#after i started sorting the library books like she asked me to

[leth-writes]

Some thoughts about Tim and the Batfam

SUMMARY: just thinking about Tim and the batfam

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans. HEAVY discussion of drugging and taking away of autonomy.

MASTERLIST: https://www.tumblr.com/leth-writes/757800060720496640/requests-open?source=share 

Requests are open!

Tim is a really interesting person, in general. I’m just obsessed with the idea of him drugging a darling, just keeping them all pliant and sleepy and curled up in his bed, even if he’s platonic. 

He spends a lot of time just…watching you, whether that be through cameras or in real life.

You never find the cameras, even though you know they’re there. If you asked him, he wouldn’t deny it. Why would he? There’s nothing you could do about it, and he honestly doesn’t trust your opinions on your own safety. Tim views you as quite innocent and naive, and that’s part of why he spends so much time building a little cocoon in the bed for you to curl up in, your soft snuffles just barely moving the light sheet he’s laid around you.

Just. UGH. I think at first he’d drug your food.

But you start noticing, and you start avoiding food. This sets the rest of the batfam off; is TIm not taking care of you properly?!

(They sometimes talk about you like a pet. It’s weird. You’ve learned not to mention it.)

In response, you’re tied down with soft satin straps and drugged out of your mind through an IV. You’re on an all-liquid diet, practically seeing stars. Tim doesn’t need you conscious or coherent, just safe from harm, after all.

I could even see him putting you in a temporary coma, at least until the heat from your kidnapping dies down. 

I can’t get  over the idea of you just. Trusting him so much, so naively, and he’s just. Fucking drugging your hot chocolate to get you to the manor, he knows if he doesn’t then Jason will and Jason won’t be as gentle about it.

UGH just imagine him doing those exercises every day with you to keep your muscles from atrophying AGHHHH

You wake up afterwards, it’s dark and your mouth is dry. You try to sit up- and you can’t. You’re too weak, too tired from the still-present drugs coursing through your veins. It’s then you see a bright flash, illuminating the corner and it’s FUCKING TIM JUST STANDING THERE

He uses his best camera, just dedicates it to pictures of you, creates an album.

He shows it to everyone else, they’re all cooing and aweing and you’re just sitting there like HELLO PLEASE LET ME LEAVE 🙁

Eventually he might even give you a bit of a choice. You can eat the food, or you can get an injection. When you take the injection you lose an entire day of time, and who knows what the FUCK happened? (nothing, Tim just. Spent most of the day working, occasionally taking the time to brush a hand over your face, just gently tracing your features.)

The others start to get annoyed Tim’s hogging you, and he gets you a wheelchair. You’re too weak, too drugged to be able to move yourself around, and he somehow manages to put some sort of thing on the wheels that lock if you try to go out the door. Like the fucking Grocery Carts.

He starts wheeling you around, letting you see the garden and the birds and Batcow. You spend a lot of time in the library with Alfred the cat curled in your lap, purring as you try to follow the plot of a simple book, your eyes too blurry to see the words properly.

Jason’ll read to you, he likes the bonding time. Plus, your eyes can’t really focus on anyone’s face too long, so he doesn’t have to worry about you being scared by the scars ripped into his skin by his death.

Cass’ll roll you into her studio, prop you against the wall, and just do a stunning routine. Unfortunately you can’t see it very well, and you clap really slowly because your hands feel like they’re filled with lead. She appreciates the effort.

Dick eventually takes over your stretches, though he does sometimes have to fight Bruce for the right. Both love helping you gently stretch out your limbs, admiring the shaking that only comes from intense effort. You’re cute, like a newborn lamb.

It’s infuriating watching Dick do all these complicated moves, while you can barely lift your head, but oh well, they’re so happy you’re here!!

Damian treats you like a younger sibling, even though you’re significantly older than him. He adores having this position of power over you, and abuses it to spend most of his time with you just. Showing you his animals. Titus is practically your emotional support dog at this point, and he trains Ace to be your guard dog.

Bruce loves having you curled up in the office, snoring slightly on the couch, as he slowly wades his way through work. He’ll throw a blanket over you, even as you whimper and shy away from the food he’s hand-feeding you. You aren’t allowed to feed yourself anymore, hell you can barely lift your hand to your mouth.

You eventually get used to spending all your time just. Hanging around, sleeping and letting everyone else do everything for you.

[a-dash-in-the-middle]

I cant believe my family... just had lunch without me, suddenly the lack of bread is no problem, bc really I am the only one they like to torture to go to the store at 40°C

[the-cimmerians]

It's 2024. I have been participating in fandom for 40 years. This is a ramble commemorating some history I've experienced along the way.

In 1984, I attended my first convention, and made a beeline for the one long row of covered tables in the Dealer's Room that was, according to the whispered lore of my friends, 'the one'. "um", I said, very suavely and coherently, except for how it was totally the opposite of those things, "I'm here for the... for the, uh. For-"

"Come around here," the man behind the table said with exhausted ennui, so I went around, and he lifted up the table skirt next to him and pointed to rows and rows of boxes underneath the line of tables. "It's all under here."

It was all under there. Along with about five older ladies with glasses, graying hair, cardigans. Flipping through slash zines and chatting in whispered voices like old friends (which of course they were). I noticed one of them had the good sense to be wearing kneepads. I was still too young and ablebodied to need kneepads when crawling on a carpeted floor, but I immediately found her preparedness skills to be both impressive and hot. "You're new," one of the ladies whispered to me--a bit warily, which made sense. "Are you sure you're in the right place?"

In the faint light (the kneepads lady had also come prepared with a flashlight, additional practicality hotness points for her) I grabbed a comb-bound book with a heavy line art piece on the cover, featuring a musclebound Captain Kirk getting righteously and enthusiastically plowed by a stern-yet-ebullient Spock. "This," I said, pointing helpfully at the cover, like I was trying to make myself understood in a language I had only the vaguest knowledge of. "I'm here for this."

Outside at the convention, most of the attendees were wearing large homemade circular pins that shrieked 'K/S is BS!!!'1. But underneath the table, we reveled in the forbidden.

***

In 1985, I fell very hard for Starsky & Hutch fandom. Which was simply referred to at the time as 'the other fandom', because there were only two. We were upstarts. Many fannish elders predicted that it was just a phase.

***

The 'circulating library' was a massive stack of barely-legible pages that smelled strongly of mimeograph ink. When you were on the list, you would write stories while you waited for your turn, and when the big box was mailed to you, you would read everything (new finds, old favorites), add your own sloppily-typed or hastily-mimeographed stories, and then mail the whole thing to the next person. For me, at the time, it was an extremely expensive indulgence--but my favorite one.

***

By 1990, slash fandom had grown enough that I no longer knew everyone in it, which was both thrilling and a bit daunting. A young woman at a convention waited for me after a panel I was part of (I think it was 'writing impactful smut' or something like that), and said she had a question she didn't want to ask in a group setting. I'd heard that before. I said that's fine, go ahead and ask; and she came out with: "Why do you have to be gay?"

I blinked. "Is... that a problem?"

She looked annoyed. "Yes, because your stories are on all the recommendation lists and in all the top zines, but if you're gay and I read something you wrote and I get hot from it that makes me gay, and I'm not gay."

"Wow." I grinned, I couldn't help it. It probably made me look very predatory-dyke-about-to-score-a-toaster. Whatever, it was enough to make her back away from me fast.

When I thought about it later that night, I wondered what it would be like not to be the only queer person in slash fandom.

***

By 1997, slash started appearing on the internet. Many fannish elders claimed it was the death knell of slash fandom, or dismissed it as 'just a phase'.

***

Anyway, I wrote all this for myself as a commemoration of sorts, but if you took the time to read it--thank you. Love you, fandom. I always will.

1 In those days, m/m fandom was known as 'slash', which grew from the fannish shorthand where 'K&S' meant a story of Kirk and Spock having adventures or tribulations or what have you, and 'K/S' meant a story of Kirk and Spock getting it on (Kirk divided by Spock or Spock into Kirk--it was mathy fannish humor and I was into it then and I still am now). Slash was decidedly unpopular in the fannish world in 1984, and there was a concerted effort to force slash authors, artists, and fans out of 'mainstream' fannish public life. Hence, under the table.

[luveline]

JADEEEE i'd love to see an interaction between hotch and teacher!reader outside of school? maybe jack sees her first and step away from hotch for a moment to say hi, hotch gets scared when he realizes jack left but reader comes with him just a moment later because she's panicking too like 'why are you alone? where's your dad?' and jack takes her to him. is that ok??? i hope so! love you <3333

I love you ty for your request! —Hotch flirts with Jack’s favourite teacher, because he’s never as subtle as he should be. fem, 2k

Jack reads a couple of books a week now his dad is home more often. His mom used to read to him some because he loves them, but she preferred to tell her own on the fly. His dad isn’t as good a story teller, and when he does try the stories don’t end up very happy, so they read. Sometimes two or three books a night if they're short ones. 

With Jack’s library card they can borrow ten books. With his dad’s, another ten. Twenty altogether, enough to last the month if they’re careful or if dad gets called away a lot, which he usually does. 

“Can I look for Super Pup?” Jack asks his dad. 

Aaron sits on a chair a little too small for him in the kids section. “What?” he asks, looking up from the back of the large picture book Jack’s just handed him. 

“Super Pup?” 

“I’ll help, buddy.” Hotch looks like he’s going to stand, then hesitates. “In a second. Don’t go where I can’t see you, Jackers.” 

Hotch is tired. He didn’t come home until very late, but he’d woken Aunt Jess anyway and, when Jack woke, there his dad was sleeping in the beanbag by his bed. He’s sore all over now and exhausted from a restless night. Jack feels sorry, as much as he can for being six nearly seven, but he also knows that his dad doesn’t mind the hurting. It was nice to wake up together after a few days apart. 

And now he’s brought him to the library, and after that they’ll go for groceries. Jack should be quick. If they get home before dinner time his dad will ask him if he wants to nap together, which is the best. They just lay there in the big bed with the fan on and snooze until it’s too late to cook, so his dad breaks out the takeout menus, and promises he won’t do it again with a quick hug from behind. 

As though it makes him a terrible parent for feeding his kid. Jack can’t know how guilty it makes Hotch feel to do it, and Hotch doesn’t seem to notice how much Jack loves these days where his dad is exhausted and totally his. 

Jack runs around looking for Super Pup. Hotch’s phone beeps in his pocket, and he fights to keep his eyes open.

A ways away, you browse the fiction section in a crouch, knees somehow totally under your skirt, flicking aside spines of skinny books for something you can read at lunch time. Something that doesn’t require much attention, and could be read in short intervals. You used to demand a half hour to yourself when you first started teaching, but that was before the lonely kids started cropping up. Kids with no friends, or sad smiles, who want company and quiet alike. 

You reach for a pink-spined Japanese translation as a little hand pats your elbow. You’re so used to kids you say, “What’s up?” before you remember you aren’t at work. 

You turn in your crouch to look behind you. “Oh, hi, Jack! What are you doing here?” 

“Me and dad are looking for books.” 

You smile at him genuinely, happy to see your favourite student, even if you’re terrified on the inside at the prospect of his father. He’s the most gentlemanly man you’ve ever met. He’s arduous in how respectful he is, he’s understanding, and he’s tall, dark, and handsome. It is a chilling collection of traits. You stumble whenever you have to talk to him. 

But Jack is easy. You and Jack talk every day. “What sorts of books? Just for fun?” 

“I want to read Super Pup.” 

The kids love Super Pup and his magic bark. You stand promptly, suddenly much taller than Jack as you brush down your skirt. “Wait,” you say. Mr. Hotchner gets called away for work all the time, but he wouldn’t leave Jack alone, would he? “Where’s your dad? You’re not by yourself, are you?” 

Jack laughs. “No! I’m looking for Super Pup! Dad’s tired.” 

You can’t decipher exactly what those two things have to do with each other, but you can guess how panicked his dad will be to find Jack so far from the kid’s section. Fiction is the other side of the library. “How did you end up over here?” You offer your hand. “Should we go back and find your dad?” 

“I saw your skirt, Miss L/N. I like the flowers.”

He takes your hand, clumsy to your gentleness. “Thanks, honey. Let’s go find dad before he calls his scary friends and has your name on the news.” 

You get to the kids section slowly. Endearingly so, but nerve-wracking, too, because Mr. Hotchner can be intimidating. Jack likes holding your hand, you think, clinging to your fingers as he guides you across the library, past the staircase down to the first floor, and back to the kids section. 

“Jack?” Mr. Hotchner asks loudly, turned away from you both near the graphic novel selection. “Jack.” 

“Mr. Hotchner,” you say. 

“Dad!” 

He spins on his heel. His shoulders relax noticeably, but the stress in his gaze remains. 

“Jack, I said stay where I can see you,” he says, not half as scolding as he could be as Jack lets go of your hand and runs to his legs, where he stops. “Please, buddy. You gotta listen to me.” 

Jack turns between you and his dad with a smile, “But look, it’s Miss L/N.” 

“I can see,” he says softly. 

Mr. Hotchner leans down, taking Jack up into his arms with impressive ease, and begins the walk to you where you’ve stayed. 

“I hope he didn’t interrupt you,” he says. 

“Please,” you say, “he’s my favourite. Just–” You wince. “Don’t tell anybody at school I said that, Jack. Please.” 

“I think we can keep this secret,” Mr. Hotchner says. 

“He was just telling me that you’re looking for Super Pup. If you don’t find it, we have copies at the school library. And we can always order you one.” 

Mr. Hotchner gives you a small, and what you know to be rare, smile. “I don’t think he even looked.” 

“I did look!” Jack disagrees, though his disagreement barely has any attitude to it, a credit to his upbringing. 

“You clearly weren’t looking in the right place.” 

“I was too. How would you know, you were sleeping!” 

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Mr. Hotchner says to you. 

You tuck your hands behind your back. “It’s okay, Mr. Hotchner, I believe you. In my classroom we like to say we’re resting our eyes.” 

“Aaron,” he says, as he says whenever you speak to each other, and as you always forget to call him. Not a demand but a suggestion you’d swear to be bordering affectionate. 

You’ve been Jack’s teacher for two months this year, and almost the entire year previously. In the summer when they leave, you’ll find out if you’re moving up a grade with him, but until then, you’ve made the most of such a nice kid, and you aren’t shy to tell that to Aaron. You don’t mind that Jack spends his lunch time with you. He embodies all of the reasons that pushed you to become a teacher in the first place. 

And his father is a good reason to stay. He’s one of the only nice (hot) dads. 

You do worry often that he can read your expression. His lips have quirked into a bemused smile, what’s so funny? He’s terrifying. 

“Aaron,” you rush to say, and fill the silence you’ve made, “It’s nice to see you.” 

“It’s nice to see you, too. You’ll see me on Monday, so you’ll be sick of me by Tuesday.” 

You rock ever so gently on your heels. “You aren’t working.” 

“It’s Jack’s birthday.” 

You nod, pleased. “I know! I know, we already talked about what cupcakes he wants, didn’t we? Everybody’s gonna have rainbow sprinkle, and for a treat we’re going to watch a movie before lunch.” 

“Do you do that for every kid?” 

“I do.” 

“How do you afford it?” He lowers his gaze. “I just mean, it’s expensive to do that for every birthday.” 

“Luckily for me and unluckily for the kids, quite a few of them have birthdays outside of term time. Thirty students is three trays of ten, and that doesn’t usually break the bank, even if things get tight. But… I don’t know, I guess I just have to make room when it does. It’s special to feel special, and,” —you smile, exuberant and a little shy at once, clutching your elbow in your hand— “Jack always makes everybody else feel special. ” 

The boy in question turns into his fathers chest, pleased beyond words. 

Aaron gives you a long, long look. “Thank you,” he says. 

“Oh, you’re welcome.” 

You say goodbye to Aaron and Jack and wish them both a good weekend, which you spend wondering what the pressure of Aaron’s hand would be like on your shoulder, and if you should be ashamed of yourself for thinking about it at all. He seems like he’d give a good hug. You catch yourself picturing him opening a door and ban yourself from thinking of him at all. 

Monday morning, you stand at the door ushering your students inside, and you can’t help beaming when Jack and Aaron arrive. 

“Aw, Jack, where’s your birthday badge?” you ask, fall air nipping your nose. 

“He was feeling too shy,” Aaron says. He’s in casual dress again. Some men should be banned from half-zips, it’s inhumane. 

“You were?” You bend just a bit, hand in your pocket. “Well, I thought you might be, so I brought my badge from home. It’s super shiny, bud. What do you think?” 

You show Jack the badge, It’s My Birthday in silver against a rainbow backdrop. 

Maybe it was silly to bring, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t want to wear one, and maybe he should. He deserves for all his friends to give him some attention, and to have them fight over who gets to sit with him at lunch. 

“We have something for you,” Jack says. 

You stand straight. “You do?” 

Aaron hadn’t been expecting to be the one to give it to you, that much is obvious. He hesitates for a second before he passes you a small brown box, the top of which is made up of four leaves folded into a dome. You have an inkling of what it might me. 

“Thank you… Can I open it now?” you ask. 

“I think you should wait for lunch,” Aaron says. 

You raise your eyebrows but abide by his suggestion, murmuring another thank you as Aaron bends to give Jack a hug. “Have a good day. I’ll be here to pick you up, I promise,” he says.

It’s a great day. The kids are excited for cupcakes and overjoyed to get them before lunch. Not a crumb goes uneaten, and as they all sing for Jack with his borrowed badge, he’s actually happy for the attention. He doesn’t eat with you at lunch, which is a great thing even if you love his company. 

Alone, you fold back the leaves of your mysterious box and smile like an idiot when you confirm what’s inside. A cupcake slightly more sophisticated than rainbow sprinkle spreads icing across the brown carrier, and a business card leans against the other side. 

The front of the card is as you’d expected it to be spelling out Aaron’s contact details from work, and you combust thinking he wants you to call him, but it’s the back that you’d been meant to see. You read it as you fold down the leaves of the cupcake carrier, 

Thirty students, three trays of ten. What does that leave for you? —Aaron. 

Flirt, you think firmly, happily. He’s such a flirt. 

[inkedinshadows]

Where You Belong

Pairing: Azriel × reader

Summary: last part of "A Helping Hand". When Y/N realizes Azriel is her mate, it's only a matter of who will admit it first.

Warnings: language if you really squint, Azzie being a little (just a little, I promise) cocky, but honestly who can blame him

Word count: 4.5k

A/N: here it is. Sorry for the long wait. Hope you like it! 💙

A Helping Hand (part 1), Echoes of the Bond (part 2)

֍֍֍֍֍

Y/N didn't see anyone until dinner.

She spent the day alone, roaming the family library in the House of Wind, sifting through the books until she found one that piqued her interest. From that moment on, she'd been curled up in one of the cushioned armchairs that dotted the room. Occasionally, thoughts of her last conversation with Azriel interrupted her reading, but she did her best to block them out. She didn't want to think about his mate.

Only when her stomach grumbled did she rise from her comfortable position. Placing the book on the table next to her seat, she left the library and headed toward the dining room.

Indistinct chatter was coming from inside, and she quickened her steps, a smile already on her face as she pushed the door open.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to Azriel, standing in a corner with Cassian and Rhysand. But before she could even consider taking a step in their direction, Feyre appeared in front of her.

“Y/N!” Her friend linked their arms to lead her toward the table. “I was just about to come looking for you. Sit next to me.”

Y/N obliged, and everyone slowly took their seats around the table. Though she noticed Lucien's presence seemed to make everyone a bit wary, the atmosphere was lighter with Feyre back with them. Rhys, who was sitting on his mate's other side, looked particularly relaxed.

As food appeared on the empty plates and conversations started around the table, Feyre turned to face her.

“I'm sorry I didn't greet you properly this morning,” she said. “But my mind was… elsewhere.”

Y/N peered over at Rhysand, who was talking to Lucien and Cassian but seemed to be listening to their conversation.

She looked back at Feyre with a smile. “I know, Fey. Don't worry about it. I'm just happy I have my friend back.”

Feyre returned her smile, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I am too. I was worried about you, you know. How are you adjusting to this life?”

Taking a bite of her food, Y/N used the few seconds to weigh how much to tell Feyre. She wouldn't usually hesitate – not with her, never with her – but maybe a family dinner right after she'd come back to the Night Court wasn't the right moment for this sort of talk.

“I struggled at the beginning,” she said finally, avoiding details for the moment. “But Azriel helped a lot, and I'm doing much better now.”

As if mentioning him was enough to summon his attention, she felt his eyes settle on her from the other end of the table. She met his gaze with a smile, and the corner of his lips twitched upwards in response.

“Azriel?” Feyre's surprised tone brought Y/N's mind back to her friend, and the Shadowsinger refocused on his own conversation. Y/N rubbed a little spot on her chest.

“I'm glad he helped,” Feyre continued. “And that you're doing okay.”

Y/N nodded and took another bite of her food, but her thoughts were already drifting back to the spymaster. Now that they were in the same room again, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, and she kept going back to that morning – Azriel’s words about his mate.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

Feyre always had a knack for knowing when something was on her mind. Even when Y/N thought she was concealing her thoughts, the youngest Archeron could pick up on them.

“I was just wondering… how does it feel to have a mate?” Y/N asked, her gaze drifting back to Azriel for a moment before returning to Feyre. “I mean, what kind of bond is it?”

Feyre’s expression softened, her eyes settling on Rhysand, warmth shining in them. As if sensing it, the High Lord turned towards her with a smile that spoke volumes about his feelings for her.

“It’s a bond between souls,” Feyre finally answered. “Like an invisible thread binding two people, a tug toward each other. If two mates accept the bond, then they belong together.”

A tug. Y/N had been feeling a tug toward something for a while now. What if it was toward someone instead?

“Honestly, I hope you'll get to experience it one day,” her friend went on. “It's a connection on a new, deeper level. It's always there, even when you're apart.”

“I hope so too,” she murmured, her hand once more massaging her chest.

There was a pause as they both took a sip of their drinks, the conversation still buzzing around the table. Y/N's thoughts wandered back to Azriel, his quiet presence and the comfort he had provided. There was something more there, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

“Have you ever met Azriel's mate?” she said suddenly, breaking the silence between them.

Feyre's brow furrowed in confusion. “He doesn't have a mate.”

Y/N's fork paused halfway to her mouth. “He told me he did,” she said slowly. Something dangerously close to hope stirred in her chest.

Feyre's frown deepened, and she shook her head slightly. “I had no idea.” She cast a glance at the Shadowsinger. “He never mentioned having a mate. I always assumed he didn’t.”

Y/N's heart raced as she processed the new information. Why would Azriel lie about something like that? She glanced down the table at him, her mind racing with questions.

A wisp of shadow curled around his ear, and his eyes slid toward her. He almost imperceptibly raised an eyebrow, but this time she didn’t meet his gaze and looked down instead.

“I don’t understand,” she murmured, more to herself than to Feyre. “Why would he tell me that?”

Feyre reached out and placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Maybe there's more to it than just that,” she suggested gently. “He’s quite reserved. I’m sure you’ve noticed that too.”

Y/N nodded, her thoughts a whirlwind. She knew Feyre was right. She needed to confront Azriel, to understand why he had lied to her or why he’d told the truth to her only and not to the others.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur, the Inner Circle and Lucien delving into a more serious discussion about war and High Lords, most of which Y/N didn’t really comprehend – even less so when her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Azriel and Feyre's words about the mating bond.

As they finished their meal and began to disperse, Y/N wished everyone goodnight and quickly slipped out of the dining room. She needed to be alone, a moment of quiet to think things through before talking to Azriel.

Because things didn’t really make sense right now.

Either Azriel had lied, or he really did have a mate. But if that was true, why didn’t his friends know? And why would he spend so much time with her and away from his mate?

His mate – the one he’d found just recently, who was as kind and gentle as she was, who he would leave behind every time Y/N needed help.

That last part didn’t sound much like the Azriel she'd gotten to know over the last few weeks, though.

With a sigh, Y/N closed the door to her bedroom and started getting ready for the night. 

Tomorrow, she’d find Azriel. But for now, all she wanted was to turn off her thoughts, if such a thing was even possible.

Sliding under the bedsheets, she tossed and turned for a while, trying to keep her mind blank and fall asleep instead. But every time she thought she was about to enter the realm of dreams, some kind of insect would fly so close to brush her face and she had to bat it away constantly.

After what was probably the fourth time in just as many minutes, she groaned and finally opened her eyes to find the culprit.

It wasn't a fly, like she’d thought.

In the dim moonlight, she could just make out one of Azriel’s shadows hovering right over her nose. She’d gotten so used to their subtle presence in her room that she’d forgotten about it. But that tendril was definitely seeking her attention now, and she watched as it surged forward and gently brushed against her cheek.

Something slid into place inside of her.

Azriel's shadows had been with her since she'd been given this room. They seemed to like her, and judging by Cassian’s reaction that morning, it wasn't common to be favored by the dark companions of the Shadowsinger.

And then there was that tug that Feyre had mentioned – a tug toward each other. She had felt it often during the last three weeks and it always seemed to grow stronger when Azriel was close.

It's always there, even when you're apart. She could feel it now too, like a thrumming presence next to her heart.

What had Azriel said about his mate? That Y/N reminded him of her, that they were a lot alike… and that he'd found her recently.

Just like she had met Azriel only recently.

She jolted upright as realization settled upon her.

But… could it be true? Could it really be that she was the mate Azriel had mentioned? The signs were there, yet he hadn't said anything about it. Not even that morning, when she had blatantly asked if he had one.

Every remnant of doubt and uncertainty faded away when she noticed the rising darkness in the room. From the tiny cracks on the floor and the little gaps under the furniture, shadows were now slithering out of their hiding spots to gather at the foot of her bed, seemingly writhing in what she thought was excitement. The lone tendril that had woken her caressed her cheek once more.

“Alright, alright,” she chuckled, waving it away. “I get it. He’s my mate.”

The solitary strand stilled its movements, and she took the chance to shoot it a warning look, though she couldn’t help the smile on her lips. “Now let me sleep, okay? I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

She was now too tired to go looking for Azriel’s room. She didn’t even know if he was in his room anyway. Besides, this was not a conversation she wanted to have when her mind was a bit sleepy. Better to let the realization fully settle in and deal with it in the morning.

The shadows seemed to understand, because they halted their swirling, and even the stray tendril drew back, returning to the pool of darkness next to her bed.

Y/N lay back down and closed her eyes again. A small smile still graced her lips when she finally fell asleep.

She woke up only a few hours later, her breath gasping and Azriel’s name on her tongue.

A nightmare, nothing more. She tried to calm down, silently repeating it in her head. It was just a nightmare.

But she had to check on Azriel. Her stomach was clutched by an uneasiness that she couldn’t shake. Yet she didn’t move.

It was the middle of the night. Surely Azriel was sleeping by now, and she didn’t want to disturb him, not for something as silly as a nightmare. He’d done enough for her already.

She tried to go back to sleep, to ignore that invisible thread that was pulling at her chest and the thoughts that kept drifting back to Azriel. But every effort seemed useless.

She sat up, running a hand through her hair. The shadows seemed to stir on the floor as if knowing she was considering getting up.

She had no idea where Azriel’s room was. But after realizing they were mates and now the nightmare… she had to see him. It was like a physical need, nudging her to go.

As soon as she rose from her bed, a single wisp of shadow flew from the floor to her, curling around her wrist. She had a feeling she knew exactly which tendril it was.

The bond seemed to pulse in her chest as she headed for the door. But once she was outside, she didn’t know where to go. Nesta and Elain were in the same hallway, but what about Azriel? Maybe he wasn’t even on the same floor, for all she knew.

The bracelet of darkness tugged her toward the left end of the hallway, and she looked down with a frown. It did it again.

“You want me to go in that direction?” she whispered, taking a single, tentative step.

A third tug.

This was a potentially bad idea. She should have stayed in bed. Azriel was no doubt sleeping, and she would only bother him.

Yet her feet moved, and she didn’t fight the shadow as it guided her through the hallways.

~~~~~~

Azriel knew Y/N had left her room the moment she closed the door behind her thanks to his shadows. What he hadn't expected was that she was coming here, yet a few tendrils curled around his ear, whispering the same word over and over.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

A moment later, he heard her soft footsteps down the hallway. They stopped right outside his door.

He waited for her to knock, but when no sound came, he debated whether he should go open the door and let her know he was aware of her presence.

Just as he stood up, three light and quick taps on the wood resonated in the room.

Azriel swallowed. Maybe this could be his chance to tell her about the mating bond.

He walked up to the door, opening it to reveal Y/N, barefoot and clad only in her nightgown. She was fidgeting with her hands and he could bet he heard her hold her breath when she saw him.

“Did I wake you?”

Azriel glanced down at the Illyrian leathers he was still wearing. “No,” he answered with a small smile.

Only at that moment did he realize a shadow was wrapped around her wrist, just like that morning. Knowing it had been caught, the stray tendril flew back to hover around his wings with the others. His dark companions seemed to be as captivated by her as their master was.

Azriel took a better look at her. She was beautiful, even with her unbound hair a bit tousled on one side of her head. That detail, and the fact that she hadn’t bothered wearing slippers, told him she had slept – at least for a while. But judging by her fidgeting and her presence here, something was gnawing at her.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, moving to the side in a silent invite to step in. “Did you have a nightmare?”

She didn't hesitate to walk past him. “Yes.”

Her sweet scent filled his nostrils, clouding his mind so much that he barely heard her answer. She was looking at him now, her brows furrowed.

“I thought you didn't have them anymore,” he finally replied.

“Not usually, but… this one was different.” He didn't miss the tension in her voice, or how she was avoiding his gaze. “It was about you, Azriel.”

His eyes widened. If she was upset about something, if he'd maybe hurt her in her dreams… but she probably wouldn't be looking for him if that was the case, right?

“It was about that day in Hybern,” she went on. “But I wasn't being pushed into the Cauldron. It was…”

When her voice trailed off and she didn't continue, Azriel stepped closer to her and gently brushed her arm. For someone who'd lived for more than five hundred years, he wasn't sure how to act around her. He didn't know if he was allowed to touch her to comfort her, despite the help he'd already offered her multiple times. Things were different now.

“It's okay, Y/N,” he said gently. “You don't need to tell me.”

But she shook her head. “You were dead,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “In the dream, you… you were dead and I couldn't do anything.”

Before he even knew what he was doing, Azriel wrapped her in his arms. He stroked her hair, his shadows joining in and swirling through her locks.

“I'm alright. It was just a nightmare,” he whispered. He felt a sob tear through her body, and for a horrible moment he thought she'd shrink back into herself like weeks ago.

And so Azriel kept murmuring soothing words while he held her close, to prevent her from turning again into a shell of herself or having another panic attack.

Yet when Y/N pulled away just enough to look up at him, her eyes were dry. Azriel could get lost in their depths.

“I know what you are, Az,” she said, and time seemed to slow as his mind came up with all the different possibilities of what she meant.

But what she said after wasn't one of them.

“I know you're my mate.”

Time stopped completely. Azriel froze, his shadows with him, halting their swaying around her.

He seemed to watch in slow motion as she brought up a hand to cup his cheek. As her eyes softened and a smile appeared on her face.

Maybe this was all some kind of dream. Maybe he'd fallen asleep without realizing. But his shadows were whispering to him again.

Real. Real. This is real.

Azriel let himself enjoy it then. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. His hand came up to cradle hers, a small sigh leaving his lips as he relaxed.

“You are my mate.”

How she knew, Azriel had no idea. He knew for a fact his brothers and Amren – the only ones who had figured it out – wouldn't tell her before he could. And if Y/N had pieced it together herself, it still wouldn't matter.

The only thing that mattered was that she was here now, and she didn't seem upset or angry.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you,” he finally replied. When he opened his eyes, she was smiling up at him.

The sight threatened to make him crumble. He wanted to pull her closer and kiss that soft smile.

Y/N just shrugged. “It's alright. I'm not sure I would have understood it if you'd told me sooner.” Her thumb brushed against his cheek before she stepped back, and Azriel reluctantly let go of her hand and mimicked her movement.

“But you could have told me this morning,” she added, her tone amused. “When I asked if you had a mate.”

Azriel ran his fingers through his hair as he offered her a small, nervous smile. “You caught me off guard. It doesn't happen often.”

“Oh?” she chuckled, the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. He even forgot to say something else.

Instead, he reached for the bond he'd kept buried deep down and let it come back to the surface. He gave it a tentative, gentle tug and watched as Y/N tensed and her eyes widened, her hand going to that spot he'd seen her rub multiple times already.

A moment later, he felt her tug back. And knowing she wasn't running away from it, from him, he closed the distance between them once more. His hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back and earning a small gasp in return. The need to kiss her was taking over his senses and he struggled to keep control.

Normally he'd go for it, the fact that Y/N didn't pull away and instead seemed to wait for his next move enough to tell him she wasn't going to reject him. And if she were any other girl, he'd do it. But with her, he needed to be sure. He didn't want to rush anything.

“Do you still think what you said earlier?” he asked in a hushed tone. “That my mate was lucky to have me?”

“I'm only more convinced of it now that I know it's me,” she murmured. Her smile lit up her whole face as she moved even closer. “I'm lucky to have you.”

For the first time in centuries, Azriel was feeling overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by her scent now permeating his room, by their bodies brushing against each other, by the mating bond finally out in the open and not hidden in the depths of his soul.

“No, I'm the lucky one to have you, Y/N.”

Their eyes met again and he was about to ask her if he could kiss her – Cauldron, he might even beg for it – when her gaze dropped to his lips. He waited one heartbeat, two, but when she still hadn't looked up by the third one, it was both the confirmation and permission Azriel needed.

With his hand still cradling the back of her head, he pulled her closer while he leaned down. They met halfway and Azriel’s first thought was that he would gladly stay like this forever.

Her lips were soft and warm, and they parted slightly, allowing his tongue to slip inside. He felt her hands on his chest and his wings rustled quietly behind him, an involuntary reaction to her touch.

But Y/N pulled back, the absence of her lips on his like a sudden emptiness in his heart.

His fingers tightened in her hair and when she moaned softly against his mouth, Azriel knew he was a goner.

Her cheeks had taken on a light shade of pink that made him smile. He was so lost drinking her in that he almost missed the words she whispered.

“Stay with me tonight.”

His smile widened. “You're in my room, Y/N.”

“Right.” She chuckled even as she blushed, the sight endearing. “Then let me stay with you for tonight.”

Azriel tucked her hair behind her ear. “You can stay with me every time you want. Every night, if that's what you wish.” He leaned down to press a tender kiss to her lips. “Wait in bed. I just need to get changed.”

She nodded and stepped back, his hand falling away from her cheek.

As he moved towards his drawer, the shuffle of the sheets brought a smile to his lips. He fought the urge to turn and see her lying in his bed. His mate, in his bed. Something he had almost stopped hoping for, after so many centuries.

Eager to join her, he quickly took off his Illyrian leathers to replace them with his sleeping pants. 

He didn't need his shadows to whisper in his ear to know she was watching him. He paused just as he was reaching for the shirt and lifted his head instead.

“Like what you see?” he asked, a teasing not in his voice.

The only answer he got was a low mumble that he couldn't quite make out, which only made his smile widen. Cauldron, he really wanted to turn around and see her face. He was ready to bet she was blushing.

Deciding against wearing his shirt – definitely not because he was a smug bastard who wanted to see her reaction – he turned and walked towards the bed.

He was rewarded by Y/N quickly looking away, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red as she lay back down.

Azriel chuckled, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. A part of him felt a twinge of guilt, maybe he should have donned the shirt to spare her the embarrassment. But he couldn't deny he enjoyed seeing her flustered.

With a swift movement, he joined her under the bedsheets. “Y/N,” he called gently. “You know you don't have to shy away, right?”

He ran a hand down her spine and felt her shiver through the thin fabric of her nightgown. “You're my mate,” he continued. “You can look as much as you want.”

She scooted over until her back was pressed against his chest. Azriel immediately wrapped her in his arms and relished in the way her body seemed to fold into his, like that's where she belonged.

“Those are dangerous words, Azriel,” she warned. He could hear amusement in her voice and he knew she was smiling.

“Why?”

She intertwined their fingers and, to his greatest shock, brought them up to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss on the back of his hand.

It had been decades since Azriel had learned to accept his hands and his scars, decades since he'd stopped hiding them with gloves or in his pockets. He'd done horrible and unspeakable things with those hands, but to protect his court – his family – he'd do them again. And yet to have Y/N, his mate, openly kissing them so tenderly…

He wasn't sure he was breathing.

His shadows curled around his ear, whispering something about an answer, and he realized Y/N had turned her head to look at him. She was frowning, the expression creating a small crease between her brows that he had never noticed before.

“You didn't hear what I said, did you?”

She only smiled, turning around again. “I said that I might not stop looking then.”

Azriel felt a heat creep up his cheeks. “Sorry,” he murmured.

His arms held her tighter, pulling her closer until there was no space left between their bodies. As he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, he whispered, “You're very beautiful too, Y/N. I've had a hard time not staring at you since the moment I met you.”

With their joined hands resting close to her chest, Azriel could feel her heartbeat increase. Grinning from ear to ear, he waited as she shifted a bit like she was debating whether to turn around in his arms or not. But she eventually settled against him again and murmured a thank you.

Shying away from compliments, then. He would remember that. And he would shower her with compliments until she too believed she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever laid eyes on.

He wanted to start now, to make her turn around and kiss her again till their lips were swollen. Instead, he draped his wing over them, creating a little cocoon of darkness and warmth where only the two of them existed.

“It’s quite late,” he murmured against her neck. “We should sleep.”

 She hummed in agreement. “Goodnight, Azriel.”

“Goodnight.”

He closed his eyes, ready for the long hours it usually took him to fall asleep. It wasn't until he heard her voice again that he realized he was already falling into a peaceful slumber.

“Az?”

“Mh?”

Her voice was a whisper, barely audible even in the silence of the night. “This morning, when Cassian mentioned having the biggest wingspan and you snapped… is that a mate related thing, or just Illyrian?”

He had no idea how she'd come up with such a question at this hour. Smiling at her innocent curiosity, he tried not to let his mind wander into dangerous territory.

“I'll explain another time,” he mumbled. “Go to sleep, Y/N.”

She giggled, the sound like music to his ears. And with his mate in his arms – her scent filling his nose, her hair tickling his neck, her soft body pressed so perfectly against his – he knew he wanted to sleep like this every night.

After centuries of searching, Azriel had finally found the place he belonged.

֍֍֍֍֍

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[awkward-walking-potato]

Hey there! I love the grumpy x sunshine trope for Logan. What if someone has been bothering reader or something happened, and because of it, she’s just not acting like herself and Logan starts picking up on it. He tries to let it go, but it sort of just gets worse and worse, and he becomes really worried for her. So he finally confronts her about, and she has a total breakdown about it- he knows that she’s been upset but not to this extent. So her comforts her and she finally opens up about what’s been going on. That’s kind of all I have, so I’ll leave the rest up to you. I love how you write for Logan, thank you for all the time and dedication you put in. 🫶🏻

When the Sunshine Fades

The Xavier Institute had been bustling with the usual mix of chaos and camaraderie. Students running through the halls, the occasional burst of mutant powers misfiring, and, of course, the ever-present banter between teammates. But through it all, one constant had always been your presence—your sunny disposition that seemed to brighten even the darkest corners of the mansion.

You were the kind of person who could find the silver lining in any situation, always quick with a smile or a word of encouragement. It was one of the things Logan admired most about you. The way you could light up a room with your laughter, the way you saw the good in everyone, even in him—a man who had spent so much of his life battling his inner demons.

But lately, something had changed. The light in your eyes had dimmed, and Logan couldn’t help but notice.

At first, he’d told himself to let it go. Everyone had their off days. Maybe you were just tired, or maybe something minor was weighing on your mind. He wasn’t one to pry, especially since you’d always been so good at bouncing back. But as the days turned into a week, and your usual cheerfulness continued to fade, Logan found himself growing more and more concerned.

You’d stopped laughing as much, your smiles were forced, and there was a heaviness in your eyes that hadn’t been there before. You weren’t spending as much time with the team, opting instead to retreat to your room or find some quiet corner of the mansion where you could be alone. You still tried to keep up appearances, but it was clear that something was wrong.

Logan wasn’t the only one who noticed. A few of the other X-Men had asked him if you were okay, assuming that he would know since the two of you were so close. But Logan didn’t have an answer for them. He didn’t have an answer for himself, either, and that gnawed at him more than he’d like to admit.

Finally, after nearly two weeks of watching you withdraw more and more, Logan couldn’t take it anymore. He’d always been protective of you, but this went beyond that. He was worried—genuinely worried—and he couldn’t stand by and watch you suffer in silence any longer.

It was late in the evening when he found you in the mansion’s library, curled up on a chair with a book you hadn’t even bothered to open. Your eyes were distant, and you looked so small, so fragile, that it tugged at something deep inside him. Logan took a deep breath, steeling himself as he approached you.

“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice as gentle as he could manage.

You looked up, startled by his sudden presence, and tried to muster a smile. But it didn’t reach your eyes. “Hey, Logan.”

He pulled up a chair and sat down across from you, his eyes never leaving your face. “You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

Your smile faltered, and you looked away, focusing on the pattern of the carpet beneath your feet. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, darlin’,” Logan said, his tone a bit firmer now. “You’ve been actin’ different. Withdrawn. And I know somethin’ ain’t right. You’ve barely been yourself for weeks now.”

You swallowed hard, still avoiding his gaze. “I’m fine, Logan. Really. Just... been a little tired, I guess.”

Logan’s jaw tightened. He hated that you were trying to brush this off, trying to pretend like everything was okay when it so clearly wasn’t. “You ain’t fine. I know you too well for that. Talk to me.”

You bit your lip, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. Logan felt his heart clench at the sight. He hadn’t meant to push you this hard, but he couldn’t back off now, not when you were clearly on the verge of breaking.

“Please, sweetheart,” he said, his voice softening again. “Just talk to me.”

That did it. The dam you’d been trying so hard to hold back finally broke, and a choked sob escaped your lips. You covered your face with your hands as the tears began to fall, your shoulders shaking with the force of your emotions.

Logan was out of his chair in an instant, crossing the small space between you in two strides. He knelt down in front of you, his large hands gently pulling yours away from your face. The sight of your tear-streaked cheeks and trembling lips made his chest tighten with a mixture of anger and helplessness.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “It’s okay. I’m here. Just let it out.”

You shook your head, trying to get a grip on yourself, but the floodgates had opened, and there was no stopping it now. “I-I’m sorry,” you managed to choke out between sobs. “I didn’t want to bother you with this... I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Logan’s brow furrowed. “A burden? Darlin’, you could never be a burden. Not to me.”

You took a shaky breath, your hands clinging to his arms as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded. “It’s just... everything’s been so overwhelming. There’s been someone... someone who’s been bothering me, saying things that just… they won’t leave me alone, and I’ve tried to ignore it, but it’s been getting to me. And I don’t know how to handle it anymore, Logan. I’m just so tired.”

Logan’s eyes darkened at your words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Who’s been botherin’ you?”

You shook your head again, fresh tears spilling over. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to drag you into it, but I can’t... I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay when I’m not. I just feel so lost, Logan.”

Logan’s heart ached at the sight of you, so vulnerable and broken. He pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in a protective embrace, his hand cradling the back of your head as he pressed your face against his chest. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I’m so damn sorry.”

You clung to him, the sobs wracking your body as you let everything out—the fear, the frustration, the exhaustion. And Logan held you through it all, his arms a fortress around you, his presence a steady anchor in the storm.

“I shoulda noticed sooner,” he murmured into your hair. “Shoulda done somethin’ before it got this bad. But I’m here now, and I ain’t goin’ anywhere. We’ll figure this out together.”

You nodded weakly, your tears beginning to slow as the weight of his words settled over you. You’d been carrying so much on your own, trying to keep up the appearance of being okay, but now, in Logan’s arms, you finally felt like you could let go.

“I’m scared, Logan,” you whispered, your voice raw with emotion.

Logan tightened his grip on you, his voice low and fierce. “I know, sweetheart. But you don’t have to be scared anymore. I’ll take care of it. Whoever’s been messin’ with you, they’re gonna regret it.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do,” Logan replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. “No one messes with you and gets away with it. Not while I’m around.”

You managed a small, tearful smile at that, the first real smile Logan had seen from you in what felt like forever. “Thank you.”

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You don’t ever have to thank me for lookin’ out for you. You’re too important to me, darlin’. I don’t want you to ever feel like you gotta deal with this crap on your own.”

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hands seeping into your skin, chasing away the lingering cold that had settled in your bones over the past weeks. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Logan.”

“Lucky for you, you don’t gotta find out,” he said, a hint of his usual gruff humor returning to his voice. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the last of your tears drying on your cheeks. “I’m glad.”

Logan gave you a small, reassuring smile before pulling you back into his arms, holding you close. You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you, the strong, sure beat of his heart a comforting rhythm that lulled you into a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in far too long.

For a while, the two of you just stayed like that, wrapped up in each other as the world outside faded away. And in that moment, you knew that no matter what came next, you wouldn’t have to face it alone. You had Logan by your side, and that was enough.

Finally, after what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, Logan pulled back slightly, looking down at you with a tenderness that made your heart ache in the best way.

“Come on,” he said softly, standing up and offering you his hand. “Let’s get you to bed. You need rest, and I’m not leavin’ you alone tonight.”

[synqiri]

YOUR SHITTY TASTE IN MEN.

or, how he weasels you into admitting (and realising) your crush on him.

PAIRING: wanderer x gn!reader

WARNINGS: none.

WORDCOUNT: 1.1K || CONTENT: mild academic rivals, (one sided) enemies to lovers, he lowkey finds you amusing af

NOTES: ngl i picture yn here as an angry little cat

“professor, please. anyone but him.”

you’d do anything not to be paired with wanderer. especially not on a project that would affect your final grade. you’d be doomed with him for a partner, and that is what leads you to this situation — begging your professor to assign you to someone else.

she only sighs, sympathetic, yet unrelenting all the same. “[name], this is exactly why i paired the both of you together. you should learn to sort out your differences with him. besides, no one else would be able to keep up with either of you.”

gods, it is as flattering as it is unhelpful. you know that you are at the top in her class, rivalled by none other than him alone, but he might just hate you enough to fail the project out of sheer spite. maybe you’d throttle him to death before that happened.

“but —”

“my apologies, [name]. the decision is final.”

your expression sours further the moment you step out of the lecture theatre. why did he have to be the first thing you see, of all people?

“all that grovelling, just to get rid of me?” wanderer asks loftily, sauntering up to you. his eyes glitter, smug and amused and utterly infuriating. “and how did that work out for you?”

you roll your eyes. “she said i’m the only one who can stand you, so i’m afraid you’re saddled with me.”

turning on your heel before he can retort, you stride in the direction of the library. might as well get started on the assignment before he begins sending you to an early grave. though he keeps pace with you easily, and you can’t help but notice how he moves as if he is gliding on nothing but air. 

you bicker all the way there, only stopping as you set your things down at the desk you always use — at the far back of the library, a more secluded spot compared to the tables near the entrance. within minutes and a quick round around the place, you have a thick stack of books related to the topic of your project. 

wanderer is already seated, lounging on the cushioned seat lazily. he eyes the books, smirking. “to think you still can’t beat me, even after all that effort.”

will he ever shut up about that? 98% was hardly any different from 97% — and it wasn't as if he had a perfect score either.

“some of us have social lives to maintain — something you obviously don't.” you say this in a sing-song tone, deliberately taking the seat next to his. personal space be damned, you want a cushion seat too.

you take pride in the way he clicks his tongue and shuffles aside to make way. he scoffs. “what would somebody like you know about that? dinners and parties are hardly worth my time.”

you can't help but burst into laughter. his arrogance is stupidly ridiculous.

“just admit you have no friends.”

he sniffs imperiously, and for all the smartass comments he usually has, he doesn't deign to reply. cracking open the first book within reach, he begins to flip through its contents. you’re thankful that at least, he is taking the assignment seriously. 

you cannot deny that as irritating as he is, he is incredibly good looking. you watch the indigo of his hair as it falls in front of his eyes, the flutter in his lashes and the dainty bridge of his nose. his lips are parted slightly, his brows relaxed as he reads — and you find you cannot bring yourself to hate him, not in that very moment.

“are you done staring yet, or will i have to finish your work for you?”

scowling, you flick open a book of your own. now you remember why you hate his guts. “as if i even want you in my line of sight.”

“it’s amusing how much you despise me,” he says casually, flashing you a crooked smile. he chuckles, and gods, just the sound of it makes your blood boil. “of all i have done, i don’t recall ever doing anything to slight you.”

you stop short at that. why do you hate him? now that you were forced to really think about it — you have absolutely zero idea. but that couldn’t be right. how could you simply wake up one day and decide to hate someone?

well, whatever the case, you’re far too stubborn and you’re in way too deep to quit now.

“first of all, i hate your stupid smirk and the dumb drawl you talk with — do you even hear yourself? not to mention, the swagger in your walk and your smug gloating every single time you score better than i do. you walk like you’re floating. you sit in trees. you’re completely insufferable. just the mere thought of you makes me want to —”

hastily, you pull out your notebook and tear off a blank page. 

you crush it.

“this is your skull, by the way,” you say, a sickly sweet grin on your face. you chuck the paper ball into his lap. “is that explanation detailed enough or do you need more?”

and of everything that could’ve possibly happened, you’d never expect that he’d laugh. it’s sharp and disbelieving and he sounds as if he hasn’t laughed in years. he raises an eyebrow, smirking.

“how ridiculous. you claim to hate me so desperately and yet all i see is a fool with a childish crush.”

“have you gone senile? why would i —” you stare at him, flabbergasted. the notion of having a crush on someone like him is so utterly ridiculous you’re struck speechless. you can hear your heart pounding in your ears, and feel the twist of disgust in your gut.

a crush was something good. someone you couldn’t keep your eyes off, someone you couldn’t stop thinking about. a crush is someone who caused ‘butterflies’ in your stomach and a racing heart and he certainly did not. wanderer is simply someone so flamboyant and dramatic and attention-grabbing he made your blood boil, someone so infuriating just the thought of him during late night study sessions motivated you to do better and beat him, just to wipe the smirk off his face, someone —

all the fight you have goes out of you, as quickly as extinguishing a candle flame.

“oh.”

then, you blink rapidly, clearing away the fog of dizzying clarity that realisation had made. you cringe, bringing up a hand to your mouth. 

“oh gods,” you murmur. your entire body burns.

he scoffs, head cocked to the side, a self satisfied grin on his face. he knows. “what? don’t tell me you’ve got some other grand confession to make?”

well, you’ve definitely got one now. letting your hand fall back to your sides, you look him dead in the eye.

“i have a shitty taste in men.”

[jarofstyles]

Flower 3

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Warnings - talk of kink, mega sexual tension, daddy kink if you squint really hard hehe

Her head was still dizzy even after sitting in the front seat and letting him out the bags in the back. She did her job as good passenger and placed the coffees in each cup holder, but she was spinning. Her hand still tingling and warm from how he held it through the parking lot like it was common practice, like he was her boyfriend. 

Would he want to be?

He’d already said he didn’t do hook ups. Gia had pointed out that he wasn’t normal around her and Sarah had agreed. Fuck, he just spent over two hundred on her and didn’t bat an eye. Maybe he did, and maybe she was itching to find out what sort of questions he’d want to ask. 

Weirdly, she wanted him to cross lines. He was always so polite and sweet, despite his dirty jokes at times when he was tipsy. With her, he was usually the poster child of a gentleman. He took care of her and did all sort of sweet things to her, leaving no question about if he cared about her or not. . The words he had said on the car ride here about a guy being sweet out in public and a freak in the sheets echoed around her head as he climbed into his seat, making the thoughts start to dissipate. 

“Aren’t you jus’ the best little passenger princess.” He snickered, putting the keys into the ignition. Her eyes tried to ignore the way the little smirk on his face bade her stomach buzz, but it was a hard thing to look past.

“I could have spit in your coffee. You never know.” Her tease was met by him picking up the cup, looking her dead in the eye as he took a sip. Oh. Well then. “You sicko.” 

“Maybe.” He shrugged his seatbelt on after his little display. “But turning the radio on doesn’t mean you are safe from my questions.” 

“I’m not trying to hide from them! I just don’t like awkward silences and I’ve no clue what you’re gonna ask me so I was making sure we weren’t in danger of one.”she sniffed, pointing her nose up a bit. It was a bit of an act considering she was, indeed, trying to hide a little bit. In fact, she was incredible anxious to know what he was wondering about. “Go on and hit me with one.” 

“Alright. When did you start reading those types of books?” 

“Those types.” She scoffed at the phrasing. It was a relatively tame question with a not so savory answer. “Make me sound like it’s something crazy. But the answer is way too young. Probably 14, 15. I checked one out at the library. To be fair, the first time I didn’t realize it had anything like that in it. I just liked the cover and it seemed nice. One BDSM adjacent book and unsupervised internet access search later and I was finding out all sorts of phrases I didn’t need to know.” It was hard to say if she regretted it now, but she did think it was a little early for that. Then again, most guys her age then were doing their own exploring so it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. 

“Hm. Interesting… did you ever get caught with one of them at that age? I’d imagine your parents wouldn’t love that.” No, they most certainly would not. 

“Thank god, no. It would have been mortifying. Now I know that my mother has her own little stash with the shirtless guys and the historical romances though, so it wouldn’t have been like she had a leg to stand on anyways.” That was something she was still thankful for. “Did you ever get caught watching or looking at something?”

From the wince on his face, he absolutely did. “Yeah. It’s just as bad as you think it is. It was my dad, which is only marginally better than it being my mother, but he didn’t seem very phased. I think I was more embarrassed than he was. He never brought it up, but I remembered to lock the door each and every time after that.”

“Oh, that’s rough.” Y/N hissed in sympathy. “My parents worked a lot so it was easy for me to just explore things I shouldn’t have back then. Since you’re older than me, was it online or the magazines?” She was teasing, but he rolled his eyes. 

“Magazine, actually. I’m not that much older.” Five years, but it was enough to make a difference in how they grew up. “Don’t tease me. I see the age gap shit you’re reading.”

“It’s just fun and games.” She assured, brushing her hand over his shoulder playfully. Again, initiating touches. “Besides, I do like an older man so I’m not gonna make too much fun. Considering you did see the books I grabbed.”

He had been very interested in them, it seemed. Interested enough to hover and let her body feel his heat against her back, the burn still there if she let herself think about it too long.

“Yeah, actually I was gonna ask- which one are you the most excited to read?” It was a nice question, middle of the line- but she had a feeling he was trying to gage something.

“Hm. Reaper, that’s the biker club bad boy protecting her from a stalker one, or the Highest bidder. I’ve heard so much about both of them. I know the smut is good in Reaper because I’ve read snippets, but the jury is still out on the second one.”  They had both come highly recommended so she was excited to see if they were going to live up to her expectations. “I do like a good dark romance. It’s kinda hard to explain to people because some things you can enjoy as a fantasy but know in reality it isn’t really ethical, but they won’t get that.”

“I do get it, actually.” He nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. “S’kinda like if you roleplay in bed or something. No one thinks you should actually be in a student professor relationship, but the premise of it is hot. A lot of it is like… power balances, kinda.” 

The ease Harry had of understanding sort of took her off guard. Y/N knew he was intelligent and had spent plenty of time with him to know that was the truth, but a lot of people she knew didn’t quite understand the layers there was to it. 

“Yeah, actually. It is a little similar to roleplay, I hadn’t thought too much about that as a comparison.” Now she definitely would. However… the fact that he had brought it up raised a whole new crop of questions… along with the fact she could see a slight shift in his body when she mentioned it. “Is that something you’re into, then? Roleplaying?” 

Her eyes watched as he tugged on his lip, using his one hand to steer the wheel while the other seemed to be self soothing a little bit. His forearm looked particularly good in this light, the veins standing out slightly as he squeezed over the leather. 

“Mm, outed myself a little with that one didn’t I?”

“A bit.” She giggled, crossing her legs. The question remained on what it was that he liked to roleplay? Was it the teacher thing? Nurse? Doctor? Something more risky? Now that she’d allowed her brain to entertain the not so safe for work thoughts about the man, it was difficult to filter them.

“I do enjoy it, yeah. It’s fun. It doesn’t need to be crazy or anything, but it’s fun to spice things up. I haven’t done a ton of it but it is an interest of mine. I feel like you can explore things with it being safe and being with someone you actually trust, so it’s easier to actually enjoy it.”

The explanation made perfect sense. Partially she was relieved that he seemed so intelligent when it came to sex, considering…. 

“Safety is big. One time a guy decided to choke me but he didn’t know how to properly do it.” She winced at the memory. “Bruised my neck. He felt really bad afterwards but it was obvious he hadn’t done any sort of real research into it and it was never discussed beforehand. Do I think it’s hot? Yeah, but not when it feels like someone’s about to crush my windpipe.” 

“Christ.” Harry sighed, exasperated at the story. It looked like he genuinely was astounded by how bad the guys she had been with had behaved. “I feel like that’s kink 101, innit? You learn how to spank and choke without causing the real damage. Fuck, M’sorry that happened to you. Did it make it hard to enjoy it again?” 

“For a little while, yeah. Like you said before, hookups aren’t really my thing anymore either but when I was more into the scene I made sure they either knew how to do it or didn’t do it at all. Sucks, considering it can make you feel ten times better.” It depended on the person for sure, but for her? The head rush made it so much better when she came. 

“Yeah, I can only imagine. I’ve never really had a horror story like that for me. Anyone I’ve been with knew how to do it and I figured it out early on, but I did have one girl who tore up my back really bad. Not in the sexy way with marks for a few days, but one got infected and it was a whole thing. I like pain, but not something that’s gonna actively harm me later. I don’t think she meant to do it either but sometimes those nails are sharp.” 

Y/N squirmed slightly in her seat as he let out that little bit of information that she clung to. Humidity between her thighs wasn’t exactly something she had planned for today but it seemed like Harry had a manual on how to make her squirm. “First, I’m sorry that happened to you too. I feel like you’ll be able to know you’re doing too much and it shouldn’t ever be tearing up actual skin- unless you’re into that but obviously it wasn’t for you.” She winced, knowing it must have been a bitch to take care of. No one could properly do much for a back thing on their own. The whole reach around thing- a mess. “You can tell me to fuck off this time, but are you into both? The choking, then being choked too?” There was no better way to ask it without being direct, even if it made her feel a little weird to say. 

In the drivers seat, he bit his lip to stifle a grin before sneaking a look at her. “What? You think you’re the only one who should have that sorta fun?” Relieving the restraint, he let himself smile at her before his eyes took the road again. “I do, yeah. Both. It just feels good, doesn’t it? The head rush sort of thing. It’s intimate if you do it right. For either person, it can feel like… I dunno, like you’re theirs and they’re mine in that aspect. If it’s done right, it can be the thing to push you over the edge. Trusting someone with their hand around one of your most vulnerable points, it’s a bit thrilling- intimate.” 

Y/N knew Harry had some experience, knew he would probably be good in bed just in how he handled her in general. He was attentive and sweet, checking in with her, but unafraid to do what he wanted. He’s dragged her into his lap and rested his chin on her shoulder, easy to ask her for a cuddle and to play with her hair- but he’s been respectful about the whole thing. Part of her wishes maybe he’d maybe be a little disrespectful at this point. 

There was no doubt in her mind that Harry knew how to fuck. Just from these conversations alone, she knew he could handle himself. But knowing he was pretty dirty, the knowledge of him liking choking on both fronts, it made her feel hot under her collar. “Mm. Nice to know.” 

The response hadn’t been though through, because there were definitely connotations to that- but she let the words tumble out of her mouth without thinking. Her eyes widened as she looked down at her lap, going to open her mouth to respond something else, but the man beat her to it. As usual. 

“Is it?” He hummed lightly. “I’m glad you find it amusing.” 

“I mean, it is.” She had already dug herself a hole. “I just always thought it would be you doing the choking, I never considered the other way around”. 

“You’ve thought about it before, huh?” The smirk was audible in his voice, making her cheeks burn. God damn it all and her slip ups. Harry made her flustered and nervous rolled into a slightly bold ball of dangerous curiosity. 

There were a few ways she could’ve gone about it. Denial was the biggest one, but she’d already gone this far. Didn’t she want to push past the friendship boundary? The way her throat felt tight with him so close behind her at the bookshop while he asked her about her books, how she’d placed his hand on her inner thigh for him when they were out last night, she wanted to go further past the established boundaries. 

“A few times.” 

Her reply was breezy, though she certainly didn’t feel it. The swirling anticipation was bubbling in her tummy, a fluttering bundle of nerves expanding heat through her body. The atmosphere in the truck had been a little tight before, but it had been slowly morphing into a sexually tense mess. 

“Mmm. Nice to know.” Mirroring her prior response, she chanced a look at him. One hand still on the steering wheel, vein still making an appearance in his forearm making an appearance from the sunlight glazing inside the truck. But this time, his stubbled chin dipped into a dimple, a light smirk coating his lips and he was rubbing his hand over his denim covered thigh. His hands, god his fucking hands. They were sexy, sexier than she knew a man’s hands could be. He worked with them, so sometimes he had a few cuts or bruises on them, but he kept his nails trimmed and they were clean most of the time she saw them. The cross tattoo stuck out against his skin, tucked between his thumb and index finger. 

Impulse control didn’t exist as her finger reached out to trace said ink, running the tip of her nail over the symbol. “I dunno if I ever told you how much I like your tattoos but- I do.” She admitted lightly. “I love tattoos. I’ve always wanted to get some but I’ve been afraid.” 

Harry cleared his throat, stopping at the light to look down at her finger running back and forth on the top of his hand. The nail lightly running over the black ink on his sensitive skin, her eyes taking in the same thing. There was no move to remove his hand, letting it stay still as she continued the hypnotic movement and allowed her eyes to move up to his face. 

“Yeah?” His voice was slightly hoarse, showing that she did indeed have some effect on her. The confidence was building as the car ride went on, each little confirmation that he had affections over her making it easier for her to feel the motivation to keep going. Keep poking and prodding to see what would get him to snap. “It’s uh, it’s like…” The satisfaction of making him lose his train of thought had her a little drunk with power, moving her fingertips to his ring to twist it around. “It’s not that bad, for me. I like pain, but it’s like… irritating, maybe. There’s areas you should go for a first time, nowhere directly over bone. My sternum hurt but like… yeah. S’not that bad. I’ll take you to my artist if you want.” 

“Would you?” Y/N wasn’t stupid. She knew her cadence, the sweet way she said it would elicit a specific type of reaction from him, but that’s the point. “That would be so sweet of you, H. Maybe I’ll take you up on that. I think…” The trail of her fing moved up and down his hand and towards his wrist. “You do a lot for me, you know? You’re so kind and helpful, you help me out at my places and I think maybe we don’t hang out outside of that as much as we should. Do you know what I mean?” 

“I agree.” He nodded along to her statement. “Well- I hope you know I don’t mind helping you or anything, cause I don’t. I really like doing things for you. It feels nice.” That could be a loaded statement if she thought about it too long. Harry powered through it though. “But I would love t’hang out with you more individually. I know what you’re sayin’. S’a little annoying when we go out and people interrupt our conversations.”

Y/N giggled at that because, well, they probably shouldn’t be having those conversations of philosophy at the bar and then get annoyed the friends they came with interrupted them, but it seemed like Harry didn’t really like sharing her attention much as it was. “I agree. So rude.” It was obvious she was teasing him a little, squeezing him lightly before her attention was caught by him turning into the car park. “Oh, shit. We’re here already?” 

Part of her was sad because the sexual tension was so delicious and she had been a little hopeful he’d snap, but she really was hungry. 

“Yeah, but it’s okay. We can keep talking inside, then I’ll bring you home.” There was another pause as she could see him trying to figure out how to say something else. “Uh, or if you wanted, you can come over and swim for a bit? You left your swimsuit there the last time I had the cookout and I’ve been meaning to give it back.”

Y/N felt herself resist the urge to squeeze her thighs together. There was that preexisting knowing that if she went over to his place there was a very little chance they’d actually go swimming. It was hard not to get on her knees and nudge his prick right into her mouth even in the car, but maybe this was what edging was like. “Sure! Everytime we hang out at my house you find something to do.” She raised an accusatory eyebrow at the man. “Something to fix. Maybe I want all the attention for once.”

“Oh yeah?” He met her eye with a brow raise, making her realize she had accidentally been suggestive… but fuck it. 

“Yep.” She popped the last letter of the word before opening her car door and slipping out. “Let’s go! I’m hungry!”

——

The tension wasn’t exclusive to the car.

It didn’t break when they walked in, it didn’t break when they sat down to order and it didn’t break as they ate. If anything, Y/N was being a tease for one of the first times in her life. Brushing her foot over his leg, keeping her eyes on the menu when they browsed it, sucking some of the chocolate from her milkshake from her fingers, bumping their feet together, it was thrilling. 

Harry’s eyes were dark, almost constantly on her. Y/N could feel his stare when she looked away, either to her food or when she had walked to the restroom to refresh herself. Her poor panties were completely useless now, but taking them off would do her no good. There was no doubt that this whole trip together had been working her up, but Harry had no problem in making it worse. 

After insisting on paying the full bill, Y/N walked a little bit ahead of him to try to get to his truck- only to be stopped by a hand on the back of her neck. Firm and controlling, he slowed her down to his pace. “I told you, I like t’open the door for you. So stop bein’ a brat because I didn’t let you pay and just say thank you.” 

And, oh- fuck. Y/N could have whimpered from the way he talked to her, rounded eyes looking up at his with her lip poking out slightly. His eyes were a darker shade of green and his jaw set in a way she hadn’t seen before. Had she been moving her hips a little more to see what he’d do? Yeah, a little. But it had to be a culmination of the fact that she’d been working him up all day and purposely acted up to see his reaction. 

“Sorry, daddy.” The apology held some sarcasm as they approached the truck. “Didn’t know I had to- oh!” Y/N choked out a gasp as she felt his hand release her neck, instead twirling her hair around his fist and stopping her straight. Her breathing hitched as she felt his lips come closer to her ear, the closeness of the man that had tormenting her poor body all day without even touching her cunt making her shiver. 

“Don’t call me that unless you want to be bent over my fuckin’ lap. Lots of attitude today from you, baby.” Baby? Oh, shit. The threat, the heat of his words, the grip, all of it had her knees feeling weak. “You’ve been a goddamn tease all day and I’ve been playing nice, so unless you want t’see my already thin fucking patience snap, I suggest you behave for me. Yeah?” The girl took too long to answer, apparently, because he tugged on her hair again to make it sting a little bit. “Asked you a question.” 

“Y-Yeah. I can.” Her voice weakened by the shock and pure arousal, she couldn’t form more than that as he unwound her hair from his fist, demeanor changing instantly with a soft kiss to her cheek. 

“There we go. Amazing!” He lightened up, opening the car door for her. “Wanted to hear that story about your neighbor and their Chihuahua, so why don’t you tell me that on the way to my place?” 

Y/N didn’t know how he switched to easily, how he wasn’t shaky and pressing her against the bench of his truck to show her exactly how impatient he could be, but she assumed he just had more control than she did. There was no more questioning in the grand investigation on if Harry was interested in her or not. It was safe to assume he was, and she was going to use every bit of that confidence to her advantage when they got back to his place. 

She’d behave for now. Let him help her into the car and tell him the story of the yappy thing that liked to eat baby carrots from her hand, be a good girl until they got to his house and the door was closed behind them. After that, though? All bets were off. 

——-

Harry’s house was a lot more rustic than hers was. 

It resembled a log cabin which really did attest to his whole lumberjack appeal. Contractor, wore flannels and tee shirts, his hair was a bit unkempt sometimes and he had that facial hair he grew out and shaved whenever it felt right. The wraparound porch was something she was eternally jealous of, along with the huge stone fireplace and step down living room. He had impeccable hardwood floors and an open concept bottom floor, skylights in the den and a back deck with a view of the mountains that would make anyone jealous. His pool was built into the hillside, his deck housing a jacuzzi and lots of seating as it sprawled down the length of his house. 

What was even better was knowing he’d put most of the grunt work into it. He bought the house and remodeled the whole thing, added onto it, renovated every nook and cranny while keeping the integrity of it. He worked with his hands and it was one of the sexiest things about him, she found, and that itself had her clenching her thighs as he opened the front door with her bags of books hanging off his arm. 

They were not light but he carried them like it was a bag of feathers. Another thing that made her feel out of her mind with hormones. 

Her brain hadn’t been able to stop repeating the way he had reacted to her playfully calling him daddy, how he had helped himself to her hair and took control of her. How he’d been sweet with her after, giving her cheek a chaste kiss before helping her into the car and listening intently to the story of the neighbor and her dog before letting the music turn up and them sit in their own silence. 

She wondered if he had been thinking about it too. 

Once the door was open she was happy to follow him inside, the smell of lemon hitting her in surprise. Usually it smelled like pine and something a little more musky. Like he could read her mind, he placed the bags on the foyer bench as he toed off his boots. “Had the housekeeper come by earlier today, it’s the cleaning stuff.”

“Housekeeper?” Y/N blinked a few times. “Since when?”

“Since 3 months ago. It’s twice a week, a woman comes by to clean the house for me. I do the normal upkeep but m’usually busy, y’know? Don’t have a lot of time to do the deep clean- and if I’m honest, I’ve got no desire to.” He laughed, hanging up the over shirt he brought in from the truck over the coatrack. 

“Ah. I don’t blame you. That’s the only thing I find chenging about having my own place.”

She could technically afford a housekeeper but it wasn’t something she needed. “I kinda like doing deep cleans. I do them on Sundays and get everything ready the week. If I had your place I’d be excited for it. It’s so beautiful in here.” The compliment was an understatement. If she could have any place, it would be this one. 

Sure the long driveway was probably a little scary at night and being in the woods would take a little more getting used to, but she’d seen the sunset from his deck. It was breathtaking. 

“Well, you’re welcome to do that whenever you want.” He teased, taking the keys from his pocket and putting them on the hook. One of his toolboxes sat on the floor next to the shoe rack, slightly open. It was just so… Harry of him. “Can I get you something to drink?” 

“No, I’m okay.” She shook her head, looking back up at him. His broad shoulders and his pretty eyes, arms crossed over his chest as he looked right back down at her. It was easy for the heat to come back between them as she took a step forward, reminding herself it was the time to be brave. Her second heartbeat between her thighs was nearly demanding it of her. “I wanted to ask… what was that all about? In the parking lot?” 

Harry winced slightly, looking away from her as a blush covered his cheeks. Not the reaction she’d expected, but it was interesting nonetheless. “I… that was out of line of me. I shouldn’t have touched you like that. I’m really sorry, Flower. It was inappropriate and I don’t-“ his eyes went back up as her hands covered his forearms, lightly tugging to get his crossed arms to drop. 

“Harry…” she sighed. “Why are you apologizing? Hm?” It was her turn to get into his personal space, stepping into his form and running her hands up his arms.

Those built, inked, perfect arms that reminded her just how strong they were all the fucking time. Her hands clasped together behind his neck, allowing herself to lean into his body as she swallowed her pride and gave herself permission to go for it. To just fucking do it. “I didn’t complain, did I? Didn’t tell you I was uncomfortable?”

“No…” he said slowly, hands frozen by his sides as he looked down at her like he was slightly confused. Almost like he didn’t believe it. 

“I wasn’t uncomfortable. I looked like that because when you grabbed my hair and spoke to me like that… it let me know what kind of man you are.” 

“And what kind of man do you think I am?” His voice dropped, eyes hooking on to hers as his hands slowly dropped to her hips. The grip was light, curious, but his palms were warm and large and fucking perfect on her body. 

“I think you’re the type of man who can fuck me right. You’re so sweet all the time, H. So nice t’me, you make me feel safe and appreciated and beautiful… you always compliment me and refill my drinks. But I didn’t realize you don’t treat the other girls like me. You don’t grab them and put them in your lap. You don’t kiss their necks. You only do that to me.” It was a relief to know that much.  “And I’ve been a little oblivious to the fact you’ve been trying to touch me differently, but I think that’s enough of that. You liked to hear about my books, paid for them, paid for my lunch… kinda acting like a sugar daddy today, hm?” Her hair fell over her shoulders as she arched her head back, the firm wall of a man keeping her up as she did so. 

“I didn’t do it for you to touch me, Y/N- I promise.” He assured quickly, which was sweet. She already knew it though. 

“I know you didn’t. You did it because you’re a provider. You help me in so many ways, you’re the best man I’ve ever met. You’d do it for me over and over again, even if I didn’t catch on because you’re just good. So fucking good to me, and today….” Biting down lightly on her lip, she let out a quiet groan. “Today you drove me crazy. Kept touching me lightly and didn’t press too much, gave me all the answers I wanted and were so respectful about my own. It just let me know that it wasn’t stupid of me to like you. You’re the type of man who can take care of me. Aren’t you?” 

The question was answered with a low groan and his mouth falling on hers. Full and soft, he caught her lips with his own and exhaled against her as he hummed. Fucking finally.  Pulling apart with a soft click, he let out a laugh of disbelief. He couldn’t believe he was kissing her, that she was saying all of this- and neither could she. “If you let me, I will. I’ll take care of every-fuckin-thing you could ever want, baby. You’ve been driving me crazy since we first met, and I was patient but… you’re right.” Another kiss melted her, the grip on her hips not so gentle anymore. “I am a provider. So let me provide you with the pleasure I know you need.”

[the-modern-typewriter]

The Blue Key

On her first night in her new home, after a lavish dessert of strawberry cheesecake and cream, her new husband handed her a clinking set of keys across the dining room table.

“You can go anywhere in the house,” her husband told her, “except the basement.”

He showed her the key to the basement. It was midnight blue.

“Why? Is the basement where you keep the bodies?” she asked, with half a smile.

He didn’t smile back. “Do you promise me?”

She studied him carefully, feeling the weight of the basement key in her hand.

There were many keys to the house - hefty ornate keys for their front and back doors, a pretty gold one for their bedroom, a dozen little silver and brass ones for any other lock in the house that she might come across. Windows and cabinets and the like.

The basement key was almost insubstantial against her palm. Negligible. The sort of key that was easily lost, that looked like it might belong to a doll house more than a proper estate.

She couldn’t read his expression.

“You can’t tell me what’s in there?”

“I will know if you open the door,” he said, “and everything that we are will end.”

She laughed again, uncertainly, because the words were surely absurd and certainly not like him. He could have simply told her it was dangerous and so best avoided, or not given her the key to the basement in the first place. She doubted she would have given it all that much thought among all the other rooms.

Yet, his words instead piqued curiosity.

Once again, he did not smile. He stared at her solemnly, with a hint of something haunted that she had only caught flickers of during their courtship.

The laughter died in her throat.

He had been like something from a fairy tale from the moment they met; Prince Charming to pluck her out of the ashes of her drab life, even if she knew he had been married before. Everyone knew. Just as none of them had expected him to pick her. She had no experience in the running of manor houses, and no especially outstanding beauty nor fortune of her own to make up for that fault. In short, she was nothing like his first wife.

But, she had made him laugh, and she had liked him. God, how she had liked him – and liked him still – with such blushing ferocity that it almost made her dizzy.

Her new home was enormous, and beautiful, and filled with the kind of impossible luxuries that she had never even dared to dream of having. It was filled with him. She was nothing, and nobody, and he had given her the keys to be something and somebody else. Someone better. What was one small forbidden key against all that?

She knew the preciousness of privacy. Sometimes a secret could be the only thing that was really yours.

“Okay.” She bit her lip, and started to unhook the key from the ring. “Would you like it back, then? Just to be sure.”

He recoiled as if she’d drawn a knife on him and shook his head.

“Keep it,” he rasped. “Keep it safe. Keep it locked. Let it be forgotten.”

But from that moment on, though, she never really forgot about the blue key for a moment.

***

The library was probably her favourite room in her new home. It was astonishing to be able to have an actual personal library, stocked from soft-carpet and gleaming hardwood floor to cavernous ceiling with walls upon walls of books of every kind. The orphanage had maybe three books, worn and ancient, each crumbling a little more with every reading.

There were lots of stories in her husband’s books about girls with keys, girls with curiosity, heroes with something they were not supposed to look at under the pain of death or something worse.

Psyche with Eros, who was told without explanation not to look upon her perfect and mysterious host, for there could be no love without trust.

Orpheus, forbidden to glance back at his love, lest he lose her for good.

Pandora, with her strange once unopened box of evils and hope, told it was hers.

Eve, with her curiosity, with her knowledge, lured into plucking that shining forbidden fruit.

Bluebeard too, of course, with his many murdered wives, all told not to seek out their bloody predecessors behind his secret door, because – why?

Because it was a game of female obedience? Because it gave a predator an excuse to do what he did best, when he knew from the first instance that his victims would have to know? He chose them, after all. And why did they look, those wives, against all warning?

Because the uncertainty was unbearable? Because it was their home too? Because they loved the man they married and wanted to know everything there was to know of him? Maybe they wanted to save him. It was never cruelty.

The two of them were happy, her husband and her, as blissful as newlyweds were want to be.

In the evenings they would cuddle before the roaring fires, night caressing the windows, and he would read aloud from his favourite passages or play music. In the days he would work, or leave on some business or other, and she would wander the labyrinthian corridors alone and explore the many treasures tucked away behind his many locked doors.

The library could have lasted her years, but she found a room with a ceiling made of magnifying glass by which to observe the stars, a swimming pool built into the rock beneath the entrance hall, a lush garden bursting with colour that she could tend to in the sunshine.

There were servants to take care of the day-to-day running of the building, and so he did not seem to desire any particular purpose of her except to be his wife. Except for her to live in his home, in their home, and enjoy his easy company and the gifts he gave her. She found ways to keep busy. To contribute.

Thus, it took her many months to walk down towards the basement, to first look upon the door that she was not allowed to open. Spring had turned to the first icy breaths of winter.

The door was painted the same midnight blue as the key, and immaculate in condition. The lock was tiny. A dark slither, a crack, in something otherwise quite lovely.

She pressed her hand against the door and the wood was warm compared to the cool, slightly stale, underground air that filled her chest.

She dropped a hand into her pocket, fingers closing unerringly around the blue key. She tried not to touch it, not to think about it, but she had come to know it instantly by shape and feel alone. It was simply so odd to have a key so small. She had half expected the door would be in miniature too.

How could he possibly know, if she opened it? In some tales it was magic. The key would betray her. He would know by seeing it. But her husband did not want to look upon the key, he had never even mentioned it once after their first dinner.

What then was in the basement? Something so terrible that she could no longer love him? Or perhaps it was empty. Perhaps it was structurally unsound. Perhaps it was simply a test on if she would allow him that one thing that was his and his only.

She leaned down, and pressed her eye to the keyhole with a hammering heart. She didn’t know what she expected to see inside, exactly – a skeleton, or some ghoul staring back at her, or some hidden vault even. There was only darkness. Nothing to see. She straightened again, unsure if the painful feeling in her lungs was breathless relief or airless disappointment.

She walked back up the stairs.

She turned over the pages of stories in the library, and turned the key over and over in her palm, and wondered which of those many tales she was in.

***

“I think,” she said one night, as they lay in bed. “That it bothers me more that you will not tell me, than anything that could possibly be in the basement.”

He stiffened on the mattress next to her.

“Is there something I could do,” she rolled onto her side to face him, “so that you would know you could trust me with the truth?”

His expression was half-hidden in the dim light, his body made unfamiliar by slashes of moonshine slicing through the curtains. His blue eyes were open, staring up, away from her.

“You promised me that you would not dwell on the door.”

“No.” She reached out, tracing her fingers gently along the curve of his jaw, coaxing him to meet her searching gaze. “I promised I wouldn’t open it. There’s a difference.”

He snorted, but tipped his head towards her hand, planting a kiss to her knuckles.

“Can you at least narrow down the possibilities?” She pressed into the silence, because kisses were sweet but they were not an answer. “Is it something I shouldn’t see? That you don’t want me to see? Something that – I don’t know – can’t be let out? Are you the secret guardian of a nightmare world?” She attempted another smile, but it wobbled shaky. “Just give me something, and I’ll leave it alone. I just want to know. I need to know. Whatever it is – whatever it could possibly be – you don’t have to carry it alone. We’re supposed to be a team. That’s what marriage is.”

“Is my word not enough for you?” He sounded tired. “Is everything I have given you not enough?”

She scrunched up her nose at him. “You’d be happily blind, if it were you?”

“Ignorance can be bliss.”

“If you wanted me ignorant, why tell me about the key in the first place? You know me.”

They’d met on account of her curiosity, of her straying to places that she wasn’t supposed to be. He’d been visiting the library of one of the great colleges, reserved for great men like him, and she’d snuck in aching for a glimpse of the world.

Her husband said nothing.

“When you first gave me the key…” She swallowed. “You looked scared.” Her fingers, which had often brushed his in the library stacks once upon a time, grazed his pulse. It was racing. “I would fight monsters for you. Even if you’re the monster.”

As the silence stretched, she thought he might say nothing again, until the silence had grown so large that they might never reach each other across the abyss of it.

“I love you,” he said. His voice cracked. He caught her hand, entwining their fingers together, and squeezed. “Goodnight.”

The seconds ticked by into minutes, into she didn’t know how long.

“Is it a curse?” she whispered, into the dark. “If you’re not allowed or able to tell me, squeeze my hand twice.”

“Oh my god.” His voice was muffled, then, as he pulled a pillow over his face and wrenched free of her. “It’s two in the morning, darling. Go to sleep.”

***

She watched the door diligently for about a month. She didn’t think her husband had some poor creature locked up in the basement, but if he did then one would assume that either he would have to visit, or have the servants visit, in order to provide his victim some form of sustenance.

Nobody visited the basement door except her. There could not be anything living on the other side.

At least, not unless there was some other second secret door and tunnel system, hidden somewhere on the grounds. She didn’t see anyone vanish to one of those either, though. Would she, if it wasn’t on the grounds? How large a conspiracy could a little blue key possibly hold?

Would it count as ‘opening the door’ if she made a hole in the wall next to the door? 

She remembered her husband, in the college library the first time they met, spying the collection of ghost stories she’d been straining to reach. He’d grabbed it off the top shelf for her, easily, a glimmer of amusement curling his lips.

“I never really got these stories,” he’d mused. “If it were me, I would simply not have gone into the haunted house in the first place. Or, one look at a ghost and – no, no thank you. Goodbye! Have a nice life.”

She’d gaped at him.

He’d shrugged at her, and handed her the book. “But I can see that you’re a braver soul than me,” he said. “Sneaking into a place like this uninvited.”

She’d accepted the volume, clutching it protectively to her chest.

“Well,” she’d managed. “People like you are already invited everywhere, aren’t they? So you don’t have to be brave.”

He’d startled into a laugh.

She’d wondered if he would expose her to security, wondered if she should have denied it, wondered how he’d seen through her so swiftly and –

“Don’t worry.” He’d already been turning away, with a last lingering glance at her. “I can keep a secret.”

She’d only learned later who he was, and that it had been a month since his wife had died.

How, exactly, had his first wife died? The papers had said ‘tragic accident’, but there had been no witnesses. He didn’t talk about it, or about her.

No. She was being ridiculous. Maybe she had only imagined the flicker of terror on her husband’s face, the way he had flinched from the key, the rough urgency in his voice. Whatever it was, whatever it could possibly be, was not worth sacrificing what they had. There were other rooms; a dozen of them!

She buried the damn key in the garden. Out of sight, out of mind. Better that than completely losing her mind over something that probably had a completely rational explanation. Love was a leap of faith. 

She woke up the next morning to find the blue key back on the key ring, still covered with a fine sprinkling of dirt.

***

Her least favourite stories in the library were the ones about fate.

Maybe some people found such notions encouraging, comforting even in their reassurance that all of the suffering in the world was for a reason and that people could have some incredible purpose laid out for them. She’d always found the idea to be like quicksand beneath her feet, sucking her down down down trapped.

For, if it was fate, there could be no real escape. No chance. No hope.

She kept returning to the story of Bluebeard, tracing variations and retelling with the blue teeth of her blue key.

Maybe, if she was Bluebeard’s final wife, she would open the door and ultimately inherit a grand fortune, and recover from the trauma of falling in love with someone who wasn’t what they said they were.

What if she was only the second wife though, or the metaphorical third? What if her fate was to be some dead thing written only to add background colour to someone else’s happy ending?

It was all well and good of her husband to claim he would never go into a haunted house, but such declarations only really worked if one knew they were in a horror story instead of something else.

“Do you think, maybe,” she asked her husband as winter turned back to spring, “that we could go away somewhere?”

They strolled through the gardens, his arm wrapped protectively around her frail shoulders. Ever since the key incident she had found it difficult to sleep, to eat, to not find herself worrying about the door like worrying a hangnail until she tore off bloodied scraps of her own skin.   

The house, which had once seemed so large to her, had turned into something suffocating. She had no friends in the area, and however far she went along the grounds in the lonely hours of her husband’s working, the door would always be there for her and the key would always be in her pocket. The questions, the creeping doubts, would buzz in her brain like flies swarming a corpse.

“Go away?” He seemed surprised. “Is there something else that you need?”

She had tried simply hiding the key, then stayed up all night staring at the key ring laying on her bedside to try and catch the culprit who’d dug it up from beneath the roses.  One of the servants must have brought the damn thing back, right? Perhaps, the housekeeper? She got the impression that the severe woman had never really approved of her, never liked her. She was not as impressive and perfect a candidate as his first wife had been.

She had seen nothing, but when she fell finally into an exhausted slumber, the key had been waiting for her.

“I just thought it might be nice for us both to get away for a while,” she said. “A holiday. You’ve been so busy with your work.”

She had tried burning the key. It did not burn.

“There is a lot to do,” he said. “This is a large estate. It takes – management, a lot of care.”

“Perhaps I could help you?”

“It is not your burden, darling.”

“But it’s yours? A burden?”

The key, whatever it was, had to be of some supernatural origin. Of that she was increasingly certain. Well, the ghosts were in the house, so to speak, and he wasn’t leaving! He wouldn’t look at her, his attention fastened on the first snowdrops shoving their heads from beneath the hard earth.

“Tell me,” she said. “Or come away with me, please.”

He glanced at her, then.

She reached into her pocket and held up the blue key.

He turned away, quickening his pace as if he couldn’t wait to get away from it too.

“Where,” he said the next morning, “would you like to go, love?”

At the sea side, she tossed the key into the water when he wasn’t looking. If it was the servants, if there was any chance that something in the house was messing with her, with them, then even its evil reach could surely not reach beyond the borders of the property?

It was better for a while, after that. They were both lighter on holiday, away from his family home, with all of its history and responsibility.

The house on their return, waiting for them as it always was and would be, felt new and full of possibility again. They kept laughing over their first dinner back and fell asleep still high on love and freedom and everything they were supposed to be.

The next morning, impossibly, the blue key was on the key ring again.

She started to cry.

“I’m sorry,” her husband said. The colour had leached, stricken, from his handsome face. He looked older. Exhausted, too. His eyes were dark. “I wish—” He fell silent. He reached out to her, and she recoiled. “I’m sorry.”

“You wish what?” It came out whip sharp.

He said nothing. 

She shook her head, the laugh on her breath not really a laugh at all. Of course, he would still not tell her.

“If you don’t tell me,” she said, “everything that we are will end. You understand that, don’t you?” She fumbled the key off the ring and hurled it onto the sheets between them. It sat there, so disgustingly innocuous looking, a glint of blue among the white. “This isn’t fair. This is – sick. Take it back.”

“I know.” He folded his arms, less great man, more frightened child hugging himself. He stared down the key like an old enemy. “I know.”

“Or,” she said. A plea edged into her tone. “We could leave. For good. Let this house, let that door, be forgotten. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

He shook his head, less ‘no’ and more ‘I can’t’ and more ‘I’m sorry’.

She squared her shoulders, even as his slumped. “Tell me, at least, if I should go. You love me, right? If there was something rotten in that basement, you would want to protect me from it, wouldn’t you?”

“You can go,” he said. “If that’s what you want. That’s always been your choice.”

She stared at him.

He looked haunted, hunted, and he had known all along that the key would always end up back on the ring, hadn’t he? That was why he hadn’t simply taken it off when he first gave them to her. She would have thought he didn’t trust her if he’d never given her the keys to her own home at all too, wouldn’t she?

She debated leaving him. She debated walking out the house and – what?  

He looked so broken.

She sighed, the defiant fury sluicing off her shoulders too. She rounded the bed and craned up on her toes to kiss the lost furrow of his forehead.

“Just ignore it,” he said, clutching her hands. “Just ignore the door, and we can be happy.”

“Darling,” she said. “You don’t seem happy here.”

She kissed his lips, like packing up a suitcase, and snatched the blue key back up off the sheets.

Then she went down to the basement and opened the door.

[hellodarling1357]

Can i ask for Cassian x reader fic where the reader becomes friends with Bryaxis?👀

Like someday she decides to go down to the lower part of the library and meet the monster everyone is so afraid of... and finds Bryaxis, silly guy who just wants some friend to talk to. And the reader begins to visit him from time to time, chatting nicely and just having a good time

And poor Cassian so stressed out with these two😮‍💨

Friend and Foe

Hello!! Thank you for sending me this request, it was so much fun to write!! Sorry it took me so long but hopefully the Domestic Cassian makes up for it, we love a man who can cook 🥹

Bryaxis really is just a silly, goofy guy

Enjoy 🥰

Word Count: 3.1k

After being mated for all of two months, Cassian had basically begged you to move into the House of Wind with him. It really hadn’t taken much convincing, especially after Rhysand had ensured you that you wouldn’t be imposing.

So the very next day, your belongings were all packed, Rhys using his magic to move them for you, and Cassian was helping you do a final sweep over your old apartment, barely containing his excitement as he reassured you, yet again, that everything was sorted.

“Okay, I think I’m good. Ready to go?” You asked with a final glance around the room.

Cassian, who had given up on trying to convince you to stop fussing and had instead decided to sit on the floor by the window, jumped up with a broad grin stretched across his face.

“About time.” He teased, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, your forehead, then your nose, before wrapping an arm around your waist as he led you outside.

As soon as you had locked the door behind you, Cassian was scooping you into his arms and leaping into the sky, flying you towards your new home.

*****

You had been to the House of Wind multiple times, but this time felt different; you weren’t going there to visit Cassian, you were going there to live with him, to start your life with him.

You nuzzled your face into his neck, pressing kisses along it as he tightened his grip on you, quickly approaching the balcony that jutted out of the mountain.

Upon landing, you prepared yourself for Cassian to place you back on your feet. Instead, he shot you another wide grin and walked towards the balcony doors with you still in his arms, not letting you down until you had crossed the threshold.

“Welcome home, sweetheart.” He softly said before pulling you in for a kiss.

You smiled against his lips, realisation finally hitting that this would be your everyday from now on, the thought causing you to wrap your arms around his neck and tug him further down to you.

“Now, please remember,” Rhysand’s voice drawled, “this is still a shared space.”

You broke away from your mate, cheeks reddening in embarrassment, but Cassian simply looked annoyed at the interruption.

Giving him a sheepish smile you, for the hundredth time, thanked Rhys for letting you move in.

“Don’t mention it, it’ll be good to have you around.” He brushed off as Azriel entered the room.

“Especially if it means we no longer have to listen to Cassian complaining about how much he misses you, how far away you are, how—” But the Shadowsinger was cut off by Cassian throwing a book at his head and shooting him a glare.

You grinned at them all and laughed alongside Rhys, surprised at how quickly you had grown comfortable around Cassian’s brothers after only really meeting them a few weeks ago.

“Anyway,” Rhys interrupted, picking up on the taunt that was seconds from escaping Azriel’s lips, “We were just heading off. Figured we’d give you the night to…settle in”

With a wink at you and a teasing ruffle of Cassian’s hair, the two males made their way out towards the balcony before flapping their wings and heading towards Velaris.

“So…” Cassian started, eyeing you with an intensity that you had first seen after accepting the bond. “Where should we start?”

You knew he wasn’t talking about unpacking.

*****

It had been three months since you had moved into the House of Wind. Cassian had made space in his room for all of your belongings and the two of you had set out redecorating it together to make a space of your own.

You had fallen into a routine, not just with Cassian, but with Azriel as well.

Your mate had decided to take it upon himself to set up a training and defence program for you. But, when he first caught sight of you in your skintight Illyrian leathers, he had quickly decided it wouldn’t be the most productive use of your time and had handed the task over to Azriel instead; although, not before muttering to keep your leathers on for later, with a wink and a pat on your ass as he sauntered back inside.

You had also grown a lot closer to the rest of the Inner Circle, finding that there was always someone floating around if Cassian was away.

Now, however, you slumped into one of the plump armchairs and let out a sigh. Cassian and Azriel were both away checking in on the Illyrian war camps, Mor and Rhys were at the Hewn City, and Amren… you weren’t entirely comfortable spending time alone with her just yet.

Deciding you couldn’t spend another day aimlessly roaming around the house, you made your way towards the library that was built into the mountain.

You had dragged Cassian there after first moving in, spending hours marvelling at all of the books whilst your mate trailed after you, looking as though he wanted to be anywhere else. You, however, happily let him follow along, handing him book after book to carry for you with a cheeky grin that he couldn’t say no to.

This visit, however, had you wanting to explore the deeper parts of the library, with a sudden desire to browse through some of the ancient texts that you hadn’t had the chance to peruse yet.

The further down you went, the more intrigued you were by the seemingly never ending darkness that spiraled into the depths of the library.

Whether it was out of boredom or pure curiosity, you pulled one of the swinging lanterns from the wall and let it guide you through the inky black space, the lights from further up growing smaller and smaller with every step, the shelves of books coated in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs.

Despite the silence and the darkness of the unknown space, you felt at ease as you reached, what you could only assume to be, the bottom of the black pit.

Edging further into the space, the light coming from your lantern begun to flicker and you tensed at the sudden rustle of movement from behind you.

“Hello?” You cautiously called out, stretching the lantern further out to illuminate more of the room. Straining your ears, you listened closely for the slightest sound of movement, instead, however, a small cluttering sound bounced across the floor and ended by your feet.

Looking down you saw the small stone that had been thrown from the darkest corner of the space. Not quite knowing what to do, you slowly leant down to pick it up, turning it over in your hands a few times as you squinted into the darkness.

There was another quiet rustling noise and then another stone came into view, stopping where the other one had landed.

You picked this one up as well, your expression a mixture of puzzlement and amusement. With a quiet laugh to yourself, you gracefully threw the first stone back into the corner, watching it bounce across the floor before disappearing into the darkness.

A pleased sounding gasp of excitement filled the space around you and then the stone was bouncing back towards you in a hurried manner. You were smiling now, throwing both stones back and waiting with anticipation before they were sent your way again.

Still feeling unsure about playing this game with a creature shadowed by darkness, but not being one to question the weirdness that seemed to live within the Night Court, you sat cross legged on the ground and continued to bounce the stones back and forth.

“I’m Y/N, by the way.” You said into the darkness, feeling somewhat silly and not expecting the reply that followed.

“I know. I’m Bryaxis.” The chilling voice of the darkness replied.

*****

After that initial trip to the pit of the library, you found yourself heading down there at least once a week. You continued your game of throwing the stones back and forth but as the visits built up you found yourself asking questions about the creature and, in return, he provided you with a deep insight into the long forgotten histories of the world.

Walking back into the House of Wind after one of your library trips, you were surprised to find Cassian in the kitchen surrounded by numerous pots and pans and piles of food.

“Hi,” You greeted excitedly, leaning up on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “You’re back? I thought you wouldn’t be home for another few days. And you’re cooking?”

Hand still holding a wooden spoon, Cassian turned to face you, his other hand cupping your cheek as he lent down for a kiss.

“Hi,” He said against your lips. “Az took over for me,” Another kiss as he backed you against the counter. “Thought I would surprise you.”

You hummed against him, content in letting him wrap his free arm around your waist as he hoisted you onto the kitchen bench, legs coming up to wrap around his waist as you deepened the kiss and knotted your hands through his hair.

A sudden hissing sound had Cassian jumping back and turning in horror as the pot of boiling water started to splatter out across the stove.

“Where were you, anyway? You weren’t here when I got back.”

Content to have your mate beside you again, you absentmindedly swung your feet as you helped yourself to the pile of cut carrots he had set aside.

“Down in the library.” You answered between mouthfuls.

“Oh?”

You dipped the carrot into the bowl of a sauce looking substance, deciding you liked it and going back for seconds. Cassian, noticing this, flicked your nose and moved the sauce out of reach.

“That’s for later.”

You poked your tongue out as you jumped off the bench and moved to stand next to him as he stirred the still sizzling pot.

“Yeah, it’s a bit weird. A few weeks ago when you were away I got bored and wanted to explore the library a bit more,” Cassian turned his back so you helped yourself to whatever was simmering on the stove, earning your nose another flick and a sound of mock outrage from your mate.

“Anyway,” You continued as you lent against the bench, content in watching him cool for you. “I got right down to the bottom of the pit and met this creature,” You weren’t really sure how to describe your newfound friend, you had never actually seen his true form. “And we’ve sort of become friends, I guess?”

You laughed at the silliness of how it sounded, not noticing how Cassian tensed. “You never mentioned anyone else living in the library, his name is—“

“Bryaxis.” Cassian interjected, looking at you with an expression of horror and concern.

“Yes, that’s him” You said excitedly, still missing your mate’s distress.

“Y/N,” Cassian took your hands in his trembling ones and looked over you as though checking for any signs of harm. “Please tell me you’re joking. Did Rhys set you up?”

You stared back, surprised by his response, “Cass? What’s wrong?” But he didn’t seem to hear you.

“Have you seen him? Are you hurt? Y/N, how long has this been going on?”

“I’m fine? And no, he always stays in the dark. Why are you freaking out?”

But Cassian couldn’t answer, simply pulling you into a tight hug as he buried his face in your hair.

“Promise me you won’t go back.”

“Love, you’re starting to scare me—“

“Y/N, I need you to swear it to me. I can’t believe I didn’t know this was going on…” He trailed off, the haunted gleam still present in his eyes.

You were stunned by his reaction, not once had you seen Cassian acting so spooked. Sure, he tended to get a bit possessive around other males but this was entirely different, he seemed completely and utterly fearful of the thought of you being in Bryaxis’ presence.

“What happened? He’s never done anything to cause me harm. We just sit and talk and throw stones back and forth… Is there a reason he’s down there?” Maybe you had missed something, and Bryaxis was, in fact, some sort of monster.

Cassian pulled back, still somewhat wary but you could feel the tension leave his body.

“No, he’s always just been there. I had… an encounter with him, years ago—“

“Did he do something to you?” You cut in with concern.

“No, but… You said you haven’t seen him?”

You shook your head, still at a loss for what had brought all of this on.

“Good. Good,” Cassian muttered to himself now, turning back to finish dinner. You silently got some plates out for him to serve up and opened a bottle of wine, still watching your mate from the corner of your eye.

*****

You were both sat at the table but Cassian couldn’t seem to bring himself to eat, merely pushing his food around on his plate.

With a sigh, he looked up at you, “Y/N, you know I’d never usually ask this of you, and be so…,” He trailed off, swirling his wine before taking a sip. “Please, I really don’t want you going back down there.”

Now it was your turn to sigh, putting your fork down as you reached out to grasp his hand.

“How about this, you come down there with me—,” Cassian started to interject but you gave him a warning look to let you finish. “You come down there with me. You can see that he’s not this monster you seem to think he is, and if not, then we’ll talk about it. But I’m not just going to stop visiting, as weird as it sounds, he’s my friend.”

Cassian knew there would be no changing your mind on this, so with a grimace of a smile he reluctantly agreed, sighing at the beam of a smile that lit up your face.

*****

It had taken weeks to get Cassian back into the library, and not for a lack of trying on your part. Whenever you were both not doing anything, you would suggest heading down there. And every time you did, Cassian would suddenly have something he needed to do, or would mercilessly distract you and leave the library as a long forgotten thought in your mind.

This time was going to be different, you refused to let him weasel out of it again.

“Love, what’re you doing right now?” You innocently asked as you sat yourself in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” You expected as much, especially when he lent in and trailed lingering kisses along your neck.

“Good,” You stood up, pulling him with you. “Come with me.”

Your conspiratorial grin had Cassian thinking your mind was on something else, so he eagerly followed after you, pausing when you walked in the opposite direction of your bedroom.

“Sweetheart…?” You just walked back to him, holding his hand and dragging him alongside you.

Once you got to the library entrance, it finally clicked what you were doing.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Cassian.” You said but he was slowly taking backwards steps away from the library door.

“I just remembered, Rhys needed me to—“

“No he doesn’t. I already checked.”

The frantic panic in his eyes had you almost feeling bad about deceiving him. Almost being the key word.

“Cassian,” The commanding tone of your voice had him stopping in his tracks. “If you don’t come down there with me, right now, then there’s no more sex.”

He gave you an unconvinced look, clearly thinking he was calling your bluff.

“I’m serious. This has gone on long enough. No more sex until you go down there. In fact, I’m staying at the town house until it’s done.”

Cassian stared you down with a torn expression of frustration and disbelief. You stared right back, letting out a sigh of relief as you watched determination spread over his face.

“Fine,” He was a man on a mission, marching towards the library and grabbing your hand in his as he walked by to keep you at his side. “Let’s get this over with.”

*****

You didn’t even try to stop your delighted grin as you headed down into the deepest depths of the library.

As the lights flickered and as darkness started to surround you both, you felt Cassian beginning to tense and slow his pace. Refusing to let him change his mind, you sent a wave of emotions down the bond that told him exactly what he would be missing if he bailed on you now. Cassian squeezed your hand in response, his steps picking up as you reached the bottom of the pit.

“Bryaxis?” You called out, rubbing your thumb in soothing circles over Cassian’s hand when you felt him tense up beside you.

There was movement to your left and then the lamp you had brought down with you flickered out. You could feel something curling around you, flicking your hair in a playful manner, causing you to smile. This was going to be fine.

You turned to Cassian to tell him as such, but the chilling voice that you had since grown accustomed to spoke up in a rasp.

“I didn’t think I would be seeing you again. Not after last time, Lord of Bloodshed.”

You sensed, more than saw, your friend move around your mate and that seemed to be too much for Cassian.

“No. No, Y/N, we’re done here.” And then he was holding onto your hand as though his life depended on it and bolted back towards the stairs.

Your confused laugh sounded out and was met by the amused laugh of Bryaxis swirling through the darkness.

“I’ll see you soon, friend.” His voice followed after you, all traces of the harrowing rasp he had used on Cassian was replaced by a genuine fondness.

“I won’t bring him next time,” You replied in farewell, gesturing towards your mate who was frantically trying to drag you away.

Cassian let out a groan. He knew there was nothing he could do to convince you to never come back down here. You gave his hand a reassuring pat, sending a wave of gratitude and love down the bond. You didn’t know what had happened between Cassian and Bryaxis during their last encounter, but at least your mate had tried to face him for you.

[loaksky]

tw : ptsd

hi I love love love your work, may I make a request: abby comforting reader with ptsd after a nightmare/episode 🧸 only if you’re comfy with that of course angel!!

— 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒆 | 𝒂. 𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏

roommate!abby x fem roommate!reader, fluff / mild angst, wc: 2.3k

synopsis: oftentimes when you’re lost in the darkness, abby’s your light.

content warnings: language, sprinkled mentions trauma and implied ptsd ! talks of death, brief mentions of canon-compliant violence. this is set in the tlou2 universe, but is canon-divergent (did i use that term right lmaooo ??), abby & reader get off to a rocky start, but they’re so fucking cute & i wanna write more of them ????

author’s note: sugar !! you don’t even know how excited i was to see you in my inbox bae ! ilysm thank you so much for requesting ! hope i did this justice <3 ALSO this is my first time writing in the tlou universe ?? usually i write modern!aus so i'm like pissing myself lowkey ansjkdnfjasf

main masterlist | tlou masterlist

YOUR PRESENCE ON BASE SENDS a ripple of whispers from wall to wall. The circumstances pertaining to your arrival hadn’t been uncommon, but they were brutal, had people eyeing you with equal parts sympathy and disdain.

Truthfully, you don’t remember much of it, had blacked out after the first death, but the murmurs speculate that your entire family had been ambushed, turned and then picked off in a raid.

You don’t know how true that is.

Abby doesn’t really pay you much mind at first, isn’t all that thrilled when she finds out that you’re taking the spare side of the spacious room she occupies, but she keeps her mouth shut when she sees how fragile you are.

And it’s not like she sees you much, not even in the evenings when most people are turning in for the night. Your bed’s always made, your side of the room in pristine condition. The only indication that you lodge with Abby is the beat up backpack that hangs on the hook by your desk.

On occasion she’ll wake up in the wee hours of the night to find you tucked under the blankets, still as a statue, but come morning, you’re gone.

For a while, she appreciates the distance, but when she sees you only a handful of times in the nearly two months you’ve sought refuge at the stadium, she begins to grow curious.

First it starts as asking passive questions to those patrolling, then she starts briefly combing any areas she enters, but you’re like a fleeting wisp of smoke, gone with a gust of wind.

She happens upon you by chance one night, right as the sun is setting. She’s on her way to the weight room when she notices you. The library is relatively quiet around this time, everyone usually in the dining hall or working on their evening duties.

But there you are, going through a carton of what looks like newly arrived books from the most recent raid.

Abby acts against her own better judgment, door whooshing as she presses her weight against the pushbar.

You’re looking up from your sorting, eyebags still prominent, but the color has returned to your face and you look like you’ve been taking care of yourself.

“This where you disappear to everyday?” Abby asks, pulling an early 2000’s almanac from the shelf to distract herself from the sear of you gaze.

She glances back at you when you don’t respond, finds that you’ve returned to shuffling through the box instead of humoring her question.

She clears her throat, takes another step closer, and you’re looking up at her again.

“Any good titles?” she tries. “I’m kinda in a slump right now, think I—”

“You don’t have to pity me,” you say flatly, voice a lot different than Abby’d expected.

She’s floored, regardless. Doesn’t know what would compel you to say such a thing when she’s barely spoken a dozen words to you since your arrival.

“I’m not following,” Abby admits.

You’re small in comparison, but the look you level her with is mighty, makes her cheeks bloom red because a woman’s never looked at her in such a way. She feels like she’s in trouble, but maybe she likes it.

“I hear what you all say about me,” you say firmly. “That I’m probably batshit crazy, that the patrolling team should’ve just left me to die with the rest of my family, that I’m useless.”

Abby flinches, brows drawing together and lips parting incredulously.

You don’t expect her reaction.

“I’m lost?” she says in confusion, then adds, tone stony, “who’s been saying that shit?”

Frankly, you don’t really look convinced, but your shoulders are relaxing a fraction. Perhaps you won’t admit it, but Abby’s quiet outrage provides some semblance of comfort.

You shrug.

“Doesn’t matter,” you say quietly. “But you don’t have to go out of your way to be nice to me. I’m fine on my own.”

And Abby doesn’t know whose neck she has to wring, or how many for that matter, but despite initially being lukewarm towards you, she wants to squash every single person who’s made you feel like you can’t find a place among them.

“That’s bullshit,” she replies frankly, and you’re looking at her sharply. “People are bored, like to run their mouths. There’s a place here for everyone, you included.”

Such simple words shouldn’t make you feel warm, but you’re pausing, frozen like a hurt pup experiencing affection for the first time. You’re glancing up at her, lips pressed in a thin line.

Abby’s fidgeting because fuck, did she overstep a boundary with this interaction? Should she have left you alone instead? She wasn’t necessarily mad at the distance between you two, but the establishment of having a roommate makes her feel like she’s been living with a ghost recently.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

Abby’s shoulders deflate in relief, chest hitching as she takes in a shaky sigh.

“Have you...have you had dinner yet?”

Abby learns that regardless of breaking the ice, you’re still reserved. It’s quiet breaths of laughter when she cracks a joke, learning how to settle for the silence when the two of you are spending prolonged periods of time together (which is a lot more frequent that Abby had expected), and being the buffer between you and most things you find uncertainty with.

Not only that, but you’re a nocturnal creature of habit that she usually finds cooped up in the library.

It’s half past one in the morning some weeks later when she wakes up and groggily squints over the railing that divides the room to find that your bed is empty.

She’s pulling on a hoodie, slipping on a pair of sneakers and brushing her hair from her face as she slinks out into the hallway. And, of course, you’re in the first place she thinks to look, curled up against the cushions of an oversized chair with your eyes drooping over a children’s picture book.

She enters almost silently, only catching your attention when she’s a few paces away.

“Hey, A–” A yawn pulls from your chest. “Hey, Abby.”

She smiles softly.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

She leans against the armrest of the chair, peers down at you as you flip lazily through the pages before she’s pulling the book from your grasp.

You let out a sound of disapproval.

“M’not done,” you tell her.

“You look like you’re about to knock out,” Abby observes. “Why don’t we get you to bed.”

You yawn again, then sigh deeply.

“I won’t be able to fall asleep anyways,” you admit quietly.

Abby shifts and you look up at her. She notices the glimmer of vulnerability that glosses over your sleepy eyes.

“Is it because...” she trails off, swallows down the rest of her question because she doesn’t want to seem insensitive, but you seem to get the gist anyways.

“Among other things,” you admit.

“Oh,” Abby whispers. “I’m sorry.”

You shrug tiredly.

“Can’t be helped, really.”

And Abby’s learned to really like you these past few weeks, has felt for you and your journey here. It makes something tug hard at her heartstrings, especially when she sees little slivers of peace dawn you for a few moments at a time, only to be weighed down by the gravity of it all.

“Why don’t we go back and you can at least lay down?” she asks softly. “You need to rest.”

And you want to argue, tell her that it really is no use, especially when the darkness can be one of your sensitive triggers. But the look that Abby is giving you is pleading, like she can’t bear the thought of another one of your sleepless nights, so you nod carefully and let her guide you out of the seat.

“I know it’s touchy,” she says after a few silent moments down the hall. “But, you can...you can talk to me if you ever, y’know, need to get anything off your chest.”

You don’t mean to, you’re just caught up in the moment and Abby has a way of making you feel safe, but you’re grabbing gently at her fingertips as the two of you walk down the corridor.

“Thanks, Abby,” you swallow.

If Abby looks hard enough out the window, she can see the beginnings of the sun as it starts its ascent. She’d spent the latter half of the late evening murmuring to you in the dark, hoping that maybe the sound of her voice would lull you to sleep.

And it does, miraculously, she thinks to herself, when she hears the light puff of your steady breathing. She stays still for moments that bleed into several minutes, monitoring the tandem of your breaths. She doesn’t even realize how much time has passed until the sky begins to ooze from midnight to burnt swathes of orange.

She hadn’t slept a wink, too busy wanting to make sure that you’re snoozing well enough in the short period of time since you’d laid your head down. So she decides to get dressed in the dark, is in the middle of sliding her belt through the loops when she hears it.

It’s most imperceptible, the murmur that slips from your lips, but Abby’s been hyperaware recently. She thinks that maybe she’d been a little too loud, jeans rustling a little too hard, belt buckle clanging too much. But even as she stills in the dark, she hears the whimper that echos against the exposed rafters.

“Please...” Abby freezes, lump lodged deep in her throat.

Your body jerks, mattress squeaking under the sudden movement as your sheets rustle once, then twice.

“No.” Your breath catches so hard in your chest, Abby’s worried you won’t take another.

She’s crossing the room quickly, pawing around your nearby desk for the small lamp. The dim bulb casts a yellow glow over the surroundings and Abby finds you damp with a sheen of sweat.

“No, no, don’t—”

When her hands find you, you’re shooting up, shoving her away with so much force, she’s knocked to her ass. Before she even blinks, you’re straddling her, dagger she hadn’t even known you had on you, drawn.

“Hey,” she whispers shakily. “It’s me.”

Your eyes are wild, cheeks streaked with tears as you take in your surroundings. You touch base with your senses to ground you; the sound of your ragged breathing, the smell of Abby’s pine-scented soap, the taste of blood on your tongue, the feel of Abby’s shirt bunched in your fist, and the sight of her rigid frame clearing from the fog.

“Fuck,” you choke. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You’re dropping the dagger, fist loosening as you scramble to climb off of her. But her fingers are closing around your wrist to stop you, mooring you to place.

“It’s okay,” she says breathlessly. “It’s fine. You’re okay. We’re okay.”

Her hands slowly come up to brush over the sides of your arms comfortingly, and when you don’t flinch away, she’s reaching up to smooth the hair from your face.

The softness of her touch makes you melt, makes you wrap your arms around her shoulders and fall into her as her arms wind around your waist.

“I’m here,” she assures you quietly. “You’re safe.”

And when she feels your body shake against hers, her chest is squeezing, feels all those tamped down emotions from a loss that feels like such a distant memory resurface with every quiet sob that wracks your body.

She feels like she’d processed her grief well enough over the past few years after losing her dad, was buoyed in a consistent state of anger that manifested in a deep-seated need for vengeance as of late. But this makes her sad. Makes her want to take away everything that’s ever made you feel hurt in the world.

She’s squeezing you so tight, nose nestling into your hair as she rocks you gently.

Abby still doesn’t know how much time passes, but your heaving breaths turn into spaced hiccups as you sink further into her hold. She doesn’t realize that the exhaustion has crept over you until one of your hiccups fades to a sigh, until she’s pulling away to see that your cheek is pressed against her shoulder and your wet lashes brush the apples of your cheeks.

For once, it seems like one of those slivers of peace has found you in a moment of sleep and Abby wants to preserve it.

She’s shifting your weight, arms banding tight around your waist so that she can slowly stand. And when you stir, she cringes in defeat. But your breath puffs against the column of her throat, and while your proximity makes her cheeks burn, she can only focus on settling you back into bed.

“Abby,” you whisper groggily, as she sits on the edge of your bed to kick her shoes off. “Don’t leave, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she assures you softly, leaning back against your pillows and taking you with her. “I’ll be right here.”

True to her word, when you wake up, she is, one arm propped underneath her head, the other splayed between your shoulder blades.

The sun sits high in the sky, analog clock reading well into the morning and nearing the afternoon.

“Oh, fuck!” You’re leaning up abruptly, jostling Abby from her slumber and she’s gazing up at you with bleary eyes.

“Shit, are you okay?” Abby asks, voice thick with sleep.

“They’re probably looking for you,” you say frantically. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I—”

The hand on your back hasn’t left yet, rubbing slow circles there, the other mapping across your shoulders to pull you into her chest.

“S’okay,” she reassures you. “They won’t miss me for a day.”

“Abby—”

“Shhh,” she mutters. “M’sleeping.”

And you want to cry. Equal parts because of embarrassment and equal parts because Abby’s showed you the most kindness you can remember anyone ever showing you and it makes your heart swell in your chest.

“Abby?”

“Yes, ________?” she grumbles.

“Thank you.”

She squeezes you tighter.

neng © 2023

[wonryllis]

HAPPY FOR A WHILE ☆ ( sunghoon )

` —SOMETIMES, love will leave you even when it’s right.

preview. eversince the start, you had noticed something off. but you were far too into him to scrutinize things. as a result it came back to you when you were way in deep and thought everything was fine. (this is a repost!)

meet the cast. park sunghoon with gn!reader LIBRARY?

genre. angst, nonidol!au, side character death mentioned, sort of rebound!reader, no physical cheating, it's good i promise.

word count. around 1400 listen to. smile again by blackbear. 

827 days.

that’s how much time you’ve been in a relationship with sunghoon. a simple two expanding to so many days and so many more moments. you were never the one to keep a track, just too forgetful to continue the numbers, yet this time something is different, so different that it feels like another version of a first love.

3017 days; that’s sunghoon’s count.

at first you had assumed that he had simply made a mistake, when you saw the figure showing up on the lockscreen of his red iPhone. for a long time thinking that perhaps the count started from when he had known you, remembering the time he told you he knew you way before you got to know him.

but as time passed, all the pieces connected and everything made sense. how the first thing he wakes up in the morning and does is check for messages, fingers hovering over a certain contact you only caught a blurry glimpse of a few times. but never opening it as if waiting for a notification- an excuse. how on specific dates he disappears for the entire day only to come back home around midnight, always dressed in that blue shirt he never lets you touch, the cloth tucked away in the deepest corner of his closet. how sometimes he pauses for a minute before calling out to you, as if trying to find the right name or realizing you are the wrong person for the name at the tip of his tongue.

sometimes he would buy the wrong things, like a different ice cream flavor, different color of scarf, different shoe size, different boba flavor or coffee order, tickets for a different genre of movie or band concerts, forgetting your favorite or preferred ones; turns out it isn’t you who’s on his mind when he’s out in the store or the line. it hurt you everytime it happened but when he apologized, you couldn’t find it in you to question why and just forgave him.

you met him two and a half years ago, when he was in his most vulnerable phase. you had gotten to know from his friends about his break up, that he had recently been single again. the same friends who told you a few months ago that it wasn’t exactly a break up, his girlfriend died in a plane crash six months before you met him.

maybe that was what the count is for. he’s waiting for her, even when he knows she’s gone.

they say first love is a memory of a lifetime.

one might not still have romantic feelings for their first but they always remember, the person, the moments, the feelings of the past. maybe, just maybe if she was his first love it would have hurt a little less. but she wasn’t.

they had been dating for five years, had a lot of things they wanted to do together, a future they looked forward to with the other. and most of all, sunghoon was planning to propose when she came back from the work trip; but she never did.

eversince you often wondered why he agreed to be with you if he wasn’t over her yet. it had just been about a year after her death that you had made a move on him, soon asking him out to be your boyfriend. no one told you why he broke up with his girlfriend not to mention she wasn’t even alive anymore, sunghoon himself never talked about his past or her. maybe it was the same old, “she would’ve wanted me to move on”, but this wasn’t moving on, this was pretending to be. it made you question whether all those loving things he did and still does with you, for you are genuine or not.

in all those movies you’ve seen and books you’ve read, where the character stays even though their partner is cheating physically or emotionally, you never understood why, why they never leave but perhaps now you do.

“do you love me?” you had once asked him when he was drunk, trusting the saying ‘a drunk mind speaks a sober heart’, holding his face in your hands, making him look you in the eyes so he knows it’s not her but you. “i really want to,” he had mumbled softly, a whisper of her name following after, so inaudible yet you still heard it; it was as if he felt guilty for trying to find new happiness. the words had broken your heart, but you wanted, still want to stay. for you it’s the attachment and the hope, and the love, how he treats you better than any of your exes though you’ve always been in healthy relationships.

and watching him wake up everyday, and then checking for a sign of her, you realize as long as he wanted, you would keep pretending along with him. because just like he’s stuck with a part of her, you’re stuck with a part of him. a part of him which maybe actually loves you, or at least shows that he does.

what they had he considered forever, knowing very well the forever would end someday but he didn’t know it would be that soon. and just like that you think you can go on like this forever, even if that forever were to end tomorrow.

today you had a date planned, a table reserved in your favorite restaurant where you’re currently seated after sunghoon left in a hurry. he had gotten a call an hour ago, which he had excused himself to attend. you had managed to catch a glimpse of the contact name, it was her mother, his ex’s mother, he still had her saved as mother-in-law. when he came back to the table, a look of apology and dismay on his face- you immediately knew he had to leave. but he couldn’t just leave you there so you did what you thought would be best, told him you can go back on your own anyways and that you still wanted to stay out for a while longer so he need not worry. he told you to text him when you reach home and that he’ll be back late before he was out the door and you watched as he got into his car and drove away.

you know the call had something to do with her, you knew it the moment you looked into his eyes when he came back to leave. you are no one to decide what he should do with things to related to his past yet the fact that he cared enough to ask you even if it wasn’t words and even if you knew he would have left anyways showed that maybe he is trying; trying to live in the present. maybe the clench in your heart made you conscious of how he must feel. of course the pain is different for you both but you want to understand.

later at night when you go back to your shared apartment, you find sunghoon passed out in the living room, a cardboard box beside the couch, containing things you assume belonged to her. sunghoon is sitting on the floor, his head resting on the coffee table ontop of a handmade photobook, pages covered with pictures of him and his ex. just beside it, is his phone screen showing her contact opened, where the last message he sent dates back to three years ago,“have a safe flight, i love you,” a little bubble showing unread below the text.

something he has never before said to you, only ever replying with a 'me too’, maybe someday you both will find a paradise where the past will be a happy memory or perhaps you’ll part ways. all you know that you were happy for awhile, the while before you knew of her. you’re still happy now, not all parts of you, but the part which has come to love him enough to disregard that he’s not wholly yours.

it feels bittersweet to love him, like a dust storm swallowing the sky yet the sky is still there in all glory. you’ll hold him for as long as you can, as long as he will want you to. maybe he'll learn to love you enough to let her go, or maybe you'd learn to love him enough to let him go.

taglist. ( open ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @luvyev @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @eeunoia

[tiniestkitty]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ how to start an age regression / inner child healing journal ɞ˚‧｡

🌷 content warning: very brief, un-descriptive mentions of having trauma 🌷

1. find a notebook you'd like to use ! this can look different for everyone. I picked a journal at the craft store with a pretty design on the front, but you could also use a simple composition book, a notepad or you could even keep a digital journal ! I personally prefer to have two diaries, one is for everyday boring "big-kid" stuff, and the other one is my agere journal ! ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶꒱ა if you'd like, you can combine them, but i personaly find keeping my trauma-processing stuff off to the side is helpful to me. 💛

2. brainstorm what things you'd like to accomplish with your therapy journal ( if any ! ) and what you'd like to write in it. you could set light hearted goals to reconnect with your childhood, process scary things that happened / everyday stressors , or to just keep it for fun ! remember that you don't need to know everything right away, though ! 🧸

for me, my goals are to understand trauma and learn how to grow from it, but I also like to draw pictures, write about the tinier parts of my day, do some affirmations , and follow simple prompts I find online. I will also use it as a tool to track triggers , trauma responses and anxieties to help myself better understand why I felt that way and know how to ground myself better during those scary moments . I also use it to write down thoughts or things I'd like to bring up with my therapist. ( my parents finally got me set up to see a therapist !! yay ! I am a minor so she is a pediatric therapist so she's extra gentle which is so nice hehe )

3. If you'd like, you can decorate the inside pages and the cover with all sorts of fun craft materials ! I like to use stickers and wash tape, but if you don't have those, you can print some pictures out and glue or tape them in ! If you don't have access to a printer, you could use one for free at a local library or at your school. you can also use markers, crayons, colored pencils, or whatever else you'd like to decorate the inside with fun drawings or to make some little worksheets for yourself to paste inside . maybe if you have someone to look after you or a little friend, you can ask them to come up with some for you to do ! 🩷 I like to make notes for my best little friend, wimsy, through dms hehe ! ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ ` ꒱ྀིა

4. you could make lists of things, too ! I like to list my favorite songs, all of my toys names, what I wanna do when it gets warmer outside, anything !

5. I find it helpful to make charts for stuff that can be challenging when having an icky day or feeling mentally unwell, like brushing my teeth or making sure that my pet chores are all taken care of. ( don't worry !! if I forget to give my kitty treats she will ask my mom hehe ! /lh ) I like to use a reward system, like if I brush my teeth two times every day for a whole week, I can have two breaks during homeschool. 🖍️

okie dokie ! that's all I have for now. hope I gave you some good ideas and tips ! this is all very new to me but I hope this was at least a little informative or helpful hehe . 💕🐰

[oh-stars]

Eddie's Quest

Love is going out of your way to do something you know will make them happy.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 916 words | CW: implied bad Harrington parents, rec drug use | Rating: T

--

There isn’t much from Steve’s childhood that Eddie knows about and what he does know, hasn’t always been good. Steve just doesn’t share a lot in general though. He’s content in living in the present, which isn’t something Eddie really knows how to do. So when Steve does share something positive, something that he holds dear from his childhood, Eddie latches on.

Their anniversary is coming up, only a few weeks away, and Steve mentioned he misses the way a babysitter made this specific kind of cake. Black something. Steve couldn’t remember the name of it so now Eddie’s on a mission to try and figure it out. 

Eddie finds himself at Claudia Henderson’s doorstep on a Tuesday morning with flowers in his hand. When she opens the door, Eddie doesn’t even let her say hello before he’s giving them to her with a, “I need your help finding this really obscure recipe to make Steve happy and I have a feeling it’s going to be a nightmare because I can’t bake for shit. Will you please help?” 

Claudia coos at him. “Oh you’re the sweetest, Eddie! Of course, I’ll help! Come in, come in.” 

They end up pouring over all her cookbooks, and then Claudia starts a phone tree with Karen, Sue, and Joyce for their recipes. All five of them converge at the library, their personal cookbooks in hand, to take over one of the study rooms the library offers. “If we don’t have it,” Claudia told him as they settled in, “then the library will.” 

Eddie can’t even argue as they get to work. 

“Did he say what it tasted like?” Karen asks as she starts flipping through a book. Joyce had the brilliant idea of marking where all the dessert sections started in each book, so each woman was currently flipping away while Eddie tried to remember every detail Steve had mentioned. 

“He mentioned cherries,” Eddie groans, scrubbing at his face. “And it’s a cake.” 

“Could be topped with cherries,” Sue hums as she sorts through her books. 

“Or a cherry filling,” Claudia points out. 

“Steve has a sweet tooth,” Joyce adds after a while. “He likes rich flavors, so it’s probably on the sweeter side than a refreshing dessert.” 

Eddie shrugs. “I guess?” 

“You know,” Karen says as she taps her fingers against her book. “I think I remember a few of Steve’s nannies over the years. They were always at the school for pick up. Do you know which one has the recipe?” 

“Does she still live here?” Sue asks. “It would save us some time to just ask.” 

“No, no,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “He said his parents didn’t let him keep in touch and she moved away. He doesn’t know where.” 

The women share a knowing, quiet look amongst them. Eddie’s not sure he’s fluent in their silent mom language, but he knows a judgy look when he sees one. 

Eddie jumps up and paces the room, retracing every line of thinking that particular conversation followed. The problem is, they were high as fuck when Steve brought it up, sharing tidbits between big bites of the ice cream they’d found in their freezer. 

“You would have loved her,” Steve had said with a mouthful. He was laying on Eddie, legs hanging off the arm of the couch and propped against Eddie’s side so they could share the pint. “She liked to read a lot, always had books for me.”

“What kind of books?” Eddie asked. 

“Think ones.” Steve shrugged, eyes glazed over. “Fairy Tales, but the real gross stuff. So my dad wouldn’t get mad,” he added quickly. 

Gross fairy tales, Eddie thinks. He knows what Steve’s talking about, the original dark shit that they used to scare children into behaving from the grim–

“German!” Eddie screeches as he slams his hands on the table. To their credit, none of the mothers jump except for Joyce. “She was German!” 

Karen looks up at the ceiling, eyes narrowed in concentration. Claudia taps her fingers against her temple. Sue hums as she checks a few of the spines on the other stacks. Joyce leans back, crossing her arms as she stares off into space. 

“That has to help,” Eddie tries, quieter, “right?” 

“Maybe,” Karen says as she blinks back at the cookbook. She trades it for another. “And you’re sure it had cherries?” 

“Oh!” Joyce jumps up, hands flailing as she grabs for a book off Claudia’s stack. “I know it!” 

They all crowd around the book, heads tucked together as Joyce flies through the sections and slaps a finger against a chocolate cake. “Black Forest Cake,” she says, panting a little. 

Eddie moves the book to read the description. “This is it!” 

Their cheering gets them kicked out, but none of them seem to mind as they tote their cookbook stacks back to their cars. Claudia and Sue are already talking about commandeering Karen’s kitchen to bake it in a few days, since her kitchen is bigger, and they can all help – make a day of it with wine and gossip. He doesn’t care how it gets made, just that he can take it to Steve, to show him he listens and cares and loves him so much. He can’t wait to share this cake with him, to make it for him every year just because. His quest will be complete and he’ll get to live happily ever after with a very happy, well-fed prince. Best quest yet.

--

Thank you @lady-lostmind for beta reading!

Ao3 Link

[feedthepheasants]

fluff/kinktober day 1 - "campus crush/first kiss!"

pairing: f!tav x gale

prompt: campus crush/first kiss (will tag the creator when i find their page!)

modern/college au, [youngish] grad students, fluff, pining, dirty chai, teeth-rotting meet cute, shamefully/embarrassingly cheesy

wc: 2,469

read here on ao3!

The day had stretched on for too long. The muscles in Tav’s legs were tight and her head had started to twinge with a headache, but she’d promised Celeste she would make it to the annual Halloween library lock-in, and she wasn’t about to bail on her for the third time in a row. 

And so, Tav had quickly gone home to change and get her work packed up in order to make it back in time. She hadn’t heard from Celeste, but given they’d just had lunch together earlier this afternoon, she was certain her classmate was already there. 

Tav had nearly made it to the doors of the library when three rowdy undergrads shoved past her, causing her to drop her overflowing bag and spilling its contents across the front steps. She hadn’t even registered what happened until after the fact, when one of the boys yelled a half-hearted, “Sorry!” over his shoulder before chasing his friends further down the quad. 

“Oh, fuck me.” Tav groaned as she leaned down to start shoving her things back into her bag in a fluster. Half of the papers she needed to grade were strewn about halfway down the steps, and the large coffee she’d treated herself to was now soaking into the pages of the novel she’d brought to read on a break. 

“Oh gods– are you alright?” A concerned voice says from the steps. 

“I’m fine,” Tav starts to say, shoving another handful of papers into her bag. She glances over at the man hunched over on the steps, gathering the loose assignments and sorting them into a neat stack. She returns her focus to the scattered notebooks and pens as the man closes the distance between them, holding out the assignments. “Just, you know, exactly what needed to fucking happen right now. Thank you for–” 

 Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck– 

It was the guy – the one she’d seen every Tuesday and Thursday this semester at 2:54pm when she was leaving Smith Hall and he was walking out of the English building. They’d never spoken to one another, but she always looked for him in the crowd. Sometimes they’d made eye contact, but he always seemed to look straight through her. She didn’t know his name or who he was, but he had to be the most handsome man she’d ever seen. 

And here she was, haggard after the day she’d had, already in her pajamas and ready to hunker down for the lock-in; scrambling on her hands and knees and staring up at him from the ground. 

She could feel the blush heating her face. “Um, thank you,” she says, voice a little weak as she takes the papers in her hand. 

“Don’t mention it,” he says kindly, offering a sympathetic smile. “The undergrads get a little unruly as we approach midterms. Oh, your book–” He looks down between his feet at Tav’s book, ruined by her spilled coffee. He leans down to grab it. 

“Oh– no, I got it–!” She says quickly, lunging for the book, but she’s too late. The drenched book is already in his hands, and gods, she wants to just die at the look on his face. 

“The Sorcerer’s Embrace?” The man asks, looking at the cover. Her stomach drops. Yeah, it was absolutely time to die. “Wow, this is– something,” he says, thumbing through the wet pages. Tav can’t form a single thought, just staring up at her campus crush as he makes it to her bookmarked page, face heating more and more with every second. 

“That’s–” 

“Oh,” he remarks curiously, and she knows exactly what page he’s on – it’d been a few days since Tav had time to pick it up, but things had been getting quite steamy between the princess and the wicked sorcerer who’d stolen her from her kingdom. He furrows his brow and looks over at her. “Sorcerers? Really?” 

“I–” Tav stammers. 

“If you like this one,” he starts to say, closing the book. “You should really check out Feather-Fall Into My Arms. It’s not sorcerers,” he says, elongating the word with a roll of his eyes, “but I assure you, you’ll find the company of wizards to be much more appealing.” Before Tav can respond, he whispers something under his breath, and the pages are immediately restored. He extends the book to her. “Should be good as new.” 

Tav takes the book wordlessly, stuffing it into her bag and out of sight – though she’s well aware there’s no hiding it at this point. The man reaches his hand out to help her up, and she reluctantly accepts the help, mouth dryer than sandpaper. 

“Say, do I know you? You look strangely familiar,” he says, studying her beet-red face. 

“No,” she says quickly, unable to look him in the eye. “We– we might’ve passed one another a couple of times,” she tries to add nonchalantly, willing her heart to slow its pounding.

“Must have,” he says, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, clearly intrigued at her embarrassment. “Are you–” 

“Thanks for your help,” Tav cuts him off, taking a step towards the door. “Uh– see you around!” She doesn’t wait for a response before escaping indoors, heading straight up the staircase towards her and Celeste’s usual spot, the mortification seeping in. 

~ 

“I can’t believe you’re ditching me,” Tav says incredulously into the phone. 

“I’m sorry,” Celeste whines. “I didn’t think I’d come home to find Grigor waiting for me on my couch!” 

Celeste’s long-distance boyfriend had surprised her, so she was no longer coming to the lock-in that she begged Tav to come to. Tav understood, but the doors were already locked and she was terrified that she’d run into the guy again on her way out, and she wasn’t ready to face the humiliation so soon. 

“It’s fine,” Tav sighs. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” Celeste tries. 

“Oh, you definitely owe me one,” Tav agrees. She peers around, then lowers her voice. “In my rush to get over here in time, I ran into the guy,” she whispers. 

“Wait– the guy?” Celeste asks. 

“Yes,” Tav hisses, “and he was so sweet and helped me pick up my stuff, but then he fucking found my stupid fucking smut novel–” 

“I keep telling you not to take those out in public, Tav,” Celeste chides. 

“Well, after tonight I’m never going out in public again!” 

There’s a muffled sound on the other end of the line, and then Celeste tells Tav goodnight, apologizing once more. Tav hangs up, tossing her phone in the chair next to her. 

She looked like a total, complete loser, being here by herself. The lock-in was primarily a charity event, but marketed as a social night for graduate students. Most people brought work to catch up on, which is what now sat in Tav’s lap, but they came in groups from their programs and chatted while they worked. But Tav was alone in a corner without even her coffee to keep her company, and she was still reeling from the interaction outside. 

Attempting to brush aside her embarrassment for the time being, she pulls out a pen, and gets to work. 

~ 

After some time, dinner is served in the library lobby. Tav ignores the announcement, but feels her stomach start to growl and her eyes glaze over. If she was going to get any more work done, she needed some caffeine. 

With a sigh, she sets the stack of essays in the chair next to her – the chair that should be occupied with Celeste’s ass, working on grading her own students’ assignments while they eavesdropped and talked shit – and grabs her phone and wallet before heading up the stairs to the third-floor coffee shop, knowing the line will be shorter now that everyone else has stopped for dinner. 

Tav studies the menu – she could get her usual dirty chai, but the seasonal maple-spice cinnamon latte was calling her name. She flip flops back and forth right up until it’s her turn to order. 

“A dirty chai, please,” Tav says. “Make it a large.” 

“And will that be all for you?” The barista asks, putting in the order. 

“No, I–”

“Make that two,” chirps a familiar voice from behind her. “And…a blueberry scone, too.” 

Tav turns and fucking hells, it’s him– 

“No, what–” She starts to say, but he’s already at the counter, so close but not quite touching, reaching out to tap his card to pay. “What are you doing?” 

“Getting a latte and a scone,” he answers simply. This close, she can smell his cologne, and fuck, if it’s not doing something to her– 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says as they step towards the pick-up counter. 

“Consider it a replacement for the one you lost earlier,” he says earnestly. “And an apology, for teasing you about that book.” Tav’s cheeks heat again. The man laughs, but is trying to be kind. “I’m serious– I wasn’t trying to be rude,” he explains. “And I meant what I said about my recommendation. You should really give wizards a chance.” 

Tav can’t fight the wry smile that grows on her face, despite her flush of embarrassment. “You’ve read it?” She asks, turning a bit cheeky. 

“As a matter of fact, I have,” he replies, almost offended. “I wouldn’t blindly make a suggestion like that if I hadn’t.” 

Tav turns to look at the man at her side, shaking her head. “You do not read romance novels,” she says in disbelief. 

He barks a laugh, looking away. “What makes you think that?” 

“I don’t know,” Tav shrugs, still staring at him. “Maybe because you walk out of the English building twice a week with this…air about you?” 

He studies her for a moment. “You know my schedule?” 

“No,” Tav says too quickly. “No, I mean–” 

“It kind of seems like you do,” he teases, folding his arms over his chest. 

Holy shit, Tav you stupid, stupid fuck–

“Whatever,” she says, trying to roll her eyes and brush it off. “Whether I know your schedule or not, doesn’t change the fact that you’re clearly selective about your literature, and you absolutely don’t strike me as someone who would read– what was it?” 

“Feather-Fall Into My Arms,” he answers matter-of-factly, still watching her with that stupid smirk on his face. 

“Yeah, that,” Tav says, unable to stifle her giggling.

“What’s your name?” He asks. 

“Two dirty chai’s for a…Gale?” The barista calls. 

“That’s me,” he trills, reaching across the counter to take both cups. “And my scone?” 

“Right here,” the barista says, holding the paper bag out. He grasps it with his pinky, holding it against the cup. 

“Thank you,” he says, turning away from the counter and starting to walk away. 

“Hey–” Tav calls, following after him. “Hey, my latte–” 

“Your latte?” Gale says, whirling on a heel and walking backwards while he speaks. “I seem to recall hearing my name,” he taunts. “I still don’t know yours.” 

“It’s Tav,” she says, her need for caffeine and the strain of hunger starting to edge her words. 

“That’s quite lovely,” he smiles, stopping his pace. He clears his throat. “One dirty chai for Tav?” 

The other students around turn and stare for a moment, and Tav freezes. 

“One dirty chai? For Tav?” He’s extending the cup out towards her, his face all innocence, but his eyes are wicked. 

She takes a hesitant step forward and takes the drink from his outstretched hand. “Thank you,” she says sharply, unable to hide the smile on her face. 

“You are so very welcome,” he smiles in return. “So, where are setting up for the evening?” 

“What?” 

“What do you mean, what?” Gale asks. Tav realizes she’s followed him to whatever study spot he’d been occupying for the last couple of hours. He reaches down and grabs a fine, but well-loved messenger bag and a knitted blanket from a chair. “Lead the way.” 

~

Tav rears her head back in laughter, earning a couple of shushes from a nearby table. That only makes them laugh even harder, Tav’s turning into a slight wheeze. 

She hasn’t gotten a single paper graded since Gale walked back downstairs with her. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but at first she’d been trying to steal glances in his direction for the first hour or so. He had too, but they’d caught one another in the act and each of them had gone all blushy. And then, he’d been too easy to talk to; had made her laugh without even trying, made her forget about her work entirely. 

Eventually, they move across the floor to a more deserted section of shelves, Tav seated on a stepladder and Gale leaning against the shelf across from her. The dusty books had muffled their chatter as the giggles turned into getting to know one another. 

“No, I’m not stalking you,” Tav says for the third or fourth time after Gale presses her about knowing his schedule. Her cheeks hurt from grinning so much. “I just…see you walking out of the English building at the same time that I happen to leave Smith.” 

“Twice a week?” Gale asks playfully. 

“Like clockwork,” Tav laughs. “I always look for you.” 

Something shifts in Gale’s demeanor at her words. He watches Tav for a moment, taking her in. He lowers his voice when he speaks. “Who’s to say I don’t look for you too?” Tav’s gut surges with warmth at the look in Gale’s eyes. He pushes off the shelves, daring a step closer to where she’s perched on the stepladder. 

“You’re not real,” Tav says, drunk with exhaustion and delirium. He shakes his head at this, taking another step. 

“Of course I’m real,” he laughs. 

“No, you’re not,” she says with a snort. 

“You did not just do that,” Gale says, laughing even harder. “And I’ll have you know, I’m more real than that sorcerer of yours,” he teases, resting his forearms on either rails of the step ladder, leaning in close. 

Tav blushes again, this time covering her face. “Oh god, you’re never going to let me live that down!” 

“Not until you give Feather-Fall Into My Arms a chance!” He laughs, driving her further into her embarrassment. “Tav,” he says sweetly through laughter, using his tanned hands to uncover her face. 

“What?” She says, flushed. 

He looks at her for a moment, his cheeks as red as hers must be. His smile is contagious, eyes lit with amusement and desire. His gaze dips down to her lips, then back up to her eyes. Tav’s heartbeat quickens, and they hesitate for a moment. 

And then, simultaneously, they both lean in for a kiss.

~

taglist:

@dr-demi-bee @ladyofcrowsandcoffee @lanafofana

@marlowethebard @crimson-and-lavender @spooky-lil-bee

@lastlight-inn @waterdeep-weavemoss @amorgansgal

[ghostboneswrites2]

Daryl x Librarian Reader

Not long enough to be a one shot // Probably not short enough to be a Drabble

Hey! I just wanna say I do see your requests and I do plan on finishing ongoing fics and such but I have been grasping at straws for creativity. Writers block is kicking my butt on top of family events and adultly duties. Plz believe me when I say I check my inbox and drafts daily to see which one I can work with and I’m trying to get back on my game!

Summary: Recalling a short innocent fling Daryl had with a librarian when he was young. (Pre Apoc // Canon Universe)

Masterlist

Warnings:brief mention of sex, profanity

(fem!reader) (reader description: shy, reserved, bashful, long hair)

Later in his life, Daryl would be known for his stoic demeanor and heroic feats, but before all the destruction and societal collapse, Daryl was once young and exuberantly charming. Still, given his family ties, he had a reputation. His father was a well known drunken hothead and his brother was considered a local terrorist.

Daryl, though, was a fairly agreeable guy despite his habit of losing his temper. In the years before he started drifting around with Merle, he was had his share of innocent fun and sweet flings.

Perhaps one of his most memorable interests was a girl by the name of Y/N, who worked at the local library. Daryl had decided to get his GED that fall, in hopes of scoring a job at the local auto shop. The manager told him if he had a diploma or something like it, he had a job.

He spent a lot of time in the library trying to study, but of course he was distracted by the shy beauty spending hours on end organizing books. To most, there was nothing special about her. She dressed in browns and grays, her makeup was never anything to look twice at, and she was overall very reserved and bashful. Her eyes never lingered on anyone else’s for too long, her hair was always brushed out straight and tucked behind her ears.

So, it was of course a surprise to all when a small town bad boy took interest in her. It was subtle at first, but anyone who payed attention would have picked up on the flirtatious half smiles and the gentle brush of his fingers against hers when he passed her a book for checkout. He never missed an opportunity to ask her a simple question or make any kind of small talk.

She was a bit more subtle, though. Her language was quiet and soft, mostly speaking through avoidant eyes and chewed up lips. She squirmed under the pressures of his tactics and he ate that shit up.

He realized quickly that she’d never open up in her work environment. That would have been unprofessional, and she was a careful girl.

So, when he was ready to ask her out, he decided to approach her after work. He waited outside, chain smoking in his truck until the library closed. When she came out and locked up, he approached her casually and asked her out on a date to the bar. She wasn’t a drinker, which he figured, but it was a small town. It was either the bar or the lake, and the lake was a well known hookup spot. He thought asking her there might be disrespectful.

Despite her reservations, she said yes, and that might be picked her up at 8pm sharp. He had changed into his nicest jeans and his favorite button-up, and he even went out and got some cologne for the occasion. He was pleasantly surprised to see her step out of her front door in a cute dress. Her hair was done in waves, a contrast to her typical pin-straight mane, and even her makeup was a tad brighter.

He grinned warmly at her as she walked up, earning a cheeky blush in return.

“Ya look real cute.” He told her, stepping to the side and pulling the passenger door open wide. She chuckled awkwardly as she climbed in the seat, thanking him before he shut her in the truck.

The ride to the bar had gotten off to a quiet start. It was sort of an uncomfortable silence, but mostly because they were both unsure how to begin. Eventually, he passed her a kind smile as he turned a corner, and asked her how old she was.

“22. You?”

“24.” He answered.

“What made you want your GED?” She wondered.

“For a job.” He shrugged.

“Oh.” She nodded as they pulled up to the bar.

“Wait here.” He told her as he removed the keys from the ignition and rushed to open her for for her. A pleased smile crept over her features at his chivalry as he offered her a hand to step down. She accepted his help, and thanked him once more as he let her in the bar.

Music and chatter filled the air inside, and admittedly it was overwhelming at first. He glanced around for a good table and ushered her over when he found it.

“Get comfortable. I’ll go get us some drinks.” He said in her ear over the loud music. She set her bag down before she slid herself into the booth, and a few moments later Daryl returned with two mixed drinks. He handed her one as he sat across from her. “It’s a Long Island Iced Tea. They’re strong but they don’t taste bad.” He explained.

She took a small sip to evaluate the taste. She’d only ever really drank wine on occasion. He was right, though. The taste was okay.

He was also right about it being strong, because halfway through her glass and they were laughing at each other as they talked about whatever came up. She wasn’t typically so chatty, but she liked the buzz.

“Wow. I didn’t think I’d have this much fun at the bar.” She admitted at some point.

“Yeah, this stinky ass joint ain’t half bad.” he agreed. “Ya never been here?”

“No, I don’t drink much.” She shrugged.

“Y’ain’t missin’ that much. It’s good to habe fun without booze.”

“Hmm. I dunno.” She giggled. “I’m having a pretty good time.”

Silence fell between them as their eyes met. He smirked at the way her hands fidgeted with her glass. In the silence, their gazes spoke a thousand words. They had quite a few dates after that. Mostly to the bar, but occasionally a movie or a simple dinner at her place. They never slept together, but he didn’t mind it much. His experiences were usually drunken and blurry the next day. He also just enjoyed her company.

Things didn’t end on a bad note, either. She was only working through her final semester of college before she went and took a job in an elementary school library in another town. Daryl ended up getting his GED and a job at the auto shop.

Life went on, and she became a mere memory, but occasionally he thought of her and wondered if she was still around. She probably got married and had babies, he figured. Some kind of white-picket-fence lifestyle. Regardless, he was thankful for the good memories. He didn’t have many to look back on before the outbreak.

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix @superbowlisgay @liizzygrant @eddiemunsonsupremecy