#muttering to himself ‘that didn’t happen. that didn’t happen.’

[corrcdedcoffin]

18+

no pogue on pogue macking— that was the rule. but the thing about jj was that he lived for breaking rules. so there you were, the two of you on the couch in the porch of the chateau, tongues down each others throats while your friends were asleep inside. he liked kissing you, a lot. he could do it all day, and so could you, but you wanted more. needed more.

swinging a leg over his lap, you slowly pushed down on his clothes cock. jj groaned as he gripped your hips, enticing you to do it again, and again, and again. the noises coming out of him were the best thing you’d ever heard, never wanting it to stop. “baby— oh my god,” he tilted his head back, giving you full access to his neck. you licked and sucked, being careful not to leave any marks.

this was by far the furthest you’ve gone with him, and you wanted to go further. but not yet. baby steps, you told yourself. but that didn’t mean this had to stop.

you ground slow and hard, jj having to quiet himself by kissing you. he couldn’t help the noises — this was something that only happened in his dreams, and now it was real. he couldn’t believe he was feeling your warmth, even through his pants. he’d take what he could get with you.

“m’gonna come” he broke the kiss, eyes full of lust, but pleading for you to stop. you wouldn’t — you couldn’t. it felt too good. “please, i d-don’t want to” he whined, but his hips bucking up into you told you otherwise.

you picked up the pace, jj’s hands gripping onto you for dear life as his jaw hung low. he held you in place, trying to stop you from moving but he couldn’t — you were chasing your own high just as much as his, and the small, fast movements were just what you both needed to release.

he bit your shoulder as he twitched beneath you, silent moans and whimpers leaving him as he came undone. your fingers massaged his scalp as you slowed the roll of your hips, riding out the high. his hands went up the back of your shirt to trace along your skin as he leaned back.

“what’re you doin’ t’me?” his eyes were wide with.. adoration, maybe?

you blushed under his gaze, “driving’ me crazy, is what” he muttered, bringing his hand to your jaw and pulling you in for a kiss.

everything you just did went beyond the no macking rule, but neither of you cared. it would be your little secret, for now.

my first post and i’m scared 🫣 pls be kind

[beloveds-embrace]

Sooo much angstttttttttttt 😭

I need the boys to wake up and do whatever it takes to fix it, please, I can't take the angst 😭😭😭

Does this count as fix-it? 🤔 hope you enjoy, anon! Also this turned out far longer than i thought it would lol

First Part

Another shift slowly happens within the duchy, palpable. The whispers of servants echo louder than ever, growing sharp and cutting in the empty halls you once used to frequent. They still avoid you, but now they wonder and whisper of your health. It’s not just them; the men you’d once hoped you’d at least be on an amicable basis with slowly change as well, the longer your absence haunts the halls and galas.

John is the first to act. It’s hesitant at first, awkward even, as though he can’t figure out how to approach the shattered remains of what he’s ignored for so long. He stands outside your door one evening, his shadow stretching under the flickering candlelight, fist raised to knock. But he doesn’t. Not at first. He falters, as if the weight of his guilt roots him to the spot.

When he finally does knock, it’s tentative, barely audible.

“…Are you awake?” His voice carries a softness you’ve never heard before, but it grates against your numbness.

You don’t answer. Your eyes barely flick towards the door, not moving from where you are curled on your side.

He lingers, sighs, and leaves.

You had intended to let yourself waste away, in all honesty. Only your mother doesn’t let you; she bursts into your room one day, sneers at the miserable sight you make, and insults you to the high heavens. Nothing new, even if her digs hurt, even if she says she isn’t surprised by no one loving you when you are like this, but she forces you to eat some nibbles and then into a shower; she doesn’t care. She is simply tired of having you be an embarrassment and hiding away from the public eye.

Thus, you no longer stay in your room. You don’t bother with jewelry, with heavy gowns or complicated hair styles or even clearing the layer of dust off your furniture, you just leave your room. Thankfully,

Unfortunately, that means passing by the maids and servants. It means passing by them. It means interacting with them again, though no longer initiated by you.

Simon is the second, and less direct. He lingers in places you begin to re-frequent; the library, the gardens, the corridors near your room. He doesn’t speak, just watches from the periphery, eyes heavy and intense. Once, when you brush past him without acknowledging his presence, he mutters something under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. But he doesn’t try to stop you and you don ask what he said.

He probably didn’t mean you, anyways. You doubt he wants to speak to you, the obstacle.

Johnny falters the most. Though your interactions with him were few, you’d occasionally hear from the servants about how fun he is in general. His smiles, though they’ve never been aimed at you, look quite fake to you, jokes half-hearted and dying on his lips whenever you pass on rare occasions.

One day, he brings a tray of food to your room himself, hoping to coax you into eating with something he’s cooked just for you. You answer the door, see him holding it, and shake your head without a word. Even if it looks delectable, like the dishes John would get.

“Please,” he says, his voice cracking. “I- just try a bit, hen.”

But you close the door before he can say more. He will try again and often, sometimes just leaving the tray, but you never touch it. You’ve lost weight, you know, and the only reason you are getting some nutrients at this point is because you occasionally sneak into the kitchens late at night for tiny snacks to tide you over. If Johnny knows it’s you, he’s never said anything.

Kyle is quieter, yet more present. The guilt eats away at him the most; he knows that his lack of care and respect had a part in the way the rest of the maids and staff treated you. He spends his evenings pacing the hall outside your room, his head bowed, mumbling apologies that you’ll never hear, wondering which one is best.

Once, he catches you in the garden alone, his mouth opening as if to speak, but you pass him without so much as a glance; you already know he won’t care for you have to say or ask for, he’ll just say he is busy, so you just don’t bother.

He stays frozen in place, his hand half-raised, the words stuck in his throat.

The servants, per Kyle and John’s orders, begin to change. Their guilt is slower to manifest, but it’s there and it’s evident in the way they rush to fulfill your needs despite your reluctance. They clean your room with quiet efficiency, no longer treating you like a burden, even though you hadn’t asked it of them. They leave fresh flowers on your desk and vanity, extra blankets on your bed, and freshly pressed gowns in your wardrobe.

You ignore all of it. It’s a waste of everyone’s time snd effort. You aren’t worth it.

Yet despite their heavy guilt, they return to and continue serving you.

But nothing changes the heaviness in your chest, the emptiness that refuses to leave.

One day, closer to the date of the annual winter gala hosted by the emperial family, you step into the dining room unannounced, your presence startling them all. It’s the first time you’ve joined them in weeks. You move slowly, your posture rigid and tired, your expression unreadable.

“Duchess,” John starts, his voice uncertain, rising from his seat.

“…John,” You sit without meeting his eyes, your movements slow and deliberate. The table is silent, the tension suffocating as John, Simon, and Kyle exchange uncertain glances.

John clears his throat. “It’s good to see you, wife.”

You don’t respond.

The meal is awkward, stilted, but it’s necessary for you; you need to get reused to John for your eventual reappearance in high society. Johnny offers you dishes with a hesitant, hopeful look in his eyes, and Kyle pours your wine with an unsteady grip. John and Simon try to start a conversation, but their words falter and fade when you don’t reply.

Still, they try. Over the following weeks, their efforts grow.

John begins carving out time to spend with you, awkwardly hovering near your door, waiting for even a crumb of acknowledgment. He starts leaving small notes for you- apologies and quiet promises to be better. They pile up on your desk, untouched but not thrown away. You want to believe, but you feel jaded and tired.

Simon offers you quiet companionship, instead. Standing at your side in the garden or library, saying nothing but ensuring you’re not alone. He speaks softly when he does talk, a one-sided conversation with only the occasional hum or noise from you, but he’s undeterred.

Johnny keeps cooking for you, leaving trays of food outside your door with little notes attached: Eat a bit, bonnie. Just for me. You don’t eat much, still have very little appetite, but you do start taking bites here and there, and it’s enough to keep him trying.

Kyle offers small acts of service- holding doors open for you, keeping anything you might need available at hanf, ensuring your rooms are kept warm and comfortable. His words are rare, but his actions speak of endless guilt and the quiet hope that he can earn even a sliver of forgiveness.

The maids and butlers follow suit, their movements quieter, their service more thoughtful. They stop muttering, their eyes full of remorse whenever they see you. They bow in respect, and no longer treat you as if you aren’t a part of the duchy.

But you keep them all at arm’s length. Their guilt is evident, their efforts genuine, but the wounds they’ve left on your heart are deep. Forgiveness, if it ever comes, will not be easily earned. For now, you let them try, watching their clumsy attempts with a mixture of numbness and quiet satisfaction (that you do feel guilty over, but truly can’t help).

Several weeks before the gala, John comes to your office. He sits down, and waits until you are finished with your paperwork before he speaks. You are in a beautiful dress- Simon’s gift- and your hair is in a delicate style, done by your maids. You look pretty. You feel nice, even if the numbness remains. These days, it’s less.

“Duchess, I was thinking,” he began, voice soft and patient. “it might do you some good to get away for a while. A change of scenery.”

You turned to look at him, the suggestion pulling you from your numb reverie. His blue eyes searched yours, and for once, there was no coldness, no distance. “Somewhere quiet,” he continued, “where you can rest… away from all of this.”

The idea of leaving the suffocating walls of the manor, and the heavy tension of the duchy was tempting. And yet, you hesitated, unsure if you could trust the gesture or if it was just another attempt to smooth over appearances.

“I’ll take care of everything,” he added quickly, as if sensing your doubt. “You won’t have to worry about a thing. You can choose who you’d like to go with, or even if you want to go alone. It’s entirely up to you, Duchess.”

Johnny and Kyle appeared in the doorway then, Kyle holding a tray with a steaming cup of tea, Johnny with a small, hopeful smile and a plate of your favorite biscuits. Even Simon lingered near the threshold, his gaze steady but tinged with something softer than usual.

They were all waiting for your answer, their expressions almost pleading. You could feel the weight of their guilt and the sincerity of their offer. It wasn’t much- not enough to erase everything that had passed- but it was something. A step forward.

“…I’ll think about it.” you said at last, your voice quiet but firm. And for the first time in a long while, you saw a flicker of relief in their eyes.

[leona-hawthorne]

1k celebration navigation

based on this request from @lov3notts — enjoy bb 💋 it got pretty long but… what can i say? the request was too good!

disclaimer: not all works for my 1k celebration request will be this long, this one was just special <3

18+ warnings ; angst , smut , oral (f receiving) , unprotected piv , fingering

FAULT LINE… book browsing

THEODORE NOTT. LORENZO BERKSHIRE.

You didn’t know how you got here. One moment, you’d been exchanging sharp words with Theodore Nott, and the next, your back hit the sheets of his bed, his hands grasping your hips with a quiet desperation he’d never admit aloud.

All you could focus on was the heady pull of his mouth, the damp trail of sloppy, bruising kisses he was leaving along the sensitive skin of your thighs. He’d barely given you a second to think, to breathe, before he’d dipped down, fingers splaying possessively against your skin, his face between your legs like it was the only place he wanted to be. The world shrank down to the muffled sound of your own moans, of Theo’s name falling from your lips in a mess of breaths you couldn’t seem to steady. It felt dangerous, maybe because this was already the fifth time this month.

“God, you’re loud today,” he mumbled against you, though the way he held you in place made it clear he wouldn’t have it any other way. There was an edge of something heated in his voice, a spark of unspoken emotion that made you wonder if you were losing your mind, or if he felt it too.

And yet, Theo would never admit anything. To him, this was casual, a dangerous game you both pretended to play out of boredom or maybe lust, like it was just one of those strange things that happened between people who didn’t like each other. And it wasn’t supposed to mean anything, right?

You weren’t supposed to find yourself wishing he’d keep his hands on you just a moment longer. But as he glanced up with that familiar cocky smirk and an unreadable glint in his eyes, you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if you asked for more.

Only, you already knew the answer—he’d laugh, probably say something mocking, and pull away.

Or worse, he wouldn’t.

"Shut up," you hissed back, your voice strained with pleasure as his tongue swirled around your clit. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging roughly. "You love it when I'm loud."

It was true, and you both knew it. Every time you did this, every filthy word and wanton moan, it only seemed to fuel his hunger. You could see it in the way he devoured you, like he was starving and you were the only thing that could satiate him.

But that was impossible. This was just sex, nothing more. A way to pass the time, to blow off steam. You fucking hated each other, after all. Or at least, that's what you kept telling yourselves.

When the haze faded and reality settled in, you felt that familiar pang of regret creeping in. This arrangement with Theo always left you feeling raw, shaky. And while you tried to ignore it, the constant sneaking around and the secrecy wore on you more than you’d ever let him know.

“Alright, I should go,” you muttered, barely meeting his gaze as you pushed yourself up, gathering your scattered clothes from around the room.

“Leaving already?” Theo’s voice had that casual, mocking lilt, but there was something colder beneath it. He propped himself up on one elbow, watching you with a look that felt a little too intent. “Got somewhere more important to be?”

“Yes,” you replied, fastening your shirt with sharp, decisive movements. “Actually, I do.” The answer was a little too defensive, a little too true, and you knew he’d pick up on it.

Theo’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he leaned back with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, I see. Out to meet your precious Enzo, I’m guessing?”

The way he said Lorenzo’s name—Enzo, like it was laced with poison—made you bristle. You finished buttoning up your shirt, feeling your stomach twist with anger you didn’t want to admit to. “Not that it’s any of your business,” you replied, keeping your tone cool and detached. “But yes, actually. He’s my best friend, Theo. Not that you’d know what that’s like.”

Theo’s face darkened, though he hid it behind a lazy laugh. “Of course. How convenient for him. Guess he’ll never know how often you come running here before you run to him, will he?”

The accusation in his voice cut deep, and before you could stop yourself, you snapped, “Believe me, you’re the last person I’d brag about.”

Theo’s jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with something dangerously close to hurt. For a moment, he looked like he might argue, but then he just shrugged, the motion stiff and forced. “Right. Well, thanks for reminding me of my place.”

His voice was cold, bitter, and it stung more than you wanted to admit. Theo stood, grabbing his own clothes and starting to dress without looking at you. “Don’t let me keep you, then.”

He turned away from you, reaching for his cigarettes on the nightstand. You watched him light one up, taking a long drag before he spoke again, his voice carefully neutral. “See you around.”

The tension was thick enough to choke on, and for a moment, you thought about staying, about explaining something even you didn’t fully understand. But you forced yourself to look away, heading toward the door before he could see the uncertainty in your expression.

Out in the corridor, the cool air stung, clearing the last remnants of Theo’s touch from your skin. But you hadn’t taken more than a few steps before you froze, your heart stuttering in your chest.

Standing a few feet away, arms crossed and brows raised, was Lorenzo.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice low, his usual warmth replaced with confusion. “What the hell were you doing in there?”

Panic flared in your chest as you struggled to keep your face calm, fumbling for something—anything—to explain. “Oh, um…” You forced a laugh, hoping it sounded more natural than it felt. “Just, uh, tutoring Theo.”

Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head, unconvinced. “At eleven o’clock at night?” His tone was skeptical, and he studied your face with a concern that only deepened when he noticed you wouldn’t meet his gaze. “You were tutoring the guy you say you can’t stand?”

Heat crept up your neck as you tried to keep your voice even. “It’s just… well, he needed some help with Charms,” you stammered, giving a weak shrug. “You know how he struggles with it.”

“Since when do you care about his grades?” Lorenzo pressed, eyes narrowing. “Or about anything Nott needs?”

A wave of guilt crashed over you, and you forced yourself to meet his gaze, giving him what you hoped was an exasperated eye-roll. “Lorenzo, it’s not that deep,” you lied, pushing your hands into your pockets to keep them from fidgeting. “He asked for help, and I’m just trying to be… nice.”

Lorenzo stepped closer, his brow furrowed with suspicion. "Come on, don't play dumb with me," he said softly, his tone less accusatory now, but still stern. "I'm not an idiot, Y/N. I know you too well. There's clearly something going on."

He reached out, gently grasping your chin and tilting your face up to force eye contact. "Tell me the truth," he urged, his brown eyes searching yours intensely. "Is there... something between you and him?"

Your heart skipped a beat at the question, and for a moment, you simply stared at him, mouth agape. "What? No!" you finally managed to splutter out, pulling away from his touch. "Absolutely not! I still hate him, alright? I was just doing him a favor. That's all."

But the denial rang hollow, even to your own ears.

Lorenzo held your gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, but there was a tightness around his eyes that betrayed his skepticism. "Right. Of course. I won't make you talk about it if you don't want to, Y/N," he said quietly. "But I'm not stupid, and I know you better than anyone. So if there's something going on..." He trailed off, shaking his head slightly. "Just... remember who your real friends are, okay?"

You let out a frustrated sigh, tossing your hands up in exasperation. "Look, Enzo, nothing's going on with Theo, alright? It really was just tutoring." You crossed your arms tightly, your jaw set stubbornly. "Can we please just drop it and go to your dorm?”

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and started walking down the corridor, your shoes snapping sharply against the stone floor. You could feel Lorenzo's eyes boring into your back, could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he tried to puzzle out the truth.

Lorenzo watched you walk away for a long moment, conflict evident on his features. Finally, he sighed heavily and fell into step beside you, his longer strides easily matching your pace. "Fine," he muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "We'll drop it. For now."

The following day passed in a blur, your thoughts clouded with the tension from the night before. Lorenzo’s suspicion lingered in the back of your mind, a constant, nagging weight. You’d brushed it off as best you could, but you knew him too well to think he’d let it go for good.

The party was already in full swing by the time you and Lorenzo arrived, the Slytherin common room buzzing with energy. Music pulsed through the air, mingling with laughter and the faint scent of firewhiskey.

You and Lorenzo found yourselves in a corner of the room, tucked away from the loudest part of the crowd. He had stuck close to your side all evening, his arm brushing against yours occasionally as you moved through the crowd together. 

You were leaning in, listening intently as Lorenzo spun a tale of all the things that went wrong during his Quidditch practice the other day, when it suddenly hit you—the way his breath warmed your ear, the subtle scent of his cologne, the solid warmth of his body pressed against yours. He was so fucking close.

A shiver ran down your spine, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else—the music, the noise, the presence of others nearby.

Lorenzo smiled, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners. He took a sip from his cup before he set it down on the edge of the table.

“You know, you’ve been different lately,” he said suddenly, his tone softer, quieter, cutting through the noise around you. His words made you freeze, the playful grin slipping from your face.

“What do you mean?” 

His hand reached up, fingers brushing against your temple as he gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear.  “I mean… you’ve seemed distant,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours, his voice barely above the hum of the music. “Like there’s something you’re not telling me. But I don’t care, Y/N. Whatever it is… I don’t care. I just want you to know I’m here.”

The weight of his words settled heavily in the pit of your stomach, and you blinked up at him, completely caught off guard. Your brain scrambled for something to say, anything to break the tension that had suddenly thickened between you. “Uh, Lorenzo, what—”

But before you could finish, his hands cupped your face, his touch firm but gentle as he leaned in. His lips captured yours in a kiss so sudden and so passionate, it stole the breath from your lungs. His fingers threaded into your hair, pulling you closer as his other hand slipped to your waist, holding you against him like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

You froze for a moment, your mind racing, unable to comprehend what was happening. Lorenzo. Your best friend. Kissing you.

His lips moved against yours with a fervor that made your knees weak, and you felt yourself melting into the heat of him despite the alarm bells ringing in your head.

But the way he kissed you—the way his thumb brushed against your cheek, the heat in his touch—it was impossible to think about anything else. For a split second, you leaned into him, your hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if to steady yourself.

Lorenzo broke the kiss abruptly, his chest heaving as he stared at you, his eyes wide and vulnerable. For a long, tense moment, neither of you spoke, the silence heavy with unspoken emotions. Then, he whispered, his voice rough with barely contained need, "God, I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He rested his forehead against yours. “Tell me you don't feel this too, Y/N."

His gaze burned into yours, pleading and desperate, and you could see the fear lurking beneath the surface—that you might reject him, that he'd lose you forever. In that instant, you understood the depth of his feelings for you, the years of pent-up longing that had finally spilled over the edge. 

You stared at him, wide-eyed and utterly speechless, your thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and guilt and something else you didn’t dare name. 

What the hell was happening?

Lorenzo's expression faltered, a flicker of doubt crossing his features as he read your stunned silence. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, taking a step back as if physically recoiling from the rejection.

Before you could even open your mouth to respond, a low, mocking voice cut through the charged silence like a blade.

“Well, Y/N,” Theo drawled, stepping between you and Lorenzo with an expression that could only be described as murderous. “You moved on pretty fucking quick, considering my head was between your legs just last night.”

The words hit like a slap, shattering the fragile bubble that had formed between you and Lorenzo.

Lorenzo stiffened beside you, his gaze snapping to Theo with a mix of disbelief and dawning realization. “What?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. Then, softer, almost to himself, “I knew it. You weren’t just tutoring him.”

“Enzo—” you started, but Theo cut you off, his lips curling into a cruel smirk as he stepped closer, his sharp jawline tight with barely concealed fury.

“Tutoring?” Theo echoed mockingly, raising an eyebrow at you. “Is that what you told him, sweetheart? That’s cute. Really cute.”

You felt like the ground was falling away beneath you. “Theo, stop—”

“No,” Theo snapped, taking another step forward as his eyes flickered to Lorenzo. “No, I’ll tell him the truth since you seem so set on lying. I’ve been fucking her. That’s what we’ve been doing. Not tutoring. Not studying. Fucking.”

Lorenzo’s jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might snap. His hands balled into fists at his sides as he turned to you. “Is that true?” he demanded. “Is he telling the truth, Y/N?”

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. The words lodged in your throat, choking you.

“Don’t bother answering,” Theo sneered. “She’s not going to deny it. She can’t.”

And that was it. The dam broke. Lorenzo lunged forward, grabbing Theo by the collar of his shirt and yanking him close. “You’re a fucking bastard, you know that?” he snarled, his voice low and venomous.

Theo didn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk widened, infuriatingly smug. “Takes one to know one,” he shot back, his tone almost taunting.

“Stop!” you yelled, stepping forward and trying to wedge yourself between them, but neither boy paid you any mind.

“You’re such a goddamn prick,” Enzo spat, stepping closer until the two boys were nearly nose to nose. “You think this is a joke? You think her feelings are something you can just fuck with?”

“Oh, spare me the self-righteous act,” Theo shot back, his voice venomous. “You’re not exactly subtle, Berkshire. You’ve been panting after her for years, but guess what? She came to me. Not you.”

“She’s not yours,” Lorenzo barked, his voice rising as his grip on Theo’s collar twisted tighter.

“And she’s not yours either,” Theo snapped back, his voice equally loud and filled with venom. “But that didn’t stop you from shoving your tongue down her throat just now, did it?”

“Nott, you should fuckin’ shut your mouth before I make you,” Lorenzo snapped, shoving Theo backward.

Theo stumbled but recovered quickly, his eyes flashing with rage as he stepped closer, his hands curling into fists. “You want to hit me? Go ahead,” he taunted, his voice deadly calm. “But it won’t change the fact that I’ve had her in ways you never will.”

“That’s enough!” you shouted, stepping between them, your hands pressed against Lorenzo’s chest to keep him from lunging at Theo again. “Both of you, stop it! You’re both being ridiculous!”

Lorenzo’s eyes softened slightly as they flickered to you, but his jaw remained clenched, his breathing heavy. “Y/N,” he said, his voice low and strained, “tell me the truth. Is he lying?”

You hesitated, your throat tightening as the weight of their gazes bore down on you.

“Y/N,” Theo said, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Just tell him. Stop hiding it.”

Your chest tightened, and for a moment, the room seemed to tilt around you. Everything was spiraling out of control, the tension between the three of you threatening to snap like a frayed rope.

“I…” you began, but the words stuck in your throat.

Lorenzo shook his head, his expression twisting with hurt. “I knew it,” he whispered, stepping back. “I fucking knew it.”

“Enzo, wait! I—It’s complicated," you called out, reaching for his arm as he turned to walk away, but he shrugged off your touch.

“Don't," he bit out, his voice tight with pain and anger. "Just...don't."

Lorenzo didn’t look back. His broad shoulders were tense as he stormed away, leaving you rooted to the spot. Your hand fell limply to your side, the sting of his departure cutting deeper than you expected. The noise of the party seemed muted now, distorted, like you were hearing it underwater. The laughter, the music, the chatter—it all felt too far away, irrelevant against the confusion swirling around your head.

In the span of five fucking minutes, your best friend had kissed you, confessed feelings you never saw coming, and then walked away shattered by a truth you hadn’t been ready to admit. The guilt churned in your stomach, thick and nauseating. 

You barely had time to process when Theo’s low, sarcastic voice broke the suffocating silence. “Well, that went well.”

You stood frozen, staring at the floor, your chest heaving as you struggled to process what had just happened—the way Lorenzo’s lips had felt on yours, the raw confession in his eyes, and then the brutal crash as Theo ripped it all apart.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“Y/N?” Theo’s voice broke the haze again, low and gravelly, laced with something that almost sounded like regret.

Your head snapped up, and without thinking, you turned to him, your emotions boiling over. You shoved at his chest with both hands, hard enough to make him take a step back. “Why?” you hissed, your voice trembling with anger and something dangerously close to tears. “Why do you always have to ruin everything?” You shoved him again, harder this time, though it still felt useless against his solid frame. 

Theo caught your wrist as you went to push him again, his grip firm but not harsh. His gray eyes locked onto yours, glinting with something unreadable in the dim light of the room. “Ruin?” he repeated, his voice incredulous. “You think I ruined this? Don’t pin this on me, Y/N. You’re the one playing two sides.”

“I wasn’t playing anything!” you snapped, yanking your arm free and stepping back. The distance felt safer, less suffocating. “I didn’t ask for this—any of it. But you—” You pointed at him, your chest heaving as you fought to steady your voice. “You always have to push and push until everything falls apart!”

His jaw tightened, and something flickered in his eyes—anger, maybe, or hurt. “Falls apart?” he echoed, his voice rising. “You’re the one who came to me, sweetheart. Remember that? You’re the one who wanted this.”

“I wanted simple!” you shot back, your voice cracking under the weight of your frustration. “I wanted no strings, no feelings, no drama! And now look at us! Look at this mess!”

He scoffed, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he stepped closer. “Don’t act like you’re innocent in all this,” he bit out, his voice sharp. “You wanted no strings, but you kept coming back. Over and over. You wanted me, Y/N. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

You shook your head, turning on your heel and pushing your way out of the crowded party. The air in the corridor was cooler, quieter, but your thoughts were anything but calm. Theo’s footsteps followed close behind, the sound of his shoes echoing against the stone walls.

“I’m not letting you walk away like this,” he said, grabbing your arm just gently enough to stop you without forcing you.

You wrenched your arm free, spinning around to face him, your eyes blazing. “Why not? That’s all we’ve ever been good at—walking away from each other.”

His face twisted, a mix of frustration and something deeper, something raw. “That’s not true and you know it,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’re just angry.”

“Of course I’m angry!” you shouted, throwing your hands up. “I just watched my best friend walk away, probably forever, because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut! And for what, Theo? For what?”

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but no words came. Instead, he stared at you, his usually sharp eyes clouded with something uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“You know what?” you continued, your voice trembling as tears pricked your eyes. “I’m done. I’m done with this. With you.”

His eyes widened slightly. “What?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“I’m done, Theo,” you said again. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t mean something when it clearly does. And I can’t keep lying to Lorenzo—to myself. So, congratulations, you win. You’ve ruined everything. I hope it was worth it.”

His face fell, the usual sharpness in his expression softening into something almost childlike. “Y/N,” he said, stepping closer, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do,” you insisted, your voice firmer this time. “I can’t do this anymore. You and me—it’s toxic, Theo. It’s ruining everything.”

You turned to leave, but his hand shot out, grabbing yours. The desperation in his touch made you freeze. For a moment, he just stared at you, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Then, he spoke, his voice raw and aching. “Please.” The word came out so quiet it was almost drowned out by the distant hum of the party. “Hate me, hurt me,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Just… don’t leave me.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. His words hung heavy in the air, raw and pleading. This wasn’t the Theo you were used to—the cocky, self-assured boy who always had a cutting remark at the ready. This was someone stripped bare, vulnerable in a way that made your heart ache.

“Theo…” you started, but your voice faltered.

“I know we said no strings,” he interrupted, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, like he was afraid you’d slip away. “I know that. But I can’t do it. I can’t watch you walk away and choose him—not when I…” He trailed off, his jaw clenching as he fought to find the words.

You turned fully to face him, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. “Not when you what?” you whispered.

His eyes burned into yours, and for a moment, he looked like he might bolt. But then, with a shaky breath, he stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly as they cupped your face. “Not when I feel like this,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

You stared at him, your mind reeling. And then he kissed you.

But it wasn’t like the other times—the hurried, rough kisses that left you breathless and wanting more. This kiss was soft, tentative, like he was afraid you might break. His lips moved against yours with a gentleness that made your heart ache, and before you knew it, you were kissing him back, hand shaking like they didn’t know what to do.

The world fell away, the distant music and voices fading until there was nothing but the warmth of him, the way his thumb brushed against your cheek, the quiet, desperate sound he made as he pulled you closer.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing ragged. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

You didn’t know what to say—didn’t know how to untangle the knot of feelings in your chest. So you just stood there, letting his touch ground you, wondering how the hell you’d gotten here.

But as you stood there, pressed against Theo's warm, solid body, one thought crystallized above the rest: you needed him.

Now.

"Theo," you murmured. Your eyes locked onto his, searching, pleading. There were no words for what you felt, but you hoped he could read it in your gaze—the hunger, the need, the desperate craving for him.

Theo’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening as they flicked down to your lips and back up again. He could see it—you knew he could. The unspoken need that lingered in the space between you, a silent plea written in the way your fingers trembled against his chest, in the way your breath mingled with his as you leaned closer.  

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice rough, uncertain. It wasn’t a question, not quite, but there was hesitation there, as though he was afraid this would break you both even further.  

You shook your head, barely, just enough to quiet whatever doubt he was wrestling with. “Please,” you whispered, the single word carrying all the weight of everything you couldn’t say. “I need you, Theo.”  

His hands slid down from your face to your waist, his fingers brushing over the curve of your hips as though committing the moment to memory. “Are you sure?” he asked.  

In answer, you tugged at his shirt, your hands fisting the fabric as you leaned up to kiss him again. This time, it wasn’t soft—it was deliberate, intentional, your lips pressing firmly against his as you tried to pour everything you felt into that single moment.  

The kiss deepened slowly, Theo’s hands tightening on your waist as he guided you backward, pressing you against the cool stone wall of the corridor. You broke the kiss, your forehead falling against his as you tried to catch your breath. “Not here,” you whispered, your voice shaky but firm.  

Theo nodded, his chest rising and falling with yours as he tried to calm himself. Without a word, he took your hand, his grip steady and warm as he led you through the dim corridor and up the winding staircase to your dorm.  

The room was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of moonlight streaming through the window. The moment the door closed behind you, the atmosphere shifted. It wasn’t rushed this time, wasn’t driven by the usual frenzied passion that had defined so much of your time together. It was slower, heavier, as though you were both unearthing something you hadn’t realized was buried.  

Theo turned to face you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. But you stepped closer, your hands sliding up his chest and around his neck as you kissed him again, softer this time, but no less urgent.  

He kissed you back with a quiet intensity, his hands settling on your hips as he walked you backward toward the bed. When the backs of your knees hit the edge, he paused, pulling back just enough to look at you.  

“You’re sure?” he asked again, his voice a rasp of barely contained emotion.  

You nodded, your fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him down to you on the bed. “I’m sure,” you said, your voice steady now, laced with a conviction that left no room for doubt.  

Theo followed you down, his weight pressing into you as he kissed you again, and for the first time, it wasn’t about dominance or control. It wasn’t about proving a point or drowning in the fire of your so-called hatred.  

It was about feeling—truly feeling.  

You let out a soft gasp as his hands explored your skin, his touch sending sparks of pleasure racing under your flesh. Your own hands roamed over his back, tracing the contours of his muscles beneath his clothes. You wanted to peel away every layer until you were bare against him, skin to skin, hearts beating as one.

As if reading your mind, Theo reached for the hem of your shirt, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your stomach as he lifted it over your head. You arched into his touch, a moan escaping your lips as he tossed the garment aside and leaned in to nuzzle the swell of your tits, his hot breath sending tingles across your nipples.

Theo's mouth hovered over your nipple, his tongue darting out to tease the hardened peak before he closed his lips around it, suckling gently. A low groan rumbled in his throat, vibrating against your skin and making your toes curl.

His hands continued their exploration, sliding down to unfasten your jeans, his fingers brushing against the heat of your core as he pushed the denim and lace down your thighs. You kicked off the pooled fabric, leaving you naked and vulnerable beneath him.

He leaned in to press a tender kiss to your collarbone, then trailed his lips down your sternum, pausing to worship each breast with the same reverence he'd shown earlier.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with emotion.

Your breath caught in your throat at the words, at the raw sincerity in his tone. No one had ever looked at you like that before—like you were a work of art, precious and coveted.

"Theo..." you breathed, your voice trembling with need. "Please..."

He understood without further prompting, his fingers tracing a path down your stomach and dipping lower to find the slick heat of your arousal. He groaned softly at the feel of you, his thumb circling your clit as his middle finger delved inside, seeking out that sweet spot that made you quiver.

"God, you're soaked," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin as he pumped his finger slowly, deliberately, his gaze locked on yours. "Tell me how much you want it."

His other hand cupped your breast, rolling the pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Your hips bucked involuntarily as his finger found that perfect spot inside you, stroking along the sensitive wall in a way that made stars burst behind your eyelids. "Oh god, yes," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as you ground against his hand.

"I want it so badly," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I've never wanted anything more," you begged, your breath coming in short gasps. "I need you inside me."

With a low growl, Theo added a second finger, scissoring them inside you to loosen your tightness. He watched your face intently, drinking in every expression of pleasure, every gasp and moan that fell from your lips.

"Not yet," he said, his voice rough with restraint. "I want to make sure you're ready for me."

He curled his fingers just right, rubbing that magic spot within you, and you came undone, your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. You cried out, your body shaking with the force of it, your inner walls clenching around his fingers.

Through it all, Theo held you close, his lips pressed to your temple, his breath hot against your skin. "That's it," he cooed, "let go for me, baby. I've got you."

Shudders wracked your body as the aftershocks of your climax rippled through you, leaving you limp and spent. But Theo wasn't done with you yet. He withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and aching for more.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was moving, shrugging off his shirt to reveal the toned expanse of his chest. Your gaze drifted over the defined muscles, feeling a wave of desire surge through you.

Not waiting for permission, he quickly shed his pants, kicking them aside carelessly. And then he was looming over you, his eyes blazing with hunger. “Wrap those pretty legs around me.”

Without hesitation, you complied, hooking your ankles together and lifting your hips to meet him. The head of his cock nudged against your entrance, teasingly slow, as if savoring the moment before finally sinking home in one smooth thrust.

A guttural moan tore from his throat at the feeling of your tight heat enveloping him, and he stilled for a moment, reveling in the sensation. Then, with a roll of his hips, he began to move, setting a sweet pace that had your eyes rolling back.

It was a slow, unhurried rhythm, unlike all the times before. This time, it wasn’t about the heat or the hunger—it was about the connection, the way his name fell from your lips like a prayer, the way he whispered yours back like a promise.  

Time seemed to blur, the lines between where you ended and he began dissolving until there was nothing left but the two of you, tangled together in the quiet of the night as he devoured  your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue claiming you as thoroughly as his cock did your pussy.

Theo broke the kiss to gaze down at you, his eyes burning with an intensity that seared right through to your soul. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice thick with emotion. "I want to look you in the eyes when I make you cum. You know why? Because this means you’re fucking choosing me.”

Your fingers tightened in his hair as you met his stare, the connection between you electrifying. With a final, powerful thrust, he pushed you over the edge, and you shattered, crying out his name as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

When it was over, Theo stayed close, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath. He didn’t say anything—neither of you did. Words felt unnecessary, almost intrusive in the fragile intimacy that had settled over you both.  

But as his hand brushed over your cheek, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin, you felt the truth of it in the way he looked at you. Whatever this was between you, it wasn’t hatred. It never had been.  

And that realization scared you more than anything.  

But a loud, abrupt knock at the door shattered the stillness.  

You shot up, your heart pounding as reality came crashing back in. “Shit,” you whispered, scrambling to pull on your clothes. Theo sat up too, his brow furrowed in confusion, but he didn’t move to stop you. Instead, he leaned back on his elbows, watching silently as you tugged a large sweater over your head, your hair still a mess from his hands.  

The knock came again, more insistent this time. “Y/N?” Lorenzo’s voice called through the door, muffled but unmistakable.  

Your stomach dropped.  

Theo’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening as he realized who it was. “You don’t have to answer,” he said quietly, his voice calm but firm.  

But you did. You had to.  

Without another word, you crossed the room, your heart racing as you opened the door just enough to step out, closing it quickly behind you. Lorenzo stood there, his face a storm of emotions—regret, frustration, and something achingly close to hope.  

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out before you could speak, his words tumbling over themselves in his rush to get them out. “I shouldn’t have walked away like that. I should’ve let you explain, I should’ve stayed.”  

“Enzo—” you started, but he cut you off.  

“No, let me finish,” he said, taking a step closer. “I blamed you, and I shouldn’t have. I was just... I don’t know. I was hurt, okay? And I know that’s not fair to you. You’ve always been honest with me, and I—I just...” He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration with himself evident.  

You stood frozen, your back pressed against the door, every word he said digging deeper into your chest.  

“And I shouldn’t have waited this long to tell you how I feel. Merlin, Y/N, I love you. I’ve loved you for longer than I can even admit to myself. And I know it’s a mess now, but I could’ve… should’ve told you sooner.” His voice cracked, his usual smooth confidence faltering as his eyes searched yours.

Your throat tightened as you opened your mouth to try and speak, but he kept going, his words spilling out faster now, desperate to fill the silence.

“I should be the one you’re with. I should’ve been braver, I should’ve fought for you. But I didn’t, and I—I just... I want to be with you,” he continued, his eyes searching yours desperately. “I know we’re friends, but we could be so much more, Y/N. I know we could.”  

The silence that followed felt deafening.  

It was only then that Lorenzo seemed to really see you—the disheveled sweater pulled hastily over your bare skin, your hair still tangled, your lips swollen. His eyes widened, the realization crashing over him like a wave.  

“Y/N...” he said slowly, his voice filled with dawning heartbreak. “Is someone... Are you...?” He didn’t finish the question, but he didn’t have to.  

You couldn’t bring yourself to lie. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer, either.  

His face crumpled, and he let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “It’s him, isn’t it? Theo.”  

“Enzo, I’m—”  

“No,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “Just don’t say anything.” His voice cracked, and for a moment, he looked like he might break completely. But then he straightened, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to meet your eyes. “It was never going to be me, was it?”  

“Lorenzo—” You tried to reach for him but he just flinched, shaking his head.

“Stop,” he said sharply, though the crack in his voice betrayed him. He looked away, blinking rapidly, as though trying to compose himself. “I get it now. I was always the safe option. The one who’d never hurt you. But I was never the one you wanted.”

“That’s not fair,” you said, your voice trembling. “You’re my best friend, Enzo. I love you, I do, but…”

“Not like that,” he finished for you, his tone sharp with bitter acceptance. “You don’t love me like that.”  

You reached for him again, but he stepped back, out of reach. “Stop,” he said again, his voice soft now, almost broken. “I’ll just... I’ll see you around, Y/N.”  

The silence that followed was unbearable, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a physical force. You wanted to say something, anything, to fix the fissure cracking between you, but no words came.

He nodded, his jaw tightening as he forced a bitter smile. “I hope he’s worth it,” he said quietly, turning on his heel before you could stop him.

You watched him go, your chest aching as his figure disappeared down the hall. The sting of his words lingered, cutting deeper than you’d anticipated. 

Closing the door behind you, you leaned against it, your heart pounding as you tried to steady your breathing.

“Y/N?”

Theo’s voice, soft and uncertain, pulled you from your thoughts. He was sitting up now, the sheet draped low over his waist as he watched you with an intensity that made your knees weak.

You crossed the room, collapsing onto the bed beside him. His hand found yours, his fingers lacing through yours, grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You shook your head, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “Don’t be. I chose this. I chose you.”

And despite the heartbreak, the guilt, the mess of emotions swirling inside you, you knew it was true. Lorenzo had your friendship, your loyalty, your love in ways you couldn’t deny—but Theo? Theo had your heart.

And no matter how much it hurt, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

(apologies to my enzo lovers <3)

[simplygojo]

How To Handle A Sulk...

Author's Note: Helloooo!!! I really liked this idea from the lovely 🫧 anon! tysm for requesting and I hope you like this blurb :) Grumpy Suguru is no match for the reader!

Wordcount: 1.1k

Pairing: Suguru Geto x reader

Warnings: angsty suguru, pouty boy, invasions of personal space lowkey, funny reader (ofc), suggestive content, fem!pronouns used,

masterlist // request guidelines // kofi // discord channel

You could tell Suguru was in one of those moods the moment you walked through the door.

He was perched on the couch, his dark hair pulled into a slightly messy bun, arms crossed over his chest. His legs sprawled out in front of him, taking up more than his fair share of the space, and an unmistakable grumpiness overshadowed his usual air of quiet confidence.

“Rough day?” you asked casually, setting your bag down on the counter.

He grunted in response, eyes glued to the TV. You glanced at the screen—a nature documentary you knew he wasn’t watching.

Uh-oh.

Suguru in a sulk wasn’t an everyday occurrence, but it happened often enough for you to know the signs: clipped responses, the way his lips pressed into a thin line, the furrow just above the bridge of his nose that deepened every time the narrator’s voice droned on about ocean predators.

You let him stew for a few minutes while you busied yourself in the kitchen, brewing tea the way he liked it. By the time you returned, balancing the steaming mug in one hand and your resolve to lighten the mood in the other, he hadn’t budged an inch.

“Alright, grumpy pants,” you announced, setting the tea on the coffee table with a small clink. “What’s eating you?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, his baritone voice a touch sharper than usual.

“Uh-huh. Sure you are.”

Sliding onto the couch next to him, you folded your legs beneath you and leaned in slightly, resting your elbow on the back of the couch. 

His profile was as sharp as ever, jaw tight and lips faintly downturned, but the faintest pink dusted his ears—a telltale sign that his mood wasn’t as impenetrable as he wanted it to be.

“I mean, you’re obviously in a great mood,” you said breezily, resting your chin in your palm. “Sulking on the couch, ignoring your very sweet girlfriend who brought you tea. Definitely fine.”

His jaw twitched, and he finally turned to look at you, his dark eyes narrowed in a mix of irritation and challenge. “I’m not sulking.”

You gasped, mock-offended, your hand flying to your chest. “Oh no, of course not. You’re just brooding dramatically in silence. Completely different.”

He sighed, leaning back against the couch with an air of exasperation that was almost theatrical. 

His arms stayed firmly crossed, his muscles tensing under the fabric of his sweater.

You couldn’t help but smile. It was just so Suguru to sulk like this, to wrap himself in his mood and let it stew. But you also knew how to coax him out of it.

“Alright, big guy,” you said, shifting closer to him, your knee brushing against his thigh. “Let’s see if we can’t make you crack.”

He arched an eyebrow but didn’t move away as you placed your hand lightly on his chest, fingers grazing over the soft knit of his sweater.

“You’re too handsome to sit around pouting like this, you know. It’s practically a crime.”

He let out a soft huff, his eyes flicking back to the TV, but you caught the faintest twitch of his lips.

Undeterred, you leaned in, pressing a featherlight kiss to his cheek. “The perfect boyfriend package—handsome, smart, and broody. How did I get so lucky?” 

Suguru didn’t budge, his jaw tightening further as his eyes flicked back to the TV.

It was a deliberate move like he was determined to pretend your touch hadn’t fazed him.

His lack of reaction only fueled your determination.

“Hmm,” you hummed softly, leaning in closer, your lips brushing against his cheek again—this time just a little slower. 

“Not even a thank you? I’m sitting here, pouring my heart out about how irritatingly perfect you are, and you’re giving me nothing?”

Still, nothing. 

His expression remained stoic, his shoulders rigid, his eyes trained stubbornly on the screen as if the documentary about penguin migration was the most riveting thing in the world.

You tilted your head, a sly smile playing on your lips. 

“Alright,” you murmured, voice dropping just enough to make the words linger in the air, “guess I’ll just have to try harder.”

Your hand, which had been resting lightly on his chest, began a slow descent, grazing the soft fabric of his sweater as your fingertips skimmed over his stomach. 

You could feel the faintest twitch beneath your touch, the slightest shift in his breathing, but still, he didn’t look at you.

His silence was its own challenge, and you weren’t one to back down.

“You’re really going to ignore me?” you asked, your tone laced with playful disbelief as your hand drifted even lower, grazing his thigh—not quite enough to cross a line, but enough to make your intentions crystal clear.

For a moment, you thought you saw his lips twitch, a crack in his carefully constructed indifference.

But when you glanced up at his face, it was still set in that infuriatingly stoic expression, his dark eyes unyielding as they stared straight ahead.

“Oh, come on, Suguru,” you pressed, leaning in until your breath ghosted over the shell of his ear. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone completely cold on me.”

His fingers twitched where they rested on his knee, but he still didn’t look at you.

You sighed dramatically, shifting closer so that your thigh pressed against his.

“Fine, be that way,” you murmured, brushing your lips against his jaw this time, slow and deliberate.

That did it.

It wasn’t much—just the faintest intake of breath, the smallest flicker in his eyes—but it was enough to tell you that his calm façade was slipping.

Suguru stiffened immediately, his head snapping toward you, the flush on his ears now spreading to his cheeks. 

“Y/n—” he started, his voice lower and warning, but the slight crack at the end of his sentence betrayed him.

You smirked, tilting your head innocently as your fingers lingered, not quite touching him but enough to make him squirm. “Hmm? Something wrong?”

He narrowed his eyes, but the blush creeping across his face told you everything you needed to know. You pressed another kiss to his cheek, softer this time, your lips lingering just long enough to make his breath hitch.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered, but his voice had lost its edge, the irritation melting into something quieter, more vulnerable.

“And you love it,” you teased, finally moving your hand away to rest against his arm instead.

His muscles were tense under your touch, but as you ran your fingers along his forearm, you felt him slowly relax.

A moment passed before he sighed again, this time less dramatic and more resigned. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he mumbled, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Oh, I know,” you said brightly, leaning your head on his shoulder. He didn’t pull away, and you smiled against the soft fabric of his sweater, satisfied with your small victory.

It wasn’t long before you felt his arm wrap around you, pulling you closer…

Yeah, grumpy Suguru didn’t stand a chance against you.

[fratttymatty]

The Card That Changed Everything

(All characters are 18+)

Elliot Novak had always been the quintessential "nerd" in high school. At 18, he was just a few weeks away from graduating, a proud member of the debate team, the editor of the school newspaper, and a staunch liberal in a town that was a bit more on the conservative side. With thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and a backpack full of books slung over one shoulder, he had always felt a little out of place. His friends, a small but close-knit group of fellow "outsiders," often joked that if the high school hierarchy were a pyramid, he’d be firmly planted at the bottom, right next to the chess club.

Elliot had been expecting a quiet, uneventful Friday night. But when his best friend, Max, invited him over for a game night, he reluctantly agreed. It was nothing too out of the ordinary—just a few games of Uno and maybe some pizza. What he didn’t expect was that this seemingly innocent night would change his life forever.

It started innocently enough. The group—Max, his girlfriend Lily, and Sarah from the drama club—sat around Max’s living room, laughing and talking as they shuffled the colorful cards. The first few rounds of Uno passed without incident. Elliot was his usual self: sarcastic, quick-witted, and, as always, a little too passionate about winning.

Then came the final game of the night. For some reason, the cards seemed to fall differently. He felt a strange energy in the room, a kind of buzz that seemed to hum in his ears. It was Max who had drawn the last card, and as he placed it down, there was a sudden flash of light, so brief that no one noticed—except Elliot.

The world seemed to tilt.

He blinked, disoriented, trying to shake the odd feeling of vertigo. The room appeared the same, but everything felt… different. He looked down at his hands, which were suddenly larger, more muscular, the knuckles rougher. His clothes felt tighter, almost too tight. As if on instinct, he reached up to adjust his glasses, but they weren’t there.

“What the hell?” he muttered, his voice coming out deeper, rougher than usual.

Max, still grinning from winning the last round, glanced over. “You okay, man?”

Elliot’s heart started to race as he realized something was wrong. He glanced at the mirror across the room, and for a moment, he barely recognized the reflection staring back at him. His once lean, skinny body had transformed into something broader, more defined—his arms, his chest, his jawline—all of it seemed so different. His short, curly brown hair was now dark and tousled in thick, messy curls, and his face, still familiar in shape, had lost its nerdy softness, replaced by the sharp angles of a confident, athletic young man.

He was no longer the bookish Elliot Novak. In the mirror, staring back at him, was someone new.

“Max, I don’t… I don’t think I’m okay,” Elliot’s—no, his new voice—sounded unfamiliar, confident in a way it had never been before.

“Dude, you’re acting weird. What’s wrong?” Max asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“I… I feel different,” Elliot murmured. But as he spoke, he didn’t feel the anxiety or the usual sense of out-of-place-ness he had grown accustomed to. Instead, there was something else—a surge of confidence, a sense of power. A feeling of certainty.

He was no longer Elliot Novak. He was Ethan Cole.

Ethan ran his fingers through his new head of tousled, dark brown curls, noticing how it felt different, more natural than his old look ever had. He straightened his back, feeling the strength in his spine, the ease of standing tall. He had always been awkward about his body, but now it was as if he had been molded into something new, something purposeful.

Max looked him up and down, his eyes widening. “Holy crap, Elliot, what the hell happened to you?”

The name Elliot felt wrong in Ethan's mouth. "It’s Ethan, man. You know, like… the name that suits me," he said with an easy smirk, not understanding why he was suddenly so at ease with himself. A new sense of self-assurance flooded his veins, and he felt an overwhelming desire to flex his muscles, to show off this newfound strength.

"You're acting weird," Max muttered, unsure what to make of this transformation. But Ethan was already adjusting to his new life.

He looked at the game of Uno, now discarded on the floor, and the realization hit him. It was the game, the card. It had changed everything, even his very identity. But rather than panic, he felt a strange sense of… relief.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn't miss being the old Elliot. Being Ethan felt right. His thoughts began to align with his new persona—no more arguing about social justice issues, no more complicated liberal viewpoints. No, now he saw things clearly. The world was about competition, dominance, and personal achievement. It made sense. Everything made sense.

And the people around him? They weren’t so different from him anymore. He gave Max a friendly clap on the back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, bro. But we should hit the gym sometime, huh?”

Max blinked in surprise. “Uh… sure, man. That actually sounds good.”

But something in Max had shifted too. His posture straightened, his eyes narrowed with sudden focus, and an unexpected grin spread across his face. “Yeah, you’re right. I could use a solid workout. We should start lifting.”

As if by magic, Max’s transformation mirrored Ethan’s. His body began to tighten and firm up, his once lean frame now more muscular, shoulders broader, chest more defined. His hair, always scruffy, seemed to grow thicker, more styled—almost like it had a purpose now. He gave Ethan a playful shove. “Maybe I’ll even beat you at this gym thing.”

Ethan grinned. “You can try.”

The two exchanged a knowing look, as if they were already bonding over something bigger than just physical strength. It was a new world, one where power and confidence ruled. For Ethan, it felt like a natural fit.

As the evening wore on, Ethan felt something else—something different in the air. Kassie, Max’s girlfriend, had been sitting on the couch, watching their interactions. She was the type of girl who didn’t usually give Ethan much attention. But now, there was something new about him—something magnetic, something that drew her in.

She looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and the way his new curls framed his face. She smiled slowly. “Ethan, right? I’ve gotta say, you’re looking good.”

Ethan felt his chest puff with pride. “Thanks, Kassie. You’re not so bad yourself.”

She laughed lightly, a flirtatious edge to her tone. “How about we grab a coffee sometime? You and me?”

Ethan smirked, feeling the newfound confidence flood his veins. “Sounds like a date.”

By the end of the night, Ethan had fully embraced his new life. He wasn’t just a jock in body; he was a jock in spirit. His new persona felt like home. Kassie was his girlfriend now, Max was a jock too, and together they would rule the school.

The old Elliot, with his liberal ideals, his anxiousness, his nerdy quirks—was nothing more than a distant memory.

Ethan Cole was here to stay.

[theonottsbxtch]

PREACHER’S DAUGHTER PT5 | MV1

an: AND WE'RE BACK!! WHO MISSED OUR FAVOURITE LITTLE FAMILY! can't wait to hear what you guys think of this part, i've loved being with them this week, this is a shorter chapter but i've got ideas for what might happen next! lmk if y'all wanna see anything in particular

wc: 3.2k

Theo was four when his parents welcomed his sister, and Max very nearly missed it, if not for Danny.

It had been a normal day at the garage, Max elbow-deep in an engine rebuild, grease staining his hands and his focus entirely on the task at hand. His phone, forgotten on the workbench, buzzed furiously with calls and messages. It wasn’t until Danny came barreling into the shop, panting like he’d just run a marathon, that Max looked up.

“Max! Man, what the hell are you doing?” Danny wheezed, clutching his knees.

Max straightened, wiping his hands on a rag. “Uh, working? What’s wrong with you? You look like you’re dying.”

Danny shot him a glare, pointing accusingly at the phone vibrating incessantly on the workbench. “Your wife is trying to call you! She’s in labour, man! She’s having the baby!”

Max froze, the rag slipping from his fingers. “What?”

“She’s at the hospital! Her aunt’s with her, but you need to move! Now!”

Max’s heart lurched into overdrive. Without a word, he sprinted to the workbench, grabbed his phone, and bolted out the door. “Danny, lock up!” he shouted over his shoulder as he jumped onto his bike.

Danny shook his head, muttering, “You owe me for this one, man.”

Max arrived at the hospital in record time, still in his grease-stained shirt and boots. His wife was mid-contraction when he burst into the room, panting, his face a mixture of guilt and relief.

“You’re here,” she said through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowing slightly before softening at his frazzled appearance.

“I’m here,” he confirmed, rushing to her side and taking her hand. “I’m sorry, angel. My phone was on silent—”

“Save it,” she hissed, squeezing his hand so tightly he thought his bones might break. “You’re here now. Just don’t let go.”

Max didn’t. Not for a second. Hours later, they welcomed a healthy baby girl into the world. Max cried as he held her for the first time, the tiny bundle swaddled in pink resting against his chest. He looked at his wife, her hair damp and her face radiant despite her exhaustion.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re perfect.”

Their daughter, Mary-Ann, came home a few days later to a little house with a white picket fence that they had purchased not long before her birth. It was a modest place, but it was theirs, filled with laughter, love, and the chaos that only a toddler and a newborn could bring.

Theo was adjusting to his new role as a big brother with enthusiasm and curiosity. He followed his parents around, always asking to hold the baby or show her his toys. “She likes dinosaurs, right?” he would ask, clutching his favourite plastic stegosaurus.

“She loves dinosaurs,” Max assured him, grinning as he ruffled Theo’s hair.

Max had seamlessly embraced fatherhood, splitting his time between the garage and his family. He spent his evenings teaching Theo how to kick a football in the back garden and his nights rocking Mary-Ann to sleep.

The house, with its picket fence and flowerbeds lovingly tended by his wife, was the picture of the life Max had never imagined for himself. Yet, here he was, living it and loving every moment.

The day of Mary-Ann’s baptism dawned clear and bright, the kind of perfect day that made everything feel just a little more magical. Their little family was dressed in their Sunday best, Theo proudly wearing a bowtie that his mother had wrestled him into after much negotiation, and Mary-Ann bundled in a delicate white christening gown.

They arrived at the church to find her aunt, Danny, and a few close friends waiting for them, just as they had for Theo’s baptism years ago. Her aunt immediately swooped in to coo over Mary-Ann, her face soft with affection.

“She’s the spitting image of you at this age,” her aunt said warmly, brushing a soft curl away from Mary-Ann’s forehead.

“Let’s hope she doesn’t inherit my teenage rebellion,” she joked, glancing at Max, who chuckled.

The service itself was intimate and beautiful. As the pastor spoke, Theo sat on Max’s lap, squirming occasionally but staying quiet enough to earn whispered praise from both his parents. When it came time for the baptism, Max and his wife stood together at the front of the church, Theo holding onto his mother’s hand while Max held Mary-Ann close.

The pastor asked Theo if he wanted to say anything, and the boy puffed out his chest importantly, his tiny voice ringing out through the quiet chapel. “We’re all gonna be... um... part of Chris-tain-ity now!”

There was a soft chuckle from the congregation, but Theo frowned, frustrated by his own mispronunciation. His brows knitted together, and before anyone could stop him, he muttered under his breath, “Damn it.”

Max’s head snapped around, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at his son. “Where did you hear that, Theo?”

Without hesitation, Theo turned and pointed to Danny, who froze mid-grin. “Uncle Daddy says it all the time.”

The entire room dissolved into laughter, but Max’s expression darkened. “His name is Uncle Danny. Not Daddy,” he corrected firmly. He handed Mary-Ann to his wife with exaggerated care and then fixed Danny with a dangerous look. “Uncle Danny also has five seconds to run.”

Danny’s eyes widened as he stammered, “Now, hold on a second—”

“Five.”

Danny bolted toward the back of the church, nearly tripping over a pew. Max didn’t miss a beat, stepping around the altar and charging after him. Theo laughed hysterically as he watched his father chase Danny out the door, and his mother shook her head, trying to stifle her own giggles.

When Max returned a few minutes later, slightly winded but victorious, Danny trailing behind him with a sheepish grin, the ceremony continued. The pastor, who had been struggling to keep a straight face, resumed his blessing, and little Mary-Ann was baptised without further incident.

As they left the church, Theo clung to Max’s hand, his face lit with excitement. “Daddy, can I chase Uncle Danny next time?”

Max ruffled his hair, smirking. “Not until you’re faster than me, kid.”

The two of them loved the life they had built together and sometimes when Max woke up he had to pinch himself. Just under half a decade ago he was eating dry hotdogs and drinking stale beers in a rundown trailer. Now he was helping his wife. His wife. In the kitchen with his two kids. Not one, two. Max was a father and everyday he woke up he couldn’t really believe. it.

The smell of cinnamon and vanilla wafted through the house as she stood at the counter, carefully icing a tray of perfectly golden cupcakes. Mary-Ann was nestled in her baby chair nearby, happily chewing on a soft toy, and the kitchen felt like the warm, beating heart of their home.

Out in the garage, Max had Theo standing on a small step stool by the workbench, his tiny hands gripping a wrench that was far too big for him. Max crouched beside him, guiding his hands as they worked on an old oil pan together. Theo giggled every time Max made a joke, his high-pitched laughter filling the air.

She wiped her hands on her apron, grabbed a glass of iced tea, and wandered outside to watch her boys. Leaning against the doorframe, she crossed her arms and smiled. “Teaching him how to change oil already? He’s four, Max.”

Max turned, his grease-streaked face lighting up when he saw her. “Hey, never too early to learn the basics, right, buddy?”

Theo nodded enthusiastically, smearing a streak of oil across his cheek as he waved the wrench triumphantly. “Mama, I’m helping!”

“I can see that,” she laughed, walking over and kissing the top of his messy hair.

As her gaze wandered around the garage, it landed on their old motorbike, tucked into the corner, its polished chrome gleaming even in the dim light. Her smile turned into a smirk, and she gestured toward it with her glass. “You know, you’re going to have to sell that death trap.”

Max froze mid-laugh, a look of horror crossing his face. “What? No way. We’ve got so many memories with that bike.”

“We have two kids now, Max.”

He frowned, standing up and crossing his arms. “But what if Theo wants it when he grows up?”

She raised an eyebrow, placing a hand on her hip. “He’s not stepping a foot on that thing.”

Max threw his hands up in exaggerated protest. “Oh, so when it’s us, it’s fine, but when it’s Theo, it’s a problem?”

She grinned, completely unbothered. “Yup.”

Before he could argue further, Danny strolled into the garage, a familiar plastic container in hand. “Alright, where’s the good stuff? I heard there’s baking going on in that kitchen, and you know the deal—Danny gets dibs.”

She laughed, pointing toward the house. “I’ll bring you some in a second. Just made a fresh batch.”

As Danny leaned against the workbench, Max glanced at him, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hey, Danny, you wanna buy that death trap over there?”

Danny raised an eyebrow, glancing at the bike. “How much are we talking?”

Max grinned. “Fifty bucks.”

Danny’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

Max smirked, holding out a hand. “You buy it, but I still get to use it whenever I want.”

Danny laughed, shaking his head but reaching out to shake Max’s hand anyway. “You got yourself a deal, man.”

Max turned to her with a triumphant grin, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans. “See? It’s sold. Problem solved.”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head but smiling as she headed back into the house. “You two are impossible.”

As she disappeared into the kitchen, Max knelt back down beside Theo, who looked up at him with wide, curious eyes.

“Daddy, what’s a death trap?”

Max chuckled, ruffling his hair. “It’s something fun that your mom doesn’t like.”

From the kitchen, she called out, “I heard that!”

While she packed up some of her baked goods for Danny she too thought of how lucky she was. How all her prayers had been listened to. How she finally made it out of that house. How she was going to witness all her own kid’s life milestones with joy and love, not hatred and jealousy. 

The morning of Theo’s first day of school, the sunlight streamed through the windows as the family bustled to get ready. Theo stood proudly in his brand-new school uniform, his backpack almost as big as he was. Mary-Ann, her curls tied up in tiny pigtails, was toddling around in her nursery outfit, clutching her stuffed bunny like it was her lifeline.

Their mother, however, was a whirlwind of emotions. She double-checked Theo’s lunchbox for the third time and nearly forgot to zip Mary-Ann’s coat, all while blinking back tears.

“I can’t believe they’re both going,” she murmured, her voice trembling as she fixed Theo’s collar for the tenth time.

Max, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee, tried to hide his grin. “Sweetheart, they’re not moving out. It’s just school and nursery.”

She shot him a glare. “Don’t start with me today, Max.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Come here, buddy,” he said, crouching down to Theo’s level. “You ready for your big day?”

Theo nodded, his little chest puffed out. “I’m gonna make so many friends!”

Max ruffled his hair. “That’s my boy. And you,” he added, turning to Mary-Ann and lifting her into his arms. “You take care of those nursery teachers, alright? Show ‘em who’s boss.”

Mary-Ann giggled, planting a slobbery kiss on his cheek.

After a bittersweet drop-off that left her sniffling the entire car ride home, they returned to their now eerily quiet house. For the first time in years, it was just the two of them.

She walked into the living room, glanced at the toys still scattered around, and sighed heavily, sinking into the couch. “It’s too quiet.”

Max sat beside her, pulling her into his side. “I told you this morning was gonna hit you hard.”

She swatted his chest lightly. “It’s just… I’ve never been in the house without one of them here. It’s so empty.” She buried her face in her hands, her voice muffled. “What if they need me? What if Mary-Ann gets scared? Or Theo forgets his lunch?”

Max chuckled softly, rubbing her back. “Sweetheart, Theo’s got this. The kid’s practically running for class president. And Mary-Ann? She’s gonna have the nursery wrapped around her finger before lunch.”

She peeked at him from behind her hands, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “You think so?”

“I know so.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple.

For a moment, she leaned into him, letting the comfort of his presence soothe her. But the silence of the house pressed in again, making her sigh.

Max pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know, we’ve got the house all to ourselves now.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Max…”

He grinned, running his fingers lightly up her arm. “I’m just saying. We’ve got a whole empty house and a few hours of peace.”

Despite herself, she laughed, smacking his shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m practical,” he countered, leaning closer. “We might never get this chance again, angel. Think about it.”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes, but her cheeks flushed. “I can’t believe you’re suggesting this right now.”

“I’m just trying to make the most of the quiet,” he teased, his hand slipping around her waist. “And besides, you’re way too stressed. Let me help you relax.”

She laughed despite herself, the weight of the morning momentarily forgotten as he kissed her neck, his stubble tickling her skin.

“You’re ridiculous,” she murmured, tilting her head to meet his lips, her heart finally feeling a little lighter.

And if she counted the exact weeks, that day was how she ended up pregnant with her third and final child.

Nine months later, their family grew again with the arrival of a boy they named Daniel. It was a tribute to Danny, their ever-reliable friend who had, over the years, become less like a buddy and more like an honorary member of the family.

Daniel came into the world with a loud cry and a shock of dark hair, immediately staking his place in the chaos of their household. Mary-Ann, now three and brimming with sass, had proudly declared herself the "boss" of her new baby brother. She often toddled around after him, dragging her favourite stuffed bunny in one hand and fussing over Daniel like a miniature mother.

Theo, at five, took his role as the eldest sibling very seriously. He loved showing off to Mary-Ann and anyone who’d listen about how he could hold his baby brother “without dropping him” (a feat Max closely supervised with a hovering hand). Theo also began peppering Max with endless questions about how cars worked, proudly announcing that he’d take over the garage one day.

The house was louder now, bursting with life and love in every corner. Daniel’s cries, Theo’s endless chatter, and Mary-Ann’s theatrical storytelling meant there was never a dull moment.

Max had learned to juggle bottles, bedtime stories, and car repairs, often collapsing into bed with her at the end of the day, marvelling at the whirlwind their life had become.

On quieter days—though “quiet” was a stretch—she’d watch Max play with the kids in their backyard. Mary-Ann would climb all over him, Theo would ask a million questions about the engine of a toy car, and baby Daniel would sit in his lap, chewing on whatever he could grab.

Sunday mornings had become a cherished tradition for her. Dressing Theo in his little button-up shirts, coaxing Mary-Ann into tights and her favourite frilly dress, and cradling baby Daniel in his soft onesie all felt like sacred rituals. She loved sharing her faith with her children, teaching them the hymns, and watching their faces light up during Sunday school.

But as much as she loved church, there was always a weight to bear. Her parents still attended the same church, their presence lingering like a spectre of the past. While most of the congregation had embraced her family with warmth, her parents had not. They’d sit on the far side of the pews, casting disapproving glares, and every so often, there were whispers—cutting, cruel words spread by those who believed her parents' version of events.

Still, she focused on her children. Theo beamed when he memorised Bible verses, Mary-Ann proudly showed off her colouring pages, and baby Daniel giggled at the choir. Sharing this part of her life with them felt like reclaiming something pure.

That afternoon, the church hosted a children’s Bible study, and she stayed to help with crafts and snacks while Max wrangled the baby. Daniel was perfectly content napping on his dad’s chest while Max sat in the corner, earning approving glances from the other parents for his patience and attentiveness.

As they packed up to leave, her father appeared, stepping out of the shadows like a storm cloud. His eyes were cold, his expression a mask of disdain. He walked past her, close enough that she could feel the venom in his whispered word:

"Whore."

The word cut through her like a knife. She froze, her heart pounding, the air sucked out of the room. Before she could even react, Max’s voice broke the moment.

"Angel, hold Daniel."

She turned to him, startled, as he handed her the baby with a calmness that belied the fire in his eyes. Then, without hesitation, Max spun on his heel and marched toward her father.

The sound of Max’s fist connecting with her father’s jaw was thunderous in the quiet room. Her father staggered back, clutching his face, as gasps rippled through the remaining churchgoers.

Max stood tall, his voice steady but cold. “Don’t you ever call my wife that again. You lost any right to speak to her the day you hurt her and abused your power. She’s a better person than you’ll ever be.”

Her father glared up at Max, but he didn’t dare rise. The weight of his disgrace was palpable as the onlookers murmured, their judgement no longer directed at her but at the man who had insulted his own daughter in a house of worship.

She stood rooted to the spot, Daniel cradled in her arms, her cheeks flushed. She could feel every eye in the room on her, but the only one that mattered was Max’s. He turned back to her, his expression softening, and strode toward her.

Max placed a gentle hand on her back, his touch grounding her. “Let’s go, angel,” he said quietly, his voice carrying none of the anger from moments before.

She nodded, unable to form words, and followed him out, their children close by. As they left the church, she glanced down at Theo and Mary-Ann, both wide-eyed but clutching each other’s hands tightly.

When they got to the car, she took a deep, shaky breath. “Max—”

He cut her off with a kiss to her temple. “Don’t. You don’t owe him anything. Not even your anger.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she leaned into him, Daniel squirming lightly in her arms. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Max tilted her chin up so she was looking at him. “You and these kids are my family. No one, not even him, gets to treat you like that.”

taglist: @sinofwriting @le-le-lea @vanicogh @iamred-iamyellow @rayaskoalaland @spookyanamurdock @iimplicitt @hellowgoodbye @maximuminfluencerstarlight @lottalove4evelyn @piceous21 @ladscarlett @leclerc13 @linnygirl09 @labelledejourr @cmleitora @fortunapre @felicityforyou @isagrace22 @bookishnerd1132 @formulaal @mastermindbaby @daddyslittlevillain @inmynotes63 @litllefox @hollstopia

[aventurineswife]

HIII I SAW YOUR LATEST WRITINF ABOUT THE ALLERGIES AND ATUFF AND IT WAS SO GOOD BUT UHM ANYWAY....

may I pretty please request for Obey Me about MC who's a famous singer on Earth? Like MC's music is very versatile and makes multiple songs of multiple genres that the characters will most likely listen to, and the characters find out about this either by their own or someone helped them find out about singer!MC. You can pick which characters you want to write this with, I don't have a preference on whoever gets chosen!!!

If you can't take this request it's okay!! There's still more content of yours for me to feast on!!! 😋😋 have a nice day!!

Singer at Devildom!

Tags: Lucifer x Reader, Mammon x Reader, Leviathan x Reader, Satan x Reader, Asmodeus x Reader, Beelzebub x Reader, Belphegor x Reader, Singer!Reader/MC, I'm lazy on adding more tags.

Lucifer

Lucifer had always prided himself on being aware of everything that happened in the Devildom, but this was a revelation that caught him off guard. It all started with an article from an Earth-based publication that appeared on the Devildom news network. The headline caught his eye: "Rising Star of Earth’s Music Scene—The Versatile Artist Who’s Taking the World by Storm!"

The singer’s name? MC. Lucifer furrowed his brows, the name ringing a bell, but it wasn’t until he saw a picture accompanying the article—MC. His heart skipped a beat. The face was unmistakable, and the realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

"MC…" he muttered to himself, not sure how to process the information.

Later that night, Lucifer approached you, his expression unreadable.

"I didn't realize you were so talented." he said, his voice smooth but with an undertone of something deeper—was it admiration or was he trying to figure out how you managed to keep such a big secret?

You smiled lightly. "Well, not everyone needs to know everything about me, right?"

Lucifer couldn't suppress the faintest smirk. "I suppose you're right. But don't think I won't be keeping an eye on you."

Mammon

Mammon’s love for Earthly things was no secret, and he often spent his time scouring the internet for anything shiny and new. That’s when he stumbled upon a link that caught his attention. It was a YouTube video titled "MC: The Artist Who Does It All! (Pop, Rock, R&B, and More!)".

He clicked it out of curiosity, and within seconds, his mouth dropped open. He had no idea you were that famous! Not only were you on Earth’s charts, but you were in multiple genres—ranging from catchy pop anthems to soulful ballads to energetic rock songs. Each song sounded completely different, yet all of them had something that was undeniably you.

Mammon watched every video for hours, his heart swelling with pride. “That’s my human! My MC!” he exclaimed as he bounced around the room, not caring about who could hear him possibly.

When he finally found you, he didn’t know how to express how impressed he was. “Why didn’t ya tell me yer were famous?!” he nearly shouted. “I would’ve been showin’ yer off to the whole Devildom!”

You chuckled softly. “I guess I wanted to keep it lowkey.”

Mammon grinned ear to ear. “Well, now that I know, everyone’s gonna hear about it, MC. Ya’re mine to brag about now!”

Leviathan

Levi, who was always glued to his screen, was indulging in his usual obsession with Earth media. He was scrolling through his favorite streaming platform when an alert popped up: "Exclusive Interview with MC: The Earth Star Who’s Conquered Every Genre!"

He clicked immediately, his eyes widening as he saw your face and heard your voice. It was surreal to him. The person he had been living with, the person he joked around with, was not just some random human—but a huge star on Earth?

“This… this is amazing!” Levi squealed, clutching his Ruri-chan plushie. “MC, you’ve been hiding this from me?! A multi-genre superstar? How is that even possible?”

When he confronted you later that day, it wasn’t in anger, but pure shock.

“MC, how long were you gonna keep this from me?” he said, his eyes wide with excitement. “You’re famous! You’re like, a legend!”

You laughed, giving him a sheepish smile. “I didn’t think it was that big of a deal…”

Leviathan's jaw dropped. “Not that big of a deal? You’re a rockstar!” His eyes sparkled with admiration. "Can you teach me how to make a song? I wanna be like you!"

Satan

Satan discovered your secret in the most unexpected way: through an obscure literature blog on Earth that also reviewed music. It was a niche article on artists who used their songs to convey deep, poetic messages, and of course, your name appeared. The article praised your ability to blend complex lyrics with diverse melodies.

Intrigued, Satan listened to a few of your songs—one being a deep, melancholy ballad, another a poetic piece about the struggles of the soul. He was mesmerized. You, a human, had an ability to express such profound thoughts through music? It resonated with his own love for literature and words.

He found you in the library later, his eyes gleaming. “MC… your music,” he started, his voice unusually soft. “It’s… it's incredible. You convey emotions and ideas so deeply. It’s something I rarely encounter.”

You raised an eyebrow, half-amused. “So, you’re saying you’re a fan?”

He smiled, though it was subtle. “I suppose I am. Do you have any other songs that explore the nature of human emotions? I would love to discuss them with you.”

Asmodeus

Asmodeus discovered your fame through the Devildom’s social media channels. A post about a viral music video caught his attention. It was you—dressed in a fabulous outfit, singing and dancing with effortless elegance. The sheer glamour of it all had him hooked instantly.

“Oh my, MC! You didn’t tell me you were a superstar!” Asmodeus squealed the next time he saw you, his eyes twinkling with a mix of admiration and a little envy. “Look at you! You’re stunning, so talented, and iconic!”

You laughed, your cheeks flushing slightly. “Well, I try to keep it humble.”

Asmodeus winked. “Humble is so last season. Darling, you’re a god/goddess on stage! You should let me style you for your next performance—I’ll make sure you outshine everyone.”

Beelzebub

Beel’s discovery was almost accidental. He was scrolling through Earth’s food blogs when he saw an ad for your latest single. The ad was paired with a video of you performing live, and he couldn’t help but click. What drew him in wasn’t just your voice, but the way you performed with such passion and ease.

Later, he approached you quietly in the kitchen while you were making snacks. “MC, I didn’t know you were… um, a famous singer,” he said, a bit shy. “Your music is really good. I… I like it a lot.”

Your eyes softened. “Thanks, Beel. I didn’t mean to keep it a secret, it’s just something I’ve done for a while.”

Beel smiled, his usual warm, comforting smile. “I think you’re great. I’d love to hear more of your songs.”

Belphegor

Belphegor discovered your secret when he overheard a conversation between Lucifer and Diavolo. They were discussing a music video that had gone viral on Earth, and your name came up. Belphegor was half-asleep on the couch, but that single mention was enough to grab his attention.

“MC? A singer?” he muttered lazily to himself, still processing the information. "That’s a little surprising."

When he finally saw you again, his tone was teasing. “So, you’re a famous singer on Earth, huh? Must be nice. Do you get a lot of fans singing your praises, or is it all just too much for you?”

You smiled knowingly. “It’s a lot, but I enjoy it.”

Belphegor let out a yawn, resting his head on his arms. “I guess you’re not so bad. Just don’t get too full of yourself, okay? If you want me to listen to your music, just know I won’t be impressed that easily.”

You chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind, Belphie.”

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ Heartache ⭑

Masterlist

Request: Yes, this one

A/N: Had to tweak it a teeny tiny bit but hope you like it anon!

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

Warnings: Angst, a bit of fluff, mentions of trauma

Summary: Once best friends now turned against each other, will their betrothal mend their rift?

Word count: 5k

6 years before, early days of summer

He shouldn’t be doing this, every muscle in his body had a mind of its own. But rage and shame that moved like a storm within him drove him further. Breath caught in his throat when he heard the faint roar of a dragon down below. If he was caught he would be in so much trouble, but that wasn’t going to stop him now. If he wanted a dragon, he was going to have to work for it, that much was clear.

His feet shuffled further and further down and his thoughts wandered off, were there even any unclaimed dragons in the dragon pit? He wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t change his mind now. He was so close, what would you think? Would you treat him differently if he came back with a dragon? Maybe you would at least finally stop pitying him, your brothers would stop bullying him. Maybe Aegon would finally leave him alone. He was never going to find out though if he didn’t round this corner. 

He was at last down in the caves, hiding behind a stone wall as he listened to a dragon rustle close by. He pushed the thoughts out of his head and carefully peeked around the corner, flashes of a big blue dragon caught his eye, Dreamfyre. If he ran further down now he had a chance of not getting burned alive by his sister's dragon. So he counted down 3…2…1, go, he hastily rounded the corner but in his hastness his fabric covered shoulder got caught against the rough stone wall, making him trip and fall. 

Dreamfyre’s big eyes turned to him and she let out a piercing roar, her fire almost burning him as he quickly scrambled to his feet, almost tripping again in the sand, as he made a run for it. He thought he could get away with it and pretend it never happened, but as he ran up, back to the arena of the pit, the dragon keepers stared at him in fury. “Skorkydoso dare ao jikagon against se rules, nyke jāhor report bisa naejot se dārys!” How dare you go against the rules, I will report this to the king! Tears filled his eyes, how could he have cowarded away, he wanted to prove himself but instead all he proved was that he was weak.

‘The Pink Dread’ stared at him as he passed the pig, the dragon keeper dragging him firmly along by his arm. All he could mutter was a meek, ��Iksan vaoreznuni.” I’m sorry. He knew his mother would lose her mind over this, it wasn’t the first time he was caught and it was certainly not the first time he ran away from the dragons like a coward. Once he was back in the Red Keep, he luckily didn’t run into his brother or his nephews and when he reached his mothers bedchamber door he couldn’t stop the tears rolling down his cheeks. And he was proven right, his mother was furious.

When he left his mothers chambers, his tears had dried and all that was left was fury. How could he be shamed like this, time and time again. All that consumed his thoughts was ‘What if his egg had hatched?’ ‘Would Aegon still have made fun of him?’ It was almost supper time but he still let his feet guide him to the inner courtyard. There was no one there, just like he suspected. He lowered himself to the ground and hiked his knees up to his chest, he needed silence, needed to think. The big tree looming over him.

A soft rustling of feet pulled him from his thoughts, not that he had any good ones to begin with, he didn’t know how much time had passed. Then he saw her figure in the corner of his eye, lowering herself next to him, joining him on the ground. He could feel her eyes on him, but he couldn’t look at her. If she hadn’t already heard from her brother’s, she would’ve probably heard it from the whispers around the castle. “Aegon is cruel, my brothers are young and don’t understand. I...I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble. My brothers certainly didn’t, I heard your mother is furious though, for what they did.” You noticed he didn’t really respond, which was odd. Usually he would at least talk to you about it.

You were his only friend, even though it was discouraged by his mother. Who often called even the eldest, silver haired and purple eyed daughter of Rhaenyra a bastard. He liked to pretend you weren’t, and that your Valyrian features proved it but of course he couldn’t be certain. After a few moments of you staring at him, he spoke, “I’m fine, I just needed to think. Clear my mind.” You nodded at his words but you knew that it was more than that. “You missed supper you know? No one spoke a word but I’m pretty sure everyone knew what happened.” He sighed and looked down at your words, great, he just gave his brother and nephews more material to bully him with. 

His eyes widened when he suddenly felt your small warm hand grasp his. He at last looked at you and saw your soft smile. “You’re not lesser than us just because you don’t have a dragon, yet. The day will come, I promise.” Your words usually soothed him and most of the time he genuinely believed you but something about today, made him break. “Easy for you to say, your dragon actually hatched.” He mumbled irritated, everytime you would tell him he would have a dragon, he rolled his eyes. You didn’t know what it was like, wouldn’t know what it was like. Even a bastard could have a dragon but he could not.

In the late days of summer the shocking news arrived, Laena Velaryon had died. Even though there was a rift in the family, the horrible news of the by everyone beloved Laena had brought them together. But of course tensions never left the air, even as they stood together, they were divided. Aemond saw how her lips thinned at Vaemond Velaryons words, even though he felt justified that at last someone dared to speak up, he still felt bad for her. She was the only one that didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve the cruelty the gods had gifted her. 

The somewhat draining ceremony had concluded but there was still a remembrance feast for the lady Laena. Not that anyone was eating. They were surely drinking though, especially Aegon. He too nursed on a cup of wine as he let his eyes wander the crowd, Laenor hadn’t been seen after the ceremony, no doubt that he was destroyed by grief. His eyes finally found her dressed in black figure. His heart tensed when he saw you hug both the Velaryon girls, comforting them. You were only ten years old but you were more mature than his sixteen year old brother Aegon. 

His mind wandered as it so often did, drawing out Aegon’s nagging about Helaena. Would you comfort him like that if his mother or father died? Finally hold him as he so desired? He hoped so and wondered if he should offer some words of comfort, it would certainly please his mother. Even though he had been punished enough after that night he still felt ashamed and hurt more than ever, even you couldn’t calm the storm inside him. Vhagar’s distant roar snapped him right out of his thoughts. Seven Hells, of course, Laena is dead, the rider of Vhagar. She was free to claim, the largest dragon in the world, if that couldn’t prove how worthy of a Targaryen prince he was, nothing could. 

It would certainly impress you, wouldn’t it? You could even fly together, your dragon was big enough now and you had your first flight mere weeks ago and were now often seen in the sky alongside your mother. Warmth spread through his body at the thought, it was a dream he wanted so badly to come true, so bad he was climbing through the dunes. If he failed this time, it was over, for good. He would never recover if he did not succeed now. He was determined, no one and nothing would stop him, he would claim Vhagar. In the dark it was a bit hard to see but the moonlight then revealed her ginormous body, resting in the sand. 

His breaths came out in short pants, he had never felt this scared in his life. Everything in his body was telling him to run, that it was a mistake. But he couldn't, he wouldn't, he had to do this. And so he had reached her, his trembling hand touched her rough skin, his heart skipped a beat as her eyes snapped open, her low growling echoing through the night. Her head lifted and her giant jaws opened ready to burn him where he stood. He quickly held up his hand, “Dohaeras! Dohaeras Vhagar! Lykiri! Lykiri!” She seemed to calm somewhat at his words and at least closed her jaws. A new power and determination flowed through him as he grasped the ropes hanging from her body, making his way up to the saddle. When he sat, he loosened the reins among the horns of the saddle, “Soves!” Vhagar looked at him for a moment and he repeated, “Dohaeras Vhagar! Soves!” 

Her giant body moved, shaking the ground beneath her, finally taking to the sky. Aemond almost fell off but he held on thight and made his way back in the saddle. He was sure his screams could be heard back on Driftmark and he was right in a way. Both the girls leered out the window as Vhagar’s body rose to the sky. You were comfy in your bed, telling Luke for the tenth time to stop snoring so you could finally get some rest, but when he had at last shut up, the door opened and Baela and Rhaena entered the room. Awake already, you quickly rose at their words, someone had claimed Vhagar. You knew it was Aemond, who else could it be?

You, Jace and Luke followed the two sisters down to the caves, where Aemond had just appeared. He took note of the disappointing look on your face, something he didn’t expect. Weren’t you proud of him? He finally had a dragon, why weren’t you happy for him? “It’s you.” Baela spoke up, “Yes it’s me.” You looked down at your feet, even though you knew he had every right to claim Vhagar for himself, you couldn’t help but feel bad for Rhaena. “She was mine to claim!” Rhaena said angrily, Baela standing next to her. Next thing you knew vile insults were thrown and so were hands. You tried to stop him, you really did, but Jace bumped into you while getting pushed by Aemond and took you with him. It happened so fast, Aemond bent over in pain clasping at his wound, blood pouring in the sand. You hadn’t realised you screamed.

You hid behind your mother as the king sneered angrily, you were terrified, terrified when the maester proclaimed his eye could not be saved and even more terrified of what would happen to Luke. But the king surprisingly did not take action, Aemond seemed to accept his sacrifice for a dragon but Alicent did not. Once again screams echoed through the room and your mother held Alicent in a tight grasp. You didn’t understand how, but all of a sudden everyone stood still, silent. Then you noticed the blood dripping from your mothers arm on the floor. Even though you all got off easy for such a grave accident, the actions completely ripped the family apart, and you feared it could never be mended. 

Present time, early days of fall

Tension was high in the air as your mother told you the news. After years of leaving King’s Landing, your ‘father’ dead and Daemon now taking his place, you were to return to King’s Landing. You had mixed feelings over your betrothal to Aemond, he was once your best friend and you his. But after that night, everything changed, the two of you had not spoken after the incident and you already knew it was going to be hard seeing him again. He was now eight and ten years old, you five and ten. 

Alicent agreed to the betrothal desperately made by your mother to somewhat mend the family, it seemed like a good idea, to her. Jace would marry Baela and they would one day rule, Luke was to marry Rhaena and then rule in Driftmark. And you, well you would serve as a wife in King’s Landing, more like serve as a peacekeeper. A reminder that the family ‘was one’. The journey was not a long one since Dragon Stone and King’s Landing were fairly close and a short dragonflight away. The household would follow on ship, you, your mother and father, Jace and Luke would take to the sky. 

The day was still quite early when you all made your arrival to the Dragon Pit, a large coach already waiting to take you to the Red Keep. Once you were inside, the coach started moving and you noticed small folk scattered around in the city, cheering. Were they happy about this union? Did they even know of how divided this family was? Perhaps not, it would actually be a good thing if they thought all was well, otherwise it would create doubt and that would be bad. 

You were greeted only by lord Caswell, questioning looks being passed. Someone of your mother’s station being greeted this way was rather offensive. But you were quite happy to have this small audience, nerves were eating away at you at the thought of seeing Aemond again. But you also reeked of dragon and wanted to clean up before meeting anyone. And so you were brought to your chambers, a hot bath waiting for you. To the servants surprise you sent them away, all you wanted was to lower yourself in the hot water and relax, think and calm yourself for the supper that would occur tonight. The supper that would officiate the betrothal in front of the king, in front of the whole family. 

You hoped you wouldn’t suffer a similar fate to Helaena, for you knew how miserable her marriage to Aegon was. You could luckily only imagine what being married to a drunk like him would be like. The bath calmed you somewhat and you were nice and clean by the time servants came back to dress you in a beautiful gown. But they didn’t bring one of your own, one of the servants nervously looked at you as she clasped the green gown in her hands, two dragons seemed to be embroidered on the corset, your dragon… and Aemonds. Did Alicent do this? You hoped it wouldn’t start another fight in the family but you reluctantly let them dress you anyway. 

Supper was getting awfully close and a servant started to work on your hair, a typical Valyrian braided hairstyle, with some emerald pins keeping it in place. Even though the colour green was pretty much forbidden by your mother on Dragon Stone, it still looked beautiful on you. Your stomach started to hurt, like it usually did when you were nervous. You dreaded this entire thing, of course you wanted to see Aemond again but the way the circumstances have changed everything made it so difficult to pretend. Your feet shuffled behind your mother to the dining room, it was decorated beautifully, something you decided to focus on to keep the nerves at bay. 

Then you saw them, Otto, Alicent, your grandsire, Aegon, Helaena and Aemond. All standing to welcome you, however you felt like you were going to throw up. They did not look particularly happy, except for the king of course. He was delighted to see his daughter again, he could barely stand even with his cane but somehow still managed to hug his beloved daughter. Then the king shifted his eyes to you and then to Aemond, a bit of a forced smile now on his face. “What a joyous occasion today, joining our families as one. My son and granddaughter binding their ties. Let us celebrate, please take your seats.” He almost panted out, he could barely walk or talk anymore, everything costing too much energy. 

You let your eyes shift over Aemond’s figure, he was so much taller now. Towering over you by at least a head. His eye patch covering the dark past between you. And even you had to admit he had become a very handsome man. Aemond gestured next to him as he sat down, you didn’t even realise you were the only one still standing. You took a deep breath and made your way over to the empty seat the servant was holding back for you. And so you sat next to Otto Hightower and your betrothed. You could barely listen to the king’s speech when Aemond was so close, he smelled nice, must’ve used perfume oil in his bath. His now massive hands rested on the table. When you noticed him looking you quickly diverted your eyes. 

Supper was incredibly draining and of course ended in a fight, surprisingly Aemond pushed you out of the way to safety when things broke loose, and Otto Hightower himself put his arm in front of you, ensuring you wouldn’t go near the danger. Even though things ended somewhat amicably, you still veered towards Aemonds chamber. You still remembered the path well, the light of the moon shining through the halls of the Red Keep. You had to talk to him, really, talk to him. None of that polite and stiff small talk during supper. 

The dark wooden door seemed so much more imposing now that it was in front of you but you lifted your hand anyway and knocked three times on his door, something you used as a code when you were kids. His eyes snapped from the fireplace at the sound of the knocks. No one ever knocked three times on his door, no one but you. He swiftly rose from his seat and made his way to the door, before he opened it he took a deep breath. He couldn’t appear weak now, not after all this time, not in front of you. He opened the door and it revealed your figure. 

“I’m sorry for disturbing you.” You spoke softer than you wanted. He didn’t say anything, instead he stepped to the side and gestured for you to come inside. He was quieter now that he had grown older, something you had noticed during supper as well. You both sat down on his settee in the room. Since he kept quiet you decided to kick the dreaded conversation off. “I never… I never got the chance to talk to you… after what happened. I’m so sorry Aemond. I wish I could’ve stopped Luke, if only Jace didn’t take me with him as he fell down-” 

“Stop.” His low voice cut through the room, through your sentence. You swallowed hard, was he mad at you as well? “We don’t need to do this.” He urged. His gaze was on the fireplace again, not even looking at you. “Aem-” Aem, a nickname he hadn’t heard in years, a nickname which once brought him joy now hurt him deeply. He felt betrayed and angry, that even you left him behind. “Do you hate me now?” You asked, if he didn’t want to talk you had to force it out of him, which you could only do by being direct. 

He sighed before he spoke. “I could never hate you, I know you wish no more for this betrothal than I do.” His words cut you like a knife. Did he actually not want you? Did he also see you as a bastard now? “What? Aem-” He stood from his seat and walked to the door, opening it. “I think it’s best you leave.” You shook your head in disbelief, the Aemond you once knew was gone and this hardened, cold man replaced him. “No, you can’t just kick me out. We have to talk about this, we are getting married! Please, let’s just talk, like old times.” He looked down at the ground, still not looking at you. 

You stormed over to him and grabbed his jaw, hearing the slight gasp in his breath. “Why won’t you even look at me!” You yelled now. He couldn’t bear to look at you, he wanted to be angry, to push you away like you had him and he knew that one look at your beautiful eyes would make all that anger melt away. Reluctantly he finally let his eyes find yours, and right as he predicted, all his anger melted away. Desperation took its stead, he was desperate for you to touch his hand again, to comfort him again. 

His head then hung low and your hand let go of his jaw. He closed the door and walked back over to the settee. “You don’t have to pretend, not in front of me.” You said making your way back over to the settee, joining him again. “What do you mean by that.” He grumbled. “Oh please, you know what I mean, you used to be sweet and kind and now you’re colder than the north.” He looked at you with disdain. He couldn’t believe what you were saying, anger bubbled in his gut again. “You mean the night your bastard brother took my eye? And then not getting punished for it? Or do you mean the years of bullying I’ve endured, suffering by Aegon’s hand even after I claimed the largest dragon in the world?” He snapped. Now standing again, pacing the room in frustration. 

Seeing you and your family made it all come to the surface again, for a year or four he had some peace again, but that was all shattered when he got betrothed to you. You looked at him with confusion, had Aegon continued to bully him after you left? You stood as well and walked over to him. “It doesn’t need to be like this, we can go back to what we once had, please.” Aemond’s resolve seemed to crumble a bit, the idea was so tempting, yet he still showed some restraint. You noticed it, the battle going on inside him, so you stepped forward, closer and closer to him. You noticed his widened eyes, then you wrapped your arms around him. You hadn’t hugged him in years, the last time being the whole situation with ‘the pink dread’. He completely tensed up at first.

But as you held him longer, his arms found his way around you, hugging you close. The wall around him seemed to fall the longer you held each other. “I missed you so much Aem.” You mumbled against his chest. Tears welled up in eye as you spoke. He couldn’t believe it, he had you in his arms again and you were to be his wife. Before you left that was his dream, having a dragon and you, and now it was to become true. 

One year later, early days of summer

Vaemond Velaryon asking for a petition for Driftmark was a grave offence to your family, you had been married to Aemond for a couple of months now and finally mended the rift between the two of you. In that time, you had gotten to know him again, he still studied history and philosophy, still trained with the sword and still lacked affection. You were horrified when he finally told you of what Aegon did to him after you left. The pain you felt for him went beyond words and after that night, when he told you while laying against your chest, you went above and beyond to make him feel loved. You felt like it was the very least you could do for him and so now here you were, about four times a week Aemond would have a bath but it wasn’t the servants that washed him, it was his own lady wife. 

The water splashed softly when you dipped the sponge in again, carefully washing the dirt of skin. He felt his entire body relax under your touch, letting his head rest against the edge of the tub. His eye patch somewhere discarded in the room, he didn’t need it when he was alone with you. The realm had profited greatly from your marriage with Aemond, everyone seemed calm and happy. But you could feel the storm coming with the petition on the morrow. Your family had already arrived today and you told them how happy you were and that seemed to do well for now. 

When you finished washing his body, you kissed the top of his head before moving on to wash his long hair. He hummed softly when your fingers massaged his scalp, making sure to clean his hair thoroughly. He loved the way you cared for him, it's all he wanted his entire life. You kissed his head a few more times while washing his hair, then you helped him dry off and get back into his breeches. Making him sit down, you grabbed a comb and started to carefully comb through his silver locks, making sure to braid it before bed.

You had already prepared yourself to sleep, so now the both of you crawled in the sheets, and as he layed in your arms, falling into a deep slumber, anxiety of what could happen on the morrow clouded your mind and sleep evaded you. The morning soon came and you walked next to Aemond as you entered the throne room, Aegon and Helaena in front of you. Your family already stood to the right, the Velaryons to the left. Everything had gone so well these past few months, why did Vaemond have to ruin it?

The petition started as bad as you expected, you gave Luke and Jace soft comforting smiles through the ordeal but when your mothers turn to speak came, the giant doors opened and the king dragged himself in, stumbling to his throne. Of course you knew of the Hightowers conspiracy with Vaemond, it was quite plain to see but you held your tongue, you didn’t want to ruin the bliss you were in after all these years. But when the king had spoken, Vaemond’s sneer was a clear sign of what was to come. The horrible insults that left his lips, shattered your dream, you looked at Aemond with tears in your eyes but your stomach turned when you saw the small smirk on his lips. 

Your lips parted and gasped when Vaemond’s head was cut off by Daemon. Aemond then stepped in front of you, holding you back and protecting your eyes. But that did nothing to erase the memory of him smiling at Vaemond calling your brothers, including you, bastards. Hurt consumed you and you wanted nothing more than to take to the sky on your dragon and leave, what Aemond just did could not be easily forgiven. Supper was even worse, if the last time you all had supper was any indication this could only go wrong but you couldn’t care less, the knife in your back only seethed deeper as you saw Jace and Baela laugh, even Rhaena and Luke were having a good time. 

Aemond just had to ruin it. He tried to reach out, caress your hand on the table but you pulled back and ignored him when he gave you a questioning look. Then he noticed Luke smirking at the scene. He lost it. He raised his cup and made sure to give an even worse speech than last year. Only this time, swords were drawn, you didn’t care to see how this ended, instead you left. Your steps were hurried as you made your way back to your shared bedchamber, slamming the door behind you. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you sat on your bed, all you had was ruined. It went so well and it just had to get destroyed. You knew your marriage was fragile but you didn’t want to believe it. At last Aemond returned.

He too slammed the door behind him and stormed over to you. “Why are you acting like this? You humiliated me!” He seethed. You only looked at him with red eyes, you only now realised what a selfish person he was. Of course he went through so much but so did you and you didn’t deserve his anger. “I humiliated you? What about Vaemond humiliating me?! Insulting your own wife in front of you and you smiled! Smiled! How could you do that to me?! And that speech, just to further humiliate me!” His face fell at that, he never even realised he smiled, never realised that his wife was still Rhaenyra’s child. “My love…” He started but you didn’t want to give him the time. “I want to join my family on the journey back to Dragon Stone. I’ve barely seen them and wish to spend time with them, to think.” You stated, you left no room for argument.

You saw how his face turned to panic. “No. No no no, I’m sorry, I never realised. I never meant to hurt you my love please. Please don’t leave, I need you here.” You shook your head. “You made your bed, now lie in it.” His eye teared up, and pleaded again. “I need you, please don’t leave me, not again. I can’t go without you again. I’m begging you.” You shook your head again, “Some time apart might do us good, maybe you’ll realise how much I do for you and how little I get back.” Words couldn’t describe how his heart broke at the sight of you boarding the ship, no kiss goodbye, nothing, his life was empty yet again. He could only hope you returned soon.

[zenithangelic]

I'd like some Jealous Leon Kennedy and Chris Redfield x femreader headcannons (separate)

Jealous Leon Kennedy, Chris Redfield x fem!reader headcanons:

Leon

Leon doesn’t see himself as the jealous type, but the moment someone starts getting too close for his liking, his protective instincts go into overdrive. He subtly places himself between you and the other person, as if shielding you without making a scene

When Leon feels jealous, he doesn’t lash out or confront anyone directly. Instead, he gets uncharacteristically quiet, his usual witty remarks replaced by terse one-word responses. His jaw clenches as he watches the interaction, his piercing blue eyes narrowed slightly

Leon has a habit of casually resting his hand on your back or shoulder, or even wrapping an arm around your waist in public when someone is paying too much attention to you. It’s his silent way of saying, she’s with me

If the situation escalates, Leon might let out a sarcastic remark aimed at the other person, like, “Wow, didn’t realise we had a fan club today,” while keeping his expression cool and calm. His words may sting, but his tone is so subtle it’s hard to call him out

Once the two of you are alone, Leon becomes extra affectionate to reassure himself that you’re his. Expect long, lingering kisses, tight hugs, and whispered confessions like, “You’re mine, you know that, right?”

If Leon suspects someone has a genuine interest in you, he’ll start watching them closely, almost as if they’re a potential threat. His training kicks in, and he memorises their movements and demeanour, ready to step in if needed

Leon isn’t above a bit of playful sabotage. If someone tries to engage you in conversation for too long, he’ll conveniently “need your help” with something or interrupt with a sly quip to derail the discussion

After the dust settles, Leon might let his guard down and admit his feelings to you. “I don’t want to be that guy, but... I just can’t stand the thought of losing you.” His voice is low, and his vulnerability shines through

In high-stakes situations, like missions or outbreaks, his jealousy translates into unwavering focus on your safety. He won’t let anyone else take charge of protecting you, insisting, “Stay behind me. I’ll handle this.”

Leon knows jealousy isn’t his most attractive trait, so he makes an effort to trust you. After calming down, he’ll apologise for overreacting, softly saying, “I trust you, I just… I can’t help it sometimes.” He values your relationship too much to let jealousy ruin it

If you notice his jealousy and tease him about it, Leon’s ears might flush slightly as he sheepishly mutters, “Okay, maybe I was a little jealous. Can you blame me?” You can always coax a bashful smile out of him with some reassurance of your own

Chris

Chris is not one to beat around the bush. If someone’s getting too close to you, he’ll walk right up and insert himself into the conversation with a friendly but firm, “Everything okay here?” His imposing presence is often enough to send the message

Chris has a knack for subtly steering you away from situations where he feels someone’s intentions aren’t pure. He’ll guide you by the small of your back, saying something like, “Let’s go check out what’s over there,” to get you away from whoever’s making him uneasy

While not rude, Chris isn’t shy about letting someone know they’re crossing a line. He’ll say something like, “You seem really friendly—maybe a little too friendly,” with a raised brow and a knowing smile, making it clear he’s onto them

Chris becomes unusually observant when he’s feeling jealous. He watches your interactions closely, noting every smile, laugh, or lingering glance. He’s not overbearing, but you can tell he’s hyper-aware of what’s happening

When Chris gets jealous, his eyes do most of the talking. He’ll shoot the other person a look that says back off without needing to say a word. His naturally commanding gaze is enough to make anyone second-guess their approach

Chris has a way of asserting his presence without being overt. He might stand a little closer to you, square his shoulders, or even subtly flex when the other person is looking. It’s a quiet reminder of his strength and capability

Once you’re alone, Chris can’t help but tease you about the situation. “You sure you weren’t enjoying all that attention a little too much?” he’ll ask with a smirk, though his tone is light-hearted enough to make you laugh

When his jealousy is obvious, Chris gets a bit flustered trying to justify it. “I’m not jealous—I just don’t trust that guy. He was looking at you like... you know what I mean!” His cheeks might flush slightly as he realises how transparent he’s being

To reassert his role as your protector, Chris goes out of his way to do things for you when he’s feeling jealous. Whether it’s carrying something heavy, cooking dinner, or taking care of errands, he wants to remind you that he’s the one who’s got your back

If he’s feeling playful, Chris might jokingly challenge the other person in a way that lets him blow off steam. “So, what’s your bench max? Oh, really? Cool. Mine’s a little higher,” he’ll say with a grin, turning his jealousy into a subtle competition

Later, Chris will sit down with you and candidly admit his feelings. “I know I can be a little overprotective, but it’s only because I care so much. I don’t want to lose you.” His honesty shines through, making it hard to stay annoyed at him

Chris’s jealousy often serves as a reminder of how much he values you. After a particularly tense moment, he’ll pull you into his arms and murmur, “I just love you, okay? More than anything.” His sincerity always melts your heart

♡If you liked this fic, please consider buying me a coffee! Ko-fi ♡

[kingstarkingslay]

Remus’ eyes were narrowed in concentration as his finger hovered over the screen of his phone. His brow furrowed, a telltale sign that he was on the verge of losing yet another round of Tomb of the Mask. It was an intense level, one of those impossible ones that required both precision and the kind of reflexes Remus was convinced only children—or, more specifically, Sirius —could possess. He had been stuck on it for days, and tonight’s attempt was proving to be no different.

Sirius, lounging next to him on the couch, glanced over at Remus, his expression one of exaggerated boredom. “You’re still on that level?” he asked, voice dripping with playful mockery. “I swear, I’ve seen you do this same thing for hours now. What is it, like Level 500 or something?”

“Level 238,” Remus muttered, his thumb swiping in rapid succession across the screen. “It’s… trickier than it looks.”

“Uh-huh.” Sirius snorted and casually stretched his arms above his head. “I bet it is. Need some help?”

Remus paused, his finger hovering in mid-air. He could feel Sirius’ eyes on him, no doubt amused by the way his eyes were glued to the screen. He had made it this far through sheer persistence, and he wasn’t about to let Sirius think he couldn’t handle it.

“I think I’ve got it under control, thanks,” Remus replied with a smirk, his finger landing on the wrong spot, causing his character to die instantly. He let out a dramatic sigh. “Maybe.”

Sirius chuckled. “You sure about that?”

For a moment, Remus glared at the phone, trying to quell the surge of frustration that was bubbling up inside him. He hated feeling incompetent, especially when he was sure that if he just had a little more focus, he could get through it.

Finally, he leaned back against the couch with an exaggerated groan, dropping his phone to his chest. “Fine,” he said, turning to face Sirius with an innocent look that was anything but. “How about you give it a try then, if you’re so confident?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into that signature smug grin. “Oh, I’m confident, alright,” he said, plucking the phone from Remus’ hands with a casual flourish. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

Remus leaned back, arms folded, watching intently as Sirius’s fingers danced across the screen. To his surprise, Sirius didn’t hesitate. He was all focus, every move sharp and calculated. He breezed through the obstacles with ease, the pixelated enemies falling in quick succession, the traps expertly avoided. It was like watching a magician at work.

Remus couldn't help but stare. How does he do that?

Minutes passed, and within moments—no, seconds—Sirius had cleared the level. Not just cleared it, but mastered it, his character moving with the precision of someone who’d done this a thousand times before.

“Done,” Sirius said, holding up the phone like it was a trophy, his grin now a full-on, victorious beam.

Remus blinked. "How—what—how did you…?"

Sirius shrugged, casually tossing the phone back into Remus’ lap. “It’s all about reflexes, Moony. You should try it sometime.”

“I—” Remus stared at the screen, his brain trying to process what had just happened. “That was… incredible.” He glanced up at Sirius, his eyes wide with genuine admiration. “You just—wow. That was like… effortless.”

Sirius leaned back, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Told you it was easy.”

Remus snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered, half-grinning. He couldn’t help it—he was still in awe.

Sirius leaned in a little closer, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I know,” he said softly. “But you like it, don’t you?”

Remus’ breath caught slightly. He met Sirius’ gaze, feeling his heart skip a beat. The closeness, the teasing in Sirius’ tone, the soft, knowing look—it all seemed to wrap around him, making him feel suddenly warm in a way that had nothing to do with the comfort of the couch or the warmth of the room.

“Oh, I do,” Remus said before he could stop himself. His voice was softer than he meant it to be, and he could tell by the flash of Sirius’ grin that he’d caught it.

Sirius’ grin widened into something a bit more smug, but also undeniably fond. “Well, I’ve always got your back, Moony,” he said, nudging him lightly with his shoulder. “In gaming, and in life.”

Remus couldn’t help but chuckle. He wasn’t sure if it was the flirting or just the sheer absurdity of being here with Sirius—playful, cocky, and somehow always managing to make him feel like the only person in the room. Either way, the effect was the same: his chest felt full, and his smile couldn’t be erased.

"You're impossible," Remus muttered, though he wasn’t entirely sure he meant it.

"Impossibly good at Tomb of the Mask," Sirius corrected with a wink. "But you’re lucky. I’m happy to share my talents with you."

Remus rolled his eyes, but he could feel the blush creeping up his neck. "Next time, I’ll beat you."

“Sure you will, love,” Sirius teased, clearly not convinced. “Sure you will.”

And though Remus was still a little awestruck by Sirius’ effortless victory, he couldn’t help but feel more than a little bit lucky himself. Because even if Sirius was impossible, he was also exactly the kind of impossible Remus wanted in his life.

“Well,” Remus said after a pause, voice dropping in that playful, almost teasing way that was all too familiar between them. “How about we make a deal, then? You can finish this level for me… and I’ll… take you out for dinner.”

Sirius turned, eyes alight with mischief. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Remus said, leaning closer, his lips twitching into a grin. “Just dinner. I think you deserve it, after all.”

Sirius considered this for a moment, then shrugged with a carefree smile. “Well, in that case, I think I’ll let you win the next round.”

“Oh?” Remus raised an eyebrow. “You think you’re that generous?”

“I am when I’m in a good mood,” Sirius said, his voice lowering to a whisper, his eyes flickering with a hint of something more serious now. “And I’ve got a lot of good moods when I’m with you, Moony.”

Remus swallowed, his heart giving an unexpected little flutter. It was only then that he realized just how much he’d been holding his breath.

“Good to know,” he murmured, meeting Sirius’ eyes and feeling the world shrink to just the two of them.

[mattyriddlesbitch]

Healer (Chapter Five)

Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood and fighting, slightly angsty

It was fourth year now. Last year felt like you really made progress with Mattheo. He was opening up more, you caught a few smiles from him. Though, they were mostly at the expense of someone else, but he wasn’t so closed off anymore. He always gladly accepted the sweets you gave him when you came back from Hogsmeade, still never daring to tell you he hated them.

The fights and trouble-making didn’t seem to end, though. In fact, it seemed to get worse at times. He would never tell you about them either, you always had to find out through other people or when you’d see him covered in new injuries.

Today, you were walking to the Great Hall when you found Mattheo bloodied and injured outside in the courtyard, sitting on the ground against the tree. He was hissing in pain as he smoked, but otherwise, showed no indication that he was hurting. Everyone else either didn't notice him, or was too scared to approach him and headed to the Great Hall for dinner. You decided to check on him instead, coming up from beside him.

“What happened?” You asked, standing a few feet away from him.

He looked up at you as he exhaled some smoke. “Got into a fight.” He said simply, almost monotone.

“Are you in pain?” You asked, kneeling in front of him, ignoring the cold of the snow on the ground on your knees.

“What do you think?” He responded in a frustrated tone before sighing, closing his eyes for a moment. “Yes, I am.”

“Let's get you back to your dorm and get you cleaned up.” You said, standing up and offering a hand to help him up.

He looked at your hand for a few seconds before standing up without your help and dropping the cigarette, stepping on it to put it out. He started walking, wincing and leaning a hand on the tree to steady himself. He sighed again and clenched his jaw.

“Here. I got you.” You said, coming up to his side and wrapping an arm around his back to help steady him.

He didn't look happy, but he let you guide him back to his dorm, even if you had to stop a few times.

You finally got to his dorm and guided him over to the connected bathroom, making him sit on the toilet seat. He sat down with a heavy sigh, leaning his head back as you scoured his cabinets for a first-aid kit.

“Under the sink, behind the towels.” He said without looking at you.

You grabbed the first-aid kit and placed it on the counter beside him, grabbing the antiseptic and a cotton pad. “This is gonna sting. I’m sorry.” You said, putting antiseptic on the cotton pad before placing it gently against a cut on his cheek. He let out a wince and you apologized again. “I’m sorry. You know, we wouldn’t have to do this if you didn’t keep getting into fights.” You say with a small sigh, moving onto another cut.

“I know.” He muttered, looking down, refusing to meet your eyes this whole time.

“You’re not gonna stop, though, huh?”

“Probably not.” He shrugged.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that? You’re so stupid. It’s like you’re intentionally getting hurt. What would’ve happened if I didn’t find you?” You’ve never really gotten upset at him, never insulted him, never criticized his choices, and now here you were, ridiculing him.

He finally looked at you, silent for a moment. You were so sure he was upset at you, pulling your hand back from his face as you looked back at him, waiting for him to tell you to get out.

“You don’t have to care about me, you know? I’m aggressive, and a dick. No one really likes me. The boys barely tolerate me. I get into fights what feels like more often than not. You don’t have to take care of me.” He said, looking between your eyes.

“I know. I’m not caring about you or healing you out of obligation. I’m doing this because I want to. Also, those boys do more than tolerate you. You can be a dick, but they all do love you and care about you. You know that, right? And it’s not out of obligation either.” You didn’t look away, having a small staredown with him.

“So you just care about me out of pity or something? You have no reason to care about me. And how would you even know what those guys feel? They could hate me and hide it. They could pity me too because I have no one else but them, so they tolerate me. They could just be tolerating my bullshit.”

“They’re not friends out of pity, Mattheo. They aren’t the type to go out of their way because of pity. If they didn’t like you, you would know it. And I don’t need a reason to care about you. I don’t care about you out of pity. I just care about you.”

He shook his head, looking to the side with a sigh. “That’s such bullshit.”

You took a deep breath through your nose before cupping his face gently to turn his head back to you, making him meet your eyes. “I promise it’s not. I’m telling the truth. I care about you. Those boys care about you. We’re not just tolerating you.”

“How do I know that?” He asked quietly. You could see a hint of sadness behind his eyes.

“You don’t. You just gotta trust us.” You replied just as quietly as him.

“Yeah, trust isn’t exactly something I’m good at.” He let out a huff, pulling his head back from your hands.

“I know. But I mean it. I’m telling the truth. Have I ever lied to you?” You asked, dropping your hands to your sides.

He was quiet for a moment, looking down. “No. No, you haven’t.”

“So trust me then, please?” You asked quietly, crouching down to meet his eyes without touching him.

He sighed softly. “Alright.”

You smiled at him before standing back up. “Let’s finish getting you cleaned up, yeah?”

He just nodded and looked back up at you, letting you clean and bandage his cuts in silence other than his small winces and your quiet apologies.

“How do you feel?” You asked once you were done, packing up the first-aid kit.

“Like hell.” He said, watching you.

“Well, maybe some rest will help fix that.” You said, putting the first-aid kit back in the cabinet.

“Do you wanna go to the Yule Ball with me?” He asked suddenly and you tried getting up quickly, hitting your head on the counter.

“What?” You asked, looking at him as you rubbed the back of your head.

“Do you wanna go to the Yule Ball with me?” He repeated, keeping his normal expression.

“I, uh-” You stood up, looking at him in confusion. “Um, yeah. I’d love to.” You nodded.

“You alright? Didn’t hit your head too hard?” He asked, standing up to look at the back of your head.

“I’m fine. Just a little bump.” You said to reassure him.

“Good.”

“How’s your leg? You were limping earlier.” You asked.

“It’ll be fine before the ball if that’s what you’re asking.” He said, and it was hard to tell if that was a joke or not.

“I mean now. Is it alright?” You asked, frowning slightly as you turned your head to look at him.

You saw the faintest smile on his face. “It’ll be fine in a few days.” He said, turning to leave the bathroom. “Come on. You don’t wanna miss dinner, princess.”

“Two years later and you’re still using that pet name. Are you ever gonna drop it?” You asked with a small smile, following after him.

“Probably not.”

“Fine then. I’m calling you Matty from now on.”

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[simonsomeriley]

sleep deprivation - sirius black ꨄ

warnings: mentions of past family trauma/abuse, sirius experiences post-traumatic stress, sleep deprivation ❤

wc: 745

The common room fire had long since died out, leaving behind the faint smell of smoke and ash. The armchair beneath you was dusty and cold, its cushions long overdue for replacement, but it hadn't been the discomfort that was keeping you awake.

It was him.

Sirius sat on the faint red rug near the hearth, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands raking through his hair. He was a mess of sharp edges and exhaustion, his face pale and gaunt in the faint light from the windows.

“Still awake?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He flinched at that, turning to look at you, his storm-grey eyes bloodshot. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” he asked, his usual cocky lilt dulled into something hollow.

You shrugged, tucking your knees up to your chest. “Shouldn’t you?”

A bitter laugh escaped him, low and dry. “Yeah.”

You didn’t press him, but you didn’t leave either. It'd been like this for days— Sirius spiraling into sleepless nights with nothing but his thoughts for company. He’d become a ghost of himself, barely eating, & barely talking.

But tonight, the cracks were deeper, more visible.

“You need to rest.” you said softly.

“I’m fine.”

“Sirius—”

“I told you, I’m fine!” His voice lashed out like thunder, echoing in the empty room. He stood abruptly, pacing towards the window, his hands trembling as they clenched into fists.

You didn’t flinch. You’d seen him like this before— angry and hurting, but not directed at you. He was angry at himself, at the things out of his control, at the weight of a family that loomed over him like a dark cloud.

“I can’t sleep,” he muttered after a long silence, his back still to you. His voice cracked, and it took everything in you not to rush to him, “Every time I close my eyes, it’s… it’s them. Their faces. Their voices.”

You stood slowly, stepping towards him. “Your family?”

He nodded stiffly. “It’s always the same. My mother screaming. Regulus, hurt, looking at me as if I'd betrayed him…” He let out a shaky breath, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “And then it’s… it’s you.”

Your heart stuttered. “Me?”

He turned to face you, his expression raw and unguarded in a way you’d never seen him before, “You. Gone. Hurt. And I can’t stop it, or prevent it, no matter what I do.”

Your chest tightened. Sirius wasn’t the kind to admit to weakness— not to anyone, not even to himself. To see him like this, vulnerable and unraveling, felt like seeing a wound he’d kept away from sight for far too long.

“Sirius,” you said softly to him, taking another step closer. “Your thoughts aren't a manifest of reality. I’m here. I'll always be. I’m safe.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away, his hands trembling at his sides. “But for how long? You’re close to me now, and that means you’re a target. Everyone that I care about, everyone that I love, is. And if something were to happen to you…”

He didn’t finish that last sentence, his voice trailing off into a heavy silence.

You reached for his hand, wrapping your fingers around his, “Nothing’s going to happen to me. Or you, Siri. We’re in this together.”

He looked at you then, his eyes glassy and filled with something between desperation and disbelief. “How could you be so sure?”

“Because I know you, Sirius. And I know that you'd fight like hell to protect the people you care about.” You squeezed his hand, trying to ground him. “But you can’t fight if you don’t rest.”

He let out a gentle, bitter laugh. “You’re relentless, y'know that?”

“I’ve been told.”

His lips quirked into the faintest smile to mirror yours, though it didn’t reach his eyes, “Alright,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” you said, tugging him gently toward the couch. “Come on.”

He followed without protest, collapsing onto the cushions like a marionette with its strings cut. You sat beside him, letting him rest his head on your lap as you brushed your fingers through his dark hair.

For the first time in days, weeks, his breathing evened out, his body relaxing against you.

And as you sat there, watching the first light of dawn creep through the windows, you made a silent vow to be the one thing Sirius Black never had growing up: a constant.

[storiesfromafan]

My Girl - Benny Cross x Reader

A/N: I know this is a slow series, but hopefully it's not too bad 😅

(Also, posting this from my phone, might have to fix this up later 😅😅)

Previous: Part One, Part Two, Part Three

I’ve got sunshine, on a cloudy day

When it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May (ooh)

I guess you’d say

What can make me feel this way?

My girl, my girl, my girl

Talkin’ ‘bout my girl, my girl

- My Girl by The Temptations

It had been a week since Benny spoke to you. And it was all he could think about. Sure, he’d seen you around the town, mostly at the grocery shop or the diner, in passing. But it wasn’t enough. He’d gotten a taste of your sweet voice. Seeing you up close; the colour of your eyes, which had specs of (colour) to them. How your hair was (colour) but when the light hits it, it looked (colour). How your cheeks go a rosy colour when you were shy or embarrassed. Benny wanted to experience it all so much more.

Cal waved his hand in front of Benny's face, snapping the young Vandal from his thoughts of you. That’s right, he was currently playing a game of pool with the man laughing at him. While waiting for his shot, it looks like Benny had zoned out again. Holding the cue against his body, Benny shot Cal and those around him an embarrassed smile. Which only made them laugh.

“Sorry" he muttered, moving with his cue to the pool table and looking over his options. Before finally lining up his shot and taking it, sinking the four ball.

Johnny was sitting near by on a stool, nursing his beer. “Ya alright kid? Ain’t like ya to be off with the fairies".

Before Benny could say a word, Cal beat him to the punch. “Yeah, he’s alright. Just found himself a girl".

Johnny raised his eyebrows in surprise, this was the first time he’d heard about there being a girl. “Is that right, huh?”

Another man – one from the diner incidents – laughed before speaking up, “yeah! She’s a shy, little thing. Some of the guys were makin' fun of her, but Benny stepped in and told them to ‘knock it off’”.

Johnny nodded, listening to the man’s words. Benny stood back from the pool table – his turnover – as he listened to them, embarrassed by the retelling of the diner. But it was true. He stepped in and defended you. And he would do it again for you if needed him too.

Sliding off his stool, Johnny down the rest of his beer before walking past Benny. He chuckled, patting him on the back. “Well, ya'll have to bring her around sometime. Would be nice to meet the girl that’s got ya by the balls".

Johnny then walked off to speak with a few other guys. Cal and the guys around Benny laughed at their leaders' words. They even jostled Benny and shared their own comments, which he wasn’t too fond of. But Benny knew he’d have to bring you to the bar. It would be a shock for you, but he knew you could handle it. Plus he’d be there with you, making sure nothing happened to you.

“Alright, spill!” Fran demanded, as she and Sandra sat across from you in a booth at the diner where this all began.

“Yeah! I had to hear it from my neighbour, who heard from her hair dresser, who got the gossip from Mrs Martin about Benny coming into the grocery store! And talking to you!?” Added Sandra.

You sat on your side of the booth, wishing it would swallow you up from their intense gazes. Once more, they asked you about Benny. And to be honest, you didn’t know what it meant. He’d come in for gum, and you shared a small conversation.

Taking a sip from the milkshake before you, you sat back and cleared your throat. “Well...there’s not much to say-" you started before being interrupted.

“Oh bull!” Huffed Fran. “From what we’ve heard, it was pretty intense between you too!”

“Yeah, so don’t down play it!” Added Sandra.

You sighed. “Really! It wasn’t like that, it wasn’t that big a deal!” You took a moment to gather your thoughts. “It went like this; I was just working and stupidly singing when I was surprised to see Benny. And I was a complete bumbling idiot! He wanted to buy gum-"

“Gum?” Both women questioned.

You nodded. “Yes, gum. He then apologised for the Vandals comments" you recalled that moment a week ago. “Benny then asked for my name, which I gave him, and he said it was pretty, that it suits me...then Mrs Martin showed up, and yeah, she wasn’t pleasant to him at all".

Both women stared at you, as you went back to your milkshake. “Bull" Sandra said, leaning over the table. “That’s not the story, right?”

“Yeah, its too...clean?” Fran said confused.

You wanted to laugh at their faces, but held back. “It’s the truth".

Both women sat back against the booth, utterly confused. As they began to tell you, the way they heard it was some big drama. That Benny was harassing you when Mrs Martin stepped in. Not to mention one retelling told that you were shamelessly flirting with Benny, practically in his hands, one palm on each cheek, and not that of your face. You blushed at the notion.

“If this is what we've heard, just imagine what your parents might hear" Fran's words sobered you up.

You hadn’t even thought about your parents, and God only knows what they’ll say, or do, if they hear the gossip of Benny and you. But it being after a week and only now had your friends heard about it. So, there could be a small chance they might not hear it. So long as you stayed clear of any further gossip, you might be in the clear.

Unfortunately for you, the other half of the gossip mill didn’t know your plan. You heard the bell above the diner door jingle and heavy feet. You were talking to your friends, not even caring about your surroundings. It was only when you glanced up to look at Sandra and Fran, discussing a coming movie to your local theatre, were you confused to see their shocked faces. They looked stunned, mouths slightly agape and eyes wide. Before you could questioned them the silence at your table was disturbed by an all too familiar gruff voice.

“Hey (Y/N)”

You turned only to find Benny. Who looked just as good as the last time you’d seen him. Only this time he was wearing dirty white jeans, black t-shirt and his denim vest that sported the Vandal colours. The way he looked at you with those baby blues of his, warm and twinkling. The way his full lips turned up in a shy, slightly toothy smile.

You felt one of your friends kick your foot, snapping you from your observation of him. “H-hi Benny...”

Hearing his name from your lips, in that honeyed voice of yours, had Benny's heart skipping a beat. His smile brightened, and he slowly began to relax. Finally, he noticed your companions, which he smiled at – but not as brightly as he had you. Benny even shot them a hey. You’d have laughed at their reaction to being acknowledged by the gorgeous Vandal. But you were busy trying to wrap your head around him being here in the first place. And even then, that voice in the back of your head was telling you to be careful, you don’t need more gossip getting around town.

“Mind if I join ya?” Benny asked, looking at you, yet not even waiting for your reply before slipping in into the booth next to you, boxing you in without an escape.

All you could do was look at Benny, not doubt like a deer in headlights, while he just continued to look at you. That charming smile on his lips. Both Fran and Sandra shared a look before turning back to you and Benny. One of the women cleared their throat, which got your attention. Turning from Benny, breaking the connection between you both. From there, they made small talk, which was mostly directed at Benny. Who only gave vague or one word answers.

You found it amusing how he didn’t seem to care for their attention. Yet when you spoke, he listened attentively and spoke to you. Slowly, you relaxed and were able to drink the rest of your milkshake, all while those baby blues watched you. Fran and Sandra eventually left, as they weren’t getting any of Benny's attention. So they slinked away with their tails between their legs.

“Finally, just us" Benny sighed, placing his arm on the back of the booth. His fingers brushing your clothed back.

A small, pleasant shiver ran down your spine. Your breath catching for a moment. You imagined what it would be like if you had been wearing a sun dress. How warm he would be, how rough those pads would be against your skin.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Benny's rough voice said into your ear, his breath fanning over you from how close he was to you.

When you turned to look at him, you were surprised to see how close Benny was. Being so close, you could see how blue his eyes were, with small specs of a darker blue. They were beautiful and captivating. You could easily get lost in those blues.

“A-ah, yeah...I'm fine" you squeaked out, making Benny chuckle.

He moved back a little, a warm smile crossing his lips at your words. “Good. I wanna know, do you wanna come to a meetin’ when I get back in town?”

You blinked. “You’re leaving?”

“Just for a few days, sweetheart," he replied, drumming his hands on the booth.

“Oh...” you muttered.

Then you took a moment to think over his offer. You knew you should keep your distance, stop any chance of gossip coming back to bite you. And yet, this was the second time he’d sought you out. Coming to talk to you. You should be running away from Benny Cross, and yet you wanted to move closer to him. Maybe you could be a girl he could want.

‘You sure?’ That voice asked. Yet you did your best to ignore it.

Pushing away your thoughts and insecurities, forgetting the repercussions that could come from talking and being seen with Benny. You couldn’t deny how you liked having his attention. So, you made your bed and planned to lie in it.

“Sure Benny" you smiled.

[magniloquent-raven]

life's what you make it

@tommykinardweek Day 1: Coming Out

CW: descriptions of animal abuse & pet death

(also on ao3)

When Tommy was nine his father bought a lanky Rottweiler with paws too big for his skinny legs. “He’ll be useful when he fills out a bit,” was all his dad said about it, with a chuckle and a backhanded slap against Tommy’s chest. Rotties are loyal, obedient working dogs. Guard dogs.

His dad named the dog Budweiser after one too many. In retrospect, he picked the first thing he saw to get Tommy to shut up about what they were going to call him, but at the time Tommy thought it was a great idea. After all, the dog was his Bud. (His Budweiler. It took three days for his dad to get sick of that joke.)

A week after he came into their home Tommy’s father nailed down a stake in the front yard. Bought a chain to clip to Bud’s collar. And he scoffed at Tommy’s whining about how sad Bud looked out there, all alone. “It’s a fucking dog, Tom, it’s not sad.”

But Tommy smushed his face against the window to watch him rest his blocky head on his too-big paws, and he saw him sigh. A big gusty sigh that moved his whole body.

Arguing with his dad about it didn’t change anything. The stake stayed. The dog stayed outside, where animals belong.

“Wouldn’t have bought the damn thing if I knew you were gonna be such a girl about it,” his dad muttered into his beer.

And that was that.

But Bud was always digging up his stake. Tugging at his collar. Running in circles around the yard, getting tangled up in his restraints. The first time they came home to dirt patches and overturned sod Tommy’s dad chucked his shoe at the dog, irate about how much it was going to cost to clean up. Tommy spent the rest of the afternoon outside, quietly raking up the chunks of grass and taking breaks to sit with Bud, petting his short, bristly fur.

Locked in the bathroom, he would tear up magazines. Left in the backyard he’d paw endlessly at the patio door. Then he started running away. The first time it happened Tommy was in hysterics. He cried his eyes out, and shut himself in his room where his father wouldn’t see.

It didn’t matter how many afternoons he’d spent outside feeding Bud bits of leftover lunch meat from his sandwiches, trying to tell him he was supposed to stay in the front yard, if he was a good dog he’d stay in the front yard. Explaining to him over and over again that he was here to protect them—his job was to scare away Mormons and the tax man, whoever he was—didn’t make a damn bit of difference.

After two years he started to believe his father. Bud was just a bad dog. A stupid dog. Defective. They kept him chained up in the front yard, and Tommy stopped spending time with him beyond giving him a pat or two on his way inside. He was too old to keep pretending that the dog understood what he was saying anyways. And he had better things to do.

When Tommy was thirteen, Bud slipped out of his collar again. It was old news, and Tommy was past freaking out. He’d always find Bud running off down the street, chasing squirrels or trying to wriggle under the neighbours’ fence to play with their fat little Bulldog. Sometime he’d be at the house four doors, laying very very still while the five-year-old who lived there played his back like a drum.

It should’ve been just another day. “Your dumbass dog got loose again,” his dad yelled from the couch the second Tommy walked in. Standard. Usually a twenty minute detour, and he figured he’d still have time to get his homework done before dinner.

He didn’t.

Bud was two streets over, breathing shallow, bleeding into the gutter.

And Tommy watched him die.

He didn’t sit with him, didn’t touch him, didn’t have words. He just stood there, pale and shaken, full of something too cold to be panic and tasting bile on his tongue.

It was his fault. He went to bed before sunset, staring at nothing, knowing that he was to blame. Feeling it.

His father told Tommy the city would take care of the body. He was roadkill, they had people for that. Good riddance to a financial burden. All Tommy could do was nod along dumbly.

Five years later he enlisted. It was the adult thing to do, his only option when he was told to grow up and make something of himself.

It would take him years to realize he didn’t like what he’d made. The person he saw in the mirror looked more like his father every day, and the man who raised him looked less like himself than he ever had. After two divorces, forty years of chain-smoking, three bypass surgeries, and just plain old time, he was hollowed out and had nothing to replace the emptiness with.

They see each other once a year, on Thanksgiving, and the visits get shorter and shorter. There’s only so much of the same tired speeches Tommy can take. He knows his father’s Reasons Why Marriage Is A Sham by heart, so well he could act it out if pressed, cadence and all.

Maybe some of it stuck deeper than he thought. A tired old man’s legacy, the voice in the back of Tommy’s head telling him it’s not worth it, none of it’s worth it.

His father’s influence might explain why he got cold feet and ran out on his fiancee. It’s as good an explanation as any, seeing as he’s still trying to figure out what the fuck even happened.

One minute he’s picking out napkins and listening to her plan their future, the next…

He’s got a decent little place to himself, at least. He got lucky there. No roommates, no rowdy army guys packed into a barrack that smells like the world’s evilest gym sock. Just him. Alone.

He thinks about getting a dog.

It’s fine, coming home to an empty bungalow. Living off of ready-made TV dinner meals like some kind of sad cliche. Work is great, the guys—and Hen—are great. He works as many shifts as his body can take, goes out for drinks with Howie and blames the beer when he sits a little too close in the booth, throwing an arm over the back and letting the booze push them into an almost-embrace.

The warmth doesn’t linger long enough to keep him from curling in on himself at night, hugging his pillow.

He doesn’t tell anyone besides his neighbour, Arthur, that he’s considering checking out animal shelters. The guy isn’t his friend, exactly, but there isn’t anyone else he can ask to pet-sit while he’s at work.

They chat sometimes. He’s a little older than Tommy, and somehow broader in the shoulders. He used to work construction, apparently. Now he’s living off workers’ comp. Tommy doesn’t know what happened, just that he’s in a wheelchair sometimes, and since he lost his job he’s started growing his hair. It’s shoulder-length now, dark and wavy.

“My sister didn’t put you up to this did she? I’ve got hobbies and shit, I swear. I’m fine,” he says when Tommy mentions he might need help feeding a dog in the near future. He’s not entirely sure how serious the accusation is. Tommy errs on the side of glib.

“No, I’m just too cheap to hire a professional.”

Arthur grins, the tan lines around his eyes disappearing into crow’s feet. “I can respect that.”

Months go by, and he’s still thinking about it. Weighing the pros and cons. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, it’s not like he can’t afford it, and he can just drop the dog back off at a shelter if it doesn’t work out. It would be nice to have a reason to go on walks, or run, if the dog is high-energy. Plus, less chance of someone breaking in and making off with his stuff.

Bud never quite lived up to his potential as a guard dog—an impersonal way to put it, but it's the way he's forced himself to look at it over the years—but his dad wasn’t wrong about dogs having their uses.

There’s no particular reason for it when he takes a different route home after work one day. It was a normal day, normal calls. They pulled a kid out of a collapsed playground structure. Checked out an apartment after someone burned their popcorn. He chimed in with a joke or two when Hen and Chim started ribbing each other over lunch. No one died, nothing exploded.

Then he thought about going home to an empty house again and…

He’s pulling into the parking lot of the closest shelter thirty minutes later.

The girl behind the desk is sweet. She’s maybe twenty, and barely eye-level with Tommy’s collarbone, dressed in a purple hoodie and sneakers with a name tag pinned to her shirt that says Katie. There’s a peeling dolphin sticker next to the K.

“Did you have anything specific in mind?” she asks him, a big smile on her face that he’s sure is part of her job but looks genuine anyways.

When he pictured getting a dog the image in his head was always just… Bud. Black and brown, the tiny spots above his eyes, short bristly fur and somehow always drooling a little bit. He didn’t have his heart set on a Rottie, exactly, it was just all he could see himself getting.

He shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. “No.” Then he pauses, eyes scanning the white tile walls behind her. There are so many brightly coloured posters tacked up on it they all sort of blend together. “I work a lot, if that’s a problem.”

She shakes her head, her expression softening to something sympathetic. “No, not a problem, we just need to find the right match for your lifestyle. Certain pets need more attention, of course, but I’m sure we’ll find someone for you.”

“Right.”

There are so many options. When she leads him into the back room a few of the little dogs start yapping. One that looks like a bathmat with beady little eyes runs in circles making more noise than a creature that small should. Another one with curly fur and white fluff around its ears barks so hard its whole body bounces with the effort.

“They’re just excited,” Katie says with a sheepish laugh.

The whole long room is lined with plexiglass alcoves, and smells overwhelmingly of dog. A black lab paws at its window as they walk past. A lot of the animals are furry lumps with their backs turned, hidden in the corner of their enclosure.

“Did you want a minute alone with them?”

Tommy blinks at her, feeling a little out of his depth.

“I think it’s easier to find out if it’s a good match if it’s just you and the critters, you know? Just come get me if you take a liking to any of them, and we can see how you do with face-to-face time.”

“Oh…kay.”

She pats his elbow and gives him another sunny smile before heading back up front.

He wanders up and down the length of the room for a while, stopping in front of every dog that demands his attention. They’ve all got cards in the upper corner of their windows. Name, age, sex, and breed. Some of them have little notes about special needs. There’s a diabetic Poodle mix that huffs at him when he walks past. A Yorkie with a limp and a mean growl.

Around halfway through his second loop around he notices a fluffy white dog snoozing on her back. She’s a medium size, no listed breed. And she’s running in her sleep. Paws waving in the air, tongue lolling out of her mouth.

He chuckles.

According to her card, her name is Periwinkle—which Tommy wrinkles his nose at, what even is that—she’s two years old, and…oh. She’s deaf and blind. Probably not the best pick for him then. He already had doubts about how much time and attention he’d be able to give a dog, he doesn’t want to bite off more than he can chew here.

She snuffles, nose twitching. It’s stupidly adorable.

“She’s a sweet girl.”

“Jesus Christ—” Tommy startles, hands flying up to his chest where he presses a palm to his racing heart as he whirls around.

“Sorry!” Katie laughs, clearly more amused than apologetic. She clears her throat and schools her expression. “Sorry, it’s just you’ve been in here a while, I thought I’d check in.”

“It’s fine.” He smooths some wrinkles out of his shirt, trying to act like it was his intention all along.

“So, Periwinkle?”

Tommy can’t help but purse his lips. “What kind of name is that, anyway?”

“Oh, she was part of a whole litter that we took in, they were all named after flowers. Periwinkles are pretty little blue ones.”

“Ah…”

“She’s the last one we have left, all her brothers and sisters were adopted as puppies.”

Okay, well. She didn’t need to make him feel bad, that’s just uncalled for.

She’s not what he was looking for. Not the kind of dog that scares away intruders, or anyone, really, she looks like a marshmallow with floppy ears. And he’s not sure he feels qualified to care for a dog with disabilities, she needs someone loving and attentive and patient.

He opens his mouth to say as much, to say she probably wouldn’t be a good fit, and list off all the things he told himself were the reasons he’s here in the first place. No words come out.

“Would you like to meet her properly?”

“…Sure.”

She has him wait in a little side room down the hall. There’s a rickety folding chair in the corner that he eyes but doesn’t sit in, instead choosing to stand in against the wall with his arms folded tight across his chest. The knot of anxiety in his gut is ridiculous, and stupid, and he doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, but he can’t stop shaking his leg and digging his nails into the meat of his forearm.

There’s very little in the room to distract him. Apart from the chair, there’s an empty steel bowl, a grey mat, and a basket with a couple knots of rope, a tennis ball that’s seen better days and a rubber ring that looks oddly untouched compared to everything else.

He’s probably only waiting for a few minutes, but it feels like it’s been an eternity when the door finally clicks open and Katie sticks her head in.

“Okay, here we are!” She sidles into the room, guiding Periwinkle by a short leash. Her posture is alert, tail up, sniffing the air. “I’ve got some treats in my pocket if you want to give her some. Dogs are not above taking bribes.”

Tommy lets out a little breath of a laugh.

She approaches him slowly, squinting milky blue eyes. Now that he can see her properly, he notices the yellowing bits around her ears and under her chin. Part Golden Retriever, maybe. She’s got the face shape for it.

She pokes his shin with her nose. He’s not sure if she bumped into him or if it was on purpose until she does it again, eagerly sniffing at the leg of his jeans.

He came here right from work, he can’t imagine he smells very good. Then again, she is a dog.

“I, uh…” He glances from her to Katie. His arms are still folded across his chest, and he’s not sure what to do with his hands.

Katie pulls a little bone-shaped cookie from her pocket and offers it to him, eyebrows raised and her smile encouraging. “Just make sure you don’t make any sudden moves, okay? Be gentle with her.”

He nods, and very carefully squats down to her level. He gets the treat about four inches from Periwinkle’s face and she starts wriggling up a storm, tail wagging, loose fur flying, snuffling reaching a fever pitch as she noses around trying to locate the food.

It’s impossible not to grin at her excitement. Affection blooms between his ribs when she bumps into his thumb and gives it a test lick. It doesn’t take her long to devour her treat once she finds it, and she cleans the crumbs from his fingers when it’s gone.

Seemingly satisfied with his tribute, she lays down on his feet. Then rolls against his shins in a warm fuzzy heap of loose limbs, clumsily pawing at him until he reaches out a tentative hand and runs his fingers through the fluff on her chest.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say she likes you!” Katie beams.

“Yeah.” Tommy’s voice cracks, embarrassingly, suddenly emotional. He swallows past a lump in his throat.

He stays crouched awkwardly, unable to shift into a more comfortable position even when his knees start to ache. Periwinkle breathes evenly, seemingly content to rest on his boots while he rubs her belly and makes stilted small talk with Katie.

She’s more than happy to pick up the conversational slack, giving him all sorts of tips about what’s good to feed pets and how to train a dog that can’t see or hear you. There’s so much information, he’s sure he won’t retain it all.

By now Katie has migrated to the folding chair, she’s seated with her legs crossed at the knee and talking with her hands. “Now, I recall you saying you work a lot, but is your schedule consistent? It’s important for a dog like Periwinkle to have predictable routines.”

“Yeah, pretty consistent.” Monotonous is the word that comes to mind, and he cringes away from it. He likes his job. His job isn’t the problem. “I work long hours though. Sometimes days at a time.”

Katie’s forehead pinches at that. “Okay. Do you have anyone to look after her while you’re gone? A family member? Girlfriend?”

His stomach lurches. “No.” He digs his fingertips deeper into thick fur, feeling her heartbeat under his hand. She’s calm. Relaxed. He should fucking relax. He doesn’t. “I had a fiancee,” comes spilling out of his mouth, “things ended…weird. I just don’t think I’m ready to date again so soon, y’know?” He forces an airy laugh. There’s no good reason for him to have explained all that, or for it to have felt like a lie.

“I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Tommy lets out a slow breath. “I asked my neighbour if he’d help out. With the dog.”

“Oh, great!”

She moves on easily, but he doesn’t. The moment sticks under his skin, like a splinter he can’t scratch out. It aches, dull but present, for the rest of the conversation, and beyond that. While he signs adoption papers, when he walks out the door, Periwinkle’s leash in hand, all through the quiet drive home. She sits in the passenger seat, and he cracks the window just enough for her to stick her nose out while he pretends to listen to the radio.

He has a dog now.

The next week or so is a bit of a mess. He buys everything he thinks he’ll need, and probably goes overboard. Dog-proofing his house is trial-and-error, Periwinkle keeps finding new things to chew on, and he never realize he had so much clutter until there was a blind dog bumping into things all the time.

It’s beautiful chaos and he loves it. She falls asleep on his lap when he watches TV, and he gets stuck there for hours. It turns out she hates peanut butter, and when he tries to fill a chew toy with it for her to play with she only picks it up long enough to jerk her head and toss it across the room.

Katie told him touch was important when bonding with a blind and deaf dog, and he figured it would be a slow process, easing Periwinkle into her new surroundings, showing her that he can be trusted. They have hit a few bumps (no pun intended) getting her used to navigating his house, but amazingly she seems to have no reservations about him specifically. She’s glued to his hip nearly every moment he’s home, pressed up against his leg when he’s standing at the kitchen counter, head on his thigh when he’s on the couch, always nearby.

Thankfully she likes Arthur nearly as much as she likes Tommy. Possibly because he always has a piece of jerky for her when he comes over. Which is understandable on her part.

Three weeks after he brought her home, he finds Arthur sitting on his porch with Wink in his lap and looking mildly sheepish.

“She wouldn’t let me go home.”

Tommy grins. “Want a beer?”

“Please.”

He thinks they might be friends after that. He wants them to be friends after that.

It didn’t bother him so much before, that they were just casual acquaintances. Tommy’s got plenty of acquaintances, and it suits him fine. But one evening with the dog between them leaves Tommy with a strange ache he can’t place. The next day all he thought about was the dying glow from the sun catching on deep-set brown eyes, sparkling with mirth. That adolescent desperation he tried to stomp down whenever he made Arthur laugh, that voice that babbled do it again, like me, like me, please—

It's not until Sal catches him grinning down at his own hands and punches his arm, crowing “Well hot damn, look who finally moved on. What’s her name?” that things start to fall into place.

A lot of things.

He just barely manages to excuse himself without throwing up, and makes it to the bathroom just in time to burst into tears.

Once the dam cracks, he’s helpless against the tide. His lungs burn from the effort it takes to keep from sobbing audibly. Chest heaving slow, painfully, methodically slow, he buries his face in his hands and cries, cries, lets snot dribble down his wrist and doesn’t care, squeezes his eyes shut so hard he sees stars and still the tears drip down his nose. It hurts, and all he can do is hang on, hoping the bells don’t go off, hoping no one walks in or wonders where he’s gone.

He’s so stupid for not seeing it. There’s a whole well of secrets he’s been keeping from himself and he feels like he’s been pushed into it to drown.

Does anyone else know? Has anyone figured it out before him? It’s not like he’s never had anyone make dumb jokes, all of Sal’s favourite jokes seem to boil down to hey, you’re gay. Kids in school would make fun of him for getting weepy about shit, or talking with his hands too much, or being too picky about girls, but…

Christ, he’s so stupid.

Maybe everyone knows, and always has. Fear grips him tight, sharp fingers grabbing a fistful of his guts. Has everyone been laughing at him behind his back. Every time he makes a dumb comment about not getting what the big deal is about a pretty girl, or makes excuses about another breakup.

Oh God, does his father know?

His father can never know.

His stomach heaves again, and he tastes bile.

It’s unclear how long he’s in that bathroom, hazy, knees buckling under the weight of his whole life turning on its head and hitting him at once. He splashes water on his face to rinse off the snot and tears, but it does nothing for the blotchy pink around his nose and eyes.

He spends the rest of his shift jumpy and distracted.

For the first time in weeks he’s hesitant to go home, but he doesn’t want to impose on Arthur any more than he already has.

Arthur’s on his porch again, reading a book and petting Wink. She perks up when Tommy’s truck pulls into the driveway. He’s not entirely sure how she always knows it’s him. Could be a scent thing. Or maybe she can feel the vibrations coming off his engine. Whatever it is, it’s comforting to know someone’s always gonna be happy to see him.

The steering wheel creaks in his grip, and an itch builds behind his eyes. He takes a moment to blink it away and compose himself, but Arthur still shoots him an odd look as he approaches the house.

Great.

“Bad day?”

Tommy shrugs. “It was fine.”

Wink trots down the ramp he replaced the porch steps with last week, meeting him halfway to bump her forehead against his knee.

The ache in his chest twists around his heart.

“Mhm,” Arthur hums. He’s in his chair today, and Tommy absently watches the muscles in his forearm flex as he turns. It takes his brain a second to catch up to what he’s doing, and he jolts, tearing his gaze away. “That’s what I always tell people too.”

Tommy bites his tongue. There’s a barb on the end of it, and the taste of iron in the back of his throat. He’s too tired to start an argument over nothing. And he knows he’d regret it later.

He bends down to pet the top of Wink’s head and lets Arthur leave without another word.

He smells like burnt sugar and cinnamon soap, and Tommy holds his breath just to stop trying to inhale every trace he left in his wake.

It really is like that, huh. He really does…

Three fingers of whiskey later he still feels like crawling out of his own skin.

He’s got the news running in the background. All his comfort things feel dangerous tonight. He can’t be sure he won’t put on his favourite movie and discover he only liked it because he was wildly attracted to the leading man and had no idea this whole time. He’s terrified of finding out anything else about himself, but it’s left him twitchy and bored and mostly alone with his own thoughts.

Wink had taken up residence in her usual place, head resting on his knee, but as the evening went on she got up and re-positioned. Now she’s sitting in his lap, leaning against his chest and snuffling into his shirt.

It’s the closest thing to a hug he’s gotten in a while, and it breaks him a little bit.

He wraps his arms around her, burying his face in the fluff around her neck.

“I think I’m gay,” he mumbles into her fur.

Nothing happens. The world doesn’t end.

He breathes. He’s going to be okay.

[lunarflux]

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

part 9: an uncommon kindness

word count: 1,875

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You knew it was coming—the sensation you half-heartedly referred to as an adrenaline crash. It could have been the whiskey, but that would have been an excuse, a poorly crafted one at that. The vision of scarlet ribbons stayed at the forefront of your thoughts, severed flesh and the whites of that man's eyes just after that. No matter how many times it happened, it never got any easier. Or maybe it did, but those moments did not come often, and that's how you preferred it.

After finishing your last drink, you quietly left the Garrison without announcing your departure. You heard the faint shouts of your name as the door closed behind you, but the acid that quickly traveled up your throat at the first taste of cold air kept you preoccupied. You stood alone in an alley, hands bearing down against brick, and let your body do what it had to. That part never lasted long, and it was only a matter of time before the tremble would follow.

For that, you blamed the oncoming winter, and if anyone asked, you were just foolish enough to keep your coat undone.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

The silence after the pub emptied lingered, a heavy weight hanging in the air. Arthur and John let the laughter die out, the adrenaline from the confrontation still buzzing in their veins.

Arthur glanced at John, noticing that his eyes kept returning to the spot where you stood with whiskey dripping from your fingers, the flicker of cold anger in your eyes still fresh in his memory. He was trying to make sense of it all, the way you moved so effortlessly, how you took charge in a situation that most people would’ve hesitated to act in.

“Fuckin' hell...” John started, shaking his head slightly. “One slip, and she could've taken my head off.”

Arthur snorted, leaning against the bar with a half-smirk. “She saved you, John boy. How'd that feel?” He paused, eyeing the door where you walked out. “I reckon you're not gonna give her a pretty little cut now.”

John's brows furrowed as he walked behind the bar, pouring himself a drink to steady the nerves that were steadily returning. “Should we tell Tommy? Fuck—Arthur, I swear to God—if she'd waited a second too long, you'd be stitching me up right now.”

“I’ve seen Tommy do that,” Arthur muttered, almost to himself. “He doesn’t waste a second. Just... Brought the hammer down on their heads. She's the same.”

John looked up, his expression unreadable. “She could’ve let it go. Let us handle it.”

A small smile tugged at Arthur's lips. “Not used to a woman who's not Esme being able to take a swing, eh?"

“She’s one of us now, isn’t she?”

Arthur nodded slowly, his face thoughtful. “Looks to be that way. You heard what Tommy said—told him it was 'just business.' And today's business was either to leave you with a hole in your back or to waste her whiskey. Guess that makes you more valuable than whiskey.”

John cleared his throat. It was a crude but accurate comparison. “But you reckon she cares, yeah? About us, I mean. Or is this just business to her? Because of what we found?”

Arthur doesn’t immediately respond. He looked towards the door, his mind clearly elsewhere. “She didn’t do it for anyone but herself. Made one hell of a point by doing it. Thought she was all talk.”

John watched Arthur, his eyes narrowing as he processed everything.

Arthur rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his gaze still on the door. “She's smarter than us, John boy. In her eyes, there wasn't ever a debt to be paid to you. Fuck... You probably owe her now.”

John’s expression flickered with a realization.

Arthur’s eyes flash with a sharp, knowing look. “Only thing left to do now is make sure you won't owe her something you can't afford. That's what Tommy's gotta deal with now.”

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After the dust settled the next morning, you returned to the betting house, your breath steady and face as unreadable as ever. Tommy was already speaking with the others, his voice commanding, his attention fully back in control. But it was Polly who lingered near you, studying you in that way only she could.

“You’ve got a habit of making people nervous, you know that?” She stood with her arms crossed, not bothering to spare you the eye contact. “Arthur and John—they’ve been talking. And I’ve been listening.”

You sighed with the same cold demeanor she gave you. “And what exactly have they been saying, Polly?”

She smiled, but it was thin, sharp. “Your little stunt at the Garrison last night is quickly making its rounds. If you were secretly hoping for fame, it looks like you're on your way there.”

Her next question hit you heavy with scrutiny and suspicion. You clenched your jaw, preparing for whatever she might ask you because the last thing you wanted was to be unprepared two days in a row. All this fuss made your actions feel more like a burden than a mindless reflex activated by your awareness, something you usually took pride in. It shouldn't have been a surprise Polly thought otherwise.

“So what exactly are you trying to prove by saving John? Was it for him? Or was it for you?”

You swiftly lit your cigarette, answering into the cupped palm of your hand and the flickering flame. "Does it matter?"

"It's that kind of rash thinking that could get you in trouble," she said, her voice low but firm, "Just ask Tommy. He's had to clean up John and Arthur's messes before, and you adding to that mess was not part of the deal you made."

You didn’t respond immediately, letting her words hang in the air, only shifting slightly as you looked at her. Your voice, cold as always, cut through the silence.

“I didn’t want to wait,” you said simply, your eyes locking with hers.

Polly’s eyes narrow, a flicker of something dangerous crossing her features. “Darling, you’ve got everyone’s attention, and I’m not so sure that’s a good thing. You think just because you step in at the right moment that we’ll forget what’s really going on?”

You don’t move an inch as you reply, your voice colder than before. “Have you ever considered that I just do things, or, to you, there must be a motive behind it? That's exhausting, Polly. If you'd rather I give you a reason every time I leave to do fuck all, then eventually, it's all going to be lies.”

Polly studied you for a moment, then took another step forward, her eyes never leaving yours. “Yes, well, I can see it now. Let's say you 'just do things,' then what will happen when you don't? Hm? The next time you choose not to act, will it be your fault or theirs?”

She paused, the air between you both tense.

“I'll say this. Tommy does stupid things that most see as impulse, but he always has a reason. Do what you will—shoot the next man who's made you cross. But you better have a damn good reason for getting blood on our carpet. Being stupid with a reason, I can forgive. Mindless impulse, I cannot.”

You straightened your back. With a subtle roll of your eyes, you hung your head to the side, humming from the small ache in your neck. “Can't you fucking Shelbys say 'thank you' or is it in your nature to interrogate now and give thanks never?”

With a smirk, Polly shook her head and left you alone with smoke trailing behind her.

You swore under your breath. You should've left it alone, let John deal with his own mess. You didn't even know who the man was or why he tried to do what he did, and you didn't bother asking John anything. Your subtle mistakes were slowly catching up to you, and now it was a matter of keeping yourself in check before Tommy assumed like Polly did.

When you looked up from your cigarette, Tommy was slowly approaching you with two glasses in his hands. He handed one to you with his eyes steady in anticipation.

You took a brief sip cautiously.

He didn't speak. He just stood in front of you with his own glass, the silence steadily making you feel uncomfortable. This was the other part of being on his side that was getting to be exhausting—the way he used silence to convince you to say something first.

It mostly bothered you because you knew you did the same thing.

"His name was Leander," Tommy finally spoke. "Old fling of John's wife."

You didn't nod or even show that you acknowledged what he was saying.

"He's alive. His people patched him up. We made sure they left Birmingham. They won't come back."

You set your glass down, crossing your arms with the cigarette between your fingers. "Get on with it."

Tommy chuckled, "With what?"

"I'm getting tired of explaining myself to you. And to Polly. If you're going to ask me why I did it, then do it now instead of calling me back here later."

Tommy lowered his eyes with a smirk. It was fun, seeing you become undone. The back-and-forth between you two was slowly wearing you down. He was so used to people giving up after the first try. You just kept fighting back, and that made it all the more interesting. That was what made games, fun after all. You wouldn't stop, so neither would he.

Curiosity could be satiated, but you made it a challenge. He'd step forward, you'd step back. You made your move, and he'd match you in equal measure. One of you held the knife, and the other held the blade, daring blood to fall just to see who'd pull back first.

He wasn't a fool. There was purpose behind your actions even if you didn't want to admit it. There was no part of your bargain that insinuated you needed to act in any way that forced you out of hiding, and yet you did.

There was a part of you—though you'd rather die than admit it—that was invested. Invested in Tommy, maybe, but it went beyond that. Perhaps, you couldn't help it. It could have been in your nature to be protective of your things, but because you stayed hidden for so long, the only possessions you'd been protective of until this point were sentimental trinkets, the ones that you used to decorate your office.

Now, you were protective of something else. That just meant there was more to lose.

Tommy wouldn't admit it out loud, but what you did forced the slightest change in his perception of you. You could protect yourself should it be necessary. It also hinted that you were fully aware of everything you did—you just held onto those reasons like you did everything else. Tucked away like a secret no one was worthy of.

When he finally grew tired of the silence, Tommy gave you a short nod, as if acknowledging that there was nothing left to be said. You watched him walk away, unable to see the the satisfaction on his face.

[lisacameron99]

Second (JJ x reader) (outer banks)

warning: angst, fighting, fluff, fluffy ending, feelings of insecurity, nakedness but no sex, illusions to sex

“I’m late, I know I’m late,” JJ said, rushing into the house. You stayed silent. There wasn’t much to say. “You’re soaked… did you walk?”

“Yeah, JJ. I didn’t want to stay on The Cut all night.” You deadpanned.

“Why didn’t you call somebody?”

“I did JJ! I called you! Pope! Kie! Johnny! Even Sarah. But nobody answered. Too busy helping John B find dad!”

“… Y/N…” JJ said, guilt swimming in his eyes.

“I mean, God, JJ. I don’t think I asked a lot when I asked you to pick me up.” JJ swallowed hard. He knew he fucked up. He knew he did. But they were so close on finding Big John, “And you don’t have anything to say because you know I’m right.” There was a beat of silence. “I’m going to shower. You should go back to Johnny, because he clearly needs you more than you think I need you.”

“Babe,” JJ ran a hand through his hair and over his jaw.

“Just - just - don’t.” You were growing more frustrated. “I’m going to take a shower.” You dragged yourself to the bathroom, piling you clothes by the sink. Stepping into the shower, you had it on the hottest setting your body could handle. The water pressure wasn’t the best, but you loved your little shower. Tears ran down your face, but you knew JJ wasn't going to be able to tell the difference between the tears and the water when it was on your face.

You prolonged your shower, longer than you normally would have, just so you could think everything through. Johnny was just going to have to suck it up and pay the water bill. JJ was sitting on the toilet, fiddling with his hat. He just wanting to be near you. You knew he did it as much for himself as he did you. You both thrived on both quality time and physical touch.

He handed you your towel when you opened the old curtain. “Thanks,” you muttered, squeezing your hair out and watching the drops hit the floor. You wrapped the towel around your body, drying yourself off.

You guys both made your way to the room you shared, and JJ threw an old shirt of his at you. Because you weren’t paying attention, it hit you smack in the face and fell on the floor. You stared at it before looking back to JJ. Your e/c met his blue and you both burst into laughter. JJ snagged it off the ground and pulled it over your head. A smile graced both of your faces as your eyes met.

“Hi,” you said softly.

“Hey.” He returned the gesture. You blinked, still keeping your eyes on his blue ones. After a few beats, he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

You shrugged, trying not to think about the stinging feeling in your chest. "It's fine." You said shortly.

"It's not." JJ said, rubbing your arms. "It's not fine. I told you I'd be there and I wasn't. I'm sorry."

"Well, it's done and over with now." You shrugged again before sitting on the bed. "No sense in dwelling on it."

"You think John B matters more than you do. And that's just not true." JJ responded. "I love John B, he's my brother. Always has been, always will be. But you matter to me. I love you. And I'm sorry that I made you feel as though you are less than him."

Tears welded up in your eyes. "I'm just very tired of this happening. JJ, I literally called you five times. I called Kie twice, Sarah twice, Pope twice, and Johnny three times and none of you answered. I mean, I work all the time because I have to keep groceries in the house, and the mortgage and the electricity bills paid for. Johnny takes care of the water and gas and what not, and you always, always, always do what you can, but I'm tired of being made second best just because I'm keeping us afloat."

"I'm sorry." JJ whispered, beginning to pace around the room. "I'm so so sorry." JJ sighed, mad at himself for making you feel low about yourself. "I love you, Y/N. More than I've ever loved anybody. I'm sorry that I'm bad at showing it, and I'm really sorry that I left you at The Cut today."

"I love you too, JJ. But we need to be better at being there for each other when we commit to each other." JJ pulled you to your feet and hugged you too him. Face planted against his shoulder, you wrapped your arms tightly around his waist. He threaded one hand through your hair and the other around your shoulders. You stood there hugging each other tightly for a few moments before words came to JJ.

"You don't need to be better at it, you already are great at it. I need to be better. And I will be."

You nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Let's go to bed, yeah?" JJ asked you, gesturing to the bed.

You nodded, flopping on the bed. JJ went to go on his side of the bed, but you dragged him to be on top of you.

When his eyes glanced up at you, you gave him a soft smile. "Hi."

"Hi yourself." He placed his mouth on yours and kissed you deeply. You both pressed into each other, trying to feel as much of each other as possible. Your hands ran through his hair, clutching tightly while his rans down your sides and planted themselves on your hips.

You finally pulled yourself away from JJ, panting as he kissed down your neck. What a perfect way to end the night, you thought to yourself, as JJ kissed further down. Make up sex was so underrated.

End.

lmk if you all want a part two!