered suggestively. Your stepfather pulled back with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, sweetie, I can’t. It’s your mom’s and my anniversary today, and I was planning to take her out. Another time, okay?”

Right. The day of the year you always feared the most, followed by the annual flu shot.

“Fine. As you wish.” You turned your attention back to the dishes in the sink, frantically scrubbing them.

“Come on, please don’t be mad at me, okay?”

“I’m not.”

“Darling…we need to properly plan our special time together if we don’t want to get caught one day, you know that. It’s hard to do that spontaneously. And while I’m having a lot of fun with you, and I love you to the moon and back, we are no couple, and we most definitely cannot act like one with others around the house.”

You felt your stomach twist. Dazai had been right, and your greatest worry had been confirmed. Your secret affair was nothing more than a little adventure to Fyodor, while it was the center of your life to you, and he was your great love, but to hear him say it out loud hurt differently.

“Have fun with Mom,” you grumbled and squirmed out of Fyodor’s embrace. You needed a plan, as soon as possible, for you weren’t sure for how much longer you would be able to take this agony.

───────────────

You had barely slept that night, partly because of your planning, and partly because Fyodor and your mother had been awfully noisy when they’d gotten back home from the restaurant, tipsy and giggly as they’d stumbled into their bedroom. As you were used to, they had hardly given you a choice but to listen to them having sex again. It was infuriating.

Trying to come up with a plan took you a couple more days and sleepless nights, and although what you eventually came up with was cruel, you felt it was the only way that ensured you’d have a future with Fyodor, a future where your mother wasn’t his number one.

Fyodor wasn’t going to want to leave her, so she had to leave him.

You’d figured that, if you couldn't have him, no one should, especially not her.

The day you decided to go through with it, you weren't going to have any classes until noon, so, once Fyodor and your mother had wished you a nice day before they left for work, you hurried upstairs.

After a last moment of contemplation, you dug out a pair of brand new panties from your drawer– hot pink and lacy, and they did a very poor job at covering anything.

Slutty and tasteless were the only fitting words to describe what they looked like.

You’d just bought the lingerie the other day, specifically for this occasion, which meant that your mother couldn’t possibly have seen them in the laundry yet, and identified them as yours.

Your heart was thumping like crazy when you entered your parents’ bedroom and placed them underneath Fyodor’s side of the bed. You took a step back to inspect the picture you’d created, then knelt before the bed again to adjust the undergarment’s position, so that one corner of the fabric peeked out from underneath the bed.

Today Fyodor was going to be home from work earlier, so technically, he had the perfect opportunity to invite his mistress over. Not like Fyodor had one, but what other conclusion could your mother draw when she’d return from a long day of work to find underwear that was neither hers nor her daughter’s, underneath their shared bed?

It wasn’t right to stab Fyodor in the back, but you had to frame him for something he didn’t do.

Confusion, shock, hysteria, divorce– that was the series of events you hoped to happen today, and all that you had to do now was heading off to school with a devilish grin, and later return home to find at least one of your problems solved.

When they were done with one another, and you were going to stand by him, he would finally see who loved him the most and love you back just as much.

───────────────

The look on Fyodor’s face made you pity him when you returned home to find the exact scene you’d hoped to play out. He looked so hurt, so desperate to save his marriage that it made your heart flutter.

What a man, you thought. The kind you don’t get over. And it was your mother’s loss that she was unable to see that.

Her voice was raised in fury and rang through the whole house, as she aggressively flailed around her arms, yelling at Fyodor and holding your lacy panties in one hand.

Her poor husband tried to pacify her, stammering as he promised over and over again that he had no idea whose underwear that was, and that he had no idea how they’d gotten under the bed.

On any other day, you would have interrupted the fight to defend Fyodor, but as sorry as you were for him that the woman he loved was slipping through his fingers, and that the upcoming breakup would catapult him into deep grief, this was necessary to ensure that he was going to be able to spend the rest of his life with the one who truly deserved him. He simply needed a little push to understand that.

Quietly, you walked past the living room and smiled as you went to your room. When the time would come, you would make sure that your beloved stepfather had someone to lean on to cope with the loss and eventually find love again, and god knows you were going to be that someone…

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from-the-clouds · 1 year

Text

moonlight on the river - joel miller x reader

masterlist | song inspo

summary: Joel has been many things to you. A dealer, a mentor, a friend, a lover. Lately, it’s the latter. Sometimes he’s none of those things, or a handful of them, or all of them at once. And it’s up to the both of you to decide in the moment which things are true. Takes place during episode one of the TV series. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 2.4k warnings: angst, fluff, good ol' fashioned hurt/comfort. depressive thoughts, reader sort of has a death wish, references to alcohol/drug abuse, death, loss of family members & loved ones. implied age gap, references to casual sex, heavy petting (no smut). a/n: it's been months since i posted a fic on here! some of my best work comes when it’s 2am, i’m emo and touch-deprived and i have an 8am appointment so i stay up until 5am to write. this was actually supposed to be fully a fluff piece but the angst queen had to strike.

You wish you could drown in the pile of blankets you’ve wrapped yourself in. Wish the couch would swallow you whole, like a whale, then drag you down to the deepest depths of the ocean and leave you there until you can’t hold your breath any longer, until the cold pricks the tips of your fingers and toes, until you succumb completely.

But in some ways, you’re already existing like that, in the sea-level equivalent of the Marianas Trench. One of those sea creatures that look not of this Earth, features warped – adapting, evolving, surviving, despite your environment’s best efforts to eradicate. Your mother had once shown them to you in her old textbooks and shown you the photos of anglerfish, frilled sharks, phantom jellyfish. The memory of your mother makes you wince, and you try to think of something else.

How anyone else around you managed to put on a brave face and make their way through each day was beyond your comprehension, even though you do it, too. They probably all feel the same way about it as you do, but no one talks about the collective trauma you’re all slogging through. No one has anything new to add, and it’s foolish to believe that anyone’s insight could somehow take the pain away. Even if you have a chance to tell your story, there is always someone who has it worse.

Get in line.

Exhausted as you are, you don’t sleep much. Most of your nights are spent at the precipice of unconsciousness, and you can never quite make it over the edge, the helicopters, radios, sporadic gunfire always manages to rouse you first. When you do manage to sleep, you’re plagued with nightmares. You prefer perpetual fatigue.

A knock at your door comes suddenly, and you start, sitting up quickly – but quietly – to not alert the unexpected guest that someone might be in the tiny studio you call home. It’s well after dark, which makes you doubt that whoever, or whatever is at the door, isn’t there for a friendly drop-in or a cup of tea, not that friendly drop-ins or cups of tea ever happened.

But before you grow too panicked, your name is muttered, accompanied by another impatient rap of knuckles against the hollow wood. It’s a familiar rasp, even-toned and calm, and your shoulders sag in relief before you abandon your post on the couch.

“Joel?” you ask softly, squinting in the dim light of the hallway through the crack in the door. He doesn’t look any different, though it’s been about a month since you’d last seen him. You’re not sure what to expect, but he’s the same as always, wearing a worn, tight denim shirt and fraying jeans. He looks tired, but you can’t recall a time when he doesn’t. Everyone looks tired all the time, it just only concerns you because it’s him.

Not waiting for an invite, he steps through the small opening you allot for him and into your place, wordlessly.

“What the fuck, Joel, it’s past curfew are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I’ve done worse,” he says, dismissively, and yanks the door from your hand to close and lock it behind him.

You don’t argue with him. You rarely do – which you think is partly why he likes you – but especially now, you don’t have the energy. And when you do, he’s too stubborn to listen.

Joel has been many things to you. A dealer, a mentor, a friend, a lover. Lately, it’s the latter. Sometimes he’s none of those things, or a handful of them, or all of them at once. And it’s up to the both of you to decide in the moment which things are true.

So when he steps forward, crowding you backwards until your rear hits your kitchen countertop and you have nowhere to go, you don’t ask questions.

His hand cradles your chin, tilting it back to look into his sad eyes, and he kisses you. For a split second, it’s chaste, and you’re almost confused, until it’s suddenly not, and his grip on your jaw tightens, his lips parting. Joel stakes his claim, his free hand winding into your hair and pulling. You sigh, closing your eyes.

He moves both his hands to cup your ass through the flimsy athletic shorts you’re wearing, lifting your hips up and against him, making to carry you to the bed, or maybe even take you on the countertop – it could be one of those days. Everything he’s doing would normally light you on fire, and there’s a primal instinct that’s telling you you like it, but for some reason, you hesitate.

Joel senses it right away. You’re not sure how. And you don’t want him to. You’re prepared to submit, even though you feel numb everywhere, because you hope for the chance to feel something, anything other than what you’ve felt the last few days. He pauses, too, pulls back.

You expect to meet his eyes when you look up at him, but they are fixed on something else. Tugging on the collar of his shirt, you try to kiss him again, but he doesn’t budge, until you follow his eyes. An empty bottle of liquor sits on the bar behind you. Fuck.

“You’re drinking again.” It’s not a question.

“That was actually from yesterday,” you say, like it would make any difference. The remnants of a hangover have been tweaking your temples all day, biting the back of your eyes. It was half empty when I got it. It was just one night. I can have a couple drinks without getting out of control. Your brain cycles through several more excuses before you decide not to waste your breath.

“What did I tell you about this?” He reached behind you and lifted the bottle, holding it in front of your face like you hadn’t been able to see it clearly enough before.

“You should talk,” you don’t like being cruel, but you’re already desperate to end the discussion. He’s probably drunk or high right now, but it’s none of your business, and you’d given up trying to save him a long time ago.

You shift your weight to lower yourself off the counter and move away from him and the once-inviting warmth of his embrace. Joel doesn’t let you make it far, reaching out to grip your upper arm and tugging you back to face him with little-to-no effort on his part. His strength always startled you, even though it shouldn’t, considering his size. It also should’ve scared you, but the manhandling mostly just turned you on. Not enough that you were going to keep letting him lecture you.

“It’s different. You’re still so young.”

“What does that matter?”

He doesn’t have an answer.

You lift your chin, squaring up to him. “That’s what I thought.”

He puts his hand on hip and studies you carefully. Despite your attitude, you’ve never liked disappointing him. He’s the closest thing you have to a father, which you can recognize is an awfully fucked up way to feel about someone you regularly have sex with, but you lived in an awfully fucked up world.

There’s a wistfulness to Joel’s expression you’ve never seen before. He chooses to change the subject, and you’re thankful until what he says registers.

“I’m leaving town tomorrow night. You might not see me again.”

It takes a moment to process, but it hits you like a blow to the gut. So hard, you’re surprised you don’t stagger backwards with the force of it. Even when it settles, you know it hasn’t even sunk in all the way.

“Well…” you take a long, thoughtful pause, and offer the only thing that your brain can come up with, “....stay safe out there, then.”

“Yeah,” he runs his tongue over his teeth and squints at you. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Snorting, you know it’s important to remain as blase as possible so you don’t cry. Although, you don’t really cry anymore. Even when you want to, the tears never come. At some point, after watching every person you’ve ever cared for die in uniquely devastating ways, you must’ve reached your lifetime limit.

“I know you. Something’s up.”

No, you don’t! You want to scream, but that would be a lie. It’s been three years since you met, maybe one since your….arrangement, or whatever you’d call it, had begun.

How the two of you had become so close was a mystery even to you. It’s not like you were charming or charismatic, or willing to put up the innocent act. You didn’t try to inflate his ego, which most men loved. At first, you didn’t even really like him at all. That changed with time. Somewhere along the way, things just clicked.

“It’s nothing that no one has ever felt before,” you shrug. Joel has his fair….or rather unfair share of demons, and is the last person you want to complain to. Most of the time, he’s unflinchingly guarded, but he’s shared enough – secrets whispered in your ear while tangled in damp sheets, your hand on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart – to make you wonder if you have it so bad. Focusing on a fixed point, a crack in the tiled floor, you avoid his eyes.

“Hey,” his voice pulls you back. “Don’t do that.”

“I’ll be okay,” you say. “I’m just having a d-a week.” A month, a year, a life. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze.

His face softens, his hand reaching to clasp with your own, thumb grazing across your palm. “Come here,” he murmurs. He pulls you against him tightly, tucking your head under his chin, his fingers weaving into your hair.

“You’re going to be alright. You’re a strong girl.” He’s too smart to believe that, you think. But it doesn’t stop you from pressing your lips against his sternum. His broad chest is sturdy, firm, and you close down your eyes.

Neither of you speak, and one of his hands begins to stroke your back in soothing circles. You stay wrapped in his arms for a long time. Long enough to think about how you might never get to do this again, and you suddenly want him in all the ways you never had him, and all the ways you had. Just one last time.

He presses a kiss to your temple. “I can tell you’re exhausted, baby. Let’s get you to bed.”

There’s no reason to protest, he’s right, so you let him lead you to the bed. You’re already in your pajamas, and he draws back the covers and tucks you underneath them carefully.

“You’re staying,” you say. It’s meant to be a question, but it comes out like command, and although you can’t stand the idea of pleading for it, would if you had to. You’re that desperate.

You hear the clunk of his boots landing on the floor, feel the dip of his weight on the opposite side of the bed.

“Of course,” he says softly, voice barely above a whisper as he slides underneath the covers.

Joel’s arm snakes around your waist, and you’re being pulled back against his chest. You wriggle to be closer, even though it’s not possible, his nose resting on the crown of your head, stroking your hair softly. He’s being so tender, so sweet, it makes you feel sick.

“What if I don’t want you to leave?” you turn your head slightly, so you can see him out of the corner of your eye. You want to be able to remember his face, in case you never see him again. He was handsome, you’d always thought that, even despite the years between you.

“It’s my brother. I don’t have much of a choice, baby.”

Joel had told you all about Tommy. You wished you could be resentful at his leaving to find his brother, but you knew you’d risk pretty much anything for the chance to see anyone in your family again.

You shake your head. “This…sucks.”

He offers a rare chuckle, one that vibrates through his chest and straight to the ache in your stomach that started when he told you he’d be leaving. “It does. I’m sorry.”

Joel sighs, his breath on the nape of your neck, and you shiver. “I’ll miss you.” It’s a simple truth you can hear in his voice without even needing to look in his eyes.

“I’ll miss you.” You reach for his hand.

You roll over to face him, his head propped on his opposite hand, looking down at you.

“You remember everything I taught you?” he asks. “Be smart, keep yourself safe.”

Joel had proven to be a pretty valuable resource when it came to survival skills. He’d taught you how to shoot a gun, to load and reload it, how to take it apart, clean it, and put it back together. You recalled the feeling of him leaning over your shoulder, adjusting your grip to shoot at a target. And even if most of his lessons in hand-to-hand combat resulted in him having his way with you on the kitchen floor – you didn’t mind it at all – you knew enough to defend yourself.

“I do,” you answer. “And I will.”

You think of all the time you’ve spent with him the past few years. How it has made things bearable. It’s likely the last time you’ll ever see him, and you know what you’re supposed to say. But for the life of you, you just can’t say it.

Instead, you lean in to kiss him, lazy and lingering, both your hands on the side of his face, palms pressed against the scruff of his beard. You pull away after awhile.

“Tell me about what it was like. Before all this.” When the outbreak began, you were just a child. It felt like a dream, your memory so fuzzy it was hard to recall anything except the worst parts.

Joel does, and you listen, captivated, though it’s not the first time you’ve heard it. For such a gruff man, he paints a pretty picture.

It’s easy to imagine what your life might be like if none of this had ever happened. It would have been better, infinitely better, for yourself, for Joel, for everyone. It would be better, but if it hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t have met him. For some reason, something about that doesn’t feel right.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #tlou fanfic #tlou hbo #the last of us #fluff #angst #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #hi please read this and say nice things to me i worked really really hard on this #writing #fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst

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ruggiezz · 10 months

Text

— TU TANTA FALTA DE QUERER : twisted wonderland

[synopsis] them coping with breaking up with you / angst

[characters] dormleaders (except for vil)

[warnings] mentions of depression symptoms, in basically all of them. wishing to die in a phrase in malleus's part, mentions of food (kalim and idia)

[song] tu falta de querer-mon laferte (i highly recommend listening while reading)

"¿CÓMO FUE, QUE ME DEJASTE DE AMAR?"/"HOW WAS IT, THAT YOU STOPPED LOVING ME?"

Heartslabyul students are worried about RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS now that he broke up with you. You would expect him to be more irritable than usual, taking out his anger in the first years and taking every opportunity he has to collar someone, but he isn't. He looks like an empty shell of who he once was, barely acknowledging other students, only focusing on his schoolwork. He sees how you look at this new guy you surely have something with. Was he better than him? He must make you happier than he ever did, and he wonders what did he do so wrong for you to stop loving him.

He starts overworking himself; it's the only way of coping he knows. He needs to work harder. He can do better. He needs to stop thinking about you and the way you cried after this particular fight you both had before breaking up. But he can't; your choked sobs come back to haunt him every time he's alone, trying to sleep after a hard day of school. Ace and Deuce barely spend time in Heartslabyul now, only going there to sleep and spending all of their time at Ramshackle. Trey is worried about him, seeing his eyebags and the way his eyes no longer sparkle when he eats tarts. Cater tries to make jokes whenever he can to try and earn a laugh from Riddle, but he just walks away, as if no one but him was there. The only thing Riddle can't ignore, no matter how much he works and works, is the way his heart aches.

"díficil olvidarte estando aquí/hard to forget you being here."

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR barely goes out of his room anymore, having Ruggie fetch things for him whenever he needs to. His missed assignments were piling up on his desk, the curtains closed, and his phone on silent. He just lays all day and night on his bed, not even bothering to go to class anymore. He becomes snappy at Jack when he tells him that Trein told him he was going to have to repeat another year if he didn't attend classes, and he becomes irritated when Ruggie tells him that Falena called, asking to speak to him. Leona doesn't want to see anyone; he just wants to be wrapped around his covers, where no one can reach him.

The bed no longer smells of you; it feels empty and wrong to lay there without you, but he continues to do it. He overheard a second year talking about you dating someone new, and if looks could kill, that student would be dead. It's now an unwritten rule not to mention you in the dorm.

Whenever Leona's not sleeping, he's alone with his thoughts. His mind replays your last words to him, telling him it was for the best for both of you, and he asks himself again and again,How did you stop loving him? He can come up with a lot of answers that make his head hurt and his eyes watery, but he decides to sleep, so he can no longer feel.

"ahora dormiré my profundamente para olvidar/now i will sleep very profoundly to forget."

Everybody in Diasomnia notices how MALLEUS DRACONIA is in a worse mood every day that passes. There are storms almost every day, with thunder striking aggressively at everything it can manage to touch. If nobody dared to approach him before, they certainly don't dare even more now, making him even more lonely. He can't stop thinking about you; he misses you so much it hurts. Malleus finds himself out of Ramshackle dorm, staring at your room's window, hoping to catch a glance of you, but he never does. He can only hear your laughter and other guy laughing with you, which sours his mood even more. That night, nobody could sleep because of how strong the thunder was.

Lilia tries to assure the others that Malleus will be alright if they just give him time. Silver doesn't dare enter his room when he hears Malleus breaking things after he comes back from Ramshackle, knowing he is probably going to make him feel worse. And Sebek is distraught, even resenting you for making his young master feel so miserable, cursing your name under his breath, something that was immediately stopped by Lilia because Malleus could hear him.

Malleus wonders if you have cried as much as he has and if you feel this unbearable pain in your chest too. He longs for you, for your presence to soothe him and tell him you never stopped loving him and that it was all a very cruel joke humans made. But that never comes.

"quisiera hasta la muerte para no pensar/i would even like to die to not think."

"YO AÚN PODÍA SOPORTAR, TU TANTA FALTA DE QUERER"/"I COULD STILL ENDURE IT, YOUR SO MUCH LACK OF LOVE"

AZUL ASHENGROTTO hasn't changed on the surface. He keeps his suave, businessman persona with clients, but he's noticeably quieter when alone with the twins. He works even more than before, staying until late at night in his office filling paperwork. Jade occasionally brings him tea, telling him not to stay up late. Floyd is in a sour mood now that Azul doesn't react how he would like to his antics, even missing work doesn't bother him as much as it used to.

No matter how much chaos or disaster the twins cause, Azul just looks the other way. Eventually, they just stop and continue helping him with his next business scheme, even if he doesn't seem as excited as he should be.

When alone in his room, Azul sits on his bed with his face hidden in his hands so that no one can hear his sobs. He feels so small and useless, wanting you to hold him and calm him down. But you aren't there. He is alone. He misses the way you would tell him words so sweet they were dripping with honey. He wonders if they were empty words you just told him to make him feel better. Please come back; he could endure knowing you didn't love him on the condition you wouldn't leave him.

"me siento mutilada y tan pequeña/i feel mutilated and so small."

No one notices any change in KALIM AL-ASIM, except Jamil, who hears him crying in his room at night while everyone is asleep. His smile is still bright as he greets the Scarabia students after a long day, but it no longer feels genuine. The parties in the dorm happen less and less, until they no longer happen.

Kalim feels as if he has withered inside, his heart broken in a thousand pieces. He misses you so badly, he just wants to hug you and tell you how sorry he is for not being enough. Please come back; he could even beg on his knees for you to be with him, even if you lacked the love you once felt for him.

Jamil brings him his breakfast, silently noticing the eyebags on Kalim's face. 'He must not have slept again' he thinks to himself. Kalim notices Jamil staring at him, and he wipes his face with his pajama sleeve. Neither of them say anything, and Jamil leaves him alone with his emotions and his food. He takes a bite out of it, ignoring how tired he feels after staring all night at the last text message you sent him. He wishes to write back and ask you for a second chance, saying he will do anything for you to come back, but he can't bring himself to do it.

"aún te amo y, creo, que hasta más que ayer/i still love you, and i think, even more than yesterday."

IDIA SHROUD isolates himself even more than before, hiding in his room and Ortho has to bring him food so he doesn't starve. Food no longer tastes good; it feels bland, videogames don't feel enjoyable; and no matter how many mangas and animes he watches, the feeling of wanting to cry that's stuck in his throat doesn't go away.

He barely speaks, answering Ortho with monosyllables when asked how he feels today, what he did all day, and where you were. Eventually, Ortho catches up to what happened and tries speaking with you, but Idia stops him. Even if he wants you to tell him why did you left, to yell at him what's wrong with him, to tell him that he was unloveable, to tell him something, something that explained why you didn't love him anymore, he doesn't want to see you. You left him with no explanation of why, only saying it was for the best, and that infuriated him but depressed him at the same time.

Idia wanted you to come back, to sit on his lap while he played a new game that dropped, but you aren't here with him anymore. His room feels colder than usual, with only the light from the screen accompanying him. He cries and cries, begging you in silence to come back, saying that he would cherish you and would be a better boyfriend now. But you won't come back and neither would your love for him, and he finds himself hoping you would stay here with him even if you didn't love him anymore.

"ven y cuéntame la verdad, ten piedad/come and tell me the truth, have mercy."

#riddle x reader #leona x reader #azul x reader #kalim x reader #idia x reader #malleus x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #kalim al asim x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #twst angst

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hufflefluff-stuff · 11 months

Note

could you write HL characters reacting to MC passing out due to exhaustion?

Thanks for being the first to request!! :D

Notes: MC has established relationships with the characters (individually). And I only did three bc I had good ideas for these ones specifically

Characters: Ominis, Poppy, Amit

............

Ominis Gaunt

In the days following Sebastian casting Crucio on you in the scriptorium, it left lingering effects on your physical body.

You felt sharp aches and pains in your hands at random, which made your wand movements rather jerky.

You really should've been resting, but you've been receiving lots of owls lately, finding yourself being pulled in several different directions and (mistakenly) deciding that sleep wasn't important right now.

But the exhaustion catches up fast, as Ominis finds you passed out in the Undercroft, immediately panicking and thinking you got attacked.

After you're floo'd to the hospital wing, Madam Blainey looks after you while he tries to explain how he found you without exposing the secret hideaway.

She noted seeing "unusual" red sparks coming from your body, and for a moment his heart drops...and he forces himself to choke back tears upon realizing what's actually going on with you:

You're still feeling the aftereffects of Crucio..and never told him.

Merlin, he wishes you never took the full brunt of the curse. Why did it have to be you?

Somehow he managed to fall asleep, but when you wake up the next day, see your boyfriend, and gently squeeze his hand, he's wide awake too, relieved to no longer detect those sparks.

You claimed to be extremely tired from all the errands you've been running....but when he asks you if "it" still hurts, you realize there's no playing dumb this time.

So you relent and explain the aches and pains, quickly reassuring him they're gone.

Yet nothing you could say in that moment mattered, as it didn't stop him from silently breaking down, laying his head in your lap as tears spilled from his glazed eyes.

This is extremely unlike him, but he can't help it...knowing that the same curse which traumatized him all those years ago was now hurting the one he loved most.

Not to mention you're giving more and more of yourself away to people you hardly knew without considering putting your own well-being first.

He never sees you anymore, and it hurts him.

"Don't you get it? You're killing yourself, MC, and...i-it's killing me, too." He sounds completely shattered. "Is this what it takes for you to finally understand?"

"No, no..you're right. This never should've happened. I'm sorry, love." Frowning in guilt, you pet his hair comfortingly, realizing how much you've neglected him. "You have every right to be angry."

"..I'm not angry. I just...I-I wish we never went down there. I should've stopped Sebastian from-"

"He's not to blame. Don't go yelling at him now." You chuckle softly, before promising him a date to Three Broomsticks as an apology..

Along with you swearing to stop doing favors for strangers.

He calms down after that, still vowing to yell at Sebastian later on.

But he's looking forward to that date.

Poppy Sweeting

You were both venturing through the Forbidden Forest, on a mission to rescue an injured golden unicorn that was supposedly spotted.

Apparently someone noticed it limping around, sporting a deep gash in its leg and leaving a bloody trail.

Poppy figured it narrowly escaped a trap, which was confirmed after you stumbled upon a mechanism tainted in blood.

Time was now of the essence, as some poacher could capture it first, or worse...it could die from its injury.

Despite the sun having set long ago, you insisted on searching even if it took you both all night long.

While Poppy could keep up with you (even tho she worried about the curfew), your energy was nearly spent as you've been out raiding poacher camps and freeing caged beasts all day long, not having returned to the castle once to rest nor eat.

You had plenty of wiggenweld potions, but unfortunately they didn't cure exhaustion.

Obviously you weren't gonna tell your girlfriend that, so you continued tracking down the golden unicorn.

And eventually you discovered it peacefully grazing in a foggy meadow, with Poppy gazing in awe.

"How majestic!" She whispers excitedly. "Now to catch it...we can try Leviosa, but it might panic. Glacius could work, too...though it seems cruel to freeze a unicorn. Hmm, what do you think......MC??"

She turns to you and sees you on the ground, not moving.

At first she freaks out, until she realized you still have a pulse, but she knew you had to get back to the castle ASAP. The forest was no place for a nap!

Fortunately, Highwing was in your nab-sack, so you both got back there in one piece, where you recuperated in the hospital wing.

Madam Blainey noted sleep deprivation, and while Poppy's upset that you didn't listen to her, she can't be entirely angry with you.

She knows you've been stretching yourself thin, saving all these beasts on top of your other escapades.

That being said, she literally had to push you back into bed so you didn't bolt out of it after remembering what happened before you passed out.

"But the golden unicorn..!" You panic. "He was right there! Now we'll never find out where-!"

"It's okay, MC! I saved him. He's safe and sound in the vivarium." She hastily reassures you, showing you a few strands of golden unicorn hair as proof. "We'll go once you feel better."

You calm down after seeing the strands, before you smile and embrace her tightly. "I'm so lucky to have you, Poppy."

"I am, too,love...I'm glad you value the health and well-being of beasts, but that shouldn't take priority over your own. We can't help them if we don't help ourselves first."

"..you're right, I'm sorry. I'll try to remember that."

Amit Thakkar

All of your escapades inside and outside the castle had you drained and exhausted. You wish you had more time for yourself nowadays.

But people needed you: friends, students from your house, professors, townsfolks, goblinkind....you couldn't just ignore their requests for help.

Who else but you had such bravery and ancient magic skills? Nobody. It had to be you.

You've kept your missions secret from your boyfriend, claiming you're only out all the time to look for astronomy tables...which is partially true.

After what happened in the goblin mine, Amit was left shaken for a few days, and you felt guilty for practically dragging him into that mess just because you needed him to translate some things.

So when he sent you an owl asking you to come by an astronomy table located in a field of grass without explanation, you abandoned your current mission and headed there straight away, anxious about what he wanted to discuss.

As it turns out, he knew you were doing more than just observing constellations...but he wasn't mad at you for keeping secrets.

Rather, he knew you needed a break and invited you out here to get away from everything.

He had a blanket that you two laid on together, watching the stars; not for any assignment in particular, but just because the sky was especially clearer and pretty tonight and he didn't want you to miss that.

"I like coming here when I feel like there's too much weighing down on me all at once. My studies, my responsibilities...they can get overwhelming." He sighs, turning to you. "I'm certain you feel the same way, my dear."

"Amit, this is lovely..and...I appreciate it more than you know. But Lodgok needs me to-"

"He can wait." His voice is firm, unusual for the typically calm and passionate Ravenclaw. But his gestures are the opposite as he wraps his arm around you. "Let's stay here a while, MC..and just...forget about the world. At least for tonight. I guarantee you will feel much better...and you'll shine twice as bright tomorrow."

You agree to stay, but only because you're weak to his sappy and poetic remarks.

And you close your eyes, listening to his soft ramblings of the moon's current phase and what it all meant.

While his fascination with the cosmos keeps him wide awake for some time, he sees you passed out on the blanket minutes later and smiles lightly, relieved that he helped you find some peace.

You promised to protect him down in the mines...now it's his turn to protect you as you slept, ensuring no person nor beast bothers you.

#hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy x mc #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #poppy sweeting #poppy sweeting x reader #amit thakkar x reader #amit thakkar #angst #hurt/comfort #headcanons

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maxineryx · 3 months

Text

Warnings: Depression, murder

When Suguru Geto fell into a long and dark spiral of despair and misery, you knew exactly what to do.

It was clear that the others hadn’t realised his weird behaviour or even how the depression took a toll on his looks, which seemed slightly stupid to you, but you figured that perhaps they had all been occupied by surviving in the Jujutsu world, rather than worrying about a friend.

However, since you were also a sorcerer, this hadn’t made much sense to you.

You decided to wait until someone else noticed. In the meantime, you tried your absolute best in helping Suguru become happy again, with the will to live in this cruel world. You were his girlfriend after all, and seeing your beloved absolutely shattered made your heart shatter itself.

You talked to him, hugged him, bought him things. You never forced him to say anything he didn’t want to. He was too scared, nervous that perhaps if he told you just a little about how he was feeling, you’d be quick to leave, because his mind was an endless storm full of dark thoughts he would never think to share, even to you.

You asked him about his days, supported him, and tried to make him eat after realising he had lost a ton of weight. Yet nothing worked.

Then soon you found yourself exhausted by completely sacrificing your energy on Suguru, but you would never dare to call it ‘sacrificing’. You swore that if anything happened to him, you wouldn’t forgive yourself for not being able to help.

And after realising that his friends didn’t pick up on any of this, you decided to confront them, because what good friends wouldn’t notice their friend’s soon-to-be downfall?

Satoru didn’t believe you at first.

But after recalling Suguru's behaviour over the past few weeks, Satoru knew that something wasn’t right.

So the both of you attempted to help him. Satoru spent less time on training his Reversed Cursed Technique, instead spending more time with you and Suguru, whilst you just carried on with what you did before consulting with the Six Eyes user.

It was going well. You noticed sudden, but good changes in your boyfriend’s behaviours and appearance. Suddenly the black circles under his tired eyes became less visible each day, and his knotted hair became more smooth and knotless. His weak voice returned to the gentle and caring one he had before, and he started leaving his room more often. Although you knew that there would always be a scar engraved into his heart, you felt nothing more than pride for managing to fix it, to fix your slightly strained relationship, to fix his life before anything unforgettable happened.

On that day when everything turned back to normal, you could finally go to sleep knowing that your boyfriend was back after so many nights of crying and worrying for him. You went to sleep so peacefully, eyes closing instantly after hitting the bed, with a smile on your face.

And when you woke up, you were horrified to hear that your Suguru Geto, the one who you pampered with kisses every day, the one who cried on your shoulder every day, had just committed mass murder.

The news caused you to stagger backwards, supporting yourself against the wall as the startling information sunk in, your breathing coming out in shaky, rapid breaths.

Your mind was racing with all sorts of thoughts.

It was going so well. It was going so well. He was getting better. You thought you helped him.

Did you happen to make it worse?

Was it because of you that they planted an execution on him?

Was it… your fault?

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A/N: To the anon who requested a Gojo fic, if you see this, know that I have noted your request down. Im not sure if it will be done quickly, I have many things to do atm, but you will get it soon :)

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk geto #jjk suguru #geto suguru #jjk x reader #jjk x you #geto x reader #geto x you #getou suguru x reader

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heyyyharry · 1 year

Text

Night Light (from the Flatmate series)

...in which Y/N never turns off her night light.

"Wait for me in my room. It's the door on the right," he whispered to the girl whose name he'd already forgotten. He'd just met her an hour ago as he was leaving the club.

The girl kissed him drunkenly, and when she was gone, he came into Y/N's room to turn the light off. She'd fallen asleep with her book covering her face, so he removed the book, put it on her desk and left quietly.

A/N: I always fall asleep with the light on, and ever since I moved in with my boyfriend, it's become a routine for him to go into my room (we have separate rooms) to turn off the light for me. That was how I came up with this :)

She forgot to turn off her night light. Again.

See, this was why Harry hated sharing a flat with someone else. He had reminded her so many times before to turn it off before she went to bed, but every night, she would doze off with her book still in her hands. No wonder their electricity bill last month was so high. He had hoped that this girl would be less annoying when she slept, but she always managed to find a way to get on his nerves.

After a long moment of standing outside her door (which she left open for some reason), he decided to come in and turn off the light on her bedside table.

In the morning, he reminded her again. She promised she would turn off the light tonight.

She didn't.

~~~

Harry came home late, stumbling into the flat with his arm around the girl. She giggled too loud, so he shushed her and gestured to Y/N's door. The living room was softly lit by the warm light coming from her room, but he knew she was too deep in her sleep to know that he was home.

"Wait for me in my room. It's the door on the right," he whispered to the girl whose name he'd already forgotten. He'd just met her an hour ago as he was leaving the club.

The girl kissed him drunkenly and when she was gone, he came into Y/N's room to turn the light off. She'd fallen asleep with her book covering her face, so he removed the book, put it on her desk and left quietly.

~~~

Harry was in Paris tonight with his friends for Layla's birthday.

Y/N had stopped responding to his messages, so he assumed she had fallen asleep. As he sat on the sofa, drinking cheap wine with his friends while a shitty EDM song was blasting from Louis' Bluetooth speaker, he thought about Y/N sleeping with her light on.

~~~

"You're awake?"

Y/N looked up at him from her laptop, face lit by the cool light from her screen. "Yeah, deadline."

"That's what you get for procrastinating," he smirked.

"Can you procrastinate annoying me? I can't deal with you right now."

"Need help?"

"No, thanks."

"You sure?"

She gave him a dismissive wave. "I'm sure. Thank you. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he said. "Remember to turn off the light."

"I will."

Harry went to his room and lay in the dark for an hour or so. When he came back to check on her, she had fallen asleep and her light was still on.

~~~

Harry was well aware that he was drunk when he entered the flat as the room was spinning. He didn't know how he managed to make it to Y/N's room without knocking over furniture, but he wanted to give himself a pat on the back.

As expected, she'd fallen asleep, again, with the light on. He sat down on the edge of her bed, not because he wanted to, but because he felt so dizzy that standing only made it worse.

"Goodnight," he whispered to her, hesitated for a moment before turning off the light.

Right after he'd left her room, he went straight into the bathroom to throw up.

~~~

He had been avoiding her all day, for reasons even he didn't understand.

It was 1AM when he came into her room to turn off the light. Before he left, he told her something he wasn't brave enough to say when she was awake. He went back to bed, worried that she might have heard it.

She hadn't.

~~~

Harry tried to be as quiet as he could, but when he came in to turn off the light tonight, Y/N stirred awake.

She blinked sleepily at him. "Hi."

"Hi," he said nervously. "Just gonna turn the light off for you."

"Thank you," she said with a smile.

"Goodnight," he said and switched the light off.

"Goodnight. I love you."

The three words froze him when he turned away. They'd confessed their feelings to each other last night, so why did it still feel like the first time?

"I...love you, too," he said, smiling shyly at her. He was thinking of kissing her before he left, but she'd already buried herself under the duvet.

~~~

"Do you want to cuddle before bed?"

Her bed was warm and smelt like her. He gave her a lot of kisses as she read her book with her head on his chest. When she fell asleep, he reached over to turn off the light.

~~~

Harry came back late for a business dinner today and she was still awake.

"It's already midnight," he said, loosening his tie.

She smiled up from her book. "We couldn't go to bed without you."

He kissed her on the lips and then her baby bump. "I'll take a shower and join you both."

When he returned, she'd fallen asleep. Harry turned off the light and carefully slipped into bed.

~~~

"Ria fell asleep with the light on, again," Y/N complained as she returned to bed from her daughter's room.

Harry chuckled, pulling her into his arms. "Like mother, like daughter. I had to turn off your light for you for years."

"I had my reasons."

"Oh yeah? What were they?" he asked, stroking her hair.

She grinned up at him. "At first, I wanted to annoy you. Then you kept doing that so I didn't bother to turn off the light anymore."

"Why am I not surprised at all?" Harry laughed, but he was glad she'd deliberately done it in the first place. "Now could you turn off the light on your side, please?"

#harry styles #flatmate!harry #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles concept

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soggyriceee · 5 months

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Hello, I hope you are having a great day.

I haven't been able to get Slasher König and his reading wife out of my head for days. It's a scenario where he comes home from killing someone and asks his wife if she's proud of him, to which she says yes and some HUGE obscenity ensues.

Also if you can include something like the reader is madly obsessed with how strong König is (especially his arms) and how tall he is.

Thanks 🙇‍♀️

proud of me | Konig

sorry for how late this was, im trying to catch up on all the requests y'all

warnings: mentions of killing, oral(f! and m! receiving), somno, fingering, unprotected p in v, aggressive, dom to slightly sub Koni, cowgirl, missionary,

you didnt really expect him to do it. I mean, who would expect your husband to go and murder your ex? your stalker ex.

" he won't stop calling me from different numbers." you'd cry to him, trying to refrain from waking your 2 year old baby. you and Konig had been married for 4 years now, together for 7. you would think any other ex's you've had would be married or with their true love. right? not your ex.

every year around your birthday, he'd call. you'd assumed every year he changed his phone number, and then using fake ones after you blocked his first number. you hadn't told Konig about it until it hit the third year. the year you got married. thats when the calls would get worse. when you had your baby it was no better.

Konig was not happy when he had to figure out on your honeymoon when you ex managed to track you down in the middle of Cancun, threatening to kill himself if you continued to hurt him. you never imagined your honeymoon with the love of your life being completely ruined by someone from years ago. "Im so sorry, I never thought it would get this bad." you cried to him as the police took your ex off the beach.

from then on Konig always threatened to find your ex, fighting him or even killing him for doing this to you. to both of you. but you didnt want Konig to leave. not when you were in the process of getting pregnant with your second baby. "what if you go to jail and I get a positive result." you cried, pulling him arm back to the bed as he got up from the bed, moving towards the drawer the gun lived.

he agreed, not wanting to hurt you more than you were already hurting. but he also felt completely useless in this fight. your ex wouldn’t leave you alone. not until you and Konig divorced. but that wasn’t an option for either of you and you both were content on remaining together.

that’s when you decided to get a restraining order on him. Konig was delighted you came to that conclusion yourself and even offered to pay for the lawyer if you needed one. thankfully, there was no fee for getting a restraining order and the process was done quickly and in no time.

but, of course, why would your ex even care?

this only seemed to anger him more and made him more and more persistent on talking to you. he’d find you in parks when you’d take your now 3 year old to the park. Konig would come speeding over but of course he’d run before Konig could even get there. it angered Konig. to the point you two began to argue about it.

this led to lonely nights. Konig sleeping on the couch or in the baby’s room. you were left alone to keep yourself warm at night. the sex was different. it was full of anger and rage. and it only happened when Konig came home from a rough day, using you to get off and then returning to the living room to sleep. you felt disgusted with yourself. but also hurt at how he was letting your ex ruin you guys’ marriage.

the calls and texts from your ex never stopped. he still showed up at random places and threatening to kill you if you didn’t come with him. you’d call the cops now instead of Konig, knowing that he’d get fined or even put to jail for breaking the order. but the second it ended, he began to show up at your home.

Konig knew about it. but apart of him didn’t care anymore. he felt like it wasn’t going to stop no matter what. he felt completely useless. he didn’t feel like a man.

and so the lonely nights continued, the aggressive loveless sex continued. your baby was growing up in a house that had no love. and you tried your best. despite working longer hours now just to stay away from home. not even to simply stay away from your ex now. to stay away from Konig as well.

you began to lose weight, drastically. the lack of food and sleep was catching up to you and Konig noticed. he still loves you. you were his soulmate and never for a moment did he doubt that. he hated how he was treating you. but he didn’t know why he couldn’t just talk to you about it. not until he came into the room, the sight of you sleeping with your baby in your arms.

he crawled into bed beside you, wrapping one arm around your waist, swallowing back the tears of guilt but also happiness. he was finally right beside you in bed where he belonged.

“i’m going to make this right for us.” he whispered in your sleeping ear, kissing your cheek before shuffling silently out the bed and eventually out the house.

the next morning you woke up to a text from Konig. “gonna be out until late tonight. make sure the baby’s asleep when i get home. please. i love you.” of course the text worried you, and the spamming of calls did no good for you at all. he simply let it ring and go to voice mail. it was only 11:20 or so, when did he leave and for how long will he be gone?

the rest of your day was full of anxiety and stress. your baby was crying throughout the day, unable to find something to make themselves happy. you were unable to do the same.

every ten minuets youd check your phone to see if Konig said anything. a text, even a simple “hey i’m okay.” but you got nothing. that’s when it hit you that you also haven’t heard/seen much of your ex. maybe it was just a coincidence, nothing to be too worked up over. right?

as night fell, you were finally able to get your baby to relax and fall asleep in his own bed. it was 9 now, still nothing from Konig. plopping on the couch, you closed your eyes, swallowing back the tears that wanted to escape but couldn’t. he was coming home. you had to keep telling yourself that.

you hadn’t realized you had fallen asleep on the couch until you shuffled awake slowly, feeling something moving inside you. panicked, you woke up, looking right at the source of the feeling.

between your legs laid Konig, his head resting on your thigh, lips sucking on your clit while his ring and middle finger pushed in and out of you. his eyes were closed, moaning into your pussy as his tongue circled your clit, his lips sucking it right back into his mouth after.

your hand pressed against his head, pushing him alway. well trying. his eyes shot open, looking straight into your as his arm pulled you closer onto his face rather than farther. his fingers hit deeper inside you with that, a whimper leaving past you.

he placed his head back on your thighs, humming satisfied with your lack of fight. his tongue went back to playing with your clit, his eyes remaining on yours. you tried to hold back your moans, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of how much you were enjoying it. but he knew you were. no matter how hard he tried he knew exactly how to get you to finish.

almost as if it was a subconscious move, your fingers wrapped into his hair, tugging gently. “are you proud.. of me?" he moaned into your cunt, moving your fingers in a 'come here' movement. your toes curled instantly, pussy clenching around him. "f-for what?" you moaned out, still trying to fully take in what was happening.

he pulled your clit with his lip, sticking his tongue out to let it drool over your clit. "I took care of everything. we're gonna be so much happier maus." he said, taking his thumb to rub his spit against your clit.

your head that was tilted back quickly shot up, stuttering out "what?" he smiled and sat up, removing his shirt before standing. you took in his tall figure, every muscle curve on his arms and chest. he slid his hands to his pant buckle, undoing his buckle. slowly he slid his pants down, his member springing up.

the tip was red, dripping pre cum slowly. "me and you and our baby. were gonna be happy forever." he smiled, walking closer to you. you sat up, swallowing and looking up to the tall man. his hands moved to his hard on, grabbing it gently before tapping it on your face. "open." he breathed out. and so you did.

"I killed him." he said before stuffing your mouth, shoving all of himself in your mouth. your hands gripped his thigh, whimpering around him. his hands went behind your head, guiding you back and forth on his length. he groaned, digging his teeth into his bottom lip.

"a..are you proud of me maus? proud what I did for our family." he moaned, moving his hips back and forth against you. but of course you couldn't respond. how would you respond when your throat and mouth is stretched out by the size of him? so all you could do was satisfy him with a weak whimper.

his hips didn't stop thrusting against your face, breathing out heavily. "mm fuck.. take me so well maus." he moaned, watching as your mouth spread around him. tears fell from your eyes, fingers digging into his muscled thighs. "too much for you libe? cant take it all?" he moaned, pulling his dick out your mouth.

drool followed, your lips swollen. his hand cupped your chin to force you to look up at him, a fake sympathetic look on his face. "b-been so.. long." you panted, swallowing while keeping your eyes on him. this caused a big smile on his face now, moving to sit beside you. "come sit." he smiled.

you slowly made your way on his lap, taking in how big he was against you. one of is hands moved up to your chin, pulling you to his lips. the mix of his pre cum and your spit made a mess on each others face. "tell me. tell me your proud of me." he said against your lips, his other hand sliding between your thighs to rub your puffy clit.

you whimpered out, hands finding his broad shoulders, gripping them. "s-so proud of you." you whimpered, slowly moving your hips against his finger. "say it again." he demanded, watching your body react.

your one hand moved up to his hair, gripping it as your orgasm rapidly approached. "im sop-proud of you Koni.. did s-so good." you moaned out, moving your hips against his fingers faster. he moaned out, thrusting his hips up before removing his finger. "need you to show me." he said, gripping your hips to lift you from his lap and align you with his tip.

"okay j-just go slow pl- fuck!" Konig had ignored your request completely, pushing you all the way down on his length. naturally, your body fell against his as he bottomed out inside you, feeling every inch of him while a surprised squeak left your lips. "s-sorry libe", he chuckled, "just got too excited."

his hips moved out of your pussy slow, before pushing deep inside of you. your fingers dug into his shoulders, beginning to feel how small you really were against his body. the muscles in his shoulders tensed, a low growl emitting from him. his large hands wrapped almost fully around d your waist, allowing him to move you at the pace he wants you to, turning you into a real life flashlight.

and it made you even wetter.

"s-so fucking small against me yeah? happy I saved you from that man huh libe? are you happy I saved the day?" he whispered, bouncing you up and down. you wanted to respond, but you couldnt. you were getting off on the fact he was manhandling you, his size compared to you causing your cunt to squelch around him. so all you could give him was a small pathetic nod, partnered with a small meek ‘yes.

he kept up the pace he set for you, beginning to thrust up into you. “oh fuck.. so deep inside this pussy. filling yoh all the way up.” he groaned, his head digging into your shoulder. your arms wrapped around his neck, nails digging into his broad shoulders as your body fell to mush in his grip.

“s-so big.” yoh whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut and hitting your lip, trying not to be too loud to wake your kid. he chuckled, slowing his pace to a halt, letting you also rest. “too much?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your neck before looking to you. you nodded, whimpering out another ‘yes.

he laid you on the couch, sliding out of your cunt leaving yoh throbbing. he laid above you, tapping his length on your pussy. “so wet.. you like me killing for you don’t you?” he whispered, cupping yohr cheek with his hand. you nodded quickly, looking up at him.

his other hand ran up and down your inner thigh, gripping it. “you gotta be quiet for me maus.. don’t wanna wake our baby.” he whisperer, aligning his tip before slowly pushing in, whimpering out as you wrapped around him. your eyes squeezed shut, mouth falling open. his hand quickly found your mouth, head pressing against yours.

he took a shaky breath before sliding oht slowly and pushing back in, whimpering out again. slowly he picked up the pace, his hands finding your hips to hold you down and allow him to go faster and deeper. “so fucking tight.. and it’s all mine.” he groaned, looking at you through his eyelashes. his hips slapped against yours, filling the room with the sound of slapping and moans.

your hands found the back of his head, pulling tightly on his hair. he whimpered out, gripping your hips a bit tighter, releasing his hand from your mouth. “it’s a-all yours Koni. just yours.” you moaned, raising your legs to wrap around his waist. he whimpered out a ‘fuck’, raising his head to look into your eyes. “t-tell me again.” he moaned, moving faster.

he was close you could tell. his breaths got shaky and his fingers dug into your hips. “this pussy is.. is all yours.” you cooed, tugging his hair just a bit. he groaned, pushing your legs up to your chest a bit more, drilling right against your womb. “oh please o-pull my hair more.” he whimpered, looking down to you with desperate eyes.

you smirked, tugging his hair so his head was pulled back, exposing the veins in his neck. your pussy clenched around him, the idea of being in control of the man who towers over you completely. “you l-like being controlled like this huh?” you whisper, clenching around his cock tighter. he whimpered, his hands working up your body now to your breasts.

“i-i’m gonna.. i’m gonna cum libe.” he whimpered, playing with your nipples. you gasped softly, your back arching off the couch slightly. his hips drilled into ykh faster, chasing his own high. his desperation caused yohr pussy to pulse around him, your stomach turning. “so close.. just w-wait for me Koni.” you moaned, your legs tightening around him.

you let his hair go, your hand gripping his face to pull him down to kiss you. the kiss was deep and fast, silencing each others moans. “please libe.. i c-cant hold it anymore.” he begged against your lips, one hand sliding between your bodies to your clit. “keep going in so c-close.. fuck.”

naturally, his hips moved quicker, desperate taking over the once controlled man. his tip abused your womb, causing tears to brim at your eyes as your cunt convulsed around his cock. "c-cum in me Koni" you moaned out, feeling yourself let go. but you didn't have to finish your sentence before his head dropped in between your neck, biting down on your skin to try and silence himself. his fingers dug into your hips, his own hips pounding into you as he forced his cum deeper into you.

your own body shook under him, your hands gripping his hair as you let the pleasure course threw your body. "q-quiet libe.. c-can't wake the baby." he whimpered, placing his hand over your mouth as you came down from your high. he thrusted slowly in and out of you, his body pressed flat against yours. your hands let go of his hair as your body relaxed, your legs shaking less. his hand left your mouth, head still in your neck.

"did you.. really kill him Konig?" you finally asked after a bit of silence. but you got nothing in return. instead, you were hit with soft snoring in your ear, Konigs arms wrapped around your body. you felt him softening inside you, causing the heat to rush to your cheeks. smiling, you kissed his forehead before pressing your head back on the couch, closing your eyes and drifting off to the sound of his snoring.

another request done finally. college is kicking my ass y'all. dont do it. (jkjkjk)

#cod #call of duty fan fiction #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #konig #konig fanfiction #konig smut #konig x reader

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