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paperultra · 8 months

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back of house.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1,113 words Warnings: Mild swearing

If it weren’t for his principles regarding women, you’re fairly certain Sanji would’ve throttled and strung you up to dry by now.

“I … I’m impressed, sweetheart,” he says with a bright smile, though under the swinging lights of the kitchen it seems more out of pain than pleasure. “You managed to burn water.”

Your cheeks flame as you peer into the blackened pot with him, all traces of the water you’d been tasked with boiling completely gone. Vanished. You have no idea how or why.

“I’m sorry, Sanji.”

“No need to apologize. Everybody makes mistakes –”

“Sanji!” you hear Zeff before you see him round the corner. “Why the hell do I smell something burning in my kitchen?”

“None of your business, old man,” Sanji snaps immediately, murmuring a quiet excuse me, dear to you before taking the pot by the handle and heading to the sink. He twists the faucet open and running water roars like thunder in your ears as he thrusts the pot underneath. “I have it under control.”

“Under control, eh?" Zeff says. He suddenly turns his squinted gaze upon you, and you shrivel. “This your doing, missy?”

“I –”

“Leave her alone,” Sanji interrupts. “I didn’t give clear enough instructions. It was my fault.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that.” Eyeing your guilty and defeated figure next to the stove, Zeff shakes his head with a sigh and points you to the door. “[Y/n], go out and wait tables for the rest of your shift.”

Immediately, you make a move to remove your apron. “Oka –”

Sanji makes a noise of dissent and turns the faucet off. “Wait tables? She can still chop the vegetables and help me plate.”

“You’ll do that yourself. Front of house needs the extra person, anyway.”

“I’m her mentor.”

“And I’m the damn boss.”

The rest of the staff roll their eyes and carry on while the two men argue in the middle of the kitchen. You swallow and take your apron off, balling it up in your hands. This isn’t the first time they’ve butted heads over your incompetence, and watching them now cuts at your last shred of dignity.

Clearing your throat, you grimace when Sanji’s head whips around to look at you.

“Zeff’s right,” you tell him. “Dinner rush is coming up soon and I’ll just be in the way, anyway.”

Zeff grunts with satisfaction.

The expression on Sanji’s face reminds you of a kicked puppy. “But …” he begins to protest.

“Oi, you heard what she said. Get back to work! We have customers waiting!”

Sanji blusters about before heading back to his station, casting you one final, forlorn look as he does so. You imagine that your own face looks just the same when you turn to leave.

—

You take orders and serve customers for the remainder of the day, as promised, and help with cleanup after closing time. And then, long after the sun’s dipped below the horizon, Sanji joins you on the upper deck with a steaming bowl of seafood fried rice.

“For the madam,” he says with a smile, offering you the bowl.

You accept it silently and take a bite as he sits down next to you. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach. You’ve never known a home quite like Sanji’s cooking.

His eyes remain fixed on you as you eat all of the rice, scraping the bowl for every last grain and setting it down beside you once you’re finished.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. I figured it would cheer you up.”

“It did.”

It did, and yet, your lips tremble and your throat closes up. You clench your hands into fists in your lap.

Sanji’s hand immediately presses your shoulder as you sniffle. “Are you alright?” he questions worriedly.

(His attentiveness strikes you like a hot iron sometimes, even now.)

“Why haven’t you given up on me yet?” you whisper.

His brow furrows. As if it’s obvious, he answers, “You want to be a cook. A lady’s wish is my command.” Sanji pauses. “And I can’t call myself the greatest cook in the East Blue if I can’t teach others to be great cooks as well.”

“I think you’d be the greatest regardless.”

You glance at him through watery eyes in time to see his face flush a deep red. He looks away hastily, chuckling with feigned modesty. “I’m flattered that you think so highly of me.”

Your shoulders lift in a shrug as you look back down at your hands. You reach up to blot away your tears.

How could you not think the world of Sanji? Or the world of anyone at the Baratie, for that matter? When you were kicked off the merchant ship you’d stowed away on two years ago, you had been sure that you’d be banned from setting foot in such a fine-looking restaurant. Years of scorn and slammed doors had not given you the chance to think otherwise.

But Sanji spotted you on the docks, called you madam like you really were one, cooked you a meal in the kitchen and talked to you. Zeff gave you a job and a bed of your own. The staff gave you a family.

“We’ll try again tomorrow. I’ll figure out something that’ll make everything click for you, and you’ll be a proper cook in no time.” Sanji leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and winks up at you. “I promise.”

As always, your heart skips a beat.

“Okay.”

Maybe, you realize suddenly, you don’t necessarily want to be a cook so much as you want to love the way Sanji does.

“That’s my girl.” Standing up, Sanji takes your empty bowl in one hand and offers the other for you to take. “Now, shall I walk the madam to her room, or does she wish to stay out on the deck for a while?”

You allow yourself to grin, considering. “The madam wishes to stay out here and …” you hesitate but then decide to soldier on, “and possibly chat with a dear friend for a few more minutes?”

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

Sanji’s eyes widen a bit. Then he blinks, and then he smiles, drawing his hand back and quickly sitting down next to you once more.

“A lady’s wish is my command,” he says.

He takes out a cigarette, making a quip about Patty while he lights it, and your combined laughter rings out across the Baratie. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach.

Indeed, this is home.

#opla #one piece #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #opla sanji #one piece live action #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #fluff #fem!reader #this one's for the girlies who burn water #look i came into opla thinking i'd be a 100% zoro stan but something abt opla sanji got me all <3 #like bro. who gave u the right to smile like that ;(#so i made a reader who adores him just as much as he adores them :)

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soap-ify · 4 months

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tw : nsfw, dubcon (simon gets you too drunk)

guitarist!ghost would be your loud neighbour who’d be blaring the music at full volume, sometimes even bringing the rest of his band in to play all night, disturbing your sleep. the complaints from the other neighbours never really helped, and most of them didn’t even seem to mind it the way you did.

he was odd for sure, always too quiet in the mornings, barely even coming out of his flat.

and during the rare times you had passed by him in the corridor, you always hesitated from confronting him because he just looked so intimidating — imposing with beefy tatted arms and a balaclava always covering his face, eyes almost dead and emotionless, his guitar case always slung on his back.

though one night, you really had enough of him. the loud music kept distracting you from your work, so you finally gathered some courage to storm over to his apartment and bang loudly on the door until he somehow manages to hear it and open it up, revealing you looking up at him with a frustrated gaze, still cladded in your loose pajama shirt and shorts.

“what?” he gruffly spoke, his voice causing you to shiver up a bit while his brown eyes scanned you up and down.

“can you lower down your music? i really need to finish my work.” you attempted to be as polite as you could, your lips still formed in an irritated pout.

ghost couldn’t help but chuckle behind his mask, completely dismissing your words as he stepped forward, one hand reaching out to gently hold the side of your arm, playing with the sleeve of your shirt.

“wanna have a few drinks?”

this ended up with you being all drunk and giggly, clearly having a low tolerance as ghost. he might have intentionally given you lots of drunk due to that. and he couldn’t help but make fun of you all the time, having you all splayed underneath him on his worn out couch, his big veiny cock stuffing your tight cunt full while his callused thumb lazily played with your clit, your pajama shirt hiked up till your pretty tits, nipples hardened up and staring directly at him.

“look at you… all dumb and drunk on my cock, eh? kept complainin’ about the music and now can’t even speak properly.” he sneered, his balaclava hooked up until his nose, a cigarette loosely hung in between his lips as he exhaled smoke, blowing some on your face, causing you to cough and moan.

"came at my front door in those skimpy pajamas of yours. bet you just wanted to get fucked. too tired from work, right? poor thing."

your brain was too fuzzy to properly think, restricting you from saying something mean back to him, the only thing in your mind being the way his girth was stretching you out, making you all soft and pliant, your hands clumsily reaching up to cup his face, fingers rubbing against the mild stubble on his jaw. ghost didn’t stop you at all, eyes focused on the way his cock moved in and out of your pussy.

you were too fucked to even announce that you were about to cum, your orgasm hitting you hard.

needless to say, you were shocked and embarrassed the next morning while your head was hurting a bit too much, finding yourself in his bed, snuggled underneath a blanket all alone.

the memories from last night were starting to become cleared, and maybe you somewhat liked it. you definitely needed to smack him tho.

#i love guitarist simon i need a guitarist simon #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #cod smut #call of duty #rurufic

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chaotic-iguana · 5 months

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lovers’ spat, part i

miggy is an oblivious overworking idiot and fails to see you’ve had a bad day. he eventually makes up for it, though. (there will be a smut follow-up)

warnings: no smut (yet). just some nice angst (the girls are fightinggggg hehehe)

it starts with a missed alarm. then a sip of too-hot coffee burning your tongue. being late to work, getting yelled at by your boss, then by a client and finally by some randomon the fucking street when you’re walking home and he’s catcalling you and you refuse to look his way.

so yeah. it’s been a shit day.

but you’ve opened a portal to nueva york, you’re close to hq and you know migs will be inside and ready to take care of you. so all hope is not lost. yet. you burst through the double doors, half-sprinting to the elevator to reach his…lair? office is too mild for it, really. (eh, miguel’s a moody guy. it fits his vibe.)

you’re just about to walk in but you’re stopped by the call of your name paired with a babbling baby behind you. twisting to see the top of mayday’s head disappear behind him, you watch as peter b walks towards you with a grimace on his face and purple blooming under his eyes.

“are you…alright? you look a bit rough.” it sounds funny as you say it - take one look in the fucking mirror and you’d be saying it to yourself - but you can’t stop yourself from asking. he does look tired. and upset. which is entirely unlike him, but they do say parenthood is an adjustment. plus, it can’t be easy balancing being a spider and a dad and a journalist all at the same time. an offer to babysit bubbles in your mouth but stops at him shaking his head with a wry grin.

“today’s been rough. to be honest, i doubt miguel’s gonna be able to see you right now - we just caught an anomaly who stopped a canon event. he’s dealing with the fallout.” he’s speaking slowly, like he’s placating a child or dog. your frown must be obvious, because he starts chuckling nervously and follows up with a “but i’m sure he can work it out! goodnight!” before he’s swinging away - typical of a man who loves setting fires but never knows quite what to do with the ashes.

so now you’re stomping into miguel’s office, tearing through the tranquility of silence as you scowl at the raised platform and squint through the frankly shitty lighting. the sound of his fingers on the keyboard halts, and you think you hear him take a deep breath before his voice rings out.

“‘m busy, cariño. be home late tonight. don’t wait up.”

and it’s the way he says it, the irritation and annoyance glinting in his monotone words that has you seeing red, until your fingers are clenched in fists and your teeth are bared in the direction of his stupid, stupid platform. (you’d rip it apart with your bare hands if you could. why can’t he just work on the floor like a normal person? fucking medieval villain much? why don’t you just menacingly twiddle your thumbs and mwahaha while coming down then. idiot.)

you’re barely thinking straight, fury sparking in your veins and thrumming in your blood as you rip off a sandal and chuck it in the vague direction of the stupid thing. it’s not like you can tell, because your migraine and miguel’s shitty decor seem to have teamed up to fucking impair your vision and why in the fuck did he have to blow you off tonight of all nights-

your heel clunks against the metal, clattering to the ground with a pathetic thud. a sharp intake of his breath through his nose - loud enough to let you know he’s pissed - and therecomes the creaking of the dumb thing being lowered, inch by inch. you wait as the top of his head appears, hair standing in all directions and you just know he’s been doing that thing he does absentmindedly where he runs his hands through it over and over when he’s focused. and normally it’s cute but right now you just want to scream at him or walk away and you’re not quite sure which one to lean towards. and then he comes into view, eyes narrowed and fists clenched, hands stiff by his sides while he…frowns at you? lunging off the platform, he crouches to pick up your shoe before stalking over in your direction, glaring down at you.

“por qué joder harías eso?” he’s snarling now, jaw tensing with the effort it takes for him to spit the words at you. it makes you flinch, the forceful weight of his words and his tone and the way he’s towering over you like you’re one of those anomalies he hunts and something in your chest just cracks at the sight. straightening your spine, you curl your fingers around his to snatch back your shoe before slipping it on.

“qué esperabas? what did you expect, miguel? that i come here after a long day to find out again, for the billionth fucking time that my husband is too busy fighting something new-because there is always something new-to so much as look at me when he basically tells me to fuck off.”

eyes wild, your chest heaves as you meet his fierce look with one of your own. you can see him processing what you said, guilt flashing in his eyes for a split second before it’s replaced by concern. you can see him softening, reaching out - but you don’t want it right now. don’t quite know what to do with the sudden care in his eyes just moments after he was being so dismissive towards you. and if you’re honest - after the day you’ve had, it’s easier to cling to the venom coating your next words than it is to give into however the fuck he’s planning on fixing the situation.

“vete a la mierda, miguel. don’t come home tonight.”

and with that, you walk out.

you make it three steps before lyla pops up, wincing at the tears already spilling down your cheeks. you’re scrambling for your watch, fumbling your way through portalling home to curl up in bed. you can distantly tell she’s cooing something at you, placating and warm, but you’re too far gone to hear it; the AI too much of a reminder of miguel for your comfort. a wave of your hand through her hologram and a stumble through the portal, and she’s gone too.

well, fuck. that couldn’t have gone worse.

v excited to continue this one. as always, thanks for reading, comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day<3

taglist: @imherefordeanandbones, @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore, @millerscoffee, @nostalxgic, @sscorpiiio, @its-nebuleuse, @sofiparallel, @mandoisapunk, @bastardmandennis (hey pal), @amanitacowboy, @party-hearses, @planet-marz1, @chiogarza, @jenispunk, @pertinentpostmortem i know most of y’all didn’t sign up for miggy content so let me know if u wanna be tagged only in pedro works. divider by the amazing @cafekitsune.

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tarjapearce · 5 months

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Grandma's Visit.

Warnings: Drama, mild angst, Strained Relationships. Comfort towards the end. No proofread

Summary: Conchata wants to meet Benji.

A/N: There might not be updates, but have this little piece as an offer :')

Hey

Gabriel's leg bounced as the main door was closed, a bit of a slam on it. His hands immediately fetched his phone.

Migue

Busy right now.

Drop that shit and listen

?? ¿Qué pasó? (What's wrong?)

Mamá va para allá, cabrón.

The fuck you mean she's on her way? Did you tell her where do I live?

Miguel, it's mom we're talking about.

The eldest O'Hara sighed and raked a hand over his hair. He was definitely not prepared for what laid ahead.

She wants to meet Benjamin.

Miguel's body tensed as his muscles flexed so tightly, one would think he'd break. And it wasn't far from the truth.

Conchata. Or Connie for her friends, was the ever annoying stone on his shoes. Miguel had refused to have her in his wedding. Not out of spite, rather for the notion he had of his beloved progenitor. He knew that trouble followed her everywhere and if it wasn't following her like an overly attached stalker, is cause she was the problem itself.

Conchata was anything but easy to be around. And things had gone even more acrid after the wedding. Miguel never told you about the fourty five minute call she made him just to say how much of a bad son he was for not inviting her over.

But Miguel knew better, if he'd had her, she'd either complain about everything, ruining the mood for everyone. Or she'd start making snide comments on you and he'd get pissed, some drama would ensue causing an even bigger and jagged rift between them and his wedding would be ruined.

"Hey"

Your gentle and soft touch grounded him, anchored his mind back to his body, as his attention snapped back at you.

"You ok?"

His eyes felt tired and heavy. Unable to meet your gaze completely.

"I'll be."

You cradled him in your arms and kissed the top of his forehead. The touch alone melted him. His own arms embracing your shorter form, that somehow did the perfect work of comforting him and ease his thoughts. But when it came to his mother, little good things came out from it.

"My... eh-" He cleared his throat, "My mother is coming for a visit"

Oh...

"What she could possibly want after so many years?"

"Meet Benjamin."

Even though his words seemed simple, the clenching of his fists until his knuckles turned white, only dictated it was far from being that. Miguel didn't fear his mother, but feared and hated the words that could possibly escape her mouth when things weren't her way.

His wellbeing would be the sacrifice for the visit, cause he'd do anything possible to avoid you or his children get hurt.

"I swear, if she says or does something stupid-"

"Mi reina, let me handle her, ok?"

Your lips pursed and your brows deepened in a soft furrow.

"I won't hesitate-"

"I know. But please. Just, let me, ok?"

Both of you knew that things weren't going to be easy, his distress was obvious, he knew you'd step in if necessary, but he had to face her, it was more like a closure for him than anything. His baby boy wouldn't suffer the dooming and cursing words she gave him so many years ago. Words he learned to loathe as he grew up.

"Alright."

----

Maybe Gabriel's heads up was a false alarm, because nearly a week had gone by. A week of pent up stress and anxiety from both sides. And you could tell from Miguel's demeanor changing.

Even though being loving and a great father remained on the top list, you knew better than that. He'd been found asleep in his office after dinner, or would shut out himself for some little minutes. You'd give him space, and when he needed you, he'd always know where to find you.

He didn't even required to say 'I need you' cause you knew. His body language over the years had been a great subject of study, specially when it came to anxiety and other negatives that always switched on whenever his mother popped up in a conversation, or when something didn't sit right in his gut.

He'd pace, pick at the skin around his nails hard enough to draw blood, chew at the insides of his cheek, drink alot of more coffee to keep himself awake, grumpier than usual, irritated, short replies for everything outside his beloved family.

With you he'd be clingier than usual, he'd spoil Gabi over to avoid thinking too much. He'd pour himself into being that amazing and loving parent he never had, but at night, he'd just hold you until he fell asleep. He'd clutch onto you so tightly that sometimes you'd have little bruises, barely visible ones, in the places he'd hold.

Your comfort skills poured into his preferred love language. Physical touch. You'd play with his hair until he fell asleep, a little purr coming from him before giving into sleep, you'd caress his back in soothing circles, letting the steady beating of your heart lull him to calm.

You'd kiss his face, showering him in affection, as if with every kiss a bit of his worries would go away.

The knock on the main door however interrupted his train of thoughts. You had gone to the supermarket to get some stuff you had forgotten for dinner. Relief washing over him as you now we're home, or so he innocently had thought. All air was caught in his throat upon seeing none other than Conchata on the front door.

Even for her age, Conchata had some beauty reserved. Her skin tone same as Miguel's, soft curls that lingered above her shoulders, deep brown eyes that if one looked close enough, would see the deep red in them. Tall and seizing him with a look he also learned to master.

A scowl disguised as a smile.

"Miguel. "

"Mamá."

A too common and long pleasantries shared between the both.

She hasn't aged much.

Miguel's mind chanted.

"You're gonna let me in to meet my grandson, or what?"

A bushy brow of his quirked, blasé and bored, but he stepped aside. His whole frame had curbed her for long enough.

Here we go

Her scrutinizing gaze was unstoppable against the nakedness of his home. Her eyes raked in every little detail out of place, loading her verbal ammo with it.

"Where is the baby?"

"Asleep."

Monotone and monosyllabic answers that matched his expression was all she could pry from him. It was ridiculous the amount of pictures you seemed to have about Gabriella. She saw her when she was two, then six. Staying in Miguel’s life wasn't something she actually liked to partake on. Too busy with her own demons and new boyfriends to care.

Why would she? He was already a grown ass man.

A man that refused to have her at his own wedding. A past resentment that has lasted over the years and her own mind had been feeding the fester inside her heart. It didn't help you had one of the wedding pictures scattered around the living room.

The few proofs she needed to see, to know she wasn't welcome, but knowing her son had his own now, was another excuse to see what kind of man and father Miguel had turned out to be.

His arms crossed on his chest as she sat down in one of the seats in the couch.

"Come."

"I'm fine here, thanks."

"I'm trying to be civil. The least you can do is obey your mother for once."

"Why you came?"

"I told you. I need to see my grandson."

"Whatever for?"

Her eyes hardened at his words, but a sigh escaped her lips.

"God, you're so like your father. Always mistrusting people."

"You need to leave."

Hearing her say such curse, made his heart beat even faster. Hands clenched tightly at his sides. Eyes away from her, like if the mere sight of her brought back so many unpleasantness he had fought hard to work them through.

"I won't leave until your... woman shows up and throws me away."

"She will."

"Of course she will. You're not man enough. Just look at this place. A mess."

"And?"

Miguel knew that paying and baiting into her games, would only hinder so. many years of progress he had done on his own. But would also mean to give her the attention she desperately seeked, even if it meant to do it the wrong way.

"What do you mean, and?! What does she does around all day?" Conchata huffed, " In my times the wife was the one that kept everything in check. I've seen nothing but a mess so far."

"Sorry for that."

Your tired and irked voice echoed from the kitchen's door. Miguel gave you a little smirk.

"Have been busy being a real mother this whole time. Miguel, mi amor can you defrost some vegetables, please?"

"Sure do. Found everything?"

You both were purposely ignoring her. A silent yet powerful statement.

You have no power here.

Conchata's eyes set like stone into you. How dared a tiny flea like yourself to speak to her in such way?. And even worse, how could his son be lenient in allowing you to be disrespectful towards her?

You had entered quietly, the heavy and draining aura could be felt even from outside. You had told Gabi to wait outside and rearrange the groceries in the meantime.

" Oh, I didn't know you had returned."

Your name rolling off her tongue felt wrong.

" It's my house too."

"Ah, of course. You didn't do a pre-nup. Te va a dejar en la calle, Miguel." (She'll leave you bare)

Conchata's gaze never left you, it only turned even more intense as her pupils followed you every step.

"I came here to meet my grandson. Where is Gabriella? "

Said precious child helped you to get the bags from your car, while Conchata opened her arms for Gabi to cuddle her. But everything that came out was her hiding behind you, while looking between you and her, as if asking permission.

"Do you want to greet grandma, baby?"

Gabi only recoiled back, hiding further from you.

"Guess not."

You shrugged and instructed Gabi to go to her room, your eldest baby ignored her grandma.

"Muy chistosa tu mujer, enseñándole a mis nietos a irrespetarme ." (Your woman is so funny by teaching my grandkids to disrespect me.)

Miguel had to roll his eyes and stare at her boringly as he pulled out the vegetables and put them to thaw while you clenched your jaw by the sudden resented babbling that came from your mother in law.

"Where is Benjamin? I came here to see him. And I'm sure you'd love to have me here again."

"He'll be up in a minute. Would you like a a glass of water?"

Miguel offered but Conchata was already set in making you as uncomfortable as possible. And when Benjamin was brought in, rubbing his sleepy and baby face, looking for you, Conchata stood and took Benji from Miguel's arms. Holding him with such disingenuous affection it made Benji to reach for Miguel instantly.

You tensed, and so did Benjamin as Conchata admired him. If it wasn't for the skin tone matching Miguel’s, one would think that Benjamin wasn't his. Benjamin had your curls. And not Miguel's soft waves. Benjamin was the splitting image of you with a bit of Miguel's DNA painted in a few selected places. Like his eyes and height.

"I'm actually surprised you managed to pop out his children. Miguel is... big. Got it from his father."

"Didn't care much about that, ma'am."

"No se parece en nada a ti, Miguel. ¿Estás seguro que es tu hijo?" (He doesn't look like you. Are you sure he's your son?)

You didn't know what infuriated you more. The fact that she hinted that Benjamin wasn't his, a shallow and not so subtle hint at Miguel's past, or the pleased smirk her mouth turned into after spilling out the venom and seeing Miguel's discomfit grow.

Some people couldn't be helped. And Conchata truly couldn't help but love hurting her son. But you weren't having it. Not when Miguel's eyes turned away from her, not in hurt but in such anger that even you knew things wouldn't end up good for neither. And still, he regarded her with uninterested eyes.

His lack of engagement at her taunts, made her even more lashing. Like a little child that refused to have her whims met.

Even worse when Benjamin started to fuss and reach for him with a nervous cry. Even he felt odd and icky around her. You took Benjamin from her, cooing and soothing him, but he wanted Miguel. Who gladly took his precious baby, away from Connie. Inspecting him for any damage to finally kiss the top of his forehead, reassuringly.

You're safe.

"Si ya terminó de incomodarnos, creo que se puede ir, señora." (If you're done making us uncomfortable, you may go, ma'am.)

Her eyes widened at your spanish. It was clear that you had understood everything she had said, but were wise enough to not lose your temper, yet you fought back.

"Remind me to never visit you again, please."

"As if you ever do that. And no, it's not an invitation."

"Escúchame bien, chamaco ingrato-" (Listen to me you ungrateful brat)

"Ma'am."

You weren't one for yelling, but your voice was firm enough to have three pair of eyes set on you, Benjamin's fussing stopped. Conchata's lips turned into a scowl at your words.

"Thanks for your visit."

"You know, you could've settled for something better-"

"Así estoy bien, gracias. Now, if you excuse us, We've got dinner to make. The door is right there." (Im just fine. Thanks)

She left with a slam that had Benjamin cry out of the jumpscare.

Miguel hushed and rubbed his baby's back in little circles to keep him calm before giving his pacifier.

" You ok? "

Your hand squeezed Miguel's for a moment while he kissed your temple gratefully.

" Yeah. She's gone. That's why exactly I didn't invite her to the wedding or meeting you."

"It's alright. God... she's-"

"Annoying. I know. Sorry you had to hear all that."

"Nah. I'm glad you taught me cause, damn... Her face upon hearing me speaking it, was priceless. And just for you to know, I was about to explain how we almost made Benji on the car."

Miguel snorted and nodded, knowing you would. You had each other's back and that wasn't up for discussion.

" Te amo."

You mumbled in his ear before stealing a kiss from his lips.

" También te amo."

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #soccer family ⚽🕷️#gabi o'hara #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara angst #conchata o'hara #benjamin o'hara #mama o'hara #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #x reader #astv fanfic

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thatswhyilovetheghost · 7 months

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Easy, girl.

Whumptober Day 1 : 'Swooning'. (No, I'm not posting day 1 on the 13th)

Captain John Price x f!Medic Reader

Summary: The Captain isn't impressed by his medic's tendency to overwork herself.

A.N. : Only mild whumpage in this one, fainting w/ hurt/comfort <3

The interrogative call of your name nearly makes you jump out of your skin, head crashing into the surface of the desk you were rifling through folders under. You hiss a curse between your teeth.

Turning around, you're met with the displeased face of the Captain of your assigned squad, firm hands resting on his hips as he glares down at you, brows furrowed.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," he starts, "but didn't your shift end about four hours ago now?"

Eyes widening, you raise your wrist to check the time, only to be met with a glaring 01:00.

"I- sorry, Captain, I was just sorting out some paperwork which-"

"Which can be done tomorrow," he interrupts, sending you a reproachful look that raises your hackles.

"It's fine," you snap, rising to your feet, arms now full of folders. "I've got it all under control, Captain."

The rapid movement makes your head swim. You stumble slightly and blink away the blur.

"Mm, looks like it," he snarks, concern underlying his tone.

His sarcasm only serves to make you prickle further. You huff, steadying yourself on your feet before making your way to a filing cabinet.

Or, attempting to at least. The increased motion sends your vision to a white flash that quickly fades to black nothingness. The last thing you feel before you pass out is a set of strong hands grasping at you, pulling you close.

When you wake it's with a gasp, as though you'd been drowning but pulled to safety. There's someone holding you, tight and close. You squirm at the restriction.

"Shh, easy - easy, girl. I've got you. You're alright."

The voice that hushes you is deep and rich, a slight familiar gruffness to it. Forcing your eyes open you find yourself looking straight into the piercing blues of Captain Price.

Captain Price, your Captain, whose lap you're currently settled on.

Price, who is sitting on the floor, legs crossed and back flat to the wall, must have scooped you up before you hit the ground and curled you into him while you were out.

Fuck, how long had he been holding you like this?

He lifts one hand from stabilising you at your hips to your jaw. Holding your chin up to get a good look, Price scans your face, scrutinising every blink and wince you make.

"Sir-" you rasp drily, feeling your face warm both in embarassment at fainting in front of your superior and at the situation it had left you in.

"There she is," he cooes, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on your skin. "You feel alright?"

You nod, hyperaware of his proximity.

"Y-yes sir, thank you," you manage.

"Good girl," he nearly sighs in return, eyes flicking over your face once more as though for his own reassurance. "Think you're ready to listen to me about gettin' some sleep now?"

Price chuckles under his breath as you turn away in embarassment, rubbing a broad palm up and down your thigh in teasing comfort.

Without another word, Price lifts you up like you weigh no more than a feather and shifts you into a bridal position in his arms as he rises to his feet.

You squeak lightly in surprise, and if Price notices you hiding your face in his tac-vest he doesn't mention it.

Slowly so as not to make you dizzy, your Captain carries you over to an empty cubicle in the medbay.

"Shh, there we are," he soothes, bending at the waist to lower you into the bed. There's a comfortable silence as Price pulls the blanket over your form, ensuring all of your limbs are tucked into its warmth. "How's our lovely medic s'posed to take care of us if there's no one looking after her, eh?"

You feel your heart pounding at your ribs at his words, wide eyes looking up at your Captain.

"Thank you, sir," you speak softly, suddenly finding yourself imagining what his lips might feel like against yours.

"Always, love," he whispers, dropping to press a kiss to your cheek before walking away. Price pulls the curtains to your bay closed, turning to take one last look at you before retreating to his own quarters.

When you wake up that next morning you aren't sure if you dreamed the softness from your Captain, but the look he gives you later when he comes in to check on you reassures your mind.

Your Captain had his eyes on you now, and the man was not known for giving up. If he had to take you to bed himself every night from then on, then so be it. He was sure you'd let him tire you out.

#whumptober 2023 #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader

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cherishedhope · 1 year

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“Safe with me.”

Synopsis: How he reacts when his s/o gets injuried. Characters involved: fatui!Scaramouche, Xiao, & Childe. TW: Very mild descriptions of injuries. A bit of cussing. Probably not a trigger, but this could be OOC. A/N: Ah yes, the good ol’ ‘injured reader’ hcs/scenarios. I got lazy near the middle of Scaramouche’s scenario, so eh. Have fun with that. I wish I could’ve come up with a better title, but that’s all my brain juice managed to squeeze out. Also, I think I’m getting the hang of formatting! Haha. This might be out of character so bear with me. As always, GN!reader. NOT proofread.

Request status: open!

— You and I both know damn well he isn’t going to take this situation lightly. When I say he is upset, I mean he's pissed. Infuriated, even. How dare someone have the audacity to injure his significant other? Are they simply begging for death? — If you try to make light of the situation, he’ll shoot you a piercing glare to shut you up. He doesn’t find these circumstances to be amusing at all. Even if your injuries aren’t too grim, he’s still going to dispose of the treasure hoarders, and yes he’ll do it behind your back even if you oppose that idea. He isn’t a fatui harbinger for nothing. There isn’t anything you can do that will hinder him from annihilating them.

“Worthless as expected.”

You bit down gently on your lip as those harsh words sliced through your ears. Even though at this point you were used to Scaramouche’s degradation, it still stung a bit to hear those words easily exit his mouth. You weren’t given enough time to ponder over your boyfriend’s hurtful words because shortly after, the sharp stinging of alcohol swabs dabbed repeatedly on your open cuts. A hiss of pain was instantly drawn out of your lips. Hell, cleaning the wound hurt worse than the actual injury itself.

"It isn’t my fault that the treasure hoarder snuck up behind me,” You mumbled, rolling your eyes at him. Your hands clenched in your lap, being balled up into a fist when the swab tainted with rubbing alcohol hit a particularly deep cut on your shoulder. Scaramouche’s indigo-colored eyes flicked over to your clenched fists for a brief moment before he went back to cleaning up your wound. “mistakes happen.”

The room falls silent, the only noises being the grinding of your teeth and the occasional hiss of pain slipping past your lips despite your efforts to keep it down. While Scaramouche still managed to maintain his cold demeanor just as always, you failed to notice the slightest hint of worry in his gaze with each pained noise and every sign of discomfort you displayed. The truth was, he was utterly disgusted. Not at you nor your actions, but with the existence of that one treasure hoarder who held the audacity to lay his repulsive hand on you. The hand that held such a tight grip on the dagger that sliced cleanly through your flesh, ripping a large hole in your clothes as well as your skin. When the news had reached him that his significant other got wounded during a battle, Scaramouche was livid. The wound itself was not fatal, but still. However, it was fine now. He was here with you, tending to your wounds. You’re okay.

“Are you an idiot?” A bitter scoff was brought out of his mouth, his fiery orbs seemingly drilling holes into your soul with how intense his glare was. He tossed aside the cotton swab that was now covered in blood and reached into the first aid kit to pull out a bandage. The pads of his fingers brushed softly against your skin as he delicately wrapped a bandage onto your shoulder. His face softened as he spoke the next words, his voice still remaining cold, yet there was also warmth detected in his tone. “I wasn’t mocking you, I was referring to how pathetic the treasure hoarder looked as he begged on his knees for mercy.”

You blink once and then twice in confusion as you try to process his words. Oh, so that’s what he meant. A sheet of awkwardness fluttered down in the room. Both parties remained silent once again. Scaramouche glowered down at the first aid kit as he began to put away the clean roll of bandages and cotton swabs. The transparent box was snapped shut, the sharp noise being obnoxious in contrast to the deathly quiet room.

“You’re lucky those useless underlings found you when they did. Who knows what would’ve happened had they not spotted you. You’d be dead!” His voice was the first to break the silence. In fact, he had done that twice in a row now. You weren’t surprised in the slightest. You already knew he would start scolding you the second he was sure you were safe. It was just his way of showing how much he valued your safety. “Now, I need you to tell me just what the hell went through your mind when you decided to let your guard down in the middle of a fight.”

The lecture lasted two hours straight. About 90% of it was him constantly telling you to stop being in your own little la-la world and to pay more attention when in a fight. There was no mistaking the sprinkle of fear hidden behind his eyes as he scolded you mercilessly. Yet, despite how harshly he was reprimanding you, you couldn’t help but notice how tightly his arms were wrapped around your waist later that night. How he held you a little bit closer to him when you two retired for the night.

You weren’t allowed to go complete any commissions the next day. Mr. Fandango man held you hostage in the camp. And when you were finally permitted, — yes, permitted. He’s paranoid, okay? — to go do your daily comissions, he stationed some fatui underlings to accompany you with your work. If he wasn’t so busy, then he’d go with you himself considering he’s much more reliable than some worthless underlings. However, he made sure himself that the underlings were qualified enough to look out for you.

Better safe than sorry.

— Hm, I wonder what kind of flowers your culprit wants at their funeral. Maybe sunflowers? Ooh, how about daisies? Heck, Childe will pay for them himself out of spite. — You thought he was clingy before you got hurt? Well, multiply that by a hundred. He’ll be spoiling you rotten during your time being injured, despite the wound being just a couple of teensy weensy cuts. — It’s not just little cuts in the grand scheme of things, okay? Anything can get tainted by bacteria, which can then lead to an infection, which could also lead to death, and then- and then-! (we get it, childe. chill.)

“I brought you some flowers.”

Your head swivels in the direction of the sudden, yet familiar voice that had just come out of nowhere. You had been preoccupied with cleaning the minor cuts that were littered across your fingers. It wasn’t anything too bad. It was all due to some sharp ice that a cryo abyss mage had spawned above your form. Luckily, you had dodged it fairly quickly. The problem was that the large block of ice had completely shattered when it smashed onto the ground, the tiny shards of ice flying up into the air and cutting up your hands.

A head of messy ginger hair comes into your line of sight. It was your significant other, Childe. He was holding a bouquet of roses in his gloved hands as he slowly approached the table you were sitting at, pulling out one of the wooden chairs and sitting down on it across from you. “Are those for me?” You asked, pointing your forefinger at the flowers he held in his hand. It was almost impossible not to let your eyes wander over the gorgeous bright red petals. They looked as if they had been tended to with the utmost care before being picked fresh. You could only imagine how sweet the aroma must smell.

“Who else would it be for?” The tone of his voice was teasing as he passed the bouquet over to you. You gratefully accepted it, and after pressing your face into the soft petals to get a nice big whiff of the pleasant smell, you gently placed the roses in a glass jar that was filled with various kinds of flowers. Cecilias that had been imported from Monstadt, qingxins that were plucked from the highest mountains in Liyue, and hell, you even had sweet flowers in the jar.

And they had all come from Childe. That wasn’t even counting the scrumptious, expensive sweets he had bought for you as well. He had been spoiling you rotten ever since the scuffle you had with the abyss mage. On the contrary, you hadn’t gotten injured that badly. It was just a couple of cuts on your hands. Although, the 11th of the fatui harbingers didn’t just treat it as if it were just ‘some cuts.’ He had been treating you as if you were fragile porcelain. Something that couldn’t be easily replaced if broken so carelessly. His eyes trailed over to the small bandages that were fitted on your hands. The worried and slightly enraged look in his big blue eyes hadn’t faded away the entire day.

“Are you feeling better, darling?” Childe lowered his voice to a gentle whisper as he kindly took your hand in his own, taking extra care in trying to avoid holding it too tightly lest it stings for you. The fabric of his gloves felt soft against your hands as he held them gently. A coy smile fell across his lips. “I take it you liked the flowers?” You nodded your head leisurely as a response. While you felt slightly embarrassed due to how much he’d been spoiling you, you couldn’t help but feel loved. Despite his status as a fatui harbinger, which would scare many people off, you couldn’t help but love him dearly. He appreciated you and your presence greatly and treated you as if you were a higher deity. Like you were the jam to his peanut butter.

The grip he held on your hands tightened ever so slightly as he continued to gaze deeply into your eyes, a loving, yet determined look in his own. You were here, safe with him. He would protect you till the day either you or he perished. Damn it all if he ever failed to protect you again.

You are the love of his life, and he is yours. Nothing could ever change that fact.

“By the way, did I tell you about how I murdered every abyss mage in the vicinity and beyon-”

“Childe, what.”

— He is freaking out. — Why didn’t you call out his name? Didn’t he tell you countless amounts of times to call out for him if you ever found yourself in danger? He was supposed to protect you, damn it! — He blames himself for it. 100%. He should have been cautious and kept by your side. He should’ve been there, and he wasn’t. — Even after he tears through the treasure hoarders with his spear, he still feels furious the more and more he stares at your wounds. How. Dare. They? — While he’s also furious, he’s also terrified. He can’t lose you. He can’t. He just can’t.

Your vision was blurry and your mind felt foggy as your brain scrambled around to try and process what was happening. Everything had been going well a few minutes prior to this very moment. You were on your merry way to Wangshu Inn to visit your beloved, when suddenly you got ambushed with a horde of swords and bows. The roughness of the rope dug deeply into the skin of your wrists as you were pressed up against a tree, your body battered and bruised. It had all happened in mere seconds. You barely had enough time to process or defend yourself from all that was happening, let alone even think about calling out for your significant other. And when your brain did clear up enough to think about calling him, you felt hesitant to do so.

You watched in a daze as the treasure hoarders ruffled through your belongings in your bag. All of your items were strewn around the camp so carelessly. The treasure hoarders didn’t want to just settle for your pocketbook. The greed that filled up their hearts gave them an intense lust for riches. Not that you had any. You hated every single moment of this scenario. It felt as if you were some helpless damsel in distress whom relied on others to come and save them. It was humiliating.

But it was either get saved or more than likely suffer a gruesome death.

“Xia-!”

Before you can even finish speaking his name, all of the treasure hoarders are dead and lying lifeless on the ground, Xiao standing menacingly over their still bodies. Your face paled just looking at the sight. While you knew your boyfriend wasn’t a stranger to ending lives, he never unleashed his fury in front of you. However, you knew it would happen either way. Xiao wasn’t a merciful soul to those who harmed the people he actually gave a shit about. Even if he didn’t like killing humans, he’d do so without a thought if a measly mortal were to put your life at risk. It had taken Xiao a split second to stalk up to your restrained form to break you free of the restraints that held you in place. Before you could utter a single word to break the silence, you felt callous hands untying you from the oak tree. The scent of fresh blood floated up your nostrils, the strong metallic smell making your stomach feel queasy. At this point, Xiao had gotten rid of his mask and was focused on getting you safe and sound. His eyebrows scrunched together in sheer frustration as his eyes scoured over every inch of your body, the bruises and slashes never once leaving his eyes. While there was also fury, there was also a clear sense of worry shown through how shaky his fingers were as he finally undid the ropes, how uneven his breathing was as he caught you in his arms. (more like snatched you into his arms.) He was trying his hardest to remain calm, but he couldn’t.

“Xiao, I-”

“…Are you okay?”

Even his voice trembled as he desperately tried to keep up a stoic facade. You knew he was panicking. He knew he was panicking. How could anyone not panic upon seeing their significant other is bruised and bleeding? While the injuries certainly would not result in your death, all he could think about was what could have happened. He could be burying your body right now instead of holding you close to him. He clutched you as if you were his most prized possession, which you were. He knew he had to get you to a healer, but he had the hardest time letting you go. He needed to hear you say it. To say that you were all right. That you wouldn’t leave him.

Your arms wrapped around his torso as you hugged him gently, slowly rubbing your hand up and down his back soothingly as you tried to comfort him. “It’s all right, Xiao. I’m still here. I won’t leave you. I’m okay.”

Those words were all it took for him to crumble down. His hands tightened around your waist exponentially as he held you close, his head pressed into his shoulder as he calmed yourself with his presence.

It would all be okay in the end. Because when it all came down to it…

“You’re safe with me, (name). No one will ever hurt you again. I swear it.”

“That’s nice and all, but could I please go to a doctor-”

“Oh, right.”

“The curtains have closed and the seats have become bare. The show is over.”

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pinguwrites · 7 months

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Kinktober 2023 | Day Five — Thomas Shelby + overstimulation, bondage

Pairing -> sub!thomas shelby x dom!reader

Warnings -> smut (minors dni), overstimulation, bondage, riding, mild choking

KINKTOBER 2023 MLIST

Disclaimer: Peaky Blinders characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

Tommy whimpered — actually whimpered, the first time you ever heard such a noise leave his lips.

You were both in his bed, his hands tied up to each side of the headboard, you on his dick, bouncing and riding like your life depended on it. It took oh so long to get him to agree to this. He hadn’t liked the idea of being bound, even though he’d done it to you before, but eventually, he relented.

You were glad he trusted you enough for this. It’s not like you were going to slit his throat or anything, but the idea of him vulnerable in front of you made your heart flutter and warm up like a fireplace.

You bent over and gave him a kiss on the side of his lips.

He growled, tilting his head to the side, but you pulled away. “I — I want a proper kiss.”

“Do you now?”

Tommy threw his head back on the pillow, thrusting his hips up. “It’s only fair, eh?” He let out a strangled groan. “You’ve been teasing me, overstimulating me . . .”

You obliged and gave him a quick kiss, not enough to satisfy him, but enough to keep him at bay for the moment.

“Don’t be like that,” you said, letting out a moan once you felt his cock reach that deep spot inside of you. “You only came once before, are you telling me it’s too much?”

“Liar.” He shook his head. “You sucked me off — at — at the party, remember? Earlier today?”

You feigned confusion. “No.

“This’ll be the third time,” Tommy breathed out, tugging on his ropes.

“It’ll be the second,” you corrected, even though you were wrong. “The third time will be after this.”

Tommy’s eyes widened at the realization. “Again?” He let out another whine, his hips squirming away. “Ah, fuck.”

“Is that a problem?” you asked, a cheeky grin on your face.

He hissed. “N-no.” But it was clear all the pleasure was getting to him.

A few more bounces was all it took for both of you to come. You halted your movements, wanting to take a breather. You rested your hands on his chest, as Tommy begged for you to take off his restraints.

“No, Tommy. You agreed to it, now follow through.”

Tommy shook his head. “Sweetheart,” he warned, low and dangerous. “You’re driving me crazy. Take them off. I need to touch you.”

You knew he didn’t really want them off. If he wanted he could just escape, which you were sure he knew how to do. Or he could use the safe word you both installed early on in the relationship.

So you let him suffer and started moving again, your hands wrapping around his throat. Another whine escaped from his lips, along with a cry of your name.

Taglist:

@rainyforest777

@thatwitchybitch420

@madeinuk

@gentyleman

@henrywintersdearestgirl

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x you #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #pinguwrites #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober masterlist

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raz-writes-the-thing · 6 months

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Cocktails and Confessions (Doctor Who)

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader / requests are open and encouraged

Summary: You don't mean to confess your love, but in your defence, you are about three and a half whiskies deep.

CW: fluff, cuteness, the Doctor is a little shit, consumption of alcohol

Doctor Who Tag List: @nyxiethesimp @quickslvxrr @midnight--raine (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

“I just- fucking- love you, Doctor,” you slur, swallowing thickly between the words. “Fuckinnn’ love you… Doctor.”

The drink in your hand sloshes as you stumble in place. The Doctor rushes forward to steady you, pulling the drink out of your hand and depositing it onto the windowsill.

“Doctor,” you say thoughtfully. “Dok-tor. Dok-tah. Hickory dickery Doctor Doo Little,” you break off into giggles as the Doctor pulls you towards the TARDIS doors. All he needs is to get you inside and into bed. Seriously, he left you alone for two hours and came back to find you completely off your face. Oh well, as long as you were having fun. That was the main thing.

“There, there,” the Doctor cooed, displaying a surprising amount of strength to stop you from toppling into a topiary. You laughed, wrapping an arm around his back to steady yourself.

Once you were inside, the Doctor let you tumble into your bed and helped you roll onto your back. He tutted and went about untying your shoelaces before yanking your shoes off with enough force to pull you halfway down the bed. This, of course, sent you into another fit of laughter and the Doctor bit down on his lip to stop himself from laughing along with you.

It was barely another ten minutes before you’d passed out completely, snoring in such a way that the Doctor was almost certain that you probably had sleep apnoea.

It wasn’t until the morning, however, that you realised how badly you’d fucked up. Your head pounded, and your mouth felt like it had sawdust pieces stuck in it. You groaned loudly, throwing an arm over your eyes to shield yourself. Your room in the TARDIS did have a window, but the current source of irritating light was coming from the light fixture.

“TARDIS, please,” you groaned out, rolling over and becoming very startled when your forehead whacked right into something warm and hard. You cracked an eye open, not sure you wanted to know what that was.

“Good morning, love,” the Doctor said loudly. Far, far too loudly. The warm hard thing you’d given yourself a mild concussion over was, in fact, the Doctor’s shoulder.

“Why are you in my bed,” you replied, deadpan. Your eye was struggling to keep itself open and so you buried your face in the squishy bit of his arm to hide yourself from the light beating down on you from above. God, even his arm was bony. “Did you stay here all night?”

He was still dressed in his tux, though he’d kicked his shoes off at some point, leaving him in his socks. One of which had a hole right over the big toe.

“Oh, you know,” the Doctor replies as though those three words would answer any and all questions. “Popped out once or twice, but for the most part, yes.”

You grumble, pressing your face a little harder into his arm. The Doctor tuts and encourages you to sit up. You do as requested, though the entire process has you lamenting your warm blankets and squishy arm pillow.

Once you’re upright and situated, the Doctor hands you a glass of water, a couple of panadol and a little white button that happens to be the same colour as the panadol tablets.

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that,” the Doctor laughs, grabbing the button and twisting it in his fingers. “Probably don’t take that. Thought it was another aspirin, but maybe not.”

You crack into a smile, downing the actual tablets and the glass of water in one go. The water eases your dry throat.

“You were off it last night, eh,” the Doctor grinned, knocking his shoulder into yours. “Said some things.”

You turn your head to look at him front on. You only have flashes of last night. Some dancing here, a few drinks there. You’re sure you chatted up a storm, but the look on the Doctor’s face tells you that you might have said some things you weren’t necessarily meaning too.

“Oh?” You reply, temples throbbing with your hangover.

“Oh,” the Doctor echoes teasingly. “Oh indeed. You said some things I really rather think you wished you didn’t- because now, I get to hold it over you as long as I like. You can’t remember, can you?”

He was right, as usual.

“Oh God,” you mutter under your breath. “What did I say?”

Try as you might, you’re finding it difficult to remember much other than a windowsill and a pretty bush. Damnit, that does not help you.

“You,” the Doctor all but giggles, “my very hungover, very brilliant friend- told me you loved me.”

You fucking what? Oh, dear God. This was… decidedly not good. The Doctor did not seem to agree with you on that, however, if the look of sheer unadulterated joy made you think maybe you didn’t need to be too stressed about it all.

“Did I just?” You asked, dropping your head onto him softly. You sigh with relief as the pounding in your head starts to dissipate. Not by much, mind you, but just by a little.

“You did.”

You chew on your bottom lip thoughtfully, wondering just what’s going on in that very vast, very full brain of his.

“And… you?” You trail off quietly, fidgeting with the glass.

“Oh, feel the same, of course. I love you. I’ve always loved you, I think. Not really something I had to question, was it?” The Doctor takes the glass and puts it on the side table. He reaches back over to grasp your hand in his. “Why else do you think I’ve kept you around all this time?”

You arch a brow, responding with a statement about how you can handle yourself. Of course, the Doctor grins and agrees that yes, that too is one of the reasons why he’s kept you along all this time.

“If my head didn’t feel like it was about to explode with the force of a thousand suns, I would be shouting and screeching with joy right now,” you say with a vague whimper, cradling your head in your hands. The Doctor tuts comfortingly, manoeuvring to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Oh, I know. Come now,” he says softly, helping you back to lie down again. “Get some rest. When you wake up there’s something I want you to see.”

You’re not entirely sure what that means, but you don’t complain when your head hits the pillows. You have years and years to explore this new revelation, and you can’t wait for those years and years to start.

But for now?

Right now it was time for a nap.

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ecoamerica · 23 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 4 months

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It's Who We Have | Part Three

Summary: Following the devastating events at Westhaven, something beyond their control is aching to pull them together | Word Count: 3.7k~ | Warnings below the cut!

General Taglist | Billy Washington Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Warnings: funeral, suggestions of neglect, mentions of sexual intercourse, mild angst, mild violence

A/N: my babies are back :) hope you like this chapter <3 who has a feeling there's something Billy doesn't know? 🤭

Funerals always felt strange. But he supposed that wasn’t a bad thing.

He looked around, shifting his weight from foot to foot and stood next to his parents. All of Lana’s coworkers were here, some dressed in their military uniform, some in black suits like he was. They’d all formed their own groups, chatting idly amongst themselves to fill the silence that was entrenched with the knowledge of what they were here for.

To send off their beloved coworker, who had so long been at their sides, that he somewhat felt like family.

Nut was a dear friend of Lana’s.

He remembered at first, how they absolutely could not stand each other, each too similar for their own good. Stubborn, proud and strong-willed both in and out of their dangerous occupation.

But they were funny together.

Lana had insisted that she was fine, and that she had to keep working, otherwise she’d ‘go mental’. But Billy knew her. She was just delaying the inevitable, and that some day, she’d crack, and crack hard.

You couldn’t bottle up a feeling like that.

Not when a further 12 people died in the attack, with many more than the news originally anticipated injured as well.

He’d stopped checking the BBC Homepage. It was becoming just an act to distract him from what was really going on around him, mindlessly scrolling through all the flat-toned ways in which they described the horror of the situation.

Nothing could distract him from the weighted guilt that was left behind by her presence.

Lana turned up to St Mary’s Church one grey morning looking as if she hadn’t slept a wink, and had simply pulled a blazer haphazardly over what she usually wore to work. Her face was gaunt, like she’d not wanted to come but was trying to hide it on her expression. Billy liked to think he could read his sister, but over time he felt as if the person he grew up with was fading away.

He gave her a hug in greeting, one hand on her back to let her know he felt the enormity of her loss.

“You look smart, Billy”.

He didn’t reply to that, he simply bowed his head and shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling a wash of insecurity flood through him at the way she’d said it.

Like she still thought he was a fuck-up.

“Bit grand, all this, eh?”, his mum raised her eyebrows, obviously having seen all the military uniformed men scattered about, with lines of medals on their breasts. Billy grimaced, and made eye contact with Lana as if to say ‘that was a fucking weird thing to say at a funeral’. But his mum must have realised it and followed up with, “Nut would love it, though”, which did nothing to take the sting out of the previous insensitivity.

Billy watched longingly as she disappeared, feeling even more alone than when he started.

He looked into the crowd, expecting her figure to weave through the people milling about on the pavement. Her bright, warm face and eyes all mischievous as they met him. And he didn’t know why a sudden memory came to him right at that moment. St Mary’s Church wasn’t unknown to either of them. They’d pissed off the priest too much by age 14, having broken in one too many times and knocked over a silver candlestick.

Since the church was no longer suitable for their mischievous evening excursions, they’d moved onto the local museum, noting that the CCTV around the fire exit didn’t work. Once inside, he didn’t question why she was wearing her school skirt and a mucky top, skipping about on the marble floor like they were much younger than they were.

If he’d asked now, he wouldn’t have liked the answer.

If he’d asked then, she wouldn’t have told him that her mum had been lying unconscious on the sofa for the better part of eleven hours. She wouldn’t have told him that the kitchen was so messy and piled high with dirty dishes that Environmental Health had been called round by the neighbour. She wouldn’t have told him that she wore her school skirt because it was the only thing in the house of hers that was relatively clean.

“Quiet Wash!”

“Don’t call me that. I get enough of that at school.”

“Fuck me, sor-ry,” she grinned, nudging his shoulder with hers, “this place freaks me out.”

“Fuckin’ boring, more like. Remind me why we’re here again?”

“For our weekly therapy sessions of course!” she beamed, covering her mouth when the echo carried further than she intended, “got any sins you need to confess?”

Billy huffed, loosening the school tie from around his neck, swinging his long, gangly arms as they wandered through the dark hallway. He only answered when they passed the ‘Victorian Era’ section.

“Didn’t take you for the religious type.”

“I’m not, but sins is a good word.”

He smiled at that, “Ummmm, I suppose I cheated off someone for my Maths test earlier.”

She turned to him abruptly, a look of delight and horror on her face, “You did not! Who off?”

“That weirdo Andy.”

“Aw, he’s not a weirdo. Just…misunderstood.”

“Like how you’re misunderstood?”

As soon as the words came out his mouth, Billy regretted them. Mostly by her reaction. A forced laugh, graced with a settling of her eyebrows into a grimace at the end.

And by how she tried to change the subject.

“You still going on holiday on Friday?” she asked.

“Yeah, going to see the grandparents. Back on Sunday though.”

“That’ll be nice, to see them I mean,” she added with a shy smile.

He hated how desperately shy and cowardly he was not to say what was on his mind then. That he would miss her, in the barely two days he’d be away, he knew he would.

But he never told her.

She never seemed to hold it against him at the time. Or even now from what he could detect.

A subconscious smile wormed its way to his face, remembering how the twitching of the security guard’s torch whipped at their backs as they desperately ran for the fire exit.

They’d ran and laughed completely out of breath. Their heads high on adrenaline and excitement, swearing and shouting whenever they’d snagged even the tiniest of inconveniences. He’d even lifted her over the gates, turning bright red at catching sight of her knickers through her school tights, not that she’d noticed, and jogged with her to the nearest alleyway, throats raw and lungs burning as they gasped for breath, smiling widely.

He missed being young with her.

And now he thought that even if people weren’t slipping away, the personalities seemed to.

More people dropped by for the wake at the Forester, not Billy’s local, but known to him.

He remembered being here twice before now. Once with his mum and dad for a Sunday carvery, when his dad had said the mash was ‘lumpy’ and ‘he could load a gun with the roast potatoes they were that hard’. They never went back for food.

The second time, he’d come with her. They’d barely turned 18 and were enjoying flouting the use of their provisional licences by ordering some of their first legal drinks at the bar. He’d ordered a pale ale, and she’d had a bottle of fruity cider. Billy at least remembered she didn’t like the bitter taste of normal beer, and found what she lovingly dubbed ‘fruit shoot for adults’ more acceptable.

Even in the awkward little booth all the Washington’s were squeezed into, choked by silence, it made him smile remembering the face she’d pulled when she got a taste of his pint.

“You working?”

He’d barely had a moment to tear himself from his memories to look up and see his sister’s face as she’d asked the fated question, a brief flicker of annoyance passing his face at her smug expression, knowing the answer before he had a chance to reply.

It hadn’t taken her long to slip back into her bitchy older sister mentality then.

“Is he bollocks”, the same warning glance turned to his dad, who was by now, several glasses of whiskey deep.

Mum’s driving again, then.

He searched his mind quickly for his go-to answer. He had several choices.

I’ve applied to some this week, just waiting to hear back.

Was at the job centre the other day.

Stopped by the garage, handed in my CV.

But he settled for, “It’s just tough at the minute”, with his lips flat, looking at her from under the blonde wisps of hair on his brow.

Lana raised her eyebrows, not smirking specifically, but clearly amused at his dull response, “Oh, right?”

I’m not fucking doing this. Not sitting here to be labelled as the family fuck-up. I already know that.

He thought that with his Mum sitting next to him and Lana and his dad opposite, he was more his Mum, and Lana more his dad. Not only in their colouring, in their temperaments and attitudes as well. As hot-headed and stubborn as they both were, his dad would always always stick up for her, whether it was the right thing to do or not.

A sort of alliance, so to speak.

“Drinks, anyone? Mum?”.

“Don’t be such a mardy git”

“No, Dad, just leave it, all right?”

Now that came out harsher than anticipated, more forceful. And Billy saw the look of acceptance on his dad’s face, as if Billy had given him exactly the reaction he wanted to justify his early opinion of his only son.

So Billy did the only thing he thought would help.

He got up and left. Cheap round at least, if it’s only him drinking.

She’d only just locked her car when she saw Mr and Mrs Washington pouring out of the Forester. Billy’s mum was much more grey than blonde now, with grey hairs peppered between the otherwise golden strands. His dad, though he still had a stern face, was much more rounded, rosy-cheeked from alcohol, and hair thinning atop his head.

But Billy’s mum lit up when she clapped eyes on an older version of the girl she once knew.

“Hiya, duck, you alright?” she beamed, squeezing with the force only a mother could give when she pulled her into a hug.

She wondered if she hugged Lana like this.

It felt nice, she was ashamed to admit, to have motherly love. Just not from her own.

“You alright, Mrs Washington?”

“Oh darling, it’s Val, come on now”, she smiled, the wrinkles around her eyes sinking in as she pulled away, “you’re a right little madam now, aren’t you? How was your degree? History, wasn’t it?”

She smiled, trying to make it not seem sad, “Yes, it was good, thank you”.

“You’re back for good now, aren’t ya?”, the gruff voice of Billy’s dad joined Val’s side, his expression impartial and his throat sounding scratchier than she remembered. Perhaps he was back into smoking.

“Yeah, I’ve uh…got a place not far”.

“You'll have to come over for tea, duck. Been far too long since we've seen you”, Val smiled widely, “anyway we've got to get off, Lana's inside if you fancy saying hello”.

The thought of having dinner with them again, the people who she'd very often seen as her own pseudo-parents, and often saw them more than she had her own mother, set off a warmth that fizzled in her chest.

She couldn't deny how nice it would be, to catch up with them all again.

Sometimes being at their house was like watching her own TV show, The Washingtons, watching them bicker across the table, sometimes in harmless quips and sometimes evolving into full on arguments.

Her and Billy would always sit next to each other, raising their eyebrows in a manner that expressed their discomfort. Always followed with a stifled giggle.

And there it was again. The lingering thought that, those days were gone now.

The pub had an immediate bitter smell to it when she first walked in, the stifling heat of bodies hitting her immediately, and the slight stench of sweat.

She thought, there was no place for judgement of people sweating, having to wear black to a funeral during a heatwave.

She spotted the group of guys at the bar first, all with their black blazers off, and the top buttons of their shirts undone now that their inhibitions had faded the more alcohol they drank. They laughed loudly with each other, but she didn't see Lana until she stepped out, she was so short compared to them.

“Hi Lana”, she smiled when she was close enough.

Those familiar blue eyes looked back, wide-eyed and joyful, the lines around them crinkling much like Val’s.

“Hiya! God, what you doing down this way?” she asked, giving a quick hug in greeting like she was seeing an old friend.

“I've moved back down for work and…to be with people I know again,” she replied, her eyes solemn, “I'm sorry about Nut, really…and I hope you're alright.”

She saw her face drop a bit like she might cry again and let the emotions take the reins, before the eldest Washington sighed, “Thanks. I'm alright. It's…just a shock.”

She nodded, unable to find the words to follow up. But luckily, in her alcohol-addled state, Lana changed the subject quickly and raised her eyebrows, in the way she always did when she was being slightly judgy.

“No mates up north then?”

“None worth keeping”, she smiled, which Lana mirrored.

“You having a drink?”

She thought, fuck it, might as well have one and still drive home, “Yeah go on then”.

They waited at the bar while the man behind it poured pints, pulling on the heavy lever every few seconds.

“I'd’ve thought Billy would have mentioned you.”

She couldn't help it. The statement took her so off guard her face must have blanched, though she tried to smile and make up some quick excuse, Lana simply smiled, her cheeks red. Clearly she'd had quite a bit already.

“Got ya”, Lana grinned, “he tells me fuck all but I know when something's happened. I'm not stupid.”

Shit.

“Just please tell me you haven't fucked. Otherwise I'll vomit right here.”

Her lips parted without her realising, heat rushing to her face at the bluntness of it. Bloody hell, alcohol made Lana an entirely different person.

“I-what? - no!”

“Oh, thank god for that,” she sighed dramatically, “it'll be good to have you back anyway, he's been a right miserable sod since you've been gone.”

Now that caught her attention.

“What do you mean?”

“He's always been a mardy bugger but he's turned the fucking dial up to 100, especially since Becky walked out on him.”

That was news to her.

She felt herself deflate a little. And didn't know why.

She lifted her eyes at the faint smell of second-hand cigarette smoke.

“Billy!” Lana beamed, “another drink? Treating your big sister?”

A chill settled in her skin at the mention of his name, and the fact that she'd known he was there before Lana had even said it. But a dull warmth crept back in, when she locked eyes on the other Washington, seeing his surprised expression at her presence.

They almost, almost, smiled at each other.

He cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it off his forehead, “Yeah, alright, do you…want one?” he asked, looking tentatively at her, eyebrows arched with nerves, leaving space between them at the bar like she might bite him.

“Just one, thanks. Driving”, she replied with a thin-lipped smile.

Billy nodded awkwardly and didn't even have to ask what she wanted as he tapped his card against the machine.

The bottle wasn't even in her hand two seconds before Lana beamed, cheeks tinged with drunkenness, “Off for a fag! Be right back”.

She shook her head as Lana waddled to the fire exit with another guy in a suit. As drunk as she seemed, she understood full well that she was leaving her little brother and her by themselves on purpose.

Billy seemed to understand this too, as he watched his sibling disappear with a heavy sigh.

The two sat on a tiny circular table, lined sticky with old beer that had barely been wiped off. And at first, neither of them knew what to say. Billy had never replied to her text message, so she wasn't sure if he was just doing this out of sheer politeness, or if he actually wanted to give it a go.

“You been alright?”

The sound of Billy's voice was so unexpected that she nearly stared at him mouth agape.

“Oh, yeah, um…got the keys to my flat the other day”.

Billy leaned back in his chair, undoing the top few buttons of his black shirt and tugging the tie down with it, “Nice, then?”

A smile broke free, “It'll do.”

Shockingly, he smiled at that as well.

“I'm sorry about Becky”, she started, trying to think of a follow-up when Billy threw a daunted look at her, “Lana mentioned it…sorry-”

“Nah, it's fine. She just can't keep her gob shut, can she.”

She smiled again as she sipped her drink, Billy did the same. Something warm drifted through the air between them.

“Saw your parents as I was coming in.”

“Oh, yeah?” Billy raised his eyebrows expectantly, “bet Mum's already tried to feed you her foul cottage pie again”.

“It wasn't that bad.”

“Oh come on, who the fuck puts marmite in a cottage pie?”

It felt nice to laugh with Billy.

Felt natural.

And when their eyes lingered after drifting into silence, she felt that if she looked any longer, the waterworks would really begin.

There was a flush on Billy's cheeks, like there had been on Lana’s. Whether it was sunburn or alcohol, it was difficult to tell.

But from the way Billy found it easy to smile, she would guess the latter.

She watched the way his lips parted and closed a few times, as if he wanted to say something. Years and years of feelings left unsaid, waiting on his tongue.

A distant voice seemed to shake them both. A familiar yet unsettling one.

Billy watched his friend go all rigid, pale and unsettled as she seemed to spot someone at the bar behind him.

He'd seen this look on her face only a handful of times.

With a half empty bottle of cider, she threw her bag over shoulder and quickly got up, “I have to go.”

He wasn't sure what quite got over him. The inhibitions had faded somewhat.

“What's wrong?”

She shook her head swiftly, “nothing, I just-”

When Billy looked behind him, he recognised the gait, the self-assured tone of his voice. He looked older than them, much older, from years of heavy drinking and smoking.

The boy she knew from school. The one she'd cried over.

Billy remembered that afternoon, hugging her to his chest at Cranstead Fields, after he'd shattered her confidence and broken her heart.

She grabbed his sleeve, “Billy, stop it, please-”

“And what?” His head snapped back, eyes wide and eyebrows arched in anger. The flush on his face made him look less endearing now, and more tight with rage.

“Just leave it,” she practically begged, her eyes flitting from her tall friend to the man, who mercifully had not noticed them.

Her hand slipped from his sleeve, feeling as if more than anything else, she was annoying Billy over feeling nostalgic about their friendship. And embarrassment nipped at her skin as she tugged the bag over her shoulder, her eyes sinking from his.

“Come on, I've got the car. I can take you home.”

“No.”

“But Billy-”

“Nah, got to stay here with Lana.”

She bit her lip, feeling as if he wasn't being entirely truthful, but it was good enough of an excuse that she didn't have a reply.

“Alright…well, look after yourself, okay?”

She'd barely taken the step before his cigarette-scratchy voice boomed across the bar, “there she is! Billy's only real mate, back from the dead!”

Billy watched her expression arch in something akin to pain, hearing his voice and what he'd said. And it was this moment that Billy realised he hadn't even remembered the bastard's name, only what he'd done to her.

She couldn't even really bear to look up and see his face again, to have to look into his eyes, the twist in her heart was much too painful.

“The North not want you either? Come back for some mor-”

It turned out she didn't need to. The entire pub seemed to erupt with excitement of both the bad and good kind as Billy's body twisted drunkenly and his fist barrelled through the man's face, grazing his jaw clumsily.

The ‘mates’ around him simply caught him as he stumbled back, but were too drunk themselves to find the situation anything but a bit funny.

“What the fuck did you say?!”

“Billy, fuck, Billy stop! He's not worth it!”

Billy barely moved even with her hands on his chest, pushing him back, watching his flushed face harden with frustration, stern blue eyes still trained on the man who was trying to find his footing.

“Get out my way.”

Her stomach flipped as his fingers easily wrapped around her wrist to gently push her away. At least having the mindset that he should be tender with her.

“Fuck’s sake, Billy, stop.”

He seemed near-fixated on the situation around the man he'd just assaulted, heedless of the repercussions.

But the tone of her voice made his blue eyes flit down to her.

He'd not heard that shift in a long time.

They seemed to stare at each other for a long moment. Not even realising that the man's mates had dragged him into the nearest taxi they could flag down, and that the bar idea had gone all quiet.

Billy shook his head as if shaking himself from a memory, “I need a fag.”

“Billy-”

She reached for him, but he disappeared out the fire door, a pack of cigarettes gripped so tight the package was yielding to his touch.

He'd slipped from her grasp. Once again.

And even though it wasn't the first time, she felt the grief of it all like it was.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian@randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya@urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies @virtualsweetsqueen

#billy washington fanfic #billy washington x oc #billy washington x y/n #billy washington x reader #billy washington #billy washington smut #billy washington x you #billy washington trigger point #billy washington fanfiction #trigger point #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #it's who we have #billy washington angst #billy washington fic #trigger point fanfic #trigger point series

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elvisalltheway101 · 11 days

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in the living years; 70s e x reader ☁️

summary: you’re a spice lover, and Elvis decides to try it out.

author’s note: I love spicy, wrote this with my phone on 5% but eh. This is for all my spicy and Elvis lovers! Just a small little blurb🤗

••••••••••

“Goddamn, I’m seeing white right now!” He gasps out the second his tongue darts out to taste the spicy, but mild chip. You roll your eyes playfully and laugh, “what the hell, you didn’t even taste it yet!”

“baby, I don’t need to, I’m seeing the lord in all his glory. Fucking hell, I think I’m seeing Mama Mary too.” He bursts out with a subtle giggle, love being dramatic and annoying. Dramatic wins though.

“With all this talk and stuff coming outta your mouth, I bet it’s not.” You dot and smile, then humming softly in seriousness. “But Elvis, really try it!” You urge on with a hopeful smile.

Rolling his eyes playfully but taking a chomp on the hot potato, it’s almost on cue when he swallows and reaches for the bag. “Damn it’s good, but spicy as fuck. Goddamn it’s good.” He shrugs and glares down the red dusted and crushed peppers in the snack bag, reaching in like a boy for a cookie. “Told ya,” you smile and tut out your chin. But he only continues chomping and eating freely, “tell jer’ get me more of these.”

You snicker and shake my your head, “okay you just started eating them-“ you start but he puts the bag aside and rests his red fingertips on his lap. “But now I’m finished mama.” He shrugs as if he didn’t just kill a whole bag of chips in front of you. His lips and digits covered by the hot chip dust.

You then scoff and pout playfully, crossing your arms over your chest. “Hey I didn’t even take a chip!” You huff out, and he smiles and shakes his head lightly. “That’s why I told ya to tell jerry get some more.” He giggles and rolls his eyes playfully.

In the living years.

•••••••••

tag list: @jhoneybees @pomtherine @your-nanas-love

#Spotify #elvis presley #elvis imagine #big daddy elvis #elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis fluff #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fluff #elvis presley x reader fluff #enjoy #elvisaaronpresley

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gogh-with-the-flow · 1 year

Text

Blood in the Wine-3

Chapter Three: Nightcap

A/N: It's finally here! Thank yall, for being patient, I appreciate all the support of the last two chapters. Shoutout to @asterionex for being a baller. As always, ask box is open xoxo

Reader x Vampire!141

Word count: 2.9k (a little shorter, sorry)

Warnings: blood, biting, suggestive elements, vampirism, mild dubcon but nothing explicit. Soap being a jackass.

Songs for this chapter: West Coast Smoker by Fall Out Boy, actually pretty much the whole Folie a Deux album. Feel free to send song recs or let me know if yall'd want a playlist.

MASTERLIST, CH1, CH2, CH4, CH5, CH6, CH7

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You flinched as Soap strutted towards you, closing your eyes and mentally preparing for the sensation of his teeth sinking into you. But then… his footsteps kept going. He walked right past you and you opened your eyes to see him sitting down at the end of your bed.

"C'mere," he said, patting the spot next to him. "Let me take a look at your bites, see how you're healing up." You hesitated, still wary of a trap. "Listen, bonnie, I'm no' gonna bite you 'til I have your permission. Now come here and let me see." He seemed genuine enough. But then again, so had Kyle. You were skeptical, but you figured you didn't have much else to lose. So you walked over and sat next to him rigidly. He held a hand out. "Give me your arm." You reached across, slowly, cautiously to present your arm to him.

He took it ever so gently into his hands, fingers barely grazing over the marks that had faded even more since you'd woken up. He studied it with raised eyebrows.

"Wow, you're healing faster than most. Fucking miracle, that is." He lifted the arm up to his mouth and you jerked away, but he caught your wrist in a vice-like grip. "I already said I'm not gonna bite. Just gonna work some magic," he said with a wink and leaned down to close the gap. You watched as he lapped at your healing wound, slow and sensual, and pulled away with a kiss. "There, that's better."

You couldn't believe your eyes. The bite had healed completely. Maybe he really was magic. He leaned closer while you looked at your arm, baffled. He swept your hair away from your neck and looked at you, silently waiting for approval. You looked into his eyes- those beautiful ocean eyes- and nodded almost imperceptibly.

He grinned as he licked and kissed your neck, painting healing wet strokes across your skin. You were breathing heavily now. You couldn't deny the way his mouth felt against your skin.

"Heartrate's pickin' up," he whispered against your skin. He chuckled under his breath, the sound of it rippling down your spine. "Turn around, let me see your shoulder." His hands made their way to your waist to guide you to face him fully, and you molded to his movements like putty. He pulled the sleeve of your shirt up to see the mark Ghost had left on you, a shocked expression replacing the one of relaxation that had been there a moment before.

"Jesus Christ, Ghost really did a number on ya, eh? Look at that!" He was laughing. His hands brushed over the bruise in an almost fascinated way. You were rudely awakened to the fact that you were in the arms of a man who had tried to kill you only a few days before. You shot off the bed and out of his grasp, hands moving to cover yourself. You felt naked under his eyes even though you were fully clothed.

"Ah come on, lass, I was only joking. Sit back down." You didn't budge. "You wanna keep that big purple spot on your shoulder or not?" You hesitated. "Please, just sit back down. I don't want to have to make you, but I will if I have to," he threatened with a regretful look in his eye. The last thing you needed was to be lost in the fog of compulsion. You couldn't stand to lose control like that again. So, step by wobbly step, you sat down with Soap once more, presenting your discolored shoulder to him.

"There's my girl," he said grinning, once again wrapping his arms around your middle to pull you close to him.

"I'm not your girl," you protested. He scoffed.

"Then what, exactly, do you think you agreed to tonight? Hmm?" He stared deep into your eyes, and you swear you could feel them piercing into your soul. "You think we're just 'roommates' or something?" He kissed your cheek. "Friends who get to chow down on you from time to time?" He kissed your neck. "No, dearie." He kissed your collarbone. "You're ours." He lapped at your sore shoulder, all open-mouthed kisses and lithe tongue smoothing over your soft, abused flesh.

You choked back a moan at the feeling. It was so wrong to be enjoying this- the feeling of your captor's mouth on your body. But it was oh so soothing. You could already feel the soreness dissipating. He pulled back, admiring his handiwork with a grin of satisfaction. "It's not perfect, but then again, Ghost did getcha pretty good. It'll take time to heal properly." He surveyed the other bites. "The rest of you is perfect, though, I must say," he said with a wink, letting his eyes wander...

"Where was he tonight, anyway?" You asked. You still had yet to meet, or even catch a glimpse of the man who had basically mauled you.

"You didn't see him?" Soap responded. Your blood ran cold.

"What do you mean…?"

"He was there tonight, standin' in the corner like a bleedin' creep," he laughed at his own joke. You didn't laugh. "He's a spooky lad, ain't he?" He noticed how tense you were and wrapped a massive arm around you. "Ah, don't worry too much about it, you'll meet him eventually."

"That's what I'm afraid of…" you muttered. He paused, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

"Tell you what," he started. "You tell me whatever you want fer your room, and tomorrow I'll go out and get it. I'll go back to your flat and get whatever you need. I'll even get paint fer the walls if you like." His hand wandered, gently stroking your arm and coaxing you closer into him. "Just let me have a wee taste of that pretty little neck and we'll call it a night, aye?" He was so close now, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, hot breath sending goosebumps across your body in waves. Wait.

"You went in my apartment?" You asked. He tensed up next to you but didn't move.

"Maybe."

"You went through my underwear drawer," you mentioned lightly. You let out a breath that was almost a laugh. You turned to look at his face, so close you were sharing oxygen. The ghost of a smile crept up on you when you saw his guilty expression. Like a deer in headlights. His eyes were wide, a sheepish smile making its way across his lips.

You laughed. For the first time in days you laughed. Soap looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Then he laughed with you. And for the first time since this whole thing started, you felt at ease.

"You pervert!" You joked.

"Oi, I was just trying ta get you something to wear! Figured you didn't want to be wearing the same clothes forever." His arm tightened around you and he shook you gently. You slapped a hand against his chest and he caught it with his own.

The laughter between you two tampered out and you sat comfortably in his arms, his hand holding yours against his muscular chest. You stared up into his eyes and once again you felt like you could drown in them. A part of you wanted to. He looked at you like you were art in a museum. It was different from the way he looked at you the other night. The hunger was still there, yes, but there was an admiration in them now that wasn't there before.

"Christ, you are a beauty, aren't you," he murmured. He brought up his hand to stroke against your cheek. Your hand remained pressed to his chest. "Like a bloody angel sent from heaven just for us…" His lips were so close to yours now. "Please…" His nose nudged yours. You were taken back to that night. It seemed so familiar and yet so different. There was no malice. Soap was tender with you. You found yourself nodding your head on your own this time.

The arm he'd had wrapped around you pulled onto his lap, your calves on either side of his enormous thighs. His mouth was now pressing feathery kisses along your neck. You sighed at the feeling and relaxed into his hold. There was something about his mouth that just made your head spin. His mouth reached your collarbone and he stopped. What was he waiting for?

"Gonna bite you now, alright?" He asked. You answered by sliding your fingers into the strip of hair that lined the center of his head. You felt him shudder beneath you, and then his teeth sunk into the hollow point right behind your clavicle. Your eyes rolled back on instinct.

God, it felt so different when you had a clear mind. Your body felt hot, tingling rushing down to your toes, your fingers twitching in his hair and tightening into a fist. He grunted at the feeling. His breathing picked up as the taste of you overwhelmed his senses. You were at his will and mercy in this moment, but if his words tonight were true- and you had no reason so far to believe otherwise- then you knew you could trust him. After all, Soap wasn't the one who had lied to you.

The hand that held your face so gingerly moved downward, fingers pressing into your pulse point. You gathered that he was monitoring your heart rate, making sure he didn't take too much from you.

Just as you were beginning to feel that telltale dizziness, he pulled himself off of you with a wet smack of his lips, closely followed by that magnificent tongue of his. He pulled back to catch his breath, muttering astonished curses under his breath. You could feel his eyes on you.

"You alright hen?" He asked. You didn't respond right away, head a little fuzzy from the feeling he'd given you. "Hey," he shook you. "Are you alright?" He sounded a bit more worried this time. Your eyes fluttered open to meet his staring up at you. You both stared at one another for a moment, both heavy-lidded and comfortable. He brought his forehead to rest on yours.

"Don't know what the hell you're made of, but you sure are somethin' else," he remarked. You were floating on cloud nine. You felt your world shift as his strong arms lowered you onto your back on the bed. You looked up at him with tired eyes. You weren't about to pass out, not like last time, but you were feeling significantly more lethargic.

Soap laid on his side next to you. He brushed your hair away from your face and threaded his fingers in your hair, just as you had done moments before. His fingers expertly massaged your scalp, lulling you even further towards sleep.

"Now," he started, "why don't you tell me what you need?" Your eyes widened at that. "Oh, no no! Not like that!" He corrected himself quickly. "I meant what we talked about earlier. For your room.

"This is your home now, for better or worse, so it should feel like it. At least a little bit. So tell me whatever you want, we'll get it for you. Television, new sofa, a damned diamond necklace- name it, it's yours."

You pondered his question for a moment. You weren't sure what they could do for you at this point. In this moment you felt safe lying in Soaps protective arms, but you knew as soon as he left you, that creeping feeling would come back again. This wasn't your home. You didn't know how it ever could be.

Soap could sense you retreating into yourself. He jostled your head ever so slightly.

"Hey, you still with me?" he checked.

"Yeah, yeah just… thinking…" you trailed off again. You thought back through the day. What did you need…? Then you thought of something. "A shower head," you offered. "Baths are nice and all, but I'd like to be able to take a shower, too. Just to have the option to." He nodded.

"Done. Anything else?"

"The rest of my clothes would be nice, too. And yeah, maybe a T.V.," you responded, "something with Netflix or something." He made a mental note of your requests.

"I can get you the T.V., but I can't guarantee internet."

"Why not?" You wondered.

"Same reason we can't give your phone back." Oh.

Because you'd call for help.

You were suddenly reminded of the grave situation you were in. You were being held captive here. They weren't just going to let you go that easily. These men were smart, you weren't going to catch them slipping up over something like internet access. If you wanted out you'd have to plan very carefully. But how… Soap's voice pulled you from your thoughts once again.

"If you want, we can get DVDs of whatever movies you want. Twilight, Nosferatu…" he trailed off with a laugh again. You couldn't help but join him. As your laughter settled down again, Soap sighed.

"You should get some sleep, bonnie. You'll need it," he spoke as he withdrew his arms from your body. He stood and tugged the comforter from under the weight of your body with ease and placed it over your body. You passively wondered if it was Soap that had tucked you into this bed the first time around.

"You'll have tomorrow to recover and get your strength back. When you wake up, I'll give you a proper tour of the house, and we'll get you something to eat then." Then he paused for a moment. "Wait, when was the last time you ate…?" He wondered out loud. Then his face went blank in a moment of realization. "Oh, shit! I'll be back!"

And before you could say another word, he was out the door. You heard the sound of the lock turning. How had you only just now realized how hungry you were? You supposed it must've been the anxiety of the day's events that had kept your stomach in knots. You'd been so concerned about becoming a meal that you hadn't even thought of having one for yourself!

But as you waited for Soap to return, presumably with food, you felt your eyelids getting heavier and heavier. And then they were closed. And then you were asleep. And then a gentle hand at your shoulder was waking you up. You opened your eyes to see Soap standing over you, holding a dinner tray in his hands.

“Sit up,” he said. You did as he said, rubbing your eyes. “Sorry, this was all I could find, we’re not used to having human… guests over.” He stumbled over the last part. Both of you knew you weren’t a guest here. Guests had the freedom to leave. He set the tray on your lap for you. On the tray sat a lump of aged cheese and a handful of crackers. You didn't want to know how old they were, but you could tell just from looking that they were stale as rocks.

You brought one of the crackers to your mouth and nearly chipped a tooth. Both of you winced. You dropped it back down on the plate with a clatter and moved to the cheese. Thankfully it was edible. You choked it down and handed the tray back to Soap.

"I'm sorry, it's all we had-"

"It's fine," you snapped. It seemed that eating had only made the pit in your stomach deeper. You were hungry. You were tired. You were scared. And Soap was honestly just pissing you off.

"Well, someone's hangry…" he muttered to himself.

"Just get out," you commanded. Honestly you don't know what had gotten into you earlier. Why were you being so friendly with him? Maybe your head hadn't been as clear as you had thought.

"Excuse me?" Soap interjected. He dropped the tray on the nightstand beside you rather roughly and loomed over you. You were in awe of the size of him, acutely aware of the fact that he could snap you in half without breaking a sweat. He'd been so gentle tonight, you had all but forgotten how terrifying he'd been the night you'd met.

"You should remember who you're talking to, sweetheart," he growled, voice close to animalistic. "I go through the trouble to find human food for you and you just-" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. He opened his eyes to see yours watering.

"No, no, don't do that, pretty girl," he cooed, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you, reaching to dry your tears, but you jerked away. Your wide, teary eyes watched as he didn't back down, instead holding your face with an impossibly strong hand. "Don't cry." You felt the knot in your chest dissipate. His thumbs wiped away your years. "There we go, bonnie. That's it. Smile for me." And so you smiled. "There's a good pet." He chuckled, and you felt your own laughter bubble up again. You couldn't tear your eyes away from his. "Now lie back down," You did. "And go to sleep." And you slept.

---

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darklydeliciousdesires · 2 months

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La Dolce Vita - John Shelby/Cosima Changretta (OFC).

So, I decided to begin this new little series of mine, besties. It shan't be delivered in regular chapter form, but a series of one-shot parts that will tell the story of John and Cosima's marriage, beginning from their wedding day. I hope you enjoy it :)

Words - 3,682

Warnings - Each part will be adult only content, from swearing to eventual smut and violence. Minors DNI.

Part I - Inferno

The blood of a thousand men could stain a thousand streets, cold, hard warfare spinning out of control in a haze of spatter and gunpowder, yet sometimes all it took was the presence of a woman to end it all.

And it had.

It didn’t mean the woman in question had to like it, though.

“No.” The word fell from his lips with mild irritation as he took in the sight before him. “You will not wear black.”

Cosima didn’t even attempt to hide her distain. “Why not? This is a death, after all.”

Luca couldn’t help but feel entertained by her words, even though she was rapidly whittling him down to his very last nerve. “You are so dramatic, la mia sorellina.” She always had been. “It’s about time you were somebody’s wife, and you will make a good wife, too. Every man betrothed to an Italian woman should recognise how damned lucky he is.”

“And me?” Her cadence rose sharply, her voice bordering on shrill. “What about me, Luca?”

9:23am and already, he wished he’d had the sense to bring some aspirin with him. “You will do as you are told, Sima. And wear white while you do it.”

The silky drawl of her brother never rose beyond the smooth hush he spoke with, but his words packed the same punch as they would have had he yelled them. He was also the only person alive who she allowed to shorten her name. People had called her Cos in school, swiftly ending up with a slapped face for it. Her Italian fire had been lit pretty much since the day she’d been born. “I wish I’d brought mama with me now.”

His lip curled, a soft rumble of a laugh echoing his throat, sucking on the matchstick he pulled from between his lips as he pointed it at her. “We both know why you didn’t.”

“Yes,” she chirped, admiring her reflection in the mirror, “you’re paying.”

Again, she prompted his smile. Few did, really, save Anna Maria, his wife, as well as his sons, Joey and Guiseppe. “I am, cara mia. Listen, if you want the black dress, I’ll buy it for you. You won’t be married in it, though. Imagine if mama was here, eh? She’d be, ah, much more vocal than I about it.”

This was true. Audrey would have taken over rather than sitting quietly like Luca. “I’m beginning to think she’d fuss much less than you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Try on the next dress, for the love of god.”

Huffing and cussing in their native tongue, Cosima flounced back behind the privacy screen, getting herself out of the dress, the nearby assistant helping her into the white lace gown. Her face was a picture of utter contempt upon emerging, raising her middle finger when Luca quietly applauded her appearance.

“Perfect.”

“I fucking hate it,” she sneered, the assistant’s eyes bulging a little at her coarse language.

“Cosima, you would hate even the most exquisite of gowns, crafted by the finest of designers,” he pointed out, standing and walking to her slowly. He reached beneath her chin, raising it up, placing a little kiss upon her forehead. “You look beautiful. La belladonna. It is done.”

His word was final, and she knew this well. It did not mean she had to be quiet or graceful in her compliance, though. Being wed to a Shelby, after all they had done, the war that had seen the deaths of both her treasured brother and beloved papa, was not a fate she relished in.

Negotiations in order to cease the bloodshed and forge ahead in a new bond, running Shelby gin into New York with the assistance of her family and their connections had been sealed by a proposed joining of their families through marriage. Her marriage, to John Shelby.

How she had screamed and complained when Luca had informed her of this truce sealing union. Glasses and ornaments had been smashed in tempestuous fury, Cosima’s ire reaching the kind of decibels that had taken Luca and Audrey much effort and nips of gin to quieten, the youngest of the Changretta clan storming from her mother’s home, walking the streets, chain smoking in blind fury.

The only silver lining? At least Luca had not decreed that she marry the man who had killed her father, not that she actually could. For his sins, Arthur Shelby breathed no longer. Neither did Grace Shelby, nor Esme Shelby, the late wife of the man soon to be her husband, the gypsy beauty getting in the way of a hit meant for John on Christmas Day and lamentably not surviving it.

And Cosima thought her hand dealt was bad. For John, it was decidedly bleaker by far.

His brother was gone, his wife was gone, his sister-in-law was gone, and his fate was now bound to a person belonging to a family whom he couldn’t stand with any ounce of tolerance. Tolerance was what he had to show, though, in order to keep relations smoothed over, before anybody else ended up dead.

“It’s a fresh start for us all, John boy,” Tommy began, standing in front of his brother, straightening his tie. “I don’t expect you to be happy about it, but...”

“Good, ‘cos I ain’t,” he cut in with, his jaw tightening, refusing to meet his brother’s eye. “Esme is barely fucking cold, and you’ve got me marrying some wop bitch. Trust me, Tom. I ain’t fucking happy in the slightest.”

The elder Shelby truly had no comeback for that. He knew his actions were a slap in the face to John, to Arthur, to Esme and to the love of his life, but there was no other way around it. He didn’t plan on losing anybody else to a war that could be negotiated through. It had been tough to bargain, but peace had been restored finally, Tommy reasoning that scores had been settled upon both sides of the divide.

They were more than even. In fact, they truly weren’t, two lives on the Changretta side, three on the Shelby, two innocent women coming into the crossfire and dying because of it. He was not prepared to lose more. If he could also turn a very tidy profit while not losing more, then so be it.

Finally, he managed to catch the icy stare of his brother, Tommy squeezing his shoulders. “Give it time. At least you’re getting wed to an attractive woman. Could have matched you to a right scrag, but I didn’t.”

She could have been the queen of fucking Sheba for all John cared. Her beauty or lack thereof was neither here nor there. She wasn’t Esme, and that was all there was to it. “Gotta habit of this, you have, marrying me off to some bird I ain’t ever clapped eyes on until I get to the altar, all for the sake of keeping the peace.”

There hadn’t been an actual altar at his wedding to Esme, but this time there was no room for negotiation. The priest local to the district Cosima Changretta lived in had been given a hefty bung to marry them, regardless of the fact that John was a non-practising Catholic. Usually, Father David would have required he at least attend weekly mass for a few months prior to the wedding, but this wasn’t possible when the union had been set up to take place within the space of a week from its original incarnation.

Through his disesteem, John wasn’t blind to see the benefits of joining the families in order to broker peace, though. He just wished there was some other way, one that didn’t involve him forsaking his late wife’s memory, or literally getting into bed with a member of the very family who had taken three members of his.

With a red rose buttonhole pinned to his charcoal suit – those specific flowers at Cosima’s request – they headed out to the waiting car, ready to be ferried across Birmingham to the district of Bournville, to St Francis of Assisi.

“Holy shit, the waft of that bloody chocolate," Polly spoke from the back of the car, the famous Cadbury factory emitting the heady scent of it’s delicious confectionary. “Making my mouth water, it is.”

“Well, as long as the air smells like Dairy fucking Milk, all’s right as rain, ain’t it, Pol?” John muttered, watching the little black and white houses dotted along the main road pass them by. It was such a different landscape than the one he was used to, the village of Bournville so very picturesque and quaint.

Polly tutted. “Oi, less of your fucking lip, our John. Don’t make today any harder than it has to be by being a surly shit about it.”

“Yeah, but...”

She cut his protests dead with her usual blunt retort. “We know, for the love of god! You’ve vented your spleen so hard at this, I’m surprised you have one left! This isn’t ideal, but it’ll bring us peace and let me rest my fucking head easy at night, not worrying when the next of my fucking nephew’s is going to end up riddled with bullet holes. Now, put your fucking face straight. We’re nearly there.”

He could have begun his protests once more, vented at how it wasn’t right that he was being thrown into wedlock again just four months after his second wife had died, how at thirty years old, he shouldn’t have already had to attend the funerals of two Mrs. Shelby’s, but he knew it would serve him little good.

Arriving at the church, they made their way inside, John surprised to be greeted kindly by Audrey Changretta, who was standing talking to the verger.

“A lot of water has gone under the bridge, John. All I want going forward is for you to be a good man to my Cosima. Can you do that for me, love?”

His heartstrings were yanked upon hard, knowing how much his actions had devastated her. She looked weary from it all, the sparkle in her eyes non-existent. He’d never wanted her to be hurt in all of this, the teacher he held so many fond memories of, the woman he had steadfastly refused to murder in cold blood. “I can. I promise I will.”

She patted his cheek, smiling thinly. That smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and for that he couldn’t blame her. “Thank you.” She exchanged nods with Polly and Tommy, the Shelby’s moving into the church, smiling to their family and friends as they passed the pews, the Changretta presence outnumbering them by about two to one.

He and Tommy stood to the side of the altar, Polly taking a seat at the first pew between Finn and Ada, the latter giving the groom-to-be a bolstering smile. It had little of its desired effect, John feeling a cold swirl of discomfort growing chillier by the moment. “Forgive me, Esme. I fucking wish this weren’t happening just as much as I wish you were still here, love.”

His deeply lamenting thoughts were banished by the sound of the organ keys pressed upon, the church filling with music as the congregation stood, Father David quickly shaking both his and Tommy’s hands before his focus shifted towards the doors, beaming as he watched Cosima escorted in by her brother. The bride looked exquisite in her white lace gown, her cascading veil shrouding her face, the dress very quintessentially Italian in fashion.

John didn’t dare turn around and watch her walk to him, only aware of her arrival at his side from the strong plume of Chanel perfume entering his nose, finally turning to see Luca gently lift her veil, kissing her cheek and whispering a few words in Italian to her. He then moved to John, surprising him by offering his hand.

“To famiglia, eh?”

“Yeah,” he coughed, shaking it. The Italian’s grip was like Iron, his face unflinching. There was no true warmth there. “To family.”

Luca moved to sit at his mother’s side, John finally letting his eyes fall to his left, taking her in for the first time. His throat tightened in an instant. He’d thought Esme to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, the guilt of the fact that Cosima Changretta was the biggest knockout he’d ever witnessed hitting him hard.

As for his soon to be wife, when her piercing blue eyes found his, the sensation of her heart skipping on three consecutive beats made her feel a little nauseous for a moment.

He was gorgeous.

Why did he have to be gorgeous? It would have made hating him so much easier if he’d been ugly.

“At least I will have something nice to look at, while I’m throwing plates at his head.” She thought, turning to the priest and smiling as best she could, given the circumstances.

The ceremony was a long, tedious affair, the bride wishing for a traditional mass that bored the balls off John. He did well to hide it, though. What he failed miserably at was looking in any way, shape or form happy when they were pronounced man and wife, offering her a chaste kiss to the cheek, a speedy peck of non-affection. Cosima was relieved he hadn’t leaned to her mouth. She wasn’t ready for that yet.

Taking his arm, she walked back down the aisle as the newest member of the Shelby family, her eyes sad as she looked at her mother and brother. They smiled at her with loving pride, Cosima dropping her chin, lest they see the tears in her eyes as she walked alongside her new husband, a man she couldn’t stand. True, she knew nothing of John Shelby, other than what he’d had a hand in taking from her.

With every step, she had to physically prevent herself from gathering the bridal lace swathing her slender curves and running, back to Acacia Road, back to the family home. This was where she desired to be, out in the flower filled back garden tending to her roses, taking cuttings of herbs ready to be brought into the kitchen and tutored by her darling mother in everything from Carbonara to baked Ziti.

She longed for the scents of her mother’s pasta, to hear her father’s key in the door, his whistled tunes filling the homestead as she’d wipe her hands upon her apron and run to greet him. Her papa, the man she loved and respected the very most. Gone.

“You erm, you look beautiful, Cosima.”

His face did not match his compliment, Cosima looking up at her new husband, her face stony. “I know. Shame my dream wedding didn’t come with the dream groom, though.”

John sniffed, his eyebrow tilting a fraction. “Ahh, you might still get it yet. We can get divorced and give it another go with other people. Who knows? I could nail it lucky the fourth time around.”

Her eyes widened. “You’ve been married twice before?”

“Ar.”

“And what the blinking hell happened to them?” she demanded, wondering just what her brother had gotten her into, marrying her off to a man who was on his third wife.

“They died, if you must know,” he frowned, reaching the end of the aisle, the door opening, a cascade of confetti hurled at them from the throng of guests exiting behind them.

“Lucky them.” Her mutter was drowned out by the sound of happy cheers, or at least she thought it had been. Her new husband had heard it, though, wanting nothing more than to slap her in her rude mouth for her coldly delivered statement.

“Great, got myself hitched to a stunner and she’s a right nasty little mare.” he spoke, certainly loud enough for her to hear, releasing the hold upon her arm and moving to receive congratulations from his family. Cosima narrowed her eyes at him in his wake, turning to smile brightly at her friends, her hands taken in theirs, cheeks kissed, her heart thrumming with waves of sadness. A right nasty little mare. That’s what he thought of her, Cosima’s indignance burning brightly for a while, not able to reflect upon the fact that what she’d said had indeed been very spiteful.

At twenty-three, she truly should have known better. With two dead wives behind him and a bitterness that still lingered beneath the surface between the two families, she guessed he was likely as thrilled to be married to her as she was to him. An apology perhaps wouldn’t go amiss.

Once they’d posed for a few photographs, the bride and groom were shown to the waiting Rolls Royce Silver Cloud, John holding the door open for her, following her in and staring stonily out of the window as they pulled away from the church.

She felt awkward and ashamed of her words, moving her thumb back and forth over one of the large thorns the florist had neglected to remove from the bouquet of red roses. “John, I apologise for what I said, about your late wives being lucky. I only meant that... I don’t know what I meant, actually.”

She was met by a cold, two worded statement. “Fuck off.”

Deserved, to be fair. Predictably, Cosima let it spark at her kindling rather than rushing for water, though. “That’s impossible, now I’m your wife. Don’t bloody pout at me. I said something regrettable, but because of your family I don’t have Angel or my father any longer. You yourself are directly responsible for the former. If you hadn’t beaten him within an inch of his life, he wouldn’t have lay vulnerable in hospital, ripe for the plucking. And let’s not forget that scumbag of a brother of yours, who killed my papa.”

He tutted, chewing his toothpick with hostility. “Don’t act like you’re the only one who lost somebody you loved. Fucking gone right over your head, ain’t it? Because of your family, I lost me wife, brother and sister-in-law. We’re in the same boat, Cosima.”

“You started all of this. You could have just let Lizzie be happy with Angel, but no! You had to burn his restaurant to the fucking ground. What is it you dumb Shelby fucks say, hmm? By order of the Peaky Blinders, that’s it! Your way or the highway!”

Bile began licking at his insides. “Your brother weren’t good enough for Lizzie. She’s a good woman, and he was a fucking duplicitous shit. Didn’t even have the balls to use his real name for half his dealings. At least we stand by who we fucking are.”

Her rage escalated by the second, staring at him incredulously. “My brother had the sense to be clandestine, and you will not speak of him like you knew him! So, he partnered with your enemies, so fucking what? The way you Shelby’s conduct yourself, you make enemies left and fucking right! You took my family away from me for nothing. Nothing!”

John eyed her viciously, his eyes losing any trace of warmth. “They fucking deserved it, and you, you spoiled little wop bitch? You deserve nothing less than every fucking ounce of my contempt. We’re married in name only, believe me. Ain’t no way I’m gonna be a good husband to you, no matter what I promised your mom.”

“Fine by me!”

The air virtually crackled with their mutual distain, Cosima shuffling as far as she could get away from him, muttering cusses in Italian.

“I know what testa di cazzo means,” he spat.

“Good!” she fumed, “I want you to know I think you’re a dickhead!”

The reception was being held at a small hotel local to the church, Cosima storming out of the car and not looking back, fixing a huge, fake smile to her face as she was welcomed by the staff. Immediately, her eyes locked onto a waiter carrying a tray of champagne filled flutes, taking one and knocking it back. A second was reached for, John arriving at her side.

“Whiskey please, mate. Fucking large one.”

The waiter nodded. “At once, sir.”

They stood together to welcome their guests, both repelled by one another’s presence, going through the motions of everything. Cake cutting, first dance, spending as much time as they could away from one another. It was while John was seeking the solace of quiet and fresh night air much later that evening, standing on the rear patio of the hotel smoking a cigar, that he found himself joined by the last person he expected.

“Can I give you some advice, John?”

Turning to Luca, he raised an eyebrow, the tall Italian continuing. “If you want a quiet life with my sister, you need to keep her in the lifestyle she’s become accustomed to. I love that girl to her bones, but she’s a fucking spoiled princess.”

His eyes widened. “You can say that again.”

Luca’s mouth twitched, removing the toothpick he’d been idly chewing on. “My father bent to her every whim, being his only daughter. She was daddy’s little girl. Roses, diamonds, furs, French perfume, she loves all of that. You treat her good and she’ll be sweet with you. And make sure she has a garden. That kid lives for horticulture.”

Luckily, he was wealthy enough to provide such luxuries for his new bride, not that he wanted to. Not that she deserved even one of them. “Noted.”

He nodded, turning to leave his new brother-in-law to it, pausing suddenly as he pointed the toothpick in his grasp at him. “Oh, and John? She’s got a thing for hurling plates. Learn to duck.” Laughing to himself, he carried on back into the hotel, while John felt a prickle of annoyance at his statement, or rather how much pleasure he’d derived from delivering the news that Cosima was nothing short of a bad-tempered handful.

Standing out there alone, he did hope that one day he might see her as something different. Whether that day would come swiftly or not was anybody’s guess, though.

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