#be it for your wedding or for your memories

[starmocha]

Relentless Conqueror Sylus/Reader | 1790 words | Masterlist | AO3 To be wedded to the strongest warrior in the village was an honor and a blessing. A/N: I saw someone specified that Sylus is dressed as a Mongolian wrestler in the new memory. I am so excited for it, but um…this fic has absolutely nothing to do with that. My mind just swerved completely off-course the moment I saw this man manhandling us again lmao And…yeah…this is based on this post I made earlier. Still in my ✨shameful Sylus posting era✨ 😔 MDNI.

In the wide-open plane of the grassland, everything could be heard for miles all around. Stretched across the vast expanse, one area was occupied by numerous huts making up a small but thriving village.

Within the village, everyone had a role. The elders guided and led the villagers with their years of wisdom. The men were providers, hunters, and warriors while the women sustained the community and reared the children who would one day take over, thus continuing this cycle of life.

You were no exception. It was time for you to take your place among others with the new role you were about to take.

Fortune had smiled down upon you. Hushed whispers wove through the village, going from mouth to mouth, passing loose lips after loose lips, before the news finally reached you.

Sylus had chosen you to be his bride.

To be chosen by the strongest warrior in the village to be his bride was an honor bestowed only on you. He would provide you with a life of comfort and in turn, you were to bear him strong children. Many of the other maidens envied you, wanting to covet your place, to steal him away from you.

However, Sylus was truly the epitome of the ideal warrior: Large, strong, and imposing. He was unyielding on the battlefield, and he was unyielding in his decisions.

Of all the maidens who had crossed his path, only one had managed to ensnare him, to captivate him like no others.

You.

It was a prosperous union witnessed in a lavish ceremony by the entire village, cheered to be blessed by the gods themselves. A true match made in Heaven, many declared, as the wedding ceremony ended and the celebration began.

Arm linked with your new husband, you greeted and thanked the well-wishers, watching with wonders as everyone feasted and drank to your marriage. The merriment started from morning and continuing well into the late night. After nightfall had descended, Sylus led you away from the celebration. No one noticed the absence of the bride and groom, too drunk on alcohol and the festivities to even be aware of their surroundings.

Sylus whisked you away to his quiet hut, far from the music, laughter, and cheers. He towered over you, holding aside the curtain at the entryway to allow you entrance. As you entered, you could see the hut had been prepped for the wedding night.

It was a very comfortable living space, more extravagant than many of the other villagers’ homes. You barely had a moment to fully take in the sight of your new home before Sylus swept you off your feet, cradled in his arms as he carried you to his bed. He laid you down on fur, your beauty illuminated by the lamps within the hut. You could still hear the residual laughter and chatters outside as the rest of the villagers continued in their merriment celebrating this union.

“Pay them no heed,” Sylus ordered, grasping your chin firmly and forcing your sight on him. “Tonight, and for the rest of our lives, you are mine.”

He kissed you roughly, not minding your inexperience. It pleased him that your chasteness meant you were untouched, meant that he would have the sole honor of claiming you.

He disrobed his blushing bride, guiding your nimble hands to his toned body, letting you touched upon his firm muscles, feel the heat from his body. One by one, accessories fell, clinking and clanking on the ground. Then, his own ceremonial garments were discarded, tossed carelessly to the side and leaving him bare and nude, your eyes feasting on the wonderous sight of your new husband.

You swallowed slowly, feeling the gentle flutters of butterflies in your belly. He smirked at your nervousness. One hand cupped your cheek, pulling you closer to him. You whimpered when he claimed your lips again, his large body overpowering you in seconds. He had you spread beneath him, his own body looming over yours and keeping you trapped under him. He cupped your sex, startling you as his long, slender fingers worked into your folds.

You let out a sharp gasp, fingers finding their way into his hair, and tugging at him nervously.

“Relax,” he ordered, “You’re not ready for me yet.”

He was well-endowed, his size intimidating, and you unconsciously clenched, only realizing when you heard Sylus’ deep chuckle. You blushed crimson, but your embarrassment soon passed the moment you felt Sylus working his fingers in and out of you.

“Ah—” Your hips moved on their own, desperately meeting his thrusts, wanting more, just a bit more. Your toes curled, body tensing up when you felt his thumb brushing against something that was causing you to jolt in pleasure. “M-more…Sylus…please…”

“You like that, sweetie?”

You nodded numbly, your voice coming out breathless. “Yes…please…my husband.”

You didn’t see the way Sylus’ eyes gleamed in satisfaction, didn’t hear his quick intake of breath over your own helpless moans. He smirked.

He seized your mouth again, taking in your startled cries, his fingers slipping in and out of your wet folds faster and faster. “My bride—my wife…” he murmured back, nipping and sucking greedily, “You’re so wet now, sweetie…Do you feel good?”

You sobbed and cried as his fingers curled inside. There was a tightening in your belly. You called out to him, scared. “Sy—Sylus…”

He shushed you gently. “Come for me.”

You clenched around his fingers, your cries filling the room. Sylus’ smirk widened as he watched you come undone by his fingers alone. He kissed your lips, praising you softly as you panted and sobbed. You barely recovered when he withdrew his fingers, his length taking place.

You bucked in surprise, eyes widening. “Sy-Sylus, no…”

“You are ready for me, my bride,” he assured. He pressed forward and you gripped a handful of the fur throw beneath you, your sensitive body feeling suddenly overstimulated by the massive intrusion taking place. Impossibly big, you thought, as your walls stretched around his thick length, taking him in slowly through much pain. He barely comforted you, seemingly enjoying the sight of you gasping and moaning as you were getting stuffed by him. His soft pants grew shallower, his eyes darkened with desire as he watched his beloved new bride taking him in inch by inch.

He praised you over and over once he was fully sheathed inside you, his deep voice comforting you in that moment. “You’re doing so well,” he said, voice thick with desire, “I have chosen the perfect wife.”

You felt a warmth in your belly, his praise filling you with unexpected joy. “Sylus…”

He smirked.

He took you brutally, riding you as rough and hard like his faithful steed. You wept and sobbed as his powerful thrusts reached that euphoric spot that had you writhing and moaning, begging him for more and more of this sweet, agonizing pleasure. You had never known the touch of a man before this night, and from this moment onwards, Sylus made sure you never will. He was going to make sure your body learned that you were his, craved only him, and only satisfied by him.

He was wrecking you, ruining you. You moaned as his large hand covered your flat belly. “You better prepare yourself, my bride,” he husked, “the women in my family only bear large children.”

You trembled, unsure if what you were feeling was fear or otherwise. He slipped his hands under you, groping and grabbing your buttocks and lifting you off the bed, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. Immediately, your head lolled to the side, your moans resounded within the private space as you felt him penetrating you deeply, his pacing still unrelenting and unforgiving. This new angle had you calling out to him needily, feeling the second climax approaching fast.

Closer…and closer…and closer—

“Dear gods…” he groaned as you came undone again, your walls squeezing tightly around his cock. He pressed you back into the bed, letting you ride out your high as he chased after his. His hand grasped yours, pressing them deeper into the bedding.

“Gonna fuck my child into you,” he grunted, his hips slapping against yours, “Gonna breed you, have you heavy with my baby in your womb.”

He fondled your breast, massaging it roughly under his calloused hand. His mouth was close to yours, his hot, humid breath fanned over your lips. “Gonna have you swell, gonna have you bear me sons and daughters over and over again…”

Your legs locked around his waist, pulling him in closer to his surprise. He smirked. His hand reached out to brush your hair out of your sweat-slicked face. He leaned in closer, kissing you briefly, and then he asked, “Did you like the sound of that, my bride? Do you like what I am saying? Do you like knowing this is your role from now on? To bear my children over and over again?”

“Y—” you bit down on your bottom lip, embarrassed.

“Say it,” he demanded, thrusting in harder, eliciting more of your sweet cries.

He held you close and you sobbed into his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck as you felt him still pounding into your pussy. “Yes…Yes…!” you cried out, clinging to him, “I want your baby…I want to have all of your babies, Sylus!”

“Fuck’s sake…” His eyes squeezed shut, feeling you come again already. This time, he also felt his own climax, felt himself pumping hot into you. He groaned again, “Take every last drop, sweetie.”

You felt so impossibly full, his seed flooding your womb. There was not a doubt in your head that this union wouldn’t be fruitful. You were going to carry his baby, bear him large, strong sons—future warriors to carry on his legacy.

“My bride, my beautiful bride,” he murmured, lavishing you in his sweet kisses as he pulled out. He gazed down at you, taking in the sight of your flushed cheeks and doe eyes staring back at him. He hummed softly, his lips finding yours again, his large hand interlocking with yours.

“Mine.”

Beyond the hut, the celebration continued. Laughter and singing continued well into the late night, but within this hut, there was only the labored breathing, desperate gasps and pleased moans filling the space for hours on end. Time seemed to have slowed down, the world quieting.

He took you, claimed you over and over again. Your body was his, and his was yours. From this day and onwards, in this life and all of the lifetimes to come, you were his bride, the only one capable of stealing the heart of the feared conqueror of the grassland.

[idkyetxoxo]

Cregan Stark - Devotion

Summary - Cregan's obsession with his wife is obvious, constantly showering her with affection and praise, making sure she always feels his unwavering devotion. Even amidst the grandeur of her brother's wedding, he struggles to restrain himself, after all, she is his, forever and always.

Pairing - Cregan Stark x Strong reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2302

Masterlist for Cregan • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"You look absolutely beautiful," he murmured, his breath warm against my cheek as his face hovered inches from mine. I smiled, a faint blush spreading across my cheeks at his intimate compliment. 

His arms wrapped around me from behind, the touch both reassuring and affectionate.

I was dressed in a delicate grey gown, chosen for its simplicity and ease of travel. It was perfect for our journey to Dragonstone, where we were to attend the wedding of my brother Jace and his betrothed, Baela. 

Despite its understated elegance, the dress shimmered subtly, catching the light as I moved.

"I've been told," I whispered, leaning back to place a soft kiss on his cheek. 

Cregan was never shy with his affections, always finding ways to remind me daily of how much he cherished me. His compliments were a constant comfort, his words a balm to my heart.

"Now, come," I said, slipping my hand into his. "We must hurry. I do not wish to delay our travels any longer." The excitement in my voice was palpable, a mixture of anticipation and eagerness to reunite with my family.

The journey, which usually took around a month had been shortened to just under three weeks, thanks to my fervent eagerness to reach Dragonstone. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the rugged coastline, Dragonstone emerged from the mist like a majestic sentinel. The castle's towering spires and weathered stone walls loomed against the fading light, blurred into a series of excited memories as we approached.

As we finally arrived, the sight of my mother waiting for us was like a beacon. Her face lit up with the brightest smile, a warmth that instantly melted away any lingering fatigue from our travels.

"Your Grace," I greeted, my own smile matching hers.

"Come here," she whispered, her arms opening wide. 

She enfolded me in a long, tender hug, holding me as if she could keep me forever. When she finally drew back, her hands gently cupped my face, her touch a soothing balm.

"I have missed you dearly," she said, her voice a soft murmur that wrapped around my heart like a comforting embrace.

Her gaze softened as she placed a gentle hand on my stomach, a radiant smile lighting up her face. 

"You're going to be an incredible mother," she murmured, her words brimming with affection. I smiled widely in response, the news still fresh in my mind. The maester in Winterfell had said I was barely a moon along, now, after our journey, it was almost two moons.

Jace was next. As I moved towards him, he pulled me into a hug so tight that I could hardly breathe.

"I trust you would like your sister and niece or nephew alive?" I joked, my voice muffled against his shoulder. 

He chuckled, loosening his grip with a sheepish grin as his eyes wandered to my still-hidden belly, where the babe was growing though not yet visible.

Turning to Baela, I found her beaming at me with a warmth that matched her smile. "The beautiful bride," I murmured, drawing her into a hug as well. 

"Where are the little ones?" I asked, glancing around for my younger brothers, eager to see them.

"Inside, eagerly waiting to greet their older sister," Rhaenyra replied, linking her arm with mine. Her voice was filled with the same warmth that defined our family's gatherings.

I looked back at Cregan, who stood nearby, his face alight with the joy of the reunion. The sparkle in his eyes reflected the enchantment he felt witnessing these heartfelt moments. 

I beckoned him towards me with a smile, and he moved to my side, walking in step with me as we proceeded together.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

I thanked the handmaidens as they finished dressing me, their hands moving with practised grace as they adjusted the final details of my attire. The red and black beaded gown I wore was nothing short of ethereal. 

The delicate beadwork shimmered in the candlelight, and the sheer material, coupled with the plunging neckline, made me feel both beautiful and slightly hesitant. 

The gown was daring, exposing more skin than I was accustomed to, and the subtle curve of my barely visible bump was hidden beneath the fabric.

"Gods be good," a deep voice mumbled from behind me. I turned to find my husband standing in the doorway, his jaw dropped and his eyes wide as they roved over me.

"Is it okay?" I asked, my voice tinged with uncertainty. His silence stretched on, and I shifted nervously, my fingers playing with a strand of my hair before settling on my stomach.

"I know, I think it looks rather scandalous. Perhaps I should change," I rushed out, my insecurities bubbling to the surface. 

Before I could move, he closed the distance between us in quick strides, taking my hands in his.

"You, my sweet wife, are a vision," he began, his voice filled with awe. "The epitome of grace and beauty." His hands moved gently up and down my arms, his touch soothing my nerves. His fingers then traced the curve of my stomach with a tender reverence.

"I can already tell that our little one will be as beautiful as their mother," he added, his eyes soft with affection. 

I visibly relaxed under his tender attention.

"A true dragon, in dragon colours," he continued, his fingers brushing lightly down the exposed skin of my chest. The heat of his touch sent a shiver through me, and I felt my breath catch in my throat.

I grabbed his hand, interlacing my fingers with his. "We should really be off. I do not wish to miss a moment of the celebration," I said, my voice soft but firm. 

He exhaled deeply, stepping back as if he had to physically restrain himself from drawing me closer.

"Of course," he murmured, a mix of longing and admiration in his eyes. 

He offered his arm, and I took it, the touch of his hand a comforting anchor as we made our way towards the grand hall where the celebration awaited.

The wedding was grand, a magnificent celebration to commemorate the union of Jace and Baela. The air was thick with the mingling scents of fresh flowers and the rich aroma of roasted meats. Laughter and music swirled around us, a living, breathing entity that seemed to pulse with the energy of celebration.

The festivities stretched late into the night, with joy, melodies, and merriment filling every corner. 

Amidst the revelry, I noticed Cregan growing increasingly fidgety, his usual composed demeanour slipping.

As the musicians struck up a lively tune, we took to the dance floor. His hands gripped my waist firmly, and I wrapped mine around his neck, feeling the tension radiating from his body.

"Are you alright?" I asked, tilting my head slightly to catch his gaze. He took a deep breath, nodding, though his eyes betrayed his unease.

I placed a hand on his chest, furrowing my brows in concern. "Please tell me if something is bothering you," I urged softly, wanting to ease his distress.

He leaned closer, his voice low and intimate, sending a shiver down my spine. 

"I do not think I can restrain myself any longer," he confessed, his hands travelling up and down my sides with a possessive urgency.

"I need you," he murmured, his tone tinged with a desperate whine. "Please."

His words and the intensity of his touch sent a wave of heat pooling between my legs. I bit my lip, struggling to maintain my composure as my own desire mirrored his.

"Lead the way," I whispered, giving in to the need that coursed through me. A victorious glint sparked in his eyes as he stepped back, taking my hand and rushing us toward my chambers.

Once inside, the door barely closed behind us before Cregan's lips were on mine, his kiss urgent and demanding. His hands roamed over my body, pulling me closer as if he couldn't bear even a moment's distance between us.

My fingers tangled in his hair, matching his fervour as our bodies pressed together. The weight of the evening's formality melted away, leaving only the raw, unrestrained need we felt for each other. He backed me toward the bed, his lips never leaving mine, and we fell onto the soft covers in a tangle of limbs and desire.

"I've wanted you all night," he breathed against my neck, his voice a ragged whisper. "Seeing you in that gown, so beautiful, so perfect... I couldn't think of anything else."

"Now I want it off," he growled, tugging at the material. I laughed, gently pushing him back as I carefully slipped out of the dress, placing it aside with deliberate care.

"Have me then," I teased, my voice low and inviting, leaving myself naked and exposed before him.

"I will," he promised, his eyes burning with an intense desire. He quickly discarded his own clothes, his movements hurried and eager, not wanting to waste another moment.

I scooted back on the bed, watching as he knelt before me, his gaze locked onto mine with a fervour that made my heart race. His hands slid up my legs, the warmth of his touch igniting a fire within me.

"You're breathtaking," he murmured, his voice filled with awe as his fingers traced the curves of my body. "Every inch of you."

His words sent a flush of heat through me, and I arched into his touch, craving more. He leaned in, his lips finding mine in a searing kiss that left me breathless. His hands continued their exploration, each touch leaving a trail of burning desire in its wake.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as our bodies pressed together.

"Cregan," I moaned softly as his lips travelled down my neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. 

"I need you," he whispered against my skin, his voice thick with desire. "I need all of you."

"Take me," I replied, my voice barely more than a breathy plea. "I'm yours."

My words were all the confirmation he needed. He adjusted himself, positioning his body above mine, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my heart race. 

Slowly, deliberately, he entered me, his movements controlled and purposeful. A soft groan escaped my lips as he filled me, the sensation overwhelming and intoxicating.

He started with a slow, measured rhythm, each thrust deliberate and deep. His eyes never left mine, the connection between us palpable and electric. I clung to him, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I arched my back, meeting each of his movements with my own. 

The pleasure built gradually, a slow burn that intensified with each passing moment.

As the heat between us grew, his pace began to quicken. His thrusts became more urgent, more desperate as if he couldn't get enough of me. The room was filled with the sounds of our lovemaking, soft moans, breathless gasps, and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

"Cregan," I moaned, my voice barely a whisper, filled with raw need.

His hand moved from my legs to the sensitive spot between us, his fingers finding my clit with practised ease. "Cum for me, princess," he groaned, his voice a deep, gravelly command.

The sensation of him inside me, the feel of his body moving against mine, combined with the skilled movement of his hand, sent electric shocks of pleasure through my entire being. 

My eyes rolled back, lost in the overwhelming ecstasy that built within me.

With a final, deliberate thrust, the cord in my stomach snapped. I cried out, the pleasure crashing over me like a tidal wave. My body convulsed, shuddering as the orgasm tore through me, his name a desperate plea on my lips. 

Cregan followed soon after, his own release leaving him breathless and trembling. 

As the waves of pleasure subsided, we lay together in the aftermath, our bodies still entwined, slick with sweat and the remnants of our passion. He held me close, his arms wrapped protectively around me as if he never wanted to let go.

"We should return," I said, attempting to pull myself away from Cregan's embrace. "Cregan, come on," I added, laughing as he finally relented.

He helped me get dressed, his hands lingering for a moment longer than necessary, savouring the feel of the gown's fabric against my skin. 

Once I was clothed, I smoothed down my hair, trying to make myself look presentable despite the flush in my cheeks and the sparkle in my eyes.

Hand in hand, we made our way back to the celebrations. The laughter and music seemed brighter, more vibrant, as if our shared moment had infused the celebration with a deeper sense of joy.

"There you are," Rhaenyra said, her eyes lighting up as she saw us approaching. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks, and I nervously giggled, trying my hardest to keep our recent activities a secret.

"I needed a moment to myself," I lied, patting my stomach and hoping my mother wouldn't notice the lingering flush on my face or the slight dishevelment of my hair. I settled into my seat, Cregan sitting close beside me.

My eyes met Cregan's, and he gave me a knowing smile, his hand finding mine under the table.

"Are you enjoying yourselves?" she asked, her gaze flicking between me and Cregan.

"Very much," Cregan replied, his voice warm and genuine. "It's a beautiful celebration."

My mother nodded, satisfied with his response. "It is," she agreed, her eyes softening as she looked at me. "I'm glad you're here."

I leaned into Cregan, feeling the warmth of his presence beside me. His eyes met mine, and a wide grin spread across his face.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with a fierce tenderness that made my heart swell. "I will always love you."

"I love you too," I replied, my voice equally soft and sincere. "Forever and always."

A/n - Editing this rn and there was originally no pregnancy and then I had a very sudden impulse to add it could not tell you why lmaoo

[firewasabeast]

Can you please do a hurt/comfort Eddie + Tommy friendship with Bucktommy - Tommy gets hurt in some way (mentally/physically/sick/etc) and Eddie helps him until Buck can get there

you gave me a reason to finish the fic I started earlier today! thank you!

His teeth were chattering. Had been since he woke up after hitting the ground.

He didn't hurt anywhere, which was never a good sign.

He laid there, surrounded by trees. Cold, wet leaves underneath his body. He could hear crickets and frogs all around him. Could smell smoke somewhere nearby.

There were distinct sounds of metal creaking mixed in with nature.

Slowly, he moved his head to the right, then to the left.

Fire.

It was about fifty yards away. Thankfully, due to the recent rain, the fire was contained to the helicopter that had so gracefully fallen out of the sky.

He wasn't sure how he ended up so far from it. Had no memory of being ejected or jumping or whatever happened that made it so he wasn't inside those flames.

He lifted his hands to his face, could barely see them as the sun set below the trees. He was sure there was blood. Dirt, mud, leaves, and blood.

They shook so fiercely he wasn't sure how he had any control over them at all.

His breathing was labored, heart beating rapidly. No matter what he tried, he couldn't seem to calm himself down.

Suddenly, in the distance, he heard something.

People talking.

Not just people, familiar people.

Family.

“H- Here,” he barely managed to get out, figuring they'd be running toward the fire instead of him. He cleared his throat, tried again. “Here! I'm here!”

The talking stopped, then there was running.

He could feel the pounding of the footsteps as they approached.

“Hey, we gotcha, Buddy!”

“Howie?”

“Yeah, it's me. Saving your ass, once again.”

Hands were on him now. Lights shining in his eyes, causing him to squint. He could hear others talking. Hen, Eddie, Bobby. Couldn't quite make out what they were saying.

Chimney had him focus on him. “Can you tell me your name?” he asked.

“T- Tommy,” he answered. God, he wished he could stop shaking. He couldn't barely get out a word.

“Year?”

“2024.”

“Best paramedic you know?”

“Hen,” Tommy replied, choking out a laugh.

“Hey now!” Chimney exclaimed, mocking offense.

“I knew I liked you,” Hen said with a smile. She patted him on the shoulder before getting back to work.

Chimney chomped on his gum a couple times before asking his next question. “Can you wiggle your toes for me, Tommy?”

Tommy shook his head. He lifted his arm, tried to pull Chimney closer to him so he could whisper. “I c- can't feel anything,” he paused, sucked in a shaky breath, “b- below my waist.” He knew what this meant, and he also knew he was in shock. The adrenaline pumping through him was the only thing keeping him remotely alert.

Chimney nodded, sharing a glance with Hen. “Cervical collar for our dashing pilot here, please, Hen.”

“Already on it.”

“Ho- Howie?”

“Yeah, Buddy?”

“Ev- Evan?”

“Buck went home early today,” Eddie answered, moving into Chimney's place so he could do whatever work needed to be done. “Chief is cracking down on overtime, so he had to be sent home.”

“We've... We've been sa- saving f- for the wedding,” he explained, although he wasn't sure why. Everyone there already knew that.

Eddie took Tommy's hand and wrapped it up in his own. “You were probably already up in the air when Buck sent you the text complaining about being sent home.”

“He'd say... He'd say th- the chief didn't want us t- to have the good hors d'oeuvres.”

Eddie nodded, tried putting on a smile. “He did mention that on his way out.”

Tommy squeezed Eddie's hand. “We m- might have to re... reschedule.” His lip trembled at the thought, tears welling in his eyes. Evan was so excited for the wedding. Had been working diligently and meticulously on every detail since they got engaged in October. He wanted a winter wedding, and didn't want to wait another whole year, so February it would be. With it being December now, Tommy didn't see any way he'd be able to fully recover by then.

If he did at all.

“Let's not worry about that right now, alright, Man? I don't think Buck will care when the wedding is, as long as there is one. Let's focus on that, okay?”

Tommy nodded. Blinked a few times to rid himself of the tears.

A few fell anyway.

“Ed- Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Do I... Do I still have my legs?”

“You certainly do, Kinard,” Bobby interrupted. Tommy wasn't sure how long the captain had been on his other side. Bobby gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “You've got all your limbs right where they should be. You ready to move now, Kid?”

Tommy could've laughed at the nickname. He'd been called that by Bobby a couple of times, many years ago. It'd been a long while since then.

He nodded. “Ready.”

Eddie didn't let go of his hand as they lifted him and began carrying him to the ambulance. Tommy was a bit surprised. He didn't remember ever being moved onto the spine board. Hadn't felt a thing.

A part of him had wondered if they'd even been working on him during that time. That maybe Eddie was the chosen distraction until he drifted off and his breathing stopped.

He was glad to know he was wrong.

*****

Bobby drove them to the hospital, with Eddie staying in the back beside him. It was a bit cramped with him, Eddie, Chimney, and Hen all back there together, but the fact he was surrounded by these people made him feel a bit more comforted.

Tommy looked over to where his and Eddie's hands were still tightly gripped together. He wasn't sure if Eddie was refusing to let him go, or if he was refusing to let Eddie go. Didn't really matter either way. He needed something to keep him tethered to reality.

He shook his wrist back and forth a few times to get Eddie's attention. “Can you... Can you call Evan? Please?”

“Of course,” Eddie replied, grabbing his phone out of his pocket with his free hand.

“You've got some cuts on your arms, Tommy,” Hen explained as Eddie pressed Buck's name. “We're gonna work on those on the way to the hospital, so you might feel some stings, okay?”

“Yeah. That's okay.”

Eddie put the phone on speaker and Buck answered on the third ring. “What's wrong?”

“Buck-”

“Who is it, Eddie? I just left work an hour ago. Is it Bobby? Hen? Chim?”

Tommy took a deep breath. “B- Baby.”

Silence.

Then.

“Tommy? Is that you?”

“Had a... a little accident.”

“What hospital?”

“The usual,” Eddie replied.

“I'm heading there now.”

“Evan? Evan!” Tommy exclaimed, wanting to get his attention before he got in the car and started to drive.

“I'm here, Tommy,” he answered. “I'm gonna meet you at the hospital.”

“I don't wanna... wanna scare you,” Tommy said, and he could feel the tears burning his eyes again. “I can't. I can't feel my legs.”

“He's stabilized,” Chimney added quickly, before Buck could ask. “Likely a lower spinal cord injury.”

Another pause, followed by a quiet. “Okay. Okay.”

“He's doing well, Buck,” Eddie reassured him. “We're all right here with him. He won't shut up about you, like always.”

Tommy smiled. He hoped Evan did as well.

“Feeling's mutual,” Buck replied. His voice was softer now. Tommy knew the words were meant to keep him focused and thinking positively.

It worked.

“Need you t- to be safe.”

“I will, Baby. I'll drive safe and I'll be at the hospital as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay. L- Love you.”

“I love you, too. So damn much, T- Tommy.”

Tommy wasn't sure who hung up first, but he could tell by the way Evan's voice wavered at the end that he was probably close to falling apart.

“Thank you,” Tommy said as Eddie put his phone back into his pocket.

“Whatever you need, Bud, I'm here.”

“Just... Just keep ho- holding my hand.”

Eddie nodded, squeezed a little tighter. “I can do that.”

[lostbookmark]

Read the original story here

Summary: You thought planning your wedding was going to be a magical memory. You didn't realize that it might make you second guess everything. 

Pairing: Fiancée Yoongi x Insecure F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Smut, Hurt-Comfort

Warnings: Explicit Sex, Toxic Family Dynamics, Arguments,  Sex Toys, Self Doubt, Over Thinking, Yoongi Overworking Himself,

A/N : Here is a super small teaser for Whispered Vows. I'm hoping in about 2 weeks or so, I'll feel comfortable enough to start posting. Enjoy!

Entering the code to Yoongi's studio, you watch him as he sits at his desk with big headphones draped over his ears. His head was bobbing up and down to music that he was working on, and the clicking sound of his keyboard filled the quiet room. Closing the door, you walk over to him and gently place your hands on his shoulders, massaging them slowly. He groans, and his head falls forward in pleasure. You can feel his stiff shoulders start to relax under your touch. Sighing, he reaches around the back of his chair and pulls you into his lap. Yoongi takes off his headphones, tosses them gently on his desk, and gives you a quick kiss before resting his head on your shoulder. You run your hands through his dark hair, trying to comfort yourself from the stress of the day.

“How was lunch?” he asked, pulling his head away from you to look you in the eyes.

“There was no lunch. There were, however, five different wedding venues,” you tell him, and he furrowed his eyebrows, looking at you questioningly.

“What? I thought you told your mom to stop that,” he said, eyes drifted back to his screen. His slim fingers go back to clicking away on his mouse.

“I did, but you know that she won't listen,” you say, pulling on the black strings of his hoodie. You twist them tightly around one another and let go just to have them unravel. “One of them held 300 people and cost about 20 thousand dollars.”

“Excuse me?” he says, looking at you with wide eyes. You fully have his attention now. “20,000, 300? Who needs 300 people at a wedding? We are not spending 20k on a venue. A beautiful dress that I get to rip off you at the end of the night…sure.... but not the venue.”

You roll your eyes at him and shove him with your shoulder lightly with a small smile on your face. “Yeah I know, but supposedly it's going to be an extravagant event with a lot of important people. With you being all rich and famous….I have to impress people. I was told we need the best champagne, chandeliers, fondues, and the perfect sunset,” you explain.

“Rich and famous,” he said with a laugh. “That’s just stupid. Unless....is that what you want?” He asks you, eyes flicker between you and the screen .

“Of course not. What do you want?” You counter as your fingers continue to twist the strings of his hoodie.

“I want what you want,” he said distractedly, not even looking at you this time. His fingers continued to click away at his mouse. His focus was back on the crowded screen, which was his computer monitor as he watched colorful waves move across the screen.

Yoongi has been busy. Maybe that's why you haven't set a date or had any details figured out yet. He's been pulling long nights in the studio just to come home a couple of nights a week to sleep for a few hours and shower. He was usually gone by the time you woke up on those nights. The last thing that you wanted to do was bother him with questions about your future wedding. You didn't think centerpieces were high on his priority list right now. He promised you that this was only temporary, but honestly, you're not sure. Several artists that they have signed are growing in popularity, and the demand for songs are coming in strong. He's tired. You can see it in his face, and you can't see this stopping anytime soon.

[ahmedgaza-27-pro]

⚠️This is my second account after my first account was deleted💔😔

Ahmed and Aya's wedding will not take place due to the war 💔💍

I am Ahmed, 27 years old, an architect from Gaza, and this is my story:

I finished my university studies in 2018, and then moved between several engineering offices, working on a "job for experience" system, meaning without a salary. Unemployment was sweeping the Gaza Strip at that moment, and I lost hope of working in my field, so I went to work as a salesman in a grocery store. I continued working like this for several years, and I was saving money so that I could get married and build a family full of love and happiness.

In 6th August 2023, after I had chosen my life partner Aya, we got engaged. We pledged on the Qur'an of the heart to nurture the flower of love between us, so we drew suns and moons for our days, and we promised to stay together until death.

This picture is from the day of my engagement to Aya 💍😔

I gathered shekels upon shekels, I stuck stones next to stones, and raised the thresholds, keys of music that exuded melody, I extended water to it from the springs of the heart, and I extended the connections of electricity and light, I furnished it until the house that would contain us with its roses and immerse us in its warmth began to come together, the house that would be the safety of our family in the future grows from the depths of the impossible and emerges from the carvings of suffering and the rock of misery.

And here is the ship of life settling and docking on what we loved and hoped for. I love, study, and work. We choose the paint colors and sofa fabrics. We set our wedding day as February 4, 2024, which is my birthday. We choose our wedding hall, and our days pass in peace and tranquility.

We did not know that fate was hiding its resurrection behind our doors and under our pillows, and that between the blink of an eye and the closing of it, the disaster would occur, the world would be turned upside down, and destruction would cover the face of the universe. We had left our home on the first day of the war and departed without knowing that it was the last time we would see our home before it turned to dust.

On the morning of 12th October 2023 , the crows of the sky, the occupation aircraft of the F-16 type, flew to throw the fires of their hatred with more than one war missile at our five-story house on both sides, after which the house turned into crumbs of rubble, wiping out all the memories of childhood and the details of life and the years we spent. They bombed a house that carries within it all kinds of joy and stories of success and challenges of building stone upon stone.

Now, I displaced in Deir al-Balah. I live in a tent inside an UNRWA school located on the beach of Deir al-Balah.

I created this campaign in February 2024 to collect some money so that I can provide detergents,  water and food for my family, and I can mebuild my life, marry Aya, build a new home with a happy couple, and hold a wedding party other than the one we cancelled.

In the name of humanity and universal brotherhood, I hope you will help me get out of the depths of despair and save my future, which is almost lost if it were not for my hope in you to extend a helping hand to everyone who calls for your help, so that their hopes may be revived that goodness in the world will not be cut off, no matter how thick the clouds of evil are.

Please donate if you can!Support, participate strongly

NOTICE 📢:This is my second account after my first account was closed by Tumblr and my first account has been verified by @90-ghost here.

@mazzikah @90-ghost @bixlasagna @anetteslife @mangocheesecakes @sayruq @timetravellingkitty

@deathlonging @briarhips @mahoushojoe @sar-soor

@rhubarbspring @schoolhater @pcktknife @transmutationisms @sawasawako @aristotels @komsomolka @neptunerings @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @heritageposts @watermotif @stuckinapril @mavigator @lacecap @determinate-negation @deepspaceboytoy @paper-mario-wiki @kibumkim @neechees @socalgal @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sayruq @himejoshikaeya @rooh-afza

[randombush3]

LABOR OMNIA VINCIT

A blurb

I did this quickly for funsies

Ignore any incoherence x

[…]

New York.

You don’t have many things to say about New York, hardly remembering the memories you have here — as per the nature of such memories — and almost glad you don’t.

It’s not the cleanest of cities and is far worse than the sentimental streets of London (gritty as they may be), and it is a thief. A big, bad villain. Stupid city.

Elena goes to Juilliard.

It’s too far from her home, which she says she likes. Being far from home and enjoying it is a strange concept to you and Alexia. She is alone and unaware of the dangers that lie outside the poky flat she insists on ‘roughing it’ in. The thought of gentle, sweet Elena — who is late to realise that her mothers will always know best — taking on something so far away with only a year of adulthood under her belt makes you nauseous.

You swallow your distaste for the city and bring home to her.

Alexia is pointedly checking her watch when you waltz into the recital hall. There’s an empty seat beside her, which she had saved on instinct (you were never going to be on time), and a bouquet of flowers at her feet. She looks nicer than usual, which you tell her.

“Stylist,” she says, uninterested in the compliment. Her eyes are shameless as they rake over your neatly clasped hands. “Where is your bracelet?”

“I left it with my other family.”

She frowns.

“It’s in my suitcase. I thought I’d keep it safe in case Elena takes us clubbing tonight.”

“We have flights in the morning.” It’s a kind way of stamping on your attempt to stay relevant. Your fans now claim to have been ‘born in the wrong era’.

“I’m on a charter,” you tell her smugly, adjusting your hands so that they fall at yours sides, one landing further than the other. Thighs still muscular despite her retirement, they tense under the light brush of your fingers.

A round of applause echoes as the audience prepare themselves to judge a young girl with known talent coarsing through her veins.

Your family attracts clapping — craves it, probably. Nico has just won another trophy for his team, continuously proving himself as the best football coach in the world. (A world in which Alexia Putellas does not exist, claims Alexia Putellas.)

Elena is focused as she walks onto the stage.

Alexia’s hand finds yours, grasping it tightly. The band of her wedding ring digs into your fingers.

You smile at the thought, amused.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi!!! Do you have any fics where aziraphale is famous and crowley's just a "nobody"? preferably without explicit scenes, please :)) thank you so so much <3<3

Hello! We have a #famous aziraphale tag. Here are some fics in which Aziraphale is famous and Crowley is not. I could only find a couple of non-explicit fics, I'm afraid, but I'm pretty sure the smut is minimal/skippable in most of these...

First Thing In The Morning by FeralTuxedo (E)

Aziraphale Fell, erstwhile nerd, now successful fantasy author, is signing books at this year’s Heaven and Earth convention when he spots a red-headed man in the crowd. Someone he hasn’t quite been able to forget since his school days. And as luck would have it, Anthony Crowley, former troublemaker, now responsible adult, seems keen to reconnect.

Pride Month and Prejudice by TawnyOwl95 (E)

They say that you should never meet your celebrity crush. Especially when you know what an absolute bastard he is. So, of course, Anthony J. Crowley's participation in a queer adaptation of Pride and Prejudice for Pride Month has nothing to do with the involvement of A-lister A.Z. Fell. Crowley is only doing it so he has some gossip for his column. He didn't mean to get cast as Lizzy Bennet, he certainly didn't mean to be acting opposite Fell's Mr Darcy. And to make matters worse, Fell keeps staring at him...

Veni Vino Vegas (I Came, I Got Drunk, I Got Married) by A_N_D (T)

After a whirlwind drunken evening, author Az Fell came home from Rom-Con without his heirloom pinkie ring – but with a wedding license from a 24-hour Las Vegas chapel. Elsewhere, book fan Tony Crowley woke up with a hangover, vague memories, and a brand new ring he’s only seen in author photos. Mutually attracted, mutually terrified the other one thinks it was all a regrettable mistake, they turn to their dear but anonymous online friend to vent and ask for advice. …Maybe they should tell each other their screennames someday.

and now all of my garden is grown in lavender by ilikeblue (E)

Popular queer romance author, A.Z. Fell, has been lying about having a husband and a happy marriage for years. Longing to escape a string of failed relationships and looking for a fresh start, Aziraphale moves into the cottage left to him by his Great Aunt Agnes. When a TV adaptation of one of his books leads to sudden popularity and throws him into the limelight, his fans (and the press) are eager to catch a glimpse of Aziraphale's own mysterious leading man. Unfortunately, he still has to cast someone for that role. Enter the handsome gardener… Under Crowley's meticulous care the cottage's neglected garden slowly comes back to life, and Aziraphale finds himself writing the most important love story he'll ever write: his own

Once upon a time by elf_on_the_shelf (E)

‘Hello, my dear.’ Crowley bit his lip for a couple of seconds before he took a deep breath and just went with it. ‘Would you like to go for a coffee sometime?’ There was silence at the other end. Oh shit. ‘That was my friend messing around with my phone…?’ ‘You do realise that only works over text.’ ‘Myeah.’ Why was he like this? He had wanted to kill Bea for doing the same thing and yet here he was, doing the thing. At Bea’s behest, mind you. ‘I would love to go for coffee. Oh, and cake!’ Aziraphale is a very rich and successful writer. Crowley is at the worst possible moment of his life - living off Bee's couch and posting his mum's fairy tales on some random sites only to be ignored by everyone except one random person simply called A. This is a story about how both of our main protagonists get over the ghosts of their pasts, learn to work together and maybe - just maybe - fall in love in the process. Not to mention that all of the characters that we love (hate - looking at you, Gabe) make an appearance.

The Infernal Bodyguard by Santillatron (M)

Alistair Zira Fell is a popular author. Loved by everyone he meets. Well, almost everyone. Someone is trying to hurt him, and right now, he needs a bodyguard. Anthony J. Crowley is the best, although he doesn't work with celebrities. He has three rules. He never gets too close, never stays once the job is done, and Never Gets Involved. But this isn't a thriller. This, is a love story.

- Mod D

[novaursa]

The Fire That Was Promised

- Summary: You burn down King’s Landing in an act of revenge before flying to Shadowlands.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen (one-sided)

- Note: This short story is one of the possible endings to The Broken Crown series, where Y/N takes revenge against her brother.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana @sunset18rose

The wind tears at your hair as Tesaerix’s powerful wings slice through the air, carrying you higher and farther from the place that no longer feels like home. The dark expanse of the Narrow Sea stretches below you, a boundless void that mirrors the one gnawing at your heart. You should be bound for Winterfell, not Essos, wrapped in the furs of the North and preparing to wed Torrhen Stark. Instead, you’re flying away from everything you thought you’d ever wanted. Everything that should have been yours.

Your thoughts twist and turn, darker than the night sky around you. Aegon had taken everything from you. He had called off your betrothal with a cold, ruthless command, casting aside the promise of a life and family that had been within your grasp. Your role as his sister-wife, his conquest, had been his choice, not yours. You were the youngest, the last to be claimed by his insatiable hunger for power—and perhaps something more.

Anger thrums through you, a living thing, and you feel it course through Tesaerix as well. Your bond is deep, your emotions shared. The mighty dragon's blood-red eyes flicker with the same rage that seethes in your veins. You grit your teeth, clutching the reins tighter. The sky blurs as hot tears sting your eyes. Tears of frustration, of loss, of betrayal. You’re fleeing, yes, but there’s no solace to be found in running.

You’ve flown long enough.

Without a word, you guide Tesaerix in a sharp, spiraling turn, your heart hammering as you abandon your course to Essos. The golden dragon roars in response, a sound of confusion, anger—and something else. As if she, too, senses the burning desire that has ignited within you. Revenge.

King’s Landing looms on the horizon, a sprawling city bathed in the eerie glow of the moon. The sight of it fuels your wrath. The seat of your brother’s power, the very heart of his kingdom—and your prison. The memory of Aegon’s face, impassive and unyielding as he broke your betrothal, flashes before you. He had not cared for your happiness, for your wishes. He had seen only what was his to take, to control.

“Dracarys,” you whisper, your voice trembling with fury and resolve.

Tesaerix responds instantly, diving down toward the city like an arrow loosed from a bow. Her massive form eclipses the moon as she descends, her wings unfurling in a terrifying display of strength. You can feel the heat building in her chest, the deep rumble that precedes a dragon’s breath of fire.

The first burst of flame hits the Flea Bottom, a rush of golden fire that spreads like a wave over the ramshackle buildings. Screams rise up from below, a cacophony of panic and pain. You feel no remorse, no hesitation. Aegon took your future; now you’ll take his city.

The Great Sept crumbles beneath the onslaught of dragonfire, the stained glass windows shattering in a shower of molten shards. The bells ring out, a desperate, mournful sound that echoes through the dying city. Tesaerix roars, her own fury mingling with yours, and you feel the bond between you surge, unbreakable, forged in this moment of wrath and ruin.

You leave only the Aegonfort untouched, a twisted gift to your brother, the conqueror who took and took until there was nothing left of you but a vessel for his ambitions. Let him rule over the ashes of his realm, let him see what his greed has wrought.

As the city burns, you turn Tesaerix’s head towards the east. You cast one last glance at the inferno below, the flames painting the sky with a hellish glow. It is done. You have nothing left here but ghosts and memories, and you refuse to be haunted any longer.

With a sharp command, you urge Tesaerix onward, her powerful wings carrying you away from the smoking ruin of King’s Landing. The air is heavy with the scent of destruction, the cries of the dying fading into the distance as you climb higher, breaking through the veil of smoke and cloud.

You imagine Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya scrambling in confusion, rushing to their dragons. But you are already beyond their reach, the skies your domain, your dragon faster and fiercer than they could ever hope to match. By the time they take to the air, King’s Landing is a smoldering ruin, the night sky painted with the orange glow of the burning city.

And you do not look back again. You set your sights on the Shadowlands, on the mysteries and dangers that await you beyond the known world. You are no longer Aegon’s sister, no longer the bride denied. You are the dragon unleashed, and the world will remember this night as the first of many that you will carve your own fate into the very bones of history.

You leave the Aegonfort standing alone, a silent monument in a city of the dead, for him to find in the cold light of dawn. Let him see the ruin you have wrought, the empire of ash he has earned.

[seireitonin]

Heyy :) hope you're doing okay!

Can i request headcannons for how Toby would proppose his gf? If he would even do it :)

I jst luv him so much

We all love Toby :3

How Toby would propose to his gf

I feel like he’d ask to take a walk through the woods

Little do you know he set up a beautiful picnic dinner with fairy lights and your favorite foods.

Originally he wanted candles everywhere but EJ advised against it “you’re gonna start a forest fire and kill the both of you.”

So yeah….pretty lights instead

He also has a playlist of your favorite songs playing there

Everything was done with you in mind

The flowers around are your favorite flowers, the blanket is your favorite color

As he walks with you he talks to you about some of his favorite memories with you

“Hey remember the time…..”

Your relationship wasn’t always perfect

Toby’s disorders does make it hard

Especially with his lack of empathy for most things

But for you?

He re learned it for you and re learned genuine care for you

And you were patient with him through it all

Which is why he’s so sure that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you

No one but his mom and sister were this caring about him

And he can barely remember them some days

He wants what’s right in front of him

When you get there he covers your eyes, taking one last look at everything making sure it’s perfect

“1,2,3!”

Toby uncovered your eyes so you can see the scene he made for you

It’s beautiful

He leads you to the middle of the blanket and gets on one knee

That proves how much he cares about you

He won’t do that for anyone but Slenderman, he doesn’t like being beneath anyone, physically otherwise

“My life has been shit. But if it leads to you, I’d do it two times over. I can’t promise I’ll be perfect all the time, but you make me want to try. So can I spend the rest of my life trying with you?”

He holds out a ring with your birthstone on it

The way he got it was probably very illegal, but you ignore that

“Yes, Toby!”

He slides the ring on your finger and hugs you spinning you around

You both sit and enjoy the dinner he set up, dancing and singing to the music playlists he set up and talking about wedding plans

At the end of the night when you’re both ready to go back home he takes his one of his hatchets and carves your names in a heart on the biggest tree

“Ready to go Mrs. Rodgers?”

“Mhm!”

Being with Toby isn’t always easy, but he will always make it worth it in the end

[girliism]

a continuation of this

you and patrick orbited around each other that following week. you refused to speak to him. you felt humiliated, having to see her, interact with her, and with your new found realization you wondered how had you not seen it before? the less than platonic touches that lingered too long, how patrick seemed to hang onto her every word. the tension between the two of you was suffocating and impossible to ignore. “practice might run late tonight.” your friend eyed the both you. “ok.” you answered dryly. patrick placed a hesitant and awkward kiss on your head before leaving. your friend cleared her throat. “so, what’s going on with you two.” you looked at her. “what do you mean.” you knew what she meant. “nothing just you guys seem weird.” she shrugged. but you couldn’t avoid him forever, i mean you guys lived in the same house. “couldn’t sleep?” you were standing at the counter when patrick walked into the kitchen. you shook your head. “never realized how big our bed is.” patrick has sleeping in the guest bed. the tall brunette came to stand next to you. “don’t you think we should talk.” you sighed and looked up at him. “i’m tired, patrick.” you grabbed the tea you were brewing, going to make your way back upstairs before his voice stopped you. “are you gonna leave me?” his question rattled around in your head. would you? over something he said ment nothing. except sex always ment something.

“that depends entirely on you.” you mumble. “what?” turn to face him. “i see the you look at her patrick.” he huffed. “and don’t tell me it doesn’t mean anything because it does.” patrick ran his hand through his hair. “when can we let this go? it was mistake that i am forever sorry about, but you can’t keep punishing me.” he defended himself. you let out a breathy laugh. “you went out of your way to have sex with her patrick, that doesn’t sound like a “mistake” to me.” patrick rubbed his hands over his face, throwing his head back. “well it was.” his words muffled by his hands over his face. why couldn’t you just believe him. “are you in love with her?” patrick just looked at you. was he? or was this merely a crush, some sort of fleeting infatuation for his past lover. “you are my wife.” you closed your eyes ignoring how he ignored the question. “am i? because it’s like i have to beg for your attention, while she could call you and you’re out the door.” you said, tears building up, patrick walked up to you placing his hands on your shoulders. “i wanna make this work, i wanna put this behind us. please.”

so you guys made it work. patrick gave himself boundaries when it came to tashi, no more late night practices or business dinners alone. he spent more time with you, taking you on dates more which felt awkward at first having to start over. there was even a redo on family pizza night which the kids loved, though it brought back bittersweet memories for you. “dad, look i made a tennis ball pizza.” your son laughed. with patrick’s final season starting soon he was gonna be on the road, alone, with tashi. “patrick?” you whispered. it was the middle of the night but you couldn’t sleep, you kept rolling around your wedding ring, the piece of jewelry that once felt like a second skin now sometimes felt heavy. “hm.” he hummed. “will i be able to trust you on tour?” patrick rolled to lie on his back, placing his hand in yours. “of course.” you let out a deep sigh, squeezing lightly at his hand

patrick ended winning the us opening he had previously lost, announcing his retirement from tennis thanking both you and tashi for getting him here.

( i think reader staying with patrick and them working it out was the more realistic approach.)

[eyelambspider]

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐫 || 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : While Price catches himself staring at you again, a particular memory of his 'would-be-wedding day' pops into his head. What a horrible fucking day that was. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1.1k 𝐚/𝐧 : don't cheat kids bc i will find you + would y'all consider this price x reader? 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : mentions of cheating/adultery, angst, fluff at the end(?)

𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄. In fact, he despised it once. A long fucking time ago.

The thought elicits a soft chuckle from the Captain, who was propped up on a green crate, watching through a huff of smoke as you fiddled with a gun in your lap.

Oh, that's right, he remembers then, tapping the ash from the end of his smoke. Anna, hated him smoking.

"John! Fucking put that shit out," she scolded, swatting furiously at the Marlboro Red in his hand.

She was a pretty thing. Young and dumb, maybe a bit too immature at the time... then again, he was too.

Twenty-one years stupid and on the cusp of marrying the 'love of his life'.

"Sorry love, nerves-"

"Its our wedding day," she sighed, eating up the rest of the words he had in his mouth. "Can you just quit it for a day?" she pouted, her red lip jutting out cutely.

John smiled, his brown eyes skirting over the shape of her frown. She was beautiful. And gods willing, in a few hours she'd be Mrs. Anna Price.

He flicked the cigarette away, blowing the rest of the smoke away from his brides face, unable to stop the smile that cracked over his handsome face.

"What?" She asked him, suddenly softening under that adoring look in his eyes.

He shook his head, gently cupping her thin hands in his. The tip of his thumb running over the diamond engagement ring on her left hand. Studded, sparkly and new. "You just- You look amazing love," he admitted, unable to tear his soft gaze from her blushing face.

Anna laughed, her head craning back a little. Red lipstick against her sparkling teeth, hazel eyes crinkled softly. He knew he loved her, he trusted it better than any god that would wed them. He loved her.

"Baby," she started, the smile still lingering on her face until it fell altogether from her complexion.

He waited for what she had to say, watching as her eyes flickered down to his chest before she squeezed his hands back. "I forgot the rings at home," she admitted quietly, suddenly unable to look at him.

There was plenty of time until the ceremony.

"I'll go get them," he stated, leaning forward to plant a kiss on her before her hand came up. Cold against his lips and pushed him away.

"It's bad luck to kiss me before the wedding," she said sheepishly, and he sighed, the pang in his chest as insignificant as forgetting the rings.

"It's also bad luck to see you in your wedding dress," he chuckled, a sound like the richest whiskeys, pulling her close by her small waist. The silk fabric of her white dress like the heavens against his skin.

She laughed too, swatting him away with a playful laugh, throwing her head back a bit like she always did.

The rings weren't a problem.

He drove the ten minutes through little traffic, a fine Tuesday where no one would bother them or their ceremony much. They had the only people that mattered there, a handful of friends to bear witness to the occasion. Mostly from Anna's side. Price, he had her, and it was enough.

He pulled out another Marlboro while he drove, rolling the window down and letting the noon sun bore down on him. The smoke fading into the breeze.

The rings were in plain sight, just on the kitchen table, and back he went to the chapel. The rings, gold and silver, stuffed into his chest pocket with the pack of reds.

Everyone was outside for a moment, chatting and glancing at him as he walked by, smiling friendly enough to the man who would marry their beloved friend. Congratulations, chatter and a few pats on the back. "A bachelor still before the vows were spoken," they teased.

"Gotta go find my wife," he assured with a charismatic smile. A fine man. Upstanding, hard-working, and full of life. Working towards his military career not only for him, but the family he hoped to start one day.

And this felt like the first step towards all that.

He headed inside the large wooden doors of the chapel. An old stone one, refurbished inside, but still had those stained glass windows Anna liked.

The son of Christ and Mary looking down in their holy light, filtering a kaleidoscope of soft color onto the wooden pews and altar.

In a few moments, less than an hour he imagined, he'd be standing up there with her, promising forever.

Then, a hushed whisper caught his ear. A sound he could never forget, even all these years later. Louder in his dreams than bombshells and firefights.

His feet carried him towards the sound, a tucked away room for a choir, the door slightly ajar.

In an instant, his suit felt like lead on his body. The rings burning a hole into his chest as the sight played before him in slow motion.

Her dress hiked up above her milky thighs, the hands of another man caressing all that he could feel. Her neck exposed for him in the heat of the moment, his lips on her pulse, careful not to suck a mark onto her perfection. His beautiful wife heaved softly in his hands, pressed passionately against the wall, her red lipstick smeared all over his face...

Price audibly grumbled to himself, the memory striking a decaying nerve in him, and it caught your attention.

The Captain seemed... grumpy.

"Price," you called out, putting your gun down for a moment, not receiving a response.

You watched as his jaw clenched, a vein more apparent by his temple, under his cap. For a moment, it worried you to watch him stare at the ground with those hard eyes of his. Probably lost in his head again.

"Price," you stretched his name out, trying to gain his attention to no avail. It was then that you decided to softly discard your gun and walk over.

Wherever he was. He was in deep.

"Captain."

The combination of you 'suddenly' standing in front of him and addressing him finally does it. His attention snapped towards you in a fierce scowl. On the verge of lashing out before his cigar burns out against his hand. The long forgotten smoke kissing his skin with a searing heat.

"For fucks sake!" he shouts, hand recoiling. The ash from his cigar flittering to the ground like flower petals.

[vintageshanny]

Officer Presley and the Librarian - Part 13 - Take My Hand

Content: The big day has arrived! Mostly just a lot of fluff and smut, ideal if you’re looking for a “feel-good” read, 18+

Catch up here: Officer Presley and the Librarian

“Baby, I know exactly what I should wear for the wedding!” Elvis came striding out of the closet with a pleased look on his face. He was still wearing his silky pajamas but was confidently holding up the leather suit with the lace-up pants that had you so…riled up in Las Vegas.

“You, you can’t wear that for our wedding,” you stammered, a flush spreading across your cheeks.

“Why not honey? I-I thought ya liked it?” A playful grin tugged up one side of Elvis’ mouth.

“I do.” Your eyes wandered over the suit as memories came flooding back. “Elvis!” you exclaimed, trying to stifle a laugh, your eyes catching a particular detail. “You left an…indentation in the pants!”

“Where?” Elvis turned the suit toward himself to see what you were giggling at, and a broad grin lit up his face at the way the fabric around the crotch was stretched and rippled. “Naw baby, that wasn’t me, that was your fault! Pullin’ at those laces with your teeth, makin’ me all hard inside that tight leather.” Elvis’ voice trailed off as he let the suit slip down to the floor from his grasp so he could pull you in close and bury his face in your neck.

“Mm-hmm, see, that’s why you can’t wear that.” You did your best not to moan at the feel of him licking and nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck. “You’re gonna have me thinking all sorts of things.”

“Oh yeah?” You could feel Elvis’ smile against your skin. “What thoughts are those, baby?”

“You know,” you whispered, your face flushing. Despite all the intimate, vulnerable things you’d done together, you still felt embarrassed to say some things out loud.

“I don’t know, honey. Ya gotta tell me,” he teased, his hands roaming over your body as he continued his affectionate assault on your neck.

“I’d be thinking about, um, kissing you,” you nervously squeaked, feeling silly that the words you really wanted to say wouldn’t come out.

“Kissin’ me, huh? Like this?” Elvis’ mouth traced up your neck and across your cheek, landing squarely on your lips, his tongue gently pushing its way in. As he pulled back and looked at the blissful expression on your face, his soft lips, slightly parted, curved up into that crooked little grin that always made your heart skip a beat. “A big wet kiss like that, is that what you’d be thinkin’ ‘bout?”

“Yes, a big wet kiss, but down here.” Your hand trailed down his chest and landed on the real cause of the warped leather pants, your fingers massaging him softly through his pajama pants.

Elvis tilted his head back and let out a low groan, a little shiver running through his body. “Would ya be havin’ any other thoughts?”

“Mm-hmm. Lots of other thoughts. Like kissing and licking every single part of you. Every single part,” you repeated as you slipped your hand inside his pants and caressed his balls. He jerked forward a little bit, almost falling into you as you wrapped your hand around his warm package, delighted to feel it growing firmer in your hand. “And I’d be thinking about how good it feels when I take all of you into my mouth. Thinking about how sweet you taste when I satisfy you.” Now that you’d started, the words wouldn’t stop coming. “How badly I want you inside me, letting me know that I belong to you.”

“Goddamn honey, that sounds so good,” Elvis moaned, letting you push him back toward the bed.

“It seems like he doesn’t wanna wait until our wedding night after all,” you observed, pulling Elvis’ pants down, exposing his hard, throbbing dick, sticky precum gathered at the tip, just waiting to be tasted.

Elvis let out a breathy laugh through his panting and looked down at you sinking to your knees. “All that sweet talk made him all excited, baby. He needs ya right now, he needs ya real bad. Please give him some kisses, honey.”

Elvis leaned back against the bed as you pressed little kisses all over him before welcoming him into your warm mouth. His moans filled the air as you gave him all the love and attention he’d been needing. You looked up into the ecstasy on his face as you tasted him and knew all you wanted for the rest of your life was to make him feel loved.

You gave him one more kiss as he softened under your tender gaze and whispered “You can go back in your blanket and rest now.”

“Wh-wh-why do ya sometimes comment on his blanket?” Elvis asked, blushing a little bit as he pulled his pants up and lay back on the bed.

You curled up beside him and carefully considered how to respond. “Because I love it. I love that he has a warm blanket to stay in when he’s resting. And I love how it feels when it moves up and down, especially inside of me.” You could feel your face heating up at the thought. Truthfully, you sensed that Elvis was sometimes self-conscious about the blanket. You didn’t really know how common it was, but your ex-boyfriend did not have one.

“Ya really love it?” Elvis sounded surprised and a little doubtful. “Ya don't, uh, w-w-wish that it looked different? That’s a first,” he added under his breath, making your heart break a little that anyone would have made him feel bad about it.

“Of course I love it. I wouldn’t change a thing. And not just about, y’know, Little Elvis. I wouldn’t change a thing about you at all. Every part of you makes up this beautiful man that I fell in love with, that I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Elvis smiled and turned his head away, but not before you saw the tears welling up. He quickly defaulted to humor to change the subject. “Well, I guess that suit is out, if it’s gonna lead to ya pullin’ my pants down at the altar,” he laughed. “So what should I wear instead?”

“I always liked how you looked in that white suit from your TV special. Y’know, when you sang ‘If I Can Dream.’” You hummed a few bars of the song and smiled.

“Oh ya watched that?” Elvis asked with surprise.

“Of course! I watched it and thought, ‘If only that handsome man in the white suit would pull me over on my way home from work.’”

“Real funny, sweetheart!” You giggled as Elvis tickled your sides.

“It really was an incredible performance, though.” You let your hand rest on his chest and toy with the wisps of hair coming out of his pajama top.

“Thank ya, honey. I felt nervous ‘bout it. It was such an emotional song.”

“That’s what was so beautiful. There’s this thing that happens to you when you’re performing. I saw it at your shows in Las Vegas, too. Something comes over you, and it’s like you're completely lost in the passion of the performance. It’s really magical to watch.”

Elvis leaned over and kissed your forehead. “I’m an emotional man, I guess. I hope ya don’t mind it.”

“Just one of many things I love about you.” You wrapped your arms around him tighter, basking in his warmth.

*************************************************

“Which dress do you like better?” Lisa had arrived in town in the early afternoon, and the three of you were now looking through racks of wedding dresses at a bridal shop. Luckily, Lisa had taken a liking to you when you met over the summer, but you still felt oddly nervous about having the approval of a six-year-old.

Lisa scrunched her nose up in concentration and pointed to the dress with an empire waist. “That dress will have room for the baby.” You looked at her in shock and started to sputter a response, but she continued on. “Mommy says you must be having a baby to get married so fast.”

“Tell Mommy she should mind her own goddamn business,” Elvis muttered.

“Mommy wouldn’t like me ta say goddamn,” Lisa said calmly, the oddness of this whole conversation apparently lost on her.

You cleared your throat and broached the subject carefully. “What if we did end up having a baby? Would you like a little brother or sister?”

“Brother!” Elvis called out, refusing to accept he might be wrong.

“Would he do whatever I say?” Lisa asked curiously.

“Well, maybe not whatever you say, but I’m sure he’d look up to you a lot,” you explained.

She shrugged and turned back to the dresses. “I guess it would be okay. Can I wear pink for the wedding?” You smiled and nodded, relieved that the conversation had gone much better than you anticipated.

*************************************************

“You ready, sis?” Your little brother Jimmy, dressed in a powder blue suit, looked over at you, ready to take your arm and walk you down the aisle.

Elvis had insisted that he would have someone take care of every detail of the wedding, and true to his word, the backyard at Graceland had been transformed. White chairs were set up with a red carpet laid between them leading up to a makeshift altar. You could see Elvis, looking so handsome in his white suit, waiting for you at the other end of the aisle. Lisa had already walked down with her little basket of flower petals, and there was now nothing but thirty feet standing between you and the love of your life.

“I’m ready,” you whispered.

As you made your way down the aisle and then took your place right across from Elvis, a wave of emotions hit you. It was like you were floating through space, all the sounds around you muffled and distant until you were pulled back to Earth by the pastor saying your name.

“I understand you’ve each prepared your own vows?”

You nodded and stepped closer to Elvis, grabbing his hands in yours, surprised to discover that you both were trembling with emotion as you began to speak.

“Elvis.” You cleared your throat nervously and started again. “Elvis. One of the first things I noticed about you is your hands.” There was a slight tittering in the crowd, and you realized that might sound more risque than you’d intended. You blushed and continued. “These are hands that are so giving, so generous, so strong. These hands-” Your voice started to crack with emotion. “These hands built a better life for your family. These are hands that protect and take care of everyone around you, without hesitation. They have created a world that I am so lucky to be a part of. When I put my hand in yours, I know I am safe and loved. I look forward to holding onto these hands for a lifetime.”

You saw that Elvis’ eyes were glittering with tears as you finished your vows, and he turned and addressed the crowd jokingly. “If any of y’all mention I was up here cryin’ like a baby, I’ll come after ya!”

“I didn’t see nothin’!” one of his friends called out from the back, eliciting chuckles from the crowd.

Elvis turned back to you. “Baby, I’ve never known a woman who appreciated and loved every part of me, even the parts that I try to hide. You lift me up and support me in all the ways I need. You are the answer to every prayer, and I will spend my life loving you in every way that I know how.”

When the pastor finally announced you were husband and wife, both you and Elvis had tears running down your cheeks. That didn’t stop Elvis from dipping you backward for a dramatic first kiss. He grabbed your hand as you paraded back down the aisle together, joined as one.

*************************************************

“DId you enjoy the day, baby?” Elvis asked as you snuggled in next to him in bed, feeling a little chilly in the special white lingerie he had given you.

“It was beautiful,” you whispered, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“What was your favorite part?”

“Getting to tell all of our family and friends how special you are and how much I love you. And feeling your heartbeat when we danced together.” You smiled and reached to unbutton his pajamas. “But another favorite part is about to happen.”

“What’s that, baby?”

“Having my husband make love to me.”

“Oh, I think we can make that happen.” Elvis let you pull off his shirt, and he slid his pants down and kicked them off. “Honey, you look so beautiful.” He traced his fingers over your growing abdomen and then up over your breasts, squeezing them gently before pulling the straps of your negligee down, exposing your nipples to the cool air of the bedroom. “What a sight,” he whispered before leaning down to take each breast in his mouth, sucking at your hardened nipples. His hand wandered down and slipped under the negligee and inside the front of the matching white panties. He played with your soft folds, feeling the wetness grow as you moaned out his name.

“Elvis, I need you inside of me!”

“Don’t worry baby, I’ma take care of my wife.” Elvis slid your panties down and rolled on top of you, his hardness poking your thigh before he lined himself up with your entrance. “I want this ta be so special, baby, so I’ma try ta take it slow.” He looked you in the eyes as he started to slowly push his way in, forcing you to open up and accept him inside of you. “Oh, baby, I’ve missed bein’ inside of ya like this.” You could feel yourself clenching around him, squeezing as he pushed himself all the way in, as deep as he could go.

“Oh, God, Elvis, I love you,” you called out, ecstasy overtaking your every thought.

“I love ya too, baby.” Elvis continued looking in your eyes as he rhythmically thrust into you, slowly but firmly, taking his time until the all-consuming pleasure was too much for you both to bear.

Tag list: : @be-my-ally @thatbanditqueen @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @lookingforrainbows @arrolyn1114 @powerofelvis @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love @eliseinmemphis @18lkpeters @doll-elvis @artlover8992 @richardslady121 @everythingelvispresley @raginginkedslut @msamarican @pebbles403 @i-r-i-n-a-a

[notedchampagne]

hi i want bad relationship advice. my best friend and roommate who i've been in love with for 6 years but who i thought was straight got a boyfriend (he's bi now! just not, you know. for me. which is fine and i'm dealing with it normally) recently and he's bringing him over to our apartment so i can meet him. because he thinks we would get along real well. because he likes both of us a whole lot. how do i make this situation worse and more agonizing for myself?

SIX YEARS? im sorry. i think you need to acknowledge that the time and memories you have made, and that youre continuing to make with him, counts as a form of love between you two even if you cant express all of it as you initially wished. you have to make a new place for him in your heart where hes special but unless something fanfic-wise happens (if it helps i am praying for this option?) its not going to be the Fairytale. less than 1% of people get their fairytale probably.

last notes: read the locked tomb and start relating to palamedes sextus. watch my best friends wedding. kindly note i have never experienced love much less love for men. you have my heart

[joelsrose]

Roses & Rust

Eek!! Guys this is my first ever Joel slow burn fanfic I hope you guys enjoy !! I have the next few chapters ready to post so please let me know if you want me to post them!!! Super slow burn slay .. enjoy babies xx this is not super accurate to the time jump and age in the game and show - reader is late 20s and Joel is late 40’s early 50’s!!

Summary: In a world ravaged by infection and chaos, survival is all that remains. Once a doctor with a life filled with love and promise, you've spent the last eight years fighting your way through a broken landscape, haunted by the loss of everything you once held dear. When a chance encounter with Joel Miller and Tess brings you into the Boston QZ, your journey takes a turn you never expected. As you both navigate the dangers of a post-apocalyptic world, an unexpected romance begins to bloom, fragile and uncertain, against the backdrop of survival.

Chapter 1: Thorns of Survival

Survival. That was all your life had been for the last eight years. Every step, every breath, every decision—focused solely on staying alive. You grunted as you trudged through the overgrown streets, boots caked in mud, legs heavy with exhaustion. The worn-out, hand-drawn map in your hand was a relic from a raider you’d killed days ago—maybe weeks. Time had become meaningless, lost in the blur of surviving. All you could focus on was your destination: the Boston QZ.

The city loomed ahead, a jagged silhouette against the dull, gray sky. Its once-proud buildings, now hollowed-out husks, stood like tombstones marking the death of the world you once knew. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, the chill creeping in as the wind picked up. Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of your pack digging into your shoulders, but you pushed forward, driven by the faint glimmer of hope that the QZ might offer something—anything—resembling stability.

But that was all it was now—just survival. There was a time, eight years ago, when your life had been so much more than that. You were barely 23, freshly graduated from med school, and engaged to the love of your life. Back then, your future had been bright, full of promise. You’d worked so hard, every hour spent studying, every sacrifice made, all to build a life you could be proud of. The career, the home, the family—you had it all mapped out.

And then the outbreak happened.

You hadn’t been prepared for how quickly it would all crumble. One day, you were planning a wedding, discussing where you’d go on your honeymoon. The next, the world had descended into chaos. The infection spread like wildfire, burning through cities, turning people into monsters. The man you’d planned to spend your life with—your future—was ripped away from you in a brutal instant. The infection didn’t even give you time to say goodbye. You could still hear his voice, sometimes, echoing in the back of your mind, telling you everything would be alright. But it wasn’t. It never would be again.

The ache of his loss never left you. It just dulled, becoming part of you, settling in the empty spaces where your future used to be. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the memory of his face, the way he used to make you laugh, the plans you had both dreamed of. You didn’t let yourself think about it too often—not anymore. It hurt too much. There was no room for that kind of pain in this world. It would swallow you whole if you let it.

Your hand instinctively tightened around the strap of your backpack, feeling the reassuring weight of the medical supplies inside—your last real bargaining chip. An assortment of drugs, benzos, antibiotics. Enough to trade for ration cards, enough to buy you time. You’d managed to hold onto them through every close call, every brush with the infected and the living threats alike. That was your edge, your way in.

As you approached the towering walls of the QZ, the scene before you was bleak. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their faces hard, their eyes scanning the crowd with the kind of weariness that came from years of seeing too much. People milled about, dirty, tired, hungry. You didn’t stand out. You were just one more lost soul looking for a way to survive.

A guard stepped forward, stopping you with a rifle slung across his chest. The scanner in his hand beeped to life as he raised it to your forehead. You stood still, barely breathing, until the small device let out a soft beep—green.

“Move along,” he muttered, not even sparing you a glance as he waved you through.

You stepped past the gate, feeling the weight of the city settle around you. Welcome to Boston.

•••

Your living space was barely more than a box. The apartment, if you could even call it that, was wedged in one of the many crumbling buildings in Area 4, packed with people like you—survivors, or at least, those trying to be. The building was a decaying relic of a forgotten world, its walls cracked and peeling, the floors groaning underfoot with every step, as if the weight of too many broken lives was pressing down on it.

Inside, the room was a suffocating, grim little square. A single cot was shoved against the wall, the mattress so thin it felt like you were lying on the floor itself. In one corner, a rusted sink dripped relentlessly, a slow, rhythmic reminder that time was passing—whether you wanted it to or not. Above it hung a small mirror, cracked down the center. You caught your reflection as you passed by, your braid fraying, dark circles hanging like shadows under your eyes. You barely recognized yourself anymore. That bright-eyed girl from eight years ago—freshly graduated, engaged, so full of hope—felt like a ghost haunting someone else’s life.

A small window, smudged and grimy, let in just enough gray light to remind you there was a world outside. But the view wasn’t much—just crumbling concrete and the ever-present silhouettes of soldiers patrolling below.

The few belongings you had were scattered on a makeshift shelf: an old, dog-eared Murakami novel, a half-melted candle, a crumpled photo of a past life. Everything here felt temporary, fleeting.

Under the poor excuse for a bed, you’d stashed your most valuable possession—your bag of medications and supplies. Hidden away, out of sight. In a place like this, trust was a luxury you couldn’t afford.

The Boston QZ felt like a prison. Every inch of it was crawling under the weight of control. Soldiers were everywhere—stoic, unflinching, rifles always at the ready, their eyes sweeping over the crowds with cold detachment.

You never went anywhere without feeling their gaze on you. They were always watching, waiting for someone to slip up. And when they did, the consequences were brutal. You’d seen it in your first few days—one wrong beep from a scanner, one foot out of line, and that was it. No second chances. No mercy. The executions were swift, cold, and left a weight in the air that lingered long after the bodies were gone.

Curfew was like a countdown to death. 6:00 PM to 6:00 AM. No exceptions. You’d watched as people scrambled to get indoors, their eyes darting nervously at the darkening sky, fear written in every step. No one wanted to test the military’s patience. You certainly didn’t.

For the first few weeks, you did what everyone else did—kept your head down, worked random jobs, and stayed in the shadows. The QZ was a labyrinth of desperation, everyone clawing for a foothold. The ration lines seemed to stretch forever, and the food was barely enough to keep people alive, let alone thriving.

But you quickly realized that wasn’t going to cut it. Not if you wanted more than just survival.

You spent your time observing, slipping through the cracks of the city, watching. Areas 1, 3, and 4 were heavily controlled, military checkpoints at every turn. But Area 5—that was different. It was a world unto itself, tucked away from the watchful eyes of FEDRA. The black market thrived here, an underground pulse of illicit trades and dangerous deals. People did what they had to. And you knew you’d have to do the same.

That was when you saw them.

You didn’t know their names yet, but you noticed how they moved through the market with a calm, quiet authority—like they owned it. The woman was tall, sharp-eyed, her voice low but commanding as she negotiated trades with surgical precision. She knew how to read people, how to get what she wanted without ever raising her voice.

The man was quieter, in his late 40s maybe, with a patchy beard of graying hair and hands that looked like they’d seen more than their fair share of rough work. He didn’t need to speak. His presence alone parted crowds, people stepping aside without a word, their eyes flicking nervously in his direction as if they knew better than to cross him.

You watched them for days, curiosity gnawing at you. Who were they? How had they carved out a space for themselves in this cutthroat world? They were always together, moving in sync, but their relationship was unclear. Partners? Lovers? Friends? You didn’t know—and for some reason, it bothered you that you couldn’t tell.

But one thing was certain: they weren’t just surviving. They were thriving. And if you wanted to last here, you needed to figure out how.

•••

The sun was just beginning to set, casting long shadows across the streets as the QZ slowly shifted from its harsh, daylight routine into something even darker. You stood by your window, watching the light fade, waiting for the right moment. The curfew would soon push everyone inside, and the soldiers would become more scarce. You’d been observing their patrols for days, mapping out the routes they took, the blind spots they didn’t bother covering. After all, Area 5 was its own beast, and even FEDRA seemed to know it wasn’t worth patrolling too heavily.

This wasn’t just a gamble—it was the result of days of careful planning. You had finally managed to set up your first trade, something you never would have attempted when you first arrived in the QZ. The world of smuggling and black-market dealings had been foreign to you then, a stark contrast to your life as a doctor. But now, with ration cards running low and survival becoming more desperate by the day, you had no choice but to adapt.

When the streets were finally cloaked in darkness, you grabbed the bag of benzos from under your bed. Your heart hammered in your chest as you slid the strap over your shoulder, casting a glance at the small mirror by the sink.

The alleyways were quieter now, the usual shuffle of desperate people retreating behind closed doors. The only sound was the distant hum of generators and the occasional clatter of boots on concrete. You took the path you’d memorized, the one that snaked through the backstreets where FEDRA never seemed to bother. Every step felt heavier than the last, your nerves gnawing at you. But you kept going.

The alley where the trade would go down was just ahead. Dark and narrow, it was tucked between two abandoned buildings, far from the reach of the patrols. You’d seen it used before—traders slipping in and out, never lingering too long. It seemed perfect for what you needed, but still, the unease in your stomach hadn’t left.

You arrived first, of course. You leaned against the damp brick wall, the weight of the bag heavy against your side as you waited. Your breath was shallow, hands slightly trembling as you clutched the strap tighter. You tried to shake it off. You’d seen others make trades here—dangerous deals, sure, but ones that had paid off.

But as the minutes ticked by, the unease twisted deeper.

He was late.

The alley was darker than you expected, shadows swallowing everything except the faint glow of the streetlight far at the entrance. When he finally appeared, slithering out of the shadows, his grin was wide and crooked, eyes gleaming with something you didn’t like.

“Well, if I knew my trader was such a fine young thing, I would've dressed up for the occasion,” he drawled, his voice dripping with false charm.

Your stomach twisted, regret settling in like a heavy stone. This was a mistake.

You steeled yourself, jaw tight, and handed him the bag. “I’ve got your stuff.”

His smirk deepened as he took it from you, the way his eyes lingered making your skin crawl. “Relax, darlin’. Doesn’t have to be all business,” he murmured, stepping closer, his fingers brushing your arm.

Your blood ran cold. His hand lingered too long, his body closing the space between you, and you felt panic surge. You’d faced the infected, raiders, betrayal—but men like him were something worse. They looked at you like you were nothing but an opportunity. Your heart raced, but your feet stayed frozen, rooted to the ground by fear.

And then, a voice cut through the dark.

“Let her go.”

The voice was low, steady, with a hint of an accent—something southern, but rough around the edges. It sent a chill down your spine.

The thug stiffened, his smirk fading as he glanced over your shoulder. You turned slowly, and there he was—the man you’d been watching for weeks. Tall, broad-shouldered, his eyes cold and sharp as steel. The weight of his presence was enough to make the trader in front of you hesitate.

“This isn’t your business, man,” the thug sneered, though there was a crack of fear in his voice.

The man took a step forward, his hand resting casually on the gun at his hip. “It is now.”

The tension in the air was thick, almost tangible. The thug wasn’t stupid. He knew when he was outmatched. With a frustrated growl, he tossed the bag of benzos at your feet and slunk back into the shadows.

You stood there, heart pounding, too shocked to even say thank you. The man stepped forward, his eyes flicking down at the bag before meeting yours. His gaze was piercing, and you felt like he could see right through you—like he knew exactly who you were and everything you’d been through.

“Next time,” he said quietly, his voice steady, “watch who you deal with.”

And just like that, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, as easily as he had arrived.

You stood there, shaken to your core, but with one thing clear in your mind: your world had just collided with his.

[carlos-in-glasses]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

Thank you Michelle and @bonheur-cafe for asking! ❤️

Rhythms - I'm only two chapters into posting but the whole thing is written and I do think (alongside Where All This Love Comes From), it contains some of my best writing. It's the story about how Carlos came to write his wedding vows to TK, how he used to write poetry as a closeted teen and the adventures that accidentally ensued, and how he might pursue poetry again with TK's belief in him...

Where All This Love Comes From - The most ambitious I've been with a fic. Lots of flashbacks from TK and Carlos' relationship and pre-canon, as well as 'current day' scenes to handle. I wanted to combine exploring TK's addiction with Carlos' own trauma, while staying as close to canon as possible, and it all came together as I hoped.

Fire Island - TK and Carlos go to Fire Island, where they are befriended by an older gay couple who tell them about life at the height of the AIDS crisis in 1980s NYC. I'll never forget reading this out loud to my boyfriend and both of us crying, and the feedback in which people shared their own memories of how AIDS touched their lives. It's my most meaningful fic on a whole other level. TK and Carlos do not die or get sick in this fic - I know some people were worried about that because I got anons about it, but to reassure, it does not happen.

When Soulmates Swim - An  alternative first meeting AU. TK and Carlos' relationship blooms in many pools as they both heal from workplace injuries. It's smutty, fluffy, angsty and silly. It was such a fun one to write and I desperately want to write a sequel. I have an idea! I just need the time!

Suddenly, In the Silence - This fic was a challenge because I needed to write a satisfying conclusion but also ambiguity, designed so readers decide if they think something happens or not. Based on comments, I think I pulled it off! Also, this was the first fic I wrote after finishing Where All This Love Comes From. I was panicking that I'd never write again because I was spent. So, very grateful to this fic for arriving in my brain when it did! Which was really thanks to a conversation with @thisbuildinghasfeelings - in turn showing how helpful and inspiring this community can be.

[flimsy-spine]

anon requested ⇢ madney twirls