#i have such a weakness for fics like these
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!! okay i gotta say some things about this fic —
to this writer if you ever see it, you have such a lovely way of writing settings and moments between dialogue! i can feel the room we’re in or the weight of the pauses, i think you handle that so well and when i noticed it reading i was like oh hell yes. then i realized you only have two fics so far, but im super excited to see more from you if you continue writing for ateez!!
yunho as best friends to lovers has me sooo weak and i love the missed connections trope like this. he also would be the guy who’s down bad for his girl but won’t fuck up her happiness just to be selfish and that’s 10/10 - you really wrote his character well and i am here for it.
find you in my heart
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✦ summary: the one where you get dumped and your best friend is there to help you realize what you truly deserve… what’s been in front of you all along.
✦ warnings/tags: MDNI! 18+, explicit, smut, slight angst, some fluff, oral sex (f receiving), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, throat fucking, big dick yh, unprotected sex (be safe!), yh is desperately in love, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, mentions of cheating (past relationships), yh and reader met as baristas, pet names, au where jeong yunho can actually cook, yunho is a lil possessive
✦ pairing: nonidol!yunho x reader
✦ author’s note: as a yunho ult, a yh best friends to lovers has been at the top of my list of things to write. i started this fic after yun posted these photos because i just could not get the vision of late night walks with him out of my head! i am new to writing so any feedback is appreciated. i hope you enjoy ♡ as always, thank you to my lovely best friends for enabling me and proofreading my depravity. love you guys forever. ♡
✦ word count: 12.9k
✦ read it on ao3: here
Two years. Two years down the drain because your ex decided he “wasn’t feeling it anymore.” You had a sneaking suspicion his change of heart had to do with his hot new coworker, but you couldn’t think too far into it or it would rip you apart more than he already had.
He had grown distant, and you chalked it up to the stress of his new job. But when he started staying late every other day and missing your sacred Thursday date nights, you knew it was the beginning of the end. You were happy together (most of the time), but you were never certain you could see yourself spending the rest of your life with him. There were certain things about him that you tolerated, but you wanted your forever to be spent with someone who felt perfect for you. And he… didn’t.
Even though you knew he wasn’t who you’d spend your life with, it stung just the same to receive his messages.
loser: hey y/n… i’ve been thinking about this for a while now but i think it’s time for us to part ways.
loser: we’ve had a good run, but i’m just not really feeling it anymore. i hope you understand.
loser: wish you the best. xx
You’d changed his contact and blocked his number immediately, saving yourself from the hurtful words he’d throw your way if you tried to ask for any reasoning or clarification. He always turned into a different person the moment you tried to express your emotions.
“She’s just a coworker, y/n, stop being crazy. You don’t have to worry about her.”
You push his words out of your brain again before they take over. So what if he left you for her? They probably deserve each other. You knew you were better off, that wasn’t the issue. It was that you settled for two years, letting this man who clearly didn’t respect you treat you like an afterthought the entire time. The more you think about it, the more you blame yourself for placing such little value on your own time and energy.
You sit on your couch, your coffee table littered with tear-soaked tissues and instant ramen cups. You haven’t left the house since you got The Texts last night, and you've watched a season of your favorite crime show and eaten your body weight in Buldak since then. You know you can’t sit here and wallow anymore or you’ll start to lose your mind, so you drag yourself to the bathroom to assess the damage. Eyes red and puffy from crying, hair tangled and tied loosely in a scrunchie, tear drops lingering on the same sweatshirt you’d been wearing for the last 24 hours. You look like hell.
“I need to get out of this apartment,” you say to yourself. You pull out your phone and send a quick text to your best friend before hopping in the shower. After washing your hair 3 times, shaving your legs, and exfoliating the sadness away, you’re finally starting to feel human again. You wrap yourself in your favorite towel before checking your phone again.
y/n: yunnie… are you free tonight?
yunho: for you? absolutely. you ok? haven’t heard from you all day.
Of course he’d notice you going MIA for a day. You and your best friend texted every single day, sending quick little updates or funny videos. He’d probably been worried sick, but he never wants to pry. He’s always respected your space like that.
y/n: long story. i’ll explain later.
y/n: meet me in front of blossom in 30?
Blossom was the cafe you and Yunho met working at. You were both burning the candle at both ends working nearly full time as baristas during your senior year of college. Your closing shifts together kept you sane during finals, blasting music and sharing your life stories while you cleaned up the shop. He’d even walk you home, after every closing shift, never wanting to let you walk alone so late. You both gave your two weeks notice right after graduation, but promised each other you’d make up for all the time you wouldn’t spend working together anymore.
That was four years ago, and he’d been such a stable presence in your life since then. You’d grown closer over the years, spending countless movie nights and BBQ dates together. He knew everything about you (after a movie night with too much wine and lots of oversharing) and hadn’t gone running for the hills, so you knew he really cared. You didn’t really have time to make friends in college because you were either working, in class, or studying, so he was really all you had. He was your safe space. You both stayed close by after graduation, staying in your apartments in the city 2 blocks from the cafe on either side. It was nice having your best friend so close by, and the cafe remained a staple in your friendship as a middle point between your two homes. In your reminiscing, you realize you missed your Saturday morning coffee date with him.
yunho: of course, bean. i missed you this morning.
Your heart fluttered in your chest at the nickname. It always does. That, and when he calls you sweetheart. Your heart almost came up your throat the first time he pulled that one. Yunho started calling you bean after you spilled an entire bag of light roast on the cafe floor trying to refill the hopper for the openers. He’ll never let you live that one down. You remembered giggling and scooping coffee beans off the floor on your hands and knees together, his hand brushing over yours when you both reached for the dustpan, your eyes meeting, breath quickening…
You shake the memory from your brain, coming back to reality just as you both had snapped out of it in the moment four years ago, scattering to finish cleaning up and avoiding eye contact the rest of the night. You always dismissed the electricity you felt when his skin touched yours, blaming the exhaustion from working a closing shift after being up all night studying. He had a girlfriend at the time, he wouldn’t have been interested in you that way anyway. He’s your friend, y/n, be realistic. You’re reaching. You send another quick text before getting dressed, and he of course responds right away.
y/n: i missed you too, i’m sorry i should’ve texted. it’s been a shitty 24 hours. i’ll see you soon
yunho: no need to apologize. i’ll be there, see you in a bit.
25 minutes pass and you somehow manage to make yourself look somewhat presentable. You dried your hair and pulled half of it up in a claw clip, leaving some pieces out to frame your face. You threw on some concealer and a bit of blush, trying to hide how puffy your eyes still were. It was a chilly fall night, so you opted for your favorite pair of light wash jeans and an oversized black sweater, accompanied by your beat up black chelsea boots and your gray wool coat.
After a quick 5 minute walk you round the corner to see Yunho standing in front of the cafe, his back facing you. Of course he’s right on time. His broad shoulders fill out the black jacket he’s wearing, his crossbody bag tucked under his arm. The neon sign in the cafe window leaves a purple hue reflecting off his freshly dyed dark gray hair. He turns his head at a car passing by, and you catch yourself smiling at the lost puppy look in his eyes. He must’ve seen you approaching in his peripheral, his head snapping in your direction. A subtle smile plays on his lips as he locks eyes with you. His warm brown eyes are full of an emotion you can’t quite name.
Your chest aches at the realization that your ex, in the two years you were together, never looked at you like that. Why did you ever think you were important to him? Your throat suddenly tightens and your vision starts to blur, tears welling in your eyes for the millionth time today. Yunho’s smile drops, his brow furrowing as he takes two long strides to meet you.
“Y/n, what is it, what happened?” He reaches for your shoulders to hold you steady, but you push forward to bury your face in his chest. He wraps his arms around you without hesitation, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other snakes around your shoulders. Your hands find his waist, gripping his shirt underneath his jacket. His familiar scent of jasmine envelops you, and you realize how badly you needed your best friend to help you through this.
”H-He dumped me,” you sniffle, letting out a shaky breath into Yunho’s chest, “he d-dumped me yesterday, through a fucking t-text message,” another unsteady exhale as you try to level your breathing.
“He did what?!” He pulls you in closer to him, the disbelief lacing his tone reassuring how rational your feelings are.
“It’s over,” you blink away your tears, tilting your head back to look up at your best friend. You’ve never seen the expression on his face before, like anger and worry are battling it out in his brain, and he can’t decide which one should take center stage first. “He texted me last night, saying he ‘wasn’t feeling it anymore’ and he ‘wished me the best,’” your mocking tone repeating his words reignited the angry flame in your chest.
“Wished you the best,” he scoffs, “is he kidding?” He rolls his eyes. “That’s how you end a two-year-long relationship?” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, taking a half step back to give you some more space to catch your breath.
“I can’t believe I wasted two years of my life with someone who just kicked me to the curb without a second thought,” you pinch the fabric of his shirt between your fingers, your eyes lingering on his collarbone peeking out from his slightly unbuttoned shirt. “I’m convinced he left me for a coworker, the one he told me not to worry about.” A humorless laugh leaves your lips, the burning feeling behind your eyes returning as more tears come. “I’m more upset with myself for letting him treat me like this for so long,”
“Hey, look at me,” Yunho cautiously brings his hands to your face, cradling your head gently. You lean into his touch, dragging your gaze up to meet his.
“He doesn’t know what he just threw away, sweetheart,” Yunho holds your teary cheeks in his hands. “You are the most beautiful creature this world has ever seen, and if he doesn’t see that, he doesn’t deserve you.”
“You think I’m beautiful?” You choke out between sniffles.
“Oh y/n… of course I do. I always have,” he wipes a tear from your cheek before it reaches your lips, “since the day I met you.”
Your breath catches in your throat at his admission, your chin wobbling as you try to hold it together.
His eyes search yours, that unspoken emotion taking over his features again. You almost catch the moment he shakes it away, reminding himself that he’s here to support you. His hands fall from your cheeks to grab your hands instead, that familiar electricity prickling your skin as he rubs his thumbs over your knuckles.
“Do you wanna go inside? I called ahead and ordered you a maple latte and a raspberry scone as soon as I got your text.” He tilts his head in the direction of the cafe next to you.
You look inside to see two to-go cups and a brown paper bag sitting on the counter. “And an iced caramel latte for you, I’m assuming,” you poke his stomach teasingly, “thank you, Yun, you didn’t have to do that.”
“Of course I did,” he gently squeezes your hands, a warm smile taking over his features. “Come on, it seems like we have a lot to catch up on. I have a feeling you have a lot to get off your chest.” He lets go of one hand, keeping hold of the other to walk you to the door. You lace your fingers through his, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆
You’d spent the last hour sitting in your favorite booth with Yunho, hashing through every single thing you hated about your ex. He was appalled by the things you’d told him, wishing he knew sooner so he could’ve tried to help you see you deserve someone better. Someone who valued your emotions, understood your needs, respected your boundaries… Someone like —
“Yunho, are you with me?” Your voice shakes him out of his daze, bringing him back to the conversation.
“Sorry bean, I just can’t believe he was such an asshole behind closed doors,” he recovers, “I wish you told me sooner. I feel like I wasn’t there for you when I should’ve been.”
”It’s not your fault, I could’ve told you and I didn’t. I think I was in denial,” you scoff. ”I was settling and I knew it, I was just trying to pretend things were better, but I think I’d been checked out for a while.” You swirl your coffee around in your cup, avoiding the concerned look in his eye. If you looked at him too long, you’d risk reading something deeper in the way he cares about you, something that made your heart flutter and ache all at once.
”Y/n, do you remember the girl I was dating when we met?” His tone shifts, a slight vulnerability creeping in. You stop moving your cup, watching the drink settle. You nod hesitantly, still avoiding his eyes.
Of course you remember her. You had developed a crush on Yunho in your first week working together, but you had to smother it at the first mention of her. Any hope you had left for a chance with him disintegrated the first time you saw her — she was the kind of beautiful you only saw on TV. Flawless skin, no split ends, a perfectly sculpted body. Even her voice was smooth. She seemed perfect for him.
“She cheated on me.”
Your head snaps up to him in disbelief. “Excuse me?”
You remember him telling you they broke up in passing — it had been a month after you started a relationship of your own. Part of you always wondered if you had just missed your window to pursue something with Yunho, but you pushed that thought out of your head so you could be present for your best friend. He didn’t want to go into detail about the breakup at the time, and he never did in the two years that followed.
“For the last six months of our relationship, she’d been sleeping with someone she reconnected with from high school. They realized they loved each other, and she ended things.” He offers a sad smile, but the bitterness lingers beneath the surface. You feel a tightness in your chest wondering why he didn’t want to share his pain with you while all of this was going on.
”Oh, Yunnie,” you reach for his hand across the table, holding his large palm in yours. “I’m so sorry. I don’t understand how anyone could ever do that to you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Maybe we can call it even?” He lets out a breathy laugh, ignoring your question. “You didn’t tell me your relationship troubles, I didn’t tell you mine. Now it’s all on the table and we can leave it in the past.” He squeezes your hand, waiting for your response.
“Fine.” You flash a tight lipped smile, wanting to hash this open again with him at a later time. You didn’t keep secrets from each other, so why was he avoiding getting into this with you?
“Well, it’s almost closing time.” Of course he’s gonna change the subject. “Do you need a night alone or are you coming home with me tonight?” He forces a smile from across the table, and you could’ve sworn his ears turned the slightest bit red asking you to spend the night. Sleepovers weren’t out of the norm for the two of you, but this proposal felt different for some reason.
“I think if I’m alone at my place tonight I’ll revert to the sad couch potato I was before I texted you earlier.” You don’t really believe that, feeling like you’ve moved past the depression stage of grief and slowly inching toward acceptance. But you still wanted the company.
“I’d love to come home with you, Yunnie.”
“Then let’s go, sweetheart.”
⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆
Your neighborhood was so beautiful at night. The soft streetlights cast a gentle glow on the sidewalk, illuminating little puddles of water from last night’s rain. The fall air feels cool and crisp, carrying the faint smell of the changing leaves. This late at night, the stillness is calming… usually.
You two had found this to be the perfect environment to have your deepest talks. Taking regular nighttime walks with Yunho had become one of your cherished rituals, especially when one of you needed to get something off your chest. You’d shared fragments of your lives, from your family drama to his frequent arguments with a stubborn coworker at his new job. But tonight, a suffocating silence swirls around you.
You’d taken a full lap around the neighborhood in silence since leaving Blossom, the familiar path devoid of your usual chatter. As you approach Yunho’s place, his brisk pace and hands shoved deep in his pockets told you he wasn’t going to be the one to acknowledge it. He was never one for confrontation. If he wouldn’t tell you what’s going on voluntarily, you’d have to coax it out of him.
You stop walking, the cool air feeling sharper on your skin. He takes three more strides before he stops too, spinning back around to face you, confusion etched on his devastatingly handsome features.
“You okay, bean?” he asks, tilting his head at you, genuine concern flickering in his eyes.
“I feel like I should be asking you the same thing,” you reply, barely above a whisper. Maybe you weren’t one for confrontation either.
He takes a step closer to you, “I’m fine,” he says with a quick shrug and a slight shake of his head.
“Then why haven’t you spoken to me since we left Blossom? Did I say something to upset you?” You try your hardest to grab your frustration before it bubbles up, but you can already tell it’s too late. His dismissive tone, both here and at the cafe, gnaws at you. It triggers something inside of you from your recently ended relationship, and you feel on the verge of either shutting down or letting your emotions spiral.
“I just thought you might want a quiet walk is all.” He can barely look you in the eye, and that’s when you know something is very wrong.
“Come on Yun, you know that’s not what’s going on. Something is bothering you.” The frustration claws higher and higher, an unwelcome tightness gripping at your chest. Don’t cry, y/n.
He opens his mouth, the words hanging on the tip of his tongue, but stops himself, his hands finally pulling from his pockets to rest on his hips. He stares at a fallen leaf swirling in a puddle between you.
“Is it because we talked about your ex?” He winces just a little at your words. “I didn’t mean to open old wounds, I just thought after everything we’ve shared with each other that you’d want to talk to me about it.” You don’t mean for your words to sound accusatory, but based on the way his body tenses, you realize they must have.
“It’s not that, y/n, it’s not about…” his voice trails off into a sigh. His eyes search yours, his mind racing trying to decide if he wants to get into what’s really going on, what he’s been keeping inside for so long.
“Then what is it?” You’re grasping at straws, desperately trying to get him to give you anything to go off of. When you’re met with more silence and an indiscernible look in his eyes, you push forward.
“I just don’t get why you wouldn’t tell me she cheated on you Yun, we help each other through everything.” Anger wells up in you, more at yourself for not asking him to open up to you about it at the time.
“Y/n, please, it’s more complicated than just her cheating, and I just don’t know if now is the best time to get into it, you’re still—”
“Still what, Yunho? Grieving my own relationship? Just because I just got dumped doesn’t mean I can’t be here for you!” Your voice rises, each word sharp, the tension in your throat threatening to break. “You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle, that’s not up to you—”
“Fine,” he interrupts, “do you wanna know the real reason I didn’t tell you, y/n? Is that what you want?” His ears redden, and you can’t tell if he’s angry, embarrassed, or a combination of the two. You nod hesitantly. “I didn’t tell you she cheated because I didn’t care, okay? I didn’t care. Her heart wasn’t in it anymore, but neither was mine.” His chest heaves, squeezing his eyes shut tight for a brief moment to brace himself.
“I didn’t care that she cheated, because I didn’t want her anyway.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I wanted you.”
Oh.
Oh.
His eyes burn into yours as his words hang in the air between the two of you.
“Yunho…” You take a step toward him only for him to take a step back. Your heart is pounding so hard in your chest, you wonder if he can hear it. What is happening right now?
“I’m sorry y/n, I can’t keep it to myself anymore. I’ve held it in for so long, and I just can’t do it anymore, I—” He stutters over his words, “I wasn’t grieving my relationship, I was grieving yours. You found someone just before she ended things with me, and I realized maybe you and I weren’t meant to be. That we’d never have the chance to try.” His eyes gloss over with pent up emotion, thinking about all the time he spent wondering what could’ve been. “I wanted you, but I had to act like I didn’t, and we were becoming such good friends, I didn’t want to ruin it, I just—”
”Did you think I didn’t feel the same?” You interrupt him. “That I don’t feel the same now?”
He tilts his head at you, the tension in his body visibly disintegrating. “What are you saying?” Brows furrowing, cheeks blushing, so many emotions flying through his features at a speed neither of you can process. He runs his hands down his face before resting them on his hips. “Sweetheart, what are you saying?”
“I wanted you, too, Yun…” The words tumble out of you, a rush of honesty that feels both exhilarating and terrifying. “I want you too.”
He takes another step toward you, his mind racing as he searches for answers to never ending questions. “You did?” Another step. “You do?”
“Yes, and yes,” you nod, feeling warmth flood your cheeks at your admission—both to Yunho and to you. You realize you’d never said it out loud before, not even to yourself.
“Say it again,” he urges, closing the gap between the two of you. One hand finds your waist while the other gently cradles the back of your neck. His touch lights a fire on your skin, his hands feeling heavier on your body than they ever have before. Your hands find their way to his waist, tugging him closer to you. Chests heaving, hearts racing.
“I want you, Yunho.”
The tension between you peaks, your grip tightening on one another, like if either one of you lets go, the moment will slip away. Yunho’s eyes search yours, looking for confirmation.
He gently cups your face, his thumb brushing your cheek, wiping away the remnants of your tears. His touch sends a shiver down your spine, igniting the familiar spark that had always lingered between the two of you. Your breath hitches in your throat, caught between the fear of moving too fast and the undeniable pull you have always felt towards him.
You bring a hand up to his cheek, your fingers gliding over his skin, feeling the warmth radiating from him. You linger for a moment before wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you.
“Y/n,” he whispers, “sweetheart,” his gaze drops to your lips, and you swear you can hear your hearts beating in time with one another in the quiet.
You take a deep breath, searching his gaze for the same spark of desire you feel coursing through your body. He inches closer, breath mingling with yours, heating the space between you.
“Is this okay?” he asks softly, his voice trembling slightly.
You nod, breathless, as you lean in just enough to finally close the distance between the two of you.
The tip of his nose brushes against yours, the contact making your head spin. You’ve thought about this moment countless times, and being here feels so right.
“Yunho,” you breathe, “please kiss me alr—“
His mouth molds to yours before you can finish your sentence, pulling all the remaining air from your lungs. The world around you explodes in a flash of warmth and tenderness, all the hurt you had been feeling melting away into a puddle at your feet.
You feel a rush of emotions— relief, joy, and a deep, intoxicating desire— as he deepens the kiss. Your hands tighten around the back of his neck, pulling him closer as he sweeps his tongue across your bottom lip. You lose yourself in the sensation, the taste of him and the feeling of his lips on yours erasing everything else you’ve ever felt.
His fingers tangle in your hair, holding you as if you might disappear. This moment, this kiss, feels like a declaration— a culmination of all the unspoken words, the hidden glances, the years of longing between the two of you. It’s exhilarating.
He finally pulls away, resting his forehead against yours, your heavy breaths the only sounds on the quiet street. Your hands slide from his neck, traveling down his chest before settling on his waist.
“Sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to cut you off,” he chuckles, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “I’ve just been waiting a really long time to do that.” He drops a gentle kiss to your forehead before wrapping his arms around you to pull you close.
“You can cut me off anytime if it means I get to kiss you,” you nuzzle into his chest. The steady thud of his heartbeat slows yours to match.
“Oh yeah?” He looks down at you, a teasing glint in his eyes.
“Yes, abso—“
His lips connect to yours again, a fire igniting in your belly when his tongue tangles with yours. He tastes like caramel, the sweetness of his latte lingering on his tongue. Wide hands wrap around your hips, dragging you closer, rolling your body into him.
You snake your hands up his lower back, digging your nails into his skin through his shirt. A low groan rumbles deep in Yunho’s throat at the sensation, sending a bolt of heat straight to your core. A whimper crawls up your throat before you can stop it, and Yunho smiles against your mouth. He draws your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down gently.
“Your lips are even softer than I imagined they’d be,” he gives you one more lingering kiss before pulling back. His deep eyes find yours, his blushed cheeks glowing under the streetlights.
“You’ve imagined kissing me?” Shyness creeps in at the realization that Yunho thought about you in the same way you thought about him.
“Among other things, yes,” he brushes your hair out of your face, his palm settling to cup your cheek. “You’re cute when you blush.”
“I am not blushing!” You hide your face in your hands. “Maybe I am, but how can I not when you talk to me like that,” you muffle into your palms.
“I’ll talk to you any way you want if it means you’ll react like this,” he teases, gently pulling your hands from your face to hold them in his. “Your hands are freezing, sweetheart,” he brings your hands to his mouth, holding them between his and blowing his hot breath onto them to warm them up.
”Well we have been out here a while,” you shiver at the feeling of his breath on your skin.
“Am I still allowed to take you home tonight, or would that complicate things?” He’s either nervous, or hesitant. Either would make sense, you just got dumped and 24 hours later you’re confessing your feelings for your best friend (and kissing him). Anyone with a brain might wonder if you’re rushing, or worse, rebounding. Once you get out of this cold, you can talk things through.
“Yes, please, let’s go.” You take his hand in yours, kissing his knuckles before pulling him in the direction of his place.
“You got it, baby.” He slings an arm over your shoulder, planting a kiss to the top of your head. Your heart flutters as you walk toward his apartment.
⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆
As soon as you walk through Yunho’s front door, he breezes past you to grab two wine glasses and a bottle of your favorite rosé while you kick off your boots. As you shed your jacket, he sets two full glasses on his simple wooden coffee table, heading back to his kitchen to grab a bag of chips and some chocolates. He returns with his hands full, confusion lacing his features when he finds you standing in the middle of his living room stifling a laugh.
“Is something funny?” He chuckles at your reddening cheeks as you let out a giggle.
“When did you get so nervous to have me in your apartment?” Part of you feels bad for teasing, but he looks so cute when he’s flustered, you can’t help it. “I’ve never seen you move so fast to get me a glass of wine.”
“Well, when you decide to tell me you want me in the middle of the street, that tends to change things, baby,” he grins at you, clocking you for the second time now having a physical reaction to his newest pet name for you. You thought sweetheart sounded beautiful coming out of his mouth, but baby is a whole new level of intoxicating.
”You said it first, but I guess that does change things, huh, baby?” You cross your arms, challenging him. “Do I make you nervous, Jeong Yunho?”
“You make me a lot of things, sweetheart, but nervous isn’t one of them.” He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, the gesture making your head spin. After setting your snacks down on the coffee table, he finally takes off his jacket and kicks off his shoes. He plops down on his couch, patting the empty cushion next to him. “Come sit with me,” the deep, inviting tone of his voice has you moving to him immediately. Grabbing your wine, you sit next to him, folding one leg up onto the couch to turn to face him. He copies your position, his knee resting just an inch from yours.
“What do I make you feel, then?” You swirl your wine in your glass as your gaze flicks over his handsome features. Landing on his eyes, your heart jumps at the way they shine for you.
“Fulfilled,” he starts, scooting closer to you so your knees are just barely touching. “Cared for, understood,” the corner of his mouth quirks up slightly, “and loved.”
A bloom of warmth floods your chest at the word. This is what you’ve been missing the last few years. You thought your ex would give you this sense of gratification if you gave him more time, but what you were searching for was in your best friend. You always knew in the back of your mind that it was him. The one who held you when you cried, who made you laugh until your stomach hurt, who would drop everything to be there when you needed him. You take a big sip of your wine.
“I was settling,” the words fall off your lips before you can stop them, the alcohol warming your cheeks right away. “I thought that if I kept giving him everything he would eventually give me half of what I was craving, but in the back of my mind I think I knew he’d never be what I really needed… I settled for him.”
Yunho offers a soft nod, zero judgment, only understanding. “And what is it you were craving?” He moves even closer to you, your shins now pressed together.
“You,” you sigh, his deep eyes boring into yours, waiting for more. You tap your fingers on your wine glass, contemplating your next words. “The connection, the comfort, the joy, the love that you gave me,” your throat tightens thinking about the nights you spent longing for your best friend. “I wanted you, how you made me feel…but I settled for him.”
“Right person, wrong time,” Yunho scoffs, a gentle shake of his head, “kind of applies to us, right? We’ve wanted each other for years now, but we just never had the chance.”
“I should’ve told you sooner, Yun,” your hand rests on his, his fingers immediately lacing between yours. “We’ve wasted so much time,” hot tears blur your vision, but you blink them away before they fall.
“Hey, we have all the time in the world, baby,” he brings your hand to his mouth, planting a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “All the time in the world,” he muffles against your skin. You turn your palm to hold his cheek, and you notice his eyes roll back before they flutter closed.
“All the time in the world,” you repeat, threading your fingers into his hair. A future with Yunho flashes through your mind. Lazy Sunday mornings, celebrating milestones and holidays together, late nights tangled in the sheets, his body taking over yours —
“Y/n…” His deep, smooth voice brings you back to the moment, the sound of your name on his lips heating your cheeks.
“Hm?”
He gently takes your wine glass from your hand, setting it on the coffee table next to his untouched one. When his eyes find yours again, warmth pools in your belly at the darkness that’s taken over his features. “I really want to kiss you again, but I feel like we should talk first,” he takes both your hands in his, and your heart pounds a beat faster in your chest. “If you spend the night tonight, there’s no going back. Once I have you, I don’t think I can let you go.”
“I don’t want you to let me go, Yun,” you squeeze his hands in yours. “I’ve waited too long to get here, I don’t wanna go back… You already have me, don’t let me go.” The thudding in your rib cage intensifies with every second of heated silence.
“I couldn’t if I tried,” he finally says, pulling you in, crashing his lips into yours. His hands find your waist, his tongue exploring your mouth, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls you into his lap. You straddle him, resting your knees on either side of his hips, deepening the kiss as his hands wander to cup your ass, pulling you closer to him. You roll your hips against him, his grip tightening on you as he drags your body over him. A groan rumbles in his chest and you feel his cock stiffening beneath you, grinding on him slower and harder.
“I can’t believe you’re finally mine,” Yuhho’s hand snakes up your back and into your hair, gently removing your clip and tossing it to the floor before gripping your locks and tilting your head to the side, exposing the sensitive column of your neck to his mouth. He nips at your skin, licking the spot with his tongue, moving up to the tender spot under your ear. “My beautiful girl,” his hot breath in your ear has your entire body blooming with goosebumps.
”Yunho,” you roll your hips over him again as his lips travel down your neck to your collarbone, a whimper crawling up your throat at your rough jeans catching on your swelling clit. He feels harder and harder underneath you with each rock against him, and you’re cursing yourself for wearing such thick pants. You just want to feel him.
“Yes, sweetheart?” He tightens his grip on your hair, kissing back up your neck until his lips connect with yours again. You moan into his mouth as his other hand guides your hips back and forth, shamelessly grinding your bodies against each other like horny teenagers.
“Touch me please,” you beg, catching his bottom lip between your teeth, sucking on it gently.
“Only because you asked so nicely,” he teases. He snakes an arm around your waist and smoothly rolls you onto your back, laying you down in the soft cushions. He kneels, settling between your legs, spreading them wide to roll his hips into your needy clothed core. His mouth finds yours again, tangling his tongue with yours.
The hand in your hair loosens, trailing down your body, ghosting over your breasts, down your belly, and lifting your sweater slightly to get to your jeans. He makes light work of the button and zipper, his nimble fingers undoing the fastenings with ease, all while keeping his mouth on yours. You feel him tapping on your ass, signaling you to lift your hips. When you do, he shimmies your jeans down your legs agonizingly slowly, breaking the kiss to admire the bits of your skin he’s dreamt about for years.
He tosses your jeans on his living room floor, and a timidity slithers up at the realization that you’re in your underwear on your best friend’s couch. His broad hands rest on your thighs, letting you close them slightly, your shared shuddering breaths the only sound in his quiet apartment.
“Getting shy on me, sweetheart?” He teases you, reading your mind. He knows you so well. You giggle as he slides his hands to your sweater, dragging it up your body, exposing your panties, shifting it higher and higher until the bottom hem of your bra is barely showing. He slides his hands under your top, expertly cradling your bra-clad breasts in his hands, letting out a restrained groan. The energy shifts and you whimper, watching his eyes locked on the way his fingers swim beneath the fabric of your sweater. You let your legs fall open slightly as Yunho slots himself between them, peppering your belly with gentle kisses and thumbing one of your pebbling nipples through the thin material of your bra.
“Yun…” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair as he kisses you lower and lower, “please,”
“Mhm,” he nods against your soft skin, shifting down to lay on his belly between your legs, hooking your knees over his shoulders. You feel his searing breath over your pussy, cooling the growing wet patch in your panties, making you clench around nothing. He picks up on your reaction, gripping your hips before blowing a steady stream of air over your sensitive heat.
“Oh,” you breathe, wriggling under his strong grasp, spreading your legs wider for him.
“You’re so reactive,” he murmurs, biting down on your inner thigh, soothing the spot with his tongue. You yelp at the sensation, covering your mouth in shock of the sound that just came out of you. Yunho chuckles darkly, “don’t hold back, baby, I wanna hear all the noises you make.”
He hooks an arm over your hip so his hand rests on your mound. He grips your panties in his fist, pulling them up until the fabric slips between your wet folds, gliding firmly over your clit. You stifle a sob as he tugs them harder, biting you once more.
“I thought I told you not to hold back, sweetheart,” he licks your skin again, soothing the angry bite mark that will surely be bruised by morning. Another tug of your panties has you mewling, one hand gripping his hair for dear life, the other blindly searching for anything to ground you.
“Yunnie, please, stop teasing me,” you never thought your sweet and wholesome best friend could have you whimpering and begging beneath him, hardly having touched you. He has such a dark, dominating presence about him in this moment, and it’s making your head fuzzy.
He lets go of your panties, swiftly pulling them to the side, exposing your wet heat to the cool air. You suck in a sharp inhale, finally bare to him.
“Fuck,” he moans, “look at you, baby,” he runs two fingers through your heat, the sudden contact making you cry out. He spreads you wide to see every inch of you, taking his time. “So pretty,” he breathes.
“I need you, please,” you whine, “are you gonna make me keep begging?”
“Baby, I’ve wanted to touch you like this for years,” he drawls, “let me savor it a little.” Before you can protest, he teases your entrance with two fingers, slowly thrusting them deeper and deeper inside you, little by little, until his palm is flush with your cunt. Your head falls back into the cushions, your chest heaving. You had daydreamed about how his fingers would feel inside of you, but nothing compares to the real thing. He pumps in and out a few more times before he curls his fingers, hitting the spot that makes your back arch. You grip his hair, tugging on it harder than you mean to, but you can’t help it. You miss the way his eyes roll back, his mouth hanging open at the pain.
Yunho lets you guide his mouth to your core, his fingers keeping a steady pace as he uses his free hand to spread you open, swirling his tongue around your clit.
“Yunnie…” you whimper, grinding your hips on his mouth. He nods against you, sucking your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the swollen bud over and over in time with his fingers moving in and out of you. Pleasure blooms in your belly as he works you, each flick of his tongue bringing you closer to the edge.
“Feeling good, sweetheart?” He replaces his tongue with his thumb, circling your clit softly to ease you into the sensation. You push yourself down into his hand, needing more. He chuckles, applying more pressure until he feels you melting under him.
“Yes, so good Yun, fuck,” the pressure low in your belly builds rapidly, and you know if he keeps going at this pace, you’ll fall apart in no time. You prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, and once your eyes lock with his you know you’re a goner.
His hair is mussed from your tugging on it, his cheeks flushed, his mouth glistening, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple as he picks up the pace ever so slightly. He smirks at you, letting your legs fall from his shoulders so he can kneel between them again, sitting back to get a good look at you, never slowing his ministrations. You make the mistake of glancing down, your mouth drying at the sight of his cock pressing against the confines of his jeans. He hits that spot deep inside you again, and you fall back into the cushions, breathy curses falling from your mouth over and over.
“You look so beautiful like this, fucking hell,” he drops his free hand next to your head, caging you in beneath him, watching his fingers pistoning in and out of you faster and faster, circling your clit in a matching pace. “Mine, mine, mine,” he repeats over and over, like he can’t believe this is finally happening. He brings his lips to yours, mumbling the words against your mouth as you nod wordlessly in agreement, the taste of yourself on his tongue making you dizzy. He kisses you down to your neck, nipping at your sensitive skin, praise after praise whispered into your ear.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he emphasizes his words with a sharp thrust of his fingers, and you cry out at the sensation.
“I’m yours, I’m yours— fuck!” You feel the cord in your belly tightening and tightening.
“Good fucking girl,” he whispers in your ear, nipping at your earlobe, “come around my fingers, baby,”
“Oh, oh,” you shudder underneath him, his words pushing you over the edge as your orgasm rips through your body, pleasure burning from the inside out. He kisses you hard, slowing his pace bit by bit to ease you through your climax, your body trembling in his hold. “Yunho,” you mumble into his mouth, “I’m yours,” you whisper.
“You sure are,” he peppers your cheeks with soft, tender kisses, your brain slowly coming back online as he slows his fingers, coming to a stop. “And I’m yours,” he kisses you gently, easing his fingers out of you, slipping your panties back into place. He lays down on the couch next to you, pulling your favorite throw blanket over your exposed bottom half, tracing hearts and stars on your skin while your breathing steadies, running his fingers through your hair as you let your eyes flutter closed. You snuggle into him, the warmth of his body keeping the flame in your core burning.
“You are incredible, Jeong Yunho,” you giggle as he kisses every inch of your face, his soft lips mapping the details of your skin. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“Why, because I made you come in 5 minutes flat?” His low drawl has desire coursing through your veins, part of you feeling embarrassed he can turn you on so easily with just his words.
Your breath hitches as you nod, trying to keep your cool, but he knows you better than that by now. “You really like when I talk to you like this, don’t you, baby?”
“Apparently I do,” you turn to look at him, a teasing glint in his eyes, his fingers dancing across the bare skin of your belly. “I’d love to hear what else you have to say,” you tease.
“Well for starters, I want to take you to bed” His mouth hovers over the shell of your ear, the combination of his hot breath fanning over your skin and the vibrations of his deep voice have lust taking over your thoughts once again. “I want to fuck you properly, and we just don’t exactly have the space for that here,” you can hear the smile in his voice.
“Oh,” you giggle, his straightforwardness taking you by surprise. Just like that you’re throbbing for him again, your mind racing thinking about where your night with him is going to go. “I’d like that.”
Before he can catch you, you jump up from the couch, leaving your throw blanket behind, beelining for the hallway toward Yunho’s bedroom, giggling the whole way.
“Hey!” He laughs, clamoring up to chase after you. A few long strides and he’s caught up to you, right in the doorway of his bedroom. He hooks an arm around your waist and you yelp as he spins you around to face him, the momentum of both your running carrying you to the foot of his bed. The backs of your knees hit the mattress, but he holds you upright, pressing your body against his. Your eyes lock, both of you breathing heavily.
“Someone’s excited,” Yunho chuckles, giving you a firm kiss before pushing you back onto his bed. You let out a breathless laugh as you plop down on the mattress, pushing yourself to sit upright.
“A little,” your hands find his torso, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He smirks down at you as you run your hands under his shirt and up his stomach to chest. He lets out a shaky breath at the feeling of your hands on him, and pulls his shirt off over his head, discarding it on the floor. You’d seen him without a shirt a handful of times, but this close he looks ethereal. Your fingers dance across his bare skin, reveling in the feeling of being able to touch him like this. You want to see more of him, touch more of him, taste more of him.
“Yun,” you start, hesitant to take the lead. You slide your hands down his body until your fingers feel the smooth leather of his belt. Your eyes meet his, not breaking contact while you smoothly undo his belt buckle. “Can I?” You whisper.
“You can do whatever you want to me, y/n,” he breathes, looking down to where your fingers are undoing the button of his jeans, sliding the zipper down slowly. You pull his jeans down, and he kicks them to the side, standing before you in only his boxers, his hard length pressing against the confines of the fabric.
His fingers lace through your hair, gripping it gently to tip your head back. Keeping your eyes on him, you slowly pull your sweater over your head, letting him let go of your hair to take it from your hands and toss it to the floor. You reach behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra, slowly sliding it from your body and dropping it next to your discarded sweater. Yunho’s chest heaves as he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, drinking this image of you in, dragging his gaze across your exposed chest.
“So beautiful,” his voice has dropped even lower, a tone you’ve never heard from him, the deep timbre stoking the fire deep inside you. “You are so beautiful,” he cups your face in his hands, bending over to kiss you softly. He parts your lips with his tongue as you rest your hands on his abdomen, sliding one down to palm his cock over his boxers.
“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth, your fingers wrapping around him as much as you can through the fabric, stroking his impressive length as he licks deeper into your mouth. You pump him from base to tip, running your thumb over the wet patch at the head of his cock, drawing another guttural moan from his lips. Your mouth is watering at the feeling of him, but it’s not enough.
You dip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, and Yunho breaks the kiss to watch you pull them slowly down, down, down, until his cock springs free, hanging heavy in front of you. You absentmindedly lick your lips at the sight of him, feeling the wetness in your panties growing. Lust prickles across your skin thinking about feeling him inside of you.
“Yunho,” you sigh, wrapping your fingers around him, pumping him slowly as he stands up straight, tugging your hair in his fist to tip your head back again. “I want you to fuck my throat,” you whine, “please,”
“Oh, baby,” he grips your hair tighter at your words while you stroke him, the sting making your cheeks warm, “you want me to stuff your pretty little mouth? Wanna wrap those beautiful lips around me?” Towering over you like this, you start to realize just how much he could overpower you, and the thought spreads heat through your abdomen.
“Please,” you nod, “I wanna taste you,” you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out for him, keeping your eyes on his. You pump his length twice more as you guide his hips toward your mouth, dropping your hands into your lap as his tip rests on your tongue.
“Mmh, so pretty,” he whispers, wrapping his fist around his cock, tapping his tip on your tongue before sliding past your lips. “If it gets to be too much, just tap my thigh, okay sweetheart?”
You nod, wrapping your lips around him, sliding your tongue over the sensitive underside of his tip. His head falls back, a beautiful moan falling from his lips as you slowly start to bob your head. You take more of him, inch by inch until his cock taps the back of your throat. You swallow around him, and he absentmindedly thrusts deeper, chasing the sensation.
“Fuck,” he groans, his grip on your hair tightening again as he holds you there. “I’m gonna move now, is that okay?” He brings his free hand to your cheek, caressing it gently as you nod in confirmation. As soon as you give him the signal, he pulls back slightly, rocking his hips slowly, savoring the feeling of your lips wrapped around him and your tongue gliding over him. “So beautiful with your mouth stuffed so full,” he praises you, thrusting deeper into your mouth, down your throat, testing the limits of what you can take. He finds a steady rhythm, and you match his pace, bobbing your head and licking over every inch of him as he pumps in and out of your mouth, the stretch burning your throat deliciously.
You can’t take your eyes off of him, tears blurring your vision as you admire his lustful features. His furrowed brow, his blown pupils, his flushed cheeks. The bead of sweat dripping down the tip of his nose, the tensing muscles in his stomach as he pumps into your mouth… he looks so beautiful. You find yourself rocking your hips, grinding into the mattress, looking for any friction you can get.
He thrusts deep into your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat again, and he holds you down on him, your nose brushing over his abdomen. The lack of air makes your head spin, and you want him even deeper. You reach up to grab his hips, but your hand bumps his thigh on the way up, which he takes as your signal that it’s too much.
“Shit,” he pulls out of your mouth, and you gasp for air as he drops to his knees in front of you. “Are you okay, baby? I’m so sorry, was that too rough?” His eyes are full of panic and he brushes your hair out of your face, wiping the saliva that had bubbled up at the corners of your mouth. It all happens so fast, it takes you a moment to process the man waiting in front of you, waiting for a response. Before you can stop yourself, a smile breaks across your face and a giggle rises up your throat.
“Yunnie,” you laugh, cradling his concerned face in your hands, “I’m fine, more than fine,” you try to catch your breath. “I was trying to…grab your hips to pull you closer, but I … bumped your leg by mistake,” his panicked face relaxes, a beautiful smile taking its place, and he lets out a deep sigh of relief. “I do appreciate how quickly you stopped though,” you tease him, your breathing finally steady, “it’s nice to know my boundaries will be taken very seriously.”
“You scared me!” He laughs, dropping his head in your lap.
“It was an accident!” You laugh with him, brushing through his hair with your fingers. “I actually wanted you to be more rough with me,”
He straightens up. “Is that so?” He plants his hands on the mattress on either side of your hips, the darkness returning to his gaze as he stands again, leaning over you. You lean back onto your elbows as he towers over you, his eyes raking over every inch of your body.
“It is,” you whisper, suddenly feeling so small beneath him, all lightheartedness suddenly sucked out of the room. “I would enjoy that very much,”
“Mmh,” he hooks an arm under your waist, lifting you easily and moving your body further up the mattress. You let out a small yelp as he drops you, heart warming as he reaches above you to grab a pillow to prop under your head. Once he’s sure you’re comfortable, he hooks his fingers on your panties, and you lift your hips for him to peel them off of you. He tosses them to the floor, turning his attention back to you, spreading your legs wide open, kneeling between them.
“I would enjoy that too, however,” he runs his hands up your calves, your thighs, until he reaches your center, using both hands to spread you wide open. You watch in awe as he runs two fingers through your arousal, teasingly dipping them inside of you. “I want to savor every moment of this,” he dips down to kiss you softly as he drives his fingers even deeper, prodding that tender spot inside of you, drawing a whine from your lips. “Let me be gentle this time, let me show you how much I–” he pauses, something indiscernible flashing through his eyes. “Let me show you how much I’ve been wanting you,” he recovers. “Then next time,” his thumb flicks over your clit, “I will do whatever you want me to do to you,” he circles the sensitive bud, your mind reeling. “Does that sound good, baby?”
“Mhm,” you nod, “so good,” you whimper as he scissors his fingers inside of you, surely trying to stretch you open for what’s to come.
He reaches for the drawer in his nightstand with his free hand, but you stop him. “You don’t have to wear one,” you interrupt.
“Are you sure?” His fingers keep moving inside of you, stretching you wider with each thrust, but still giving your conversation his attention.
“I’m on the pill and was tested recently, so yes, please Yunnie, I want to feel you,” you mewl, “please let me feel you,”
“So good for me,” he praises you over and over, “are you ready?”
“Yes, please,” you whine when he pulls his fingers from your cunt, desperate for him. He lifts your hips, pulling you closer to him, nestling himself between your legs, being sure to adjust your pillow once more. He spreads you open with one hand, tapping the tip of his solid cock on your swollen clit before rubbing it up and down your slit, lining up with your entrance. You both freeze at the same time as the reality of what’s about to happen finally hits you.
The feeling of this moment is nothing you’ve experienced before. For years, you’ve longed for Yunho, wanting the intimacy of your friendship to go beyond just emotional intimacy. You’ve yearned for him as long as you’ve known him. You wanted him– all of him. Finally, the universe decided it’s time for you two to experience that.
You realize he’s feeling it too, his hand finding your cheek in the silence, brushing away a tear that you didn’t realize had fallen down your cheek. “I know, baby,” he whispers, and that’s all you need to hear.
He presses his lips to your forehead as he slowly pushes inside, easing you into the sensation, gently stretching you out on his cock. You feel grateful that he prepped you with his fingers, the sting you feel only lasting a few brief moments before he’s smoothly gliding into you. He pushes in deeper and deeper, until you’re filled to the brim. He drops his hands to the mattress on either side of your head as he bottoms out. Almost in unison, you both let out a shuddering exhale.
“You feel incredible, fuck” he breathes against your forehead, finally pulling back to look into your eyes, your bodies finally connected physically in the way they’ve felt connected spiritually all these years. “And you look so pretty, my angel,” he whispers, his eyes shining.
“I don’t know how you can still manage to make me blush when you’re literally inside of me,” you pant, shyly giggling as your cheeks warm under his loving gaze. He hisses at the way you squeeze around him when you laugh. “Sorry,” you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your giggles.
“I’m learning so much about you today,” he pulls hips back slightly before burying himself inside you again, all teasing coming to an instant halt as the tip of his cock presses against your g-spot.
“Oh my–” your back arches at the feeling, “God Yunnie, I feel so f-full.”
“You’re doing so well baby,” he praises you again, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. “Look at you, so beautiful taking my cock.”
“I need you to fuck me,” you scramble to grip his forearms, feeling the taut muscles under his skin. “Please,” you wriggle your hips beneath him, “move,”
“Mm,” he pulls out almost completely, just the tip of his cock resting inside of you, “say it again, sweetheart,”
“Fuck me Yunnie, please,” you beg, trying to push your hips down on his cock.
“God, I’ve waited so long to hear you say that, I’ll never get tired of it” he slams into you, and you cry out as he bottoms out inside of you again. He sets a steady pace, rolling his hips into you over and over, the feeling of him pumping in and out of you more delicious than you could’ve ever imagined. He kisses you hard, licking into your mouth, swallowing all of your pretty little moans.
He cups one of your breasts in his wide palm, running his thumb over your nipple, stoking the fire in the pit of your belly. He straightens, admiring how beautiful you look while you take him. Your lips red and puffy, your eyes half lidded, your breasts bouncing with each thrust.
“So pretty, taking me so well,” he praises you as his hand coasts up your chest, fingers gently wrapping around your neck. He holds his hand there for a moment, making a mental note of the way your eyes light up when he briefly squeezes the column of your throat.
“F-feels so g-good,” you choke out between thrusts. His thumb slides along your jaw toward your chin, prodding at your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open. You wrap your lips around his thumb, sucking on it briefly before he pops it out of your mouth, trailing it down your body until he reaches your clit. The contact has your head spinning, the cord in your center tightening and tightening as he flicks your sensitive bud.
“Baby, look,” his voice cuts through the foggy lust in your head, grabbing your attention. He nods down to where your bodies are connected, gesturing for you to take a glance.
One look at him splitting you open has your climax threatening to wash over you, warmth running up and down your spine at the sight of your arousal shining on his cock as he pistons in and out of your heat relentlessly. He swirls his thumb around your clit faster at the feeling of you squeezing around him.
“You close, sweetheart?” He’s breathless as he fucks you, hitting so deep inside you that you can feel it in your stomach.
“Mhm, fuck, yes,” you cry out, scrambling for his free hand, lacing your fingers between his.
“Come on, I want to watch you fall apart around my cock.” He’s fucking you impossibly hard, each thrust hitting just right, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. “Let me feel you, love,”
“Oh my god,” you stammer out a string of curses as your second orgasm washes over you, your heart thudding in your ears as your body tenses underneath him. He barely slows his pace, keeping his thumb resting on your clit, fucking you through your high.
“There she is,” he coos, slowing little by little until your body starts to relax. He thrusts all the way inside, bottoming out, collapsing over you.
“Wow,” you laugh, bringing your hands up to cradle his flushed face. “That was,”
“Incredible?” He finishes your sentence, kissing your sweaty forehead over and over. You let out a soft moan in agreement, and his cock jumps inside of you at the sound.
“Mmh,” you whimper, the warmth creeping back into your belly, and you squeeze around Yunho’s cock.
“Wanting more already?” He teases, pushing his hips against you, thrusting himself in even deeper.
“Absolutely,” you squeeze around him again, craning your neck up to capture his lips with yours. “Fuck me however you want, baby,” you whisper against his mouth. His cock twitches inside you again and you giggle, waiting for his next move.
“Flip over,” he pants, “I wanna fuck you like this,” he slips out of you and you whine, feeling empty. He helps you roll onto your belly, kneeling behind you as he pulls your ass in the air and plants a hand in the middle of your back, guiding you to arch for him. You squish your cheek into the mattress, trying to look back at him. “Fucking hell,” he palms your ass with both hands, admiring your delectable form, “you are unreal.”
“Yun, please, I need you,” you whine as he bends over your body, planting hot, wet kisses up your spine until he reaches the nape of your neck, bringing his lips to your ear. You feel his cock bump against your backside, his body flush against yours.
“You are insatiable, my love,” your heart flutters at the word, but your lust pushes any overanalyzing to the back of your mind in favor of how desperate you are for him.
You push back into him, feeling the tip of his cock bump against your heat. He straightens at the feeling, rubbing circles into your hips with his thumbs as he watches you move. You roll your hips, catching the tip of his cock between your folds, wiggling and rocking to find the right angle before it finally slips inside.
“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers as you push back, taking him deeper and deeper until your ass is flush against him. You start bouncing your hips, taking him in and out, slowly at first, the sounds of his moans filling your ears and soaking your center.
“Feel good, baby?” You muffle from beneath him, moving your hips quicker with each bounce on his cock. You open your legs a little wider, the new angle rocking his cock against your g-spot.
“The best thing I’ve ever felt,” he rolls his hips to meet yours, the sound of skin slapping filling the air of his bedroom. “I can’t believe how long we’ve waited for this,” he grips your hips, meeting your thrusts in earnest, fucking into you impossibly deep. You match each other’s pace immediately, moans and whines filling the air.
He threads his fingers through your hair, tugging you upwards until your body is flush against his, your sweat-slicked bodies rocking together. His hand drops from your hair to wrap around your neck, holding you firmly in place as he threads his other hand between your legs, his middle and ring finger easily finding your swollen clit.
“I want you like this forever,” he whispers in your ear as he drives into you, your motivation to bounce on him melting into the mattress beneath you. You want him to take you however he wants you, your body molding into his grip.
“Forever,” you nod as he kisses your neck, “you have me forever Yunnie,”
“Again,” he groans as you tighten around him, his fingers swirling around your clit, your third orgasm of the night building rapidly low in your belly. “Say it again,”
“Forever,” you repeat, “I’m yours forever,”
“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m so close,” he growls into your ear, “you take me so well, like you were made for me,”
“I was, Yun,” you assure him, “I was made for you,” he rubs your clit faster, “and you were made for me,”
“God, yes,” he kisses your shoulder, his pace faltering as he gets closer to the edge, “I love you, y/n, fuck.” His fingers swirl around your clit as his hips stutter, spilling hot and fast inside of you. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeats over and over as he ruts into you.
“I love you, Yunho,” you cry out, your heart exploding as your orgasm follows, your body shuddering against him as you come together, your words and his swirling around you in the afterglow.
He holds you tight against him, guiding your spent form back down to the mattress, kissing every inch of your skin as you both come down from your highs. He slips out of you, lowering your hips, massaging your sore muscles before rolling onto his back next to you. You mimic his position, flipping over so you’re both staring at the ceiling, processing the words you both just confessed. You lay together in silence, the sounds of both of you trying to catch your breath filling the room. You let your eyes close, processing the moment.
“Jeong Yunho,” your voice is hoarse once you speak. “Tell me you love me.” Your eyes flutter open, turning your head to see him already beaming at you. He rolls onto his side, bringing himself nose to nose with you.
“I love you.” He declares, clear and confident, your heart swelling in your chest. His lips brush over yours, both of you smiling as he kisses you softly. “Your turn,” he whispers. You copy him, rolling onto your side, brushing his sweat slicked hair from his forehead as he throws an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.
“I love you,” you giggle, kissing him again.
“One more time?”
“I, love, you,” you emphasize each word with a gentle kiss on his lips,
“I will never get tired of hearing that,” he whispers. “Let’s go get cleaned up.”
You whine in protest, but Yunho eventually gets you into the bathroom, running a hot shower for the both of you. You wash up together, hardly able to keep your hands off of each other. Once you’ve fallen apart in his hands twice more and the water’s run cold, he helps you into a pair of his boxers and his biggest, softest sweatshirt.
“This feels like a dream,” you think out loud once you’re snuggled up in Yunho’s bed together. “Is this a dream?”
“If it is, I never want to wake up,” he smiles at you under the dim street lights flooding through his windows. “This is all I need, forever.”
You kiss him at that, soft and tender, his arms wrapping tighter around you, holding you close. You fall asleep shortly after, nose to nose, hearts full.
⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆
You wake to the morning sun shining through Yunho’s bedroom windows, the sweet smell of vanilla flooding your nose. Stretching your tired limbs, you roll over to find the other side of the bed empty. Panic floods your mind at the sight, your past making you assume the worst. Is he sleeping on the couch? You wonder. Does he regret what he said and now he’s avoiding me? Before you can reason with yourself, you jump out of bed and speed walk down the hallway, stopping dead in your tracks when you reach the kitchen.
“You’re not freaking out, are you y/n?” Yunho drawls, his voice still laced with sleep, low and raspy. He hasn’t even looked at you yet, his focus being on the plate on the counter in front of him, but he already knows where your mind is at just by the sound of your footsteps coming down the hallway. Of course he does. His bare, wide shoulders shake as he laughs to himself. His pajama pants hang low on his hips, the muscles in his back moving beneath his skin as he throws the final touches on what’s in front of him. He spins around to face you holding a plate of pancakes, littered with strawberries cut into hearts. Your heart flutters at the scene in front of you. “You think I’m gonna make love to you, tell you that I love you, and not make you breakfast in the morning?”
Suddenly feeling self conscious over your immediate assumption that he regretted your night together, you cross your arms, avoiding his gaze. “I got scared,” you whisper.
“That I left you in my apartment all alone? Baby,” he puts the plate down, “I would never, especially after last night,” he crosses the kitchen to reach you, pulling you into his warm embrace, his hot skin beneath you melting away the coldness you felt from waking up alone. “I’m not like…him,” he reminds you, brushing his fingers through your hair. “You are safe with me. Safe, loved, protected, respected, I could go on and on. Do you understand me?” He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head.
You nod against his chest. “I do,” you feel a tear slide down your cheek, spreading from your skin, onto his. He squeezes you in a tight hug.
“Come on, let’s get some food in your system. You haven’t eaten since our pastries at Blossom last night,” he releases you to grab your plate, as well as a second he made for himself, and drops another quick kiss to your forehead before carrying them to the coffee table in his living room.
“Come sit,” he beckons you, and you follow automatically, plopping on the couch. He grabs your favorite throw blanket before sitting down next to you, draping it over both of your laps. No matter how hard you try to ignore them, negative thoughts are still plaguing your mind. You both pick up your plates, eating in silence for a few moments before Yunho speaks up again.
“Y/n, what’s on your mind?” His tone is so sincere, you immediately feel guilty for making him worry.
“I’m just–” you hesitate for a moment. “I’m scared it’s too good to be true.”
“What is? Us?” Worry flickers across his features, his heart aching seeing you so distraught.
“Yeah,” you sigh, poking at one of your pancakes with your fork. You know you’re being unreasonable, and that Yunho has shown you nothing but love and commitment as long as you’ve known him. But your self doubt and your history of awful relationships is screaming at you that you don’t deserve him. You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even realize that you’re crying.
Yunho gently takes your plate from your hands, putting both his and yours back on the coffee table. He shifts his body slowly until he’s kneeling on the floor in front of you, resting his hands on your blanket-covered thighs.
“Y/n, look at me,” he pleads. You wipe the tears from your cheeks, patting the dampness into the blanket in your lap. You rest your hands on top of his, tracing the lines of his veins for a moment before dragging your gaze upwards to meet his. His eyes are glazed over with tears of his own.
“Yunnie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I–”
“Listen to me,” he interrupts. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. The most precious thing in this world to me. Each moment that I spend with you fills me with a joy that I never experienced until I met you.” He turns his hands over to cradle yours as his tears finally fall down his cheeks. “I love you. And I will spend every day of the rest of my life proving that to you. And proving to you that you deserve the love that I give you.”
You stifle a sob at his words, trying to take all of it in as the beautiful truth. You know he means it, he’s always meant every word he’s ever said to you, and you know you need to silence your anxieties in favor of what you know to be true.
“It’s gonna take time,” you whisper. “It’ll take time for me to believe that I deserve what you give me,” you wipe your own tears, then his, both of you laughing breathlessly at your own emotions. “But I will get there,” you continue, “I just need you to be patient with me.”
“Of course. I will spend the rest of my life reminding you what you deserve, sweetheart. That’s a promise.”
“I love you.” You cradle his head in your hands, memorizing every inch of his face, savoring the first day of the rest of your lives.
“I love you,” he kisses the tip of your nose. “Let’s go finish our breakfast in bed.”
“Okay,” you giggle watching Yunho jump up to grab both your plates, giddily walking toward his bedroom with a wide smile on his face.
“You coming?” He glances over his shoulder at you, his ears blushing bright red as he waits for you.
You nod, hopping up to follow after him, to your new forever.
#THIS FIC IS SO CUTE#yunho my guy he’s made for best friends to lovers!!!!!!!#a few lines in this made me be like YEAH!!!! YEAH!!!!! THATS A ROMANCE FIC#yunho fic recs#ateez fic recs#fic recs
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SIRIUS BLACK.ᐟ
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a little list of my favorite stories ୨ৎ remember to be kind, reblog, and support the wonderful authors who share their magic with us.ᐟ
NOTE ಇ. none of these stories belong to me ♡ if you’d like your fic removed, just send me a message, and i’ll take care of it!
date by @sun-kissy
⁀➴༯ sirius for some reason thinks you have a crush on regulus
REVIEW ୨ৎ oh my god the tension in this had me actually holding my breath, san. sirius being all dramatic and broody while reader is just exhausted with potions?? perfect. but then the confrontation?? my heart hurt for both of them. sirius being jealous and insecure and reader being so confused but so soft when she realizes what's happening. and the james/regulus mention?? peak comedy. the ending was so sweet, i'm actually kicking my feet
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
forever by @/sun-kissy
⁀➴༯ you're cold, and you're in love with sirius
REVIEW ୨ৎ this was absolutely gorgeous. the tenderness, the pining, the way every little movement is soaked in love—it’s stunning. you have such a delicate way of writing sirius, san, i love it! the smoking detail was such a perfect addition—how he doesn’t put it out but still adjusts for you, how you bought an ashtray just for him. it’s intimate in the way that truly knowing someone is intimate. and that cuddle request??? i nearly stopped breathing. the way reader braces for rejection only to be met with sirius’ sure, get over here, babe—it wrecked me. and then the way he pulls her closer, holds her like it’s second nature? absolutely everything. “my arms have no curfew, sweetheart. they’re content to hold you as long as you please.” —i’m going to be thinking about that line for days. i’m in awe.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
right where i want to be by @appocalipse
⁀➴༯ it's only when lily accidentally spills amortentia on you and all you can smell is cigarettes and dog fur that you realize you're in love with sirius — probably the only person in the world you shouldn't be in love with
REVIEW ୨ৎ oh this hurts in the best way. the slow, creeping realization, the way sirius just knows and won’t let her run from it, the tension??? i’m actually losing my mind. the teasing, the softness, the way he says i want you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world??? i need to lie down. no one disturb me, except maybe you amy cause well you wrote this
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
shy!reader by @moonstruckme
⁀➴༯ bf!sirius teasing reader about something, and it actually hurts her feelings quite a lot? maybe she's always thought she's to shy for him, and he teases her about being quiet and it just hurts so much that he sees her just like everyone else does? like she thought he understood her, but instead he's teasing her about something she's really insecure about
REVIEW ୨ৎ this is so soft i could cry. sirius just knows her, and even when he messes up, he listens, he cares. the way he apologizes??? instantly, genuinely, with no ego—i’m in love. and the way he tucks her into his space so easily, so naturally, like she belongs there??? i’m melting. i now identify as a puddle of tears from all this fluffiness
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
clingy!sirius by @inkdrinkerworld
⁀➴༯ sirius being clingy and your friends teasing you guys
REVIEW ୨ৎ this is the most disgustingly adorable thing i’ve ever read. sirius is just so in love and unashamed about it, and everyone else is exasperated but also just accepting of his dramatics. like yeah, of course he buries himself under her shirt like a needy puppy, what else is new?? i am weak
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
kids by @/inkdrinkerworld
⁀➴༯ you are unsure about having kids
REVIEW ୨ৎ oh this is so soft i actually can’t breathe. the way they’re so open with each other and sirius just listens???? no judgment, just love???? and the way he reassures her without trying to change her mind??? “we can keep our family just like this” i’m actually going to cry. and then the stupid little “and a cat” moment like please. and him being like “i don’t think i could put someone over you” like sir. that is the most sirius black thing i’ve ever heard. i love them so much this fic is everything
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
i got you first by @thatdammchickennugget
⁀➴༯ "if i scare you tonight, you'll owe me a kiss." with sirius black but in the end he ends up getting scared
REVIEW ୨ৎ oh, this is delicious. sirius trying so hard to get a reaction out of her, only for her to completely turn the tables on him?? absolutely love. and that moment in the maze? when she flips the game on him, and he just folds under her touch?? yeah. that man is gone. completely and utterly wrecked by her. the way he just stares and then that lazy grin—i swear, i felt that in my soul. also, the fact that their first kiss isn't rushed or desperate, but soft and slow? sirius black, you are in love. and so am i with this fic
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
sober feelings by @lovemenotts
⁀➴༯ bsf!reader with him out of the blue suggesting 'what if we kiss but not in a dating way?'
REVIEW ୨ৎ oh my god. oh my god. this was everything. the casual suggestion like it’s nothing while my heart is combusting?? sirius being all cocky but then immediately spiraling after??? the way he was so worried the next day i'm gonna cry. and then the confession??? i am on the floor. “we should’ve kissed as friends a long time ago” sirius please be serious about me next
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
yellow hearts by @nottswitch
⁀➴༯ the times you put yellow hearts around his name, and the times he put them around yours
REVIEW ୨ৎ this was so soft i’m actually going to cry. the progression from absolute mortification to comfort and love??? sirius teasing but also so gentle???? the yellow hearts showing up again and again??? and the honeymoon bit oh my god. their bickering is so stupid and adorable and so them. the fact that they get their little happy ending and it’s literally framed in yellow hearts. i’m unwell
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
bad dog by @lupinsversion
⁀➴༯ sirius has a bad habit of flirting with others, especially in front of his girlfriend. has she finally had enough?
REVIEW ୨ৎ oh he DESERVED that bonk on the head. “bad dog” is actually the funniest and most fitting reaction ever. like yes, he’s sirius black, of course he’s going to be a little shit about flirting, but also? he needs to learn. and i love that james and remus are calling him out too because yeah, it’s “harmless” but it’s also not harmless when it clearly hurts his girlfriend. sirius sulking about it and realizing he actually feels bad?? good. let him sit in his wrongness and learn from it. this was so well done, i loved it but ahem mak i think i speak for all when i say part is needed
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a marauders guide to siblings by @ellecdc
REVIEW ୨ৎ this was absolutely delightful. james potter and his love for love, his pure dedication to making this triple date happen—it’s so him. the way he just won’t take no for an answer, and how everyone else is reluctantly dragged into his chaos, is peak marauders energy. and the dialogue? oh mama. i love how everyone interacts here, from sirius being completely against it because of the “googly eyes” problem, to remus and regulus just being exasperated with the entire situation. and the moment james finally gets what he wants, only to immediately start overthinking it and worrying about the sibling connections?? absolutely hilarious. and sirius being all soft for reader, saying she was worth the nonsense? perfect. this was so fun to read, i adored every second of it!
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤmain blog → @iamgonnagetyouback
#♡‧₊˚ ivy's fic recs ₊˚୨ৎ#sirius black x reader#sirius black#sirius black x you#sirius black fanfiction#sirius black angst#sirius black fluff#sirius black fic#sirius black x y/n#sirius black fic recs#sirius black recs
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That Mc and Lucifer did What?
Mc has returned to the human world, everyone's spirits are down, Devildom is duller, sadder and this is directly reflected in the student council. Especially for the seven demons who shared housing with Mc for a year. What no one knows is what happened the last night Mc was in the Devildom.
Extension: 20k words
Warning: Possible grammatical and spelling errors. This is a fic with comic and fluff overtones, not romantic or explicit content as such.
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It had been a couple of weeks since the exchange program ended and Mc and the other exchange students returned to their respective realms. And oddly enough, most students had noticed, especially since the student body wasn't the same since the little human left. Mammon no longer looks for business to cash out, Asmo wasn't partying or even uploading photos!!! Satan remains eerily quiet always with a dull look on his face…. Even the prince seemed less lively.
But undoubtedly those who had noticed Mc's absence the most were the seven brothers. The person who had made the House of Lamentations a home, a warm place full of laughter and activity, had left and the six youngest ones seemed like souls in pain. What no one expected was that the eldest of the brothers, Lucifer, also missed the human terribly, their signs of affection, their laughter and their courage to scold him, Lucifer himself.
Throughout that year he had become deeply attached to the human and had wished to become intimate in their relationship to the point of making a pact with them. The last night Mc and Lucifer had made a pact, they had formed a bond that united them beyond the physical, just as his brothers, he had taken the small and “weak” human as his master. Although of course, he would never admit that, and he was not willing to tell it to the world. No one, not even Diavolo, knew that the two had a pact.
That morning, as was becoming customary, the six demons were lying at the student council table, depleted of energy. Lucifer sighed at the attitude of his brothers, but he could not blame them. Diavolo entered, waving, accompanied by Barbatos as usual, however, a second person was following them that morning.
Asmo: Solomon? What are you doing here??
Solomon: I am glad to see you.
Lucifer was looking at the documents distractedly, Solomon was not of special interest to him and he was not going to try to hide it. Diavolo and Barbatos took their respective places and everyone joined in, because, if Solomon was there, was there any chance of seeing Mc soon?
Diavolo: Solomon has come to deliver a list of the new pacts that the Sorcerer's society has made with some demon in the last year.
Satan: Is there a record of that?
Solomon: Yes, at least from the society, we have to keep a record so things don't get out of control.
Diavolo: We can also check if any demons have gone to the human world without permission.
Levi: Lol, nothing escapes the prince of hell.
Asmo: *glancing at Solomon's list* Doesn't that mean we should be on this list too?
Lucifer looked up at his brother's words, frowning, it was true that in recent times records were made of the pacts demons made with humans, but Diavolo had never asked any of his brothers. Mammon joined Asmo, followed by a curious Satan.
Mammon: Ha, there is no pact as incredible as the one of the great Mammon and Mc.
Satan: Don't talk like you're the only one.
Belphie: *joining his brothers* That's right, Mc has a pact with six of us.
Solomon: Ha, ha I still don't quite believe that a human like Mc has accomplished such a feat.
Lucifer could notice a trace of envy in the annoyed sorcerer's words, and a proud smile came across his face.
Beel: So, should we register our pacts as well?
Diavolo: Mmm, I hadn't thought of that, I think the simple fact that six of the lords of hell have made a pact is enough of a record.
Barbatos: I agree.
Solomon laughed, though he clearly looked pissed, Lucifer held back a chuckle.
Belphie: What do you have to do to make a record?
Diavolo: Well it's an official document, so it has several formalities like the terms of the contract.
Solomon: And the reasons why the demon has agreed to make the pact.
Levi: Only the demon? What about the human?
Solomon: Well the price to be paid by the human is usually recorded, but the reasons for making the pact of the demons are more taken into account, since they are the one who is left in a more burnerable position.
Diavolo: Exactly, usually the demons make a pact for power, because they will receive an extraordinary compensation or sometimes, in an extraordinary way, *looking at the brothers* because said human has something that impresses the demon significantly.
Solomon: Like Barbatos with me.
Barbatos: Fu, fu, I guess, although most of your pacts are either for the purpose of gaining power or to get a piece of your soul.
The brothers looked at each other, it was clear why they had made a pact or at least was clear now, sometimes they wondered if someone else had taken Mc's place, would they have done the same?
Satan: And what do you do with the registry?
Solomon: Basically you classify the pacts, depending on the power involved.
Levi: Power? As the characters of a video game?
Solomon: Yes, it depends on the power of the human and the demon, a human with little magical power, even if he has a pact with a moderately powerful demon, will not be very high in the ranking.
Satan: So the ranking depends on the combination… interesting.
Solomon: That's it, although it also depends on the demon, if they are important demons, the ranking would go up.
Diavolo: For example, your pacts would be at the top, just because you are you.
Mammon: Ha, no one could surpass us.
Asmo: As expected *happy*
Solomon: Ha, ha, ha, exactly because if we were talking about power, your pacts would be at the bottom, since Mc has no magic power.
The brothers looked at Solomon sharply, the sorcerer raised his hands in innocence, laughing. Diavolo looked pleased, took the list and glanced at it.
Diavolo: Thank you for taking the trouble to bring them here, Solomon.
Solomon: No problem.
Diavolo: No doubt Mc has surpassed everything imaginable, they are a human full of surprises, they will go down in history for that, but it is true that they are not a powerful sorcerer, it would not make sense to keep a record to monitor the use of their pacts.
Mammon and Asmo, looked at each other annoyed, no one messed with their human, the others looked at them sideways, complicit. Satan took a couple of blank sheets of paper, Belphie and Beel sat next to him, while he started to write and Levi began to speak.
Levi: Well we begin the record of the pacts of Mc the human!!, the one and only incredible human who has achieved the feat of forging pacts with the lords of hell.
Diavolo laughed loudly, clearly delighted with the situation, Solomon and Barbatos too, they were fascinated by the affection those demons had for the Mc, and how they defended them from any kind of attack, harmless or not, as long as they interpreted it as a threat or disrespect to Mc, the brothers would strike back.
Satan: Uniting their soul in a firm and lasting bond to the soul of the demon due to the virtues that have attracted said demon, starting with...
Copying the whole formal part of one of the records the brothers began to enunciate their reasons for making a pact with Mc.
Mammon: The great Mammon the Avatar of Greed!!! Their first, by the cunning and serenity of knowing how to use the weaknesses of their enemies.
Levi: Uooh! *motivated* followed by Leviathan Avatar of Envy, for the bravery to face any battle even if they have to lose, and the pure heart to be friends with their enemies.
The six brothers seemed suddenly animated, Diavolo approached them, enjoying it too much, Solomon also sat nearby, he knew that many epic stories had emerged that way, magnifying an event that had been much simpler.
Beel: I'm next, Beelzebuh Avatar of Gluttony, *grinning like a puppy* for their strength and conviction to protect the people they love.
Okay, that was heartwarming, everyone felt their heart skip a beat.
Asmo: Me, me!!, Asmodeus Avatar of Lust, for their hidden power and determination to get what they want.
Satan: Followed by Satan Avatar of Warth *smile*, for their wisdom and cunning when facing problems and difficulties, and their ability to seek solutions to any problem
Lucifer smiled, they were blowing things way out of proportion, making great epics out of situations that had been simple, even comical in some cases. He had stopped reading documents long ago, though he kept looking at the papers, all his attention was on his siblings.
Belphie: And finally, Belphegor Avatar of Sloth, for their steadfastness to follow what their heart dictates and the kindness to forgive all those who hurt them.
Everyone fell silent. Somehow, almost everyone present had threatened or even tried to murder Mc, they had undervalued them, they had thought their opinion or whatever they thought weighed less, Diavolo looked at the paper, even he had not taken them seriously for being an ordinary human, Solomon put his hand to his chin.
Barbatos: I think it's a lovely record, full of everyone's feelings.
Solomon: No doubt, no one could have come up with something like it.
Lucifer looked at the words of the documents, Mc had achieved much more than making pacts with his brothers, they had done much more than achieve something that not even the most powerful sorcerer had achieved. Mc had healed his family, they had fixed what they in millennia had not dared to fix, they had accepted each of them with their wounds and their bad things, which were not few, and they had loved them unconditionally. He knew it, they owed Mc much, he much more. He smiled, he could write and write everything he felt for Mc, everything he admired about them, everything they had meant in his life, but it wasn't necessary.
Lucifer: And do not forget, Lucifer Avatar of Pride, for repairing and uniting what no one could.
Absolute silence.
WHAAAAAAAAAAT????!!!!!!
Lucifer covered his ears, suddenly everyone had swarmed to his side, firing all sorts of questions at him. His brothers looked upset, even offended, on the other hand Diavolo was smiling from ear to ear, although there was a slight hint of jealousy in his eyes, and Barbatos was watching the scene genuinely surprised. The funniest thing of all was to see Solomon with his mouth open, and that indescribable expression. Mc had done it, they had done what no wizard, witch or human of any kind had ever accomplished, they had made a pact with Lucifer Morningstar, and not only that, they had completed the task of making a pact with the seven brothers, the seven lords of hell.
Mammon: What do you mean Lucifer? ????!
Levi: Are you an idiot, Mammon? Well you are... not fair Lucifer...
Asmo: Kyaaaa how??!! How did you form a pact??
Beel: He, he, so Lucifer too.
Belphie: When?! I'm sure Mc would have told us!
Satan: And why did you keep it so hidden??
Solomon still hadn't recovered, he put a hand to his head with a half smile, Diavolo was next to him with a similar expression.
Diavolo: I never thought this day would come.
Lucifer felt his chest swell with pride, he really felt his sin in all its splendor. Despite this he tried to look disinterested, returning to his documents.
Lucifer: Well it was the last night.
Belphie: That's why Mc didn't come back??! Because they were making a pact with you???!
Lucifer: Oh *grinning mischievously* we did a lot more than just that.
All: !!!
While all the brothers, Diavolo and Solomon included, began to make a fuss, looking for answers, Lucifer laughed with pleasure, no doubt if there was some kind of competition to measure the pacts with Mc, he had won it. Barbatos, recovered from the surprise, laughed too, it was not unusual to see the brothers so upset but it was certainly gratifying to see the sorcerer like that. A beep made him look at his cell phone, he had sent a message to a certain Lucifer obsessed archangel.
“That Mc and Lucifer did what?”
.
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It's one of the scenarios I've given the most thought to since I played the first and second seasons four years ago. How everyone found out about Mc and Lucifer's pact. Honestly I have many different situations for this scenario, but this one has been chosen to share with you����😂😂😂. In the future I might write the other scenarios, going for more spicy content or more angs, etc. Who knows.
Still I hope that if you have made it this far you have enjoyed it, thanks for reading. 🩷
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#obey me#obey me! shall we date?#obey me shall we date#obey me fic#obey me one master to rule them all#obey me! one master to rule them all#obey me!#omswd#obey me imagine#obey me scenarios#obey me mc#mc obey me#obey me lucifer#lucifer obey me#obey me mammon#mammon obey me#obey me leviathan#leviathan obey me#obey me satan#satan obey me#obey me asmo#asmo obey me#obey me beel#beel obey me#obey me belphie#belphie obey me#obey me solomon#solomon obey me#obey me diavolo#obey me barbatos
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Hi, do you have an analysis for why you prefer bottom Tom? Most fics have him as a top, but I'm very interested in your perspective ma'am.
well, the short answer is because i want to and because i can.
the longer answer is that i just don't find any of the arguments for why voldemort would never bottom under any circumstances to be as convincing and definitive as their proponents claim them to be.
my issue - to be clear - isn't with people having a preference for reading or writing about him being a top. it's with the fact that him only being a top - and not only that, but him being repulsed or humiliated by the idea of bottoming - is typically presented as such an objective fact that preferring to read or write about him being a bottom provokes responses which range from the simply annoying - "this is out of character!" [any fic in which he consensually shags his prophesied child-enemy is out of character, be serious] - to the genuinely troubling - "it's disgusting! voldemort is a real man and real men don't want anything up their arses!".
obviously - let's be real - a lot of the arguments about why bottom!voldemort is impossible are just typical "slash fandom reinvents gender roles" shit - they essentially boil down to "omg no harry would bottom because he's the girl".
but others do come with more weight behind them. and two of these are:
that the gender norms voldemort was raised with would inculcate in him a big lump of internalised homophobia which would make him see bottoming as feminine, and - in seeing it as feminine - see it as weak, humiliating, dependent, and incompatible with his understanding of control and power. that voldemort would be horrified by the idea of being penetrated, because he would see it as something which polluted or profaned the body he considers to be sacred.
i do think it's possible to argue both of these points robustly, using actual readings of the text rather than just vibes. i've just never found any of these readings compelling.
and the reason why all comes down to this:
"I knew I was different," he whispered to his own quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something." [HBP 13]
he's talking about something specific - how he's always known that he's a wizard - here, of course. but we can also take this statement and use it to think more generally about how he views being perceived as deviant, strange, or wrong by the norms of the society in which he lives.
by which i mean... he's somebody who believes that being different makes him special and that people who try to punish or shame him for his difference are idiots who simply haven't yet worked out that he's superior to them in literally everything he does. he's not someone who perceives being different in a self-flagellating way - he doesn't think there's something wrong with him, he doesn't think that his difference makes him a pathetic or unimpressive person. and he's also not somebody who views being criticised or punished for his difference as something which causes him sorrow or anxiety. it causes him rage - because it inconveniences him [it creates obstacles he has to overcome, although he entirely believes he can overcome them] and because it doesn't recognise his self-conception as the protagonist of reality:
Riddle's reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious. "You can't kid me! The asylum,��that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course - well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!" "I am not from the asylum," said Dumbledore patiently. "I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you -" "I'd like to see them try," sneered Riddle. "Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Riddle's last words, "is a school for people with special abilities -" "I'm not mad!" [HBP 13]
you can entertain a very dark reading of this scene - in fact, i have - but it's also possible to entertain a liberating one, and see the child voldemort as someone who has always been proud of his difference and prepared to defend that pride in the face of censure, and who is absolutely delighted to be given the language to define and describe his difference and to be given access to a community of people who are similarly - in his words - special.
all of which is to say... the standard interpretation in fandom seems to be that a queer voldemort would fall somewhere on a spectrum from indifferent to his sexuality to actively ashamed of it.
but i think it's much, much more plausible that he'd actually be proud of it, and for his statement - "i knew i was different... i knew i was special" - to be used as the starting point for how we might imagine him realising that he's queer.
and this is why the "he'd have so much internalised homophobia he'd never bottom" argument always falls flat for me - it rests on an assumption that queer men having to grow past a childhood/teenage fear that there's something wrong with them is the default position. it overlooks the fact that there are many ways for somebody to come to understand their own sexuality.
and that two of those ways are "defiantly" and "spitefully". aka the lord voldemort special.
something which always stands out to me about the canonical voldemort, both when he's a good-looking teenager/young man and a monstrous, serpentine adult, is that - even with all the phallic symbolism which surrounds him [enormous snakes and ultra-powerful wands and so on] - the text presents him as somebody who comes across as fairly effeminate:
he's typically described - as we can see from this excellent analysis from @said-snape-softly - as speaking "softly" or "quietly". when he isn't, he's often "shrill", "shrieking", "screeching", or "screaming".
he has a hair-trigger temper and he's extremely emotionally volatile.
he's typically described as moving in ways which have similarly feminine connotations - he "drifts" and "glides". while the primary doylist reason for this is clearly so the reader associates him with snakes, ghosts, and dementors, it ends up giving him a quality of movement which is fey, rather than powerful and purposeful. indeed, we only ever see him do one thing which requires physical, as well as magical, prowess - duelling. but, like fencing - which is its real-world equivalent - good duellists aren't people who are physically strong or imposing, they're people who are cunning and nimble [and the other men the text emphasises are good at it are snape, flitwick, and harry - with harry's quick reflexes being explicitly given as a reason why [i.e. GoF 34] ]. his ability to fly is a demonstration of his magical power alone, since it allows him to circumvent the need to use a broom, which does appear to require physical strength [hence why the only main characters who aren't fond of using brooms are either women or fat, cowardly little boys like neville...]
building on this, he's often described in ways which make him sound quite physically fragile - he's very thin, he's very pale, he's always cold, every time his heartbeat is described it seems to be irregular and so on.
his reputation in his teens and young adulthood is as a "polite [and] quiet" goody-two-shoes who "showed no sign of outward arrogance or aggression at all" [HBP 17]. i think that point about aggression is really important - it builds on what mrs cole tells dumbledore about it being "very hard to catch him" bullying other orphans [HBP 13]. he's not dudley - or james and sirius - using his physical talents to subdue and control people. he's sneakier... more insidious... indeed, in chamber of secrets, ron explicitly compares him to percy - somebody else the text presents as fairly effete - in order to complain about him "squealing" - aka, running to tell a teacher, like a girl, instead of settling things like a man - on hagrid [CoS 14].
when he's a young man, living alone for the first time, the text thinks it's very important to tell us that he has "slightly longer hair" than he does at school [HBP 20]. "slightly" is obviously the operative word here - i don't think he's strutting into hepzibah smith's house in a twenty-four inch lace-front - but we can certainly imagine him with the sort of greaser or pompadour haircut which was understood in the 1950s as being a bit counter-cultural...
of the five horcruxes which are objects - rather than harry and nagini [who is, of course, female] - three [cup, diadem, locket] originally belonged to a woman and are acquired from a woman, two [cup, locket] are acquired by killing a woman using a stereotypically female murder method [poison], two are connected to voldemort's rage at his mother being disparaged [locket - he's furious to hear hepzibah say that merope must have stolen it, ring - he attacks morfin immediately after morfin calls his mother a "slut"]. and all five of these horcruxes also depend on women to introduce them into the narrative in a way that facilitates their destruction: the diary is given to ginny; dumbledore puts on the ring in order to speak to his sister; the locket is associated both with walburga's grief [it's literally moved from the cave - voldemort's grave for his mother - to the house which is walburga's own tomb!] and with umbridge's performance of femininity; the cup is given to bellatrix [and the text is very clear that both she and voldemort understand it as having only been given to her, rather than to her and rodolphus] and is then destroyed - albeit off-stage - by hermione; and harry is given the tools to acquire the diadem by cho, luna, and mcgonagall, although he has to overcome the obstacles of alecto carrow and helena ravenclaw to get hold of it. harry - of course - also only becomes a horcrux because of a woman - lily's - sacrifice.
his favourite death eaters are a woman and a very feminine-coded man. but - more interestingly - what the text finds unimpressive isn't that he likes bellatrix and snape... it's that he leaves a lot of his dirty work to male minions who are characterised by their brutish strength - people like greyback, hagrid [who he makes carry harry up to hogwarts], rowle, gibbon, amycus carrow and so on. there's the heavy implication in the text that voldemort's preference for leaving the violence to others - as i'm always pointing out, his canonical kill count is really low; most of the murders in the series are done by other death eaters acting on his orders - is something we should see as weak.
the text associates him with this effeminacy - i think it's really important to note, given who jkr is - as a criticism. it's something - much like the text's presentation of him as aromantic, and the fact that the degradation of his looks via the creation of the horcruxes makes him look sexless/eunuch-like - being used to underscore his villainy. he's feminine-coded in a toxic way.
but let's take this in another direction [and let's also return to the actual question you asked me...] and read him as someone who has always had to deal with being perceived as queer by other people, and having that perception be associated with negative assumptions.
he's very easy to imagine as a child/teenager who's the target of ridicule from his fellow orphans/fellow students [for not being sporty, for liking to sit in the library for hours on end coming up with anagrams of his own name, for the way he walks and speaks] which hinges on the idea that his failure to conform to the expected conventions of "proper" masculinity mean that he's not a proper man... and that if he's not a proper man then... he's not straight.
but then we have to come back to the "i knew i was special" point, don't we?
voldemort's belief in his own superiority can - in my view - be used to read him as somebody who would embrace being camp or effeminate or whatever term we want to use, in order both to express his contempt for people who criticise him ["think i'm a messed up little deviant, do you, mrs cole? well, you don't know the half of it!"] and who conform to social norms he thinks are reprehensible ["oh, do purebloods frown upon bottoming, abraxas? well - guess what - so do muggles. do you agree with what muggles think?"] and to humiliate, subjugate, and control them ["you think i'm a faggot, do you...? well, you're right... i'm a faggot who's defeated you in battle and now i'm about to kill you... still feel like a man?"].
while - obviously - appearance/gender presentation has nothing to do with preferred sexual roles - the manliest men on earth can be bottoms! being femme doesn't prevent you topping! - i really do think that voldemort is someone who can be written entirely canon-coherently as thinking that the homophobic perception of bottoming as weak, powerless, or humiliating is complete nonsense, and who would actively flaunt his rejection of this perception as a way to mock people who subscribe to it.
after all, we see him do something similar in canon when it comes to his blood-status and social class. the death eaters - lots of whom are posh pureblood men who conceive of themselves as the most important people in the universe - are made to kneel at the feet of and kiss the robes of and be branded like cattle by and be at the beck and call of someone who's neither pureblood nor posh. there are - as lupin tells us - no wizarding princes... and yet the closest things the wizarding world has to an aristocracy are rolling around on the ground debasing themselves and calling a half-blood orphan "my lord".
voldemort does this to humiliate them. but he also does this to amuse himself - à la logan roy making men who've displeased him play "boar on the floor".
[wormtail being forced to care for him when he's in his half-form at the start of goblet of fire, for example. he's not humiliated in the slightest by his dependence on wormtail... wormtail is humiliated by it, and voldemort finds it hilarious.]
and so i think we can plausibly imagine him also deeply enjoying making his straight, married, "i would die before i let anything near my arse", "i'm not getting changed for quidditch with so-and-so there, he's queer", "i'd disown my son if i found out he let other men fuck him" death eaters grovel for the favour of someone who loves getting railed...
this deeply aligns with how voldemort understands things like power and control - and it's why the argument that he'd only top because he would regard it as the only way of being powerful and controlling never hits for me.
because this also rests on an assumption - that the bottom always understands themselves as the passive partner. i do think the fandom is broadly getting better at recognising that bottoms and submissives are different things [although the bar was on the floor...], but i think there's still a tendency to default to the idea that the two people involved in sex are an active partner and a passive partner, and that the passive partner is - for want of a better term - the receptacle.
the language used around bottoming reinforces this assumption. its voice is passive - the bottom is penetrated, is bred, is fucked, is taken - its verbs are passive too - the top does, the bottom receives.
but the thing is... this is just semantics. and it's a semantic argument directly rooted in misogyny, and the homophobia which stems from and connects to it.
and - since it's just semantics - we can change the language we use at any time to completely reconfigure the assumed power dynamic.
the bottom grants access. the bottom consumes. the bottom takes. the bottom absorbs. the bottom uses. the bottom captures. the bottom detains. the bottom grips. the bottom devours. the bottom permits. the bottom destroys.
the top is the person who's passive - who receives permission, who is granted access, who is consumed, who is absorbed, who is captured. the top is the person having their life-force leached from them. they're just a toy, just a piece of meat. they literally don't matter.
and the text already uses this sort of language - the language of consumption and capture and permission to cross thresholds and so on - to talk about voldemort's attitude to power, magic, and the body.
he drains the blood of unicorns; he uses up the life-force of the people and animals he possesses; he grows stronger by consuming ginny's secrets; he is restored to his body by taking from his father, wormtail, and harry; he takes the money dumbledore offers without feeling the need to thank him or regard it as a gift; he offers up gifts to people he wants to use for his own gain; he "doesn't march up to people's houses and bang on their front doors" [OotP 6]; he hoards and conceals precious things; his soul is kept safe by being encased by the horcruxes; his locket is guarded by something which has to be drunk, which destroys anyone who assumes they can simply take it without his permission; he "would be glad to see anything miss hepzibah shows me" [HBP 20] and then seizes her secrets and uses them to bring about her doom; his descent from slytherin is proven by his control of the threshold of the chamber of secrets; he places himself and his talents at dumbledore's disposal, "i am yours to command" [HBP 20]; he controls snakes and they do his bidding; he drains the ministry of its secrets; he controls the dementors, who devour joy; augustus rookwood "has lord voldemort's gratitude... i shall need all the information you can give me" [OotP 26]; he is the greatest legilimens - that is to say, he is excellent at pulling other people's secrets into his own mind and using them as he wishes - the world has ever seen; he has seen ron's heart and it is his; his followers live to serve him...
his followers are called death eaters, not death fuckers.
and so it's inarguable, really, that he'd have a legion of service tops under his command...
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family line, part vii
ellie williams x fem!reader
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family line masterlist
summary: falling in love with ellie was easy. it was harder to hate her once you knew she was the one hunting your sister.
word count: 3.5k
warnings: this fic doesn’t follow the original plot of the last of us part ii. canon typical violence. no use of y/n.
The world felt distant.
Your body was heavy, your head throbbed, the steady pulse of pain syncing with the dull ringing in your ears. Every breath was shallow, slow, like your lungs had forgotten how to work properly.
It took effort just to open your eyes.
The theater’s dim lighting made everything look hazy. The room smelled like old wood, and dried blood.
Your sluggish gaze dragged to the figure sitting nearby. Ellie.
She was hunched over in a chair beside the couch, elbows on her knees, fingers threaded through her hair. The moment she saw you stir, she sat up straight, her breath catching.
"You’re awake," she whispered, like she didn’t quite believe it.
You didn’t respond.
She leaned forward slightly, like she wanted to move closer but didn’t know if she should. Her green eyes swept over you, scanning for any sign of pain.
"You—uh, you lost a lot of blood," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "But I stitched you up. I'm not as good as you, but—uhm, you should be okay."
Silence.
Ellie exhaled through her nose, rubbing the back of her neck. Her fingers were still stained red in places, dried and cracked against her skin.
"You need to eat."
She reached down, grabbing a can of food from the floor. When she opened it, the soft scrape of metal felt too loud in the quiet room.
She scooped up a small bite with a spoon and held it toward you.
Nothing.
Her hand hovered in the air, waiting.
"Come on," she tried again, her voice quieter. "Just a little."
You barely had the strength to shake your head, but you did. The smell made your stomach churn, and you could still taste the metallic flavour in your throat.
Ellie swallowed. She didn’t lower the spoon right away, like she was waiting for you to change your mind. But you didn't.
She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back as she sat there, staring at the ceiling.
"We can’t stay here," she said finally, voice tight. "Tommy and Dina already left. It’s just us."
Still, you said nothing, your lower lip trembling as you remember Dina's bloodied face.
Ellie shifted in her seat, restless. You could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers flexed against her jeans. Like she was holding something back.
"You’re gonna have to talk to me at some point," she muttered, not looking at you.
Your throat felt tight. You kept your gaze locked on the floor as if it was the only thing keeping you sane right now.
"Right. Okay." She stood up abruptly, pacing the length of the room before stopping at the doorway. For a moment, it seemed like she might leave. But she didn’t.
She just stood there, gripping the doorframe tightly.
"You saved my life," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just—I don’t get it. Why would you do that?"
You shut your eyes, and Ellie didn’t push for an answer.
She just let the silence hang between you, before finally turning away.
When the door clicked shut behind her, you exhaled shakily, curling in on yourself as the weight of everything pressed down all over again.
Hours passed, and even if neither of you slept, you were still weak, and Ellie was restless, moving like she was running out of time. You didn't seem to react to anything, your head numb as you looked at your shaking fingers.
"We need to leave." Her voice cut through the silence. You barely proceeded the information.
She was already grabbing supplies, checking weapons, shoving things into her bag like it was her last day on earth. Like she was expecting someone to come through that door and finish what the world had started.
You didn’t move, and her jaw clenched. "I know you can hear me."
Still, you said nothing.
A heavy exhale, and then she crouched in front of you, green eyes searching your face. "You’re in no shape to walk, but we don’t have a choice." A beat of silence. "Can you stand?"
You swallowed, your throat raw.
You should shake your head. You should say something.
But you did neither.
Ellie’s expression twisted. Maybe she was angry. Maybe she just didn’t know what to do with you.
"Okay." She nodded once, "then I’ll carry you."
You barely had time to react before she was crouching, looping one of your arms over her shoulder, and hoisting you up. Your legs nearly buckled the second your feet touched the floor, but Ellie held you up, her grip firm but careful.
She was warm. Too warm. She felt like safety, and you hated that.
Ellie sighed, shifting your weight against her. "Let’s go."
The first few hours were unbearable.
Every step sent bolts of pain through your body. Ellie stayed close, letting you lean against her when you needed to, never saying anything about how slow you were moving.
She should've left you behind. It would've been so much easier. But she didn’t.
It wasn’t until the sun was beginning to set that Ellie stopped.
"Okay, so, we’re taking a break."
She helped you lower yourself onto a fallen log, dropping her bag to the ground. You watched as she pulled out a can of food, a water bottle, and a few crumpled ration bars. She opened one and held it out to you.
You didn’t take it.
Ellie’s fingers twitched, her voice tense. "You need to eat."
Nothing.
"You haven’t said a single goddamn word since you woke up, and now you’re not even eating? What, are you trying to die?"
You didn’t flinch, didn’t react.
Ellie exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her face before crouching in front of you again. "Look. I know you’ve been through shit. I get it. But you need to eat something. Don't care if you don't even speak to me ever again, just want you to get better. Please."
Something in her voice made your chest ache.
She was trying, really hard. And you knew you weren't doing things easy for her, and she still hadn't left you.
You swallowed, your voice hoarse from not using it. "I’m not hungry."
Ellie froze. "Jesus. I was starting to think you fucking forgot how to talk."
You shifted uncomfortably.
She didn’t push you again. Just handed you the food and muttered, "Try." And so you did.
The sky was dark by the time you found the cabin.
It was small, tucked between the trees near a lake, long abandoned, but intact.
Ellie scouted ahead, checking for infected before calling you inside.
The second your legs gave out, she was there, easing you onto the old couch near the fireplace.
"We’ll stay here tonight," she murmured. "Maybe longer."
You didn’t argue. Ellie sighed, rubbing her face. "I’ll set up some traps outside. Get a fire going."
You barely heard her.
The theater was behind you. Abby was behind you. The scars, the wounds, the ghosts—they were all behind you.
But they still felt so close.
You curled into yourself on the bed, arms wrapped tightly around your legs as silent tears slipped down your cheeks. Muffled sniffles filled the quiet space, but then, you felt warmth. Two arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. When you didn't push her, she started pecking you small kisses on your back. You stopped crying moments later.
Abby’s breath was ragged by the time she reached the theater. She scanned the room, eyes darting from the old furniture to the bloodstained ground where she had left Ellie gasping for air.
Then, her gaze landed on it. Your Spider-Man comic.
It sat abandoned on a nearby chair, slightly bent at the corners, worn from the way you used to flip through it over and over again.
She swallowed, throat tight, as she reached for it with unsteady hands. The second she lifted the cover, something slipped out and fluttered to the ground.
A folded piece of paper.
Abby knew what it was before she even picked it up.
Her fingers trembled as she unfolded it, breath catching as her eyes scanned the words written in your familiar, messy handwriting.
Abby,
If you’re reading this, it means you came back, but I already left.
You don’t have to look after me anymore. You’re free now.
I will always be grateful for you; for your protection, your unconditional support, and the love you’ve given me for as long as I can remember. Thank you for shutting down my nightmares, for holding me until I stopped crying, for being my safe place when the world felt too cruel.
We’ve always been different—opposites, really. But no matter what, you’re my sister. You always will be. Our paths have been pulling us apart for a while now, and as much as it breaks my heart, I know we both have to move forward. You deserve to chase your dreams, your ambitions. And so do I.
Even if our lives take us in different directions, I know we’ll find each other again. One day, when we’re both okay.
I'm okay now. I’ll be okay. And I hope you will be too.
I love you so much.
—Bug
No. Abby’s vision blurred, the ink smudging as a single tear splashed onto the page. Then another. She sucked in a shaky breath, her fingers gripping the paper so tightly it crumpled in her grasp.
How could you say that? How could you accept this?
How could you be strong enough to walk away when she wasn’t?
She had spent her entire life making sure you were okay. She had promised to protect you, to keep you, and now… now, she was grasping at nothing.
The realization hit her in full force, a broken sob tore from her throat as her forehead was pressed against the crumpled letter as if it could somehow bring you back.
As her chest ached, she allowed herself to crumble.
The cabin smelled like pine and woodsmoke, warm and safe against the crisp autumn air outside. The morning light spilled through the window, catching the dust motes that floated lazily through the air. Outside, the lake stretched endlessly, its surface rippling with the gentle touch of the wind.
It was peaceful here. Safe.
And, for the first time in what felt like forever, home.
You stretched beneath the thick quilt, blinking against the golden sunlight as warmth pressed into your side. Ellie’s arm was draped over your waist, her breath soft against the nape of your neck. She always slept like this—like she was afraid you’d slip away if she didn’t hold you close.
You shifted slightly, feeling her stir behind you. A soft groan left her lips as she buried her face into your shoulder.
"Mm… too early," she muttered, voice thick with sleep.
You smiled, eyes fluttering shut again. "You say that every morning."
She hummed in response, pulling you impossibly closer. "And I’m always right."
You let yourself sink into the warmth of her, savoring the slow, quiet morning.
It hadn’t been easy to get here.
The first few weeks had been… rough. You barely spoke. Eating was a chore, sleep was filled with nightmares, and the weight of everything that had happened clung to you both like a second skin. But Ellie never pushed. She just stayed. Kept the fire going, made sure you ate at least something, and waited.
And then, one day, the silence cracked.
It was over something small. A comment about how she sucked at fishing. And then, a quiet laugh—your own. It had been a weak, broken thing, but Ellie had looked at you like you’d just given her the goddamn world.
And after that, things got easier.
Now, eight months later, you were here. In this tiny cabin by the lake, tangled up in Ellie’s arms like it was the only place you were ever meant to be.
You turned in her arms, facing her. Her hair was a mess, auburn locks sticking out in every direction, and her face was soft, relaxed in a way that made your heart ache. You reached up, brushing a few stray strands away from her freckled cheek.
Her eyes cracked open, sleepy and hazy, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. "S’not fair, waking me up just to stare at me."
You rolled your eyes. "You’re the one who came back to bed."
"Because it’s warm," she murmured, tucking her face into the crook of your neck. “And you’re here.”
Your chest ached in the best way. You knew it hadn't been easy for Ellie either. After all, you were Abby's sister, you shared blood with the one who ended Joel's life. And even if you didn't look alike, Ellie could sometimes see traces of Abby deep in your eyes. She tried to fight the image away, tell herself that it was you who was by her side, not her, but sometimes you do needed to give her some time. Because healing took time. And so did forgiveness.
You pressed a kiss to the top of her head, fingers tracing lazy patterns against the bare skin of her back. "You wanna go fishing today?" you asked.
Ellie groaned dramatically. "Ugh. Do we have to?"
"You need a shower, you kinda stink, baby."
That made her pause. Then, with a sigh, she nodded. You grinned, pressing another kiss against her hair before slipping out of bed.
Ellie groaned at the loss of warmth, but followed soon after, stretching her arms above her head before pulling on one of her flannels—yours, actually. She stole them all the time. But so did you.
The two of you fell into the rhythm of morning, moving around each other with practiced ease. Ellie stoked the fire while you grabbed your boots. She handed you a steaming mug of tea with a lopsided smile, and you swore it tasted better just because she made it.
The plan was simple: clean some clother by the lake, as Ellie tried to catch some fish. But, as always, Ellie had a way of turning even the most common tasks into something ridiculous.
You had just started washing some clothes in the metal basin outside when Ellie came up behind you, arms snaking around your waist as she rested her chin on your shoulder. "You know, we could just let the rain wash our clothes," she mused.
You snorted. "That’s disgusting."
"Survival, baby."
You flicked some water at her, making her yelp and jump back. "Alright, now you’ve done it."
Before you could react, Ellie scooped up a handful of water and flung it at you, soaking the front of your shirt.
"Ellie!"
She cackled, dodging as you swiped at her. “Now you look good.”
"Oh, you’re so dead."
You abandoned the laundry entirely, lunging at her. She tried to escape, but you were quicker, tackling her to the ground. She groaned dramatically as she hit the dirt, laughing breathlessly as you pinned her down.
"I surrender, I surrender!" she wheezed between chuckles, her hands coming up in a weak defense.
You squinted at her, pretending to consider it. Then, leaning down, you pressed a quick kiss to the tip of her nose before rolling off of her with a satisfied hum.
Ellie blinked, momentarily stunned. "That’s so unfair."
You smirked. "Tough luck, babe."
She groaned, dragging a hand down her face, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away.
The lake shimmered under the afternoon sun, gentle ripples distorting its glassy surface as Ellie stood knee-deep in the water, her makeshift fishing spear gripped tightly in her hands. She was focused, brows furrowed, every muscle tense as she waited for the perfect moment.
You sat on the shore, leaning back on your palms, watching her with a fond smile. Ellie took everything so seriously—even catching a couple of fish for dinner had turned into some epic hunt in her mind.
Then—quick as lightning—she lunged forward, the spear slicing through the water. A second later, she yanked it back, grinning triumphantly as a decent-sized fish flailed at the end of it.
"Would ya look at that!" she called, holding it up for you to see. "Told you I’m a pro now."
You chuckled, shaking your head. "Baby, you literally missed the last four times."
"Yeah, but this time I didn’t," she shot back, wading back toward the shore. "Which makes me officially the greatest fisher in this whole damn lake."
You raised a brow. "I think the bears might have you beat."
Ellie plopped down next to you, dropping the fish into the bucket beside her before nudging your shoulder, pouting. "Shut up and be impressed."
You only hummed in response, your gaze drifting from her to your hand, where the silver band on your finger caught the sunlight.
The ring had been Ellie's discovery—something she’d found months ago while the two of you were scavenging through an old house. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a simple band, slightly worn, but the meaning it had was priceless.
She hadn’t even asked. Just got down on one knee right then and there, dirt on her jeans, a shit-eating grin on her face as she held it up to you.
'So,' she had said, 'you wanna be stuck with me forever or what?'
It was the easiest question you’d ever answered.
You twisted the ring absentmindedly, smiling softly.
Ellie noticed. "Whatcha lookin’ at?"
You lifted your hand, showing her the ring proudly.
Ellie’s lips quirked up. "Admiring my excellent taste?"
"Just thinking," you murmured, scooting closer, "that technically, I’m Mrs. Williams now."
Ellie blinked, her smirk faltering for half a second before her entire face lit up. "Holy shit."
You raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"You just called yourself Mrs. Williams," she said, her voice laced with pure delight.
You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. "Well… yeah. That is what happens when you get married."
Ellie practically tackled you, sending you both tumbling onto the grass as she hovered over you, her hands on either side of your face. "Say it again."
You snorted. "Ellie—"
"Say it again."
You bit your lip, pretending to think about it before whispering, "Mrs. Williams."
Ellie groaned dramatically, dropping her forehead against yours. "God, I love you."
You giggled, running your fingers through her damp hair. "Yeah, yeah. I know."
She pulled back just enough to look at you, green eyes soft and full of something that made your chest ache in the best way. "You are really stuck with me now," she murmured.
You brushed your nose against hers. "Wouldn’t want it any other way."
Ellie grinned before capturing your lips in a kiss, slow and sweet, the kind that made the rest of the world disappear.
Back inside, your wife stood at the small kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up as she attempted to prepare lunch.
"Told you I can cook," she said, carefully chopping up some carrots with a look of pure concentration plastered in her face.
You leaned against the doorway, watching with amused skepticism. "You burnt canned soup last week."
"That was one time."
You snorted but let her continue, stepping in only when she nearly cut her finger for the third time. "Okay, okay, move over before you lose a hand."
She huffed but let you take over, leaning against the counter as she watched. "Y��know, I think I like watching you cook more than actually doing it."
"Oh yeah?"
She grinned. "Yeah. It’s hot."
You flicked a piece of carrot at her. "Go set the table, you perv."
She laughed, dodging the attack, but did as she was told.
After dinner, the two of you settled on the couch, Ellie stretching out with her head in your lap as you absentmindedly ran your fingers through her hair. She hummed softly, eyes fluttering shut.
"Mm… this is nice," she murmured sleepily.
You smiled, brushing your thumb along her temple. "Yeah. It is."
Silence settled between you, warm and comfortable. Ellie shifted slightly, her arm draping over your waist as she nuzzled into you.
And just like that, whatever plans you had for the rest of the night faded away. The world outside could wait.
For now, it was just you and Ellie, wrapped up in the kind of peace neither of you ever thought you’d get to have.
a/n: did someone said... DOMESTIC ELLIE???? I did. It was me. I love her. Also, next chapter is kinda going to be the last one... I'm actually so sad bc i love this series with my heart, but I swear I'll give you an ending to remember :)
taglist !
@kaykeryyy @vahnilla @autisticintr0vert @leavemeinthewater @alexandra-001 @liasxeatt @urge-to @catrapplesauces @jhyoos @womenlover0 @sevyscoven @antobooh @brooks-lin @sleepingwasp @iamhellagae @moki-nat
#tlou fanfic#ellie williams#ellie williams tlou#ellie the last of us#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams fluff#ellie williams x female reader#tlou ellie#ellie x reader#ellie tlou#ellie#ellie x fem reader#tlou game#the last of us part 2#the last of us#ellie williams x you#tlou part 2#tlou#tlou fanfiction#the last of us hbo#tlou hbo#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us game#the last of us 2
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reposting this because y'all!!! the threequel (there are roads left in both of our shoes) is coming out chapter by chapter daily AS WE SPEAK!!! if you haven't read 1) where soul meets body and 2) who are you, really? you are missing out big time fr!
personally, I have emotionally accepted this series as post-canon truth, and I'm not saying you have to do the same but @edgebug writes these characters sooo damn well that it honestly is so easy to just envision it playing out on screen imho.
do yourself a favor and check this series out! and enjoy the next few days as the threequel plays out! I have had the incredible pleasure of reading some snippets and it is AMAZING. you'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll feel all kinds of wacky things about these two doofuses and their extended family
anyway brb haunting ao3 until they post the next chapter 👀🫡
inspired by a scene in a fic by the inimitable @edgebug entitled "who are you, really?" quoted and linked below ❤️
"They've gotten so good at accessing their bond that they end up connecting a little when they fight, either sparring with each other or fighting side by side. It's not just combat, though; their bond flares beautifully to life, automatic and unbidden, whenever they move in sync with each other. So, combat, obviously, and sex goes without saying. But it's more mundane moments, too...One memorable time slow dancing in the living room close to midnight; Moonlight Serenade came on Logan's Spotify shuffle and he'd lit up, pulled Wade to his feet and swept him gently into his arms." 🫠
https://archiveofourown.org/works/60660295/chapters/154893130
sequel to the incredible "where soul meets body" of course! if you haven't had the pleasure it is literally life-changing imho so check it out too
#fic recs#wsmb my beloved#perhaps the most important fic I have ever read#deadass#poolverine#deadclaws#they are so soft for each other I'm WEAK#kip GETS IT#like they GET IT#they are a fanfic god to me
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Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 8
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Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 8
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8
Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.
Chapter summary: After learning about Campbell’s plan to orchestrate an attack against the Peaky Blinders, you rush to warn Tommy before it’s too late. As the night unfolds, the Garrison becomes a battleground, forcing you to confront a past you thought you had left behind.
Word count: 7.1k
Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language.
--
The dim light of Campbell’s office flickered against the polished wood of his desk, casting long shadows across the floor. The air was thick with cigar smoke, curling between the two of you, but you didn’t cough. You didn’t react. You sat still, hands folded neatly in your lap, keeping your pulse steady even as unease coiled in your stomach.
Campbell leaned back in his chair, watching you with that sharp, calculating gaze, the kind that made you feel like he was peeling you apart, layer by layer, looking for weakness.
“What do you need me to do?” you asked.
Campbell exhaled slowly, letting the silence stretch between you. The smoke from his cigar curled upward, dissipating into the dim light as he studied you with that familiar, unsettling amusement.
"I need you to make sure all the Shelby brothers are at the Garrison at nine o’clock tonight," he finally said, his voice smooth and deliberate.
Your fingers tensed slightly in your lap. "Why?"
Campbell smiled, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. He took another slow drag from his cigar before setting it down in the ashtray, tapping a gloved finger against the desk.
“Tell me, what would you do if you knew a storm was coming?”
You kept your expression steady, unwilling to let him see the way your stomach twisted at his words. After two weeks of spying for Tommy, you knew Campbell well enough by now. He never asked rhetorical questions. Every word he spoke was a piece of a larger game, designed to see how you would react.
You tilted your chin slightly. "I suppose that depends on the storm."
Campbell exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as if amused by your answer. "No, it doesn’t." He leaned forward, resting his forearms against the desk, his sharp blue eyes pinning you in place. "You move out of its way. You prepare. You ensure that, when it passes, you are still standing."
He let the words settle before continuing, his voice dropping to something quieter, more dangerous. "But you see, the Shelby brothers… they don’t seem to have the same sense of self-preservation." He flicked the ash from his cigar, watching it fall. "They don’t step aside. They don’t move out of the way."
Campbell gave you a slow, knowing smile. He took another measured drag before setting the cigar down, his fingers tapping once against the desk.
"And because Thomas Shelby has been testing his limits for far too long." His tone was conversational, almost lazy, but you knew better. "He believes himself untouchable, beyond consequence. And men like that…" He exhaled a stream of smoke, watching it rise. "They need to be reminded of their place."
A chill crawled down your spine, but you forced yourself to keep your voice even. "What’s going to happen?”
Campbell tilted his head, studying you. "Do you know how many men would pay for the chance to watch Thomas Shelby crawl? How many would seize the opportunity to strike, given the right push?" He leaned forward slightly. "All it takes is a whisper in the right ear, a reminder of debts unsettled, and men will do what they were always going to do. Tear each other apart."
Your stomach twisted. "Who?"
Campbell exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "The who is irrelevant. What matters is that they are coming tonight. And when they do, I imagine it will be quite the spectacle." He sat back in his chair, his expression eerily calm. "A full-scale assault on the Peaky Blinders. Every man they have, armed and ready. It will be quick, brutal, and final."
Your fingers curled against your skirt. “You’re letting that happen?”
"Letting?" Campbell echoed, raising a brow. "No, my dear. I am ensuring it happens. Because Thomas Shelby has outgrown his station, and every empire must fall."
You swallowed hard, your mind racing.
"Men like the Shelbys think they own this city. But power is borrowed, not stolen. And tonight, Thomas Shelby will learn that he is not untouchable."
You forced yourself to nod, slow and deliberate, as if you were considering his words. As if you weren’t already thinking ten steps ahead.
Campbell’s gaze lingered on you, searching for cracks. He didn’t trust easily, if at all, but he trusted that people feared him. That fear kept them in line.
And he wanted you to be afraid.
You stood carefully, smoothing your hands over your skirt, your movements slow and measured. "Nine o’clock. The Garrison." Your voice didn’t waver.
Campbell’s lips twitched, barely, as he lifted his cigar again. "That’s right. And if you’re smart, you’ll make sure you aren’t there with them."
He took a slow drag, exhaling smoke as he leaned back into his chair, dismissing you without another word.
You turned and walked out, resisting the urge to slam the door behind you.
…
The night air hit you as soon as you stepped onto the street, but it did nothing to steady the storm brewing inside you. You moved quickly, each step sharper than the last, your breath coming faster than you wanted it to.
You needed to get to Tommy.
The streets of Small Heath were quieter than usual, the tension thick in the air, the kind that settled before something violent. You pushed forward, ignoring the burn in your lungs as you crossed through the market and rounded the corner to the Garrison.
Inside, the warm scent of whiskey and smoke wrapped around you, but you barely noticed. You walked past the patrons, through the familiar hallways, straight to the back room where you knew Tommy would be.
He was there, as expected, standing over a map spread across the table. Arthur sat nearby, flipping a coin between his fingers, while John leaned back in his chair, boots kicked up on the edge of the table.
Tommy didn’t look up right away. "What’d you learn?" he asked, his tone sounding distracted.
You swallowed, pushing past the tightness in your chest. "Campbell set you up."
Tommy’s cigarette paused midway to his lips. Slowly, his sharp blue eyes lifted to meet yours, the flickering lamp light casting shadows across his face.
You took a steadying breath. "He’s orchestrated an attack against you tonight. He said it’s a gang, someone with numbers, someone who hates you, is coming full force. Armed. Ready to wipe you out."
Arthur swore under his breath, sitting up straighter. John’s smirk disappeared. Tommy didn’t move, but you could see it, the flicker of calculation behind his eyes, the shift in his posture.
"Who?" Tommy asked, his voice calm. Too calm.
"He wouldn’t say," you admitted. "But he said men like you think they own this city. That power is borrowed, not stolen. And tonight, you’re going to learn that you’re not untouchable."
Tommy’s expression didn’t change, but the tension in the room sharpened like a blade.
Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. "That bastard’s always talkin’ in riddles."
"This wasn’t a riddle," you said quietly. "It was a promise."
The weight of your words settled over them. You watched as Tommy flicked the ash from his cigarette, tapping it against the rim of the tray. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, measured.
"And what did he ask you to do?"
You hesitated, but only for a second. "Make sure you were all here. At nine."
A muscle in Tommy’s jaw ticked. He exhaled slowly, letting the smoke curl around him before setting his cigarette down.
"So that’s the plan, then?" John leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "We sit here and let ‘em come knockin’?"
Arthur reached for the whiskey bottle on the table, pouring a drink. "Fucking hell. And here I was hopin’ for a quiet night."
Tommy didn’t move, his gaze still locked onto yours, reading everything you weren’t saying.
"What will you do?" you asked.
Tommy didn’t answer right away. He reached for his cigarette again, but instead of taking a drag, he rolled it between his fingers, slow and deliberate.
"We’ll be ready," he said.
John huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah? And what exactly does ready look like when we don’t know who’s coming?"
Tommy’s gaze flicked to him, the barest hint of impatience in his expression. "It means we prepare for anything." He leaned forward, tapping the cigarette once against the table. "If Campbell’s orchestrated this, he’s banking on us being outnumbered. So we make sure we’re not."
Arthur took a slow sip of his whiskey, then set the glass down with a heavy thunk. "You think we should call everyone in?"
"Everyone we can trust." Tommy’s voice was firm. "Not just the boys. I want eyes on the streets, I want the guns checked, and I want every single man walking into that pub tonight to know exactly what’s waiting for them if they try to cross us."
John smirked, but there was something sharper underneath it now– anticipation. "So we turn the trap back on them?"
Tommy didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
You exhaled slowly, trying to push down the weight pressing against your chest.
“How can I help?” you asked.
Tommy's expression was unreadable. “If Campbell’s right about this, it’s going to get ugly. Men will get hurt. Maybe worse. I need someone I trust to be ready.”
Your chest tightened, but you nodded. “I can do that.”
Tommy studied you for a moment longer. "Then get what you need. When this is over, we patch up the ones who make it through."
Arthur let out a breath, shaking his head. “Jesus. Feels like France all over again.”
John cracked his knuckles, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I’ll round up the boys. Looks like we’ve got a long night ahead of us." He clapped you on the shoulder before following Arthur out, the door swinging shut behind them.
Tommy rested his hands on the table, fingers lightly tapping against the wood in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. His cigarette smoldered in the ashtray, forgotten.
You shifted your weight, glancing at him. “How bad do you think it’ll be?”
Tommy finally looked up, his sharp blue eyes meeting yours. He didn’t answer right away, and that in itself was answer enough.
His jaw tensed slightly, but when he spoke, his voice was quiet, even. “Bad.”
You nodded, swallowing against the lump in your throat.
"Men will die," he continued. "Maybe ours. Maybe theirs. It doesn’t matter to Campbell, long as I come out of this weaker than before." He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing. "He wants us bled dry, either by bullets or by what comes after.”
You let his words settle, the weight of them pressing down on your chest.
"And if he gets what he wants?" you asked quietly.
Tommy held your gaze, his fingers stilling against the table. Then he shrugged, just slightly. "Then we deal with it."
You nodded, though it didn’t make you feel any better.
“You’ll be alright, then?” he asked.
You hesitated, then nodded again. "Yeah."
Tommy studied you for a second longer, then finally took a slow drag from his cigarette.
"Good."
Neither of you spoke after that. There wasn’t anything else to say.
…
By eight forty-five, the Garrison was packed, the air thick with smoke, sweat, and anticipation.
Men stood shoulder to shoulder, hands resting near their weapons, eyes flickering toward Tommy as he moved to the center of the room. The low murmur of conversation faded as he pulled a cigarette from his case, lighting it with the kind of steady hand that made people trust him. Believe in him.
You stood near the back, pressed into the corner, heart hammering as you watched. You had done all you could to prepare– bandages, whiskey, clean water, but none of it would matter until the shooting stopped.
Until you knew who was left standing.
Tommy took a slow drag, exhaling as his gaze swept over the men in front of him. When he spoke, his voice was calm, certain.
"We’ve been here before." He rolled his shoulders back, the flickering light casting sharp shadows over his face. "We know how this goes. Men who think they’re bigger than us, stronger than us, smarter than us." He paused, eyes narrowing. "They never fucking are."
A few low chuckles rippled through the room, but the tension remained thick.
"Campbell’s counting on this fight to hurt us." Tommy flicked the ash from his cigarette, gaze settling on each man, one by one. "He’s banking on fear. On hesitation. On doubt." He took another drag, letting the silence stretch before his next words cut through the room like a knife.
"But we don’t hesitate."
A murmur of agreement. Arthur cracked his knuckles, restless energy rolling off him in waves. John stood with his arms crossed, grinning like he was already picturing the fight.
You swallowed hard, shifting on your feet. Tommy’s voice was steady, unshaken, but you knew what was coming.
"You don’t need me to tell you what to do," he continued. "You all know why you’re here. You all know what’s at stake." His cigarette burned low between his fingers. "So we do what we do best. We stand our ground, and we make sure they regret ever setting foot in Small Heath."
Another low murmur. A few nods.
The room shifted with Tommy’s words, tension hanging thick in the air. Men checked their weapons, straightened their shoulders, muttered quiet reassurances to one another.
Then, just as the silence stretched tight, the door burst open.
A boy, no older than fourteen, stumbled inside, breathless, his face flushed from the cold night air. His cap was askew, his coat too big for his frame, but his wide eyes were sharp with urgency.
"They’re coming!" he gasped, his voice cracking slightly. "Loads of ‘em– moving fast. Just turned off Watery Lane."
The room stilled.
Every man inside stiffened, the scrape of chairs and shifting boots the only sound for a long moment.
Tommy exhaled once, slow and measured. "How many?"
The boy swallowed hard, catching his breath. "At least twenty, maybe more. Got guns, clubs, all of it." He wiped his nose with his sleeve, glancing anxiously at the men surrounding him.
Tommy nodded once, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray before turning to the boy. "Go back the way you came. Don’t stop for anything, don’t look back."
The boy hesitated, glancing at you before nodding and bolting out the door.
Everything moved at once.
Arthur downed the rest of his whiskey in a single gulp, tossing the glass aside. John was already loading his revolver, the other men shifting into position, grabbing weapons, bracing themselves.
Through it all, Tommy didn’t move. Not at first. He just stood there, watching the room settle into controlled chaos, his cigarette burning low between his fingers. Then, without a word, he crossed the room toward you.
Your breath caught as he stopped in front of you, closer than he needed to be. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, flicked over your face, searching for something.
"Stay inside," he said, voice low, clipped. "Hide in the back. Don’t come out until you hear my voice."
You opened your mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped you. This wasn’t a request. It was an order.
You swallowed hard, nodding once. "Alright."
Tommy didn’t move. Didn’t step away. The tension between you felt heavier than the weight of what was coming.
"Be careful," you murmured.
Something flickered across his face, gone as quickly as it appeared. Then, with a sharp nod, he turned on his heel and walked away.
And all you could do was watch as he stepped into the storm.
…
You sat in the back room, exactly where Tommy told you to stay, but your body wouldn’t settle. Every muscle in you was tight, braced for something you couldn’t stop. Your fingers curled into fists in your lap, nails pressing into your palms.
Outside, the murmur of voices had faded. The last of the men had taken their positions. The only thing left now was the waiting.
You strained your ears, desperate for any sign of what was happening beyond the walls. But the night held its breath, stretching the silence until it felt unbearable.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. It wasn’t peaceful– it was the kind of silence that came before something terrible. The kind that pressed down on your chest, waiting to be broken.
You shifted, adjusting your position in the chair, but it didn’t help. Your body was wound too tight, your skin prickling with unease. The longer the quiet lasted, the worse it became. Every second without gunfire, without shouting, felt unnatural. Where were they?
You clenched your jaw, forcing your breathing to stay even. But the silence– God, the silence– was starting to feel like something worse than noise.
You squeezed your eyes shut, exhaling slowly. You had seen war before. You knew this feeling. The quiet before the first shot, the moment before hell broke loose. But this was different. This wasn’t a battlefield miles away. This was here.
And Tommy was out there.
The thought sent a fresh wave of unease through you. You pictured him, cigarette burning between his fingers, expression unreadable but shoulders braced like always.
Your stomach twisted.
What if Tommy was already bleeding out on the cobblestones?
What if Arthur was lying face down in the dirt?
You swallowed hard, forcing the thoughts away. No. They weren’t dead. Not yet. But the longer the silence stretched, the more your mind raced, the more you felt like you had to move, had to do something.
You turned your head sharply, staring at the door. Your fingers twitched at your sides. Tommy’s voice echoed in your head.
"Stay inside. Hide in the back. Don’t come out until you hear my voice."
But what if you never did?
Your breath hitched, and you curled your hands into fists again.
The silence returned, heavier than before.
Then, suddenly– a gunshot.
Loud. Sudden. Too close.
You flinched so hard it felt like your entire body had been shocked through the spine. Your breath caught, your limbs going rigid as your heart slammed against your ribs.
Then came another shot.
Then another.
Then chaos.
Gunfire erupted outside, sharp and unrelenting. The sound rattled the windows, slammed against the walls, filled every inch of the Garrison with deafening violence.
Your breath came in short, panicked bursts. Your hands shot up to cover your ears, but it didn’t matter– it was too loud, too close, too much.
Shouting followed. The roar of men fighting, of boots pounding against the cobblestones. The war had started just beyond the walls, but your body– your mind– was suddenly trapped somewhere else entirely.
You squeezed your eyes shut, but it didn’t help.
France. The trenches. The screaming. The smell of blood, sweat, dirt, gunpowder.
You gasped, but the air was thick, choking. Your chest ached with the effort to breathe.
More gunfire.
A scream.
Something heavy crashing to the ground.
Your knees buckled.
Your body moved without thought, sinking down into the corner of the room, curling in on itself, hands still clutching your ears, knuckles white. Your fingers dug into your scalp, pressing hard, desperate for something to ground you.
But it was too late. Your mind wasn’t here anymore.
You were back there.
Buried in the mud.
Drowning in the sound of bullets tearing through flesh, in the metallic scent of blood, in the thick smoke clinging to your throat, to your skin, to your lungs.
You couldn’t breathe.
You couldn’t move.
Another explosion of gunfire rattled through the walls, and something inside you snapped.
Your body shuddered violently, curling tighter into itself, your breath shallow and ragged.
The scent of damp earth, sweat, and blood filled your nostrils. The crack of gunfire tore through the air, so loud it rattled your bones. Somewhere, men were shouting orders, screams, names of the fallen.
You pressed your hands harder against your ears, but it didn’t stop.
Too loud. Too close.
Your breath came in short, panicked bursts, your chest squeezing tight like it was caving in on itself. You needed to move, needed to get up, to do something, but your body was frozen, locked in place as another explosion of gunfire tore through the air outside.
Move. Move, dammit. Get up.
Your fingers curled against the floorboards, nails digging into the wood.
The world tilted.
Your vision swam.
More shouting. More gunfire. Something crashing. Someone yelling– The voices blended together, distant and warped like you were underwater.
You sucked in a breath, too shallow, too fast.
Your chest burned.
Then, a flicker of movement.
Your head snapped up– eyes wide, searching, but you weren’t seeing the back room of the Garrison anymore. The walls had melted away, replaced with barbed wire and smoke. The floor was slick with mud, bodies strewn across it, limbs twisted at unnatural angles.
No. No, no, no, you’re not there. You’re not–
Something slammed against the outside wall of the Garrison.
You jolted so hard your back hit the wooden shelves behind you. Glass rattled.
Another shot.
Another scream.
Your vision blurred.
Your fingers dug into your scalp, pressing so hard it hurt, grounding yourself in the pain, trying to pull yourself out of it. But the harder you tried, the deeper you fell.
The war.
The blood.
The bodies.
You were trapped there, suffocating in it.
Somewhere, beyond the haze, there were voices. Muffled, distant. They slipped through the ringing in your ears, too low to make out.
Your body was locked in place, curled tight against the floor. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your pulse hammering like a drum in your skull.
The voices grew closer. Urgent. A door creaked. Heavy footsteps.
Suddenly, warm hands cupped your face.
You jolted violently, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as your eyes snapped open.
For a split second, all you saw was the dim light flickering against a dirt-covered face, blood smeared along the temple, exhaustion clinging to sharp features. The same way you’d found him then, half-dead in the tunnels, skin clammy, breath shallow.
Tommy.
Your chest heaved as your vision sharpened, the war-torn memory melting away into something more real.
Tommy was crouched in front of you, his grip firm but careful, steadying your trembling face between his hands. His blue eyes, wide but dark under the weight of exhaustion, flickered over yours, reading everything you couldn’t say.
"You hear me?" he asked.
Your breath hitched. The blood at his temple was fresh, smeared against his skin, but it wasn’t his. You didn’t know if that made it better or worse.
"You’re alright," he murmured.
Your breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, your body still rigid, locked in the panic that had swallowed you whole. But Tommy’s grip was steady, his thumbs brushing against your skin, his touch firm but not forceful. He wasn’t dragging you out of it– he was waiting for you to come back.
"Can you hear me?" he asked again, voice lower this time, softer.
You swallowed hard and nodded, though the movement felt weak, unconvincing. Your hands still trembled where they rested on the floor, your body too light, too unsteady.
Tommy exhaled, relief flickering over his face so briefly you might have missed it if you weren’t staring at him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the present.
"Good." His voice was rough, but not unkind. His hands lingered for a second longer before one of them slipped from your cheek and wrapped around your wrist, his grip firm, grounding. "You’re alright.”
You nodded again, slower this time. "Not France," you forced yourself to say.
His eyes flickered over your face, searching. You wondered if he could see how deep you had gone, how close you had been to drowning. Maybe he could.
"No," he murmured. "Not France."
Your breath was still uneven, your skin clammy, but the words felt like an anchor, pulling you further out of the past. You blinked, forcing yourself to take in the dim light of the Garrison, the scattered bottles, the blood smeared across Tommy’s temple. Here. You were here.
Outside, the gunfire had thinned out. Distant shouts echoed from the streets, men running, boots slamming against cobblestone, but the worst of it had passed. The fight was ending.
Tommy studied you, his face still unreadable. Then, slowly, he pushed himself to his feet.
"Can you stand?"
You nodded, but when you braced your hands against the floor to push up, your arms trembled, too weak to lift your own weight. The exhaustion hit all at once, dragging you down, making the edges of your vision blur.
Tommy sighed through his nose, then reached down.
You hesitated, pride flickering weakly, but you took his hand. His grip was solid, steady, and he pulled you up with ease. His other hand briefly landed on your arm, grounding you as your knees wobbled beneath you.
The room tilted. You inhaled sharply.
"Breathe," he muttered.
You did. Shaky, uneven, but enough. The edges of the world started to settle, the present pushing away the past.
Tommy studied you for half a second longer, his jaw tightening. Then, abruptly, he said, “Good. Because we need you.”
Your stomach clenched.
"John’s been shot."
The words hit harder than the gunfire outside.
Your pulse lurched, panic surging up like a wave. "Where is he?"
"Out front," Tommy said, already turning toward the door. "Still breathing, but it’s bad."
You forced your limbs into motion, your body shaking but your hands already reaching for the supplies you had stashed earlier– bandages, whiskey, anything that could keep John here... alive.
You followed Tommy through the Garrison, your legs unsteady, your grip tight on the supplies as you weaved through the aftermath. The main room was in disarray– overturned chairs, broken glass, blood smeared across the floor. Bodies had been dragged out, but the scent of gunpowder and whiskey still lingered thick in the air.
Tommy led you past the chaos, down a dimly lit hallway, toward one of the back rooms.
"In here," he muttered, pushing open the door.
The sight of John nearly stopped you in your tracks.
He was slumped in a wooden chair, his shirt soaked through with blood, his head tilted back against the wall. His breaths were shallow, uneven, his skin pale in the flickering lamplight. A bottle of whiskey sat beside him, barely touched.
His eyes flickered open when he heard you enter.
"‘Bout time," he rasped, his voice raw. "Thought maybe you lot had decided to just let me bleed out over here."
Relief shot through you, he was talking, but as you moved closer, taking in the extent of the damage, the feeling faded.
"The bullet went through," you murmured, pressing your fingers lightly around the wound. "That’s the only good news."
John sucked in a sharp breath at your touch, his body tensing.
"That bad, huh?" His voice was tight.
"I need to stitch you up," you told him.
He exhaled shakily, his jaw clenched, but his gaze was sharp, steady. "Don’t sugarcoat it."
You nodded, reaching for the whiskey.
"This is going to hurt," you warned.
"No shit," John muttered. “Just do it.”
You poured the whiskey over the wound.
John let out a strangled groan, his body jerking violently from the burn.
Tommy was on him in an instant, pressing a hand against his shoulder to keep him still. "Stay down."
John gritted his teeth, his fingers curling into fists. "Fuck off, Tommy."
You clenched your jaw, threading the needle, but your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. You weren’t doing your best work– you knew that. The stitches were uneven, too slow.
John’s whole body tensed as you started, his breath coming in sharp gasps, his knuckles going white where they gripped the armrests of the chair.
Then he started screaming.
The sound tore through you like a blade.
Your fingers faltered, your vision blurring as you blinked hard, trying to push through the growing sting behind your eyes. You were hurting him. You should’ve been better than this. Steadier. Faster.
John’s ragged curses broke into a strangled groan, his body twisting as if he could escape the pain. Tommy gripped his shoulder tighter, but it wasn’t enough– John was fighting too hard.
Then, suddenly, "Where is he?"
Arthur’s voice cut through the air, rough and out of breath. You barely had time to register his presence before he was shoving Tommy aside, gripping John’s arms, forcing him down.
He was a mess– shirt torn, face bloodied, his eyes dark with exhaustion, but his grip was unyielding.
"Hold him," Tommy ordered, stepping back as Arthur replaced him.
John bucked against his grip. "I swear to– fuck, Arthur, let go–"
"Shut up," Arthur snapped. "Just let her do it."
John let out another strangled yell, and your hands shook even worse. You weren’t sure how much more of this you could take.
Then, Tommy’s hands were suddenly on your wrists.
Firm. Grounding.
Your eyes snapped to his, wide, wet, desperate.
"You know what to do," he said, quiet enough so that John and Arthur couldn’t hear. His grip tightened just slightly. "So do it."
You swallowed hard, your throat tight, but you nodded.
Then you forced your hands steady, forced yourself past the guilt, the exhaustion, the panic.
And you stitched John up.
…
The storm had passed, but its remnants lingered, blood-streaked floors, shattered glass, the acrid scent of gunpowder clinging to the walls.
You sat near the back of the pub, absently rolling a strip of bandage between your fingers, staring at the small pile of used gauze and whiskey-soaked rags beside you. The worst of it had been John, but there had been others– split knuckles, shallow cuts, bruises forming beneath torn shirts. Nothing lethal. Nothing you hadn’t seen before.
Your hands ached from the hours spent cleaning wounds, your body thrumming with exhaustion. But sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight.
You exhaled, trying to will the tension from your shoulders, but it wouldn’t go. Your fingers curled tighter around the bandage in your lap as your mind drifted back, not to tonight, but to what came before.
The trenches.
The mud.
The smell of rot and sweat and gunpowder clinging to your skin.
Your throat tightened.
Tonight hadn’t been the first time you’d seen men fall, the first time you’d stitched wounds with blood soaking through your hands. It wasn’t even the first time you’d listened to the groans of the injured, the quiet prayers, the sharp, ragged breaths of men too stubborn to die.
But it was the first time you’d heard gunfire since France.
You closed your eyes, your breath stuttering in your throat. It wasn’t just memory, it wasn’t just some distant recollection of the past. When the shots rang out tonight, when the screams followed, it hadn’t felt like Small Heath anymore. It hadn’t felt like the Garrison.
It felt like then.
Like the walls around you had crumbled into an open battlefield, the floor beneath your feet turning to thick, sucking mud. The scent of whiskey and cigarettes had vanished, replaced with the acrid burn of smoke and decay.
You sucked in a breath and opened your eyes again.
The pub was still here.
The war was not.
Your fingers uncurled from the bandage, but the tremble in them hadn’t fully faded.
You had stitched up wounds tonight. You had cleaned blood and wiped sweat from men’s brows, just as you had done before. You had done your job. But the part of you that had frozen, that had shattered at the first sound of gunfire, that part still lingered in the trenches.
And it had ripped through you like a bullet to the chest.
The bandage in your lap felt weightless, slipping from your fingers as you exhaled slowly, forcing air into your lungs, forcing yourself to be here. Not there. Not then.
But your body wasn’t listening.
Your chest still felt too tight, your skin too cold despite the warmth of the room. The echoes of gunfire hadn’t fully faded, not in your head. They lingered, stretching between the space of memory and reality, leaving you stranded somewhere in between.
A chair scraped against the floor.
Your body tensed before your mind could catch up.
Tommy sat across from you, his movements slow, deliberate. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned back in the chair, cigarette rolling between his fingers. You could feel his eyes on you, the same sharp, calculating gaze he wore when he was trying to piece something together.
"You shouldn’t be home alone."
His voice was low, steady.
You blinked, the words taking a second longer to register. "I’ll be fine."
Tommy inhaled slowly, but he didn’t light his cigarette. "You don’t look fine."
Your fingers twitched against your thigh. You weren’t sure how to respond to that.
"Come to the house," he said. It wasn’t a question.
You hesitated, glancing toward the mess of the Garrison, toward the handful of men still lingering, speaking in low voices. "Tommy, I– "
"I need you to keep an eye on John."
You stilled. You knew he didn’t need you to watch John. He had no fever, he'd make it through the night. But he said it anyway, because he knew you wouldn’t argue with that– he knew that was the only way you’d stay.
So, for a moment, you let yourself believe it.
You inhaled, slow and unsteady, then nodded. "Alright."
Tommy gave a single nod in return, as if confirming something to himself.
Then, he stood, but instead of turning toward the door, he extended his hand toward you.
You blinked at it, surprised. His hands were rough, knuckles bruised, dried blood at the edges of his fingers. And yet, his palm was open, waiting.
You hesitated only a second before slipping your hand into his.
Warm. Steady. Solid.
Your own hand still trembled slightly, but Tommy’s grip anchored it. His thumb brushed over your skin once, just the faintest, fleeting touch, before he turned and started walking, leading you toward the door. You let him.
Outside, the cold night air hit you instantly, but Tommy’s hand remained firm around yours, grounding you as you walked through the quiet streets. Small Heath was eerily still, the remnants of the fight lingering only in the bloodstains on the cobblestones, the distant sound of men muttering behind closed doors.
You barely registered any of it.
Tommy didn’t let go.
Not until the Shelby house came into view, the glow of lamplight spilling onto the street.
Inside, the warmth of the house wrapped around you. The scent of whiskey and cigarettes mixed with the faint traces of Polly’s perfume, of burning firewood, of home.
Ada was standing near the stairs, her arms crossed tightly, her expression pinched with worry. Polly was beside her, brow furrowed, her gaze snapping to Tommy the second you stepped inside.
"About time," Polly muttered, but her eyes immediately scanned over him, checking for wounds. "John’s upstairs. Didn’t go easy, but he’s comfortable now."
Tommy gave a curt nod.
Arthur was at the washbasin, scrubbing blood from his hands, his jaw set tight. He looked up briefly as you entered but didn’t say anything. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion.
Polly turned back to Tommy. "What happened?"
Tommy exhaled, running a hand down his face before speaking.
"Campbell set it up. Had a gang hit us while we were off guard. Thought he could wipe us out in one night." His voice was even, but there was something dark underneath it. "He was wrong."
Polly’s lips pressed into a thin line. "How many did we lose?"
"None of ours," Tommy said.
You sat down in the corner of the room as Tommy recounted the rest, how they had prepared, how the fight had broken out in the streets, how John had gone down but managed to drag himself behind cover before they could finish him off.
You barely heard any of it.
Your hands were still shaking.
You pressed them against your lap, willing them to be still. Not here. Not now.
But the gunfire still echoed in your ears. The blood, the screams, the trenches– it still clung to you.
You squeezed your eyes shut. Breathed in. Out.
Tommy’s voice cut through the haze.
"Come on."
You barely registered him at first. The warmth of the house, the low voices in the other room—it all felt distant, blurred at the edges. But then Tommy’s hand was on your arm, his grip firm, steady. He guided you up the stairs, leading you through the dimly lit hallway, past closed doors, until he stopped in front of a room.
A guest room.
He pushed the door open, motioning for you to step inside. You hesitated for a second, but your body felt too heavy to argue. You stepped past him and sat on the edge of the bed.
Tommy lingered by the door for a moment before stepping further in.
"There’s a basin over there if you need to wash up," he said, nodding toward the far corner. "Blankets in the wardrobe. Polly probably left something you can change into."
His voice was steady, practical. Giving instructions. Making sure you had what you needed.
But you weren’t listening.
You were staring at the floor, your hands clasped together, your fingers still trembling no matter how hard you tried to make them stop.
Your breath was uneven. Your skin felt too tight. You knew you were safe, but your body hadn’t caught up yet.
Tommy’s voice faded into the background, drowned beneath the sound of your own heartbeat.
Then, a shift in movement.
The bed dipped slightly beside you.
And then warm hands were on your face again.
Your breath caught as Tommy’s fingers pressed gently against your skin, tilting your head toward him. His expression was unreadable, but his thumb brushed against your cheek, and it wasn’t until then that you realized…
You were crying.
Silent, unchecked tears had begun slipping down your face, trailing along your skin, dripping from your chin onto your lap. You hadn’t even noticed.
Tommy exhaled, slow and steady, as he wiped a tear away with his thumb.
"It’s alright." His voice was quieter now.
You nodded, trying desperately to believe him. More tears fell.
His thumb brushed over your cheek again, a silent encouragement to talk.
You swallowed hard, squeezing your eyes shut for a second before forcing the words out. "I wasn’t here anymore,” you tried to explain. “I was back there. I–" You broke off, your hands curling against your lap. "I couldn’t get out."
Tommy didn’t speak right away. He just held you there, his hands still cradling your face, grounding you, making sure you were here.
"I know," he murmured. “But you did.”
You blinked up at him, your breath still uneven.
"You came back," Tommy said, his thumb brushing against your cheek again. "And you did what needed to be done."
You let out a shaky breath, your vision blurring again.
"It happens to all of us," Tommy said simply.
You looked at him then, really looked at him. The exhaustion in his face, the tension in his jaw, the bruises darkening his skin.
He knew.
He understood.
That realization cracked something deep inside you.
Your shoulders sagged, your body finally giving in to the exhaustion. Tommy caught the weight of it, his hands never leaving your skin.
"Just breathe," he murmured. “That’s the only thing that gets you through.”
So you did.
In. Out. In. Out.
You let out slow breaths, trying to even them out while your eyes flickered over his face.
"This has happened to you?" you asked.
A shadow passed behind his eyes, gone too fast for you to catch.
"Yes."
You studied him, but he didn’t elaborate.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet between you was different now– thicker, heavier. His hands hadn’t left your skin, hadn’t pulled away like before. He was still holding you, like he was debating something, like there was something left to be said.
His thumb lingered against your cheekbone, softer now, slower.
Your breath stilled. The air between you changed.
You weren’t sure who moved first. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was you. But suddenly, the space between you was smaller. His forehead nearly touched yours, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb brushed along your jaw, tracing an invisible line before his fingers slipped lower, along the column of your throat.
A shiver rolled through you.
He felt it. His grip tightened– not forceful, not possessive, but firm. Intentional.
Your lips parted, but no words came.
Tommy’s eyes flickered to your mouth, just briefly, before he inhaled sharply and let go.
The sudden absence of his touch left you colder than before. You watched as he stood, his movements slower this time, less certain.
"Get some rest," he said, voice rougher than before. "You’ll feel better in the morning."
You nodded, even though you weren’t sure you believed him.
Tommy turned, stepping toward the door, but before he reached it, you found yourself speaking.
"Tommy."
He stopped, glancing back at you over his shoulder.
You hesitated, swallowing thickly.
"Thank you."
Tommy held your gaze for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then, with the faintest nod, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.
And for the first time that night, you were alone.
#peaky blinders x reader#tommy shelby x reader#tommy shelby#tommy shelby fanfic#thomas shelby#thomas shelby x reader#peaky blinders fanfic#peaky blinders x y/n
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Vengeance (ft. Ambessa Medarda)
Important note: I don't write for Ambessa Medarda yet, but I WILL open the request slots and start writing fics for her soon.
~ @zthebean27 reblogged my initial post of Vengeance saying they need one like that with Ambessa, and reblogs help writers. Since you helped me, I'll help you <3
The air was thick with the scent of iron.
Your blood soaked into the silk sheets, a deep crimson stain spreading across the once-pristine fabric.
Your breaths were shallow, each one dragging fire through your lungs. You had managed to kill the assassin—his body lay crumpled on the floor, neck twisted at an unnatural angle. But not before his blade had found you.
Pain throbbed in your side, sharp and relentless, the warmth of your own life pooling beneath you.
The world swayed, the edges of your vision blurring, dark spots creeping in like shadows waiting to claim you.
The heavy stomp of boots echoed down the marble hall. Controlled. Powerful. Unhurried.
You knew that sound. "Ambessa..." You whispered the name, but your voice died before it could issue from your lips.
The doors to the private quarters were flung open with a force that made the walls tremble.
Ambessa Medarda stood in the doorway, framed by the flickering torchlight, her golden eyes burning with something dangerous. She took in the scene—the ruined bed, the dead assassin, the blood. Your blood.
Ambessa's blood ran cold.
For the first time, you saw something flicker across her face. It was gone in an instant, buried beneath years of discipline and war-forged control, but you had seen it. A crack in the unshakable foundation.
She crossed the room in three strides. The scent of steel and spice clung to her, familiar and grounding.
A gloved hand seized your chin, tilting your face up. Her thumb brushed over your cheek—soft, just for a second—before she dropped to her knees beside the bed.
"Who?" Her voice was low, dangerous.
You forced a smirk, though it felt weak. "Didn't stop to ask." You managed to gesture at the tangles of what you left of the assassin.
She huffed a breath through her nose, unimpressed. But there was something in the way her fingers flexed against your skin, like she was restraining herself from gripping too hard.
Her gaze dropped to the wound in your side. Without a word, she tore off her gloves, hands moving with practiced efficiency as she pressed down on the injury.
White-hot agony lanced through you, and you gasped, fingers curling into the sheets.
"Stay awake." A command. No room for argument.
Her grip was firm, steady, keeping pressure on the wound as she reached for the dagger at her belt.
With a swift motion, she sliced a strip of cloth from your ruined nightwear, winding it tightly around your waist. It was rough, brutal, but effective.
"Get me more later." You whispered with a small breathy giggle. "It was my favourite set." You pouted a little despite the searing pain.
"You should have been more careful."
A reprimand, but there was an edge to it—one that wasn’t entirely anger.
Your lips curled into a faint, pained smirk. "You almost sound worried."
Her jaw clenched. "You're my wife." The words were clipped, precise. Like stating an undeniable fact. "No one touches what is mine."
Ambessa lifted you effortlessly into her arms, holding you against her broad chest as if you were something fragile—something worth protecting.
Her heart beat steady beneath your ear, strong and unwavering. And for the first time since the attack, you felt safe.
Ambessa carried you like you weighed nothing, her grip unyielding but careful, as if the very idea of dropping you was inconceivable.
Her body radiated warmth, a grounding presence amid the pain and blood loss clouding your mind. You could hear the sharp commands she barked to the guards as she strode through the Medarda estate.
“Lock down the premises. Find any other threats. If they breathe wrong, kill them.”
Her voice was steel, but the way she clutched you was something else entirely.
By the time she reached the estate’s private medical wing, exhaustion threatened to pull you under. The moment she laid you down, her big hands hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—before pulling away. The loss of her warmth sent a shiver through you.
The medics swarmed in, but Ambessa didn’t leave your side.
She hovered, arms crossed, jaw tight, watching every movement with the lethal focus of a warrior on the battlefield.
When the lead doctor hesitated, she snapped, "If you let her die, I will personally ensure you regret it."
The pressure of bandages, the sharp sting of antiseptic—it all blurred together. But through it all, Ambessa was there, her presence an unshakable force.
By the time the medics finished, the pain had dulled into a bearable throb. The room had emptied, leaving only you and her.
You forced your eyes open, searching for her in the dim light. She was sitting at your bedside, elbows resting on her knees, her head bowed slightly.
The usual ironclad mask she wore had cracked, just enough for you to see what lay beneath.
Concern.
Relief.
Love.
When she realized you were watching her, she exhaled slowly and leaned forward, her fingers brushing against your cheek.
It was the softest touch you had ever felt from her—warm, steady, reverent.
"You scared me," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
You blinked, caught off guard. Ambessa Medarda didn’t admit weakness.
Your lips twitched into a weak grin. "You? Scared? The great warlord of Noxus?"
Her hand shifted, trailing down to cup the side of your neck, thumb brushing gently over your pulse. "I would burn the world to the ground for you."
The weight of those words settled between you, heavier than any blade, sharper than any wound.
"You’re not losing me that easily," you murmured, tilting your head into her touch.
She huffed, something like amusement flickering in her golden eyes.
"Good. Because if you had died, I would’ve had to drag you back just to scold you for being reckless."
You chuckled, wincing slightly, and she immediately pressed a kiss to your forehead—a rare, intimate gesture that sent warmth spreading through your chest.
"Rest, love" she murmured, fingers threading through your hair.
"I’ll be here when you wake."
#arcane#ambessa lol#ambessa x you#ambessa x reader#arcane ambessa#ambessa medarda#ambessa league of legends#ambessa x y/n#ambessa the chosen of the wolf#ambessa arcane#ambessa angst#ambessa fanfic#ambessa fluff#ambessa fic#ambessa chosen of the wolf#arcane medarda
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PICTURE YOU
PAIRING: karina x fem!reader (reader has periods)
GENRE: fluff, smut (explicit, but not too much?)
TROPES: karina comes back home with a bob and you go crazy essentially. also yeah this is the same universe as CASUAL
LISTEN TO: picture you by chappell roan
NOTE: lol not me breaking the hiatus with this karina fic on a random friday... but come on you can't blame: just look at her!!! actually lost my mind when i saw the new hair reveal like???? have u considered my feelings??? also yea i guess i just associate my karina fics with chappell roan songs now sorry. also also i have been in a crisis once again trying to figure out if i'm bi or just a lesbian so perhaps that is where this fic came from maybe perhaps! anway, pls enjoy <3
in your defence, you were on your period. and you'd been burn out after the past few weeks straight from hell at college. you'd lost sleep almost every single night and you didn't remember the last time you'd felt the rush of anxiety not be there in your veins. all that to say, you were in a specially fragile mental state when karina came home with a bob.
at first you didn't even recognize her. you'd looked up from your phone where you'd been mindlessly scrolling to take your mind off the stress and then back down, thinking it was weird that a random chick had entered your room. you'd pinned it to be one of karina's friends but as soon as you said karina's name in your head, your neck snapped back up to look at her: "karina?"
the girl burst into laughter at your shocked exclamation, the ends of her hair hitting her neck. "yes, it's me, jagiya. did you not recognize me?" she's still laughing but you feel something like a fainting spell coming on, with the way your vision blurs and your heartbeat threatens to explode.
"jagiya?" karina's voice is speckled with doubt now, crossing your shared room to stand closer to your bedside where you lay. her cold fingertips greeted your bare shoulder, "do you not like it?"
you can't speak for the longest time, just staring back at your girlfriend in utter shock. karina is starting to interpret your silent shock as horror when you finally break the stillness, hand on her jaw bringing her lips to your hungry ones. you devour her, lips overpowering hers as you slip your tongue into her mouth with the kind of force that has karina gasping.
it is her hand at your chest that stops the kiss, her eyes wide with flustered amusement. "i'm guessing that means you like it?"
"rina," your voice is a whisper, so drenched in longing that it surprises your own ears, "you're divine. i don't can handle this." you feel weak all of a sudden, falling to your pillow with a huff, but eyes never leaving karina.
"i'm sorry i didn't think a haircut would get you this worked up," karina laughs, climbing up your bed, shuffling into the space between your legs. "but i'm not complaining. you've never kissed me like a starving woman before."
you groan, "don't tease me. i'm just– look, you're already like the hottest person on this campus and if that wasn't enough of a nightmare, you've gone and gotten yourself a bob. now i'm gonna have to fight off the bitches who didn't know you were gay!"
"did you just say nightmare–"
"yes. i have to live knowing that i've outdone myself with my very first college girlfriend. i'll never reach these heights again."
karina runs a hand through your hair with a smile, "who says you won't always have me?"
you give her an incredulous look, "really? with this bob, it'll only be hours before there's a line of lesbians outside our door begging for your number."
"well, that's too bad," her hand's found its way up your shirt somehow, "i'm taken."
you hum an acknowledgement. then, you sit up to face her, cupping her face in your hands. slowly, you kiss her. longingly. fiercely.
you pull away to rest your forehead against her, your hand busy exploring the new form of her hair. it's thrilling, the way you can access her neck so much easier. your fingertips rest at her strong shoulder and your lips trail their path, lingering at the valley between her jaw and her throat. you place a soft kiss there and then feeling the tremble of her nervous breath, you go in with more bite, leaving a mark.
you feel karina's hand clutching at the material of your shirt, the squeezing a pleasant reminder of the way you were making her feel. "i might just be the luckiest girl to exist," you mumble, making your way down to her collarbones. karina's response is a guttural moan, her hand against your waist pushing you closer to her chest now.
"mhm, there's one way to shoo your fangirls away," you chuckle, admiring the patchwork of blooming bruises on karina's neck. she's flushed, and even better, speechless.
"you're killing me, y/n," karina whines, clawing at your shirt to take it off. you shake your head, stopping her movements.
"no, you're the one that's killing me," you complain, lifting karina's tank top before she can protest. "let me at least show you how you make me feel."
you really do devour karina that afternoon: her toned body spread over your sheets like a dream that you couldn't afford. but it was real. you know because you took your time with her, touching and feeling every inch of her warm body flush against yours: the little hairs on her skin dancing against your hot touch, and the veins running hot to greet your touch.
you've just traversed the landscape of her abdomen when she sits up, eyes blown out with pleasure. "y/n, i think i'm gonna pass out if you keep at it."
you look up from between her legs with a grin, "really? then you've just started to understand how i feel–"
before you can continue your adminstrations, she tugs you up, lips beckoning yours. "let me eat you out," she asks softly as she pulls away from the kiss. and you relish in the sound of her begging you to let her please you, the actual goddess in between your arms.
"as much as i'd love that," you peck her nose, "'m on my period, babe."
"you know i don't care," she starts and then shivers when your hands find the hem of her panties.
"don't worry 'bout me, rina," you assure her, "let me make you feel good today, 'kay?" she nods, coming apart so easily while you talk her through it, showering her with praises like there was no end to it. and you'd do it for the rest of your life. watching karina's skin pulse under your touch and the way her eyes were hooded by her short hair, in the end it was always worth it.
#karina x y/n#karina x you#karina x reader#karina aespa#aespa fics#aespa x reader#yu jimin#yu jimin x reader#karina fics#aespa imagine#karina imagines#karina fluff#aespa fluff#aespa scenarios#karina angst#kpop fic#kpop x reader#kpop imagines
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I can't hear it now
acacius x f!reader // 3.6k
summary: A love that was never meant to be. A choice that was never truly yours to make. Acacius was never yours to keep, yet in the dark of night, beneath the weight of duty and desire, he was yours still. For stolen moments, for whispered names, for aching hands tracing the lines of something fleeting, something doomed.
But love does not always mean staying. And when his words reach you at last—words of longing, of regret, of a desperate plea—will you go to him? Or will you let the fire consume him, the way he has already consumed you?
warnings: mdni, 18+, alludes to smut, acacius is married, forbidden love, this is pure angst like I hurt myself writing this lol I wanted it to hurt real bad... I am sorry.
notes: this is for Freya's @almostfoxglove 's angst challenge. this was my moodboard. I have not written for Acacius at all so please be gentle with me. The moodboard and song Freya so kindly created and linked really gave me an idea instantly so thank you for giving me such a beautiful idea, this was probably the easiest I've ever plotted out a fic before and it's all thanks to your creative genius. Big thank you to my baby @thundermartini as always for being my biggest cheerleader, reading this over for me and always assuring me. how could I ever write anything without you? I love you so much <3 and big thank yous to my other cheerleaders for always supporting me big time @itwasntimethatdidit40 @sawymredfox and @myownwholewildworld I love you all so so so much <3
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The room lay bathed in shadow, the moonlight slipping through the narrow slats of the shutters, casting silver bands across the floor. The air was thick—heavy with the mingled scents of sweat and skin. Distant voices carried from the villa beyond, but they were meaningless here, swallowed by the hush of this stolen moment.
Acacius’ hands found you, firm and unrelenting as he pressed you against the cool stone wall. His tunic hung loose, its ties undone, revealing the golden plane of his chest, glistening in the dim glow. His lips were warm upon your throat, tracing a path of fire that left your breath unsteady, and your limbs weak.
"You are reckless," you murmured, though your hands betrayed you, tangling in his dark hair, nails grazing his scalp.
"Reckless?" His voice was a low whisper, rough with amusement, yet laced with hunger. "And yet you are here, pressed against me, trembling beneath my touch."
You said nothing, could say nothing, for his mouth was upon yours in an instant—urgent, possessive, as though he might claim you wholly in the space of a single heartbeat. You let him, let yourself drown in the sensation of him, for when all else was stripped away, this was all that remained.
His hands slipped beneath the folds of your clothing, calloused palms branding your skin as they traced the curve of your waist. He drew you closer still, until there was nothing between you but heat and need. A gasp escaped you, and he exhaled a quiet laugh against your lips.
"Soft, sweet thing," he murmured, though his voice held no mockery. "Do you know how often I dream of this?"
"Then do not speak of it," you whispered, though even as you said it, you knew it was futile.
"Let them hear you," he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. "Let them see what you do to me."
A laugh trembled at the edge of your lips, but it died the moment his mouth found yours again, slower this time, less desperate—deep and consuming, as though he wished to savor every moment, every taste. His hands roamed you as if memorizing you, as though the mere thought of parting was unendurable.
For a fleeting breath, you allowed yourself to forget the wife who awaited him beyond these walls, the life he could never offer you, and the cruel weight of reality that loomed just beyond the night’s embrace.
But then his lips left yours, trailing lower, and your mind unraveled once more, dissolving into nothing but him, only him.
"Acacius," you whispered, his name slipping unbidden from your lips, trembling upon the air between you.
He stilled, his forehead pressing to your collarbone. His breath came heavy, ragged. "Say it again," he murmured, hoarse with longing, his grip tightening upon your hips.
You obeyed, softer now. "Acacius."
He lifted his head, meeting your gaze, and in his dark eyes burned something raw, something perilously close to love—but shadowed with something else, something darker still.
"I am unworthy of you," he said, the words thick with sorrow. "But I would sooner rend the stars from the sky than let you go."
You cradled his face between your palms, thumbs brushing over the sharp lines of his jaw. "Then do not," you pleaded.
If only it could be so simple.
His lips found yours again, fevered with desperation. His hands roamed your body, as though trying to commit each curve, each breath, each shiver to memory—as though he feared this would be the last time.
And perhaps it would be.
The bed was scarcely large enough for one, but neither of you cared as he laid you upon it, the weight of him pressing into you in a way that made you ache, made you crave. Your hands roamed his broad shoulders, pushing the fabric of his tunic aside, eager to feel the heat of him, the solidness of him.
A growl rumbled low in his throat as he shuddered beneath your touch. "You undo me," he confessed, his lips ghosting over your skin.
You smiled, breathless. "Then show me."
He did.
The world beyond ceased to exist, lost in the press of his body, the reverence of his hands, the whispered prayers of your name against your skin. He worshipped you as though you were something sacred, something divine.
And for a time, you allowed yourself to believe it.
When at last you lay spent in his arms, his breath stirring against your temple, he murmured something soft, almost inaudible.
You did not ask him to repeat it. You did not wish to break the fragile peace that had settled over you both.
But peace is a fleeting thing.
As the first light of dawn crept through the shutters, reality stole back in with it.
"Do you ever wonder?" you whispered, breaking the silence.
Acacius stirred, his lips grazing the tender hollow beneath your ear. "Of what?"
"What it would be like," you said. "If we did not have to hide. If this," you gestured faintly between you, "was not all we could ever have."
He stilled. You felt it in the way his fingers once idly tracing patterns against your skin, froze. The weight of your words hung heavy between you, thick as the morning air.
"It is better not to think on such things," he said at last, his voice rough, his gaze falling away as he sat up. "I cannot give you what you deserve."
The words struck as surely as a blade, though you had known them long before he ever spoke them aloud.
"But you will take all that I may offer," you said, sharper than you had intended.
His head snapped up, a flicker of pain in his dark eyes. "Do not say that."
"Why not?" you challenged, sitting up, putting space between you. The warmth of him, once a comfort, was now a memory. You already missed it. "It is true, is it not?"
Marcus raked a hand through his dark hair, his chest rising and falling with the force of his breath. "You think this is easy for me?" he asked. "You think I do not loathe myself with every step I take from you? With every lie I speak to her?"
You flinched, and he saw it.
"Do not speak of her," you whispered. "Not here. Not now."
His hands came to your arms, gentle but firm, forcing you to look at him. "I would protect you from all of this," he swore. "From her. From them. From myself."
You laughed then, but there was no mirth in it. "You cannot even protect yourself, Marcus."
His hands fell away. The silence between you was deafening.
"I love you," he said suddenly, the words scarcely more than breath, yet they shattered you all the same.
Your throat tightened. Your eyes burned. "Then fight for me," you pleaded. "Do not let this be all we are."
For a moment, you thought he might say yes. You saw the battle waged behind his eyes, the war between duty and desire. But then his shoulders sagged, and he looked away.
"This holy ground burns my feet. I cannot stay, and yet I do not want to leave," he said, so softly it nearly broke you.
Tears slipped free, and you did not stop them. You turned toward the door, your movements slow, heavy with the weight of what had just been spoken—of what had been left unsaid.
Your fingers trembled as you reached for your discarded garments, the fabric cool against your skin as you pulled them back into place. Each tie fastened, each fold smoothed, felt like sealing away a part of yourself, tucking it back behind the mask you wore beyond these stolen hours. The warmth of his touch still lingered, but it would fade, as it always did.
"Wait," he said, his voice cracking. "Please."
You hesitated.
He reached for the simple band of gold upon his finger, hesitating only a moment before sliding it free.
"Take it," he murmured, pressing it into your palm. "Keep it. Until we meet again."
You hated how easily you let yourself believe him. How your heart still clung to the idea that there would be another moment after this, another night where his hands would map your body and his lips would trace words he was too much of a coward to say aloud.
You swallowed hard, forcing down the ache that lodged itself in your throat. “And if we do not?”
Acacius exhaled sharply through his nose, his head bowing for the briefest moment before he shook it, as though warding off the thought itself. “Do not speak of such things.” His voice was strained, rough with something perilously close to despair.
You stepped back, slipping the ring into the folds of your clothing. It should not have felt so heavy. And yet, it did.
Acacius turned away, his movements rigid as he reached for the table in the dim corner of the chamber, where his armor lay in a careful arrangement. A small scroll of parchment rested beside it—deliberately placed, waiting.
He picked it up, his fingers lingering over the edges, then hesitated before pressing it into your hands.
“If ever you should change your mind,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the space between you, never daring to meet your gaze, “open it.”
You hesitated, fingers curling but refusing to take it. “What is this?”
His jaw tensed, a muscle feathering in his cheek. “A choice.”
A quiet, bitter laugh slipped from your lips before you could stop it. “No. It is another way for you to break my heart.”
Acacius flinched as though you had struck him.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Slowly, your fingers closed around the parchment. Without a word, you tucked it away, into the same hidden place where his ring now rested.
And then you turned.
You did not look back.
He did not call you to stay.
—
Days passed. You did not open the letter.
Every night, you traced the edges of the ring beneath your fingertips, feeling its warmth against your skin, like it still held his touch.
He did not come to you again. You did not go to him.
Then, a week later, you cracked.
It was late when you unrolled the parchment, your hands shaking, the candlelight flickering against the ink-stained words.
My love,
I do not know if these words shall ever reach you. Perhaps they should not. Perhaps it is a cruelty to write at all, to leave behind mere ink when I have already left so much else. And yet, I must. I must, for the weight of what I carry cannot go unspoken.
I did not wish to leave you—never think it so. Had the gods willed another path, I would have taken it, would have stood against fate itself with sword in hand if it meant remaining by your side. But this world is not merciful, nor does it grant peace to men like me. Had I stayed, it would have torn me from you in ways far worse than this. That, I could not allow.
You were my only sanctuary, the one truth I never questioned. To love you was the sole virtue of my life, the one act I shall never repent. And though I am lost to you now, though the fates have severed what was once whole, know this: I am yours, now and always. Neither time nor death shall unmake what we were.
I pray the gods are kinder to you than they have been to me. That joy may find you once more. But if it does not—if the world turns cruel, if you find yourself adrift and wonder whether I still think of you—know that I do. In this life and the next, I shall always think of you.
And so, I ask this of you, though I have no right to, come to me I beg it of you. If there is still a place in your heart that has not turned against me, if even the smallest ember of what we were still lingers, meet me where the olive trees stand at the edge of the city, where the river bends and the world quiets. Let me look upon you once more before the gods tear me away, if only to commit your face to memory, to carry the light of you into whatever darkness awaits me. If nothing else, grant me this.
With all that I am,
Acacius
The candle’s flame flickered against the parchment, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. Your hands trembled as you read Acacius’ words, your breath catching on the weight of them.
Each sentence carved through you like a blade, slicing past your anger, your sorrow, your resolve. I am yours, now and always.
How dare he? How dare he write such things, spill out his soul onto parchment, and yet still choose duty over you? Still choose a life where you were nothing more than a whispered secret?
Your vision blurred, a single tear spilling onto the page, smudging the ink where his name had been signed with careful, deliberate strokes.
You hated him.
You loved him.
The fire crackled beside you, the embers shifting like they, too, could feel your turmoil. You held the letter over the flames, hesitating just for a moment—just long enough to wonder if you'd regret it.
Then, with a sharp inhale, you let go.
The parchment curled as the fire devoured it, blackening at the edges before collapsing into itself. The words disappeared, burned away as if they had never been written at all. But you felt them, still, seared into your skin, your soul.
You pressed the ring tethered around your neck against your lips. You should throw that into the fire, too. Should rid yourself of every last piece of him.
But you couldn't
Days passed.
You should have let it go. Should have cast the ring into the river, let the current carry it far beyond your reach. Should have buried the memory of him in the recesses of your mind, left it to rot like the dying embers of that flame.
But you did not.
Instead, you wrote.
Your hand trembled over the parchment, but the words came quickly, as though they had been waiting to be freed.
Acacius,
I have burned your letter.
Not for hatred—though I wish I could hate you. Not for anger—though I should be wrathful. No, I burned it because to read it again would be to let it wound me anew, and I have suffered enough at the hands of your absence. Your words, though fair, are a cruelty. They speak of love yet bring only sorrow.
You write that you did not wish to leave me, and yet you went. You write that you have loved me, and yet you chose a life where I am nothing but a shadow. You speak of the gods as though they are the authors of this pain, but it was not their hand that severed us—it was yours.
And yet, I am a fool. A fool, for I write you still. A fool, for though I know you will break me again, I offer you this:
Come with me.
Leave the battlefield. Abandon your duty, your name, your oaths. Let the burdens of Rome fall from your shoulders. We will go where no man knows us, where no law binds us, where the weight of our sins shall belong to no one but the gods themselves. You speak of fate as though it is unyielding, but I do not believe in fate. I believe in choice.
So choose me.
Come to me, Acacius. And if you do not, if you cannot, then let this be the last time my name passes your lips, the last time you think of me beneath the stars.
With all that I am,
Yours
The moment you set the quill down, you felt the finality of it settle into your bones. You had bared your soul upon the parchment, laid it before him with trembling hands. And yet, you did not send it.
Not that day.
Not the next.
Days turned to weeks, and still, the letter remained hidden away, unsent, unread.
And then, one evening, when the city was bathed in the amber glow of torches and the streets murmured with whispered news, you heard his name.
You did not want to turn, did not want to listen. But the words struck you like a blade to the chest, piercing through bone and marrow, hollowing you out from the inside.
Acacius was dead.
They said he fell in battle, a sword through his ribs, the blood pooling beneath him dark as the night sky. They said he fought like a man possessed, as though he had nothing left to lose.
Your breath left you. Your knees buckled, but you did not fall. You could not fall.
You had waited too long.
The letter still sat, unsent. He would never read it. Would never know.
The world felt unbearably still.
But grief did not move you to tears. No, grief moved you to action.
The moon was high when you reached the place where they had laid the fallen. The air was thick with the scent of death, blood, and smoke, and the torches lining the corridor flickered against the stone walls like restless spirits.
You had no right to be here. No place among the mourning wives, the grieving mothers, and the sons who had come to claim the fathers they would never see again.
But you came anyway.
Acacius was there, just as they had said. His body lay upon the raised stone, displayed beneath the flickering torchlight, surrounded by the scent of burning oils. There were no mourners. No whispered prayers. Just silence.
Just you.
He looked almost peaceful, as though he had simply closed his eyes and drifted into slumber. But the truth was written in the deep wound beneath his ribs, in the dried blood that marred the golden skin of his chest.
He had died a soldier’s death.
Your breath came shallow, uneven, as you stepped forward. No one stopped you. There was no one left to do so.
Slowly, carefully, you reached out, your fingers trembling as they brushed against his skin. He was cold. Cold in a way he had never been before. A lump formed in your throat.
“You fool,” you whispered, the words meant only for him. “You were supposed to come back to me.”
But he had not.
You had given him a choice, and in the end, he had made it. He had chosen the battlefield over you, just as he always had. And now he had paid the price for it.
Your fingers curled around the ring that still hung from your neck, the small band of gold that had once rested upon his hand. You held it tightly, as though you could somehow press all your grief into it, as though it might carry the weight of your sorrow in place of you.
It would be easy, you thought, to slip it back onto his finger. To leave it with him, to bury it alongside him when the time came. But something inside you rebelled at the thought.
He had left you behind in life. You would not allow him to do so in death.
Carefully, you took the ring and tucked it away once more, pressing it against your skin as though to keep him there, with you, even now.
Then, with hands that did not shake, you reached into the folds of your cloak and withdrew the letter. The one you had never sent. The one that had remained hidden away for far too long.
Your eyes burned as you looked at it, the inked words staring back at you, mocking you with all the things he would never hear.
A fool’s hope. That was all it had ever been.
And yet, still, you bent forward, pressing the parchment into the stillness of his hands.
“Here,” you whispered. “Take it, Acacius. Take the choice you never made.”
He could not read it now. But perhaps, if there were gods beyond this life, they would allow him to hear your words. To know that, even in the end, you still wanted him.
Your gaze lingered on him, tracing the lines of his face, memorizing every detail before the earth claimed him. He had always been beautiful, even in death. And that, more than anything, shattered you.
A quiet breath left your lips as you leaned down, pressing your forehead against his. His scent was faint now, masked by the oils and the cold stillness of his body, but it was there. Just enough to remind you of what you had lost.
Then, with all the tenderness you had once held back, you kissed him.
One last time.
His lips were cold, unmoving, but you kissed him anyway. Slowly. Softly. As though, for a moment, he might still kiss you back.
But he did not.
He never would again.
When you finally pulled away, your vision blurred with tears you refused to shed. You had lingered long enough.
So, with one final look, one last whispered goodbye, you turned and walked away.
#marcus acacius#marcus acacius smut#marcus acacius x reader#general marcus acacius#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fic#marcus acacius fic
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Take Your Time, Miss Deer (Sylus x Reader) - Ch. 6
In a tailor shop tucked in the calmer side of the N109 zone is a little room where all clothes of many different designs come together under the delicate hands of an unassuming deer living in the den of all sorts of beasts and sitting on them is the dragon who wears your clothes.
Your many interactions with Skye, Mr. Sylus’ messenger or-
-Sylus is waiting for you to finally figure out he is playing his own messenger.
A Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus Fic
Tags: Sylus x Reader, Hybrid AU, Suggestive Themes, Fluff, Angst, Predator/Prey, Sexual Harassment
Trigger Warning: Sexual Harassment
Chapter Summary: A horn, a tail, and canines so sharp. He will wear the title of monster gladly if it means not one cut will bloom in your skin.
Author's Note: Just a dragon and a deer having a little adventure. I had so much fun building the world in this AU! As always, I want to thank everyone for their kind support~ A few more chapters (+ an epilogue, of course!)
Enjoy!
AO3
Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6
6: My Dearest, Sincere
Daisy perched on the railing of the steps of your shop, wearing a little straw hat tied around its neck in a perfect red bow, his optics adjusting on each hybrid passing by your shop who did a double take at you before quickly walking away or returning your wave with a weak one.
You didn’t pay attention to their reactions much, your excitement superseding everything because you have been looking forward to this day ever since.
A red circle marked today’s date in your calendar, the numbers printed on the museum ticket that arrived inside a black envelope handed over to you by Skye, a gift from Mr. Sylus who thought you needed a break after hearing what happened, a little adventure outside the N109 zone accompanied with a small reminder.
The red gemstone in the brooch Mr. Sylus gifted to you shines brightly on your chest, wearing it as he instructed every time you go outside. You put on your best clothes today and in your head, a matching hat similar to Daisy’s.
There is a quiet hope that he will also come along today but you know he doesn’t have any reason to do so and you already surrendered to the fact that he will always stay elusive, distant but watchful.
Perhaps Skye is right, his boss is indeed a very private man but even so, he conveyed his fondness to you in his own unique way.
Is he lonely?
Does he also have bad days as well?
Is he taking care of himself?
Your thoughts were cut short when Daisy let out a caw and you smiled when you watched it perch on the shoulder of the person who will bring you to the museum today.
“Good morning, Skye,” you greeted him, your boots clicking on the little stairway of your shop that also served as your home, skipping every other step while you made your way towards him.
His sweetheart, always so adorable.
Sylus took a few strides from his car to meet you at the bottom, taking a closer look at you. Your attire is quite different from your usual work clothes, your hair tied in a neat french braid and he smiled in approval when he saw you wearing the brooch.
Just a quick measure especially now there are too many people for his liking whose eyes lingered for too long on his precious deer.
“There’s my girl,” he greeted you back and he lifted you up effortlessly, spinning you around.
A small, surprised yelp escaped your lips, clearly not expecting him to do that and you buried your face on his hair, a reflex, to hide the blush that bloomed on your face and you accidentally took in the scent of petrichor with faint notes of expensive tobacco, gunpowder, and burnt pinewood.
A strange combination of fragrance synonymous to safety.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you said when he put you down and he held your waist gently, a quiet reassurance when he noticed you shifting back and forth anxiously.
“I don’t mind, sweetheart,” Sylus chuckled and he raised his brow when he noticed you trying to peek behind him, as if checking if there are other passengers inside the car.
“Looking for someone, miss seamstress?”
“Oh, I was just wondering if-”, you fiddled with your right sleeve, biting your lip while you avoided his gaze.
“Wondering if?”, he encouraged gently, a small smirk on his face.
The curious gaze, the hint of anticipation in your eyes. He had seen this expression too many times, his deer always looking forward to the day she would finally meet the elusive ‘Mr. Sylus’.
As always, all of his patience is reserved only for you, waiting for his favorite tailor to piece it all together.
And maybe, a piece of him is hoping this little charade will last long. You are the only person he sees looking for him without any hint of selfishness, just genuine intentions of hoping to thank him for everything and yet, you have already returned everything back to him tenfold, even when there is nothing you need to do, even when there is nothing to repay.
“If Mr. Sylus tagged along?”, you finished your question quietly, your sheepish smile hidden behind your hat while you looked up at him.
Perhaps he also takes pride when you look for his real identity, a constant reassurance to him that even if you don’t know the face of your benefactor, you still want to get to know him better.
“No, I am afraid not, sweetie,” Sylus replied, pinching your cheek, “It is just me and you today if that’s alright.”
Your deer ears drooped slightly at his answer but you don’t want Skye to think that you don’t like his company, in fact, you do enjoy it and you are hoping to thank Mr. Sylus not just for his presents this time but for allowing Skye to stay longer every time he comes over.
“I don’t mind,” you replied cheerfully, “You’re my favorite visitor after all.”
“Is that so?”
“Very much so.”
“Maybe I should visit more often. I wouldn’t want to lose that spot to someone else, little doe.”
“Mr. Sylus wouldn’t mind?”, you asked, your tail wagging slightly at the thought. Does that mean he will come over everyday? It must be too much to fit in his schedule, especially since you heard from the twins that Mr. Sylus can be very demanding.
“He’ll be very pleased that someone’s looking after his favorite tailor, sweetie,” Sylus answered, tapping your nose, “He knows how fond I am of you as well.”
He wouldn’t deny that he has multiple meetings, negotiations, and auctions he has to attend but even then, he will always make time to be Miss Deer’s second assistant because it looks like he wouldn’t be able to take away the title of first assistant from Mephisto anytime soon.
“Ready to go, miss seamstress?”
“Can Daisy sit with me in front?”
Mephisto let out a beep, certainly pleased, and Sylus rolled his eyes, fully understanding that the bird was holding it over his head and acting like an indoor pet bird when around you.
But with you sitting on his passenger seat holding a basket lined with white cloth for Mephisto to rest? He will let it pass.
How is it that all the henchmen he sent to you become so docile?
Not like he minds, not when he sees his crow already made itself comfortable on your lap, preening itself.
Now he wonders when it's his turn.
────────────────────
Linkon City is one of the few cities in the country that allows hybrids and humans to mingle together.
Still, a crowd is certainly not something you are used to after residing in the N109 zone for a while. There are too many noises and you have become more used to the hum of the sewing machines, the sound of the fabric scissors cutting through the cloth, and the distant gunfight muffled by the thick walls of your shop that unfamiliar and sudden noises tend to overwhelm you easily.
You held on Skye’s sleeve before you stepped inside the museum, hiding behind his back and Daisy, always quick to sense your discomfort, nestled itself on the crook of your neck.
“Feeling a bit spooked, sweetie?”, he asked softly, his tail wrapping itself loosely around your waist and pulling you closer.
Even then, he waited for your reply, your eyes switching back and forth between him while the small crowd dispersed around you. You glanced up to him with a small smile, a silent request, to give you a few minutes to take in everything around you.
“I just need a moment, please.”
“We are in no rush, little doe, take all the time you need.”
As always, Sylus complied with your request, his gaze trained at your hand on the cuff of his sleeve that acted as your anchor on your new surroundings.
He can sense the cautious looks mixed with curiosity directed to him and you both by humans and hybrids passing by but he pays them no mind as long as they do not pose a threat. To you.
With his imposing height, your petite frame, and the sharp contrast of your species, everyone is likely to assume you are coerce in this meeting by him but people who take a closer look will realize that this rare hybrid-
-Is as obedient as a housepup, his crimson eyes only trained to you when you pulled on the cuff of his sleeve gently, a signal you are ready to explore the large halls with a new found confidence.
Should you go to the main hall first?
Or take a look at the paintings?
Perhaps the tapestries?
It has been so long since you stepped on a place such as this that you realize you may have been dragging Skye around.
“Oh I am sorry,” you said, suddenly letting go of his cuff much to his disapproval, “I did not ask where you wanted to go first.”
“Didn’t Mr. Sylus said today’s your day? Go wherever you want, little doe.”
“But I want you to enjoy it as well.”
“I am already having a good time, sweetheart,” he replied, playfully tweaking the brim of your hat then fixing it, making sure the ribbon under your chin is secured.
“Oh, don’t you make a unique pair?”, a voice behind Sylus back commented cheerfully and you immediately hid behind his back when he turned to check the person who spoke up.
A young rabbit hybrid stood in front of you, clearly someone working here in the museum based on her name plate, offering you a map to the museum. There is no hint of judgment in her gaze while she waits for either of you to take the brochure from her.
She opened the map, pointing at a specific area further inside the museum, “Here. People usually go here when they are on dates.”
Date?
You looked up at Skye who did not bother to correct the staff, thanking her and studying the map after she bidding you both to have fun and then walking away.
“Can I also take a look please?,” you asked, tugging his sleeve for him to bend down slightly and he immediately complied, letting you view the details of the brochure and making sure you don’t have to stand on your tiptoes.
“Anything you want to see first, sweetie?”
“They all sound interesting. I want to see all of them.”
“Same here but we can’t start exploring just yet, miss seamstress. Where do you want to start?”
Your brows furrowed slightly, a small thoughtful hum escaping your lips, and he playfully tapped the crease between your brows, amused at the fact how you are indeed weighing your options while Mephisto tilted its head in beat with you.
“How about this one?”, you asked, pointing at the room displaying a series of paintings from an obscure artist.
He nodded, “Good choice, little doe.”
If you walk, he will follow. If you stop, he will halt. With you leading the way, your footsteps will be replaced with his, tracing the same path his deer left just for him but today, there will be not one set of footsteps but two when you hold the other end of the brochure he had in his hand while both of you walk side by side.
For a brief moment, his fingers brushed against yours.
────────────────────
When night comes, what fairy tales do every human and hybrid tell to their children before they tuck them to sleep?
The lullaby of the music box plays in the background of the small room you have, in the humble two story house your father managed to purchase with his savings to build a tailor shop in the Bloomshore District.
It was during those years when the humans on the top are kinder, determined to erase the lines all of your ancestors collectively have set over the years but with change comes resistance and grand plans of building cities become smaller and smaller and out of it came a little portion of Bloomshore District, empty because of its close distance from the industrial zones.
It was home and it was yours.
Every night, your father will leave his work downstairs, taking a break from sewing together uniforms for employees working in the factories nearby and each step creak, on his hand the first picture book you bought from a second hand bookstore and his other hand helping you climb the stairs.
It was always his soft voice who put you to bed while you watched the little dragon figurine frolic on the field of red wildflowers, in a world where it is neither the hero nor the villain.
“Are all dragons born bad?”
It was the same question you asked him, confused why it is always the nameless dragon who is given the role of the villain, the one who is always slain at the end and their death celebrated. Savage beasts who only know how to take and with every place they arrive, they leave a trail of black snow.
They should be punished, the knight of every story always proclaimed, pointing his blade at the chest of the dragon smiling with its pointed teeth in the picture.
“I don't think anyone is born bad, twig.”
He always let out a sigh, seemingly amused at your question and he always give you the same answer before pressing a kiss on your forehead, reminding you to sleep or else you would not grow taller, even if you try to point your ears up or add more tree branches on your antlers and the day ends when he closes the door behind him, his exit punctuated with the lullaby coming to an end.
You always forget to ask him why people said otherwise.
“Skye, I am sorry,” you said quietly, looking up at the dragon hybrid whose expression remained neutral while he gazed at the large painting in front of you.
Dragons are born with sin.
Dragons should not have friends.
Dragons are liars, nothing good comes out of their mouth.
It is the same lines repeated even by his fellow hybrids and in the crowd that part ways when they recognize what he is, it serves as a cruel reminder that he will always be alone in the long and winding path that looms ahead of him.
How many times did Sylus see these drawings in books he had read when he was young? Even his fingers and toes are not enough to count the instances where someone plunges anything sharp right through the dragon’s chest.
“You have nothing to apologize for, sweetie,” he spoke, his gaze softening when he turned to look at your ears drooping, guilty. Both you and him did not expect one of the paintings would have a subject such as this and even when he looked away, it was always the truth, a fact of this world.
He will always remain as it is, a fiend.
“I should have chosen a different exhibit for us to see,” you replied quietly, and his tail wrapped around your waist.
“I’m fine, miss seamstress. A simple picture is not enough to hurt me,” he chuckled, and inside the four corners of this wide, wide, room, he can only hear the small rustle of your clothes as you shuffled closer next to him, offering small comfort.
He has seen these images too many times, in reality and in dreams, but here you are, treating him as if he shouldn’t be stained with violence when he already is, that it is true, he is indeed a selfish dragon sitting on his hoard and even then, it is not enough.
All the shiny trinkets in the world but there is no material thing that could ever fill the already gaping hole left by nameless people who hated his kind.
He had convinced himself that he would remain that way, fractured and fragmented, held together by sheer determination and strength. Even then, there are pieces that slipped through the gaps, never to be found, forever lost.
But, that was before.
“Maybe the dragon did not die, Skye,” you decided to venture further, your eyes trained at the painting, “Maybe it flew far away after that.”
And then, someone picks up a thread and a needle, slowly, carefully, mending them.
You.
You with the dearest voice, with the gentlest of hands, with the scent of cotton and wildflowers enough to sooth the pain of wounds from years past.
“Perhaps. Maybe he managed to find someone to stitch his wounds together, little doe.”
“Well, he certainly does need help. I don’t think he can hold a needle and thread with such large claws.”
“You’re right. His claws are better suited for holding treasures.”
“Or protecting the people he loves,” you smiled at him, the two of you walking away from the painting and moving to another one.
Now that sounds like something a hero would do, not a villain and Sylus is more than aware he will never be one, the thought is almost amusing. He too once held a cardboard sword thinking he can also venture to the tower the princess is locked away but those are childhood follies, delusions.
No, he will never be one.
Yet, there is a glimmer of hope, small but enduring, shielded with both of your hands from the smallest gust of wind.
Maybe, maybe, you are right, the dragon had fled away, away from everything until he met a deer who led him deeper, deeper in the woods to rest while her forest friends looked on.
The uncaring world will continue to march on but his wounds will close, his scars will fade, and in the hidden grove of red wildflowers where it is just you and him, he has discovered that not all dragons are fated to live inside towers of iron and stone.
If the time comes that his precious deer, the caretaker of this little paradise, would be harmed then-
For your sake, he will be as monstrous as you need him to be.
────────────────────
In this small enclosure, your heartbeats sing in a steady rhythm, a slow and gentle melody. Sylus had always compared it to a lullaby, a melody you can only find on old music boxes in antique stores tucked far from the city centers and only if you listen closely. A melody no one would be able to replicate, uniquely yours.
Small and soft, a faint humming, but he is beginning to think he has been gifted with sharp senses so that he can always spot you in a dense and loud crowd.
The wreath of flowers he is weaving together in his hands is almost complete and Sylus gazed at you in amusement, your eyes closed and your hands folded on your lap.
The little glasshouse you and Sylus entered isolated you further from the rest. Every person who will step inside will not find any plants of interest, the blooms kept are of common variety, plain but these are not the reason why this place is here.
Various butterflies of different colors fluttered around you and you told him of your plan on staying still ahead, attempting to attract as many of these little creatures as you can because you want you and him to make friends with them so he also played along.
Little insects slowly make their way to you, some rest their wings on the tips of your antlers and a butterfly sharing the color of your eyes landed on your bandaged finger, the movement of its wing barely even making a sound in the already quiet sanctuary.
He supposed he should give his thanks to that young rabbit hybrid who pointed you two to this area isolated from the main building of the museum, and he hummed a low tune, stealing a glance to check if your eyes are still closed before fastening the red ribbon you have gifted to him in the wreath he just completed.
A little hint that you will only find out before you call it a night or, maybe the morning after.
“They seem to like you, sweetie,” he spoke softly, making sure to not scare your nameless friends.
You opened your eyes slowly to see for yourself and you smiled, moving your finger closer to look at the butterfly then peering at the white butterfly with crimson spots that made itself comfortable on his shoulder, a stark difference against the black leather of his jacket.
“Look, Skye. You have a little friend.”
“So I do but I believe they are more fond of you than they are of me.”
“They are just shy. I’ll introduce you and your friend to them,” you said softly, a quiet whisper, moving your hand slowly to move the butterfly on your finger so it can sit beside his nameless companion on his shoulder, “See, now, you have two.”
And they make a pretty pair.
“Well would you look at that, sweetheart,” he chuckled quietly, not wanting to disturb the butterflies you are transferring to him one by one, “It seems my entourage grows.”
Nameless friends.
Sylus is more than aware the lives of these creatures are fleeting, they do not have enough time to realize the differences in their colors and sizes while they dance together among the array of common blooms, a kaleidoscope rotating endlessly, different beings flowing into one stream of consciousness.
He let the first butterfly rest on his finger, bringing it close to his lips and even then, the words he had whispered are barely a gust to the little being.
“What did you tell our friend, Skye?”, you asked, a soft giggle escaping your lips when he let it rest on the tip of your nose.
Among the rows of blooms bursting with colors, the brightest flower stood out of all them.
Delicate.
Soft.
The closest you have to having thorns are your antlers that reminded him of branches of a mighty tree.
Must the strong always have sharp teeth and claws? No, Sylus disagrees. Strength comes in various forms and you, the deer who found comfort among the beasts shunned by their fell ow kind, is one of the few who dared to look past such loathsome faces they have.
“I told our new friend that it is lucky to be sitting on the most beautiful flower in the greenhouse,” he answered, reaching out to twirl a lock of your hair and gazing at the wings of the creature who had already made itself comfortable, fulfilling a small favor from him.
Of course, with beauty comes recognition and with the wreath of flowers held together by the ribbon you both created, he crowned you with blossoms of various shades of yellow, vibrant as the sun, and he will forever remember their scent mixed against yours that haunt him even in his dreams.
Even when you have never stepped foot in the base and much along his bed, the faint aroma of springtime lingered at the empty side of his bed he had reserved just for you.
A blush bloomed on your cheeks upon his compliment, red as the spots of his first friend, and you stifled a soft laugh, your body trembling while you moved your eyes back and forth from him to your side.
Your affections for him has changed ever since that day when he wrapped the red bandage on your finger, the warmth of his tongue lingered on your fingertip and even when you are fully aware of your differences, you also wished during the lull of the quiet nights that you don’t want this to be folly, a passing fancy, just a temporary reprieve before you found someone of the same species.
You slowly reach up to him, letting one of the butterflies perching on one of the bases of his horns crawl on your finger, and you bring it close to you.
He watched your lips part while you mumbled softly to the little being and its paper thin wings before you let it go, watching it join the others.
“What did you tell that one, sweetie?”
“I told it that it is very fortunate to be friends with the kindest dragon I’ve met.”
He averted his gaze from you, chuckling softly, and you tilt your head when his fingers reach out to play with your pinky with his ears tinged red.
Certainly a word you would never describe a repulsive beast.
“You don’t believe me, Skye?”
“I am not a very good dragon that you think I am, miss seamstress.”
“But bad dragons don’t fix wounds and kiss them, do they?”
“Moments of kindness should not be mistaken as a change in character, sweetie,” he chuckled softly, the sound a cover for the thin layer of sadness hidden beneath a despicable casing that is him.
You hummed in thought, your eyes quietly studying his face and the corner of his lips lifted in a soft smirk under your curious gaze. Quietly, you reached out for one of the flowers both of you picked on the way and carried here using the underside of your hat.
“Can you come closer for me, Skye?”, you asked.
“Like this, little doe?”, he said, leaning closer without any hesitation and your hand brushed against his horn, tying the yellow blossom together with the good luck ribbon he always wears.
A small whimper almost escapes his lips upon your gentle touch, the top of his head pressing against your hand for more of it.
“I will try to put more flowers and ribbons on you then, Skye, until you finally believe that you are a good and friendly dragon,” you smiled, shifting through the stems of the array of blooms and picking those you think would suit him nicely, tucking them in his hair.
Tell him, tell him that he isn't a monster and he will believe every word you will say.
He chuckled softly, “Even if I am, do you think people would see the same as you do, sweetheart?”
“I’ll make as many ribbons as I can for you then.”
“Are you trying to turn me into a living, walking present, little doe?”
“But you are already one, Skye. You’re the best gift Mr. Sylus gave to me,” you replied, as if it is an absolute truth, a sincere declaration and his eyes widened for a fraction of a second then softened.
“More than the hairpins that he gave to you?”
“More than them, yes.”
“More than your favorite vinyl records he sent you?”
“You can sing them for me anyways."
“You’re such a strange little deer, miss seamstress,” he commented, laughing in amusement and you tilt your head at how his ears are redder than earlier, his smirk faltering to a lopsided smile.
“Will wearing a bow on your tail make you feel better if I wear one as well, Skye?”, you asked, your hand brushing against the soft petals tucked on the strands of his hair.
The image was almost whimsical, but both of you made an unlikely pair. In the thin line that divides your kind, both of you are mirror images, the same but not quite.
“I suppose I’ll have to follow suit, won’t I?”, he replied playfully, then poking your cheek, “It’s only fair.”
Having a bow on his powerful tail will be an amusing sight, you wearing one certainly does have appeal and as he follows you closely while you leave the small greenhouse, his eyes lingered on your tail swaying and he can only picture the perfect ribbon that would compliment you the best.
Although, he wouldn’t mind pulling it off as much as he looks forward to putting one on you when the time comes.
────────────────────
Everyone looks after each other in the small community of all hybrids back at the small corner of Bloomshore District.
The sheep hybrid lady with her canine hybrid husband, their two children, Simon and their daughter, who bakes the perfect strawberry shortcake. A yearly treat you always look forward to, the package familiar.
The elderly owl hybrid that runs the clinic, the one who always reminds you to take your morning walks after your father’s check-ups.
The fruits and vegetable stall ran by a rabbit hybrid who gives you a playful wink every time she slips in an extra apple on your bag, her thanks to you for fixing her apron.
The raccoon hybrid and her group of panda bear hybrid friends who play baseball at the empty lot, their jerseys you put together with their numbers.
It was a small area the government allowed hybrids to settle in but even then, they are selective to who they will let in, hybrids they believe are harmless and they all want you to follow one rule:
Do not help your other kind.
You were your father’s assistant back then and both of you have tailored clothes for hybrids and humans. All of your customers were kind, every person who entered the shop courteous with an exception.
Humans who claimed they are looking after you.
They are always the last people to enter your shop every end of the week. They don’t ask for money or anything at all but you and your father kept your head low.
Even then, averting your gaze does not mean the onlooker will do the same.
Your tail stroked. Your ears tugged. Your antlers pulled. The touches laced with malicious fascination.
That human sees you as an animal in a petting zoo.
Perhaps, it was a twisted fascination towards your kind, an exotic catch, fresh meat, and everything culminated when the advances had become too much.
It was that same human everyday and you have paid the price in full when you decided you had enough. A cry for help, small but audible, and that small baseball team who loves hanging around your shop did not hesitate to hold him down.
Your father did not forget the look that human is wearing who did not even struggle against the hold of the tallest panda bear hybrid child.
A victorious smirk.
There was barely enough time to gather up your belongings when the fire happened.
A few of your finished works and personal items, the rest you watched turned ash outside the place your father had built when he was allowed to settle in this district while you were still a toddler.
You held the music box closed to your chest, your eyes unable to tear away at your home where all your hopes and dreams had taken root, bloomed, and finally, crushed.
Your father watched the young Simon back then and his much younger sister put a blanket over you, whispered a few words and then slowly stepped away to give you space.
He will remember the looks of your hybrid neighbors, silent anger mixed with fear while they part to give way to the cause of everything.
“I just think you are cute, you know? Maybe this time you will learn how to put up with it now everything’s gone.”
Did I make the wrong decision?
He asked himself back then but the question is maybe more to your mother who had left you both too early. He had witnessed everything, heard every word that human whispered to you and among the silent mumbles of kindly neighbors, they all pointed to the most unlikely place that could possibly be your new home.
There will always be a price in every bargain struck.
His beautiful daughter, always reserved, and your father will be your voice to your talents and if he needs to face the most dangerous hybrid just so you can continue your work, then so be it.
Better in the company of beasts than men.
It was your father’s love for you and his promise to your mother that gave him courage to face Sylus and ask for capital. The double doors inside Sylus’ estate in the N109 zone is an iron gate and ahead is a young dragon who had hoarded everything and more.
He wore his best suit that day and he was not just a proud father but a businessman who knows his wares. Never did he falter under Sylus’ gaze and when the dragon hybrid agreed, he only let out a sigh of relief once he stepped out of the dragon’s home.
Your father may have skipped on his way back to you in your temporary home. Happy, grateful, and hopeful.
The smile on your face returned when you opened the door to your new studio and he didn’t stop you when you immediately went to work on your commission, dedicated to the first request that will eventually bring in more clients and the proud owner of that suit is no other than-
Sylus.
From there, an unlikely relationship bloomed and your father, an audience sitting in the front row.
It was around evening when Sylus returned to your shop, carrying you in his arms. You were already fast asleep, your head against the dragon hybrid’s chest and dangling on Sylus’ arms are paper bags containing souvenirs from the museum he took you earlier.
Where do you even get this courage? Your father will never know but he is sure your mother would be thoroughly amused to see her daughter all cozy against a predator hybrid.
“Mr. Sylus!”, your father immediately stood up and made his way to him, “My apologies. My daughter did not mean to impose.”
He was about to take you from the dragon hybrid’s arms but Sylus only shook his head, amused and he noticed how Sylus’ gaze at you fondly when you mumbled something in your sleep.
“There’s no need to apologize. She’s just exhausted from walking. Fell asleep on our way back,” Sylus replied, holding you tighter and you instinctively seemed to seek warmth from him, burying your face further, “Let me bring her to her room.”
If you are an odd deer then Sylus is certainly the same, an odd dragon.
There is no mistaking it.
This is the gaze of a man hopelessly head over heels for you.
“Second room from your left, Mr. Sylus,” your father politely answered, “The fifth step creaks. Might wake her up.”
Sylus gave your father a polite smile, passing by him and making his way upstairs with you.
For a body large and powerful, he moved with a certain tenderness, not wanting to startle you. His steps are quiet, your quiet breathing the only sound he can hear. It took him to reach your room but for Sylus, it is certainly longer, much longer than the distance you both took to explore the museum.
He knew this little adventure would come to an end, that he must return his precious deer to her grove eventually but he refused to move just yet from your side after he laid you down on your bed.
Call it greed, but after having a taste of a sliver of his many wishes, he is now fervently asking for more chances of bringing you to bed and maybe, just maybe, the bed would not just dip with your weight alone when the time comes.
With the crown of flowers on your head, it is as if you are a princess waiting for your knight to wake you up.
Unfortunately, the knights are too afraid to even come close to the dragon’s most precious treasure.
Why would you need a knight when you already have a terrifying monster who doesn’t need a sword to pierce the heart of any person who would hurt you?
Sylus sets down the bags of souvenirs you brought with him and he slowly pulls out the newest trinkets that would bring more color to your room.
A wind-up dragon that he set beside your music box, the horns you said reminded you of his.
A deer plushie with a red ribbon tied around its neck that he set beside you, a stuffed animal you playfully voiced over with a high pitch voice and with its snout, you pecked Sylus’ cheek.
A crow plushie with a white collar around its neck that he set at your other side, the object of Mephisto’s glares back at the shop when Sylus joked about it being its replacement.
With your new gifts, your room overflows with more trinkets that he has brought just for you.
Sylus has never set foot inside your room before but he recognized it based on the photos and records Mephisto has brought to him.
It is a simple room but it was decorated lovingly by you. All the vinyl records he sent to you neatly arranged near the player. On your desk is a basket of yarn and your crochet needles, piles of red scarves that are clearly a work in progress. On the handle of your cabinet your white apron. By your window are pots of daisies lined up together, little animal figurines on their soil with their own houses.
A small, small world, fragile, but welcoming and here he is, the strange visitor, accepted by your subjects.
Yet, Sylus knows he shouldn’t linger for long, not wanting to cast any doubts to your father who let him bring you here and after giving you a once over, his sweetheart, he stood up.
“Skye,” you whispered softly, catching him by the cuff of his sleeve.
“Yes, miss seamstress?”
You didn’t answer, just gently pulling his sleeve until he finally relented and sat at the side of your bed again.
He could never deny you.
“Did you enjoy today, Skye?”, you asked, each word breathed out slowly and it was clear you are standing in a thin line between dreams and reality.
“Of course I did, sweetie,” he chuckled softly, brushing a few strands of your hair, “Any day spent with you is a day well spent.”
He paused for a moment then asked, “Did you have fun today, little doe?”
You let out a soft laugh, your arms reaching out for the crow plushie by your side and hugging it.
“I had lots of fun,” you nodded drowsily and with your voice muffled against the soft fleece of your new friend, you spoke, “Can you-”, you let out a yawn but continued, “-Tell Mr. Sylus thank you for me?”
“Sure, I’ll make sure to pass it along when I get back.”
“Don’t forget to-”, you yawned again and the next words are unintelligible but Sylus managed to piece it together with your last words, smiling softly while waiting for you to finish your request, “-His souvenir. I hope he likes it.”
“I am sure he’ll love it. You picked it out for him after all.”
With your half lidded eyes and gentle smile, it is certainly one of the adorable expressions he hopes he will wake up to in the future.
“One last thing,” you mumbled softly, your eyes closing but it was clear you wanted to do something as you struggled against the hold of sleep, “Come closer, Skye.”
“Like this, sweetie?”
“Closer.”
“How about now?”
He is basically hovering over you at this point, his hands at the sides of your head to support his weight and up close under the moonlight, his gaze lingered longer at your lips slightly parted.
A sigh, and then you pressed your lips on his cheek.
At least, that’s what he thinks was your intent but instead, your fleeting reward landed on the corner of his mouth.
His grip on the sheets tightened, a small, soft whine escaped his lips.
From him of all people.
An involuntary sound in response to the unexpected act of intimacy he had always yearned from you.
Close.
You were so close to giving him one of the many things that haunt him in his sleep.
“Sweetheart,” he breathed out but you were already asleep this time, your heartbeats steady.
The shadow of the dragon loomed on the walls of your bedroom, its gaping maw wide open upon you, the unassuming deer, too trusting, too sweet.
His baser instincts are yelling at him that a nip wouldn’t harm you, that the blood pumping on your veins is sweeter than candy. A little drop of spring water that would satisfy his thirst.
But Sylus' desires have always been clean-cut.
His eyes landed on your neck, beckoning. He had always wanted to sink his fangs on the soft skin. Not because he wanted to draw blood.
No, not that.
He wanted to be so much more to you.
The flapping of the wings, a warning chirp and the music box suddenly playing made him jerk back away from you and Sylus froze at how close he was biting down on your neck while Mephisto looked at him, concerned.
Sylus only sighed heavily, sitting back as his fingers traced the outline of your ear.
He hopes you can forgive your lying dragon.
Before he left, he lifted your hand, pressing a kiss on your bandaged finger, a reminder of the promise he made.
Then, another on your cheek, a playful correction to your sleepy mistake but he doesn’t blame you. In fact, he is honored to receive your thanks.
Finally, on the top of your head near your crown of flowers.
May his beautiful deer sleep well tonight, your dreams to be as colorful and vibrant as the smiles you gave to him today, and when you wake up, let the sun be a little forgiving tomorrow morning, to give you a few more moments to say goodbye to your friends from the realm of unconsciousness before leaving.
“Sleep well, my precious doe,” he whispered softly in your ear, “I’ll see you later tonight.”
If the gods would be kinder to fulfill another one of his wishes, then he hopes when he closes his eyes and calls it a day, he will also find his way to you, in your quiet paradise.
The door closed softly behind him and the lullaby of the music box came to an end, the little dragon, exhausted from chasing his white ribbon on his horn, had also decided to rest on his field dotted with red wildflowers.
.
.
.
.
.
Good night, Daisy.
Good night, Mister Dragon.
Good night, Miss Deer.
────────────────────
Author's Note:
I hope this brings clarity what Reader is doing in the N109 zone and why she chose to let go of so many privileges she has when she used to live at Bloomshore District.
Will that human get it? Stay tune! Don't want to spoil you all!
I also have a tumblr! Feel free to feed me your conspiracy theories or send memes or anything, I don't judge! (The fact we are all playing this game means we have broken free from the chain of judgment. ISTG, the amount of guy friends who poke fun of me playing this is wack but that won't stop me. Why can they have anime girls but I can't have my 3D men (and anime girls)?)
Also, the lullaby of Reader's music box: Storyteller (Music Box ver.)
AO3
Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6
#love and deepspace#love and deepspace sylus#sylus x reader#sylus x you#hybrid au#lads hybrid au#lads#lads sylus
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Bunny I just finished watching Jumper and I'm obsessed??? 😭 I could only find like, 3 fics about David (yours included, i loved it btw ✋🏻😞) so I thought about requesting something from my favorite writer
I don't have any specific idea so I guess I'll take anything. Here's Leia the egg as an offering 🫴🏻🥚
Luv ya - 🦢
STOLEN BY A JUMPER..
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PAIRING: david rice x thief!reader
You were stupid for not seeing him coming.
One second, you were standing in the middle of a private vault, fingers skillfully working over the golden lock of a case that held something very expensive—something you had been paid a lot of money to steal, to bring back to the ugly-ass man that made sure to stuff your bank account full of cash.
Well, what happened the next?
Your stomach lurched, vision suddenly blurred as you felt like you were literally floating in sleep, like you just got hit in the head, and before you could even think about screaming, you were somewhere else. With a painful sigh that echoed from your pounding head, you brought yourself to open your eyes, trying to at least adjust them to the situation, trying to use them as your source of information. Because as y/n, you weren't known for being defeated so fast.
A cabin. Remote. Quiet. Four walls. Dim lamps lighting the space. And standing in front of you, looking thoroughly unimpressed, was the man who had just ripped you from your own goddamn reality.
DAVID RICE; tall (for someone who made you see red), broad shoulders framed by that worn leather jacket, dark hair, sharp blue eyes piercing you in half like you were a problem he was debating how to solve.
“Well,” he said, voice smooth, a little mocking. “You must have some serious balls, sweetheart.”
Pulse thundered in your ears, but you tried your expression cool. Calm. You didn’t survive in this business by panicking. You had to think. It's not like you meet a freak for the first time.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” you lied.
David’s jaw only clenched more, before a flash of irritation crossed his face. “Try again,” he said, stepping closer. Too close. “You broke into my vault. My money. My shit.” gaze flickered down to the duffel still clutched in your hand. “And you were gonna walk away with it like I wouldn’t notice?”
You lifted your chin with more confidence and energy this time, fingers tightening its hold over the bag. “Finders keepers.”
How you should know it was a bad move..
David moved fast—faster than any normal man should probably be able to. One second, he was in front of you, the next he was behind you, hand fisting in your jacket before the world tilted again—
You were falling.
The cold air whipped at your skin, your eyes widening at the clouds that passed you by, at the sharp nibbling the wind did to your skin. You barely had a second to process the fact that you were free-falling through the goddamn sky before—
thud
You landed hard on a rooftop, your side slamming into the concrete. Your breath ripped from your lungs, the impact jarring, disorienting, your world twirling..
You're about to throw up. You're about to throw up.
With a wince of a person who's about to lose her life, you moved your hand to where your ribs were, trying to magically smooth the painful, sharpening like a needle, pain.
And David?
He landed like nothing had happened at all.
After taking some steps towards you, he crouched, gaze sharp, smug amusement curling his lips as if your situation was even.. satisfying for him.
“That,” he said, gripping your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to his, “was a warning.”
Your heart hammered, pulse wild, but you refused to let him see your fear. To let him see how weak you started to get. By one freaking movement of his..right..what was even that? His mind? His hands? His..how did he do that?
“So you’re a show-off,” you bit out, wrenching away from his hold. Too weakly. Too painfully. “Congratulations.”
David chuckled. Actually chuckled. “Oh, you’re fun.”
You lunged for him, intending to—what? Punch him? Tackle him? You weren’t exactly sure but everything seemed to be reasonable when you had to take care of a real piece of shit
But before you could even touch him—
The world shifted again.
You were back in the cabin.
Your knees buckled, body reeling from the constant shifts, ribs screaming at you, making you dizzy, making you choke on your own breath, but David? David just stuffed his hands into his pockets and grinned at you.
“Go ahead,” he said, watching as you steadied yourself against the wall. “Try to run.”
You glared at him, fists clenched. “You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?”
He laughed, moving towards the fridge like this was just another normal night for him. Like kidnapping you was just another thing on his to-do list for today.
Great. Just freaking great.
“Yeah,” he said, grabbing a beer. “I’ve been told.”
You watched him, mind racing, calculating, pain still flickering through your body, making sure you never forget about it. How the hell were you supposed to escape someone who could teleport?
You had no idea. But you’d be damned if you didn’t find out soon.
TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden
#bunny's replies ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა#🦢 nonnie#david rice x reader#david rice#David rice x y/n#david rice x fem!reader#david rice x female reader#hayden christensen#christensen hayden#haydenchristensen#hayden christensen characters#hayden christensen x you#hayden christensen x reader
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In all my Lifetimes - Teaser
College AU! Caleb x f! MC
Content warning for full fic: copious angst, memory loss, descriptions of injury, blood, Caleb is rude and cold, smut scenes, lovers to strangers to lovers.
.⋆。⋆☂˚。⋆。˚☽˚。⋆..⋆。⋆☂˚。⋆。˚☽˚。⋆.
“Do you remember the time we snuck out together to buy convenience store popsicles on that summery night?”
“Do you remember the times you beat up those bullies who’d pick on my nerdy appearance?”
“Do you remember the time you shielded me with your body so drunk, dancing people wouldn’t bump into me at the club?”
“Do you remember how you’d tie my shoelaces whenever I was on my period, so I wouldn’t have to bend over?”
“Do you remember how you walk on the side of the curb closer to the cars, so I’m not in immediate danger?”
“Do you remember the time you blurted out that you loved me, Caleb? You turned so red, I thought you’d erupt like a volcano!”
The sterile smell of the hospital is invasive, as if reminding me that reality is not a paradise, it is harsh and cold and bitter. How much ever flowery good times may be, they are ephemeral, always fleeting before you could even wrap your head around them.
The dim lights cast shadows that might make me look 30 years older right now. Beside me are two of his friends, who called to inform me and pick me up.
What went wrong?
The lights above the Operation Room switch off and after a few heartbeats go by, a troop of doctors and surgeons emerges from the room.
“He’s alright. He’s already gaining consciousness. We will have to monitor him for any internal bleeding or other nerve damage over the next few weeks.”
With that statement, my friends and I exhale collectively. We wait till the staff gives us the green light to enter, and we scramble to file into the room. He’s there, laying on the bed, head bandages, neck in a brace, looking pale but alive. I want to kiss him, hug him, cage him in my arms, so the world can’t get to him anymore. When he hears the door open, he moves his eyes to look at us and gives us a weak smile.
One of his friends moves forward first, a wide smile on his face. “Hey man, good to see you awake. You gave us all a scare.”
Caleb’s eyes flutter, and he blinks slowly, as if the world is still settling into focus. His gaze scans the group of us. He takes a few seconds longer with each face, recognition slowly flickering in his expression.
“Huh, guess I’ll make it to the college paper now.”
“You are one lucky rascal, you know that?” his other friend chimes in, and Caleb smiles in lieu of his usual hearty laugh.
Finally, the two friends of his make way for me to get closer to him.
“C-Caleb, if you pull this shit again, I swear-”
“Hey, not now, please.” he groans, knitting his brows together.
“No, you will have to listen, you-!”
“Don’t you understand?” he rasps all of a sudden. “Not now, please. I just want to be with people I know.”
“W-what?” I gasp, looking at either of his friends, who simply shrug their shoulders.
“Who are you anyway? Do I know you? I don’t recollect?”
The words reach my ears, but not quite my brain.
“I’m Y/N. Caleb, I’m your Y/N!” I try to plead, but there is no shadow of recognition on his emotionless face.
“Who?”
To be continued….
.⋆。⋆☂˚。⋆。˚☽˚。⋆..⋆。⋆☂˚。⋆。˚☽˚。⋆.
#love and deepspace#lads#lnds#caleb#fanart#fanfiction#smut#fluff#angst#xia yizhou#headcanons#scenarios#imagines#reactions#x reader#x you#x y/n#x female reader#x MC#l&ds#love and deep space#zayne#sylus#rafayel#xavier
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Hi and thank you for the tag @gauntletgirlie! <3 The tag game is a wonderful idea, but I want to spread the posivity both ways. So um - I will do it my own way. Aka, I will give the person who tagged me compliments and also compliment the people I am tagging. That way everyone in this post gets the positivity they deserve I feel like. <3
@gauntletgirlie: You already write so well for someone who has just shared their own writing for the first time; I love the way you wrote Adar's and Celebrimbor's dynamic in your silverscars fic, the way Adar tried to keep his distance and Celebrimbor gently but insistently got closer to him and coaxed him into giving into his desires; you had me sitting there like "ohhh I wish this continued" and "I hope she writes more!" after I finished reading <3
Now for the people I am tagging (absolutely zero pressure to respond btw! I mean it! I am doing this because I want to, not because I expect anything in return!):
@plotdesigner Your lore and world building for the uruk is absolutely stunning and wonderful an I love every little detail I learn about them in your fic(s); I love the way you alternate POVs between characters and manage to give them distinct, individual voices and rich inner lives, even going the extra mile to write Adar in the 2nd person POV; you have a lovely way of weaving in little bits of humor that feels very adequate for the circumstances and also humanizes the characters a lot!
@themalhambird Your Adar/Finrod fic had some very well-developed OCs that were very distinct and interesting to read about, each had their own individual voice; the pairing wasn't something I thought I would be interested in but I finished the little fic before I knew what had happened; the way you wrote the interaction between the main pair was sweet and heart-wrenching to the point it made me emotional (I mean that as a compliment!)
@thephoenixandthecrocodile I love the dynamic between Adar, Celebrimbor and Narvi, they all have their strengths and weaknesses and complement each other very well, I love how you give each character weaknesses and humanizing elements that make them so very relatable; I think it is so cool that your first fanfic is a multi-chapter one and already goes on for so long - that is quite the feat! (and that your 2nd is also multi chapter and finished! Congrats!); I'd love to see more of the way your throuple develops Mordor together, the concept of a dwarven/elvish/uruk construction sounds so cool! and also what their relationship will be like in the future!
@gingeragenda The one fic of yours I read (Adar/Balrog) took a concept that should have been difficult to pull off and made it seem effortless; the interaction (cough) between the two was very sexy; despite the fact that the Balrog got sent out for rather sinister purposes, there was a tenderness that I did not expect between the two characters that I quite enjoyed while reading!
@wowstrawberrycow I love how you want to give Adar good, soft and cute things always, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside; I loved the dynamic between him and Gil-Galad in your AU fic, how Gil is taking care of him as best as he can and is a rock for Adar; love the worldbuilding so far, despite the dire circumstances, there is hope shining through and the two are fighting so hard to carve out their happiness. It's really fascinating!
I think I as a writer I am somewhere between "good most of the time" and "every so often I have a good line" tbh; my lovely readers, mutuals and friends on here make me feel like I am a very good writer (TYSM!) while I myself would tend to believe I am...okay? Maybe? If I have a good day. ^_^'
Writing compliment for myself...I manage to write and share my works despite a lot of self-doubt, anxiety and perfectionism? Does that count?
I want to do a compliment exercise. I got the idea from a poll I saw.
First, vote on this poll:
Now, reblog and tag 5 writers that you would want to see do this (no pressure, of course)... and in your CAPTION (not tags), give 3 compliments to the person you reblogged this from's writing. In your TAGS (not caption), put what your answer was.
Give yourself at least one writing compliment too, while you're at it.
If you reblog it from me, don't worry about doing the compliments since almost none of you have actually read my writing (if any of you have 😅).
If you really want to do the compliments for me, you can compliment something else but it isn't necessary when reblogging from the original source.
Let's get a compliment/positivity/love thread going. ❤️
#sorry if this seems like a criticism towards OP or anything of the sort I swear I do not mean it that way#i just thought it would be nice to give positivity in either direction so everyone gets their praise even if they already did the game#or don't get a response to their own tags or sth <3#tag game#writing game#reblog game#addition#long post#mine
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Part seven of my appreciation project.
@yappacadaver A fic based on their wonderful art piece here and here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!
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The world stood still.
The battle was over, the blight vanquished, and Elgar'nan was dead. What remained of his influence was nothing more than hardened tendrils of corruption, now inert, forming a crude staircase down from the empty battlefield. One by one, the wearied heroes descended, each step agonising, their bodies battered but unbroken.
As Mara's boots met solid ground, the air shifted. Silence shattered into a wave of sound—a roar of celebration, clapping hands, shouts of triumph.
Applause.
Mara barely processed it. The cheers, the grateful weeping of the saved, the elation in the voices around her—it all seemed distant, as though she were submerged beneath dark waters. She saw it, knew what it meant, but she didn't feel it.
Her eyes swept over the crowd, their faces blurred and unimportant. She only wanted to see one man, and she found him.
Emmrich.
He stood nearby, his golden bracelets dulled by grime but still gleaming in the sun's rising light. His vest was torn, his shirt sticky with sweat and streaked with blood, his silver hair damp and unruly against his forehead. He was bruised and exhausted, yet he'd never looked more enticing.
As if sensing Mara's gaze, he turned towards her, his large hazel eyes brimming with need. A smile tugged at his lips, weak but fervent, ignoring the soreness in his joints. Before she could think, before she could breathe, he hobbled over to her and cupped her face with calloused, trembling hands.
And then he kissed her.
Mara inhaled greedily as his lips met hers, neither of them caring that hundreds were bearing witness. The way his mouth parted against hers, the heat of him, the way he tasted of steel and the residual drags of mana—it wasn't a dream nor an illusion. It was real.
They were alive.
They won.
As her hand caressed his cheek, her body balancing on her toes to reach him, his fingers curled at the nape of her neck, his other arm wrapping around her waist. Tilting her back, he deepened the kiss—a confession of every unspoken fear, every desperate prayer, every moment spent wondering if they'd survive.
"Darling..." he wheezed, his eyes flitting shut as he enjoyed her.
Simply enjoyed her. He hadn't had many opportunities, even after she escaped from the Fade. The best night of his life—their stolen hours in the Necropolis, the way they talked, touched, and made love—had also been the shortest. Made bittersweet knowing it could have been their last.
But now, it was over. The danger passed.
When they finally parted, their breaths mingled in the space between them, heavy and lustful. Mara wanted more, but as she moved to kiss him again, Emmrich suddenly stumbled back, the colour draining from his face.
"Emmrich?" she asked, following him.
His nose wrinkled, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. "I reek," he gagged. "Like blood and sweat." His eyes drifted to her swollen lips, mortified; surely she had noticed. "Forgive me. I don't know what came over me."
Mara laughed, catching him by the wrist. "You think that bothers me? Did you forget I'm a Crow?"
"It bothers me," he croaked. "Darkspawn, Venatori—who knows what pernicious pathogens they carried? I don't want to get you sick, my love."
Mara grinned, trailing a finger down the front of his tattered vest, her voice dropping to a sinful murmur.
"Then let's go take a bath."
Emmrich flinched, then returned her seductive expression.
The applause raged on, but for Mara, the only thing that mattered was the way the older man laced his fingers with hers, unwilling to let her go.
-----
The spring bath. A marvel to behold, where the heroes of Thedas were welcomed to bask in its luxury. The water lapped at Emmrich's chest, mending aches he'd neglected for days. The fragrant blend of elfroot oil, lavender, and daylilies clung to the steam rising around him, mixing with the fainter scent of the potted plants that lined the walls.
Everything about this place—calm, indulgent, long overdue—was a reward he never even dared to fantasise about.
As he raked wet fingers through his hair, he sighed, letting his head sink into the soft towel behind him. For the first time in months, he allowed himself to relax. He would never claim he'd earned it, but his companions had insisted. None would disturb him—save for one.
Soft footsteps echoed across the jade flooring, and Emmrich lifted his head to greet her.
Mara.
She stood at the edge of the bath, bare and radiant in the sunlight streaming through the high glass windows. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders in luscious waves, and her sharp eyes—usually so alert and calculating—now shined with a sense of freedom and serenity.
Emmrich held his breath, drinking her in. "You're so beautiful," he uttered.
"Even with my scar?" she asked, running her finger along the indentation from her left shoulder to her right breast.
"Darling," he said, a bright blush flaring across his cheeks, "every inch of you is perfect."
Mara smiled, then stepped into the tub, sinking gracefully into the water, the ripples distorting her reflection like a splash of paint on a canvas.
"You're perfect," she stressed, aware that he still harboured insecurities about his age.
Emmrich huffed, but before he could argue, she slid onto his lap, straddling him, her thighs caging his hips. Her arms wove around his neck, her skin like silk against his own.
For a long while, neither of them spoke, each one staring at the other with an aura of desire.
Then, their lips met in a slow, lingering kiss—one that spoke of solace and devotion. Emmrich's hands traced up her back, his fingers ghosting over her spine, muscle, and hints of grit left over from battle. He wanted her, needed her, and he refused to wait a second longer, lest some other threat tear her from his grasp. Gods, cultists—all of them be damned. With a hungry moan, he pulled her closer, pressing his lips to the delicate line of her jaw, then lower, to the pulse of her throat.
"Yes..." Mara gasped, tightening her embrace, burying her face into his neck.
"Are you ready, darling?"
He shifted beneath her, his hands finding her waist, preparing to move her into a more comfortable position—but then he froze.
She was shaking.
A light tremor at first, barely noticeable through the heat of the water. Then more pronounced.
Emmrich let out a low chuckle, trying to ease the tension he suddenly felt. "You must be very excited," he teased.
She didn't respond.
His stomach twisted.
"Mara?"
Still, nothing. Just the tightness of her arms around his shoulders, the slight shudder in her breath.
Then, he heard it—a partially suppressed sob. His heart clenched. Immediately, he wrapped her up, one hand sliding to the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair.
"Darling, what's wrong?"
Another shaky breath. Another barely-there sob.
He rubbed her back, panic creeping into his tone. "Darling, please. Talk to me."
Mara inhaled loudly, as if forcing down another cry, then finally—finally—she spoke.
"I'm sorry..." she choked. "I ruined the moment."
"No, no. You didn't, my darling. You didn't." He tried to lean back, to see her face, but she was curled so tightly against him, as if hiding herself out of shame. "Mara, please... tell me what's wrong. You know you can tell me anything, yes? Please, darling, maybe I can help. What is it?"
She sniffed, shaking her head. "Nothing's wrong, Emmrich. For the first time in ages, nothing's wrong." She squeezed tighter, her legs hugging his hips, yet careful not to hurt him. "I just..."
Emmrich closed his eyes and rocked her through the water, willing the gentle motion to soothe her. "Go on, darling. I'm listening."
Mara sighed, his support a balm to her weary soul. "I've just been... holding everything in since Varric put me in charge." Her voice was raw, quiet. "I've been so—"
She swallowed her words, unable to say it.
"Scared?" Emmrich offered.
She nodded.
"Oh, Mara..." He held her tighter, giving her a moment to unwind. "Look at me."
Gently, he eased her back, his chest aching at the sight of the tears rolling down her cheeks. He'd never seen her like this—relief, sorrow, ecstasy, and fear overwhelming her all at once. Without hesitation, he cupped her face, brushing his thumbs beneath her lashes.
"I saw how hard this was on you every day, yet I can't even begin to imagine what you were going through," he said, his hazel eyes fixed on hers. "But I need you to hear this: we never would have made it without you."
She whimpered at his praise, her lips trembling. "I was so worried I'd fail everyone."
"You didn't," he said, his voice firm. "You were incredible. I was terrified of losing you, but if anyone could lead us to victory, I knew it was you."
"Emmrich, I didn't—"
"I knew it was you," he averred. "From the moment I met you, you were indomitable. You kept everyone's spirits up. You made the difficult decisions. You suffered a living nightmare in the Fade, but came through it stronger than before." He leaned in, pecking her lips before returning to her gaze. "Darling, it's over, but not despite your efforts—because of them. You're a natural-born leader." He grinned, playfully pinching her chin. "And so damn irresistible."
Mara let out a breath—half a laugh, half a sob. Then she smiled, resting her forehead against his.
"I'm sorry for... the hysterics."
"Hysterics?" He frowned. "How many times have I unloaded my problems onto you?"
"That was different," Mara chuckled. "And I was happy to help."
"It wasn't different," Emmrich tittered. "My love, you have nothing to apologise for, and I'm glad you shared that with me."
"...I'm just so tired."
Emmrich kissed her temple, cradling her close. "Then sleep. I've got you."
She was silent for a moment, soaking him in. Then, with a sudden scoff, she pulled back, mischief flickering through her exhaustion.
"I'm not that tired," she smirked.
Emmrich arched a brow, caught between amusement and adoration. "No?"
Mara shook her head, then kissed him again, her tongue pushing past his lips as the warmth of the bath enveloped them.
"Mmm..." Emmrich melted beneath her, his hands wandering lower as the heat between them intensified. "Not too tired for some 'rigorous activities'?"
"Never," she purred.
The steam thickened, swirling around them in a fog, until their world shrank to nothing but their sensual touch and the heady pounding of their hearts.
#emmrich volkarin#emmrook#emmrich x rook#dragon age the veilguard#rook x emmrich#da: the veilguard#veilguard#dragon age#fic#fan fiction#crow rook
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Momokarun Fic Recs
This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)
My Inner Demon (really wants me to kiss you) by chaotic_quibit - Rated T
Ken knew there would be some side effects from using Turbo Granny's power to fight yokai and aliens alike. Being a bit more nocturnal, quicker to anger, his eyes reflecting red in photographs. Those were all fine. Nobody said anything about the voice of his yokai form sitting in the back of his head, constantly urging him to 'kiss Momo-chan' though.
An Education in Daemons by patster223 - Rated T
As a little kid, Ken has always wished that his daemon could change into a cryptid. His Dark Materials AU.
racing sunrise by Anonymous - Rated T
So. She was maybe possibly a teeny tiny bit obsessed with Okarun’s wings. She couldn’t help it. She liked Okarun and she liked his wings, and she really wanted to see them stretched out, except Okarun always kept them folded away as some sort of psychological tease for her specifically.
Momo wants nothing more than to fly with her crush. Unfortunately, Okarun doesn't fly. Ever. Momo is determined to get to the bottom of this.
I Only Have Eyes For You by johnsoupe - Rated G
Taking a peek, he notices that Momo and Jiji are nowhere to be seen, his water bottle left all alone. With a sigh of relief, he turns back around, standing up to head over there before being slammed against the wall. With a yelp, Okarun winces, cracking one eye open to see... Momo. Momo. Who just slammed him against the wall.
her smile by zileywrites - Not Rated
And even though he didn’t fully understand what he was feeling, one thing was certain: her smile had changed something inside him. momokarun first-time experiences: the first time someone’s smile made his heart skip a beat.
Woes of the Cuddler by imthepunchlord - Rated G
There's a real challenge in trying to cuddle a restless sleeper.
Sand and the Hourglass by ichoryte - Rated G
A quiet yearning the night before, and a longing heart the day after.
Carry Me Back? (Always) by foxxlightz - Not Rated
His head tilted, frost-white hair curling around his ears. A far off part of her wondered what it would feel like to comb her hands through it. The red of Okarun’s eyes burned hot as they traced her face, canines slipping out from behind his lips. He hummed in response, eyes flickering to the side. And oh.
It was easy to forget, looking at him like this, but this Okarun was still her Okarun. With his big round glasses that blew up his eyes like a bug, and his curly hair that was getting longer by the day. His nervous fingers tapping lightly on her side, corners of his lips curving up in sheepishness.
some kind of magic by teacosy - Rated G
Momo speaks then, her warm voice grounding him to reality. “Okarun, where does it hurt?” Okarun says it without thinking. “Right here,” he clutches his shirt, his fist above where his heart is. Momo leans down, her hand coming to rest on his own, still balled up tightly into his chest. Okarun looks at her, startled by the proximity. “Miss Ayase?” She shuts her eyes, sending her invisible hands to wrap around him. They were oddly warm, emitting some kind of soothing effect; like a balm to his anxiety. “I’m trying to send you good thoughts,” she looks up at him, her face too close.
— Momo & Okarun; on wounds, old and new, and the hands that tend to them.
An Empty Doorway by CatFiends - Rated T
“You don't have to go back home if you don't want to.” In between homework, murderous cryptids, and way too many goons after missing unmentionables, Ayase Momo tries to heal a heart.
comfort in weakness by zileywrites - Rated G
Ayase-san…” he whispered after a long pause. “Are you… okay?” Her arms tightened briefly in response, and she nodded against him. His cheeks burned; she could tell even without looking at him. His breathing hitched slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his grip on her grew just a little firmer, his hands pressing lightly against her back in an unspoken gesture of reassurance.
The Art of Apologies by animevoid (voidbirb) - Rated G
Set directly after episode 9, Okarun makes every attempt to apologize and explain to Momo and Momo makes every attempt to absolutely avoid letting him do such a thing
#veryace recs#dandadan#momo ayase#ken takakura#okarun#dandadan fic recs#momokarun#ao3 fic recs#fanfic recs#ao3
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