#dimmed the brightness real low after that

[nabipumpum]

⟡ ݁₊ Sad 2see u go ᴷᵃᶻᵘʰᵃ ˣ ᶠ!ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

Pairing - Nakamura Kazuha X fem!Reader

Genre - angst

Synopsis - A painful truth is that love is not always enough to maintain a relationship Word Count:1.030

Warnings! relationship breakup, mention of fights, may be sensitive content for some people

Le Sserafim masterlist

The wind blowing through the cracks in the windows was the only sound that filled the room, the loud whistle causing a certain shiver and discomfort in you, the poorly lit and cold environment gave you chills, the constant feeling that something was wrong slowly consuming you.

A different sound, the sound of the lock opening finally took you out of the whirlwind of thoughts you were in, a familiar figure entering the room, not knowing whether to be happy or sad to see her, you stood up.

“Hi.” was the first word you had spoken in a few hours, Kazuha then noticing your presence after hearing your voice.

“Oh, hi.” you watched her take off her coat and put away her keys, a nervousness running through your entire body, certainly in tufts of the scenarios you imagined, it certainly seemed easier to face her and say what you wanted “I thought you would be asleep by now.”

“I was waiting for you.” Kazuha's muscles tensed, a thousand thoughts running through her mind as she turned to look at you, a tense expression on your face, something that was hard to see, but unfortunately she had seen it often.

"Did something happen?"

Sure, you had so much on your mind to say, so many complaints and questions to ask, but you froze. Seeing her there, in front of you, this time real and not just a scenario in your mind, was harder, you were no longer teenagers and you had been together for years, but Kazuha still made you nervous.

Over the past year, the entire relationship that you had built meticulously and carefully began to crumble, the moments of conversation at the end of the day turned into mostly meaningless and unnecessary arguments, arguments that you would normally resolve in a few minutes turned into hours of screaming and sometimes a few tears. You held on as long as you could, after all, Kazuha was the love of your life, even if she hurt you with rude words, sometimes love hurts, doesn't it?

The answer that most people believe is that yes, love hurts and that's normal. But that's not how it should be, in a more rational view, love should be comfortable and comforting, the person you love should make you feel good, disagreements are inevitable and this happens to any person who has their own opinion, but why would it be normal for someone you love to hurt you?

When that key turned in your head, your whole vision changed, maybe you and Kazuha weren't going to spend your whole lives together and that's okay, you did what you could to save this relationship but now you couldn't do anything else, you have to move on.

"Can we sit down?" She waved, the two of you walked together to the living room, light flashbacks passing through your mind, of all the moments you spent together on that same couch “I don’t know a better way to say this.”

“Don’t say.” She clutched the fabric of her pants, a big lump forming in her throat.

“Zuha…” She shook her head.

“Just don’t say, please don’t.” The last three words sounded so low that it seemed more like she was talking to herself than to you.

Kazuha had the same bad feeling all day, so when she heard that you wanted to talk and that you were waiting for her, everything seemed to stop, she regretted all the times she yelled or that you two fought for the most stupid reasons possible.

“This isn’t working anymore…” She kept shaking her head, looking down this time.

A sob.

“We can fix this, I swear, I can make it better, please.” You sighed as you heard more sobs and small murmurs coming from her “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Then we don’t have to break up.” She looked at you, her eyes watering, bright trails of tears reflecting in the dim light of the room.

“Love isn’t everything, Kazuha.” She moved, sat down next to you and held yours tighter.

“But if we love each other then we can get through this.” You shook your head again, controlling yourself as much as possible so as not to cry along with her.

“Love doesn’t fix everything either…” She cringed “I’m so sorry.”

“Is it your decision?” You agreed and she sniffed, letting go of your hands to wipe the tears away with the back of her hand. “If that’s really what you want then fine, I want to see you happy” even if it’s not with me.

“I’m sorry things ended like this.” She looked at you again, you then feeling your eyes burn and a tear form.

“It’s my fault, I’m the one who should apologize… I’m sorry, Y/n, for everything.” You smiled.

“I forgive you.”

For the next few minutes, Kazuha remained seated on the couch, crying softly, trying not to disturb you.

Seeing you with a suitcase walking to the door was certainly one of the most painful scenes for Kazuha, how did she let it get to this point?

She stood up and the two of you were in front of the door, a scene similar to when you moved into her apartment, with that same suitcase, but you were both smiling that day, now you both had red eyes from crying.

“Whenever you need something, you can look for me.” The girl’s voice broke, but you still understood.

“You too.” You looked up a little and sighed “Bye, Kazuha.” You opened the door and looked at her one last time.

“Bye, Y/n” You closed the door, Kazuha falling to her knees with her face in her hands right after, crying as if someone had ripped out an organ from her, the sound of her crying now keeping company with the whistles coming from the windows.

Kazuha stayed there for long minutes, having difficulty breathing when she managed to calm down a little, a mental note was made in her mind.

I should return the ring this week.

[hugmekenobi]

The absolute fear of writing spice in public before work and then someone appears from behind you to ask a question but all your thinking about is how you really hope he didn’t clock any of the words in your screen 😅

[shotmrmiller]

1.8k of what was supposed to be a drabble, oops. same au as this just different situation.

there he is.

the titan the crowd calls Ghost. a creature who seemed to have crawled out of the abyss itself, rage etched into the very marrow of his bones. scars crisscross his arms, chest, and back— souvenirs of battles both won and lost. no one knows much about him. no real name, no past, no future. blank.

a void.

just like his sunken eyes, the only thing anyone can see from behind the midnight black skull balaclava that clings to his face like a second skin. (does he even remember what he looks like underneath?) he stands in front of the club's owner in ragged clothing: a tattered wifebeater that's been stitched, torn, and re-stitched. his pants have strained seams and patched knees. his boots are high cut, made of worn, scuffed leather with laces in the front, pulled tight. functional.

he's terrifying. most here come to fight for glory, for redemption, for escape. not he, though. reverent whispers claim this is all he knows. that he fights like a cornered, wounded beast, with no discipline nor strategy. just primal hunger and unmatched ferocity.

and that's who your idiotic, egotistical boyfriend wants to fight. granted, he's a pretty damn good boxer. not that you'd know much about that, you're simply parroting what you've heard his coach say. but this isn't boxing. no one here wears a padded helmet, with comfortable gloves and silky shorts. the fellow with the mohawk currently fighting isn't even wearing a mouthguard, for fuck's sake.

there are no fucking rules, no referees, no honor, no mercy.

your shoulders rise up to your ears as you tense at a nasty blow the pretty one you've come to learn is named gaz gives mr. mohawk. it splits his lip instantaneously, crimson dribbling down his chin and onto his barrel chest. he should be in pain, but there's only a glint of madness in those bright blue eyes of his. the crazed smile he gives gaz is all blood-stained teeth.

your boyfriend taps you on your shoulder, making you jump. "i'm gonna go talk to mr. price now that he's no longer busy."

what?

"no! you can't be serious!" the metal chair you were seated on screeches as you shoot up and run after him, feet slipping on the mud-slicked floor. "hey! wait!"

he reaches the tall, burly man(broker?) with the antiquated mutton-chop beard before you do. the tailored suit clings to his large frame, molding to his mountainous shoulders and tapered waist. his polished shoes are pristine, unlike the surface he's standing on that's littered with wager slips and sodden with cheap beer.

"don't. be smart, fight smart. you can't possibly— did you see the way the one with the mohawk took a hit to the face without flinching? he's insane! they all are!" you flick your eyes to mr. price. "no offense."

he chuckles low. "none taken, sweetheart. soap's a vigorous man, is all."

soap. gaz. ghost. they've all got bloody fighting nicknames. meanwhile, the only thing your boyfriend's ever been called is dearie by his elderly neighbor.

"your pretty girl's right. i'd steer clear of the pit. this ain't no place for a sheltered bloke such as yourself." his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, yet it felt like a facade. the evenness of his tone had dread crawling up your spine.

"boss." you squeak at the deep voice that comes from beside you— accent thick on his tongue.

mr. price waves a hand dismissively, the rings that adorn his fingers glinting under the dim light of the overhead lamps. "it's nothin' but a couple a'folk placin' their bets."

the look of unfettered stupidity flashes on your boyfriend's face as he turns his head and realizes just who mr. price was talking to. "if it isn't the masked specter himself."

stupid. stupid stupid stupid. god, your boyfriend came in one piece but he's going to leave in bloody pieces if you don't stop him. "stop," you hiss. "this ridiculous stint of yours is over." as is this sorry excuse of a relationship. he'd been a sweet guy at some point, or maybe you were just blinded by his good looks. "sorry for the bother, mr. price. we'll be taking our leave." tugging on your boyfriend's sleeve, you try to lead him away but he stays anchored in place, posturing like a peacock; chest out, shoulders squared and head held high.

he looks at ghost as he challenges him. "name your price. anything, i can meet."

how he can be so blasé in the presence of this bastion is beyond you. ghost stands tall, his shadow engulfing you whole. you can feel the weight of his presence, a crushing force pressing against your sternum. he doesn't speak; and honestly, he doesn't have to. ghost's silence spoke volumes.

"he's not interested, see? let's just go before we're thrown out on our arses."

but your boyfriend doesn't concede. if anything, it only adds fuel to the fire. "not good enough for you? eh? is that it? think yourself untouchable just because you're king of the underbelly?" he goads.

your cheeks are hot, scalding with embarrassment. he's starting to garner attention from the audience that's supposed to be watching the current fight.

and then ghost breaks said silence. "i don't want your money." his rich voice reverberates through bone and marrow; it rattles your very core. "you didn't work hard for it, i can tell. golden spoon runt."

your boyfriend's eyes ignite with anger. for a moment, you thought he was going to swing on the spot, but then, like a wisp of smoke, it dissipated. his fists unclench, his jaw relaxes. "what do you want, then?" he questions.

ghost tips his head your way as he keeps his gaze on your boyfriend. "her. i win, she's mine."

you should've known your now ex would agree. nothing would keep him from accomplishing his goals of 'putting the big dog down' as he so eloquently put it. now you're firmly sat right next to price on the stands (because you will not be calling him john anytime soon, no matter how many times he corrects you) essentially as his hostage.

"nothing personal, sweetheart. i'm a businessman, after all, and the prize walkin' out the front door would be bad for business. hope you understand."

no, you don't. so you tell him as such.

"tha's alright. simon'll take good care of ya, i promise."

"is there any particular reason you're so cocksure of your simon winning?" you manage to ask, your voice fragile.

he takes a thick inhale of his cigar before answering. "unfortunately for you, i've seen it all— the broken bones, shattered dreams, and—" you watch tendrils of smoke unfurl from his mouth, "adversaries who never walked back out."

spectators have already begun to huddle around the cage, puffing on cheap cigarettes. they all look desperate, eyes gleaming with greed. this time the one collecting wagers is a blonde woman, older in age, with her hair in a low bun and a puffer vest. "that your wife?"

he curls a large hand around my shoulder before twisting to look at— "laswell? no. don't swing tha' way." price gives you a gentle squeeze.

oh. you can feel warmth creeping up your neck. "sorry. didn't mean to- er. i didn't know."

"'s'alrigh'. her wife's nice enough. you'll like 'er.'' her wife? the confusion must've shown because he rumbles out a laugh. "no. it'd be me barkin' up the wrong tree. i—" he tightens the grip on your shoulder, "like whatever's pretty to look at." his words from before resounded in your head.

'your pretty girl's right...'

the heat that'd receded now stung the tips of your ears. whatever words you want to say are lodged in your throat but thankfully, you're saved by the bell. literally.

the rusty thing tolls and the crowd hushes their voices and stills their restless shuffling. first walks in your ex (idiot), looking exactly like what ghost had called him earlier— a golden spoon child. his shorts are glossy, even under the flickering, sickly light that falls over the cage. his boxing gloves are a vibrant red, pristine as if right out of the box. (you don't remember soap getting his pretty face broken by hands with gloves, but whatever.) he looks perfect, like something out of a hollywood movie.

and so out of place.

unlike ghost who's just stepped into the ring— who commands the attention of all within the hazy room. he fits right in with the rats who scurry around in the bowels of the city. he moves like the shadows that cling to the dark corners, his steps silent as whispers. a haunted being— one the world above with its neon signs and bustling crowds has long forgotten— has made his home down here.

ghost bumps his mma gloves with your ex's boxing ones, in a show of surprising sportsmanship.

the bell tolls once again, and the fight begins.

and just as quickly as it began, it ended. you blink, momentarily displaced, because there is no way what just happened is real. there hadn't been no real fight. it'd been one devastating blow to the side of your ex's jaw that ended everything. he hadn't stood a chance. it—

"'s done. sorry, love. but simon's headin' this way to claim his prize." price gives you a sympathetic pat to your back. "i swear it on my life he won't harm a hair on your head."

what?

ghost barrels through the roaring crowd and comes to a stop before you. "you're with me, now. best get used to it." shock blurs your vision, or maybe it's the fact that you've been hoisted up and thrown over a shoulder that did it.

it doesn't matter. the one you came here with is currently lying limp on the stained mat, his mouth hanging open a little awkwardly. is he broken? you're put down on a bench in a large dressing room that has only one tall locker in it with a tiny ghost sticker on the front.

"did you... is he dead?" you ask, pulse quickening.

"no. either dislocated or broke tha' jaw of 'is only."

you sputter when metal clinks on the surface of the wooden table he's currently leaning his weight against. dusters? "you used fucking dusters?"

he turns his head and looks at you, piercing and intense. "you and i both know i didn't need anythin' to knock his teeth down his throat, isn't tha' right, pet? eh?"

his knuckles are calloused and heavily scarred, the little finger bent at an angle even when straight. "don't worry 'bout him, you're with me, now." he shrugs on a plain, black jacket and heads for the door. "try to leave and i'll jus' find you again. don't make this any harder than it has to be."

welcome to the rat king's domain, sweetheart.

[thewulf]

Loving You is Easy || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - What about a jake seresin x reader. Of course jake has a reputation but he truly is in love with bartender reader, so finally he wears her down to a date. They go to a nice restaurant and reader still has has her gates up but she’s slowly realizing who Jake truly is WHEN not one but two of the girls jake hooked up... Read Rest Here

A/N: Another one for my fav cocky pilot. Hope you guys enjoy :)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.2k +

T/W : None just fluff

The clink of glasses and the low hum of the late-night chatter fills the air at The Hard Deck, a place that's become your nightly retreat amidst the demands of school and work. As you finish up your shift behind the bar, wiping down surfaces and stacking glasses, you're acutely aware of Jake Seresin's presence. He's become a regular when you worked. His charm was well-known and his flirtations a constant undercurrent whenever he's around.

"Another evening of mixing drinks and dodging offers, Y/N?" Jake teases while watching you with an amused smirk as he plays with his empty glass sitting in front of him.

Playfully, you roll your eyes at the man who had become a constant in your life. "Just counting down to graduation," you reply. Keeping your tone light even as you avoid meeting his gaze too directly. You've heard stories about Jake, enough to keep a polite distance.

"How about celebrating a bit early? Let me take you out. A real date, not just bar banter that I know you love so much," he proposes while leaning over the bar slightly trying to catch your eye.

You hesitate but you had your response ready. "Jake, I really don't think mixing work with... whatever this is... would be a good idea."

"Just dinner," he presses. But his tone was sincere. "No expectations, no strings. Just two people enjoying good food. Come on, what do you say darling?"

Despite your reservations there's a part of you that's curious. The persistent part that wonders if there might be more to Jake than the rumors and his reputation. After a moment of internal debate, you find yourself nodding, slightly surprised by your own decision.

"Okay, one dinner. Only If it’ll get you to shut up about it" you say with a small smirk adorning your face finally meeting his gaze. "But, Jake, it's just dinner. That's it."

His face lights up with that well-known charming smile. "Just dinner," he agrees while raising his hands in a mock surrender. "You won't regret it."

As he leaves you can't help but feel a mix of anticipation and apprehension. You've maintained your boundaries yet you're stepping into new territory. It's just dinner you have to remind yourself. But as you turn the sign to 'closed' and lock up for the night you can't shake the feeling that it might just be the start of something unexpected. But you tried not to get your hopes up. It’s just dinner.

You step into the upscale restaurant. The ambiance immediately wraps around you. It’s intimate and inviting with its dim lighting and soft music playing in the background. Jake stands from a secluded table as soon as he sees you his smile bright and welcoming. "You look absolutely beautiful," he says sincerely before pulling out your chair and taking his own seat.

"Thank you," you reply feeling a faint flutter of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation. The effort you put into choosing your outfit seems to have paid off and his notice of it warms you.

Once seated, Jake’s attention is all on you. He turns his phone off and places it face down on the table. A clear sign that this evening is about the two of you. "I remember you mentioned once you loved champagne, particularly the one from that small vineyard in France," he says, signaling the waiter. With a knowing smile he orders a bottle of your favorite champagne, not missing the surprised and pleased look on your face.

"How did you remember that?" you ask as you were both impressed and a bit bewildered. No guy had ever taken the time to remember the small details about you. And here Jake was wooing you already, five minutes in.

"I pay attention," he replies with a shrug that seems both casual and a bit shy. "Especially when it comes to things you like."

The champagne arrives and as Jake pours you a glass his demeanor is gentle, his movements deliberate. You clink glasses with a grin on your face. The first sip is just as you remembered—crisp, with a hint of sweetness, perfect.

"So, tell me about school," Jake prompts you seemingly genuinely interested. "What’s been keeping you busy?"

You share details about your latest projects and the challenges of balancing school with work. Jake listens intently, nodding and asking questions that show he's truly engaged in what you're saying. It's easy to talk to him and you find yourself relaxing more than you expected. The initial walls you had up slowly dissolving in the warmth of the conversation.

Turning the focus to him you recall the pieces of conversation you've picked up at the bar. "I’ve always been curious, Jake. What’s it like being a pilot in the Navy? It must be quite different from anything I can imagine."

Jake's eyes light up with a mix of pride and nostalgia. "It's intense and challenging, but flying is incredible. There’s nothing like the feeling of being up there… the freedom of it, but also the responsibility. Every decision matters. Not just for me but for my crew and everyone we support."

"It sounds amazing," you say with a hint of awe in your voice. "I’ve actually never been on a plane before. Can you believe that?"

Jake looks at you with an incredulous gaze. "What? You've never been on a plane? I’m changing that, darling," he declares with a playful but determined grin. "We’ll have to fix that soon. There’s a whole sky up there waiting for you."

As the evening progresses you laugh together over shared anecdotes and discover common interests. The connection feels real, unforced, and for a moment, the outside world with all its complications seems to fade away.

The evening had been progressing beautifully with laughter and shared stories flowing as freely as the champagne. You were beginning to see a side of Jake that was earnest and deeply attentive. A stark contrast to the playful banter at the bar. It was easy to forget the outside world in moments like this.

However, just as you're settling into a comfortable ease the first ripple of discomfort appears. A waitress approaches your table with a familiarity that instantly feels intrusive. She's all smiles, especially towards Jake.

"Jake, I didn't know you were here tonight!" she exclaims. Her voice a notch too loud for the intimate setting. She's overly friendly, touching his shoulder briefly as she speaks. Her eyes never leaving his acting as if you weren’t even there.

Jake's response is measured. His smile polite but restrained. "Hey, Sarah. Good to see you," he says, his tone neutral. He quickly turns his attention back to you trying to minimize the interaction. "Sarah used to work with me on base," he explains briefly hoping to dispel any rising concerns you might have.

You nod trying to smile, but the unease settles in your stomach like a stone. The moment is fleeting yet it lingers uncomfortably as Sarah finally moves away, her eyes lingering on Jake a moment too long.

Before the atmosphere can fully recover another beautiful woman approaches your table. This time, it's someone who's dining at the restaurant. Her approach deliberate as she locks eyes with Jake. Her presence is poised when she speaks. Her voice is tinged with a nostalgia that makes you shift in your seat.

"Jake, it's been too long," she says, reminiscing about a shared memory that clearly meant something to both of them. "Remember that weekend at the lake?"

Jake nods. His expression tightening slightly. "Yeah, that was a good time. Hope you're doing well, Rachel," he responds keeping his reply short and devoid of any warmth that could be misinterpreted. He glances at you with a flicker of concern crossing his features as he sees your discomfort.

"I'm sorry about this," he murmurs to you under his breath. His hand finding yours on the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Let’s focus on our night."

Despite his attempts to steer the evening back on course the interruptions have sown seeds of doubt. You appreciate Jake's efforts to reassure you, and you can see the sincerity in his eyes—he genuinely wants the night to be about the two of you. Yet, the encounters with his past make it increasingly difficult to ignore the reputation that preceded him. You find yourself wrestling with the warmth of his present attention and the shadow of his history.

As Jake continues to engage you in conversation, attempting to salvage the remaining warmth of the evening, you're left to ponder whether the burgeoning trust between you can withstand the challenges of his complicated past.

The mood at the table shifts palpably following the interruptions. Jake, noting your discomfort, adopts a more subdued tone. His usual easygoing demeanor tempered by the situation. “I can tell this isn’t easy for you, and I’m really sorry about that,” he says, his voice earnest, his gaze meeting yours with a steady sincerity. “I’ve had my fair share of casual things in the past. That’s not something I can undo, nor would I expect you to just overlook it.”

He takes a deep breath before continuing. Clearly choosing his words with care. “But I want you to know ever since you started at the bar, something was different. I haven’t felt this kind of way about anyone else in a long time. If ever. Honestly, I haven't pursued anyone else since you came around. You’ve sort of... monopolized my interest.”

His admission is frank, devoid of any veneer. It's just him being open and hopeful, sitting across from you. “I hate that my history might be making this awkward. I really like you, Y/N. I’m here tonight because I want to be here with you. All I’m asking for is a chance to show you who I am at this moment in my life.”

The words linger between you straightforward and clear. It’s a lot to take in. His past is a part of him but the man before you now seems earnest, seeking something genuine with you.

You pause letting the weight of his words sink in. His hand reaches across the table, not to impose but to offer a gesture of connection. In response you extend your own hand, sliding your fingers between his, locking them together as a silent acknowledgment of your willingness to see where this path might lead.

“Thank you for being upfront with me,” you respond. Your voice calm and thoughtful. “I appreciate your honesty. Let’s just see what happens, no pressure.”

Jake’s face softens, a gentle smile forming as he senses the tension easing. “No pressure. Sounds perfect,” he agrees with hope in his voice matched by the warmth in his eyes.

As the evening ends with the complexity of real-life weaving through your initial impressions you find yourself intrigued by the possibility of discovering more about Jake, beyond this first, eventful meeting. The evening with all its ups and downs, winds down as the restaurant begins to empty. You and Jake exit into the cool night air. The city lights casting a soft glow on the street. The tension that had built up inside seems to dissipate slightly with the openness around you.

As you walk together Jake's demeanor is reflective and he keeps a respectful distance that speaks to his understanding of the evening's emotional rollercoaster. Yet, his presence is reassuring, a quiet strength in the uncertain night.

"You know," Jake starts, breaking the silence as you both stroll towards a quieter part of the street, "tonight didn't go exactly as I planned. I wanted it to be perfect for you. To show you that I'm not the guy people might say I am."

You glance at him noticing the earnest furrow in his brow. His next words come slowly, measured but clear. "But maybe it's good that it happened this way. You saw everything—the good and the not-so-good. I don't want to hide anything from you."

You stop walking instead looking at him directly. His green eyes are sincere, reflecting the streetlight's soft luminescence. It's in this moment with his gaze unwavering and his stance open that you feel a shift inside you. The doubts linger but there's something about his honesty tonight that tugs at your willingness to explore what might be between you.

"I need things to go slow, Jake. Really slow," you say. Your voice firm yet not without warmth. "Can you do that? Can we take this one moment at a time?"

Jake's response is immediate. His nod accompanied by a gentle smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way. You're worth waiting for and I’m not going anywhere. I want to prove to you that I’m in this, really in this, for you."

There's a promise in his words, not just spoken but felt. You both resume walking and as you do, his hand finds yours, a simple touch but filled with intent. You interlace your fingers with his as a silent agreement to his proposal of taking things slow allowing yourself to feel the potential of what could be a new beginning.

As you walk further the city noise fades into the background, and a comfortable silence settles between you. It's not the fairy tale whirlwind. It’s real, it’s tentative, and it’s new. But it's a start. And for the first time in a long time, you feel a cautious optimism about the path ahead. The night ends not with grand gestures but with a quiet acknowledgment of something that might grow given time and mutual effort.

In the weeks following your first date your relationship with Jake blossomed beautifully against the backdrop of everyday life. Each shared moment from spontaneous coffee dates that extended into long or unplanned conversations to leisurely evening walks under a starlit sky, deepened your connection. The ease of laughter and the depth of discussions revealed layers of each other’s personalities and dreams, drawing you closer in ways both profound and delightful.

As the days turned into weeks, your phone became a constant companion, buzzing with Jake's texts that often stretched into late-night calls. These weren't just brief exchanges; they were rich, lengthy conversations where you found yourselves diving into everything from your favorite books to your deepest fears and aspirations. Jake remembered the little things you mentioned—like your love for mint chocolate chip ice cream or your dreams of visiting Greece—and surprised you with thoughtful gestures that showed just how much he cared. It wasn’t just what he said but how he listened and responded that made you feel truly seen and appreciated.

With each passing day, the shadows cast by Jake's past seemed to fade, overshadowed by the genuine warmth and steadfastness he brought into your life. His consistent effort and the undeniable sincerity in his actions slowly dismantled the walls you had built around your heart instead allowing trust to seep in and fill the spaces between your doubts.

So, by the time you found yourselves laughing together on his couch, enveloped in the comfort of a lazy Sunday afternoon the words that had been quietly taking shape in your heart felt ready to surface. The day unfolded effortlessly, each moment layered with shared smiles and unspoken promises, steering you gently toward a revelation that seemed both thrilling and inevitable. This wasn’t just another pleasant day. It was poised to become a defining moment in your relationship where feelings long simmered might finally find their voice.

The afternoon sun casts a warm, golden light through the windows of Jake’s living room, bathing the cozy space in a tranquil glow. You’re both nestled comfortably on the couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs with a lighthearted romantic comedy playing in the background. It serves more as a backdrop to your own laughter-filled conversation than as entertainment.

Jake is in the middle of recounting yet another of his infamous escapades at the base. This time involving an unintentionally hilarious mix-up during a training exercise. His storytelling is animated, his hands gesturing wildly, his eyes sparkling with mischief and joy.

"And then, I accidentally broadcasted the prank over the PA system, not just to the squad, but the whole base!" he exclaims, bursting into laughter at the memory.

You can't help but laugh along his delight was terribly infectious, his joy utterly palpable. "Jake, you're unbelievable. You always find a way to make everything so fun," you say. Your voice tinged with affection and amusement. The warmth of the moment, the closeness you felt with him, it all feels so natural. So right.

As the laughter subside you look at him with a big grin on your face. And without thinking much more the words on the tip of your tongue just slip out, "You crack me up, Jake, I love you so much." The moment the words escape your heart skips a beat as you realize what you’ve said, your eyes widening in surprise.

Jake's laughter stops abruptly. His expression shifting as he processes your words. There’s a beat of silence, heavy with significance, before his face breaks into a tender, wide smile. He looks at you. His eyes were shining with a mixture of happiness and something deeper, more earnest. "Wait, say that again," he says. His voice low and husky, filled with emotion.

Feeling a rush of courage by his encouraging gaze you repeat your words, "I love you, Jake." It feels even more right the second time. The words resonating between you, filling the space with their profound simplicity.

Jake's response is immediate. He leans in, closing the distance between you with his hand cupping your face gently. "I love you, too. I’ve been hoping to hear that. Was wondering when it would be right to tell you how I feel," he confesses. His thumb softly stroking your cheek. "I’ve been holding onto these words, afraid to say them too soon, but feeling them every day."

"Really?" you whisper. Touched by his sincerity and the depth of his feelings.

"Absolutely," Jake replies with his gaze locked on yours, intense and full of affection. "From the way you laugh to how passionate you are about your studies, from your kindness to others to your strength in handling everything life throws at you. Loving you is the easiest thing I've ever done."

He draws you closer and you find yourself wrapped in his embrace, his warmth enveloping you. "I wanted to tell you on our third date," he admits. His voice muffled as he speaks into your hair, "but I thought it might scare you off. Now, I just want to make up for lost time." He chuckled squeezing you tighter.

The room feels charged with a new energy. A new understanding as you both bask in the glow of shared love. The movie continues to play, unnoticed now, as you and Jake talk and laugh. The conversation meandering through dreams, hopes, and plans for the future. Each word strengthens your ever-growing relationship. Each moment deepens the love that now openly defines the two of you.

And as the sun sets, casting long shadows through the room, you feel a profound sense of contentment. This isn’t just a fleeting romance. It’s the beginning of something lasting, grounded in mutual respect and deep affection. You lean against him with your head on his shoulder, heart full, as you both enjoy the quiet comfort of knowing you're exactly where you're meant to be.

Jake Seresin/Top Gun: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @mamachasesmayhem @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @illisea @jessicab1991 @guacam011y @dempy @mrsevans90 @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @missxmav @kajjaka

[stursweet]

PLAY

pairing : matt sturniolo x f!reader

warnings : sexual content - the usual 😊 fuck off if u ain’t fuckin!!! (subish matt?)

an: hi sexies💖 take this as my apology for taking so long of a break. i’m back and y’all bout to be real sick of me and my dumb ass ALL OVER AGAIN!🤗🤗🤗 i love you guys! send me some new reqs!! also PLEASE recognize i fist fought my fuckin demons and wrote some matt instead of babygirlchris because all y’all fuckin matt girls.. IM PUTTIN YALL FIRST!😔

his room is dim, though bright enough to illuminate him perfectly - hair wild and messy beneath his headset, hips sunk low in his chair, fingers fidgeting wildly with his controller.

it’s been two hours since he’d sat down and begun to play - your patience dwindling rapidly. from your spot on his bed, he looked sinful : so focused, so tantalizing..

his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. the veins that danced throughout his arms and hands. his lips and their taunting tone of pink. the small pepper of color across his cheeks-

temptation wins and you’re padding over to him without much thought. his eyes don’t leave the screen, though, even with your new sudden placement - standing alongside his chair, clad in his shirt and a thong.

“you okay?” he questions without looking at you, his voice dripping with rasp and honey. you don’t respond - only lowering onto your knees in front of him, in between his legs. he looks down at that- eyes widening, blood traveling to rest in his cheeks.

“i- what are y-?” he stammers, hands fidgeting against the controller aimlessly with sudden nerve. you look up, meeting his gaze, taking note of the intense pink of his cheeks.

“nothing. keep playing,” you reply blandly, peering up from your spot below him. he swallows, evidently flustered. reluctantly, he nods- hesitantly tearing his eyes away from you to look back at the screen.

watching in amusement as his hands shake slightly with his controller, you bring a slow hand up and place it on his thigh : dragging your palm up the surface of his sweatpants slowly.

his eyes shoot down to you once again, focused on your hand inching farther up his thigh. he attempts to put his controller down; intending to direct his full attention to you, but- he’s interrupted by your voice below him :

“keep playing or i’ll stop.” you spit, voice unrelenting. he shudders, scanning your features for a moment, inhaling shakily before nodding.

he forces his eyes to dart to the screen in front of him, the light emanating a soft blue light onto his features. he swallows, adams apple bopping beneath the skin in his throat.

you continue the slow hike of your hand, suddenly reaching to palm him over his sweats. you watch as his face contorts in pleasure - eyes fluttering closed, eyebrows gently crinkling. he does his best to recover quickly, thumbing at a few buttons on his controller.

sliding your hand up some more, you play your fingertips at the waistband of his boxers, dipping a finger beneath the fabric and tracing a single, slow line against his skin. his breathing has become more erratic, his fingers fumbling against the controller.

“please- don’t tease- ” he whispers, eyes trained onto your hand at his waistband. his voice is small and raspy, laced with need.

“doesn’t look like you’re playing, baby..” you reply, retracting your hand from its spot, “i’m gonna have to stop.” you pout, voice teasing and low. you watch amused as he begins to frantically shake his head “no” -

“no-no, i’ll play, i-i’m playing, swear, i’m playing. keep going, please?” he chokes, small cracks in his tone. after a few seconds of no touch or reaction from you, he speaks again -

“please, i’ll b-be so good, so good for you. promise-“

he’s cut off by your hand returning to its previous spot, only now reaching further underneath the fabric, swiping your thumb against his tip and collecting his precum. a shaky exhale escapes his lips. you take note of his eyes staying attached to the screen - he’s listening.

“gonna stay quiet?” you question, watching as he nods his head in desperation. stroking him slowly, you tug off his boxers and sweats in a swift motion.

he looks down at you, eyes hooded and cheeks flushed, his breathing sporadic and wild. your eyes flicker to the screen, cocking your head towards it, signaling for him to focus.

“sorry, sorr-“ he whines, a whimper catching in his throat. he directs his attention to the screen again, pleasure etched into his features. you watch his hands struggle with the controller, pressing your tongue flat against him and licking a long stripe up his length.

he swallows, closing his eyes. you watch him fight to keep his composure, trying his hardest to concentrate on the screen, to listen to you- struggling wildly.

his eyes open again and on the screen, you slip his tip into your mouth - pushing yourself farther to take him the whole way down your throat, and back up. quiet whines whines escape his lips, fighting to stay quiet. you repeat the slow action a few times, pulling off with a pop.

“fuck-“ he stutters, mouth falling agape and eyes closing when you take him back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks.

his fingertips are suddenly in your hair, grabbing a fistful - in need of something to grab on to. pulling off, you’re quick to remind him -

“play,” you whisper, a trail of saliva connected from his tip to your lips. he throws his head back in frustration, a sinful whine escaping his throat.

“can’t,” he whispers, voice cracking. he retracts his hand from your hair and rests it aimlessly on the controller - only to not entirely disobey your wishes. his game has already been lost, though - his eyes tightly shut and head rested on the back of his chair.

“thought you were going to be good?” you question, but only to hear him plead his case - the game has been pushed from your mind. you want his hands in your hair, his begs and cries to release into your mouth.

“look at me,” you coo, tongue swirling around his tip, stroking him quickly with your hand. he’s slick with your saliva. his eyes dart down to you, quickly tossing the controller onto the desk in front of him.

his eyes are dark, his pupils blown out - lips a dark, wet pink. blood dances underneath his cheeks, his breathing heavy and erratic. he looks perfect- deliciously desperate and absolutely ruined.

“want it all over my face,” you tell him, sliding your tongue over his slit. a sinful moan slips from his throat, his eyes falling shut.

“i’m- im so close, so cl-“ he fights to speak, cut off by you taking him entirely into your mouth again, bopping your head at quickly.

his fingertips tangle into your hair once again, a large handful beneath his palm - he tightens his grip, a few more whimpers and cries escaping his lips before letting go:

“i’m cumming, i’m-“

the words spill from his mouth so sweet, tone quiet and cracking, entirely at your mercy. you pull off of him quickly, stroking him with your hand as his release shoots out in hot, white spurts : covering your cheeks, lips, and chin.

you watch as he catches his breath, chest heaving and mouth agape. after a few moments, he gains a bit of composure, and looks down at you.

you smile at him, wiping your face clean with your fingers and popping them into your mouth. he watches with his lip between his teeth, cheeks impossibly redder.

you stand up, giving him a few small, soft kisses on the lips.

“come to bed?”

[somanyratsinthewalls]

congrats on the 700! i love your work 🫶🏼🫶🏼 can i suggest a blue rooster 👀 maybe drunk/nightclub ish themed tyyyy

THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING and man the Sanji girls SHOWED UP for this prompt game! And I am sooo not complaining... I love this man.

Pairing: Sanji x Fem!Reader

Prompt/Trope: Drunk/High Sex

WC: 2700 oops

Warnings: DRINKING AND INTOXICATION if this bothers you please don’t read! I know how consent works but these are two adults having a nice time it’s fine here I promise. Stay safe out there in real life, tho! unprotected sex, creampies, blowjob, spitting, dirty talk, once again they're a lil drunk but it's cool.

Let's Dance (+18)

———

“I’m not going with Usopp, he whines the whole time!” You shout.

“Yeah well I don’t want to go with you OR Robin! I don’t want to go to a stupid book store!” Usopp spits back at you. 

“I don’t care who I go with as long as it isn’t the ugly shitty cook. I’d hate to have to save both of us if we get attacked.” Zoro says casually. 

“No problems there, asshole. I’d like to not get lost for once.” Sanji quips back as he holds his cigarette between his teeth. 

“You guys, stop fighting! Let’s all go together!” Chopper looked distraught. 

“We’re wanted criminals, Chopper. I don’t think the whole lot of us together would allow us to keep a low profile.” Robin states as she pats Chopper’s head. 

“I don’t care who goes with me, I just want to go to that barbecue place we passed sailing in!” Luffy grins and you could have sworn saliva was pooling in the corners of his mouth. 

None of you could decide on who you wanted to be paired up with the explore the island, and unfortunately your crew had a method for solving these kinds of disputes... and everyone hated it.

“ALRIGHT I’M GETTING THE STRAWS!” Nami, frustrated, calls out as she heads to her room to grab the dreaded bag of straws. 

Groans echoed across the deck of the Sunny. 

Nami returned and every one lined up, waiting to pick from the bag. Pairs would be assigned by who drew the same length straws. 

“If I get paired with moss head I’m drowning myself before we even dock.” Sanji, lined up next to you, rolls his eyes and takes a drag of his cigarette. 

“And if I have to go with Franky to the boring-ass lumber yard I’m going to hang myself from the top sail.” You sigh. 

All the straws had been distributed and you look down at the one in your hand. 

You hear an excited gasp from directly to your left. 

Sanji was holding his straw up to yours, they matched. 

“UGGGGHHHHH!!!” You groan and huff. You even make a show of stomping your feet and pouting. “I’m stuck with the pervert?!”

“Ha ha!” Zoro points at you across the circle and laughs. 

“Shut up, moss balls!” You scowl.

“Y/n mon amour! How wonderful we get to spend the evening together!” Sanji’s eyes sparkled as he smiled down at you. You roll your eyes dramatically. 

This was going to be a long night. 

— — — 

You had your arms crossed in annoyances as Sanji followed at your heels obediently while you walked through the town. The sun had gone down and it seemed like this village had quite the active nightlife. 

“I know you aren’t keen on being paired up with me, my sweet, but I promise we can do anything you want, any shop, any restaurant, it’s on me!” Sanji gushed at you. 

You see a seedy looking club with bright neon signs up ahead. You stop walking. 

“Anything I want, huh?” You say without turning around. 

“Of course, darling!”

“Let’s get drunk.” You smile a bit and cross the street towards the club. 

“O-oh? Um… I mean, yes! Whatever you desire!” Sanji jogs after you. 

Sanji ducks past you as you approach the club so he could hold the door open for you. You’re immediately met with thumping music and the smell of cigarettes and alcohol. 

“See, you can smoke inside!” You say as you pass Sanji to enter the establishment. 

“T-that’s nice… OH-“ 

Once the two of you entered and your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, you realize that the cocktail waitresses were scantily dressed in mini skirts and bras. You sense that Sanji wasn’t by your side anymore. He was frozen in place. You storm up to him in a huff. 

“If you ruin my night of partying because you need a fucking blood transfusion, I’ll make sure you never see another boob again! Not one!” You seethe up at him, poking a stern finger into his chest. 

“Right! Okay! I’ll be fine, I promise!” Sanji straightens his tie after snapping out of his breast-induced stupor. 

“Now shut up and buy me a drink.” You grab Sanji’s hand and pull him towards two seats at the bar. 

Sanji pulls out the barstool for you and allows you to hop up whilst still holding his hand. You pull your hand back once comfortably seated and you feel a bit of a reluctant pull before Sanji releases you from his grasp. You shoot him a “don’t even think about it” kind of glare… one he had received from you many times before. 

Sanji clears his throat before beckoning over the barkeep. 

“A glass of cabernet, and a-?” Sanji looks at you and cocks a curly brow in question. 

“Gin martini. Filthy.” You smile wickedly. 

A few moments go by waiting for your drinks so you scope out the place. The club was so dark you had a hard time examining your surroundings. There was a dance floor, heavily packed with gyrating, sweaty people in a mess of hands and limbs. There were also booths scattered around the floor and almost each one was filled with a couple making out or at least engaged in some heavy petting. 

“Wow this place is certainly something.” You whistle and turn your stool around to face the bar again. “I think those people at your 8 clock are actually humping.” You shake your head. 

Sanji whips his head back to look and immediately turns back to the bar, eyes wide. 

“God, I feel like I’m interrupting something.” Sanji’s cheeks blush pink. 

The barkeep arrives with your drinks and Sanji pays him, with a hefty tip of course. 

Sanji picks up his glass of wine and holds it out to you. 

“Cheers to a lovely evening, with an even lovelier lady.”  

You find yourself rolling your eyes again.  You clink your martini against his drink. 

You take several swigs of your drink and set it back down on the bar top. Sanji notices that it’s already over halfway finished. 

“You’re not going to be a cheap date, are you?” You gives you a playful smirk. 

“Not a chance.” You grin up at him before turning to flag down the bartender again. 

— — — 

“Okay okay okay, but like, if you HAD to cook a person.. what part are you cooking and how?” You say with a giggle with your umpteenth martini close to your lips. 

“That’s absolutely vile, y/n! I would never do such a thing!” Sanji looks at you with wide eyes, a tipsy smile forming at the corners of his mouth. 

“Okay but you HAVE to.” You press further. 

There was a long pause. 

“Well human flesh is the most similar to pork… so I guess I’d slow roast the rump with seasonal vegetables and red wine.” He eventually remarks. 

You make eye contact and both immediately burst out laughing. 

“Wow it’s incredible to know that the first thing you’d do after I die is eat my ass!” You laugh loudly. 

“Sweetheart I’d eat your ass right now at this bar!” Sanji says with a grin. 

You choke on your drink and push his shoulder playfully, calling him a pervert in the process. You finish your martini and set the empty glass back down on the bar top. You lift your pointer and middle fingers towards Sanji’s face and snip them together like scissors. 

“You are drunk.” Sanji says as he passes you his cigarette. 

“Na uh.” You tease as you take a long drag of the cigarette. 

“You only ever ask me for a smoke when you’re drunk.” He smirks at you before taking the cigarette back from your slender, delicate fingers. 

“How about asking you for a dance then?” You say as you hop down from your bar stool. You grab Sanji’s tie and gentle pull him along as you walk backwards towards the dance floor. Sanji snuffs out his cigarette and follows you with his mouth slightly agape. You lead him through the crowd of sweaty bodies and once you found enough space you pulled him close to you and put your hands around his neck. One of your hands threaded up through his blonde locks as he wrapped his hands around your waist. 

The bass-heavy club music was thumping through your ears and the alcohol was flowing through your bloodstream. You couldn’t help but notice how nice it felt to be held by such strong hands as you gyrated your hips against Sanji’s slender ones. 

Sanji leans his head down and presses his forehead against yours, you smile drunkenly. 

“You look so fucking hot right now…” Sanji says at a volume just loud enough for you to hear him over the thrum of the music. 

With your inhibitions completely gone, you kissed him. 

You felt Sanji freeze briefly as you pressed your lips against his before he continued his movements against you. The grip on your hips tightens and pulls you even closer against his crotch as he presses his tongue into your mouth. 

You gladly accept the intrusion and return the kiss with similar fervor. You make out on the dance floor for what seems like ages before you finally pull back. 

“Y/n..” Sanji gazes at you, pupils blown wide from lust and intoxication. 

“Come on.” You grab Sanji’s hand and pull him towards a darkened hallway that you could only assume housed the club’s restrooms. You burst through one of the restroom doors, thankfully finding it empty. Sanji locks the door behind you and immediately he attacks your lips again, hands gripping the sides of your face tightly. He kisses you hungrily, like he’ll never taste you again and he needs to get as much of you as he can. 

“Slow down, baby boy, I’m not going anywhere…” You purr as you pull back to press Sanji’s back against the locked bathroom door. You drop to your knees. If you had been sober, there would be no way you'd let your bare lets touch the floor of a public bathroom, but here you were anyway.

“M-my love I-I-“ Sanji stutters. 

“Just shut up…” You whisper as you nuzzle your nose into Sanji’s clothed erection straining against his suit pants. You unbuckle his belt and pull down his trousers and boxers in one go. It was a bit clumsy but you eventually got to what you were after… Sanji’s thick cock sprang from his waist band and nearly knocked you in the face with how hard he was. 

You waste no time and grip Sanji by the base and engulf the head of his cock in your warm, eager mouth. 

“Fuck!” Sanji exclaims and threads both his hands into your hair. You were thankful the club’s music was so loud, because you could already tell that this man didn’t know how to be discrete. 

You bob your head back and forth down his shaft a few times before loosening your throat and taking him all the way down to the base. You gag and nestle your nose in his neatly trimmed, honey blond hair. You pull back off his cock and spit the remaining saliva back onto his member before catching your breath. 

“You’re fucking perfect, y/n..” Sanji says lovingly as he strokes your reddened cheek with his soft thumb. You smile stupidly up at him and shove his cock back into your mouth. “Oh my god, just like that baby… so good…” Sanji continues to coo down at you as you service him with your lips and tongue. You were glad he was a bit drunk or else he would have no doubt shot his load down your throat by now, and you wanted it elsewhere. 

You pull off his cock with a lewd pop and a string of saliva still connected it to your lips.

“Fuck me.” You smirk up at him. 

“As you wish, love.” Sanji picks you up off the floor and sets you gently yet hurriedly on the sink counter. Sanji pulls your dress down your torso and your breasts spill out. He immediately dips his head to capture one of your tits in his plush lips. You whine at the feeling of his tongue against your sensitive nipple. Sanji notices you bucking your hips in need and pulls off of you to hike your dress above your hips, exposing your wet panties. He spreads your legs with his strong hands as you were seated on the counter. He roughly grips your panties and rips them into pieces so he could have immediate access. 

“So beautiful, mon amour…” Sanji whispers to you breathlessly as he slides his cock head up and down through your wetness, not taking his eyes off your glistening sex. 

“Please, need you…” You whimper as you wiggle your hips, trying to entice him to finally enter you. 

Sanji answers your plea by stuffing you slowly making you loll your head back and moan. His girth stretched you so perfectly, his curve hitting you in your favorite spot. 

“Shit…” Sanji is almost speechless as your cunt sucks him in so deeply. 

“Fuck me hard, Sanji… please…” You white knuckle grip the edge of the bathroom counter, trying to stay balanced in your inebriated state.  

Sanji responds by pulling out and plowing his hips into yours rapidly creating a lewd wet slapping sound that reverberated around the tile walls of the bathroom. 

“Fuck! Yes! Like that!” You cry out, your sweet spot being hammered with every thrust. Sanji gripped your hip with one hand and brought one hand to your chin, sticking his thumb in your mouth. You immediately wrap your lips around his digit and suck. 

“Sweet little slut… so pretty…” Sanji cooed at you as your pussy greedily accepted his cock over and over and over again. 

You moan around Sanji’s thumb and drool drips from your lips. 

“My dirty girl… going to cum?” Sanji asks you, teasingly. 

You nod furiously. 

“Give it to me, my love…” 

You oblige and let the tightening band in your lower half snap, gushing your release all over Sanji’s abdomen and thighs. You moan loudly and your eyes roll in the back of your head. 

“W-where should I-“

“Inside! Please!” You yelp through overstimulation. 

“Shit-“ Sanji grunts and pants as he humps you through his orgasm, spurting hot cum to coat your insides. He rests his forehead against yours for a moment, trying to catch his breath before pulling out. A true gentlemen, he fixes your dress by pulling the skirt back down and pushing your breasts back in gently before pulling up his own trousers. 

He picks your shaking form up gently from the counter and sets you down on the tile floor. 

“W-we should probably get back…” You say softly. 

“You’re right, come, love.” Sanji grabs your hand and walks you out of the bathroom and out of the club entirely. 

Sanji doesn’t release your hand the whole walk back to the ship and you don’t try to pull it away. Several times on the trip back you look at each other and break into fits of giggles. No words needed to be said. Eventually, you make it back to the Sunny and cross the gangplank, hoping to slip to your bedroom unnoticed by any of your crew members. 

“Geez, you guys look like shit. You get into a fight?” You turn after taking only just two steps onto the ship. Zoro was sitting up against the mast on night watch. You groan. 

“Don’t you need to go be stupid somewhere else, moss head?” Sanji angrily retorts. 

“And what the fuck happened to your dress, y/n? You piss yourself or something? You really are a lightweight.” 

You look down and notice the stain on your dress and the wetness on the inside of your legs. 

“Um! Maybe I should shower! Goodnight Zoro! Care to join me, Sanji It was a long night after all…” You rush towards the ship’s bathroom. 

Sanji was hot at your heels, his green haired rival quickly forgotten.

[queenshelby]

The Peaky Role (Part 11)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Best Friend's Dad, Some Smut

Please comment and engage!

Over the next few days, you tried to avoid your best friend Nina to come to terms with the kiss between you and her father that seemed to echo in your mind.

But, of course, Nina always found a way to reach you and it was on a Saturday evening that you finally managed to catch up with her and some of your other friends in Dublin's Temple Bar.

The pub you went to, for affordable student drinks, buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses, a mix of old Irish folk tunes drifting through the air. You sat at a small table, the wooden surface sticky from spilled drinks.

Unusually though, Nina was late and your unease shifted like the flickering candlelight on the table as you scanned the crowd.

“Where is she?” you muttered, stirring your drink absentmindedly.

"She probably missed the dart into town," one of your mutual friends grinned, taking a swig from his pint and, just as you were about to respond, the door swung open, and Nina appeared, wind sweeping in behind her like a curtain of autumn leaves. Her cheeks flushed pink and her deep blue eyes sparkled with a mix of sadness and irritation.

"Sorry I’m late, I got caught up," she said, forcing a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes as she slid into the booth beside you.

"Don't worry about it," you replied, forcing your own smile as you nudged a pint of Guinness toward her. “Is everything okay?” you then asked as you leaned closer, sensing that her usual vibrancy had dimmed.

“I don’t know,” she said, fidgeting with the condensation on her glass, “It’s just... my parents had another one of those massive fights," she whispered so that only you could hear, her voice low and shaky.

“About what this time? I thought your dad was still on set?" you asked, lowering your voice to match her intensity.

Nina shook her head, frustration clouding her features. “No, he came home after mum nagged him to. His flight was delayed and mum was waiting for him," she said, her fingers tapping the table restlessly.

“OKay. So what happened?” you asked as you tried to keep your tone casual, but concern tugged at your insides.

“Well, I honestly don't know. Everything seemed fine until dinner. Then, out of nowhere, they started shouting," she continued, her gaze fixed on the frothy head of her drink.

"In front of you?" you asked, incredulity creeping into your tone.

Nina shook her head and stared at the floor for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “No, I was already in my room, but I could hear them. Mum was screaming about being tired of waiting around for him and always being second to his career,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper as if the mere act of voicing it too loudly might make it all real. “And Dad... he just kept saying he was always there for us and that it was her who ruined everything because of what she did. They were going in circles, and I couldn’t take it. I thought maybe if I just ignored it, it might blow over.”

Your heart dropped as you listened to her, the air around you thick with unspoken tensions.

"Do you know what he meant by what she did?" you asked gently, leaning in closer, your heart racing with the implications of her words.

Nina's gaze dropped to the table, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "I don't know specifics, but I remember overhearing a conversation once," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Mum and Dad... they had something happen before. It was years ago, but it's like it never really faded for them. They act like, because time has passed, everything is fine. But it’s not," she sighed, frustration spilling over as she furrow ed her brow. "I think dad had an affair a few years back while on location somewhere, and she contacted the woman, another actress, via her agent out of anger, demanding answers."

A chill swept through you at Nina's words. “Your dad had an affair?" you whispered, disbelief hanging in the air.

Nina’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears, each blink holding back the flood. “That's what mum says,” she said, frustration clawing at her voice.

“Have you talked to him about it?” you asked, hoping she wouldn’t brush the question aside.

Nina shook her head vehemently. “No, because what would I even say? ‘Hey, Dad, did you really cheat on Mom?’ It would just blow up in my face,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

“I know,” you breathed, abandoning your drink to focus fully on her. “But don't you think it might help if you talked to him?”

Nina let out a sharp sigh, shaking her head again. “It would just make things worse. He’s already on edge because of mum.”

You leaned back, feeling a weight settle in your stomach. The energy in the pub around you felt distant, the laughter and music fading into a dull roar.

"I honestly don't know what to say," you finally admitted, eyes searching hers for some sign of hope amidst the chaos. "But you can't ignore it forever. It's eating at you."

Nina crossed her arms defensively, a gesture that screamed vulnerability masked as anger. “I just want things to go back to normal,” she said sharply, her voice barely above the din of the pub. “I want them to be together like they were before all this mess.”

You forced a smile, wishing you could grant her that desire. “I get it. But they’re adults, right? They have to navigate their own feelings to deal with and sometimes things like this cannot be fixed and it might be better if they part ways," you explained, recalling your own parents' divorce many years ago and the way it had shattered your perception of love.

Nina looked at you, her jaw tight. “Do you really think my parents can’t work this out? They've been together forever. I just can't imagine them splitting up."

"I don't know, Nina. I honestly don't know what’s going on in their heads, but what I do know is that this has nothing to do with you or your siblings. They still love you, no matter how tangled their relationship gets," you told your best friend, sounding like your own therapist did when your parents split up.

Nina took a long pause, staring into her glass as if searching for answers within the dark coloured liquid. Her voice came out softer, strained. “You are right," she said before picking up her pint and taking a long swig until all of its content was gone, her lips pressing against the cool glass, almost as if she sought solace in the liquid.

You watched her, a concern building as she set the glass down with a thud.

“Take it easy, will you?” you whispered, nudging the empty glass away. “Let’s at least try to enjoy a normal evening, hmm? Maybe we could go somewhere cool, just you and me? To get your mind of this mess," you suggested and Nina's lips curled into a faint smile, though the sadness lingered in her eyes.

“That sounds nice,” she admitted, her voice softening. “But I honestly just came here for one or two drinks because I have an assignment due next week. I’ve pushed it off for too long, and now it’s haunting me," Nina said, her fingers nervously grazing the rim of her glass. "But you go out and have some fun with the gang. You've earned it!" she then urged, her lips tugging into a small, encouraging smile.

You raised an eyebrow, not convinced. “Nah, I couldn't possibly go out without my wing-woman ," you teased, folding your arms. "Besides, I have no interest in partying when you clearly need company."

Nina rolled her eyes, but a smile flickered back onto her lips, momentarily chasing away the shadows. “No, honestly. You need to go out and have some fun. After the break-up with James you need a distraction. Maybe even get laid," she urged, her tone growing earnest.

You sputtered, laughter escaping your lips, quickly silenced by the serious nature of her suggestion.

"I am picky. You know that," you chuckled, shaking your head before you took a deep breath, considering her words.

Eventually though, you agreed to her suggestion, less the getting laid factor, and, after another half an hour and two more drinks with your best friend, Nina called an Uber to take her home.

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" you asked, glancing at her, but she shook her head.

"No," she said. "I really need to tackle this assignment and you cannot help me with it anyway," Nina told you as she pushed back a stray lock of hair, determination flickering in her eyes before she said goodnight and you promised her to call her tomorrow to check in.

As Nina slipped away into the night, the buzz of the pub felt louder without her, but not necessarily in a pleasant way.

The pub quickly filled with more patrons, some of which were rather rowdy. Thus, you finished your drink and followed your friends to another venue shortly thereafter, which is where you contemplated your next move.

You were slightly tipsy and, yet, your mind was somewhat absent from your surroundings. The laughter and music filled your ears, a chaotic mix of emotion and noise, but you couldn't shake the weight of the evening's conversation from your mind, nor could you forget about the kiss you had shared with Cillian over a week eatlier.

While your friends were dancing around you, laughter ringing through the air, your thoughts drifted back to that moment in Cillian's kitchen—the vulnerability, the spark that surged between you both, and the inevitable retreat that followed.

Then, your mind went to what Nina would think if she knew, especially in light of the information about her parents she had just shared with you. The memory tugged at your conscience like a weight, an anchor threatening to pull you under.

This kind of guilt was overwhelming as you watched your friends toss back shots and laugh uninhibitedly, oblivious to your turmoil.

But then, just as you were lost in your thoughts, a familiar face broke through the chatter, and there he was - your best friend's father, sitting on his own, in a corner, nursing a pint of Guinness.

You froze, instinctively tugging your jacket closer as a rush of warmth spread through you.

Cillian looked different, sadder and more contemplative than you remembered from just a few days ago, the deep blue of his eyes dulled by something lingering in the depths.

A tight knot formed in your stomach. You had avoided him for days, yet the sight of him stirred emotions you thought you had carefully tucked away.

You wanted to hide, to turn away and vanish into the crowd, but your legs wouldn’t betray you. Instead, they led you in his direction (or maybe it was the influence of the alcohol), each step weighed down by hesitation.

Cillian's gaze lifted from his glass the moment you approached, surprise flickering in his eyes. Those deep blue pools had always held a thousand unspoken words, and now, they reflected a mix of surprise and concern.

“Hey,” you managed, the word tumbling from your lips like an ungraceful ball. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling the weight of his gaze settling on you, assessing your presence.

"Hey," he replied, his voice warm yet guarded, as if he were trying to navigate the tension that hung in the air between you.

“Uhm, hey," you said again, the awkwardness thickening as your eyes darted briefly to the bar behind him. “What are you doing here?" you asked like if it was any of your business which, obviously, it was not.

Cillian took a deep breath, the edges of his lips twitching upward slightly, as if he was weighing his words. "Having a beer and listening to the band, I guess," he shrugged, his deep voice barely audible over the chatter of the pub. He gestured toward the empty seat across from him, a silent invitation that you couldn't resist.

"Are you here on your own?" you asked as you slid into the seat, the air between you charged with unacknowledged tension.

“Yes, I just needed a bit of space,” Cillian said, his eyes flickering with an emotion you struggled to identify. The light overhead glinted off his handsome features, casting shadows across his furrowed brow.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper as concern coiled tightly in your chest.

Cillian shook his head, a small smile breaking through the heaviness that surrounded you both. “Yes," he said initially, unsure about his words. "I mean, no. I could use the company. Just... it’s been a long day."

You nodded, biting your lip as you watched him take a swig from his pint. Suddenly, the familiar warmth of his presence washed over you, like a soothing balm to the confusion swirling in your mind.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, concern spilling into your tone despite the warnings in your mind.

Cillian took another slow swig of his beer, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered your question. "It’s just... a lot of noise in my life right now," he said, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against the side of his glass.

"Nina may have mentioned something about that," you replied, leaning in slightly, trying to gauge how much he wanted to share.

Cillian sighed deeply, his gaze drifting toward the band playing a lively tune in the corner, his expression tightening as if the music prodded at something raw inside him.

“She’s worried, isn't she?" he asked, his voice low, almost lost beneath the rhythm of the band.

"Yeah, she is," you admitted, nodding slowly and Cillian rubbed the back of his neck, casting a furtive glance around as if searching for the right words.

“She shouldn't have to be concerned about problems like this,” he continued, his voice laced with frustration. "Fuck, sometimes I think I forget how this affects the people around us, but I honestly don’t know how to fix it,” Cillian admitted, his brows pinching together as he stared into his glass. “I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of something I can’t control.”

You studied Cillian, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest.

“I don’t think any of us ever really can control everything, Cillian,” you said softly, your gaze steady on him. "I mean, I am sure you are trying the best to navigate this chaos in your life right now, but it’s okay to admit when you’re feeling overwhelmed."

Cillian looked up, meeting your eyes with a mix of vulnerability and gratitude. His lips curled slightly, as if your words had provided a brief respite from a storm he'd been weathering alone.

“Thanks,” he murmured, the heaviness in his voice almost palpable. He leaned back in his chair, letting out a breath that seemed to lift some of the burden off his shoulders.

"And I shouldn't really be troubling you with this kind of stuff either," he said, his gaze flickering to the pub's lively crowd momentarily before returning to you. "You should be out there, dancing with your friends and having a good time," he said, his voice warm but tinged with hope that you would decline and stay, to keep him company.

You waved your hand dismissively. "I don't dance," you said with a chuckle, shaking your head. “Not in front of a crowd, at least.”

Cillian raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Huh, how then?" he asked and you simply shrugged.

“I prefer to make a fool of myself in private, or just amongst people I know,” you explained, your heart racing at the playful glimmer in his eyes, the unexpected ease of the moment melting away the heaviness that had surrounded both of you.

“Fair enough," he said, a genuine smile breaking across his face for the first time that evening, lifting the weight in the air just a little more.

“Maybe you could show me your secret dance moves sometime,” he teased, his gaze sparkling with mischief, as if he was inviting you to share more of yourself.

You laughed, the sound breaking the tension. “Oh, trust me, you’d regret asking. I’m a total disaster on the dance floor,” you replied, shaking your head with mock seriousness.

Cillian chuckled, the sound deep and warm and the topic of dancing quickly led to another as well as another round of drinks.

With the conversation flowing like the drinks, laughter rang out between you, slowly chipping away at the heaviness that had lingered.

You felt the atmosphere shift, the laughter curling around you like a familiar blanket as the warmth of the pub enveloped you both. Cillian leaned back, relaxing into the worn wooden chair, a slight smile still lingering on his lips as he regarded you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You know,” he began, swirling the beer in his glass, “it’s nice to talk to you like this, away from work and all the mess at home. You bring a sense of normalcy I didn't realize I needed,” he said, his gaze steady on yours, vulnerability lacing his words.

Your heart raced as his deep blue eyes lingered on you, and you knew this moment was teetering on the edge of something profoundly intimate.

“But, at the same time, it feels a little inappropriate talking to you, like this, considering…” he then said, not finishing his sentence, the weight of unspoken complications hanging between you.

You held his gaze, a mix of anticipation and trepidation swirling in your chest. “Considering what?” you finally prompted, your voice steady as you leaned in slightly, feeling the electricity crackle between you both.

Cillian hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. “Considering the fact that I crossed a line last week that I shouldn't have crossed. I mean, you’re my daughter’s best friend, and I shouldn’t…” He let the sentence hang, but the implications were clear. The weight of it loomed heavily in the air, a barrier neither of you dared to cross again.

"Cillian, I kissed you first,” you interjected, your voice firm yet soft enough to convey the complexity of your feelings. “I initiated it. And if anyone should feel guilty, it should be me.”

His expression shifted slightly, a mixture of surprise and thoughtfulness swirling in his deep blue eyes.

"I am a shit friend," you admitted, the words tumbling out like stones from a crumbling wall. "It was impulsive and selfish. I didn’t think about the consequences—about Nina—or anything."

Cillian leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, a mix of concern and understanding etched on his face. "You are not a shit friend. You acted impulsively in a moment of vulnerability and it is not just on you. I wasn't— I shouldn't have reciprocated," he said, carefully choosing his words as if they might unravel the tension binding you together.

“I think we both know it wasn’t just impulse, Cillian,” you countered, your heart pounding as you scrutinized his expression.

Cillian’s gaze flickered, uncertainty clouding his blue eyes. He leaned back slightly, the distance between you suddenly feeling cavernous. “What do you mean?” he asked softly, his voice carrying the weight of unsaid truths.

You took a deep breath, the truth hovering at the tip of your tongue. “There was something more, wasn't there?” you pressed gently, your heart pounding wildly against your ribs, urging you to bridge the widening gap between your worlds.

Cillian’s gaze sharpened, an intensity settling over him as he weighed your words. “What do you want to hear?” he asked, his voice low, each syllable laden with unspoken tension.

“Maybe I want to hear that you felt attracted to me, in that moment at least," you said, the vulnerability of your words catching in your throat, the many pints of Guinness softening your resolve just enough to speak the truth you had buried deep.

Cillian held your gaze, his eyes searching yours for a flicker of insincerity, but he found only honesty reflected back at him. A spark flickered through the space between you, filled with unspoken desires and complicated emotions.

“Maybe I did," he admitted finally, his voice low and measured. "But that doesn't mean it’s right. I’m your friend’s father, I have a marriage to consider. And that kiss... it complicates everything.”

A heaviness settled between you, echoing your deepest fears that this moment did indeed complicate everything.

"But lets not talk about it anymore. It happened and we should both forget about it," he said, his voice firm yet tinged with a sadness that tightened in your chest.

“Forget about it?” you echoed, disbelief rising in your tone, the words leaving a bitter aftertaste. “Okay, let's just forget about it," you said, forcing yourself to sound light-hearted, though the ache in your chest said otherwise.

Cillian looked away, taking a deep breath, the weight of his silence heavy with unspoken emotions. You studied him, the warmth of the pub suddenly feeling stifling as you wrestled with the moment slipping away. Cillian stared into his glass, his fingers drumming a silent rhythm against the wood, a man lost in contemplation.

“Another drink?" you then asked as you broke the silence, trying to lift the heaviness that threatened to swallow you both.

“Yeah, why not?” Cillian replied, looking up with a slight smile, as if the prospect of another drink offered a temporary reprieve from the tension. He raised his empty glass slightly toward you, a silent toast, but just as the bartender approached, you were surprised when he informed you that last drinks had already been called.

“Sorry folks, it's one o'clock. I can't serve anymore," he said, waving his hand apologetically as he wiped the counter with a grimy rag.

Cillian let out a resigned sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he processed the abrupt end to what had started as a somewhat pleasant evening.

“Well, I guess that’s our cue,” he said, attempting to mask his disappointment with a casual shrug. "I should walk you home," he offered, his expression settling into something more serious, almost protective.

You hesitated, glancing around at the dwindling crowd before meeting his gaze. “You don’t have to, Cillian. I am a big girl and can manage on my own,” you replied, trying to downplay the flutter in your chest at his offer.

Cillian’s expression turned serious, his blue eyes narrowing just slightly. "I insist Y/N. It’s late. Plus, I owe you for putting up with my rambling,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, revealing a flash of the charisma that had won so many hearts.

You couldn't help but smile back, but the weight of the evening lingered in the back of your mind, your heart still racing from the mix of emotions swirling between you.

“Okay, then,” you relented, standing up from the table, your legs slightly unsteady beneath you from the drinks. Cillian moved with an easy grace, gathering his coat from the back of the chair and slipping it on.

As you stepped out of the pub, the brisk night air hit you like a splash of cold water, sharp and startling.

You took a deep breath, relishing the coolness against your warm skin, and glanced sideways at Cillian as you both stepped onto the dimly lit street.

"This way," you said, gesturing down a narrow alleyway that led toward the more residential areas of Dublin.

"I know," he chuckled, having visited your father's apartment many times during family gatherings and his familiarity with the streets added an odd comfort to the moment.

You walked side by side, the night air crisp and charged with an unsaid tension. You engaged in some light banter on the way and, when you finally reached your destination, you paused outside the building's entrance, the dim glow of the streetlamp casting a warm hue over your faces.

“Well, here we are,” you said, hands shoved deep into your pockets to keep from fidgeting. You glanced at Cillian, the dappled light illuminating the sharp angles of his jaw and the warmth in his deep blue eyes.

“Yeah,” he responded, a softness settling around the edges of his expression. “I should probably just—”

But you stepped forward, the urge to bridge the distance growing stronger than the anxiety knotting your stomach. "Cillian, wait,” you interjected, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions. He paused, brow knit in curiosity as he regarded you in the muted light.

“Do you want to come up for a drink?" you offered, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.

The invitation hung in the air, electrifying and unexpected, your heart racing at the sudden pivot in the night’s course.

Cillian lifted an eyebrow, surprise flickering across his features as he weighed your words. “A drink?” he echoed, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an uncertain smile.

“Yes, I mean, dad is away and I could use the company,” you continued, holding his gaze steady, nerves fluttering in your stomach like butterflies. Cillian studied you for a moment, the streetlight casting shadows across his handsome features. His expression shifted, the weight of your invitation hanging heavily in the air.

“Just one drink,” he finally replied with a measured tone that carried some hesitance in his words, but the glint in his eyes suggested curiosity, a flicker of intrigue behind the caution.

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[starclancy]

~ Playing Rough ~

PAIRING: AFAB/fem! Reader/timeskip!Kageyama

CONTENTS: ❣️ - smut

WORDCOUNT: 938

warnings: timeskip! characters, fem! reader mentions of sex (duh), fingering, teasing, lewd language

Request status: Open (lowkey running out of ideas😭)

MDNI | 18+ content

Your apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside the window. Kageyama had come over after a particularly intense practice. Even now, years after high school, he was still training with the same relentless intensity that you’d come to admire. He’d moved to play professionally, and while volleyball was his life, he’d always made time for you, carving out rare moments where it felt like it was just the two of you in the world.

He dropped onto the couch beside you, his body loose with exhaustion but his eyes still bright. The lights were dim, and as he shifted closer, you felt his knee brush yours. You’d spent so many nights like this, close but not quite close enough, both of you dancing around something unspoken.

“Thanks for letting me crash here,” he said, his voice low and just a little rough.

“Anytime,” you replied, unable to help the small smile that crept up as you glanced over at him. “Although it’s a good thing I like the smell of sweat. It’s all over you.”

He scoffed, leaning back and closing his eyes. “You’ve smelled worse.”

You rolled your eyes but felt the warmth creeping to your cheeks. Kageyama’s arm draped casually over the back of the couch, so close it would only take a small shift for you to be pulled into his warmth. The tension between you was thick, almost like it had a weight to it, pressing down, making your heart beat faster.

You took a deep breath and let yourself lean into him, just slightly, and the air between you grew hotter. He opened one eye, glancing down at you, as if he’d noticed the shift. For a moment, he was still, and then, slowly, he turned, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder, gentle and yet so firm.

Kageyama’s eyes, that intense blue you’d never quite been able to shake, flicked down to your lips, and you felt your heart stutter. The hand on your shoulder slid up, his fingertips grazing your neck, igniting a spark that made your breath catch.

“Are you…okay with this?” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You nodded, unable to find your voice as his lips brushed yours. The kiss was slow at first, careful, like he was afraid of moving too fast. But soon, you felt him lean in, the kiss growing deeper, more intense. His hands traced gentle patterns over your back, pulling you closer, until there was no space left between you.

He tasted faintly of the energy drink he’d downed earlier, and as your hands moved to trace the toned lines of his shoulders, you felt the soft hitch in his breathing. His fingers tightened against your skin, grounding himself, as if he wanted to make sure this was real, that you were here with him.

The kiss grew hungrier, his hands roaming up your back, fingers pressing into your skin, his lips moving to your jaw, trailing kisses down your neck. You felt his breath hot against your skin, a shiver racing down your spine as he pressed his forehead to yours, eyes heavy-lidded and dazed.

“I’ve waited for this,” he admitted softly, his voice thick with need and honesty.

You held him closer, your hand brushing the soft skin at the back of his neck, tangling in his hair as you pressed another kiss to his lips. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you even closer, your bodies so perfectly aligned it was dizzying.

Kageyama’s lips brushed your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine as he whispered, “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted you.” He start to lay you down on the couch, getting on top as he start to rub your wet pussy

you moan loudly as he enters a finger, getting you ready for his cock, streatching and twisting your hole as he tells you how much he has dreamed of this moment and how he knows you have too

“You think I don’t see those looks you give me, do you?” He lines up his thick cock as he slowly inches it in “This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  His voice is deep, the shy facade gone. it’s like he’s punishing you with each slap of his thick cock in you.

Throughout his training today, his thoughts kept returning to you, a singular craving that he couldn’t shake. a hunger for absolute closeness, for a trust and surrender that went beyond anything else he knew. His focus narrowed, committing every inch of you to memory with an intensity that left you breathless.

“Wait… it’s too much,” you whisper into the couch, your body trembling under the weight of his strength. Each movement felt like it reached your core, sending shivers through you as his rhythm built, the sound of your connection filling the room and making your mind blur.

“your so beutiful" he murmurs, his tone deep yet filled with love. You can tell he loves when you push him, testing the limits, seeing just how far you’ll go together. It’s exactly what you both crave.

His hand slides down, pressing over the outline of himself against your stomach, his touch grounding you. “I want you to remember this, exactly how it feels,” he says, voice a low rumble. A smirk crosses his lips as he feels you respond to him, your body instinctively attuned to every move he makes.

You melt into his hold, pliant and responsive, perfectly in sync with him—a connection he cherishes more deeply than he ever lets on.

[mediumgayitalian]

The slam of his car door is loud enough to make him jump, echoing across the dipping valleys and proud hills. He curses to himself, standing frozen, one, two, three, four, but no one comes running. A light dusting of snow falls in a perfect circle around an invisible border, and Lee shivers as he jogs over to it, worn sneakers squelching over the wet, half-thawed grass.

As soon as he steps onto the bottom of Half-Blood Hill, he feels the difference, the balmy breath of warm summer under the clear December sky. The power of Thalia’s tree sends its usual shiver down his back, and he touches it, briefly, as he speeds past, sending his usual prayer of thanks. He pauses at the crest of the hill, using the bright gibbous moon to survey the camp, marking his path.

“Two, four….twelve,” he mutters to himself, craning his neck to map every one of the patrol harpies. He crouches for a while, watching them, tracking their patrol: paired, hexagonal, staggered circuits around the cabins. Four minute window of opportunity.

He can do four minutes.

As the two harpies walking the Apollo-Artemis circuit begin to cross the common, Lee bolts. He keeps low and close to the shadows, sprinting fast and on the balls of his feet to stay quiet, and ducks behind whatever shadow is closest whenever something looks his way. By the time the harpies turn back towards Cabin Seven, he’s already on the rickety porch, tossing his backpack inside the window Michael left open for him and throwing himself in after it.

He lands palms-first, tucking into a roll to absorb the momentum. He freezes, panting, by the leg of what is usually Amir’s bed, straining to hear past the crickets and cicadas.

One, two, three, four.

Nothing.

He’s good.

“Took your damn sweet time, didn’t you.”

“Hello to you too,” Lee grumbles, pushing himself upright. From across the cabin, lounging on his bed like a goddamn French monarch, is his dick of a brother, grinning like the little shit he is. “Haven’t seen you in weeks, most people say hello, et cetera, et cetera.”

Michael shrugs. “You’re late. I watched you on the hill; you coulda made that run twenty minutes ago.”

“Nobody asked you.”

“I’m always asking me.”

“Get over her, boogerbrain.”

“Real mature,” Michael mocks, but ambles over anyway. He retches like a twelve year old when Lee hugs him, but twists his hands in the back of Lee’s shirt when he lets go too fast. Lee hides his smile in his over-gelled hair.

“You might miss me less if you actually write me letters, you know.”

“I didn’t miss you,” he responds automatically. “And I wouldn’t have to write you letters if you stayed home, already.”

Lee sighs. “…I have school, Michael.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure your dumbass bio teachers have loads to teach the guy who can do open heart surgery with his eyes closed.”

“Yeah, yeah. If anyone could do with a good, old-fashioned, public school humbling, it would be you, hothead. You ready to go?”

Michael pulls away with a roll of his eyes. “Only since yesterday. Been waiting for your sorry ass.”

“My sorry — your sorry ass doesn’t have a car!”

Michael snickers, jogging back to his bunk and grabbing the black duffel bag resting under it. Lee makes quick work of packing his own bag, stuffing in a couple squares of ambrosia and and giant roll of bandages, just in case, before creeping over to the only bed left with someone still in it.

“Hey, kiddo.” He folds over the sheet pulled all the way over messy blonde curls, immediately plaguing the cabin with loud snoring. He rests his palm over a sleep-creased cheek, mapping his thumb over the freckles dotting pudgy cheekbones, and brushes back the hair plastered to his baby brother’s forehead. “Will, sweetheart, get up.”

It takes him a couple minutes of gentle prodding — when Will is out he is out — to wake up, squinting blearily in the dim fairy lights strewn across his bunk. He blinks, one, two, three, four, then gasps.

“Lee!”

“Oof,” Lee grunts, shifting his weight as he is abruptly accosted with an armful of child. He smiles, curling around Will’s flailing, chattering form, tightening his hold on his waist and resting his forehead on his shoulder. “Hi, buddy.”

“—missed you so much! Is this why your letter was late? Are you staying? Is this why Diana left yesterday? Is she here now? Is Cass coming? Is everybody coming? Can I —”

“C’mon, Motormouth,” Michael interrupts, cuffing Will’s ear as he walks by. “Go get your sneakers on. We’re going for a drive.”

“‘Kay,” Will days happily, dashing off to find the light-up Star Wars shoes he refuses to throw out, even though there are literal holes in the soles.

“You got his bag?”

“Yep,” Michael affirms, holding up a straining backpack. “Toothbrush. Hairbrush that he won’t use. Three comic books. Change of clothes. And two more changes of clothes for when he inevitably destroys the first one,” he adds when Lee opens his mouth. He shoots him an exasperated look. “Me and Diana have been chasing after the little brat for four months, dude. I got him.”

“Alright, alright,” Lee grumbles. “Heaven forbid I double-check.” He turns over to the door, where Will is tying his shoelaces, tongue peeking out of his mouth. “You ready, Will?”

He tugs on the two loops. The entire knot unravels. Quick as a flash, he stuffs the laces inside his shoes, scrambling to his feet.

“Yes,” he lies. He scratches at his throat.

Lee and Michel sigh in unison.

Luckily, the reaction is hardly more than itchy eyes and a cough. Lee herds him towards the door, sliding the backpack over his shoulders and holding out his arm and —

“Hold on a sec.”

“Why?” Will whispers.

“Shh,” Lee says.

Window cracked open, Michael exhales. The release of his bow hardly makes more than a soft hiss.

The angle is odd, limited space as there is, but Michael never misses — the clunky arrow whistles through the open window, sailing past the sloped roofs of the west wing cabins, and thunks somewhere behind the first layer of trees in the forest. Immediately, it lets loose a burst of sound identical to a dropped bottle and a group of teenagers cursing. In seconds, the curfew harpies are screeching, descending upon the source of the noise with the fury of a thousand sun chariots.

“Go go go go go,” Michael orders, wrenching open the door.

Will, immediately, takes off, gleeful at the opportunity to run away with permission (usually, he’s running from one of them, screeching at him to get back here). (Or Chiron, although Chiron has a much easier time catching up, what with the six limbs and all). (…Is Chiron an insect? Technically?)

“How long do we have?” Lee whispers, once Michael has caught up.

He shrugs. “Seven minutes, give or take? More than enough time.”

Lee worries his bottom lip. “More than…” He glances at the forest. Vaguely, in the low firelight, he can see the odd wing, hear the odd screech. Nothing looks very close. He glances at the rapidly approaching Athena cabin, just a few yards out of their way. Hm.

“Detour!” he decides. “Will, c’mon!”

Ignoring Michael’s hissed complaints, he veers towards to neatly maintained cabin. He slips in the space between Cabins Six and Four, holding tight to Will’s hand. He counts the windows as he passes — one, two, three, four — and stumbles to a stop, crouching down in the dirt.

“Oh, are you — for the love of Zeus.”

Lee ignores his eye-rolling, scanning the ground for pebbles. He selects a handful of them, careful not to choose anything too big, and jogs a few steps back.

“What’re you doing?” Will asks, too loud, but at least he tries to whisper.

Instead of answering, Lee launches the first pebble at the window.

It pings off harmlessly.

Waiting a breath for the harpies to come running, he continues, firing off pebble after pebble with increasing strength. Finally, after pebble #7, a face appears behind the clear glass, bleary eyes widening when they take in the sight in front of them. Quickly, the latches are undone, and the window is yanked open.

“Lee?!”

Lee grins. “Hey, Carter.”

“What’re you — you’re — it’s December! What’s going —”

“I need a favour,” Lee whispers. “Can you — cover for us?”

For the first time, Carter looks away, brows raising as he notices Micheal, who taps his (watchless) wrist obnoxiously, and Will, who waves brightly. Carter waves back, small smile tugging at his lips.

“Cover for you?”

“Just, like, infirmary stuff. I don’t think anything will happen, and if it does we’re an IM away, but —”

“Lee,” Carter says exasperatedly, “cover you guys for what?”

“Oh.” Lee clears his throat. “I, um. I need to do something for my family.”

Smiling, Carter rests his elbows on the windowsill, chin in his hands. “Mysterious.”

“We’ll be back by tomorrow evening,” Lee assures.

“And then you’ll stay for a bit?”

Lee’s mouth goes dry. “You want me to stay?”

Carter ducks his head, fingers tracing a mindless path on the windowsill. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you for a while.”

A thousand gods of prophecy could not predict the sound that comes out of Lee’s throat.

Something between a whimper and an awkward laugh, his voice cracks four seperate times. Carter giggles. Lee prays, genuinely, that a crater opens up beneath him and drops him right at Lord Hades’ feet.

“Everything okay, Lee?”

“Peachy,” he croaks.

Carter giggles again. Lee flushes. Michael gags exaggeratedly behind him, pausing mid-heave to whisper something to Will, and then there’s a giggle, and then two people fake-retching. Carter peeks through his dark eyelashes, pleased expression softening his heart-shaped face, and Lee counts twelve of his own capillaries straight-up explode.

“Well,” he says, too loudly. “I’m — well.”

“I think you have harpies to run from,” Carter suggests gently.

“Indeed.” Lee clears his throat, nodding. “As you have so astutely observed, we do —”

Michael, recognising the strained tone to his voice, groans. “Fucksake, Lee —”

“— and so I bid you adieu —”

“Dude, oh my gods, snap out of it —”

Lee can’t. He barely has control over his own mouth.

“— and vow to see you again in the eve.”

Feeling his soul exit his body, settle in front of him, and then crumple up and die, Lee fucking bows. There is the very distinctive sound of a hand slapping over a mouth, muffling an eruption of giggles, and then the hand of mercy, also known as Michael Yew, clamping on the back of his lava-hot neck.

“Please excuse him,” he says grandly. “He was dropped on his head as a child. He’s normal, usually.”

“Except when you wear your glasses,” Will pipes up. Lee makes a mental note to find Clarisse’s spear and shove it through his own eye. “He gets real weird when you wear your glasses. Once he walked into a wall and broke his nose.”

“…Did he.”

“Yep. And last time he —”

“God, this hurts me to say,” whispers Michael, “but I have to put a stop to this conversation. We’re on a time limit. C’mon, Will. Bye, Carter. Sorry for — well, you know. Apollonian dramatics, not always easy to control.”

He turns, dragging Lee, still hunched over, out of the Cabin Six shadow.

Lee does not un-hunch until they are well over the crest of Half-Blood Hill, harpy screeches beginning to echo behind them.

“I have never been more embarrassed to be related to you in my life,” Michael informs him, the second he’s upright. “Like, genuinely, I’m considering disowning you. That was atrocious, Fletcher. You need to get ahold of yourself. Where is your game? Your dignity?”

“I think he lost it when he was born,” Will says thoughtfully. “Or maybe when Carter smiled at him the first time.”

“I hate both of you,” Lee croaks.

Neither of them seem too incredibly bothered, snickering to each other as they duck into the car.

Willing his flush to go down, Lee herds them into his car. He takes a moment in the cool air to chill the hell out, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, then slips behind the wheel. He checks that Will is belted in properly, slips the car into neutral, and coasts down the road, waiting until Thalia’s tree slips out of sight before turning it on and hitting the gas.

“Where’re we goin’?

“You,” Michael says, flipping down the vanity mirror to glare sternly at Will, “are going to dreamland. It’s three in the morning. Time for bratty children to sleep.”

“What? No! I’m not tired!”

“Fine, fine,” Lee says, exchanging a grin with Michael. “Stay awake, then. As long as you like.”

Will narrows his eyes. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“No trick?”

Lee crosses his fingers. “‘Course not.”

“Fine,” he relents. He settles into the booster seat Lee dragged out of the trunk for him (which he hates), arms crossed over his chest, and stares out the window.

Counting off on his fingers — one, two, three, four — Lee and Michael begin to hum.

At first, nothing happens. Will taps absentmindedly on his knees, humming along to the parts he knows, but soon his fingers slow. Lee and Michael keep it low and quiet, cycling through quiet folk songs Michael’s dad taught him, matching with the rumbling of the car, the slight breeze of Lee’s cracked open window. Michael kicks softly at the base of his seat, one, two, three, four; and matches the rhythm of the radio static, the click of the blinkers on every turn.

Will’s out in twenty minutes.

———

The drive is long.

Michael curls up sometime around four, fogging up the windows with every snore. Lee keeps the radio on a low hum, letting the background noise keep him focused as he navigates. The Atlantic Ocean is ink-black in the early morning, and the waves crash loud enough that he can hear them over the sounds of the engine, and for a while they’re still far enough from the city that the air smells fresh. Even when it starts to sour, and the noise gets a lot more urban, it’s early enough and he’s east enough that the traffic is minimal. Never non-existent — he actually cannot imagine what a traffic-less New York would look like; he doubts he’ll ever live to see it — but enough that he keeps at a steady 35.

The drive through Jersey is uneventful. Farmland and suburbs, nothing he hasn’t seen every day of his life, nothing he didn’t see the last time he made the drive. He entertains himself by counting every brown car he sees, randomly wagering the number by the time he gets there. He’s relieved when he finally crosses the memorial bridge, driving down the exit ramp and pulling into the first big parking lot he sees. Michael wakes up as he puts the car in gear, killing the engine.

“We here?” he asks, popping the joints along his spine.

Lee yawns. “Pretty much, yeah. Pulled off the highway.”

“‘Kay.” He glances in the backseat, where Will is starting to stir. “You nap. I’m gonna find a place for him to change and brush his teeth, maybe get breakfast for all of us.”

“Sounds good”

He crawls in the backseat as Michael guides Will out of it, accepting the blanket tossed his way. He slides his hoodie over his face, lies back, and conks out in minutes.

———

“Yo, Lee. Get up. I got food.”

“Timizzit?” he asks, shaking the grogginess from his limbs.

“Eleven. You slept for four hours. We gotta be at the theatre in an hour.”

“When’s she on?”

“Fuck if I know, man. Diana said noon, I’m gonna be there at noon. You wanna piss off Diana?”

“No.” He rubs the heel of his palm into his eyes, reaching blindly in the direction of Michael’s voice. “Food, please.”

A bag of grease is deposited into his waiting hand. He is pleased to find three cheeseburgers within it, and immediately tears into them with a fervour that can only be described as ‘ravenous’, or perhaps ‘revolting’. Esurient, perhaps, if one was feeling poetic.

Finally awake enough to function, Lee looks critically at the scene in front of him. Michael is dressed in the same button-up and slacks he wears to his dad’s performances, on the years he’s in the U.S., and Will is in jeans without grass stains, real shoes, hair mostly brushed. Michael has even managed to find a shirt that’s not half-unraveled from Will picking at the seams.

“Nice,” he says, nodding in approval.

Michael picks at his nails, visibly preening. “Oh, it was no big deal.”

“Yeah, yeah. Dweeb.”

He polishes off his last burger, then ducks inside the nearest store to find somewhere to get changed. Diana told them it didn’t matter, really, what they wore, but Lee knows better. He knows what this means for Cass, and while yeah, sure, it wouldn’t really matter if he showed up in sweatpants, he wants to show her that he put in the effort. That even if her mother couldn’t, or wouldn’t, they will. All of them. He wants her to see them and know that they did this for her. He wants her to see them and know that they tried, that they care.

Hair perfectly placed and clothes as unwrinkled as he can get them, he hurries back to the car. The theatre isn’t far, and they have a little under an hour, but he doesn’t want to push it. Finding parking will be hard enough.

“Are we on a quest?” Will asks, five minutes out on the road.

“Eight year olds don’t go on quests.”

“Diomedes was ten when he fought the Trojan war.”

“Are you Diomedes?”

“No.”

“Are you ten?”

“No.”

“Then no quests for you.”

“Aw.”

“Your quest can be being quiet for twenty minutes,” Michael grumbles, making a face when Will sticks his tongue out at him.

———

part two

[hinatastinygiant]

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: marked encounters :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

soulmates (fem!reader x giyuu)

back to... fated encounters, masterlist

The night is colder than you had expected. Rain pours down, turning the narrow forest path into a slippery mess as you stumble your way through. You're used to traveling alone by now, but tonight feels different- your steps echo in the dark, and something about the shadows flickering along the path puts you on edge. You're not alone.

Then, a rustle- a shadow darts in front of you, barely visible before it strikes. A demon.

In the split second before it lunges, you barely register its clawed form or the red gleam of its eyes. Instinct alone has you stumbling back, your heart pounding as you fumble for something, anything, to protect yourself. But the creature is already upon you, a low snarl escaping its lips as it closes in.

And then, after a flash of movement and a rush of wind, it's gone.

Your vision fills with a flash of blue was water flows gracefully through the air, shimmering even in the dim light. In the instant before the rain hides it, you catch a glimpse of a blade slicing cleanly through the demon's neck, water scattering in a perfect sweep while the creature crumbles to ash.

Before you can fully understand what's happened, you lock eyes with the figure standing before you- a man, too calm to be real, lowers his sword with deadly grace. He has a face as still as the night itself, eyes bright blue and piercing as he looks down at the place where the demon fell. In the heavy moment of silence that follows, he turns to you, and something strange flickers across his expression, like a shadow.

Then, his gaze shifts to your wrist. You follow his line of sight, blinking as you notice the unexpected: the soulmark on your wrist, the strange, faintly glowing symbol resembling the kanji for water, is gleaming softly under the rain from his previous attack.

He freezes, eyes narrowing as he lifts his own wrist slightly. And there it is- the same mark, glowing faintly through his damp sleeve.

"What...?" you breathe, staring at him in awe. "You... you have it too? The soulmark..."

But he doesn't answer. His expression- which was already guarded- hardens as he shifts away, his gaze growing distant. "Stay away from me," he finally says, his voice low and cold.

"What?" you stammer, stepping closer despite the warning edge in his tone. "But- you just saved me. I don't understand... Who are you?"

"Forget this ever happened," he replies, already turning to leave.

God, that sharpness in his gaze, it's like a wall thrown up between you before you've even had a chance to begin understanding the undeniable connection you two have.

"Go back to where you came from. You don't belong in this."

You scoff at his words, determination flaring despite his tone. "Like hell I don't. Why do you want me to leave? Your mark... How can you pretend it doesn't matter?"

For a moment, he hesitates. The rain has now stopped, but his expression stays as guarded as ever. Finally, he says, "It means you're safer away from me."

"But-"

"Goodbye," he cuts you off. And before you can utter another word, he's gone, disappearing into the shadows like he was never here, leaving you alone with nothing but the faint glow of the mark on your wrist.

Months Later...

You've spent countless hours tracing his steps, following the rumors and whispers from one village to the next, each new lead carrying you closer to the man who saved you and then left without a trace.

The Demon Slayer Corps, people say, though they don't seem to quite know what it is. You've learned to listen carefully, to notice details others overlook, honing a kind of tracking skill you never imagined you'd have.

Finally, you spot him again one evening, leaning against a tree at the edge of a quiet path. When he sees you, he straightens in surprise, his eyes flicking over you with a hardly concealed shock.

"Why are you here?" he asks cautiously. "Why would you go out of your way to follow someone like me?"

"Are you serious? You saved me," you answer, your voice steady even as your heart pounds in your chest. "And because of this," you add, holding up your wrist to show him the mark- the soulmark still etched in your skin. "I don't believe in ignoring something like this. And I can't believe that you would either."

He studies you for a long moment, his expression guarded as it was the first night, but you catch the faintest flicker of something else- maybe curiosity, or perhaps even a reluctant admiration.

"You'll get yourself killed, following someone like me," he says, his tone still distant but a bit softer than before.

"Maybe," you reply, "But if you're here, then I don't think I'll have much to worry about."

The silence stretches as he seems to search for the right words. Finally, he nods softly. "Fine," he mutters, already turning away, "Do what you want, but if you're going to follow, stay close."

The days unfold slowly as you travel together. He doesn't speak often, but you've started learning to read his silences- the way he adjusts his pace to match yours, how he passes subtle glances black when he thinks you're not looking. Despite his silent and intense demeanor, there's a gentleness there, a quiet care sewn into each of his actions.

"Here," he says one evening, holding out his dual-patterned haori as the night air grows colder. You take it, surprised at the warmth that floods you from the fabric, or, maybe from the simple act of his offering it to you. "You'll get sick otherwise," he murmurs, his gaze fixed somewhere past you.

"Thank you, Giyuu," you say, catching his gaze as you wrap the haori around your shoulders. For a moment, you're pretty sure you see something soften in his expression, but he looks away quickly, shrugging it off like it's nothing.

"Don't mention it," he hums, though his gaze lingers a fraction too long before he turns back to the road.

A Few Days Later...

"Like this?" you ask, adjusting your posture awkwardly as you try to mirror the stance he's shown you for self-defense. He studies you critically, then moves closer, reaching out to adjust your shoulders and fix your stance with careful, practiced movements.

"Not quite," he mutters, his breath warm against your cheek as he shifts your balance, steadying your weight. For someone who's usually so cautious about keeping his space, he's awfully close. His warm hands ground you, and for a brief, breathless moment, the world seems to shrink the space even more.

"That's better," he says, his voice even softer not. "Just... keep your balance steady. And stay alert."

"Got it," you manage, heart pounding as you try to focus on his instructions rather than the warmth of his touch.

He lets go, stepping back with an almost hesitant look. "You're reckless enough to follow me, so you should at least know how to protect yourself," he says, his tone rough but edged with a gentleness that makes you smile.

"So... does that mean you don't mind having me around?"

He says nothing, but the corners of his mouth quirk up in the softest smile.

Later That Evening...

When he brings you to a small, quiet house at the edge of a village, you wonder if he intends to leave you there. But instead, he stays, lingering as the sun sets to gold outside.

The woman of the house hands you both a cup of tea, smiling warmly as she sits across from you.

"You have a beautiful home," you say, glancing around the simple, open room.

"Thank you," she answers, nodding softly. She studies you for a moment, a sparkle in her eyes. "You know, I've heard the stories about you, the brave traveler searching for your soulmate. You're quite famous, you know."

"I... I'm not sure I would call myself brave," you chuckle, surprised. "And honestly, I don't think I could've found him without the help of many people like yourself."

She smiles, then turns to Giyuu, who's been quiet since entering the house.

"Thank you," he mutters, avoiding her gaze.

"Mmm, maybe I should give you too a bit of space," she hums, getting up slowly. "Please let me know if there's anything else you need."

You thank her, taking the chance to sip your tea while she leaves the room.

Giyuu studies the floor silently, a thoughtful look on his face.

"You could stay," you say quietly, watching his expression as he debates with himself. There's reluctance there, but also a hint of warmth he so rarely shows. "Just for tonight."

He nods eventually, his posture relaxing a fraction as he looks over at you.

"Yeah," he murmurs, "Just for tonight."

That Night...

The night sky is bright with stars, and the cool air feels wonderful as you step outside for a breath of fresh air. A soft sound catches your attention, and you glance back, noticing a candle flickering faintly from the other room. Giyuu's inside, most likely busy planning where to go next and it isn't your place to interrupt.

You look down at your soulmark, glowing softly through the thin fabric of your shirt. It's grown brighter since meeting him, and the more time you spend with him, the stronger the connection seems to grow.

And, if you're honest with yourself, the more you want to be with him.

Your thoughts drift back to the moment in the forest- the feeling of his hands, his gentle, steady touch- and you wonder what it would be like to have him hold you, to feel his strong body close against yours, his lips against your neck...

Heat rushes to your face, and you shake the thoughts away, taking a deep breath of cool air.

Then, a creak of the door- a soft voice cuts the silence.

"It's late," Giyuu murmurs, walking out beside you.

"Couldn't sleep," you answer, heart pounding at his closeness.

"I noticed. You should have come to find me."

You nod, avoiding his gaze. "I guess I just needed a little fresh air. You're not leaving now, are you?"

He shakes his head, leaning against the porch railing and looking up at the stars. "I'll stay until the morning."

You follow his gaze, watching the stars twinkle in the darkness. It's beautiful, but even the quiet serenity of the night can't hide the tension building in the silence.

"Giyuu," you start, glancing over. "Why did you leave the first time we met?"

He stiffens, the shadows in his gaze returning as his eyes drop to the floor.

"Because... I thought it was for the best."

"Best for who?"

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "You... I told you that following me was dangerous. It's not easy, traveling like this, constantly on the move, never knowing when you might die."

"Then why do it?"

"Because there are things that must be done," he answers, his voice tight. "And someone has to do them. But you..." He looks up, the soft light of the stars shining in his eyes. "You were safer if we parted ways."

"You'll come back, right? After you do whatever it is you have to do. Right?"

He hesitates, his gaze dropping. "Y/N..."

"Tell me," you cut him off, the intensity of the moment pushing you forward. You grab his wrist, turning it over and brushing aside his sleeve to reveal the mark on his skin- a perfect reflection of your own. "Tell me the truth. Because if you care about this," you motion between the two of you, "even a little, then I need to know."

His eyes widen, surprise flickering in his gaze. But beneath the surface, something shifts, his expression growing pained as the silence stretches between you.

"Yes," he finally admits, his voice rough, "I'm going to come back."

You sigh in relief, but then notice his hesitation. He's still avoiding your gaze, his expression troubled.

"Then why are you looking at me like it's the last time we'll ever meet?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

"How could you possibly-"

"It's not that simple," he cuts in, shaking his head. "This- between us, whatever this is- is new, and strange, and... I have no idea what the hell to do with it. I don't know how to protect someone when they're with me."

"Giyuu, what are you talking about?"

He sighs, his hand curling loosely around the edge of the porch railing. "It's not easy to explain, Y/N."

His jaw tightens as he looks back up to the stars, as if they would have the answer he's searching for.

You step closer, your heart pounding, desperate to break through the wall he’s putting up. “Giyuu,” you say softly, your voice trembling just enough to betray how much you care. “I’m not asking you to know everything. I’m just… asking you to let me stay. To let me be here for you.”

He flinches as though your words strike him, his shoulders sagging slightly to show the weight he's carrying. "You don't understand," he murmurs, "I've seen too many people hurt because of me. Too many people die. I can't-"

“You’re not responsible for everything,” you interrupt, your hand brushing against his arm before you even realize you’ve reached for him. “And you don’t have to go through this alone.”

He looks down at where your fingers rest lightly against his sleeve. "And if you get hurt? If I can't stop it?"

"Then that's a risk I'll take."

He closes his eyes, his breath shaking ever so slightly. "Y/N..."

Your heart pounds as you slide your hand into his, your fingers entwining with his as he looks up in surprise. His eyes meet yours, a mix of emotions- fear, vulnerability, a hint of something else, something deep and warm- flicker through his gaze.

"Don't act like I haven't seen the risks. You saved me before. I know what's out there. But I'm still here. That has to mean something."

His eyes lock on yours, and for a moment, the barriers he's worked so hard to build up begin to crumble. For a long moment, he doesn't move. His eyes search yours, as if trying to find any trace of doubt in your words. And then, slowly, his hand lifts, his fingers brushing against the side of your face with a softness that steals your breath.

"I'm not good at this," he murmurs, his voice raw. "I don't know how to let you in... but I can't seem to stay away from you, either."

His thumb grazes your cheek, and the whole world around you disappears. "Then don't stay away," you whisper.

Something shifts in his gaze- a silent surrender. He leans in, hesitantly at first, his forehead brushing lightly against yours. His breath is warm and the closeness makes your heart race in a way that feels both terrifying and perfect.

"Y/N," he breathes, his voice barely audible, "If you don't tell me to stop, I'm not sure I can hold back."

"I don't want you to."

In the next moment, you're kissing him, a rush of heat sweeping through you at the soft brush of his lips. Your arms wind around his neck, pulling him closer as his arms wrap around your waist, the tension breaking and fading away into something deep and warm. You melt into his embrace, and as the kiss deepens, his arms tighten around you, holding you flush against him.

The kiss feels like a promise- one he's finally allowing himself to make.

When he pulls back, his forehead still resting against yours, his eyes remain closed for a moment as if he's savoring your closeness. When he finally opens them, the intensity of his gaze takes your breath away.

"I'm coming back," he says, the conviction in his voice leaving no room for doubt. "No matter what happens, I'll come back to you."

You smile, your hands sliding down to clasp his. "I'm holding you to that."

back to... fated encounters, masterlist

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[melkyt]

Idea idea idea, *bounces*

Royalty AU

*fans Law like a proper victorian damsel before he swoons from low iron xd*

So Luffy, a noble that comes from old money who acts down to earth and chill, he is working at the stables when Law sees him

Law who is raised by the likes of Doflamingo, 'the help is inconsequential', still he is polite and curt as he is with anyone. Which catches Luffy's attention. Most royals & nobles treat him like crap when he tends to their animals.

Law is on autopilot. He is there to show his face as a bachelor to high-society but he has no interest in marriage of anyone, especially not when it means giving an heir to the likes of Doflamingo. He stopped getting along with the man when he got old enough to understand the ways of manipulation of the royal courts. They play the smiling game but there is a mutual distaste common to any noble familial relationship.

Still he is there, just so he can keep his place in the family and funding for his studies/clinic. He is also there to see if the lord to be crowned king is as much a threat as he is made out to be, or just a kid playing ruler.

As he spends time in the capital waiting for the main festival and coronation of the next lord. He often comes to the stables to read and be away from it all.

Luffy is there everyday, and makes it a point to talk to anyone who visits. Law being there for hours, means that Luffy more often then not talks at him but doesn't expect any answer in return. He is just ranting about anything that pops into his head.

Law overtime cant focus on his books and listens to Luffy's ramblings that are often out there and more exciting then he has heard come out of anybody's mouth in a long time. Law doesnt like listening to most people, so this is a change.

They spend days like that and sometimes Law asks questions, which just makes Luffy glow because someone is interested in his yapping? Sign him up to stop his work and excitedly tell Law about things like his favorite food or this cool thing he heard about, the biggest things he ever hunted etc

Fastforward to the coronation.

Law knows he is leaving after so he decides to say goodbye to Luffy but he is nowhere to be found. Which puts him in a bad mood all day. He doesnt even try to put on the pretense of flirting with the noble ladies that approach him. He is cold and distant, more then a little rude. He made atleast one of them cry.

The evening drags on and all he wants to do is check the stables one more time. He can see the lights from the castle. Yet being cold is fine but leaving the party will surely get him in hot water, and Doffy might even cut off his funding for a year. Law did not care that he did not have food or a roof over his head but the patients he takes would suffer the most.

So he stays, half paying attention as the new Lord is announced. The candles dim as the center of the dance hall is illuminated. The large curving stairs come into focus as the Lord enters the area.

Law blinks. He can't believe his eyes. The lord is Luffy, the dirrty ragged wild man he has gotten used to all cleaned up with an intricate crown on his brow and a bright smile. Law like anyone heard that he got the throne through war that has wrecked his nation for five years. It was a bloody time that made everyone fear him.

It is almost hard to believe that the happy joyful stable boy Law has grown close to is the bloodthirsty strategist that united his kingdom under one banner and plans to keep going. In that moment Law understands why Doflamingo sent him here and why he was worried.

Luffy can play the royal game better then any of them. If Law believed him to be nothing but a servant this entire time, and now he is a King with all the regal bearing that comes with it.

Luffy singles out Law and asks him to join him on the stage and by his side as an advisor. Law swallows as the attention turns to him.

Law going from a no-name lordling with no real title, to the Sun-Kings most trusted people. He does not go back to Doflamingo after that, as at that point what he hss to lose pales with what he can gain by saying yes to Luffy.

Not to mention saying no to someone like Luffy is political suicide, and even if Doffy chafes at the idea of Law no longer being availible to use as a marriage pawn directly to increase his power, he stays quiet and plots behind the scenes on how to take Luffy's throne using Law.

The intrigue of it all. Plus the drama of Law acting different towards Luffy now that he knows he is King and not a servant, which makes Luffy salty.

They have alot to figure out with plenty of dramatic things like assassination plots, societal stigma over their stations that Luffy doesnt care about, and Law scrambling to keep up with how things are different now and trying to handle Doffy alone so he does not distrub Luffy's quote on quote 'plans'

Law taking his job as advisor very seriously when Luffy just wants to be his friend like they were and maybe something else in time ;3

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 9: Envy

Lucanis stared into the fire. “Spite is…quiet. Angry. It scares me.” “Oh.” Rook sat forward in bed, hugging her legs to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. In the dim light, she could see the muscles in his back tensing as he faced away from her. He tucked his thumb under his waistband and hesitated, staring at the rug as he spoke. “It should scare you too, Rook.” “Oh, please. I’m not afraid of you. And you even said, Spite likes me...” “Rook…” Lucanis warned. Choosing to keep his trousers on, he ran his fingers through his hair. She swallowed hard, her cheeks turning bright pink. “We need to talk about Illario.”

Pairing: Lucanis x Fem Rook/OFC x Spite???

Summary: Lucanis confronts Zara Renata. A little hurt/comfort. Also...sexual tension. Shirtless Lucanis. Shared bed. Tattoos. Enjoy!

Word Count: 3.2k

warnings: 18+ fic, MDNI! violence violence violence! Decomposition, flies, and graphic detail of really gross stuff. Vomiting. Blood. Stomach churning gore. Drowning, historical parental abuse, stitches. I'm hoping that covers it. Please read on AO3 if you need to track warnings, they will be inevitably detailed better there (or just want to be real sweet and give me hits/kudos/comments).

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“I can’t believe they’re hiding in the chantry.” Rook said, pulling her mage knife from a Venatori’s chest. They collapsed to the floor behind her as she walked through a row of pews, looking around. “I used to come here as a girl, for prayers…my mother’s funeral-”

Davrin snapped his fingers at Assan. “I didn’t take you for a religious woman, Rook.”

The griffin raised its head curiously from the body it was sniffing, its feathers rustling as it romped after them.

“I’m not. But there’s peace in ritual.” Rook crouched next to a bookshelf, looking for signs of a hidden passage. “And religion has a lot of it.” 

Lucanis had been uncharacteristically quiet - far more than usual - the closer they got to Zara. Rook turned her head, watching him search the bodies they’d left in their wake. He rolled one over with his boot in disgust before giving up and using their vest to wipe his blade clean. 

As Rook hesitated over a book with a suspiciously dust-free spine, a faint creaking sound filled the enclave. The shelf rattled and slid to the side with a mechanical click, revealing a narrow platform.

“Well, well. Where does this go?”

“Good work,” Lucanis muttered, throwing himself over the top rung of a ladder with ease, seemingly unconcerned with what awaited below. Davrin and Rook exchanged a worried glance before descending after him. 

The three wove through a maze of hallways to a courtyard where they eliminated Faustus, Zara’s lapdog, and both of her bodyguards, before entering an underground chamber. An aqueduct or faucet dripped slowly in the distance as Rook examined the tiled walls, her brow furrowing. 

“What does Zara need a bathhouse for?”

“Nothing good. Someone’s using blood magic.” Lucanis said, “A lot of it.”

“He can sense that?” Davrin asked Rook in a low voice.

“It makes the back of his eyes hurt.” 

“Something with Spite?”

“He had this before.” She said, pushing through another door. As it swung open, she covered her mouth with her arm, gagging.

Piles of decomposing bodies lined the floor, their rotting forms piled atop one another, each indistinguishable from the next. The air was so thick with flies that she had to shield her face as they walked through.

“We should have Emmrich give them funeral rites after this,” Rook said, her voice strained as she held her breath.

Entering the bathhouse, a sea of blood greeted them. In its center, a woman turned around and casually, wading in their direction.

“Lucanis. It’s terribly uncivilized to drop in on a lady unannounced.” She chastised with a pout. “Now the evening’s ruined.” 

“Zara.” Lucanis and Spite growled in unison. 

“You brought me a Warden to play with!" Zara rose from her pool of blood, a bodice of carrion just barely concealing her, and crooked a finger, beckoning Rook closer. “And is that a mage? Come here, girl, let me show you how to kneel before your betters.” 

“MINE! Do not. TOUCH. ROOK! ” Lucanis and Spite snarled.

“Temper, temper…” Zara examined her nails. “Whatever shall we do with you?”

Two doors swung open on the far end of the hall and more Venatori poured in. Zara took advantage of the distraction and seized her weapons, springing forward and swiping at Lucanis. 

Rook, immediately engaged by a nearby mage, could hear the clash of steel behind her as she parried against an incoming blade. She drove her sword through her opponent’s throat, the warm spray misting her face, and ducked just in time to avoid the desperate grab of another from behind. Meanwhile, Assan launched himself into the air, remaining just out of reach as he dive-bombed Zara from above. Davrin charged through a pair of guards, elbowing one in the face and kicking the other into a pillar with a resounding thud. He cleaved his blade across their middle before they could get back up.

Suddenly, something struck Rook from behind, the force driving her head against the pool’s edge. Sharp pain seared through her skull as she was dragging beneath the crimson water. Disoriented, she reared back, gasping for air as Zara’s long nails dug into her scalp, clutching a fistful of her hair. 

“I know exactly who you are, Little Flame,” she said in her ear. “I want your blood next.”

Rook’s head was forced back under, and she held her breath, squeezing her eyes shut. As a teenager, her father had done the same to her during training. She recalled the chill of the Treviso canals as he repeatedly dunked her head below.

“If someone is drowning you, don’t struggle. You’ll expend all your energy.” Dante’s voice echoed in her head. “Be still. Be patient.”

“Uncle! What are you doing?” Viago had screamed, running to Fiamma’s rescue, mortified by her father’s methods. 

“Stay out of this, boy! She has to learn just like everyone else. Do you want her to be weak? Do you want her to die?”

The weight suddenly disappeared from Rook’s back, and she propelled herself to the surface, choking and retching violently. Blood dripped from her hair and into her eyes as she wiped her vision clear just in time to see Lucanis throwing Zara across the room into a pillar. He hauled Rook out of the depths, setting her down on the pool's ledge.

“You okay?” His eyes glimmered with a purple fog as he bent down to brush away the blood from her temple. Rook winced but nodded, pulling his hand away as she fought back tears, refusing to show weakness. Lucanis gritted his teeth, looking back over his shoulder at Zara, who was dragging herself across the ground past her dead guards. 

“I’ve got her. Go show us why they call you the mage-killer, Dellamorte.” Davrin said, kneeling beside Rook. 

Lucanis nodded, leaped into the air, and landed in front of Zara, blades drawn. As her blood magic waned, her youthful illusion vanished, leaving her to desperately claw her way towards the pool. He dug the heel of his boot into her hand and she cried out in pain. 

“So serious, Lucanis. Why don’t we talk?” Zara’s voice trembled as she groveled at his feet. “I can tell you much about Venatori. And your Crows.” 

He cocked his head, hesitating.

“No!” Spite roared. “I want her heart quivering . On OUR knife.”

“You want to know who betrayed you, don’t you? Who sent you to the Ossuary?”

Lucanis regained control, but given the flash of violet in his eyes, Spite wasn’t surrendering easily. 

“Talk.” He said in a strained voice. 

Zara smiled, showing her bloodstained teeth. “I knew you were-”

A blur plummeted from the rafters between them. Illario seized Zara by the throat, holding Lucanis’ gaze with a confident grin.

“Amatu-” she began, before he snapped her neck without hesitation.

“No! MINE!”

Spite tackled and pinned Illario to the ground, dagger raised high above his head. Rook and Davrin exchanged panicked glances before sprinting forward.

“Lucanis, stop!”

“Rook, I can’t!” Panic filled his voice as he battled Spite for control. The demon lowered the blade while he desperately fought back. “Get..Illario…out! ”

“That’s enough!” Illario’s arm crossed his chest, and Rook sensed something that made her skin prick as Lucanis fell back, Spite’s presence evaporating like smoke. 

“Relax.” Illario said, holding out his hand and staggering to his feet. Rook acted swiftly, seizing him by the collar and slamming him into a pillar. 

“What did you just do?” 

“Nothing.” Illario sneered. “I don’t know what happened any better than you do.” 

“That was blood magic.” Rook hissed. “You think I don’t know? I’m a mage, Illario. You’re not. How the fuck-”

“It seems you hit your head.” His thumb dug into the side of her temple. “Maybe you’re seeing things.” 

Rook recoiled and reached for her face as he shoved her off of him. Davrin caught her as she nearly toppled over the side of the pool, and a flash of remorse crossed Illario’s features for a moment before he steeled himself.

“Keep him away. From Treviso. From the Crows. He’s a danger to the family.” He said, pointing at Lucanis, unconscious on the tile. “If you were smart, you’d keep away from him, too. But we both know you’re unwilling to do that.”

“You expect me to just abandon him because of Spite?” Rook stepped out of Davrin’s grasp and fell to her knees beside Lucanis. “This isn’t his fault!”

“I don’t expect you to abandon him at all. We both know he’s more than a soldier in your army, Rook.” He spoke her nickname with disgust, spitting into the water after he said it. She pulled Lucanis’ head into her lap as Illario turned away. Blood matted his hair, and she brushed it from his face, angry tears brimming in her eyes.

“How does it feel, Illario?” She called after him. “With your cousin out of the way, you can finally be First Talon. You finally have everything you’ve ever wanted.” 

“Not everything, Fiammetta.” He said, meeting her gaze with the most believable look of remorse she’d ever seen. “Not everything.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“I thought Spite took over when he slept?” Davrin asked as they entered Viago’s apartment, an unconscious Lucanis slung over his shoulder. The downpour outside had soaked through their armor, but at least it washed the blood away.

“Well, ever since Illario put him in a coma, he doesn’t seem to respond, so can you just help me?” She asked, leading him through the apartment to her room. “Fuck, I wish Viago were here. He whines less.” 

Davrin unceremoniously dumped Lucanis on her bed. “Where is he?”

“The casino, most likely. He’d never leave work this early in the evening.” She knelt down and tugged off Lucanis’ boots, setting them by the door. “Sorry for snapping. I appreciate your help.” 

“It’s alright. However I felt before…I get it now.” He said, “Lucanis doesn’t deserve this, I know that. No one does.”

“Crow drama is a lot…even for Crows.” She said, taking off her cloak and throwing it on the floor. 

“So you and the cousin were a thing?” 

“Hardly. He, Teia, and I were inseparable once Viago and Lucanis started getting busy with contracts. Illario always felt something for me but…” she unlaced her own boots, kicking them aside. “Every time we got close, he’d do something to ruin it.” 

“What about you and Lucanis?”

“What about us? We’re colleagues.” She crouched in front of the small wood-burning stove in the corner of her room and ignited it with a slight wave of her hand. 

“Sure…”

Rook walked to where Lucanis lay unconscious, the sheets damp underneath him. She unbuckled his daggers from the sheathes in his armor, setting them on the nightstand before beginning to unfasten the crow-shaped buttons of his leathers. 

“Whoa-” Davrin held up his palms in protest, “I know I said we’re cool, but I don’t need to see any more of Lucanis than-”

“You can go. I’ll do the rest. There’s a spare bath at the end of the hallway. But here…” she grabbed a bottle of soap from the rim of her tub, “It’s impossible to tell what’s poison and what’s not in this house. And don’t go in Viago’s room. It’s full of traps.” 

“Great…” Davrin stared at the bottle in his hand. He clicked his tongue and nodded in the direction of the den.

“Assan, fireplace.” 

The griffin rose from where it was watching in the doorway and hung its head, padding off down the hall.

“Just…keep it professional in here while I’m gone, alright?”

When Rook threw a shoe at him, Davrin smirked and ducked out of the room.

Once he was gone, she finished undressing Lucanis down to the knitted sweater and trousers he wore underneath his armor. She did her best to give him a modicum of privacy, but it wasn’t a simple task when he was dead weight. With his overclothes piled in a soaking wet heap on the floor, she eased him onto the pillows and brushed damp strands of hair out of his face. He looked peaceful, and she hoped whatever comatose state Illario had forced him into was at least a restorative one. 

She took off her bloodied clothes and drew herself a bath, occasionally glancing over her shoulder, praying he or Spite wouldn't wake until after she was done. One hand pressed to the cast iron tub, tiny flames peeked out from under her fingertips as she warmed the water before stepping in.

Rook scrubbed hard against her skin, trying to shake the image of the bodies in the hall outside the bathhouse. Unsure she’d ever feel clean after all the blood she choked on, she sunk underwater, combing her fingers through her hair, but soon emerged with a gasp as the image of being nearly drowned by Zara overwhelmed her.

With a shudder, she wrapped her arms around herself and hastily drained the tub, wringing out her hair and climbing out. She toweled off near the stove and dressed in the most modest nightgown she could find in her wardrobe, pulling a thick, fur-lined robe around herself for good measure. 

Facing her vanity mirror, she lit a few candles and peered at her reflection. The darkness cast harsh shadows over her bruised face, but the cut on her temple wasn’t terribly deep. She reached into a drawer, retrieving a med kit and carefully began sewing her injury shut, wincing and biting her lip. She was lucky she still had an eye. 

“Need some help with that?” Davrin asked from the doorway.

Rook grimaced. “If you don’t mind.”

He knelt down, taking the needle and thread from her hands.

“Thanks,” she mumbled as he worked, “For everything.” 

He grinned. “Of course. We’re all a team, right?” 

“Right.”

Davrin looped off the last stitch and setting the kit on the vanity, checking his work. 

“Definitely gonna scar, but you should survive.”

Rook groaned and checked herself in the mirror again, arranging her hair to cover half her face.

“Looks like you’re full up here. I’ll take the couch.” Davrin gave her a casual salute with two fingers, casting a final glance between her and Lucanis.

“Colleagues my ass..” he grumbled, disappearing into the hall.  

Rook smiled to herself and shut the door, draping her robe over a chair and crawling under the sheets with a shiver. Lucanis’ brow furrowed in his sleep, and she rolled on her side, propping herself up on an elbow as she brushed her knuckles along his cheek. His lashes fluttered in response to her touch, and she flinched, pulling her arm back as he opened his eyes.

“You’re awake!”

Lucanis sat up in bed, his gaze sweeping across the room.

“You brought me to Viago’s? ”

“You were unconscious. It was too much work to get you on a zipline back to the eluvian. If it’s any consolation, he’s not home yet.”

He grunted and looked down at himself, raising an eyebrow.

“You were getting my sheets wet.” She explained.

Lucanis pressed a palm to his damp sweater. “Still am.”

“There’s a drying rack by the fire. I was waiting for you or Spite to wake up and handle the…rest.”

He nodded appreciatively and crossed the room, pulling his sweater off over his head and arranging it over a wooden rung.

“Spite is…quiet. Angry. It scares me.”

“Oh.” Rook sat forward in bed, hugging her legs to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. In the dim light, she could see the muscles in his back tensing as he faced away from her. He tucked his thumb under his waistband and hesitated, staring at the rug as he spoke.

“It should scare you too, Rook.”

“Oh, please, Lucanis. I’m not afraid of you. And you even said, Spite likes me...”

“Rook…” Lucanis warned. Choosing to keep his trousers on, he ran his fingers through his hair.

She swallowed hard, her cheeks turning bright pink.

“We need to talk about Illario.” She said, changing the subject. “He wants you to stay away from the Crows. He thinks you’re a danger to your family.”

Lucanis turned around. “He’s not wrong. If I lose control…” 

“He used blood magic to control Spite.”

“I know. I felt it.” His jaw tightened. “Spite did too.” 

Rook took a slow, deep breath.

“The night you were captured, did Illario know you were boarding that ship?”

“Yes.” 

“I know he’s your cousin, Lucanis, but I won’t pretend I haven’t seen Illario at his…worst. When he doesn’t get his way, he loses it. If he’s jealous of you, if you stand in the way of what he wants…I can’t put it past him to betray you.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and gestured in the air. “I never wanted First Talon! He knows that.”

“But you’re still a threat to his claim. Caterina’s groomed you for her role since you were a child, Lucanis. And Illario knows everyone thinks you’re better suited for it!”

“Maker help my idiot cousin...” Lucanis wrapped his fingers around one of Rook’s bedposts, glaring out the window. Her eyes darted away, trying desperately to avoid staring at the way the leather of his pants hugged his hips.

“It should have been my knife to finish Zara. Not Illario’s. After everything she did to me…”

He sank onto the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands.

“Is there anything I can do?” Rook asked quietly.

He crawled towards her and reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing her stitches. “I never should have brought you into my mess.”

“Lucanis-I’m here because I want to be. For you.” 

“And look what happened.” His thumb ghosted over her temple and he frowned. “Not to mention Illario throwing a tantrum and implying…”

His voice trailed off, and he rose to his feet.

“You’ve done more than enough, Rook,” a weak smile tugged at his lips. “Get some rest.”

Her fingers caught his wrist, pulling him back.

“Davrin took the couch.”

“I’ll make coffee. I shouldn’t sleep anyway, not with Spite like this.”

She tugged him down. “Stay.”

“This isn’t a good idea, Rook…”

“It’s just sleep.” She said, pleading through her gaze.

Lucanis scrubbed his face with his hand and cursed under his breath before relenting. Stretching out beside her, he stared at the ceiling, one arm propped under his head.

“You’re killing me, Fiammetta.” he said hoarsely. 

“I know.” She rolled in the opposite direction, drawing the duvet closer around her body. Both of them remained still, unmoving, until she drifted off to sleep.

At some point in the night, Rook stirred as Lucanis shifted beside her. His fingertips, cool and deliberate, moved her hair aside before slowly tracing the outline of the tattoo on her back, just below the base of her neck. Nearly all crows had one to identify them by house. A show of loyalty, or a means of identification, should they fail a contract. Known for their snake-derived poisons, the De Rivas' depicted a crow mid-flight, clutching a serpent in its talons. 

Rook didn’t dare speak or breathe. Lucanis’ touch lacked any sense of violation or impropriety. Instead, it was tentative. Restrained. Curious.

With a heavy sigh, he eventually rolled out of bed, retrieving his sweater by the fire, and slowly closed the door behind him as he slipped into the hall.

[nappingmoon]

suguru x reader - nsfw

wc: 3.6k

suguru coming to see you after he defected from jujutsu tech. 🎀

a/n: i actually forgot that jjk is highschool and not college before writing this so with the power bestowed upon me on tumblr dot com i declare that this is an au where everything is the same except suguru defects when he's like 22 and not 17 okay thank you stay blessed

you're on the porch of your little apartment-- a luxury in this market. between your fingers hangs a little cigarette, a bad habit that you picked up after one too many nights spent in shoko's presence. regardless, the headrush that each drag brings is a welcome feeling. you hadn't seen suguru since before he defected, and he hadn't deigned to reach out. in the weeks leading up to the incident -a detached term, as if calling it 'the massacre' would be too real of a reminder- you had spent nearly every night with him. you were often sent on separate missions during the day and on the occasion that you did see one another in public, not much more than a simple greeting or casual chat was exchanged between the two of you.

at night, however, he always found a way into your sheets. before the fateful mission, what you had was fun. it was sexy and sneaky and exciting and your heart always raced at the thought of what he was going to surprise you with that night. after the mission, the moments turned slower, needier, more intimate. suguru started talking less, instead craving your moans and becoming more insistent on ensuring your pleasure. he wouldn't let you touch him as much, and he grew increasingly frustrated when you would try to push his head away from between your thighs before he made you cum at least twice. his mannerisms became less cocky and assured and turned frantic and anxious, like an animal who just barely managed to escape a predator and still can't figure out if he's safe or not. you tried to work your way in to his brain, his heart, but he only opened up in vague sentences or deflected to a different topic. teetering the line between concerned questioning and prying was difficult and you could tell that if you overstepped, it was likely that he'd withdraw completely. when you heard the news, heard about the incident, your heart dropped, but you can't say you were completely surprised. there's just been radio silence then.

when you feel a presence approach from behind you, you don't jump. there's no need. you know who it is and you've been expecting him. in honest, it took him longer to seek you out than you thought it would. suguru's form comes into your field of vision, body obscuring most of your view of the right side of the street. neither of you speak as he plucks the cigarette from your fingers. pinched between his forefinger and thumb, suguru brings the butt to his lips. you watch as he inhales, the burning red end of the cig sparkling as it works its way up towards his fingers. his lungs expand and it is enough to finish what you had left. he tilts his head up as he releases the smoke, taking a peek at the sky. though the city lights dimmed much of the sky's vibrancy, a few scattered stars still burned bright enough to hold an audience. he's gorgeous.

the last of the smoke is still wisping out of his mouth when he finally speaks, his voice gravelly. "you've got to stop hanging out with shoko. this shit will kill you." you huff an amused exhale and lean your head onto your propped arm, watching as suguru rubs the end of the dying cigarette into your railing and dropping the ashed remnants into your little strawberry themed ashtray.

"a bit late to start worrying about things that could kill me, isn't it, suguru?" you raise your eyebrow and look him up and down. he's skinnier and the bags under his eyes are ever present, but he holds himself a little higher than he has in the past weeks. tormented, but assured of his decisions. he's dressed in casual clothes, likely to keep a low profile and avoid run ins with any sorcerers on his way to you. "I heard you had a run in with satoru the other day, how are you?" what the two of you had was special, sure, but you knew that no one came above satoru in his eyes. they were an inseparable pair, heads and tails, yin and yang. the split can't have been easy at all.

"I made a choice," suguru starts, eyes blankly roaming over your street. he still hasn't looked you in the eyes. "and he made his. that's all there is to it."

you hum, unconvinced but also not willing to put up a fight you clearly had no shot at winning. "and so now you've come to see little old me? are you gonna try to convince me to join the official suguru geto fanclub? become a loyal member and kneel at your feet until the day i die?"

finally turning to you, he scoffs and a small smile graces his lips at your antics. "while you on your knees is one of my favorite sights, I know you. your morals would never let you join me." he says, and the word 'morals' comes out like an insult. even still, at his first words your head fills with images of the past and you adjust your position on the railing, legs crossing lightly. the movement doesn't escape his notice.

"if you didn't come to convince me to join you, then what did you come for? i could turn ya in right now. should do it to if only for the fact that you left without telling me." you turn away from him, annoyance rising at the memory of sitting in your empty room, feeling so heavily the lack of his pretty face and cat-like form splayed on your bed asking questions about your skin care routine and teasing you for the trinkets you still have as remnants of the phases you went through at fifteen.

suguru doesn't answer and instead goes inside, the duck under the door frame a habitual motion. you follow him inside, sliding your glass door closed behind you. he makes his way through your apartment, touching little things as he goes. he adjusts the picture frame that holds the photo of you, the other second years, himself, satoru, and shoko. he avoids looking at haibara's smiling face and continues on into your room.

before following him, you grab him one of his favorite bottled teas from your fridge. you always kept a pack for him, and last week you found yourself unpacking them from your trip to the grocery store before you even realized what you had done.

when you enter your room, you see him sat on the edge of your bed. you come to stand between his spread legs, cold drink in your left hand while your right comes up to trace around his face. you play with the little bang that he always keeps out of his bun. "are slut strands just allowed in your cult or are they mandatory?" you tease.

"ha ha." suguru replies dryly. "give me some of the tea, please." you crack the cap open and extend the drink towards his hand, but instead of receiving it, he grabs your hips. thinking he's just being lazy, you bring the edge to his lips, ready to pour it in for him. his lips stay sealed and he shakes his head. confused, you still for a moment befor- oh. oh. as the realization dawns on your face, he grins and gently nods.

the bastard wants you to spit it in his mouth. it's something that started out a long time ago as a joke and stuck around, you doing it to one another every so often. but now? "you can drink it yourself, dickhead." you say, but he digs his fingers into your hips, and keeps his lips together, the refusal crystal clear. you know you shouldn't-- he is currently a criminal of the highest order. he's killed innocents and shed the blood of those you have risked your life to protect. he is a million times more dangerous than the cigarette he chided you for earlier. and yet. and yet and yet and yet. the pressure of his hands on your hips is so familiar and you have missed it so much. he has filled the space in your apartment that he left behind and just seeing him here once again is making your heart thump. logically, you should run as fast as you can. instead, you bring the rim to your lips, let the cool liquid fill your mouth, and lean over. suguru brings one hand up from your hip, dragging it up your body before coming to rest on your face. you lean into the touch that you missed so much and allow him to bring your face to his, to bring your lips together. you let the tea pass from your lips to his and a bit spills down his chin. even so, he does nothing to stop it, and you aren't even entirely sure he noticed at all because as soon as the tea is done trickling into his mouth, his tongue comes into your mouth to tangle with yours. the hand on your cheek reaches around your head to press you closer into him. he takes the bottle from your hand and reaches down to place it on the floor before standing.

suguru is intoxicating. that is the only way you can describe him. with just a few kisses he has complete power over you. as he leans over to continue making out with you, you tug at his shirt, eager to run your hands across his skin again. you've missed the feeling so much. smiling into your kiss, he reaches down to grab the end of the cloth and bring it over his head, only separating long enough to get the shirt off before returning to you. he reaches down to grab the backs of your thighs and you jump, straddling him as you take his bottom lip between your teeth. you nibble softly, teasingly as you open your eyes to look into his. his pupils are blown and you know yours must be the same. he turns to face the bed, bringing his knee up and working his way up until he can lay you on your pillows. suguru cradles your head as he sets you on the bed, finally separating from you to lean back and get a good look at you. your spit shines on his lips as moonlight filters in through the space where your curtains don't quite close.

your chest rises and falls with vigor, finally getting an adequate air supply, but you itch to be close to him once again. you grab your shirt and rid yourself of it quickly, absentmindedly noting that it was actually one of the shirts he left at your place a while ago. you wore them when you missed him. (not a night passed in a shirt that wasn't his.) his fingers reach for the waistband of your shorts, grabbing the edge of your panties with them and working them down your legs. though standing for 10 seconds and ridding himself of his pants would have been easier, suguru shares your desperation for closeness and bends at the waist, laving at the hollow of your neck while shimmying out of his pants. your hands tug at his hair and run over the muscles of his back not minding the rustle of his body over yours because the weight over you was one you missed so much. when he finally kicks his pants and boxers off, he stays stuck to your chest, leaving a trail of little kisses in his wake. he makes it to your nipple where he presses one sweet kiss to the tip before taking it in his mouth and sucking. he moans at the feeling of your soft flesh in his mouth. you are an exquisite being and he truly worships every fiber of your existence. during the time he spent apart from you, he thought of this moment over and over. he moves over to your other nipple, sucking in marks on the way, making sure you are left with lasting evidence of his love. you gasp at the sting of his bite, looking down at where he laps at a small bead of red from where his teeth broke skin. over his broad shoulders, you can see where he grinds his hips into the bed, mindlessly seeking release while he focuses on his current devotion. your tummy swirls as he makes his way down, leaving little nips and hickies scattered in a pattern not unlike what he saw earlier in the sky. when he finally reaches your mound and presses a first kiss to your clit, you reach down and grab his face.

when suguru looks you in the eyes from his position between your legs, you swear he is only half registering you. he seems almost dazed, eyes glossy and head yearning to drop back down into your heat to give you the head of your life. before he can swat away your hands, however, you speak up, voice thick with need. "feel s'empty sugu." you whine, "need you in me now. it's been so long."

"but baby, need'ta stretch you out. need to make you cum and get you all ready t' take me. neeeed to taste you" he says, still fighting the hands that keep him up.

"i don't need it sugu. m' so wet. i promise. i need you to fill me up, 've missed it so much." this gets him out of his daze, and he begins to crawl back up to you.

"you need me that bad? yeah?" he whispers, hovering over you.

"mmhmm"

"needy girl got all soaked from just having me here, huh? you just need to be fucked this instant? my poor baby. i've neglected you too much." he starts dragging his dick up and down your folds, collecting your slick to make sure that he'll slide in easy enough. your nails grip on to his back, trying to entice him to put it in already. "okay baby, don't worry. i'll give you what you need."

suguru places a kiss to your cheekbone as pushes in. you both inhale at the sensation taking a moment to adjust. he slowly continues lowering himself in, murmuring small praises into your ear as you take all of him in. the stretch brings a twinge of pain, and likely would have been absent all together had suguru been allowed to give you the foreplay he wanted but the sense of love and tranquility that filled you as soon as he was all the way in was the closest thing you could get to heaven on earth. there was nothing in your heart, mind, or soul but love for the man taking over your senses.

sex with suguru varied a lot. nights after bars and parties were filled with giggly sex and lots of foreplay. after high adrenaline missions he was rough and experimental. if a teammate was seriously hurt or there was a casualty, he tended to need to be more dominant, finding solace in being able to control every aspect of your pleasure, from denying you your orgasm all night or overstimulating you and getting you to your peak more times than you could count. sometimes he liked to use toys, to tie you up, to let you tie him up. tonight though, he was tentative. he knew what you wanted and you were clear that you needed him, but the now that he was so close to you, the small, ugly voice of insecurity and shame inside bubbled up. shame for shutting you out, for his sins, for leaving, the list goes on. and so he uses each thrust into you as an apology. he reaches for your hand, sliding his fingers between yours and pressing them into your mattress. his eyes were screwed shut because he wasn't sure that if he looked at your teary eyes he could keep his composure and he needed tonight to be about you, to make you feel good.

he's quieter than normal and you notice it. the turmoil is all too clear to you and you know that he needs you now more than ever. "s- suguru, baby, look at me. please."

he shakes his head in response and your heart quivers. he's still your suguru despite it all. "baby please. look at me. it's okay. i'm okay and you're okay and we are going to make it through this." you place kisses on his nose and cheeks as he eases the tension in his face, peeking at you. the second he gets a good look at you, sweat already starting to stick hair to your forehead and eyes so enamored they almost have hearts in them, he groans and his pace falters for a sec. "you're making me feel so good suguru, you know that? you're so good to me, handsome. i could never stop loving you." you praise. you'd continue, but he dips his mouth to yours, cutting you off. you arch your back, pebbled nipples grazing his chest and he groans into you unlacing your fingers and bringing his hand to pinch your nipples. your moans fill the room. his thrusts get faster and the little plaps of your hips when they meet turn into more forceful smacks.

your praise and the way you feel around him nearly fry suguru's brain. the voices in his head are loud, telling him he's undeserving of you and your love and he whispers his apologies into your skin. he's overwhelmed and he's tearing up but he keeps rolling his hips into yours as if the world would end if he stopped. you try to get his attention by calling his name or clawing a bit at his back but he's in deep. reaching down between you, you swipe at your folds with two fingers, gathering some of your wetness only to reach up and stick them into suguru's mouth. he can't apologize with your digits pressing down on his tongue and you take the moment to reinforce your love. "suguru, listen to me. I love you and you don't have to apologize. you did what you had to do and that's okay. I love you." you pepper kisses between your words, trying your best to get your message through to him. he finally looks you in the eyes again, your voice his saving grace. "hi, baby. you back yet?" you say.

suguru finishes sucking your fingers clean and pulls back. "yeah, thanks for getting me out of there. 'was spiraling a lil bit. sor-" you cut off his apology with fingers to his lips and a roll of your own hips.

"don't apologize. just be here with me." you push at one shoulder with your arms, and suguru understands, grabbing your hips and flipping you over. "'s this okay?" you ask, straddling his hips and beginning to ride him.

"so much better than okay, gorgeous. 's perfect." as you bounce up and down, suguru reaches up to play with your clit and you feel the nerves send shocks up your spine. he starts whispering things like "you are the best thing that has ever happened to me" and "you're so perfect, doll. all mine"

as you near your peak, your legs start to shake and burn. you whine at the at the decrease in friction that comes of your slowing hips and suguru takes this as his moment to pick things back up. with his hands lifting you, he gives himself enough space to prop himself up and get a strong base to thrust into you from below. with your sugu now taking the lead, everything is just more intense. you fold over, trying to kiss him but missing due to the sheer force with which suguru is moving your body. small 'ah's come from your mouth and you feel your toes curl as you are tipped over, a wave of pleasure washing over you. you tighten up and your muscles twitch as suguru continues thrusting, chasing after his release and following just behind you. he pulls your body to his, gripping you in a tight, tight hug as he spills into you. his legs give out from under him and you land together in a little heap of love, sweat, and limbs. his dick slips out of you and you already miss the sensation of being full, of being so close to him. for now though, you take the moment to catch your breath and to let your heart sync up with his. in a little, you two will get up and you will pee and brush your teeth side by side. when you come out, the bed will be clean and you will cuddle with your lover and be soothed into sleep by his slow breaths, grateful that you had at least this moment with him, sure that he'll disappear on you come sunrise.

in the morning, as the sun begins to warm your room, every logical thought is tell him to leave before you wake up. it will be easier to split without seeing your face, and talking in the morning will only create longer term attachment that has no place in the future he is building for himself and his girls. honestly, best case scenario would be you being so angry at him for leaving that you get over him all together. it is so simple!

so when he finds himself in your kitchen, making your eggs how you like them and pouring your cup of coffee in your favorite mug with just the right amount of milk in sugar, he's just as surprised as you are. and when you give him a kiss and sit in his lap and he sees the splotches of reds and purples that decorate your neck, paired with the little bit of drool from sleeping so well, he remembers why he didn't choose the easy route. where things will go from here is uncertain, but the outside world has no place in your apartment-- in his sanctuary. all that matters is your warmth in his arms and your lips on his.

[anastasiayeh]

Ballet in the Wild West

Arthur Morgan was bord out of his mind. When he decided he was gonna watch some stupid show. That’s when he saw you, is this was love on first sights feels like?

Previous/next

This is accualy my first self written fan fic hehe 🤗 don’t be to hard on me pleas….

-Fluff-arthurmorganxreader-ballet-just cuteness-

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Arthur didn’t know why he’d gone into the little theater in Strawberry. Maybe it was the promise of sitting still for an hour or two, or maybe he’d just needed to be around people who weren’t shooting at him. Whatever the reason, the rough-edged outlaw now sat awkwardly in a polished seat that creaked under his weight, his hat balanced on his knee as the lights dimmed.

He wasn’t expecting much—just a bit of music, a little distraction. But then you walked out onto the stage.

Arthur froze, his usual guarded expression faltering. You looked like something out of a dream. The way you moved—graceful, effortless, almost floating—left him completely mesmerized. It wasn’t just the beauty of your dancing; it was the joy in your movements, the way it seemed to light up the whole room.

For a man used to chaos and hardship, seeing something so pure and full of life felt almost overwhelming. His heart did something unfamiliar in his chest—a soft, hesitant flutter, like a bird testing its wings.

By the time the performance ended, Arthur wasn’t sure he’d even breathed.

After the performance

Arthur lingered awkwardly in the theater lobby, standing off to the side as the crowd began to thin. He didn’t know why he was still there. He had no business talking to someone like you, but something about you had struck a chord in him he couldn’t ignore.

And then, as if fate itself had intervened, you stepped out from backstage. You were still in your costume, a soft shawl draped over your shoulders, and your face lit up when you noticed him.

“Oh, hello,” you said, your voice bright and warm. “Did you enjoy the show?”

Arthur nearly dropped his hat. He cleared his throat and nodded. “Uh, yeah. It was…” He paused, fumbling for the right words. “It was real nice. Beautiful, even. Never seen anything like it.”

Your cheeks flushed at the compliment, and you tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Thank you. That’s sweet of you to say.”

Arthur shifted his weight, suddenly hyper-aware of how big and rough he looked compared to the softness of you. “I, uh, don’t know much ‘bout dancin’,” he admitted, his voice quieter. “But you made it look… easy. Like you were just havin’ fun up there.”

You laughed, a light, tinkling sound that made his chest feel warm. “It is fun. Or, it’s supposed to be, anyway. Dancing makes me happy. It’s like…” You paused, searching for the words. “Like flying, but with your feet on the ground.”

Arthur smiled at that, his lips tugging up into a lopsided grin. “Never thought ‘bout it like that.”

“Well,” you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief, “maybe you should try it sometime.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. “Me? Dancin’?” He chuckled, low and rough. “Don’t reckon I’d be any good at that.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you teased, stepping just a little closer. “You look like someone who’s got rhythm. I bet you’d surprise yourself.”

Arthur ducked his head, his grin growing wider. “I’d probably trip over my own boots.”

“Good thing I know how to catch people,” you replied with a wink.

Arthur’s heart gave another strange flutter. He wanted to keep talking to you, to hear more of that laugh, but before he could think of what to say next, a sharp voice called your name.

“There you are!”

Both of you turned to see a woman bustling toward you, her arms full of costumes. “We’re leaving in twenty minutes! If you don’t hurry, we’ll miss the next coach!”

You sighed, giving Arthur an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. But it was lovely meeting you…?”

“Arthur,” he said quickly, tipping his hat. “Arthur Morgan.”

“Well, Arthur,” you said, a playful note in your voice, “if you ever decide to give dancing a try, let me know. I’ll give you a lesson.”

Arthur’s grin softened as he watched you disappear backstage with the woman. He stood there for a long moment, the ghost of your smile lingering in his mind.

Later that night

Arthur had been leaning against the railing outside the saloon, lost in thought, when he saw you again. This time, you were standing by the edge of town, looking around with an anxious expression.

He frowned, setting his drink down and straightening. You looked like you were searching for something—or someone.

Before he could call out to you, two men approached. They were tall, rough-looking, and Arthur’s instincts flared immediately. You took a step back as one of them leaned in, his voice too low for Arthur to hear.

Arthur’s hand went to the revolver at his hip.

He didn’t know what business those men had with you, but he didn’t like the look of it. Not one bit.

To Be Continued…(maybe hehe 💕)

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Sorry for any bad English!

Ps: I’m a ballet dancer that’s why I came up this idea also it 03:04 for me rn and it took me about a half a hour to figure out how to do pictures in this 😭

Take care Luvs!

[tenleaguesbeneath]

Some astronomically unusual habitable worlds

Or, weird star systems that include a habitable planet, or at least one in the habitable band that could be terraformed, on the assumption that systems you can live in are more interesting than those that can't. "Habitability" is a bit of a stretch here; a habitable world could be anywhere from "it has an evolved biosphere with plants you can eat" to "an airless rockball, but if you pelt it with enough comets, put a biosphere in place, maybe you could eventually live there" or perhaps one where someone already did the hard part; that part is deliberately vague depending on how hard your sci-fi is.

Throw these on a d10 or 2d6 table or something; stick "planet orbiting a yellow dwarf" and "moon of a gas giant orbiting a yellow dwarf" in the most common spots, and you're good to go. This is a draft of a setting design generator table I might use. I might use it for Stars Without Number or I might use it to fill in stuff about under-developed systems in BattleTech, for instance. None of these have precursor aliens so that they can be used in settings that don't include them (if you add precursor space habitats to your star system tables, you can get pretty wild and I do fully encourage that), though one of them assumes humans have been at this space colonization thing for centuries. Likewise, this doesn't include anything that requires Weird Space Magic, like hollow worlds with an antigravitational inside and an inner pseudosun. If that exists in your setting and you're building a Weird Planets table then by all means put that in.

If you want to follow real astronomical commonality, small dim stars are much more common than big bright ones. I'm not an astrophysicist, though, and I haven't done the math to demonstrate that any of these are physically possible.

A world in a distant orbit around a bright star. Because luminosity increases with mass faster than gravity does, this world has a very long orbit; seasons might last decades. Depending on the role solar gravity plays in your setting's FTL (if any), these planets might be faster to reach coming out of FTL.

Converse to that, circumbinary planets (with two closely-orbiting stars at the center of the system) will have shorter years in the habitable band, since the mass is divided among two separate stars leading to much lower luminosity for the same mass

A world in a spread-out binary star system (the planet is closer to its primary than the other star is). The other star shines brightly on it. In the right time of year, there's never a night dimmer than a full moon.

A spread-out binary system with two separate habitable worlds, light-hours or light-days apart

A planet in a binary system with two stars of greatly different brightness, but because of relative distance they appear similar. It's tide-locked to the dimmer star, giving it an uninhabitable hot side and an inhabitable side with a day/night cycle.

A world in a highly eccentric orbit around an extremely bright star. In time, it will fall in to the inner system and its seas and atmosphere will boil away, but that's maybe a century or three out

That same world, coming out the other side. It might have scorched ruins on it, left behind when it was abandoned. It's on its way to the outer system, where it will freeze for a thousand years or more.

A planet that distantly orbits a black hole or neutron star, its atmosphere restored after the supernova burned it off. At the rate its primary is radiating (remnant heat/accretion disk), it's exactly in the habitable band, for now.

An outlying "moon" of a gas giant. Instead of orbiting its primary properly, it orbits at the L4 or L5 Lagrange point

A binary planet in a low orbit around a red dwarf. Their tidal forces on each other are the only thing that has kept them from becoming tide-locked to their primary.

[daryltwdixon]

The Promise of Us: Chapter 56

warnings: it's like...spicy in a respectful way (not explicit / smut)

Daryl

He nudges the door shut with his foot, his pulse a steady, insistent beat as he carries her into the dim, quiet space of the priest’s office. Candlelight flickers along the walls, casting a soft glow across the room, and all he can focus on is her—the way she looks up at him, eyes bright, her breath coming quick and warm against his neck. Her hands are tangled in his shirt, holding on like she’ll never let go, and he feels something solid and grounding in the weight of her against him, like maybe, after all this time, he’s finally found where he’s supposed to be.

He reaches the old, worn couch, lowering her onto it as carefully as if she’s made of glass, his hands lingering at her sides. She looks up at him, cheeks flushed, lips curved in that soft smile that does something to his chest he can hardly put into words. He lets out a shaky breath, feeling the familiar clumsiness of words catching in his throat. The feeling in his heart is too big, too much, but he lowers himself over her, his knuckles tracing gently over her cheekbone before he kisses her, soft at first, almost tentative, tasting the sweetness of her lips like it’s all just a dream. A really, really good dream that he'll soon wake from. 

He breaks the kiss, just enough to catch his breath, eyes searching hers. “My wife,” he murmurs, voice low like gravel, the words strange but warm on his tongue. It feels right, but new, like a language he’s only just learning. He says it again, softer, savoring the weight of it. “My wife.”

A smile blooms on her face, and she brushes her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. His lips find hers again, the kiss deepening as he lets himself go, falling into the feeling of her against him, under him, every inch of her something sacred he doesn’t want to rush. He can feel her hands skimming along his shoulders, her touch steady and sure, always grounding him.

He lets his lips wander, brushing along her jaw, tracing a slow path down her neck, the warmth of her skin beneath his mouth making him dizzy. Each time he kisses her, he whispers it again, “My wife.” The words keep slipping out, like he has to say them over and over just to make them real, to make himself believe this isn’t some fleeting dream.

A soft, breathy laugh escapes her, and he feels the warmth of it spread through him, settling in his bones. He glances up, a shy smile of his own tugging at his lips. “What’re ya smilin’ at?” he mumbles, his thumb brushing over her cheek, feeling his own face heat up.

She meets his gaze, fingers tracing gently along his jaw, her voice a tender whisper. “You,” she says, eyes shining. “I just…love hearing you say it…husband.”

Her words settle over Daryl, filling the room with a warmth he hadn’t known he’d been waiting for. His heart feels too big for his chest, and he lowers his forehead to hers, a rough, quiet laugh escaping him as he tries to gather his breath, to make sense of everything he feels. He pulls her close, his fingers trailing over her shoulders, down her arms, savoring the feeling of her warmth under his hands.

She moves her hands along his jaw, then down his neck and chest, her touch delicate, sending shivers down his spine as she works her fingers to the buttons of his shirt. Daryl swallows, his breath catching as he lets her fingers slip the fabric from his shoulders, and he mirrors her movements, hands tracing along her back to the hem of her shirt, slowly easing it up, feeling her shiver under his touch.

He leans back, just for a second, to take her in, his eyes soft with reverence, like he’s trying to memorize every curve, every inch of her. He had missed this so much--you, under him, letting him in. Letting him see you. He had taken it for granted for far too long.

She reaches for him, guiding him back, her own hands shaking slightly as she runs them along his arms, pulling him close until their bare skin touches. Daryl leans down, brushing his lips against hers with a tenderness he rarely allows himself, his voice a murmur against her skin, “Didn’t know if I’d ever have this again…have you.” He lets his hands move slowly over her, as if anchoring them both. He feels her tremble with anticipation under his touch, her breath catching as his hands find her waist, pulling her closer still. She leans up to meet him, her fingers running along his shoulders, her smile soft, her voice barely a whisper as she looks up at him, “I’m here. We’re both here.”

They move together, a slow, shared rhythm building between them, his hands exploring her with a gentleness that belies his rough edges. He holds her close, his whispers, “My wife…my wife,” a constant murmur against her skin as he presses kisses along her neck, down her collarbone, feeling her arch into him with each breath. She smiles up at him, her own whispers, “My husband,” threading between his words, her fingers slipping into his hair, her gaze soft and reassuring.

Each layer of clothing shed feels like letting go of all the fear and worry that kept them apart. Daryl’s mouth traces along her collarbone, leaving a line of soft, lingering kisses that make her shiver beneath him again. The reactions he'd learned to pull from her, the places that made her sigh, whine, crumble, they all came back like muscle memory. He didn't think he'd ever forget them, really. His fingers work at the waistband of her jeans, his touch slow, deliberate, as if he wants to remember every single second. She lifts her hips to help him, her eyes never leaving his, the trust and warmth between them sparking a familiar ache deep within him. It’s been so long since they’ve had this—this closeness, this intimacy, the kind that was lost under layers of fear and survival, buried by the constant threat of loss.

As their clothes slip away, piece by piece, he leans down, pressing his forehead against hers. His hand caresses her cheek, rough fingers trailing down to her chin, holding her gaze with a quiet intensity. “I ain’t lettin’ go of this,” he murmurs, his voice rough, the weight of his promise threaded through every word. “Ain’t lettin’ go of you.”

She answers by pulling him close again, her lips brushing his in a kiss that deepens as they come together, her soft gasp breaking the silence as he wraps himself around her, feeling her warmth, her breath, her heartbeat so close to his as their bodies fully entwine. They move together, both feeling so full, so right, so overwhelmed with heat, need, and love. Every kiss, every touch speaks louder than any words, as if they’re stitching together all the cracks the world has left on them. He moves with her, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breaths, the soft sounds escaping her lips that make him hold her even tighter.

“Daryl,” she whispers, her voice laced with love and something deeper, a quiet need that mirrors his own. Her hands roam along his back, fingers pressing into his skin as if she needs to feel him there, solid and real.

“M'here,” he breathes, his voice a rasp in her neck, both of them finally giving in to the pull that’s always been there, that’s always drawn them back to each other. He kisses her deeply, the word “wife” slipping from his lips in a reverent whisper, over and over, grounding him in the warmth of her body, the softness of her touch, the way her breath catches against his skin.Her fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, her desperate need to be even closer to him—despite their bodies already melting together—causing him to lose control, his movements roughening as he surrenders to the moment.

And as they finally unravel together, they share something that goes beyond words, beyond the ache of survival. It’s just the two of them, woven together in a love that’s weathered every storm, every loss, every uncertainty. And when they lay there afterward, side by side, breathless and tangled together, he presses one last kiss to her temple, his hand resting against the small of her back, pulling her close against his side as he whispers, “You’re my whole damn world, ya know…my wife.”

A soft laugh bubbles up from her as she nestles against him, and he holds her tighter, letting himself get lost in the sound.