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cavalierious-whim · 2 years

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Kamisato Ayato bails Itto out of jail because he wants to ride that dick(tm). Written for Kirashions' Collaborative Server Zine, Vol. 3.

You can download this free zine here! Be sure to check out the fic on AO3 as well.

Ayato should have been suspicious the moment Itto’s underlings paid him a visit. They look out of place at the Kamisato Estate, but, because Ayato is a gracious host, he treats them to an audience.

“Miss Shinobu,” he greets with false sweetness.

She winces. “Ah, Lord Kamisato. I—”

“Have demanded an audience, haven’t you? You’re lucky that I owed you a favor. Usually, your antics aren’t worth much to me.”

“Ah, about that,” she starts.

“It’s about Itto,” cuts in Ushi, lacking any and all manners.

Ayato overlooks his transgression, far more interested in their plight now that a certain Oni is involved. “Itto?” he asks.

“The boss is in a bit of trouble.”

This comes as no surprise, which is exactly what Ayato says. “Tell me a day when Itto isn’t in trouble.”

“Yeah, but he’s actually been thrown in jail this time. Kujo Sara was relentless with her arrest today—”

“What did he do?”

Shinobu blinks, tilting her head to the side. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Call it curiosity.” Ayato presses his fingers together and levels her with a cool look. “I assume that you came here for my help. So, explain.”

She thinks, her brow furrowing, a line creasing in the middle of it. “Public indecency,” she says slowly. “It wasn’t his fault though—he got pantsed by some little gremlin in town and Kujo Sara just happened to turn the corner at the wrong time, and—”

“And you found it appropriate to come and bother me about it?”

The idea of it though—something simmers in Ayato’s gut. Itto is a bit of an idiot but he’s a handsome idiot, and Ayato isn’t blind. Surely he’s packing. A pity that he wasn’t in town to see him because Ayato might’ve climbed Itto like a tree right there in the front square.

“Sir?” It’s Ushi who cuts in, voice tinged with uncertainty.

“Hm?”

“Er, about the bail bond?”

Ayato’s mouth curls into a devious grin which makes Shinobu squirm. “Oh, is that why you came to me? Tell me, Deputy—” He says the title sickly sweet, voice dripping in sarcasm. “—Why would I care?”

“I know you’re friends with the boss,” she deadpans. Straight to it, then.

Ayato’s face falls the barest amount. “Perhaps I underestimated you—”

“It’s nothing like that, you just aren’t very good at hiding it.” A pause, and though he can’t see past her mask, Shinobu smiles. “The boss isn’t the brightest candle around, though. He has no idea who you are.”

“Yes, well, that is the appeal of our so-called beetle fighting.” Itto is entertaining with his happy-go-lucky attitude, but really, it’s the fact that he’s too dim to realize just exactly who Ayato is. It’s endearing in a way. Itto earnestly looks forward to the little games that they play.

Ayato, on the other hand, looks forward to watching those rippling muscles as Itto yells out utterly ridiculous catchphrases.

He taps his chin, regarding Shinobu with a shrewd gaze. “So, let me summarize: Itto was caught with his pants down—literally—and now you want me to bail him out. How high is the amount?”

“Let’s just say Kujo Sara took the opportunity presented to her. She’s been hounding Itto for months and finally dragged him in.”

Very high, then, by the looks of it. Ayato sighs dramatically, making it look as though it’s a massive ordeal. (It is not; Ayato will hardly miss the money, and he’s fairly certain that he can work this ordeal in his favor). He waits long enough for Shinobu to squirm before saying, “Alright, I’ll bite—but on one condition.”

“Oh?”

“I go alone to get him.” Shinobu’s gaze narrows, but before she can reply, Ayato raises a hand. “Nothing unsavory, I assure you. He’ll be in good hands. It’s only easier if I’m the one to handle my money, no? Underlings with large sacks of Mora will draw suspicion, but I can pay people to turn a blind eye.”

She knows that he has a point, judging from the way the top half of her face wrinkles. “It’s not as though I have any other choice.”

Shinobu doesn’t even try to shake his hand, which Ayato will remember fondly in the future.

“So, let me get this straight.” The prison guard pauses, scratching his cheek. “You’re posting the bond for Arataki Itto—but you want some time alone with him?”

“A half-hour would suffice,” says Ayato, his hands hiding deep in his sleeves. It’s an estimation built entirely on uncouth, mildly lustful observations, not that the guardsman needs to know that.

“My Lord—”

“I do believe that my generous tip was meant for you to not ask questions of me.”

The guard’s mouth snaps shut and he stiffens. He still scratches at his cheek, thinking. “Er, Kujo Sara—”

“I outrank Miss Kujo Sara as the Lord of the Kamisato Estate, don’t I?” Technically. It’s a thin claim at best but Kujo Sara might be willing to concede to it if he gets caught.

“A half-hour, then,” says the guard, sagging. “After that, I’m not responsible.”

Ayato nods in the affirmative. “Now—which cell?”

Itto sits in his prison cell pathetically, leaning against the wall.

He perks up when the guard lets Ayato slip inside. They share a glance, the guard's head dipping before shutting the cell door and turning around the corner.

“Oh, thank Celestia. Bro, you have no idea—”

“Strip,” says Ayato plainly.

Itto stops dead, his mouth parted wide. And then: “Er, why?”

“I’ve paid for your bail, so now, I’m reaping my reward. Now, take your clothes off.”

Ayato sees the cogs they try and fail to turn in Itto’s head. And it isn’t that Itto’s dumb, he’s just got his head in the clouds. Doesn’t think much past the moment. Adorable, really. Especially the way that he scrambles to his feet eagerly, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers.

“A new game?”

“Here? In a prison? Itto, what is two and two together?”

The response is delayed, but it’s a firm-sounding, “Four.”

“And what kinds of games are played in prisons?”

“Well, I was always told to not bend over in the showers—”

What an absurd thing to say as he drops his pants. Ayato stands there, watching with hungry eyes as Itto’s trousers fall to the ground. And then he has a thought when Itto begins to pull at his leather harness.

“No, keep that on. But everything else—off with it.”

“So, what’re the rules?” Itto means it as a joke but Ayato can’t help but play along. That’s the thing about his cheerful idealism—it rubs off.

Ayato crosses the room, pressing a hand against Itto’s sternum. His gaze is planted firmly on Itto’s face, no matter how much he wants to look down. Not yet. All in due time. Ease him into it. Not that Itto won’t do as he says; he’s always been a good boy when it comes down to it.

“The game is simple, I suppose. I am bailing you out and therefore, you owe me something.”

“Oh?” Itto raises a brow, his eyes dropping to where Ayato’s hand rests.

“And the rules are easy to follow. First, we remove this.” Ayato slips Itto’s jacket off, tossing it to the ground. All that’s left before him are gleaming, tan muscles that bulge with the subtlest of movements. Ayato’s mouth goes dry as he just thinks about it, soaking up the sight that typically haunts his dreams instead.

“And?”

“You fuck me.”

Itto rears back, surprised. He Watches Ayato with his mouth hanging open, flapping like a koi fish. “I—er—”

“Do you not want to?”

“No!” A pause. “No, I mean, not that I don’t want to—”

Ayato’s gaze falls half-lidded at that. “Oh?” he purrs, his mouth curving into a smirk. “So you want to?”

Itto’s throat bobs as he swallows thickly. When Ayato presses against his sternum, he goes, falling back to the ground. He groans softly when Ayato settles over his thighs, dragging his nails down the meat of Itto’s chest, teasing.

“Thought about it, have you?”

He must have. Ayato finally looks, taking in the sight of Itto’s half-hard cock thickening between his thighs. “Markings, even here,” he murmurs, dragging a finger down Itto’s length. “And what’s this?” A glinting metal piercing speared right through the slit.

“Bro.” Itto squeaks it, his voice raspy and awkward. But not unwanting. No, no, it’s clear as day that he’s thought about this too.

“We don’t have long,” says Ayato. “I only paid the guard off for a half-hour, so we’ll have to make this quick.”

Ayato reaches up and latches Itto’s wrist together, linking them to the bars. “Only temporarily,” he says, eyes raking over Itto’s now prone form. “Part of your punishment is that you don’t get to touch.”

“I didn’t—”

“Oh, I heard exactly what happened.” Ayato smiles at him, amused. “You got caught with your pants down.”

“My dude—Oh, fuck.”

Ayato doesn’t think he’s ever heard Itto curse before. He delights in Itto’s pinched expression and the pink blush that’s spread from his cheeks to his chest. He looks pained, almost. Must be because Ayato’s wrapped a hand around his dick.

“Handsome,” he says, testing the weight and girth of the cock in his hand. “Exactly what I imagined—though, it’s hard to miss when you traipse around half-dressed.”

Itto whines so prettily when Ayato jerks him once, and then twice, his hand too dry. But he’s desperate enough to see out the friction nonetheless.

“Here is how this will go,” says Ayato, letting go of him. Itto whines when he pulls back and off, divesting himself of his clothes. “I’m going to ride you until I’m satisfied, yes? Whether or not you finish is up to you. As I said, I’ve paid for so little time and we can easily continue this elsewhere, later on.”

“No, I’m going to—You know what? You’re on!”

Ayato regards him with interest. “Is that a challenge?” Because if it is, he’s going to win. He’s an expert at taking dick. “Oh, Itto, you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into,” he says once naked and settling over Itto once more.

Itto looks. He stares at him, eyes raking from top to bottom. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. And then again and again—then Itto moans.

Ayato’s grasping his cock again, his long fingers barely reaching around the width of him. “Amazing,” he says. “What a wonderful specimen. I think that we’re going to have fun.”

“Twenty minutes,” says Itto.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s been about ten minutes since you stepped in here and you’ve spent most of it yapping.”

It seems that Itto has a better attention span than anticipated. “If you can still speak then I’m doing a poor job, aren’t I?”

Itto has the gall to shoot him a cocky look. “Aren’t you the one who said it’s up to me to come? Do your worst.”

What a goad. Ayato reaches out and flicks his nipple harshly. Itto jerks underneath him, hissing at the harsh sting. “You asked for it,” he says to him, pinching it next, rolling the stiff nub tightly between a clenched forefinger and thumb.

“Oh, that’s—”

Ayato jerks his cock, thumb over the tip. He plays with the piercing, observing it, marveling at its thickness, and the way that precome bubbles up around it. “So wet,” mocks Ayato, spreading the thick slick around. His palm drags over the length, coaxing Itto to full hardness until it stands on its own, more than impressive in its initial presentation.

He is thankful he came prepared. And he says that to Itto as he rolls his hips against him. He slots their dicks together, the size of his own admirable, but pale in comparison.

“P-prepared?”

Ayato scoffs. “Of course.” He pauses them, tilting his head. “What, are you disappointed? Would you have rather opened me up yourself? I enjoyed doing it earlier, pressing my fingers in deep. There’s this toy—”

“I would’ve wanted to watch.”

Ayato falls silent, not expecting Itto to play along. “Go on.”

“Just that,” says Itto, not remotely embarrassed. “I’ve had dreams. You’re handsome. You’d look good with your fingers knuckle deep.”

“I do believe that I’ve underestimated you, Itto. Who knew you had such a dirty mouth?” Ayato flicks Itto’s nipple again which wins him another hiss.

“I’ve got eyes,” mutters Itto, as though it should be obvious. And then: “Losing time here, bro. Better get on with it.”

Ayato readjusts himself until the tip of Itto’s dick is kissing his loose hole, still slick from his earlier play. Definitely the right decision, considering the haste he has to take. Itto is large enough that he knows it’ll take some effort. And sure enough, the moment he sinks down, the breath from his chest is punched out right away.

“Oh,” he whispers, his breath hitched. “Oh, you’re—” Big, so, so big. Ayato uses gravity to help him fall, rolling his hips gently as he fucks lower and lower into Itto’s thick cock.

“Shit,” moans Itto. He wriggles against his binding. His legs tense, trying to hold back from bucking up into Ayato. “Celestia, you’re—”

“I’m what?” Itto whines, a pitiful sound. He already looks gone, eyes hazy with want. “Go on,” continues Ayato, “use your words.”

“Tight. Too tight. Shit, hot too. Tight and hot, and slick—Gods, I really would've liked to watch you—” He chokes off a moan when Ayato bottoms out.

Itto’s dick is so thick in his ass that Ayato swears that he can feel it in his throat. There must be a bulge and he presses a hand to his belly as though he might feel one. Itto whimpers as he watches. He thrusts his hips ever so slightly, just barely grinding.

Ayato tugs his nipple cruelly. “Did I say that you could move? This round isn’t for you, it’s for me. Consider it services rendered. Yes, I rather like that sound of that—”

“My Lord, you’ve got about ten minutes.” The guard yells it from the hallway.

Ayato wastes no time, pulling his hips up and slamming them right down. Itto howls and Ayato manages to press a hand to his mouth, cutting it off. “None of that,” he hisses, voice pitched low. “I’ve managed to get some time with you but certainly not for uncouth reasons.”

Itto’s breath is warm against his hand but he doesn’t kick back.

“Be a good boy for me?” And oh, that does something. Itto’s moans against his palm and his dick twitches in Ayato’s ass.

It goes well. They move fantastically together once they find a rhythm. Ayato rides him relentlessly like the push and pull of a tide, and Itto doesn’t just lay back and take it, he puts in a hard effort too. Despite his hands being bound high above his head, he moves, fucking up into Ayato’s tight heat, his cock carving its way into his guts.

Fast and dirty. Satisfying enough—but not wholly. “We’ll have to do this again,” says Ayato, sweat beading along his brow. “On a night where I can truly ride you until you’re bone-dry and useless.”

“Bro, that’s—” Itto moans, biting at his lip, cutting off whatever howl that threatens to loose.

The pleasure in Ayato’s gut is like a flash fire; it spreads quickly, easily, and all through him. He fucks himself against Itto’s cock, taking it deep, making sure that the tip drags across his prostate with every stroke. “Gods.” He moans too, a more dignified sound than Itto’s intense, guttural nonsense. “You are good, aren’t you? In more ways than one. Are you going to come?”

“Yes, I’m—oh, shit, you feel good. Ayato.”

Itto does not call him Ayato. He calls him Dude, Bro, or even Compadre at times. But never his first name, which is the first indicator that he’s about to tip right over.

Ayato grabs his own cock, stroking it furiously. He rides Itto faster, the slick rise and fall of his hips slapping. Itto comes first, driving into his ass, spilling deep and all over his insides. And Ayato fucks him through it, forcing him to go taut with overstimulation.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck—Bro, I’m—”

Ayato tumbles over too, squirting come all over Itto’s stomach, abs painted white with his thick, sticky spend. Itto groans, head falling back as he melts against the hard ground of the cell.

It is over as soon as it begins. “Hurry,” says Ayato, pulling off of him, reaching up to undo his bindings. Uncaring of the mess that dribbles out of his ass and down his thighs—though he catches Itto’s stare. “Later,” he hisses.

Itto blinks, turning back to Ayato. “Later?”

“Don’t you want a second roung? You always challenge me to a rematch.” Celestia above, he sounds ridiculous. But Ayato is dick-starved enough that he’s willing to make an utter fool of himself to appeal to this moron.

They trip into their clothing, righting them enough to look halfway decent. The guard knows, though. He’s pink in the face as he leads them back to the foyer, shoving a bag of Itto’s belongings into his hands. “I—yes, well, good day.”

Ayato tugs him through the front door before Kujo Sara can turn the corner and demand that they stay.

And Itto goes, he tumbles after him, eager for the second round of debauched filth that he’s been promised. Ayato thinks that perhaps they might have to consider a new arrangement when it comes to their games. He might be clever enough to come up with a strip version of beetle fighting. Maybe.

It isn’t until they’re nearly back to the estate that something dons on Itto. “Wait,” he says, pulling Ayato to a halt. “How’d you pay for my bail?”

Right. For all his goofish charm, Itto isn’t the most brilliant. Ayato reaches out and pats his cheek fondly. “You are quite lucky that you have a wonderful cock.”

“Uh, thanks? I mean, like bro-to-bro, right? ‘Cause yours isn’t half bad. It’s cute—”

“That’s enough of that, Itto.”

#genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin fanfic #genshin smut #Itto/gorou #ittogorou

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wonlouvre · 3 years

Note

hello!! can i request a fwb!wonwoo + angst to fluff 🥺 thank u

start | j. ww.

pairing: race car driver wonwoo x g.n. reader genre: fluff, angst if you squint, also 18+ (some sexual themes, mentions) warnings: couple’s arrangement is FWB, but nothing explicit, accident, injury mentions of sex (please tell me if i missed anything!) word count: 1.5k+ (i have no regrets)

💌: hi anon! thank you so much for requesting <3 this is not as explicitly fwb and angsty and i’m so sorry :((( i hope you still like it tho! i actually thought of developing this into a oneshot someday-ish. who knows? tell me what you think!

It’s no secret that you frequent Jeon Wonwoo’s office a lot. It’s also no secret that something bloomed the first time you introduced yourself to him after he won the race hosted by his very own racing track. You’re interested in cars as much as you are interested in the youngest owner of the most coveted luxurious cars in the world. You own yourself a few. Some you have purchased from him and some he has given himself for free in exchange for the special arrangement that the two of you have.

The attraction was quick but it took quite a while for the two of you to give in. Being professional business partners and all. But along the way, the two of you reached an agreement. An agreement that you thought would only last for about two months tops and yet here you are, eight months later, still running to his arms. You know Wonwoo is no different.

“Hi Woozi. How’s my favorite racer doing?” You greet Wonwoo’s friend lounging outside the closed doors of the office you’re supposed to be visiting.

“If you’re here to visit your man, there’s a line,” Woozi deadpans as he boringly flips through the magazine with his fingers. “I’m supposed to be practicing with Wonwoo right now but he seems to be caught with something, someone that isn’t you.”

You didn’t fail to catch Woozi’s disdain and that only makes you giggle. You sit on the opposite side of the center table, placing your Prada purse beside your hip as you cross your legs. You feign ignorance on his “your man” remark but the term “someone” fuels your jealousy. Of course, you will never admit that to him.

“It’s an admirer,” you say and grab yourself a magazine to skim through. Might as well entertain yourself if you’re indeed going to wait. It’s unbelievable. You keep in mind to avenge your wasted time in the bedroom with Wonwoo. “Been doing a lot of visiting on behalf of they’re old father who has no single interest in race cars.”

Woozi frowns at the information. “How do you know that?”

You look up from the latest issue of racer weekly and blink up at him before pursing your lips. “I saw their car parked in my supposed parking spot. Plus, they send an awful lot of gifts that Wonwoo just gives away to his staff. Gifts are a normal exchange between potential business partners, but it’s not when said business partner always leaves love notes.”

“And, you’re not bothered at all?” Woozi finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask.

You smirk and return the magazine to the table. Then, you pick your bag up as you stand to your feet. “Of course I am bothered. I could be with Wonwoo right now, at this moment, but they’re holding me up and I don’t like that.”

You fix your hair and skirt before strutting to the huge doors and opening them without knocking. Wonwoo is not surprised to see you but you can tell he’s relieved with the way he’s smiling at you. On the other hand, his visitor doesn’t appreciate you barging in like that. They’re resentment is pretty obvious with how they’re glaring at you.

But it doesn’t matter. They don’t matter as you walk to the man you’re here for.

“Woozi is waiting for you,” you cheekily say before rounding straight to his executive table to give his cheek a smooch, your red lipstick leaving a mark. You gingerly wipe it with your thumb while he just keeps smiling, looking up to you. “I wanted to stop by to invite you for lunch, but it looks like you’re busy.”

Wonwoo shakes his head and holds your hip and stands up from his chair. “No, I’m good. They’re just about to leave.”

The other person in the room panics. “But I wasn’t done explaining—.”

“My team will review your proposal and we’ll get back to you if they deem it beneficial for our company,” Wonwoo bids farewell and holds your hand to his. “My assistant will escort you outside. Thank you for your time.”

Wonwoo didn’t give them the chance to say anything else because he’s already leading you outside to meet Woozi who’s been waiting for him. You also didn’t have the chance to say your goodbyes to them because the toned arm around your waist and deep voice against your ear is enough to distract you.

“They were cute,” you make a point to mention the culprit behind your stolen parking spot when you finally get the chance to sit down at Wonwoo’s favorite restaurant. “I think this is the third time I saw them at your office this week.”

Wonwoo gives your orders to the waiter without the need to ask what you fancy because he already knows. When the order is set, he returns his attention to you and flashes his signature smile that makes your legs grow weak. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“No, no,” you’re quick to answer before sipping on the lukewarm water you requested. “Just annoyed that during the three times I saw them, they have also taken it upon themselves to just park at my spot.”

Wonwoo chuckles and opens his palms on the table, seeking your hand to hold halfway. You roll your eyes, but you don’t hesitate to grant him access to your ring clad hand (the ring was a gift from him and you haven’t taken it off ever since you received it). His phone suddenly dings! and you know it’s Woozi grilling him for not keeping to his end and practicing with him.

You let Wonwoo cater to his friend’s needs all the while letting his other hand caress yours, his fingers digging on the silver band once in a while. Your heart and mind can’t help but get confused about where you stand with him because of gestures like this.

At some point, you’re supposed to end this, right? Whatever this may be. But the real question is, do you want to end this with Wonwoo? This happiness, this warmth, this comfort, this lov—.

You step on the brakes before you could continue and blink away the daze you were stuck on for a moment. Wonwoo must have noticed you flinch because he drops his phone back on the table, eyes full of concern directed towards you.

“Are you okay?”

You force a smile. “Never better.”

It’s not less than three days later when you receive a call from Wonwoo’s assistant, voice frantically shaking as they inform you about what happened.

To your horror, Wonwoo got injured in an accident while performing practice laps with his friends.

You own race cars but you never thought you would be driving one beyond your usual speed limit because the stupid boy you’re in love with got in an accident. There, you admit it. You’re in love with Jeon Wonwoo not only because of his stroke game, abs, broad shoulders and deep voice among many perfect features of his.

You’re in love with him because he makes today's you look forward to tomorrow’s him.

You try to calm your heart that’s been beating so fast because of the adrenaline and anger that’s coursing through your blood right now. Wonwoo better make sure he’s not badly injured, otherwise you would throw your hands at him yourself.

A cut on his forehead, lips and nose.

And a dislocated shoulder as cherry on top.

You couldn’t mask your disappointment when you saw Wonwoo getting checked on for the last time by the doctor in charge. You grimace when you hear him groan as they place the sling on him. What do you even do with this boy?

When everyone else is gone and it’s only the two of you left, your disappointment and anger vanishes the moment he calls you.

“Hi baby.”

Your tense shoulder loosens and your legs quickly run towards him (carefully).

“I hope you know that I hate you right now,” you say without meaning them anyway.

Wonwoo has the energy to giggle and tug at your hand to sit beside him. He leans his head near your chest, a habit he’s been doing whenever he wants you to coddle him. Carefully and gently, you hold his head and caress his greasy locks. You’re sure it’s going to be a struggle to help him shower in the coming days.

“Did you see your parking spot?” Wonwoo suddenly mumbles.

“Why are you bringing that up now?” You frown.

“I put your plate number on the wall so that no one can take the spot.”

“Wonwoo!”

“Baby,” he whines. “Not so loud.”

“Why would you do that?” You hiss.

“Because I love you?” Wonwoo answers, his soft kitten eyes gazing up at you.

You gulp and look away, trying not to smile at what he just said.

“I was supposed to make a romantic confession over the weekend,” Wonwoo says, making you look back at him. “We’re gonna have to postpone, I guess.”

“You’re an idiot,” you whisper before pressing your lips against his smiling ones. “But, I love you too.”

“Does that mean you’ll be staying over my place until this shoulder is back to normal?” Wonwoo pleads, lips moving against yours.

Your eyes glimmer with mischief. “Yes and that also means no sex until then.”

“Wait, what? No!”

There’s still a lot of talking to do and a lot of changes to happen. But for now, you’re just glad that today’s Wonwoo is alright.

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miekasa · 4 years

Text

call me (levi ackerman)

↯ pairing: levi ackerman x (fem) reader

↯ genres and warnings: fluff, humor? you can be the judge of that i suppose, levi is quiet and often practical, but you cannot convince that there’s not a small part of him that doesn’t enjoy having shit to hold over people lol

↯ notes: this is also cross-posted from another blog, but i tweaked it a bit to fit levi and rewrote/edited parts i wish the world had never seen </3 also i’m reposting bc i was an idiot who accidentally deleted it on mobile rip

↯ word count: 1.3k

↯ summary: drunk you is not amused by the man who keeps trying to coerce you into his apartment; even if that man is your boyfriend and that apartment is his apartment.

“Alright mister, I’m trusting you for now because you’re Erwinnie’s friend, and Erwinnie is my best friend,” you hiccup, wagging your pointer finger as threateningly as you can in your current state, “So if he says you’re a good person, you’re probably a good person. Or good enough.”

Levi holds back a knowing smirk, and loops his arm through yours to steady your balance. He doesn’t know how or why Erwin let you get this drunk, but he’s at least glad the blonde was sober enough to call him to pick you up instead of letting you get in a cab; or worse, attempt to take the bus.

“I’m so very glad you trust me,” he says, voice flat as your wrap your other arm around his bicep. You hum back, a little spacey and like you maybe didn’t hear what he said.

You’re honestly pretty cute when you’re drunk. It’s not something he gets to see often, as you don’t allow yourself to let go frequently; nor do you usually have the time to. And it’s not that he particularly wishes for you to be drunk to the point where you can barely stand, or remember his name, but all things considered, Levi is happy that your general drunk disposition is happy, too.

He waves Mike goodbye as he wrangles Erwin into his car, not holding back his smile this time as you wave over-excitedly at the blonde in the passenger seat, calling his name loudly to tell him goodnight and that you’ll miss him, like you hadn’t already told him goodnight three minutes ago, or spent the last three hours with him drinking. Yeah, you’re cute.

Thankfully, Levi doesn’t live too far from the restaurant you and Erwin were at, so the both of you are home after a twenty minute walk—what should have been fifteen minutes, but was prolonged by your drunken fascination with a squirrel on a public bench.

You start to wobble more when Levi unlaces your arms to get his keys out of his pocket, and he moves his right hand to rest against the small of your back so you don’t fall. However, drunk you is not so entertained by the idea of his hands anywhere near your waist as sober you would have been.

“Hey, hey, hey—hold it right there, mister!” you stutter, words a bit too loud for the confined space of Levi’s hallway at three in the morning, “I am not going in—into that suspicious apartment with you.”

You stumble as you try to remove Levi’s hand from your waist, and he tries to steady your balance again, but push him away more forcefully, staggering into the wall behind you.

“Ah, bitch,” you curse, holding your head and groaning. The pain clearly isn’t enough to stop your accusations against Levi, as you’re back to wagging your finger at him, even hunched over from your drunken stupor, “See, this is your fault.”

Levi sighs. He doesn’t know why you’re holding your head, because you hit your back, and from what he can tell, you shouldn’t have hurt yourself that badly. He’ll take a closer look at you once you’re inside. That’s if he could get you inside to begin with.

He can’t wrangle you and open the door at the same time, so he goes for the latter, finally pulling his keys from his pocket to unlock his apartment door, then attempts to move you inside. Keyword: attempts; because anytime he puts his hands remotely near you, you slap them away.

“Come on, we have to go inside,” he grunts, trying again to get a hold of your arm, but you whack him away harshly. For a drunk person, you seem to have the strength and dexterity of a pro-athlete all of a sudden. Where was all this coordination when he was trying to get you up the stairs five minutes ago?

“No!” you growl—once again, too loudly for the time and place. “Haven’t you heard of the saying no means no, mister? I might be drunk, but this is not my apartment, and I am not going in there to have sex with you!”

“I’m trying to help you go to bed. I’m not going to try and have sex with you.” Levi takes a deep breath. This could sound really bad if anyone else woke up and heard the two of you.

But you’re not having it, crossing your arms and turning your body so that you’re now facing the wall, your back towards a less-than-impressed Levi. “Well, I don’t believe you. I’m going to call Erwinnie tell him you’re being a bad friend, and then Erwinnie is going to call my boyfriend and he’s going to come and pick me up.”

“Oh yeah?” Levi drawls, leaning against his door frame, watching your silhouette as you clumsily search for your phone in your pockets, “Why don’t you just call your boyfriend then?”

You turn on your heels as best you can, and muster up your most menacing glare. It’s not menacing in the slightest, and it actually makes Levi crack a smile, which you do not take lightly; but that only makes him smile further, because sober you doesn’t like it when he’s not fazed by your self-proclaimed intimidation tactics, either.

“Fine,” you huff, finally putting your phone to your ear, “But you’re going to be sorry, because Levi is going to come here and kick your ass.”

Levi chuckles, feeling his own phone ring in his back pocket, “I bet he is.”

“He is,” you insist, stomping your foot for dramatic effect, “He might not be that tall, but he’s strong as hell, plus he’s handsome, and he doesn’t let people fuck around with me, so say your prayers, mister.”

The following afternoon is far less than pleasant. You feel groggy, tired, and like everything is moving in slow motion. Piece by piece, your memories of your night out with Erwin start to come back to you, but you can’t seem to recall anything beyond your fifth margarita.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Levi calls, sarcastically, upon entering the bedroom.

His voice and presence surprises you, but then the realization washes over you that you’re in his apartment and not your own. You’re not sure why yet, but you could probably take a guess.

“Did you take me home last night?”

Levi hums in acknowledgement, nodding his head towards the bedside table, where you find a bottle of water. Levi watches you as you move to hang your legs off the side of the bed and reach for the bottle, groaning in the process. He mentally notes that he should make you breakfast—or, well, at this point, brunch—after you go shower, so that you can take an Advil for the pain.

He moves across the room to sit beside you on the bed, careful to not disrupt too much as to make you spill the water on the sheets. “You know, for someone who’s so happy-go-lucky when they’re drunk, you put up quite the fight yesterday.”

“I did?” you turn to him, capping the bottle, eyes wide with surprise, “You were probably sleeping and you had wake up and come deal with me, I’m sorry, Levi.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he assures you, an almost uncharacteristic and sly smile playing on his lips, “You always say something interesting that keeps me entertained. It makes up for it.”

“Dear god, what was it this time?” you groan, throwing your head back, “I didn’t confess my feelings for you again did I? This is, what, like the sixth time since we’ve been dating? I’m such an embarrassing drunk.”

“Not a confession this time,” he chuckles, “The opposite. Maybe worse.”

Levi fishes his phone from his pocket, and pulls up his voicemails before handing it to you. Curious—and a little bit scared—to find out what could possibly be worse than confessing to your boyfriend of almost four years that you’re in love with him and sad that you’re not dating him? You’re not sure that it could get more embarrassing than that until you click on Levi’s most recent voicemail and hear your own voice crackling through the speaker of his phone.

“—What, hey, fuck off, mister! I don’t want to go into your scrubby apartment! I am happily dating Levi Ackerman, and when he gets here he is going to grand slam your sorry ass into the ground!”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #aot imagines #snk imagines #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman smut #eren x reader

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comfortwriting · 3 years

Text

I Hate You - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Requested/About: Enemies to lovers smut! Fred is constantly getting his classmate into trouble, and Y/N is finding herself spending more of her evenings in detention with him - her hate for him growing. One evening, something out of the ordinary happens between them.

Warnings: 18+ swearing, mention of blood, smut, fingering, handjob, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex.

"Stop shaking the desk!" you hissed at your transfiguration partner.

Fred smirked and squinted at you "no" he replied, his ego popping out in his voice "if you've got a problem go and sit somewhere else"

You watched Fred waving his wand at the mouse that cowered in front of him, letting out little squeaks each time Fred failed to transform it into a large cotton bud.

How this feud started between the two of you - you couldn't remember - you were past caring. All you know is that Fred hates you, and you hate him, his face pisses you off and your face - your body frustrates him.

He thought about you constantly, almost as if you were invading his mind on purpose just to taunt him - you appeared in his dreams and he couldn't stop it, he couldn't figure out why this was happening - why he would dream of you feeling nothing but hatred, only to wake up with his ejaculate spilling on his bedsheets.

"Don't ask me for any help during potions class, then." You replied, taking out your wand, the mouse suddenly going stiff, then turning round fluffy, losing its legs, ears, facial features, and tail.

Fred scowled at you, poking the cotton bud with the tip of his wand "I wasn't going to" he slouched back in his chair, pulling apart what once was the mouse, grumbling under his breath. "This is kids stuff" he huffed "It's only why you're good at it."

You rolled your eyes and snatched the cotton bud out of his hands, 'Reparo!' putting it back together and transforming the bud back into the innocent, shy, creature that curled up into and started to tremble in your hands.

"Miss Y/L/N, I think your partner can do his own work" Miss McGonagall spoke out, staring down at you whilst walking past your desk "Sit up Mr Weasley!" she hissed at Fred, hurrying to the front of the classroom.

Fred sighed and sat up grudgingly, "It's alright for you, being a good girl who never makes mistakes, who everyone loves so dearly."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes "you talk so much shit, Fred Weasley!" you huffed "I actually spend my time revising because I actually make mistakes, something I'm sure you've never given the time of day to work on!"

Fred huffed "You sound just like my brother Percy, it's as if he never bloody left!"

Whilst the back and forth continued to unfold between you and Fred, the class was dismissed, everyone leaving - you and Fred didn't notice, too wrapped up in arguing, his brother George and friend Lee stayed behind, watching and enjoying the entertainment.

"Well, you know what!" you raised your voice, picking up your bag and pushing your books inside "sod you! you're on your own next lesson, don't come begging when Snape rips you a new one!" you stood up from your chair and stormed off.

"Nice one Fred" George called out, walking out of the great hall and towards the dungeons "you're going to suffer in there, mate."

Fred pulled a sour face "she's the most obnoxious bitch I've ever met"

Unfortunately for Fred, you were in earshot of his insult "Obnoxious bitch?" you laughed out, catching up to him "lads like you are all the same, threatened by smarter women"

George laughed, bashing Fred in the ribs with his elbow, Fred felt mortified and could feel himself wanting to grab you and shove you against a wall, the thought of doing it however made him feel something he didn't want to admit...

he couldn't

no way

feelings for you? oh please...

Fred rattled his brain, trying hard to shake this intruding feeling out of him, he hates you, love is out of the question, anything intimate is a red flag.

"Well, with what you lack in looks and personality you make up for in IQ, I'm not threatened by you, you're just disgusting to look at and be around. My skiving Snack boxes wouldn't change your appearance you're that bloody ugly." he snapped.

Ugly.

Your heart pained at the word, why? you didn't know, whenever anyone attacked your looks and your body, you didn't care, it meant nothing to you - so why your heart is suddenly hurting did more than baffled you.

Why should you care?

It's not like you're in love with him or anything

You could feel your stomach doing flips, your blood boiling, how dare he!

"it's a shame because your dick will never match the size of your ego, regardless if it's flaccid or hard." You snapped back, pushing past him, bashing into him on purpose, storming towards the dark and dingy dungeons.

Fred went bright red, infuriated that you shamed him in front of his twin, especially for something that he believed determined his value as a man, his blood - like yours, now also boiling.

He wanted to storm after you, grab you by the wrist, pull you into him so you couldn't escape, he wanted to stare down at you whilst demanding an apology, hell, he wanted to show you - show you just how wrong you were.

"Come on now, Freddie" George spoke out, breaking him out of his thoughts "don't let her bother you, all the lasses say shit like that - if you let her get under your skin, she's winning."

she's winning

Fred couldn't and wouldn't allow that to happen, never in a million years - you wouldn't get away with embarrassing him like this, you were in for it, without a clue of what Fred is capable of.

Potions were nothing short of pure hell, you weren't able to switch seats, forced to endure two long hours with Fred who had never looked so angry before, he shot daggers at you, practically seething and speaking through gritted teeth when he needed to look over the ingredients and steps.

"I told you not to bother asking me for help" you snarled, stirring your cauldron, Snape watching the two of you argue in pleasure behind his test papers he should be marking instead.

Fred huffed "Well until you budge over, quit being greedy and let me pick what I need or I'll keep bloody asking!"

You bit your tongue, trying not to swear "Look, you forgot your book, either go and ask Snape if he has a spare or bugger off!"

Fred could feel himself losing his temper, his body temperature increasing, his heart thumping, his fists bunching.

"The two of you will have plenty of time to discuss during detention" Snape spoke, dragging out his words.

You shot Fred an angry look, your eyes widening and your nostrils flaring, Fred looked back at you, shaking his head whilst your Professor walked away, causing the two of you to argue even more.

"Look what you've done now! Thanks a lot!" you raised your voice, stirring your cauldron so angrily, specks of dark amber liquid splashed onto the desk and your skirt, hissing away.

Fred scoffed and stood up, snatching your book away from you, gripping it in his hand "What I've done?" he shook his head "You've caused this!"

"One more word and one detention will become a week's worth," Snape warned.

"Caused what?" You stood up, puffing out your chest "I haven't done anything! You're just an idiot, a dumb idiot who is jealous because I'm going somewhere in life and you aren't because you're fucking stupid!" You yelled, the whole room becoming silent.

Fred stared at you, his heart hurting, he wanted to cry.

idiot, dumb, fucking stupid, going nowhere in life.

"You're a fucking bitch, who everyone laughs at, who everyone thinks is a loser!" He yelled back.

These two weeks of detention would change everything and the two of you had no idea.

Arriving early in the Hospital Wing which surprisingly had empty beds that had been stripped from their bedding, Madame Pomfrey waved you over to her, a forced smile spreading across her face.

"You're rather early"

"I know" you sighed "It's to make up for Fred being late" you grumbled, the thought of hours with him this evening making your head pound.

"Well," Madam Pomfrey wandered around the hospital wings, laying out dirty bedsheets, pillowcases, pyjamas, empty dishes, and medicine bottles "the two of you - when he arrives - will be cleaning everything, without magic" she emphasised that last part, "I thought I'd be rather easy on you this time, you won't be scrubbing any bedpans this week."

You nodded, realising that she wouldn't be sticking around to watch you or Fred, you walked up to the long table and popped on the large purple rubber gloves, sitting down on the stool, waiting for your nightmare to turn up.

"You can only start when he arrives" Madame Pomfrey reminded you "Whatever you can't finish, you'll do tomorrow, and if there are any patients, you'll have extra work." She walked out of the hospital wing, leaving you behind, the waiting game beginning.

Two hours passed by, two long and dreadfully boring hours, you stared at Fred's matching purple gloves, itching to just get started and clean up; but you couldn't.

Instead, you filled the large bucket with laundry detergent, there was no point in adding any hot water, it would be left to cool anyway if Fred didn't show up soon.

Fred waltzed in, laughing and waving goodbye to his twin, shutting the door behind him. His face dropped when he met your eyes, he noticed your gloves and smirked, laughing lightly "you look ridiculous."

"I don't care what you think," you snapped "You're two hours late, everything just piles up you know, it doesn't just go away."

Fred pulled out the wand from his pocket "Oh come off it, love."

Love?!

Fred fell quiet, he felt embarrassed, mortified, and you stared at him confused, horrified even, your eyebrows knitted together. You brushed his mistake aside, knowing that pulling him up about it would just strengthen the argument.

"We can't use magic." You pointed to the line of buckets, sponges, scrubbers, mop, and broom "Everything has to be done by hand, the muggle way."

Fred's face fell, even more, something you thought wasn't possible, you picked up his matching purple rubber gloves and threw them at him "put them on."

Fred wanted to argue, but he couldn't, he didn't know what to say - the feelings inside of him confusing him, making him question everything, he felt sick, he could feel a strange fluttering inside of his stomach, something he only felt when he was in love.

Why was he feeling this now? How was he such a thing... love for you? He hates you.

Fred caught the rubber gloves and put them on, not saying a word. You filled up the empty buckets with warm water, the cleaning liquid making the water foam up with bubbles.

"You sweep" you passed him the boom "I'll mop after you've done, we'll take turns washing the bedding, pyjamas, dishes and bottles."

Fred's hate for you suddenly went through another wave, the fire igniting in his belly, he snatched the broom from you. "Just shut up and let's get on with it." He snapped, starting to sweep the dusty, grimey floor.

You walked away from him and sat down, huffing so the hair in your face moved away over your head, you placed the bucket on your lap, grabbed the pyjama shirt and laundry stain remover soap and started to scrub, focusing hard on the fresh spots of blood.

"I wasn't the one who turned up two hours late," you muttered under your breath, scrubbing the shirt harder, the red liquid slowly getting lighter.

Fred had swept the majority of the floor, he looked over at you, stopped sweeping and glared.

"Shut up," he grumbled

You grinned, the sight of him in purple gloves making you burst out into laughter.

"You look ridiculous" you laughed, dunking the pyjama shirt into the warm water, the stain finally lifting and ready to dry.

Fred dropped the broom, its long wooden handle clanked against the floor, you looked up at him as he stormed over to you, pulling off his gloves and throwing them across the room.

The way he walked with the expression on his face made you flutter, your crotch heating up and getting excited as he inched closer and closer to you, his hands now gripping on the table. You sighed and placed the bucket on the table, squeezing the water out of the pyjama top and handing it up to dry, Fred still staring at you.

You turned around, looking into his gorgeous brown eyes, sighing and pulling off your rubber gloves, setting them down on the table.

"What?"

"Don't what me."

"Well stop staring!"

Fred pushed the buckets of water off the table angrily, the water splashing as the buckets collided with the swept floor, the foamy and suddy water spilling everywhere.

"What was that for!" you yelled.

Fred reached out for you over the table and pulled you into him, he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't ignore these feelings, his feelings, his wants, his needs, he couldn't deny himself of you anymore. When his lips crashed against yours, something that you couldn't describe clicked, like the missing piece to a puzzle, and you kissed back.

The kiss was hungry, passionate, lustful, and the two of you just wanted to fuck.

Your hands got lost in his hair, pulling at it as Fred gripped onto your waist, both of you now mounting the table, the dishes, bottles, bedding, and pyjamas fell on the floor, absorbing the water.

Moaning against his lips, Fred's hands pulled at your top, you moved your hands away from his hair and lifted your arms up, your top being pulled up before falling to the floor, being soaked by the water. The sight of you in your bra made Fred's face heat up and go red, he quickly unfastened your bra, unable to control himself.

He took your breast into his mouth, sucking your nipple, you lolled your head back and moaned, one of your hands held his gentle face as he sucked, the other fell down to his trousers, slowly undoing the buttons and pulling down his zipper. Your hand sneaked underneath the waistband of his boxers and you took hold of his erect length - you were wrong - his cock was as big as his ego, and you knew when you were able to look at it, it would be even bigger.

Fred's free hand dived under your skirt and went into your underwear, whilst wanking him off his index circled around your entrance hole - you were so wet, the thought of being this close to him usually repulsed you - but right now, you wanted nothing more than him inside of you, fucking you as much as he hated you.

His index finger slowly pushed inside of you, you moaned out and tugged on his cock harder, he started to finger you faster, knowing part of him was inside you made you so wet, and got you so excited. Fred added his middle finger, now pumping them faster as your walls tightened around his fingers, he pulled off your red and saliva coated nipple and attacked your neck with kisses, then sucking, leaving his marks all over you.

Fred pushed you down on your back so your body was now pressed against the cool table, he continued to finger fuck you, you pulled down his trousers and boxers with both hands, already missing the feeling of his throbbing cock filling one of them. You glanced down - you were definitely wrong - his length was large, definitely outshining his ego.

"You wanted me to shut up, didn't you?" you asked Fred, he pulled away from sucking on your neck, a confused expression formed on his face.

"Is that what you want?" he smirked, catching on "you want me to shut you up with my cock?" he withdrew his fingers, now coated with your juices, sucking them clean.

Fred leaned back, taking his cock in his hand "go on then" he encouraged you "suck my cock."

"Make me."

Fred grabbed you by the hair - but not roughly or too hard - you were actually quite surprised by his gentleness. You were on your knees now, sucking Fred's large length, choking on it as you went down deeper and deeper, taking more of him in your mouth.

Fred loved the sight of you sucking him off, the sight of your mouth being so full you couldn't say something stupid, the sound of you choking made him happy, he was finally shutting you up - but part of him didn't want to shut you up, he wanted to listen to you speaking about your interests, your hobbies, what you thought of Hogsmeade and Zonko's Joke Shop.

This part of him pulled you off him, you caught your breath and wiped away the laces of saliva that were hanging from your mouth, swinging as you moved back with the back of your hand. Fred pulled you into a kiss, this time it wasn't lustful, it was gentle, caring, soft - it made your heart skip a beat and it made you weak at the knees.

Once more, your back was against the table, Fred pulled down your skirt and knickers whilst still kissing you, your hands back in his hair, massaging his scalp, Fred propped your legs around his hips, you pulled him closer to you.

Fred grabbed out a condom, but you stopped him.

"Don't bother with that crap" you sighed, wanting him inside you already "I'm on the pill."

Fred nodded, confident that this would be enough, and he applied lube onto his length.

You wondered why he had brought condoms and a sache of lube, Fred didn't know why - he never usually carried these items, but after weeks of the same dreams that he couldn't explain - that small part of him kept telling him, over and over to bring it.

Fred looked into your eyes, searching for your permission, you nodded your head.

"I'm ready, Freddie." you breathed.

Freddie.

He had never expected you - of all people - to call him that, but he liked it, and he hoped that he could hear it again.

Fred rubbed his erect length against your folds teasingly, and then slowly pushed himself inside of you, the two of you moaned and exhaled - he felt amazing - stretching you out, and your walls felt amazing - tightening around him. He started to fuck you faster, his large length plunging deeper inside of you as he bucked his hips, your legs tightened around him, as did your walls, your hands now resting on his back, your fingernails digging into him leaving marks of your own.

His moans were beautiful - perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever heard. How could you hate him? How could you be so mean to him, insult him, mock him and shame him, he was perfect, everything about him - your heart now reaching out to his - how could you be so wrong?

You didn't hate him, you were madly in love with him.

Fred couldn't take his eyes off you and your body - the perfect shape and size of your breasts, your tummy, the feeling of your insides engulfing him in warmth, your gorgeous eyes staring into his, the feeling of your fingers tips gliding over his back, then your fingernails scratching him.

Fred felt stupid, he felt awful for what he said to you - the way he treated you - calling you ugly - you were far from such a thing. This moment felt better and meant more than any dream he ever had - this was real, this was the moment he had been waiting for - his heart finally finding yours.

"Fuck!" you moaned out, reaching the edge "Please don't stop, fuck me, I want to cum!" you wailed.

Fred couldn't stop, he didn't want to, even if he was getting tired and over working himself.

He continued to fuck you, feeling himself getting close, you lolled your head back, your eyes rolling in the back of your head and released - your cum spilling onto his length, your moans filling the hospital wing. Your orgasm face pushed Fred over the edge, he spilt himself inside you and collapsed, holding you in his arms.

The two of you said nothing, you were trying to make sense of this all, and you were in trouble - after tonight, you would have a lot of explaining to do - not just to one another, but to Madame Pomfrey who would be back in half an hour.

After coming to, Fred pulled out his wand and dried your clothes, so toastie to put back on. You started to mop the floor as Fred speedily washed the pillow cases and bed sheets, hanging them up to dry, then starting on the dishes. With the floor sparkling clean, you joined him, cleaning and rinsing the bottles.

"You're not an idiot" You spoke out, breaking the awkward silence "You're not dumb either, and I don't doubt that you're going to go far in life."

This meant a lot to Fred, it made him feel secure.

"You're not ugly" Fred replied, scrubbing another bowl "You're not an obnoxious bitch."

Looking up at Fred, into his deep brown eyes, your pursed your lips for a moment.

"I don't hate you."

"I don't either."

"I don't want to hate you, I-"

"I feel things for you too, Y/N."

Madame Pomfrey burst through the door, staring at the rows of dirty bowls and bottles that needed cleaning.

"Looks like you two will be back here tomorrow!"

You and Fred shared a glance, smiling, with a flush of pink across your cheeks.

These two weeks were the start of something special.

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @alwaysnforeverfangirl @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @horrorxweasley @sebby-staan @onlyfreds @lucymfer @escapingrealitybyreading @freddiemylovelg @pandaxnienke @xmalfoyweasleyx

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wasabito · 4 years

Text

hate to love you | dabi x reader

18+, minors dni please!

wordcount: 2.4k

tags: smut, rough(ish) sex, fingering, slight choking, Dabi’s lowkey manipulative

synopsis: did your traitorous heart make the stupid decision to fall in love with him again, or had you always been his to keep?

“You seriously can’t keep coming here whenever you feel like it, Dabi,” you whisper while scrubbing at your weary eyelids, “If someone sees you, you’re gonna get me in a lot of trouble.”

A true statement and yet it takes no further prodding or convincing at all for you to crack open your window at three in the morning, and allow your ex to clamber through the fire escape. There are sirens blaring in the distance; the high-pitched wailing of fire trucks are a familiar sound, especially in this part of the city. You’ve told yourself that intrusions like these are exactly what you deserve for not cutting him off like the cancerous leech that he is.

Willpower alone can’t keep you from wrinkling your nose, considering how his clothes smell of ash under a faint layer of nicotine. It tells a far better story of his recent crime than anything he could ever say out of his mouth. These days you don’t bother asking. There isn't much of a point in doing so when all you are sure to receive is another sugar-coated lie.

“Don’t be like that, doll face,” he smirks. “I’ve gotta lot more tact than you’re giving me credit for. ”

Terrible, you think. And shameless too. Yes, Dabi is undoubtedly these things, but for all of his depravity and lack of care, you still can’t find it in yourself to turn him away.

He cracks a little smile at you, like he’s read your very thoughts. “What? You don’t trust me anymore?”

You don’t respond, and simply climb back into bed, pointedly ignoring the dark stain of blood on his coat. He may have your heart, but your trust is something you vow to never let him have again. With classes resuming for the semester, you are far too preoccupied with internships and scholarship applications to entertain an ex-boyfriend slash wanted criminal, especially one recently associated with The League of Villains.

It had been different back when he was just some nameless petty criminal, but these days his face was plastered all over the news. That wasn’t the kind of person you ever foresaw yourself getting involved with and yet here you are.

You hear the rustling of clothes and figure he’s probably going to steal one of your oversized hoodies again, all the while leaving his bunched up coat in the laundry bin for you to take care of later. It would give him all the more reason to return to your apartment under false pretenses.

Over the past few months you’ve learned to anticipate his tricks, it’s the only way you can keep yourself from living the rest of your days behind bars. Aiding and abetting is what this is… if you were to ever be caught, you’d have to say he forced you. That you had no choice. That you feared for your life.

“You seriously mad at me or what?” He drawls. The thud of his heavy boots echo through the room, but a quick glance over your shoulder tells you that he’s merely taken them off. Dabi pins you with a stare, brows quirked like he’s genuinely confused, if not mildly annoyed, but that doesn’t shake you. You only freeze when you feel the mattress dip under the weight of his knee.

The warmth of his breath ghosts your cheek as he says, “Scoot over.”

Is he serious right now? Why should you let him back into your bed after all he’s put you through?

“No.” you turn away, “Just take whatever it is you need and leave.”

There is silence for a few seconds but you know he hasn’t moved yet, not even an inch.

“C’mon, angel,” he pokes your side playfully, gazing unwaveringly at you from under his hooded eyelids. “I’ll be out of your hair before you even wake up.”

Chewing your lip, you heave out a sigh, and shift forward to make enough room for him to join you. No matter what you’ve said in the past, he’s always been the one in control. You feel like such an idiot, merely posturing while Dabi holds the reins.

He slides in behind you, pressing his body against yours; his arms looping around your waist in a way that is so familiar a pleasant hum nearly falls from your lips. You realize belatedly that he’s shirtless and the fabric of your tank top is far too thin to block the feel of hard sinew and muscle pressed so nicely against your back. Your shaky resolve crumbles to ruin in the presence of his blue flames.

Dabi continues to chat you up, regardless of your lack of response. You’re surprised. He isn’t usually so talkative, but apparently outmaneuvering the cops and getting away scot-free has a way of raising one's spirits.

Your body is slotted against his like a puzzle piece, like you are made for one another. Mid conversation his warm hands palm the fleshy skin of your stomach, giving you a soft caress. So caught up in the feel of it, you almost miss his next words.

“—missed you.”

Your thoughts stutter. For the briefest of moments, you think the words have come from you, but they surely haven’t.

Dabi presses a light kiss to your neck, as if to show that he means it—that in the month spent apart, he had missed you more than anything. And you can't help but shiver; you blame the staples on his chin that are cold in contrast to the heat from his mouth.

His kisses become firmer, and more intentional as he lures you into a feeling of contentment. Your body remembers him oh so well—and it wants what it clearly shouldn’t have.

“We aren’t together anymore, Dabi,” you rasp, “We shouldn’t even be doing this.”

And why not, a tiny voice chimes in the back of your head.

There are several, logically sound, and pragmatic reasons as to why you shouldn’t let Dabi fuck you into next week. It’s a shame, really, you’re far too tired, far too bewitched by this man to really sum up the effort to name them. Not even for your own sake.

“Just a quickie,” he mutters, lips brushing the shell of your ear. One of Dabi’s hands dip between your thighs and he knows he’s won when you part them without thought.

He squeezes the fat of your thigh like he’s done so many times in the past, fingers digging deliciously into your skin. “Mine.”

His fingers encourage you to loosen up a little, as he grinds his clothed dick against your ass.

The trail of kisses start from your shoulder and lead up to your jaw. All the while, Dabi keeps his other arm around your waist to hold you close. He sinks blunt teeth into the crook of your neck, licking languidly at the crescent shape left behind. He continues to nip and suck on the skin there until your heady moans leave you breathless and whiny. But none of it is enough to get your attention off the way he prods you with his index and middle finger through your shorts.

“You sound so sexy, baby.” he chuckles, “You gonna make more of those pretty sounds for me, hm?”

You don’t have an answer, simply put, you can’t think of anything else right now, other than the hand slipping past your panties, rubbing slow circles against the hood of your clit.

“Da-Dabi, please... more,”

At the sound of your wanton voice, Dabi sinks two fingers into you, thrusting his long digits, and coaxing you until you’ve soaked them with your juices. In response, you grind down against his hand, thighs clenching. He hits you with a series of slow pumps each time his wrists twist. You reach forward and grip his hand, wanting nothing more but for him to curl his fingers and hit the sweet spot.

“I know, babe, I know.” He murmurs, kissing your neck, but instead of continuing, Dabi pulls out you. He shifts until he’s quite literally looming over your form.

Though the room is mostly dark, the street lamp outside your window casts a slant beam of orange light into the bedroom. It’s more than enough for you to see Dabi’s grin, and the way his lips pull back to reveal a row of perfect teeth.

He’s handsome, even with the scars, and damaged skin. You could even argue that Dabi is increasingly more handsome because of them.

“You’re lookin’ at me pretty funny,” he says while straddling your hips. “Got something to say?”

You’ve been more silent than usual during this entire exchange, barely saying more than a few whispered pleas for more, but the heat in your belly grows. Heart pounding and tongue dry, you somehow manage to maintain eye contact.

Dabi was your first. The first person to make you feel wanted and alive. The first to bring you to the precipice of mind-boggling pleasure until you were quite literally seeing stars. It’s true that he was an asshole, and it’s true that this new route he’s taken scares you more than anything. But when you look at him, your heart insists that this is still the same man you had fallen for.

“Handsome.” You mumble, averting your eyes. “I was just thinking… about how handsome you are.”

At that admission, you take his fingers, the same he’d just fingered you with, into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it, sucking lightly. Dabi shudders. His blue eyes seem to glow with want and... something else that you can’t describe, but it’s tender and unguarded.

Dabi pulls his fingers from your mouth, replacing them his own. His lips shift against yours, tongue prodding until you open up. Looping your arms around his neck, you pull him flush against your chest, dragging him into your orbit. You aren’t certain when he had become the very moon on its axis, keeping the tides and seasons of your earth in perfect rhythm, but you do know that the emptiness you feel without him isn’t normal.

Fumbling hands follow the shirking of jeans. At some point your thin little top is pulled off and tossed into a corner. And soon enough, he’s pressing himself into you. The tip of his cock is just barely past your folds before you’re taking him in.

“Fuck!” Dabi braces a hand on your pillow. The other rests on your throat with a slight pressure, enough to make your walls clench around him.

It’s been a while for your ex; you can tell by the way he keeps his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. It shouldn’t surprise you, but it does anyway, because you’d thought he would have moved on to someone else by now.

Dabi’s brows are pinched, and he’s being rougher than usual, still you get the sense that he’s savoring this. Like it’s his last meal. Like he may not ever get a chance like this again. It’s ridiculous for you to lament the final nail in the coffin of your relationship with Dabi, especially considering all the shit he’s caught up in now.

But, unfortunately, your heart operates on a separate plane from the rest of you.

It wants what it wants.

His hips snap forward, knocking into yours in a rapid pace that has tension knotting in your gut. You wrap your legs around his hips, high off the feeling of him so deep in you. The drag of his cock in your pussy has your toes curling. The pleasure is so much you can barely think. His groans and your choked back whimpers fill the room. You even attempt to bite into the back of your hand, just to keep them at bay, but Dabi isn’t having any of that.

“Don’t you dare hold back. I wanna hear you tell me how good I make you feel.”

The look in his eyes is so fervent and heated and feral, it sends a shock of pleasure straight to your core. Your thighs are coated in your own slick enough for him to slip in and out with ease. He smirks, licking his thumb and pressing it against your clit, eager to get you off. Your hips jerk in response to the way he’s rubbing and fucking you all at once.

“Dabi,” you cry out. “Yes!”

Sweat licks at your brow causing the little fine hairs around your hairline to stick to your skin.

Dabi presses his face right into your neck, and with each throaty groan that escapes his lips, you feel your gut twist with yearning. You reach up and grip his hair, causing him to groan even louder as he fucks you into oblivion.

“You feel so fucking good, angel, goddamn you’re gripping me so damn tight, fuck—” his babbling continues and you know he’s getting close. Dabi knows it too, so he slows down enough for him to reach around his back and grasp your ankles from around his waist. “You want me to fuck you harder? Hm?”

“Please—I want you so bad.” You’re almost there, you just need a little bit more. Hearing you say those words makes Dabi chuckle.

He parts your thighs as far they can go, pinning them to the mattress. You hadn't thought it possible, but in this new position he sheathes himself even deeper than before, so much so, that your pussy milks him for all he has, walls spasming uncontrollably around his cock. The cry that falls from your mouth is smothered by a pair of lips.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train and soon Dabi’s hips are stuttering against your own. He pulls out quickly, cumming all over your stomach, with a growl and a stroke of his hand.

For a moment the room is silent, save for your harsh breathing. Dabi collapses at your side, all fucked out and sweaty. His eyes never leave yours, even as he battles with fatigue.

As for you, the ache between your legs is a pleasant one you don’t bother complaining about as you clean yourself in the bathroom.

Upon return, you find that Dabi is sitting up in bed with a contemplative look on his face. You don’t ask what he’s thinking, instead you pull him into your arms and allow his head to rest against your chest.

If this is your last official night together, you’d rather spend it in his arms than alone.

🖤

#dabi #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #spicy.writings #reader got that gorilla grip lowkey lmao #tw manipulation #tw choking

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perriewinklenerdie · 3 years

Text

Affection (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Claire Herondale

Word count: 1,5 k

Summary: OH3 Chapter 14 rewrite. Ethan supports Claire on the day of her Boards exam like a good boyfriend.

Warnings: None

A/N: I don’t know who the imposter in the book is. I don’t know this man. I also haven’t played the chapter yet, so that’s saying a lot. One could say this is what Ethan Ramsey could have been in book 3, but PB is playin.

„Call me as soon as the exam is over.” He muttered while pulling her closer. His lips found her hairline, pressing against it time and time again in short pecks.

“You’ve got it, boss.” She teased, earning herself a pinch to the side. He let her lean away an inch, just enough to let them see each other again.

“Keep that work up and you’re going to be my boss before we know it.” Ethan gave her a smirk, his eyes filling up with pride. It warmed her up from the inside, his belief in her so overwhelming, she almost started crying.

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” It was Claire’s turn to smirk, slipping her hands beneath his sweater to feel his skin. A shiver ran through him, betraying his obvious interest in her, in any and every way.

“I’m serious, though.” He tightened his hold, his gaze intensifying. “I’ll be waiting by the phone.”

“Maybe I should torture you by not calling you, then.”

“… Noted.” He nodded his head, shame crossing his face. She smiled softly, a quiet sigh escaping her. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Though, I can’t lie, I appreciate you being the better half of me and not making the same mistakes your idiot boyfriend did.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, babe.” Claire laughed, standing on the tips of her toes to brush her nose against his. He moved his arms to surround her shoulders, his lips pressing against her cheek tenderly.

They remained entwined for a long time, gently swaying once in a while. He knew that he’d have to let her go sometime, but he was nowhere near ready to do so. He always missed her the moment she left his side. She wasn’t leaving forever – just a couple of hours until he’d see her again at the party. Claire didn’t even have to ask if he’d be there. He hated parties, but he wouldn’t dream of missing this one.

At last, his hold loosened, allowing her to step out of his embrace. Their eyes met again. Ethan nodded, certainty flooding to his face.

“Give them hell in there.”

His eyes searched the room for her – they always did. It took a while, but he finally found her, dancing with Sienna and Aurora. Her laughter was engraved into his mind so much that he heard it above the music – which was terrible, by the way – and overshadowed everything else. He decided to let her celebrate with her friends before joining them.

“The prodigy boyfriend returns.” He heard Tobias’s voice from behind him. Upon turning around, he felt his hand on his shoulder, slapping it slightly. Ethan hesitated when he heard what Tobias had said, his forehead creasing.

“What did she tell you?”

“She didn’t tell me anything, I just heard her leaving you a voicemail and I connected the dots.” He explained, easing Ethan’s mind a bit. But only a bit. He could see it in Tobias’s eyes, the judgement of his poor actions. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re getting your shit together.”

“Why do I feel like you wanted to say something else?” He tried to fight the grin, but ultimately lost, both men now laughing. Tobias raised his hands in surrender.

“She’s your girlfriend, I’m not saying anything. It’s just good to see you two back together.” He punched Ethan’s shoulder slightly. “Since you’re insufferable without her, and all.”

“How dare you.” Ethan laughed a bit louder, shaking his head. His eyes found Claire again, noticing her now standing off to the side by the table, talking to her friends. He excused himself from Tobias and walked over to her.

She stood with her back turned to him, allowing him to sneak up on her and wrap his arms around her. His lips brushed her cheek.

“How big of a bottle of champagne am I to buy for our celebration?” he muttered against her skin, laughing at the excited sound she made when she realized it was him.

She twirled in his embrace and threw her arms over his shoulders. Ethan kissed her cheek, then pulled her closer, hiding his face in her neck and pressing his lips to her skin again.

“The biggest one there is.” She giggled, brushing his hair back. He straightened his back, stroking her cheek with his thumb. His eyes caught hers, staring into them, silent for a moment.

“I missed you.” he mused, his voice low. Claire smiled softly, closing her eyes and focusing solely on the feeling of him by her side. When she looked at him again, she found an adoring smile lighting up his face.

“I’m here now. What are you going to do about it?”

“For now, I’m going to compliment your clothes. You’re putting everyone to shame, me included.” His hands moved to the small of her back, spreading his fingers to hug her tighter.

“High praise, coming from someone looking the way you do.” she winked, her nails scratching his neck. Ethan shook his head, then brushed his lips against her hairline.

“Ramsey, feel free to take her dancing. She’s been restless after the test, seems to me like she needs to blow some steam off.” Jackie noted, pulling the couple’s attention to the people gathered around the table. Aurora and Sienna nodded in confirmation, while Rafael grinned.

“Dancing or any other form of blowing off steam. Just, please, without details.”

“Or with details, that’s up to you.” Bryce joined in, nudging Ethan with his elbow. Claire blushed, hiding her face in her hands.

“Someone take that drink away from Lahela, he’s had more than enough already.” Ethan smirked, then looped his arm around Claire’s waist. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

They made their way to the dancefloor, choosing the very far end of it to gain some privacy. They wrapped their arms around each other, her forehead resting against his chin as they began to sway to the music.

“This is nice.” She commented, closing her eyes to immerse herself in that moment with him. Ethan hummed, changing the angle of his head slightly to press his lips to her skin.

“I agree. I don’t even mind all the commotion of the party.”

“That’s odd. What happened?” she joked, pinching his arm playfully.

“You’re here. I need nothing else.”

“Uh huh.” Claire grinned, leaning back to look at him. She saw hesitation in every move he made towards her. Every brush of his fingers, every look he sent her way, every embrace he engulfed her in – it all felt uncertain. And they both knew why.

Since their conversation in the Opera, he hasn’t kissed her on the lips. Anywhere else was fair game, his favorites being cheeks and forehead – he’s always been affectionate with her, but now, it’s all she’s been experiencing. She’s seen him eyeing her lips, like he used to do back when he still tried to stay away from her, but he hasn’t acted on his desires since that night.

He seemed afraid of pushing her too far. Aware of his errors, he, more than anything else, didn’t want to commit them again.

“Ethan, what’s going on?” she decided to ask, placing her hands on both sides of his face to make their eyes meet. He hesitated, then breathed out heavily.

“I don’t want to take you for granted. I did once, and I almost lost you.”

“You’re not taking me for granted by kissing me.” she argued, leaning up a fraction. Ethan continued, staring into her eyes.

“You’re too important to me, Claire. It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you. I could kiss you every moment of every day for the rest of my life and I’d never need or want anything else, believe me.”

“Then do it.”

“Do what?” he asked, confused. She grinned at his adorableness, then climbed onto the tips of her toes, pulling him down towards her by his neck at the same time.

“Kiss me, Ethan. We’re not going to break.” Her words were barely heard above the music, but just enough to send his brain into overdrive.

He pressed his lips to hers, slowly at first, carefully. Once he realized that she wasn’t leaving, wasn’t disappearing from his side, his embrace tightened, and he kissed her harder. The intensity made him feverish, the sensation stealing his breath. Claire gripped the lapel of his jacket tightly, pulling him to her enthusiastically.

They came up for air, greedily stealing oxygen from their surroundings. Ethan didn’t let her step away even for an inch, both of them still as close together as they were seconds ago. Claire traced the features of his face with her fingers in wonder.

“Yeah, we’re definitely not going to break.”

Notes

I tell myself I don’t have time to write because exams are coming up, and then I proceed to attempt to clean up the mess PB is making out of OH. Oh, to be a hoe with at least some self control.

This fic takes place after my last one - hence the mention of the Opera conversation. I want this man to show growth, not for him to retreat to his starting position like PB is making him do. That ain’t funny and it sure as hell isn’t entertaining.

Thank you for reading! <3

Tagging separately

#open heart #ethan ramsey #playchoices #ethan x mc

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mistersshelby · 4 years

Text

removing the dagger

hi yes it's me, yes i know i haven't updated my masterlist in ages, yes i am aware i have an unfinished wip that i promised to post months ago, i'm just a stupid fanfic writer begging her audience to love her!!!! anyway!!! i have two other things in the works that I'm hoping to finish, but in the mean time this is one shot i based on ivy and tolerate it from taylor swift's album evermore. i hope you like it, i missed y'all!!! send me asks pls i'm lonely

pairing: tommy x reader

masterlist

questions, comments, concerns

“We’ll be entertaining guests this weekend.”

You looked up from your breakfast plate in shock, wondering if your husband was addressing you or someone else. You gave the room a quick scan. No, it was indeed just you. “Alright.” You said hesitantly, “Who will be attending?”

He hadn’t looked up at you from his newspaper at the other end of the table. He felt miles away rather than a meter or two. “Just some business partners and their wives.” He finally looks up. You’re so unused to his direct attention you have to stop yourself from flinching away from his gaze, “You should go into town. Buy yourself a new dress.” Just as quickly as his gaze had met yours, he drops it again.

You draw your attention back to your breakfast plate, spreading butter on a scone before biting into it. “Do you need anything while I’m out, dear?”

“No thank you, love.”

The endearments don’t mean anything, this you know. It’s a formality. You’re husband and wife, and you speak to each other that way, but the words are empty. The truth is, day in and day out you watch him, you know all his routines. You hand him items before he can reach for them. Buy the book you know he’d been wanting for ages, but never got around to go to the store for. Refill the liquor cabinet before he can get to the bottom of a vodka bottle. And still. And still, he doesn’t see you. Not really. You leave the breakfast table to get ready to go into town and you know he won’t notice you’ve left until the maid clears your plate.

***

Another evening filled with pleasantries, pretty gowns, fake smiles. Men complimenting you and informing your husband how lucky he is to have such a beautiful, young wife. Your husband simply thanks them and doesn’t even look your way.

It’s not until he walks into the room that you feel you’ve been startled from sleep. He looks the same as you remember. There may be a few more lines around his eyes and mouth, but otherwise the same. Except now he looks like a walking weapon. That’s what the war had turned him into. You had kept tabs on him once you found out he had made it home from France, alive. The things you heard, the things this man that you used to love so dearly had done, well you suppose it didn’t surprise you. Tommy had always been too clever for his own good, almost too resilient. It made sense that France would have chewed him up and spit him out, kept most of the love and kindness he possessed.

But then his eyes find yours through the crowd and when he locks on you the same love and desire that had always been there, burns there now. No, the war couldn’t burn out his love for you. Your abandonment and consequential marriage that he read about in the paper couldn’t burn it out either. He’d love you until his dying day. And then he’s in front of you and words fail you, “Thomas,” You finally manage, “You… look well.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “It’s good to see you.” And he ever so gently lifts your hand and presses his lips to your skin. A chill runs through you and it takes all your effort not to snatch your hand away. His knowing grin tells you he’s noted his effect on you.

“And who are you?” Your husband interjects, noticing the affront that was greeting you before himself.

“Thomas, this is my husband, Benjamin.”

Tommy looks your husband up and down for longer than is polite before reaching his hand out to meet your husband’s, “A pleasure.” He murmurs.

“How do you know my wife, mister…”

“Shelby.” Tommy fills in for him, and then glances at you, “Your wife and I were--”

“Childhood friends.” You interject before he can finish and force a smile.

Tommy stares at you for a prolonged second before turning back to your husband, “Yes. Childhood friends.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Benjamin exclaimed, “You grew up in Oxford then, yeah?”

The confusion is evident on Tommy’s face so you jump in quickly, “Yeah! Both grew up in Oxford, isn’t that right, Tommy?”

Tommy looks annoyed at having to lie, but nods anyway, “That’s right.” He speaks with Benjamin for a few moments about business and you find yourself staring at him, the freckles on his cheeks you used to kiss so tenderly. His hair that you used to run fingers through. His eyelashes that used to tickle your skin when he fell asleep. His voice that used to whisper adorations in your ear while other women looked on with jealousy.

“I hope you won’t mind if I steal your wife for a dance, sir, I’d love to catch up with her for a moment.”

Benjamin gave him a disarming smile, a smile you hadn’t seen since he had courted you and it made your heart ache. He lifted his glass to Tommy, “She’s all yours.”

You managed a small smile as Tommy took your hand and led you to the center of the room. You could feel tears burning the back of your eyes at the familiarity of his touch. No one had touched you like this, well, since Tommy left Small Heath.

“Oxford, eh?” Tommy started, “What else did you have to lie about to become such an esteemed lady?”

You frowned, “I did what I had to do. It appears you did the same.”

He shakes his head, “I never lied about where I came from out of shame to achieve the lifestyle I wanted.” His voice is bitter, and you won’t lie, it stings coming from the only person who had made you feel like you were worth something.

“I’m not ashamed of Small Heath.”

“Everything about who you’ve married, to what you’re wearing, to the house you live in, to the lies about me suggest otherwise.”

“I didn’t lie about you because I was ashamed, Benjamin gets… jealous. It was just easier not to explain.”

“Does Benjamin have reason to be jealous?”

You looked into those blue eyes you had adored so long ago and saw the same longing and lust sitting there. Your lips part and you pause, trying to find the right words to convey that you were sorry for how things ended. That you wished things could have been different. But he senses your hesitation and his eyes go cold, those familiar walls that you had worked for years to tear down are back up in full force. You suppose it’s what you deserve.

“Forget it. Stupid question.”

“Tommy--”

“No, don’t. You’re obviously very happy here.”

And you realized as he said it that he was so incredibly wrong about that, “I’m not.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them. Your eyes begin to water before you can stop them, “I’ve never been more unhappy in my life.”

Concern floods Tommy features, “Is he hurting you?”

You almost laugh, “No, no he’s never raised a hand to me. He’s never even raised his voice to me. He just… rarely remembers that I exist is all.”

“Well he’s an idiot then.” The corner of your mouth turned up just a bit at his crassness. “Can’t imagine having you walk around this house day in and day out looking like that and not giving you the attention you deserve.”

You have to bite down hard on your lip to keep the tears lodged in your throat at bay, “Do you have a smoke?”

He frowns, “I can’t imagine Benjamin allows a lady like you to smoke.”

“Tommy, please, he won’t even know we’re gone.” Sure enough, when you look over he’s immersed in conversation, “Come outside with me.” You tug on his arm before he can respond, weaving through guests who didn’t give you a second glance.

Once outside, you gulp in the cold air and lean against the stone wall behind you. Tommy joins a few seconds later, “Are you alright?” He asks as he reaches into his pocket and takes out his cigarettes.

“Can you tell me about Birmingham? What’s it like now?”

While you smoked, he talked about his family and the business. How Polly was doing, and Finn who you could still remember being born. Arthur and his anger problems. John and his relentless jokes. And when your cigarette was nothing more than a useless stub, you noticed there were silent tears rolling down your cheeks.

Tommy glanced at you and then dropped his own cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his shoe, “Why are you here if it makes you so sad?”

The reason you had married Benjamin was because you had promised yourself you would never have to go hungry again. You would never have to worry about someone breaking in and slitting your throat for a loaf of bread. You wouldn’t have to stare at dresses in shops anymore knowing you would never have enough money for it. You never wanted any children you bore to feel that pain either. So you had done what you thought was needed to obtain this lifestyle and now that you were here, it didn’t feel the way you expected it to.

You can’t answer him and instead you look up at the sky and snow starts to fall on your face. “It’s snowing.” You announce to Tommy. He says nothing and you get the feeling he’s annoyed with you. “We had our first kiss in the snow. Do you remember?”

He scoffs and pushes himself off the wall, “I’m not playing your games tonight, I shouldn’t have come here.”

“And why did you come here?” You call after him as he walks away, “Why the fuck did you come, eh? To rub it in my face that I made the wrong decision?”

He turns back to you and he has that cocky smirk on his face, “Listen to that Birmingham accent. Does your husband know his lady’s got such a dirty mouth?”

You don’t know why this is the remark that does it, but you take a sharp intake of breath and your lungs shudder with sobs as the tears pour down your cheeks. The smirk falls from Tommy’s face and he reaches for you, but you pull away. “Love, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“Darling?” Your husband stands in the doorway and both you and Tommy freeze, “What are you doing out here? You’ll catch your death out there in the cold.”

You close your eyes for a moment, schooling your features before you respond, “I’ll be just a minute dear, Mr. Shelby was just leaving. I was seeing him off.” Every trace of the tears was gone from your voice. Tommy would be impressed if it didn’t mean that you had clearly needed to practice seeming happy and upbeat when you were breaking inside.

It’s so easy how quickly he loses interest, Benjamin, and turns back to go inside without another glance. “Why did you come here?” You ask Tommy again.

He sighs, “I had hoped that seeing you happy would give me the closure I needed. Unfortunately, seeing you choose misery over me has only made me feel worse.” He says bitterly. Your face crumples and he steps away from you, “Goodnight, my love.”

When he’s gone you wish to scream and cry and you hate him for coming here and shattering the glass walls you had built around yourself to tell you that you were fine. You were fine with your finery and your loneliness and the gin you drink when Benjamin isn’t home. How he ignores the smell of it on your breath. His deliberate silence when you know he can feel your cries shake the bed at night. You thought you had packed Tommy Shelby neatly away in the far corner of your mind where you wouldn’t find him again. Wouldn’t remember what it was like to feel loved. To feel alive. But you remember. And now he’s gone again. Just like when he left for France. Just like when you wrote that final letter to him that you were to be married.

And so you walk back into that house of stone. You murmur to Benjamin that you’re tired and you’ll be retiring early. And he just nods, barely hearing you, like he always does. And you settle into bed and stare at the wall as the house goes quiet. And finally the bed shifts with his weight and his breathing settles and he doesn’t reach for you. He never does.

Goodnight, my love.

***

The mud of the road squelches beneath your shoes and you're conscious of the way everyone in Small Heath stares at you, walking around like this, but you’d had no choice. No trace of your old wardrobe before you married Benjamin existed. He hadn’t allowed it. You didn’t want any reminders, anyway. Besides which, you had told Benjamin you were out for lunch with a friend and had dressed appropriately. When you swing open the door to the Garrison, you don’t see any Shelbys, but everyone stares at you nonetheless. You imagine word will travel fast to Tommy that you’re here.

Sure enough, as you finished your first drink, you heard the doors swing open and a hush fell over the occupants of the bar. You didn’t look up when he sat next to you. “What are you doing in my bar?” He said, his voice was demanding and cold.

“Having a drink.” You said as the bartender slid you another.

Tommy took it from your hand and dumped it on the floor, “Don’t give her another one.” He said to the bartender. “I asked you what the hell you’re doing here, don’t try my patience.”

“I was drinking that.” You said through clenched teeth.

“You’re drunk, you’ve obviously been drinking all day, surely Benjamin darling noticed that before he let you leave the house, eh?”

You turned to him, eyes bloodshot and unfocused, “I came here… Because you never told me… If you remembered our first kiss.”

He stares at you for a few moments, “You came all the way to Small Heath to ask me if I remember our first kiss?”

You blink, “Why are you just repeating what I just told you?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, “Yes, I remember it. Now will you go home?”

“I am home.”

“This isn’t your home anymore, you made sure of that.”

“How is what I did any fucking different from what you did? I married him to fuckin’ survive. That’s it. And you would’ve done the same in my place.” While you were talking you kept trying to get the bartender’s attention, but he was purposely ignoring you now, “Will you please tell your bartender to get me a drink?”

He leans in close to your ear and you still, “You could have married me. I could have given you everything if you had just waited.”

You turn your head to look at him and your lips are just inches from his, “I didn’t think you would come back, Tommy. So many men were dying every day, I didn’t think you would come back and I was running out of time to find someone else to marry. I’m sorry.” You don’t know if it’s the alcohol that makes you brave, but you lean into him just a little bit and he doesn’t move away. So you close the distance between you.

The kiss is quick, and you pull away to gage his reaction. But his eyes only dart from yours back down to your mouth before his fingers graze your chin and gently pull you to him again. You can’t believe how alive it makes you feel to be kissed, really kissed, by someone who wants you.

“You’re drunk.” Tommy says finally, pulling away.

“So what?”

“So you wouldn’t be cheating on your husband if you weren’t drunk.”

You snort, “I would do just about anything to feel the way you made me feel again.”

He shakes his head at you, “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N. So, what? You’re just going to have an affair with me and I’m supposed to be satisfied with that?”

“What do you suppose we do instead?”

“Leave him and marry me.”

He’s so sincere, and for a moment you allow yourself to think that you could. “You know I can’t do that.” You say quietly.

He nods and lowers his head, “Then I’m not sure how I can help you, Mrs. Davies.”

His use of your married name feels like a blow, “I know you feel the same as I do when we kiss, isn’t it worth it just for that?”

“I don’t do well with sharing.” He practically snarled in your face.

“I’m his in name alone. You own me, body, soul, and spirit, Tommy. You always have.”

Suddenly, he straightens as if he’s just now realized where he is. “Come with me.” He says quickly, sharply. You practically run after him and when you get outside, you see his horse. “Come on, I’ll help you up.”

“Where are you taking me?”

He rolls his eyes, “Can you ever just listen to me for once?” And without asking permission, lifted you up by your waist enough to get you on the saddle. When he comes up after you, you hesitate before wrapping your arms around his waist to keep yourself steady. It reminds you so vividly of just a few years earlier, you allow yourself to sink into the memories. It doesn’t take you long to realize he’s taking you to your old haunt. An abandoned house in the middle of the woods, overgrown with ivy.

“Why are we here?” As he helps you down from the horse, your faces nearly collide as your feet touch the ground. He seems to want to kiss you, but holds back.

“I waited here for you for days when I got back.” He says, walking away from you and towards the house. “When you stopped sending me letters, I had a feeling you had changed your mind, but I still hoped.”

You blink, “You never got my letter?”

He turns back to you, now leaning against a half demolished wall, “Did you send me a letter to tell me you were marrying that wanker? I honestly thought it was kinder that you hadn’t.”

You swallowed, “Yes, I sent you a letter.”

“And what did it say?”

You sigh, suddenly you’re frustrated with him, “That was years ago, Tommy, can’t we move on?”

He laughs, but it’s cold, “For you it was years ago, I’ve been living in this hell you left me in ever since. I didn’t get to move on to palaces and dinner parties and expensive champagne. I came back here and started another war, all in the hopes that one day I could provide for you and you would come home. And all the while you’ve been sleeping in another man’s bed.”

You look down at your feet. You understand the anger and the resentment he holds. After all, you knew when you sent that letter if he survived the war he would never forgive you. But here he was, some sort of dark, fallen angel, standing in front of you. Spreading over you again like ivy, the same way he had when you were younger. “I know I can’t take back the pain I’ve caused,” He was already scoffing and turning away from you, “But I’m here now. And so are you. And all I know is that being with you again makes me feel something and I haven’t felt anything since I sent out that letter.”

“So just like that, you think everything’s fixed?” He storms up to you, trapping you against the wall behind you. “You think you can just pop back in, say you’re sorry, and everything’s all better?”

You roll your eyes, unimpressed with his display of anger, “Of course not, Tommy, I’m not stupid.” You reach your hand out and delicately trail your fingers down his chest, “I just think… That it’d be a shame to deny each other what we both want.”

Without warning his hand clamps around your wrist and slams it against the wall behind you. It doesn’t hurt, really, but he did catch you off guard so you wince anyway.

He leaned forward until his lips brushed your ear, “Who said you could touch me without explicit permission?”

A chill went down your spine at the sound of his voice and you find yourself smirking, “Don’t need permission to touch what belongs to me.” You still know exactly what to say to piss him off.

He shoves you against the wall again, “You think this is fuckin’ funny, eh?” He leans down to look you eye to eye, “Am I laughing?” He pushes himself off the wall and turns away from you, “Always a fuckin’ joke to you.”

“Tommy, I thought… I’m sorry, I thought we were teasing--”

He rounds on you, “I don’t fuckin’ joke when it comes to you, do you understand? None of this is funny to me. It may be all a big joke to you with your fancy house and your upper class husband, but I lost the one thing in my life that had value and I don’t think it’s fuckin’ funny for you to shit all over the marriage that you thought was good enough to abandon me for in the first place!”

It’s all so absurd you nearly snort, “Do you think this is fun for me? Do you think I like living with the knowledge that I gave up the love of my life for someone who is rarely home, and when he is home doesn’t even spare me a second glance? My husband hasn’t kissed me in six months.”

“And so now you think you can have both?”

Tears shine in your eyes as you gaze up at him, “Can’t I?”

You can see the internal battle going on behind his eyes, caught between wanting you and not being able to truly have you. You knew he would give in to you, though, and maybe you felt a little guilty about that but you couldn’t afford to let your mind go there. You just needed someone to touch you, someone to really, truly desire you.

And Tommy gave in. He pushed you against the wall again, his mouth finding your mouth in a lust-filled frenzy. You moan in equal parts surprise and delight as his hands roam your body, pulling you up until your legs wrap around his waist, back firmly pressed to the wall.

You might pay for this sinful offense against your marriage one day, but today you will simply relish the way Tommy tastes.

***

“You’re quiet this morning.” Benjamin notes a week later during breakfast. “Actually, now that I think about it, I can’t remember the last time I heard you say a word. Is everything alright, darling?”

You look up from your plate where you had been pushing your egg around aimlessly and force a smile, “Everything is perfect, darling, why shouldn’t it be?”

He watches you closely for a moment, miles away on the opposite end of the dining table. You don’t believe he’s watched you like this since courting you. Then, in a flash, the moment is broken and he returns to his paper, “We should have dinner, just you and I. I have that business trip coming up and I’d like to spend some time with you before I go.”

You try not to narrow your eyes too deliberately at him. A proper lady never thinks too hard about her husband’s motives, she just acts delighted to be considered. But this was unlike him and you would find out why. “That would be lovely, dear.”

***

Your arm rests delicately on Benjamin’s as he takes you inside the restaurant he had made reservations in. He was going on and on about the lobster and how you should get one too and what drink to pair it with and it was all so fucking boring your eyelids grew heavy with sleep. You hadn’t seen Tommy since that day at the abandoned house.

Afterwards, he had taken you on the horse until you were a mile away from the house and insisted on being dropped there.

“I can take you further, he won’t see me.”

“It’s alright, Tommy. I like the walk.”

He had hopped off his horse with you and cradled your face in his hands, kissing you goodbye, “I’m still upset with you.” He said and kissed you again, harder. He bit down on your bottom lip hard enough to make you yelp, “This doesn’t change anything.”

But it changed everything, hadn’t it? For you, at least. You understood Tommy’s anger and resistance though. Maybe this would be the only taste of him he’d ever allow you again while you rotted away in that mansion of stone. “I’m sorry.” Was all you could manage, your foreheads still pressed together, before lightly pushing yourself off him and walking down the road without looking back.

Eventually, you heard his horse walk away and you did your best not to cry.

“Darling?” Benjamin’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. The two of you now sit at a small table in the corner. You’re buttering a roll absently, you couldn’t remember picking up the bread. “Darling, are you alright? I’ve been asking you to pass the butter.”

“Yes,” You said, reaching across the table with the butter dish in hand, “I’m sorry, my mind ran away from me.”

“And what were you thinking about?” He asks, taking the butter from you.

You blink, shocked that he would ask you such a thing, “Sorry?”

“What’s got your mind so occupied that I can’t seem to keep your attention?” He smiles when he says it and you realize he’s… teasing you.

“Oh, it’s nothing darling, I was just thinking about a dress I wanted to buy. I’m sorry that I wasn’t listening to you.”

He sighs greatly and for a moment you’re scared. Somehow he knows. He must know, otherwise-- “I realize that I haven’t been the best husband as of late. I don’t know what you spend your days doing, what you like, what you don’t like. I don’t kiss you in the morning or the evening when I come home from work--”

You’re shaking your head, “Benjamin--”

“You’ve been the perfect wife. Taking care of the house and entertaining guests, going out to the shop when I need something even if I haven’t asked. And I’ve ignored you. Aren’t you angry with me?”

Your eyes water and you sit back in your chair, looking down at your lap. Taking a breath you look back up at him, “You’re my husband.” You shrug, “I do what I must even if I don’t get anything in return.”

He hesitantly covers your hand with his own, “I’ll be better. I promise.” He sits back, “That friend that you went to lunch with the other day, what was her name?”

The fear returns all over again as you lightly dab at your eyes, “Martha, she’s a friend from Oxford.” The lie comes easily, too easily.

“Is she married?” Before you can answer, his eyes light up, “Oh! She must be that gentleman’s wife, the one who was at the party last week. Shelby, I believe his name was.”

Slowly, you nod, “Yes, that’s right. Martha’s husband is Thomas.”

“You should invite them for dinner, after my trip!”

Oh, fuck. “Oh, Benjamin, that’s so sweet of you dear, but you don’t have to--”

“I do.” He covers his hand with yours again, “I want to learn more about you. Your friends. What better way to do that than get to know the people you grew up with?”

You force a smile, “That sounds lovely.”

He smiles back, “It’s settled then! You iron out the details while I’m away and then just let me know which evening, alright, dear?”

“Of course.” You say, still forcing that smile. How the fuck were you going to get out of this one?

***

“Are you out of your mind?” You had summoned Tommy yet again by drinking at the Garrison and he had stormed in here ready to toss you over his shoulder and kick you out himself. But you had managed to get him to share a drink with you and you told him your new predicament.

“Well, yes, but that’s hardly the point.” He looks so annoyed with you, you almost laugh, “Please, Tommy. I’ll never bother you again.”

He snorts, “Yeah, that’ll be the day.” He knocks back the rest of his whiskey and then pushes the glass to the bartender, signaling for another, “This is really what you want?”

You bite your lip, “He seems sincere. Like he really wants to try.”

“But do you love him? Do you love him the way you love me?”

No. There would never be a love for you like Tommy. You look down at your hands. Either way you answer, Tommy will be hurt. But at least this way he could go on thinking that you’re happy. That you don’t need him. Maybe this way he’d fall in love with somebody else. The thought sent daggers through your heart, but you knew you had no one to blame for that but yourself. He should be happy, he deserved that. “Yes.” You lied.

His eyes shuttered and he looked away from you, “Alright. I’ll help you, then.”

You sigh in relief, “Thank you.”

“Now get the hell out of my bar.”

You manage a small smile and nod, sneaking out without another word.

***

The door buzzed and you nearly smiled, “That’ll be the guests, darling.” You moved behind Benjamin, squeezing his shoulder as you passed, “I’ll get it.”

When you opened the door and saw Tommy standing there with a tall, beautiful woman, you couldn’t deny the hurt that rushed through you. You had asked him to bring someone, you reminded yourself, you had told him he needed to bring a fake wife.

You step aside to let them through, “It’s good to see you, Tommy. Martha. Come in.”

“Your home is so lovely,” The woman said. You weren’t sure if you just felt like she was staring daggers at you or if she was. How much did this woman know of you and Tommy? Just from the way she looked at Tommy, you could tell she had feelings for him. He had probably fucked her at some point. You ignore the painful tightening of your stomach at the thought. Tommy, for his part, seemed bored by her.

“Thank you.” You gestured for the maid to take their coats and you couldn’t help the way your breath caught as Tommy took his off. Then his hat. And his gloves. Those hands and those rings and-- You looked from his left hand to hers. They were wearing wedding rings. You supposed it shouldn’t have surprised you, they were supposed to be married. But the sight painfully stole all the breath from your lungs. You wondered if this was how Tommy felt when he saw you. You turned away from it and guided them into the drawing room, immediately going to get a drink while Benjamin bored them with talk of business.

You didn’t expect for it to hurt so much, seeing him with someone else. Even if they were just fucking, you felt like you couldn’t breathe as you stumbled into the kitchen. The kitchen staff ignored you as you braced your hands on a table, looking down at it and trying to catch your breath. They were used to you having breakdowns here. The staff liked you because you treated them like people when Benjamin wasn’t around. When he was on his trips, you’d invite them all to eat with you in the dining room and they were some of the most fun dinners you’d had since marrying Benjamin. So they let you cry in here and didn’t speak a word of it.

When the kitchen doors open abruptly, you stand immediately, expecting Benjamin, but it’s Tommy who stands there instead. “What are you doing back here?” You asked with annoyance.

“Why are you crying?” He asks, and you hate the concern that floods his face.

“You shouldn’t be back here, Benjamin might come looking for me--”

“I told him I would go look for you, he seems quite charmed by Lizzie, he won’t come looking.”

“So her name’s Lizzie then? She’s lovely.”

He’s quiet a moment, “So you’re sulking in here because I brought another woman here, something you asked me to do.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“We should go back out there,” You begin to walk around him, but his hand clasps on your upper arm and pulls you back.

“Does it hurt? Knowing I’m fucking someone else?” He whispers in your ear.

Tears sting your eyes and you realize he’s done this on purpose. He wanted to hurt you. You look up into those ice blue eyes to show him yours that are shining with tears, “Are you happy now?” You wrenched your arm from his grasp and left the kitchen, putting on a smiling face as you left.

Tommy watches you closely for most of the evening and you think that normally Benjamin might notice his predatory gaze, but Tommy was right. He’s enamored by Lizzie. They share touches and longing glances, even when you place your arm on top of Benjamin’s to signal that he’s yours. He just pats your hand and draws his arm out from under yours all without looking away from Lizzie. So when Tommy excuses himself for a smoke, you follow him out, not even bothering to excuse yourself.

“Ol’ Benjamin is really giving it his best shot with you, eh?” Tommy says immediately when you walk outside. You don’t say anything, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your anger. “Can’t say I blame him,” He continues, “Lizzie’s a great fuck.”

You close your eyes, “I know what you’re doing.”

“And what am I doing, love?” He makes the endearment sound condescending and you hate him for that.

“You’re trying to get me angry so I’ll admit that I lied to you about loving Benjamin.”

“I saw the way you looked at the wedding rings when I took off my gloves,” He inhales on the cigarette in his hand, “I don’t need you to say it.”

“Then what, you’re just rubbing it in because you’re a sadistic fuck?”

“So you are angry, then.”

“Yes!” You threw up your hands in exasperation, “Yes, I’m fucking angry that I thought maybe Benjamin did love me only to see him touch and look at that woman in there more than he’s touched me in over a year! And I’m fucking angry that you are also fucking her! I’m jealous, I’m fucking burning with how jealous I am that she gets to touch you and I don’t! Is that what you want to hear, you fucking prick?!”

God help you, he has a cool smile on his lips, “Yes, sweetheart. That’s what I wanted to hear. Would you like to go make your husband terribly jealous?” He reaches a hand out to you.

You’re frowning at him and you shake your head, “I don’t understand.”

“Sure you do, I’m helping you get what you want.”

“But why?”

He lowers his hand, “Do you want the truth or the lie?”

You swallow, “Truth.”

He brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheek, “Are you sure? It’ll break your heart.” He says softly.

You smile sadly and bring his hand to your chest, right above your heart. Your eyes glitter with unshed tears as you look at him, “Already broken.”

You almost miss his sharp intake of breath at your admission. You suppose he’s happy, happy that you were in so much pain after shattering his heart. “So?” You say.

“The truth is that,” He swallows, “The only thing that hurts me more than you not being mine is seeing you so fuckin’ sad. So let me help you.” You look up at him with those big sad eyes that practically scream at him how much you love him. He can’t stand to look another second, “Come on.” He offers you his hand again.

You place your small hand in his and he brings you back inside, not even dropping your hand as you pass your husband and Lizzie who are looking even cozier than when you left. He brings you to the drawing room in view of the dining room and finally drops your hand to go to the gramophone.

You feel Benjamin’s eyes on your back, but you don’t turn, focusing on Tommy.

A smile breaks out on his face, “I knew you’d have it.”

He holds up a record that the two of you used to listen to so often, you had had to replace the record a couple years back. A small smile forms on your lips, “Tommy, are you sure?”

When the two of you were together, you had taken a dance class together, mostly as a joke, but then you surprised yourselves when you had so much fun with it. Soon, you were choreographing dances together and Tommy was spinning you around that abandoned house. It seemed lifetimes ago and you couldn’t believe that the man who went to France and came back ready to kill any man standing in his way would still know or want to dance with you like when you were barely adults. But he’s beaming at you now, hand extended and the song is starting.

Biting your lip to hide your smile, you curtsy to him before taking his hand and he did a slight bow in response. And then he’s whisking you around the room. You can tell he hasn’t done this in a while and neither had you, but as the song picks up you lock eyes with him. You hadn’t seen him this happy since before the war. The sight sends such a thrill through you, you laugh, and suddenly you’re both in sync.

The weight of both Benjamin’s and Lizzie’s stares nearly break you, “It’s just me and you,” Tommy whispers, noticing how the light had dimmed from you just a little, “Focus on me.” And you do, losing yourself in the music and Tommy’s touch. Tommy dips you, your head falling back and upside down, you can see Benjamin and Lizzie, their eyes on you just like you thought. Tommy pulls you back up and you nearly crash into his chest as the song ends. He clutches your hand to him and your foreheads nearly touch as you both breathe hard.

There’s footsteps behind you and you turn to look to Benjamin, a smile still on your face, and his hand collides with your cheek. There’s only silence for a few seconds and it takes you all of those seconds to realize that Benjamin has hit you and before you’ve reached that conclusion, Tommy’s fist is already connecting with Benjamin’s jaw.

“Stop, stop.” You reach for Tommy to pull him off your husband, “Tommy, that’s enough!”

He had only punched Benjamin twice before you were able to pull him off and then he’s looking at you, “Are you alright?” There’s such concern in his eyes, he even brings his hands up to your face, eyes darting back and forth to assess the damage.

But your husband is still here so you push him away, “I’m fine, you should go.”

He’s looking at you like you’re crazy, “I won’t leave you with him.” He says quietly enough that you’re sure you’re the only one who heard him.

“Yes you will.” You look at him with cold, calculated calm. Your husband is still lying on the floor with stupid Lizzie coddling him, “You both should go.” You repeat.

Tommy is still staring at you and Lizzie has risen from where she was crouching next to your husband, placing a hand on Tommy’s arm, “Thomas, let’s go.”

You hate the familiarity of the touch, you’re able to tell she’s done it several times before. “Listen to your wife.” You say bitterly and that ice in his eyes is back. He simply backs away from you, Lizzie pulling him out the door.

“You humiliate me.” Benjamin says, now sitting upright and dabbing at blood at the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief. It gives you sick satisfaction that Tommy had made him bleed.

“You humiliate yourself.” You say coldly.

“You danced with him like… Like you were some whore.”

You flinch at the insult, “I told you I knew him from Oxford, we took ballroom together. We were simply reminiscing.”

“You think me an imbecile,” He chuckles, “I saw the way you looked at each other. You’ve never once looked at me like that.”

Now you laugh and the sound makes him flinch, “Benjamin, when we met I looked at you like the sun and the moon set on your command, do not insinuate otherwise.” Your voice shakes with anger, “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to touch and talk to me the way you talked to Tommy's wife all goddamn night. That’s why I danced with him. I wanted to make you jealous, I didn’t think you’d hit me.”

He’s shaking his head, “That doesn’t change the fact that you once bedded that man and then brought him into my house.”

You stare at him blankly, “If I recall correctly, you were the one who invited him here. And I daresay, Benjamin, with the way you were with his wife I have no doubt what you do on those business trips. I will not be made the villain when all I’ve done is begged for your love from day one.” He looks away from you at that and you relish how you’ve made him submit to you after being submissive for so long, “I’m going to bed, you’re welcome to wallow here in your weakness if you’d like.”

***

Tommy drives in silence with Lizzie next to him, quietly fuming. He has half a mind to turn around and drag you from that house himself, but he knew you’d never forgive him for that. “Was a bit daft to dance with her like that in front of her husband, don’t you think, Tom?”

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, the only indication of his agitation, “Was a bit daft to flirt with her husband in front of her for three straight hours, don’t you think, Lizzie?”

“He advanced on me--”

“No,” Tommy’s shaking his head, “No, don’t give me that bullshit. You knew what she meant to me and you went in there to purposely hurt her. Well congratu-fucking-lations Lizzie, you won.”

“As if you didn’t enjoy seeing her hurting after she left you.”

“Don’t talk about things you don’t know.” He said dangerously.

“Fine, Tommy,” She says, slumping in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest, “Let her destroy you again, went so well for you the first time.”

He doesn’t respond as he knows there is some truth to what Lizzie is saying. He would let you destroy him again, he would give you his last breath if that was what you wanted.

***

When you wake the next morning, Benjamin is gone. The maid told you he left in the early hours of the morning and handed you a note.

I know what he is and I know what you are. Don’t be here when I return.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Who had told him? How had he figured it out?

The answer was obvious. It had to have been fucking Thomas, trying to force your hand after you refused to leave with him. You crumpled the note and ran back upstairs to get dressed. You figured you had a few days until Benjamin came home, maybe you could still sort it out. The first order of business was going to yell at Tommy.

***

When he sees you walking down the streets of Small Heath looking murderous, he wonders what he’s done. Maybe this is a response to the previous night, but you hadn’t seemed homicidal when he left you.

“What the fuck did you tell him?” You greeted him by shoving him against the nearest building. He raised his arms in bored surrender, not wanting to cause a scene, but you didn’t seem to care about that, “Did you turn around and come back and tell him everything? Do you think I’ll run off with you now that I have nowhere to go?” Tears run down your cheeks now and he frowns in concern, “Well I won’t. I’m fucking done with you, Thomas Shelby. I don’t care if I have to beg on the streets--”

“What are you talking about?” He interjects finally. You look him over, eyes darting over his face and you can see there’s genuine confusion there. He didn’t do this.

Rubbing at your eyes, you sit on the nearest surface, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay, “He knows who you are. Which means he knows who I am. He’s kicking me out.”

He gently puts a hand on your elbow, “Come inside. Please.”

For once, you let yourself be guided. He brings you inside the building that says Shelby Company Limited on the outside and then suddenly the rest of the Shelby family is staring at you.

“Tommy,” Polly says softly, staring at you with a hand on her heart, “You told us she was dead.”

You blink and then turn to Tommy who won’t look at any of you, “She was.”

Tommy Shelby had told his whole family that you were dead rather than go through the humiliation of explaining that you had left your old life behind in favor of another. Left him behind. You supposed, in a way, you had died.

Polly’s gaze drifts to your hand where you’re fiddling with your wedding ring. “Oh, Tommy. Tell me you haven’t killed someone’s husband.”

“Not yet,” The words send a jolt through you, “Stay here.” He orders, squeezing your shoulder.

“Tommy, wait,” He turns back to you, “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to kill him before he ruins you and then you’ll have your pick of any lord you’d like. Maybe one of them will actually love you this time. Isn’t that what you want?”

It feels like a dig though you’re not sure he meant it to be one, “No.”

Sensing the energy in the room, the rest of Tommy’s family dispersed, leaving the two of you alone.

“What d’ya mean ‘no’?” There’s a bit of anger in his voice, “You don’t want to be with me, you don’t want to be a lady anymore, are you gonna live on the streets?”

“For your information, Thomas, if I wanted I could make a living for myself,” He scoffs. “But you’re wrong.”

“About what?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, eyes glittering with tears, “I do want to be with you.” After finally uttering the words, you brace yourself for rejection.

He stares at you and then rubs a hand over his face. He begins shaking his head, “You don’t mean that.”

You walk to him and reach your hands up to frame his face. You expect him to move away from your touch, but he doesn’t. When you gently stroke his face with your thumbs he closes his eyes and you truly understand how you had broken this man in front of you, “I do,” You say again, “And I’m sorry for ever making you think you didn’t deserve me.”

Finally, he does push your hands away and walks to the window on the far side of the room, his back to you, “I still want to kill him.” He says softly.

You frown, “Tommy--”

“If you weren’t in that room last night I would have kept punching and kicking and gouging his eyes out with my bare hands for daring to put a hand on you.” His voice is dangerously low, “Is that still the kind of man that you want?” He finishes bitterly.

He would kill a man for you. The thought sends a thrill through you. “I’ve spent the last few years of my life with a man who didn’t even attempt to learn my favorite type of jam, Tommy, do you understand?”

“It’s strawberry.”

You raise your eyebrows, “What?”

He finally turns to you, “Your favorite jam, it’s strawberry. I used to wait in line for hours in the summer when strawberries were in season to get some for you.” He smiles a bit to himself at the memory, “It was always worth it for the smile and kiss on the cheek you gave me.”

Tears finally cascade down your cheeks as you recall the memory, “I’d forgotten about that.” You say softly, “Tommy, it’s me who doesn’t deserve you.”

“You told me minutes ago that you wouldn’t run off with me, that you were done--”

“I know,” You say, “That’s when I thought you had betrayed me, that you wanted to force me to be with you--”

“I would never force you to be with me.” He says fiercely, “I would never force this life, this fuckin’ hell, on anyone.”

You shake your head, “I know what you’ve become since you came home. Knowing all of that, knowing what you’re truly capable of, I still choose you. I know you’re my only chance of real happiness.”

He stares at you for another few moments, “So you’ll marry me, then? The whole bit?”

You smile, “I imagined this whole bit to be much more romantic, but yes, I’ll marry you, Thomas.”

“You can’t change your mind once Benjamin comes back, it’s me or you figure out your own way.”

“I’m not choosing you because of the money. I’ve had the money, all it did was make me miserable.”

He steps to you and runs a thumb over your lips, “You’re really mine then, eh?”

“You know,” Familiar mischief lights up your eyes, “Benjamin won’t be back for a few days… What do you say we drink his expensive wine straight from the bottle and fuck on every surface we can.”

Tommy finally cracks a smile, “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

You laugh and go up on your toes to kiss him. He immediately dips his head to you, breathing you in deep as he kisses you. His tongue slides along your lip until you open to him, awarding him with a soft moan. His tongue strokes against yours and you feel hot need for him pooling between your thighs when he pulls away.

He relishes the pout on your face at his absence, “Save it for Benjamin’s bed, princess.” He smirks and tugs you out of the building, lifting you onto your horse. And as he rides, your arms wrapped around his waist, you only wish you had had the wisdom to choose Tommy Shelby first.

#mine #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby x reader

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alldayangst · 4 years

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gold rush (Tom Holland)

All of my fics are LGBT and PoC friendly. Inspired by gold rush by Taylor Swift. Everybody wants Tom, but you don’t like a gold rush. WC: 2.7K words.

“Y/N, I just wanted to say again, thank you for coming in today and doing this for us.” Tom’s dad, Dominic, said as he displaced papers across desks, earl grey swaying like an angry lake in his mug. Approaching footsteps hinted that the star of the show was soon to be hold. In other words, Tom was running behind.

The door creaked and light from the corridor crept through like Sun peeping through curtains of the Night. It refusing to shut after Tom budged and pushed was maybe divine punishment for him being so late, and maybe provided the bit of laughter you needed after rolling out of bed at 6am for this, for him. When the door eventually did close, Tom turned around and saw you in all your glory; much taller than he remembered, more assured than he’d imagined, and more gorgeous than drowned out and half forgotten memories of you could ever fabricate.

You and Tom ran in the same social circles, but hadn’t seen each other since Tom’s career imploded when you were both nineteen. As much as Tom felt he owed his heart and soul to the UK, he maintained an almost permanent fixture on the States. It started to feel like his trips back to England were in fact actual holiday. At one point, you were in love with Tom, but meeting became a constant battle of ‘here, not there’ and your heart grew tired of the duck and goose chase. The gravity of the situation was too much for you, whom hadn’t even tasted their twenties yet.

“Y/N!” Tom launched at you and held you in tight embrace. You let go of the hug, but he didn’t. And his dad watched on in momentary awe as you wrapped your arms around Tom once again, who breathed in every part of you with unwavering adoration.

“Tom!” You rubbed along his back as he hummed. “When I was told we were gonna have a ghost writer, I had no idea it was gonna be you.”

Tom and his dad (being an author) were collaborating on a book, a million dollar idea that’d been years in the making. Tom had stalled it, his dad told you out of simple insecurity. Now that the world was a stage, he was worried people would criticise his dyslexia with every line he wrote, that every stroke of his pen would reveal him as a rare type of monster that lacked intellect, he pondered that he wasn’t insightful enough in some way. His dad may have written a book about Tom outfaming him, but Tom felt like he’d always live in Dom’s shadow in this respect. Fresh from Oxford with an English Bachelor’s degree, Dom employed you to get grease on the gears to commence writing. Tom had always come out of his shell when you were around.

Your writing session lasted from 8 til noon, when Tom had promo with LadBible or Entertainment Weekly or whoever had bid the highest from his presence that day.

The door swung open and three men in all black and mics saddled around their waists called for and led Tom out of the room.

“Tom, session’s over. We need to get you to your BBC promo in 30 and we’re already running behind schedule.’ One cloaked Tom in a jacket you were sure was more expensive than your own home and another whispered something into a walkie talkie: “Holland is on the move. Check the back entrance is clear.” With that, Tom rose to his feet and left completely opposite of the way you came in. Without a word, no goodbye.

You and Dom left the building together around ten minutes later, where ten men with large cameras stood, lenses focused on you, glaring at you, not sure what to make of you. One of the men screams “Hey! You dating Tom Holland” and after that all you hear is clicks and all you see is bright flashing lights and Dom clenches your hand and leads you to your taxi cab.

The next time you see Tom is sooner than expected. The Hollands were hosting a last minute dinner party and you found yourself sitting opposite Tom, feeling his hard, hot and heavy gaze on you. The tension in the room was so thick not even a chainsaw cut through.

“Next topic,” You picked up a card from the deck and read it aloud. “Politics!” You said devilishly as you sip on what was left of the white wine in your cup, and now that your thought process is blurred; Tom’s longing gaze puts you at dismay.

“Fuck!” Harry exploded, and you hear their mother hiss. “Fuck I hate politics, there’s no making it out alive!” he remarked as he drummed on the table cloth, drunken excitement brewing a new energy in the room.

You go on like this for hours until dinner party is dinner party no more. And while Dom, Nikki and all of Tom’s siblings have chosen to exit stage left, it’s 1am and you and Tom have yet to leave the scene.

Tom sets down your deck of debate cards in favour of a genuine moment.

“What are you doing these days, Y/N?” Tom’s not looking at you, he’s looking at your knee as he rubs circles on it. You want to look down there too, see what he finds so intriguing; but you decide against it in fear you might spontaneously combust. You don’t know if this moment’s supposed to be intimate or innocent and you’re not sure if you want to find out.

So you put up a wall.

“I should be asking you the same thing, Holland.” You say sarcastically. “What have you been doing these days? I haven’t seen you around.” Your eyebrows scrunched up together but you’ve got a big, idiot grin on your face that’s more than telling. Tom giggles at your facetiousness.

Tom scratches his head in mock thought. He never clocks out, always putting on a show. “I don’t know - uh.” You’re laughing before Tom has even told the punchline, ‘cause I guess anything’s funny when it’s said by the one you love.”I’m kind of -” He snatches an old Spiderman comic off the floor. “I’m kinda doing this acting thing at the moment. Playing, y’know, this guy.”

“Well I wish you better luck in the future.” Tom has stopped rubbing circles but instead places his two hands on your knees as you rock back in laughter.

“I’m serious, Y/N. What do you do now?”

“Um.” You suddenly forgot your entire career as Tom, with no shade of subtlety, stares right into your soul. “I got my degree. I write like little stories, y’know? Have you ever heard of folklore?”

Tom shook his head.

“They’re like these little, old beautiful myths. And I write them for a living. And if I’m lucky, they get published in The Times. If I’m even luckier, I get to work with my old best friend - ” You feel your world stop temporarily as you call Tom your ‘best friend’ and you pause for all of 0.3 seconds to register Tom’s reaction but his face doesn’t flinch. “-Writing a book with him and his dad.” And that makes Tom smile. So he doesn’t have to tell you he missed you, you just know.

‘Undivided appearance’ and ‘undivided attention’ don’t necessarily mean the same thing in Hollywood as they do in real life, and you learn that the hard way in your writing session.

Tom may have been sat right next to you, but he was miles away. He was doing press with Cosmo, who hadn’t stopped tagging him with blue hearts on his Instagram, Twitter and Snapchat stories, causing his phone to go off every two seconds. You looked at the phone and then at him who then got the hint and put it on silent. Then there was a knock on the door. Tom rushed to open it, expecting that Dom had sent down a food delivery to egg you on finishing this chapter. You rehashed his childhood like a million times - in fact, you were part of it - so when it came to writing the parts that hurt, where you took a more supporting role in his life, you needed his help. The fact is, the knock at the door had come from one of Tom’s men (Tom liked to call him Man In Black no. 3) who hadn’t said as much as a ‘hi’ before he made his announcement. “Tom, you’re on the line with Cosmo in 10.” The man stepped back and pulled out his walkie talkie, “Holland knows he’s on the line with Cosmo at 10.” And then continued to pace around the hallway.

Cosmo called as he said they would and you almost felt for. second like tom might enjoy an entertainment magazine’s company more than yours. The interviewer made glaring comments and passive flirts at Tom who just blushed and chuckled and sipped his water like the woman on the phone calling him ‘hot’ was just too much to handle. At one point, she says: “What must it be like to grow up that beautiful, Tom? With your hair falling into place like dominoes.” You’re not expecting it when Tom tilts the phone so you’re in view. “Well I’m with the most beautiful being on Earth right now so..” Tom looks at you as if to ask ‘is this okay?” and you know it’s too late for these kind of questions, because that moment is headline fodder, so you smile not to make him feel bad for opening Pandora’s box. But Tom is merciless and likes to rub salt in the wound. “This is Y/N! Y/N’s helping me write the book with my Dad! We go way back.” He covers his mouth as soon as he says it. “Shit! They’re not supposed to know about the book yet.”

This is the moment, you think, where you believe when they say your first love is the one you never let go.

And you can’t think of anything purer than the love you have for him.

Tom thinks being on land is boring. He likes being strung from chords 30 feet in the air, and drowning in despair through scenes of emotional turmoil. You want to tell him you’re an arrow from Cupid’s bow about to reach him, but you couldn’t recover from the splinters if Tom shut you down. After all, Tom was a gold rush. A treasure that everyone had discovered but nobody owned. How precious is a jewel that anybody could take home with them?

Tom had invited you to a visit to Brighton with him, a city near the coast, for some inspiration on writing his section of the book.

You accepted. And because you did, you found yourself at the beginning of the end, on Tom’s boat in Brighton. “We don’t have to talk about the book right now.” Tom throws a stack of blue tinted paper on the floor. His dyslexia meant that spelling and reading was so much easier when done on blue pages, and you could only guess that was the reason the body of water around you brought him so much peace. So when you saw that something might compromise your best boy’s happiness, you point it out. To give Tom a little bit of time to exit before things got ugly.

“Tom, I see someone in the bushes.”

“Yeah. It’s a pap.” Tom mumbled nonchalantly.

“They’re here to get pictures of me,” He turned to face you. “and you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, the fans ship us. Think we’d be a good couple after that Cosmo stunt. We would have been a good couple when we were like, 18.” He laughs.

“Huh, yeah.” You look down.

“The best one around.” And you can’t tell if he’s serious.

You rip off one of his blue sheets. “I’m coming. I got hit with inspo.” And you trail to a different section of the boat. A very obvious click of the camera from a shrub nearby coaxes your pen to write without a second thought, How is he so accustomed to this? Fake private moments, protected by sheer glass curtains?

You scrunched your paper, well his paper, into a ball.

Your mind had turned his life into folklore. You weren’t sure if that was crossing a line, so you just put the ball into your bag and hide it until he hits you with the spark again.

“Let me see it.” Tom says.

“No.”

“You ran off to write it and won’t let me see it?”

You held your bag at your hip in defence. “No, Tom. Drop it.”

Tom’s face drops a little bit, but then he reaches into his own bag and reveals a deck of your debate cards. “I know what will cheer you up, good ol’ Y/N.” He sets a card on the wooden table between you two.

“Do you believe in a higher power?”

You toyed with the pendant around your neck which revealed your faith. “Do you?”

“I don’t. But I believe in soulmates.”

You look to the left to really ponder on what Tom is saying, and a paparazzis captures another photo of you in the corner of your eye.

“And you don’t think there’s a higher power that manufactures our souls to make our soulmates?”

Tom feigns a scowl. “That’s ridiculous.”

You scoffed. “How very contrarian of you.”

“What the fuck does that mean.”

“It means you contradict yourself, Thomas.” You laugh as he holds his chest in fake hurt.

“Are you implying I’m anything less than perfect?”

“Never.”

Never. Because you didn’t believe that to be true.

“Good. Cause you’d have to be punished.” Tom picks you up and throws you in the water below before jumping in with you.

On your way home you stop at the yours and Tom’s writing booth, scavenging through your bag to drop off Tom’s notepad, some scrunched up blue and white papers you and Tom thought could still help you write his book. You’d made an addition to your love-hazed scribblings about Tom and reckon you’d die if he found it. You managed to throw the other in the water, excusing yourself with “It’s utterly awful.”, to which you and Tom agreed you wouldn’t throw any more paper in the ocean cause the poor fish already had it hard enough.

You and Tom had a session the next day. Tom was excited for the day, and you could tell because he’d given his phone to one of his big babysitters for the time he had you.

“I think that’s all of yours.” You and Tom made a business out of unscrunching your paper balls to see if they had any useful ideas. You were certain you reached the end of Tom’s. All of his notes had ‘T.H’ written on the back in big and were scribed on blue paper. When it came to your little ‘secret admirer’ notes you weren’t worried - you had an English degree and were quick to think on your feet and was ready to make something up when it came to opening it.

“No, this one’s mine.” He’s confident, so you let him have it. He goes to pick up your tea and then realises it’s nowhere near warm, and was the one you made for yourself when you crept in yesterday evening. Tom has a smile on his face, and then he doesn’t. Before he goes to read it aloud, his eyes tell you he’s reading it again and again and again. “At dinner parties, I’ll call you out on your contrarian shit, and the coastal towns we wondered round will never see a love as pure as it.”

The look on Tom’s face gives you the splinters. He tries to look at you but you know he can’t. You don’t blame him. You can’t look at him either. “I really thought this was a good friendship.”

You hum and nod your head in agreement, pull your lips into a thin straight line as streaks of tears abandon your eyes. This was worse than Tom rubbing salt in your wounds. He’s rubbing dirt in your painful fucking gashes and you are reminded of why this didn’t work before, why it will never be.

And you wouldn’t dare to dream about him anymore.

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jawritter · 4 years

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Where The Green Grass Grows

Chapter 1

Summary: Life changes, nothing ever stays the same. With most change comes with some degree of pain, that’s how we grow.

Jensen thought he had his whole life planned out, written for him in the bright lights of Hollywood. One failed marriage later, and a lifetime of lessons learned, lead him home to a place he thought he’d left behind him when he was only a teenager.

He thought his life was over. He felt like he’d lost everything, but who knew one little trip to the local diner that had just opened up outside of town would turn his whole world upside down. All because he met you. Maybe a little slower pace of life isn’t such a bad idea after all…

Warnings: Language, Angst, mention of past OC character death, mention of grief, dealing with a divorce. Drinking. I think that's about it for this chapter.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 2550

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

A/N: This fic is unbeta’d and all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work! I hope you all enjoy this one! Feedback is golden! This series is complete on patreon.

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“Mr. Ackles! Good morning!” Alex, Jensen's longtime agent, said as he took his seat at the big oak desk in front of Jensen.

“Alex,” Jensen said, giving the man a tight smile as he watched him shuffle through the pile of paperwork on his desk. Jensen had been in the entertainment industry since he was a young boy in one sense or another. He was no idiot, and he knew the reason he was called into his agents office for the first time in almost 15 years wasn’t a good thing, and he knew just what it was about.

“I’m glad you could come in to see us on such short notice, Mr. Ackles. I’m sure you’re a busy man, and I’m not going to take up much of your time.”

Alex folded his hands in front of him, and Jensen couldn’t help but feel like the kid that had been sent to the principal's office for doing something stupid in class. The only difference was this time he wasn’t a kid, and this wasn’t a school. He was in his fucking forties, and this was his job. He hadn’t even done anything wrong!

“I’m sure you already suspect the reason I called you here Jensen,” Alex said, dropping all formality that was there just a moment ago. “Your recent divorce has affected you, and I don’t mean that in an offensive way!” Alex said as Jensen rolled his eyes. He knew that’s what this was all about.

His divorce with Danneel had been a very public one. There were children involved, and of course a substantial amount of property. What divorce has ever gone smoothly or quietly in Hollywood? None that he’d ever seen, and they were overall civil for the public eye? So what was the problem?

“Cut the shit, Alex!” Jensen said, barely holding his temper in check. He could feel his blood pressure rising in his seat. Why did people have to be so damn judgemental? “What the fuck is this really all about?”

Alex took a deep breath, and set back in defeat against his dark leather chair, and looked at Jensen almost as if he pitied him, and damn if that didn’t just suck worse than the wishy-washy shit.

“Look, Jensen, since your divorce you haven’t been as on your game as you were. You’re showing up late to set. You have been drinking more, I can tell it by the color of your fucking skin man. You’re exhausted. No one expected you to jump back to work before the ink even dried on the divorce papers, and the company thinks it might be time to take a little break, get yourself back together, and figure shit out before you try and take on another roll.”

Alex fell quiet as Jensen set there with his hands buried in his hair, no longer looking at him. Alex did not want to do this to Jensen, he really didn’t. It was the guys that were higher up than he was.

Sure they weren’t exactly wrong, he could see it in the actor’s eyes how tired he was, and how much strain he was under. He didn’t want another nervous breakdown under his belt like Charlie Sheen that had almost turned into an incurable disaster. Jensen had a stable following, and a break wasn’t going to hurt his career. If nothing else it may help it.

“Go back to Texas for a while Jensen, get away from all this shit here in California, go have a damn beer out in the country for fucks sake. Focus on you! Gigs will still be here. You need to take care of yourself man.”

Jensen nodded slowly before finally looking up to meet Alex’s now concerned gaze.

Jensen knew deep down he’d been slipping, but he didn’t think it was bad enough to warrant a forced vacation. If it really was that bad, he knew he needed to take a step back from the public eye until he could get his shit together before it did hurt his career. He’d seen much bigger actors than him fall because of shit they did while going through tough shit like this, and he didn’t work all his life to lose everything.

“Okay… Fine… I’ll go home for a while,” Jensen said, huffing in defeat, rubbing his hand along the beard that was now covering his jawline as he focused on a random spot on the building just outside the window. Completely done with this conversation.

Alex breathed a visible sigh of relief and flopped back into his chair. His eyes still on the man in front of him. He couldn’t imagine what was going on in Jensen’s head right now, but whatever it was, he knew he wasn’t in the sharing mood.

“I’ll let the big guys upstairs know, take as long as you need,” Alex said, getting up from his desk and extending his hand for Jensen to shake. Jensen looked at it like it personally offended his mother, but shook it all the same. He didn’t want to piss people off to the point he’d need to find a new agency to represent him, but man, did he want to tell everyone in this building to go fuck themselves.

It really didn’t sink in that he was going home until Jensen sat down at his computer at home with a glass of bourbon in his hand, looking at plane tickets back to Dallas. He hadn’t told his dad he was coming, and he knew his family would welcome him back with open arms, but it was his own mental struggle that kept him from hitting the pay now button on the screen.

Sure, Alex said that he could come back whenever he was ready, but the truth was he didn’t know when or if ever he’d be ready again.

He felt like going back to Texas was admitting defeat. When he’d shown up in California all those years ago, he’d struggled his way into Hollywood. No one had given him an exactly warm welcome, and it didn’t come without some damn near misses and shit that almost sent him back before his time.

Now, after all that. Several decade’s worths of struggling, and clawing his way to where he was today, he was going home. It left more than a little bitter taste in his mouth, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The agency wasn’t going to get him another job until he took a break, and sure he needed one, but he didn’t want to take one. On the other hand, if he didn’t take one, then he’d surely destroy his career because he was in no shape to be in the public eye.

There was no going back to Austin. He couldn’t live in the same town as her, that’s why he’d run off to California. If he was going back to Texas it was going to have to be Dallas. No matter how much he didn’t want to.

It wasn’t that he was afraid someone would make fun of him, or the locals would talk about him. He was loaded, and successful. He wasn’t concerned about their opinions. It was his own pride he was struggling with, not theirs. He had lost his wife and children, now he was losing his career, and he just didn’t feel like this shitshow could get any worse.

“Who says you can’t go home,” Jensen said with a dark chuckle as he booked his ticket, and stared at the departure time. 5:00 A.M. tomorrow. That only gave him a few hours to pack, but then again, he wasn’t sure he wanted to even take any of this shit with him.

“Order up!” you hear James call from the other side of the counter where the kitchen was separated from the bar by a large whole that took up most of the inner wall, much like a lot of older dinner kitchens did in the ’50s and ’60s.

You throw the rag you’d been wiping the bar down with in the laundry hamper that was hidden safely under the counter from the view of the customers and grabbed the tray of burgers and fries, bringing them over to the young couple that was sitting at the very back of the restaurant. They were the only customers left in the place, and it was obviously their first date.

You could tell it in the way the girl nervously played with the hem of her dress, while the young man did all he could to hold a conversation with her. It was evident that in the light blush that covered her cheeks she had feelings for the boy, and judging by the way he was gushing over her, his feelings went pretty deep too.

“Here you go guys, if you need anything else I’ll just be right over there,” you tell them with a smile. They thanked you, and you returned to your place behind the counter. You sighed deeply as you started to count down the register that was used earlier that day. Once this young couple was done, then it was time to get out of here. You were more than ready to get these shoes off your feet and sink neck-deep in a bath as hot as you could stand it in order to relieve some of the day's tension that was still evident in your back and legs from standing on your feet all day.

As you counted down the money in front of you, your eyes kept drifting over to the young couple sitting at the back table. You remember when Eric had taken you on your first date. It was at a restaurant much like this one. Then the night before you got married, he brought you back to the place where it all started. He was deployed to Iraq for another tour just three weeks after your wedding and returned in a flag-draped casket a year later.

It was one of the hardest paths you ever had to walk in your life. You were young, had little to no family, and Eric was your world, your whole life, and it seemed like so suddenly it was ripped violently away from you.

You swallowed hard and tried to remember to continue to count the money, crewing on your lower lip in concentration.

It had been three years since Eric’s funeral, and you still hadn’t moved on. Sure, there had been prospects. You were still young, only 30, and you were single in a relatively small town outside of the greater city of Dallas. So it was no secret that you were not with anyone. You knew you should find someone and try to settle down again, but you just didn’t feel the same way Eric made you feel about anyone that had approached you so far. He was your first love. There was a whole there now, that you didn’t think would ever mend.

Seeing that young couple that looked so happy and so in love brought up a whole lot of feelings that you wished like hell you could bury because they still hurt.

“Hey you, stop staring at the customers,” Jessica said, leaning against the counter with a smirk on her face.

You give her your best bitch face and go back to putting the money bag in the safe under the counter. “I’m just making sure the customers don’t need anything.”

“Liar,” she said simply. “You know it’s been three years, Y/N.”

You looked up at her and sighed deeply as your eyes trained back to the young couple that were laughing together.

“I know Jessica. I’ve thought about it. No one just… I don’t know, makes me feel the way Eric did.”

Jessica gave you a sympathetic look and threw her arm around your shoulder. She was working here with you when this place opened up right after you and Eric got married. She had been your friend ever since, and she was there with you through the grieving process, and she still kept a close eye on you all these years later.

“You know I’m only telling you this because I love you as a friend right?” she asked you, and you just stared at her. Afraid of what was about to come out of her mouth. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d tried to play matchmaker, and you didn’t know if you could go through that again.

“The reason you can’t find someone is because you're still holding on to him, Y/N. You have to let him go, let him rest!”

Your hand slipped up to the small silver locket that you kept around your neck. Eric had given it to you right before he left for your last deployment, and you never took it off. You knew she was right. You were still acting like you were a married woman. If you were ever going to move on, you were going to have to let him go.

“I know you’re right, but I don’t know how,” you tell her in earnest, as the young couple throws some money down on the table, and gathers up their coats to leave, waving at the two of you as they went.

“I’ll tell you what, tonight after we finish up, we’re going to head down to the graveyard, and you're gonna tell him goodbye for real, and bury that locket, and let him go. Then I want you to move on!! You're so young, you deserve to be happy, Eric would want you to be happy.”

“I he would,” you tell her. Letting go of the breath you didn’t know you were holding, and wiping the stray tear away that fell down your face before you nod and agree to go.

It wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be, but after you got off work, Jessica got in her car and followed you to the graveyard. You did just like she said to do. You told him goodbye and took the Locket with a spoon you’d grabbed from the diner that they were going to throw away, and dug a small hole, burying the locket, and a part of your heart forever.

When you got home to your small house and got in the shower to wash away the day, deciding to forgo the bath because it was so late, and you were exhausted, you felt a little more at peace than you had in years. Even though there would always be a part of you that missed Eric. You hoped this time that you could let him go enough to finally move on.

You wanted what that couple had tonight, you wanted a friend and a companion. Maybe now you could start to let yourself be happy again. At least the weight that you had been carrying for three years felt just a little lighter, and you closed your eyes that night in hopes that tomorrow was going to be the start of a better way of life for you.

You never know, maybe Mr. Right will just walk right in the diner tomorrow. Then again, would you ever be that lucky?

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aprilsrant · 4 years

Text

Start Over | Oliver Wood x Slytherin!Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: (Y/N) has anger issues and a bad reputation that follows. Oliver seems to be the only one who hasn’t been on the receiving end of her outbursts and there might be a hidden reason for it.

WORD COUNT: 2,3k.

WARNINGS: Marcus Flint being an idiot and a missoginy brat, it’s kind of angsty towards the end. Maybe a curse word or two. There is a fight and a duel too. (If I miss any, let me know!)

REQUEST: can’t find it, but yes, this was requested.

A/N: This took me so long and I’m so sorry, but for some reason I couldn’t get this finished. Hope you enjoy it! Like, reblog or leave comment if you like, feedback is always appreciated!!

Also, I made the reader have a holly wand because details are important sometimes.

English is not my first language, there could be mistakes!

Gif is not mine!!

MASTERLIST.

For whatever stupid, possibly misogynist, reason, Marcus Flint never allowed girls to tryout for the Slytherin Quidditch Team, not even when he, and everyone else present, knew of their talent and how much it would benefit them. Now more than ever, with that Harry Potter kid catching every single Snitch flying round him, Flint’s team needed new members. And members that actually knew how to play and not those who would pay their way in.

Once again, (Y/N) was waiting in the stands for the Slytherin Captain and the whole group attempting to grab themselves a spot. Arriving before them gave her an “advantage” and that was not being completely disregarded the minute Flint saw her in the midst of the line up following him like some kind of lost puppys.

With nothing else to do than just stand round the edge of the Quidditch Pitch, (Y/N) looked up and watched as a few Gryffindors threw the Quaffle towards one of the three hoops. She didn’t even know why people kept trying out to be a Chaser in Wood’s team when the current three were the best they had. And they were all women. Who would have thought that girls could play that well, right?

(Y/N) didn’t know why she continued to insist when she was aware that Flint would never let her be on the team. Maybe because it was her last year, or because she had a tiny spark of hope inside of her that something, pretty much a miracle, would happen and the boy’d change his mind, finally acknowledging that (Y/N) was better than the two Slytherin beaters together.

“What are you doing here, (Y/L/N)?,” the voice of the Slytherin Captain brought her back from the train of thoughts. Glancing towards the Pitch, she realised that it was empty, the only Gryffindor there was Oliver Wood, seating in the opposite set of stands with a notebook and a pencil in his hand. Upon seeing Flint and the trail of Slytherins behind him, he rolled his eyes and quickly left his spot, steps faltering after hearing Marcus’s irritated tone. “I told you, multiple times may I remind you, that I don’t want girls in my team, and especially not those who want to be beaters.”

This was something she saw coming, of course, and she’d tried to assume it for the last couple of days every time the image of being rejected, again, would pop into her head, replaying the times were she had actually been rejected as if her own mind was trying to torture her.

She had also seen the other part coming, and she had tried to stop it. But in her defense, when Professor Snape interrogated her an hour later, Marcus Flint kind of deserved it.

“Why not, Flint? I’ve been trying to get in the team ever since you became Captain and decided I wasn’t good enough after our fourth year,” (Y/N) had said, voice raising after more words left her mouth. With her broomstick in hand, she stepped down the stands and marched towards him.

“You said it yourself, (Y/N), you weren’t, and still aren’t, good enough,” Marcus responded while shrugging his shoulders arrogantly and walking past her.

“I was good enough, you prick, I was better than just good enough and you fucking know it.” All of the group that had gathered to try out turned their heads in her direction when she started to scream, whispers and shared glances expectant of the outcome of the argument. Pushing a third year in front of her out of her way, she kept walking, stopping only after she was face to face with Marcus. “And how can you be so sure I’m not adequate? You haven’t even let me fly around the Pitch for the last two years.”

Ignoring her, Flint commanded the two boys carrying the box full of equipment to leave it on the floor and start to warm up.

“Can you… Can you, please, let me try this one time?,” (Y/N) whispered, burying her pride and dignity in the same coffin after the word please escaped from her mouth.

“Now you’re begging, you are pathetic, (Y/L/N), and they say you’re supposed to be dangerous” the boy exclaimed, clearly enjoying seeing her so desperate. He walked towards her, his taller figure towering over the girl. “Let me tell you something. Both of us were on the team, right now one is the Captain and the other one… Well, I’m pretty sure you know your exact position in this whole thing. And that’s why you are not in my place, because you are not good enough.”

Her teeth, jaw and fists clenched at the same time, the rest of her body shaking slightly, lighting up on fire with every sentence Marcus sneered at her.

From a young age she had people question her, her interests and her decisions, even her place in the House of ambition, many believing the girl to be “too soft” at first. That had changed after the start of her second year. If they wanted her to be violent, rash and reckless, that’s what they got. Now, every time her name was mentioned around Hogwarts, whispers and rumours would be shortly behind. Most of the things people said about her were incorrect, not even close to the truth, but she accepted them anyways. She took each one of the rumours and turned them into her truth.

For some (Y/N) (Y/L/N) was on the right path to become a Dark Witch, a pureblood longing to take on Lord Voldemort’s place and rule over the Wizarding World, torturing muggleborns and blood traitors. To others, she was the Devil’s offspring in the flesh, waiting for the right moment to raise the forces of hell upon Hogwarts. And they were the ones speaking of her mental state while coming up with ridiculous theories. Nonetheless, she had to admit it was a new kind of entertainment seeing the first years getting warned about her, bombarding them with false information and stupid allegations. But the laughs she would have from it on her own company didn’t erase the loneliness and the solemn feeling of having no one.

Like the symbol of her house, (Y/N) was a creature of instinct. And like what people murmured about her, (Y/N) was also a creature of violence.

As only one can imagine, no one was shocked from the response Marcus Flint got. Not in words, or insults, which were regular, but in the form of a fist connecting with his cheek (although she had intended to hit the nose).

One would think anger makes people a better fighter, all that pent up rage coming from nowhere and lashing out against your opponent it’s more damaging to you than the person you are fighting. Now, this was not (Y/N)’s first fist fight but that didn’t mean she knew what she was doing. Every time she had punched someone it had happened in the midst of uncontrollable wrath growing, attaching itself to the girl’s body, controlling her limbs, numbing her mind.

For a moment she closes her eyes, one thought in her mind, vanishing as quickly as it appeared, — I did it. Again —. When (Y/N) opens them, she notices the change of scenario, or positions. She is no longer standing on her feet, she is several metres away from her housemate, the back of her body on the receiving end of the harsh floor; the loud beating of her heart thundering in her ears, almost giving her a headache, swallowing the spell Flint had used on her.

After rising from the grass, (Y/N) marches towards him, holly wand in her hand shooting hexes, barely missing its target. She’s about to whisper the Stunning Spell when someone from behind grabs her wrist, holding her back from trying to curse Marcus, whose responses are getting slower and scarcely protecting him. An arm sneaks around (Y/N)’s figure, distancing her from the Slytherin Quidditch Captain.

Her elbow moves almost instinctively and hits the person behind her in the stomach, the arm around her waist retreating fast enough for (Y/N) to cast a protection charm and petrify Marcus Flint.

Turning around, she sees none other than Oliver Wood, bending over his stomach with a hand clenching his right knee and gasping for air.

“What the bloody hell was that, Wood?”

“I was trying to help you!,” he manages to say while looking up at her.

“Help me? You were trying to stop me, you twat.”

“Exactly!,” Oliver shouts, making her move backwards, “Do you want to get yourself expelled, (Y/L/N)? Because if that’s what you want, you are doing an excellent job.”

She should have hexed him right there, no one else was on the Quidditch Pitch with them, except the handful of Slytherins and those weren’t the snitching types, but she didn't, surprising herself and everyone else watching them.

|||

Later that night, after finishing the horrendous detention Snape had put her in —reorganizing his entire cabinet claimed by suspicious ingredients and potions with terrible smells, making the small space smell like rotten eggs and the Gryffindor Quidditch robes after a rough match—, looking at the moon and the landscape surrounding Hogwarts from the Astronomy Tower, she thought about the reasons to why she hadn’t raised her wand, or fist, to face Oliver.

He wasn’t special. Yes, he was a great wizard, with problems in Potions and History of Magic, still quite good at Defensive spells but not that good to beat her if she was fully focused, he would be easy to defeat especially after Quidditch tryouts. So, why? Why did she just walk away?

“I knew I could find you here.”

(Y/N) turned around, quickly taking hold of her holly wand and raising it towards the tower’s entrance. The thundering in her chest calming, her breathing going back to its normal pace when she realised it wasn’t Sirius Black, the murderer that had escaped Azkaban and was said to have roamed through the castle.

“What are you doing here, Oliver?”, she addressed him once the moonlight illuminated his tall figure.

“I wanted to apologise,” the boy admitted, his voice faltered just like his approach, as if he was trying to make peace with a beast; as if he was telling a snake that his feet would not come close to its head, “for what I said earlier. It wasn’t fair because I know how you…”

“How I what? How I tend to react when I’m angry?,” (Y/N) interrupted, the hand holding her wand still facing Oliver, “don’t try to act like you know me.”

“But I used to,” he murmured.

Neither of them said anything, both of their minds desperately trying to find the right words, one to plead for forgiveness once again and the other to accept it if the plea ever escaped his mouth.

The distant sound of creatures soaring through the night sky and the flip of their wings was all they heard for minutes, minutes that had felt like hours; she would dare to say days if the sky wasn’t still dark, filled with bright stars circling a full moon.

“Why don’t we get to know each other all over again? We can start over, please.”

There it was.

And then it came.

“That’s such a great idea, Oliver!,” (Y/N) answered with a big smile on her face, the quick change of demeanour unsettling Oliver. They hadn’t talked in years but he was still amazed at how much he remembered of her, and how this didn’t mean any good. “We can get to know each other like all those years ago and then, you can abandon me like all those years ago”. The grin on her lips transforming into a scowl right after she pronounced the last part of her sentence.

“Why are you even here, Wood? You felt guilty and now you’re trying to make it go away? Or is it charity?,” the Slytherin kept ranting,” or better yet, someone challenged you to do this? I’m putting all my money on the Weasley Twins.

“N-No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Oliver explained while moving his hands and walking the final steps leading him to (Y/N),“ I just- I never- I, I never wanted this, I never expected it but everyone was talking about you and-and they were saying horrible things and…”

“And you believed them,” (Y/N) stated, turning around to stop facing him and his hurt expression,” I don’t blame you for doing it. It’s quite funny if you think about it.”

“What’s quite funny?,” his gaze still on her when he asked.

“Most of the things you and the rest of the school heard were invented by me, so people would just stop bothering me,” she pretended to confess only to the stars, for if she didn’t, she would never admit it to him,” you can say I planned my entire doom. And it’s quite funny because, in the end, you still believed me.”

“You could have told me, (Y/N). Why didn’t you?”

“You believed the rumours, I’m sure not the craziest ones though, but that tells me that you thought I was capable of actually doing all the terrible things I said about myself.”

“I’m sorry, I am, (Y/N), truly.”

“Sorry doesn’t mend it,” she murmured, now forcing herself to look him in the eyes and act as if the pain never happened; as if she hadn’t missed his company and his random, permanently out of place Quidditch facts.

“I know, but it’s everything I have right now and I hope you can forgive me one day.”

“I have already forgiven you, Oliver, but I was too proud to reach you.”

“Typical you, (Y/N). I should have expected it.”

A small smile formed in her lips and for a moment she forgot their broken friendship, the reputation that had become her shadow and the future awaiting after Hogwarts. It was only them, (Y/N) and Oliver, with the moon glowing down on their faces and the feeling of being eleven year olds settling over their minds.

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