#if I help with something it’s ‘thank you dear’

[elronds-meleth-nin]

A Brush With...Kindness?

This idea came up in a discussion with @bigblissandlove1, so credit to you, my dear friend!! Thank you for being okay with me writing it! ILYSM! Thank you for screaming over both versions of Adar with meeee 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖 Also holy shit, this was supposed to be like...2000 words and ended up as almost 12000. 💀

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

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Adar (RoP) x Reader

[A/N: This has smut, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Mentions of violence (not discussed in detail), blood, bloodplay, threats, knives, swords, Adar in the winter, both soft!Adar and stabby!Adar, interspecies sex, Uruk/Human sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving), angst, much yearning, nudity, I feel like I'm forgetting something but I have no idea what because holy fuck this is almost 12000 words.

~*~

I knew his face from the moment he and his Uruks flooded into our village. Pillaging and looting where they could, murdering those who fought, the Uruks caused havoc. He strode in with them, looking as serene as the Elf I'd mistaken him for when I was a child.

How lucky I'd been that he'd chosen peace all those years ago. My father was a trader who traveled between Lindon, Eregion, and several villages inhabited by Men. Between the last of those villages and the borders of Eregion, we'd stopped to make camp for the night.

While my father set up our tent and tended to the horse, he asked me to gather some small sticks for the fire. I set off to do so, but in my quest for kindling, I ended up farther away from him than I'd intended with an armload of sticks large enough to make me stagger. Just as I'd begun to turn back, there was a small rustling from behind a bush a few feet away. I turned just in time to see a figure rising to his feet.

Tall, intimidating, covered in dark, aging armor, with scars on his face stood an Ellon. I let out a small, childish sigh of relief. I'd been afraid it might be a bear or an Orc or something fearsome, but it occurred to me that the presence of an Elf must mean that we were close to Eregion.

"You should not wander alone, little one. There are Uruks lurking in this forest," he said, and I noted that he sounded strange. Most Elves had voices that flowed like silvery musical notes, but his was raspy and low, as if he'd screamed for so long that he'd hurt his throat. Maybe he was a soldier, I'd thought. After all, they shout orders all the time.

"I'm not alone," I said lifting my chin as proudly as only a child could. "My father is not far from here."

He did not look convinced, yet still he offered me a smile.

"Perhaps, then, my lady, I could help you with your load?" He asked, and as I'd never been called 'my lady' before, I was not eager to disabuse him of the notion. He relieved me of my bundle of sticks, and together we began to walk back toward the camp my father had set up. After a few moments of comfortable quiet, I posed a question.

"What is an Uruk? I've never heard of one before. The word sounds sort of like 'Orc' if you say it too quickly..." I mused, and a small smile tugged at his lips. Vaguely, I wondered if his scars hurt him, but I did not think it polite to ask. At ten years old, my father had taught me manners enough to know that if a person wanted to talk about something like that, they should be the ones to bring it up.

"An Uruk is the correct name for an Orc," the Ellon said. "The words became...confused long ago. Not many remember their real name."

Oh. Well, that made sense.

"There are two people who know, now," I said smiling up at him, and he looked at me with raised eyebrows.

"That is kind of you, my lady, but you must not use that name around the Elves. They do not take kindly to having their mistakes paraded before them," he said, and that confused me.

"But...you are–"

The crunching steps of heavy boots in the underbrush startled me, but instead of an Uruk appearing from the trees, it was just my father.

"There you are! I told you not to go too far," he said striding up to me and wrapping me in his arms. He placed a kiss atop my head and only then did he turn his gaze upon my companion. Straightening, he glared suspiciously at my new friend. "Who are you? I've never seen Elvish armor quite like that."

His tone was less than kind, and, remembering my manners, I spoke up on my friend's behalf.

"Be nice, papa! He was helping me," I said. My new friend shifted the bundle of sticks to one arm, and placed his hand over his heart, inclining his head in a respectful bow.

"I intended her no harm, sir. There are many perils in this part of the forest and I wished to ensure she would not encounter danger," he explained. "Besides, a bundle this large was certainly more than a lady of her status should have to bear."

He offered me an exaggerated, deferential bow that drew a giggle from my lips. After a mere moment's hesitation, my father invited him to our camp to keep warm, since the woods grew quite cold at night. Looking back, it was obvious that he was incredibly patient with my childish questions as the three of us settled in to pass the night. Our evening meal stretched easily between three mouths, even though our new friend said that he did not wish to diminish our supply of food. We could not simply let him starve.

I woke in the middle of the night to low, whispered voices at the treeline. Carefully, I peeked through the flaps of my tent and saw two shadowed figures around the flickers of a small lamp. One stood tall, and the other hunched over.

With my father still slumbering soundly in his bedroll, I made a decision of which he surely would have disapproved. As quietly as I could, I slipped out, sneaking through the shadows of the trees until I could just make out the face of the taller person in the lamplight.

Our Ellon friend? What was he doing out here? Shifting slightly, I caught sight of the second person and–

I nearly tripped over myself to get back to my tent. He'd been speaking in a strange rasping, mean-sounding language to an Orc - or, an Uruk, as he'd called them.

I wasn't frightened of him, despite what I'd seen. Curiosity still reigned in my mind, but I still did not relish the thought of being caught eavesdropping. The next morning, I rose quite early, only to find that our guest was already gone.

"Don't look so distressed, love," my father called from his seat beside the fire. "He left this for you along with his apologies for leaving before you woke. He said his children needed him."

He held out a small piece of dark metal. It had clearly come from his armor. Carved within it was a set of stars, inlaid with some other tarnished metal.

"He said it was the symbol of the Noldorin Kings. He thought you might appreciate it and that it might serve to remind you of the conversation the two of you had," my father explained, though he looked a bit puzzled. "What conversation did he mean, if I may ask?"

As I looked at the small metal piece, it occurred to me that if he had not told my father, then perhaps there was a reason. My father might react poorly to the word 'Uruk' like our friend said the Elves would, simply because he worked so closely with them.

"He said it was dangerous to walk alone," I said, and though it wasn't a lie, it was not the whole truth, either. I'd never had reason to lie to my father before, and I hoped I would never need to again.

That night after we rode into Eregion and settled into our chambers, by candlelight I found the second symbol. Carved onto the back of the item he'd given me, there was what looked like a three-pronged shape. A tool perhaps? A maker's mark?

I wouldn't see that shape again until many years later when Lord Adar took our village. The armor piece which I'd turned into a necklace years before hung around my neck, almost burning beneath the bodice of my dress even as I averted my eyes from our new lord's.

When the morning came, we were all herded into a line leading to the steps of the tavern from which Adar was currently ruling over us. Those who refused to swear loyalty to him were summarily killed by the Uruks guarding us. When my own turn came, I dropped to my knees as all those before me had done.

Strangely, though, even as I looked up at him, I still couldn't find it within me to be afraid of him. Of death? Naturally, I was frightened, but I could not muster the same feeling regarding the Uruk lord. His eyes met mine, and his lips parted as if he recognized me.

An old man grasped my hair roughly, forcing my head down into a more subservient position.

"Do you swear allegiance to Adar, Lord Father of the Uruks?" He asked, but before I could answer either way, his tight grasp on my hair was suddenly released. "M-My lord?"

"She has already sworn for me," Adar rasped above me, and I tried not to look confused as he urged me to my feet. He reached toward me, and to my astonishment, his fingertips brushed against the pendant that had come loose from beneath the top of my dress. The one he'd given me years ago. The back with the three-pronged carving was visible because the chain had twisted. "She already wears my mark. You will not brand her, is that understood?"

"Yes, my lord," the grumpy old man said, but I could look nowhere save into the same green eyes I'd seen all those years before. I couldn't help but think about how beautiful they were.

"I shall see to the rest tomorrow, Waldreg. See that they're fed and have a place to sleep," Adar ordered. Grasping my elbow, the Lord Father of the Uruks led me away from the crowd. Once we were safely inside one of the ruined buildings, he clasped my upper arms and looked into my eyes. "I thought I told you it was dangerous to wander alone, my lady."

His voice was infinitely gentler than it had been before.

"I'm not alone," I whispered, "Not when I have you."

Looking at me with a mixture of disbelief and something far too soft to be on an Uruk Lord's face, he stepped closer and carefully rested his forehead against mine. The scent of smoke and metal, earth and wood oils surrounded me, and I recognized the scent, faint though it had been, from that day in the woods.

He muttered something in the low, guttural language that the Uruks used, and though I had no idea what he'd said, the sound of it sent my heart racing in my chest.

"I thought I'd never see you again," I admitted in a whisper, and he let out a slow, almost sad sigh.

"I had hoped that you would never have need to," Adar murmured in return. When he spoke again, he sounded almost resigned. "If you wish to leave, I can arrange safe passage for you."

I considered the possibility for a moment. My mother and father were living peacefully in Eregion, thanks to the kindness bestowed upon them by Lord Celebrimbor. I could certainly go there, but...was that what I wanted?

"And...if I wanted to stay?"

Pulling his head back just far enough to look into my eyes, Adar seemed as though he both was and was not surprised at my question.

"You would be allowed to do so, of course, but you must understand that this would be a hard life," he stated. "I cannot offer you any luxuries, not like those found in Elven territory. Mordor is new. We have very little. We have not even completed the construction of our own homes yet. Is that truly the life you want? Barely getting by on scraps of food, sleeping in the ruins of an old building?"

"I can bear it," I reassured him, and he seemed to consider my words as his fingertips once again traced the chain of my necklace.

"I will not make you swear your loyalty, my lady, but I would like your word that if at any point you feel as though this life is intolerable or overwhelming, you will tell me," he murmured as his eyes met mine again. "I would not see your light dimmed by such a place as this."

Gently, I laid my hands over his.

"You have my word, my lord," I murmured, and he nodded his head slowly.

"Then, welcome to Mordor, híril vuin."

--

She'd been different since the day they met. Oh, she was likely an average member of her species, but Adar had little personal experience with Humans beyond the occasional interaction. Her openness when she was a child had been endearing, especially since she hadn't thought him frightening or hideous. She'd accepted him as he was without question - even going so far as to protect him from her father's suspicion.

After she'd caught him speaking with Glûg in the middle of the night, ordering his children to leave her and her father be in Black Speech, however, Adar had thought that she'd have told her father what she'd seen...that he would be met with an arrow to the chest upon his return to their camp. Instead, she'd managed to sneak back unnoticed, and he'd taken his leave before she awakened.

Never did he think that one day as a grown woman - a lady - she would be forced to kneel at his feet. Not even with the threat of death looming over her was she afraid of him.

He'd never wanted her fear. When she was a child, he'd savored her curiosity, and now, as an adult, he found that he relished her gentleness and her acceptance. She'd been courteous to all of his children whom she'd encountered, even if such behavior earned scorn from the other Humans in their encampment. She never cowered. She never diminished herself to fit into the dull little boxes that the others of her species so consistently tried to force upon her. She was unique.

And Adar found himself growing ever more intrigued by her.

The winter wind whipped clothing, biting the skin and sinking bone-deep. Like most discomfort, Adar was used to it. He knew every survival method - one did not live for thousands of years without picking up a few helpful practices. His children had followed his example, but it was a bit harder for the Humans among them to find comfort.

Truly, though, the only one he cared about was his lady...his brave, determined lady. He remembered her looking up at him the better part of a year ago when she was forced to the ground before him. Curiosity and recognition was as obvious in her expression as the points on an Elf's ears.

Even after he'd taken their village, she hadn't hated him. She hadn't denied having sworn for him, even though that had been a lie he concocted to keep her safe and unblemished.

Seeing that remnant of his armor hanging from a chain around her neck had inspired more pride and awe in him than he'd felt in an Age. Adar had assumed that even if her father had given it to her, it was so small and insignificant that she wouldn't have bothered to keep track of it. But for her to have turned it into a necklace... The thought still sparked a wave of warmth in the Uruk's heart.

Had their encounter truly been that memorable to her?

As the bitter winter held the camp in its grip, residents and all, Adar walked amongst his children and sworn Human villagers alike, noting those things which were needed most. He turned a corner between rows of tents and half-built houses and paused at the sight of his lady and Glûg discussing the babe in the Uruk's arms. After a few moments, his lady let out a small laugh, and Glûg let out a rasping chuckle before departing with a small bow.

Before he could behave as if he'd been doing anything - anything at all - besides watching them, she turned and Adar's eyes met hers. Approaching without hesitation, she curtsied and greeted him with her customary 'good day, my lord.'

Dropping into his own low bow, Adar offered her his arm.

"Walk with me, if you would, my lady," he murmured, and she looped her arm with his. "How would you characterize the mood amongst your people here?"

They walked a few steps, she considering he answer, and he marveling at how easily they fit together. Having her at his side felt natural, as if that was where she was always meant to be.

"They are under strain, because of the winter temperatures. Perhaps they are a bit more frightened than usual, but nothing too serious," she replied. "They seem to have settled into their new routine along with your children quite well, considering the circumstances."

"And what of your own circumstances? What can I do to ease your burden?" He asked as they reached the door of her shelter.

"I can think of nothing, my lord." Adar did not believe that, but he did not contradict her, choosing instead to accept her invitation inside.

"Allow me at least," he said as he stepped inside, "to check your supplies. Firewood and the like."

"Of course," she murmured, waving him inside. One of the other ladies who shared her living space had already lit a fire in grate, and as soon as they saw Lord Adar walk inside, they quickly found other places to be.

Pretending to take a cursory view around the room, Adar slyly watched his lady move around, tidying up, even though the messes had clearly been created by the others. That he did not like, but that was a problem for a later date.

"Are you certain there is nothing I can do to improve your situation?" He asked, and she flashed him a smile bright enough to make his heart skip a beat.

"Nothing, whatsoever. I'm quite comfortable here," she said walking to stand with him beside the fire. He took a long, selfish moment to indulge his desire to study her face. When his desire to reach out and touch her grew so strong that he felt he might snap, he drew and released a deep breath.

"Thank you for your indulgence, my lady. I shall leave you in peace."

Adar gave her a small bow before making his way toward the door.

"Oh, wait! Please, my lord," she called, and he turned to face her. She pulled a length of cloth from a bundle, hurrying over to him.

A familiar sense of dread curled in his abdomen. He'd been betrayed before in moments of weakness - seeing her this evening was certainly a weakness. The cloth would make a suitable garrote for a person of her size to use. Steeling himself as she approached, he realized that, though he wouldn't be surprised, her betrayal would hurt more than any other had.

He met her eyes with his as she stood on the tips of her toes to wrap the cloth around his neck...but the constriction he'd been expecting never came. Instead, she tied it carefully, tucking the ends into his armor so they wouldn't flap around in the wind.

Adar's gauntlet-covered fist relaxed as his defensiveness was replaced with confusion. He was certain that he must look as utterly befuddled as he felt, but the little smile that settled upon her lips as she examined her handiwork stole his breath.

"There. That should keep you a little warmer, at least. We cannot have the Lord of Mordor freezing, now can we?" She asked when her fingers finally fell away from the chestplate of his armor. Adar found speech difficult for a long moment. She cared for his comfort?

How was one supposed to tell someone that they'd expected death's shadow only to find kindness instead? How could he possibly explain to someone like her that at the sight of a simple makeshift scarf, he'd coiled himself as tightly as a warrior preparing to be struck without a shield or sword to defend himself? She was so considerate that she would blame herself for unsettling him, he had no doubt.

No, to say nothing would be better. Perhaps...perhaps later.

Lifting her hands gently in his own, he laid soft kisses upon her knuckles. He dared not look away. Not now. This moment was crucial - whether for just him or for them both, he knew not.

"Thank you, dear lady," he breathed, and as his eyes searched hers, he saw what he normally did in her: warmth. However, this time he saw more. There was warmth, yes, but there was also gentleness, protectiveness, and a sort of satisfaction about him not tearing the scarf from his throat - he would never do such a thing. Not when it was from her.

When he finally stepped outside once more, the wind was unable to sink its frozen teeth into his neck. The fabric, worn and discolored with age, was soft, caressing his scarred skin just as he imagined her fingers would if she ever deigned to lower herself and take him as her lover.

Her generosity made him only that much more determined to find some way to make life easier for her. For nearly a week, he was kept too busy to give the matter any serious consideration, but he did have an idea.

While she was occupied, Adar slipped into her shelter. He wished to find a way to repay her for her kindness, thus his goal was to find one of her unfulfilled needs and provide for her. He was already able to ensure that she received enough food and water, and she deserved more than he could ever give her, but he was willing to try.

After a few moments of searching, he noticed the blanket in her little sleeping area. It was thin, full of holes, and practically falling apart. It was the only one he could see.

His heart clenched in his chest. She must be nearly frozen during the night, yet she had still seen fit to give him her scarf? The growing dampness of tears blurred his vision, but he blinked them away. How had she made it through the winter?

At least he could fix this for her.

Picking up the tattered blanket, he strode across the camp to find a replacement. Laying it atop a pile with other bits of cloth that needed to be repurposed, he found a stack of extra blankets. He'd already ensured that all of his children had enough to keep them warm, so one extra would not be missed.

He hastened back to her shelter, closing the door nearly silently behind him, but he quickly realized that he was not alone.

"My lord?" She called from her place beside the cold hearth. She was trying to light a fire with trembling hands. Walking over to her, Adar tucked the blanket beneath his arm and gently coaxed the flint and steel from her cold fingers.

Kneeling briefly, he struck the flint and steel once, twice, and carefully encouraged the flame to grow until a warm glow illuminated the room. When he stood again, he grasped her hands and rubbed them between his palms. He would not be content to leave her until he was certain that she would not freeze in the night.

She looked up at him in wordless wonder, and he knew for certain that his own expression had to be similar.

"Thank you, my lord," she said in barely a whisper, and in reply, he unfolded the blanket he'd brought. Though it was not nearly as soft as someone like her deserved, he knew it would hold the heat much better than her old one. Adar draped it around her shoulders, and, sweet trusting thing that she was, she made no protest about his proximity, nor did she flinch when the backs of his knuckles caressed her cheek.

She looked from him, to the blanket, and back again. Without warning, she sprang forward, wrapping her arms around his middle, but where he usually expected the bite of a dagger after such an impact, he found only comfort. He realized that she...was embracing him.

He looked down at her, only to find his nose now buried in her hair. Her scent! He'd smelled it before, but to have her this close...it was intoxicating. Carefully bracing his hands on her waist, he leaned down a little farther. The tip of his nose brushed against her warm neck, and he could almost smell her pulse racing beneath her skin.

His nose must've been cold, for that small movement was enough to startle her into leaping back. His fëa, dark and fractured as it was, wept at the loss of her, even though she'd only been in contact with him for a moment.

It had been so long since he'd been held like that.

Alarm settled into her expression and she began stammering apologies. Her new blanket slipped from one shoulder, and without a word, Adar stepped toward her and pulled it back into place.

Her voice dropped away as she realized what he was doing. His hands laid lightly upon her shoulders, sliding slowly upward until he was able to cup cup her cheeks carefully between his scarred fingers. Her eyes, now wide with wonder rather than fear, looked up at him.

"You have done nothing which warrants an apology, my lady," Adar murmured giving her small smile. She was so beautiful, so fragile compared to him. He would risk no injury coming to her. Not even the discomfort of the abating cold; slowly, their breaths became less visible as the fire grew in the hearth. "Why did you not tell me about the state of your blanket?"

"I did not wish to trouble you, my lord," she answered sheepishly. "I had already requested a replacement from the head of the Men in our section, but I was told I'd have to speak with Waldreg. Given my previous encounters with him, I...decided that the cold was preferable."

Disquiet twisted within him. Waldreg was distasteful enough without having caused his lady trouble. He was quite certain he'd tear the little worm of a Man limb from limb with a grin on his lips if he dared harm his lady.

Adar would have to speak with him about that.

"Has he mistreated you?" He tried to keep his tone as steady as possible, but a slight edge still managed to creep in.

"He expressed a few less than polite sentiments, but no more. It is not a crime for him to dislike me, my lord," she said, but her attempt to calm his ire only made him angrier on her behalf. Would she not express her anger even at someone as wretched and cruel as Waldreg?

"In future, come directly to me. You need not be afraid. I would be pleased to assist you, my lady," he promised, and his heart stuttered as she nodded her head.

As soon as he left her shelter, he sought Waldreg. The miserable little rat had much to answer for.

--

As the winter winds began to wane, I found myself increasingly glad of Lord Adar's kindness. Not shivering through the night was a pleasant change. I'd thought that after our conversation he seemed rather tense, but thus far I had seen no results.

However, as I returned from harvesting a small bunch of mushrooms for the soup that night, a vicelike grip clamped around my arm, tugging me off balance and dragging me into the small, dark alleyway between two repurposed buildings.

A hand covered my mouth just as a knifepoint pressed cold and unyielding against my racing pulse.

"You vicious little bitch," a familiar voice snarled against my ear. "What lies did you tell him? How did you make him hate me?"

I whimpered in fear but dared not move for fear of the sharp steel at my throat.

"'You will not treat my children or those pledged to me with disrespect,' he said. He's had me shoveling shit in the kennels for weeks, and word around camp is that he only came to me after speaking with you!" Waldreg sounded furious, and, indeed, I could detect the lingering scent of the wargs' leavings clinging to my attacker and his clothing. The more agitated he grew, the more his hands shook. Pain pricked my skin, and a hot red tear trickled down my neck staining the neckline of my dress. "What'd you do? Lift your skirt for him? Whisper in those ragged little ears of his? Give me one good reason I shouldn't gut you here and feed you to the wargs."

I began struggling in earnest, but his anger kept his grip tight. Still his hand covered my mouth, preventing any attempts at speech. A cruel laugh trickled across my ears, and he dragged his knife downwards until it rested directly above my heart.

"I thought not." I tried to cringe away, but that accomplished nothing save fueling the cruel old bastard's amusement as tears rolled down my cheeks. "Say goodnight!"

Instead of the bite of a blade, however, I was abruptly released. A gurgling sound came from behind me, and when I turned, I saw Lord Adar's gauntlet-covered hand lifting Waldreg off the ground by his throat. The cold glare on the Uruk's face revealed not a single mite of mercy for the Man thrashing in his grasp.

"My lady, go inside. I will join you in a moment," Adar called, and after a single shocked blink, I rushed off to do as he'd ordered. My basket lay in the mud, entirely forgotten amongst the chaos. A small crowd of Uruks had gathered around to witness Waldreg's demise and jeer at him, but I couldn't stay.

As terrible as he was, I didn't want to. Trembling, I closed the door after myself and stumbled toward my sleeping space. Quickly wrapping the blanket Adar had given me around my shoulders, I tried to steady my breathing instead of listening to the commotion outside.

I had no idea how long I'd been sitting there when the crowd fell silent and the door finally opened. Terrified that Waldreg had somehow survived and was coming to seek his revenge, I backed into the corner beside the hearth and tried to stay as small as possible.

I had no weapons with which to fight. Hiding would be my only chance to survive, especially if Adar had not been able to stop him.

--

"My lady?" Adar's voice called gently into the space, though he saw no sign of her. He spotted a small movement from the far side of the hearth. Why was she hiding? Her eyes were wide and fearful, even as he approached.

Suddenly her assertion about Waldreg expressing 'a few less than polite sentiments, but no more' felt grossly incorrect. If she was this frightened, he must've threatened her.

Adar hoped that she heard him screaming his apologies before his death.

Or...could it be that he'd finally managed to frighten her with his cruelty? That thought sent a bolt of icy dread through him.

Dropping silently to his knees beside her, he unclipped his gauntlet and dropped it beside him. He wouldn't dare touch her while wearing it after it had touched that scum, not without cleaning it first. He offered her his hand, afterwards, and she accepted it without hesitation.

She needed no coaxing to come to him, shuffling over and resting before him on her knees with her blanket still around her shoulders.

"You need not fear, my lady. He will haunt your steps no more," he murmured, and the relieved little sniffle that escaped her had Adar moving closer and gently brushing her tears away with the pads of his thumbs.

His skin was rough, but he was careful. He didn't want to hurt her, or for her to fear him. She had every right to after she'd seen him lifting Waldreg off the ground in the midst of his rage. He certainly would not blame her, but he did not want that. If ever she shrank away from him as she'd tried to do from that contemptible worm earlier, he thought his heart may shatter irreparably.

So, with the most soothing tone he could muster - one he'd not used in over an Age - he placed a gentle kiss upon her brow and spoke.

"You are safe with me, híril vuin. None shall raise a hand to you again." Carefully, he pulled the edge of the blanket away just far enough to see the small trail of dried blood from where she'd been cut. Regret was as foul upon his tongue as bile.

He should have found them sooner. Moving away only long enough to fetch a pitcher of water and a cloth, Adar sat close to her upon his return. He began to wipe her skin clean in slow, careful strokes, murmuring quiet, earnest praise for how brave she'd been and for trusting him to help her.

She rested her cheek upon his shoulder as he set the cloth aside, prompting him instinctively to wrap his arms around her and brace his chin atop her head.

"Thank you, my lord," she breathed, and he was acutely aware of his own heart racing in his chest. Could she hear its rhythm even with the chestplate of his armor in the way?

As he began to tell her that he'd done no more than his duty, the door to her shelter opened, revealing the three other ladies who shared the small space with her. Adar grated at the interruption, despite their low curtsies as soon as they caught sight of him holding his lady in his arms.

"Sleep elsewhere tonight," he ordered them, and once they'd departed, he let out a tense breath. Speaking then to his lady, he softened his tone once more. "Tomorrow, I shall have you moved to chambers befitting one of your station."

She blinked beautifully up at him, dampness clinging to her lashes like dewdrops in the early morn.

"'My station,' my lord?"

A slow smile stretched his lips.

"Indeed. If you are to serve at the right hand of the Lord of Mordor, you cannot be seen huddling in the corner of a ruined shack."

Her eyes went wide, and her lips parted in a near-silent gasp.

"A-At your right hand?"

He nodded his head in confirmation.

"Assuming that such a thought appeals to you, of course," he said, but the smile that lit up her face told him all that he needed to know about her enthusiasm.

--

The next morning, I awoke wrapped in Lord Adar's arms and the blanket he'd given me. I should've felt embarrassment, but I could muster no more than a groggy sense that I was exactly where I was meant to be.

As soon as we managed to peel ourselves from the ground, we gathered my meager possessions, and Adar led me to the tavern. He had ruled from there since day one, but I hadn't been aware until that moment that he'd been living there as well. I supposed that his choice made sense. The upper level was where the owner used to live, having the benefit of a bedroom and a small bathing room complete with a claw-foot tub.

"Unless you object, we shall be sharing the bedroom," he explained as we climbed the creaky wooden staircase. "I'm afraid that there was little more than a musty mattress here to begin with, so I'll have a second bedroll brought up today. If there is anything you require once you have settled in, please do not hesitate to tell me."

"Thank you, my lord," I replied, and as I set myself up on one side of the room directly across from his own sleeping area, one of his children called him away to handle a conflict on the other side of the camp.

Late that night, I walked into the small communal area where Lord Adar sat by the fire, gazing into its depths as if it held the answers to all of his questions. Not wishing to disturb his thoughts, I began to move away, but a quiet call of my name in that deliciously raspy voice of his froze me in place.

"Is everything to your satisfaction, my lady?" He called, and I turned to find his gaze already fixed on me.

"Yes, my lord," I murmured, "thank you for allowing me to stay here."

"The pleasure is mine. Come, warm yourself by the fire," he offered, and I dropped to my knees on the furs beside him. We sat in companionable silence for a while with only the crackling of the fire in the grate reaching our ears. "Something troubles you, does it not?"

I nodded my head and he tilted his head beside me.

"Tell me." Despite his soft tone, the command made me bite my lip.

"I...My lord, given the new position with which you have honored me, I believe it..." I stumbled over the words, eventually taking a deep breath to compose myself. "Would it not be inappropriate for me to continue in this particular role without having sworn my loyalty to you?"

The question came out in a breathless rush, but Adar either did not notice over the hissing of the fire or he was too polite to comment upon it.

"So far as all the others are concerned, you did so before we ever took your village." His eyes skimmed the length of my face as he spoke. "As you will recall, I promised you that I would not force you to do so."

"And you have kept to your word," I began. "I have not felt coerced. I offer my loyalty to you freely."

Adar sat up straighter and drew in a sharp breath.

"You only need do so if you truly wish for us to be bound," he said placing his hand softly atop mine where it rested amongst the furs. His eyes searched mine as if trying to determine whether I was serious.

"I'm certain, my lord," I said, and he, apparently finding what he was looking for, gave a solemn nod of his head.

"Very well. As with your kin, Black Speech is not a language known to you, thus I will not require your vow in that tongue," he murmured, and I couldn't stop the question that fell from my lips.

"Would it be possible to learn at some point?"

Adar smiled, a mix of pride and surprise playing across his features in the glowing, flickering light of the fire.

"I shall teach you personally, híril vuin," he promised, and his expression became more serious. "Have you ever sworn loyalty to another?"

"No, my lord."

"Do you recall the words being spoken during the oaths of fealty given by your people?"

"Yes, my lord." I bowed my head, intending to show my respect in that manner, but warm, gentle fingers grasped my chin and lifted my head back up. Adar's gaze met my own, and unless the firelight was deceiving me, I saw a soft sort of affection swimming in his eyes as he looked at me.

"Before all else, I wish you to swear that you will never bow to me unless I explicitly give you the order to do so," he rasped as his thumb brushed over my lower lip.

"I swear it, my lord. I will not bow to you unless you give me the order to do so." Having extracted that promise, he seemed satisfied to allow me to continue as I had been. His fingers fell away from my chin only to grasp my own and lay them atop his chest where beneath his heart lay beating. "I hereby swear my allegiance to you, Adar, Lord-Father of the Uruks, founder of the land of Mordor...and protector of mortal children silly enough to wander the forest alone. This I pledge from until the last breath leaves my body."

Adar listened with something akin to wonder in his eyes, and when I finished, his eyes strayed down to my lips. But...something seemed off.

"Is...something amiss, my lord? I could always use different words, if you prefer...?"

He shook his head quietly.

"There was no fault in your diction."

"Then...what troubles you?" I asked, unconsciously repeating his own words from earlier. He shifted before me, as if he was bothered by what he was about to say. Regretful, perhaps?

"An oath means little on its own," Adar murmured unsheathing a small knife that he'd apparently concealed upon his person. "Only blood can bind."

Whose blood did he mean? Did he want me to use it on myself? Did he wish to use it on me? Or did he want me to use it on us both?

An idea struck me, and I grasped my necklace in the palm of my left hand. Carefully, I set his knife aside, guiding his gauntlet-covered hand over mine. Looking into his eyes, I felt the unyielding metal dig into the soft skin of my hand. Without warning, I squeezed his hand, which in turn forced the sharp, ancient metal deep enough into my skin to draw blood. As comprehension dawned in his eyes, his pupils dilated, and something resembling hunger turned his gaze into a blazing flame boring into me.

His hand released mine long enough for the pendant to fall from my grasp, and when he turned my palm upwards, twin gashes welled with blood. Swallowing heavily, Adar lifted my hand, and as his lips met crimson, his eyes sought mine.

A gasp tumbled from my throat as his tongue lapped slowly at my skin, just barely grazing the inner edges of the two weeping cuts. It stung, of course, but the pain combined with such a ravenous stare from the Uruk lord sent a wave of heat rushing between my legs.

A breathy, wanton whimper escaped me, and in a blink, I found myself on my back atop the furs with my lord straddling my hips. He pressed my bleeding palm against his cheek, and, bracing his free hand on the floor beside my head, Adar placed a line of fiery kisses along the column of my throat from hollow to chin with his blood-drenched lips.

I'd wanted him to look at me like this, to touch me and desire me like this, from the moment we were reunited, and now that he was, it was as though my very soul had been lit aflame. I wanted everything he wished to give me, and then some.

Before his mouth had the chance to claim mine, however, there was a rough knock on the door. Adar pulled back a few inches, and we stared into each other's eyes, panting together as reality sank back in and a second knock sounded.

"I think you ought to retire for the night, my lady," he rasped laying a final kiss upon my palm before getting to his feet. My blood was a dark red streak upon his face, but he seemed not to care. He called for whoever was at the door to wait a moment, taking the time to help me to my feet and bidding me goodnight before seeing to our caller. His lips were still the deep red shade of the life flowing through my mortal veins.

I hurried up the stairs to our shared sleeping space before I could see who'd interrupted us. With a quick glance into the cracked fragment of a mirror stowed in the corner of the room, I saw a sloppy, red trail where Adar's lips had been.

I didn't bother to clean it off before I crawled into my bedroll, choosing instead to slip my fingers beneath my smallclothes as I recalled the feeling of him doing as he wished with me. With a broken, muffled whine of his name against my blanket, I found completion, but a part of me wondered how much more satisfying it would have been had his fingers been in place of mine.

--

The next fortnight felt as though it was a specialized form of torture. Adar seemed to be called away by a never-ending series of problems that required solutions. Often his day began earlier than I awoke and ended long after I'd retired to bed. Ensuring I'd completed every task he'd left for me was the least I could do considering how busy his own position kept him.

Occasionally, we did still manage to sneak a meal or a short conversation with one another, but we had yet to discuss what had happened the night I pledged myself to him. Almost every night, the memory of the hunger in his eyes drove me to desperation, haunting my dreams and forcing me to muffle my cries as I tended to my own burning desire.

One of the few times he returned before I fell asleep, I'd just whimpered his name into my pillow. As he ascended the staircase, I heard his footsteps, and I tried to muffle my shame as it was too late to stop entirely. The fear of discovery lanced through me as I heard he approached the door. I tried to steady my breathing, and hoped that in the low lighting, he would not notice how disheveled I looked.

Either I was successful, or he was in a sadistic mood, because he sidled over to his own bedroll and began stripping down. I'd seen him without the armor before, but when he shucked off his upper garments, the sight of his scarred, toned torso was enough to make me bite my tongue to stifle a gasp.

The outline of his masculinity in his trousers as he laid his clothing in a neat pile sent a fresh wave of wetness soaking my inner thighs. Oh, how was I meant to sleep after seeing...that?

Adar laid down, and just when I thought he'd fallen asleep, his voice broke through the silence.

"Sweet dreams, my lady." I could hear the teasing smile in his voice.

Oh. My cheeks burned at the realization that he'd likely heard me.

"...Good night, my lord," I murmured, hating how shaky I sounded.

--

Spring changed very few things in Mordor, save the temperatures, yet with each passing day, Adar's lady seemed to smile just a little wider.

He wanted to give her more reasons to do so, however. It was not enough that they had been living in close quarters since that night in her shelter. It was not enough that he'd made her smile and laugh before. Adar needed to do it again.

But more than that, he needed to hear those things which it was not at all civilized to consider. It was not enough that he had tasted her blood and her skin and her racing pulse. He'd heard her make beautiful, pleasure-filled sounds when she thought he was out of earshot or asleep. But it was never enough. He needed to hear her moan his name, to see her arch her back beneath him in the throes of ecstasy. He needed her.

Teasing her had been as much a torture for him as it likely was for her. Adar had become addicted to pain in one form or another over the millennia, and the mental strain of denying himself the pleasure of her touch was not unfamiliar, but it was forcing him to a breaking point, nonetheless. He knew that he would likely snap as he had when she'd sworn him her loyalty. That rush had been like a dam releasing an unstoppable flood, his hunger turning him into a ravenous beast.

She hadn't minded, as he thought she might. She'd enjoyed it. The sight of her lying beneath him panting as her blood practically dripped from his lips made him achingly hard each time he dwelled upon the memory for too long.

Still, she deserved better. Better than him, better than a moment of animalistic need. He found himself wondering about how best to give her all of himself.

Adar supposed that was how he'd ended up in the doorway of the small bathing room. The claw-footed tub was filled with steaming water as he'd ordered, and relaxing within it was his lady. She'd deserved a moment of peace after having completed every single task he'd given her with such dedication. It was a small reward, hardly as much as she deserved, but at the moment, it was all he could give.

He tried not to allow his gaze to drop beneath the water's surface, but his restraint was weak after the last two weeks of self-imposed denial. Truly, he intended merely to check that she was well, but the temptation of seeing her soft skin dripping with hot water was too great. The Lord of Mordor lingered in the doorway just long enough to feel his lower garments grow tight, and for her eyes to meet his as his lust clawed at his restraint.

As a moth drawn to a flame, he found himself walking slowly into the room, summoned by her curious gaze. The hot water reached her collarbones, and Adar felt the urge rising within him to claim her.

He knelt beside the tub, his face mere inches from her own, and removed his armor, gauntlet and all. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and dipped a washcloth into the hot water. The back of his hand brushed against the swell of her breast, and they both let out quiet gasps.

Still, Adar refused to look down into the depths of the sage blossom oil scented water. Wringing the washcloth out until it was just wet enough him to clean his face, he began to do so, only for his lady to take it from his hands. With her breasts pressed up against the side of the tub, her soft, gentle fingers held his head in place as she gently wiped away the grime.

Without a word, he turned his head and kissed her palm where twin scars were already forming. Adar would've preferred that she spill his own blood - that was what he'd originally intended - but since she'd chosen that pain, the least he could do was show the proper amount of reverence for her actions.

"Is there anything you need, Adar?" Her voice was shaky and breathless as it so often was when he caught her off-guard.

"No. This night is for you. Relax as long as you wish," he murmured, but as he stood to leave her in peace, he noted that she tried valiantly to hide her disappointment. Without turning back - if he did, he might do something impulsive - he called over his shoulder, "Patience, my lady, and you shall have all that you desire."

His hardness did not abate until long after they'd settled into their bedrolls and her breathing had evened out in the serenity of sleep.

Adar could not wait much longer. Her sweetness was as a siren's call to him.

Thus, his plan began to form. Once the spring was fully upon them, he approached her as he often did for conversation.

"My lady, I wonder if you might spare me a moment of your time?" He asked, and she smiled joyfully up at him - truly, that should not have made his heart stutter the way it did.

"Of course, my lord. You may have as much of my time as you desire," she replied, and oh, she had no idea what she was offering!

"Do you enjoy riding horses?"

She tilted her head curiously, but the way her smile widened had him mentally congratulating himself for selecting this particular tactic.

"I do, though, it has been quite some time since I've had the opportunity."

"Come," he urged offering her his hand. She didn't hesitate to take it. The feeling of her touch would be seared into his mind for as long as he lived. Drawing her close, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "I intend to steal you away."

Her lips parted in surprise, and just as he was about to apologize for his forthrightness, she squeezed his fingers in hers.

"I could not hope to be stolen by any more worthy." His breath hitched in his chest, and he tamped down the temptation to skip his plan entirely and take her atop his own sleeping furs. No. He'd been alive since before the waking of the world. He could wait a little longer.

"Then, maybe I should play the part...?" Adar suggested with a mischievous smirk. Before she could ask what he meant, he lifted her by the waist, tossed her over his shoulder - an action which tugged a surprised shriek from her lips - and carried her to his horse that way.

"My lord!"

"My lady!" He called back in answer as he felt her gentle, mortal hands lay across the back of his armor. Surely she knew he would never drop her?

Soon, he placed her atop his mount, and she giggled breathlessly at the situation. Her mussed hair and bright eyes lit a spark within his heart, and lower, not that he would admit it to any save her. Swinging up easily, he settled in behind her, grasping the horse's reins in one hand and bracing the other over the softness of her diaphragm. As close as they were, he was in the perfect position to whisper in her ear.

"Fear not, my lady," he breathed, "you shan't fall."

One of her hands covered his, and he urged their horse forward. For nearly two hours they rode, crossing from ashen, desolate terrain into the gentle rolling grasses of the land beyond Mordor's fiery shadow.

The rhythmic roll of her hips against his became almost hypnotic. The Lord of Mordor he might be, but his restraint was still utterly devastated by her. They dismounted when they reached a meadow peppered with small saplings.

Tying their horse's reins to a sturdy one, Adar offered his lady his hand. The sun was just beginning to glow a gentle orange. It would set soon, and he greatly desired to see his lady bathed in starlight.

"It is no secret that I favor you, my lady," Adar began as they wandered leisurely amongst the blooming flowers, and that was the closest he'd ever come to an admission...to a confession of that nature. "Even the Uruks farthest from the center of our camp know that I...that you are under my protection."

"Indeed. I would say that is true," she agreed, clearly not certain at what point he was driving with his rambling. "I am honored beyond words to have your favor and protection, my lord–"

"Adar. Here - anywhere away from prying eyes and unwelcome ears - you may call me Adar," he corrected gently, and her fingers squeezed his in gratitude. "I brought you here today, because I wish to ask for your counsel."

"You shall always have it, Adar," she assured, "though, I am not certain what advice I could provide that would be wiser than your own. I have very little experience with war and strategy."

He stopped walking and turned to face her - a mistake, because she was almost ethereally encompassed by the warmth of the sunset. He swallowed heavily to recover his voice.

"It is not war about which I require your thoughts," he began, bringing her hand to his ruined lips. "I have lived in shadow for so long, yet recently I have found myself prey to a feeling which I have not experienced in many Ages."

She tilted her head curiously.

"What might that be?"

Adar reached gently toward her with his free hand, cupping her cheek.

"Love," he rasped, looking into her eyes, hoping she would catch the meaning within his words. Admitting that a horrid creature like him had fallen head over heels for a beautiful being like her was tantamount to sacrilege. Yet...in several instances, he believed that he'd seen his own affection reflected in her eyes. Indeed, the moans he'd heard from her would seem to indicate that she desired him.

But it was too much to hope that she could love him. He was certain she desired him, but...love? Could a Human woman truly love an Uruk when the rest of her kind looked down on them in scorn and disgust? Had he been a fool to bring her here?

She stepped closer to him, looking up into his eyes–

Her expression stole his breath. He had not hung the stars in the sky, nor had he wrought treasures like the Silmarils. He had not created even a single thing of beauty. All he'd done was try to give his children a home.

And yet...she looked at him as though he was more worthy of praise than the most virtuous of kings, the most honorable of knights, and the most devoted of husbands. Could it be possible?

Could she...?

"I am afraid that I have little experience with love, Adar, but I will help if I can." As afraid as he might be of losing her, he must speak now or lose her forever.

"In your opinion, who is worthy of love?" He asked, and she let out a small huff of laughter, as if the question was a foolish one. "Have I said something amusing?"

"A bit," she admitted, but she was quick to place her free hand over his heart, "but not in the way you might think. Everyone is worthy of love, even - and, perhaps, most especially - the Lord-Father of the Uruks."

Was he truly so transparent that she could see his fears so easily? Or had she managed to worm her way so far into his heart without his knowledge that it was already a bosom companion to her own?

"...And you have it." His eyes snapped back up to hers - when had he looked away? His hunger and adoration for her rose up in a great wave, consuming him from the inside as he wove his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and drew her into a passionate kiss.

He'd dreamed of having her pressed up against him, of drinking her pleasure from her lips.

She moaned into Adar's mouth, and he was struck by the realization that she was so much better than any phantom images that his imagination could conjure. He dragged his lips and teeth to the corner of her jaw, and spoke in a hoarse, rasping whisper.

"I need you as I need air, meleth-nin." He grasped her waist as her arms drew him ever closer. "You steal my breath, yet without you I cannot breathe. Have mercy....Have mercy upon your most devoted servant..."

As the orange sky bled pink, his lips trailed down her neck, savoring those places which had driven him to the edge of madness when he sampled her before the fire. His name escaped her lips on the back of a desperate whine.

"What do you need? Tell me," Adar breathed, and she tilted her head to offer him more of her neck.

"Take me, touch me, please! I'll be good, so good, only for you," she begged, and the sound went straight to the stiffening length between his legs. He would love nothing more than to have her beg for him all night, but this time she would have no need to. Tonight, the beginning of their time as one, he would fulfill her every desire with a minimum of teasing. He'd done too much of that of late.

Her fingers dove into his hair, and a moan poured from his throat, rumbling against her pretty skin.

"Is that what you want? Do you wish to be a good girl for me?" She released a varied stream of yeses and pleas for him to do as he wished with her, and he acceded to her request with a kiss, quelling any doubt she may have had that he would do this for her. He would do anything for her, even unto the destruction of Middle Earth. "Do you wish to be mine?"

"Yes!" Her answer was akin to a desperate sob, and he wasted no time, immediately indulging her.

Tugging his cloak from his armor, Adar spread it over the grass. He would not have her dress covered in stains, nor grass blades stuck to her skin. The cloth created a sharp contrast - an onyx patch amidst a sea of pinks, purples, reds, and yellows - the dark to the meadow's light, just as she was the light to his darkness. She completed him, enthralled him, drove him mad, and tonight he would show her just how much.

She went for the ties fastening her dress, but he caught her hands in his and took over. She was a gift more precious than anything which the Valar could bestow upon their servants, and he would unwrap her accordingly.

As the laces binding the back of her dress fell away one at a time, Adar explored his lover's mouth with all the tenderness and gentleness that his cruel, twisted body could muster. He hadn't even realized that her tricky little fingers had begun to fiddle with his armor until his breastplate fell away.

In a flurry of discarded garments, they were each revealed to the other in all their beauty and all their flaws. Their shared vulnerability stilled their hands for an anxious moment, but only for a moment.

Adar's breath hitched in his chest when the soft lips he'd tasted mere seconds before connected with the scarred flesh over his heart. He'd expected pity, fear, regret - not reverence. Instead, as she looked up at him, he saw nothing but sincerity in her expression.

"You are gorgeous," she said, as though she could not tell that he had but one part of his body which was untouched by scars.

...As though she meant it. He realized with a sharp intake of breath that she did. She grasped his hands and they sank onto his cloak together, she on her back and he kneeling between her legs. His interest jutted toward her, but he could not find it within himself to be ashamed, not when he was with her. Not when a piece of his armor hung on a chain around her neck, resting comfortably above her breast.

"There is no beauty finer in this world than yours."

Spread nude before him over his cloak, Adar's lady looked up at him with an adoration he had not believed possible. Not when directed at an Uruk such as he. His lips met hers once more, but this time, he forced himself to be much more controlled. He wanted her, yes, but he also wanted her to know that she had his love.

Kissing his way steadily down her body, the Lord-Father of the Uruks had no doubt that he must look as hungry for her as he felt. Practically feral with pent-up desire, he needed her writhing on his tongue. His hands trembled with the effort it took to slow his movements, to take his time.

Abruptly, as his eyes met hers from between her legs, he realized that she very much had the capacity to destroy him. With a single declaration of hatred or a look of disgust, she could easily take his stone heart and pulverize it into powder.

How easily could she shred beyond repair what little remained of his soul!

Not even Morgoth had been able to do that. This mortal woman, this sweet, brave lady had no idea of the power that she possessed. The smart thing to do - the strategically wise path - would have been to kill her then and there while she lay vulnerable and trusting before him, begging for one more touch, one more kiss, one more moan, one more scrap of his attention.

Instead, he picked up his discarded gauntlet and slid her much smaller hand inside it. The clasps were quick work, and though she looked confused at first, once he lifted her thighs over his shoulders and guided her hand to his hair, understanding dawned in her eyes. She understood. He wanted her to feel powerful. She was his equal and she deserved to know it.

Even with sharp, unyielding metal covering her fingertips, they scraped so gently over his scalp as lost himself in the flood between her thighs. She moaned and whimpered, squirming in his hold, but through it all, she never once hurt him.

Adar knew that she wouldn't. Even as she cried out his name for all the world to hear, drenching his tongue and chin, her grip in his hair was careful. Her thighs tensed in his grasp, squeezing his head in an intoxicating vice. Groaning and snarling against her sensitive folds, he couldn't bring himself to pull away until she was shaking in the midst of over-sensitivity.

"Adar, please," she breathed as he moved up her body. Hunger raged and burned in his eyes - he could deny himself no longer. Grasping her wrists, he pinned them easily above her head as he claimed her lips. His tongue delved into the softness of her mouth, taking with it the lingering taste of her.

Her legs wrapped around his hips, drawing him close enough for his tip to catch on her entrance. With synchronized groans, he pressed inside of her, joining their bodies together as one.

Profane language not meant for the ears of such a creature as her spilled from his throat in a guttural stream of Black Speech. Dipping his head, Adar moaned against her breast and surged forward, drawing a sinful mewl from deep within her throat.

"You have me. You take me so well," he praised in a raspy whisper, nibbling at her earlobe as he thrust into her slowly. Gradually, she stripped him of his sense and control, tugging from within him a steady flow of praise and filth in Elvish and Black Speech - promises to treasure her for the rest of his days, to protect her, and to draw from her so many screams each night that all of Mordor would be unable to deny his claim over her.

When she managed to roll her hips beneath him to meet his thrusts, begging him to use her, to ruin her, what could he do but grant his lady's wish?

In a quick movement, he'd repositioned them both so that she was astride his hips. Pulling her arms behind her back and tugging slightly so that her chest was pushed toward him, Adar looked into her eyes.

"If you wish your lord to use you, then move those hips," he ordered. Leaning in, he brushed a few strands of her hair behind her ear and whispered a bit more gently to her. "Ride me, meleth. Show me that I have you."

She obeyed him instantly, finding a steady rhythm which, aided by his fingers toying with her clit, would have her tipping over the edge in mere moments. Indeed, her hips soon stuttered, and he gripped the back of her neck, forcing her eyes to meet his.

"Do not look away. Look at the pleasure I can give you," he commanded, and as she nodded frantically, beginning to fall apart, he felt his heart stutter in his chest. "Yes, look upon the Uruk who loves you."

At that she sobbed and collided firmly with her orgasm. She fluttered around his length, calling his name in lovelorn stutters and gasps.

Who needed Valinor when she was its very embodiment?

He released her wrists, and she threw her arms around his neck, claiming his lips with her own. His hands slid down her back, landing squarely on her hips. Holding her steady, Adar thrust up into her, making her yelp in surprise. He needed very little now; he was close.

"Where do you wish me?" Adar breathed against her lips, and he could feel the heat burning her cheeks.

"Inside," she answered hiding her face against his neck, and he moaned against her shoulder. Her name tore from him in an almost pained whine as he spilled within her. He clutched her to him so tightly that he'd undoubtedly left bruises in his wake, but he would kiss them all in apology when they'd caught their breath.

Neither seemed eager to release the other, so in their embraced they remained exploring one another with gentle fingers and loving lips until long after the moon had risen and stars had winked their way into the sky. When he dared to lean back far enough to look into her eyes, Adar was met with love bathed in glittering starlight.

He wondered if he'd hurt her, but the smile stretching her lips said otherwise. The armor piece that she'd made into a necklace still rested upon the smooth expanse of her chest - a perfect accompaniment to his gauntlet upon her arm.

The ride back to camp seemed too short by far, but their bedrolls - which would soon be joined into one - called out to them so sweetly. Adar was used to the bows and deference he received from his children, but he knew in his heart that his decision had been right when upon their return he heard the Uruks repeating a particular phrase as they passed.

His lover had heard part of it before, but now there were a few more words to it.

"What is that they keep saying?" She whispered the question to him, and he couldn't keep himself from smiling proudly. "It sounds familiar, but different."

"'Tis Black Speech. They are saying 'make way for the Lord and Lady of Mordor,'" he answered kissing her temple as they approached their home.

~*~*~

Taglist:

@bigblissandlove1 @horta-in-charge @gandalfthepimp

[sunniques]

manipulative stepdad jeonghan with naive and innocent reader please 😵‍💫😵‍💫 im so obsessed with ur works

— corrupting the princess

manipulation, cheating, corruption kink, pool sex, unprotected sex, creampie

“Daddy, you won’t let me go, right?”

Jeonghan has to hold back a groan, cock twitching in his swim trunks. When he offered to teach you how to swim, he knew it would inevitably lead him down the immoral path he was trying to pretend didn’t entice him. You cling onto him as he descends to the deeper side of the pool, and he just knows this is the day he crosses the line to make you his.

“Never, sweetheart.” He assures you, hands slowly caressing your smooth thighs. “You trust me, right?”

You nod cutely, arms tightening around his neck as you press closer to him. It doesn’t cross your mind that pressing your barely covered tits against him is inappropriate. You also don’t think much about how you’re settling right on his growing dick. After all, your sweet stepdad would never do anything you didn’t want him to.

“Yes, daddy.”

Your voice is so sweet and full of trust that he can’t handle it anymore. He needs to have you in the way he’s wanted since he saw you.

A soft gasp fills the air when large hands cup your ass and grind you against your stepdad’s cock. It’s so big, and it makes an unfamiliar ache bloom in your core. Jeonghan is looking at you with a lidded gaze that makes the feeling burn hotter.

“Daddy?” You whimper, feeling dirty for wanting him to help you relieve that ache.

“You’re so pretty.” His voice is low and seductive. “The prettiest little princess I’ve ever seen.”

You feel your skin get hot, almost keening at the praise. Nervously, you lick your lips and quietly thank him. He’s always telling you how you’re a princess and how you deserve to be treated like one. He’s taken on that responsibility personally, always spoiling you to your heart’s content.

“Your mom’s been tired with work lately.” Your stepdad’s sad smile makes your heart clench. “We haven’t been intimate in a long time. That’s why I get… excited when I’m around such a pretty girl like you.”

Your heart is racing, and all sorts of filthy thoughts cross your mind about helping out your poor stepdad. Any guilt you feel dissipates when Jeonghan shifts and brushes that thick cock against your covered pussy. It feels like it’s pulsing, and you lick your lips at the feeling.

“Will you help me with that, baby?” His voice is impossibly gentle and sweet. It has you nodding like you’re in a trance.

You don’t feel guilty when your stepdad pulls his swim trunks down and slides your bikini bottoms to the side. Jeonghan rubbing his slick dick against your lips feels too good for you to feel anything other than pleasure. And it’s going to help him relieve his stress. Since it’s something your dear mom can’t do anymore with how hard she works.

“Daddy!” You cry out when Jeonghan finally sinks you down on his throbbing cock. The stretch is a little painful, but overall it helps soothe the ache you felt since earlier.

“Fuck, princess.” Jeonghan groans as he starts bouncing you on his cock.

The water around you sloshes and splashes. Filthy moans grow louder as your stepdad’s thick cock spears you open. His bulbous head slams against the gummy spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

You spend the rest of the afternoon on his cock, milking him until he’s completely satisfied.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Wick fic ideas, pretty please?

Oh dear. 😆 So this doc is my dumpster fire catch all. This is an outline/imagine I wrote for an Assassin!Reader x John Wick fic last december. I kind of imagine them having a sort of hostile Perkins/John vibe? Thank you @sweetwolfcupcake Sweets!! 😘😘😘😘

warnings: nsfw, violence, sex, angst 😱

You are an assassin, and you keep beating John wick to his targets. He doesn't appreciate it. You beat him two times. “No hard feelings, John.” You kiss him on the cheek, the corner of his mouth really, patting the scruff of his beard a little hard. He is like a block of wood, frozen in his self control. He doesn't lash out, like most in your profession would. 

Maybe that's why you make it your mission to poke him. You're curious if you can get him to crack. Just a little. 

The third time your paths cross you fight. It's brutal. You've already done half the work of killing the guards, you're not losing this payday if you can help it. You hit each other and throw each other around, and you are ridiculously turned on by this man. You can tell he's trying not to really hurt you, but he's not letting you have it either. 

In the end he pins you against a grate and whips his belt out of the loops. He uses it to secure your hands above your head. “Stay,” he growls, gasping for breath. It's ridiculously hot and you are soaking wet, but still you snarl, “Hey!” 

But he's gone like a shadow to finish the job. You hear fighting and gunshots, then silence. A good ten minutes go by before he returns to you. He looks at you warily, which is wise. He's clearly trying to figure out how to free you without getting hurt. In the end he sighs and decides to bite the bullet, stepping in to you and reaching for your hands. No hard feelings, he says, parroting your earlier words back at you. 

Holding on to the bars, you wrap your legs around his waist, quick as a striking snake. You pull him against you hard, winning a surprised grunt. Well John? You won. Are you going to claim your prize? His gaze involuntarily drops to your mouth, and you're 80 percent sure you have him in the bag. 

His hands travel from the belt down to your butt, helping to support your weight. You feel that his enthusiasm for this situation is growing by the second.

“Is this what you want?” he asks, pressing against you. 

“Doesn't matter what I want,” you say breathily. “I lost.”

He tilts his head, giving you a look. Some form of consent clearly matters to him. You squash the warmth you feel for him for this. There is no room for softer feelings in your world. That's how you end up dead. 

“Go on,” you urge him. “You won the night. Fuck me. You clearly want to.”

He narrows his eyes, leaning closer as you grind against his now hard erection between you. 

“Maybe I'll let you into my sweet, wet little cunt,” you goad him further. “Or maybe, I'll try to kill you while you're inside me. Hard to say. But secretly I think you like that, don't you, John? Everyone thinks you're such a sweetheart, but I think deep down, this is what you want. To take what’s yours because you fought for it and won.” 

He frowns like he wants to argue, until you squeeze him again with the strength of your legs, and you see something snap in his eyes. You have a nanosecond to savor it before his mouth crashes against yours. You kiss him with equal fury. Your teeth sink into his bottom lip, just this side of drawing blood. He growls in warning, and after a moment you release him slowly, meeting his eyes from across your noses.  

In the end, he does as he's told.

___

This competition goes on for several contracts.

Then you get a text. Want to come over?

You're confused, wondering if it's some kind of trap. What do you mean?

Ill make you dinner?

Huh. Ok.

You go. Out of curiosity more than anything. He has an apartment in manhattan. He makes you fucking spaghetti bolognese, and pours you wine, and its almost like youre normal people on a date. After dinner you watch a movie, and you make out. He picks you up, and doesn't slam you into the wall or take you on the floor. He carries you to the bedroom, where he sets you down gently on the bed, and fuck if he doesnt make love to you. It's beautiful and scintillating and you are not sure you like it, when all is said and done. 

You feel very open, and vulnerable, and warm, and fuck. No, you do not like this at all. You don't stay for breakfast, slipping out. The next time he texts you stare at it for a whole day before answering, i can't be your girlfriend, john.

A long time goes by before he answers with one word: Fine. 

You know there is a sea of emotion behind that single word. You know you've hurt him. You just know. But you are a vicious little thing, forged in the fires of the foster system and the streets. You're not ready to show your soft underbelly to anyone. Not even John Wick.

You stop poaching his contracts after that. Not because you're afraid of him, but of the way he makes you feel. In fact you don't even see him again until two years later. He's sitting outside at a bistrot with a gorgeous brunette, and it hits you like a punch to the gut. 

As though he senses you, the way predators scent other killers nearby, he turns to meet your eyes on the street. Maybe you've just been standing there staring like a crazy person, but he says something in his friend's ear, and gets up to meet you. “Hey, y/n.”

“Hi, John.” 

“How have you been?”

“Oh, you know. That your girlfriend?” He looks at you, assessing the threat level. You dont blame him. 

“Fiancé,” he finally admits.

“Wow. I’m...happy for you, John.”

You are surprised by the surge of envy in your breast. You could have had that, had him, if just maybe you weren't quite so broken.

“Are you?”

You nod, and goddammit if there's not moisture stinging your eyes. It's going to ruin your eyeliner.

“Yeah. I am. See you around, John.” You turn to go, but a pressure on your arm calls you back.

“Y/n.” 

Hes looking at you with those fucking puppy dog eyes and you know he knows you are not all right. But you put on a brave face. “Its ok, John.” You kiss him on the corner of the mouth. See you. You turn to go, and this time he lets you.

You don't see him again until five years later. When you hear his wife died you actually feel sorry for him. No really, you do. And when you hear there's a hit out on him after the Tarasov punk kills his dog and steals his car...you find yourself gravitating towards the Continental, like you just know in your bones he might need a little extra help.

[itsyagurlchip]

Hihi! ^w^ saw your requests were open annnd i was wondering if you could do a husk x reader [romantic + established relationship] where reader is his lucky charm. Like he just has such good luck when they’re around him (especially when he’s gambling). Just make it super cute n fluffy :3

☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･The Best Gamble Love Can Give☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

ᯓᡣ𐭩 warnings: super fluff attack(!) cussing(!) gambling/alcohol addiction(!) wife-coded reader(!)

ᯓᡣ𐭩Guys I swear to God if y'all don't correct my grammar imma find y'all houses and eat your waffle fries/j. This one is super cute anon! Thank you for requesting <33 I want to make some hearts explode with this one. Would you be fine if I made you Husk's spouse? (tehe)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Even if he didn't win, he still has you. And that's more than luck could ever grant.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 !!For those who don't play, Speed is a game where you have 20 cards to discard, and two discard piles. You have to place down each card (one by one) as fast as you can, in order, and whoever runs out of cards first wins. If there are no more cards to place, you grab from the piles on the sides to continue the game. All while keeping 5 cards in your hand at a time. While you don't need to know this in order to read the story- it will be helpful to know bc I'm not that good at explaining card games.!!

Husk kept on losing, and it was starting to piss him off. Today's redemption exercise was to practice to eliminate the need for gambling; ironically, Husk was chosen to lead the rounds of games. The current game was Speed, with Hellish versions of playing cards.

And he was losing. So. Bad.

Everyone was sitting in the main area, with the usual furniture switched out for tables and chairs. Husk growled, but kept his composure.

"Where's the serenity at, dear Husker? Getting 'chaff' now are we? I guess the cat does lose it's skill, after getting too curious of course." Alastor said, antagonizing him further. Husk banged his fist on the table, making the sinner in front of him jump a bit.

"Fuck!" He grumbles out. The first 5 were won easily, but for some reason these past 30 something games have been no luck.

At first, the goal of the exercise was to play a few games, and quit. You know, to discourage bad behavior but still have fun. But right now, even without a genuine bet, he was setting a bad example. He knows. The sinner in front of him was playing swiftly and skillfully. His wing twitched and he grimaced as his mind stuttered.

But he just had to win. He has to keep going.

Charlie was getting concerned, but he waved her off. Everyone else was finished with their rounds of games, it was time for a new activity. But Husk wasn't gonna allow himself to lose like this.

Not to a damned practice game.

Then you walked next to him. One by one, he rapidly placed down cards in order. His partner did as well, speed was the game afterall. His ear twitched as your heels softly clacked against the floor.

"Hey Husk, baby. You doin' any good?" You said, your voice dripping like honey over his ears. But then he remembered the game. You were worried, Vaggie told you he's been going on like this for hours non-stop. It's almost nighttime.

"Yea, don' worry. Imma win this game in just a minute." He responded, gruffly as he missed the chance to place his ace. He put down a 4 over the five in the second discard pile then. 2 cards left in his deck, but none that followed the order of the discard pile. Fuck.

His partner had 1 card left, probably a king considering the cards that were already placed down.

You kissed his fluffy forehead, relishing in the near silent purr he let out.

"Alright sweetheart, finish up the game so everyone can go to sleep." You fidgeted with his ears in your hands for a bit, before letting go and sitting at the bar.

Watching from afar, you saw that he won. But he wanted to play again. This time though, you didn't allow it. Vaggie saw that you had it handled, so she went up to the elevator. Probably to her room with Charlie, you guessed.

You stood up, walking towards him again with a glass of whiskey, swished with chocolate hints. You placed it in front of him while he was shuffling the cards, not before taking a sip.

The affectionate way it is then.

"Hey, you." You said, slowly rubbing up and down on his fur. You could feel it bristle in shivers before relaxing. Your chin rested on top of his head, lifting a bit to see what he was doing.

"Hey? You just talked to me a few minutes ago." He began to set the cards up, so you pluck them up and stacked them away into a withered box. His wing flapped in annoyance.

"I know," you chuckled. "I just knew you wouldn't last long without a drink. Nothin' too sweet of course." You finished, pushing the drink towards him.

While you couldn't eliminate his addictions, you could switch them for others in small amounts, enough to distract him to bed. You can't fix him, he can only help himself when he chooses to. You both know that.

"You know me too well, Sugarpie." Husk smiled, before talking a gulp of the glass you gave him. Half of it was gone. "No cherry?"

You laughed a bit, placing the box in your pocket to put away later. No one was in the room, no one you could see anyway.

"Naw." You rested your chin back down on his head, wrapping your arms around him neck a bit. "You would just swing it away. No appreciation for its flavor-" You scoffed amusedly at the thought.

He was now distracted away from the cards and now on you, good. You could hear Alastor snicker before walking away.

"Ready to go to bed?"

ᯓᡣ𐭩

In the dark room, you slept. Husk didn't.

He was wide awake, in a way that still made him feel tired, but not sleep. On his back, he looked up at the ceiling in mindless thought.

Husk didn't mind though, as long as it didn't affect your sleep. He looked at you. Your breaths were soft, and slow. His eyes dilated, though one could never really prove it.

Grabbing onto your waist, he cuddles into your side just a bit more, and relaxes with a deep sigh.

You, in your half asleep state, reach for him. In which you succeed, running your fingers through the tuffs of his ears in an unknown rhythm. Husk purred freely now, he loved it when this happened.

How lucky was he, of all people in this shitty hell, to still have his wife in the afterlife? Sure, you may not have done great things, but he was afraid that the two of you would forever be separated by heaven.

How lucky was he, in all of his shitty problems and mental shit, to be able to still have you around? To have you want him around?

That thought had brought a soft smile to his face. In all of his gambles, this was the best one he's ever made.

I think I remember who asked this, but then again I'm answering this one late. soooo, if I tag you incorrectly I'm so sorry (@kltira )

I think imma call this place the "debriefing space" bc I always wanna ramble, but I'm never sure where. Also, so people won't have to read this before the oneshot/fic. Nothing here will be specific, maybe things I'm thinking while writing, or things that I sorta wanna discuss.

Rather than being a lucky charm, I was thinking reader to be more of a saving grace for Husk. Which he already finds lucky enough. While you are motivation to win, it doesn't always secure his place for it.

I know this trope is kinds overused, but you and Husk were married during life (yippee!!). You guys are just two old people who want to spend time with each other lmao. I sorta headcannon that when he starts to get too into his addiction, you kind of save him (BUT NOT FROM ALASTOR LMAO/hj) and that was one of the reasons why he married you. Not only to keep himself in control, but to see you guys thrive together <33

you are quite literally his only silence from this hellhole.

{Can we just talk about how when Angel Dust nonconsensually touches Husk ppl call it "cute" and "aww", but when Valentino nonconsensually touches Angel it's now bad? likkke. we love the show but we gotta get some new writers for season 2 and fans who don't mischaracterize everything they see.

I'm now only really starting to think about this- and the double standard is starting to be more noticeable to me. Like when Sir Pentious was saying "no" but those demons still dragged him into the sex room. But that scene was used for entertainment rather than "Hey this is a serious moment" like Valentino was.

I'm all for HuskerDust, but you gotta realize when a character does something bad and does nothing to redeem from it, no matter if they're a part of the main cast or not. (isn't that what the show is supposed to be about- redemption? y'all do understand how destructive this behavior is and how it can easily make HuskerDust toxic right?). }

we need the option for another 'keep reading' thingy bc I talk too much. ignore my yapping.

૮₍˶• .•⑅₎ა tags: @kittykittyanon @bonefanatic @oleander-nin @towomatos @thealphagirl

૮₍˶• .•⑅₎ა@ziipzeepzop-eez @wheezdostuff @spongejuice @cyb3r-st4r @matteo-hamato

@clown-froggi

if you would like to be added, check my blog. if you would like to be added, check my blog. SEE? I SAID IT TWICE!!

[seongwars]

forget me not | v

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x witch!Reader AU: non-idol | supernatural Summary: Yunho should be happy--he's got everything going for him and he's set to marry the love of his life! So why is he standing outside of your shop on the night of his engagement party? Word Count: 7.5K (i have to stop with these long chapters, im sorry) Warnings: infidelity, i think one swear word, punching, slut shaming (kinda), implications of smut

Fic Masterlist

a/n: i guess forget me not fridays are a thing now because i posted last friday too. i'd also like to thank insomnia for letting me churn out two fics in one week, though this chapter is kind of filler

Yunho wandered through the bustling marketplace, weaving between vendors hawking their wares—colorful silks, handmade pottery, baskets of freshly picked fruits. The chatter of townsfolk filled the air, their voices rising and falling in a way that brought the village square to life. 

From the corner of his eye, he noticed an elderly woman struggling with a large bundle in her arms. As she shifted the weight of the cloth-wrapped package, her grip faltered, and before she could stop it, the bundle slipped from her arms. Rice cakes and other delicacies tumbled to the ground, scattering across the dusty ground. People walked by, barely noticing her plight, but Yunho, instinctively, hurried over.

“Granny, are you okay?” He asked softly, kneeling to gather the scattered rice cakes. The old woman looked up, her eyes kind but weary, framed by deep lines etched by time. She smiled gratefully, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for the fallen cakes.

“Thank you, dear. My old bones aren’t what they used to be,” she said, her voice gentle but tinged with exhaustion. Yunho gathered the last of her rice cakes, placing them back in her cloth bundle and tying it securely before handing it to her.

She looked up at him with a warm, toothy grin, the deep wrinkles around her eyes crinkling with gratitude. “You have a good heart,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as if sharing a secret meant only for him. “I’d like to give you something in return.”

Yunho blinked, unsure of what to expect, but the anticipation settled in his chest. The woman’s frail hands moved slowly, carefully reaching into the folds of her worn hanbok. From its depths, she withdrew a small spool of red thread, delicate and faintly shimmering in the sunlight. 

Her gnarled fingers trembled slightly as she snipped a small length of the thread, the gesture deliberate, as if she had done this many times before. She placed the cord gently in Yunho’s hand.

“This is no ordinary thread,” she said in a low, almost mystical tone. “Those bound by this are connected by fate, their souls intertwined across time—no matter the distance, no matter the lives they live. You should only tie this to someone important to you.”

The thread shimmered faintly, its vibrant red hue standing out against the earthy tones of the village. Yunho could almost feel a pulse of energy coursing through it.

"I must be on my way now," she said, her voice soft as her eyes lingered on Yunho momentarily. "Thank you again for your help."

The elderly woman bundled her cloth together, adjusting it over her shoulder before standing upright. Her hunched figure vanished into the sea of bustling villagers, as if she had never existed at all.

"Yunho!" you shouted, breathless and laughing as you reached him. You grabbed his hand, tugging him along excitedly. “Come on, we’re gonna go play by the river!”

"Y/N, look what I got!" he exclaimed, holding up the delicate, shimmering red cord. “Some granny gave it to me! She said it’s special, but I have to be careful who I tie it to. Only someone really important.”

You tilted your head, curious as you eyed the thread. “Like your mom?” you asked, as if it was the most obvious choice.

Yunho hesitated for a second, then shook his head. “No, not my mom. Maybe... Gunho?” 

You nodded thoughtfully, swinging your arms as you looked up at Yunho. “Yeah, Gunho’s pretty important. He’s your brother, after all.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there, thinking about the people in Yunho’s life—those who mattered most. Family, friends, the people who had shaped him in his premature life. But as the silence stretched, Yunho found his gaze shifting, not to the thread or the crowd, but to you.

Without thinking much of it, Yunho suddenly grabbed your wrist, his fingers wrapping around it gently. The moment he touched you, the warmth from the thread pulsed between his fingers, almost like it had its own heartbeat. He blinked, surprised at the sensation, but didn’t pull away. Instead, something in him clicked into place—something that told him this felt right.

“Y/N, you’re my friend,” he said softly, his voice more serious now. “I think...I think you’re important. Because you’re kind and you share your snacks with everyone.”

You blinked, slightly taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone, but you smiled at him anyway, that carefree, trusting smile that Yunho had grown so used to. “Okay,” you replied, holding out your wrist without hesitation. 

Yunho’s fingers trembled slightly as he began to loop it around your wrist. It was a simple act, childlike in its innocence, but as the thread touched your skin, it felt like something much deeper was happening. 

“There,” Yunho said with a small smile, stepping back and letting your wrist go. His heart still beat a little faster than usual, but he tried to act like nothing had changed. “Now you’ve got your special thread.”

You looked down at it, your expression soft, eyes wide with wonder. “Do you think it’s really magic?” you asked, your voice quiet, almost reverent.

Yunho shrugged, trying to play it cool, but deep down, he wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice light, but his heart told him otherwise. “But I hope so.”

“Who are you?” you asked, your voice soft, tentative. “To me?”

Yunho’s eyes met yours, the weight of your question lingering, heavy and fragile. He saw the confusion on your face, the struggle to grasp something intangible, and it tugged at his heart. There were many things he wanted to say, truths tangled in past memories you no longer held.

He took a deep breath, gathering his emotions, steadying himself as he gathered his thoughts. “I don’t expect you to remember everything,” he began softly. “I don't even know where to start. But…” He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching for yours. 

“I’m probably the only person who knows you can never finish a book.”

He let out a soft, affectionate chuckle despite the puzzled look on your face. “You always get distracted by a new one, even though you swear you’ll go back and finish the first one eventually.”

The words kept coming, each one a memory, each one a reminder of the person you were—the person you still were, even if you didn’t know it.

“Or how you’ve tried to convert me into being a Lions fan because you’re convinced blue suits me better than red. And when you’re really excited about something, your eyes look like they’re about to fall out of your face.”

His lips curled into a small, wistful smile, the kind that carried a hint of nostalgia. “I don’t expect you to remember everything,” he began, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“But know that to me, you’re everything.”

Yunho’s confession wasn’t a grand declaration or a desperate plea. It was simple, honest, and yet it carried all the weight of his heart. He wasn’t asking you to recall the memories you had sacrificed. He was offering you a glimpse into the life, into the person you had been, and still were, to him. 

His words pushed against the walls you had built around yourself. It was strange—your mind felt blank, yet your heart ached with a familiar longing. And in that moment, something clicked.

It was the trust Yunho had in you—the unshakable belief that whatever had connected you two before still lived deep inside, even if you couldn’t see it right now.

“I’m holding you to that,” you said, voice steady but softer than before. The promise hung in the air between you, binding you both to something larger than words or memory. “No matter what you have to tell me, I’d want to hear it from you. And before I forget…” 

You snapped your fingers and the air shimmered for a brief moment before the toy puppy Wooyoung had swiped from Yunho appeared. Its small, floppy ears were folded in a way that suggests it's seen better days. 

"Thought you might want this back," you chuckled, offering it to him. But before Yunho could take it, you waved your hand over the toy, casting a subtle protection spell. The air around it swirled with magic before sinking into the fabric, leaving a faint warmth behind. "You might need it."

Yunho’s mind drifted back to that day at the beach when you won the toy. You were excited, nuzzling it, saying you’d always have a version of him, no matter what happened. Now, as he held the same toy in his hands, Yunho felt as though he was holding a piece of you—keeping you close, even when you weren’t there.

He reached out, and as his fingers closed around the toy, they brushed against yours, sending a spark through the air between you—subtle, yet unmistakable.

“Thank you,” Yunho said quietly, his voice filled with emotion. His gaze flickered from the toy to your face, and there was a softness in his expression that tugged at something inside of you–a tenderness you couldn’t deny. 

"Take care of yourself," you murmured, the words simple but weighted with everything you couldn’t say out loud. It wasn’t just a casual goodbye; it carried the quiet hope that he would return. Yunho gave a soft, bittersweet smile, his hand lingering for a moment longer before he finally let go. 

⋆

The drive back to Seoul felt endless and suffocating. The hum of the engine was the only thing keeping Yunho tethered to reality, but even that felt distant, drowned out by the steady thrum of anxiety rising in his chest. He glanced at his phone, resting in the cup holder, the screen dim but waiting. He'd tried calling Haewon three times already, and each time, it had gone straight to voicemail. 

With a heavy sigh, Yunho ran a hand through his hair as he merged onto another stretch of highway. His eyes flicked to his phone resting in the cup holder, the screen dark but expectant. He’d already tried calling Haewon three times. Each attempt had been met with the same result: straight to voicemail. 

No response. No explanation. Just silence.

Yunho’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as he pulled up in front of Haewon’s apartment building. He stared through the windshield, his eyes tracing the outline of the structure he’d seen a hundred times before. Tonight, though, something felt different.

His eyes flicked to his phone resting in the cup holder. The black screen stared back at him, a reminder of his unanswered calls. He’d already tried three times, each one sending him straight to voicemail—no explanation, no apology, just the cold, automated message. Yunho’s hand hovered over the phone again, thumb brushing against the screen, contemplating a fourth attempt. But the voice in his head—the same one that had been growing louder for weeks—stopped him. No more calls.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself as he approached her door. Yunho’s heart raced as he lifted his hand, feeling the weight of what he was about to do. With a firm rap, he knocked, the sound reverberating in the hallway. He waited, heart thumping harder than it should’ve been. No answer. 

He knocked again, louder this time, straining to listen for any movement inside.

Nothing.

Yunho hesitated for a moment before punching the code into the keypad. The familiar sequence of beeps sounded too loud in the quiet of the hallway, and when the lock clicked open, the sound was almost mocking. He stepped inside, the apartment dark except for the faint light spilling from the bedroom down the hallway.

“Haewon?” he called out, his voice low but steady. No response.

His footsteps were slow and deliberate as he made his way down the hall toward the light from the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and through the crack, he could hear faint voices—soft, intimate and too close for comfort. His heart sank.

For a split second, everything felt surreal, like Yunho was standing outside his own body, watching the scene unfold from a distance. He didn’t move, didn’t say a word—just stood there, taking it all in.

Sungjae, shirtless, lounging in her bed with the same smugness he always wore, looked far too comfortable in a place he had no business being. Beside him, wrapped in the sheets, was Haewon. Her eyes widened in horror, the laughter between them dying instantly as the realization hit—Yunho was there.

“Yunho, I—this isn’t what it looks like.”

But it was exactly what it looked like. Yunho didn’t need an explanation. For a moment, he simply stared at them, his face unreadable, emotion caught somewhere between anger, hurt, and a strange sense of vindication. He had known something wasn’t right. He had felt it in the way she’d distanced herself, and the way Sungjae was too eager to insert himself into their lives. 

Rage surged through him, his vision narrowing to just Sungjae’s face, that arrogant, guilty expression that only fueled Yunho’s anger. Before he could think, he was closing the distance in two swift strides, throwing a punch that connected solidly with Sungjae’s jaw. Sungjae’s head snapped to the side, his body tumbling back onto the bed with a groan.

A rush of catharsis hit Yunho at that moment—a wave of release so powerful it nearly knocked him off balance. This wasn’t just about Sungjae or Haewon. It was for something far deeper, something that had been festering in the darkest corners of Yunho’s mind for far too long.

It was for you.

For the night Sungjae had humiliated you, reducing you to nothing with his cruel words, his casual disdain. Yunho stood there uselessly, too afraid of the consequences if he had stepped in and stopped it. He’d failed you then, and that failure had eaten at him ever since. He’d replayed that moment over and over, imagining all the ways he should have intervened and how he should have defended you.

But he hadn’t. And it had destroyed a part of him, leaving behind a guilt that haunted him every time he saw Sungjae, every time he looked at Haewon and knew she had allowed it to happen, too.

Yet, fate had given him another chance.

“What the fuck?!” Sungjae yelped, reeling back from the contact. His hand shot to his jaw, fingers trembling as he wiped at the blood pooling at the corner of his mouth. He looked up at Yunho, but there was no apology in his expression.

“Yunho, listen to me!” Haewon shouted, her voice cracking with desperation. She scrambled off the bed, the sheet slipping down her shoulders as she moved toward him. But Yunho didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look at her.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he spat, voice low and venomous. 

His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as he stared down at Sungjae. His knuckles were still curled tightly, blood rushing in his ears as Haewon pleaded with him, but her voice faded into the background. There was nothing left to discuss. 

It was over. He could walk away.

“Yunho, please,” Haewon begged, rushing to follow him as he moved toward the door, but his steps didn’t falter. “I swear! It didn’t mean anything!” 

From the corner of his eye, Yunho caught sight of Sungjae standing awkwardly in the doorway of Haewon’s bedroom, shirtless and disheveled, a hand still massaging his sore jaw. He looked like he wanted to say something, to either justify or defend himself, but the words died in his throat. 

Yunho’s fingers hovered over the door handle, his gaze dropping to the engagement ring still clinging to his finger. The metal felt cold, unfamiliar—like it no longer belonged to him. 

“Do you remember when I asked why you always made excuses for him?” His voice cracked slightly, but he swallowed the emotion. “Why you always chose him over me?”

Haewon’s sobs quieted as she stared up at him, her tear-streaked face full of desperation. She shook her head, mouthing silent words, but nothing came out. They had danced around this conversation for so long, pretending things were fine, making excuses, but now those lies were suffocating her, and there was nothing left to cover the truth.

“I thought I was just insecure,” he laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “But I was right, wasn’t I?” His eyes locked with hers, and Haewon flinched as though the truth physically hurt.

“Yunho, please—”

He cut her off, his voice sharper now. “Every single time you chose him over me, this was it. This was what it led to.” 

“I kept thinking you’d come around,” he interjected coldly. “That I was wrong to doubt you. That maybe I was just seeing things that weren’t there. But I wasn’t. You knew exactly what you were doing, Haewon, and you just didn’t care enough to stop.”

“We were having problems!” Haewon’s voice broke through the heavy silence, her words frantic, desperate, as if she could somehow justify what had just happened. 

Yunho’s jaw tightened, a bitter laugh escaping his lips as he met her gaze, his eyes cold. “We were having problems, and you thought cheating was going to fix it?” 

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. After everything, she was still looking for an excuse, a way to shift the blame onto their relationship as if that could make what she had done less of a betrayal.

With quiet resolve, Yunho slipped the ring off his finger. He placed it carefully on the small table by the door, the soft clink as it met the wood cutting through the heaviness of the room. That simple sound echoed with the finality of his decision, a quiet symbol of everything that had been broken between them.

“It’s over. I’m going to call my parents,” he continued, his tone steady, though his chest felt tight with the weight of what came next. “And contact everyone we sent invitations to, to let them know the wedding is off. You should call yours too.”

With one last look, he turned the knob and stepped out, closing the door behind him with a soft thud.

“Yunho!” His mother’s voice was warm and cheerful, just as it always was. It hit him harder than expected, that sense of home, of comfort, and for a moment, he almost couldn’t speak.

“Hey mom,” Yunho said, his voice more fragile than he intended. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I, um…are dad and Gunho also there?”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and he could feel her shift into a more serious tone, the way she always did when she sensed something was wrong.

“Yunho, what’s going on?”

Yunho leaned against the kitchen counter, glancing down at a photo tossed in the trash.It was a candid shot of him and Haewon having a picnic at a cherry blossom festival. His chest tightened as he stared at the discarded image. 

He swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. “It’s about the wedding,” he began, and already he could hear the concern creeping into his mother’s voice. “It’s off. The engagement is over.”

For a few seconds, there was nothing but silence. He could hear her breathing, hear the sharp intake of breath that made his heart sink, fearing her disappointment. But when she finally spoke, her voice was soft, kind, and full of the empathy that strengthened his resolve. 

“Oh. Oh dear, I’m so sorry.” She sounded heartbroken, but not for herself, not for the canceled plans or the expectations. She was heartbroken for him. “Are you okay?” 

“I…I will be,” he whispered, his grip on the counter becoming firmer as he tried to steady himself.

In the background, he heard his father, who had clearly been listening in, exhale what sounded like a sigh of relief, almost as though a tension had finally lifted from the air. And then, there it was—Gunho, chiming in with his usual bluntness.

“I knew there was something off about her,” Gunho muttered, almost under his breath, but loud enough for Yunho to hear. 

Yunho let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he turned away from the counter. “She was cheating on me, Gunho,” he called out, no longer wanting to skirt around the truth any longer.

There was a beat of silence before Gunho let out a triumphant, “I knew it! I knew it!” He pumped his arms into the air, feeling vindicated by his gut feeling, as if he had been proven right all along. 

His mother shot him a warning glance, and though Yunho couldn’t see it, he could imagine the look she gave his brother. The kind of look that only moms could give, one that silenced even the loudest of siblings. 

“Gunho, that’s enough,” she warned gently, but firmly. “This isn’t the time.”

Gunho raised his hands in defense, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Sorry, just…you know, I’m glad you’re out of that mess.”

“I’m just glad you’re going to be okay,” his dad said, his voice filled with the unwavering support he always offered. “Your mom and I are here for you, no matter what. Don’t worry about the wedding or the guests. Just take care of yourself, okay?”

A small, grateful smile tugged at Yunho’s lips. “Thanks, Dad. I still plan on calling everyone and let them know. It’s only fair that they hear it from me. I appreciate it. Really.”

“Take your time,” his mom added, her voice full of the love he’d grown up with. “We’re here if you need anything.”

“I know,” he said, feeling a little lighter for the first time in weeks. “I love you guys.”

“We love you too, Yunho.”

Yunho retreated into his room and sprawled across his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The chaos of the evening with Haewon’s betrayal was already starting to blur. For the first time in what felt like ages, he wasn’t drowning in a sea of overwhelming emotions.

He reached for the plush, his fingers gently brushing over its soft fur. You had imbued it with a protection spell, one that hummed quietly with your magic like a heartbeat under his touch. As Yunho clutched the toy to his chest, a quiet sense of calm began to settle over him. The tension in his muscles began to ease, the ache in his heart dulled just enough to breathe a little easier. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this—something so simple, so comforting. 

Something from you.

A faint smile tugged at his lips as he held the plush tighter. His thoughts drifted, and in that quiet moment, he imagined you there, sitting beside him like you had so many times before. 

“Yunho,” you called softly, pulling him from his sleep. The mattress dipped as you settled beside him, running your fingers through his hair. Without thinking, his hand reached out, fingers instinctively finding the curve of your waist. His touch brushed lightly against your skin, as if his hands had never forgotten the feel of you, the way you fit perfectly into his grasp.

You leaned closer, your lips brushing against his. His breath caught, the warmth of your presence enveloping him as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. His large hands gently but firmly guided you beneath him, as if this was the way things had always been, and always should be. Every inch of his body craved to be closer to you, yet the peace of the moment kept the need slow and steady.

His hands found their way to your face, cupping it gently, his thumb tracing the delicate curve of your cheek. The kiss lingered, sweet and unhurried, filled with a peace he hadn’t known in years. He rested his forehead against yours, the steady rise and fall of your chest in perfect rhythm with his. Everything he’d ever wanted to say was right here, in the way you fit so perfectly against him.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Yunho felt whole.

As the dream began to blur at the edges, a weight suddenly pressed against his chest. At first, he tried to ignore it, clinging to the last traces of you. But the weight grew heavier, pulling him out of the dream’s gentle haze. His brows furrowed in confusion as your image began to fade, replaced by...something unwelcome. 

His eyes fluttered open, and instead of your face, he was greeted by the smug, all-too-familiar stare of Wooyoung. The black cat sat perched on his chest, tail flicking lazily, like he hadn’t just ruined the most peaceful moment Yunho had experienced in months.

What the...?

"Wooyoung?!" Yunho’s voice shot up an octave as he realized who, or rather what, was perched on him. “How did you get in here!?”

Wooyoung yawned lazily, like waking up on top of Yunho was the most natural thing in the world. He stretched, paws extending directly onto Yunho’s face, effectively muffling any further protests.

"I have my ways," the cat replied with a casual yawn, stretching lazily on Yunho’s chest. “It was getting boring without you around back in Gwangju."

Yunho glared up at the talking cat, trying and failing to push him off. "It’s only been a day! You broke into my apartment because you were bored?"

“You’re my favorite human to torment,” Wooyoung purred, stretching languidly as if Yunho hadn’t just accused him of trespassing. “Besides,” he added, his voice taking on a teasing lilt, “you’ve got my master pacing around like some lovesick heroine.”

You were waiting for him? The image of you, lingering in the emporium, checking the door every time it creaked, hoping it would be him made his heart ache in the best possible way. His gaze dropped to his lap, cheeks burning as he tried to shake off the feeling. It was too much to handle at once, but he couldn’t help the excitement that bloomed in his chest at the thought of seeing you again.

Yunho shifted awkwardly, suddenly hyper aware of Wooyoung’s smug expression as his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He glanced over, Haewon’s name lighting up the screen for what felt like the hundredth time since last night. His jaw clenched, tension creeping into his posture, but he made no move to pick it up. 

"You gonna get that?" Wooyoung asked from his spot on the bed, his voice filled with an annoying amount of curiosity. 

Yunho groaned, rubbing his temples. "No."

The phone buzzed again, this time with a text notification. And then another.

Wooyoung tilted his head, watching as Yunho stared at the phone like it was something toxic. "She's been calling and texting a lot, you know."

"I know." Yunho sat up in bed, running a hand through his tousled hair, the weight of last night’s events sinking in. 

“I mean, considering you caught her cheating, it’s kinda impressive she’s so persistent. She’s either really guilty or really shameless. My money’s on the latter."

“Not helping. And how did you know?”

Wooyoung stretched lazily, as though the weight of Yunho’s glare slid right off him. “I’m a magical being, I know everything,” he purred, rolling around in the sheets like he owned them. “So, what’re your plans for today?” 

Yunho stared at the ceiling for a moment, the silence stretching out between them. What were his plans? Quit his job, contact more people to tell them the wedding is off, and then find the emporium. 

“I’m turning in my letter of resignation,” Yunho said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. The weight of the admission hit him immediately, but along with it came a sense of relief, a flicker of light in the fog that had clouded his thoughts for so long. “I still have people to call to tell them the wedding is off.”

It was one thing to end things with Haewon, to walk away from their relationship, but the reality of breaking the news to everyone—their friends and colleagues—was a whole different kind of burden.

“Well, great! Where do we start?” Wooyoung chirped, his bright eyes gleaming with interest. Of course, Wooyoung would treat this like an exciting adventure. To him, everything was an opportunity for chaos and meddling.

Yunho groaned, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his hands rubbing over his face as he tried to summon the energy to tackle the day. “No, you’re not going to help,” he muttered, his voice muffled behind his palms.

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed mischievously as he sat up straight, clearly ready to argue. “Why not? I can use my magic to impersonate you and call people while you’re at work. What’s the password to your email?” 

Yunho shot him a glare. “Absolutely not.”

“Just think how easy it’d be! I could save you hours of awkward conversations!” 

⋆

Yunho stood outside the towering glass building of KQ Bank, his heart pounding in his chest. He had worked here right out of college, climbing the corporate ladder, meeting expectations, playing his part in one of the largest financial firms in Seoul. But as he held the sealed envelope in his hand, he realized that none of it mattered anymore.

Taking a deep breath, Yunho adjusted his tie and walked through the revolving doors, his footsteps echoing against the marble floors of the lobby. The interior was as imposing as the outside—high ceilings, spotless glass walls, and cold, corporate lighting that gave everything a sharp edge. 

The elevator doors slid open, and Yunho stepped inside, pressing the button for the top floor. His boss’s office. He leaned back against the wall, watching the numbers climb, and tried to settle his racing thoughts. The familiar ding of each floor was oddly comforting, a small rhythm in the chaos of his mind.

His hand tightened around the envelope as he approached the door, the crisp paper crumpling slightly under his grip. With a deep breath, he knocked twice, his knuckles tapping softly against the glass.

“Come in,” a deep voice called from inside.

Yunho opened the door and stepped into the room, immediately met by the sight of his boss, Mr. Park, sitting behind a wide mahogany desk. Mr. Park’s sharp eyes locked onto Yunho the moment he entered, their intensity making his stomach twist. 

He had always admired Mr. Park’s work ethic, his drive, and the way he commanded respect without uttering a single word. Yet now, as he stood there with the envelope weighing heavily in his hand, he felt a strange sense of detachment from the man who had once been a mentor.

“Yunho,” Mr. Park said, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t expect to see you this early. Is everything alright?”

Yunho swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as a lump formed in his throat. He crossed the room, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet that absorbed the tension in the air. With a steady hand, he extended the envelope toward Mr. Park, feeling the weight of it shift as he passed it over.

“What’s this?” Mr. Park asked, his tone shifting from curiosity to mild concern as he took the envelope and slid it open. He unfolded the letter inside, his eyes scanning the words, and Yunho could almost feel the moment his boss realized what it was. 

Mr. Park looked up, his expression unreadable, the sharp lines of his face revealing nothing. “Your resignation?” he asked, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of disbelief.

“Yes, sir. I’m stepping down.”

Mr. Park leaned back in his chair, the weight of the letter resting on the desk between them. He crossed his arms, his fingers drumming lightly against his bicep as he studied Yunho with an intensity that made him squirm. 

“I have to say, this is unexpected,” he said finally, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve been with us for years. Why now?”

“I know this may seem sudden, and I can understand if you’re disappointed. But I truly believe this is the right step for me,” he admitted, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve given everything I have to this role, and while I’m grateful for the opportunities I’ve had here, I’ve made the decision to step away.”

Mr. Park’s brow furrowed, concern flickering across his features. “Yunho, if you’re burnt out, we can talk about a sabbatical or time off. There’s no need to make any rash decisions.”

“I appreciate that,” Yunho replied, his voice steady despite the emotional turmoil brewing within. He felt a genuine gratitude toward Mr. Park for his concern, knowing that such care wasn’t common in their world. “But I need to pursue a path that feels right for me, professionally. And I…believe that’s outside of finance.”

For a moment Mr. Park was silent, studying Yunho with a kind of thoughtful intensity. Then, he nodded slowly, the leather of his chair creaking as he shifted slightly forward.

"It takes courage to step away from something stable and familiar," Mr. Park said, a hint of admiration in his voice as a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You’re a rare talent, and you will be missed. Just remember, the door is always open for you.”

The usual sounds of the office—keyboards clicking, phones ringing, distant conversations—seemed to fade, leaving a stillness between them. It was as though the world outside the glass walls had quieted, recognizing the significance of this farewell.

Yunho’s hands clasped together briefly, before bowing deeply. "Thank you, sir," he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "For everything."

Yunho stood outside the park, his eyes squinting against the late afternoon sun as shadows crept along the pavement. The past few days had been a blur—his resignation from work, the finality of ending his engagement. Yet, despite everything, the weight of it hadn’t fully sunk in. 

The park was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant laughter of children. Haewon sat on a bench, her shoulders slightly hunched, and her once-vibrant smile dulled by the truth that had unraveled between them. Guilt seemed to cling to her, casting a shadow over her usual brightness.

With a deep breath, Yunho approached, the gravel crunching under his shoes. She noticed him and stood up from her seat on the bench, each step bringing her closer to something she’d been dreading.

“Yunho,” she said softly, rising to meet him. Her voice wavered with uncertainty, as if she couldn’t quite believe this moment had finally arrived.

“Haewon,” he replied, his tone flat but steady. He sat next to her, the distance between them feeling greater than ever. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of everything they had left unsaid looming over them. 

“I’m glad you agreed to meet,” Haewon finally broke the silence, though her voice trembled with doubt. She dropped her gaze, to her hands. “I... I told my parents the engagement was off. I came clean to them about the affair and they were upset…disappointed.”

“And what about you?” he asked, the words sharper than intended. “Are you upset?”

She was surprised by the bite in his words, but Yunho didn’t care. He wasn’t here to comfort her. “I never meant for it to happen like this,” she stammered, her voice weaker than before. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Yunho—”

“But you did,” he cut in, his tone icy but devoid of malice. 

Haewon blinked, tears welling in her eyes, but Yunho wasn’t moved. He had been drowning in his own misery for too long to feel pity now. Finally, after a long pause, Haewon whispered, “I did love you, Yunho. With all my heart.” Her voice wavered as the tears spilled over. 

“But... but you were drifting away, and I—I didn’t know how to reach you anymore. I didn’t know how to get you back.”

“You cheated on me, and I’m supposed to believe it was because I wasn’t present enough? Do you even hear yourself?”

“I’m not excusing what I did. I know I was wrong, Yunho. But things changed between us, and I didn’t know how to fix it. I was lonely, and...and Sungjae—”

“You had a choice,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. “You could have talked to me. You could have told me you were unhappy, that things were falling apart. But instead, you chose to betray me. You chose him.”

Haewon’s lip quivered, her eyes widening in shock as his words hit her. She opened her mouth to respond, to offer an excuse or an apology, but Yunho wasn’t done. 

“How long?”

She dropped her gaze to the ground, as though it could shield her from the truth she could no longer hide. Her fingers twisted together nervously in her lap, her breath shaky as the silence stretched out painfully. But Yunho’s patience had run dry.

“Haewon,” he said, his voice cold, barely restrained as he forced her name through clenched teeth. “Tell me the truth. How. Long?”

Haewon’s shoulders slumped as the fight left her. She took a deep breath, her voice barely audible as she replied. 

“It started after Y/N disappeared.”

Yunho froze, his breath catching in his throat as he struggled to process her words. Three years. For three years, the person he thought he was building a future with, the supposed love of his life, had been betraying him. The revelation was heavy, crushing the air in his lungs. 

“How could you do this to me for that long and say nothing?” 

Haewon wiped at her tears furiously, her face crumpling under the weight of his accusation. “I was grieving!” she cried, her voice cracking with desperation. 

“You shut me out, Yunho. You were so distant after Y/N disappeared. I didn’t know how to reach you, I didn’t know what to do, so yes, I made a mistake, but I—”

“Don’t use Y/N as an excuse! This is on you. You didn’t just make a mistake, Haewon. You made a choice. For three years, you had an affair with someone you know I had no trust in!” he gritted. 

She sobbed quietly, her shoulders shaking as she buried her face in her hands. But Yunho wasn’t moved by her tears. Not this time. Not after everything he’d just learned.

“I didn’t mean for it to go on this long,” Haewon whispered between sobs, her voice fragile and broken. “I wanted to end it, but I just didn’t know how!”

“With Sungjae?” Yunho’s voice was sharp, almost demanding. He had known for some time now—maybe longer than he was willing to admit—that she wasn’t just caught between them. “Or with me?” he pressed, his gaze piercing as he awaited her response.

Haewon shook her head, her tears falling freely now. She bit her lip, struggling to find the words that had been lodged deep in her throat for so long. 

“With you,” she finally admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t know how to tell you without hurting you. I thought if I stayed long enough, maybe it would work.”

For so long, Yunho had tried to keep everything together—tried to forgive, tried to understand—but this was different. This was too much. He had always been the one who tried to fix things. The one who swallowed his hurt, who believed that if he worked hard enough, they could still have a future together. He had convinced himself that they were building something, even when it felt like they were falling apart. But now? Now, the truth was staring him in the face, ugly and undeniable.

He looked at Haewon, the woman he had once loved so deeply, and now she stood before him confessing that she had been ready to walk away long before he even knew. 

“You should’ve just told me,” Yunho replied, his voice devoid of emotion, flat and distant, like the warmth had drained out of him entirely. “I would’ve let you go.”

He wasn’t shouting, wasn’t angry in the way he had been moments before. Instead, there was a hollowness to his voice—a weariness that came from realizing that everything he had fought for was already gone.

“We’ve both changed too much to go back to how things were,” he sighed, rising slowly from the bench, the wood creaking under the shift of his weight. His movements mechanical, as he slipped his hands into his pockets, staring at the ground for a moment before straightening his shoulders. 

Haewon’s lips parted as if to protest, but she couldn’t find the words. Deep down, she knew he was right. They had both changed, in ways neither of them could have foreseen. And no matter how much she wished she could turn back time, she couldn’t undo what she had done. She couldn’t undo the choices she had made.

“I’m sorry,” Haewon whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

Yunho met her gaze, his expression softening for just a moment. “I know,” he said quietly. “But sorry doesn’t change anything.”

He glanced down at her one last time, his face unreadable, though Haewon could feel the weight of his emotions passing between them–the sadness, the loss, the undeniable reality that whatever they had shared was gone. 

“Take care of yourself, Haewon.”

⋆

Wooyoung stretched out on Seonghwa’s leather sofa, lazily draping one arm over his eyes as he peered through the gaps between his fingers. He watched as Seonghwa toyed with the envelope in his hands, a thin smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t the reaction Wooyoung had expected from the Lord of Death, especially given Yunho’s departure from his team.

“You took Yunho quitting pretty well,” Wooyoung quipped, rolling onto his side, his voice carrying that familiar edge of playful malice. "Or is this your way of hiding the hurt? A cold, dark void where your heart should be?"

Seonghwa’s eyes flickered over to Wooyoung, unamused, before sighing deeply and setting the envelope on his desk. “He was sincere and honest about it. I couldn’t object to it, not when he came to me like that.” His tone was as even as ever, but there was something beneath it, something almost resigned.

“Is the Lord of Death becoming…soft!?” Wooyoung gasped in mock horror. He threw his hands up dramatically, making a show of his supposed shock. 

“Aren’t you a familiar overstepping your duties?” His lips twitched in annoyance as he leaned back in his chair. 

“You really lit a fire under Yunho’s ass, didn’t you? Always the instigator, always pushing people to their breaking points.” Seonghwa finally remarked, setting the envelope down on the mahogany table beside him.

Wooyoung chuckled, his voice light but laced with something darker beneath the surface. “What can I say? The guy needed a push.”

“A push? I’m surprised Yunho hasn’t pushed you off a cliff by now.”

Wooyoung grinned wider, all teeth and mischief. “Oh, please. He wouldn’t dare. Besides,” he added, “he wouldn’t break Y/N’s heart. I’m her beloved familiar, after all.”

“Her beloved familiar,” Seonghwa scoffed, lips curling into a small, contemplative smirk. “You seem a little too invested in all of this for being just a mere companion, don’t you think?”

“I’m waiting to see what happens next,” he replied coolly, shrugging.

“You mean whether or not she regains her memories,” he murmured, his voice low and weighted with something ominous.

“Well, of course, that’s part of it,” he said, his voice lighter, though there was an undercurrent of unease. “It’s not every day someone erases the memory of their own soulmate, after all. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious how it’ll all play out.”

Wooyoung stood up, his hands sliding into his pockets as he wandered over to the window, staring out at Seoul’s sprawling skyline. The usual mischief in his expression dimmed as the sunlight cast long shadows across the room, and for a moment, he let himself drop the playful facade.

“I believe in them,” he said quietly, his voice taking on a somber edge. “Despite everything, they deserve a chance. Yunho has spent so much time trying to fill a void he doesn’t understand.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder at Seonghwa.

“And Y/N... even without her memories, she’s always felt like something’s missing. She may not remember him, but part of her knows.”

Seonghwa, leaning back in his chair, remained silent, watching Wooyoung with a measured gaze. He didn’t speak, but his curiosity was evident, as if he was carefully considering the words Wooyoung was stringing together.

"They're soulmates. That kind of bond doesn’t break easily. After all they've experienced over countless lifetimes, they owe it to themselves to find their way back to each other."

Wooyoung smiled, more to himself than to anyone else, the faintest trace of hope in his expression. “Maybe this time, they’ll get it right.”

<< iv | vi >>

taglist: @babymbbatinygirl @intowxnderland @hwasa28 @thedistractedwriter @beabatiny @lovelyglares @spenceatiny18 @tiny-apocalypse @sunnysidesins @heyitsmetonid @jwone @laurenwidjaja @potatos-on-clouds @xuchiya @syubseokie

[pkmn-monochrome]

This is an OOC ask too to hopefully help the concern? I PROMISE IM NOT A MANIPULATIVE ASSHOLE ABUSER IM A WRITER PLEASE DEAR GOD!!!!!!!! Also! Somebody's gotta play mean here and there, its what keeps gears turning. Not everyone is going to directly side with Cody and understand them. Sometimes you need conflict, it can't be sunshine and roses and everyone Agrees with Cody every time. And hell, without conflict like that, how are we going to get the moments like Cody seeing the auroras? I really loved that moment, it was sweet, sometimes the bad moments can make the good moments all the more fonder. Also I wanted to state... not every interaction that's a fight like that between two people is inherently abusive, people are going to have arguments and harsh words will be thrown along with accusations, especially since both see the other as strangers, some people aren't going to trust Cody and are going to be harsh and rude about it the same way Cody has been. Some are going to mirror how Cody treats them. What I was going for was Directly Vindictive and Harsh, the fact that you are worried about that shows that I did my job right, and as they said, if Sparks couldn't handle I would hope they would just ignore the ask and hell maybe even say to tone it down. TDLR: Not everyone is going to be especially kind and endeared to Cody, some people are going to act out just the same as they do. AND I AM A WRITER NOT AN ABUSER. PLEASE. The point of this ask is uh: I like to think I know my limits, I stick to the rules and only do what is allowed. It doesn't feel too great being compared to an abuser when I am just trying to help move a story forward. I am not abusive for being mean to a fictional character, and I am in no way attempting to be mean to Sparks when I do so. Sorry about the Novel, I just wanted to help clear some things up, because this has happened before with one of my purposefully persecutory asks and hoo boy! it doesn't feel too great that it's happening again. I promise I am not trying to hurt Sparks. I just like conflict in stories and how the characters react to such conflicts. Okay, I'm done, Sorry again about the novel sparks just wanted to explain for the people that got worried about my asks.

[Agreed. Abusive asks are what keep this blog's ball rolling. Without them, we never would have met PIKACHU, BLASTOISE, or even found out about the hacker's death. While CODY's abuse was not necessary in-universe, it was necessary from a narrative standpoint.]

[I do not believe the words or fictional actions of an asker directly reflect them as a person. Even if an asker plays the fictional role of an abuser, like as ANONYMOUS did (e.g. threatening to kill CODY, then getting angry/offended at CODY for taking that death threat seriously), I do not believe that reflects upon their morals in real life scenarios. Threatening to kill a fictional character, in a fictional roleplay scenario, does not mean that asker would ever do or say something like that to a real person. And if this asker was actually holding CODY in their hands in real life, I do not believe they would be saying such intense or harsh things to them.]

[And the inverse is true as well. Just because I am the author of PKMN-MONOCHROME, that does not mean I morally approve of everything CODY says or does. Sometimes, CODY will say harsh and confrontational things out of paranoia or pride, but that does not mean that I as the author would personally lash out at and attack my audience in the same way. If any asker of mine feels personally attacked by the things that CODY says to you, please know and remember that CODY does not speak for me, and their thoughts are not always my own.]

[Please know that I as an author never intend to hurt my audience with CODY's words/actions, and that I trust my audience to do the same for me when sending CODY their questions. Thank you.]

[the-mandawhor1an]

Searching for the stars | Marcus Acacius x f!Reader

Summary: You're about to end your work day as an achaeologist, when a call comes in that will change your life forever. Who would've guessed that the stranger causing havoc on your excavation site in the middle of the night could end up being the very owner of the villa that has long been buried.

Words: 2.7k

Tags: Time travel; Marcus is a little drunk; Mentions of death; Yeah that's it this time around.

Speech in italics indicates that Latin is being spoken.

Notes: At long last, my entry for @burntheedges's Roll a trope challenge! My trope was time travel with Marcus. I know, I know. There's not much and this thing here ended up being soooooo cliffhangery. But I've decided I will revisit these at a later point, so consider this the pilot chapter for a mini-series. I have more plot points open but I want to give them the attention they deserve, and I couldn't do that while also working on my costume project.

Comments etc. are appreciated, thank you to @rivnedell for beta-ing this for me.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Have you ever looked up at the sky and wondered?

Wondered why the stars seem sad? 

They mourn the loss of their dear sisters

Who descended from the sky to sparkle in your eyes. 

I will make sure their departure was never in vain.

You are the light of my life. 

I love you.

It was dead of night, your head in your hands, leaning above an ancient tablet. The words carved into the semitransparent block of wax touched you in a way you never thought possible. A declaration of pure devotion and love, written by a man almost two millennia ago. This deep connection he felt for the woman he addressed these words to must have been unbreakable. A love like this must’ve been nice, you thought to yourself. To be practically worshiped by a man.

You leaned back into the backrest on your chair and rubbed your eyes. The clock over your desk, endlessly ticking, told you it was close to two in the morning, meaning you’d been up for 20 hours. Time to head to bed instead of yearning for men who had been dead for a long time. 

Just as you were about to switch off the light in your office, your cellphone buzzed in your pocket. “Philippe, what the fuck, it’s –” you started when you picked up the call from your coworker, turning silent when you heard the shouting in the background of the call. “Sorry, we need you at the site right now. We have an intruder.” There were several male voices in the background. How were you of any help there? “I don’t understand, can’t the police –” “Just come,” he urged. With a sigh you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Fine, I’ll be down in a minute.” 

It had been a little longer than a minute until you approached the excavation site, hearing the shouting in the distance. The city was relatively quiet compared to the site, out in a field in the outskirts of Rome. Philippe waved you down, two security guards held a stranger, forced onto his knees, both arms in a death grip and his head forced to face the ground. He wore dirty, off-white robes, similar to the tunic a Roman would’ve worn underneath a toga. It didn’t look like a costume, either. “Drunkard, we found him stumbling along the ruins. He’s mumbling and we can’t tell if his accent is just super thick, or –” Just as he wanted to give you more insight, you heard the gravelly deep voice of the stranger. His words were slurred and you were tired, to it took a moment for your brain to register his words. 

“You’re on my land. LEAVE!” With a look of absolute bewilderment, you looked at the man, then to Philippe. “He speaks Latin?” “That or that’s the weirdest dialect I have ever heard. My Latin is rusty, I figured you’d still be up and might be able to help.” 

“This is your land?” You asked and knelt before him. His face was still turned to the ground, his breath was labored. “Yes it is, woman. Tell these men to get their hands off of me. What happened to my villa?” What a warm welcome. Something about his words made you wonder. You knew this villa belonged to a Roman general once. Said general had practically been an obsession of yours, so your heart started beating faster. With a nod you motioned the guard forcing his head down to take the hand away.    

“Woman?” Philippe asked. You turned to him for a second, still on your knees. “He claims to be the owner of this land. Asking us where his house has gone.” “What do you mean? The owner is a farmer.” “I think he’s trying to claim that he is … the general” Philippe roared with laughter, until he realized you meant it. “You actually think that is possible?” 

You turned back to the man. His breathing had calmed, but he was still mumbling to himself, about the gods, and something about the stars. Wait a second, the stars.

You hesitated for a moment, not sure if you should mention something that only the man he claimed to be would know. “Don’t you think the stars look sad tonight? I’ve been told they’re mourning.” His demeanor changed when he heard you refer to the poem you had been over for the past hours. His head turned upward slowly, almost like time was stopping, dark brown eyes finding yours. You recognized the strong facial features, although they were a lot dirtier right now. His gaze was still hostile, his forehead wrinkled, but a hint of confusion hid in his furrowed brows. You continued as you suddenly had his attention “They have lost sisters, haven’d they?” 

He swallowed, parting his lips to say something, but the words failed him. His eyes turned glassy. That might be the confirmation you had expected to see, although it pained you to see a man of his stature seem genuinely pained. He responded, “They mourn the ones that descended to sparkle in your eyes. How do you know that?” “You’ve told me… in a way. I found your scriptures, general,” you replied to him with a soft smile. It was cruel to quote what basically amounted to a declaration of love to his wife, but you figured this was something only he would have known. You looked at the two men still restraining him and asked them to let him go. He landed on his hands, not tearing his eyes from you. He was cautious, yet curious about the woman before him, speaking his language and knowing something only one woman should have known. 

“Where am I?” he asked. It was like the little interaction had sobered him up enough that he was coherent and beginning to understand his situation. If he could even understand, because you sure didn’t. “You’re in Rome. About 1800 years after your time. I’m sorry, this is probably not what you wanted to hear, General Acacius.” You straightened up, standing in front of him, offering a hand to help him up, which he declined. “You’re lying, this must be Elysium. Where is Astra?” He rose to his feet, unstably so, and stumbled into you. Your instincts kicked in and you put both hands on his chest, catching the falling body. “Astra is dead, Marcus,” you said, this time more empathetically and your eyes crossed paths again. He was so close that you could smell the wine in his breath and a hint of rosemary, possibly coming from his dark brown curls. “I know it sounds unbelievable, but please, allow me to prove it.” A strong heart was beating underneath your finger tips, his breathing was steady. Face turned downward, he watched your hands for a second until he locked eyes with you again and nodded. “Fine.” 

Accompanied by a very confused Philippe and security, you make it back to the temporary ‘head quarter’ which consisted of fully furnished, heated cargo containers. The stranger was, for the most part, cooperative but a little confused about his beloved city changing so much. Neither electricity nor any kind of wireless device was familiar to him, but he took the culture shock surprisingly calmly. Maybe he still thought he had passed, after all. 

As soon as the other men had left you after more than a couple of reassurances that you could handle the visitor, said lost soul regained his voice. “Show me the scripture,” he asked you, albeit in a rather demanding tone. “Right here,” you motioned over to your desk, where the tablet sat. He walked over and carefully swiped his fingers over the wooden frame that had saved the tablet from erosion over the years. “Please, be careful,” you urged, panic audible in your voice. Said relic was invaluable and probably one of your favorite discoveries of all. His hand removed from the delicate piece and he sighed deeply. The pain in his voice was palpable. “I wrote that as part of my marriage proposal for Astra. I am surprised it survived if this really is 1800 years old.” “I’m sorry you lost her. And I didn’t want to be so harsh out there, but that was the only way I thought I could verify your claim to be Marcus.” 

Marcus huffed and turned to face you, but something else piqued his interest. Right behind your back, there was a replica of one of the busts that depicted him. One of the first traces to his existence you had found in your career. The replica was made in ceramic, made to look like marble, but a lot less expensive and less delicate. 

He stared at the bust in disbelief. It had his armor on, looked similar to him, but still, what you were telling him didn’t make sense to him. You watched him from the side and were actually impressed how well the sculptor had managed to capture his features. His prominent nose, the strong brows, the serious look on his face. Even the fullness of his hair they had somehow managed to simulate despite the unmoving medium it was carved into. His hair war unruly after the fight with security, but the curls were still there. It was hard to deny that he was handsome, even more so in the flesh. 

"What do they say about me?" he asked calmly. His fingertips brushed over the sculpture’s hair. He pulled back, remembering how protective you had been over the wax tablet, but you nodded in silent reassurance that it was fine to touch. 

"You were a fierce warrior, but deep down you were a broken man, yearning to be reunited with your lover. You fought like you never feared death, in fact you would have embraced it, but the gods didn’t grant your wish. You might have never seen yourself as a man of words, but the few I found made your love for her very obvious. I’m really sorry that you lost her." 

A frown crept up to his lips with the mention of his wife. As much as the characterization fit, he hated that he was known for the pain he endured and the pain he caused. You saw the muscles in his jaw flex. "How did I die?" He turned back to you.

You shook your head. "We… never found out. You disappeared one night. The last accounts of sightings said you got drunk one night, stumbled across your estate and begged for the gods to have mercy, to take your life so you could be reunited with her. And you vanished. Some speculate you killed yourself in a nearby creek, or maybe died accidentally." 

"That was just before I woke up here," he said in confusion. His arms crossed in front of his chest, a sigh rumbling through his lungs. You couldn’t help but scan over his arms, so on display without any fabric covering his sunkissed, muscly biceps. 

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, mimicking his expression, more on accident than consciously. “I’m not a very religious person, especially as very little people believe in the Roman Gods any more, but… it would explain why you’re here. Maybe you need to do something here and then you get to be with her.” You couldn’t believe what you were saying, but he was here after all, and you were actually convinced that this was Marcus Acacius. If this was a dream and you had fallen asleep on your desk, this sure felt real, realer than any dream you ever had. 

“Perhaps,” he mumbled and wiped over his face with his right hand, never breaking eye contact with the statue. His gaze wandered to the walls, all of them plastered in hints about him, everything you found out about the general in your years of study. “You know a lot about me.” You nodded in response. ”Yes, I’m … a scholar. I studied history and you more specifically,” you explained, motioning towards the walls of information with your hand. It was odd, to say the least, to have your subject more or less in front of you. There was so much you wanted to ask him. You had to stop yourself though, the shock probably needed some time to settle for him. For you it would also take some time to accommodate to the fact you had a Roman General in your office. ”You are surprisingly calm for someone that just woke up 1800 years in the future,” you added as an afterthought. 

His dark brown eyes met your again. Gone was the drunk attitude and all that remained was a broken man. ”I thought I must be dreaming at first. But I could never imagine a world like this. And then I thought this might be Elysium and you were my guide” His lips curled into a soft smile. It seemed genuine, and you were impressed how open minded he was, given where he came from. It must have been extraordinarily strange to wake up here. Strange clothes, strange languages, artificial light and electricity. 

”You might want to get some rest. Sleep the wine off and start arranging yourself with the new environment. I will see if I can get you something to wear in the morning. Unfortunately you can’t stay dressed like this,” you motioned to his tunic. It might have been quite normal back then, but now? They would think he was some weird larper. 

”Do you live here?” he asked. You shook your head, a little confused by the question. ”My house isn’t far from here, though. A few minutes walk.” “And you will sleep here?” ”I prefer my bed to be honest, but it’s for the best if someone stays with you.” He made a little grunt before he said ”I won’t be trouble, go sleep in your bed.” 

You shook your head. “I know you mean well but I can’t leave you alone. This … place isn’t safe for someone who’s not familiar with anything.” He scoffed again, but didn’t press the issue further. 

You left the office for a second to get a mattress and a blanket to make yourself a little bed in front of the couch. You motioned for him to flop down on the couch before laying down next to the sofa on the small mattress. ”We’ll get some clothes for you tomorrow. I’ll take you to my house so you can wash yourself,” you said with a yawn. Marcus turned to look at you, his gaze was intense like he was studying you. 

”What is it?” you asked him when his staring lingered for way longer than necessary. ”Are all women today strange like you? Why are you helping me?” was all he asked. Well. Why did you? ”You’re stuck here,” you started, looking at the ceiling. “I might be the only person that can maybe help you find whatever you’re supposed to find. It probably is a bit of my pride as well. I’ve studied you for so long and I would regret not spending time with you. You can teach us so much about Rome in your time. About the emperor. About the wars you were in. About the arena.” “You don’t want to hear about that,” he simply stated and turned his back towards you. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. Then we’ll just find out what your reason to be here is.” You also turned your back toward him, hearing the rustle of his pillow about half a minute after. It fell quiet in your office, only a few hours before the sun rose again. 

While you couldn’t remember any of your dream that night, Marcus must’ve encountered some divination during his rest. The voice of his late wife echoed in his mind, soft and warm like her lips whenever she kissed him. 

‘We will be reunited, my love. Find me where you laid me to rest.‘ 

He woke up a mere 5 hours later, his heart ardent with the knowledge of what he and his new found ally would have to do. Find Astra. 

Taglist: @jennaispunk @burntheedges @whocaresstillthelouvre @roughdaysandart

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[sturnsdc]

You look beautiful

pair: Carl Grimes x fem!reader

warnings: TWD scenes, just fluff, slight angst, awkward and embarrassing Carl and Yn, beginning of what could be smut.

words: 2,6k

A/N: thanks @livingdeadgirlflorette and anon for giving two wonderful ideas. I'm really sorry that the story came out so short and shitty, but i still hope that some part of it is good enough !! <3 

both are +16

dividers from @cafekitsune ! ♡

main masterlist              carl masterlist

CARL'S POV

"you're going out… to get medical supplies… with her? just the two of you?" Michonne asked me once more, and i had to hold back the urge to roll my eyes. Still, i know she senses my annoyance because she laughed and spoke again, "in my day, we called that something else, but okay." I chuckled a bit at her comment and lightly hit her arm to make her stop teasing.

she’s always like this ever since she found out about my feelings for Yn. She seizes every moment to make a comment or give me a look. And it got worse once my dad found out. It only took a few hours for the rest of the group to know. Everyone except her…

but can anyone really blame me? when we arrived in Alexandria, there was a group of teenagers like me—two boys and two girls. She didn’t seem to fit in with them and only talked to her friend Enid. However, when Ron introduced us, she gave me the biggest smile and started talking to me.

she’s so sweet and beautiful, but at first, i couldn’t understand what was happening to me. She started appearing in my dreams, in different scenarios that made me wake up with my heart racing, followed by a strange feeling of emptiness when i realized it had only been a dream. Then she was present everywhere, even without physically being there. In every conversation, in every thought, everything started reminding me of her.

i started noticing her more, and our conversations were no longer enough. So, i began stealing glances at her now and then—when she studied, when she helped with chores, and when she began sneaking out, just like i’d seen Enid do on several occasions. That's when curiosity got the better of me, and i started sneaking out after her, discovering her little secret.

she would climb up to what looked like a treehouse, a bit far from Alexandria, and i thought she hadn’t noticed me. But just as i was about to take another step, her voice surprised me.

“should i be worried that you’re following me, Carl?” she asked, though i didn’t hear any anger in her voice. She sat on a branch at the entrance to the small treehouse, looking down at me.

i remember stuttering as i tried to come up with an excuse, but she just laughed and invited me to come up. She showed me her safe space, and with that, she let me see a side of her that no one else knew. From that moment on, we became closer, and my feelings just grew and grew until they were undeniable.

when Ron shot me that day, i thought it was all over, that she would stay away or wouldn’t even be able to look at me anymore. I wouldn't have blamed her if she did; it took me weeks before i could even look at myself in the mirror again. Why would i expect her to see me as the same Carl as before?

but she did. She held my face in her hands and wiped away my tears again and again.

so, can anyone really blame me?

“earth to Carl, earth to Carl. Please return from Ynland,” Michonne's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. She's looking at me with an eyebrow raised, and all i could do was look away, embarrassed.

“sorry, i got distracted. What were you saying?”

“that you should already be heading to your ‘supply run’ with your dear friend,” she said, emphasizing ‘dear friend.’

‘oh, fuck.’ i opened my eyes wide.

“goodbye,” i said hurriedly, running to my house to grab the bag i had left by the door. Once i had it, i rushed back to the entrance of Alexandria, where she was waiting by the car we were going to take. “Sorry, sorry.”

"'s okay, i just got here anyway," she said, then smiled in that beautiful way she always does, almost making me sigh. "Let's go?"

“yeah, sure,” i replied, trying to snap out of my daze, quickly tossing my bag into the back seat and getting into the passenger seat. She followed my lead, settling into the driver’s.

it’s not the first time we’ve been in a car together, but it is the first time i’m not driving. Still, i’d trust her with my life.

YN'S POV

i try not to look at him too much, but it's almost impossible. It's like there’s a magnet pulling my eyes toward him every second. I just need to control myself enough not to crash the car.

it’s the first time we’ve gone on a run alone together, and i can only remember Maggie and Glenn’s words:

"don't devour him with your eyes, at least not right away," Maggie told me, almost like advice, while Glenn laughed beside her and i started to blush.

"yeah, wait until you’re in a quieter place," he added.

‘i can barely look at him without blushing and feeling butterflies, and they expect me to make a move? hell nah.’

"you know, plaid shirts look good on you," Carl suddenly said, and i had to resist the urge to slam on the brakes. We had only been driving in silence for a few minutes, but not only did he startle me, when i understood what he said, i started blushing like never before. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, feeling my legs tremble. ‘how can you say that so easily?’

"thanks… i guess i’m copying your style now," i tried to joke to hide my nervousness. I don't know if i succeeded, but he let out a small laugh, nodding.

"it’s true, you’re copying me," he teased.

"it’s because you’re too cool," i said, and from the corner of my eye, i noticed his surprised reaction. His whole body seemed to tense up. But before he could respond, i had to stop the car—we had reached our destination. It had taken us a long time to get there because it was a pretty remote place Daryl had found some time ago, and it hadn’t been looted. He hadn’t been able to bring everything back because his backpack was already nearly full. "let’s go." he nodded, and we both grabbed our things and our weapons.

"yes, ma'am," i heard him whisper, and suddenly my legs felt like jelly. I had to make sure my heart wasn’t going to jump out of my chest from how hard it was beating. I didn't respond and couldn’t even look at him, so i started walking toward the pharmacy entrance, holding my gun and flashlight, walking cautiously but firmly.

i carefully opened the door, trying not to make too much noise. we both entered, making sure the place was clear—and it was. We quickly split up, each filling our bags with whatever useful items we could find.

"i think i’m ready. What about you?" i asked, approaching his side of the store.

"almost ready, just need these last bottles," he said, putting them in a pocket before slinging his bag over his shoulder. "let’s go."

when we stepped outside, we noticed the sky was already getting dark, so we hurried to the car, putting our bags in the back seats like when we arrived and then getting in the same seats. That’s when i inserted the key and tried to start the car...

but it wouldn’t start.

the damn car wouldn’t start.

we ran out of gas, but how are we supposed to fix that now? we'd have to walk through the small town, but with it being dark, it would be pointless.

"what do we do?" i asked, and my tone clearly showed how scared i was, making Carl look at me.

"we need to find somewhere to stay. we can’t make it back in the dark," he said, and i swallowed hard, nodding nervously.

"okay, but where do we go? we don’t know this place," i shifted uneasily in my seat.

"we’ll have to walk around a bit and find an open house or something."

and that’s what we did. We got out of the car with our stuff, turned on our flashlights, and walked side by side through the small town where we were now trapped, surrounded by silence and growing darkness.

when my panic started to rise from not finding a place to stay, Carl touched my hand, pulling me out of my thoughts and showing me a house nearby. It looked old, but the door was open. We quickly walked over, quietly entering and checking the first floor for anyone. After confirming it was empty, we went upstairs, finding a hallway with three doors. The first led to a bedroom with one bed, an open and empty closet, and windows covered with newspapers and blankets. The second door led to a bathroom. The last door was blocked, with a note on it saying the room was unusable.

Carl and i exchanged glances, silently debating what to do next.

"i can sleep on the floor if it makes you uncomfortable..." he started to say, so i had to push my nervousness aside for a moment and shake my head.

"no, there’s no way i’m letting you sleep there, Carl," i refused, walking into the bedroom as he followed. I dropped my bag by the door, and he placed his next to the bed. "We're grown, i think we can share a bed," i said with sudden boldness.

"are you sure?" he asked, and i nodded.

"i’m going to change, be right back," i told him, heading to the bathroom to get changed. I took off my shoes, socks, pants, and shirt, staying in my underwear and buttoning up the long plaid shirt to cover what was necessary.

‘i just need to get through this night, just this one,’ i told myself, trying to calm the flush spreading across my cheeks at the mere thought of spending the night with him.

CARL'S POV

i took advantage of the time she spent changing to leave the flashlight lighting up the room, then went to sit on the bed over the sheets, leaning against the headboard.

‘can i really do this?’ the truth is, i don’t know. And just the thought of spending the night in the same bed as her makes me anxious. ‘What if i do something stupid while i sleep? what if i talk in my sleep and say something i shouldn’t?’ ‘What if i start dreaming about her, and she notices?’

the sound of a door closing pulled me from my thoughts, and then she walked into the room, looking even more beautiful.

my heart started beating so hard i could feel it in my ears, and heat rushed through my body, concentrating in my face and neck and ears. I tried not to stare, but before i could stop myself, my eyes scanned her from head to toe, making it hard to breathe, and i struggled to swallow.

she moved closer to the bed, but on the other side. I didn't realize it until she waved her hand in front of my face, snapping me out of my trance.

"hello? ´you okay?" she asked, smiling with a bit of amusement, clearly noticing my reaction.

"yeah, yeah, i… got distracted," i lied, feeling a tingling all over my body.

"aren’t you going to change your clothes?" she asked. I glanced at my clothes for a second, considering it, but quickly dismissed the idea. 

"no, i’ll just take off my shoes," i said, doing exactly that.

then the room fell into a tense silence, and i turned to look at her. She was already watching me, and her gaze made the words catch in my throat. I wanted to tell her how beautiful she looks, but i didn’t dare.

all i could do was look at her, wishing i could close the distance and crash my lips against hers.

i wondered what was going through her mind, if she felt the same tension i was feeling or if it was just my imagination. I debated whether i should make a move, but i was scared, and the very thought made my hands start to tremble. She seemed to notice because she took one of my hands and stroked it, looking away at that moment.

"why are you nervous?" she asked, almost whispering as she lifted her head to meet my eyes again. I swallowed hard.

‘should i tell her the truth?’ i could hear my friends' voices telling me to go for it, to tell her already. And even though i’d told them no and practically laughed in their faces for even suggesting it, now the idea didn’t seem so absurd.

"it’s because of you," i finally admitted, watching her eyes widen.

"because of me? wha- what do you mean?" she stuttered.

"you..." i sighed, deciding to be brave. "You look beautiful, and i can’t stop thinking about that and how much i want to do something about it," i confessed, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders as she started to blush, looking adorable.

"and why don’t you do something?" she said softly, and i had to make sure i heard her right before clearing my throat and doing what i had wanted for so long.

i raised the hand she was holding and brought it to her cheek, pulling her face closer to mine to press our lips together. She kissed me back a few seconds later, and although it was a little awkward, we tried to make the kiss special.

when we pulled back a bit, i looked into her eyes, noticing how they sparkled, and her cheeks were even redder than before. Seeing that made me want to kiss her again, and that's what i did, this time more intensely, making her let out a small gasp.

NORMAL POV

both of them started to feel the heat spreading to every part of their bodies. Yn decided to be bold and sat in Carl's lap, wrapping her arms around his neck while he placed his hands on her waist, trying to keep her as close as possible. Soon, the room was filled with the sound of their lips meeting again and again, in a make out session that grew more intense with each passing moment. 

Yn began to try to close her legs, to rub her thighs, but both the position and Carl stopped her. The boy by spreading her legs a little wider, making her put her full weight on his lap. The contact made Yn whimper and Carl groan from the sensation. Taking advantage of the moment, he slid his tongue into her mouth, turning the kiss into something messier as his hands began to roam over her legs, sliding up to the hem of her shirt, which kept rising due to their movements.

they pulled back a little after a few minutes, panting from the sudden intensity, and looking into each other's eyes with the love they had kept quiet for so long.

"i really like you, Yn," Carl said, without breaking eye contact. She smiled and leaned in to give him a peck.

"and i really like you too," she replied, making Carl kiss her again, picking up where they left off just moments ago.

the rest of the night, they spent enjoying each other’s company, expressing their love in different ways until morning came. 

then… though they had barely slept, they set out to figure out how to get the car started. This time, they walked hand in hand, unafraid.

but of course, nothing could save them from their friends' teasing, who understood everything with just one look at them.

it was something they would definitely never forget.

taglist: @jamiesturniolo

[skoulsons]

🫶🏻

[zhi-liet]

emotional support strawhat

[mel-loly]

-Softboots/Pusskitty!✨

Thanks to @nysnextd00r for answering me and “helping” me with this post <3

[enhanced-operatives-division]

Junicrane/Starstruck Ramble

I will not be brief, all under the cut

To clear some things right off the bat:

No corpse, no proof with Juniper. Obligatory this is set in a canon where he's alive and adjacent to the agency in some way.

Reggie & Juniper are just gay to me, but I don't mind any interpretation of their sexuality

The games are set in 1967/68 to me (based on a couple bits in game) which is before it was legal to be gay in America at least (1971), which is relevant to how I interpret canon as being somewhat grounded in reality, despite unrealistic elements.

This is just an insane amount of headcanons/elements of and AU all culminated into one post. I will talk about some headcanons like they're just facts because they are established in my head, and it saves me over explaining literally everything, however I will explain some parts a little bit for clarity.

Alright. Actual beginning of the ramble:

Juniper is a character to me who had gotten so lost in his job as an actor and a social presence that in the end his whole life revolved around that 'role'. Because of this, by the time he's put into the situation where he's around the Agency, he basically knows nothing about himself, though he doesn't realise at first. Furthermore, what little identity he had has changed in so many ways. He's no longer a beloved famous actor in the prominence of public light, he's legally dead and he tarnished his career just before he was supposed to die, with the bonus of that making him lose the majority of his estate. From that, he also has horrific facial scarring from the electrical burns from literally having his face fried. I believe a friend of mine made a post about this a while ago (I also think they were the first to think it up also), but, to me, Juniper has a permanent trimmer in his right arm (aka his dominant hand) from the electrical current and it is messing with his nervous system.

All in all, he's not doing great, but he's too proud to admit that he's not doing great, because if anything, what's left of his ego is all he has as a defense since he's deep in unfamiliar water.

Before ending up around the agency (I have multiple interpretations of this, so I'm just going to bring it up generally), he'd never actually seen Reggie, and his only impression of him is a single voicemail, which was his only reference he had to later impersonate him. Juniper probably has very little feelings other than the ones he projects onto him because of Phoenix and that, at the very least, he's physically attracted to Reggie to some degree (that's like the beginning of how everything else would tumble into place in this sort of interpretation at least).

And on Crane's side? His feelings towards Juniper are probably very intense and muddled. On the one hand, he adores musical theatre, and that's his now ex-favourite actor. The thought of just casually being around him blows the bit of fanboy in him away at first because THAT'S the GUY, plus the inklings of a celebrity crush which still poke at him. And then there's the rational side of him, which knows Juniper has committed absolute atrocities on the side of Zoraxis, and hates him for that. Then there's how much Juniper comes off as an asshole at first because he refuses to cooperate with anything the Agency tried to put in place. He finds Juniper endlessly frustrating, and yet he's stuck working with him since, afterall, he's the one who knows the Agency's history with Juniper the best. I imagine him acting a lot like how he does IEYTD 1 around Juniper.

At this point, I'm just describing the pitch for a romcom.

I think the start of their relationship with one another largely started with Juniper trying to wind Crane up. It was a way of getting his attention, and I don't think Juniper knows why he's so dead set on that at first, because I don't think he realises he has a crush on 'this grump' at first. (I think that's actually the fun part about these two, because it's almost like a role reversal of the celebrity crush dynamic. This ex-big name actor has a TERRIBLE crush on an average joe and it is KILLING HIM.) But of course the Agency keeps them together because Juniper is at least conversing with Crane, so it's a start.

Through one way or another, they actually get talking casually, at least mildly at first. It takes Juniper a long time to fully deconstruct the wall he's built, and the thing is, Crane isn't the one trying to deconstruct it, at least at first, because yeah, Juniper realises if he wants Reggie to actually like him in any way, he can't keep winding him up. So they talk. Small talk at first, something rhythmic and almost easy to keep to a script. And over time that turns into actual conversations. Genuine ones in which Reggie rips out the occasional one of his jokes which Juniper is endlessly endeared about. The way he smiles just before he makes them, like he wants to chuckle at what he's about to say before he says it. That's probably when Juniper realised that he does have some vague crush on him, and that it wasn't going away.

This is what kickstarts John I can't-buy-you-things-to-impress-you-so-acts-of-service-it-is Juniper to do little things for him. It mostly starts off as him trying to make Reggie his tea how he likes it. However, the nerve damage in his arm makes that hard, as the weight of the kettle and trying to pour is hard all of a sudden. And he refuses to accept that, so he tries for a very long while. Long enough that Crane would go to investigate what was going on. And when he does see Juniper leaning over a cup with the kettle as he uneasily tries to pour it, and when Crane asks Juniper responds so matter-of-fact that his intention is nothing but genuine. And it catches Reggie off guard because Juniper hadn't done anything like that up to that point, and his very apparent vulnerability is so clearly on show.

It shifts something between them.

From that point on, conversations are longer, more familiar. Both of their attitudes soften, and Reggie makes more jokes. Juniper learns how to better use his left hand while strengthening his right back to a point where it could be used again. Slowly, they're both spending time with one another not because they have to, but just because they can. Little bits at first, not too far outside what they already were doing, but those little bits turned into long bits to a point where the other person's company was genuinely desirable.

As time passes, Juniper probably realises that he doesn't genuinely know much about himself or what hobbies he's into, because he never really had the time when he got big, and his home life in his youth wasn't bad, but it wasn't picturesque. I think Reggie would pick up on it, and absolutely try to introduce him to some things he's into. Some things stick, other things don't (corn husking very much stays Reggie's passion, and John will go with him sometimes because it's him, but it's not something he strongly cares for). Crane introduces him to a lot of music, and it's something that becomes a staple between them, with tracks they listen to more than others (tragically, I know relatively little about 60s music so I couldn't really say what). Occasionally they dance, never anything intense, think slow dancing, but the closeness is nice.

Through all of it, Juniper is battling the worst crush of his life, and he can't stand it, because I think he struggles to read people since he doesn't have anything like a script or a director to refer back to, so he has no idea if Reggie likes him back or if he's just desperate for that to be true. I think because of that any sort of confession between them would be incredibly raw, not only because of the time they live in making it hard for them to be truthful about how they love, but because it's a complete show of Juniper who's worked to be this better person. I don't exactly know how that would go, mainly because I don't have one set version of their dynamic, this post is just a generalisation of main consistent points.

Reggie does like him back, because he's gotten used to Juniper being just this guy, not a figure in the public eye, not a Zoraxis lackey, and not any sort of Agency operative (despite being under their care to some degree). He's someone he genuinely cares for, because they've given one another the time of day to learn one another, and I think because Reggie was a field agent, he was a lot better at reading Juniper than Juniper was at reading him. Eventually Juniper's company becomes something he could see around him for the rest of his life, and I think he accepts that he likes Juniper a lot more gracefully.

I think any affection directed at Juniper would at first be met with him feeling a little muddled. Reggie was a very physically affectionate person when he could be, and sure the initial flirting with one another came with the occasional little touches, but everything now was so deeply intentional. I also don't think Juniper would almost ever get over the novelty of being able to kiss him, or many other gestures, because it made the fact that they were together so very real, and it was great. I do think it comes easier to Reggie, and it's a big way of showing how much he cares, so it's important for Juniper to try and show it back because he knows how much it means to the other.

I like the idea of them eventually living with one another, too. I think Juniper would have always had a quiet little daydream of sorts where he does just live a domestic quiet life, and he can with Reggie (well, as close as they can get between the Agency and Zoraxis always being at odds), and he loves that, and he loves him, and it's immense.

I think they cook for one another a lot, it helps Juniper work on his dexterity in a controlled environment, which means a lot because it's a huge point of insecurity (that and his scars). He does improve, and Crane is proud of that and shows it and it's great. I also think they'd probably cook together too, because they can deal with being in the kitchen together and they work well with one another. It's probably a good way for them to unwind because over time they can do it in relative silence.

As I said before, I also think music is a staple in their household, and that Reggie listens to things on vinyl almost all of the time because he likes the background noise. Sometimes Juniper will catch him chuntering along to the music which he finds endlessly endearing. I wouldn't put it past his dramatic ass to also join in to fluster Reggie, but I also don't think Reggie would mind that terribly because Juniper has listened to the music enough to know the lyrics, and that's huge to him.

I don't think they are without rough patches, no relationship is, but I think the good part about them is that they're willing to talk about it (... eventually). They're used to long conversations, and while they're often less fun conversations, they're needed and they know that, and it works out.

Alright. I think I'm done for now. I haven't mentioned everything, but this definitely got the worst of it out of my system. If you ever want to hear any specific thoughts my ask box is open but other than that, behold my general dynamic for these two which has been festering in my head for years. I think they're great

[pink-lemonadefairy]

super long big huge tired sigh

[krys-loves-otome]

Saw some talk about creating character ask blogs on my dash earlier today! And as many of you know, I have a plethora of characters to pull from...

But, I also have a full schedule so making ask blogs is a little out of my spoon range at present.

That said, would anyone be interested in me doing little brain rot posts with my ocs instead? Of course, my writing blog (@not-krys) is full of WIP Wednesdays involving them but this will be even more off the cuff, like if there's a thing happening in their game and I just need to comment on it? Or something going on in RL that makes me think about my OCs and their boos, and I just need to share it with you guys?

In my writing files, I actually do have a doc where I keep random thought blerbs where I put things that come to mind about my girlies. Sometimes it's just a sentence or two, sometimes it goes into meta, sometimes it just screaming about something cute going on, things like that.

Would anyone be interested in something like that? I can't promise they'll be a regular thing, but I do love sharing about my OCs and brain-rotting is the most available method of me doing so.

Asks are also available if anyone has questions or just wants to shoot ideas at me if that's more your thing!

Thanks for coming to my little thought session, lovelies~

[stormyoceans]

we are expecting gmmtv 2024 in october. what's your list of manifestations? share with us, dear!

GMMTV 2024 HAPPENING IN OCTOBER CAUGHT ME COMPLETELY UNPREPARED TBH LIKE LAST YEAR I HAD A WHOLE LIST OF PREDICTIONS AND THINGS I WANTED TO SEE AND RN IM MOSTLY LIKE ???????? JIMMYSEA AND THEN ???????????????????

i also don’t know how to feel about the line up being announced before last twilight and 23.5 even got the chance to air (unless we’re getting last twilight replacing hidden agenda which means it would start on october 1st, but i do not dare to hope), however i thought about it a little and here’s a very rough list of my hopes and dreams that im gonna actualize with the power of manifestation and delusion:

JIMMYSEA NEW SERIES DIRECTED BY P’JOJO. LISTEN I DON’T CARE IF IT’S UNLIKELY FOR THEM TO GET A SHOW 3 YEARS IN A ROW MY CLOWN WIG IS ON MY SHOES ARE SQUEAKING MY MAKE UP IS IN PLACE. the amount of p’jojo+jimmysea online interactions we’ve got since p’jojo visited them on the last twilight set is just TOO SUSPICIOUS to be meaning nothing I WANT TO BELIEVE. that being said, i feel like it will probably be an ensamble cast kind of series, so im praying for the medical drama QL of my dreams with jimmysea + earthmix OR the heist QL of my dreams with jimmysea + forcebook. im not picky though I REALLY JUST WANT A NEW PROJECT FOR JIMMYSEA AS A PAIRING but also..

SOME SOLO PROJECT FOR BOTH JIMMY AND SEA. they’re both great actors and sea in particular is able to portray an insane range of emotions so it’s time for GMMTV to start giving him more roles.

regardless of whatever happens with jimmysea, i do want earthmix and forcebook to have a new series next year.

PAPANG AS THE MAIN LEAD IN A BL. do i believe this is gonna happen? sadly, no. will i still be manifesting this every single day from here to october? DAMN RIGHT I WILL MY MAN DESERVES IT. actually i said this before but i think GMMTV should just give me papang+guy+pond+pepper in a BL. MY MEN DESERVE IT.

AT LEAST 2 GLs BUT PREFERABLY MORE. freenbecky got me gagged with their upcoming sci-fi movie and period drama series, so i think GMMTV should step up their game and give us ALL THE GIRLS. im frankly starving for more GLs so i don’t really have any specific plot i want to see, i just want the genre to thrive and be allowed to explore different stuff like BL has started to do. if i really had to pick tho, i would love to have a sizzy series (maybe with janaye and ciizejane) and to have prigkhing and piploy in a GL. and namtan. and jamie.

QL exploring other sexualities and gender identities. just give me ace main characters, trans main characters, non-binary main characters, ALL THE DIFFERENT QUEER MAIN CHARACTERS!!!!!!!

i want to say enigma season 2 because it was actually a great show but with bright leaving GMMTV i don’t think i should get my hopes up ;;;;;;; unless they recast his character since he appeared for 5 seconds at the end of the series.

these are the main things that come to my mind for now, but im sure that by the time october comes im gonna have some more!!!!

[lemony-snickers]

19 kissing their injuries / ObiKai for @foolishk <3 eheheh

Kaiya shivered in the sunlight, batting her eyes against it. It felt like an entire lifetime had passed since she'd last tilted her face toward the sky to enjoy the sun's warmth.

The chirping of birds felt loud enough to shatter glass, the wind like it might be strong enough to pull her apart.

At least then she wouldn't have to feel the ragged tug of shackles against her wrists as the two ANBU guards who flanked her led her through the village.

"Where are we going?" she asked again.

No answer. Same as last time.

She didn't mind, really. Being outside was a vast improvement over the quarters she'd been given in the bowels of T&I, with a dirt floor and a flimsy futon directly next to the toilet built into the wall.

Kaiya wondered what she would be doing in her Tsukuyomi dream if she'd been allowed to enjoy Obito's perfect world as she'd always wanted.

She noticed they were reaching the edge of the village and panic rose in Kaiya's throat. Her arms tensed as she turned to each of the ANBU and asked again, "Please, where are you taking me?"

The only answer was silence and one sharp tug from the ANBU on her right, who wore a mask that looked more like a frog than anything, though hardly that.

Kaiya's lower lip trembled and she bit down hard on it to stiffle the wobbly sob that crawled its way out of her chest. She trained her eyes on the ground, watching her sandaled feet as they scraped their way through the dry Konoha dirt.

If this was an execution, surely there would be more people, right?

Despite knowing that, she couldn't bring herself to look where she was going and Kaiya didn't look up again until the ANBU escorting her finally came to a halt. She stumbled a little, but managed to remain upright despite the sharp tug of the shackles when she took one too many steps.

When she glanced ahead, it was to find a small, squat building and the Sixth Hokage standing before the door.

Kakashi looked strange in the flowing white robes of his new position, but Kaiya could not help but smile in return when she saw the way his eyes creased at the corners.

Kakashi had always been so kind. She was certain that without him, without the power he wielded within the village, she would not have survived this long.

"Good morning," he said, walking toward her. "How are you feeling?"

Kaiya shook her wrists in their restraints in answer.

"Yes, well," Kakashi gestured for the ANBU to release her and they did so after only a brief hesitation.

As if Kaiya could overpower them. Especially with Kakashi there. The thought was so ludicrous she almost laughed.

"Come," Kakashi said once she'd rolled her newly-freed wrists, and Kaiya followed him to the door of the building. He paused, hand on the knob, as he whispered, "If it were up to only me, things would be different. But this was a compromise I was able to come to with the Elders."

Kaiya didn't know what waited for her beyond the door, but if Kakashi was here, she could trust it would be better than what she was leaving behind.

"Thank you," she whispered, trying not to cry in the face of his kindness.

With a nod, Kakashi opened the door and gestured for her to step inside. "There will be ANBU guards outside twenty-four-seven," he said, "but I've instructed them not to intrude unless it's a matter of life or death."

Kaiya stared at him, eyes watery, and nodded.

"Welcome home, Kaiya," Kakashi said, offering her another smile as he pulled the door closed. She stared at the wood grain, following the intricate patterns with her eyes. When she reached out to touch it, she could feel the thrum of powerful fuinjutsu, likely seals which had been placed there to keep her inside.

"It's a lovely prison they've given us, isn't it?"

Kaiya turned so fast she tripped, smashing her hip against a table as she caught herself.

But that voice--his voice--she couldn't possibly...

When one strong hand circled her bicep, Kaiya looked up and felt relief break over her like a wave.

Obito Uchiha stared down at her, irritation plain on his face, but eyes swimming with concern. With longing, even.

Kaiya threw herself into his arms, relieved tears finally freeing themselves over the dam of her lashes. She whispered his name over and over as he tried to soothe her sudden outburst. He ran one hand over her long, tangled hair, and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple.

"It's been so long," she said through the bubbling sound of a sob. She couldn't quite articulate the rest. The I thought I'd never see you again, but it was there in her desperate grasp, in the way she shook in his embrace.

Obito led her through the little house, guided her down to the bed so he could hold her more comfortably as she cried. He didn't flinch when her tears soaked his shirt, didn't push her away when she clawed her way closer, like she was trying to fold their bodies together until they were one being.

"It's okay," he said softly, "I'm here."

Kaiya didn't know how long it took for her tears to finally subside, for air to move easily in and out of her lungs again rather than in sharp, too-shallow rasps.

She leaned up so she could look down at Obito, all the grief and fear mingling with relief and love until she was some amalgam of them all--relieved and afraid and desperately happy despite her lingering unease.

She didn't know what to say to him, and Obito didn't open his mouth, either. Instead, he reached up and tucked her long hair behind her ear, then trailed his fingers over her jaw.

"This is where you broke it, isn't it?" he asked.

Kaiya didn't like to think about it--Sayuri's rage burning in her eyes and the sharp, definitive thwack of her bo against Kaiya's cheek.

The seering pain which seemed to radiate from the damaged bone all the way to her core, burrowing in her heart as she ignored Sayuri's pleas. Her condemnation.

Kaiya leaned into Obito's touch. "The medics fixed it. My fingers, too," she added, wriggling her left hand in his face.

Something flashed in Obito's eyes, that soft part of him so few ever saw, and he drew her down, pressing his lips to the underside of her jaw, the exact spot which had bloomed purple and mottled green those first few weeks after the end of the war before Kakashi's pink-haired student had arrived to tend to her injuries.

Kaiya gasped as he sucked the skin between his teeth, then pulled away so he could drag her hand up to his mouth instead, fluttering kisses over her knuckles, her fingerprints. Two of them were still a little crooked, though it was so subtle only Kaiya noticed.

She ached with longing, overwhelmed by the tenderness of his affection.

When Obito finished, Kaiya reached out to tenderly stroke the scars along the right side of his face. And though those wounds were far from fresh, mended long ago, she leaned in and fluttered kisses over them, anyway, to remind him that she loved him, too.

Obito threaded his fingers into her hair, sighing softly at the slightest brush of her mouth. She trailed them down, over his neck to the exposed ridge of his collarbone. Her hands found their way beneath his shirt and she pushed it up, but Obito stopped her.

Kaiya was not always strong-willed. Often, she wished she had more of Sayuri or Obito in her, the ability to stand tall in the face of things, to make her voice heard.

Now, she drew on all that courage she had witnessed in both of them and fixed Obito with a resolute stare.

"I want to see."

Obito hesitated only a moment before he tugged his shirt over his head. His chest, mottled with the white scars of his ordeal at Kannabi now bore new, stark reminders of the War.

Kaiya's eyes shone with fresh tears when she saw the ragged edges of the wound in his abdomen, the white spider webbing of scars over his chest.

If she concentrated only a little, she could imagine what they'd looked like before they'd healed over, before the implanted cells in Obito's body had done their job of keeping him alive.

She didn't think before she moved, leaning down to brush her lips tentatively over each mark, like she could erase the fractured scars and replace them with all the warmth of her adoration. Her deep, unceasing belief in Obito and his dreams. Her tears ran over her cheeks, wetting his skin, and she could taste the saline of them as she continued her way up his torso.

Kaitya silently mouthed the words I love you over his skin, too afraid to say the words aloud, afraid maybe this was all part of a dream, still. That she'd reawaken in her nightmare cell underground, where there was no sunshine and no birdsong and no Obito.

They didn't talk much the rest of the day, content to lie in one another's arms, like if they let go all of this would disappear. Occasionally, Obito would comb his fingers through Kaiya's hair or she would trace idle patterns over his bare chest and arms.

Maybe she really was in the Infinite Tsukuyomi.

Eventually, Kaiya drifted to sleep as the sun began to set, the soundtrack of a song birds and Obito's breathing still loud in her ears.