#Promise other replies will not be this long.

[menagerofmischief]

Nugget Update (MV1)

sumary: y/n's always giddy after getting a nugget update, sure she loves her best boy, but it also has something to do with the cat sitter sending the updates

driver!reader x cat sitter!max verstappen -> habs incoming... series masterlist

cw: not fia approved words, a bit of lance hate (I don't actually hate him), mutual pinning, the grid teasing the reader, lot of appearances from the reader's cat, kissing, kinda mean!reader (to the grid)

wc: 4.1k

a/n: this is my first time writing in 2nd person so bear with me. also, I low key hate this and it may be shit. not proof read!

“Well aren’t you a ball of sunshine?” A voice called out, disturbing the peace - or the closest thing to peace you could have near a Formula 1 track.

Your gaze snapped up, eyes narrowing as you took in the man standing on the entry of the RedBull garage. “Hello, Charles,” you replied, a teasing bite obviously heard in your voice as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I know you wanted to experience what a successful garage looks like but I thought Ferrari had a better hold on you.”

Charles laughs, his eyes crinkling as his lips stretch into a smile. Teasing Charles was always a fun time but that’s all it was, just a bit of fun. It never stretched into something meaner, just two people showing affection by teasing each other.

Charles had been your very first real friend on the grid. The first to offer his hand with a smile and genuinely mean it. The first to congratulate you on a win after getting out of the car or the first to say that the next race would be better. Really, he was your best friend, but you would never tell him that or it would go to his head.

“Funny, very funny.” He said, his accent thick. His eyes slid around the motor home until finally meeting your own. “Lot of drivers are going out for drinks, came by to invite you.”

“I don’t Charles,” you started to say, going through your mental list of excuses, searching for the best one to use to avoid this social interaction.

“Oh come on!” He whined, rolling his eyes. He gave you a look that let you know you could stop thinking about an excuse because he wasn’t going to be buying it. “We won’t stay that long and it’s night race tomorrow so you don’t need to wake up at the crack of dawn.”

You pressed your lips together, the lip gloss previously applied making them slide against each other easily. 

Charles kissed his teeth, nodding his head along. Fine, he’ll play the game. “Some of the WAG’s are coming as well.”

“Are you really trying to lure me out by promising female company?”

“Is it working?”

“Eh,” you shrugged your shoulders. “Will you pay my tab?”

Charles scoffed. “Pay your tab?” He asked, sounding as if you had asked him for his firstborn. “You’re filthy rich! You have a bigger salary than me!”

“Yeah, they do pay world champions a bit extra, comes with the title.” You replied, grinning at him, a wide teasing grin, your eyes twinkling. 

“Fine whatever, I’ll pay your tab.” He said, raising his hands in surrender. “Now go take that suit off and shower, you look disgusting.”

“You look like a trash can threw you up!”

“It threw me up because it saw you!” Charles shouted back in response, his back already turned to you as he walked away, back to the Ferrari garage. 

And that’s how you ended up in the bar, an hour later. Squished in the not too comfortable and definitely not meant to sit so many people, booth. With George’s girlfriend Carmen on your left, and Pierre’s girlfriend Kika on your right, and deep in conversation with both of them. 

You feel your phone vibrate under your hand on the table, and the screen lights up, showing off your wallpaper, a picture of your beloved cat Nugget.

You tune off from the conversation the moment the message arrives, grabbing your phone and pulling it in towards you. Your face lights up, lips stretching into a smile as your eyes focus on the sender ID. Maxie.

Or rather Max. The very cute guy who was your cat sitter whenever you were out and about in the world, chasing the racing track. 

With a quick move of your fingers, you swipe up, opening your phone and going into the message app. Fingers quickly tapping along the screen of your phone as you type out your reply.

With a smile you closed the messages app, pressing your fingers against the button on the side of your phone, watching the screen go black before setting it face down onto the table. As you looked back up, Lando’s amused yet teasing expression caught your eye.

You leaned forward against the table, pressing your hands to the wooden surface as you attempted to get a bit closer to the driver on the other side of the table. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh nothing,” he said with a laugh. “Just wondering who you’re texting, that’s all.” He intertwined his fingers, elbows pressed against the table and leaned forward as well. “You were all grumpy cat but then you get a message and suddenly you’re all smiles.”

“Grumpy cat?” You scoff, rolling your eyes at the McLaren driver. “I’m not a grumpy cat. And for the record, that was Nugget’s babysitter and he was sending me a picture of Nugget.”

Lando laughs, there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he wants to say more but he holds himself back. “Can I see? I haven’t seen the orange gremlin in so long.”

“That’s very mean,” you say, opening your phone to show him the picture, that Max had sent you. “Nugget would never say that about you.”

“That’s because Nugget can’t speak.” He looks at the screen and his lips twist upward in a smirk. “Who’s Maxie?”

You breathe out through your nose, teeth digging into your bottom lip. When you speak your voice is sharp, it leaves no room for questioning things or an invite to ask more questions. “The cat sitter.”

“I’m sure that’s all he is.” Lando laughs when you show him your middle finger before settling back into your seat and returning to the previously abandoned conversation with the two WAG’s.

The race went pretty smoothly, as always. Starting from pole, keeping the lead the whole race and with a 20s gap to car in P2. Everything after that was pretty much a blur, the interviews, partying through the night with the grid and boarding the jet early in the morning.

The sun already started setting by the time you made it to Monaco. With a sigh you rummaged through your bag, blindly feeling around the stuff inside before your fingers finally wrapped around the keys.

Opening the apartment door you walked inside, gently laying down your suitcase as your eyes settled on the scene in your living room. Right there, laying on your couch, in deep sleep, and cuddling your cat is Max Verstappen. 

His hair had fallen over his eyes and the position he’s in looks rather uncomfortable, you’re sure his body will be aching when he wakes up. His chest was raising and falling with each breath he took, little sighs slipping past his lips. Nugget was cuddled up to him, curled in a ball.

You looked at him for a few moments before starting to move around as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake him up. 

Max had been cat sitting for you for a while now. Half of last season and now half of this one so almost a year. He was a sweet, kinda shy, mostly nerdy guy you ran into in a coffee shop and spilled his coffee. You offered to buy him a new one and he joined you for the coffee and you got to talking when he said he was looking for a job so you offered him to become your pet sitter.

At that point you really did need someone to look after your cat while you were gone, since you had broken up with your ex who usually took care of Nugget while you were away. And you couldn’t leave Nugget with your parents since your father was allergic to cats.

Now, your best friend who had been working in a different country had returned to Monaco and said she’d be more than happy to look after Nugget - but you wanted to keep Max around. 

Already having grown used to coming home after a race weekend to find him there, just existing in your space.

Nugget’s whiskers twitch, his eyes opening and he pulls himself away from Max, stretches out and then trots over to you, rubbing his head against your leg affectionately while purring. He let out a happy, albeit a bit too loud, meow when you picked him up and on the other side of the room Max began stirring from his sleep.

He opened his eyes, a bit confused, and rubbed his knuckles against his eyes to wake up, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light filling up the room. 

“You’re back,” he says, his voice is gentle, still sleepy and a bit quiet. His eyes meet yours and he offers you a sweet smile that has you immediately smiling back at him. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep, sorry about that.”

“Oh no, it’s no problem,” you reply, running your hand over Nugget’s fur as the cat lay happily in your arms. “You can use the guest bedroom if you’re tired, you know. The couch may be expensive but that doesn’t mean it’s comfortable for sleep.”

“I didn’t want to overstep,” Max said, pulling himself up into a sitting position. You approached the couch and sat down, the cat nestling in your lap and purring in content. Max smiled, reaching out his hand and petting Nugget.

“Nonsense Max, you’re not overstepping.” You cut him off, leaving no room for argument. You always told him to feel at ease in your apartment, that he was welcome to any food in the fridge and free to use the guest room as he pleased but even after all this time there was still a slight air of awkwardness backed up by the fear of going a bit too far.

Max’s eyes settled on you, your own focused on your cat so you didn’t notice him looking. He watched the way you cooed at Nugget, asking if he was a good boy while you were away and petting him gently, and his lips stretched into a small, careful smile.

He spoke before thinking. The words left his mouth before he even finished the thought inside of his head. “I watched the race,” he said, and your eyes instantly snapped up to meet his. He swallowed, already too deep to back down. “It - “ he licked his lips, trying to decide his next words, feeling like his tongue had tied itself up in a knot. “You were spectacular. It was lovely … simply lovely.”

You let out a breath, the corners of your mouth twisting upwards and you gave him a thankful look. Max swore he could feel his heart beating in his throat, and felt his cheeks heat up. “Thank you,” you said, your voice gentle, holding a comforting tone. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. And it’s nice - knowing you watched.”

“It is?”

You bit your lip, teeth scraping against you bottom lip as you looked at him, your brain running faster than the Sauber (like it’s hard) as you tried to come up with a response. “It’s kind of comforting,” you finally said, after what felt like a small forever.

You hummed, looking down at your nails. “I was thinking about bringing Nugget with me to the next race. It’s been a while since he was in the paddock.”

“Oh,” Max said, an edge of confusion noticeable in the tone of his voice. “Does that mean that you don’t need me coming over next week?”

“Actually, I was hoping you would come with.” You say, before you can talk yourself out of making the proposition.

Max tilts his head to the side, kind of like a confused cat and you try your best not to giggle at the mental image. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

“If you wanted to attend the Grand Prix,” you tell him, running the edge of one of your nails along your skin. “Cuz’ I’m still gonna need someone to look after Nugget, and you do that in general so this would just be an added bonus of traveling.”

Max is silent for a few moments and you think he’ll decline. You wouldn't fully blame him if he did, you know what the pressure of the paddock can be like. You’re about to open your mouth, tell him that ‘never mind, it was a stupid idea anyway’ and put him out of the trouble of finding a polite way to decline when he finally speaks. 

“I suppose, if you want me to then yeah, I’ll come along to watch Nugget.” He says, trying to ignore the nervous feeling building up in his chest when you smile at him, a wide happy smile that makes him instantly smile back.

“Great!” You said, the excitement evident in your voice. “Someone from the team will contact you in a while to arrange the tickets and leave the rest to me.” Max nods, he doesn’t trust himself to speak, not with the way his throat is closing up and it makes him feel like he can’t breathe.

“Look at you all giggly,” Charles teased, gently pushing your shoulder with his hand. He wiggled his eyebrows, a laugh slipping past his lips as you glared at him.

“Charles, why don’t you turn around and flash your pretty face to the crowd.” You said, rolling your eyes. You looked at the stadium full of people who were shouting out for their favorite drivers, waving banners and cheering happily. You smiled towards the stadium and lifted your hand up, waving your fingers to the public. “Give them a wave.”

“See, I always knew you thought I was pretty,” Charles replied, waving at the public. The two of you and the rest of the grid were in a wagon, going around the track for the drivers parade, so essentially you were stuck with him for at least five more minutes. “Now, do tell who’s got you smiling like that.”

“Is it Maxie?” Lando asked, the teasing tone evident in his voice. He pushed himself closer to you and Charles, inserting himself into the conversation. 

“Didn’t your mom teach you not to eavesdrop?” 

“No, no!” Charles said, shaking his head as he waved his hand dismissively as you, his full attention now focused on Lando. “Who’s Maxie?”

Lando smiled at him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “The cat sitter,” he said in a sing-song kind of voice. 

“The one you brought to your garage?” The Ferrari driver asked, his attention back on you. “The pretty one.”

“Hold up!” Lando almost shouted, raising his hands. “You brought him with you to the Grand Prix?!”

“I didn’t … well I did bring him.” You said with a sigh, there was no escaping this now. “But it’s not like that. He’s here to watch Nugget.”

“And for you to watch him - because boy that is one good arm candy.”

“Charles, your homosexual is showing,” you warned.

“But you’re not denying it,” Charles noted, giving you a smirk.

You rolled your eyes at him but finally gave in. “Yes, I’m not denying it.”

You stepped back into the motor home, your eyes immediately searching for Max and finally you found him talking to your lead engineer. As you approached the two you could start to hear their conversation and quickly realized they were talking about how the car worked and what went on behind the scenes at a Grand Prix. You found it cute that Max was interested in that.

His eyes met yours and his face lit up, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards into a smile. “You’re back!” He said, “After terrorizing everyone around and getting pets, Nugget decided to settle down for a nap. He’s in your driver's room.”

Max gave you a wink after saying that and you had to hold in a giggle. You excused yourself to go to your driver’s room, with Max following behind you. The first thing you noticed when you went inside was Nugget, curled up on the massage bed and sleeping without a care.

The next thing that grabbed your attention was a dozen pastries lined up on a small table next to the couch. They were all individually wrapped in tissues.

“Max,” you said, picking up one of the pastries and unwrapping it. “I really did mean only one pastry, you know?” You bit into the chocolate filled pastry, moaning at the taste of a treat you weren’t usually allowed to have when it was race week. “My trainer will strangle me if he sees.”

“I swear, no one saw anything.” Max said, shuffling over to the couch and sitting down. “I was sneakier than Nugget when he’s stealing my food.”

“Oh, now that’s a very serious claim.” You told him with a laugh, his own laugh echoing back. You picked up one of the wrapped pastries and offered it to him. “Take one, or five. There’s no way I’m eating it all.”

He takes the pastry you’re offering him, his fingers brushing against your own as he takes it from your hand, sending sparks of electricity down your spine. After a second of hesitation you sit down next to him, the two of you eating the treats in comfortable silence.

His thigh nudges against yours and you turn to face him, finding that he’s already looking at you. He smiles and you don’t hesitate to smile back.

The practices go great, P2 in FP1, P1 in FP2 and P1 in FP3. 

The qualifying is where a slight setback shows up, with quali being ended early due to a crash and a red flag, putting you in P10 for the start of the race tomorrow.  

Once the car had rolled back into the pits you wasted no time getting out, putting the steering wheel back into place before storming into your driver’s room. 

You pulled your helmet off, fingers curling into the bottom of your balaclava as you pulled it off, throwing it next to your helmet before bringing your hands up to smooth down your hair. 

“I’m not in the fucking mood, Pepe.” You said without turning around, assuming it was your race engineer coming to talk about the outcome of qualifying. “Fucking Lance and his fucking money made seat - if that little frog screws up another quali, I’ll be the one crashing him out.”

“I’m not Pepe,” the other person in the room says and you instantly turn around, your eyes wide as they meet Max’s blue ones. “And I’m certainly glad I’m not Lance.”

You looked him up and down, eyes trailing over his figure. You took notice of Nugged, cuddled up in his arms and looked at you curiously, and reached your hand out to pet the cat, a long breath slipping past your lips. 

“Sorry,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “I didn’t really mean for you to hear that.”

Max barely heard what you were saying. Too distracted by the sight of you for his brain to properly register your words. Your skin was slightly glistening with sweat, an imprint from where your helmet and balaclava had dug into your skin still visible on your flushed cheeks. Your messy hair, and your chest raising and falling with each breath you took as you were still working on catching up your breath.

Max blinked, finally snapping out of his thoughts and focusing his attention back to what you were saying. “They should have let you finish the lap.” 

“I agree but sadly that’s not how it works.”

Max nodded along, not really knowing what to say to that so he switched to the next topic. “I ran into your friend. He invited you, and me, out for drinks. I think it would be nice to go, you seem like you need a drink.”

“Yeah, I definitely do.” You replied, taking Nugget from his arms and into your own, stroking down the cat’s body. “Which friend?”

“Uh,” Max started, thinking of a way to describe the guy since he couldn’t remember his name. “Wears red, pretty, sounds French.”

You laughed, smiling at him. “That’s Charles. I hope you didn’t tell him he sounds French, he gets offended by that.”

“Then it’s great I kept it to myself.”

You laughed in reply, putting Nugget down to the floor, the cat immediately moving to a cozy corner and curling up into a ball on the floor, shutting his eyes. “The hotel is right next to the track, you can take Nugget back while I shower and then we can go - if you want to.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Max replied with a smile.

You showered and put on a clean set of clothes just in time to meet Max after he finished dropping Nugget back to the hotel, leaving him with toys, food and water. The two of you made your way to the bar to join the rest of the grid for a night out. 

Some of the drivers were playing pool while their girlfriends were engrossed in a conversation so that left you and Max sitting together, sharing drinks and talking.

“I just …” you started, cracking your fingers. “I don’t know, this quali really messed up my mood and I was riding on such a high after the practices going well. It all feels shit now.”

“Maybe you just need more motivation for the race.” Max offered, drinking the rest of the liquor from his glass in one go. 

“You have something in mind, Maxie?” You asked, the nickname slipping past your lips without a thought now that you’ve had a few drinks. 

“How about a kiss if you get on the podium?” He said, his voice suggestive. Normally he never would have dared to say something like that but the alcohol courage really worked wonders. 

Your eyes widened, clearly not expecting him to be so bold or to suggest that. He took your reaction as a bad sign, immediately straightening up as a wave of dread quickly sobered him up.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out, the expression on his face shifting into a panicked one. “That was stupid. It was thoughtless. It was -”

“A great motivation,” you cut him off, putting a finger up against his lips to silence him. “It was a great motivation.”

His cheeks burned as his eyes met yours. He looked so vulnerable, his bright eyes impossibly wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“One more corner to go but you’re in the clear,” Pepe’s voice echoed over the radio. You blinked, your eyes focused on the track before you, the checkered flag already visible along with your team gathering in the front. “That’s P1, Y/n. Phenomenal drive today, you deserved it!”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice breathless as you moved your hands, going through the last corner and speeding towards the finish line. “Thank you, Pepe.” You repeated, swallowing your spit. “It was lovely, simply lovely.”

You put the car into P1, getting out and posing for a picture on top of your car. You could hear the shouts, the cheers, the celebration. You took off your helmet, ripping off your balaclava and putting them both into the car before turning around to face the team, eyes searching for a particular face. 

Finally, you spotted Max. Standing besides your engineer, a proud expression on his face as he looked at you with a wide smile. You didn’t hesitate, feet moving before you could think and then you were in front of him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down, smashing your lips into his.

The kiss was desperate, both of having waited long enough for it. He wrapped his arms around you, the best he could with the fence between you, kissing you back with need. 

You finally pulled away when you felt your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, learning your forehead against his. Nothing else mattered, not the public, not the team, not the celebration. Only him, finally yours.

“Simply lovely, right?” You asked, your voice breathless.

“Simply lovely!” Max repeated back to you, before kissing you once again. And he really did mean it - everything was simply lovely.

tag list: @formula1-motogpfan @misty-inferno @thelemonque3n @marvel-hotchner @strangemaximoff @folkloresreputation @pippyth3hippy @adharacambridge @theseerbetweenus @sebastianstansblog @tellybearryyyy @six-call @grussellsprout @oikarma @justcharlotte @annimausi

i hope i tagged everyone who said they wanted to be on the tag list. hope you enjoyed this one and keep an eye out for the poll about the next part of the series <3

[atebyflowers]

— ellie x readers first time . .

first post in literally a month?? i'm so sorry omg this is unedited but oh wells... cw: fingering & head(r!recieving), short after care

thinking about how gentle and sweet she'd be towards your worries, how careful she would be with your body as if you could shatter under her any moment.

"tell me to stop if you're uncomfortable" she'd whisper against your skin, placing soft kisses along your neck before pulling back — softly rubbing her fingers up and down your soaked slit. "els.. whatre you doing" you questioned, whincing at the slow friction. "just getting you ready baby, don't wanna move to fast... you're so f'me already..." she replies, continuing her motion for a moment before it's halted by your hand on her arm — catching her off gaurd.

"what's wrong?" she questioned as you bit down on your lip, hesitant to respond — afraid of saying something that'll ruin the moment. "tell me sweetheart it's okay" ellie adds, caressing your cheek. "m'just nervous" you admit through embarrassment. ellie, replacing the hand on your cheek with her lips — using the other to interlock your fingers with hers. "we can stop at anytime" she re informs with a warm tone, "just say the word and we don't have to continue".

she lifts herself off of you just enough to lock eyes, nodding at her words — you give her the signal to continue as she lifts your interlocked hand, placing another gentle kiss onto yours before re adjusting herself.

You shut your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to relax as she inserted a finger into you — your body taking in a deep breath as the unfamiliar sensation overwhelmed, ellie, slowing pumping in and out as your warm slick coated her finger. her eyes watching your every movement, "it'll feel more comfortable soon i promise angel.. just focus on me" she instructs.. and you do just that — opening your eyes to meet hers, ellie now lowering herself — slightly hovering over your cunt.

with one of your hands digging into the bed sheet, and the other still interlocked with her free hand — she began picking up her pace alongside inserting another finger. though without warning, she's slow, cautious not to hurt you. as her tongue latches onto your body, she brings placing cat links alongside her fingers still pushing into you — her mouth releasing occasionally to mutter praises. "doing so good for me pretty.. swallowing me whole.. god you're so fucking perfect" "wanted to taste this pussy for so long" she manages to speak through moans of her own, getting off to the taste of you.

"ellie .... need more" was all you managed to get out, your body desperate to increase the feeling, something you've never had before but craved in the moment. those words, causing her to look for any signs of hesitation — you, quickly to dismiss it. the words "please els... i want more" coming out of you through a almost pathetic cry, enough to make her thrust her fingers in and out of you — her mouth now sucking down on your clit throughout the process.

you let out sounds you had no idea your body could make, a feeling that was indescribable being pushed throughout your veins. your fingers, practically digging into her hand as your fingers remained intwined, her free hand now holding down your thigh — assuring you don't squirm away.

"fuck!" you cried as you felt a release approaching, "ellie i think-" your words were cut off with her mouths sudden removal from your cunt, though her fingers remaind at the same steady pace. she lifted her body onto yours, her mouth barely an inch away from your ear as she spoke. "you're close yeah..? c'mon baby... cum on my fingers.. taking them so well...". those words from her sending waves through your body as you released onto her fingers below — a mix of cum and liquid marking the bed sheet below. ellie lifted her head down once more, using her tongue to lick your messy and sensitive cunt one last time before slowly removing her fingers — savouring every last bit that coated them.

your body fell limp as you attempted to catch your breath, sensitivity flourished over you as she began to clean your body — your mind to fuzzy to notice her ever getting up. once finsihed, she regains her gentle demeanour — clothing you, and cradling you in her arms as if you were the most fragile being in her presence. "you did so well for me princess... thank you for trusting me..." she whispered once more, caressing your head as she allowed your tired body to doze off.

[starmocha]

Bride of the Dragon King :: Prelude

Sylus/Reader | 465 words | Masterlist | AO3 Tonight, the wine tasted so sweet. A/N: I yapped on my tumblr about how I wanted a dragon!Sylus AU…so I willed it into existence. 😊 This is the prelude to a technically 3-part story. The main story will be a 20K+ word one-shot, so I feel justified in a shorter intro. I am still finalizing the main story, so I want to give people time to read the prelude first. While the prelude is SFW, the main story and epilogue will contain explicit adult themes, so it's best for MDNI. Influenced to varying degree by the Vietnamese origin myth, Lạc Long Quân and Âu Cơ, and the C-drama, Miss the Dragon…and probably a whole slew of other period C-dramas I watched in the past. Recommended Playlist Love and Deepspace - Wander In Wonder Shuang Sheng - 流转莹回 ☆ I can do a tag list for the main story once it's up. Just let me know in the replies, and I'll keep a list handy. ☆

Distantly, in the Celestial Realm where the immortals resided, the vast kingdom of the Dragon King was shrouded in nighttime for all of eternity, stuck within an eternal spring. Pink petals from the ever-blooming flowers of the magnolia trees were carried away in the warm breeze across the palace courtyard.

Sylus, the Dragon King, lazed under a grand magnolia tree with red blossoms overlooking a large koi pond, his solemn gaze lingering on the reflection of the full moon in the still water. He poured wine from a crimson porcelain bottle into the matching cup, and he took a swig of his drink, sighing.

The moon is lovely tonight… he thought, The wine tastes so sweet…

Red magnolia blossoms drifted down from the tree, landing in the water and startling the fish beneath, the immediate ripples distorted the reflection of the moon. Sylus kept his own crimson eyes on the floating flowers.

Little Snake, this is not much, but you are welcome to stay with me for as long as you would like!

He huffed in amusement, eyes drifting to a different flower.

You are so shameless. How can you ask a maiden to bathe with you?

He poured another drink, chuckling, but there was little joy in his laughter.

You are not allowed to get hurt! …Promise me you won’t get hurt again...

His cup lingered at his lips momentarily, a look of guilt flashed across his features before he tossed the drink back, sighing heavily.

Sylus…I don’t want you to leave…

He leaned back against the tree, eyes wandering to the moon. On the ground next to him was a necklace, its pendant pure gold with a jade border. Engraved on one side was the image of a dragon with wisps of cloud beneath it. When Sylus picked it up, his fingers caressed the other side, tracing the characters that formed the word, “Beloved.”

Another flower drifted into the pond, spinning slowly before it floated away.

…Who are you?

He closed his eyes, his hand tightening into a fist around the pendant as he made his decision.

He was going to rewrite their story. The red thread that tethered them together was going to unravel and lead her back to him.

All of it was going to be undone, and a new ending was going to replace all of the tragedies that were and were to be.

For her…

Heaven and Hell were going to bend to his will, he vowed.

For us…

As Sylus finished the wine, a white mist enveloped him, swirling before scattering and leaving nothing in its place beneath this red magnolia tree. In the night sky, among the millions of stars, a white dragon flew away, his scales shimmered in the moonlight before he disappeared into the horizon.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Vanilla - Part 2

Bucky x Y/N

Bucky gets the rope out….

Note: Plenty of you guys asked for it 😉

Part 1 if you missed it

Requests Open!

Warnings: Smut. Fingering. Unprotected P in v sex. Rope play.

Bucky’s thumb brushed over the length of rope in his hand, glancing toward the bedroom where the soft light spilled out into the hallway.

He’d spent weeks considering how to approach this, almost as long as he’d kept his promise to her, with his mind turning over possibilities and wondering if this might be the perfect answer to her casual suggestion one evening to “spice things up.”

After a few conversations and a fair share of nerve-steeling, he’d finally worked up the courage to present the idea. His palms felt a bit clammy, and a rare touch of nervousness flickered through him. Bucky wasn’t exactly known for restraint once he was certain about something, but he wanted tonight to be careful, to listen, to read every signal she might send.

Bucky stepped into the bedroom, watching her gaze shift from the paperback she’d been reading to the length of braided silk in his hands. He had barely even spoken a word, but your lips curved upward slightly, cheeks already warming.

“Bucky,” she murmured, sitting up against the headboard. “What’s that?”

“Just a little something I picked up,” he replied, his voice low and easy, though his pulse felt anything but. “Figured I’d keep my word. Thought this might be fun, but I want it to be perfect, too. So… if you’re interested?”

She set her book aside, tilting her head as her eyes scanned over him, a playful glint surfacing. “Oh, so we’re really doing this,” she teased, arching a brow. “Go on, tell me what you had in mind.”

Bucky’s grin widened as he moved to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. He took her hand, running his thumb along the back of it slowly. “I’d be taking my time with you,” he murmured, his tone velvet. “Tying you up, doing what I want to you. You’d feel safe, yeah?” His eyes searched hers, waiting for any sign of hesitance, any flicker that might suggest otherwise.

When none came, his confidence swelled.

“Close your eyes for me, Kitten?” he whispered.

She hesitated for only a beat before obliging, settling back as her lashes fluttered shut, and Bucky took a moment to study her like this. Completely relaxed, utterly trusting, each breath she took grounding him as he felt the warmth in his chest settle into something far deeper. He brushed his knuckles along her jawline, leaving a delicate trail as his voice filled the silence.

“Now, if you ever feel uncomfortable… you’ll tell me, right?”

Y/N nodded, barely suppressing a shiver at the deliberate slowness of his touch, his hand ghosting over the curve of her shoulder before resting at her collarbone. He took his time, letting the moment stretch. Then, with almost ceremonial slowness, he looped the rope around one of her wrists, keeping his motions precise and featherlight.

His voice softened, barely above a whisper. “Does this feel alright?”

“Perfect,” she murmured, the word rolling off her lips almost dreamily. her skin tingled, every little movement and brush of his fingertips amplified as he continued working with skill and patience, never once letting the rhythm falter. It wasn’t long before he was binding her other wrist, each knot soft yet securely in place, made for her alone.

He watched her reaction, noting every shift and breath, studying her like he was trying to memorize each response. “I told you I’d keep it interesting, didn’t I?” His words were a gentle tease, but beneath them lay a genuine affection that pulsed in the space between them.

He took her hands in his, leaning close until his breath fanned over her cheek. “You know we can stop if you want.”

When he finally secured the knot with a flourish, she tested the bind, finding it firm yet yielding to the touch. "Ready?" he asked, his eyes searching hers for one final nod of consent before the real fun began.

Her heart racing with a mix of excitement and trepidation, Y/N nodded her reassurance.

Bucky's eyes lit up with a gentle thrill at her trust, his touch growing bolder as he trailed the rope up her arm, his fingertips leaving a delicious friction in their wake. With the same meticulous care, he began to bind her other wrist, the rope whispering against her skin. Each loop and tug was a silent promise of pleasure yet to come, a dance of restraint that thrummed with a newfound intimacy

As he worked, he leaned in closer, his warm breath fanning across her face. "Relax," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm."I'll take care of you."

The final knot was tied, and he placed a tender kiss on her bound wrist, the gesture a silent reassurance that she was safe with him. With both her wrists secure, Bucky took a moment to admire his handiwork, his eyes lingering on the stark contrast of the rope against her pale skin.

He could see the goosebumps that had risen in response to his touch and the quickening of her pulse in the vein at the base of her throat. Satisfied with her comfort and his own growing desire, Bucky stood, the rope in his hand pulling her gently towards the edge of the bed.

He had more plans for the rope, and for the bound beauty before him, eager to explore the new dimensions of trust and desire that this playful bondage had introduced into their relationship.

Guiding her with the rope, Bucky directed Y/N to stand in front of the full-length mirror that dominated one wall of their room.

He secured her bound wrists to the top of the bedpost, ensuring she was standing with her face to the mirror.

The position allowed her to see everything that was happening in the reflection, which only heightened the excitement coursing through her body. His eyes never left hers in the mirror as he stepped back to appreciate the erotic tableau they created together. He could see the way her chest heaved with each shallow breath, the way her pupils had dilated with anticipation.

"Spread your legs," he instructed softly, and she obeyed, the rope around her wrists pulling taut as she leaned back slightly. The anticipation grew as he picked up the trailing rope, using it to create a soft, figure-eight loop around one ankle, then the other, before securing them both to the bottom corners of the bed. The tension in the ropes created a delicate tug, keeping her legs apart and exposed to his hungry gaze.

Y/N felt vulnerable yet incredibly powerful in her submission, and the look of admiration and desire in Bucky's eyes reflected back at her only amplified her arousal.

The air was charged with a new kind of energy, one that promised an unforgettable experience that would deepen the bond between them.

With Y/N now fully bound and exposed before him, Bucky took a moment to appreciate the beauty of her vulnerability. The ropes framed her body like an erotic sculpture, accentuating her curves and leaving her most sensitive areas open to his exploration. His heart raced with a mix of excitement and tenderness as he took in the sight of her, the trust she placed in him making him feel more connected to her than ever before.

He stepped closer, his hands tracing the rope that held her in place, his fingertips brushing lightly against her skin. "You look absolutely breathtaking," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He could see the reflection of her blush in the mirror, the way her eyes darkened with desire.

Moving with the grace of a predator, Bucky leaned in to kiss her neck, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin just hard enough to make her gasp.

He felt the shiver that ran through her body and knew he had her full attention. With the rope as his guide, he began to explore her body, his hands following the path the restraints had laid out for him. His touch grew firmer, more demanding, as he cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples until they peaked beneath the fabric of her shirt.

The moan that escaped her lips was music to his ears, spurring him on. His hands moved lower, tracing the contours of her torso, the fabric of her clothing the only barrier between them.

He watched in the mirror as her hips swayed, searching for the friction she craved, and he knew it was time to remove that final obstacle. With a deft twist of his hand, he pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her nakedness to the cool air and his heated gaze.

With a low groan of need, Bucky stepped back, his eyes never leaving Y/N's reflection.

He took a moment to appreciate the art he had created, her body bound and open to his every whim. He reached down, his hand caressing her inner thigh before sliding up to graze the damp fabric of her panties.

Y/N's hips bucked in response, and he knew she was ready. With a wicked smirk, he bent down, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered, "Patience, darling." He gently slid her panties aside, revealing her glistening folds. His thumb began to circle her clit, the pressure just enough to keep her on edge. "Like this?" he asked, watching the play of pleasure on her face.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she nodded, the only answer she could give as she focused on the sensations building within her. Bucky's other hand slid behind her, one finger slipping inside her with a slow, deliberate ease that had her gasping for more. He watched as she strained against the ropes, the tension in her body echoing the tension in his own.

His movements grew more insistent, his finger curling to find that sweet spot deep within her.

The room was filled with the sounds of their breathing and the faint rustle of the ropes against the bedpost as she writhed in response to his touch. The whole situation had her teetering on the edge of release within seconds. He knew he had her on the precipice, and with one final, firm stroke, he sent her hurtling over the edge, her body convulsing with the force of her orgasm.

As she rode the waves of pleasure, Bucky removed his hand, giving her a moment to catch her breath.

As the final tremors of Y/N's climax subsided, Bucky couldn't resist the temptation any longer. He stood up, his own desire clear in the tightness of his jeans.

He stepped closer, his erection pressing against her thigh as he reached up to gently brush a strand of hair from her face. "Ready for more, Doll?" he asked, his voice gruff with need. She nodded eagerly, her eyes pleading for him to continue. With a smirk, Bucky took the rope attached to her ankle and began to loop it around his hand, creating a physical bond between them.

The sight of them bound together in such a primal, intimate way was almost too much for her to handle. He leaned in, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was filled with the promise of more pleasure to come. His hands began to explore her body once again, his touch growing more urgent as their passion flared.

He knew that the next steps in their erotic dance would push them both further, but the trust shining in her eyes was all the reassurance he needed to proceed.

His fingers trailed the ropes up her legs, caressing her skin and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. With a gentle tug, he guided her closer to the bed, the rope still taut between them.

He leaned down, his breath hot against her ear, "On the bed, on your back."

He watched as she complied, the rope around her ankles stretching with the movement, keeping her legs open and accessible to him. Bucky climbed onto the bed, his gaze never leaving hers, and positioned himself between her thighs. He knew he was going to give her a night she would never forget, a testament to the love and trust that had grown between them. With a final, lingering kiss, he began to unbuckle his belt, the sound of it hitting the floor like a starting pistol for the passionate marathon that was about to unfold.

As Bucky freed himself from the confines of his pants, his erection stood proud and ready, a clear reflection of his desire.

He reached down, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand before his fingers slid down her neck, tracing the curve of her collarbone, and then further down to tease her hardened nipples. She arched her back, gasping into this neck as his thumb and forefinger pinched and rolled the sensitive flesh.

The anticipation was exquisite, her body trembling with need.

With a low growl, Bucky leaned over her, his eyes dark with passion. He claimed her mouth once again, the kiss deep and demanding, as he positioned his hips in alignment with hers. He felt her wetness against his shaft, and the heady scent of her arousal filled the room.

He knew she was ready.

With one swift movement, he pushed into her, the ropes holding her in place as she moaned into his mouth.

Her inner walls clenched around him, welcoming his intrusion, and he knew in that moment that this was where he belonged – deep inside her, connected in every way possible. The feel of her bound and open to him was intoxicating, and he began to move with a rhythm that matched the racing of their hearts.

He grabbed the rope in his flesh hand, pulling it up, pinning her wrists above her head as his hips continue relentlessly.

Each stroke was deliberate and powerful, as if to claim her soul with every thrust. He watched her eyes roll back, her breaths come in shallow gasps, and knew she was lost to the sensation as much as he was.

Their bodies moved in a symphony of passion, the ropes that bound her serving as a silent testament to their mutual surrender. His strokes grew deeper and more urgent, each one setting her nerves alight with pleasure that built higher and higher.

Her hands gripped the bed sheets, pulling them taut as she tried to hold on to something amidst the whirlwind of sensation.

Bucky's eyes never left hers, the connection between them growing stronger with every shared moan and every intimate touch. His metal thumb found her clit, and with expert precision, he began to rub it in slow figure eights that had her hips squirming up against him, seeking more of the delicious friction.

The intensity of their union grew as Bucky's thumb continued to tease her, his eyes dark with desire and focus. He could feel her body tightening around him, each pulse of her core a silent plea for release. He increased his pace, the slap of their skin filling the room, echoing the pounding of their hearts.

Suddenly, Y/N’s body tensed, her eyes widening as the first waves of her climax crashed over her.

She cried out, her muscles clenching around Bucky's shaft as he felt her release, her entire body shuddering beneath him. The sight of her pleasure was his undoing, and with a final, powerful thrust, he too found his release, their mingled cries of ecstasy piercing the quiet of the room.

For a moment, they remained connected, both of them lost in the aftershocks of their shared passion. Then, with a gentle kiss, Bucky pulled out and reached for the ropes, releasing her from her bonds with the same care with which he had bound her. They collapsed onto the bed, their limbs tangled, hearts racing, and bodies slick with sweat.

Bucky had carefully untangled the ropes from her body, his movements tender and caring.

He could feel the delicate balance between her post-orgasmic bliss and the beginnings of her sleepyness. He didn't want her to feel cold or uncomfortable, so he scooped her up into his arms, feeling her weight settle against him comfortably. "You okay, Doll?" he murmured into her ear, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down her spine.

She nodded, her eyes still closed, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Where are we going?” She murmured.

He carried her to the bathroom, the cool air brushing against her skin making her shiver. “You need to pee, Kitten.” He set her down gently beside the toilet, his hand never leaving her waist to ensure she was steady on her feet. He watched with gentle concern as she did what she needed to do, his own satisfaction momentarily forgotten as he focused on her well-being.

When she was done, he picked her back up, cradling her against his chest, and walked back to the bed, placing her down gently before climbing in beside her.

He pulled the covers over them both, wrapping her in his warmth as they lay there, hearts gradually slowing, bodies still humming with the echoes of their shared ecstasy. He kissed her forehead, stroking her hair back from her face, and whispered sweet nothings into her ear as she curled into him, feeling cherished and protected.

“You’re so perfect, Honey. My best girl.”

——————————————————————————————————

Soooo…You all wanted Bucky to get the rope out, did he do well..? 🤔

[to-rise-above-monsters]

how i interpreted the bertholdt thing was that armin’s understanding of annie deepened bc of bertholdt’s memories, not that it necessarily controlled his feelings (like how eren implied)

i reallyyy like aruani as a concept. they mean so much to me. ‘girl who doesn’t care for life’ ‘boy who cares so much’ (i also just love them as characters so much)

i think the downside for them was how long ago s1 was.

warning rant underneath (im embarrassed im so sorry)

i’d been such a long time fan but dropped off when there was a hiatus of the anime and decided ill just binge the manga when it’s done. the only real reason annie was on my mind was bc of how dedicated i was to the rba dynamic and how much i loved annie (and fanon annie) as a character. but she truly wasn’t a character for nearly half of the series.

i even knew someone who saw her in the crystal and asked me “who’s that?”

i think she suffered from fandom slightly but now it being canon ig they were right. it was a little annoying for fandom (a small part of it) deciding that every character needed to be paired off with each other and that annie must be in love with one of the boys she tolerates. maybe that was a small reason i found the canonicity so out of nowhere?

bc i love fanon ships for sillies but making a female character HAVE to hinge on a relationship with a man rubbed me the wrong way. but that’s not what aruani is in canon and im so thankful for that. but i still wish there was more

it sucks because there was really no way of developing her or their relationship while she was in the crystal and idek how someone could properly execute it but it was very jarring for her to come out of an absence that was longer than the timeskip for the readers. we hadn’t even seen her for i think six years? and then immediately she is fully canon with a character that we had followed for all the time she’d been missing.

idk i wish they had more. i wish it wasn’t hints. i wish it wasn’t the assumption that they must be romantic because of this, this and this.

their stuff in season 1 was so nice. i remember being so intrigued. but that’s all it kinda was? we never had a reason. why did she spare him? why did she seem to care about him in particular? why did she want to ‘be a good person’ for him? so interesting.

but we… never get an answer? is it because he called her nice? she clearly had empathy for him before that. but that wasn’t something ever shown. even the compilation of moments always seems to start in the middle of a blossoming relationship. there was never a moment that solidified their mutual respect and interest for each other. it’s just something that just… happened? off screen?

rereading all these years later, i can catch these things and be like ohhhh yeah ig that was them liking each other. but when it was happening in real time, it was the most jarring and insane jump. i was like woah woah buddy what is going on.

sudden blushing and confession was so crazy to me. it felt so sudden. and so did other ships. it felt like “ofc they were in love the whole time they’re a woman and a man who have some interest in each other”

honestly, something that could have been implemented maybe was that armin was genuinely talking to her not because he was in love with her but he did genuinely ‘want to see her’. maybe a scene of him reflecting on maybe why he wanted to talk to her so badly (he kinda does but i want it to circle back to his regrets and maybe acknowledging all the times she spared him or cared about him to a certain capacity). maybe a flashback of why annie respected armin so much. or when their relationship started.

and maybe showing him visiting her throughout? but from a lore perspective, i feel like that still wouldn’t work. sigh im so sorry. i have so many feelings and I don’t think I’ve ever actually written it out before 💀

idk im so sorry im rambling SO BAD. i think snk deserved to have a lot more breathing room and filler. letting my children just breathe and talk for a second. (i think that’s why junior high was so good and so well received)

i love this manga so much and i know some people hate the ending but i personally really love this series and it’s overall message and think it’s so well written. and i love anyone who is passionate about anything and loves things. i just like to write improvements or brainstorm headcanon/how i would tweak things🙏

anyways

isayama put his whole pussy into making yumihisu so explicitly romantic and intimate and loving throughout their entire relationship and decided he was done for the day<3

why did isayama put his whole pussy into yumihisu after saying he can’t write romance. and then fumble when it came to the straights.

[qqueenofhades]

Hi Hilary I know you’re only replying to so many politics asks — I can only imagine how many are sitting in your inbox rn — and you’ve already been such a comfort to all us folks who’ve really appreciated your insight time and time again! But I did want to ask about all the posts I’ve seen more recently about signing petitions and reaching out to the White House for a recount. I feel like at this point we’re really reaching — everyone’s talking about how there’s evidence suggesting cheating on Trump’s part, and while I would never be surprised by that, I have yet to see any trusted sources backing those claims. It feels like we’re long past that point, even though the results came in so much faster than I ever expected, but I was wondering if you have an opinion on all that? Take care in the meantime, and thank you for all that you do!

I will make this the last politics ask for the night, and hopefully for at least a few days (no promises, though), but --

This, most unfortunately, is not going to work. For one, Biden/the White House cannot request a recount in state-level races. There are strict rules governing who can and cannot request those, it's usually either triggered by a certain percentage margin or requested by the candidate, and then it also has to be paid for. Kamala has given her concession speech and the Democrats are not going to go down election-denialism rabbit holes. It is hugely unfortunate that the worst people in the world who launched a coup after losing last time are the ones to benefit from it, but... yeah. It just sucks all the way around.

The election interference happened on the day with all the Russian-linked fake bomb threats in blue areas of swing states, the ballot boxes set afire, etc etc. I fear we have only begun to see how bad it will be in this and any future elections, as with many other things, and the reports of people's ballots disappearing or not being received etc are obviously disturbing. But there is, as you say, scant evidence aside from social media chatter backing this up, people are angry and hurt and looking for something to make it not be real (me too, man) and that's easier than thinking that half the country simply shrugged and chose fascism because of grocery prices and trans panic. And it sucks absolute shit, but this is what happened. It happened broadly consistently across the country and was a symbol of the anti-incumbency that's been going on since Covid (New Zealand's liberal government also fell victim to this and elected reactionary conservatives, so this is a thing). We can split hairs about this or that policy decision by the Democrats, and believe me there needs to be a messaging revamp and the firing of basically every Democratic Corporate Consultant TM, but we need to face up to the truth that many, many ordinary American people chose this. They wanted it. And if we are going to do anything about it, we have to reckon with that fact instead of looking for conspiratorial excuses. For one thing, that's what those assholes do constantly, and fuck them.

Likewise, results came in across the country much faster due to the fact that people once more voted largely in person on Election Day, and not early/by mail as they did in 2020. They came in largely matching the expected timelines given by election officials of both parties beforehand. If there is basis to all this missing-ballot stuff, then yes, obviously, it should be investigated (though I have very low confidence that it will be if they are already making preparations to close the federal cases against Trump). But at this point, as you say, this is not something that has logistical legs and is going to undermine a lot more. It sucks. Sometimes I wish we didn't have to be the adults in the room and could just be whiny cheating shitstains like the Republican Fascist Party -- it seems to work out for them that people want Democratic policies and then elect Republicans to punish Democrats for not instantly and perfectly implementing all of them. The exit polls largely matched with what the results turned out to be. It absolutely sucks almighty shit, but it's true.

I am old enough to remember George W. Bush getting reelected in 2004, and it sucked, though not as much as this just because Trump is so crazy and extreme and the GOP has abandoned even the basic pretence of democracy and decency. It's a race to the bottom and through to the center of the earth for them now, especially since they have literally no incentive to reform or do anything but double down on their extremism. Why would they? They just won a major election and got popular legitimacy, something the Republicans have lacked for a long time. This is only the second time they've won the popular AND electoral vote (the first likewise being 2004) in the 21st century. We got the blue trifecta in 2020 because we benefited from the same desire for reversal of course that the Republicans are getting now. In and of itself, this does not indicate fraud. Terrible things about America and the future, yes, but not fraud.

So: Yes. We need to focus on the things we can control and prepare ourselves for what is still to come. It will be hard and it will suck and as I keep saying, it was completely avoidable, but people didn't want to avoid it. They're now going to learn painfully why they should have, but we can't do anything about that either. It is very much going to be a case of picking your battles, drastically limiting your daily news consumption, and a lot of other protective measures, and that is where, at least IMHO, we should focus our effort.

Take care. ❤���

[separatist-apologist]

What Died Didn't Stay Dead

Summary: Gwyneth Berdara has been promised to a brutal prince who imagines himself a god. Setting sail across pirate infested waters, she and Nesta Archeron hatch a plan to escape her arranged marriage before they arrive.

A gift for @alohaangels, whose kind words softened some of my grief.

Read on AO3

TW for depictions of sexual assault- reminiscing on the event, but it is graphic so please take care of yourself.

--

It was a mistake.

Surely some sort of joke. 

Gwyn’s eyes scanned the piece of paper before her, looking for some tell-tale clue that would mark the missive as some kind of cruel joke. Some nobleman’s idea of amusing himself with a ruined man’s daughter. 

Lady Berdara,

I have made my intentions plain to your guardian, and with her blessing, I intend to make them plain to you as well. I have been unable to stop thinking of you since the ball, hosted now several months previously. Your beauty follows me, an ever present guest I would not be rid of, distracting as your visage is. 

Allow me to speak freely—I would like to be wed with haste if possible. I have enclosed two tickets to Alsfeld for you and a lady of your choosing. Send word, make the passage, and I will meet you at the Port of Alsfeld.

Say yes. I will accept no other answer.

Yours, faithfully,

Prince Edward II

Gwyn looked up at Merrill with disbelief, immediately frustrated to find her guardian looking back with a look of supreme smugness. 

“I told you,” she said, rising from her chair to walk toward the window. Gwyn had been living under care since her family had been slaughtered, casualties of the ongoing and bloody war being fought by Edward the Senior. She’d been minor nobility, then, though part of the landed gentry all the same.

“This is a joke,” Gwyn replied, pushing away the rising tide of memories. She wished she had perished, then, and often cursed the unknown, faceless man who had spared her a bloody death right at the last second. 

“It’s not,” Merrill replied, smoothing out the folds of her heavy cobalt gown. “He was taken with you at the ball, and he’s taken with you now.”

“I have no dowry,” Gwyn reminded Merrill, who must have already thought of that. “I work for my keep.”

“Money was set aside for you. I have been safe guarding it,” Merrill told her. Gwyn didn’t know what to say to that—she’d been told for years that her father had squandered everything, that the only way to continue living under Merrill’s grace was to work. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. You have an education, don’t you? Room? Board? Fine clothes and regular meals?”

“I…am grateful,” Gwyn forced herself to say, hardly grateful at all. She was angry—always so, so angry. The feeling was nothing new, just as swallowing it wasn’t, either. She knew all the right words, steps to a dance she’d long memorized. “I am so grateful for you.”

Gwyn wasn’t, though. Merrill had never been kind—a poor substitute for her already flighty mother. At least then she’d had Catrin.

Now she had no one and nothing but memories tainted in blood, smoke, and so much fear. And, apparently, a marriage she could not wiggle free from. Gwyn wracked her mind for anything that might save her—Edward was a prince twice her age who’d ordered her into several dances. His breath had smelled rank, his fingers tight and clammy, and he’d leaned in too close for her liking as he droned on and on about his many war victories.

Did he even know his family’s war was the reason she had to rely on the charity of others?

Gwyn doubted he cared. 

“What about his last wife?”

“The Catholic?” Merrill scoffed. It was a rumor, of course—meant to discredit a woman so he could have a divorce without upsetting the general populace that loved her so. “Locked in a convent, last I heard. She gave only daughters and  he needs sons.”

“I’m supposed to do that?” Gwyn gaped, blood turning to ice. She had to swallow against the torrent of memories rising through her, threatening to spill over the ornate cream rug in the form of her breakfast. She’d promised she wouldn’t—that a man would never again touch her like that, certainly not if she invited him to, and even that was questionable.

It seemed she had no choice. 

“You’ll be his wife,” Merrill said dismissively, clearly tired of the conversation. It was the longest they’d had in waking memory, which meant at any moment Merrill was going to give Gwyn a verbal order to do as she was told, and a silent order to shut her mouth and be grateful.

Gwyn had no gratitude left in her. Certainly not for a man who intended to use her and then discard her if he tired of her. 

“He has a wife—”

“He doesn’t,” Merrill snapped, tossing a lock of blonde hair over her shoulder. Was she bitter it wasn’t her? Gwyn would trade her. “Nesta Archeron has agreed to accompany you to Alsfeld and I expect you to go upstairs, pack appropriately, and smile at your good fortune. Not many men would consider marrying you given your past.”

“My past.” Gwyn dropped all pretense, her words hollow, voice flat. 

“Yes, Gwyneth, your past. You should be overjoyed that a man wants you at all, let alone one so esteemed as the prince.”

“You told him?” Gwyn felt betrayal clawing at her neck. “That wasn’t yours to share!”

“The dowry he demanded was impossible to meet,” Merrill sniffed, eyes icy and unforgiving. “He was entitled to less knowing you were ruined.”

Ruined.

Gwyn rose from the chair she’d been sitting in, skirts ruffling loudly in her ringing ears. How Gwyn hated when Merrill said that to her—as if she were little more than a lamp that had broken and not a whole person that had been stolen from.

She couldn’t speak—she knew she’d cry, her anger making a mockery of her. Inclining her head, Gwyn merely made her way through the parlor, past the servants she’d once been close with. They wouldn’t meet her gaze, though she swore their mouths twisted with pity. She was the last to know, as usual, and it showed. 

Making her way to her small bedroom, Gwyn flung herself onto the padded window seat to peer out at the sea. How long before she was on one of the ships in the harbor with only the wretched Nesta Archeron for company? She’d only met the woman once and Nesta had been so wildly unpleasant that Gwyn had immediately dismissed her without another word.

Now they’d be trapped aboard a ship together. Gwyn sighed, turning toward her dresser. She had a large carpet bag and a trunk—she’d put personal things in the bag and the rest in the trunk, assuming someone was going to rifle through the items in the trunk. Better to not give anything away.

Truthfully, Gwyn had very little. Merrill had never deigned to give her anything of value, always with the admonishment that she ought to be grateful. Gwyn’s gratitude died with Catrin, leaving behind only her rage. How a prince had found her fascinating enough to marry was beyond Gwyn—the night they’d danced, she’d been wearing one of Merrill’s gowns, promptly returned while it was still warm. 

What would he do when he realized she was practically a servant? Maybe it didn’t matter—perhaps he’d outfit her in finery and remind the populace that, technically, her father had died a decorated war hero. Nevermind he’d been cowering in his final moments, on his knees begging not for the lives of the daughters being dragged away by laughing soldiers, but his own.

Gwyn’s anger grew hotter. She threw her items in the trunk, not caring if they were wrinkled. She let it consume her, balling up gown after gown so she could throw them with force into the trunk until she felt a little calmer. Less fury. She reminded herself to breathe, the same exercises she’d once done with Catrin.

It had been Catrin who’d once been filled with anger and Gwyn who had peace. She’d find her sister, raging about some injustice, and remind her to breathe until they were both smiling again. Catrin’s rage had sent her running from the house to try and save the children next door—and she’d been the first of the two of them to die. Wherever she’d hidden them, however they’d escaped…Catrin refused to say.

Gwyn, trembling and scared, a mere three minutes younger though sometimes it felt like three years, had obeyed when Catrin ordered, don’t say a word!

“We can break you,” the soldier had laughed, reaching for his belt. Catrin had turned her head, arms held over her head by another soldier. She’d screamed and fought, writhing like a wild, desperate animal while Gwyn silently sobbed, watching—knowing she would be next.

Tell us, the soldier had ordered, turning to Gwyn.

Don’t, Catrin had ordered again, fiercer than before. They’d placed a blade to Catrin’s neck and demanded again. Gwyn had looked at her sister, but Catrin only widened her eyes.

“Be brave,” Catrin had whispered.

The last words ever spoken between them. They’d laughed as they cut her throat, and laughed louder as Gwyn screamed, dragged to the same bed her sister bled out on. Gwyn hadn’t been brave at all—she’d begged them to kill her, too.

And they would have, had that man not come kicking in with that lethal looking sword. Walking to her dresser, she found the cloak he’d draped over her folded up at the bottom. Throwing it away would have been the better thing to do, but in the aftermath of what had happened, she’d simply tossed it in the back of her wardrobe. Afterwards, she’d had it washed, unable to stand the smell of whatever cologne that man wore mingled with blood and sweat. She could have thrown it away then, too.

She picked it up, admiring the well-made fabric and the heavy, silver and cobalt clasp that would have kept it pinned around her neck. Gwyn hadn’t dared to wear it, but it felt…wrong…to be rid of it, now. It was a relic of the worst moment of her life. She hated that stranger, his face concealed by a mask, though what little she might have seen had been blurred by blood and tears. He’d carried her out after brutally, and mercilessly, slaughtering every man who’d come into her house. 

He’d tried to take her somewhere, but she’d started screaming again and so he’d left her huddled in a heap beneath a tree with a silver dagger laid at her bare feet. He hadn’t said a word, merely vanished back into the ether. Perhaps he’d been a long forgotten god come to seek vengeance. Or perhaps he’d simply been a mercenary unable to witness his brethern pillaging and raping. 

She’d never know. 

Still, sometimes she caught herself thinking about him, wondering where he was and why he’d intervened in the first place. Gwyn had the dagger, though she didn’t know how to use it, and tucked that into her bag along with a necklace that had belonged to Catrin she didn’t dare wear. She hadn’t been brave.

She didn’t deserve to.

Gwyn skipped dinner that night, which caused Merrill to rant through the halls about how spoiled and ungrateful she was. Gwyn blocked it out with a book, curled back in the window seat as she waited for the inevitable. She couldn’t sleep, chasing the sunrise with drooping eyelids. Merrill wasn’t far behind, bursting in with more energy than Gwyn was certain she’d ever had in her life. 

Gwyn had never liked the small city she’d been isolated in. It was just big enough to give the illusion of privacy but small enough that everyone knew everything. Busybodies to the very last, which meant that as Gwyn was paraded through the busy early morning, all eyes fell on her, even if just for a moment. They’d flit in her direction before fans extended and women began chattering behind them, their peals of laughter echoing over the sounds of horse drawn carriages and booming voices announcing the prices of fish and produce. 

Gwyn wanted to be the kind of person who’d stare back, eyes shooting daggers as she did. She wasn’t, though, even as her anger and humiliation seemed to reach a writhing fever pitch in her chest. She imagined all the things she’d say, should she have the opportunity—the way she’d cut them into ribbons until they felt as small as she did—but she kept her eyes trained on the muddy cobblestone streets before her. Causing a scene would only result in more problems for Gwyn, who always seemed to be blamed, regardless if something was actually her fault. Merrill simply did not like her, and resented being vaguely related to her father and therefore, responsible for her care. 

Gwyn might have liked the docks and the quieter bustle filled with mostly men who didn’t seem to care a single jot about her, were it not for the icy stare of Nesta Archeron. She was alone, standing on the curb with her arms crossed over her chest. 

Great.

Gwyn did look at Nesta, hoping her expression conveyed a do-not-try-it-with-me,but who knew how Nesta took it. Nesta was a Duke's daughter and came from wealth so obscene, Gwyn didn’t dare think about it. What horrible lord was waiting for her in Alsfeld—and who was worse, Gwyn mused privately.

It was fun to watch Merrill dip into a respectful bow while Nesta stared down her nose, unimpressed and maybe even bored by the whole display. “Lady Archeron,” Merrill demurred, looking as if she’d prefer to be anywhere else. “You’re looking well.”

“You don’t,” Nesta replied in that brutal way of hers. Gwyn had to bite back a laugh, reminding herself that once Merrill left, Nesta would turn that mannerless behavior on her. 

“Well,” Merrill said as the salty air tangled a strand of her hair. “Take care of yourself, Gwyneth. If you have need of me, please write.” Gwyn nodded, certain Merrill would never respond to any letter. This wasn’t goodbye—it was a washing of the hands. Merrill had done her duty and now she was free of it. 

“Remember duty,” Merrill added, perhaps guessing the slant of Gwyn’s angry thoughts. Nesta arched a brow but said nothing, lip curling over perfectly straight teeth as she watched Merrill flounce off.

“Her hat was ugly,” Nesta declared the moment Merrill was out of earshot. The own hat, perched neatly atop Nesta coiffed golden brown hair, was very fashionable with its light pink feather and the way it tilted ever so delicately. It paired well with the deep plum of her gown that seemed out of place right before the docks. Gwyn certainly felt underdressed in green, her gown from two seasons earlier and just a tad too big. She felt inadequate in new and frustrating ways.

“So is yours,” Gwyn snapped, stepping around Nesta as two burly armed, barrel chested sailors took her trunk toward a wooden ramp that led to the ship she supposed they would sail on.

Nesta blinked. “I told Elain it was ridiculous,” she grumbled, though she didn’t remove it. Nesta merely marched in step with Gwyn, following the men now charged with their care. Gwyn had expected a sharp tongued insult, not agreement.

“Why did you let her talk you into it?”

Nesta shrugged delicate shoulders, spine impossibly straight as she walked. She looked like the one who ought to be marrying a prince���not Gwyn. Gwyn looked like her maid at best, which annoyed her further. There was something she was missing to this whole arrangement, something that would come back to harm her before she pieced it all together. 

“She can be very bossy when she sets her mind to something,” Nesta said, as if Gwyn knew anything about the Archeron sisters. They were sheltered and spoiled, appearing in the city only when something grand was happening. They otherwise kept to their estate, though there were rumors about how wild the youngest of the three were.

She sounded like more interesting company than the scowling Nesta. One thing, Gwyn supposed, was how unafraid Nesta was to give orders.

“Take us to our cabin,” Nesta demanded the moment their feet were on the softly swaying deck. Two sailors exchanged a glance but otherwise said nothing at all—they merely gestured for the pair to follow them.

“We’re not to be disturbed,” Nesta began, her words seemingly well-practiced. “You may bring our meals to us directly, but otherwise no man is to enter our chamber.”

“Who would stop us?” one of the sailors asked, clearly bitter about being bossed around by a woman.

Gwyn’s own temper got the better of her. “I will.”

Whatever they saw on her face kept them from saying much more. Gwyn waited until they were taken into a large stateroom they were clearly meant to share. Nesta turned, and the sailor, guessing her irritation, threw up his palms in defense. “You can share, or you can sleep in the bunks with everyone else. Your choice, princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” she hissed before slamming the door in his face. “Must you be so…” Gwyn trailed off, unsure what she even meant to say. Nesta understood, though.

“Because otherwise they think they can take liberties. That we’re helpless and soft and sweet—that we won’t say anything if they touch us. Now they know we’ll scream, and when we arrive at port, we’ll tell someone. They’ll think twice.”

“And with Merrill?” Gwyn demanded, arms crossed over her chest.

“Her presence offends me,” Nesta said with a shrug, as if it were a given. Gwyn couldn’t help but laugh, one hand on her stomach to keep herself from doubling over.

“Mine, too.”

“She thinks herself a great humanitarian, but she’s not. She made a lot of money taking you in, for all the good it did. Look at your dress,” Nesta said, reaching for Gwyn’s sleeve. Gwyn slapped her hand away, embarrassed and self-conscious.

“What are you talking about?”

Nesta stared for a moment, hand cradled to her chest. Those icy blue eyes seemed to be a little sad for only a moment before the emotion vanished, replaced with her usual steely gaze. “Lord Rhysand paid her a hefty stipend for your education. His father and your father were friends, I suppose.”

“No one…no one told me that,” Gwyn managed as anger and betrayal clawed up her throat. “I was working.”

So a Duke paid for Gwyn’s education, and her father had left an inheritance, all pocketed by Merrill. Gwyn turned for the door, ready to march off the ship and throttle Merrill but Nesta grabbed her wrist.

“There is no point. She’s not capable of shame.”

“So she gets away with it?” Gwyn demanded with outrage. “Does no one face consequences except me?”

“She doesn’t have to get away with it,” Nesta said slyly. “I overheard father talking, and he seems to think your marriage will elevate Merrill in a way few ladies ever achieve.”

“Of course it does,” Gwyn grumbled, sitting despondently on the floral patterned bed. “She probably orchestrated it herself.”

“I’m sure. That doesn’t mean you have to marry him,” Nesta continued, holding Gwyn’s stare. 

“He’s a prince—”

“So?” Nesta demanded. “When we arrive, simply say no and stay with me and my aunt. With the new laws that require a ladies consent, you can simply decline.”

“He’s not just some spoiled lordling,” Gwyn whispered, though the idea was spreading through her like wildfire. 

“He’s only a man,” Nesta replied, sitting beside her. “He’s not a god.”

But Gwyn knew what men could do when they didn’t get what they wanted—when they felt thwarted, especially by a lesser woman. It would become a matter of principle to punish her. To control her. He had a navy at his disposal, an army willing to kill on command, and more gold than anyone in the realm. If he wanted to find her, he would. 

And when he did, he’d punish her for daring to defy him.

Still.

The idea had roots.

—-

Azriel heard the sound of boots echoing off swaying wood before he saw Cassian in the doorway. His friend flashed a grin, arms crossed over his chest.

“Ship sailed this afternoon.”

Azriel shifted in his chair, boots reclined on his desk while he toyed with his favorite dagger absently. Turning his gaze from Cassian, he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Armed?”

“Barely,” Cassian replied, his amusement plain. “It’s a merchant ship.”

“Whose?” Azriel didn’t want to make too many enemies of the merchant class, some of whom paid money for safe passage and protection from other privateers. 

“Archeron,” Cassian said. Azriel frowned, though it changed nothing. Rhys wasn’t one of them—not really. He could make his demands, could provide them with funding, could play pirate lord when it suited him, but he wasn’t out there day to day.

He didn’t know how hard Azriel had worked to organize this ambush. How he’d intercepted that letter. The spying he’d done, the dominoes set into motion. It was now or it was never. The walls of the palace were impenetrable, even to him. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Azriel decided. It didn’t. He’d rather beg forgiveness than ask permission—Rhys would do the same, were he in Azriel’s position. “Sink the ship.”

“Aye, Captain,” Cassian said, his grin returning.

Azriel’s gaze turned toward the window overlooking the sea. With a soft exhale, he smiled, too. 

Soon.

[yanmuffins]

asks.

there are quite a few asks on my ask box so i'm reply to some of them collectively on this post!

unfortunately he's alone in that. jon could have been his stacy but he's got a crush on reader and has too much fun with their invetions. damian thinks he's a traitor.

@megasweetbones

"perry and alfred used to be secret agents of the british royal family"

now that's a very old platypus.

i like the idea of tim being the most unsettled by the platypus out of everyone. tripping him might or might not have been on purpose. we'll never know! but after a while, tim is just conviced the platypus' got some weird business about it. typical wayne paranoia, sure, but he swears there's something about that weird little amalgamation of animals he can't really pinpoint. he swears he's looking at him weird. and he swears he's scaring him on purpose, appearing out of nowhere.

"calm your tits, tim. it's just a platypus." jason says, "they don't do much."

but tim really can't help glaring at perry the very normal regular domesticated platypus whenever he's seen in reader's arms.

@randomlyappearingartist

alfred absolutely knows about the invetions. no he will not tell bruce about them. he sees bruce and the others barely noticing reader exists, how dismissive they are, and he's like "i'll tell them to ask their father for permission first. if master bruce doesn't notice the legally binding papers or the outlandish gadgets around the manor then that's his problem, honestly."

the most he does is very cryptically allude to it, in hopes the family will take notice of reader. as expected, it doesn't work. he just lets reader do whatever they want as long as they consult their father firts and promise to be careful.

the thing about phineas! reader is that they are a regular teenager (if you take away the gifted genius who can build rocketships to the moon in a single day part) who's just in it for the fun. creating all those crazy gadgets and invetions, letting their creativity flow, having fun with their friends, spending every summer day like it's the last one before they go back to school.

if perry got them a job at the justice league, i think reader would deny it. they're not particularly interested in vigilantism or heroism for that matter. they might consider it after high school is over, but for now? all they want to do is be a teenager. not a very conventional teenager, but a teenager nonetheless.

and tbh it's more of a psychological thing, not being able to build. it's like all of those ideas are bottling up inside their head, going to waste, with them being unable to do anything about it.

well, it's not like they can't do anything about it, but having the batfam limiting what they can and cannot do, watching over their shoulder, isn't exactly providing them the enrichment they need.

but since damian and jon are determined to help, reader doesn't have to worry about that for long!

reader is actually a citizen of metropolis! or was, since they're now in gotham. a big adjustment.

the meeting between jon and reader happens thanks to damian. he's fully expecting jon to be an ally in busting his new sibling. he's complained about them countless times before, to the point jon's tired of hearing about them.

but he actually meets them and, hey, they're super cute and super cool! it's kind of amazing they come up with their inventions so fast. so he goes from reluctantly humoring damian to actively helping reader. maybe even with his own powers. damian can do nothing but shake his head and sigh wearily. jon is an idiot.

the scene in question anon is referencing, at 0:16.

the concept is so funny, anon, but hm... i wonder if jon wouldn't just straight up tell reader about it. he wants to be included, so i don't think it'd be long before he's using his powers to help reader with their inventions.

it is at times like these the batfam has to thank the universe reader is chaotic good and would never turn to villainy. because then damian can enjoy having a super awesome sibling who gives him all sorts of elaborate weapons for him to practice with!

nevermind that he's asking for these just so he can bring the weapons you built to bruce and prove once and for all you're not the harmless kid they think you are, but that's before he realizes the weapons are kinda good. and he kinda wants to keep them, which wouldn't be possible if he handed them over to bruce.

so he'll keep these a secret. just these.

[unoislazy]

Sneak Peak?

(Arthur Morgan x reader)

Because it’s been so long since I’ve written I feel like I’ve lost my touch a bit. I’m gonna leave a snippet of something I’ve written so far and I would like to know how you guys feel about it!!

Context: Childhood friends to lovers

“I’m in a lot of trouble right now.” He said, nearly out of breath as he grabbed your hand desperately. You stared at him for a moment, trying to process what he was saying as you tried to string together a proper sentence.

“You’ll be alright, right? You always make it out okay.” You said optimistically. The boy in-front of you gave you a charming smile. He had just shown up on your doorstep, which was no different than normal but this time he was winded and bleeding… Your concern was evident through the farrowing of your eyebrows and the worry in your eyes, but you dared not voice them, not now.

“You know I do, but… I don’t think we can stay here for much longer.” He replied, looking back over his back as if he was being watched. You too looked over his back trying to see if you could make out any figures in the area behind him, but to you there was not a soul in sight.

“We?” You asked, taken aback. It was almost as if you had only then processed his words as you took your attention off the empty area of dirt and leaves behind the boy and turned to once again meet his striking blue eyes.

“Me and the gang, we got into some issues with the law and I only have a few hours before I have to go.” He explained. You knew this was going to happen eventually, but even so you still didn’t feel as if you prepared yourself well enough for this day to come.

“Before you leave… I want you to take this.” You quickly grabbed a letter that you had stored in your drawer, in preparation for this day. “I don’t want you to open it until you’re gone, okay?” To that, the boy nodded.

“I promise you I’ll come back to you.”

And with a swift kiss on the forehead, and longing goodbyes, he was gone. That was the last you had seen or heard of the boy named “Arthur Morgan” for quite some time.

Many years had passed at this point and whilst you had never forgotten that boy, you had a strong feeling he had forgotten about you. Or worse.

But it was no concern of yours now, you were grown now. There was no point in delving into the “what ifs” of your childish fantasy. You still lived in the same old house, living a quiet life. A boring yet decent one, you didn’t know why you stayed. You had everything you’d need to leave and lead a more eventful life.

However, deep down you knew why you stayed.

You stayed for him.

On the off chance that that boy would find his way back to you. That he would come back and keep the promise he made to you all those years ago. But the other side of you knew, that was never gonna happen.

Your internal argument continued until you heard a knock on your door.

You brushed off your hands from the residue left over from whatever task you had found yourself partaking in before turning to get the door. You didn’t often get visitors but when you did it was usually just one of your neighbors or a family friend coming to check up on you. So with that expectation in mind, you walked towards the door and grabbed the handle with confidence, twisting and yanking it open with ease while saying your greetings to who you thought would be,

“Mrs. Baker I told you last time, I don’t need any more b-”

You cut your sentence short as your eyes quickly landed upon, not the older woman you expected, but a younger man. He was quite tall and he looked to be about your age, and despite his rough appearance he stood on your porch as awkwardly as a school boy in the front of a class.

“Oh, I’m sorry I thought you were someone else, how can I help you?” You asked, deciding it was best to find out what this man was here for. Upon further inspection, you realized there was a strange nostalgic quality to his face. You couldn’t quite place it before but it felt as if you had seen this man once before.

“I.. uh…” The man started, before he quickly turned towards his satchel and began to dig through it. It didn’t take long for him to grab a thin envelope out and display it. It was clearly opened but a name was visible on the front. “Is there anyone here by this name?” He asked.

You curiously looked towards the envelope and noticed…

It was your name.

Your eyebrows scrunched as you looked from the envelope to the man holding it once again. Why would this man be asking for you…?

It was then you took a closer look at him, he was quite tan, his hair was a gorgeous brown and his eyes…

His eyes

“Arthur…?” You whispered. It couldn’t be.

“How do you know my…” The man before her looked at her with a puzzled look before it quickly clicked with him. How could he not recognize you? Sure it had been several years since he had been back but he prided himself on being able to memorize your features.

Unfortunately the memory betrays one no matter how hard they try to defy it.

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

A Quiet Night

Bruce Wayne x Reader

Fluff

Warnings: none

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

The fire crackled softly in the grand fireplace of Wayne Manor, casting a warm glow over the room. You sat on the plush velvet couch, a book in your hands, though your attention kept drifting to the figure standing by the large window. Bruce Wayne, your husband, stared out into the sprawling grounds, his silhouette framed by the moonlight.

It had been a long day—meetings, charity events, the usual chaos of Gotham—and yet, tonight, there was a calm between you. Bruce didn’t often show it, but he needed these moments of peace more than anyone realized. You could see it in his eyes, the weight of responsibility he carried for both Gotham and the people he loved.

"You should come sit down," you said softly, your voice breaking the silence. "The night’s not going anywhere."

Bruce turned slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours. There was a flicker of something behind them—a warmth, maybe even gratitude. Slowly, he walked over and sat beside you, the quiet creak of the old wood floor under his boots the only sound. His arm brushed against yours, and for a fleeting moment, the world felt smaller, safer.

"I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how quiet it is here," he said, his voice low, but you could hear the genuine calm in it. "Gotham is... never like this."

You smiled, setting your book aside and turning your full attention to him. "You don’t need to get used to it. It’s yours, whenever you want it."

Bruce nodded, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer before he leaned back into the couch, his fingers tracing the edge of your hand. The small, simple gesture spoke volumes—of years spent together, of trust and love that had grown in the quiet spaces between the chaos.

For once, it wasn’t about Gotham or the Bat. It was just Bruce and you—two people who found peace in each other, even in the shadow of a city that never slept.

"Maybe we should make this a tradition," you said, your voice teasing but gentle. "A night of quiet. No business, no Batcave… just us."

Bruce’s lips curved into a rare smile. "Sounds like a plan." He leaned over and kissed your forehead, the gesture tender and soft. "But only if you promise not to let me fall asleep on the couch again."

"I make no promises," you replied with a grin.

For now, though, the world outside could wait. In that moment, you were home. And that was enough.

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

Masterlist

[lavender-butterfly-cookie]

Forgotten friends

So I read a lot of ancient Y/N cookie stuff because why not and I decided to make my own. Bear in mind that this is a work of pure imagination and judgment will not be tolerated.

Long ago, You were baked along with 5 other cookies, an immense power created within you by the witches. You were all created to the purpose of protecting earthbread and providing guidance to those who resided within it. Knowledge, Volition, Change, Happiness, Solitude and Patience. All created for a great purpose.

Alas, great power always begets corruption. You watched as how your friends will crumbled onto their own strength one by one. You wished you had seen it sooner. Wish you had taken notice of their behavior changing and shifting into corruption. You wish you could've done something sooner. But you couldn't.

You felt... foolish, to put it kindly. All the signs had been there. More cases of injured cookies, more homes being destroyed out of nowhere, the constant plea from the cookies to be protected. But every time you asked who had hurt them, they never replied. You should've realized it sooner. What other cookies had powers strong enough to wipe an entire village out of existence and only leave ashes, flour, jam and crumbs as it's remains?

Regardless of not having seen it sooner, you knew something had to be done. You had to intervene, make them come back to their senses somehow. But every time you got the courage to even walk to their quarters, you never entered. You were scared of what your friends had become, a lot more than you would've liked to admit. Besides, there were five of them and one of you. Even if they haven't crumbled you already, they're still capable of doing it.

With little to no options left you were forced to seek out the help and guidance of the witches. Fortunately for you, they had already come up with a solution. The unfortunate part?

The solution was to seal them away.

You were unsure how to take in this information. Part of you wanted to plead and beg that they find another way. But the other part knew this was the only way to protect earthbread. With a heavy heart you agreed to lure your fallen friends into a trap. Did you like it? No, of course not. They were your friends. But did you have a choice? Also no. It was for the sake of earthbread.

"Are we there yet?" Shadow milk cookie asked, though it came out as more of a whine. You were leading them to the agreed spot where they'd be sealed, having promised them that you wanted to show them something.

"Patience, Milk. We'll be there soon." You said, followed by a soft chuckle. Though you knew that was only to hide your dread. Here you were, leading your friends into a trap, and all you could do was try to divert any suspicion by acting like everything was ok when in reality it wasn't. "We've been walking FOREVER! How far must we go to see this thing?" Burning Spice cookie complained. You had to fight hard to suppress that deep sigh gathering in your lungs. If this experience wasn't already dreadful enough, they had been complaining time and time again how long it was taking and you gradually grew annoyed of them. "Look, not my fault you don't have any wings to just fly there. We all could've been there ages ago if SOMEONE wasn't a wingless pepper, don't attack me!" You retorted. Just as he opened his mouth to speak again you snapped something else.

"And don't even THINK about bringing up Silent Salt cookie. I know he doesn't have wings but at least he ain't complaining!" Though you're not sure if it's cuz he won't or if he can't. Either way, Burning spice cookie let out a grumble of annoyance before keeping quiet.

"Hey can we-" Eternal Sugar cookie let out a long yawn as she stretched out like a cat before snuggling back into her soft pink clouds. "Can we like, take a break or somethin'? We've been walking for ages..."

"Your feet haven't even touched the ground since we left!"

"Mmmh, too much work."

Another deep sigh you forced to not surface out brew up in your lungs again. You hadn't realized what pricks your friends had become. They used to be so nice. Now they're just... Annoying. Though you can't really say you were surprised, seeing as they corrupted in general.

"Applying pressure on Y/N cookie is futile. Our journey will on prove to be more insufferable and longer if we continue to be uncooperative." You heard Mystic flour cookies dull voice say.At least SOMEONE wasn't breathing down you neck. You also couldn't help but realize that the only thing that seemed to be different about her was the fact that her voice held no annoyance in it.

Heck, it practically held no emotion in general. Regardless you found her more tolerable in this moment then the other three. It kind of stung though, knowing she along with the others were following you so willingly to their own demise. But it had to be done.

Finally, you made it to the spot. You told them to stand in specific spots, which they complied with. As you got out of the way, you looked over at them all. You felt your smile falter and your heart began to ache. So you were really doing this, huh? You didn't want this. Not at all. But you had to do this. Once you felt the witches about to begin you let out a shaky sigh.

"Forgive me... I never wanted this..." you said softly, but it was loud enough for all of them to hear. Before they could react you watched five forks come down and imprison your friends, much to your displeasure and their shock. You turned away, unable to watch further. You tuned out their cries for your help. And without looking back, you walked away, your head hung low in shame and pain.

You hid yourself away and watched how the world around you changed. You now concealed your souljam as a pendant on your clothes and you concealed your identity. In fact, you changed it completely. You wondered for many days and night if your forgotten friends would ever forgive you.

Maybe... just maybe... with a lot of patience. Even if they did, nothing anyone said was gonna ever allow you to forgive yourself. Not even the light of patience would allow it.

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

‘Cause you are mine

Warning ⚠️; slight smut, Tony being his own warning (alcoholism, suicidal, depression.) Alcohol, blood, fluff 🔞

Pairing; Yandere!Tony Stark/Male!Reader

Summary; Tony can't take it any longer. He doesn't feel appreciated by his friends, feels like a burden to them and that the whole world is against him. That is until he meets you. You shine as bright as the sun and he is Icarus flying too close. But you are the one whose wings burn and melt.

Note; Tony is my Pookie, so be ready to have a lot of stories about him. And again, sorry for the mountain that is this story. ⛰️ And I was hungry for some Yandere Tony

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The gala was boring as always and you wondered how long it would take for something interesting to happen. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for someone to catch your attention. Your gaze fell on Tony Stark. The man was alone in a corner, sipping at his drink. The hero seemed lonely, lost and somewhat sad.

Tony Stark, a man who had done so much for the world without ever being thanked. What a sad fate. Trying your best but people keep bringing back your mistakes.

Finishing your own drink, you left the empty glass on the bar before walking up toward the genius. Tony didn't even turn to you before asking you to leave. His voice was low, a dim whisper as if he didn't want to be heard.

- “Why? This Gala is so boring and you are the only interesting person around.” You said, grabbing a drink as a server passed. “I've been impressed with your latest work in medical engineering. That going to help our surgeons save more lives.”

Tony eyed you, suspicious of your intentions and you understood why. So many people only saw him as Iron Man or a drunk, not as another human with feelings. But Stark was so much more. He was a genius and his mind worked like no one else. You wondered why people thought so little of him after everything he had been through and did for others.

You raised your hands, showing you weren't a threat.

- “Hey, easy. I ain't trying to suck your dick, just talking about your latest achievement. Not everyone look at you and see Iron Man.”

You chuckled as Tony rolled his eyes and swallowed his drink in one go.

- “No one ever hears me talk about all that, they all want to speak to Iron Man, curse me or want something from me. So yeah, let me doubt you here princess.” There is an edge to Stark’s voice and you easily see it for what it is; a way to protect himself.

- “Well then, I guess I will have to prove myself to you, won't I?” You replied, getting a smirk from Tony.

And its the best thing you ever did.

For the rest of the gala you both stayed in your corner drinking glass after glass and talking about everything and anything Tony created and made in recent years. You don't understand everything, so you ask question after question just to see some light and passion appear in Tony’s eyes.

Neither of you saw the time pass until you were among the last ones standing. Barely. Drunk the both of you, you had to support each other just to walk outside while jiggling like two idiots as you tried to pronounce some scientific word and Tony tried to help you.

You expected to go your separate way, not thinking Tony would want to spend more time with you. After all, you were both wasted and morning promised to come with one hell of a hangover. But to your surprise and joy, the genius almost forced you into his car.

Tony’s mansion is all you imagined. Enormous, luxurious and extravagant just like its owner, you didn't expected to feel so empty and lifeless. Even wasted you wonder if his home reflect Tony’s entirely. Does inside he also feel that way?

You two crash somewhere in what you can only call a mix between a living room and a bar. Tony, who's the most sober between you, got in his head to pour more drink and you can't refuse. Sitting almost on each other lap the conversation continued with you asking questions and Tony explaining everything, even getting his hand on his tablet to give you a visual.

Before the first light of morning comes Tony and you already finished a full bottle and a half. The conversation isn't clear and it is mostly you two giggling as you struggle to pronounce any complicated words. Stark isn't better. Head resting in the crook of your shoulder, one leg across your lap, the genius looks somehow happy and content in his drunken state. You got your arms around him, making sure he doesn't fall and hurt himself.

But when the sun finally rose and filled the room with golden light, there was only a comfortable silence between you and Tony. Your head resting on top of his, your hand grabbing one of his arms as your thumb drew circles on his skin you both felt content. There is no sleepiness, no need to pass out, just the desire to keep the moment going and hoping it'll never stop.

But of course, every good thing must come to an end.

At first, you heard footsteps coming closer as you were slowly drifting to sleep. In your arms, you felt Tony move, which woke you up fully. Then the door opened as a woman talked. Mind still in the mist, you didn't really understand what she was saying other than she was going to show you out.

- “He isn't going anywhere, Pepper. My new friend is staying right there with me.” Tony said, his voice so close to your ear that you shivered.

- “Tony, you got meetings today and they are important so up and get ready.”

You grunted and groaned, barely listening to the two bickering. Your arm stayed around Tony’s waist, making sure he didn't fall down as he trashed around, arguing with the named Pepper.

- “It's fine Tony. You are a busy man with a lot on your shoulders and I don't want to steal more of your time. We had a lot of fun last night and I hope we can do that again, but for now, your duties await you.” You said, petting his back and you turned your head to look at Pepper. ���Alright miss. Show the way, but slowly please.”

Pepper looked at you and nodded as you got up. Tony wasn't happy about it, but you ignored him, not wanting to cause Tony more problems. You followed Pepper, head heavy and feeling like you would never drink again when you felt someone grab your hand. Before you could utter a word, you were forced to run as Tony pulled you behind him.

You heard Pepper screaming Tony's name while the genius just laughed. Lost, you followed the genius. Tony took you down in his workshop and lab. He showed you around, smiling proudly as you admired everything, wondering how a single man could do and create such incredible things.

Having prevented Pepper from following, Tony relaxed and told you he didn't want to leave. Not anytime soon. It both surprised and worried you. Why was your new friend so determined to keep you close? Was he that lonely?

In the following days, Stark was everywhere with you. If you had to go somewhere, he accompanied you and even drove you around. You didn't have a second of peace and yet it only felt normal, natural. Tony fitted perfectly in your life like the piece you didn't know you were missing.

If you weren't sleeping at his place, Tony would join you at yours or you would stop at a hotel or motel. You could tell his friends, especially Pepper were getting tired of it. But not you. Having someone's full attention on you was something exciting, especially Tony who wasn’t one to trust easily.

Even after a few weeks, you didn't get bored with it. Every day brought something new in your relationship with Tony. Some of it was a story from Tony’s past, sometimes he took you to his workshop and you worked with him on some project or he opened up about what was going on in his head.

You couldn't remember when was the first night you shared a bed, but it was at Tony’s place after drinking way too much again. The genius was nuzzled against you, your arms wrapped around him when you woke up. Tony was trashing around, sweaty and whimpering. You could immediately tell he was having a nightmare. As gently as you could, you nudged him until he woke up.

Tony jerked awake, hitting you in the chest as he tried to get away. You had to pin him down against the mattress and ask Friday to turn on the light for Tony to calm down. You were shocked by how scared and broken Tony looked and wondered how no one saw it sooner. You passed the rest of the night cuddling and pampering him until he was calm once more.

As time passed you met each member of the Avengers and each time you were disappointed. Not by the fact they were human but by how little they seemed to care about Tony. They never really listened to him or rolled their eyes as he rambled about some scientific things. It was hard for you to appreciate them when they didn't appreciate your dearest friend.

You pointed it out to Tony who simply scoffed.

- “Tell me something I don't know, Princess.” He told you, voice tired and done.

- “Well I don't like them.” You grunted and he laughed.

- “Again, I know that.”

You kept an eye out on Tony and saw how down he often was after each mission or meeting with the team. You took it upon yourself to make him feel better; getting his favourite food and coffee or drinks and he would smile at you, thankful.

It is sooner than later that your relationship evolved from friends to more.

Again, it all happened after you drank way too much and ended up having a passionate night with Tony. When you wake up naked, you feared you had destroyed your friendship, only for Tony to be happy to now be your lover.

Not just your lover but also your boyfriend.

The news quickly found its way into every magazine and soon enough everyone knew Iron Man was seeing someone, a man. You didn't care about being the target of the cameras, as long as Tony was by your side. After all, you had nothing to be ashamed of.

However, you never imagined how possessive and protective Tony would be toward you. To your surprise, Tony hated seeing your names on the news or on magazines and would snap after any journalist trying to talk to you.

You weren't the only one shocked; his whole team and friends didn't recognize him. Tension began to build up between Tony and the rest of the Avengers. You could only feel guilty, thinking you were the cause and yet not understanding what was going on with Tony.

But with you, Tony was gentle and caring, even overloving sometimes. He would ask for forgiveness each time you pointed out how he acted and would forgive him. You couldn't stay angry for long.

But as the tension and conflicts grew, Tony and the Avengers grew apart. Soon enough, Tony announced he was leaving not only the team but also would stop providing funds to them and the S.H.I.L.D. But after tragedy comes happiness and Tony proposed to you.

As happy as you felt being engaged, the ring strangely felt like handcuffs or a leash. In the back of your mind you wondered if you were doing the right thing. But it was too late to back down, and now that Tony wasn't part of the Avengers anymore he was even more often with you. He was always there, even when you thought you were alone.

After all, he could access any and every camera in the country. There was nowhere where he wouldn't find you.

[belovanat2]

Our new chance, pt 2

Agatha and Rio are given a new chance. 

It's age regression, if you don't like it, don't read it.

Alice is the reader's name, unrelated to the show.

I'm going to write several chapters, so it may take a while for the story to unfold. 

English its not my first language.

Alice.... This name has haunted them both for years, ever since Nicky left.

The two pull themselves together, and return to the questioning.

"What are you doing in our house, Alice..." Agatha continues with her questions.

"I... I... I promise I wasn't stealing anything, I was just hungry," the girl starts to say, trying to keep calm.

"Alice, come on, let's go to the table and talk," Rio says, urging the girl to get up. But Alice backs down.

"Please don't call the police! Please, anything but that!" She begs, and tears start to flow again. 

"Nobody said to call the police, calm down!" Agatha says harshly. Rio rolls her eyes, her wife sometimes only made things worse.

"I promise that if you get up and talk to us, no one will call the police," Rio says, holding out his hands for the girl to get up, who accepts shyly.

"Finally..." Agatha says, sitting down and leaning on the table.

"Agatha, calm down..." says Rio, glaring at her wife.

"Ok ok, I'm sorry" Agatha says making a peace sign.

Alice felt a little safer to sit down in the chair where Rio was pointing, but she was still scared that she had been caught. She didn't trust these women.

Rio sits down next to her wife, and they both face Alice.

"Okay, let's start at the beginning... what do you want here?" Rio is direct in her question and Agatha laughs, where is her wife's calm? 

"I told you... I was just hungry and your house was the only one I could get into, I'm really sorry," Alice replied with a trembling voice.

It would be a lie to say that the two witches weren't touched by the girl's tone of voice, they were increasingly holding back so as not to give in to the girl's cuteness and innocence in front of them. But that would be trusting too soon.

"And why did you have to come into our house to eat, that's what we don't understand" Agatha slams her hand on the table, a little harder than she meant to, as Alice slumps back in her chair.

"It was my last option, I had nowhere else to go and I was hungry," Alice says, analyzing the reaction of the two women. They were scary, but something made her feel that they weren't evil.

"Where do you live?" Rio asks, and from Alice's expression she sees that she's asked the right question.

"It's a long story..." says the youngest, fiddling with her hands anxiously.

"We've got plenty of time, don't worry," Agatha replies.

"I don't have a house.... Not anymore," Alice says with a sigh.

"What do you mean?" Rio asks, and Alice lowers her head.

"I had to run away, so I don't have anywhere else to go, that's it..." she gives up and gives away a bit of the situation. The two women look at each other worriedly. Why would a young girl like that run away from home?

"How old are you?" Agatha asks, clearly calmer and more touched by the situation.

"17..." Alice slowly raised her head so that she could look at the women again, "that's why I'm asking you not to call the police, I'm begging you," her eyes were pure despair and fear.

"Relax, we won't call the police," Agatha replied.

"Really?" Alice looks at the woman in surprise "Thank you! I promise I'll pay for the grapes and I'll clean up what I broke and..." Rio interrupts her.

"How long have you been away from home?" The woman was worried, even though the teenager in front of her was almost an adult, she seemed helpless and smaller than any other teenager.

"About two weeks, I think..." Alice replies and the two women stare in shock.

"And where were you staying?" Rio asks, and the younger woman shrugs.

"I had to cross two cities to get here, I stayed on the street anyway," she says with unexpected normality.

"That's dangerous!" Agatha says indignantly. Rio nods in agreement.

"I'm fine..." Alice says without much certainty, and she looks at herself. She clearly wasn't well. She had lost weight, was dirty, hungry and cold.

"You're hungry, I'll heat up some food for you," Rio says, getting up, and Alice gets up with her

"No need, I don't want to get in your way any more than I already have…”

"No, you're going to stay there and eat," Agatha replies, staring at the girl, leaving no room for complaints.

"Okay..." she replied in frustration, sitting down again. But she wasn't going to lie, she was starving.

The three of them stay in silence for a while, a very uncomfortable silence for Alice, until Rio brings the girl a plate of hot food.

"Here you go, enjoy," Rio says smiling, and sat down next to Agatha again.

"Thank you" The girl then picks up her fork and starts eating. That food was wonderful. She devours the food quickly.

The two women were happy to see the scene and to see the little girl enjoying her food. The poor thing must have not eaten for days.

"Do you want more?" Rio asks and Alice says no with a shy smile.

"I'm full, thanks," she replies as she takes a sip of water, then makes a thoughtful face.

"A penny for your thoughts," Agatha says with a sarcastic but not malicious laugh.

"I don't know your names yet..." Alice says, staring at the two.

"I'm Agatha, and this is my beautiful wife Rio," Agatha says smiling at her wife. 

"You have very beautiful names" the girl says sincerely.

"Thank you, dear," Rio replied, "your name is very pretty too." 

It was true, they both loved the name Alice, it was part of their story, even if they didn't understand why.

"Thank you for everything, for the food, it was very good, but I think I'd better go now" Alice says with a sad smile, heading for her backpack.  

Agatha and Rio looked at each other, not knowing what exactly to do. They weren't going to call the police, but they didn't have any duty to the girl either, right? It wasn't their responsibility... of course it wasn't.

"Alice mom, I told you, her name will be Alice!" Nicky corrects Agatha for the hundredth time 

"Do you promise you'll take care of Alice mom?" Nicky asks Rio

Memories come back to them... there was no connection! It was just a silly story their son told.

"No, stay!" Agatha replies impulsively, even she is startled by her own invitation. Alice looks at her in confusion.

"You don't have to..." the younger girl starts to reply.

"Spend the night here and then we'll talk more, okay?" Rio insists. They couldn't leave the girl alone on the street.

"I don't know if I should..." Alice replied uncertainly, she didn't want to abuse the women.

"Just one night and then you can go," Agatha said, and Rio agreed with her. The older women looked pleadingly at Alice, who gave in.

"Okay, I can stay for the night"

[letterstodixon]

you're so lame

summary: Daryl goes on a run and returns home to a sweet reward.

pairing: daryl dixon x f!reader (established relationship)

word count: 951

era: pre-negan alexandria

warnings: not proofreading. fluff is a warning itself.

divider by @/saradika-graphics

a/n: i think this is more of a drabble and not a one shot, but i hope you enjoy it anyways ! it was inspired on this video.

taglist: @vaniniweenie

Generally, ever since the world went to shit, no one was allowed to have a bad day. If you were in danger, you had to protect yourself, hunt for food, or fight off some walker if you were unlucky... Or fight off other people, if your luck was even worse. If you lived behind a wall that protected you from the outside, you still had to go get food. Being considered one of the leaders forced you to put yourself at risk for the good of your community.

Well, Daryl hated being considered a leader.

Don't get him wrong, being a hunter was one of the things he was best at, and if you asked him a few years ago, he preferred to be in the comfort of the woods, in solitude.

Well, that changed since you came into his life.

From the prison to Alexandria, neither of you even imagined the idea of being friends. You came with Michonne and, unlike her, your nature was much more easy going and friendly, kind, seemingly naive. Daryl prejudged you all that time, until you proved to be loyal to the group, and you didn't hesitate to cut off a head or two. His attraction to you grew more every day, and who was he to fight against that? Well, he avoided the feeling for a long time... Until the tranquility of Alexandria came. It was enough to live under the same roof and have a bed to share every night, and that's when he knew he didn't want anything else for his life. Yes, he still knew how to move in the woods alone, but he also knew he was home when he had his arms around you on a cold autumn morning.

As soon as his walkie rang that morning, with Rick's voice urging him to get up, his mood changed drastically. He was usually a grumpy man, but it made him even worse to be insistently woken up when he didn't want to do something. He just hoped his call hadn't woken you up.

"Babe?" He heard behind him, your sleepy voice making itself heard in the room.

Rick's a dead man.

"Go back to sleep, sunshine. I gotta go." He replied as quietly as he could, turning to look at you. With his elbow on the pillow, his free hand came up to your face, caressing your cheek softly as a smile appeared on your lips, eyes barely open.

"Be careful out there, okay?" You told him, your hand on his while leaning into his touch. There was no better way to wake up.

"Always am, babe." He assured you, leaving a short kiss on your lips before getting out of bed. "Got any plans for today?"

Before answering, you rubbed your eyes, yawning as you sat up on the bed. "I should probably get up too. I promised Carol to help her with kitchen stuff, might do some desserts if we can."

Daryl listens intently, nodding as he finishes getting dressed, placing his crossbow on his back, which rested propped up right next to his nightstand. Leaning over the bed, he kissed your lips once more.

"Don't burn anythin'" He said, leaving the room and closing the door before the pillow could hit him.

...

The run had been better than they expected. They managed to get food, some medicine, and warm clothes to get the community through the winter without any problems. As he was making his way into the house that you shared, he couldn't help but smell the sweet aroma that was in the air, indicating that you had indeed managed to make those desserts you promised. As he took off his boots at the entrance of the house and left his crossbow aside, he walked into the kitchen, listening to you hum under your breath as you worked on the counter, a few candles lighting up beyond the light on in the kitchen.

"Glad you ain't burn anythin'" He exclaimed, making you turn around startled, a hand on your chest as you closed your eyes, while Daryl rolled his. Such a drama queen.

"You scared the crap out of me, Dixon. You're lucky I love you." You said, walking over to him as you placed your arms around his neck, scanning his face for any possible bruises or scratches, but finding none, while his hands rested on your hips, watching you with the same attention as you watched him. "Made it home safe and sound, I see."

"Had to, m'wife woulda kill me if I didn't." He replied, a smile threatening to appear on his lips. Looking behind you, he noticed a cake with something written on it, making him squint. "What's that?"

"Oh! I made a cake and managed to write something for you." You said excitedly, moving away so you could take the cake in your hands and bring it to him.

Who wants to eat anyways? Ew.

Daryl tilted his head, taking a step back as he blinked in disbelief. "I don't..."

"I got the wrong cake. Fuck, I'm sorry."

As you set that cake aside, you went to get the one in the fridge, presenting it to him the same way you did with the last one.

Congrats on the successful run, hunter!

There were few times that you had been able to hear Daryl laugh out loud, but this time, you had achieved it without hesitation. His laughter being too contagious, you laughed too, covering your mouth as he rested his hands on his knees, shaking his head.

"Yer lucky I love you, woman. As lame as you are an' everything'"

[nocasdatsgay]

A Lesson in Heartbreak

2 of 3: Words are Painful Weapons

Rating: T | Word Count: 3983 | Pairing: Azris/Reader

Summary: Eris and Azriel made promises they didn’t keep. When you confront them about it, Eris says some things he instantly regrets. Now him and Azriel have to fix what they broke.

Neapolitan Bonds Masterlist| Read on A03| Part 1| Read Below

Warnings: Angst, Eris has a sharp tongue, alcohol, drunk!Eris

A/N: HI so… yeah… I am alive. Sorry this took so long. A second shout out to @daycourtofficial for inspiration with Azriel and his comments when he comes back.

Tagging: @myromanempiree @pit-and-the-pen @lilah-asteria @thisblogisaboutabook @hieragalbatorixdottir @mybestfriendmademe @paleidiot @div94 (if you are tagged by accident or want to be tagged in the future, let me know)

“There. A letter to Tarquin and a letter to her.” Eris sent them with a flick of his wrist. 

Azriel calmed enough to sit while Eris penned the letters. They needed you to come home so they could talk with you in person. Deep down, Eris was thoroughly embarrassed over the whole situation. Not only at himself but for you leaving to another court. He wondered if this was how Tamlin felt all those years ago, when Feyre ran off to the Night Court. Eris suddenly had empathy for him in retrospect. 

He slumped back in his chair and sighed. He needed a stiff drink. But he wanted to be sober if you came home. Azriel sat across from him, arms  crossed against his chest and brows furrowed like he did when he was deep in thought. His eyes were still rimmed in red from earlier. The Shadows were nowhere in sight. 

“What?” Eris looked at his mate. 

Az cut his eyes to Eris, still frowning. “I want you to tell me exactly what you said to her.”

“I’m surprised your shadows didn’t already tell you.” Eris didn’t hold back his eye roll or his sigh. “I don’t fully remember.” 

Everything was a blur from earlier. When he got like that, he never remembered what he said. 

“Well think fucking harder.” Eris could see Azriel’s fingers dig into his sleeves. 

“She came in screaming at me about missing dinner.” It reminded him too much of his mother. The way she would yell at his father when he was a youngling. Eris tried to focus, to put that aside. “I told her the high lord meeting was more important. We were hosting, and.”

After a moment Az said, “And what, Eris”

He cursed under his breath. “I said she would understand that if she had bothered to help. Since she isn’t helping, she doesn't get to complain that we are busy. She knew what she was getting into when we mated.”

Azriel recoiled where he sat. “How could you say that to her?” 

“It’s the truth, Azriel.” Eris brushed back his hair with his hand. “This is what it’s like to be mated to a High Lord. We have responsibilities. Yes, I was wrong for implying she didn’t want to help because she asked and I told her she didn’t have to. I admit that.” 

Shadows came out as Az replied. “And we made promises we didn’t keep.”

“I know I did. It eats me alive that I broke them but what else am I supposed to do? It’s our first time hosting, I’ve only been High Lord for a decade and a half. She’s worked for multiple courts. She knows these things have to be perfect or others will talk.” 

“That doesn’t mean we can’t take a break to have dinner with her.” Az countered. 

Eris glared at him. “Do not act like you are any better. You weren’t there either.”

He winced. “You’re right. I wasn’t.” Then he glared back. “But maybe I would have been there if you let other people do their job instead of making it our problem.”

“Oh you’re going to blame me?” Eris was on his feet. “By the gods. I’m always your scapegoat because it’s easy to blame me than for you to look in a fucking mirror.”

“Eris.” A warning, as shadows built around him. 

“Am I wrong?” Azriel didn’t answer. Eris and his sharp tongue kept going. “You blamed me for centuries when it came to Mor. To this court. To my father. Let’s just add this to it.” He paused. Before he could stop himself he added. “It wouldn’t even be a fucking issue if it was just us.” 

Eris felt the shock through the bond from Az before he shut him out. Even the shadows recoiled from around Az.

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t have to repeat myself. We work well together,” he gestured between them, “because we know what to expect from each other. She wants so much more than either of us are capable of.”

Shadows shrunk back again. “That’s not true.”

“It is!” Then words spewed from his mouth like viper venom. “I wish Elain never told us. I wish I never let you get your fucking hopes up, looking for a third bond in every fucking fae you brought to our bed. But I love you, so I let you do it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Azriel was on his own feet, siphons on his hands flashing. “I always got your consent, you said it was fine. You brought your own-”

Eris’s mouth ran away from him again. He didn’t raise his voice; his tone did the work for him. 

“Maybe I lied. I only took other lovers so you wouldn’t feel guilty. I was just trying to make you happy because I was never enough for you. Even the Mother herself knew. She knew I wasn’t enough for you so she sent us her.” 

Az looked like he’d been struck. Guilt and insecurity Eris had buried for decades laid out on full display. At that moment Eris hoped Azriel hurt just as much as he did. The silence between them was heavy and loud. It was finally Azriel who spoke, his own words sharp and stinging. 

“I never asked to be mated to you. You say this is easier for me and you, but it’s only easy for you. What’s easy is loving her. It’s not my fault you’re too fucked up to know that too.” 

Shadows grew thick around him and he winnowed out of the room. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You showered and changed into a soft seafoam colored nightgown, given to you by Samira. She was sitting by a small side table reading when you came back into the bedroom. She set her book down and got up from her seat. 

“Did you tell him, Tarquin?” You asked. 

In your haste to get away, you didn’t think about the implications of your actions. Namely as High Lord’s mate seeking refuge in another court. You liked Tarquin a lot. He was kind and you were so happy when Samira and him hit it off. But he was still a High Lord of another court. Samira didn’t look you in the eyes from where she had sat on the edge of the bed. 

“I only told him what you told me.”

“That’s fine,” you said quickly. You got onto the bed and crawled up beside her. “I understand. If you hadn’t told him, I would have.”

“That said,” she put her hand over yours. “You’re here as my guest. Any correspondence will come directly to me unless there is a threat to the court.” 

You winced and she gave you a sympathetic look. Your mates were both known for their tempers. Azriel was well known for his impulsive behavior. You prayed to the Mother that neither of them acted irrationally. A hard thing to hope knowing you sealed this room the moment you entered. 

“Did you want some tea or do you want to rest for the night?” 

“Tea. I need to talk if you’re willing to listen.”

“Always,” she smiled. 

You grabbed a light robe and moved into the small sitting room. She waited as Samira had tea brought to the room. She fixed you a cup, and then she sat down and took her own in her hands. 

“So what happened?”

You let out a heavy sigh, trying to figure out where to start. 

You explained the best you could. How they both made a promise to go to dinner and neither showed. You explained how distant they’d been for months. You explained how Eris told you that dinner wasn’t as important as whatever he was working on with the upcoming summit. 

“He said I knew what I was getting into when we mated. As if I’m not managing his court while his nose is stuck in itinerary lists.” You added bitterly. 

She winced. “And Azriel? What did he say about all this?” 

“He said he was sorry. He lost track of time. Conveniently he was silent when I asked why his shadows didn’t remind him.” You stared down at the tea in your hand. You could feel your eyes water again. “He hasn’t- he has always been more physically affectionate than Eris. Out in public, at least. But he hasn’t even-“

You stopped yourself, your face burning. Samira didn’t need to know how Az hadn’t even called you by a specific pet name in weeks. Eris even longer. And how was you supposed to explain they even stopped just casually touching you? It was childish, to be upset about something so silly. Yet thinking about it just made you cry again. 

You wiped your eyes. “It just feels as if  they don’t want me anymore.”

“They're your mates, of course they want you.”

“Mates doesn’t always mean love, Samira. They did just fine without me for what? Two decades? Maybe longer. Maybe they miss it just being the two of them.” 

“Now you’re talking nonsense. Stop it,” she gave you a pointed look. 

“What if it’s the truth?” You were so sick of crying. You sniffled and wiped your eyes. “They know each other so well. What do they need me for?” 

They didn’t.

That was your whole issue. They didn’t need you. Eris and Az could practically communicate without words. They moved around each other seamlessly. Eris knew exactly how Az liked his tea. Az knew to move papers closer to the inside of the desk when Eris was on a rant, his hands moving about as he talked. Eris knew when to make the spare room without even asking Azriel if he needed it. You tried to watch, to listen. Five years and you still weren’t in tune with them. 

Samira shuffled in her seat, drawing your attention back to her. 

“Eris wrote a letter to Tarquin. I got it while you were bathing. It wasn’t much, just him requesting to know if you were here and if so, that you get this.” She held up an envelope with his seal on it. “I wrote back that I would handle communication and you’d be staying the night.” 

She laid the letter on the table in front of you. Your chest ached, begging you to open it immediately. You shoved it down. 

Samira added, “I informed him that if you want to stay longer, I can’t make you leave. Tarquin has already agreed to allow you to stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” you whispered and stared back down at your tea again. 

“Sleep on it. You can have breakfast with us and decide what you want to do in the morning.”

You nodded. Sleep sounded nice now that the adrenaline of the evening had crashed. You drained the rest of your tea and bid Samira good night. You left the letter on the table. You’d read it in the morning. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eris poured himself the stiffest drink he’d had in decades. The shame and embarrassment of everything was still burning in his chest. He downed his drink in one swing and poured another. Both his mates were gone. He walked over to his desk where the correspondence with summer sat. Your friend had written back instead of Tarquin. He downed his second drink. 

To make things less complicated, I will be handling correspondence until this is resolved. Unless there is a threat to the court, I will not involve the high lord. I promise I will give her your letter in the morning. She was distraught when she arrived and I’ve just gotten her calmed. She’s currently bathing and I will get her some tea to help her sleep. 

There was a break in the letter and she added. 

She has yet to tell me what happened fully, but as her friend I am warning you both that you two better make this right. I will try to convince her to return in the morning, but she is a grown female. If she requests to stay, Tarquin has already told me she may. 

Eris tossed the letter back onto the desk. He doubted once you found out Az left too that you’d come home. It’s what he deserved. 

He was a fool to think he could do this- have two mates. To think he could be any better than his father. Three years mated to you and he still couldn’t control himself. Couldn’t toe the line between work and leisure. Fifteen mated to Az and he still spewed venom in his direction the moment he was cornered. And Eris finally got a taste of his own medicine when Azriel spewed it right back. 

With a heavy sigh, Eris pulled out more parchment and ink. There would not be a high lord summit- not with all of this happening. He’d draft the letters and send them in the morning. If he could sleep at all, with no one sharing his bed. He went and made a third drink. He opened his bonds and see if you or Az would respond. 

Still shut out. The urge to down that third drink was strong. He needed to be sober in the morning even if he didn’t want to be. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Azriel flew until his emotions settled. Eris’s foul words rung in his ears still. ‘I wish Elain never told us’ he’d said. ‘Even the mother herself knew I wasn’t enough for you so she sent her.’ 

His eyes watered and it wasn’t from the wind in them. There was an ache in his chest- both bonds were shut out. He and Eris fought plenty, before and after they reconciled and the bond snapped. Somehow this was still the worst. He ignored his own words that spewed like venom in response to what Eris had said. 

Azriel was angry and hurt. He left- if he stayed any longer the whole Forest House may have been burned to the ground. He circled the border between Autumn and Winter. He couldn't go back, not tonight. He landed in a clearing, stretching out his wings before tucking them back in. He didn’t want to go to Valeris. He had one other option. His shadows seemed to agree, as they circled him and he winnowed. 

He landed outside the wards of Rosehall. The fae lights shown through the window. 

She is awake. a shadow whispered. 

He thought about turning back. He didn’t want to disturb his mother, to bother her with his problems. Yet his feet carried him forward, the wards rippling around him. He tucked his wings in tight and walked to the door. He didn‘t have to knock; the wards were designed to let only few in and to notify her when someone arrived. He could hear the rush of footsteps inside and braced himself as the door opened. 

“Azriel?” His mother answered the door, a navy shawl you made for her wrapped tight around her shoulders, sides shaped to accommodate her wings. “What has happened?”

”I had a fight with my mates.” He said quickly. “They’re fine; I just- I couldn’t stay.”

His mother brushed back loose hair to tuck it behind her ear. He realized her hair was half braided. She nodded, and stepped aside to let him in. 

“I’m sorry, I can go.”

”Nonsense, come in. I just made tea.”

His shadows swirled past him, one or two weaving around his mother. They always loved her; probably more than him if he was honest. He stepped through the frame and looked around. He had visited two weeks ago and already things had changed. His heart skipped, looking into the sitting room. Feyre had taken to decorating his mother’s house with portraits and paintings. The one above the fireplace was of him and his mother. It was a new one on the wall to the left that wasn’t there two weeks ago that made him stop in his tracks. It was of his mother, himself, you, and Eris. From your mating ceremony, based on the clothing and how close together you all were. 

“The High Lady spoils me,” his mother said from his right. “Says my house is too empty. You should see the garden painting she had mounted in the hall a few days ago. Come.” 

He felt her hand grab his own. He could only grip back loosely. He didn’t realize how cold his fingers had gotten from flying. If she noticed, she didn’t say. She led him to the kitchen where a kettle sat on the stove. He sat at the small table and watched almost numbly while she gathered cups and poured the tea. 

“Zemër, tell me what happened.” 

Az looked down at the cup as she sat it in front of him. He wrapped his hands around it, letting the warmth ease the stiffness in his hands. If he was home, Eris would do it for him. He pushed that thought away. He took a few sips, relishing in how the warmth flowed through his chest. His mother waited patiently across from him, braiding the rest of her hair for bed. 

“I said some things I shouldn’t have.” His shadows nudged him on the shoulder. “I made a promise and didn’t keep it.” She hummed and tied off her hair. His voice cracked a little when he added. “I don’t know if I can fix it.” 

There was a beat of silence and his mother took a sip of her tea. “Why do you think such a thing?” 

“Because she left!” He snapped. His mother flinched and shadows hissed at him for raising his voice. “I’m sorry. She left and he- we’ve been so busy and she asked for one dinner and neither of us went. Then she left. And Eris said things. So I said things back.”  

He hated that hot tears fell down his cheeks. And that his mother was looking at him with pity. She reached over and took his hand, holding it tightly in her own. 

“Words are painful weapons and you are the best warrior in all prythian.” That made Azriel snort and she smiled softly. “This is a fight. Not a war. You haven’t lost yet. They are your mates. You love them. If you haven’t given up your love for them, what makes you think they have so easily given up their love for you?” 

She had him there. He gave her hand a squeeze, a gesture of thanks. Then a shadow swirled up his arm quickly. 

We must go. He furrowed his brows. He walks to our balcony. We must stop him. We must go. Go. 

“Shit.” Azriel winced at himself. He hated cursing in front of his mother. “Mama, I have to go. Thank you. For the tea.” 

She watched him stand, not letting go of his hand. “Be careful, my love.” 

Despite the tugging of the shadows he gave his mother a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see you in two weeks. I promise.” 

She nodded and he winnowed away. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At some point, Eris wasn’t sure when; he grabbed the whole bottle instead of pouring himself a glass. He couldn’t sleep. Not alone, with his thoughts and past memories hovering around the edges of the bed. They we’re waiting in the dark to grip him when he was most vulnerable. So instead he drank. Drank to numb the emptiness like he used to in the days before. 

One minute he was in his chambers and the next he was stumbling up stairs. There were several balconies in the forest house but there was only one nearest to the roof. He built it for Azriel. It had no railings, just a place for him to take off when he went flying. Az swore he didn’t need it; but he still used it. In Eris’s mind, Az would use the balcony when he came back home.

Because he had to come home. You both had to come home. Eris didn’t think he could bear it if you didn’t. It took him a moment when he reached the door to focus enough to grab the handle. Gods, he hadn’t been this drunk since his youth. Pushing into the room, it was bare- save the single old couch, rug, and unlit fireplace. His gaze fixated on the double glass doors that led to the balcony. If he could just get out there, he could wait. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Eris nearly fell over, balance upended by Az’s voice behind him. He grabbed Eris by his shirt to pull him steady. Shadows that had been absent swirled in his vision, grazing his hair and neck as if checking him over. It took a moment for the world to stop spinning and his focus fixated on the male before him. 

“You came back,” Eris whispered. 

“Of course I did.” Azriel’s nose crinkled at Eris’ breath. “You're drunk.”

“Can’t sleep.” He felt his eyes water. He reached for Azriel’s shoulder but Az held him in place. “I’m sorry. I'm so sorry.” 

“Look at me,” Az’s hands were cold as they cradled Eris’ face, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry too.”

“Your hands are cold.” He muttered, his own reaching up to cover them. He wasn’t sober enough to focus his magic like he wanted to. 

“They are.” Az gave him a soft smile. “I’ll live.” 

Eris frowned. “Why did you come back?” 

To Azriel’s credit, he didn’t seem shocked at the question. 

“I came back because I love you.” And Azriel meant it. 

“But you said-“

“I said it’s not easy.” He paused for a moment. “It’s not easy but I choose you. I will always choose you. Because I love you.”

There was silence between them for a moment. 

“She’s not coming back.” 

Az grimaced. “Eris, it’s late. She’s safe in Summer and probably sleeping. Like we both should be.”

“But I need her here.” Eris could hardly bear it. He needed you back. He needed to apologize. “Can’t we go get her?” 

“So you want to start a war with Summer?” Az’s face was serious but there was a tilt in his voice. 

“You’re laughing at me.” Eris replied solemnly. 

“You’re drunk. It’s hard not to.” He sighed, his wings slumping and shadows buzzing about them. “Let’s go to bed and sleep this off.” 

Eris was silent but seemed to concede. Az guided him out the room and back to their chambers. He would have winnowed if Eris hadn’t been so inebriated. He really didn’t feel like cleaning up vomit. 

“You’re too good to me,” Eris muttered as they made their way down the hall. 

Az tightened his arm around him. “I could argue the same.”  

More silence passed. “Do you think she’ll come back?” 

Azriel didn’t reply. He could only hope. His shadows whispered as much as he helped Eris undress in their chamber and get him to bed. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In Summer, you tossed and turned. The air was too warm even with the cool magical breeze that floated through the open windows. The bed was too small. Too empty. You finally cast a spell on your blanket and pillows, making them colder. How funny you’d gotten used to Autumn's colder climate.

The spell worked too well. You were suddenly too cold, too cold without Eris and Az’s body heat to keep you warm. Tears fell on your pillow. They were probably sleeping fine without you. Your mind went to the letter you left in the other room. You were too afraid to open it. They probably only wanted you home until after the High Lords’ meeting. Or maybe they never wanted you to come back. You pulled the blanket tight around yourself. Whatever the letter said could wait until morning. 

You sighed and tried to go to sleep. 

Part 3

[fluentmoviequoter]

Always Time for You

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!reader

Summary: After you move to Los Angeles to escape an abusive relationship, you meet Deacon Kay and fall in love. When your ex arrives in Los Angeles, you have to tell someone, but don't want to worry Deacon.

Warnings: former abusive relationship, depictions of domestic violence, abuse, angst, fluff and comfort (none of the SWAT men do anything abusive, it's an ex!)

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Kay Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

The trip across the country is long and slow, each day spent holding your bruised cheek out of view and looking over your shoulder. You promise not to let your guard down when you finally reach Los Angeles. Surrounded by high rises and over 4 million people to blend in with, it would be easy to think you’re safe. But you know better.

Your little apartment in a quiet corner miles from downtown is nice, if not lonely. As you create a new life, you’re unbothered by the solitude, too concerned with being safe than having friends.

And then, in a moment, all of it changes.

1 Year Later

“Excuse me,” someone says behind you.

You flinch when a gloved hand raises beside you, then step out of the way and apologize to the officer. He nods once, then joins his team on the other side of the road. The police presence in your neighborhood today is too familiar. The last time you saw this many cops in one place. It was because you called them, and they barely made it in time.

Another approaching siren pulls you from your memory, and you step back from the curb. Something stops you, a feeling that going home would not be the right choice.

One of the SWAT officers looks at you and points in your direction. You freeze, remembering the officer who asked Well, did you tell him to stop? You provoked him; you shouldn’t do that if you already know what he’s like. When you look up again, two officers are walking toward you. Chewing the inside of your bottom lip, you hope they’ll walk past you.

“Hi, I’m Sergeant Deacon Kay, LAPD SWAT,” the officer who walked past you earlier says. “Do you live around here?”

“I do,” you answer softly.

“Would you mind answering a few questions?” the other officer, whose nametag says Street, asks.

“Sure,” you agree. “If I can.”

Deacon pulls a picture from his pocket, a folded piece of paper that he straightens before asking, “Have you seen this car around here?”

You lean closer, fighting against your memories, and answer, “I saw it last night. It sat across the street with its lights on from around 8 until midnight.”

“What made you notice it?” Street asks.

“The lights,” you explain. “When it turned, they lit up my living room, then didn’t go off.”

“Left around midnight, you said?” Deacon clarifies. You nod, and he points east to ask, “That way?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks for your help.”

They step back, and you ask, “Um, is it safe? Will he be back or is there anything I should be worried about?”

Deacon smiles and assures, “It’s safe. We’re going to get him.”

As he joins Street to return to Black Betty, Street asks, “We don’t know that; we’ve been looking for two days.”

“And we’ll find him today.”

The next night, someone knocks on your door, and you tiptoe across the room to look through the peephole. When you see Sergeant Deacon Kay, you open the door but hold it as you look at him.

“Hi,” he greets. “I just wanted to let you know we caught him.”

You sigh and whisper your gratitude.

“And… I came to ask you out.”

Smiling, you nod, and for once, you don’t think about your last relationship and let yourself hope for something new, something better.

1 Year Later

“Good morning,” you greet as you answer the phone.

“It is now,” Deacon replies. “How are you?”

“I’m better now.”

You open the door to leave for work but stop when you see a package on your doormat. Deacon says something, but the words across the top of the box are familiar, too familiar. You squat to see it better; the We’re back note is split by the box pulling open. You lift the flap with one finger and see a rope curled tightly inside, with two knots to form hand restraints. You jerk backward, falling onto the floor as you scramble from the box. Your phone hits the floor, and Deacon yells as you reach for it.

“Hey,” you breathe, staring at the box. “I’m okay, sorry, I got startled and dropped my phone.”

“Everything okay?” Deacon asks.

“Yes,” you lie. “Everything is fine.”

“Then I’ll see you tonight. Have a good day.”

“You, too.”

When you reach your car, a pack of matches is tucked under the windshield wipers, and you throw them into the backseat before slamming the door closed and locking it. Someone is close, and the fear you thought you’d left behind hits you like a train when you realize who it is.

Deacon knocks on your door an hour before your date, but he’s still in his uniform.

“I’m so sorry,” he begins. “I have to work overtime, for- for a while. I’m not sure when I’ll have time to make it up to you, but I will. I promise I will.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “Be safe and call me when you can.”

Deacon leans in, ignorant of how your muscles tense before he touches you. He kisses your cheek, whispers another apology, and leaves. As he drives away, you see a knife tucked behind the plant by your door. Rather than spend the extra time with the door open to look at it, you close and lock it. Your breaths grow heavy as your chest tightens, but you have no proof that he’s nearby. You can’t tell the police, and Deacon will get stressed with overtime, so you have to wait for this to pass on its own.

The following week, almost ten days after the first box arrived, you call in sick to work. Sitting in your living room, you watch the front window. You can see your porch and car. By noon, you haven’t seen anyone. Slowly, you open the door, and there’s a boxing glove on the first step, with what looks like dried blood across where the wearer’s knuckles would be. You feel a pressure building in your eyes and know that the terror you experience will kill you from the inside if you don’t tell someone or do something.

“Where are you?” you whisper brokenly, looking across the street but seeing nothing.

Your car catches your attention, a baseball bat propped against the back door, and a spray-painted X marking your door. You know the paint will draw attention, so you find a sponge and car wash in your storage closet before you hesitate at the door. If he was close enough to do this without being seen, he’s close enough to do something to you.

You set the cleaning supplies down and take your phone from your pocket. Scrolling past Deacon’s contact, you text someone else and then sit by the door, staring out the window as you wait for him to arrive.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” Luca asks when he sees your blotchy cheeks and blood on your palms, crescent-shaped marks created by digging your nails into your palm.

“He’s here,” you confide in him, struggling to breathe evenly. “Luca, he’s so close.”

“Who?” Luca asks, taking your wrists and looking into your eyes. “Who is he?”

“My ex, he- he hurt me, Luca, and  now he’s here. There’s been knives, matches, rope… he keeps leaving stuff he used to use.”

“Use?” Luca repeats, his voice dropping. “To… to hurt you?”

You nod, then press against his forearms to plead, “You can’t tell Deacon. He’s so stressed with the overtime; I haven’t even talked to him in a week.”

“He needs to know.”

“No, no, Luca, promise that you won’t tell him. I’ll tell you if anything changes or if I actually see him, but I had to tell somebody.”

Luca hesitates, then nods. “Have you seen anything?”

“No,” you admit, dropping your head as a tear rolls over your cheek. “Just the stuff. And the notes… they sound like him, but they don’t look like his handwriting. What am I supposed to do, Luca?”

Luca shakes his head and pulls you into a hug. It’s not the same comfort you can get from Deacon. The realization that you can’t do anything until he’s close enough to see increases your terror to let you finally cry.

Three days after confiding in Luca and thanking him with dinner for cleaning your car, you decide to visit Deacon at the station. You must see him, so you steel your nerves and open the front door. A small pile of weapons and notes is built against your door, and it topples as you step out. You rush to your car and don’t take the time to remove anything from the windshield until you stop at a gas station a block from the station. Shoving the notes, matches, and short length of heavy chain into the trashcan without more than a glance, you hope that Deacon has time to talk. You won’t tell him anything, but you will ask for one of his hugs that make everything better.

As you round your trunk, a truck speeds in behind you. Suddenly, your arms are gripped tightly, and someone pulls you back quickly. Someone else pulls black fabric over your head, and you are shoved into the back of a car before you can think to scream.

“Not a word,” a man says, pushing a cold gun barrel against your ribs.

“We’ll do it,” Deacon offers. “Luca and I can drive by the residence in an unmarked car and bring back a report of what we can see.”

“Do it,” Hicks replies. “Go the long way around, check gas stations and restaurants in the area, too. We need to find her.”

Deacon leads Luca to his unmarked Charger, and Deacon takes the driver’s seat. As they drive toward the suspect’s residence, Deacon stops at a red light beside a gas station.

“Isn’t that your girlfriend’s car?” Luca asks, pointing to a gas pump.

Deacon’s brow furrows as he puts the car into reverse and backs into the station lot. He parks behind your vehicle, and he and Luca walk alongside it, then look over the top at each other.

“I’ll check inside,” Luca offers as Deacon dials your number.

“Thanks,” Deacon replies.

Your phone goes to voicemail, and Deacon looks down in time to see the screen light up in the center console. Luca runs out of the convenience store and calls, “Deac, get in here!”

Deacon runs into the store, and Luca asks the employee to play the security footage again. They watch as three men take you, and Luca takes a shaky breath before he says, “Deacon, there’s something you should know.”

“Time to go home,” one of the men in the car coos.

You stiffen, scared that by home he means they’ll hand you over to your ex. The car lurches to a stop, and you slam into the back of the seat before two sets of hands steady you.

“Well, look who it is.”

Shifting, you try to block out your ex’s voice, but knowing he can see you while you can’t see him makes your heart race and your chest tighten painfully. When he slips his hand under your fabric hood and runs his fingers along your jaw, you jerk backward. The man beside you shoves you forward so your hood can be ripped off.

“Don’t do that again,” your ex demands lowly, holding your jaw tightly.

You look around, hoping to see someone else around who can help you.

“You know the police couldn’t help before.”

“We did what you asked,” the man driving says.

“And? You’ll get paid when I pay you.”

With the distraction, you lean away from your ex. He slides his fingers into your hair when he notices the distance, pulling you forward by the roots. You gasp at the pain, but when you’re shoved out of the car and fall at his feet, suddenly, you’re the same scared girl you were before you ran. There is no escape, and no one knows to look for you.

“Gas pedal is on the right, Street!” Deacon yells from the backseat.

“We’ll get there,” Street promises, remaining patient even as he faces Deacon’s anger and fear. “We need the surprise.”

Deacon’s leg bounces as they approach the tradeoff spot in the note they found from your ex to the men who snatched you at the gas station. Your safety is the priority, but Deacon knows Hondo is worried about what he’ll do to your ex.

“I’m getting her out of there,” Deacon says. “You focus on the criminals stupid enough to email each other with their plans.”

“You got it,” Hondo responds. “Stay liquid.”

As they pull into the parking lot, Street parks by a fence where they can see the black SUV from the gas station and a grey Chevelle beside it. Street exits the driver’s seat in his civilian clothes and waves to the man standing at the back of the SUV.

“Hey, man! I’m trying to get to the road with the stars, uh, Walk of Fame or something? This city is so confusing, can you tell me where to go?” Street calls.

“Yeah,” the man replies, turning so Street can see him. “Away from here.”

Someone groans, and Street says, “Yeah, sure. You okay?”

“Better than you’ll be if you don’t go.”

Street puts his hands up, then smiles. “You’re not very observant.”

Luca and Hondo approach the car from the other side with their guns raised. As they yell commands, three men surrender and move to the side, but your ex remains beside you.

“Step back,” Street demands, moving directly behind him. “These guys have a bet going on how quickly I’ll get impatient today. I’m thinking about letting one of them win. Walk toward my voice.”

“You always were treated like you’re more important than you are,” your ex tells you. “Same cop,” he muses, looking at Luca. “No one wants you.”

“Yep, I’m impatient,” Street decides. He holsters his gun, grabs his collar, and hauls him backward.

As your ex hits the concrete, he begins fighting, so Street drags him across the rocky surface while Deacon rushes to your side. You hear Hondo radioing for backup but focus on Deacon as he kneels beside you.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You nod and sit up carefully. Leaning against Deacon, you hug him tightly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Deacon asks softly, brushing his thumb over a bruise on your jaw.

“You were already working overtime, and honestly… I thought I was going crazy,” you admit. “He was leaving stuff and notes, but I never saw him, so I didn’t know.”

“Babe, I always have time for you,” Deacon assures you. He kisses your forehead and adds, “Especially if you’re in danger.”

“He… I moved to LA because of him,” you whisper. “He hurt me. A lot.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you had to deal with all of this alone, but you can tell me. Please tell me.”

“I will,” you promise. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“I love you.”

“I love you. I miss you.”

“I’m done with overtime; I’m coming home with you.”

You don’t argue, giving in to your craving for Deacon’s safety and comfort. He’ll always be with you, have time for you, and love you through everything and with all of your scars.