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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 days ago

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Mercy No More 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, possible violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your misplaced kindness brings a dangerous man to your door.

Characters: Thomas Shelby

Note: a less popular character so I'll just post whenever.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"There's a man in the backyard."

The statement is matter-of-fact, not a hint of distress in your sister's tone as she informs you of the trespass. You wipe your forehead as you turn away from the porridge on the stove. You frown.

"A man... how? Who?" You wonder.

She shrugs, "he couldn't say."

You near her with a glower, "Anna, could you say less?"

"He's face down. He could be dead," she says. "Like old Chester."

"Is he old like Chester?" You go to the backdoor, slipping in a glob of mud. "Anna, your shoes."

"I was distracted. By the dead man."

You tilt your head wryly, "yes, you're brain does seem to be working madly to unravel the riddle."

You slip into your shoes, leaving the laces loose. You turn and go out into the yard. Sure enough, you see the man on the ground. He does look to be lifeless, though you can't be sure.

You glance back at Anna. She gives a coy grin, "I went and got water, I'm not dealing with him."

You sigh. Your father's already at the factory. It's only the two of you and it took enough arguing to get her to bring in a bucket of rain water.

The muck sucks on your soles. The man's face is smeared with mud and his hate rests next to his head. His limbs are askew in all directions. You hear him breathing as he blows bubbles into the slop.

"He's alive," you peek over your shoulder. You're talking to the door. Anna's back hiding behind the brick.

You cautiously bend and jab the man's shoulder, "sir, sir," you poke with each word, "hullo, you're sleeping in the dirt. Sir!"

You shake him. He doesn't stir. You reach across and grab his hat. A sharp pain sears in your thumb. You let the hat drop and look at the sliced pad of your finger. Rats.

Then the damp cold seeps through your stockings. The realisation trickles down your spine. Your eyes search out the sharp edge sewn into the hat. He's one of them.

You turn and march back to the door. You keep your injured hand aloft and let yourself in with other. You stomp into the kitchen and snatch up a cloth. You press it around your throbbing thumb.

"Sister, your shoes," Anna chides drolly.

You huff. She doesn't bother to ask if you're well. You hiss and grit your teeth.

"Get father's rye," you demand.

"Bit early, innit?" She snickers.

"Anna," you sneer.

She drags herself away from the table and takes out a dark bottle. She pulls free the cork and you grab it. You pour it over your thumb, shaking over the sink. You quickly cover the gash again.

"What's happened? He have a knife?" She asks.

"Anna," you face her, your heart top turns. "That man... has blades in his hat."

"Blades in his hat. Well, that's rather foolish." You stare at her and she blinks wide. "A blinder? Out here?"

You nod.

"What do we do?"

"Now it's we?" You challenge.

"It's not good, is it?"

You shrug.

"We could leave him there. Let him wake up."

"Yes, we could. But s'pose he wakes up and thinks we did leave him there. To drown in the mud," you tut. "But the alternative..."

"Wake him up?"

"He's not doing that," you clutch your hand.

"We can't carry him."

"We're going to have to," you say.

"And when he does come to, what then? He could hurt us."

"He might but I know where father keeps the pistol," you say.

"Do you know how to shoot it?"

"No."

"And wouldn't that be worse? To kill one of 'em?"

"Better than being killed," you look around. "Anna, I don't know any better than you."

"How..." she glances at the wall.

"You get one side, I'll get the other?" You suggest.

"How'd he even get there?"

"Now you're asking questions."

"Well, I thought he was a drunk or some'in."

"Oh, no doubt he is," you scoff. You wrap the cloth around your finger, securing it as best you can. You teethe your lip and dip your chin. "Right then."

You take the lead. Anna drags her feet. You go out into the yard. You near the man. He snores now.

You lift up his hat carefully and tuck it into your apron. You step around him as Anna reluctantly hovers some distance away.

"You get that arm." You point.

She whimpers but comes closer. You take his right arm and she flinches away as she reaches for his other. You grunt and grind your teeth as you try to lift him. Your sister whines, "he's too big."

"Anna, put some guff into it," you demand. "Christ be risen."

You manage to get him upright. Sort of. He hangs between you and your sister. You stagger to face him toward the house.

"I'm too weak."

"Stop, just move," you hike the man up as hold his hand over your shoulder, his arm draped around your neck. "Onward."

Your steps are teetering and uneven, lurching as the man threatens to bowl you both over. You haul him crookedly up the stairs, breathless, sweating, aching. His toes catch on the threshold and you all crash to the floor.

Your elbow pangs and your knee burns. You roll over and push the man's arm off you. Anna snivels as she crawls away from him.

"Now what?" She pulls a splinter from her hand.

"Well, he's inside," you get up, panting, and bend his legs enough to close the door. "Put a blanket over him."

"He's just gonna... lay there?"

"Better than the mud." You utter and step back, exhausted.

"What about when Da gets home?"

You give her a look, "let's pray he wakes up first."

🚬

You stir your porridge as the back of the man's head is visible just through the doorway. Anna won't sit still as she cradles her bowl and paces. Your thumb is pulsing with each bend.

The man's hat sits on the table. You did your best to wipe the mud off. You wiggle your foot, as restless as your sister but reluctant to show it.

You rinse your bowl and she gives you hers half-finished. You tisk. "Wasteful."

"Pardon me, my insides are splitting like twigs," she hisses.

You dump her bowl in the bin and wash away the oats. Anna tends to avoid things. She's always been that way. You can hardly blame her, there isn't very much worth facing in this world. Still, some things just must be done.

"Go on then, go to your room," you bid her. "I'll keep an eye on him."

"Are you certain?" She asks.

"Not truly but no use you tittering around," you shoo her with your fingers.

She makes no fuss in doing just that. Your dread mounts as you're left alone. She wouldn't be much help as it were, but are you any more formidable? Especially with a man like that?

You carry on, tidying, going through your usual toil, anything to busy yourself until your father returns. You sit and wring out the clothes by hand over a bucket and toss them in the basket to go on the line. You focus on the work, made more difficult by your tender thumb. Your joints ache from the effort, your forearms and the cuffs of your sleeves soaked through.

"Eh, Polly," the gritty voice has you sat upright. "Bring me a cuppa."

You stare at the man. He's not moving still. Just the rise and fall of his breath. He groans.

"Polly, ain't I your favourite?" He rasps and laughs, wincing at the effort.

He sucks in a deep breath and drags a hand over the floor. He pushes himself up with one arm and his head bobbles. He looks around, his nose like a beak. He gets one foot flat, still hunched, then the other. He stands and staggers, catching himself on the wall. He grunts and turns his head. He sees you before the bucket of soapy water and linen.

"You're not Pol," he limps in. "You got any tea?"

You stare at him and drop the shirt in the tub. He's entirely too calm waking up in a strange house. You stand stiffly.

"Whisky?" He hobbles past you and opens the cupboard.

"Sir," you back up. "This isn't-- we don't got much." You cross your arms and keep the chair between you. "You were out in the mud. We only brought you in to dry off."

"We?" He takes out a tin of flour.

"Hm, um, yes, the neighbour helped me," you lie.

"Aye, they did? Ya have a good laugh then? Over my drunk arse?" He accuses as he shuts the cabinet.

"No, sir. It was only--"

He moves towards you and you stumble out of his path. He swipes up his hat and pulls it on.

"Well, give ya some advice," he points at you. "You and that nosy neighbour, keep your mouths shut, eh? Don't be cheeping around with the hens."

"Sir, no, we wouldn't--"

"Know ya wouldn't." He looks around with a sneer, "it's a shithole but I'm sure you don' wan' it it in ashes."

He trips on the leg of the chair. You react without thinking. You grab his arm and the other side of the chair. He sways but stays on his feet.

You swallow as he looks at you. You shudder. "You wanted tea?"

His lips thin. There's a glimmer of shame in his irises. He maneuvers to sit on the wooden seat. He sighs and rubs his hips.

"Ole bullet casing's acting up again," he snarls. "German rubbish."

You go to the stove and put the kettle on the burner. You light it and step away. He bends forward to hold his head.

"Like I said, not much round, but I've got some bones. I could make ya broth," you offer.

He shakes and grumbles. It's not a clear answer. You grab the pork bones and put them in a pot. Your only shield is to do those things you know how to.

You brew the tea and bring it to him. He sits up and watches you set it down. He scrapes the chair closer to the table. He squints at your hand.

"Cut yerself?" He wonders.

"It'll heal up," you assure him and hide your hand behind you. He scratches the side of his head below his hat.

"Razor's cut deep," he remarks.

"They do," you affirm.

"Sorry then," he reaches for the cup. "I'll just get meself straight and be off."

"Very well, sir," you agree and grab the basket of clothes. "I'll be hanging these."

He takes a cautious sip and drones again. He wipes the moisture from his blond mustache with the side of his finger.

You leave him and go out into the yard. You unfurl the garments and pin them in place with the pegs. The gloomy sky won't dry them quickly. You go down the line as you hear Mary hollering at her husband. You've never heard her speak without yelling.

You finish and leave the basket at the door. The man has his head on the table. You go to check the broth. It bubbles but smells good enough. He groans.

You serve him a bowl with a butt of bread. He sits up with a tremour. He doesn't say a word as he draws himself in to the table and dips the rye in the broth. He eats without a care to the dribble down his chin.

He gives a contented hum when he's done. He looks up and smiles. You follow his gaze past you. You turn to see Anna before she disappears behind the doorframe.

"Well, hello, birdie," he growls.

"All done, sir," you take the empty bowl.

He refocuses on you, "didn't mention another of ya."

"She's shy," you insist as you take the dish to the sink.

"Mmm, well," he clucks. "Shy ones are sweet."

"Sir," you approach him again.

"Eh, I know what I said," he stands with an effort that makes him croak. "Yer a good woman. Won't be no bother 'round here. I'll make sure of it."

You nod as he heads for the back door. You follow him and stand in the frame as he stiffly struts to the gate. You frown. There never was any bother before him.

#thomas shelby #dark thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #arthur shelby #dark!thomas shelby #peaky blinders #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series

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carawenfiction · 2 days ago

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So...remember how I said in that update post how I might MAYBE do a TSS rewrite and post it for free?

"Maybe" quickly turned into "definitely happening". Instead of making it outside of COG, however, the finished product that's already published will be updated with the rewritten files. This means that if you've already purchased TSS through COG, you'll have the rewritten version available. That's how I originally intended to go about things with the old rewrite and is the better option here to avoid potential complications.

I've been in contact with COG and they've let me know that I'd be able to do what I have in mind even if this results in a different wordcount and very different scenes/plot points and a different kind of main story.

I realize that this announcement is probably pretty jarring since my last post stated that I wasn't sure about doing a rewrite but that I wanted to if I had enough time. After making that post, I started creating an outline for the rewrite mostly for fun...and one thing kind of led to another. I want you all to know that I wouldn't be making this post at all if I wasn't sure about this. It's because I've already begun the process and feel incredibly motivated and inspired that I can do this that I'm making this announcement.

This rewrite is not going to be like my old attempt at a rewrite, though. It's an entirely new one that I feel much more confident about.

So far I've written the outline for the rewrite and started reworking already existing scenes from chapter 1 as well some new ones. I'm happy to say that the difference between how the rewrite process felt years ago compared to now is like light and day. It seems like those years I've taken away from TSS were very healthy and helpful in giving me some distance and letting me figure out what kind of story I really want to tell.

My plan is to rewrite book 1 and then make 1 full continuation after that. Instead of a trilogy, it looks like this version of TSS will be 2 volumes, but that doesn't necessarily mean that it'll be shorter than originally intended. I think it's more doable for me to rewrite the first book (starting from scratch while also using some already written scenes, since I've been assured I'm allowed to do so) and then make 1 complete continuation of it rather than trying to fill stuff out over 3 different entries, and I think it'll serve the plot and story as a whole to do it that way.

That being said, I fully understand that some - or most of you - might have trouble trusting my word after me failing to do the rewrite I wanted to years ago and not delivering a second book. That's completely fair. This time I'm not rushing things and I don't feel any pressure to do this. It's not something I do out of dislike for the original, but rather out of love for what it could be and what I could make it into, if that makes sense. I'm taking as much time as I need to and am not putting any pressure on myself to do this.

My other project takes priority right now so I can't dedicate all of my time to the rewrite, but I'm working on it when I have time over or get stuck. It's actually pretty nice to alternate between two different stories that have different settings and has helped a bit in avoiding writer's block.

Here are some differences between TSS and the TSS rewrite (most of the changes I made to the old rewrite no longer apply):

The rewrite will be told in second-person point of view ("you" instead of "I"). The reason for this is that when I first started TSS I was really unused to the second-person POV, but after having spent years in the IF space it's now the other way around. It'll make writing much easier for for me, and I hope it won't feel too jarring for people who are used to the first person POV.

The Shadowman and Jealene (now "J") will both be genderselectable just like the main cast. The Shadowman will be genderselectable later on, though - it might sound strange but I think it makes sense when you have more context. J plays a bigger role than they did in the original and their personality is a bit different in this version.

Some side characters (such as most of the hideout) will be cut. This is because they felt really underdeveloped to me in the full game and didn't serve much of a purpose. Instead I'm focusing more on the main cast + a few key characters to ensure the story plot stays focused and you get more time to develop bonds of various kinds with the main cast instead.

The relationship system will look a bit different. Instead of bars showing a percentage of approval, I'll write a description of each character and what they think of you. The descriptions will shift when the character starts viewing you differently, whether that's due to rivalry, romance or friendship. My hope is that this will allow for a more nuanced relationship system/descriptions. I'll also adjust the options a bit to try and make choices more nuanced and am thinking of including the option of having ex. a heart next to a romantic choice for those who want to know for sure what they're getting into. The different responses (such as shy, flirty etc.) will stay but some of it will probably be reworked. Essentially what I want to do is allow for a wider range of MCs and how the characters respond to the MC.

The MC is going to have more agency in certain ways. I've included something plot-relevant to the main character that can potentially change the dynamic between them and the group a bit, but it all depends on how you play it.

The tone might be somewhat different. Not entirely, of course, but there are some parts of the old TSS where the characters sound a bit younger than they are supposed to be, where tension and seriousness has been sacrificed in favor of humor and where some of the interactions aren't the way I would prefer for them to be. I've gotten older since writing TSS (gasp) and my tastes have changed, as has my writing to some degree. In order to do a rewrite I'd have to write in a way that's most enjoyable for me and that I feel best fits the story I want to tell. That's not to say that there isn't going to be silliness etc., but I'm adjusting the tone somewhat and putting more time and effort into descriptions and the writing overall.

The narrative will be different, even though the overall story itself will mostly stay the same. I'm keeping a lot of elements and also aim to introduce new ones that I believe will strengthen the story and make it a more enjoyable game overall.

I think those are the main differences I can give away right now without spoiling anything. I'll make sure to post updates when I've got more to share! Once the demo for the rewrite is finished, I'll post it on the forums and link it in an intro post on here.

Thank you all for sticking by me throughout the years. I hope you'll find some comfort in returning to this world, as well as new things to ponder and excite you in this new upcoming version of the story <3

The Azuridia and Quaiel chibis are done by the amazing madebysalfi

#the shadow society #tss #interactive fiction #update #if #carawenfiction #cog #choice of games #hosted games

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wzrd-wheezes · 3 days ago

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The Art of Hating You : Part One - Sirius Black x Reader.

AN - hello it has been a while but i have finally finished the first part of this. pls pls pls let me know what you think and give it a reblog if you enjoyed! i've already started part two so if enough of you like it, i can post it soon. thank u love u bye x

3.6k words

Contains: Arranged marriage Sirius x Reader. Mentions of alcohol, some swearing - nothing too bad in this part.

The clinking of crystal glasses was deafening, a symphony of wealth and power all concentrated into a single ballroom. Y/N stood by the towering bay window, staring out at the sprawling grounds of the manor. There was a muted hum of conversation mixed with the gentle music of the band behind her, though the blood was pumping in her ears, almost muffling it.

“Stand up straight,” her mother’s voice cut sharply at her shoulder, snapping her back to reality, “People are watching.”

She adjusted her posture automatically, straightening her back and lifting her chin. A marionette pulled into position by invisible strings. Like a bloody puppet, she thought bitterly as her mother’s polished nails adjusted the sleeve of her gown before drifting off.

A server passed by with a silver tray and Y/N’s fingers reached out instinctively for a flute of champagne. It took all of her self-control not to tip the entire contents down her throat and immediately grab another one. The bubbles fizzed against her lips as her father’s voice broke through the noise.

“Ladies and gentleman,” his voice rang across the room, immediately silencing the chatter, “I just wanted to thank you all for attending tonight as we celebrate the announcement of the union of two families. I also want to thank Mr and Mrs Black for welcoming us into their spectacular home and hosting, what I hope, will be a very memorable evening.”

Y/N’s stomach clenched, but she kept her expression neutral. She had been dreading this day for weeks. Its presence lingered in the distance, gradually growing closer and closer until she couldn’t escape it any more. The finality of it, spoken aloud to a room of hundreds of people, felt like a guillotine blade suspended above her.

“Some engagement party, eh?”

The voice came from behind her, low and close to her ear. Soft and familiar.

“Remus! I didn’t think you’d be able to make it!” she exclaimed, relief flooding her chest as she lowered her voice, “Thank God you’re here.”

“My flight landed a few hours ago,” he smiled, leaning in to kiss her cheek, “Thought you might need some moral support and, well, Mum and Dad weren’t going to let me get away with not showing my face.”

“Remind me to thank them for that later. I need all the support I can get.” she whispered, glancing towards the centre of the room where her father was still preaching about “legacy” and “union”.

Remus followed her gaze and grimaced. Y/N nodded solemnly and drained the remaining champagne from the flute. Seamlessly, Remus grabbed another from a passing server’s tray and handed it to her.

“That’s why you’re my best friend,” she softly clinked her glass against his own.

“Always at your service,” he bowed jokingly and then leaned in slightly, “So, he’s here somewhere I assume?”

She didn’t need to ask who he meant. The weight of Sirius Black’s presence had been pressing all night, even though she had done everything to avoid him.

She hesitated, letting her eyes drift over the room. The ballroom was crowded: older men in pristine suits were smoking cigars by the balcony, their wives dripped in diamonds and murmured conspiratorially over flutes of champagne, and the younger guests milled about in groups that were carefully curated by their parents.

And then, there was him. Leaning against the mahogany bar, perfectly at ease in the busy room. He was infuriatingly composed as ever, dressed in a tailored suit that he made look effortlessly dishevelled. His tie was loose, the top few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a sliver of his tattooed chest. He looked like he belonged and didn’t belong all at one. A study in rebellion with polished edges.

As if he could feel her gaze, Sirius turned his head and caught her staring. A slow, deliberate smirk curled at the corner of his mouth and he tilted his head slightly, one of his eyebrows arching. To her horror, he pushed off the bar and began making his way towards them.

“Lupin,” he drawled, his voice low and smooth, “It’s been a while.”

Remus raised his glass in acknowledgment, “It has indeed.”

Sirius’s smirk twitched into a grin as his eyes flickered to Y/N, “And you,” he said, gaze locking onto hers, “You look...thrilled.”

“Absolutely ecstatic,” she said flatly, meeting his stare head on, “happiest day of my life.”

Sirius chuckled and reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter, relighting the cigarette that dangled between his fingers.

“You’re smoking.” she pointed out sharply. He exhaled a curl of smoke, unfazed,

“Observant as ever.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to swat the cigarette from his hand, “You’re not supposed to smoke in here.”

“And yet here I stand,” he gestured grandly to the room, “Alive and thriving. Remarkable, isn’t it?”

Remus stifled a laugh behind his glass, earning a glare from Y/N. Sirius didn’t miss the exchange and turned his attention back to his old friend, his smirk softening into something genuine.

“It’s good to see you, mate. Really. How long’s it been?”

“Three years-ish, I reckon.” Remus replied, his voice friendlier now, “Last time we crossed paths you were getting thrown out of the Gryffin Club for setting off fireworks in the billiard room.”

Sirius barked out a laugh, “Ah, yes. A classic. Who knew aristocrats were so touchy about singed velvet? Well, in my defence, leaving fireworks unattended in a store cupboard wasn’t their wisest move.”

“A locked store cupboard, if I remember rightly.” Remus added, grinning.

Sirius shrugged, flicking ash into an ornate plant pot nearby as though the memory pleased him, “Details. Though, if I remember rightly, it was your lighter that got things going.”

Remus chuckled and clinked his glass against the other boys, “Touche.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, her patience wearing thin, “Perhaps you two should have been the ones set up to marry each other.”

Sirius’s eyes snapped back to hers, his smirk turning wolfish, “Sorry, darling. I forgot tonight wasn’t a reunion for Remus and I. Tonight’s all about us – The happy couple.”

Her champagne glass froze halfway to her lips, her fingers tightening around the delicate stem, “Don't call me that.” she said, her voice low and sharp.

“Why not? You are my fiancée, are you not?” he asked innocently, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him, “The whole room is here to celebrate our impending union.”

Her expression didn’t waver, although her heart was hammering in her chest, “If you’ll excuse me,” she said icily, “I think I see someone I actually want to talk to.”

As she strode away, she could hear Sirius’s laughter behind her. She didn’t look back. Instead, wove her way through the crowd, the familiar faces of family friends and society elites blurring together as her mind raced.

It wasn’t until she reached the edge of the ballroom, near the double doors leading out to the garden, that she let herself pause. The cool night air drifted in, nipping against her heated cheeks. For a moment, she just stood there, breathing deeply, trying to steady herself.

“I thought you might come this way,” a voice said softly.

She turned to see Remus standing a few feet away, his expression gentle. He held out a fresh glass of champagne. “You looked like you needed this.”

She accepted it wordlessly, staring into the golden liquid like it could fix all of her issues.

“Do you ever wonder,” she said after a long moment, “what it would’ve been like to be born into a normal family? One where your future wasn’t mapped out before you even knew how to walk?”

Remus leaned against the doorframe, his own glass dangling loosely in his hand, “Every day.” he admitted quietly.

She looked at him, her expression softening, “You’re lucky you got out, you know.”

He didn’t respond, but the shadow that passed over his face told her that he knew exactly what she meant. Remus jerked his head towards the garden and Y/N followed him.

The cool air was a relief from the stifling atmosphere in the ballroom. The garden lights twinkled softly, casting long shadows across the pristine hedges and gravel paths. Remus settled down on one of the stone benches, pulling a crumpled packet of cigarettes from his pocket. He tapped one out and offered her the pack.

“I don’t know how you put up with him for so many years,” Y/N muttered, sitting down next to him,

“He’s not all bad. Though he does seem to have a knack for getting under your skin.” he tilted his head back.

“Under my skin?” she huffed, reaching down to loosen the strap on one of her high heels, “He’s practically burrowed into my soul just to annoy me.”

Remus smirked, blowing out a puff of smoke, “You make it sound so romantic.”

She shot him a glare, “Don’t even joke about that.”

“I’m not joking,” he said lightly, “You know, there’s a fine line between love and hate.”

“That line doesn’t exist here,” she retorted quickly, crossing her arms, “It’s all hate. Pure and simple.”

Remus stayed silent, his smile lingering as he tapped the ash from his cigarette into a nearby rosebush. The faint glow of the garden lights caught the curve of his face, his eyes flickering with amusement that he didn’t bother to voice.

Their quiet moment was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. Y/N stiffened, her fingers curling around the edge of the bench.

“You’ve not stolen my fiancée, have you, Lupin?”

Remus turned his head towards the source of the voice, unbothered, “If I had you’d only have yourself to blame,” Remus joked, “Should’ve kept a closer eye on her.”

“I’d hate to have to duel you for her.” Sirius quipped, “It’s such a bother – laundry bills for bloodstained silk and all that.”

Sirius stepped into the moonlight, his tailored suit still managing to look deliberately rumpled, as though he’d gone to great lengths to seem as effortlessly dishevelled as possible.

“And yet here you are, conveniently lurking in the shadows with her,” he countered, grin widening as he looked at Y/N, “Careful, sweetheart. People might start talking.”

“Let them,” she snapped, standing abruptly, “Maybe it’ll save me the trouble of this farce of an engagement.”

“Oh, don’t be cruel,” Sirius feigned a wounded expression, “You’ll hurt my feelings.”

Remus stubbed out his cigarette on the bench and stood up, “I’m going to need infinitely more champagne if you expect me to bear witness to this all night. I’ll see you both back inside.”

Sirius stepped closer to her after Remus’s departure, “You ran off so quickly, I thought perhaps I’d done something to upset you.”

Y/N let out a sharp laugh, turning away from him, “If only you were that self-aware.”

He stepped closer still, his voice dropping, “Steady. People might start to think that you actually hate me.”

She spun back around to face him, her chin tilted defiantly, “I do.”

“Good.” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “Hate makes things far more interesting. And, for the record, I’m not too fond of you either.”

Y/N held his gaze, her heart thundering in her chest despite her calm facade, “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Sirius smiled again, his expression infuriatingly nonchalant, “Crystal clear.”

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to continue trying to avoid you for the rest of the evening.”

As she re-entered the bustling room, the noise and brightness felt suffocating after the peace of the garden. She manoeuvred through the crowd smiling and nodding with the practiced ease of someone who had been raised to perform.

“Y/N.” her mother’s voice drew her attention and she turned to find her mother standing with a group of guests, all of whom were watching her with polite interest. She plastered on a smile, stepping into the circle, immediately being swept up in the niceties of conversation.

Her practiced smile never faltered, even as her mind raced. But then, out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him. Sirius had returned to the room. He didn’t look her way, engaging effortlessly with a cluster of guests near the bar.

Y/N forced herself to focus on the conversation, they were talking wedding venues, but her resolve crumbled when her father strode purposefully across the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he announced, all hum of conversation vanishing immediately, “As you are all aware, tonight is a celebration of the union between two great families. One that promises to strengthen our legacy and secure the future for generations to come.”

Y/N’s throat tightened as the room erupted into applause.

“And what better way to seal such an occasion than with a little tradition?” he continued, “Y/N, Sirius. Join us.”

Every muscle in her body screamed at her to run off. She wished that the server that was walking past with a champagne bottle would crack her over the head with it. But her body betrayed her and she found herself moving towards the centre of the room.

For the first time that night, Sirius’s smirk was gone, replaced by a look of mild surprise as he stepped forward, his cigarette hastily extinguished. Her father gestured grandly to the band who struck up a waltz and the crowd parted, leaving an open space in the centre of the room. All eyes on them.

Sirius reached her side, offering his hand, “Shall we?”

She wanted to glare at him but placed her hand in his. As he pulled her into position, his grip on her waist firm, he leaned in just enough for her to hear him over the music.

“Tell me,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, “Did you know about this little spectacle, or are you just as blindsided as I am?”

Her jaw tightened as they began to move, “If I’d known,” she hissed through a fake smile, “I’d have faked the flu.”

“Glad to know we’re equally as miserable.” his lips quirked up into a smile, his eyes scanning the room, “My father told me people were asking why we haven’t been joined at the hip all evening. I told him we were both...mingling.”

Her grip on his shoulder tightened just enough to make him glance down at her, “How generous of you to cover for me.” Her steps remained perfectly in time, “And what did he say to that?”

“Oh, you know, the usual,” he replied, his tone breezy, “Something about how mingling is well and good, but appearances must be maintained. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking that the happy couple isn’t happy. Terribly romantic, isn’t it?”

“Do you enjoy making everything sound insufferable or does it just come naturally?”

“It’s a gift, really. But let’s not pretend you’re any better at playing the part, darling. That smile of yours could make a baby cry.”

“Maybe if you stopped talking, I wouldn’t have to force it.”

They moved through another turn. To anyone watching, they looked the perfect pair: graceful and composed, perfectly in sync. Yet, deep hatred was bubbling beneath the surface. Eventually, the dance ended, the music drawing to a soft close. Applause echoed through the room as they pulled apart.

Sirius stepped back, “Always a pleasure, sweetheart. Shall we make the rounds? Wouldn’t want anyone getting suspicious now, would we?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t want to ruin your sparkling reputation.”

He held out his arm for her and she took it, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow as they floated around the room.

Sunlight streamed through the towering windows of Y/N’s bedroom, too bright and too unforgiving. She groaned loudly and buried her face into her pillow. Her head was pounding, a clear victim to the bottomless champagne. Eventually, she sat up, pressing her palms against her eyes as if it could block out the memory of Sirius Black’s insufferable smirk.

He had played his part well last night. Despite his less than stellar reputation, people seemed to fawn over Sirius. He was the black sheep of his family, infamous for his defiance of their traditions. His face often graced the tabloids alongside stories of wild parties, broken rules and a long line of flings. It didn’t tarnish him. If anything, it only added to his appeal.

When she finally emerged from her room, the house was still and quiet, save for the distant clatter of breakfast preparations in the kitchen. She could have stayed in bed much longer but the pounding in her skull made it impossible. Fresh air, she thought. That would help.

She regretted the decision instantly.

The morning air was sharp against her skin as she stepped out onto the terrace. There he was, standing by the stone balustrade with a cigarette balanced between his fingers. The warm morning light caught in his tousled hair, giving him the air of someone who had either just rolled out of bed or hadn’t bothered sleeping at all.

She scoffed and crossed her arms when she saw him, “Should’ve known you’d still be lurking.”

Without even turning, he took a slow drag from his cigarette, “And yet, you walked right into my presence. Starting to think that you might actually enjoy it.”

She rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see, “Hardly.”

Finally, he turned to face her, an infuriating smirk plastered on his face. “It seems all that champagne you downed last night has muddled your memory.” His voice was smooth, teasing, “This is my house, remember?”

Her fingers twitched with the sudden urge to shove him over the balustrade.

Instead, she let out a slow breath through her nose, levelling him with a glare. “Trust me, Black, I haven’t forgotten whose house I’m imprisoned in.”

He chuckled at that, a lazy stream of smoke escaping from his lips. “Imprisoned? Dramatic, even for you.”

“Oh, I’m dramatic? Your parents are the ones who decided I should move in like some weird prisoner.” She gestured vaguely towards the manor, “I half expected them to have a dungeon prepared.”

Sirius smiled, tapping ash from his cigarette, “Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” he said smoothly, “The dungeons been out of use for years. I think Mum uses it to store wine now.”

She huffed out a laugh despite herself, shaking her head as she turned back toward the railing. The morning was deceptively peaceful – dew clung to the hedges, birds flitting between the trees, the world blissfully unaware that her life had be forcibly intertwined with his.

“I assume we’re expected to play the doting couple again today?” she asked dryly.

“That depends. Do you want to cause a scandal before breakfast?”

“Tempting.” she mused, “Though I imagine your parents would spontaneously combust if I threw myself off the terrace.”

“Perhaps. Although the headlines would be amusing to say the least.” he turned to face her, “I can picture it now. ‘Y/N L/N’s death – tragic accident or sweet escape? Find out on page 3’”

She let out another laugh, “Your parents must really hate me, huh?”

Sirius arched a brow, “Hate you? Fuck no. They adore you. You’re pure-blooded, well bred, and – miraculously- not me. You’re their dream daughter-in-law.”

“Exactly.” she deadpanned, “They like me. Which is why I find it cruel and unusual that they’ve forced me to live with you.”

He grinned, wicked and amused. “Maybe they’re hoping I’ll charm you into loving me.”

“More likely, they’re hoping I’ll kill you and save them the trouble.”

“You wouldn’t last a week without me, love.”

She turned her expression mockingly serious, “You’re right. I’d be devasted. Absolutely inconsolable. I’d do a Queen Vic and wear nothing but black for the rest of my life. Mourning for at least a day. Maybe two.”

Sirius clutched his chest theatrically, “You wound me.”

“Not yet.” She muttered.

During the first weeks of living at the Black estate, Y/N had gotten quite good at avoiding Sirius as much as possible. It was difficult at times. Every hallway, every grand staircase and every insufferably elegant room seemed to contain him at some point. He was everywhere. Sprawled out on the library sofa with a cigarette dangling from his lips, arguing with the house staff in the kitchens, strolling in at ungodly hours after doing god-knows-what.

She had become very good at ignoring him. Until now.

“It’s getting out of hand, Orion.” Mrs Black’s voice cut sharply across the corridor. Y/N stopped in her tracks, turning to linger outside of the door.

“Sirius is an embarrassment. He’s reckless. Irresponsible – he refuses to carry the weight of this family’s name.” her voice continued.

“I agree.” His father’s voice rumbled, “But marrying her might be the only thing that reins him in. If he ruins this, Walburga, we lose everything. The contract is binding.”

Her stomach twisted. Contract? She knew their engagement was arranged but this made it sound almost sinister.

“Do you truly think this will change him?” Walburga scoffed, “The boy is incapable of loyalty. He’ll self-destruct before the year is over.”

She should have left. Walked away and pretended that she never heard a thing. But before she could, a hand suddenly closed around her wrist.

She gasped, spinning on her heel, only to meet a familiar pair of stormy grey eyes.

For once, there was no teasing smirk on his face. Just something unreadable.

“Enjoying yourself, eavesdropper?” he muttered.

Y/N opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself. There was something off about him, he wasn’t his usual arrogant, unbothered self. Sirius knew what his parents thought of him, but now he knew that she did to.

She yanked her wrist out of his grip, "I- I didn’t mean to-”

“Save it.” He raked a hand through his hair. His expression had turned into something distant, “Welcome to the wonderful world of being a Black.”

Then, without another word, he turned and walked off, leaving her standing alone.

For the first time, Y/N felt something unexpected. Pity.

And she hated it.

#bit scared to be posting this so pls be nice #sirius black #sirius black x reader #marauders fic #marauders era #sirius black fic #harry potter

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elodieunderglass · 2 days ago

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I finished my FTH charity fic! 15,000+ words and I did it before the end of March. Does Killie get an egg with yolk-in?

Congratulations on finishing your hard work! And for a wonderful cause. I am so impressed and you should be proud.

(Killie the jockey OC has been promised that he may get an egg, with yolk in, for people prioritising their creative works in March, reporting back on what they have achieved. One egg=one report.)

WELL let me tell you something!!

The real-life Grand National, the UK's big steeplechase, is the 5th of April. Despite being fictional, Killie is (naturally) riding in it.

He is STRESSIN'.

TW below the cut for discussion of weight, specifically with reference to racing handicaps.

The Grand National is a handicap race, so the most promising horses are weighted down according to complex algorithms, based on their stats. Jockey and their skill don't come into this, and conditions are ever-changing, so this is why People Who Follow Horse Racing get all excited and try to predict what will happen. These are the conditions that make The Odds that people talk about when they talk about betting.

The handicaps and odds have just been published, and the lightest horses this year are carrying a very low 129 lbs of gear+jockey. The famous-est and shiniest horse, I am Maximus, is hauling an almost-unprecedented 166 lbs. They're, like, putting anchors on him. This represents the prevailing belief that I am Maximus, who won the 2024 Grand National and is a beautiful beefy boy, was naturally going to win this one unless he was made to run while wearing welly boots on each hoof. As soon as his handicap was posted - a legendary weight to carry - The Odds on I am Maximus were halved.

Anyway, at the bottom end of the scale are horses carrying practically nothing, to fill out the field and give them a fighting chance. After all, everyone likes an underdog, so it would be SUPER exciting if one of them won!

Killie, a lightweight jockey, has been judiciously assigned one of the low-hopers at the bottom end of the handicapping chart. It isn't expected that he'll win, but it's harder to find steeplechase jockeys who are light enough to chuck on the bottom-rankers, so it's better for his owner not to waste Killie by putting him on the middle-rankers. He's won the Grand National once before, so he doesn't mind this being his professional assignment - and it would be a juicy victory to bring home, quite literally "against all odds"! He is planning to ride weighing a bit more than 120 lbs, and he's bringing 7 or 8 pounds of good, heavy, luxurious gear. He is going in as a heavily-armoured Killie! Although he's a buff tough bugger in his own way, he has plans on top of plans to keep his weight UP - which doesn't come naturally to him.

If he doesn't get UP to the precise weight of his posted handicap exactly on April 5, they'll weight the horse down with little lead weights in the weight-cloth, and that's less desirable. Killie's living weight is a perfect counterbalance to the horse and its movements, and he can adjust it reflexively. Lead weights are heavy, dead weight, and more tiring to run with. It's a whole thing.

He's stressing.

So you have won him one egg with yolk in. Good job.

There are 11 days left in March and 16-ish before the Grand National.

Do you think you could possibly manage another??

#killie #eggs for killie

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leashybebes · 5 hours ago

Note

However— well, is Tommy a reliable narrator to himself? Sure, Eddie basically stopped talking to him, but what about Tommy? Did he also delay replying to the 118 so that the time between messages stretched out? Did he think they were only trying to be nice by keeping in touch with their teammates’ ex (never mind that he was Hen and Howie’s teammate first) and he’d prefer to not have their ‘pity’ and cut them off (again)? Did he cut them off preemptively and doesn’t see it that way because if he did then he’d have to also face the fact that he’s a little messed up? We probably don’t have time for them to delve into all of this on screen but it’s interesting to chew on. For reasons.

(Chim gets a pass for the post-throat slashing time of no contact because he was… let’s say preoccupied.)

oh 100% hang on let me get my coffee

okay, SO. mr unreliable narrator over here, mr enjoy it while it lasts, is never going to be the one with the full picture, because he sets it up that way - intentional or not, i feel like tommy is someone who has his view of the world and his role in it and just quietly, fatalistically makes that happen.

so i can totally see a world where no one from the 118 reaches out, full stop. but, y'know, phones work both ways, thomas. BUT. for tommy, that's buck's family. they're buck's people. (and look, my wife has a much closer relationship with her family than i do, and a much larger circle of friends, and it took me WAY longer than six months to start feeling like they were our people, not her people i got to hang out with through her.)

we know that tommy's a jealous guy, and we also get the sense that he's pretty fatalistic, so if no one reaches out, i can see that landing for him as "well, obviously. they never really wanted me around, of course i was never gonna be part of that" and just exacerbating his envy, but also his sense that that chapter of his life is Over Now. i can see the lack of contact from hen and chim actually not stinging that much (or tommy telling himself it doesn't sting that much, genuinely believing that, my king of unexamined feelings) because they're not friends, right? chim calls him when he needs a favour, but they're not close. he's not on hen's christmas card list (and that's genuinely fine, i mean zero shade to anyone involved here. they were friends by the time he left the 118 but for all we know they were mostly or entirely work friends). so i can see his internal monologue about that, his confirmed belief being 'well, hell, i wasn't enough for them to want around on my own merits before, why would i be now'. (again, this is not shade on hen or chim. phones work both ways and my special little guy is fucked in the head.)

eddie's gotta sting a little more because they were friends, right? actual friends. but if we're taking tommy at face value, then we have to assume he feels some kinda way about being friends with eddie once he and buck are together. i don't think he actually thinks anything is happening/has happened/will happen with buck and eddie, but we do get this delicious hint with that little scoff about eddie's straightness that maybe tommy has experience of that queer classic - losing years of your life being besotted with your ride or die straight bestie (sal!!!! but uh. that's a separate post.).

i lost my thought. wait. okay, so i think one of the fundamental mismatches is that for six months buck was in an x-rated rom-com and tommy was navigating something unbelievably fucking complicated because talking? communicating? who does that when you can just make up a scenario and stick to it like your life depends on it. (worth noting there's no way that scenario ends well for him, but uh, that's why i love him. go listen to settle for me from crazy ex girlfriend lol)

i can ALSO see the other part of what you said. tommy says eddie 'pretty much' or 'basically' (can't remember the wording right now and not in a position to check) stopped talking to him which does leave room for some contact. (it could also be read as a kind of deflection of the ouch of it all but ymmv.) so i can see a world where eddie sends a 'man wtf happened?' message which...tommy's not going to reply to that. he's just not. but changing the subject immediately is too obvious so he has to wait a while to say something innocuous, and it just kind of fizzles out.

whatever happens, whether it was zero contact or intermittent, declining contact, my special little guy, my world champion runner, my sad sad man was 100% thinking 'yeah, that tracks'. we definitely don't have time for the show to delve into that, and honestly it's not really that kind of show so i wouldn't expect it, but rest assured i am C H E W I N G

#bucktommy #911 spoilers #tommy kinard #blorbo of all time #leashy yaps #<- boy does she ever. girl shut up #thinking about tommy kinard hours again #aka i'm awake!

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foreverisntenough · 2 days ago

Text

I’m Back.

I needed to step away—to breathe, to mend, to remember why I started this in the first place. A blog like this, built from passion, imagination, and love, should never be a source of pain. And yet, it became one. Words may not leave bruises, but they can cut deep. They left wounds I wasn’t sure how to heal in a moment. This absence may have felt short to some of you, long to others, but it's what I needed.

Re: last update

But here’s the truth: I love what I do. I love crafting stories, weaving emotions into words, and building worlds for us to escape into. I love the discussions, the wild theories, the laughter over delusions, the shared love for footballers, tropes of romance, and creativity. This space was never just mine—it was ours. And though cruelty tried to take that away from me, I refuse to let it.

You can't imagine (well maybe some of you could) what my inbox looked like and I refuse to share it because I don't want that type of negativity on Forever Isn't Enough. That is not my blog. That is not me. And that is not us who exist here because I am not me without you all. I love the real community - not the anonymity hiding behind aggression, racism, threats, and hate - but the real one that never have to unanimously agree but aways will listen and read with openness.

Hate does not define me. But I am not made of stone. Behind the screen, beyond the pretty words, I am a person—just like you, and I hope that everyone who reads this remembers that. That every tumblr account, anon or with a username, is a human being. I’m returning not as a puppet but as ‘Fie’, a writer, hoping that those who are still here will want to find our way back to what this was meant to be: a place of joy, of connection, of creativity without cruelty.

I love this community and the connection we’ve built - silly pretty boys aside. I want to share, laugh, cry, and discuss with all of you again— to enter these fictional worlds but with respect and empathy.

So, to the ones who have stood by me, to the ones who have sent kindness when I needed it most—thank you. Your love has always meant more than the noise. You remind me why I love doing this, being here. Why I began sharing my deluded fictional tales of romances with footballers. Why I love each of you enough to share my imagination with.

If my stories are not for you, that’s okay. But please, do not try to take them from me. Simply walk away.

For those who remain—I’m here, I’m writing, and I’m ready to share again. I’m ready to let the light back in through the aperture of my blog and to get lost in the beautiful, messy world of fan fiction again.

FIE xx

[i'm going to open my inbox to post my responses to all the wonderful messages I've received in the past few days. I apologize for the spam but each one was everything I needed.]

#trent alexander arnold #foreverisntenouch #love for all of you that have loved fie

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m00nkissedlover · 2 days ago

Text

・｡Love Through Food🥘

You've ordered: a spiced cardamom tart! enjoy!

"Just the thought of not being alone gets me through"

Jamil Viper x reader | word count: 748 words

Summary: after hearing that you're not eating enough for Iftar, Jamil takes matters into his own hands 🥘 (short little drabble that i spent way too much time on-)

Warnings: reader is yuu, other than that, none!

Note: finally finished this! writer's block sucks 🫠 inspired by this post i made, encouraged to write this by @multifandom-milktea-simp 's comment on said post. can't believe there's only 10 days left T-T Ramadan Mubarak!! 🌙

Ramadan was a hell of a lot harder this year. Or at least that's what your friends thought. Not only did you have to not eat for practically the entire day, you were constantly stressed with whatever absolute bullshit Crowley made you deal with. They just didn't know how you did it.

"So, you really don't eat all day?!" Grim exclaimed, currently chowing down on a can of tuna you got him.

"Nope. I mean, I've been doing this since I was what? Ten years old?" You replied, using the extra time to do some homework.

"Jeez, I could never." the cat like creature mumbled, licking his paws.

"It doesn't seem all that complicated, Grim." You turned around at the sound of the familiar voice. And there he stood.

Jamil Viper, vice housewarden of the Scarabia dorm...and your boyfriend.

"How's the fasting going? Are you eating well when you break your fast?"

For your Iftars, you would usually just have Ace and Deuce take extra portions of food during lunch and keep them for you until sunset. You'd take the food to Ramshackle and try to turn the leftovers into something filling.

"Mhm. I usually find something to eat. Sometimes, I cook for myself and Grim in Ramshackle." you said, not wanting to worry him.

"Really? Good, good...You know..." Jamil began, glancing up at you. "I could always cook Iftar for you. It not a big deal."

"No, it's fine. Really. You already have so much on your plate..." you muttered, Jamil frowning a bit.

You didn't want to bother asking him to cook for you since he already had to do so for Kalim. But when he overheard from the Heartslabyul duo that you were basically eating whatever meatless food items they brought, it just didn't sit right with him.

"Are you sure? I can always-"

You placed a hand on top of Jamil's, gently patting his hand while giving him a reassuring smile as you stood up.

"I'm positive. My class is about to start. I'll see you later. Come on, Grim."

And with that, he watched as you left the cafeteria, a nagging feeling gnawing at him.

Even though you told him you were eating okay, he couldn't help but worry, causing him to take matters into his own hands.

The smell of various herbs and spices filled you and Grim's senses as you two made your way into Ramshackle that night. You didn't remember ever cooking anything. Maybe the ghosts made it.

As you stepped into the living area, your jaws dropped. On the table was a lavish spread of mouthwatering foods: roasted and spiced meats, sautéed vegetables, rice and beans, a pot full of curry, and various sweets. And of course pitchers of freshly squeezed juices.

And who stood at the head of the table with a smile on his lips? The one and only: Jamil Viper.

"Jamil, you..." You were so awestruck by the display, feeling your heart swell with affection. "When did you do all of this?"

"Who cares? Let's eat!" Grim exclaimed, rushing over to the table, only to be stopped by one of the Ramshackle ghosts.

You turned your attention back to Jamil, who reached out and cupped your face in his hands.

"You've been working so hard and fasting everyday at that. You only deserve the best for your Iftar, no more cafeteria food." he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Thank you, Jamil. Really, thank you so much. I...I don't know how to repay you..." you muttered, placing your hands on top of his.

"There's no need. Seeing the look on your face as you enjoy my food is enough for me. Now come, let's eat." Jamil hummed, pulling away and pulling out a chair for you.

"About time!" Grim yelped, scampering into his seat and beginning to stuff himself silly.

"Grim! Slow down, you'll choke!" you chuckled, the cat like creature not minding your words as he grabbed another lamb skewer.

As you began to eat, your eyes widened, taste buds bombarded with various spices and herbs and sauces. It all left you speechless, your reaction being a thumbs up and a frantic nodding of your head.

Jamil was over the moon that you liked his food. Seeing you eat well after studying and fasting all day set his mind at ease, his hands moving to hold your empty one.

This was by far the best Iftar (and the best Ramadan) you'd ever had. 🥘

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 2 days ago

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Teaching is hard work.

Pairing: Tess Servopoulos x f!reader Rating: +18, MDNI, NSFW Words count: 3282 Summary: You ask your neighbor Tess for help because you’re about to meet your online crush, will it remain only a friendly help? Tags: AU, no outbreak, No Joel this time, queen Tess deserves her own moment to shine. This has been sitting in my drafts for at least two months, I finally finished it today and I'm going to post it immediately before thinking about it for another two months. Written for people who fancy women so it’s especially dedicated to my bi, lesbian and pan friends along with anyone of you who knows women are meant to be worshipped. If this is not for you, it's okay, I'll write something else sooner or later. WLW sex, WLW nsfw, oral (f! receiving), nipples play, scissoring, swearing, dirty talk, unspecified age gap (Tess is a little bit older than you), neighbor!Tess, bi!reader and bi!Tess, mention of Tess's son (alive and well in this), reader has barely no description, she has female genitalia and is slightly described to be a little curvy if you squint, switching pov, no proofreading, no beta, we're going down with this ship, I'm very sorry for any mistake. Let me know if you think I forgot some major tag and I'll add it right away. Thanks to anyone who will read, I really hope you'll like it. Comments and reblog are always appreciated ❤️

“So you want me to teach you how to pleasure a woman?”

Tess couldn’t believe her ears when you blurted out that, in the middle of her living room on a casual Saturday.

Jesus, you were her son’s babysitter and yes, you became friends with time but you never had such an intimate conversation, of course not.

What led you to ask her for advice?

“I met a girl online” you candidly admitted “And I like her so much but I…I’ve never been with a girl before and she asked me to visit her and…I don’t know, Tess, I’m scared of making a fool of myself”

Your voice was high pitched, anxious, a chirping sound like the cutest bird.

You were so sweet, all embarrassed looking at your shoes. You had never looked so awkward before. She had known you for some years now, ever since you started going around the neighborhood knocking on doors and offering to babysit for extra money.

You were skilled, kind and patient with her son, you always seemed to know what others needed before they told you.

That's why she was surprised to see you like this.

“Hey” she tried to say “It’s okay, you know, you’re actually right, being with a girl is different”

“How?” You asked, eyes wide, eager to learn.

She sighed and finally accepted her role as a mentor “Well, boys are quite easy to please, you know? You’ve been with them, right?”

She remembered Scott and Jeff and Robert and Luke after them, you’ve been quite successful in your college years.

All of them had come to pick you up from her house sooner or later.

You nodded “yeah.”

“With a girl, you gotta be focused on her, you gotta be sure to really listen to what she wants”

Tess had experience, she dated girls before and you know that, she never made her bisexuality a secret, despite what her older neighbors think.

It’s their problem, Tess doesn’t care a bit.

Her boyfriend was out of the picture as soon as she got pregnant, the bastard, at your age she was a single woman just trying to do her best for her son and she wouldn’t let anyone to make her feel guilty because she tried to have fun once in a while.

She saw you panicking, probably thinking you were not good enough and she tried to reassure you right away:

“Hey, you can do that, don’t worry.” She said, lacing her hand on you thigh “no need to be that nervous”

You sighed “okay, but how I make sure to touch her the right way?”

Your puppy eyes were almost too much to bear with, Tess felt a pang in her stomach.

“Just…show me, please” you exhaled.

Tess wasn’t sure what you were asking for but she tried to somehow make it clear for you.

“Well, uhm… try this, you go in really slowly with your index finger and curl it like this” her finger was suspended in the air in front of you “and then you do this” Tess explained, repeatedly tapping at nothing, rhythmically moving the second phalanx “see? You really have to make sure to reach that spongy spot inside her and tickling it. You’ll see she’s going to see heaven if you do this”

She smiled, stroking your arm, trying to give you comfort.

“Oh, yes, that’s basically the same I do when I…uhm…you know” you murmured.

“Yes, exactly. You’ve done this before to yourself, there’s no way you could do this wrong. And then maybe you could add another finger if she’s fine with that”

“Okay. Yeah, but…” you lowered your eyes again seeming uncertain, on the verge of asking something that really made you uncomfortable.

“Every person is different, how can I be sure that what I do to myself is fine for another woman?”

Tess held her breath, you were basically asking for a practical demonstration.

That’s what you were doing, right?

“Do you want me to show you?” She couldn’t believe what she just said.

What the hell was happening?

“I…yeah.” You admitted shyly “I don’t know how to use my tongue either” Tess winced, shifting on the couch like it was suddenly uncomfortable.

“What?”

“Please” you cried “I don’t want for this girl to think I’m a dumbass. I want to make sure to give her the time of her life and I don’t have anyone else to ask for help”

“Fuck” she muttered “I can’t dear, I mean, come on”

“I wouldn’t ask if I had other options. I’m running out of time, I’m supposed to visit her next weekend… please Tess?”

Tess was torn, she always found you cute but you were younger than her and basically her employer.

“This is so fucked up” she retorted

“I know” you whined, your eyes full of tears, you really were that desperate to make a good impression towards that girl.

“Okay” she sighed “but that doesn’t mean anything, alright? I’m going to show you just because you need to learn. No strings attached and this is not going to happen again.”

“Hopefully I’ll have a girlfriend next week so” you shrugged “don’t worry, I want nothing more than to be good for her”

You crossed your fingers and smiled a little and Tess’ heart melted.

You were so sweet.

Good thing her son was at an arranged playdate and the other mom wouldn’t drop him before 7pm.

You had some time.

“Let’s go to my bedroom”

She took your hand and led you through the corridor.

“Sit here” she gestured her king size bed.

You did and she looked at you for a moment.

“Okay then. First thing, we need to get comfortable.”

She sat on the edge, next to you.

“Is it okay if I put my hand on your hip?”

You nodded. ‘Sure.’

She slid her fingers along the waistband of your jeans and lingered on the softness of your side.

Curvy and lovely, your skin poking between your shirt and your pants was velvet under her digits.

Your breath hitched and you quivered a little bit.

“Relax” she whispered, raising her hand to your breast “it’s going to be okay”

“Now, what’s important is the built up, even more important than the act itself because you wanna make sure to really engrain in her brain that she needs you more than anything and you’ll be the one giving her the most incredible pleasure, do you get me?”

You nodded.

“Okay, so, you really have to go for foreplay first. Caress her, and be gentle at first. Create anticipation, make her want you to do more and more. Take your time, make her feel like you’re enjoying every inch of her body”

She had taken your breasts in her hand, marveling at how they perfectly filled her palms. You had let out a sigh as she whispered to you “would you take your shirt off, darling?”

With your consent, she had taken the lower edge and helped you remove it from your head.

Your breasts were embraced by a black lace balconette bra, almost risking to spill out as they stood before her eyes.

Soft and beautiful, that’s what you were.

She took back one of your tits in her hand and gently brushed your nipple through the fabric.

It stiffen immediately and Tess couldn’t help but licking her lower lip.

You mewl, eyes fixed on hers.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yeah” you purred starting to relax under her touch.

“Do that to her and you’ll see, she’ll be clay in your hands” she smiled and you smiled back, the most lovely smirk she had ever seen.

“Okay” you breathe and you don’t even seem embarrassed anymore but eager.

“Do you mind taking this off too?”

“No” You unhooked your bra like you weren't even thinking anymore, she helped you by sliding the straps down your arms and tossing it to the side on the bed.

Your naked breasts took her breath away. They were perfect, round, your skin smelled like heaven, your nipples were stiffen and delicious in front of her eyes.

Saliva pooling in her mouth, she felt a jolt in her spine, an invisible force driving her to latch her lips on them and stay there sucking and nibbling.

She tried to keep her thinking straight, she had to teach you, what about that stupid arousal invading her entire body?

So fucking wrong.

“Now, what you have to do is make sure to take care of her tits. A little nipple play is always good, you know? Do you play with your tits, baby?”

“Yeah” you shamelessly admitted “every time. It makes me real wet”

Tess smiled. You were so much better than you thought.

“Good. Now playing with her could be slightly different ‘cause you don’t know how much pressure does she likes when you grab them in your hands or if she likes her nipples to be tugged or twisted or anything. So you gotta ask nicely, okay?”

You swallowed and nodded, eyes focused on her.

And then you asked “how do you do that?”

Tess felt her heart stumping behind her ribcage “You want me to show you?”

That was a fucking dream. She wanted to play with your beautiful breasts the minute they were bare in front of her.

You said yes. Yes, of course.

Tess took one of them in her palm, weighed it and then lowered her lips to latch onto your hardened bud.

The way it fitted in her mouth, your velvet skin, your smell, all of it pushed her deeply into her lust.

Jesus, you were so damn hot and inviting,

She wasn’t expecting anything like that but then you moaned at her licking your nipple, her tongue swirling on it and she lose it.

She began sucking it. Sucking it strong and willingly like she had a purpose. Purpose of making you squirm real bad underneath her.

A fresh slick of arousal dampen her panties, immediately followed by adrenaline rushing to her head.

“Fuck” you groaned “Tess this is so… damn”

She smirked on your skin, your nipple still trapped between her teeth.

She pulled it and saw your eyes glossy and your lips forming a big o and she knew it.

You were losing it too.

She moved to the other breast, feeling you eagerly push it into her mouth like you couldn’t wait.

She teased and lick and sucked, swirling her tongue around your areola feeling like she was starved eating your tits like her last meal, wishing for you to come from just that.

You moaned again, praising her, burying your hand in her hair.

“Fuck, I wish I was good like you at doing this”

She parted from you whispering on your skin “you are babe, I’m sure you can do exactly the same or even better. She’s going to be so smitten with you. Wanna try? I’m going to be sincere and tell you if you’re doing it right”

You hesitated for a moment before saying, “Maybe later, I'd like you to show me how to eat pussy first.” You lowered your eyes in intimidation, looking at your erect nipples coated in Tess' saliva, letting out a long sigh.

Tess looked at you chuckling, and ran her knuckles across your cheek “as you wish, young lady. Lay down”

_________________________________

The room was silent, the bed soft and comfortable, it smelled of fabric softener and Tess' perfume, a fragrance of apple, jasmine and vanilla, with a hint of raspberry and lychee that made you think of summer, sunny days, fairs. You had never smelled anything like it, it was persistent but not annoying and it announced her presence as soon as she entered a room.

It was original and had personality, just like her.

Everything was bathed in a comfortable semi-darkness even though it was afternoon. The curtains were drawn and the sun only just managed to enter, refracting on the floor in long golden streaks and reflecting on the large mirror hanging above the dresser.

Tess lowered herself onto your body, starting at your neck, planting little kisses on your skin, slowly moving down to your chest, to the cleft between your breasts, to your stomach, further and further down until she reached the elastic of your panties. She gently ran her tongue over them, teasing you, never taking her eyes off your face.

You had always admired Tess, how she faced life with courage, how she had made her way from nothing and built a future for her son.

The free way in which she lived her sexuality was something else you admired about her.

She was gorgeous and exuded an impossible to miss charisma, the aura of a natural leader.

A brown-haired goddess between your thighs.

Tess's lips landed on your panties, just above your clit, her tongue darting between them for just a moment and making you gasp.

“Do you like it, babe?” She asked softly.

“Yeah” you replied under your breath.

“Look, eating pussy you gotta pay attention to all her reactions, if you see that she likes something you are doing, don't stop and start doing something else. Stay on that point for a while. Make her feel like pleasing her is truly your mission. Worshipping her will lead you to success”

She licked a long strip from the bottom up, over the fabric, and you gasped, clasping one hand in her hair, arching your back, silently begging for more friction. “Like right now, for example, I can see that you like this. So I'll do it again and again, until you beg me to fuck you.”

Staring straight into your eyes, she said, “Is this what you want? You want my fingers deep inside your tight pussy, don't you?”

You nodded. Yeah. It all started because you needed someone to explain things to you, someone to make you feel less of a dork, but at that moment Tess, disheveled and ferine like a wildcat between your legs with her hazel eyes fixed on you, was all you could think about.

And she was right.

You wanted more.

You wanted everything.

Another lick made you tingle, and you saw a mischievous smile spread across her face in spite of herself.

“Please” you whined. “Please what, baby?”

Her tongue traced the contours of your lips, occasionally sinking between them, always through your now-soaked panties.

“Take off my panties” you said with barely any strength.

Your head was light, dizzy, a jumble of feelings stirred in your chest.

Tess smiled, her fingers grasped the sides of your panties and slowly pulled them down to your ankles, then tossed them onto the floor.

“Someone is hungry, huh? Look at that messy pussy. She’s weeping. It’s all for me or you’re thinking about that other girl?”

“I…i don’t know” you tried to say.

Tess raised an eyebrow, wryly looking at you: “Oh, you don't know? Really? I guess your kitty knows better”

She leaned over your clit, sucking it between her lips. Hard.

You let out a loud moan, unable to control yourself, pulling Tess's hair so hard that you were afraid you'd pull out a lock.

“Oh yes, baby, I've always liked it rough” she whispered, before latching again on your clit giving you no respite.

You were so wet that her fingers easily entered you. Tess did exactly as she had explained to you a little earlier, curving them inside you until she reached that soft spot that made you see stars, and she began to thrust her fingers there.

And it worked. Exactly like she said. Better than anything any boy had ever done to you.

She continued to suck your clit, alternating with licks that made you tense up like a violin string, you could feel the sweat sliding down your spine. It was like she was making out with your cunt.

Her steady hands on your thighs held you obscenely open for her to feast on you.

Your pussy was crying out to be rammed by her mouth, more and more.

You bit your lip to hold back but your body betrayed you in every way.

“C'mon, baby, just let go.” She urged.

You could no longer hide it or pull back, she was driving you crazy.

“Fuck” you wailed.

“Yeah, I know” she cooed “It feels good. And you taste amazing, you know that? Let me tell you, if that girl doesn't want to eat your pussy every day of her life, she's really stupid.”

Your orgasm suddenly washed over you, like waves dragging you away, your eyes closed, and a long hoarse cry that came from the back of your throat.

Tess continued to eat you until she felt you relax, finally breathing normally. You opened your eyes to see her again between your legs, her chin soaked with your essence, her lips glossy and swollen.

She looked like she wasn't finished with you yet.

“You know, there's something else I can teach you”

You stared at her, wide-eyed. “What?”

The girl you'd met online had definitely unlocked something inside you, but you were no longer sure that you needed Tess just for her advice. Maybe there was more to it. Maybe, at that moment, she was giving you what you'd always wanted and kept secret even from yourself.

“Have you ever tried scissoring?”

“No” you purred shyly.

“While we're at it, we'll fix this too”

Tess winked at you, before quickly taking off her leggings and panties. You could just about see them, plain black panties with a thin lace trim.

Her pussy was right in front of your eyes, and it was exactly as you had imagined. Almost completely shaved, with the exception of a thin strip in the center, carefully trimmed.

Perfect outie pussy.

A trickle of her desire wet her lips and you instinctively licked yours.

She sat down between your thighs, maneuvering you like a doll, one of her legs on top of yours.

You knew it was over for you the moment your clits kissed.

A lewd, wet kiss.

She started to buck her hips into you. Slowly at first, making you savor the gliding, her hand firmly on your thigh.

It was a feeling you had never experienced before, a wetness you had never felt before, the sensation of your lips touching, of your clits sliding over each other, it made your head spin.

You too began to move your hips without even realizing it, writhing against her, feeling that all you wanted was to give her pleasure, make her come against you, and end up drenched in her juices.

The obscene squelching of your clashing cunts filled the room, bouncing off the walls, you bit your lips but you wanted to scream.

Scream for her.

“Tess” you stuttered with a throaty voice you’ve never heard coming out of you before.

And then you started repeating her name like a litany.

“Yeah baby, just like that. Keep going, give it all to me” she moaned.

You both ended up sweating and roaring at each other like some feral animals.

It ended all too soon, your second orgasm crushing on you like an earthquake, leaving you quivering and exhausted.

You lied on the bed trying to regain a normal breath while Tess collapsed on the opposite side, overcome by her pleasure.

“Fuck” she muttered “teaching is really hard work”

You laughed.

She approached you, leaving a kiss on your cheek. “Do you think you're ready now?”

You smiled tenderly “I think I've never been so ready in my life, thanks to you”

taglist (no pressure at all): @aurorawritestoescape , @baronessvonglitter , @milla-frenchy, @joelmillerisapunk , @probablyreadinsmut , @almostempty , @harriedandharassed , @thundermartini

#tess servopoulos #tess the last of us #tess x female reader #tess x f!reader #tess servopoulos x f!reader #tess tlou #the last of us #the last of us fic #wlw fiction

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deadrobinthoughts · 2 days ago

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⚠︎ autopsy : jason, roy.

⋆˙⟡ "I don't want you to look at me and see death."

⋆˙⟡ request: i was given free reign on a jayroy as long as it could include jason's autospy scars. so, 50/50 ↦ kalico note: this is a rated post that contains adult material - please respect my rules of interaction before you get blocked. + i know my ass is gonna get bullied after this so catch me going m.i.a. probably in hell for poor writing and this attempt.

jason todd was good at pretending. roy knew that. you knew it.

confidence dripped off jason like rainwater from gotham’s rooftops. every smirk, every sarcastic comment, every roll of his eyes - it was second nature to him.

roy always knew better, because he'd been there to see when that confidence slipped.

that night, laughter echoed through the apartment as roy’s lips found yours, playful as always. it didn't take long for the teasing kisses to became deeper, urgent enough to have you tugging roy toward the bedroom, still smiling into each other's mouths.

jason was trailing behind, arms crossed. he admired how easily you moved with roy, like you'd known no one else in such a way.

in the bedroom, you laughed as you tumbled onto the sheets, pulling roy with you. his fingers ghosted along your sides, sliding under the edges of your shirt to push it up and off your frame. comfortable warmth filled the room as you reached up, pulling his shirt off next, eager to touch more skin; to feel his heartbeat beneath your palm.

your gaze only left roy for a moment to glance at jason, lingering by the end of the bed. he was content to overserve you, you knew that, but something in you was aching to reach for him. to pull him down to and drown him in the same love already on display.

you couldn't help yourself when you slipped from roy's hold and crawled toward him, letting out soft breaths as you knelt at the edge of the bed, reaching out to catch the hem of his shirt, tugging in silent question.

his hands flew to yours, never rough but firm, stopping your attempt.

“jay?” you mumbled, confusion clear on your features. you tilted your head slightly, seeking his eyes. they darted away quickly, avoiding your searching gaze.

it was nothing new for the three of you - intimacy - but jason had a habit of dipping out when it involved the bedroom. you expected his response.

"i’m-" he cleared his throat, voice strained, "i’m not really feeling it tonight."

expecting it or not didn't change that it hurt, your hands falling into your lap as your heart sank. he took a step back, sighing in a way that was supposed to be an apology, before leaving the room.

the warmth that had filled your chest only seconds ago shifted into a cold emptiness, the weight of rejection suddenly heavy. you exhaled shakily, feeling strangely vulnerable as you sat there, bare-chested and wondering if you'd done something wrong.

you heard roy as he sighed, shifting behind you, his chest pressing to your back, arms circling your waist gently as he rested his forehead on your shoulder. he wasn't unfamiliar with the distress now oozing from you.

"i don't.." you began, your voice barely audible even to roy. "i don't think he wants this anymore.. or.. is it just me..?"

roy tightened his arms around you. "it’s not that," he said softly, pressing a soothing kiss to your shoulder. "it's not you. i promise."

his words didn't help, leaving you questioning more than you already had. they had known each other far longer but the idea of being left in the dark over something that could be putting a strain on your relationship? that wasn't settling well in your thoughts.

"then what is it?" you asked, head tipping back in attempt to see him. "he acts like he's repulsed when i try to do certain things.. we've never even had sex in our bed, roy. it's actually just.. starting to make me feel cheap."

"he's self conscious."

your brows furrowed because 'jason' and 'self conscious' didn't fit in the same sentence. "self conscious? what could he possibly be self conscious about? it's not like i haven't made it clear that i love him, all of him.. ”

roy nodded, knowing there wasn't a way to ease your anxiety. not without potentially making things worse.

you, on the other hand, weren't just going to let it go. "can you just tell me? please..? if it's something i can fix-"

"it's not something that can be fixed, not how you're thinking." roy hesitated, debating between what to say. the only option made his insides twist with guilt. "it’s nothing like that, sweetheart," roy murmured, breath warm against your skin. "it’s…the autopsy scars."

he regretted it the moment the words left him, knowing he'd betrayed a promise to one of the only people who seemed to trust him, but he would deal with that another time.

"autopsy scars?" you echoed.

roy nodded slowly, knowing you didn't need an explanation. he could see it, the way the gears were turning, how you were piecing everything together. and god, he could see the guilt as it spilled into your eyes.

not once had you even let the thought cross your mind. every time you'd been with him - the places, the positions - it was all making sense in a way that made you sick to your stomach. he was hiding the most damaged part of himself; a part he didn't trust you with.

your vision blurred and your jaw ached, trying to process it all. "he thinks.. no, he doesn't trust that i would still love him if i saw them..?"

roy pressed his lips softly to your shoulder again, like it was going to help or ease you. it hadn't worked the first time and it wasn't working then, either. "jason doesn't want to be seen as a damaged man, you know that."

damaged. you'd heard the word too many times when you met him, when you first started dating but never really noticed the weight it carried. you knew he had insecurities, knew he thought about how the world viewed him. but for it to run so deep that he kept you at such a length? it wasn't even guilt anymore.

you had to change it.

bringing your hands up to wipe away the few tears that managed to fall, you took a deep breath and looked at roy, eyes flickering with a plea of understanding. "i have to go talk to him.."

you knew he wasn't going to stop you, not when he understood too well. he just pressed a final kiss to your cheek and pulled his arms back, making a shooing motion with his hand. "yeah, go talk to him."

you rose the bed, pulling your shirt back on, and went out to find jason. it wasn't a very hard task as he was on the couch, elbows on his knees as he buried his face in his hands. frowning to yourself, you quietly made your way over, reaching to just barely nudge his shoulder.

he flinched at the touch, causing you to yank your hand back.

"jason," you whispered, voice trembling, "please.. don't run from me."

he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut as he straightened, hands falling. "roy told you."

"yeah, he did." you shifted to step closer, keeping your gaze on his own as you reached out, fingertips brushing over his cheek. "why didn't you tell me..?"

he laughed bitterly, gaze distant. "because the moment you see them, you'll only see them. i don't want you to look at me and see death," he began, the pain evident in his voice, "someone who was cut open. gone. i didn't want you to see those things."

you shook your head before leaning close, pressing your forehead to his. "is it so different than me knowing what i do? i've accepted everything else. why wouldn't i accept those, too?"

"i just couldn’t stand the thought of losing you," he admitted, finally. "if you looked at me differently, treated me differently-"

"hey, i would never. you're mine, remember?" you said firmly. "i didn't sign up just for the good, i don't love you just for the easy parts. i'm not here to love you in pieces, jason, i'm here because i love you entirely. all of it. even the things you hate the most."

he swallowed, throat tight, eyes filling with something you'd never seen from him before. something scared. he was hesitant, his thoughts fighting over whether he was ready or not. but keeping things from you felt like running the risk of losing you anyway.

his fingers curled into the hem of his shirt and he leaned forward, just enough to tug the material over his head, dropping it on the couch with a deep sigh.

the moonlight that spilled in from the windows highlighted over the faded scars. your heart tightened, not in horror or revulsion, but in love; in overwhelming tenderness. it was just another thing for you to love when it came to him and you wasted no time.

your fingers reached out, barely ghosting over his skin before carefully tracing against the edge of the scar. "you're beautiful," you whispered, "even more so than before."

any other time he would have rolled his eyes and brushed you off, not accepting the compliment. this time, he didn't really have a choice but to accept.

you didn't have a chance to say anything else before his arms were wrapping around your waist, tight, like you may simply disappear. his face pressed gently against your sternum, the quiet beat of your heart grounding him in a way nothing else was capable of. your fingers threaded through his hair, letting him hold you.

for a moment, he just stayed there, pressed against you, breathing you in. it was rare for him to allow himself that vulnerability, to trust someone enough to handle his scars and his past. very few people were let so close.

slowly, you shifted, pulling back just enough to cup his jaw, tipping his head back to meet your eyes. he gazed up at you, and to your surprise, his eyes were glossy. you weren't entirely sure how to react at first, the idea of him falling apart in such a way wasn't something you'd ever witnessed; you did the only thing you could think of.

you kissed him. slow, gentle, full of care.

when you pulled away this time, your thumb brushed his lower lip before your hand dropped to his shoulder, gently nudging him back against the couch. he hesitated before sinking back, uncertainty clear in his features as he watched you.

your hands moved slowly, deliberately, ensuring each motion communicated your intentions clearly, like too fast of a motion would have him moving away. jason's breath hitched slightly as you knelt down between his legs, your gaze never leaving his.

roy found himself by doorway, watching silently, support radiating from him like warmth from embers; his favorite thing in the world was seeing his two people being okay. you glanced briefly at roy, offering a reassuring smile before turning your full attention back to jason.

it took everything in him not to shoot you two thumbs up. talk about a mood killer.

your hands settled on jason's thighs and you leaned forward, letting your nose brush along the length of his neck before pressing a gentle kiss against his pulse, feeling his heartbeat flutter. his eyes slid shut, his head tipping back against the couch, breath catching at the unexpected tenderness.

your lips continued their slow exploration, trailing kisses down along his shoulder, ghosting over his collarbone, mapping out each sensitive spot to leave tiny marks. jason shivered beneath your touch, muscles contracting then relaxing beneath your fingertips.

you moved with a slowness that ensured each kiss conveyed the depth of your affection.

then, slowly, your lips found the scars he'd hidden from you. the pale marks tracing down his chest, stark evidence of wounds once inflicted by unfeeling hands. you pressed reverent kisses down each forked line, making your way downward, following the shape of the scars with a gentleness that almost made him want to weep.

jason exhaled shakily, eyes opening enough to see you, clouded with something new. his hands moved hesitantly, fingers grazing your hair. following the distinctive 'y' shape that marked his skin, your lips warm against the sensitive flesh of his abdomen, tracing carefully toward his waistline.

with a glance toward roy, who still stood quietly at the side, you beckoned him over, silently inviting him to join. he moved immediately and claimed the spot beside jason, gently nosing at his neck. jason released a shaky breath, visibly relaxing beneath the dual sensation of roy’s soft kisses and your attentive touch.

your fingers moved down, carefully undoing jason’s belt and pants, easing them from his hips. he didn't fight the action, just cleared his throat.

"you guys don't have to do this." there was insecurity in his tone, something roy completely ignored when he responded;

"since when do you have a problem getting your co-"

"roy-"

you rolled your eyes, biting back a chuckle at the words, thankful that they cut at least a tiny bit of the tension. the red-head didn't retract his comment, letting his hand lower to slide along the straight end of the scar. "we aren't doing it because we have to," he mumbled, offering a playful nip to the end of jason's jaw.

you nodded, placing another affectionate kiss against jason’s lower abdomen. "we're doing it because we want to. just relax, okay?"

he swallowed hard, eyes searching yours briefly before he nodded, giving you both his silent trust.

with the slightest shift of his hips, you eased his boxers down, freeing his cock from the confines with a faint, satisfied hum. jason’s breathing hitched noticeably, body trembling faintly with anticipation and the cool air hitting warm skin.

roy was the first to touch, fingers wrapping around him carefully while his lips pressed to his ear, whispering something you couldn't make out. jason groaned in response, brows pulling together.

you were about to ask, wanting to tease, but you were met with roy looking down at you, hand having shifted just enough, as if offering jason to you. the whispers made sense at that action alone.

the arm roy had on the back of the couch shifted and his hand lowered, touching jason's jaw to get him to look at you. you weren't new to them watching you, studying your every move, but the way jason's face flushed when roy tapped the tip of his cock to your bottom lip made something in you twist.

your lips parted, tongue coming out to trace lightly against his tip, along the sensitive, slit, keeping a close eye on his reactions. it was truly a sight to see; his cheeks a soft red, lips parted to breathe easy, eyes already lidded and cloudy. it was doing nothing for your sanity or the growing discomfort between your own legs.

but, this wasn't about you.

jason’s hand moved instinctively, resting atop your head, fingers tangling gently in your hair the moment your mouth closed around him. you took your time, moving slowly, drawing him deeper inch by inch, savoring the moment. your tongue traced against the underside with each bob, paying special attention to the thick vein that ran along it's length.

roy’s quiet murmurs continued against jason’s skin, followed by open mouthed kisses and marks you knew would linger far after everything was over.

the highlight of it was? the sounds spilling from him despite his attempts to keep them to himself.

"fuck.." jason breathed, his free hand curled around roy's thigh, fingertips digging into the covered skin.

his breathing quickened, breathy sighs escaping him between curses and moans, his grip tightening slightly in your hair. your pace quickened gradually, building up with careful attention. you felt the muscles in his thighs trembling, clenching occasionally.

he gasped softly, hips shifting slightly as he forced himself to stay still. roy whispered gentle praises against his ear, hand raising to guide him into a kiss above you.

the hand in your hair shifted, pulling you closer, pressing his cock deeper against the slick warmth of your throat, earning a low groan in response. your eyes closed and your nose scrunched, throat restricting in the slightest at first.

when he finally reached the edge, his moans were ruffled against roy's mouth, come spilling hot over your tongue as you pulled back, letting it spread over the muscle before swallowing once it was only his tip at your lips.

he slumped back slightly, chest heaving, eyes dark and unmistakably, full of trust; love.

you didn't stop there, no, you took him in once more, only for a few, slow bobs of your head, milking him of his release and drawing over the pleasure of the moment as much as you could. he responded with broken sounds, hips stuttering.

roy cupped his cheek, thumb brushing over it as he placed a final kiss to the corner of his lips. "told ya, jay. letting us love you isn’t so bad."

jason exhaled with a shaky, weak chuckle. "yeah, yeah.."

once you pulled away, you climbed into jason’s lap, careful of your placement and brushed the hair away from his forehead, pressing a loving kiss to his lips. "told you we loved you."

in that moment, jason finally allowed himself believe it; to accept that he deserved this kind of tenderness, love, and devotion.

the moment didn't last, however, broken by roy's voice as he nudged you both. "soo.. back to the bedroom or do we just have to suffer so you can bask in this?"

#dc comics #dc scenarios #dc smut #smut #jason todd scenarios #jason todd x reader #jason todd #roy harper x reader #roy harper #jason todd smut #roy harper smut #mdni #18+ mdni #jayroy #jayroy x reader

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usafphantom2 · 3 days ago

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347 days left in uniform... I figure that's a good enough reason to start putting memories into writing.

19 March 2003. The history books will tell you that this is the day that Operation Iraqi Freedom kicked off, but it's a little-known fact that the war had actually begun on the night of the 18th.

Our job was to help open the western door for some highly specialized forces to conduct their missions, and that meant taking out border posts. The mission is a story unto itself, but let me start the memory train with a humorous story that kicked it all off.

We launched in complete secrecy. To the world, and all of our fighter-pilot comrades from multiple different airframes at that packed base in southern Kuwait, it was just another Southern Watch patrol. However, some of the other pilots had seen all of the base leadership file into and out of the Tigershark SCIF and knew something was up. They peppered us with questions as we donned our combat flight gear.

"What are you guys doing?"

"Just flying a Southern Watch mission, same as you."

"Liar."

We shrugged and signed out, then pre-flighted our warhorses for battle. We knew what was coming but couldn't say a word to anyone. Not even our great crew chiefs who helped us ready the mounts for flight. They'd hear the stories when we got home.

Start-up... taxi out... try not to let the anxiety burble up in your radio calls. Pull the jet into the arming area as the sun sinks below the horizon. Arming crew plugs in, and after a few minutes, a problem arises.

"Sir? We're gonna have to send you back."

"Why?"

"We've got a piece missing from your Maverick, and we can't let you go until we account for it."

"Will the missile fire?"

"Yessir, but you don't understand-- we have to account for that piece before you can fly."

"But the missile will function normally?"

"Yessir, but--"

"Listen to me very closely. Arm the missile and finish the preflight."

"But sir---"

"Arm the weapons..."

Our eyes met in the fading light. Me looking down from the cockpit and him looking up. I saw his eyes go wide as the realization sunk in. I immediately threw a finger to the front of my mouth in the "SHHHHHH!" motion. He nodded expectantly-- suddenly VERY excited. I knew that he knew what I knew: peacetime operations had just ended.

"Jet's armed up sir-- gun no limit-- good hunting!" He popped a smart salute that I returned as best I could.

It was time to fight.

Many hours later, we passed our in-flight reports to our operations desk, and the cat was completely out of the bag-- all A-10s were coming home with less ordnance than they had departed with. Operation Iraqi Freedom had begun.

As we pulled into the dearm slots at around 3:30 in the morning, our production supervisor stood facing the jets... backlit by one of the powerful light-alls on the ramp. He stood stoically, a large American Flag billowing from the pole in his left hand. It's an image I'll never forget.

As I shut down the engines and my boots hit the ramp, I asked the crew chief if this particular jet was his, and he affirmed that it was.

"Well brother, YOUR jet just brought me home from my first real combat mission!"

That young man stood up straighter and popped the best salute I've ever seen, which I returned as best as I could through exhausted arms.

@Thundercrate6 via X

#a 10 #a 10 warthog #republic aviation #gunship #fighter bomber #aircraft #usaf #aviation #cold war aircraft #gulf war aircraft #etc...

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everlastingephemera · 2 days ago

Text

the monkey-sphere | Spencer Reid

— or the one where the ephemeral comfort of alcohol cannot possibly silence your demons the way that the constancy of Spencer’s affection for you can. [Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader]

Word Count: 5K. Proof-read.

Content Warnings: FLUFF (No, really) + ANGST. SECOND-PERSON POV. No use of Y/N. Mutual pining, idiots in love (not that they’d admit it), case details, slight gore, alcohol mention, a lot of self-deprecation, vague mentions of facial features but nothing too specific, light/darkness imagery, barely any dialogue because how the fuck are writers good at that part?, written with (pre-addiction) S2/Glasses!Spencer in mind. Let me know of anything else that should be mentioned.

Author's Note: Bit the bullet and decided to start posting my writing on Tumblr after a decade of trying to master the art of writing fanfiction because nothing can satisfy the Spencer Reid brainrot like this can. This is very self-indulgent and may actually not make a lot of sense, but honestly, I feel proud of it enough to make it my first post on here. Hopefully, someone else can enjoy it just as much as I do!

You didn’t mean to drink so much.

Truth be told, you didn’t even want to be in a bar right now. Surrounded by music that was infinitely louder than your aching head could tolerate, people who were much too joyful for your liking. You were completely lost as to how the world kept spinning around, how life seemed to always go on, no matter what you’ve seen. No matter what you’ve known. It’s just what you were, you were always so lost.

But Penelope, ever so bright and charming, had insisted that a night out was exactly what the team needed after such a brutal case. It never failed to make you feel better, the lengths that she’d go to ensure that all of you managed to bounce back well enough after exceptionally tough cases. You appreciated the sentiment, were always grateful for her ability to make you smile and forget, to make you notice that the world could and did go on. Because of everything. Despite everything.

But it just wasn’t that easy all the time.

You guys had spent far too long this week examining headless corpses in rural Washington, chasing after an unsub who had managed to evade capture for more than a month. You deserved a break for being the good sports who brought him to justice. And while the team’s company had always managed to offer you that peace after such heavy cases, tonight felt different.

You had been at this long enough (almost a year now) to understand that some cases would hit harder than others. Whether it was the amount or the force of violence you were faced with, or the inevitability of empathising with the victims and their families, some parts of this job would always haunt you more. It was just the way it had to be.

And so that’s what you blamed the amount of shots you had downed on — the way things had to be. Because you didn’t know what else to blame it on, you didn’t know just what made your heart keep sinking after the case had wrapped.

While anyone would argue that six headless male bodies were more than enough reason, you were afraid that it wasn’t as simple as that. After all, in less than a year with the BAU, you had seen worse, and if Hotch’s words on your first day were any indication of it — This job takes a lot out of all of us. You’ll need a solid support system to keep strong. You’ll see things that you could have never imagined possible. — then you were always going to see worse.

It wasn’t that, it wasn’t just that. So what was it?

With your arms folded in front of you, the strong aftertaste of tequila still burning in your throat, all your mind seemed to go back to was something that Spencer had shared on the flight out to Washington. While you were all looking through the case file, scanning the details and exchanging theories on the unsub’s motive and victimology, the population of the rural town had come into focus. Discussing the unavoidable connections existing in a town of less than 2,000 people, Spencer, in true Spencer-Reid fashion, had explained that it wasn’t necessarily like that.

You could still hear his high-pitched, lively voice in your head, just like you could still picture the soft smile playing against his lips, and the enthusiasm that his tone was always laced with when he went off on one of his tangents.

There was a study conducted in the 1990s by British anthropologist Robin Dunbar in which a cognitive limit of close interpersonal relationships was suggested. He studied the brain size of primates, as well as their average group size, and then extrapolated his findings to propose that humans can comfortably maintain at most 150 stable relationships. Informally, he used the paradigm of the number of people you would not find it awkward to spend time with if you happen to casually bump into them to explain his study—

It had turned out that the monkey-sphere, as Spencer had called it, referring to a later blog entry on the theory when you’d asked him more about it during your lunch break, actually had helped you in pinning down the unsub and his MO. In a broad sense, at least. The men that he had killed and beheaded were men that he saw as threats to his already deteriorating relationship with his ex-wife and estranged son.

For all of the violence that you had so far encountered, you hadn’t become desensitised enough to mentally flinch at the lengths people would go to feel important. To ensure their place in someone’s life. Wasn’t that the curse of manhood? The need — the struggle — to resist change, to cling to any illusion of steadfastness?

But nothing lasts forever, and everything changes without notice.

That’s what it was, you settled. The fear of being dispensable. The thought of not being good enough, not special enough, to be part of a statistic. Okay, not a statistic — someone’s statistic. Someone special’s statistic.

Someone like the man standing in front of you, with those hazel doe eyes, and that honey-like voice, and an innate gentleness unlike any you had ever known before.

You hadn’t realised you’d made it out of the bar, denying the otherwise friendly bartender’s offer for another couple of shots, until the rather frigid late-February DC air hit your face.

You were fiddling with your phone inside your coat’s pocket, shifting your weight uncomfortably in a failed attempt to warm yourself up, rushing to send a text announcing your early departure Penelope’s way, when a familiar voice caught your attention.

“Sorry. Yeah, excuse me, I’m sorry—Hey!” You turned around once your name was called, coming face to face with none other than Spencer, who was exhaling heavily and dusting off his signature black coat from the heavy bar air still lingering on it.

“Spencer?” Your brow furrowed in confusion, a faint, rather tipsy smile present on your face as you watched him fix his glasses, “I thought you’d gone home already.”

“I—Yeah, I was going to, but then Morgan challenged me to play darts with him, and when I kept winning—“ Of course he did, you thought, head slightly tilted to the left as you tried to follow his every word, “—I had to come to the bar to get the drinks that he lost in the bet, that’s when I… when I, uh, saw you trying to leave, and…”

He trailed off, his eyes squinting in that particular way they did when he was paying attention to something. Really paying attention to something.

In your inebriated state, you didn’t have it in you to swoon over the fact that he was paying such close attention to you. Usually, the mere thought, let alone the knowledge that he could and did do that, was enough to get you flustered.

“Huh?” You hummed, snapping back into focus, realising that not only had Spencer said something else, but that he was also standing closer to you now. Close enough for traces of his cologne to fill your senses — sandalwood and amber. Comfort and warmth. It had brought you close to tears more often than you’d like to think.

“I just asked you if you were feeling okay.”

His voice was soft as he gathered you, and despite how quiet it seemed compared to the sound of the music echoing through the bar’s walls and the much louder conversations of attendees hanging outside of it behind you two, it was all that you could focus on. All that was clear to you.

Wasn’t it always like that? Hadn’t it been like that since the start? With gunshots fired, and law enforcement officers bickering, and even the simplest of conversations in the bullpen?

The moment that Spencer spoke, all else faded away.

God, you were screwed. You had made your peace with that.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.”

“Are you sure? You seem a little out of it, you’ve drunk a lot tonight…”

There it was again. That gentleness which clawed at your insides and settled heavily across every fibre of your being. Sweet, sweet Spencer, who always seemed to care, who always made it known that he did. Could you ever be part of his monkey-sphere? Could you be special enough to remain part of it?

“Mhm, yeah, I’m just… I’m just, you know—“ Scared. Terrified. Cold, cold, cold. Always so goddamn cold. “I’m just tired.” You settled, again, like you’d always learned to do.

His expression softened almost imperceptibly. He knew. You knew that he knew. Fuck, didn’t he always?

Feeling way more defenceless than you liked to be faced with his understanding, you averted your gaze from his, choosing to scan the closed shops lining the street aimlessly.

Until he spoke once more, anchoring you to the present moment, to his presence, and suggesting that you take the train home together.

“Wh—You live on a different line than I do.”

His smile only got bigger when he shrugged at your words, “I think that the longer transit might do me some good tonight. Uh, help me clear my head and all.”

You blinked up at him, pondering over his words silently. You didn’t have to, not really. You already knew that you didn’t want to decline his offer, just like he knew that he’d never be able to clear his head the way he so desperately wished he could. It didn’t mean that you both wouldn’t try, wouldn’t choose to fight against the constant, overwhelming current anyway.

“Are you sure? I mean, really, I’m alright, and you don’t have to—“

“No, I don’t have to,” He shook his head, gesturing to his right, towards the nearest metro station, “But I want to.”

And you didn’t say anything then, and you didn’t mind the gust of wind or the smoke of a passer-by’s cigarette hitting the side of your face as you turned to where Spencer’s pointing towards. Because he wanted to make sure you’re truly alright, even if it meant spending an extra half hour returning home tonight. Because in being the recipient of his gentleness, you started feeling less cold than you had since you faced that first headless corpse in rural Washington three days ago. Because right then, you were part of his monkey-sphere. He wanted you to be part of his monkey-sphere, and goodness, so did you. So did you.

And Spencer didn’t really mind that you weren’t your usual talkative self during the train ride to your apartment. He was always kind like that, sweet like that. Sure, he found it hard enough to remain silent for long periods of time, but that was only when silence felt hostile, something it never did with you. He also knew well enough that if he asked, you’d say it was because you were tired, which you obviously were, both of you were, but it wasn’t just that which clouded your features.

So he stuck to comforting you the way that he usually found himself doing, by gravitating towards you. Standing between you and anyone else who might have tried getting too close to your hazy self in the (thankfully) sparsely-filled train, walking on the outer part of the sidewalk as you circled towards your apartment, tailing after you as you walked up the few stairs to your unit. Even by unlocking the door when he saw you fumbling with the wrong key twice.

It wasn’t the first time that Spencer had been to your apartment. He had found his way there before to drop off case files when you had called-in sick to work, had even spent a night curled up on your couch watching a film with you after a particularly bad case just so that neither of you would be alone.

In a way, entering your personal space had always felt peaceful in a way that was impossible to deny. Maybe it was the bookcase filled to the brim with your favourite editions taking up most of the space of your living room’s corner. Maybe it was the few artworks lining the nearest wall to it, pieces that you had shared your love for to him before. Maybe it was the persisting scent of your burnt vanilla candles and the cluster of papers spread on the coffee table. Whatever it was, everything about it was so inherently you, and he was grateful for the intimacy that being around you, with you, in your home, came with.

Admittedly, he hadn’t noticed how lost inside his own head he’d got once again, standing by the entryway to your kitchen space. Not until he noticed your silhouette sneaking inside the bathroom on the opposite end of the hallway to his right, your shoes left behind messily.

Spencer didn’t really know if it’d be better to just leave right then and there. After all, you were both exhausted from an awful case, and you had barely even felt like talking to him on the way here. He knew how much you valued your personal space, wearing your solitude like a crown, and truly, he didn’t expect to get you to open up to him about whatever it was that had bothered you enough to drink so much.

But he was also your friend.

Oh, that he was.

He had been your friend for so long, since the very first day, it seemed, the connection between you instant and undeniable.

Maybe it was the fact that no one had ever paid attention to him quite like you seemed to ever before, listening to his more-often-than-not burdened stream of consciousness and engaging in your own, special way. Maybe it was the fact that his heart seemed to skip several beats whenever you found yourself by his side, whenever you actively sought his company out, both at and outside of work. He’d not forgotten that one morning during one of your rare day offs when you’d made your way to his apartment, with books and baked goods, inviting yourself for an impromptu breakfast — Come on, doc, you’re not going to say no to me, are you? These donuts practically called to me, they’re yours, if I say so. As if he’d ever say no to your boldness and your brightness and the delicate way with which you’d announced yourself stepping inside his home. He was just glad you’d not found him as disheveled as he usually was most weekends off, hair unruly and mismatched pyjamas from his college days, a rare choice for comfort over looking smart, as you always put it.

It didn’t matter that Spencer had gradually, since you’ve found your way to the team and to his life, come to realise that he didn’t see you simply as a friend. Not at all. He knew better than to let it matter. He knew better than anyone what happened when you let such audacious feelings and thoughts matter. So, he swallowed it all down in the hopes that it wouldn’t one day spill everywhere and make a mess out of a good thing like you. So far, he was doing well enough.

That’s what he kept telling himself as he silently put your shoes away at the designated space by your front door, before taking off his coat and deciding to be the good friend that he was by making you a cup of your favourite tea. You’d need it, if your stifled yawns and your flinched expressions at every loud noise during your commute were any evidence of it. Skimming through your selection in your cupboard, he knew he was lucky enough to credit that eidetic memory of his for remembering everything he’d found out about your space during his scarce visits. He was a good sport like that, it helped to rationalise the fact that every detail about you was saved into an inventory that was named after you inside his mind. If it was up to him, he’d never run out of things to include there.

He’d only just finished stirring the hot water in your favourite mug when he heard a loud noise coming from down the hall where you must have been, making his way there perhaps a little too fast.

He lingered by the half-ajar door briefly for fear that he’d screw anything up if he just barged in. Until he spotted you sitting on the closed toilet seat, with your make-up bag half-empty down in front of you.

Your eyes were much too soft when you glanced up, finally noticing him. Half-embarrassed, a small groan slipped past your lips, but you didn’t make a move to grab the scattered things from the floor. “I, uh… dropped the bag by mistake.”

Spencer tried really hard to bite back the smile that was already creeping at his lips, “I can see that.”

A beat of silence passed before he had made up his mind, seeing you try to blink away the exhaustion from your eyes. He took a deep breath, not quite moving from his place by the doorway. “Why don’t you let me help you with that?”

“You would?”

Spencer didn’t respond to that, instead instantly moving to kneel in front of you. Fixing his glasses, he desperately tried to focus on putting everything back in your make-up bag and not on how your eyes were practically burning the side of his face.

It wasn’t your fault, though. How could it be when he was inches apart from you, close enough for you to notice his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, to feel the warmth of his breath hitting your face. From this close, hints of stubble were evident across his jawline, and you noticed the rim of his glasses was slightly crooked the way the knot of his tie was.

You snapped out of your trance when you saw him tip some of your make-up remover onto a cotton pad, and it suddenly felt like you couldn’t breathe. Surely, he wasn’t going to—oh.

You tried not to flinch when he pressed the cloth against the apple of your left cheek, but the contact was so soft, so barely-there, so feather-light, that your eyes fluttered shut without you realising it. “You don’t have to do that…”

“Well, it’s not good for you to sleep with make-up on. It doesn’t allow for your skin to breathe properly, and it can also cause breakouts.” Spencer frowned, wiping at the excess mascara under your eye.

“How worse can it make me look?”

He paused, not missing the cutting self-deprecation in your tone. It wasn’t unusual, he knew how often you resorted to bringing yourself down, even if it was unintentional. It was second nature for you. He didn’t like it one bit. “You know that I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, I know.” You opened your eyes then, a self-effacing smile plastered on your closed lips. Under the almost clinical white light of your bathroom, Spencer looked far warmer than you’d care to admit. You decided that you’d let him have his way being soft with you just this once. He was always so eager to help, even when there was nothing to help with, but you barely ever gave him the chance. Now, you needed it. And it had nothing to do with the cleaning the traces of foundation and mascara staining the cotton pads in his hand. “Spencer?”

He hummed imploringly, immediately pausing his ministrations. He threw the used cotton pads in the bathroom bin, before returning his attention to you, not standing from his crouch despite the dull ache already present in his knee muscles.

“The theory that you talked about during the case… The, uh, statistic, the monkey-sphere…” You trailed off and he nodded, encouraging you as always, his closed fist ghosting the space near your thigh, “Am I a part of yours?”

If the question was silly after Spencer had already explained the theory to you, he at least had the decency not to hold it against you. Certainly not in your current state. Then again, he never would. He would gladly explain everything he could to anyone, take time to break down the intricacies of each topic happily, however long it took him. Especially with you — you who always listened, you who were always interested in him and what he had to say since the moment he met you. But there was a strange kind of comfort in the sight of your vulnerability, in seeing you strip yourself off of your usual armour, the constant fight or flight mode that you always seemed to be in since he first met you. There always had been. And so he welcomed it even more, despite the circumstances.

Spencer’s brow furrowed, the corners of his lips twitching faintly, “Yeah. You are, yeah.” His eyes searched yours, the frown on your lips confusing him, “Of course, you are. We literally work together.” The way you narrowed your eyes at him, as if his explanation was not good enough in the slightest, had him practically smiling. “We are friends, aren’t we?”

You shrugged, visibly deflating under his ability to see right through you, but still unable to hide the gratitude you felt for it. “No, I know, yeah, I just…” Your right hand was millimetres apart from his closed fist. He didn’t try to move away. He secretly hoped that you wouldn’t, either. “But what if… What if time passes, and you end up meeting 150 new people, and then there’s no place left for me in your monkey-sphere anymore?”

Spencer tried not to chuckle, he really did, but your worrying, however impossibly sweet, was delightfully absurd. As if he could ever imagine a time where you wouldn’t be a part of his statistic, of his tight-knit group of cherished people, of the couple of souls that he wished to know as intimately as humanly possible. Truthfully, he couldn’t imagine a world where you weren’t at the very top of his list. Not that he could ever admit that to you, of course.

“Don’t laugh, that’s not nice!” You pouted, your tone gently admonishing.

“I’m sorry, I’m not—I didn’t—“ He shook his head, practically crooning at your half-hearted attempt to cover your growingly flustered face with your hand, “I just… Your faith in me that I could manage to form 150 new close relationships on top of ours is… uh, amusing, to say the least. I can promise you that won’t happen.”

The tiny yet mischievous smirk now playing against your lips was enough to alert him to the fact that you were about to put him on the spot for his choice of words.

“We have a relationship?” And there it was, your wit making its return, your ability to always turn the tables on him, to make his admittedly fragile eloquence disappear.

”We—I mean, yeah? Not like, no, you know that I didn’t mean it like—“

You did, even in your tipsy state. It didn’t matter that being around him as long as you had this past year, getting to know him as much as you had, made you wish that he could ever mean it differently. You tried and tried and tried not to think about that. Women like you were never allowed to think about men like Spencer, they were never allowed to indulge in the wishful thinking of being enough in such a way. Of hoping that they could ever be enough.

You just liked messing with him. You stuck with that explanation. It worked for both of you, because truthfully, Spencer seemed to like it, too. Even if it left him a flustered, stuttering, but rather charming bespectacled mess, he didn’t seem to mind. Or if he did, he had never made a comment on it. Maybe because he knew that you would immediately spare his feelings, that you would be your ever-kind self and stop offering him your undivided attention more often than not — and that was the last thing that he wanted. So, for both your sakes, you decided to put him out of his misery.

“I know, doc,” You nodded, finally standing up, “I know.”

Spencer followed you with his wide doe-like gaze as you exited from the bathroom, not moving to do the same until you were already hiding behind your bedroom door. He should’ve realised sooner that the case had taken quite a toll on you, that you had been far more invested in what tidbit of obscure knowledge he had chosen to share with you this time around. But to his defence, he never thought that anyone would ever care to be a constant part of his life the way you seemed to do. He didn’t know what to do with it, what to do with you, without constantly fearing that he’d ruin everything. How could he ever know? No one had ever taught him how to deal with such feelings. The countless books that he knew by heart didn’t prepare him for anything quite like your sharp wit, and your earnest glances, and the mellifluous tone of your voice whenever you acknowledged him.

Spencer had been entirely unprepared for you.

That was all that he could think about as he paced back to your kitchen, set on getting the tea he’d made for you by your bedside before he could leave.

He opted for a small knock on your bedroom door, but if you’d heard it, you didn’t respond to it. Eventually, his need to assure you were safely tucked in your bed and not indulging even more in your usual self-torment won him over, and he stepped inside the room.

At first glance, anyone could have thought you were asleep, but Spencer knew better. He had studied your breathing pattern as you dozed off enough times on the jet rides home where you usually nestled in an armchair next to him. Still, he approached your bed as quietly as he could for fear of disturbing you in any way, fixing the untucked covers over your body after he left the still-somehow-burning-hot mug on your bedside table. Debating whether you’d purposefully left the lamplight on, or if it’d be a good idea to remind you to get out of the clothes which still carried hints of dirt and smoke and depravity, he ultimately decided against it.

He also decided against lingering in your personal space far longer than he should. Despite his palpable, innate curiosity, and goodness, was that hard. He wanted nothing more than to take harmless advantage of seeing your safe haven for the first time by studying the number of books left on your desk, the framed photographs decorating any surprisingly empty bookcase space, the small radio which seemed to play almost on mute from the window sill. He hoped that he’d be able to do that, even as a friend, some other time. If he was lucky enough.

Against his better judgement, he did find himself taking in the dimly-lit details of your semi-obstructed profile where your face was half-buried in your pillow. He was almost sure he’d never noticed a particularly clear adornment of freckles lining your the side of your jawline. He made note to search for them again another time, when you’d be conscious, and he’d perhaps find yourself close enough in your personal space again. He was almost certain that they made up a constellation. The thought made his stomach flutter.

Once he had satisfied his silent pining enough without feeling like a total creep, and you’d assumed the position of sleep, he decided that his time was up. He had already made it to the bedroom door when you called out his name.

Once again, turning the tables on him. Always turning the tables on him.

“Spencer?”

He didn’t make his way back to your bed for he didn’t trust himself not to stay behind and ruin the comfort that you needed. He stilled, his fingertips grazing the door handle. “Yeah?”

From the corner of your eye, his silhouette half-shadowed, half-highlighted by the orange lamplight and the silver moonlight glow where he stood by the door, reminded you of a time when you felt brave enough to believe that no monsters were hiding in the dark. Now, after what you’d seen and what you’d known, you weren’t quite so sure.

Still, you clung to the remnant of hope, the promise of affection that he embodied desperately.

“I promise you’ll be part of mine, too.”

Spencer didn’t say anything. He knew that he didn’t have to, that you didn’t want him to, that you’d pretend you’d fallen asleep if he extended the gratitude for your return of his promise.

He lingered by the door for a few more silent moments, ignoring the contradictory sensations of the goosebumps dancing across his skin, and the heat rising from his neck to his face. Luckily, he was able to. You were in no place to remind him of your effect on him right now.

You and your turning the tables on him.

He wouldn’t be satisfied if he hadn’t acknowledged your promise in some way before he left, though.

So, as he slipped out of your room, he made sure to leave the door more than half-open, enough so that the orange and silvers in your bedroom would bathe the rest of the night in your apartment as well.

In his mind, he found it fitting enough. The promise that you wouldn’t feel quite so stuck in the darkness once you were left alone, once he wasn’t around to try and silence those demons that made you think you’d ever be dispensable.

He hoped that he had done enough for the night. He hoped that you’d find it easier to believe his promise. To at least try to. Because he knew that he’d already found himself believing yours. Whatever it looked like, whatever it entailed, it was enough for him. The permanent spot you’d hold for him in your monkey-sphere was more than enough for him. It would have to be, if only to quench his wishful thinking, his hope that he’d someday occupy the top spot of your list, too.

Spencer had been entirely unprepared for you, that was the truth — and maybe that was the best part of it all. The promise of light drowning out the darkness. The possibility that it could.

It was enough.

It was more than enough.

#mar.writes #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine

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kisspurins · 2 days ago

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i absolutely HAVEEE to get on the kyrell is hung train like im sorry but it's absolutely true... the signs are all there... but like the first time u see him in all his glory ur like wow ur so big and he has the biggest proudest grin (u know the one) but he's like what! cuz he is so oblivious to his own size... and it turns out he's too big to fit (and he's like O_o) so he has to finger u first to get u warmed up and once he's in he's so accidentally rough... like he's the kindest and sweetest but he's so big and strong that he's thrusting into u a lot harder than expected... and once he gets used to it he starts to tease a lot and if u ask him to dirty talk he does sooo good bc every word just rolls off his tongue so smoothly and GAWDDDD i could keep going forever i need the nda so bad

oh nonie please feel free to keep going forever and ever and ever 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ actually giggling over this rn you don't know how bad i wanna gatekeep but i'm sweet!! kicking my feet "you know the one" i do i do i do i do i do i do i DOOOOOO!!!!!!

okay to start hung kyrell </3 thats it thats the post!! but seriously you're so right :( when he pulls out his dick for the first time you can't help but to gasp at how big he is.... tip red n leaking and you can tell hes not even fully hard yet :( n he just.... groaning a little by how glossy your eyes look while you're staring at him and how you look so dumb and lost in thought !!! has a little smirk while watching your every move and how you rub your thighs together staring at him longer before asking you whats wrong and why're you so quiet all of a sudden :( it would be so humiliating having to tell him that hes too big for you n you don't think he'll fit!!! n kyrell doesn't get what you mean until your fingers are wrapping around his base and god you can barely wrap them all the way around :( n it makes him harder seeing you struggle :((( thinking of how small you are....breaking you in.....being the first person to have you so dizzy n delirious from just looking at his dick!!!!

kyrell sooooo uses fingering when prepping!!! its the only way he knows that'll get you slick enough to take even the tip :( he has such pretty long fingers.... him getting his fingers covered in spit before rubbing on your clit, so slow n teasing while you're in his lap.. how he would call you so precious n his sweet girl while hes overstimulating you n :( batting your eyes up at him bcs you're soo close but want him inside..... doesn't actually push any fingers inside until your head is so melted from his praise n gross sloppy kisses!!! ky likes to take you by surprise so when hes pressing kisses on your cheek n suddenly he pushes a finger in you're feeling so icky!!!!! him having to cover your mouth n hes going "shhh shhh" bcs your legs are closing around his hand and your mouth is letting out the cutest sounds that kyrell thinks hes gonna hurt you if he keeps hearing it so he has to cover your mouth :( pushing in another finger so hes knuckles deep with two fingers.... scissoring your pussy open while he says the sickest things but its so laced with how sweet he is!! saying "so perfect around me baby. gonna split you on my cock?" or "there you go. taking it so well for me" n !!!!!! so hard not to fall apart all over him when hes talking so sweet :(

when he does get to spreading your legs :(( kyrell really doesn't mean to be so rough with you!! doesn't even think about how you must feel when hes holding you still, so big and strong his entire frame is leaving you feeling so hopeless :( how he would push your legs open and slot himself in between them and you can't wiggle or squirm as hes pressing his fat tip to your entrance!!!! pushes in and groans feeling you squeeze around him n :( just can't help himself!!! i mean hes not even thinking when he starts thrusting in you </3 pushing his big fat tip into your cervix n you’re whining about how it’s too much... too deep n hes too rough but he just!!! doesn't even realize hes breaking your limits 😞 kyrell holds your legs up while hes fucking into you and its like your cunt memorizes the feeling of him immediately because all you can do is babble n shake n twitch and gosh hes so gross!!!! dirty talking n ky is my favorite because i just know hes so effortlessly good with it :( so deep n you can feel his heavy balls slapping against you n he goes "there you go, taking it all for me. my good girl" in your ear before pressing sloppy kisses on your jaw :( says how perfect you are for him all the time says "this pussy was made for me" n idk!!!! he says it so casually like its the most common thing to say to you n his voice would be so low and intimate n </3333 especially when he says you're dumb or something :( calling you his dumb little girl but hes filling your cunny till its so full hes dripping out </3

#kyrell web *:.｡♡#ampers&one smut #ampersandone smut #kyrell smut #kyrell choi smut #kyrell choi x reader

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wizardsix · 2 days ago

Text

six's incomprehensible review of kcd2's writing

(I'll be honest this isn't as much of a proper review as i wish i could write, maybe one day i'll rewrite this with a newfound professionalism but for now i just wanted to make one big post on why I personally think the writing is so good in general as someone who appreciates the craft and studies it... everything under the cut for kcd1&2 spoilers. 4.1k words and divided for easier reading. thanks in advance for your time)

brief lore

so i've been playing kcd2 pretty much every day since it dropped, did my first playthrough in under 5 days with little sleep and let me tell you. I have been completely cured of everything that was causing me grief for the entirety of january which involved my own personal art/writing, and honestly this game dropped at a perfect time to rip me out of my self-induced misery.

despite my love for fantasy and historical settings, I didn't expect much when I first played kcd1. I thought it was just a medieval times war simulator for repressed men, but I had to give it a try. obviously, I'm glad I was wrong, and I actually realized this around the time you go back to skalitz for henry's parents and after I played theresa's dlc. I realized there might actually be care put into the writing, into the reality of war instead of glorifying it with another peasant-turned-knight story. kcd1 did an incredible job of immersing you into the role of henry, an average peasant, son of a blacksmith. he's not some secretly skilled dragonborn waiting to be awakened to save the world, he's just a boy who was thrown into the fray years before he was ready... kcd1 was good. i really enjoyed playing it and experiencing such a unique game. it was an impressive ambition especially with the limited budget they had. maybe it could stand to be condensed, but as an act 1 it's incredibly engaging at the beginning and end, creating a strong foundation and lot of anticipation for kcd2.

authenticity is king

what makes a good story? a question that can be debated until the end of time. its complicated. its simple. its completely subjective. but as corny as it sounds, the truth i believe is a good story has soul in it. it's something i will believe until i die. a good story has something to say, something that needs to be said no matter how silly or serious it is. and even if the result is ugly, bad art with soul will never truly be bad. and i'm not here to preach anything or glaze companies like warhorse and even larian, because no one is safe from criticism (i have especially torn into larian myself over certain issues), but this universal praise we see isn't undeserved, and we should celebrate the fuck out of good games when we get them.

kcd2, i believe, has easily become one of the greatest games of all time. and it's simply because, at its core, the writing of kcd is human. this is unfortunately something very easily forgotten when swept up in numbers and trends. but kcd is not trying to be something it isn't. the writers had a very clear vision of the story they wanted to tell from the start and made absolutely 0 sacrifices for trends and culture wars.

the writing is mature, it respects your intelligence and doesn't have to spell everything out. serious moments actually feel tense, the humour is woven in well without being out of place, and something i consider a true miracle is that they don't force quippy lines out of every character. the dialogue is believable enough where it's not too incomprehensibly archaic or too jarringly modern. the characters are not all that self aware and don't pull therapy speak out of their asses. every single character has depth from the major characters to even the minor npcs. the world is so full of personality and charm that i didn't mind sitting around with npcs to just listen to them talk about their mundane lives or observe their daily routines. i even found myself caring about the most insignificant npcs. like i failed the fight dirty quest bc i banished hired hand stanley to hell for bullying my boy tobias 'darling' and his dog. such a minor npc but i felt like i had to do something to help even if the game didn't acknowledge it. and to me, if a game makes you feel something and follows you well after it's over, it's doing something right.

at the time of writing this i'm on my 3rd playthrough. 200+ hours and i'm still discovering new npcs, dialogue, quests, locations, and outcomes. 2.2 million words sounds like too much, it makes you wonder if its justified, but i can confidently say it is. warhorse made no sacrifices to be like other games. their vision remained strong from beginning to end, and now if they so choose to, kcd3 has a very strong foundation and limitless potential for henry's story to branch off into. and if not, i have no doubt whatever warhorse writes next, whether it's about henry, medieval bohemia, or another historical setting completely, will be a masterpiece.

wait... you're just like me?

every single character in kcd has flaws and some fuck up immensely, which many people might be annoyed w but it's something I love and find lacking in a lot of stories. you can't pin a single character down as "good" or "evil" and they put an emphasis on this when confronting istvan, erik, markvart, drinking w the cumans, staying in trosky, exposing semine, spying on the praguers, and through a bunch of minor npc conflicts... all of these situations are not clear-cut and every single character involved have reasons for fighting, and you fear the prospect that they're right.

what do you do when the enemy looks and feels like you do? how do you judge someone in any way that matters without condemning yourself too? the game asks questions and does not give you an answer. at least not one that will satisfy everyone. such is life. and that's what i love about this game. i love when writers aren't afraid to make their characters so viscerally human. I love how no one is immune to their desires, to all the fuck ups and deception. everyone is bound to fuck up no matter how careful they are. fuck ups that seem so easily avoided if they did one thing differently or were more cautious of who they worked with. you'd think even the most cunning and experienced could avoid it but even they mess up, and kcd doesn't try to show off or give anyone immunity in manipulation and morality. it's as markvart said, "under all the armour and finery you will only ever find a man" (and my god, what a scene. I believe the entire conversation w markvart is the heart of the story. but my words won't do it justice, please go watch it it's incredibly written and acted).

so... why did i care about some npc with 3 lines enough to fail a quest and risk getting arrested for him? well, because his story hit home. it's a rarity that writers care enough about the little people to show the beauty of the mundane and the humanity of even the most revered. kcd breaks the illusion that people in the past were so different from us today and tells us point blank that we are here today because the fight for life and love is endless.

things worth living for

kcd puts you into the body of a boy who had everything taken from him, and from the moment he regains consciousness he's ready to throw himself back at the enemy to avenge his parents. it's a pretty hopeless thing to do. what can one blind man do against an army? what can one weary woman do in the ruins of her home but try to save at least one more soul, even at the cost of her own? kcd shows the gruesome and hopeless reality of war... but it also does a good job of showing the importance of people.

henry has few people left in his life, but two haunt the corners of his mind; his parents, we know this very well. they are the driving force of why he fights and they remain important instead of being used as fuel for his story. it may seem insignificant, but i really appreciate that they didn't pull a "radzig didn't want henry or care about henry's mother and lied to martin the whole time" and "martin abandoned sara and samuel for another family", i feel it would've been too much for henry to have more guilt and anger over his parents and then a tense relationship w radzig/samuel on top. what would be the point in learning about his real father and step brother, only to end up resenting them? there's a lot of dark shit going on and it's good to have some genuine familial relationships once in a while.

there's no malicious reason why martin and radzig couldn't raise their biological sons, and if they could, they would have, but they tried to do the best they could for henry given the circumstances, and you wouldn't even doubt for a second that martin would've loved sam if things were different. it's bittersweet and feels real. there's no need for a big plot twist of "martin was a bad man actually" after everyone spoke so fondly of him. and i appreciate that warhorse doesn't pull plot twists out of nowhere. it's good that henry has hans, sam, radzig, and godwin to rely on and untainted memories of his parents. it's good that despite everything, henry is able to hold onto the blue skies overhead, green grass underfoot, beautiful girls, good wine, a few good friends, and a fine steed under his backside.

... speaking of godwin, i want to briefly mention just how good of a secondary pov character he was. when i first played i was a little confused as to why him, mostly bc i didn't drink w him in the first game so i didn't know shit about him. but godwin makes a very compelling and fun secondary pov character as a noble war veteran turned priest that has absolutely no involvement in henry's life aside from drinking with him once but is now compelled to look out for him simply because he likes him (and bc it was asked of him but he does care shh). and it's not like his purpose was to babysit henry the whole time, he's given his own personal obstacles when he has to face his father in raborsch, who berates him in front of everyone with no shame, to the italian job where his father finally acknowledges that he was wrong about godwin. kcd2 gives this hedonistic priest a whole new layer of depth one couldn't have deduced based off his behaviour from the first game. it's truly incredible to see how a little care can go really far for even the most seemingly unimportant npcs like godwin or even liechtenstein. all in all, i really enjoyed playing as godwin and he was the perfect choice for a secondary pov character.

i could go on forever about the supporting characters, but i need to move onto the elephant in the room now: henry and hans.

those guys

henry and hans are so fascinating to me. it's been a good while since i've seen such deep and complex characters where even their failures are exciting to witness because you just know this will only strengthen them as people. the reason why, for me at least, it means a lot that warhorse wrote such a beautiful relationship between two men is bc they're written as people first. henry and hans are two characters that Can stand on their own but become stronger together. two young men who come from completely different worlds find comfort in each other's presence despite the laws of man and god saying it can't be so.

you can see something shift between them as early as the hunting trip. a trip that was a punishment for both turned out to be what they needed. to put aside their statuses and find common ground. hans asks about henry and skalitz, and empathizes with henry over the loss of his parents and reveals he never knew his own. you see something strange from the asshole who keeps humiliating and provoking you. you start to understand that all he really needed was for someone to understand him. not a mentor or guardian. not his subjects who drink and bathe with him on a whim. a friend. someone who sees him as a person worthy of his noble title and not a child or a drunk whore.

this newfound bond grows as you get up to typical teenage boy behaviour and in the span of a few weeks the haughty nobleman henry met just yesterday becomes a closer friend than his childhood friends fritz or matthew ever cared to be. but it doesn't end there. hans doesn't remain a pretty face and let everyone fight battles for him, and when it's time to take back talmberg his true character shows when he puts himself between the enemy to save tobias feyfar (when the trebuchet is attacked) or henry (if he gets knocked out during night raid). hans is willing to risk himself because he believes in justice as much as henry even though he came from a more privileged background. both of them were already incredibly noble men in the making and kcd2 tests how far they're willing to go for a place in the world.

it doesn't matter how you play him; henry remains the same sweet boy from skalitz underneath it all. the blacksmith's boy who comes home crying to ma with scrapes and bruises and big dreams, the lover and loyal friend, and the survivor who vowed to never run from a fight lest more innocents be slaughtered for his cowardice. he never forgot skalitz and he never stopped blaming himself. even if he has to push, even when he becomes just as bad as runt or istvan or the dry devil, it weighs on him. you can control his actions and his words, but you can't control how he feels at his core. even after all three of his goals have been achieved by the end of kcd2 (avenge his parents, get his sword back, and protect hans), he is still deeply hurt and laments getting lost in his path of vengeance. this guilt follows him into his dreams, justifying his actions becomes an uphill battle, and in the final conversation with his "parents" he can choose to repent and acknowledge that he has lost himself or double down and say he was always right. then he can choose to keep fighting, or finally present martin's sword to radzig and settle into the life he should've had back in skalitz...

there's no black or white answer, as the game often tells you, only action and consequence. and something I've noticed are the people who are a bit annoyed at how your choices throughout the game don't matter in the end since you can choose to say sorry and "everything is okay", but I don't see it that way really. it's not okay, why would it be? but everyone deserves a chance to repent, whether you personally believe it or not, and henry is arguably better than most for acknowledging his guilt and promising to do better. life doesn't end at the first sin. you could always become just as bad as the enemy or you could choose to be kind, merciful, and treat people with dignity.

as for hans. well... kcd2 happens because of him, because he desperately wanted to prove himself to hanush and his people that he was a capable ruler and warrior. he wasn't expecting it to be difficult, his confidence in the plan is the sole reason why it went so wrong. it was his fault they were ambushed despite henry's concern and he knows it. then he blows up at henry and runs off to fix it himself, which he would've succeeded in if von bergow hadn't played them. his comfortable view of the world was shattered and he couldn't accept it at first, but facing death multiple times and seeing henry risk it all for little reward built him back up as a braver and more responsible man to the point where he is unrecognizable from how he started in the first game. hans is reliable, brave, and capable of handling a lot more than people give him credit for. not a lot of noblemen would risk themselves so willingly, let alone for a peasant, and henry is actually lucky hans tolerated him and threw hands as equals instead of just sending him to jail and ending his journey quite early (henry is lucky a lot of noblemen put up w him lbr he does himself no favours lmao).

i find hans to be interesting because he isn't really a typical nobleman, he puts the pleasures of life first before politics and sees his people as people and war as a losing battle (see the conversation he has w brabant after freeing them from maleshov). but he still acknowledges that the day will come when he has to take his role seriously even if the looming threat to his freedom strikes fear into his soul (see raborsch when the arranged wedding is announced). in the prologue of kcd2 he leads the company and doesn't joke much or even indulge in the conversation of women, the shadow of tomorrow's meeting with von bergow grows closer and there's a lot of pressure to not mess it up. hans is a lot of things, but incompetent is not one of them. he doesn't cry when they have to get their hands dirty and remains relatively calm when dealing with other nobleman. he knows what's at stake and doesn't allow henry to take the brunt of their struggles. even when henry is hallucinating, shouting, and is essentially dead weight, hans doesn't hesitate to carry him and assure him that he's okay.

i haven't even begun to cover the depth of the story and the characters, but as much as i wish i could I'm not qualified enough for a deep analysis and I'd rather go to my final thoughts, which is of course the romance between henry and hans (and warhorse's treatment of mlm characters).

gay... people?

from my previous point, these are two characters that stand on their own, but together they stand taller. even without any romance the game and story are incredible. henry and hans' friendship is not optional, it is a core part of their characters and why they fight. it's not distracting or out of nowhere bc their sexualities are not their entire personalities. but here's the thing, the friendship created a strong foundation for a potential romance, but if written carelessly and completely out of character, this romance would not have worked and the writer's hand would show. taking into account the setting, the characters, and the plot is the only way to craft a believable and good romance. and I know some people are disappointed because they expected more romance or dates or some grand display of love, but these characters aren't like that, at least not how we perceive romance in our modern day. they love each other, there's no denying that, and they didn't even have to say those exact words for it to be true. love can be shown and said in a multitude of different ways and it will not look the same for every person, but it doesn't make the love any lesser.

for henry and hans, it's action above words. hans seems to be the more introspective of the two, and we see this when it's him who initiates the final romance scene with a beautifully tragic story he'd been thinking about for god knows how long. but this only happens when they're sure they'll die, that they'll never see each other again, only after henry reminds hans again and again that he's cared for. and maybe it's too late but something needs to be said. often times they make jokes and tease each other, which could definitely have flirtatious undertones, but their true feelings show in serious moments, moments of danger, and of course when you pick the heart dialogue. the only time henry tries traditional flirting on hans is when you can learn how to give a compliment in italian, but even then he kind of fumbles for a more genuine one ("i am dazzled by your beauty" into "you look good"). henry drops the usual theatrics to assure hans that he will always back him up when he needs it. hans needs to know that henry doesn't stick w him because he has to, but because he wants to. and the best part is that this remains true even if you don't choose to romance him.

but aside from henry and hans, we of course have istvan and erik who have their own complicated relationship that includes something romantic. then there's npcs; novice lucas (kcd1), black bartosch, and herbalist barnaby (kcd2) (I'm not sure if there's any more, these are just the ones I'm aware of rn). the way all of these characters are written is Not forced and liking men is not their entire purpose, it's actually a completely optional thing to find out about these characters (investigate the monks who abuse lucas, talk w black bartosch instead of just training, and hang out w herbalist barnaby after fighting him. actually, even if you don't interrogate erik and istvan, you could completely miss the romantic undertones of their relationship and continue to think it's just father/son). and no, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying stories with gay or even trans characters can't be about that, it would be horribly hypocritical of me when my own trans-bisexual-ness fuels my own art, but that's not all we are and I believe we're doing ourselves a disservice when we keep ourselves stuck in the coming out story cycle.

we need stories that are more than our pain, especially now, and it's important that not only we create gay/trans art, but our allies do as well. we deserve to be seen and not have to keep our love under the guise of close friendship. and I'm sorry, but sometimes it's not enough to simply imply or queer bait. I feel like it's rare for stories to actually commit to showing that we exist and that we are capable of all kinds of love, too. to treat us like people and not fun little side quests. to not debate our existence or water us down to naive teens in quirky coming out stories. we deserve to have stories where we actually get to live and love.

and idk if warhorse is really aware of how impactful that decision was... the confirmation that the director saw something more intimate between henry and hans and hearing how the actors wanted to do it justice means a lot especially knowing the reputation warhorse had. and in the end the most unlikely people created one of the most compelling and beautiful relationships in recent years because they saw people first. it may seem like the bare minimum but it's appreciated regardless. people can cry and scream about how wrong it is to have gay people in the middle ages until the end of time. nothing can change the fact that we've been here and always will be.

too long; did read

I hate being sappy, but kcd2 pulled me out of the pit I was in because of the shit on the news and my own art block, and it has comforted and inspired me to continue my own work even if it never sees the light of day. kcd2 to me is what stories should be. there's no secret to why it's so good, because swen vincke said it himself at the last game awards: "[the formula] it's stupidly simple, but somehow it keeps on getting lost." a great speech that unfortunately means nothing to titan companies, but we know it's the truth. kcd2 is a success because it was made with genuine love, care, and respect for games, history, and people. it really is that simple.

10/10

#kingdom come deliverance 2 #kcd2 #kcd2 spoilers #kcd spoilers #henry of skalitz #hans capon #six speaks #finally done... i hope this is good i probably spent too long on this #feel free to add your own thoughts id love to hear how right or wrong i am bc i feel like im always talking into the void here #sorry if there's any mistakes i got tired of editing this and id never post it if i kept rearranging and rewording things #if you need me to clarify something i will gladly do so #assuming this makes any sense to anyone #anyway peace and love kcd2 has healed my jaded soul

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lvrgrl-xo · 2 days ago

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Priest!Jeongin x Sinner!Reader

Posting it without a title or warnings bc I feel bad for it taking so long lol

I have a little health update at the end for anyone who wants to read that

• • •

The heavy wooden door of the confession booth creaked as you pushed it open. You had been here a thousand times before, sitting in this small, dimly lit space, waiting for the quiet voice on the other side. The one who would listen, who would absolve, who would offer solace that never quite seemed to last.

You took your usual spot, pressing your palms against the cool wood, fingers trembling slightly. You could feel the weight of the small vial hidden in the pocket of your jacket, the substance inside promising to numb the edges of the world, to dull the ache that had grown too large to ignore. It was ironic, really—bringing angel dust to church. The juxtaposition of a name brought shame, loneliness, the spiraling thoughts that made it harder to breathe. Every time you came here, hoping for a way out.

The faint sound of footsteps echoed from the other side, and your heart skipped a beat. You knew that sound well. The priest. Father Yang Jeongin.

He was the one you came to every time. His voice, soft but steady, would guide you through your brokenness, and his presence, though distant, somehow made you feel less alone in your suffering.

You could hear him settle into his seat on the other side of the booth, the faint rustling of his robes as he prepared himself. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, but the familiar pang of need hit you again—just the thought of the angel dust, that cold, indifferent comfort, threatened to pull you under.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” you said, the words falling from your lips like an echo. You had said them so many times before, yet they felt as hollow as ever.

Father Jeongin’s voice came through the grille, warm but strained, like it always was when he listened to you. "Tell me, my child. What weighs on your soul?"

You hesitated, fingers tapping against the cool wood of the booth. He knew why you came here. Yet, he didn’t know. No one knew how deep it went, how the addiction had taken root, how it had sunk its claws into you and refused to let go.

"I... I’ve fallen again," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can’t stop, Father. I know it’s wrong, but it’s the only thing that... that makes me forget."

There was a long pause. You could feel the weight of his gaze even through the thin veil of separation, his silence heavier than any words. He must have known for a long while, even before your first confession. He had seen the signs—the tremors in your hands when you’d come to Mass, the way you couldn’t seem to focus, the way your eyes had lost that once-vibrant spark.

Father Jeongin let out a soft sigh, a sound that made your heart twist with shame. "You are not alone in this struggle, my child. But you must understand... this will not save you. Only you can choose to let go of the things that bind you."

Your eyes closed, a shiver running through you at his words. "I don’t know how," you whispered. "I’ve tried, Father. I’ve tried so many times... but every time, I just... fall right back into it. It’s too much."

The silence stretched between you again, thick and heavy, and for a moment, you thought he might say nothing more. You expected the usual words of comfort, the soft reprimands, the guidance that always felt like it wasn’t enough.

But then, unexpectedly, his voice softened even more. "I see the pain in your eyes. But you must understand, there is always a way back. Hell is forever whether you like it or not… This is your chance to behave better."

The words hit you harder than you expected. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push the burning tears away. He was right, but you didn’t know if you had the strength to keep fighting. You had fallen so far, and each time you thought you might stand again, the darkness pulled you down even deeper.

Father Jeongin’s voice was still gentle, but there was a firmness there now, an edge that made you feel as if he was seeing something inside of you—something raw and untamed. "Addiction is not a sin you carry alone. It is a battle, my child. And you are worthy of healing, no matter how many times you’ve stumbled."

The weight of his words crashed over you. You wanted to believe him, more than anything. But could you? Could you trust that there was still a way out?

There was a long pause before you spoke again, the confession threatening to spill out in a rush. "I’ve hurt so many people, Father. I’ve hurt myself... I can’t keep living like this."

"You don’t have to," he whispered, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you heard something more in his tone. Something that lingered between pity and something deeper. Something that made your heart beat faster, a flutter of vulnerability you couldn’t name.

For a brief moment, the silence was heavy again—deeper now, as if the weight of your sins and your desires collided in that small, dimly lit booth.

“I don’t know if I can forgive myself,” you whispered.

Father Jeongin took a deep breath. "You are not meant to carry that weight alone. You are forgiven, and you can be healed—if you choose to walk away from the darkness."

You nodded, your heart both aching and hopeful, a confusing mix of emotions swirling within you. The addiction still clawed at you, still whispered promises of escape, but for the first time in a long while, you felt a spark of something else—something you hadn’t dared hope for: the chance to change.

You stood up slowly, a small, fragile sense of resolve rising within you. "Thank you, Father."

And as you left the booth, the words that echoed in your mind were not those of shame or failure, but of a quiet, tentative hope.

–

The cool air outside the church greeted you as you stepped through the doors, your breath catching in the quiet night. The weight of Father Jeongin’s words lingered in your chest, a strange, hopeful heaviness you hadn’t expected. You had come to confess your sins, to seek absolution, but something had shifted inside you. Something that made you feel… seen, in a way you hadn’t in a long time.

You had no idea how long you stood there, frozen in the glow of the church lights. The door behind you creaked open again, and the soft sound of footsteps made you turn, half-expecting to see him. And there he was—Father Jeongin, walking toward you with slow, measured steps, his black robes swirling around his ankles like they were meant to shroud him in mystery.

His gaze met yours, and there was something different in his eyes now. Something more than the usual compassion or quiet resolve. It was as if he was seeing you—truly seeing you—for the first time, beyond your confession. The air between you felt thick, knowing he knew was almost too much.

“I didn’t expect to stay all day,” you whispered, your voice betraying a vulnerability that you hadn’t meant to show.

He stopped a few feet away from you, his broad frame casting a long shadow in the dim light of the church. The moon flickered like the pulse in your throat as the clouds glided by. A rhythmic tension played in the night, a melody you could feel in your skin. He looked down at you, his eyes dark but soft.

“You’re more than welcome here,” he said quietly, his voice like velvet, “you are not alone in this fight. And you need not carry it by yourself.”

You swallowed, your heart racing. His words were comforting, yes, but they also felt like something else. A promise. A thread of understanding that wound between you both, a silent agreement to hold each other in a way that was different from the usual distance of confession.

“Father,” you said, your voice barely audible, as you glanced up at him. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. What if I sin again? What if I never escape the darkness?”

He stepped closer, just enough to bridge the distance between you. His presence filled you, overwhelming in its intensity, like something you didn’t want to escape, yet weren’t sure you could control. There was an undeniable magnetism, a pull that drew you to him, as if the weight of your shared silence was begging to be broken.

Father Jeongin’s hand reached out, a tentative motion, but it was enough to make you shiver. His fingers brushed against your arm, just the faintest touch, yet it sent a ripple of heat through your body. The simple contact made your pulse quicken, and you wondered if he felt it too.

“I’m here, my child,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You don’t have to carry this burden alone.”

The way he said those words, so close, so intimate, made your breath hitch. The air between you seemed to crackle with something raw and aching, something that made the line between priest and sinner blur, just for a moment.

“I don’t know if I can,” you whispered, your body betraying you as you took a small, timid step closer. You could feel the warmth of him now, the heat from his body seeping into yours, making the space between you feel impossibly small.

He held his ground, his gaze was unwavering. There was a restraint in his eyes, but also a hesitation of resolve. Desire? Compassion? It was hard to tell, and that made the tension even more unbearable.

“You don’t have to do anything, not yet,” he said, his hand slowly pulling away, though it lingered for a moment too long. “Just take one step at a time. You’ve taken the first one, by coming here.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as you met his gaze, the unspoken connection between you both pulling you closer. The space between you was small now, so small that you could feel the heat from his body.

You wanted to call his bluff, tell him that you’ve taken this step countless times only to take it back. But, you couldn’t, not when he was looking at you with so much certainty and genuine faith–a look you hadn’t seen in many years.

Father Jeongin took a small breath, almost as if he was forcing himself to steady his own racing thoughts. “You are more than your struggles. More than your sins. And I… I will be here for you, no matter what.”

You closed your eyes, the words sinking deep within you, stirring something that felt like hope, but also pure desire. You wanted to reach for him, to close the distance and give in to the electric current between you. But a voice in the back of your mind—one that was always there—reminded you that this was forbidden. That this could never be.

And yet, you couldn’t stop the way your heart surged when he spoke, when his presence filled you so completely.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he added softly, his voice low and reassuring, “I won’t let you fall.”

You looked up at him again, the weight of his words hanging between you, and for the first time in a very long time, you felt a spark of something more than just shame, more than just addiction. Something that, if you let yourself, could burn brighter than anything you had ever known.

But the space between you remained, just barely, as if the tension was too fragile to break.

The air between you seemed to stretch out, a silence so demanding. Father Jeongin’s eyes never left yours, the depth of his gaze stirring deep within you. You could feel it—the electricity between you, subtle yet undeniable. His hand, hovering just an inch from your arm, was the only contact between you now, and it felt like a tether, a promise, a dangerous boundary.

He cleared his throat, breaking the moment, and you could see the struggle in his eyes. The restraint. The weight of his vows pressing down on him, but the pull of humanity, was just as strong. You felt it too. You could feel your breath catch in your chest, your pulse quickening, the need for something, anything, to bridge the distance between you.

“I… I think it’s better if we talk somewhere more private,” Father Jeongin said softly, his voice betraying a slight tremor. “This isn’t a place for personal matters, not like this. It’s not right.”

Your heart skipped. You knew what he meant. The weight of the confession booth, the vulnerability of the moment, seemed too fragile to carry outside these walls. Yet, part of you was afraid—afraid of where this might lead, afraid of the temptation that already flickered dangerously between you both. You knew he could control himself, but could you?

There was an undeniable yearning, a need to be closer, to understand this strange bond that seemed to grow with each passing moment. You nodded slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Where… where should we go?”

Father Jeongin hesitated, then stepped back, his presence still enveloping you despite the distance. He lowered his voice, just for you. “I have a small office, behind the church. It’s... quiet. Private.”

The word private settled heavily in your heart. It was an invitation and a warning, an unspoken agreement that things might shift from the usual priest-to-penitent boundary. His eyes shone with uncertainty, yet you saw the same pull in him—the same desire to bridge the space between you both.

Without another word, you followed him down the narrow corridor behind the church. The sound of your footsteps was soft, almost drowned out by the steady thrum of your heartbeat. The air was cool in the hallways, the smell of parchment hanging in the corners. Father Jeongin’s broad frame moved in front of you, his every step measured, as if he was carefully considering each move. But every so often, his glance would fall on you, a flash of something raw in his gaze, something more than priestly concern.

When you reached the door to his office, he paused for a moment, his hand hovering just above the handle. You could sense the weight of the decision he was making in that instant—a hesitation, a moment where the gravity of what might happen next pressed down on both of you. It wasn’t just about the conversation anymore.

Father Jeongin pushed the door open, the small office revealing shelves filled with books, papers, and various religious relics. The room was small but warm, with an old desk cluttered with various items. The scent of polished wood adding to the quiet solitude of the space.

He stepped inside, and you followed, the door clicking softly behind you. As you crossed the threshold, the atmosphere changed. It felt heavier somehow, the proximity between you more intimate, more real than it had been in the open church. The office seemed like a different world, one where the boundaries of confessions and sacred spaces could blur into something more dangerous.

Father Jeongin turned to face you, his hands clasped in front of him, his posture still and controlled. His eyes, however, told a different story. Tempered by the lingering tension that buzzed between every atom of the room.

“You’re not alone,” he repeated, his voice low, almost like a whisper. “But you have to understand, this is more than just words. It’s more than me being here for you.” He paused, his gaze never leaving yours. “I don’t want you to think this is about... saving you. I want to help you find the strength to save yourself. But only you can decide that.”

You swallowed hard, stepping closer. That same magnetism about his presence—something that drew you toward him despite the reservations, despite the consequences. Your heart beat in your chest like a reminder that what you could do was wrong.

“I don’t know if I can save myself,” you whispered, your voice faltering just a little. “I feel like I’m drowning, Father. I don’t know how to let go.”

Father Jeongin’s expression softened, and for a moment, you saw the man behind the priest—the one who was just as human as you were. His gaze flickered down to your hands, and then back to your face, his breath coming just a little quicker now. He took a small step closer, so close you could feel the heat of his body, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

“Sometimes, it’s okay to ask for help,” he said softly. “But you have to trust me... you have to trust yourself.”

You closed your eyes, fighting the overwhelming urge to reach out. There was something in his voice, in the way he stood so close, that made it impossible to back away. You could feel the tension rising, as if the very air around you was charged with everything electric.

You felt a flutter in your stomach, a storm of emotions swirling inside of you—hope, fear, desire, vulnerability. The distance between you and him felt like the thinnest veil, something that could shatter at any moment. And yet, you remained still, caught between what you needed and what you knew you shouldn’t want: to pierce the veil that separated your dreams from reality.

“I want to believe you,” you said softly, your voice barely above a breath.

Father Jeongin’s hand twitched at his side, but he didn’t reach for you—not yet. He stood there, inches away, his eyes searching yours for something. Was it the same longing that you felt? Or was it something different?

In that moment, you knew you were standing at the edge of something you couldn’t undo. You could feel it in the air, in the way the room seemed to close around you both.

But neither of you moved. Not yet.

And there, in the silence of the small office, everything hung in the balance. The tension between you both was a tightrope, each of you waiting for the other to take that final step, to cross that line.

But the line remained untouched. For now.

The silence once again stretched between you, almost unbearably. The weight of unspoken words, of restrained longing, sat heavy in the air. Father Jeongin was so close—so impossibly close—that you could see the way his breath trembled just slightly. But he didn’t step away, nor did he close the distance, though you could see the battle in his eyes.

And you—oh, you wanted to move. You wanted to reach out, to brush your fingers against his, to see if the warmth you felt radiating from him was real. But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Because if you did, if you let yourself take that one step, you knew there would be no turning back.

The clock on the far wall ticked on, each second dragging out like an eternity.

“I…” Jeongin’s voice was softer now, almost hesitant. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture so unlike the composed priest you had always known. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come here.”

Your heart clenched. “Why?”

He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “Because this—” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, the charged space you both refused to acknowledge aloud—“this is dangerous. For you. For me.”

You swallowed hard. “I know.”

His eyes flickered to yours, something raw in them, something that made your stomach tighten. “Then why did you come?”

A bitter smile tugged at your lips. “Because I don’t know where else to go.”

Jeongin exhaled sharply, his gaze dropping for a brief moment before meeting yours again. His restraint was fraying at the edges, his carefully built walls cracking. You could see it in the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides, in the way his breath hitched slightly, in the way his pupils dilated as he studied you.

“I don’t want to be another thing that breaks you,” he murmured, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

Your throat tightened. “And what if you’re the only thing keeping me together?”

That did it. His composure shattered, just for a second. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for you but knew he shouldn’t. His lips parted, but no words came out. The struggle within him was visible, palpable.

And then, finally, he broke the distance.

Not all the way—not in the way you feared and wanted in equal measure. But his hand, hesitant and warm, reached out and covered yours. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a shiver through you, igniting something deep in your chest.

Your breath caught. “Jeongin…”

His name left your lips before you could stop it, and something shifted in his gaze. His grip on your hand tightened—not possessive, not forceful, just… grounding. Real. A tether in the storm raging inside you both.

“This isn’t right,” he whispered, his voice thick with conflict. But he didn’t pull away.

You turned your hand under his, your fingers brushing against his palm, testing the boundaries of this fragile moment. “Then why does it feel like the only thing that is?”

A muscle in his jaw tensed, his breath shuddering as he closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to summon strength he wasn’t sure he had. When he opened them again, there was something softer there. Something devastating.

“You need help,” he murmured. “Real help. And I… I need to know that when you walk out of this room, you won’t just disappear back into the dark.”

You inhaled shakily. “I don’t want to disappear.”

His fingers curled around yours, his warmth seeping into your skin. “Then let me help you.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as lost as you thought. That maybe, the path forward wasn’t as impossible as it seemed.

The tension between you still crackled, still hummed like a wire stretched too thin. But in this moment, with his hand anchoring you to the present, you allowed yourself to hope.

And perhaps… so did he.

The air was silent, weighty, humming with everything that had gone unspoken. Jeongin’s breath was uneven, the collar of his cassock uncomfortably tight around his throat. Here you stood before him, eyes dark with a need he had never seen before, your lips parted as though on the verge of confession.

“This is wrong,” he murmured, but the words were a lie the moment they left his lips.

You stepped closer. Close enough that he could smell the remnants of vanilla perfume clinging to your skin, mixing with something rawer, something purely you. A sinner’s scent, intoxicating in ways he’d never admit.

“Then stop me,” You whispered.

He should have.

Instead, his hands found you—hesitant at first, trembling with restraint, but once they settled on the curve of your waist, there was no turning back. Your body was warmth against his cold resolve, your fingers threading into his hair, nails grazing his scalp as though wanting to scrape away every last ounce of his hesitation.

He kisses you like a prayer left too long unsaid. Desperate. Ruinous. His lips moved over yours with a fervor that should have belonged in the pulpit, his hands exploring the softness of forbidden skin, memorizing each dip and hollow like scripture. Your moan was a plea, your body an altar upon which he laid his sins, one by one.

Your back met the wall with a soft thud, and his name escaped your lips like a benediction. It should have shattered him. Instead, it drove him deeper into the abyss of you, his mouth trailing down the column of your throat, tracing the frantic pulse beneath your skin.

You arch into him, fingers tugging at the fabric that separated you, and he let you. He let you undo him, piece by piece, let you pull him into the fire of you, let himself believe—for just one moment—that damnation had never felt so divine.

The fabric of his cassock bunched under your hands as you tugged him closer, your touch setting him ablaze in ways neither of you were prepared for. His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, the last vestiges of his resistance crumbling beneath the press of your body.

Your fingers traced down his chest, a slow, sinful path that had him shuddering beneath your touch. He should have pulled away, should have begged for absolution before it was too late, but his body betrayed him. The warmth of your hands, the way your breath ghosted over his skin—it was too much, and yet not nearly enough.

“God, forgive me,” he rasped against your lips, though his grip on you only tightened.

Your response was a wicked, breathless chuckle, your nails scraping down his back. “I don’t think He’s listening.”

The words sent a shiver down his spine, not from fear, but from something far darker. A hunger he’d buried beneath years of devotion, now clawing its way to the surface.

Your lips found the hollow of his throat, tasting the salt of his skin, and he gasped, fingers digging into your hips. Your name tumbled from his lips, stripped of restraint, wrecked and wanting. He no longer knew if he was worshiping or being worshiped, if he was saving you or if you were damning him.

His hands slipped beneath the hem of your dress, fingertips skimming over fevered skin, reverent in their blasphemy. Your thighs parted for him, welcoming him deeper into the sin of you, and he went willingly, drowning in the scent of you, something dangerously addictive.

Your hands fumbled with the buttons of his cassock, and for the first time, he let it fall from his shoulders without hesitation. The weight of his faith pooled at his feet, forgotten in the face of something far more consuming.

“Jeongin,” you whispered again, and it was his undoing.

He silenced you with his mouth, with his hands, with the desperate press of his body against yours. Every kiss, every touch, was an offering at your altar, a surrender he could never take back.

And he didn’t care.

Because in this moment, wrapped in the heat of you, burning with desire and ruin, he had never felt more alive.

The room was silent except for the ragged sound of your breathing, the quiet rustle of fabric slipping away, and the pulse-pounding thrum of your hearts.

Jeongin’s hands traced over your body as if committing you to memory, fingertips trembling over the smoothness of your skin. He had spent his life devoted to scripture, to prayers whispered in empty sanctuaries—but nothing, nothing had ever felt as sacred as this.

His lips burned a path down your collarbone, teeth grazing the delicate skin just enough to make you gasp. The sound unraveled him. He needed more—more of your touch, more of your warmth, more of this unbearable, all-consuming heat that made rational thought impossible.

As he lifted you by your thighs and pressed you against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush against you. He let out a strangled groan at the friction. His name slipped from your lips again, and the last of his restraint snapped like a brittle thread.

His hands gripped your thighs harder, pressing you tighter against the wall as his hips rolled against yours, the layers of remaining clothing between you an unbearable barrier.

This was madness. This was ruin.

And he had never wanted anything more.

Your hands traced over the bare skin of his chest, nails raking, marking him in a way no one else ever had. His breath hitched as your lips found his again, bruising, demanding, tasting of sin and salvation all at once.

“I need you,” he whispered, the words sending a violent shudder through your entire body.

You exhaled shakily, forehead pressed against his, your pulse a frantic drumbeat beneath your skin. “Then take me.”

And he did.

The last of his restraint had crumbled, his devotion shifting, redirected, no longer to the heavens but to the body beneath his hands. Your skin burned against his palms, soft and fever-hot, and he traced the curve of your ribcage as though he might carve this moment into his memory, brand it into his very being.

Your breath hitched as his fingers skimmed lower, teasing over the sensitive dip of your hip, nails dragging lightly as if testing his control, testing your patience. A quiet, pleading sound left your lips—his name, breathless, desperate—and it sent a violent shudder through him. He wanted to drown in it, in you, in the way your body arched into his touch as if pulled by something deeper than desire.

His lips trailed down your throat, his teeth grazing the frantic pulse beneath your skin. He should have feared how easily you surrendered to him, how eagerly you let him mold you beneath his hands—but all he could feel was hunger. A hunger darker than sin, deeper than salvation.

You writhed against him, your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. His cassock was already discarded, pooled at his feet like a forgotten relic, and your hands roamed over the expanse of his bare chest, learning the ridges and planes of him with a reverence that sent heat pooling in his gut.

His lips descended lower, tracing the path of your collarbone, the swell of your chest, his breath hot and unsteady. Every gasp, every sigh from your lips, was an offering, and he worshipped you the only way he knew how—with his mouth, his hands, his entire being.

Your thighs tightened around him as he pressed closer, his body slotting perfectly against yours. The heat between you was unbearable, the layers of fabric still between you maddening. Your fingers fumbled with his belt, and he let you—let you strip him of the last barrier between you, let himself be unraveled by your touch, by the soft sighs and quiet gasps that filled the air between you.

When his hands finally pushed the fabric of your dress higher, higher, his fingers dragging along the inside of your thigh in slow, torturous strokes. You trembled against him, your breath coming in short, needy gasps, and it made something primal snap inside him.

His lips found yours again, desperate, hungry, devouring every sound you made as his hands traced their way between your legs, parting you with a touch that had you arching against him. His name tore from your lips, shattered and pleading, and the sound alone had him gripping your thigh hard enough to bruise.

You were warmth and fire, a temptation he should have resisted—but it was too late now.

He was too far gone.

And when his fingers finally sank into you, when your bodies joined in the dark, he swore he felt something divine.

But it was not the kind of divinity found in scripture.

It was something else entirely.

Something ruinous.

Something he would never repent for.

As he softly thrust his fingers inside you, he lost himself deeper in your intoxicating embrace, your bodies moving as if choreographed by some forbidden desire. The heat of your skin ignited a wildness within him, an urgency that drove him to the brink of ecstasy. Each gasp, each moan that escaped your lips became a prayer he dared not ignore.

He could feel the weight of sin hanging in the air, a heavy shroud that cloaked your shared moments in shadows. Yet in this sanctum of flesh and fire, he could not help but surrender. You were his salvation and damnation, the embodiment of every vow he had sworn to uphold.

All that remained was the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies entwined, the way your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if to drown him in your essence. The sanctity of his title slipped away, lost in the tide of passion that washed over you both. In that fragile moment, nothing else mattered but the primal connection that bound you—raw, desperate, and impossibly beautiful.

His breaths quickened, mirroring the frantic beat of your heart, and as he held you close, he knew he was crossing a line he could never uncross. Yet, he found himself craving every second of this reckless abandon, reveling in the madness of it all. You were the chaos he never knew he needed, and as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, he realized he would embrace this ruinous bliss, even if it cost him everything.

Finally, the moment came when he could no longer hold back. With a fervent desperation, he removed his fingers and aligned himself with you, his heart pounding in sync with the primal rhythm of desire. He pushed forward, entering you slowly at first, savoring the feel of you enveloping him, a perfect fit that made every nerve in his body ignite. The world around you faded, leaving only the electric connection between you, a tether that pulled him deeper into your depths.

Your bodies gasped in unison, a beautiful symphony of longing and pleasure, and as he buried himself fully within you, it felt like a revelation. The culmination of every stolen glance, every heated touch, had led to this divine moment of surrender. He groaned your name, a guttural sound filled with both reverence and desperation, as he began to move, each thrust igniting the flames of passion even higher.

The darkness of the room was a cocoon, wrapping around you both as you lost yourselves in each other, hearts racing, breaths mingling. In this moment, he was no longer just a man of faith; he was a lover, a sinner, fully immersed in the ecstasy of taking you wholly.

The line between right and wrong blurred, and all that remained was the overwhelming rush of pleasure, the taste of your skin, the scent of your hair, the way your body responded to him, drawing him further into the abyss. He knew he should feel guilt, but instead, he felt alive, consumed by the fire you ignited within him—a fire that threatened to consume everything in its path.

In this moment of recklessness, he was reborn, finding solace in the chaos that surrounded you both. And as he lost himself deeper in the depths of your shared desire, he understood that this ruinous love was a fate he would embrace without hesitation.

He found a rhythm that echoed the frantic beat of your hearts, a perfect cadence of give and take that left you both breathless. His hands explored your body, tracing the curves and angles that were uniquely yours, each touch stoking the flames of desire higher. You arched against him, urging him on, your body begging for more as the intensity grew between you.

The world outside ceased to exist; there was only the two of you entwined in a dance of desperation and passion. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that sent waves of heat coursing through you. You tasted the need on his tongue, a hunger that matched your own, and it only drove you both further into the depths of ecstasy.

"Y/n," he breathed between kisses, his voice laced with both urgency and awe. "You feel so good."

Every thrust pushed you closer to the edge, and you wrapped your legs tighter around him, drawing him deeper, desperate for more. You could feel the tension building, a coiled spring ready to snap, and with every moment that passed, it became harder to hold on to your sanity. You wanted to let go, to fall into the bliss that awaited you.

He increased the pace, each movement a prayer of devotion and sin, and you could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, a storm brewing that threatened to overwhelm you. “Please,” you begged, the word spilling from your lips like a desperate plea, urging him on, craving the release that was so tantalizingly close.

He responded to your plea with fervor, driving into you with a relentless passion that left you gasping for breath. Your bodies became a singular entity, moving in perfect harmony, lost in a whirlwind of sensation. You could feel the pressure building, the sweet ache of anticipation coursing through you, drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

As your bodies intertwined, he reached between you, his fingers finding that sensitive spot that sent shockwaves of pleasure racing through you. You cried out, your voice rising in a melody of pure ecstasy, the sound filling the room as he pushed you further into bliss. The tension snapped, and you fell over the edge, your body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you, pulling him along with you into the depths of your shared release.

You felt the world shift, the chaos fading away, leaving only the two of you in your beautiful ruin, breathless and intertwined. You were bound together by something deeper than desire—an understanding that this moment was both an ending and a beginning, a reckless leap into the unknown that you both craved.

The passion that followed was an echo—a lingering reverberation of every gasp, every trembling heartbeat. In the charged silence after your collision, time itself seemed to pause. Your skin, still aglow with the remnants of fire and sweat, bore witness to a union that defied both reason and restraint. He slowly pulls out of you, and allows you to set your feet on the ground, still holding onto you. His eyes dark with both longing and the hint of regret, met yours in a silent conversation that needed no words. It was as if every touch, every stolen breath, had carved its own memory into the fragile fabric of your souls. He pulls you into his arms, you had never felt something so comforting, so pure.

In that moment, the world around you dissolved into nothingness. There was an undeniable beauty in the chaos, a raw honesty in the vulnerability that followed the storm of desire. Each caress, each whispered promise, was a reminder that you had both surrendered to something wild and dangerous—a temptation that, even in its wake, felt transcendent. The very air between you shimmered with the remnants of your defiant abandon, a testament to a passion that promised to haunt you long after the night had faded.

And as the first hints of dawn crept in, casting a pale light over the tangled aftermath, you both knew that nothing would ever be the same. In the wake of that irreversible union, there lay the bittersweet knowledge that some fires, once kindled, become eternal. There was no room for repentance here, only the unyielding embrace of a destiny written in the language of desire—a destiny that was as ruinous as it was divine.

His voice came soft but without hesitation or doubt.

“Marry me.”

• • •

Taglist: @pixie-felix @daceydeath @vangoghsear0 <3 I probably forgot a few people :(

• • •

Health update: Okay so as most of you know, I was in a coma for a little while. They did a lot of tests and couldn’t figure out why so I’ll just pretend I was actually just sleeping lol. I’m stable now and my healing from surgery is still going really well, I’m just getting in-home care now. Now the only thing seemingly wrong with me (other than… all of that) is my mental health. That being said, I’m trying so hard to fix it ASAP because I miss interacting with everyone more than I can articulate. It feels impossible though, like I’ve suddenly forgotten how to talk to people. Which is only fuelling my depression so I’ll try my best to get over it soon. I love you all sosososososoooooooo much 💘 (2 of you more than anyone else, you probably know who you are)

#jeongin smut #stray kids smut #jeongin x reader #stray kids x reader

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