#Is Ornament Still a Crime?

[dlyarchitecture]

[galaxywhale]

my character is connected to another character through our backstories and they’re like.. bonded, he has no choice but to stick with her bc if she dies, he dies and it’s SO much fun bc my character is a lying thief and his character is a law abiding investor and it’s been a looot of fun to ply so far :’)

[inbabylontheywept]

by tradition, the first day of the camp was spent pranking the group next to us. our prank was ziptying the zippers on their sleeping bags together. we figured one of them would sleep with a knife, because we all slept with knives, because we were dangerous maniacs and half the danger of a dangerous maniac is that they tend to think that they are Actually Normal. so. obviously that didn't pan out, and instead they got stuck in their sleeping bags for like half an hour and because their scoutmaster slept in their car and couldn't hear them yelling, they actually only got out when one of them went full caged animal and chewed through the plastic. which meant they had time to make it to the axe throwing station, but they did miss breakfast.

the scale of our victory was impossible to understate. it was an epic prank. unrivaled. the best in years. we knew they were going to retaliate, and we both feared and craved it. maybe i'm still a maniac, but that feels like a common thing, right? do well adjusted people that are not maniacs crave Judgement?

(serious answers only please, from people who would never spoon a knife.)

anyway, the next day we got back to our camp, and the neighors had skipped dinner to just come back and fill all our tents with pinecones. which was like, a decent prank, i guess, but it probably took them an hour to fill all the tents up, and it took us like 15 minutes to tip the tents out, and as a return volley to the ziptie prank it was incredibly underwhelming. we felt a little cheated.

so our scouting group held a council, and we agreed, unanimously, that our prank was 100% better and theirs sucked and that there would be no escalating tensions because we were the clear victors. they'd had their chance to retaliate, and they failed, and so the war was over. that was it.

we agreed on this. we swore. but madness is a relative thing, and in our group of maniacs, we still had J. i have many, many J stories. too many. i biked up to school with him from 4th grade to 8th, and i saw him get hit by cars thrice. he'd just swerve into the road sometimes. one time on a rainy day in 4th grade, a car splashed me, and before i could even consider my response J yelled I GOT THIS and then he blitzed off after the car. i didn't see him the rest of the day. i was so anxious i barely slept that night. i saw him the next morning and he told me that he'd chased the car until it got to a gated community and then he'd climbed over the fence and looked in peoples garages until he found the one with the car, and then he'd ripped the hood ornament off and broke their window. then he gave me a hood ornament to a different brand of car from the one that splashed me and i didnt tell him because i didnt want him missing more school. i want you to mentally adjust your mental model of the things a 9 year old is capable of doing to include chasing a car for five miles, hopping a fence, breaking into a garage, and vandalizing a randos car.

and that's just the tip of my J stories iceberg.

the point of all this is just to say that J was so crazy that he made us knife spooners look like accountanting enthusiasts.

so we agreed the war was done, and we shook on it, and then J, in the name of friendship, in the name of honor, in the name of avenging our pinecone filled tents, snuck over to their camp that evening and fornicated with a watermelon that they'd been saving in their cooler.

i want to emphasize, again, that this was not the consensus of the group. that is not a prank. like i know it seems like we dont know what pranks are because of the whole ziptie thing, but even we knew that fucking someones food is not a prank, it is a crime, and a sin, the kind of weapon that had only been ethically used once in history by Horus in his battle against Set and none of us dumb assholes had owl heads.

so.

the next day went pretty well. we threw some more axes again, which is a valuable and important skill for children to learn i guess, and we learned how to tie knots, which is a skill that turned out to be far sexier than i ever expected, and i learned how to light fires with a magnifying glass, which was great. i'm looking back at this, and i am actually just now beginning to realize that the clear and obvious point of scouting is turning child sociopaths into apex predators.

and then the day ended, and we went back to our camps, except for our leaders, who had a sort of Scout Leader Meeting they were going to have for a few hours at least. it was built into the camp, that day was supposed to be our day to chill as a group, and make peach cobbler, and just be buddies.

except, as it turned out, our neighboring group's alternative to making peach cobbler was eating their watermelon. so at some point they opened their watermelon, and woo boy. oh man. you think catholics hated seedless watermelons? you should see how much mormons hate seeded ones.

so we were chilling by the fire, and then we heard screaming from the camp over, but we didn't pay much mind to that because there are many reasonable explanations for a group of 10ish children to scream simulanteoulsy, such as wasps, which are abundant in arizona, and then the screaming got closer, which did not bother us because there were many reasons for a group 10ish children to scream and run towards us, for example, wasps, which are abundant in arizona, and then we noticed they had large sticks on them, which we figured were perhaps being used to drive away the wasps, which are abundant in arizona, and then they arrived and they started beating the shit out of us, abundantly, in arizona.

so we ran into the woods.

now, at this point, we had no idea what was up. we knew that the camp next to us was out for blood, which was crazy, because we'd actually locked them in fartproof bags for 30 minutes and they'd barely done anything back, and were trying to figure out what could possibly have happened that could drive them to Terrible Violence when we realized that J was cackling like a witch that had learned how to order children off of ebay.

so we politely asked J what the hell he had done, and he politely explained that had "done" their watermelon, and we politely beat him with large sticks because life is nothing but endless cycles of violence.

we were still being chased by the other camp btw. so it was them, chasing us, chasing J, and then they got tired and went back to their camp, and we chased J a little longer because we were mad we'd all been walloped with sticks, and J did not care because he was a supernatural entity whose only weaknesses were Needles and Fire, and then we got tired and went back and J kept running, and we just kind of figured he would come back eventually.

he did not.

we went back to our tents, and we waited, and J did not come back. we stayed up all night, peering into the forest, worrying. our leader came back, and we did our best to hide our battlewounds, and he either genuinely did not notice or simply accepted this as part of Boyhood. then he went to bed, and we waited, and waited, and waited. And Waited. and did not sleep.

eventually, we convened again, and we agreed that if J was not back by after breakfast, we would have to tell the scoutleader about what exactly had transpired. and we really did not want to do that, because it would have meant that everyone would have gotten in a very large amount of trouble.

morning came around, and J still was not back. we went to breakfast, and we ate very, very slowly. we were afraid the other camp was going to continue their war with us, but they actually looked fairly frightened. one of them actually came to us and asked for a truce, and we agreed because we truly felt bad for them. like, yes, they did beat us with sticks, but J fucked their watermelon. we werent complicit in the watermelonfuckening but they didnt know that, and it was definitely the kind of crime that left one outside the bounds of the social contract.

and then when we could eat no more bits, when breakfast was almost done, right when i was getting pushed to go and tell the scoutleader that we needed to find J, he arrived. he was sleep deprived, and noticeably scraped and bloody, and tied to his belt was a blood squirrel tail.

and i asked him, J, where did you get that? and he said, don't worry man, it was already dead, which did not answer by question and gave me several more.

the camp ended that day, and the other groups avoided us like the plague, and it was not until some weeks later that we were able to piece together what happened.

J, in his sojourn through the forest, managed to find (or, possibly, make) a dead squirrel. he then cut off the tail to keep on his belt, because he was a weird little freak like that. he also took the dead squirrel, and he skinned it, then he tied it to a little crucifix made of wood, and he left it in the other scouting group's camp. which is why they were so scared of us.

it was such an unhinged thing to do it actually sobered us up for a while. scouting became a scary thing for us. we'd found something dark and primal there, in the place where no adult could see, and our appreciation of J as a wild ride kind of changed into seeing him as something truly dangerous. we had a sense wherever he went, something terrible would follow, and the only way to escape it was to not be there when it arrived. and so piece by piece, the scout group dissolved. it wasnt until he moved out of that ward that the rest of us started daring to go back to scouts.

and for the final epilogue of the tale:

i have a little brother who was friends with a younger cousin of J's, and the two would go to parties together in highschool. and sometimes J, who was in his early 20's at that point, would show up at the parties, and it was unsettling in such a way that it just became a known risk at parties with the cousin. and at one party, they were playing truth or dare, and J wasn't even in the room, but someone asked him the Truth of how he always knew how to find the cousin, and J said the cousin's mom had mentioned she was worried about him and the parties so he'd put a tracker in his car. and when he saw that the cousin was out of the house on weekends, he'd made a visit by, just to make sure he was safe.

then he left. and every single person at that party went over that poor kid's car. they searched the wheel-wells, checked underneath it, the works, until they found the tracker. then because they were clever, they didnt break it, or throw it away, or anything that would've given away what they'd done. they just gave the tracker to the cousin, who put it in his glovebox. and on schooldays, he'd take it with him, so J could see him in the parking lot. and on weekends, he could leave it in the garage, so he could go to parties with out Hell coming with him. because everyone that met J - every single person - knew that the only way to be safe from him was to be far, far away.

[ckret2]

So y'all know the Gravity Falls production bible that leaked three weeks ago. Someone in one of my discord servers pointed this out:

And, naturally, that spawned an entire AU.

AU Concept: Ford was kicked out instead of Stan and takes a job as a trucker to makes ends meet since he couldn't go to college, while still studying the weird and anomalous however he can.

Ford driving around from quirky small town to quirky small town, drifting through the liminal spaces of truck stops, meeting odd people in isolated diners, seeing strange things out on the road—a deer with too many eyes bounding across a two-lane highway, a flirty woman at a rest stop who doesn't blink or breathe, mysterious lights in the sky at night, inhuman growls on the CB or 50-year-old broadcasts on the radio—and taking notes when he stops for gas or food.

Aside from having gotten kicked out before graduating high school, Ford's the same person he is in canon.

He's still an ambitious guy, and here "ambitious" means working hard and saving as much money as he can—so, a long haul owner-operator who spends weeks at a time on the road. (He goes through a LOT of educational audiobooks.) Plus, this is the easiest way for him to get to travel the country; and since it looks like his "travel the world" dreams with Stan are dead, he'll take what he can get.

Since he's never in the same spot long and carries his life in a truck, almost all of Ford's research is in his journal. His bag of investigation supplies has an instant camera, a portable tape recorder, a thermometer, a flashlight, rubber gloves, and a few zip lock bags—and that's about it. It has to share space with all his clothes, toiletries, and nonperishable food when he's on the road. He doesn't have much opportunity to closely examine anything odd he finds, unless he's lucky enough to run into something when he can stop for the night. He has to cram his paranormal research around the side of his full-time job.

He doesn't live in Gravity Falls, but he knows it exists. Every time he moves—to Chicago, to Nebraska, to California—he seems to inch closer. He currently lives in Portland and usually hauls loads between the Pacific Northwest and Chicago or New York. He stops at the truck stop outside Gravity Falls when he can and has gone fishing in town a few times. He doesn't have the benefit of extensive research to know that this is the weirdest town in the world; but it seems pretty weird to him, there are local rumors about the town, and he's had some weird experiences in the area.

Plus, he can't explain it, but it's like the town's calling to him. He wants to move there, but it'd put him over an hour outside of Portland where the nearest jobs are. Maybe if somebody chucked him like $100k to build a cabin in the woods; but what are the odds of that?

He does know Fiddleford. Truck broke down somewhere and Fiddleford kindly pulled over to fix it on the fly. They looked at each other, had mutual knee-jerk "dumb trucker/hillbilly" reactions, and within ten minutes both went "oh wait you're the most brilliant genius i've ever met." Fiddleford's living the same life he was in canon before Ford called him to Gravity Falls—with his family in California, trying to start a computer company out of his garage—but they make friends and keep in contact.

One time Ford stops at a kitschy roadside knickknack store that also sells new agey magic things—crystals, tarot cards, incense, etc. He bought a "lucky" rearview mirror ornament that looks like an Eye of Providence in a top hat and hung it from his cab fan, and ever since then he's had weird dreams whenever he sleeps in his truck.

Things I don't know yet: what Stan's up to; or why Ford's the one who got kicked out. I tend to believe that in canon Stan wasn't just kicked out because he ruined Ford's college prospects, but rather because the family thought he deliberately sabotaged Ford; so in this AU, Ford would've been kicked out over a proportionate crime.

[pickingupmymercedes]

London Boy - Lewis Hamilton

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

song: London boy - Taylor Swift

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: fluff and christmassy

a/n: I just had to incorporate Christmas into this, London comes alive.

wordcount: +2k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

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It started innocently enough: a quiet morning with the smell of the coffee I was sipping, my mind half-heartedly scrolling through some of yesterday’s work emails and Roscoe sprawled at my feet, living his best bulldog life.

I had a plan—a simple one really—to find the Christmas decorations buried somewhere in Lewis’s London townhouse and get a head start before I had to log on for work. Simple, right?

Wrong.

The first box I opened contained a jumble of outdoor lights that had more knots than my last relationship.

The second? A single, lonely stocking with "Lewis" stitched in glittery red thread. Roscoe, perched nearby, watched me with the kind of judgment only a dog could muster, as if to say, This isn’t going to cut it.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered, tugging at a particularly stubborn tangle in the excuse of a tinsel. “It’s not my fault your dad doesn’t know how to Christmas.”

“Please tell me there’s more,” I muttered, sifting through the pile.

Ten minutes later, I had exactly one usable string of lights and even those were iffy. Roscoe tilted his head, his expression unreadable but clearly unimpressed. “C’mom, you live part time here too, buddy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lewis’s voice floated in from the doorway, and I turned to find him leaning against the frame, still sweaty from his morning workout.

I gestured dramatically at the underwhelming collection of decorations spread across the living room. “This. Where’s the rest of it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “The rest of what?”

“Your Christmas stuff! You’re telling me this—” I held up the sad, glitter-bald stocking. “—is all you’ve got?”

“Well…” He scratched the back of his neck, clearly trying to figure out the least incriminating way to answer. “I’m not usually home in December.”

“That’s not an excuse.” I folded my arms. “Where are the ornaments? The lights? The reindeer?”

“You mean the inflatables?” he asked, his mouth twitching into a smile. “Yeah, I don’t do that.”

“You can’t be serious,” I said, holding up the tinsel like it was a crime scene. “Where’s the Target around here?”

Lewis smirked, crossing his arms. “You’re painfully American, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me for wanting to salvage your dignity,” I shot back, though I couldn’t help smiling.

“Okay, no Target,” he said, crossing the room and taking a seat beside Roscoe, who immediately shifted to rest his head on Lewis’s lap. “But if you really want to do it right, I��ll show you how Londoners do Christmas. No plastic snowmen required.”

“What have you got in mind?” I said, eyeing him suspiciously. “I need to work in a couple of hours”

He stood, dusting off his hands. “Call in sick, it’s an emergency apparently."

By the time we were ready to leave, Roscoe was snoring in his dog bed, having made it very clear he actually had no interest in braving the London chill for a day of wandering. “I’ll make it up to you later, buddy,” I promised, scratching his ears. “Extra cuddles tonight. Deal?”

He snorted but didn’t open his eyes, which I took as a yes.

“Ready?” Lewis called from the living room, where he was lounging on the sofa, scrolling through his phone.

He was wearing a black hoodie under a long coat, a beanie pulled low over his curls, and a pair of sneakers so understated they were practically anonymous. It was a far cry from his usual fashion statements, and I couldn’t help but grin.

“Look at you, blending in,” I teased, grabbing my coat.

“Laugh all you want,” he said, standing and holding out his hand. “But I’d like to get through today without anyone noticing me.”

He could’ve passed for any handsome Londoner with his toned-down attire and hands stuffed casually in his pockets. I, however, couldn’t help feeling like I had a flashing neon sign over my head reading: Not local.

We opted for the ‘tube’ over driving, partly because Lewis claimed it was faster and partly because he knew arriving in a Maybach was bound to attract attention.

But as we descended into the tube station, I noticed his posture shift slightly. He was alert, scanning the crowd with the ease of someone used to blending in but always watching for that one double-take.

“Do people ever stop you on the streets?” I asked, glancing around as we boarded the train.

“Not as often as you’d think,” he said, keeping his voice low and pulling me closer under the guise of adjusting my scarf. “Just don’t want us to get stopped.”

As the train rattled along, I found myself relaxing. A few people glanced our way, but no one seemed to recognize him—or if they did, they were polite enough not to say anything.

It was also midmorning, the kind of lull between commuter rushes where everyone seemed too distracted to care about celebrity sightings.

As the train rocked gently along the tracks, I caught Lewis studying the map on the wall, his brow furrowed like he hadn’t ever lived here.

“You lost already?” I teased, nudging him lightly.

“Not lost. Just making sure I don’t get us there too quickly. You wanted the experience, right?”

I rolled my eyes but smiled, leaning into his side as he draped an arm around my shoulders. Maybe I wouldn’t admit it out loud, but there was something comforting about being here with him, about how easy it felt to slip into this little bubble where the world didn’t exist for a while.

It was new—this whole “official couple” thing—but moments like this made it feel like it had always been.

Leadenhall Market was straight out of a storybook. The arched glass ceiling, the twinkling lights strung across shopfronts, and the faint scent of mulled wine in the air made it feel like Christmas had been bottled and poured out onto the cobblestones. It was a world away from the glossy, commercial buzz of a Target holiday aisle, and I had to admit—it was enchanting.

“I might give it to you” I said as we stepped into the main thoroughfare. “This is better than Target.”

Lewis grinned, shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “Told you. Now, for some real decorations…”

“Okay, what’s the strategy here?” I asked, holding onto his arm as we wove through the crowd. “Do we start with ornaments or lights?”

“Lights,” he said without hesitation. “You’re going to be picky about ornaments. I can already tell.”

“You’re not wrong,” I admitted. “I have a vision.”

He laughed, and I felt a warm glow in my chest.  But the first stall that caught my eyes had a mix of antique ornaments and handmade crafts and I couldn’t help but stop.

Lewis crouched down to inspect a hand-painted bauble featuring Big Ben in a snowy London scene, holding it up for me to see.

“This one?” he asked.

“Cute, but I had something else in mind” I replied, scanning the table. My eyes landed on a set of ceramic stars painted in gold and white, each with a different constellation. “Now these are something else.”

He followed my gaze, his expression softening as he picked one up. “The stars, huh?”

“Don’t get all poetic on me,” I teased, nudging his arm. “I just think they’re classy.”

“Classy works” he said, adding the set to our growing pile of treasures.

By the time we left the market, my tote bag was overflowing with ornaments, candles, and a small wreath I’d insisted on for the front door. We found a cozy café tucked into one corner of the market, where Lewis ordered me something he swore was divine

“Yule log?” I asked inspecting what looked a lot like a mini jelly roll

“Just try it, it’s a lot more chocolaty than you’re giving it credit” He quipped, watching me intently as steam curl up from the tea cup in his hand.

“I could get used to this” I admitted after the first couple of bites

He leaned back in his chair, his beanie pushed up slightly as he regarded me with a contented smile. “Markets and pastries? Or me indulging your Christmas obsession?”

“Both,” I said, lifting my latte in a mock toast.

The Southbank Centre Winter Market was our next stop, and as we strolled along the Thames, the city lights reflecting off the water, I realized how much I loved this less flashy and slower side of London.

Couples and family walked hand-in-hand, vendors called out their wares, and the air smelled of roasted chestnuts.

“This is pretty nice” I murmured, leaning into Lewis’s side.

“Even without a Target?” he teased.

“Even without a Target.”

At one stall, he insisted I had to try Hot Toddy, a hot drink that tasted a lot like something my grandma made me as a kid to soothe coughing, only a lot stronger considering the Scottish whiskey used.

We wandered past stands selling everything from handmade soaps to quirky holiday jumpers. One vendor offered personalized tree ornaments, and I couldn’t resist commissioning one with both our names on it.

“It’s our first Christmas together” I explained when Lewis raised an eyebrow.

“Officially” he corrected, his tone light but meaningful.

I smiled, squeezing his hand. “You know what I meant”

Being here with him, like this, made me realize how much we’d grown into this new version of us. It wasn’t always smooth—nothing with Lewis ever was—but that’s what made it worth it. He wasn’t just letting me into his world; he was building one with me.

The day ended a lot closer to his house in Chelsea. Hyde Park Winter Wonderland was bustling, with strings of fairy lights crisscrossing the paths, and the distant hum of carnival rides mixed with the strains of Christmas carols from a nearby stage.

Lewis hesitated as we walked through the entrance, glancing around the bustling crowd.

“You okay?” I asked, noting the slight tension in his posture.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “It’s just… busy. You know how it is.”

I nodded, understanding. Being out in public like this was a delicate balance for him—trying to enjoy the moment while always being aware of who might be watching.

But as we moved further into the park, the magic of the place seemed to ease his nerves. He pulled his hood up a bit higher, keeping his hand securely in mine as we navigated the crowd.

At one point, we stopped to watch a street performer of this Christmas carol. Lewis’s features were light and carefree, and I found myself watching him more than the act itself.

There was something about the way his face softened in the glow of the lights that made my chest ache in the best way.

“Caught you staring,” he said, catching my eye.

“Shut up,” I muttered, trying to hide my smile taking another a sip of my hot chocolate.

“Can’t blame you,” he teased, leaning down to murmur in my ear. “I’ve been told I’m irresistible.”

I rolled my eyes, but my reaction betrayed me as I leaned closer into his embrace

As we walked deeper into the park, I noticed it—the way Lewis’s shoulders relaxed, his hood slipping back just slightly, letting the lights catch the edges of his profile. This wasn’t a side of him I often saw in public, and I felt a quiet kind of privilege in witnessing it.

We ended the night at one of the quieter corners of the park, sharing a massive pretzel while perched on a bench overlooking the ice-skating rink. The laughter of skaters echoing around us.

“This was a good day,” I said softly, resting my head against his shoulder.

“I’ve spent so many late Novembers in hotels or on planes. Christmas always felt like something other people did. The decorations, the markets… it just didn’t stick. But with you here? It matters again.” he said, his voice low as he moved from watching the skaters to pressing a kiss to the side of my head, his arm wrapping around me. “Next year, I’ll even brave Target.”

“This might actually be better” I admitted softly.

Lewis chuckled, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Only ‘might’?”

“Don’t push it,” I warned, though I couldn’t help smiling.

He smirked, pulling me closer. “Told you. London knows how to do Christmas.”

And I couldn’t argue with that.

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[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Four - Hamster ball

See? The last update wasn't a fluke! :) Bit of a more easygoing chapter compared to the hecticness I've been subjecting our poor omega to. Bit more background on our girl. Give her a bit of breathing room before hopping back into more chaos.

Also: I've added a change to the reader's physicality. There's a reference to being underweight for medical reasons so I'm sorry if that takes any of you out of the experience. I try to not mess with that aspect, but I just felt it necessary given everything I put this girl through.

Trigger warnings: angst, depression, customer service, malnourishment

The dog survived.

Life had apparently decided against throwing you any more curveballs on your way back to the apartment – slushy roads and bad drivers notwithstanding (honestly, how could this many people forget what front wheel drive did on black ice and wet pavement?).

Densely populated areas gave way to suburban life as you drove the twenty minutes it took to escape the city center and arrive back into a world a little less crowded.

The area you resided in could generously be considered lower middle class. The crime rate was on the lower end of the spectrum though still a tinge too high for most members of polite society. Nothing too terribly outlandish; juvenile gang violence typical of a sizable city and the occasional asshat who decided the stuff in your car now belonged to him. But there was a police station a few blocks down the road from you that ran frequent patrols and the low level violence kept the rent at a decent affordability. 

There were less and less brownstones the further east you traveled, row house opulence giving way to multi level apartment buildings interspersed amongst a smattering of mid century moderns. Grass became a thing again, but only in long strips running parallel with the sidewalk – unless you were fortunate enough to own a modest front lawn on a small corner lot. Not that it was visible beneath the eight inches of snow that’d accumulated since it started falling late yesterday morning. 

It was only late afternoon by the time you were back in familiar territory, but this close to the impending holiday the local residents left their Christmas lights on 24/7 it seemed. Most abodes were adorned with at least humble decorations. 

Community members wrapped battery powered twinkle lights around the sparse barren elms, evergreen garland candy caning down metal street lamps, interlaced tinsel glimmering from passing headlights. Cheap vinyl stickers of cartoon snowmen and Santa's little helpers splattered across glass windows and sliding balcony doors in haphazard childish fashion. Mesh reindeer lawn ornaments and creepy animatronic statues recreating Saint Nick’s undertaking in kaleidoscopic – if not positively garish – displays. 

Muddied coir welcome mats proclaiming ‘Blessed Yule!’. A giant inflatable dinosaur taking up way too much space and spinning an oversized dreidel. You even gave props to the guy with a grinch head popping out the top of his chimney, smirking deviously at the passersby down below as if they were in on the secret. 

All walks of life celebrating the winter season in their own special ways. 

You couldn’t even remember the last time you bothered to hang a simple wreath.

You were fortunate enough to find decently close street parking as you pulled up to the curve, grateful the black Kia behind had left space enough for more than just a clown car. A group of rowdy boys bundled snug in thick mittens and hand-knit toques called for a ceasefire, taking your nearby arrival as an excuse to catch their breaths and stockpile more ammunition for the fierce battle they waged. Childish insults flew from behind snowy barricades as you stepped out of your car and onto the icy sidewalk.

It was a more than usual hassle making the trudge inside your apartment building. Normally you kept your grocery list light; manageable for the haul up three flights of stairs despite the fully functioning elevator. But with the previous week’s illness eating into more of your food supply than normal you’d been forced to compensate for the barren cupboards. 

Could you make multiple trips? Sure. Did you want to be outside in the blustery cold for longer than necessary? Nope. Hence the sight of you iron-manning your way through the building’s exterior entrance, clusters of bags biting into your arms even through your heavy winter coat, overstretched plastic really field testing its weight requirements and lumbering your already lethargic pace.

You were grateful that you’d remembered to double bag some of the heftier items, having almost made that same mistake the month prior if not for the shredding sound alerting you to the seam's fatal flaw. That’s all you needed was to be spending your evening on hands and knees mopping up shattered glass and pickle juice from grime-laden steps.

There's a sense of accomplishment as you haul the purchased goods over the threshold to your apartment, carefully depositing the burdensome load on the tile in front of your refrigerator, far too many to overwhelm your bite-sized kitchen table with. Doubling back to re-check the numerous door locks and deadbolts, you finally let loose a sigh as you kick off your snow boots and shuck the weighted material from your weary shoulders, hanging the ratty scarf on the hook next to it and giving your neck a chance to breathe again.

Rubbing the irritated skin hurt more than it helped. The damn thing was sensitive to abrasive material – only concealing it when absolutely necessary. Winter was easy; warmer months made the task trickier. Thankfully most people didn’t stare much at an omega with a patch of gauze taped over her neck. Newly bonded designations wore it as a badge of honor, proudly proclaiming to the world at large that they’d finally found their place amongst the upper echelons of packdom.

You, meanwhile, would have to be more careful in the future to wear turtlenecks if bombshell interactions were to become a normal occurrence. The last thing you needed were prying questions from nosy alphas.

A half gone tube of medicated ointment called your name from the bathroom counter, but the inflamed mating mark would have to wait until after you got the bulk of groceries put away. Canned items and other non perishables could be dealt with tomorrow. There was only so much strength left in your bones after a day like today.

The knock on your front door would have startled you worse if not for the preceding text message hailing the arrival. 

‘Paranoid’ would be the appropriate term. Practically overnight you found yourself turning into one of those god awful annoying conspiracy theorists that hide in the dark cobwebs of the internet, spouting schizophrenic ravings of lunacy and government surveillance, too wrapped up in their straight jackets for oxygen to reach their corrupted brains. 

It was hard not to be distrustful to any and all intruders of your dwelling, knowing full well the consequences that come from letting your guard down in a stunning display of naivety. The pinched tether on your bond reassured you of his distance, but he was far from being the only ill-intentioned alpha in a thousand mile radius.

Pulse fluttering like a baby bird and fingers flexing into trembling fists, you creep up to the peephole with all the finesse of a one-legged cat – despite knowing the face that would greet you on the other end. Per usual, the kind beta didn’t take it personally when you opened the door with barely enough space to let her inside, squeezing through the gap provided and scooting out of the way while you relatched your pacifying security measures.

All she offered was her usual glowing smile and a box of double stuf oreos.

“Hard day at therapy?”

Chloe had been an unexpected addition to the chaos of your life. For lack of in-unit appliances, the apartment complex housed a small laundry facility on the ground floor – free of charge, but awfully stifling come the summer months. Enough square footage that multiple people could use it at any given time, but not enough to hold even a quarter of the residents. On the weekdays, that damn thing could be packed tighter than a dented can of sardines (and smell just as fishy). It wasn’t unusual to find your neighbors making the trek of shame back to their rooms, hefting a still-soiled bag of clothing, waiting another hour or so in hopes of trying their hand at the laundry lottery all over again.

You were embarrassed to say you avoided the place like the plague for the first month after moving in. After all, what did it really matter? 

You didn’t leave your apartment at the time. There was no need for decorum – no call to impress. And as an unpacked omega with disabling agoraphobia it sounded like the worst sort of torture porn experience. It had taken running out of febreze and being on the phone with your dads to finally venture down there at three o’clock in the morning on a random Tuesday in hopes the facility would be barren enough that your musky basket could stop reeking up your closet. 

The scream you screamt upon turning the corner and finding another human being skulking around in the unlit void had you so sure your father’s were a hairs breadth away from calling down the fucking feds.

Turns out Chloe was a skittish thing a few years younger than you. A recent college graduate, this was her first real apartment outside of campus dorm life. But where you were up at the ass crack of dawn due to an anxiety-inducing aversion to civilization, she was down there to keep from running into the cute nerdy alpha across the hall and risking mortification at him peeping her dainty underthings.

Honestly you hadn’t been sure the smell of urine was coming from either laundry basket.

Once you’d calmed down enough to pull your fathers off the edge of booking the next flight down there to rough up some nonexistent predator, you’d managed to finish your chores on opposite sides of the room, neither engaging in any conversation beyond muffled apologies of humiliation. 

What followed was an uneasy truce born out of necessity, a silent acknowledgement that this would be a weekly safe space free from judgment and criticism. Silence turned to whispered greetings, whispers became timid banter, until eventually you were confessing in therapy to eating homemade peanut butter cookies on the floor in front of the laundry machines.

Now she was the only other person in this whole entire city besides Dr. Miranda that you could go to for advice and needed companionship. 

Originally you had no intention of exhausting any more of your social battery than had already been consumed. But therapy wasn’t for another week and you had too much bubbling inside to be contained by the cramped confines of your studio apartment. And Chloe was considerate enough that she knew not to overstay her welcome, her own introverted alarm clock ringing about the same time as yours.

“If only that had been the hard part,” you replied with a sigh, taking the parcel of outstretched goods and moseying on over to your butt shaped indent on the far end of the couch.

The sound of creaky hinges and clattering plastic informed you of Chloe’s detour to the kitchen. “Has that rust-bucket jalopy of yours finally gone to the great big scrap metal in the sky?”

Everyone’s a critic.

“How about we don’t put that out into the universe thank you very much.” Shoving a whole cookie in your mouth, you gratefully accept the cold glass of milk she passes over before taking up a spot on the cushion next to you, grabbing at her own treat from the open pack.

The mess of red curls atop her head and the loud pattern of her knit rainbow sweater deceptively implied a boisterous personality. Bright green eyes. A healthy dusting of freckles. Blue corduroy pants still smudged with gold leaf. One look at her 5 foot 11 stature and you’d think she was some sort of artistic fairy, flitting about from flower to flower like a social hummingbird. In truth she’d gone to school for fine arts, but in preparation for a career in conservation – something quiet and away from the harsh critics where she could help express someone else's ideas instead of her own.

Her soft hazelnut scent matches her sympathetic smile, always patient and warm with you. “Does it have something to do with why you smell like a latte? Oh dear–please tell me no one spilled hot coffee on you today!”

You duck your head from her doe eyed worry and concerned frown of dread, focusing on the cold bite of milk on your fingers as you plunge another sugary morsel into your clear plastic cup. 

As toxic as it might have been, you couldn’t bring yourself to wash the scent of alpha from the pores of your skin.

“Chloe, I…” Here goes nothing. “I met someone yesterday…”

For the second time in less than four hours you found yourself spilling your heart to a friendly ear. 

She heard all of it. The supermarket run-in. Tantalizing lemon. Silky coconut. Devastating chocolate. Therapy. The coffee shop mishap. Being gentled by a complete stranger.

The promise kept safe in your electronic device. 

Where Dr. Miranda had broached the topic with a level-headed sense of therapeutic resolution, Chloe had all but clutched her pearls the longer your tantalizing tale was spun. She wore her expressions the way she wore her heart on her sleeve, squeezing the life out of a proffered couch pillow in a way that made you hope she didn’t have any pets at home.

“How could he possibly expect any of this to not come crashing down in a fiery hellscape of cataclysmic fury that would put Dante’s inferno to shame?”

Can you tell she went to catholic school?

“I mean… it's not like I caught him off guard technically,” you try to bargain. “Like yeah, today’s meeting wasn’t exactly on purpose, but they would’ve had a whole night to discuss things amongst themselves. Maybe they just reached some sort of weird agreement with her?”

She bites her lip to hide the sympathetic frown. “Do you really believe that though?”

No. No you didn’t.

It wasn’t hard to put yourself in her shoes considering the thick iron cable anchoring you to another. If that bond came with passion... if you knew the cloying taste of devotion – the idolatry that comes from having your molecules grafted onto a lover’s DNA – you’d shred every muscle strand in your body, tear skin from bone with bloodied teeth to keep what was coveted.

And here you were. The other woman.

Suddenly the chocolate dessert didn’t taste so appetizing.

At your lack of a meaningful answer, she unknowingly goes for the throat.

“Perhaps you should tell them–”

“No.” 

The ice in your tone brokers no room for argument, instantly regretting the bite behind it as you watch her flinch back into the cushions with a meek whine. 

Your expression softens in guilt. Chloe is just trying her best to help you navigate an otherwise impossible scenario. Her suggestion doesn’t come from a place of cruelty, only one of care. Even if it does speak of ignorance.

Not that she didn't still try.

“Wouldn’t you want to know if the roles were reversed?”

“And what good would that do?” you press far more gently this time, the acid of pain climbing up the back of your throat. “No matter what they say there’s no tangible future for us. That ship has well and truly sailed – I know that now. My destiny was signed with an iron pen and the deed says I belong to him.”

Your voice quivers on the last word, the sting of acceptance cutting into flesh with a rusty barbed wire. You never thought there could be a feeling worse than hopelessness.

“Telling them will only ensure that both parties suffer for another’s twisted scheme,” you continue past the lump in your throat, “and I won’t subject them to the burden that should be only mine to bear. I refuse to let them live with that guilt.”

Maybe it’s her beta upbringing that keeps her from fully understanding the colossal weight of putting your bonded through such inner turmoil. Chloe will never know what it means to share someone's emotions across an unwavering connection. Pack life isn’t barred from her, but the same primal urges that draw us towards our mates are nothing but strings of thread easily pruned. 

Truthfully most betas never want it. To them, we all drew the short end of the straw; being forced into subjugation by ancient instincts that never shed their skin after the last ice age. 

After the eternally looping rollercoaster that's been holding you prisoner the past four years, you can't say you disagree with them anymore.

“...maybe they chew with their mouths open.”

The huff she pulls from your chest is genuine, catching you off guard with the attempt at levity, the small roast doing its job of diffusing the atmosphere. Her extemporaneous remark reflects the giggles in her eyes begging you to play along.

“Bet they don’t wash their buttcracks either,” you add with a half-grin after a few moments of quiet, relishing in the way she covers her mouth to stifle a snort. Her energy is endearing, granting you leave to feed off the sunrays of her carefree aura, unblemished by the malice of a hateful underbelly, continuing for the next couple minutes that her presence lingers.

If only laughter was all it took to make everything better.

Consciousness greets you like a lifelong friend – one waiting to welcome you into outstretched arms, promising comfort and geniality with its disarming smile, swaddling you in a blanket so thick and plush it cradles you like a pregnant mother’s womb. It beckons with a silvery tongue, promising a joyful reunion as you give yourself over freely under the guise of a fresh start.

All the easier for it to slip a knife between your ribs. 

You should’ve known better.

Sleep hasn’t been your ally since the night before the incident. Rest is not restful; it is a time where the walls between protection and abuse are at their thinnest. Where the toxic sludge of your connection oozes through the cracks like bubbling tar and coats your insides with its virulent adhesive. It chokes you with its noxious miasma, seeping into dreams and disturbing the regenerative process vital to your health.

Each day starts the same – dealing with the consequences of life on a strained leash.

Awareness comes into focus next like a camera in the exclusion zone, grainy and crackling under the effects of radioactivity while spreading like the beginnings of cancer through the pores of your skin. It clings around the edges, lethargic in its letting go, giving way only to the melodic chiming of your phone’s alarm that might as well be set to a booming fog horn. 

Eyelashes crusty with dried salt crystals peel apart like fly paper, pupils fully dilated as the blackout curtains remove the need for constriction. The rumpled towel beneath you leaves tender spots on your back from where it bunched up in the night – a result of the fitful writhing when the nightmares your mind guards you from remembering leave your body feverful and drenched, soaking through the lightweight sheets and condensing in a thin layer of slimy moisture.

And the nausea.

God, the nausea.

The condition was a constant in your life, but its disruption was the worst during the early hours of the day.

Movement requires a delicate balance first thing in the morning. Jostle your body too much and the empty bin wedged between your bed and your nightstand gets reacquainted with the bile of your stomach (they’re apparently in an intimate relationship that you’re just sandwiched between like an awkward third wheel).

Problem is, barring the use of hefty restraints, it's impossible to know which side of the bed you’ll be waking up on. Literally. 

Some days you find yourself facing the drab interior of your studio apartment rather than covered window panes, knowing the energy required to roll over towards the small nightstand will likely result in the emptying of your insides. Sleeping on your back had potential, but your form preferred to curl in on itself for lack of anything else to bring it comfort.

Lady Luck had apparently seen enough of your mental breakdowns the past forty eight hours to grant you a reprieve, taking pity on your string of misfortunes as the first thing your eyes take in upon blinking free from sand is the heavy satin of your window coverings keeping in the dark – some lavender pattern to help match the rest of your nesting materials. They’re still fresh out the box after all these years, though the accumulation of filth would tell you otherwise, dust bunnies taking up residence on the weighted linen.

Your furnishings haven’t been bathed in sunlight since the moving van.

The well-loved bottle of Zofran sits in its spot on the corner of your nightstand, next to your still ringing phone and a robin's egg stanley, a glass picture frame shoved in the far corner on the other side of your table lamp.

Still wrapped in a thick fog of drowsiness, leaden muscles flex and groan as your arm stretches the short distance, ears taking priority and fingers tapping at the illuminated screen until they locate the damn snooze button. Popping the small oval pill comes next, chasing it with lukewarm water before burrowing back down into the soft minky goodness of your comforter. 

You're awake an hour before you need to be, but not to get anything done. No rejuvenating shower. No balanced breakfast and a half hour of yoga. Just adjusting to the abject misery your bond greets you with every day as a not so gentle reminder of the alpha you left behind. 

It’s a constant struggle to remind yourself that the suffering is worth it for the lifetime of abuse from which you escaped. Better to be tormented by a path you chose than one unwillingly taken.

About forty minutes go by before the medication kicks in enough to allow you freedom of movement, pulling yourself from the tangles of your bedding with aching joints and low fuel reserves. Walking into the bathroom, you squint against the blinding overhead fluorescents, rubbing the spots from your eyes as you take in your frumpy reflection.

There’s a photograph next to your bed that you haven’t glanced at in a few months. Six familiar faces beaming into a camera lens somewhere high in the mountains. A family vacation from eight years ago; the best summer of your life. 

That girl in the picture is nowhere to be found.

Spiritless eyes meet your gaze in the glass, early crows feet forming from periods of prolonged stress. A bone deep exhaustion reflected in your undereye bags, the dull pallor of your complexion. The frizziness of unmoisturized locks begging for a drink. Wind chapped lips and an eternal frown. 

The oversized shirt hangs baggy on your form, once belonging to your brother but now in your possession. If you lifted up the garment you could practically count the ribs, a once healthy layer of fat and muscle cannibalized by famished cells and underutilization. It's hard to keep on weight when your stomach rejects the nourishment you try to provide.

If this is the empty shell you’ve become a full continent away from him then it’s hard to imagine what lifeless husk of a creature you might’ve deteriorated into under his brand of care. 

There’s no more energy left by the time you do your business and finish brushing your teeth, knowing what few bolts remain will have to go towards the impending headache of customer service. Taming your unruly hair will just have to wait until later – if at all.

You flick the lights on as you pass, trudging on shaky legs to the cabinets above the microwave. There’s still too much unease in your tummy for your usual coffee order, opting for a mug of herbal tea to help settle the irritated organ, a spoonful of honey cutting through the mild bitterness. Settling on a sleeve of poptarts for a lazy breakfast, you lumber your way over towards the couch and the awaiting annoyances.

Opening shifts were always the worst. 

Originally you’d approached the company with open availability in hopes of bettering your chances at landing a remote job. In those days, commuting to a location had been out of the question. It took months of submitting applications – relying solely on your family for all your expenses – before someone finally gave you an opportunity to rejoin the workforce.

(You wept the day you received the offer from HR. Having even a sliver of autonomy returned to you after a tumultuous period without it was as the first melting snow of a long envisioned spring).

Unfortunately it meant you were handed the hours no one else wanted to take. Most days that was the early shifts. 

It’s not like you work a whole hell of a lot. The job itself is only part time after all and fairly easy; fourteen hours max per week. But you’d quickly learned that the later you were scheduled, the clearer your brain was to focus, the better you performed overall. 

Now if only the big wigs at corporate would allow you to update your availability. When last you’d scrounged up enough courage to broach the topic to your immediate supervisor you were promptly informed that there was no current flexibility to your role and, when pressed, sent a look via Zoom that clearly said don't push it.

So much for ‘warm family environment’.

A small rolling side table acts as your makeshift desk, the apartment too cramped for something proper no matter how many attempts to tetris the layout. One of your fathers had come up with the brilliant solution while shopping at ikea for new end tables, spotting the piece of furniture and shipping it out to your location. You’d had to brave the awkward visit of the buff delivery man for a signature – hiding behind the door jamb like a sketchy criminal – but the purchase had been well worth it for how cluttered your poor kitchen table had previously looked, a jumbled mess of pens and wires, certifiably hazardous with its lengthy extension cord.

Armed with soothing chamomile and a warm knit blanket thrown over your lap, you boot up your laptop and log onto the program that would keep you chained to it for the next six hours.

Ask anyone that deals with customers directly: Christmas is the least wonderful time of the year.

Garbled phone calls over shitty receptions. The droning monotony of preplanned scripts. Old bitties recounting eight decades of family drama. Mass hysteria around shipping delays. ‘Happy Birthday Steve’ and the audible slick of his palm. Entitled socialites for whom the word ‘please’ never came preinstalled in their gold filigree hoity-toity dictionaries. 

The fifteen minute break is almost insulting. As if anyone can decompress in such a meager timespan. It’s no wonder why people used to chainsmoke their way through the stress of their jobs.

You try to remind yourself of the before times – the trials and tribulations that came from previous employments. Long grueling hours spent pent up in bustling kitchens, the dinner rush on crab leg nights testing your arm strength and patience for slow steamers. Pushy roofing salesmen harping over impoverished neighborhoods. Car guys calling you toots and insisting on being assisted by a ‘real professional’.

This job was by far the most laid back. No fussing over business casual, no extroverted coworkers crowding your space, no bosses micromanaging for the sake of being assholes. You were living a cushy life by comparison.

But then your mind wanders to Jose on the third floor kitchen, busy doing prep work for the various departments; a kind man once he warmed up to you and found you competent enough to last. Always sneaking you tender bites of grilled meats and a bowl of creamy lobster bisque.

Nyle bringing you ladies in the office a round of Starbucks when he came in for mandatory meetings. Sharing music with Stacy and gabbing about just aired episodes of your favorite tv show. Heather bringing in fresh blueberry bear claws from the local bakery near her home.

Going to the irish pub across the street with the guys in finance that knew the owners, getting drunk off free whiskey and cider on Friday nights. All smiles and laughter as you twirl across the dance floor to a live band performing hits from musicians like Flogging Molly and Great Big Sea…

…and you realize just how much you took for granted. That there’s a palpable difference between surviving and living.

You don’t even notice you’re six minutes over break until your laptop pings from someone trying to get in touch with you, startling you out of melancholic reminiscence and bringing you back to a somber present that longs for the taste of livelihood.

That time has ended; those figures mere ghosts of a past better left forgotten in the vaults of your memory.

Now, you make a small but tidy living solving other people's problems a few hours a week. Enough to pay for personal bills, groceries, and the occasional indulgence while your fathers provide the bulk of your utilities and the sum of your rent. Your lost independence used to bother you more, but the thought of a homeless shelter quickly silenced your tongue.

Your cellphone reads one o’clock by the time you're freed from servitude, happy to be logging off as you push the rolling setup back out of the way. The air bubbles between the contours of your spine pop and crackle as you rise to your feet, ignoring the rush of lightheadedness from six hours remaining stationary. Resisting the urge to itch at the healing scab on the side of your neck, you pad into the kitchen to whip up a turkey sandwich – cautiously optimistic on the inclusion of juicy pickles – before plopping back down in your usual spot.

The acidity doesn’t seem to upset your stomach any further, allowing you to munch in peace on the simple scrapings of lunch, scrolling through the kindle app on your phone for something to occupy your time with.

There’s never much to do around here when the people in your life are busy living their own. Your family checks in on you every so often, catching you up on the goings-on in the quiet neighborhood, your father taking the opportunity to gush about his lego collection to someone other than his partner for a change. You miss the camaraderie that came with building the Death Star.

Despite living hundreds of miles away, their calls always made you feel as if you were gathered around the sectional in the warm lit interior of the sprawling living room, Christmas tree glowing by the light of the fire, a hot cup of cocoa and the merriment of family.

The same couldn’t be said for your younger brother Alex.

Ever since moving out at eighteen he'd become quite a prick, a beta complex a mile wide that only got worse when he surrounded himself with the wrong kinda crowd. The loss of his once fervent companionship had devastated you. After the accident that brought your parents to an early grave, you’d kept each other afloat through turbulent waves of depression, tidal waves of grief. Six became four, but – even though that wound would never fully heal – you still had the strength of their love to turn to when forgone memories played like black and white film.

But after that last argument…

Four became three.

It's been years since you last had any type of contact outside the occasional cheap greeting card – just another notch added to your mile long grinchmas belt come the holidays.

Fuck him. 

Shaking yourself out of that spiraling rabbit hole, you turned back to the task of entertainment at hand. Since you didn’t feel like spending any more time on the phone listening to idle chatter than you already had today, you settled for choosing a book at random from your extensive TBR, diving into a medieval fantasy where brave warriors slayed evil dragons and an honorable knight could still save a princess. 

The minute hand goes round and round.

Dinner is as simple an affair as lunch; a cheap frozen pizza popped in the oven adding an extra layer of warmth to the already balmy interior. There’s no need for a plate as you pull it off the wire rack onto the cardboard box it came in, gooey cheese bubbling hot and steamy, sizzling toppings shiny with bright orange grease, savory aromas wafting as they ride the circulation of the antiquated heating system. 

Years of battling chronic fatigue have made you crafty, cutting corners on labor with gathered tips and tricks accumulated over hours of lengthy research. There’s no need to add to your pile of dishes; no plates or utensils to scrub free of dried food particles. Just you and your fingers tearing through the saucy meal chunk by chunk.

Dr. Miranda tells you it's all about the little victories. The moments of accomplishment no matter how insignificant. Doesn’t matter how you get the job done so long as it happens. Roll out of bed? That’s a win. A sleeve of ritz crackers for a meal? Glad you got sustenance. Just because you weren’t claiming a nobel prize didn’t mean your triumphs were any less important. 

Didn’t leave much in the way of riveting stimulation though. Just acclimatizing you to existing in a hamster ball where the difference between day and night is as little as the am or pm on the clock. 

After all, it wasn’t like your body signaled a change in energy levels. There’s no ‘getting tired’ when you never wake up.

The only time you ever felt a sense of normalcy was when you started the process of getting ready for bed, pinpoint focus narrowing in on the task of fixing your nest. Logic shuts down and gut feeling takes the reins. You lose yourself in the fussing over placement of plush fleece and textured sherpa, jersey knit sheets and squishmallow plushies. Weighted quilt blankets and cloud-fluffy pillows of various shapes and sizes, the assortment of pastel pinks and lush earthy greens giving off the enchanted forest vibes held dear to your heart. 

It wasn’t large or luxurious by any means, but the few modest pieces you did have were plenty enough for the cozy space, strewn across the full sized bed in an organized haphazard chaos understood only by the omega instincts that dictate your actions. 

Only, there’s something wrong…

You lament the smell of mildew as your nose breathes in the cloth of your pillowcase, whining in dejection at the offense to your delicate olfactory senses and pawing at the material in shame. 

An omega’s nest is a vital part of the care and keeping of their fragile emotional state. Oftentimes they’re seen as a reflection of their owner's inner consciousness and a handy tool to monitor their anxiety levels on a day to day basis. An unkempt nest can not only signal deeper depression, but if neglected for too long may result in bodily dysregulation that can affect them even right down to a molecular level, throwing hormones out of whack and causing real physical illness. 

Your nest hasn’t been properly cleaned in far too many months – no doubt adding to the high levels of stress that already permeate your everyday life. The sacred space that’s supposed to be your safe haven acts as just another graphic reminder that he’s taken everything from you. There's no true relaxation in your life because of it. 

For what was the point of washing the sweat-stained fabric if there’s no stopping it getting soiled again the following night?

Pulling the musky sheets up to just below your chin, you stare blankly at the evidence of what happens when you get your hopes up, sitting plugged into the charger on the corner of your nightstand.

The phone hasn’t rang once. 

You’ve been religiously checking the screen all day. Turned the volume from vibrate to blaring. Unclicked ‘do not disturb’ mode (turns out even telemarketers think you’re a waste of time). The device went everywhere with you, whether it was ten feet to the bathroom or six inches across the couch. Your desperation might have been otherwise embarrassing, but there was no worry of judgment besides your own in the guarded solitude of your apartment.

He'd given you a thimble of hope, and you were clinging to it like the last drop of water.

Whether it be a call or text; you didn’t know. But he promised you... promised you… that you’d be hearing from him soon. Threatened you against inaction on your part. And you’d just believed him. Believed that even for a moment – some tiny fraction of oblivion – there could exist a world where you didn’t have to feel quite so fucking alone.

What exactly has he been up to? Some prior commitment that pulled him from his phone? Maybe he’s just stuck at work all day? But then surely he doesn’t pull twelve hour shifts. Not like you found out their given occupations yet. Which means he’s gotta be sick, right? The weather’s been atrocious and you hadn’t physically seen him get in a car when he left. 

Shit! He went home smelling like you. How did the pack react? 

How did she react? 

They didn’t get into a fight did they? She probably forced him to delete your contact info. God, you were so selfish putting them through this mess. But hadn't John been selfish too in wanting to keep you around? Was that really a pack decision?

The tears culminating in your eyes were pathetic. Acid rain bleaching your pillowcase in big caustic globules, seeping into the fabric and burning through the thin membrane of your cheeks. Bitter rage tainted the half formed excuses, corrupting like malware into personal betrayal.

How could you be so foolish? What part of ‘you’re not allowed to be happy’ did you not comprehend? Hadn’t you already learned not to shoot for the stars, much less the occupants of unit 2B?! 

Poor, stupid omega.

You grasped your chest as if that could stop whatever clawed beast was burrowing its way past your ribcage to dig out a hole and lay its clutch. Flicking the bedside lamp off brought you as much darkness outside as there was feasting on your entrails and gorging itself for a long unforgiving winter.

Curling up in your repugnant nest, you couldn’t keep your heart from shattering as each teardrop extinguished the sputtering flame of hope.

You never got around to fixing your hair.

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[whispereons]

Oracle!Reader Part 18

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 17, Part 19

Warning! This has blood, injuries, and violence! This is a imposter Sagau so you can expect these topics!

The faintest sound of grass being crushed jolts you back into the waking world. Gripping your chest, your mind tries to remember your situation as you take deep shaky breaths. Just how long were you asleep?

The moon glimmers above you and it isn’t very obviously moved, so it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes… How could you have been so stupid to waste your limited time sleeping?!

The sound of heels stomping at a fast pace makes you move quickly. Packing up the medkit, you shove it into your bag and throw it over your shoulder. There’s a slight dizziness, your body is still sore and in pain, but it’s no longer unbearable.

From a 10 out of 10 to a 9 out of 10. Why couldn’t you get some sort of healing power as the Creator? Cursing your shitty luck that unfortunately didn’t change when being isekai’d, you bring up the game screen.

One more try, you reason with yourself. Maybe after that minute-long power nap, it will finally work for you. To your quick dismay, it still doesn’t work, but at least you could finally figure out where the fuck you were and where to go.

Staring at the game screen as your heart rate slowly rises from the sound of shoes stalking closer isn’t the situation you want to be in, but it is what you get from this particularly shitty hand of fate. What’s even worse is just how far away you are from any civilization, teleport waypoints, or statue of the sevens.

You eventually settle on going for the closest teleport waypoint and pray to any god besides Celestia that it reactivates your ability to teleport. Looking across the lake, you frown knowing you’ll have to walk around the whole damn thing.

Standing up, you can’t even pay attention to the rush of blood to your head as the dropping temperature monopolizes it. There’s no more time to waste. Kicking back into full drive, you weave past the Cryo Slimes now that you can actually see, and start to run on the edge of the lake.

It’s pathetic how you couldn’t take more than a few steps before an ice maiden flies beside you and blocks your path. Large waves of ice follow it before it dissolves into Cryo-infused talismans. The only paths you had now were the water to your left or going backward. 

Both clearly lead to death.

Just your fucking luck.

“Y/N!” Your name is spoken like a curse, as if you were nothing more than a pest meant to be crushed. Turning around, you look back at Shenhe who still doesn’t have any red ropes subduing her murderous urges.

Her polearm is waved slightly as blue slime flies off it. It’s only now that you realize the slimes near you were missing. The moon illuminates the blood shining off her clothing, both yours and hers. Dirt, minerals, and grass stains stick to her outfit and hair as she prowls closer.

The cold wind blows as she stops just a few feet in front of you. There is no blind anger or desperation for your death in her posture. Iridescent eyes stare you down as her Cryo vision is held in place solely by the gold ornament holding her hair in a loose ponytail. She is more than aware that your chance to survive or escape is low.

“You’ll pay for your crimes. Let my hatred suppress whatever meaningless feelings you have, to prevent you from ever resurrecting as a demon.” Cold. Her voice is cold as she holds her polearm in position and steps closer.

Despite the fear, despite the pain, and anger, you hold onto whatever half-baked plan you have in mind and stay in place. Backing away would only corner you against the ice wall she built.

Determined eyes stay locked onto Shenhe as your hands stay empty. Your silent refusal to bring out your weapon breaks whatever little self-control she has as she lunges at you. Gritting your teeth and throwing away your self-preservation, you rush forward to meet her.

Just as you hoped, Shenhe swings her weapon earlier with her quick reflexes and your heels dig into the ground to pull you back avoiding the fatal blow. The deep laceration on your collarbone is a small price to pay for your hands to grasp her wrists tightly. Growling, Shenhe moves to yank her hands away but petrification begins to overtake your hands and her wrists.

Not wanting to get caught in your petrifying trap again, she releases the polearm quickly, letting it clink out the ground. Your nails strain with the effort needed to keep her in your grasp but it’s worth it as her hands and wrists are successfully petrified. Like this, she couldn’t use her weapon or take out a talisman.

“You know, it’s really unfair of you to hold such a grudge against me for hurting you when you hurt innocent people all the time. Talk about a hypocrite.” With a mocking tone you begin to pull her into the shallow water. She tries to fight back but with your hands locked together and the water lapping at your feet, her resistance is futile.

“I mean, just cause you’re gullible and stupid enough to not pick up on basic social cues or even try to learn them, doesn’t mean you’re free from the consequence!” Your words end with a shout as you use your strength to pull Shenhe down with you into the water.

Falling onto your side with Shenhe in the same position, you raise your head just high enough to not drown. You didn’t pull her into the deep end, that would be suicide for you both but at least now she couldn’t use cryo without freezing herself too.

You could only hope she wasn’t that far gone to be willing to commit a murder-suicide.

Shenhe regains her bearing and quickly gains the upper hand by pinning you down into the shallow water. Holding your breath in the nick of time, your petrified hands push against her weight and flip her over.

Doing your best to hold her down in hopes of forcing her to pass out fails with how she switches the position. Constantly applying Petrify, you're locked in a grapple with Shenhe as the water splashes against your face.

“I don’t care that you hurt me. I care that you hurt my nephew!” Shenhe says in a frosty tone once she’s in an advantageous position.

Frowning at the sheer audacity of her words, pure annoyance gives you the strength to quickly overthrow her. It’s even enough to ignore how the arrow is pushed deeper and deeper into your chest.

“Stop fucking lying! You barely give a crap about him, which is still a leg up compared to how you seem to nearly hate the rest of humanity. The only person you like is the Traveler!”

“That’s not true, it’s not!” She refutes like a stubborn child. “I love the Creator too, more than anything else!” Her harsh breathing is strange, that anger she’s been so intent on expressing seems to hint at something else too…

“Then why the fuck are you still hunting me?! I didn’t do shit to the Creator nor to your precious traveler!” Probing for answers, you hold her down even with the ice spikes melting, unplugging your wounds.

“I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU!” Shenhe spits it out the words with rising irritation but her resentment is slowly mixing with visible frustration. “The Traveler is my link to this world, my link to the Creator. I know for sure that I like her because these emotions fill me to the brim when I’m in her presence. That’s why I’m sure that I hate you!”

Shenhe’s feelings hit the limit as her next move slams your head onto the rock in the water. Your mouth opens automatically from the pain, water rushes into your mouth choking you. Ears ringing and body steadily going limp, your mind switches between intense static and terrifying calm contemplation on her words.

That resolute tone she spoke wasn't natural, almost like she’s forcing herself to believe her words. The back of your head feels warm and you can’t tell if you’re bleeding or if it’s just water.

Emotions filled Shenhe when she met the Traveler as you were the one controlling the Traveler all this time. The Traveler is publicly known as your acolyte, probably known as your first acolyte since you start Genshin with the Traveler. As this was her first taste of emotions since her father’s betrayal, she had a positive view of Lumine immediately.

But then what did that mean for you?

Your lungs burn as water blurs your vision and Shenhe shivers above you. The medical care you applied earlier did nothing now that you’re wet. Those useless, meaningless worries fade away as you retreat into contemplation, back to where you weren’t burdened with a fight you didn’t have the energy for.

Meeting you in person must have caused even more feelings to appear but you didn’t have a reputation like the Traveler did. Combine that with the action of stabbing her, it must have warped her perception of what feelings she has toward you.

Perhaps you hit your head too hard, or maybe it was the lack of oxygen that caused a near-manic glee to fill you. With strength unknown to you, you finally push her down and smile wide enough that it borders on being creepy. The water left in your mouth runs down your face with no change in your expression.

“This has to be some bullshit. The world, Celestia, and fate must be dying to screw me over in every way possible.” Your eyes stare unmoving down at the somewhat stunned Shenhe. The slight furrow of her eyebrows and the smallest downward turn of her lips tempt you to speak with mocking joy.

“Congratulations Shenhe, you don’t hate me, you never did! You love me, you love me the same fucking way you love the Traveler. Because just as Yelan said earlier, I’m an oracle, and no matter how much you want to push those feelings away. They. Won’t. Leave.”

Punctuating those last words with more force, you lean down closer to her face which morphs into something mirroring shock and slight fear. It almost immediately turns into an expression of denial as she switches your position to keep your head on the raised seafloor. 

It seems she didn’t want to drown you anymore. Your verbalized enlightening words nurtured those little seeds of doubt she tried to stomp out.

“That’s wrong, it has to be. I hate you, I must hate you! I can’t love someone who harmed me. There’s no other choice, I have to hate you.” A strong denial, but it’s all a front. The fear in her eyes is as clear as the silver moon above you.

Why, oh why did you have to deal with a little kid figuring out their feelings in this sort of situation? Just like when adults claim that a boy bullies a girl he likes. You now had to deal with Shenhe’s ‘hatred’ due to her emotionally stunted childhood. 

Your luck just couldn’t get any greater!

“I can’t love you. I can’t love someone who hurts me, not again.” Shenhe stares down at you as tears begin to slide down her cheeks. Staring blankly up at her, your mind seems to connect the dots on why she’s so against loving you.

Just like most trauma, it all starts with the parents. Her father’s stupid and abusive decision still has her in a chokehold.

Perhaps if this was a different situation, a different day, you could have dealt with her feelings gently. Slowly talking to her to accept these new emotions. Pushing past any barriers and lousy facades she might use to escape your kind words of advice.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Not today, not tomorrow, and probably not for a long while. The water around you has the faintest pink hue, no doubt from all your wounds being reopened. Your ears still ring and your lungs still make your chest heave with effort to regain proper ventilation.

Shenhe’s tears drip down your cheeks as she gazes down at you with watery eyes. The beautiful mirage of colors is swamped with salty droplets as her lips quiver.

Distantly, you count this as the second time you’ve made a Cryo vision holder cry at your words. The love you held for the characters back then has all but been buried deep inside you at this point. You will not survive in this world clinging to your past love for them all.

The petrification crumbles away with Shenhe too lost in her mind and heart to realize. Your dominant hand carefully releases her wrist before clenching around a familiar weight. 

If she’s the one with the Cryo vision, then why is it that you’re the one looking coldly at her?

“But you do love me, and living with those confusing emotions is what it means to be human. To be mortal.” With a swish of your sickle crackling with electricity, the blunt side makes direct contact with Shenhe’s temple. Eyes rolling to the back of her head, she collapses onto the water as her body jostles wildly from the electricity.

You aren’t afraid of the Electro hurting you. The trust you place in Teyvat to not hurt you is justified as the Electro doesn’t shock you, even as you grab Shenhe and drag her onto land.

The love you felt for all the characters isn’t being calculated in your decision. Shenhe dying, especially at your hands, is a recipe for disaster. You try to ignore the ache you feel at the thought of Shenhe's cold and rotting body in a coffin.

Touching the back of your head, you pull your hand back into view and grimace at the freckled blood dotting it. Multiple bruises, lacerations, a puncture wound in your chest, the leftover ice lodged in your lower legs, and now a head injury too? 

Maybe getting a fracture or broken bone will balance out your injuries. 

A slightly bitter chuckle leaves you as you open the game screen again. You only try once to teleport but as expected, it fails to work. Sighing and resisting your rising frustration, you resume your journey to the closest waypoint.

A strong smell of iron and salt clings to you, you're cold and wet but it’s bearable. Bearable compared to the pulses of pain that torment you as you amble to the halfway point of the lake.

The sound of treasure hoarders laughing and clinking of coins throws you off. Even from this distance, you can count at least five hoarders. An impossible battle in your state, you would surely die trying to get past them.

It’s hard to forget how many people they’ve kept in cages, robbed, murdered, and even implied to sexually assault. 

Dread and loathing bubble up to the point where you’re almost positive that if you opened your mouth, acid would come out. Doing your best to disregard the pain, cold, exhaustion, and fury you turn around and walk back. 

Farther down south is supposed to be where another teleport waypoint is built. Supposedly: it’s right above the Chasm in Lumberpick Valley. Just some climbing, not like you can’t push your bleeding body a little farther, and then a straight shot to the waypoint. 

Checking the game screen one last time to be absolutely sure, you start your journey. You avoid looking at Shenhe’s peaceful appearing body laying on the grass. Mindlessly your hands apply your leftover medical supplies to your battered body.

There’s no time to rest. No time to stir on what direction to go, on how you should react to Yelan if she appears. No time to collapse on the soft grass and just let yourself bleed to death.

Yelan was bound to be on your heels and you would be damned to let her be the death of you.

-----------------------

Sweat dripped down your skin as your haggard breathing could be faintly heard. Knuckles pale from the tight grip you enforced, you pulled yourself up over the last ledge.

You couldn't just backtrack and go back the way you came, the chance of running into Yelan or other enemies was too high, so now you were stuck climbing hill after hill.

Crawling away from the edge, you pick yourself up tiredly. Wincing from the throbbing pain in your head, you held it gently. The bandages wrapped haphazardly around it were slightly bloody. 

Each drop of ruby and ticking second was precious. You didn't have much energy left.

Following the vague instructions you remember from looking at the map, you followed the hill down. As you got closer, the sound of conversation was recognized.

Slowing down, you crouched low and laid down near the edge closest to the waypoint.

Two treasure hoarders stood below walking together. Scanning them up and down, you noted the crossbow and throwing knives arming them.The men stopped almost directly below you making a smile creep onto your face. 

Your specialty was gathering information. To be more specific, blackmail. 

And while you doubt they know any good blackmail, whatever they know could be useful.

"Isn't it great that we finally got word from Brass Bull and Flower? I was so sure that we would never receive another letter after what happened…"

"You shouldn't speak about Big Sis and Flower that way! I mean, the Madam from the Treasure Hoarder Association came in person on Big Sis's request."

"What are you doing trying to scold me while openly referring to Brass Bull as Big Sis?!"

The hoarders squabble with each other below you as you stir on their words. A Madam from the Treasure Hoarder's Association? That doesn't seem suspicious on the surface layer but from what you remember…

There never was a Treasure Hoarder Association in the game. The most impressive thing about them was how disorganized yet large their group is. 

Keeping a hand over your mouth to halt the manic giggle from escaping, your eyes gleam with malice.

Everyone has some sort of tell when they lie. Experienced liars have learned to hide their physical tell but that makes it evolve into something else. A pattern for lying, a favorite lie to rely on.

And if you remember correctly, Yelan almost always claims to be a part of some organization while conveniently avoiding her name.

All that built up excitement at seeing past Yelan's lie falls the moment you realize that she must be near the waypoint. Maybe you should just turn back?

Standing back up you grimace at the blades of grass dotted with crimson. You were losing blood at a rate too fast to play it safe. At most you had another two hours, and that was without combat in the equation.

Ignoring the dull spikes of pain from your skull, you keep low and sneak past the treasure hoarders. The various large rocks and swaying trees served as a good concealment. The night sky was just another bonus that helped you along.

The path clears and after walking a bit on edge, you slowly rise to your full height.

There wasn't another soul in sight.

As much as you would like to be suspicious and keep to the shadows, you couldn't afford to be so guarded. Merely thanking your lucky stars, you follow the path quickly.

Slowing down, you come across a wooden structure with stairs leading up to the teleport waypoint. The blue glow was a comforting sight. Finally, you can try to escape this place by activating it.

With one more wary glance around the area, you quietly climb the stairs. Not a sound is heard as you dash closer to the waypoint and reach your hand out.

Chills run down your spine and Teyvat cries out in your mind with what sounded like an animalistic scream. The glimmer of something shiny blue comes from the teleport waypoint but it's too late.

Not even your instincts can push your lightheaded and muddled mind to process the situation fast enough.

Hydro lifelines cut into your hands, letting your blood reveal the criss-cross patterned trap guarding the waypoint.

A yelp of pain leaves you from the burn of your nerves and you startle back just in time to not get your face smashed into it.

The lifelines move to wrap around your limbs and fling you back. There's a split second of being airborne, your heavy body floats for felt like an eternity.

Until your back collides with the insignificant stack of crates that break at your weight. Splinters tear your worn out clothing and stab into your back. It's not deep but the blood is obvious. Pain floods your senses and your ear

The remaining crates fall onto your face and there's a sickening crack of your nose. All you can do is gasp from the pain and bite back tears.

"A little birdie told me of someone messing with the Creator's holy structures. Those who aren't chosen by the Creator can't touch them."

Even through the blinding pain, ringing ears and bloody spit, you make sure to bite out "Just like you?"

Yelans blurry figure enters your vision that fades in and out of consciousness. What a shame that you couldn't see the snarl her lips curled into.

Lifelines pull you by your wrists into a standing position. Blood rushes to your head, causing you to gasp from the sharp spikes of pain. Your vision comes back into focus, showcasing a smirking Yelan. 

Clean and bandaged, the exact opposite of you.

“Keep them still, don’t bother with the rope. Restraints would be wasted on a captive as beat up as them.” The off-hand words are followed by the lifelines breaking away and leaving you to sway. Almost immediately, a larger pair of hands grab your arms and force them behind your back. Calloused fingers dig into your wrist to hold them still, the lacerations throb at the rough handling.

Not bothering to fight the new hold, you slowly turn your head to examine your surroundings. What was once an empty platform is now filled with treasure hoarders. Both possible exits are blocked off by groups as Yelan stands in front of you with her back turned.

“We got them, Madam! This is who we needed to capture to finally be connected with the Fatui, right? With this masked target caught, we can get Big Sis and Flower back!” A cheerful treasure hoarder speaks up first. Perhaps he's the leader for this bunch of hoarders?

The rest of the hoarders chime in too, big smiles stretch across their faces as they celebrate. The names ‘Brass Bull’ and ‘Flower’ are mentioned multiple times as they grow louder and more excited.

“Oh yeah?” Even with Yelan’s back to you, the smile in her voice is easily heard by you.

“Then it’s almost a shame to say that I caught the rest of you too.” The confused and wary expressions turn into realization as lifelines appear all around the treasure hoarders. The hands around your wrists tighten up as you peek up at the hoarder holding you captive.

Silent and still, the masked hoarder tightens his grip on you as the other members begin to fight back against Yelan. Only some though, most are too scared to move and get filled by the laser-beam structured lifelines.

Yelan, as calm as still water, walks to the stronger hoarders, determining them as the only threats. The noise in the area heightens as fighting ensures but your mind seems to work properly amidst the confusion. Fingers twitching with the desire to hold your sickle and break free from the flimsy man’s hold, you take a shaky breath. Not yet, you tell yourself, just one more step and then you can break free.

Yells of anger and betrayal ring out as the hoarders curse Yelan out. The names Brass Bull and Flower are spoken with so much affection that the familiar tug on your memory finally makes sense.

A past Genshin event involving the traveler helping the Milleth arrest a group of treasure hoarders comes to mind. As per usual: it ended with the Traveler arresting the leaders Brass Bull and Flower, along with what seemed to be their full group.

Seems this group was just the leftover that must have been somewhere else during the time of the event. They’re simply the leftovers that Yelan is obliged to clean up. Yelan never helps an enemy without helping herself first.

“I almost feel bad for you all.” A dry chuckle leaves you after speaking as the hoarder holding you shoots you a nervous glance. 

What easy prey.

“Did you really believe that Madam so easily? Brass Bull’s letter has to leave the Milleth prison meaning anyone could have peeked into the contents. Forging a letter to catch you all is just one possibility. It would be even easier to just replace the true Madam to infiltrate for any information you might withhold in captivity.”

His body stiffens up and his eyes look down at you with not quite a glare but something harder than a stare. “H-How did you kno-”

“About the letter? Yelan, or rather your fake Madam, bragged to me about it of course. A public servant for the Ministry of Affairs like Yelan can’t help but flaunt her misdeeds.” There’s a wariness in his eyes as he stares at you, his guard is lowering by the second.

Tone shifting into annoyance, you continue. “Don’t give me that look, ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’, don’t you know that? I was the one undercover to bring the real Madam back here. When I couldn’t find her, that's when I met Yelan.”

Biting your bleeding lip, your expression scrunches into one of anger as treasure hoarder after treasure hoarder are sent flying. “Yelan explained in detail how she tortured my dear Madam for information, all while inflicting these wounds on me. I’m not surprised to see that she infiltrated your group by lying her ass off.” His brows begin to furrow and his hands begin to steady.

“You wanna know something else?” His nod makes you smile widely and much like a devil to a wronged soul you whisper into his ear. “The Fatui you all were supposed to meet on Brass Bull’s orders have already been taken care of by Yelan. She could have just captured you all without any unnecessary fighting, but she wanted to betray you all.”

“Just like how she helped the Traveler arrest everyone all that time ago…” 

His complexion turns red as he releases your hands quickly and grabs the sledgehammer hanging from his waist. He sprints swinging it widely while yelling-

“-That woman is a fake! A fraud! She’s responsible for the past arrest and now this arrest!” Yelan jumps back, barely escaping a broken jaw as he continues to yell. “She’s the one responsible for Brass Bull and Flower’s sentence! Everything from then and now is all her fault!”

That knowledge makes every treasure hoarder's eyes grow in size and lock in on Yelan. Your hands pick up your bag from the floor as the hoarders lunge for Yelan.

Emerald eyes, wide and panicked, lock onto your tired yet satisfied ones as you send a shit-eating grin her way. ‘Eat shit’ you mouthed to her before watching the remnants of the group jump her.

It felt great, amazing even, to give her a taste of her own medicine after what happened with Shenhe.  

Only the smallest bits and pieces of wood were stuck in your back as you lug the back onto your shoulder. Flexing your body despite the pain and slight sway, you survey the battlefield.

You still needed to touch that damn waypoint.

“Ugh!” With a wince, you press a hand against your head before ducking as a blue arrow whizzes above you. Your skull sends sharp jolts of pain down your body as your back grows wet with blood.

This battlefield was too risky, every hoarder was blindly shooting and Yelan was still targeting you! 

Putting pressure on your calves that still drip with blood and melted ice, you march through the battle. Limbs and heavy bodies bump into you harshly as weapons narrowly hit your fragile body.

With laser focus on the teleport waypoint, you escape the constantly moving current of fighting and come into proximity of the waypoint. The cool feel of the waypoint is soothing against your feverishly hot fingertips, just when did you get this hot?

A gold glow shines from the teleport waypoint as you wretch your fingers away quickly, uncaring how your ruby blood left its mark on the object.

Shit, shit! How could you forget?!

The battle stills as everyone’s eyes are drawn to the dimming glow and new color of the waypoint. Yelan stares at you past the remaining hoarders before you jump to the side when multiple Hydro projectiles are shot at you.

It snaps the treasure hoarders back into reality as they glare at Yelan again. Taking advantage of what little time you can get, your body moves automatically to the closest exit.

Only to stop as the lingering hoarders who are too scared to fight Yelan but feel too guilty to run away aim at you with pale complexions. “D-Don’t come any closer!”

A bloody and messy unknown traveler on the other hand? The chance of them actually shooting you is high. Spitting out the blood pooling into your mouth, you back away from them. Turning back, you try the other exit but it’s just as bad.

Neither way was going to let you through and Yelan was starting to seriously cut down on their numbers. The small mountain next to you was starting to look increasingly tempting…

A passed out treasure hoarder is flung in your direction by unstable lifelines with you pressing your aching body against the stone to avoid getting hit. Your skull hits the stone and your mind goes blank for a hot minute.

Did you really have any time to be picky? You weren’t even sure if the waypoint would even work.

Sucking in a painful breath, you wrap your cut up fingers around the rocks and begin to climb. Sweat rolled off your feverish body as every movement made waves of pain wash over your body.

Blood dripped from your nose, spilled out of your mouth, and mixed with the slightly bloody dents you got from Yelan’s nails. Hot stings pricked at your head as the bruises beneath your body made itself remembered.

Finally at the top, you pull yourself up and gaze at the Chasm as the cool night air nipped at your skin bringing sweet relief. Lumbering closer to the ledge toward the Chasm to avoid any stray arrows, your fingers tremble slightly as it brings up the map.

Strange, when did you start trem- “Argh!” The cry is pulled from your lips as an arrow pierces your back. The pain and force behind it is too great forcing your body to collapse to the ground.

Your broken nose makes contact with the groan pulling a pained groan from you. Weakly, you roll to your side as heels begin to head your way. Body sore and sensitive, your eyes stare up at Yelan’s casual stride.

She’s slow and beaten up too. That arrogant smile is gone and those demeaning eyes have changed into something akin to hatred. Pulling yourself up as she stops just a few feet away, you watch her draw her bow.

Taking a step back just to get some distance, maybe even enough to dodge, it’s stopped short when all you can feel is the edge beneath you. 

It’s a dead end.

Yelan is quiet as she aims at you, her trembling bloody fingers are more than enough proof of how far you pushed her. Should you be satisfied seeing someone who basically had their whole life play out like you wanted and craved suffer?

“I guess you really will be known as a hero, Yelan, just like your ancestors.” The words are sad and bitter on your tongue. A sharp contrast to the iron taste as you cough up blood.

“It cough must be nice! Knowing that every-cough thing in your life worked out in the end! Hack” A clot of blood is forced out of your throat as Yelan narrows her eyes at you.

“I hope you thank the Creator every damn day for the people in your life…” A sardonic wet laugh leaves you as your body shakes. “Especially Ningguang as she's the reason you didn't have to struggle to find a new job.”

A bloody coughing fit consumes you and pain accompanies it as the bow’s tension is released. 

The incoming arrow isn’t something you can avoid or block, the force of it pushes you off the edge. Time slows down as you blankly watch Yelan’s form begin to get smaller from above you.

You have no energy to panic, just a faint realization of your quickly coming death and a conflicting feeling of acceptance. The wind howls in your ears and the world blurs together, all you can truly see is the starry sky above you.

Is this how you will die? Is this how you want to die?

No, maybe you should at least be thankful that you’ll be dying from being a liar rather than being an imposter.

Would that make your death more acceptable in your eyes?

Your body is weightless and the pain you suffered from no longer torments your body. Closing your eyes, you let all those lingering worries fade away.

.

.

.

.

Why weren’t you dead yet?

Opening your eyes, you find that your fall is a lot slower than before. It’s gotten softer from a howl to a murmur in your ears. Aches begin to plague you as pressure compresses your body and lungs.

Rocks and other edges move past you and the incredible thing you realize is that you’re floating. Will you actually survive? Is there a big difference between falling to your death and floating to it?

Struggling to breathe through the thin air and blood in your mouth, no scream of pain can leave your lips as your back meets the grass. Several cracks can be felt and a tip of the arrow pushes through your body until the metal tip pierces your lung.

The pain is unbearable as you lie there helpless. 

Teyvat traded a quick painful death of being splattered and compressed on the ground for a slow painful death of bleeding out? 

‘What a fucking joke!’ You think to yourself as tears run down your face, and your skin turns cool and clammy. Warm blood seeps through your clothing and it begins to form a sticky puddle beneath you.

Skull aching as your spotty vision fades in and out, the several new broken bones that leave you unable to move, and the agonizing pain of something stabbing your insides as blood bubbles in your mouth?

It’s torture, you conclude. You’re fated to die a torturous death no matter what.

“...herbs….here…” It’s a slight mumble that you can’t hear.

“Maybe…here?” A little closer and the voice catches your slowly dying consciousness.

“The last herb is here.” A slow, childlike voice reaches your ears and you turn barely enough to watch a zombie-child walk your way.

A small basket is stiff in her hands filled with plants. “I need to gather the herb.” She speaks not quite to you but past you.

To a snow-white Qingxin, the petals droop beautifully dotted with crimson beads of your blood. Qiqi walks closer with empty eyes unflinching as her shoes are stained with your blood.

Qiqi can carry Xiao and she goes straight to Baizhu who is not only a healer, but also the best doctor. This agony and suffering would be worth going through if you would actually live. 

The only thing in the way was her current order... 

Good thing you already know how to cancel it.

Qiqi’s stiff fingers wrap around the stem and freeze when your larger, shaking one's weakly lay on hers. Dull pink eyes look up at you as if seeing you for the first time. Her pupils widen minuscule as your warm eyes stare back.

Forcing a small bloody smile, you weakly whisper sweetly. “Qiqi, I love you most.”

The basket in her other hand drops to the ground but Qiqi’s eyes never stray from yours. Her small grip on the stem stiffens and you continue. “It’s true Qiqi, I love you most.”

“But I won’t be able to love you if I die here. Bring me to Baizhu.”

Her eyes dull immediately and she releases her grip on the herb. “Order received.”

With that, she takes the arrows embedded in your chest and snaps the majority of the parts sticking out. The pain you feel from Qiqi’s lack of restraint isn’t unbearable but the continuous feeling of your conscious fading scares you.

Within a minute Qiqi has you on her back with your arms draped over her front as she holds your legs up. The position is painful as her readjustment and movement make the leftover arrows in you jolt, but it works.

Not a single part of your body is dragging on the floor and she even has your bag hanging from her neck. It would be a cute sight if she wasn’t going to hike back to Bubu’s Pharmacy carrying a dying body.

You admittedly held some negative feelings towards Baizhu for using that method of canceling orders. He may take good care of Qiqi but he only loves her as a patient, rather than as a parent.

Qiqi hikes back with no stumbles or enemies in the way. Even with your weight, she walks as if unburdened. That doesn’t stop the mind-numbing sting plaguing you and your body.

What right do you have to judge Baizhu for giving Qiqi false parental love for his own benefit? You’ve now done the same exact thing. If anything, you should know better. 

You don’t have much time left as your head sags onto her, your consciousness is at the brink. Unknowingly your thoughts begin to spill out in a hoarse voice “Sorry Qiqi, I shouldn’t have said that. What I should say is sorry.”

With that, everything fades to black.

This was one long chapter, but I did not want to split and risk losing the momentum. I'm happy to conclude this women hunting you down arc! I swear this chapter was done when I was freed from the shadowban, it just took a long time to edit. Thank you to my editor for helping me edit this document from hell. It definitely would have taken at least another few days. Next chapter might take a bit longer as I have to finish Baizhu's story quest for a proper view of him. I'll admit that my series can get confusing so if there is any questions, feel free to ask! I appreciate all the likes, comments and reblogs!

Taglist - if you're name is in italics, that means I couldn't tag you!

@vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @liansh3ng, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @shellofthewell, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @millienolife @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo, @0lshadyl0, @esthelily, @t-rex-red, @ck123, @steadybreadbluebird, @118gremlin, @stratonia, @time-shardz, @farelady-fate, @valeriele3, @francisnyx, @byakuren100, @waveto-earth, @flyingpansaurus

[vivwritesfics]

No Need To Ask

Chapter Eleven - Going Home

The Norris' were a notorious crime family in the UK. One of many. With Norris, the head of the family, running operations with his son, Lando, they work to keep Y/N Norris, Norris' daughter protected. Life in a crime family wasn't something they wanted for her.

But with tension with one of the Spanish crime families rise, Norris and his now deceased wife come up with only one plan, offer their daughter to the Sainz's or risk an all out war.

Warnings: Smut! Cheating!

1.7K words

Series Masterlist

Where the fuck was Oscar?

It took four days before Y/N was stomping through Carlos' house, heading towards his office.

It was only recognisable by how heavily it was usually guarded. Not today though.

Pushing up her sleeves, Y/N mustered all of the courage she had and pushed her way into Carlos' office.

"Okay, where the f"

But she stopped in her tracks when she looked at her husband.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. Against the desk was a woman, one Y/N recognised to be a member of the kitchen staff. Carlos' eyes snapped towards the door when Y/N walked in. He continued to thrust, his pace bruising as he stared at his wife.

The woman hadn't noticed Y/N as she laid flat on the desk, breasts bouncing with his thrusts.

"Can I help you, Querida?" Carlos asked, his pace never faltering.

The woman let out a particularly loud moan and threw her head back. She must have felt somebody else in the room, because she opened her eyes, seeing Y/N standing there.

"Mi señora! ¡Dios mío, señora mía!" The woman cried as she shuffled back on the desk, pushing Carlos away as she did so.

The woman gathered up her clothes and ran out of the office. Carlos simply pulled up his trousers and buckled his belt, sitting in his desk chair. "Can I help you?" He tried again.

But Y/N was still just standing there, her mouth open in shock. She knew it wasn't a marriage of love, but she never expected this.

When she said nothing, Carlos went back to his paperwork. Like he cared for nothing, he scribbled his signature across papers and dismissed her from the room.

Y/N obeyed. With her fists clenched at her side, she marched out of the office and down the hall, down to her room. Surely this had to be grounds for divorce. Surely this meant she could go home. Surely… Surely…

No. This happened in every Mafia marriage. Unless it was born out of love, the wives were nothing more than ornaments, decorations to make the mafia leaders look better. Carlos cheating on her would only mean something if he really loved her. But he didn’t. Their marriage meant nothing, and she meant nothing.

There wasn’t much that could make things worse for her. She was stuck a house that didn’t feel like her own, surrounded by people that could easily kill her, with a husband that didn’t love her.

But, as life always did, it made things worse. So much fucking worse.

After three hours stewing alone in her room, there was a knock at the door.

“Go away!” Y/N shouted as she turned away from the door. “I don’t want to see you!”

But it wasn’t Carlos that threw open her bedroom door. Señora Sainz, as Y/N was supposed to call her, opened the door. “I have some news for you, Y/N,” she said, letting herself into the room.

“So, what, you’re not going to test me on my Spanish now?” Y/N spat as she looked towards the window.

Señora Sainz shook her head. “It’s about your father.”

Y/N turned towards her. Her tone wasn’t filling Y/N with a lot of confidence. She looked towards her mother in law, her breath hitching. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said and strode forward to wrap her arms around Y/N. “Pack your things, you and Carlos are going home tonight.”

“No,” Y/N said instantly. “I’ll go alone. Carlos doesn’t need this distraction.”

But Carlos had to go. All of the Mafia bosses either had to go or send somebody in their place. Sainz was sending Carlos, since Y/N had to go already.

Silently, she packed her things. There really was no getting away from Carlos.

Before midnight Y/N and Carlos were on the private jet, heading to the UK. They didn’t sit near each other, at least not at first. She made a point of sitting as far away from Carlos as she could. But then, as they got closer and closer to England, Y/N stood.

She stretched her limbs and walked across the plane taking a seat beside Carlos. “This is my fathers funeral,” she said and Carlos looked up at her. “And I don’t want to see you. We’ll have to sit beside each other at the ceremony, but, other than that, I want you to stay away from me.”

Carlos chucked and shook his head. “Querida, you must have realised if I wasn’t fucking you, I’d have to be fucking something else,” he said and crossed one leg over the other.

She ignored it, pushing on. “And, you’re going to tell me what happened to Oscar. I know he’s not in Spain anymore, so you’re going to tell me where he is.”

Again, Carlos shook his head. He stood suddenly, his hands on the arms of Y/N’s seats as he leaned over her. “You’re forgetting who’s in charge here, Señora Sainz,” he growled with a wicked grin.

They didn’t break eye contact. Y/N’s chest was heaving, but she wasn’t going to back down. Not in this rare moment of bravery. “I’d divorce you if I could,” she spat.

Carlos laughed again. He sat back in his seat and let out a laugh. “You know, querida, you are funny. Have you ever heard of a divorce in our world? No? Because they don’t happen. The only way you’re going to leave me is if you’re dead.”

When they touched down in England, it was cold and miserable. But it was always cold and miserable.

Y/N couldn't look at Carlos as they drove back to the house she had grown up in. She kept her focus on the radio. Carlos didn’t try and make conversation, and Y/N was grateful. She couldn’t talk to him at that moment.

When they pulled up at the Norris house, Y/N quickly jumped out of the car. She ran up the steps and through the front door, two men grabbing her arms as soon as she ran through them. But, as soon as she realised who she was, they let go of her.

Leaving Carlos behind, Y/N marched her way through the house. If Lando was going to be anywhere he was going to be in his fathers – no, his office. It was his office now, just as he was head of the family.

He wasn’t Lando anymore. He was Norris.

The office wasn’t guarded like Carlos’s was. Lando didn’t need it. Y/N knocked gently and pushed her way into the office.

As soon as Lando saw his sister, he was on his feet, walking over to her to wrap her in her embrace. No longer was Lando this ruthless guy, not compared to Carlos. Lando squeezed his arms around his sister. “I’m so happy you’re here,” Lando whispered as he kissed the top of her head. “How is married life treating you?”

“Lan, please,” Y/N mumbled, cheek pressed against his jacket. “Dad is dead and the man I’m married to is the last thing I want to talk about,” she answered.

Lando nodded his head. “I’ve had a separate room set up for him,” he said and Y/N thanked him. “Do you know how long you’re staying for?”

“No,” she answered as he sat back behind his desk. Y/N sat in one of the chairs opposite him, not missing the way that Lando tucked his paperwork back into its folder.

“Well, the heads of family are having a meeting at the end of the week, so you and Carlos will have to stay for that,” Lando said, nails drumming against the wood of his desk.

Her arms were crossed over her chest as she looked towards the window behind him. “I don’t want to go back,” she whispered. “Oscar isn’t even there anymore, and I don’t know what to do without him.”

Lando sucked in a breath. “Oscar is… back in Australia. With Mark.”

“What?!” Y/N jumped up out of her seat. “What do you mean Oscar is in Australia? Why is he in Australia?”

“It’s what’s best for his safety.”

“Did he decide this? Or did you decide this?” She asked, hands on the desk as she leaned towards her brother. “Or, better yet, did Carlos decide this?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s happened, and there’s nothing any of us can do about it.”

***

No, Oscar did not decide to go back to Australia. After he’d had the shit beaten out of him by Carlos’s men, he went back to Australia, back to Mark.

He could have gone back to England, could have gone back to the Norris family, but what would Lando do? He was the one who had given his sister away. But Mark, Mark was the most powerful man in Australia. Mark could do something about it.

Oscar hadn’t grown up in a crime family. He’d grown up relatively normally, but when he’d gotten into some trouble as a kid, Mark gave him his only option. To join the Webber family, to train up through the ranks, and then to go off to England to work in a different family. He was meant to be a mole, but the Norris family had nothing to hide, nothing they were keeping from Webber.

But Oscar was assigned to Y/N, to looking out for her, watching over her. When She went off to Spain he went with her, protecting her, watching over her.

Oscar knew how he felt before they went to Spain. He knew how he felt and he could do anything about it. And then he met Carlos. Carlos was terrifying, but Oscar wasn’t scared. He’d dealt with worse than Carlos.

But now he was back in Australia, sat in front of Mark as he went over the blueprints of Carlos’s house. He’d only spent two weeks there, but he’d learnt everything he needed to know. The entrances and exits, where all of the men were stationed and everybody’s schedules.

If anybody could fuck up the Sainz family, it was Oscar.

And that was exactly what he was going to do.

Taglist (open): @multi-universe21 @formulas-bitch @gills-lounge @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @carlossainzwho @f1lov3r @samaib11 @charli123456789 @queenofmanydreams @ironmaiden1313 @vellicora @glitterf1 @80sloverry @lightdragonrayne @moonayu @bellsalabanccini @topguncultleader @handsupforamiracle @cmleitora @ashy-kit @jenniferrvsesi @barcelonaloverf1life @sbella13 @nicolettecallednikki @darleneslane @thehufflepuffavenger1 @champagneproblems17 @aespie @yukheizcigarettes @rewmuslupin @hollie911

[thebearer]

autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: target, halloween, carmen, and you. or a short, fluffy work about halloween shopping with target bc why not? 'tis the season.

contains: fluff. that's it lol. mentions to past family memories and some insecure carmen, but honestly just fluff!

“Oh, look at this one!” You coo, snatching the tiny ghost figurine off the shelf.  

“Cute.” Carmen muttered, one hand on the obnoxiously red cart, the other on your lower back. “Put it in.” He nodded towards the cart that was slowly starting to fill up. 

The speakers droned out some dull pop song, your coffee and his melting away in the drink carriers on the cart. Carmen didn’t usually prefer Starbucks, much more of a fan of the local coffee spot a block over from The Bear. They knew his regular, made it for him as soon as he walked in. No fuss, no forced conversation- just the way he liked it. 

But you liked Starbucks, well, in the right circumstance. You liked going to Target, you liked having a coffee to sip on while you “browsed”. Browsed, Carmen had grinned when you told him that. 

“You don’t just go out and browse sometimes? Look at things? Window shop to make yourself feel happier?” You’d asked him earlier in the car, head tilting to the side. 

“No, baby. I, uh, I don’t.” Carmen looked over at you, his hand still holding yours in the center console. “But maybe you’re onto somethin’.” 

Carmen’s lack of decorations was deemed a crime in your eyes, which inspired the trip. Halloween trinkets filling the cart, the sly smile you’d give him when you’d slip another one in, just like you were doing now. 

“It’s my treat.” You’d remind him, with a little wink. Carmen let you think that. Like he’d ever let you pay. And miss out on a chance to spoil you? No way. 

“Where’re you gonna put all this?” Carmen hummed, watching you situate the tiny ghost next to the plastic cauldron and iridescent ornaments- something you saw on TikTok that you were going to attempt to DIY. “My place isn’t that big.” 

“I’ll find a place, don’t worry.” You hum, sliding back in beside him, swiping your cup out of the basket. “You’ve got a bathroom, and the kitchen, and the bedroom-” 

“-Bedroom?” Carmen grinned lightly, his hand snaking to your waist while his free hand pushed the cart. “You gonna put this creepy shit in there?” 

“It’s not creepy.” You huff at him. “It’s cute, festive. Makes the place feel more… homey.” 

Carmen decided then, he’d let you put a full fucking skeleton in his room if it made you feel that way. He’d get rid of all his shit, didn’t need it anyways, so you’d have room for all your holiday stuff. Carmen’s heart fluttered at the thought of what Christmas would look like. Would you put up a tree? He hoped you would. He’d go and chop one down if he had to. Where in Chicago he’d find a tree? He wasn’t sure, but he’d find one for you. If it made you as happy as this did. 

“Ok,” You pulled him out of his thoughts, stopping the cart lightly. You plucked the bright orange bag up. “Did you know these are my absolute weakness?” Pumpkin shaped Reese’s, in their bright orange and purple glory. 

“Yeah?” Carmen grinned. “This is it, huh?” 

“Yes, in any shape too. But I prefer the pumpkin.” You went to set it back, Carmen’s hand grabbing the bag lightly and putting it in the cart. 

“‘M more of a Christmas Tree fan.” Carmen shrugged. “You know Cicero- uh, Jimmy-” You nodded, slipping back into his side. “He, uh, he used to bring a bag of these to Christmas every year when I was little. He’d always have to hide ‘em, ya know? My dad… My dad didn’t want us havin’ all that sugar before dinner. Jimmy would come in where all the kids were, toss ‘em to me or Mikey or Richie when he started hangin’ around. Tell us not to get caught, and Merry Christmas, and hide the evidence. We’d eat them before goin’ to Mass, and he did it every year until I got in high school.” 

You smiled softly, hand sliding down his back. “That’s sweet.” You hum, squeezing his hip lovingly. “You should get him some for Christmas this year. Return the favor.” 

“Yeah,” Carmen scoffed lightly. “Yeah, I think he’d like that.” 

A silence fell between the two of you, chatter from the surrounding people, the scratchy-screech of the cart. Carmen’s heart hammered, mind racing. Why the fuck did you tell her that? Fuckin’ ruined the moment. Stupid, fuckin’ stupid. 

“Hey, uh,” Carmen’s hands shook lightly, fingers drumming on the red plastic over the cart. “I-I didn’t mean to… ‘m sorry, I didn’t mean to say all that, ya know? Ruin the-the… I just, I dunno, you said that and-and I-” 

“-What?” You asked softly, brows creasing lightly. “What are you talking about? Say what?” 

“The, uh, the thing with Jimmy. I-I didn’t mean to make it awkward-” 

“Why is it awkward?” You pressed, setting down the candle you were smelling. “I thought it was sweet.” 

“Yeah? I-I just… I dunno why I said it, I’m sorry.” Carmen rambled, a hand falling over his face, hoping you couldn’t see the blush growing over his face. 

“Don’t be sorry, Carm. There’s nothin’ to be sorry about.” You shook your head, waving him off. “It’s a sweet story. I like that you told me that.” 

“Yeah?” Carmen asked softly. 

You nodded, smiling at him. “You know I do, bear.” The nickname rolls off your tongue so effortlessly, calmly- Carmen’s sure he’s going to melt into the floor. 

“Here,” You twist the lid off the next candle. “This one has caramel. You like that, right?” 

Carmen wasn’t sure how you remembered that. He’d mentioned it once, in passing, that he liked whatever you were burning at your apartment when he was over. It was caramel and coffee, you’d remembered, because you showed up at his house with the same candle the next day. A love present, you’d called it, pressing a kiss to his cheek. You didn’t want anything in return, no strings, just buying him something because you wanted to; because he liked it. It was still a new concept to Carmen, how you could love him without wanting anything other than love in return. 

Carmen ducked down, the brim of his hat bumping your wrist lightly. “Yeah, I like that one.” He nods. “Smells like that other one.” 

“Yeah? Not too pumpkinny?” You tilt your head to the side. 

“No.” Carmen laughs, breathy and light. “I don’t smell any pumpkin. Is there pumpkin?” 

“Caramel Pumpkin Latte.” You tilt the label towards him. “They’re saying it’s in there.” Carmen hummed lightly. “You calling them a liar?” You giggle playfully.  

“No, but I am sayin’ there’s not pumpkin in there.” Carmen snorted lightly, putting the candle in the cart anyways. “Not real pumpkin, anyways.”

“Maybe if this chef thing doesn’t work out, you could be a candle critic.” You tease, falling into slow steps beside him. “Be a candle blogger or something.” 

“Candle blogger?” Carmen repeats with an amused smile. “That’s not real.”  

You look at him, eyes wide in excitement. “Oh, Berzatto, am I about to blow your mind.” 

“No? Really?” Carmen laughed. “You’re fuckin’ with me?” 

“No! It’s a real thing, Carmen.” You laugh, pulling out your phone. “There was this woman that, like, went viral because she was going insane about Bath and Body Works not having her candle or something.” You giggle, typing slowly in the search bar. 

“That’s fuckin’ insane.” Carmen rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah.” You smirk. “Think she might’ve started a trend.” 

“Well, can’t do that then.” Carmen shrugged, loading the items on the small platform at the self checkout. “Don’t wanna go up against her, baby. She’s intense.” 

“Yeah, good call.” You grin, pocketing your phone, opening the bags while he scanned the ghost. “Guess you’ll have to stick to cooking.” 

“Guess so.” Carmen muttered, putting the plush pumpkins in the bag, reaching for his wallet. 

“Eh! No!” You click your tongue, eyes flashing at him. “I told you I was buying it.” You put a hand over the card slot, glaring at Carmen with a frown. 

“C’mon,” Carmen shook his head lightly, pushing your hand away lightly. “You got a number you wanna put in?” He nodded towards the screen. 

You pouted, pausing for a moment. “Yes.” You mutter, typing in your number quickly, pivoting your body in front of the card machine. 

“You gonna move?” Carmen looked at you, already reaching around to put his card in. 

“No, I told you it was my treat.” You mutter, twisting with your phone in your hand. One look at the screen, and you were tapping your phone against the screen. The ding chimed, your smug smile spreading across your lips when the receipt printed. 

Carmen was stunned, card still in his hand. “What- How did you-” 

“Gotta be quicker than that, Berzatto.” You grin, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

Carmen looked down at his card in his hand, shoving it back into his wallet. Maybe Sugar was right, maybe he did need to actually learn how to use his phone. He grabbed the bags from you, swatting your hand away while you pushed the basket back. 

“Shoulda let me pay.” Carmen grumbled, walking beside you out the sliding doors. It had started to get chilly, leaves tinging with warm color and the temperature beginning to drop. “Stuff’s for me anyways.” 

“Yeah, but I wanted you to get it.” You bump your hip playfully with his. “Besides, I told you it was my treat.” 

Carmen didn’t respond, unlocking the trunk and putting the bags in carefully, but the frown didn’t fade. Brows still furrowed and lips still in a hard line. 

“Hey,” You call, stopping him before he could close the trunk. “I told you I wanted to buy it for you.” 

“Yeah,” Carmen’s brows furrowed. “But you shouldn’t’ve-” 

“-Carm.” You groan lightly. “I wanted to pay, ok? You always get me stuff. Let me get this for you, ok?” You say lightly, arms snaking around his shoulders, looping behind his neck. “Let me spoil you, bear. Lemme be your sugar mama.” 

Carmen snorts, lips curling in a grin lightly. “Shut up.” He mutters, your lips closing over his in a sweet kiss. 

You pulled apart, blushed and swooned in a Target parking lot. “You gotta put the stuff up anyways.” You tease, hands sliding down his toned arms, over his color block jacket. 

“Yeah?” Carmen snorts lightly, pulling the trunk shut. “You’re not gonna help me?” 

“I’ll be directing.” You declare, pinching his butt lightly, grinning at how he jumped and flushed. Sliding into the passenger side, you lean across the console to Carmen. “I’ll make sure the ambiance is there.” 

Carmen nodded, starting the car, eyes bright when they met yours. “Light the candle?” 

“Yes.” You laugh. “And I’ll pick out a movie.” 

Carmen snorted lightly, his free hand moving behind your head rest while he backed out. It made your tummy flip with excitement. “Yeah? Casper?”  

You give him a feigned unimpressed look. “You know I’m more of a Hocus Pocus girl.” 

“Right, my bad.” Carmen laughed, hand gripping your thigh lightly, thumb rubbing patterns over the material of your leggings. Your heart skipped. “Fine. As long as you open those Reese’s.” 

“Deal.” You grin, kissing his forearm gently. 

Hours later, wrappers piled on the coffee table, the candle burning in the kitchen, and the orange lights glowing from where Carmen string them over the TV stand in the living room. One Jack-O-Lantern fleece blanket thrown over both of your legs, your head on Carmen’s while the beginning credits of Beetlejuice played on the TV. Carmen decided right there that you were right. This was more homey. Felt… right and content. He wasn’t so sure it was the decorations, more likely it was the girl who picked them out.

[nov4-rocket5]

Okay, so a lot of people are saying that Joon The King deadnames and deliberately used unflattering photos of Lily Orchard in his latest video.

The latter is pretty subjective, all the photos were of Lily post-coming out that she posted herself (and she really hasn’t changed much since posting them either); and the former claim is just… blatantly incorrect.

Joon clarifies Lily used to go by a different name once, and he says this because a lot of the archived footage and chats come from Lily pre-transition, and didn’t want the audience to get confused. He uses Lily's preferred name and pronouns the entire video, even when chats he's reading are of Lily's previous identity.

Keeping archival information unaltered is super important, both for the sake of Lily’s timeline, and the validity of Joon’s research. You start changing details out of a sense of 'respect' and you open up the question of what else you’re willing to change and censor. Maintaining the integrity and trust in your research is vital for communicating points. Especially when those points involve very heinous, very sensitive topics. If Joon had edited/censored the footage and chats, people would have searched for, found, and posted it anyway. It also would have probably led to Lily just claiming Joon falsified/doctored shots to make her look bad.

Joon isn't a DramaTuber, he's a documenter. And as a documenter, Joon presents information, in this case about Lily's online history and actions, and leaves it to the viewer to decide what to make of it. Joon doesn't moral police his audience, he set up that she is Lily and only chose to highlight her previous identity when it was relevant as a side fact (Joon doesn't even call her a cis male, just that she was still presenting that way), and trusted the audience he’s cultivated to not bully and harass people.

Current footage is used of Lily, current names and pronouns are used for Lily, and he makes it clear that Blake is a person who doesn't believe Lily's really trans but makes a brief counterpoint to Blake’s stance, and leaves it to the audience to make their own conclusions. Joon’s video is purely informational and intends to inform people about Lily and her long pattern of established behavior even before her current channel and Tumblr.

Joon encouraged discussion with Lily's current name and identity intelligently and gracefully. Knowing Lily’s deadname is just that - a name Lily was once known as, but she is Lily now. Since most people aren't rioting in the comments and keeping a level-head saying "she's Lily, these are her terrible crimes not just as a trans woman", Joon was successful. Only idiots and douchebags will directly harrass Lily with "hurr durr you will never be a yadda yadda". And Lily will no doubt just make those strawmen herself. Lily routinely thrives off chances to use her status as a trans woman “of color” to prove all her critics are just mean ol’ racist phobes.

And the simple truth of the matter is, Lily isn't some delicate ornament that will shatter to pieces at the slightest bit of transphobia; Lily is an easily-angered, pathological liar and manipulator who would hurt anyone in any way if she sincerely believed she could get away with it.

[quitealotofsodapop]

I don't think Wukong might have been wearing his armor. At least not the famous armor he's known for. Considering he was supposedly asleep when the Thrall took Wukong's egg, he was likely wearing either his standard outfit or something closer to sleep wear (which tbh could just be his standard outfit without the chest plate, shoes, and the waist wrappings) and I think it's implied the outfit got destroyed into he fight with the Thrall, or at least heavily damaged

Prev.

I thought about this after I made the post + this other anon ask;

And now I'm imagining a whole Heist-style episode where the Monkie Kids (MK, Mei Peaches, and Sandy) come together to plan a heist on the Megapolis Police Department in order to get the Monkey King's armor back.

Peaches and MK see it as a perfect opportunity to flex their transformation abilities. Peaches takes the form of Monkey Cop while MK is his loyal Deputy. Mostly cus it would be a lot easier a "tutorial mission" to transform into a slightly-different monkey than a whole new animal.

The heist has issues of course

Mei is diguised as a speedster doing dangerous driving so the bros can get through. Sandy is posted outside in the van as their handler ("I've seen the inside of this place before a bunch of times! They know my face.").

Hijinks ensue as you can imagine. Lots of speech checks need to be passed. Key cards and passwords borrowed to access the files + evidence locker. Turns out the layout has changed since Sandy last got arrested, so they end up in the wrong room at some point - for some reason I'm imagining a retirement/birthday party for an actual police officer.

The gang suddenly has a strike of moral dilemmia, and Peaches/Wukong decides to just walk up to the front desk as himself and ask for the evidence taken when he was picked up those 18 years ago.

And... they give it to him.

Turns out the cop he befriended at the retirement party was the officer on that case. The cop seems to know "Peaches" is something else but decides it none of his business as long as no crime has been broken. (The kids laugh nervously in Heist-mode)

The gang happily run home with the evidence box, excited to show Tang and Dadsy the Monkey King's armor.

Only for....

Macaque, unimpressed: "Wukong. Those are your pyjamas."

Peaches/Wukong, holding whats obviously not armor: "Waa??"

Macaque points out that the "armor" is no more than linen cloth with no ornamentation or protective padding. Likely whatever event led to him losing his memory occured when the Monkey King was snoozing. His real armor is probably back on FFM in his hut.

Macaque: "Also, if you needed to steal something from the police; why didn't just ask me to do it?"

The gang: (*avoid his gaze all embarassed*)

They still keep the pyjamas though - it's the Monkey King's pyjamas after all.

Macaque's nose curls as he recognises a scent on the fabric. A dead, cold scent....

[bwabys-scenarios]

🎄Fixer Upper🎄

Pt 29

Perv!Kurapika x Fem!Reader

part 28

part 29.5

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS!! There is a lot of smut in this chapter, and the next few chapters will be a flashback to the Chimera Ant Arc!

⚠️warning⚠️: there is a sex scene in this chapter, virginity loss, creampie, oral(reader receiving), fingering, boob sucking

taglist: @fabitheraven @tsukilover11 @ashdownunderscorebeloved @lemonslut @homeinmydreams @superweeniehutjrsblog @bugmomwrites @heartsforseo @lixiawinter @altaircc @itszenava @fiightforlovee @mimi-sanisanidiot @monainanuttshell @wow-im-gay @whorermoviestar @lightshowerrr @mama-m1na @nenggie @wicked-binch @jamayah @themanicwriter01

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The week was taking forever to pass by, Kurapika becoming more antsy by the day. Killua watched as the blonde nearly tripped staring at (Name) as she passed by.

“Jesus Christ man, I know you’re like head over heels in love with her, but can you at least watch where you’re going? You nearly spilt coffee on my Minecraft creeper slippers.”

Alluka giggled, circling the blonde. “You like (Naamee), you like (Naaamee)!”

The blonde turned bright red, trying to quiet the girl as (Name) turned back around. “Hmm? What were you saying Alluka?”

Killua patted Alluka’s shoulder, giving her a look. “Oh… nothing, big sis.”

Incidents like this happened nearly daily. Kurapika couldn’t help swooning every time she walked by, and sighing like a wife whose husband left for war when she left.

“She’s only been gone for 15 minutes, Kurapika.”

The blonde huffed. He had just been peeking out the window and Killua felt the need to tease him. “I just miss her, is that a crime?”

“No, but being a clingy loser is.”

(Name) got back a few minutes later, carrying a few grocery bags. She was immediately greeted by Kurapika, who took the bags and hovered around her like a lovesick puppy. “Did you miss me that much, Pika?”

She gave his cheek a peck as she put away the nutmeg and cookie mix. Kurapika had been by her side at all times for the past few days, wanting to cuddle, kiss, or hold hands as much as possible. It was like he was making up for lost time.

After putting up the groceries, (Name) was pulled towards the couch so he could “discuss their Christmas plans”. In reality, it was an excuse for him to lay his head in her lap while she talked and played with his hair.

“(Name)…”

She combed through his hair with her fingers, humming softly. “Yes, Pika?”

Kurapika glanced at the newly set up Christmas tree, its branches still bare. He stayed quiet for a second before speaking, his voice now softer, almost sounding nostalgic. “The Kurta… we didn’t celebrate Christmas, but… we still had similar traditions during the winter.”

(Name)’s eyes widened, her hands pausing before resuming. Kurapika almost never brought up his clan unless it was in reference to his revenge, so she was a little surprised. “What traditions were they?”

“… we would decorate the trees in our village. Each family had their own tree to grow and take care of throughout the year, and during winter we would decorate it with jewelry and handmade ornaments. When… I discovered the massacre, not only had they killed my family, they burned down our homes and trees. It’s stupid, but… when I searched the rubble of my home after burying the dead, seeing my childhood ornaments burnt to a crisp made me cry. It was something I never thought I would lose, I took the little things for granted.”

(Name) cupped his cheek gently. As he spoke, Kurapika’s eyes began to water, before tears freely fell.

“It’s not stupid, Pika. That was something important to you, a hint of normalcy that you never thought would be ripped away. It’s okay to be upset with it, small things like that made up your life.”

Kurapika leaned into her touch, allowing her to comfort him with her warmth. “Pika… you know, we could make ornaments together… if you wanted.”

He let out a shaky sigh, turning to bury his face into her stomach. “That… would be wonderful, (Name).”

She smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to the side of his head. “We’ll pick up the supplies when we go in our date this Saturday.”

‘Our date…’

He nuzzled against her, his arms wrapping around her waist to gently squeeze the fat of her hips. “Sounds like a plan…”

It felt like being in the Hunter Exam again. He was so soft and sweet with her, wanting to snuggle and cuddle with her every second he could. Although they still struggled with kissing due to their shyness, hugs and cuddles were becoming common place.

Before they knew it, the day of their date had come. The entire day, Kurapika paced around, taking an extra long shower. After he got out, he dressed himself in a pair of sweatpants and a tanktop so he could get some work done. It was only 12 pm, their date was supposed to be at 5 pm.

“Ah, where are my shoes…”

Kurapika looked up from his laptop, raising an eyebrow as he watched (Name) pull on an ugly Christmas sweater over a tanktop. “Our date isn’t until 5 pm, why are you getting ready? Are you going somewhere?”

The blonde had grown even more attached than he had been during the Hunter Exam, wanting to be near her or at least know where she was at all times.

“That’s none of your business.”

Kurapika turned to see Killua wearing a matching Christmas sweater, carrying Cornbread the cat in one arm, and a cat carrier holding Meatloaf in the other. By the looks of his scratched up hand, Kurapika knew Killua probably attempted to carry Meatloaf by hand the first go around.

“Are… are the cats wearing sweaters too?”

“Yeah, and what of it? It’s cold.”

(Name) rolled his eyes at Killua’s sassy remark. “We’re going to take pictures at the mall with the cats.”

Kurapika nodded slowly, starting at Meatloaf as she growled in the carrier. “Uh huh…”

He turned to (Name) looking a little shy. “Can I come?”

“Oh hell no! This is a mother and son trip, no deadbeats allowed!”

“Killua!”

She folded her arms at the boy, frowning. “I know you’ve been excited for this, but there’s no reason he can’t tag along. You should be nice baby, it’s almost Christmas.”

Killua cursed under his breath, mumbling something about Kurapika ruining things before he sighed. “Whatever, but he can’t cling to you the whole time. It’s annoying.”

Kurapika glanced down to his arm wrapped around (Name)’s waist, and reluctantly pulled it away. “… I don’t… I don’t cling to her.”

“Yeah, whatever you say.”

(Name) held onto Kurapika’s hand, smiling softly. “I don’t mind it, Kurapika. I like that you want to be close to me.”

His cheeks erupted into a blush, and he could only nod, lightly squeezing her hand as they walked to the car.

Killua and (Name) sat for pictures, Cornbread in Killua’s lap and Meatloaf in (Name)’s. They both smiled, though Meatloaf spat and hissed at both Killua and the photographer. “Aww, these pictures are going to be so cute!”

Kurapika watched from behind the camera, peeking at the two. (Name) seemed so happy, and Kurapika found the way she held Meatloaf in her arms like a newborn baby quite cute.

“Can I… get in one of these pictures?”

Killua seemed personally offended by Kurapika’s question, scrunching up his face. “Um… are you a mother or a son to anyone here? No? Yeah, get back behind the camera. You might break the lens.”

(Name) gasped, pinching Killua’s cheek. “Killua, that’s way too mean, even for you! Come here Pika, I’ll take a picture with you.”

Killua grumbled, holding his cheek as he walked away with the cats. Kurapika raced towards (Name) quickly sitting next to her and pulling her close for a picture.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, taking the chance to lightly squish her hips before resting his hands on her stomach.

After the photos, the group got them developed and made their way home. “Aww, Killua, Meatloaf was looking at you in this one!”

“I think she wanted to eat me.”

(Name) glanced back at the cat, grimacing as it growled at Kurapika from its carrier. “Well… she’s got her muzzle on. You’re… probably safe.”

To be safe, (Name) carried Meatloaf in, cooing softly as she helped her out of the carrier. The cat purred in her arms, kneading at her Christmas sweater. “There, there, sweetheart. I know, it was a stressful day wasn’t it?”

She placed Meatloaf on the floor, Kurapika stepping out of the cat’s way. Over the past few months, he learned to avoid the cat to keep the peace.

They still had a few hours left until their date, so Kurapika locked himself in his room to get ready.

———————

“Oh… is that what you’re wearing?”

Kurapika frowned as Leorio inspected his clothes with a raised eyebrow. “I want to look nice, this is our first real date.”

“Yeah, but you’re going Christmas shopping, not ballroom dancing.”

The blonde had put on the tailored suit he got when shopping with Leorio and (Name) last week. “Haha, real funny. She said I looked handsome in this.”

“Kurapika, she thinks you look handsome in anything. I saw her blush when you came home covered in blood.”

A blush spread over Kurapika’s cheeks. “Really? I… think she looks gorgeous in anything. Or nothing.”

��Dude. Killua is right there.”

Killua stood by the door, holding his overnight bag with a horrified look on his face. He wordlessly backed away and walked back towards his room. They could hear Alluka questioning him about his disturbed expression.

“Ahh… I didn’t see him there.”

“Clearly.”

The blonde combed his hair, looking at himself in the mirror. Since he’d been living with (Name), the dark circles under his eyes had grown smaller, and his hair was much softer and healthier. Although it was still long, she’s given him a trim last month to get rid of any split ends.

Kurapika was still insecure, though. He was awfully pale, and still thinner than he was “supposed” to be. His old suit hadn’t only been torn and bloody, it had also been slightly baggy on him. He was still trying to take better care of himself, and (Name) sure was helping by making sure he ate three scare meals a day, along with snacks. He had gained a few pounds, finally able to wear some of his clothes without them sagging as badly.

He didn’t think he looked very handsome, but the memory of (Name)’s words made his face flush again. Maybe it was okay if he struggled to see his own self worth. He had her. That was enough, right?

The blonde stepped out of his room, standing in the living room. “(Name), I’m ready.”

“Coming!”

He heard the jingling of her keychains as she came running downstairs, the smell of her perfume the second thing he noticed.

The third thing he noticed was that she was wearing the cardigan she wore during the Hunter Exam and a pair of jeans.

(Name) was smiling as she reached the final step, although she looked a little confused at his formal getup. “Pika, sweetheart, you do know we’re going shopping, right? Wouldn’t you rather be comfortable?”

He blushed, looking down at himself. Kurapika could imagine getting sweaty, or having sore feet after wearing his nice shoes all day. “Yeah, you’re right (Name)…”

Kurapika sulked back to his bedroom, (Name) following behind. He only noticed when he turned to close the door, seeing her standing right in front of him. “(N-Name)? What-“

She shushed him, sitting him on the bed. “I’ll find you something to wear, okay? Just sit there looking pretty for me.”

His face turned bright red as she rummage through his closet, the blonde unable to speak. His cock grew hard at her compliments, and he cursed his body for being so sensitive when it came to her.

“Hmm…”

She took out a light, peach colored sweater and some gray jeans. “This with your coat should be good. Come here…”

She stood in front of him, cupping his cheeks teasingly before moving her hands down to his tie, undoing it. Kurapika felt his entire body heat up, the bulge in his pants growing. “W-what are you doing!?”

“I’m helping you get ready for our date, Pika. I have to make sure you’re nice and comfortable, don’t I?”

As she spoke, she began unbuttoning his shirt, her hands slipping beneath the white fabric to caress his chest. “Oh, angel…”

His voice was soft and affectionate, with a tinge of lust underlying his words. Kurapika’s hands met hers, holding them gently. “If I let you do that, we may not make it to our date. I won’t be able to control myself.”

With a kiss to her forehead, Kurapika sent her away. “Wait for me outside, I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

(Name) waited for him in the van, her cheeks warm and a fond smile on her face. ‘Maybe… he really does like me.’

————————

The two arrived at the mall right on time. Kurapika ran to open her door for her, his cheeks a soft pink as he helped her out. “Oh, what a gentleman. Thank you, Pika.”

He looked away, keeping a soft grip on her hand. “… you’re welcome, (Name).”

The mall was crowded more than usual, but not as bad as when they went on their midnight trip last week. Even so, Kurapika kept a protective arm around her waist as they walked through the mall.

“So, where should we start first?”

(Name) hummed, pulling out her shopping list. “Well, why don’t we start with getting the supplies to make ornaments?”

Kurapika paused, a warm and fuzzy feeling taking over his body. “That’s… a great place to start.”

Kurapika guided her through the crowds of people to where they needed to go. (Name) looked around at the rows of Christmas decorations and ornaments, finally spotting some plain white and clear ornaments. “Ooo, we can paint these and place glitter or little objects in the clear ones!”

She held them up, giggling. Kurapika nodded, picking up a pack of clay and paint. “I’d like to hand make some as well… my people were artisanal, when we went into the outside world, we sold textiles and pottery, along with paintings.”

(Name) nodded, placing everything in the basket. “Okay, now just to get some glitter and other little things…”

Kurapika couldn’t help but feel excited about what the future held. He couldn’t wait to make ornaments again and have memories that he could build up again.

“Mmm… next is a big gift for Alluka…”

The spent a few hours shopping before they settled down to eat some cheap fast food at the food court. As Kurapika bit into his burger, he realized just how different the date Illumi and (Name) had to theirs.

Illumi took her to a fancy restaurant where they ate expensive food and wore nice clothes, while Kurapika and (Name) were dressed in jeans and sweaters as they wolfed down burgers and French Fries.

For a moment he almost felt a bit embarrassed. Maybe Illumi was better than him?

Then he saw (Name) smile and laugh, her eyes twinkling. She didn’t look at Illumi like that once during their date, and upon further reflection, Kurapika realized she looked pretty uncomfortable the entire time.

Now, with Kurapika, she smiled brightly and giggled, her chubby cheeks warm. She was happy to spend time with him, no matter where it was or what they were doing.

“You’re really cute, (Name). I don’t think I could ever get tired of hearing your laugh.”

She blushed, giving him that pretty smile of hers. “I could say the same about you, Pika. Hearing you laugh makes me feel so happy.”

He was caught off guard with how sincerely she stated that, causing his cheeks to redden. “O-oh… I… want you to be happy all the time, I guess I’ll try to laugh more often.”

The two looked at each other for a moment before they both bursted out in laughter, having to bend over and hold their stomachs. “P-Pika please, my tummy hurts, haha!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

She wiped a tear from her eye, leaning back in her chair. Kurapika thought she looked gorgeous like this, her face warm from laughter and her eyes bright. If he was being honest, he would find her beautiful in any circumstance, she was his angel, the one he loved more than anything.

“Mmm… I think we got everything on the list. How about we grab some hot chocolate and cookies then head home?”

“That sounds good to me, angel.”

As they picked up their hot chocolate and cookies, Kurapika quirked an eyebrow at (Name), peeling into the bag. “You only got enough for the two of us. You usually get some for Killua and Alluka too.”

(Name) smiled, grabbing the bag before holding onto his hand with her free one, giving it a gentle squeeze. “They went to stay with Leorio for the night. It’s just going to be us at the house.”

A chill went down his spine, and he was sure she noticed the he gulped as his cheek turned red again. “Is that so?”

She nodded, tugging him towards the mom van. “Mhm, just us. We can watch some Christmas movies and snuggle on the couch with no interruptions! Killua usually would come sit between us like some kind of chaperone!”

She said this with a playful huff. “It’s weird, he acts like you’re going to pounce on me or something.”

‘Ah, he’s not wrong to think that, honestly…’ Kurapika thought, looking away. The bulge in his pants had returned, and he was just glad to be wearing an oversized sweater.

‘The thing I said during the fall get together probably didn’t help anything…’

They got into the mom van and drove home, sipping on their hot chocolate and snacking on cookies.

———————

Kurapika carried in most of (Name)’s shopping bags, insisting that she just get the Christmas movie started while he placed them in her closet upstairs. When he came back downstairs, she was heading up. “I’m going to change into my pajamas! The movie is already starting, so you can get changed and we can meet back up!”

The blonde nodded, watching her hips as she ran up the stairs, tripping on the same step she always did. He had to bite his lip to prevent himself from laughing.

After getting into comfortable pajamas, the two sat on the couch together, a few feet apart. They were both nervous, the energy a bit different than it had been the other times they’d been together.

After about 10 minutes into the movie, (Name) scooted closer, leaning her head on his shoulder. Kurapika felt his heart pounding. She smelt so good, like hot chocolate and vanilla, along with her usual fruity perfume. It made him feel soft, and before he realized it, he had wrapped an arm around her to bring her closer.

“Mmm…”

He nearly whimpered when he felt her bury her face into his shoulder, her soft warm breath tickling his neck. “Pika…”

She planted a little kiss on his shoulder, her chubby cheek resting against him. “Can I… sit in your lap?”

Kurapika’s brain short circuited upon hearing her request, his face heating up to the point his entire face was now red. (Name) took his silence as him being uncomfortable with the question, and immediately pulled back. “N-never mind, I didn’t men’s t-“

She yelped when the blonde pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her plush frame. He rested his flustered face on her shoulder, trying to calm his breathing. “Please… just let me hold you. Stay…”

(Name) relaxed, returning the embrace. Her plump thighs were on either sides of his, her knees resting on the couch. He nearly shivered when she finally sat down completely, his hands falling to her hips to keep her in place.

It took Kurapika a moment to calm himself down, and when he did he looked up to see her gazing at him in a way that made his heart race. It was pure adoration and love, something he hadn’t experienced since he was a child. “(Name)…”

He cupped her cheek, his other hand lightly squeezing her hip. “You’re… everything to me.”

Her breath hitched, and they began leaning into each other. “Pika…”

When their lips met, he couldn’t help put pull her flush against him, feeling her breasts squish against his chest. “Mmm…”

His hands began to wander to her ass. Kurapika gave it a quick squeeze, making (Name) yelp. He took this as a chance to slip his tongue into her mouth, dancing with hers. She tasted sweet, like the hot chocolate and cookies they had earlier.

She could feel his bulge pressing into her, and she even lightly rocked her hips against him, causing him to moan into the kiss. His hands shot to her hips, helping to guide her over his bulge.

When they pulled away to breathe, his hands moved to her shirt, yanking it off. He nearly choked when he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra, her soft breasts now on full display for him. “(Name)…”

He glanced up at her, the blondes eyes widening in surprise when she guided his hands to her chest, placing them over her ample breasts. “Please.”

Kurapika took in a shaky breath as he gave her breasts a light squeeze, his hands trembling lightly in excitement. They were softer than he could have ever imagined, and fit in his hands perfectly, almost like she was made just for him.

His thumbs brushed over his nipples, the blonde neatly shuddering when he felt them harden under his gentle touch. The little whimper that left her lips was enough to encourage the shy Kurta to continue.

He wanted to kiss every inch of her body, so before he knew it he was leaning forward to press his lips into her breast, his tongue lapping at her nipple. “M-Mmph, Pika!”

Her face was hot, and she could feel the wetness pooling between her thighs as he looked up at her with those scarlet eyes, his mouth latching around her nipple. His tongue danced around her sensitive nipple, his other hand lightly pinching and tweaking the other. “Gorgeous… you’re beautiful…”

After releasing her breast with a soft “pop” from his mouth, he moved to sucking on her neck, giving her little bites and licks. By the time he was done, (Name) was a panting mess and her neck was covered in love bites and hickeys. Kurapika was also feeling the heat, and he was sure she could feel his bulge pressing into her clothed pussy.

“I want you, (Name)…”

He stared up at her, his eyes a brilliant shade of scarlet, the unique shade only she got to see. No one else got to see Kurapika’s eyes like that, they only turned that specific shade when he was looking at the one he loved.

“I… I want you too, Pika… I need you.”

He had been waiting for this moment for so long, and now that he finally had her in his arms, the blonde almost get overwhelmed.

Kurapika had hurt her, more than once, and he never would have thought he would have a second chance at this thing called love, especially not with her. He didn’t deserve her, not one bit, but he was determined to have her. Maybe he was being selfish by loving her, but in that moment he didn’t care. Her body was pressed against his, and he wanted her more than anything.

He scooped her up in her arms, smiling a little when her thighs wrapped around his waist. “My room or yours?”

She buried her face into the crook of his neck, humming softly. “Doesn’t matter…”

Kurapika squeezed her thighs when she began nipping at his neck, her soft lips brushing against his jaw as he walked upstairs. “A-angel, please, ah!”

He bit his lip when she nibbled on his ear. The blonde hurried up the stairs, his body trembling from her kisses and nibbles.

He figured her room would be more familiar and therefore more comfortable for her, so he passed his room and made his way to hers,

The door was kicked open, and the two fell onto the bed, their lips meeting again in a flurry of kisses. He couldn’t keep his tongue out of her mouth, not when she tasted so sweet and felt so good.

He blushed when he felt her tugging at his shirt. Kurapika knew sex meant getting naked, but he couldn’t help but hesitate. He wasn’t exactly the most confident in his appearance, but with one look at (Name)’s lust filled eyes he was tearing off his shirt in a hurry, quickly moving to unbutton his pants.

She pulled him back in for another kiss, pulling his hips into hers, letting his clothed cock run against her clothed pussy. “F-fuck (Name)…”

He groaned, holding onto her hips as he moved against her. “Need these off, now…”

He yanked down her pants with shaky hands, making her whine softly when her soaked panties were exposed to him. She hid her face away in embarrassment and tried to close her legs, but he pried her thighs open.

Kurapika couldn’t speak, his heart running a millions miles a minute. He was so close to her wet heat that he could smell her arousal. His actions had caused this. His.

It was enough to make his cock twitch in excitement at what was to come. “Need it…”

His voice was hoarse, like a man that had been wandering through the desert for years on end. “Pika…”

She blushed as his thumbs hooked under her panties, giving him a little nod when he looked up at her. With her approval, he pulled them down, his breath hitching at the sight before him.

She was soaking wet, her pussy drooling, all because of him. He leans down, his face hovering above her cunt as she peeked at him through her hands. Feeling a surge of confidence, he met her eye as he leaned forward to press a soft kiss into her pussy, his tongue flicking out to lick her clit.

Her eyelashes fluttered as her hips rose to meet his lips, a whine leaving her lips. She was shy and needy, all in one, and Kurapika wasn’t the type to tease, especially when he wanted this just as much as she did.

Without further ado, he buried his face into her cunt, his mind going fuzzy when he got a good taste of her. “Mmm, mm…”

He was losing himself, letting out a moan when he felt her thighs squish his face.

“Ahh!”

Her hands shot out to tangle themselves in his hair, causing him took look up at her with hazy, pussy drunk eyes. Kurapika kept his tongue on her clit, remembering how she masturbated when he watched her.

She let out a whiny moan when he inserted a finger into her. The blonde’s eyes widened at just how tight she was. He’d done his research and knew that virgins were tight, but there was only so much a book could prepare him for. It didn’t prepare him for the way she bucked her hips into his face, of the way his body reacted to the taste of her pussy and the sound of her mewling moans.

“Pika, I’m mmph- close!”

He glanced back up at her, seeing just how hot her face was. She was looking down at him with half lidded eyes, her lips parted to pant in pleasure.

He wasn’t experienced at eating pussy, but (Name) was already so close to cumming. It made his chest swell with pride, and he added another finger to get her even closer to the edge, curling them just like Leorio said to.

This made her call out his name, her walls tightening around his fingers. “P-Pika, cumming!”

He could feel precum oozing from his tip as he lapped up her cum. In the future, he would take a lot more time between her legs, but right now, he needed her desperately.

Kurapika wiped his mouth before moving up her body to get a good look at her post-orgasm face. It was quite the sight to behold, and he was amazed that he was able to cause it.

“You taste amazing…”

She blushed, burying her face in his shoulder. He could tell she was a bit nervous at what was to come by the way her thighs tremble around his hips. “(Name)…”

He cupped her cheek, brushing away a tear that fell down her cheek. Kurapika felt his heart drop. Had he been too pushy? Was she crying because of him? Seeing her cry made his protective instincts flare up, and he was quick to attempt to soothe her.

“We don’t have to keep going if you’re scared, (Name). I’ll stop the second you tell me to, angel.”

She shook her head, her hands going to his boxers to lightly tug at them. “N-no, I want you… I’m just nervous.”

He laughed, resting his forehead against hers. “Me too.”

They shared a smile before Kurapika kissed her again. It was a lot gentler this time, with light caresses and touches as their lips locked. He wanted her to feel safe and loved. Kurapika loved her more than anything after all, and he wanted their first time together to be special. He couldn’t say he loved her through words yet, but maybe he could say it through his actions.

“You’re gorgeous…” he said softly, his hands running over the sides of her body, past her chubby tummy and plump hips, resting on her plush thighs. Her soft flesh turned him on more than he cared to admit.

With a few more tugs, his underwear was off, and (Name) caught a glimpse of his cock for the first time. She had jerked him off before, but hadn’t actually see it since his dick since it was in his underwear, but now it was on full display for her.

He seemed nervous when she stared, only relaxing when she reached out to touch it. His breath hitched, a groan leaving his lips as she stroked him lightly. “Pretty…”

His cheeks flushed at the compliment, and he quickly but gently pushed her hand away. “I-If you keep that I’m going to cum…”

She giggled, pulling him forward his tip brushed against her folds. “Then let’s get started, Pika. Just… be gentle, please…”

He nodded quickly, his fingers interlocking with hers as he looked down. Kurapika bit his lip as his cock prodded at her pussy, the feeling of her juices coating his tip enough to make him cum. It was all he could do to hold back, the blonde glancing up at her again for permission as he positioned his cock at her entrance.

“Are you ready, (Name)?”

She nodded, kissing his cheek. “I am… I’ve wanted this for so long…”

Kurapika stared down at her with those scarlet eyes of his, his cheeks a dark red. “I need you… I’ve needed you my whole life.”

He touched her forehead to his as his cock sunk into her inch by inch. He didn’t mind that she was gripping his hand too hard or that she was whining softly. “I know, angel… shh…”

Whne tears of pain beaded in her eyes, he kissed them away, pushing his own pleasure away to tend to her. Even though she was squeezing his cock so deliciously, he pushed in slowly. He wanted to pound into her, to watch her breasts bounce as he fucked into her, but he wouldn’t. Not tonight.

When he bottomed out, he kept a hand on her tummy, pressing kisses into her neck and cheeks. “F-fuck… doing so good, angel.”

His inexperience was starting to show with the way his chest rose and fell, a soft panting leaving his lips. “M-Mmph, (Name)…”

It was arousing to see how his body was reacting to hers, the way she watched his eyes get hazy and his cheeks go red. Those scarlet eyes were proof of how strongly he was feeling, and she wanted to believe it wasn’t just lust. “Pika…”

The both leaned into each other, their noses brushing against each others tenderly. “I love you…”

This was said tenderly, her voice soft as she looked up at him. He felt his eyes widen and she could feel his cock twitch inside of her. She said she loved him before, and even though he’d heard her say it in a romantic way before, this felt different. She loved him, in the way lovers do. Sexually, romantically, all of it, she wanted him in every way she could have him. It made him want to cry, he had never been loved in this way before.

To be desired and needed in such a way was something Kurapika never though he would experience, and the blonde choked up, tears falling down his cheeks. “(Name)… oh angel…”

Kurapika peppered kisses along her neck and jaw, his fingers sinking into the fat of her thighs. “Pretty… so pretty…”

She whimpered, pulling his attention back to her face. With a light bucking of her hips, she signaled exactly what she wanted.

He took a deep before lightly pulling out before pushing back in, the mewl that left her lips making his hips stutter. Kurapika wanted to hear that pretty sound over and over, so he began thrusting in and out, keeping his hand over her tummy.

That thought he’d been trying to push away came back to his mind as her pussy clenched around him. The image of her with a little baby bump, smiling and laughing as held each other close. It was enough to make precum leak into her from his needy cock.

‘W-wanna… wanna…’

He moved faster, holding her legs over his shoulders as his instinct took over. Kurapika watched as his cock sunk into her, biting his lip.

‘Wanna get her pregnant…’

“Pika.. f-fuck, gonna-!”

He shuddered, feeling her walls flutter around him. “M-me too, angel… let’s cum together…”

Kurapika didn’t want it to end so soon, but he knew they wouldn’t last long with them both being inexperienced virgins, so he let go, the last thought he had before cumming being the desire to impregnate her.

His eyes squeezed shut and he groaned, pounding into her pussy as they came together. She whimpered at the filling of his cum filling her up, painting her walls white. Even after he finished cumming, it took him a moment to stop. Thrusting in and out of her felt so fucking good, he never wanted to stop, but he knew he had to. One look at her exhausted face was enough to calm his racing heart.

The blonde gave her a tired smile, leaning down to kiss all over her face before he pulled out. He wanted to stay inside of her, his instincts telling him to plug her up so his seed could stay inside of her, but his need for comfort and snuggles outweighed that.

He laid on his side and pulled her to his chest, his body feeling hot and tired, but good at the same time. The room smelled of sex and (Name)’s signature perfume, making him relax.

As his mind cleared of his post-orgasm haze, his mind drifted back to the thoughts of getting her pregnant. He came inside her, that meant it was a possibility, wasn’t it? The more he thought of it, the more his heartbeat picked up. He couldn’t think of anyone better to rebuild the Kurta clan with.

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt her tremble in his arms, the blonde picking up the unease and fear in her aura.

When he felt her chest begin to shake with sobs, he pulled her closer, his hands shaking as he cupped her cheeks. “Angel, what’s wrong? Was I too rough? Are you hurt?”

A chill ran down his back when she clung to him, her face burying itself in his chest. This wasn’t an embrace, this was a desperate attempt to keep him close to her. “Please… please don’t leave me… I’ll do anything you want, just don’t leave me again…”

It only took him a moment to realize why she was so upset, and his blood ran cold to think this was all his fault. He had traumatized her to the point she was terrified that once he had his way with her, he’d abandoned her, like she was nothing.

Had he really been so cruel that she believed he would use her body then abandon her? Kurapika held onto her so tightly it was almost painful.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

Tears welled up in his eyes. He’d done this, he made the love of his life tremble in fear at the thought of him leaving her again.

All he could do was whisper apologies into her ear as he rocked her, trying his best to soothe and comfort (Name). “I can’t… I can’t live without you, Pika… promise me… promise me you’ll never leave me again…”

She finally looked up at him, her eyes a bit puffy from crying. He paused, his hand reaching up to wipe away her tears.

Was he really okay with staying with her? He didn’t want to become soft, to lose his anger and hatred, and if he stayed with her that might happen.

Kurapika brought her in closer to pepper her face in kisses, unable to stop as tears fell down his own cheeks. He loved her, but his mission would always come first.

“… I promise.”

She finally relaxed, laying her head on his chest. “Mmm… I’m so happy, Pika… I want…”

Her eyelids began to droop, her hands playing with his hair. “I want to stay… with you forever…”

As she fell asleep in his arms, Kurapika hoped that he would be able to keep that promise. A sinking feeling in his chest told him that if he didn’t, there would be no second chances, just heartache.

———————

(Name) woke up early the next morning, giggling to herself when Kurapika grumbled at her attempts to move. “Stay…”

His face was buried in her neck, his hand reaching around her to trail down her tummy to her pussy. She squirmed a little, feeling his cock slip between her thighs. “Pika, what do you mmph~! Think you’re doing?”

Kurapika kissed along her neck, gently sucking on her most sensitive spots. “It’s warm…”

She let out a shaky breath when he pushed into her wet cunt, feeling his fingers rub at her clit as he thrusted in and out lazily, his hot breath on her neck. “So good… you feel so good…”

His free hand groped at her chest, as if he just couldn’t touch her enough. Kurapika wanted his hands all over her, to touch and kiss every inch of her body. She whimpered, lightly watching her back, turning her head to capture his lips in a sloppy kiss.

It didn’t take long for them to cum, the blonde groaning in her mouth as she filled him up. “That’s my angel… such a good girl…”

He hummed in contentment, nuzzling his face into her neck before pulling her closer. “All mine…”

She squirmed a little, giving his cheek a quick peck before she wiggled away. He began to whine again, but she stopped him with a gentle boop to his nose. “Killua, Alluka, and Leorio will be here within an hour. Leorio’s staying over to decorate ornaments for us, so we both have to be showered and dressed before they get here.”

Kurapika pouted at her, his face falling onto her lap. “Just five more minutes… it feels nice to be snugged up with you…”

She smiled softly, gently brushing his hair out of his face. “I’d like that too, Pika, but not right now. How about…”

She hummed, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “How about we snuggle up and watch Christmas movies with everyone later? How does that sound?”

Although he would prefer to snuggle with her alone, he wouldn’t turn her affections down. “I’m okay with that…”

The two separated, much to Kurapika’s annoyance. All he wanted to do was be stuck to her side like glue, but she was busy. He felt a little bad and a bit hypocritical due to calling her a stalker in York New all those years ago. Now he was following her around like a lovesick puppy… he was whipped.

After they both showered and dressed, Kurapika helped (Name) set out the Christmas ornament decorating station. Kurapika even had his own space for molding clay, along with tools and paint. He seemed about ready to dig in, but refrained from doing so until the others got there.

It was nearly noon by the time the others got there. Leorio came holding two boxes of pizza, smiling. “Hey sunshine, I brought lunch.”

“Oh, thank you Leorio!”

She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a peck on his cheek, causing the blonde to huff in annoyance. Kurapika didn’t like how affectionate she was with other men, despite the fact he hadn’t even asked her to be his girlfriend yet. He seemed to believe she already belonged to him.

Killua looked at Kurapika, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t like the satisfied, love-dovey look on Kurapika’s face one bit. It made him… suspicious. Especially after Kurapika’s words during the fall get together…

As the group gathered around the table to start eating, Killua pulled Kurapika aside. “Kurapika.”

Kurapika blinked. It wasn’t often Killua used his actual name, so he looked at him. “… yes, Killua?”

“… don’t get her pregnant.”

And with that, Killua walked away to eat with the others, leaving Kurapika a blushing, stuttering mess.

———————

“If you use this tool, you can create a nice texture…”

“Ooh, Pika that’s so neat!”

Kurapika had (Name) perched in his lap, his hands on hers as he helped her mold the clay into little Christmas themed shapes, like gingerbread cookies and trees. The entire group was having so much fun, with Alluka and Nanika switching out to paint their own little glass ornaments.

“You’re a natural, (Name). My father would have loved to have your help with his work.”

(Name) felt her face warm up, melting at the heartfelt compliment. Kurapika mentioned his family less than he mentioned his clan, so it was a compliment of the highest honor.

“Oh, that sounds like a lot of fun! You said your mom taught you how to sew, right? I bet they would have kept me busy!”

Kurapika laughed at that, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Yeah, I bet they would have loved you.”

He gave her shoulder a kiss before moving the clay over to a baking sheet. “Alright, angel. Let’s get these to the oven. After, we can paint them together.”

She stood up then helped him stand, giggling when he leaned against her. “You may have to carry me (Name), I think my legs fell asleep…” he purred, his cheek nuzzling against hers.

“Oh really? Maybe you won’t be able to come see the Christmas light with us then~”

Kurapika grumbled, standing up on his own. “You’re no fun, (Name).”

She laughed, bumping her hip against his. “Mmm, maybe, but I know my stuff. Come on…”

After decorating ornaments, they decorated the tree with them. Leorio was kind enough to place the star at the top, the group looking on in wonder as they saw the fully decorated tree.

“It’s really nice…” Kurapika said, pulling (Name) close to him. He had a soft, nostalgic smile on his face, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.

“It is, I’m glad you got to do this with us, Kurapika.”

The two shared a kiss, causing Killua to gag and Alluka to “ooo”. Leorio laughed and rolled his eyes. “Okay lovebirds, we should go see the lights soon, it’s dark out.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, already.”

The group separated, getting dressed for the occasion. Kurapika sighed dreamily as (Name) walked down in a simple Christmas sweater and jeans. Honestly she could walk down in a potato sack and he’d still get flustered, she looked good in pretty much anything she wore.

“Oh wow, you look nice Pika!”

She looked over his nice red turtleneck and black slacks, nodding in approval. “You look cute yourself, (Name).”

She beamed at him, grabbing the arm he offered with a laugh. “Aren’t you a charmer? Let’s get the cat warmed up, it’s freezing out there!”

The group rode in the car to see the Christmas lights, munching on cookies and hot chocolate (Name) prepared before they left. “These are good, mama!”

Nanika was present at the moment, munching on a cookie. Killua seemed to be pouting over this. “Why does Alluka get more cookies? It’s not fair!”

“Well, Alluka has Nanika with her, it’s only fair they both get the same as everyone else!”

“Mom, they share the same vessel! It’s-“

Nanika buried her face in (Name)’s chest, whining. “Big brother is being mean to me…”

Killua started stuttering out an apology as Nanika and (Name) giggled. Kurapika glanced at them through the rearview mirror, his cheeks a soft pink.

“Take the next left, and it should be right there.”

Leorio was looking at his phone, calling out directions to Kurapika. The tall man had some spiked hot chocolate before he left and (Name) didn’t like driving long distances, so that left Kurapika behind the wheel.

He put the car into park outside of the the place, glancing around at the lights with a wonderstruck face. Kurapika had heard about Christmas lights before, and he even helped Leorio put some up at (Name)’s house a week ago, but he’d never seen anything like this.

Pairo had always wanted to see the big parks full of lights after he read about it in a book.

“Even with my failing vision, I’d still be able to see the lights! We should go see them someday, Kurapika!”

“Yeah, I promise I’ll take you one day!”

“Will you hold my hand so I don’t trip?”

“Haha, I’m sure I will have found you a doctor to help your condition by then, but I’ll still hold you hand. You’re a bit clumsy regardless.”

“Hehe, I guess I am!”

Kurapika stayed frozen near the gate, a hand over his heart as memories of old broken promises plagued his mind.

He was shaken from his thoughts by a hand taking his own, giving him a light squeeze. “Are you alright, Pika?”

Kurapika smiled, letting the tears fall down his cheeks. “Yeah… yeah I’m fine. I just… remembered that I had promised Pairo I’d take him to see the Christmas lights one day. I… never got to.”

(Name) pulled him a little closer, leaning her head against his shoulder. “… you carry him in your heart, Kurapika. He’s here with us, even if he isn’t physically. Can’t you feel it?”

The blonde paused, his eyes going wide. There was a certain feeling in the air, nostalgic and familiar. “I do… I do feel it.”

She smiled, laughing when he hugged her a little tighter. “I think… he’s happy I have you now.”

The others watched with smiles on their faces, even Killua. As they walked into the park, Kurapika felt truly at peace for the first time since he lost his clan. It felt like his friend was right next to him, experiencing each new sight Kurapika did. If there was an afterlife like Kurapika believed, he hopes Pairo could see all the sweet parts of life through his eyes.

Alluka and Killua played in the snow as Kurapika and (Name) gazed at the lights in wonder. “Oh wow, these ones are linked to a radio station! They blink in time with the music!”

They walked through a tunnel of lights, pausing to look at each other. To Kurapika, (Name)’s figure lit up by the soft lights above made her look beautiful. Her hair, her skin, her eyes, each part of her had his heart thumping away madly.

He leaned in for a kiss, cupping her cheeks, but stoped short when her phone buzzed in her pocket. The both seemed irritated by the interruption, but Kurapika gave her a patient smile. “Go ahead, I’ll still be here.”

(Name) giggles, walking away to take the call. He waited, watching as her face fell.

She walked back a moment later, looking simultaneously pissed and worried. “Is something wrong, angel?”

The woman groaned, leaning against him. “My boss called, he said there’s a natural disaster that needs clean up and rescue efforts, and he needs me to into work. My nen is very useful when it comes to both healing others and getting rid of debris.”

Kurapika pulled her in closer, his face scrunching up. “… how long will you be gone?”

“About a week, which means I’ll be home a few days before Christmas Eve. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind helping others, but it sucks going into work during the Christmas season… but…”

She texted Leorio, who said he would call her a taxi. “I have to remember that these people are experiencing these natural disasters during the holidays. My family is happy and safer, theirs aren’t.”

Kurapika was always surprised by her unending compassion and care for complete strangers. He nodded, cupping her cheek tenderly. “Do you want me to come with you? I don’t want you to go alone a-“

“No, I need someone that can stay at the house. Leorio has classes so he can’t always be around to help, you’ll need to take care of the kids while I’m gone.”

Kurapika frowned at that, but he couldn’t help feeling a small iota of pride at her trust in him. Killua was her baby, something she made clear, so to put him in Kurapika’s care meant she thought he was worthy enough.

“I won’t even have time to pack, I’ll just have to wear my work uniform and buy clothes there…”

She began walking towards the gate, texting numerous people on her phone as Kurapika followed. “You’re leaving now? I was hoping we’d have more time together…”

The knowledge that she’d be leaving for an entire week was starting to sink in, making the blonde feel extra clingy and needy. He held onto her hand, bringing it to her lips to kiss it. “I’ll miss you…”

She turned back to smile, embracing him as tight as she could manage. “I’ll miss you too, Pika. I love you…”

She gave his lips a soft peck, waiting a moment before sighing softly. “… I’ll see you next week then, take care.”

His face dropped as she turned, a soft look of sadness taking just his features. He could tell she was a little upset he hadn’t said he loved her back. Kurapika couldn’t blame her, not one bit. He wanted to say it, he wanted to scream it from the rooftops that she was only one for him, but he just couldn’t.

It wasn’t good, and would hurt them both later on if he couldn’t man up and say it.

The blonde sighed, watching her get in the taxi before he turned to join the others, the spark of excitement over the Christmas lights gone.

At the time, he didn’t realize that she was that spark, that person that allowed him to feel childlike wonder again.

And he might end up taking that effect she had on him for granted.

———————

The week (Name) was gone was hell for Kurapika. The kids misbehaved, the cats kept getting into trouble, and Leorio was too busy with college to help him most of the time.

But most of all, the thing that hurt Kurapika the most was the debilitating loneliness he felt with (Name)’s absence. He had gotten so used to her presence, that he could barely function when she wasn’t around. He stumbled through his routine, waking up early to feed the kids, working to find clues about the scarlet eyes or phantom troupe on his laptop, making lunch, going back to work, making dinner, then passing out after.

“You’re like a soggy cat!” Alluka said, watching as Kurapika slumped on the couch, his laptop on the coffee table. “You miss (Name) so much that you haven’t smiled or laughed once since she’s been gone! Not even at my puppet show.”

“Your puppet show was about the assassination of Abraham Lincoln.”

“I thought it was hilarious!” Killua chimed in, jumping over the couch to sit down next to Kurapika. “But she’s right, it hasn’t even been fun to tease you lately.”

Kurapika frowned at that, shutting his laptop. “It’s really none of your business how I feel. She’s important to me, of course I wouldn’t be frolicking around when she’s gone.”

Killua raised an eyebrow at the blonde. “Hey, she’s important to me too, but I can function on my own. I know she’ll be fine.”

“But what if she isn’t? Have you ever had someone you loved die? I worry that she could be in horrible danger every day…”

Killua went quiet, staring at Kurapika as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t. “… she’ll be fine. I… I know she will be. She promised me she would never…”

He clamped his mouth shut, his eyes staring at the floor as Kurapika looked up from his laptop. “She promised you what?”

Killua shook his head and grabbed Alluka’s hand. “Nothing. Let’s go, we need to clean up our rooms before mom gets home.”

Kurapika had a sinking feeling that whatever Killua was talking about had something to do with the Chimera Ant Incident.

He would find out what happened eventually, but at what cost? Now, he didn’t know just how much damage the truth would cause.

They say curiosity killed the cat, and Kurapika had always been the curious type.

————————

It was 3 days before Christmas Eve, and (Name) was supposed to be home at any minute. There had been radio silence on her end the past two days, filling Kurapika with worry.

“What if she got hurt? Someone could have taken her phone and used it to say she’s fine before throwing it away!”

“Kurapika, she sent us a picture of herself two days ago.”

“… it could have been edited.”

Killua groaned, rolling his eyes. “She’s fine, blondie. You worry too much, she’s going to feel smothered by you.”

A knock at the door had them all jumping up. “Mom?” “Angel!” “Big sis?”

They ran to the door, Kurapika throwing it open to reveal (Name) behind it. Before they could all throw their arms around her, they noticed how she swayed slightly, the bags under her eyes now visible, along with the tired look on her face.

“I’m home… please… call Leorio…”

With that, she fell into Kurapika’s arms, the blonde neatly vomiting when he saw his hands coated in blood. There was a large patch of blood seeping through the back of her shirt.

Killua pulled Alluka away so she didn’t see, though he was panicking himself, he wanted to make sure his little sister didn’t have to see (Name) in this state. As he dialed Leorio’s number, Killua ushered Alluka to her room. “Go play on my switch, I’ll come get you in a minute, okay?”

Kurapika laid her on the couch, tearing off her shirt to reveal her bandages torso. When he turned her on her side, he spotted where the blood was coming from.

There seemed to be some kind of wound on her back, a fact that infuriated Kurapika. Someone attacked her while she had her back turned, and he hadn’t been there to watch over her. He felt utter shame and disgust at himself for being selfish the entire week, pouting over her absence while she was out risking her life to help others.

Leorio threw open the front door, his eyes scanning the room before he spotted (Name). Killua had crouched down next to her, tears running down his cheeks as he pushed her hair out of his face.

“(Name), Killua…”

The man kneeled down in front of her, his hand grazing over her wound. “Fuck, (Name), what happened to you?”

She shivered, sweat beading down her forehead as she struggled to speak. “Someone… who lost their family… took it out on me. He was angry… that I couldn’t… save them… I… didn’t press charges.”

Kurapika nearly crushed the coffee table with his grip. “He hurt you, (Name), why the hell did you let him get away like that? I don’t care who he lost, he doesn’t have the right to…”

He froze, a sudden chill running down his back. “He… didn’t have the right to hurt you. Not even if he was angry.”

Leorio held his hands over her back, focusing his nen on her injury as the group stayed quiet.

‘I’m a complete hypocrite. I’ve hurt her out of anger, for the sake of my anger… how can I even begin to lecture her?’

As Leorio worker his nen, her breathing slowed down. She finally relaxed once her wound healed up, giving them all a tired smile. “I’m sorry I took so long… I had so many plans for the Christmas season, but… I’m going you way too tired to do anything but rest the next few days…”

“No, no don’t you ever apologize for that, (Name). You’ve done more than enough.” Kurapika said, cupping her cheek. “This Christmas season has been the best I’ve ever had, all thanks to you.”

She sniffled, wiping away her tears before sitting up with Leorio’s help. “Thank you… I still want to cook a nice dinner for Christmas, it just… won’t be as grand as I hoped…”

Kurapika kissed her forehead, pulling her close. “As long as I have you, I don’t care. You’re all I need to be happy…”

She blushed, giving him a peck on his lips. “Could you help me upstairs? I don’t think I can do it myself…”

He nodded, scooping her up easily. “Of course. Come here, angel.”

Leorio and Killua watched as he carried her upstairs, before the man pulled Killua close. “Hey bud, she’s going to be okay. This isn’t like last time, you don’t have to worry.”

Killua was a mess, anxiety pulsing through his veins. “It’s hard… it’s hard not to worry. I can’t… I can’t lose her again. She’s my mom, I…”

Leorio patted his back. “I know, bud. I know…”

Kurapika placed (Name) on her bed, covering her up with her comforter. “Is that better, angel?”

She smiled, gently tugging at his sleeve. “It would be better if you were with me.”

She lifted the blanket, and he happily joined her, his cheeks turning pink as he buried his face into her neck. He felt just a little pathetic at how excited her got when he smelled her perfume again for the first time in a week, but that faded away when she nuzzled her nose against his.

“I’m so happy… that you stayed…”

Kurapika paused, his eyes widening a bit. “Did you… think I was going to leave while you were gone?”

She looked away for a moment, then nodded slightly. “… yes. I did.”

He felt hurt, but he couldn’t blame her for feeling the way she did. After his fight with Uvogin, he abandoned her as soon as he woke up, leaving her all alone. After that, he attempted to push her away, leading to their separation.

“I’ll never leave you… never…”

She sighed in contentment, giving him a soft kiss. “Thank you…”

The two fell asleep, the blonde keeping a protective hold over her, as if to protect her even if her dreams.

—————————

Christmas Eve arrived, and (Name) was finally feeling good enough to get to work. She delegated chores, giving Kurapika and Leorio the grocery list, then having Alluka and Killua tidy up the living room as she did the dishes and cleaned the kitchen.

Before long, the house was sparkling clean. “This looks great guys, I’m sure Santa will be very happy when he comes down the chimney tonight!”

Alluka jumped up and down in joy, nearly spilling her hot chocolate. “I’m so excited, I can’t wait for Santa to come!”

Killua took her cup, laughing. “Well I can’t wait to open presents. Mom, we still get to open two each tonight, right?”

(Name) nodded, giving both of their foreheads a kiss. “Yep! Tonight we’ll eat dinners, open gifts, then bake cookies for Santa.”

She started cooking as soon as Leorio and Kurapika got back with groceries. Within a few hours, dinner was ready and the kids were getting restless. They all ate quickly, too excited to open presents and bake.

“Okay, we’ll open gifts youngest to oldest. Alluka, you’re up first.”

They kids opened their gifts, smiling. “Ooo, new hair clips! Thank you (Name)!”

Killua was too busy putting on his new shoes to try them out to speak, his face lit up light a Christmas tree. Kurapika frowned when (Name) handed him his present, remembering that he was younger than her.

“This is from me!”

She smiled, watching as he looked over the small box in his hands. “I also got you something to open tomorrow, so you have two gifts!”

Kurapika blushed at that. He had only gotten her the one gift, and now he felt a little bad that she wouldn’t have anything from him to open tomorrow. “Th-thank you, one gift would have been enough, I promise…”

He carefully unwrapped the paper, careful not to tear it. Once unwrapped, his eyes widened, his eyes going wide with shock.

“This… is an ornament made by the Kurta people…”

Tears fell down his cheeks as he lifted it from its packaging. “Yes, I found it while I was gone on my job. Some flesh collector was selling it, but I didn’t feel good giving someone like that money, so I stole it. You’re the rightful owner, after all. You can choose what to do with it.”

He held the little ornament in the air, watching the gold paint glitter in the light. When he turned it around, he nearly dropped it in surprise.

“Oh my god…”

‘Pairo, 4’ was written in Kurtan on the back, confirming that it was a genuine Kurta ornament, but also made by Kurapika’s childhood friend. He couldn’t contain his sobs, holding the little trinket to his chest.

“Pika…”

(Name) wrapped her arms around him, letting the blonde cry into her chest. “Thank you… you don’t understand what you’ve given me, (Name)… I couldn’t ask for a better gift…”

Once he was okay enough to let her go, (Name) opened her gifts from Alluka, Leorio, and Killua.

Alluka got her new fuzzy socks with her favorite Sanrio character on them, Killua got her a gift card to her favorite restaurant, and Leorio got her a plush of her favorite anime character. She hugged them all, giggling as she placed all of her gifts in a small basket that she would carry upstairs. “These are amazing, thank you so much!”

Killua hugged her tightly, then looked away shyly. “I have another gift for you…”

(Name) tilted her head as Killua reached behind the Christmas tree, hanging her a gift bag. “Open it.”

She opened the bag, pulling her present out of the bag and looking at it, tears ending at corner of her eyes as she pulled him into a hug. “Oh, Killua…”

She held a mug in her hand, that had the words “World’s Best Mom” on the front. “You really are the best mom… you kind of… saved me.”

(Name) choked up, giving his forehead a kiss. “No, baby, you saved me.”

After a long hug, Killua squirmed away to stand off to the side, his face red. Expressing gratitude and love wasn’t easy for him, and (Name) knew that. “Okay, Leorio it’s your turn!”

(Name) handed him a gift, smiling. “This one is from Killua and Alluka!”

“Ahh, thanks guys. You didn’t have to get me anything.”

He took the wrapped present, holding it in his hands with barely contained excitement. Leorio was almost more into unwrapping presents than Killua and Alluka were.

He unwrapped it quickly and held up a blue tshirt with white lettering on it. It read “Med School Student”.

“It’s awful, I love it.”

Leorio pulled off the sweater he had on and put the tshirt on in its place. It was a little tight, clinging to his pectoral muscles, but it fit well enough. “Oh wow, you really are a stud!”

The group laughed, and they all gathered in the kitchen to make cookies for Santa. Alluka helped make the dough with (Name) as the boys mixed the icing. Kurapika, who seemed to be clumsy any time he tried to impress (Name), was forced to wash the cookie cutters instead.

“I don’t think there’s any way I could mess up icing…” Kurapika mumbled, drying off the icing. (Name) leaned over to kiss his cheek.

“Mmm, don’t jinx us, Pika.”

His cheeks flushed at her affection, causing him to lean into her. “I think I’ll be okay if I get another kiss.”

“Oh really?”

She laughed, pulling him in for a kiss, her lips tasting like sugar cookies. He wrapped his arms around her, letting his tongue flick out to taste her. “Mmph-! Okay Pika, that’s enough. The kids are right there,” she whispered, pulling away.

(Name) and Alluka laid out the dough, and with some help from the others, they made cookies. It was a lot of fun, and even though they all ended up covered in flour and dough, they all laughed. “I’m glad I didn’t have you all change into the matching pajamas yet, that would have been a disaster!”

She helped clean off Alluka and Killua’s faces before putting the cookies in the oven. “There we go, let’s get this mess cleaned up while they cook.

(Name) stood at the counter, wiping it down. It wasn’t every day she allowed her friends to help her this much, and she was realizing just how much easier life was when she let them take a bit of the weight off her shoulders. Instead of taking an hour to clean up the mess, it only took 10 minutes, the cookies being done right when they got done.

“Okay, they’ll need to cook off for a few minutes.”

Kurapika nodded, looking over their little cookies. Some were a bit lopsided and crooked, but he adored each and every one of them. He tried not to laugh at Leorio’s crude attempt at making a stethoscope. It looked more like the head of an elephant, but Leorio still seemed proud. “Oh, my cookie came out good!”

After they cooled down, everyone decorated and ate cookies. (Name) snatched up a few to keep for “Santa” before they could be devoured. “Alright guys, don’t forget who we made this for!”

She pinched Nanika and Killua’s cheek. Nanika was more of the artistic type, while Alluka preferred baking over decorating. “Sorry mama, they’re good!”

Kurapika sat, hunched over his own cookies. (Name) attempted to peek over his shoulder, but she was quickly swatted away. “Hey, no peeking, and get out of the light!”

(Name) snickered. “Oh my, so sorry Kurapika.”

She moved on to look at Leorio’s cookies, humming softly. “It’s… unique.”

“It’s ugly.”

“No, no it’s not!”

Leorio looked over his attempt at a stethoscope. They didn’t have silver so he had to use green, making it look more like a tree with vines than a stethoscope. “It’s cute, and it looks tasty.”

Kurapika cleared his throat to catch (Name)’s attention, and she smiled softly. “Can I see them now?”

He nodded, holding out the plate for her inspection. It was two gingerbread men, one with yellow hair and the other with (h/c) hair. “I uh… I made us. And we’re holding hands…”

She blushed, her fingers tips grazing the Kurapika cookie. “This is too cute…”

A phone was whipped out of her pocket in a split second, Kurapika blinking when she neatly blinded him with the flash. “There, now we can eat them!”

After they all feasted on cookies, they all slumped on the couch. (Name) was sitting on Kurapika’s lap, the blond rubbing circles into her tummy. “Ughh I think I ate too many cookies.”

He hummed softly, and at the moment he reminded her of a satisfied cat. His hands kneaded at her soft flesh as he held her close, his face buried in her neck.

“Mom can you make him stop? I’m gonna get sick,” Killua said with a groan. He was sprawled out on the floor as Alluka patted his back.

“Don’t be mean, Killua. He’s helping me feel better.”

She sighed, getting comfortable in Kurapika’s lap before selecting a Christmas movie for them to watch before they went to bed. Occasionally Leorio leaned closer to the two, getting some snuggles from (Name) before she was pulled back into Kurapika’s embrace. “Stingy!”

Kurapika stuck his tongue out at Leorio. “Maybe, but I’m stingy with what’s mine.”

(Name) blushed, her face buried in his shoulder. Was she really his? He wanted her to belong with him and stay by his side?

All she could hope is that he was hers too, and that he would stick by her as well.

The Christmas movie ended, and Leorio carried the kids to their rooms as they snored. “You two go ahead to bed, I’ll handle the Santa duties.”

(Name) kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Leorio. I’m so tired…”

“I figured, you still haven’t fully recovered.”

Kurapika held onto her hand as they walked upstairs. She put on a good show for the kiddos, but Leorio and Kurapika could see the exhaustion in her eyes. “Let’s get tucked in, angel. You need your rest.”

The two snuggled in bed. Ever since they had sex, Kurapika had been finding his way to her bed. Sometimes he slept in his own room due to staying up late for research, and then (Name) would wake up with him in her arms.

As she drifted off, she felt him give her forehead a kiss. “Merry Christmas, angel.”

————————

Kurapika woke up to an empty bed, bus first reaction being to panic. The blonde patted the empty spot before his eyes shot open and his chest began to heave. “(Name)? Angel, where are you?”

Usually his grip on her meant they woke up together because she couldn’t get out of bed without waking him, but he had turned over in the night.

Although he knew that she was probably just downstairs, he couldn’t help the panic that set in. He had lost so many people, it was part of the reason he was so clingy. He couldn’t lose her, he refused to.

“Pika? Were you calling?”

(Name) peeked in the door, still wearing her pajamas that matched his own. “Angel…”

Kurapika stumbled forward, holding her face in his hands so he could pepper kisses into her face. “Please, if you leave the bed, wake and inform me before you go… I worry.”

She smiled, feeling her body melt under his touch. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake you up so early. I was just making a Christmas breakfast…”

He stared at her, the harsh, terrified shade of scarlet fading to the one only she got to see. “Let me help. I’m good with breakfast foods.”

The two made a heaping amount of pancakes, eggs, and bacon, and once the smell wafted through the house, everyone left their rooms.

Leorio rose from the couch, wiping the drool from his face. “Mmm… I think I was dreaming about your pancakes, (Name).”

She giggled. “Maybe! Come on, let’s eat so the kids can open their presents! I think I see a few more under the tree…”

Alluka gasped, running over to the plate of cookies, seeing that Leorio Santa had taken bites out of a few cookies, beheading the Kurapika cookie. Kurapika’s eyebrow twitched at the sight. “Was that necessary?”

Alluka huffed. “Hey, don’t question Santa! He might have thought your head looked tasty!”

Kurapika rubbed his temple. “Sure, sure…”

Killua snickered before stuffing his face with another bite of pancakes.

———————

After breakfast, (Name) pulled presents out from under the tree, placing them in piles in front of each person. Kurapika was surprised to see he had quite a few wrapped. “Where did all of these come from?”

(Name) smiled. “Gon and Melody sent you a gift in the mail, and the rest are from Alluka, Killua, and Leorio.”

Kurapika felt so loved in the moment. Since he had lost his clan, he rarely got many presents for his birthday or Christmas. The gift he got from (Name) on his birthday two years ago had been the first gift he received in years.

He had come so far, now surrounded by friends that appreciated and cared for him. “Alright everyone, you can start opening presents in 3, 2, 1!”

They began opening their gifts, Kurapika staring for a minute before he followed suit.

By the end of the session, Kurapika had a brand new pair of shoes from Leorio, a nice hair care kit from Alluka, a new book from Killua, a pair of heavy duty sunglasses from Gon, and a pastel pink scarf from Melody.

Kurapika looked so proud of his gifts, showing them off to (Name) before tucking them away safely in his room.

When he got back downstairs, (Name) smiled. “You have one more from me, Pika.”

He looked up before looking back at his gift. “You’re too kind, (Name)…”

He tore off the wrapping, tilting his head. “What is this?”

She giggled. “It’s a switch, a handheld game! You can play with friends across the world. You have a few games on it, so why don’t you let Killua and Alluka help you out?”

Kurapika nodded. “Ah, this is like the gameboys Pairo and I would see in magazines. Oh!”

He looked in wonder as he turned it on, and (Name) left him, Killua and Alluka taking over teaching him. By the time Leorio and (Name) finished with throwing away all of the wrapping paper, they had all started playing Minecraft with Gon.

“(Name) look, I’ve made a house!”

She peeked over Kurapika’s shoulder. “Wow, you really have!”

The day was spent with the adults laying around and watching movies or playing on their new game systems, while the kids ran around outside with their new toys.

Killua got a new skateboard and dirt bike, which he rode through the forest with Alluka clinging to his bike. “You sure they’ll be fine?” Kurapika asked, not looking up from his switch.

“They’ll be fine enough.”

By the end of the day, everyone was relaxing by the fire, sipping hot chocolate as they watched another Christmas movie. Kurapika kept a hand on her thigh, smiling. “I think this has been the best winter season I’ve had since…”

He didn’t have to finish his sentence, she knew what he meant. (Name) took his hand, planting a kiss on it. “I’m glad. You deserve to be happy.”

As she snuggled up to him, her pajama pants leg rode up a little, revealing she still had a few healing scratches and scrapes from when they went ice skating a few weeks ago. “(Name), why haven’t healed those up? I can’t imagine they’re comfortable.”

She set her hot chocolate down, Leorio and Kurapika freezing in their spots. With a sigh, she rolled her pants back down. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the Chimera Ant incident by now.”

Kurapika felt his heart race. Was finally she going to tell him what happened now?

(Name) looked like she was choosing her next words carefully, her face concentrated in though. “Well… during that incident, I… lost my ability to heal myself. I… don’t want to talk about it, but I’ll say one thing. It was… in exchange for… something… at least that’s my theory.”

Kurapika was a little bit disappointed by how little information he got, but he was still concerned to hear she had lost the power to heal herself. When he thought about it, she had relied on Leorio to heal her wound. ‘I should have realized sooner… what if she got hurt, and I didn’t know she couldn’t heal herself?’

He was glad to know this information, because it would mean he’d be more prepared and able to keep her safe. If he knew her weaknesses, he could plan around them. “I see…”

Kurapika didn’t push the subject. He could see the topic made everyone but him and Alluka uncomfortable.

As they got in bed that night, (Name) stared down at her leg, remembering the events of the Chimera Ant Incident.

‘I can’t let him know, it would break him…’

[city-of-ladies]

Women warriors of China (2nd to 6th century CE)

"Warfare defined the age of disunion. Women sometimes had a role in war, and they even undertook certain forms of military service. People respected prowess in the martial arts—in women as well as men—and even empresses and noblewomen honed their skills in horseback riding and archery. For a time, it was fashionable for southern ladies to wear ornaments of gold, silver, ivory, and tortoiseshell in the shape of miniature weapons. People from earlier eras had regarded any female participation in warfare as a gross violation of the fundamental distinction between the sexes. But society had become so thoroughly militarized that it became acceptable for women to have a role in war.

During the Zhou dynasty, the military class of minor aristocrats called shi had been considered a moral elite, and strict ritual rules enforced high standards of conduct. Given the ancient connections between military service, high rank, and virtue, a female warrior could gain admiration for her moral superiority. Traditionally, women fought for the sake of Confucian virtues such as righteousness (yi) and filial piety. Han dynasty writings describe female role models noted for both bravery and virtue. Moral principles sometimes spurred women to violence, as they sought vengeance on behalf of a wronged kinsman or fended off unwanted sexual advances. Six Dynasties authors continued to celebrate virtuous female fighters. A woman who beat her husband’s murderer to death received an imperial amnesty due to her righteous behavior. And when one man wanted to force a woman to marry him, she fended him off with a sword, earning praise as a model of female integrity.

Other women took part in military operations. Emperor Wen of Jin and Empress Wenming conducted an important military campaign together, and she received equal credit for managing important military matters. Northern rulers sometimes employed women from the steppe as palace bodyguards. There was also the case of a woman who became a general, albeit under unusual circumstances. Her father, a noted military officer, had been ordered to lead an army while still in mourning for his deceased mother. He did not want to violate his mourning obligations, so he appointed one of his daughters to be general and another daughter as a high-ranking officer so that they could serve in his place. Historical records do not reveal whether these women prosecuted the war themselves or merely acted as figureheads on their father’s behalf. Either way, the soldiers consented to taking orders from a female general.

In wartime, large numbers of women found themselves pressed into military roles. During a siege, female inhabitants served alongside men on the city walls, fighting and also repairing the fortifications. And women born into military households lived a martial life. As these families tended to intermarry, their women spent their lives immersed in war. With conflict so frequent, they often accompanied their husbands on campaigns and lived in army camps. When war loomed, entire families would embark on a military campaign. 

Even though classical ritual forbade women from participating in war, some nevertheless took on military roles. As the Han dynasty disintegrated, women began to have a more visible presence in military camps. Both the warlord Cao Cao and his foes used female troops on the battlefield, where they brandished spears, halberds, and bows. In that era, soldiers became a distinct social caste. The daughter of a soldier could only marry another soldier, so a woman born into a military family had no choice but to spend her life in a military environment.

The law sentenced men convicted of certain crimes, and their wives, to military service. Under the Northern Qi, both convicts and their female family members became soldiers. Like their husbands, women pressed into military service lived under strict discipline. If a man committed an infraction or absconded, authorities punished his wife as well. As in armies elsewhere in the world, most of these women lacked special skills or fighting ability. Instead they provided support, constructing fortifications, handling provisions, mending weapons, defending their camp, and doing domestic chores. Only occasionally did they go out on the battlefield.

Although the north lacked an institutionalized system of military communities, the women of military households often followed their husbands off to war. The Xianbei traditionally expected their women to be strong and to fight when necessary. The militaristic values of nomadic conquerors gave rise to the famed ballad of Hua Mulan, composed by an anonymous northern poet. In this story, when Mulan’s father is drafted, she disguises herself as a man to serve in his place. She becomes an exemplary warrior and distinguishes herself with outstanding heroism. Mulan is even offered an official post in recognition of her courage, which she modestly declines. Instead she returns home, dons female attire, and resumes conventional female life.

The tale of Mulan has captured the imaginations of generations of readers, and it continues to be retold in new ways. Although audiences today appreciate this story as an engaging fantasy, it originally seemed much closer to quotidian reality at a time when many women belonged to military households and received martial arts training. Mulan’s respect for Confucian propriety helps account for her perennial appeal. She does not dress like a man or become a warrior out of desire or ambition. Instead she sees these unpleasant actions as a way to protect her father from harm. After succeeding on the battlefield, she refuses to continue dressing as a man and bearing arms. Instead she returns home and resumes a stereotypical female life. The original readers could accept Mulan challenging gender norms and taking on a masculine identity only because she undertook it as a temporary sacrifice for the sake of moral duty. By mixing conservative Confucian integrity with startling violations of feminine decorum, Mulan has captured the hearts of numerous readers and remains an object of fascination both in China and abroad."

Women in early medieval China, Bret Hinsch

[btsgotjams27]

under the mistletoe | knj

Kim Namjoon is a sneaky one when it comes to celebrating the Holidays.

❄️ title: under the mistletoe | a don't push your luck drabble ❄️ pairing: namjoon x f!reader ❄️ genre/au: fluff | ex college rivals, co-workers, frenemies ❄️ rating: pg | ❄️ word count: 1.3k ❄️ warnings: jokes about harassment in the workplace, teasing, kissing ❄️ a/n: it's the holiday szn and i was feeling festive. this is the 'don't push your luck' couple but it can be read as a standalone. enjoy.

❄️ read don't push your luck ❄️ read pitch fest (dpyl drabble)

“I never figured you were someone who loved the holiday season.”

The office looks like elves came in and sprinkled Christmas magic overnight. There's fake snow fluff, bottle brush Christmas trees, and even stockings with your and Namjoon's initials embroidered.

You like the holiday season–you do, minus the endless hours of Christmas music. You can only hear ‘Rocking Around the Christmas Tree' so many times before you wanna hurl. A tradition you do love is watching Home Alone 2 on the day of along with the fireplace on and cozy blanket.

Namjoon turns to you after hanging up the last ornament. “Yeah, I mean, we don’t celebrate it back home in Seoul, but once I moved to Chicago…” He shrugs. “It grew on me.”

You eye him up and down. “Has Kim Namjoon gone soft? Who are you?”

He narrows his eyes, twisting his mouth. “I can be a Grinch instead,” he huffs as he returns to take out pieces of a toy train track.

Shaking your head, you protest, “No, no, no. We’re finally getting along—semi-getting along without going at each other’s throats. I’ll be nice. I promise.”

“You? Nice? It must be a Christmas miracle,” Namjoon teases, placing the train tracks along the top of the cubicle walls.

“Shut up–you’re the one that should be nice since I’m your boss now.”

Namjoon makes a face. “Is this how you treat your partner in crime? By telling them to ‘shut up’? I’d call that harassment.”

You open your mouth and close it again. He got you there. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Working alongside Namjoon isn't new, but you and him being partners are. The two of you left your previous company and had the ridiculous idea of going into publishing together. Granted, Namjoon knew the business side and you had the heart of the company–what else could go wrong besides the fact that he still loved to push your buttons and tease you about the last work trip the two of you were on.

The corner of Namjoon’s lips curves into a smile. “Should we hug it out? Hold on, let me turn around. I know how much you like being the big spoon.”

You ball your hands into a fist, ready to fight Kim Namjoon. He laughs, walking away to spread Christmas cheer around the office.

“Don’t make me regret asking you to come work for me!” You yell in his direction.

“With you!” He quips while laying down the rest of the tracks for the toy train.

The risks of having Namjoon as your business partner were high, but you were hoping the outcome would outweigh it all.

After countless meetings with investors and prospective authors, you wanted nothing more than to put on fuzzy socks and curl up in bed with a cheesy Hallmark film to put you to sleep. But with the holidays, no one wanted to talk about money because they were too busy spending it.

“I’m tapping out for the day,” you say as you stand up and peer over at Namjoon. 

He’s hanging up another string of cut-out paper snowflakes. Namjoon stops in his tracks, setting down the garland he’s created. “I’ll walk you out.”

With knitted brows and a frown, you’re wondering what’s gotten into him. He’s never once walked you out of the building. You don’t deny the offer because you’re already defeated from the day and don’t have the energy to bicker with him.

He follows you out, standing beside you as the elevator arrives. Silence fills the steel box trapping you and Namjoon before he breaks it.

“Any fun plans tonight?”

You slowly turn your head, narrowing your eyes at the tall giant. “What’s it to you?” Honestly, he’s never been so interested in your life before. Why start now? Is it because you have to work together as partners?

He glances in your direction then turns away to face the elevator doors. “Just making small talk,” he shrugs, placing his hands behind his back.

“Uh huh…”

Namjoon clears his throat out of nervousness. “You did great today in the meetings. I think we’ll have them all on board in no time.”

Is Kim Namjoon complimenting you? Such words have never rung sweeter in your ears.

“You weren’t so bad yourself. Surely, you charmed the panties off Mrs. Park.” The obvious flirting between the two made you want to gag.

A strangled noise comes from Namjoon as he dismisses your comment. The elevator comes to a stop and dings, with the door opening to the parking garage.

You’re ready to step out when you feel a grip on your wrist. Your heart flutters at the sudden contact and you gulp hard at his warm hand against your skin.

“I wanted to see if you’d want to go to a Christmas party with me tonight.”

Is Kim Namjoon asking to be seen with you in public? Why must there be some kind of magic in the air or did he hit himself too hard with a dumbbell?

“I don’t think I’ll be good company, especially at a party.”

The elevator doors begin to close, but you hit the button to keep it open.

“You can be my excuse to leave,” he explains.

Your mouth hangs open before responding. “Is that all I’m good for? Being your excuse?”

The doors threaten to close again and you attempt to hit the button to stay open, but Namjoon beats you to the ‘close’ button instead.

“Say yes.”

“Or what?” You deadpan, cocking your head to the side.

“Or else I’ll kiss you.”

Your eyes widen at his comment and before you know it, Namjoon closes the distance between you, cupping your face, and presses his lips against yours. You’re tempted to pull away and say that you should keep your relationship professional, but your body betrays you as you drop your bag, and wrap your arms and shoulders, deepening the kiss. His lips are soft and delicate, like how you remember them. He pulls back, and you can feel a smile as he returns for another kiss. Your fingers become entangled in his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. Namjoon traces your spine and presses his body as close as he can, causing a shiver to run through your body.

It’s easier to tell how aroused he’s become, and you’d be embarrassed if his thighs were to become slotted between your legs. And in no way, have you ever thought about riding his thighs.

“Namjoon…” You’re finally able to croak out. He hums, placing kisses along your jawline, and down the column of your neck. “What are we doing?”

“Kissing…obviously.”

He’s a smart ass, and he knows it, but that’s also something you’ve come to appreciate.

“I know, but—why, right now?”

The elevator number lights up, and you realize it’s being utilized by someone else.

Namjoon pulls back and stands tall, straightening his tie. He clears his throat, “I—um…” He looks up, and your gaze follows him to the small green plant that’s hanging decorated with a red bow—a mistletoe.

The two of you let out a soft laugh, trying to regain whatever dignity is left.

“You didn’t put that there, did you?”

He points to himself. “Me? Pfft—why would I do that?”

With the long relationship you’ve had, you can always tell when he’s lying.

The lift moves, highlighting the floor it’s going to.

You stride toward Namjoon, gazing into his dragon eyes, then dropping to his plush lips and back up. “Will I find mistletoes around the office now?”

A ding resounds, but you hold the ‘close’ button, waiting for Namjoon’s answer. A beat passes, and it’s the first time he doesn’t have a cheeky response ready. So you do the only sensible thing—kiss him again.

“What was that for?” He asks, scanning your face.

“We are under the mistletoe.” A chuckle leaves your lips. “Well, it was either you kiss me or I’d have to attend a dreadful Christmas party with you.”

“So, you’re not coming?”

“Wouldn’t you rather come to my place instead?”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow. “I won’t object to that.”

read > pitch fest (a don't push your luck drabble)

[hauntedrain]

We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January | Max Verstappen x fem!Reader |

Summary: decorating the Christmas tree is hard in the cold, but dancing with max isn’t.

A/N: idk why but writing about people or characters is so awkward and cringy to me, even though I enjoy doing it? I think it’s the process of doing it. But I think this one is cute and I hope you like it <3

Warnings: nothing really, it’s just short and might be badly written. Not edited.

It was freezing—absolutely and utterly freezing. However, the only warmth in the house was from the fireplace, which is where you and Max were currently sitting. There were a bunch of Christmas ornaments and decorations ready to be put up, but it was too nice to get up from the comfort of fuzzy blankets and Max's embrace. At least to you.

“We gotta get this tree and decorations up before the weekend starts,” Max said while simultaneously moving closer to you.

“We still have so much time; let’s just sit here and listen to music."

“Darling, we both know if we don’t get it done now. It will never get done until right before.” Max said finally sitting up, causing the cold to be exposed to you, making you move the blanket to retain the warmth from before. “Come on, Cindy Lou Who.” Max said, smiling a bit.

“Don’t call me that maximilian. It’s warm under the blanket; why get up?" You said jokingly.

“It’s not that bad with the fire on; I’ll make you hot chocolate if you help."

“You’ll make me hot chocolate either way. But I’ll help from afar, like telling you where to place the ornament to make the tree look good.” You said while smiling back at him.

“Fine, I’ll do it, but no telling me what or where to put things.” Max said to you as he started unboxing the decorations. It was a box full of colorful decor—a rainbow of ornaments, colorful tinsel, the lights, special ornaments you’ve both collected over the years, even some handmade ornaments—but most of all, the sparkling star you guys got when you bought this house last Christmas.

You watched as he started, slowly wrapping the lights around the tree and figuring out what looked best. You stayed under your blanket but moved yourself on the couch to a position where you could play music on your record player. You put on ‘Lover’ and let the vinyl play for a bit until it reaches the song Lover.

“Dance with me.” You said this to Max, who stopped to look at you.

“I thought you were cold, baby.” Max said, smiling a bit, his cheeks brushed with a soft pink. “Or you just didn’t want to help?"

“I am cold, but I want to dance with you. Is that a crime?” You asked him while moving to him and pulling him into the middle of the living room.

Max smiled as he placed one of his hands on your hip, and the other was intertwined with your hand. You guys danced until the song started to stop; however, you both still stood in the middle of the dimly lit room.

“You were right; it’s not that bad with the fire on.” You said you were smiling and looking up at him.

“Told you so.” Max said while leaning down a bit to give you a kiss on your forehead. “But now, as much as I love dancing with you, we gotta finish this tree."

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

With All That I Am

Billy Russo x Female Reader

Part 7 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series

Warnings: Hospitals, injury recovery, cockwarming, oral (f receiving), angst, hurt/comfort.

SIX MONTHS AGO

There's something about Dominic Saintclair that Billy had never liked.

He could never put his finger on it. Maybe it was the pretentiousness of his actions, the way he looked like he'd never had a hard day in his life, the lackadaisical way he treated things as if they were replaceable.

The way he didn't understand that the most valuable thing he had, was the one thing he was mistreating right now.

"I swear, she doesn't know when to leave me alone." Dominic says loudly in the opulent bar, a place that was more red velvet seats and accented gold ornaments than anything else. It was somewhere Billy brought the clients he could impress easily, ones that didn't understand what the best brand of gin for a negroni was, or that whiskey shouldn't be served with ice. It was simply a place that glittered, gorgeous on the surface with no real substance... or character... not unlike the man in question.

Billy looks down at Dominic's cloned phone. All you had said was that you hoped he was having fun. 

"Maybe you're just not fucking her enough." One of his friends joke.

"Oh fuck off. I fuck her more than enough, maybe that's why she's so needy." It gets a round of laughter from his friends, and a disgusted frown from Billy.

At the bar, only a few tables away, Billy's hand tightens on his glass of whiskey, his back is to the group, and he's positioned in a dark enough corner to be unnoticed while still being able to hear the conversation.

"Anyways, enough about that, finish telling me about the red head." Dominic says, and Billy is forced to listen to him talk about other women when he has the best one.

Billy thinks about how stupidly simple it would be to kill your boyfriend, but doing it now would create more problems. You wouldn't know how much of an asshole he really was, for starters, you'd probably convince yourself that you'd been deeply in love with him before his untimely death. People tended to put dead loved ones on a pedestal, forgiving them unless their crimes were truly heinous. 

No, you had to see Dominic for his true colours first. Then, and only then, he would wipe your stain of a boyfriend from the earth.

Billy listens to Dominic say some more vile things, fully understanding his hatred for the man now. Dominic was manipulative, showing you one face, and yet secretly thinking something else behind your back. With a frown, he scrolls through your older messages.

You always seemed to be reaching for him, supportive of the things he said. He never voiced his support for you in return. 

What a fucking waste of space. To have someone as precious as you, and to take you for granted.

If he had you... he'd worship you. Without a doubt, Billy would kiss every inch of your skin, kneel at your feet if you asked, kiss you at every waking moment.

When another text comes in from you, he smiles.

As predicted, you text a second time after you've seen his read receipts and no response has come in from your idiot boyfriend.

'Are you alright?' You text.

The corner of Billy's mouth lifts, he wishes you were sending texts like this to him.

Dominic responds.

'Yes. I'm fine. Stop bothering me.'

Billy's smile drops.

You don't respond, but you see the message. He knows that you're hurt by it.

Billy's thoughts go violent again.

Anonymously, Billy has bought round after round of shots for the men, until they're wasted, and their lips are loose and he can soak in all the information possible. He plots while he listens, and he learns so much, until he could pick apart any man there in his sleep.

Their numbers dwindle, until it's just two men there, and he waits patiently for Dominic to stand on inebriated feet and head off to the bathroom.

Billy knows that Dominic is barely functional right now, having taken shot after shot, Billy is aware that Dominic will not remember any bit of whatever is happening right now.

With that information, he texts Dominic's companion from the cloned phone.

'Feeling better now, ordered an Uber, you can go ahead without me.'

Billy watches his friend read the text, finish his drink and then leave.

Too easy.

Dominic is so far gone that when he returns to his seat, he barely notices that his friend's things are gone, and Billy acts fast to stop Dominic from realising that anything is amiss.

"Saintclair." Billy greets, whiskey in hand, looking around to make sure that no one is looking, "Drinking all by yourself?" 

Dominic looks up at Billy and squints.

"Mister Russo?"

Billy hums the affirmative.

"Got room for company?" The words are bitter in his mouth.

Billy doesn't wait for an answer, pushing the inebriated man deeper into the booth and sliding into the space next to him. He hates this place, literally just designed for showing off, he glances at Dominic, who's lost in his own head, staring at his drink.

Nothing this man was thinking could ever be worth your time.

He raises his hand to the bartender, calling for another round of shots.

Dominic only has time to adjust his body, from his slumped, hazy demeanour, to appear like someone with all their critical thinking skills functional.

Billy spikes the drink with a little bit of melatonin, it's more than enough at Dominic's current level of intoxication.

"Wasn't drinking by myself, but the rest of guys have already left." Dominic slurs, and Billy raises his eyebrows, extending the spiked shot to the already drunk man.

He gives Dominic the opportunity to decline the shot, doesn't force it into his hands, just holds it out expectantly and watches the younger man choose his own self-destruction.

He kind of delights in it, the anarchy he's capable of. Each person has a role to play and it's always nice when they do it as expected.

Dominic throws back the shot with him and internally, Billy begins his internal stopwatch.

"I hope the job's treating you well." Billy hums, uncaring of what the man next to him has to say. He just has to make small talk for fifteen minutes, before the drug kicks in.

Billy asks about some of his coworkers, and then his phone pings, alerting him to a message. 

"Clingy." Is all Dominic has to say, looking at his phone when Billy inquires casually.

His eyebrows raise, watching his employee yawn, the drug beginning to take effect.

"If you don't like her that much, then why are you with her?" Billy asks, trying to keep the anger out of his tone.

"Why not?" Is the last thing Dominic says before he slumps over onto the table, asleep.

Billy blinks, an angry sneer growing on his face. What a careless piece of shit. He reaches for Dominic's phone, unlocks it and opens your messages the way he's done a hundred times before.

'At least tell me you're okay.' You'd texted.

"Prick." Billy swears, typing out a message to you on Dominic's phone.

'I'm alright sweetness, just getting ready to go home.' After a moment, he sends another message.

'I'm sorry about that last message, you don't bother me.'

He finds himself smiling when your text bubbles appear almost immediately.

'That's alright! I understand that you probably just wanted some time with your friends.' You say.

You were so quick to forgive, it made Billy's heart sour with the thought that Dominic didn't deserve your forgiveness.

'How was your night?' He asks, smiling fondly when he gets a picture of you wearing a fluffy robe and face mask.

'Very pretty, baby.' He replies, which earns a little '😳' face in response.

How sweet you were, saccharine and sticky, Billy could find himself eating you up quite easily.

'I mean it. I think you're fucking gorgeous.'

It takes a moment to get your response.

'How much have you had to drink exactly?'

Billy grits his teeth, looking over at the unconscious fuck. He barely ever tells you how pretty you are. It's why you think he's drunk now.

'A bit, but that doesn't make it any less true. You are beautiful.'

You don't respond immediately, Billy spends five minutes refreshing Dominic's phone until he gets a very shy 'Thank you,' in response.

He smiles, pockets Dominic's phone.

"Time to get you home, Saintclair." He says to the unconscious man.

He gets someone from the bar to help him get Dominic into the back seat of his car, uncaring of how he's placed, thanking the larger man with a hefty tip before getting into his car.

'You didn't tell me what you did today.' He sends before driving off.

He hears several different message notifications while he drives, and he can't help smiling, because for once, you were finally talking to him, and not as a stranger, but as someone familiar.

It was much harder to get Dominic to his apartment due to the lack of help he'd had from earlier, yet Billy made do with tossing the unconscious man over his shoulder, and then putting him down when they were in the elevator.

Billy really could have left Dominic anywhere, at the bar, or at the front steps to his apartment, or even at the door, with his keys in hand to have him wake up there in the morning horrified that he was so drunk he couldn't even make it inside.

But Billy drops Dominic on his bed instead, after accidentally bumping his head on a few door frames, he decides that he'd keep the drunk asshole safe this time...for you.

After, Billy sits in Dominic's living room, and opens up his phone once more.

'Okay, this doesn't mean anything but I went to a jewellery store today. I was looking at earrings and then I couldn't help looking at the engagement rings.'

Oh? Billy thinks.

'They were all shiny and even though I like shiny, they didn't feel like me you know? I feel like if we ever... uhhhh.... you know.... get married, I'd want something more unique you know?'

'Hello? Are you there? Did I scare you off? This isn't me asking for a wedding, I'm just saying.'

'Dominic?'

Billy sucks in a breath.

'I'm here, sorry, just got home.' he replies, tries to ignore the pain inside of him that worsens with the thought of you getting married to anyone other than him.

'Oh... Hi' you respond.

Billy smiles.

'Hi, do you have any ideas of what you think might be for you?'

He can almost see your excitement.

'Are you sure? If this is weird, you can say so.'

How cute, the way you care.

'I'd really like to see them.' He answers.

You send a link, and indeed, they're beautiful and unique and Billy can't help the thoughts of wearing it, and having you wear the other.

'These are the ones I've always dreamed of.' you add on with the attached pictures.

He bites down on his bottom lip, closes his eyes, and imagines how perfect your hands would look linked together, decorated with matching rings. The thought makes him hard.

'They have to be custom ordered though, really expensive, I'm sure we can find something cheaper.'

Absolutely not.

'They're beautiful. Tell me your ring size so that I can surprise you.'

He makes note of it when you send it.

'I can't wait to marry you.' He says.

'Well now I know you really are drunk.' You respond.

Billy has a quick moment of realisation when he remembers that you think you're talking to Dominic.

His smile drops.

'I am drunk. But you're still the most amazing person on the planet. I think you might be it for me.' And Billy means it. He means every word. He plans to marry this sweet girl that waltzed her way into his life and believed in him after two conversations.

'I love you.' Comes your reply.

Billy smiles.

'I love you too.' 

He stays with you until you fall asleep, telling you all the sweet things he's ever wanted to say, dodging personal topics that he doesn't know the answers to. When you're finally asleep, he stands, checks the time, and goes back to Dominic's room, dropping his phone onto the bed beside his sleeping form.

Billy almost considers hitting him, enjoying the thought of giving him a black eye in the morning, but that had the possibility of scaring him into not drinking again, and Billy couldn't have that.

So he leaves, walks out of your boyfriend's apartment, and does not set it on fire like he wants to. 

.

NOW

You stare calmly at the elevator doors. The smell of hospital filling the air around you. In a way, there was an ease to it, a comfort in the sterile cleanliness, a place designed to turn chaos into order.

You sip on your coffee, feeling refreshed after popping back home for a quick shower and supplies for Billy. You didn't want to leave, but you knew you wouldn't be able to stay while the nurses changed his bandages, the wound too fresh to introduce any foreign bacteria. So you'd decided to make yourself useful in the meantime.

Frank was still here somewhere, waiting for you to return so that he could leave. You'd both had tentatively agreed that Billy should not be left alone under any circumstance, surprised that you and his best friend had been on a similar wavelength when it came to caring for him.

Frank's in the waiting room taking a call when you see him. He gives you a little nod, and a gesture of his head that tells you it's okay to go see him.

You do exactly that, making your way to the nurses' station to sign in before heading to his room.

You stop short when at the door, you hear the sound of female laughter. 

It's not laughter exactly, it's... giggling.

It's obviously flirtatious, in that pitch that's just too high to be normal.

You hear Billy's voice next, too far away to make out what he's saying but he sounds polite.

Followed by more giggling.

Pure jealousy rears its head. 

You had only been gone for an hour and someone had taken the opportunity to begin flirting with your husband? 

Something dark blooms inside you, and you take a deep breath, and walk through the doors with your head high.

Two pairs of eyes turn to look at you.

"I'm back." You say calmly, smiling.

Billy smiles at you, his hair askew in every direction as if he hasn't ever heard of a brush. It's adorable, makes him look so much more boyish than usual. Your eyes go to the young nurse, that's currently taking Billy's blood pressure, quietly sizing her up, deciding if she was worth any sort of trouble at all.

"Hey baby, did you get one of those for me?" He asks, referring to the cappuccino in your hands.

You look down at him, close enough to see the tiredness under his eyes although you know this is the most amount of sleep he's ever gotten.

"Sorry, doctor said no." You respond.

Billy lets out a pained groan, and you can't help it, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his temple.

He sighs, reaching up to take your hand in his, you watch his eyes linger on your wedding ring.

"I was just explaining to Becca here how easy it was to ignore the pain for so long."

Becca?

Your eyebrows raise in amused displeasure.

"Yeah," she adds in with a wistful smile, "If he didn't pass out from the pain he probably wouldn't have gotten help in time."

Great, a reminder that you weren't there when he'd almost died. You're pretty sure that the only expression you show her is one of disdain.

'Careful,' you think maliciously in her direction, 'If he likes you enough he'll cage you like a bird.'

"How are his vitals?" You ask blankly, trying to get her out of here as soon as possible, ignoring the way Billy looks up at you in confusion at your clipped tone.

"They're uh, they're good! But-" She begins to say, but stops short and presses the back of her hand to Billy's forehead. You blink, clenching your teeth together. You're pretty sure this wasn't medically professional, and you suck in a slow breath to stop yourself from smacking her hand away from your husband.

"Are you feeling okay Bil- Mister Russo? Your heart rate is a bit high." she continues.

You glance up at her monitor in question, and sure enough the little number on screen next to the pulsing heart symbol was just a little above one hundred.

You knew that his heart shouldn't be going at near a hundred beats per minute if he was mostly stationary in bed.

Billy lets out a nervous laugh. You look down at him in confusion.

"Yean, that's- I'm fine- It's just... well... her." He explains, glancing up at you for a second.

Me? You think incredulously, blinking.

His heart is beating fast because you were near him?

Your anger dissolves as fast as it had appeared, stomach fluttering, you try to fight the smile pulling at your face but you inevitably fail.

He doesn't look up at you, so you grip his jaw, tilting his head up.

Absentmindedly, you're aware of the nurse excusing herself from the room.

You press your lips to his swiftly, delight spreading down your body when he groans against your mouth. You deepen the kiss and he accepts it eagerly.

After a moment, you pause, turning your head to look at the little monitor, His heart rate having gone up to one hundred and twenty.

"Still jealous?" he asks, with a cheeky smile.

You don't answer, leaning in to kiss him softly once more.

. 

"Please." Billy begs.

"No." You whisper, bumping your nose against his, adjusting your body under the sheets so that you're both fully covered.

"Just a little bit." He tries to bargain.

"You move, and I'll stop. You cum, and I'll stop." 

He lets out a harsh breath.

"You're being really mean to me." He pouts.

"If you rip a stitch, I won't touch you until they come out."

He groans, frustrated.

Unable to resist, you clench around his cock.

"That's not fair." he gasps desperately.

"Sorry, this isn't entirely easy for me either."

Currently, you were both under his sheets, on your back, both legs draped over his hip, while he lies on his left side facing you. It was a position that had made it very easy for him to slip himself inside of you, allowing you to keep his cock warm. 

He swallows, looking at you with warm eyes.

"You feel so good around me. You know that?"

How was he allowed to say things like that while literally stretching you open? God, you could feel the tip of his cock nestled snugly in the very deepest parts of you, every inch of your cunt sighing in relief at finally being so full of him.

You feel yourself get smaller under his gaze, soft, gentle, unnameable in its unfamiliarity.

"If it feels half as good as it does for me, then yeah, I know." you reply easily.

He smiles, it causes butterflies to flutter in gentle circles within you.

"You're beautiful." he murmurs softly.

It's your turn to swallow and look away.

Your eyes are drawn to his bare chest, and the snake tattoo that resides on his shoulder. He could not be real with the way he made you feel, like all the air in the room had simply vanished by his command, held even further out of reach by the thickness of his cock sitting still inside you.

"You really mean that?" You ask, your insecurity gaining a foothold in your head.

He reaches for your left hand, raises it up to his face so that he can lay a swift kiss onto your wedding ring.

"I do." 

The door swinging open has your eyes widening from your shared spot under the sheets. Thankfully, you were still mostly clothed, where Billy was fully naked.

"Bill?" comes Frank's voice in question from his spot by the door.

Billy winks at you, before moving the sheet off your top halves to reveal you both to the open air.

"Hey Frank." Billy greets.

Frank takes one look at your positions and lets out a tired sigh.

"You two are fucking, aren't you?" The exasperated sound of his voice drawing a smile from you.

You can't help the laugh that leaves you, giving everything away. 

Frank's disappointed expression makes Billy laugh too.

"Alright. I'm walking out this door, I'll be back in five minutes, your pants better be on, Russo."

"Make it ten!" Billy shouts just as Frank gives another disappointed shake of his head, and leaves the room.

.

Clothed now, in long blue linen pants, Billy kisses your temple, one arm wrapped securely around you as you lie beside him.

"Thanks for being here with me." He says softly, his hands gripping onto any available part of you he could reach, anything to pull you closer to him.

"What? Is Frank not good enough company?" You tease, beginning to laugh when you feel the scratch of his beard as he kisses your throat.

"Frank is usually in the bed beside me." he says into your neck, and you laugh at the imagery.

"Plus," he says in a softer, more serious tone as he pulls away for a moment. You turn to look at him curiously.

"I've never had someone worry about me the way you do."

"Ever?" You ask.

He shakes his head, looks down.

You're not sure what he's thinking, but it looks like guilt, all soft lines and sadness and you ache to make him feel better.

You lean forward, cupping his jaw. His eyes are so open for you that you think you can see his soul in them- a dark web of shadows, that glitters with vulnerability the more you look. 

You wanted his vulnerability, you wanted him to open himself up to you, and share everything he was, everything he could be, until you were full of him.  

Until you could taste him in your mouth, even when he wasn't around.

"I'm here now, and I'll worry. I'll fight anyone that stops me from getting to you. Including Frank Castle." You promise.

His frown grows into a smile.

"You're sure you don't wanna ride me? I'll stay really still." 

You groan.

"No, no vigorous activity for at least four weeks."

"You riding me isn't vigorous."

"Yes, but I'd consider your orgasms vigorous." You reply, contemplating the way the muscles of his abdomen tended to tighten up when he came.

"Wait," Billy says in horror, "I can't come for four weeks?"

"You'll be fine." You huff.

"No I won't be." He protests.

"Just let me take care of you."

He couldn't argue with that.

. 

"You hate me don't you?" Billy asks.

You try not to grin.

You turn to face him, clad in only your plainest underwear as you get ready for work. Somehow, he still saw beauty in you, even when you weren't trying. It was exhilarating.

Unfortunately you couldn't stay with him, a meeting had been scheduled that you didn't want to push back due to the difficulty in actually getting the meeting in the first place.

"Why? Is there something wrong with it?" You ask, turning playfully to show him the back and the front.

"Everything's fucking wrong with it," Billy grumbles from his spot in bed, head tilting back for a second in what looks like a plea to God himself.

"When I get these stitches out, you're gonna be in so much trouble." he says with a little grunt.

You hum, in thought.

"You know, now that I think about it, I don't think I'll wear underwear today." You taunt.

Billy groans loudly.

Something delightful blooms within you.

. 

Wrong.

This was supposed to be wrong.

The more you think that, the more you know that this is the most right feeling in the world.

There was nothing in your old life that could ever possibly compare to him.

Usually, people coerced into marriage were subjected to inhumane treatment, impossible and abusive environments, that sucked the very living soul out of them.

The most soul sucking being done to you was when you'd been forced to deny Billy the pleasure of tasting you last night.

The pleasure of tasting you... because to him... it really was a pleasure.

You swallow, sitting at his desk, tense in his comfortable chair. You'd become someone he'd wanted.

Or maybe you'd always been. When had he decided to marry you anyways?

You blink, shock spearing through you.

What if your feelings weren't real? But simply a defence response to your circumstances.

A tired sigh leaving your lips. A shake of your head.

Would you want him if you weren't trapped by him? 

The question eats away at your sanity. You spin it around and around in your head and still you can't find an answer.

You're scared by it. By the notion of losing him.

You're also scared by the idea of staying with him, still not fully understanding what he was capable of.

Which fear was right?

And which one would break your heart? 

. 

Billy says your name in question when he hears a door slam shut.

"Just me, Bill." Is Frank's answering voice.

"Where is she?" He murmurs, throat dry, looking up at the ceiling. The pain meds held him in a state of mild confusion, spaced out so that he wasn't in any pain, but unable to truly focus on the things happening around him.

He hears the slow pour of water, peeks an eye open to find Frank beside him. He struggles to sit up, tucking a second and then third pillow behind him for support and gratefully accepting the glass of water from Frank.

"It's only two, her meeting just started so you'll see her a little later."

Billy nods, ignoring Frank's gaze as he sips the water.

"I've never seen you so down bad before."

Billy's laugh bubbles in the glass he's holding.

"What can I say? I'm a romantic." He answers flippantly.

Frank snorts loudly in knowing disbelief. Billy frowns.

"You don't think it's fast? Is she... does she have something on you?"

Anger spears itself through Billy, some at Frank, most at himself.

I'm a monster, he thinks.

He turns away, not wanting Frank to read the expression on his face, wondering if his look of guilt alone will put the pieces together in Frank's head.

"It's not like that." He says easily, thinking to himself what a sick fuck he must be to coerce someone so glorious, so awe-inspiring, into marriage against her will.

He thinks he hates himself for it.

"She told me you got accidentally married. I can't imagine a version of you, however drunk, that would accept marriage."

Frank was getting too close. Billy had to say something to appease him.

"I'd met her before, at... a company party or two. I liked her, but she had a boyfriend."

When Billy doesn't continue, Frank is forced to prompt.

"And?" 

Billy stares down at the sheets. The very sheets you'd slept under last night.

"And when I met her in Vegas, they'd just broken up, and I wanted something with her, and I don't remember how, but the next day I woke up married to her and I was so happy."

It's mostly the truth, the best tale he can spin in his state.

"I know it doesn't make sense, Frankie, but when I'm with her... I'm the man I've always wanted to be."

Frank is quiet for too long now, and Billy is forced to turn his head and look up at his best friend curiously.

Both men stare at each other in silence for a moment.

"Alright, okay, I'm sold, bring her around to meet Maria and the kids." Frank says finally.

If anything, this was Frank Castle's ultimate seal of approval. Introducing strangers to his family was not an occasion to be taken lightly.

Billy grins up at Frank.

"I can't believe I had to lose my appendix to get her invited to a Castle family dinner. You're so gullible, Frank." Billy teases.

He's rewarded with a gentle smack to his shoulder.

. 

You run your hands over the fabric of your dress, deep in thought.

Was it too much? You think you might be overdressed.

It was a lovely beige colour, maybe tan, knee length with a vintage design and little puff sleeves. You'd liked how it looked in the store. Now? You honestly felt like it was a little much.

Maybe Billy would be able to help you decide.

You call his name, walking out of your shared closet and toward the living room where you saw him last.

You spin the corner and find him already coming toward you.

"Are you okay?" He asks, dressed casually in a grey shirt and black pants.

You stumble over your words, your brain spinning too fast for you to keep up.

"W- yeah- I was coming to ask your opinion, but I am so clearly overdressed." You turn on your heel to go back into the bedroom.

"Oh no you don't." Billy says, and before you know it, he's grabbed a hold of your wrist, pulling you into his body.

You gasp, eyes widening on his face as he presses you against the wall of the hallway.

Your heart pounds in your chest at his proximity. Your need for him outweighs rational thought until you have to remind yourself that he's still recovering. If he touched you right now though, he'd find you already wet, and eager for him.

While you've been fighting your aching desire, he's taken the time to run the tips of his fingers across the apple of your cheek.

"God. You're so pretty." He whispers, warm eyes spilling euphoria into you.

He couldn't mean that. Could he?

You glance away, only to be forced into looking back at him when he grabs your jaw roughly.

The tension between you feels like an electric charge, that heightens as he gets closer. 

It's like he's never touched you before, like the sensation is brand new, and not months old. 

"I should change," You whisper, "This dress is too much."

He takes a deep breath, his hand glides from gripping your jaw to curl around your throat. Your breath stutters at the feeling. Something flutters low, an ache to be filled rears its head.

"You're gorgeous. In anything you wear. I'd want you in a ball gown or a potato sack."

Good lord.

When you smile, he brings his fingers up to press against your lips, exploring the shape of your smile, appreciating the softness.

"You mean that?" You ask, a little unsure.

His dark eyes devour you, unfocused as he looks at you, balancing on the precipice of admiring you and imagining just exactly what he wants to do to you.

"Why don't I show you?" He offers.

You reach to grip his elbows when it seems like he's going to kneel.

"No, we- you're still recovering and I don't think it's fair that I get to cum if you can't."

He lets out a low grunt, pressing his body roughly against yours, his palms against the wall on either side of your head, his forehead and nose pressed to yours. The intensity of his gaze makes you turn your head to look away, he's got the demeanour of a man starved, desperate, borderline unhinged.

He doesn't let you move far, fingers curling around the back of your neck to bring you back to face him.

"Little wife," he says so deeply that you're not sure if it's a promise or a threat.

"Lift your dress up for me, or I'll tie you up and lick your cunt anyway."

You gulp. The very thought of being helpless while he-

Fuck, but you didn't even have the time, Frank would be expecting you in an hour. 

You let out a breath, feeling more than seeing the smile that forms on his face as you begin gathering the materials of your skirt into your fists.

"Good." he says finally, and you can only feel your body throb with heat in response.

There's the gentlest kiss to your mouth, something of a promise, a pledge that when he's done with you, you won't remember how to walk.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he kneels, you know that when he reaches up to tug your underwear down the length of your legs, that he'll see the desperation he causes.

He swears when he sees it, drawing out the syllables as he witnesses the way your arousal clings to the little piece of fabric protecting your modesty.

You swallow, the materials bunched in your hands no doubt wrinkling with the force.

He takes his time, tracing coarse fingers over your calve, behind your knee and up your thigh, pulling gently to guide one of your legs over his shoulder. 

He doesn't bother to touch your centre, circle your sweet bud with his thumb like he wants to, he uses his tongue right away.

You take in a sharp breath at the contact. The tip of his tongue meeting your clit affectionately, like old friends reuniting.

A shiver goes down your spine, you crush your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Billy." You whisper softly, tilting your head back as his tongue flattens on you.

He takes it slow, remarkably gentle on your hypersensitive body, having gone relatively long in recent times without an orgasm, you feel like just the right move will pull you apart at the seams.

You let out a little groan, sighing as his pace quickens, his tongue pushing deeper, so that he can get a taste of you directly from the source.

It's primal, soft, ritualistic in the way that his tongue worships you, your eyes rolling back in your head as he draws you close to your peak.

There's an obscene sucking sound, followed closely by a hum of pleasure from between your legs. You feel your body tense, coiled tight on the precipice of bliss, thighs trembling as he keeps his tongue focused on your clit, lapping gently, and then a little harsher, to be gentle again.

His beard scratches your thighs, and even that is an aphrodisiac by itself, reminding you constantly that it's his mouth on you, his tongue on your cunt, his head between your thighs.

A sharp whine of warning, your stomach tightens, your breath stutters. 

A groan of approval from him, the soft twist of his fingers on your skin, as if to encourage you, to tell you how good you're being for him, and all you ever want to do now is be good for him.

Being deconstructed by his mouth should be a lot harder, and yet, Billy makes it look like a basic endeavour.

Your toes curl, head knocking the wall, you feel like you're coming apart, atom by atom, the force of your pleasure barely contained within your skin. You feel the walls of your cunt clamp down into a tight vise, as wave after wave of bliss fills every square inch of your body.

You barely make more than a quiet gasp- too inebriated on his tongue to even scream. 

He keeps licking you gently, lazily, trembling shudders working through your system until you're forced to tap his shoulder for a reprieve.

Another obscene sound when he pulls away, looking up at you, his mouth and beard shiny with your release.

He puts you back on two feet, but your knees buckle once the full weight of you is on them.

He stands swiftly, arms wrapping around you to pull you to his body keeping you upright, a small grunt leaving him.

You blink, struggling to restart your brain.

You realise his grunt is one of pain, as he tries to hold you up, it's what kickstarts your brain into working.

You grip his biceps, straightening your legs under you and willing them to stay that way.

"Sorry." You whisper, trying to take a deep breath.

"It's alright. If I could, I would have picked you up myself." He whispers back, and you raise your head to look into his eyes.

Something unnameable passes between you, you can't put a finger on it- but it feels like quiet appreciation for each other. 

He helps you to the couch, sitting you down before disappearing into the bathroom.

When he re-emerges, it's with a clean face and a damp washcloth. 

He encourages you down to the car after cleaning you and redressing you. You try to tell him that you're capable- but he won't have it.

He slides into the back of the car beside you, and almost immediately tucks your body against his, pulling your legs over one of his for comfort.

You sag, still fatigued from such a powerful orgasm.

Jesus, was it always going to be like that? All mind-consuming and explosive?

You smile when he kisses your forehead, tilting your head up to let him kiss you softly on the mouth.

Delightful, consuming, everything about him was just so... tantalising, you wanted to spend hours learning him, take days to map every thought in his head, every idea in his heart.

He was a dangerous enigma, a slippery slope.

And you were falling. 

. 

When Frank pulls the door to his house open, he gives you both a very suspicious look.

After a moment, he lets out a long sigh of disappointment.

"You two better not fuck in my house." He threatens.

"How can you even tell?" Billy asks in disbelief, reading into the quiet accusations being made by Frank.

"Isn't it obvious?" Frank asks, opening the door wider to let you in.

"Hi Frank," you say in greeting as you walk past him. He says your name, with a small nod of acknowledgement.

You take a moment to appreciate their house, it's warm and cozy, with lots of baseball trophies lining the mantle over the fireplace. There's a lot of pinks and beiges, a cozy line of couches near the fire.

Before you can do more looking, you hear a woman's voice.

"Is that them?" She asks, spinning into the room.

This must be Maria, you think, as you watch her take Billy into an aggressive hug, giving him a kiss to the cheek before letting him go in a flourish, a look of violation comically painted on his face.

When she turns to you next, you gulp.

She's very pretty, with lovely auburn hair. You notice a large scar curving from the corner of her eye down to the edge of her chin.

You only get a second of awareness before she's taking you into a hold just as violent as the one she'd trapped Billy in. 

You can't help but giggle at her blatant showing of affection.

She says your name in greeting.

"I hear you kneed Frank in the balls. Well done."

You splutter for an excuse.

"I'm sorry-"

"-Don't be," she interjects, "I wished I'd seen it myself."

You smile, looking over to Frank, who is mid-roll of his eyes.

"That'll cost you later, big boy. Come! Dinner is almost ready." Maria says quickly, turning away and you let out a little chuckle in response to Frank's apologetic face. 

"Billyyyyyyyyy." You hear someone shout, and you watch in horror as a small blur begins racing to your husband.

Your mouth opens, subtly stepping in front of him, ready to catch said blur.

Frank beats you to it, grabbing his son under the arms and picking him up for a second before putting him back down.

"Woah there slugger, take it easy on Uncle Billy, he just had surgery." 

You sigh, moving away from Billy so that he can hug his godson in peace. You catch Maria staring at you. You give her a smile of apology before looking away.

"Frank, I want you to meet my wife," Billy says, turning the younger Frank's body in your direction.

You can instantly see the suspicious look on his face.

You tell him your name, extending your hand politely in greeting.

He takes it, shaking your hand politely, it's the best you can hope for, being a stranger in their home.

"You're not a gold digger are you?" Frank Jr. says suddenly.

It's met with lots of scolding from his parents. You can't help laughing at everyone's shocked expressions.

"Where did you even learn that word?" Frank says, exasperated.

"In school." Younger Frank answers honestly.

Billy straightens, gives you an apologetic look.

"She's not with me for my money, junior, I'm with her cause she's sweet." He wraps a hand around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest.

You can't look at him, leaning in and accepting the comfort.

You meet Lisa next, Frank's older daughter, she's polite, but you can also see the accusation in her eyes.

You figure it's nice, that at least there are people looking out for Billy, though, you almost want to shout his crimes so that you stop being treated so abrasively.

Billy had warned you that the Castles could be protective, that they'd like you once they got to know you.

You'd hoped that were true.

.

When Maria asks how you and Billy met during dinner, you both pause in horror as the answer comes to mind.

You let out a long sigh.

"We met a couple of years ago, at a Christmas party, my boyfriend at the time was working at Anvil." You say with a smile.

Maria nods eagerly in understanding. You can see how bad it looks.

"Alright," you say, finally having enough. Your fork clatters onto your plate and you watch Billy turn his head to you in alarm.

"Cards on the table. No, I'm not with him for his money- and I'm not pregnant either if any of you are thinking it. I like him. I like his stupid face and his stupid laugh and I feel safe around him and I never really had that before." You pause for a second, taking a sip of water before continuing.

"Sure, how we met wasn't the best, and how we got married was even worse, but I like him."

Billy reaches over, taking your hand in his, you glance up at him, your stomach tying into knots as you meet his eyes.

"He's my best friend." You finish.

You feel his hand squeeze yours.

Billy leans forward, his other hand cupping your cheek and hiding your mouths from view as he kisses you softly.

The entire table erupts into groans, mostly from both Franks and you can't help laughing into his kiss.

It lightens the mood though, and there's less tension in the air by the time dinner is finished. 

.

Everyone helps with cleaning up, and you find yourself drying dishes next to Maria while the rest of the family clear the table.

"He's not someone we'd ever thought could settle down." Maria murmurs.

You look up at her curiously.

She sees your confused expression and tries to explain.

"He's always just been so focused on himself, there were a lot of bad things about his childhood, and more in the military, and we just never thought he could be in a spot where he could live with someone. He tends to push people away after a while. Even us."

You look down, letting out a long sigh, wondering what you would do if he ever tried to push you away.

Accept it, you guess. What could you really do if he decided he didn’t want you anymore? Nothing.

“But don’t worry.” She interjects, you look up at her, eyes settling on her wicked scar for a second before you look down at your dish, “He likes you, he really does, maybe you did have a rough start, but I have faith in both of you.”

Your mouth pulls into a smile, you thank her for her kind words.

.

You play Jenga with them next, laughing and tickling Billy’s left side affectionately to distract him while he moves.

He grins, his hand remains remarkably steady while you torment him with your fingers. Everyone jeers, encouraging his loss, booing him when he manages to get the block on top of the tower without toppling it.

Your turn is next and you smile happily as you lean forward to make your move. You feel his hand on the small of your back, rubbing affectionately as you pick your piece. He doesn’t try to shake you or cheat like you did while you pull your piece out. The rest of the Castle family boo you in funny ways, and you have this moment of realisation that this is what family feels like.

When you get your wooden brick seated next to Billy’s, he kisses you on the temple, murmuring a ‘Good job, baby.’ into your ear in a low voice that has your body responding eagerly to him.

There’s a look that passes between you, something warm and electric, the silent guarantee that if you were alone right now, you’d be ripping at each other's clothes.

It’s Frank that drops the tower, after Maria whispers something into his ear quietly, and you smile at the way he looks at her in half betrayal and half adoration as everyone cheers for his loss.

You see it, you understand why these people are so important to him, the humanity inside each Castle is a unique thing, that makes the whole family unit just work so easily.

You’re glad to have met them, and you’re also sad when you have to bid them goodbye at the end of the night.

Maria hugs you both, Frank gives you an almost friendly pat on your shoulder. There’s a bittersweetness to it that you’ve barely felt before, a real family that you can be a part of, a promise to reunite soon that sparks hope inside of you.

You leave, hand in hand with Billy, a little bit happier than you were when you first arrived, feeling like you understood your husband just a little bit more.

.

In the car, he lets out a slow breath, tilting his head back. He’s in pain, you realise.

“My scar is starting to hurt.” he confesses, turning his head to look at you.

Your heart squeezes in your chest. 

“We’ll get you home and get some medicine into you, okay?” You say softly, leaning into him, till your nose rubs affectionately against his.

He nods, eyes drooping as he feels your hand move to cup the healing area of his abdomen over his shirt gently. He leans into you, resting his head into the crook of your neck, your other hand moving up to play with his hair.

You feel him sigh in bliss.

.

You tug your heels off so that you have better balance to support him, encouraging him to lean into you a little so that he’s in a little less pain while you get him up to your apartment.

His pain has worsened by the time you sit him in bed and rummage through your cabinet for his medicine. 

You get it to him first, making sure he finishes the glass of water you gave him before you begin taking his shoes off.

“You don’t have to-” He tries to sit up, “I can-” He grunts in pain when he curls forward too much.

You push him back gently, giving him a kiss to his forehead.

“Let me take care of you, yeah?”

You stroke his cheek with the backs of your fingers while you wait for him to respond.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

You tug his shoes off, and then undo his pants, giggling slightly when he struggles to lift his hips to help you.

You can’t help touching him, feeling over his thick thighs as they’re exposed to you. You kiss his happy trail when you see it, giggling when he groans.

“Tease.” He pouts.

You kiss his pout too.

Only after you strip him down to his boxers and carefully check his scar, do you tuck him into bed, moving to dress down for the night too. 

When you struggle for too long with the zipper, you sit on the edge of the bed beside Billy and ask him for help.

He kisses your exposed back when he gets the zip undone.

When you’re finally in your silky PJs, you slide into bed beside him, noticing that he’s still awake, but blinking slowly.

“Are you still in pain?” You ask, tilting your head to observe him.

“No pain.” He answers, “Groggy.”

You sigh in relief, sliding closer to him, till you’re pressed to his side. Your hand slides into his rough one, and you quietly enjoy the feeling of being next to him until he speaks.

“I’ve never had this.” Billy whispers. You raise your head to look at him, noticing how unfocused his eyes are, staring up at the ceiling, blinking slowly, as if to remind himself that he’s still awake.

“The old me would have never confessed to anyone that I was hurting.” 

He turns his head, glassy eyes focusing on you.

“But you… The way you fight for me makes me want to trust you more and more each time.” He swallows, “It’s scary.”

He raises a hand, cups your cheek and you can’t help leaning into him, closing your eyes in hopes that it puts him at ease, that he doesn’t feel stared at while he opens himself up to you.

“No one has ever taken care of me before. Not like you have. You look at me- and I- I mean something. You know?”

You open your eyes then, staring at him for a long moment, finding that your throat has closed up from your abundance of emotion.

“You mean a lot.” You whisper, your hand raising to cup his.

His eyes are glassy, almost on the brink of tears.

“I didn’t know.”

.

You’re in the kitchen making coffee two days after, scarily deep in thought. 

In the quiet of the morning you think about everything that’s happened. From Dominic dumping you to the despair you felt when your annulment request had been denied. You think about it all, and you think about your mother, whose call you had ignored yesterday after walking out of her house when you found out Billy was sick. 

You didn’t know how to approach her, or what you would say when she asked you the question she’d asked before.

Before you can think yourself into a downward spiral, an arm wraps itself around your waist. His hand is broad, spreading over your tummy and leaving warm tingles behind, his touch so comforting that you can’t help but smile and lean into him a little.

“Good morning, Mrs. Russo.” He grumbles softly, letting you know exactly what he thought of waking up alone in bed.

“What can I help you with, Mister Russo?” You tease, smiling as you both sway together.

There’s a moment of silence, filled only with the sounds of your shared breaths as you enjoy the presence of each other.

“I would like you to come back to bed. It’s a Saturday and you haven’t cuddled me for nearly long enough.”

You grin, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah? And what do I get if I come back to bed with you right now?”

He hums, nose pressing against your ear, one hand on your stomach and the other rising up to cup your jaw securely.

“I can think of many imaginative ways to thank you.” He murmurs, the heat of his breath tickling your ear gently.

It’s something you could never even think to dream of.

.

.

.

A/N: Sorry I've been so inactive... bad things have happened, just popping in to post this cause I don't want it to sit in my drafts for any longer.