#A Dance With Memory: Short Story | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mo0nfairy · 11 months

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART ONE !

summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 5.7k.

content warnings :: mdni!! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, noncon touching, drugging, kidnapping, ptsd, violence, explosions, weapons, death, mild sexual themes, sexual harassment (done by some random npc), car crash, hospitals, reader breaks their arm.

──── Rain.

It's the first thing you are able to scrutinize once you come out of your state of comatose. You listen to the tumultuous melody as the droplets batter against the roof of the car. Even with your eyes locked tight, you are able to figure out where you are just by the rumble of the car engine, jostling you around when the tires hit a crevice in the road. A fuzzy, knitted blanket is adorned around your body. Your headphones are set on top of your head, a playlist of your favorite songs playing on a low volume. The sounds come out distorted, somehow, as if the lyrics were tripping over themselves and the tunes were awkwardly dancing with one another. It's almost as if you had been drugged.

The right side of your face is squished against something, which you now perceive as somebody's neck. The surface pushes your headphones uncomfortably into the side of your head. In a fruitless attempt to take them off, you realize you are paralyzed from head to toe. An arm is draped around your shoulder, the other firmly around your legs which are draped among their lap. Whomever this stranger is, they are quite brawny as they tighten their thick arms around you. They press gentle kisses to your forehead, the stubble of their beard tickling your skin. A deep voice whispers sugary affirmations against your temple, but you are unable to dissect them through the warped music and white noise. Have I been kidnapped? Who the fuck is this person?

With what little strength you have left in your body, you are able to peel your eyes open just a crack. You find yourself in the middle of the backseat (the safest spot in the car, which was certainly done on purpose). You find the arms draped around you are tan, adorned in heaps of black hair. Casting your gaze forward, you look to the driver. You see a woman with short, dirty-blonde hair whose slender fingers grasp hold of the steering wheel. The identity of these two people remains unknown to you. Looking at the windows, the rain cascading down the glass prevents you from pinpointing any potential landmarks. The only thing you can do is slump against this stranger and let yourself be driven far, far away.

You rewind into the past to collect any memories that would help decipher the current events. All you are able to garner is a crisp October evening, where you snuggled beneath a blanket in the safe expanse of your bedroom. You remember wrapping the blanket around your shoulders and strolling into the kitchen, where you would then make yourself a hot cup of tea. This was your normal night routine, you recall in defeat. The last memory you had would be of no use, considering the large gap in your mind once you drank the first sip of tea. So, you rewind even further to see if anything abnormal had occurred during the day.

You remember how you had spent your morning journaling in the garden, analyzing the faces of other patients and doctors wandering through your memory. Nothing stuck out, however, so you abandoned your reminiscing of this past morning. You then think back to group therapy at noon, where others would express their traumas from Raccoon City six years prior. You would tell your own story of the agony you endured and how you met several people who had protected you with their lives. Leon Kennedy, Ada Wong, Jill Valentine, and Carlos Oliveira — four names you would never forget.

Then, you would express the grief you felt when you were told none of them had survived the night. You had never felt so alone after. But, fortunately, you were then taken under the wing of this sanctuary built just for survivors. You have stayed in their habitation since.

The faces of those listening to your story were people you have seen every day; none of their features matched the physicality of the people in this car. With that, you fast forward further into the afternoon to find anything that sticks out. The heightened security that seemed to be reserved for you made you furrow your brow. However, it was nothing explicit enough to explain your current circumstances. Several guards stood outside your room as you lost yourself in the book you checked out from the sanctuary's library. The headphones you wore blared your favorite music and tuned out any and all outside noise. Even the hushed noises straight from your kitchen.

The hours of the afternoon faded away while you read through your book. It wasn't until a friend had come to your door to remind you of your plans to go stargazing did you realize the sun had begun to set. As they left, you decided to brew yourself some tea before you would join the others outside. You remember sitting at your frail kitchen table, blanket adorning your shoulders like a cape as you watched the tea kettle on the stove. Silence pervades and you can't help letting your mind wander. It has been six full years since the incident in Raccoon City. Still, your brain always seems to saunter back to the memories of that night.

You think of Leon Kennedy that night. You remember those pale blue eyes, freckled innocence, puppy-soft hair; you remember how he had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. Working at the Mizoil Gas Station, sitting right on the outskirts of the city, you're bound to face your fair share of weird regulars. And Leon Kennedy, by far, was the weirdest. A week before the night that sent your life into a tornado, you had met the new rookie who just arrived in town. And for seven days, you would always spot that familiar green jeep outside your workplace. His relentless appearances made you worry he had a hole in his gas tank or something. However, his visits weren't to grab gas or a quick snack for the road, it was to awkwardly lean against the counter and pathetically try to win your heart.

"Oh, hey Y/N! Funny running into you here..." The twelve visits a day spoil his attempts at being suave. "Yeah. I work here, Leon." His name sounds like nectar on your tongue, to a point where he is on the verge of outright begging you to say it. Even once more.

You then think of how during your closing shift, a coworker had become something ghastly, something monstrous. It all just happened so fast. You think of how you shielded yourself in your cramped work locker, limbs jutting out against the uncomfortable metal walls. To this day, you can still feel the suffocating tightness in your chest from holding back your sobs. All while you helplessly listened to the horrific sounds of your coworkers and customers being torn apart. You're entirely shaken with trauma, but with your brain in survival mode, you know this was no time to rest. Who knows how many more of those things will arrive? Now was your only shot at escaping this hellhole. So, you begrudgingly peel open the locker door and carefully inspect your surroundings. You grab a six-pack of beer on the desk beside you and take one of the bottles out. It was your only available weapon against your zombified coworkers, after all.

Blood paints your sneakers red and cheap beer stains your uniform as you fight your way out of the station. The sight of the entrance feels like a light at the end of the tunnel. Your lungs tighten with exhaustion as you continue to run towards it. That is until a firm grasp on your wrist halts your intentions. Swinging the bottle towards the assailant, they block it with ease and disarm you. It wasn't until a stuttering, concerned voice gasps your name do you realize that you almost just stabbed Leon Kennedy in the face. But God, you never thought you would be so happy for the persistent neediness of this cop.

You don't even know what had overcome you, but the sight of something human fills you with so much relief, you engulf the man into a hug. It lasted a mere second, but it was more than enough to get Leon's heart thumping in his chest. Even in the face of death, a smile tugs at his lips with any crumb of affection he can extrapolate from you. Muttering an apology to him, Leon disregards it entirely and stares at you with that dumb, love-struck expression. Your drop-dead gorgeous self; your witty comebacks that have his ribs tough with laughter… You, of all people, initiated affection with him, you actually wanted to touch him!

The roar of something inhuman cuts Leon off, to where he then bends down and scoops you into his arms. Without a second to resist, Leon (who is far too elated for comfort) sprints through the door with you and books it to his jeep. You're too busy staring at the store in trepidation to stop Leon from opening the car door for you, placing you in the passenger seat, and fastening your seatbelt for you. Almost as if you were a child, incapable of using your own hands.

The car ride to the Raccoon Police Department is quiet. Other than a few hushed reassurances of comfort from Leon, a heavy silence sits between the two of you. It's so bewildering that the people you had spent every day with are all dead. Not even dead, but zombie-fied creatures groaning to tear your flesh asunder. Your brain drifts to one coworker, in particular. One who was a master at getting under your skin. Manipulating your time alone to ask you out to dinner for the umpteenth time while tracing his hands over your skin. You never agreed, but with every attempt to bring this problem to your manager, it was always swept under the rug. And at last, you would have to endure the eerie smile and roaming hands of this middle-aged creep.

But now, things are different. You think about how he is now dead and can never touch you again; you think of how sickeningly good it felt to drive the rear end of a half-shattered bottle into his skull. Looking at your hands, you find your palms caked with his blood. Leon takes notice of this, taking one hand off the wheel and using it to grasp your hand into his. Electricity tickles through him from the contact. "You didn't have a choice" he assures in that soft tone reserved for you, but he is wrong. You did have a choice, and in the end, you wanted to hurt him.

"I wanted to. I wanted to kill him." Your gaze is locked on your red hands as you confess; Leon's gaze is fixated on you. "I just couldn't put up with him anymore. I finally got to fucking get back at him for once, to take advantage of him while he was weak." You don't even notice the tears streaming down your emotionally-drained expression.

You especially don't notice the sheer affect your words have on Leon. Tense jaw, flared nostrils, chest rising up and down with short breaths. What the fuck did he do to you? What had he done to push you, the angel of Leon's life, to such violent measures? He imagines his disgusting hands, dirtying your heavenly form; he imagines your face scrunched up with dismay, tears brimming in your eyes. And it absolutely destroys him. His heavy stare remains locked on you, entirely oblivious to any outside sources. No zombies, no eight-foot-tall tyrants — all that mattered was the audacity this dead man had to put his hands on you. And god, it makes him red with rage.

"Leon- LEON-!!" You shout out to warn him before the jeep then collides into a car wreck. It is pure mayhem as you shield your head with your hands and prepare for your demise. Leon’s arm stretches out over you in a desperate attempt to protect you. How ironic that in the face of a zombie apocalypse, you would die because of someone's poor driving skills.

You reluctantly open your eyes; you're alive. With your ears ringing out and your vision fuzzy, you manage to wrestle your way out of the jeep that had been flipped upside down. A grunt escapes from your chest as you make contact with the pavement. Something wet trickles down your head and from your nose, which doesn't take much for you to perceive as blood. You are so disoriented, you entirely forget about the man who was driving you just moments before. So disoriented, in fact, you don't hear the weak whimpers of your name from Leon as he watches you stumble further and further and further away from him.

You think of Ada Wong that night. You remember the click of her heels, her expensive perfume, her manicured nails; you remember how she had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. Somehow in your bewildered state, you had found yourself in one of the holding cells of RPD. You had collapsed against a metal bench, catching sight of a blood-stained first aid kit just within reach. You then tend to your wounds with feeble efforts. Soon, your senses clear, to where horrifying screams of agony echo through the large expanse. An unseen force rattles the room, and chunks of wall soar through the air from the cell beside you. There's a pop! before a deafening silence settles in the room.

All that is left in the air is your rapid breathing, waiting for your inescapable demise to embrace you. But, there is simply nothing to greet you but you and your thoughts. The gentle tap of quiet footsteps fills the permeating quiet. A woman then enters your train of vision, dressed in a trench coat, sunglasses, and stiletto heels. She stops in her tracks upon seeing you, seemingly inspecting you from behind her eyewear. With a tilt of her head, the woman steps through the threshold of your cell, where you then bundle yourself in the corner of the room. And you are just so adorable how you cave into yourself, almost like a bunny. So frail and terrified; too damn cute.

The way she walks to you is as if she were on a catwalk. Your trauma-ridden body trembles in fear with every step she takes closer. When she is just within reach, you act on instinct and push her away from you, racing past her and out of the cell. She barely stumbles from your attempt at an attack, an amused chuckle vibrating from her chest. You get a good several steps away before you finally discover what had made such a booming noise before. A man lies dead on the ground in the locked cell beside yours with a punctured hole in the wall. His dry mouth is hung agape and his body sits lifeless. Both eyes have been popped out of their sockets, blood seeping down his face and to the ground below. The woman follows you in your footsteps as you stare in horror. She merely tuts at the sight, a sigh of disappointment filling the empty air. How in the world is she not as terrified as you are?

"Come with me." Her voice is feminine, oozing with sultry confidence. It's soothing to listen to.

"Why?" Meanwhile, your voice is nothing like hers. Your speech comes out shaky and quiet, adorned in the fear this woman was apparently immune to.

"Well, you wouldn't want to end up like Ben, would you?" Your silence serves as your unspoken agreement. "Come now." In addition to her poised nature, her voice is also flat with demanding dominance. You find yourself blindly following her as she struts away.

Accompanying this woman as she walks through the police department as if she were the headline of a fashion show, you soon make it to the grimy streets of the city. During that time, she had introduced herself to you as Ada Wong, a spy working to retrieve the G-Virus. Why is she telling you the whole truth about herself, she doesn't know. Why did she make you follow her when she knows she works better alone, she doesn't know, either. There's just something about the way you cower into her when a zombie growls and the way your eyes glimmer with gratitude when she annihilates the monsters in your path. It makes her feel worthy, for something other than violence or money. As if she were the big, bad wolf who had fallen for the helpless bunny rabbit.

Now standing at the end of the street before the sewer entrance, you stare below in apprehension for what you have now learned lies within. This whole time, all the secrets Umbrella have were hidden right beneath your nose. Or better yet, right beneath your feet. A tank truck lies on its side several feet away from you and behind it, a trail of fire travels closer and closer. The flames and oil mending together then causes an explosion to erupt. Before you even had a chance to process anything, you're in the air, where you land in a patch of grass with a loud crack. Permeating pain courses through your right arm. From the time you had broken your wrist in 5th grade from attempting to climb a tree, you can tell your arm has suffered the same fate.

A leather-gloved hand then places itself onto your cheek. You look to see Ada, now with no glasses, tousled hair, and her coat discolored from grass stains. A dandelion had managed to wrangle itself with one of the dark-colored strands on her head. Playfully, you pluck the dandelion from her hair and gift it to her. Then, you make some joking remark about how it's a "thanks for the save earlier" with a weak chuckle. Your hand touches hers and something flutters within Ada's stomach — something grand, something scary. Something... warm. It stuns her into silence and catches her entirely off guard.

Her gaze shifts to your lips. Despite how chapped and dry they are, your bottom lip seeping with blood after the tough fall, they couldn't look any more appetizing to Ada. The mere idea of pressing her lips to yours causes her to relentlessly fall further and further into this unfamiliar, twitter-pated oblivion. You are just so benevolent, softhearted, and so, so bright. Ada's head is so fogged up with all sorts of devoted insanity, she doesn't take notice of the mass of zombies treading closer. While Ada is crouching beside you, she is then tackled to the ground. A pandemonium of zombies roaring ensues, and you're attacked by the undead, as well. With a hard kick to the skull of your assailant, you're able to wrangle yourself out of their grip on your leg. You stand to your feet and search for Ada to no avail, the heaps of zombies restraining you from any clarity.

With that, you turn tail and slam open the doors of the closest shelter you could find: Gun Shop Kendo.

You think of Jill Valentine that night. You remember her calloused hands, her rough-edged attitude, her scent of gunpowder; you remember how she had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. When you enter the gun shop, you're met with a man and a woman, both disheveled with dirt and blood. They point their guns at you upon your rushed entrance and in response, you raise your hands to surrender. The pummeling on the doors then has you all racing to barricade the entrance, using abandoned shelves and boxes as impromptu defenses. With heavy panting and a hefty barrier, the three of you stand, exasperated, trying to catch your breath. You sink to the floor and hold your arm, flashes of agony pumping through the broken limb.

Despite the danger just outside and your arm overcome with pain, this is the best you'll get in your current state. Shelter and weapons. You'll just have to endure how the shop owner shoved the barrel of his gun in your face and how the cop beside him sees you as gum beneath her shoe. Jill treats you like she does everyone else: ice-cold and blunt. She doesn't say a word to you; she barely acknowledges your presence. For that, you assume she hates your guts. Considering the circumstances, however, you don't take it to heart. Instead, you thank the two for allowing you to stay in the shop while the storm of zombies outside dies down.

However, things are quite different on Jill's end. The simple way you exist — it stuns her. Throughout her entire life, this dull ache has resided in her chest. She feels nothing. She would try and garner any feeling whatsoever; she'd do something adrenaline-inducing to feel fear, she'd do something ignorant to feel guilt. She would do everything to fill this hollow void within her. But, her incessant efforts were all brought to no avail.

That is until you came along.

Even though you're just some helpless civilian with no other desires than temporary protection, something foreign pervades her brain. Jill has come to realize you are far more than just the pretty face on the surface (although the idea of others witnessing your beauty causes her stomach to churn). She then tends to your broken arm, acting as if her heart wasn't running a mile a minute from the close contact. Meanwhile, lust-driven fantasies that would make even a harlot blush muddle her brain. To have you beneath her, staring up at her like that. You can't expect her to not swoon at the mere thought of how you'd taste, how you'd sound, how you'd tremble from her touch. Her mouth waters at the mental image alone.

Without thinking, Jill leans in to kiss you, fully ready to take you here on the floor of this filthy gun shop. The cock of Kendo's gun brings her out of her haze. You, on the other hand, assume this woman views you as nothing but a burden despite the clear display of infatuation in front of you. She informs you with a flat tone how survivors would be taken to the subway station, where they would then be transported out of the city. You thank her again for her hospitality, but mostly out of culpability. With your arm now covered with swiftly-made bandages, you reach with the other for an abandoned gun. Now that you've accepted the assumption this woman doesn't want a thing to do with you, the only way you'll get out of Raccoon City is by yourself. However, she blocks your attempt with a gentle grasp of your wrist.

"No need." Her voice is rough, but beneath the facade, it is timid and fearful.

"Why not?"

"You have me. I won't let anything happen to you." You stare at her, completely flabbergasted at the sudden alter in attitude.

The journey to the subway station was a breeze, to say the least. With your new bodyguard there to obliterate any danger in your path, it was practically a stroll in the park. She tells you her name and you tell her yours. Y/N Valentine has kind of a ring to it, Jill thinks. But with only just a few blocks to cross, something large, something beastly, something entirely inhuman stops you in your tracks. Incredibly massive with its large teeth protruding from its mouth, it groans a deep "S.T.A.R.S" before it begins to stomp towards you. Terror submerges your senses and immobilizes you. A red laser points from the rocket launcher in its hands, the dot sitting right by your feet. Jill then grabs hold of your hand and tries to run off with you, but her futile attempts were too late. A rocket then strikes the pavement and its force sends the two of you into the air. Your bandaged arm lands first against the unforgiving ground, anguish permeating your entire body.

You think of Carlos Oliveira that night. You remember his gruff voice, his kind heart, his dirt-caked skin; you remember how he had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. The pain in your arm is so blinding, there is nothing else you can think about. Not Jill, not Ada, not Leon, not the myriad of monstrous creatures on your tail. The only thing that exists right now is the torturous misery coursing through you. You're writhing on the cold pavement as you cling to your arm, cries of distress and exhaustion trembling from your chest. God, when will this nightmare fucking end?

The gut-wrenching entrance you're in is broken when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You expect to find Jill and her stone-cold, yet concerned expression, only to turn over your shoulder and see a complete stranger. He has a head full of messy, dark hair, with loose strands shielding his face; a strong body, with his military vest filled with heavy weaponry. His expression, however, was the most memorable. God, he looks at you as if you've hung the moon. His appearance is unkempt and dirty, but still overwhelmed with cheesy rom-com levels of infatuation. Why is this stranger looking at you as if you were walking down the aisle on your wedding day? You don't know. Besides, there are far more important matters to concern yourself with.

The heavy slam of Jill's boots reverberates as she sprints over to you. She helps you to your feet, not without a quick glare at the man beside you that reads "don't you fucking touch them." Jill puts your intact arm around her and leads you into Moon's Donuts, all while the deafening sounds of gunfire and grisly roars echo from behind. You don't dare turn around; you couldn't bear to look at that abomination once more. The quiet hum of heavy rock welcomes you as you enter the deserted donut shop. You practically collapse into one of the booths, Jill following behind and sitting across from you. With an exhale of relief, you relax into the seat and hold your arm in an attempt for temporary comfort. The man from before enters shortly, as well, then barricades the entrance with ease.

Your bandages are now torn and peeling. In an effort to fix it yourself, that same agonizing pain satiates through your arm instead. You hiss in response, alerting the two others. The man leans down before you, introducing himself as Carlos Oliveira, then eagerly asking you to inform him of your name. You oblige and he visibly shivers when your skin makes contact with his, an expressed concoction of nerves and irrepressible obsession. Upon gingerly grasping hold of your arm, he uses medical equipment from the various pockets around his chest and tends to you. His touch is careful, delicate — as if you would drift away if he applied any pressure. With every whimper and groan of pain from you, shocks are sent straight to his heart. Carlos had just met you moments ago yet still, he can't fathom the idea of you in pain. He assumes it's merely empathy, but when he feels tears brim in his eyes at the sight of you suffering, he knows this isn't normal.

With Jill's hand on your shoulder, consoling you through the pain, Carlos finishes swiftly before reluctantly breaking physical contact with you. He then gives you his canteen bottle, allowing you some water after your exhausting efforts to survive. You down the water like you've been parched for years. In the process, you are entirely oblivious to the heavy breathing from Carlos, who is left stunned at the prospect of an indirect kiss. Your lips against his — he feels his cheeks heat up from the idea alone. He doesn't realize how totally deranged he looks in his lovesick hysteria before the sharp snap of Jill's fingers brings him back to reality. Her possessive stare, her physical affection with you. Carlos feels his world crumble at the revelation that falls: you belong to Jill. The partner of his dreams is sitting right in front of him, but at the same time, is entirely out of reach. And it shatters him.

With that being said, Carlos isn't always the most articulate with his attempts at garnering information, hence why he stuck to the guns. So, as Jill and Carlos guard you like feral dogs with a bone while you travel back to the subway, he lets his facade slip.

"So... Are you two-like... Are you guys-um? Like, together?" Smooth as silk, Carlos. Smooth as silk.

Jill rolls her eyes in response. Mostly due to how annoying she thought him to be, but especially due to the fact that you aren't actually hers. Meanwhile, you tilt your head in confusion like a lost puppy (and you miss the way they visibly melt from the sight). After another fit of relentless stammering from Carlos, Jill finally clears the air.

"No, we're not dating." It hurts her to say it, evident in the way she clenches her jaw in an attempt to suppress her protruding emotions. Meanwhile, Carlos is sent to cloud nine.

Despite the blood, death, and gore he had witnessed in a single night, he had never felt so elated in all his years alive. Jill scoffs at his thinly-veiled euphoria, before grasping your hand and treading forward. Through trial and error (and more zombies than you could count), the three of you finally make it back to the subway station. You could cry, it's almost over. However, you can't help but notice how Jill and Carlos are perceptibly devastated by the idea of letting you go.

You hug Jill. It was nothing intimate, merely a thanks for the help she had provided you. Still, her body goes rigid and her heart flourishes with every kind of emotion she has never felt before. Through all the revelations that have taken place in this hellhole of a night, none of it compared to the earth-shattering emotions you have given her. Fear, lust, jealousy, devotion — it's all so overwhelming and she loves it.

You hug Carlos next. Again, nothing intimate or ulterior about the act of affection. But just like Jill, his heart practically detonates from the close contact. If only you could see his love-struck face; his expression is practically straight out of a cartoon. Cupid's bow through his chest, bluebirds swarming around his head and all. When the friendly hug soon started to turn into a romantic embrace, you push yourself off of Carlos, excusing his actions as nothing short of post-traumatic nerves.

With that, you join the other civilians on the train. The subway doors close behind you as you look at the survivors around you. All of them are riddled with trauma, shaken and silently weeping from the sights they have witnessed. Despite the harrowing circumstances, you're alive. That is all that matters and you could not be more grateful. Sitting on an empty seat, an exhale of relief escapes your chest. The train whirs as it begins to move. You turn your shoulder and look through the filth-stained windows to find Jill and Carlos, eyes blown wide with emotion as they watch you leave them. They stand in the same place you had left them, gazing wistfully at the love of their life. Picking up speed, you are soon out of their sight and they are now without the one they love most. And the sheer affect it has on them is gut-wrenching.

Fortunately for you, the ride out of the city is plain sailing. And with no S.T.A.R.S. members on the train, there is no 8-foot-tall creature there to set everything ablaze. You have now become one of the very few people who can say they made it out of Raccoon City alive.

You think of Raccoon City the morning after and the consequences that came from surviving. You think about what Carlos had said to you in the midst of danger. "I'm not gonna die on you and leave you in a cold, cruel, Carlos-less world." Liar.

Upon escaping the city safely, you and the other survivors were sent to a local hospital. From thereon, you would spend the next several days there (and finally receive proper treatment for your broken arm). After several days of anxiously anticipating the well-being of your friends and the entirety of Raccoon City, a doctor you had never seen before enters your room in the dead of night. Introducing himself as Dr. Matt Gorkis, he then reveals the news of the missile strike sent to the city and how there were no other survivors. A wave of devastation and helplessness washes over you. Weeping softly, the doctor bluntly provides details of the matter.

He then informs you of a sanctuary being built just for survivors of the incident. There will be provided shelter, basic necessities, and all sorts of therapeutic activities that will help you during your healing journey. And with your job, your home, and all of your friends eradicated to dust, you know you have no other choice. With another month of being tested for infections and going through physical therapy, you are released from the hospital and sent away with the doctor. For the past six years, this sanctuary is what you have learned to call home.

The hissing of the tea kettle makes you jump, bringing an abrupt halt to your road trip down memory lane. And while you pour yourself a cup of tea, you realize that your memories will be of no use for your current circumstances. For now, you'll have to let yourself be lulled to sleep in the back of this stranger's vehicle, driven far away to god-knows-where. But, the embrace the person has on you is so warm, so inviting. Your body can’t help but succumb to the relaxation this stranger provides.

You just hope that when you wake up, whatever welcomes you isn't anything reminiscent of the nightmare you faced six years ago.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 ۫ you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ MY LOVE, MY DARLING

I'VE HUNGERED FOR YOUR TOUCH . . . ❞

not a single person had asked for this, but it has been all my brain has been able to think about. i hope u all can appreciate some breadcrumbs from the ramblings of my heart hehe.

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mokulule · 6 months

Text

A Man has Needs part 1

This will hopefully be a short thing, maybe three or four parts. Silly with a small dash of angst for flavor. Also someone needs to stop me from starting new stories, instead of indulging my insanity.

Ship: Dead on Main (Jason/Danny)

It had been an exhausting Friday, people were out celebrating the weekend and payday both. To top it off it was prime petty crime weather too with no rain. It was a patrol that would never end. Crime Alley had really lived up to its name tonight.

Jason was exhausted. Not because anything had been particularly challenging or dangerous, but it had just been one very long night of constant stupid little crimes.

It was five in the morning and his bed was calling him. He’d already stashed his gear in storage on the roof and he was so close to being home he could practically feel the soft sheets, the promise of sleep. The open bathroom window was a bother when he was this tired. Maybe he should have just gone down to the street and walked in the door, but keys also seemed like such a bother right now and more stairs… No, window was fine, he was in.

Bed. Now.

He bumped into something outside the bathroom door. Fuzzily he looked down to see a moving box - odd. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, he’d deal with that in the morning. Bed, comfort, safe.

He stumbled into the bedroom when it turned out the door wasn’t properly shut just pushed mostly closed.

Okay check list. Boots off. What else? Pants off, shirt off. He’d pick up in the morning. Did he forget anything? Toothbrush. He glanced backwards halfheartedly, he’d already left the bathroom; bed was right there.

The bed won. Tomorrow he would deal with teeth.

Tomorrow…

He crawled under the sheets. Warm and nice and safe and mmmmh he snuggled closer to the source, breathing in mint and something biting like frosty morning air. His nose buried into soft short hair and breathed in deep again. Good. Amazing. Safe. Sated.

Sleep.

Oo o oO

Danny turned and stretched with a yawn. He frowned when something held him into place. Must have gotten himself caught in the sheets again. It wasn’t a problem, he just slipped away intangibly, rolling to the edge of the bed to reach blindly for the night table.

Where was the phone? It took him a moment but finally it connected with his hand.

He groaned when he saw the time, it was nearly midday. Jazz would frown at him for already messing his sleep schedule up, but he’d just wanted to get as much set up in his apartment as possible, that had to be an okay excuse? He turned back on his back and looked at the light dancing across the ceiling from the light breeze moving the curtains.   Okay time to get up. He had another day of unpacking today.

He got out and stretched absently. He turned around intending to make his bed if only to look responsible for when Jazz would come later to see the apartment.

He turned and promptly clapped his hands over his mouth to contain the frightened scream.

There was a guy in his bed! How was there a guy in his bed?! Ancients, what the fuck?!

Wait.

Danny tilted his head, eyes trailed down the muscular and scarred back, to a well shaped butt, which the tight boxers did very little to hide, and then those thighs!

There was a hot guy in Danny’s bed!

Focus Danny. He shook his head and slapped himself for good measure. That wasn’t what was important right now - though those thighs… Ancients, Danny would happily die again crushed by them.

No!

What was important was somehow there was a (hot) stranger in his bed. Danny had not invited him, of that he was sure. He had been unpacking yesterday, there had been no consumption of ghost zone alcohol yesterday, which could otherwise explain the lack of memory.

Which meant the guy had for some reason entered Danny’s apartment and slept with him - in the boring ordinary sense, Danny lamented this fact quietly for a moment.

Danny wasn’t surprised he hadn’t woken up, he slept, well, like the dead. The only thing that would wake him was very loud noises (like his alarm or his Dad’s inside voice) or occasionally his ghost sense.

It wasn’t even that Danny was surprised to find a bedmate. It was rare that Danny slept alone these days. He was, no matter how you put it, a very powerful ghost and he gave off a lot of good concentrated ambient ectoplasm.

Sometime last year the blobs and animal ghosts in Amity had started to join him every now and then when he slept. According to Frostbite it wasn’t so strange. They fed on the energy he gave off and also benefitted from his presence, which apparently radiated safety.

At first he’d been woken up by his ghost sense every time, but he’d gotten to a point where he just subconsciously dismissed the sense when the ghosts in question didn’t have ill intentions.

So Danny wasn’t surprised he wasn’t alone. He’d expected a bit more time to pass before whatever weak ghosts might be around figured out he was here, but you don’t wake up six days out of seven with cuddly animal ghosts in your bed and get surprised by it.

No, Danny was surprised by the fact that it was a guy. A human. A person. With muscled arms and- Oh, Danny realized cheeks heating up, that probably hadn’t been the sheets he’d been stuck in earlier.

Danny covered his face with his hands and groaned in despair.

Why was there a guy in his bed? Why couldn’t there be a guy in his bed for normal reasons? Danny would have brought this guy to his bed for normal bringing a guy to bed reasons.

He crawled onto the bed intending to wake the stranger, but as he reached out for the guy’s shoulder he turned leaning into the touch and sighed like the weight of the world had just lifted off his shoulders.

Danny was frozen, staring at the point of contact. He could sense it now: the man’s malnourished ghost core.

Danny swallowed thickly, suddenly seeing the many scars on the man’s back in a different light and that pure white streak in the otherwise black hair, it all seemed so obvious now.

The man was a halfa, or halfa adjacent. Because that was definitely warm human flesh underneath Danny’s hand.

So incredibly, unbelievably, absurdly this was essentially the same situation as usual, except not at all, because this was a person. Humanoid ghosts and ghosts with human-like or above intelligence didn’t do this. There were social conventions in place and not to mention they were usually powerful enough on their own to not need the ectoplasm.

But this guy was malnourished. He probably never had a good stable source of ectoplasm to properly develop his metabolism. Also to Danny’s metaphysical senses he smelled like he’d done the ghostly equivalent of dumpster diving to survive. Danny’s ectoplasmic aura had to be like the siren call of a buffet table.

Shit.

New plan. Danny was not gonna embarrass the poor guy. The situation was weird enough as it was. Danny was just gonna act like this was normal. Danny woke up with guests practically every day.

This was a person, not an animal, therefore petting was out of the question, so coffee.

Coffee was normal to offer guests. Also Danny needed coffee. He nodded to himself in satisfaction and floated off the bed to enter his combined kitchen and living room. The coffee machine was the first thing he got set up yesterday, clearly smart of past Danny.

It wouldn’t be long before his guest awoke with Danny no longer in the room to supply passive ectoplasm.

Maybe his human stomach wanted food too?

Oo o oO

Jason woke up with his head and nose buried in a pillow that smelled wonderful and comfortable somehow. He breathed in deep, catching mint and that biting cold he vaguely remembered from last night. Now, however he wasn’t dead on his feet, he was awake, more rested than he remember feeling for a long time and his brain connected the details into very alarming facts:

This was not his pillow. This was not his bed.

He sat up, quickly taking in the bare white walls and the stack of emptied and flattened moving boxes leaning against the wall next to a built-in closet.

This was very much not his apartment.

There was a noise of a cupboard clanging shut and Jason’s head snapped to the door that was open just a crack; he was not alone.

Shit.

He jumped out of bed, bending his knees upon impact to soften the sound. He needed to leave. Where was his clothes? His gaze darted around and he hurried to pick up his discarded items of clothing as he found them. Somehow one of his boots had ended up under the bed.

Quickly he pulled on the jeans and the shirt, was he wearing a jacket yesterday? He didn’t remember. Boots on and then he was going out the window- except there was the scent of coffee and something in the air. What was that smell?

He found himself moving to the door instead. The door squeaked as he pulled it open and he froze, hand still on the door handle, when the sound drew the attention of the young man in the kitchen.

His hair was black and sleep tousled, he had a slender athletic build and as he walked around the kitchen island bearing two cups it became apparent he was just wearing boxers. Jason’s inspection ended on his legs, which were admittedly very nice. When he looked back up he found the man standing a cautious distance away and a cute pink blush stretched all the way from his cheeks to his chest. Sky blue eyes looked up a him from underneath slightly frowning brows.

“So, you’re awake,” the man opened with an admirable attempt at a smile considering the situation. There was a beat of silence in which Jason grasped for what to even say, then the man reached his hand forward offering one of the cups, “coffee?”

There were many a thing Jason could say or should say. Like, what the fuck? You’re just gonna offer the guy who broke into your apartment coffee? Or, I’m sorry I broke into your apartment (and bed!)? And, why do you sleep with your windows open and unlocked? This is freaking Crime Alley! Or, what is it that smells so good?

What he actually said was a quiet, “yes, please.”

The cup was warm in his hands as he sipped it. And clearly this was enough for the cute guy because his smile turned more real and he nodded to himself and walked back to the kitchen counter. Jason really hoped that didn’t mean the coffee was poisoned.

“Feel free to take a seat. I hope you like pop tarts, it’s kinda all that I have at the moment.” As if summoned the toaster made a swish noise popping up the tarts.   Hesitantly Jason sat down at the small square table paired with two mismatched foldable chairs. He really should turn and jump out a window. There had to be some kind of reckoning coming. Maybe the guy really cared about hospitality and Jason would be questioned after the food? Maybe that’s what was going on.

But also strangely his gut was telling him he was safe here? He really had no clue what to do with that.  A paper plate with a pop tart was set down in front of him and after setting down his own pop tart and coffee the man joined him.

Jason was supremely aware of the few inches between their knees. This wasn’t a large table after all and if he moved just slightly they would be touching. But why would he want them to be touching? Why was it so tempting?

Jason clenched his hands firmly and stared down at the pop tart, with an intensity born of the fact that for some reason he had to focus on not knocking knees with a stranger.

“You look at that poor pop tart as if you think it’s gonna explode, that’s not actually what pop tart means, you know.”

Jason looked up at the guy in disbelief.

He rubbed the back of his neck, “yeah that was terrible I know.”

Silence stretched between them and clearly embarrassed the guy hastily took a sip of his coffee and a bite of his pop tart avoiding Jason’s gaze.

Guilt twisted in Jason’s chest, not only did he invade his home he was also making him uncomfortable. His only comfort was the fact that the guy clearly wasn’t afraid of him.

Jason started eating the pop tart. For whatever the reason breakfast was part of the script the guy had decided on to make an attempt at normalcy. What else was Jason to do? He hadn’t fled when he had the chance and-

Oh-

The guy had shifted in his chair, one of their knees were touching, there was a spark and it felt like something uncurled inside him, a weight lifted. Jason blinked. This was…Mint and frost was a sting in his nose, a fullness in his chest. Goose bumps ran along his arms, and it tingled all the way to his fingertips.

Jason snapped his head up, but the guy was just looking at his phone sipping his coffee. As if he couldn’t feel the cold electricity between them. There was no way he could sit like that if he felt it? Was Jason just imagining it? He shuddered and moved slightly, just enough that they weren’t touching and instantly he regretted it. The wave of longing was almost enough to make his vision black out.

The guy looked up with a frown. “You okay, man?”

“Fine,” Jason said hoarsely, desperately focusing on the half eaten pop tart and taking another bite.

When the pop tarts were eaten and the cups emptied the man stood and Jason matched him. Jason wasn’t sure what he expected to happen at this point but it certainly wasn’t the guy, to walk over to his front door with a casual, “well I should get ready for the day.”  It was a clear dismissal. An out for the whole strange situation. Jason stood up and walked over to the door.

The guy opened the door letting Jason out with a short electrifying clap on the back and a “Take care, man.”

Jason was left standing outside the door to the previously empty apartment 4A, several floors below Jason’s own top floor apartment. How did he ever mistake it for his own?

What was the deal with the guy’s touch and why did Jason crave it so desperately?

Unsettled. he started walking towards the stairwell. As he moved further away from the apartment the pull to go back lessened. It was still there, but it was replaced quickly by something else.

He felt rested, energized in a way he hadn’t felt in a long while. There was an urge to do something. He felt like he could take on the world - maybe even Sunday dinner at the manor tomorrow.

Jason laughed. Wouldn’t that surprise everyone?

He was so caught up in the euphoria of productivity and social interactions that didn’t go sour for the next couple of days, that he completely forgot about the strange Saturday morning.

If you liked this consider telling me your thoughts in the replies or tags, it is motivating. Now to hopefully write a bit on Catnip.

#dp x dc #dead on main #a man has needs #Danny is trying his best to pretend this is normal #and okay #Jason has no clue whatsoever.

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alxtiny · 2 months

Note

hi i hope your requests are open 😓😓😓 i was wondering if you could do an ot8 comfort fic thing for when the ateez members find out that reader used to selfharm because of the scars left behind. if you dw to do ot8 then just mingi is fine.

thank you sm!

I’m so sorry it took this long i got sidetracked 😭😭 but i hope you like it

Ateez reacting to their SO’s self harm scars

Synopsis: ateez comforts the reader after finding out about their self harm scars

Pairing: ateez x gn!reader, domestic au

Genre: fluff, comfort

Word count: 3k

Warnings: mentions of past struggles with self harm

masterlist

• Hongjoong

The soft hum of music filled the cozy studio as Hongjoong focused on the delicate dance of his fingers on the MIDI keyboard, his laptop screen glowing with various tracks and effects. Beside him, you were nestled in a comfortable chair, engrossed in a book, occasionally shifting to find a more comfortable position.

As you moved, your shorts rode up slightly, revealing faint scars on your thighs. Hongjoong's eyes flickered with concern as he noticed, surprised to have not seen them before. He paused his work, turning to you with a gentle furrow in his brow.

"Jagi, what happened to your thighs?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for answers.

You looked down at your scars, a small sigh escaping your lips. "Oh, those? Just old battle wounds," you replied casually, trying to not fall back into painful memories.

Hongjoong's heart sank at your casual response. "But... how did you get them?" he asked, his concern evident in his voice.

You inhaled sharply, setting your book aside. "It's... a long story. But really, it's all in the past. They don't bother me anymore."

Hongjoong's heart clenched at your stiff tone, but he chose not to pry further. He reached out to gently trace the scars with his fingertips, his touch hesitant, as if it might hurt you, but you found it comforting. "I wish I had noticed sooner," he murmured, his voice laced with regret.

You met his gaze, offering him a small smile. "It's okay, love. I got out of it. It not exactly pleasant to remember but I’ll be fine," you reassured him, squeezing his hand affectionately. "Besides, consider it character development."

Hongjoong pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if he could shield you from any pain. "Don’t make jokes now," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "But remember, you don't have to bear it alone. I'm here for you, always."

"Thank you," you whispered, feeling With warmth spreading through your body, grateful for his presence and understanding.

• Seonghwa

Seonghwa sat comfortably on his bed, his back resting against the pillows as he played Animal Crossing on his Switch. You snuggled close beside him, the warmth of his body against yours, as you watched the screen together.

You continued watching with fascination, occasionally pointing out cute details or offering suggestions for his virtual paradise.

"Hwa, look! You should put a little picnic area by the beach," you suggested, your voice filled with excitement.

He glanced at you, a warm smile gracing his lips as he listened to your ideas. But then, as the light from the screen shifted, he noticed something on your forearm. Faint scars, barely visible except for when the light from the screen illuminated them but it was enough to catch his attention. He paused the game, concern flickering in his eyes as he gently traced his fingers over them.

"What are these?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with worry.

You hesitated for a moment, feeling a wave of vulnerability wash over you. But then, meeting his gaze, you offered a reassuring smile. "They're old scars," you explained gently. "I'm better now, Seonghwa. You don't need to worry."

He furrowed his brows, his concern evident. "But... how did I never notice them before?"

You shrugged lightly. "They're not something I like to talk about, anyways being with you makes me feel confident and content with myself and I don't dwell on the past when I'm with you."

Seonghwa's heart swelled with love and admiration for you. Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "You're so strong, Y/N," he murmured, his arms enveloping you in a comforting embrace. "And you're not alone. I'm here for you, always."

You smiled at him, feeling absolutely content as you relaxed further into his arms.

• Yunho

Yunho had always been passionate about his work, especially dancing. So when he dragged you along to the KQ dance studio one evening, you couldn't say no to his big puppy eyes, even if it meant sitting on the sidelines and watching him move with such grace that not even the best could replicate.

As he swayed and spun across the polished floor, you couldn't tear your eyes away from him. His dedication and talent were mesmerizing, filling the room with an energy that was infectious.

"That was amazing," you whispered as he finished a particularly intricate sequence.

He grinned, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Thanks, love. But you know what would make it even better?"

You raised an eyebrow, already anticipating his answer.

"If you joined me," he said, extending a hand towards you.

You shook your head, chuckling softly. "No way, Yunho. I'm not half as talented as you are."

But Yunho was persistent, and before you knew it, he had pulled you up from your seat and into the centre of the studio. You stumbled a bit, feeling a little self-conscious as you stood next to him.

"Don't worry," he reassured you, placing his hands on your waist. "Just follow my lead."

You moved together, following his lead as best you could. It wasn't long before you found yourself lost in the music, the worries of the day melting away with each step.

But then, as you spun around, your shirt shifted, revealing the faint marks on your shoulder. Yunho noticed immediately, his expression shifting from playful to concerned. He stopped dancing, his hands dropping to his sides. You froze at his sudden shift in demeanour and looked at him in confusion waiting for him to say something.

"What's this?" he asked, gently tracing the marks with his fingertips.

You bit your lip, feeling exposed under his scrutinizing gaze. "Oh, um, it's nothing. Probably just from a cat or something."

Yunho raised an eyebrow at your answer, he wasn't convinced. "You sure about that?"

You sighed, knowing you couldn't keep it from him any longer. "Fine, I used do it when I got frustrated or angry with myself. It's stupid, I know."

Yunho's eyes widened in horror, his fingers still lingering on your skin. "Why would you do that?"

You shrugged, feeling embarrassed. "I don't know. It's like a subconscious thing, I guess."

"You don't have to do that anymore," he murmured against your skin, kissing the scars lightly. "You have me now. Whenever you feel like that, come to me. Lean on me, use me however you like. I'll be here for you."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you buried your face in his chest, feeling a sense of relief wash over you.

• Yeosang

Yeosang had gone out for a while to run some errands, leaving you to enjoy a peaceful nap on his large bed. You decided to steal one of his shirts, the comfort of which immediately sent you to sleep. Unbeknownst to you,in your deep slumber as you shifted around, the shirt had slipped off your shoulder, exposing the healed scars that adorned your skin.

As Yeosang returned home, his heart swelled at the sight of you, peacefully sleeping. He couldn't help but smile fondly, thinking of how cute and tiny you looked in his clothes, quietly he approached to admire your peaceful face. Gently, he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, as he did his gaze shifted to the scars that marred your skin. Concern flooded his features as he leaned in closer, his fingertips hovering over the healed marks.

You stirred at his touch, blinking awake with a soft smile as you recognized him. "Hey, Yeosang, you’re back, " you greeted smiling at him, your voice still laced with sleep.

But as your eyes met his, you noticed the concern etched in his expression, his eyes fixed on the scars. "Is everything alright?" you asked, furrowing your brows in confusion.

Yeosang's worry spilled out in a rush of questions. "What happened? Are you okay? Why didn't you tell me?"

Confusion flashed across your face before you realised what he was looking at, and you gently reached out to cup his cheek, soothing the furrow in his brow. "Yeosang, it's okay," you reassured him, your voice gentle yet firm. "Those scars are old. It's been nearly a decade since then."

You could see the relief wash over him, but he still looked troubled. "But... why? Why did you...?"

You placed a finger over his lips, silencing his questions. "I was going through a tough time back then," you explained softly. "But being with you... you make me so happy, Yeosang. I haven't had any bad thoughts since."

His eyes softened, and he pulled you into a comforting embrace, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "I'm just glad you're okay," he murmured against your skin.

You smiled up at him, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over you. "I'm more than okay," you whispered, leaning in to capture his lips in a gentle kiss. "I'm better than I've ever been, all because of you."

• San

After a warm evening shower you wanted nothing more but to get into your fluffy pyjamas and go to sleep. You stood in front of your mirror, carefully putting on your clothes, when the door unexpectedly swung open, revealing San on the other side. Startled, you instinctively grabbed a towel to cover yourself.

"Oh, sorry! I didn't realize you were in here," San stammered, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"It's okay, San. Just give me a moment," you said, adjusting your shirt as you continued dressing. You had been with him long enough not to feel entirely uncomfortable with him seeing you like this.

As you finished, you noticed San's gaze lingering on a particular spot near your hips. Sensing his stare, you furrowed your brows and glanced down, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"Is something wrong?" you asked, your voice laced with concern.

San blinked, seemingly snapping out of his trance. "Oh, no, it's nothing," he quickly replied, though his expression betrayed his curiosity.

You sighed softly, knowing he wouldn't let it go that easily. "They're just scars from my past," you explained, gesturing towards the faded marks on your upper thigh and hips. "Back then I struggled a lot with my confidence," you winced slightly at the painful memory.

San's eyes widened in realisation, and his features softened with empathy. "I had no idea," he murmured, stepping closer to you. "You're perfect, you know? I can't believe you would ever think otherwise."

A small, appreciative smile tugged at your lips, touched by his sincerity. "Thank you, San," you replied softly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "I'm in a much better place now."

Without hesitation, San reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb gently brushing against your skin. "I'm glad to hear that," he whispered, his gaze filled with adoration. "But just know, I'll always be here to remind you of how incredible you are."

His words melted away any lingering insecurities, and you couldn't help but lean in to press a tender kiss against his lips. "Thank you for always being so understanding," you murmured against his mouth.

"Of course," San replied, returning the kiss with equal fervor. "You don't ever have to worry about anything when you're with me.

• Mingi

After ages of going to the gym, lifting weights and what not, you had finally convinced Mingi to join you for a workout session at home. He was a bit hesitant about it at first, but eventually agreed, eager to spend more time with you. You chose something slow and peaceful, as opposed to the usual fast cardio routine.

You rolled out your yoga mats in a quiet corner of the living room, ready to start your session. "Alright, Mingi, let's begin with some simple stretches," you said, gesturing for him to follow your lead.

Mingi nodded, a determined look on his face as he mirrored your movements. You guided him through various yoga poses, explaining the significance behind each one with patience and encouragement. As you moved gracefully from one pose to another, you couldn't help but notice Mingi's intense focus on you.

Eventually, you transitioned into a seated position, stretching out your legs. That's when you saw Mingi's gaze flicker down to your thighs, his expression shifting slightly.

Sensing his sudden shift in mood, you paused, meeting his eyes with a soft smile. "Is everything okay, Mingi?"

Mingi hesitated for a moment before speaking up. "Y/N, I... I didn't realize..." His voice trailed off, his eyes fixated on the faint scars adorning your skin.

You followed his gaze and realized what he was looking at. You never made an effort to hide them, but you hadn't expected Mingi to notice them either.

You shifted closer to him and reached out, gently placing your hands on his. You took a deep breath, deciding to address it calmly. "Those are just old scars from before. I don't hide them, but I understand if it's a bit surprising."

Mingi blinked back tears, his emotions bubbling to the surface. "I... I never knew. I'm sorry, Y/N. I should've noticed sooner."

You shook your head, squeezing his shoulder gently. "You don't have to apologize, Mingi. You couldn't have known. What matters is that I'm here now, and I'm okay."

Mingi's eyes softened as he looked at you, his voice filled with sincerity. "Y/N, please... promise me you won't struggle alone anymore. I'm here for you, always."

You nodded, a warm smile spreading across your face, as you hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek, making him crack a smile too. "I promise, Mingi.”

• Wooyoung

It was one of those lazy afternoons when you and Wooyoung were both off from work and free from all worries, allowing just the two of you to enjoy each other's company. Of course the best way to spend it was by annoying each other and generally goofing around, engaging in your usual banter and playful teasing.

As you playfully jabbed at Wooyoung's side while he was attempting to pour himself some water, successfully making him spill it, he retaliated by attempting to tickle you. You squirmed and laughed, trying to evade his grasp and running around the apartment, but he managed to corner you and began tickling your sides mercilessly.

"Ah! Wooyoung, stop!" you squealed between giggles, your cheeks flushed from the laughter.

His hands slipped under your shirt, tickling up and down your sides with no mercy as tears escaped your eyes from laughing too much. Abruptly his movements stopped, and a concerned frown creased his forehead as his fingers brushed against thin ridges on the side of your ribs. Gingerly he lifted your shirt, his eyes widened to discover pale white scars strewn across your skin.

"Hey... what's this?" Wooyoung's voice softened as he traced the scars with his thumb, his playful demeanor instantly replaced by worry.

You glanced at him, puzzled by the sudden change in his demeanor, until you followed his gaze down to your ribs. Realization dawned on you, and you gently placed your hand over his, giving him a reassuring smile.

"Ahh those, it's okay, Wooyoung," you said softly. "I'm okay now. You don't need to worry."

He searched your eyes, silently asking for confirmation. Your reassuring words seemed to ease his concern, but he still couldn't shake off the worry completely.

Leaning in, he pressed a tender kiss against the scars, his lips warm against your skin. "I love you," he whispered softly, his voice filled with sincerity and affection.

Your heart swelled with warmth at his words, and a giggle bubbled up from within you. Wrapping your arms around him, you hugged him tightly.

• Jongho

As you walked through the door after a painfully long day at work, Jongho couldn't help but notice the weary expression etched on your face. His heart clenched at the sight, knowing all too well the burdens you carried. He had always known of the battles you fought within yourself and the scars they left behind. Yet, out of respect and understanding, he never broached the topic, letting you open up at your own pace.

Today, however, he felt compelled to reach out, to offer you the comfort you so often extended to him.

"Hey, love," he greeted softly, setting aside his book and rising to meet you.

You managed a faint smile, but it didn't quite reach your eyes. "Hey, Jongho."

He stepped closer, his gaze gentle yet searching. "Rough day?"

You sighed, nodding slightly. "Yeah, you could say that."

Taking your hand, he led you to the couch, where he enveloped you in a warm embrace. "I'm here for you, you know? You can always talk to me."

You tensed slightly at his words, your gaze flickering to the floor. But Jongho's reassuring touch grounded you, as he smoothed over the jagged lines on your arms, easing the knots of anxiety that tightened within you.

"I'm just... tired," you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Silence settled between you, but it was a comforting silence. Jongho pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his arms secured around you.

Jongho nods, his hand finding yours, offering silent support. "You know you don't have to carry it all alone, right?" he says, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you're grateful for the dim light that hides the vulnerability in your expression. "I know," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

Send an ask or a message to be added to taglist

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS PURE FICTION AND NOT RELATED TO THE MEMBERS OF ATEEZ IN REAL LIFE PLEASE DO NOT TAKE IT SERIOUSLY

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uravitsy · 3 months

Text

‘YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL’ SATORU GOJO

ACT ONE.

summary. gojo visits your grave once a year, reflecting on the limited time he had with you while going through the stages of grief. ☆

warnings. angst, sad!gojo, fem!reader! gojo x you, grief, established relationship, some smut if you squint, bittersweet ending

a/n. this is a short story i wrote over the summer, i wanted to dabble into the idea of gojo not being able to fully process his grief without the help of his students. it is a bit sad though.

ACT TWO : ̗̀➛ ACT THREE : ̗̀➛ FINALE

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

"Does Gojo-sensei seem…different today?" Itadori asked absentmindedly, leaning back in his chair while balancing a pencil on his nose. He was doing everything else but the work he was supposed to finish before class ended. His two close friends, Megumi and Nobara, spared him a quick glance, as if debating whether to answer his ridiculous question.

"When is that nutjob ever okay?" Nobara bounced back another question, making Itadori stop balancing himself on his chair to think for once. The pencil he had on his face clattered onto the ground. "If anything, he's more extra than he was yesterday."

"Exactly," Itadori frowned, the invisible lightbulb above his head continuing to flicker as he thought long and hard about what Gojo could be upset about. He knew it was a stretch, and he himself wasn't too good at reading emotions, but he was sure something was off—from the way Gojo's smile seemed wider to the way his laughs went on for a second too long. "What do you think, Megumi?"

The black-haired boy stopped moving his pencil across the paper. His face remained stoic as the two beside him turned to look in his direction, anticipating an answer from him.

In short, Megumi did know why Gojo seemed off today, and it was all because of his vague memory of you.

He was a clueless child back then, but he felt it. He felt the love you and Gojo shared, something he had seen before between his own mother and father. It was strong, beautiful, like a song that only you and Gojo knew the lyrics to. It was a dance—a slow burn into the spotlight of a world you two created.

He admired it. He admired you and the person you helped Gojo become.

And though your memory was beautiful, it was also tragic. Megumi did mourn you since he remembered bits and pieces of you, but he was sure Gojo mourned you the most. Especially since today was the anniversary of your death. For as long as he's known Gojo, he knew that this one day out of the year was the time when he'd crack more jokes, tease him more, and laugh the loudest—all to mask his pain.

And he couldn't help but think it's because Gojo never properly grieved for you.

"He's the same as usual," Megumi lied. It wasn't their place to know, nor was it his. Everyone had their secrets and the stuff they keep to themselves. Who were they to pry into his business? "You guys should just drop it."

And with that, he went back to his assignment, ignoring the gawking stares from both of his friends.

"Well, now I'm even more curious," Itadori pouted, resting his chin on his hand as he looked out the window just in time to see Gojo's back as he skipped off campus. "He's literally leaving in the middle of the day!"

"Itadori—" Megumi started but got interrupted by his friends' loud voices.

"What?!" Nobara pushed Itadori away from the window so she could look. A sudden spark of curiosity consumed her as she cracked a mischievous grin. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"We should follow him!" they both said at the same time as they rushed out of the classroom with such speed they left papers flying behind them.

Megumi could only sigh. His peers were likely to get in trouble and drag him into their mess somehow. It never fails. He thought for a moment about how he would benefit from following them to make sure they didn't get caught leaving school grounds without a teacher, but he came up with nothing. He figured he should take his own advice and mind his own business, let those two knuckleheads do whatever they want and suffer the consequences for it.

They could potentially run into dangerous curses, dangerous people, or dangerous people controlling dangerous curses… and then suffer grave injuries. You know what? Maybe he should follow them from a distance.

Meanwhile, the door to the flower shop gave a soft ding as Gojo opened it. His tall frame took up the space in the small shop. Gojo ducked his head as he came in, careful not to knock over the potted plants that rested on the floor and shelves in no particular order. The air was stale with an earthy smell that was oddly comforting. It was good to know that the place remained the same after a year—the only thing that stayed the same in his chaotic life.

"Satoru!" an elderly woman looked up from her newspaper at the sound of the doorbell, thick circle glasses making her eyes appear large and almost fish-like. "Good to see you! How have you been?"

"Mrs. Yamada," Gojo bowed respectfully to the elder, to which the lady playfully pinched and pulled his cheeks. "Missed you too!"

"You silly boy, you know you can visit anytime and not just once a year, you know (Y/N) would've loved that, hm?" Mrs. Yamada made her way behind the counter, already grabbing and wrapping up a single flower. A flower that was your favorite, the same kind you'd always get whenever you would come into this small flower shop.

Gojo never understood why you didn't let him buy a whole bouquet of the flowers you loved. "Then I'd have to take care of all of them," you'd say, your laugh like a sweet melody in his ears that he constantly wanted to replay. "When it's just one, I feel like it lasts longer, you know? I seem to appreciate it more."

The memory made him frown slightly. If you allowed it, he would've bought the whole damn store for you, and you wouldn't just be stuck with a single flower. He didn't get it. He didn't get you. Even after all these years, he was still trying to figure you out.

"Ah, she used to come in every Sunday morning to say hello," Mrs. Yamada smiled warmly. "Always ready to hound me for something sweet to eat. (Y/N) had a nose like a hound and a stomach like a sumo wrestler." The brown wrapping paper crinkled against the elder's fingertips as she folded it around the flower. "Oh, how I miss her."

"Come now, Mrs. Yamada," Gojo leaned against the counter, tapping the wood with excitement. "She'd want us to smile, to celebrate her life, right?! Then that's exactly what we'll do."

"Satoru…"

Gojo waved his hands dismissively. "The usual price for the flowers, right?"

"Yes," Mrs. Yamada rang him up at the cash register before sliding the flower across the counter toward him. But before Gojo could grab it, she pulled it away. "I wanted to tell you before I closed up shop for the day, but… I will be retiring next month."

Gojo's smile fell then.

"I am getting too old, and ever since my husband's passing, I find it quite hard to manage this all on my own, no matter how much I love to do so," she patted the counter lightly, eyes glazed over in a daze as if recalling a memory. "I will be closing the shop and moving to America to stay with my daughter."

"Then are you going to sell the building?"

Gojo found himself asking before he could even think about what to say.

"I'll buy it."

Even in death, you were expensive. How was that possible? Gojo found himself using his savings to buy a whole flower shop that you weren't even here to see. But did that matter to him? Of course not. You were worth every penny—and the shop, to him, was nothing more than a shiny penny that he could buy for your sake. All because you loved it and would visit it often. Gojo couldn't let it close down; it was too valuable for the sake of the memories it held.

So now he owned a flower shop. What the hell was he going to do with a flower shop? He didn't know a damn thing about flowers.

"(Y/N)…" Gojo whispered your name as he pushed open the metal graveyard gate, the bolt making a loud creaking noise that echoed into the summer breeze.

It didn't take Gojo long to find your headstone. After all these years, he knew this cemetery like the back of his hand; at this point, it was like a second home to him. The only place where he could truly let the mask fall as he mourned for you.

In the years you've been gone, he had a long time to think—to wonder why you of all people had to be taken away from him. It made him question, curse, and cry to a higher power above if there was one. Would they be listening? Did they hear him? Did they understand the pain he was put through? And if everything was a part of the higher power's plan, then why was (Y/N) written in with such a tragic story? Why did her life become a song of such somber music?

It wasn't fair. And to Gojo, he would never make sense of it, no matter how hard he tried.

"Ah, it's a beautiful day, (Y/N)." Gojo smiled warmly at your headstone before sitting on the smooth tile, rummaging through his bag to pull out a rag so he could wipe the dust that was on top of your engraved name. "Though I bet you're complaining about how hot it is. I know, it is a little toasty, but a beautiful day nonetheless."

Wiping the concrete clean, Gojo made sure it was spotless with all the cleaning supplies he brought. He had to make up for the year he was away; that's why he always deep-cleaned your headstone since he knew he wouldn't be back until next year. He wanted you to watch the seasons go by with a pretty headstone, one that sparkled whenever the sun cast its rays on it.

"Hm?" Gojo tilted his head as if to hear your unspoken question again. "Oh! I'm doing good. Still teaching. You'd love these lot of kids, though. They have such great potential and are such a reckless bunch who enjoy escaping off campus to follow me here."

"Crap! He's onto us." Gojo heard Nobara's voice from the bushes behind him.

"Do you think he knows?" Itadori asked in his typically clueless fashion.

"He knows, dumbass." Megumi sighed before emerging from the bushes with twiddledee and twiddledumb trailing behind him. Their bantering stopped once they saw Gojo sitting by your headstone, the air suddenly becoming still as they made their way closer.

"Gojo-sensei, we can explain—!"

"Don't even," the white-haired man laughed before gesturing toward the headstone. "(Y/N), meet my students. Students, meet (Y/N)!"

"Ah! Nice to meet you!" Itadori bowed in respect, and so did Megumi.

"Why are we bowing to a dead—" Grabbing ahold of Nobara's hand, Itadori forcibly pulled her down so she could bow as well.

"Oh, you kids are in so much trouble," Gojo said with a gleeful smile. "I'm already thinking of all the ways to punish you."

"In my defense," Megumi started, "I tried to stop them."

"Yetttttt you're still here." Tilting his head, Gojo looked at his students playfully. "I hope you all enjoyed this field trip, but let's head back to campus, yeah? And get ice cream along the way!"

"Oh! Ice cream!" Itadori and Nobara spun around in a dance as they made their way toward the entrance of the cemetery, the pair just finding it best not to question who you were or what you were to Gojo. They could finally sense what Itadori was talking about that morning. He was different today, and it was clear he was sad. "La la la la la!"

"Let's go, Megumi. Do you still prefer chocolate?" Gojo turned to walk away but stopped in his tracks when he noticed Megumi staring at your grave with an expression he couldn't read. "Megumi?"

"Gojo-sensei…" His student turned to look at him. "I just want you to know that it's okay to be sad, to grieve for her."

Gojo chuckled, tucking his hand in his pocket as a breeze cut through the air, its chilled warmth wrapping around the pair. "Who's to say I don't? I grieve her every day."

URAVITSY 2024

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aethon-recs · 10 days

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Themed Rec List | Tomarrymort Recs by Horcrux ⚡👑🏆🔒💍

I wanted to put together a rec list of Harry/Tom fics with a core focus on horcruxes outside of Diary Tom (the most popular horcrux) and Voldemort himself. Please enjoy these 22 fics that feature one of Tom's horcruxes and their special relationship with Harry.

There’s a ton of interesting variation that can be explored within a Harry and horcrux Tom ship — from where the horcruxes are located and when Harry can conceivably meet them in canon (for example, the Cup horcrux is harder to access than the others); to what age they were made by Voldemort and how that would shape their personalities and interactions with Harry; to the different magical properties that they might embody, depending on the vessel that was chosen.

Finally, it looks like Scarcrux and Locket are the most popular choices (after Diary Tom), and we absolutely need more Cup horcrux fics!

⚡ Scarcrux

Amensalism by @cindle-writes (E, 6k, complete)

Scarcrux becomes sentient after the encounter in the Ministry in Harry's 5th year and takes Harry for an adventure.

Bolide by @vdoshu (T, 3k, complete)

On October 31, 1981, a tiny piece of soul attaches himself to Harry Potter in order to survive. This is his story.

Creatures of the Dark we are by @hikarimeroperiddle (M, 28k, complete)

Banished to his cupboard at age 4, Harry learns to listen only to the Voice in his head. Its teachings warp all Harry could have become until no more than dark magic and devotion remains. Visions of a wraith with red eyes complicate matters, especially when Harry and the Voice follow it to Hogwarts so Master can get his hands on the Philosopher’s stone.

Eulogy by @meles-merrivale (E, 6k, complete)

You run through the things you have to do for the day. It is, admittedly, a very short list. Wake up. Be clean. Be ready. An empty life, some might call it. You don’t. It is the life He has given you, and so it is what you deserve.

last rites by @cindle-writes (E, 5k, complete)

Harry has an hour before he walks to his death in the Forbidden Forest. The horcrux in Harry’s scar decides to take matters into its own hands.

Look at me. by @crowcrowcrowthing (M, 1k, complete)

A dark night of the soul.

Pitch Black by @kagariasuha (E, 2k, complete)

The proximity of Horcruxes can influence anyone - especially Harry.

sandpaper kisses, paper cut bliss by @xodahafez (E, 27k, WIP)

Harry Potter survives the Killing Curse, but so does the horcrux within him. And this horcrux has been dangerously infatuated with Harry for seventeen years.

saw you in a dream by @duplicitywrites (E, 2k, complete)

Harry has had this dream before.

👑 Diadem

A peculiar way of fitting together by @being-luminous (T, 2k, complete)

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m wearing a diadem?”

Dance Me On and On by @duplicitywrites (E, 19k, complete)

In his first year at Hogwarts, Harry overhears Quirrell interrogating Binns about an artifact from over a thousand years ago. Five years later, Harry uncovers Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem in the Room of Requirement and finds himself pulled into a kingdom in the throes of a mysterious masquerade ball.

In Just a Moment, You’ll Be Mine by @dividawrites (E, 34k, WIP)

Tom has been stuck inside the Ravenclaw's Diadem for decades, alone, with nothing but his slowly fading memories. One day he feels a pull towards someone and gets interested. And then he gets obsessed.

Death is not an Escape by @whitepinkdandelions (T, 2k, complete)

The Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw is full of endless wisdom, so it only makes sense that it gets its hooks into Harry much faster than the rest of them.

🏆 Cup

Thirst by @obsidianpen (E, 27k, complete)

Things go awry when the trio beaks into Gringotts. Harry finds himself trapped, locked in the Lestrange vault, wandless and alone... With a horcrux.

🔒 Locket

Arson by @rudehellion (M, 8k, complete)

The hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes is going poorly. In need of some space to think, Harry offers to take the first watch over camp and slips out into the snowy night. Unable to shake his dark thoughts, Harry finds himself drifting and he begins to dream. What he sees changes everything.

knock it off (part 1) / crave gets slaked (part 2) by @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts (E, 6k, complete)

At some point during Harry's time with the Dursleys, pain got crossed with affection. A kick from Dudley or having his arm yanked by Uncle Vernon at least means they’re acknowledging his existence. It’s not love, but it’s something. Too bad for Harry he carries that through to his less dysfunctional relationships.

The Cost by Blood_Stained_Fingers (M, 8k, complete)

The cost of making a horcrux was steep and when Voldemort manages to kill Harry, destroying the horcrux within, Harry finds out the exact price of losing a piece of your soul. It made a cruel joke that if Voldemort loved his horcruxes, Harry should love them too.

The Dead of Night by @cybrid (E, 6k, complete)

An empty house. A glint of gold. A dream. Or: running away from Privet Drive goes terribly for Harry.

The Ties That Bind by @mosiva (E, 8k, complete)

Harry finds the locket at Grimmauld Place, but it has a curse laid on it. When Harry triggers it, he finds himself trapped with the locket version of Tom Riddle, both of them stuck within the enchantment until they can find the way out. Or so Harry thinks.

Whole by Emriel (E, 20k, complete)

The horcrux hunt goes wrong and Harry fails to destroy the locket horcrux. Tom Riddle hands him over to the Dark Lord as a present for they know he holds part of their soul. In their care, Harry learns that feelings, no matter how toxic, are hard to get rid off.

💍 Ring

Personal Assistant by @phantomato (E, 10k, complete)

“And that’s it? I call ‘Tom’ and you show up?” “Yes,” Tom answers.

shelter from the storm by @cindle-writes, @duplicitywrites (E, 7k, complete)

After being left behind by the Dursleys, Harry stumbles upon an empty shack in the middle of nowhere, where he finds a mysterious ring underneath the loose floorboards.

#tomarrymort #tomarry #aethon recs #tomarry recs #tomarrymort recs #hp fic recs #ao3 recs #fanfic recs #harry/horcrux #horcrux tom #scarcrux #diadem horcrux #cup horcrux #locket horcrux #ring horcrux

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coolemmasulivan · 28 days

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Love Wins (Even in Red)

Pairing: Mason Mount x Reporter!Reader

Summary: Fate reunites them under the red lights of Old Trafford. Interviews are frosty, leaving people wondering why. Can Mason forgive Reader for something that happened in the past? Can she win Mason's heart again and prove love wins even on red?

Word count: 3395

Read part 2 here

Author's note: My first language is not English. I'm sorry if this is confused I lost inspiration along the way. Tell me what you think. Part 2?

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met

The roar of the Old Trafford crowd vibrated through the press box, but for you, it was a dull thrum compared to the storm brewing inside you. Your eyes flicked across the pitch, not to celebrate a goal, but to land on the figure currently terrorizing your mind - Mason Mount.

The boy you knew, the one whose smile could melt glaciers, was a distant memory. Now, every scowl and aggressive run on the field felt like a barbed message, a silent accusation. To you.

Three years. Three years since your paths diverged, leaving a gaping hole in your life. Now, fate had deposited both of you at Manchester United - you, a familiar star reporter, and him, the new name of the red team. Every interview was an excruciating dance. His curt answers and glacial stares were a constant reminder of the love story unfortunately cut short.

Today's post-game press conference promised to be no different. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself. As Mason strode into the room, the air crackled with an intangible tension. Your eyes met for a fleeting moment, a spark of something…familiar? It vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the new icy indifference that was only directed to you. You forced a professional smile, your heart thudding a chaotic rhythm against your ribs. The cameras flashed, the microphones materialized. Time to get down to business.

"Mason," You began, your voice firm despite the jitters in your stomach, "a disappointing result today. Can you share your thoughts on what went wrong?"

Mason, a chiseled face creased with a deep frown, looked up at you. His eyes, usually sparkling with competitive fire, were clouded with a frustration that went beyond the loss. "There's no right answer, no magic formula to explain a defeat like this. We were slow on the uptake, sloppy with our passes, and frankly, the other team just wanted it more. We all know we're better than that performance out there."

"The fans are eager to understand," You said gently. "Can you elaborate on what the team will do to address these mistakes in the upcoming match?"

Mason sighed, a deep breath that seemed to carry the weight of the entire team's disappointment. "We'll go back to the basics. We'll work harder, push each other further in training. It's all about rediscovering that killer instinct, that hunger for victory that seems to have gone missing today."

"Will that be enough?"

"Sometimes the best way to address mistakes it's about remembering why we fell in love with something in the first place. We need to rediscover that spark, that joy that sets our hearts ablaze. When that fire burns bright again, the rest will fall into place, believe me."

His gaze lingered on you for a bit longer than necessary. In that moment, the years seemed to melt away, replaced by a raw intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. Was he just talking about football, or was there something more?

"Thanks for your time, Mason." He offered a curt nod in response, brushing past you as he exited the interview area. The contact was brief, a brush of his shoulder against yours. He didn't apologize, but then again, no apology was necessary. You both knew exactly what that touch meant.

Sam, the cameraman put down the camera and gave you an intriguing look. "I never saw you so... tense, in a interview before."

You sighed, the pressure easing slightly now that the interview was over. "I just didn't slept well, that's all." You said, carefully playing with the mic in your hand.

"Uh-huh," Sam said, clearly unconvinced. "Have you met him outside of work? Everytime you interview him, the body language between you two is weird."

"No. Not at all. I don't even know the guy." The weight of the unspoken truth settled heavily in your gut.

He studied you for a moment longer, his brow furrowed. "O... kay!"

You looked away from Sam and scanned the interview room. In the far corner, stood Mason. He was talking with another reporter, but his eyes were already locked on yours. You swallowed a lump in your throat and quickly looked away. The last thing you needed was to be caught staring.

"I think we should go."

The door creaked open, as you practically stumbled into the apartment, kicking it shut with a heavy sigh. Your roommate and best friend, Clare, was sprawled on the couch, a half-eaten bowl of cheetos on her lap while she scrolled through her phone, with the TV playing on the background.

"Rough night?" Clare asked, as you flopped down onto the armchair opposite her.

"You could say that." You said. "He makes me so nervous. Everytime I interview him, it's like someone's squezing my lungs."

"Oh, you poor thing." She mocked you. "When are you going to tell him the truth? The real reason why you broke things off with him?"

You stood up already not feeling like having a deep conversation. "It was three years ago. Why would I do that now?" You opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water.

"Because you still like him. If you didn't, you wouldn't get nervous around the guy." You hated how right she was.

"I don't like him, like that. Not anymore. It's just... Complicated talking to him and be around him again."

"I saw the interview. I saw how you were shaking while holding the microphone and the way you looked at him." Claire got up and walked toward you. She grabbed your shoulders and looked you in the eyes. "You need to stop lying to yourself."

The aroma of grilled steaks hung heavy in the air as the team finished their dinner at Luke's house. Plates were pushed aside, replaced with beers and lively conversation. Despite the loss that still weighed on their shoulders, the camaraderie between the teammates was undeniable.

The talk eventually turned to the post-game interviews, and all eyes turned to Mason, who sat brooding in the corner.

"Alright, mate," Martínez, nudged Mason with his elbow. "What was all that with Y/n in the interview? When you talk to her it always looks like you're about to swallow a lemon whole. And the way you bumped your shoulder against hers..." Mason shot him a glare that usually made Martínez back down, but not tonight. In fact, he leaned in further, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Spill the beans, Mason. Is there some hidden tension we don't know about?"

Mason scowled, a faint blush creeping up his neck at the thought. "There is nothing there. She's just not my cup of tea."

"Are you sure about that?" Bruno ever the voice of reason, chimed in. "I know she worked for Chelsea a long time ago, covering you guys. Maybe there's some history there we don't know about?"

Mason froze, the memory of a younger, more carefree you, flashing in his mind. "There's no history, Bruno. Just... annoyance."

Marcus raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Annoyance, huh? That's the story you're sticking with?"

Mason scowled, running a hand through his hair. "Look, it doesn't matter. What happened, happened. We're both professionals now."

"Professionals, yeah right," Marcus snorted, leaning back in his chair. "The way you looked at her today, after the interview... It doesn't look professional at all."

Mason fell silent, lost in thought. His gaze fixed on the flickering flames in the fireplace, as his friends playful jabs continued around him.

The roar of the Chelsea fans echoed in your ears long after the final whistle. Your gaze fixed Mason celebrating with his teammates. He was a blur, and a wave of emotions washed over you: pride, admiration, and a flicker of something more potent.

Later that night as the celebrations took over, you found yourselves drawn towards each other.

"Thought you'd be writing victory epics already." He said, a touch breathless from the celebration. You tilted your head, your smile playful but shy.

"Actually, I do have to go," You admitted, your voice dropping a touch lower. "But I mean, the real story might be happening right here." Mason let out a chuckle. "You were incredible tonight," You murmured, looking up at him.

"Thanks," he mumbled, his gaze dropping to your lips. The air crackled with unspoken desire. "You look absolutely beautiful tonight." Mason said, his voice slightly husky above the music. He leaned in closer, his eyes sparkling and you blushed.

"As beautiful as that trophy you've been practically worshipping all night?" You asked playfully. His gaze flickers between your eyes and lips.

"There's nothing more beautiful than you." A blush crept up on your neck.

Mason closed the gap between you, his kiss hesitant at first, then deepening with unexpected fervor. You lost yourselves in the moment, the music and the party fading away. Just as the kiss began to heat up, a voice boomed from behind you.

"Well, well, well! Look who's celebrating with a bang!" You jumped apart, breaking the kiss with startled gasps. Standing there, grinning from ear to ear, was Jorginho, obviously intoxicated. "Didn't know you two were such close colleagues," Jorginho continued, his eyebrows wagging suggestively. "Maybe I should write the headline for tomorrow's paper: 'Mason Mount Scores Off the Pitch!'"

Your cheeks burned with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. The moment, so beautifully unexpected, had been shattered, but the memory of the kiss lingered on your lips.

Mason tossed and turned in his bed, the sheets tangled around him. Images of you flashed through his mind, vivid and unexpected, stealing his sleep. Every memory – the laughter he knew so well, the way your lips used to mould together – sent a jolt through him. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the images away, but they persisted. Now that he was in Manchester, seeing you again messed everything up.

With a frustrated groan, he reached for his phone on the nightstand. The cool metal felt grounding in his heated palm. He scrolled through his social media feeds, the mindless scrolling failing to distract him. Finally, he gave in to the urge and tapped on his photo gallery.

There, nestled among pictures of his friends and family, was a photo that took his breath away. It was you, from a date night back in London three years ago. You were leaning against his old car, a playful smile on your lips, your eyes sparkling with love.

He zoomed in on the picture, studying your face. A million questions swirled in his mind. Did you ever think about him? Did you ever feel the same way? ... Why did you leave him?

The car stopped in front of your apartment building. Mason glanced over at you, a question flickering in his eyes. Your stomach clenched, a fist of dread tightening its grip.

"Mason," You started, your voice barely a whisper. The words you had rehearsed a thousand times in your head seemed to evaporate on your tongue.

He turned his gaze fully on you, a hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah?"

Taking a shaky breath, you forced ourself to meet his eyes. "This isn't working."

His smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Us," You blurted out, the words tumbling over each other in a rush. "This whole thing. It can't keep going."

"Why not?" His voice was barely above a murmur.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring his worried expression. "I... I got a job offer in Manchester. With United." The words felt foreign on your tongue, a betrayal of everything you had built.

A pained silence descended, heavy and suffocating. His hand instinctively reached for yours, but you flinched away, the movement a physical manifestation of the distance now growing between you.

"You're leaving?" His voice was rough, laced with disbelief. "Just like that?"

"I have to," You whispered, the lie a bitter taste. "Long distance never works. It's not fair to either of us."

"We could try," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "We could make it work."

The desperation in his eyes was almost too much to bear. "It's not about the distance, Mason." But the truth, the blackmail hanging over your head like a dark cloud.

"Then what is it?" he demanded, his voice rising slightly. "Because from where I'm standing, it feels like you're throwing everything we have away."

Shame burned in your throat, acrid and suffocating. "It's not that simple," You choked out. "There's just... I have to go."

His jaw clenched, his expression hardening into a mask of anger and hurt. "I guess that's it then," he said finally, his voice cold. "If you can't even be honest with me..." The engine roared back to life, the sound a harsh counterpoint to the tension that had fallen between you. "I..." He hesitated, then blurted out, "I fell in love with you."

Your breath hitched. The words hung in the air, heavy and heartbreaking. There was so much you wanted to say, to confess.

With a choked sob, you lied. "Mason, it's been great getting to know you, but..." You hesitated. "Love? No. Not even close."

He stared at the picture on his phone, the playful smile you used to flash him a constant reminder of what he'd lost. Maybe you were right about long distance, maybe it wouldn't have worked. But the way you flinched away from his touch, the choked sob that escaped you... those weren't things a simple goodbye could explain.

He slammed his phone on the nightstand. He couldn't let you walk away again, not without a fight. He didn't care about the reasons you gave, the distance, whatever it was. Seeing you again had ignited a fire in him, a determination to win you back. Maybe you didn't love him then, but that didn't mean things couldn't change. He wouldn't give up without a fight. This time, he'd hear the truth.

The bass throbbed through your chest as you stumbled down the dimly lit hallway, a misplaced sense of confidence fueled by tequila and flashing lights. You spotted the line for the bathrooms and was navigating towards it when, as you celebrated a friend's birthday, a figure materialized in front of you, blocking your path.

It was Mason.

His write shirt stood out starkly against the dark backdrop of the club, completely out of place. Even in the dim lighting, you could see the way his jaw clenched, a flicker of something warring between anger and surprise in his blue eyes.

A nervous flutter erupted in your stomach, warring with the tequila already muddling your thoughts. "Mason," you managed, a single word that escaped on a breath. "What are you doing here?"

He shifted, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Came with a friend," he muttered, his eyes flickering to your bare legs before returning to your face. "Couldn't believe it when I saw you walk in."

You felt your cheeks flush, a mixture of surprise and something more unwelcome – a fluttering in your stomach. "Couldn't believe what?" You asked, your voice breathy.

He scanned the hallway behind you, his gaze landing on nowhere in particular before returning to you. "Getting wasted with… whoever that was."

You frowned, the memory of a friendly conversation with a guy from the bar twisting in your mind. "It was no one," you protested, a touch defensive. "He was just being friendly."

He scoffed, a harsh sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Right," he said, his voice tight. "The Y/n who swore she'd never touch a drop after…"

His words trailed off, hanging heavy in the air. Fueled by the alcohol and his accusing tone, you raised your hand and slapped him across the face.

For a moment, you stood frozen. Mason's eyes, wide with shock. Then, in a move so swift it took your breath away, he slammed you back against the wall, his lips finding yours in a rough, almost desperate kiss.

You, even caught off guard, found yourself responding to the kiss. It wasn't the sweet, shy kisses of the past, but a hungry, possessive collision of lips. The taste of tequila and something deeper, a longing you'd both harbored for years, tangled on your tongue.

His hands on your hips, his touch warm against the thin fabric of your dress. Your own hands, hesitant at first, found their way around his neck, pulling him closer. The pounding rhythm of the music from the club seemed to fade away, replaced by the frantic beat of you heart.

But just as quickly as it started, you gained courage and pulled away, you hand pressed against his chest. His eyes, ablaze with a mixture of anger and something else, burned into your.

"Why did you leave?" he demanded, his voice raw with emotion. And his hand still warm on your hip.

Tears welled up in your eyes. Shame washed over you, battling with the raw emotions the kiss had unearthed.

"They made me!" You blurted out, a confession you'd held for far too long. Mason stared at you, his face a mask of confusion. "Forget it," You whispered. Turning on your heel, you stumbled towards the exit, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of the moment.

A hand shot out, grabbing your wrist before you could take another step. Mason's grip was firm, but gentle.

"Y/n," he pleaded, his voice laced with concern. "What are you talking about? Who made you leave?"

But you shook your head, tears blurring your vision. The memory of threats, the fear that had driven you away from the man you were in love with was too raw to relive.

"Just… forget it." You repeated, your voice barely a whisper. With a final tug, you pulled free from his grasp and disappeared, leaving Mason standing alone in the hallway, confused and filled with a dawning realization that there was far more to their past than he ever knew.

The old popcorn on the floor crunched under your feet as you stormed into your younger sister's bedroom. The light from the TV cast a glow on the room. Your 17-year-old sister, Lily, sprawled on the bed, oblivious to the hurricane brewing inside you.

"What did you do?" Your voice cracked. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. "Why can't you be a normal teenager?"

Lily, bathed in the blue light of the phone screen, finally looked up. "I didn't know he was filming us," she mumbled, her voice laced with a teenage defiance that ignited a fire in your chest. "Don't be so dramatic!"

"He's blackmailing me because of you, Lily!" You yelled, the dam of your emotions finally bursting. "I have to leave my job, my friends and Mason, because of this, of course I'm being dramatic! You're so irresponsible. You never think about how your actions can destroy others!"

Lily scoffed, rolling her eyes. "So what if you need to leave your job? You'll find a new one," she said, her voice dripping with a casualness that made you want to scream. "And Mason? You'll find another dumb player to date in the new club."

The flippant dismissal of your relationship with Mason was the final straw. Fury surged through you, momentarily eclipsing the despair that threatened to consume you. You lunged for a decorative box on the dresser. With a deafening crash, the box shattered on the floor, its contents scattering like broken dreams.

"This is my chance to go to Cambridge!" Lily shrieked, finally understanding the gravity of the situation. "That video will be destroyed, you just have to leave the guy. I'm your sister. We're family. You're supposed to help me."

You stared at your sister. "I can't believe you're actually okay with me sacrificing my life because of this."

"This is my future," Lily pleaded, "You're 21, you'll find a lot of Masons in your life."

A humorless laugh escaped your lips. "This isn't just about Mason – although it hurts like hell that you think so little of my relationship. It's about the principle. You can't just expect me to throw away my happiness to clean up your mess."

"Our family will never forgive you if you don't do this," she whimpered, clutching the phone tighter as if it were a lifeline. "Show everyone that you're not the black sheep of the family."

#footballer imagine #footballer imagines #footballer x reader #mason mount fluff #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagines #mason mount imagine #mason mount #mm7

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dyke-o-matic · 6 months

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So you saw fell in love with Lily Gladstone in Killers of the Flower Moon and now you want her on your screen as much as possible? I’m here to help.

Certain Women directed by Kelly Reichardt

This was the first time I saw Lily Gladstone in anything and I screamed about her specifically for days. The film is segmented into three stories about women living in the northwestern plains region of the US. All three segments are good, but Lily Gladstone’s is by far my favorite. She plays a ranch hand who starts sitting in on a night school law class when she develops a crush on the teacher, played by (bonus!) Kristen Stewart.

Certain Women is streaming on The Criterion Channel, AMC+, and Kanopy (Kanopy is free!). It is also available to rent on the major platforms.

The Unknown Country directed by Morrisa Maltz

This movie is stunning. Think Nomadland but even more stripped down. Lily Gladstone plays a character on a roadtrip to reunite with her estranged family after the death of her grandmother. Along the way she tries to learn more about who her grandmother was in life and reconnect with her memory. A lot of the film is unscripted, and breathtaking shots of the western US landscape punctuate the brief encounters she has at each stop on her journey.

The Unknown Country is available to rent on the major platforms such as Apple TV, Amazon, and YouTube.

Quantum Cowboys directed by Geoff Marslett

This one’s for the multiverse fans. A really fun romp that might make your head hurt if you think about it too hard. Lily Gladstone plays a character in the 1870’s southwest who encounters a pair of travelers stuck in a time loop (sort of). She enlists their help (sort of) in a plan to recover land that was taken from her and in return helps them in their attempt to break their cycle. Most of the film is rotoscope animation, so it’s a completely different type of a performance from Lily Gladstone. I had the extraordinary luck of meeting her at a festival screening last year and they said it was such a fun deviation from their usual hyper realistic work.

Quantum Cowboys is available to rent on major platforms such as Apple TV, Amazon, and YouTube.

Fancy Dance directed by Erica Tremblay

The most recent Lily Gladstone film to blow me away, and maybe my favorite film of 2023. Lily Gladstone plays a character who has been trying to find her missing sister while simultaneously providing care for her sister’s daughter. When it appears she may lose custody, the two hit the road to search for the teen’s mother. It’s sad and sweet and beautiful. I have to warn that the subject matter is heavy and all too real but that’s why it’s an important story. It’s about something that is so pervasive, yet people outside of the community affected turn a blind eye to it.

Fancy Dance will be distributed by Apple this year, exact dates tba. It will be available in theaters and on Apple TV+. Erica Tremblay previously directed Lily Gladstone in the short film Little Chief, which can be found on Vimeo.

#lily gladstone #killers of the flower moon #certain women #the unknown country #quantum cowboys #fancy dance #little chief #these are just the works that really showcase her skill in my opinion #you can also find her in smaller roles in first cow reservation dogs walking out and others #she is unmatched as an actor no matter how small the role #i could go on

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jdeclerc · 3 months

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welcome home, high lord of night

pairing: rhysand x reader

summary: even the night court's high lord is not immune to the desperation that comes with days away from his mate, his high lady.

author's note: this serves as part two in my welcome home "series," you can find the first part here, but both can be read as standalones

warnings: smut

word count: 3,706

Rhysand breathes in deeply as he closes the front door of the Townhouse behind him, taking in the scents that are his home.

The lingering smell of a lit hearth dances in the air, mixing with the aged leather of the books in the library and whatever delicious concoction you had made in the kitchen earlier in the day.

He can almost hear the raucous in the front sitting room and the clanging of dishes from the kitchen that makeup the countless nights the Inner Circle has spent here. On those nights the house is filled with music, laughter, and an endless love that Rhysand never believed his family would achieve.

The memories stand in stark contrast to the silence that now fills the Townhouse. It’s not the unsettling silence that filled the house as he grew up, but rather a silence that allows him to breathe for the first time in what feels like an age.

In reality that age had been a four-day High Lord’s meeting that had him missing you from the moment he left you in your shared bed. The image, you in bed, draped in the black satin sheets with the sun’s first light filling the room, had gotten him through the most grueling moments of the meeting; giving him the best distraction he could have asked the Mother for.

The knowledge that you’re somewhere in the Townhouse waiting for him has Rhysand smiling.

He had first gone to the House of Wind, assuming you had surrounded yourself with family these last few days.

After a reunion with his family that was too short to be considered even close to polite, Azriel informed him you had come to the Townhouse earlier in the afternoon and they hadn’t heard from you since.

So, to the Townhouse he ventured, solely focused on finding the one fae he could go no longer without.

His instincts lead him further into the house, until he is rounding a hallway corner to the only door ajar, the only one that has a low light spilling from it: his office.

Rhysand comes to stand in the doorway and you’re too enwrapped in work to have noticed his presence as of yet.

He can’t help how his breath catches at the vision you create sitting behind his desk.

You wear only a black, satin slip; one strap having fallen down your shoulder and he can’t help but wish his teeth had completed that task. His eyes continue their path to skate down your arm, taking in the tattoos that tell the story of you, each one a reminder of what has gotten you to where you now sit.

His eyes make their way back up and take in the way your nose is scrunching and your brow is furrowing in frustration, your eyes darting between what he can only assume are two conflicting reports.

Rhysand knows you too well to be surprised that you’re still working at this hour, the sun having set hours ago. The two of you always seemed to be swapping places as to who was telling the other to finally get some sleep.

No, what surprises him is that you are in his office as yours is only one door down.

“Did we not build you an office of your own, my Lady? One that is bigger than this one, I might add.”

You give away no indication of being surprised by his presence, you simply look up at him with a mischievous smile, an eyebrow arched.

“The room may be smaller, but your desk is bigger, my Lord. I suspected it’s surface would be more suited to what I planned to accomplish this evening.”

Neither of you speak as he enters the room and begins making his way to you. Rhysand doesn’t stop until he reaches for your hands and pulls you to stand.

He pushes the chair back just far enough to move behind you, his body flush to yours. He intertwines his hands with yours once more and moves both sets to rest on the desk.

Rhysand bows his head, placing his nose against your neck, letting your scent envelope his entire being. He finds it more intoxicating that any faerie wine he could pull from his cellar and happily gets drunk on it every day.

His lips come to rest against your ear and his words come out dangerously low. He knows you don’t miss the utter desperation that laces his words despite his best efforts.

“Is there any way I can be of assistance? I’m ready and willing.”

You let out a low chuckle at his words, feeling just how ready and willing he is as he pushes himself further against you.

“I’m not sure…I doubt you can do a better job than that of my own hands.”

You can do little more than let out a gasp in surprise with how quickly he moves then.

The papers lining the desk are whisked away by the darkness that floods the room. Rhysand’s hands leave your own, finding their way to your waist. He turns you and lifts you onto the desk, placing his right hand against your sternum as he pushes you to lay down before him.

Rhysand doesn’t dare move as he drinks in the sight of you sprawled before him. His hands splay on the outer edges of your thighs as he takes a step forward to stand between them.

He brushes his thumbs against the hem of your slip that’s ridden up slightly, his hands are feather light as he pushes them up, revealing more of you to him.

Rhysand grins at the whimper you allow to escape when he ceases his movements.

“It would seem, my love, that even you don’t believe your own words.” His hands tighten where they rest. “Would you like to amend your previous statement?”

“You’ve yet to prove your worth, High Lord. My words remain unchanged.”

You take pride in the growl that rolls from your mate, he is a male unwilling to back down from even the mention of his potential inadequacy.

Rhysand tightens his grip once more and pulls you to perch on the very edge of his desk, your slip sliding further up with the movement.

You feel the cool air hit the apex of your thighs as Rhysand finishes what his pull could not and spreads your thighs further.

His hands continue their previous journey, and his thumbs brush your inner thighs, his hands tightening their grip.

“Then I suppose it is my solemn duty to both you and our court to ensure my merit and worth is without question or doubt.” His eyes glint with amusement, having missed this back and forth with you over the previous days.

“It really is the only solution…the Court’s future is at stake, after all.”

Rhysand lets out a deep chuckle in response, tightening his grip on your thighs further as he sinks to his knees before you – a male more than willing to bow before his High Lady.

His hands remove themselves and skim the underside of your thighs. Your left leg is lifted to rest on his shoulder, your right spread even further with a push of his palm.

Your breath hitches at the darkening of his eyes, the change in his demeanor almost immediate. The mischief and amusement lining his features is replaced by a deep, deprived hunger.

He skims his nose along your inner left thigh, breathing you into his senses, letting it consume him fully. It’s when Rhysand reaches the most sensitive part of you that he pauses and lets out a hum of pleasure at the desire he finds there.

The breath he blows has you holding in a desperate whimper, the cool air hitting the heat that has built up from the moment you sensed him entering the Townhouse.

Rhysand nips at your inner thigh in warning, his following words holding the same warning.

“None of that, my love. Let me hear you give life to every fantasy I’ve had since the moment I left our bed.”

Rhysand can’t help the smug satisfaction he feels at the unrestrained moan that comes from you when his mouth takes hold of your clit. The sounds falling from you lips only becoming more desperate as he continues his ministrations.

You fall quiet and he can feel the way your body tenses as he slips two fingers inside you, curling them in the way he knows has you melting under his touch.

His thumb takes the place of his mouth as he leans back to admire his work.

“That’s it Y/N/N, you’re doing so well for me.”

Rhysand can tell you attempt to say something in response, but it gets caught in your throat and is replaced by a strangled, breathless sound as your orgasm washes over you.

He doesn’t change his pace as he works you through it and it’s only when your hands begin clinging to his forearms that he slows and doesn’t stop completely as he rises to stand over you.

It’s Rhysand’s turn to have his breath catch in his throat.

The rapid rise and fall of your chest, the flush of your cheeks, the intensifying scent rolling off of you in waves; it all has him struggling to remain standing.

As your eyes meet his, he can tell just how much your pleasure had taken over.

“Anything you’d like to say at this time, my Lady?”

The small smile that blooms on your face has his heart tightening despite the teasing nature of his words.

“I could concede to the idea that an amendment to my earlier statement would be appropriate considering recent circumstances.”

Rhysand’s hands come to rest on your waist, and he lowers himself to hover above you. He can feel each breath you take and doesn’t dare speak loud enough to break the spell that has fallen over the two of you.

“Spoken like a true High Lady.” His words are followed by a laugh. “In other words, you’re saying you were wrong?”

Your hands settle themselves on either side of his neck and you run your thumbs along his jaw, taking in the sight of your mate that you have sorely missed. Your words are as whispered as his when you respond after a moment.

“So very wrong.”

His lips meet yours in a burning kiss, needing to be completely enveloped by you. And it’s not until you’re both struggling for air once more that you break apart.

As Rhysand straightens, he pulls you along with him.

You take a moment to appreciate the dark suit your mate had donned for his final day of meetings.

It was his signature black, a fitted cut accented by stitching so luminous it rivaled that of the stars in the sky over Velaris. He paints such a polished and lethal image that there could be no question as to what court he serves.

You can’t help but raise your hand to run it against the fabric tucked into his breast pocket; a gift from you many Solstices ago, a violet shade so close to that of his eyes that you were sure the seamstress had modeled it after your mate.

Since the day he received it, Rhysand refused to enter any meeting or court appearance without it. He lets it serve as a reminder of who he truly strives to be. Not the cold, calculating fae he allows the world to see but one who’s every breath is dedicated to the flourishment of his people, his family, and his mate.

Rhysand meets your gaze as you look at him through your lashes and he can tell that you have been speaking to him. He gives you an apologetic smile and sends a wave of encouragement down the bond, signaling you to repeat your words.

“Your jacket Rhys…take it off.”

Your voice is laced with a command, one he doesn’t hesitate to concede to.

He slips the article off his shoulders, turning only enough to drape it across the chair behind him. And not a moment goes by before your hands find their way to his shirt buttons.

Rhysand can’t help but be captivated by the movements, can barely take a breath as you undo each one at a painful pace.

You both know that the ability to whisk away every article of clothing separating you comes second only to breathing for him, but he can’t help but relish the times you undress him piece by piece. Nothing comparing to the fire you ignite with every touch. His shirt joins his jacket where it lay forgotten.

His belt comes next, and Rhysand can’t find the ability to breathe as you open the buttons of his pants. It’s when you slip your hand inside and drag it along his length that his resolve finally cracks.

No longer is he content with savouring you…he’s now determined to devour you.

One moment you’re relishing in the feeling of your mate in your hand, having missed him being so close. The next finds you laying on the desk once more, hands pinned above your head, and the feeling of your mate sinking into you in one smooth movement.

You can’t find it in yourself to care how quickly he rid himself of the rest of his clothing, not when he’s filling you to the point of such sweet oblivion.

Rhysand rests his forehead on your chest, gently nipping at the skin between your breasts. He makes no move to push either of you to the edge, seemingly content to bask in your closeness.

You move to grind against your mate, your impatience winning out, unable to resist the need crawling along every inch of your skin any longer.

A deep chuckle escapes Rhysand as he lifts his gaze to meet yours.

“Impatient this evening, are we, my Lady?”

It takes a moment for you to respond, your voice coming out as a whisper.

“You’re not the only one that has been without a mate these last days.”

It’s the longing flashing across your face that has Rhysand connecting his lips with yours. The kiss is slow, revenant. He pushes his own longing down the bond toward you, ensuring you know you’re not alone in needing him to be close.

Rhysand’s first movements match that of his kiss. They’re slow, drawn out so you both feel every moment to your very cores. The drag of him along your walls has you gasping for breath, his hands skirting down your arms has the skin raising in their path.

His hands continue their path down until they come to rest at your waist, his grip tightening as he quickens his pace. And his control slips further when your hands find purchase on his upper arms, fingers digging into his skin.

Your skin is ablaze as his lips trace a path across your collarbone and up the right side of your neck. You can feel the skip in his breath as you speak, the words coming out between the moans that he draws from you.

“Rhys, please…”

His only response is the moving of his right hand to your clit, tracing circles with the pad of his thumb. It takes only moments for Rhysand to feel your body tensing, and he can’t help the satisfaction that rolls over him as the coil within you snaps.

It takes every bit of resolve he has left not to find his own release as he watches your eyes close, head tilting back as your mouth falls open, your pleasure overtaking every part of you. The sounds falling from your lips doing more to him than any poetry or song could ever hope to.

He slows his pace to carry you through the waves of euphoria being sent down the bond, stilling completely as your eyes slowly open and meet his own.

Your hands loosen where they had landed on his neck, your thumbs running along the underside of his jaw. You let out a breath, coming down from the most beautiful high.

“I’m not done with you yet, love.” Rhysand’s words are sin personified, dripping with a promise of further devastation.

He rises to stand once more. His hands grip your thighs to encircle them high around his waist, the change in angle has your both letting out groans of satisfaction.

Rhysand draws out enough that you let out a whimper at the potential loss of him, the sound cut off as he thrusts back in. He repeats the action and silently thanks the Mother that the house is empty, not trusting his reaction should any other fae hear the sounds falling from your lips.

“You’re going to cum for me again Y/N.” His words leave no room for argument, his voice dripping with need. “Tell me how to get you there. What does my High Lady require of her Lord?”

Rhysand can feel the shiver that runs down your body at his words. And he can’t help the one that runs through him at yours that follow.

“Fuck me like you do in Illyria, like the High Lord we let them believe you to be.”

And so, he does.

The pace he sets is as fierce as the hold his hands have on your thighs; hard and unrelenting. Rhysand pins your hands above your head once more and sinks his teeth into the meeting of your shoulder and neck.

Groans come from him that are nothing short of primal, your own that fill the room respond in kind. Nothing exists for either of you outside this moment, no words necessary to know that you are both quickly approaching release.

Your left-hand grasps at his right where it lays on your waist. Rhysand entwines his hand with your own. He doesn’t flinch at the hold you have on him, knowing it’s what grounds you in moments like this, not wanting to be completely lost to your pleasure.

Rhysand knows his cock won’t be enough to bring you over the edge, knows that with each orgasm he draws from you the next will be harder to reach.

You need more…and he is more than happy to give it to you.

At the same moment his lips connect with yours his left-hand moves, his index and middle fingers moving over your clit in time with his thrusts. He swallows every noise that his actions draw from you.

It takes mere moments for white hot pleasure to flood the bond, your mouth breaking from his own as you pull him impossibly close, fingers digging into where they cling to his back.

Rhysand follows soon after with a guttural cry escaping him as he spills inside of you, his arms moving under you, his right around your waist and his left to the back of your neck. He is clinging to you as desperately as you are to him, neither of you allowing any space to exist between your bodies, both of you shaking in the aftermath of your combined releases.

For all Rhysand knows it is hours before either of you move, before either of your breaths begin evening out.

Rhysand is the first to move, taking your thighs in his hands. He keeps them stable as he slowly pulls out of you, both of you mourning the lost connection. He leans down to capture your lips as you feel his magic do between your thighs what Rhysand would typically do with a warm cloth.

He pulls you with him as he stands, refusing to put any distance between your bodies.

You’re the first to break the silence as your hands rest on either side of his neck, your voice still ragged and strained.

“I’m inclined to miss more meetings if this is what I should expect upon your return.”

Rhysand doesn’t miss the mirth in your eyes, his expression, however, holding a seriousness you question with a furrow of your brow.

“I’m begging you not to…they all revolted when I informed them you would not be joining us.” He can tell you’re struggling to hold in a laugh, his tone reflecting his unappreciation for your lack of concern for him. “I’m serious Y/N. Vivian and Helion started taking bids for who would do the honours of throwing me into the Erythrian should I dare show up without you again.”

You don’t even attempt to hold in your laugh then, knowing that the other court leaders take great pleasure in riling your mate up. Rhysand tries and fails to hold in a laugh of his own.

“We wouldn’t want that, now, would we? Who knows what all that sea water would do to your hair!”

Rhysand’s hand flies to his chest as though you’ve pierced it with an arrow.

“You wound me, my love. How will I ever overcome such cruel words?”

You both break into a renewed fit of laughter, savouring the lightness now residing in both of your chests. It’s only when tears line both of your eyes that your laughter quiets.

You meet your mate’s eyes and find nothing short of devotion in them as they take you in. Rhysand runs the tips of his left hand down your cheek, as though he is committing you to memory. Your own hand comes to rest atop his own.

“I’m glad you’re home…nothing feels the same with you gone.” Your words are no more than a whisper as you gaze up at your mate.

“I am yours. From now until we draw our last breaths, I will always return to you.”

It’s your turn to capture his lips with your own, savouring in the feeling of him before pulling back.

“Take me to bed Rhysand.”

He’s not sure what lays beneath the command but he obeys it without hesitation, lifting you from the desk and making his way to the doorway of his office.

Rhysand has no care for the clothes long forgotten on the back of his chair, nor does he will your work back on his desk.

He knows you won’t be in need of it come morning, knows that neither of you will be leaving your shared bed for quite some time.

#rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #rhysand #acotar #acotar x reader #night court

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burningcomputers · 13 days

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Lazy Day Cuddles

Imagine you're cuddlin' with Lucy Bronze Word Count: ~550

(P.S. This is my first fanfiction ever, and at the time, I was playin’ with the poetic and metaphoric side of writin’! Let me know what y'all think!)

---

The room was bathed in a soft, golden light as the sun began to set, casting long shadows that danced upon the walls. With her head nestled in the crook between my neck and shoulder, I found tranquility in the cocoon of intimacy. Rivers of power flowed beneath her sun-kissed skin as her muscled frame lay against me. Her fingers playfully skimmed the edge of my panties where skin met fabric, a gentle reminder of the strength that lay hidden beneath her graceful exterior. Her fingers traced lazy patterns in the dip of my hips as if committing every curve and contour to memory. Her arm was loosely draped over my stomach, while the other was cradled around me, her palm gently pressed against my heart. Her legs intertwined with mine, and with each subtle movement she made, I could feel the rippling muscles that bore testament to the stories of battles won and scars that whisper of valleys crossed.

The scent of citrus and spiced whispers wafted through the air, unraveling creamy florals atop a warm, musky ghost. Her Grecian nose inhaled deeply, seeking out my own scent subconsciously. An aroma of refreshing lavender with a hint of spicy amber, tempering the other notes into a harmonious chorus, adding some woodsy elements. She murmured in her thick Scouse accent, "God, I love your scent. It's mesmerizing and peaceful but so alluring and goddamn sexy."

Invariably, she would always cuddle up to me, her nose buried into my shoulder or my head resting on her chest. Her breaths were soft and steady, lulling me into a state of serenity. The world outside seemed to fade away, replaced by the warmth of her embrace and the soothing rhythm of her heartbeat. She knew that the stress of getting older in a sport that meant everything to her was left outside of the sacred space.

As the tension in my muscles began to melt away, the tightness was replaced by a sense of peace and contentment that I had not known in a long time.

"Lucy?" I whispered.

"Hmm?" She mumbled out in a long sigh.

"I love you." She shifted just enough to press the lightest kiss on my forehead, her eyes drifting down to my lips.

I arched my neck to meet her halfway, and our lips met in the dwindling light. A symphony of passion ignites as our lips meet in the twilight. The tender touch of her lips, soft as petals in the rain, is a sweet refrain against mine. A whisper of desire and a sigh of bliss escape us both as we become entranced in this moment.

Her tongue dances with mine, a sultry waltz, as we speak a silent language of lovers entwined and lost. Our kiss tells a tale of passion and love's sweet vengeance.

A spark of fire and a burning glow ignite within us as we become one and flow together. A river of passion and a torrent of desire course through us as we become lost in this kiss. A reason to love and a reason to be, we become free in this moment.

Simplicity and domesticity enveloped us as we lost ourselves. The weight of the world seemed to lift from our shoulders, and for once, we allowed ourselves to succumb to the whims of fate.

---

Hope y'all had fun readin' this; let me know if I should do more short stories with tender moments like this!

P.S. I took inspiration from some perfumes that Lucy has mentioned and combined three of them (Baccarat Rouge by Maison Francis Kurkdjian, Colonia by Acqua di Parma, and Mojave Ghost by Byredo).

#lucy bronze #lucy bronze imagine #woso fanfics #woso appreciation #woso fanfic #woso imagine #woso fluff #england wnt

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another-lost-mc · 11 months

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Angels' Commendation MICHAEL x gn!Reader x SIMEON 3.2k Words | NSFW | Smut | Michael-centric | Poly Relationship Content Warnings: Reader uses gn!pronouns. Alternating present/memory POV. Pet name used (little lamb). Penetrative sex, threesome, creampies, implied overstimulation, scenting/marking, fluff, flirting, teasing, food kink if you squint, sex in a semi-public place, jealousy, light dom/sub undertones. Prev: Angels at the Door | Next: A Demon's Curiosity

Your departure from the Celestial Realm is met with little fanfare. Michael offered to host a formal celebration like a banquet or dance, but you balked at the very idea and insisted nothing of the sort was necessary. You finished most of your preparations yesterday and already said goodbye to the angels you spent the most time with. They gave you their well wishes for your journey home and their hopes that you would return again soon.

When you came to the Celestial Realm nearly a month ago, you brought a single bag with some clothing and toiletries. Today, you’re leaving with much more than you brought. There are small tokens from your new angel friends in some spare bags that Simeon procured for you. Michael also gave you a large basket full of gifts for Diavolo and his fallen brothers in the Devildom.

Luke baked a cake for you to take back to share with everyone, and it’s carefully wrapped in a large box. He giggled and whispered that he also made a special cupcake just for you, in case Beel eats the other cake before you can have some.

Simeon helps you organize your belongings near the Celestial Gates that will take you back to the Devildom. If Luke weren't nearby, he'd drag you into one last kiss before you go; he could lick his lips and savour the taste of you when you're gone.

He glances over where Michael and Luke are waiting. You haven't even left yet, and Luke is already asking him when you'll be able to return. Simeon and Michael share a knowing look; your presence will be formally requested before too long, whether your demon friends like it or not.

Simeon slides the straps of your bags onto your shoulders, and he steps away once you reassure him that everything feels secure. Luke smiles when you hold up his cake box, and you wiggle your fingers at him since you can’t wave goodbye properly. You share one last fleeting glance with Luke–and your lovers–before you finally walk through the portal and back to the Devildom.

Once you’re gone, the three angels turn and walk back towards the Celestial Halls together. "Did you give them a present, Michael?" Luke asks curiously.

He already asked Simeon earlier what his gift for you was. Simeon replied that he gave you a short story he wrote himself. (It was a smutty romance about three characters that resembled you and your two angels, of course).

Michael looks down and his lips quirk into a smile. He ruffles Luke's hair playfully and chuckles when the young angel pouts. "Ah, we exchanged parting gifts earlier before we joined you for breakfast."

You groaned at the sudden emptiness when Michael withdrew his cock from your body. He chuckled against your shoulder as two of his thick fingers took its place. The sounds his fingers made as he thrust them inside you was obscene. His and Simeon's cum both leaked out around the intruding digits and smeared the inside of your thighs.

"Don't worry little lamb, we'll keep you nice and full. You want something to remember us by, don't you?"

You nodded dazedly as endless sensations rippled through you. Your body twitched and trembled from their attention. Simeon was plastered against your front, his hands gripping your hips while he chased beads of sweat down your chest with his tongue. He dragged his teeth over your skin and sucked each of your nipples between his lips. He glanced at you through his dark lashes when you whined and arched into his touch.

Michael's chest was a comforting weight against your back, and you leaned against him to keep yourself upright. One of his hands moved inside you, and the other trailed along the side of your face and down your neck. He pressed down gently when he grazed over the marks he and Simeon made. He tilted your chin towards him and kissed you over your shoulder. It was wet and sloppy, and you moaned when his tongue flicked teasingly into your mouth.

Your skin was sticky with sweat and cum. Your legs trembled and you felt overheated, but you still wanted more. You reached back and fisted one hand in Michael's hair while the other reached down and grasped Simeon's hard, leaking cock that bobbed heavily between you. Michael hissed when you pulled on his hair; Simeon groaned when you pumped him lazily, and his hips bucked against you.

"What do you want, my love?" Simeon whispered when he leaned forward and tugged at your earlobe with his teeth.

It was hard to form words when they worked so diligently together to fuck your brains out. Your mind was a fog of pleasure and longing. You know you were leaving soon, but you didn't go. You wanted–

"M-more," you whimpered. "Want more of you, please?"

Michael crooked his greedy fingers inside you, and you rocked your hips so that they'd keep massaging against that spot that made your toes curl. You shuddered between them, and Michael brushed his lips against your temple.

"You ask so nicely," he murmured. He rubbed his cock against your ass; he was already hard and leaking again. He knew you were all running out of time, but he couldn’t refuse you. "We'll give you what you whatever you want."

Simeon's cock slipped from your grip when he maneuvered himself in front of you. He laid back against the pillows. One of his legs was between yours, and the other was bent at the knee and pressed against your outer thigh to support you. Michael nudged your shoulders down and bent you over until your chest was pressed against Simeon's. He groped your ass and positioned himself behind you.

Simeon cradled the back of your neck and brought you towards him for a heated kiss. Michael leaned over you and kissed along your spine just as he sank his cock back inside you. All three of you groaned in unison, overwhelmed by the sensual depravity of being together like this. Simeon was jerking himself off beneath you and panting your name desperately as he watched your expressions above him. You closed your eyes and lost yourself in the heated daze of their lust as Michael fucked you one last time.

When you arrive at the Demon Lord’s castle, all of your demon friends are waiting anxiously to see you. Barbatos instructs the Little Ds to help you with your belongings and you hand him Luke’s cake for safekeeping. As soon as your hands are free, you're crowded by the seven demon brothers that clamor for your attention like they haven't seen you in years.

There's a small luncheon prepared to celebrate your return, and the demons lead you to the elegant dining room where you can finally relax. Asmo plunks down in the seat next to yours and admires the Celestial Realm tunic you're wearing.

"That style looks nice on you," he offers, and there's something soft in his gaze as he remembers how much he liked wearing angelic-style garments too.

"Michael provided me with a lot of Celestial clothes to try while I was there," you explain with a smile, looking down as you smooth the front of your shirt. "I left most of them behind for the next time I visit, but I wanted to bring this one back with me–it's my favourite."

You noticed that Michael was acting strangely since you stepped into the dining room for breakfast. Raphael and Gabriel bickered on either side of you while Simeon rolled his eyes at them across the table. You tried to focus on your plate, but you could feel the heavy weight of Michael's gaze lingering on you.

"Is there something wrong?" you asked him after breakfast when you were able to speak to him alone.

His gaze flickered between your eyes and your chest. "That outfit you're wearing–" he started to say, but he faltered and cleared his throat, "–that was what you were wearing in the garden that day with Simeon."

Michael told you how he found you together in his garden by accident, and you still feel a little embarrassed thinking about it. Your cheeks grew warm, and you looked down at your top nervously. "Oh...do you not like it, or–?"

Michael shook his head quickly. "No, it's not that. It's...well, it reminds me of the day I realized I had feelings for you." He looked away and it was suddenly his turn to be bashful. "And it reminds me of how much desire I have for you."

He glanced around before he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him. "Perhaps you'd like to accompany me to the garden? I have a bit of spare time before I’m needed for my next meeting," he murmured against the shell of your ear. You felt his cock hardening against your hip and you gasped softly.

"Wait, what about Simeon?" you asked, but you realized you didn’t need to worry. Michael was already sending him a message, and he slipped his phone back into his robes when he finished.

"He's going to meet us there." Michael held out his arm to you, and you followed him towards the closest exit leading to the gardens outside.

Lunch at the Demon Lord’s castle is a boisterous affair. Everyone chatters excitedly about your return, and Lucifer mentions off-handedly that it's nice to have tolerable company again.

Diavolo asks for your impressions of Michael after living together these past few weeks, and you nearly choke on your drink. You clear your throat and tell him that Michael was very kind and generous to you. Diavolo nods approvingly, and he mentions the basket of gifts Michael sent back with you. You didn't look at it that closely, but according to Lucifer, they're all exquisite delicacies from the Celestial Realm.

You're not surprised when Diavolo mentions that Michael also enclosed a letter for him as well. Apparently the Archangel thanked the Devildom for allowing them the honour of your company. He finished the letter stating that the angels of the Celestial Realm eagerly await your next visit.

"I don't think we could've asked for a better result," Diavolo exclaims, and Lucifer begrudgingly agrees.

Conversation lingers on your trip and what it was like living among the angels. It's hard to keep a straight face when Michael or Simeon's names are mentioned throughout the meal. There's still a dull throb between your legs from this morning, and the biting marks they left on your skin are tender underneath your clothes.

When the lunch dishes are cleared away, Barbatos starts slicing Luke's cake for everyone. (He murmurs quietly that he's impressed with the young angel's creation, and you remind yourself to pass along the message to him later.)

Diavolo claps his hands when Barbatos places a generous slice in front of him. "Luke made this? How delightful!" He grins at you from his seat at the head of the table. "Is Michael's sweet tooth as notorious as Lucifer claims?"

Lucifer glares at Diavolo but the prince ignores him. You bite your lip and nod as Barbatos comes to your side and puts a slice of cake in front of you. "It is. This particular cake happens to be Michael's favourite."

"Knock-knock," you said teasingly when you pushed open the door to Michael's office. The Archangel was leaning back in his chair, running a hand through his hair while he frowned at the document in his hand. He glanced at you when you stepped inside and closed the door behind you.

"I still have more work to take care of tonight, little lamb," he offered apologetically, but you grinned when his eyes lingered on the plate in your hand.

"Can I tempt you to take a short break? You've been here since dinnertime." You brought a slice of cake from the kitchen with you. It's unusual for Michael to rush away from the table before dessert, but he claimed an urgent matter from another part of the realm needed his attention.

It's possible you missed him and wanted an excuse to see him, but you left that feeling unsaid between you.

He looked torn, and you went in for the final blow. "And I thought Lucifer had the worst work-life balance of anyone I ever met."

That certainly got his attention; he put his papers aside and waved you over. "Realms forbid I let him be better than me at something, especially when it means passing up a chance to visit with you."

You offered Michael the plate, but he took it from you and set it on his desk. You made an undignified yelping noise when he suddenly grabbed you by the waist and pulled you onto his lap.

When you regained your balance, you were straddling his thighs. He leaned back in his seat and licked his lips. "Since my little lamb interrupted my very important work, I think it's only fair that they feed me. What do you think?"

You couldn't help the bashful smile that bloomed across your face, and his eyes darkened when you picked up the plate and offered him a forkful of the fluffy vanilla cake he loves so much.

"Did you have some cake already?" he asked you in a rough voice after you fed him a couple small bites.

You nod–you ate dessert with Simeon and the others in the dining room. But there's a smear of whipped cream clinging to the corner of Michael's mouth, and you feel inspired. "I wouldn't mind a little more," you murmured as you inched forward and swiped your tongue across his lips. You leaned back and smacked your lips with a satisfied hum.

You had just enough time to put the plate back on the desk before Michael surged forward and kissed you. He licked into your mouth and groaned deep in his chest as he chased the sugar-sweet taste on your tongue.

Beel sits across the table from you, and even after he's had two slices of cake, he's still drooling and looking for more. Satan grasps his shoulder when he tries to stand up and reach for the remaining half-a-cake. Barbatos winks at you when he slides the cake further away from him, and Beel gives up and slumps back in his seat.

Satan grumbles complaints about his brother when you finally catch his gaze. "I was able to borrow the book about Celestial Blessings you wanted to read," you mention to him between bites of your dessert. "It's packed in one of my bags. I'll give it to you when we go back to the House of Lamentation."

He looks genuinely shocked and leans forward on his elbows with excitement. "Really?" He glances down the table where Lucifer and Diavolo are having a heated discussion about something before he looks at you again. "I thought it was in the restricted section of their library?" he asks quietly.

You shrug and look down at your plate as you slice off another forkful of cake. Your cheeks feel a little warm. "Michael gave me permission to borrow it, as long as I bring it back the next time I visit."

The restricted section of the Celestial Library is dimly lit and eerily quiet—or it would be, except for the soft, slapping sounds of skin-on-skin as Michael fucked you against one of the shelves. Your pants were pooled around your ankles, and his wings brushed against you every time he snapped his hips forward. You gripped the shelf in front of you for leverage and rolled your hips back in time with his thrusts.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you panted between shaky moans. “Simeon said your permission wasn’t necessary for—oh, fuck,” you whimpered when his cock dragged along your walls just right.

He huffed and slowed his movements, grinding lazily against you and denying you the delicious friction he knew you craved. “And you thought asking that flirt of a records-keeper was a better idea, hm?” He leaned forward and scraped his teeth along your jaw and licked at your neck.

When you tilted your head to give him more access, he hummed and sucked a mark into the delicate skin below your ear. The hand that wasn’t fisted in the collar of your shirt snaked down your front and stroked at the arousal between your legs. You sighed and undulated your hips to coax his fingers where you wanted them most.

“If I—if I knew you’d react like this, I would’ve visited Metatron sooner,” you teased, your tongue loosened by pleasure from his sinful ministrations.

Michael’s chest rumbled behind you, and he suddenly leaned back and pulled you flush against him. “You play with fire, my little lamb,” he snarled into your ear. “Open your mouth.”

You whimpered and obeyed him—how could you not when the gravely tone of his voice made arousal simmer deep inside you? When your mouth fell open, he slipped two fingers inside and pressed down on your tongue. You closed your lips and sucked—you moaned when your tasted your own arousal.

“Very good,” he whispered in your ear, "you're so perfect for me." He kissed your temple and starting fucking into you, faster and harder than before. His fingers smothered your cries and you closed your eyes as pleasure rolled through you. You tilted your head back against his shoulder as he moved your body to meet his thrusts.

His rhythm became erratic as he pushed you both towards release, and he groaned when he felt your body clench around his cock. “That’s it, give yourself to me. I’ve got you, little lamb. I’ve got you.”

After a festive but exhausting lunch at Diavolo's castle, you walk back to the House of Lamentation with Lucifer and his brothers. They help carry your bags and even though some of them complain, you know they're all happy to see you again. You’re nestled between the group of them and you realize you genuinely missed them too.

You’re grateful that your room is how you left it, albeit with slightly more dust than before. The brothers scatter once you've given them souvenirs from your trip and you finally have some time to yourself. You’re about to start unpacking when there's a quiet knock on your door; when you turn around, you smile at Asmo who’s leaning against the door frame.

"Oh, hi!” You greet him with a beaming smile. “I brought something for you from the apothecary, but I can't remember which bag it's in. Come in for a sec while I look, okay?" Your bags are piled on your bed, and you unzip them one at a time to find the little basket of body care you brought back for him.

"No rush," he says airily as he closes your door and plops down in the chair at your desk. "There was something I forgot to ask you earlier, anyway."

You rummage through your bags. "Oh? What's that?" You glance at him over your shoulder. He waits until you look at him, and he sniffs the air deliberately. Your anxiety spikes, and you instinctively clench your thighs together. You nearly forgot about the damp spot in your underwear, the traces of your lovers' last gift to you.

Asmo's lips curl into a teasing smirk. "So, how long have you been fucking Michael?"

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