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ivy-loves-chocolate · 3 years

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How about Albert Wesker falling in love with reader at first sight hc..

Of course :)

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-> it’s new to him. The tickling he feels in his stomach, the faster heartbeat, the sweating, all these feelings are not familiar to him, and he mistakes them for a sickness. How an immortal being like him can get sick? He ran countless tests, but he found nothing. He was a healthy man in his 40s.

-> his sister brought the concept of "love at first sight" concept to him in one of their discussions. He called her childish, they fought, but it left Wesker with a new perspective.

-> logic began to fade when he started to feel needier and needier to see his s/o. He follows her, without listening to his reasoning. He tells himself that he would continue to do that until he finds his words. Hours turn into days, then into months, but Wesker keeps following his habits of stalking.

-> he feels like losing his words when he is around her. All his words get stuck in his throat and he is unable to form a coherent speech. Even if he doesn't talk with her, he is somehow present in her life. Wesker makes sure to drop a little attention from time to time: raise, flowers, jewelry.

-> she feels something is strange, but despite that, she enjoys the little attention, even if she wants to know the identity of her secret admirer. She gets a clue when she notices Wesker spying around the corner. What’s creepier is that he vanishes when they made eye contact.

"I think the CEO is following me."

"Damn, you don't have long to live then." One of her coworkers teased. "You fucked up somehow."

"You are very helpful."

"It was nice meeting you in your human form, please don't kill me once you become a tyrant." He said in a dramatic tone, not paying attention to her story. The CEO rarely left his office, so what were the chances of personally following his employees.

-> they didn't help, and to her despair, Wesker wasn't easy to catch. she tried making an appointment, but she was turned down every time. Which was weird, because she could still see him in the corner of her eyes. She stopped telling everyone that story too because she will end up seeming insane.

-> his obsession never ended. Even if he never spoke with her, he knew all her past. He knew her current schedule, at what hour she eats, works, sleep. When he leaned over the edge of the wall to spy on his love interest, she suddenly turned, which made him run away.

-> Wesker finally got the courage to speak with her personally. What he was about to say, well, he will figure it out. He will try to be as formal as possible.

-> he approached her desk. It was late, he made sure to give her extra work so they will be alone. The others left hours ago. He approached her desk, noticing how clean everything was. Wesker appreciated a tidy, well-organized woman more than anything.

"Having troubles keeping up?" He said after taking a glance at her computer.

-> his stern voice almost made her jump from her place. She turned around to see her stalker staring at her behind those sunglasses. How he could see at night it was a mystery.

"Please, don't stand," He noticed the woman's attempt to raise. Instead, he pulled a chair and sat next to her.

"N-no, everything is fine sir."

"Please, we don't have to be formal here." He let out a low chuckle. "Call me Wesker." Just how his former STARS members used to call him. Not too formal, not too friendly, somewhere in between enough to make them comfortable.

-> She was so close to him. Of course, she saw him in person a few times, but not so close as they are right now. She couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was, how melodic his voice was and how good she felt in his company. She was a little frightened at first, but the more she stayed with him, the faster her fears disappeared. She started to feel safe. She felt something too, but she didn't pay attention until now. If you can overlook that imposing posture of his, you would find out that you can enjoy his company and feel protected.

"Thank you, Wesker. What brings you to my humble office?"

-> He could notice her shaky voice. He had his cold, tremendous, demeanor even if he didn't want to.

"Despite the rumors, I actually care about my employees." A big fat lie, he couldn't care less. He had people dealing with them, but she was a special case. "I want to make sure you are not overworked. The last thing I need is you fainting in the cafeteria."

"Thank you s- Wesker."

-> How adorable he thought. He hardly found his words because most of his attention was focused on her. She was more attractive from this distance, and with every second that passed, he found himself getting needier and needier.

-> The long silence was broke by Wesker.

"Please, if you encounter any problems don't hesitate to contact me, personally."

"Thanks again. Actually, I kept trying to contact you these past weeks."

-> Wesker was getting nervous. He had a feeling why, so he started to move in his chair.

"Maybe I have hallucinations, but I kept seeing you around as if you were stalking me. I tried making an appointment but that secretary kept ignoring me."

-> he knew, he was the one who told his secretary to turn her off every time she would demand to see him.

"I see. Maybe you are overworking yourself. I can assure you that I have more important things than to follow my employees around."

-> that what she thought. She seemed to believe him.

"So that means you are not going to turn me into a tyrant?"

-> Wesker couldn't contain his laugher. She was indeed innocent and naive.

"Of course not," he said between sobs. "So this is how badly people are speaking of me?"

-> he prays this is the worst thing she heard about him. He'll make sure to find out who's been spreading rumors around, and turn them into reality for them, but now he didn't focus on his revenge plan, but on the discussion with the woman in front of him.

-> He found so much more about her personality, things he couldn't find in any file. He got a call and had no choice but to end the conversation. They walked together to the elevators, where they parted away, but not without ensuring her it's ok to come to his office whenever he needs, without an appointment.

-> She kept receiving gifts even after their meeting, but now they were signed.

His bold round handwriting was on every present.

"Wesker".

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#resident evil #albert wesker #resident evil village #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker fic

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toointofiction · 3 years

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How The Queen of Elfhame Learned to Deal with Insufferable Idiots

Hey, cuties!! I have been thinking of writing this little one-shot for a while now and I finally did. Check it out on the link below or keep reading and let me know what you think.

Pairing: Jurdan; Cardan x Jude

Genre: Romance

Rating: Explicit/Mature

Summary: Jude is pissed off and with no other way to let off steam, Cardan comes up with a creative and very effective idea.

Jude is pissed. She’s about two seconds away from running someone through with her sword. Or maybe severing their head from their shoulders. Or arranging a public mass execution. Anything sounds good at the moment. How is it that the entirety of her Living Council consists of idiots recklessly testing her patience? She can practically feel her sword-hand itching and twitching in anticipation. Is it too much to ask for a little competence? Sometimes it’s as if their sole purpose is to enrage her to the point where the only coherent thoughts she has, are homicidal ones.

Fuming, Jude stalks back to her bedchambers, Cardan effortlessly matching her pace. He has an amused look on his handsome face, stealing glances at her every now and then. As if none of what just happened had any sort of effect on him. He should not be having this much fun at her expense. Especially, right now. He is putting his life in danger. Her King seems to think that just because she loves him, he is somehow safe from her wrath. Which may or may not be true, Jude thinks.

She cannot count the times Cardan angered her. More often than those idiots. She seems to recall the time he thought to confront a vicious troll all on his own, with no proper training, protection, or backup. In the middle of the night. She also remembers finding him on the ground, bleeding, and dizzy from iron poisoning. She had been absolutely furious then. She told herself that as soon as he healed, he would get an earful. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to yell at him. She scolded him, of course. What he did was completely idiotic, but her anger faded quickly. All she felt was relief that he was okay. That the injuries he sustained weren’t serious or life-threatening. Still, it needed about a whole week for the iron to leave his system. The same cannot be said for her Living Council, however. She still wants to kill them, and she doubts her anger will fade any time soon.

Normally, when Jude is this angry, she takes it out on training with the Court of Shadows. To her misfortune, however, she sent them all on a mission two days ago. Just my luck. Jude signs audibly and raises her hand to her temple which feels just about ready to crack open from unrelenting pressure. She must start making some serious personnel changes, otherwise, they’ll soon have to rename it the Dead Council. She also needs to find a way to let go of her anger somehow, before she does something drastic and irreversible. Her King isn’t too keen on the way she likes to solve problems. Even if that way is more than called for sometimes. It’s at that moment that she feels Cardan’s slender arm wrap around her waist, and his lips graze the top of her head.

“Come on, I can help you relax.”

“Nothing can help me relax, now.”

“Don’t start making assumptions just yet,” he responds. His eyes shine in amusement, a small, mischievous smile grazes his lips.

With one arm still around her waist, he uses the other to open the door to their bedchamber and guide her through. As she walks ahead of him and slumps on the bed, she hears him whisper to the guards outside not to allow anyone to disturb them. What is he up to? Jude didn’t have to wonder for long. Cardan appears in front of her, that mischievous smile still on his lips, places his hands on her shoulders, and pushes her back on the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“I told you, I’ll help you relax.”

With that, he leans down and gives her a deep, long kiss. Just way he knows she likes it. She feels his hands on her knees, dragging the material of her dress up. Higher and higher until he has to stop and pull the whole thing off her. As soon as the dress is off, he is back to kissing her lips, her neck, right between her breasts. She can feel his hand moving from her ribs to her breast, squeezing lightly, playing with her nipple. The other, he guides right between her legs, squeezing her once before he gently, torturously stroking her, making her legs twitch. Jude lets out an involuntary moan. She can feel him grinning against her skin. Smug bastard. Before she can even muster a word, he pushed a finger inside of her, making her thoughts scatter away from her, another moan, a very loud one, escapes her lips.

“Okay, fine,” she breaths out. “This is relaxing.”

“I told you.”

His mouth moves to one breast as he pushes another finger inside her. She arches her back, squeezing his hand between her thighs. She tangles her hands in his hair, pulling him closer, feeling his groan deep into her core. She’s not going to last long. He seems to realise this. His hand moves frantically between her thighs, his thumb pressing on her clit. He abandons her breast and gives her another deep kiss as she falls over the edge. Her climax hits her hard. Cardan keeps on kissing her, swallowing her scream. He enjoys making her lose all control. She knows this and it should probably annoy her a little bit. But how could it, when losing control feels so damn good.

She tries to catch her breath after the last of her orgasm fades away. Cardan doesn’t let her, though. He never does. He guides his lips between her breasts again, over her belly, until she feels him between her thighs, still sensitive from the last orgasm. He gives her a gentle kiss that sends shocks through her body, before he starts to feast on her, aggressive and wild. Jude feels another climax coming. Her muscles tense, her eyes locked on her husband, her King as he drives her over the edge again. She wraps her legs around Cardan’s head like an unbreakable collar, pushes both hands into his hair, gripping him in place. If he stops right now, she’s going to be angry again. A few short moments pass, and she falls over the edge again. She moans loudly, knows that the guards outside can definitely hear her, but she doesn’t care. Not when Cardan’s mouth is still on her, helping her ride out her orgasm.

A few moments pass by, as Jude tries to catch her breath. Cardan lets her this time. He rises up the length of her body, that smug expression still on his face. He kisses her once more and she tastes herself in his mouth. He lays next to her, wraps an arm around her limp body, and pulls her to him.

“I guess I don’t have to train my anger away, anymore.”

“Glad to hear it,” Cardan says, dropping a kiss at the top of her head.

A thought pops up inside Jude’s head, and she can feel her mouth stretching into a wicked smile. She turns to face Cardan, “I should probably reciprocate now, right?”

Cardan grins like a Cheshire cat and with a slap on her ass he responds, “I guess you should.”

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trickfootpike · 3 years

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OKAYOKAYOKAY now that i've had a few nights to Ruminate here are way too many thoughts from 9/16's show -- fair warning that they aren't *super* coherent as a lot of this i just tried to loosely organize from dms i threw at folks night-of, but it is most of what i remember sticking out to me!

GENERAL THOUGHTS --

last saw the show in august of 2019 - back then i saw it up in the mezzanine, this time i was 7 rows back dead center in the middle of the orchestra. watching the show from the mezzanine feels like a god's eye view of the show while sitting up close in the orchestra is much more like being in the world of men, and how it hits in hadestown particularly is just nuts bc you really do feel like you're on the factory floor.

back in the London production i remember eva playing eurydice with more youth and hope to her, and when the show came to Broadway eurydice hardened. in a world with a pandemic eva seems to have actually shifted this back! Eurydice is still holding tightly onto Orpheus Knowing that the world is unlikely to be kind enough to let them have each other for long but she starts off less faithless than she used to, I suppose I would describe it? she's definitely played more open with others from the beginning rather than having it be something she has to really work towards!

WAIT FOR ME IS A TOTALLY DIFFERENT FEELING FROM THE ORCHESTRA THAN THE MEZZANINE AND NOT JUST THE LAMPS. the lamps really only swing out to over the first 2 rows, speaking very generously, anyway. what i remember being most impactful from last time was how the whole theater rumbled as the walls of the set split to reveal hadestown. what i couldn't see and afaik no boot's been able to pick up is the the set ALSO SPLITS AND STRETCHES OPEN AT THE TOP. that awning that covers the balcony lifts and the wall of hadestown is revealed to stretch floor to ceiling and it is just so much, so fucking much oh my god i could not stop hysterically blubbering to myself watching hadestown stretch open like it is absolutely here to devour you whole. it makes you feel the immensity of The Wall. I've linked ig videos of the set pre act 1 and post intermission to give like the best perspective on it i can and tried to film them so they were zoomed as closely as to what my eyes were seeing as I could, but here are also some pictures!

PRE ACT ONE

INTERMISSION

after our lady of the underground when eurydice comes back from hades' office and Persephone is finishing with her show, me being closer this time i was actually able to see amber's face during way down hadestown ii and flowers. and how she portrays seph's feelings re eurydice, it's like : genuine concern and watching over her when she first starts on the line, Quiet Seething and Jealous Rage as the fates' tattle "Hades put his hands on ya" that sticks for a While including the first half of flowers, but as soon as eurydice remembers the meadow her and Orpheus visited her heart just b r e a k s and you can see her wiping away tears. seph's just so caught in her own feelings of helplessness in hadestown. when hades tells her to stay out of him dealing with Orpheus all the fight just deflates out of her and the direct accusing look Orpheus gives her at the end of if it's true mixed with seeing his effect on the workers makes her physically rear back like she's gotten the fight slapped back into her

even with this audience who almost for sure has all seen ht before, there was still the loudest heartbroken gasp when orpheus turned. i know everyone calls this out but it still hit me hard that with a greater percentage of previous viewers in the audience it still hit us all like a fucking brick

and ofc. road to hell ii. it's a millions times more impactful than it already was what with the pandemic, making it through hard times and how they could be hard again but making the best of them even if it doesn't turn out well this time either. i was crying so hard last time but this time i was crying harder but also feeling like a huge weight was being like, very softly cradled in my chest to take some of the burden away

TOM'S HADES/HADES AND PERSEPHONE SPECIFIC THOUGHTS --

Tom's Hades whole tl;dr could be that Hades is a Performance. all those descriptions of him beign "jazzy" and "egodriven" are correct, but there is also this massive vibe he gives off that all his showmanship is there as a cover up for the very pessimistic man at the core of him. when him and persephone are getting along the jazziness is there for genuine playfulness with her, but apart from seph it is a purposeful exaggeration on hades' part to get Whatever it is that he wants. he is playing up aggression as king (see papers) and what he thinks as being suave (see hey little songbird) to maintain his throne and his marriage, and Epic III is the Destruction of that performance. Tom's Hades at the end of Epic III isn't trying to sell anyone anything, you just get to see the suddenly very scared and unsure heart of the man behind the performance of foreman and king. And oh boy is Tom's Hades at his heart unsure. He is so fucking pessimistic; back in Act 1 when Orpheus starts to sing Epic I he turns from Persephone even before she gets reminded of the world above and starts longing for it, because he already expects to see it coming and he doesn't turn back to her Ever Again, literally until he comes to get her in Way Down Hadestown. Not even when she gives him a kiss on the cheek goodbye. His Kiss, The Riot is him trying to figure out how the hell he's gonna be able to rebuild his performance after his whole kingdom saw through it, but he also ends it being so very certain that the deal he figures out for Orpheus Will end with Orpheus failing somehow. There is no doubt in this very pessimistic Hades that doubt will come in, whereas Patrick used the end of His Kiss The Riot almost like he was desperately trying to justify that his doubt came to him only in Persephone's absence

road to hell i: tom's hades loves cheering on the band so much he is Part Of The Problem that Hermes has to get to chill out and it makes so much sense for this jazzy dramatic motherfucker

balcony time (road to hell i until livin' it up on top): when they were upstairs playing dominoes they kept laying their tiles with these overexaggerated movements.. Like when they actually getting along they are so damn flirty and trying so hard to make each other smile and laugh and it is TOO CUTE

way down hadestown: Once Again "I missed ya" gives me no rest, mostly because Tom delivered it with this super coy and cocky grin and Amber immediately smiled back at him like Persephone couldn't help herself

chant i: is spent with him looking up proud into his creation while persephone is looking down with heartbreak and disgust seeing the workers as people in suffering and the ugliness of hadestown. as the song goes on he gets increasingly frustrated like a child who's super proud of the drawing he brought home from school that Persephone has nothing but terrible things to say about. when eurydice starts singing about her suffering seph throws out her arm and points to her like "see! See what you're doing!!" while hades is more in himself processing his disappointment, frustration, heartbreak, but over the next minute you start to see him Formulating A Plan as he watches eurydice. but he doesn't look entirely sold on going through with it until seph throws out her last verse in disgust. it was absolutely the straw that broke the camel's back.

hey little songbird: THO IT SOUNDS SO SEDUCTIVE ON AUDIO. OML DOES IT LEAN INTO EURYDICE'S "STRANGE MAN" DESCRIPTOR. HADES IS LIKE THE CREEPY SALESMAN ON THE CORNER WITH WATCHES AND A TRENCHCOAT. BUT HE'S SELLING HIS SHIT WELL, HE'S JUST ALSO A WEIRDO

Why We Build The Wall/"Behind Closed Doors": That followup on hades' threat when eurydice arrives in hadestown. as hades goes to the stairs he like not whacks, but definitely nudges seph's arm harder than Patrick does to get her attention. when he did she Startled and laid her hand over her arm where he'd tapped her like she was overwhelmed by just that touch........ but then she turns around and watches him take Eurydice up and when he opens his coat and she Realizes you see her whole body go slack. once eurydice goes past the office doors hades turns and lingers staring pointedly down at seph, for *seconds* whereas with patrick i remember it being more of a pointed glance. it drills home that hades is doing this specifically to spite seph and he wants her to know it. and you can see amber discreetly wipe her face before she turns back to "does anybody want a DRINK." there's less direct seduction between hades and eurydice but more explicit threat between hades and seph about eurydice

papers: actually isn't too much Bastärde as it is his Performance. HOWEVER, the way he directs the workers to beat Orpheus is chilling. Like patrick he hangs around, but he's watching until the last 10 seconds so it's way longer. And he makes like the smallest gestures with his hand to direct the workers to the different stages of beating Orpheus, fuck it was twisted

how long: how long actually starts with seph and hades seemingly coming to each other on a similar page - hades came out pensively fiddling with his wedding ring and Amber delivered "I know" like seph was already past the eurydice situation. this also could have been a product of time and seeing how actually little he did "seducing" eurydice lmao

chant ii: very much Hades Sees Orpheus As A Threat™️ (more on this further below) , also dare i say it but tom kills I CONDUCT THE ELECTRIC CITY

epic iii: oh man oh man. he looks so untouched until Orpheus starts the lalas and he goes from completely passive unimpressed face to like. his body unfolds on his stool and his hands go slack and he looked between Orpheus and Persephone when he asked where Orpheus had gotten his melody. he asked it a lot softer than I expected him too as well. a big part of the audience actually laughed when Hades sang his lala because Tom cracks his voice during it but it petered off into sniffling when they realized why and then we were all just crying together as persephone placed the flower in his vest.

lovers desire: SOME VERY CUTE STUFF. hades' performance is broken but tom's hades is still a Jazzy Jazzy Man at heart and they're like 100 times more playful with each other - they're both giggling and grinning their asses off while they dance together and give each other these like nudges to the next series of steps and it was adorable and I was discretely sobbing. they both played it like they knew how to do this dance with each other better than they knew anything, the little nudges were like..... them playing inside this dance they already knew so well? Like more overexaggeration to make each other laugh and just revel in this wonderful thing they've rediscovered- specifically I remember that Amber raised her skirt soooooo high when she was doing the curtsey and Tom was like waggling his eyebrows at her and adding extra flourishes with his hands and widening his eyes super big everytime he pulled off a move (the funniest ones were when they do like the two-step where they move one after another in sequence and he's copying her moves in reverse and oml it was just adorable). When Seph had the move where she pulls their linked arms over his head to tuck him into her I remember that was the one part where he wasn't doing this goofy act but his expression straight up melted and he looked so smitten. and when it's the last bit of the dance and he spins her across the stage, seph's face breaks open with tears his expression responds with like this mix of heartbreak and "ohhhhh no baby please don't cry" as he moved across the stage to quickly take her into his arms for the dip at the end

AFTER this when orphydice has finished promises and right before Orpheus turns to ask Hades if they can go, they come out of slow dancing to the side but are still super wrapped up in each other - seph wraps herself around one of his arms and presses herself super close and Tom leaned down with this little smile like Hades was gonna try and steal a quick kiss, but then he hears/sees out of the corner of his eye/senses or something Orpheus approaching and pulls himself up and formal to be the king. When he says I don't know and seph wrenches herself away from him to the other side of the stage to firmly stand behind Orphydice he gets this look of Extreme Frustration on that she's still not standing with him and these damn kids are still more important, bc even with character growth he still is a petty selfish bitch who does not like to share lmao, he's just getting that he Has To now

wait for me ii: Hades stays onstage by the microphone stand to the left to watch Hermes deliver his judgement to orphydice/seph/the workers and watching Tom during this was a Treat. this is the first time he's seeing how orphydice and esp Orpheus function when he's not involved to terrify them. they're so sweet and so good, and they have what looks like so much unwavering faith in each other unlike him and seph, maybe they really could... so when he delivers "i let them try" that last word is stretched with so much wonder. he's getting this first glimpse into feeling how everyone else felt when orpheus sang of how the world could be that isn't just focused in about how he feels about persephone, which always drives him - now he's having to deal with the Greater Implications and orpheus' seemingly unbreakable faith in a better world rocks him to his core. that certainty that orpheus would fail gets shaken as he watches them and when Seph asks him if he thinks they'll make it, his I Don't Know is 1/2 defensive and 1/2 actual uncertainty. he still hates to be wrong but he's wondering if his beliefs about doubt will turn out differently this time. he isn't optimistic about it by any means but orpheus, eurydice, and the workers' response to them both does give him pause

meanwhile in hades and persephone's section, on a personal level they deliver their lines to each other like they're a great deal more nervous about what next fall will bring than i've seen and heard before - something I'm thinking stems from hades' worldview being so suddenly shaken and seph too being a little more vulnerable?

MISC THOUGHTS

Tom seems to be leaning into Hades not having done anything with Eurydice other than tempt her down - once she's in Hadestown even during Why We Build The Wall he drops the salesman croon entirely and when he does rarely speak to her/about her it's commanding as a king who sees her just as another object under his possession, with very little interest in her for anything at all beyond that. he was just going after the goal of making sure Seph knew he had Options whether or not he actually pursued them

tom is super dedicated to how power-hungry hades is. I remember when I saw Patrick during chant ii he was playing hades as more affected by how much seph seemed to care about the workers now and desperately trying to get her attention back (even negatively), Tom was more consumed in seeing Orpheus as a threat because of how effectively he had turned his "children" on him. He knocks Seph down in those "shackle her from wrist to wrist" less as a personal petty attack to her like Patrick does and more like to try and destabilize her as someone backing Orpheus up. Tom's Hades perceives Orpheus as a Threat no matter how much he plays up his Performance as Nonchalant Jazzy King. he really emphasizes Hades' relationship to Orpheus whereas Patrick played more into his relationship with Eurydice, which makes so much sense what with Tom's Hades being a pettier more egotistical messy bitch obsessed with his kingdom and Patrick's Hades' obsession being his wife and Hadestown being like, this side-effect of being a god that he just couldn't help, he Had to build and strive for power whereas Tom's Hades reveled in it and wanted it. Instinct versus drive I guess. one of my buds put it super well as: "Patrick!Hades sees everything as a threat to his power Tom!Hades is so certain of his power that he can afford to be somewhat nonchalant but the fact that Orpheus alone is his main genuine threat is fucking brilliant"

and ok for now, that's what I've got! if anyone wants any clarification or wants to ask details about specific moments I didn't put in here feel free to shoot me an ask!

#hadestown #em speaks #theater #tom hewitt

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bump1nthen1ght · 4 years

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Sick Day (Demon x Reader)

Pairing: Gender Neutral Reader/ Non-Binary Demon

Genre: Urban fantasy, Domesticity, Established relationship

Warnings: Mentions of sickness (fevers, body chills, headaches), but nothing graphic

Word Count: 2008 words

Summary: Your demon partner isn’t sure how to play doctor

A/N: Based of this prompt by @monsterkinkmeme

“It’s the first time you’ve dated a demon and it’s also the first time you’ve gotten sick since you’ve been together. A fever paired with a throbbing headache has you hiding in bed for most of the day, trying to sleep whatever bug you caught, off. Your demon lover, on the other hand, is beside themselves and has turned to Google and WebMD on how best to take care of you. They now think you are dying because of your symptoms and are devising a way to save you.”

The minute I saw this prompt I was immediately awash with PINING for a large demon partner to cuddle with and I knew I had to write it.

A week after finals, 7 months into your relationship with Motholg, your immune system gives up.

You had been leaving work, thinking the heat in your cheeks and the ache in your bones was a product of a 6 hour shift, walking to Motholg’s apartment for date night. The past two week had you cooped up, anxious and studying, meaning you barely were able to make time for your partner.

You probably should have expected it, it’s happened every finals week since high school; A couple days into break you get a high fever and are stuck in your bed for a solid 48 hours. But you thought that, perhaps, this year was the exception. After nearly passing out when handing Motholg their fresh-made lasagna, you knew you weren’t so lucky.

“Darling?”

You groan from your blanket burrito, eyes and sweaty forehead barely peeking into the dim light of Motholg’s bedroom. The thought of forming a coherent thought makes your brain pound, so you don’t even try.

“I’ve made you some...uh…”

The door creaks open, Motholg automatically ducking their head so their long horns don’t hit the frame. Their red, slitted eyes narrow at something steaming in a teacup. “Yas-mine? Jasmeen? Uh-some herbal remedy I ordered from your virtual shopkeep. It was touted by several women named “Brenda” to be the best thing for human illnesses.” Motholg’s hooves tap against the floor, just below the line of “too loud” for your migraine. You give another non-committal hum as they sit down on the bed. Despite being custom-made for their 7-foot stature, the bedframe still creaks under their weight. The top of your blanket sarcophagus is pulled back, revealing your disgruntled face.

Motholg helps you prop yourself up and hands you the teacup. You take a sip, quickly realizing it’s still quite hot, but power through anyway. The scalding water melts from your mouth down to your toes, abating your shivers, if only temporarily.

As you drink, Motholg’s fingers card through your messy hair, massaging your skull before resting their palm on your cheek. Their hand covers almost the entire side of your head, spotting a glimpse of a frown between their fingers.

“You’re even hotter than before and still quite sweaty. Would you like me to take the blankets?”

You shake your head, setting down your cup of tea.

“No, it’s probably just my fever breaking. It’s actually a good sign, despite how shitty I feel.” The warmth of your cocoon is beckoning you, your exposed chest and arms already shivering. “The blankets are good for my chills, but a big glass of ice water would be nice.”

Motholg raises an eyebrow, clearly perturbed by your backwards human symptoms. But they pat your head once more before sitting up.

“Of course, dear.” Motholg leans down to kiss your forehead, but is intercepted by the palm of your hand.

“Uh-uh, I don’t need you getting sick too.” Motholg scrunches up their face, then blows a raspberry into your skin. You retaliate by pushing away their face feebly.

“As if your human illness could fell me darling.” The sigh dramatically, pushing your hand away. “Though you are very sweet to think it could.”

You stick out your tongue and shove them. Motholg relents, blowing a kiss as they back out of the bedroom.

Your brain is beginning to drift into sleep when a glass clinks on the nightstand. Not bothering to open your eyes, far too tired, you mutter a “Thank you.” Motholg whispers a “You’re welcome,” as they lay on the bed once more. Their warm fur tickles your neck as they cuddle up behind you, arm thrown around your side and nuzzling their face into your hair. A hot breath and a slight nip of their extended canines only wills you to dreamland faster.

Motholg won’t go to sleep, only needing a full 8 hours every 4 days, but are rather content to lay beside you. They lovingly stroke your arm and sidle farther down under the comforter, whispering occasional sweet nothings and rocking you into unconsciousness.

--------

The dull red of the bedside clock pries open your eyes, a stark contrast compared to the pitchblack of the bedroom. Your brain is still in a fog, but given then the 3 AM flashing nearby, you’ve been asleep for about 9 hours.

And I’m about to sleep 9 more.

Motholg had left the bed at some point, but their warmth still lingers on the blankets. You close your eyes and snuggle in.

Slam!

But then the door slams open.

On a normal night, the noise might’ve jerked you upright , but your eyes simply roll over to the doorway. Your brain already misses unconsciousness.

Motholg stands, their new smartphone in hand as they breathe heavily.

“Darling, what did you say your body temperature was?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, slowly giving up on those peaceful 9 hours.

“99.7 last time I checked.” You tap your forehead with the back of your hand. “Probably less now. The sleep has been helping a lot. Good night.”

In an instant, Motholg is over to the bed, placing their hand on your forehead. You let out a disappointed sigh and try to go back to sleep anyways. The click of their hooves on hardwood, Motholg’s jittering shakes of your shoulder, and the strong smell of iron quickly eliminates that as a possibility.

You turn towards your partner, now noticing the sheen of liquid covering their hands. Red streaks follow their fingertips on their smartphone.

“Babe, why are your hands soaked in blood?”

“Goat’s blood, technically.”

Before you can even respond to that baffling answer, Motholg grabs your shoulder. The blood sticks to the short sleeves of your pajamas.

Damn, now I’ll have to wash this tomorrow.

“Here, it says the ritual-”

“The what?”

“-needs to be completed at 3:30 AM on a new moon.” Motholg pauses, checks their phone, then continues, “Yes, a new moon.”

Motholg begins to walk away, your arm still in their grip, but your resistance stalls them.

“Okay, Motholg, you’re scaring me. What’s going on? How the hell did you get goat’s blood at this hour?”

Motholg sighs and rolls their eyes, “Unimportant-”

You give Motholg a dissatisfied look, finally making them relent in heir tirade. They turn towards you.

“I fear for your life. I’ve consulted your online physician and your symptoms fall in line with many fatal illnesses.”

Now accepting that this is officially a conversation, you throw back your blankets and sit up.

“Do you mean WebMD?”

Motholg nods furiously and shows you their phone screen, tapping the glass with a long claw.

“See here? Full body chills are associated with pneumonia, so is a high fever. There’s also the possibility something is wrong with one of your organs. Not surprising, considering how squishy they are.” Motholg flicks their screen upward, a myriad of diagrams flips across it.

“Now, I know a couple of ceremonies my father used to perform to curse others with these illnesses, so I thought if I reversed the procedure-” Motholg pauses again, flipping to a new tab on their phone, “-So, I did some googling-”

Motholg pauses when your hand rests against their cheek. Their red eyes, which glow just slightly in the dark, look to you. You brush your thumb across their face, just barely grazing against the fur which starts at the base of their neck.

“Darling, I appreciate the concern really, I do. But these websites…” you pause, slowly pushing Motholg’s phone down and out of eyesight, “They really only show worst case scenarios. Honestly, they kind of just scare you into going to a doctor in person.”

Motholg’s eyes dart between your face and their phone, now pressed face down on their bed. They give off an aura of anxiety and stress, their hands fidgety and their hooves lightly tapping against the floor. “Here,” You pull up the covers, opening up the spot next to you. “Do you want to lie down with me for a while?”

“Oh, I don’t need to rest.”

“Just because your body doesn’t require it doesn't mean it won’t feel good. C’mon.” You pat the bed. “I think it will give you some peace of mind, keeping an eye on me.”

Motholg’s eyes shifted back to their phone, their brow furrowed. You pout your lips and slide your fingers up their chest. Their fur sticks and tussles under your touch.

“Babe, I would feel better if you relax, seriously.” You reach down to the bedside drawer, pulling out your sleep mask. “You can even bring your computer and get some work done.”

Hesitantly, they nod. You sigh in relief. Their hand unconsciously twirls your hair.

“I suppose….You would know about these things.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Motholg leaves to get their things, while you slip back under the covers. Before you put your sleep mask on, you shout to them.

“Make sure to wash that blood off!” You look down at your damp sleeve. “And could you get me a wet wipe as well?”

Motholg makes an affirmative noise, and you finally lay back and close your eyes.

Their body heat lingers above your as they sweetly wipe away the blood on your arm. You mutter a thank you. The bed dips as they down next to you, mattress bending as they adjust their laptop and fluff the pillows.

“Darling?”

“Hmmm?” You murmur, face still stuffed in your pillow.

“I just wanted to apologize for waking you. I feel very foolish for acting so paranoid.”

You flip your head to their side, keeping your mask on.

“No need to apologize, I get it.”

“Thank you for your understanding, but still, I feel so silly. To think a tiny sickness would force my emotions to overcome me.”

You slowly push up your mask, eyes peeking out from under the duvet. Motholg sheepishly picks at their keyboard, avoiding your eyes,

As disgruntled as it made you at first, Motholg’s droopy gaze stirred guilt in your gut. You wonder how many scenarios had run through their head while they googled, how helpless they must’ve felt. There might be a hole paced into the floor of the living room, given how flustered they were when they barged in.

You reach out to Motholg’s wrist, brushing your thumb over the back of their palm. Their red irises look over, and you think you see the tinies remnants of tear tracks at the corner of their eyes.

“Emotions aren’t a bad thing, they’re natural.” Grabbing the top of the blanket, you roll over to Motholg’s side. Their large body dwarfs yours and when you curl up against them, the tips of your feet barely meet the top of their calves. Their black fur is soft against your face, like a mixture of a plush carpet and a goosefeather pillow.

Oh good, they used the Tea Tree soap.

“I’d probably do the same if you got sick.” You reach your hand up to their chest, cording through their thick fur. “We’re just gonna have to trust the other’s okay, huh?”

With your chin tucked into their ribs, Motholg smiles down at you. A claw runs up the back of your neck, stirring up goosebumps but relaxing your muscles.

“I believe so, darling.” Their fangs jut out from their lips as they continue to rub your neck. It’s quite goofy looking, for a demon, and gets a chuckle out of you.

You crane your neck and Motholg meets you halfway for a kiss, consequences be damned.

“Good night, I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetling.”

You fall asleep with Motholg’s fingers curled in your hair, the slight tap of their claws on the keys, a simmering contentment in your heart.

--------

A week later, when you’re back to full health, you and Motholg are making dinner when-

“Ah-choo!”

You stop stirring the pasta and furrow your brows at Motholg. They’ve stilled, mid-movement while setting out the plates. Their face burns with embarrassment.

“A silly human sickness, huh?”

#monster romance #my writing #demon x reader #gender neutral reader #reader insert #monster/reader #fluff #domestic #monster x reader

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raayllum · 4 years

Text

fic masterpost ~ rayllum edition

a/n: this post is subject to change and be updated as early as February 15th 2021 (with fulfilled prompts from Rayllum Valentine’s Week) so while you are welcome to reblog it, it is long and will only get longer! There will be changes! This post, as the title says, also only includes my Rayllum fics - which while the majority of what I write for TDP, are not at all. I’ve done my best to organize every piece of writing (from long multichaps to 200 word drabbles) into a coherent system under headers and as per chronological order (in terms of the pieces, not when they were posted) as can possibly be. I would love if this introduced you to a fic or ficlet of mine that you previously weren’t aware of! (There were certainly pieces I’d entirely forgotten I’d written!) Happy reading, and a big thanks to the fandom of being so supportive of my writing for the past 2.5 years! :)

Canon

i do not believe in love at first sight. but god damn. (look at you.): callum’s pov for his first meeting with rayla in 1x02, ficlet

by the boat: a missing scene set after 1x04, featuring some slight rayllum and trio fluff, ficlet

each time (you happen to me all over again): “Hey, I like her too. But the thing is, she’s… not telling us everything. I can feel it.” Or, a oneshot in which Callum likes Rayla, against his better judgement. Set in between 1x03 and up until 1x06, 870 word ficlet

pivot: ‘He likes her too much.‘ For “Meeting/Friendship” for the Rayllum fanzine, “Falling for You,” set during 1x05-1x07 of Book One: Moon, 2.7k

the scarf: set in between 1x06 and 1x07, ficlet

because she’s rayla: the more he understands her, the more he loves her. OR: how Callum fell in love with Rayla, season by season. IN-PROGRESS, 1.8k+ threeshot

turn against: Callum and Rayla reflect on betrayal and abandonment, post-3x01. 2.4k, oneshot

heights: could slot into early 3x01 post sol regem (aka when ez is travelling back), pre 3x02 ficlet

i don’t believe that anybody feels the way i do about you now: missing scene from 3x04; callum gets a little jealous when they make camp at the oasis, ficlet

second sight: “Was it love at first sight?” Corvus asks. OR: Callum and Rayla reflect on what love is. Set during 3x05-3x09, written for the “Falling for You” fanzine, 3.5k

that isn’t part of the spell: Ezran’s POV of the moment he finds out Callum and Rayla are ‘a thing’ in 3x07, ficlet

all through the night: Callum and Rayla’s first night at the Spire. Angst hurt/comfort set during 3x08, ficlet

i’ll explain later: On the eve before the Final Battle, Amaya has some catching up to do with her nephew. Set during 3x08, mentions of Rayllum & Janaya, 1.9k, oneshot

i really do: An oneshot comprised of missing Rayllum moments/scenes from S3 (including post-3x09). Spoilers abound. co written by me and @thosefiveadoraburrs. 3.9k, oneshot

21 Days: They say it takes 21 days to form a habit. // A Rayllum ficlet for every episode from 1x03-3x05, updates daily. COMPLETE, 14.4k

Could Be Canon (fics that haven’t been proven or denied thus far)

doesn’t deserve this: Callum approaches the Dragon Queen with a request, post-3x09, ficlet

a broken cycle: Rayla has nightmares about when she and Callum met, post-s3, hurt/comfort, ficlet

rumination: Callum and Rayla learn what Claudia did to revive Viren, ficlet

autopsies: claudia sees callum (and rayla) for the first time since 2x07, ficlet

i want to hang out with you basically for the rest of my life: post war proposal that technically fits right in to canon, somehow (even if it was written after s1), ficlet

things you said when you thought i was asleep: callum talking to their baby, first pregnancy, post war, ficlet

AU as of S2

your heart is your masterpiece: It’s Rayla’s sixteenth birthday. Callum knows exactly what to get her. [Rayla/Callum] title is from “i’ll keep you safe,” by sleeping at last, 1.8k oneshot

frostbite: rayla tries ice cream, ficlet

sweep the leg: rayla trains callum, ficlet

the amulet: post 1x09, the kids go amulet shopping.

when you’re around i don’t know how to hide my feelings: quietly pining rayla feat. cloud counting, ficlet

participation medals of the heart: callum likes claudia and rayla knows this, ficlet

i know your weakness. it’s kisses. you are doomed: cute established rayllum closest to being set during s2 i guess? ficlet

AU as of S3

a speculative take on 3x01, during the scarf exchange and based on spoilers released at october comic con 2019, ficlet

seem impossible: rayla teaches callum to dance, based off the s3 trailer, ficlet

based off of rayla pulling callum close to her to jump down in the trailer, pining callum, ficlet

speculative take on the pining callum still that got released, written to be set around 3x04 (picture is actually from 3x08), pining callum ficlet

sleeveless callum insp & based off s3 promo pictures, pining rayla, ficlet

speculative reunion with amaya, featuring callum defending rayla from his aunt, based off tiniest screencap from s3 trailer, ficlet

things you said when we were on top of the world: exactly what it says on the tin + pining callum, ficlet

term of endearment: rayla calls callum an elvish word and he asks tinker what it means, just under 1k ficlet

things you said after you kissed me: first kiss, shocking similar to 3x05, ficlet

things you said when you were scared: rayla gets injured, callum is worried, ficlet

rayla dreads their separation, speculative late s3, slightly angsty pining rayla, ficlet

rayllum can’t say goodbye, speculation end of s3 get together, pining callum, ficlet

i think you are beautiful and would like to kiss you: rayla and callum meet again at a ball after the war, pining callum, ficlet

still into you: callum plans a proposal to rayla in katolis after the war, 1.2k, oneshot

in search of silver linings (we discovered gold): co-written by me and @thosefiveadoraburrs. Rayla and Callum travel through Xadia, and maybe fall in love along the way. Post-s2, semi-fan season 3. COMPLETE, 84k

Dragonguard Rayllum (post-s3)

don’t go where i can’t follow: Post-S3. When Rayla realizes the extent of Callum’s devotion to her, it takes a trip back home to come to terms with it. Fluffier than the summary makes it sound, I swear. co-written by me and @thosefiveadoraburrs. 2.1k

i should let someone know (maybe when i’m better): Rayla has a fever that brings out some unintended emotional consequences. Callum is there to help. co-written with @thosefiveadoraburrs, 3.8k

south star: post-s3 oneshot about rayllum stargazing and making decisions. co-written by me and @thosefiveadoraburrs. 1.5k

and since we’ve got no place to go (let it snow): rayla and callum’s first winter at the spire

unprovoked: Rayla asks Callum about his mother, ficlet

bleed: Callum has a minor injury and Rayla frets over him, ficlet

hair tuck: Callum notices an adorable quick of Rayla’s, pining Callum, ficlet

messy hair: Pining Rayla featuring Callum’s messy bedhead, ficlet

AU as of TTM

you said, “are you serious?” (i said like a heart attack): Soren doesn’t understand why Rayla is with Callum, until he does. co-written with @thosefiveadoraburrs. Rayla/Callum and onesided Soren/Rayla. 6.2k

a mighty ocean or a gentle kiss: The castle physician notes how much time Callum and Rayla spend together, and makes a strange recommendation, 3.1k

at every table, i’ll save you a seat: Rayla and Callum’s first Valentine’s Day as a couple, post-s3, based off official art ficlet

let there be light (let me be right): Series of oneshots based off 5 of 16 prompts from Rayllum Birthday Bash 2020, 7.4k+, complete.

do over: Rayla realizes that Callum hasn’t had a great first date experience, and is determined to give him one. 8.3k, for Day 2 of Rayllum Valentine’s Week

Post TTM: (series is numbered)

callum’s pov of “through the moon”’s immediate aftermath, angst, ficlet

rayla’s pov of the immediate aftermath of through the moon, angst ficlet

now the day bleeds into nightfall: Callum follows Rayla into Xadia, but before that, he makes a stop at the Silvergrove, 3.4k (#1)

but sometimes the lines get all blurry: In perhaps the cruelest stroke of fate, Claudia finds her first. // Post-TTM including spoilers, 2.7k (#2)

just wait for me to come home: Rayla runs and Callum chases her. It’s their own cycle to break. OR: the post-TTM reunion fic with a with a whole lot of angst, 16.8k (#3)

Canon Divergence

looking for a way to break in: In a world where the moral lines of Dark Magic are less evenly divided, Rayla is a Moonshadow elf in the service of the royal family of Katolis. Assigned to be Prince Callum’s bodyguard on a pilgrimage arranged by tradition, she soon finds her feelings becoming harder to deny - and their world harder to protect. co-written with @thosefiveadoraburrs. IN-PROGRESS, 73.9k+

at my worst, i worry you’ll realize you deserve better: early 20s with a dash of angst, vaguely canon divergence, ficlet

wait for me: hadestown inspired, callum makes a deal with aaravos and goes to get rayla back, ficlet

i will always love you, or anyway i will always have loved you now: married rayllum with kids, but not to each other, feat. romantic what ifs

the future is brighter than any flashback: It’s Sarai’s third birthday at the Silvergrove and, naturally, the whole family comes over to celebrate. [Gen+Moonfam+Rayllum post war oneshot] co-written by me and @thosefiveadoraburrs, 10.3k

if heaven and hell decide: Claudia convinces Soren to play the long game. OR: a post 2x03, canon divergence where Claudia and Soren travel with the trio rather than betraying them right away. co-written by me and @thosefiveadoraburrs, ongoing, 8k+

(if time is money then) i’ll spend it all for you

(if time is money then) i’ll spend it all for you: Set four years post-S3, Runaan and Rayla’s parents are de-coined. Now it’s time to adjust to how the world and their daughter has changed, including her relationship with one particular human. co-written by me and @thosefiveadoraburrs. COMPLETE, 146.4k

a typical afternoon in the silvergrove for rayllum’s kids, Rae and Juni, set post fic, ficlet

luck: Callum and Rayla meet at a DnD club. Modern AU, 3k

based off of eerna’s pirate AU, callum helps a pirate rayla get out of jail to help his brother, ficlet

the most wonderful time of the year: Modern AU. Ezran drags Callum to a “Meet Santa” even. Rayla works as a holiday helper. Christmas fluff ensues. 2.8k

#rayllum #my fic #fic #tdp #the dragon prince #arc 1 #AU #mine #masterpost #post ttm #modern AU #THERE WERE SO MANY MORE DRABBLES THAN I REMEMBERED I WAS S C R E A M I N G

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kumeko · 3 years

Text

A/N: For the @thezinearcana! I got to write Yukari and MC (and Yukari and F!MC), so I wanted to do a little study of contrasts between the two pieces.

…

Yukari had never considered herself a stickler for time. She tried her best not to be late, of course, but she also knew that life happened. More than anyone, she knew that there were always things out of your control. None of that changed the fact that she was currently staring at a blank night sky and not at multi-coloured flowers as they exploded and bloomed across the sky. The sun had set twenty minutes ago, it was a cloudless night, and she could see the stars for miles. It was the perfect set of conditions for fireworks.

And these fireworks weren’t appearing at all. The wet grass tickled her legs, causing her to wish (yet again) that she had brought a blanket to sit on. Frowning, she glanced at her phone. The screen glowed like a firefly, its light drowning out her surroundings. 9:30pm. The white digits read for a few brief seconds before disappearing back into the darkness.

She looked up at the sky once more. Still nothing but stars. “It’s 9:30,” she grumbled, turning to Minato. Her boyfriend. Even now, that thought sent a spark of joy up her spine, but it wasn’t enough to distract her from her issue. “It’s supposed to start now.”

For once, Minato had his headphones off, the blue earpads secured snugly around his neck. Somehow, it was impossible to convince him to leave them at home. Whether it was a fancy event, a date, or even class, those headphones stayed on him. Part of her was convinced they were glued to him. Leaning back, he shrugged. “Maybe they’re late.”

That was not the answer she wanted to hear. She tried not to glare at him.

“Of course they’re late,” Yukari snorted. Minato’s calm demeanor was great in Tartarus or when they were fighting monsters or even just talking about personal issues. It was far less welcome when she was impatiently waiting for the damn fireworks show to start. It was the only reason she was here, sitting in the middle of a field, and risking grass damage for her kimono. She glanced over the shoulder at the festival just meters behind them. Smokey scents and cheerful laughter carried through the air to them, reminders of the place they’d just left.

Part of her wanted to go back; they’d spent the last few hours going from booth to booth, snacking the entire time. Her right hand was slightly sticky, a feeling that didn’t go away no matter how many times she washed it. In a plastic bag next to her were an assortment of stuffed animals and children’s toys, and she wondered just how many the two of them could win before the night was over.

However, they had to see the fireworks. While Yukari wasn’t the most organized person, she had scheduled this date precisely. It was a rare night off, without any homework, monster, or other strange issues. A date, the first proper date in ages. She had a plan and she was going to follow it.

If the fireworks would actually start. Yukari glared at her phone again. 9:33 and still not a single boom. “What’s taking them so long?” she growled, daring the last three to change to four. “Don’t they have a schedule to follow?” Minato chuckled. She snapped her head to him. Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

She raised a brow. “Didn’t sound like ‘nothing’.”

“Really, it’s nothing.” Minato chuckled again and despite her best efforts, she smiled. He didn’t laugh nearly as much as he should, something she was determined to change. Changing the topic, he asked, “What else do you have in mind?”

She bit her lip, sorely tempted to check her phone. “Well…”

Minato lay down and patted the spot next him. “The view’s better this way.”

“And ruin my kimono?” she scoffed. Unlike him, she’d actually put in the effort to dress up. Though his t-shirt and jeans did look good on him. He patted the grass again invitingly. Yukari sighed. “Not like I need the view as nothing’s happening.”

She lay down anyways and knew without looking that he was smiling. It wasn’t like her kimono couldn’t be washed. However, next time she was definitely bringing a blanket. Sweet smelling wisteria lined the open area, perfectly framing the sky. He was right. The view was much better like this.

“So?” he prodded again, interlacing their fingers. His skin was warm and a tingle ran up her arm.

He had always been more content to listen than to talk. It was a balance that worked for them. Yukari glanced to her side, at his face just millimetres away, before forcing her gaze up. Lying like this, he was far too close. Her heart thundered in her chest and she wondered if he could hear it too.

“So…I…” she mumbled, trying to force her scrambled thoughts into a coherent sentence. “We’ll finish off this row—I want to hit every game booth. And win a prize from all of them.” Yukari could feel his laugh, the vibrations rippling from his hand to hers. “You can laugh now, but you’re doing half of them.”

“What are you even going to do with all those prizes?” he asked. His voice was soft, barely audible over the dozens of people sitting around them, all excitedly waiting for the show to start. There was something quiet about Minato, in his appearance, in his behaviour, in his words. Part of her was certain she could always find him in the quiet, that if they ever got separated, she just had to go to the most silent place and he’d be there.

“Donate them, I guess.” Yukari shrugged and felt the rough ground beneath her. “Maybe I’ll keep a few of the cutest ones, but I don’t really need them all. Just want the brag, you know?”

“Maybe I’ll keep one too. For the memories.”

She didn’t know why, but she blushed. It was something she’d been doing more often lately. Clearing her throat, she added, “And then we’ll go on the rides—think we’ll bump into the others there?”

“Junpei.” Minato guessed.

“Oh yeah, definitely him. Maybe we’ll even see Akihiko-senpai and Mitsuru-senpai here. They didn’t say anything, but they were totallygoing on a date.” There was a sharp intake of air and she could hear the question before he even asked. “Fuuka noticed Akihiko was getting really nervous about today and I saw Mitsuru smiling a lot and…well, just trust me, okay? It’s my woman’s intuition or something like that.”

“Or something like that,” Minato agreed. “And he asked us for help.”

“WHAT—”

Her indignant roar was cut off as the sky exploded with colour. Yukari stared unblinkingly up at the sky, eyes wide as she watched flowers bloom and small balls of light burst at their zenith. It was late, for sure, but worth it. Minato’s hand squeezed hers and she felt both grounded and like she was floating.

And if she turned her head just so, and he happened to turn his, well, everyone’s eyes were focused on the sky and not looking at them kissing.

#persona 3 #yukari takeba #minato arisato #yukari x minato #shuyuka #fanfic

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

Text

Reluctant hurt/comfort? Why yes!

Both Tim and Jon have a bad time after the Buried.

cw fever, illness, vomit mention, suicidal ideation, grief. Also as a note, the night I wrote this was a hard one, and the day after was worse and this might reflect that. I don't think this is one I can go back through and comb for more cws, so hopefully that is warning enough. Stay safe, and enjoy something that was very cathartic to write.

The day after the Buried, it doesn’t even occur to Tim that he should be hungry. He hasn’t needed to eat in so long that he simply forgets. Just downs glass after glass of water in the break room after a shower that lasts far longer than the meager supply of hot water. He can’t be fucked that Daisy and Jon still need to wash the muck off. At least Daisy has somewhere to go, Basira is hovering around, ready to ferry her out of this hell archive.

Of course, it’s his own fault that he doesn’t have a flat.

He supposes he owes Jon. Or something.

He doesn’t care.

He’s still angry. And tired and filthy and depressed. The only thing the buried did was keep him from dying. Hell of a suicide watch to be on.

Sometimes when he closed his eyes down there, he could believe it was Jon or Martin lying on him. Keeping his fingers from itching to do harm… Well, almost, anyhow.

After that, he sleeps. And sleeps.

And, well, after that. He feels like shit.

Complete shit.

When he was a teen with soup for brains, Danny got sick. A bad flu, but he couldn’t keep anything down for three days. Three days of foisting broths and lucozade on his brother with little success. Should have been taken to hospital, by all rights, but their mother didn’t really believe in the whole modern medicine thing, and well. Dad was away, so Tim couldn’t even get Danny to an adult who could help, even if he didn’t give a damn. It had been awful.

He really thought his little brother was dying. Cracked and dry lips, fever so high that he wasn’t coherent. Three days he sat vigil. Praying to a god he barely believed in.

A fever that scooped out his brother until he was praying for a breathing corpse. Giving oblations of thin liquid.

On the third day, his eyes opened and he stroked Tim’s hand, as Tim shook with exhaustion by his bedside. He had to be propped up to sip at his broth, but it was far better than trickling it down his unconscious baby brother’s throat.

Pure helplessness. Both in empathy for his brother, who was probably having a worse time than Tim, and because he was next to useless.

Three days and Tim can’t keep down food. Gave up trying. Just shivers on the cot, gazing nearly sightlessly at the ceiling, muscles too wasted to move. He doesn’t know if anyone notices that he’s gone. He hasn’t heard any word from Martin. Basira and Daisy fucked off days ago, as far as Tim can reckon. Then again, he doesn’t have so much as a working phone. He doesn’t even know if it’s been three days or thirty.

His skin feels hot and tight. Like the Buried is taking a new approach to suffocating him. A dreadful thirst clawing at him, but he doesn’t have the strength to stand and get water anymore. Barely could limp his way there before the lack of food and probable fever stole what little he had left.

Is this just some divine punishment for prodding too hard at the forces of evil in the universe?

He’d finally come to terms with the abstract and incidental nature of these things, but he can’t help the hazy imagining that he deserves this.

Failed to keep his brother safe, for all his bedside bargaining and promises made to the wind on long walks after his brother disappeared. All the broken promises betwixt his savior and himself. Bitter words corroding promises that could have been harder than diamond.

It was his fault. Couldn’t hold up his end, and he deserves this dreadful heat and the foul desert of his mouth. His body generating his own funeral pyre.

He wishes he could bring himself to care. But all he’s known since Jon betrayed him has been anger and dissent disinterest.

There is an ache at his very core.

He lies there, on the cot. Tangled in the sheets. Bone dry. Dry as parched soil. For he has no moisture to spare for sweat. His own body out of anything that could bring his temperature down.

Finding Tim isn’t easy. Jon’s body betrays him after the Buried. Months of uneasy sleep, and days of pressure on all the wrong parts of him leave him poorly put together and his joints slipping apart at the slightest provocation. He spends days on the floor of his office, in too much pain to move, too dizzy to stand, and running a fever from the pain in his squashed and shitty joints.

His own fault, but a small price to pay for Tim and Daisy.

He would have stayed there if it meant getting them back.

One less monster.

Of course the Eye doesn’t let him die. Aren’t humans supposed to die if they don’t drink water for three days?

He spends most of his time passing out when he tries to stand.

And he can’t bring himself to care. He’s so tired. Too tired.

He didn’t expect anyone to come after him. Certainly not Tim. Not after everything.

Well maybe he hoped.

(He did).

(Damn his… well it isn’t optimism. Damn his longing for someone to give a shit if he vanishes for days. He should know by now that no one is coming. No one ever does.)

Groggy and foggy and battered.

He’s tired. He needs a proper mattress for just one night, but he can’t even get off the floor. Just lays in the remnants of mud, waiting to whither like the corpse he is, one just hasn’t stopped breathing yet (again).

But something draws him upright, more or less. Clinging to the walls, bracing his stilted journey on aching limbs.

It’s probably the Eye. Probably the Eye, or maybe Jon’s piercing curiosity, control slackened by fever, peering though a hairline fracture in the door of his mind.

He all but crawls to the cot, securing a half empty water bottle from somewhere he probably should be worried about, but he arrives to find Tim burning away before him as his own vision swims dangerously.

A face in front of his. Features obscure and unreadable. He can read the worry in those eyes. Even in the half light.

Tim couldn’t hear Jon in the Buried. His hearing aids long since ran out of life. All for the best, for the singing of the coffin in the rain will haunt his dreams (not only in a spooky way) for the rest of his life.

Only knew it was Jon by Jon guiding his (Tim’s) hand with too thin and gentle and burned fingers to his (Jon’s) mouth. So Tim could read his lips by feel. An imprecise thing, but better than nothing.

Filthy fingers against dry and dusty lips. Almost like a kiss. Perhaps more intimate.

The face hovers closer. Thin and careful fingers soothing his brow.

Pressing water to his lips. Mouthing words that are lost to Tim. And even if they reached him, he knows he wouldn’t understand them.

Is this Danny before him? Would he know his own brother? After all these years? After the Stranger chewed him up and regurgitated …whatever. Is he lost as much as Sasha had been? Like she’d been?

And what good would knowing that do? He would rather keep the memories he has, doesn’t want to know the creeping uncertainties that plague him when he closes his eyes.

He supposes that the advantage of the Buried is that it keeps the mind off things that aren’t the slow process of returning stone to stone in a way that obliterates everything in between. Everything but fear.

Not Danny, but Jon, Tim discovers. Pulled awake by uneasy stomach, and panicked breath, to find Jon fluttering out of consciousness by his side.

He wants to be put out that they are flush with each other, but …but they were closer still in the choking darkness with air thick with the soil that Tim swears he can feel coating his internal organs.

He’s drifting off again when he hears Jon gasp awake, looking nearly as unwell as Tim feels.

The small figure curled at his back is not his brother. But he feels as warm and as fragile as Danny did when he sat his vigil. Counting the seconds between breaths. His heart stuttering when they lagged and caught in his raw throat in the muted hours between sunset and sunrise. The hours that Tim feared if he stopped willing the next breath to happen, they wouldn’t.

But Jon is hardly human. His pulse is jittery and uneven. Each breath just a little more strained than they should be. Likely matching Tim’s own.

Some distant part of him… the distant part that can feel Jon’s pulse when the rest of him is floating away, untethered to a body too light and empty without topsoil and rich loam to brace him into and against the earth… worries that his own furnace of a temperature is too high and will roast Jon.

Another equally distant part of him is annoyed that Jon dares to share this pyre of internal heat with him. …If this is how he goes out, he wishes he saw the stars when he still had any strength.

Tim wakes again to cool water against his tongue.

Jon is mumbling to himself fervently. And Tim can recognize that look. That fear. That determination. The will of someone breathing for someone else. Holding their life-force steady in the mind. Knowing to let it faulter is a death sentence. With wild certainty that is bounded in something beyond reason, for when you are willing another person to breathe, you are often beyond the reach of science.

And Tim wonders who Jon could possibly be breathing for, because there is no universe in the extensive multiverse that Jon would ever will the life into someone who has spewed such hateful things and led another fragile being he swore to protect to his death.

And yet…

Tim exhales deeply. Sliding into what looks to be a restful sleep for the first time in uncounted months. Watching the rise and fall of his chest look more natural and less like an afterthought, what little strength Jon had found, abandons him. And he curls himself around Tim. A small and fragile and dusty shield. And is asleep in an instant. Knowing without a doubt that Tim will sleep comfortably through the night, and if anything changes, Jon will know. Both in body and from beyond the waterlogged door in his mind.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #tim stoker #hoh tim #pots jon #eds jon #tw sucidal ideation #alex dont look #cw nausea

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romiithebirdie · 3 years

Text

Epilogue for the Lost - Chapter 3

"Never fear, for I am here!"

That was the cheerful catchphrase of the children's television icon, All Might. When anything bad happened, All Might would arrive and save the day. He always won with a bright beam worn proudly across his face, radiating pure joy not only in the show but for children all over the nation who tuned in to watch him.

But for Toshinori Yagi it was a part of his past that he'd rather move on from. Living in solitude as a wealthy retired actor with only a few friends and family members made it difficult for him to genuinely smile nowadays.

Something he could still not grasp to this day;

He had everything.

Money, fame, properties and adoring fans all around the world.

Yet, his heart felt so hollow. Like somebody had reached in and torn in from his chest, discarding it like the useless piece of flesh it was.

If you asked him, he'd be surprised if he even still had a heart under his paper-thin skin.

During the last few years of his starring role as the smiling superhero, he had been involved in a major car collision that damaged his internal organs beyond repair. After months of surgeries and other frequent visits to the hospital, he had retired due to his declining health.

His adoptive father-figure Sorahiko Torino always made it a habit to visit frequently, though Toshinori himself preferred to stay in isolation. Far, far away from the prying eyes of his stern and no-nonsense father and his constant lectures about bad habits and whatnot.

Though he knew it was deeply childish, Toshinori still felt a rebellious thrill from aggravating Sorahiko just as he had done in his youth.

While Torino had always been known for his grumpy attitude, he took up to eleven after the incident involving his closest friend, Nana Shimura. Like Sorahiko, she had worked as a high-ranking member of the Police Force and had taken a squad to raid the hideout of a dangerous wanted criminal.

The notorious A.F.O killer.

He had been given that name due to the fact that all of his victims had the three initials carved into parts of their bodies.

However, it hadn't gone as planned and the entire building went up in flames. The majority of the squad had escaped with minor injuries, but Nana inhaled far too much smoke during her attempts at fleeing to safety which caused her to fall unconscious. Several hours later, she had passed away in the ER department.

It was a massive shock to everybody. Nobody could have seen it coming.

The criminal's body was never found or recovered, the authorities eventually pegging it down to have burned into nothing during the inferno due to the fact nobody had come forward with grievous burns in any of the hospitals in Japan.

A fitting way to end the life of such a cruel and evil man. Scorched into a smudge on the ground, leaving nothing but joy to the civilians who had feared for their lives during his spree.

While many would call it a horrifying end, Toshinori called it justice.

Losing Nana was truly a tragedy and both Toshinori and Sorahiko suffered badly with mourning the kind woman's death. While Sorahiko took to his study and spent many days and nights alone, Toshinori's behaviour grew more challenging and he had started fighting at school and in public.

He wasn't a bad kid.

He just hadn't known how to deal with his own grief. It made him feel hollow inside, like his heart was devoid of anything.

Nana Shimura was like a secondary parental figure to Toshinori. She would watch movies with him, take him and Torino out for long drives in the city and countryside while always proudly wearing a smile on her face.

The television hero All Might's constant beam was a complete homage to Shimura in every way.

If only she had been around to see him in his hayday…

Would she still be proud of him now?

Knowing how far he'd fallen.

Turning to drinking and not taking care of his health properly… Every time he'd cough up the coppery taste of blood from the back of his throat, he truly felt as if the Grim Reaper himself was slowly approaching, waiting for his final breath before tearing his soul and taking his spirit to the afterlife.

No. What he'd thought about Nana...

That wasn't true.

Nana would have never judged him. Back then and even now.

She was kind-hearted and had so much empathy, especially for somebody who worked in the field that she did. It was something Toshinori truly admired about the woman, other than her fierce passion for her work.

Glancing at the IV cord that was attached to his arm, he let out a deep sigh before heaving himself from his own hospital bed and beginning to hobble out of his private room. A coffee from the café downstairs sounded pretty good right about now…

Whisky would have been better but beggars couldn't be choosers.

.-.-.-.-.

Izuku rushed through the hospital entrance, clutching the leather straps of his backpack as his crimson shoes squeaked along the polished floor. He'd been given the brief details of what had happened at his apartment by the police officers after his mother had been taken away in an ambulance.

The kind officers had then given the teen a ride to the hospital where they had accompanied Izuku with getting the name of the ward where his mother had been taken. After giving a quick bow of thanks, Izuku had shot across the car park and towards the building at lightning fast speed.

From the looks of the ward names, it seemed his mother was on one of the higher floors so Izuku decided to take the elevator up; only to almost crash into a tall, blond haired man holding a steaming paper cup who was also waiting for the elevator doors to open.

"I'm so sorry!" the boy yelped, ducking his head while the blond chuckled, fondly shaking his head at the teen. Izuku noted the IV drip and was stricken with more guilt, so much so that he ignored an unpleasant feeling wash over him while being in close range of the stranger.

You nearly knocked a patient over, you complete idiot.

Ding!

As sweet as mercy, the elevator doors opened and the two entered with Izuku allowing the older man to go in first out of respect. It was the least he could do after almost barrelling into him.

"Why thank you, young man," Toshinori smiled, taking a sip of his coffee while watching Izuku fidget around the elevator buttons. He chose to step in, "I'm going to the fifth floor, my boy."

"Ah, that's great, I'm going up to the ninth."

Izuku pressed the buttons and stepped back, feeling the weight of the floor lift underneath his feet. For a few awkward seconds, nobody said a word until a familiar, unwanted chill blew into the boy's face.

He knew it all too well.

They wanted to communicate with him again.

The tiny space of the elevator only did more to trigger an overwhelming feeling of utter claustrophobia, it felt like the silver reflective walls were closing in on him. Izuku suddenly wanted nothing more than to shrink into himself and cower away with his face covered.

Please go away.

Izuku's desperate emeralds met with Toshinori's dull blue, the two immediately connected as the teen bit back a choked gasp that he tried to fight. Foggy imagery immediately began taking over his senses as the familiar raven-haired lady held onto the blond's shoulders like she was embracing him.

No, no, no.

Izuku was seeing them once again, just like all the other times.

Usually he'd see them in short-timed wisps like the smoke of a dead candle flame. A few whispers in his ears and cold spots but nothing as humanoid as what he was seeing now.

He immediately reached for his bag and fumbled around for the zipper, shakily trying to fight against the fabric trapping his zip in the same position. Upon ripping it open, not caring whether or not he'd broken the lining, he began frantically raking through the contents inside.

Where was that damned medication?!

Various whispers combined into one ghostly chorus entered his ears, making them ring like a loud case of tinnitus as he stepped back, trying to compose himself.

"Tell him. Please. Tell him."

"Please," Izuku pleaded as he squirmed, hand darting out and snatching the blond stranger's striped pyjama sleeve. They wouldn't leave until he did what they asked, "She says she's proud. N-never think otherwise."

Toshinori's mind screeched to a complete halt as he whirled around completely on the teen holding onto him, "What?" he spluttered, not quite sure he'd heard what had just come out of the kid's mouth properly. Surely he'd misheard?

"She's proud," Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, as if speaking the words pained him. "Nana says she'll always be proud of you."

Toshinori turned his head around so fast, Izuku's own neck ached at the sight.

Finally, he spoke; "How do you know Nana?"

"I don't," Izuku wavered, glancing at the ghostly hands clutching the thin fabric covering Toshinori's shoulders. "But she said you knows you."

Knows? The older male frowned, unsure of what that even meant.

"Let me rephrase," Toshinori's grip on his IV tightened, a small wave of nausea threatening his weak body as he tried to steady himself. "How could you know something like that?"

The words that had come out of the kid's mouth were enough for him to pray for the doors to open;

"Because she's standing behind you and telling me what to say."

As if by magic, the elevator doors opened and allowed the blond to shuffle out of the small space at the fasted speed he could. In silence, Toshinori dragged his IV along with him while keeping his gaze fixed on the boy.

As the doors began to close, he finally chose to speak again suddenly finding his voice, though it was barely coherent;

"What's your name, kid?"

"Izuku," the greenette answered immediately, "Izuku Midoriya."

"Toshinori Yagi," the blond responded, just as the twin doors shut and cut off their sight of one another.

Toshinori set his cup down and covered his mouth, muffled exhales echoing down the empty corridor as he attempted to compose himself.

Did that really just happen?

.-.-.-.-.

"Mum!"

Previous issues with his unwelcome undead buddies immediately dropped the moment he saw her. The teen dropped everything and launched himself forward, sliding to a halt beside his eerily still mother. The heart monitor beeped slowly, duetting with Inko's raspy gasps for air from her oxygen mask.

"Izuku?" Inko croaked, her face ghostly pale as she shakily attempted to lift her head from the pillows supporting her. Izuku immediately grabbed her hand tightly, fearful of letting her go.

"What happened?" he stressed, trying to force down the hard lump in his throat. He couldn't cry in front of her. She needed him to be strong.

"A man," she whispered, gently giving his hand a squeeze, "red eyes. He knew about Mitsuki, said I deserved it."

"Deserved it?" Izuku repeated, dumbfounded. Deserved what? His mother had nothing to do with the Bakugou tragedy…

"He knocked me down a-and did this," she used her free hand to shakily imitate stabbing motions. Her eyes welled up and Izuku fought back his own tears at seeing his mother so broken. "Tried to start a fire in the lounge b-but couldn't, the neighbours heard the commotion and he ran away."

Inko heaved out roughly, each breath sounding painful as she shifted slightly, wincing every now and again while the monitor beeped beside her.

"I'm sorry, Izuku," she whispered, mother and son's eyes meeting before she began closing them slowly. "I'm so sorry."

"Mum?" Izuku released her hand and gave her a few gentle nudges. She moaned softly, streaks of tears lined down her cheeks as her chest slowly rose and fell.

She was alive. Injured but alive.

The teen pushed himself away and slowly made his way out of the ward, feeling like his head was filled with cotton wool. The second the doors to the ward shut behind him, he allowed himself to break down, sobbing quietly against one of the off-white walls of the long and empty hospital corridor.

Who could have done this?

His mother was the most gentle soul he had ever known, rarely raising her voice or getting angry. Why had somebody attacked her?

The mystery person was wrong; his mother didn't deserve what had happened to her.

Izuku thought back to what the police had explained to him, about the attacker. According to the report made, he had mentioned Mitsuki Bakugou. Which was not only confusing but odd too.

Then there was that weird guy with the unusual red eyes back in his neighbourhood, he was wearing a hoodie so his hair was completely concealed. His mother had mentioned red eyes hadn't she?

Izuku only knew one person with that rare eye colour and then there was another thought playing on his mind;

Who truly knew Mitsuki Bakugou besides the Midoriya Family?

Aside from…

"Kacchan?"

#my writing #epilogue for the lost #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #my hero academia fanfiction #bnha #izuku midoriya #all might #dfo #afo is hisashi midoriya #inko midoriya #dad for one

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scorpioxsith · 4 years

Text

Don’t you agree?

I was totally on my bullshit after watching Chapter 13 last night, I smoked a joint and, god damn I was feeling inspired, I wrote something, whatever my imagination was doing at 1AM.

It’s just a little something. I tidied up the grammar to coherency but i kinda like it being organic as it was, to reflect reader being not-sober (just like me baha). 🤪

Also influencing this, I’m in the UK and we’ve been in lockdown for the past month and it ain't about to end for me anytime soon, so i am pining for a night out (idk just some fun god damn) and some mando attention.

I felt like sharing it because it’s kinda fun and lighthearted and if it helps someone else escape right now then cool. This is some #realthirstyhotgirlshit, reader is flirty and a lil confident but also a lil shy because heck I can be confident (lies) but put me in front of Mando and you bet I would be total jello. (also i dont think mando is necessarily OOC in this BUT if he is idc i just want him to be my daddy lmfao)

Im living for season 2, someone give Filoni an award NOW!!

warnings: references to alcohol/drug use. its not smut but its flirty. if i carry it on it'll go “further” but I’m scared of commitment so

Drabble below the cut.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You hanged off of Greef Karga in a friendly embrace and giggled in the spice lounge. You were howling about a story he had just told you and the two of you were almost crying with laughter. You’d just come back from a very successful mission, and when he'd asked if you wanted to celebrate the win with him, you shrugged your shoulders at him with a playful smirk “alright then.”

two hours later and you were both inebriated. it was bleeding into the mid evening, the night at its peak. energy buzzed in the spice lounge with the music and fluttering ebb and flow of conversations, carrying an infectious energy into the air.

your body felt relaxed, your mind loose.

it was a little foolish, given you are in so doing letting your guard down, but you hoped if you were unlucky enough to be accosted in this state, with Greef by your side you felt a safe bet you could still take most people.

Although you didn’t particularly have much in common with him, he had a playful demeanour that made for a fun drinking partner.

Karga tapered his hysterics off into a deep chuckle, “ah, you know-”

“Karga.”

A blur of silver came into yours and Greef’s vision until it materialised before your eyes into a Mandalorian. A hot Mandalorian. You had no idea you had a thing for that but it was the first thought that sprung to your mind. You quickly looked to Greef, playing off your fluttering lashes and hoping the Mandalorian hadn’t noticed your astonishment. Or…maybe if he had, maybe it wouldn’t be totally the end of the world. Who knows.

Greef Karga also took a moment to summon a response, frozen for the barest of moments, but you saw it. He was taken aback by the Mandalorian's presence. Then, he flew into a huge bravada of an introduction.

Maker, you were both so high.

“Mando!” Greef bellows, “well I never. I never thought I’d see you in this particular establishment!”

The Mandalorian cocked his head impatiently. “I’m only here because I was told this is where I’d find you.”

His voice went straight through you. Fuck.

Greef turned to you. “Allow me to introduce my associate…”

you smiled awkwardly at this, oh god - why were you feeling shy? I mean…well actually...you do know why, don’t you?

“Good to meet you,” you said carefully - you didn’t want to spook him, so no heavy flirting yet but your tone was warm and a little sultry.

The Mandalorian’s helmet turned to you and you weren’t sure if you imagined it but you were sure you felt some sort of tension almost immediately bloom as he continued to hold your gaze. Your skin prickled in a path down your body as if his very gaze was passing over your curves and leaving a blazing fire in its wake.

Your voice lazy, a little sexy, as were your sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks. “I'm Y/n.”

“Mando,” he responds huskily. You think that will be it, but then- “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

His voice is run through a modulator in his helmet, making it hard to pin down his tone. You couldn’t tell what his angle was but something inside of you hoped he was feeling the same magnetism as you right now.

You realised he was waiting for an answer, and you hope you mask the subtle cheeky glint in your eye before you respond.

“I am new to this parsec, yes. I have been in the Guild for a couple months now but I’m often out on mission.”

“Is that right?” There’s a smoothness to his voice that makes you blush slightly, you hope its not obvious. To Greef, that is. It'll definitely be obvious to Mando’s heat vision, but you could live with that embarrassment. He continued, “I assume as you are here, your previous mission was successful.”

You nodded up at him, thinking wow he’s so tall and big and yes and he’s looking down at you too, until a hand clapped on your back and Greef came into the picture again.

“Indeed!” Greef commended as if it was the best thing in the world. “An impressive one hundred per cent success rate! She’s almost as talented as you, Mando, I like this one!”

Karga gives you a joking side wink and you can’t help but laugh - he forces it out of you when your eyes meet as if something is so hilarious but you’re not even sure what it is, mainly just the fact that he’s chatting absolute shit and you can’t take it seriously. Mando gazes at you as he waits for you both to finish your ridiculous and illogical giggling fit.

It takes longer than a minute for you both to get control of yourselves, your laughter filling the air of the spice lounge. Mando's hands went to his hips and he cocked into a stance that had you wanting to drop to your knees. That stopped your giggling.

Karga wipes another tear from his eye, you’re not sure if he’s doing it for dramatic effect and it almost sends you off the edge again.

“Forgive me, I’m feeling loose. Speaking of, I’m going to go get myself another Gin ’n’ Juice,” Karga announced playfully. “Mando? Drink, Y/n?” he asks you.

“Just a water, please,” you said sweetly. You needed it.

“Karga, I came here to talk,” Mando quipped impatiently.

“Yeah, yeah,” Karga rolled his eyes, “and if I’m gonna listen to you, I need a drink. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll be right back.”

With that he whirled away, leaving you with the Mandalorian.

You weren’t sure whether to start conversation or wait for him to ask you something, but then there was the predicament of what to say. The armour was sexy as hell, but it did make him difficult to read.

The Mandalorian was watching Greef retreat to the bar, before seeming to roll his shoulders and relax slightly, consciously, then looked down at you.

Then, he adjusted his weapon away from his body so he could take one large stride over to the now unoccupied space by you. He sat close, but still too far away. However, he relaxed into the seat a little more, the bulk of him spreading out further and inching closer to you. It was like some kind of erotic display and you couldn’t help but gaze at him in a way that betrayed your desires.

His helmet tilted at you and he chuckled knowingly. “Careful, kitten.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and a sudden warmness whooshed through your whole body. It was dizzying and immediately a hot aching began to pulse in your core. His voice danced through your tingling senses and you were enraptured.

You wanted to touch him, desperately, even just get a little closer. Encouraged by his boldness, you summoned the courage to teasingly reach out and slowly trace your fingers over his thigh. You hear a staticky breath come out of the modulator.

One of his large hands snapped down to rest over yours, except he didn't snatch your hand away. He held it in place, his hand heavy and hot over yours, pressing down on his firm thigh. Your breath hitched as movement in your peripheral barely caught his other hand coming up, too late and you were taken by a shudder when you felt his gloved fingers trail gently down the sensitive curve of your exposed neck. Your head tilted in compliance, lashes fluttering, barely in control of the longing gaze of desire you were levelling back into the visor of the helmet.

"You should be careful, cyar'ika," he murmured, "Some would take advantage of this right now."

You barely held back a whine, but you knew he was right. Shit, his righteousness only made you want him more.

He pulled back swiftly, though it was a gentle touch when his hand gripped and lifted yours off his thigh, placing it back onto your own lap. His fingers ghosted over your forearm as they retreated.

Moments later, Karga returned with more drinks you knew one single man could carry, and you gaped at him.

"Karga, I said water!" you pouted.

"I got that, too," he replied, pushing a glass filled with clear liquid towards you, condensation beading down the side.

You drank half of it immediately. You eyed the pink drink he'd also brought you back, unsure if it was wise. You weren't really one for drinking and smoking at the same time, it was risky business that.

Greef lowered himself into the seat across from Mando. "Get on with it then, before I change my mind," he said to Mando, urging him to get the business talk over with, because he knew for sure that must be the reason for this highly unexpected appearance.

You didn't miss the way the Mandalorian looked at Karga in a silent challenge, daring him to cheek him again. Karga laughed it off, bumping one of Mando's pauldrons and slid one of the drinks across the table to the Mandalorian.

Mando's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh of defeat, like he just couldn't be bothered with the hassle.

"I think the puck you gave me was intended for someone else." With that, Mando slammed the puck onto the table, startling you slightly and some of the fuller drinks jumped out of their glasses onto the table.

The puck's holo beamed up a second later, a picture of a wealthy, androgynous looking human male.

He continued, "You know I can't be going anywhere near the Inner Rim."

Karga peered at the puck. "Ah yes..." he glanced at Mando, then you, before chaotically spinning the puck across the table towards you.

"Dank ferrick!!" you cursed, barely catching the puck under your palm as you slammed your hand down to the table quickly.

Karga burst out laughing, "coincidentally it was meant for her ladyship here. Very chivalrous to bring it to its rightful owner, Mando."

The Mandalorian's head spun to pin you with an unreadable gaze. After a tense moment, he said, "Who said I was returning it?"

You blinked at him, palm suddenly burning where the puck was sitting innocently beneath it.

Karga chuckled again. "Apologies for the assumption, old friend. How can I resolve the matter?"

Mando's gaze returned to Karga, briefly releasing you. "You promised me payment for this. The only solution I can see is a partnership for this bounty."

The Mandalorian turned back to you. "Don't you agree?"

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian drabble #the mandalorian fanfic #this is a total hot mess hahaha #but i had fun #my writing #my drabbles #my fics #man i dont understand the spacing on tumblr at all im sorry

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ghostnebula · 4 years

Text

Sincere and Dignified

“Eddie's twenty-first birthday + The entire Losers' Club + Las Vegas + Being in love with your best friend = Well, exactly what you'd expect.”

[read it on Ao3]

(or here)

Eddie’s birthday is in November. Which makes him the youngest member of the Losers’ Club. Which makes him the last Loser to turn twenty-one.

Which means they go all-out to celebrate, since it’s the first time they can all (legally) celebrate together. And because they’ve kind of forgone “proper” twenty-first birthday festivities for everyone else, so no one would ever feel left out. Finally, no one needs to be left out of it.

They’ve all been living together for over three years now, they’re all getting close to graduating from college, and they all saved up for this one, because this is pretty much it. The last big, fun, tangible milestone in their young lives. The last “new” thing they’re earning the right to do (legally) after driving and voting. You bet your ass they go ham on Eddie’s birthday plans.

That’s how they end up in Vegas. Several long weeks of planning, lots of money they scraped together into jars over the last few years ready to be spent, checking and double-checking every class syllabus to make sure no one misses anything important on Friday (they have to be at their hotel in time for check-in or, between Stan and Eddie, someone will pitch a fit). Then they’re all piling into Ben’s station wagon with as little luggage as they could manage to bring for a weekend trip (the station wagon is “spacious”; it is not a fucking miracle vehicle).

Roughly ten hours later (five hours for driving, two for check-in plus cramming all their crap into the motel room and then attempting to organize it, one for figuring out and agreeing on where to even start with the partying, two more for getting ready) Eddie Kaspbrak has his first legal drink as a proper twenty-one year old, on this night of November third, and there’s no aftertaste of guilt like usual. He’s got Richie pushing shots into his hands, Mike making sure he’s eating some snacks once in a while so he doesn’t get too trashed too fast, Bev directing bartenders to make the most delicious fucking drinks he thinks he’ll ever taste in his life (Porn Stars, or something else inappropriate like that).

He has Bill, the oldest, practically under oath to stay sober (at least for tonight) so there’s one semi-coherent Loser present to keep the rest of them safe and sane until he can drag them all back to the motel.

He has a wad of cash in his pocket, a chunk of his savings from the past year, ready to blow on booze and gambling and whatever the fuck he wants, because it’s his birthday, so he’s allowed to do whatever the fuck he wants.

It’s safe, and more importantly, it’s legal, and most importantly, it’s Vegas. He never thought he’d ever have the balls to set foot in a place like this -- the kind of place his mother would demonize when he was a kid. Drinking, before he left Derry and his mom and the vice grip she had on his life, was completely out of the question, let alone getting hammered in a casino in Sin City, of all fucking places, under the care of the “evil little shits” he calls his best friends.

He more than lets loose. He lets twenty-one years of virtually non-stop anxiety unwind in one night.

When he wakes up the next morning, hung over for the first time in his life, it’s almost worth it. Bill’s the only motherfucker awake already, being that he’s the only one who doesn’t have several bottles of vodka et al. to sleep off, and he’s draped across the ratty arm chair in their ratty motel room, channel-surfing with the television volume as low as it can get. The light burns Eddie’s eyes, still, when he lifts his head and -- instead of turning, his head just kind of lolls on his shoulders until he can look at Bill properly.

He wants to ask him to end his suffering, which he can only assume he has yet to see the worst of. Suddenly he understands why aspirin exists. He wants Bill to pump him full of painkillers until he stops feeling like he’s made of electrified cotton. Instead, he says, articulately, “Guh.”

Bill turns his attention from Scooby-Doo to where Eddie is half-lying, trapped under the weight of Richie’s arm and half his chest. Richie is snoring away, glasses askew on his face, a cooling puddle of drool soaking Eddie’s shoulder. It’s gross, but he can’t really complain at this point. He’s accustomed to it by now.

“Ah, he lives.”

“Ugh,” says Eddie.

“I bet,” says Bill. “So, do you want a recap of the events of last night, or did you keep your promise and remember every life-altering decision you chose to make?”

Bill’s voice, which he’s hardly putting much effort into keeping down -- owing to the fact that all his effort is being channeled into trying not to laugh, and Eddie can’t even begin to fathom what’s so funny -- is causing the other Losers to stir. His splitting headache doesn’t want him to try to figure out what’s funny. He must have fried a metric shitload of braincells with all those Porn Stars last night, or whatever the fuck sugary booze Bev was pouring down his throat before everything went hazy.

“Life-altering?” he repeats after a few moments, as Richie’s arm finally stops crushing him. It’s the only word that really stands out to him in the jumbled mess of hangover discomfort his brain is fighting, and it should cause him anxiety but he’s more worried, right now, about drinking some water. Richie sits up beside him, yawning.

Bill hums. He looks terribly pleased with himself, which can be good or bad depending which side of the story you’re on, and Eddie’s got this sneaking suspicion he’s on the wrong side, here. “Yeah, that life-altering thing I tried to talk you two dipshits out of for longer than the actual ceremony took?”

“Ceremony?” Eddie asks, trying to feel back through his poor, poor brain to remember anything after slot machines and vibrant chatter and deceptively sweet beverages being passed to him. Richie’s head drops onto his shoulder as his arms wrap around Eddie’s waist. “Guh,” he says into the fabric of Eddie’s rumpled shirt. Habitually, Eddie reaches up to pat him consolingly on the head. Richie’s not one for mornings.

“Why don’t you take a look at your ring finger, birthday boy?” Bill says, but Eddie’s already frozen, because there was a flash when he raised his hand and he’s not entirely sure he’s believing what he’s seeing, and where the fuck did he even get the ring anyway, let alone a ring as nice as this? “Or, sorry, I should say: Mr. Tozier?”

Eddie... mostly ignores him, in favour of smacking Richie a few times on the skull to get his attention, hangovers be damned. “Richie,” he hisses, heart going a mile a minute. “The fuck did I do?”

Richie grumbles some kind of complaint, lifting his head from its safe space on Eddie’s shoulder, and when he follows Eddie’s gaze he lets out a kind of... laugh? More of a squawk, really. His left arm jerks off of Eddie’s waist lightning-quick, and then he’s holding up his own hand beside Eddie’s to show off their matching rings. “Oh my god,” he says, quiet (for Richie). A little bit of tension melts out of him. Then, “I think you mean, ‘the fuck did we do?’”

“Oh my god,” Eddie squeaks, and Bill loses his battle and dissolves into peals of laughter, remote slipping out of his hands and landing somewhere on the floor. “Bill, you were supposed to be babysitting.”

It takes a while, but Bill manages to regain his composure long enough to say, “Well forgive me, but you were a man on a mission. I distinctly remember a lot of, ‘we’re practically dating anyway’ and ‘no time like the present’ and ‘Bill, if you don’t step the fuck off I’m gonna shove this ring so far up your nostril you’ll be sneezing gold until you’re ninety.’ What was I gonna do about it?”

“Oh my god,” Eddie says again, red-faced, mortified, heart still going-going-going. They aren’t dating, though, is the problem, and yeah, he’s always had this stupid little idea in his stupid little head that they might as well be, but he’s never asked, because he wasn’t sure if he should. Wasn’t sure if it was safe. Wasn’t sure if Richie wanted something proper or to just stay very, very close friends until the grave. They weren’t dating, and now they’re married, and ohJesusMaryandJoseph why did he let himself get so drunk last night?

He doesn’t expect Richie to be resentful or anything, but he’s also an anxious mess by default, and post-drunken-haze Eddie is a different, apparently less chill person than mid-drunken-haze Eddie, because he doesn’t remember having this freakout last night.

He doesn’t think that Richie will be pissed about it, necessarily, but he’s terrified that Richie’s going to want to... undo this, somehow.

He expects regret.

He doesn’t expect Richie to slide his hand against Eddie’s so that their rings clack together, letting out a soft little, “Aw,” as he does so, or to press his scratchy, stubbly face against Eddie’s cheek to plant a kiss there, or to say, just as quiet and soft as ever, “We’re married, Eds.”

“Is that okay?” Eddie asks, heart in his throat, wondering if he somehow forced Richie into this when he wasn’t in full control of his faculties.

“More than okay,” Richie says. “Is it okay with you?”

Eddie nods dumbly, staring at their rings again, wondering what the fuck possessed them to make such a rash, life-altering decision like this, yet understanding all too well that his love for Richie is too big to contain and it has to spill out in little doses like this, or it’ll probably kill him, or make him go crazy. “Yeah,” he says finally, nodding perhaps too fast. “Yeah, Richie, it’s more than okay.”

He turns in Richie’s arms to kiss him properly, apparently not for the first time, and just the action brings a couple snippets of last night’s escapades abruptly to the surface.

“$25 Weddings,” a pink neon sign outside a squat white chapel proclaims, “Sincere and Dignified.” And below that, in smaller, baby blue lettering: “Can provide: Flowers, Rings, Witnesses, Transportation, Attire...” The list goes on. It’s a wonder Eddie is coherent enough to read it, let alone comprehend it, but he’s rounding on Richie, whose arm he’s hanging off of, with the best fucking idea already leaping from his lips.

“Ffffffuck Kaspbrak,” Eddie slurs as a reluctant Bill helps him slip on a suit jacket, fiddling with the purple clip-on bowtie Richie threw over the divider at him. “Fuck Kaspbrak, right, Rich?”

“Right,” Richie says enthusiastically -- probably too enthusiastically -- from the other side of the thin wooden divider that separates their “changing rooms.”

“Fuck that name,” Eddie decides, nodding to himself. Bill takes the bowtie out of his hands with a sigh, and Eddie lifts his chin to let Bill fasten it to his shirt, grumbling all the while about how stupid they both are. “And fuck my mom.”

“Fuck your mom!” Richie shouts. There’s a beat of relative quiet, then, “Not, like, fuck your mom, obviously. Fuck... you, maybe?” And then Bev’s raucous laughter echoes through the whole room.

Eddie can’t help laughing with her, even though Bill’s insisting he stay still “so you can at least look semi-presentable for your pictures, c’mon, Eddie, this is a big moment for me, too.”

“How are you the bridezilla, here, Bill?”

“Could you please just work with me here, I swear to-- agh!” (More laughter from Bev. Stan saying something incomprehensible but loud and boisterous. Mike trying to shush them.) “I’m just trying to make sure this is actually special since you absolute buffoons refuse to just wait and do this right.” Is Bill fucking crying?

Richie’s tongue down Eddie’s throat, over and over and over: in the chapel; in a bar; in front of the bar; just before Bill drags them away from the casino they’re trying to sneak back into and instead towards the station wagon he’s doing his best to herd the Losers to; in the station wagon; in front of the motel.

Bill prying them apart with minimal assistance from a piss-drunk Ben who insists he’s “helping,” telling them once again that they are not allowed to consummate their fucking marriage in public, and especially not allowed to do it in the motel room all seven of them have to sleep in--

He hears Bev’s little “aww” behind him somewhere as he and Richie break apart, and Stan’s grief about how fucking early it is “for this shit.” Eddie can hear something like a smile in his voice, if not just plain old amusement.

“We’re married, Rich,” Eddie repeats incredulously, and Bill is saying something about their marriage license in his wallet because neither of them can be trusted, but Eddie couldn’t care less about licenses or whatever, because Richie’s smiling down at him in that way that makes his heart feel too full. And he doesn’t mean to, but a choked noise bubbles up out of him, almost a sob, maybe a laugh. Tears burn in his eyes.

But that’s alright, because Richie’s crying already, and he wraps himself bodily around Eddie, rolling them over so he’s squishing him into the mattress while he kisses all over his face and his throat until Eddie’s squealing with laughter despite his agonizing hangover. He almost feels too good to care about it now, but he’s definitely getting some water and painkillers into his system the second the weird high he’s feeling subsides.

“Okay, okay,” says Stan, standing above them suddenly, swatting at Richie’s shoulders. “You’ve had your fun. Noisy assholes. We were too drunk for proper congratulations last night. Move over.”

All the Losers squeeze themselves onto the queen bed, somehow, and water bottles and aspirin get passed around. At some point Bill gets up to start the coffeemaker and comes back with (good fucking lord) their “wedding photos” in a crisp manila envelope. They’re just as gaudy as he expected. Leave it to Richie to find the ugliest possible outfit for his literal wedding.

Eddie gets hugs and shoulder-squeezes and cheek-kisses from everyone, over and over, and Bev actually cries for about ten full minutes while she holds him, then at least ten more while she holds Richie, and then Ben cries, and... well, they all end up crying all over each other, but it’s awash with joy. “We’re happy for you,” they keep saying, and Eddie’s happy for them, too. He didn’t expect to accidentally do things this way, but he has to be glad it happened.

“God,” he says a while later, shaking his head as he sips sugary coffee from the mug he and Richie are sharing (this room is meant for four people, max, not seven, and is equipped accordingly). He’s still examining a picture of Richie attempting to give him a piggy-back ride out of the chapel. Bill is visible in the background, eyes red and puffy, a wad of tissues clenched in his hand while Mike tries to console him. Eddie has been making fun of him for about half an hour now. “My mom would flip if I told her about this.” But the thought doesn’t scare him. He doesn’t get scared of her anymore. Not like he used to. Not when he’s so far away and he feels so safe with these six idiots who bring so much joy to his life.

Richie’s thumb rubs over the skin of his lower back where his hand has crept up Eddie’s shirt. “Good thing you don’t have to,” he says, and that familiar mantra of “You never have to see her again,” bleeds through, plain as ever.

Eddie hums. Passes the coffee back to him. “I know. But... I kinda want to. Just to watch her head explode,” he says with a shrug and a grin, earning a chorus of easy laughter from his friends. He stares at the ring on Richie’s finger as Richie throws back the rest of their coffee, something warm and familiar blooming brighter in his chest.

#reddie #my writing #oh look i actually found time in the chaos of my life to post this #a miracle #also a fic short enough to just post the whole thing on tumblr???#a second miracle #the losers club #cw alcohol #cw gambling #vegas wedding babey

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forever-rogue · 4 years

Note

Whiskey takes medical leave due to a bad injury during a mission. Either he has to hire someone to be an assistant while he recuperates, or his lady friend offers to stay over and help out.

I hope you enjoy ;)

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Jack,” you sighed at the man as he tried to climb out of the bed for the umpteenth time, rubbing a hand over your tired face. Taking care of him had to be as bad as taking care of a child, if not worse. He ignored as he sat on the edge of the bed and let out a long, heavy groan. You knew he hated this, hell you hated it too. It wasn’t like him to need help and he rarely accept any, usually preferring to help others.

But this time was different. This time he was the injured one.

“You know I can’t stand to just sit around and do nothing,” he turned to look at you with an unreadable expression in his eyes. Was it anger? Self pity? Annoyance?

“I know, Jack,” you went to his side and put your hands gently on his broad shoulders, trying to get push him back into the bed, “but right now, you need to do just that. Doctor’s orders.”

“Was he even a real doctor, though?” he asked as you rolled your eyes at him. Reluctantly he obliged and laid back against the pillows, his lips drawn into a pout. You would have laughed at his ridiculousness if you hadn’t felt so bad for him.

“Jack, don’t be a grade a dick,” you raised an eyebrow as you tied up your hair, his eyes locked onto you. Your relationship with Jack was…interesting. It had started off as a completely out of the blue one night stand for the both of you, but that had quickly blossomed into a friendship, rather than a sexual relationship. Funny, you had always supposed, how these things ended up working out.

But you were almost inseparable now, always spending time together when he wasn’t on missions. You were okay with being friends, although you wouldn’t have minded more; but you weren’t about to pressure him like that. You knew it must have killed him internally to have to ask you for help. But he figured it was either you, or some random hired help to assist, and he’d much rather have your pretty face around.

“Darlin’, you know I’m just playing around,” you shrugged your shoulders at his response before grabbing the warm mug of tea and handing it to me, “I appreciate all your help, I hope you realize that.”

“I know,” you gave him a wink before sitting down at the edge of the bed, reaching for the cup you had made yourself, “you know I’d do anything for you, Jack. Even if you’re going to be a big whiny baby. Don’t you want to get better quickly?”

“Of course-”

“Then stop trying to fight me on everything and listen to what I’m telling you, cowboy,” you tried to be as firm as possible, but instead he just laughed a little, his dark eyes crinkling in the corners, before it turned into a cough, “apparently no laughing is allowed.”

“This is going to be miserable,” he sighed and you nodded, “but at least I’ve got such a pretty little peach helping me out. Oughta have me back and better than ever in no time.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re trying to flirt with me, you old fool,” you snorted into your tea before setting it back down and reaching for his hand. You examined it closely, tracing a finger along the scratches and marks, as if willing for them to magically heal. He remained silent for a moment as he tried to read your expression.

“Is it working?” he asked after a few beats of silence as you bit your lip before meeting his eyes. It was hard to give him an answer - was it working? Yes. Should it have been working? Probably not. You were supposed to be just friends, but he always made it a little more difficult. Something about that sweet southern lilt and his damned brashness made it hard to deny your feelings for him. You gave him a small smile before patting his hand and setting back down.

“Do you want it to be?” you posed in return, trying to figure out where the two of you stood. You weren’t necessarily opposed to being more than friends, but didn’t want to push your boundaries either. But hell, the man already knew you inside out.

“Of course,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. You tried your best to hide the smile and that was threatening to break your face in half, knowing you were doing a horrible job. You tried to keep your head down, so he wouldn’t see your flushed face, but Jack was faster, putting a hand under your chin and turning your face up so you were looking at him, “if that’s okay with you. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“We fucked within hours of meeting each other,” you almost laughed, “a little flirting is definitely not going to make me uncomfortable.”

“I always have loved your boldness,” he admitted, “looks good on you. You were never like the other girls, never afraid to speak your mind.”

“Someone has to put you in your place,” you raised an eyebrow at him, putting your hand on his wrist, and pulling his hand away from your face, “but before you say anything you don’t mean, I’ll stop you here. I’m sure all the painkillers and everything else must be kicking.”

“I’m right as rain,” he insisted, “I know exactly what I’m saying.”

“Mhmm,” you tutted at him as you stood up and crossed your arms over you chest, “we’ll give it a few days. If you’re still feeling the same way once your better and off of all the painkillers, we’ll talk about it. But until then, you need to rest and listen to me.”

“Yes ma’am,” he promised, tipping an imaginary hat at you. You chuckled at him before brushing a few dark locks out of his face, “I’ll be the best patient that anyone could ever have.”

“Somehow I have my suspicious,” you knew the chances of him just going along with everything you told him to do were slim to none, “now, why don’t you tell me exactly how you got into this position. And please, don’t leave out any details. I love hearing about your little spy missions.”

“Little spy missions?!” he clutched as at his heart as gave you a dramatic look, “I’m out here trying to save the world and here you are wounding my heart so.”

“Okay, okay,” you held up your hands in surrender as you sat back down on the edge of the bed, “I’m sorry, Agent Whiskey, please tell me in full detail how you managed to get these injuries in what was no doubt a heroic manner.”

“Okay, now you’re just being a brat,” his smirk was undeniable as you just shrugged innocently.

“Isn’t that what you like?” you teased with a raised eyebrow. Even if his little confession had come from a pain killer induced stupor, you figured that you might as well play along with it. What was life without a little fun, after all?

“You’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next week and a half passed with relative ease. Jack had taken to listening to you, knowing that you were right and that if he wanted to get back into the field he should listen to you. You kept him company almost every minute of the day, and it got to the point where you were spending your nights in bed with him, tucked into his side as he dozed off, sleeping better than he had in months, despite the injuries. You liked a lot too; you just weren’t sure if you wanted to admit that to yourself or him just yet. Waking up, tangled with him in the mornings had become an intimate, almost sacred experience.

But, like all good things, your time as Jack’s pseudo-nurse had to come to an end. Unfortunately it came a lot sooner than you would have liked.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked as he found you staring out of his bedroom window and into the large expanse of his backyard. You shook your head as you were pulled out of your thoughts, finding him standing next to you, “come on, darlin’, I can practically hear the gears turning in your head. You’ve never been one for such silence.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, doing your best to avoid his eyes.

“Hmm…”

“You’re doing a lot better,” you remarked, amazed by how quickly all of his various injuries had healed. You had no doubt that whatever drugs he had gotten from the doctors at work weren’t exactly hospital standard, but somehow enhanced, “you really don’t need me for much anymore.”

“You’ve been a good helper,” he remarked, putting an arm around your shoulder and pulling you in for a side hug, “I have no doubt that such a speedy recovery would not have been possible without you.”

You gave him a soft smile as you tried your best not to get too lost in his touch, “I guess I’d better get going on home then. You don’t have a need for me anymore.”

“Don’t say it like that,” he chuckled, “I always need you, you’re my best friend, and closest confidant.”

“But you don’t need me here, to help you,” you reminded him.

“Sure I do,” he insisted, “do you remember what we talked about last week?”

Of course you did. It was burned into your mind.

“Remind me,” you said quietly as turned to face you.

“I remember saying something about flirting with you,” he said as you felt your heart start to race a little, “and wondering if you wanted me to you. And you insisted that it was all due to the painkillers.”

“And?”

“And it wasn’t,” he beamed at you, “and I’m still wondering if it’s okay to flirt with you. Because, darlin’, as much as I like being your friend, I’d like to be a little more than your friend…I don’t know how else to tell you, so I figured I’d just tell you straightforward. But, please, if I’m overstepping my boundaries at all, let me know. The last thing I want to do is to make you uncomfortable.”

“Jack…” organizing your thoughts in a coherent phrase was a lot harder than you had anticipated and you opened and closed your mouth a few times like a fish out of water.

Deciding that you weren’t going to be able to phrase anything too well, you put your hands on either side of his face before crashing your lips onto his, taking care not to aggravate any of his remaining injuries. It had didn’t long for him to reciprocate the feelings, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pulled you as close to him as possible. Only when you were desperate for some air did you pull back from him, beaming at him like he was everything you could ever want.

“I don’t think some flirting will make me uncomfortable,” you grinned at him, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time…again anyways.”

“Well, darlin’, I’ve been wanting the same thing,” he reassured, “so maybe…you could stay a while longer. There’s no reason for you not to, and I’ve got the space, and you know there are still things I could use help with, and it’s-”

“Jack, you’re rambling,” you cut him off with a quick kiss, which quieted him right up, “but yes. I’ll stay. I’d love to.”

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #jack whiskey daniels #jack whiskey daniels x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #kingsman golden circle

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

Text

Something Just Like This - CH13

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

Warnings: Fluff, NSFW

WC: 4382

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dean’s standing right in front of her apartment, didn’t really know how he got here. It’s like he was on autopilot as soon as he started driving and his subconscious led him here. He also didn’t really know why he thought it was a good idea to show up so late (or early). All he knew was that he wanted to see her. Which is really stupid — probably.

Yeah, no.

It is really stupid because she’s most definitely asleep. It’s stupid, because he can’t even bring himself to stay a night away from her, what the fuck happened with his willpower, his self control? It’s fucking stupid, because he’s fucking weak and feels things that will most likely — most definitely — ruin him.

And there he was telling his cat that he won’t do anything stupid. He chuckles to himself at his stupidity, wonders if she would think he’s weird for talking to his cat at all, while he gathers all his strengths and wills his heart to stop beating so fucking fast.

Dean knocks.

Soft. Not nearly loud enough like he usually does.

He squints his eyes close and waits. He wants for her to wake up but also he doesn’t want for her to be scared? It doesn’t make any sense, he knows.

Silence.

He wants to try again, doesn’t know if he really should.

Dean sighs and rests his forehead against the door.

That was a really fucking stupid idea.

Another sigh.

He’s trying to make a decision if he should try to knock again or leave, when the door flies open. Light spilling out into the darkened staircase.

“Dean?” Y/N whispers, her voice low, full of sleep. She’s dressed in a shirt that’s loose around her shoulder and she wears some boy short panties.

Goddammit.

It shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does.

Her hair’s up, tucked into a bun and some strands fall loose around her ears. She yawns and it makes him feel guilty for showing up. Only a little, because Jesus, he can’t stop looking at the stupidly cute thing in front of him.

“‘M sorry,” He says, keeps his voice low, and he wants to say so much more but he can’t, doesn’t know where to start, where to end. His thoughts are bumping together in his head all at once. Wants to spill out his thoughts and swallow them down at the same time.

Wordlessly, she opens the door wider for him to step in, and he’s thankful for that. Thankful that she doesn’t question his motives at all. She locks the door behind him when he’s inside.

He toes off his shoes at the door next to her pair of shoes that she probably wore today, and she waits for him, still not saying a word.

Turning around, he faces her, sees her rub at her eyes, and then she takes his hand and guides him towards her bedroom.

His heart picks up speed when it should be calming down.

It’s all because of her. He can’t catch a breath around her he once told her, and really, it’s not a word of a lie.

Y/N turns off the light in the hallway, ushers him into her bedroom and lets go of his hand. She climbs back into her bed in the darkened room and he stands there, his feet rooted to the floor as he watches her.

Moonlight shines through the crack of the blinds, granting him enough light to see her face, to see the way she’s tangled under her sheets.

What a fucking beautiful sight.

“You coming?” She asks with a tired smile, yawning once more and it’s weird how adorable he thinks she looks when she yawns.

Dean swallows, pieces his brain together enough to form something coherent. “Oh… oh, yeah.”

Zipping down his hoodie, he lets it fall to the floor before he gets rid of his sweat pants and socks, debates sleeping with a shirt on but he usually never sleeps with a shirt (just that one time when he let her sleep in his bed but that was because he didn’t want her to freak out when he was lying there only in his underwear), so he tosses it aside too, adding the shirt to the pile of clothes next to his feet.

He’s in his underwear and nothing else and he just watches her as she watches him. He’s hard too, can’t really help it, it’s the effect she has on him, it’s hard not to be hard around her. He sees her biting down on her lip, sees her shiny slick spit on them. Dean reminds himself that thinking with his downstairs brain is not really what he came here for.

“Scoot up,” He says playfully, takes a step closer and places a knee on the bed.

“Whatchu wanna? Big spoon or little spoon?”

Dean laughs, “Just turn around,”

“Big spoon it is then. And there I thought I could be your jet pack.” She grins, turning around underneath the covers and faces the other way.

“Maybe some other time, sweetheart.” He climbs in, feels the warmth surrounding his body and he moves closer, his arms hug her from behind, pulls her towards him, while he presses a kiss on the skin where her shirt slipped down her shoulder.

“Lift your head,” He whispers against her throat and when she does, he places his other arm underneath her head, lets her use it as a pillow.

Dean inhales her scent, tilts his head back to kiss the back of her neck, and then forward again, down to her shoulder. Her back melts against his chest, and he’s sure that she can feel how fast his heart is beating. Should maybe be a little ashamed of it. Ashamed, of how obvious his feelings are for her, but he can’t bring himself to care.

They lay tangled together in silence for a while. Dean’s eyes are half closed, ready to be lulled into maybe another nightmare.

“So, what is it that you do?” Y/N whispers quietly but Dean hears her bright and clear. Is a little taken aback by the question, too, because he doesn’t think she’s awake enough to ask such a heavy question. She must be thinking about it, can’t get back to sleep without knowing an answer.

He has his lips on her shoulder, “I’m not really a good man,” He starts and pecks her skin, exhaling and inhaling as he thinks about what he should tell her, and how much he should tell her, “Illegal things mostly. My people deal with it, I kinda keep it all together. It’s straight business. I run a business that happens to be illegal and I meet with others who aren’t exactly legal to get good deals and occasionally, I get my hands dirty, too.”

“Like some kind of a mobster?”

Dean noses at the side of her neck, kisses her skin once more, just because he can, “I’d say that I’m a CEO in my organization, a great businessman, too, but yeah, you could call it that.”

“Gangster boss,” She hums.

“Are you scared of me?”

He can feel her backing her body up closer to him after the question and he holds her just a little tighter, breathes against her ear.

“Nuh-uh,” She says, and maybe he’s imagining it but she pushes her ass up against his bulge.

“Nuh-uh?” He whispers, kisses her behind her ear, sucks in her earlobe, and she whimpers.

“No, you have a good heart.”

Her hand flies behind his head, and Dean’s really not imagining it. She starts to grind against his cock.

There’s a groan he tries to hide. It’s a weird sound he makes, like something’s dying in his throat. He swallows, tries to calm down.

“Sweetheart, I’m not here to fuck you. Stop trying,” He mumbles, and saying it is harder than he thought it would be. He doesn’t stop kissing down her neck and he’s a blink away from losing it himself if she keeps on going what she does.

“Why?” Y/N turns around in his grip and there it is, the fucking pout.

Goddammit.

Dean chuckles as he kisses cheek, her nose, and her pout, sucking in her bottom lip before letting it out with a small pop, “Because that’s not the only thing I want from you. I don’t want you to think it is. That’s not what this is all about. We will, and god knows how much I want to, but not tonight, okay?”

She buries her face in his chest, and Dean thinks it’s because she’s embarrassed, which is really the last thing he wants her to be.

“Hey,” He says, his hand tucks her hair behind her ear, “Look at me,”

She hesitates before she does. Her eyes are a little glassy, and he can’t really see it in the light but he can imagine that her face is flushed and she does the little cute thing where she bites down on her bottom lip. If that’s not a sight that sends his heart racing, he’d be lying.

He kisses her then. It’s sweet, tender, only tickling her a little with his tongue, his teeth scrape along her bottom lip and she’s a fucking tease because she can’t stop wriggling her hips.

“Baby, you should stop.” He says, and he trails his hand down her spine, lets it rest on her ass cheek, squeezing a little for her to stop rubbing against him, and she giggles.

Dean rolls his eyes and kisses her again, shutting her up and she grinds against him some more. Her lips are still tugged into a smile while she’s still biting that fucking bottom lip of hers but she doesn’t stop fucking grinding.

This fucking girl, seriously.

Two can play at that game.

“Are you wet again, baby?” He kisses her nose, and she nods her head. He releases the grip on her ass cheek, sneaks his hand to the front of her underwear, “Can I check?”

“Uh-huh.” She nods again with her lip between her teeth and it’s fucking killing him.

Dean’s hand finds the seam of her underwear and dibs his fingers in, trailing the pads of them down her front, letting out a shaky breath when he feels that she’s shaved bare, can’t help but wonder if she did that for him. He didn’t think she was the type to shave and honestly, he wouldn’t have cared one bit if she wasn’t because he’s sure that her pussy’s beautiful either way. He damn near groans when he reaches her pussy, parts her lips with his fingers, and damn, she’s not lying. She’s slippery wet.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re soaked,” His hands are shaking as he lets his fingers glide through her slick, “Did I do this to you?”

She’s back at burying her face in the crook of his neck, probably hiding her embarrassment. “Uh-huh,”

“Did you get yourself off today? Thinking of me?” He knows he probably shouldn’t ask. Knows that she’s a fucking good girl and probably doesn’t feel comfortable answering such a nasty question, but he can’t help it. He wants to know if she thinks about him the same way he thinks about her.

She has her face buried flat against his chest and he feels the hot air of her breath on his skin. He’s still rubbing her and she’s breathing hard. Her voice is muffled, speaking into his skin, “In the shower. You think it’s creepy that I did?”

Jesus fucking Christ.

He curses himself now because even though he wanted to know he was not really prepared for the image she plants in his head.

He chuckles lightly, “Not creepy. You’re doing things to me, too.”

Dean rubs her lazily and she wriggles some more. He feels the slick coat his fingers, and fuck, he’s hungry for a taste.

Y/N looks up to him now, her lip still between her teeth. The room’s dark but her eyes are a shade darker and then she asks a question that catches him a little off guard, “Did you ever rub one off thinking of me?”

He should have seen it coming.

“I did,” He kisses her forehead. “Exclusively.”

“How many times?”

He groans at that.

If he tells her the truth, she might think that he’s a creep. But also he decided yesterday that he’s not going to lie to her. He’s too old to keep up two different facades and since Jo already tried to kidnap her, the facade would soon crash down around him. So the only way is forward and he hopes that she’s not entirely freaked out.

He can’t help but blush a little himself. “Too many times. Since the day I met you.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s kinda creepy.” She says but she hugs him tight and kisses his throat, catches a little skin, and sucks at his pulse point and fuck, his dick twitches in interest.

“I think we’ve established that we’re both kinda creepy, sweetheart.” He flickers his finger on her clit, making her whole body jerk up and he can’t hold back a laugh.

“Shit,” She pants and moves her hips in a figure eight, tries to get more friction and he likes that. Likes how desperate she is.

Desperate for him.

He wants more of it. Wants her moaning and begging. Not to toot his own horn, but they’ll get there, he’s sure of it.

“Did Bobby bring you enough food?” He asks, averting the subject a little, but with a clear intention.

“Yeah,” He feels her warm breath on his skin when she speaks, the little hitch in her voice when he rubs her just right, “Too much food, I was in a food coma after,”

Dean flicks at her clit with his middle finger, making her yelp up and he grins, kisses the top of her head. “Good,”

“Did you eat?” She asks, her hips gyrating on his finger now, her voice trembles, “There’s still some leftovers.”

Dean moves a little, taking his hand out from her panties to look at his fingers. He can see them glistening in the dim light of the room. He also can’t help himself, licks at the pad of his middle finger, there’s a weird sound coming from his throat the moment her taste hits him. A sound he doesn’t usually hear himself make, and fuck, she’s really as sweet as he always imagined her to be.

He holds his fingers out for her, and she takes the hint — what a fucking good girl. Her fingers wrap around his wrist and she sucks two of them in while looking him dead in the eye.

His cock strains painfully in his underwear.

“‘M not hungry for food,” He grins, all bravado, and she must have sensed it because she let out a stutter of a moan that — he can’t lie — goes right where his cock is pulsing in his underpants.

“Yeah?” She answers him with that challenging tone of voice that makes him actually want to kiss her more just to shut her up, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he wrestles above her, pins her beneath him, kicks the covers to the end of the bed as he moves down her body. His hands find the hem of her shirt and push it up, revealing her chest.

“Fuck,” He mutters as he hunches above her and looks down at her tits.

His hand cups one of it, pinches her nipple between his thumb and index finger, making her arch her back and she gasps out in shock. Dean cups her tit in his palm, a handful, cutest tits he’s ever seen.

Lowering his face, he seals his lips around a nipple, sucking at it before he let his teeth nibble at the peak. Her body trembles.

“You’re sensitive,” He chuckles as he abandons the tit to attend to the other.

She didn’t say anything to that, at least it’s nothing coherent. Not that Dean expected her to say anything at all.

He kisses his way downward, shoulders himself in between her thighs and he looks up, sees her watching him, her lips between her teeth. Dean holds the gaze while he uses his big hands to spread her luscious thighs.

The big palm of his hand strokes along her upper thigh and he hooks his fingers through the seam of her panties. He watches her and when he doesn’t see resistance in her eyes, he pulls them down slowly, taking in her lower body as he strips her off the needless fabric and tosses it onto the pile of clothes on the floor. He breathes in her sweet tang which makes his head spin and he swallows hard at the sight of the feast that lays before him.

“Look at you,” He whispers, his voice dropping deeper and is trembling a little but he keeps himself in check, still. “What a pretty sight.” Dean rubs his thumb around her clit, spreads more of her wetness around. “Prettiest little pussy.”

She doesn’t say anything, just keeps biting those sweet lips and presses her thighs together, her hands fly down in a futile attempt to try to cover herself. She wants to shield him from the place where he wants to get a taste the most and he’s come this far, he can’t let that happen. She wants it, he can see that, she’s just utterly shy and he gets that, too.

“Shhh,” Dean’s voice is soft and low, “It’s okay, baby. Let me,” He lays his hand on hers, waits until she moves her hands away on her own.

“Good girl,” He praises her, and she shows him a shy smile.

He licks his lips, wishes for more light because he’d like to see more of her. Wants to see the pink of her pussy, wants to know if it really matches her cheeks when she blushes at him.

Thumbing her lips apart, he steals another glance, stores the image in his memories — thinks that he might really be a little creepy but they’ve already established that — before he dives in with his tongue, licking a broad stripe up her slit and she moans, arches her back at the first contact. Dean has to pause to grin and then he blows air against her clit, making her tremble and moan some more.

He can’t help but look up at her as he sucks at her clit, wonders if his beard is too rough against her delicate skin but she grinds down on him, pushes herself against his mouth some more as she closes her eyes and plays with her tits, rolls and twists her nipple between her fingers.

What a fucking beautiful sight.

He licks his lips, tastes the sweet tang on them, groans a little to himself before he goes in for another taste. All the while, he’s watching her, couldn’t not watch. He watches as she fists her hand in the sheets when he teeths at her sweet clit. He watches as she throws her head back when he swipes his tongue along the rim of her hole. He definitely couldn’t not watch.

“Sweetest fucking pussy I’ve ever eaten,” Dean growls, spreads kisses along her lips and thighs. “So fucking delicous. Could eat you for days,”

There’s not a word of a lie. He really could — if she would let him.

Y/N frowns a little, he thinks it’s because he has a dirty mouth and can’t keep it shut. Not with her.

He keeps his left hand on her thigh as he toys along the outside of her hole with the pad of his middle finger of his right hand. Dean looks up to meet her eyes and she nods at him.

His finger pushes in carefully before he has to stop because he needs to recollect himself. It’s tight. So fucking tight. And Dean feels another twitch of his cock just by imagining his dick instead of his finger.

“Fuck, baby.” He swears and grits his teeth a little as he pushes in further, feels the wall of her pussy hugs his finger tight. “So wet and tight,”

She looks at him all flustered and he curses that there’s not more light for him to see the pink of her cheeks. She flinches a little as he digs in deeper, but she isn’t telling him to stop so he goes on, drives further in, cautiously, until he hits the end and there’s no going forward anymore. Carefully, he slips in another finger, feels her wall fluttering and expanding to accommodate him.

“Shit,” She exclaims, closes her eyes as he curls his fingers up to search for that special button.

He’s back at licking her, sucking her, drinking from her like a starving man as he moves his fingers a little, not too much, just enough to rub against that spot that clearly drives her wild.

“Dean,”

It’s a whimper. She’s a mess above him while she tries to grind against his finger and face. Dean grins into her sweet lips.

“You’re close, ain’t that so? I can feel it, sweetheart. What do you want?” He’s breathless himself.

“Want to com—ah!”

He laughs, as the voice dies in her throat with a twist of his fingers. He can feel her walls tightening around them, if that’s even possible for her to be any tighter at all. He thinks that’s she’s so fucking tight that when he really wants to sink his cock into her, he needs to work up to it. But he’d do it gladly.

“Shit,” She bites her lips.

“Feels good?” He seals his lips around her pussy again, it’s so tiny and cute, he kind of fits it right into his mouth with room to spare and then he hums, sending vibrations throughout her body.

He’s a little shit, he knows.

“Fuuuck, Dean! Uh-huh,”

“Uh-huh? Did you reach that spot yourself today, baby?” He rubs at that spot on the inside to emphasize his words.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Nuh-uh? Then let me help you.”

He rubs and fucks her faster, sucks harder, eyes steady on her because he wants to see that. Wants to see her coming undone.

“Fu… Dean,” She fists her hand in his hair, her nails clawing at his scalp, kind of pulling him in further and she’s strong, it hurts him a little, but a good kind of hurt. Because he likes that too, can not lie about it.

He manages to look up, his lips still attached to her clit when he speaks, “Look at me baby,”

She blinks, closes her eyes for a long stretch and revels herself in the feelings before she opens them up and looks down at him.

“That’s it, good girl.” He hums and mouths at her pussy, seals his lips around her clit and sucks before he lets go again. “Come for me, sweetheart. I want you to look at me when you come. I want to see you.”

His voice is deep, has probably dropped a little more, if that’s even possible. It’s shaking a little, too, because god knows that he’s so fucking close to creaming his own goddamn underwear.

“Oh god!” Y/N closes her eyes briefly, but then she remembers that he told her to look at him and her eyes fly open, staring into his fucking soul as she shakes around his mouth and finger. The one thigh that he didn’t pin down comes up, pushing against the side of his face so hard as she vibrates.

Dean’s smile is confident afterward while she lies above him, her chest heaving, her eyes closing and opening, still riding on that high.

“It’s Dean, not god.” He grins cockily and she looks down to roll her eyes at him.

He takes out his finger, licks it clean before he laps at her pussy, cleaning her up as best as he can and yeah, he can’t get enough, that much is clear and he would dive in some more, make her come a couple more times (would love to know how many times he could make her come in one night, and yeah, he wants to find that out), if she wouldn’t have whimpered when he sucks at her clit. She’s so fucking sensitive and that’s a major turn on, too.

Honestly, at this point, Dean doesn’t think there could be anything about her that could turn him off anymore.

Climbing up her body, he fishes at the covers at the foot of the bed and brings it back up, covering both of them with it. He kisses her then, letting her taste herself off his tongue.

“Perfect.” He whispers as he comes up for air.

“What?”

“You’re fucking perfect.”

He knows that she’s blushing but he doesn’t care, kisses her once more.

Dean breaks the kiss after, maneuvers her onto her side again so he could spoon her from behind. “How are you feeling?”

“Good.” She says and adds, “Amazing.”

“That’s good.” He whispers, his mouth so close to her ear and it sends sparks through her spine.

Never once did someone ask her how she feels after.

“And now we sleep,” He places a kiss behind her ear.

Y/N looks back, probably thinks he’s out of his mind (which he might be, because it was never about him and that’s a first for him). “But you didn’t—”

Dean feels her bare ass against his rock hard and leaking cock. He’s sure that he dampened his underwear. He kisses her shoulder, her jaw, her temple. “It’s not always about me, it’s all about you. I usually have control over myself, although it’s pretty hard to have it around you sometimes.”

She doesn’t say anything but he can feel the huff of air as she cozies herself into a fetal position. He holds her, and he swears that he’s out so fast, even if his cock’s still fucking hard. It never happened before. Things happen around her, that he clearly has no control over and maybe he should be scared but weirdly, he’s quite okay with it.

CH14

#something just like this #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #mobster!dean #nathalie writes

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bakubaewritings · 4 years

Text

Lost (3)

Todoroki x reader - lost part 3

(part 1) (part 2) (part 4)

** so sorry it took a while for this part to come out, I promise part 4 wont take as long, i will try to get it up asap. **

(slight mentions of sex & panic attack)

Having spent the last days of summer break with Dabi, you two had grown much closer. You felt comfortable with him, telling each other all about your lives, families, and pasts. However, there was still one secret you kept form him, your miscarriage. Today was a bit different from your usual schedule. You were heading back to the dorms at UA today to get all your stuff organized before school started. As you left abruptly, you doubted everything was still neat. Dabi had made the decision to tag along with you since it was mostly thanks to his encouragement, you felt so much stronger. Thankfully it looked like the coast was clear; no one had decided to come early and was at the dorms. You and Dabi began to carry your boxes up to your room. It wasn't very many, just some with clothes and decorations for your room. "How many boxes do you have doll? My arms are getting tired," Dabi complained, setting down another box near your bed. You let out a giggle, "I'm sure there's only one more." You told him as you were organizing your dorm room. Dabi grumbled and disappeared behind the door. You reached into one of the open boxes and pulled out a picture frame, the photo was of you and Shoto kissing under a cherry blossom tree from your first year of dating. The two of you had joined your classmates in attending a festival. You had worn a beautiful white and red kimono that matched Shoto's hair, remembering how he blushed when he first saw you made you tear up. You set the frame down next to you on the floor. Reaching into the box once more, this time, you pulled out a sonogram picture. It was your little baby before you found out they had no heartbeat. You starred down at the picture, your hands becoming shaky, for so long you had been trying to distract yourself from mourning the loss. Still, you couldn't ignore the pain in your chest every time you looked in the mirror. Tears flowed down your cheeks, letting out shaky breaths. Every moment of your isolated depressive months came back to you in a flash. The endless nights of isolated panic and anxiety, a feeling of shame still lingered. "Doll, are you alright?" Dabi's voice pulled you out of your trance. His eyes fell to the small black and white picture in your hands. You wiped the tears from your eyes, 'I'm alright." You were never good at lying, He could see right through your facade. Dabi set the last box down and walked towards you. You moved the picture in an attempt to hide the sonogram from him, but he was too quick. Dabi's eyes went wide as he looked down at the small photo. "Is this?" His voice was quiet, so calm. But there was evident pity and sorrow. You didn't speak a word, you couldn't. It was caught, like a pit in your throat. "Y/n." He wrapped his arms around your frame. His warmth comfort made you feel something you hadn't in so long, you felt safe. You cried into his shoulder for what felt like hours, Dabi caressed you, stroked your hair gently. Finally, you began to run out of tears and stopped crying. You were silent in his warm embrace, his touch felt so soft and warm. Dabi seemed to melt away all the sorrow that had frozen your heart, well almost all of it. Turning your head, your eyes met his own narrow turquoise eyes. They were soft, filled with emotion. His hand cradled the back of your head, "is this what Endeavour been blackmailing you with?" All you could do was give him a small nod. "Does Shoto know?" You shook your head, 'no.' He hugged you even tighter. Cradled in his arms with his back against the bed, his long legs bent so that you could sit on his thighs, your own legs around his waist. Wiping your tear-stained cheeks, your faces were so close. His hot breath tingling your lips as the gap began to get smaller and smaller. "You're so beautiful, please don't cry." He cooed stroking your hair gently, his breath sent shivers your spine. Your lips moved almost on their own as they grazed his. "Y/N?" You jumped in Dabi's arms, like a teenager getting caught with a boy in her room by her parents. You moved backward, but Dabi's hand quickly took hold of your own, pulling you back towards him. With a deep red blush, you looked at the doorway to find Midoriya standing there, a faint blush on his cheeks, but tears in his eyes. "Zuzu," You couldn't help but let out a smile. As you began to stand, Dabi almost protectively tightened his grip on your hand. He didn't wasn't to let go, truth be told he was quite upset your moment had been interrupted. You turned to him, assuring him it was all right, and he let go hesitantly. You practically jumped into the green-haired boy's arms. "Hey, Zu, I missed you." You giggle, wiping the boy's tears away, your arms hugged at his waist tightly, laying your head on his shoulder. Midoriya had his arms wrapped right around you, sobs of happiness fell from his lips as he burst with joy. How he was to see you, and how worried he was, how much he had missed you. You returned with your own kind words, explaining your time away was much needed. Midoriya had become your best friend during your time at UA. In fact, he was almost like a part of your family, like a brother. "Umm, Y/n, who is that?" Midoriya was pointing to Dani, who had stood up from the floor and now leaned against the door frame. He was towering above you and Izuku. 'This guy looks pretty scary.' Midoriya screeched in his own thoughts "Oh, Zu, meet Touya Todoroki." You smiled in between the two boys, "Touya, this is my best friend, Izuku Midoriya." "Touya Todoroki, but please call me Dabi, I'm Y/n's fiancé." Dabi's voice came out in an almost possessive cold tone. It caught both you and Midoriya off guard. You had never could Dabi act like this towards you. "Fiancé?" Midoriya stuttered out confused "Dabi! You can't just come out and say that everyone's going to think I'm a whore for being engaged to my ex-boyfriend's brother." You scolded the tall, dark-haired man. Your angered tone caught him off guard, but he retained his calm composure best he could. "I'm sorry, would you prefer, hi I'm Touya, but please call me Dabi, and Y/n and I are engaged because my father set us up on an arranged marriage." He chuckled amusingly, you shook your head. Poor Midoriya was so confused, his mouth damn near the floor. "No, I would prefer you not to tell anyone we are engaged." You poked his chest roughly, your glare at him sharply. Turning over to Midoriya you sighed heavily, 'looks like the cats out of the bag, at least it's only Midoriya.' "Zu, please do not tell anyone, I'm waiting until we graduate to even make it "official." A lot of things happened during the break-." "But, I don't understand, why?" he interrupted you, his fists were balled up at his sides. His face screaming of confusion, anger, and even regret. Midoriya had been struggling a lot since you left. He developed a deep resentment for Todoroki after what had happened, and he felt awful that he couldn't help you. For much of summer break, he imagined how lonely and heartbroken you must have felt, and now when you were finally back, everything seemed more of a mess. Dabi placer a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Your answer is actually quite simple. The devil works hard, but Endeavor works harder." Midoriya's gaze fell to you, his eyes softened and filled with worry. "You aren't doing this out of your own, will are you?" His voice came out shaky, but the anger couldn't be ignored. You trusted him, you trusted Midoriya with your own life, so you told him. " Endeavor is blackmailing me. After Shoto and I broke up, I spent the summer break at my grandmother's, and then he showed up. He-" "He's a jackass." Dabi scoffed Midoriya nodded in agreement. "What is he blackmailing you with? Maybe we can talk to him; it couldn't be that serious that you should throw your whole life away to marry someone," he turned to Dabi, who had a scowl on his face. "No offense." You looked down at your feet, "it...it's.." Dabi's arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you towards his chest. Your gaze never left the floor. Your hands reached up to cup your face, you felt hot tears once again fall from your e/c eyes. Taking a deep breath, you spoke, "months ago, before Todoroki and I broke up. He started becoming distant, at first I didn't want to pry." Your words were shaky despite your attempts to be coherent. Dabi pulled you even closer, you could hear his heartbeat in your ears. "Doll it's alright you don't have to-" "I blamed myself for him being distant, so I thought. Maybe if I had sex with him, it would make him love me again, make him stay. But I got pregnant." A gasp came from Midoriya. Your gaze refused to leave the ground, but you could feel his eyes on you. "I didn't find out until a while ago, but when I found out, the baby didn't have a heartbeat. All my stress and depression after what happened, I just-" You collapsed onto the ground, breaking down hysterically. Your words were incoherent as coughs and sobs escaped your lips every time you attempted to speak. Both boys were now embracing you, and although you appreciated the love, it felt like it was becoming claustrophobic. "Please, I can't breathe." You inhaled in an attempt to fill your lungs with oxygen. "Y/n, are you alright?" Midoriya asked "I- I don't. I can't breathe." "She is having a panic attack," Dabi lifted you up into his arms. "She's cold," "We have to get her to the hospital." Midoriya cried You were still having trouble breathing, gripping Dabi's shirt so tightly your knuckles were white. Everything around you was incredibly blurry, the whole room was spinning. "Don't pass out Y/n, please." Dabi's voice was so quiet. He stuttered a little, almost like he was trying not to cry. But you couldn't, your eyelids were so heavy. Your brain felt as though it was pounding against your skull. You began to fade in and out until darkness overcame you. . . A loud, beeping sound woke you up. Opening your eyes to take in your surroundings, you were in a hospital room with an IV in your arm and monitors. Midoriya and Dabi were slumped in the chairs next to the bed. You sat up slowly, taking a deep breath. There were footsteps outside the door, along with some familiar voices. Your heart began beating quickly. In walked in some of your closest classmates, even Bakugo was there, with a scowl on his face. You were thankful that it wasn't everyone who had come. Seeing everyone at once felt like a little too much to handle for one day, especially since Todoroki and Momo weren't there. Kirishima carried with him a teddy bear, Ochacco with ballons, and Iida a bouquet of flowers. "What are you guys doing here?" You were shocked, happy, but very shocked. Kaminari practically dove towards you and snuggled up at your sides like a kitten, his arms wrapped around your waist. "We came to see if you were alright, Midoriya texted you were back." Ochaco smiled, walking towards you, to give you a hug. "Thank you guys, I missed you all so much." "We are so glad you're back and safe, Y/n." Mina chirped "Are you alright, Y/n? We haven't seen you since-" Tokoyami asked "I am, I needed a break away from everything. But I guess I wasn't fully ready to deal with everything since I ended up in the hospital." You scratched the back of your neck. "Midoriya said you had a panic attack, and your blood pressure dropped," Iida informed you. "oh," You looked over to Dabi and Midoriya, who was now waking up. Midoriya rubbed his eye gently when he noticed everyone in the room he smiled. "You guys came." "We did. We wanted to make sure our little Y/n was alright," Kaminari said, finally letting go of you and walking over towards Kirishima and Mina. Dabi stood up from the seat, taking the opportunity to stretch. Dabi toward over most of your classmates. He placed his large hand on your head, "you scared me, idiot." You looked up at him with big doe eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm alright, though." "Umm Y/n, who's your friend?" Ochaco asked curiously "Oh right guys this is T-" "Dabi, you can call me Dabi. Pleased to meet you all, Y/n has spoken highly of all of you." Your classmates began introducing themselves to Dabi, one by one. Everything seemed to be so peaceful, everyone talking like how it was before everything. That was until your stomach began growling. Everyone seemed to turn to you, a blush crept onto your cheeks in embarrassment. "Hey, you hungry, Y/n?" Midoriya asked You nodded, "yeah, actually." Kaminari decided to perk up, "Come on, guys, our Y/n is hungry. Let's go on a mission to get some food!" He cheered, causing you and everyone else to laugh. "Hey, stop yelling, idiot. We are in a hospital," Bakugo yelled angrily at Kaminari. "Bakugo, you're not helping your case by yelling yourself." Iida pointed out "You guys go on, I'll stay here with Y/n," Dabi told them. "I'll stay too." Midoriya and Ochaco jumped in "You guys don't have to, I'll be fine. Go get food for yourselves as well, and bring me something good, like (favorite food)!" You perked up thinking yummy food. "Are you sure Y/n?" Midoriya asked. You sent gave him a nod and a smile, assuring him it was alright. Dabi planted a kiss onto your forehead, "be a safe doll, don't go passing out on me again." You blushed a deep red color. Everyone else in the room was shocked as well. "you got it." Your voice came out as more of a squeal. "We'll be right back, Y/n." Kirishima waved "Don't go anywhere." Joked Mina "See ya in a bit Doll." After everyone was gone, you finally let out a shriek of embarrassment, letting your head fall back onto the pillows. Dabi was gonna get an ear full when you two were alone. There was the sound of the door opening again. You thought it was probably of your classmates who had forgotten something; to be honest, you were quiet, hoping it was Dabi. You lifted your head up from the bed to look at who had walked in, only to have your world stop. Staring back at you were a pair of tear-filled heterochromatic eyes.

#shoto todoroki #bnha todoroki #mha todoroki #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto torodoki #mha shouto #slight angst #bnha #bnha fanfiction #bnha shouto #mha #mha imagines #bnha imagines #part3 #part 4 coming soon #mha series #bnha series

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sanemis-eyelashes · 4 years

Text

Cherry Blossoms (Kyojuro Rengoku x reader)

SFW, with some pretty graphic blood and violence which happens a lot in this series lol

I’m new to the kny fic scene pls check me out and send requests!! :)

You only half-mindedly acknowledged the gash on your leg, since breaking concentration in the face of a demon was foolish. The wound reach from the base of your thigh to just above the knee, warm blood seeping out with every twist and dodge. This battle was becoming bothersome. Your slayer squad had succeeded in pin pointing the demon’s location, though it took majority of the night. A lonesome temple stood within the heart of a cherry blossom forest, where the flowers were so dense no light reached through from above. Soft petals on the ground masked your footsteps, the temple’s lights a beacon seeping through the suffocating darkness.

You remember wondering briefly why the trees grew so thickly, was it a Blood Technique, or is organic material just great fertilizer? You scrunch your nose at the thought, how long has this demon been plaguing the human race for his leftovers to affect the damn plant life.

Disgusting.

When you broke into the doors of the temple, he had his back to you. The demon was knelt on the ground, his hands restricted the head of someone, his mouth at their neck. The torso and legs of a young boy stuck out to the right, every struggling movement is weaker than the last, screams muffled by sharp nails jammed cruelly down his throat.

The way he didn’t devour the young boy’s flesh and instead kept him alive to keep the blood pumping for easy access tells you the boy is most likely a marechi, special intoxicating blood cursed from the gods. Upon hearing your entrance, the demon snapped his head towards you. The letters “Lower Moon Five” carved within his eye, a shameful slash overlapped the iris.

Great, a former lower moon, no wonder about the cherry blossoms. The amount of people he had killed is probably as high as Mt.Fuji. You steadied your breathing, sword in hand, and waited for his first movement.

And hours later, the battle was still not over. Dead squad members littered the ground, their blood stained the petals red. A former lower moon was no joke, this one especially had just consumed a marechi, he was likely as strong as a real demon moon. The pain around your body threatened to waver your concentration, but your breathing did not falter. To give up now is to waste all the precious lives that your squad members had lost, and that was unacceptable.

The demon’s attacks did not relent, no sign of tiredness, or inaccuracy. You cursed inwardly, nearly getting hit as your movements became more sluggish. You landed a safe distance away in an attempt to catch a moment’s rest. Surprisingly, the demon stops briefly. He opened his mouth, you could catch glimpses blood coating his sharp teeth.

“Why do you persist?”

He asked. You didn’t reply.

“You know you cannot beat me, your sword is chipped, you cannot cut off my head.”

You didn’t have to look at your blade to know he’s right. Cutting through his attacks had been more energy consuming with the sharp edge worn. Death had nipped your skin countless times. But you’re not dead yet.

“You should be dead.”

You heard bird wings flutter above the forest you were in, a cue for action.

“Then consider it unlucky for you that I’m not.”

A deep breath in, oxygen flowed your lungs, into your bloodstream, then you pumped all the blood into your legs, ignoring how extra blood sprouted from your wound. With smooth movements you hopped from tree to tree, your blade diligently slashed at the thick growth above as you unleashed techniques. The demon, in his confidence, didn’t stop you. You fell with a heavy thud to the ground, darkness floated across the edges of your vision and it felt like you seemed to have forgotten how to breath. However, with your flickering vision you were able to see falling. Petals, branches, leaves. They dance around the demon as they descend, you silently mused at how poetic the scene looked.

The demon seemed to enjoy this, he looked up at the downfall of pink, then caught the slivers of dawn, poking through the thinned treetops.

The slivers became cracks, then beams. Thin and weak lights of dawn, but plenty to kill a demon. The demon let out a startled grunt as his skin began to hiss, he quickly turned around in a attempt to flee, only for you to lunge once more to hack off both his legs.

In a shock he tumbled, as if in slow motion, directly into a beam of sunshine. His body disintegrated almost as soon as it came into contact with the light, until nothing was left behind.

You collapse on the ground, breathing nothing more than a hiss, your leg had gone numb, and you know that death approaches as more blood escapes from the wound. Closer, closer.

Until a flutter of a cape, a tremor that seemed to shake the Earth’s core, a man who seemed to shine as bright as the sun above.

“Hm! It seems like the battle has already ended! As a pillar I am ashamed of arriving late!”

He spotted you lying on the ground.

“Hello there! It looks like you’re still breathing! That’s a good sign! You can do a lot of things if you can still breath!”

Like living? How amusing. Smiling seems like a waste of energy though.

“Make your inhales deeper! Extend into your own body! From your muscles to your arteries to the smallest of you capillaries! To the tip of your hair! When you feel the gash, squeeze your muscles to stop the bleeding!”

You obey, but breathing hurts, as you extend further into your body, the excruciating pain in your leg returns.

“Focus more!”

Your face scrunches in pain, it’s gets harder and harder to keep your breathing even.

Suddenly his face is centimeters away, your noses almost pressed together. You would flinch in surprise if it weren’t for the seriousness in his eyes

“Focus.”

With nowhere else to look other than his flaming eyes, you furrow your brows and finally feel the trickle of blood down your thigh hinder.

“Well done! I’d say you did a splendid job! I apologize for not arriving earlier! I only heard about you five minutes ago when I finished my own mission!”

Does he not have any grip on reality? Does this guy not see how terrible you look? How did he get here in five minutes when you were in the middle of nowhere? You were too weak to move your tongue, never mind speaking coherent words. You realized this is definitely not the right timing, but seeing him in your daze, all confident smiles, burning passion in golden eyes, rays of sunlight a brilliant cape. Cherry blossoms petals swirled, some landed in his hair.

He’s awfully handsome.

“I will take you to find help now! You were strong enough to defeat that demon by yourself! Although you were not strong enough to behead him, surviving against him for that long is no small feat! When you recover, become my tsuguko!”

This time you managed a small sigh, as well as a small smile that was more a baring of teeth than a signal for happiness. You were sure that your teeth is stained red from your busted lip, you must have looked awful.

He looked down at you, and unleashed a hearty laugh. It seemed to echo around the chambers of your brain. It was loud and bright and it gave you a headache in your weakened state, but it also brought you a strange sense of comfort.

“I like the fight in you! Don’t worry, I’ll look after you from now on, I’ll teach you to set your heart on fire!”

#kny #kny imagines #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba imagines #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer imagines #demon slayer fanfic #kny fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #kny kyojuro #kyojurou x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #pillars x reader #demon slayer kyojuro #kimetsu no yaiba kyojuro

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jaceyneedsabetterusername · 4 years

Text

Doyenne ~ Part 6

Warnings: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy needs help from one of Birmingham’s most powerful underground gangs, the Hemlock Angels. Little does he know, he’s not the king of Birmingham after all.

Warnings: SMUT (kinda Dom!Tommy but not really?, unprotected sex), mentions of death and violence

Word Count: 3081

_____________________________

“We are at war," You announced to the room full of Angels, all of whom had gathered at a moment's notice. An uneasy murmur rippled over the crowd of men and women alike, all eyes on you for further explanation. This was when you hated being a leader of a group like this. It reminded you that you were part of a criminal organization, no matter how much you denied that reality to yourself. But when people are kidnapped and murdered and you can’t do anything legally about it, it reminds you that this is something that needs to be taken care of yourself. But you had to be strong, be the leader.

"Yesterday morning, Darby Sabini, the night club owner, and his men were responsible for the kidnapping of myself, Jameson Smith, and Brandon Kipper directly following their release from prison. While I was able to get out, Jameson and Brandon were brutally murdered, tied and shot in the back of the head.”

You inhaled a shaky, betraying breath, fingers gripping the bar behind you tightly as the vivid memories of their bodies clouded your thoughts, “You all know that I value transparency with all of you. So to tell you honestly, we unknowingly came into possession of some information pertaining to Sabini’s business. We had no idea that he had anything to do with anything but nonetheless they saw a threat and they acted on it. As a result, Jameson and Brandon are dead. I know this is a hard hit for us. They were well loved but unfortunately this is a horrible reality of this job. Nonetheless, what happened to them was unacceptable and will not be tolerated. We will be retaliating against Sabini. I’ll be assigning a task force to burn his most successful club, located in London, to the ground. It will be a loss of hundreds of thousands of pounds. He has no idea that we exist as a group and hopefully, it will stay that way. This will be a lowkey, covert operation and those who take part will be compensated handsomely for it. We won’t kill him but we will destroy him.”

Finally, you found the strength to begin looking people in the eye, now that everyone had accepted the loss and was intent on hearing your plan. That is, until you locked eyes with a familiar pair of icy blue orbs that were not supposed to be there. Thomas Shelby stood in the back, leaning against the carved rock wall patiently while you spoke. The only indication to him that you even knew of his presence was the slightest hitch in your breath at the contact to which he returned with a barely detectable nod of acknowledgement. What the hell is he doing here? "l will be selecting those I’d like to participate and informing you individually. Thank you all for coming."

After a nod of permission from you, the crowd dispersed and you retreated to your office in the back and pulled out a drawer from your desk, flipping through the files. Each person who worked for you had a file. Name, address, description, family memories, criminal records, and any other note you had written down (and most of them had many). You prided yourself on how well you knew everyone, whether or not they were aware of it.

But you were looking for two things in particular. First off, Jameson and Brandon’s files. You needed their addresses to inform their widows themselves of the tragedy that had unfolded. Just the thought of it made your heart wrench and when you finally found their files, you couldn’t bring yourself to open them yet. Instead, you dove into your next search-

“That was a riveting speech.” Thomas stood in the opened door to your office.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You asked, looking up from the papers sprawled across your desk.

He slowly strutted into the room, closing the door behind him, “I came to check on you. Make sure you were alright.” It took all your power to keep a steady face. Now that you’d had a day away from him to clear your thoughts, you were no longer clouded by lust or whatever it was that was affecting your judgement the other night with him.

“Well thank you very much, Mr. Shelby, but I’m quite alright. And while we’re at it, I’d like to thank you for coming to the rescue the other night but I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.” You tried to sound professional but there was a little more venom behind your words than you’d intended.

He lifted his hands ever so slightly in defense, “I never said you weren’t. But I was also able to walk right past all your men on the way in here.”

You slammed your hand on the table and stood up, “Who the hell do you think you are? A week ago you were threatening me, couldn’t stand me. A few days ago, you’re breaking me out of Sabini’s and insisting that I stay the night with you. And now, you’ve crashed a meeting to come and make sure I’m okay. Do you know who I am? Do you know what I do? I am no incompetent little girl, Thomas. I’m a fucking boss, the head of a God damn underground empire. I may not flex my power to the world like you men who feel the need to overcompensate for what you lack in your pants with public brute force but believe me when I say that I have every power to destroy Sabini or anyone else that gets in my way if I so choose.”

The threat was clear in your words that ‘anyone else’ meant Thomas and he picked up on that very clearly but he had never been one to let anyone talk to him like that and he was not about to start with you. "Look," he pointed a finger at you, his voice low and angry, "I came to help you as a fucking favor but dont worry, it won't happen again, your highness."

Your blood boiled although you knew logically you'd snapped first but who was he to act like this?! "Did you actually need something, Mr. Shelby, or did you just come to prove some point?" You sat back down and picked up a random file, not actually reading it but just trying to look like you were too busy for this stupid interraction with him. Images of all the ways you could make him disappear ran through your mind. Showing him your little business could have been a mistake, especially if he'd abuse it by sneaking into your private meetings, but it was one that would be easily remedied by an untimely, unplanned (for all legal purposes) tragedy.

Tommy took several steps towards you, until his finger tips grazed the top on your desk and thighs were flush against the wood. He looked down on you, a slight sneer that felt like he was looking down on you, something that he hadn't done since your first meeting. "You're not nearly as in control as you think you are," he told you, "Maybe in control of the situation, yes, but not of yourself. This tough, calm, cool, in control front you put up is nothing more than a facade and I call your bluff."

You watched with your voice stuck in your throat as he came around your desk and leaned down to grip the arm rests of your chair, pinning you in and leaning down almost to the point where your noses touched, "The only question is," Tommy continued, his eyebrow flickering upwards, "why are you falling apart?"

From this close, his scent- whiskey, cigarette smoke, and some unnamable (most likely expensive) cologne - was engulfing you, overwhelming your senses and making you unable to formulate a coherent sentence so you chose to not speak for a moment in favor of returning his cocky scrutinizing gaze with ocular daggers.

And then a sudden primal version of you seemed to escape the chained prison within your heart, the prison in which you stored away your vulnerability, and you leaned forward, nearly closing the gap between the two of you. "Are we gonna fuck or are you gonna just keep playing games?"

The words would have shocked you if you weren't in such a state of emotional overload after the events of the last few days but you were and the filthy words left your lips without an ounce of hesitation.

Internally, Tommy was taken aback by your sudden exclamation but he was also smirking inside like a cocky teenager. He honestly wasn't sure what he was hoping for coming in here and the uncertainty of his own emotions made him angry and uncomfortable but all he knew is that some invisible force- call it whatever you will, the universe, fate, God- pulled him to see you at that exact time and place. The meeting and speech had come as a surprise to him but he found it surprisingly easy to slip in relatively unnoticed, blending in with the background. That had further complicated his lack of plan, lack of goal. But now you were here, pinned under his arms with an angry glare and almost threatening him to fuck you. Tommy would be lying if he said he hadn't secretly hoped some version of this scenario would come to fruition.

Without another word, barely with a beat after your words, Tommy reached down with his large hands and cupped your face, pulling your face to his and smashing your lips together. The force of this kiss was powerful and ignited your entire body. You pushed yourself up off the chair, gripping his biceps as leverage to stand from the awkward angle but your fingers soon ran across the close shaved hair of his head, disappointed that there wasn't much to pull on but reveling in the softness of his short hair that contrasted the rest of his often surly personality.

One hand found a home on the back of his neck, pulling him closer into your lips, while the other gripped his black jacket tightly. His lips were slightly chapped but still soft enough to not be unpleasant and he tasted much like he smelled, the ghosts of whiskey and ash dancing on his breath.

Tommy's hands gripped your hips tightly and shuffled your body back blindly until your ass hit the table. You grappled behind you blindly, shoving papers and pencils aside to make room for your body. His palm slipped down to cup your ass and he squeezed tightly, helping you as you slid yourself to sit on the dark cherry wood desk. You finally broke away from the kiss, an absolute feral wreck. It had been so long since you'd kissed anyone, let alone had sex with anyone. Two long years to be exact of loneliness and unfulfillment. It wasn't that you needed a man but boy were they fun to have at times.

You gripped the lapel of his deep black jacket and shrugged it off his shoulders, allowing it to fall onto the wine colored rug. He only bore his white button up, tie, and suspenders and holy fuck did he wear it well.

Tommy made quick work of the top four buttons of your dress and shoved the fabric of your bra aside so he could assault your breasts. He was far from gentle as he raked his teeth over your sensitive skin before sinking them in. You gasped at the mixture of pain and pleasure, pulling his longer hair when he did. He kneaded the neglected breast firmly as he rolled the delicate bud of the other between his teeth, teasing it with his tongue between nibbles.

You pulled his mouth back up to yours by his hair and as your lips crashed together once again, you grabbed his ass and pulled him closer to your core. Tommy's breath hitched and he moaned out quietly when he bulging erection came into contact with your barely clothed core.

The plan was to tease him, make him think he was in control at first but show him who the real boss was. Your hands traveled around the front and you nimbly undid his belt buckle, wiggling his pants and underwear down just enough to reveal his large erection.

God, it had been so long since you'd been in this position you were almost scared you didn't know what you were doing but muscle memory took over and you carefully took his cock his your hand and pumped him a few times before bringing your palm up to lick a long, wet stripe along your skin, and returning to stroke him. Tommy's fingertips dug sharply into your hips and he leaned his forehead against yours, looking down at your hand pumping his base and teasing the tip with your thumb.

He was fairly large, not the largest you'd been with but he certainly looked like he could get the job done. A single finger trailed along the underside of his cock, following the large vein there. Tommy shuddered under your touch and looked up to lock eyes with you when you began to circle only the tip with your thumb.

"Fuck…." A broken moan tumbled from his lips before he gripped your wrist tightly and stopped you, his eyes dark and serious. Tommy tapped your thigh harshly and pointed at the desk, "Turn over."

Typically you didn't take commands from anyone but Tommy made you want to listen just this once, hearing a hidden promise in that thigh slap. You obeyed, turning over to lie on your stomach on the desk, your ass out and open for Tommy to see. He hiked your dress over your hips and trailed his fingers along your thighs and up to your panties, teasing your overly sensitive skin. His fingers made their way just under the waistband of your cream colored underwear but just as you thought he was going to rip them down and take you there, he snapped the straps of your garter belts against your thighs on both legs.

“Ow! Fuck you…” You yelped, reaching back to caress the skin. Thomas watched almost as if in a trance as your hand slid over the curvature of your butt and down your thighs, smoothing over the rosy mark he’d left.

“I plan on it.” He assured, reaching out to tear your underwear down your legs, the fabric pooling with the garters around your ankles. The cool air hit your core as a welcomed breeze, cooling down your overheating body.

Behind you, Tommy gripped his length and pumped himself a few times before running his tips along your folds, slowly pressing into you. “Damn, no foreplay?” You rolled your eyes sarcastically. Just like every other man you’d been with.

“Sure doesn’t seem like much of a problem.” He pointed out as he slipped easily into you, just a testament to how wet you were. Your snarky quip was replaced by a gasp as you felt your walls stretch around him. Shit, it had been so long (and, yes, in both senses).

Tommy let out a low groan and clenched his jaw tightly. You were so tight. Tighter than he’d expected. He set a pace quickly, his hips rocking into yours steadily. He wasn’t moving very fast but he managed to rub up on every spot inside of you, making your body feel like fireworks. The motion in the ocean was rocking your boat but, of course, you couldn’t let his ego get too big. “You call that fucking?” You looked over your shoulder at him, gripping the other edge of the table tightly.

What you could see of his skin was shining with a sheen of sweat and his brows furrowed in simultaneous annoyance and insecurity at your words. He reached down and shoved your top half down onto the table, keeping his palm splayed firmly across your upper back. Once he felt like you wouldn’t move, he gripped your hips tightly and pulled them back against him, using the extra movement to fuck into you harder.

“Ah- fuck…” You grunted at the sudden harsh impact sending your body into the wood. The legs of the table creaked and scraped against the rug in a hollow thud. “Tommy!” You whined out, eyes shut as he reached around your front and rubbed your clit. You were quickly falling over the edge.

There it is, Tommy smirked to himself, Tommy again.

Without warning, your body shuddered and your legs shook as your walls spasmed around him. Wave after wave of pleasure watched over you as your orgasm took you. Tommy felt your walls around him and he struggled to keep his composure and after only a few more thrusts, he too busted inside of you.

The two of you stood there, breathing heavily, for a moment before he pulled out, a mixture of his seed and your juices dripping down your thighs. Shit, you thought, you’d have to wash up now before you saw anybody now. Tommy stuffed his softening length back in his pants and redressed himself as you buttoned up your dress and readjusted your garter belts.

“So that’s it.” He threw his jacket over his shoulders.

You looked indignantly at him, “What?”

“Why you’re falling apart.” Tommy lit a cigarette and took a deep drag before gesturing with the smoking stick, “A man.”

Your mouth fell open, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You haven’t fucked in a long time, that much is obvious. But it’s because a man hurt you.” He analyzed.

You didn’t know how to respond. First, was that an insult? You haven’t fucked in a long time, that much is obvious. Second, how did he know? How was he able to read you like a book?

Tommy watched as you tried to connect the dots but took the silence as an invitation to head out, “You have sex like you haven’t been touched in years and yet you’re angry and aggressive the whole time. You’re desperate but upset about something that’s happened romantically or sexually.” Your indignant silence only proved his theory and he raised an eyebrow, “You’re not the only one who can read people..” With a final adjustment of his tie, he nodded his farewell, “I’ll be seeing you on Friday with the rest of the money.”

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Taglist:

@kiaoizz

@sweatydragoncloudknight

@hinagiku0

@stressedandbandobessed7771

#thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby imagines #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder headcanon #doyenne

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