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#our little secret epilogue
choke-me-eddie · 1 year
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The Virgin!Eddie Chronicles
Virgin!Eddie x experienced best friend fem reader
Summary: Reader offers to rectify Eddie's virgin status, starting off with a blowjob. This has literally stemmed from my virgin!Eddie drabble, and there will be another part to this! Think of this as an epilogue of sorts.
Content warning: 18+ content, minors piss off. Blowjob, swallowing, alcohol consumption but all totally consensual.
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The whiskey burns the back of your throat as you slam your shot glass down on Eddie's counter. You cough and he laughs, patting your back.
"You know, you could have just answered the question, sweetheart. It wasn't that bad."
"Eddie, I am not telling you what I think about when I get myself off!" You shove him, giggling. Your Friday night pizza and movies hangout had turned into a weed-fuelled game of Truth or Dare when Eddie had declared the movies you'd picked were boring, so naturally a bottle of whiskey was on hand for when you declined to answer a Truth, or backed out of a Dare.
"Oh, come on! I told you!"
"No, you didn't, because I don't need to ask! The stack of crunchy Playboys under your bed speak for themselves, you dingus!"
Eddie shrugs, smirking. "Shouldn't have gone snooping then, should you sweetheart?"
"Whatever Munson. Your turn. Truth or Dare?"
"Truth, just to show you how much I value our friendship when you clearly do not. I will share my deepest, darkest secrets with my best friend because I cherish her so but alas she does not return my feelings! I am wounded!" Eddie clutches his chest in a dramatic flourish. You stare at him, deadpan. After 16 years of friendship, you were used to this.
"Are you done?"
"Yes."
"Good. So, truth. Did you sleep with that girl after your show last week?" Not that you were jealous at all. Absolutely not. Curious, yes, but not jealous that Eddie had taken her back to her van instead of you. That he paid more attention to this random girl who had never seen him play before than his best friend who was there at every single show, making tshirts and tapes and trying to flog them so he had gas in his van to get to said shows every week.
Eddie's cheeks flush subtly, but enough for you to notice. He regains his cocky demeanor quickly.
"A gentleman never tells."
"Edward Munson you are the furthest thing from a gentleman there ever was!" You double over with laughter, and Eddie actually looks a little hurt.
"Hey! I'll have you know I can be real fucking gentleman-like, thank you! Which is why, no, I didn't sleep with her, she was wasted but insisted on giving me a blowjob-"
"She sucked you off then??" You ask, a little too quickly.
"Nope, I just dropped her off home," Eddie sighed, and you felt guilty for the spark of relief in your gut. "No way my first blowjob is coming from a drunk, random chick who wouldn't even remember my name the next day."
You stare at him.
"Your first blowjob?! You've never been sucked off before?!" You couldn't disguise the sheer shock in your voice. This was Eddie. Eddie was funny, Eddie was confident, and sweet (despite your earlier jab at him, you knew he was a good guy) and most of all, Eddie was HOT.
Then something clicks in your brain. Not once have you ever seen Eddie with a girl that wasn't you. The two of you had been inseparable since you were 4 years old; it was impossible to see Eddie without you far behind, or vice versa. Only recently had you spent a few nights a week apart, so he could work on campaigns or music, and you focused on homework or dating.
"Eddie…are you…a virgin?"
"...no."
"Eddie."
He groans and covers his face, his cheeks flushed.
"It's not like I haven't been trying, okay?! Girls just don't seem interested, they take one look at me and bolt. And no girls at school wanna fuck the freak so I'm pretty screwed for choice."
"Well that girl wanted to fuck you-"
"She was hammered, Y/N! So apparently the only way I'll get laid is if they're wasted, I guess. Great for me. As if the town doesn't hate me enough, add a rape accusation to that long, long fucking list of shit-"
"Eddie, stop, okay?!" You snap at him, hating to hear the way he's talking about himself. "So what if you're still a virgin at 20? Who fucking cares?"
"Me! I care, Y/N. Not am I just the town freak but I'm the virgin town freak! I might as well start skinning cats and hammering them on gravestones." Eddie slumps onto the couch, sighing heavily. You can't help but giggle at his dramatics. "Uh, Y/N, can you not laugh at me right now? Really doesn't make me feel any better after all this." He gestures over to where you're standing, referring to his confession.
You cover your mouth and suppress your giggles. You don't know if it's the one shot of alcohol making you brave or stupid but before your brain can catch up with your mouth, you blurt out a sentence.
"Well, I'm not hammered or running away from you."
"Huh?" Eddie lifts his head off the back of the couch and frowns at you. You move over to the couch, sitting next to him and place your hand on his thigh. Eddie's eyes flick to your hand and then to your face, and back to your hand again. "Uhh, Y/N, babe, what are you doing?"
You internally panic, realising that you admitting to your MASSIVE crush on your best friend might just scare him off. So you opt for a casual "I'll suck you off, if you want."
"You-you've done that before?!" He sputters and you nod.
"Been told I'm pretty good too," you smile, pretending not to notice the crotch of Eddie's jeans getting tighter. "So, if you really wanna shed this whole virgin thing, I can help you out. Y'know, get you ready for when you do meet a girl, prepare you so you don't cream your pants the minute she kisses your neck."
Eddie scoffs. "I may be a virgin, babe, but I've at least made out with people before."
"Okay, good, so you won't cream your pants the minute she kisses your neck. But, you might cream your pants when she does this-" you boldly place your hand over the bulge in his jeans. Impressively, he doesn't bust, but he sharply inhales through his teeth and you feel his cock kick under your hand.
"Je-sus, Y/N, a little fucking warning would be nice!" He yelps, but he doesn't move away from you.
"Sorry," You're not sorry. "Is this okay?"
"Y-yeah, of course! But are you sure-"
You silence him by kissing him. It's a closed mouth kiss at first that would have been completely innocent if not for your hand squeezing his boner through his jeans. You pull away and Eddie makes a noise of protest, chasing your lips with his own until they're pressed against each other again, and you feel his tongue dart out against your lips. You open your mouth and the kiss turns heated and dirty, both of you moaning into each other's mouths. At some point you climbed into Eddie's lap, grinding yourself against him as he grabbed at your ass.
"Let me…" you pant, sinking to your knees in front of him on the couch and helping him to undo his belt and jeans, sliding them down his legs. Your mouth waters at the sight of a very sizeable dick print in his boxers, a wet spot forming where his head was spewing precum. "Ya know, if the girls of Hawkins knew you were packing, maybe you wouldn't be a virgin."
"Don't care about the other girls right now," Eddie mumbles, his cheeks flushing. You smile, and you slowly pull down his boxers, causing his dick to slap against his stomach, leaving a little silvery trail of precum on his Ozzy shirt. Eddie's breathing speeds up considerably when you spit into your hand and wrap it around him. His cock is thick, uncut and a length that makes your pussy clench. He's going to be a mouthful.
"Try and relax, okay? I don't want you passing out or anything, I don't know CPR." You slowly stroke him, watching in fascination as the head of his cock bulges out as you move the foreskin down. Another load of precum blurts out and you lower your head, enveloping the head of him in your mouth.
"Jesus fuck!" Eddie grunts, hips bucking into your mouth. You handle it like a pro, somehow managing to not gag on his impressive length. Instead you remove your hand from him, placing both hands on his thighs and pushing him down and holding him in place as you slide your mouth further down him. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, fuck, Y/N, baby, don't move, give me a second or I'm gonna blow." You still, looking up at him through your lashes. He quickly looks away. "Fuck, don't look at me like that either. You trying to kill me?!"
You pull off his dick with a sinful slurp.
"No, just trying to make you cum." You grin as Eddie groans loudly.
"Seriously, it's not gonna take much, babe, holy shit, that mouth of yours is fucking ins-ANE!" He groans loudly, the second syllables coming out in a yelp as you suddenly swallow him down, throat constricting around his cock as your free hands play with his balls, finding that spot just beneath them and pressing just hard enough - "Oh shit-cumming!"
You pull up enough so the first spurt of cum doesn't choke you, but you make sure to keep sucking on him as he unloads in your mouth, his broken moans making your pussy throb. You had to be soaking through your panties by now.
You swallow everything he gives you, letting his cock fall from your mouth before pulling his boxers back up and tucking him away.
Eddie is boneless, breathless and brainless as he watches you swallow his load and then dress him, still knelt between his legs looking up at him with those big fucking beautiful eyes of yours, a smile on your face.
"So, Munson, Truth or Dare?" You smirk, standing up and offering your hand to him him off the couch. "I think you should pick Dare."
"Fine…Dare," Eddie mumbles, exhausted and blissfully satisfied. He gives you a dopey smile as you step closer to him.
"I dare you to kiss me."
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otakuworks · 1 year
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❛ 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑. reborn au
feat. Zhongli x Reincarnated!GN!Reader | PART I | wc. 4.6K
Based on 'See You In My 19th Life' | overview. this webtoon follows the story of a woman who can somehow remember all her past lives.
sum. after a sweet hello, your lips never found its way to say the bittersweet goodbye. because you knew you would always find your way back to him even if he won't recognize you in your renewable lives.
note. some scenes are purposely inaccurate to the canon lore
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main.mlist genshin.mlist | xiao ver.
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You first met him as Morax, a little child dragon you grew up discreetly meeting at a very convenient time of your day, never knowing what's stored for the two of you.
He first met you as Y/N who resides at the countryside near Mt. Tianheng in hopes to find new things to discover across the vast lands of Teyvat. And he did. He found you.
Young Morax found you crouched under an oak tree, the wind flowing with your otherworldly voice, enrapturing him in blissful comfort.
Perched in the tree branch, he listens intently and let himself melt in your grace. It wasn't the first time he finds you warbling a melodic tune, and each time he comes back to hear more from you, it's always a different song and it wouldn't cease to amaze him how much ditty you know.
He lost count on how often he'd fall asleep with your voice lulling him and wakes up feeling empty as the epilogue of his day is always spent without your presence.
Sometimes he wonders if you know he has been watching you, and if you do, why aren't you approaching him? No matter, young Morax doesn't intend to befriend with you.
But then one day...
"Hello! You must be the boy who likes to hear me sing by the tree."
He was caught red handed, perhaps he became distracted that he didn't realize he's been shamelessly stalking you. He couldn't stop his curiosity to follow you in your way home.
Not only he's been spying on you, now he sounds like a stalker. But you didn't suspect, there wasn't anything to be suspicious of anyway.
"H-Huh? H-How did you know?" He gotta commend you for your keen senses. He's the Dragon between the two of you, which means he's supposed to be the one who has sharper senses.
"You must be good at anything but hiding. I have known you've been following me, but I never get to see you up close, you're really majestic looking, by the way." You chuckled as his poor attempt of masking his flushed face at your compliment.
"I don't mind your company, in fact, I want to be friends with you."
Friends. What a foreign concept for young Morax.
He has heard of that term, it's common among mortals, but he's not a mortal. Does this 'friend' term stretches to immortals like him as well? If so, then he has no reason to refuse.
Says the person who one minute ago thought of every alternative ways to stay out of your way.
He was skeptical at your optimism, most mortals would be astounded at his appearance and try to persuade him to spill whatever secrets he has, but as he got to know you better, he was a bit guilty to categorize you as one of them.
His horns and inhumane features? Young Morax found out you're only fascinated by his unique physical looks. And never doubted it.
"Cool! You have horns just like our boars, where did you get those? Can I touch them?"
"Did you just compare my horns to a pig? Pigs don't even have horns! How disgraceful!"
The sparkle in your eyes quickly died down as it came, and the young Morax feels tight in his chest just seeing your smile turns into a frown. You insulted his pride though!
You mumbled a meek apology but still kept your sheepish smile, a glimmer of hope that one day he'd let you do it.
The next days were spent by you sneaking out your house every midnight to meet up with the dragon, Morax. He's slightly skittish, oddly resembling him that of a cat, which is cute.
You probably shouldn't be calling a literal Dragon cute, legends depicted them as tyrannical creatures who seek treasures.
Ah! Classic children's story to scare the kids away at night, it did affect you in some way.
But you can't help it when he would eagerly look at you whenever he asks you to sing him a song.
You'd sit side by side under the tree, you have to admit he'd either falls asleep amidst your song or asks you for the lyrics so he can sing it to himself too.
You even dedicated a song that lets a certain flower bloom.
"Glaze Lily? What's that?" Young Morax asked with tilted head.
A smile outstretched your lips, "Beautiful, right? It transforms the memories of the land into its fragrance during florescence."
"Really?! Is that why you're always out in the dark?" You chuckled sheepishly, feigning ignorance, "Don't know what you're talking."
You got to know each other, held hands like innocent children, share what little knowledge your pea sized brain can, hug whenever one seeks comfort, eat under the glistening sun.
Morax is... a sensitive individual, albeit rough around the edges, but he's young and still learning, and you're unbelievably patient with his attitude— a quirk from you that he greatly appreciates.
From that, young Morax grew fond of you and it isn't one sided.
He flies by the same tree and gives you random things he finds magnificent, whether it could be a rock he found by the lake or a rare item that no one has ever discovered before.
Well, the legend wasn't lying about Dragons and treasure, for sure
You'd laugh at the strangest things he discovers but accepted them nonetheless. Every object he gives you is worth something.
This has been part of your routine for days, weeks, months, even years maybe. You don't know how much time has gone by whenever you're with him and you never bothered to count.
Before you know it, the two of you are almost in young adulthood, he grew up to be a fine man, much unlike you were expecting. Nothing changed from your friendship, until now.
You were taken by surprise when he suddenly blurted out one day
"I want to show you what I see from up there one day, Y/N."
He gazes at you much differently when he looks at you when you were younger. There's a glint of promise in his eyes that you can't pinpoint, it sent shivers all over your nerves.
"You can just fly me up there, Morax. I'm sure I'm not heavy." You muster a smile in an attempt to ease your quickening heartbeats.
He never gave a reply, he only stared at you so intensely that it feels like he's poking your deepest and innermost thoughts.
The way he stares at you never fails to summon the tickling butterflies in your stomach and the blood on your cheeks. You merely regarded that as your hormones, anyone would be flustered if someone they're close to stare at them like that.
You should've known better that nothing in your world stays permanent. The only thing you remember after that day was his twisted look of desperation to keep you alive and tear stained amber dyes trying to get the last image of you in his memories.
"N-No... Y/N please stay with me. D-Don't leave m-me just yet." It hurts you more than the numbing pain in your abdomen to see him broke down like a cornered prey. So helpless and vulnerable.
"I-I'll always be w-with you, Morax..."
So cruel, just when you've begun to realize the burgeoning feelings you have for the Dragon, fate took you away before you have the chance to confess.
Should you be selfish to confess your feelings to him? If you do, it seems like you'll be punishing him an endless torture ahead, and you would never wish Morax to suffer for eternity.
You only smiled and caressed his horns, even in your deathbed you're glad you died in the arms of the man you ever loved.
At the last moment, you heard the anguished wail erupts from his throat as he clutches your form closer, begging and crying for you to come back, to not leave him like this, that he needed you, that he loves you. His pleas fell on deaf ears, for you weren’t there to hear him anymore.
But it became clear to you that he reciprocated your love.
It came a shocking twist when you opened your eyes you can hear multiple cooing sounds from around you. Didn't I die in his arms? Where am I? Turns out, you were reborn. But not as Y/N anymore and you were given a surname.
Unfortunately, the Celestia isn't so forgiving. You were suffering from an unknown illness that took away your second life at such a young age.
You trained hard and learned martial arts in your third life as you were born from a family whose tradition is to produce well-trained warriors in the future.
Fourth to eight life came by like a blur, there were times when you get to lived as an innocent child only for it to be ripped away a few years later with your past memories resurfacing.
You stopped counting after it hits a dozen, born in different class, society and unnamed nation. There's no point of it.
All you want is to look for Morax, but will he remember you? Will he even recognize you as Y/N? You're no longer the kid he grew fond of. No, you're much different than before.
What about him? Decades have past, does he still know of your name? You could've been a fragment of his childhood that he dare not talk about with his new friends.
Will I make your life more difficult by trying to reconnect with you, Morax?
Those thoughts haunted you for nights, often occuring in your dreams.
But what can you do, you're so far away from Mt. Tianheng, you don't even know if the village you lived in still exists nor do you know if Morax still visits the tree you first met.
Even if you did meet him in your new life, you ought to stay as acquaintances.
Aiding him in the shadows and lessening his burdens within your power.
In your hundredth life, all of your training in your third life is proven useful at the moment. You're known as the infamous warrior with no name that took down the monsters around Teyvat, you were revered to the people in the Guili Assembly.
War is threatening to wage amongst Gods and mortals alike.
When it came, no one is safe in and out of the battlefield. To survive they must fight tooth and nail, paint the lands in sea of red and play the game of thrones.
It was gratuitously morbid, gruesome and unjust. A macabre of series of deaths surrounded your every wake, your hundredth life is the epitome of a living nightmare. Horrifyingly memorable.
You were at the sidelines, watching as the war unfold, keeping tabs on Morax's allies and eradicating whatever threat they face.
That's when you came across the stunning Goddess Guizhong, the Ruler of Clouds, Goddess of Dust. A very close companion of Morax whom he met at the Guili Assembly along with the others.
She's capable and quick-witted, a type of peculiar person Morax wouldn't hesitate to be friends with.
As of the moment, a claymore is alarmingly closing its gap towards her, ready to slice her open.
Then you heard him scream, a cry of a man who's about to lose everything he has gained of.
That cry sent flashbacks of his tear-stained cheeks. No, you don't want to see him like that again! You'd do anything to chase away that vulnerable image of Morax, he deserves happiness and love.
Your feet went autopilot and swept away the Goddess out of the way, severing your lower limbs in the process and instantly killing you. Your eyes opened and you have started your new life.
Was Morax relieve that Guizhong lived? Did he wonder why a stranger would save her? Did he ever ask who you were? Did he... recognize you at the very least?
Your new parents panicked as they tried to appease the crying infant in their arms. Unbeknownst to your pained heart.
You saw for a brief moment before your demise how Guizhong's plausible absence will affect him. He will mourn her death as much as he lamented yours. For decades or centuries, you know he has been scarred by your passing.
You don't want him to go through that again. It's a different pain you feel when you see him tearing up, you rather get minced by a claymore than to watch him break down.
He garnered the reputation of a tyrant— but you knew better that Morax grew up with compassionate heart, he appreciates anyone no matter how insignificant they think they are.
Which is why you hold yourself from meeting him. He may not remember you, but he will certainly get attached to you once you had your way to his heart.
And a dragon who can outlive you in any lives will only suffer more from your death.
You dedicated your lives in living peacefully, learning history and new things as humanity evolves.
You vow to never fall in love if it isn't Morax you'll spend your mortal life with.
Even if he has someone he can fall in love with.
"Have you heard about the land Lord Morax and Lady Guizhong are building in Mt. Tianheng?" Gossips are everywhere about the infamous partners who survived the Archon War, there's no mouth that has not utter their names, and you're no exception.
A grin spreads over your lips as you sip your tea with elegance, "I've heard, I haven't seen them in person but the rumors about them guaranteed they're ambitious people with good hearts."
This has been a hobby you never knew; praising Morax to elate people's opinion about him. It's your small contribution to his flourishing nation.
You want people to love and respect Morax dearly just as you loved him in your childhood.
You prayed to the new Archons for Morax to find someone he can love and lean on. Someone that can be his source of strength to keep living. Someone much better than leaving him with death.
Now that he found someone he can be with, your goal in your next lives is to protect Liyue's history.
From the names of ancient relics and objects, war waged by the Gods, Nations that were built underneath the once blood soaked lands, fallen heroes who are forgotten— you know all of them. You're openly willing to offer tutelage to the inquisitive.
You sighed at the thought, it certainly will be lonely in your part. Immortal gods can still die— a death in which they'd leave their memories behind and start anew. Morax will eventually cease to existence with lovable Nation and Guizhong to remember him.
And you? Countless past lives yet you never found true happiness, and none of them was worth to remember for anyone.
Part of you feels happy for Morax finally moving on from your death eons ago, but you're still human so you're susceptible to those horrible impulses of bitterness at a basic level.
But you don't want to be a person who looks at Guizhong with jaundiced eyes just because you couldn't have Morax, so you suck it up and move on the fact Morax is in love with another.
At least my sacrifice isn't a total waste.
"Aren't they? I've met Lady Guizhong, she's such a beautiful and soft spoken woman. She and the Lord of Geo are a perfect match. I wish the two of them eternal blessings."
A tug at your heart left an unpleasant feeling, your brain tried to reason that at least he's with someone that'll love him more than you did. That can appease your bitter aching heart a bit.
How ironic. You built a nation where you first met me.
And showed her what you can see up there like you promised me.
Is that how you honor my death, Morax?
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"Wow! You sure do know many things, Y/N!" The floating emergency food expressed her awe in your display of knowledge and the traveller couldn't agree more with her, "She's right, you never cease to surprise us."
Their exclaims were followed by your enchanting laugh, "I'm glad I can be at your service, Honory Knight."
You were simply ethereal to look at, you maybe a mortal like the traveller but the Blondie thinks otherwise.
Paimon and her travelling buddy met you by the Starnach Cliff when they were attempting to subdue Dvalin. Jean and Diluc already know you're part of the Adventurer's Guild as you often visit Mondstadt from time to time.
They didn't expect you to join them in their excursion in Stormterror's Lair, it turns out you're a great addition to the team.
You befriended with the traveller after the whole Stormterror fiasco and catch up with Kaeya.
You don't stand out the most in the crowd, you can blend in with everyone and no one would acknowledge your existence. But the traveller can sense the weight of the wisdom you withhold.
It almost feels like you're one of the Seven...
"Is there something else I can help you with, Traveller?"
"Huh?! Oh... I— Uhh... You've been telling us stories and fun facts about Mondstadt. If you don't mind, can you tell us about Liyue?"
For an ephemeral moment, the traveller saw your facade crumbles and slowly morphed into a nostalgic expression.
"Hmm. I'll tell you a quick introduction. Liyue is built in Mt. Tianheng after the Lord of Geo attained one of seven seats, unlike the Anemo Archon who's known to not show himself, he descends down once a year to give blessings to the people of Liyue."
"Exactly how Venti told us, but more detailed."
"He sounds a lot more of a decent God than Tone-Deaf Bard."
Her statement elicited a quiet snicker from you, "I'll be off then, I'll see you around soon." Paimon's expression deflated, "You're not coming with us?"
You shake your head, "I'll visit you when I can, until then I hope for your safe travels."
You forced a smile and took a different path from the traveller, as their figures disappear in the horizon, you felt your smile slip up as the sun whisks past the mountains turning to dusk.
Solitude in the dark has been part of your daily routine, you come and go whenever you feel like it, not knowing when to return.
The excuse you told to Paimon isn't entirely a lie, you couldn't bring yourself to go in Liyue when there's active Fatui agents scattered around the vicinity.
Let's just say you're not in good terms with the Fatui. Who isn't?
Nevertheless, whatever curse you have continued to persist in your thousandth life. You roamed around Teyvat and tell stories that even historians don't know.
Repeated lives were lived by just you traversing in each corners of Teyvat that even Archons never knew it existed.
Along the way, you've come terms with your feelings and settled it down like a dormant volcano. Morax is your first love, you enjoyed reminiscing the memories you made with him, you keep those memories locked up in the depths of your mind and often recount them in particular leisure time of the day.
You still love him, and you'll always be by his side whenever he needs a helping hand, but enough is enough, you've suffered enough to your own idiocy and fears. It's time to move on.
Morax continued to strive forward because he has changed, for the better of course. If you want to continue living the next lives of yours then you need to change too.
You met new friends and companions that you begin to trust and have fun with, the traveller and the emergency food included. It wasn't lonely as you thought it would be.
Sometimes you wonder why do you have such curse bestowed upon you. Did the Celestia punish you for a crime? Did you touch a forbidden relic in your first life? Is there a way to get rid of it?
You stopped in your tracks and you gaze up in the sky.
Am I the only one with such curse?
Damn, you really need to get your priorities straight when you have so many unanswered questions.
Basking the remnants of the ever glowing star, you turn around to walk the path that leads you to the Land of Eternity.
A new journey awaits you as you skid through the mycelium path.
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Rex Lapis has died.
What a year starting with the news of a tragic death of an Archon.
Fret not Liyue citizens, Rex Lapis assumed the form of Zhongli as a consultant in the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. In all honesty, he thinks you would facepalm on how poorly delivered that news was.
Zhongli now blends in with the mortals, often strolling to acknowledge the accomplishments he has done as an Archon.
There were too many sacrifices he made just to achieve such title and godly powers. It's uncountable.
Whenever he strolls down the streets of Liyue, there's never a day that he is not reminded of the fact Mt. Tianheng is the very foundation of Liyue. It serves as a reminder that you are his pillar when intrusive thoughts start to linger in his mind.
Oftentimes, your face is only a blur in his memory, no matter what he does he can't seem to remember your face, but your name has been engraved on his mind for eons.
He misses hearing the sound of your name leaving his lips. He misses how ignorant you both were to the world's suffering. He misses your mesmerizing voice that lulls him to sleep.
Whoever fellow Archon listening to his complex thoughts must have heard him and granted his not-so-impossible wish.
"Hey look. Doesn't that sound like a story Y/N has told us before?" A child(e)— no, a floating fae pointed at the storyteller.
But Zhongli couldn't care less about whoever she was pointing. Did he hear her right? Was it just his ears deceiving him?
Y/N... that's your name.
That's the name he longed to hear again.
Why in the seven nations of Teyvat would they mention your name? Is it just a coincidence that someone has the same name as you? No, that couldn't be it.
Something flared inside him, it's been awhile since he felt this excitement, it's not far fetched when he became your friend.
With no recollection, he became friends with the traveller and the emergency food floating companion.
When he asks them about you, an array of hope filled his entire being and he swore his Dragon feature almost burst into existence
Y/N L/N, a member of the Adventurer's Guild, he's certain you've been in Liyue if you know about its rich culture.
But where are you? He wants to go find you. Hug you like when you were kids. Sing him songs. Bring you random things he can find. Speak the words that were left unspoken when you died.
So many questions brooding his mind; are you really Y/N? If so, were you reincarnated? Does that mean you don't remember him?
The elation he felt dropped. Right... he shouldn't be disappointed if it turns out his hunch is wrong. Even if you're not the Y/N he was expecting, he wants to know you as who you are and not compare the similarities and differences you have with the Y/N he knows.
"Oh yeah, Y/N mentioned they'll be visiting Liyue soon, Mr. Zhongli." The Traveler quipped, assessing the abrupt change of emotions on the consultant's face at the mention of your name.
Paimon and her travelling buddy can't help to wonder if you two are acquaintances, or perhaps something more than that. Zhongli seems to be expecting your arrival from now on.
"Is that so? Thank you for informing me, Traveler. I shall see to it that their stay will be comfortable." He smiled.
Stay in what? In the Funeral Parlor? The Traveler sweat drop while Paimon is tempted to point out that's Verr Goldet's job. Good thing their companion put a hand on her mouth and excuse themselves
There's no time to stall! He thought.
He's determined to check it himself, it can go two ways and Zhongli won't be petulant of the result.
Archons forbid if he ever finds you, because he will not let you go.
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>> PART 2
©OTAKUWORKS | 2022
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homeofthepeculiar · 10 days
Text
Over the Garden Wall - Epilogue
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Epilogue - A Moment, A Love
A.N.: I literally don't even know where to begin. The responses to this story have been more than I could ever dream. I came up with this idea a while ago and it never left my mind. I wasn't sure if anyone would like it, so it means so much to me that so many of you have stuck around. And to the people that have just binge-read it, I love you too lol
Thank you, thank you, thank you
I don't know if I can say goodbye to this yet...
Title is from Sweet Disposition by Temper Trap
Benedict Bridgerton Masterlist
Series Masterlist
Warnings: anxiety; kinda mention of postpartum depression
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Princess!Reader
Word Count: 1.8k
As always, 18+ Minors DNI
Dear Reader, 
How to quantify the importance of love, this author will never know. 
We are at the dawn of a new season. Tonight, girls all around the ton prepare for their debut where they will present themselves to a new member of the royal family. Yes, dear readers, you have read that correctly. Our beloved, Queen Charlotte has recused herself and is spending her days with her loving husband, our kind King George. 
Her Royal Highness, Princess Y/N, Duchess of Argyll and mother to the future Queen Isabel has taken the seat her mother once filled. This author knows she is up to the task. A matchmaker in her own right, Her Royal Highness brought together two formidable matches herself. Princess Edwina of Prussia was introduced to her loving husband of a year at Princess Y/N's wedding to His Royal Highness, Prince Benedict. Not only did she bring those two together, but she also brought together a match that no one saw coming. At the end of last season Colin Bridgerton married long-time wallflower Penelope Featherington, now known as Penelope Bridgerton, of course. The shock around the ton entertained this author immensely, indeed. 
This author has heard a rumor that Princess Y/N will not choose a diamond of the season but will, instead, put her own matchmaking skills to work. We shall see how that goes, dear readers. 
This author wishes to express congratulations to our future Queen Isabel on her first birthday. We hope there are many more to come. 
Until next time, 
Lady Whistledown
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St. James’ Palace was quiet. 
No one had stepped foot in it for almost a year. 
The sheets covering the furniture had started to see their first signs of dust. Cobwebs started to form in the corners of each room. Paintings had been taken off the walls. 
Their Royal Highnesses departed St. James’ Palace a few weeks after their daughter was born. Y/N never thought she would say it, but she missed Buckingham House. She missed the gardens and the purple flowers she had come to know. She wanted her daughter to grow up in the same place she had. 
And, with another child on the way, she was grateful for the space. Not that her husband knew that yet. She wanted to keep it a secret. Until she was sure. And perhaps, she was not yet ready to change their little family. 
“Do you have everything you need?” Benedict asked yet again. He sat on the armchair with Isabel on his lap. She had gotten so big. He bounced her on his knee, making funny faces that caused giggles to leave her.
“Yes, of course,” Y/N said as she paced.
“Are you nervous?”
“No,” she responded instantly. Y/N sighed. “Perhaps.” She groaned. “Alright, yes, I am nervous. I know the mamas will be irate that I am ridding the ton of this ridiculous idea of diamond. I understand that they need to debut to someone, but it is useless. It causes girls to feel bad about themselves if they are not chosen.”
Benedict gave a small smile. “You will be fine, my love.”
“Of course, I will,” she responded. 
The door opened and Marietta strolled in. “It is time.”
Y/N sighed and nodded. Benedict stood and handed their daughter off to Marietta who took the girl with a smile on her face. “Cook made custard,” she whispered.
“Not too much sugar,” Benedict admonished. “She will be up the entire night.”
“Of course, Your Royal Highness,” Marietta responded. As she left the room, they heard her tell Isabel that her father had no idea what he was talking about. 
“She will be taking care of her if she wakes up in the middle of the night,” Benedict said.
“Yes, my love,” Y/N responded. She pressed a kiss to Benedict’s lips and grabbed his hand.
“Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
She found that she did not mind being the center of attention in this case. Not when people were looking for her opinion. The hall was lined with members of the ton. Families excited to see their daughters debut, men looking for their new wives. 
As she and Benedict made their way down the aisle, everyone bowed to them. There was a certain power that came with being the parents to the next ruler of England and Ireland. They found that they did not mind. 
“You know, I watched the season Eloise debuted.” Y/N pointed to the side door. “From right there. I saw you talking to Anthony and Colin. You seemed so happy. I do not know what it was, but you were…You were so breathtaking.”
Benedict smiled at her and kissed her palm as he sat her in her chair. He took his spot, standing right beside her. He bent down to whisper in her ear. “And how am I now?”
“Still breathtaking,” she responded with a wink. 
The doors opened and the first girl was led in. Y/N knew immediately that next season she would also have to get rid of those ridiculous feather headdresses. 
Well, times were changing. 
----------
The morning sickness started to get worse only a week later. It got to the point where Y/N could no longer hide it. 
The thing was, she was happy. She was no longer scared. Isabel was okay. She was good. Their family was good. And although she wanted more children, she was terrified of what it would do to her. 
The first few months with Isabel had not gone well for Y/N. She found herself detached. Moreso than she ever had been. When her daughter cried, Y/N did not know what to do. She wondered, for a while, if she was a bad mother. She had not had the best role model. But Benedict was there. He eased her worries as he always did. He told her that it was okay. He told her that he would carry the weight. 
She believed him. 
But this fear. It was growing and growing. 
She felt as though she had not seen the moon in so long. Exhaustion from raising a child, exhaustion from taking on more responsibilities, it all weighed down on her. She fell asleep before the sun even went down more often than not.
But tonight, she saw the moon. 
She saw it through the window. She saw it inside. She saw it behind her eyes. And even though she thought it would be, the weight of The Crown was nowhere near as heavy as the heavens. The heavens that she needed to hide from. 
That is where Benedict found her. 
Under the bed.
“Hello, my love,” he said with a smile as he shimmied under it beside her. 
Y/N swallowed heavily, tears in her eyes. “Sorry,” she muttered. 
“Are you alright?” he wondered, completely ignoring her apology.
“It is all…so much,” she said, taking a shuddering deep breath. “I do not know how we will do this.”
“Do what?” he wondered.
“Raise The Queen. Be who we must. I…What if I get worse, Benedict?”
“Oh, my love,” he sighed, grabbing her hand. “We can handle it.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it is true,” he said. “The…” He swallowed heavily. “The love I have for you. The love I have for our daughter…it is stronger than any weight.”
Y/N sniffled and nodded. “I feel…” she took a deep breath again. “I wanted to move back here because I…I love it but…Sometimes I feel trapped.”
Benedict frowned. “When was the last time you went outside?” he wondered.
“I was in the gardens today.”
“Outside the walls, Y/N,” he corrected.
She thought back, then swallowed. “I-I…I do not know.”
He nodded and squeezed her hand. “Come with me.” He let go of her hand to slide out from under the bed. She followed him, taking his hand as he helped her to her feet. 
“Where are we going?” she wondered.
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course, I do,” she responded. He smiled and started to walk. She followed after him as he led her through the halls. The familiar halls. They were familiar to him too now. They had lived there for almost a year. It seemed strange sometimes. But it was home to her. Now more than ever, it was home. 
But she still felt trapped. 
There was still a part of her that wondered if she would wake up from this dream. If the past two years of her life had not happened. She feared that she would wake up in the cupboard and none of it would have been real.
She allowed Benedict to lead her out to the gardens. She followed him through the familiar maze of hedges until they reached the very end. Until they reached the wall. 
A chuckle left her lips. “What are we doing here?”
He turned to her and winked before he walked forward and grabbed one of the vines. With a grunt of effort, he pulled himself up. “How did you do this all the time?” he wondered as he made his way to the top. He looked down, offering her a hand. Y/N smiled as she climbed up high enough to take it. 
“I had good incentive,” she replied. 
Benedict jumped down first and helped Y/N down after. “Come on,” he said. 
She followed him because, of course she did.
They made their way through the familiar streets of the ton. Y/N knew them well by now. She knew which houses belonged to which families. She knew it all. And she knew where he was taking her.
“Here we are,” he said, stopping at the familiar lamppost.
Y/N's smile grew until it took up half of her face. She allowed Benedict to pull her in for a kiss. Their first kiss at the spot where they met. 
“It has been two years, you know,” he said. “Since we met.”
“Almost to the day,” she said. 
“Best two years of my life,” he responded. He put his arms around her waist and pressed his forehead to hers. “Thank you.”
“For what?” she wondered.
“Loving me.”
She felt tears in her eyes. “I believe I should be thanking you for that.”
He chuckled and pressed another light kiss to her lips. “You are not trapped anymore, my love. You can go where you please. You can do whatever you wish.”
She took a shuddering breath. “I believe that might be even scarier.”
Benedict shrugged. “You will always have me at your side.”
“You and me?”
“The three of us,” he said with a wink.
“Four, actually,” she corrected. She watched as her words dawned over Benedict. She watched with immense love in her heart as the smile broke out on his face.
“Four of us.” He kissed her again. He would always kiss her. He would always love her. “I wish I had met you sooner.”
Y/N sniffled and shook her head.
“I think we met at just the right time.”
---------------------
Love always,
Alma xx
Taglist: @imdoingbetternow @dd122004dd @soulmates8 @aureolinb @poppyalice2001 @thatgirljas13 @sunnygrey99 @frogsandhomicidalducks @dreadity @psychomanias @muxshwriting @erinroney @theregencywriter @wobbly-fluggers @moonwayne @esposadomd @marvelspogue @avengersgirllorianna @bwormie @noirrose21-blog @themadhattersqueen @ziarah @esposadomd @thicficbich1 @luvaerina @smileofthesun27 @mythical-mushrooms13 @siimiasoi @wannapizzamymindposts @everavenclaw @kno-way-home @unfortunatekiwitrash @melsunshine @butterfly-skinnylegend @yunloyal @fanfiction-she-wrote @iamaslytherin0 @marvelouslyme96 @soundslikerains-blog @ilovespideyyy @isagivinny @eyesarefullofstars @beingalive1 @the-great-imagines-of-1812 @rayisthehoe @empressnatsume @hopefulatrocity @daddyissues-muah @boo8008 @pinkpantheris @yourmumstoy @jupitervenusearthmars @strawberrypink-jellybeans @crispysublimecupcake @galactict3a @dumdumsun
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boyfhee · 2 years
Text
⌕ TAKE TWO ━━ n. riki
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PRECIS. while riki constantly assured you that him being an idol under a different label wouldn't be an issue in your relationship, you start getting second thoughts when fans start shipping him with his co-mc at music bank. COMPLETED
GENRE. fluff, humour, major angst
WARNINGS. mentions of cheating, lots and lots of insecurities, arguments, kys / kms jokes i'm sorry, do not expect a lot of humour tbh + tba in respective chapters
BEFORE YOU READ. ok so the reader is initially a trainee and will debut later as the plot proceeds ( in first 2-3 chapters ) this takes place after the iconic jangkku mc era, riki and reader are in an established relationship. slow / irregular updates
NOTE. i see my jake smau straying further away from me and the readers but i can't help bc it's plot doesn't feel right to me :( like i have a rough chapter plan but it sounds so lacking, i'm afraid i'll encounter some major plot hole after posting and will have to put it on hold / discontinue it, which i don't want to happen :")) have fun with this smau till then, i'm trying my best to come up with a solution for my jake smau ^◡^ happy reading !
SEQUEL : LAST SHOT ( tbr )
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PROFILES . . . !
one | two
CHAPTERS . . . !
all the pictures used are only references and are not supposed to depict reader's appearance in any way ! the chapter titles and number of chapters are subjected to change accordingly !
01 : bitchless, 22 and counting
02 : our secret romance
03 : delulu engenes
04 : third person
05 : the art of ignorance
06 : deleted instagram account
07 : breaking up on the tl
08 : fuck shit up
09 : the line between friends and more
10 : miyaki tag
11 : do what you can
12 : riki redemption arc
13 : unauthorized investigation
14 : last chance
15 : silly little feelings
16 : we're in this together
17 : good at this
18 : media left and right
19 : all you want
20 : who's the real cheater
21 : how are you so sure
21.5 : extra ! the miya scandal
22 : no regrets
23 : leaving for good
24 : an odd solace
25 : take two — epilogue !
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SERIES TAGLIST. ( open, please note that permanant taglist won't be added in every chapter ) @mosinterlude @tnyhees @bigtoewinwin @chaeryoungsredhair @lockburn-castle @potaeto-writes-on-wp @highlightsonmyheart @gothhyucks @softiegukk @lcv3lies @cosmicwintr @prettysung @luvdokja @w0nnielov3 @indelicate-macalino @enhasengene @faelyncore @yooonz4u @binsoomi @wondering-out-loud @jihyoscrown @captivq @meiiiwa @myjaeyunn @jeongintwt @seventeeneration @nomurahayami @ilovewonyo @duolingofanaccount @notdrunkbutdazed @luredher @artstaeh @moremilkforkags @lalalalawon @mylobae @stevesdick @arizejkt19 @lix-freckle3 @arusio @iamminnie @yongboksfreckles @sd211 @strwberrydinosaur @sunshine-skz @anik-4 @m1kotsu @kokoiinuts @stopeatread @adajoemaya @nyfwyeonjun
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lincolndjarin · 4 months
Text
Best Kept Secret
chapter twenty nine : the best kept secret (epilogue)
ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ☆ main masterlist ✧
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pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader
rating : 18+ mdni
word count : 6.1k words
summary : an epilogue for our lovers.
warnings: tooth rotting sweet fluff, language, mentions of sex, an ending so sweet i made myself sick with emotion like omg.
a/n: crying my dick off rn. my moms bringing dinner home rn to celebrate me finishing this and i can't stop crying
The morning sun is warm against your face, you bask in it, unmoving and only half awake until you feel a tiny hand slapping your cheek. The illusion of tranquility is immediately shattered as you softly laugh. 
“Mama?”
Your eyes flutter open and you’re greeted by the sight of a little boy in linen pajamas, one pant leg rolled up over his knee as he stands beside your bed. 
“Everyone’s awake.” Your son rubs his eyes as he looks up at you, pointing towards your bedroom door. 
“Already? Well thank you for telling me.” You reach your hand out which he happily takes as you pull him to your bed side, placing a soft kiss into his dark curls, attempting to smooth out the disarray they're in to no avail. He giggles, pushing your hand away before pointing past you. 
“Buir is wearing the birikad in bed again.”
“You’re very observant, sweet boy. Why don’t you go get your brother, bring him here and I’ll send buir to the nursery.” You give him a sleepy smile before you hear the familiar sound of tiny feet running across wood. 
You shake Din’s shoulder, his snores stuttering as he sits up in one hasty motion, his eyes still closed as his fingers run through his mess of hair, identical to Arin’s frenzied curls. 
“Bottle? Diaper?” His voice is thick with sleep, you reach over, rubbing his back as you sit up as well, kissing his shoulder. 
“Stand down, nothing that serious. A certain someone just ran in here and told me there’s signs of life in the nursery.” You run your hands along the fabric strap on his chest. “And he pointed out that you fell asleep with the baby carrier on, again”
“Grogu said all that?” He turns to face you, eyes barely open as he leans towards you to kiss the tip of your nose. 
“Save your jokes for someone who actually thinks you’re funny, Djarin.” You pull him in for a kiss by the fabric harness on his chest. When he tears himself from you at the sound of a small cry you stare at his sleepy grin. 
You will never get tired of that smile. 
“Sounds like someone wants to hear my jokes.” He groans as he stretches, tossing his lower half off the bed before reaching around for his leg, reattaching it and standing. 
“Careful in the hall. Lately your son has been insisting on carrying his brother everywhere so you might run into a brawl out there.” 
“I’ll keep an eye out.” He yawns before disappearing in the direction of the nursery. Moments later you hear a small scuffle before Arin appears in the doorway holding a very angry Grogu in his arms. 
“Put your big brother down, Arin.”
“Little brother.” Arin attempts to correct you as Grogu lets out a squeal of protest. You shoot him a look as you take the child from him, setting the tiny green boy in your lap as your youngest son climbs into bed to join you. 
“Just because he’s smaller, doesn’t mean he’s your little brother. He’s still older than you.” You kiss your eldest on his wrinkly forehead as he relaxes in your lap, raising a little green claw to throw a pillow at Arin from across the room. “Grogu, No magic throwing at your siblings.” You chastise him softly, taking his hand and lowering it, reminding yourself to cut his nails later. “Come here.” You beckon towards Arin who instantly jumps up into bed with you, snuggling up next to Grogu as you give both of them a squeeze which Arin wriggles out of, settling on sitting beside you instead.
“And then I told your mother that I was going to find someone who does like my jokes.” You hear Din in the hall before you see him. When he steps into the bedroom the little girl in his arms is just a bundle of giggles. He sets her down on the floor, after a few shakey steps she makes it to your side of the bed. 
“Good morning, little flower.” You lift Grogu off your lap, setting him beside his brother who already seems to have gotten over the pillow incident as he tells him everything he wants to do today. You pick up the toddler now demanding your attention. “Did buir do your hair?” You examine the two braids her wispy curls are in as she nods. You cradle her in one arm before looking at your riduur. “Where’s the rest of my garden?” You raise an eyebrow at Din who promptly turns around, revealing an identical copy of the girl currently in your arms, strapped into the fabric harness. The only difference between the two girls is the frown that one wears. 
“She didn’t wanna laugh at my jokes so she had to sit in the back.” He shrugs as she kicks her little legs and you reach your free hand out for her. 
“Give her to me you evil man.” He grins, reaching behind himself as he carefully removes her from the harness before holding her up to his face so their noses are touching. 
“Do you want to go with your mother or stay with me?” He scowls at her which earns him a sharp yank to the hairs on his upper lip. “Dank farrik!” He pulls her away from his face, holding her out towards your waiting arm. “Just like your mother, always so mean to me.” He puts on a mock tone of hurt, both your daughters are finally smiling at the sound of it. You beam down at your girls. 
“Dank farrik!” Arin’s voice fills the room as he shouts, you immediately glare at Din. 
“Wonder where he gets that from.” You grumble before focusing on the girls, leaving your husband to deal with your sons. “You’ve got a big day ahead of you little flowers.” Both girls look up at you, you see your own eyes reflected in their identical faces. If it weren’t for their wildly different personalities you’d never be able to tell them apart. 
They both give you a curious look before their attentions are drawn to Din who has started shoving your other two children in your direction, clearing a space for himself on the bed. 
“You shouldn’t say that, ad, it’s rude.” He puts on a serious tone but neither Grogu nor Arin seems intimidated in the slightest, they only fuss as they’re squished between you and Din when he rolls back into bed on his stomach. 
“You say it every day.” Arin stretches out, laying across his fathers back while Grogu seems content to stay snuggled up between everyone. “You said it yesterday when Lily put a frog in your shirt.” Din groans loudly, face down into his pillow. You frown down at your daughters. Lily looks entirely unbothered by the revelation of this information, her expression returning to its comical state of sterness. You raise your eyebrows at her, waiting for a confession but you know she won’t say a thing. 
So you look down at Grogu. 
“Did that really happen?” Your other three children all turn to stare at him until finally he nods. 
“Told you.” Arin grins before crawling onto his fathers back, tugging at his hair gently. 
Who could have predicted you’d raise such stubborn children. 
“Why would you do that? Where did you find a frog?” You look back down at the girls in your lap. Lily remains a vault so you look to the other. “Daisy? Where did your sister get a frog?” The corners of her lips tilt up. 
“Grogu brought it in through the window.” Her voice is soft and high pitched as she fights a smile. 
“And why did he do that?” 
“He was hungry, but buir made lunch, so he gave itta Lily.”
“And why did she put it in buir’s shirt?” You aren’t cross with them, you just can’t help but want her to keep talking, she’s so well spoken for her age and you can’t help but indulge. 
“S’ buir’s fault.” She whispers, pointing at her father. 
“Was it now?” You put on a surprised voice, Din’s head turns to the side so he can look at you. “What did you do to deserve such a thing?”
“She’s terrible to me, just like her mother.” He laments, reaching a finger out, ticking her neck. Lily’s stern expression falls in an instant, turning to high pitched laughter. 
“Buir made ‘er sit in the back of the birikad.” Daisy continues to tell her tale, looking up at you for approval the entire time. 
“Why would he do such a horrible thing to such a lovely girl?”
“She putta worm in his sock.” Grogu nods in silent agreement as Daisy continues on. “So he put ‘er on his back an’ she pulled the back of his shirt down an’ she put the frog in his shirt an’ he said dank farrik.” She takes a deep breath when she finishes and you look at your husband. 
“So when you said everything went smoothly while I was out-“
“Aside from the worm and the frog everything went smoothly.” He grins for a moment until a small hand grabs him by the ear, you sigh as Arin grabs his fathers hearing aid, tossing it up into the air, on instinct Grogu reaches up, holding it in place in the air. 
“Kriff-“ Din grumbles, tilting himself to the side to roll Arin back onto the bed before getting up to retrieve his hearing aid. 
“Kriff!” Lily speaks for the first time all morning, her voice like a little chime. 
Din has a guilty smile plastered on his face as he looks at you, scooping both boys into his arms as he lays back down. They squeal and try to wiggle out of his arms but he only has eyes for you as he keeps them caged against him. 
“She has a terrible mouth, just like her mother.” He whispers. 
You roll your eyes, unable to fight off your smile as you set your girls down on the middle of the sheets, once free of your hold they waste no time before joining their brothers in using Din as a personal playground. 
You don’t care that you all have to huddle together to fit on the bed. 
You wouldn’t have it any other way. 
Socks, socks, socks, diapers, socks. They’re only going for an overnight but you can’t be too careful.
“Where are my little flowers?” You’re packing the overnight bag for as Din comes wandering in, putting on a real performance as he puts his hands on his hips. He stares at the ceiling as Lily squeezes between you and the table, hiding her face in your skirt as Daisy ducks under her crib, her yellow socks sticking out. He comes up behind you, wrapping himself around you as he sets several bottles into the bag you’re working on. “Have you seen my little flowers?” You hum softly as he kisses your cheek. 
“I have not.” You turn grinning at him as he gives you an exaggerated sigh. 
“That’s a shame, I wanted to see if they wanted to read with me for a little while…” 
“M’right here!” Lily reaches out from the other side of you, grabbing his pant leg as he grins, reaching down to pick her up. 
“Oh my goodness, would you look at that.” He grins, nudging the crook of his nose against the side of her face and kissing her cheek until she pushes him away. 
“Itchy.” She whines, slapping him on the mouth. 
“The stubble isn't going anywhere little lady, your mama likes it too much.” He raises his eyebrows at her, receiving a small frown in return. “Any other ladies wanna come read with me?” He speaks loudly, the little legs sticking out from under the crib don’t move so he shrugs, giving you one last look before taking Lily out to the living room. 
“The coast is clear.” You go back to folding as your daughter wiggles her way back out, coming to stand beside you until you lift her up onto the changing table so she can watch you work. You hum different little songs to her, sometimes just a few notes, sometimes an entire melody, letting her hum and sing them back to you as you finish up, putting their blankets in last before you start dressing her to go. “Are you excited to have a sleepover at your aunties house?” She beams at you as you pull a thick jacket over her head, bundling her up as you tug a hat down over her ears. 
“Yes mama.” 
“Good, don’t forget to be extra well behaved.” You lace her little boots, lifting her up and setting her on the ground. “Aunt Elaine and Auntie Lysa are going back home later this month so you won’t see them for a bit.” You pat her head as she nods, her cheeks already going rosy from being a bit warm. “Now send in your sister so she can get changed.” She runs out of the room, calling out her sister's name and like clockwork you dress each of your children for the cold. As usual Grogu doesn’t want to wear his hat and fusses as you trim his nails but other than that it doesn’t take long before you’re ready to go. Wrapping a scarf around Din’s neck on the way out the door. 
You don’t mind the walk, although with four kids it takes a little longer than it usually would. Din straps the girls into the carrier, holding Grogu in one arm and the large canvas bag in the other while you hold Arin. The cool autumn air filled with the sounds of babbles and chatter as you walk. Elaine and Lysa rent space on the outskirts of the city so you don’t even have to go deep into the afternoon foot traffic to get them there. 
When you ring the doorbell you’re immediately swarmed by the excited pair. Lysa takes Grogu from Din in an instant as Arin squirms out of your arms to hug Elaine’s legs. 
You’re happy to have family so close to home. 
It’s hard to not feel tired the moment you’re briefly child free. 
The second you get home the couch beckons you towards it but you resist, you have plans for tonight. Din on the other hand, doesn’t fight his fatigue in the slightest. 
“One whole night without kids.” You turn to grin at him but he immediately collapses into bed, pulling the covers up over his shoulders. You immediately yank it back down.
“No sleeping, we don’t do this often enough to spend what precious time we have sleeping.” He sits up enough to grab you and pull you down on top of him with a soft thud. 
“We haven’t slept properly in about four years, let’s just sleep for a few hours, then we can spend the whole night together.” He mumbles, voice already groggy. 
“We have to go soon, I want to see the lights.” You complain but turn your head to lay on his chest properly, happily soaking in some of his warmth.  
You are tired.
And you do have a couple hours to spare. 
“I suppose a couple minutes won’t hurt.” It’s still early in the afternoon and you don’t have plans until sundown, when you turn to see if he’s okay with that he’s already fast asleep. Eyes shut and lips slightly parted as his arms absentmindedly hold you tighter. 
You lay back down his chest, inhaling the subtle scent of detergent on his top as you let yourself succumb to the exhaustion you rarely even let yourself acknowledge.  
You open the closet, taking the boxes sealed shut with locks and setting them on the bed. 
You love your people, and you love being the queen, but sometimes you just want to be Din’s. You want to walk through the marketplace without being swarmed, you want to hold his hand under the moon without people asking who he is. 
So every few months, when Lysa and Elaine take the kids for a whole night, you live in secret once more, just for a few hours.
You search through your dresser drawer until you find the key, twisting it in the lock before tossing it aside. You reach in, holding up the contents just as Din’s arms wrap around your waist. You jump a little bit, you hadn’t heard him come in. 
“Do you miss it?” he murmurs. 
“Sometimes. For the longest time this was all I knew you as.” You stare into the silver steel, looking at the two of you reflected against the beskar. “I prefer you without it though.” You set his helmet down onto the sheets before turning around in his arms, holding his face as you held the helm. “Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes. Never when I’m with you.” His lips rest against your forehead for a moment, content to just stay in that position for a while. 
“We need to retire the nursery soon, the girls are getting too big for cribs.” you mumble. 
“What if we want one more?”
“Last time we wanted one more we got two.”
“One more wouldn’t hurt.”
“They already outnumber us four to two.” You smooth out the fabric of his tunic with your free hand. 
“Mhmm, I know. I’m just not ready to get rid of the cribs. When did they get so big?” 
“Grogu’s still little.”
“He’s a little bigger now I swear.” You laugh softly kissing his cheek. 
“That’s what kids do. They get bigger.” You release your hold on his shirt.“No more sad talk. We get one night alone every six months, I don’t want to spend it all melancholy.” 
“Fine, fine.” He takes the helmet from you. “Finish getting dressed if you wanna get there before sundown.” You grab his flight suit from the box, tossing it to him just before he shuts the fresher door. Searching through the box you find your cloak, Leaving behind the weapon you’ve come to learn is called the darksaber as you get ready. 
Lacing your boots and pulling the cloak over your head you give yourself a quick once over in the mirror. 
Unrecognizable. 
As you turn to face the now opening fresher door you’re hit with a wave of nostalgia. The dark brown fabric of his flight suit now accompanied by scraps of armor that you’ve purchased over the years. The only actual beskar items being his leg and helmet, a helmet that you let your sons decorate to keep him from being recognized, neither one of you willing to take the risk of someone connecting the dots regarding his identity. 
Messy streaks of green paint run along the outline of his visor as he holds a hand out towards you. You eagerly take it, the two of you rushing outside to the bike, covered with a tarp. 
You happily wrap your arms around his waist as he kicks the engine to life, wasting no time before shooting off into the trees. 
You don’t mind living in secret as much as you used to, after all, it’s only temporary now. One night, every so often, isn't so bad. Especially now that it isn’t out of fear or necessity, now you do it simply for the sake of being unobserved. You aren’t exactly discreet about the fact that you are together. Although no one ever asks, it's more than apparent who the father of your girls is, and while nobody would dare question you about his parentage, Arin looks more and more like Din every day. 
But sometimes you just want to walk with him without everyone thinking about those things. 
So you wear different faces, and use different names, and go back to keeping secrets, just for a few hours. 
Din brings the bike to a screeching halt in the ship lot, handing over a fistful of credits and taking your hand once more. 
“Ready to go, Dorthea?” You can hear his big dopey grin as he drags you towards the bustling sounds of the vendors. 
“Of course, Oskar.” You follow behind him as he continues to pull you onward, wanting to get there in time to see the lights. 
It’s your favorite part of nights like these. 
Every colorful light turns on one by one and somehow also all at once, the flickering and shimmering of the colors as you stare up at them, Din’s hand in yours. It takes a few minutes but when it’s done it’s like the night sky is entirely lit up, your own personal set of stars. 
“Happy now?” He pulls you deeper into the markets while you nod, giving your hand a squeeze as you pull him towards the familiar stands, picking up a few different sweets and knickknacks as you always do. 
You point and giggle at anything particularly dirty. Somehow, despite all this time and his anonymity in this situation he still manages to get flustered when you dangle leather instruments in front of his face. 
His favorite part of nights like these is the music. 
You wouldn’t have suspected it based on how stiffly he dances but he loves nothing more than rocking back and forth with you on the cobblestone street.
Tonight a string band plays upbeat music and the square is full of people moving in circles around each other as everyone moves to the beat. When you pull your eyes from the frenzy of swirling vibrant fabrics he stands with his hand out, as if he even has to ask for such a thing. 
You wrap your arms around his torso as he spins you around, pulling you into the crowd, people parting to squeeze you into the space. You can’t speak, the music is too loud and you can’t see each other's faces but you still manage to remain in sync. He doesn’t wear gloves anymore, wanting to feel his hands against yours. You stay close, moving in sync, grins on your face as you press your veiled face against his helmet, wanting to be as close to him as possible. The lights shimmer against his armor, the beskar reflecting the lights as you move, colors melding together as his hands go from your hands, to your waist, then to your back, your bodies flush as you dance until you can barely stay upright. 
 You both stumble back into the cabin, giggling, giddy messes.
Tripping over each other as you get into bed, stripping layers off of each other in the process. 
And he loves you like it’s the first time. 
That’s how he always loves you now, never that panicked, fearful love where tries to take in every single drop of you for fear of never tasting it again. No, now he loves you like he can’t believe it. Every single time you unbutton your trousers or step out of your skirt he gawks like he’s never seen a pair of legs before. He’ll drop to his knees at the sight of your chest, no matter how many times he sees it. His devotion seemingly knows no bounds and as time carries on that fire refuses to die. 
The only difference is that he isn’t afraid to love anymore.
And neither are you. 
The kids love the garden. 
Maybe even more than you do. They’re careful, even when they’re chasing each other around in circles, to never step on the flowers. None of them are running now though, Grogu, Arin, and Daisy are all with you in the gazebo. It never ceases to amaze him just how easily you can calm them down. Grogu sleeps in the crook of your arm while Arin sits by your feet. Din watches as the little one pricks his finger on the needle he’s currently weaving in and out of the hem of your skirt. He doesn’t fuss though, he’s tough, just like his mother. He flinched before furrowing his brows and continuing his work. Daisy lays on her stomach on the other side of you, crayons are scattered across the gazebo floor as she colors in her notebook. 
And you, in the center of it all, radiant, perfect, you. 
Reading one of your romance novels. 
Summer’s nearly gone now, the little ones are all bundled up in sweaters and scarves and you’re draped in a thick green shawl that you pull tighter around you as a crisp breeze blows by. 
He’d stand and stare at you as long as you’d let him if a tiny hand didn’t reach up and pinch his jaw. 
“Buir.” Lily snaps him back to reality. 
“Yes, ad?” He looks down at her, seeing your eyes represented in the little girl in his arms. 
“You’re starin’ at mama.” 
“That’s awfully perceptive of you.” He hums as she looks around, a look of concentration on her face as she stares at the ground where she continues to speak to him. 
“You say starin’ is rude.” 
“I’m allowed to stare at mama.” He has to stifle a laugh as she scolds him. 
“Why’s that?” 
“Because we love each other.” 
“If you say so.” She’s already lost in the conversation as she turns around in his arms, pointing at the yellow petals on their left. “Sunflowers.” 
“That’s right, beauty.” He continues to carry her tucked in one arm down the path. “What about those?” He nods in the direction of a bushel of pink flowers. 
“Tulips.” She’s always been so serious about the flora, just like you.
“Correct, brains.” He kisses the top of her head, brushing a stray curl out of her face as she points up ahead. 
“Daisies.” She announces proudly, turning to him for approval.
“When did you get so smart?” He gives her a shocked look that makes her crack a smile. 
“Mama taught me.” She states matter of factly as she crosses her arms. 
“Well then, your mother is very smart.”
“Smarter than you.” He gasps as she giggles. 
“That can’t possibly be true.”
He carries her over towards the daisies, pointing at the vibrant blue petals of the flowers beside them. 
“I’m just as smart as your mother, look, these are roses.” He pokes her in the belly as she shrieks. 
“No, buir!”
“Are you sure? Oh wait, you’re right, those are peonies.” He grins at her as she shakes her head wildly. 
“Buir! They’re lilies!” Her cheeks go rosy as she giggles, he gives her a confused look, squinting at the flowers one more time. 
“Are you sure? I’m almost positive those are daffodils…” He leans forward, kissing her chubby face as she continues to giggle. 
“Is he being mean to you?” Your voice fills the air as he turns, you’re holding your skirt up as you walk towards them, holding your arms out for Lily. 
“Me?” He says theatrically as he hands the squirming toddler to you as she reaches for her mother. “If anything she was being mean to me.” You always tell him that he was born to be a father, but you, when he looks at you he almost can’t believe just how good you are at it. Lily wraps her arms around your neck, she kisses your cheek as a tiny hand ever so carefully holds onto your necklace. With a small yawn, Lily buries her face in your neck as you smile, your eyes turning from your daughter to him. 
“You know she said you’re smarter than me?” He whispers, wrapping his arms around your waist. 
“Kids say the darndest things, don’t they?” You smile and it’s like his heart wants to burst from his chest. 
“I’ll never get used to looking at you.” 
You always say that as if he doesn’t know what that feels like. Everytime you so much as enter a room he feels the same as he did the first time he saw you. 
“Where’s the rest of your ducklings?” 
“I took them back to the cabin, Daisy was sleepy so I assumed this one might be too.” You rub Lily’s back, the little one is seemingly already asleep in your arms. 
“Want me to take her back to the house?” He offers but you shake your head. 
“I have to go get your present anyway.” You grin. 
“I’ll be here.” He gives you a quick kiss before you turn in the direction of the house. 
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little nervous. You’re annoyingly good at gift giving. Despite the fact that you have already given him the greatest gift he could possibly ask for in the form of three little ones and loving his own like you carried him yourself. You still manage to one up him every time. 
While your competitive nature towards each other has lessened quite a bit from it’s initial amount it’s still a notable part of your marriage, anniversary gifts being the biggest competition of all. 
 The gazebo is empty when he returns to it, carefully stepping up onto the bench to reach into the rafters where he’s hidden your gift. He grabs the wooden box, stepping down just in time to watch you step inside with him.
“Can I go first?” Your fingers twitch as you nervously mess with your skirt. You look exactly the same as you did when you left which has him a little confused but still smiling. 
“Sure.” He sets the box down behind him, hopefully out of sight as he turns back to you. 
“Don’t be mad.” You have a sheepish smile on your face that already has him worried. 
“What could I possibly be mad about?” 
“You know how we always say that we aren’t going to use the seemingly infinite funds we have at our disposal?” You rock back and forth on your heels anxiously. 
“Yes…” 
“Because we don’t want them to be spoiled.” 
“I’m not following-” He really isn’t.
“Well I may have gone the tiniest bit overboard, and we never said we couldn’t spoil each other.” You bite your thumb nail as you stare at him. “If you don’t like it we don’t have to use it.”
“I’m starting to get nervous, sarad.” 
You reach into the pocket of your skirt, holding out a familiar little sphere.
“Grogu thought you might want this back.” You place the gear shift knob into his palm. “Happy Anniversary, Din.” He stares at you, bewildered as he rolls it between his thumb and forefinger. “Obviously it isn’t your ship exactly but it’s pretty damn close.” You muse softly and he nearly drops it. 
“Wait- you, you got me a ship?” 
“It’s in the lot by the markets we can go later-” He cuts you off, immediately wrapping his arms around you, squeezing you as he lifts you a few inches off the ground. 
“You found another Razor Crest?” He’s breathless as he feels a rush of gratitude that only you can give him swelling in his chest. 
“I built another Razor Crest.” You smirk, clearly pleased with yourself. “Grogu helped, of course, to make it authentic, and this one has less weapons and more child safety measures but other than that it should fly the same.” 
“You brilliant woman.” He can’t help but stare at you in disbelief, how he has been blessed by you will always be a mystery to him. 
“Now we can travel whenever you want, you always say you want to show them the galaxy.”
“I- I don’t know what to say.”
“Good, you talk too much.” You kiss him, he’s genuinely speechless, what do you do when the woman who has given you everything gives you more?
“Your turn.” He whispers, feeling even more nervous about his own gift now that you’ve given him what is quite literally the perfect gift. 
He hands you the simple wooden box with a little latch to keep it shut. 
“The failsafe?” You look up at him as he nods, popping clasp up as he opens it, holding it out towards you. 
“How did you- when did you?” Your eyes are growing wet as you stare into the box before looking up at him. 
“Took a little while to put it all together.” He murmurs, pushing the container into your hands until you finally take it. 
“You kept all of this? All this time?” 
“Do you like it?”
“Like it? I- It’s everything, Din, quite literally everything.” Tears flow freely now as you sniffle. You sit on one of the benches within the gazebo, carefully going through each and every item, looking more shocked than he was when you gave him your gift. 
He’s glad you like it, after all, it took him a few years to put it together. 
You sift through everything, wiping your eyes every so often as you do. 
A plastic blue lily, wrapped in black lace. A silver anklet with gaudy sapphire jewels dangling from the clasp. Several sheets of parchment with ink illustrations on them. A handful of pressed and dried leaves. A couple of pink and gold buttons. And a candy wrapper. 
The centerpiece of the gift being a rectangle wrapped in thin brown paper, tied with a green bow. 
You hold it carefully, he watches as your fingers trace the ribbon.
“That’s your real gift, the rest is just some stuff I saved.” 
“It’s a wonderful gift, Din.” You wipe a few stray tears on your shawl. “It’s all perfect.” You carefully peel back the paper until all that’s left in your hands is the tattered and worn book. 
The Smitten Paladin. 
He watches with a smile as you flip through it, realizing it isn’t any old copy of the book. It’s your copy. With his favorite color, and your rules written out within. 
“Oh, Din.” He watches as your face scrunches up with emotion, the way it does when the kids hit different milestones, or when the two of you finally got married. 
“How about we call this one a tie?” He can’t help but feel a sense of pride, finally finding you something on the same level as your gift. Of course it wasn’t an easy task to top a ship like that but a part of him can’t help but think that he couldn’t have found you a better gift than this.
“Actually…” You smile despite the puffy redness around your eyes and he groans.
“No actually, let me have this.” He pulls you to him, kissing the bridge of your nose first and then your lips, letting him indulge in you for only a moment before pulling back. 
“Are you sure? It’s a pretty good gift, good enough to tip the scales.” 
“Fine.” He sighs, an exaggerated look of defeat crossing his face.
“Close your eyes.” He doesn’t argue with you, shutting his eyes as you manipulate his arms so he’s holding his hands out, feeling something extremely light being set in his palms. “Now open.” 
Socks.
Socks that are too small to currently fit any of his children. 
His heart races as he holds the little brown booties in his hands. 
“Are you serious?” He can feel his face getting hot, and his mouth going dry as he whispers, kneeling down in front of where you sit. 
“We can manage one more member of Clan Mudhorn. This does mean we’ll have to keep the nursery for a few more years, and expand the cabin-”
“I’ll build you a dozen cabins if that’s what you want.” His brain moves at a million miles an hour as he stares in awe at the gift that is you. “Dank farrik.” He can’t help it as he whispers to himself, hands on your stomach. 
“I win.” You tilt your head to the side, grinning at him as you take his face in your hands. 
“You win. Every single day you win because you gave me them and you gave me this.” He lets you pull him up to meet you halfway, kissing him once more. His hands on your hips. “I love you, so kriffing much.”   
“I love you.” You wrap your hands around his. How did he get this lucky? How is he deserving of this life you have given him? 
He holds your hand when you walk back to the cabin, finding the children in the main room, making themselves a pillow fort as you rush to help them he watches from the sidelines. 
He spent a lot of time watching you. 
Watching you wander, and read throughout the castle. 
It’s hard for him to believe that now he gets to watch you be a riduur and mother.
Because of you he gets to have a home.
Because of you he has a bed, and a house. Because of you he found his way back to Grogu, and now he has three more little ones and another on the way. 
Because of you he can just be a man, a riduur, and a father. 
With you he can just be Din.
a/n : i'm like sick to my stomach with crying so that's cool lmao. i thought i would have more to say but this is it and i'm proud of it and i'm happy to have shared it. i can't believe i was lucky enough to have so many people to share this story with. from the bottom of my heart, thank you.
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nczennie · 3 months
Text
feels like christmas.
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Pairing: Reader x Jaehyun AU: Husband!Jaehyun, Dad!Jaehyun, Domestic, Christmas Genre: Fluff Summary: A short peek into the holiday season with Jaehyun and his family. Also an epilogue for these summer lovers.
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"There we go, let's place that one right here." You whisper out, helping the little girl place the cookie dough onto the baking sheet.
She furrowed her eyebrows in concentration before breaking out in a bright smile upon seeing her gingerbread safely among the other Christmas shapes. You wipe some flour from her dark hair that's pulled back, "Can I eat the rest of the dough?" She looks at you expectantly.
"Fa la la la la," You both turn to the entrance of the kitchen seeing your husband enter the room singing along to the Christmas music playing on the radio. Bouncing a small baby in his arms he comes closer to look at the baking.
"Daddy," your daughter says, "These are our cookies for Santa." She points excitedly and he gasps to appease her, "How amazing are these." He hovers behind you both looking at the arrangement of trees, reindeer, and gingerbread. You reach to grab your son from his arms, smiling as he yawns, still warm from his bath and cuddled in his Christmas pajamas. Kissing his forehead and tucking him into your arms as your husband helps your daughter off the counter.
Watching as he places the sheet in the oven, you speak up, "Jaehyun, someone wants to eat the rest of the cookie dough." You nod your head to the little girl who gives him a smile she has learned he cannot refuse.
He laughs, reaching for the counter and pulling a piece of dough before handing it to her, "Here lovie, eat this and then let's get you in the bath so we can get ready for bed before Santa comes."
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Only an hour later and you were cuddled into the couch, your son sleeping peacefully on your chest as he suckles on his pacifier. Jaehyun and your daughter sat in front of the fireplace, her cuddled into his lap as he reads from a Christmas book.
In quiet moments like these you think how far your life has come. It seems only yesterday you were a young college student falling in love with Jaehyun over summers.
But it's been many years now, and your summer boy is yours year-round; that summer feeling here to stay for good.
Though at the time you craved that feeling of summer that the boy brought, some things have changed. Since those days Jaehyun and you have married and settled down. A cozy house, a determined 4-year daughter, and curious 4 month old son. Your small family seemed to fit together perfectly.
Since your daughter had been born, you started to crave a different feeling. The peacefulness of winter. The calmness of the holidays with your families. Cozy fires, falling snow, Christmas carols, wrapping presents, making traditions. Seeing how magical your kids find the season.
It seems as though time slows for you around Christmas and your heart swells during this time every year.
"Mommy," You break your trance to see your daughter as approached you on the couch, "It's time to sleep before Santa comes," She states with a yawn and you give her a smile, running your hand over her hair. "Go on, I'll be right there."
She scurries down the hall, her pajama dress flowing around her. "You okay?" Jaehyun asks as he folds the blanket and places it back on the couch. You nod, careful of your son, "Yes, was just thinking." He stands over you, running a hand over your son's hair before doing the same to you, "About what?"
"About how happy I am." You whisper out, "I love you. I love our family. I love doing the holidays with you." He smiles at your confession, leaning to kiss your lips softly, "I love you. I love this." He whispers back before standing straight again.
Your kids would go to bed now and you would get to spend the night in your own secret traditions with Jaehyun. Traditions being parents brought to you. Traditions you wouldn't change for the world.
Then you would awake in the morning to see how excited your daughter was Christmas morning. Basking in the magic through her. You would go to spend the rest of the day with your parents, your brother Johnny, and his own family, and Jaehyun's parents.
You couldn't think of anything more perfect, and your heart felt as warm as the fire.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" Jaehyun asks, eyes lovingly taking you in. You nod in return, "Yeah, it feels like Christmas."
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Copyright © 2023 by nczennie. All rights reserved.
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noroi1000 · 3 months
Text
F**k your fav - Epilogue
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F**k your fav | ←Previous
You were sitting in front of your laptop, looking at the same website as always.
You were on Satoru's lap while Suguru sat next to you, watching curiously as to what was causing his friend to ask for Threesome.
The same questions arose.
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Question 1: Who is your partner for you?
Question 2: What do you think about your partner's character?
Question 3: What do you think about your partner's appearance?
Question 4: What do you like most about your partner?
Question 5: What do you like most about yourself?
Question 6: What do you think your partner looks best in?
Question 7: Do you think you're a good kisser?
Question 8: Do you think your partner is a good kisser?
Question 9: Where do you like to be touched most?
Question 10: What turns you on most about your partner?
Question 11: What do you like when your partner is with you?
Question 12: What is your dirty secret that you are hiding?
Question 13: How often do you masturbate?
Question 14: How often do you have sex?
Question 15: Do you like having sex with each other?
Question 16: Do you use toys?
Question 17: What do you think about your partner's sex drive?
Question 18: Do you like to experiment?
Question 19: What do you like to do most in bed? What type of sex do you prefer?
Question number 19 was what started it all.
The entire test had 20 questions. And you were stuck on 19 because Satoru didn't know what type of sex he liked. When you told Suguru about it, he couldn't believe it. He made so many things out of such a small problem. He even agreed to do anal with another guy to find out if Threesome was his favorite! This wasn't a completely normal task...
Would you rather you had sex normally, on the spur of the moment, and not when he wants you to check another item on his list? This must have been the strangest experience for Suguru...
"So, are you able to answer now?" Geto asked, watching his friend, who was staring at the question on the laptop screen. "I decided to help you not hear now that you still don't know. Satoru. So the idea of that exactly."
"And I thought you were horny for my girlfriend; that's why you agreed to it." he stuck his tongue out at him, and you hit him on the head to stop him from fooling around.
But now you were a little wondering if it was true...
But if you didn't like Suguru even a little, or he didn't like you, he wouldn't have agreed to it. And he agreed, and this all happened.
"Well... If I had to answer..."
You waited carefully for his response.
You both helped him so he could choose. So now you hope that -
"I cannot choose." he said bluntly.
You were frozen. Especially you, who helped him from the beginning. You let him do everything! For everything, even the strange ones! For him to say that he still can't choose?!
"Satoru!" You screamed.
"I can't choose! I think I like it all! I just like having sex with you in all kinds of ways!"
His hands, which held you close to him, were very warm. And all you could focus on was that.
It doesn't change the fact that he did everything he liked with your body so that he wouldn't choose one thing at the end.
If either of you would like, Suguru can join you. He was always close to you, like family. So it doesn't change.
But you could have been happy.
You could fuck your Satoru in every way.
And you fucked your fav.
Your fav is Satoru.
Your boyfriend moved on to the last question, which was:
Question 20: How did you like our questions? We encourage you to take part in our second project, “30 Day Sex Challenge.” Every day, you will be given the type of sex you need to have. If you are interested, click the link later.
"Noooo!" You screamed, and your hands shot out.
Before Satoru could turn it on, you closed the laptop and held it to stop him from running another test that would end the same as this one.
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✨A/N✨
Thank you for reading F**k Your Fav! It's been a long road for me to make this. Even though it has few chapters, there were breaks that lasted several months. I was supposed to post this a week ago, but I had major problems with being an author on Wattpad. But it's over now! This was the last chapter! I can mark this story as finished and be happy with my success!This story was also written on the spur of the moment.I saw fanart and suddenly I came up with something. Now I know I can't trust all my sudden fantasies because at some point I'll have mental lag while writing this.And writing smut is not as easy as it may seem.
Anyway, thank you to everyone who made it to the end of this story
Thank you very much!
😘
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icallhimjoey · 5 months
Note
everyone is talking about Tupperware joe or ciabatta roll joe but what about lost-the-bet (won the bet?) joe? We still never got our epilogue where her dream came true and she could ogle at him in peace 😆
okay well shit, all this fuckery about rumours has resulted in this bullshit, are you happy now?!
Wordcount: 3K
—-
Blind Bargain
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(read Double or Nothing here)
"You look... um, windswept?"
Izzy passed you a drink she'd been holding onto you for, and she was right. There was a rosy tinge to your cheeks, your hair a bit messy and you looked rushed.
Because you had been rushing.
"Oh, is my, is my mascara running?"
Izzy leant closer and squinted, "Yea, a little. Wait, here," and with a finger wet from her beer glass, she carefully wiped under one of your eyes. "It's not that windy though, is it? Did you run over here?" she gave you a suspicious look and you instinctively went for a sip of your drink to evade her question. To hide half your face.
"Hey, did Joe say he was coming?" one of your friends asked the group, and before anyone could answer, someone spotted him walking in.
Too soon, Joe.
That was too quick after you had walked in, God, what an idiot. You'd gone over this!
Calmly smoke the rest of your cigarette. Don't rush it. Make no one suspect anything had just happened mere minutes ago.
Everyone greeted Joe like normal and for a moment you were convinced it was just you who was making things weird.
"Hi,"
Why were you blushing?
"Hey,"
You knew why. Saw Joe's little smirk and, fuck, it made you want to squish his cheeks together to make his lips go funny.
You exchanged polite smiles instead, pretended to not have seen each other in at least a week, and cheersed drinks once Joe got given one by another friend.
When you turned back to Izzy, she was still sort of squinting at you.
"What?"
"Nothing," Izzy immediately raised her eyebrows but then kept looking at you. "Did you work from home today?"
Now it was your turn to squint at Izzy, suspicious as to why she wanted to know. "Yea, why?"
Fuck. What if she was onto you?
She might be closer to the truth than she thought, but you were not sharing your secrets. Not today.
You and Joe were sneaking around.
No one needed to know.
Just like during the bet, no one needed to know what was really going on behind closed doors. Difference being that now, the frightening parts weren't there anymore. You didn't like lying to Izzy, but, it was no longer scary, which was good.
Before, you were scared that if someone, specifically Izzy, were to find out about what Joe was doing to you on a daily basis, you'd lose him as a friend.
You weren't quite sure how one and one made two there, but that's exactly what you'd thought.
Now, if someone were to find out about what you and Joe were doing to each other on an almost daily basis, then they'd just know and it wouldn't really change much.
You just didn't want to be the one to tell anyone. Use words to explain anything. And neither did Joe. So, it remained a secret.
So far, you'd been resourceful in your ways.
Avoided Izzy like she was the plague.
She'd nearly caught you that one time she came home in the middle of the day whilst you and Joe were in the shower.
"Showering on company time?" she'd shouted from the hallway, and you'd stammered, "I worked through lunch time," as an excuse before whispering, "Did you leave your shoes by the door?" to Joe who was pressed into the corner of the shower with his shoulders hunched up, eyes wide and both hands covering his penis as he nodded.
"Shit."
"Shit."
Izzy hadn't seen the shoes.
Or, if she had, she hadn't mentioned them.
She had also once so very nearly caught sight of your text chain.
It was just a continuous thread of times followed by places. The bet had ended just over a month ago, but if someone was to go just by your texts, you knew you'd be able to convince them it was an ongoing thing still.
You'd been able to throw your phone into your lap face down just before Izzy had passed you a mug of tea. Just in time.
"Can people not just know?" Joe had asked once when you were in the middle of throwing every last item of clothing his way whilst he got dressed in a hurry. Izzy texted she was on her way and if you needed anything from the corner shop.
"Sure they can," you said, hitting him in the head with a sock. "Will you tell her?"
Joe scoffed, gave a soft frustrated, "No," and made a face as if he was making fun of his mum when she asked him a ridiculous question.
"Yea, didn't think so, hurry up," you rushed out of your bedroom to find Joe's shoes, held his coat so he could slide in and be quick out the door.
But there Joe had paused, right on the threshold.
"What if she..." Joe stalked closer and pushed himself right up against you. "Just walked up, right now, and happened to catch me do this?"
Fingers curled around your neck and were used to pull you in just enough for your lips to collide. Joe felt how just for a second or two, you turned boneless in his hands.
"Saw me touch you here?"
His other hand found the hem of your shirt to slip under, and you so very wanted to get lost in all of it again. You did.
But then you heard the lift go, and it startled you enough to squeeze a laugh out of Joe.
"Stairs!" you hissed, "Go, go! Stairs, now. Quick!" you shoved him towards the stairs, chuckling man easily moved by your hands. First step down, he leant back and, you obliged, gave a last quick kiss before he scurried down. You'd closed the front door to your flat just in time.
Yea.
It was definitely still a secret. One you wouldn't mind leaking, not at all. But you weren't the one who was going to say anything. And neither was Joe.
So at the pub, you pretended and tried your best to act the way you acted before any of this started. Before the bet had even become a thing.
Joe would still be flirty, but just a little flirty. Flirty like he had been flirty before.
Like when he'd see a random guy trying to make conversation when you went to get drinks, he would afterwards pretend you had an eyelash stuck under your eye and lean in real close to get it. Would make you make a wish as you blew nothing from his finger tip.
Tonight felt extra risky though.
You had worked from home. Izzy was right.
What Izzy didn't know is that Joe had spent half the day on your sofa, and he'd decided that, just before you were heading off to meet everyone at the pub, his eyes had had enough of just looking at you all day. His fingers were jealous. Mouth envious.
As a joke he'd nearly walked you into Izzy's room. You'd shrieked and laughed and oh my God, could he please never even try to joke about that again?
All right, Joe thought. Instead he'd fucked you right up against her door.
Risky business.
You didn't know if Izzy was going to come home first, but when you walked in and saw her in her full office attire, you secretly sighed a small breath of relief.
You fell into easy conversation that night. Avoided Joe until you couldn't after a dance of people getting drinks and going to the toilet, you ended up next to him at a table.
Joe didn't waste any time getting a hand on your thigh.
Your brain only stuttered for a second.
You were good at this. Kept up the conversation you had with the friend opposite, and Joe joined in the casual chat as his fingers squeezed and inched closer to where it was warm.
You squeezed your legs together in warning.
It did nothing.
Joe's hand stayed in place, fingers playing where they wanted to play.
Suddenly, someone who thought they were being real funny, asked about your luck on the apps. You hadn't taken a guy over to Friday night drinks at the pub for a bit now.
"I'm off the apps, actually," you shared. "So far it's been really unsuccessful, so I decided to just delete everything—"
"Don't lie," Izzy spat, interrupting you.
You felt Joe squeeze tighter before he removed his hand. Too many eyes on you now.
"I'm not lying!" you scoffed. "I'm not on the apps anymo—"
"I hear you sneaking guys in all the fucking time,"
Shit.
This got everyone's attention quick enough. Good thing Joe got both his hands above the table just in time.
"You sneaking guys in?" another smiley friend asked, bumping you with his shoulder. "You little minx!"
You were at loss of what to say, scoffing with your mouth open, you didn't know if you were better off denying everything, or coming up with another weird lie to save yourself from this situation.
"It's erm," you played with your drink a second, slowly spun it 'round on the table in front of you. "It's recent, this being off the apps thing,"
Izzy frowned.
"So you deleted them yesterday?"
So she'd heard you and Joe two days ago. Neat.
"Yep. Deleted them yesterday."
You didn't like how Izzy was pushing this, but you didn't really have another choice but to just go with it.
Izzy seemed annoyed and hostile and, you got it, sort of. You were best friends. No need to lie. You'd never lied about bringing guys over to the flat ever before.
Some of your other friends fell into a conversation about dating apps. About how none of them really work, how they barely know any people who've been on them and who are still in successful relationships. You leant back a little to listen along, had a slow sip of your drink and tried to ignore Izzy staring at you from across the table.
When you did look her way and made eye-contact, her features instantly softened and she leant closer over the table as she mouthed, "Why?"
You frowned, unsure of what she meant.
"What do you mean, why?" you mouthed back, and in a crossfire of conversation, Izzy pushed another friend out of his seat to sit directly opposite you.
"Why are you off the apps?"
Joe tuned in. Couldn't not. The two of you were right there next to him, blocking him from joining the conversation on the other side of the table.
You repeated what you'd said earlier. Added, "They're a bit shit really, aren't they?" to which you knew she'd agree.
And Izzy did agree.
But you also saw her worry lines work.
"I don't— we're on different pages," Izzy started, a little louder now as she sat back. "Different books even."
"What do you mean?" Joe asked, tried to make it sound like he wasn't incredibly invested in whatever this conversation was between you and your flat mate. Best friend. The one person who you'd been actively hiding from for over a month now.
"I know the difference between a fake orgasm and a real one," Izzy said, voice flat and loud enough for the whole table and then probably also the three closest to you to hear.
You choked on your drink before Izzy carried on. Coughed right into your glass and got beer all down your chin.
"These guys are—" Izzy shifted from talking to Joe to talking to you, "I don't know what they're doing to you, but they're good."
This got whoops - loud ones. Ones that made people across the pub turn their heads to see what the commotion was about.
"Okay!" you immediately tried to make everyone tone it down, one of your arms stretched over the table. "All right, I need some— some fresh air? A drink. I'm gonna get— does anyone else want to do a drink over a tenner? Gin tonic? Let me just—"
You stumbled through an excuse to escape everyone whilst simultaneously ignoring every question that was thrown at you by your friends.
"Guys? These are plural men?"
"Is that why you're off the apps? Found the right bloke who does it for you?"
"How often do you hear her, Izzy?"
"Give us a name!"
You awkwardly climbed from your seat and disappeared on your way to the bar.
Fuck.
You'd been so convinced Izzy didn't know, or hadn't heard. She never said anything.
She didn't know it was Joe though.
She'd said guys.
Thought you were bringing home guys from the apps to spend some spicy time with in your closed of bedroom. Snuck them in and snuck them out.
Sure.
Slut era.
You could pretend that this was the actual truth and go with it for however long you needed to.
"Hey,"
You thought maybe Izzy would follow you, but instead, Joe placed a hand on your shoulder as you waited for your turn at the bar.
"I um— I hear that someone is, um—" Joe couldn't help the smile he was sporting. "Being real nice to you."
You smiled through a scoff.
"Don't,"
"I'm not doing anything, I just..." you felt a warm hand spread its fingers over your bum. "It's not gone down, yet," Joe whispered right into your ear.
It made you lean back to scan his face a second as you frowned with confusion. His mouth made it back to your ear, "Here, it's been— I've been walking around with this since we left yours," below the bar, Joe's hand found yours and moved it over to his crotch.
"Jesus Christ, Joe," you hissed, panicked eyes darting around to see if anyone else had just witnessed that.
"I told her."
What?!
You couldn't fucking believe what you were hearing.
"You told Izzy about your semi?"
"Um, have a proper feel, this isn't a—"
"What can I get you?"
"A dirty bucket of gin, side of tonic," you huffed before Joe interjected, ordering three regular sized gin and tonics. One for you, one for Joe and presumably one for Izzy, for the traumatising.
"I told her it's me,"
You laughed. Bursted right into it, puffed out cheeks releasing air before it stuttered into giggles.
"No, you didn't— listen, I'm going to down my drink and leave, I'll text you when—"
His mouth found your ear again as he leant into you, spoke right into your ear again, voice low and husky, "I told her. Izzy knows now."
"What— what did you say?"
"I went," Joe started and made exaggerated facial expressions, raised eyebrows and big eyes. Then he smiled and pointed a finger at himself and nodded as his grin grew. "And then she went," Joe mimicked Izzy's reaction, surprise and frowned shock before adding, "And then she said she fucking knew it, that she'd known all along."
Oh.
Okay.
What now...
You didn't know what to do next.
Was Izzy mad?
You'd lied to her for ages.
Joe paid for the gin and you took a glass to immediately take large gulps of, stepping back just enough to catch sight of your table of friends.
They were all talking. Izzy included. Didn't seem bothered that you weren't there. Just a normal group of people talking about their week. All commotion from before gone, which, good. That was good.
You still didn't really want to go back over.
Then Izzy looked over and caught your eye. Your breath stopped for a second as you froze, afraid Izzy would let you see her anger and annoyance and frustration, because why had you lied for so long? Why had you not just told her?
But then, instead, Izzy smiled, pointed a finger at you with a scrunched up face and winked.
Izzy was a good friend.
"This is for Izzy," Joe pressed a second gin and tonic into your hands, already halfway through his own, just like you.
"Could you go— I don't, we have to— you know,"
You suppressed a smile.
"Ugh," you groaned with faux annoyance. "You're hard, we get it."
Before stepping away from him to bring Izzy your drink, Joe took hold of you by a bicep and pulled you close once more. "You say that like it isn't you fault."
It was weird and a little scary being out in the open, in public, with Joe like this, but you guessed that now, you could just... do that?
Wild.
You pulled back a little, smiled and raised your eyebrows at him.
"You say that like I'm not going to take care of it,"
You bumped your hip into him, and Joe had to close his eyes for a second. Bite down a groan and take deep breaths through flared nostrils for a second. You left him there as you quickly took Izzy's drink over to the table before turning around and beelining it back.
There was no way you were going to say anything. Invite comments or questions or even the odd facial expression.
You got them anyway.
"Bye,"
"Enjoy!"
"Have fun!"
"Hey, tell Joe to tuck it away already, we've been making jokes behind his back all night,"
"Bye babe,"
And with a laugh, you shook your head as you walked back over to Joe, both downed the rest of your drinks, drinks that Joe paid far too much for to down within a minute, interlaced fingers and left the pub together.
Joe got into a bet with you weeks ago, all for a week of fun he knew he was going to have with you, win or lose.
Had wanted to have with you, since, like, forever.
He'd never expected the outcome to be better than what he could've predicted.
He'd never even expected you to jump into this bet with him in the first place.
A sight-unseen transaction.
A true blind bargain.
One that panned out fucking perfect.
the end
---
The Taglisted
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Snitches Get Stitches: Chapter 12
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Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader
Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe
Summary: Jake Seresin, golden boy of the NHL and Captain of the Dallas Stars makes headlines when he unexpectedly signs with newly-formed San Diego Dogfighters. When your future seems at the verge of crashing down, you receive the opportunity of a lifetime to become the team physician for the Dogfighters. You never expected to be working directly with your favorite hockey player. Jake has a secret and you have a job to do. Will he be able to trust you enough to help and will you be able to trust him with your heart?
Chapter CW: 18+ ONLY, angst, swearing, medical inaccuracies, hockey inaccuracies, legal inaccuracies. No use of Y/N. Any opinions on NHL teams expressed by my characters are not my own and describe fictional versions of these teams.
Word Count: 3.4k
A/N: This one is a little on the short side but we’re gearing up for the big finale! Chapter 13 will be the second to last chapter and Chapter 14 will be an epilogue.
Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter
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You’re sitting in the same chair you’d sat in a month ago in Cyclone’s office and the atmosphere in the room is somehow more grave than it was last time. Jake is sitting next to you, one of his hands holding yours. You know it’s not helping your case but you need the contact to ground you. Cyclone is sitting across from the two of you, not saying a word, just sitting and watching. The silence is thick with tension and a part of you wishes he would just yell and get it over with. You know it’s coming, but for now, he’s content just watching you squirm. His eyes fall on your laced fingers and finally, he sighs, sitting back in his chair. You brace yourself for the shouting to start but his voice is even and deathly calm as he addresses you first.
“Bugs, I’m incredibly disappointed with your behavior, especially considering the fact that we’ve spoken at length about maintaining a certain level of professional conduct.” You swallow, hard. “I had my doubts when I hired you, but I gave you the chance to prove yourself and surpass your previous indiscretions.” Your free hand clenches into a fist. “And yet here you are, confirming my suspicions and putting me in an incredibly difficult position. You’ve broken not only your contract with the Dogfighters but also your oath as a physician. I have everything I need not only to fire you but also press legal charges.” Your skin goes cold. You knew you would be in trouble if Cyclone found out about you and Jake but the reality is grimmer than you could have imagined. “Mr. Seresin made a bold claim a month ago when he made a move to protect your job here.”
“A claim I still stand by.” Jake interrupts and Cyclone gives him a firm look.
“I could get a lawyer involved and have you fired nonetheless, but the team can’t afford that kind of bad press right now. That leaves us with one option. You can quit your job and terminate your personal relationship with Mr. Seresin and we won’t press any charges. I would suggest you leave with your dignity and reputation intact while you still can.” You feel tears start to press against the backs of your eyes because he’s right. That is your best option but the idea of losing Jake is more painful than you can imagine.
“You can’t do that,” Jake speaks up again and both you and Cyclone turn to look at him. “Bugs is a member of this team and ever since she started to suspect that I had feelings for her, she shut me down and did everything in her power to keep our relationship professional. We fell in love, yes, but that’s despite her efforts not because they didn’t exist at all. And I know you don’t trust Bugs’s version of events when it comes to what happened at her last job but I had the unfortunate privilege of meeting Dr. Anderson, and if you saw the way he treated her, you wouldn’t have a doubt in your mind about how things went down. Not only did he harass her, but he ruined her career simply because he’s a man in power and people were more willing to believe his version of events. But even if I hadn’t met him? All you have to do is take a look at the work Bugs does to know that she’d never stoop that low to get ahead. She doesn’t have to. She’s a hard worker who’s dedicated to her patients and the work she does. The fact that she and I are in a relationship shouldn’t detract from that.” Cyclone shakes his head.
“Son, you already have the press breaking down our doors for the chance at an exclusive interview with you ever since you left the Stars without any official announcement on your part. If any wind of this gets out? This could ruin not just her but your career as well.”
“I don’t give a fuck about my career. What I do care about is Bugs and her career.” Jake’s free hand is white-knuckled against the arm of the chair.
“Then it’s in your best interest to let her go, son. There will be plenty of other women in your career, you’re still young. It’s not like you intend to marry her.” Your heart aches because Cyclone’s right. Jake may be it for you but that doesn’t mean you’re it for him.
“I’d marry her today if she’d have me.” Cyclone’s eyebrows raise before he looks at you. You’re sure there’s shock written across your face.
“Jake’s it for me, sir. I love him, and it’s as simple as that.” Your voice doesn’t tremble even as more tears gather in your eyes and you feel Jake squeeze your hand, gently. Cyclone looks between the two of you as he sighs deeply, considering what to do with you.
“You realize that there’s nothing I can do about this.” He says finally. “Your personal feelings aside, there are still ethics laws being broken here even if we overlook the broken contract. Bugs, you’re going to have to leave the Dogfighters or I’ll have to fire you.”
“You’re not going to fire anyone.” The door to Cyclone’s office flies open and you watch Jake slump into his seat with relief as Zam charges in, an unfamiliar older man at her heels. She leans on the back of your chair, pausing to catch her breath while the older man waits behind her politely.
“Zam, what’s going on here? Who is this?” Cyclone is past irritated now and you can tell he’d probably be yelling if it weren’t for the stranger in the room.
“This,” she stands back up straight, “is Dr. Solomon Bates.” Your eyebrows go up at that, your heart stopping. “And I just hired him.”
“EXCUSE ME?” Cyclone is sitting up straight now.
“Well more accurately, Ice and I hired him.” She clarifies, squaring her shoulders. “Every other hockey team has multiple physicians, so it’s high time we brought someone else on. Dr. Bates, this is Beau Simpson, our general manager.” Cyclone stares dumbfounded as he shakes hands with Dr. Bates before he collects himself and flashes his most professional smile at the other man.
“Dr, Bates, welcome aboard. We appreciate having you join us as our head physician.” You could hear a pin drop in the room at Cyclone’s declaration. “This here is Bugs, she’ll be working with you as our assistant physician. And this is Jake Seresin, our captain and number one patient right now. You’ll be taking over his care, effective immediately.” Your jaw clenches but you know that there’s nothing you can do. If you’re Jake’s girlfriend, you can’t also be his physician. Zam’s saved your job but you can’t have your cake and eat it too so you put on your brightest smile and extend a hand to Dr. Bates.
“Dr. Bates, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I can’t wait to start working together. I can fill you in on Jake’s condition and care as soon as we wrap up here.” He shakes your hand, giving you a polite nod. He turns to Jake next, shaking his hand before Zam interrupts.
“Dr. Bates, if you wouldn’t mind giving us a minute. I need to talk to these three for a second. I showed you your office downstairs. You can start getting settled and Bugs will meet you there when we finish up.” He excuses himself without much fuss and when you finally hear the elevator doors close down the hall, Cyclone finally fixes Zam with a glare.
“Zam, you've more than overstepped the boundaries of your position on this team.”
She doesn’t even balk as she coolly fires back. “You have me handling not only PR but also internal affairs currently and two of the employees here approached me concerning a consensual workplace relationship and I worked to make that possible for them. We needed another physician. Bugs has been swamped when she’s here and when she was out we didn’t have anyone to cover for her. I hired Dr. Bates based on that need and with him taking over Jake’s care, that eliminates any liability on the part of Bugs and the team. I’ve done my research.” She places a folder on the desk in front of you. “If you two just fill out this paperwork declaring your relationship, everything will officially be above board. Both Bugs and Jake are free to keep their jobs.” Jake jumps to take out the forms, plucking two pens out of the cup on Cyclone’s desk and handing one of each to you. You glance at the paper in front of you. This is real. You get to keep your job AND you get to keep Jake. Sure you just got demoted but you get to stay with the Dogfighters. Signing the declaration papers feels like letting out a sigh of relief. Jake squeezes your hand in his. Whatever comes next, the two of you can make it through if you’re together.
***
It turns out things aren’t as easy as you’d like to think. Handing over Jake’s care to Dr. Bates is harder to stomach than you expected. Zam assures you he’s trustworthy and after doing your own research you sat down with him and explained not only Jake’s situation but your relationship with Jake and how that’s going to affect his care going forward. Thankfully, Solomon was understanding of your story and seemed to be on your side. He made no moves to try and demean or discredit your story and treated you as an equal. Cyclone on the other hand has been taking Dr. Bates’ new position and your subsequent demotion to assistant position as his primary route to punish you for not quitting. You were swamped with unnecessary paperwork and you hadn’t had a conversation with a patient let alone actually seen one as a doctor.
Now you’re running late for a meeting that Cyclone’s holding for the entire team in the locker room. The first pre-season game is tomorrow night and the boys are restless and buzzing. You and Jake share a smile as you walk in and take your place between Nat and Zam.
“Y’all are so cute,” Zam whispers to you, squeezing your arm and you smile at her too. Cyclone’s standing at the front of the room with his arms crossed between Dare and Maverick.
“Alright, everyone let’s settle down.” Cyclone claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. All the eyes in the room are on him. “The pre-season starts tomorrow. We have our first game tomorrow against Nashville. It’s our first game as a team but also as a franchise so let’s get out there and show the NHL what we bring to the table.” The boys let out a cheer at that and you find yourself smiling alongside them. This is what they’ve worked for. “And I’m pleased to announce that our captain will be on the ice for tomorrow’s game.” Your blood runs cold as the other guys cheer. Jake wasn’t supposed to start tomorrow. Sure he’s started attending practices here and there but he still needs rest. He’s nowhere ready to play in an actual game. You’re frozen in place as your brain plays out every worst-case scenario, unable to process what’s going on around you until your eyes accidentally meet Cyclone’s green ones and you see the smirk on his face. There’s no way that Dr. Bates signed off on this, he had agreed with you that what Jake needs right now is rest. You tear your gaze away from Cyclone’s and find Dr. Bates’ to see concern mirrored in his eyes. He’s just as surprised at Cyclone’s announcement. Cyclone’s saying something else but you can’t hear it. You feel like you’re underwater, or simply watching the world carry on around you while you’re frozen in place.
He finishes and swiftly exits the locker room as the conversation buzzes back to life. You’re vaguely aware of Zam shaking you and trying to break you out of whatever trance you’re in. Finally, you move, ignoring her and Nat calling for you as you push past them, following after Cyclone. You hear Jake call your name as the locker room door swings shut behind you. The moment you’re out of there, you’re running. You know people are going to be coming after you and you need to get to Cyclone before they do. Your hand pounds the elevator button so hard you know it’ll bruise, and it’s only once the doors have slid closed that you let yourself breathe. Cyclone undermining you is something you can live with, but directly putting Jake’s health in jeopardy just like his last team? That’s unacceptable. It doesn’t matter if it costs you your job, there’s no way that you’re letting Jake get on the ice tomorrow night.
“BEAU!” You slam open the door to Cyclone’s office and he looks up from where he’s sitting at his desk. “Jake can’t play tomorrow! He’s still on medical rest!” Cyclone just raises a singular eyebrow.
“Bugs, can I help you?”
“You know damn well that Jake can’t play tomorrow! Both Dr. Bates and I agreed that he would wait until the season opener to play! Sure he’s back on the ice for some practices but that’s completely different than playing in an official game!”
Cyclone regards you coolly despite the fact that you’re yelling. “Tomorrow is our first game as a team. I can’t have one of our best players, let alone the captain, sitting out. The whole NHL will be watching us.”
“And you’d rather show them how poorly he’ll play injured than just swallow your pride and let him rest? What if he gets hurt tomorrow? That could set him back much longer than two more weeks!”
“Bugs, my decision is final.” Cyclone gives you a firm look as Maverick and Dr. Bates appear in the doorway. You turn to them, desperate.
“He can’t play tomorrow! You both know that! We agreed that he wouldn’t play until the opener!” Your eyes dart between both older men. Maverick looks just as shaken as you, and Dr. Bates has a grim expression of pity on his face. Maverick reaches out to comfort you but doesn’t say anything to agree with you. You realize you’re not going to get any support from either of them and round on Cyclone again, slamming your hands down on his desk.
“I don’t care what you do to me. I know you want me to quit, and I will if that’s what you really want, but I won’t let you put Jake’s safety and career on the line just to get at me. I’ll resign right now, just don’t make him play tomorrow.”
“I already told you Bugs, my decision is final. You quitting isn’t going to change my mind. Jake is playing tomorrow night. If you’re so concerned with his health, I suggest you spend these available hours making sure he’s in his best shape for tomorrow instead of bothering me.”
“Please,” you’re desperate. You can’t be complicit in Jake getting taken advantage of again. You won’t be. “I can’t be a part of this. I can’t watch another team fail to give him the care he needs, that he deserves.”
“Well, you don’t need to worry about that,” Cyclone says. “As the head physician, Dr. Bates will be in the box tomorrow night. You’re off-duty.” You feel sick. If something happens to Jake, you won’t even be able to help. You shake your head. You know you’ve lost but you still can’t believe this is happening. Turning around, you start to leave Cyclone’s office, pausing at the doorway to take one last look at his stone-faced expression.
“If Jake gets hurt tomorrow night, I won’t hesitate to get a lawyer involved. You’re endangering your athletes and I won’t stand for it.” You don’t wait for his response before walking out of the office, not looking back again.
Once the elevator doors have closed yet again, the tears start falling. You’ve failed Jake and you’ve failed yourself. If you had just been able to control your emotions and hadn’t fallen in love with him, he’d still be under your care and maybe you’d have a chance of keeping him off of the ice but you’re helpless now. Your selfishness and your greed had done nothing but make things worse for him, and if something happened to him tomorrow night? You’d never forgive yourself. When the doors open again, you force yourself to exit the elevator and trudge towards your office. You’re not expecting there to be anyone there but when you open the door, Jake stands up from the chair across from your desk, eyes full of concern widening as he takes in your tears. Javy’s leaning against the wall and Zam’s sitting behind your desk, worry furrowing her brow. Jake reaches for you and you go easily, collapsing against his chest as a sob wracks your body as he guides the two of you back down to the chair, pulling you into his lap. He strokes your hair as you cry, hands fisted in the fabric of his t-shirt, inhaling the scent of him to ground yourself but even that can’t bring you the comfort that it usually does.
Finally, you raise your head and find him staring back at you, a rueful smile on his face. “Hey sweet girl, you all cried out?” He asks and you’re reminded of the first time he asked you that and you return his smile, nodding. You don’t loosen your grip on his shirt but shift so your cheek is rested over his heart as you look up at him.
“He can’t do this. He can’t make you play.” Your voice is hoarse and croaky from crying but you see the pain in your voice reflected in his eyes.
“Yes he can baby, but it’s gonna be okay. I’ll be okay.” You can tell he doesn’t believe it.
“I tried, I tried to talk to him but he wouldn’t listen, and Mav and Dr. Bates wouldn’t say anything.” Your voice breaks at the end and Jake’s hold tightens.
“I know Bunny, you did everything you could.” He presses a kiss to your forehead.
“I even told him I’d quit.” You feel Jake stiffen. “I’d do it too if it meant that you’d be safe. I can’t let another team fail you, Jake, I can’t.” You sniffle as his green eyes harden. One of his hands comes to cup your chin and turn it so you’re forced to meet his cold gaze.
“You’re not quitting on me, you hear? We’re a team, remember? If you go, I go.” You nod against his grip.
“I didn’t know what else to do.” You whisper and you watch his heart break through his eyes.
“We’re a team, we’ll figure something out.” You nod again and he leans his forehead against yours until you break away, turning to face your audience.
“Hey, Zam?” She perks up and nods.
“Yeah Bugs, what’s up?”
Your voice is cold and devoid of emotion. “If Jake gets hurt tomorrow, I’m going to a lawyer.” You watch Javy’s eyes widen and the sound of surprise that comes from Jake’s throat. “I’m not letting Cyclone get away with this.”
She nods, already deep in thought before she speaks up. “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll do whatever I can to help.” Her eyes are hard, resolved. At least you have someone else on your side. You climb out of Jake’s lap, crossing the room to stand in front of Javy, crossing your arms across your chest to hide your shaking hands. You tilt your chin up defiantly as you meet his dark eyes with your own. “Keep him safe out there, tomorrow.” He nods firmly before taking you by surprise as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight to his chest.
“Thank you,” he whispers in your ear so only you can hear it. “Thank you for always looking out for him.”
“I’m just doing my job, Javy. Loving him only makes my sense of duty stronger. I’ll always protect him.” He gives you a final squeeze before letting you go and he exchanges a look with Jake behind you. One more person on your little team within a team.
“Let’s kick some Predator ass tomorrow!” Jake says and the four of you all nod solemnly before Javy and then Zam exit your office, leaving you and Jake alone. He turns to you then. “You ready, Bunny?” You nod, wrapping your arms around his middle, and snuggling into his chest.
“I’m ready Lola.” You feel his laughter rumble under your cheek and it brings a smile to your lips.
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A/N: We’re slightly approaching the end!! And we’ll finally get to see some hockey next chapter!
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fayes-fics · 9 days
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When The World Is Free: Chapter 15 - La Vie En Rose
MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.
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Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, romantic vaginal sex, a brief reference to oral sex. Also features time jumps and the war coming to England.
Word Count: 2.4k
Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is the last chapter, and our pair finally have their idyllic home together in Wiltshire. There will also be an epilogue for this story that will be posted shortly after this chapter. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!
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Wiltshire, UK, December 1939 - December 1940
The early December chill creeping under the hem of your wool coat instantly evaporates as your husband carries you over the threshold into your new home, warmth radiating from the roaring fires that blaze in each room.
“Welcome home, Mrs Bridgerton,” Benedict smiles, placing you gently onto your feet in the hallway, even as you do not relinquish the loop of your hands around his neck.
“Kiss me, Mr Bridgerton,” you appeal, pushing up onto your tiptoes and capturing his lips with yours.
Living in Aubrey Hall for the autumn was lovely, but a challenge to find privacy. Yes, time well spent as you were able to triage your friendship with Eloise, but tempered by a yearning to be with Benedict alone in your own home, impatient for the purchase to go through. It is three weeks before Christmas when you are finally able to take the last drive down to Wiltshire—this time for good rather than just a fleeting visit.
“I can't believe we are finally home,” you breathe happily over his lips, both of you breaking into matching grins.
“We are indeed,” he assures, withdrawing from your embrace to shuck his coat and help you out of yours. 
“Are we alone?” you whisper as he hangs both in the hallway cupboard.
“I told the two staff we have here to take the night off once we arrived, to return in the morning. They are in the little cottage down the lane, so yes, we are indeed alone, darling wife. What on earth do you have in mind?” He teases, sauntering back to you, that beguiling crooked grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
“I would like to christen our house,” you declare, raising an eyebrow suggestively as you slide your hands up his biceps and hook them around his shoulders, pushing your body into his, your intent more than obvious.
“Which room, my love?” his voice is like velvet.
“All of them, husband,” you declare, loving the way his pupils dilate and his breath hitches. “Absolutely every single one…”
Refracted flames dance across his glassy pupils as he moves over you, taking you with him, dewy skin from the heat of the fireplace you lay next to. The rug is a slight burn under your shoulder blades, not that you would ever ask him to stop, wanting marks on your body from this magical night, so long overdue.
“What are you thinking of, my darling?” 
His voice resonant as your nails scratch lightly along his spine, your toes running down his calf muscles, squeezing him between your thighs as he gently thrusts into your body.
“I am thinking…. I am thinking how free I feel,” you confess breathily, pushing your breasts into his broad chest, undulating your hips to meet his, wanting him so deep inside you are altered in some way. “I can scream your name like I have wanted to for months…”
He groans loudly, capturing your lips in an artless, open-mouthed, desperate kiss, his hands hooked around your shoulders, using his forearms as leverage to pull you into his rhythm. “Please do, my love, please do…. I have longed to hear you let go completely….” he admits stutteringly.
“I cannot believe I had to sneak around for weeks with the man I was married to,” you giggle, recalling those heady weeks in summer when all was a secret.
He huffs a laugh into your throat, kissing there. “And I cannot believe my wife had to sleep in a separate bed from me for so long…” After his proposal, admittedly, you had moved to sharing his bedroom, but seeing as it was right next to Eloise’s, it has been many months of quiet intimacy. The autumn night being too cold to spend in the unheated summer house by the lake. 
Your hands grab his shapely bottom and encourage his movements, harsher now, chasing that moment of bliss for you both.
“Never again….” you counter emphatically, twining yourself around him like a vine, never wanting to be separated from his naked body, for him to be inside you always, always….
“Never indeed….” he concurs, his voice gravelly and cracked with emotion as he spears deeper and makes you cry his name, the sound echoing up your living room walls.
As the winter months slip by, The Cottage, as you have both taken to calling it, is your constant refuge. And thanks to its smallholding farm, Anthony is able to pull strings and secure Benedict's status as exempt from military conscription, a relief you are thankful for every day.
Your home is a welcoming embrace when you step in from a rewarding but chilly day working in the drafty local village library—your insistence on wanting a job something Benedict never disputed. And his artistic career blossoms, too, each piece he completes becoming a hotly contested item at auction in London. A small conservatory attached to the back of the house transforms into his art studio, where he works most days crafting beautiful, lyrical landscapes that steal your breath with their scope and beauty.
And as much as your home is a place of peace, tranquillity and creativity, it is also filled with passion; many hours are spent in joyous lovemaking in any and every room of the house, the novelty still not wearing off for either of you, even months later. 
Indeed, your staff, a benevolent, older married couple who become more akin to family, soon learn to turn a blind eye to any amorous activities they may unintentionally encounter. Including one unseasonably mild and memorable evening when they returned from dinner to find you upon the lawn, screaming at the dome of stars above—your nails scraping across Benedict’s scalp as he feasted between your legs.
It is a cold February morning when you blink awake to the melodic trill of a robin outside the dining room window. Benedict is fast asleep as you lay cocooned in his embrace under a blanket, embers glowing ashy white in the fireplace beside you. You must have fallen asleep here after a rather vigorous late-night session on your sturdy dining table—a nightcap becoming so much more, two drained whiskey tumblers still sitting upon the gleaming mahogany.
You smile at the memory, then turn your attention to the man wrapped around you, following your compulsion to map the raised veins on the back of his hand in front of your face. Your tongue trails those contours to the constellation of freckles on his forearm that you kiss. He is so fast asleep that he does not even seem to stir…
“Maam, a telegram has just come for you,” a tentative voice calls from the doorway as you startle.
You look up to see Mrs Crabtree, sweetly averting her eyes.
“Thank you, Mrs Crabtree,” you breeze, trying to conceal your slight embarrassment at having been caught red-handed kissing your slumbering husband’s arm rather covetously first thing in the morning.
She politely bustles over and drops the envelope next to you before making herself scarce. You peel open the message, then emit a wracking sigh as a warm pair of lips slide across your shoulder.
“What’s the matter, my love?” Benedict queries, voice rough from sleep.
Wordlessly, you hand him the telegram, his eyes scrunching slightly, attempting to read it without his glasses. 
In it, your parents tersely remind you of the money outstanding to the vendors for your cancelled nuptials to Stanley and request you to send additional funds as soon as possible.
“You have been sending them money?” Benedict looks appalled.
“Yes,” you sigh, sheepish to confess to the one thing you have been keeping from him for a while now. “I have been using my income to wire back money in instalments.” 
“Darling, they should not be asking you to do such a thing!” he argues, getting slightly agitated. “They were plenty rich enough to pay for their daughter to travel to Paris a few months ago! This feels rather too close to extortion…”
“I do not wish to be beholden to them, Benedict,” you answer fiercely, “for anything.”
He sees the fire in your eyes, and his face softens, nodding in understanding, always your greatest advocate. “May I at least pay them instead?” he offers. “I am the reason you are not marrying that man after all,” he reminds you with a dry chuckle, nuzzling your cheek before twisting to discard the telegram into the fireplace.
“I knew I was not marrying that man the moment I dropped that damn shoe,” a light-hearted giggle bubbling up as you push onto your hands to hover over Benedict, recalling with perfect clarity the moment you first clapped eyes on the man lying beneath you now.
“You did?” he lilts, a demure smile claiming his handsome features, a hand landing warm on the curve of your bottom under the blanket, encouraging you to settle on top of him.
“Even if nothing had ever happened between us, I suddenly knew what desire truly was,” you concede, a nostalgic pang to return to Paris with him, to experience its beauty mirrored in his hazy eyes again.
He chuckles warmly, looking up at you with gentle, hooded eyes as you feel something swelling between your bodies. “It was love at first sight for me,” he confesses tenderly. 
“It was?” you gasp softly, smiling broadly, staring down at the man you cannot imagine your life without, touching his cheek reverentially. 
“As I said when I proposed, I would marry you a hundred times over,” he enunciates slowly, assuredly, every cell of his being radiating his sincerity and desire. 
“And I would to you, Mr Bridgerton,” you grin, leaning down to capture his lips and claim him for yourself, his breath a shocked staccato as he slides into your body for the first time without protection, so much heat and skin.
“Mrs Bridgerton,” he moans, his voice a symphony of wrecked and potent desire.
“Call me your wife,” you say breathlessly, pushing up to sit upon him, the blanket falling away from your back, your naked bodies glowing in the early morning light as you begin to move.
“Wife,” he calls, hands clamping firmly around your hips as you rise and sink upon him.
“Husband…” you call back and pull his left hand up to your face, sucking his wedding ring finger into his mouth as you stare down at him challengingly, knowing how aroused he gets when you use that word, the metal clinking against the ivory of your teeth as you shudder lightly around his stretching invasion.
This. This is all I want.
The following spring, May 1940, Paris is invaded. 
You manage to reach Solène and are grateful to hear she is well, the occupation for the most part peaceful, if not odd and jarring. Life for you in rural Wiltshire, on the other hand, is idyllic, spring bringing life to your gardens, a riot of flowers, herbs and vegetables growing, beehives buzzing with life—a wondrous time that is indelible in your mind, even in your later years.
But, as with all things that are perhaps a shade too good, that temporary peace is shattered a couple of months later, an air and sea blockade beginning in July, followed shortly after by the Luftwaffe bombing military targets on the mainland. A resolute but stoic fear gripping the nation as summer drew on, knowing civilian targets would inevitably be next.
At the end of August, Anthony commands the rest of his family to evacuate Aubrey Hall, the location far too close to the French coast for his liking, knowing as an insider that matters could escalate within a matter of days rather than weeks. You receive word that the family are moving to stay with Daphne and Simon further north in Yorkshire. Well, all except one key person. Eloise. 
Ever the rebel, she telegrams to tell you she has eloped with Phillip to Gretna Green, much to Anthony and Colin's (and now Benedict’s) chagrin, moving in with him defiantly, his home not far from Aubrey Hall. Instantly becoming a stepmother, too.
“Eloise, are you certain?” you implore into the telephone, September 4th, sitting in the office of the village library.
“About Phillip? Of course I am, you idiot!”
“Not that,” you wave an unseen dismissive hand. “I knew from that first night in Portsmouth you were as gone for him as I was for your brother…” you argue, her sneer at that evident even down the phone. “I meant remaining in Kent. It seems dangerous. Why don't you and Phillip come here to Wiltshire? At least for now? We have spare rooms, and you are most welcome to stay…” you appeal, chewing your cuticle nervously. 
Last night, you and Benedict had agreed she would more likely take up an invitation extended by you than him.
“I’ll talk to Phillip,” she sniffs, which is the closest you will get to a thank you for the offer.
Two days later, Eloise, Phillip and his twins are at your doorstep, and not a moment too soon as the period, latterly known as The Blitz, begins the following night. Their home in Kent is spared, but the village school suffers some damage the following week and even without her saying a word, you can see the gratitude on her face as she watches the twins play safely in your back garden.
“Here you go, Amanda,” you smile down at the little girl, handing her a shiny metal star to hang on the Christmas tree.
Her toothy grin is adorable as she places it on a branch, giving herself a round of applause before running off to crawl into Eloise’s lap, who is busy making festive paper chains.
It is early December 1940, and the Cranes have been living with you for four months now; you imploring them to stay as the Blitz drags on. There has been bombing all over the country, primarily larger cities, but rural Wiltshire feels as safe of a bet as anywhere, not under the Nazi flight path to London in the same way that Kent is. 
Strong, warm arms wrap around your waist from behind, and you smile to yourself as Benedict crowds into you, admiring your handiwork on the tree.
“It looks beautiful, y/n,” he opines sweetly, bussing a kiss onto your temple. 
“Thank you, my love,” you reply, swaying gently in his arms, watching the children giggle as they throw strands of paper in the air; Eloise’s appeal to them not to do so falling on deaf ears, her expression one of fond exasperation.
“I never thought I would see the day…. Eloise Bridgerton, a mother,” you chuckle quietly as he joins in.
“Believe me, as her brother, I feel sorry for those children every day,” he jests. “But even I have to admit she has taken to it better than any of my other siblings, to be honest,” pausing before pulling you tighter into his embrace. “And what say you to children, Mrs Bridgerton?” he queries, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice suddenly silky, that tone that has a frisson running down your spine.
“I say maybe, Mr Bridgerton, just maybe…” you respond breezily over the strain of carol singers from the wireless Phillips flips on, feeling the lightness of hope in your being - that one day, just one day, this war will be over, and the world will be free again.
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daisynik7 · 8 months
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Give You Blue
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Chapter 8: How It Begins
Pairing: Eren x f!reader, Reiner x f!reader (past relationship)
cw: switching POVs (reader is 2nd person, Eren is third) angst, fluff, language
Word Count: ~3.5k
Previous Chapter | Epilogue
Give You Blue Masterlist | ao3 | Give You Blue Taglist
Summary: The conclusion of the series Give You Blue. Author’s Note: Seriously, I cannot thank you all enough for sticking with this through the end. I wanted to write a story that was realistic, relatable, and romantic, and I hope that in the end, I accomplished that. I wasn’t sure anyone would want to read a story like this, so I’m so grateful to all of you who have. I appreciate every single one of you so so much. I’ll definitely miss this series, but I’m also relieved to be give our main characters some rest LOL. Stay tuned for the Epilogue, coming out in the next week or so! 
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Eren fingers are entwined with yours, hands resting on the center console of his car, windows rolled down halfway to let the passing breeze sweep through his hair. Every so often, he’ll glance at you, smiling, sunglasses covering his eyes as he drives the familiar route towards the bridge between Paradis and Marley. The radio plays songs you’ve listened with him before, during all those little hangouts inside his room. Choruses and verses he’s demonstrated for you on his guitar, impressing you with his skills. He hums each tune happily, thumb tapping against your skin in tandem with the rhythm. 
Nearly three months ago, you were in the passenger seat, that time in Reiner’s car, driving the same road, but in the opposite direction, observing the ocean blue with tears in your eyes and a broken heart. Wondering what would happen next after losing what seemed like everything to you. Because Reiner was everything to you. Was.
Now, you see your future in a clearer light. Instead of storms or perpetual rain, you envision sunshine and bright skies, filling you with warmth that has since slipped from you since your breakup. You’re no longer lost; rather, you’re wandering to something new, something different. Something wonderful. And you can’t help imagining Eren on the other side of that, welcoming you with open arms. Still, the journey isn’t over. In fact, it’s just beginning. And before you reach your destination, there’s obstacles you need to face to make it there in one piece. 
Halfway into the drive, you realize where he’s taking you. It’s his little paradise he told you about before, the special beach he goes to for an escape. It’s my super-secret spot. You have to be really special to know about it. I’ll show you this one day. You’ll love it. Even then, several weeks ago, Eren invited you into his world, deeming you special enough to share it. He trusts you, is giving his all to you. And you wish your heart wasn’t so damaged still, so that you could give him the same. The love that he deserves.  
He pulls into a spot right off the shore, letting go of your hand to put the car in park. “We’re here,” he announces, grinning. At the trunk, he pulls out two blankets, handing you one to carry. He leads you down weathered stairs towards an alcove hidden away from the main beach. The sand is soft against your feet, sinking in with each step. The distinct melody of waves crashing on the shore is soothing to your ears. It really is paradise, especially with Eren guiding the way, turning back occasionally to flash that winning smile at you. Eventually, he settles for a spot far enough from the shore to where the water doesn’t reach, laying the blanket flat. He sits cross-legged, focused on the view in front of him. He’s at ease, the tension from his shoulders relaxing, his sunglasses reflecting the glare of the golden hour. You take your place beside him, indulging in this sight. Their last moment together in the sun before you return to reality. 
The scene is amazing, streaks of orange and pink mirrored in the shimmering blue sea. It’s too majestic to stare at directly, so you watch it rippling on the ocean surface. With the sun gradually sinking into the horizon, Eren scoots closer, nudging you. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
You rest your head on his shoulder, nodding. “It is. Thank you for taking me here.”
“I know it’s not exactly the runaway you wanted, but it’s the best I could give you,” he mentions, leaning into you. 
“This is exactly what I want. To be here with you.”
The two of you sit in silence, admiring the sunset until it disappears, and the night sky takes over, like a curtain falling after the final act. You’re holding hands now, squeezing each other tight, desperate not to let go. Maybe he senses it too, the end of this tiny getaway together. 
“Eren,” you start, voice trembling. 
Before you can continue, he turns to kiss you on the forehead gently. “It’s okay. You can be honest with me. I can take it.” 
Tears stream down your cheeks, his thumbs brushing them away as he cradles your face between his palms. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle. “I’m so sorry, Eren. I wish I could give you what you want, like what you’ve given to me. But I can’t. Not right now. I need time.”
“Then I’ll wait for you,” he urges, placing delicate kisses along the corners of your eyes, collecting your tears on his lips. “I’ll wait until you’re ready.”
You shake your head, refusing. “I won’t let you do that. There’s a whole world out there, people without baggage, without a broken heart. They’re so much better for you than I am. It’ll be so much easier than dealing with a mess like me.”
“I don’t want easier. I want you.” 
“Why? Why me?”
He smiles softly. “Because you make me happy.”
You continue to cry, asking, “How can it be that simple? What if you get sick of me? What if I can’t make you happy anymore?” It’s what happened with Reiner. He decided one day that he was no longer in love with you, and in an instant, the life you built together disintegrated into a pile of dust. Remnants of precious memories wasted away into nothing. That’s what it felt like. What if the same happens with Eren? What if you weren’t meant to be loved at all?
He keeps holding your firmly in his grasp, a look of determination in his face. “There’s so many what if scenarios you can give me. I won’t pretend to know exactly what the future has in store for us. But all I know is that I’m the happiest when I’m with you. I’m not going to let something like this go just because I’m worried it might not work out in the end. If I’m going to take a leap of faith, it’s going to be for you.” He nuzzles his nose to yours, grinning. “And who’s to say that you won’t get sick of me?”
“I would never,” you reply, gazing at him through weepy eyes. “But I’m scared of becoming a failure again.” 
“Having your past relationship end doesn’t mean you’re a failure. Love isn’t about winning or losing. It’s about learning and growing. Realizing how capable you are to love somebody and allowing them to love you. Isn’t that such a wonderful thing?”
You watch him, awed by his wisdom. As much as you wish it could, it’s still not enough to take the fear away from your fragile heart. After a moment of silence, listening to the gentle waves splash on the shore, Eren says, “Can I tell you something?” It’s dark now, the chill from the night air prickling your bare skin. He unfolds the second blanket, wrapping it around the both of you. You nod, huddling closer, relishing the warmth he always surrounds you in. 
“I emailed my advisor. I have a meeting with him Monday morning. I’m officially going to change my major,” he announces proudly. 
“Really?”
“Yeah. No more running away. I’m not scared anymore. That’s because of you.” He faces you, eyes shining like emeralds in the pitch black of evening. “You’ve given me the strength to do this. To take control of my life and make decisions for me, and not for anyone else. With you by my side, I can do anything.”
“Eren,” you whisper, chest heavy with adoration. 
He presses his forehead to yours. “I wish I could take away the pain. Take whatever hurts you and make it disappear. You have no idea how special you are to me. So, I’ll wait for you, whenever you’re ready to share your heart with me. Until then, I’ll stay by your side, as your friend, as your RA, as a person who cares deeply about you. I’ll always be here for you, okay?”
You swallow hard, tears trickling down your cheeks as you kiss him, unable to express how much he means to you, letting your lips do the talking instead. It isn’t fair to love him with a broken heart; he deserves to be loved fully by someone who isn’t afraid of it. Someone who’s healed instead of damaged, steady without stumbling at every little crack in the pavement they come across. With time, you’re determined to become that somebody for him. 
Eventually, you find the will to speak. “I won’t make you wait long. I promise.”
He laughs, snuggling closer to you under the blanket. “Pinky promise?” 
“Pinky promise.” You hook your finger around his, swaying it between you. 
Eren drives back to campus with your hand in his, brushing his thumb across your skin affectionately. You part ways outside his room, kissing each other once more before stepping down the hallway to your own room. You scroll through your phone to find Reiner’s contact, determined more than ever to settle this once and for all. No more running away.
Without hesitation, you type out your message. 
Reiner. I’m ready to talk. 
~~~
Sunday afternoon, you and Reiner agree to meet at a café on-campus, one that the two of you frequented freshman year when you were a couple. Upon your arrival, you notice that he’s already sat at a table, waiting for you, two drinks set in front of him. You sit across from him, back straight and neck tall, twiddling your thumbs at your lap where he can’t see. 
“I already ordered,” he comments, pushing the coffee cup towards you, reciting the drink name and all the specifics of how you typically like it. Proving that he hasn’t forgotten. 
You take it into your hand, tipping it into your mouth. “Thank you,” you say after swallowing your sip. 
There are a few beats of awkward silence before he starts speaking. “I’m sorry about the other night. I shouldn’t have ambushed you like that.” 
You nod in acknowledgement, fixated on the lid of your drink cup, nervous to meet his gaze. 
“I meant it, though,” he adds. “I still want to get back together.”
You take a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. “Why all of a sudden?”
He shrugs, circling the rim of his cup with his finger. “I realized how much it sucks to be alone.”
“So, by default, I’m supposed to bail you out? It doesn’t work like that, Reiner. You can’t love me only when it’s convenient for you. That’s not love. That’s selfish.” This time, you do look at him, finding the confidence in your voice. 
He doesn’t speak, facing the window, averting his eyes from yours. When he doesn’t respond, you continue. “It’s hard for anyone to be alone. Imagine how I felt when you broke up with me.”
Finally, he replies, “And you’re right. I was an idiot to do that. We should have never broken up. I didn’t know it was going to be so fucked up.” He trails off at his last statement, as if he’s just realizing it himself. 
“You weren’t in love with me anymore. It wouldn’t have been fair for either of us to stay in a relationship like that. And you were right: we relied on each other too much. So much that it hurt the most when we couldn’t anymore.”
Suddenly, he holds your hand, grasping it firmly. “Then let’s go back. It’ll be better this time. I’ll be better.” He’s desperate now; it shows in his pleading eyes and quivering speech. The tightness in his grip as he clings to you, frantic. 
You don’t pull away from him, squeezing him in return. “I don’t want to go back. I want to move forward. I can’t keep relying only on other people. I need to rely on myself, first and foremost. Stand tall and make choices because it’s what I want to do. That’s what growing up is all about, right?” 
“And you’re not scared?”
“I’m terrified. But we shouldn’t let fear prevent us from moving on and being happy. I don’t know if you and I can make each other happy anymore. I was so careful with you, to a point where I was lying to myself about being fine with the decisions you made. I guess I always felt the need to protect you. It’s been that way since we were kids. As much as we don’t want to admit it, we’re different now. Everything is different. It’ll never be like it was, no matter how hard we try to recreate it.” 
He revels at your words, a glimmer of defeat in his expression, understanding that there’s nothing else he can do to change your mind. After a minute of contemplation, he ponders, “You think that it could have worked out if I didn’t break up with you?”
You don’t answer right away, delicately formulating your reply. “Somehow, we stopped communicating. I went along with whatever you said, even when I didn’t agree. And you didn’t talk to me about the fears you were having before you broke up with me. I think we were so focused on protecting each other’s feelings that we stopped being honest to one another. I think eventually, we would realize that and break up anyways.” You take another sip of your drink before asking, “Do you think it would have worked out?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it. Eventually, he replies, “I guess when you put it like that, then no.”
You keep your hand in his, because this time, it’s really the last. And it doesn’t feel dirty or wrong to do it; it feels right. Like there’s finally that understanding that you’ve been racking your brain for the last three months. 
“Maybe we were better off staying friends,” he muses. 
“Maybe. But I don’t ever regret loving you, Reiner.” You used to think the same thing, convinced that crossing the line from friends to lovers was the vital mistake that doomed your relationship. With Eren’s words replaying in your head, you can’t say you believe that sentiment anymore. After all, Reiner has and will always be your first love. The person who taught you how to love and to receive love in the first place. Despite it not working out for the better, nothing will replace that. 
He returns your smile, still holding you. “Me neither. I’m sorry. For everything.”  
Silence falls between you two once again, a comfortable one this time, full of acceptance that this is truly the end for you and Reiner. Attempting to lighten the mood, you ask, “So, are you and Christa official yet?”
He looks at you confused, then realization washes over him. “Oh, Christa! Yeah, no. Turns out her and her big in Delta Delta are super close, if you know what I mean.” He smirks, relaxing in his seat. “I never stood a chance.”
You let go of him, leaning back into your chair. “Bummer. I genuinely do think she is nice.”
“Yeah. But I’d be annoyed too if my ex was pushing us to be friends.” He clears his throat, crossing his arms over his chest. “What about that Eren guy?”
You raise a brow at him. “Really? You want to talk about him?”
“Not my finest moment, I know. But I’m still curious. Is he your boyfriend now or what?”
You shake your head. “No. I told him I need time.”
Surprised, he repeats, “Time? For what?”
“To figure myself out.”
“To figure yourself out?” 
“Yeah. I don’t want to give him my shattered, fucked up heart. It’s not right.”
He continues to study you, confused. “So that’s it? You’re not even going to give him a chance?”
“He said he’ll wait for me,” you respond, belly fluttering as you recall last night on the beach. 
Reiner leans forward on the table, invested. “He’s totally in love with you. If he’s willing to wait for you, he’s in it for the long haul. He’s already fallen for every piece of you, I guarantee that.”
“It’s not fair to him, though.”
“It’s not fair to yourself. He’s not asking you for a healed heart. He wants you just the way you are. Why deprive yourself from someone who’s already willing to love you like this?”
“Because I don’t want to make the same mistakes again!”
He sighs, drumming his fingers on the surface impatiently. “Look, I’m not going to sit here and act like I’m completely cool with it. But for the first time in a long time, I’m trying not to be selfish again. Don’t let our past influence your future. You told me you want to rely more on yourself, right? Then start with this. Trust your heart. Don’t run away. Go for it.”
“I can’t believe my ex is actually giving me dating advice,” you chuckle, seriously contemplating his encouragement. 
“Consider this my parting gift to you. As your ex and as your former best friend. I want you to be happy. And if this guy makes you happy, why wait? If it means anything to you, just know I’ll be rooting for you, whatever you decide.”
You grin. “It does mean something. Thank you, Reiner.” You no longer see him as an obstacle standing in your way. Instead, he’s on the sidelines, supporting you. Rooting for you. It took three months of suffocating to surface. And now, you’re free. “Anyways, I should go. I have a lot to think about.”
He nods, remaining seated. “Yeah.”
You’re ready to walk to the exit when he calls out to you. “Coco?”
You turn to face him, heart thumping at the familiar nickname. The youthful twinkle in his eyes returns in an instant and all your childhood memories flash before you in hyperdrive, glimpses of your past life together. Laughing so hard that you’re clutching your bellies until you’re doubled over on his bed. Hidden under homemade forts built out of pillows and cushions, shining flashlights underneath your chins, creating hand puppets with shadows on the walls. Late night drives with the windows rolled all the way down, blasting music and singing at the top of your lungs as he speeds through the highway. Splitting milkshakes at the diner, blowing out candles on birthday cakes. Endless nights spent in each other’s arms, listening to his steady heartbeat. First kisses, first times, last summer and goodbyes. Three months ago, you would have done anything to go back. Now, you’re ready to move on. The final hit of nostalgia before you go. 
He smiles at you knowingly, as if he’s watching the same scenes of your lives play out in his head. “Nothing. I just wanted to say that one last time.” 
~~~
Eren is in his room, sitting on the floor, strumming the strings on his guitar randomly, not playing any particular tune. He recalls the events of last night, laying it all out on the table, confessing his feelings, revealing his vulnerabilities. He won’t pressure her to rush into this, knowing she’s still processing and healing from her trauma. Her thinking about him is enough. Until the day comes when they can both love each other fully, he’ll wait patiently. 
There’s a knock on his door. He isn’t suspecting company, so he assumes it’s one of his residents here to report a problem. When he opens it, he’s shocked to see her in front of him, staring at him nervously. 
“I told you I wouldn’t make you wait long,” she says, stepping towards him. 
His chest is heavy, fluttering incessantly, and all he can do is laugh, closing the distance between them by wrapping his arms around her. “It’s been the longest day ever, actually. You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”
She snuggles her face into his chest. “Me too. I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, though.”
He kisses the top of her head, smiling. “Tell me.”
“I can get very insecure and very anxious, so you’ll have to deal with that.”
“Okay. I can handle that,” he answers, inhaling her scent through his nostrils, filling his lungs with as much of her essence as possible. 
“I want to talk about everything with you. I want us to be completely honest with each other all the time.”
Nodding, he responds, “I want that too. I want that too, sweetie.” He hugs her tighter, never wanting to let go.
“Also, sometimes I hog the blanket. But I don’t do it on purpose, I swear. I can’t control what my body does while I sleep.” She clings to him, peering up at him with the sweetest expression. 
He nuzzles her nose to hers, joking, “Ah, well, I don’t think this is going to work out then.”
She glares at him playfully, pouting her lips. “That’s your dealbreaker?”
“Well, I guess I can make an exception. For you,” he teases, kissing her. 
It began with an ending, and it ends with a new beginning. One journey closes, and another begins. It may not be easy, but what wonderful, magical adventure ever is? It’s the detours and bumps along the way that make it memorable, make it worthwhile. And with her by his side, and him by hers, Eren’s confident that they’ll get through anything. Together. 
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@batafuraikisu @bloompompom @monirei @filunara @katestrophes @ichinosejager13 @hoperenae @zellskz @e-ayyy @liliorsstuff-blog @maliakealoha @holdmeclosebutdontloveme @chrollohearttags @sailorputa @squickkk @dnyllmh @hellomeow12 @s-cream-ing @potofstewie @conniesbbymama @erzascarlett28 @lem-hhn @roronoazorosbxtchh @ichigostrawberry15 @rhaelrence @lilshades @bigmoodyjoody @icansmellsouls @aangsupremacy @ashsauroras @bakuhoes-bxtch @si-kamo @jmtherula @imaddicted-b @monkemanjeager @neesiewrote @large-juice @chiinni @belovedackerman
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bruciemilf · 1 year
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Imagine that one scene from that animated series justice league where Batman reveals everyone's secret identity(like a badass) then takes off his cowl and they're all in shocked confusion. I mean that's baby girl Bruce Wayne, sunshine of Gotham as The Dark Knight. Then they all get really protective of him. They might've feared him before but now they know he's just baby. It doesn't matter that he can beat them all, he's baby... Idk I find the idea cute
Okay, so I love that scene dearly, but my heart screams for something more personal? If that makes sense? I'll take inspiration from one of my favorite Spider-Man identity revels.
Let's imagine this; The city, Gotham or Metropolis or just an unlucky piece of land that had a really bad day. Hal saw the building collapse first, coming down on them like an avalanche of death.
Hal isn't very good at brain work; He's not like Flash, who can map out an entire route in his mind in a blink, calculating escape routes, and distances, and lengths, and how fast he can run without injuring anyone.
He's not strategic like Wonder Woman, or pragmatic like Batman, or sensible like Superman. He's not the brainpower; But he's pretty damn good at acting like he's okay.
And withstanding that building because Superman got Injured, well.
He can do so with sweat raining down his temple and pain screaming in his system and a smile on his lips, "This is a really good arm work out, guys,"
" Hang in there, Lantern,"
He hears that you're doing great, Hal just well under his hero moniker from Barry. It's a good power up, if nothing else.
Wonder Woman rubs his shoulders before attending to the injured, helping them dig a way out before the oxygen dries out.
Another thing he's not good at is comforting people; He's lost to crying kids. Especially crying kids whose parents are paste under rubble and hubris.
His back is arching, his fire's going out. All he knows is that those little sniffles and whimpers in the hissing silence hurts worse.
The only person he can think would be worse than him at it is Batman; Stone masked, more shadow than person, a labyrinth of a man.
But Hal isn't paid to think for a reason, because Batman kneels by that kid, and places a fatherly hold on his shoulders, just like Hal's father used to do when he bruised his knees climbing trees.
He doesn't say anything, because there's nothing to say. Words aren't medicine, after all. He's just waiting, it seems like, until the kid speaks first, " My daddy's dead."
"...Yes. I'm sorry."
"But, -- but you were here. You're the justice league! No one dies when you're around! You're supposed to save everybody! So why-- why not him?!"
The weight gets heavier.
" Your father asked us to take care of you first. He protected you."
" You should've left me, then! What am I going to do now? I'm just, -- I'm just...A human."
" So am I."
" No, you're Batman. That's, -- That's not the same. You don't understand. "
Hal's vision is blurry and pained, bordering dangerously close to the deep dark void of unconsciousness, -- but he can't, he can't, God damn it Hal, be useful for once in your entire life, -- but he makes out a shadow moving.
He makes out the shape of Bruce's cowl, an armor, a secret, a mystery with no epilogue. Then he sees pale. Two dots of blue, sparkling from dark grey smudge.
When his vision sharpens, so does the tired face of Bruce Wayne.
"...Oh, holy shit."
" I do, " his voice changes, too, thought that may be just Hal's pumping eardrums playing tricks on him. He goes from grainy and rough to rain soft and porcelain. " I do know. Our pain isn't the same. But the way we can get through it, is. Together."
The kid falls in his arms. For just a moment, it seems like death won when the ring powers out.
"Shazam!"
" Hey guys," Shazam's pretty wheezy for a tank made of beef and godly hands, " Sorry for the hold up. Got stuck in traffic."
They make it out. They use the picture of Wonder Woman carrying him out on her back, and Green Arrow shoves it in his face at the first opportunity.
He doesn't expect them to stick around in the hospital. But he does need to know, " Okay, so, hopefully that wasn't a near death fever dream. But are you Bruce Wayne?"
He asks Batman, and Bruce answers, a tone of shyness not unlikely a new kid introducing himself to the class, " ...Yes. and you're Hal Jordan."
"...Was it the biceps that gave it away?"
He doesn't smile, but Hal doesn't expect him to.
" Well, I mean...I'm in for the long run with you guys," Barry offers them a dorky smile before taking off his mask, too. " My name is Barry Allen. And I'm the fastest man alive...Also a bit of a science nut. I need to see your gadgets, by the way. Your Kevlar durability is just amazing, I mean the way you somehow altered the material,--"
" Oh," Apparently, Batman can blush. It's pretty addictive.
One by one, they follow, all easy smiles, all trust.
" My name is Diana. Princess of Themyscaria. I enjoy ice cream and swords."
" My name is Oliver Queen, and if you want to make a gay joke, don't bother. I said them all and I'm getter at it. And you!" He points directly at Bruce with an arrow, " You're in so much trouble for not telling me about this!"
" You didn't tell me either."
" What kind of detective can't explain the white, blonde, rich, good looking guy apart from Green Arrow? Come on."
Hal has a suspicion Bruce already knew, but said nothing out of courtesy.
" Hal Jordan. I almost broke my spine for you, so, you're welcome for That."
Superman strokes the back of his neck and hunches his shoulders, " I'm, uh, Clark Kent. I'm a journalist for the Daily Planet. I, uh...Make a mean apple pie. Which I could really go for right now."
" Hey, you punched Lex Luthor in the face! Good on you, man."
Diana chuckles, " You'll have to make your famous apple pie for us some time."
" Sure. I like eating with friends."
Hal and Oliver are definetly discussing that blush on Bruce later.
They all turn to Shazam, who's been listening, quiet for once, before he blows a laugh, "Uh, yeah, pass. You guys are nice and all, but I'm more than fine with this. Just me. Good old Shazam."
Crack.
" Is that...Is that a fucking 10 year old?!"
" I'm eleven!"
" What the FUCK,--"
" Don't curse in front of the 9 year old!"
" Again, I am eleven!"
" Who let the 8 year old in!?"
" Wow. Adults really don't listen, huh."
Bruce quite literally shakes on one place, " Are, um, are your parents deceased by chance?" He sounds hopeful about it, too.
" So. A handsome pilot. The fastest dork alive. A badass princess. A good guy who punches hard. A bow and arrow. A weirdo. And a 5 year old. We're quite the group, huh?"
" Again. I'm 11."
" Until you don't bring me some pizza and a bear, you're nothing."
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Farm witch friends, you have done the coven proud.
We've got so many good recs it's going to take a few weeks to share them all!
Starting with these that were recommended more than once, if you haven't spend some time with these fan favorites, you should check them out now! And leave the authors some love, of course.
========
Everyday Magic (houdini74/@mostlyinthemorning)
Each magic story is so unique, so sweet, so... D&P! 
I couldn’t pick just one of these wonderfully variable scenarios that all include just a little (or maybe a lot of) magic added to the perfect scene setting and banter. 
Favored Nations (@blueink3)
ALL OF IT! It’s my go-to when I’m feeling down, when I need to revise our boys. The characters, writing, and plot are all amazing. 
Amazing world building, very in character slow burn.
The ultimate slow burn, the perfect love story set amongst the wonders of Broadway and NYC.
It’s just so, so good!  I am a sucker for secret romance fics, and this one has that and so much more.  Add in some Shakespearean theater with a twist and just the right amount of angst and sexiness, it’s just perfect! I love it so much.  
This author knows David, Patrick, and the NY theater world inside and out. The volume and level of specificity, volume, tenderness, anxiety, and love of these characters and worlds is astounding. The characterization is so vivid, it's the easiest fic to forget isn't canon.
Fifteen hundred miles (morehuman)
I go back to this fic a lot! I just love the idea of them both challenging themselves and finding out what they are capable of.
The most incredible journey, a gift to go along with them in it.
I carry these heart-shapes only for you (@ladyflowdi and @ships-to-sail)
I love this transportative, visual feast of historic fiction. Luscious WW2 Paris is so vividly portayed and David’s wild, wealthy, LGBTIQ+out flamboyance juxtaposed to the farm-boy turned military-man Patrick is sexy and sweet. It undoes me every time. I actually first came to the piece via FairManor’s outstanding podfic. Both the text and the podfic are high art. It’s not just one of my favorite fan-fics. It’s one of my favorite stories of ALL time in any genre. I read/listen and I am at the Gaston, riding on the back of Patrick’s motorcycle, kissing in windmills, eating crepes, touring junk shops & dancing naked to 40’s blues. I’d give anything to see this as a film with Dan & Noah & cast. I want a leather bound print copy of it. Also - The epilogue is progressive, heartbreaking thoughtful genius. I’ve just finished rereading & listening to it again. Each time there are new Easter eggs to be found. Joyous. 
It's just the most beautiful piece of writing ever written. Descriptive, lyrical, hot, stunning, heartbreaking. It has everything. 
I’d swing with you for the fences (@nontoxic-writes)
Achingly sweet and fluffy all set in the perfect baseball/famous AU with secret relationship AND musician Patrick. I come back to reread this one a lot!
What isn't there to love?  Baseball, long distance relationship, sex, songs, coming out to the parents, coming out to the team, coming out to the world, excellent use of side characters....I could go on and on.  There are so many amazing fics out there, but I've read this one at least a dozen times! 
Incorrect (@lisamc-21)
You can hear David saying it, but now picture the Maldives.
A beautifully written story of our boys meeting on vacation. Their trip is so sweet and so hot, and when they say goodbye, it's heartbreaking. The twist- they are both famous in their own worlds but don’t recognize each other so don’t realize who the other has hooked up with. When their week ends, they try to maintain a long-distance friendship as they learn who the other is. What was a hot hookup becomes a slow burn, and it’s amazing!!
The Last Rose Video (@distractivate)
Gorgeous writing, the perfect mix of canon and AU, clever plot, great dialogue.  The fic I read over and over.  It’s as comforting as a warm blanket. 
Swoon. SWOON.
Strike Anywhere (@madlori)
Hot firefighters. Hot sex. Hot romance. But like in a Sandra loves Keanu sliding out of a speeding bus kind of way.
Hot hot hot!  That’s the first work. Then- the author developed a prequel that is also hot but is also funny, loving, sweet. Love fireman Patrick!
This enemies-to-lovers-to-secret-husbands story featuring Patrick Brewer as a firefighter, is deliciously tropey and blazing hot, but also it’s written with such authentic emotion and perfect banter that it keeps me coming back to read it whenever I need a mood lift. 
Such great heights (@likerealpeopledo-on-ao3)
Great story, the very best jokes, and the wedding date chapter is so good it would work as a stand alone fic. 
It's got the mother of all fake dating scenarios, and Stevie in this in among the best I've ever read her. It's also very very funny. All the times when they say Feel The Air crack me up every time!
Sustineo (@rockinhamburger)
This is a perfectly paced one-shot AU that builds a world in which David is a brilliant, stormy, reclusive artist whose whose treatment by the press (and one Sebastien Raine) has made him unwilling to engage with the world…. Until he meets an intuitive and kind art writer who sees him for everything that he is (and can be). All of characters here are perfect and I love the descriptions of David’s art. 
Incredibly hot art fic.
You can fall (sweetsirius/@wordthieve)
It takes the David and Patrick rescue each other theme of the show and makes the stakes even higher. Plus it's just a genuinely beautiful piece of writing.
The story arc and pacing are fantastic. I love how David and Patrick's relationship develops and how Patrick learns to open himself up again after grief. It's incredibly well written. I've read it so many times, from full read thrus to dipping in and out of my favorite moments and chapters.
Patrick is so heartbroken, but then he meets David. So romantic, and feels lived in.
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bridenore · 8 months
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HD longer fics recs : 125k to 150k words
Here are a few recs for fics ranging between 125k and 150k words. You can see my recs for fics that have more than 200k words here.
All Our Secrets Laid Bare by @firethesound [149k]
Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.
Any Instrument by @dictacontrion [131k]
Draco Malfoy wouldn’t go back to England for anything less than an exceptional case. Being asked to figure out why Harry Potter can’t control his magic might be exceptional enough to qualify.
By the Grace by @letteredlettered [139k]
Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.
Dwelling on Dreams by @the-sinking-ship [135k]
Draco thought he could avoid Potter for the duration of his brief return to England. He’d stick to his schedule and be back home in Paris, where he belonged, in a few short months. No trouble at all. He had plenty to occupy him, what with the opening of the London branch of his successful apothecary, his innovative research, drinks with Pansy, a backlog of unread potions periodicals.
Except Head Auror Potter is everywhere — in Draco’s chair, at his door, in his dreams. All six feet of motorbike-riding, combat-boot-wearing, sex-hair-sporting Saviour of the World packed into one unfairly fetching uniform. Potter won’t leave Draco the bloody hell alone, won’t let him breathe, let him forget, let him sleep.
Because no matter how fast Draco Malfoy runs, Harry Potter is always hot on his heels.
Eight Days A Week by @romaine2424 [121k]
This is foremost a love story and second it’s about those growing up years. Becoming adults with adult lives and adult decisions.
Yes, Harry’s a Trainee-Auror and Draco’s a Healer-in-Training after the war. Yes, Harry eventually moves into 12 Grimmauld Place. And, yes, attraction happens between Harry and Draco and they fall in love, but then there’s more. Draco is now free from Voldemort, free from fear of going to Azkaban, free from his Father’s beliefs, and free to be the person, the witch, the woman she always felt she should be. And for Harry, it’s time to lose the shackles of his childhood and discover who he really is and what’s truly important in life. This story begins one year or so after the Battle at Hogwarts and follows their relationship faithfully for two years. The final chapter will take place later in their lives.
This is a positive transition story without body dysphoria, but will contain moments where prejudice and slights arise. This story is categorized as M/F.
25 Holiday Scenes for Eight Days a Week by @romaine2424 [16k]
Eight Days a Week continues with 25 Holiday Scenes. As of now, they are all family oriented. If that changes, I’ll update the ratings! We begin where we left off in the Main Story (before the epilogue), which is a few weeks after Libby’s surgery. They were married in the summer, and Prim, their daughter was born in September.
Every New Beginning by @fencer-x​ [140k]
“You curl your lip and wrinkle your nose and sneer and call me Saviour, yet you only seek my help at the eleventh hour. That’s what’s fucked up, Malfoy.” || Draco Malfoy is dead, and Harry is absolutely totally fine with that.
Graceless Heart by shushu_yaoi_lj [132k]
Harry is lost and broken after the war. He has gone to countless funerals, broken up with Ginny, moved back into Grimmauld Place—which feels darker and dirtier than ever before despite how much he tries to fix it. He feels lonely and desperate, but he won’t ask for help, and he still can’t cry.
When he agreed to help the Aurors at Malfoy Manor over the summer, he thought that he would be breaking dark curses. Harry never thought that he would actually spend his days sorting out dusty books with Draco Malfoy, or teaching him how to cook.
Little by little, as they begin to navigate their life post-war, Harry and Draco become intimate…in more ways than Harry could have ever expected.
A Sword Laid Aside by @korlaena [128k]
When Draco’s cover is blown during a deep undercover operation and the Ministry is compromised, Ron takes Draco to the only safe place he can think of—Harry. Hiding out with Harry Potter, who has been missing from the Wizarding World for almost two decades after a shocking fall from grace, is nothing like Draco thought it would be.
Taking Chances by @gracerene09​  [135k]
After the war, Draco disappeared and started over in America, vowing never to return to Great Britain and the fraught past he left behind. Unfortunately, when his mates convince him to sign up for an exchange programme for the last year of their Auror Training, Draco learns that he doesn’t have much of a choice in the matter.
That Which Divides Us by oldenuf2nb / @dianacopland [126k]
Three years after what would have been their seventh year at Hogwarts, the war between the forces of light and Voldemort’s minions grinds on. But even within the ranks of the Order of the Phoenix there are vast disagreements over what is good for ‘the Chosen One’ and his volatile relationship with Draco Malfoy has many on edge. Sometimes even the best intentions can reap disaster.
This Ain’t the Garden of Eden by @romaine2424  [131k]
In 2020, Hit Wizard Harry is starting to enjoy his life. He’s divorced, and no longer Head Auror. His biggest project these days is trying to remodel 12 Grimmauld Place for him and the kids.
Draco Malfoy is recovering from his wife’s death. But is happy with his Ministry position as Temporary Head of the Department of Intoxicating Substances, and with his son who he adores.
This all changes quickly when Minister Shacklebolt decides not to run for another term. The assumption is that ‘all is well’ in the British Magical world, and that Hermione Granger-Weasley will easily be voted in as the next Minister for Magic. However, Draco knows better. He knows she has a strong competitor who is wooing those who live in Knockturn. And if he wins, the Ministry, and all that has been accomplished the previous twenty odd years, will be destroyed.
To have a Home by Aulophobia [126k]
Not quite a decade after the war, Draco Malfoy was happy with his quiet little Muggle life in Oxford. He had a small group of friends from the university he’d attended, and colleagues from the law firm where he worked as a solicitor. He played folk music on his violin around the city. And he volunteered to provide legal services getting mostly idiot teenagers out of trouble with the law. His life was full. He had no contact with the magical world, and all was the way he liked it. And the feeling of emptiness in his chest, the feeling some part of him was missing, was at least better than the alternative. Or at least it was until the last few months when he kept getting called down to the police station to get Harry Potter out of trouble. Indecent exposure and possession was one thing, but the latest charge was for murder. OR Harry and Draco find each other again after the war in Oxford, a completely non-magical city. Together they solve the mystery of the city which hates all wizards but them.
What We Pretend We Can’t See by gyzym [131k]
Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.
where all the veins meet by eight_of_wands [146k]
It's the summer of 1998. The battle is over, and Voldemort is dead, but Harry still has more questions than answers. Who is he without a piece of Voldemort's soul in his head? What is he supposed to do now?
His friends try to help, but the only thing that can hold his attention—one of the only things that ever has—is Draco Malfoy, out on parole and weirdly hanging around the British Museum.
As they keep running into each other, Harry sees that Malfoy is different, and he wonders if he can be someone else, too.
Featuring rumpled band shirts, poker games everyone hates, fumbling sex, and a Harry going a little mental over how wands even work.
I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!
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schnarfer · 1 month
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Endurance: A Frankie Morales Story, Part 1
Frankie Morales x f!reader
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Rating: Explicit 18+ minors dni
Word count: 6,618
Summary: In the darkest of times, there will still be music.
Part 1 content: Frankie Morales AU, 1944 stately home in the UK, set in wartime but intentional no graphic violence or politics of the time mentioned, mention of death and PTSD, heavy on the British emotional repression, Frankie is an American pilot, Will, Benny & Santi makes appearances but no Tom (no thank you Tom) no specific ages mentioned but reader and Frankie would both be early twenties, alcohol and cigarette references, cheating/infidelity, no physical descriptions of reader except she has hair and there are outfit descriptions, much swearing, angst, slow burn, some smooching, pet names (Lady, baby, cariño), some historical references but we're not going for heavy realism here, more, you know, vibes. Let me know if I missed anything.  
A/N: Happy Frankie Friday to all who celebrate 🖤 This is my first Frankie fic, so please be gentle! My goodness was this self-indulgent and so fun to write! I love historical fiction and World War 2 is one of my eras, so I hope you enjoy going on this quiiiiiiiite angsty journey with me and our boy Frankie. Part 1 is a slow burn of what will be - I promise - a (sort of) happy ending, but yeah, I'm gonna put you through it first. Sorry (not soz).
HUGE thank you to the wonderful @pascalssbabyy for giving it a read beforehand and being the absolute sweetest darling. And massive thank you to @katareyoudrilling for being my musical director, you can find a version of Stardust here if you'd like to listen.
Dividers by the supremely talented @saradika
Part 2 / Epilogue
Endurance Masterlist / My fics masterlist
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ENDURANCE - PART 1
June 1944
Frankie grips your jaw, too hard, pressing into the flesh with calloused hands, the oil that lingers on them seeping into your skin and invading your senses. His face is just inches away from yours, his pilot’s moustache so close to touching your skin. If you tilted your chin, your lips would almost connect, moments away from disaster. You’re in the large hallway of Blythe House, forced up rigidly against the oak panelled walls, chequerboard black and white tiles beneath your feet.
You’ve run across these tiles countless times in your life, a true constant. They have been there since the Elizabethan manor was built; you love to think of all your ancestors who have walked on them before you, the loves and loses that this hall must have witnessed, the homecomings and tearful goodbyes. Now you’re trapped, unsure of your next move. Frankie’s arm caging you in; you’re rigid beneath his touch, staring into his eyes defiantly.
Anyone could walk through the hallway and see you both; there are hundreds of people stationed here now; doctors, nurses, wounded soldiers convalescing, a fair few evacuees and of course, outside on the grounds, the American Airborne divisions preparing for the big push. Your father had hoped the house would be requisitioned by a nice girl’s school, it had happened to his cousin’s stately home Longleat and apparently it was delightful, but Blythe House offered far too much land and space for it to not be utilised by the military. Close to the coast too, the impending invasion of occupied Europe just teetering on the horizon. So, here you are, unceremoniously thrown out of your own home and staying in a tired cottage on the grounds with your little sisters and step-mother.
At least you could be helpful; you’d signed up to nurse as soon as you could. Years of country living, with three rambunctious older brothers and no mother to guide your wild ways, before your step-mother arrived, means you’re immensely practical. Even if you’re supposed to hide that under the guise of being a lady who doesn’t pick up anything heavier than a novella.
Lady that’s what he calls you; that’s what Frankie whispers as he prises you open, secrets pouring out of you like the constant unseasonal rain which cascades off the village of tents which now scar the grounds. You’re married. He’s married. This isn’t supposed to be. Then again, there isn’t supposed to be a battalion of American’s living in your fields and running operations from your father’s study, so maybe all bets are off this summer.  
“He’s my husband, I had to see him. I don’t belong to you Frankie.” You hiss, shut yourself off from the obvious pain that filters across his eyes, those beautiful eyes you love so much, unable to hide any emotion that crashes through him. The fight seems to go out of him, he sags, and you take your moment to duck under his arms, away from his bubbling anger, his dangerous jealously that threatens the burn what little peace is left here. You run as fast as you can to the front door, your shoes clicking against those marble tiles and you don’t turn back. Let the memory of Frankie’s solemn gaze seep into the stone, another part of the tapestry of Blythe House that won’t ever be forgotten. The walls are so full of secrets it’s a wonder you don’t hear whispers in the night.    
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Spring 1944
You’d married Teddy in 1940, just before he’d been enlisted. Snapped up immediately by Intelligence, as most of the Oxbridge boys seemed to be. Your eldest brother Harold’s closest friend, Teddy was also one of your best friends since childhood. Never really more than a friend, but you felt a crushing responsibility to this sweet boy; this sweet, sweet boy who may never come home and just wanted to be loved before he left. You did it as a duty really, a kindness; one fumbling, mismatched night together before he left.
It was quite the shock. You’d only ever had a few stolen kisses with boys before, (and some girls during your short, unsuccessful, venture to boarding school, of course, for practice) over long, hot summers. The mechanism of it all wasn’t a mystery to you, but it was deeply unsatisfying. There was a distinct lack of romance, but you guess that was to be expected with a man you considered more family than a beloved. Still, you were glad you had offered him a comfort, even gladder when you’d bled at your usual time and didn’t have to worry about a baby.
He wrote to you often, long detailed missives that contained no information about what he was actually doing and just as much about missing the boys, your brothers, as you. And Blythe House, he missed the house dearly.
You missed the house too. Stared at it longingly from the cottage as you made your tea in the mornings, glowering out of the little window above the sink and up the long winding pathway to the corner of the house you could see from this angle. The cottage was sweet, roses around the door and worn, stone flags on the floor, but it was also cold and didn’t have hot running water. The loo was still outside, bitingly icy in winter and quite the shock after the luxuries of the main house. Spring had brought some more, much needed, warmth, although first thing in the morning was still a jolt. Thank goodness your little sisters were still in cloth nappies or used the pot, you weren’t looking forward to dangling them over the freezing loo any time soon.
You’re hanging sheets in the little cottage garden when you spot four likely lads; Americans you can hear a mile off, walking past the walled garden you now use as a vegetable patch. Dig for victory and all that. You fight with the damp sheets in the breeze, wooden pegs just out of reach in a bag hanging on the end of the line. Generally, you try your best to ignore the Americans, you tend to scuttle to and from the big house when you nurse there, not make any connections with the poor boys recovering in what used to be the ballroom. The army on the lawn is so vast, so overwhelming, you found it best to pretend they weren’t there altogether. Brief nods at the officers who worked from the big house, but you draw back against the walls as they pass you in the halls, hope they don’t notice the familiar resemblance between your face and the paintings hanging over the staircases.
Still, these ones are fairly unmissable, the four of them, tightly banded together and somehow scruffy looking despite their uniforms. Hair a little too long, faces not freshly shaven, enjoying the brief respite of a few hours leave on a Sunday afternoon in the English countryside before the reality of the Europe waiting for them sets in. You know there is lots of talk of D Day looming in the coming months, of the big push that will see them all drop into France. Hushed voices, a melody of both English and American accents, hunched over maps, as you rush from one wing of the house to the other, fetching medical supplies and pretending you’re not listening to the destiny of so many people’s lives. 
You see lots of different reactions on the faces of the men around you, some go fully into themselves, mentally preparing for what is to come, and others, like these four, appear to take it in their stride and act like they’re on some kind of adventure. You shudder at the thought of the last letter from Teddy, very sparse on the details but still, he didn’t seem to be having an adventure at all.
The two blondes, so similar looking they must be brothers, call out to you and you bristle. A third man, shorter and darker, gives the younger looking blonde one a smack on the back of the head, a brief, assured nod in your direction. The fourth, who you’re now scowling at, hangs back. Dark eyes searching yours out. You’ve misread him; he carries a heavier weight than the other three, a reticence playing across his face that you hadn’t seen when you’d first lumped them all together. His uniform is different. A pilot you realise, meaning he can sport a natty little moustache. You’re mulling this all over when the corner of the sheet escapes your grasp and the whole thing flies out into the onion patch. You curse under your breath, rushing after it, not noticing that this fourth man has hopped over the drystone wall and is running to your aid
“That’s right Frankie, you go save the damsel in distress!” One of the men calls over to him and you look up to see this Frankie right in front of you. The other three obviously decide against hanging around, continue walking on.
“Francisco Morales.” He offers, holding out the hand not clutching onto the earth splattered sheet, to grasp yours. You shake his hand fleetingly.
“Francisco.” You nod curtly at him, giving him your name. He rolls it around, it’s strange hearing it echoed back with his lightly southern American drawl. Softer, sweeter in his voice somehow.
“You can call me Frankie.” You give him a quizzical glance, questioning why you would need to call him anything, this strange man standing in your vegetable patch uninvited, whilst taking the sheet from him and inspecting the damage.
“For fuck’s sake, they’re all bloody ruined.”
You stomp your foot in frustrating and suddenly find yourself toppling backwards as the paving stone beneath you shifts unsteadily. Frankie leaps across to grab you, arms around your waist that stop you hitting the floor, but not before your weight has bashed one of the washing-line poles fully out of the ground. The rest of the white linen drops into the earth in an easy movement, billowing in the breeze, as if to make sure they were fully covered in the dirt.
“Buggeration!”
All decorum out the window, you almost want to cry in frustration. You find Frankie is still holding onto you, a sure grip around your middle that you’re surprised to discover you don’t want him to remove. Not just yet. Something is stirring.
He breaks the spell, pulls you up to fully standing, drops his hands by his sides, watching them as if he can’t quite believe what he just had in them; “You swear like a sailor.”
“Three older brothers. I never stood a chance really? As natural as breathing at Blythe.”
“You’re from here? Not stationed?”
“Oh…” You pause, you don’t like to tell people who aren’t already familiar with the situation of your connection to the house, makes them treat you differently. You don’t lie, just avoid the truth by omission. “Yes. Grew up round here…. These sheets are ruined. I’ll have to do them all again with Hannah.”
You look down at your hands, red raw already from how often you have to wash them when nursing and then further battered with the time and effort it takes to scrub clean the sheets. Something you never had to do at the big house; it used to be filled with servants that are now scattered for the war effort, only Hannah the housekeeper remains, to help you and your step-mother with the littles and try and keep the cottage running.
You were so, so spoilt you’ve come to realise.
Frankie is gazing at you, shifting uneasily from foot to foot, a natural shyness at odds with the courage to leap over a garden wall and come running to your ‘rescue’. 
“Want a commiseratory cigarette? Army issue, the good stuff?” His voice is low and slow, almost honied, unlike anything you’ve ever heard before.
You sigh, he’s already taken the packet out of his pocket, looking at you expectantly from those open, seemingly honest brown eyes. He has naturally olive skin, a fading tan slowly being washed away by the dreariest of English summers; you realise he’s truly one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen. Tall and broad, he feels safe? Feels like a home with doors that lock and a fireplace always burning.
Fuck it.
“There’s a good spot by the back of the house in the rose garden. Let me nip these sheets inside and I’ll show you.”
You throw all the sheets covered in the muddy detritus of the vegetable patch back into the basket and quickly carry it on your hip to the shed you’ve been using as a utility room. You latch the door and lead Frankie through to the small walled rose garden, where there is an ancient moss covered wooden bench against the back wall of the house. A path that leads to the big house winding to the left of it. He trudges behind you, near enough that you can feel his presence; heavy, close.
You sit down on the bench, it feels slightly soggy beneath you, but everything does these days, so you choose to ignore it. Frankie clears his throat; “The way you carried that basket on your hip… you got children?
It’s an astonishing forward question, yet you find yourself unabashed. You want talk to him. Want to tell him things. A few years ago, you suppose, being alone with a strange foreign man, having a cigarette in a secluded spot, would have been quite the scandal. Not now. Now nothing seems to matter quite so much.
“No, very little sisters.” You take a drag on the cigarette, remove a tiny piece of tobacco off your tongue by pinching your ring finger and thumb, not unaware of how Frankie’s eyes linger on you as you do so. You flinch at the sight of your own wedding ring.
“Half-sisters, really. Three of the buggers? Currently with my step-mother having tea with the vicar’s wife.” You take another drag on your cigarette, “You… if you recognise it, do you have any of your own?”
“The one. Rosa. She was just old enough to be carried like that when I left for basic training. Haven’t seen her in a long time.”
“Married?”
“Married. You?”
“Married.”
There’s a sigh that escapes both of you, it mingles in the smoke, twists into something unsaid. The silence remains as you both inhale, looking out onto the muted roses, tattered by the rain that simply insists on falling this spring.  
“Should you be getting off somewhere? I don’t want to be getting you into trouble?”
“Is that a dismissal? Trying to get rid of me, are you?”
You smile a tight lipped smile, shuffle your feet a little, “No, I really don’t want to get you into trouble.” Your eyes meet, there’s a glint in his that wasn’t there before, something is growing in this man that you can’t put your finger on, a glimmer of naughty child with scraped knees and no curfew. Like he’s about to do something chancy.
“A woman like you, you’re worth a court-martial for sure.” Ah there, he’s risked it.
A punch of a laugh escapes from you, tipping your head back as you take a drag on the cigarette and you can see Frankie’s delighted to have made you laugh; it’s there in the beautiful creases around his now brightly lit eyes. You don’t think it’s ever occurred to you that a man could be beautiful before. He’s more than beautiful, the word pretty is on the tip of your tongue, travelling to your fingertips and making you want to touch him. Pretty.
“I can put in a good word for you with the Major, if you’d like? I have a tiny bit of sway around here.” You risk it too. “It’s my house you see, Blythe.”
He splutters in disbelief, coughing on the smoke he’s accidentally sucked into his lungs; “So you’re telling me I’m sitting here with the real life Lady of the manor?”
“Technically my dear stepmother is the Lady of the House. I’m just a lady.” You snort a laugh, still so ridiculous. “Somewhat redundant really, no house to be anything of at the moment. Daddy’s up in London as part of the Lords. We’re out here,” You wave towards the cottage, “trying to get by.”
He whistles at you, an appreciative can’t-quite-believe-it whistle. It feels distinctly American in flavour.
“Have I seen you at the house? In a nurses uniform?”
Ah, so he’s seen you before. He grins at the admission, eyebrows raised as he catches your eye, before letting his own fall to the floor somewhat sheepishly.
“All doing our bit aren’t we?” You crush the cigarette butt underneath your heel, lean back against the bench with your arms folded. Perhaps now is the time to break this off, to make your excuses and leave. Yet your feet stay firmly anchored to the floor.
“Another?”
“Yes, please, thank you.”
A beginning you’re doing nothing to stop.
You lean in close to his cupped hands as he offers a silver lighter, you inhale deeply the scent of him and let your eyes stay on him far longer than is polite. Taking in that strong profile, the little dimple that appears on one side as he gifts you a half smile. He returns your gaze in kind, you watch as he wets the seam of his lip with a quick dart of his tongue. He’s nervous again.
Something unholy is taking place within you. Something forbidden.
Still, it takes you by surprise when those lips meet yours. Insistent, warm, wanted. It’s over as soon as it started, he pulls back abruptly, yet leaves his hand still curved against your jaw, rough thumb brushing the softness of your skin slowly.
“Fuck sorry, I… I hope that was ok? I don’t think I would have ever forgiven myself if I didn’t do that.”
You’ve never understood anything more. Tomorrow isn’t promised; so many kisses left undone, tired eyes that never to see sunlight again. A stolen embrace in a rose garden can’t be a sin any longer, not when the world is ending? You smile at him, nod a yes.
In the distance, the church clock chimes the hour. Frankie looks pained, tugging up his peaked pilot’s hat and running a hand sideways through his hair, flattening the unruly almost curls, before pulling it down tight.
“Shit, I do actually have to get going.” He braves another quick kiss, finishing with the briefest of gentle licks edging onto your lower lip that makes you gasp, “I hope I see you again, my Lady.”
My, my, my.
He’s jogging away from you down the lane, turning every few moments as if he can’t bear to not look at you. You call out to him.
“This time next week… Sundays, after church. I usually have a cigarette out here. Have a little bit of time to myself.”
He smiles that beautiful smile at you, a surety within it that causes you to falter; what confidence can he hold in a promise made by another man’s wife, what hope can you grasp onto making plans with another woman’s husband?  
Things aren’t the same though, things will never be the same.
“If I can come, I’ll be there!”
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The band hasn’t turned up. The village hall is full of local women and military men, noisy enough without the music, verging on raucous. Mostly men on one side, women on the other, a smattering of mixed groups of brave boys and very, very curious girls, hiding flushed faces behind their intrigue. Real life Americans; shouting in their village hall, swishing back pints of bitter like it’s going out of fashion.
You hang back at the side, holding tightly onto your gin and tonic, nervous to smudge your bright red lip, half-heartedly chatting to Molly who nurses with you. She’s your excuse for coming this evening, couldn’t let her come on her own… You know who you’re looking for, trying to catch a glimpse of Frankie amongst the throngs of men, difficult to distinguish in the wash of army issue khakis, a mix of soldiers and pilots. Some bright spark has been sent out to try and find a record player and actual records.
Frankie hasn’t appeared the last two Sundays, but you reason that doesn’t mean anything. You have no idea of their schedules, when they have leave, if they go to their own tented church on a Sunday morning. If that’s even something that the army do? You’re scared if you don’t see him again soon that the memory of that kiss, those two kisses, will disappear and you’ll be left alone, once again, without even the faintest of echoes to warm you.
A cheer goes up and you spot the shorter, darker friend you recognise from before, ushering Frankie over to the piano.
“Come on Frankie, just a little tune, while we’re waiting for the record player. You tap those ivories, me and the Miller’s will knock a beat and sing along.”
“Ah come on Santi, I ain’t used to playing in front of a crowd like this.” He’s grinning from ear to ear, but he looks awkward, genuine nerves as he pulls up the stool and gives one of the keys an experimental rap. This Santi, he stands behind him, hands firmly on Frankie’s shoulders and you think for a moment what that would feel like, to have Frankie’s broad shoulders under your skin, the heat you imagine coming from him, a glimpse of that masculine, woody scent you’d caught when he leaned in close. Another cheer has gone up as more people in the hall realise there might be music sooner than expected.
“Raise your glasses for our man Frankie Morales! He’s more used to playing downtown dives than your beautiful village hall, so cut the man some slack and put on your dancing shoes please ladies!” Another familiar face, the taller blonde brother bellows out across the hall, raising his beer up high and only half spilling it all over his brother.
Frankie looks around and for the briefest of seconds, he catches your eye across the hall. The deepest blush rises onto his cheeks and he grins a wicked grin at you. Teeth so bright and even, you find you’re mirroring subconsciously, a silly, very unladylike smile, taking a hold of your lips. You dip your eyes to the floor again. His playing is a little shaky to begin with, but with encouragement from the boys, he begins to play with gusto, a jazz tune you recognise being helped along by the brothers drumming their hands on their thighs, a couple of lads beginning to sing almost tunefully. Couples are starting to flood the dance floor, quick feet to match his rhythm. Molly has a redhead on her mind and gives your hand a quick squeeze before she slips away to dance with him. You risk another quick smile at Frankie, your mouth ever so slightly open, tongue sitting behind your teeth as you press against them. He misses a key.
“I think you’re putting him off.” You look up and straight into the devilish dark eyes of Santi, standing very close for someone you’ve never been formally introduced to. You’ve never met anyone who looks like him before, brooding, slightly dangerous, solid but he looks nimble.
“He seems to be doing just fine? Shouldn’t you be up there singing along?”
He barks a laugh, holds out his hand to you; “May I have this dance?” You cock your head at him inquisitively and he smiles, a flash of white against his beautiful tanned skin, “Santiago Garcia. You can call me Santi.” And you thought English public school boys were self-assured? This man has more confidence in his little finger than your eldest brother’s school year combined.  “And I know exactly who you are, Lady of the manor isn’t it?”
You accept his hand, glance over at Frankie who hasn’t spotted you together yet, “I prefer to keep that bit quiet, no need to treat me any differently… So, you’re a friend of Frankie’s?” He nods rapidly, a smile without teeth now, looking so pleased with himself as he leads you expertly, making an intensity rise in your chest as you hurry to keep up with him and match his vigour.
There’s nothing like music and dancing to forget, just for a moment, what truly you’re on the edge of. To push back those dark clouds that hover in your eye-line and threaten to consume you, to lift the weight that presses down on your chest, if only for a few quickened heartbeats.
All the better with a man looking at you like that, warm hands clutching yours and easing the dread, the sickening dread that lives within you. Frankie’s playing has made the room brighter, made the voices sound higher, brought a light to the dark evening that everyone in this room is constantly searching for. Scared they’ll blink and it will be gone forever by the morning; there’s a desperation in the clinking of glasses, the whispers into foreign ears, the skin touching skin that has never met before. Santi spins you close into his chest, so you’re looking directly at Frankie now, sways you to the music a little too close, closing you in against his chest with a cross of your arms.  
There is a blush on your cheeks that you didn’t paint on, a warmth in your chest that makes your fingers tingle. Your breathing in laboured. Is it Santi? Is it Frankie? Both?
“Just want to show him what he’s missing. What he’ll be missing if he doesn’t pull his finger out.” Santi whispers into your ear and you breathe heavily, it’s making you feel a bit dizzy, the energy in the room is all wrong, slightly frantic and edged with a peril you hadn’t felt before.
Frankie’s eye bore into yours, concern etched into them, brows knitted together as he tries to concentrate on playing but also watch Santi; keep an eye on where those hands are. Just as suddenly as he’d whipped you up into his embrace, Santi spins you away from him, barely touching you any longer, and he leans down to place a chaste kiss on your palm. Hovering for one moment over your wedding ring, as if he might lean down and lick it right off. You’re too stunned to move. 
“Ok, enough torture for poor Catfish. Go say hi to him, before the man’s heart breaks in two.”
You try and steady your breathing; that was deliriously intense. You realise no man has ever held you that way; even Teddy always kept you at arm’s length when dancing, never with that unbridled authority that made your feet feel like they no longer belonged to yourself – that you were becoming a part of Santi and were his to do with what he pleased.
You swallow, hard. Smooth out your skirt, fiddle with a tiny pearl button on your blouse, try and slow your heartbeat down before you approach Frankie. You see the relief washing over him, he wipes his brow, lined with sweat, on the back of his sleeve and he dares a little smile at you as he finishes up the song. Those eyes, so earnest, so soft. They hurt you a little. 
“Budge up.” You climb onto the bench, savour the feeling of him so firm next to you, a presence you want to be close to, want to lean on and soak up. You resist. Being close to Frankie it doesn’t calm you, but something in you stills; “Shall we play something together?” He wiggles a little in his seat, brushing up against you in a way that brings a heat to your belly, you flex your fingers.
“I would love that, Lady.” A twist of your hair has fallen out of its pin at the front, Frankie leans close to you, tucks it behind your ear for you, with the gentlest of touches you wouldn’t believe this man possessed unless you’d just felt it. “What were you thinking?”
You flick through the sheet music; “Do you know Starlight?”
“Sure do.” He glances around, sees a sea of expectant faces waiting for the music to start again. He nods at the blondes, “These are my buddies, Will and this is his brother Benny.” They grin madly at you both over their beers, hands resting on the top of the piano that’s sticky with spilt bitter.
“Boys.” You nod at them and they continue their fixed stares, eyes shining a little too bright. “Right, I’ll count us in. On three.”
It feels more intimate than dancing; whatever Santi thought he’d achieved with that ridiculous pissing contest, playing together and watching your fingers create this magical sound pledges you and Frankie together. This shy, almost bashful man, all reticence disappears as he lets the music flow out of him and there’s an alchemy in how you play with each other, an understanding that mirrors what’s happening on the dancefloor as the music infects the crowds around you, bringing them together. Somehow deeper, more profound. Your fingers tremble a little.
You feel like you understand that when Frankie is good at something, he’s really good at it. There is a power in him that you can almost taste. He obviously feels it too, daring a wink at you. You feel it in your very core. 
A record player has appeared by the time you finish the tune and you both visibly relax as it starts to play, causing only the slightest pause in the dancing. You know you’re glowing from the rising temperature of the room, from being so close to Frankie.
Will and Benny have disappeared into the crowd, delighted village girls now hanging off them in raptures at the blonde bombshells who have fallen in their laps.
You lean into his ear, make sure he can hear you over the cacophony of the room; “You didn’t come and see me.”
You can see he’s trying to speak, that shyness still getting the better of him. He seems at a loss for words. He takes a big long swig of his beer, hoping for some Dutch courage.
“You’re married.”
“So are you.”
You can hide in plain sight here, talk without anyone paying any attention to either of you. The buzz of the room is the perfect hiding spot. You whisper secrets to each other; he tells you about growing up with Santi, Will and Benny, about the friend they all lost during training, how it feels to fly over the English countryside with a plane full of boys ready to leap out. You tell him about your three older brothers; army, navy, air force. Scattered away from home, your beautiful home, Blythe House, which is no longer your own. The stepmother who arrived suddenly and then blessed with you surprise little sisters. Life with all its complexities, thrown further into a chaos by forces so dark they don’t bear thinking about.
This evening feels stolen, tinged with a magic that you never want to end.
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The blackout warden ensures not a stich of light leaves the hall as everyone files out into the dusk.
“You alright getting home miss?” He checks with you as you hang back, searching in the fading evening light for Molly and finding her noticeably absent. Good for her. No ridiculous gold band halting her pleasure.
“Hmmm. I think my walk home has found a better offer.”
“I’ll walk you home.” Frankie offers and by the look on the warden’s face, he knows that is not going to fly. “I mean… my buddies and I will walk her home. She’s at one of the cottages at Blythe House, right by our barracks. We’ll get her back safe.”
The warden gives them a hard stare; “You mind you take care miss. It will be dark in a matter for minutes, so absolutely no torches and no matches for longer than it takes to light a single cigarette, you hear me?”
“Yes sir!” They all chorus at him, before telling you to lead the way.
There is something so wholesome about this ridiculously charade, the five of you making your way through the, now pitch black, eternally long and winding driveway up to Blythe house. You know there are small groups of lads walking some way in front of you and behind, all making their way back to the makeshift barracks, as well as fields full of the bloody buggars. Yet because of the dark, because of how close you have to stick so as not to lose each other in the inky blackness of the night, it feels for a moment like you could be the only five people left alive.
It reminds you so much of the summer you were seventeen, the last time all your brothers were at home for the summer, and how you would wind you way deliriously home after an evening in the local pub. Of course, you were allowed to have torches then and there would be light coming from the house to guide some of the way. And the dogs, at least two working Springers, who twisted around your feet incessantly but were excellent at chasing off the odd fox or rogue badger who attempted to cross your paths. You’d be tipsy from the three shandies the landlord had begrudgingly let you have; never at the bar, he wouldn’t allow ladies at his bar, but you had a special designated spot by the fireplace while the boys sank pints, as your favourite Springer, Lagan, would lazily spread out over your legs. You would hoot with laughter all the way home, one of the boys would inevitably fall down a haha whilst having a slash or confess to having done something unspeakable to your new step-mother’s prized china figurines. Making you all laugh until you cried, clutching at each other with silent, heaving chests or booming laughter. In the darkness, you were one of the boys and they forgot to treat you with the special kid-gloves they had started to do now that you were almost a woman.
It feels like that again now; a sprinkling of that found family and sibling magic the four Americans hold for each other, letting you in on the secret for the evening. You’re all roaring with laughter at a ridiculous comment by Will, who is currently in absolute hysterics at the size of the badger he just spotted and how high it made Benny leap into his arms; “Some fuckin’ soldier you’re gonna make Benny, you screamed like a woman!”
You’re walking in front of them, arms linked with Frankie on one side and Santi on the other, you lean back to the brothers who are less than a foot away; “Excuse me, I take great offence at that. I think you’ll find I was the only one of you that remained calm.”
Frankie chuckles, gives your arm a little press; “It was fucking huge!”
Another secret in the dark, to have him under your fingertips, breathing the same midnight air, it feels electric.
It is also absolutely pitch black, the only light is from the stars, making this a somewhat perilous journey. You hadn’t actually seen the badger until Benny had almost stepped on him. Three startled rabbits and a furious tabby cat later, you have wound your way to the corner before the path to the cottage.
“I’ll walk from here thanks, got my eyes peeled for small beasts.” You go to slip away from them, cheeks burning from the smile that’s playing across your lips, the comfort of being with boys again, playful and safe, playful and alive. A joy in your heart, if only for this evening.
Santi lets you go easily but it takes more of a tug to free yourself from Frankie, his hand clasps on your sleeve and you meet his eyes in the dark, before turning and walking away towards the cottage along the sandstone gravel path.
You hear a mumbled, “Fuck’s sake Frankie” from Santi, what could be a shove in your direction, before there’s a hurried crash of footsteps behind you.
In the dark, you can pretend no one knows. You collapse together against the cherry tree, branches biting at your back and Frankie’s tongue is in your mouth before you’ve even had time to whisper his name, your lips impatient for one another. His hands are at your jaw and you clutch onto his face, feel the muscles working as he eats into you, ravenous, all sweetness forgotten so he can taste as much of you as he can.
It feels like he’s eating you alive and you offer as much of yourself as possible, hold your body solid against his so you hope he can feel how wretched you are for him, how much your body cries to be touched by him, only him. Mouths almost furious at each other, hard, searching tongues connected in a battle of pure longing. You can barely breathe, lips slippery and needy, hungry, so hungry for each other. You only break to gasp for air.
“Fuck…. I… Lady, I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t get you out of my head, tonight with the music. Did you feel it? I felt it in my bones.” He shakes you, physically holds you by the shoulders and shakes you, as if to feel where it’s seeped into your bones too. “You’re under my skin cariño. I don’t know what to do?”
“Come and see me. Like you said you would.”
“No good will come of this, I can’t… I can’t not touch you.” He’s fallen against you, almost his whole weight digging into you, it feels good. Heavy, strong, he isn’t careful with you. He shoves his knee between your legs, drives them apart, so he’s pushed himself right up on you, grinds himself against you, “See what you do to me? Turn me into some kind of animal?” You whine at the contact, at the unexpected fluttering between your thighs that’s making you dizzy for him, making you moan out his name.
“Fuck, ok, ok, I’ll come and see you.” A whole debate taking place in his head, it’s lost as soon as he lets his hand caress your face, feels the need coming from you, contemplates if he could just… your eyes, they bore into him and he shakes his head slowly, he knows this is pretty fucking stupid already without getting caught with his hand up your skirt. Instead, he runs it through the loose curl that frames your face, licks his lip slowly and presses one final, hot, breathless kiss onto you. Savouring how you melt at the contact this time, no resistance only warmth and want; “I will come and see you as soon as I can. I promise this time.”
You watch him disappear back into the night and you try and gather yourself. Spit on a tissue to try and remove any remanence of the red lipstick from around your mouth, smooth out your clothes, stand up straighter. The banality of making yourself presentable almost overrides the fluttering of your heart, the stirring inside that you recognise as a desire that’s never been met before. One that Frankie has awoken, deep in your core and is now sat at the base of your spine, screaming.
You stumble back the last few steps to the cottage. In the darkness, where you can pretend no one knows.
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nightghoul381 · 3 months
Text
Dead or Love ~ Ellis Twilight
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This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!
Part 1 | Part 2 | Bitter End | Premium End | Epilogue
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Kate, I want to be your Santa Claus.
The kind of person who only gives you kindness.
However, the more time I talked to Kate,
The desires that I buried deep inside my heart and kept a lid on were writhing.
(Kate.)
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(You, only you, make me… just a little crazy.)
Ellis: “… I don’t want Christmas to end just yet.”
Kate: “Eh?”
I pulled Kate’s arm closer and looked into her face.
Ellis: “Kate, will you be my Santa Claus this time?”
Ellis: “You can listen to my selfishness.”
(If I say that suddenly, will that bother you?)
However, contrary to my expectations, Kate’s face suddenly brightened up.
Kate: “Yes, of course! I’ll do anything I can.”
(……)
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Ellis: “Fufu, you’re really…really cute.”
Ellis: “…Then, will you kiss me?”
Kate: “Ah, K-kiss?”
(Her eyes are blinking… so cute.)
Because Kate reacts so kindly and cutely,
I bury my desires deeper and deeper, keeping it a secret from Kate.
(Let’s think about the selfishness that will make Kate happy.)
(…That’s it.)
Ellis: “I’ll save the kiss for later.”
Ellis: “Instead… I want you and me to have fun together.”
--Courtyard—
Kate: “Ellis, what you want to do is… play in the snow?”
Ellis: “Yeah. This is the first year it’s snowed.”
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Ellis: “…Do you hate it?”
Kate: “Fufu, no way. I’m kind of excited.”
Kate: “What do we do? Snowball fight? OR—”
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Ellis: “What about the snow rabbit?”
Kate: “Oh, that’s great! Well then, let’s see whose is the cutest.”
Ellis: “Then I’ll make a snow rabbit that looks like you.”
Kate: “If that’s what you want, I’ll make you the cutest little Ellis bunny.”
Ellis: “But… if you use me as a model, won’t you lose?”
Kate: “I won’t lose. I’m confident.”
I can’t help but laugh at Kate’s disappointed face.
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Ellis: “Then, let the match begin.”
The two of us squat down, scoop up snow, and work wholeheartedly to make a snow bunny.
(…When is the last time you played like this?)
When I glanced at Kate, I noticed that she looked more serious than I did, which was kind of cute.
Maybe I like seeing Kate working hard at something.
(I thought of a grown-up date to make Kate happy.)
(But… maybe a date like this would have been better.)
With Kate, no matter where I am or what I do, I feel like I have a lot of fun.
Ellis: “…Yeah. I’m done.”
Kate: “Me too. So let’s show each other.”
Ellis: “Yeah, okay.”
Kate / Ellis: “Ready, set, go!”
Kate: “Wow, Ellis, your snow bunny is so cute!”
Ellis: “Yours is too. I guess this is a draw…?”
Kate: “Fufu, right.”
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(I finished making the snow bunny… Maybe I should have made it a little more slowly.)
Kate: “Ah, Ellis. Are you free for just a little longer?”
Ellis: “…? Yeah, of course. What’s wrong?”
Kate: “I feel like this isn’t enough, so I would like to add something else.”
It seems like Kate is still trying to give me something.
(Kate, Santa Claus is a great service.)
--Crown Castle—Common room—
Kate: “Sorry to keep you waiting, Ellis. Here it is.”
Ellis: “…Hot milk?”
Kate: “Yes. Your hands got cold from playing in the snow, right?”
Kate: “Besides, I was happy that you made some for me earlier, Ellis.”
(You remembered me.)
Ellis: “Thank you, Kate. I’ll take it.”
Kate: “Also, when I went to the kitchen, Victor brought out some sweets for me.”
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Ellis: “So many. Fufu, it’s like a party.”
Kate: “Yes, it’s our very own midnight Christmas party.”
We drank hot milk, snacked on sweets, and talked about nothing.
It’s like Christmas when I was a kid…
Memories of a distant day seemed to tumble into the palm of my hand.
Ellis: “Kate, I lied to you, a little bit.”
Kate: “…Lied?”
Ellis: “I told you that when I was a kid, we had Christmases like any other…”
Ellis: “Christmas like anywhere else ‘was’…true.”
As I told you before, my house was a really normal house,
It was a Christmas like any other.
The candles on the Christmas cake were always blown out with a single blow.
(But)
Ellis: “One day, everything fell apart.”
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Ellis: “I wanted to get it back somehow, I tried my best but…”
Ellis: “Maybe I was the one to screw everything up in the end.”
Kate: “…”
(Maybe that’s why I was relieved every year when Jude assigned me a job.)
(If I stay busy, I don’t have to remember what I broke.)
Kate was just quietly listening to me.
Then, she murmured in a voice as calm and gentle as falling snow.
Kate: “Ellis, when you suddenly remember things from the past and are having a hard time… I’ll be by your side.”
Kate: “When you don’t want to remember, let’s talk more like this again.”
Kate: “…and, this is such a beautiful thing…”
(Aah, Kate.)
(If your words were beautiful things, there would be nothing more beautiful in the world.)
Ellis: “Thank you, Kate.”
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Ellis: “Hey, just one more thing… it’s selfish, okay?”
Kate: “Of course, what is it?”
I went behind Kate, who was sitting, and hugged her from behind.
Kate: “Ellis…?”
Ellis: “My family and I used to do this together and hug each other on Christmas.”
Kate: “Yes, that’s what this is? Well then…”
Kate wraps her arms around me and hugs me back.
(Kate, I’m sorry, that was also a lie.)
(I don’t know why… I wanted to do this with you.)
Again, deep within my heart, desire is writhing all over.
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(…no, don’t go wild.)
(I want to be nice to you, Kate.)
Kate: “Ellis, um…”
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Ellis: “Not yet. Please, let me stay like this just a little longer.”
After all, I don’t think I’ll be able to become the kind of Santa Claus that everyone likes.
A few days passed and before I knew it, the snow bunny I had mad that day had melted away without a trace.
When I told Kate about this, she laughed.
Kate: “Let’s make them together again next year.”
She said.
I can’t explain it well, but I was kind of… happy about that.
Very, very happy.
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Bitter End | Premium End | Epilogue
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