#no but i still think about this fic 😭😭 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seongwars · 1 day ago

Text

forget me not | ix

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x witch!Reader AU: non-idol | supernatural Summary: Yunho should be happy--he's got everything going for him and he's set to marry the love of his life! So why is he standing outside of your shop on the night of his engagement party? Word Count: 5.3K Warnings: some angst, fluff, a smidgen of smut

Fic Masterlist

a/n: crying happy tears because this is the final chapter 😭 a big thank you to everyone who followed along on this journey ❤️

“Do you think I did the right thing?”

Wooyoung blinked, surprise flickering across his face as he processed your question. His ears twitched slightly, betraying his curiosity, and he tilted his head, trying to gauge the weight of your words.

“What do you mean?”

“By giving you the card to pass on to Yunho,” you clarified, voice softer, tinged with a vulnerability you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge until now. You looked down, unable to meet Wooyoung’s gaze directly.

He studied you carefully, his expression thoughtful as he tried to piece together what you were feeling.

“Are you saying you regret it?”

"Here," you said, thrusting the small embossed business card towards Wooyoung. The red and white design stood out crisply against your fingertips. Wooyoung eyed it suspiciously, eyebrows raised, as if the card might bite.

"What's this for?" he asked, one hand on his hip, the other reluctantly reaching out to take the card.

You shifted, resisting the urge to pull back. "I need you to deliver it to someone," you mumbled, glancing away to hide the blush creeping up your neck. But the avoidance only seemed to encourage Wooyoung’s mischief.

"Right," Wooyoung said, drawing out the word with a sly grin. "Does this someone happen to be tall, jobless, and obscenely handsome?"

You glared at him, your face heating up even more.

"Just... give it to him, okay?"

"Alright, alright," Wooyoung said, raising his hands in mock surrender. He pocketed the card, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Way to tell him you forgive him."

You huffed, crossing your arms. "It’s not about that.”

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, boss," Wooyoung grinned. He slipped the card into his pocket, patting it for emphasis.

“I’ll make sure this ‘mystery someone’ gets your little peace offering.”

You paused, letting his question sink in. It would have been easier to answer with a simple "yes" or "no," to shut down the conversation and avoid the ache you felt creeping into your chest. But instead, you found yourself caught in the truth of it, unable to ignore the swirl of emotions stirring inside you.

“No…” you began, though your voice wavered. “It’s not that. I just… I know he’s upset with me, and I shouldn’t be feeling this way, even though I was the one who left.”

“You know, just because you made a choice doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel the weight of it afterward. It’s human to feel conflicted. It doesn’t make you wrong, and it doesn’t make what you did the wrong choice.”

You bit your lip, eyes tracing the edge of the wooden counter as you turned the question over in your mind. Yunho had hurt you, in ways that felt like they had carved out parts of you that you’d never get back.

The thought struck you like a whisper in the back of your mind: Hadn’t you been the one to erase him from your life? You’d been the one to choose oblivion over memories, to protect yourself from the ache of what had once been.

"He still thinks about you, you know," Wooyoung said softly, his tone holding that rare tenderness you’d only seen when he was truly serious.

Your grip on the counter tightened as you struggled to absorb his words, a familiar ache in your chest now tinged with a quiet yearning. It felt surreal—after all this time—to think that Yunho might still care. That perhaps, despite everything, he hadn't let go.

“I’ve never seen him happier than when he talks about you or hears your name. He’s still holding onto you, even if you can’t see it. And I know the wound is still fresh, but you have to believe me when I tell you—he loves you, wants to make things right.”

The sincerity in Wooyoung’s voice made you look away, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes. Yunho loves you. You’d told yourself a thousand times not to let those words get under your skin again, to keep the walls you’d built firmly in place. But here was Wooyoung, breaking down every defense with a few simple truths you weren’t ready to face.

“It’s just...” You struggled, each word feeling like a confession. “What if it’s not enough? What if I’m still afraid he’ll hurt me?”

“I get it. You have every reason to be scared. He could have ignored that card and disappeared. But he didn’t. He’s willing to fight for you and face all of his own mistakes.”

Wooyoung’s words softened the edges of your fears, giving you just a sliver of courage you didn’t know you still had. Yunho hadn’t been perfect, but Wooyoung’s words reminded you that people could change, that maybe both of you had been hurting alone for far too long.

“Just...give yourself permission to feel it. To remember what it was like before everything went wrong. He’s not asking for everything all at once. He’s just asking for a second chance.”

You tried to recall the last time you’d truly allowed yourself to think about your relationship with Yunho—not just the heartbreak, but also the warmth and beauty of your friendship. Yunho wasn’t just a memory; he had been your best friend, your first love, the one person who understood you in ways no one else ever had.

You remembered the way he looked at you at the beach, the way his eyes held promises of a future you could almost believe in, making you think–if only for a moment–that “forever” was something within reach.

Maybe, in some ways, you were still that person—naive, trusting, willing to hand over your heart with expectations that perhaps no one could ever meet.

But were you still that person now?

So much had changed. You had changed. You had learned to protect yourself, to keep Yunho and everything he’d meant to you at arm’s length. It was safer that way—easier. If you never let him back in, he could never hurt you again.

When Wooyoung told you that Yunho, despite your rejection, still harbored immense love for you, you were stunned. Yunho's love had never wavered. Wooyoung saw it as clearly as the breath Yunho drew each day, as naturally as his heartbeat.

It was okay to feel, to take your time, to allow yourself the grace of uncertainty. You didn’t have to have all the answers or know where each step would lead. It was okay to be scared, to admit that this meant something to you.

And maybe all you needed to do was…try.

As the thought settled, muffled voices, sharp and angry, punctuated by the heavy thud of footsteps were heard from outside the door. You straightened, heart racing as you focused on the noises, feeling an unmistakable surge of supernatural energy.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

You moved to the shop’s entrance and peered through the small window, immediately recognizing the voice.

Yunho.

He was surrounded, eyes wide with frustration and something deeper—fear. And surrounding him, dark forms shimmered in and out of sight, their twisted shapes flickering as they taunted him.

Without thinking, you threw open the door and stepped out into the night. The cold air bit at your skin, but the chill was quickly forgotten in the surge of adrenaline that took over.

“The shop is temporarily closing, so you’ll all have to wait a little longer. No exceptions!”

A chorus of groans erupted from the creatures encircling Yunho. They would have to return when the shop reopened to gather whatever trinkets were needed for Lord Death’s Night Parade.

In one fell swoop, you reached out, fingers finding Yunho’s wrist. He flinched at your touch, a brief spark of surprise in his eyes, but you didn’t let go. Instead, you tightened your grip and pulled him toward you, drawing him away from the creatures’ prowling forms.

You took a deep breath, the weight of the moment sinking in as you slammed the emporium door shut. Yunho stood beside you, breathing hard, his wrist still loosely held in your grasp. His gaze was fixed on you, eyes wide and disoriented, as if still processing what had just happened.

You loosened your grip, letting your fingers slide from his wrist with a gentleness that felt almost foreign amidst the intensity of the night. His skin was cool under your touch, and you could feel a faint tremor, as if fear and shock still held him in their grip.

“Are you alright?” you asked, voice low, each word softened by concern as the urgency of the encounter began to fade.

Yunho looked at you, his breath steadying. "I... I think so," he replied, his voice shaky. "Thanks for pulling me out of there."

“Oh…you’re welcome,” you replied gently, hoping to ease his mind even as you saw how shaken he was.

“The veil is incredibly thin right now. That’s probably why you were able to see and feel them. The other travelers, I mean.”

His presence was almost overwhelming, making your heart pound in your chest. The way his eyes widened slightly as he processed your words made you want to reach out and reassure him, to tell him that everything would be alright.

"It's... it's not something that happens often," you added, your voice softer now. "But when it does, it means the boundaries between our world and theirs are almost nonexistent."

Yunho’s expression was unreadable, his eyes fixed on you, then shifting away as if he were searching for something in the silence between you. His gaze fell to the floor, tracing patterns on the worn wood as he seemed to gather his thoughts.

The quiet stretched on, your anxiety building as each second ticked by. A thousand worries filled your mind—what he might think, what he might feel, now that he had glimpsed the world you’d become a part of.

"Why were you out there?" you finally, breaking the silence, your tone gentle, though curious.

He hesitated, searching for words as his face softened.

“I…was in the neighborhood,” he murmured, though there was an edge to his voice that suggested there was more left unsaid.

Your heart skipped a beat. You took a half-step closer, tilting your head to catch his eye, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

“In the neighborhood, huh?” you echoed, sensing the familiar warmth of his presence.

“Alright…maybe it wasn’t entirely by chance,” he admitted. His lips twitched, and he exhaled a small, resigned laugh, glancing down before looking back at you.

He lifted his hand, revealing the small, slightly crumpled business card between his fingers.

“I just wanted to see you.”

You felt the weight of Yunho’s gaze, his admission wrapping around you. It was as if all the memories you shared—moments of laughter, quiet conversations, the comfort of simply being together—were coming back to life, filling the silence around you.

Your voice came out softer than you intended, almost a whisper.

“You still wanted to see me after everything?”

“Especially after everything,” he murmured, his words carrying a quiet certainty that melted the last of your doubts.

“So you’re not…upset with me?” you asked, your voice barely audible, as if speaking any louder might shatter the delicate moment.

You’d been bracing for this moment, convinced that Yunho must be holding onto resentment, that he’d come to finally air out the hurt you must have caused him. You hadn’t given him the closure he deserved, instead choosing to leave things unfinished.

But his eyes, so achingly familiar, held none of the anger you’d feared. They were filled with something…gentler.

“Oh god, Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice calm but filled with urgency, as if he’d been waiting just as long for this moment.

“I could never be angry with you. You have every right to be upset, I was the one who hurt you. I was careless with your heart, and that’s on me. It’s my fault.”

His admission left you speechless, each word stripping away the defenses you’d built. He wasn’t here to lay blame or defend himself; he was here to own the truth of what had happened.

“You did hurt me, Yunho.”

The words came out softer than you expected, each one carrying a weight you hadn’t realized you’d held so tightly. Pain, long buried, surfaced as you finally spoke the words you’d once been too afraid to voice.

“I felt like… I wasn’t enough for you," you admitted, the ache woven through your words. "Like no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much of myself I gave, it was never going to be enough.”

The sting of tears welled up, and you drew in a shaky breath, fighting to keep them at bay. You looked down, biting back the flood of emotions, as a huff escaped you—a last-ditch attempt to pull yourself back from the edge of breaking.

“I just wanted to feel like I mattered,” you whispered. It was as if saying it out loud for the first time gave it weight, made it real, and you felt the bittersweet release of finally letting it go.

“To be the one you turned to, not the one you left behind.”

When you looked up, Yunho’s gaze was unwavering, his eyes glistening as they held yours, reflecting the pain and regret you’d both felt.

“You’ve always been more than enough. I was the one who was too scared to see it, too afraid to do what was right, to be there for you when you needed me most.”

Yunho took a step closer, his hand lifting slowly to rest on your bicep, his touch gentle, almost hesitant. The warmth of his hand seeped through you, grounding you in this fragile moment, pulling you back to a time when things were simpler, when trust between you was instinctive.

“I can live with the weight of my mistakes,” he continued, voice rough with honesty. “But I can’t live without you. I tried for three years, and every day was worse than the last. I hated it.”

He was painfully earnest, his voice tinged with the kind of regret that had its own gravity. You looked up at him, a gentle smile breaking through your otherwise solemn expression as his fingers traced gentle circles against your arm.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you were anything less. You’ve always the best part of me. I just didn’t realize it until it was too late. If there’s even a small part of you that’s willing to try again, I’d give anything for that to happen.”

The honesty in his words made your heart ache. All those times you'd wondered if you truly mattered to him seemed to unravel before you, evident in his words, his touch, and his gaze.

You searched Yunho’s face, catching a glimmer of hope, and realized that despite the years, lifetimes, and distance, maybe…just maybe, there was still something worth saving.

“I love you," he whispered, his voice trembling but resolute. "For as long as I can remember, and for all the lifetimes I couldn’t. You’ve been mine for so long, but I want to be yours.”

Your hands reached for his, as if drawn by an unseen thread. Rising onto your toes, you leaned closer allowing Yunho to close the distance. He pulled you into a kiss that felt like a promise, an apology—everything he’d withheld and everything he longed to give. His hands settled gently on your back, holding you close, as though grounding himself in this moment.

The kiss was slow, adoring, and vulnerable, filling every empty space within you. Yunho’s lips pressed against yours, gentle and reverent, it felt like coming home, like stepping into a future you’d always dreamed of but never dared to hope for.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, you looked up at him, your heart racing. A smile tugged at his lips, and he rested his forehead against yours.

"I love you too," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, but just loud enough for him to hear.

Yunho gently cupped your face with his hands, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek as he leaned in for another chaste kiss. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breathing steady but filled with that same quiet intensity.

"Take it slow with me?" you asked, your voice a soft plea, tinged with vulnerability, putting your heart into his hands, hoping he would keep it safe.

Yunho’s face broke into a smile. Slowly, he moved his hand down, his fingers threading with yours. He held your hand between both of his, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles.

Life in the shop had settled into a comfortable rhythm, woven with little rituals that had become second nature. Each morning, you’d light the incense, watching as tendrils of fragrant smoke curled up to fill the air, a silent invocation for another day’s mysteries to unfold.

Yunho, meanwhile, would be wrestling with the coffee maker, half-asleep as he mumbled curses under his breath, yet somehow managing to coax it into yielding two cups of strong coffee.

His work as a recruiter kept him busy. Some days were filled with back-to-back phone calls, scouting reports, and meetings with stakeholders. Other days, he’d be out in the field, his energy brimming as he made connections with future talents.

But on quieter days, when he was in the shop, he’d drift down from his makeshift office to check in on you, often caught in wonder at some relic or enchanted object before remembering his intent to whisk you away from your responsibilities.

Today of all days, though, Yunho was off to Namhae, scouting a promising player. Before he left, he had lingered a little longer, offering you a reassuring smile as if to say he’d be back before you knew it. And as the door closed behind him, the shop felt both a touch quieter and warmer, his absence a gentle reminder of the quiet home you’d built together.

“What do you think about starting a delivery service?” Hongjoong asked, pulling you from your reverie. His eyes sparkled with that unmistakable gleam, the one that always appeared when he was on the verge of something new.

You raised a brow, eyeing him with amused curiosity. “A delivery service? Are we low on customers?”

"Not exactly. But now that you can leave the shop, and with Yunho around, we actually have the manpower to pull it off."

"Something tells me…this was spurred on by Lord Death.”

Hongjoong’s cheeks reddened slightly, and he huffed, crossing his arms with exaggerated indignation.

"Seonghwa has no idea what he’s talking about! He said we wouldn’t last a week if we ever ‘ventured into the delivery business’—said I’d lose interest by day three!”

Hongjoong waved a dismissive hand, brushing off any lingering doubts. "Well, I’m going to prove him wrong. By the time we’re done, our services will be able to expand to other realms. Might need to hire another hand for that."

With a dramatic flourish, he snapped his fingers, summoning a swirling puff of smoke that quickly dissipated to reveal...a hand-drawn presentation, sketched in thick, colorful strokes. It hung midair, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the almost childlike quality of it.

The first page of Hongjoong's plan was a roughly sketched map, barely more than a few wavy lines connecting a series of floating islands labeled "Other Realms," each island outlined in a different pastel shade. It was whimsical yet somehow serious, as though his haphazard lines could shape whole worlds. He tapped his finger on a small dot labeled “Astral Emporium.”

"This is our expansion plan. Right now, we’re here," he continued, pointing to the shop on the map, "but soon we’ll be...everywhere!"

“You really think Yunho and I are up for running around, delivering enchantments and charms to every corner of the city?”

Hongjoong chuckled, his smirk widening as he crossed his arms.

"Actually, more like Yunho and Wooyoung. You and I will rotate manning the shop, keeping things under control. All we have to do is equip Yunho with a pair of magical glasses, and he’ll be able to spot clients without worrying about the veil."

You imagined Yunho, looking unexpectedly dashing with enchanted glasses perched on his nose, pedaling a vintage bike through the bustling streets. Wooyoung would be nestled in a woven basket up front, surrounded by tiny glass bottles of potions and carefully wrapped charms, all neatly packed and ready for delivery.

“I’m sold.”

"Really?" Hongjoong’s eyes widened, sparkling with delight. The sorcerer laughed heartily, clasping his hands together in a rare moment of unbridled joy.

“Seonghwa’s going to eat his words,” Hongjoong said, his voice brimming with triumph and a gleeful satisfaction that was hard to resist.

He turned back to you. “Before I forget,” he added, casting you a sidelong glance. "You planning on visiting your parents anytime soon? Leaving magical seed packets isn’t the same as actually seeing you, you know."

The question lingered in the air, and you felt a familiar ache bloom in your chest. You shifted uncomfortably, your gaze falling to the counter as though it might offer some answer.

The last time you’d visited, it had been nothing more than a quiet spell—a small enchantment to slip through unseen, to place a few enchanted seed packets by their doorstep, enough to help your dad achieve his goal of growing the ultimate vegetable.

It was the closest you’d come to a real visit since Yunho had broken the shop’s hold on you, freeing you from its grasp and allowing you to walk the world on your own terms.

“I know,” you murmured, running your fingers along the worn edge of the counter.

"But they’ve already grieved, Hongjoong. They’ve accepted that I’m gone. It’s probably better that way. If I showed up now, after all this time…” You trailed off, your hands fidgeting as if your fingers could occupy the unsettled thoughts in your mind.

“I’d just be tearing open wounds that have barely healed. They’ve found a kind of peace, I think. I don’t want to be the one to undo that. And maybe,” you added, voice almost a whisper now,

“Maybe it’s a way for me to move forward, too.”

Hongjoong’s gaze softened, a trace of understanding settling in his expression. “I get it,” he said, his voice gentler than usual. “But remember, you don’t have to carry all of that alone. Just because they can’t see you doesn’t mean they’ve stopped loving you.”

You managed a small, grateful smile, nodding in silent agreement. For now, it would have to be enough to leave small reminders of your love—a packet of seeds on their doorstep, wordlessly expressing your affection.

The bell above the emporium’s door chimed, its familiar ring sparking an instant thrill in your chest. You turned, heartbeat quickening just a little at the sight of Yunho stepping inside. He noticed you immediately, his expression softening as he took a few easy strides toward you.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice warm and low, a tone he seemed to reserve just for you. He reached out, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. The touch was a reminder that home was here, and it was wherever he was.

“Long day?” you asked softly, your entwining with his as he let out a chuckle, nodding.

“Long but worth it,” he replied, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Especially knowing I get to come home to this.” His gaze lingered on you, and even as he glanced around the shop, it was clear his words were for you. The tiredness in his expression softened, and for a moment, everything felt perfectly in place.

Hongjoong looked on, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as if he’d always known that, somehow, you and Yunho would both end up here, together, ready to face whatever came next.

And for Hongjoong, that future definitely included his long-planned delivery service.

Hongjoong cleared his throat dramatically, breaking the quiet between you and Yunho. “Well, since we’re all feeling cozy and inspired,” he said with a mischievous sparkle in his eye, “might I propose a little idea?”

He snapped his fingers, and with a soft poof, a floating, hand-drawn presentation appeared, complete with a slightly crooked title that read, “Yunho: The Delivery Driver.”

A deep chill had crept in with the early dawn, settling over you as you instinctively curled up tighter, trying to preserve whatever small warmth remained. Groggily, you reached out, fingers searching for the missing blanket, only to find nothing but the cool, empty edge of the bed.

Squinting against the morning light, you rolled over, and there he was—Yunho, cocooned in what could only be described as a fortress of blankets. He lay sprawled out, half-buried in a mountain of covers, blissfully unaware of conditions on your side of the bed.

You sighed, rolling your eyes as you tried to tug a corner of the blanket back. But Yunho shifted, clutching the fabric even tighter, as if sensing your mission in his sleep.

“Yunho,” you whispered, nudging his shoulder. “You’re hogging the blanket.”

A muffled sound came from his side, something between a grunt and a sleepy laugh. One eye cracked open, blinking groggily at you, and a lazy, mischievous smile spread across his face. Without warning, he reached out, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you against his chest, the blanket effectively forgotten as his warmth enveloped you.

“Who needs a blanket when you’ve got me?” he murmured, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

"I'm half naked and freezing," you whined, exasperated. He smirked, his fingers tracing slow circles along your spine.

“How about I give it back if you beg for it?”

You huffed a laugh, but his hand on your back, gentle yet insistent, was quickly making you forget your original mission. He tilted his head up to meet your gaze, his eyes dark, and before you could respond, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then another, closer, teasing.

“In your dreams,” you shot back, rolling your eyes as you tried to turn away, but Yunho only grinned and smoothly flipped you onto your back, pinning you gently under him.

“Y’know,” he murmured, his voice low and playful as he braced himself above you, “Dream You would’ve folded by now.”

“Oh, would she?” you replied, raising a brow, trying to feign annoyance even as your pulse quickened.

He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Yeah, she tells me how much she loves it when I’m rough with her,” he teased, leaning in to kiss you again, this time deeper, his lips pressing against yours in a way that made you melt, his warmth seeping into every inch of you.

“Well she’s wrong because I love it when you wear your glasses.”

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers curling as you pulled him closer, the blanket entirely forgotten as he kissed you, slow and deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world. You could feel his smile against your lips, his playful challenge lingering in every brush of his mouth.

Yunho wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling you flush against him. He ground against you, his movements unhurried, savoring every shared breath, every flicker of connection between you. The warmth of his skin against yours sent a shiver down your spine, heightening the anticipation that hung thick in the air.

Your nails lightly grazed the delicate hairs at the back of his neck, drawing a low, contented hum from him. You traced along his nape, feeling the warmth and tension melt beneath your touch as he dipped his head, his lips brushing along your jaw before trailing down to your collarbone.

Your senses heightened with each delicious drag of Yunho’s cock against your walls—the warmth of his skin, the whispered promises between each kiss. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer, feeling the way his heart raced in sync with yours.

Every touch, every kiss, every slow, tender motion felt like a culmination of countless lifetimes. Yunho wasn’t just here with you; he was here with every version of you that had ever yearned for this closeness, for the feeling of being truly seen and loved.

And now, here he was, holding you close, as if he had always known you would eventually find your way back to each other.

Yunho whimpered your name into the curve of your neck, his movements becoming rougher, each touch and thrust a silent promise woven across time as the heat between you surged to a crescendo.

He pulled you closer, his urgency spilling over as you felt yourself unravel, swept up in the bliss that enveloped you both. His gasps blended with yours, and in the haze of it all, you were aware only of him—his scent, his warmth, and the way he fit perfectly against you.

“Love you. God I love you,” Yunho murmured softly, his voice tender and thick with emotion.

You giggled, reaching up to brush his tousled bangs from his forehead, your fingers gently tracing the lines of his face as you took in the softness of the moment. The warmth in his gaze made your heart flutter, even in the gentle light of early morning. The world outside was waking up, but here, wrapped in his arms, it felt as though time had slowed just for you both.

“Love you too,” you whispered, your voice filled with the same affection that he’d poured into his words. “But…” You grinned, tapping his nose playfully.

“You’re going to be late for deliveries.”

He groaned in protest, tightening his hold around you, as if to shield himself from the reality of a busy day waiting just beyond the sheets.

“Just a few more minutes,” he grumbled, his voice muffled against your skin. “Deliveries can wait. I’d rather stay here with you.”

You felt his breath tickling your skin and laughed softly, only to hear a loud, impatient voice call from the other side of the door.

“Y/N! Feed me, I’m dying of hunger!” Wooyoung’s dramatic tone was followed by a series of thumping sounds as he pawed insistently at the door.

"I’m going to die!" he wailed, drawing a groan of frustration from Yunho. Your boyfriend sighed, glancing at the door with thinly veiled irritation.

“I swear, he has the worst timing,” he muttered, shifting reluctantly as though debating whether to let you go. He held you tighter instead, as if Wooyoung’s complaints were some distant nuisance that could be ignored.

“Y/N!”

With a soft laugh, you planted a kiss against the tip of Yunho’s nose in an attempt to placate him. “He’s just lonely,” you murmured with sympathy for your familiar.

“He probably needs a friend to keep him occupied. He seems to be making it his mission to ruin your mornings.”

Yunho rolled his eyes, muttering something about demanding cats under his breath, but before he could say more, a dramatic wail sounded from the other side of the door.

"I’m fading away… I can see… the light…” Wooyoung yowled, his voice an exaggerated plea for attention.

“Alright, I’m coming!” you called out, with a chuckle.

With a playful smile, you pressed another quick kiss to Yunho's lips. His eyes softened, the irritation all but forgotten as you stepped toward the door. You glanced over your shoulder, catching the trace of a smile breaking through Yunho’s resigned expression.

The threads of your past lives wove delicately between you, fragile yet enduring, stronger than time itself. Fate had always teased the possibility of you together, leaving behind only fleeting traces and unfinished stories. But in this life, you had taken the first step—crossing the line, to lower the walls you had so carefully built around your heart.

For so long, you’d been bound to the shop’s mysteries and the shadows of your past. Now, you felt a sense of release, as if a tether that had held you in place had finally loosened, granting you the freedom to shape your own path. With Yunho by your side, every moment held the promise of something new, a life you could build together.

And you couldn’t wait.

<< viii | epilogue >>

a/n: it was always going to be a happy ending, I had to set it up for the epilogue hehehe 🤭

taglist: @babymbbatinygirl @intowxnderland @hwasa28 @thedistractedwriter @beabatiny @lovelyglares @spenceatiny18 @tiny-apocalypse @sunnysidesins @heyitsmetonid @jwone @laurenwidjaja @potatos-on-clouds @xuchiya @syubseokie @jonghosbrainrot @e3ellie @koyagifs @notevenheretbh1 @corgilover20 @almondtofu006

#ateez #ateez fanfic #jeong yunho #ateez yunho #yunho x reader #yunho x you #ateez fic #modern au #ateez au #magic au #yunho #ateez imagines #yunho angst #forget me not #supernatural au

73 notes · View notes

buckieandthebeast · 9 hours ago

Text

I think it's so impressive that so many people manage to make sense of the strange writing choices from the last episode and turn it into fics that work, but my brain is still so stuck on the whole Abby thing.

Can I accept that Buck apparently didn't really process or research his sexuality at all over the course of six months? Maybe, though it feels slightly ooc

Can I accept that Tommy is apparently so hurt and traumatized that he'd rather run than listen to Buck? Maybe, though after six months and consistantly showing him to be very attentive and an open communicator, it also feels a bit ooc

But then the Abby thing? Which doesn't make sense for so many reasons? And the fact that they never talked about exes or their past or their identity after six months?

It's just a lot to swallow over the course of two super short scenes without any kind of build up 😭

#bucktommy #and i know that they didn't have a lot scenes beforehand #but what they did show us especially in 8x05 felt so different 😭#and from a bts perspective it was such a compelling relationship with so many opportunities for storylines #i think i'm still processing everything #but their choices are so strange 🤷‍♂️#i am trying to come up with any kind of scenario of where they want buck to end up that doesn't involve a relationship like this #and none of them work as well as this one

76 notes · View notes

zyafics-recs · 3 days ago

Note

reblogging comment review from @zyafics

just some of my commentaries while i read <3 ⬇️

Rafe Cameron

oh this buildup was TOOO good i audibly SCREAMED hahaha

He was leaning against a stack of crates, his sharp blue eyes watching the scene with an unsettling intensity. The heir to the Cameron fortune, he was the last guy you expected to see here, in the heart of Caleb’s operation. But the rumors had been swirling for months—Rafe had gone off the deep end, running drugs and getting involved with people like your boyfriend. It was a far cry from the pampered Kook prince he’d once been, and the transformation was as terrifying as it was tragic.

i’m imagining that he has a cigarette in his mouth, a sort of detachment to the situation, as his eyes sweeps over the interactions and then YOU (SCREAMING 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️)

Especially not when Caleb was only a few steps away, talking to a man known for leaving bodies in the marsh when deals went south.

a MURDERER (he’s so hot)

“What the hell happened to you?” His voice was low, almost felt dangerous in a way that was different from Caleb's. There was no threat in it. Not to you.

giggling like a schoolgirl rn

“You need to get out of here,” he said, “You can’t keep letting him do this to you.”

why do u care RAFE HAVE U BEEN HURT BEFORE

But as that piece of shit dragged you down the dock, his mind drifted back to his mother. He could still remember the bruises she used to try to hide, the way she’d flinch when Ward’s voice got too loud, too sharp. And he could remember the times when his dad’s rage wasn’t directed at her but at him. Because Rafe looked too much like her, Ward Cameron had a twisted way of showing his grief when she passed away.

oh this characterization eats

You didn’t think guys like him ever used that word. It felt foreign hearing it fall from his lips.

LOVE A DANGEROUS PRETTY BOY WHO BEGS

“I’ll kill him first. I’m not afraid of him princess,” he said, and you believed him.

i love him so much pls 🛐🛐🛐

But for now, you didn’t need his anger —you needed help, comfort. You needed him to be there for you.

the angst and build-up was so INCREDIBLE and i absolutely adore how this played out

He’d kill Caleb if he ever attempted to take you.

PAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUSSSEEEEEEEEEEEE I THOUGHT WE WOULD GET A CONFRONTATION A BEATDOWN AS U WILL 😭😭😭 oh fuck i love this so much

💌 something about this specific fic just melts my heart; i love first and foremost how u characterize reader as not someone weak, but someone in a tough situation. and i love how rafe is rough and gentle with reader 🥹 my FAVORITE part was the second half where reader came up to rafe’s door, i’m so proud of her (me?) for reaching out for help and how PROTECTIVE rafe is

Dang. I so bad want to see a sweet reader in a toxic relationship with the drug leader of a gang. And that said gang has a feud with another one. Rafe’s and he is the leader of that gang. And despite being a criminal, Rafe has some honor and would never treat a girl badly. And there is lingering tension from a distance of Rafe being all ’’I could treat you better’’ and wanting to help her get out of that relationship while she thinks that all guys must be just like her boyfriend, so she has not thought further about Rafe beyond that he is attractive.

okay so this turned out a lil different and i feel like i'd have to write another part to develop their relationship and the longing....so...

two birds, one stone - r.c (+18)

pairing: drugdealer!rafe x sweet!reader

warnings: domestic violence; mentions of drugs and drug dealing;

word count: 4.7k

You stood at the edge of the dock, the wooden planks creaking under your beat up shoes as you nervously glanced at the group of men clustered by the boats.

Caleb, your boyfriend, had dragged you here without warning, his mood volatile as ever. You’d tried to avoid his attention when he’d pulled up outside the rundown house you’d been staying in the cut, but he’d simply sneered, ordering you into the car without a word.

Now, as you watched him move through the crowd of his men, you felt like jumping into the water was a much better option. He was dangerous on a good day, but when he was in one of his moods, it was like walking on a knife’s edge. And tonight, that edge felt particularly sharp. Drowning in the sea felt much more forgiving than being at the mercy of his hands.

He was deep in conversation with Barry, one of his most trusted dealers, his posture tense as always, and his tone clipped. Barry also had a reputation for being as ruthless as they came when he wanted to, and the fact that Caleb was speaking to him in such hushed tones only made you want to get the hell away from this place. You knew better than to ask questions, though; Caleb didn’t tolerate curiosity, especially from you.

Your eyes drifted across the dock, taking in the faces of the other men—rough, hardened, with the kind of dead eyes that came from too many years in the game. But then you landed on someone who didn’t quite fit the mold. Someone you hadn’t seen in years.

Rafe Cameron.

His eyes flicked over to you, and you hated every second of it, your skin prickling as if he could see right through you—the forced indifference, the carefully crafted apathy that kept you safe.

He didn’t know you, not really. You were just another face in a town too small for secrets, a girl tied up in something ugly. The most you'd ever shared was a passing glance or a half-hearted smile at some party years ago, still in your teen years.

You knew of him, of course—who didn’t? The Cameron name carried weight, even when it was whispered behind closed doors.

“Come here,” Caleb’s voice snapped you out of your starting, and you flinched, quickly turning away as you moved toward your boyfriend, hoping the hadn’t noticed you ogling another man.

The word boyfriend felt wrong, too soft for what Caleb really was to you. He was more like a personal nightmare than a partner, and the bruises hidden beneath your clothes were proof enough of that.

He grabbed your arm, pulling you close to him as he continued his conversation with Barry as you tried not too wince. God forbid he saw you whining. His fingers dug into your skin even harder, and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. He liked to do this in front of his men—show them that he was in control, that you were his and his alone. It was all about power with him and you’d learned the hard way not to resist.

“Keep an eye on her,” he muttered to Barry before turning his attention back to you, his grip tightening. “Stay here, and don’t move. I’ve got business to take care of.”

You nodded obediently, not trusting yourself to speak. Everything made Caleb tick when he was in this mood. The last thing you wanted was to provoke him. But as he stepped away, Barry’s eyes followed him, and you couldn’t help but feel like someone was watching you, again.

As if on cue, Rafe pushed off the crates and sauntered over to where you stood, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. As if he didn’t know men like Caleb would kill girls like you if they breathed the same air as other men.

He still looked the same, maybe a little bit older but he still carried that same detached arrogance.

“You look like you’re in a real bad spot, princess,” Rafe drawled, his smooth voice setting your nerves on fire. He tilted his head slightly, watching you as if trying to figure out what you were doing here, tangled up in something so beneath someone like you.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, hoping he’d just lose interest and walk away. You didn’t want to be on anyone’s radar tonight, especially not his. Especially not when Caleb was only a few steps away, talking to a man known for leaving bodies in the marsh when deals went south.

But Rafe didn’t move.

Instead, he stepped closer, leaning just close enough that you could smell the faint scent of smoke on him.

“I’ve seen girls like you before,” he said, his voice lower now, “Think you can handle a guy like him? You’re playing with fire, sweetheart.”

If he only knew. Even after being tangled up with the worst kind of people, there was still a sort of naivety to him. You knew he was never the kind of guy to settle down, be in a relationship, so how could he ever possibly understand that you weren’t here because you wanted to? You were because you had to. Because you’d been stupid enough to fall for Caleb’s shit and crazy enough to let your parents kick you out.

There was no way out. There was no help. No one.

“I’m not playing,” you shot back, you needed him to back off, to stop poking at wounds that were already there. His eyes narrowed slightly, catching the edge in your voice, but he didn’t retreat. If anything, he seemed more intrigued.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, his gaze flicking briefly to where Caleb stood.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you muttered, turning your face away. If Caleb saw this, saw you talking to someone he didn’t approve of, especially Rafe, you knew there’d be hell to pay later. But he wasn’t making it easy. He was still standing there, too close.

You lifted your hand, fixing the annoying pieces of hair that kept clinging to your face in the heat. It took you less than a second, but it was enough for your shirt to ride up the slightest. His eyes flickered down, following the fast movement, and that was all it took for him to see. To notice. The bruises on your stomach.

“What the hell happened to you?” His voice was low, almost felt dangerous in a way that was different from Caleb's. There was no threat in it. Not to you.

You instinctively crossed your arms over your stomach, trying to cover the bruises, but it was too late. He’d already seen them.

“I said I’m fine,” your voice trembled despite your efforts to sound strong. You looked away, unable to meet his eyes, afraid of what you might see there—pity, disgust, maybe even understanding.

But he didn’t back off. He took another step closer, his hand reaching out like he wanted to touch you, to see if they were real. But he stopped himself.

“How long’s he been doing this to you?”

You bit your lip. The last thing you needed was to cry in front of him, or worse, in front of Caleb. You couldn’t afford to show weakness. Not here. Not now.

“It’s none of your business,” you gritted out, hoping that would be enough to make him stop asking questions. But he just shook his head.

“You need to get out of here,” he said, “You can’t keep letting him do this to you.”

No one had ever talked to you like this, like you were worth saving, like you deserved better. But it also terrified you. Because the truth was, you didn’t see a way out. Not without making everything worse.

Before you could respond, Caleb showed up, barking away, “What the fuck are you two talking about?”

You flinched, immediately stepping back from Rafe as Caleb stormed over, his eyes flashing with suspicion.

“Just meeting the missus, calm the fuck down.”

"Is that right?" Caleb sneered, his voice dripping with venom. He grabbed your arm roughly, yanking you closer to him as if to reassert his claim on you. The pain shot through your arm, but you bit down on your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction, “She doesn’t look like she’s in the mood to talk to anyone, Cameron, does she?” He hissed, his grip tightening until you felt your skin bruising beneath his fingers. “So why don’t you back off before I make you?”

Caleb was unpredictable, and you knew how easily he could lose control. If Rafe pushed him any further, it could get ugly fast.

But Rafe didn’t back down. He held Caleb’s glare with a chilling calmness that made your stomach twist. It was like he was daring Caleb to make a move, to see what would happen. You had to do something, anything.

“Caleb, it’s nothing,” you blurted out, forcing yourself to sound calm even though you were shaking inside. “He was just saying hi. That’s all.”

He didn’t look convinced, but his brown eyes flicked back to you, his grip loosening slightly. “You better not be lying to me,” he warned, his voice carrying a promising threat you were all too familiar with.

“I’m not,” you promised, “Please, let’s just go.”

He turned back to Rafe, “Stay the fuck away from her, Cameron,” He spat, his voice laced with threat. “Or you’ll regret it.”

Rafe didn’t snap back, but you could see the tension in his posture, the way his muscles tensed as if ready to jump into action at any moment. You knew he got into fights daily back when he was younger, you just hoped he knew better now.

“Come on,” Caleb growled, pulling you away from Rafe, his grip still painfully tight.

You followed him, your heart pounding in your chest, praying that Rafe wouldn’t do something reckless. You were tired of getting caught up in the crossfire between men’s ego’s.

As he dragged you away, back to your personal hell, you risked a glance back at Rafe. He was still standing there, watching you, it made your skin crawl. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but you knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

And that terrified you more than anything else.

Rafe watched you leave, every instinct screamed at him to rip you away from that piece of shit and deal with the fallout later, but he knew better. He’d seen how this played out too many times before, in his own house, behind closed doors where no one was watching. He didn’t know why he cared. He shouldn’t care. You weren’t his problem, and Caleb was the kind of guy who didn’t let go of what he thought was his.

His dad had been the same as Caleb—charming on the outside, maybe for the first months, but vicious once he got behind closed doors. He had learned from an early age that there was no escape, no safe place to hide. He’d spent his whole life trying to be good enough, strong enough, but it never mattered. In the end, he was just a punching bag, a constant reminder of everything his dad had lost when his mom passed. Even if Ward never had her in the first place.

Seeing you with those same bruises, that same haunted look in your eyes, it did something to him. He had promised himself, despite everything he did, he’d never lay hands on a woman. He wasn’t the type to get involved in other people’s problems—hell, he had enough of his own. But this was different, it felt all too familiar, a little too close to home.

The way you tried to pretend everything was okay, how you tried to act like those bruises weren’t killing you day by day. He’d seen his mom do the same thing, day after day, pretending like the world wasn’t falling around her. He’d seen it in the mirror, too, in the years after she died, when he’d become his dad’s favorite target.

And that look in your eyes, the one that said you’d given up on anyone helping you, that you had accepted your fate—it pissed him off more than anything. Because he’d seen that look before, too. He’d worn it himself for years. But no one had come to save him, no one had pulled him out before he fell too deep. He’d had to claw his way out on his own, and even now, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever really made it.

He knew he was a shitty person, a drug dealer who’d fucked up more lives than he could count. But seeing you with Caleb, it felt personal. Like something in him was telling him he couldn’t walk away from this. That if he did, he’d be just as bad as his old man.

Rafe’s jaw tightened as he watched Caleb shove you into his car, barking orders at the men around him like he was some kind of kingpin. The way you shrank back, trying to disappear into yourself, made his stomach turn. He couldn’t stand seeing all of it. Not again.

He wasn’t going to let you end up like his mom. Not if he could help it.

Three days later, you found yourself back in town. You didn’t want to be out, not like this. But Caleb had sent you on an errand, yelling at you to get it done fast or face the consequences. You knew better.

Your arms ached as you held the grocery bag close, the weight of it pulling at the fresh bruises that painted your skin in painful hues of blue and purple. The collar of your shirt was pulled up high, hiding the dark marks on your neck, but nothing could stop the constant reminder of Caleb’s temper. Or the lack of it.

You kept your head down, hoping to get in and out of the store without anyone noticing you. The last thing you needed was to run into someone you knew, not that you still had any friends by this point. But still.

As you rounded the corner, you nearly collided with someone—tall, solid, and all too familiar. You looked up, startled, and found yourself staring into Rafe’s blue eyes.

He didn’t speak right away, scanning you it with the same intensity that made you want to run for you life. You quickly looked away, but not before he saw the discoloration peeking out from under your collar.

“Hey,” he said, his voice rough, but not unkind. It was the first time in days that someone had spoken to you without anger or disgust.

“Rafe,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady, but it came out shaky. “I—I’m just—”

“Running errands for that asshole?” he cut in. His eyes flicked to the bag in your arms, noting how you winced when you shifted its weight.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears that you’d been wanting to spill for the past twenty-four hours. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, didn’t want him to see just how broken you were.

“Let me see,” he demanded, his tone softer this time, but it made it clear he wasn’t asking.

“No.”

“Please.”

You didn’t think guys like him ever used that word. It felt foreign hearing it fall from his lips.

You hesitated, instinctively trying to make yourself look smaller, but the look in his eyes, the same fucking determination, made you realize there was no point in hiding it. Not from him. Not when he already knew.

Slowly, you pulled the collar of your shirt down, just enough to reveal the bruises on your neck, the ugly marks left by your boyfriend’s fingers. His eyes darkened, black consuming the blue, and his jaw tightened as he took in the sight. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, but you could feel the anger radiating off him, barely contained.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, fingertips itching to grab his gun and shove it down Caleb’s throat.

You weren’t used to anyone caring, let alone someone like him, and it made you want to run away even more.

“I told you, it’s none of your business,” you said, your voice coming out more defensive than you intended.

You were scared—scared of Caleb, scared of Rafe, and scared of what might happen if the two ever collided. The last thing you wanted was to drag him into your mess, no matter how much his concern awoke something in you that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Y’think I’m just gonna let you walk away like this?” Rafe’s voice was low, almost a growl, and he stepped closer. You could feel the warmth radiating off him, his fists clenched at his sides as if he was barely holding himself back from storming over to Caleb and finishing this for good.

“Rafe, please,” you whispered, your voice cracking as the tears you’d been holding back almost spilled over. “You don’t understand. He’ll kill me.”

“I’ll kill him first. I’m not afraid of him princess,” he said, and you believed him.

But that wasn’t the point. You were afraid, and that fear kept you trapped in a cycle you didn’t know how to break.

“Maybe you should be,” you muttered, trying to step around him, but he didn’t let you go that easily. His hand shot out, grabbing your arm—not rough like Caleb’s grip, but firm enough to stop you.

“Listen—"

“I don’t need your help,” you lied, hating the way your voice wavered. You wanted to believe you could handle it on your own, but the truth was, you couldn't.

Rafe’s grip on your arm loosened, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek before you could stop it. You quickly wiped it away, cursing yourself for showing weakness in front of him. But Rafe didn’t say anything. He just watched you.

“I need to go.”

You couldn’t stay here any longer, couldn’t let yourself believe that someone like Rafe Cameron could actually care about someone like you.

But as you turned to leave, he called after you, “I meant what I said.”

That night, as you lay in bed, bruises still aching, you couldn’t stop thinking about Rafe. About the way he looked at you, as if you were worth something, as if you weren’t just another broken girl in a world full of them. You wanted to believe him, but believing meant hoping, and hoping had only ever gotten you hurt. Still, the idea that someone—anyone—might care enough to try to help you was getting harder and harder to ignore.

Caleb was still out, probably meeting with Barry or some of the other guys, but you knew it was only a matter of time before he came back. And when he did, you had to be ready—ready to play the role he expected, ready to keep him calm. Ready to survive another night. You could feel your heart beating in your chest, the fear coiling tighter with every second.

Caleb would be back soon. And if he found out about your encounter with Rafe...You swallowed hard, the taste of bile rising in your throat. You couldn’t let that happen. You couldn’t let him find out.

What if Rafe really could help you? What if there was a way out of this nightmare?

The bedroom door creaked open suddenly. You sat up instantly as Caleb stepped into the room, his eyes were bloodshot, and you could smell the alcohol on him even from across the room.

“Where the hell were you today?” he demanded, his voice slurred. You knew better than to lie, but the truth was just as dangerous.

“I was running the errands you asked me to,” you replied carefully, “I went to the store and came straight back. I swear.”

He stared at you, his eyes narrowing as if trying to decide whether or not to believe you. “You better not be lying to me,” he muttered, stumbling slightly as he moved toward you. “You know what happens when you lie.”

“I’m not lying,” you insisted, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. “I did everything you asked.”

He stood over you now, his shadow falling across your bed like a dark omen. You braced yourself for what was coming, but instead of hitting you, he just stared down at you.

“You think I’m stupid?” he hissed suddenly, his hand lashing out to grab your wrist. The pain was immediate, but you bit down on your lip, refusing to cry out. “I know when you’re hiding something.”

“I’m not—” you started, but he cut you off, his grip tightening until you could feel the bones in your wrist grinding together.

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” he roared, shaking you violently. “I know you were talking to someone. Who was it? Was it one of those Kook pricks? Were you flirting with them? Like the slut you are?”

The fear turned to cold dread as you realized he must have heard something about your run-in with Rafe. If he knew you’d been talking to him, there was no telling what he might do.

“No,” you lied quickly, desperation crawling up your throat, “I wasn’t talking to anyone. I swear, Caleb, it was just me.”

He stared at you for a long second, his eyes boring into yours but then his expression gave away into something ugly, something feral, and before you could react, his fist came down hard, striking you across the face.

The impact sent you sprawling back onto the bed, stars exploding in your vision as pain radiated through your skull. You tasted blood in your mouth, your lip split from the force of the blow, but you didn’t have time to recover before he was on you again, his hands around your throat.

“I’ll fucking kill you if I ever catch you with another man,” he snarled, his grip tightening until you couldn’t breathe. “Do you hear me? You’re mine, and I’ll fucking kill you before I let you go.”

You clawed at his hands, panic taking over you as your vision started to blur. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and the world was fading to black around the edges. But just as you thought it was over, he released you, shoving you away as if you were nothing more than a piece of trash.

You gasped for air, coughing and choking as you scrambled to get away from him, but he just laughed, a cold, heartless sound that made your blood run cold. You hated him.

“Don’t forget who you belong to,” he sneered, turning away as if you were no longer worth his attention. “Next time, you won’t be so lucky.”

He staggered out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and you collapsed onto the bed, your body shaking with sobs you couldn’t hold back any longer.

Maybe you didn’t have to do this alone.

The next morning, when the sun rose and Caleb was passed out in a drunken stupor, you made a decision. You couldn’t keep living like this. And if there was even a chance that Rafe could help you, you had to take it.

Rafe wasn’t a stranger to darkness. He’d lived with it, fought against it, and at times, even embraced it. But seeing that same darkness reflected in your eyes had fucked him up in a way he wasn’t prepared for. He wasn’t sure if you’d believe him, if you’d actually reach out. But damn, he hoped you would. Rafe was about to head downstairs, maybe grab a drink to take the edge off, when he heard the faint sound of footsteps outside. It was late—too late for anyone to be dropping by Tannyhill unannounced. His curiosity piqued, he moved toward the window, peering out into the dim light of the porch.

And then he saw you.

You stood there, looking lost and broken, your shoulders hunched. Even from this distance, he could see the bruises on your face, the way you were holding yourself like every movement caused you pain. Without thinking, he moved toward the door, his pulse quickening. He wasn’t sure what had happened since he last saw you, but he knew it was bad. And more than anything, he knew that you needed him right now.

He reached the door just as the bell echoed through the stillness of the house. For a moment, he stood there, hand resting on the doorknob, trying to calm himself down. He could feel the tension radiating from you, even from the other side of the door, sensing the desperation in the way you leaned slightly forward, as if fearing the door might never open.

Rafe inhaled deeply before turning the knob, his heart racing as he faced you. The soft light from the porch cast gentle shadows across your face, accentuating the fresh bruises and tear-streaked cheeks. You stared at him for a moment, your eyes wide and glassy, and he could see the way your lower lip trembled as you tried to hold back more tears. He hadn’t felt such an incredible need to protect someone in years. He didn’t need to ask what happened—he could guess. And the thought of someone hurting you, making you feel like this, made him want to turn this whole town upside down.

But for now, you didn’t need his anger —you needed help, comfort. You needed him to be there for you.

“Help me,” you whispered, your voice so soft and broken that it almost undid him right there. “Please.”

Rafe didn’t hesitate. He reached out, his hands gentler than they’ve ever been as he pulled you inside, closing the door behind you. You were shaking, your whole body trembling like a leaf as if you were about to fall apart, and he could feel the tears soaking through his polo as you collapsed against him.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly, feeling the way your body shook with heart-wrenching sobs. He just held you, letting you cry it out, his hand gently stroking your hair as he tried to soothe you.

“It’s okay,” he murmured eventually, his voice a low murmur though he wasn’t sure if he was saying it for your benefit or his own. “You’re safe here. I’ve got you.”

He wasn’t going to let anyone hurt you again. Not if he could help it. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let you go through this alone.

“Come on,” he whispered, pulling back slightly to look down at you. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? You can stay here tonight. No one’s gonna bother you.”

He’d kill Caleb if he ever attempted to take you.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron (by @itneverendshere)

619 notes · View notes

domm1etae · 2 days ago

Note

Hello!! If requests are still open can I ask for a Seonghwa/reader office fic? Ever since I've found that one office asmr video he did I can't stop thinking about it 😭

Overtime Attraction

seonghwa x reader

oneshot | mdni

2.5k

Y/N’s strict, no-nonsense boss Seonghwa calls them in for a late-night “work session” that quickly turns into way more than just project revisions

nsfw tags under

readers gender not specif. , top seonghwa, boss/employee, workplace tension, power dynamics, praise kink, slow burn, buildup, desk sex, possessive seonghwa, tension release, passionate make-out, teasing, thigh touching, mutual pining, eye contact, unguarded moments, lap straddling, finger teasing, deep kissing, after-hours intimacy, needy touches

Y/N hurried down the marble hallway, heels clicking in sync with the beat of the clock ticking on the wall. It was 8:59, and every second mattered when it came to Park Seonghwa. As their boss, he was notorious for his unwavering punctuality and no-nonsense attitude. Nothing frustrated him more than tardiness, and Y/N had been on the receiving end of his reprimands enough times to know they didn’t want to push his patience any further.

Sliding into their desk just as the clock struck nine, Y/N let out a small sigh of relief. But the relief was short-lived. Seonghwa’s office door opened, and he stepped out with his usual commanding presence. He scanned the room, his sharp gaze briefly landing on Y/N, and for a moment, they could feel their pulse race.

“Team meeting in the conference room. Now,” he announced, his tone clipped and direct. No unnecessary pleasantries. Just business as always.

Y/N grabbed their notebook, gathering themselves before following him. As they settled into their usual seat, they couldn’t help but feel a rush of nerves. This project was crucial, and Seonghwa had been working them all hard to ensure everything went perfectly. His expectations were high, and they didn’t want to be the one who let the team down.

Seonghwa took his seat at the head of the table, flipping through his notes with focused precision. He went over every aspect of the project, analyzing each detail and making it clear exactly what he wanted. His calm, authoritative tone filled the room, and Y/N found themselves hyper-aware of every word, jotting down notes to ensure they wouldn’t miss a thing. But despite their efforts, Seonghwa’s expression remained as unreadable as ever.

At the end of the meeting, as everyone else began packing up to leave, Seonghwa’s gaze fell on Y/N. He raised an eyebrow, his face as composed as always.

“Y/N, stay behind a moment.”

Y/N felt their stomach tighten with a mix of anticipation and dread. Had they made a mistake? They waited as the room emptied, glancing up at Seonghwa as he watched everyone file out. Once the door closed, he leaned back, his fingers steepled in thought.

“There’s a section in your report from last night that has some errors,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “Some critical data was left out. I’ll need to go over it with you later to make sure it’s fixed before tomorrow.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a pang of embarrassment. They’d spent hours on that report, meticulously checking each line, but evidently, it hadn’t been enough to meet his standards. “Of course, sir. I’m really sorry about the oversight—I thought I’d gotten everything.”

Seonghwa’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “I know you worked hard, and I appreciate the effort. But my standards are high for a reason.” He glanced at his watch. “I have meetings the rest of the day, so we’ll handle this tonight after hours. Make sure you’re available.”

Y/N’s heart skipped at the idea of being alone in the office with Seonghwa, especially given the tension that had been building between them over the past few weeks. There was something about him—his intense focus, his precision—that made it hard not to be captivated by him. And though they’d never admit it, the idea of a private meeting with him was thrilling.

“Understood,” they replied, maintaining their composure despite the rush of anticipation.

Throughout the day, Y/N worked tirelessly to finish other tasks while nervously glancing at the clock. The office gradually emptied, and by 7 PM, they and Seonghwa were the only ones left. As the last few coworkers waved goodbye, Seonghwa finally emerged from his office, his expression as composed as ever.

“Y/N,” he called, gesturing for them to follow him. They stood up, clutching their notes and laptop, and walked into his office, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement settle over them as he closed the door behind them.

He sat down across from them, pulling up the document on his computer. “Let’s start from the top,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact as he scanned through the lines. They worked through the report, his voice low and steady as he pointed out each section that needed correction.

But as the minutes ticked by, the air between them grew more charged. Every time his hand brushed over the mouse, or his shoulder accidentally brushed theirs, Y/N felt their heart skip a beat. His closeness was almost dizzying, and the usual stoic, unbreakable mask he wore seemed to falter slightly as they moved through the corrections together.

At one point, as they both reached for the same section on the screen, their hands met, lingering longer than necessary. Y/N looked up, catching the flicker of something deeper in his gaze—a hint of warmth, of something that wasn’t entirely professional. His fingers lingered on theirs, and he didn’t pull away.

Seonghwa cleared his throat, finally releasing their hand. But his gaze remained intense, locked on them with an unreadable expression. “Y/N,” he began, his voice lower than before, carrying a hint of vulnerability. “I… don’t usually let things like this happen.”

Y/N’s heart pounded. “Me neither,” they whispered, barely able to find their voice. There was something raw in his expression, something they hadn’t seen before. And in that moment, the weight of his controlled, disciplined exterior finally broke.

He leaned forward, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from their face. “You’ve been working so hard,” he murmured, his fingers grazing their cheek with surprising tenderness. “But I think there’s been something between us for a while now.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, and before they could respond, he closed the distance between them, his lips brushing softly against theirs. The kiss was gentle at first, almost cautious, as if testing the waters. But as they melted into his touch, his grip on their waist tightened, pulling them closer. His strict, measured demeanor fell away, replaced by a passion that left them breathless.

Seonghwa lifted them onto his desk, his hands exploring with a newfound freedom that left them shivering. He whispered praise, his words quiet and reverent, as if he were savoring each moment. “I’ve wanted this for longer than I should admit,” he murmured against their skin, his voice thick with desire.

Y/N wrapped their arms around his neck, pulling him closer, their own restraint slipping away. The air was charged, heavy with everything unspoken between them.

Seonghwa’s lips brushed against Y/N’s, deepening the kiss as his hands found their waist, pulling them flush against him. Y/N’s legs shifted, one knee rising as they positioned themselves on his lap, their skirt hiking up as they straddled him. A low sound rumbled from his chest, sending a shiver down Y/N’s spine as his fingers traced circles on their thighs.

“Y/N…” Seonghwa’s breath ghosted over their lips, his voice thick with a want he had carefully kept buried until now. “You… have no idea…”

Y/N’s fingers traced up to his tie, tugging it slightly, silently urging him closer. He let out a soft groan, pressing his hips forward so they could feel the evidence of his own need. His hands traveled up their sides, grazing over the fabric of their blouse, his touch just shy of indulgent.

“More,” Y/N whispered, the word escaping them in a needy breath. They felt their pulse quicken as his hands finally traveled to cup their face, his thumb brushing softly over their bottom lip before trailing down, brushing over the sensitive spot at the base of their neck.

A sly smile played on Seonghwa’s lips as he watched their reactions, reveling in every hitch of their breath and the faint flush on their cheeks. “Oh, you want more?” His voice held a note of control, deep and rich, as if he was savoring each moment of their unraveling.

“Yes…” they murmured, and he raised an eyebrow, his hands sliding back down to grip their waist firmly. They gasped softly as he lifted them onto his desk, his expression darkening as he took in the sight of them, legs spread just enough to reveal the hint of lace at the edge of their skirt.

He leaned in, capturing their lips again, a little rougher this time, his gloved hand reaching to cradle their cheek while his other hand trailed to their thigh, inching upward with a slow deliberateness. Each kiss became more intense, more consuming, until they felt dizzy with need. His thumb traced small circles on the bare skin just below the hem of their skirt, his lips moving to trail down their neck, nibbling softly as he went.

Y/N’s hands clutched the back of his blazer, pulling him close as he teased them, letting out a quiet whimper as his hand finally ventured to the edge of their underwear. “Seonghwa, please…”

He smiled against their skin, his breath warm as he whispered, “Shh, we’re not alone yet. Do you really want someone to hear?” But despite his caution, his thumb pressed into them through the fabric, earning a muffled gasp from Y/N as they bit their lip to keep quiet.

"Good. Just like that,” he murmured, his voice heavy with approval, as he toyed with them, keeping the touch just light enough to drive them wild with need. “Be good for me, and I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Unable to contain their need any longer, they pressed their hips up to meet his touch, their body aching for more as he continued to tease, his fingers tracing soft circles around their most sensitive spot, still separated by just a thin layer of fabric. His control, his restraint, was maddening, and he relished every second of watching them unravel under his touch.

With his other hand still steady on their cheek, he finally whispered against their lips, “Hold on to me, Y/N.”

Seonghwa’s voice was steady and sure, like he was holding the reins even as the world tilted beneath them both. Y/N’s pulse quickened, their hands clutching his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm line of his back. His words echoed in their mind—Hold on to me. They did as he commanded, wrapping their legs around his waist, drawing him closer still, as he continued his slow, torturous exploration.

His fingers traced the waistband of their underwear, skimming over their skin just enough to leave a tingling path. He maintained eye contact, a look of both mischief and fierce intent in his gaze, as if savoring the power he held in their shared secret, here, alone in his office after hours. Y/N was panting softly, struggling to keep quiet even as their restraint unraveled under his measured, relentless touch.

Seonghwa’s lips met the edge of their jawline, and he brushed his nose along their cheek, lingering by their ear. His whisper was barely audible, but it sent a shiver down their spine. “You’re so beautiful like this, Y/N,” he murmured. “So responsive… so ready for me.”

Y/N’s head tilted back, giving him access to the curve of their neck, and he didn’t waste the opportunity. His lips trailed down, placing open-mouthed kisses along their throat, teeth grazing just enough to leave a whisper of pressure before he soothed each spot with his tongue. His hand slid up their thigh, and this time, he didn’t stop at the edge of their underwear. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finding their center, slick and warm with anticipation.

A shaky breath escaped Y/N as his fingers began to move, slow and sure, teasing and tracing over every sensitive spot he discovered. Y/N’s hands found his tie again, tugging at it reflexively as their head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as they lost themselves in the sensation. His touch was skilled, and the friction drove them to the brink, each movement adding fuel to the smoldering fire between them.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low, a trace of roughness seeping into his usually controlled tone. Y/N’s gaze met his, and the intensity in his eyes made them feel as if they were laid bare, every inch of desire on display for him alone. He didn’t look away, his fingers moving with greater purpose now, watching every small gasp and whimper, reveling in the effect he had on them.

When he finally withdrew his hand, Y/N bit back a whine of protest, only to feel him shift them back on the desk, guiding them to lie back. The cold surface beneath was a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from his body as he loomed over them, lips curved in a self-assured smirk.

“Be patient, Y/N,” he whispered as he leaned down, his hands tracing the curves of their body before he carefully unbuttoned their blouse, his touch gentle yet decisive. “We don’t want to rush this… not after all that time spent building up to it.”

With each article of clothing he removed, his gaze became more intense, drinking in the sight of them with an appreciative, possessive gleam. When they were finally bared before him, he let his hands roam, mapping every inch of them, his touch both comforting and electrifying.

His lips claimed theirs again, and this time, there was no restraint. His kiss was demanding, consuming, his hands gripping their hips as he settled between their legs. They could feel the hard press of him against their core, both of them beyond any semblance of control. His fingers laced with theirs as he aligned himself, pressing forward with an exquisite slowness that made them gasp. His forehead rested against theirs as he whispered, “You’re mine tonight, Y/N. Every part of you.”

With every thrust, his control slipped just a bit further, and he abandoned the careful restraint he had kept around his desire for so long. They clung to each other, their shared need overcoming any lingering hesitations, their breaths mingling in the heated silence of the empty office.

Each movement was a promise fulfilled, a long-held tension finally released, as he guided them to the brink, his voice a steady, grounding presence in their ear, murmuring words of praise and desire that left them trembling beneath him. And as they reached their peak together, Seonghwa’s name fell from Y/N’s lips in a breathless whisper, echoing into the quiet, marking the end of one kind of distance—and the beginning of something far more consuming.

They stayed close, breaths slowing as they held each other, still entangled on his desk. Seonghwa’s fingers gently traced along their arm, as if reluctant to let them go, even now. He smiled, soft and real, his usually sharp expression softened in a rare, unguarded moment.

“Tomorrow…” he began, a hint of amusement in his voice, “you might just have to stay late again.”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez imagines #kpop #ateez smut #atz #ateez oneshot #kpop smut #smut #seonghwa smut #hongjoong #park seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa #office #office fic

90 notes · View notes

jymwahuwu · 3 days ago

Note

I love and think about Emperor Jing Yuan a lot. Like a servant girl getting called in to be the emperor Jing Yuan's Concubine 😋

I love ancient China like the history, art and clothing. when I think about Chinese Emperor Jing Yuan I think of Cinderella Chef (animated version) it's so cute and romantic. I also think about the fic series I used to read in 2020 or 2019 when the reader is the selected tailor for the emperor and the emperor falls in love.

It was such a good story, with many good different story elements to it even though it's was an yandere x reader 😭 and I'm not even exaggerating how good it is. It was slow burn yandere yet sooo good and worth it

I have to read it again cause it's sooo good.

There's sooo many good art of Jing Yuan in ancient Chinese clothing and I love and appreciate it sm 🤤

Jing Yuan kept a servant girl as his concubine, wanting her by his side every moment. As emperor, he faced countless threats and worried constantly for her safety. Yet, he couldn’t resist making her his bride, even though the public and his family disapproved. How could a servant girl from a humble background become empress alongside the emperor? But he paid no attention to their criticisms, choosing instead to live in his Fantasies with her. She was the only woman he’d ever met who cared for him beyond his wealth and title, and he was determined to keep her close forever. 😇

Wow, I also like Chinese palace stories actually!! What you said made me imagine a lot. It turns out that Jing Yuan is so suitable for the palace AU🥰✊

Have you watched "Story of Yanxi Palace"? It was a popular palace drama in 2018, and social media was all about it at that time. The historical prototype of the female protagonist is Empress Xiaoyichun (孝儀純皇后). She first started as a concubine. During her lifetime, she was the "Imperial Noble Consort" (皇貴妃), which was the highest position among the concubines after Empress. The core of its story is about a confident servant woman who starts from the bottom and moves up through the ranks with wisdom and courage.

A negative example is "Ruyi's royal love in the palace". The show still gets a lot of negative criticism in China today (yes, that's happening in 2024) - for its slut-shaming and superiority theories. The lower class people must be loyal to the noble people, otherwise they will be severely punished. There are a lot of torture scenes of women, never criticizing the mistakes of the misogynistic system, vilifying all historical figures just to beautify the female protagonists, advocating that women must be loyal to one man throughout their lives or else they are sluts, vilifying and torturing ambitious women, etc.

Oh, I'm sorry I really hate that TV show so I'm talking too much about it, but to get back to the point, it occurred to me that if Jing Yuan were the emperor, he would be very - very infatuated and dedicated. There was an emperor in Chinese history called "Emperor Xiaozong of Ming"(明孝宗) who insisted on living a monogamous life with only one empress. The same is true for Jing Yuan! Jing Yuan has only married you from beginning to end! You are one of his servants. No matter what your personality is, witty and lively/shy and kind, or even arrogant, Jing Yuan finds you really cute🥰💖He is very happy that you entered the palace and were assigned to serve him. He will sometimes sleep on your lap and ask you to feed him. He was like a big sleeping lion. But no one in politics dares to underestimate Jing Yuan because he always predicts everything.

Jing Yuan built a fruit garden in the palace, as well as a place to raise cats and birds. He got to pet cute cats and birds every day. The kittens purred around him. Maybe you were the servant who took care of the cats here. And he discovered you💖You are so suitable to be the mother of cats. And maybe he's hiding his identity and you care about his health and happiness before his status.

Politics and the harem are closely related. Those ministers petitioned Jing Yuan to marry a girl who matched his status, but he would not marry any girl except you. This is his own business! There was an emperor named "Emperor Gaozong of Tang"(唐高宗) in Chinese history. Despite the objections of his ministers, he insisted on marrying his father's concubine (named "Wuzhao"- 武曌) as his queen and sharing power with her. This is a very real love among emperors! After her husband's death, the queen became the only female emperor of China. The expression of the emperor's love for someone is to give them the best at all costs, including power, fame, wealth, and status. Jing Yuan wants to give it to you. He married you. Based on your status as a maid, you start as a concubine but work your way up. And he will also give birth to kitty babies with you. Those little princesses and princes running happily are all of your blood and his.

And he also decided to discuss politics and decide national affairs with you, collectively called "two saints" (based on Wuzhao's history haha), and share power with you. Because he knows how smart and cute you are, able to sharpen your claws and handle government affairs💖He is also ready to build a royal mausoleum, where only the two of you are buried together (it may be a bit scary, but this is how the Chinese emperors express their love haha). Even after Wuzhao became the empress, she didn’t build a mausoleum independently because she loved her husband. No matter what, you are always together, with sweetness and honor forever💖

36 notes · View notes

arn359 · 1 day ago

Note

Wine is waaaay to worse than i imagined😭😭😭. I will blame all the fic that i read about him and make like he was a nice guy. The fact that i will immediatly shoot the other au without question if he meet them is insane. And the way he always want more power and he will always try to manipulate the king . Also poor coffee😓.

Anon, I’m using your ask to ramble about Wine. And it’s too long…. So i think i will put the rest under the cut. After the pic.

I haven’t read much of fics that have Wine in it. But with so little information about him, the way it scattered around and languages barrier. I understand that ppl may have different view of him, also is the setting of the fic. If it’s on the surface, i guess he could be better???

But there’s a thing about FSG(Fellswap-Gold) being set in communist theme , Wine being the head of the royal guard, AKA he the head government. Idk about you guys, but for me. Any head government of a dictatorship system could never be a nice guy. NEVER. IT’S UNACCEPTABLE.

Though, you guys can have fun, just don’t forget it exists in real world. And even thought it’s not real. Propaganda exists, so is the media effects.

I summarized some of the timeline in the second pic (The art is based from the creator)

I hate Wine so much, but here i am defending him(?) nope just explaining my insight. (i still haven’t read the setting with proper translation , so this is my headcanon from what i understand)

Wine will immediately shoot other AU.

It’s both Gaster and the system that made him that way. He’s born to be the best solider. He trained hard, deem to be love by Gaster but Gaster only see him and Coffee as tools. After Wine feelings toward Coffee became ‘his only family’ Wine wants to protect Coffee. Wine changed to rely on Coffee being relied to him. Wine betrayed Gaster cuz Gaster want to get rid of Coffee.

Wine is a conservative, because that what the system always is.

So Wine will shoot other AU immediately because for the system. AU is see as threat. The AU would bring new possibilities and that’s against the conservative view that is to continue the old/current system.

(The dictatorship and conservative control the knowledge of their citizens. Keep their knowledge low so it makes them easier to control. Risks of having the AU be seen by citizens is not good. Citizens can’t see new things, can’t have more knowledge of other AU, can’t know that world with freedom exist. So the AU is see as threat)

But of course, Wine is not really a full conservative as we seen in some settings about him, like Wine doesn’t discriminate toward Undyne&Alphys, Wine support Grillby and Muffet interracial wedding. But the system, the time(their au set in old period), and social. Also is the way he grow up, the way he need to be ‘the best’. It rooted too deep into his mind. And it show with what he said toward Coffee.

Yes Wine always seek power.

Because he’s a coward. Wine felt loved when Coffee relied on him as a child. But when they grow up, Wine still think that way to the point of unhealthy. Because he feared of being alone and lost his only family. And because of the system in underground is like that, he needs power to stay safe. To stay alive and hope that the thing he fears the most never come true. So it lead to seeking powers.

Wine for me, he’s a coward, he fears and the only way he knows how to ease those fears is to have more power.

Kinda words these badly, cycling nonstop. But it’s really just the way it is. Cycle. The system can't be changed. It needs to be perished.

Yes…. Poor Coffee…he also has a problem… but that’s for another time. Another post… the bairnrot hitting me bad…

These information are from @/fsg-settings go check it or you can see my post and a link to my doc i collected all the information in one doc and used google translated on them. So you can just read there. Or maybe opening the web would be easier?

#fellswap gold #fellswap gold sans #undertale au #im talking about game and fictional story #dont put me in jail #ask 🔶#my art 🔶

27 notes · View notes

zepskies · 1 day ago

Text

@lamentationsofalonelypotato

Omg yay!! I'm so excited to dive into your thoughts on Part 2. As you saw, it's a bit of an emotional rollercoaster. 😅

Alright it is devastating right off the bat and I know, I know I should be worried about her and I am. I am SO worried, but my mind completely went somewhere else when Dean PICKED HER UP. The man is so strong and I am just...

LOL girl I don't blame you for being distracted. The mental image of Dean manhandling in Protective Mode does things to me too. 🤣

I was prepared for this coming but dang... "I hope you've learned your damn lesson" is a line that breaks my heart more than I should. It cuts to the quick for me, because to me it's worse than just saying "I told you not to do something." It's not heartless, but it's enough of a rendition of it that it just makes you go "oh wow."

I love this observation. That's exactly what I felt inherently when I was writing that line. It felt more powerful to me than "I told you so" or the like. It has the feeling of that, but with more of an edge, even though you know he cares about her.

I was literally screaming. It's like he wants her to kill him. I know that Dean loves her so much but oh my goodness it's about to get so real for him. Man is about to be torn to shreds.

LMAO I remember someone saw the preview of Part 2 and commented, "the quiet, but devastating anger he'd be reckoned with if he said that to me." And I was like, YEP, that's exactly it. Mans playing with his life. 😅😅😅

You just wanna go:

Even though she's upset, Dean is still her best friend and the man she loves and even though he's the one that made her feel this way, she still wants to be comforted by his presence. I always think that, this particular thing is so bittersweet to read about in relationships. Or at least that's how I took this bit 😅.

That's precisely how I intended it! Now looking back, I feel like I should have had her leave him by himself in his room to sleep in another room. But at the time I was writing, I was thinking that for her in particular, despite this being the biggest fight they've had so far in their relationship, he's still the one that makes her feel safe after a bad hunt. 💙

Side note: I am happy that the reader didn't have to tell the woman about her son. That would have broken me to read that especially after the reader promised that they would find her son in part one.

Oh my God, yeah. I considered having her be the one to face her "mistake" and talk to the mother, but I felt that having Sam take that on would be better, even as it added to the reader's guilt (and it would keep the story moving).

Oh my word. I love you friend, but WHY!? Dang it, this pricked at my heart. It's so good, so heart wrenching. I feel so bad for him, but it really just reinforces why he "lost it" with the reader earlier. Goodness the trope of the reader getting yelled at by someone who loves them about putting themselves in danger really is just such a good one for Dean and you do it so well.

Lmaooo I knowww, I'm sorry! All the angsty feels in this one. 😭 Now you see the full weight of why Dean popped off the way he did. He just feels things so deeply, it comes out sometimes in anger, when at the root of it all, it's fear.

Thank you though for that compliment! I think this is the only time I've written that Dean trope. Because I honestly think it's overused, but I tried to do it in a way that made sense for the ultimate growth of their relationship and who Dean is.

His apology is really just pricking at my heart. It's so good, so forthcoming so honest. And the thought that he was "better off alone" is so on brand for him. I know that we've talked about that before, but it really does fit him, and I love how you weave it into this fic.

Aww thank you! 😭😭 Weirdly enough, that was one of my favorite parts to write? Maybe I just like the heartfelt hurt/comfort breaking into fluff moments. The "better off alone" thing I thought was implied throughout the later seasons of the show after Dean lets go of Lisa and Ben, so I wanted to explore that deeper here, even though it hurt my heart to write it. 💙

She's crying... I'm crying. It's really just tears all around and such a good moment. Also the him saying "You don't have to cry for that"... YES SHE DOES.

Everyone's crying!! 😭 YES ABSOLUTELY SHE DOES -- and she's a verified crier. I see a lot of fics where the reader is tough as nails, "doesn't cry very often," but I wanted to create a reader character who is a badass, but still has a soft heart. (Latinas also can be very emotional, but not to say we're adhering to stereotypes around here LOL. 🤣🤣)

This is just overall a really wonderful vulnerable moment that you've captured that feels real for both the reader and Dean. Especially when she talks about "working with my heart, not my head." I think that if it were me, I would also be "working with my heart." I don't think that I'd be able to take myself emotionally out of the situation that they're in all the time because they're hunters.

Thank you so much!! 🙏🏽🥹🥹 Yeah same, and it's definitely a contrast with Dean, who obviously cares about helping people and takes way too much responsibility on his shoulders, but he's been doing this so long and seen so much that he's learned to compartmentalize a bit more.

Hoping for some FORESHADOWING 🙏🏻👀

Oh girl yesss! If you make it to the last two stories in the series, remember this moment. 😏💜

Also the salsa lesson is just so cute. And the way you took a really emotional moment to a cute salsa dance to a steamy session to a giggly awkward moment is great. The transitions make it seamless. And the song choices were perfect! When the reader was describing what the song meant I was like, "oh yeah, that's him right there. There's the man officer." lmao 🤣

Ahaha thank you so much!! I LOVE me some salsa music, and it was a fun challenge to try and transition between these scenes. From one writer to another, I always appreciate those "technical" observations. 💓💓💓

Oh big YEP!! "Devorame Otra Ves" was the first song I thought of when the salsa idea came. Dean, in fact, is that guy. 🤣🤣

I was again so emotional reading this, because oh my word, poor Dean just reliving the moments where the reader almost died.

Sorry for jerking the angsty chain again there! 🤣 Poor guy, he went through an ordeal just as much as she did.

And also the final scene 👀🌶️ I should have known from the gif at the beginning tbh lol.

LMAO Oh yeah, the gif was a dead giveaway for what was coming later on. 😏 And thank you for shouting out the “What, now you’re shy?” line! It's a special kind of intimate, I thought, for her to be kind of embarrassed about what she's just done, but Dean like, "uh-uh, you're not getting away that easily." 😂😂

Also I love you for using a Chicago Fire gif!! loll Was a big fan of that show back in the day.

Not to mention that the sex was also giggly towards the end and I really just love that. And the love confessions KNOCKED ME OUT.

Awww thank you! I love me some fun giggly romantic smut. 😂

Fun fact on her confession! When she says I love you twice, she's actually saying it in two different ways:

I love you, you’d said. I love you ("te amo," you're my love) and I love you ("te quiero," you're my family), more than you can believe and understand.

Oh I'm riding a train of emotions, and all of this was so good. Especially Sam walking in on them. I was laughing so hard at Dean's reaction:

Lol but seriously, I really appreciate that, thank you!! This story was definitely an emotional rollercoaster. I'm so glad you enjoyed it though!! 💕 ...And Sam's little mishap LOL. Dean has very little shame -- something he's going to prove later on again in the series. 😂

It's all wonderful my friend! And I can't wait to read another fic from this universe! 😊

Thank you SO very much!! Honestly you don't know how happy it makes me that you're enjoying this series so far -- and spoiling me with such lovely and thoughtful feedback. 🥰💕💕

Devour Me - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader

Summary: When you and Dean start to press each other’s buttons, both of your tempers ignite. To make up for it, you give him an impromptu salsa dancing lesson…one he didn’t exactly ask for. (18+)

AN: Here's Part 2! **Read Devour Me: Part 1

Song Inspo: “Yo No Se Mañana” by Luis Enrique. But really it’s “Ven Devórame Otra Ves” by Lalo Rodriguez. (You’ll see why.) 🤭

Word Count: 5,400

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Blood, character death and violence, smutty smut, angst, Dominican slang, and tons of sexy fluff.

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 2: "Telenovela Style"

Your resulting scream of agony is as unforgiving as the ground when your knees buckle, hitting the hard cement.

Andy grips you with the strength of a monster.

Then he holds you down as he drinks your blood.

No matter how you struggle and whimper, you can’t push him off, and you’re getting weaker by the second.

Until Andy is ripped away from your neck, and is taken care of the way all vampires must be. He doesn’t even feel the blade coming.

When you’re able to look up, Dean stands above you with thinly veiled fury. He doesn’t have time to consider what he’s just done.

He bends to gather you up into his arms, all the while trying to stamp down the panic clenching his heart. He calls your name, but you can only make weak sounds as your bleary eyes meet his.

“Dean,” you manage. The ragged wound in your neck is bleeding profusely down your chest and shoulder, seeping into your shirt. He takes your hand and clamps it hard against your neck, even though it makes you whimper.

“Gotta stop the bleeding,” he says, apologetic but firm. “Keep pressing.”

In your stupor of pain, you don’t realize that your screech woke the entire nest. Dean has to lock up his worry; he looks up and finds his brother and Cas already fighting a hoard of angry vampires.

Dean carries you over to them and lays you down against the wall with the other humans. He keeps a protective line in front of you, but he decapitates a vampire before she can sink her fangs into Sam next.

The two of them work together, and with Castiel’s smiting power behind them, the angel and the two men are able to clear the rest of the nest.

By the end, only you and two of the women being held captive are still alive. The third girl’s heart just finally gave out. Sam takes the survivors to the nearest hospital.

Meanwhile, Castiel approaches where you sit up against the inside of the barn, barely awake, while Dean kneels with you, holding you to his chest. He meet’s Cas’s blue-eyed request with a nod. So Cas stretches out a hand and touches two fingers to your forehead.

You’re healed in an instant. Dean marvels, like he always does when Cas displays his power. Dean is able to breathe a little easier, the vice grip on his heart easing as he touches your neck.

The tan skin is once again smooth, if still stained with blood. You blink back into wakeful consciousness.

He shifts so he can see your face. “You okay?”

You meet his eyes but can only nod. His jaw is still tight and tense, and you can’t blame him.

You know you’ve messed up. Big time. You nearly got everyone killed, including yourself…and now, you have to tell a mother that her son is dead.

Dean helps you up, holding you by your arms and waist until you’re steady on your feet. You have a hard time meeting his eyes, but when open your mouth to apologize, he beats you to it.

“I hope you’ve learned your damn lesson,” he says.

Your gaze snaps up to his. “Excuse me?”

Dean’s hands go to his hips as his brows raise at you.

“Next time, when I tell you to hang back, I mean that shit. Hang the hell back,” he all but growls.

You tilt your head at him as your irritation begins to spark. Meanwhile, Castiel is the one who backs up as he glances between you and Dean uncertainly.

“I made a mistake, but that doesn’t give you the right to tell me what to do,” you shoot back. “I was a hunter long before I met you.”

“Yeah, well, color me surprised that you’ve made it this long,” he snaps.

Your temper flares hotter. “You know, you’re not so goddamn perfect either.”

“Never said I was,” Dean says. “But when my gut tells me something ain’t right, I need you to fucking listen. Otherwise, we get a day like today.”

His words are edged with grit by the end of his little rant, and you don’t appreciate it. Your lips purse in anger.

“I don’t care what that legendary gut tells you,” you sass back. “I’m not a little girl, and you’re not my damn father!”

Dean raises incredulous brows at the way you’re shouting at him. He crosses his arms.

“What’s this, some kind of Latina temper?” he asks snidely.

You truly become incensed at that.

“Oh, you want to take it there?” you ask, as your eyes narrow. “Que sin vergüenza tú eres. Sigue jodiendo conmigo, coño. Entonces tú vas a ver quien soy yo.”

Dean won’t admit it, but in that moment, he’s a bit intimidated by the quiet threat in your voice. Still, his fuse is lit, and he’s way beyond curbing his internal filter.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does this telenovela-style tongue lashing come with subtitles?” he snarks.

You let out an incredulous breath. Your eyes begin to sting.

“You’re such an asshole!” you shout back. There, understand that?

You turn away from him before your frustrated tears can fall, but you stop short once you notice Castiel dragging out the bodies of the dead…including Andy. Your throat constricts, and you begin to stalk out of the barn.

Dean calls your name in frustration.

“What?” you hiss.

The only thing that makes him hesitate is seeing the state of you when you turn back around. His anger crumbles, and maybe something in him breaks when he sees your tears. They’ve welled up in your eyes, and a few of them carve a path down your cheeks.

You’re still covered in your own blood, and he hates it. He hates it more than anything.

Later, you see the state of yourself when Sam returns with the Impala. In the reflection on the backseat window, you see the blood dried down your neck, staining nearly half of your shirt.

You see the black rings of your mascara and eyeliner around your eyes. You look a mess, and you try to wipe underneath your eyes. It’s a fruitless effort.

After you all finish burning the bodies, Dean starts the long drive home. You insist on stopping to tell Rachel Campbell about her son, but Sam says he already took care of it when he drove into town.

You frown, but you no longer have the energy to be angry. You further withdraw into yourself, and your lower lip trembles as you look out the window. Through the rearview mirror, Dean sees more tears slipping down your face.

What Sam told him (but he won’t tell you), is what one of the survivors said. One of the mated pairs had taken Andy…to “adopt” a son of their own.

That night is quiet and tense in Dean’s room. You have to wash your hair all over again, and scrub the blood and grime from your body until only your skin remains. But you don’t have the energy to do more than braid your wet hair afterwards and pull on your lucky Journey shirt, which is still full of holes.

Dean knows that it’s bad when you need the “dreamcatcher,” as he’s called it in his head. You’ve never had a nightmare while wearing that shirt, or so you claimed a while back.

You wear it over some long pajama pants instead of your usual shorts, or better yet, nothing at all. But he can see what kind of mood you’re in. Things are unsettled as you both get ready for bed in silence.

He notes the way you turn to face the other side in bed, maybe to avoid him. Though if you really wanted to do that, you could’ve gone to your old room.

So in more ways than one, Dean takes some solace in the fact that you’re still next to him. And he decides to give you some time and space.

He goes to bed and tries in vain to sleep.

In the morning, Dean’s woken by the familiar smell of coffee…and the less familiar sound of loud salsa music.

What the fuck?

After he brushes his teeth, he puts on his robe and slippers and heads down to the kitchen, where he finds you in a seemingly better mood. You’re mopping the floor, of all things. You’re out of your pajamas, instead wearing a loose shirt that falls off your shoulder and some spandex shorts.

“Yo no se mañana…yo no se mañana. Si estaremos juntos, si se acaba el mundo,” you sing softly along with the music as you dance from the kitchen to the living room. Your phone is connected to a Bluetooth speaker on the coffee table.

Dean starts to smile, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway to watch you.

At an instrumental break with a run of conga drums and trumpets, you pause in your mopping to do a little twirl as you dance, with a soulful roll of hips and a flair of salsa steps. It makes Dean’s smile kick up into a smirk.

He walks in on purposefully light feet until he’s sidled up behind you in the living room.

“Nice moves, Shakira,” he quips.

It startles a shriek of surprise out of you as you whirl around. Dean’s smile hikes up into a grin, but it soon fades when he remembers the way your scream rang through his ears last night. The way his heart dropped into his stomach, and his head swiveled at the sound. And he saw you go down hard.

Then the rest of it tumbles through his mind—what he had to do afterwards in order to save you. How he’d did it without really thinking, his panic and determination blocking out almost everything else when he’d grabbed the kid. The monster, he forcibly reminds himself.

“You trying to give me a heart attack?” you ask with a hand on your heart.

Dean forces himself to smile a little. “Sorry. But might I remind you, not everyone here’s an early bird.”

You give him a wry look.

“You’re the only one around here who sleeps past 10 a.m. Cas dipped out a while ago, and Sam’s on a run.”

But you graciously grab your phone to lower the music to a more bearable level. Dean doesn’t yet know this about you, but this—listening to music, dancing, cleaning—it’s all your way of coping…and releasing as much of your pain, terror, and regret from yesterday as possible.

You then look up at him more guarded. The two of you exchanged a lot of unsavory words last night. In fact, it may just be the worst fight you two have ever had in almost three years of knowing one another.

Dean senses the shift in you, and his amusement fades. He just can't let things stay like this. He won't.

He hazards drawing closer and touching your arm.

“Look…I’m sorry for snapping at you yesterday. I know I was being a dick,” he says. “You’ve just gotta understand something.”

You wait for him to continue with furrowed brows, sensing that whatever he’s about to say is hard for him.

“There’s a reason I don’t do this. The uh, relationship thing,” Dean continues, clearing his throat. His thumb swipes along your arm. “It’s not just this job. It’s my fucked up life. I tried to warn you before—”

“Dean,” you say with a sigh, but he raises his hand.

“Please, just…let me say it,” he says. “You know the spiel. But things can change on a dime. Even on a damn milk run, like a dusty nest of vamps.”

You know that. You know you could’ve died yesterday, and he doesn’t need to remind you of that fact. Before you can start to get petulant again though, Dean continues. His jaw is working, like this next part is more difficult for him to admit.

“Trust me when I say, us being together is dangerous, for both of us,” he says. “For a while I, uh…I started to think Sam and I were better off alone.”

That casts you into dismay. Because you know Dean isn’t lying. He’s really contemplated spending the rest of his life devoid of love, so he won’t have to lose it.

Dangerous, for both of us.

You realize then what Dean’s really saying. He’s afraid…afraid to lose you. You see it in his furrowed brows, the downturn of his lips, and whatever pain he’s trying to hide in the depths of his eyes.

And just like that, the water works start. You can’t quite keep your tears at bay as you hold onto his shirt. He lets out a resigned sigh as he holds you by your arms.

“You don’t have to cry for that,” he says, a bit teasing.

“Have you met me?” you sniff. But you manage to look up at him with your glassy eyes. “I’m sorry too. God, I’m so sorry, Dean.”

Your fist clenches in his shirt when you remember Andy, latched onto your neck, and how Dean had to save you. You know he’s remembering it too when his brows furrow, and his gaze falls away. You reach a hand for his cheek.

“I know I fucked up,” you admit. “I was working with my heart, not my head. I just…”

You wanted so badly to help that kid and his mother. You also know that Dean understands; you see it in his eyes. He holds your hand to his cheek and brushes his thumb across the back of your hand.

“I know,” he says. “I really am sorry, baby.”

The problem is, you didn’t just see your own mother in Rachel. She hadn’t been much older than you. And when you imagine a life beyond hunting, more than anything (no matter how much you shove down the idea), you really do want a family of your own someday.

It’s just…days like yesterday remind you why that could be a very bad idea.

More of your tears bubble over, and you head willingly into Dean’s arms. “Me too…”

He holds you tighter than ever. His hands rub down your back, tangle in your hair, and he drops his lips onto your hair. You sniffle, wiping your face dry in his shirt. And for a while, the two of you have peace in the relative quiet.

Music still plays from the speaker though. And when another salsa song starts to play on your playlist, you start swaying. A smile works its way onto Dean’s face.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” he teases.

You smile into his chest. “We should go dancing sometime.”

Dean just laughs. “Oooh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” you reply, batting your lashes up at him. You slip a hand on his shoulder and into one of his hands. He’s forced to hold you as if the two of you were about to start Fred Astair-ing across the living room.

“Have you ever danced before?” you ask. “Like real dancing.”

“Not salsa, I’ll tell you that,” he quips.

“That’s okay. I’ll teach you,” you reply with a coquettish smile. “It’s just a few simple moves.”

Dean gives you a wan look. “You made it look anything but simple.”

You blush at that, but you meet him with a pout of disappointment. You don’t let up, even when Dean frowns. He huffs at you in resistance.

“No,” he insists. You just brush a gentle thumb along his neck, biting your lip in askance.

But the longer he stares at your beautiful, hopeful eyes, the more cracks form in his resolve.

Eventually, Dean breaks with a sigh, and a shake of his head.

“You’re too much, you know that?” he mutters.

It’s then that you know you’ve won.

So with a happy squeal of excitement, you clap your hands and move to stand next to him so you can show him the basic steps of salsa dancing.

You make him take off his robe and slippers, leaving in his shirt and plaid pajama pants. Then you instruct him for a few minutes, correcting his footing and getting him to move on a beat. You’re pleasantly surprised that he has some rhythm.

Dean sighs once again. How the hell did we get here? Heat crawls up the back of his neck as embarrassment starts to set in.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he grumbles.

“You’re doing good,” you encourage, with a growing smile. “Now come on, feel the beat in threes. One, two, three. One, two, three…”

Once he sort of has the basic steps and turns down, you move to stand in front of him. There you show him how to hold you, how he’ll move forward, and you’ll move back. It takes a little while, but you slowly move through the combinations, then do a little twirl underneath his hand.

When he pulls you back in without faltering, you give him a beaming smile. “Very good!”

A subtle grin raises his lips at your enthusiasm. He also feels his face heating up at the praise.

But you pause when a certain song filters through the speakers. It’s an old one (and it never fails to make you blush), but you love it.

“Ooh, yes,” you exclaim with delight, and you turn up the volume.

“What’s this one?” Dean asks.

“Ven Devórame Otra Ves,” you inform him. Not that he knows what that means. You sing along a bit with the first couple of verses while you encourage Dean to lead you in the dance.

This song is just slow enough for him to attempt it, and the funny thing is, he doesn’t feel all that uncomfortable with the steps now. He’s starting to get a feel for how to move, both with his feet, and with his hands as he guides you by your waist, holding your hand close to his chest. Still, Dean’s also curious about the lyrics you’re singing.

“What does it mean?” he asks.

You huff in amusement. “You sure you want to know?”

Dean raises a brow. “Well, now I gotta know.”

You giggle at that, though you correct his steps when he leads with the wrong foot.

“Okay. It’s about a guy who’s pretty much a player,” you say with a smirk. “His bed has been a revolving door of hot ass, but he keeps thinking about this one woman who used to have him turned inside out…”

Dean’s lips curve at the familiar image you’re conjuring. He manages to turn you under his hand, then pull you back to him in one smooth motion. He looks down at you with a deeper gleam in his eyes. You bite your lip, soothing your hand from his shoulder and down his arm.

As the song’s verses come, you translate for him. And for Dean, your voice in itself is a spell.

“Even in my dreams, he says, I thought I had you devouring me. And I dampened my white sheets remembering you,” you begin. Your words are smooth like black velvet. “In my bed, no one is like you, who draws my body on every corner, without a piece of skin left over.”

Dean is getting hot under the collar as you push away, dragging your fingertips along his back as you turn around him. When you come back into his line of vision, his attention is attracted to the sway of your hips, clad just in those little spandex shorts. He has to clear his throat a bit.

You eventually return to him with a warm hand against his chest.

“Ven, devórame otra ves. It means, come devour me again,” you continue, looking up at him from under your lashes, “Come punish me more with your desire. Because I kept my love for you…because my mouth has the taste of your body.”

You smile at the laser focus of his green-eyed gaze. “Come devour me again.”

You push off with another little spin. When you reach for his hand, Dean yanks you back into him, eliciting a gasp. The move disorients you for a moment, but you giggle and hold onto his arms. Your hands glide up to rest on his shoulders.

He’s holding you flush against him, and as you shift a thigh between his legs, you unintentionally graze against his hardening length. You look up at him with a smirk.

“You’re a little…stiff,” you say, both flirtatious and teasing. “Let’s loosen you up.”

You shake his shoulders out and try to get him to relax. Dean raises a wry brow, because you know damn well whose fault it is that his body is coiled tight. But you place his hands on your hips as you move back into the dance.

“Feel what I’m doing there?” you ask. He looks down on you with growing heat.

“If I could do that, we wouldn’t be together,” he rumbles.

You try to stifle a laugh as he pulls you in close again, just swaying for a bit. Soon enough, you grin knowingly when his hands start to slide lower on your ass. His head bows to yours, ready to meet you with a kiss.

You stop him with your finger on his lips.

“Question: do you consider yourself more of a tits or ass man?” you ask him. You’re half teasing, but still curious. Dean snorts at the question.

“More of a connoisseur,” he replies, smirking.

“Ah.” You nod sagely, and you point between him and yourself. “So this is like a ‘sample the menu’ situation.”

Dean’s smirk deepens. “Sweetheart, you’re a goddamn buffet.”

You splutter laughing…and that’s when he finally pounces. He claims your lips with greedy passion. His hand winds into your hair, gripping tight and ruining what’s left of your loose ponytail. The strands coil around his hand in messy curls while he also gets a healthy grip of your ass through your thin shorts.

You smile into his lips, even as you acquiesce to him guiding your head to the side, so he can slip his tongue against yours. You grip his arms more for stability while he manhandles you, kneading soft flesh and making pleasant tingles run up your spine.

After a little while, his mouth burns a hot path away from yours. He noses down your neck, skimming his lips across your skin. It sets your nerve endings on fire and gets you breathing more shallowly in his ear. You cling to the back of his shirt, holding him close.

Often he’s one to leave love bites of varying degrees, wherever he sees fit. But for a moment he stops at the crook of your neck, just pressing a lingering kiss.

He lets out a deep breath, and you realize he’s probably thinking about where you were bitten. The wound is gone, but it doesn’t change what’s imprinted in both of your minds.

A softer smile grows on your face. You trail your fingers up into his hair, massaging the back of his neck.

“I’m okay,” you remind him. Dean hums deep in agreement. You know, however, that he’s still thinking far too much.

So you slide your hands down, slow between the dips and planes of muscle in his back, and rest at his hips. Your thumbs delve under the hem of his shirt and tease the skin there.

And you start slow, pressing wet, nipping kisses of your own to his neck while you inch his shirt up. You feel his smile on your neck. His grip on your hip flares to life. Still, he lets you tug his shirt up and over his head. Your loose shirt comes next, revealing the same black satin and lace bra you wore the first time he ever got you topless in his arms.

A fan favorite. Dean grins. He reaches around to go for the clasp, but your firm push on his chest takes him by surprise.

He falls back onto the couch with a grunt, looking up at you then with raised brows. You’ve got a mischievous little smirk on your face that heats his blood and makes his cock twitch.

You take out the rest of your falling ponytail, shaking your hair out wild. Then you let your hands drift down your neck, over your clothed breasts, and finally to your little shorts.

Dean rubs his palms down his thighs and watches. A smirk forms across his lips as you slide the fabric down the curve of your hips. It leaves you in a red thong, familiar to him by the little tear it has on the front. (Again, his fault.)

You climb aboard his strong thighs to straddle his lap, using his shoulders as leverage as you sink down. You make sure to rub yourself teasingly against his clothed erection. He groans in appreciation. His hands fly to your soft, thick thighs and squeeze.

“Aw, I like this,” Dean says, half on another moan as you grind down a bit harder on him.

“Yeah?” you tease. You take his face in your hands and capture his lips with your own. Your tongue invades his mouth, and he welcomes you with a deep hum. It’s slow and hot at first, but Dean feels the loss of you when you break from his lips.

Instead, you treat him with the same trail of kisses he gave you, along the curve of his jaw and down his neck. But you don’t stop there.

Your hands move over his chest with purpose, tweaking over each hard nipple while your mouth burns a wet line down and down his sternum. Dean groans at your ministrations, but lets you leave his lap to slide down to the ground, between his thighs.

“What’re you up to, baby?” he asks, despite having a very good idea of it. He catches the playful, yet determined gleam in your eye.

You pause, briefly leaning back up to give him a heated kiss. You part from him with a grin.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you ask. “I’m gonna devour you.”

Dean stares hard at you as goosebumps break out across his forearms.

Oh, fuck yeah.

A giggle bubbles in your throat at the expression on his face. But you continue, taking his pants down his legs first, before his boxer briefs.

Dean’s body tenses in anticipation. You’ve gone down on him before, but somehow it’s different this time. He feels like every single one of his nerve endings stands at attention along with his dick. And you’re taking your sweet time working him up.

Even when his cock is finally free, you sooth your hands down his legs first, maybe teasing him a bit as you drag your nails down his inner thighs. Dean makes a strained sound, though he tries to hide it by clearing his throat.

Your gaze flicks up to his with a little smile. He’s holding the back of the couch; his fingers are digging into the old cushion in effort to keep still for you. But his eyes stare into yours like a man starving. You know what you’re in for after you have your way with him, but for now, he’s quite literally under your control.

So you take him in your hands first. Dean groans as you tease him with light touches, soft movements, your thumb slowly circling over the sensitive, weeping head of his cock. It's torturous enough to make him drop his head back against the couch, closing his eyes tight.

And suddenly, he blinks them open again.

“Shit,” he utters, when you finally take him into your mouth. Your tongue is soft and wet, your lips move over him steadily, and your hands caress whatever your mouth can’t take, even teasing his balls.

You work him over relentlessly, until he can’t help but spill everything he has to give into your waiting mouth. When you suck off and swallow whatever remains, Dean’s heart stutters like syncopated conga drums.

He shudders and struggles for breath afterwards, watching your every movement—from wiping your mouth to shooting him that satisfied little smirk.

You press one last kiss to the inside of his thigh before you raise from where you’ve been kneeling on the hard ground.

Dean manages to lean forward and helps you up by your elbows. But then he pulls you back into his lap and kisses you deeply. He doesn’t let up until you’re panting with him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he manages to say. His voice is deep and laced with grit.

He’s still panting heavily. You giggle and press your warming face into his neck.

“What, now you’re shy?” he remarks. And he has to laugh. “Come back here.”

He brings your face back to him with a hand on your cheek. For a second, he just looks at you. His thumb strokes across your full, thoroughly kissed bottom lip.

“Say it,” you encourage softly. “Whatever you’re thinking. Right now.”

A smile tugs at his lips. He can’t help but oblige you.

“You’re too damn much,” he says again, both gruff and fond. Despite how you drive him up the fucking wall sometimes, he doesn't think it'll ever be enough for him, what he has with you.

Because this is something he'd almost given up on. Didn't think he'd get to have it. And it almost scares him, how much he wants you. How much he...

“I love you,” he says. His thumb traces along the familiar curve of your cheek.

It hasn’t been all that long, but he knows. You weaseled your way in without even trying. The least he can do for you is be honest.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, holding his hand in place. You tilt your head at him.

“Oh, yeah?” you ask.

Dean hesitates, but he nods. “Yeah.”

A smile grows across your face. “Eh, I’m still on the fence.”

At his flat look, you laugh and lean in for a kiss. He allows it, a little petulantly. But you make up for it with sweet affection. Your gentle hands stroke down the column of his neck, down his chest. You then lean back so he can see your face.

“Yo te amo,” you whisper. “Te amo y te quiero, más que tú puedes creer y entender.”

Dean smiles. He doesn’t understand all of it, but he gets the important bits. He hears it in the tone of your voice. He sees it in your eyes. They shine with emotion, but mainly with love.

Dean kisses your hand. He lets go, just so he can slip his hands around you to finally unhook your bra. He tosses it across the room without bothering to see where it lands.

You do though, and you meet him with a slightly narrowed gaze.

“Are you making a mess of my clean bunker?” you tease.

His lips curve as he kisses you again, while his hands each get a generous handful of your breasts.

“Ah, hello, ladies." He grins. "Miss me?”

You can’t help but laugh. He’s such a dork sometimes.

But you hum when his thumbs brush over hardened nipples, then drag deliberate circles over them, and pinch just hard enough to make you whimper in pleasure. The sensation zips through you, enhancing the flood between your legs.

“I fucking love that sound,” Dean mutters, and licks a hot path in the valley between your breasts. His lips move against your dewy skin when he says, “Do that for me again.”

When he takes a nipple in his mouth and nips a bit hard, you have to oblige him. Your voice rising high is music to his ears.

So he goes for your panties next. You help him get them off and return to his lap. With a breathy moan, you revel at the feeling of his fingers probing into your wet heat.

However, you and Dean have been too engrossed in one another to notice the door of the bunker unlocking, and heavy steps down the spiral staircase.

It’s Sam who’s back from his run. Unfortunately, he soon has to shield his eyes upon reaching the living room.

“Damn it, Dean!”

You yelp in surprise, but Dean laughs and holds you close to shield you from view. As a bonus, it presses your breasts against his chest.

“All right, Sammy. Go to your room,” he chides playfully (but he means it). “The adults are havin’ a moment.”

Sam scoffs. “You’re having a moment on the goddamn couch!”

“Sorry,” you say, though it’s muffled in Dean’s neck. Your face is red hot with embarrassment.

Sam rolls his eyes heavenward and tries not to see anything else on his way to his room.

But Dean’s chuckle reverberates through your chest as his hand goes to your cheek. He encourages you to pull back, so he can see your face again.

When he does, he smirks at the scarlet blush dusting your cheeks and neck. You bite your lower lip, but despite your embarrassment, you’re happy.

Your own words replay in your mind when you lean in for another kiss.

I love you, you’d said. I love you and I love you, more than you can believe and understand.

AN: Yay! I hope you enjoyed Part 2 of the “Midnight Espresso”-verse! I loved writing this one so much. I know we're just doing fanfic here, but I genuinely put my heart and soul into this one. ❤️

Also, here are a couple of Spanish translations:

(Note: other Spanish-speaking countries may interpret certain words differently.)

[During their fight]:

“Que sin vergüenza tú eres. Sigue jodiendo conmigo, coño. Entonces tú vas a ver quien soy yo.”

Translation:

“You’re shameless. Keep messing with me, damn it. Then you’re going to see who I am (<- This is Dominican slang. It essentially means fuck around and find out what I'm made of.).”

[Song lyrics: “Yo No Se Mañana” by Luis Enrique]:

“Yo no se mañana…yo no se mañana. Si estaremos juntos, si se acaba el mundo.”

Translation:

“I don’t know tomorrow. I don’t know tomorrow. If we’ll be together, if the world will end.”

Keep Reading:

Next in this series is "Chico Malo" ("Bad Boy"):

Summary: You catch Dean red-handed—with one of his favorite episodes of Casa Erotica.

▶️ Next Story: Bad Boy (Chico Malo)

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@hobby27 @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesdeanvessel @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @emily-winchester @deans-baby-momma @melancholictearz @luvs4dria @nic-kolas @katherineann83

@sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @tipthejar @ajjustice @thewritersaddictions @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @adoringanakin @deanwinchesterswitch @freewastelandstrawberry

@theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @mrshalverson2021 @iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420

@candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @beskarfilms @skyesthebomb @deans-spinster-witch @tmb510 @iamsapphine @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @chernayawidow @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses

#reader appreciation #lovely mutuals #lovely review! 😍😍#seriously thank you!!#devour me feedback

295 notes · View notes

solar4seekstron · 2 days ago

Note

So I was thinking for a request if you can do TFA! Optimus x femme cybortron reader but for the episode where where everyone is suddenly human (don't know if you remember the episode where they became human) but I can imagine it's almost the same where everyone is confused, scared or freaking out but I can imagine Optimus immediately going to check on reader and him being awestruck by her cause even in human form she's still beautiful to him (I don't know you can change the idea a little bit but I just love that episode so much and want to see if you wanted to take a crack at it the episode is called human error part 1 if you don't know what I'm talking about)

Oh yeah that’s a goods episode!

TFA!Optimus Prime x Cybertronian!GN!Reader/human OP x Human Reader: Hoomans??!

TW/Tags: wholesomeness, Established relationship, I wish I was Y/N in this fic ngl 😭, Prowl is babygirl we all know it, I think that’s all?

At the beginning you and Optimus were taking a small drive together. Even as they made their way through the town Optimus wished to keep patrolling because of the Soundwaves toys. You stayed, it's him. You always want to keep close knowing how dangerous the city can be. Well at times.

The others back at the base try to convince him that everything is fine. You even agreed when you both transformed. Comforting him even as you both poked at the tv.

“Optimus please lets go back. I want to give you my christmas gift before the night ends.”

He’d then sigh. His breath seen by the cold air from the snow. “Sorry Sweetspark. I just…”

You gently held his cervo as he looked down at you. You had a soft smile on your dermas as your optics were soft and welcoming. “Come on. Let’s go.”

”Hm…maybe you’re….”

But as he was about to speak to him he chased after something. You followed and he said when he lost what he was looking for that it was after he got stuck and scared the other humans. Speaking about him as he finally got off and transformed. You doing the same and you both drove back to the base.

You and everyone else continue with your Christmas and drink the oil nog Sari made together. You then give Optimus his gift as he did the same with giving you his. He got you the polish you saw on tv thanks to saris help. You always want to look good for Optimus. As Optimus sees that he got a picture frame of the entire team talking to each other. Something Saris' father took some time ago due to your request.

You both loved the gifts and you both embraced each other as the other gave each other gifts as a present given to another the night before Christmas.

You sat on the couch next to Bee as you all kept drinking after Optimus decided to stand up. Eventually getting tired. You and the other bots make your way to bed.

Before you and OP when to bed you both exchanged a kiss. Saying goodnight to each other.

”Marry Christmas Optimus.”

”Marry Christmas Y/N.”

You both go to your own rooms. When Optimus Prime and his team woke up…him and the others being freaked out would be an understatement. Everyone ran out of their room.

As for you. You were too scared. You looked like an averaged sized woman. A little slim but pretty broad arms. Long brown hair and bright brown eyes. You were a few inches shorter than Optimus now. (I mean the man is tall). Ratchet does a check up on Optimus to see what’s wrong.

Optimus then got worried for Prowel and you. Prowel was already outside. While you stayed in your room scared of the others seeing you as a human. When they came , they were humans as well.

”Y/N! You're a human too!” He gently held you as your…Hands- gently gripped at his arms as you two stared at each other. “Optimus I can't believe it. What Happened?”

The others catch you up and you all make your way outside to Prowl. You all try to think of what is going on. Even freezing a bit before the cold weather. You then all make your way to Saris' place in hopes of any help. You held on to Optimus…hand…as you guys continued to walk. You all then realize you need to eat. Going to dinner. You sat next to bee since there was still enough room for you. Across from Optimus. As you looked at the food along with Optimus.

”Optimus, these….organic bodies…It makes me look so…..” You then felt his hand over your.

”No different to even now sweetspark. Even if human or a worm. You’re still the most beautiful living being in this world to me.” He kissed the back of your hand as Ratchet and Bee rolled their eyes and groan. Prowl is just doing his own thing.

You all then ran out only to see the decepticons start to attack. That fight wasn’t easy to deal with. After some time during the fight. You guys were able to find out this was all an illusion. As you all began to believe in yourself. You all turned into your robot form once more. You and Optimus looked at each other happy. And You hugged him.

”We’re back to ourselves!”

”Haha Yeah!”

You and the others' celebrations were short. Out of now where this giant…SOUNDWAVE??!! It just appeared out of nowhere. You guys were then stuck in it’s hand as you all struggled to get out. Until it disappeared and you all fell.

The prowl disappeared for a moment before returning. And then a white light appeared turning you all into humans once more.

”Optimus-“

”I know sweetspark. We’ll figure something out.” Bulkhead that started reading stuff. That’s when OPtimus got an idea. You all got in the cars you all transform into as you all then realize…..You don’t now how the outside of the cars work.

Eventually you all are released and have your minds back. Turns out you all were being controled. Sari was able to get you out of it.

”Sari. Goodness I’m sorry little one. Are you alright?”

”Yes yes! Now hold OP back!!” You saw Optimus had red optics. So you help her and reckgar with holding him back. But he was able to punch you to the side with ease. That little lier he was holding back at each training! Soon Optimus is back. But were still on the ground. Man he hit you hard. You gave a thumbs up as he carries on fighting Soundwave. Chuckling as you watched the fight.

Finally getting up as Optimus helped you with a smile. You stood next to Optimus as you all stood in front of the Christmas tree.

”A wise organic once said we should be thankful for the things we have.”

”Like family.” Sari said as she looked at her dad.

”Like family.” You and Optimus looked at each other with warm smiles. You laying your helm against his shoulder as you all looked at sari and her father after you all looked at each other.

You all then watch as Reckgar walks off dressed like Santa Claus. You all chuckled as you and Optimus held hands. It was certainly an..interesting Christmas.

This is another request I really enjoyed doing. Animated Optimus is so fun to write for and my god did they have to make him so cute in the series?! I love him too much I swear. I hope you guys enjoy this OneShot and continue to give me fun ideas for the animated series and hopefully others one day. Have a good rest of your day y’all!!

#x reader #transformers #transformers x reader #tfa optimus prime #tf animated #tfa bumblebee

31 notes · View notes

colourstreakgryffin · 1 day ago

Note

Are your requests open? If so, can you write for yandere Qin Shi Huang with an S/O who's very rebellious and lazy? It's okay if you don't want to 😭 I barely see any Qin Shi Huang fic here.

My requests are definitely open, just slowly getting through everything! But anyway. Yes, I absolutely can since I like Qin too. He’s actually quite the good boy AND he’s hot so golden. We’re an emperor/empress! Damn, I’m jealous!

Qin Shi Huang- My Deadweight

Qin Shi has expectations of you. Just because you’re the new powerful and influential emperor [/] empress of China via your unwanted marriage to him, doesn’t mean that you get to be so… immature and vile in front of his people and in front of Valhalla itself. He is aware that you’re not much of a fan of him but he’s giving you a luxurious life millions dream of without asking for so much from you

Is giving your love and loyalty and passion to him, in exchange for all this, so hard for you? He has learnt that it is clearly is…

He’s displeased, watching sharply and disgusted from behind his white mahogany red-centipede detailed blindfold as you relax on you and his velvety expensive bed whilst shooing off all the palace’s servants to give you privacy… he suspected better from you. Why are you behaving so childish?

Qin Shi genuinely believes that living like a powerful royalty of one of the World’s most mighty countries has gotten to your head and you believe you’re above everything, even the responsibilities and requirements you have as his Emperor [/] Empress. You’re stubbornly disregarding them all to laze around and rest about like a sloth…

The Chinese emperor is outraged you’re daring to behave like this. He spent so much time and resources into kidnapping you, obsessing over you, moving you from your designated living quarters built into the Valhalla to his magnificent palace, to marry you to him and fulfil his intense love for you. Become his and make you his permanently, even through this death battle tournament and here you are, dismissing it all for your own comfort

He won’t let this slide at all. He may love you deeply but he loves you more when you’re not being a disrespectful slacker… and he wants that person back. He’ll get you back, even if he has to use extreme measures

Qin Shi has zero limits on what he’ll do to make sure you’ve been modelled to the most perfect ruler to work together with him to maintain China, do you think he does? He is fully aware that you’ve missed up by being rebellious and selfish like this. And he doesn’t plan to let you stay this way, he needs you better for his beloved nation

Qin Shi’s around the corner of you and his shared suite of a bedroom, thinking. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he’s already quite strained any chance you’ll love him but then again, he’s providing you with the life of a royal. You’re not anywhere near related to a royal family but still, you’re gonna birth him a heir one day and you SHOULD love him for that

Especially for how amazing of a husband he is!

No other man can be a better husband for you so there is no reason you should be a lazy rebellious brat when you’re literally a King [/] Queen. Do not be so greedy, love. He’d let this go if it was only occasional but it’s not, you’re constantly rejecting everything to sleep all day. Pathetic

That is what his twisted lovesick mind tells him. That it’s your fault you’re behaving this way when it’s just your attitude. It’s just who you are, but to Qin Shi, it’s a purposeful stab to him as your husband. That you’re acting out, when you were so obedient and calm only a few days ago, to spite him…

He is just so unhappy… he really suspected better from you and he was hoping you’d stay that timid silent sweetheart from before. That is his favourite version of you, when you do everything for him— but he fails to realise you only behaved that way because you were terrified for your life but you long learned he’d never truly put his hands on you

Your rebellious nature is just apart of you but your laziness, whilst also somewhat natural, is kinda fulled by your depression since being forced in this situation after you had shown respect to Qin Shi passing by him one time in the many halls of Valhalla by helping direct him to the correct Lounge for Einherjar’s champions

Had lead to him stalking you, sending his servants to give you gifts, until it lead up to your kidnapping under the cover of midnight. All because he fell hard for your elegant and witty demeanour, the way you behave in public and he got addicted to it quickly. So much, he ignores Alvitr’s advice altogether

Qin Shi quickly bared a charming smile, he’s such a charismatic comforting figure as the King of Kings he is that he buries away all his inner rage and humiliation so expertly that he seems as if he’s had a absolutely wonderful day. He pretends to walk away from the wall hiding off the open golden-lined door of the bedroom before walking up to it, in order to trick you into thinking he wasn’t listening in

You look up bored and irritated from being so engaged in a fascinating book that you’ve gathered amongst the big nearby bookcase in this big beautiful artistic suite of a bedroom, meeting the hidden eyes of your forced husband. Your finger shining by the opulent gold and diamonds of your earring ring

Qin Shi, radiating elegance and strength effortlessly, strolls over to you with his loving smile. He may be furious at your rebellious lazy demeanour but he can’t help but soften up at how beautiful you are and his extensive possessive obsession flares up almost instantly. He makes it besides the silky thin blanketed clad bed before sitting down on it politely

Speaking up after admiring you openly for a few long seconds with you barely even responding as you’re quite use to him gawking you all the time like you’re the Mona Lisa within a deluxe gallery, he is internally planning on how to properly meld and form you into the correct ruler for his vast territory

His hand reaches over for yours, his middle and ring fingers sheathed in shining golden nailguards, which is slightly sharp so it kinda grazed against your silky soft skin as he grabs your hand in his much bulkier and veiny palm. Showing his love via the intimate connect, feeling your own cute golden dual nailguards on your index and middle fingers

Qin Shi hopes you give him a minute or two of your time to hear him out. He deserves your time as his husband whilst you couldn’t be more excited for him to leave you alone. You never wanted to be bombarded with the duties of being the secondary ruler of fucking China itself… you never asked for this and you know he does not care about your opinion at all. He only cares about himself!

His hand holding yours is uncomfortably tight as his clingy protectiveness is kicking in. He doesn’t want to lose you, he doesn’t want anybody looking at you. You’re his and only his

“Qīn'ài de… I’ve noticed that you’ve been rather unmotivated. Unmotivated to improve for the sake of our empire and I want to fix that issue. C’mon, up you get. Let’s go outside together, let’s talk”

27 notes · View notes

fangorl-trash · 3 months ago

Text

me when @javier-pena . that’s it, that’s the post.

embers

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're engaged to be married to a man you've never met. Arthur Morgan is supposed to escort you across the country to meet him. You should keep your distance, but the dangers of the road bring you closer and closer together with each passing mile.

Notes: So there's this post ... and It has been on my mind for months so I had to write this exact scenario with Arthur, naturally. Again, this is way longer than it was supposed to be, but working on this fic allowed me to daydream a lot, so I can't complain. As always, I wouldn't have been able to do it without Dani @alexturner, who pushed me in the right direction and came up with the ending (because I'm not good at writing those)!!

***

You’re not pretty. At least that’s what everyone told you from the moment you could understand those words. Your mother, the maid she hired to look after you, the boys working for your father, the marm, the people in town. Since you were little, you’ve been hearing it over and over again. “It’s such a shame she ain’t pretty, what’s she gonna do with brains?”

The thing is, you also don’t feel very smart. If you were, you’d have found a way to leave your godforsaken town for one of the big cities in the east as soon as you could read the timetable down by the train station. You would’ve found a way to get out of this marriage your father arranged for you. Ambrose Longabaugh was his name. Ambrose Longabaugh. From what you have heard, he shares your lot: anything but handsome, but at least he has money.

No one was sad to see you go, save for your little brother, who held you tight and made you promise to come back if you didn’t like your betrothed. You had promised, knowing you were lying. It didn’t matter if you liked him or not, he was the man you were going to marry. You weren’t getting out of this. Your father had made sure of that.

Mr. Morgan is riding ahead of you, sitting in the saddle with his shoulders slumped, a cigarette dangling between his lips. You can smell the smoke on the crisp fall air, even though you’re trying to keep your distance. It’s not that he scares you – not as much as other men do, not as much as your future husband does – but you don’t like him very much. Your father is paying him to take you out west where Ambrose Longabaugh will one day take over his father’s cattle business. And Mr. Morgan is doing it without complaint, hardly acknowledging your presence. He talks more to his horse than he talks to you.

You let your eyes wander across the mountains around you and sigh. The first time you had seen them, your mouth had hung open in awe. Now you feel trapped by them. You can’t go back, and there’s only one way forward. You sigh again. No, you’re neither pretty nor smart.

“Break?” Mr. Morgan asks from up front. It’s only the fifth word he has said to you today; the others were good morning and let’s go.

“Yes,” you agree, not because you need it but because it gives you something else to do.

You stop near a small river with a shallow bank where Mr. Morgan can refill your waterskins. While he’s busy, you stretch your legs and pick up a few rocks from the riverbed to toss them into the water. The rushing of the water fills your ears, drowning out both thoughts and sounds. You take a deep, calming breath and close your eyes.

When you open them again, Mr. Morgan has taken off his lambskin coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He’s washing his face and neck in the cold water of the river, a wet stain forming on his collar, drops running down his lean, muscular forearms that are still tan from working outdoors all summer. Your face heats up with an emotion you don’t quite understand, and you turn away from him, pretending to be interested in some moss-covered rocks. You’re not supposed to look.

He startles you when he touches your arm lightly, making you turn around. You hadn’t heard him coming over the sounds of the river. His coat is back on, but you can see his neck glistening in a few places still.

“You shouldn’t wander, ma’am,” he says. That’s four more words for today.

You look around. “Indians, right?” you ask with a small laugh.

His face remains serious. “No. White men. Gangs. They like to hide out here.”

You watch his Adam’s apple move as he swallows and your throat immediately mimics his. “Then why are we taking this road if it’s so dangerous?”

He shrugs. You realize he hasn’t let go of your arm yet. “It’s fast.”

“My father –”

“Your father planned this route.”

You swallow again. “I’ll be careful, sir. Thank you.” He lets go of your arm then, and you walk back to your horse, your face now heating up with an emotion you definitely recognize: embarrassment.

You make camp later that day where the trees are standing close together. While he builds a fire, you pick at a pine cone you found on the ground. Somewhere in the distance you hear a howl, but you’ve learned that if it’s not loud enough to make Mr. Morgan look up from his task, then it’s nothing to be worried about. And he stokes the fire, eyes fixed to the flames.

After dinner, he hands you a small bottle and when the sharp taste of whiskey makes you cough, he smirks. So you take another sip, holding his gaze. He looks away first, pulls a torn-up pack of cigarettes from his coat, and offers you one. You accept, surprised.

“Don’t let my father find out you’re corrupting me,” you tease.

He only makes, “Hm,” in response.

The smoke from the cigarette burns your throat, just like the whiskey, but this time you manage to suppress the cough. “Do you have family, Mr. Morgan?” you ask, watching how he uses a branch to stoke the fire.

“No,” is his simple reply.

Now it’s your turn to make, “Hm,” before you add, “No one you’re sweet on?”

You don’t really care about the answer, why would you? But when he gives you another, “No,” a careful one, it makes your heart pound faster. Until he turns the tables.

“What about you?”

“Oh,” you say, “I don’t know, I haven’t met my fiancé yet.” And you don’t want to be thinking about him right now.

Mr. Morgan looks at you, his head cocked to one side. “Come now,” he pushes, as if you’re being evasive on purpose. “That ain’t what I’m askin’.”

You sigh. “It’s not? I’m spoken for. I have no business thinking about other men.” You don’t mean to be so frank, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. And you can tell from the look on Mr. Morgan’s face that he still thinks you’re not honest with him.

“Hm,” he makes, and you dread what might be coming next.

“I’m going to bed,” you tell him, putting an end to your conversation. He opens his mouth to add something, but you don’t give him a change. You lie down and pull your thin blanket over your body, face hot with embarrassment. The last thing you see before falling asleep is Mr. Morgan staring at the flames, a quiet smile on his lips.

Later that night, you wake up to shouts. What pulls you from your sleep entirely is a gunshot that reverberates through the forest. “Mr. Morgan?” you shout, because he isn’t sitting next to the fire anymore and you can’t see him anywhere. Then you hear a sound that makes your blood run cold, a snarl, a growl, but animalistic, wild, unlike anything you’ve ever heard. You jump up from your bedroll, ready to run, but then you remember Mr. Morgan’s warning. It’s better to stay here, in the light of the dwindling fire, than to take your chances out there. “Mr. Morgan?” you try again, this time a hiss, as you frantically search the darkness beyond your camp. It gets so dark out here at night.

A shout is your answer, a deep, “Hey!” Short and fast. The horses whinny, and you’re only now realizing they’re stomping the ground, tearing up the soil with their hooves, the whites in their eyes visible, ears pressed tightly back. You try to swallow your panic, but it gets harder with every passing second.

Then something moves between the trees and Mr. Morgan stumbles back into the camp, a gun in one hand, a torch in the other. He has a wild look in his eyes too, just like the horses, but when they land on you, he relaxes, his face assuming its usual, stoic mask. “Mountain lion,” he says. “It’s gone.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, your voice trembling.

“Chased it off,” he explains. “It ain’t coming back here.”

“The horses …,” you start.

But he walks toward the fire, toward you. “You did good,” he says, dropping to his knees next to you, so close, too close. You can smell the gunpower on him, and the sweat; you’ve never been so close to a man before, not even your own father. “Here.” He hands you the whiskey again. “It’s gone, I promise.”

You wish your hands wouldn’t shake so much. He grabs yours with one to steady, his warm skin like fire against yours, unscrews the stopper with the other, not with impatience but oh so gently. You manage to take a sip on your own, but he watches you intently for any signs of distress.

“You’ll have to get used to it,” he says, stowing away the bottle. “This land out here … it’s wild.”

You nod. Now that the initial burst of panic is dulled, you feel tears sting your eyes.

“But you’ll manage.” His voice is so calming. “You’re a brave girl.”

*******

The hooves of your horse pound out a slow, steady beat against the hard ground. You’re tired, every muscle in your body is sore, but you push on without complaint, following Mr. Morgan up a winding mountain and back down on the other side. The days are so similar they’re bleeding into one – the mountain lion … did it attack three nights ago? Five? You don’t remember. All you know is that your heart picks up speed when he looks at you, that every evening your conversation around the fire becomes a little bit longer, that you wish you could go on like this forever, never to arrive at your destination.

Sometimes at night, when you can’t sleep but you pretend to, you can hear him sing, sometimes to himself, sometimes to the horses. Your heart almost flies out of your chest when he does it. He hasn’t touched you anymore since the night of the mountain lion attack, but you wish he would. Even though everything else about him confuses you, you wish you could feel his skin against yours again; such longing, it almost consumes you.

Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Did your cousin feel like this when she ran off with that cowboy? Did your mother and father feel like this; is that why they got married? Are you supposed to feel like this when you meet your fiancé? Or is this something else entirely? Is there something wrong with you?

“Break?” he asks once the ground is beginning to even out.

“You know, you keep asking for breaks so much I’m starting to think you don’t want us to reach our destination,” you tease.

He just shrugs and stops his horse. You halt too and climb off, your legs steady when they hit the ground. It wasn’t like that in the beginning; the first few days he had to help you off your horse and you could barely stand. It’s astonishing what a difference a few weeks can make.

You stretch, then begin to walk up and down the path. It’s cold, sitting so still up on that horse, and you flex your fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them. Mr. Morgan, meanwhile, sits down on a tree stump to write in a leather-bound notebook. You’ve seen him use it before but you don’t quite know what it’s for. He’s probably tracking your progress or taking notes on the weather.

Careful to keep him in sight, you veer off into the underbrush, looking at the trees and the different kinds of plants growing on the ground. You pretend you can read the language of the forest, looking for tracks of animals or some mushrooms you might be able to eat. Just like you’ve seen Mr. Morgan do countless of times. When you do find something, you’re not sure what to make of it.

“Mr. Morgan?” Your voice is raised as you try to keep it steady.

You hear his footsteps immediately but you don’t dare to turn around, your eyes fixed on the sight before you. He stops next to you, and you can hear his steady breathing. The knot in your chest immediately dissolves.

“Hm,” he makes.

“What happened here?” you ask. Now the tremor in your voice is all too audible.

He hesitates just for a second, weighing his options, but then he says, “Some people were camping here, a family by the looks of it.”

“Where are they?” you ask, finally turning toward him. The cold, calculating look on his face sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ma’am …,” he says slowly.

“You can tell me. I can handle the truth.”

You look back at the burned-out wagon, the torn clothes hanging from tree branches, all that blood on a log next to a cold fire pit. You don’t need him to tell you. You just want him not to confirm your suspicions.

“They’re dead,” he answers. “Killed. For money.”

“All of them?” you ask.

He winces. “If there were women …”

“Can’t we help them?” You know you can’t, but you wish there was something you could do.

“Stay on the path next time,” he growls. “No more wanderin’ ‘round … ma’am.”

“Mr. Morgan …,” you try, but he’s already trudging back toward the horses.

You spend the rest of the day in silence, riding next to each other but avoiding each other’s gazes. You shouldn’t have called out to him; it was obvious what had happened in that camp. They were a group, and you’re just two people … your father couldn’t have known about the dangers of this journey, or he wouldn’t have made you go. He would’ve found another way. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. Because you don’t want to even consider the other option and what it would mean. When the sun slowly disappears behind the mountains around you, dread settles onto your heart, the heavy kind you haven’t felt since you were a little girl, afraid of the dark.

Finally, Mr. Morgan stops his horse. “We camp here tonight. No fire.”

“It’s so dark,” you whisper.

“The darkness ain’t what’ll kill you,” he growls.

You can’t sleep; of course not. So you watch him all night, sitting up straight next to you, not so close that you could touch him, but close enough so you’ll always see he’s there. He doesn’t sleep either but he sits very still, keeping his eyes on the path, making sure nothing evil comes out of the dark. And you wish all you had to worry about were mountain lions.

*******

Two days later, Mr. Morgan’s face is pale and you’re frozen through. You haven’t had a warm meal since you found that destroyed camp, and Mr. Morgan has barely slept. You haven’t talked at all, apart from the necessities. And still you haven’t left those mountains and woods behind you. At least the daylight makes you feel less afraid.

“Is it far still?” you ask when the silence becomes unbearable.

“A week,” he answers, looking up at the sky, “if it doesn’t snow.”

The weather is the least of your worries. “And how long before we’re past the mountains?” You hate them now as much as they awed you at first.

“Three days maybe.”

Three more days without warm food. You straighten your back. “Have you come this way before?”

“Yes.”

“Has anything ever happened to you?” You don’t know if you’d prefer confirmation or denial.

“You’re safe with me, so don’t you worry about that.” There’s something in the way he says it that makes your grip tighten on the reins.

“I’m not worried,” you lie. “Just curious.”

“Hm,” he makes before going back to observing the surroundings with caution. “Bad people are everywhere. Not just here.”

“That’s a grim way to look at the world.” You try for a teasing tone, but it sounds like you’re reprimanding him instead.

“You ain’t seen much of it then,” he replies.

“More than you know.”

He looks at you curiously, just for a moment. “You –” he starts, but a shout ahead on the path interrupts him.

“Hey!”

You almost jump out of your skin and stop your horse reflexively. That’s your first mistake. The second one is to shout, “Arthur!” Because it costs him valuable seconds, that distraction. He turns around to look at you, and then suddenly two men are on him, pulling him out of the saddle. Two more appear next to you, a young, handsome one with a dark mustache and darker eyes, and a man your father’s age, but scrawny, with a mouth full of yellow teeth that he exposes to you in an ugly grin. You pull on the reins and your horse dances nervously, ears pressed tightly against its head. And then you hear a shot.

A fifth man stands in the middle of the path, a smoking gun held high over his head. His thick, gray beard quivers as he shouts, “Everybody stay calm and no one is gonna get hurt!”

You look at Mr. Morgan for guidance and see him struggle against the two men who are restraining him by holding his arms tightly pressed against his back. His pants are dirty from where he hit the ground when they pulled him off his horse.

“Get her down from there,” the man with the gray beard barks, and before you can do anything, thin but strong fingers have closed around your arm and you tumble out of the saddle with a shout.

The man who is holding you stinks of rotting things and nicotine. He twists one of your arms until it is pressed flush against your back and uses his other hand to hold your chin, so you’re forced to look straight ahead at the man with the mustache.

“Pretty little thing, ain’t she?” he snarls, and the other man licks his lips.

“We just want your valuables,” Graybeard says to Mr. Morgan.

“We ain’t got any,” he growls.

“I’m sure you don’t,” is the calm answer as Graybeard starts going through the saddlebags of Mr. Morgan’s horse.

You roll your shoulders but the man with the rotting teeth only tightens his hold on you. His companion takes a few careful steps toward you. A lump is forming in your throat as you begin to realize just how dangerous this situation is. You try to kick back, like a horse, but you miss your captor. It only earns you a cruel laugh and a pinch to your cheek.

Somewhere to your right, you hear a dull thud and a pained groan coming from Mr. Morgan. You try to look at him, but you can’t move, not because you’re being restrained but because fear has taken over your body and you can’t do anything but relinquish control.

“Check her horse,” Graybeard orders, but the man with the mustache doesn’t move. He’s only a few steps away from you now, his eyes hungrily roaming over your body. “Now!” Graybeard barks.

“There isn’t -,” you start, but the man who is restraining you clamps a hand over your mouth. You could vomit when you taste his skin.

“There’s this,” the man with the mustache says, holding up a cheap necklace your mother gave you as a parting gift.

“Take it,” Graybeard orders.

“What about her?” the rotting man asks and shakes you.

“Her too,” Graybeard answers with a nod. “Shoot the man.”

“No!” you shout, even though it makes the disgusting man get more of his fingers in between your lips.

The man with the mustache stuffs your mother’s necklace into the pocket of his jacket, then walks over to you. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as he grips your skirt and begins to pull it upward so your boots and then your drawers are slowly exposed. A hot tear rolls down your cheek but it only makes him smile.

“I bet you’re lovely.” His voice is deep, almost as deep as Mr. Morgan’s, but hearing him speak only fills you with revulsion. “I bet you’re all tight …” He lightly strokes your cheek, then uses his free hand to unbutton his trousers.

“No!” you shout again, but it’s muffled, and your feeble attempts to free yourself are met with an evil snicker.

Then you hear a shot and all the life goes out of your body. It’s done. You’re alone now. And if you’re lucky, you’ll soon be dead too. Two more shots ring through the forest, each one as painful as if you’ve been hit by the bullets yourself. The man with the mustache doesn’t even flinch. His trousers hang open now, and you can see dark hairs peek out from between the fabric, before he cups one of your breasts hard and licks a broad stripe up your neck.

The other man moans, low, wetly, and it’s the most disgusting sound you’ve ever heard. He lets go of you, but it’s too late; you can’t run anymore. A wet, dull sound is followed by another moan, and you know exactly what he’s doing. You’ve heard people talk about it, even though you don’t quite know what it means when a man touches himself. All you know is that you feel bile rise at the thought of it.

The man with the mustache freezes and looks behind you, his eyes wide with shock. Maybe they have a different bargain, maybe he wants to keep you for himself and feels threatened. But then, so fast he’s only a blur, Mr. Morgan rushes past you, grabs the man by his collar, and pulls him off you, landing a punch against his jaw. You blink a few times as both men go down, not sure if what you’re seeing is real or if it’s a vision your panicked brain conjured up to calm you. The man with the mustache lands a kick between Mr. Morgan’s legs, gaining the upper hand. He pulls a knife from his boot while he straddles your companion to pin him down, but Mr. Morgan doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the man’s arm and bites down until he lets go of the knife. You catch a glimpse of Mr. Morgan’s eyes and where you expected him to be all feral rage, he’s cold and calculating. It sends a shiver down your spine and you stumble back a few paces until you step into something soft that squelches on impact. You don’t have to look down to know what it is.

Despite the loss of his knife, the man with the mustache is putting up a good fight. He lands a blow in Mr. Morgan’s face, then scrambles off him, grabs the knife, and pushes himself upward. Mr. Morgan moves faster than you’ve ever seen him move, jumping up while dodging the glinting blade of the knife.

“Stay down, big boy,” the man sneers.

Mr. Morgan shoves into him with such force the knife ends up in the dirt again, right next to the two men. But this time, Mr. Morgan has the upper hand, landing blow after blow in the face of the other, grunting with grim satisfaction when he draws blood, continuing even when the man retches up blood and spits it in Mr. Morgan’s face. He doesn’t stop until the man doesn’t move anymore and his face is nothing more than a bloody pulp, entirely unrecognizable. Only then does he grunt in pain and rolls off his opponent, lying on the forest floor, breathing labored and hard.

*******

You make camp that night as far away from that spot as you could travel before the light faded. Mr. Morgan gets a fire going while you sit on a log, trying to hide your trembling hands in your lap. You haven’t cried yet but you know it’s coming. He hasn’t said anything yet, and you’re not sure he will.

In the flickering light of the fire, you can see the cuts and bruises in his face, the sleeve of his shirt drenched in blood. And when you close your eyes, you can see the five dead men, their broken bodies left in the dirt for scavengers to feed on. He did that, all on his own.

You force yourself to stand up and walk over to him. He’s not the man who calmed you down after a mountain lion attack anymore; you’ve seen him beat a man to death today with his bare hands. No, he’s someone new now, someone you have to get to know first. And when you crouch down next to him, he looks at you with dark eyes like he’s never looked at you before and you feel all the air being pressed out of you.

“Let me take a look at your arm,” you say, pulling it toward you by his hand. The dried blood on his knuckles is rough against your skin.

He doesn’t protest, just watches as you carefully roll up his sleeve to expose a deep cut, undoubtedly left by the knife. It must have happened so fast you missed it. Even though it’s not bleeding as much as it used to, each pump of Mr. Morgan’ heart pushes some more blood out through the cut.

“You need stitches,” you tell him.

Before you can second-guess what you’re doing or change your mind, you’re next to your saddlebag, looking for the sewing kit your bother gave you. Only you’ve never used it for something like this before. You don’t even know if it’ll work, only ever having read about it in books, but it’s better than doing nothing. You also grab the bottle of whiskey from Mr. Morgan’s bag.

“Drink this,” you order, handing it to him once you’re next to him again.

He takes one big swallow, then another one, his throat working to get the liquid down. You pretend not to notice. Then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you stare at the cut with much more focus than necessary. Taking back the bottle, you pour some of its content on the cut, drawing a low groan from Mr. Morgan that heats up your cheeks.

Your hands are shaking as you try to thread the needle. “Have you ever done this before?” Mr. Morgan asks, his face stoic as if he’s ready to accept his fate no matter the answer you give him.

“Technically, no,” you answer, finally pushing the thread through the eye.

“Huh,” he grunts.

“But I’m very good at mending stockings.” You offer him a feeble smile and he nods. “This might hurt a little bit,” you warn before pushing the needle through his skin. Holding his arm in place with your other hand, you can feel his muscles flex at the intrusion, and a short burst of breath tickles the top of your head. He doesn’t complain.

“Have you ever been stitched up before?” you ask him to distract him.

“No,” he replies through gritted teeth.

“Oh, good. Then you have to believe me when I tell you I’m doing a very good job.” What’s wrong with you?

He grunts again, but maybe, possibly that sound could be hiding a laugh.

“Still, when we arrive at our destination, you should have a doctor look at this,” you instruct.

“Eager to hear from a professional how good of a job you did?”

Your cheeks ignite and you drop the needle. “Shit.” He is laughing now, a low chuckle, as you try to locate a glint in the flickering light from the campfire. Luckily, you don’t have to look far – the needle fell straight down and is lying between Mr. Morgan’s boots. You wipe strands of hair from your face, then wipe the needle clean on your dress before getting back to work.

“No,” you answer his question, forcing your voice to sound steady. “Because I have no idea how to prevent an infection. Or if I’m even doing this correctly.”

Mr. Morgan leans down, his big hand closing around the bottle you discarded earlier, and he unscrews the cap with his thumb and forefinger. “Looks to me like you’re doin’ fine.” A big swig, then another one.

You glance up at him just to see his face looking unusually pale. “Does it hurt a lot?” you ask carefully.

“I’ve had worse,” he answers, but flinches when one of your stitches comes too close to the wound.

You blink fast a couple of times, trying to shake the image of him on top of that man, punching and punching until no trace of life was left. The memory of the sheer brutality makes your hands feel clammy. No, this wasn’t his first time getting hurt, just like it wasn’t his first time killing someone. And now the same hands rest peacefully in his lap, cut and bruised, yes, but a far cry from the deadly weapons you saw today.

“Thank you for what you did today,” finishing up with two final stitches, then quickly add, “There,” and pet his arm before he can acknowledge your words of gratitude.

He lifts his hand from his leg and flexes his fingers. “Thanks for this,” he replies, examining the stitches.

Your gaze lands on his knuckles that are covered in blood, his own and that of the men he killed. “Do you want me to take a look at your hands?” you ask, your throat tight all of a sudden.

“I’m used to that.” He stretches out one of his legs so it rests next to you, close enough that you feel the ghost of a presence next to your hip.

“I’ve never met a man who was used to so much violence.” Your eyes are still on his hands, bruised darkly.

“It was either them or us.” He shrugs.

Us. “I was sure they had killed you when I heard that first gunshot,” you tell him, lowering your gaze to your own hands that have some dirt on them, some streaks of Mr. Morgan’s blood, but that look so clean compared to his.

“And break the contract with your father?”

You laugh. “A father who selected this route knowing full well about the dangers we would face?” The silence that follows your question is filled only by the crackle of the campfire and by the sounds of creatures moving through the woods. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you,” you finally say.

“This ain’t the first time I had to save someone,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“And how did those other people repay you?” you ask, eager for his answer. Being indebted to him puts you on edge.

“Money,” is his short reply.

“I don’t have any,” you say, feeling a tug at your heartstrings. But maybe that doesn’t matter; maybe when you arrive, you could talk to your fiancé. He’ll want to reward the man who defended your honor and saved you from a horrible fate. Still, you wish there was something you could be doing for him right now. “There’s also other ways,” you say, very slowly.

“Hm,” he makes, a sound that has started to fill you with a certain warmth for reasons you can’t quite explain. Then he shifts, moves his legs a little further apart. And you’re there right between them, looking up into his face that betrays nothing except for the smallest glint in his eyes.

You’ve never even kissed a man, but you’re not stupid. You know what certain gestures and movements mean. You’ve watched your father’s hands when a woman walked past them, you’ve attended dances where everyone around you was getting drunk … growing up on a farm, you’ve seen things. But you also know that those things are wrong and they should only be happening between husband and wife behind closed doors, no matter what everyone else is doing.

It's getting harder to breathe, and you feel a tug low in your stomach, almost like an ache. You’ve never felt anything like this before and you can’t quite place it, but the way he looks at you, mouth slightly opened, his eyes deep and dark, only fuels that sensation. And when you think back to this afternoon, it becomes so strong it makes you shift on your knees.

“You’re a pretty little thing.”

It’s the second time today someone has said that about you. Whereas the first time made your skin crawl, the second time makes your cheeks heat up and your breath get stuck in your throat. You notice that Mr. Morgan unbuckles his belt, eyes locked to yours, and you make sure your gaze stays on his face. It’s only when he groans and his eyelids flutter shut that you look down and see he has his hand wrapped around himself, moving it up and down his length with sure strokes. Something in you is released at that sight.

“Here, let me,” you offer, shuffling closer on your knees until you’re trapped between his legs.

Before you can think better of it, you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. It’s warmer than you expected, feels heavier than you thought when you move your hand up in the same move you saw him use. He groans again, louder this time, and removes his hand, resting it on your arm. You tremble.

Back home, you were taught that what a wife does in the bedroom is fulfilling the duty to her husband. It sounded neither pleasant nor enjoyable, and so far, you’ve managed to push the thoughts of what is awaiting you at your destination from your mind. But your mother couldn’t have meant this, because this doesn’t feel like duty at all. You stroke the tip of his cock with your thumb, he tightens the grip on your arm in return, and you feel a surge of pride well up. No, your mother couldn’t have been talking about this.

Eager to try more, you twist your wrist on the downstroke, then lower your head and kiss the tip of his cock. He growls this time, and his hand lands on the back of your head, pushing you down. You have no choice but to open your mouth further and take him in. The weight of him presses down against your tongue, the tip of him brushing the back of your throat makes you gag as tears shoot to your eyes. He grips your hair, pulls you off, then pushes you back down again, and you got it. It’s not so different from the hand.

Steadying him at the base with a tight grip, you pull off him again, but let your tongue run along the underside, the sharp taste of him filling every corner of your mouth. It will take some getting used to, but you’re determined to get this right, and from the way his hand trembles at the back of your head, you have a feeling you might be.

You close your eyes, focusing on taking him as deeply inside as possible because he seems to enjoy that. Sometimes, when you think there isn’t any room left, he pushes you onto his cock that little bit further and then groans contently, a sound that tightens parts of your body you didn’t know could tighten. You run your tongue over the tip of him, hum around him when your mouth is full of him, just to find out what kind of sounds you can draw from him. If this is what it’s like, you can’t imagine why anyone would call this a duty.

Mr. Morgan stiffens and pushes his hips upward so you take even more of him into your mouth. This time you can’t help the gagging sound pushing past him. But instead of forcing you to take more, he grips a handful of your hair and pulls you off. Your mouth feels strangely empty for a moment, even though his taste lingers, and you blink in confusion. Was that it?

You lick your lips and look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. But he’s quiet, only placing his forefinger under your chin to tilt your head back a little more. For some reason, that gesture leaves you breathless. And you know why a second later when his lips lock onto yours and your breaths mingle, and you suddenly understand why people would kill for this. Why he killed for you.

You can’t help the moan that comes out of your mouth, don’t even realize at first that the sound is coming from you. His hand glides to the back of your head to grip you and hold you in place, and you push yourself toward him, one hand on his arm, the other on his thigh. He licks into your mouth and you try to mirror him, feeling a strange sense of pride when he opens up for you.

He pulls away, holding you in place by the hair at the nape of your neck. “Did you like havin’ me in your mouth?” he asks and his voice is so low you barely recognize it.

“Yes, Mr. Morgan,” you answer, and you also almost don’t recognize your own.

“Oh, you’re somethin’,” he says with a wicked smile, then stands and pulls you with him.

Your legs are trembling and your knees threaten to give way when he kisses you again, pressing his entire body to yours. Just when you think you could spend eternity like this, he closes his arms around your backside and lifts you up, so you don’t have any chance but to sling your legs around his middle. You squeal against his lips, but he just carries you past the campfire toward your bedroll. Beneath your palms, you can feel the muscles in his shoulders and arms flex and tighten with each step. Something in your stomach flutters as you remember he's strong enough to beat a man to death.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re kissing his jaw and neck, biting down on a tendon that’s jutting out with the effort of keeping you in his arms. When he rumbles deep in his chest, you flick out your tongue to lick across the spot in apology, but he drops you to your feet. You both stand there for a second, looking at each other with heaving chests. His hands come up to grip the neckline of your dress, and he pulls, a tearing sound echoing through the trees. Your torn dress crumbles to the ground around you, exposing your undergarments, and even though your first instinct is to cover up you don’t because he pulls his shirt over his head to expose his naked chest beneath, and that sight is enough to distract you from any embarrassment you might be feeling.

His pants are next, and then he stands before you stark naked. You try to touch his stomach with a trembling hand, but he grabs your wrist and pushes you down to the ground. With precise movements, he pulls off your drawers, taking your shoes with them, then tears open your corset to expose your breasts. Your breath hitches when he cups one in his calloused hand and squeezes, making pleasure spike through your body.

You kiss him again, lean into his touch, and then you discover you can make him tighten his hold on you by licking over his bottom lip. You can make him press his hard length against you by moaning in pleasure. It feels so, so good to have this effect on him, to be able to do that to him without words. Never, in a million years, would you have expected that giving yourself to a man would feel like this, would make heat blossom at the base of your spine, would make you ache between your legs. You shove your fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss, and he sighs against your lips, a sound that makes your knees weak. How can all of this make you feel so good yet fill you with a hunger you don’t know how to satiate?

You run your nails over his scalp, testing to see what other sounds you can elicit from him, when he suddenly shifts both your bodies, pushing you to the ground while caging you in with his body. Your heart hammers in your chest so hard it’s almost painful, but even when your back is uncomfortably pressed against your thin bedroll, you still crane your neck to keep kissing him. God, why can’t you get enough of him?

With a sharp slap against your knee that sends another spike of pleasure through your body, he pushes your legs apart, then draws back to look at you. His lips are red and swollen, and both shadow and light are dancing across his face in quick succession. You reach up to touch his cheek, but he catches your wrist and pins it down next to your head with so much strength it steals the breath from your lungs.

“You’re the prettiest little lady I’ve ever seen,” he mumbles.

You feel your face heat up, but he doesn’t notice how flustered you are. With his free hand, he grabs himself, then lines himself up between your legs. You watch, eyes wide, breathing so fast your head is starting to swim. What comes next is a pressure that is not painful but not quite pleasurable either. And the more it pushes, the more it hurts.

“Stop,” you say, your voice not more than a whisper.

Either he doesn’t hear you or he’s ignoring you, but he continues to push up into you, and now it’s so painful you’ve lost all sense of pleasure entirely.

“Stop,” you try again, bracing your hands against his shoulders, trying to push him off you. He’s too strong for you. “Arthur, stop!” you bellow.

And he hears you. He immediately withdraws, and you scramble to sit up, pulling away from him as best as possible on the small bedroll.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, and the concern in his voice makes you look at him.

“Yes,” you answer, hugging your knees to your chest. You wish you weren’t so naked.

“Have you ever …?” He doesn’t need to finish the question for you to know what he means.

You shake your head.

A deep, red flush creeps up his chest and neck. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t –”

“It’s alright,” you interrupt him, his apology embarrassing rather than harming you. “You didn’t know.”

“The way you were kissin’ me …” He trails off again.

Your ears prick up at the compliment. “It all felt … good,” you stutter. “More than good. It’s just …”

“I can … we can slow down,” he offers. “If you still want …”

You look at him, kneeling before you, his skin glowing orange in the light from the fire. His dick is slowly softening between his legs, goosebumps are covering his arms, but he is showing you all of himself without shame. That bold display of his body makes your blood heat up again, but you hesitate. Touching his naked skin is one thing, giving yourself to him entirely is something you’ve been warned of your entire life. And yet … now that you’ve pushed through the initial shock, you slowly realize your body is demanding to feel him again.

You nod. “Yes. I still … I want you.”

Your cheeks are fever-hot, but the way his eyes light up is worth the embarrassment you feel. Arthur moves toward you, loosening the hold you have on yourself, and you relax, dropping your knees, letting him come even closer. He smirks, his eyes darting to your lips and then back up again before he leans in for a searing kiss, and it feels like the last few minutes didn’t happen at all. Without breaking the kiss, he reaches for your wrist, then slowly guides your hand between your own legs, while you tremble in anticipation. He doesn’t touch you, but when he presses your own fingers against all that heat and wetness, you moan deeply.

Arthur breaks the kiss first. “I want you to play with yourself,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“I don’t …,” you start, suddenly unsure.

“Yeah, I know.” He kisses your neck. “You’re gonna figure it out though.”

You take a deep breath and nod, and when he captures your lips for another kiss, you move your fingers over yourself in a motion that makes pleasure shoot through your entire body. A shaky pant escapes you and lands on his mouth, turning his lips into a smirk even while he’s kissing you.

“There you go,” he whispers.

You find a rhythm and pace that makes you feel like you’re about to explode but that doesn’t light the final fuse, and he continues to kiss you for a while before drawing back to watch the hand between your thighs. Any shame you could have felt is replaced by pure lust when you see the arousal in his eyes; you shift to open your legs further, and he raises his eyes in surprise. You shift under his searing gaze and moan when you notice his hand closing around the base of his cock.

You’ve never felt like you’re feeling right now, completely in control but also like you’re surrendering yourself to him. It’s so addictive it makes you wonder how people don’t want to feel like this all the time. “It feels so good,” you groan, struggling to get the words out because your teeth are clenched.

“You’re so pretty,” is Arthur’s answer as he moves his hand up and down his length.

You can’t help but believe him. “I love you strong you are,” you return the compliment, and before you can think better of it, you raise your free hand and cup your breast, squeezing your nipple.

His eyes lock onto your chest. “Fuck.” Pleasure shoots through you from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. “You’re such a good girl,” he adds, and it makes your heart flutter so painfully you feel like it’s about to fly out of your chest.

“Say that again,” you demand, not recognizing yourself at all.

Arthur shifts closer until he’s right between your legs, fisting himself eagerly. You can smell the sweat and arousal on him, a scent so overpowering you wish you could bury your nose in his skin and inhale it forever. “My pretty, brave girl,” he says, and when you lower your gaze, too overwhelmed by what his words make you feel, he grips your chin and lifts your head. “Oh no, you’re gonna look at me.” You blink once but don’t lower your head again. “Yeah, that’s it.” He smirks. “Look at you … so eager to please me. You should see yourself right now … goddamn prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

You do lower your gaze then because it feels like too much. Your eyes land on his cock, on the tip that’s glistening wetly, and you lick your lips, remembering the feeling of him in your mouth.

“You want me inside of you, don’t you?” Arthur asks, and you nod. His rough, calloused hand closes around your throat and you can’t help it – you move your own hand faster, a crescendo building in the pit of your stomach. “Use your words, pretty girl. I know you can.”

You swallow hard, knowing he can feel your throat move against his grip. “Yes, I want you inside of me.” Your face doesn’t heat up this time as you realize you’re not only saying that to please him. It’s exactly what you want.

He rewards you with a deep kiss, then mumbles against your lips. “Are you ready?”

You hesitate. “I’m not …”

But Arthur doesn’t let you finish. “Let’s find out together.” He leans back. “Finger yourself.” The way his eyes darken when he says it isn’t lost on you.

You shift and move your hand lower, his eyes fixed to your movements. He has stopped moving, his hand grabbing his cock, holding it between his legs. You feel yourself flutter against your fingers in anticipation at the same time as he licks his lips. And then you push the tip of your finger inside of you, past the initial resistance, deeper and deeper until you can’t go any further.

“Breathe,” he instructs and you exhale sharply. “Did that hurt?”

You shake your head before remembering he likes to hear your voice. “No.”

“How does it feel?” he wants to know.

Carefully, you pull your finger out until only the tip remains inside of you, then you push it back in. “Good,” you manage. “Really good.”

“You’re sweet when you can barely talk,” he says with a smirk and the muscles inside you clamp down on your finger. You moan and close your eyes, unable to keep them open. “You like that, don’t you?” You hear him shift closer. “You like hearing my voice. Bet you’d like me to talk you through it, too.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you feel something building inside you. It’s like a wave that will drown everything out. You lean back further and further until your back connects to the ground, until you can raise your hips to meet your finger, trying to get it as deep inside you as possible.

Then his hand is covering yours and he pushes you to the ground, stilling you. When you open your eyes, you’re met with his, dark with lust, and you’re rewarded with the sight of his chest, flushed so deeply red it looks almost purple. His cock is leaking onto his fingers. “Not yet, sweet girl,” he says in a voice that sounds familiar to the one he uses to calm down his horse. “You’re doing so well, but wait until …”

Arthur removes his hand from yours, but then you feel the tip of his finger right where yours is disappearing inside yourself. You steel yourself for the pain you’re about to feel, but when his finger joins yours, stretching you open, all you feel is pleasure so intense it makes it hard for you to stay conscious.

“Fuck,” you groan, a short outburst, almost like a bark.

“You can say that again.” Arthur’s voice is so husky it’s almost impossible to understand. He cups your hand with his, and then moves the both of you in tandem, pulling back out and pushing back in. You tentatively meet his thrusts by rolling your hips and he growls. “Look at you, spread open just for me.”

You don’t know why his words make you feel like they do, but the muscles between your legs are working hard to keep both your fingers buried as deeply as possible. That earns you a smirk from him and you smile back in return.

“I think you’re ready.” He grips your hand tightly and pulls the both of you out, making you sob. To calm you, he cups your cheek and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna fill you right back up again.” All you can do is nod.

He positions himself above you, stroking himself a few times, then lining himself up. It’s easier for you to relax this time because you know what to expect, but when he breaches that resisting wall of muscles, you still feel a burn and hiss.

“Shhhh,” he makes and kisses your forehead. “You’re doing so good.”

And then he’s inside of you, stretching you open as much as you can take. His eyes flutter shut and he groans, shifting to adjust himself. “You feel perfect.”

“You’re … you’re big,” you manage, drawing a chuckle from him.

He shifts again, then pulls back out before slamming back into you, making you see stars. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately.

“No,” you press out through gritted teeth. “Do that again.”

He does, and you grip his arm, burying your nails in his muscle, slinging your other arm around his back. There’s a strange taste in your mouth and you only slowly realize it’s blood from biting down on your bottom lip. He kisses you, licks over the wound, pulls a sharp moan from you. And then he slams into you so hard you scream, clawing at his skin, leaving bloody streaks down his arm and back. The pain only seems to spur him on and when you pant, “Harder,” he doesn’t hesitate.

You clench around his cock in return and he whispers, “I like you like this.” You feel yourself clench again and he groans. “You’re perfect,” he repeats. You kiss his neck, then bite it, until he pushes you back down. “I bet you’ve never had an orgasm before, have you?” You shake your head and he mimics that motion, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“No,” you manage to say, your voice hoarse.

He rocks into you, not as hard and fast as before, but it makes you pant helplessly nonetheless. “Yeah, I thought so,” he mumbles more to himself than to you.

“Please,” you whisper.

He smirks down at you, then shifts his knees ever so slightly to change the angle. Suddenly, he’s brushing against something deep inside of you that makes a sob erupt from deep in your chest.

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” he teases, but there is a strain in his voice now, as if he’s struggling to hold onto something.

“Please,” you repeat louder, unable to fully grasp the meaning of his question.

Arthur’s thumb is back on your lip and then he pushes it inside your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip eagerly, then suck on it, grazing your teeth over his skin. His breathing turns ragged, and the warmth of pride erupts in your chest. With a wet sound, he pulls his thumb out from between your lips and pushes his hand between your bodies until it comes to rest on that small spot you were toying with earlier. You howl and twitch and your whole body erupts. You spill over, you lose sense of where and who you are, you’re shaken by forces beyond your control. All the while, Arthur pounds into you, strokes you inside and out, and you think you hear him say, “That’s it, just let go. You’re so fucking beautiful – just let go.”

As soon as you feel like you can breathe again, he pulls out of you, leaving you aching and empty and cold. Through hooded eyes, you watch as he moves his hand up and down his cock fast until he spills all over his hand and the edge of your bedroll, gaze not directed downwards, but staring at you with insatiable hunger in his eyes. And you return that gaze just as hungrily, wondering what it would feel like to taste his release on your tongue.

Arthur stands unsteadily and retrieves his coat from the other side of the campfire. You feel the cold of the night now and hug your knees to your chest, still trying to make sense of the world. “Now, no more of that,” he says when he gets back, draping his coat over you, the weight of it making your limbs grow soft. He lies down next to you, pressing his front to your back, one arm possessively slung over your chest, the other shoved under your head for you to use as a pillow.

*******

The morning sun is warm on your face as you ride through a slowly thinning forest. The plains and your destination cannot be far from here. Your thoughts are though; they’re still somewhere behind you, stuck at a campfire, busy chasing the feeling of the man next to you between your legs.

When you reach a fork in the path, you stop your horse and look off to your right, back into the forest and the mountains. “What’s back there?” you ask.

Arthur stops his horse next to yours and looks down the path. “Never been over that way,” he answers.

“Do you want to find out?” Your voice is firm, but you don’t look at Arthur.

He’s quiet at first. “Your father –”

“– already paid you,” you finish the sentence.

Arthur nods. “Alright,” he says, then looks back at the path you just put behind you, then off to your right again. “Let’s find out what’s over there.”

***

#no but i still think about this fic 😭😭#i’ve never played the game but i love mr morgan regardless <3 #AND ITS SO WELL WRITTENNNNNN AHHHHH #i actually am begging you. on my hands and knees. to tag me when you make more arthur morgan #ON MY HANDS AND KNEEESSSSSS #like a part 2???? a part deux????? oh my god i’d scream. i’d holler even #a part two of this fic would fix me. would clear my skin. would water my crops #i will never not love your writing #i also just love you in general heheh

1K notes · View notes

choccy-milky · 2 months ago

Text

sometimes you gotta lure your overly-studious ravenclaw gf into spending time with you 🥰 📚 ( from 'Every Teardrop is a Waterfall' by Kat_12739 on ao3, GO READ IT!!! the first story is about seb falling sick and still pushing himself/not admitting he's sick until he ends up in the hospital, the second story is about the birth of seb and clora's daughter and seb's reaction to clora almost dying in childbirth, and the third is about dealing with a fussy newborn lewis😭🥹THEY'RE SO GOOD AND SWEET AND SOMEWHAT SAD (not to mention beautifully written) so go check it out!!💖💖 )

#READ SO I CAN YAP TO SOMEONE ABOUT THEM🙏😩💘#the seb sickfic made me realize how much i needed barely functioning and sick seb (but him still trying to be tough)#theres also a part that cracked me up bc at one point seb is so sick he cant even see straight but he just thinks to himself:#eh its fine.... ill just ask ominis how HE functions without vision later🤷 LMFAO #so stubborn...JUST LET CLORA TAKE CARE OF YOU MFER🤺🤺🤺#defs gonna be drawing more from it especially sick seb LMAO but also seb having a tea party with celeste🥹🥹#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x oc #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hphl #choccyart #also i was never planning on writing anything about clora giving birth or abt the kids so to be able to read it WAS AMAZING #THERES A PART WHERE SEB IS HOLDING CELESTE AND CRYING AT CLORAS BEDSIDE THAT I NEED TO DRAW😭😭#LIKE SRSLY seb being conflicted and not even wanting to HOLD celeste bc he doesnt know if clora is alive or not... IT WAS SO SAD BUT GOOD #i honestly dont know what seb would do if clora died in childbirth tbh.......i could honestly see him resenting celeste #esp since she looks so much like clora😭😭#LETS JUST NOT THINK ABOUT IT!😃👍#(still thinking about it)#like this line in the fic: “Sebastian hesitated; if this was Clora’s last gift to him he wasn’t sure he wanted it.”#😭😭😭ITS SO GOOD UGHHHHH😭 TY AGAIN FOR WRITING THESE💖IM SO TOUCHEDDD💖💖

1K notes · View notes

shadebloopnik · 8 months ago

Text

Unrequited/One-sided Radioapple but it isn't treated like an angsty end of the world thing.

Imagine they slowly get closer after all the banters, and eventually becoming close friends. Lucifer ends up catching feelings for him, and after a long while, decides to confess and ask Alastor if he felt the same.

Alastor admittedly does not feel the same.

He's getting uncomfortable, struggling to keep his composure because he's DONE this before. He KNOWS how this ends. He remembers Vox and all his insistent declarations of affection and desperate pleas for Alastor to reciprocate; the possessive entitlement. He remembers how all those sickly sweet words morphed into something venomous when he didn't give the lowlife what he wanted. He remembers the anger, the ridiculous notion that it was Alastor's fault why he was so mad, that Alastor led him on and that he obviously deserved something in payment for it all-

So yes, Alastor knows how this ends.

It doesn't mean he isn't disappointed though, because he actually LIKES Lucifer, far more than he ever did Vox. Perhaps not in the way the king might have wanted, but he did. He treasured their little talks, their drinking sessions, their shared love for their instruments, Lucifers singing, their little duets, the banter, the playful jabs, the sparring.

He'd even slowly grown accustomed to the other's touches, not feeling the same surge of disgust and discomfort whenever the shorter man would grab at his arm in excitement, forgetting his usual thoughtfulness of Alastor's touch aversion for the short moment of whatever distracted him. Alastor even enjoyed it at times, relaxing at the feel of soft feathers beneath his claws, or the sensation of gentle scratches against his ears.

Difficult as it was to admit, Alastor had grown to care for the angel, the same way he had for Rosie orv Mimzy.

But no matter how fond Alastor was of Lucifer, it didn't change the fact that he didn't feel the same way romantically, or even sexually. No way in the 7 rings of Hell was he going to lie to Lucifer about either, not going to even entertain the idea of pretending he reciprocated for Lucifer's sake. He respected his friend too much for that.

So a clear, direct rejection it is. It was a shame, but nothing could be done. He said his piece concisely, and waited, shoulders set, back straight, smile and eyes a careful blank canvas as he prepared for the inevitable.

Lucifer nodded, a normal soft smile still in place, "Thank you for your answer, it means a lot."

Which......what? Alastor expected an outburst, or at the very least sharp words.

What he did NOT expect was....acceptance? And not just that but, a happy one? Contentment?????

"You're....alright with that?", he had to ask, he had to. Lucifer was clearly just very good at masking his upset.

But the damn angel just smiled?? And it didn't even look fake, just as bright and soft as his normal smiles, albeit a little confused?? Lucifer smiled at him, his brows furrowing in a bit of confused disbelief, as though Alastor is being the weird one here.

"Uhh, yeah??? Why wouldn't I be??? Yeah I may have some feelings for you but its not like you're obligated to feel the same. Above anything else, we're friends first and foremost and i'm alright with that..."

Then he seemed to have reached his own little conclusion as his words trailed off, because suddenly Lucifer's eyes widened in realization of something, and his words picking up with a sense of panicked urgency.

Alastor would really like to know what Lucifer's supposed realization was about himself because he had absolutely no clue.

"I mean, we ARE still friends right?? I don't- I- I hope this doesn't like- change your opinion of me. You're not- oh gosh I'm not making you uncomfortable am I? I- I won't mention it! You can even forget this whole confession ever happened! We can just go on as before! I don't feel any different or would act any different! Honest! I mean, I don't regret confessing because you deserve to know and I'm not ashamed of my feelings, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable! It doesn't change the way i'll treat you! Or change any aspect of our relationship! I don't even think I like you more as a lover than as a friend! I really, really do love our friendship, it matters more to me than any thoughts of being in a romantic relationship with you! So please just forget it all-"

Alastor let the word vomit wash over him, every word leaving him more confused by the minute.

Because yes, there's the desperation he expected, but...it was more about, convincing Alastor to remain friends?? Reassuring Alastor that nothing has to change?? That their friendship is the most important thing here??

(If anyone asks, no Alastor's heart didn't swell. Only lesser beings would have had the urge to cry, and Alastor is anything but.)

Lucifer is unknowingly reassuring Alastor of every single one of his insecurities about the situation. Because Alastor DID want to remain friends, he cared too much about the man to let it go so easily. It was rare to find people who treasure friendships above romantic relationships.

"I don't tend to forget easily, nor will I forget this one in particular.", he spoke, finally finding his voice. At Lucifer's defeated, pained expression( is their friendship really that important to him?), he continued. "But....yes. I'd like that.. To remain...friends."

He didn't often say the word out loud, being comfortable enough with each other that it need not be reassured with the label. But with Lucifer brightening up like his namesake, relief and happiness palpable, Alastor felt no qualms at declaring their friendship out loud.

So life went on as usual. True to his word, Lucifer remained basically the same. The following weeks were a bit stilted for Alastor, as he put some rather painful distance between him and the angel; limiting their interactions, their usual touches.

Anytime now, Lucifer would break and show his true colors, Alastor would think, waiting for the boot to drop. Lucifer would end up angry, and dissatisfied, and that was that.

But it never happened. Lucifer never expressed discomfort when Alastor avoided him, seeming to be understanding of the others need for space. He was just as affectionate as before, though initially a bit held back, as though gauging Alastor's comfort.

Months would pass, and the king never faltered. Their friendship remained strong, if not growing ever closer than before. Alastor found himself even growing more comfortable with the man. Affectionate touches were becoming common, hugs and head pats and cuddles being a welcome thing, with the reassurance that the shorter king would never disrespect his boundaries.

Lucifer seemed genuinely happy about it, despite being clearly told that none of Alastor's actions hinted at anything romantic. In fact, he seemed ecstatic that Alastor was getting more affectionate towards him as a friend. The embarrassment the radio demon felt at having Lucifer basically tear up (no really, he was crying so hard, full on drama sobbing) with joy in front of him was intertwined with the sheer incredulous fondness he felt for the man at that moment.

They were sitting at a couch one night, more than a year passing since that confession. Lucifer was leaning back, resting against the cushions, while Alastor had his head on the smaller one's shoulder, nuzzling at the crook of his neck, legs tucked close to his body. Both had a book in hand, two nearly empty cups of tea on the table in front of them. Every so often, Lucifer would flex his fingers that rested on Alastor's head, running a digit against the other's ear, often prompting the demon to lean into the touch. White wings enveloped the two, blanketing them against the chill of the night.

As Alastor turned the page of his own book, relaxing into the touch of his dearest friend, he wondered how he ever got so lucky in hell.

#this may have gotten away from me lmao #this was supposed to be a rlly short prompt of 'Unrequited love but overbrimming friendship' but instead i typed out this word vomit-#i don't know if im labeling things right here??? this may not look platonic tk others but ig im sort of projecting here #bc i want friendships like this soo badd. i mean this is still platonic right??? this is normal friendship behavior like come onnn #I've been teased about being ace bc of this mindset but i always just go RIGHT this is how friendship works y'all blind😭😭😭#bloopnik writing #bloopnik rambles #radioapple #appleradio #platonic radioapple #platonic relationships #aroace alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor #duckiedeer #unrequited feelings #BUT NOT UNREQUITED LOVE HELL YEA #one sided radiostatic #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel #THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH AND ITS BEAUTIFUL #queerplatonic #i think #fic #fanfic #radiosilence

518 notes · View notes

uhbasicallyjustmilex · 2 months ago

Text

the cutest little bag of nerves 🥺

#he was this 🤏 close to forgetting to put those headphones on #the bbc live lounge performances always seem to really get him #forever thinking about that humbug era one where he’s visibly shaking #and so focused on looking down at the lyrics he tries to grab the mic stand when it isn’t there 🥺#ughhh #it makes my heart ache with love for him knowing how many times he's been so nervous when performing and still given it his absolute all 💗#ffs why do i really want to write a milex fic about alex and stage fright now 😭#alex turner #arctic monkeys #sias era #alex vid #lulu posts

242 notes · View notes

unfinishedslurs · 4 months ago

Text

The boy stops in his tracks. “I know you,” he says, tilting his head curiously. He’s not tall, but he’s regal nonetheless, dressed all in white. Something about him makes Leia’s hair stand on end, and although she hides it she feels a stirring in her own chest. I know you like I know my own soul, she thinks wildly, and wonders where it came from. Has she gone insane?

“That’s nice,” she says, and shoots him anyway.

He deflects it in a flash of light, a glowing blue laser sword appearing in his hand like magic. She’s only seen one of those before, and it’s Vader’s. If this boy is anything like Vader, she realizes, she’s in deep shit.

She’s smart enough to know when she’s outmatched. Leia makes the tactical decision to run for her life.

Later, as she’s getting the hell out of there, she wonders why he didn’t try to stop her.

She remembers being young and tugging on her mothers skirts, demanding to know why their guest was so sad. “Does he not like it here?” She’d asked, and then, trembling, because Kenobi always seemed saddest around her. “Is it…because of me?”

“Oh, Leia,” her mother sighed, lifting her into her arms. “It’s not that, I promise.”

“Then what is it?”

“Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, years ago.” Breha’s eyes grew deeper, darker. “It was not his fault, but he blames himself. You remind him of that child, that’s all.”

Leia had quieted at that, contemplative.

The next time she’d seen Master Kenobi, she had given him a hug. He didn’t seem to know what to do with that, so she resolved to give him more of them. “He’s lonely,” she’d told her mother. “No one should be lonely.”

Looking at Obi-Wan Kenobi now, the memory seemed so far away. He’d aged thirty years in the ten it had been.

He looks, Leia thinks with a small twinge of regret, very lonely.

“Leia,” he greets. “It’s been a long time.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Leia sees a glint of white.

Kenobi freezes in his tracks. “Luke?” He whispers, and through the distance Leia can hear it as if he’d been speaking directly into her ear.

Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, her mother whispers in her head. He blames himself.

In an instant, Leia understands everything.

Kenobi is still staring at the boy he’d lost so long ago when Vader cuts him down.

Later, as she’s pacing around on the Falcon to Han muttering darkly about Princesses and supernatural abilities, she rememberers the way the boy collapsed, as if all his strings had been cut. Vader was too occupied with him to even look at her as she shot at him desperately.

Luke. She hates him more than she hates herself.

“They know where you are,” he hisses frantically. “They’re coming for you. You have to run.”

“Wait!” Leia quickly pulls up their sonar. Nothing yet, but it would explain the distant queasiness she’d felt since they’d landed. She tended to trust her gut. “How do you know? How much time do we have?”

“Not important, and not enough,” he says. “I have to go, and so do you. You need to leave yesterday.”

“How do I know I can trust you? I don’t even know who you are.”

He pauses. “Call me Skywalker.”

“That’s not an answer, Skywalker.”

“Yes it is.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but there are faint voices on the other end, drawing nearer.

“Shit,” Skywalker mutters. “I have to go. I’ll be in contact, okay? Don’t ever tell me where you are, or where you’re heading. Vader and Palpatine aren’t shy about reading minds. Just leave as soon as you can, and figure out the rest.”

“But—“

It’s too late. The comm has disconnected.

She stares down at it, disbelieving. How would the Empire know they’re here? Why should she trust a stranger who somehow got her personal comm code?

Gut feeling or not, on paper this was a perfect location. Supplied, armored, and most importantly, extremely well hidden. There was no real reason to think it would possibly be found out.

It’s probably a trap. Almost definitely a trap.

Han sticks his head in the door, a sour look on his face. “Hey Princess, can you tell these idiots—“

She makes a decision then and there.

“We’re leaving.”

“What?”

“We’re evacuating, effective immediately.” She pushes past him, and he follows so close he’s nearly stepping on her heel.

“Why? I think it’s pretty cozy here. Actual sunlight doesn’t hurt, either.”

“Apparently too cozy.” She grabs the first person she sees, a pilot who stares at her with wide eyes. “Emergency evacuation. Spread the word to pack everything you can and leave, I’ll let you know where we’re headed when we’re in orbit.”

He salutes and scurries off.

“Woah, hey now.” Han snatches at her elbow until she turns around to face him. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a new informant. He told me the Empire knows we’re here. They’re coming for us.”

“And you trust this person because…”

“I don’t have a choice,” she snaps. Someone runs past them, holding three packs filled to the brim with rations. “It’s either he’s lying and we’re not in danger, or he’s telling the truth and we’re going to die if we don’t listen. It’s not exactly hard math.”

It could be a trap of course, but he hadn’t suggested any sort of direction or destination to follow, and Leia wasn’t inclined to share. Especially not after his tidbit about Vader and Palpatine reading minds.

He squints at her. “That’s not it.”

“What?”

“I don’t believe you,” he insists. He’s so infuriating. Leia doesn’t know why she hasn’t kicked him out yet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do, and you’re either gonna tell me why, or find a different transport when we head out of here.”

“Who said I was riding on your hunk of junk?” She demands. She actually was planning on going with them, since the Falcon has more than enough room for all the supplies that can’t fit in the other ships and none of the trustworthiness of the other pilots, but Han doesn’t need to know that.

“Well?”

Damn him. Damn him for knowing how to read her. She doesn’t know when she let that happen.

“I feel it,” she admits, defeated. “Something tells me he’s trustworthy. We’ll wait and see if it’s right.”

He studies her. She holds her head high, but inside she’s jittery at the scrutiny. They don’t have time for this.

“Yeah, all right,” Han finally says.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” He rolls his eyes, like she’s not acting absolutely insane by putting all her trust in a random man she’s never even met. “Now come on, Princess, weren’t you the one who said we had to hurry?”

What is it about this man that makes it impossible to tell whether she wants to punch him or drag him into the nearest supply closet? They don’t have time to find out.

“So there’s good news and bad news.”

“Bad news first,” she demands.

“They know there’s a mole.”

“Shit.” Of course they know, how could they not? She should have been more careful, less obvious about the correlation of their movements with the Empire’s plans. “The good news?”

“They’ve tasked me with hunting down this ‘pathetic rebel spy,’” Skywalker says, humor in his voice. “That should buy me some time.”

Leia can’t quite stop the snort she lets out. “Seriously?”

“Yep. You’re speaking to a professional mole-hunter, here.”

“Well congratulations on the promotion, Skywalker.”

“Thank you,” he says grandly. Then, quieter, “It won’t last, Princess. They’ll find out eventually.”

“I know. Just hang in there, it will be over soon.”

“Will it?” He asks, suddenly sounding very young. She realizes that she has no idea how old he is. She doesn’t know anything about the man who has saved them more times than she cared to admit, and the idea rattles her until they sign off.

Later, she looks up the name Skywalker in their archives. There are a few results, but only one sticks out.

Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight and hero of the Clone Wars. Killed at the hands of Darth Vader. There are gossip articles too, speculations on his relationship with the pregnant Senator Padmé Amidala, who died around the same time Skywalker did. The baby, it seems, died with her.

Unless he didn’t.

It’s ridiculous. It’s impossible. The idea is so ludicrous that Leia almost rejects it entirely.

But it makes sense. By the Maker, it makes sense.

The child of Anakin Skywalker, it seems, would be a powerful Force user indeed. Powerful enough for Kenobi to take the baby and run. Powerful enough for the Emperor to want him for his own gain. Powerful enough to send Vader after Kenobi and take the boy himself.

Maybe even powerful enough to shield his mind from Vader and Palpatine’s intrusions.

Powerful enough to hide the fact that he’s a spy.

Leia sinks into her chair, covering her face as she laughs.

Maybe Luke isn’t so bad after all.

“No, no, no,” she mutters, digging through the smoking wreckage of the TIE fighter. “Don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.”

“Princess…” Han lays a hand on her shoulder that she immediately shrugs off.

“No, he’s not dead. He’s not. Luke!”

A faint cough answers her, and she’s so relieved to hear it she could cry. Behind her, Han starts bellowing for a medic and, “Some damn help here, do you expect us to move all this ourselves?”

“Luke, it’s me,” she sobs. “It’s Leia. You’re at the Rebel Base. You’re safe.”

More coughing, and there’s a worrying rasp to his voice when he says, “You know…my name?”

“I figured it out.”

“Smart.” This time, the coughing is so bad Leia and Han both wince.

“Shit, kid,” Han says, moving another piece of rubble. “Don’t talk. We’re gonna get you out of here, all right?”

“Stand back,” Luke chokes out.

“What?”

“Stand back. Please.”

Han protests, but something in Leia knows they should listen to him. She drags him back, and motions everyone else to fall back with them. They do, albeit reluctantly.

“Clear,” she calls, hoping Luke can hear her.

The TIE explodes.

“Fuck!” Han goes back in, Leia on his heels with the terrifying feeling that she’d just allowed Luke to die, before they both stop in their tracks. Around them, the broken pieces of the TIE are floating.

And curled up in the middle is a man dressed all in white.

“Luke!” She pushes past Han to start dragging him out, and after another moment of staring around them, he helps her.

As soon as they get clear, the pieces fall to the ground with a clatter. Luke falls limp with them.

Han is still looking at the TIE. “Can you do that?” He asks quietly.

Leia pauses her examination of the unconscious man in front of her to glare at him. “Is that what you’re most concerned with right now? Really?”

“Excuse me for asking, Princess!”

“It’s white,” Luke grumbles, pulling at his hospital gown bitterly. “I hate wearing white.”

“Should I be offended?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t even. You look great and you know it. I just feel like I never left.”

“Well,” she says gingerly. “I guess it’s a good thing you got sick of it. If we went around in matching outfits all the time, people might think we’re twins.”

He snorts. “Yeah, right.”

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #luke skywalker #han solo #leia organa #imperial luke skywalker #exactly when luke was taken by the empire is totally up to speculation it could honestly be anywhere from newborn to 5 #as for why luke has his dad’s blue lightsaber here instead of like a red one or smth- well you see your honor I thought it would be a slay #but also when you think about it for more than 5 seconds you’re like actually yeah that’s sick and twisted of palpatine and vader actually #you’re carrying your fathers most treasured weapon #you don’t know your father once fought the rise of the very empire you stand to inherit with that blade. you don’t know who he defended #you don’t know your father brought about the end of the republic with that same weapon #he killed the younglings with it. he fought his closest companion with it #you’re carrying what was once your fathers most treasured weapon. you are your fathers most treasured weapon #just as your father is a weapon now #also I didn’t make it clear but obi-wan has his ‘strike me down and I become stronger’ moment like he still dies on purpose to cause proble #but when he saw luke he couldn’t look away. he had to see him with living eyes one last time #can u tell I had So Many Thoughts on everyone else’s perspective in this fic too #han is having a constant crisis in the background because 1) force is real 2) princess is annoying AND pretty which sucks for him #in particular and 3) pretty princess is learning to use the force and is hot while doing it. Chewie is laughing at him. life is hell #good lord did not mean to put an entire essay in the tags. i love their super special twin powers (cosmic entity that binds their souls)#edit: GUYS I FORGOT TO NAME THE FUCKING AU #AND WHEN I TRY AND FIX IT IT GLITCHES OUT ON MEEE 😭😭😭

221 notes · View notes