#I refuse I will find pain anywhere

[whereispearlescentmoon]

back in secret life w Gem on the murder camel (this directly combats the double life ask)

The Double Life Ask in question here

Pearl is back with Gem and the murder camel! She’s yearning for simpler times.

More thoughts under the read more:

Fun fact, in this exact moment, this conversation happens:

Pearl: Oh I love this so much, you are wonderful. Oh wait I need to bring the dogs!

Gem: I can’t believe you still want to be friends with me after all this.

Pearl: You know what, I can’t believe that either. But I guess here we are *laughs*.

Gem: Fair enough

Pearl: You just seem so fun to be friends with on a red life.

In case people forgot, before this Gem had taken both Pearl’s green and yellow life, which is what she’s referring to (and why I maintain that Life Series c!Gem is a hypocrite and she knows it). Pearl was only red because Gem had killed her, which is why Gem was shocked. Maybe some part of Gem wanted Pearl to kill her in Wild Life so badly because she knows they aren’t even. She knows she wronged Pearl, at least when she took her yellow life. She could have stopped and failed her task, she could have shouted at Pearl to put her shield up (which the task didn’t say she couldn’t do). But she didn’t, she kept hitting a confused and fleeing Pearl until she died. She wouldn’t have forgiven Pearl if she did the same thing. Its confusing. Pearl didn’t even kill her on her red life, just got a couple hits in, sat her dogs down even, and Gem doesn’t forgive her. It’s easier to get Pearl to kill her to get even than to have to deal with the fact that Pearl really hasn’t done anything to her, and that anything she did do, Gem did to her first and worse. It’s easier to be angry and betrayed than a hypocrite.

(This ask does in fact meet my criteria for breaking the location queue which is that something has to be either a meme that won’t be funny in a week or so funny it made me laugh out loud for real, and specifically the asking for it to combat the double life ask was hilarious to me)

[jvzebel-x]

"Did she really think I would not know him? I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell. I would know him blind-- by the way his breaths came, and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world."

Patroclus (about Achilles)

&

"There are no bargains between lions and men. I will kill you and eat you raw."

Achilles (to Hector)

x. "The Song of Achilles", Madeline Miller

[bats-and-the-birds]

I am thinking about the batkids and their rooms at the manor.

When Dick was first brought to the manor, Alfred put wooden letters that spelled out his name on the outside of the door to his room. He wanted the boy to feel like he belonged, and denoting the room as his seemed like the best way. At first, they spelled out "Richard", and were painted in red, green, and yellow -- the colors that his parents had worn for their circus act, that didn't have any other meaning yet. Dick pried them off the door and threw them away. He didn't want to accept that this was permanent yet. There were new letters on the door a few days later, blue this time, and spelling out "Dick" instead. Those letters got pried off much the same and shoved in a drawer, and they didn't get put back until a year later. He was too short to put them in the same place, so they ended up crooked, and Alfred found it too endearing to fix.

When he left the manor years later, he considered ripping the letters off the door and throwing them in the foyer on his way out. But he left them, and there they remained, crooked as ever.

Jason got his own letters when it became clear he wasn't going anywhere. He helped Alfred put them up on his bedroom door, standing on a step stool to make sure they got in the right place. His were evenly spaced and neatly aligned, and he refused to tell anyone that he cried over them that night. He'd spent months wondering if he'd ever live up to his predecessor, not just as Robin, but in the family as well. And now he had his own letters, just like Dick's, and they weren't going anywhere.

And they didn't. Even after he died. Bruce and Alfred both considered taking the name down to make walking past that empty room less painful, but in the end, they didn't dare touch the letters, just like they didn't touch anything else in the room. Years later, Jason would sneak into the manor through his old bedroom window and find his school uniforms still hanging in the closet, his textbooks on his desk, an open novel on his nightstand, and, of course, the letters still on the door, more of an epitaph than the one on his actual tombstone.

Tim fought for his name on a bedroom door. It took a while, but he trained, and he learned, and he forced himself into the role that he knew he could fill. Part of him thought that no matter how good and useful he made himself as Robin, he'd never really fill the role that the two before him did. He thought there might not be room for him after Jason's death, but he did it. He was older than the other two when Alfred finally put the letters up on his door, but he did it.

Later, when he left in search of Bruce, he didn't think for a second of taking his name down off his door. He'd earned it.

Damian's name got put up practically as soon as he got to the manor. He didn't think much of having his name on a door. If anything, it irked him a bit, being lumped in with the others, but it would have annoyed him more if he didn't get his own name. For a while, his name on the door, marking it as his from the hallway, was the only reason you could tell it wasn't the guest room that it had previously been. He had no photographs, had arrived with no personal affects.

That changed, eventually. As he gained friends, he also gained photos of them. He put up sketches and watercolor paintings of his animals. A dog bed got put on the floor for Titus. But the letters had been there from the beginning, and he grew to appreciate them eventually. His room, with the name on the door, was safe, and he liked it there.

Cass's letters showed up without much fanfare. They were simply there when she exited her room one day. "Cassandra" in black wooden letters that matched all of her new siblings'. She ran her fingers over them with reverence. She'd never been allowed to leave a mark before. Her life was predicated on being a shadow, but there was her name, in big letters, somewhere where other people could see it.

Steph had a room. She didn't want to admit it, but when she crashed at the manor, it was always in the same room. Her name was put up, and she took it down, and it was put up again, and she took it down again until it became something of a game between her and Alfred. If Steph was staying at the manor and Alfred didn't find a wooden S in a random cupboard, then have to search the house for the rest of her name, then he knew she was in a bad mood, and he usually made her favorite cookies and left them outside of the door with her name still firmly in place.

Duke's letters were waiting for him when he moved in. His name in bright yellow letters that matched his suit already in place. Of course it was, it's tradition at this point, and he's part of the family now. He had bounced around for a while now, and the letters on his door made him feel...calmer. It was a sense of permanence, and one he could learn to enjoy.

Barbara didn't need a room. She had her own room, in her own house, but Alfred still offered to mark out a space for her. She declined. When she did stay over, it was either in the cave or Dick's room, she didn't need her own. Still, that didn't mean her mark wasn't left somewhere. There was a study downstairs with a desk that she sometimes did her homework on as a child if she was staying over for the night. Now, the desk held a computer that was wired into the Batcomputer's network, a photo of her and her father, and, of course, tiny wooden letters affixed to the side that spelled out 'Barbara'.

[chuulyssa]

──── ★ DRUGS SUCK IT UP LIKE VANILLA ICYS the recruiter x reader ────

starring the recruiter x detective!reader count 2.3k genre 18+ dark themes, yandere, stalking, kidnapping, gunplay, smut

notes I'LL KEEP EDITING THIS AND ADDING MORE SHIT WHENEVER I GET HORNY !!! make sure to keep tapping in lol notes wanted to write smth non horny but gong yoo just had to deepthroat that gun 🙂‍↔️ wrote this at 2am and i have my practicals tmr

You had no idea when you had lost track of him. One minute, you had been following his step through the bustling train station, and the next, your vision had blurred, and a sharp pain had shot at the base of your skull.

You didn’t know how long it had been since then. You opened your eyes, immediately shutting them back due to the sudden appearance of light to them. The scent of cigarette smoke filled your nostrils, and your tongue tasted blood.

You wriggled, trying to move your arms, but your hands had been tied behind your back, ankles tied to the legs of the chair you had been made to sit on. You opened your eyes once more. The room was dim with a single light bulb flickering on and off again and again.

“Detective,” a voice cooed at you from behind you.

You snapped your neck up to see his face smiling gleefully, staring down at you with a predatory glint in his eyes.

“Imagine my surprise,” he continued, moving away to stand in front of you, “when I realized the pretty lady that had been following me all this while,” he leaned against what you could make out to be a wooden table, “was you.”

His smirk was maddening. You remembered it from all those years ago. The handsome man in a suit, way too overdressed to meet you where he had. The man who had approached you when you were hopelessly drunk in a children’s park, crying about an unsolved case. He had wiped your tears back then, kissed your fears away. You still recall his words.

“Since we’re in a children’s park, how about a children’s game?”

Thank god for the polite refusal of yours, or you would’ve been in the same position as your current client. Seong Gihun. For whom you had been trailing this man for weeks now. The Recruiter.

“Hello? Earth to you, miss?” He snapped his fingers in front of your dazed face, making you jump at the sudden sound. He laughed at you. Then, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the floor, he mocked you. “I had such high hopes for you back then, sweetheart. But you said no,” he pouted, then cackled maniacally at your expression. “I got a kiss though!”

“Shut up,” you hissed.

He chuckled darkly, the sound echoing throughout the small room. Your eyes darted around to check for windows or exits, but you couldn’t find any in the pale lighting. “Aw, you want me to let you go? After you’ve been my little shadow for the past month?”

You looked away, and he only smirked, walking towards you. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked it upwards to catch your attention. “You look at me while we’re speaking. Don’t you have manners, love?”

“Don’t call me that,” you scoffed.

“Oh, you don’t want me to call you that? Is that right, love?” He jeered. When you scowled at him, he dropped his smirk. “Oh, come on now. We both know you’re not going anywhere. Come, let’s have a chat, shall we?”

He sat on the floor, his toes lifting him off the ground by themselves. The soles of his shoes clinked, tilting up so that he was mostly leaning onto you.

“It’s so flattering,” he began, “that you spent so much time trying to follow me all this time later. Am I that captivating, Miss Detective?”

“No.”

“Ah, but you are, certainly,” he nuzzled his face into your lap, making you squirm. You tried to close your thighs, but the restraints didn’t allow you to. “I’ve been dreaming of you ever since I saw you that night.”

He hummed, his knees going down to support his stance. He moved his hands to caress the front of your waist softly. “I cried because you were crying. So don’t cry over anything other than me, hm? It makes me so upset.”

He unbuttoned your pants swiftly, and you flinched. He looked up, amused at your reaction. You glared at him, refusing to speak, but the look in your face, the desire in your eyes, even the wetness he could practically smell betrayed you. He tilted his head.

“Still so stubborn,” he murmured, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. You jerked your head away, but the restraint made it futile.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re in my world now, detective. And in my world, we play games.”

He pulled out a revolver from under his suit. The metallic click of the very much real weapon cocking made your breath hitch.

Where did he get that from?

He always managed to surprise you.

“Russian roulette,” he announced dramatically, spinning the cylinder. “You know this, yes? A game of chance. Just like life.”

“You’re fucking insane,” you spat, trying to keep your voice steady, but you could feel it quaking in fear. You were scared now.

“Maybe,” he agreed, stepping behind you and pressing the cold barrel of the gun to your temple. “But aren’t you curious, detective? I am. I’m so so curious. You make me feel it. To crave it. Don’t you see it?”

You closed your eyes. The pressure of the gun against your skin seemed unbearable now. It was as if the nuzzle could pierce through your brain with how he was holding it against you.

“I want to see,” he kissed the top of your head, “just how far you’re willing to go to solve this case.”

I’ll do anything, you thought.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Beg me to stop, but there’ll be consequences then. Or take the risk.”

His voice was a low purr. The gun shifted slightly, trailing down your temple to rest just below your jaw.

“Say the word, and I’ll put it all to an end. No more games. No more questions.” His other hand came up, ghosting over your chest. “But then you’ll have to give me something else in return.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to steady your breathing as he groped your breast through the fabric of your shirt. The room felt too small, the air too thin.

“What’s it going to be, darling?” he teased, the nickname twisting in your gut like a knife. His fingers found your hardened nipple through the fabric, and his lips your neck.

“I...” you started, but your voice cracked. His soft chuckle rumbled against your pulse, sending an unwanted shiver down your spine.

“No shame in fear,” he said, almost kindly. The gun tilted up, tilting your chin with it, forcing you to meet his dark, hungry gaze in the reflection of the mirror in front of you. “Little Miss Detective, found dead in a basement room. Your parents wouldn’t like to hear that now, would they?”

Your eyes widened. He knew. He knew from the start you had been tailing him. He had kept tabs on you, more than you had on him.

“Stop,” you whispered. “Please.”

“Ah, is that the best you can do?” He cooed at you, and your hands clenched into fists.

“Please let me go,” you said, almost angrily, and he threw his head back to laugh.

“That’s not how you say it, dolly.”

You took a deep breath in, feeling your pride crush and fall down around you in bits and pieces. “Please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” He repeated in a child-like voice. “Like what?”

“Anything you like.”

His smile grew. “Will you be willing to play a game with me, then?” His hand reached under your shirt to caress your nipple, and you could feel yourself gushing at the touch.

“What game?”

“Hm, let’s see,” he murmured softly, fingers circling around your nipple. “I’ll count down from ten.”

You swallowed hard. “And?”

“And for every second that passes, I’ll take one step closer to you,” he explained, his lips curling into a sly smile. “If you say the safe word, I stop. But…” He picked up the gun, rolling the cylinder lazily before he pointed it to the side and—

BANG !

You shook, trying to cower and hide yourself, but even that was difficult. The aftereffects of the shot echoed in the silence, until it faded away. It made everything seem realer, if that was even possible. He grinned at your reaction. “There will be problems.”

“What problems?”

“That’s for me to decide,” he said simply, leaning forward, the gun still in his hand. “Do you want to play, Miss Detective?”

You hesitated. There was no way out of this room, no way out of his control. And he knew it.

“Good.” He stood, assuming your answer before you even responded. But the gun was still in his hand, and you didn’t dare disobey. He stepped back to the far wall and bumped into a table on the way. Angrily, he kicked the table out of his way, muttering curses all the while. Then his expression softened as he turned to you. “The rules are clear. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

He began.

“Ten.” The sound of his boots against the floor echoed around.

“Nine.” Another step. His eyes locked onto yours like a predator stalking its prey.

“Eight.” Your hands gripped the edge of the chair.

“Seven.” The gun in his hand wasn’t aimed at you yet, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from it.

“Six.” He was close enough now that you could see the faint smirk playing on his lips.

“Five.” “Wait,” you blurted out.

He paused mid-step, tilting his head. “Wait? That’s not the safe word.” He took another step, closer still. You clenched your jaw, now starting to panic.

He never even gave you a safe word in the first place!

“Four.” He was looming over you now, the barrel of the gun tracing along the edge of the table.

“Three.” “Stop,” you said loudly.

“Two.” The gun was under your chin now, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“One.” He smiled, satisfied, as he crouched down to your level, his face mere inches from yours. “You didn’t use the safe word,” he murmured, the gun tracing along your jawline.

“You didn’t give me one!”

“Details,” he rolled his eyes. “But now, as per the rules, of course…” He kneeled down in front of you again, head tilting down. His hands went up to grip both sides of your waist.

“Wait—”

“Shut up.”

For a moment or two, you didn’t feel anything. That was until his tongue licked a striped against your clothed cunt.

“Ack!” You jumped, trying to push him off you, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Like that?” He nuzzled his face into the wetness, making you shiver. “I haven’t even started yet, baby,” he mumbled. Then, he sank his teeth into your clothed thigh.

You let out a loud cry, hoping that someone — anyone — would hear you. But no one did. No one came.

“Quiet now, dolly.” His teeth chewed at your waistband for a few seconds before pulling it down completely. “Up,” he tapped your waist, and you obediently raised your hips. He pried your pants off you.

“Oh,” he let out a disappointed sigh when he saw that your panties were still covering you. “We’ve got to take this off, hm?” He cooed at you again. “Come on, taking it off for me now.”

“What?”

“I said, take it off.”

“How?” You were taken aback.

“Wiggle wiggle,” he smiled like a dork. Then he sat up and kissed your ear. “I’ll help you with the top till then.”

He helped lift your top over your head directly. Once it was off, his lips immediately latched back onto your cheek. “Panties off, please. Before I rip them apart.”

You nodded and fidgeted for a while, lifting your hips up and down and trying to get the fabric off you. But it wouldn’t budge at all.

“Pathetic,” he said, though he looked at you fondly, as if mocking your vulnerability. Tugging a finger under the waistband of your panties, he peeled the soaked cloth away from your skin easily, patting your waist so you’d lift them up to get it off completely. 

You were exposed to him. Naked from top to bottom except for the bra he somehow hadn’t removed yet. You felt the sudden chill of air against your bare pussy. Your nipples pebbled further. He tossed the underwear aside.

His hands slid along your thighs, spreading them wider. “Beautiful.” His fingers tightened. A hand snaked between your legs, cupping the flesh of your thighs easily. “So wet. Already? You should be ashamed.”

You flushed lightly, trying to come up with a retort. But he shut you up immediately. His middle finger had found its way inside you.

“Fuck—” you groaned, and he snickered.

He wiggled his finger within you, grinding it against your inner walls, pressing firmly on that sweet spot while watching as your face contorted in pleasure.

Your body bucked as he added another finger, stretching you wide open. Then another. And another.

He pulled back suddenly, and you whined.

“Why—?”

“No,” he whispered, standing up. His large frame towered over yours, his hands reaching behind your neck to unclasp your bra. “Such nice tits, dolly.” He squeezed them in his rough palms as if grateful to God for his creations. His thumb brushed across your hardening nipple, teasing the peak into a tighter bud, if that was even possible.

Then he lowered his head, capturing one between his lips and suckling deeply. His tongue flicked expertly at your hardened nipple, nipping lightly.

You could see stars.

Suck. Nip. Twist. Fiddle. Suck. Nip. Twist. Fiddle. Suck. Ni—

He moved onto the other one and did the same.

Fuck was he good at his job.

He left trails of kisses on your chest. Both of them were red and swollen now, and you were left cursing his name in your mind.

“I’ve been playing nice all this while, don’t you think? Let’s make it rougher.”

[singmyaubade]

Growing Pains

poly!marauders x female!reader

summary: you are in desperate need of a job, and the marauders are in desperate need of a babysitter, what's the worst that could happen?

warnings: eventual smut! 18+ | age gap between marauders & reader (not heavily identified) | reader is 21 + | mature language.

author's note: hello everyone! so i have multiple poly!marauder fics going on at this very moment (i know) but this was something that came to me and i thought it would be so cute to write since i never really dip my toes into this kind of normal au's. but please enjoy!

! divers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics !

Being unemployed right out of university was not part of your plan.

You knew that it wasn’t unusual to be unemployed after attending university, but you also had high expectations for yourself.

Originally, you were going to intern at your father’s law firm for a while just to get on your feet, while living in your own studio apartment, which he would pay for—his reward for you ‘stepping up’ straight out of university.

After that, you planned to gain some experience and then be able to work at an actual law firm—not just intern—and pay off your studio apartment on your own.

But, as usual, you and your father had gotten into a blown-out, heated argument about your future. All you had said was that you ‘wanted to do some writing on the side’ during dinner, and everything blew up when he claimed that ‘writing is unreliable and wouldn’t get you anywhere in life,’ which only pissed you off.

It ended with you saying some things you didn’t regret, but maybe should have, and him cutting you off financially, retracting the offer at his law firm.

Instead of groveling, you let your stubbornness take over, storming out and having to find somewhere to live as soon as possible.

Thankfully, your cousin, who had graduated a few years before you, was openly looking for a roommate and wasn’t charging a high rate. You took the offer immediately, but finding a job was a real pain in the ass.

Every place you tried to intern at said you didn’t have enough experience or was in competition with your father’s law firm.

And every place you applied to—whether it was as a barista, waitress, assistant, etc.—rejected you.

For no reason, might you add.

You were growing hopeless and severely depressed. Mary was finding it quite hard to comfort you lately, especially since you were holed up in your room, refusing to leave.

She didn’t even think you went out to use the bathroom.

So eventually, when you came out of your room for your 8 PM coffee, she confronted you.

“Y/N,” She sighed, looking at you as you wrapped yourself in a blanket, dark circles under your eyes. “I love you a lot, but I need you to bloody get it together!”

You groaned. “What do I have to live for if no one will hire me and I’m just unsuccessful?” You sulked. “I mean, I’m going to be living with you until you and Lily have kids!” You screeched, horrified.

Mary looked spooked. “I pray not,” She replied, walking over to you and cupping your cheeks in her hands. “You just need to have more faith in yourself—and maybe a little boost,” She said, letting go and sitting on the counter. “Which is why I got you that little boost and got you a job!” She said excitedly, grinning as you looked at her in shock.

“Wait, what?” You responded. “Doing what? And how?” You asked nervously as her grin widened.

“Well, it’s a full-time babysitting gig,” She said happily, swinging her legs.

“So, a nanny?” You asked, sounding a bit deflated.

“Well, unfortunately, I don’t think you’ll be living with them, but yeah, kind of,” She said, as you hummed.

“And you know the parents?” You asked hesitantly.

“Oh, like the back of my hand,” She said calmly as if your question was ridiculous.

“I mean, should I text them or anything? Or at least let them get to know me before I start babysitting for them?” You asked nervously.

Mary waved you off. “They’re really chill, they’ll love you,” She said happily as she hopped off the counter.

“Wait, but—” You tried to speak again, but Mary wasn’t having it.

“I’ll send you their address. You have to be there at 10 AM!” she yelled before heading to her room.

That wasn’t very informative.

You were never this nervous. You really didn’t want to mess this up. Your palms were sweaty, and you were worried they'd think something was wrong with you, maybe unfit to handle kids if you were this nervous over meeting the parents. And Mary hadn’t even bothered to give you any info about the family—no names, no details about their children.

What made it worse was that you couldn’t decide what to wear. You wanted something casual but presentable, something that said 'I’m approachable, but not a slob.'

You were pretty sure the wife wouldn't appreciate anything too scandolous, and a single dad might misread it.

You ended up choosing a red and green Christmas sweater, mom jeans, and Mary Jane’s—comfortable enough, you thought, to handle kids.

Unfortunately, your timing didn’t match. Without a car (since your dad had cut you off), you had to bike there. And to make matters worse, you’d burned your toast and didn’t have time to make more. You were late, pedaling as fast as you could, praying your GPS was right.

You finally arrived at a beautiful suburban house—exactly what you imagined when you thought of a family of four. The house had a neat front yard, a doormat, and was surrounded by well-kept homes. Taking a deep breath, you rang the doorbell and quickly checked your reflection. Your hair was a mess, but you didn't have time to fix it before the door swung open.

A man with black hair, a black button-up shirt, and tattoos on his arms greeted you. He was strikingly handsome with a charming smile. And.. great, you were already crushing on the dad.

"Hey, you must be Y/N, the babysitter Mary recommended," He said with a grin, extending his hand. "We were expecting you—come on in."

The house felt warm and homey, with photos of kids everywhere and Christmas decorations all over. Toys were scattered on the living room floor but not in a messy way—just lived in.

"Sorry about the mess," The man said, laughing and running a hand through his hair. "You’ve arrived during morning madness."

"Oh, it’s fine," You replied, feeling flustered. "The decorations are lovely."

"They kind of went overboard this year," He chuckled.

Before you could say anything else, another man entered the room—a tall, broad figure with light brown hair, wearing a white button-up shirt and brown slacks. Scars marked his face, but they somehow added to how pretty he was.

“Sirius,” The man grumbled, “I told you to tidy up an hour ago,” He sent an annoyed look his way,

"Remus," The new man said, extending a hand. "Apologies for the chaos. It’s never this untidy."

"Yes, it is," Sirius teased. Remus shot him a look, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

"It’s nice to meet you both," You said with a smile. "Your home is beautiful. It reminds me of my family’s place."

Remus looked relieved. "We’re glad to have you. Can I get you anything? A glass of water?" He asked.

"I think I’m fine," You answered kindly as Remus led you to the couch.

Sirius sat next to you, creating a situation where you were sandwiched between the two men. You felt a little nervous, but they looked extremely comfortable.

"So, Mary didn’t tell us much about you," Remus started.

"She just gave us your last name and I didn't think it would be kind to search you up," Sirius added.

You laughed nervously. "Yeah, she can be a bit mysterious for no reason."

Sirius noticed you fidgeting and put a hand on your knee. "We’re just happy to get to know you ourselves," He said with a kind smile.

"Well, ask me anything," You said, trying to calm your nerves.

"Anything?" Sirius asked with a teasing smile. You flushed, and Remus shot him a warning look.

"How old are you?" Remus asked.

"21," You answered.

"Ah, the responsible age," Sirius joked, "How has it been?" He asked, trying to make you more comfortable.

"It’s been good," You replied. "More responsibilities now, its been a bit hectic."

"Out of school?" Remus asked.

"Yeah, just finished," You said with a smile.

"What did you study?" He continued.

"Criminal Justice with a minor in Creative Writing."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Remus here is a bit of a writer himself."

You perked up. "Really?"

Remus chuckled. "Just write novels here and there."

"Which ones?" You asked eagerly, looking at him in excitement.

"Probably haven’t heard of them," Remus said, shrugging. "The Idea of the Unknown was one that was popular for a bit," He added casually, and your eyes widened.

"Wait, you wrote The Idea of the Unknown?" You asked in disbelief.

He laughed. "Yeah, that’s me."

He seemed completely nonchalant as he mentioned one of the books that had shaped your entire view on life. You were amazed by how humble he could be about it.

And then it clicked,

He was one of your all time favorite authors.

You almost fainted. "You’re the Remus Lupin?" You asked, excited.

"Surprised you know my work," He said. "I didn’t think your age group read my books."

"I love your books!" You exclaimed. "The story between Ophelia and Duke had me crying for weeks after the ending."

Remus smiled warmly. "I spent fifteen years perfecting that ending. Glad it made an impact."

"But we're glad you love his work," Sirius teased, a sly grin painting his face.

You blushed, mortified. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to turn this into a meet and greet. I swear I’m not a stalker."

Sirius laughed. "Honestly, this just makes us more sure about you. At least we know you have taste." He nudged your shoulder jokingly.

You felt a bit guilty for not asking more about their kids. "So, what are their names?"

You pointed to a picture of two kids—a boy with dark hair and hazel eyes, and a shy-looking girl with long brown hair. They were both in front of the Christmas tree with matching Rudolph pajamas as the boy smiled confidently in front of the camera and the little girl hid behind him.

"Harry is almost four—he’s a bit of a handful, but he’s brave. Ruby’s shy, but she’s a clever little thing." Remus says, "And don't be fooled by either of them, they love to prank people and be up to no good,"

"They’re both adorable," You said. "I’m sure I’ll love them."

Remus checked his watch. "Actually, they should be back from their walk about now."

And just as he said that, the door opened, and in came a tall man with glasses and black hair that was shorter than Sirius's, carrying Ruby on his back and with Harry hanging from his leg.

Yet another handsome man.

"Okay, go to your daddies," The man said, setting Ruby down. She rushed over to Sirius, while Harry went to Remus, peppering him with questions.

The man turned to you. "And who’s this?" He asked with a grin.

You felt your heart race. "I’m Y/N, the new babysitter," You said, extending a hand.

"James," He said, then surprised you by pulling you into a hug. "Nice to meet you."

Sirius laughed. "He’s a hugger." He picked up Ruby as she pulled on his long locks of hair, earning a pained groan from him as he put her back down, "Not nice," He jokingly pouted as he rubbed his head.

You were too busy by James's embrace to be fully locked on to the kids as his scent infiltrated your nose. James smelled like maple syrup and firewood, and it almost made you dizzy.

When he pulled back, he grinned. "We’re glad to have you."

"Yeah, we need a new face around here," Sirius added as Ruby shyly hid behind his legs.

"Come on, Ruby, say hello," James coaxed, looking at the little girl and nodding his head to you as she went towards you in a shy manner, "She won't bite," James added, trying to help.

You kneeled down to her level. "Unless you want me to," You joked, making her giggle.

"My name’s Y/N. What’s yours?"

"Ruby," She said quietly.

"That’s a pretty name," You said. "You’re pretty too."

Ruby smiled shyly, and you stood up to find a little Harry already approaching you.

"Do you have cookies?" He asked, looking up at you with wide eyes.

"Not yet," You laughed.

"Bwoo," Harry pouted, moving over to James as he picked him up.

"Looks like you’re going to be a good fit,"

[littlemissaddict]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley:

"Oi, where do ya think ya going love?" Simon grumbles, sleepily reaching out for her as he feels her body moving from his own. Perks (or rather problems when he's on leave) of working in the field is that while he can sleep almost anywhere, the slightest sound or movement is enough to jolt him awake.

Her on the other hand, didn't hear a word Simon just said as she's still fast asleep, lost in dreamland as she rolled away from him.

Simon, though, seems to take it personally that she moved away from his embrace no matter how unintentional it may have been. The mattress dips under his broad form as he shuffles along the bed towards her still sleeping form, his large hands finding her waist and pulling her back into him with a sigh.

The unexpected movement finally wakes her, "Mhmm Si-" She mumbles out groggily, trying to turn in his hold to face him.

"S'kay love, jus' go back t'sleep"

Johnny 'Soap' Mctavish:

Normally, trying to wake Johnny when he was on leave was like trying to wake the dead but tonight it seemed the tiny movement of her climbing out of bed to use the bathroom in the middle of the night was more than enough to wake him. His strong arms curling around her middle and stopping her in the process as her bladder cries in protest.

"Where ya runnin' off ta?" His voice rough with sleep as he asks.

"Nowhere, just need to pee" she almost pleads with him, squealing when he tightens his arms around her a squeezing slightly.

"Nah, I think I'll keep ya righ' 'ere" he hums, closing his eyes again as his arms rest heavy against her body.

"I swear Johnny, let me go or there'll be a puddle in the bed" She warns, "and not the fun kind" She frowns, forgetting that he can't see her as he still has his eyes closed, in hopes of spurring him onto let her go.

"Ooh, the fun kind eh" he teases, perking up again, "an wha' fun would that be?" He smirks, knowing the answer already as to what she was referring to.

"Doesn't matter because you won't be getting none if you don't let me go" She threatens as a last-ditch effort for him to finally release her even though they both know that she could never refuse him for too long.

It works in her favour as he let's her go with a pained groan as if she's wounded him. She's used to his dramatics now, rolling her eyes as she rushes to the bathroom.

She returns to find Johnny watching her expectantly from the bed, the mischievous glint still shining brightly in his eyes, but she cuts him off before he can start again. "I don't think so, I'm going back to sleep" she warns sternly, knowing that a few well planned touches from Johnny and she'll be putty in his hands.

[retrosabers]

𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐝.

FICMAS DAY 5 - UNWRAPPING

A RETROSABERS X PANDAPETALS DOUBLE FEATURE

old man logan x fem!reader

summary: logan didn’t believe in exchanging christmas presents. so, you offer him something you know he can’t refuse. a night where’s he’s free to have you all to himself.

contains: 18+ content below the cut. MINORS DNI. making out, some dry humping if you squint, oral (fem receiving), implied age gap, a dash of angst, swearing

word count: 2.6k

a/n: you thought i’d let a whole season pass without a little taste of some festive smut? absolutely hilarious. this is my first time writing for old man logan, and i think i did pretty alright considering i have yet to watch the movie (i’m terrified of the pain it will bring)

any feedback is always greatly appreciated!

also, don’t be confused by the fact that this says day 5 when i still haven’t posted day 4, i’m writing these bad boys out of order

and finally, a huge shoutout & thanks to the wildly talented @pandapetals for agreeing to do a little collaboration! please go check out her blog and all of her amazing work! <3

FIND HER PART HERE

!! divider by @estrelinha-s !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

“are you sure your eyes are closed?”

logan grunts. “they’re closed, darlin’. promise.”

he’s been sitting here for almost fifteen minutes now, waiting for you to bring out this so-called “surprise.” from the ambient lighting and freshly washed bed sheets, the man thinks he’s got a general idea of what it is, but you’ve been fiddling in the bathroom too long for him to be certain.

still, he appeases you, and waits patiently at the foot of your bed. even if it’s a little bit uncomfortable on his knees.

meanwhile you’re fussing over every little detail of your appearance in the groggy bathroom mirror.

this was your solution to getting around logan’s “i don’t need anything for christmas” rule. you always begrudgingly abided by it, save for the box of cigars that always mysteriously turnt up in his nightstand on christmas eve. you knew he could never turn it down, no matter how much he tried.

logan could never say no to a smoke break with a nice pack of cubans. and he most certainly couldn’t say no to you.

that's how you decided upon this whole scheme. dolling yourself up and donning a new set of lingerie themed to the occasion, knowing logan had no leg to stand on. because technically, you didn’t buy anything for him. you bought this for you. he just so happened to be the person who was going to help take it off.

or rip it off, knowing your man’s track record of impatience and eagerness.

you share the exact same sentiment, though your tendency to be anile overpowers all else. you know it doesn’t matter if you have a hair or two out of place, or if your lips are slightly over lined. perfection never mattered to logan, but it still didn’t stop you from doing everything in your power to be pretty damn close to it tonight.

even if it meant making him wait a few extra minutes.

you pay your reflection one final glance before sauntering out into the bedroom.

he smells you before he hears you.

your scent wafting into the room captures his attention more than anything else. logan’s senses may not be as keen as they once were, but the fragrance of you was something utterly unmistakable. a sweet yet sultry aroma that he ached to have on his skin, his clothes, anywhere, to keep him grounded. to remind himself that you were real and you were his. it only adds to the anticipation building inside, the mere seconds he has to wait dragging on like hours in his mind.

a wave of lust overtakes you as logan comes into view. somehow just the sight of him is enough to send a bout of arousal down to your core.

that crisp white dress shirt he always wears is unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up to reveal those chiseled forearms you love to have wrapped around you. the soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table illuminates the weathered curves of his face so beautifully. a contrast to the ruggedness of his position; legs lazily spread wide and long, thick fingers tapping mindlessly against his thigh.

the picture of a real man. and he’s all yours for the taking.

the sound of your footsteps padding against the floor grows louder. obediently, logan’s eyes stay shut, despite the fact that the other aroma you carry is hot and heavy in his nostrils. his upper lip twitches with a knowing smirk.

so this is exactly what he had in mind.

on instinct, his thighs spread even further when he senses your approach, hands itching to find their place on you somehow. when your own stay glued to your sides, he takes that as his cue to do the same.

logan really hates to admit it, but there’s something about this little bit of mystery that’s got him going before you’ve even begun.

“you ready?” your voice comes out breathy, and if logan didn’t know any better he’d think you’re nervous. and truth be told, you were. not that logan wouldn’t get his kicks, you were certain of that. more so that you’d be unable to walk come tomorrow morning.

though neither of you would consider it a bad thing

“yes ma’am,” he grumbles in response, knowing exactly the effect it has on you. the cockiness on his face is inevitable when he hears your breath hitch.

tease. if that’s how he wants to play, you’re in for a long night.

with a quiet sigh, you splay your fingers over the expanse of his broad shoulders. the man takes it as permission, calloused palms wrapping around your calves and not daring to travel any further. he knows he’ll lose any remaining self control if he gets so much as an inch closer to the apex of your thighs.

“okay.” you murmur. “you can open your eyes.”

slowly, those dark irises begin to drink you in. his grip on you tightens as soon as he gets the whole picture, a visible tent forming in his dress slacks almost immediately.

logan thought you were the most beautiful women he’s ever seen under any conditions. didn’t matter if you were sick, if you were bare faced, none of that changed how otherworldly you looked in his eyes. but nothing, and i mean nothing, compared to the sight of you before him right now.

you look like something out of a dream. hair styled in a way that drives him particularly crazy, makeup done to highlight your features so elegantly in the dim light. the best, and quite possibly logan’s favorite part, however, is that your lips are painted a shade of red to perfectly match the ensemble adorning your body. it sparks a slideshow of rather lewd images in his brain, wanting the color scattered across his cheek, his chest, his cock. anywhere you’re willing to brand him.

he’s committed every inch of you to memory by now. countless nights of exploring, mapping out your curves with hand and tongue. and still, everytime he sees you like this, practically offering yourself on a silver platter, he can’t help but stare back as though this is the very first time.

especially when that crimson silk is accentuating your figure so nicely.

“do you like it?” you ask coyly, bottom lip tucked between your teeth like you’re not fully aware of the power you have over him.

logan scoffs out a laugh, dragging his hands higher and higher until they tug at your hips, pulling you to straddle his lap in one swift motion. you squeak at the sudden display of strength, forgetting that despite his age, he was still infinitely stronger than any man you’ve ever met.

even beneath the layers of fabric between you, the sheer size of him was impossible to ignore. fuck, and he wasn’t even fully hard. you bite back a moan at the outline of his length pressed between your legs.

“that answer your question?” he quips back lowly, smirking smugly.

you hum in content, pressing your hands further into his shoulders as you experimentally grind your hips. the pair of you preen at the contact, desperate for any form of relief after being pent up and waiting.

“careful,” logan grits out in warning. “gonna cum in my pants like a fuckin’ teenager if you keep that up.”

you tsk in response, cocking your head with faux concern. “can’t have that, now can we?”

logan shakes his head at your antics, eyes wandering back over your body once more. before tonight, his favorite set of lingerie you owned was a black lacy number. simple and classic. but the more time he spends inspecting what’s currently adorning your frame, the more he thinks that red might be his new favorite color.

something warm spills over him when he glances at your chest again. something different than what he normally experiences every time he catches a glimpse of your cleavage, anyways.

“is that a bow?” he questions, a little bit amused.

you let out a soft giggle, nodding in reply.

“wanted you to be able to unwrap your present.”

you can count the amount of times logan has laughed, really truly laughed, on one hand. and as much as it sounds like music to your ears, you’re rather confused as to why he’s laughing right now.

“what’s so funny?” you huff, brows knit together and bottom lip jutted in a near pout.

logan averts your inquiry, burying his face in your neck so you can’t see him grinning like an idiot. instead, he busies himself with dragging his lips up and down the column of your throat, reveling in the breathy moans spilling from your lips with each and every press against your skin.

from the moment you met logan howlett, you fantasized about that salt and pepper beard. longed to feel the delicious sting of scruff against every part of you. as addicting as it is, the sensation isn’t enough to keep you completely distracted.

“logan,” you whine, titling your head back to grant him more access. “m’serious.”

he doesn’t halt his ministrations, too consumed with making sure your neck is painted every shade of lavender under the sun. he only stops when you rake your fingers in his hair and physically pull him off, much to both your dismays.

you give him a look. that pursed lips, narrow eyed “what aren’t you saying to me” look that signals he’s going to have to fess up to whatever’s on his mind, or else the evening would be coming to an end right here and now. from the way he’s about to burst through the zipper on his dress slacks, you know he’s not considering weighing options.

logan sighs heavily. if you didn’t know all the variations of the sound, you’d think he was upset with you. but that was far from how the older man felt. he begins to examine your face, observing everything from the slopes of your bone structure, to the color of your irises. he studies your features like an artisan in a gallery, content on not missing a single detail.

after a moment, the corners of his mouth turn up a hair. eyes almost dopey; filled with a lovesickness he never thought could be possible.

“you’re somethin’ else, y’know that?” he murmurs into the air, rough fingertips tracing back and forth across your spine.

you speak the language of logan fluently, knowing exactly what the underlying message of his words were. in reality, he was saying, “what did i do in this life to deserve you? will you ever know how much i love you? i hope you’ll be mine for as long as you’ll have me.”

suddenly his round of laughter from before rings brighter in your ears.

instead of saying another word, you guide his face to yours, connecting your lips in a silent understanding.

logan always kisses you like a man starved, devouring you whole as though every kiss may be the last. there was nothing tame, or tender about the man they once called the wolverine, but you managed to slip between the cracks of his stony disposition, and bring forth all the parts of himself he swore he lost decades ago.

your hands encircle around the back of his neck, logan’s squeezing at the flesh of your hips. he pulls you impossibly closer, pressing the swell of your chest against his own. the feeling of your nipples pebbling through velvet fabric reminds him of the true nature of your current situation.

tonight was for him. his pleasure, his enjoyment. he knew you’d be heavily dissatisfied if he didn’t indulge in what you were offering.

and what kind of man would logan be, if he disappointed his sweet girl?

you’re not expecting him to be so gentle when he turns and flips you over, mouth never once leaving yours. a large hand spread across your back as he lowers you down onto the mattress with a care reserved for you and only you. a fact that adds to your current state of arousal. your legs open like second nature, and logan slots himself between them as though that’s where he was always meant to be.

the whine that leaves you when he pulls away would be embarrassing if it weren’t for the hunger in his stare. those normally hazel pupils now a brownish black that overshadowed bright white. he sits back on his haunches, glazing over your pretty little lingerie with a newfound appreciation.

he reaches to toy with the end of the bow tied snugly between your breasts, a teasing invitation that he graciously accepts.

at a tantalizing pace, he begins to unwrap his present, watching with lustful eyes as more and more skin becomes exposed. you arch your back the slightest bit to get the job done faster, the shoe of impatience now snug on your foot instead of his.

normally, logan would scold, spit something about “being a good girl and waiting.” but he’s just as riled up and eager as you are, and he gives the velvet one final tug that has your breasts springing free.

god you were absolute perfection.

he can’t resist running a thumb over your erect nipples, reveling in the way you squirm over such a small touch. your color coated lips swollen and shiny from his kisses. body already relaxed and pliant, willing to do whatever he so pleases.

a few minutes ago, he would’ve torn your outfit off without second thought and shown no mercy. let the shitty week he was having take control, guide him through the motions of achieving pleasure. but something inside logan urges him to be a little sentimental; take his sweet time on the off chance that he wakes up and discovers this was all a dream.

so he decides that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

the path down to your core was a familiar one, a route he knew like the back of his hand. sloppy, wet kisses trail down your stomach, a small crack in logan’s otherwise composed exterior. by the time he reaches the hem of your panties, tongue teasing beneath the waistband, you’re bursting at the seams with desire, unable to stop yourself from whimpering and bucking your hips upward.

“i gotcha honey,” he whispers against the inside of your thigh, rubbing soft circles with his thumb. “m’gonna take real good care of ya.”

logan knew you were soaked the second you walked into the room. didn’t need to see or feel it to know. still, he indulges his ego and stares proudly at the dark patch in the center of your underwear. knowing it was all his doing, that he was the only one who could get you like this.

when he pulls the fabric to the side and is met with your glistening folds, he can’t help the groan that rumbles in his chest.

“merry fuckin’ christmas to me,” he all but growls before diving right in.

it’s in moments like these where he wishes that photographic memory was his mutation, though he doubts he’ll ever forget this. his perfect girl, laid out so delicately beneath him, basking in the pale moonlight that seeped in between the curtains. his own personal utopia, paradise within the four walls of this rickety building you called home.

logan wonders if maybe he’s finally succumbed to the poison in his bones. because this sure does feel like heaven.

at the very least, it most definitely feels like christmas.

because having the privilege of watching you come undone was the gift that kept on giving all year round.

thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @alastor-simp @j4desblurbs @pandapetals @hextech-bros

!! if you would like to be tagged in the rest of the ficmas blurbs, please send me an inbox message or leave a comment !!

[voxslays]

JUST LIKE CANDY — SQUID GAMES MEN

Summary: The squid games men with a sweet, kind, and slightly naive reader, who is just a total sweetheart throughout the games. Warnings: American!Reader mentioned in the salesman’s part.

HWANG IN-HO

❀ How did such a sweet, caring being such as yourself end up in a place like this? That was In-ho’s first thought when you ran up to him, inviting to sit with your group, which conveniently had Gi-hun already in it. You could be useful. You were so young. Your trusting and naive nature was going to get you hurt. He knew what the people in these games would do for money, so from that day forward he vowed to protect you.

❀ He cheered you on in six legged race, making sure his guards knew not to kill you just in case your team didn’t make it to the end for some reason. And in mingle, he made sure you were no more than an arms length from him at all times. He’s gotta keep you safe, doesn’t he? And in the end—during the rebellion—he refuses to let you join. In-ho can’t risk losing another person he cares about. It would destroy him. So he begs you to stay put, and you do.

❀ When he finally makes it back to his quarters and becomes the frontman again, he makes sure you’re safe. For the next three games, he wastes no time telling the guards that they should give you hints and clues on the next games. Once this is all over, you two can be together, as you should’ve been all along.

THE SALESMAN (GONG YOO)

❀ When the salesman sees you—a foreigner, likely American—sitting on a wooden bench in the park he liked to walk in during his ‘work’ hours, he couldn’t help but think of what an impeccable target you would be. A perfect contestant for the games. So, Gong-Yoo approached you, expecting the normal untrusting response. Maybe you’d be confused, speaking in English or poor Korean.

❀ But the recruiter was shocked when you waved at him politely, letting him sit beside you. Yet, the most shocking of all, your Korean was amazing for a foreigner. He didn’t even have time to offer you a card to the games before he was engaged in a polite conversation with you. Gong-Yoo didn’t even want to recruit you for the games anymore. Despite being a sadist, subjecting you to such pain and torment seemed wrong for him to do.

❀ Gong-Yoo finds you every day on the same bench, waiting for him. You two quickly become friends, and then something more. The Salesman finds himself excited for your company. So when he asks you to get dinner with him, he couldn’t be more pleased when you happily accept his offer. Another win for him.

HWANG JUN-HO

❀ When Jun-ho discovers an American officer has been transferred to his department, he finds himself slightly intrigued. When he finally meets you, he’s shocked. When he thought of an American, you were the farthest thing from it. You were a complete angel. Not like how the other detectives had described Americans as patriotic and cocky. No, you were different, and Jun-ho feels himself drawn to you.

❀ Jun-ho suggests you work on the case together. I mean, you’re new to the country, aren’t you? You might need some help navigating Seoul! What if you get lost? Jun-ho should be there to guide you for your first time. That, and he might have…maybe…wanted to get to know you better. The two of you find yourselves meeting up quite frequently. At the park, the local library, the station. Anywhere, really.

❀ When the two of you finally ‘crack the case,’ as you say back in the states, Jun-ho cant help but fawn over you like a teenage boy. The way your excitement shows through your gleaming eyes, or how you immediately go to give him a high five. Yeah, he knows you’re the one for him.

[syoddeye]

oh ho ho! so simon calls and asks the bartender out...what are we thinking? does he go all out trying to prove he actually isn't a loser and can pull off a suave date? or does he purposefully plan the most off-putting date possible to get back at her for being a pain in the ass?

prev.

i love that you think he's going to call right away. nope.

simon sends some version of you up? after close, then stews for hours when you don't reply. he sits in the dark, phone in hand, grumbling to himself. the cigarette between his fingers burns low, barely making it to the ashtray before he lights another.

he lasts three days. three nights of drinking alone at home, refusing to go to the pub and show his face. the thought crosses his mind to go elsewhere, where it'd take him all of fifteen minutes to find a bit of skirt, but somehow, you've gone and sucked the thrill out of that.

his pride keeps him tethered in place, stubborn to a fault, but even that has its limits. on the third night, the ashtray beside him overflowing, he finally caves. he calls.

"so you can follow instructions. i was worried i'd have to draw you a picture."

he doesn't waste time. "sent ya an address. i can be there in ten." 

"yeah, i looked it up. looks like a classy joint. free wifi." 

"…you comin' or not?" 

"mm, got a policy. can't sleep anywhere lower than three stars." 

"s'not for sleepin'." 

"then let's do yours. got a bed frame?"

simon straightens, caught off guard. that's unexpected—that you're game. he expected more of a fuss, but if you're just in it for dick, things are back on track.

he glances at his bed. the rumpled dark blue sheets are half-pulled off the mattress, still on the floor where he's always kept it. it's never mattered before, but no one's ever been here, either. hotels keep it impersonal. neutral ground. they reinforce the rules. they do the cleaning.

"can't. i'll come over." 

"oof, i've got another policy." you chuckle. "can't have someone over until we've gone on an actual date. you know, to make sure they're normal. or close to it." 

you have no idea.

he imagines sitting across a table in some overpriced restaurant, squeezed into a tiny chair, with loud music pounding in his ears. wasting money on drinks and food. all that just to stare at the tits he knows you're going to hide underneath some layers while you make small talk. it makes his skin itch.

but. if your stupid little 'policies' don't exist solely to jerk him around, he'll earn passage into your world. your place. unknown territory, somewhere to plant a flag and humble you all at once.

forget his lack of a bed frame, he hasn't had a bird in her own bed in ages.

"fine. tomorrow."

"sunday," you counter, and he hears the grin in your voice. "i'm off monday. send me a better address, and i'll meet you there. no french food."

he scoffs. "that, we can agree on."

you laugh, teasing. "bring that with you—the sense of humor. you're gonna need it."

[ameliathornromance]

“Ouch!” Your Orc hissed, jerking in pain as you pressed alcohol soaked cloth to his arm. “You can’t be more gentle, can you?”

“Well if you stopped moving,” you returned through gritted teeth, “then it wouldn’t hurt as much. It’s not me that’s causing you pain, it’s the chemical. If I’m any more gentle about it, the pain will just last longer and it will sting a lot more.”

The giant gash in his arm just did not want to stop bleeding. You let out a sigh of irritation as you realised it was going to need stitches. “Hold onto it for me?”

Grumbling, your Orc Boyfriend pressed held the soaked cloth in place as you reached for your medical box behind you, “how did this happen then?”

“I was in the gym,” your boyfriend started, “and this goblin wouldn’t stop trying to take pictures of me, so I told him to put the phone down. He said ‘no, it’s a public space, I can film who I damn well likes’ and his smug face pissed me off. So… I might have gotten a little rough with him.”

You sighed again. Typical of an Orc to start the physical fight. Pulling out a needle and medical thread, you cleaned them, nodding as your boyfriend went on, “and then this little bastard pulls out a knife and just slashed me open!”

Your head whipped around to look at your partner, “what the fuck?!” you set the needle and thread down on your bedside table. “You’re not hurt anywhere else, are you? Oh my God, why did they even let that guy in with a weapon!?” You surveyed your Orcs topless body, searching his green skin for any kind of graze or cut.

“Something about it being for Goblin arts practice.” Your boyfriend grunted, annoyed. “Anyway, he’s then restrained by some of the staff, the police are called and there was also an ambulance.”

“Why didn’t you let the paramedics stitch you up?!” You asked, aghast. “Why would you refuse it and come back here!?”

Meeting your boyfriends gaze, he gives you a sheepish look. “… Because you used to sew up my cuts when I was a cage fighter?”

“That was only on the fly!” You snapped, “I’m not a medical professional, I could have really hurt you doing that!”

He scoffed, “we all could have gotten really hurt doing that. It was underground and illegal for all of us to be there.”

You rolled your eyes and picked up the needle and thread again. You set to work sewing up your boyfriends wound, “that was a very, very long time ago. I don’t know if I’m still any good at this.”

“I trust you.” The Orc said, smiling. “You were always gentle with me whenever I’d come out of the ring.”

You couldn’t hold back your smile, “I was only gentle with you because I liked you.”

Back then, it was difficult to find any kind of joy. You were in a lot of trouble with loan sharks and had to do something to pay them back.

You’d been kicked out medical school, were drowning in their debt… but there’s no reason as to why you couldn’t put to use the little skills you’d learnt.

So you started helping illegal cage fighters with their injuries. They paid well and everyone had a don’t ask, don’t tell policy. Although half of your pay check got taken back by the loan sharks, the fighters you did heal would give you tips of 100 coins, sometimes up to 1000, depending on how they were feeling, so that helped a great deal.

Your boyfriend, known as ‘Big Money’ for his green skin and huge muscular body, was the top fighter there. If you were smart, you betted on ‘Big Money.’ It’s in the name isn’t it? You want to win? You bet big.

Every time you took care of him, he always took you out to dinner as thanks. And eventually, he was taking you out just because, and before long, you were dating.

Everyone knew you as ‘Big Money’s girlfriend’ and rarely gave you any slack… apart from the occasional too big for his boots fighter who snarked you or shoved you away when you tried to tend to his injuries.

When that happened, everyone would treat said fighter like he was a bomb about to go off; no one wanted to be near him, or associated with him And who would? If Big Money was going to get you for disrespecting his girl, you would stay clear too.

A cold shot went through you, “you don’t think that Goblin knew who you were, do you?” you asked.

Your Boyfriend stiffened at the question. He was quiet for a little longer than you’d have liked, but he answered you. “I’m not sure. I didn’t recognise him when I saw him, he might have just been a spectator.”

“Either way… it’s still a concern.”

Your boyfriend was in a similar situation to you too, but the difference was that he was hundreds more in debt than you were. Which is why he was put in the ring. Partly as a punishment, partly as a way to earn back all the money he’d lost.

The pair of you wanted to escape that place. Not because you didn’t want to pay off your debts, but because of the barbarity of the environment.

Every time you saw your Orc coming out of the ring, he just looked worse and worse. Black eyes, shattered orbital bones, fractured fingers and toes, tendon snapping and a whole list of other, much gorier things were what made you both realise you wanted out.

With each time you had to fix up his injuries, your hands became even more unsteady.

The event organisers had no clue of your relationship with their ‘Big Money’ and often berated you, threatening to raise your interest if you couldn’t do your job properly.

“We need to leave.” Your Orc had urged you after a particularly bad fight. Both his eyes were swollen and he had stitches sewn into his bottom lip. He paced up and down your cramped bedroom, “this is getting bad, like, too bad. Who knows what they’ll do if-”

“Just stop saying things like that!” You had said, grasping the sides of your head. “I don’t think I can cope with talking about that kind of thing, if they find out we’re thinking about running, they’ll kill us!”

“No, they won’t.” Your Orc had said, firmly. “They won’t. I won’t let them lay a finger on us.”

He had bent down to you, squeezed your hands reassuringly. “I can do this, get us out of there, but you have to trust me okay? I know a guy, who knows a guy. They can get us out and we won’t have to worry about the debt again.”

When you began to shake your head, your boyfriends puffy eyes meets yours. “Please, (Y/N), trust me on this, they’ll believe we’re dead and gone, they won’t come looking for us!”

The final straw came when your Orc was knocked unconscious for two hours. They’d had him in fight after fight, breaks of ten seconds all but before he had to get back in the cage and fight on.

You had to fight back tears as you shakily stitched up a split eyebrow and tried to keep your cool from going off on the event organiser, who sat behind you and counted bills, feet up on the table in his ironed clean suit, paid for in blood money.

And when your boyfriends stitches had failed to hold together and he went down and out… the blame fell to you.

That was it.

You knew you both had to leave.

Your Orc had woken up with no apparent brain injuries and as soon as you were both able to speak again, you told him, “that guy who knows a guy, how much money does he want from us and how soon can he get us out of here?”

From that point it was simple: a fire would be started, people would have to clear and escape the premises, and that’s when the two of you would run.

You remember what it was like, preparing for it. You had to get your blood drawn every two weeks, not a lot, but just enough for people to know that something had happened to you during the confusion.

Your boyfriend did the same thing. He got all of his – limited payments, just enough for him to eat off of – in cash, so he saved and saved for weeks, you did too.

And the moment that fire broke out, you’d never felt such relief.

The pair of you took off in the crowd and the guy, who knew a guy, spilled the blood you had drawn in those earlier weeks.

You’d both gotten into an unmarked van, before being dropped off in a city where nobody knew your names, your past or what you’d had to do to become free.

Once the adrenaline of getting caught had worn off, the pair of you had celebrated with buying a new flat and staring new careers.

You got into alternative medicine, and now healed people through those means, while your boyfriend became a fitness trainer.

And overall, everything seemed to be going well… until today that was.

The guy your boyfriend knew, had said that you had to avoid being photographed, filmed and having any kind of digital trace if you wanted to avoid being found.

You had completely forgotten about that part. Life had been so good that your past had felt like a nightmare.

But if your anxiety was correct, it seemed like you would need to pack up, go on the run again. Or find a way to get that footage off of the Goblin and delete it… and that’s assuming that he hadn’t already put it on social media or sent it to the event organisers, if he was connected to them.

“Hey,” your Orcs soft voice broke you out of your trace state. You tied off the stitches as he put the knuckle of his finger under your chin and forced you to look at him.

“Whatever happens, we’re going to be alright.” He said, firmly. “No one is going to try and hurt us. I’ll get in contact with my guy, and we’ll see what he can do. Who knows? That little bastard might have just been running a fitness page or something. Since he had a knife, he might just do this sort of thing a lot and expects to get into fights.”

You smiled, grateful for his reassurance. “Yeah.”

Sometimes, occams’ razor is the way to keep your head above water. You still made a mental note to pack a duffle bag full of valuables to make sure that you could both shoot off if you needed to.

But you trusted that your Orc Boyfriend would keep you safe. He’d done so all this time, so what would stop him now?

Hi! Thank you so much for reading my story! If you like this kind of content, you should check out my Patreon! There, I post stories twice a week and earlier than I post on Tumblr. I also post exclusive stories there too where you won’t be able to find anywhere else.

If you’re not sure about signing up, I have a 7 day free trial enabled on my lowest tier so you can see if you like my work written there!

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[theonottsbxtch]

FREE NOW | OP81

an: coming in to drop in my usual dose of pain! sorry guys! also i know london doesn't snow much i live there okay - for fictional purposes it snows like canada okay

wc: 4.6k

She had always imagined London as a city brimming with stories—something in the fog, in the way strangers passed each other without a glance, as though every life was a thread winding off into its own tangled skein. But sitting at the tiny table in the corner of a café just off Piccadilly, all she felt was an ache of silence. It settled into her bones, heavy and dull, refusing to leave as she stared down at the empty page of her notebook.

It wasn’t just that she was struggling to write; she’d had writer’s block before, countless times. This felt different, like an emptiness she couldn’t quite explain, as if she were looking for something and wasn’t sure she’d ever find it.

Outside, holiday lights twinkled from shop windows, the buzz of Christmas infecting the streets with a forced cheer that only made her feel more isolated. Her family, well… they hadn’t protested when she’d told them she’d be spending Christmas alone this year, though her mother’s voice had held a thin strain of relief, the same quiet resignation that crept into their few conversations. This was better, she told herself. No pretence of trying to belong.

A little bell jingled as the café door opened, sending a swirl of cold air and a few snowflakes across the room. She lifted her gaze, feeling the dullness lift, just slightly, as she watched the strangers filter in and take their places—shaking off scarves, brushing snow from their shoulders. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, exactly. A spark of inspiration, maybe. The start of a story that she could somehow pull from thin air.

Then she noticed him. He had slipped into the seat next to hers, a coffee between his hands as he stared out the window with an intense, almost brooding focus. She studied him, wondering if he was waiting for someone. The sharp angles of his profile, the tension in his shoulders, the way he held his coffee like it was anchoring him to something unseen. There was something almost familiar about it, that quiet ache that seemed to ripple off him.

She barely realised she’d spoken aloud until she heard her own voice break the silence between them.

“You do that too?”

He turned, startled, his gaze flickering to hers with a hint of surprise. “Do what?”

“People watch,” she said, feeling a faint, unexpected smile tug at her lips.

His face softened, just a little, and for a moment, she thought he might smile too. “I guess I do.”

The silence between them held, soft but charged, like the last still moment before a storm. She was suddenly aware of the faint smell of coffee in the air, of the warmth of the café and the cold press of London just outside. She couldn’t quite look away.

For the next week, they fell into a rhythm neither of them acknowledged aloud. Each morning, she would arrive at the café, order her coffee, and take her usual seat by the window. And almost without fail, he would appear shortly after, his movements precise and unhurried, as if the same quiet pull guided him there.

At first, she thought it was coincidence. London was vast, but habits could form anywhere, and the café had a kind of intimacy that made it easy to return to. But after the third day, she began to wonder.

They didn’t speak, not really. Sometimes, their eyes would meet briefly, a flicker of recognition that neither of them followed up on. She tried not to think too much about him, but he was impossible to ignore, sitting so near, his focus as sharp as it was restless. He scribbled occasionally in a leather notebook, his jaw tight, his gaze flicking to the window as if seeking answers he wasn’t finding.

She imagined he was an artist, or maybe a journalist. Someone chasing a story just as elusive as her own. But she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

It was on the eighth day that he finally broke the silence.

“You’ve been stuck all week, haven’t you?”

She looked up, startled, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the café. He was watching her now, his gaze steady and warm but laced with something sharper—curiosity, perhaps.

“I—what?” she asked, her cheeks warming.

His lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Your notebook. You keep opening it, but you haven’t written anything.”

She hesitated, her instinct to deflect faltering under the weight of his gaze. There was no judgement there, just an odd kind of understanding that made her feel more exposed than she liked.

“I’m stuck,” she admitted finally, closing the notebook as if to prove her point. “Completely and hopelessly stuck.”

“What are you writing?”

Her fingers tightened on the cover. She wasn’t sure why she answered him. Maybe it was the way he asked, so simply, like the answer mattered. “A romance novel.”

He raised an eyebrow, and for a moment she thought he might laugh. But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, considering her with a thoughtful expression. “Romance, huh? No wonder you’re struggling.”

“Excuse me?” she said, a faint edge creeping into her voice.

“You’re not going to get much inspiration sitting in a coffee shop,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again. Because he was right. The truth of it gnawed at her, even as she bristled.

“I’m only visiting London,” she said instead, as if that explained everything.

“Even better.”

She blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

He leaned forward then, his gaze pinning hers. “I’ll take you,” he said, as though it were already decided.

“Take me where?”

“Pack your things,” he said, standing abruptly and shrugging into his coat.

She blinked up at him, startled. “What?”

“You’ve been sitting here for a week, and it’s obviously not working,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Come on. We’re going to Hyde Park.”

Her instinct was to refuse, to laugh it off and tell him she didn’t have time for distractions. But something about the way he said it—firm, certain, like it wasn’t a question—made her pause.

She hesitated. “It’s snowing.”

“That’s the point.” He glanced at her notebook. “Unless you’d rather keep staring at blank pages?”

That stung, but he wasn’t wrong. With a sigh, she slid her notebook into her bag, slung her coat over her shoulders, and followed him out of the café.

The snow fell softly, brushing against her cheeks and clinging to her hair as they walked to the nearest tube station. She didn’t bother to ask where they were going—he’d already told her, and besides, she had the strange sense that she could trust him, at least for now.

The tube was chaos. She clutched the cold metal pole for balance, acutely aware of the press of strangers around her. He stood just ahead of her, perfectly at ease, one hand tucked into his coat pocket, the other resting casually on a strap above his head.

“This is…” She searched for the word.

“Overwhelming?” he offered, glancing back at her.

“Beautiful,” she said, surprising herself. The movement, the noise, the life—it was nothing like home, where everything felt static and predictable.

He smiled, just slightly, and she wondered if he’d expected her to say something else.

When they finally emerged from the station, Hyde Park lay spread out before them, its open paths blanketed in fresh snow. The lamplight made the flakes glisten, casting an almost magical glow over the scene. Families bundled in scarves and hats wandered by, their laughter carrying through the cold air. A few children darted across the snow, throwing snowballs and leaving behind trails of footprints.

She inhaled deeply, letting the crisp air fill her lungs. “This is perfect.”

“Told you,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

They walked in silence for a while, the only sounds the crunch of snow underfoot and the distant hum of the city. She found herself glancing at him more than once, studying the curve of his profile, the way his gaze seemed to take in everything and nothing all at once.

Finally, she broke the silence. “You’re not from here.”

He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “What gave it away?”

“The accent,” she said with a small smile. “Australia?”

“Yeah.”

“So why aren’t you home for Christmas?”

He hesitated, his gaze flicking away toward the trees. “Work,” he said simply.

There was a weight to the word that she didn’t miss, but she didn’t press. Instead, she nodded. “Same.”

“Work?”

“I have a deadline,” she said. “And, honestly, I don’t really enjoy spending Christmas at home.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged, stuffing her hands deeper into her pockets. “It’s complicated.”

“Fair enough.” He didn’t push, and she was grateful for it.

They continued to talk as they reached one of the gates, she found out his name was Oscar and that he was the eldest of four - all sisters. That he liked London at Christmas but nothing felt better than summer at home.

She didn’t know much about him, but the parts she knew she liked.She turned to face him, her breath visible in the cold air.

“Here,” he said, pulling out his phone and holding it toward her. “Give me your number.”

She hesitated, then took it and typed in her name—just her first name—and her number before handing it back.

He smiled, sliding the phone into his coat. “I’ll message you. Same time tomorrow?”

“What for?”

“We’ll go somewhere else,” he said. “More people to watch.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “All right. Tomorrow.”

“Good,” he said, turning toward the street. “And hey—bring that notebook.”

He walked away then, disappearing into the glow of a nearby lamppost. She stood there for a moment longer, the snow falling lightly around her, before turning back toward the tube station.

When she got back to her hotel room, she barely remembered slipping out of her coat and scarf before reaching for her notebook. The page that had stayed blank for days now stared back at her, expectant, but the words finally came.

She wrote about Hyde Park, about the snow dusting the trees like powdered sugar, the children’s laughter mingling with the crisp air. She described the quiet magic of it, the feeling of walking beside someone who wasn’t a stranger but wasn’t yet familiar, either. She wrote about the way the city moved even in the stillness, as though it never quite paused to catch its breath.

By the time she put her pen down, the clock on the bedside table read past midnight, and her eyelids felt heavy. She was just about to turn off the bedside lamp when her phone buzzed.

Tomorrow. Same café. Tower Bridge.

She stared at the message for a moment, then smiled faintly, typing a quick reply.

Okay.

The next morning, she found him waiting at their usual café, his coffee already in hand. This time, he didn’t waste any words. With a nod toward the door, he led her out into the bright winter morning.

The tube ride to Tower Bridge was quieter this time, the rush of the city somehow softened by the lingering snow. She leaned against the cool glass of the window, watching the stations blur past, while he sat across from her, his eyes distant as if he were lost in thought.

When they finally emerged onto the bridge, the view stole her breath. The Thames stretched wide and glittering beneath them, the snow-covered rooftops of the city rising on either side. A faint breeze cut through the air, carrying with it the murmur of distant traffic and the occasional laugh of a passerby.

“Over here,” he said, gesturing to a bench overlooking the water.

They sat in easy silence, the cold biting at her cheeks as they watched the world unfold around them. Runners passed by, their breath visible in the air as their footsteps echoed on the pavement. Families ambled by, parents clutching the hands of toddlers bundled in bright coats, their faces red with the cold.

And then there were the couples—leaning close, sharing whispers and stolen kisses, moving through the snow-dusted streets as though nothing else existed.

She watched them longer than she meant to, a soft ache unfurling in her chest. She hadn’t thought about romance in a long time—not for herself, anyway. Writing about it was one thing, imagining love in all its sweeping, cinematic glory. But watching it here, in all its small, quiet moments, made her realise how far removed she felt from it.

“Good spot for people watching,” he said, breaking the silence.

She turned to him, surprised to find him watching her instead of the crowd. He had an easy, unreadable expression, but there was something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe, or understanding—that made her feel unsteady.

“It is,” she said softly, turning her gaze back to the bridge.

The bench shifted slightly as he leaned closer, and then she felt it—his arm, warm and solid, draping lightly over the back of the bench behind her. It wasn’t much, barely brushing her shoulders, but the warmth of it cut through the cold in a way she hadn’t expected.

For a moment, she let herself lean into it, just slightly, just enough to feel the quiet comfort of not being alone.

Her mind wandered as they sat there, the sound of the river mingling with the soft murmur of passersby. She could already feel the words taking shape, the scenes unfolding in her head—the way the light hit the water, the way couples moved through the world as if it were made just for them.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, the way his face softened as he watched the world move past. He didn’t say much, but she could feel the weight of his presence beside her, steady and grounding.

When she got back to her hotel later, she knew exactly what she’d write.

The days passed like pages of a book, each one filled with something unexpected. He didn’t ask her what she was doing tomorrow anymore—he simply texted her a time and a place, and she showed up. Each morning, they met at the café, where he’d already have his coffee, and then he’d whisk her away to some new corner of London.

On Tuesday, it was Covent Garden, where they wandered through the open market, listening to street musicians and watching shoppers bustle through the stalls. She watched a couple holding hands over steaming cups of mulled wine, their laughter bright against the cold air, and she jotted down notes in her notebook while he stood quietly beside her.

On Wednesday, they sat on a bench by the Serpentine in Hyde Park again, the water still and glassy beneath the pale winter sun. A group of friends threw breadcrumbs to a flock of ducks, their voices echoing over the water. She found herself leaning closer to him on the bench, the quiet between them no longer feeling like something to fill but something to savour.

Thursday brought them to Borough Market, where the air smelled of fresh bread and spiced cider. They stood in the crowd watching a vendor slice thick slabs of cheese for a customer, the chaos of the market swirling around them. “You see that guy over there?” he said, nodding toward a man balancing two grocery bags and a loaf of bread under his arm. “Think he’s a chef or just a guy with too many dinner parties?”

She laughed softly. “Dinner parties, definitely. He’s probably terrible at cooking, but his friends pretend it’s amazing.”

“I like that. You could use it in your book.”

“Maybe I will.”

By Friday, she stopped questioning his plans altogether. They spent the afternoon at Camden Lock, perched by the canal watching boats drift lazily by. They didn’t talk much, but when he rested his arm on the back of her chair, she didn’t move away. That night, when she returned to her hotel, she stayed up writing, the words pouring out of her with a kind of ease she hadn’t felt in months.

Saturday was Notting Hill, the pastel houses dusted with snow and the streets quiet in the early morning. They wandered down Portobello Road, pausing to watch a young family decorating their front stoop with twinkling lights.

“They’ll probably take them down on January first,” she murmured, watching the father lift his son onto his shoulders.

“Maybe not,” he said. “Some people like to hang onto things.”

She glanced at him, but he didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t ask.

By Sunday, the last day of the year, she realised how much these days had begun to mean to her. She woke up early, unable to sleep, and spent the morning writing, her pen racing across the pages. The world he’d shown her—the quiet moments, the people moving through the city in their own small orbits—was spilling onto the page in ways she hadn’t expected.

That evening, as the city prepared for New Year’s Eve, he texted her again. Meet me at the café. Tonight’s special.

She arrived to find him waiting outside, his breath visible in the cold air. He smiled when he saw her, and the warmth of it chased away the chill that had settled in her chest.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You’ll see.”

They walked through the snow-dusted streets, the city alive with anticipation. Everywhere, people were gathering—couples arm in arm, friends laughing as they hurried to pubs and parties. The air was electric, charged with the anticipation of midnight, and she could feel it humming in her chest as they moved.

She glanced at her phone, the time glowing against the dark: 11:58 PM. Two minutes until the new year.

She stopped walking, her breath curling in front of her as she turned to look at him. He slowed, taking a step back toward her. “What is it?”

She didn’t answer right away, her heart beating a little too fast as her mind raced. For once, she didn’t want to overthink it. She was tired of going into every new year feeling like she’d missed out, of letting the weight of her family and her avoidance of Christmas follow her into January.

She wanted something to hold onto—a moment, a memory.

Her gaze flicked to his, steady and curious, and then she spoke before she could lose her nerve. “Can I kiss you?”

His brows lifted slightly, his surprise clear, but he didn’t step back. Instead, he searched her face, as if trying to make sense of her sudden shift.

“Kiss me?”

“It’s New Year’s,” she said softly, her voice almost lost in the cold air between them. “And I just… I don’t want to go into next year with the same old memories. I want—just one moment, something good. Something to hold onto.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, and she felt her stomach twist, already preparing for rejection. But then he stepped closer, his breath warm against the chill of the night.

“Okay,” he said, so quietly she barely heard it.

The first firework exploded above them, a cascade of silver light that lit up the snow-dusted bridge. And then his hand came up, brushing gently against her cheek, and he kissed her.

It wasn’t soft, wasn’t hesitant. It was consuming, like the city itself had folded inward around them, leaving nothing but the warmth of his mouth on hers and the distant thunder of fireworks. Her hands found the front of his coat, gripping it as though letting go might undo the spell of the moment.

When he pulled back, her heart was racing, her breath unsteady. For a brief, dazzling moment, she thought this might actually be the start of something. But then his expression shifted, and she knew.

“I can’t,” he said quietly, stepping back just enough to let the cold air rush between them again.

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

He exhaled, his hand sliding through his hair as his gaze dropped to the ground. “I can’t give you anything. This—us—it wouldn’t work.”

Her stomach sank. “Why not?”

He hesitated, and for a moment, she thought he might just walk away. But then he looked up, his expression conflicted. “I’m a Formula One driver,” he said, the words falling heavily between them.

She blinked, trying to piece together the sudden shift. “A…what?”

“Formula One,” he repeated, quieter this time. “I’m never in one place for long. My life is—it’s chaotic. It’s not fair to ask anyone to try to keep up with it.”

She stared at him, her mind scrambling to catch up. “And you weren’t going to tell me?”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” he said, his voice tight. “Not at first. You’re only here for a while, right? This was supposed to be…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“A distraction,” she finished for him, bitterness creeping into her voice.

“No,” he said quickly. “Not like that. I just—I didn’t think it would get this far.”

She swallowed hard, the sting of his words cutting deeper than she’d expected. “So, that’s it? That’s the reason?”

“It’s not just a reason,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “It’s my life.”

Her chest felt heavy, like something inside her had collapsed. She looked at him, the way his jaw was tight, his eyes filled with something that might’ve been regret.

“We could try,” she said, hating the way her voice wavered.

He shook his head, his gaze dropping again. “It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

Her throat tightened, and she looked away, swallowing against the lump rising there. The fireworks were still going off above them, but they felt distant now, as though they belonged to someone else’s story.

He stepped forward slightly. “I’ll walk you back to the café,” he offered quietly.

She shook her head. “No.”

“You shouldn’t—”

“I’ll be fine,” she cut him off, her voice sharper than she meant it to be.

For a moment, he just stood there, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded, stepping back. “Goodnight,” he said softly, before turning and walking away.

She stayed there for a moment, watching him disappear into the distance, before finally turning and walking back the way they’d co

The streets were alive with celebration—couples kissing beneath the fireworks, friends laughing and clinking glasses, strangers shouting “Happy New Year!” to anyone who’d listen. She walked through it all, alone, the cold seeping into her skin and the ache in her chest growing heavier with every step.

When she finally reached her hotel room, the city was quieting down, the last of the fireworks fading into the night. She closed the door behind her and sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at her notebook on the desk.

For the first time in days, she didn’t reach for it. Instead, she lay back and let the silence swallow her whole.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

The airport was buzzing, as always. Crowds moving in every direction, the hum of conversation and the tinny voice of announcements echoing overhead. He’d been through so many terminals in so many cities that they all blurred together now—just another stop on the endless circuit of his life.

It was late afternoon, and he had time before his flight. A rare luxury. The race weekend in Austin had been exhausting, but he couldn’t even think about rest yet. His mind was elsewhere.

It had been months since London. Months since New Year’s Eve, since her. And still, she lingered. No matter how fast he drove, how far he travelled, she was there—in the quiet moments, in the cracks of his carefully controlled life.

He thought about her more than he wanted to admit. The way she’d leaned toward him on that bench by Tower Bridge. The way her voice had trembled when she’d asked if they could try, and the way he’d let her walk away. He told himself it was the right decision, the only decision. But that didn’t stop him from replaying it over and over, from wondering if he’d made a mistake.

As he walked through the terminal, his eyes caught on a bookstore tucked between gates. He wasn’t much of a reader—his schedule didn’t leave much room for it—but something about it drew him in.

The display at the front of the store was bright and eye-catching, a wall of bestsellers stacked high with glossy covers. His gaze skimmed over them idly, his thoughts elsewhere, until one caught his attention.

The title: Free Now.

And beneath it, a name. Her name.

He froze, the noise of the airport fading to a dull roar as he stared at the book. It didn’t seem real, seeing her name there in bold, shiny print, like a beacon pulling him in. Before he could stop himself, he reached for a copy, his hands almost unsteady as he turned it over to read the back.

The blurb was short, but it was enough:

"Two strangers meet in London over the holidays—a writer searching for inspiration, and a man running from the weight of his own life. For a week, they share the city, its magic, its quiet moments, and the pieces of themselves they never intended to give away. But some love stories don’t end with forever—they end with goodbye."

His chest tightened. The words hit too close, carving into him with a precision that felt deliberate. He flipped the book open, skimming through the pages. The characters weren’t them, not exactly, but it was their story—their conversations, their quiet moments, the snowfall in Hyde Park, the fireworks on New Year’s Eve.

Then his eyes landed on a line, and the ground beneath him seemed to shift.

"I was brave when I kissed you in London, but I wasn’t brave enough to ask you to stay."

He read it again, the words sinking in like a knife twisting in his chest.

She had been brave. And he hadn’t.

The truth of it hit him harder than he expected. He could see her so clearly in his mind—the way she’d looked at him that night, her eyes full of something raw and hopeful, something he’d been too afraid to meet. She’d asked for something simple, something honest, and he’d walked away, thinking he was doing the right thing.

But was it?

The overhead speaker crackled, announcing a boarding call for his flight. He didn’t move. The book was still in his hands, the weight of it anchoring him in place.

Months had passed since London, and yet here she was, writing the story they could never have. It was all there on the page—the longing, the heartbreak, the ache he couldn’t seem to shake no matter how fast he ran.

He closed the book gently, his hands lingering on the cover. For the first time in years, he wondered if maybe the life he’d built wasn’t enough. If maybe he’d made a mistake that couldn’t be undone.

The crowd around him moved, people brushing past without a second glance, but he stood there, rooted in place, staring at her name like it was a lifeline he couldn’t quite reach.

She’d been brave. And now he wondered if he ever could be.

Before he could even stop himself, or take a minute to mull the idea over, he took his phone out and opened up Instagram. He hesitated for half a second before finding her Instagram.

oscarpiastri: hey

the end.

taglist: @sheblogs @iamred-iamyellow

[killa-cookie]

Temperance . The 6th

Beasts x Beast ! Reader

Cussing , Violent themes

Edited because I made spelling mistakes.

✦ "Have you ever heard of the 6th beast, the greatest of the beasts, the one who made balance, the one who kept those in a straight line to the most purest of futures... TEMPERANCE

- Their self-disciplined behavior kept every cookie in their place, even when the other uncorrupted beasts had gone out of control. Legend states that they had resisted corruption due to their self controled and balanced nature, and is now somewhere, resting on earthbread.

- The witches had begged Temperance to go out and fight for the nation, but Temperance refused. The nation did need their own consequences to their arrogant actions. No matter how much they tried, Temperance never budged.

- Temperance once did try to fight off the corruption of the beasts. But inevitably failed due to being outnumbered, they had barely escaped the temptations. "

" Waiitt— so Temperance could be anywhere on earthbread right now!? "

–Gingerbrave interrupted Pure Vanilla's story, only to be met with a glare from wizard cookie.

——— THE DAY OF CALAMITY

Terror was everywhere, fires spreading all out, screeches of pain. Your environment was surrounded by calamity and...unbalance.

You were weakened, your dough crumbling by the second. And worst of all, your comrades have fallen into corruption, into sin. You were also— outnumbered.

" Cmon softiieeee just join us, give in to temptationnnn—" Shadow Milk hummed at your pathetic state.

" plus— We would LOVEEE to have you here!!"

"NEVER WILL I GIVE INTO— *cough SIN. "

You practically yelled at Shadow— no..Blueberry Milk, he was taken aback to be honest. You had never yelled at them like that, more importantly him.

"Friend, it is best to join us rather than resist."

Mystic flour cookie spoke softly, her head tilted down your crouched figure.

" You're already crumbling— HAHA! I don't think you would want us to turn you into ashes now, sweets? "

These weren't your friends anymore, they were BEASTS.

`I have no choice. ` you thought, your breath hitching as all of those beasts stared down at you.

` this is my last resort. `

With all of the power you had harnessed from them being distracted by your position on the ground, a gust of strong wind surrounded you like a shield.

"AGH WHAT THE FUCK—" burning spice screeched as his eyes were shut closed with leaves that surrounded the wind, gaining some laughter from Shadow milk.

" ...... " Silent salt watches as the huge gusts of wind carried even trees around it.

BANG

The shield then exploded with all that harnessed wind, pushing the beasts back. You were gone, no trace of you left.

"They... Escaped? " Eternal sugar cookie muttered in surprise, but she expected as much from the virtue of Temperance.

" Well, as much as I am angered by their escape... I feel glad that they are at least alive. "

Mystic flour proclaimed, she didn't want you to turn into crumbs yet.

"Well chop chop comrades! We must find them."

Shadow milk hovered off the ground, a grin of excitement across his face.

"Agreed." —all the other beasts spoke in agreement.

- but before they could even begin searching, the witches had punished them greatly for bringing mass destruction, and possibly almost crumbling one of their greatest creations.

- but The Virtue Of Temperance could be anywhere right now, and to be honest... It would be my greatest honor to meet them in person

—

"Wait- they could be anywhere right now!? Even in front of us!? "

"Now gingerbrave, that's a possibility but still silly. There's no chance that they're with us right now, no one here could even be THE virtue of Temperance. Right ______? "

You stared at them both in silence, Pure Vanilla's staff looking at you eagerly.

"Right..... ______? " Wizard cookie repeated, but more in an astonished tone. He did find it weird that you were always fully cloaked, never showing your face. Kind of like Healer cookie when he was actually pure... Vanilla..

"....." You only let out a hum, sweating and shaking a little. Clearly nervous...

"_______? Do you have something to... Tell us? "

"Well.... About that... " you lifted up your cloak a bit, revealing your soul jam that was found in the crook of your neck. ( kind of like shadow milks but a little on the side. )

"N-NO WAY!"

[lemon-berri]

Perfume (pt 2)

Satoru has been quiet today. Gone is the usual chatter, the jokes about how his day went. He watches you silently, eyes swimming with a well of emotions.

Every so often, he opens his mouth like he's going to say something. Only to pause, and retreat back into himself.

Life without you for this long has left him broken. He is tired, a husk of a man just going through the motions of daily life. Every day that he wakes without you by his side, he feels a deep, agonising pain in his chest. Like someone has taken out a vital organ and he's fighting to survive.

But he puts on a brave face, for his students, for his friends. For you. He talks to you in a happy tone whenever he visits, just in case you can hear him. Because he doesn't want you to worry unnecessarily.

Though, knowing you, you'd see right through his act.

His eyes trail across the room to the window, he can't tell you this. At least not while he looks at you.

"I had another meeting with the higher ups today.."

Again, hes met with silence. The only response is the gentle sound of your breathing. He has no idea if you're listening but he goes on.

"It's been three months without you now. In case you haven't been keeping track." There's a chuckle, but there's no humour behind it. Rather it's a dark, hopeless sound. "I've been refusing all overseas missions, how can I go anywhere knowing you're...." he can't find the right words. You're not exactly hurt, there's no physical injuries on you. Sleeping seems too simple. Coma too medical -and saying it out loud would make this nightmare too real.

His crystal eyes flit back towards you, only to move down to the floor.

"The pressure built up. They've ordered me to go. I'll be leaving tomorrow, and I'll be gone a week."

"But don't worry. You won't be alone. Everyone promised they'd come to visit you, I made sure of it. I wouldn't want my angel to get lonely without me, yeah?" Satoru tries another chuckle, but this one comes out more like a sob, and he quickly covers his mouth.

He's torn up. He doesn't want to leave your bedside, he'd rather watch the world burn than leave your side. But duty calls, and your friends promised they'd be here. Shoko promised she'd keep him updated too, in case there were any changes.

Satoru is quiet for a little longer, looking at you now, the way your pretty lashes brush against your skin, the way your lips part ever so gently. You're so beautiful it hurts, and the guilt in his stomach is making him feel sick. But he has to go.

Finally, he gets up, brushing a soft kiss against your forehead. He refuses to say goodbye. In his mind, he'll be right back. Instead, he says.

"I love you."

Its not enough to describe the way he feels.

There are so many stairs. Too many stairs. You've gone up at least five thousand steps so far- in a winding tower that seems to stretch for eternity. But you're not tired. Because your physical form isn't here.

You've managed to figure out that this endless tower must be your consciousness. Every time you open a door, a different memory plays out in front of you like a scene in a play, and you quickly close it. The stones are strong, rough and cold. They've been through a lot, but will no doubt last for years to come.

Though you can't figure out where that floral smell is coming from.

You're not here to relive your memories though. You're not here by choice at all. By now you've figured out you're a prisoner in your own mind. And your captor..?

You hear it every so often, a distant growl, followed by a crack.

Tick.

Tick.

BANG.

The sound is one of a wall being broken, and your head pounds, like you've lost some vital part of your very being.

The cursed spirit has somehow managed to trap you within your own consciousness. And it actively seems to be attempting to destroy your mind, your memories.

A weaker person would've succumbed by now, faded into nothing. But you're fighting it. For each mental brick knocked down you put up another. This will not be your end. You will survive. You have to.

You have too much to lose.

If only you could find the wretched creature and finally exorcise it.

You pause to listen, leaning your back against the cold stone wall of the tower. Time passes weirdly in here and you're sure by now people in the real world must be getting worried about you. Your guess is that you must've been in here for at least an entire day.

Tick.

Tick.

Crack.

BANG.

Its not use. No matter how far you ascend it always sounds like it's coming from above you. Yet when you look up you're only met with more stairs, fading away into unknown darkness. Your gaze falls downwards instead, into the void from which you came- the stairs you've already climbed. It would be so easy to give in.. to just go back down.

The darkness beckons you. It's warm arms wrap around your limbs, it's peaceful silence calling out to you. And you feel yourself stepping towards it. But then something catches your eye.

An elaborate ring on your left hand, glimmering in the darkness. Aquamarine, like a certain pair of eyes as familiar to you as the sky, a sight like an endless ocean, your favourite sight in the world. A smile. A voice.

"I love you"

His voice. It rings out across the empty space. You stop moving.

Satoru... You can't give up. Not when he's waiting for you.

Youre sprinting across the stairs now, faster and faster. Weightless with your new found determination. Theres no pain, no fear. You'll survive because you have to.

Finally there's a light, the tower opens at the top into a rotunda- nothing but an endless, cloudless sky stretching beyond. This must be it, the very core of your soul.

A hiss sounds behind you, and you whip around, already ready to attack.

You will survive.

Satoru gets back from a long day of trying to track down a special grade. So out of it that he doesn't even remember what country he's in.

Singapore? Sri Lanka? It was something with an "S" anyway.

He flops his full weight down onto the hotel bed, letting out a deep exhale. His limbs stretch out, and his heavy eyelids start to close, when he hears a buzz.

The man groans, long limbs turning lethargically. He reaches for his phone, cracking one eye open lazily to look. Who could be contacting him at this time anyway-

He almost drops the phone on his face.

23 missed calls from Shoko.

His tiredness evaporates, and he sits up instantly, fumbling with his phone to quickly call her back. As soon as Shoko picks up he starts talking.

"Shoko. Hi. What is it? Is everything alright? Is she okay-"

"Satoru." Shoko interrupts him. "She's awake."

I wasn't originally planning a part 2 to this, but I was so moved by the amount of people who enjoyed part 1 that I had a burst of inspiration to write this! So thank you all 🩵

Pt1 Pt 3

I might do a part 3 where they reunite finally. I just like cliffhanger endings and I didn't want this to get too long.

I had a skim through to check for spelling but as usual if anyone points out my mistakes I'll crash out. 🩵

🩵Thank you for reading 🩵

Dividers by @bunnysrph

🌟Tag list🌟 @seternic @hel1nn

[callsigns-haze]

i love your writing so much !!!! it’s kinda similar to another story you have but i was wondering if i could request your take on the twisters scene towards the end when tyler’s leg gets stuck under the debris in the town square ?? like reader is the one running over to him completely worried & stressed because her man is hurt 🥺

Not leaving

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: Y/N races to save Tyler, trapped under debris after a tornado, refusing to leave his side until he's safely rescued.

Chapter Warnings: Intense storm danger, injury, descriptions of pain, and emotional distress.

The town square was a scene of devastation, the aftermath of the tornado leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Buildings were reduced to rubble, cars overturned, and debris scattered everywhere. The air was thick with dust, the scent of rain and earth mingling with the acrid smell of smoke from a nearby fire.

Y/N’s heart pounded as she navigated through the wreckage, her eyes scanning the chaotic scene for any sign of Tyler. The last time she’d seen him, he had been trying to help a group of people take cover in a nearby building. But when the tornado hit, everything turned to chaos, and she’d lost sight of him.

“Tyler!” Y/N’s voice cracked as she called out, desperation lacing her tone. She clambered over a fallen tree, ignoring the sting of a cut on her leg, her only thought to find him, to make sure he was okay.

Suddenly, she spotted him—pinned under a massive piece of debris in the middle of the square. His face was pale, and he was struggling to move, pain etched across his features.

“Tyler!” Y/N screamed, rushing to his side. She dropped to her knees next to him, her hands shaking as she reached out to touch his face, to reassure herself that he was still there.

“Y/N…” Tyler’s voice was strained, his breath coming in short gasps. “I’m… I’m stuck.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears as she took in the sight of his leg trapped under the heavy debris. She could see the pain he was in, the way his hands clenched into fists as he tried to fight it.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” she promised, her voice trembling but determined. “Just hold on, okay? I’ll get help.”

She looked around frantically, but everyone else was either injured or already helping others. There was no time to wait for someone else. She had to do this herself.

“Stay with me, Tyler,” Y/N said, her voice tight with emotion as she crouched down and tried to lift the debris off his leg. It was heavy, far too heavy for her to move on her own, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to let him suffer, not for one more second.

Tyler groaned in pain as she strained against the weight, tears slipping down her cheeks as she gave it everything she had. But the debris barely budged, and she could see the anguish in his eyes.

“Y/N, stop…” Tyler managed to say, his voice hoarse. “You’ll hurt yourself. I… I’ll be okay. Just go get help.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Y/N choked out, shaking her head. “I’m not leaving you here, Tyler. I can’t.”

She tried again, her muscles burning with the effort, but the debris still wouldn’t move. Frustration and fear clawed at her, and she let out a sob, her hands trembling as she gripped his.

“Please, Tyler… just hold on a little longer,” she whispered, her tears falling onto his skin. “Help is coming, I promise.”

Tyler’s hand squeezed hers weakly, his eyes softening despite the pain. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. I promise.”

Finally, she heard the shouts of other rescuers approaching. Y/N turned to see a group of first responders rushing toward them, their faces grim as they took in the scene.

“Please, help him!” Y/N cried out, stepping back to let them work.

The rescuers quickly assessed the situation, then moved in with tools to lift the debris. It felt like an eternity as they carefully freed Tyler’s leg, Y/N watching with bated breath, her hands clenched tightly together.

When they finally managed to lift the debris, Tyler let out a pained groan, but Y/N was there in an instant, holding his hand and whispering reassurances. They quickly stabilized his leg and prepared to move him to safety.

“You did it, Y/N,” Tyler murmured as they lifted him onto a stretcher. His voice was weak, but there was a faint smile on his lips. “You saved me.”

Y/N leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, her tears of relief mingling with the dirt and sweat on his skin. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I couldn’t lose you, Tyler. Not now, not ever.”

As they loaded him into the ambulance, Y/N climbed in beside him, never letting go of his hand. The storm had passed, but the fear of losing him still lingered, a shadow over the relief she felt at having him alive and safe.

“Just rest now,” she whispered, her thumb brushing over his knuckles gently. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Tyler’s eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion overtaking him, but his grip on her hand remained firm. And as they sped away from the wreckage of the town square, Y/N knew that no matter what storms they faced, they would face them together.

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

@teen-antisocial

@katiemcrae

[inkedinshadows]

In the Arms of Dawn

Pairing: Cassian x f!reader

A/N: aaa I'm finally sharing these eheh! Thank you @anarchiii for this request, I loved writing it (and hopefully it's enough to be forgiven for my last fic?🥺) As usual, I yapped lol

Prompts: "Get up. This is not place to die." + "I don't know how to do this without you." + "Don't tempt me." + angst + smut

Warnings: blood, injuries, nightmares, oral (f receiving), p in v

Word count: 2.3k

Cassian lay on the ground, bleeding profusely from a gash in his stomach.

His hands pressed down on the wound, but blood seeped through his fingers and pooled beneath him, staining the dusty ground.

Your own hands were covered in red from trying to help him, but to no avail. You didn't have healing magic and you couldn't even winnow. The battle still raged not too far from where you had managed to drag him, and you had no idea where Rhys, Azriel, or even Mor were. No one was coming to help you save your mate.

“You can't die,” you pleaded, cradling his face between your hands, not caring that you were smearing his cheeks with blood.

His eyes fluttered open, but all that escaped his lips was a groan.

“You can't die,” you repeated. “Cass, please…”

The tears you had been trying to hold back finally spilled over and rolled down your cheeks, but you refused to let that stop you. You would find a way to save him. You had no idea how, but begging and pleading wouldn't get you anywhere.

“You have to leave,” Cassian rasped, his pained gaze meeting your desperate one. His breaths came in sharp pants, but he still forced the words out. “Get somewhere… somewhere safe.”

A flicker of anger sparked in your chest. “Don't start,” you snapped. “I'm not abandoning you.”

“Y/N…” he tried again, but you shook your head before he could say another word.

“No.”

A new determination took hold of you. Cassian wasn't going to die—not on your watch. But you had to be strong for both of you before the situation became even worse.

“Get up,” you ordered, your voice now steady and firm. You wiped away your tears, probably smearing some of his blood on your face, but you didn't care. “This is no place to die. Now get up.”

Cassian blinked once in confusion at your sudden change of approach before attempting to move, pushing himself up on one elbow. It was all he could manage with one hand still pressed tightly to his stomach.

“I… I can't,” he groaned. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if that small movement had drained what little strength he had left. “I'm sorry…”

Fine, then. If he couldn't get up on his own, you would carry him back to camp. He was too tall and heavy for you to make it on your own, and it would have been a struggle even without the broken wing dragging behind him, but you'd be damned if you gave up on him.

“Alright,” you breathed. “We'll find another way.”

You studied him—the larger wounds, the smaller ones, the right place to put your hands so you could lift him. In the end, you settled on placing one of his arms around your shoulders and wrapping one of yours around his waist.

“I need you to help me with this, okay?” you urged him. You waited for him to nod before continuing. “On three, we stand up. Can you do that?”

Cassian nodded again, though weakly. “I'll try.”

You counted slowly, giving him time to gather a little more strength, and then you both pushed up with your legs. Cassian let out an agonized scream and you stumbled under his weight, but you held on. Your arm tightened around his waist while your other hand gripped the arm he'd draped around your shoulders.

But you were shorter than him and carrying the full weight of a grown Illyrian warrior all the way back to camp seemed impossible.

“One step at a time,” you decided. “But we have to move fast. You just keep your hand on that wound, alright?”

You had no idea how you kept your voice so steady as you took charge of the situation. Maybe it was desperation pushing you to act—to use your brain instead of simply crying like you wanted to do.

To his credit, Cassian tried. He was struggling, you knew that. Each step drew a pained groan from his throat and his wings dragged through the dirt. Blood still spilled from his stomach like water from a leaking faucet. But you both pushed on.

You didn't make it far.

Cassian's steps faltered after only a few feet. “My love…” he croaked, and then he was slumping forward—so suddenly that you didn't have time to steady him.

He collapsed to the ground with a thud and a whimper. You dropped to your knees beside him, turning him onto his back so you could help him up again.

But his eyes were closed and he was panting. You placed your hands over his, pressing down on the gash. His warm, sticky blood coated your fingers once more.

“Cassian,” you called, somehow managing to not lose control—yet. “Cassian, c'mon, open your eyes.”

His lids fluttered, but they didn't open. He didn't say a word. And as the gravity of the situation sank in, so did the despair.

You couldn't get him back on his feet without his help. And even if you did, the camp was half a mile away. You wouldn't get there in time to make a difference. You probably wouldn't get there at all.

“Open your eyes, Cassian,” you tried again, your voice now carrying a hint of the desperation twisting your gut. “Just open your eyes…”

Nothing. No movement, no response. And then you realized—he had passed out from blood loss.

At least he was still breathing. At least you had that.

But what could you do now?

“Please don't die,” you whispered, tears spilling over once more. You rested your head on his chest to listen to the faint, unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Please, I… I don't know how to do this without you…”

Cassian's voice rang in your head like an echo. “Open your eyes.”

You shook your head, eyes still shut as you held him close. His voice sounded so far away, like he was already slipping away from your grasp. And why was he asking you to open your eyes when he was the one who wouldn't?

Then you heard it again, but this time it was all around you, as if he were whispering in your ear but also shouting from afar.

He was repeating your name. Over and over, like a plea.

And then, two more words.

“Y/N, wake up!”

With a jolt, your eyes snapped open. Cassian hovered over you in the faint morning light, his hands on your shoulders as he tried to shake you awake. A wave of relief washed over his concerned expression when he realized he had finally pulled you from your sleep.

“You're alright, sweetheart,” he reassured you. His thumbs brushed your cheeks and you realized only then that you were crying. “It was just a nightmare.”

You threw your arms around him, pulling him back down next to you. You curled up against his chest and buried your face in the crook of his neck while he wrapped you in his arms. His warmth and familiar scent seeped into your senses, soothing you just a little.

For the past ten days, you hadn't been able to shake the feeling that this was the dream: being here with him, both of you alive and well. It had taken him a whole week to heal and you'd spent the entire time next to his bed. But he had been barely conscious, and the nightmares had come to haunt your sleep. It was always the same memory, over and over again.

As soon as he was back on his feet, Cassian had taken you to the secluded cabin in the woods you'd bought together years ago. But even spending the last few nights snuggled up with him had done little to help—to the point that you didn't need to say a single word for him to know what the nightmare was about.

“I'm right here,” he murmured into your hair. “Az found us in time, remember? I didn't die.”

You could feel his pulse from where your head rested against his neck. You let the steady rhythm of his heartbeat envelop you like a reassuring reminder of the life still thrumming inside him, grounding you in the warmth of his embrace.

Cassian stroked your hair and your back, leaving gentle kisses on the crown of your head and whispering tender words in your ear. He gave you time to sort your thoughts out on your own, but he was still there for you, whatever you needed. Just like he always was.

“I guess I’m still scared sometimes,” you whispered after a few minutes. “That the nightmare is real and that this…” You gestured to your entangled bodies. “This is the dream.”

His hands cupped your cheek, lifting your head from the crook of his neck. His eyes were soft when they met yours.

“This isn’t a dream, sweetheart. It’s real.” He peppered your face with kisses, from your temple to your lips. “And I can prove it to you.”

Despite the small smile his onslaught of kisses brought to your face, you frowned. “How?”

Cassian just smirked, and you had to hold back a laugh as you shook your head. “Don’t tempt me, Cass.”

He looked surprised at your response. Pulling back slightly, he raised his brows. “Wait,” he said, “you would be up for it?”

He had been clearly joking then, if your reply had caught him off guard. But as you thought it over, you wouldn’t say no to some intimate time with him. Cuddling was nice, but maybe this was what you needed to stop the memories from haunting you. Cauldron knew how long it had been since the last time you had slept together.

“As you said,” you replied with a smile, “it’s a good way to prove that this is real. And I also miss it.”

Cassian’s eyes lit up and he pulled you closer. “Then let me prove just how real and alive I am,” he murmured against your lips before claiming them in a deep kiss.

He pushed off the sheets and rolled onto you, caging you between his body and the mattress. His mouth moved to your collarbone and you let it ground you in the present, in this very moment. Your mate was here, kissing you, touching you, slowly pushing your nightgown up.

You lifted your arms to help him take it off and his hands caressed your body as he leaned back to kneel between your legs. You watched him pull off his shirt, but your eyes immediately settled on the new scar on his stomach. You had seen it before, but something twisted in your gut anyway.

Cassian noticed the direction of your gaze and covered it with a broad hand. “Hey,” he said quietly, waiting for you to look up at him before he went on. “Don’t think about it, sweetheart. I promise I’m fine.”

He dipped his head between your parted legs, leaving a trail of kisses on your inner thigh, each one sending a shiver through you. “Just focus on me, okay?”

You nodded, trying to relax more. You knew he was right. He was fine now. Yet clearing your mind was easier said than done.

Until Cassian’s tongue flicked out.

He took his time, pleasuring you with slow, deliberate strokes. His hands caressed up and down your thighs before they settled on your hips, his touch firm yet reverent. The lingering tension in your body melted away with every lick, every brush of his fingers, until quiet moans filled the room and the only thing you could think of was his skilled mouth working you toward release.

But Cassian pulled away too soon.

He crawled back up your body, bracing himself on his elbows at the sides of your head, a satisfied grin plastered on his face. “Have I proven it yet?”

You hummed, brows knitted together as you pretended to think about it. “No, not really,” you answered with a teasing smile. “I think I need more evidence before I make my decision.”

“Do you now?” he countered, his smirk only growing. He shifted slightly, and then you felt him—his cock, hard and ready, pressing against your core. With a shallow thrust, he pushed inside, drawing a little whimper from you. “Is this what you were thinking?”

“Exactly this,” you murmured. You pulled him down for a kiss and when your lips touched, Cassian began to move.

It was slow, as if you were both trying to reconnect with each other. His hands caressed your face, your hair, while yours roamed his back, pulling him close like you never wanted to let go. His wings cast deep shadows across the room, blocking out most of the shy rays of the rising sun, and an ethereal golden light danced across his beautiful features.

If it weren't for the pleasure rising inside you as you moved together, you would have sworn this was just another dream. But now you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was real.

“I love you,” you breathed in between kisses.

Cassian pulled back enough to look into your eyes. “I love you too, sweetheart,” he murmured, punctuating his words with a deep thrust.

You moaned, but the sound was swallowed by another kiss. And as Cassian made love to you, you knew the memories would finally remain where they belonged.

Not in the present, waking you in the middle of the night.

But in the past.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[siriusly-t1red]

Shattered Silence

Summary: You confront Azriel about his closed off attitude towards you

CW: Angst, tension, fluff

The air in the House of Wind was thick with tension, the usual serenity of the place shattered by the storm of emotions brewing between you and Azriel. The balcony overlooked the city of Velaris, but neither of you were paying attention to the view.

"You always do this!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the walls. "You push me away, act like I don't matter, like my feelings don't matter!"

Azriel stood across from you, his wings twitching with barely contained frustration. "I never said your feelings didn't matter," he retorted, his voice low and dangerous. "I just can't afford to let myself get close to anyone. Not now, not ever."

You took a step closer, your eyes flashing with anger and hurt. "Why? Why can't you let yourself be happy? Why can't you let me in?"

Azriel's eyes darkened, a shadow passing over them. "The last time I did, she died!"

The room grew silent at his confession, your heart breaking when you remembered the stories the others told you. Of Rhys’ sister and how close Azriel was with her. How guilty he felt when her and her mother died.

“It’s not your fault,” you whisper. “No one but Tamlin is to blame for her death.”

Azriel's wings flared out, casting a shadow over the room as he turned away, his back rigid with tension. "You don't understand," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "You weren’t there."

You took another step closer, your heart aching for him. "And neither were you. Azriel, you can't keep punishing yourself for something that wasn't your fault. You've carried this burden for so long, and it's not fair. You deserve to be happy."

He shook his head, his wings twitching with the effort to keep his emotions in check. "I can't, y/n. I can't risk losing someone else. I can't bear the thought of it."

You reached out, gently placing a hand on his arm. "But you're not alone anymore. We're here for you. Rhys, Feyre, Cassian, Mor, and me. We all care about you. We all want to help you heal."

Azriel's eyes flickered with a mix of emotions—pain, longing, and something else that he quickly masked. "It's not that simple."

You tightened your grip on his arm, refusing to let him retreat into his shell. "I know it's not simple. But you don't have to carry this burden alone. Let us help you. Let me help you."

For a moment, Azriel hesitated, his gaze searching your face as if trying to find a reason to trust you. Then, with a sigh, he nodded slightly, a small crack in his armor. "I don't know how to do this," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled gently, stepping closer until you were just inches away. "You don't have to know how. We'll figure it out together."

Azriel's wings relaxed slightly, and he met your gaze with a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty. "I don't deserve you," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

You shook your head, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "You deserve everything good in this world, Azriel. And I'm not going anywhere. I'm here for you, no matter what."

A heavy silence settled between you, but it was different now—lighter, more hopeful. Azriel's hand found yours, his grip firm and reassuring. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice filled with a rare vulnerability.

You squeezed his hand, offering a small smile. "Always."

As the tension began to ease, you both stood there, holding onto each other, finding solace in the shared understanding. The weight of Azriel's past was still there, but for the first time in a long while, he felt a glimmer of hope.

"I don't know where to start," Azriel admitted, his voice soft but steady.

"Start with us," you said, your voice filled with determination. "Start with me. We'll take it one step at a time."

Azriel nodded, his wings slowly folding back as he looked at you with a newfound resolve. "I've been alone for so long," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to do this."

"You don't have to do it alone," you reassured him. "We'll do it together.”

He smiles, a genuine one as he cups your face in his hands, his scars gently scratched against your skin, a reminder of the strength he carried within him. His eyes flickered to your lips, silently asking for permission, seeking reassurance that this moment was real and that you were with him.

You smiled in response, leaning toward him, closing the distance between you. Your breath mingled, and for a moment, the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you in that intimate space.

Azriel's lips met yours in a tender, hesitant kiss, as if he was afraid that this moment might slip away if he moved too quickly. The kiss was soft, filled with a mix of emotions—pain, hope, and a newfound sense of trust. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a kiss that conveyed everything he couldn't put into words.

As you deepened the kiss, Azriel's wings relaxed completely, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. The tension that had been building between you melted away, replaced by a sense of peace and connection.

For the first time in a long while, Azriel felt a glimmer of hope, a sense that he didn't have to carry his burden alone anymore. He had you, and you were there for him, no matter what.