#peeling faux leather

[confessionsofarefashionista]

Ugh! One of my fave belts is worn & peeling! ♻️Take a peek at how easy it is to refashion & fix it with something lurking in your stash + check out 3 ways to style it too! Stick around for Troll Time 👺with my assistant Nancy 😉

[otaku553]

Sleep procrastination

(It’s 3 am and I’m still sitting in my chair doing what amounts to nothing)

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

When your best-friend Steve Harrington asks you to hold his fleshlight for him.

It wasn’t really something that either of you planned on happening. But then it just did. Steve had been pent up from work all day from typical annoying patrons, smart mouthed jocks from the high school, that were freshmen when he was a senior (tenfold karma, Harrington), and Keith’s particular way of criticizing his every move out of some form of nerdy revenge. You could count on one hand the times that Steve had to bail out of your two person movie nights on Fridays (Saturdays were for dates and Sundays were for hanging with the rest of the parties and running kids around), and tonight happened to be one of those occurrences. Usually, it would be for self-care or whatever reason he needed to spend alone, but when he’d barely shed his leather jacket upon entering his house, dusting snow off of his boots — he was about to crawl out of his skin by the time his massive palm was wrapped around the receiver, thumb strangled by its cord.

He was… off? And seconds after he’d cancelled without much reason, the line went dead. You wanted to give him space, especially because he usually called back to tell you goodnight. But after being unable to sit still and finish a generous portion of the large pepperoni pizza you’d ordered the two of you, you were grabbing your keys for the journey over to his place.

~*~

It didn’t take but five minutes before you reached Steve’s house, pulling in behind his familiar car. You dangle the copy - made spare from your pointer finger, trekking your way up to the door and letting yourself in, wiping at your wind-whipped, wet eyes. You know he’s not on the first floor, its entirety dark and a little cool. So you toss your coat and keys onto the small table beside the entryway, kicking off your boots to join his on the cheesy welcome mat, and you make your way to the second floor landing to his bedroom. Seeing a buttery glow spill out from the crack in his doorway, you’d proceeded, only to be met with a sight that only appeared in your late night fantasies… and pretty much your every waking thought.

Steve is facing his mattress, sheets tousled and clothing pooled beside him, stood on the left side of his bed, naked and glistening in the perspiration of teasing, observing his massive length as he edges himself, moving the toy slowly over his cock. You know what it is, you’ve seen it in magazines and stores, in some porn. A fleshlight, they call it. Your brain goes through a million thoughts at a couple seconds to spare.

Why doesn’t he have someone here to do this with? He can get a date?

Is he okay? Obviously he’s very okay.

Holy fuck… he’s big.

Holy fuck… he’s beautiful.

A little more than usual, waiting on the summer sun to tan his freckle and mole spattered skin. His hair has grown longer, curling at the nape, his shoulder blades and biceps defined from a regular regime. And that ass, the way it flexes and is perfectly plump, connecting to those hairy thighs and big feet, his own toes curling when he twists, a wet squelch coming from the faux cunt. There’s beautiful chestnut curls scattered across him sternum and connecting to a trail that surrounds his base and those full, heavy, balls. That cock… thick, barely able to be pushed back into the toy, his fingers having to peel back its soft pink layers to help ease the slick way, decorated in a vein that matches the one running along his forearm

And you must make some sort of noise, because your lips part to let in a gasp of air, causing his body to twist in a sudden defensive stance, clenching the toy so tight with a ‘caught’ pose. You go to move and the door spills open completely, slamming back into his dresser and shaking old sports trophies. You’re panting, seeking out the words to apologize, Steve is wincing from how hard he still is, attempting to cover his modesty. But the air shifts in the room and you gain a boldness, a restlessness that won’t be satiated, nor a conscience satisfied if you don’t ask.

“Can I help you?” A customer service line from working at Scoops with him. But it comes naturally.

Steve, biting his lip, disheveled — he nods. And it’s happening. A tickling ease, a line crossed.

“C’mhere.” He’s waving with his opposite hand. His ribcage expands as he gulps in lungfuls of air.

You’re at his side shortly, shyly. “W-what do you need me to do?”

His spare hand pushes back through his hair, amber gaze gone to a midnight sky, teeth milky white, defined jawline covered in stubble, and a perfect nose. His voice is raspy when he lets you know what he needs.

“Go get on my bed, lay back for me. Please?”

A fucking gentleman.

All of your clothes feel too tight, smothering you as you lay back on his bed, his pillow immediately invading you. Your hands are unsure of where to go, but he approaches slowly, kneeling his way into kneeling by your feet. “I’m gonna… Can I use this between your legs, honey? You don’t have to do anything, just let me do all the work.” He motions to the toy and you want nothing more, suddenly offered the world.

It’s your turn to say it now. “C’mhere.”

He’s using that enriched tendon covered forearm to prop himself up beside of your head, slotting right between your knees, his remaining hand wrapped so tightly around the toy that his skin is pulled taunt over his knuckles. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, releases it, licks it, and then he’s asking, “Can I?”

“Go. Do what you need to do. I’m right here, Steve.”

If you thought the toy was loud before, the sound of him working his lengthy girth through its walls right in front of you now — it’s surround sound. You’re watching, unable to help it, bones threaten to be dusted to ash from how hard your heart is ramming beneath your breastbone.

“Wanted to come over, but it’s been a shit week, an even shitter day. And I just needed to —“

“— Release some tension, right? I get it, I do it too. I have a cock that goes… I —“ you stop your horny rambling, face feeling too much warmed.

Steve’s face scrunches, teeth gritting, and he twists the toy until slowing it almost completely. “Tell me what you do. You fuck yourself with it, right? When everything is too much and not enough? Fuck, honey.”

He doesn’t verbalize, but you don’t either, simply accept the toy and hold it against your denim covered cunt, leaving Steve’s hands free to hold on either side of you, his nose nudging yours as he leans down — here, present. You copy his earlier motions, using the toy to glide along his length as he thrusts into it with a new focussed vigor. “That’s it. You feel so good, honey. Workin’ me so right.”

“I’m soaking — fucking — wet for you, Steve. Just so you know.”

His hips stutter and his nose finds its way into your eyelashes, cheek pressing into your own. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum into this thing, and I want —“

“— You want what, Steve?” You hold your breath.

He answers without fear or pause. “You.”

// Eat me paragraph //

[mabelstone]

Common Tongue

hozier x f!reader

part five of lullabies <3 | part four | masterlist

cw: 18+, oral sex, a lot of this is sex ok u should know me by now, the word 'balls', not much plot tbh

word count: 4.1k

taglist: @princezty @somethinglikero @jimihendrixpopfigure @the-imperfectgirl-blog @l1nd3n @yunonaneko xo

I woke in the delicious warmth of Andrew’s arms, his soft breaths against my neck sending a chill down my spine. I gently nuzzled into his touch, his arms autonomously holding me tighter. For the next week and a half, this was my morning routine. Also part of the morning routine was the part where I would slip out of his grip as gently as possible when I was on the verge of weeing myself.

I’d slip back into bed, entranced by the way sleep drenched breaths swam through the small parting of his lips. The way his muddy greens danced under his eyelids as he dreamt, and the way his thick lashes swept along his high cheekbones made it near impossible for me to look away.

We danced around the fine line of being lovers, friends, and fuck buddies, not even entertaining the thought of defining what we were. I knew it was all probably moving too fast considering I’d just gotten out of a relationship. Not that I really cared - Andy had a way of numbing me. Numbing the heartbreak in a way that I didn’t even have to acknowledge it. He made me feel happy and sexy and loved, if that’s what you’d call it.

Like he could feel it, he’d wake to me watching him, causing me to blush profusely and apologise. He’d either pull me in and kiss my neck and forehead, or remind me with a grin, “staring is rude, y’know,” in his deep, groggy morning voice. It was rare to catch him watching me sleep as I was the early riser of the two of us. But during the day, I’d swear I was his favourite sight. Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

This past week also consisted of numerous phone calls to Andy, all from producers begging to sign him to their labels. I was so ecstatic for him, but of course, he was overtly humble as always. After doing his research and attending a few meetings, he decided to go with Rubyworks.

“Andy!” I threw myself into his arms excitedly, squeezing him so hard, I thought he might implode. “I’m so proud of you… we have to celebrate!”

“I’dunno, baby…” he sighed, raking his hands through the back of my hair while I melted into his touch. “This all might blow up in my face yet.”

“Don’t talk rubbish!” I scolded him, peeling my face away with my arms still around him so he could see me frown. “And you deserve to be celebrated. And we have no plans for dinner. Please?”

“Because you’ve twisted my arm,” he gave in, bending down slightly to capture my lips in his. As if I had any control at this point, I autonomously kissed him back, a squeak leaving me when he effortlessly picked me up and sat me on his kitchen island.

He deepened the kiss, one of his hands squeezing my thigh, the other tangled in my hair. I sighed against him, my hands skating across his abdomen. His tongue slipped into my mouth, forcing me to swallow a grunt of his. Both of his hands now slipped up my thighs, stopping just at the crease of my hip with a firm squeeze.

“You’d better stop,” he warned, pupils blown.

“Or what?” I teased, hands now gripping his biceps. Fuck dinner. I’ll give him something better to eat.

“You’ll see later,” he promised with a kiss to my temple, sliding his hands off me. “Let’s get ready now, or it’ll be impossible to drag me out of this house.”

“Fine,” I sighed in faux disappointment, hopping off the table and dragging him behind me by his hand.

I put on my favourite dress; a flowy black number with a corset like top that did me lots of favours in the breast department. I wore some simple three inch heels, sheer black stockings, and a faux leather coat. My hair was slicked back into a wavy ponytail, complimented by some chunky gold jewellery to break up all the darks I had on. I wore Andrew's favourite perfume of mine, Jimmy Choo's Eau De Parfum. I'd always had an illustrious love for fashion, but oftentimes Joe had an issue with my style. Not Andy, though. His jaw just about hit the floor and he looked as if he were close to calling off our plans and just taking me to bed instead. Not that I would have protested... but no, tonight was about him.

He looked edible in a black button up and brown jacket, with those white converse's that were basically fused to his feet at this point. He trimmed his beard down and has doused himself in Tam Dao by Diptique, and when I say he smelt divine, I mean, I considered calling off our plans as well.

At first, we found ourselves in a cheesy karaoke bar that was walking distance from his house. We threw back a couple shots, laughing and cheering on both the good and… not so good performances. Andy always said that despite the voice he was gifted with, he hated singing karaoke. I eventually convinced him to duet Islands in the Stream with me. It was the most fun I’d ever had. He then gave his own rendition of Sex Bomb, and I hate to admit it, but it did something to me. We snacked on shitty street food as we passed through the weekend markets, enjoying our tipsy people watching.

After that, we found a dim lit bar in the west end with live music and cheap drinks for happy hour. We caught a taxi and walked hand in hand from the car to our booth. For once, I loved having everyone's eyes on us. I wanted everyone to see us together, though we weren't really together.

The combination of the sultry jazz band in the background mingling with the effects of too much alcohol too fast had me sliding my foot up his leg, getting a high from watching his eyes darken as he squirmed. He gave me a warning look, to which I innocently sipped at my drink and averted my head to the band, gently applying pressure to his crotch. I felt his hand grip my ankle, and when I thought he'd move me away, he ran his hands up my leg instead, stopping only when he reached my knee. I turned my head back to him quickly, my core growing hot at the feeling. He looked gorgeous, curls framing his face, his eyes fixed on me as if I were the most interesting thing in the room.

His stare challenged mine, almost daring me to keep going. The look in his eyes screamed, "see what will happen," and I have never been one to turn down a dare.

Drunkenly, I slid my finger around the rim of my glass, bringing the salt to my lips as I sucked my finger clean, making effort to show my tongue at first. I pushed it in far deeper than necessary, almost able to hear the way his breath hitched in his throat. His grip on my ankle tightened, and I applied a bit more pressure with my heel.

"I swear to God, I will throw you into a cab right now," his eyes were hooded and narrowed in on me. It felt like a stand off between a predator and prey, despite feeling nothing but safety in his presence.

"You wanna take me home, big boy?" I teased, relishing in the way his cheeks flushed when I used the ridiculous pet name. He loved a good double entendre. Well, triple entendre, really.

I reached across the table to grab his hands, running my thumb over his knuckles. Despite the often heated nature of our exchanges recently, I'd never felt more loved. Maybe that was the wrong word, it was too soon. I'd never felt more secure.

He abruptly got up from the booth, dragging me to the dance floor with him. I laughed wildly, the alcohol buzzing through both of our veins like a freight train. “You hate dancing!”

“I know!” He shouted back over the music, pulling me in close to him by my waist. “But you’re beautiful and you’ve been force feeding me whiskey.”

“Hardly force feeding,” I scoffed, slapping his arm playfully. We swayed to a cover of I’d Rather Go Blind by Etta James, giggling uncontrollably at how uncoordinated we both were. It didn’t matter, it felt good.

Then there was the feeling of someone bumping into me hard, followed by the cold of a drink soaking the back of my legs. I gasped, pushing myself further into Andy to get away from the feeling.

“Sorry,” the woman spoke with no sign of remorse in her tone or expression. Andy was quick to grab a handful of napkins from the table beside us, wiping me down as I blushed embarrassedly. I was sure I was hallucinating when I looked up and saw Joe smirking. Fucking loser.

“Andy,” I pulled him up by his coat from where he was wiping me down. “Let’s go.”

“It’s okay, darlin’, you can’t even tell-“

“No, Joe is here. Let’s leave, please.” I felt hot and nauseous immediately, the glint in his eye from across the room all too familiar. He was going to make me pay for leaving him.

Andrew’s expression turned unreadable, yet he still nodded and stayed close behind me as I quickly fled the bar. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I nodded, acutely aware of how dry my throat felt. “He’s just unpredictable, I’d rather not deal with him tonight. Or, ever for that matter.”

He just hummed in response, lacing his fingers with mine. He pulled out his phone to order us an Uber. I tried to protest, insisting that we hadn’t celebrated him enough. He shushed me with a kiss, reassuring me that tonight was wonderful and he was grateful. I leaned into his body while we waited in the cold, his arm around my shoulder as we watched the traffic pass us by.

“So you are with him?” Joe scoffed, seeming to appear out of thin air. I startled at his voice, scolding myself internally for peeling away from Andy so quickly. “And you couldn't fuckin' wait for the chance to steal her, could you?"

“We aren’t together,” I quickly interjected, ignoring the way Andy’s face faltered at my clarification. “And even if I was, we are over. It’s over. Don’t you understand?”

“I understand that you can’t keep your legs shut.”

I was taken aback by his comment, unable to think of a snarky reply as my cheeks warmed and my jaw slackened.

"That's no way to speak to a woman, show some fuckin' respect," Andrew growled, stepping closer to my ex, absolutely towering over him. Joe tried to get in his face, both of them puffing their chests out like two pigeons. It was kind of sexy. Is that horrible to say?

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" Joe bit back, grabbing a fistful of Andrew's shirt.

"Stop!" I shrieked, grabbing Andrews' wrist, trying my hardest to get him away from Joe. "I want to go home."

"Home?" Joe seethed through gritted teeth, his face red as a traffic light.

Andrew shoved Joe back, sending him stumbling, barely finding his footing.

"Andy, I want to go home," my voice was fragile as I tugged on his wrist once more, his expression immediately softening when he saw tears in my eyes. He took my hand in his, leading me away as he checked to see if Joe was hanging around. Looks like the security guard saw him, thankfully.

The Uber rolled up two minutes later and I couldn't have climbed in any quicker. I was beyond grateful to be in a warm car rather than out in the cold with Joe.

"That was fuckin' scary," I huffed, throwing my head back against the headrest.

"I'm sorry," he cooed with a gentle hand threading through my hair. "I shouldn't have said anything to him."

"That was not your fault," I assured him, turning to look at those big, doe eyes that were starting to make me weak.

He gave me a half hearted smile and sat in silence for the rest of the drive. I wondered what he was thinking, but felt it was probably best to just let him feel how he needed to. When we got home, we thanked the driver and walked into Andrews house in silence.

"Are you okay?" I asked gently, standing by as he shucked his coat.

"Yeah," he sighed with a shake of his head, though it wasn't convincing in the slightest.

"Did I do something? Or, say something?" I prodded further, softly taking his hand so he'd look at me.

"Really, it's no big deal," he gave me a half hearted smile, squeezing my hand once before heading for the stairs. "I'm gonna go shower."

I watched as he walked away, wracking my brain for anything that could have happened. Surely seeing Joe didn't upset him.

Then I remembered how fast I was to reassure my ex that Andy and I weren't exclusive. Fuck. I planned out my approach in my head for a while so I didn't dig the knife in deeper.

When I made it to his room, he was in his closet with dampened curls and a towel around his waist, looking for clothes, I presume. I knocked softly to let him know I was at the door.

"Andy?"

He hummed in response, turning only his head to me.

"Is it because I said we aren't together?"

He huffed some half witted laugh, almost as if he were embarrassed.

I walked closer to him, taking his hand into mine. "Well we aren't officially together, Andy." I sighed. "But I guess we kind of are together, aren't we?"

That caught his eye.

"And," I continued, "I can't think of anyone else I'd rather be with right now." I took his face into my hands, pulling him close as I softly kissed him. His mouth was much warmer than mine and he smelt so fresh and delicious.

Each time we kissed, something deep inside of me sparked like a flint and steel. The near palpable electricity of that spark conducted its way through my lips straight to his. We found a steady rhythm that was soon forgotten, replaced by tongue and teeth, desperate for more. Without breaking contact, we staggered back onto the bed, only the cotton of his towel and the nylon of my stockings keeping our bodies separated. My hands tugged at his soft auburn curls, eliciting encouraging hymns of appraisal that I wished I could devour. His hands dug into my hips harder than he ever had. Not hard enough to hurt me, but hard enough to let me know he wanted me just as bad as I did him.

I moved my mouth to his neck, sucking at his delicate skin, feeling his pulse against my lips. He shuddered and gasped, desperately trying to grind my body against his. The sinful noises he made only made me crave him more, only made me yearn for his beautiful rhapsodies. To hear them alone, without the deafening ring of my own pleasure in my ears, to hear them without my own pants and sighs overwhelming his. Just him, all of him.

"Andy, I really want to suck your cock," I blurted, pulling away to look at him through drooped eyelids. "May I please?"

"Good manners," he joked, his eyes even more lidded than my own. "Of course, baby." He pulled me in for another kiss, his tongue gliding against mine as I let a hand trail down his stomach and underneath his towel. I felt him twitch in my hand as I started to stroke him, his groans reverberating in my mouth.

I had never wanted to knob somebody off so bad. I always hated it with whoever else I was sleeping with. There was something about Andy. He was such a giver that it felt wrong not to give him something back. Like I'd be missing out on a sacred experience if I didn't do it right now. There was no part of me that didn't get pleasure out of pleasuring him.

I pulled my lips from his, sliding down between his legs. I kissed from his jaw to his collarbones, to his chest and then his stomach, watching goosebumps form along his creamy skin, his calloused hands skating along my forearms.

I finally freed him from the towel, watching his cock jump against his happy trail. I took him into my hand, pumping his length a few times to see his facial expression change. My God, was it the most divine sight. Unable to hold off any longer, I licked a flat stripe over his tip, his precum dancing on my tongue.

"Fuck," he practically gasped, gently grabbing the back of my head.

I slowly wrapped my lips around his tip using one of my hands to guide him into my mouth. Without taking his eyes off me, he reached behind his head for a pillow, staring at me like he might die if he looked away. I didn't dare take my eyes off his.

I slowly took more of him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around him as I did so. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, borrowing a whimper from my mouth working around him. I pulled off briefly to blink up at him, "tell me how you like it, please."

He whimpered some response, nodding desperately. I put my mouth on him again, looking up for further instruction.

"Stick your tongue out a little," he breathed, the faintest of smiles on his face. "Good, now start movin', baby."

I nodded best I could with my mouth full, bobbing my head at a steady rhythm. I looked up at him through my lashes, my stomach flipping at the sight before me.

"Gooood girl," he praised me, freeing one of his hands from my hair to brush his thumb over my cheek. "Can you go a little faster, angel?"

I hummed in agreement, moving my head along his length faster, keeping my tongue out along the base the way he liked, making sure to hollow my cheeks the best I could. Not that there was much room for that. I moved one hand to steady myself against his thigh, the other slipping down to massage his balls.

"Jesus Christ," he moaned, throwing his head back. "Yeah, that's it. Just like that." My stomach flipped, my core on the verge of boiling over. I swear I could get off on the sight and sounds of him alone.

I took him as deep as I could, fighting off the urge to gag as he repeatedly hit the back of my throat. My jaw was aching and tears were threatening to fall from my eyes, but I was determined. I could tell he was close by the unsteady rhythm of his breathing.

He gave my hair a firm tug, a warning, almost as if to give me the option to pull off. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum if you keep going."

I hummed in acknowledgement, no shred of intention to stop in my body.

"Where, baby?" He breathed, the muscles in his stomach beginning to tense. I traced a few shapes with my tongue as a form of communication, my way of showing him where, looking up at him. "Christ, Y/N," he groaned, spilling hot ribbons onto my tongue, his hips stuttering beneath me. I kept my mouth on him as he rode out his high, his face contorted in ecstasy, brows furrowed, mouth agape as his euphonious appraisals slipped from it.

I pulled off, my lips swollen and red, mascara no doubt running down my cheeks, and now uncomfortably horny.

Like he could read my mind, he sat up pulled me into his lap, now kissing my neck. His beard scratched across my collarbones in the most tantalising way, his hands working quickly to unzip my dress. He did so with ease, slipping the material off my shoulders where it pooled in our laps.

"You are perfect," he sighed against my skin, kissing me hard as he palmed one of my breasts. I whimpered against him, my hands in his hair as he buried his face in my chest. One of his hands cradled the bottom of my skull, the other guiding my breast to his mouth as he flicked his tongue across my nipple.

"Andy," I whined, pure need unmistakable in my tone. "Mmh, need you, baby."

He flipped me onto my back without warning, sliding down the bed between my thighs. His eyes were hungry, almost primal. Despite his release only moments prior, he had determination written all over his face as he buried his face between my thighs, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses through my stockings. "Please, I need you now. Please, please," my voice was whinier than I'd ever heard it, so much so I almost didn't recognise it.

My dress was still bunched around my waist, but he didn't seem too inconvenienced. My stockings, however, had no chance of surviving this one. In one fluid movement, he ripped through the crotch of my stockings, tearing them thigh to thigh. I gasped, my stomach flipping at the gesture. He pulled my knickers to the side, sliding his tongue over my clit without warning. Instantly, my back was arching autonomously, my head already thrown back against the mattress.

His tongue flitted against me with expert precision, switching between sucking and licking. "Tell me how you like it," he spoke against me, the vibrations from his voice combined with his soft lips against the most sensitive part of my body making my head go fuzzy. I couldn't even respond, only able to fumble around for his hand.

He slipped two fingers in with ease and I nearly screamed in pleasure. Lewd, wet noises filled the room, my whines and moans somehow even louder than the physical proof of my arousal. His deft fingers worked me to the fastest orgasm known to man, hitting my g-spot with each thrust, his tongue signing love letters onto my clit.

I chanted his name like a mantra, desperately clinging to the bedsheets beneath me as I completely lost myself under his touch. The most incredible feeling ever ripped through my every nerve ending, every fibre, every atom of my being. I shook uncontrollably beneath him, toes curled, eyes screwed shut as I made noises nobody else had ever torn from me. This must be what heaven feels like.

I finally came back down to Earth, panting like I'd ran a marathon. Andy wiped his mouth on the towel, the most satisfied grin I'd ever seen plastered to his face.

"Andy, I-" I stammered, genuinely lost for words as I laid my head on his chest. "I owe you the world. What do you want? Whatever it is, it's yours."

"Are you kiddin' me?" He laughed exasperatedly, kissing my forehead. "I should be givin' you the world. That was the closest to a religious experience I've ever had."

"You'd better write a song about this," I half joked, shimmying my dress off finally.

"Way ahead of ya', darlin'," he sighed in content. "I need to do that more."

"You ruined my stockings, Andy," I sighed in faux disappointment, "but that might have been the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

Then he was back to his shy self, a bashful grin on his face that he covered with his arm, leaving my heart to soar within my chest.

Fuck. I was catching proper feelings. Like... proper. Like, L-Word feelings. The realisation hit me like a tonne of bricks. Andy was to go and record some songs next week. What if he didn't feel the same? What if he got really famous and left me behind? Was I just sex? Was he just a rebound? It all has really moved fast, I shouldn't be getting attached...

"I'm gonna shower," I smiled politely, excusing myself before he had a chance to say anything.

A million thoughts raced through my mind at once. Was I trying to sabotage this for myself? It felt nice to be clean, a nice reset. The water defrosted me, made me feel centred again. I dried off and slipped into one of his hoodies.

"I need to tell you something," I blurted, unable to stop the words from coming out as I walked back into his room.

i did some googling and there might be some confusion (or maybe not, but just in case) when i say stockings i mean toe to hip tights/hosiery. i'm australian lol i apologise if some things don't make sense... i don't like the word hosiery ok

[revenantghost]

Oh my god, it got worse?!

So to summarize, so far (from what I can remember):

The gold on the covers peels off. They say this affects a small number of copies, but I haven't seen one without a "distressed" look, and Dark Horse has said that very common look is not intentional.

The translation was not updated, which they never promised, so whatever. But there are twenty-year-old, well-known typos and obvious mistranslations. They didn't even proofread it despite adding sound effects and a year of delays. And this book retails at $50 USD.

And on this awful printing note, there are a few copies I've seen floating around with severe binding issues, like the faux leather peeling off.

Friendly reminder that if you are able, you can let Dark Horse know you're disappointed. Leave reviews and upvote ones you agree with. Reply to/@ them on social media and be loud. If you're willing, cancel and/or return orders. It's all about publicity and financial gain in publishing. If they don't get that, they will have to change something.

Trigun doesn't deserve this.

[buckybabesonly]

An Experiment in Jealousy

Summary: You decided to try and make Bucky jealous. Now, you would pay the price.

Pairing: Bucky x female!Reader

Genre: Self-indulgent porn without plot tbh, lol

Warnings: slightly rough sex, dirty talk, slight!daddy kink, unprotected sex

Length: 2k

Bucky was the first man to ever make love to you. And boy, did he do everything right. He loved to pepper kisses all over your skin, worship your body, whisper I love yous and I'm so lucky to have yous against your mouth as he thrust into you slowly every night, eyes locked with yours as you both reached your climax.

Sometimes, less often, he would fuck you. When you had a fight and the inevitable make-up sex happened, or when you were just in one of those moods and ripped off his clothes with such ferocity that he just knew what you wanted, or when you told him outright that you wanted it fast and hard instead of gentle and slow.

Tonight, you knew what you wanted. You wanted him to use you, to own you.

And so you had spent the whole night flirting with Steve, playing it in such a way that just about bordered platonic without being too outrageous, but just enough to get Bucky ticking. This, coupled with how you had absolutely iced your boyfriend out all night and instead spoken to Steve with laser focus, would absolutely get you what you wanted. You were certain of it.

You watched Bucky from the other end of the bar to discreetly observe his reactions, his leather-gloved hand wrapped around a beer bottle, the other one lifting up to brush against his lightly stubbled jaw as he observed you. He took a sip of beer, his eyes piercing, and you could tell he was gently seething.

You suppressed a smile. Jackpot.

Bucky all but slammed you against the door of your shared apartment as soon as you had closed it, pressing up against you firmly as you gasped at his sudden movement. His hands framed either side of your head, body trapping you in place as you stared up at his icy blue eyes.

"Is that how you want to play, doll?" he murmured, gritting his teeth as your chest heaved against his.

"Bucky, please," you whimpered, not even pretending to be coy. You knew that he knew exactly what you were playing at, and now it was time to cash in.

"Please, what?" Bucky all but snarled, cocking his head to the side as you blinked at him.

"I need it. Need you."

"So desperate for my cock, are you? You want me to fuck you like the slut you are?" Bucky asked, eyes flickering down to your mouth.

His words sent delicious chills down your spine, arousal shooting straight to your core. Your hands grasped his leather jacket, moving to peel it off, but his hands were lightning. They wrapped themselves around your wrists and held them back against the door with a gentle thwack.

"No," he said sternly. "You need to be punished."

Your pussy was practically dripping. You were so wet that you were almost convinced he would be able to smell your arousal soaking through your panties.

"How are you going to punish me, daddy?" you asked in a faux-nervous voice, feeling his hard-on through his jeans already, heavy against your inner thigh. You knew he liked it when you called him that.

"On your knees," he said in his deep, authoritative voice, eyes daring you to object. His tone was void of his usual gentleness. Tonight, he meant business.

You sank down to the floor as he worked at his belt, unfastening the piece of leather and letting it snake to the floor.

"Take it out," he instructed.

You reached out and unzipped his jeans obediently, looking up at him with large, innocent eyes. You touched his bulge over his boxers as he sucked in a ragged breath, unable to hide the effect you had on him despite himself.

Tugging down the waistband of his underwear, his cock sprung free, thick and heavy and red, the velvety head waiting to be sheathed inside your mouth.

"Suck it and make daddy feel good," he commanded, his fingers lacing themselves through your hair.

You didn't need to be told twice. You opened your mouth and wasted no time in swallowing up his cock, his length barely fitting inside your mouth, but you tried your best. You relished the taste of him, the slightly salty tang of his pre-cum, urging yourself to take him deeper and farther down your throat no matter how your gag-reflex protested at the intrusion.

Your eyes teared up as he began to gently fuck your mouth, his hands tugging on your hair without the actual force to hurt you, but encouraging you to take more and more of him into your mouth.

"There's a good girl," he grunted, head rolling back in pleasure as you served him, your mouth forming a suction around his fat cock, your tongue gliding up the length of his dick as you released him with a pop.

Your eyes were wet as you dived in again to taste him, so addictive, enough to make you feel so fucking horny.

For a good five minutes, the only sounds filling the room were his dirty praises and the gargle of you choking on his cock. Eventually you couldn't hold in your needy whines any longer.

"Please, can you put it inside me?" you begged.

"Mmm. I don't know if you deserve it."

Panic flashed briefly within you. Bucky had been known to deny you of release before when you had been particularly naughty, and you mewled in protest. You didn't want to be teased tonight.

"Please, I'll be good. Need you inside me. Don't you want to come inside my tight pussy?" You knew exactly what words would make him attack you hungrily like predator on prey.

Bucky snarled and bent down to grasp your upper arms, jerking you upright to your feet. He shucked off his jeans which were still pooled around his ankles and picked you up with ease, bridal style, taking you to the bedroom. He tossed you onto your bed like you weighed nothing.

He shrugged off his jacket and tore his shirt off so he was completely naked, his muscular chest and arms flexing as he undressed. You were still on your back as he crawled onto the bed, positioning himself on top of you, knees on either side of your thighs. You watched as he hitched up the bottom of your dress so it rolled up to your waist, pulling down the neckline so your breasts fell out and presented themselves to him.

"You want this?" he asked, slapping his cock against your pussy through your panties. His hands reached down to grab your tits, squeezing roughly.

"Please, please, please," you chanted like a mantra, hands reaching out for him. You pushed your panties aside with one hand and took his cock in the other, urging him to go inside.

"Needy, aren't we?" Bucky chuckled, biting down on his lower lip. "Tell me what you want. Use your words, doll."

"I want your cock in my cunt," you said desperately, wanting - no, needing to be filled by him. "I want you to fuck me like the fuckdoll I am. I want you to cum inside me, please - Bucky!" You screamed out when he suddenly thrust inside you without warning, without letting you adjust as he entered you all at once.

He bottomed out with a groan, his cock stretching your tight hole.

"Oh god, Bucky," you moaned as he moved with ruthless speed, fucking in and out of your pussy with such force that your tits bounced with every movement. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he leaned down and kissed you angrily, tongue sliding into your mouth.

"This cunt is mine," he hissed, punctuating every word with a sharp jerk of his hips. "No one else. You belong to me. Say it."

"I - ah - belong to - ah - I belong you you, Bucky!" you whined, struggling to catch your breath. "Wait, not so fast, please," you moaned as he hit that spot deep inside your cervix with no mercy.

He didn't stop his pace, only moved to prop your legs up over his shoulders to allow him even better access to you, his cock seemingly sinking even deeper into you, in a way that felt impossible. You felt so full, so over-stimulated, you knew you wouldn't last long.

"Not so fast?" Bucky repeated with a humorless laugh, mocking you. "You wanted it to badly before, doll. I'm just giving it to you."

"Ah -Bucky - " tears of pleasure leaked from the corners of your eyes as you struggled to make a coherent sentence.

"Love how you're clenching around my cock. You were made to take my cock, to be filled up by me," Bucky said, the words making you wetter by the minute. "Gonna cum inside you, doll, gonna give you every last drop. Gonna remind you who you belong to. Gonna pound my cock into you until you beg me to stop."

"Daddy, please, cum inside me," you gasped. You could feel yourself reaching your orgasm, that feeling of pleasure creeping up slowly until you found yourself begging Bucky to keep going. "Please don't stop, don't stop, i'm almost there. Please keep fucking me, Bucky!"

A feral noise left Bucky's mouth as his cock continued to dive in and out of your sore pussy, never once faltering. You knew he could feel it when you clenched around him with a gasp, stars blinding your eyes as you came, his name falling off your tongue.

"Oh god," you gasped, heart beating rapidly as Bucky never stopped moving, smirking at your shaking form.

His hands reached down to flick at your clit as you squirmed, too sensitive.

"Bucky, no," you whined weakly, the pleasure too much for you as he continued to play with your pussy all the while his shaft disappeared into your cunt again and again, slick with your juices.

"You can do it one more time, doll, I know you can. Cum for daddy," Bucky grunted.

"Are you gonna cum inside me?" you asked as you felt the burning beginnings of another orgasm slowly stir inside you, biting on the inside of your cheeks to stop yourself from screaming. Your hands made their way to Bucky's neck, pulling him down to kiss you again.

"You're my cumslut, aren't you?" Bucky asked, eyes boring into mine. "Or do you want me to cum on your tits? Your face?"

The image of him painting your face white with his semen was almost too much. Tempting, but you knew you wanted it all in you tonight.

"Inside," you requested, almost begging.

He grunted in acknowledgement, and you knew he was close as he continued to draw circles around your clit.

He sped up the pace, one hand reaching out to grab the headboard behind you, vibranium hand crushing the wood as his hips stuttered. He groaned loudly as he shot his seed inside you, unloading his cum inside your willing cunt.

"Fuck, doll, you feel so fucking good," he hissed.

It was your second undoing at the feeling of him filling you up, and you unraveled seconds after he did, tears streaming down your face at the absolute electric pleasure of it.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you sweating and panting, his lips burying themselves against your neck.

"God, that was fucking incredible," he said eventually, slightly out of breath. His cock was still inside your pussy, and you whimpered at the feeling of him sliding out of your hole as he softened, his cum following suit.

"You're leaking out of me," you sniffed in protest.

Bucky reached down to deftly slide three fingers into your used cunt, inciting a squeal from your lips, a teasing smile on his face as he lifted his head to look at you, challenging you.

His fingers fucked you, fucking his cum back inside, playing with it as you almost sobbed out loud at the feeling. Eventually he withdrew his hand and lifted his digits to your mouth, which you opened automatically.

You licked him clean, the taste of your combined fluids making you shiver with delight.

"Mmm, Bucky..."

You felt your eyes grow heavy as you finally came down from the high, but you could feel Bucky growing hard against you again, his hand pumping his cock to encourage it.

"Doll, we're not even nearly finished yet."

[veeluvss]

I didn't give up on you in Paris

JJ didn't give up on JJ in Paris, here's what really happened the first night 1.8 k words

It was late at night; the wind blew a cold breeze through the open window. The glimmering Eiffel Tower shimmered in the distance, reflecting through the hotel room. It seemed empty, devoid of life or personality. A single photo hung on the wall, a sketch of the Arc de Triomphe, most likely the same picture hung in every room along the corridor. The single lamp by the side of the bed echoed a dim glow around the room. 

Emily sat on the edge of the bed, her hair, now a short bob, sat on her shoulders. She picked at her nails, her nervous habit. A sigh left her lips and she reached into the faux leather bag hanging off her shoulders. Slowly, she pulled out the envelope - passports to three different countries and bank accounts to keep her comfortable. She turned it over in her hands and peeled open the seal. She pulled out the passports: British, French and Russian. All three had different names native to their country but the same photo stared back at her. Emily Prentiss, the woman she truly was. Each bank card had the corresponding name to the country and passport. She felt the weight of the small card balancing between her fingers: ‘To keep you comfortable,’ JJ’s words echoed in her mind. She knew, until Doyle was arrested, she’d be far from comfortable, no matter how much money she had. But she knew JJ’s intent, she already missed her blonde best friend more than her old life. The soft eyes she gave as she walked away, her voice barely above a whisper from across the table. It made Emily’s heart ache. 

Around an hour after getting ready for bed, Emily still couldn’t sleep. She’d played endless games of scrabble, chess, solitaire and sudoku on her new phone to keep her mind off the recent traumas but every time she blinked or waited for the next round to load, her mind went straight back there. It wasn’t until there was a soft knock on the door that Emily left the room Derek found her in. Slowly, still recovering, she got out of bed and headed across the room. She could recognise the knock from anywhere, three soft taps, barely audible to the average person. She checked through the peephole, just in case. 

On the other side of the door, stood a wind-swept Jennifer Jareau. She looked up and down the corridor impatiently as Emily admired her. Her hair was still tied back and the purple scarf was still tied around her neck. In her ears were the earrings Emily bought her for Christmas the year before. She watched JJ check her watch and begin to walk away before she finally realised she should open the door. 

Quickly, not wanting her JJ to get away, she unclasped the latch and turned the handle. JJ, noticing the sound of the door, turned around. They made eye contact and both women let out a sigh of relief. “JJ,” Emily said, her voice small. “I cou- I couldn’t go,” JJ replied, stepping towards Emily. “Come in,” Emily said, making room for JJ to get past but JJ was hesitant. She wasn’t allowed to do this. Only herself, Hotch and the director knew she was here though, she could say her flight was delayed. “Em-” “Please,” Emily said. Her eyebrows turned down and her lip wobbled slightly but she blinked the tears away. JJ could only nod as she entered the hotel room. She set her bag on the chair by the empty desk and looked around the room. “This is bleak,” JJ said, her hands sliding into her pockets. “You’d think with all the FBI money they’d get me a better room at least,” Emily chuckled, after closing and locking the door securely. JJ cracked a smile and watched Emily come further into the room, she sat on the edge of the bed again and JJ slid into the chair.

They were silent for a few moments, Emily staring at the floor and JJ staring at Emily. “You don’t need to give me the sympathy look,” Emily said. JJ quickly cleared her throat, sat up straight and looked away, “I wasn’t.” “I know you,” Emily chuckled and pointed a finger at JJ. “Okay maybe I was, but I just worry.” “Well don’t, I’m fine,” Emily sighed and let her shoulders slump. “It’s okay to not be fine, you’ve been through a lot,” JJ said. “Don’t-” Emily said, waving her arm. “I’ll be fine.” 

JJ sighed and nodded, she knew she’d get nowhere with Emily now. She knew Emily would be fine but she also knew she couldn‘t just turn off her worrying. Emily sighed too and stretched out her hand to JJ, she stood up and pulled JJ to her feet. The women stood, toe to toe together and the room seemed so much smaller. Emily raised her hands and JJ caught her breath. Gently, Emily untied the scarf around JJ’s neck, letting the silk fabric slide through her fingers and off JJ’s neck. JJ locked eyes with Emily as her fingers travelled down to JJ’s black coat buttons. Emily didn’t need to look as she undid them. She guided the coat off JJ’s shoulders and her arms came out. JJ raised her arms and cupped Emily’s cheeks. She caressed under her eyes, the formed bruise and leaned closer. She kissed it. Her lips lingered, grazing the sore skin and Emily moved her head. Their lips hovered over one another. Their eyes wouldn’t leave each other. 

When they kissed, it was like a thousand butterflies were released in both of their stomachs. It felt right, it felt like nothing either of them had felt before. Emily’s lips worked in time with JJ’s, their heads empty except for lust and love. They pulled away, both needing air and an uncontrollable smile spread across Emily’s mouth as she took in the sight of JJ - her sea-blue eyes, her naturally contoured cheeks, her long, soft blonde hair, everything about her was perfect. JJ looked between Emily’s lips and her chocolate eyes, unable to control her fear. “I-” JJ mumbled, going to pull away but Emily grabbed her hands, keeping her close. “Emily, we can’t- you’re injured you’re not in the right mind - I-” “You loved it,” Emily replied. JJ went to shake her head no but ended up nodding, lowering her eyes. Emily lifted her chin with two fingers and took JJ’s lips back onto hers. This time there was more passion, more force and JJ kissed back with just as much. Emily lifted her hand and wrapped it around the back of the blonde’s hair, holding her head there, working in time together. JJ grabbed Emily’s waist, holding gently to keep herself steady. The lust made her legs weak. 

They stumbled together over to the bed and Emily turned them around, they kissed continually. Emily pulled away quickly and JJ fell backwards onto the bed. She let out a gasp as she saw what was going to happen. Emily lifted one leg to straddle her but JJ sat up, suddenly. “Emily-” she whispered. “It’s okay,” Emily replied, holding JJ’s face in her palm. “You’re hurt,” JJ said, her eyes travelling to where Emily was stabbed. “No, JJ,” Emily said and moved up the bed, she straddled JJ’s lap and the blonde held her waist for support. She just wanted her close. JJ wrapped her arms around her girl, holding her close and Emily sat on her thighs, one leg on each side of her. “JJ, I just want to forget,” Emily whispered, her voice weak. “Emily, I want you to be better, but we can’t do this.” “We can JJ, you make me better. This- this touch, god it makes me better,” Emily said, her voice breaking. “It does?” JJ asked, genuinely unable to believe she even helped Emily. “It does. My sunshine,” Emily said. She looked down and cupped JJ’s cheeks, letting her look up to her. She couldn’t help but smile. JJ felt butterflies in her stomach from the nickname, the one she only let Emily call her. “Don’t give up on me, please.” 

“I won’t. I won’t give up on you,” JJ replied and lifted more to kiss Emily once again. 

The pair lay under the white duvet cover, fighting the fresh breeze coming in with the morning sun. They stayed up all night, making love, kissing, talking, and sharing the world; sharing the quiet. Together, it was peaceful, it was soft and empty. The world felt powerful when it was just the two of them, they felt stronger together. And the fact no one knew made it even more perfect. But both of them knew it wouldn’t last. JJ was due at the airport for her flight home to DC and Emily had a new life to create, one without JJ in it. The blonde rolled from her back to the side, facing the brunette who lay peacefully sleeping beside her. She sighed and traced her knuckle down Emily’s cheek. It was smooth, so smooth and comforting, like a baby’s blanket. JJ desperately wanted to stay. She wanted to live this secret life with her girl, the one who loved her so perfectly but she knew she had to go home. Home to her husband, her team and her little boy. Her hand stroked her stomach, she had to go home to bring the little girl into the world too. The one that was only hers for now. 

As carefully as she could, she snuck out of bed and into the ensuite bathroom. She took her morning wee but didn’t flush in case it woke Emily up and then got dressed. She brushed her teeth with her finger and Emily’s toothpaste before heading into the room. Emily lay motionless in bed, except for the soft breaths that JJ saw move the covers lying over her. She slid on her shoes, her jacket and scarf cupped over her arm. She grabbed the pen and paper on the side and wrote out four words, I won’t forget you. She slid out the door, sliding the key back under the door once she’d locked it. Walking down the corridor, the night flashed through her mind like old film tapes - a distant memory now. She headed down the stairs and out the foyer, calling a cab. 

Emily stood in her third-floor window staring down at the blonde. She was woken by the door shutting but knew she couldn’t chase. She knew she’d had her time. She held the paper in her hand and ran her fingers over the pen, feeling the indent of the ink. Then she watched her baby disappear into the black taxi and drive off into the new day. 

[violettduchess]

A/N: This is my gift for @readerinsertfanfiction 💜 The moment I saw Cyran on your list, I was thrilled. I hope you enjoy!

A huge thank you to @ikemenlibrary for her support and friendship and for being a generous, caring host 💜

Prompt: A servant, someone who knew Cyran from before his time in Rhodolite

Cyran x AU Emma

WC: ~4k

Obsidian: the Past

She runs across the cracked, sunbaked cobblestone streets, her treasure wrapped in a cream-colored tea towel and held protectively against her chest. Her worn leather shoes make a pleasing thunking sound against the stones as she hurries past dusty shop windows and faded porches, carefully dodging people on the street.

“Langsam, Emma!” someone yells as she flies past but she doesn’t listen to their warning. She can’t slow down. She has somewhere to be.

Finally she reaches the edge of town and takes a sharp left, leaving the cobblestones behind for a ribbon of dirt road that winds its way along tired hills covered with sparse sage-green grass and dotted with scraggly yellow dandelions. Another turn onto an even smaller path, a faint thing that meanders through the knee-high growth and then, finally, the faded barn comes into view. 

She smiles, pumping her young legs harder, willing them to swallow the distance faster and faster until she reaches the peeling, splintered wooden doors and haphazardly flings one open.

“Cyran? I’m here!!”

The boy, just shy of fourteen, turns away from the wooden beam he has been faux-sparring with, lowering the dull, well-worn practice sword he is so proud of. His hair gleams like fire in the hazy sunlight that shines through the pocked roof. 

Emma hurries over, gulping down huge breaths of musty air as she grabs his thin forearm.

“C’mon. I’m dying to see how they taste.”

Cyran laughs, struggling to sheath his sword as she drags him over to the blanket thrown over the hay in a cozy corner of the barn. This is their favorite place to meet, an escape from the outside world they discovered several years ago while exploring. It is here that Emma sometimes reads to him from one of her treasured books. She’s even shared stories she’s written, romantic tales of princesses and dragons, knights and monsters. Cyran is always the hero, the knight who slays the monsters and rescues the damsel in distress. Emma will change her roles in the stories. 

Sometimes she needs rescuing. 

But sometimes, she is the dragon.

Often they sneak treats to each other, hard biscuits or smoked meat or, if they are really lucky, sweet berries brought across the border from the lush neighboring country of Rhodolite. Cyran’s neighbor is a servant for some of the merchants that make the risky trips over and when he’s lucky, she manages to tuck away a few treasures just for him.

He settles himself down on the frayed checkered blanket and pushes his bright hair away from his forehead, eagerly watching as Emma drops down next to him, laying the tea towel down. Her face is flushed from her run and from the thrill of what she’s managed to bring him.

“Ready?”

He nods, enthusiastically motioning for her to unwrap it already. He has hands that are too big for his young body, growing the way many boys do at this age, in odd fits and spurts. 

Emma leans forward, pushing up the sleeve of her too-big dress and carefully pulls back the edges of the tea towel.

The smell hits them first, the warm spice of cinnamon, the tang of nutmeg, the slight bitterness of the cloves, the unmistakable scent of ginger. It wafts up towards them, exotic and tempting. Cyran breathes in deeply and then sighs happily as he looks at her, eyes bright and admiring.

“It smells so good.”

Cyran had carefully been saving up the exotic store of spices, some of them gifts from his neighbors, others decadent purchases made at the market from his meager earnings made mucking stalls and chopping wood. He knew that Emma would be the one who would create something special with them. Young as she was, she was a talented cook and baker, able to make the most fantastic treats out of the simplest ingredients. And now that she had been given such a treasure trove to work with, she had spun pure magic.

The spiced biscuits are dappled dark brown and gold. When she hands him one, it is with a reverence that echos a priest giving communion or a child receiving a shiny new toy at Christmas.

Their gazes meet and she nods.

“Together.”

He returns the nod, staring into the warm depths of her soft brown eyes.

“Together.”

They bite into the cookies at the same time. Emma breaks into a proud smile as Cyran closes his eyes, savoring the medley of flavor and even better, the knowledge that she made them just for him.

“It’s good, isn’t it?" she asks, grinning. She sees the look on his face, the way he is practically melting with enjoyment.

He lifts his shoulder in a casual shrug, feigning indifference.

“I guess……”

“What?!”

He takes another bite, leaning back on one hand. “I mean, they’re ok. But you know, Hilde’s biscuits are also really good–OOF.”

She’s tackled him, throwing herself at him with all the force of a frenzied feline, her nimble fingers scratching at his sides. Cyran breaks into laughter, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and tries to squirm away from her.

“Ok ok Brown Eyes, enough!”

Emma lets him go, sitting back on her heels with a glowing, triumphant smile.

“Never say that about Hilde’s cookies again.”

He pushes himself up, heart pounding furiously in his chest. Only some of it is from laughing. He tears his gaze away from the unsettling beauty of her eyes, traveling up to her hair.

“You’re a mess. You got straw in your hair and your braid is a disaster.”

Emma turns and scoots until she is sitting in front of him. “Since it’s your fault….you fix it.”

Cyran heaves a sigh he doesn’t mean and then settles himself into a comfortable position, reaching forward and with a tenderness and care far beyond most boys his age, begins slowly picking the straw from her messy plait.

Emma’s eyes drift closed as she revels in the attention he’s giving her, the gentle way he untangles her braid and then very slowly begins brushing his fingers through her soft, chestnut-colored hair.

It feels comforting and safe.

It feels thrilling.

It feels like the early evening has come to a standstill and they have all the time in the world.

But their time together is like a rose slowly losing its petals.

A petal falls as he tells her, wide-eyed and shaken, that his neighbor has been killed in her own home, throat opened in the dead of night and left smiling its ghastly red smile until she was discovered hours later. Emma rubs his back, not knowing what else to do. This is not the first death in their village as of late. And it will not be the last.

A petal falls as they lay, side by side, on the blanket in the hay, staring up at the patches of starry sky visible through the holes in the roof. “My parents are scared,” she whispers. He turns his head to stare at her profile and knows it isn’t just her parents who are frightened. “I’ll protect you,” he whispers, voice fierce with youth’s naïve promise. Her gaze remains on the silver stars but she reaches out, taking his hand and squeezes it.

A petal falls as she comes to their favorite spot, face pale as bone, to tell him that her family is leaving. Her father has contacted distant relatives that live far to the north, as far from Rhodolite and the dangers it poses as one can get. Cyran feels like his young heart may break right there in his chest and he will be forced to live the rest of his life with its pieces rattling around inside of him. Though filled with dismay, Emma’s eyes are as beautiful as ever. They shine with tears, rivaling any star they have ever spent time gazing at.

A petal falls as she rushes through the dark, on the night before her family is to leave, her throat burning with feelings she can’t quite name, waves too strong to try and understand for fear they will sweep her away. She bursts through the barn doors and finds him already there, his hair dark as garnet, damp with sweat. He has spent the entire day doing heavy labor, removing heavy wooden beams, hauling ancient and broken equipment, sweeping the dusty, straw-strewn floor. Several lanterns placed around the interior bathe the space in warm, yellow light. The barn is as clean and inviting as he can make it. He wanted to give her one more memory, something beautiful, that she can take with her on her journey away from here. Away from him.

Emma is frozen in place, soaking in all he has done, before finally stopping on the young man at the center of it. He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Already his shoulders carry the hint of what manhood will bring him: strength and breadth. Arms that with training will turn hard and sculpted, legs that will lengthen until he is taller than most. He is the faint beginning of what he will become. Emma wonders wildly if she will ever get the chance to see the finished masterpiece.

“Emma,” he says, his voice raw and rough, deeper than she has ever heard it.

She sets down the bundle she is holding, the one she carried so close on the way here, leaving it on top of a weathered wooden barrel.

“Cyran,” she answers, her muscles tense, like a fawn when it hears a crunching in the underbrush.

He starts forward, one hesitant step and that is enough. She flies towards him, throwing her thin arms around his neck and buries her face in his worn linen shirt, clutching him to her. There is power in her small frame, something fierce and bright, a hurricane in crystal. Cyran holds her close, his eyes closing as he breathes in her familiar scent. He’s been teased his whole life because of his last name, but she is the one who reminds him of a rose, who always smells so sweet.

The anticipation of loss that has them clinging to each other slowly ebbs and something else, something that has been burning low and quiet in every laugh, every touch, every glance begins to emerge. She is suddenly aware of the press of her chest against his, of how much taller he is, the earthy smell of his skin. She leans back to look at him and sees the same awareness mirrored in his dark eyes.

Outside a rooster crows, loud and discordant.

Cyran turns his head toward the sound and Emma, sparked by the frantic knowledge that she must leave, grabs his chin, pulling him back to her and rises onto her toes, pressing her lips to his.

It is a sunbeam bursting through gray clouds. A spark breathing life into a pile of dried leaves. It is hope and promise and wonder.

And heartbreak.

With a stifled cry, she steps away, turns and flees the barn, not wanting to see the look on his face as she leaves, not wanting that to be her last memory of him.

Cyran watches with a thundering heart as the door swings shut. Flooded with helplessness and misery, he notices the bundle she left behind. Tenderly he lifts it, undoing the sky-colored ribbon. It’s her favorite handkerchief, white with pale blue forget-me-nots painstakingly embroidered along the edges, and nestled inside are several of her spiced biscuits. His favorites.

Rhodolite: The Present

Rhodolite is so much MORE than she expected. The streets are wider and cleaner and lined with greenery, more trees and flowering bushes and grass than in the entire garden of the palace in Obsidian. There are more people than she expected too, many standing under awnings and lampposts, peeking through windows and around doorways, watchful eyes in beautiful faces following the royal procession as it makes its way towards the palace. 

When she had been told by the Head Chef that they would be accompanying Prince Gilbert and his entourage to Rhodolite, Emma had felt a familiar ringing through the cockles of her heart. Rhodolite is where Cyran was rumored to have ended up. Whispers from the south had traveled her way, over the many years since they parted. He had joined the army when he was of age. He had left Obsidian for the verdure of Rhodolite. He was employed by one of the Princes there. Crumbs of information she had managed to gather, hoarding them tightly like precious drops of mana. 

He may not even be here, she reminds herself as her tired gray mare plods along down the street. She and the other servants are at the end of the procession and most of the people have turned away, not interested in anything but the dangerous Prince Gilbert with his sharp smile and blood-red gaze. 

Still, Emma finds herself scanning the crowds as they pass, looking for any head of red hair. She spots a few but they are never him.

As the overwhelming elegant palace suddenly rises towards the heavens before her, she draws in a sharp breath. 

We’re here…….

…….Is he?

The palace looms closer, a breathtaking monument of pale beauty.

And if so….how in the wide world will she ever find him?

Cyran runs a hand through his thick mass of russet hair as his long strides make quick work of the pathway towards the training hall. It’s late evening and the young, freshly-minted knights are at the end of their training and he needs to make sure everything went well without him there. He knows Lucian is more than capable of leading them through their drills but Cyran has a responsibility to make sure. They are all under his charge.

Entering the hall, he sees several of the knights laughing in a corner. Some are sitting and catching their breath, others are pushing the heavy sandbags they sometimes train with back into their storage room. What he sees reassures him. They look tired and sore, yet satisfied, faces bright with the feeling of accomplishment a tough training session will leave behind.

He’s about to go look for Lucian, expecting a full report when he notices several of the knights standing by the wooden table at the far end of the training circle, the one usually covered with straps for shields and rope and other odds and ends. They’re smiling, far too widely to be discussing anything so mundane as weaponry. Several are chewing. He approaches the table, greeted by his men with smiles and respectful nods. Immediately he notices the tin: it’s round and black, covered with decorative golden swirls. 

“What’s this?” He glances towards the first knight at his left, a tall lad with sandy blond hair.

“They were brought here by an Obsidian servant. She said they were a present for us.”

Cyran frowns, a skeptical look on his face as he reaches inside the tin for one of the golden brown cookies.

“And you didn’t think to–” He was going to ask if they thought accepting gifts from strangers was a good idea when the scent hits him, cutting through the sweat and musk of tired men.

The warm spice of cinnamon, the tang of nutmeg, the slight bitterness of cloves, the unmistakable scent of ginger.

He goes still, the breath knocked from his lungs.

Could it be…..

Something in his face hushes the men around him. They watch, curious as Cyran lifts the cookie and takes a bite. 

The man who sees everything, ever watchful, closes his eyes as he chews and the knights are transfixed by the absolute stillness that has overtaken their leader.

And then those eyes open and something in them has begun to burn, bright and alive.

The other half of the cookie falls to the dusty ground as he turns on his heel and, practically jogging, exits the training area, leaving behind the half-eaten biscuit and a slew of surprised faces.

The rose gardens are somehow even more beautiful in the twilight of evening. The red petals seem to have darkened, shedding their bright rose-red for a sultry scarlet. Shadows emerge from the trimmed hedges, stretching across the winding stone pathways, giving a visitor like Emma glimpses of hidden benches and secret dirt paths leading into clandestine corners of the gardens.

She has taken several of these more narrow, less-trodden paths, not at all afraid of getting lost. Her heart is a bird, flitting between dark branches, full of a nervous, tightly-wound energy she can’t quite explain. 

As the sky darkens to a deep navy blue and the first stars open their eyes, Emma pauses in front of a gray stone fountain. Two swans, nuzzling their beaks together, bodies curved towards one another as a blossoming flower rises above them, water spraying outward in celebration. She tilts her head, the romantic in her sighing at the way the two swans perfectly mirror one another, two halves of a whole, two souls in perfect harmony. So enchanted is she by the fountain that she doesn’t hear the footfall on the path, doesn’t notice the man who has stopped several meters away from where she is standing, the sight of her freezing him in his tracks.

“Emma.”

She jumps at the deep voice, her eyes wide and dark as she turns towards the sound. The owner of said voice is standing, half in shadow, at the place where the small path to the fountain begins, beneath a shadowy arch of crimson roses. She is so startled, she doesn’t even register that he has said her name.

“Oh….s'il te plaît, excuse-moi,” she says quickly, doing her best to remember the phrases of the common language spoken in Rhodolite. “J'espère que ça va…” She trails off, trying to remember how to say she hopes she is allowed to be here but the man takes another step closer, leaving the blanket of shadows and stepping into the fading light.

Even the dusky hue of evening cannot hide the red of his hair.

A gasp as soft as the flutter of a bird’s wing escapes her. The young boy she knew juxtaposed against this tall, broad man before her sends her heart into a tailspin. Her hand flies to her mouth as she takes him in. She sees the same bright light of recognition and admiration and overwhelming emotion plain as day on his beautiful face.

“Cyran?” The word is a whisper, a breathless repetition of the name she has kept in her prayers for decades.

His eyes never leave her, almost as if he has the power to hold her there with his gaze, to keep her from vanishing into the realm of his dreams where she has lived for so long. Slowly, he reaches up and loosens the laces at the top of his tunic. His hand slides inside and when it emerges, he is holding a small square of cloth. As he slowly opens it, her heart falters.

It’s white, with pale blue forget-me-nots embroidered around the edges.

He holds it out to her, his chest rising and falling with every deep breath he takes. That handkerchief has lived next to his heart, in an inner pocket, one he has sewn into every shirt he has ever owned since the day he watched her leave.

“I think…..this belongs to you, Brown Eyes.”

She chokes back a sob, unable to contain the thunderstorm of emotion coursing through her and runs to him, falling into his arms as naturally as a willow bends to the wind, tears falling freely down her cheeks. Cyran wraps his arms around her, sheltering her, holding her the way he has imagined a thousand times. His throat burns with all the words he has ached to say, all those sleepless nights spent remembering the lilt of her smile, the music of her laughter, the bittersweet taste of her kiss.

Emma squeezes her eyes closed, breathing in the scent of him, at once so familiar and yet so strange. Her arms wind around his waist as she presses herself against him, drinking in the sensation of his body on hers. 

This is Cyran….her Cyran…..her….

A thought pierces her heart as she suddenly steps away from him, eyes wide, still so beautiful as they glimmer with the remnants of her tears.

“Oh…I…I didn’t mean…..you could be married. I shouldn’t have-”

His laughter is coarse, rough with emotion, a roll of rushing water as it careens over the lip of a cliff.

“As if I could ever love anyone else.”

Love…..

As if summoned by the very word, the moon itself parts the soft gray clouds, flooding the small section of the garden with silvery light. The tinkling of the fountain fills the momentary silence. 

Cyran’s cheeks suddenly flush, a hot mixture of embarrassment and panic overriding the elation of the previous moment.

“I…..I don’t mean to presume of course that you feel the same. It has been a long time and…..” He trails off, wincing. Fluster is such an uncharacteristic state of being for Cyran. “Ah, shit. I’m sorry. I–” 

His words are cut off as Emma launches herself back into his arms, hugging him fiercely.

“Please, don’t apologize.” She tilts her head up to look at him, still in awe of how she sees the young man he was and the handsome man he has become in his beautiful eyes, in his exquisite face. “It has always been you.”

Cyran drags air into his lungs, hardly able to believe he isn’t dreaming. His rough fingers capture her chin, his thumb running over the sensitive skin just under her lower lip. 

Slowly, he leans down as she stretches upwards, eager and nearly trembling with emotion. 

He kisses her, his hand still cupping her face. Gently his mouth moves over hers as he tells her a wordless story of longing, of a bruised heart that learned to somehow keep beating. 

He kisses her, a strong arm pulling her closer, his lips and tongue weaving the tale of a young soldier who never forgot the girl with the tender heart and radiant spirit. The soldier who dreamed of her face during his darkest nights and longed for her laughter on days of sunshine.

She meets him, kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke, sliding her palms along his broad shoulders, clutching him as she answers his tale, confessing without words how he has never left her heart. How his smile was her light in times of worry and despair. How seeing him again has been her northern star from the moment of parting.

Only the moon knows how long they stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, lost in each other’s yearning.

When they finally part, Cyran rests his forehead against hers, still keeping her tightly in his embrace. He may never let go again.

“You’re….in the employ of Prince Gilbert. I am here.” He frowns ever so slightly as he brushes several loose strands of hair away from Emma’s charmingly flushed cheek. “This could get complicated.”

Their gazes meet and she nods.

“Yes…..but we’ll figure it out.”

And suddenly he is carried back in time to an evening when her eyes shone just as brightly, just as excitedly, a young girl with something to give a young boy, a homemade cookie, an offering of love.

“Together.” 

Her voice echoes across the years, that word wrapping itself around his battered heart, a balm, a blessing.

He returns the nod, staring into the warm depths of her soft brown eyes, tenderly stroking the silk of her hair, and answers her now as he did back then. 

“Together.”

Tagging: @xbalayage @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @namine-somebodies-nobody @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @queen-dahlia @themysticalbeing @nightghoul381 @whitelittlebunny @chi-the-idiot @bubblexly @wordycheeseblob

[v3nusplanetofluv]

camp

ii; good different

｡･ﾟﾟ･atsumu x fem! reader

｡･ﾟﾟ･college and 90s au

description...

atsumu miya was the bane of your existence growing up. always making it his job to tease and taunt you daily. as time went on you detached yourself from the neighborhood kids, your frequent, unwanted presence merely becoming a thing of the past. however, the summer of '98 causes you and atsumu to face the past.

warnings!

2.1k words

none!

"get him out of here," your hands slammed down on the wooden desk, shaking the small handmade frames and shitty trinkets that littered the surface. "i just wasted forty-five minutes of my day because he couldn't take a normal picture without staring at me with this dumb expression he gets on his face," a dry laugh left your lips as an exasperated expression overtook your features. tiredly, you sink back into the wobbly plastic chair littered with mysterious stains--most likely filled with kiddy germs, "why'd you have to hire him?"

"we're short-staffed--and he had a good application," the older woman leaned forward, resting her weight on her crossed arms. "why? ya have a bad fling with him--"

"NO! god no!" your eyes screwed shut, cringing at the nauseating thought. your face burned as if it was the surface of the sun, you shoved your face into your hands as if your palms could soothe the humiliating burn.

she let out an amused chuckle as she rested back into her spinny chair, causing the faux leather to peel off even further. "i just assumed," she put her arms up as a way to signal her surrender, "considerin' yall were from the same neighborhood and good lookin'."

you groan as you shake your head in your hands. "it's just playground stuff," you mutter, "it shouldn't have even come here--this is all very unprofessional--i apologize-" you ramble as you quickly begin to get up and out of your seat.

"wait, wait, if something is botherin' ya, ya are more than welcome ta tell me about it--i barely know miya-"

"no, no, no," you dismiss with a shake of your hand as begin to open up the office door, "I'll figure it out on my own! but thank you." with a smile you close the door behind you and let out a sigh. you quickly scurry out of the building, only slowing once you make it down the rotting steps--feet on steady ground.

you hunch over suddenly--violently--as you let out a callous but silent scream. hoarse fragments leave your mouth as you jump up and down stomping your feet erratically on the damp dirt. whispered curses bellow as you pull at your hair. your movements were so unsettling that if there was any chance of an ax murderer hiding out in the surrounding forest you definitely scared them away.

"stupid fucking bitch!" your grating curses fell upon deaf ears as you fell to your knees, repeatedly pounding at the ground as you panted. your forehead grew sweaty as you finally began to run out of energy, shallow breaths were the only sounds flowing through your head.

as you steadied your breath you looked down at your fingernails, covered in chipped nail polish, gripping onto your denim shorts. the blurriness in your vision began to dissipate as a pair of dirty sneakers snuck into your view.

your eyes trailed up the figure, making you let out a vexed whine as you landed on the familiar hazel eyes. you rolled your eyes, "what do you want?" a displeased sigh left your lips as he looked down at you in your weary state.

as he crouched down, you huffed at how he still towered over you. "ya were rollin' aroun' on the floor--the dirt," he let out a nervous chuckle as you only glared up at him making the climate even more suffocating in the beastly humididty. he let out a breath that he had been holding as he looked at anything but your figure underneath him, "jus' wanted ta check on ya-"

"i didn't need you to check on me," your tone was sharp as you pushed yourself off of the ground, shaking off any dirt left upon your converse. "why were you looking for me?'

it was now your turn to tower over him. and for one of the few times in his life, atsumu felt small compared to someone else...and he couldn't figure out why. maybe it was the way you looked down at him like he was dog shit on your shoe; or maybe it was his newfound attraction that made you look like a gift sent down from god; possibly a third thing--the fact that you had something over his head--the fact that he alienated and treated you like secondary when you were younger.

he snapped out of his thoughts as your hand began to wave in front of his face, "hello? what do you want from me?-"

"are ya gonna tell everyone?"

your expression softened, as confusion began to appear, "what are you-"

"are ya gonna tell everyone about how...about how i treated ya?"

a short, bitter laugh leaves your lips as you look down at him. atsumu looks up at you like a kicked puppy that doesn't want to look like he's been hurt. "no, i don't care to let everyone know about sandbox drama," his expression begins to lift with hope, "but i can hold a grudge," and then it drops. "so if that's all you had to ask then i think we're done here," you begin to turn on your heels.

"um the guys wanted me ta ask ya'd go into town ta get everyone pizza.."

you blink, "sure... i guess, what did they want?"

"they gave me a piece of paper with it on it."

"..." you look at him expectantly.

"..."

"...are you going to give it to me?"

the faux blond begins to get off of the ground, "nah, 'm gonna come with ya!" he smiles as he waves the slip of yellow notepad paper in front of your face, quickly pulling it back as you jump for it, "i don't believe in grudges, so we're gonna squash this, this summer!"

"no," you say through gritted teeth as your fists clench at your sides, "you're going to give the paper to me, so i can get in my car and get it by myself."

"well...no," he smiles down at you, "if i can't come, i guess you'll just disappoint everyone, and ya wouldn't like that now would ya?" he leans forward, "they speak so highly of ya," he tsks as he backs up, hands behind his back.

you looked as if cartoon-like smoke would come from your ears at any moment, "give me the paper atsumu!" you spit as you tried to grab it from behind his back. you lunge forward but he's quicker as he stuffs the paper into the front of his shorts.

your eyebrows furrow as he shrugs with a half smile, "ya can have it if ya get it yerself," he smirks as you suck in a frustrated breath through your nostrils.

you shove your keys into the ignition of the 1996 lexus gs 300, as atsumu slides into the passenger seat with the obnoxiously goofy smile on his face that you hated. it was as if the red hand-shaped mark adorning the side of it meant nothing!

as you began to pull out of the dirt driveway, he spotted your case holding your CDs. he began to plunder through it--much to your dismay as you maneuvered onto the road. a sound of excitement left the opposite side of the car as he pulled out a cd that caught his eye.

"i love hall and oates!" he smiled as he began to put it into the cd player, but you quickly slapped his hand making him flinch back. "why don't ya wanna listen to a cd that ya bought?" an incredulous look overtook his face as he glanced over at you.

"if you like it, i don't want to hear it," you give him a tight-lipped smile before facing the road again. "put on the blue cd," you instruct prompting him to dig through the bag.

he pulls out the cd only to make his face scrunch up in disgust, "weezer...?" he looks over at you, the displeased look unable to leave his face.

"i love weezer," you spare him a quick look as your eyebrows furrow, a small pout on your lips.

"well 'm not puttin' that on," he stuffs the cd back into the bag and tosses it into the backseat. ignoring your protests, he slides the compilation album, looking back, into the player. he picks up the piece of plastic as he skims the back, looking for the song he wanted to skip to.

after ten nosiy clicks of the forward button, "maneater" begins to blare through the car stereo system. he sticks his arm out of the car window and begins to tap his hand on the door to the beat.

you sigh and pull your sunglasses down over your eyes as your hair whips in the wind. atsumu begins to hum along, testing the waters. as you continue to ignore him he begins to sing along quietly, "oh here she's comes," he looks over at you as he sings along, "she's a maneater..." you tap your finger on the steering wheel to the song.

as he continues to sing, he notices you silently lip-syncing to the song, "just sing," he urges making you hum and raise an eyebrow, "ya know ya want to...and this is basically yer song."

your head snaps to face him, "what's that supposed to mean?'

"ya clearly get a lot more attention from guys now because ya look so...different," he says matter of factly making you reach over and tug on a piece of his hair forcing him to wince. "a good different! yer hot now! like totally smokin'!" you shoot him a lethal glare from above your glasses.

"ok, ok..." he sinks back into his seat, the hot seatbelt burning into his chest.

the rest of the ride is in silence--well partial silence as hall and oates plays softly. the sun has begun to set, painting the sky in hues of pink, orange, and yellow. you look over to your side to see atsumu looking out the window as you turn into the parking lot.

you switch off the car with a sigh.

"all i did was get contacts and my braces off..." you mutter under your breath catching his attention.

"hmm?"

"you're obviously curious--i just always looked like this i guess-"

"no...something else looks different too..." his eyebrows furrow in thought. his eyes start from the top of your head: a new haircut, obviously--maybe even some color; the glasses have been ditched, but you have more piercings now--four in each ear and a silver nose ring; your teeth are straight and you've ditched that overbite thanks to the braces. his eyes begin to drift further down...down to your-

"boobs!"

your eyes quickly follow his line of vision, arms flying up to cover your chest, "you want another mark on the other side of your face to match?" you sneer as you feel your face heat up with agitation.

"you have boobs now, that's what i couldn't figure out!"

"atsumu! i'm going to kick your stupid teeth in!" you seethe as you wish the earth would sink in and swallow you whole. his gaze is unmoving as he looks at you with a dopey grin and matching red ears.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry!" he exclaims as he finally looks away. your arms slowly begin to drop from your chest as you unfasten your seat belt, gaze following astumu's movements as he unbuckled his seat belt as well.

a breath that you felt you'd been holding in for centuries falls from your lips as you close your eyes for a moment. a small moment of peace as you'd not only been running around setting up camp for the past three days but you'd been forced to face your unruly neighbor head-on after avoiding him for years. with your head titled back onto the seat rest, your eyes flutter open at the sound of uneasy rustling coming from the passenger seat. the slow turn of your head aids in no halt of his movements.

the sight of him fitfully digging in the front of his shorts, makes your eyes go wide and cheeks heat up as you yell to grab his attention. why'd you yell? it was a rash decision!

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" the guttural sound makes him jump in his seat, hands still stuck in his pants as he tries to quickly fumble around to get them out.

two deers in a set of headlights stare at each other across the gear shift, as the inside of the car gets unbearably hot. as he stumbles over his words your eyes constantly flicker between his incredibly red face and his hands groping in the front of his shorts.

"TAKE YOUR HAND OUT OF YOUR PANTS?"

'THE PIZZA ORDER!"

notes !

☆ i totally just watched lisa frankenstein and the freakout part is totally inspired by that.

☆ atsumu is having a hard time talking to y/n--not just because she's his type now, and intimidatingly pretty, but because he's only ever had mean things to say about her.

☆ surprisingly--to atsumu at least--y/n's pretty into rock music ie. weezer, nirvana, green day, radiohead, the cranberries, etc. whereas, atsumu is rather nostalgic and listens to music from when he was a kid ie. hall and oates, david bowie, michael jackson, al green, etc.

☆ when atsumu finally got the list out of his pants, it was crumpled, full of penis sweat, and unreadable. luckliy, y/n was able to make an educated guess on what they wanted because she's worked with them so long (and she was spot on).

taglist ! open

@bakugoswaif @luvly-writer @littlemiyastars @tvhsleb3ww @yachi-luvr @rosieandthethorns @lzaj19 @kaymarnun

if your name is bolded i couldn't tag you :(

dividers by @plutism

[mrsarnasdelicious]

Aemond Targaryen - Marking You Up

"You are mine, sweet one." The Prince whispers hotly against the shell of your ear. You shudder in his embrace. "Yes, My Prince." You murmurs. Aemond smirks and pulls at the lobe of your ear with his teeth. You moan and claw at his leather jerkin.

"Gods, I want you." His lips find the column of your neck. A loud moan tears free from your lips. "Take off your clothes." Aemond orders. But he does not release you from his embrace. You can't undress yourself beyond kicking off your boots. Aemond laughs in a cruel fashion.

"Do I need to help you?" He purrs, faux sweet. You know he is laying a trap. And you have to tread carefully in order not to get ensnared. "No, thank you." You reply. Aemond chuckles softly. He pulls at the lacing on the back of your dress. "I'll do it anyway." He hisses. He peels the dress off of you, avoiding your skin ever so carefully. Gooseflesh rises on your arms and spine. The air is cold, but your yearning is hot.

Aemond runs his fingers lightly along your back, before firmly slapping your ass. You moan softly. Carefully you lean into his embrace. "Do you consent?" Aemond asks, albeit slightly late. "Yes, I do." You answer. "Thank you." He whispers, kissing along your shoulder.

He digs his fingers into your hips. Your thin white shift crumples under the tips of his digits. He pulls you closer, his grip close to bruising you. But you don't mind. "Fuck." Aemond hisses against your neck. Desire is evident in his voice. You cup his face and draw him down for a kiss. Aemond groans against your lips. He is eager, you can taste it. And it is an amazing sensation, to be so desired by The Prince.

He starts rucking up your shift. You help him, pulling it over your head. "Very good." Aemond murmurs.

His fingers run carefully over your skin. "So stunning. Almost a shame to ruin it." He purrs. His hand slips from your breast to your arse and he gives you a firm slap. You moan, even though it stings. You're surely going to have his hand printed on your ass for a while.

His mouth finds the junction of your neck and your shoulder. "You taste like sweet summer sweat and raspberries." He growls, before pressing his teeth into your skin. You cry out and claw at his doublet. "Gods, Aemond." You moan. Your fingers tangle into his hair. Aemond groans darkly against your skin. He makes his mark upon your skin, dark and deep, drawing a little bit of blood. He watched the small droplets well up from where he pressed his canines into your skin. A soft chuckle bubbles from his lips and then he slowly turns you around.

He kisses you fiercely and you taste the metalic tang of blood on his tongue when it invades your mouth. You moan in unison and Aemond begins backing you up to his bed.

You let yourself fall into the silk sheets. Aemond falls on top of you, for a moment his body flush upon yours. But then he props himself up on his elbows, relieving you of his weight. His mouth breakes away from yours to nip at your jaw and ear. You moan and squirm below him. "Be still." Aemond growls hotly. He kisses down to your throat. You arch up into his touch. "Be still, my love." Aemond repeats.

But when he sucks a dark hicky just above your collarbone, you trash below him, moaning loud enough to make the sound echoe around his chambers. "You can't help yourself, can you?" Aemond murmurs. "Turn around." He orders. You oblige, rolling over beneath him. "Good girl." Aemond purrs.

He straddles your upper legs. There is no squirming away from him now. Not that you would want to. He spanks you hard, twice. Once on every arse cheek. You moan and slowly grind yourself down against the sheets. It is so good! "You are so desperate to be fucked, are you not?" He leans over, his breath gusting over the shell of your ear. You whimper loudly.

Your core clenches on nothing.

"I need ... oh I need.. Please." You whine.

"Tell me what you need." Aemond purrs. You stick your ass up as much as you can. "I need your cock." I whimper. "My cock?" Aemond cooes. You just know that he is smirking wildly. He has you right where he wants you. But you know he is far from done with you. He slaps his cock down on the flesh of your ass. You wriggle, too eager to have him inside you. Aemond chuckles wickeldy and teases your core with the head of his cock, holding you open with one hand on your buttcheek. You whimper, pushing back. That earns you a very hard spank. "Not so greedy." Aemond warns.

"Please, oh please, my prince." You whine. Your core gasps open, so needy for his cock. Aemond groans, too tempted by the wet heat of your body drawing him in. He thrusts forward, breaching your core. "Oh Gods!" You moan loudly. Aemond groans, pushing deeper inside you. And he fills you so well! You fit together as though the Gods of Old Valyria meant it that way.

"And you better thank me for it." Aemond growls, his hand finding your throat again.

[plush-rabbit]

Johnathan Ohnn Headcanons

Request: Hi! If its okay, can you make HCs of Johnathan Ohnn with a partner who likes walking around as a stim? They're only comfortable doing it around at home/their room since they feel like its embarrassing. They literally just get up and start shuffling about. Spinning around. Like. Circling a table as if they were a hawk. Doing laps. In a silly manner. Thank you! 💞

A/N: I like to hc he has this stim because when he meets miles he does little steps and im like !!! (i also added a bit more of some other moving stims)

When you start to talk about things that interest you, Johnathan takes notice of how your whole body seems to become animated. Your hands will move around, fingers spreading open and curling over into claws, as you tell him about a new television show that you’ve recently gotten into. Slowly, your legs start to bounce, and he can see just how stimulated you are. Your legs will kick out, the tips of your feet tapping against the floor, and soon you’re up and walking around. Your voice is raised, and you stutter over your words, and he’s interested in it all, clinging to every word and nodding along as you speak without a filter. When you smile at him, bright and with teeth glinting under the light, he knows he would listen to you rant about anything as long as it’s you. 

There are moments where he can tell you’re getting nervous at how much you pace, and you’ll retreat somewhere private for a moment. He’s figured it out that you might feel embarrassed about how you stim, so he tries to make his presence aware before visiting you or giving you the space you need. Even if he does have a key to your home, he always makes sure to knock or at least give you a heads up of when he’s going to arrive. He doesn’t ever want you to feel ashamed about your stims, so he makes sure that whatever boundaries have been placed- such as you preferring your privacy- he’ll respect it without questioning it. He understands the boundaries that are placed, and he never wants to feel as if he’s trying to be privy to your every inner thought.

He’s taken into account of your spinning chair in your room with the faux leather peeled and the chair clicking when you turn. Whether he knows spinning is one of your stims or not, he takes it upon himself to get you a new spinning chair. He can see how much you like yours- how you roll around your room, how you prefer to stay seated at your desk, and the fact of how worn it is. The new chair is similar to your old one, and he doesn’t expect you to use it if you’re still clearly attached to your old one, but he does give it to you as an alternative to when your old chair starts to leave pieces of leather stuck to the back of your thighs. 

With your chair, he’s also gifted you a nice pair of headphones. Music seems to help stimulate you, and he notices that when the two of you ride in a car together, you like to replay songs or tap along with the beat. He might not know the full extent of your stimming, so he’ll try to give you things that might help in putting you in a more relaxed state. Music is common interest for most people, so he’ll make you playlists or give you access to his, to listen to when you feel energy just build up without having any sort of outlet for it to express itself in. 

If time allows for it, he likes to take walks with you. He knows how stimulated you can get and can relate to the bursts of energy, so the two of you will go on walks together to burn off the energy. You have this skip in your step, and he can tell how you want to just run by the way you jog to the nearest tree and point out a root to him, bouncing in your step and waving at him to catch up to you. While walking is a nice leisure activity for the two of you, he gets that you just need to run, so he’ll sit at a bench with a notebook on his lap as you jog around the park.

Joining you for the occasional walk brings him joy. He likes how you’ll hold his hand in yours, keeping a tight grip on it and pulling him along to everything interesting that you see. You shuffle along, slowly growing closer to him, that the two of you bump against each other, your arms wrapping around one of his, desperate to keep him close to you. Your body builds up its own tension and you pull him along, begging for him to quicken his pace, only to be met with defiance as he stands still. You slap playfully at his arm and pull forward, and he watches your back, watches as you find something that catches your gaze and steadily, he approaches you.

Being so close to you, he’s gotten better at picking up when you’re starting to have bursts of energy. Your legs will bounce, and you’ll tap at the ground, and your hands will flap. It’s easy to tell when you’re enjoying your time somewhere with him because of how much you beam. It’s written so clearly, and he can tell that you need to do something, and when the table shakes and you talk about a series that you’re watching, he’s invested in hearing your words. He latches onto every thought, nodding and asking questions, enraptured by how animated and lively you are. 

If your pacing is more of an anxiety response, he tries to take notice of what is causing you to become so anxious. You pace around, and he’ll watch, asking you questions to help bring you back down to reality. He tries to help ground you- to get you to voice your worries, but it only worsens them, and your pacing has become more rapid, more unorganized as you worry at your bottom lip. When you finally sit down, only to stand again a few moments later, he just sits there, letting you vent to him.

It’s when you're anxious does he get worried. You pace and pace, and you can’t seem to stop moving. You talk, words slurring and stuttering against one another, that it makes it difficult to keep up with your train of thought. You pace around the coffee table, and you hide yourself in the kitchen, walking back out with a bit more of a rush in your step. He tries to talk to you, to get you to calm down, but when it seems that you’re only growing more anxious, he kisses the top of your head, and motions for you to go relax in your room, to stimulate yourself until you can finally hear your thoughts. 

With Johnathan becoming The Spot, it’s gotten difficult to take walks with you. He can cover up in jackets and hats, but he still feels the stares that people give him. You rationalize that most people probably think it’s those skin-tight costumes, and while he’ll agree with a wordless nod, he still doesn’t like the stares. While he’s understood your need to walk when stimming, and has even indulged in it himself, he never got the euphoria from doing paces until then. Holding your hand in his, he likes to just run with you as if there’s something that the two of you are running from. And when the two of you are sat on the ground, grass plucked between your fingertips and your head on his shoulder, he wishes that he had run with you more, that he had taken your hand earlier and just ran until his legs gave out and until he was far away.

[kingkatsuki]

I love the idea of ghost bakugou cooling you down 🥺

You just moved into this shitty apartment in the city. It’s tired and run down and the worst part is there’s absolutely no air con. The temperature is sweltering in the heat of summer as you try to open all the windows to try and allow some air into the muggy space.

Stripping down to your underwear helps a bit, but it’s horrible when you feel yourself sticking to your faux leather couch. Wincing as you peel yourself off it to grab a glass of water in a feeble attempt to try and take the edge off.

Bakugou’s been watching you since you moved in— sitting across the room as you unpack your belongings bit by bit. Taking extra time to assess the photo frames that you position around the apartment, noting that none of the pictures seem to show a boyfriend. Not that you’d be interested in him anyway—

He’s respectful, and gives you your space. You’re far easier to live with than the other assholes that had moved in before, quieter and cleaner too.

But when the temperatures begin to soar and your clothes seem to disappear he can’t help but stare at you. Jesus, you’re gorgeous. His cock throbs as he watches your flustered face as you fan yourself with a pizza takeout menu for the shitty restaurant down the street that he can’t believe is still open. He used to eat there all the time before— well, this.

Coming up behind you in the kitchen as you lean over the counter to turn the tap, pouring water into a mug as you take a huge gulp of it as the water continues flowing.

“You always like wasting water, hah?” He speaks, this time you hear him as the mug you were holding clatters to the floor. Smashing into multiple pieces around your bare feet as you curse, turning around to see a translucent Bakugou standing in your apartment, “Jesus Christ, woman— careful.”

He takes a step forward, his palm raised in an attempt to stop you moving. Scared you’ll jolt back and step onto the sharp porcelain now scattered on the ground.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

[samstclair]

Tommy Shelby's Barmaid

Tommy Shelby X Reader

Anonymous Request - 

Good morning/afternoon/evening/night Sammy Sammy yes I am! So check this out - I just saw Oppenheimer and came to the conclusion that I really miss seeing Cillian Murphy's face. So that night I began rewatching Peaky Blinders and am just in awe. So you know the point. I want to be his barmaid. No hate to Grace, love her, but let a girl just imagine. And that's where you come in. So yeah I wanna be his barmaid and sing to him. Maybe we're off to the races? Do your thing or else I'll might do a thing and report your account! :)

Word Count: pretty long

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"And where are we off to, Miss?" 

"One ticket to London, please!" you told the airport cashier, (or whatever they're called I'm not sure tbh), with your gleeful, bimbo smile. "The UK, one, thought. Not the Ohio one! Can't have that happening again!"

The lady didn't respond, she instead gave you a soft customer service fake ass laugh pretending she knew full well what you were talking about and kept her eyes down on the computer, securing that flight. You no longer trusted yourself to use computers or laptops, thanks to those Benadryl pills you used to be addicted to. But now that you were evicted from your New York apartment, you lost those pills in the process, and honestly all of your personal shit, so you've been forced to quit cold turkey and was actually experiencing withdrawals at the very moment. But, you couldn't let anyone know this! You needed to leave America fast. 

"Okay, to confirm your name, Y/L/N, Y/F/N, correct?" 

"Yes, ma'am!" You passed her your credit card and she did her magic, charging you a fuck ton of money!

The printer pooped out your ticket and she passed both that and your card back to you. 

"Enjoy your flight. Safe travels," the lady wished you. 

"Oh my god, girl, you too!" you wished back. You turned around and found your terminal, buying an expensive Starbucks drink of your choice and plopping your big butt down on a chair. You sat and looked around, sipping your coffee like a mother, taking in your surroundings of this little JFK airport they got going on. 

"I'm really a world traveler right now...like, I'm on some Lewis and Clark shit right now," you thought to yourself. 

You looked down at your luggages, or perhaps, just luggage. All that remained after your eviction just filled one Hello Kitty-themed suitcase you bought from TJ Maxx. You also had your rare vintage Juicy Couture purse you bought from Depop, thats faux leather was literally peeling off like dead skin, filled with all your essentials - lip gloss, nearly dead Elf Bar, crumpled up two-year-Goodwill old receipts, wired headphones because that's what cool people use walking down the street, crystals, loose hair ties, a baby Calico Critter, wire-exposed phone charger, and more that aren't too important to mention. You did miss all your other knick knacks and items that were lost, but since you were traveling light you 1. saved more money since it was just carry-on and 2. looked mysterious, just a girl on the road on her own adventure. 

"After all, items are just like - items. Things." you thought, trying to convince yourself that all material items are just not real and people don't really need those things. This is what you repeated to yourself over and over but in all honesty it wasn't helping. You were fucking pissed you lost all your shit. 

With all your items was your go-to airport fit - a Juicy baby blue tracksuit. So now you resorted to old PJ's you had shoved to the bottom depths of your drawer, wrinkled to the house boots down and forgotten of existence. They were a pair of Nike shorts and a baby tee that read "I <3 Surfer Boys". You then looked down to your white Crocs with the knock-off Jibblitz - the ootd would just have to do. 

As you sat in your terminal, waiting, you thought about what adventures UK would bring to you. You wondered what people you'd encounter, what new storylines you'd get wrapped into, what NPCs would say to you - it really did feel like you were fast-traveling into another country in a video game. 

Safe to say, you were ready for liftoff! Whenever that liftoff! would be because your flight was delayed like three times cause that's just airport things! This was the start of a new adventure! New and humble beginnings! No more America and their never-ending obsession with you committing financial fraud or whatever the IRS loved to say! But never mind that don't ask don't PUSH!!!!!!

Some hours later, you were finally able to board your flight. By this time, let's just say - people were fucking pissed about their flight being delayed, but you didn't really mind it. Yes, you were in a big time rush to leave America as soon as possible, but all that time waiting allowed you to finish the only downloaded show on your phone: LPS Popular. Shit was finally getting heated, Savannah Reed was def the no nonsense type of girl you envisioned yourself to be. 

Anyway whatever you boarded on, took your window seat and went through the usual bullshit of waiting for everyone to board on and take off and turbulence and random ass baby crying and shitty food and whatever. 

About a half hour in the sky, you looked through the catalogue of movies available - none which caught your interest. 

However, after scrolling for another half hour - you found the one. 

"Oh my god, a movie about two lovers flying in the sky staring Cillian Murphy and Rachel McAdams?!" you thought excitedly. "That's some good shit right there."

You hit that play button, scooted deeper into that seat, propped your patas up, and was subsequently locked IN for the short ass movie Red Eye. 

The majority of the plot went over your head because you were to entranced with the Irish actor's cunty little face, sassy little attitude and blue big orbs for eyes, causing you to replay certain scenes over and over. (Specifically that bathroom scene. You didn't miss SHIT there). That hour and a half passed by and the movie had finished. Safe to say, you were NOT expecting any of that shit to go down.

"If that were me, I'd call that fucking hotel before he even told me to. Shit. I get Mark Wahlberg, if I was on that plane, things really would have gone differently," you thought, shaking your head. ]

After your almost seven hour flight, you had finally made it to London Town. It was indeed a stormy day, he was right, but you could go outside and roam around, contrary to popular belief. In order to prep for this trip, you stuck to just watching British films, trying to get an overall vibe of what those little redcoats were like. Pride and Prejudice (2005), Love Actually, Trainspotting, Little Women (Greta's version), Clockwork Orange, Barry Lyndon - let's just say, your Letterboxd was going crazy. You sobbed pretty disgustingly to all of them, except Trainspotting and Clockwork, which made you feel just icky. And Barry Lyndon just made you angry fuck that guy fr. 

A/N - I just realized that Little Women, both Greta's version and the older 90s Winona Ryder one take place, in FACT, America. Oops! So yeah disregard move on u horndog <3

You once thought you were well-rounded on what chaos was, after all, you've been 1. in theater school, 2. briefly in the Medellin cartel, 3. worked in corporate America - but all of those experiences looked like fun Sunday pastimes the moment you stepped your fat butt off of the plane into London's Heathrow airport. Nothing could've prepped you for this shit. Too many people all doing different things in different directions was NOT your favorite place to be in! Let's just say - shit was hectic. 

You boarded off, left your terminal and gathered your one Hello Kitty-themed suitcase and bolted the fuck out, running at your highest speed possibly, your Crocs locked in their sports mode, you just ran. It's what you did best, your superpower some might say. Maybe since Ezra Miller is canceled for being a kidnapper, you could possibly replace the Flash? Who knows tbh. 

You ran so fast, miles and miles, (kilometers here!), you didn't realize you were now standing in front of the Big Ben. It was, admittedly, pretty big. Too bad you couldn't read time like that. 

You looked down to your phone to see your receipt - you needed to be back in three hours for your next flight to Glasgow, Scotland - your actual destination. This London shit? Yeah it was only a layover. But you couldn't miss it. 

You ended up missing it. You fell asleep on the big red bus, thinking you could sneak a little tour in before having to return for your next flight. By the time you woke up, it was morning, and you were alone, just you and your carry on. 

"Ello Miss? Miss?" 

Your eyes fluttered, adjusting to the brightness. A big English dude with missing and fucked up teeth was poking you awake. 

"Bro what?" you muttered, pushing yourself up. 

"Miss, it seems you've drifted off to sleep," the man said.

"Wait," you collected your thoughts, looked around at your surroundings, then down to your phone - your flight was seven hours ago. You felt your heart fall to the acidic pits of your stomach - 

"Ain't no fucking way I'm stuck in London", you blurted out.  "AIN'T NO FUCKING WAY!"

As if you took ten shots of DayQuil, you jumped up, scrambled for your shit and rocked the bus side to side as your Crocs took you across it, out to the exit and back onto the cobblestone streets of London Town. It was cloudy as always. 

"Oh no. Oh fuck. Oh no. NO I CAN'T DO THIS I CAN'T!" you yelled, running back towards the direction of that hell of an airport. You needed to get back. You NEEDED to get back to Scotland, you literally saw Trainspotting just for Scotland!

But alas, it was too late. By the time you made it back to Heathrow, there was no refunding. You would have to pay another fat BUCK to get on another flight. 

"Oh fuck that," you told the English lady. You walked back out, no way this little kingdom was gonna make a profit off of your ass. "I'd rather walk!"

And then you began to walk. Not run, you were a little hungry and needed some energy for that amount of dedication. 

You stopped by a tea place and thought that you might as well have a crumpet or whatever, which sucked ass. They charged so much for what?  A pastry with like three grams of sugar? Girl bye. 

You sat on the curb, looking down at your phone and opening a map, you could literally just walk to Scotland. Yeah it'd be a pretty fat walk, but you might get a crazy BBL ass for free from all the walking. 

"Babes? Are you alroight?" you heard a strong British voice call. You turned and there it was - a chav. A real fucking chav. 

"Oh my god, you guys exist?"

She furrowed her dark over-filled brows as she smacked her nude-lipsticked lips on a piece of gum. There were other chavs behind her, all bleach blonde, overly tan and red ass cheeks. It was like your friend group, but in an alternate universe. 

"Wot?" she asked again, more confused than offended. 

"Listen girl, I don't know if you can tell - but I'm not from here. I need to get to from the UK to Scotland. How does a girl like me do that?"

"Babes? Yor in the UKay, loike, this is London?"

"Huh?" you asked, like Trisha Paytas in the car. 

"Babes," another chimed in, "the UKay is loike, mooltiple places poot into one? Loike, England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales -"

"Oh, so they're all like, the same?"

Their faces dropped with fear. 

"Babes, don't say that. I've just met you, but I'd definitely tell you loike, don't say that around other peepol," the main chav warned. 

"Especially the Irish, yeah," another said. "They'd be mentool."

"Oh, no worries here. I'm an ally to all," you assured, "so do you know where I can rest for the night?"

"Babes!" the chav said excitedly, "I've got family in Birmingham! It's up norf, already on the way for yor travels! I'll text me nana so you can stay there fo free!"

"Babes," you said, you're cheap frugal ass getting hyped, "you're such a babe! Thanks girlie!"

You ended up dropping some money to take an Underground from London to Birmingham, because you then really realized your Crocs could only momentarily take you so far. Also, tat withdrawal wasn't doing you any favors. Anyway you enjoyed the ride, drinking some complimentary tea with your headphones in and disassociating as you looked out the window into the cement walls. You started to regret not bringing some sort of sweater because who would've thought a baby tee and Nike shorts would be enough. Shit was chilly. 

You stepped off into the platform, feeling a strong GUST of wind rush past you. You first kinda enjoyed it like it was some sort of main character moment, but the moment that ghastly smell of smoke hit your nostrils - you went frozen like Mitch McConnell. 

"Jeeeeeesus CHRIST!" you bellowed, "who fucking farted?"

You looked around, but soon became even more confused. Everyone was giving you the hardest stares you've ever received in your lifetime. But it wasn't their stares, no, you've been stared at before for worst things, it was cause of their - fits. 

Everyone was dressed like some 1900s shit. It reminded you of the show Downton Abbey, the show your old boss Logan Roy used to binge. Little particles of what looked like dandruff floated around you and everything else just seemed gray. 

"Wait, are you guys filming?" you asked in your bimbo self, smiling, "did I just walk onto set?"

No one replied. They really thought you were insane. There you were - rough looking, mid-withdrawal, I <3 Surfer Boys, old high school Nike shorts, Crocs, Five Below socks, Dollar Store sunnies, Hello Kitty-themed suitcase and Juicy bag, Elf bar in one hand and your phone with dangling earbuds wrapped around it. They were petrified. 

You grew angry. You just stood there as they stood there too - both you and the Downton Abbey cosplayers were in a stand off.  

"Okay whatever," you said, rolling your eyes. "Stay hating!"

You whipped around and began walking down the pavement, calling, or as the English say "ringing", that chav's nana. However, it rang and rang, you dialed and dialed, the lady was not picking up. 

"Um, what the fuck?" you said looking down at your phone, "can this girl pick up?"

You continued to dial, your other hand to your waist like a Karen. You continued to look around as it rang, really impressed with the set. 

It had been very foggy, and the cobblestone roads led down between old brick buildings where people in their 1920's costumes walked along, smoking and dodging the occasional explosion from the coal-burning coming from inside the buildings. Horses were trotting, carrying hay and other shit. People were yelling in their crazy accents and the dandruff kept raining down. Pillars up in the sky let out dark clouds of smoke. That gross exhaust smell still lingered, and no matter how much Nicki Minaj body spray you put on yourself, there was no way to mask it. 

"Great. I'm homeless AGAIN!" you thought, giving up on that nana. "Whatever. I didn't even want a roof to sleep under anyway. C'est la vie honestly."

The stares did not cease. In fact, it got worse. You knew you were hot but like what the fuck can't a girl just walk and bitches mind their business?

Things were getting worse. The cobblestone ass road made it hard for you to pull your suitcase, so you were just essentially dragging it, you phone was on ten percent, you were hungry and thirsty because let's be real you did not eat much on that train, and honestly just over it. 

You passed all the workers, dodged some random explosions, evaded random running children, spit some of that dandruff out of your mouth. Safe to say, you were angry but needed to persevere!

Eventually it was nighttime. You couldn't really tell if it was night or if it was just the pollution in the air at first, but after asking a random man he assured you it was indeed nighttime. 

"I don't know how you guys live with all this dandruff," you told him, shaking your head. "You guys must be getting paid good as extras."

"Dandruff?" the man said, "that's ash, luv!"

"Thank god, that makes more sense. I was thinking I was gonna need to buy some Heads and Shoulders. I hate Heads and Shoulders."

He continued to look at you weird while he smoke his, what you were pretty sure in the span of you two talking, sixth cigarette. "Heads and shoulders? Fuck are they to do with your hair?"

"I know, horrible branding. I feel bad for the people in Pompeii. They probably thought it was like, a dandruff epidemic."

Eventually the man directed you to the Garrison, which was supposed to be this pub or whatever that all the locals hit up. You really just wanted a drink of water and like Taco Bell or something. Maybe a "Macky D's"? By the time you made it to the establishment, it was midnight, since you took forever cause you kept getting lost. 

It was situated in a weird spot, where several men would occasionally run out and throw up bad on the dirt floor. It sounded hella noisy and rough in there, which was something you were not looking forward to. But again, you're hungry. 

"I'm fucking starving," you thought to yourself as you pushed those heavy doors open, your suitcase getting caught in them. A surge of anger caused you to yank it past the swinging door, causing the it to slam against the wall and crack the glass. You got scared cause you didn't wanna pay for it, so you applied the "hear nothing, see nothing" tactic. It always worked <3

Nothing could've prepared you for when you entered. The energy was just not it. Heathrow vibes for sure. Hoards of drunk ass English men doing, well, things that drunk English men do. They were yelling, cursing, fighting, just being overall very annoying and overwhelming. It took you by surprise, you were just in awe that English were real. It was literally like a Call of Duty lobby but the English colonized it as they always do.  

"These motherfuckers are crazy bro," you thought to yourself, getting a seat at the bar. The bartender made his way to you, and after some hesitation on his end, he finally spoke. 

"Em, what can I get you, ma'am?" he asked, looking at you confused. 

"Y'all got a menu?" 

"I'm sorry?"

"Food, bro. I want food." You were not having it. 

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid there's just drinks here."

"Fine, fucking alcoholics," you said, holding in your hangriness, "what about water?"

"Huh," he thought, "no one ever asks for water. I forgot we served it!"

He turned around and as he began to pour some crusty water into a dusty glass, you felt a tap on your shoulder. But before you could even turn to ask what the fuck whoever wanted what, another big burly English drunk dude was all up in your face. 

"ELLO MISS! MIGHT I HAVE A CHANCE AT BUYIN' YA A DRINK?"

You were flabbergasted. Dude REEKED of some ale. 

"Uh, you stink," was all you could muster, pressing your fingers on your nose. 

His face fell into a very angry one. "YOU FOOCKIN' JEZEBEL!"

You weren't sure what 'jezebel' meant so you just rolled your eyes and turned back to the new glass of water placed in front of you by the bartender, and before he could walk off you downed the entire thing. He, too, like McConnell, was frozen at your abilities. 

"Sorry about that man, Miss," the bartender said as he poured you another. "You're very pretty. Must be getting used to it by now around here."

"Yeah, like, about that," you started, taking your time with the water this time because you didn't know how much they had left in this place, "why is everyone cosplaying? Like, people here are DEEP into their character, which, don't get me wrong - I respect. I used to be a theater major myself, so I get it. But this is like, crazy. I know the English love their theater, but god."

The bartender, with a hypothetical gun to his head, could not for the life of him understand what the fuck you meant. You kinda got that vibe when he didn't reply right away. He actually looked worried for your mental wellbeing. 

"Um, why did you just like, disassociate?" you asked. 

"I'm sorry, Miss," he chuckled nervously, "you've just confused me, is all."

"Yeah, all that alcohol is giving you that early onset dementia. Do you know where I can get food around here?"

"Hmm," he thought, "I don't really know, to be honest with ya. And it's quite late, so I'm not sure what's open."

You could cry. You hated being hungry and tired at the same time, added to literally everything else that was happening around you. You were able to tune out the drunken men yelling behind you, but only to a point - mama was close to blowing. 

"Oh my GOD," you started. "WHAT'S A GIRL TO DO TO GET SOME FUCKING FOOD AROUND HERE?!" you caught yourself. The bartender was growing more concerned. "I'm sorry," you cleared your voice, "it's just like, your queen for real sucked."

"Queen?" he asked. 

"Wow, you're really dedicated to the craft. Like I said, I respect." You continued to drink your water. 

"How'd you end up here in London, anyway?" he asked, leaning against the counter. You later found out his name was Harry, like Styles. 

"Oh, buddy," you said, "what a story I have for you."

You then began to blabber on about what brought you to this point, which helped because it made you forget about your current grievances. Soon, the entire pub went dead quiet, tuned in to your story time. You felt like Tana Mongeau, and these were your viewers. You get why the majority of YouTubers were lowkey conceited. (Not Tana though she's funny love you girl <3). It was like a big kindergarten story time. 

About half an hour later, you were mid-way through. 

"And so, when my boss literally fucking died, I was like, 'oh shit, I've like lost my job by like, proxy'? It was scary."

"How'd he pass?" one of the drunk men asked. 

"Dude, get this. He died getting his phone out of the toilet. Like, some Elvis shit," realizing they wouldn't get what you just said, you thought it best to move right on, "anyway, I was like, 'maybe this is a good time to move on, maybe America isn't the place for me.' I was also wanted by the Men in Black, too. They don't fuck around."

"Who's the Men in Black?" Harry asked. 

"The IRA were after ya?" another asked, in shock.

"I. R.S. It's not important. So, after he died, one of his kids had to be chosen to take over the company. Imagine like a Game of Thrones sort of thing. My on-and-off boyfriend, Kendall, is the oldest so you'd think it'd be him, right? Like, his name was underlined and everything. Or crossed out, you know, is the dress blue and black or white and gold? The day of, I snuck into the building for the board meeting. I wasn't supposed to be there, cause you know, I'm not a share holder or whatever, but I thought 'if I act like nothing happened, maybe technically I'm NOT fired cause my boss died, maybe nobody will say anything?' Confidence takes you a loooong way let me tell you! So at the board meeting, I voted Kendall, but his stupid home alone ass brother Roman was like 'oh YOU'RE still here?'. Then he told me to fuck off and that I should've died with Logan? Could you believe that?"

They were all in shock, muttering angry English curse words to each other. 

"And then I was like, 'no fuck you. What ever happened to democracy? I don't have a vote?'. But whatever, Kendall didn't win and he left the building. No, Horton Hears a Who Tom won, and while everybody was celebrating I was like, 'guys? GUYS! ALL EYES ON WINDOWS! WHERE DID KENDALL GO? All eyes on windows!'. Then I got like, kicked out or whatever. I kept spamming Kendall, texting him and calling him and nothing. Like 'Kenny, wya???'. He was ghosting me. Then I saw right after he put his phone on Do Not Disturb. Targeted, really. I saw his location at Central Park, facing the water, and this had me WORRIED. Kendall and bodies of water? Yeah they don't mix well. I needed to talk to him before he jumped! But when I got there, his new dumbass body guard was like, 'Can you leave? He's not seeing anyone'. I kept calling him, and he wouldn't turn to look at me. He was like, mega dissociating watching that horizon."

"Must've killed him that he's no longer the number one boy," a drunken English man said, somber. 

"Def," you said.

"So you and Kendall?" another asked.

"No more. He never picked up, so I thought we were done," the men in the bar were devastated. "Yeah, really sad. I already mourned, though. So, yeah, I was like, 'what do I do now?' Logan gave me some money, so I can really just do anything? I was walking down the streets of New York and saw a random man in a suit I thought was the IRS, and it hit me - I'm lowkey a fugitive? I need to like, leave. Logan isn't there to protect me anymore, you know? And then it hit me - I'll go to Scotland! In Logan's honor! Like, his hometown. Plus, I thought Scotland didn't have extradition, but it was actually Venezuela. But it's okay, same shit. And that's why I'm here."

"But this is Birmingham?" another man said. 

"Oh, yeah, don't worry I fully aware. But yeah, that's it."

Again, the pub had been silent. They'd been intrigued, captivated. You waited for someone to speak up and break the silence, but about two minutes later you realized that wasn't gonna happen. 

"Okay? Anyway, so nothing to eat here?" you asked Harry. 

He shook his head, stunned. You then slowly crept off the chair, gathered your shit and saw your way out. "Weirdos," you thought. 

You exited back out, it was now fully dark with few lampposts shining light onto the falling dandruff. It all reminded you of exactly where you were - stuck. 

You slumped against the wall, onto the ground where you didn't see any of the mud that splashed all over your shorts. You were too tired and over it to give a fuck. You pulled out your phone, and saw the battery on 2%. 

"Man FUCK!" you exclaimed, "I know damn well none of these Lin Manuel Miranda stans built an electric socket." 

You went on to scroll mindlessly through your feed, which barely loaded because of the lack of signal. You were in the middle of spamming the refresh button until you received a notification from Snapchat that read, "One Year Ago Today". You clicked it open, forgetting you still had that app downloaded, and its contents nearly pushed you over the edge to start balling. 

You clicked play. 

"Oh, don't be a pussy, Greggguh!"

"Mumusdsfjks," Greg said, shoving more marshmallows into his mouth, "Chubb Bunif."

"Sorry, buddy, couldn't hear you!" Tom said, giddy, shoving his own marshmallow down Greg's mouth.

"You got it Greg!" you heard yourself say. 

You wanted to cry. You wished you could just go back to Waystar in that moment, playing the Chubby Bunny challenge with gay lovers Tom and Greg. 

"Man, I miss them," you thought. But alas, that was all gone now...

You quickly closed the video, going to your bank app to see how much money remained. After all, Logan DID leave you with enough, but you couldn't help yourself on those McDonald's breakfast orders through Uber Eats.  

Your tears quickly evaporated like they were put through the snap of Thanos when you got a glance of your credit score though. Oh no. 

"OH MY GOD?!??! MY CREDIT IS AT 400????!!? I'M LIKE, FUCKED?!???!"

"What's a credit score?"

You nearly shit yourself at the deep, sullen voice. You looked up and let's just say - you were intimidated. It's the terrorist dude from Red Eye. He wore a flat cap and a tweed little suit type of fit. 

But it wasn't the tweed that had you transfixed - no, it was those eyes....they were familiar. The last time you felt power of being in a trance like that were those Furbies... it forced you to look at them, you had lost all ability of self-control. They made you question yourself, your purpose and whole life being. They were commanding you with their uncanny valley vibe. Their immense gravity caused all time to slow...

"Dude, put those away!" you yelled, forcing your eyes shut and looking away. 

He didn't reply. 

"I'm sorry," you giggled, realizing he wasn't gonna reply to you and instead just stood there. "I'm just really hungry. You got anything?"

He thought for a moment. "Actually...we don't eat." He had a little sassy, matter-of-factly tone of speaking you fucked with heavily. 

"Yeah, that's why your official dish is tikka masala," a glance of that dish popped into your head. "Man I could fuck that up right now."

"I can take you to my office, I might have something there," he said. You agreed right after, anything would have to do. Little did you know, this would be the man who would save you. Not in a self-fulfilling sense but he'd grab you something to eat. 

You two made it to his office, some ways away. It was just a big ass dark room with tables in the middle, which you would later find out the betting on his horse racing took place. 

You sat down and he took off his coat and goofy ass hat, then went to the back for a moment. You looked around, you felt like you were in a dungeon. You looked down to your phone - shit was dead. 

He came back moments later, with a single loaf of bread he placed in front of you. He then took a seat across from you, took out a cigarette and did what the English do best, smoke. 

You were a bit taken aback, and it definitely showed, since his little sassy face got more sassier. 

"Well?" he bellowed, motioning to the food.

"Honestly," you started, not wanting to offend cause he did scare you (in a hot way), "I don't know what more I was expecting. I know Panera bread when I see it."

You began to eat, he just watched you. You would be annoyed had this been anyone else, but man was too fine. 

Some minutes went by, and he just smoked while you ate. He was definitely a man of few words. 

"You're so mysterious," you said. "Is that your character?"

He took in a big puff and put his feet up on the table like he owned the place, cause he literally did. "You don't belong here."

"Yeah, no fucking shit. I'm supposed to be in Scotland."

"What's in Scotland?" he asked, tapping his cigarette into an empty whiskey glass. 

"Bagpipes, I've heard."

He then leaned to the side, grabbing his cigarette case out and offering you one. You declined. 

"It's okay, I don't like cigarettes. They're gross," you went inside your bag and pulled out your crusty geriatric Elf Bar that was on life support, "here, try this! She's my sidekick!"

He stared at it, not a thought behind those eyes. He then rose up. 

"What about a whiskey, eh?" He went to a table against the wall and poured two glasses. You shrugged at his decline of your Elf Bar, and took some shitty hits cause girl it's dead give it up. 

As he had his back to you pouring the glasses, you really thought about how manly he was, in a way all those Ryan Gosling Drive stans love. He reminded you of those mafia boss fanfics you used to read. The way he spoke was so low and serious, but it made your feet rock like crazy!

He turned back around and placed your glass in front of you. Before he sat, he took a swing of his and literally drank it all in one shot like an animal. Wanting to impress him, you did the same, but soon regretted it right after. You'd tried whiskey before, but that was just not good. It was so strong it burned your esophagus, causing you to feel like you had strep throat all over again. You nearly gagged and threw it up but you couldn't let Tommy see you that way. He was staring. 

"Jesus Christ," you said in a raspy, chain smoker voice, trying to smile through the pain, "that's some real shit right there. I'd much prefer a BuzzBall."

"What brings you to the UK?" he asked again, a little more interrogating. 

"Fine. I'm avoiding parole."

"Parole?"

"Have you ever been on parole?" you asked. 

He took a moment, your question hit hard. "Ever since men like me got back from France, we've always felt we were on parole under the king." He had a sadness to it, which then made you kinda sad. 

"Aww, you're a parole baby <3."

He rose his brows in a "yeah this girl off it" way. 

"Does France give you bad memories?" you asked, wanting to know both out of being a nosy bitch and seeing if you could break him. 

"Most nights," he said. 

"Don't worry, me too."

"You served?"

"I might has well have," you replied, thinking of that past life living with your old boyfriend. 

"I wasn't aware women served."

"We always do," you assured. You kept looking into his eyes like it was a staring contest. 

"What's it you're looking at?"

"You have a very, no-nonsense cunty face. Like BBL," you first smiled telling him that, but it then reminded you of when you told your old boyfriend Kendall the same thing. The thought of him made you sad, you wondered where your number one boy was now...

You didn't realize but Tommy noticed your change in demeanor, initially believing you were thinking about your time during the war in France. He rose and grabbed another drink, placing one in front of you as he killed his in less than a second. 

You snapped out of your sadness. "Oh, no thanks. I don't think I can have anymore. This trip will definitely be very detoxing for me."

You two then sat in comfortable silence for some time, as if you two were both mourning after the innocence lost before France. You were something different for him, a new comfort he couldn't find much else in that polluted ass city. And you found comfort in him, he really did seem like he needed fixing. But that's not what you do, no no, he's a grown ass man and can fix himself. You'll just watch from the sidelines <3. 

Eventually, you stayed in Birmingham. Once you were aware that your money had no value in the UK, you realized you needed to be employed again to save up for Scotland. Dollars, turns out, did not equal shillings and pounds or whatever. Tommy hooked you up after finding out your situation and generously gave you a job at the Garrison as a barmaid, along with Harry, who in time, became your BFF. It wasn't that hard of a job, these men never mixed any drinks and would instead have their alcohol straight like a bunch of monsters, so you kinda ate at this job. Another perk was that these 1920s bitches loved thin eyebrows, so your Y2K overplucked eyebrows fit right in! Full circle shit!

But perhaps the best perk was when Tommy would come in every so often and give you a little LOOK. Oh that shit made you rabid yes it did! It made you all hot down there and you couldn't handle it! You two barely spoke, as he would go into the side room for meetings and whatever mumbo jumbo he got up to with his brothers, but when you did you did your best to bring out that old femme fatale. You knew damn well he'd fuck that shit up. And let's be real so did you. 

You knew that you had Tommy in your CLUTCH when he was once lecturing you - basically there was talk about some Billy Kimber dude amongst him and his brothers and the members of the gang, but you couldn't get past how fun it was to say the man's name, especially in their wild ass accent. You kept incessantly shouting it, to what you thought was a joke, "BILLY FACKIN KIMBA" in every possible moment you could, but it would send all the men into a paranoid shock thinking Billy boy was just around the corner. Obviously, he wasn't, in fact you couldn't point out who Billy Kimber was in a crowd of English, but let's just say - it sent them for a sheer panic. They would constantly tell Tommy to get you to stop, since it was bringing back war trauma basically and never felt fear like that since the war. You personally thought they were being a bunch of pussies but whatevs. 

Anyway Tommy found you at the bar after closing and wanted to have a serious talk with you - no more random BILLY FACKIN KIMBA. As he was lecturing you on the dangers of it, you actually started to disassociate in those eyes of his. You then started to think, 

"What if I just grabbed his hat?"

Those intrusive thoughts grew stronger and stronger as the moments flew by and the more his voice became a bunch of muffled nothing. And they won. 

"GOTCHA HAT!" you spat before taking his flat cap off and running with it, jumping over the bar on some parkour shit and pushing those doors open onto the grimy streets of Birmingham, in an excited manic.  You ran for nothing, since you didn't notice in the adrenaline of it all he didn't move an inch and instead just stood at the bar, stumped. From that point on, he knew you weren't like other girls. Cause let's be real who in their right fucking mind would do that to Tommy Shelby? You did girl xoxo <3

But when your image with Tommy REALLY hit home for the guy, it was one night. One very special night...

You were working the night shift at the Garrison, again. It was another rainy day in London Town, and you were all alone cleaning up. You started to think about Gabbie Hanna, and how low key right she was. You continued to rap to yourself, 

"♪ Overwhelmed, overworked, overpaid. I'm on top of the world sitting pretty ♪ -" 

The doors flew open, causing you to jump pretty high up. You looked to the entrance, it was Tommy. And man was drenched and tired looking, your fave combo. 

He walked over, behind the bar and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He was always a little emo and to himself, but something about him now was really depressing, like man's definitely going through it.

He then took a seat at a table, and looked at you with dead eyes. 

"What's with the frown?" you asked, trying to lighten up the mood but was severely unsuccessful. (Unbeknownst to you he literally just had to put down a horse he thought was cursed :/ it's a canon event!)

He didn't reply. Surprise surprise instead he just drank his whiskey done. You chewed your gum, clueless. 

You just continued to clean, continuing Gabbie's rhyme in your head. 

"♪ Overwhelmed, overwork, underpaid ♪ -"

"Can you sing?"

You turned around again. He fr sounded sad asf. It shocked you, cause did he like, read your mind or sum? 

"Uh, yeah. You want me to sing?"

"Every barmaid knows how to sing."

"Okay, sure. Like acapella?"

He just stared at you, lost again with your mumbo jumbo. 

"Well, I know Lana, I know Nicki, my ex had a song L to the OG-"

"Lana. She sounds nice."

You nodded. "She really is, I love her. Okay, I think I know a song."

"Stand up there," he pointed to a table. You were a bit hesitant, the last time you did that you ate shit like that one girl on YouTube who was also singing on a table and ate shit. But it was for Tommy so you did so anyway. 

You climbed up, took out your gum, flicked it in a bucket, cleared your throat, moved your hair out of your face, and fixed your posture - this was your Pose moment tonight, and Tommy's Billy Porter. 

You then started to sing White Mustang by Lana, but the moment you got to the chorus, which was, well, White Mustang, he told you to stop. 

"Something else, please," he asked demanding yet softly.

"What? Too close to home? Don't worry, Lana does that," you assured, "here, I'll sing a song that hits close to me, it's called How to disappear, it's what do when I'm trying to run from the IRS."

You cleared your throat again and started to sing and girl you ATE THAT SHIT!!!!!

You hit those fucking notes, you were lost in your little own world envisioning yourself in a music video. You understood why America's Got Talent contestants were nervous, cause the pressure? Yeah it's real. And not only is Tommy Billy Porter, he's also Simon Cowell - a yes from that Brit would secure your spot.

Speaking OF Tommy, because momentarily you forgot he was there with you - the man was enthralled, ENCHANTED. He sat silently, the rainwater dripping down his face, as he was taking in every small gesture you made, taking in every musical note that came out of your BBL mouth, (even the voice cracks), and just taking, well, you in. At that very moment, he was in love. YOU were the femme fatale he needed in his life, the one that would complete him, make him feel whole, and would give him purpose. 

Once you were finished, you snapped back into reality and realized you actually weren't in a music video. You looked to Tommy, whose face barely made any other emote other than the one where he looked like he was annoyed, staring up at you. A wave of anxiety flooded over you - you were the center of his world right now, and that pressure was too hot!

You quickly climbed down, and flashed him a big smile. 

"So?" you asked, now LITERALLY feeling more grounded on the ground. 

He didn't respond at first. Moments later, he did. 

"Do you have something nice to wear?"

"Like what?"

"A dress?"

"Um," you thought, trying to remember the contents of your Hello Kitty-themed suitcase, "maybe. Why?"

He rose up, getting ready to leave from the fear and insecurity of the emotions he just experienced. "I want to take you to the races."

"We're gonna race?"

"Horses. Horse races," he corrected you, making his way to the exit. "Be ready by tomorrow, I'll collect you before noon."

"Oh my god, like a date?" you were too slow to come to the conclusion because by that time he'd already left. The excitement quickly mixed in with the anxiety, which wasn't the best feeling in the world. You knew in anticipation for tomorrow you were gonna need SOMETHING to take the edge off, so before closing up you snatched some bottles of alcohol to take to your flat. You weren't really sure what exactly they were, but what you did know was that it was gonna taste like fucking ass. But when mama needs her go go juice, she TAKES her go go juice.

The following morning you woke up at the crack ass of dawn to get ready - you knew you needed TIME. Not that it takes a while for you to get all pretty, girl you're already naturally stunning! but time and place - you needed to stunt today. Also, you already weren't a morning person so you didn't trust yourself to snooze. Actually, you barely slept at all last night since you were too caught up about what makeup you were gonna do, how you were gonna style your hair, what dress to wear and most of all, your ass was just asked out by Tommy. You wondered if this is how nervy the soldiers felt when they encountered bin Laden's bunker. 

You had already finished your makeup and hair, looking pretty snatched. Too bad your phone's been dead for the past couple of weeks and you couldn't take pictures. But anyway you did the usual 1920's makeup tutorial you remember watching on some Buzzfeed video a while ago, pretending you were doing a Vogue makeup tutorial in your mirror and talking step by step your process. You curled your hair into the 1920's bob they were obsessed with back then, packing on an obscene amount of gel just to keep that wave stiff. You struggled but nonetheless you got it girl. 

You were now staring at the remaining contents of your Hello Kitty-themed suitcase - let's just say, you had nothing. That's a lie you did have SOMETHING but was it appropriate for the time? No. Like if you're going to the Renaissance Fair, your ass isn't gonna wear some Skims ass dress. But guess what? That's actually all you had. 

It was a black, tight, spaghetti-strap slip-on dress that was above the knee - definitely NOT the vibe for the era, maybe a bit too revealing? But what other choice do you have? You're I <3 Surfer Boys tee? Exaaaaactly. 

You slipped it on and was taken aback - you know how you forget how good you look when it's been a while since you've dressed up and you actually surprise yourself? Yeah that was you right now. Kim would be proud to see you in that dress, in fact, she'd probably cheer you on to wear it proudly at the races. Even though she wasn't your favorite sister, you imagining her company right now really did help.  

You kept feeling yourself in the mirror - girl you looked GOOD. You put on some black heels, some perfume and that was it - you were simply that bitch now. 

"Oh my god," you thought to yourself, "Tommy's gonna flip. Shit, I'd get with me."

And just like that, you heard the honks of a car coming from outside your flat. You peered through the window, and there you saw some vintage, rinky dink ass car. 

"Oh, fuck!" you shouted, mainly to yourself, but they heard. "Coming!" you called out the window. 

It was actually happening - oh fuck he's here oh yes he is. Quickly, you grabbed one of the bottles you confiscated and took the fattest swig. It was the most horrendous, grotesque warm vodka you've ever consumed. But it would have to do.

You quickly made it downstairs, taking a moment before appearing outside to calm yourself down and make it seem as if you effortlessly just went down some stairs without a care or worry in the world. You made sure to grab a fur coat, faux of course, and your keys. 

Down by the car was Tommy in the driver's seat, with his two brothers, Arthur and John, seated in the back. They all looked at you in awe - they had never seen so much of a woman's legs in their entire life. 

"Bloody foockin' hell, Tommy! What do we have here?!" Arthur exclaimed. 

"Jesus, Tommy," said John, "I didn't think it was bloody possible for you!"

Tommy stared at you for a few seconds longer, a bit taken aback himself. 

Tommy ignored his brothers and exited his side, helping you into the passenger's. You got a whiff of his cologne that brought out an animalistic, innate horndogness of you that you remembered to keep in check. Now was not the time but it was admittedly hard cause the man just looked so good. 

He climbed back into his side, then started driving off, the cobblestone road causing you to feel even more nauseous than you already did. You didn't realize it, but you were mute for the first ten minutes from how disassociated you were. That vodka was hitting deep and swimming in circles in your empty tummy - you hadn't had breakfast, essentially raw dogging and running on nothing, because you knew if you munched on some Panera bread, you would've thrown it up from the nervousness. You were now really accepting the fact that it was a grave mistake. 

"Well, what's wrong with her?" Arthur bellowed, "is her bloody tongue cut off?"

Tommy gave you a quick little side eye, then fully turned to you after realizing you were, indeed, gone. 

"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned with a TOUCH of attitude. Or maybe they were both the same you couldn't differentiate it when it came to Tommy. 

"Uh, yeah," you cleared your throat and sat up straight, "just really taking in the moment, you know? It's my first race."

Tommy turned back to the road. 

"You guys look great!" you complimented, wanting to move on. 

"Why thank you, Miss Y/N. I shall wear your kind words like a medal from tha war," said Arthur. "You look like one of them silent film stars!"

You blushed. "So, wanna listen to some music?" you suggested, hating sitting in quiet cars.

Tommy scrunched his brows. "What do you mean?"

You looked down to where the touchscreen on the car WOULD be, forgetting this car was quite literally just a box on wheels with an engine attached. AUX and Bluetooth are not in the vocabulary of these people's brains for another couple more decades. 

"Like, carpool karaoke," you suggested. 

"What?" John asked. 

"Bloody hell is that?" Arthur also asked. You also forgot, these English men wouldn't face the atrocity that is James Corden in ALSO a couple more decades. 

Tommy scoffed, a small little smile on his face but nonetheless a smile. He gets it. "Singing. She likes to sing."

"Is that right?" smiled Arthur, "wow, you've really done a number on Tommy boy over here! He's now a fan of the musical arts!"

The two brothers began laughing and smacking Tommy on the shoulders and head in a playful, men-in-a-gang, manner. He smirked. 

"I'll start, I have the perfect song - this one's called Off To The Races," you turned to Tommy, "also by Lana."

You two smiled at the little inside joke y'all had going on now. You then started singing, really into it like the night before. You were hitting those "scarlet, starlet" notes a little too good. Once you wrapped up, you left the three men in a silence that lasted for a couple minutes. Except Tommy, he was always silent. But his brothers were a little confused, but decided to just roll with it since you made Tommy happy. You thought they were just floored by your abilities. 

"Lovely," John finally said, hesitant and low to break the silence.  

"You've got yourself a bloody mental one here, Tommy," said Arthur. Tommy smiled, you were indeed a little unwell but it was okay to him. So was he <3

It had been about an hour after your arrival, you had been helping yourself to a shit ton of food by a table, stocking up like a bear ready for hibernation. You were literally the only one there, and you assumed so because the cigarettes and alcohol these Brits were fucking up were acting as appetite suppressants. Your fat ass wasn't complaining. 

Besides being the only one actually eating something of nutritional value, you were getting HEAVY looks and side eyes for your outfit. You didn't care, your ass looked good from all the walking around the pub you've been doing. Upon entering, Tommy noticed the looks to. You whispered in his ear, "it's cause none of these interbred Habsburg jaws know what a real woman a real BITCH looks like 💅." 

He didn't get exactly what you meant, but got the vibe and he liked it. He, actually, loved that you were the center of attention here, as you SHOULD be. Afterwards, he told you he had some business to attend to and knowing you were hungry, led you to the food table. He said he'd get you after he was done, and man was taking his time. But again you didn't care you were just munching away. 

"Try the scone, darling, it's absolutely dashing!" a rich, socialite said to you. Her costume was just as amazing as everyone else. 

"You know, I've been avoiding it but, maybe I will. Why not?" you smiled, grabbing one and taking a chomp. It tasted like actual ass but you have a great poker face. You moaned like Mark Weins, even hitting his crazy facial expressions. "It's great!" you mumbled. She smiled and talked on about something you didn't really pay attention to. 

Eventually, Tommy came up behind you and grabbed your arm gently. Had this been any other man, you would've pistol whipped them in the face with the rock of a scone in your hand, but it was Tommy so you just got all the butterflies inside. You turned and smiled, chewing your food and swallowing it almost hole to say something and not just stand there. 

"Fhey Tomyif," you mumbled through the dry scone. 

"Feeling better, eh?" he said in a low tone. He seem a little more cheery, which made you cheery. He was enjoying himself, as he should. And so were you, as you should. Let's just say, the vibes were good. 

"Omg, def," you said, finally swallowing the last bit of food, "you know, you should try eating something. I know you don't do it much, but, I feel like it can be a great experience for you."

He looked into your eyes. He loved that you cared. A soft smile came on his lips. 

"Not hungry."

You thought for a minute. "But like, I'm pretty sure you haven't eaten since France."

"Maybe later. Do you dance?"

"Do I dance? With a little spicy marg in me, Tommy, it's over." But alas, the bartender would have no clue what a spicy marg was, so you kinda had to retract your statement, "But no yeah I can dance sober too no biggy."

"Good," he said, grabbing your hand gently and leading you to the crowded dance floor. You turned back to wave at the socialite lady, who gave you a little wink. My girl knew you scored. 

All you knew was that the Brits LOVED their Charleston dancing, something that you definitely needed Just Dance to teach you. But she wasn't here. You were frightened at the thought, but when Tommy pulled you in, and you two just started going at it, it was as natural as your BBL ass. That one Pride and Prejudice dancing sequence had you mastered in the art. 

With his hand at your waist and the other in your hand, and your other hand around his neck feeling his buzzcut, there was no force on this earth that could stop you. You honestly just moved your legs around and were great. 

Up close to him, you were again in touch with his cologne. You needed to control yourself, but it didn't help that he was like three inches from your face. In this sea of people, it just felt like you two and no one else. 

As you two were fucking up that dance floor to that 1920s jazz music, you looked around at the other faces of people dancing around you. Some you caught staring, others pretended not to. You smiled at the fact your hot ass was intimidating. 

"Man, if I were to do the Woah here, they'd all lose their fucking minds," you thought. "What if I like, just started twerking? No, I can't. I can't let them win."  You knew those intrusive thoughts cannot get another W against you again. The last time that happened, you were expelled from theater school. You couldn't, you couldn't embarrass Tommy - but the urge was too strong. 

Almost as if Tommy read your mind, he pulled you aside the dance floor. 

"I want to introduce you to someone," he said. He then took you to a table where a man with the craziest middle part and mustache sat, beside another who looked like an owl with glasses and other carbon copies of English dudes. At the table was a fuck ton of coins and money, along with drinks and clouds of cigarette smoke from ashtrays. 

"Y/N, this is Billy Kimber. He owns the tracks here," Tommy said. Oh my god it's him, its Billy fackin Kimba...

You weren't sure why Tommy would introduce you, but you took it as a compliment. Maybe he just wanted to stunt on this guy? Who knows. 

The man with the goofy ass fucking name had a wry grin on his face that you did not like at all. The vibe was not good no more around this guy. He stuck out his hand to you, and you obliged very hesitantly. He grabbed your hand and kissed it. With that a wave of disgust flew over you, feeling as though you've been stained. Ew gross. 

"Lovely ta meet ya," the man said. He rose, "Mista Shelby, might I ask your lady for a dance?" 

"Oh, no thanks! <3" you said, a welcoming smile on your face. Tommy and Billy both looked at you as if you just said the most out of pocket shit. The owl man and English robots also gave you daring looks.

"Wot?" Kimber spat. 

You almost laughed. 

"Uh, yeah like, I don't wanna dance." you said, mimicking Tana Mongeau's "a bleach and tone".

Billy saw absolute red. He was livid. He turned to Tommy, who, too, was speechless. 

"The fuck are you on about?" Billy spat again. You really weren't sure what he didn't understand.  

You then realized - there was no getting out of this. You didn't want to cause a scene, cause you kinda already did. So you again invited those intrusive thoughts. 

"Fine," you said, clearing your throat and standing straight. "I'll dance."

You then pretended to throw something in the air, looking up in an anticipatory, worried way. They all looked up too, confused. 

"Oh my god, do you see it? Mr. Kimber, where is it?!" you said as if a bomb were to fall. 

He looked up and then to you, growing increasingly worried. He was too in shock to speak. 

"Where is it?! Where is it?! Do you see it?!" you kept looking up at basically nothing, but you knew it was something. You kept them on their toes, scared at this point. Your feet dancing softly, they were ready for impact. It was time to come down. "There! There it is and -"

With that, you pulled it down and committed the hardest, most nastiest Woah you've ever done. The last time it was that riveting was during middle school lunches. 

When you brought that down, the pose you ended on had your head down and body limp, as if you were Aang in the Avatar state during the episode where he was fighting Zuko's papa and had to unlock and harness such force.

You left them taken aback, disoriented. They didn't know what to do or how to react. You looked fucking insane. 

You took a deep breath and stood back up straight, satisfied. Once you realized that the room had fallen completely silent, even the musicians, you felt you needed to excuse yourself. 

"Um, so," you struggled to find the words. You felt the anxiety creeping up again, the lightheadedness arising. And most of all, it was time for you to empty yourself. "I've, uh," you thought harder and harder - "I'VE GOT AN ITCHY BUM!"

You split, running and running as fast as your pumps could take you. You ran and ran, it was always the most liberating activity honestly. All that dancing with Tommy, the nerves piled up along with the hors d'oeuvres - they lead to this very moment. 

You searched round and round, desperately for a bathroom. No where in this bitch was there a sign or indication, and time was running slim. This was some real Mission Impossible, Tom Cruise is on a time crunch, shit. You pushed through crowds of drunk, belligerent and yelling people, feeling your body slowly succumb to the intense body heat. 

Eventually, you spotted a familiar face. You ran. 

"Arthur!" you yelled. He spun and looked back to you. 

"Y/N! What is it?" he asked, worried. You looked a bit wild. "Are you alright? Where's Tommy?"

"He's fine, he's," you thought, "somewhere. Look, it doesn't fucking matter."

"The mouth on you -"

"Where the fuck is the bathroom in this bitch? Huh? The loo? The toilet? The washroom whatever the fuck y'all call it?"

"Well, I was on me way. It's just over there -" he pointed and you bolted. 

As you were entering, you literally ran full force into the socialite from earlier. She wasn't angry, just like Arthur, worried. 

"You look absolutely GHASTLY darling!"

"Girl move -"

You went into one of the stalls and laid your worst. Thankfully since it was a Skims dress, all you had to do was pull your Victoria Secret thong off and go. You felt bad for the ladies in their dresses and stockings and shit here - convenience was definitely not a factor yet. 

After you cleared your business, (and subsequently the whole bathroom), you stepped out of your stall, refreshed and effortless. You washed your hands, fixed your hair and makeup just a bit in the mirror, and felt yourself again. You took mental selfies, since it was all you had. 

As you left the bathroom, you heard the grunts and yells of men. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence, but it sounded like some shit was fr going down. You crept to the source of the noise, coming from the men's bathroom. At first, you thought someone was probably constipated, but instead it was Arthur, John and a few others absolutely rocking this guy's shit. They were beating him, cutting him with the razors sewn into their goofy caps, and curb stomping his head into the sink. So sink stomping? 

You made a gross face and walked back out. "Yeesh."

After all, it wasn't the first time you were so close to the mob.

 You remember your number one golden rule you learned from earlier during your time with Pablo: Hear nothing, see nothing!

After walking past the dance floor again, you were relieved to see that everyone and everything had gone back to normal - people were back to dancing, drinking and chatting - back to the script. You actually forgot this was supposed to be a horse race. 

But, there was no Tommy anywhere. You searched and searched, yet you couldn't find that 75% shaved head anywhere. 

You then walked back outside by the entrance, where you saw a woman smoking. You went up to her. 

"May I bum a smoke?" you asked in your best English accent, trying to speak their language. She turned to you and pulled one out, lighting it for you. "Thank you so much, you look lovely, darling."

The woman smiled. You loved hyping the girls up!

"You too. I must admit, I find your choice in wardrobe absolutely admirable and daring!"

You smiled, "Aww, really?" you quickly corrected your accent, "Oh dear, many thanks, many thanks yes."

You took a hit of that cigarette. Shit was gross. But when in Rome...

You and the woman spoke for some time, deep in conversation. It was refreshing to meet another girl here, safe to just talk shit and have a break from all the drunken men and oh no there's Tommy. 

You saw him approaching you and he looked again, upset and emo. It didn't exactly burst your bubble, you really liked Tommy, but were afraid that you possibly embarrassed him in front of the Bilbo Timberland from earlier. 

You bided the woman goodbye and walked towards Tommy. He then took you two back to his car and started off onto the road. By now, it was nearing evening. The car ride was pretty silent, you were looking out admiring the brief countryside. Shit was beautiful like a Microsoft Home Screen. 

"So, what's wrong?" you asked. "You're like, down in the dumps again. And where are your brothers?"

"They'll find their own way home," Tommy said, low and serious, the usual. 

"So is that it? Y'all got into a fight or something?"

He let out a deep breath. "I told Billy Kimber he could have a dance with you."

"Ew, why?"

"Well," he didn't want to say 'business', cause like okayyyyy shout out to 1920's gender roles!, "because you look...nice. You look pretty."

You blushed hard, trying to control your smile. Seeing this side of Tommy was like a sneak peak, it was so exclusive!

"Oh my god, Tommy, are you flirting with me? I didn't even know you had that setting available!"

He smirked, his frown OFFICIALLY being turned upside down. He chucked in disbelief of himself. He was falling. 

Once you made it back to the neighborhood, the sun had gone down and the streets were once again pretty dark. Smoky depressing England like what the Smiths wrote about you get the vibe. 

Anyway he took you to his flat, saying that he wanted to "show you something". You weren't sure what that something was, it could've honestly been like a dead body but actually it wasn't! It was dinner <3

"I've uh," he started, not crazy about the fact that he was falling for you, "I've prepared dinner."

You gasped and made a very soy ass face. How absolutely gentlemanly of him!

"Oh my god, no you didn't Tommy!" you said, "You're so sweet, that's like, so sweet! You shouldn't have!"

He smiled softly, in a "yeah I did that" sort of way. And he did just that. You were 90% sure whatever was inside he didn't cook, but it's the THOUGHT that counts!

He escorted you inside like the gentlemen he was, shutting the front door behind you two. The lights inside the flat were dim, and by the table were two plates. Upon closer inspection, you were absolutely FLOORED!!!!

"No way - tikka fucking masala?!" you exclaimed. He chuckled and it was hot. 

You walked closer and saw two very familiar, VERY FAMILIAR, colorful orbs. You turned them to the side. All this time since you'd last seen one, you forgot what they were or looked like. 

"AND FUCKING BUZZBALLS?!?!?!" you said. "Tommy, how the fuck did you even get these?"

He pulled the chair out for you, and you scooted your big fat butt in. 

"I know people. It's my job."

You couldn't help but smirk.

"It's so hot when a man has connections," your dirty Jezebel mind thought. 

He cracked the BuzzBalls opened and poured them for each of you, like it was some high end expensive ass champagne. You watched him, relishing in the moment - you had your GRIP on this man. Chivalry was in fact, despite popular belief, not dead. But it was also the 1920s so you forgot about that bit. 

You looked down at your plate - you were going to fuck. this. up. He'd never seen this side of you - the side that would tear your meal like a fucking ape cracking open a coconut with a rock for water. You thought if you should warn him, but told yourself - he needs to know ME for ME. 

You gripped that naan, grabbed a fat ass chunk of that chicken - and the moment it hit your lips, you had started giggling like Mark Weins again but subtract the poker face. You had forgotten the long lost love of spice other than pepper and salt. You could've cried if it hadn't been for the fact your makeup looked too good. 

You two dined and wined (there's no wine) for the next hour, talking and talking and chewing and chewing. Seeing him eat was hard for your mind to process, you just never thought he was capable of it. Anyway as he was talking you felt bad because you were zoning out looking at him as if he was another dish of tikka masala. He had such a sigma vibe to him, maybe alpha? (I don't know I'm not familiar with gym bro brain rot TikTok lingo but you get the vibe.) He was just so manly and yet so gentle and calculating, it kinda scared you because like he could literally have everything set up to kill you right now and you wouldn't know cause you were too charmed. But then you realized, he wouldn't have done all this shit for someone he wanted dead. No girl, he just wanted YOU! Your toes tickled at the thought, and those butterflies? They were fluttering. 

For the first time, you had anxiety but hadn't felt the need to shit yet. You weren't sure if it was the alcohol calming your nerves, or the chill vintage ambience going on, or Tommy's comfortable/intimidating presence. In other words, this felt natural and you were fucking with it. 

There were several times you needed to burp, but forgetting you weren't with your girls, you had to swallow that shit deep. After all, girls don't burp. You tried to keep your femme fatale composure. 

You were the light he needed in his very dark emo life. It had been a very long time since he had a genuine laugh, despite the fact he might have had no idea what the fuck you were talking about or saying half the time, but seeing you all bubbly and happy made him feel content. He was finally being vulnerable, letting go a little and just, well, living life. Being free. #livelaughlove

"What will you do? When you've saved enough for Scotland?" he asked. 

The idea brought you down a bit. You forgot about that shit. "Oh, well, I don't know. I kinda like the barmaid stuff, so maybe I'll try to find something similar there?"

You were eating his leftovers. He didn't eat much but liked watching you eat like it was a mukbang. He loved a girl who eats. 

"Why don't you stay?" he asked, avoiding eye contact with you as he poured himself another BuzzBall. You could tell he wasn't a fan but drank it anyway for you because you liked it. 

You again couldn't help but smirk. You loved seeing a guy CRACK!!!

"Do you want me to?" you asked, biting your tongue like the white mom. You hadn't done that in a while either, this English life didn't permit it. 

He took a sip from his drink. "Perhaps you'd be interested in working for me."

"Aren't I already, low-key though?"

"Garrison's not mine," he said. "Do you know anything about bookkeeping?"

He lit a cigarette and offered you one. You took it, not wanting to offend. 

"Well, I gotta tell you," you said, "math is NOT my forte. But oh my god yes babe thanks!"

You ran over and jumped to hug him, he hugged tightly back, he then threw you on the hard table, pushing everything to the floor and you felt his member pressed against your leg. He began kissing you, his tongue licking your lips for entrance. You let him in. Your tongues fought for dominance but you let him win. He eventually started going down on you, taking your Skims dress clean off, and started kissing your labia.

"This...this is a bloody fucking labia," he says. 

You lifted your legs as he began to eat you out, his wet breath on your cooter. He held your foot up and raised himself, ready to press his member into your entrance. Your eyes were closed, ready to take the boy from Birmingham in. This is it. No missed flights, no drunk men to call you Jezebels, no lung cancer from cigarettes and factory smoke, no IRS or IRA, nothing - just you and Tommy.

You and Tommy laid on his bed, in each other's arms. Since his bed was high-key smaller than a twin, it was pretty cramped, but neither of you minded. You two were smoking (him a cigarette and you your Elf bar), reminding you of that one band Cigarettes after Sex and how Tommy would've liked them, but they wouldn't drop music for another couple years in this time zone. 

You two talked softly as the rain patterned on the window's glass, some of the street lights peering through the curtain. If there was some incense on, it'd be a vibe. You originally thought his opium pipe was an incense holder but you were very mistaken. 

" - so yeah, that's why people picked team Jolie. But in all honesty, I feel bad for Jennifer, you know? Like, he literally cheated on her. Over what? A fucky boof ass movie? It was ass," you hit your Elf bar, refusing to accept it was dead. "I guess it doesn't matter now, cause NONE of them are together anymore. So what do you think? Aniston or Jolie?"

He took a drag of cigarette as he stared at the ceiling. He made an unsure face. 

"I'm not familiar with them."

"True. Fine, let me think of something you'd know. Like something English drama," you thought. "Okay, team Blur or team Oasis? I hear there was a lot of blood shed during the battle of Britpop."

He again took another drag of his cigarette. Anyone would be looking at this and thinking he found you hella annoying, but he didn't. He just genuinely thought you had a great imagination. 

"Neither, I guess. I don't have time to listen to music."

He was right, which was why he loved when you sang at the pub and most of all, to him during your private Lana concerts. 

As time went on, you were in DEEP. Scotland? Yeah never heard of her. Not only were you working for Tommy doing whatever bookkeeping is, but he had even introduced you to his family, which you KNOW damn well is a sign that shit is serious. 

You loved the Shelby's, even though they were a bit off their shit sometimes. But it wasn't anything new, you'd been well familiar with crazy families before. You loved talking shit with Polly, going to the 'cinema' with Ada, fucking with Arthur until he got mad, supplying John with his toothpicks and making little Finn believe in the fake number 'derf'. You got along with them well, they saw you as a perfect fit for the family - something different, vibrant and bright! You loved them and they loved you! Polly would even tell you in confidence that you made Tommy a happier person, something he lost after the war. Getting Polly's stamp of approval was literally it, that's all you needed. 

And you and Tommy? Yeah y'all were a thing. An item. During work hours he'd give you little looks here and there, and so did you, as if it was some secret office romance. But it wasn't secret literally everyone knew you were his girl. And that's power. 

You learned the ropes pretty fast, again it wasn't your first rodeo in the mob. It was like Colombia all over again, but we don't talk about that. Tommy fucked with you having a secretive criminal past, he thought it was pretty hot. 

Besides bookkeeping, you still worked in the bar. All the patrons loved when you sang Lana, it just went on to prove that she's indeed a poet. They eventually memorized them and sang along, which annoyed you sometimes cause you just wanted to hear yourself and they sounded like ass when they were drunk. But you just go along with it! 

Some of the songs you in the pub (and Tommy's room) sang included:

Bartender (cause hello? You're LITERALLY at a bar)

Shades of Cool (for Tommy's big blue ass eyes (you wished they could hear that guitar solo cause the acapella didn't do it justice :( ))

Cola (singing this for the fist time made you realize you had to censor a couple things, they weren't a fan of that intro)

Stargirl's Interlude (Lana's part obvi, but it's again for Tommy cause he's your starboy <3 he loved when you hit those high notes)

Brooklyn Baby (you avoided it cause it reminded you of your ex)

Video Games (hello it's for Tommy)

Love Song (this makes them all cry)

Money Power Glory (again hello it's Tommy, but this wouldn't hit until he's a member in Parliament)

National Anthem (being in England for so long made you forget the United States anthem)

Fucked My Way Up To The Top (literally you rn)

Speaking OF a bunch of drunk men, the gang loved you. You thought you were like the comedic relief of the little theater thing they had going on here. You had to admit, you admired the method acting everyone had done so far. It only, to you, proved that it worked, since you were GENUINELY left in deep in a psychosis where you're just a 1920's flapper girl. 

There was some rules and etiquettes you needed to remember, however. One, was of course, the "BILLY FACKIN KIMBA", and another was you finding out Tommy did NOT fuck with brujeria or anything dark magic related. You thought it was kinda funny, he reminded you of those Reddit r/atheist accounts but at the same time, he was low-key scared of zodiacs. Not that he didn't like it, he was paranoid at them. You literally asked his zodiac sign and he responded very sternly and seriously, 

"Y/N, don't."

You then said. "That's a very Capricorn thing to say."

Besides that, everything was great and chill.

It wasn't long before this annoying ass Irish inspector dude pulled up to the pub. Once he saw you, he locked eyes with you and approached the bar. You didn't like his vibe in the slightest. In fact, no one in the pub liked his vibe either. They all fell silent when he entered. 

"Excuse, me, ma'am," he said. You turned, not really wanting to talk. 

"Yeah, what?"

"Do you know about a Thomas Shelby?" 

"Yeah, what about him?" you didn't fuck with anyone who referred to Tommy as Thomas. Like?

"Do you know where I can find him?"

You were really starting to not fuck with his vibe even more. Something was def fishy. 

"You should really go back to being with the dinosaurs," you said. He didn't like that. 

He leaned in. "Do you know who I am? Who do ya think you arrrrrre?" the R's went very crazy. 

And just in time, as if he was your guardian angel, Tommy opened the doors to the little room beside the bar. Babes was hearing everything and he was NOT gonna let this dude talk shit to his girl like that. 

"You need to speak to me? Inspector Campbell, is it?" he said. "I've read about you in the papers."

Tommy then took Campbell soup outside to speak. Before leaving, he (Tommy) gave you a wink and you winked back. You knew that was code for 'let's hit my flat later'. Little did you know, this would be the last time.....

P.S. - when you asked one of the men at the pub who he was and someone replied IRA, you originally interpreted that as the Irish IRS and shat yourself. You didn't know how to tell Tommy your time was ticking, they'd located you - but you were not going down without a fight. 

You were both in his bedroom as usual, he was lying in bed smoking, you were hitting the Elf bar, rain pattering, English people yelling outside yeah you get the vibe. Anyway, he asked you to sing - a request you took quite seriously. You knew this was his only time of relaxation and you had to make the best of it before you break the news you needed to escape again.

You rose, sitting up and looking down at his BBL face. 

"Lana or Nicki?"

"Lana."

"Can I do Nicki? You never ask for her."

He took a drag and nodded. "Go ahead."

This, now this would be where you fucked up. Let's just say, you wish you could wipe out this night from your memory. Alas, all things need to come to an end, even the good ones, unfortunately. You'd never thought it would be like this though tbh. 

You stood up on the bed, as usual, cleared your throat all that bullshit. You thought and thought, "what's a good Nicki song? What's fitting?"

And then it hit you - it was definitely a deep cut. 

He had a soft smile on his lips, watching you as you were thinking. Little did he know, you were going to harness a part of yourself you hadn't seen in a while. This was a mode you unlocked that was such a release after, and you knew you had to go all or nothing. 

You cleared your throat. 

"Okay, so this one's kinda not AS well known, but it has British themes I think work well," you prefaced. "Okay, here I go."

The moment you opened your mouth, you let the spirit of Nicki come in. And once she's in, there's no going back. And Tommy was not prepared for that. You then started Nicki's verse in Sean Kingston's "Born To Be Wild".  

"♪ If you will die, then why would you try and if you reply, a suit and a tie is what I will buy then you will be mine because you and I were born to be wild, I am Martha you King Arthur who knew you would land me, I’ve been known to eat these rappers, cook em like chef Ramsey - ♪"

You were too deep to notice Tommy's rapid increasing worry and fear as you spat out those lyrics. It was too overstimulating for him to handle. You ate, but that was just want concerned him - he didn't know you were rapping. In fact, no one at this current time did. 

" ♪ - Mission accomplished, your my accomplice cover of vogue yeah ima go topless ima go bonkers ima go crazy ima get reckless then have a baby then hang the baby off the balcony teach him to moon walk tell em he's Japanese - ♪ "

No, he thought you were putting a curse on him. No, he was CONVINCED. 

"Stop! STOP!" Tommy rose from his bed, pushing the sheets off of him. 

You were shaken out of your trance, confused. You became worried, what happened? Did you miss something? Were y'all in danger?

"Wait, Tommy -"

"Enough! Stop!" you had never seen panic in that man's eyes. Never. And you didn't like it. He was looking straight at you, talking to YOU. 

"Stop what -"

"You're a bloody fucking witch!" he yelled, rubbing his hand through his hair while the other TIGHT on his hip. This was his evaluating stance. "That's what this is - that's what it's been."

"Uh, Tommy," you said, more annoyed that he interrupted your moment, "I'm no witch. I'm just, well, Y/N."

He took a deep breath, now facing away from you. He couldn't believe it. All this time, all that mumbo jumbo that came out of your mouth, all this time - they were just that. Curses. No wonder he didn't understand them, you were literally speaking in tongues this whole time. 

You walked towards him, slowly. This man needed that opium right now. 

"Tommy -"

"Leave. LEAVE!" he yelled, grabbing your messy bun, and doing what you didn't think would happen again for a very long time - he beybladed you. 

Spin. Spin. Spin.

"LET IT BLOODY RIP!"

And there it was. 

And there you went. 

He twisted you in the air round and round, ready for a different kind of liftoff. He flung you out the window, you crashed through and onto the cobblestone streets of Birmingham. 

That was it. All these months, all this rehearsing - it all came to an end. On a random Tuesday evening? The Tommy you once thought you knew was no more - after all this time, he never trusted you? Didn't he know who you were? Like dude he watched you be vulnerable at fuck up a tikka masala. TWO of them at that. 

Anyway, you realized maybe the entirety of UK just wasn't your vibe, anyway. With this 'IRA' now in town, your ass needed to be grass. Before leaving, you broke into his horse racing betting place whatever it's called and committed a little fun heist, taking all the money. What? A girl needed to sustain herself in this economy. Dog eat dog world shit. And plus, all your stuff was back at his apartment and you were DEF not gonna go back. Who knows? Was HE working for the Men In Black? Wining and dining you to gain his trust and he turned you in? Maybe he did you a favor in the end. 

And maybe you could upgrade to the latest iPhone when you got to London with all this horse money? With a shilling and a pound, the possibilities seemed endless. 

You walked down the streets, sad, but again more confused and a little relieved, onto your next destination, wherever that maybe. Anywhere Y/N went, it was all just a big adventure of a girl having fun being, well, just a girl having fun in this world. And THAT'S all that matters. 

Hope you enjoyed!

xoxo, 

~Sam St. Clair

[numinousmysteries]

Dancing the Tandava (1/10)

Finally realized this isn't going to get any better the longer I sit on it. Not a WIP, I'll be posting a chapter per day.

AU Post-Existence

[on Ao3] @today-in-fic

CHAPTER 1

He’s calibrating a magnet on the external casing of the particle accelerator when his vision suddenly blurs and the curved walls of the tunnel start spinning. He folds over himself, nausea building in his stomach, and he squeezes his eyes shut to make the revolutions stop. The white hard hat on his head tumbles to the ground, hitting the concrete floor with a clink. It’s as if he’s gone from sober to blackout drunk in seconds but he hasn’t had a drop to drink.

As quickly as the vertigo came on, the nausea and dizziness disappear. He comes to on his hands and knees with his fingers tingling. Shaking off his wrists to restore circulation, he stands up straight and opens his eyes. The acid that had been bubbling up his throat seems to have settled although his skin is still vibrating from the burst of adrenaline. Once he’s found his footing he realizes he’s no longer in the large hadron collider tunnel.

The blue and silver body of the collider is gone and the well-lit concrete corridor has been replaced by a pitch-dark space that smells of mildew. He reaches around to get his bearings and his hands find hard, cold walls on either side of him. The space is narrow and he can reach the walls on either side with his arms extended. He steps forward and notices the ground below him is slanted. Assuming that he’s underground from the complete lack of light, he walks in the uphill direction until he hits a smooth, metal door. There’s no handle or knob but he can feel the seams where the door meets the walls on either side.

“Help!” He shouts as he pounds against the door. It’s a thick layer of metal, though, and he fears no one will hear him. Panic builds within him.

Soon, he hears twisting on the other side of the door. It opens with a hiss as the hermetic seal breaks. There’s a tall, thin man with a goatee and a lab coat staring at him.

“How the hell’d you get in here?” the man barks.

“I’m not sure,” he answers softly, sweeping his eyes around the room trying to pick up any clues as to where he is.

He’s in a lab. But it’s not any lab at CERN. Instead of cutting-edge technology, there’s bulky equipment that looks like it’s from the previous century, like in one of the old science fiction movies he used to watch with his dad. There are rows of workstations, bare-bones metal desks paired with tall stools upholstered in peeling faux leather. With the exception of the man staring at him accusingly, the lab is abandoned.

There’s a calendar hanging on the cinder block wall with a photo of a stunning blonde woman in a revealing red bikini reclining on the beach. Her swimsuit isn’t leaving much to the imagination, and he thinks to himself that it doesn’t really seem appropriate for a workplace. Then he sees the month the calendar is turned to: November 1993.

“Um, what year is it?” he asks.

The man squints at him. “You fucking with me, kid?”

“Is it 1993?”

“Was the last time I checked.”

“Oh shit.” His stomach drops.

The man laughs. “You’re telling me. Between the World Trade Center bombing and that nutjob in Waco, I think it’s fair to say we’re all ready for this year to be over.”

He’s too confused to speak and just stares straight at the man.

“You’re looking a little shell-shocked. You from the army department? I don’t know what kind of crap they’re doing over there but those guys are always walking around looking like they don’t know what day it is.”

The man’s words wash over him but he can’t make meaning out of them. This can’t be real. He pats his jeans pockets looking for his phone but it’s not there. Of course it isn’t, he thinks. He left it upstairs in a locker with his wallet. No phones are permitted in the collider tunnel because of the risk that electromagnetic signals could interfere with the sensors and detectors inside.

“Can I borrow your phone?” he asks.

“Be my guest,” the man says with a sweeping gesture inviting him to come to his workstation.

It’s an old landline phone with a coiled cord. He picks it up to dial but realizes he doesn’t have any numbers memorized.

“Listen,” he says, hanging up the phone. “This is going to sound a little crazy but I need you to get in touch with the FBI and contact Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully.”

“Um, okay,” the man says with uncertainty. “You report to them?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “They’re my parents.”

[frequentlysecondo]

Mia Arancia || Fluff || Primo x gn!Reader

Tl;dr: Sharing fruit as a love language and Primo deserves a break from gardening in the summer.

This is my first time posting writing on tumblr, I apologize if my formatting is a little clumsy <3

In the enchanting nature of the Ministry’s garden, the rows of greenery were bathed in the golden hues of the rapidly approaching end of the day and appeared as otherworldly as ever. Primo could be seen standing in the middle of his growing vegetables, looking reminiscent of a scarecrow as he marveled over what must’ve been long hours of work, remaining motionless as he stood exactly where you had hoped to find him.

Primo simply observed your leisure stroll as you made your way closer and arched an eyebrow curiously. His gaze flickered between your approaching figure and the horizon, questioning the unexpected visit. Nonetheless, the sight of you beckoning him from the other side of the garden with an eager wave only piqued his interest further. Knowing your penchant for mischief and mystery, a smile tugged at his face when you approached.

Drawing closer to Primo, you tilted your head, studying his countenance intently. His voice, though calm and composed, carried a note of playful suspicion.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure?" He inquired with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "You're up to something, aren't you, mio dolcezzo?"

You shook your head, your faux serious expression suddenly shifting into a wide grin. "No, no," you responded, your voice laden with a faux sense of urgency. "This is a matter of very serious business, my dear. C’mere." With a playful flourish, you waggled your fingers and extended a hand in a hopeful invitation.

Once your fingers had interlaced together, the two of you ventured further into the back corners of the garden. Eventually, your steps came to a halt, leading you to a secluded alcove adorned by a magnificent orange tree. Its branches gracefully bowed under the weight of growing fruit imbued with the warm hues of a setting sun. Primo’s eyes sparkled with delight as his gaze swept over the nearly picturesque scene before him, his eyes moving from the lush emerald leaves to your face. A smile played upon his lips as he clasped your hands in his own, your fingers entwined like an unbreakable bond.

“Ah, you’ve led me to the orange tree,” he whispered, a blend of curiosity and surprise clearly evident in his words. A confused chuckle escaped him.

“I had planned on harvesting these in a few days time.” he admitted with a hint of amusement.

Before he could continue, you drew his attention to a particularly low-hanging branch which bent under the weight of a perfectly ripe orange. Excitement brimmed in your voice as you pointed it out, the already wrinkled sleeve of his shirt crumpled further in your fist in attempt to pull his body closer to the branch in question.

“But look! This one is ripe today.”

Leaning over your shoulder, Papa reached up to gracefully pluck the orange from its branch. A glimmer of admiration danced in your eyes as you watched his movements, amazed by the confidence held in the simple swing of his arm as he brought it back down to open his palm in a proposal.

“Are you suggesting we share our first orange of the harvest?” He gently turned the fruit in his hand, inspecting the dip where the gentle curve of a leather peel met the wooden stem. The time spent considering what he had asked was closer to a day dream rather than a debate on your actual answer, artificial hesitation induced by an overactive imagination. After a few moments your distraction was cut short by the feel of firm, pitted rind being pressed into your palm. “We must eat it together, of course," His expression beamed with a sense of pride as he spoke, eagerly presenting you with the literal fruit of his labor as a treasure to be cherished, shared.

“I’ve always thought oranges are best when split with someone else.” It was hard to resist a smile while agreeing and holding the orange up to the light to study it for yourself. Sitting down in the grass under the tree, there’s a comforting wave of tranquility as you lean back against the textured bark before pushing a fingernail against the rough skin of the fruit and slowly beginning to pull it apart. Primo slowly sits down next to you with a soft sigh as his muscles stretch, your shoulders bumping together sending a rush of electricity through your veins even after all the time you’d spent together.

"You know, you're quite good at peeling these things," he mentions quietly as he studies your movements. "How do you do it so effortlessly?" He asks curiously, raising a brow. You laugh in response, the sound twinkling like wind chimes in the light breeze as you held out a slice of the orange to Primo.

“Lots of practice. Oranges are my favorite.”

"Orange peeling is a rather unique skill to practice," The grin that shines on his face could easily beat out the brilliance of the sun when he reaches out to take the section of fruit.

“You can peel it so easily and swiftly," He continues with a hint of admiration in his voice.

“You always make the simplest of things most interesting. Thank you for offering your skills to me, mia arancia." His attempts to butter you up make you laugh, scooting closer to him in order to duck under his arm despite the summer heat that still lingered in the air.

"We'll have to share one each day, sì?" He suggests while biting into the orange slice, the sweet juice dribbling on his chin and smearing along the black lines of his face paint that was already distorted by the sweat of the day.

“I would like that very much. It’ll remind you to take a break, too.” You tease Primo playfully. Despite being retired, he still insists upon spending long days tending to his plants, rare to take a rest without being prompted. The thought of meeting every day for something so small simmered in your mind, the tender domesticity of being near one another for no real reason other than to exist. Together.

“Did you know there’s a lot of poetry about sharing oranges with your loved ones?” You ask suddenly as you pop a slice of the juicy fruit into your mouth and continue to peel the opposite side.

"I didn't know that," he admits. "About the poetry." He pauses for a moment. "What does it say?" He asks quietly while he lays his head atop yours, content to watch your fingers move swiftly to continue separating the sections.

“It’s all symbolic of sharing your life and love in a gentle way. A simple act of service can carry great meaning, you see?”

Pure contentment bubbles in your chest as you feel Papa shift closer to you and the feather light flutter of his lips pressing a kiss against your shoulder is enough to make you wonder if you have ever truly felt this peaceful before. You hold up another piece of the fruit close to his face in offering as you explain further.

“To love someone enough to cherish the mundane. I’ll read you some.”

And so you sat together until long after the horizon imitated the color of the fruit passed between between your hands, repeating lines of prose while sharing an orange or three with the sweet nectar sticky between your fingers and lips.

“[..] They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange, it made me so happy,

As ordinary things often do

Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.

This is peace and contentment. It's new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.

I did all the jobs on my list

And enjoyed them and had some time over.

I love you. I'm glad I exist.”

-The Orange, Wendy Cope, 1992

[anyshapebutsquare]

I bought a few couch covers since our faux leather has started peeling off, but the couch itself is still comfortable. The one company said they have free shipping and returns, yet nowhere on their website is there a return portal. I didn’t realize this when I bought it obviously, and I regret not looking this up now because they are giving me the run around. It came directly from China and I am definitely talking to someone in China because they only respond once a day at like 2-4am my time. I feel like I’m haggling with a street vendor. I’ve repeatedly asked for a return label and they keep asking if there’s some way they can fix it or do I like another color etc. like give me my money back bitch! I googled it and other people have had the same problem. A word of advice- never order anything from sweaterpicks!