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zara-renata · 18 hours ago

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So I had one holiday prompt that I couldn't include in the big holiday prompt fic I posted last week, and I also have been receiving some really sweet and cute ideas that weren't exactly requests, but the ideas were so nice that I wanted to write something for them. I've gathered them into one story that I hope isn't disappointing. I had intended to do separate, cute little drabbles, but I had a bad day the other day and somehow uh, really dark angst happened, and then I used the ideas people sent for the comfort half of the fic? So please forgive me for just... taking it as dark as you can go before including the sweet, cute ideas that people requested. I hope you like the result anyway, although please read the content warnings. Several of the people who sent requests/ideas apologized for doing so, as if sending the ideas was 'too much', but you don't have to apologize for sending asks. My requests are open, and I like seeing everyone's ideas even if I don't end up being able to write for them, or if I tweak them a little to make them work for the story that comes out of my brain despite my best laid plans to stick to an outline.

The river | ao3 | masterlist

It's Christmas Eve, you're at the end of your rope after an absolutely awful year, and you decide to end it all after pushing everyone in your life away. Sylus pulls you from the brink and convinces you to keep going.

Sylus x fem reader, Sylus x mc, hurt/comfort, angst, grief, banter, fluff. CW: attempted suicide, depressed thoughts, NSFW, Sylus penetrating reader (this is not sex ed, do not follow these idiots' example, no discussion of condom or birth control, this is fantasy and we're not going to worry about that in the fic)

Ask #1 You asked to keep sending silly little ideas for you to write so I thought I'd give my own request! After Caleb and Gran (supposedly) die it's pretty much canon that MC refuses help from their friends and isolates themself in certain ways. I always imagine MC sometimes sees Sylus as "the only one they have left" since he is the only one who goes out of his way to check up on MC. But MC kinda grows to resent this and has a moment when their drunk/really going through it and basically ask Sylus why he doesn't leave them be so they can just rot away in peace. Sorry if this is too lengthy or I'm overstepping! Brain worms are getting to me

Ask #2 Okay, so random thoughts here, but do you know that superstition that’s like, “the places where you have moles on your body show where your lover kissed you in a past life”? But like… can you imagine what it would be like if MC had a mole in the exact spot where Sylus bit her during Abyssal Mark (cus I have one there lol) and then that superstition randomly gets brought up, only for MC to show him that mole and Sylus is just s h o o k??? N e way that’s my random thoughts lol (sorry if this is a lot 💀)

Ask #3 I love the way you write the MC and I find myself relating to them at least 99% of the time. Sometimes I just imagine them giving Sylus one of those "Do you like me? Circle yes or no!" Love letters to Sylus because they are terrified of rejection -> i wrote the MC in this story really, really depressed, so if this didn't hit the spot for you in terms of fear of rejection, let me know, and I can include your prompt in another story idea I had before this one that's a lot lighter and sweeter before I got hit by the angst truck that this fic turned out to be. just let me know!

Ask #4 the last holiday prompt! -> idk if anyone sent it yet but from the xmas prompt list, i would love to see what you do with number 8 -> I'm so sorry that this is what I did with it, I hope you like it anyway😭

Thank you everyone who has sent me ideas! If you've sent me a request and I haven't answered it yet, it's because I'm still intending to do something with it.

Here you are. Again.

At the end of a long day. A long week. A long year.

A long rope.

It’s the dark, this time of year.

Maybe.

You’re restless. You’ve passed through the Deepspace Hunters Association doors for the last time this year. Empty days of leave stretch before you.

Normally, it would still be light out, leaving this early. But not now, this deep into the year—it’s already full night, as you leave work early.

The bright lights of the building pour over your upturned face as you look back, just once. You don’t know what for. You’ve successfully severed most of the ties you had built before.

Before everything.

Tara, Xavier. After Caleb, Josephine—they reached out, over and over, and you bit their outstretched hands with your sharp, sharp teeth.

You snapped enough times that they keep their distance, now.

They’re still kind.

Tara still comes, sits on your desk, shares tidbits of gossip during the workday. But she no longer invites you along to karaoke, to after-work drinks with other coworkers.

You and Xav work in sync, as you eliminate wanderers. He walks you to your door at the end of the day. But he no longer offers to lend you books. No longer invites you to the bookstore, or to try new restaurants.

You watch his broad back as he walks away from you, down your apartment building’s hallway. He feels as far away as a star in the velvet night sky.

It’s not their fault. You did this.

You wanted this.

You turn away from the warm light beaming from the Association as you leave early, the Christmas lights glittering in the windows, the holiday party you’re skipping still in full swing in the open, sleek company restaurant area on the ground floor. A division-wide shindig, to celebrate the end of the year, the holidays.

The night is cold. Fairy lights, nets of bright pinpricks in the dark night, cover the trees lining the sidewalk. Decorative light displays stretch across the busy road at periodic intervals, over the canals that parallel the streets, the gondolas and tour-boats festive under their own lights, red ribbons flapping in the cold winter wind.

You think about how they never recovered a body.

Only Josephine’s ashes fill an urn, sitting in a cold niche of a quiet columbarium. Caleb’s urn is empty.

You start walking, fast, along the busy sidewalk. People are out shopping, scurrying to tie up last minute errands before the city shuts down for the holiday tomorrow.

You want to unzip your coat. Unzip your uniform. Unzip your skin, your ribcage. Leave all these pieces of yourself behind, for others to puzzle over. To sweep up with the rest of the refuse left over from festive party goers on the street. You want to dissipate in the cold winter air like your breath with each cursed inhale, exhale.

You settle for beginning to jog to the metro station, your feet carrying you faster, faster, your boots heavy on the sidewalk. You see it lit in the distance, but you can’t stand the thought of being underground right now. Buried alive, with all the other people. You sprint past it.

You’re graceful enough to duck and weave, not disturb anyone else, until the crowds thin.

You’re running, running, the city is streaming past, like the tears from your eyes. Wet from the cold, because you haven’t cried since waking up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s silver chain glittering in the firelight on the walk up to your grandmother’s burning house.

Tears won’t bring a body back.

You don’t know how much longer you can stand this.

The days, one after another. Alarm, moving through the dark to get to work. Moving through the dark to get back to your apartment at the end of the day.

The pain—your only constant, now. The only thing you expect, have to look forward to, day after blurred day.

An echoing emptiness, like an urn without ashes. An emptiness that feels so full that your skin could burst with it.

You think about your apartment. The festive city outside its windows. The half-opened bottle of wine in the fridge, the only thing in it.

You veer from your neighborhood. Keep running. You’re sweating under your winter coat, your heavy Hunter uniform. It doesn’t matter.

You run, and run, and run, until you run out of streets, sidewalk.

Just the river, wide and black. There is a bridge, soaring over the water, in the distance. Its lights reflected in the water, along with the urban nightscape. Stars above, stars below.

You could drown in them.

You look at the bridge.

You could drown in it all.

There’s no one left, after all.

Who will miss you?

You slow. Stop.

Your breath is heavy in the quiet air. Fairy lights sparkle here, too. Pretty swooping light displays top each lamppost along the river path.

You would have gone to identify the body, as you did with Gran. She didn’t look like herself. Not even a sleeping version of herself. They did their best, reconstructing her face. But it wasn’t the stitches, the bruising. It was that she simply wasn’t there anymore. Like a stranger’s body on display. An empty house after the residents have been forced to flee in a night of unimaginable violence.

But running your hands through her hair, one last time. It soothed something in you. Enough that you could breathe in the cold mortuary air. Could nod. Could watch as they covered her again. As they escorted you out into the bustling hospital hallways, to stand under cold fluorescent lights. To stare vacantly at the wall, until you felt a strange, familiar feeling. You looked up, saw Zayne watching you, at the end of the long hallway. You stared at him, memorizing his beautiful face. His dark hair. His severe, cold loveliness. You let yourself look one last time, and he let you. Through the people filling the hallway, each walking with purpose, they were a blur and he was across the world, across time, a part of your past that should never have reappeared in your present. It hurt too much, to look at his beautiful, distant face. He left you behind, once. He should have stayed gone. You can’t stand to experience the loss again, the loss you felt every time he listened to your heart, expressionless, a stranger with a beautiful, familiar face from your past, a past in which Caleb was still alive.

You looked at Zayne one last time, across a bustling hallway in a place full of life, of death, and he let you. You then turned, headed to the reception desk. You switched doctors, hospitals.

You blocked his number, so you’ll never know if he sent you a text, tried to call and ask why, after. He let you walk out. Which is as it should be.

You wanted this.

The water churns under the whipping wind, the fast current. It looks so cold. Cold enough to numb. Cold enough to finally put out the fire that’s been burning in you, ever since you woke up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s necklace shimmering in the flames.

You think of running your hands through his hair. Something the fire robbed you of—it would have been your first time, your last time. He would pat your head. Call you pipsqueak. Ignore your protests to not mess up your hair, to not treat you like a little kid. But he would always duck out of the way anytime you tried to return the favor, tease him, tousle his hair. His pretty brunette hair that always looked so soft. Now you’ll never know how soft it really was.

You look at the water. You look at the bridge. The car headlights meteors streaking along their guardrail-gated orbit.

You think about going home. Waking up tomorrow, Christmas Day. The silence. You think about going back to work. Killing wanderer after wanderer. Wondering which one will be the one to finally kill you.

The days blur. The constant emptiness echoing inside your apartment, inside your ribcage.

You look at the water. You look at the bridge. You imagine running your hands through Caleb’s hair for the first, the last time. A tender goodbye you’ll never have, because they never found his body.

There’s no one left to miss you.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You fish it out.

Rafayel no longer calls, or texts you words. He just sends photos, every once in a while. Mundane details of everyday life, rendered extraordinary through his artist’s eye. Paintings he’s working on. A foreign landscape. Leaves glistening with dew. The moon, waxing full.

You haven’t answered in months. You look at each one, tuck your phone back in your pocket.

You look back at the water. Think about taking a photo of the reflected stars, the thin crescent moon in the black waves, think of sending him one last response. But even you’re not that cruel. You don’t want him to realize later, that he was the last one to say anything to you.

You don’t open his text. You block his number. Tuck the phone back into your pocket.

You start to walk toward the bridge. As you walk, you keep your eyes on the path, its edges. Decorative, smooth stones line the walkway along the river embankment. You pick them up, here and there, as you walk. Slip them into your coat pockets.

Eventually you run out of room in your coat pockets, add more to your pants pockets.

You turn your eyes back to the bridge, looming now.

You think of your empty fridge. Josephine’s empty face. An empty urn.

You’re ready to scoop out what’s left of you, leave it behind on the sidewalk, smoldering as the cold night finally smothers the endless fire, the only thing left inside you. Maybe it will warm someone else, in passing. A last good deed, from you to someone in the world.

A metal staircase, leading up, up, into the black sky, mirroring the dark river, your heavy boots echoing. The cars are loud. If you close your eyes, they could be the rushing waves of an ocean, instead of a river of traffic, above a river of water.

You keep your eyes open. You’re not going to pretend that you’re not doing what you’re doing, now. You’re not at the ocean, its pure salt air drifting through your hair, now whipping around your face. You’re on a busy, exhaust- and oil-stained commuter bridge on the night before Christmas, having cut your ties with everyone you have always known never wanted or needed you in the first place. What’s the difference if a wanderer kills you tomorrow, or if something kills you today? Just empty time, blurry days, photo frames without pictures.

The guardrail isn’t so high as one would guess. It’s an easy step up. An easy step over. You stand, looking back over the city where you were raised. The city that contains all the past versions of yourself, from the moment you were pulled screaming into life from a mother whose face you’ll never know, through to now, an empty shell of a person. If your fellow hunters could see inside you, they’d mistake you for a wanderer and put you down, like the scientists who experimented on you, your own grandmother, did years ago.

Since learning that Gran was one of the people who fucked with your heart, you have often resented that she and her colleagues weren’t successful in finishing the job years ago, when they had the chance.

But now you wonder, standing over a dark, freezing river that reflects what’s inside you now, maybe they did finish it. You just didn’t realize it. Not till tonight, as you look down in the mirror of the rushing water, far below.

Even now, the tears won’t come.

What use are tears, when they can’t bring a body back. When they can’t wash it clean. When they can’t lovingly touch it, one last time, soft strands of hair under your fingers.

Your tears, your heart, your suffering, your existence—useless, for the entirety of a life you can only half remember.

You wonder if it’s the dark, tonight. Why tonight, and not yesterday? Why not six months ago?

Because it took that long to sever the ties binding you here?

Now you are assured, no one will miss you. It will take days before anyone even notices your absence because of your holiday leave.

You hope that they’ll assume it was a wanderer. Bad luck. Wrong time, wrong place. A modest little plaque on the wall of heroes, even though you know you’re no hero.

In the end, it doesn’t matter why it’s tonight, and not any other night.

No need to be dramatic, pretending there’s meaning in the meaningless.

You put your hands on the guardrail, the metal colder than your freezing hands. You lift a heavy booted foot. Take a deep breath.

It’s so cold. It will be over before you know it. You’ve read that from this height, it’s the impact, and not the drowning.

You’ve always had dreams of flying.

You lift your other foot, arms thrown wide for balance, just for a moment. The world feels so big, here at the end. The stars above, the stars below, the doubled crescent moon. You’re ready to drown in it all.

You only have one hope.

I don’t want to be reborn.

You breathe, empty your mind of Tara’s earnest smile, Xavier’s soft laughter, Zayne’s steady hands, Rafayel’s flashing violet eyes. Josephine’s empty face. Caleb’s soft, untouchable hair.

You let yourself fall.

You’re flying. Your heart is soaring. Your heart is seizing. The relief, the terror, mingle. You can’t scream, even if you wanted to.

You’re flying and it’s everything you ever dreamt, until it’s not.

Your body jerks, abruptly. Your hair whips down, lashes your face. You grunt with the impact against… nothing. You’re suspended over the water, drifting in the air. The wind tugs at your stone-weighted coat.

You twist away from the water, craning your neck to look up, up, back at the bridge.

You have withstood the uselessness of tears for almost a year now. But now, you want to cry so badly the pain of the need steals your breath.

You knew he was cruel. You knew he was merciless. You knew that he hated you. You just didn’t realize how much, until now.

You hang suspended over a dark, rushing river, wrapped in scarlet and ink tendrils, looking up into the sneering face of the one person you refused to think about as you made your final decision tonight, at the end of your desolate, half-remembered life.

His evol begins to lift you, away from the merciful impact, the numbing water. You, your past, your heart, the memories and despair and stones filling your pockets seem weightless, wrapped in his power.

His usual mask of bored indifference is gone. He is finally showing you his true face, what he must always feel when he looks at you—fury and disgust.

He says nothing, as he pulls you from the depths, back into the world. As he sets you gently back on your heavy feet on the sidewalk in front of him. His evol evaporates, winter breath in the wind.

He looks at your face with his wine-dark eyes. Looks at the water. Flicks his gaze back to your face.

You will not cry in front of this man. This man who hates you so much he won’t even let you seek the peace of death. Death, which has always been too good for you, but not for the people you loved the most.

You clench your jaw as the fire re-ignites in your chest. The flames you had tried so hard to scoop out, to leave behind.

You don’t want to feel this much anymore.

If you speak, you know you’ll cry. You can’t stand it.

Maybe, with enough repetition, he’ll get bored. He gets bored so easily, after all.

You turn, try to launch yourself over the guardrail again.

This time, it’s not his evol, but his arms that wrap around you, pull you back from the fall.

You struggle, throwing your elbows, kicking, throwing your head back, hoping to catch his perfect nose, break it under the hardness of your stupid, useless skull.

He says nothing, just holds you tighter, wraps one arm around your waist, the other over your chest, his big hand cradling the side of your face, pressing your head back into his own chest, as he hunches over you, an immovable wall of warmth. As you fight to break free of his hold, you are wrapped in his scent—cloves, gun oil.

Sylus.

Eventually, you tire yourself out—despite all of your strength, it is no match for his. He holds you against himself easily, as you pant, lungs burning with the effort, the sweat warm once again under your Hunter’s uniform. You become aware of a whimpering, the keening of a wounded animal.

It’s coming from your throat. Your eyes burn. You go limp in his arms.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. A voice like warm liquor in your veins. You think he’ll let you go. You prepare, hoping you can get to the guardrail again. Maybe this time he won't be so fast. But instead of releasing you, getting away from you as fast as he can, the arm around your waist moves up, cradling your upper back. He scoops his other arm under your legs, holds you against himself like you’re a delicate princess, if you were anyone else. But because it’s you, he’s probably just holding you like a useless sack of shit that would be too annoying to drop. He begins to walk, his stride steady, brisk.

He looks down into your face. “I bought a dress for you. Silk. A design like stars over a flowing river. That’s the only river you’re allowed in tonight, kitten.”

You stare at him. His breath puffs white in the cold air. The face of disgusted fury is replaced by his usual bored mask.

Why is he doing this to you? He wanted to kill you, just a few months ago. Why not let you do the job for him?

He is the only person in your life who didn’t take the hint. Who kept showing up, after you made it clear that you didn’t want their presence anymore. That you couldn’t handle the ties, because ties become nooses, snapping your neck when the other person leaves you behind.

When he showed up where you were, in a ‘coincidental’ meeting on the street, on a jog, you would turn, move in the other direction. He would match your stride, doggedly pestering you with questions, asking you about your evening or weekend plans, telling you silly stories from the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran’s latest antics. Sometimes he’d just walk in contemplative silence, thumbs hooked through his belt loops, or jog quietly next to you, never losing his breath, never complaining about the pace.

When you would routinely see him at various restaurants you were headed to in order to pick up takeout, you’d leave your food, immediately turning and hurrying away. When the same food was delivered to your door half an hour later, you’d refuse to answer, letting the confused and irritated delivery man leave. A half hour after that, the same man would be back, yell through the door that he had instructions to leave the food even if no one answered, and then he’d make good on his promise. You were faced with the choice of either letting the food go to waste, or eating it guiltily at your kitchen island.

No matter how many times you told the delivery person of the almost daily packages you received with no return address that you didn’t want to accept delivery, they would always insist that their instructions were to deliver regardless of recipient response. You were welcome to bin the items after receipt, but if you didn’t accept, the packages would just pile so high outside of your door that you couldn’t reach your apartment anymore.

You would accept, and then donate whatever exquisite item was inside to women’s shelters, children’s homes, university museums, soup kitchens, fundraiser auctions. No matter how clear it was that you wouldn’t accept anything from him, Sylus never stopped sending you gifts.

When you were sick, he’d show up personally, barge into your apartment when you were too tired to look at the doorbell camera before answering, a duffel bag gripped in his big hand filled with fever reducing medicine, homemade soup from his home chef, painkillers, hot water bottles, cooling pads, muscle pads, vitamins. He’d lounge on your couch, manspreading, insisting that he wouldn’t leave until he saw you swallow the pills and drink a gigantic glass of water.

He’d wait until you lay back down on your messy bed, until you fell asleep. He’d be gone when you woke again, but your apartment would be clean and your fridge and freezer would be stuffed full of healthy pre-prepared food.

You were half-convinced he was just buttering, fattening his prey before getting bored and mercifully ending its life.

Tonight, you are now fully convinced.

“Did your tongue freeze in your mouth?” he asks, descending the stairs you had just walked up, thinking it was your last time ascending them. “Do you need mouth-to-mouth to warm it up again?”

You scowl at him, at how appealing the idea of Sylus’s tongue in your mouth is, even now. You hate yourself, your traitorous body for being drawn to him, even now. “What’s the point of talking, when you never listen?” you grind out, your throat sore. You hadn’t realized how much your animal wailing had wrecked your throat. At least the tears are no longer so close to the surface that they’re threatening to spill.

“I listen to every word out of your beautiful mouth,” he counters serenely, with that same inexplicable kindness that makes your heart hurt. So at odds with how you know he must really feel about you. “I just listen to more than your mouth in order to hear what you’re really saying.”

“What?” You stare at his beautiful face, the way the lamplight illuminates its sharp features for a brief moment, before the night swallows it again as he moves between lampposts on his way… somewhere. Back the way you just came from.

He spares you a glance. “Your mouth says one thing, while the rest of you is screaming something else.”

You feel the blood draining from your face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

One corner of his beautiful mouth lifts. “Don’t play dumb, kitten. You’re too smart for it to be convincing.”

You were just falling into the river. You were just about to be free. How did you get here again? In this man’s arms, his smug, roguish smile filling you with the unease of being seen.

“I mean, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little more honest about the fact that you want people to fight for you, right?”

You begin to struggle again, shame lancing through you, making your body unbearable to be in. You know it’s weak, to have wanted so desperately that the people you were carving from your life would see what you were doing and stop you, place their hands over yours holding the cleaver, gently push it down, down, until it dropped from your grasp—how desperately you wanted them to step into your space, hold you tightly, just like this man who sees right through you is holding you now. You wanted Tara to keep inviting you out with your ridiculous colleagues, to sing your heart out at shitty karaoke clubs, to forcibly drag you to sleepovers and arcade nights. You wanted Xavier to push himself into your apartment, try to bake something horrible in your oven, sheepishly offer to go to the bakery with you instead when the fire alarm inevitably went off. You wanted Zayne to walk through the crowd to reach you at the other end of the hallway after you identified Josephine’s body, to ask to take your hand, to ask how you were doing, even though you knew you wouldn’t have been able to answer. You wanted Rafayel to keep inventing excuses for you to visit his studio, to keep insisting that he needed you to accompany him to expositions and fancy lunches as his bodyguard.

But none of them did in the end, and that’s okay. You kept pushing them away, because your terror of their leaving was apparently bigger than your need for their presence in your life, and at least if they were already gone, as they inevitably would be, you’d finally be free.

But the last person you would want to see this utterly humiliating need inside you, exposing you like this, is the one looking down at you right now with deceptively soft, all-seeing eyes.

You know the feeling, this need, of pulling away and pulling away and then being heartbroken when people finally let you is weak, and pathetic.

You may experience weak and pathetic feelings, but you’re not weak or pathetic. Not at your core. You were prepared to do what was necessary, to save yourself from the pain of your emptiness, the fire raging inside your chest. You weren’t asking anything of anyone. You were doing it all on your own.

Not a burden.

Never a fucking burden.

You clench your teeth, buck in Sylus’s arms.

He just holds you tightly, a straightjacket for the insanity that you’re feeling, the insanity of this man, out of all the people in your life, stripping you of your masks, flaying you so that all of your most tender, shameful parts are exposed to both him and yourself.

“Stop that. You’re just going to tire yourself further, when I need you tonight.”

Of course. The quid pro quo. He helped you with the auction, the Aether Core. Now you owe him. He doesn’t give a fuck if you live or die—he just can’t let one of his assets destroy itself before it fulfills his purpose.

You go limp in his arms. Turn your head away from him.

He continues his train of thought. “No, it wouldn’t kill you to tell the truth to your friends, so you decided to take matters into your own hands, huh? Telling the people in your life that you actually need them wouldn’t kill you, so why bother, right, when you can just jump off of a fucking bridge?” His voice sounds like the night you met him. Controlled anger. Disgust. Accusation.

Then there’s something wrong with her.

You thought you had killed everything inside of you already. The yearning for human connection. The kindness of a friend. Family holding you in their arms. You thought you had scooped out most of it, even as some of it rekindled when he pulled you back from the fall.

But the way you’re hurting now, at the memory of his hate, the reminder that the people you love won’t fight for you even if it would be fighting against you, and that this man, for all of his false generosity, never cared for you from the beginning, that his gifts and his visits were all what you knew them to be, all along—a bored predator toying with its prey before using it and consuming it.

You let your thoughts drift back to the bridge, push your pain away. Feed it to the fire. When he’s done with you, maybe you won’t even have to jump.

“Just shut up, Sylus. I’ll help you with your problem tonight. Just promise me you’ll toss me over yourself, when you’re done with me,” you tell the night, because you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.

He stops walking. The wind is so cold against your face. You wish he’d snap your neck, right now. You’re so fucking tired.

“Look at me.” His voice is low. Menacing.

You watch the water. Wonder how long it would take if you just walked out into it, without jumping. Just walk in with your stone-weighted coat and let the cold paralyze you, the current pull you under.

“Look at me, my heart,” he whispers. The change in his tone, his bizarre endearment, has you turning your head, looking up into his face. “That is one promise I can never make you.” He looks like he’s in pain. You don’t know why. He leans down, rests his forehead against yours, hunching his big shoulders, lifting your body in his arms so he can meet you. His breath is warm against your lips. “Please don’t talk to me like that.”

You want to snort. It’s rich, coming from him—the same man who is telling you not to tell him to shut up, after all the things he said to you as he starved you, strangled you.

“Please don’t tell me to kill you. To hurt you. That hurts me.”

You stare up into his face. See the sincerity in his eyes. The wind whips your hair. He wasn’t upset that you told him to shut up, but that you asked him to kill you? “What does it matter? Aren’t you going to, in the end?”

“Why would I stop you tonight, if I wanted you to die?”

Of course he won’t answer outright. When has Sylus Qin ever answered a direct question?

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. Why bother stopping me, unless you just need to use me and then be done with me? I can’t be that irreplaceable. Just get someone else to put on the dress, and let me get on with my fucking life. Someone who you can train to say just the right things, at just the right time, who’ll look good in whatever fancy shit you want to put her in. There’s gotta be easier idiots than me to serve your purpose.”

He closes his eyes, breathes in the cold night air. When he opens them, you have to look away. You can’t handle whatever is in them. “I know I hurt you, when we first met. That I said cruel things to you. I’m sorry.”

You laugh, even as your heart wrenches at this strange apology. Of course he doesn’t explain what offended him so much about your existence at the beginning. Why he treated you exactly how you deserved. Probably just whatever he saw when he used his Aether Core on you. He saw the echoing chambers of your empty, fucked up heart and was enraged that it was you, and not someone worthy, who would absorb the Aether Core. “There’s never been any need to varnish the truth, Sylus. You almost choked me to death the day we met. You should have fucking finished what you started,” you sneer. “Why does no one ever finish what they start?” You think of Josephine, her researcher cronies. Think of Caleb, his promise to return, the last text he ever sent you. Your fucking parents, who you will never know.

You don’t expect an answer.

And yet, you’re surprised when Sylus wordlessly releases his hold on you. Lets you slip from his arms, sets you back on your feet. You settle in your heavy boots, the weight of your coat, the stones in your pockets, grounding you to the earth.

The lamplight shines in his silver-sheened, wind-tousled hair. His cheeks are red from the cold.

Of course. Of course.

No tool is irreplaceable.

You’re not irreplaceable.

You finally said the right thing, to push him away.

This is it. This is it. This is it.

Your mind returns to the bridge. Your hand is holding the cleaver, dripping with the blood from the last unwelcome tether to your life.

You try to memorize his face, just as you did Zayne’s, but for some reason looking at Sylus’s face hurts you so much more despite having known him for so little time. Just a sigh, in the timeline of your life. The warm glow of his irises. The softness of his lower lip. The pride in his shoulders, his nose.

Maybe you didn’t want to think of him before jumping because you had fallen in love with him, despite the fact that any affection he offered was counterfeit—the steady way he breathed next to you on a jog, the way he spread out on your couch, his dry humor, his intelligence, his piercing gaze, his kindness that was actually more cruel than if he had just tossed you out and never bothered to look for you again after the auction.

You knew it was fake. You knew it was calculated. You knew that the reality was, because he had told you from the very beginning—

Don’t tell me that you like me. Is this all so you can get my attention?

Clearly you’ve read too many fairytales.

And yet you had believed, in the bright moments of receiving his kind attention, in the fairytale. Just for a heartbeat. A raindrop, splattering on the ground.

You thought that you couldn’t bear to see what it looks like when Sylus finally tires of you pushing him away, and stops reaching out, as everyone else has.

But with just a few words, you’ve finally managed to do it. He set the burden of you down, and now he’ll walk away, replace you with some other beautiful, breathing tool.

You learn in this moment that you actually can bear it. You can bear anything, as long as you know that very soon, you won’t have to bear anything at all.

“You wanted the truth?” you say, suddenly, the relief flooding through you that the worst has happened, that you’re now actually free. You think of the fabric of the dress, liquid stars over a night river, and wonder whose body it will caress, with Sylus’s big hand on her waist, his gentle fingers drifting across her collarbone, his forehead pressed against hers, for whatever ruse he needs to run tonight, on Christmas Eve.

He grows still. Watches you carefully, as if searching your face for a trick. You look back at him steadily, scooping everything inside you out, letting it splatter onto the sidewalk, here along this dark riverbank.

“Will you give it to me?” he finally asks.

“As a parting thank you gift, for cutting me loose.” You nod. Take a shuddering breath of the frigid air. “Here is me telling you the truth: you should treat the woman who ends up wearing the dress you got with more gentleness than you did me at the beginning. You could have the world eating out of the palm of your hand, if you skip the cruelty at the beginning and just treat people the way you treated me in the last few months. She’ll do anything for you, I think, if you do. Because somehow you made me love you, despite our beginning. I could bear to cut everyone else loose but you.” You laugh, and the sound is like icicles snapping, shattering on the ground. “Thank you for doing it for me, instead. It’s probably the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

You smile at him.

You don’t know why you’re surprised that he just frowns deeply, brow furrowing.

Well. That’s okay. You never expected him to be pleased to see your face, smiling or not.

“Good luck, Sylus.”

You turn, begin to walk back the way you came, for the second time tonight. Your thoughts are already at the bridge. You’ve been falling for months now. Soon you’ll finally hit the crystal water and shatter.

You hope you won’t be reborn.

“You said you love me.” His deep, low voice is carried by the wind.

You stop, turn your head. “Stupid, huh?” you ask, wondering if he wants to pour salt into the wound you just willingly exposed to him.

“Why would you love someone who treated you the way I did?”

You turn fully, face him across the night, one last time. “You’re so fucking funny. I’ve always appreciated men who can make me laugh.” You shrug. “And I’m a pathetic fool. You pretended to be kind, and I lapped it up like the thirsty dog I am.”

He tilts his head, takes a step towards you. “That’s all?”

You take a step back. You don’t need him and his pretty face, his delicious scent any closer to torment you.

You offer him more truth. “Of course not.”

“What else?”

You sigh. “What does it matter? We’ll never see each other again.”

He shakes his head. “Indulge me.”

So salt, it is. You press your fingers into the most tender part of yourself, peel yourself wide open. “Your cleverness. How sweet you can be when you want something—strangely pliant, for such a big, powerful man. The self confidence you have. I could say, do anything and you did so well pretending to never be embarrassed of me. You made me believe, very briefly, that you really wanted to be with me, do anything, go anywhere, just because I was there. It’s quite impressive, really. I can see why you’re so good at business. You’re competent. You’re beautiful to look at.” You pause, shake your head in turn. “But you already know all that. You know why you’re loveable. You made me feel cherished in a way that no one ever has, even as I was pushing you away. But honestly, those are just parts of you. They don’t fully cover what it is about you that makes my heart ache when I look at you. I love you because you’re you. Even hearing your name makes my heart race. Seeing your shoes in my foyer, because they were on your feet. The curve of your wrist, because it belongs to you. I know it’s pathetic, and stupid.” You shrug again. “Can’t help it, though.”

He stares at you.

You prod him. “Is that enough?”

“How can you ask if that’s enough, when it’s everything?”

You look at him in confusion. “Huh?”

He takes a step towards you, frowning. “Are you only telling me all this because you think I’ve finally given up and allowed you to push me away, because I set you back on your feet?”

You take a step back, as he takes another step forward.“What do you mean ‘I think’ you’ve given up?” You squint at him.

“Did you only tell me all this because you’re going straight back to the bridge to try again?”

You take another step back at the intensity of his face, his question. “What does it matter? You don’t have to worry about what happens to me after this.”

He takes two steps. “You tell me you love everything about me, and then you plan to fuck off and leave me alone again?”

Okay, this was a mistake. You don’t know why he’s mad, but he’s mad again. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what else to say. You’ve been sorry your whole life. This is yet another miscalculation. You should have just left. What did you think would happen if you told him how you feel? That he’d be happy about your pathetic heart bleeding pitifully for him?

He strides over to you, his long legs outpacing your own. “If you’re sorry, don’t fucking do it.”

“What?”

He looks down into your face, so close you can smell him again, you can see the fine lines around his eyes as he frowns. “If you’re really sorry for loving me, for ever meeting me—which are the only things you have to be sorry for, then make it up to me by staying. Don’t leave me. Don’t push me away anymore. Just stay, and love me.”

You huff. “Are you really that desperate for help tonight?”

He lifts his hands, places his palms on your cheeks, his long fingers dipping into your hair. “No, I’m desperate for you tonight. It’s Christmas—I don’t give a shit about the holidays, but I know you do. I want to spend it with you. You made me watch you jump off of a goddamned bridge. What would have happened if I hadn’t already been on my way to you?” He sounds so upset. You’ve never seen him like this. The fear is naked on his lovely face.

“What the fuck are you talking about? What does it matter? You said you could get someone else for the dress, for tonight.” You’re so confused. Why is he acting like this?

“I didn’t say any of that. You suggested that I replace you with someone else, I set you on the ground to make sure you were looking at my face, that you were listening to my words when I told you that you’re irreplaceable. That no one else will do. That after watching you almost die, I can’t continue being cautious and trying not to frighten you away anymore.”

“You… what?”

“You love me. Right? You weren’t lying?” he looks uncertain, like he can’t quite believe it.

You can’t bring yourself to lie. The truth is out. You’re witnessing the fallout. There’s no point in backpedaling. “Yeah.”

He nods, once, decisively. “Okay. That’s enough.”

You sigh in relief. Maybe he’ll let you go, finally, finally.

He checks his chunky watch, the platinum flashing in the lamplight. “There’s still time.”

“Time for what?”

“For my plans tonight. Come.” He closes the distance, sweeps you into his arms again, cradles your body against him like something fragile.

“What plans? Listen—” you start to argue.

“No. Now it’s my turn to speak, and for you to listen.” he squeezes you tightly. “Today was the last day you spend alone. If you can’t live for yourself, then you can live for me, until you remember why you want to live for yourself again. No matter what you say, or what you do to get rid of me, it’s not going to work.”

You can’t even process what is happening. “What are you—?” you begin, but he cuts you off again.

His voice is strained, rough. “You love me. So you have to take responsibility. You have to stay.”

You don’t know what to say.

I’m desperate for you tonight.

You can’t believe this. He hates you. He has hated you from the beginning. He was so kind to you because he wanted to use you for something he never bothered explaining to you. He needs you for your resonance, your amplification of his powers.

You’re irreplaceable. No one else will do.

Because of your resonance?

I don’t give a shit about the holidays, but I know you do.

He carries you along the wind-swept riverbank, through the frigid night. Stars above, stars below.

You made me watch you jump off a goddamned bridge.

You didn’t think anyone was left to care.

You were so careful, severing ties like arteries, so that you wouldn’t leave the world with more pain than you found it. It was already bleeding so much.

You just were so tired of bleeding with it.

As if sensing the turn of your thoughts, Sylus carries you to the edge of the river’ embankment, where the concrete falls away, drops into the water.

He sets you down again, but doesn’t let you go. His big hands slide down the outside of your coat, dip into your pockets.

He pulls out a smooth stone. Turns it in his hands.

“I’ll never understand how someone so light can weigh so heavily in me,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “But you’re a weight I’ll carry for as long as you let me.”

His ember eyes flick back to yours. He hands you the stone.

“This is your conviction that the world won’t miss you, if you’re gone. You will hold it in your hand, one last time. And then you will throw it in the water.” He wraps your cold fingers around the stone. Somehow, his fingers are still warm.

You grasp it, look up into his face. You see yourself in them. It hurts, to be seen so clearly. You’re so ashamed. “How did you know?”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head a little. Opens them. “I looked into your soul, the day we met. I know you’re too soft-hearted in this life to kill yourself if you thought it would hurt someone else. You don’t carry that spite, anymore.”

In this life.

Anymore.

You can’t bring yourself to ask him what he means. You only know that once again, Sylus Qin has seen inside you, has seen you, in a way no one else ever has.

“But I don’t think anyone would miss me. I made sure of it.”

He huffs. “You’re a fool, if you actually believe that. The people you’ve pushed away still love you. But if you can’t believe that yet, then you can’t pretend to yourself that you’re disposable anymore, if for no other reason than I’m standing here now, telling you that I would miss you.”

You think of Tara, sitting on your desk, nudging a steaming latte she got for you on her way to work toward you, asking if you’ve heard the latest about Simone and Andrew.

You think of Xavier, walking you to your door at the end of a nasty wanderer encounter, reaching out, brushing a bit of mud off your cheek, then smearing it across his own cheek. See, we match now.

You think of Zayne, waiting across a busy hallway, patient, letting you choose to approach him, and respecting you by letting you walk away.

You think of Raf, the beauty he shares with you with every photo, the funny strings of emoji that don’t demand an answer.

“How do you know, that they would miss me?” you ask Sylus quietly.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time, sweetie. Do you think I haven’t seen your friends’ faces when you walk away from them?”

You clutch the stone in your hand. “I don’t think I can change my thoughts, my conviction, just like that.”

“You love me, so you have to try. Throw it. Every time you try to drag it back up, I’ll remind you that you threw it away, and you can let it stay at the bottom of the river.” He reaches up, caresses your cheek with his fingertips.

You want to cry. You want to cry, because you’re so afraid. If you let yourself believe that people love you, you have to stay, for them. You have to feel, every day, the weight of grief, of existence, the pain of being alive, of being inside yourself, your body. The hollowness will return, even with your friends, even with Sylus filling most of it.

It’s like he can read your thoughts as his eyes devour your face, as his fingers tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “I won’t let you pretend, anymore. You love me, and I will not survive if you aren’t here with me. So you have to stay. We don’t have to accept that life is a curse. We can fight back. Make it something better.”

“I’m scared,” you say.

His eyes are so tender, as he watches your mouth form your biggest truth, set it free in the night. “I will protect you, until you can protect yourself again. There’s nothing to be afraid of, if we’re together.”

You want to believe him. Your heart beats painfully behind your ribs. The moon is a sharp crescent in the sky.

But you’re a weight I’ll carry for as long as you let me.

“You’ll really stay?”

He finally smiles, a faint Sylus smile that feels like a grin. “I told you. Today was the last day you’ll ever be alone. You can’t get rid of me now, no matter what you do, or say.”

You turn, holding the stone in your cold hands. You think of all the lies you’ve been telling yourself, about your friends, your place in their lives, because you were so tired of living with an unnameable grief, one you carried inside you long before Caleb and Josephine died, but whose loss compounded, made unbearable the original sorrow.

And I will not survive if you aren’t here with me.

You don’t know why he feels this way. Does he love you too? He hasn’t said so. Can he even love you, in the way you love him?

Does it matter?

It’s enough, that he says he’ll stay. That he wants you to stay alive. That he’ll help remind you, when the whispers drift back in your mind, telling you that you’re just a burden, that no one actually loves you, would miss you when you’re gone. When the hollowness echoes so loudly it’s all you can hear.

You lean back, lift the stone, throw it as hard as you can, as far as you can, into the rushing river.

You don’t hear its splash over the wind.

You turn back to Sylus.

He dips into your pocket again. Pulls out another stone. “Your guilt, for having lived. For having been born.”

You take it from him. Let your mind drift. Feel along the contours of your memories, the jagged, missing pieces, all the way back to when it fades to black. You throw the stone.

You don’t see it sink to the riverbed.

He dips into your pocket again. “Your shame, for needing others. For being human, and imperfect. For not being able to do it all alone. For wanting to be loved.”

You take the stone. “Is it really okay?” you ask, helplessly. There’s no point pretending everything he is saying isn’t true. “To want these things, when I haven’t earned them?”

He steps closer to you. Places his hands on your shoulders, draws you in. “There is no okay, or not okay. There is no crime and punishment, no transgression, no sin. How can it be shameful, to want what you were born to want? Why does love have to be earned, instead of just given?”

You lean into him, press your face into his chest, his thick wool coat soft against your skin.

“I don’t know.”

He reaches into your pocket, places a stone in your other hand. “One for your shame, one for the idea that love must be earned. Throw them.”

You lean back again, and it’s already too far away from him. But you throw each stone, and they disappear under the cold water.

“That’s enough, for now. We’ll take the rest home.” He draws you back into his arms. Lifts you without effort, stone-filled pockets and all. The weight of all of you. “When you have thoughts of shame, of guilt, of not being loved, we’ll come back. You’ll throw them again. Until they’re all gone. We’ll gather other stones, when other feelings make life unbearable. I’ll come with you, as many times as you need.”

Sylus carries you along the path back to the road that snakes along the river. His motorcycle gleams under a bright lamppost.

He settles a helmet on your head, checks to make sure it’s secure. Puts his own on. You sit behind him, cling to him. Rest your head against his broad back, close your eyes. The motorcycle is loud, and he drives it carefully through the busy, holiday bustling streets, until he reaches your apartment building. He holds your hand as he leads you through the front doors, as he stands quietly beside you in the elevator, his red, warm eyes never leaving your face in the elevator mirrors. He leads you to your front door, waits patiently while you unlock it with your cold finger.

In the hallway, he kneels at your feet, unlaces your tall boots while you look down at him, the soft fall of his silver hair, his big, nimble fingers working the laces.

He then removes his own boots. His coat. He’s wearing a garishly bright Christmas sweater, with prancing reindeer. He hangs his coat on a peg in the wall. He turns, slowly unzips yours. Eyes flicking between the zipper and your face. He gently lifts it from your body, again like it’s weightless, even though it’s still filled with stones. He pulls it from your arms, hangs it next to his.

He pulls you further into your place.

The first thing you notice is the warmth. It’s so warm, like someone came in while you were gone and turned on the heating.

The next thing you notice is the Christmas tree. The one you didn’t get this year, because the thought of the holidays without Caleb and your grandmother was unbearable.

Beautifully, tastefully decorated. Silver and gold, twinkling lights. Its pine scent fills your place.

Sylus moves to a record player on one of the cabinets along your living room wall. A record player that wasn’t here before you went to work today. He fiddles with the arm, and suddenly Joni Mitchell’s River fills your house.

It’s coming on Christmas

They’re cutting down trees

They're putting up reindeer

And singing songs of joy and peace

Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

He walks back to you. “Is this okay?”

I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly

Whoa I wish I had a river I could skate away on

The music flows around you, paralyzing you. You stare into his face, into the warm glow of his eyes. How could you have missed this? The way he’s looking at you now? Through all the long months since the auction?

He tried hard to help me

You know, he put me at ease

And he loved me so naughty

Made me weak in the knees

Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on

The words wash over you, through you. The scent of pine warms you, memories without form filling you with the sense of home, safety, love.

I made my baby cry

I'm so hard to handle

I'm selfish and I'm sad

Now I've gone and lost the best baby

That I ever had

Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

He takes your hands in his, thumbs across your skin. “Is it too much?”

You think of how cold it was, standing on the guardrail of the bridge.

You were running toward the bridge, while Sylus was filling your home with warmth.

What would have happened if I hadn’t already been on my way to you?

You think of him spreading out on your couch, as a fever raged through your body. You think of your freezer, filled with food. You think of the takeout boxes, still steaming, sitting in front of your closed door.

You think of him hanging delicate ornaments on a fragrant tree.

I made my baby cry

You shake your head, the enormity of what almost happened filling you. The enormity of the choice you made, that you enacted, until Sylus pulled you back from the rushing dark.

You start to shake.

“Kitten?”

“It’s not too much,” you say, teeth chattering. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

He stares down at you, seems to make a decision. “Shower. Now.”

You nod, moving away from him, but he follows.

Inside your small bathroom, he takes up the entire space. He peels off your hunter’s uniform, tosses it beyond the open bathroom door. His gaze flicks from your undershirt, your underwear, to your face. “Do you want me to leave?”

You think of the dark water, an impact that never came. Sylus plugging in the record player, choosing a record with one of your favorite Christmas songs on it. Placing it delicately on the turntable.

“No. You promised you’d never leave me alone again.”

He smiles a little. “I mean, leave the bathroom.”

“No. You promised you’d never leave me alone again,” you repeat.

He stares into your eyes. Nods. Lifts your undershirt. He reaches behind you, unhooks your bra with the same agility that he unlaced your boots. He lifts it from your body, watches you as he lifts it to his nose, inhales.

You shiver.

He tosses the bra behind him. Kneels. Pulls your underwear from your hips, down your legs. You step out of them. He stands again.

He leans over, his ridiculous, festive sweater soft against your cheek, as he reaches past you to turn on the shower faucet. As he messes with the knobs until steam begins to fill the small space. He nudges you forward, past the sliding glass door and into the small shower cabin, letting the hot water pour over you. You turn, watch him through the clear glass. He picks up your underwear, watches you as he lifts it to his nose, inhales as he did with your bra. His eyes close for a moment, and then open. He tucks the little slip of fabric into his pants pocket, sits on the closed toilet, rests his elbows on his knees, and continues to watch you.

You let the hot water flow over your tired, cold body. You stare at Sylus’s face, let it fill your vision, blot out the rushing river, the impact that never came, the idea of everything you would have missed, if he hadn’t pulled you out. Everything you would have missed, in such a short amount of time. What else would you miss, if he hadn’t caught you? If he could give you so much within an hour, how much would you have missed in a day? In a week?

What have you been fighting, this whole time?

Just yourself.

You think of the stones at the bottom of the riverbed, instead of your body. Your conviction that you’re not loved, your guilt, your shame, instead of you.

You stare at the man who handed you each one, and told you to get rid of them, instead of yourself. The man sitting in your tiny bathroom, filling it with his big body, his even bigger presence, staring at you, staring at him.

You stop shaking.

Reach for the body wash, lather your hands. Run your hands along your body, under your armpits. He frowns, eyes on your hands. You palm your breasts, dip between your legs.

He lowers his head, eyes still on your hands, rests his full lips on his long steepled fingers.

You finish lathering your body, let the water wash it away. He’s too far away, even this close, on the other side of the glass.

As you turn off the water, he stands, lifts one of your towels from the rack. Holds it out for you. You step into it, him, let him wrap it around you. He turns you both, so that you’re looking in the bathroom mirror, which is mostly fogged.

“Better?” he asks.

You nod, soaking in his warmth at your back, the steam of the bathroom.

You have a question, a question you can’t bring yourself to say out loud yet.

You reach out with one hand. Trace a finger through the fogged mirror.

Sylus watches you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

Letters, a question.

Do you like me? Circle yes or no

Sylus smiles again, lifts an eyebrow. He reaches out, takes your hand in his. He circles no with your finger.

You frown, heart sinking, but Sylus just whispers, “Patience, kitten,” and flattens your palm across like. Guides your finger again, just above the erased like, drags it through the moisture in an elegant script.

love

He then gently sets your hand down. Lifts his own, circles with one long finger, yes.

He watches your reaction in the mirror.

You had no idea.

This whole time, you had no idea, even though he was showing you, with every ‘chance’ encounter, his pestering you with questions about work, life, his silly stories about the N109 Zone. His packages at your door. Fever medication, a big glass of water shoved into your hands.

You think of the rushing water, what almost happened. What you almost missed.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me believe you still hated me?”

He looks down at you now, away from your reflection in the mirror. His eyes trail your face, down your curved neck. He palms the back of your neck, his thumb drifting along the side, over a mole there.

“Have you heard of the myth that where we have moles is where someone kissed us in a past life?”

Even if so much has changed between you in just the last few hours, you’re reassured that Sylus Qin still can’t answer a straightforward question with a straightforward answer.

You shake your head. “No, I had never heard of that.”

Sylus smiles, and it looks a little sad. He leans down, presses the softest of kisses against your skin, the mole there. “Like most human legends, it’s a pretty lie. Not quite true.”

You laugh. “I could have guessed as much.” You tilt your neck, enjoying the press of his warm lips on your skin for the first time.

He opens his mouth, runs his teeth over where he just kissed you. Bites, gently.

You shiver again. Press your neck into, instead of away from his teeth.

He bites harder.

You gasp.

“I was afraid I’d frighten you with the enormity of my feelings for you, when in your mind, we’d only just met,” he murmurs against your neck, his saliva, the indentation of his teeth hot on your skin.

He bites again, presses himself into your ass through the towel. You realize he’s hard.

You forget about the last part of his sentence. Had you not only just met?

You lift your hands, let the towel unfurl from around your body, let it drop to the floor.

You almost died tonight.

What have you been fighting this whole time?

Just yourself.

He tried hard to help me

You know, he put me at ease

You turn in his arms. He’s breathing hard, cheeks pink.

“You love me?”

He closes his eyes. Opens them. Shakes his head. “Love isn’t intense enough.”

“Adore me?” You lift your arms, wrap them around his neck. Pull his face closer to your own.

He shakes his head again. “Still not enough.”

“You won’t survive without me?” You lift on your toes, his soft sweater almost unbearable against your sensitive nipples.

He nods. “You’re getting closer. Can’t breathe without you. When I saw you jump…” He swallows, thickly. “You might as well have pulled me down with you, beloved. If it ever gets to be too much again, take me with you. I’ll never leave you alone again. Promise me the same,” he demands, big, calloused hands running up your naked sides, the fabric of his dark jeans rough against your body, where your thighs meet, as he helplessly nudges against you again with his hips, his hard dick behind his zipper.

I'm so hard to handle

I'm selfish and I'm sad

“I wouldn’t have known, unless you told me,” you breathe against his lips. “Promise that you’ll tell me how you’re feeling from now on, and I’ll promise to take you with me if I can’t leave the stones in the riverbed, even with you here.”

His voice is deep, rough like the fabric of his pants against your sensitive skin. “Deal.” He closes the distance, presses his soft lips to yours. Licks into your mouth.

And he loved me so naughty

Made me weak in the knees

His hands drift down your sides as his tongue dips into your throat, as he swallows your noises of pleasure, just from kissing him, his hands on you. He grips your ass, urges your legs around his waist. He carries you out of the tiny, steaming bathroom, manages not to knock you against the doorway, or into any furniture on the way to your bedroom, even as he continues to kiss you, as your hands in his soft hair probably block his peripheral view. He lays you down on your bed, the puff of your duvet. It’s so warm in your place that you’re not even shivering. You watch as he pulls his cheerful sweater and undershirt over his head, tosses them to the floor. As he unzips himself, hastily yanks down his pants and boxers, his socks. He blankets you with his big body.

You wrap your arms around him, pull him tightly to you, arch your breasts into his chest. He leans down, runs his nose along your cheek, inhales the scent of your hair at your temple. You just feel each other, for a long stretch of time. His soft chest hair against your skin, the silken skin of his dick between your thighs where he just leisurely rubs himself against you, as your palms run down the muscles of his back, the line of his spine. You’ve refused to think of him like this, ever since he wrapped his hand around your throat. You couldn’t bear his beauty, through all the long months that followed. You fled, every time your heart raced at the flash of silver as he approached you, met you where you were, over and over and over.

But now he says he has loved you, through it all. That he’ll never leave you alone again.

You let yourself feel him, under your hands, under your tongue, as you lick into his ear, feel him shiver. As you squeeze your thighs together, offering him a tight, snug space for him to keep pleasuring himself, as you feel your own wetness begin to coat your inner thighs, his cock, the longer you feel him on top of you, inhale the scent of his skin, the ever-present gun oil, the cloves, his clean sweat underneath it all.

After a lifetime, or only a few minutes, he leans down, says softly into your ear. “I want you. Tell me you want me too.”

“Can’t you tell?” you ask, bucking a little, squeezing him with your legs again.

He makes a low, pleasured sound in his throat. “I want to hear you say it. You’ve gone through a lot tonight. I need to know you actually want this. That you’re not just—” his breath hitches, as you move your hips again, as his dick slips between your wet, soft places. “That you’re not too tired to say otherwise, not thinking straight.”

“Use your Aether Core on me. Then you’ll know that my body is telling you what my mouth would, if I said the words.” You smile at him, teasing.

I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly

You had wanted to fly. You had settled for flying for a brief moment, before shattering.

But Sylus is offering you constant flight, under, over, along his crow’s wings.

You think of the rushing water. The tide of cars behind you, the wind whipping your hair. You almost missed this. You don’t want to waste any more time.

He lowers his forehead to yours, breathes, speaks against your saliva-slick lips with his own. “I don’t want to use my Aether Core on you. I want the words in your mouth, in your heart. I want your free will, your freely given consent. I almost lost you because I tried to force you, at the beginning. You believed I hated you, this whole time. Don’t ask me to force you again, my heart.”

You understand. You accept his request, his demand. “I want you, Sylus.”

He exhales, shifts above you, slips his wet cock between your legs, slides into your body with gentle, firm, graceful waves of his hips.

You whine, the feeling of fullness layering into the pleasure of the warmth of his skin, the taste of his tongue. For once, the feelings inside you threatening to burst out of your skin are so good, instead of painful, so pleasurable, that you can barely stand it.

He kisses you, his velvet tongue big, heavy in your mouth. You suck, whine again as he lifts a hand, palms your breast, begins to thrust into you.

You are filled with him. His warmth. The size of him.

You widen your legs, wrap them around his thick ass. Urge him with your own body to move faster, to fuck you harder. He gives you everything you want. Just the pressure of his body against yours has you coming, the release bright, sudden—you shake with it.

Your pleasure seems to trigger his. He grunts, roots into you, buries his teeth in your neck, bites where he bit you before, over the mole on your neck. The sting makes you clench, and he whimpers, groans, comes with a jerk of his hips.

He slows, still filling you, still pleasuring you, as he lifts his head to look into your eyes.

You stare at each other, breath mingling, warm between you.

You smile at him.

He smiles at you. Nudges your nose with his.

“Can we do that again?” you ask.

He laughs, low and surprised. “Yeah,” he says, kissing you softly. “Just tell me, and I’m yours, anytime, anyplace.”

“I’m telling you.” You move your hips, feel his cum drip drown your ass. Feel him gasp at your movement.

“Now?” He’s surprised again.

“Problem?” you grin at him.

“Fuck no.” He kisses you, hard. Slips out of you. Flips you over, lifts your hips with one big hand, pressing his other between your shoulder blades.

He presses his cock back between your legs, the slide easy and wet, and fucks you until you come again, until he blankets your back with his sweat-slicked, matted-hair chest.

“Was that enough, your highness?” he teases.

“I’m telling you,” you pant, wondering what he’ll do.

“As you wish,” he murmurs, before flipping you again. Before watching your face as he slowly, leisurely works himself, his cum into you, makes you come again.

In the morning, the sky through your windows is heavy, dark, gray. You wake slowly. Turn your head, find Sylus’s sleeping face next to yours on the pillow. He’s lying on his stomach. You take in the dark sweep of his lashes, his generous mouth, slightly parted.

You slip out of the bed, use the bathroom. You wander into the living room, gaze at the Christmas tree, its twinkling lights.

It’s Christmas.

Caleb and your grandmother are dead.

But you’re still alive.

Your body aches from Sylus’s efforts, but it feels good. For once, it feels good to be inside your body. To breathe deeply.

You think of riverstones, sinking deep in the riverbed.

You know that the feelings tied to them will try to rise, clawing to the surface again.

We’ll gather other stones, when your feelings make life unbearable. I’ll come with you, as many times as you need.

Your eyes drift to the top of the Christmas tree. It’s empty.

“I thought we should finish it together.” Sylus’s warm arms wrap around you from behind. He leans over your shoulder, kisses your cheek softly. “Do you want to do the honors?”

You smile, wrapping your hands over his forearms around your waist. “You’re taller.”

“Use me as much as you like, kitten.” He turns, grabs a pretty golden glass tree-topper from your kitchen table, hands it to you. He lifts you up onto one shoulder, easily, and you fit it gently over the highest point of the tree. He holds you against him, as he lowers you. You slide along his body, until he sets you gently on your feet again.

You both stand, admiring it for a moment. It’s beautiful, like the rest of the decorations.

You hug him, look up into his face.

“Merry Christmas, Sylus.”

He smiles down at you, ruby eyes twinkling with reflected light from the tree.

You would have missed this moment, and all the moments like it, if Sylus hadn’t stopped you last night. You shudder, hug him more tightly.

You know your feelings will return. That no one person can solve a lifetime of wounds. But you promised him that you’d try. That you’d stay. You can only do your best.

You hear your phone vibrating, reluctantly pull away from him, head to your coat in the hallway where you thought you left it last night, but Sylus stops you. He points at your kitchen island. Your phone is lying on the counter. You look at him in confusion, but go to check it.

You’re shocked at how many missed texts you have.

From Tara.

Xavier.

Your eyes widen.

Zayne, who you thought you had blocked, months ago.

Rafayel, who you’re sure you blocked last night.

Each one is a response from a text you never sent. Telling them Merry Christmas. Telling them you love them. Telling them you hope to spend time with them soon.

None of them shame you, call you out on your behavior of the last year. Even Zayne simply suggests that you try a new bakery, that you’ve been in his thoughts, that he’s relieved you felt comfortable enough to reach out. Rafayel sends a bunch of firework emojis, suggests blowing shit up on the beach for New Year’s.

You turn to Sylus.

He looks steadily back at you, silver hair sleep-tousled, wine-bright eyes glowing.

Your eyes feel hot, and you realize you’re crying, the tears fat on your cheeks, dripping down your neck.

This is the first time you’ve cried since you woke up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s necklace bright in the reflected fire.

Sylus walks over to you. Leans down, licks the tears from your cheeks with his warm tongue, one after the other. He kisses you, ignoring your suddenly snotty nose, your morning breath.

“If it’s too much, we can take it slow. We can throw more stones in the river. But please answer your friends. You need them. And you’re a fool, if you can’t see that they need you too, if that makes you feel better about your own need.”

You continue to cry as you wrap your arms around Sylus’s neck. As he gently sways with you, to music that isn’t playing. He hums, and you think it’s Joni Mitchell’s The River, but you can’t be sure. You smile against his chest.

A thought occurs to you.

“Last night, you said there was still time. That you had plans for us, a pretty dress for me. What did we miss?”

Sylus sighs, holds you closer against himself. “Don’t worry about it.”

You stop, look up into his face. “What did you have planned, Sylus? Are you sorry we missed it?”

He smiles at you. “Oh yes, so sorry I got to spend all night fucking you instead of going to a holiday concert featuring the organ.” His voice drips sarcasm. “But we can go tonight, if you’d like to make it up to me.”

You laugh, bury your face back into his chest. “And here I had planned to suck your cock while watching a black and white Christmas film marathon tonight,” you say forlornly. You smile into his chest as he chokes. “Oh well, the concert it is.”

He just laughs, rich and deep, and continues to sway you slowly in your living room.

“Merry Christmas, my heart,” Sylus says against your hair, in your pine scented apartment, as snow begins to fall outside your windows, as your phone continues to vibrate, filled with the love of your friends.

Here you are. Again.

You’re so grateful, to be here, again.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #my fanfic

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acid-ixx · 1 day ago

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Hey, how are you? I hope I'm not bothering you.

I want to tell you that I love the way you write and I hope you are well and taking good care of yourself, that you drink water and sleep well.

I also just wanted to show some drawings I made of my version of the reader from the a&a series.

I was inspired by some other cool fanarts

The scars may not be very noticeable, but they are there, the one on the mouth was because I love Ezio Auditore (from Assassin's Creed) and I just felt like it looked great.

I hope you are well, remember to drink water.

P.S. Sorry for the Google Translate English, English is not my native language 👉👈 xD

— masterlist !

oh my god, they look so absolutely handsome here !! <33 thank you so much for sending this in, i appreciate it a lot. the scar on the mouth is actually brilliant i (might) just incorporate it into the fic. i love the entire composition, especially the second drawing with the finger guns, it reminds me of the brutus au, inspired by jinx so of course it's imperative that i mention it!!! you guys are honestly so creative with your very own portrayals of the main character, each unique trait is presented into the art very well.

i love how depressed they look in the second pic too 😭 that's probably them contemplating the current state of their life after another hour trying to ignore dick's incessant messages (i, too, would be sitting in a corner after my tears have dried up from crying while my phone buzzes off showing me another one of dick's desperate attempts at reconciliating an already irreparable relationship.

once again, thank you for sending this in! fortunately, this wasn't buried under a thousand asks.

#🧁... yael's misc.#series: again & again #a&a: fanart #yandere dc #yandere dc comics #yandere fanart #yandere batfam #yandere dick grayson #platonic yandere #yandere #yandere x male reader #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x gn reader

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l-starsz · 21 hours ago

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hi, i just discovered your blog and you’re so good at writing!!

i have a request and you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, it’s a little long. but, what if reader and billie are on a late night driver after one of billie’s concerts and reader starts getting turned on by the vibrations of the car, since porsche’s are actually closer to the ground and billie notices and starts teasing her about it. you can add whatever you want!

a/n: thank you so much!!🩷 i hope this is good, i got carried away writing this ngl😭

applause filled the arena as billie ran off the stage. she ran backstage towards me and jumped into my arms. once we pulled away from the hug, we sorted all of her stuff out and then headed to her car. it was a pretty long drive home, but we were close enough that we didn’t need to stay in a hotel.

we sat there in comfortable silence for a little bit as billie drove, her hand on my thigh. i’d turned some music on in the background so that we weren’t in complete silence. while we were sat there, i was just thinking as i stared out the window, and took notice of the car. more specifically, i took notice of the vibrations that ran through the car.

i tried to think about something else, i didn’t want to get turned on when we weren’t close to home yet. nothing worked though. no matter how hard i tried to distract myself, my mind kept circling back to what i could feel beneath me. i felt myself begin to get wet, resulting in me squirming in my seat and squeezing my legs together.

billie glanced over at me, but didn’t say anything just yet, assuming i was just making myself comfy. i was trying hard to not make it obvious to billie that i was getting turned on, but was clearly failing. she glanced over at me again when i shifted once more.

“you good baby? seems like you’re a bit fidgety over there.” she smirked, keeping her eyes on the road, but also looking back to me every so often.

“i- yeah i’m good bils.” i quietly answered.

“you sureeee? i don’t know you’ve been moving in your seat a lot, seems like you’ve got something on your mind. almost like you’re getting turned on?”

i shut my legs tighter, trying to push the feeling aside, but it was no good as i felt billies hand travel higher up my thigh. her nails lightly ran across my skin as i groaned. i closed my eyes and laid my head back against the seat.

“what is it that’s got you horny, love? can you use your words and tell me please?”

“your hand on my thigh..” i mumbled.

“oh really? that’s interesting baby. anything else, hm?”

she knew exactly what had turned me on, she just wanted me to say it because she knew i’d get shy. i groaned and covered my face with my hands. she was trying to tease me.

“cmon angel. you can tell me.”

“the.. the vibrations from the car.” i whispered, my hands still covering my face.

i heard her giggle, beginning to move her hand up and down my thigh once again, carefully moving to my inner thigh and closer to where i was throbbing. she couldn’t do anything though since she was driving. so i had to just sit and wait until we were home whilst she continued to tease me.

“you’re so needy for me, huh? we’ve still got a while until we’re home my love.”

i whined and shifted around yet again, trying to escape the feeling. it was no use. the whole way home, billie just continued to tease me. by the time we actually got back, i was soaked. i’d practically soaked through my underwear.

as soon as i stepped foot in the house, i pressed my lips against billies. i needed her so bad. her hands fell to my waist as i almost fell against her. she led me to our room, carefully laying me down on the bed whilst her lips stayed against mine in a desperate kiss.

i tugged at her clothes, attempting to get them off of her. she undressed me, and then undressed herself. she looked so perfect. i was only left in my underwear, whilst billie was completely naked. her hand traveled towards my clothed pussy, two fingers lightly resting against my clit.

i whined and lifted my hips, trying to get her to finally touch me. i was desperate. i heard her laugh at how impatient i was being as she quickly pulled my underwear off, then gently pushed my hips back down.

“please billie. i need you so bad.” i whispered, ready to beg for her to do anything as long as she was touching me.

“what do you need?”

“i need you to touch me. please.” i whined.

almost immediately after hearing the words leave my mouth, she pushed two of her fingers into me, making me cry out. i knew it wouldnt take me long to finish for her.

she was curling her fingers inside me as quick as she could and when i thought the pleasure couldn’t get any better, my stomach contracted as i felt her mouth on my clit. she sucked, licked, and carefully bit it, making my walls tighten around her fingers and the feeling began to rise in my stomach. like a knot that was getting tighter after each passing second.

her free hand slowly moved to press against my stomach, making me more sensitive to her touch. i squeezed my eyes shut as her movements somehow got quicker. i needed to cum. i didn’t know if i could even get my words out though. whenever i tired to tell her, my words got caught in my throat and instead came out as moans and whimpers.

“b- billie!! can i please cum for you? i’m so close.” i almost screamed.

“of course baby. cum for me.” when she spoke, her voice vibrated against me, making me moan even louder.

my cum dripped down her fingers and coated her chin whilst her movements began to slow. she didn’t stop yet, helping me ride out my orgasm. once i’d completely come undone, i slightly pushed her head away, becoming too sensitive. her fingers stayed inside me for a minute as she placed gentle kisses up my body until she reached my lips.

“i’m so proud of you my pretty girl.”

a small smile came to my face as i answered her.

“i love you billie. so much.”

“and i love you so much.” she answered, “can i get you cleaned up now? it’s getting late and i can tell how tired you are now.” she giggled.

i nodded, closing my eyes and covering my face with my hands as she slowly and carefully pulled her fingers out. i immediately clenched around nothing, the slight sensitivity still there.

“okay angel, do you wanna have a bath? or are you too tired?” she asked. i moved my hands to rest on her waist as i sat up, feeling her move my hair from my face.

“i’m tired but can we have a bath anyway, please?” i whispered, leaning up for a kiss.

“of course.” she placed a gentle kiss against my lips, then lifted me into her arms and took me to the bathroom, sitting me down on the counter.

as she began to fill the bath up, and add bubbles of course, she came back to speak to me.

“you did so good for me, love. made me so proud.” she spoke in a soft tone, holding onto my waist.

“you made me feel so good. thank you.” i answered, burying my face in her neck and placing gentle kisses.

we stayed like that for a minute or so before i couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty. i didn’t touch her, i just let her help me.

“billie.” i mumbled against her skin.

“what’s up?” she asked, running her fingers through my hair.

“i didn’t touch you at all. can i-“

“baby, don’t worry about that, okay? you’re tired and it’s late, we can have a bath, get into bed, and then sleep if you want?” she smiled.

“but i want to return the favour..” i frowned.

“you can tomorrow, yeah? we’re both tired. let’s get some sleep and we can continue this tomorrow, alright?”

i nodded in defeat, kissing her neck again before she moved away to check the bath. i heard the taps turn off, then i was lifted into her arms and lowered into the bath. not long passed before she got in behind me, pulling me to rest against her chest.

we stayed in there for a bit, talking and helping each other clean up. she even helped me wash my hair (and of course i washed hers for her too). soon enough, we were getting out and both wrapped in towels as we giggled about how silly we looked.

we changed and immediately got into bed, cuddled up in each others arms. safe to say i was fast asleep within ten minutes.

#billie eilish #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #fanfic #fanfiction #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish smut #smut #wlw smut #wlw post #wlw blog #wlw

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affableramen · 3 days ago

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what do you think of childe with baby fever ? i love ur writing btw😭😭

Thanks so much.

Childe would definitely like to have a full family because he is a family man in my opinion. The more the merrier.

I think he wouldn’t rush it either. Once he sees you completely comfortable around him in the marriage, your habits align and do not argue, he will have a teeny tiny conversation with you about kids. Before that, you might notice occasional signs – walking over baby clothes in the mall, staring at them for too long with his big azure eyes.

He would be a very good father to his kids. Very responsible, sometimes strict (because he was trained by Fatui), but kind at the same time.

I feel like he would be the one to constantly make presents and order food once there are kids in his family. It’s not that he was greedy with you, but I feel like for his kids he would start spoiling his family even more. Also, let’s not forget his special sense of humour. When you’re pregnant, he’s aware of your emotional changes and is willing to make you as much comforted as possible. He’d be a very caring partner at this point. He’d want your pregnancy to go smoothly and he’d definitely put effort for his baby to be healthy

#tartaglia x y/n #tartaglia x you #tartaglia x reader #childe x y/n #childe x you #childe x reader

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miksanchismosa · 3 days ago

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OF FUCKING COURSE JIMIN GOT READER FOR THE EXCHANGE. It’s like you WANT me to be insane 😩😩😩. As soon as it happened I knew for a fact this is what @norushtolive was talking about when she said she thought of me while reading the new 3tan 🙃🙃🙃🙃😂

Okay no but for real this was lovely and beautiful and I’m so incredibly soft now 🫠. I am 100% not a holiday bitch irl, but after getting into fanfic my heart betrayed my grinch self and turns out I’m a HUGE sucker for holiday specials 🙃. This one hits extra bc I miss them so much and reader is just so fucking adorable and I just want them to be happy together forever 😭. I loved seeing the crew together and I cannot wait for the teasing reader and yoongi are gonna get once they’re out together for real and everyone sees how absolutely SICK in love they are 🥹

As always your writing astounds me. It feels like comfort and I can feel how much you love these characters. Forever grateful for your big beautiful brain. THANK YOU for sharing with us this world that you’ve lovingly and painstakingly crafted 🖤🖤🖤 looking forward to the journey ahead!

holiday (3tan special) | myg

title: holiday pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken (pt. 1) | broken (pt. 2) | lollipop rating/genre: pg (18+) ; fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au, holiday au summary: from what you can gather, holiday gift exchanges are supposed to be pretty straightforward. but this one quickly escalates. because no one can follow directions. note: this is all thanks to the person that suggested a 3tan crew secret santa! they don’t do actual secret santa, but they do host a gift exchange. so enjoy this speedily but still tenderly written holiday special! i wanted to get it posted asap so that we could all have it during the holiday season. hope it helps lifting spirits in any way<3 warnings: yoongi looks like sin, but reader does too🤭, kissing, no one follows directions, but especially jimin, hella kissing, no fr jimin is chaos incarnate, sibling holiday woes, tense situations, tender moments, gift exchanges, dialogue heavy i’m so sorry, also not too edited i'm sorry again sdfkljdskl. reader is adorable y'all i wanna cry, 3tan crew being wholesome af drop date: december 27th, 2024, 8:37pm est word count: 8.1k bc i love y’all???

“Wait… I’m in this, too?”

Your brother winces while checking his phone, probably also seeing the texts that Jimin sent to a freshly created group chat. “Tae and Chim roped us in this time. But it’s cool if you don’t wanna.”

As you both don work attire in your foyer, you shake your head, one hand firm on your bag strap, “I don’t even know how they work.”

“I think we random draw names. Then just give a gift to whoever we get.”

Seeing the names and numbers in here, you’re already running through a lot of possibilities. Maybe too many possibilities. But you don’t wanna make things more complicated or awkward, so you quickly concede, “I mean.. I’m down if you are.”

“I guess it’s cool.”

Head lowered, you notice that your brother’s shoes are the ones you gave him for his birthday a couple years ago. Because those days are the only ones you both celebrate every passing run of three hundred and sixty-five. “At least we’re doing something this year.”

He chuckles to his feet. “Two years in a row.”

Your sad laugh tumbles and rolls next to his. “Wild.”

“Hey.” When he pauses, it’s to wait for you to look up. “If you ever wanna talk about it, we can.”

There are a lot of times in which you dismiss your brother. Because it’s just what siblings do.

This time is not one of them.

“Same,” you offer, the weight of the world dragging your smile down.

He gives you a hug, and you feel the luxury press of his suit as you lean in with scrunched brows.

Two years in a row.

Maybe things do suck less with time.

When you both head out the door to your cars, you wonder if your brother knows how much you appreciate him and his friends for including you in things. Even if you don’t show it as much as you need to.

Guess this time of year is a good place to start.

Work drags in the wake of oncoming holiday.

But you’re learning to appreciate the decorations around the office, including the little cards that coworkers have given you at your desk—despite your many protests that they didn’t have to.

When you look up, you start to notice other things. Like the way people smile just a little more. Or the way peppermint and cider waft around the building, smelling of sweet instead of spice.

You wonder if Jungkook has decorated the studio, too. Or if he recruited everyone else to help with decorations, which means that Yoongi and the guys had to fuss with lights and whatever else people spend money on.

Laughing to your many stacks of papers and documents, you start daydreaming of what it would be like to decorate the house.

Would you and your brother do it someday? You do admit that it’s kinda nice to look around the neighborhood. And when you went into the mountains last year, you concede that the surrounding town decor was pretty inviting.

Maybe your house would be a little brighter on the inside too if you both just…

You get a notification on your phone. When the screen brightens, you see that it’s for the app that shuffles you all for the gift exchange.

You have no fucking clue what you’re doing.

But here goes.

Opening and hoping you get someone that’s easy to please, you stare at your device and blink a few very hard times.

And after every time, you still get a name that has your heart quickening faster than reindeer working overtime. It’s reindeer, right? You think that’s cor—

“You okay?”

Snapping your head up, you notice that one of your coworkers stopped mid-stride to check on you. Staring at his candy cane tie, you try not to be distracted as you slightly cringe,

“What do I get a guy for the holidays?”

“Friend or lover?”

Well, that was not what you expected to hear!

When your jaw unhinges, you’re quick to snap it back into place. “Umm.”

“Oh, this is juicy,” he perks up, quickly settling into a nearby chair and resting a strong chin in his hand. “Tell me more, I got time.”

Laughing, you shake your head while pretending to type on your computer. “Nothing to tell.”

“That means you got a whole lot.” His eyes are way too shiny right now! “But alright, I’m gonna assume both. In which case, I suggest something nice.”

“Something nice?”

“You know, like. Nice nice.”

“It’s for a gift exchange, though,” you slump, hands stopping on the keys. Looking at his whole holiday ensemble, you divulge, “The money limit’s definitely not enough for nice nice.”

“Then fuck the limit?”

Your answer is more of a sound than a word.

But he does get you to consider, even if just for a little bit. “Maybe…”

“Fuck the limit,” he advises again. “He’s gonna dig that. Especially since everyone will see it.”

Your face falls from the snowy sky. “Everyone?”

“Uhh, yeah? You said gift exchange, right? Everyone sees what everyone gets.”

“Oh. Right,” you pretend to agree to your computer. Because no, you actually didn’t know that. “Guess it’s been awhile.”

“Well, that’s what makes it fun! Good luck.”

While you would normally agree, you have a whole hoard of conflicting feelings. Because while seeing Yoongi’s name on your screen is enough to get you giddy as hell, you know there’s a couple people that may not share the same sentiments. Especially if you gift him something nice nice.

In front of everybody.

However…

As your striped and jingling coworker strides away with a hum, you drum your fingers on your minimally decorated desk.

Maybe there is a way you can finess this.

After a few weeks, the day has come for not just one exchange, but two—your friends also decided to have your own. Because it’s the easiest format, you convinced them with logic, seeing their shock at you being the one to suggest the exchange in the first place.

When they asked if you were sure, you assured them that it was okay. And the way they all brightened told you that you made a sound decision. Even if they still seemed hesitant, you know it’s because…

You’ve never done this.

So as you observe everyone in your bare living room, you start to see how their presence alone illuminates the space, with gifts in shine and glitter painting the area in holiday colors.

This is nice.

“So… Uhh.” You clear your throat, watching everyone look at you at the head of your coffee table. “How do we do this?”

They all laugh before Taehyung explains, “So one of us goes first and says who we got before giving the gift—you can sit, you know.”

In the midst of more teasing, you settle onto the floor while exclaiming, “I’m nervous, okay! This is really new to me.”

“You have a gift to give, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Then you’re already doing great,” Reia assures, and you’re even more excited to give yours away. Because you drew her name.

But before you can say that, Taehyung continues, “So after someone gets their gift, they announce who they picked, and so on.”

“Pretty straightforward,” you observe. “I wanna go first!”

Dom cackles, “You just wanna get it out of the way.”

“And?” you question, grinning when you shoot up and grab your very amateurishly wrapped bag. “Okay, okay, I got…”

“This is adorable,” Yuri cuts in, and everyone’s agreement makes you suddenly shy.

“No! Don’t make fun.”

“We aren’t!” Taehyung reaches out to rub your leg. “Promise. Who’d you get?”

“I got… Reia!” You exclaim, raising your bag a bit as she yells with everyone. The sudden raise of noise gets you a little shocked, but hyped nonetheless. And maybe a bit nervous that your gift won’t live up to the excitement. “Sorry about the wrapping job.”

“What are you talking about, this is so good,” Reia soothes, smiling wide as she delicately takes out the folded paper. “Wow, the wrapping is nice?”

Dom chimes in as she leans in, “Yeah, this is too good. Did you watch videos?”

“Uh huh.”

Everyone laughs again as you keep your nose held high. Because sucky or not, you were not gonna half-ass your first ever gift exchange. With seasoned people, at that. No way.

When Reia opens the gift you carefully picked while perusing through a local music store, you watch with the anticipation of a small child, eyes wide and waiting. Hoping that the best outcome is the real outcome.

And when she quietly yells behind her hand, everyone cheers while asking what she got. When she turns the package around, they cheer even more, because it’s a guitar pick set in her favorite colors. And one that you knew was so, very much her.

She stands up immediately and opens her arms for a hug, and you blink before getting lovingly crushed.

“Thank you,” she whispers in your ear. “This is more than great.”

“Of course, babe,” you murmur back, feeling her jean jacket under your palms and a beating in your chest. “Thank you, too.”

The rest of the exchange goes off without a hitch, with you cheering with everyone and understanding the cues more and more. Everyone’s gifts are wonderful, and Yuri’s the last to go out of the five of you.

And she got your name.

You figured giving the gift would be the hardest part.

But somehow, this part is a lot harder.

Braving it anyway—because there’s ironically no time like the present—you carefully unwrap the thin package and stare at what’s inside.

It’s a photocard. But the picture is of the five of you, one that Taehyung took with his long ass arms while the four of you huddled behind him with drinks in hand. Around its edges are stickers, hearts and stars and cute little animals.

And it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever seen.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Yuri rushes over to ask if you don’t like it.

“This is the best thing ever,” you choke out, and she smiles before laughing and tearing up, too. “I love us.”

“We’re the best, duh.”

“Got that right,” Dom adds to the air while Reia and Taehyung start cleaning up the wrapping scraps. “You like your first gift exchange?”

“I should’ve joined y’all sooner.”

“Joined us?” Taehyung looks up from the ground. “What do you mean?”

“Oh. I figured you guys do this every year.”

Tae looks at Yuri, who then looks at you again before very seriously admitting, “We’ve never done this, either. Not with each other.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” She taps the back of your now most precious, most coveted photocard ever. “We didn’t even think about it since you wouldn’t be there.”

Smiling at your prized possession, you vow,

“I’ll be here now.”

Regarding all of them, you start to decorate your place in your mind. Seeing where all the lights go. Where all the little trinkets hang, or whatever. You don’t quite know how this goes just yet, but you do know there’s trees involved. So that’s gonna be figured out in a year’s time.

“I’m not missing this again.”

With bellies full of laughter and a little bit of cider, you and your friends head over to Jimin’s cul-de-sac.

Dom took the wheel this time, so you get to stare out the passenger side window, eyes reflecting golds and colors as you take in the surrounding lights.

Were they always this pretty? You don’t remember being so taken by electricity and staggering electric bills, especially the houses that go all out and cover every nook of their yard in lights.

But it’s a spectacle on every corner and street, and Jimin’s little half circle of houses keeps the holiday illumination alive.

“Uhh, I think we can park down there,” you point, noticing there’s some space a little bit beyond the street. It’s alarmingly next to where Yoongi had to park once, and you cherish that memory with stars in your eyes.

“Everyone have their gifts?”

“Tae, if anyone lost theirs on the way here, we have other issues.”

It’s a quick walk to Jimin’s, and the music around the house gets louder as you approach his entrance. There are people already set up in his open garage playing what you assume are card games, and everyone greets your group as you pop in to say hi.

“Hey!” Namjoon calls. “Y’all are late! Everyone’s inside.”

“We had our own party first,” you call out, struggling with your gift bags and food tray. “Can someone—”

Before you finish your ask, you smell nice cologne and feel a big presence at your side.

When you look to see who’s assisting, you slow in your motions before uttering a small,

“Thank you.”

Jungkook slightly smiles as he grabs your last bag. “Your perfume’s nice,” he compliments behind tousled bangs. Which makes you blink because that comment is more than hard to come by from him.

So you can only grin. “Just got it,” you explain as you follow your friends inside the house. “It’s a dupe, can you believe it?”

“Damn! It’s a good one.”

“I know,” you agree, very proud of your find. Taking the gift bags from his hands, you tilt your head. “Can you bring the tray to the kitchen?”

“On it.”

When you make your way to your friends at the front area, they all eye you with concern. But you wave it off and shrug off your coat to hang on the loan coat hanger—earning teasing and whistles.

“Shut up,” you groan, laughing with everyone before straightening the reason for the noises. It’s a dress you’ve been eyeing specifically for holiday parties. Because as soon as you started to shop for your gift exchanges, that quickly spiraled into shopping for outfits to wear to them. Did your coworker spook you into looking good because it was a public event? Maybe. Absolutely.

So you shopped around before finding a dress that even you knew you looked good in. And the past couple weeks were the longest stretches ever because of your anticipation to wear it again.

As you and your newest fit walk into the kitchen, you start to greet everyone, giving them hugs and smiling bright at their compliments. Because you feel good. You feel nice. Maybe you’re just drinking the holiday cheer and letting it consume you but you don’t care because it’s fun this time. This isn’t like any other year, and it’s wonderful.

But then.

Even the most wonderful moments have to come to a halt.

And yours crash when you see Yoongi.

Leaned back on one of the kitchen counters, his body appears relaxed in another damn black button-up, telltale silver chain hanging from a neck you wanna devour in front of the whole house.

He was already annoying last year. But this time, his hair’s longer, and made up with just the right amount of disarray and a little bit even tucked behind his ear.

Fuck, this is so much worse!

If he wasn’t so attractive and magnetizing, you’d have way less than ninety-nine problems. It would be a lot closer to zero.

But you make your way over to him anyway, because of course you would. Of course he knew you would, too.

“Hi,” you greet him, hands tingling with the desire to cup his beautiful chin and yank him in for a kiss.

But he greets you back while giving you a hug, not without giving you a very obvious once-over.

“Beautiful,” he whispers in your ear before pulling away, which can only make you babble out,

“What?”

He grins wide. “You look nice.”

Oh. Oh, he really did say that. Why are you surprised? Why are you always surprised? But you have to stay poised so you stick with a neutral,

“So do you.”

“Thanks,” he says with a sly curve, still leaning back on the counter with a drink in hand. “Say something else.”

“Goodbye forever,” is what you go with, back heating with his staccato laughs following your speedy retreat.

No, no, no. He cannot notice how excited you are to give him his gift. Your bubbling excitement needs to be projected elsewhere. Because you know you picked perfect. It’s something you know he’d appreciate.

But he cannot have his ego inflated anymore or else the house would float to the sky.

But fucking hell, he looks damn good and he knows it.

After an hour or so of socializing and keeping to your little friend circle, Jimin gets everyone together in the big living room to do the exchange.

“Okay! One, two… Okay, we’re all here, so. Who’s gonna start?”

When someone calls his name, the man grins and shakes his head. “Nah, I’m host.”

“So shouldn’t you be the one to start?”

“My house, my rules!” Jimin argues with zest, pointing to the guy that dared to challenge him, “So you go first.”

And that man just so happens to secretly be yours.

Shouts erupt around the living room, and you can mostly hear Hoseok and Seokjin since they’re closest,

“Go, Yoong!”

“Ah, Yoongi’s first for a change.”

Secretly and not so secretly, you’re hoping and wishing that he pulled your name. But the odds of that would be pretty slim if you pulled him, even though it was an even chance across the board.

But as he gets up from the arm of Jimin’s couch holding a small gift bag, you determine that maybe it’s best if he didn’t pull your name. Because you already had trouble opening Yuri’s gift. How the hell would you control yourself opening his?

“K, uhh. I got…”

Wait, he’s looking towards you from across the room.

Shit. Is it happening?

You?

“Taehyung.”

A pang of disappointment and relief shoots through your veins, even when you shout with everyone while watching Tae smile from his place right next to you.

Yoongi walks right up to your seats, which are really some extra fold-out chairs by Jimin’s decorated tree. And he smells so good. Why do you have to be close to him again?

But this moment is about Taehyung, so you watch as he opens the gift. When there’s a small box inside the bag, he opens that to reveal a nice, slim… wallet?

Wait, is that leather?

Your mouth drops as everyone’s up and raising questions already, and you can clearly hear Jungkook and your brother protest the highest,

“Wait, huh?”

“We set a limit for a reason!”

Yoongi’s hands stay in his pockets when he refutes, “It was on sale.”

“Nah, he’s lying!”

Taehyung doesn’t know what to say, so when he looks at you, it takes all your strength to encourage him neutrally,

“It’s so you! Deserved.”

Yoongi looks at you before asking your friend, “Is it okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Taehyung says, full of gratefulness. “I’m just shocked.”

Jimin and Shiv chuckle from one of the couches,

“Oh? He’s never shocked.”

“This is new.”

Yoongi smiles as Tae gets up to hug him, and you’re immediately okay not being the one receiving anything right now.

Because you don’t need anything from him.

All you want is his happiness.

Once the initial gift is given, everyone goes down the line. And you’re feeling a little lighter after knowing who Yoongi got. Also, you feel less and less awkward about your gift, since the chaos of Yoongi’s was only the beginning.

Because when Taehyung gifts your brother a chain, everyone’s up and yelling again while your sibling is shocked to hell.

On one end of the living room, Namjoon shakes his grinning head while Jungkook throws his back,

“Alright, there needs to be a penalty for the most expensive gift.”

“We obviously didn’t give a shit about the limit.”

Everyone’s laughter fills the house, even drowning out the faint holiday music floating from the surround speakers.

Immediately clipping on his necklace, your brother shouts, “Am I the only one that stuck to what we agreed on?”

“Sucks for who got yours then.”

Everyone starts laughing or reprimanding Yoongi for saying that—you with a cackle included.

But then your brother busts out a fucking watch for Shiv and everyone goes bananas.

At this point, Taehyung’s fully laughing behind his fingers on his forehead, and Jimin collapses on a gawking Yoongi when Shiv quite literally jumps up.

“What the hell? Dude, I can’t take this.”

“Yes, you can! And you will.”

Fingers are pointing in every direction while people are calling each other liars, and your brother laughs on like a gremlin.

But it’s all so adorable that your heart is squeezing. Shiv’s damn near tearing up. “I’ve been eyeing this one for forever.”

“I know! You wouldn’t stop running your damn mouth about that thing.” Your older sibling claps him on the shoulder. “You can shut up now,” he says with a grin, and Shiv gives him a big hug.

“Thanks, man.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

Shiv’s turn. And everyone is waiting for what he decided to gift.

Turns out he keeps the shenanigans going by gifting Jungkook a luxury tie set.

The blond’s jaw drops as he stares hard at the package. Looking up quick, he has to ask for sure, “A set, dude?”

“It was on sale!”

“Again?”

“Are we all gonna say the same lie?”

Everyone can’t hide their amusement, with creased eyes and fake annoyance in every seat. Jungkook can’t believe his luck, since he’s been telling himself to get dress clothes forever but hasn’t gotten around to it.

“You gotta dress like a man now, kid,” Shiv tells him with a bright smile. “There’s a lot coming now that you’re making it.”

A light bulb softly glows when you realize that Yoongi might need to do the same. Trying not to look obvious, you peek in his direction.

As he stares at the floor, you already know he’s mulling over the same thoughts.

But it’s Jungkook’s turn now, and you still haven’t gotten a gift yet.

So you’re waiting with all the air in your lungs.

As the blond teases his pick, the studio boys are quick to handle him as Yoongi only huffs.

“I got… I got… I got, I got, I got, I got—”

“Kook, just say it.”

“Always like this.”

“Jimin!”

Your heart beats again as the host pops up from his couch, everyone cheering as Kook meets him in the center. Around you, speculation from your friends mixed with a little laughter spikes,

“He probably stuck to the limit.”

“Definitely.”

“Jimin’s gonna be the only one left with—”

Cackles and screams rip as Jimin kicks his head back in laughter, because in his hands is a sleek white box that everyone recognizes.

This man got Jimin designer shades.

Your cheeks hurt as you react with everyone, giddy and bubbly with how absolutely ridiculous this whole night has gone. Everyone accusing each other of cheating, while all the while every single gift has been over the top.

You really don’t feel bad about revealing your gift anymore. Quite honestly, you almost feel more bad about it not being enough.

No. It’s enough.

Yours is the best and you stick to that.

Jimin takes the sunglasses out of the box and protective pouch, slipping them on and modeling immediately.

Oh’s and ah’s echo before his friends inflate his ego,

“Damn, you sure you aren’t a model?”

“You’re one step away.”

“He really is.”

He looks great and he knows it. And he carefully puts them back in their packaging before giving Jungkook a hug. They exchange conversation, and you can feel the latter’s smile as he laughs before sitting down.

Suddenly, you have the strongest intuition that you’re next. On Jimin’s turn. He’s getting out a very nice bag from behind a couch and your brain is firing off.

“Okay! The best gift is going to…”

You were right. He calls your name.

Smiling, you shakily stand as Jimin approaches, a twinkling look in those features glowing in incandescent lights.

Eyes on you. Many eyes.

A little overwhelmed, you thank him before sitting down. Because it’s much easier to do this while on a solid, structured surface.

“Hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I will.”

Best gift? What could Jimin possibly mean by—

Your scream shoots out as you clamp the bag shut because no fucking way you saw what you just saw in there.

Jimin’s laughing his ass off but it’s not funny.

“Jimin, what the fuck!” Now you know how Shiv felt and he is absolutely valid for his reaction. “I can’t accept this.”

People are concerned around you, and you quickly think they may have the wrong idea.

“What did he get?”

“What’s in there?”

Quelling some thoughts, you explain, “It’s a box.”

“Okay?”

You just gotta say it. They’re all gonna know as soon as you take it out anyway. So you breathe out,

“…It’s Dior.”

It’s the loudest it’s been all night, even though your friends are completely speechless. All the guys are up in arms and Jia’s scream for penalty can be heard through the chaos,

“What!”

“Where’s my Dior?”

“What the fuck?”

“Jimin…”

“Okay, that is way over limit! That’s cheating!”

“Penalty!”

Jimin’s sneaky smile as he turns around doesn’t help, “You know I get everything for less.”

“So?”

“Still, what the hell, man!”

You know Jimin works there. You do. But this is still making your limbs jelly and you can’t even speak.

There’s no way Dior is passed around at every gift exchange.

“You deserve it. For dealing with him.” He looks at your brother, but the look in his eyes is too sparkly to be completely truthful. Does he mean Yoongi? Or is he being serious?

Of course, your sibling throws out a droning, “Wow.”

After lots of shaky unboxing, you reveal a stunning bracelet, your friends bending down around you to gawk at how brilliant it is. Dancing in your fingers, this piece shimmers and gleams, and every single person is quiet.

Guilt. You feel guilt.

And you can’t even look at the reason why.

“Whatever you’re feeling, don’t. It’s okay.”

You’re tearing up because it’s way too nice. Which proves worse because you also feel bad for crying for the sole fact that Yoongi’s watching. You don’t want him to get the wrong idea.

You get up to hug him. “I… This is really nice, Jimin. Thank you.”

“Stop by the store sometime,” he offers with a smile. “Maybe I can slip more in your purse.”

“Easy,” your brother eyes him.

“So are we all getting fancy gifts or what?”

“Nope! Ran out of my discount, sorry.”

“Wow.”

When you finally glance around, everyone’s either a mix of shock and awe, visibly confused, or just jealous and wondering what the hell just happened.

Meanwhile.

Yoongi straight up looks like he’s holding his tongue.

And you suddenly feel really bad.

Hopefully giving him his gift will make up for what just happened. Even though you’re going after the hardest hitter of the damn night, this one’s special.

But who are you kidding? People are definitely gonna talk in private about Jimin’s little gift.

So now you have to try and mend this while acting like Yoongi’s just your brother’s friend. Cool. Awesome.

“So...”

Just try your goddamned best.

“Yoongi is mine.”

…Wait.

Your secret looks your way immediately while everyone snaps their heads to him.

What the fuck did you say?

Wait wait wait wait what did you fucking say?

Flapping your arms, you reach for words while everyone starts teasing, “Oh, god. I mean—I have Yoongi—I mean, wow. Hold on.”

Fucking fuck fuck, he’s grinning.

Thank the lord above for someone cheekily asking,

“First time at a gift exchange?”

You look away from the laughs while trying to compose your grin of embarrassment. Get it the fuck together, this is peak time to get it right.

“God. Okay.” You look down at your bag. All of its carefully folded and primped paper, the delicate folding inside. “For the gift exchange,” you clarify with a forced firm tone, “I got Yoongi.”

You feel Dom try her damned best to hide her laugh. And you know for damn sure Jimin and Taehyung are thoroughly amused right now.

All the oh’s sounding off in the living room are already enough to set your ears smoking. Your brother’s voice can be heard, but you know that’s for a specific reason.

Everything had to be carefully calculated, after all.

You walk up to him, and you cannot—absolutely cannot—look too long at the way he’s looking up at you. Him sitting in any capacity is enough to drive you up a wall, but now? When he looks so freshly fitted and prepping to tease you about all this later? You can barely think straight.

“I don’t think I can beat Jimin’s gift,” you sigh to his curious eyes. “But it’s a little too late to change.”

His smile turns so soft. He shouldn’t be the one comforting you right now when you probably broke a little of his heart. “It’s all good.”

Keep going.

Cleaning your clogged throat, you brave the crowd and breathe before starting again, “Anyway. This is kinda from both of us, but I picked it because I have better taste.”

“Hey, what the hell?”

Ignoring your brother’s protest, you watch as Yoongi softly opens the gift before pulling out a basketball jersey.

Of his favorite player.

“Holy shit.”

Shouts start erupting behind your back as you laugh, your sneaky gift joining the rest of them.

“Hello? That’s way too much!”

“That’s over the limit for sure.”

You wave your hands frantically among their teasing arguments, and your brother chimes in on your side. “I didn’t know what to get!”

“So you got a real jersey?”

“Relax, y’all. It’s from both of us.”

“Wait, which one’s Lillard again?”

“Damian,” Yoongi softly says in awe. “How’d you know?”

You can only blink, smiling faltering by the slightest amount.

Fuck, he’s gonna be cheeky right now? Knowing you know and exactly how you know? Cuddled up with him in his bed as he shows you highlight reels and tells you the guy’s whole story and that he happens to be a rapper, too?

Looking back towards your brother, you explain, “Well... He gave me a list. And I just picked off vibes.”

Yoongi’s eyes sparkle so much when he grins. “Good choice,” he compliments with creased eyes. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome!” You say back with a little too high of a pitch. “But tell him he still owes you a gift. This doesn’t count for him.”

“Uhh, it sure as fuck does!”

Yoongi breaks eye contact to shout behind you, “Didn’t you already tell me you got me something?”

“Yeah, it was that!”

“What a lie,” Yoongi says through a smile.

“Yeah, I did,” your brother surrenders. “The shoes are in my bag. Okay, next!”

Hilariously, two pairs of people end up getting each other. Yuri’s older sister Jia got Seokjin, who also drew her name—to the slight angst of your brother, you imagine.

And Hoseok ends up getting Namjoon. Which turns out being twice as funny because they both got each other the same pair of earphones. You can’t breathe with how hard you cackle with everyone, and your heart skips when you catch a glimpse of Yoongi’s eyes across the room.

By the end of the exchange, everyone’s bellies and cheeks sting from laughter, and every eye in sight has twinkles embedded inside.

Throughout the night, everyone starts branching off into different groups. You and your friends talk in the kitchen, and both in and out of the house, there’s groups of games and conversations.

The holiday decorations everywhere shine bright. Enveloped in the music, you keep looking at the lights, feeling happy but a little bittersweet.

You really wanna set the record straight with Yoongi. You had no damn clue that Jimin was gonna give something like that, much less in front of everyone.

The fact that you haven’t been in the same room for a bit makes it worse. What could he be thinking right now? You can’t tell because he’s nowhere in sight.

Screw it. You’re gonna at least text him. There’s no way you can survive the night if you’re gonna plague your own head without checking in with him.

Fishing out your phone, you sidestep away for a second to type something quick.

You [10:38pm]: i know it’s not dior.. but hope you like your gift :’))

Yoongi [10:38pm]: You know I do. It’s perfect, doll.

Well. He texted back super quick.

Maybe he’s really okay? Maybe he and Jimin already talked it through?

Then again.. Yoongi didn’t look happy at all during the big reveal. To the point where he was actively showing emotions you rarely get to see.

But if he says he likes his gift, that’s a good sign.

You [10:42pm]: i can’t believe jimin did that

Yoongi [10:42pm]: That was bold.

You [10:42pm]: seriously!!!

Hmm. So he didn’t know. That’s even more surprising than him knowing, now that you think about it.

You’re called over to get another round of food, and you turn down the initial invite but stay around as they get more to eat.

When you see a tray that smells way too good, you do break and get a piece anyways.

“Yeah, those are amazing,” Yuri chirps. “Shiv made those.”

“Really?” Dom grabs a couple pieces. “Lemme try these then.”

“You’re gonna want more.”

As you find a place outside to eat, you stand next to the heater while conversing with Taehyung. It’s adorable how you can tell how excited he is about his gift, turning it in his hand before pocketing the leather again.

“It’s so nice,” you compliment.

“He knows how to pick, I guess,” Tae smiles, looking at you and making you shy. Because hello? There’s no way he’s gonna be bringing that up tonight.

When you silently mouth for him to shut up, he grins like a madman. Glancing down at your hands, he suddenly asks, “Are you gonna put that down?”

“No,” you say with a tiny pang of guilt. “Afraid not.”

“Mm.”

Your phone buzzes again, and you’re thankful for the interruption.

Yoongi [11:09pm]: Guess I have to do better😔

Instantly, you take that gratefulness back.

You [11:09pm]: NO!! you don’t have to worry about me at all

Yoongi [11:10pm]: I can’t lose to you

You [11:10pm]: trust me, i just…

You think about sending the other text or not. But you do anyway.

Taehyung sees the look in your faraway face, but doesn’t comment as you peer down again.

You [11:11pm]: i just wanna see you happy

That’s all you want. If he’s happy, you’re happy. So it sucks to have part of the night come as quite the shock.

Interestingly enough, though.. Someone else in the house should also be pretty upset about your gift, and you haven’t seen Jimin cornered by him yet.

Unless your brother is just deciding to be courteous and beat his ass after everyone leaves.

Yoongi [11:13pm]: Then come over here

You’re not gonna argue with that.

So when your friends finish their plates, you suggest you all head into the garage. It’s already rowdy before you open the door, so the sounds get booming loud when you all enter.

Looks like everyone is blowing their money on other things tonight, too. The gifts were the nice part of the party; now everyone is fiending to take everyone’s cash.

“Damn, Yoongi’s clearing me out.”

“Told you not to go all in.”

“He did.”

As the cold weather rolls in, you watch as the games go on, with heaters humming with energy and your brother’s friends radiating competition.

No wonder Yoongi wanted you in here.

He’s on a damn roll.

As everyone groans after another win, Namjoon and your brother are in tatters,

“Yoong, what the fuck!”

“You hiding cards in those sleeves?”

“I told you!” Yoongi boasts, “Don’t get too cocky.”

“Says him.”

“Cocky, my ass.”

When you laugh, you earn a tiny glimpse of his eyes. But as his vision falls to your hands, you’re quick to look away, out into the night to look at all the lights instead.

Shit.

After some time passes, you find yourself alone on a balcony. Yet again. Cold wind blows through your coat, chilling you but making you feel alive. Too alive in this moment. Too aware.

The holidays aren’t so bad this time around. But you do need to set this one thing straight before things go a little sideways with Yoongi.

If he’s upset, you don’t want him to be. Even if he doesn’t say it, you want him to know you’re considering his feelings. There’s some things you just can’t control.

So you wait for Jimin, telling him earlier to meet you up here for the best chance at privacy.

When you hear the door opening, you see him come through, hair lifting in the breeze and his lips in a slight curve.

Get right to it. “Jimin, I—”

“Isn’t it so nice tonight?”

Stopping, you settle into a smile, watching him walk up to stand next to you before you both look into the night. The neighborhood glows beneath your feet, and everyone in the backyard mingles while puffs of air leave their lips.

“It really is,” you say with a smile, clutching the gift bag in cold fingers. Because you haven’t let go of it ever since it was given to you—it’s way too expensive. You’ve been guarding it all night.

Which is why you need to hand it back to the one who gave it to you. “We haven’t done something like this before, so.. It’s a nice change of pace.”

Jimin turns before realizing something. “Oh. I meant the weather.”

Embarrassed, you let out a laugh while his eyes crease. “Ah. That, too.”

“Got deep real fast.”

“Jimin!”

Both of you puff out laughter as you look down, just in time to see someone gazing right up at you. Someone that makes your heart squeeze on sight.

Oh, shit. Is he gonna get the wrong idea again?

You need to do this quick. Yoongi can’t be let down more than once tonight.

Sighing, you start to hold up the bag again. “Thank you—”

“He’s lucky you came around when you did.”

“Huh?”

Jimin leans on the railing before eyeing you with a smile. “You don’t even know, do you.”

“I don’t…” When you look below, Yoongi’s not looking anymore. And you panic. “Jimin, thank you. But I seriously can’t take this.”

Why does he look so calm? Why does he keep acting like this isn’t a big deal? “You can.”

“No, really. I—”

“I may have gone too far this time.”

Your eyes still as you breathe out a confused, “...What?”

Jimin’s face is dusted with peach in the cold, and you get a good view of his jawline as he peers down below with a regretful curve. “I kinda tricked him,” he admits. “Into picking your gift for the exchange.”

The shock you feel prevents you from even blinking. How the hell can this get even more overwhelming? “What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I got some good discounts.” Jimin turns around to lean against the railing. “So I thought it would be fun to rope him into getting you something.”

When he laughs to the chilly night sky, you don’t join him—the shock is preventing you from doing anything.

“Didn’t think he’d pick a whole bracelet, though. Made for one hell of a gift exchange pick.” He looks at you at a tilt. “You like it, right?”

Even if Yoongi was the one to pick out the jewelry, Jimin still had to purchase the damn thing. And even with his discount, it’s still expensive as hell. It has to be. You haven’t let go of the bag once because you don’t want to lose it. “But you still had to pay,” you blurt out. “I’ll find a way to pay you back if you aren’t gonna take it.”

“I didn’t pay for it, either.”

Your heart stops.

Full on halts.

When he turns his head, he looks toward the sky in thought. “Well, I did secretly pay the exchange limit. But..” He straightens before staring back at your absolute silence, dropping the biggest surprise of the whole night,

“Yoongi paid the difference.”

The sudden sob that leaves your throat startles him immediately, and he rushes forward to put hands on your shoulders. “Hey, hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I just—”

The sound of a door slides open, and you turn to see your favorite, favorite, favorite person walking through. You must look like a wreck but you don’t care, don’t care, don’t care.

“I’ll leave you both to it then,” Jimin says to your watery eyes before squeezing, heading out to give you both the quiet space you need.

But Yoongi clutches his arm as he walks by, and you hold your breath as he stares him in the eye, voice burning with a steady glow,

“Don’t pull that shit again.”

“I know,” Jimin agrees without pause. “I owe you one.”

“No one comes up here then.” Yoongi releases him slow. “Until I come back down.”

The host of the night shares a quick hand clutch before assuring, “You got it.”

Bag clutched tight in your hands, you watch in wonder as Yoongi approaches you with a quiet determination. His presence alone makes your heart beat warm and soft, but you cannot stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks.

All you can ask as he gets close is a wondrous, “Why..?”

“He’s a very persuasive salesman.” When you wipe your eyes, he helps with a little look of tenderness. Though there’s still some frustration evident in his features. “But I didn’t know it would be for tonight.”

“Oh, shit,” you sigh. “Why did he do that?”

“I’m not sure.” Yoongi holds your chin, rubbing your frosty cheek with a handworking thumb. “Taehyung didn’t know he’d do it, either.”

“Tae knew, too?”

“Yeah. He thought I had it, not Chim.” He sighs to the side, hair lifting slightly in the breeze. “I almost stood up when you screamed.”

Your heart shrugs off some chill. “Really?”

Yoongi nods before looking up with scrunched brows. “It took all of me to keep my ass down. Honestly, I’m still pissed the fuck off.”

You believe that. One hundred percent, you believe that. Because you’ve never seen him talk to Jimin like that before tonight.

Reaching to cradle one of his cheeks, you feel how cold he is before whispering to soothe, “Tell me how you wanted it to go.”

When Yoongi looks at you, your lips curve into a small smile. Peppered with a bit of your tears and willingness to make him feel better.

He softly grips your hand on his face before turning to kiss your fingers. Voice low, he reveals, “I was gonna take you straight to dinner. After you got off work one day.” Another set of kisses makes your fingers both hot and cold. “Then I would’ve faked needing something from the studio. And you would’ve gotten it there.”

“Oh…” You blink as your vision blurs. “That’s…”

“Among other things.”

At his suggestive look, you playfully pat his jacket. But your heart starts leaking from your eyes.

Because you just want it all to be out already. Just everything. Everything, everything, everything, you’re so tired of keeping it under wraps.

“What’s wrong, doll.”

“Nothing,” you sob. “I’m just… I didn’t know, and… This is a lot.”

You’re overflowing with emotions. From all the experiences you’ve had tonight to this very moment, everything has been wonderful and magical and there’s nothing quite like this feeling. But you’re also so embarrassed because he definitely brought out much bigger guns than you did.

Sniffling into his jacket, you whisper, “Thank you… You got me something timeless. This is so much cooler than my gift.”

“No! Yours is great, are you kidding me?”

“It’s a jersey… That’s much less cool.”

“Mm... You also called me yours.” When you freeze completely, Yoongi's shoulders bob with his pride. “Gotta say, that was the highlight of the night."

“Oh, shut up!" When you groan into his clothes, you feel him laughing through his chest. And it's one of your favorite feelings in the world.

Shoulders slumped, you heavily yearn,

“I want it all out now. Everything.” You squeeze him closer. Closer, closer, closer. “I want everyone to know it was from you.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, though you do feel his heart beat a little faster. When he finally answers, you close your eyes. “I know I said this last time, but.. Next year. For sure.”

“Can we decorate, too?”

Yoongi looks into your starry eyes. “You wanna?” When your nod is quick, he laughs. “Guess I don’t have a real choice then, huh?”

“Nu uh.” You squeal as he hauls you into a full kiss, squeezing you in his arms and more tears out of your eyes. “Wait!”

When he tilts his head, you grin at his adorable quirk. “Let’s do it anyway.”

“Huh?”

Holding up the bag, you cheekily suggest, “Everything you said. Let’s do it.” Biting your lip and feeling the chill on your ears, you finish, “There’s a new place I wanna try with you anyways.”

Yoongi just stares, smile unsure but huffing amusement from his nose. “You sure?”

“Duh! And I’ll act even more surprised, just for you.”

Your giggling is purely born from excitement. Because you can’t wait to take him somewhere you know he’ll enjoy, too. And you get to see the studio? It’s gonna be a fantastic—

You’re brought into a tight hug before your thoughts finish. The bag between you crumples a tad, but you’re more focused on the way your head is moved for a soul-tying kiss.

Warmth and gold and sparkles burst from your chest as you’re completely taken by Yoongi’s lips, and you start to feel your house inside change. It’s festive. It’s decorated. It’s made just for you and him.

You've never been one for this season. But getting to spend it with Yoongi two years in a row? It's becoming one of your favorite times of the year.

“I just…” he murmurs to your features before gripping you close. “Thanks, babe.”

“Thank you,” you whisper into his handsome features. “Once you give it to me for real, I’m gonna wear it everywhere.”

“Please do. Get my money’s worth.”

When you both laugh, your affection leaves in puffs of white. And you give him a more tender kiss than the first.

You feel so at home it hurts. But it hurts because your heart is so full you can’t fit it all. All the love for everyone that fills that hole in your life that you and your brother have had for years.

You’re gonna tell him one day. And it’s gonna rip you apart.

But you hope everything will be okay. This time next year, all of you will be okay. More than okay.

When you lean in close, you whisper something you’ve never really said to anyone. But you’re gonna try to start, even if you aren’t quite familiar with it yet. It’s a good year to start, start, start.

“Happy holidays, Yoongi.”

His lips spread slow before giving one more kiss to your chilly nose. And every anxious feeling floats away in the frosty breeze.

“Happy holidays, doll.”

fin. :)

so... how did it go! | join the server! | join the taglist!

a/n: happy holidays, merry christmas, happy new year to everyone that celebrates! just wanted to get this one out for the ones needing a little bit of cheer around this time. we learn quite a bit about some of the crew's backstories and where they work now, huh. is this a pocket universe, too? who really knows! but it all flew out of my fingers as soon as we got the suggestion, so thank you again to that anon message! a/n 2: thank you to everyone that's stuck with me and 3tan this year. it's been a rough one, but i also wanted to post this one to let you all know i'm still here. 3tan will forever stay with me, and i have not ever forgotten it. not one day goes by where i don't think about it, or y'all, or them. trust me. also, stay on the lookout for some physical copy interest checks! we are getting closer and closer to 3tan copies being A Real Thing! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

#gonna start reblogging here #even if it’s short 🖤#3taniverse #3tan holiday special #ryen!#I’m sure I’ll yell at you about the Jimin thing more later on #after I compile the rest of the evidence to present to the court #BC I THINK IM GOING INSANE #thanks 🙃

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reiding-writing · 2 days ago

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Hi ! I’ve been a fan of your writing forever, and I’m so glad you opened up requests !! I’ve been in bed with a migraine all day, and would love some fluff with Spence taking care of reader when she’s down like I am 😭😭 Whether reader is sick or migraine-y, I don’t mind ! I love the idea of Spencer enjoying being able to take care of his loved ones, it doesn’t even have to be an established relationship fic 💕💕 Thank you so much lovely !!

BESIDE MANNER — SPENCER REID!

who better to help you through a migraine than the man who literally knows everything?

spencer reid x gn!reader | 1.3k | h/c | masterlist.

a/n — anon, i feel you, i have had the worst migraine behind my left eye literally all day and i wish i could just stick my hand in my skull and massage it away

You’re not sure when the ache started. It’s a creeping, insidious thing, burrowing behind your eyes and clawing its way through your skull. It comes on slow at first—a dull throb that you convince yourself you can ignore.

You’ve worked through worse, but by the time noon rolls around, your head is pounding so fiercely that even blinking feels like a betrayal.

Every movement, every faint whisper of sound, sends a fresh wave of pain coursing through your skull. You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, instinctively seeking darkness and silence.

The migraine has stolen your day before you’ve even begun it.

At some point—though you can’t be sure when, time feels elastic—you become aware of a knock on your door. Soft, tentative, like whoever’s on the other side knows the noise might make things worse.

You think about ignoring it, but then you hear a voice. His voice.

“Hey, it’s Spencer. Are you okay? You weren’t answering your phone,”

Even in your haze, you can tell there’s concern laced in his tone. Spencer’s always been a bit of a worrier. You know he means well, but you’re not sure if you have the energy to deal with anyone right now.

Still, you force yourself to croak out something resembling permission. The door opens, and the faint light from the hallway spills into your sanctuary, making you wince. You hear the door close again almost immediately, followed by the sound of his cautious footsteps approaching.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I just… I was worried,”

You peek out from under the blanket, squinting against the minimal light. Spencer is standing there, a bag slung over one shoulder and a furrow of worry etched into his face. His hair is slightly mussed, and you can tell he’s been fussing with it—an unconscious habit he has when he’s nervous.

“I brought some things,” he continues, holding up the bag like an offering. “For the migraine, I mean. I, um… I wasn’t sure exactly what would help, so I got a few options,”

You don’t have the strength to respond, but you manage a faint nod. Spencer takes it as an invitation to set the bag down and start unpacking.

“There’s… let’s see… some herbal tea,” he says, pulling out a box and setting it on your bedside table. “It’s supposed to be good for headaches. And, um, this cold pack—it’s one of those reusable ones you can wrap around your head. Oh, and these blackout curtains, in case the light is making it worse—”

He’s talking so fast you can barely keep up, but there’s something endearing about the way he’s trying to cover every base.

“And,” he adds, pulling out a bottle, “magnesium supplements. They prevent the narrowing of brain blood vessels, blocking chemicals that cause the pain associated with migraines, and prevent cortical spreading depression. I checked the dosage to make sure it’s safe, but you should still—”

“Spence,” you murmur, cutting him off. Your voice is hoarse, barely audible, but it’s enough to make him stop mid-sentence.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

The corners of his mouth twitch upward in a small, relieved smile. “Of course,”

He moves to sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle you. For a moment, he just sits there, as if he’s not sure what to do next. Then he hesitates, his hand hovering near your forehead.

“Is it okay if I…?”

You nod, and his hand comes to rest gently on your forehead, his touch cool and soothing. He frowns slightly. “You’re a little warm. Have you been drinking enough water?”

You shake your head weakly. The thought of getting up, of doing anything, had felt impossible.

Spencer seems to sense this. “Okay,” he says, more to himself than to you. “I’ll get you some water,”

He’s up and out of the room before you can protest, returning a moment later with a glass. He helps you sit up just enough to take a few sips, his hand steady on your back and a duo of pills in his palm, offered out to you. The water is cool and refreshing, and you feel a tiny spark of gratitude for his persistence.

“Better?” he asks, his voice soft.

You nod again, settling back into the pillows. Spencer pulls the blanket up around your shoulders, tucking you in like you’re something fragile and precious.

For a while, he just sits with you. The room is quiet except for the occasional rustle as he adjusts his position. You can feel his eyes on you, watching, waiting for any sign that you need something.

“I was reading about migraines a few weeks ago,” he says after a while, breaking the silence. “Did you know they’ve been documented as far back as ancient Mesopotamia? They used to think they were caused by evil spirits,”

You let out a weak chuckle, which quickly turns into a grimace as the motion makes your head throb.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean to make you laugh,”

“It’s okay,” you whisper.

He falls silent again, but his presence is steady, grounding. At some point, you must drift off, because the next thing you know, the room is even darker, and there’s a cool cloth resting on your forehead.

Spencer is still there, his long legs folded awkwardly beneath him as he sits on the floor beside your bed. He’s reading something—a book, probably, though you can’t make out the title. When he notices you stirring, he sets it aside and leans closer.

“Hey,” he says softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you mumble, though the truth is you’re not sure. The pain is still there, but it feels muted somehow, like his presence has taken the edge off.

“Good,” he says, and you can hear the relief in his voice.

He helps you drink more water, then offers you the herbal tea he’d mentioned earlier. It’s warm and comforting, the steam curling up in delicate tendrils.

“You don’t have to stay,” you tell him after a while, though part of you doesn’t want him to leave.

“I want to,” he replies simply.

And so he does.

Hours pass in a blur of sleep and wakefulness. Each time you open your eyes, Spencer is there, adjusting the cold pack, refilling your water, or just sitting quietly with his book. He doesn’t seem to mind the monotony, doesn’t seem to need anything from you except the chance to be there.

It’s a kind of care you’re not used to—a quiet, steadfast devotion that asks for nothing in return. And in your vulnerable state, it feels like the greatest gift anyone could give.

By the time the migraine starts to lift, the edges of the pain receding like a tide going out, you feel something else blossoming in its place. Gratitude, yes, but also something deeper, something you’re not quite ready to name.

“Spence,” you say softly, as the first rays of morning light begin to filter through the window.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

He smiles, and for the first time, you notice how tired he looks. “Anytime,” he says, and you believe him.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid angst

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fairyofshampgyu · 2 days ago

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FAIRYOFSHAMPGYU’S TUMBLR WRAPPED ! ⋆⭒˚⋆ <3

saw some mooties do this so I thought it’d be fun to do a little one as well !! Anyway, thank you so much for the love on all my fics I’ve written this year !! I appreciate it so much, whether it’s an ask, comment or reblog or like 😭🫶 I find myself always going back to read feedback bc it makes me so happy !! Thank you to all my moots too !! I received sm love this year thank you I forever am grateful !! >_< 🌷 The way I only wrote about 4 fics in total this year (excluding thoughts I wrote) is an abomination 💀…but I had a very busy year and tbh I do love to take my sweet time writing fics. 😭 I also had quite bad writers block. It’s absolutely crazy how fast this year went, it still felt like it had just started…😟 time is my biggest enemy. Regardless, I feel like every year for me gets better and better and I had an amazing 2024. Will 2025 be able to top 🤔 ? I hope everyone has a great year too !! <3

TOP FIC OF 2024:

Me pegged ?! (first time pegging gyu) 1.94k notes !!

I did not expect this to be my most popular fic this year 😭 but I received so much feedback and love for this so tysmm !! <3💞 I just wrote this pretty fast after my exams finally finished and after having terrible pegging beomgyu brain rot and there not being enough fics of him getting pegged 😪 so I did not expect this to reach nearly 2k already but tbh I get it, beomgyu is very cute in this 🤧 so thank you so so muchhh

MY FAV FIC I WROTE IN 2024:

not as tough as you look ! (Sub emo vinyl store worker gyu x vinyl collector reader)

This was incredibly self indulgent 😭 and somewhat based on a true story (there was no fucking 😪) but this is one of my fav fics I’ve written tbh SUB EMO VINYL STORE WORKER GYU ??!! like I still reread this and get giddy as if I didn’t fucking write it myself 💀 was made by for me LMAO

FAV FICS I READ IN 2024:

I barely read this year bc I was so busy ☹️ so there’s not much, I still have a big to read list to catch up on so many fics but pls pls give me some recs. istg there were way more favs than this and I’m just pulling my hair trying to remember but there’s also a lot still on my to read list so yeah

Star studded baggage (yeonjun, Soobin, beomgyu x reader, reincarnation au, celebrity au, series, fluff) @hannie-dul-set

Not finished but I remember highly enjoying this, such a good unique plot, well written, funny and I’m a sucker for reincarnation aus tbh

What a loser ! (sub, brat stoner gyu) @hyewka

short but I remember I was gagged by this. Love the idea and bratty sub gyu eating you in a skate park 😩 smut was tew good

backrow theatre (subby gyu x dom taehyun x resder) @boba-beom

SUBBY GYU AND DOM TAEHYUN. Enough said. 😮‍💨

Mogi & Nabi (college au, childhood best friends beomgyu to lovers series, fluff) @hannie-dul-set

Loved, loved this fic very much. I wrote a lot about this when I reblogged it yesterday 😭

Divinity for the damned (fallen angel dom gyu, horror, smut) @koqabear

Such a unique plot, so so well written and I love how dark it is and the idea of fallen angel beomgyu

Heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I (sequel series to yamqn, reincarnation au, switch gyu, series,) @wildernessuntothemselves

another fic I very highly enjoyed reading this year also cried to when it ended lol. The whole entirety of this story and prequel is one of the most compelling stories I’ve seen on here it could literally be like a drama or book and I was so sad that it ended 😭 so well written I love the story.

sub gyu drabble (sub gyu, public, vibrator plug) @hyewka

THIS IS SO GOOD AND YUMMY 😩😩 still come back to this

hybrid puppy gyu thought @wildernessuntothemselves

Still come back to this too, just the love the idea I love puppy gyu

An Ironman (sexbot gyu, sub gyu) @niningtori

Beomgyu was so cute in this and unique plot again, enjoyed reading this v much !!

Violets are blue (beomgyu, hanahaki disease, angst) @niningtori

This was so good and sad when I first read this. I CANNOT handle angst 😭😭💔 everything I read of niningtori puts me into cardiac arrest bc theres so much angst 😭 buts it’s all good bc I love the pain

night lounge (jazz bar, dom beomgyu, bassist gyu) @beomie3

JAZZ BAR, BASSIST GYU SMUT ?? Sign me tf up. Love the idea very much. I wanted to make my own jazz bar smut fic for ages too so I love this great minds think alike

Switch to me (beomkai x reader smut, sub kai, dom gyu) @chyuuiung

I WAS GAGGED !! THE FIRST TIME I READ THIS I fucking love beomkai why aren’t there more beomkai x reader smuts I will literally eat them all up. This was hot

Pretty princess (time travel, royal au, princess reader, fluff series) @beomiracles

Been a while but all I remember was that I had an exam the next day but I binge read the entirety of this. It was very cute and beomgyu was so silly 😭 and I love the plot and enjoyed reading it all

MY GOALS IN 2025:

- write a fucking yeonjun fic 😭 I cannot believe I have never written one. I am a failure. I had one in the drafts this year but then another writer wrote something pretty similar to it and I didn’t want to seem like I was copying 😭 so I’ve let it go. But best believe, I will fucking write that yeonjun fic. 💪‼️ I just need some more ideas.

- in general, write more for txt members 😭 I’m sorry guys beomgyu is my muse and it comes so easy and enjoyable writing for him 😪 I am terrible at going out of my comfort zone. But I do have a drummer college au kai fic in my drafts !!!

- read more fics !! I didn’t get to read as much this year but I hope to read lots

- write a super long fic - literally all my fics are so short 😞 idk how you guys do it but I’m in awe

- interact more with moots - the way I’m not close with any of my moots 😭 ily all though I’m terrible at interacting and socialising I’m so sorry but I will try 💪 I want to get closer to more of you 💞

THAT’S A WRAP ! <3

#nia speaks !#tumblr wrapped #tubatu!<3 #beomgyu !<3

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kyokutsu-sama · 1 day ago

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Hiiii how are you doing my dear? I hope that you're taking care of yourself and not overworking yourself 😊 it's my first time requesting so I'm sorry if I didn't do it right english is not my mother language so sorry 😭 anyway I just want to put this idea in here because it was stuck in my head for a while and I really love your writing it always makes my day better everytime I read one of your works, so the thought is bleach men (especially kenpachi this thought come in the first place because of him😭) having a cute aggression everytime they see their wife because damn how a woman can be this cute and pretty all the time that they can't help themselves 😭😭(plz take your time and don't overwork yourself you can ignore it if you want it's ok I just want to tell you how much I love you and your work 🥺💗🫂).

Hi!! @thebestgirlever2 I'm doing very well and I hope you're doing well too. First of all, your English is very good and don't worry because English is not my native language either and secondly, I'm very happy that you like my work here. It motivates me a lot and thank you for your affection🥹❤️❤️

So here's the thing, at this moment I wasn't writing for the Bleach fandom but I decided to make some exceptions (as I also mentioned in the post about requests) and since it's also your first time making a request, I decided to write it.

I hope this is what you had in mind and I hope you like it😊 I wrote to my big boys just to see their hearts soften with so much cuteness🤭

Characthers : Kenpachi, Shunsui, Kensei, Grimmjow

🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️🔸️

Kenpachi :

Our giant and brute Kenpachi was constantly in an internal battle when he saw you do something. Even if it was the simplest thing in the world, his heart would melt because he found you so cute. He didn't usually admit it out loud even though you were his wife, but your expression, your looks, everything was so clear that everyone could see it. Yachiro pointed it out several times, but he just made a face and grumbled. "Y/n is so cute and you know it too. Admit it!" She said, pulling on the sleeve of his kimono trying to get his attention "Yes, she really is." He thought, looking at the girl and seeing her playful air

Yumichika and Ikkaku also noticed the way he blushed slightly when you greeted him with a smile that made his heart of stone melt and made the man's bloodlust dry up. Deep down, he liked this effect on him. One day he was sitting on the porch watching you tend to some flowers in the garden. Your hands were small and soft compared to his, which were large and calloused, your face so focused and fragile as you worked, your long, flowery sundress that matched the garden around you. He clenched his fist, feeling angry at all the cuteness in front of him. "How is it possible to be so..." He thought, trying to restrain himself from going to you and picking you up, hugging you and holding you close to him But the voices in his head won out and he got up and went to do what his thoughts wanted. You got up and suddenly saw a large silhouette blocking the sun and when you turned around you saw him with his usual serious face, but little did you know that he was finding you so cute now. "Oh Kenpachi, you were there! I didn't even realize that--" You hadn't finished speaking and he was already lifting you off the ground for a hug and squeezing you in his arms. "Kenny, what are you doing?!" You said breathlessly due to the squeeze. "Nothing." He said, pulling your face away from his chest for a moment to show you an innocent look "Nothing? You're crushing me against you." You giggled "What? You looked really cute just now." He said, rolling his eyes and you laughed "Oh! Looks like my arrogant giant is finally letting his guard down. How cute!" You poked his cheek and he turned his face away "Shut up." He grumbled and you smiled

Shunsui :

He just can't stand it. You look so beautiful and so cute in everything you do, in the way you walk and even the way you breathe. He never makes a point of hiding how cute you are and how important you are to him. Your gentleness and your smile were what captivated him the most. Nanao was already fed up with having to hear him praise you, every five minutes. "Yes, Captain, you've said that several times." She sighed, rolling her eyes. "No, I don't think you understand. She's wonderfully cute." He said again "Here we go again..." One day he was coming home after work (not that he really did much besides drinking sake and sleeping) and when he entered the room and saw you sleeping so deeply in bed, wrapped in the sheets, so quiet and asleep, his heart melted. "My petal looks so cute, sleeping like an angel." He said with both hands on his chest and with a little laugh He approached you, caressing your sleeping face, wanting to pinch your cheeks after an episode of 'cute aggression' but he restrained himself not to wake you up. "How can she be so cute." He thought He took off his flowery kimono and lay down next to you, pulling you close to him in a tight hug, distributing kisses from your shoulders to your cheeks. You moved a little and he stopped immediately. "No, no, no! Go back to sleep, don't wake up, you're sleeping very well. Very very well, petal." He said, caressing your face and you, still asleep, turned to him to hug him "That's right, dear. I don't want to wake you up."He said, giving you one last kiss on the cheek before going back to sleep Damn, I already missed writing a little about him😭

Grimmjow:

This man definitely changed from a panther to a kitten when he met you. And after marriage, it intensified. He still remembers the way you were always pushing his buttons and the way he lost his mind when you did it, but later he realized that he didn't have the courage to do anything about it. Yes, he would grumble and tell you to shut the fuck up, but he wouldn't yell or insult you. You had an effect on him that started to irritate him in the early days, but after he realized that he was in love, he started to feel more at ease. Of course, he was still too proud to admit that you were so cute, but so cute that he just wanted to hug you close to him and give you a ton of bites (love bites cause he's a kitty🐈). One day you were in the kitchen preparing something to eat when you heard the front door open. Grimmjow was mad after having crossed paths with Ichigo. His rival. "That idiot, I swear, one day I'm going to beat the shit ou of that son of a b--" He entered the kitchen, furious, screaming, and when he was going to punch the wall to release his anger, he noticed that you were standing there in the corner and his fist was only a few inches from the wall, which prevented it from being destroyed. Seeing you so quiet and cute, looking at him made him quickly recover and look away in embarrassment. You also couldn't help but be curious to know what had made him like that. Deep down you knew that it had probably been something very trivial because it didn't take much to make this man angry. "Are you okay?" You asked, approaching him. "You seem a little angry right now. Did something happen?" "No, it's okay, don't worry. It's all sorted out." "Seriously? Because it really seemed like you cross paths with Ichigo again." "Oh, don't say that name..." He growled, closing his eyes and clenching his fists "Okay, okay, I won't say the name again. Fine!" You said, raising your hands in surrender "Thanks." "But other than that, how was your day? Did you need anything? Are you feeling tired?" You said with a smile that made his heart soften and his tough personality fall He stared at you for a while, admiring your expression and you looked at him a little confused by his silence. "Is everything okay?" You poked his cheek and he nodded before pulling you into a tight hug "Stay here for at least five minutes, okay?" He asked and you nodded against his chest You didn't know what had made him do that so suddenly, but one thing was for sure, it was all he wanted at that moment to be able to calm down.

Kensei :

Another one who has a tough personality but always has a cute aggression attack when you pass by him or you've only been together for five minutes. Mashiro used to tease him about it when she noticed it. "You and Y/n make a really cute couple. I can see how you look at her and your cheeks get blushed. But Kensei, you two are already married, why do you keep blushing like a teenager?" She said, laughing at him and he clenched his fist, one of his eyes twitching and feeling a vein bulging in his neck "Shut up you idiot! Stop teasing me!!" He yelled and she laughed even harder seeing that she had managed to get him out of his mind Deep down, he knew she was right. You really got to him even though you two were married. He looked at you and always thought you were cute. One day he was coming home and saw you sitting on the couch watching TV, but as he got closer he saw that you were sleeping sitting up. You probably ended up falling asleep watching TV while you waited for him. He felt a little guilty about it, but it was his job. As much as he wanted to be close to you, it was hard sometimes. He turned off the TV and took the pillow that was on your lap, picking you up bridal style, slowly so you wouldn't wake up. When he got to the bedroom, he put you on the bed and that's when you woke up, seeing him sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at you. "Did I wake you up?" He asked "I let myself fall asleep in the living room, didn't I?" You asked, yawning "Yes, and I brought you back to the bedroom. I'm sorry I was late." He said, running his hand over your face and looking away "It's okay, love. I know it's your job. I wanted to wait for you, but I couldn't. I ended up falling asleep." You held his hand He looked at you and seeing your sweet smile and the way you were always so understanding, made him want to hug you and not let go until the next day. "Come to sleep, you look tired." You said he just nodded, taking off his clothes and lying down next to you "Come here." He pulled you to him and held you in a tight hug against him, letting out a long sigh. "This is what I needed." He whispered and you patted his arm "Kensei, I can't breathe properly." Your voice was muffled by the closeness and that was when he released you a little so you could breath properly. "I'm sorry, honey, it's just that you... seemed too cute just now." He confessed with a blush on his face and you giggled "You too, your cheeks are blushing." You pointed and he hugged you again so you wouldn't see. "Kensei." You fidgeted "Shut up." He grumbled

#bleach #bleach x reader #bleach fandom #bleach fic #bleach captains #shunsui kyoraku #jushiro ukitake #kensei muguruma #zaraki kenpachi #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #kyoraku shunsui x reader #ukitake jushiro x reader #kensei x reader #grimmjow x reader #zaraki kenpachi x reader #anime fandom #anime writing blog

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huffledor-able541 · 2 days ago

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I love this so much.🫶 Your writing amazing and you hitting the nail again on making everything feel so real and natural amazinggggg x2.

The beginning scene is so cool😎❤️‍🔥 Love how they make a great team😭💖🫶 And that part with her cutting the rope and dropping Daryl...HILARIOUS🤣

I absolutely LOVE the way you portrayed everything and how we could easily feel Daryl's anger through the words on the screen. And yes, unfortunately, it can happen to anyone. So glad Daryl was persistent in saving her. They deserve to live happily ever after together (or as close as a happily ever after in the TWD world).

I also love that little call back at the end where the Reader says "Go fast." And Daryl says, "You got it, boss."😭💖 But now they're together😭😭😭💖💖💖

Also, thank you for your Author's Note and info. One of my family members was in a similar situation as the Reader while I was very young. She's not with him anymore, but we can all tell how much damage he did to his family even so many years later and it's so not fair that he didn't get any consequences.

Words: 12,907 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan Reader pronouns: she/her Warnings: language, domestic violence and abusive relationship (reader and her partner—some description of minor injuries, threats, intimidation, verbal abuse, coercion, control), descriptions of injuries after infliction, violence, angsssst, happy ending

You glanced back over your shoulder. Daryl copied the action the next moment, checking to see how close the ragged looking group of walkers behind the two of you were. “We should probably take care of them before we get a real herd going,” you said, stepping over some brush. You loosened your knife in the sheath at your hip.

“Yeah,” he drawled. “Prob’ly.” He started to raise his bow to his shoulder and revolved in place.

You fully withdrew your knife. You turned back too now, shoulder to shoulder with him. “Do you want the group in the front or in the back?” you asked, shaking your hair out of your eyes.

Daryl firmly planted the grip of his bow into his shoulder and fired at the walker in the lead. The bolt swooshed through the air and landed with a satisfying thunk in the head of the walker in the lead, just below the left eye. “I’ll take the front,” Daryl drawled.

You gave him an appreciative smile and nodded. “I thought you would.” You peeled off from him and quickly flanked the five or six walkers left in the front, ignoring their attention and slight changes of direction as they reached for you. You heard Daryl’s bolts hitting their marks and focused instead on the group at the back. You readied your knife in your hand, but stooped to pick up a large rock sitting on the soil surface. You threw it and struck the closest walker in the side of the head, and even throwing with your non-dominant hand, it was enough to drop it. Then you went to work with your knife, quickly dealing with all but one particularly large one.

You glanced toward Daryl and saw that he had set his bow down and pulled his own knife from its sheath. You returned your attention to the hulking mass of rotting flesh slowly limping toward you. “Ugh,” you groaned. “Got a ripe one over here!” you called out.

“Yeah, well, I got my own problems,” he shouted back. Daryl was staring at the last walker which appeared more like a bipedal tumbleweed. The entire upper body and head was entangled in layers of blackberry brambles. Daryl was backing up as it advanced as he tried to figure out exactly how to take it down.

He took another step back and that’s when it happened… Something tightened around his ankle and his foot was pulled out from under him. His back hit the ground hard, forcing the breath from his lungs, and suddenly he was dangling upside down with the walker grappling toward him. His knife, dislodged from his hand by the fall, was shining on the leaf litter out of reach.

“Daryl!” you screamed, seeing him hauled up in a rush of movement and dangling from a snare. “Shit!”

That brief moment looking away from the lumbering walker in front of you was enough for it to nearly reach you. When you looked back, all you could do was throw your hands up in an attempt to push it back, but the rotting skin slipped off and your fingers squelched into the decomposing flesh. With a gag of disgust, you jumped backwards and steadied yourself, glancing frantically at Daryl again. He was grappling with the brambly mass in front of him, dangling in front of it like a worm on a hook. “Hold on!” you screamed, returning your attention to your own adversary. You wound up and kicked it as hard as you could in the stomach. The heel of your boot sunk in but the rest of the sole connected with the sternum and the walker did tumble back and fall to the ground. You rushed it and plunged your knife into its head with a grunt of effort before frantically stumbling to your feet and racing to help Daryl.

He was now straining to keep the bramble-wrapped walker away from his head and neck. You vaulted over the still corpses on the ground and raced toward him. Without a thought, you seized the tangled mess of briars in both hands and whirled it away from him, throwing it to the ground. You slammed your boot down on the body, as close to the neck as you could, and then thrust your knife through the woody tangle and down into the skull. It twitched and fell still.

The quiet seemed somehow overwhelming now as you straightened, glancing at the gore on your hands and boots. You pulled a scrap of fabric out of your back pocket and wiped off your hands. Your chest was heaving and you tried to catch your breath as you turned back to Daryl, still hanging upside down, his face bright red and his wavy hair dangling down.

“A little help?” he growled.

You stomped over, exhausted from the fight, and leaned in close to him. “Please, tell me you’re clean,” you said, searching for any bites or scratches on the parts of him you could see. You actually clasped his face between your hands while he was hanging there and turned it side to side to check.

“Nah, ‘m good. Just a little banged up. Now, would ya get me down from this damn snare before I pass the fuck out?”

You straightened up again, relieved now that the danger had passed, and laughed at the sight of him. “You should see yourself right now,” you said, grinning.

“For fuck’s sake, would ya get me down?” he growled again.

“Down? No problem,” you said, spinning your knife in your hand.

“Wait—Dun—” He dropped with a thud onto his back as you cut the rope and the air left his lungs for the second time. Your pleased laughter was a soundtrack he’d accept despite the betrayal.

You dropped down to the dirt beside him, your chest still heaving with exertion. But you were smiling and then laughing still as he looked over at you and let out a small pained noise accompanied by an unamused look. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself. You’re really alright though?” you asked, shuffling your boots in the litter and soil in an attempt to clean the gore off them. Daryl stared up at the canopy overhead from the flat of his back. The tree branches looked like dark fingers reaching toward the sky, silhouetted in the afternoon light. He didn’t respond so you leaned in over him. “Hmm?” you prodded him again. “You’re good?”

Your face appeared above his and you brushed some dirt from his cheek with a clean corner of the cloth from your pocket. And for the third time his breath left his lungs, but this time was much different. His eyes flickered between yours, studying their flecks of color and the ring around your pupil. Your hair hung forward, framing your face. His stomach somersaulted. “‘M good,” he finally managed. “Thanks for the save, by the way.”

“Of course,” you said, leaning back on your palms so he could sit up unobstructed.

“Ya alrigh’?” he drawled, glancing back over at you. He loosened and undid the snare around his ankle, discarding it.

“Me? All good.” But you held your palms out toward him and wiggled your fingers and he could see that your hands were actually quite cut up. “Just a bit scratched. From the blackberry briars he was tangled in.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “Mmm,” he hummed, reaching for his pack a short distance away. He dug inside until he found the little bag of first aid supplies that he kept stashed in the bottom. “We oughta clean those up. ‘Specially since ya were wrist deep in that slimey one just before.”

“Ugh,” you groaned, your nose wrinkling with disgust. “Don’t remind me.”

Daryl pulled out some alcohol pads and hastily tore open the packaging. “C’mon. Lemme see.”

You held your hands out, resting them palms up on your knees. Daryl gulped nervously (hoping you didn’t notice) and took each one in his in turn, rubbing the alcohol pads over your palms and fingers. You couldn’t be sure if the goosebumps rising on your skin were from his steady, gentle touch or the chill left behind as the disinfectant evaporated. You tried hard to reason it away. “Thanks,” you whispered as he finished. He only nodded.

“Getting caught in your own snare. That’s a new one,” you commented, smiling at him again.

He scoffed. “That ain’t one’a mine,” he said, grabbing the discarded line and holding it up. “Wasn’t set to catch small game neither. Somebody prob’ly put it up for the dead.”

You laughed lightly again. “They would have had a hell of a surprise if they were around to see their catch.”

“Mm,” he hummed, tossing it aside again. “Looks old. Surprised it still worked.”

You climbed to your feet, dusting off your pants. “We should probably get back. It’ll be getting dark soon.” You offered him your hand to pull him to his feet, but he didn’t take it and shot you a look.

“Yer all cut up,” he scolded you. “The hell ya thinkin’?”

You glanced at your hand again and shrugged. “It’s fine.”

Daryl shouldered his bow and bag, collected his spent bolts, and nodded. “Let’s head back to my bike. I think we’ve done enough for today.”

“Two rabbits and a few squirrels,” you said, stepping into stride behind him. “It’s hardly enough to feed even two families.” He could hear the disappointment in your voice.

He glanced over at you and gave you a small smile. “S’enough to feed a few, which is better than nothin’.”

You sighed. “I know. I was just hoping for a deer. Something substantial,” you sighed.

“I know,” Daryl said, glancing over at you. “Maybe next time, yeah?”

You walked in silence for a few minutes, heading back toward Daryl’s motorcycle. When you reached it, he strapped down his bow and pack and climbed on. He seized the helmet sitting on the back before you could and handed it to you, giving you a pointed look. “I still can’t get over that you make me wear a helmet and you don’t wear one,” you said, buckling the chin strap. He hummed some kind of non-committal response and you shook your head at him. He leaned forward and you slipped in behind him, wrapping your arms around his middle securely. You tried to ignore the heat that suddenly pooled in the middle of your chest and spilled outwards. How many times had you ridden on Daryl’s bike at this point? And yet every time—without fail—you felt yourself blushing as soon as you settled down behind him.

He cleared his throat and turned slightly to the side so you could hear him better. You leaned forward to listen, pressing your body against his, and despite the layers and layers of clothing between the two of you he felt like his skin was on fire. “Ready?” he drawled.

“Ready,” you said. Your cheek pressed into the back of his shoulder for just a moment as you adjusted your grip. “Go fast,” you sighed, and he could hear the smile in your voice.

He let out a low, gravelly laugh that you adored. “You got it, boss,” he said, and he fired the motorcycle to life.

The ride home flew by as you bathed in the wind and the exhilaration of flying down the road, and your arms around Daryl didn’t hurt either, though you tried hard not to acknowledge that to yourself... Soon, the gate was visible in the distance and Daryl slowed and weaved his way through the defensive roadblocks and around the crumbling potholes in the asphalt. Suddenly, he felt you stiffen behind him as he rolled up to the gate.

“Oh, shit. Oh, fuck…” he heard you murmur behind him.

He slowed to a stop at the gate. “What’s the matter?” he asked over the idling engine.

Your hand departed from his side and landed on his arm. “Look to the right,” you said, your voice thin. “That’s—that’s the truck they took on the run. Something must have happened. They weren’t supposed to be back for three more days,” you said. Your heart was hammering and you felt like you couldn’t get enough air. Daryl thought he could feel a slight shake in your fingers as they left his arm. “I need to get home. He’s going to be pissed,” you breathed. “Shit.”

Daryl felt his own body stiffening now too. His knuckles went white on the handlebar grips. The gate rolled back to admit the two of you and Daryl drove the bike inside. The rattle was loud and clanged in your head as it shut behind you.

“Stop here. Please,” you said urgently, almost as soon as the motorcycle had cleared the path of the gate. Your eyes darted around inside, expecting to see him standing somewhere watching for you.

“What? Ya said ya need to get home?” Daryl drawled, but you were already climbing off his bike, nearly falling as you hurried and the toe of your boot caught on the seat. Daryl flipped out the kickstand and climbed off too, watching you trying to undo the chin strap of your helmet, but your fingers were shaking. “Y/N—I can take ya right to yer house.” He moved around the bike and stopped in front of you, taking over undoing the strap on the helmet for you. You stood with your chin tilted up, and he could see the worry in your eyes. You looked nearly frantic.

“Thank you,” you murmured after he final got it undone, pulling the helmet from your head and shaking your hair out. “Me pulling up behind you on your motorcycle is not going to help the situation,” you said, holding the helmet out to him.

“Listen, if ya think he’s gonna give ya a hard time, maybe I should come with ya and—”

Your eyes were fearful and you shook your head. “No, Daryl—I appreciate it but that wouldn’t… I mean, he—I don’t think that would help either. I—I think it might make it worse. I’m sorry. I just—I have to go,” you said, already walking backwards away from him, your hands gripping the straps of your pack with white knuckles. “I’ll see you later, okay? Make sure Carl and Judith get fed with that game, alright?”

“Yeah. See ya,” he drawled, watching you turn and hurriedly jog down the sidewalk until he couldn’t see you anymore in the growing dusk. There was a hard pit in the bottom of his stomach, like he had swallowed stones. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself. He turned and strapped the helmet down on the back of his bike and climbed on again, riding it back to Aaron’s garage and quickly parking it. He pulled the game stringer and his gear off his bike and threw the tarp over it. His stomach was churning as he made the walk home alone.

The house was quiet with only a few lights on upstairs, but he found Carol seemingly waiting for him on the porch. She gave him a smile as he came up the steps. “Hi,” she greeted him. “How was it? Have a good day?”

He set the game down, slinging it over the porch railing. He nodded thoughtfully. “Alrigh’,” he said a little dully. “‘Til we got back.” He dug around in his pocket for a cigarette before he remembered that you’d stolen the pack earlier in the day and threw it out, telling him he needed to quit or you’d be burying him in an early grave. His teeth worried his bottom lip.

“What do you mean?” Carol asked, her bright tone diminished.

“We got back and saw that the truck they’d taken on the run was parked outside the gate. When she realized he’d be back and see that she wasn’t at home—” Daryl’s teeth ground together and the muscle in his jaw clenched. “She—she seemed scared. I mean, she was shakin’. She wouldn’t even lemme drive her back to her house and drop her off. Said it wouldn’t help the situation.”

Carol’s face was dark now, her mouth drawn in a thin line with the corners tugging down. “No. No, I don’t think that would have helped... Rosita and Glenn said the main bridge washed out. They couldn’t get to the community college. They came back until they can figure out a new route.”

Daryl leaned back against the railing and nodded. He gulped and shook his head, staring down at his boots and absently picking at a loose stitch on the sheath of his knife. “He’s such a fuckin’ asshole,” he growled, shaking his head. “I dun understand why she stays with that prick…”

Carol sighed and nodded. “They were together before everything fell apart. I think that’s part of it.”

“He treats her like shit,” Daryl spat. He nestled the side of his thumbnail in between his teeth and bit down until he tasted the earthy tang of copper.

Carol’s expression was pensive. “Daryl—I think—I think it’s worse than that,” she said softly. Daryl’s head snapped up as he hurriedly looked at her, his eyes locking with hers.

“What d’ya mean?” he growled. He had his own suspicions.

She didn’t say anything but held his gaze steadily.

Daryl’s hands clenched and unclenched in a fist. “Ya think he’s puttin’ his hands on her?”

“I really don’t know. Not for sure. He’s certainly abusive to her… emotionally, mentally. He’s a controlling prick. But—I still don’t know anything for certain. I’ve tried to find out, to pay attention but I’ve never seen anything to prove it.” She shook her head. “I have seen bruises on her. She always has a story. And in this world it isn’t exactly unexpected to be bruised up, right?”

“Bruises where?” Daryl growled, his eyes narrowed and piercing.

“Her shoulders. Her arms and wrists. Once, on her neck,” Carol said. “That’s just what I’ve been able to see from time to time. But she’s always had an excuse.”

“And yer just tellin’ me this now?” Daryl growled, fuming at the mere thought of how that asshole could have put those marks on you. “How long has this been?”

“I’ve had suspicions since—since the quarry,” she admitted. Daryl swore and paced a big circle around the porch before his eyes landed on her again.

“Ya shoulda fuckin’ said something!” he barked at her. “Does Rick know? Does anybody else know?” he demanded.

“Daryl, I don’t know anything,” she said gently. Carol did look guilty, but she remembered what it was like back with Ed… The cycle of abuse was like a narcotic you were unwillingly being dosed with and she had always tried to hide it too. “There have been lots of times where he most likely couldn’t have been physically hurting her because he would have been caught. When things have been close quarters, you know? At the quarry… on the road.” “Most likely,” Daryl repeated, nodding at her. “Most likely? And is that s’posed to make it better?”

“No. No… not at all,” she sighed. “We’ve all heard them arguing, heard how he talks to her, seen how toxic that relationship is.”

Daryl’s blue eyes seemed to blaze with some inner fire as he listened to Carol. “If he’s layin’ so much as a fuckin’ finger on her and I find out, I’mma fuckin’ kill him. I’m gonna drag him outta that house and beat him into the fuckin’ ground with my bare hands,” he growled. “I dun even care what happens to me. He's done."

Carol nodded. “I know. I know you would. And that’s part of the reason why I haven’t said anything before. But I also don’t know anything for certain.”

“Have ya asked her?”

Carol nodded. “I’ve tried, a few times, in a few different ways but—any hint of me trying to talk to her about that relationship and she may as well be running the other way. I mean, no one could have convinced me to leave Ed back then... The fear keeps you trapped there. Leaving doesn’t even feel like an option because it’s so unsafe. If he beats the shit out of you for not being home when he thinks you should be, what would he do if you tried to leave?”

“But she’s got people. She’s got—she’s us. She’s got me.” Daryl sighed and his shoulders slumped, some of the rage dissipating into a helplessness. “What do we do?” He ran his hand over his mouth and chin and straightened up. “What if he’s—what if somethin’ bad is happenin’ to her righ’ now? I told ya she was scared.” He straightened up. “I’mma go over there,” he said, determined. “I gotta check on her.”

Carol sighed. “Daryl, I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“Why? Somebody should protect her!”

“It’s not that simple. Haven’t you noticed how he gets around you? He’s threatened by you, intimidated. Jealous. It makes it worse. Unless you’re prepared to break in the door and have this all out right now—”

“Well, maybe I am,” Daryl growled.

Carol shrugged. “That’s up to you. But if they are just arguing, if he’s not physically hurting her right now, you showing up there and reminding him who she was with all day could put her in even more danger.”

Daryl paced anxiously on the porch, rubbing his hand over his face thoughtfully. “Fuck,” he growled. “She dun deserve to be with that asshole. Her of all people… She—she deserves somethin’… better. She dun deserve that.”

Carol smiled at the softness on his face as he talked about you. “No. Neither did you. Neither did I. But life isn’t fair.”

Daryl froze and his eyes shut. His breath became shaky. When he spoke again, his voice broke. “Why? Why didn’t she tell me?” he asked, looking up at Carol. His expression was desperate.

“Did you tell anyone?” she asked him and she already knew the answer.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The house was dark as you crossed the porch and made your way to the front door, but you knew better than to think he was asleep. You drew in a shaky breath and your fingertips were trembling as you reached for the doorknob. It turned and you pushed in, trying to steel yourself for whatever was to come.

You’d barely made it inside onto the rug in the entryway when he kicked the door shut, forcing it out of your hand. You couldn’t help the gasp that left you. He locked it behind you and pointedly put on the security chain. You were sandwiched between him and a sealed exit and you could read his rage in the blackness of his eyes.

You still had your pack on you but he wrenched it off you, twisting one of your arms painfully when it caught in the strap. He threw it carelessly and it slid a good distance down the hallway. Before you could do anything, you were aware of his hand withdrawing your knife from its sheath at your hip. Your breath seemed to catch and crystallize painfully in your lungs as he turned the steel blade and it glinted in the low light.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he growled, holding the point of the knife mere inches from the center of your breastbone. You had to regulate your breathing so it was shallower or you swore the tip would pierce into your skin. “I get back and the house is empty.” He wasn’t yelling at you, not yet, but this quiet tone felt maybe even more dangerous.

“I was just—out hunting,” you stammered, pressing yourself back into the wood of the door behind you, trying to gain a millimeter of space.

He kept the knife tickling at the cotton of your shirt and grabbed a fistful of your hair with the other hand, cruelly yanking your head back and down so your chin lifted and your neck was exposed. You felt some strands give way in his grip and tried not to cry out, but a whimper escaped your lips. “Then where’s the game? Huh? I don’t see a fucking rabbit or squirrel. Nothing.”

You could barely speak. “N—no luck,” you said.

He laughed a dry, perilous sounding laugh. “No surprise there. You are fucking useless,” he spat. “Who were you with?”

You stayed silent, your mind whirring. “No one. I went by myself, I swear.” You did your best to keep your voice steady.

You saw the knife glint again out of the corner of your eye and then felt the cool edge of the blade alight on your neck, just enough so he knew you could feel it. “You lying fucking whore. You think I didn’t ask around as soon as I realized you weren’t here? I leave for not even one day and you run off into the woods with that fucking redneck!” You could feel the heat of his breath and his spit landing on your skin. “Huh?!” he roared. “Answer me, bitch!”

You squeezed your eyes shut as he yelled into your ear, leaving behind a high-pitched ringing. Your whole body was shaking now. “I’m sorry,” you managed in a desperate, hoarse whisper. “I’m sorry. We were just hunting, I swear. We were just hunting! I would never—” Tears burned in your eyes, blurring your vision.

“What have I told you about him ? Huh?! We both know I can’t trust you to keep your fucking legs closed. I can’t believe this shit,” he growled. “I’m gone half a day—"

“I’m sorry,” you breathed.

He backed off, just slightly, but you could see the sneer on his face, the rage still burning in his eyes. “No, you’re not. Yet. But you’re gonna be. You wanna run around with other men like a slut? I guess I have to teach you another fucking lesson and remind you who the hell you belong to. You’re mine! You go where I say, when I say! You talk only to who I fucking say you can talk to! And you stay the fuck away from that redneck trash or I swear to God, I’ll kill him. I’ve warned you before. I’ll slit his throat in his sleep. You so much as look in his direction again, and I’ll fucking kill him. And then I might just decide I’m done with you too…” He seized you by the throat and threw you to the ground, hard. You fell to the floor on your hands and knees, bashing your kneecaps and knowing they’d be bruised the next day. Pain shot up your wrists too, but you didn’t have a moment to even catch your breath, to even try to think of a way to escape or defuse the situation. “Get up. Get the fuck up! Get upstairs and keep your mouth shut!” He grabbed you by the hair and half-dragged you to your feet before shoving you toward the staircase.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl cleaned the game on the front porch and then spent the whole night awake, pacing. A few times he started to make his way toward your house, but stopped halfway as Carol’s voice rang in his mind. “You showing up there and reminding him who she was with all day could put her in even more danger.” He’d turned around and come back home, only to resume his restless, aimless waiting. He kept reaching for his pack of cigarettes absently and then remembering the way you’d leaned in and pulled them out of his shirt pocket. The touch of your fingers separated by just a thin veil of cotton had raised goosebumps and electricity up his back.

The internal conflict warring inside him was threatening to make him sick. He found himself nearly breaking the porch railing he was gripping onto it so hard. It was the wee hours of the morning when he finally surrendered, swore under his breath, and went down to his room to collapse into bed. He stared at the ceiling until the sun came up.

He waited until the house above was noisy with footsteps and sound clanging in the kitchen before, he peeled himself off the mattress and went up. Carol was in the kitchen when he stepped out and she immediately dried her hands hurriedly and nodded toward the hallway. Daryl followed her lead and walked out onto the front porch. The grass still had dewdrops clinging to it and Alexandria was still waking up.

“You look like shit,” Carol said in an undertone to him as he settled back against the railing.

He scoffed. “Thanks. Wonder why,” he snapped back. “What?”

She sighed. “Don’t be mad—”

His brow furrowed and cast his eyes in shadow. “Carol—”

“But I went to their house last night,” she said.

Daryl’s eyes snapped up to hers. “The hell ya mean? After what ya told me ‘bout makin’ it worse?” he growled.

“It’s not like I waltzed up to the door and rang the bell,” she retorted, giving him a stern look. “I watched the house from across the street. I wasn’t seen. And even if I had been, I’m not you. But I wanted to be there just in case…”

“Just in case? In case of what? What the fuck good is that gonna do if he’s beatin’ the shit outta her behind closed doors?” Daryl growled. He rubbed a hand over his face, frustrated and infuriated. “Well?” he pressed her.

She shook her head. “Nothing. I thought maybe I could hear yelling at one point but the house was completely dark, locked up. Shades all down. Nothing. It’s hard to say.”

“Why the fuck are ya even tellin’ me this then?” Daryl barked.

“I’m trying to help,” she snapped back. “Listen, Deanna has called a town meeting tonight to make some announcements or something. Everyone is going to be there. If she’s not, well, then we’ll have to do something… go over there. I don’t know.”

Daryl sighed. “If she’s not, I’m gonna break the door in. And then I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Everyone was gathered around several blazing firepits, chatting, laughing, drinks in hand. The mood was convivial, unless you were Daryl. He had posted himself out on the edge of the group where he could watch everyone come and go and so far, he’d been left alone. That was until Carol spotted him. She came over after waving at a few of the ladies she baked casseroles with and having a very animated conversation about fruit cake made with expired canned peaches.

She slid up beside him, a wide and annoying smile still plastered on her face. “You look like a gargoyle over here, Daryl,” she scolded him from the corner of her mouth.

He only continued to sweep his eyes over the crowd. “Ya think I give a shit?” he growled back.

“Well, if you’re trying to draw attention to yourself, you’re doing a great job by scowling at everyone,” she said, stopping to return a wave from Olivia from across the party.

Daryl bristled. “ ‘M sorry, but one of us is a little fuckin’ worried righ’ now,” he snapped. “I ain’t exactly in the mood to have a chat with some suburbanite about fucking peaches.”

Carol took a sip of her drink. “I’m gonna let that slide considering the circumstances, but you know perfectly well that everything I’m doing here, including chatting about peaches, is for our family.”

Daryl sighed and softened a little. “…’M sorry. S’just—”

“I know,” she interrupted him, softening now herself. The worry crept onto her face now too. “No sign of her yet?”

Daryl shook his head. “No. Or him.”

Carol checked her watch. “There’s still time.”

Each minute felt like an hour, a tortuous, slow hour. Daryl’s eyes continually swept over the crowd, checking every figure, every gap for your silhouette, and finally, when he was nearly frantic with worry, he straightened up. “Hey—” he said, nudging Carol. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. At that distance, across the party, he couldn’t tell if you were hurt. All he could really see was that your boyfriend had his arm wrapped around your back and his hand was resting on your hip. Was his grip a little too tight? Was he holding you too close, like he was asserting control over you? Or was Daryl imagining that?

Carol saw you walking in at your boyfriend’s side. Glenn and Maggie stopped the two of you and you hugged her briefly and chatted for a moment, laughing at something she said, before the two of you moved away. Carol breathed a small sigh of relief at the sight of you. “Okay,” she murmured. “She’s here…”

“Yeah,” Daryl drawled, squinting at you. Every time a shadow shifted across your face, he imagined that it was a bruise.

“At least we can see her and she’s—she’s mostly alright,” Carol said.

“Is she?” Daryl growled back, feeling another upwelling of toxic rage. He watched you follow along beside your boyfriend until you both sat down in one of the rows of chairs facing the small, makeshift podium where Deanna would speak. Your boyfriend’s hand landed on the back of the neck and he leaned in to whisper something to you and Daryl’s hands clenched into fists. It could have been just a normal touch between a couple, but to him it looked possessive and he felt another burst of hot anger in his chest. Daryl discarded his empty bottle on a table beside him and watched as you got up and made your way over to the refreshment table while your boyfriend made himself comfortable. Daryl nervously licked his lips and Carol followed his gaze.

“‘M gonna go check on her,” he drawled.

“Be careful,” she warned him. “Daryl—He’s right there.”

“I can fuckin’ handle him if I need to,” Daryl replied and then he stepped into the crowd and made his way through.

You were reading the handwritten label on a beer bottle when you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder and turned to see Daryl standing there. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you breathed with a nervous laugh. “You startled me.” You quickly glanced over your shoulder to see if your boyfriend was watching you. “Just—grabbing some drinks,” you said.

But Daryl was staring at you intensely and his expression was drawn and anxious. “Are ya okay?”

You swallowed at the thick lump in your throat that had just materialized. “Fine!” you said brightly, but you couldn’t look him in the eye. “I should get back—"

“Y/N—” His hand landed on your arm and your body arrested all movement without you consciously deciding to stop. His brow was furrowed heavily, his blue eyes flickering over you. “Really. Are ya okay? What—”

He heard your breath shake as you exhaled. “Daryl, I can’t. Not here. Not now… I can’t talk to you,” you said in a low voice. You glanced over your shoulder again to see that your boyfriend was (thankfully) in conversation with Deanna’s husband Reg and clearly hadn’t noticed Daryl standing with you.

His stomach sunk. “What d’ya mean ya can’t talk to me?” Your eyes snapped back to his face, to the concern, to the unease.

You looked back once more. He was a mere ten feet away, waiting. You couldn’t be seen talking to Daryl. You couldn’t. His threats rang in your mind like alarm bells. “I—I just can’t. I’m sorry. I have to go.” You withdrew from him abruptly and returned to your seat, handing your partner the beer bottle and sitting stiffly beside him. Daryl was left with that same sick feeling in his gut…

It wasn’t long before Deanna went to the podium to the sounds of applause and happy jeering. Daryl posted himself to the side of the group, almost at the exact end of the row you were seated in. You did your best to stare forward, but you didn’t hear a word out of Deanna’s mouth. All that seemed to be in your head was a rising hum and your own heartbeat. You found your eyes repeatedly drawn sideways to look at the broad-shouldered archer but would quickly catch yourself and face the front again.

For his part, Daryl looked on, fuming. Your body was rigid and far from at ease. When he watched your boyfriend reach over and place his hand on your thigh, he’d had enough and he made a hasty exit.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Carol came bounding up the steps onto the porch to find Daryl leaning back against the railing and sharpening his knife, just for something to do, something to keep his hands busy. The methodical, rhythmic movements felt at least a little calming. But Carol’s expression was dark and any calm he had achieved evaporated quickly. He gave her a questioning look. “S’goin’ on? Party all wrapped up?”

“Yeah. And I had to stop by to check on the Thompsons, that elderly couple? Their house is right across from the clinic,” she explained. “Daryl—when I was leaving, I caught a glimpse of Denise answering the door and letting Y/N inside.”

Daryl felt like his blood had run cold. He straightened up, discarded his whetstone quickly, and snapped his knife back into the sheath on his hip with a sharp sound. Carol eyed it uneasily. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she warned him.

“If I did, we both know it’d be because that fucker deserves it. But for now—I’mma just see if I can talk to her. Ya didn’t see him there ?”

Carol scoffed and rolled her eyes. “He and Pete both left the bonfire drunk.”

Daryl shook his head. “Birds of a feather,” Daryl drawled. He started down the steps. “I’ll be back later. Probably.”

Carol watched him until his broad-shouldered silhouette blended into the darkness.

There weren’t any lights on in the front of the building when Daryl reached the clinic, but he could see a faint glow from the back hallway when he pulled open the door and stepped inside. Muffled voices drifted out from the same direction as the light and Daryl made his way toward them. He recognized both you and Denise talking in low voices.

When he rounded the corner and stepped into the hallway, he saw that the first room was the source of all the light and sound and the door was standing wide open.

For a moment, his brain didn’t seem to grasp exactly what he was looking at, only really that he shouldn’t be seeing it. You were sitting on the edge of an exam table and Denise was beside you seated on a tall stool with gloves on. Daryl’s brain seemed to catch up as he froze in the doorway and he finally consciously registered what he was looking at. Your shirt was off and rumpled beside you on the table. Your upper body was bare except for your bra and Denise was stitching a wound on your side. The skin on your back, shoulders, and arms was a mottle of dark bruising, cuts, and abrasions down to some particularly angry looking marks encircling your wrists. There were constellations of little marks scattered across your skin, some new and some long-healed. He couldn’t have been in the doorway for more than a second before you and Denise realized he was there, but it was enough time for him to experience a dizzying torrent of emotions.

Your eyes went wide as you turned and realized he was standing there, and you grabbed your shirt and hastily began pulling it on, your fingers shaking as you tried to button it. “Daryl—” In the same moment you jumped down, accidentally knocking the metal tray of supplies to the floor where they clanged loudly. “Shit!” Daryl was already rushing away when you looked at Denise.

“I thought you said you locked the door!” you said.

“I—I thought I—Y/N, your stitches,” she called after you, but you were already gone, chasing after Daryl.

“Daryl! Wait—Daryl!” you called after him, still fumbling with buttons as you chased after him through the clinic.

He burst out into the night and you were just behind him, catching the door before it could completely close and racing across the porch and down the stairs.

“Daryl, please—”

He finally stopped on the sidewalk at the bottom of the steps, frozen, and you caught up to him. Even standing behind him, you could tell his chest was heaving and when he turned to look at you, you read many things on his face at once. His blue eyes were glassy with tears but they seemed to shift with internal turmoil. His hands were clenched into fists. Rage was boiling beneath the surface. He spoke carefully when he finally managed it. “‘M sorry,” he drawled, ducking his head. “I didn’t mean to walk in on ya like that...” he said.

You just stared back at him, your eyes still wide, your fingers still on the top button of your shirt. “It’s okay…” you said softly, your stomach churning.

Daryl gulped and paced back toward you, his eyes landing on your face again. “But he—did he—?” He couldn’t even get a fucking sentence out. He squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenching. He swore under his breath, trying to maintain control. “He did that to ya,” he said, his gaze intense. “Last night. Just ‘cuz ya weren’t home.” It wasn’t a question.

You felt your face burn with heat. You gulped, but didn’t answer.

Daryl’s breath came faster as he nodded. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, so hard he tasted blood. His heart hammered against his rib cage. “How long has this been goin’ on?”

Again, you didn’t answer and only ducked your head, unable to look at him anymore. Shame washed over you.

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip and nodded. Those tears in his eyes born of rage and sadness and horror at seeing all the injuries on your body blurred his vision. “I’ve heard the way that piece of shit talks to ya sometimes—I mean, we all have. The way he tries to control ya. But this? All this time he’s been doin’ this to ya, and ya didn’t tell me? Why didn’t ya tell me?” he begged you as if he needed the answer to breathe. “Or if not me, someone. Carol. Maggie. Somebody!”

Your stomach was churning and then clenching into a hard pit. You opened your mouth to answer, but it was a long moment before any words came out. “I didn’t want—to drag anyone else in,” you said weakly. “And I thought—I always thought it would stop once… I don’t know, once things were stable. Like, at the prison or once we got here. But it didn’t. And—I guess, I thought I could handle it. And I felt like I was in too deep. And I felt—I felt stupid for letting it happen to me,” you said, your voice breaking. Daryl’s heart ached. “I mean, I can fight. Why do I let it happen to me? But—when I used to try and fight him—it made it so much worse,” you said, and you ducked your head again. He watched your body start to tremble, like some involuntary fear response at the mere thought of it. “The things he’s—he’s—"

“It’s not yer fault. And ya ain’t got nothin’ to be ashamed of. It ain’t as simple as fightin’ back or just leavin’…” Daryl swore under his breath again and ran a hand over his face. “Fuck, Y/N, why didn’t ya tell me?” he said again. “Ya coulda told me.” He was seething now, again picturing the kaleidoscope of injuries he’d seen on you. “Some of those cuts I just saw on ya,” he said, “he used a knife? Huh?” You didn’t answer but he didn’t need you to. He shook his head. “Nah. This is done. He’s done. Go back in there and have Denise finish fixin’ ya up,” he said. “Then ya should probably stay with her tonight.”

You felt bile rising into your throat. “What are you going to do?” you asked him.

“What d’ya think? I’mma go to your house, drag his ass into the street, and beat him to a fucking pulp,” he growled.

Fear tightened your stomach into a hard pit. “Daryl, don’t—please, you can’t do that.”

“I can and I will,” he growled. “He ain’t layin’ another finger on ya.”

You shook your head, your eyes wide and fearful. “Earlier, when I said I couldn’t talk to you—he—he’s threatened to kill you. If he sees us together again... He’s jealous and—and he told me if I so much as look at you—I think he knows that—” you broke off abruptly, wondering if you were even making any sense to him at all.

Daryl gulped, his shifting suddenly going completely still. “Knows what?” he asked, his heart still hammering in his chest, but now perhaps for a slightly different reason.

You simply shook your head again. “Listen to me, Daryl—best case scenario, if you go there and attack him, you’ll get yourself exiled from Alexandria. And that’s best case. Please,” you begged him. “You can’t. Please… He won’t hesitate to kill you if he gets the chance.”

“I’d like to see him fuckin’ try,” Daryl growled.

You stepped in close to him, your expression desperate, and you gripped the front of his jacket. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you,” you whispered, your eyes flickering between his.

He gulped and his hands landed gently on the small of your back for just a brief second, and it was electric. “Neither do I. But turns out somethin’ real bad is already happenin’ to ya. And has been for a long time. Besides, like I said, ya think that asshole can take me? Fuck no.”

You shook your head. “Just—for tonight—please… Go home. Cool down. Think this through. Please. I’m scared of what he’ll do to you.”

Your voice was so pleading, your eyes shining with tears, that it somehow overcame his rage and he caved. He ducked his head and his shoulders slumped. “Fine. Fine… for tonight. I’ll wait. I’ll go home. But he’s gonna get dealt with. I’m gonna deal with him. And ya shouldn’t go back there...”

You let out a long sigh of relief, though you still felt jittery and sick. Your fingers slipped from the front of Daryl’s jacket. “He’s passed out drunk on the couch,” you said. “It’s the only reason I could sneak out here to see Denise.”

Daryl had the brief thought that now was the perfect time to beat the fuck out of him then. But he’d already agreed, given you his word. “Still,” he said, drawing away from you. “Go get fixed up. I’ll—‘m gonna figure this out. I promise.” He had a hard time leaving you. He watched until you were pulling the door open to the clinic again, and you glanced back at him one more time, and his heart jumped.

Daryl walked home in the lonely dark, his insides somersaulting between fury and fear for you and regret and a deep ache. Carol was waiting on the porch, pacing. She stopped as he came up the steps, her expression desperate.

On seeing his face, that look didn’t change. “What happened?” she asked.

He swallowed the nausea rising into his throat as images of your injuries flashed in his head. “He beat the shit out of her last night. She’s all bruised, all cut up. Marks all over. Bad ones on her wrists, like—like he held her down.” He didn’t want to linger on why that might’ve been. “Carol—He used a knife on her,” Daryl growled, a shadow deepening on his face.

“God,” Carol breathed, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my God…”

“Denise is putting stitches in her side, patching her up.”

“What do we do now?” Carol asked in a harsh whisper. “Should I go wake up Rick and Michonne? We can go to Deanna and—”

He shook his head, his eyes squeezing shut. “I promised her I wouldn’t do anything tonight,” he drawled.

Carol looked shocked. “Well, screw that! She’s in danger!”

“I couldn’t say ‘no’ to her. Ya didn’t see her. She was panickin’, beggin’ me to just wait and think shit through. Ya dun think I wish I was killin’ him with my bare fuckin’ hands righ’ now?” He broke off and sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I think—bringin’ a bunch of people in, ev’rybody findin’ out—s’gonna be traumatic in a different way for her.”

“Yes,” Carol nodded. “It will be. We both know that. But to get her out of it, we have to.”

“The thing is,” he started, but he broke off and nervously sunk his teeth into the corner of his nail, “—some things she said… I think—I think she was tryin’ to protect me by stayin’ with him.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

After Denise had finished stitching you up, she’d offered you her spare room. You’d accepted, but only stayed for about an hour. Your anxiety was far too high to allow you to sleep. Some of your fear had initially passed since Daryl had agreed not to go storming off to your house tonight. But—you were slowly seized with growing worry that he’d go back on his word… You knew how angry he was. You’d seen the inferno in his eyes, burning blue like the hottest part of a flame. And when Daryl was pissed, especially in regards to the treatment of one of his own, he could be brash. “Shit,” you muttered, tossing the blankets off and hastily pulling your boots back on. You’d just go to his house and make sure he wasn’t about to do anything stupid… Yes. That’s all you’d do. You’d just go to check on him and make sure he wasn’t getting ready to go storm in on your drunken asshole of a(n) (ex)partner passed out on the couch and beat him to a pulp.

Alexandria was dark and silent except for the chirping of a few lonely crickets and the echoing of your steps as you navigated the shadowy sidewalks. Daryl’s house was dark too as you stared up at it, pausing on the small patch of lawn between the sidewalk and the walkway up to the steps. It had to be the very early hours of the morning now. You took a deep breath and went up. Surprisingly, the front door was unlocked preventing any hiccup in your plan. Soon you were standing at the top of the basement stairs.

"Daryl?" you called softly down. It was dark down there, but not entirely. You could tell he had a dim light on. He was definitely awake. Of course he was. "I'm coming down," you said.

When you passed the doorframe at the bottom of the steps, you found him sitting on the edge of his bed with a bottle in his hands. He was staring at it like the label was in a foreign language, even though you could read "Buffalo Trace" from where you stood.

"Daryl?" Your voice seemingly broke his trance. He looked up at you, almost sheepishly, but only for a split second.

Daryl gulped at the tightness in his throat and turned his gaze back to the bottle in his hands.

Your stomach somehow seemed to both sink and twist at the same time and you opened your mouth to say something but you came up empty at first. After a long moment, you managed, “Where'd you get that?” as you gestured to the bottle.

"Found it on a run a while back. I always got a bottle of somethin' tucked away, ya know. Never know when ya might need it." He pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth.

"So, you're just planning on getting drunk then? Is that what this is?" you asked, and you couldn't keep an edge out of your voice. For the first time since you'd come in, Daryl looked up at you—really looked. He stared for a long moment and then reached over and set the bottle down on his nightstand with a loud clack.

He stood up, his broad shoulders and chest on full display as he paced over to you, his blue eyes narrowed. You found yourself backing up and suddenly your back hit the wall. A small gasp of surprise left you. Daryl still stepped in one more time, breaching that small buffer of space you usually maintained and staying there. “Are ya plannin’ to go back with him? Stay with him?" he asked in a low voice.

You let out a shaky breath. “I—I’m trying to protect you and everyone else. What am I supposed to do?”

"Yer s'posed to leave his ass before he fuckin' kills you. Or before I kill him," Daryl growled. His anger hadn’t abated since your talk outside the clinic. On the contrary, you were sure he’d been sitting here and stewing on everything he’d seen.

You gulped, your eyes flickering between his. “If I try to leave, then he will kill me and who knows who else he’ll come after,” you whispered. You hesitated briefly. “You. He’ll probably come after you. But if I try to go, he’ll definitely kill me.”

Daryl let out a long sigh and placed his palm flat on the wall beside your head, leaning toward you. With his other hand, he brushed a stray strand of your hair away from your face. "Ya really think I'd ever let a damn thing like that happen?" he whispered. “I told ya already. I’ll deal with him. I’ll protect ya.”

Your heart was racing and your chest heaved with your breath now. You don't know for sure who started it—not for sure. It could have been that you reached up and placed your palm in the center of his chest and spoke his name. Or it could have been that Daryl simply crashed his lips down on yours, gripped your hip and pressed against you. It didn't matter. The next moment you were entirely wrapped up in him, entangled in each other. Before you knew it, he was kissing your neck and his hands were wandering your curves, gently floating over you, aware of your injuries beneath the thin layers of fabric. He couldn’t have forgotten them if he tried, and so he touched you so carefully...

Your fingers were in his hair and beneath his shirt, running over his strong muscles and hitching on his scars. Daryl lifted you and you wrapped your legs around his waist, kissing him heatedly as he carried you toward his bed. You ignored the twinges and aches in your sore and battered body. It was easier, because kissing Daryl seemed to block out or dampen your pain. He tipped you back onto his bed gently, crawling over you, desperate to keep his lips on yours or kissing your soft skin. One hand on your hip and the other smoothing over your arm and then lacing with your fingers, the heat between the two of you building to a temperature that would surely consume you both.

But suddenly—reality came back and with a tremendous effort your ragged breathing turned into saying his name again. He felt you pulling back, pulling away. He leaned up over you and his blue eyes flickered over your face.

“I—I can't,” you gasped, and it sounded like it broke your heart to say it. “We can't...”

You watched the turmoil roiling in his eyes. You hoped he could see how desperate for him you were... and understand why you couldn't. It was a line you wouldn’t cross, despite everything he’d done to you.

"He dun deserve ya... not that I do either," he breathed, still caged over your body, the heat of him pouring into your skin. He brushed your hair back from your face so tenderly that tears filled your eyes and you pulled in a stuttered breath. "But at least I'd always treat ya righ'. I'd never lay a hand on ya. Ya know that." A tear broke out and ran down toward your temple. Daryl wiped the streak from your cheek. "I know," you said.

"We can have this. We can be happy. I can keep ya safe.”

"I can't ask you to do that."

"Then don't. Just let me do it."

Your eyes searched his face for a long moment. Another tear broke free and ran down by your temple and into your hair.

“He’s dangerous, Daryl.”

“So am I.” He ran the pad of his thumb along the line of your jaw. “So are you. So is this, us together.” He heaved a sigh. “Ya can’t be with him anymore. Ya know that. Ya think he might try to kill ya if ya leave, but he’s going to kill ya if ya stay. Please. Lemme do this for ya.” He was asking for your permission, though you doubted that not giving it would hold him back forever… Daryl had his limits. And someone laying their hands on you was far beyond them.

Finally, your lips parted and you breathed ‘okay’ into the air between the two of you.

Daryl’s fingers brushed back through your hair again. “Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay,” you whispered again, your eyes looking a little wide and fearful, or maybe surprised that you’d agreed.

Daryl breathed a sigh of relief and then his lips were on yours again. You hummed into the kiss and returned it fervently, the heat building between the two of you quickly again. What you were feeling was almost overwhelming, and you felt another tear leak out from the corner of your eye again and run downwards. Daryl clasped your face and pulled back for a moment, parting his lips from yours with a deep aching sense of loss. But he studied your expression again, his blue eyes flickering over your features as if he was memorizing them. “Are ya okay?” he asked.

You must have heaved in a stuttered breath. You nodded. “Yes,” you whispered. “Daryl—” you pressed your hand to his chest and Daryl felt his skin flare with heat and electricity at your touch. “I’ve—I’ve wanted this with you for so long,” you admitted. “You have to know that. ”

He gulped nervously and nodded. “Me too,” he said. You were still caged beneath his body, his hand on your hip, but he suddenly moved to the side and laid down next to you. “But—maybe we should slow down,” he said. He wanted to be completely entangled with you, but he also greatly wanted to care for you after what you had just gone through, and what you were going through now. “Yer hurt. Have ya slept at all?” he asked, his hand running down the length of your arm from your shoulder to your wrist.

You shook your head, and it was like at that moment that all the exhaustion hit you—physical, emotional, and mental. Your body grew heavy and sunk weightily into the mattress beside him. You turned onto your side to fully face him. “No,” you murmured, studying his face.

He nudged his nose up in a nod. “Ya should sleep,” he said, gently slipping your hand into his. “Nobody will hurt ya tonight. Or any other night, for that matter, if I have my way ‘bout it. ‘M righ’ here,” he said. He glanced down at your hand in his and his fingers slid up, gently nudging the cuff of your shirt aside. He ran his fingers lightly over the bruising encircling your wrist and a thick lump materialized in your throat. He lifted your wrist gently and pressed a kiss to the underside, before giving you a look that you couldn’t quite put a word to—all you knew was that it shot straight to your core, and you were suddenly screaming inside about everything that had been done to you and about how much time you had wasted and about how much you had wanted to be more with Daryl and never thought you’d be free to pursue it and—

Your body betrayed you with another shuddered breath as you tried not to break down again. “I’m okay,” you breathed. “I’m okay…”

“Yer safe. I promise,” he whispered back to you. “C’mere,” Daryl said, and he pulled you in close and held you against his body. The weight of him, his steadiness, his warmth, his comforting smell… it always made you feel safe when you had glimpses of it, and now you had it as close as possible and you couldn’t even remember the last time you’d felt so secure.

You draped your arm over him and tucked your head up under his chin. His arms stayed around you and you felt him leave a kiss in your hair. “Go to sleep,” he drawled softly. “I’ve got ya.”

And within minutes, out of complete exhaustion, you did.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Both you and Daryl were deeply asleep, tucked against one another in his bed, for the rest of the night, until… the sharp sound of shattering glass and a hot blaze of light startled the two of you awake.

A strangled scream left you as you tried to comprehend what was happening. Daryl was instinctively shielding you with his body as both of you tried to get your bearings, but the character of the light now blazing in the previously dark room was unmistakable and quickly had him bailing out of the bed and grabbing a nearby wool blanket. Fire. Some boxes near the foot of Daryl’s bed had caught and quickly gone up in flames. Daryl tossed the wool blanket over the top and hurriedly smothered it, stamping out any remaining hot spots before standing over the scene, his chest and shoulders heaving with panicked and bewildered breaths.

You were sitting up in his bed, your back pressed against the wall and your knees pulled up to your chest. Your eyes were wide.

“Are ya okay?” Daryl asked urgently. You nodded. His eyes flickered back over the scene. The small basement window was shattered and glass was everywhere, but there was also the unmistakable sting of alcohol in the air. He rubbed a hand over his face. His eyes landed on a brick on the floor and then the round glass bottom of a bottle or jar.

You spoke it before he could. “He did this,” you said, shifting and feeling like you couldn’t catch a breath. “He—he must have seen—”

Daryl’s hands clenched into fists. He hurriedly began tugging on his boots. “Stay here,” he said, his voice a dangerous low growl.

“Daryl—”

“Nah. He’s done. This is over.”

“Daryl!” You were still scrambling out of the bed and frantically pulling your boots on, unlaced, by the time he was bounding up the stairs.

You chased after him but the front door was already open and he was barreling down the sidewalk. The sounds of your startled yells and the clattering of the two of you had awoken some of the other members of the house. You looked up the stairs to see Maggie, Glenn, and Carol standing there looking perplexed and concerned. You gulped and nervously ran your hand back through your hair before glancing at the front door standing open again. “Um—Fuck, go get Rick and Michonne,” you said urgently. “Now! Tell them to head toward my house! Daryl’s going to kill him!”

Without anything further, you tore off after Daryl. The sun wasn’t up yet but the faint pink glow in the sky was enough to illuminate Alexandria in a wash of rosy hues. You ran as fast as you could but were hindered by the looseness of your boots. It felt as if you were running in sand and time seemed to slow. All sound vanished until the only thing you could hear at all was your own rapid breathing and the pounding of your heart. Your mind raced. Your footsteps reverberated through your body, rhythmic and jarring. You had to find Daryl. You had to make sure he didn’t get himself into deep shit because of you… because after what had just happened, you had no doubt that he would kill your ex.

Sure, it would probably be seen as justified considering the Molotov cocktail that had just followed a brick through his window—your stomach clenched. That could have been so much worse than it was. What if it had landed on you and Daryl? You wondered if your ex had been staring in through the window. The thought made your skin crawl and a nauseous wave rose into your throat. But you didn’t have time to linger on this thought any longer. Your house came into view ahead and there was a crumpled, writhing form on the lawn, cast in shadow. Suddenly, time returned to normal speed. As you got closer, the shadowy mass dissolved into two distinct human figures.

“Daryl!” you yelled. You ran as fast as you could and skidded to a stop. Daryl had your ex on the ground, firmly beneath him, and was pummeling him in the face and body with hit after hit. He didn’t even seem to hear you. “Daryl, stop!” You rushed forward and grabbed his shoulder but he shook you off absently.

The overwhelming smell of booze seemed to ooze outward in a cloud around your ex and that explained why it looked like he’d barely been able to put up any kind of resistance.

Rapid footsteps ran up behind you and you turned to see Rick, Michonne, and many of the other members of your family standing behind you. “Rick—do something! He’s going to kill him!”

Without hesitation, Rick and Michonne rushed forward and took hold of Daryl, hauling him off the now still and battered figure laying on the grass. Daryl continued to struggle against them, swearing under his breath and yelling threats at the prone body ahead. What finally stopped his pacing and frantic efforts to get back to dealing out a hefty prescription of justice was you.

You rushed forward and skirted around Rick to clasp Daryl’s face in both hands and make him look at you. “It’s over!” you said urgently. “It’s over! You got him. It’s okay!”

When his eyes found yours, the strain and tension in his body melted away and he stopped fighting. Your hands slipped down to his chest and you pressed your palms to him gently. He softened, his chest still heaving as he caught his breath. “Are ya—are ya okay?” he asked you again.

You nodded and then looked down at his clenched fists, which were shaking. “Your hands,” you said quietly. His knuckles were cracked and already swelling.

“‘M fine,” he said.

Rick left your ex’s side and returned to Daryl’s, looking at him with an intense expression that clearly suggested he needed a fucking explanation in less than three seconds.

“Ah, fuck,” Daryl murmured under his breath, ducking his head. You stepped to his side so he could speak with Michonne and Rick, but you kept your arm looped through his and your palm flush to the bare skin of his forearm. He was grateful. It was grounding him. “This asshole—just tried to kill us,” Daryl said between breaths. “He broke my fuckin’ window with a brick and then threw a goddamn Molotov through the window, barely missing catching my fuckin’ bed on fire.”

Rick’s jaw clenched but he paused and took a measured beat. “How do you know it was him?” he asked.

Daryl scoffed. “Ya mean besides the fact that when I went tearin’ out here he was runnin’ as fast as his drunk ass could away from our place?” Daryl glanced over at you and you tried your best to give him an encouraging nod. “How ‘bout ‘cuz I had someone he considers ‘his girl’ sleepin’ next to me in my bed because he beat the fuck outta her two days ago? She had to sneak off to even get help from Denise. Rick, man, he’s been hurtin’ her this entire time. Who else would it be?”

Rick’s face darkened and you saw the muscle in his jaw tense again. He glanced at you. “Is that true?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Denise has been helping me since we got here when I—when he hurts me too badly but I made her swear not to tell her anyone. But it’s been going on almost as long as he and I have been together. Years. You can talk to Denise. I’ll tell her it’s okay…”

Carol stepped forward. “Rick, I’ve had suspicions since the quarry,” she agreed, trying to give you a small, but sad, reassuring smile.

“There’s glass and scorch marks all over my room,” Daryl said. “This asshole deserves every hit I gave him and more. It coulda gone way worse…”

Rick exchanged a look with Michonne and sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Alright… All of you, go on back to the house. We don’t need a bigger scene than we’ve already got. Michonne, go get Denise to have a look at him and then—we’ll move him somewhere secure. I’ll talk to Deanna once the sun’s up…” He rubbed a hand over his forehead and sighed again.

Now that your adrenaline was waning, exhaustion returned along with a tremendous amount of pain in your body from pushing it to run. It must have been visible on your face, because Daryl asked again in a low voice, “Are ya alrigh’?” His brow furrowed deeply over his eyes.

You gulped, feeling the weight of the last few days like an iron anchor on your chest. You nodded. “Yeah. I—I think so. Sore. Tired.”

“C’mon. Let’s go home,” he said, gently touching the small of your back. Fluttering erupted in your chest.

You briefly stared up at the house that had been your “home” since shortly after you’d found Alexandria. But Daryl had always been your true home… and you’d known it since almost the moment you’d met him. You turned your back on it and walked with Daryl and the others to the only place where you felt truly safe.

Maggie and Carol had managed to squeeze you into hugs tightly on the front porch, but you had no energy or desire for anything else besides tending to Daryl’s hands and collapsing back into bed, even if there was still shattered glass and the smell of smoke in the room.

Daryl sat you down on the edge of the bed and insisted on patching up the window with cardboard and clearing away the remnants of your ex’s attack. You tugged him down to sit beside you when he’d finished and dabbed at his knuckles with a damp cloth, cleaning away the dried blood. Your eyes lifted to fix on the speckles of blood on his shirt and Daryl quickly glanced down and saw what you were staring at. He chewed on his bottom lip nervously.

“Let’s get you a clean shirt,” you said gently, reaching for the top button. “Can I?” you asked. He nodded. Not a moment of hesitation. You undid the buttons, your fingertips occasionally brushing his bare skin and sending him reeling or gulping thickly, and pushed the shirt back off his shoulders, finally tugging it free. Your eyes traveled over the scars on his chest and stomach. You’d seen them a few times over the years, but it struck you at that moment how alike you both were in this way. You too had constellations of violence on your skin. Your hands pressed gently to his chest and your eyes were glassy when you looked up and met his again. Daryl seemed to understand in that moment, what you were trying to say… You went to a clean pile of clothing draped over a chair in the corner and brought him a clean t-shirt. He quickly pulled it on and then gave you a long look.

“Ya ain’t scared of me now, are ya?” he asked, and your eyes shot back up to his.

“What? Are you kidding?” you brushed your fingers into his hair, moving it away from his face. “Of course not, Daryl. I’ve seen you fight bad men before now.”

He nudged his nose up in a nod, relieved. “I dun ever wanna scare ya,” he said.

Your warm hand came to rest on the side of his neck. He loved the weight and softness of it. “I know,” you said. “You won’t. You never have.”

Your eyes closed and you leaned in and found his lips with yours, kissing him softly and slowly. His arms wrapped around you and tugged you in, held you close. The kiss deepened, hungry and eager and filled with unsaid things. When you finally broke apart, Daryl nodded toward the pillows. “Think ya can sleep?”

“If you’re here? Yes.”

The two of you settled down beneath blankets and on soft pillows, but the most comforting was Daryl’s touch and weight against you.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl tightened the chin strap on your helmet and gave you a small, fond smile. You grinned up at him, brimming with life and light. And you should be. Your ex was long gone, exiled from Alexandria and dropped off in parts unknown with a few supplies. Daryl had made sure he was there when it happened and also made sure that he knew if he saw him again, he’d get a bolt in his head before he could open his mouth.

Daryl leaned in kissed your cheek and then snuck another one on your neck, causing you to laugh. Your hair stood on end with the best kind of goosebumps. You bit you bottom lip and smiled up at him again. “C’mon. Let’s go show ev’rybody what we got today,” he said, patting a hand down on the deer meat strapped on the back of his bike.

He climbed onto his bike and leaned forward and you slipped in behind him, wrapping your arms around his middle and settling in close. The heat that pooled in the middle of your chest was the same as always. How many times had you ridden on Daryl’s bike at this point? And yet every time—without fail—you felt it as you settled down behind him. His hand left his handlebar and smoothed over yours for a moment.

“Ready?” he drawled.

“Ready,” you said. Your cheek pressed into the back of his shoulder as you hugged yourself to him. “Go fast!” you said, and he could hear the smile in your voice.

He let out a joyful laugh that you adored and smiled to himself. “You got it, boss,” he said, and he fired the motorcycle to life.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this story. I made some intentional choices about the reader that reflect the fact that anyone, ANYONE, can be a victim of domestic abuse and violence. She is a survivor who knows how to fight, but still is subject to the abuse of her toxic and violent relationship. She had a support system, but still was unable to leave. She felt shame and guilt and hid it as is very common. DV is all too common and is very complex. Most people must attempt to leave an average of seven times before they are successful. If only we all had Daryl Dixon to rescue us. <3 Protect yourself by running a background check on people you date and being cautious about online dating. Watch for signs of a potentially dangerous relationship such as love bombing, insisting on moving things forward too fast, controlling behavior, and isolating you from your family and friends. Trust your gut. Trust that if ALL your friends and family don't like someone you date, there's probably a reason. Be safe. Love you. <3 If you or someone you know needs assistance with domestic violence (USA) call 800-799-7233 or text BEGIN to 88788. In the UK, help is available here: https://www.gov.uk/guidance/domestic-abuse-how-to-get-help#get-help-and-support

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #twd fanfics #daryl angst #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x y/n #the walking dead #fanfics

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doctorofmagic · 3 days ago

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Soooo here's the first chapter on Stephen's lore in Marvel Rivals and it's just literally a Doomstrange fanfic (if only someone had told me earlier, I'd have it covered sooner 😭)

There are more two chapters but they're locked. I'll try and cover them as soon as possible, I'm not sure if they unlock in offline mode (and I'm not willing to play online because I suck weoifhwgoh)

The writing is extremely in character for all the three of them, I love it so much. The level of respect both doctors share is definitely post Triumph and Torment, even though this is an alt reality. It feels like 616, that's all I'm saying. And, again, I love it! AO3 level of love (this is a compliment btw).

Thank you for the food, devs!

#doctor strange #stephen strange #doctor doom #victor von doom #bats the ghost dog #marvel rivals #lore

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captn-trex · 3 days ago

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@jetii so um……. you recognise these two?

okay this was my first time drawing jedi robes and….. I did not use a reference so, if it’s not how it’s supposed to be then whatever. goldie’s just built different that’s why. I tried something with the lighting but idk if it worked lol

I love these two so much 😭😭 thank you for writing this story Roy it’s so so special

#star wars #the clone wars #clone troopers #rex #captain rex #clone captain rex #rex clone wars #rex x oc #other’s ocs #rex x goldie

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scary-grace · 2 days ago

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Readers listens to artists like Lord Huron, wave to earth,day6, the last shadow puppets that sort of vibe. Their music tastes are similar enough for the most part however if a song is a little too romantic he will second guess himself because what if she doesn't know that he's playing for her (she does) or what if she thinks its weird (she thinks its the cutest thing in the world)

Unfortunately writing is not a talent I possess however if you wanted to write it I would simply be obsessed. You are my favorite Shigaraki fic writer and I know youd be able to do my silly little idea justice😭(If you do decide to write it please feel more than welcome to change reader's music taste to something more comfortable for you if you'd like! I know not every artist is for everyone) But I just wanted to thank you so much not only for the amazing work you put out but also for being so kind!

Ahh, thank you for the kind words about my writing! I’ve been thinking about this AU all day long, and this is my first shot at the first not-meeting between Tomura and the reader! I like the music taste you’ve given her (esp the Lord Huron) but I wanted the first song to be a little more egregious 😅 if this is what you had in mind I’d love to write more!

When Tomura rented this apartment, he had no idea the walls were so fucking thin. No matter where he is in the apartment, he can hear absolutely everything that’s going on around him. The couple in the apartment above him fighting. The couple in the apartment on the left having such obnoxiously loud sex that he almost wonders if they’re doing it just to piss him off. The guys below him would be all right, except they play Mario Kart twenty-four seven, with the volume on. Any time Tomura wants to do anything — take a nap, do his homework, play guitar, get two seconds to think — he has to do it along the right-side wall of his one-bedroom apartment. At least that’s where his bedroom is.

It sucks not to be able to use most of the apartment he’s paying for. Tomura’s going to host a jam session here in revenge as soon as he can get the rest of the band to pay attention instead of spending forever decorating their own apartments in nicer buildings than this one. In the meantime, there’s at least one spot where he can hear himself think.

Tomura knows there’s somebody living in the apartment on the right. You moved in a day or so after Tomura did, and he only knows what you look like because you asked him where the laundry room is. You were smiling when you asked him, and you’re cute, so of course he fucked it up and just pointed instead of telling you or asking for your name. You’re cute and you’re quiet. That makes you Tomura’s favorite neighbor by default.

He’s sprawled out on his bed, tuning his guitar in preparation for band practice tonight, when he hears you humming on the other side of the wall. At first he thinks you’re just humming random notes, which he doesn’t hate as long as you’re on-key, which you are. In the time it takes for Tomura to recognize the hook, you’ve already started singing.

“Yeah, it’s over, it’s over, I’m circling these vultures, got me praying, man, this hunger, feeling something rotten —” Sit Next to Me, Foster the People. Tomura doesn’t hate the song choice. “Last time I saw you, said “What’s up?” and pushed right through. Then I tried to catch you, but we’re always on the move…”

“And now it’s over, we’re sober, symptoms of the culture,” Tomura mumbles under his breath, “and the night ain’t getting younger, last call’s around the corner —”

“Feeling kind of tempted and I’m pouring out the truth, fading out these talkers ‘cause now all I want is you, just sayin’ —“

“Come over here, sit next to me,” Tomura sings, only to remember that he’s not the band’s lead singer and there’s a reason for that. He shuts up in a hurry, and you keep singing. We can see where things go naturally, just say the word and I’ll part the sea —”

The walls are thin. So thin that they might as well be hospital privacy curtains, which means that if Tomura could hear you humming, you can definitely hear him singing. This is a nightmare. It’s a good thing Tomura doesn’t live in the same building as any of his bandmates. With how goddamn fucking thin the walls are, they’d have heard him singing a nonconsensual duet with the girl in the apartment next to him, and they’d never let him live it down.

He’s not going to live it down anyway. When he gets to band practice still humming Sit Next To Me, he gets roasted so hard by the rest of the band that he’s surprised his guitar case doesn’t catch on fire.

#asks #anons #guitarist!tomura #Shigaraki x reader #Shigaraki x you #man door hand hook car door

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just-some-random-blogger · 1 day ago

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Hello I'm gagged what do mean this fic ENDS I KNOW I AM SO SELFISH TO SAY IT FUCKING HELL THOUGH ON NY HANDS AND KNEES BEGGING FOR MORE 😭

Again I have to start by singing you praises for the way your write. Incredible. Beautiful stunning. Its a movie love. ITS A FUCKING MOVIE I SAW IT PLAY OUT REAL TIME IN MY HEAD EVEN THOUGH ITS BEE YEARRRSS SINCE IVE SEEN ANY HARRY POTTER FILM

Now. Not to be annoying but I have to requote your work because I loved it I love you that's how it works I don't make the rules

But that didn't quite explain the bone-deep anxiety clawing through your skin.

No it does you don't want to mess up chill mama you got this

“Yeah, Bill’s not so bad. You aren't scared of us, are ‘ya? So there's no need to be scared of him,” Fred added, bumping your knee with his.

Freddie fasbear my babie boy you are so cutie but ur not very bright. This is literally like saying I'm hot my brother is also hot. No that's not how that works. I would know. I'm hot. My brothers are average at best

Bill Weasley was, objectively, terrifying. He had none of the softness of the twins, none of the jovial ease of youth. He was dressed in a white button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and charcoal trousers, traces of magic glittering along his forearms.

Smash. Send reblog. I'm sorry it's so stupid of me to literally just say that BUT THAT'S WHAT I GOTTA SAY I FELT IT IN MY WOMB YOU KNOW HAHAHAHAH

Standing at least a head taller than the twins, he had long copper hair and sharp cheekbones, deep scars across the left side of his face that only enhanced the striking beauty of his features. His green eyes were arresting, challenging in the way they swept across the hall before settling on you.

Blah blah blah proper noun whatever you say beautiful. I literally don't remember anything about him in the film other than the fact domhnall gleeson played him and I was immediately 😍 THE SCARSSSSSSSSS BABY WHI HURT YOU ID LIKE TO PERSONALLY THANK THEM COS GWORL YOU LOOK FOIIINNEEE

“Freddie,” Bill said, extending a hand to his younger brother with an expression you could almost call warm.

❓❓❓ a handshake for your brother???? 😭😭😭🤣 Who let this man have a meeting I'm crying

You laughed nervously. “Yeah, I suppose. Though I've studied your curse-breaking work extensively. A curse and a blessing are two sides of the same coin, and we can learn a lot about the workings of one from the other.”

When YOU SAID SHE WAS WHIP SMART I WAS LIKE INCHRESTIN NOW I SEE IT UGHHH THIS IS BEAUTIFUL I LOVE THIS SO MUCH I WANT TO SLURP THIS UP IN TO MY BRAIN

Bill’s expression shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing and skimming over your face, and suddenly you knew what it felt like to be one of his artifacts.

😳😳😳😳🫣🫣🫣🤪🤪🤪 your honor I do not know how I feel am I as a woman cursed to be ogled by a man albeit it being bill Weasley but then again he does this for a living which somehow makes it equally worse and romantic all at once. Im tryna say please let my lipstick be good I'm tryna get this man to kiss me

“Yep!” Fred and George chirped in unison, and Bill slipped back into his office. The twins gave you a big thumbs up and you gave a nervous chuckle, waving them away before following Bill into his office.

No wait don't go I love you please can I have them both and bill ☹️ idc it's all fiction anyway and the answer will always be no but I want it to be yes pls 😢 single tear streams down my face

You shook your head. “Not at all. They just needed a different perspective. They did the work themselves.”

She's so darling. BILL FUCKING FALL IN LOVE WITH HER I WILL SKIN YOUR SHINS TO MAKE A BELT

Bill shook his head, giving you an amused smile. “You already showed that your head and heart are in the right place, and I trust my brother’s judgement. If they like you this much, there must be a reason.”

SMKSJSK NOT TO BE NITPICKY IM KINDA WILLING TO BET THIS IS A TYPO BUT "BROTHER'S" INSTEAD OF "BROTHERS' " IS SO FUNNY TO ME. oh yeah I trust George but not Fred is AHHAAHHAH. IM NOT MAKING FUN OF YOU I MAKE WORSE TYPOS AND THIS IS LITERALLY THE ONLY ONE YOU HAVE EVER SO LIKE PLEASE IM NOT MAKING FUN OF YOU I PROMISE PLS KEEP BEING ENDEARED BY ME

“Aren't I?”

The three of you jumped, turning to find Bill leaning against the wall beside Rumi’s seat. He looked exceptionally handsome this morning, his hair tucked behind his ears, a single strand falling over his eyes, dressed in finely pressed white shirt and navy trousers.

YN I know exactly what you are. You 🫵you are nothing but a whooooooooooooo-

lly smart girl who got herself an amazing internship cos she slays

Fuck no, you were not developing a crush on your boss. Get it together, you chastised yourself.

Don't be an idiot like Fred's girl. They could have been getting freaky .01 secs into the fic but nooooooooo 🙄 (I'm just tryna be funny that fic still lives in my head rent free)

“Oh?” Your heart began to beat a little faster, eyes fixed not on the box containing the object, but the way his deft fingers handled it with such a care.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

SuDDENLY IM A BOX

“So, she saw something in common that we didn't have before,” you observed, moving to jot some notes down on a piece of parchment in an attempt to stay on track despite the frustrated look on his face. “What do you see?”

RATTTTT IM GONNA SHAKE HIM PLEASE I NEED TO KNKWSS EHAT DO YOU MEAN NNNNN KMOSJNG MT MIND OLSEseen NOOOOOOOO DONNTTTT END IT LIKE THIS. cus on one hand I'm like yeah he's in love with her on the other hand that's her boss HELP ME SLEDGEHAMMER TO FRONTAL LOBE

Despite yourself, your ill-advised attraction to him only grew as he loosened up around you. But that's all it was, you told yourself over and over again. An attraction to a handsome, accomplished man.

Like I said ehh power dynamic but who the fuck am I kidding I eat this shit up in fics like chocolate eclairs. Also girlie it could be worse you could be in love with an ugly jobless bum

Oh I lost the part with 🤢waylan🤢 idk if he's a canon character but idc he's probably ugly and bald

He smirked at your pout. “Do you doubt me?”

..................................

A pulse of heat curled around your spine, warming your lower belly. “No, sir,” you replied, intending it to come across as teasing, but you saw something dark flash in his eyes, something hungry, and your heart began to race.

HELLOOOOOOOOOOOO MISS MAAM DOWN BADDDDDDD

Bill paused, sensing your fear. “You can do this,” he said, offering you his hand. “I'll walk you through it.”

KDJJDJDJDJSJ TALK ME THROUGH IT

With a wave of his wand, he opened the box. The curse spilled out of it, clawing and twisted, and you immediately felt the blackness start to tug at the edge of your vision, its cold talons digging into your flesh.

Girl again you write so beautifully I see this omg I SEE IT IN MY HEAD ITS A MOVIE IN A MOVIE STARRR

“Yes, good girl! Keep going, push it all the way back into the axe.”

😃good😃girl😃 GOOD NIGHT

I cannot believe this fic ends I'm hoping praying p2 is already up if not I will be patiently waiting and gnawing at the bars of my enclosure as I do

Magic Lessons | B.W.

Part One

feat. Bill Weasley x intern!reader

SUMMARY: Your best friends Fred and George convince their older brother, Bill, to give you a shot at a coveted curse-breaker internship position at Gringott's.

CW: age gap, boss/intern, fem!reader, reader is whip smart and sweet, dark curses and magical artifacts, men being shitty, hurt/comfort, dark academia vibes

AN: inspired by an ask I accidentally deleted (im so sorry) about Bill tutoring Fred & George's best friend. It spiraled into this.

part 2 coming soon!

“You're going to be fine,” George soothed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Yeah, Bill’s not so bad. You aren't scared of us, are ‘ya? So there's no need to be scared of him,” Fred added, bumping your knee with his.

You were sandwiched between them on a hard wooden bench in Gringott's, just outside their older brothers office, his name emblazoned in gold on the fogged door window. The twins, two of your closest friends from school, had secured you an interview for a coveted internship in the Ancient Artifacts Department, and you hadn't slept in a week leading up to it.

This was your dream job, a real stepping stone to the career you'd always imagined for yourself. You couldn't screw this up.

But that didn't quite explain the bone-deep anxiety clawing through your skin. It felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, one foot hanging into empty space.

Then, a shadow crossed the fogged mirror, tall and broad, and you shivered.

“You've got this,” George murmured at the same moment the door handle turned. It swung open, and your heart fell through the marble floor.

“Bill!” Fred said, jumping up, and Bill’s demeanor immediately shifted into something friendlier.

“Freddie,” Bill said, extending a hand to his younger brother with an expression you could almost call warm.

“Bill, this is our friend, y/n,” George said, getting up to shake his brother's hand, and you rose to your feet, hoping he didn't notice the slight tremble in your knees.

“Pleasure, y/n. I'm Bill Weasley, Head of the Ancient Artifacts Department here at Gringott's.” He extended a hand to you, calloused and long-fingered, a golden signet ring on his middle finger.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Weasley,” you said, placing your hand in his for a brief shake. He was gentle, but you could feel the undercurrent of strength in his movement, the intention he had to put towards being soft.

“Fred and George have told me a lot about you,” Bill said, glancing at his brother's. “You’re interested in Blessed Artifacts, correct?”

You nodded. “Yes, primarily magical items created with the intention of offering protection or assistance,” you answered, fighting the nervous heat climbing up your neck.

The corner of his mouth lifted, scrunching the scars across his cheek and eyebrow. “The opposite of what I do, hm?”

Bill’s expression shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing and skimming over your face, and suddenly you knew what it felt like to be one of his artifacts.

No wonder he never crossed a curse he couldn't break.

“Step into my office, I have a few questions before we discuss terms of the internship. I'll see you two this weekend at the Burrow, yeah?”

It was nothing at all like you expected. Two enormous windows filled the back wall, spilling grey light across the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along the left wall. The shelves were overflowing with tomes and littered with artifacts, more than you'd ever seen outside for a museum or Dumbledore’s office. They perfumed the air with the scent of parchment and sandalwood, the warm musk of incense.

The carpet was plush under your feet, a mesmerizing pattern of deep maroon and teal, and overstuffed furniture rested against the right wall, a couch and two arm chairs framed by more loaded shelves and a gallery wall of shifting art.

But most surprising was his desk. It looked like it belonged in a research tent in the desert, not a gold-plated bank. It was covered in tools and stacks of paper, open books and deconstructed items, half-drank mugs of tea and a spilled ink pot.

“You look surprised,” he mused, following your eye.

“I didn't realize you still did field research,” you admitted sheepishly. “Now that you're head of the department.”

Bill shrugged, grabbing a mug and a stack of papers from the table and gesturing to the furniture against the wall. “I prefer the hands-on approach. Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything?”

“Oh, no thank you,” you answered, sinking into one of the arm chairs. It was so comfortable, you had to force yourself to sit upright. You could smell his cologne on the leather, vetiver and black pepper, and it made your chest warm.

He sat in the other armchair, bracing an ankle on the opposite knee. “So, how did you come to befriend my brother's?” He asked, taking a sip of tea.

“Fred needed some help in Charms,” you said, crossing your legs. “Then George needed help in Potions. And we just worked well together. They're good friends.

“So you're the reason they didn't flunk out, hm?”

You shook your head. “Not at all. They just needed a different perspective. They did the work themselves.”

Bill nodded, shuffling the papers in his lap. “Have you ever worked with curses directly? Beyond Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

You shook your head. “I don't have a lot of experience with curses, but I can read magic well, and have an eye for detail. I know I'm not the most qualified of the candidates you've probably met with, but this is my dream, and it would be such an honor to learn from the best— ”

“It's alright, y/n,” Bill stopped you with a small shake of his head, his low voice demanding acquiescence. “You're clearly bright, and determined to learn. That's more valuable to me than anything else.”

You exhaled in relief. “I appreciate that, Mr. Weasley,” you said, offering a small smile.

“Bill,” he corrected. “Bill is fine.”

Your heart gave an excited thump, and you nodded.

“So, for this internship, you'd be working directly with me, mostly archiving artifacts as they come in and out of the bank. You'll be spending a lot of time here and in the vaults. The pay isn't great, but if you do well over the six months term, there's potential for full-time employment.” He passed a contract to you, a quill floating over from his desk and into your hand. “And you're welcome to conduct supervised independent research whenever there's downtime.”

You blinked, shocked at the employment contract in your lap. “You don't—you don't have any more questions for me?” You asked.

“I—thank you, sir,” you said, a grin breaking through as you signed your name on the line. The ink blazed gold before settling back to black, the contract magically binding.

Bill rose, extending a hand to help you to your feet. “Welcome aboard, y/n.”

The first few days of your internship were spent with members of Bill’s team, taking lengthy tours of Gringotts and the Archives. You quite liked Rumi and Kira, two of the lead archivists, but had a difficult time with Waylan, the Collector, as they called him, who seemed to have it out for you.

You waited with bated breath for your first project with Bill, but you'd barely seen him since you started. You brought it up to Kira at breakfast one morning, and she chuckled.

“He's around, I promise. Hardly goes anywhere else. But we usually only see him if he needs something.”

“Or when we fuck something up,” Rumi added, and you chuckled.

Kira rolled her eyes. “They're being dramatic. Bill's not nearly as scary as he looks.”

“Aren't I?”

“Well you are when you sneak up on people!” Rumi laughed, and Bill cracked a smile.

“Apologies, mate. Y/n, ready for your first assignment?” His eyes met yours, brilliant as polished jade, and your tongue forgot how to function.

“Oh, uh, yes, sir!”

“Sir?” Kira snorted. “Are we supposed to call you ‘sir’?”

Bill shook his head. “I’d rather you didn't, but maybe you could use a lesson in manners from this one,” he teased, stealing Kira’s croissant. “Come along, fledgling,” he said, his deep voice resonant and rough around the edges.

The nickname jolted through you like a lightning strike, heating your blood to a simmer, and you nearly gasped, hiding your reaction by taking a final swig of breakfast tea.

Fuck no, you were not developing a crush on your boss. Get it together, you chastised yourself.

You got to your feet and hurried after him through the dining hall and into the wrought iron elevator. He held the door for you as you scurried in. The grate rolled shut, and the machine heaved off the ground with a metallic groan.

“Glad to you see you're getting along with the team,” he remarked, eyes trained up to watch the pulley system.

“Yes, they've been very welcoming,” you said, resisting the urge to stare at the hard angle of his jaw, the reddish stubble dusting it and spreading down his throat.

“There's a lot they can teach you. They're some of the best in the business,” he said, glancing down at you as the elevator came to stop. The doors rolled open and he strolled out, his long legs taking him a third of the way down the hall before you managed to get your knees to unlock.

You caught up to him at his office door. “What are we working on?” You asked, excitement building as you followed him to his desk.

He moved around it, stopping in front of a black velvet box. Carefully, he lifted the lid. “Waylan brought this back last month, and I hadn't been able to crack it until our meeting.”

“Oh?” Your heart began to beat a little faster, eyes fixed not on the box containing the object, but the way his deft fingers handled it with such a care.

He turned the box around, revealing a stunning necklace, dripping with black sapphires and diamonds, the chain a thick and luscious gold.

You gasped, covering your mouth. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry you'd ever seen.

He smiled at your reaction before catching himself, returning to neutral, if a bit curious, expression. “I hadn't considered that it might be a blessed object until our conversation.” He gingerly lifted the necklace from the box, the luxurious stones creating a stark contrast against his laborers hands. “And if I read the magical signature correctly, it should be a chameleon charm. To make any spectator see what they want to see in the wearer.” He came around behind you and you lost your breath, his closeness overwhelming your senses.

There was something about him that tilted the axis of the world, bending everything to center around him. He had his own gravity, his own magnetic force that you were struggling to resist.

“May I?” He asked, and you nodded, holding your breath as the cool stones kissed your clavicle, his fingertips ghosted the edge of your throat.

With a small click, the necklace was fastened around your neck. You could feel the magic in it, warm and buzzing as it spread through you.

Bill stepped away, moving back around to your front, and his brow furrowed.

“What? Did I grow a horn?” You joked, trying to dispel the tension winding tighter between you.

He shook his head, stepping back to ring a silver bell by his desk, a small plaque reading ‘Kira’ beneath it. There was one for each of you, you noticed.

A moment later, Kira walked in. “What's up, boss? Oh, did you change, y/n? I absolutely love that designer in Hogsmeade. His work is stunning,” Kira praised. “Sorry, can I help with something?” She said, turning to Bill.

Bill’s frown deepened as his eyes skimmed over you. “That'll be all, Kira. Thank you.”

“Oh, uh, okay. Let me know if you want to go shopping sometime, y/n!” She said before stepping back out of the office.

“You can take it off. I need you to decode the magic signature yourself, archive the piece and charm accordingly, and see if you can replicate it on something else,” he directed, turning away and rustling through some pages on his desk.

“Sure, no problem.” Carefully, you unclasped the necklace and set it into its velvet case, confused by his sudden shift in demeanor, both the absence of the necklaces magic and his sudden distance leaving you cold.

What did he see in you?

He conjured another chair for you and sank into his own, turning his attention to what appeared to be a wooden horse.

Uncertain, you sat down and pulled the necklace towards you, along with the parchment and a quill, and got to work.

The uncertainty dissolved as the minutes turned to hours, both of you working quietly side by side to solve your own puzzles. The only sounds were the rustling of papers and scratch of quills, the soft music playing from a record player in the corner, and you felt a wave of peace settle over you.

Being able to work at your own pace, in a quiet, peaceful environment was all you'd ever wanted. And finally, you felt like you found a place that allowed that.

You glanced over at Bill, finding him scribbling something with his black feather quill, completely zeroed in on his task, and you felt a rush of gratitude for him, and a determination to ensure he didn't regret his decision to take a chance on you.

You turned back to the necklace, eager to uncover it's secrets.

The rest of your first two weeks passed the same way, you and Bill with your heads bowed, working on separate projects. He'd come over periodically to check your work, but mostly left you to your own devices unless you needed help, which he provided without judgement or reservation.

You and Bill seemed to work together well, both of you preferring the quiet so you could focus, with the occasional conversation about your findings during your lunch break or afternoon tea.

You were only human, after all. Who could blame you?

On Friday, Bill had a meeting with the Board and left you in his office to work. You were more than happy to occupy his space, enjoying the comfortable quiet as you reviewed your notes on the artifact you were working on.

A knock pulled you from your work. Waylan walked through the door, a long, thin wooden box in his arms.

“Oh, hey Waylan,” you said, getting up. “Bill is in a meeting—”

“I know, but this can't wait.” He dropped the long box onto the desk with a thud, scattering your meticulously organized notes, and a prickle of irritation climbed the back of your neck.

“What is it?” You asked, already sensing the dark energy permeating off of the box.

With a pry bar, Waylan cracked open the box, a putrid smell wafting out of it.

“Are you sure we should be doing this here? Surely a vault would be safer—”

“It's fine,” he snapped, and you cracked your jaw shut, irritation growing to full on anger. “This is a cursed executioners axe,” he said. “And the curse needs to be broken now.”

“Waylan, surely—”

“I thought you were qualified?” He bit. “Isn't that why you got the job? Or was it because your friends with his brothers?”

You grit your teeth. “What's the nature of the curse?”

“You tell me.”

You moved to look at the axe, it's blade dark and stained with gore, the handle black wood. Tiny notches decorated it's expanse, and your stomach turned imagining what each notch represented.

Carefully, you held your hand over it, coaxing the magic to reveal itself, but couldn't focus properly with Waylan breathing down your neck, the magic slithering through your fingers like a sieve.

Suddenly the room went dark, all the light and air sucked from the world around you until you were staring into the void, cold dread dripping down your spine.

“Waylan?” You called, fighting the urge to panic. You tried to lift your arms to feel around, but found that you couldn't move. “Waylan?!” You cried, a little louder.

Something white, a delicate, vaguely human shaped mist floated by you and you screamed, unable to move away from it. Then another appeared, slightly more formed like a person, then another, until you were surrounded by spirits. Terror split your skull, your heart pounding so hard it made your vision shake.

“No, please,” you croaked, fighting your body to move even an inch away from them. “Let me go!” You shouted, but they only moved closer. “Let me go!”

Suddenly you slammed back into your body, the bright light of the room blinding you. You were on your back, staring up at the ceiling. Bill was leaning over you, his mouth moving like he was speaking.

“—m’right here, you're alright. It was just a trick, just a little curse. Wake up, love. Come back to me,” he murmured. “There we are, that's it,” he shushed when you began to shake, his grip tightening on your shoulders when you tried to sit up.

Your body was still tingling with numbness, nerves prickling painfully back to life. “Bill,” you gasped, clinging to him as you came fully back to consciousness.

“Are you alright? Does anything hurt?” He asked, helping you sit up slowly, one hand braced on the slope of your ribcage, the other supporting your head.

“No, no. I--what happened?” you asked, looking around the room. You noticed Waylan then, also prone on the floor, eyes staring wide at the ceiling. It seemed Bill made no effort to wake him up.

Bill glanced at Waylan as well, shaking his head. “He was trying to scare you. Prove you didn't deserve the position. And apparently was too stupid to realize the curse would affect him too.”

“Will he—”

“He'll be fine. Are you okay?” He repeated, catching your eye so you'd look at him.

You nodded. “I think so.”

Waylan groaned, stirring on the carpet, and you saw a flicker of anger in Bill’s eyes.

“Wait for me in the lobby,” he said, helping you to your feet. “I'll deal with him.” There was no question in his words, and you obeyed without thought, collecting your things and slipping out of the room.

As the elevator doors started to close, you heard Bill shout, “I should have you sent to fucking Azkaban for pulling—” The groan of the machine cut off the rest of his words.

You did as you were told and waited in the lobby for Bill, busying yourself with people watching and admiring the expansive marble floors.

Twenty minutes later, Bill appeared from one of the elevators, holding Waylan by the scruff of his neck, a box of his stuff in his arms. You jumped up, alarmed when a few security guards rushed over to them.

“Waylan is no longer permitted on the premises, my orders. I discovered him tampering with curses,” Bill directed. “He's a threat to Gringott’s security.”

Your jaw dropped when the security guards nodded and dragged Waylan away without question, effectively tossing him out onto the street of Diagon Alley.

Bill stepped up beside you, concern over your frowning face drawing his brows together. “What is it?” He asked.

“Did you—you fired him?” you stammered.

“Absolutely. I can't have someone on my staff that doesn't take curses seriously. It puts us all at risk,” he said, without an ounce of hesitation.

You nodded, you supposed that made sense.

He started walking, beckoning you to follow with two fingers, and you fell into step beside him. “Come on, I'm going to teach you how to dispel that curse.”

You froze. “What?”

He turned to look at at you. “You heard me, fledgling. I need to make sure something like this won't happen again.” His voice was firm, but not unkind, and you found yourself yielding despite your trepidation. “I'll be with you the entire time, okay?” He said, a bit softer when you returned to his side.

“And if we both get knocked out?” You scowled.

He smirked at your pout. “Do you doubt me?”

Surely you imagined it, you told yourself as the two of you descended into the vaults. There was no way you could be affecting Bill the same way he was affecting you. He was Bill Weasley, and you were just some intern that got a lucky break. He would never be interested in you, not to mention how wrong it would be for a boss to be romantically involved with his subordinate.

So, why did that thought make your pulse spike?

He guided you to a private vault, the heavy door unlocking with a wave of his hand. The inside was dank and poorly lit, permeated with that same rotten smell as before. The axe rested on a table at the center of the room, encased in glass.

You hesitated at the door, that cold, deathly sensation crawling over your skin again.

Bill paused, sensing your fear. “You can do this,” he said, offering you his hand. “I'll walk you through it.”

You placed your hand on his, focusing on his warmth, his steadiness, as he led you into the vault.

“You can feel it, right? The energy of the void clinging to it?” He asked, his voice low.

You nodded. “Feels like death,” you murmured.

“That's what this curse does, makes you feel like you died. It was used by an old Ministry executioner to subdue prisoners before their deaths. Kept them from trying to escape.” He cast his eyes to the axe, a somber look on his face. “Waylan was supposed to leave it here until after my meeting. They just unearthed it this morning.”

“That's awful,” you said, finding yourself counting the notches along the handle. There had to be at least two hundred, maybe even five hundred.

“With every kill, it got stronger, until it eventually took the executioner himself. It was buried with him, until some unfortunate muggle grave robber dug it up and nearly killed himself.”

“So, how do we dispel it?” You asked, hating the tremble in your voice.

“Take your wand out,” he instructed, and you obeyed. “I'm going to open the box. Stay focused on your breathing, the ground beneath your feet. When I open the box, you'll feel it start to pull at you, to drag you under.”

You nodded, lifting your wand and squaring your shoulders, forcing your lungs to take big, deep breaths despite the rotten smell.

“Good, when you feel it pull at you, imagine your wand is an axe itself, okay? You're going to cut the tether of the curse reaching towards you. It will resist, but I promise you can do it. Ready?”

You grit your teeth. “Ready.”

“You can do it, fledgling. I know you can. Fight it,” Bill encouraged, somewhere to your left.

You pushed back against the darkness, refocusing on your breathing, the stone beneath your feet, your wand at the tips of your fingers. You slashed through the air with it, imagining an axe cutting through thick, black tendrils, and suddenly the tugging sensation vanished, the blackness receding from your vision.

“Yes, good girl! Keep going, push it all the way back into the axe.”

You did, pushing with all your might against the dark magic until it began to retreat, sinking back into the blade of the axe. But it wouldn't go all the way in, resisting your quickly depleting energy, when you felt something akin to a warm breeze blow over you: Bill’s magic. It joined your efforts, making the final push to force the curse back into the axe.

“Now hold it for me. Just like that,” Bill said, moving around the room. “I'm going to try a counter curse, but it may not take. Are you ready?”

“Ready.” You nodded, a rush of excitement pulsing through you. You were actually doing it. And doing it well.

With a flourish of wand movements and a string of words you don't understand, a beam of white light blasted from the end of Bill's wand and towards the axe, blinding you.

Something gave a godawful shriek, echoing off the walls until rubble rained over your head, and you heard a thunderous snap, followed by a whoosh of screaming air.

The light suddenly vanished, leaving you and Bill alone in the dark room, silent besides your ragged breathing.

“Lumos,” Bill muttered, and the torches along the walls relit, revealing the room around you. The axe lay on its side on the table, splintered in half. The rotten smell, and the curse, were gone. The handle was now just smooth wood, no notches in sight.

You exhaled, a giddy laugh bubbling up, and Bill smiled, crossing the room to you.

“Let me see you, you alright?” He asked, taking your hands to inspect your trembling fingers. The touch sent a zing of energy under your skin. “It didn't hurt you?”

You shook your head, dizzy from his unexpected tenderness and the after effects of using so much magic. “I'm okay,” you murmured, a little breathless.

“Okay,” he said, releasing your hands, though for a second, he seemed reluctant to. “I'll clean up here. Go home and get some rest, yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” you said, dipping your chin obediently.

His eyes searched your face for a moment longer, his jaw flexing, before he nodded once and turned back to the axe, dismissing you.

You slipped out of the vault and returned to the surface, reckless hope burning in your chest.

Thanks for reading! 🫶🏻

#harry potter fanfiction #bill weasley #bill weasley x reader #bill weasley fanfiction #bill weasley imagine

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