#and denying her the justice she deserves

[trappedinafantasy37]

"Weeeh! I wanna recruit Minthara on a good playthrough! Weeeh! I don't like the ultimatum and want to keep both Minthara and Halsin! Weeeh! I wanna make Minthara good! Weeeh! I don't want Minthara to break up with me!" Minthara deserves more content but none of these things are at all what she needs or deserves. No, these are all things that you want for yourself, but do absolutely nothing for her. This is one of the biggest L's in the game and it will forever enrage me because I just know it will never happen.

Minthara deserves to confront Orin like all the other companions do with their abusers. She deserves to scream and yell at Orin. She deserves to cut at her the same way Orin did, make her bleed and scream in pain. Minthara deserves to torture Orin, just as she did her in the mind flayer colony. Minthara deserves the right to roll up to the Temple of Bhaal and beat the shit out of Orin with her bare hands. Leave Orin begging for mercy in which Minthara will not even give her a drop. To slam Orin down on that altar and slice her throat, offer her up as a sacrifice to the father she is so blindly devoted to.

And yes, Minthara would be afraid. She would be TERRIFIED. Despite how strong and powerful Minthara is, she is also the only one afraid of Orin. Unlike Ketheric, or Gortash, or Sarevok, she is the only one who fully acknowledges just how dangerous Orin actually is and does not underestimate her. She will walk down into that temple, intending to duel Orin with a massive disadvantage because she is terrified.

Minthara choked when seeing Orin again in the mind flayer colony. She choked when seeing Orin as an imposter, throwing her deep into the ocean of paranoia and fear. And she is so entrenched in paranoia that it actually becomes palpable to everyone around her, even you. She describes herself as paranoid, but this is the first that you actually see how paranoid she is. And she choked again when Orin kidnapped someone in camp, making her feel inadequate, making a mockery of her for being unable to protect one of her own. And every day that passes, the more and more likely that the victim is going to die and she has doubts on their survival.

At every possible avenue in which Minthara could have done something or said something about Orin, she froze in place with fear. But she's had enough. She cannot be afraid of Orin forever and she doesn't want to be. One way or another, Orin has to die and she wants to get over that fear. She needs to know that Orin is dead, for herself.

This would also make the alurlssrin confession all the more impactful. She wants to tell you that she loves you in the best way that she can because of the very high likelihood that she will never have another chance to do so. She would beg you to come with her as you give her the courage. She has the courage to face her fears and confront her tormentor, because she knows she has you in her corner. If you have the courage to stand up to the very gods themselves, then she can stand up to Orin. Romanced or not, your presence alone is enough to give her the strength to do something she would otherwise be too terrified to do.

Minthara deserves the honor to solo duel Orin in a fight to the death. Minthara deserves the right to achieve vengeance for herself. No, I do not care that this confrontation would conflict with a Durge playthrough. In fact, it would provide a phenomenal source of some interesting, and toxic, drama between Durge and Minthara. Especially if they're in a relationship. This also does not mean that Minthara killing Orin instead of Durge would not have its consequences (because it most certainly will). Even if Minthara does not fight Orin, it would be so much better if Minthara was just given the fucking chance to yell at Orin like all the other companions in their personal quests.

[auroralwriting]

Hi love! I’d like to request a mob!bucky fic where he is the man that runs New York and the reader is his wife who convinces him to let her start opening hospitals and homes for people in need etc. one of his rivals tries to take her while at a charity thing and calls Bucky weak and losing his touch so he literally destroys him to protect his woman.

I understand if you are too busy but would love ya forever if you could write what has been in my head!

guard dog

mob!bucky barnes x wife!reader

bucky doesn't take too kindly to people hurting his wife.

word count: 1.7k | warnings: violence, cursing, bucky having a sweet spot for his doll ♡

i wrote this one so fast. thank you for this amazing request!! i hope i did your vision justice!

Everyone knew of Mr. James Barnes. He practically ran New York with every politician pressed under his palm, along with every rich business man and woman wrapped around his little finger.

The one thing you needed to understand about James, Bucky, as his wife called him, was that you were never to be messed with.

To Bucky, you were the epitome of innocence. No one was allowed to lay a finger on you or say anything that could even potentially upset you. You were his world, and he made sure it was protected.

Of course, he was absolutely right. You were truly an angel on earth, the truest definition of kind. Little did everyone know, while they were wrapped around Bucky's finger, he was wrapped around yours.

"Bucky, you cannot kill someone on a Sunday," You'd gripe. "Sunday's are holy days, and the days I make my cannoli. You don't want cannoli?" Bucky would give in, rescheduling to fit your needs. "And see if that guy wants a cannoli, too. If I were gonna die, I'd sure as hell want a nice, homemade cannoli."

You practically controlled his every little move. You kept Bucky somewhat grounded for a mobster. You also made sure to keep him from disappearing off the face of the earth.

"Hun, you mom's coming over for dinner tomorrow- No, I don't want to hear it! Anyone who had the guts to raise you and not lose their mind deserves a nice, home cooked meal with her family. Dinner, six o'clock, be there."

Your latest topic, though, was helping people. You didn't give too much mind to the people Bucky worked with, but your mind was set on the homeless. Some news report on CNN had utterly convinced you that you needed to be the change in the world.

"Buck, please!" You begged, latching your hands onto your husbands arm. "This is my calling!"

A small grin formed on Bucky's face, "I thought your calling was to foster little orphans. Or was it to start an animal rescue. Oh, maybe-"

"James, I'm serious!" Use of Bucky's real name was a sign you wanted him to take you seriously. "Please, I just want to help the innocent people out there who don't have anything or anyone."

With your puppy dog eyes gleaming at him, Bucky knew he couldn't say no. "Alright, alright. But I get to choose the place since I'm buying."

A large smile erupted on your face as you leaped to hug Bucky. "Oh, thank you! Thank you so much, baby!"

Bucky's wide palms rubbed your back softly as he kissed your head. "Anything for my precious world."

And so, the hunt for the perfect shelter was in place. Immediately, you called some friends to bounce ideas back and forth off them. Eventually, you decided on the name Feast. Food, emergency aid, shelter, and training. It was everything anyone could ever need. It was perfection.

Even Bucky had to agree, it sounded pretty solid. He was amused at the acronym, enjoying the excitement your project gave you.

After a few months, Feast was nearly up and running. To gather attention, you decided to host a gala. Bucky helped you invite anyone and everyone important. You needed to get Feast's name out there, and the big people were who would do it. Secretly, Bucky only agreed because he knew he could.. convince the ones who denied to lend a hand.

The night of the gala approached. You sat with Natasha, as she finished putting on her makeup. "Natty, you look so pretty already."

"Yeah, but you know Steve likes the shimmer. I just want to add a little bit more," Natasha replied, referring to her husband, aka Bucky's best friend. It helped a lot that your best friend was married to Bucky's best friend. Natasha and you did almost everything together.

"Steve would like you if you wore a cardboard box," You groaned. "Come on, we're going to be late!"

Natasha laughed as she stood up, "Alright, alright! You, Mrs. Barnes, are going to have a wonderful outcome I hear."

Your heart leaped at her words. "Really?"

"Yeah, I heard anyone's who's anyone is coming." You squealed at Natasha's words and lead her down to the limo where Bucky and Steve were waiting.

The moment Bucky laid eyes on you, he felt like he was falling in love all over again. "Doll," He breathed out, holding your waist carefully with both hands. "You're an angel,"

You blushed at his words, "You always know just what to say to me,"

"That's why you married me," Bucky teased, knowing all too well there were too many reasons to name as to why you married him. He still felt so lucky.

"You both look amazing," Steve complimented. "But if we don't get going soon, we'll be late."

Quickly, the four of you shimmed into the limo, having some champagne and listening to soft music while you made your way to the gala. You'd left all the interior planning up to Natasha, who's taste was the best in all of New York. You trusted her with your life. After making your way into the hall, it was solidified once more that Natasha was incredible.

The hall was beaming with gold and silver, a soft jazz band playing and a bustling bar full of the most appealing looking drinks you'd seen in a long time. You gave Natasha a thankful look as Bucky began to softly pull you away. He'd spotted the Mayor, and he was itching to make conversation.

It was probably two hours of chit chat later and you found your feet aching from your insanely high heels. You leaned up to Bucky's ear, "Hun, I'm going to go grab a drink. Want anything?"

"Rum?" Bucky muttered back as you gave an eager smile.

You sat at the bar, ordering yours and Bucky's drink. After a moment or so, you noticed the presence of someone in the seat beside you who wasn't there previously.

"Mrs. Barnes," You looked over to see Brock Rumlow. He, too, was a mobster. However, he wasn't one Bucky or Steve were particularly fond of. You didn't even know he was invited tonight. "What a lovely event this is."

"Oh, Mr. Rumlow," You said with surprise laced in your voice. "Thank you, it took a lot of preparation."

"I'm just surprised," Rumlow hummed. "Such a.. charitable thing your husband is endorsing."

You shook your head, "It was all my idea."

"Of course it was," Rumlow bitterly responded. "Barnes' pretty little play thing wanted a new passion project to occupy herself. How expected."

You felt your heart pang at his words. "Oh," You stuttered, losing any sense of confidence.

"I got you at a loss for words?" Rumlow's voice was low as he began to lean over your figure. It felt daunting rather than sultry. It felt dangerous.

"Rumlow, please back up a little bit," You pleaded as Rumlow's smirk grew. "I don't have any space."

"That's the point, baby girl." He continued to prowl over you like a hungry beast, ready to pounce on its prey. For a moment, you felt overcome with fear. The way Rumlow eyed you made you wish you had worn a more conservative dress.

Before you could blink, Rumlow was pushed back harshly. It caused you to jump up and into someones arms. You didn't even need to question who it was; you knew Bucky's touch anywhere.

"What the fuck were you doing with my girl?" Bucky growled as Rumlow shook himself out of shock.

"Just making conversation," Rumlow dryly responded. "She's a joy to talk to."

Bucky scoffed, "It looked like you were about to drag her out of here."

"And so what if I was?" Rumlow challenged. "What would you do, huh, Barnes? You've gone weak, she's making you lose your touch. You're just her silly little guard dog. No one's scared of you when everyone knows that you'd never do anything to upset your precious-"

Before Rumlow could even finish his sentence, Bucky was on top of him, punches pushing his head back and forth, left and right. The sickening sounds of skin against skin was too much for you to bare, but luckily, Steve had come right on time. He was quick to pull you behind him where Natasha was waiting to hold you in her arms.

"Don't you dare call me fuckin' weak!" Bucky yelled. All eyes were on the scene unfolding.

The crack of Rumlow's jaw was not to be missed as Bucky's fist collided with it so hard you could've sworn Bucky broke some of his teeth. "You think you can come here to my wife's gala and try me?"

You wanted to stop Bucky, but you could tell that with his anger, thee was no stopping him until he was done. More sounds of cracking, Rumlow's howls of pain, and the blow's of Bucky's beatings were all that echoed in the hall.

After a few minutes, Bucky slowly stopped, panting as he leaned over Rumlow breathlessly. It was then you stepped in, running behind Bucky and putting your hands on his shoulders. "Buck, c'mon. Let me get you cleaned up." Blood was splattered on Bucky's face, his fists drenched in it. You nodded to Steve who, once Bucky was standing, picked Rumlow over his shoulder and took him out of the building. Natasha waved the band who began playing, and everyone fell back into conversation almost as if nothing happened.

Bucky and you were silent as the bartender handed you some towels to clean Bucky up. "Did you see any of that?" Bucky asked softly, his tone much different than a few minutes beforehand.

"Steve pulled me behind him," You answered, wiping off Bucky's knuckles. They were already bruising due to the beatings on them.

"Good man," He nodded, knowing that he would have done the same for Natasha. They protected each other's girls, always. "I'm sorry this happened tonight. I didn't mean to ruin the gala."

You chuckled, forcing Bucky to look up and around. "Look, nothing's ruined. You don't think these people are used to this stuff?"

Bucky gave a soft smile in return as his fingers fell across your cheek, softly rubbing it. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Endlessly protect and love me, to start." You cheekily replied.

"Yeah," Bucky nodded, kissing you softly. "Always." He added as he pulled away. "Now, come on. I don't think we spoke to the Stark's yet."

[onmyyan]

(ive been spottily active lately and missed soooo much amazing stuff I'm trying to catch up still but the one thing someone mentioned to you is now running circles like an energetic puppy in my brain) yandere batfam angst with (yandere?) superfam fluff. The savior complex. The rivalry. I love your writing so much. I love how so many cool people message you and share ideas. You're awesome.

A/N: First of all you're so sweet ❣️ thank you!! I so appreciate this request and how it made my brain turn!!

In this situation let's say you've already done the whole 'neglected so you leave and trigger their yandere instincts' thing, so you've been kidnapped, bound to the manor for months at this point, but Bruce decides you've been behaving well enough to deserve a treat. He knows how cooped up you feel, he's not as delusional as the rest of his family who believe you love it there, so he takes you with him to the hall of justice, he isn't worried about you escaping after all the hall of justice is in outer space, and you're surrounded by experienced heros, you're not going anywhere.

That's his first mistake.

Clark takes to you immediately. You've got the Wayne charm but so clearly your own person, you stand away from Bruce, asking Clark earnest questions, listening oh so intently, he knows you're an adult, but your so much smaller than him, (the man is 6'3 he's bigger than most people.) he noticed the way your heart rate picked up when Bruce so much as touched you, you were scared of him, he could tell, and this is what ignites that dangerous flame inside him.

He starts by inviting the whole Wayne family over for dinner, can't draw suspicion by inviting only you, (despite that being exactly what he wanted to do) Lois makes a feast, that night you meet Clark's entire family, his son's Conner and Jon, Kara his cousin, and of course Lois his wife, they all focus on you despite trying to play it cool, Kara's around your age and asks if you'd like to go shopping with her in metropolis some day, you smile starting to nod before Bruce answers for you, "Her studies are taking up most of her time nowadays, some other time." He grins taking a bite of his steak.

Clark sets his silverware down, grinning that friendly smile of his, "Well surely she can take a little break, one day away from her studies won't kill her, besides she'll be safe as can be with Kara by her side." Bruce glares at him, he can't outright deny the claims because his own possessive need to have you by his side at all times, and because they're true, so he relents, and that's how you find yourself spending time with her, and in turn the superfam.

It doesn't take long for them to fall in love with the idea of you being there, with them, at their dinner table.

The second they're all in agreement,(about a week after getting to know you) they quickly decide you're better off with them, and when Superman breaks into the Manor one day and sweeps you off your feet, the batfamily can't do anything but watch in horror.

[violet-eng]

Fem!reader married to a Neuvillette who loves not her but someone else | NSFW 🔞 + 😢

In this one I'm going out on a limb, because I presume without any argument other than my own intuition, that Neuvillette and Focalors had a platonic relationship with feelings never confessed out of fear or genuine ignorance of them (like Violet Evergarden, yes). But you are Neuvillette's wife and so you will fall victim to his coldness when Focalors dies.

Includes NSFW with the reader and angst. Never mistreatment because Neuvi is a gentleman. NOTHING BETWEEN FOCALORS/FURINA AND NEUVI NONONO

⚠️ Warnings: established relationship between Neuvillette and reader, implied cheating, unloving and unprotected sex, pregnancy, sex during pregnancy, mentions of masturbation. Mentions of death. More sex between spouses bc yes.

mndi, if you feel unconfortable reading this then don't. Your mental health is first.

6k words, not edited.

💧💧💧💧💙💙💙💙💙💙💙🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️💧💧💧💧💧💙💙💙💙🔹️🔹️🔹️

You had seen him crestfallen the last few weeks, after the flood, self-conscious in his own thoughts, drowning in his remorse and cowardice.

Neuvillette does not understand human feelings, not at all, though love is supposed to be a passion that transcends the natural laws of evolution. Focalors had been his friend, his companion, in the bruised body of a puppet that felt so real that its strings seemed invisible.

There was no denying the deep affection that had grown between the two, Neuvillette and Focalors, two wandering souls, roaming the world with ancestral antiquity, companions destined to the sound of agony and separation, haunted by the solemn ignorance of innocent creatures.

Love… what was it but a word in a spoken contract.

Neuvillette had married you months ago, a happy and superficially authentic marriage. You had captured his attention, and his knowledge of humans, as the Great Chief Justice, could be satiated by knowing you, a faithful human companion, devoted wife, and sublime lover.

The bed was the only moment where you two connected, where, to the rhythm of the waves, Neuvillette penetrated his marital responsibility towards your depths, that which he considered appropriate towards his so-called wife, who, in a frenzy of pleasure, crushed his pale back with her nails, set to music by the melodious moans he tore from your sweaty breast… There was no connection beyond the sexual, for as a dragon, despite the years, it is very difficult for him to connect with humans.

Focalors was an oceanid, and he was a dragon sovereign. Both turned human. Nothing more to add, two rulers abandoned by the world they were supposed to protect, what would grow between them but pure trust and admiration that would obviously develop into love?

Neuvillette didn't understand. Not until that moment. He had been deaf to his innocent heart pounding anxiously every time Focalors entered his office in her unruly human form, rampant in color and expression. He had been unaware of the flame of satisfaction in his chest that burned hot when she spoke to him in the privacy of their conversations in the theater…he did not understand, not until he understood that he would eventually lose her.

He cried, for the first time he let someone see him cry in his human form. Focalor's words, so exquisite before him, ethereal in her ornate louvered dress, echoed in his head…and in his heart… ….

"Hydrodragon, Hydrodragon… don't cry," she whispered… and he, very reluctant to leave her, wished with all his might to leap upon her, wrap her in his arms and never let her go. He would flee with her on his lap, in his draconic form, leaving Fontaine and everyone else to their fate.

No… a Sovereign would not do that… he would not do that… for to abandon his oath would deserve the most dastardly punishment of all. And maybe, just for thinking that, he deserved what happened next.

"Farewell, Neuvillette," her words, pure in his human form. His companion, his friend, his mentor… his soul mate, tossed away like the foam on the shore of a beach.

Death was a human concept, without transcendence over evolution… love, however, was another story.

He came home like a soldier after the war, he came back without a part of himself… he came back to his boring life married to a woman he doesn't even love, at least not the way you really deserve him.

"Darling," you offer him a glass of fresh spring water from Quiaoying Village, because you know he doesn't like anything else, especially in dark times like these, a glass of the freshest, coldest water suits him wonderfully.

He drinks from the glass, almost as stoic as ever, though his face is stiffer than usual. Routine is becoming overwhelming for both of you, and Neuvillette is suspiciously distant from you, more so than usual. You stroke his cheek while he sleeps to help him fall asleep, you make him breakfast in the mornings and serve him dinner when he comes home, all without so much as a hello.

You suspect the worst, because your friends have planted the idea in your head that Neuvillette has a mistress, and not far from the truth, his heart belongs to another.

After the flood, many had left Fontaine, and perhaps your husband's mistress was among them, or so you thought. How painful it had been for you to see him break for another woman, to see him crack at his most human for a heart that was not yours.

Overwhelmed, you write him a letter with the idea of leaving him and traveling to Sumeru with one of your friends in search of a new life, but everything is cut short when your symptoms begin. Pregnancy was imminent, after all the nights the Iudex had taken you into your bed, it was to be expected.

You receive Neuvillette that night, frustrated by your own doubts, debating between informing him of your condition or simply fleeing to new horizons with your child. It is so difficult to decide when your husband is the Iudex of Fontaine… and when you care about his reputation because you love him sincerely.

There is no need to search for words when your husband is a dragon with keen senses, for as soon as he set foot in the house, he sensed the scent of his brood stirring within you. The Iudex's interest, however, lay in whether or not you would confess to him.

"A package arrived for you this afternoon," Neuvillette comments as he sips the tea you prepared for him, pointing to a bag on the front table.

"Ah, yes," you say half-heartedly, taking the bag in your hands, emotions spilling from your chest as you crumple the paper between your fingers.

You sigh deeply, thinking that maybe this gift is your way of saying goodbye to him, of silently making amends and apologizing for something that is absolutely not your fault other than falling in love with the wrong man.

You take out of the bag an encyclopedia, a thick book with thick paste and yellow pages, brought from Sumeru, recommended by the very scribe of the Academya, a book of human anthropology for your dear strange husband, who seems to have a real interest in human behavior. Neuvillette looks at it as if it were a revelation, as incredulous as he is moved, touched by your gift and your attention to his interests. You try to say something, to tell him that you are pregnant, but you stop when you hear him speak.

"I know you're expecting my child," Neuvillette says, without going into the details of how he found out, touching the rim of the teacup, a wedding gift. "Whatever you need, tell me, health, food, you know I will cover all expenses."

"I want to go to Sumeru," you confess in an almost whispered tone, your words seeming to be carried away by the wind rushing through the window.

"That wouldn't be good," for a Hydro Dragon hatchling, of course it wouldn't. "You're too young to venture into a new nation, especially one with new leaders like Sumeru, not to mention the dry climate."

You don't argue, knowing he's right, and decide to simply retreat to your room and wallow in your defeat.

Neuvillette, however, with what little empathy he has generated, caresses the book with his fingertips, gliding over the fine markings carved into the cover.

A gift, he had never given you a gift before, but you had given him a gift by taking the initiative.

The months passed quickly. The precariousness of your relationship, increasingly dry on your part, provokes something in Neuvillette.

He looks at you from his side of the bed, the way you sleep peacefully with a swollen belly, carrying his little dragon without knowing it, without trying to get rid of it, loving it from the first moment. Neuvillette has seen you singing lullabies to your child these past few months, reading him stories while caressing your belly, telling him how much you want him to be born strong and healthy.

He's grateful for the deep affection you have for your child, so much so that he has tried to show it. Maybe what he read in the book worked, or maybe it is just a product of his new feelings for his wife, who is about to become a mother. He would do anything for your son to be born healthy and with a healthy mother.

He buys you fritters on the way home, from the store he found out you like best, courtesy of some Melusine, and sits next to you at the dinner table, trying to take an interest in your day and tell you about his, always aiming for your peace, a healthy heart would bring a healthy child.

His devotion is to the birth of your child, because that's what he tells himself. It's not that he was interested in you, of course not… it's not like he was surprised when you told him your clothes were too tight and you hated your new body, not when he likes to see your new figure when you lie next to him at night, with enlarged breasts and a round belly. He bought you new clothes, yes, by the boatload, but because that's what any husband would do.

He only appreciates you for being the mother of his child, it's not like his heart fluttered when he saw you helping some melusines with their problems, or coddling some baby of your friends, thinking what a wonderful mother you will soon be. It's not like h chest filled with pride when he saw you in the stores looking for maternity books and baby clothes, worrying about the weather and your child's health.

And it's definitely not like he's masturbating in his office, remembering the image of you undressing that morning to get into the tub, cutting the skin of your arms and breasts, moaning at the contact of the warm water against your body, and letting out a sigh of deep satisfaction.

That night, he comes home with the usual everyday gift, this time a box of macaroons, because he noticed that you were looking at them in the display case with great eagerness during the afternoon. And he sits down at the table with you, pours you a cup of tea and starts the conversation, even though he notices that you are much more tired than usual.

He carries you into the bedroom and helps you into your nightgown, taking the opportunity to caress your waist and back as he helps the fabric slide over your curves. And then he strokes your head to help you fall asleep, and without realizing it, he smiles as he sees you fast asleep next to him.

The birth is approaching and the strong pains make you desperate, confined to your room and reluctant to go out even to sunbathe. It was the midwife who unscrupulously suggested to Neuvillette that a little sexual activity would help you get through the contractions. And he, as devoted to his wife's health as any good husband, agrees.

You feel Neuvillette's cock thrust deep into you, deep into your velvety walls, soft and slow, not unlike what you've felt before. His hands rest on the sides of your head, his gaze fixed on his cock disappearing inside you, while you curl your legs at the delicious sensation of his thick appendage inside your pussy. He moves cautiously, sharply, trying not to hurt you, and as he pumps inside you, his gaze is lost on your breasts, bouncing to the rhythm of his gentle thrusts.

"Perfect," he whispers through his teeth, because in his eyes you are the perfect reservoir for his brood, yes, just that… he insists that you are simply his good companion, and pretends that he hasn't wanted to have you like this for weeks, under him, a mess between moans pinned to him as you cling to his arms.

"Monsieur~" you whimper, bringing a hand to your face to cover your expression, though he takes your wrist and looks at your face as if you were a treasure just discovered by a hungry, ambitious man.

When you reach your orgasm, he kisses you, for the first time during sex, Neuvillette kisses you, and even he surprises himself with his own actions. He washes your body and dresses you before you rest, now much calmer than before, sinking into your husband's chest as you fall asleep, ignoring the feelings that surface between the two of you.

When the child is born, Neuvillette is surprised to continue his affection for you. He did not fall into the same materialism as before, because now he recognized in the shared work of the novices how difficult it was to take care of a baby. It is he who washes the child because, to your surprise, he knows the strange need for fresh water that your baby requires at least twice a day. Neuvillette enjoys the laughter that you get from your child, and the way that he lifts his arms so that you can hold him and show him how well you are feeding him, he looks strong and healthy.

One day, as he was leaving the Opera Epiclese, he was distracted by the statue of the Focalors, but his attention was immediately drawn to the babbling exclamations of his son, who was waving in your arms near the fountain. How gratifying is that moment when his heart leaps with joy as he sees you holding his child.

The days have been sunny in Fontaine since your son was born, and to Neuvillette's relief, the bitter memories of his separation from the Focalors are just that, memories… past images that he does not cherish, as he knows humans do, not now that his being is entirely devoted to his mate and his brood. What kind of elixir have you become for him, that he can forget all his sorrows and his past loves?

Neuvillette spends hours in his office poring over the pages of the book you gave him months ago, highlighting this thing called melancholy, the longing for past situations and desires, and feeling sorry for those who feel it, because if it were a disease, he would call himself cured of this melancholy.

He finds it curious how you managed to get rid of all the gloomy feelings that plagued him, and even wonders if you are not some kind of sorceress… No, not you, not when you so devotedly cleanse your child and offer him a carefully prepared dinner, and practically put your heart and soul into every act of domesticity.

Focalors… her name and image sail through the ancient memories of Neuvillette's tattered mind, the smile of a woman he loved, now replaced by that of the one who lies beside him, coddling a bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked child. Funny how in such a short time he had acquired such human habits as feeling part of a family he hadn't even planned to have.

Your relationship with Neuvillette, full of respect and admiration, help and companionship, seems to evolve into something more. You become his confidant, his mentor when he has doubts about human children or about the customs between parents and children. Involuntarily, he comes to you when he has questions, not to a library, for despite your young mortal age, you know much more than books could ever give him.

You are patient with his ignorance and loving when he is wrong. Mutual and pure respect, absolute devotion and admiration. Neuvillette doesn't believe you are human, how can you be human with so many virtues… his curiosity grows and changes, so much so that he counts the hours in court to come home and chat with you while you nurse his child.

He returns home that night with new doubts, because he has seen strange devices for children without understanding their usefulness, called fun. Can they have fun by themselves? Aren't they too young for that?…oh, and he brings a storybook, because he understands that made-up stories are interesting for babies, even if they don't understand much of the language.

He goes to the baby's room with an enthusiasm he doesn't know he has, and stops at the door when he hears you soothing your baby's cry with sweet words.

"Hydro-Dragon, Hydro-Dragon, don't cry," you murmur as you caress your child's cheek and try to feed him.

Your child is frantically breastfeeding, his tears fading as he closes his bright purple eyes, his little hands clenched into fists and his nose twitching. Neuvillette watches the whole scene from the doorway, his heart in his throat and his feelings on his skin. Those words that broke his soul so long ago now seem to put the pieces of his shattered existence back together.

He smiles, a melancholy, self-satisfied smile. And he looks at you, he looks at you with devotion, because you have finally made him understand what he feels and has felt for so many months. His devoted wife, as patient as she is charming… seems wiser and more skillful than any scholar.

Leaving your child in its cradle, you straighten your neck and turn to Neuvillette, who has entered the room.

"What a beautiful book," you murmur, picking it up, "the baby will love it.

Neuvillette watches you with one hand on the crib that protects his baby, then watches his son sleep, wrinkling his nose the way you do when you sleep.

"You must be exhausted," he whispers, stroking your arm and leading you out of the baby's room.

"Not at all," you smile, "the child fills me with vitality."

"So… Hydro Dragon," Neuvillette recalls the words you said to his baby.

"I said it when I was a girl, like everyone else in Fontaine, it was an idea that came to me suddenly," you answer, and he smiles at your expression, thinking that maybe he heard you when you were a girl, maybe you were one of the many children who recited the same words when it rained in Fontaine.

"I have to tell you something," Neuvillette says, his voice lacking authority, more like a prayer. You watch him from the kitchen.

"'Tell me.

Focalors, Neuvillette, Furina, Fontaine's hydrodragon, the flood, his never-confessed love… he tells you everything because he understands that you deserve the truth, and that he doesn't deserve you because you're too understanding of his confession. It is as if this conversation has cleared up all your doubts, and you have finally seen the real Neuvillette, who fully trusts you to know what to do with this information.

Neuvillette believes that you will ask him for a divorce and leave him alone with his son, but he is surprised to find you preparing breakfast the next morning with your child tied to your leg while you both laugh.

He does not deserve you, definitely not, for he is perhaps the most despicable man in Fontaine and all of Teyvat. To think of another while he is married, to take his wife with him in a grief that is not hers, to bind her to him forever by impregnating her… how mean he must have been, and how understanding you become as his selfishness grows.

He hugs you from behind, buries his face in your neck, inhales your scent and clings to your waist. He begs for forgiveness countless times, and you feel that he may have already shed a few tears on your shoulder, because the sky suddenly begins to cloud over.

"There's nothing to forgive," you whisper, stroking his head, "we can't choose who we fall in love with."

He looks at you in disbelief, wondering in what book he would find such an accurate statement. You had fallen in love with him, and he finally understands, for you are both victims of the disorderly course of love, so messy in its actions, indifferent to those it hurts.

He thinks about your words as he sits in his office, as he looks at the framed photograph he has of you holding his son, and wonders when he fell into the trap of the reckless love that humans call it.

The name of the Focalors does not mean anything to him anymore, even less when he sees Lady Furina in boutiques or restaurants… surely a memory has finally become just that, a memory. His heart is now the prey of another person, his wife, the mother of his son.

Neuvillette understands that there is a difference between soul mates, first love, and true love. The connection with Focalors had been imminent years ago, as both were unaware of the actions of the society in which they had become intruders, but they were nothing more than that, accomplices in a game of masks and power, the first experience of mutual affection and trust. Focalors was his soulmate, yes, because she understood firsthand everything he experienced, but being a living part of her theater did not feel authentic.

With you, however, Neuvillette had learned to be a part of his people, whether as a human or a dragon, as Chief Justice or as the father of an infant. He was no longer an intruder or a stranger ignorant of human ways, not after you. At your side, Neuvillette had known a new range of sensations, of experiences and learning based on mistakes, all very human on his part, and as expected, he had learned to fall in love again, because it was inevitable, after several problems and misunderstandings between the two of you, after the birth of his son and the new horizons that fatherhood brought. His affection for you had been disguised as admiration and redemption, his ignorance had once again avoided love, a mistake he wanted to make up for.

Sitting in your living room while he reads a book and you braid his hair and hum a lullaby, Neuvillette lets the waves of your voice carry him away, wondering what kind of marital experiences he had missed with you.

"What kind of things do husbands do?" He asks suddenly, looking up at you from the carpeted floor, surprising you with his curious question.

"Well…" you think, it's not like when he asks you why kids suck their thumbs or why people give each other presents on non-holidays. It's not a question about trivial human behavior, not this time.

"I've seen couples go out to dinner, but you told me that friends also go out to dinner," he continues, elaborating on his puzzle. "Wriothesley and I have had tea together, what would be the difference between having tea with him and with you?"

"Well…" you continue to think about your answer. "Perhaps the most obvious is living together, planning the week together, household and food expenses, child care, and confidentiality between the two. When you and I have tea, we talk about things that you probably don't mention to Wriothesley".

" Certainly," he says with a hand on his chin, "you and I do all those things, but how is that different from students who share a house? They also plan expenses and discuss confidences."

"Then I guess the biggest difference is in starting a family. Normally, people get married because they want to have a family with the person they choose, the person they love, or the person their parents impose on them."

"So sex is what differentiates married people," he says, and you remain static at his words, stopping to braid his hair, "of course… the physical and emotional affection shown by both parties in marriage…" Neuvillette rambles on, his own conclusion as he sits on the couch next to you, thinking about how he hasn't shown his affection the way he should.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, you are distracted by the details of your skirt, picking out rebellious threads, and then he thinks about the last time he kissed you and wonders what it would be like to kiss someone with marital affection.

"Can I kiss you?" The question is thrown out with innocence, causing surprise in you.

"You've kissed me before, Neuvillette," you say, smiling and getting up to go into the kitchen, "we even have a son, I don't think there's anything new to try."

"Indeed," he says, getting up and walking toward you, your back against one of the walls, "but the variable that makes this situation different from the others is that I didn't feel that way about you."

"Like what?" you ask, as he moves closer to you, almost cornering you against the wall.

"I like thinking about you, being with you, hearing you talk," he says, his tone low, as if he were ashamed to confess everything to you. "I thought it was a simple instinct to care for you as the mother of my child… but now I know it's something deeper than that."

You look at him in surprise, now it is you who has unknowns that only he can answer. The silence between you is cold and almost tactile.

"What about her? Of the Archon," you whisper, your breath depending on the question, Neuvillette's forehead inches from yours.

"It's not the same. There is no excitement or desire. I never longed for her or desired her like you. She didn't provoke me the way you did, it's almost annoying."

"Am I annoying? "Is that what she's telling me, Judge?" You smile as you touch the tip of his nose, trying to take some of the seriousness out of the conversation.

"You are adorably hypnotic, I must say. More than you should be. You have taken everything from me without me even realizing it, subtly and carefully taking over my mind and my heart," Neuvillette's hands caress your cheek, high above your skin, avoiding friction as if his touch would bruise your flawless complexion.

"Let me show you these human feelings that have taken over me, please," he whispers, his thumb sliding over your lower lip. He says it almost like a complaint, his bursting emotions becoming painful, trapped in his chest, longing for you to give him comfort and permission to act.

"I'll let you… only if you promise me something," you say, taking his hand, avoiding the marks of his fingers on you. "You will never push me aside for another woman again…"

His oath needs no words, not when he has you leaning against the kitchen table, his cock pushing behind you to your cervix. Your muffled moans as he adjusts your skirt over your waist and spreads your legs further to give him free access to your pussy, which sucks him contemptuously.

Neuvillette feels like a fantasy, thrusting relentlessly into you, touching the bulge that has formed in your belly from the penetration of his cock, pushing with his hand so you can feel it better, eliciting a high-pitched moan from you. . He kisses your cheek and you hear his muffled moans against your ear as he utters words of worship.

You grip the marble edge of the table, moaning at the burning building in your belly, your eyes glassy and spit falling from your mouth. It's as if your legs were lifeless, as if you were prey to Neuvillette and the way he drives his love for you so deep that it seems to stir your womb.

That afternoon he takes you in the kitchen, and the next morning he doesn't let you get out of bed, one hand on the headboard and the other around your waist, Neuvillette has you with your ass up like a dog in heat, hitting your slippery with his length. The strength that his support gives you is hard to bear, your breasts trembling strongly as your ass bounces to his rhythm, your skin moving like waves in the sea with each vibration that Neuvillette's relentless interference causes.

His hand slides down your body, caressing your breasts and down to your clit, your face buried in the pillows, almost crying at how good his fingers feel on your nervous lump. He fills you with his seed when he reaches orgasm, because he is dying to see you again with your belly swollen for his offspring. And he kisses you again, he kisses your forehead while you catch your breath, while you cover your body that has been bruised by his fingers, defining the lustful path of his digits over your body.

In his office, he remembers the past hours with fanciful lust and longs to return home to enjoy this new activity that you have made him experience, this new addiction that your body represents against his. He longs for your company and your warmth, your voice moaning with pleasure and the way your nails dig into his back. He adores everything about you, not only because you are the mother of his child, but because he finally understands, after several months of reading and reflection, that he has truly fallen in love with you, his precious human wife.

[inkskinned]

they don't see it, because it is around them like air. to them, it would have to be through movies, through magazines. they think it happens outside of life, like it must be selected to be interacted with.

but you discovered in the fifth grade that you couldn't wear shirts with words on them, it was an excuse for someone to look at your chest. you were catcalled before you were in middle school. sometimes you look at that memory and deny it - surely that can't be right, you were young. but you were in a skirt, so maybe that was a natural byproduct. it was a skirt from that place "justice by limited too" - a store literally for kids. it was popular around then. you wore that skirt twice and then never again.

you can't wear headphones, because what if a man wants to talk to you? there's a guy on the internet who complains that women shut themselves off from being approached. at night, you often keep the headphones positioned but with the sound off, just in case you need to hear something behind you.

you learned at 12 that you can't make eye contact, don't acknowledge the aggression. just walk faster and hope he picks on somebody else. don't wear your hair like that. do not park next to that kind of car, park an entire cityblock away if you must.

you can't go to the museum, you're sitting and tying your shoe when he approaches you and mentions that nobody understands art anymore. that in the whole world, it's just you-two. you have no recourse for eating a meal (it's rabbit food if it's salad, and someone will roll their eyes, eat a sandwich. it's pick-me behavior if it's a burger, we get it you're a cool girl). if you like mushrooms you are cottagecore, which is cheesy. if you like video games you're an egirl (similar to a pick-me). boys do not get categories, but if you point out the categories are sexist, you are told okay but these girls really exist.

it is somehow developing, a little undercurrent that you've been uncomfortable with. the nickname "karen" went from being "a white woman that uses her whiteness as a weapon, particularly against people of color," to now mean "any woman raising her voice or being even a little upset." the reappropriation of a term used specifically to call out white women for their racism has set your skin on edge. now it is just another version of "bitch," one that can be said on television. recently you saw a woman get called a karen because a drunk driver sideswiped her, and she screamed when it happened. the comments on the dashcam video all say "why do women always scream about everything." "when has the world ever been bettered by women screaming." "this fucking karen. she deserved to get hit."

in the sitcom, it's a joke that the wife is furious; slamming her hands down into the sink. i do everything around here, might as well do this too. in your house, your father is always in-his-office. before you know better, your first boyfriend is the type to say it's just easier for you. you used to beg him to take you on dates. he used to make a big deal about it, about the sacrifice of effort, even if you were the one who did most of the planning.

someone on the internet makes a "POV: the most boring person you've ever met" where he puts a towel on his head and just talks like a normal person. his impression of a boring woman is just a woman that is talking about her pretty-average life without exaggeration.

you are sometimes actually sad in the reverse, because actually you did used to struggle to pay attention in conversations. you were also easily bored of normal things, your adhd pinging off of every radio tower in the vacinity. it took time and therapy and patience, and now you delight in the small things about your friends. you like having them show you their organizational systems and talk about their taylor swift tickets. you are entertained by them because you learned to be, even though your brain is structured to only be excited by novelty. you kind of hate the idea that the reason your father will never actually pay attention to you is that you're no longer interesting. eventually the shine wore off, and you were just a person, not a spaceship. he never learned how to just, like, form an actual intimate friendship. it was always at a distance, this sense - emotional closeness was too much. (and yes. he's homophobic).

you're already tired of whatever the fuck is happening with the words "divine feminine", a rancid take that is basically just a rebranding of the patriarchy in action. what the fuck do they mean "being small and delicate and needing protection" is feminine. the words they are looking for are that they want a partner, not that their desire for equivalent support is relegated to gender. the human desire for community is not actually gendered at all. also, what fucking wolves are these "divine masculine" men even battling. fuckken taxes? shouldn't their "desire to protect" also mean "protect you from emotional neglect", or are all emotions off-limits (and how sad would that be. that's a horrible bar to set.)

and they tell you it's really not bad actually, because it's just there. they suggest you get off the internet or you stop reading that book or you stop thinking so hard about the movie or you stop just-being-a-feminist because honestly it's a killjoy sort of thing and then you tilt your head to the side and there's that little siren in the back of your head. if things were actually fine, being a feminist wouldn't put a stop to anything, it would go completely unnoticed, because you wouldn't have any comment to make about any of this

but you are ruining your own life, they tell you. also, girls don't sit like that. also, all girls are catty. also, all girls are bad drivers. also, all girls just need a cute bracelet and an iced coffee.

you do like iced coffee, is the thing. when you close your eyes, the world around you has this strange note to it. and once you hear it, it never stops ringing.

[love-bitesx]

May I request a hobie x fem reader

Reader is also a spider person and dating hobie. she gets in a fight with other spider people that been talking about hobie behind his back, And he just comfort her and help with her injuries.

: ̗̀➛ HONOUR. hobie brown x fem!reader

summary: after hearing fellow spider-people talking rudely about hobie, y/n defends him, taking a couples punches in the process. words: 1.6k warnings: fem reader, she/her pronouns used, mentions of blood & injury, miguels pissy like always, general mentions of fighting/violence

thank you sm for the request!! i hope i did it justice. im getting through all the asks, so pls be patient! ily all sm

"he's just a bit freaky, you know."

shoulders tensing, you eavesdropped on a pair of haphazard spider-people, their snark voices carrying through the reverberant room. you were sitting by the 'go-home machine' – aptly named – waiting for miguel to arrive and dish out orders, listening to them tattle about hobie brown.

"literally," a second voice tagged themselves in, jumping on the wagon of comments, "just turns up, acts like a prick and somehow everyone puts up with him."

chest burning, you tried to grasp your composure, gripping onto it with white knuckles – similar treatment given to the metallic desk you sat on.

first hand, you saw how hard hobie worked – having been dating him for a while now. though he lived to deny it, saying he was only in the spider society to look after you, gwen and pavitr - you constantly experienced his passion for keeping you all safe. even if its unconventional, he deserved his place here more than anyone.

"don't know what miguel was thinking bringing him here," the first spider snarled, a hint of a smirk lacing his tone, "he's useless."

stomach twisting, you physically bit down on your tongue - miguel would kill you in broad daylight if you started a fight in the headquarters (ironic, you thought, but you didn't want to bite the hand that fed you).

"freakshow, honestly," the other muttered, followed by a cold-hearted guffaw that made your blood spurt past the boiling point, "he doesn't even belong here."

as though someone had physically flipped your restraint, severing your ties, you turned to the duo, taking them by surprise when you shot a web in their direction, sticking the second man's mouth shut.

"what the hell?" the free one spun to you, stance ready.

you kept your posture strong, enraged eyes trained on him, "don’t be such a prick,” you spat through a clenched jaw. wrist aching at the urge to web him to the wall, your fingers itched.

he scoffed, stepping up to you, “i don’t think it’s any of your business, sweetheart.”

in your peripheral, your eyes caught the sight of the second spider clawing at the webs smothering his face, and you shot again – his hands now clasped together against his chest like a prayer.

a second audacious scoff sounded from the man in front of you, and a threatening tingle vibrated each and every bone of your spine – your spidey-senses alive with caution. it quickly became apparent why, when a fist flew towards the side of your head – an aggressive muttering of “oi, what do you think you’re doing?” accompanying it.

an inch before it connected, you ducked your head, crouching to the floor and kicking at the man’s knees. he buckled, falling to the ground and your fist collided with his jaw. your rage clouded your vision, adrenaline pumping through your veins like a poison. knuckles aching, pulled back, you webbed him to the concrete.

“y/n?” margo called from behind you, and you turned to see her. eyes wide like saucers, she looked at you with confusion.

“they start—” you couldn’t even finish your sentence when a powerful blow hit the side of your cheek, knocking you to the side, hip smashing into the corner of a desk.

shielding yourself with your arms, you caught vision of your attacker; the first man you webbed had freed himself, pouncing to you in defence. yelling something ending in “bitch”, he swung again, crashing into your ribs and you groaned in pain, connecting your web to a beam just behind him, pulling yourself away from his towering stance. with your new advantage, though winded, you raised your wrist to web him once more, when the huge, mechanical doors swung open.

“what the hell is going on in here?” miguel’s booming voice thundered across each vibrating wall, and you both froze, your arm gripped around your aching ribcage.

accompanying him was a cluster of spider-people, excluding your boyfriend. they took a second to adjust to the darkness of the room, before they halted at the scene in front of him.

“she went crazy, miguel!” the man on the floor shouted in defence, and your chest was heaving so heavily, you were at a loss for words.

“y/n, what happened?” gwen’s tone was soft, you could feel them approaching, your adrenaline draining through your body – taking any comprehensible inhibition with it.

“he swung at me!” you barked back, and the feeling of everyone’s eyes on you made your chest swell in anger, “don’t spin this on me when they’re the ones who started it.”

“we didn’t do anything!” unwebbing themselves from the floor, you stared at them, your eyes alive with rage, “she just came at us for no reason. she’s crazy, man.”

“i’m not—”

“enough! all of you!” miguel’s voice was heavy with anger, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t send a shot of fear to pierce your chest, breaking through the bone.

“i don’t care what happened,” he spat, looking at you like you were dirt on his shoe, “you two,” he pointed at your attackers, “get out.”

without a word of complaint, they filtered out behind your petrifying boss, and his enraged eyes fell on you.

"you," he paused, stepping until his lofty stature towered you, "you're one of our best, and you're picking stupid fights?"

"you don't understand, they–" you tried, grasping desperately at your side.

"i don't care what happened," he repeated his earlier quip, "it's not happening again, got it?"

reluctantly, you nodded, and he could practically see the flames in your iris, it burnt you to give over.

"go home, y/n."

"miguel–" gwen tried to intervene, but miguel wasn't paying attention.

"go home."

sitting on your bathroom counter, you struggled with the first-aid kit, hands trembling in pain as you attempted to patch up the skin that sat split open on your cheekbone. frustrated, you slammed the bandages and compact mirror down on the hard surface, chest burning with annoyance.

spine fuzzing, you felt the empty space change in your apartment, the tingling of static air putting you on edge.

"darlin'? you in 'ere?" hobie's rich voice carried through the walls, and you sighed in relief.

"hobie?" the bathroom door creaked open and he was standing there, dark eyes taking in your wounded appearance.

"fucking 'ell," he muttered, booted feet taking him to you, calloused hands gentle against your cheeks.

"you should see the other guy," a half-hearted smile played at your lips and you were melting into him, your anger subsiding, "well, guys."

"i heard," his expression didn't change, but his eyes scanned your open wound, "gwen wanted me to tell you she thinks you're badass."

a chuckle resonated in your throat, and you immediately regretted it as the vibration shot a bullet of pain through your bruised ribs. that's what hobie's mood shifted, his brows furrowed in worry and lifting your chin to him.

"what 'appened, pretty?" he reached for the first-aid kit, pushing your legs open to step between them – he tended to your wound softly, "can you tell me?"

hesitation brung you to a halt and you bit your lip. you had fought over him, defending him when he couldn't, but part of you wasn't sure how he would react. he saw this, sensing the tension in your chest, and longed to catch a glimpse inside your mind.

"look, i can't 'ave my girl get done up and not tell me what 'appened," a flash of his teeth as he smiled, and you reflected this, a tired grin on your lips.

"it was just," you sighed, wincing as he pressed a cloth to your cut, "they were being so rude."

"about you, darlin'? good on ya, defending yourself," he muttered affirmingly, dabbing the blood away.

"about you."

he stopped then. your eyes darted across his face for any signs of a reaction, nerves building in your throat. seconds of silence followed, and the air between you both almost dissipated as the tension grew. hobie squashed it, though.

pulling your face to his, he kissed you. lips warm with passion and respect, they melted together. hand falling to your waist, you were flush against him, the heat of his body overwhelming any of the pain pulsing in your skin. relief washed over you instantly. stress from the day just withering away at the power of his adoration.

breaking the kiss, hobie rested his forehead against yours, both chests heaving in tandem.

"you didn't 'ave to do that, darlin'," he muttered, and his brain was so conflicted. whilst his heart raced at the thought of you putting yourself in harms way to defend him, he felt guilty at how much pain it put you in to do so.

"you know i'd do anything for you, hobie." and his heart settled at that statement, nuzzling itself in the all-encompassing feeling of love overcoming him.

not feeling the need to do anything else, he kissed you again, this time with such a force you leaned back under the weight of him, shoulders pressed into the mirror. he was gripping your thighs, as to not tamper with the swelling bruise on your hip, and you succumbed to your boyfriend, lost in his touch, pouting when he pulled away.

"miguel's well pissed at you, by the way," he chuckled, cheeks flushed, massaging the skin of your thigh.

"i'm surprised it didn't happen earlier," you giggled, not excited to return to hq and see him again when needed.

placing a trail of kisses from your forehead to your lips, hobie's eyes softened.

"so proud of you, pretty."

[readychilledwine]

Hi Liz! I have been following you for a while now and I absolutely adore everything you write. You are incredibly talented and deserve all praise for it ❤️

I have never actually requested a story from any author simply because I will devour almost any content by fanfic authors and truthfully it makes me feel a little greedy and I never want anyone to feel forced to write anything. However, I have had this idea since I read one of your stories and I feel like no one else would be able to do it justice like you would.

Essentially, the reader is the youngest Archeron sister and is mated to Azriel (mating bond has been accepted and they have been together for a couple of months now) but she is inexperienced (her first time was with Azriel) and Nesta has been giving her some of her hard core smutty books and now the reader wants to explore some kinks with Azriel (somnophilia, cock warming, wing play, bondage) but she’s embarrassed to bring up the conversation with him. Anyway, she eventually has that conversation with Azriel (he’s all too happy about it because no one can tell me this male doesn’t have a corruption kink) and smut ensues.

First of all, thank you for the endless compliments 💜💜 I'm so excited you're here and have welcomed me into your world for entertainment purposes.

Second of all, I could NEVER deny an Azriel corruption kink fic.

Breathe

Summary - A year of sexual exploration hasn't even began to touch the things Azriel would like to do to you.

Warnings - throat fucking, breath play, references to knife play, auralism, jealous Rhys and cassian at the end, mentions of other explored kinks and sexual senerios

Azriel pushed his fingers further unto your throat, his shadows forcing your hair back as he held your book in his free hand.

“I've been wondering why you've been sending me wave after wave of arousal all day,” he rose a brow a passage involving the male character using a knife to pleasure the female main. “Is this what my pretty little mate reads when I'm away? Her big sister's smut novels?”

He watched as you gagged, drool and spit coming to the corner of your mouth as you struggled to breathe and looked up at him doe eyed. “Want me to fuck you with Truth Teller, mate? Does the thought of coming on a deadly weapon soak your little lace panties?” He chuckled darkly. Mocking your inability to answer. 

“You're trained better than this, slut. You know to answer me when I ask you a question.” You whined around his fingers. You  could feel the tension in his body, feel his need for stress relief. 

The two of you had just began exploring physically together. The bond finally snapped after your 20th birthday. After the Mortal queen and the deathless God had been dealt with. After Elain finally let her claws out of him long enough for him to notice you. To feel you.

He had not pushed sex, knowing from Nesta you were the only one of the 4 of you to hold onto that seemingly special thing so tightly. It had taken a year for you to spread those pretty thighs and let him take you, but after that, you fucked like rabbits. Trying every dirty thing and kink your mind wanted to explore.

Azriel had allowed you to dominate him, whining as you rode his cock and denied him orgasm after orgasm, fingers dancing his scarred wings.

He had tied you from the ceiling his dungeon, harnessed up like a swing and fucked you to sweet oblivion.

He had taken every tight hole, came anywhere he could. Marked you in his scent and musk more times than you two could count.

But you were still his sweet innocent girl. 

His little untouched angel exploring your sexuality and urges like an animal in heat sometimes. Your recent needs were punishment. You liked him hurting you, dominating you, watching as you cried. You liked breath play lately, hence his fingers sinking deeper as you struggled, black beginning to form in your eyes until he took those fingers out and slapped you.

“Need you to suck my cock, princess,” he began unlacing his leathers, mind lost in the pleasure your mouth would bring him. “Open. Now.”

You obeyed, throat relaxing and mouth opening as his cock sprung free. Hard leaking and angry from weeks away from you. He pushed in without hesitation, setting a gentle pace as he tightened his grip in your hair.

“She couldn't breathe,” his deep voice began reading from the book, making you whine around his cock as he pushed it down your throat ensuring you couldn't either. “The feeling of the cold hilt in her warm walls causing her to feel wave after wave of shock and pleasure.”

He looked down at you, smirking at the sight of your flushed cheeks, at you swallowing around him as spit pooled the corners of your mouth. His eyes went back to the book. “There was something about the danger, the thrill of this deadly weapon being used to push her to the edge that had her crying out, begging and pleading for more and more as she met every thrust with her hips. Fucking herself harder and harder on her mate's weapon.”

You were aching, dripping for him, and tapped his thigh for a quick breath, watching as he pulled out and looked down at you unimpressed. You panted a few gulps of air before taking him back in your mouth and bobbing your head, hallowing your cheeks and licking each vein on his shift. 

Azriel groaned loudly above you, setting the book down before his now free hand joined the other one tangled in your now messy hair. He began fucking your throat harshly. Barely allowing you moments of air as he chased his much needed high. 

You could do nothing but hold on for life when he did this. When he lost control for you. He pushed all the way in, gagging you again and held you there, nose pressed against his skin. “Breathe,” he commanded in a moan. “Being such a good girl, y/n.” 

Throat fucking as new to you. An unexplored territory you hadn't even considered until he had asked gently. You knew it was more for him than for you, but right now you felt this sense of power as he moaned above you, wings shuttering as his body shivered. 

That power reached a deep set need in your bones, allowing you to relax and enjoy this more with a small moan. “There we go, angel,” he whispered. “Just like that for me. I'm so proud of you.” He began thrusting again, allowing you to hear his pleasure, allowing you to feel that power you had over him. “Keep breathing, baby,” his voice was almost a whimper. “Just keep breathing, I'm right there, y/n. Please honey.”

Him begging had you moaning against him, relaxing your throat further as your watched his breathing pick up, his plump lips part, his eyes scrunch. 

Without warning he pushed all the way in, spilling down your throat, as a roar tore through his own. He pulled back slightly, releasing the last of his cum onto your stuck out tongue with a satisfied smile. 

He kneeled down to you, shadows bringing him a notebook and pen and he wiped the small bits that hit your face off with his thumb before forcing you to suck that digit. 

He flipped through the notebook, a page dedicated to each sexual act and kink you two had explored with a rating and comments from both of you before landing on the page he needed and the adjoining blank one. 

“1 through 5?” He asked you gently, removing his thumb and kissing your forehead. 

“3.5,” you admitted with guilt. “I only enjoyed it because you do, and it made me feel slightly in control.”

He nodded, writing your response as you two both moved to sit cross-legged from each other on the floor. “Do not feel guilty. I am just happy it ranked high enough to be in the rotation. How about the reading to you thing?”

“4 out of 5. I enjoyed it a lot when you were doing that.” Azriel jotted it down.

“And what the fuck is going on in this novel? Do you want to try knife play?”

“Only with you,” you answered. 

Azriel leaned forward, kissing you gently. “It's one of my favorites. I've done it with a couple play partners. I can answer any questions you have.”

The two of you sat there, filling in a few more pages of the book you had started to keep during the beginning of your exploration a year ago, smiling at the things you've already done, going on your list of retries. 

Love was free flowing down the bond, soaking the room and fabric in it's scent, filling the Riverhouse with its presence with every passing moment. 

Rhys and Cassian sighed from downstairs, tapping their feet on the wooden floors as they waited for Azriel to come give them his mission report. 

“This happens every fucking time,” Cassian sat down on the couch. “Is it us? Is fatherhood killing our sex drive?”

Rhys shrugged. “I don't know what's killing your sex drive, brother. Mine is fine. Hince 3 little ones. If you could figure out what's keeping theirs so... passionate, though, I'd appreciate it.” 

[chthonia27]

A game of cat and mouse.

Dick Grayson x F!reader.

Content: A secret admirer’s love knows no bounds.

Word count: 1.2k

The city lights shone brilliantly in the dark of night, perched on a rooftop was the ex boy wonder, Nightwing. The harsh wind of winter blew in his hair, messing the strands of onyx out of their rightful place. He looked down to his escrima sticks, twirling it in one of his hands before gazing out to the city once more. It was nothing new, he thought. As much as he adored doing what he did, he couldn’t deny it was rather tiresome most nights, and as skilled as he was, he was always subjected to a few injuries at best. He wiped the dried blood from his lip, graciously given to him from the previous wannabe villain gang. He couldn’t help but grimace at the thought, so many criminals were emerging from seemingly no where, with no real motive other than wanting to be thorns at his side.

Once more, he swung into action. Slithering in and melting into the shadows, stealthily taking out any targets presented. He knew he should be focusing, knew he shouldn’t be distracted, but all he could think about was her. The newest member of the Young justice, the most stunning woman he’d ever met, plagued his mind frequently. Her beauty was that of a siren, her voice the sweetest melody he’d been blessed to hear, and her eyes. Oh her eyes. He would dream of gazing into them during some not to innocent moments. He adored her, loved her even. She was perfect in his eyes, a dream turned reality for him. Not even the endless teasing from his teammates could deter him from clinging onto her, hovering around her whenever he could despite her protests. She was a bit of a loner, charismatic and seductive, yes. But she often chose to isolate herself whenever possible. Whether that was after missions, during patrols or during team building missions. So! He had to improvise somehow, right? He couldn’t ever get more than a few words out of her, usually laced with snark and sarcasm. It was a game to him, multiple bouquets of flowers stuffing her room, to lavish jewels, beautiful hand written love letters to trinkets he believed she’d indulge in. He never signed a name to his gifts, having to stifle a laugh and play coy whenever he’d catch wind of her frustration with her mystery gift giver.

But alas, he couldn’t afford to be thinking about her. Not while he was currently dodging bullets and taking down men left and right. It was a constant, vicious cycle. One he’d been tangled with his entire life. Always having to perform, however that translated to. Circus or battlefield, it was draining regardless. Gods knew he deserved a break, a long vacation with the holder of his heart in a far away paradise. A man could dream. Soon enough, he finished his patrol gracefully, with many criminals that roamed the streets of Gotham now behind bars. Dick grappled back to Mount justice, entering the cave with haste, his eyes searching for her. He entered the common room, where his team was situated. Friends he’d fought with almost all of his teenage years, people for whom he’d led and supported. That’s besides the point, they aren’t the main focus currently. Prior to returning, he’d managed the energy to buy another gift. An ethereal set of diamond necklaces, adorned with pearls that sat snug between the stones. A pretty red ribbon to secure the jewellery box and he was set! Admittedly, he’d spent many thousands on her, and this little habit of his has only started two weeks ago. Had he gone overboard? Of course not! How else would he acquire the love of such a beauty? He called out to his team, “Evening, guys!”, leaving the room before anyone could respond. Tiptoeing around the cave, he reached her room. Leaning his head against the door, he listened for any sounds or presence of life on the room, smirking victoriously when he confirmed she wasn’t inside. He set her gift on her bed and took in her space. Her room reeked of goth, the tall black canopy bed with intricate engravings, the velvet black curtain drape of the bed adding a sense of both privacy and comfort. Her furniture vintage and Victorian looking, and candles accompanied by roses adorned every surface in view. So elegant, so her. Taking a rose, he placed it on top of the jewellery box, once more given with an unsigned identity. Sneaking out of her room, he went about his own nightly routine, showering and dressing himself before doing his hair. Always well kept, especially in her presence. It was rather cute, really. How he’d try to impress her every way possible, always so put together for her. Entering the kitchen, he took out many ingredients and began cooking, taking advantage that most teammates were now preparing to enter the night’s embrace, leaving the only two insomniacs alone. A romantic dinner, for a hopeless romantic.

While he worked on dinner for the two, a nightly routine for the night owls, he hummed softly. His favourite part of the day, coming home and being able to spend time with her, wether he was the one cooking or not, her presence was enough to satiate the longing in his heart. Most of the time. Like clock work, she emerged from her room and graced Dick with her presence. Her stunning hair wet from her shower, and an almost tired look in her gorgeous eyes. His breath hitched when he caught sight of her. She belonged in a painting, he was sure of it.

“What’s on the menu tonight, master Grayson?”, she teased with a smirk that sent shivers of lust down his spine. “Carbonara, doll.”, his smooth voice rung out easily. She hummed in acknowledgment and sat down on the kitchen stool, chin in hand as she watched the man work. She had to admit, he was a sight for sore eyes. Muscles rippling under his shirt, his hair messily attractive after his bath, and his cologne wafting through the kitchen subtly in a way that almost made her want to kiss and mark him. Almost. But there was another pressing matter at hand, one she’d been dying to figure out.

“Dick.”

“Yes?”

“Is it you?”

Now that caught him off guard. Did she know? Had she seen through his attempts at secrecy? “Is what me?”, he said nonchalantly, a skill he’d adapted over many years living alongside his brothers. “The gifts. Is it you?”, her voice firm yet quiet. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, doll. You’ve been receiving gifts? Should I be jealous?”, he casually shot back as a smirk tugged at his lips and sighed internally as she seemed to have bought it. He prepared her plate, giving her a generous amount of the food he’d made, and sat a wine glass down next to it, pouring only the finest wine he’d come across. A perk of being adopted by a billionaire, he supposed. Being able to decipher and build upon an extensive knowledge of the most refined beverages.

“Cheers, love.”

My very first writing piece! Please let me know what you think or anything that could be improved! I hope you’ve enjoyed! :3

[agathaandbrienneslesbian]

Hearts of Justice

Miranda Hilmarson x Secretary!Reader

Hello everyone and happy new year to you all <3 I am back with a new mini-fic.

Decided to make a lil illustration for the fic :3

Reminder that I have a Taglist now so make sure to use it <3

Also big thanks to @weemssapphicfor beta reading this piece <3

Disclaimer: English is not my first language!

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Kissies, Love confessions

A/N: Y/N is a secretary at the police station where Miranda works. But what happens when y/n has to console Miranda after a rather rough breakup?

Words: 2'100+

AO3 Link

Taglist

-----

You have been working at the station for about two years now. 

When you first started, Miranda Hilmarson had been the only friendly face there. The two of you immediately became best friends, spending your breaks and sometimes even free time together. 

Technically, you weren’t a Constable, like Miranda. No, you worked as the station's secretary. You supposed this might have been the reason why they didn’t necessarily welcome you. 

Of course, you have been the topic of many bets and pranks, especially from your male coworkers. You never understood the allure of such childish things but… when you were with Miranda, childish things seemed to just make sense. Listening to her gush about her favourite show or how passionate she was about her work, despite being picked on herself, was the highlight of your day. You supposed that’s why the two of you got along so well. Miranda and you shared the same struggles. Even though the both of you didn’t necessarily have a good connection to your coworkers, you still made it through the day with the help of each other. 

A few months ago, you noticed how your affection towards the blonde Constable has changed. It has… intensified. And, of course, it had to happen right when that stupid Adrian dumped her. You never understood what she saw in him… he was a liar, a cheat, didn’t treat her right. It made your blood boil. Seeing her be so hopeful when you knew all he would do was make her cry, break her… it made you so unbelievably angry. And when the inevitable happened, and he dropped her, you were there. You caught her in your arms, cradled her gently and whispered apologies and soft affirmations as she sobbed in your arms on the couch of your flat. 

“He didn’t deserve you”, “I am so sorry he did this to you”, “You deserve better, Mir”, “I will not leave your side. I promise”, “Never again will I let anyone hurt you like this”

It took you a good hour to have her relax in your arms. Still, you didn’t move. This is when it hit you. This exact, stupid moment was when it hit you. How much you actually admired her. How much you cared for her… how much you loved her. It hit you like a brick, square in the face, and your heart sank. You were in love with her. You couldn’t tell her… never… you were her best friend after all, and you certainly didn’t want her to think you used her in her most vulnerable state, so… you stayed quiet. 

For days

For weeks 

For months

Half a year has passed since that fateful night, and it simply got more and more difficult to hold back your emotions, your feelings, your affections. So, you started distancing yourself. Small things at first like your lunch break, the hours you worked. 

In the end, you only saw her at the station, walking in and out. You have completely detached yourself from her and it… hurt. But you couldn’t tell her… could you? She wouldn’t understand… 

It took all your strength to deny her once more when she asked you, with a hopeful glimmer in her eyes, if you wanted to join her for a beer after work. You hated the defeated look on her face as you declined, coming up with yet another excuse. But this time… something was... different. 

You could swear you saw tears. Miranda was… truly upset. This wasn’t your intention, this wasn’t what you wanted… before you could stop her or say something else, tell her you changed your mind, she walked off. Strong and long legs taking her down the halls and out the door. With a defeated sigh and tears burning in your eyes, you leaned back. That’s it… you’ve done it… Miranda probably hated you now.

“I would go after her if I were you…”

A strong voice spoke from behind, and you jumped, not expecting to be ambushed like that. You quickly turned in your chair to see the small detective standing behind you. A frown laid itself on your face as you looked at her questioningly.

“I- what?”

“Oh, you heard me.”

You looked at the brunette, then turned your face to the exit. Maybe… with a quick move, you stood, making your way out. Robin was right. You couldn’t let this be. You wouldn’t be the reason why Miranda cried. Never. You promised her. 

Panting heavily, you finally caught up with the blonde who sat on a bench outside, frantically smoking a cigarette and wiping tears away. The sight broke your heart.

“Mir…”

You said softly, watching as she jumped and her eyes widened. She turned her head away and quickly wiped away her tears.

“Yeah… yeah?”

You took a deep breath and sat down next to her, just looking at her, unsure about what to do. You took a deep breath and pulled her into a hug. She quickly wrapped her arms around you, hiding her face in your neck. You could physically feel her relax in your arms, and it made your heart constrict.

“I’m sorry… I would love to go have a beer with you tonight.”

You spoke softly, running your fingers through her hair. Gods, you missed being this close to her. 

“Really…?”

The blonde asked quietly. With a deep breath and a nod, you pulled her even closer.

“Yes, really.”

You whispered and let go of her. Miranda let go reluctantly and smiled at you, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Wanna… meet at my place?” she asked softly and you nodded. Taking her hands and squeezing them gently. Miranda’s cigarette now on the floor, forgotten by the two of you. Her smile brightened a bit and she nodded.

“Then I’ll have some beers cold and ready when you arrive.”

“That sounds wonderful!”

—

The rest of the day had been strangely uneventful, besides the growing worry and fear of what tonight might bring for you. You almost lost your cool this afternoon, wanting to press sweet kisses to her head and face. But you held yourself back. Miranda wasn’t interested in you like that… 

After work, you quickly rushed home, took a shower and changed into something a bit less formal and more comfortable. You styled your hair and added just a smidge of makeup. Not too much. With one final look in the mirror, you quickly made your way over to Miranda’s place. Standing in front of the door, your nerves started getting the better of you. You can’t do this… this is gonna be too much for you. Before you could decide if you wanted to leave or not, the door in front of you opened. 

“Ah, I thought I had heard something!”

Miranda smiled down at you and stepped aside for you to enter. With a shy smile, you stepped into her flat. It had been weeks since you’d last been here. It smelled like her and you felt slightly dizzy. After taking off your shoes and sitting down on her couch, Miranda quickly followed with two beers, handing you one. 

“I’m glad you’re here. I started to miss your presence.” she said softly and blushed, quickly taking a swig from her beer. You did the same, trying to suppress your blush. She missed you… 

“You’ve been very busy lately… what had you so occupied? Maybe a special someone?”  She asked softly, wiggling with her eyebrows but the way she asked the question… something seemed off.

“Wha- no! Well… not really… not like you think… I’m not…”

A bright blush crept onto your face, and you quickly took another big sip of your beer. Gods, you wouldn’t survive this. Miranda watched you closely, a sad frown on her face.

“Then… why were you avoiding me..?”

The pain you felt in your heart almost made you double over. This is never what you wanted. You never wanted to hurt her. With a sigh, you set the beer down and started fiddling with your fingers.

“It’s not… easy..”

“Tell me! Please! Have… have I done something wrong?”

“No…”

“Have… have I hurt you? Have I been a bad friend? Y/n please! I must know. What have I done to you? Have I said something that upset you or-“

“NO! No… Miranda… no, you could never…”

You sighed. You couldn’t tell her… 

Looking up you saw her face, pain, fear, worry, sadness. You- you just had yelled at her…

“Oh gods, Miranda, I am so sorry I… I didn’t-“

“No it’s.. It’s okay…”

She spoke softly and set her beer down. She was about to get off the couch, but you grabbed her wrist, holding her in place. You had to tell her. You couldn’t see her so upset any more, it was too painful. The blonde’s icy blues looked at you, confusion written on her face as she waited for you to proceed.

“Miranda I- the reason why I was so distant… I don’t know how to tell you.”

You took a deep breath. Miranda had moved your grip, holding your hand now. Her thumb softly rubbing over your knuckles, trying to help you feel calm. It just made you even more nervous. She cared so much. 

“The reason why I was so distant was… I am in love with you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for an answer but when none came you pulled your hand from her grip and covered your face.

“I- I have realised that I felt this way the day that asshole broke up with you… it hit me like a brick and… I didn’t want to tell you. You were so broken… you needed a friend not… that. I-I couldn’t be around you any more because it was just eating me up from the inside every time we spent time together. I had to distance myself because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable… I didn’t want to- to take advantage of you I- I care too much… Miranda, I love you…”

Silence. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes but if you had looked up you would have seen Miranda's face. A bright blush had covered her face, ears and chest, eyes wide, staring at you with hope, with longing, with unspoken emotions. You loved her. She could be loved, someone, you really loved her. 

“I-I’m sorry… I’ll see myself out, please just forget-“

“No…”

You turned to look at her, taking in her features. She was… smiling. Not in a ‘making fun of you’ type of way, no, a genuine smile. Miranda moved closer, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you close, running her fingers through your hair as she pulled you against her body. Instinctively, your arms wrapped around the strong blonde, falling into her embrace, her scent, her soft breaths against your shoulder, falling into her. 

“Y-you’re not mad? Uncomfortable? Disgusted?”

Miranda pulled away to cup your face, wiping a tear from your cheek as she looked into your eyes.

“I could never. I love you too much.”

She whispered, smiling softly down at you. Your eyes widened. She… loved you?

“Miranda I-“

“Can I kiss you?”

You looked into her eyes, her icy blue orbs reflecting nothing but love, care and hope. You nodded, cupping her cheeks and gently tucking some hair behind her ear.

“Please!”

She leaned in, you felt her warm breath on your skin and then her soft, warm lips against yours. It was a perfect fit. Like the last piece in a puzzle. She completed you and in that moment all of your worries flew out the window. Miranda was gentle and careful. Her lips moved against yours with soft movements, and she made sure to hold you as if you were about to fall apart. She held you, she protected you. 

After a minute or two, she pulled away and smiled softly at you, pressing a gentle peck to your forehead. You smiled and closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of her soft, warm lips against your forehead. You belonged here. In her arms, in her embrace. 

“After that night… I started realising how much you actually mean to me. Of course, it took a while for me to realise that what I felt for you was more than friendship. When you started distancing yourself, I was afraid… I thought you noticed. That I- somehow had shown too much, said too much… scared you off…” Miranda admitted and stroked your cheek gently. Keeping eye contact with you. You pressed a quick peck to her lips and the palm of her hand.

“You could never. I love you, Miranda.”

The blonde Constable smiled and pulled you into another embrace, leaning back against the couch and having you snuggle into her arms. Where you belonged.

“I wouldn’t want to be loved by anyone but you.”

-----

Taglist: @erinyaya @phexyce @aemilia19 @weemssapphic @gela123 @winterfireblond @Xxmecverxx @unicorniusfallapatorious @gwenistheloml @yourgaeyisshowing

As always, Likes, Comments and Reblogs are welcome <3

[boundinparchment]

Undertow

He stopped officiating weddings a long time ago. There was no time for such things as the Chief Justice of Fontaine. But your family insisted. As nobles are wont to do. Only the finest for their eldest daughter. Besides, you two were friends, after all. Neuvillette/Female Reader; in which the Chief Justice can no longer deny his heart on the day of your wedding. AO3 Story Link

A joyous day.

It should have been, at any rate.

At least for you.

As long as you were happy.

Or so Neuvillette told himself. Duty came first, after all. He had a whole nation to keep from setting itself aflame, be it from Focalors’ whims or the people’s fury. In serving everyone, he was, in fact, serving you.

And in turn, you, too, served the people. Few were so generous with their time and their skills, especially those in your social standing. Fewer still went on to study law, as you had; as heir, you needed to understand property laws and taxes and the words that bound your family to its estate and your place in parliament. Neuvillette would never let it be said that you did not know the meaning of long hours and hard work. Amid the vain and the greedy, you were pragmatic, and not without the wit to prove it.

That was what drew him to you. So many in your position used their wit as sharp daggers to stab others during conversation in a clever, charming way. You flipped the conversation back on perpetrators so often that he wondered why you never pursued certification exams.

“For one, it benefits my station far too much,” you said. “My ambitions are to be able to make life sustainable for all I’m meant to govern. Naive, perhaps. But I think those in my rank need to earn their keep, prove they’re worthy of their legacy. We owe it to the people of Fontaine.”

You were certainly not without a vision, even if you were Unblessed. It was better that way. You didn’t deserve the eyes of the island above on you anymore than they already were.

Neuvillete adjusted his cuffs as he glanced down at the book in his hands. A book you’d given him, annotated with your favorite passages and thoughts. He’d stayed up far too late trying to conceptualize anything other than his legal obligations for the ceremony.

The courtroom buzzed with anticipation. Focalors had rolled her eyes when she caught him getting ready but even she had made herself scarce for once after mumbling to just get it over with. Funny. And here he thought she might be present to laugh in his face and call him a fool.

A fool who took an hour to painstakingly braid his hair in a fashion that mimicked an Oceanid’s tail, as you had once shown him.

He stopped officiating weddings a long time ago. There was no time for such things as the Chief Justice of Fontaine.

But your family insisted. As nobles are wont to do.

Only the finest for their eldest daughter.

Besides, you two were friends, after all.

You would have settled for far less; or rather, you would have been happier with his presence in another capacity. He knew as much. His estate for the ceremony and party. A speech at dinner. A dance. Your smile had been so forced throughout the entire exchange about an officiant that Neuvillette was certain you might snap right then and there.

And yet you remained rooted. Dedicated.

If only the finest would do, why did they even consider the dolt standing before him to be eligible?

Hardly remarkable in accomplishments. The family coasted on interest earned through their holdings but were not without the occasional cousin who ended up with a debt record as long as one’s forearm. Neuvillette couldn’t even justify an excuse for a pedigree; bloodlines couldn’t, shouldn’t, be about trying to maintain whatever purity they claimed to hold.

No one could make that judgment.

Celestia might try, at any rate.

And the Chief Justice could hardly see your future husband comforting you should such a thing happen, let alone caring for the people. Neuvillette could only stare when the nobleman’s eyes caught his; your fiance looked away first and Neuvillette smiled briefly to himself. No. There would be no comfort in this relationship, no challenge, no ambition.

This man would snuff your flames with his own self-importance.

Neuvillette should have offered his hand instead when you’d told him. You seemed so resolute, so determined, to carry out your duty. And he was so patient that he might as well be a coward. Time would wait for him, not you. Instead, he’d pulled every string he could to find every shred of information for you, for your parents, approved the match with as much grace as a ruling.

Mulled over every file with a glass of brandy, trying to convince himself things would be fine.

Wouldn’t they?

Nearby, a musician began the song you had chosen to walk in with and the gallery rose in unison, like the sea, to watch.

The only thing you’d had control over was the dress, you’d admitted one night after dinner. Repurposed, you’d mentioned; all lace and fashionable lines, practical but elegant in its shape. He couldn’t pull his eyes away and he tried to remember to breathe as you made your way down the aisle. In all his years, he had seen many things, including the stunning shimmers of the previous Hydro Archon, but all of them paled to you.

Likewise, it seemed you couldn’t look anywhere else but straight ahead, Neuvillette realized: most looked towards their future spouse but your gaze was fixed on Neuvillette himself. His grip on the book tightened and he was thankful for the swell of the music to hide the squeak of leather.

You weren’t making the stabbing knife in his chest any easier.

The words came quicker than he liked as he began the usual spiel. Welcoming guests, reciting the names of the parties involved, and starting off with a brief speech on the strength of a union. He could read the passage from the book backwards if you asked him.

As a judge, he was meant to be the impartial interpreter of the law. There was no place for bias, for emotion.

His eyes would give him away to any discerning onlookers. Neuvillette was no stranger to rumors and gossip columns and no doubt someone could already see the questions he couldn’t keep from surfacing. It would be obvious, he realized. He kept looking at you and not the crowd, not the man with eager eyes who held your hand the same way one held a horse bridle: too tight.

Neuvillette cleared his throat and pushed away the anguish. It had no place here.

As the Chief Justice asked you to repeat after him, to recite the vows all Fontaine citizens gave on their wedding day, something inside him cracked. Couldn’t you see this would lead to nothing but misery? Weren’t you worthy of more? If you must marry for duty, then at least commit yourself to someone equally committed…

Your lips, painted to perfection (unnecessarily so, for you were already beautiful without such coloring), opened but silence followed. Neuvillette swallowed. Your eyes left his long enough to stare at the man holding your hand before you thrust your bouquet at him, gathered your skirt, and dashed back up the aisle.

Behind you, the courtroom ignited with all of the shock and drama as a high profile murder case as you threw the doors open and dashed into the lobby and eventually out of sight.

The only trace you’d been there at all was your veil as it floated to the floor silently, forgotten.

A joyous day.

It should have been, at any rate.

And yet you shouldn’t shake the knot in your stomach and the claw clenching around your heart. Sleep eluded you for the better part of the night and your maids tutted, pressing cold spoons to your eyes before you were allowed to eat. Food tasted no better than dirt over the last few months and all anyone saw was how careful you were watching your figure.

How you wished things were different. The ring on your finger felt heavy, clunky; a ball and chain around your ankle would have been easier to manage.

It hadn’t been so burdensome at first, of course. Things took time. Perhaps, eventually, you might enjoy your betrothed’s company for longer than a few hours. The potential was there.

But was it enough?

Your maids fixed your makeup, did your hair, swatted your hand away when you reached for just one sip of water.

They all gushed about your fiance, how handsome and charming he was, how well conversation seemed to flow. Every single one of them forgot that the conversations were nothing more than surface level discussions that made you want to gouge your eyes out with a spoon.

You’d almost begged Neuvillette to forge something, anything, that would make this arrangement null and void. Every meeting since the engagement had been heavily supervised under the guise of protecting the Chief Justice’s reputation and your honor, whatever that implied.

Expectation had been there for years, lingered like a ghost. Not from you but from everyone else who cast their eyes on your station. One rarely, if ever, captured the Chief Justice’s attention, after all. Your family had hoped, as others had, but you were content to simply converse over dinner, at parties, exchange books and philosophies and see the man’s smile reach his silvery eyes. He spoke of opera and art in a way so few of your contemporaries could. You tried to control the flutter of your heart when he locked eyes with you across the courthouse foyer after parliament adjourned and you swore you saw his eyes glow.

He was engaging, enthralling, and it was easy to see why the nation considered him such a celebrity.

But your friendship was more than the attention, than the allure of the Chief Justice and all that he encompassed. Some might not call his rulings fair but he saw all of the trappings that Fontaine itself was guilty of pressing onto all of its inhabitants. When you came up with ideas for proposals, it was him you went to for proper language and legal references, always attempting to stay within his schedule, of course. More often than not, he would continue to prompt you to think the proposal through, consider scale and the impact and the precedent.

Never once did he give you an opinion, naturally. Just a different perspective.

“You can be dazed tomorrow,” your mother said as she snapped her fingers in your face. “Your flowers just arrived and the photographer is insisting on family shots here, at the house.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you were dressed by deft hands. It had been something of a game with your maid to pass time when you felt like trying your dress on; little had you known how the practice would backfire.

Something tugged at your gut and you fought the urge to vomit at the thought of the hands (the wrong hands) that would undo the buttons.

No, you made your choice, you reminded yourself. The guilt would fade. The love would fade.

You were closer to thirty than you cared to admit. What your family took for a phase they realized would be a dangerous precedent for your siblings.

Everything you did was for the betterment of the people, you would argue.

What good was the betterment of the people when you were neglecting your duty to your family, was often the retort thrown back with as much acid as your grandmother’s strong tea.

Family.

Duty.

Honor.

All of it was bullshit if the common people were unhappy and left to fend off wolves from above and below.

You’d never subscribed to these notions and they were content to let it be until it was inconvenient. Rather than let you advise on financial planning, to grow an endowment that could take care of the yearly costs of the estate, you were to be cattle in exchange for financial and political support.

Or you would be cast aside, disowned and dishonored, your position taken from you as if it were a rug underfoot.

And so, you accepted all of it with a smile.

You endured.

Just as you endured the flash of the kamera, the fussing over your flowers and your veil during the carriage ride to the courthouse.

The press were eager, as they always were, for gossip and fashion and for a glimpse of the Chief Justice presiding over the ceremony. They weren’t here for you, not truly. Why, of all things, had your parents insisted he be the officiant?

Wasn’t it enough that you were giving up parts of your life, parts of your soul, for a person who would never appreciate them?

Your feet already ached from your heels. A wave of dizziness slapped you across the face as you entered the lobby and you pushed through it. Music began, the doors opened, and your body moved of its own accord, just as you had practiced the night before.

Neuvillette had declined the rehearsal dinner. The one time you were glad not to see him. If you had, you wouldn’t be here now, you were certain.

You gave a cursory glance to your fiance but your attention whipped back to Neuvillette almost instantly. He’d done his best but you could see the faded dark circles under his silver eyes. How late had he stayed up, you wondered. And how long had that braid taken him?

He’d let you style it once, and only once, in the privacy of his library. Waterfalls of silken fabric couldn’t compare to the beautiful blue and white locks between your fingers. He’d been attentive when you showed him the technique, pausing his case review to do so, but…

An ache from your feet ran up to your heart and sat, heavy with longing; it hurt to breathe.

The music swelled to a close and your father kissed your cheek before he passed you along to your fiance. He smiled and you tried not to be disgusted at the sweaty hand that held yours. You held your flowers in your other hand tighter, glad that the florist had missed a thorn in trimming your flowers.

Before you could blink, Neuvillette was already speaking.

And although he was addressing everyone as he read the passage you read aloud to him on a particularly gloomy evening, his gaze never left yours. The man witnessed and knew of the cruelest things the nation allowed, worked under Honorable Focalors Herself, and yet the expression on his face (such as it was, for he was known for his unreadable countenance) was as if…

It was gone in all but a moment as he cleared his throat and prompted you to recite your vows.

It was the subtle raise of Neuvillette’s eyebrows, the way his eyes widened just enough for emphasis that did you in.

Doubt. Anguish.

Was this what you wanted?

You turned your head, every intention to get the words across your tongue and past your lips in mind, when your voice simply wouldn’t comply. All you could see was a life shackled, compromise after compromise and always made against your favor. Concessions that eventually wore down to wondering why you ever bothered.

Did you want to throttle yourself, your spirit, your drive, for potential that wasn’t even there? When the man you loved would be forever kept out of reach?

If not this, then what did you want?

The answer was literally staring you in the face.

You shoved your flowers into your betrothed’s hands and pulled away, not caring if your dress carried sweat stains as you gathered the skirts and ran as fast as your legs could carry you out the door. Commotion behind you roared to life as you haphazardly made your way through the lobby, down to the entrance, and then dashed to the side garden to avoid the headline-hungry press.

There were few options to hide, all of them easy enough to locate. Your family would drag you back if they found you. Assuming they weren’t bickering and that the wedding was even still on from your fiance’s point of view.

A single drop of rain plopped on your head, sudden and cold. Followed by another. And then there was no sun left in the sky as rain came down in sheets, heavy and frigid. Thunder rumbled through your entire being. You couldn’t stay here. Over the roar of the rain, you could hear your name. You wouldn’t heed.

You were tired of coming when called, of giving your loyalty and love to those who sought to keep you from your happiness. No better than a hunting dog.

Soaked, your hair and dress now destined for the Abyss, you slid off your heels and made your way towards the one place you might be able to wait out the rain in peace.

Over the chatter of the crowd, the rumble of thunder was unmistakable.

Of course it would rain. It wasn’t like he’d done a terrific job of hiding his own bias.

The speed at which you’d run back up the aisle was a feat, given the shoes you wore. No doubt those wouldn’t do you any good in this weather. You were probably cold, overwhelmed…

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and Neuvillette’s hand shot out. He grabbed the nobleman’s arm before he could move, already poised to go after you.

“Leave her be. These things happen. It is best for a neutral party to resolve these matters. Wedding planners, family, or friends are usually equipped for these situations,” the Chief Justice said matter of factly.

Fight back, you absolute–

Your betrothed’s arm relaxed in Neuvillette’s grip and it took everything in the Chief Justice not to summon his power and drown him there and then. If there was one person deserving of being reduced to their primal element…

Neuvillette’s voice cut above the crowd as he called for order, requesting that guests remain where they were and that, no doubt, everything would resume shortly. Your parents were already doing a poor attempt at damage control with your supposed-in-laws. Your siblings were casting looks at the door, half-debating if they should go after you; they weren’t like you, not as headstrong, not as independent, and one look from your matriarchal grandmother sent them further into their seats.

He intervened, diffusing arguments with ease, all the while wondering if you were okay. Your parents wanted to use city resources, send out police. For once, your fiance chimed in that such a thing might scare you and you needed help, not to be dragged back kicking and screaming.

“You should go, sir,” the young nobleman said quietly as the bickering picked up again. “You said it yourself: family or friends, and her family doesn’t seem keen to fight for her.”

The man’s smile was shaky but the Chief Justice appreciated the sentiment. At least he had a brain in there somewhere.

“Be sure to keep them from saying too much to the press. Should any ask, Her Honor is also behaving…in her usual fashion.”

Neuvillette was certain his absence wouldn’t go unnoticed and the fact that the press were still clamoring at the front stairs despite the downpour wouldn’t help matters. He paid them no mind as rain pelted him, drenching his robes and suit jacket underneath. The rain did nothing to affect his vision nor his drive to find you; he was unbothered by the chill but you…you always did love curling up right next to a fire and being bundled in winter.

There was one place you might go, he pondered, that few knew about and fewer had access to. Short of you running through the city in your dress (which would not be like you), you had little options to avoid the press but to stay near the courthouse.

He found you as he expected to, under a pavilion tucked away into a quiet garden on the property, wringing out your skirts and pacing, feet bare against the wet stone. You were never still when your mind was lightyears ahead of you, be it from following trains of thought or when you were attempting to force a filibuster. Your thoughts were likely half-way to Inazuma by now and just as tumultuous as the storms he heard so much about.

His breath caught when you jumped as you caught sight of him, eyes wide and anguish carved into your face. Neuvillette stepped under the cover of the pavilion, his robes and braid dripping unceremoniously and you immediately reached to wring his hair out gently, without so much as a second thought.

The Chief Justice took off his gloves as he let you finish before he took your hands in his. He could feel the bump on your finger where you held a pen, the tender spot where your flowers pricked you.

“I can’t do it, Neu,” you choked out, shaking your head. “I can’t do it.”

“You don’t have to if it’s going to make you unhappy, if you cannot see a future with the person standing at the altar.”

He worked in rulings, evidence, facts; managing Focalors emotional outbursts was a terrible part of his job description but they never teetered into this territory. He was used to fleeting whims and de-escalation.

This? This was a decision that would change the course of your life. Not immediately, of course. But the future was a terrifying, uncertain thing, and you had expectations to contend with.

Expectations that did not involve him.

The pall of fear lifted from your face slowly, the same way morning dew disappeared from the grass. Something else blossomed in its place, like a sweet flower pushing through the cracks in the cobblestone streets, resilient and resolute.

“The thing is, I can. Just not with the man I was about to marry.”

Shooting him would have been less painful. Such an admission should have, as with all things today, been enough to make a heart soar, even manage to turn bitter water into sweet ambrosia. Your lips parted again before he could speak.

“And I understand you feel differently; you’ve never given me reason to believe otherwise and I am not asking for more than what you have to give. I would never do that to you. If I marry the man in there,” you nodded your head in the direction of the courthouse, “it will always be a lie. Maybe I’ll grow to tolerate him but I will never love him. Not like I love you. As I do now, I will spend the rest of my life looking into his eyes, wishing he was you.”

Neuvillette’s hands dropped yours to cup your face of their own accord. Before he could process anything else, he’d tilted your head up and pressed his lips to yours as if he was a man deprived of air. You were warm, despite the weather, and he could make out the familiar scent of your perfume amid the fresh flowers in your hair. He felt you relax, curve yourself into him, hands finding purchase on the soaked lapels of his robes.

He broke away, his face hot as he admired your swollen lips. Mixed in with your slight daze was that inquisitive expression he would never tire of, one you often gave to silently encourage him to continue speaking.

“Then no more wishing, mon amour,” he whispered, brushing away the stray tears pooling at the corners of your eyes. “Marry me.”

“Don’t just—”

“I should not have let it get as far as it has. What good is duty if your heart is elsewhere?”

“And where will we go, my Chief Justice? The people of Fontaine and our Archon might enjoy this scandal a little too much…it would be quite a spectacle.”

“Qiaoying Village is nice this time of year. I have an acquaintance in Liyue I can persuade to be a witness. Beyond that…we’ll let the current decide.”

His words shook something in you as you reached up and tugged at his cravat to pull him into another kiss. Longer than the last, smooth and steady like a morning tide, passion dancing like an undertow.

[thomine]

limbo : cyno

pair: cyno x reader info: dialogue heavy, hurt/comfort (?), physical wounds, death of minor character, reposted + not proofread

summary: cyno returns heavily wounded from an investigation. he denies visitors, except you.

word count: 900 links: work tag

“hey, cyno?”

“…”

“are you… there?”

there’s shuffling of feet.

“are you alone?”

“yeah.”

“…what’s the matter?”

“well… i heard from the matra the case was complex and dangerous, so i’m glad to hear you’ve returned.” you swallow the word ‘safely’.

“yeah,” a pause. “it was one of those that required more time, more risks.”

“you would only be gone for at most a week.” you force a laugh. “it was a long month of silence.”

“that’s expected. a matra’s work is no fun and games.”

“and… uh, i also heard that… you ended up—”

“that’s enough.”

“…”

he clears his throat. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to—” a deep breathe followed by a shaky exhale. “maybe now isn’t a good time.”

“let me say it, please.”

“…your curiosity is dangerous.”

“it is not curiosity. it is concern. you got hurt, cyno, and you expect me not to care?”

“…”

“when will be a good time?”

“…”

“the doctors told me you’ll need your rest. i guess maybe i am pushing it.”

“wait—”

“…yes?”

“what else did you hear? from the matra.”

“they’re innocent. i couldn’t get answers from you so i approached them.”

“unless i see a reason, you won’t have to worry about me punishing them.”

“they told me things with good intentions. they’re also worried for you.”

“…i’m aware. tell me still.”

you sigh, a hand clutching the other. “your coworker… no, your friend did this to you, didn’t he?”

a dreadful silence. then, a pained hiss.

“cyno? do you need the doctor?”

a breath is taken in through gritted teeth.

“no—just, a small mistake on my part.”

“don’t touch the wound.”

“sorry. instincts. no need to worry about me. rather, have you been drinking water? you always forget.”

“i get plenty of reminders from others,” you laugh, almost authentic.

“good.”

another silence, but gentle.

“it’s not the same though.”

“what do you mean?”

“it was different when you did it. seeing your gruff and serious face saying such kind words… i always found it funny.”

“is it really?”

“for the record, i missed your jokes. tighnari was all like ‘good riddance at least we have peace and quiet’ and i proceeded to carry your legacy.”

“want to hear another one?”

“you spoil me.”

“what’s left of a sumpterbeast when the beast dies?”

“…meat? horns? materials!”

“no. you leave it stumped.”

“…” but you laugh anyways. with your whole body. lungs filled with cheer.

“…why did you come alone?”

“collei and tighnari couldn’t come today, so i’m here to pass the medicine they wanted to give you.”

“is that all?”

“i bought more gifts! deyha gave some bandages. it’s also apparently really tight. that helps with blood flow, but i’m not sure if you can wear it just yet—”

“…”

“—and alhaitham told me to give you this—oh, they’re chocolates—not sure if they still taste good… it has melted a fair bit. then—”

“…”

“—there’s candace who sent her blessings, and nilou who gave you a trinket! it was used in a folktale to bring good luck. she says when you’re ready, she’ll host a celebration for your recovery. it’ll be within us, and maybe even the dendro archon will come.”

“…”

“why?”

“…why?”

“why didn’t you want to see them? i know it hurts to have been betrayed. you… surely don’t think we will, do you?”

“it’s not that. betrayal means nothing if all acts are weighed and brought to justice.”

“is it really nothing? the matra told me you returned with his dead body. you wanted a proper burial. you could have died too, trying to bring his body back.”

“what else did they tell?”

you inhale. “other than your wound, nothing else. cyno, i hope you’re not going to push us away.”

“it’s not that.” there’s a low growl. “… i just need some time for myself.”

“i understand. i’ll leave the gifts out here then. is there anything else you want to say before i leave…?”

“…my friend was mind controlled.”

“i see.”

“he didn’t deserve the death i gave him.” the atmosphere is tense. it’s hard to breathe. “when i’ve rested enough, i have this case to solve.”

“…rest…” you sigh and shake your head. “you’re not letting yourself mourn.” you place a hand on the door. “i’m sorry.”

“there’s nothing you have to be sorry about.”

“it wasn’t your fault either.”

“maybe i was too haste to pass judgement, but what’s done is done. his blood is on my hands.”

“cyno,” you breath out, like a drowning person letting out the last bubble. “you are only human.”

“…”

“promise me when you leave for your next case, to investigate on those who unfairly used your friend, that… you’ll come back safely.”

“i cannot promise that, but i will do my best.”

“that is enough.”

“…do you still want to see me?”

“that’s why i’m here, right?”

“huh, thought you were just acting as a delivery guy.” a dry chuckle.

“well, i’m that too.” you weakly laugh, lying your head against the door. “it must be hard dealing with it alone, but we’re all here for you, through the gifts we bring and the prayers we offer… i’m here too.” you press a hand on your heart.

there is a click.

“i’m coming in,” you say as you slip yourself through the door left ajar, careful of the items on the floor. it closes before you can catch a glimpse of him, but the familiar warmth that wraps you is enough to quell your uncertainties.

author's note: an old piece! from an old blog! hello! i wrote some author's commentary so i guess that'll be up next. i have not looked through this nor the commentary. this is raw. i wrote this to practice dialogue. might actually do more!

[sexy-sapphic-sorcerer]

1: Magic is a Metaphor < 2: Morgana is a Lesbian > 3: Merlin is Gay > 4: Arthur is Bi

Building off of the whole metaphor idea, Morgana's character arc is basically that she starts to question her identity because she's having all of these dreams and thoughts that she doesn't understand. Then Gaius, who is straight up a conversion therapist, literally gaslights her and is like, 'no no, you're just going crazy, you're overreacting, here, why don't you take all of these drugs to suppress those thoughts?'

Meanwhile, Uther is saying all of this stuff about how sorcerers are all evil and should be killed, and Morgana will try to argue with him and he will just be like, 'well, why do you care so much?' And she's all, 'oh, no reason. I'm just an ally. I'm just really passionate about social justice.' Like, girl, we've all been there.

And then once Morgana does come to terms with her identity and she realises how fucked up the way that she was treated is, she goes batshit and starts a revolution and assassinates her dad. And good for her! I honestly think that all repressed lesbians deserve a little bit of murder, it's only fair, especially if they look so hot doing it.

Also, Morgana doesn't have any male love interests. I mean, she will sometimes flirt with men to manipulate them into doing what she wants, but it's very clear that that is what she is doing, she never actually cares about them or follows through.

Besides, Katie McGrath has never played a heterosexual in her life. She's basically straight up said that she played Morgana as a lesbian. You know where she said that? Here:

Hear me out.

Are they technically half-sisters? Yes. But omg the sexual tension between these two is undeniable. You really do think that they're just going to kiss at any given moment. This has been straight up confirmed. This is a quote from the same conversation as earlier between the main producer and Katie McGrath, where they fully admit that there are definitely lesbian undertones there, and not only did both actresses play it that way, but it was written that way. So I rest my case.

Gwen knew about Morgana's prophetic visions from the start and she was never scared of it or tried to deny that it was magic. Instead, she was always by Morgana's bedside (or in her bed) so she could hold her face and stroke her hair and tell her she would be okay. Gayasses.

Although, as Iori Miyazawa can attest, yuri is often best found in the absence of it. Because once Morgana accepts her identity and her magic becomes an unavoidable part of of her life rather than thoughts she could repress, she begins to push Gwen away, often in the form of telling her not to undress her anymore.

Then this tension between them is emphasised when Morgana starts having nightmares of Gwen marrying Arthur and is really upset by it for some reason. I know that she justifies it by saying that she doesn't want Gwen to take her place as queen, but if you think about that for more than 5 seconds, it makes absolutely no sense. Arthur is still going to be king regardless of who he marries, so unless Morgana is planning to follow the legend a bit too closely and marry her brother, then Gwen is absolutely not taking her place.

And yet Morgana spends the entire rest of the show obsessing over Gwen, including: planting false evidence to break up Gwen and Arthur, using necroLancey as a puppet to seduce her, kidnapping Gwen only to tenderly caress her face and force her to have dinner with her, and then of course enchanting Gwen to kill Arthur so that Morgana can be queen, and Gwen will seemingly also still be queen. And they will be two queens, together, platonically. Hmmm

[littlemissmarianna]

Marriage is hard. 

The statement is cliché, but TK never doubted its truth. For years, he watched his parents struggle to make their relationship work and promised himself that his marriage would be different. He wouldn't argue with his spouse. He wouldn’t twist their words to manipulate them. He wouldn't yell and slam doors. He wouldn't bring up past hurts to inflict new pain. He wouldn't withhold affection as punishment.

TK was convinced he had safeguarded his marriage from all the pitfalls he witnessed throughout his childhood, but there's no precedent for this. He and Carlos are facing challenges neither saw coming. And while TK doesn't want to give up, he also doesn't know how to save their marriage when it feels like he's the only one fighting for it.

____________

Carlos will save everyone except himself.

Andrea has always known that, but it's still painful to watch him spiral like this. It's painful to watch her son disappear a little bit more each day.

"Mijo..."

Carlos doesn't look up. He never looks up. He never makes eye contact. He just sits at his father's desk either staring at the evidence or staring at nothing, distracted and distant.

And yes – Carlos has always been dedicated. He's always been focused and determined, but this...this is obsession. This unrelenting compulsion to investigate Gabriel's murder at the expense of everything else must stop before it's too late to salvage the life Carlos has abandoned. His health, his career, and his marriage are suffering from chronic neglect, and Andrea refuses to let it continue.

"Carlitos. You need to go home."

"I am home."

Andrea shakes her head. She can't deny that the ranch will always be her son's home, but that's not what she's talking about...and Carlos knows it. He spends more time in Gabriel's office than anywhere else, and while TK has been patient and supportive, Andrea sees how Carlos's absence is impacting his husband. She sees the sadness in TK's expression. She hears the uncertainty in his voice when he asks if Carlos is spending the night at the ranch again or if he's returning to the loft.

"You haven't seen TK in over a week."

"I've seen him," Carlos defends, gesturing to his phone. "We FaceTime every night."

"That doesn't count, Carlitos. TK deserves to sleep beside his husband."

"So do you," Carlos replies, his tone cold and sharp. "But Dad is dead, and whoever killed him is still out there somewhere."

"You're right," Andrea admits. "That person needs to be found and brought to justice. But your father wouldn’t want you to sacrifice your future for him."

"I'm not sacrificing my future," Carlos counters. "I'm trying to protect it. I can't move forward if I have to constantly look over my shoulder, Mom. What if this person isn't done with our family? What if you're next? Or Ana or Luisa or..."

Andrea knows the name left unsaid is the one Carlos fears losing the most. But her son doesn't realize that on some level, he's already losing TK. Carlos doesn't realize that the biggest threat to his future – to his marriage – is his apathy.

"Go home," she repeats, leaving no room for argument as she nudges Carlos out of his father's chair.

____________

This feeling never gets old – that straight shot of adrenaline that floods TK's system whenever the alarm goes off.

"Train derailment?"

"That's a new one."

"Sounds like a cluster..."

TK agrees, but he welcomes anything that takes his mind off his own train wreck. He never imagined he would feel this lonely being married. He never imagined he would be ignored by his husband or treated like a bother.

"Are you with us or the jocks this time?"

TK smiles and shrugs. Since Judd left, that's always the question when a call comes in: who will have custody of TK – the firefighters or the paramedics?

"We'll decide on scene," Owen says but tells his son to grab his turnout gear just in case.

____________

It's worse than they thought.

Some train cars are stacked on top of each other; some are scattered like toys after a tantrum. 

Survivors are covered in soot and dirt and blood as they wander around the scene in shock...while those who were not as lucky lie motionless on the ground.

____________

"We interrupt this broadcast with breaking news."

Carlos glances up as he pushes the food around on his plate. His mother insisted he eat lunch before heading back to the loft, but Carlos isn't hungry. He's just tired. Tired of feeling empty and detached. Tired of feeling like a failure.

Andrea gasps at the live footage. She recognizes the location instantly.

Carlos does, too. He also recognizes the 126.

"Do you see TK?"

Carlos shakes his head. He knows his husband has been putting his dual certification to good use, which means TK could be anywhere. The likelihood of spotting him in such a chaotic scene is slim, but Carlos keeps scanning as the reporter provides details.

Andrea leans forward, her own lunch forgotten as she also tries to locate TK. She always feels better when she has eyes on her boys. 

"Okay. We've just been told we need to move further back for our safety."

Carlos frowns. He's not there, but it looks like the reporter is already far enough from the scene.

The desk anchor seems to agree. "Has there been a new development?"

"Yes," the reporter confirms, glancing at the camera as she walks. "At least one of the train cars was hauling – "

The rest of her statement is lost as static fills the screen.

____________

The last thing TK will remember is trying to outrun an explosion.

____________

The faster something occurs, the slower it seems. Seconds drag on for hours.

Owen is familiar with that phenomenon, yet it still catches him off guard when it happens. He saw TK running toward him as the explosives began to ignite. 

But when the smoke clears, his son is gone.

____________

Andrea is holding Carlos's hand when the signal is restored.

"Sorry about that," the reporter says, breathless and disheveled. "We were just rocked by a huge explosion, but we're still here. We're fine."

Carlos never wants to see anyone get hurt, but this stranger's well-being is not his priority. He takes out his phone and sends a message to his husband, asking TK to let him know he's okay as soon as he can.

____________

There are now two active scenes – the derailment and the giant crater created by the blast. 

Even with flashlights, it's impossible to see the bottom of the hole...but Owen knows TK is down there, unconscious and injured.

"What do you need, Cap?"

"My son," Owen replies as he prepares to rappel into the darkness.

__________

Carlos tells himself TK is just busy. That's why he hasn't answered. 

Or maybe TK is giving Carlos a taste of how it feels to be ignored. That seems cruel in this situation, but –  

"We have an update," the reporter announces. "All passengers are accounted for, but sadly, one firefighter is missing. We have his photo..."

Andrea holds her breath, then tightens her grip around Carlos's hand as a smiling TK appears on the screen.

"This is TK Strand, the 29-year-old son of fire captain Owen Strand. Both are with the 126, which has a history of tragedy. Viewers may remember the station's catastrophic loss back in 2020. A paramedic was also killed in 2021."

Carlos's ears are ringing as he stares at the photo. Andrea was right when she said Carlos hadn't seen his husband in over a week. TK does FaceTime him every night, but Carlos doesn't hold the phone. He leaves it on the desk, so he can continue working. Each night, TK converses with the ceiling while Carlos grunts or hums his responses. 

Carlos can't even remember the last time he had an actual conversation with TK. He can't remember the last time he looked into those beautiful green eyes or kissed those soft lips. Was their honeymoon the last time Carlos held his husband? It was certainly the last time they made love.

When they returned to Austin, Carlos allowed himself to be consumed with rage. His only focus was avenging what he lost...which made him forget to love what he still had. 

But this is his wake-up call.

"Mijo..."

Carlos pulls away from his mother as he stands. He took an indefinite leave of absence from APD to pursue Gabriel's case; he took the same leave of absence from being a husband.

But as of right now, Carlos is back on duty.

____________

The 126 executes the rescue like they always do – as a family, as a team.

TK is unresponsive when they find him, but he's alive.

That's all that matters.

____________

Carlos is halfway to the scene when Owen calls.

"Please tell me you found him."

"We did," Owen confirms, though he doesn't ask how Carlos knew TK was missing. "We're still wrapping up here, so can you meet him at the hospital? If you're not too busy..."

The words are meant to sting. They're meant to send a message of their own, and Carlos deserves it.

"I'm heading there now," he replies as the Camaro sails through an intersection.

____________

A miracle.

That's the doctor's only explanation for how his patient survived an explosion with just a minor concussion.

My miracle, Carlos thinks as he kisses TK's bruised forehead.

____________

TK doesn’t remember coming to the hospital. He doesn’t remember anything, except –

“Baby. You with me?”

TK blinks as he realizes Carlos is sitting beside him.

“Hey. How do you feel?”

“My head hurts,” TK admits as he glances around the room. “What happened?”

“There was an explosion,” Carlos explains, his fingers gentle as they fan through TK’s hair. “But you’re gonna be okay. They’re discharging you soon.”

“Is Dad coming?”

“He’ll meet us at the loft.”

“Us?” Maybe it’s the concussion, but TK is confused. “You’re taking me home? Don’t you need to – ”

“I don’t need to be anywhere except right here,” Carlos replies, holding TK’s gaze. “I love you. It’s been too long since I’ve told you that.”

Carlos has said those three words every night before he hangs up, but they were delivered on autopilot. For weeks, I love you meant practically nothing. To hear them now with such conviction and sincerity makes TK want to cry.

“My dad’s case is important,” Carlos continues. “But you are my husband, TK. You will always be the most important part of my life. I’m sorry I haven’t been showing that lately. And I promise I’ll never make you doubt that again.”

TK nods and reaches up, closing his eyes as Carlos wraps him in a hug.

____________

The next morning, TK wakes up in his husband’s arms.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers, smiling when their sleepy kisses turn into something more.

[lovingperfectionsblog]

Not Like Us

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Request:

Helloo! Could I maybe request a fic where charles is dating a reader who is like medium sized and the fans are like being really mean to her and she overhears comments in the paddock about how he could get with any model etc and he notices she's starting to eat less and he's worried abt her etc . also, I really love your work!

Summary: The development of an eating disorder after you realize Charles wants something you aren’t.

Warnings: TW!!!! EATING DISORDER! Angst, fatphobia, language.

Word Count: 3927

Authors note: I really hope I have done this request justice <3 This is always such a delicate subject and I need anyone and everyone to know, if you even think you could be going down this road, please seek help! Your body needs to be strong and healthy and that is all that matters. It does not matter what you look like, it will never matter what you look like, you just need to be healthy, whatever that could possibly look like for you in your each and individual circumstance! And Mental health is one of the biggest factors of that!! Your value and worth will never ever ever be linked to your weight or how you look. If this is where you are currently, where you are headed or you know someone in this situation, pleas be kind, please be gentle and please please please get help my sweets <3 There is also nothing wrong with slimmer people either! Every body type is different and healthy in their own ways, so please just, the point is to love and respect yourself always because then you do the same for others <3 I hope you enjoy this.

_____

“You know you deserve better Charles, come on, stop playing this stupid little game, she isn’t like us, god, the least she could do is lose some weight to stop embarrassing you so much”

It must have looked so odd, you flat against the side of the motorhome, seemingly eavesdropping on the conversation that was happening behind it, a sinister undertone to it all, and you didn’t mean to eavesdrop, normally trusting Charles completely, except, this time, the girl with him was absolutely sinister. This was Katie and she had wanted Charles for longer than you’d even known him, and she was exactly what you’d expect a woman dating one of the world most eligible bachelors would be, beautiful, rich, one of those go getters, you know the kind, the one’s more than happy to step over whoever they needed in order to get what she wanted, and most relevant to this exact conversation, she was so terrifyingly skinny. The kind of skinny you always told yourself you didn’t admire, that you would never do that to yourself because who would ever want to give up everything good just to look like that?

But the deeper, darker truth was, that you did, that you would. No matter how much you tried to deny it, you so desperately wished you could look like her and that you could have her self-discipline. But you didn’t, and so you just, were so much bigger than she was.

You’d never ever thought of yourself as that much bigger than girls like her, you knew you were bigger, but God, not that much? You were what you’d considered a normal, healthy woman? Maybe you were just wrong. Maybe you had an over inflated ego? Maybe she was wrong? Maybe she was just insecure?

“I know”

Did, did Charles just agree with her?

You couldn’t stand there anymore, you had to go. You felt the heat from the embarrassment creep up your neck and onto your face. It was hot, too hot, you had to go.

He agreed.

You moved through the paddock quickly, head ducked low, thankful that this was Charles’ home race, thankful you had your home to run to in order to escape the embarrassment. No. This wasn’t embarrassment, this was, devastation. This was your heart being ripped out of your chest by your boyfriend. The man you loved, who you adored, the man you thought adored you. He had told you enough times that he had. Was he just lying? Had he been lying to you the entire time?

Your throat suddenly felt tight, the lump forming too quickly, tears threatening to start spilling. God why were there so many people here. You ignored everyone as you near ran out of the paddock. Fumbling with your pass as your hands shook.

He agreed.

As you managed to make it onto the streets you knew too well, the streets of your home, making your way mindlessly towards your flat, your mind wandered back to the conversation between Charles and the woman you now knew you hated. She had called you fat, she had called you different, he had called you an embarrassment and he had agreed. You could almost picture his face as she said those words, twisting in disgusting, and then you pictured hers, a smirk as she heard him agree with her, and this replayed over and over again, all the way to your flat, and you willed yourself not to cry.

You had just made it inside your flat before you couldn’t hold it in anymore, you slammed the door shut and had your forehead pressed to the cool wood and the floodgates had opened. You wept. Every fear you didn’t even realize you had come true in a two-sentence conversation you happened to overhear.

HE FUCKING AGREED WITH HER!

You weren’t even sure who you were angry with? Him? Maybe, for agreeing with that woman, the woman he knows wants him all to herself or maybe her? How dare she fucking say that about you, to your boyfriend no less? And he didn’t even defend you?

Or with yourself, because here, all alone, maybe you could admit that they were right.

_____

Katie had caught Charles by surprise, dragging him behind the motorhome before he could even begin to struggle against her, not that it would have been all that much of a struggle, considering she weighed about nothing. Charles didn’t mean to judge her, it was a sense a pride for him that he never thought badly about people no matter what they weighed from an aesthetics point, but her, God, she was so unnaturally skinny, and he had no idea how she even survived day to day? How did she hold her own? Charles never thought he had a type, but lord knows he now knew he loved strong women, women with some meat on their bones, women who he knew could take care of themselves and that were healthy, women like his girlfriend.

In the time Charles had all of these thoughts run through his head, Katie had begun talking to him, and by the time he paid attention he had only caught the tail end of her self-righteous monologue.  

“You know you deserve better Charles, come on, stop playing this stupid little game, she isn’t like us, god, the least she could do is lose some weight to stop embarrassing you so much”

“I know”

He hated the smug look that had crept up onto her face and he couldn’t wait to see it be wiped off in just a moment.

“So then, please explain why you are still with her”She looked like she had won some sort of prize, and Charles hated her for it. He hated that she looked down on you because you weighed more than her, despite the fact that he knew that she wasn’t healthy, he knew from some of his other friends the lengths Katie had gone in order to stay this skinny, and he knew this was definitely an eating disorder.

He hated how she looked down at you and he pitied her for how she hated herself.

“Because you’re right, she isn’t like you and that is the exact reason I love her. She is one of the most phenomenal women I have ever had the privilege of meeting and I will fight tooth and nail to keep her in my life Katie. Jesus, you are so focused on what people fucking look like and it is fucking pathetic at this point. And for the record, Y/n, she is strong and healthy and loves herself and lord knows when she has my children, God willing, she is going to teach my children to love themselves relentlessly and I just can’t believe I am trying to justify my girlfriends looks to you at the moment. I’m done Katie, stay away from me, stay away from Y/n, and please, genuinely, as someone who just cares, please get help, because you’ve lost too much” Charles felt the heat from his rage creep up onto his face as he stormed away from Katie, ignoring her protests and the insults she flung at him, wanting nothing more than to find you and worship every single inch of your body, not caring that he was technically at work, but he needed to ground himself and if that involved the two of you hiding in an abandoned office as he did so, well, he will take what he can get.

He looked for ages before he finally opted to try and phone you, the call being declined almost instantly and a message coming through not long after that.

“Felt sick, went home, good luck for the race” It was all he had gotten from you. He had tried two more times, each being declined as the worry grew in his chest, messaging you that he loved you and hoped you felt better soon, and he’d come by after the race.

There was no reply.

_____

It had been one year since that day, and you were quite literally a different person by this point. You hated to admit it, but you had thrived off of the new comments about your body, ignoring the more concerned ones that littered through the comments on social media, focusing only on those built you up.

“Oh my god look how good she’s looking”

“Charles must be so much happier now that she’s lost all that weight”

“Well done girlie!!!!! You look so much better with all that weight off”

It was comments like that that had made it all absolutely worth it, and Lord knows it had been difficult. Gym twice a day, minimum and majorly restricted eating was tough, but you had done it. You’d finally fit into clothing all those other girls could and you felt so much better looking in the mirror, although, you knew you had a few more kilos to lose, this was an amazing start, and the look on katies face made it even better, because now suddenly you were equals, equally as pretty, equally as disciplined and now equally as skinny, actually, you think you might be even smaller than her now.

What was truly great though, the thing that really made all of this worth it, was whenever Charles would look at you, whenever you got undressed in front him, which you were doing more and more frequently the more and more you lost, his eyes would rake over your figure, his fingers would drag along your skin, you loved the feeling of when he tapped against the bones in your hips, the sound of skin against bone and you knew he loved it.

You weren’t an embarrassment anymore.

You knew he now fully loved you.

And so, you promised yourself you wouldn’t stop, not yet, you needed to be smaller, because if you were smaller, then you weren’t an embarrassment and if you weren’t an embarrassment then Charles would love you.

You would love you.

_____

“Lunch” Lorenzo plopped down next to you, placing the salad in front of you, his own pasta dish in front of him, shoving Arthurs across the table. The two boys immediately tucked into their lunch with their eyes avoiding you while you sat, pushing a strawberry around as you gathered up the courage to eat.

You had already had your allotted calories for the day, Charles insisting on foods that you’d hadn’t had in months for breakfast, and you had felt sick since then. You’d resigned yourself to not eating this salad. Lorenzo and Arthur wouldn’t question you, they were happy that you’d lost the weight too, they were happy for Charles, they were happy for you. They wanted you to lose more. They would understand. They would encourage it.

Yes. Okay, it was decided. You weren’t eating lunch. If you were remembering correctly, you were allowed to have something small this evening and then you wouldn’t be eating until tomorrow afternoon again.

No salad now.

“You not eating?” Arthur asked through a mouth full of food, glancing between you, the salad and Lorenzo.

“Oh no, I ate this morning” you shot him a smile, they’d understand. They’d encourage it.

“Yeah, that’s breakfast, this is lunch?” Lorenzo shot Arthur a look as you laughed, although it sounded more forced than the natural laugh they were used to hearing. Both Charles and Lorenzo had spoken to him about this, nearly trained him on how to talk to you about food and eating, knowing they had to do this delicately lest they do any more damage than had already been done.

“I’ll eat later, don’t worry little Leclerc, I’m gonna go to the bathroom” you kissed Arthur on the head as you made your way around the table and they watched you, like a hawk as you left, neither forgetting the day you had stumbled because you were so dizzy. You put it down to getting up to quickly. They knew it was because you hadn’t eaten in nearly 2 days.

“What the fuck was that?” Lorenzo whispered towards Arthur, ready to climb into his little brother who sat before him, mouth full and eyes wide.

“Isn’t she getting better?” Arthur genuinely thought he had heard Lorenzo and Charles discussion how you had gotten better, he truly thought it was a harmless comment.

“No, we were talking about how she ISN’T getting better, and we may need to get her admitted so she CAN get better you tit!” Lorenzo hated having to deal with this situation, hated constantly having to keep his eye on you and your eating habits and report back to Charles, but he didn’t hate it because it was a burden, he hated it because the situation had gotten this bad at all. The entire family had grown to love you, God, you were family at this point, both Arthur and Lorenzo having sat for hours with Charles going through ring options for the one he was going to eventually propose to you with, but that had all been put on hold as the fear of losing you before that could even happen had gripped the entire family, and if it had a hold on all of them, it had a vice grip on Charles.

“I’ve got to go chat with Charles, just, stay here with her, don’t talk about food or weight or just, talk about, the race, that’s it, that’s all you’re allowed to talk about, the race, I’ll come get you two when I’m done” Arthur nodded as Lorenzo got up and left him there waiting for you.

Arthur hated that this is what your relationship had become with him, planned conversation because you hadn’t even realised you’d gotten so sick, you two used to have so much fun, your inside jokes had even disappeared, your sickness overshadowed everything, and he felt bad for being angry with you about that. He knew you were sick, he had it explained to him enough times to get it, but he was still angry. He was angry that he couldn’t just be himself with you anymore. He was angry that every single little thing had to be planned just because you might get worse. He hated that this had driven his brother into a hole of anxiety at the fear that he might lose you, not because you broke up or anything but because you were withering away to nothing.

He hated that you were willingly killing yourself. Did they not make you happy? Did they not make you feel loved? Were they not enough to stick around for?

_____

“Didn’t touch her salad, said she’d-“ Lorenzo stopped as soon as his eyes landed on Pierre in Charles drivers’ room.

“He knows, it’s okay” Charles urged his brother on, desperately hoping that they had managed to get you to eat today, because if they hadn’t, the Charles was going to make the executive decision to get a psychologist to admit you.

“Kind of hard to miss” Pierre didn’t mean for it to sound so rude, but everyone knew what was going on, well, everyone but you it seemed. He was thankful Charles had spoken to him about it first, because if he didn’t, Pierre was going to have to start the awkward conversation with his best friend about the fact that the woman he loved was killing herself, and now that Charles had looped him in on what was going on, it meant there was more he could do to help.

“She didn’t touch her lunch?” Charles had pushed off the wall he was previously leaning on, making his was to the centre of the room to have this discussion with his brother.

“She said she’d eat supper, said she’d eaten breakfast, didn’t want to push her” Lorenzo could feel the fear radiating off of his brother as silence settled between the three men in the driver’s room, both Lorenzo and Pierre waiting for Charles to decide what he was going to do from here on, both knowing that he’d given the deadline till today before he got professionals involved.

What they didn’t expect was the reaction that Charles had given.

The silence was shattered as Charles threw what they could only assume was his phone against the wall, and then there he stood, mouth wide, a scream ripping through the room, face red and a ragged breath was all that followed after a few moments.

The entire garage had gone silent, Lorenzo popping his head out the door just to reassure everyone that Charles was okay. Pierre’s head dropping, staring at the floor, making sure he stayed to help Charles, but making sure he still gave him his privacy.

“I’ll call the psychologist tomorrow” it was all he could get out.

What else was there to say? They had tried. He had tried, but he couldn’t stand there and watch you waste away anymore and clearly what he was doing just wasn’t enough.  

“I’ll talk to her tonight, and I’ll call the psychologist tomorrow” he wasn’t sure who he was telling this plan to, Pierre and Lorenzo or himself.

“It’s for the best” Pierre tried to reassure his friend, oddly grateful that you’d actually be getting the help you need. Finally.

“I know” Why did Charles feel so scared then? Why was he dreading this so much?

_____

“What do you want for supper” Charles was throwing out a hail Mary, praying that you would give him something.

“Oh, I ate a big lunch, don’t stress about me my love, want me to make you something though?” you wished you had felt bad about lying to him, but it had gotten so easy. You had justified it that you didn’t want to bother him with all of this, he could just reap the rewards of it.

“You didn’t though” this was it. He was going to talk to you about this. It was now or never.

“Of course I did baby-“

“Lorenzo told me you didn’t” were you seriously just lying to him?

“Why do you sound upset?” Charles could do nothing other than stare at you, wide eyed.

“Why do I sound upset? WHY DO I SOUND UPSET? MY GIRLFRIEND! THE WOMAN I PLAN ON MARRYING IS STARVING HERSELF TO DEATH” he knew shouting wasn’t the right thing to do, but he had already exhausted every other option,

“I’m calling a psychologist tomorrow” just rip the band aid off.

“What do you mean you’re calling the psychologist tomorrow?” he couldn’t do this to you. Everything you had worked so hard for. He couldn’t do this when this is what he wanted.

“You need help Y/n, you need help and I have tried everything, and it is not working, I don’t know what else to do” he couldn’t look you in the eye, not with how betrayed you looked, “I can’t lose you”.

“Charles! This is what you wanted!” how had he suddenly just changed his mind? How had he just dismissed all the work you had done?

“What I wanted? What the fuck have I done to make you think I could have ever wanted this? I am here, worried out of my mind that you are going to die because you have lost so much weight and you think this is what I wanted? You are the woman I love, you were strong, you were healthy, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen AND YOU HAVE BEEN KILLING YOURSELF!” what had he done, how had he fucked up this badly, “What did I do to ever make you feel less, how do I fix this, please, fuck, I need to fix this!”

“Katie”

“What the fuck does Katie have to do with this? She’s been out of our lives for the last year?”

“Yeah, about a year ago, I heard you two talking, and she said I was embarrassing you and you deserved better, and I wasn’t one of you guys and I was fat and then you said ‘I know’” the memory was still so vivid, for both of you.

“How long did you stick around for that conversation?” Shit, this might have been his fault.

“I left as soon as I heard you say you agreed with her” you had to sit down, a combination of not eating and the stress of this conversation getting too much for you.

“Okay, so you completely missed me telling her that I know that you’re different from her and that’s why I love you and think you’re beautiful? You missed me telling her to fuck off and stay the hell away from me and you? You missed all of that, chose not to talk to me about it and then decide to literally kill yourself via starvation?” he watched as the realization dawned on you, he watched your face drop, and he thought he would feel better once you had finally gotten it, but he didn’t he still felt sick, he was still scared, “I just want you back.”

“Charles, please, I didn’t realize, I’m sorry” you weren’t sure if you were sorry though, you liked how this all had made you feel and you knew he knew it too.

“Okay, then I’m calling the psychologist tomorrow and you’ll get help”

“Charles-“

“No, that’s the only option here” he was going to throw up, “I can’t sit here and watch you wither away”

“What do you mean?” you felt bile rise up into your throat, surely he couldn’t be insinuating,

“You either are going to go and get help or I have to leave” This isn’t how he wanted things to go, this was cruel, and he knew it, but if this is what it took, then he’ll be the bad guy, he would happily be the bad guy, you could hate him till he died for all he cared, all that mattered was that you got better.

The silence went on for too long, he was so sure you would choose him, but suddenly that confidence started to waver, the longer you sat staring at the table, the less he was sure you would choose him.

“I’m scared” you whispered out.

“You aren’t going to be doing this alone, I’m here, and as long as you’re fighting, so am I, please, my love, please, I can’t watch you do this to yourself, not anymore” Charles was one more ‘please’ away from getting on his knees and begging.

“Call them” he let out a breath was didn’t even know he was holding, making his way to you, needing to hold you, thanking every god out there that he hadn’t lost you just yet.

“Thank you, thank you baby, I love you” and for the first time he let himself cry, the relief and fear both coursing through him and this was the outlet, he knew you were still there, the you he had fallen in love with, the confident you, the you he knew that loved yourself, he placed a kiss to the top of your head as you both stayed silent, the evident battle ahead of you becoming more and more real the longer you sat there, but before you both started on that journey you sat there, in silence, thankful for the love that existed in this space, the love that was brave enough to do whatever it took to make sure you got better.

“Thank you for still loving you”

_____

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[arliedraws]

Okay, I’m feeling the pull of James Potter and Slytherin!Sirius Black again. Verrryyyy short drabble below. It’s just sexual tension.

—

a good little errand boy

James was twenty-six when he became an Auror. He avoided it for years, ignoring the whisper in the back of his head that the only way he would put Sirius Black in Azkaban was to put the chains on Black himself.

He denied it. He promised himself that he could be satisfied hiding with Lily and Harry until Harry turned eleven, but the damned stories in The Daily Prophet and magazine covers that lauded the most eligible bachelor in the country persisted in mocking him until he finally gave up and told Lily he was getting a job.

By that time, Lily was already working from home as a freelance enchanter, fixing and strengthening charms on magical objects for a repair shop in Diagon Alley. She told him with a cheeky grin to get his lazy bum out of the house.

It took several brutal years of training to become an Auror, and he quickly understood why so few people were admitted to the program. But James was clever and his experience with the Order of the Phoenix propelled him to success; he was satisfied that each agonizing trial and stage of his education brought him closer to bringing Sirius Black to justice. The obsession drove him to wake up early and study before Lily stirred; it compelled him to stay late in Frank Longbottom’s cubicle, rifling through old files and cases, memorizing the history of the department until he knew better than anyone how dark wizards came to power. He traced Black’s long history from his great grandparents to his involvement with two Ministers for Magic and a little-known scandal with a witch from The Daily Prophet who claimed Black tried to pay her off when she dug too deep into his business. She eventually retracted her accusation and left her career as a journalist and refused to talk to James about it when he found her.

Before he was an apprentice, he thought he would have to hunt for Sirius Black once he became a fully qualified Auror. He imagined chasing him through seedy clubs or breaking into old country houses, but it became very clear that Black would eventually come to him.

Black was a frequent visitor to the Ministry. He slithered into the offices of department heads, spilling Galleons from his palms into the hands of tired bureaucrats who simply wished for the whole war to end so they could go back to delegating instead of handling one disaster after another. Black eased their troubles. He was so generous and helpful with his robust understanding of wizarding politics and clever insight.

James recalled seeing Black in action for the first time when he stumbled upon a very pleased Sirius Black shaking Wilmot Blevins’ hand the day after Blevins was made head of the Department of Magical Transportation. Black had turned to James, his smile broadening with delight.

“James Potter,” said Black. There was a feral look to him that made James too furious to consider its implications.

“What are you doing here?” James demanded, looking between Black and Blevins.

“Mr. Black is very kindly congratulating me on my new position,” said Blevins. His long, face appeared dizzy with admiration and he was perspiring slightly beneath his shining fringe of blond hair. “I was telling Mr. Black that I look forward to working with our most prominent families to ensure I serve our community to the best of my ability. Input from exceptional wizards like Mr. Black keeps our fine institution functioning.”

“It was a well-deserved promotion,” added Black. “Don’t you think, Potter? Mr. Blevins has proven to be an incredibly valuable and cooperative component of this governing body. Wouldn’t you agree?”

James wanted the pale, colorless eyes to turn elsewhere but they were observing him with keen interest.

“Yes. Congratulations, Mr. Blevins,” said James, gritting his teeth. Of course, he did not think so at all. Blevins was a half-blood who desperately pretended his mother’s pure blood made up for his father’s muggle heritage. No doubt Black was falsely promising a place for the greedy Blevins among the notable families.

At this, Black smiled again, but somehow, his teeth appeared sharper and whiter.

“Was there something you needed, Potter?” said Black.

“A signature,” said James, locking eyes with Blevins. “It’s about—well, Auror Moody should have sent a request this morning about the matter. I’ve come to confirm your approval.”

Blevins looked uncomfortable as Black’s expression slipped into something neutral.

“Er—well, I’m afraid, Potter, I won’t be signing that just yet.’

“Oh,” said James. “Er—why not? I mean—er—is there a reason? I apologize, sir, I mean, what should I tell Auror Moody? He was expecting this to be signed—”

“Tell him I have not had adequate time to investigate whether or not an entire Knight Bus is necessary for this sort of thing,” said Blevins. His eyes shifted from Black back to James. Assured by a flickered look from Black, he straightened and looked down his nose at James. “Assure Auror Moody I am taking the matter very seriously. The trouble is, as much as I would like to help, I’m afraid my hands are tied. I will do my best, but I can’t make any promises.”

James heard the dismissal in his voice. “Thank you, Mr. Blevins. I’ll let him know.”

He left, avoiding the smirk on Black’s aristocratic face, hoping the humiliation wasn’t evident on his own. He left quickly, hearing Blevins apologize to Black for the interruption. Had he heard the clink of gold exchanged? Maybe he’d imagined it: Black wasn’t that brazen.

Moody would be livid—he’d warned everyone that Blevins was trouble, but James insisted he could get Blevins to approve their request, and now he was returning to his department with his tail between his legs. It was Black’s fault.

He waited for the lift, breathing deeply. Lily told him to count to ten whenever he had a run-in with Sirius Black. Now that they were no longer in school and James was an Auror, the consequence of James attacking Black would not be detention and points from Gryffindor. It would be foolish to blow all that he had done to become an Auror.

“What a good little errand boy. So polite and obedient.”

James went rigid.

“Three years of training, a year of apprenticeship, months of excruciating exams…” said Black. “All that so you can obey the petty commands of an old codger who should have died twenty years ago. I’d be disappointed if I were you.”

James gripped the unsigned, rolled-up parchment as Black made a pitying sound beside him. Don’t look—don’t dignify that with a response. Just do your duty. Ignore him, Potter.

Black sighed. “I suppose you must regret rejecting all of those recruiters for Quidditch teams while we were at school, don’t you? Imagine—you nearly played for Puddlemere United. I don’t doubt you would have been made Captain, and I reckon you might’ve even played for England in the World Cup this summer. Personally, I find it rather disappointing that you didn’t. I would have liked to buy kit with your name on it.”

“What were you doing in Blevins’ office?”

“Welcoming him to his new position.”

“I’m surprised you weren’t on your knees.”

To his surprise, Black laughed. “No need for that with Blevins. He was practically foaming at the mouth when I came in. I suppose we’re lucky you didn’t catch him on his knees.”

“Blevins would suck off anyone with pure blood.”

“Yeah, reckon he might.” Black bent forward, trying to catch James’s gaze. “He’s not propositioned you, has he, Potter?”

James nearly responded with a quip he knew would make Black laugh again, but he bit the inside of his cheek instead. It made him furious. Although they hadn’t spoken in years, there was an ease between them that was almost irresistible.

“Of course,” Black went on when James was silent, “I wouldn’t expect you to take him up on the offer. Ugly bloke, isn’t he? Bit of a downgrade from what you’ve already got at home.”

“What?” James snapped his gaze to him.

Black grinned. “Oh, I meant, I am sure you would much prefer to watch Evans and her pretty little mouth suck you off than Blevins’ ugly mug.”

The lift doors opened suddenly and Black slipped inside, disappearing amongst the throng of passengers.

It was full of people, so much so that James had to squeeze his arms to his sides to wedge himself between them. Like everyone in the lift, he turned and faced the doors, gripping the handle overhead as he quelled the waves of rage that were slamming down on him. Black loved to taunt James about Lily—he’d always done that, long before Lily admitted she had feelings for James.

The lift took off, and James, distracted by his fury, lost his grip and stumbled backward. A strong pair of hands squeezed his hips, steadying him.

“Easy, Potter.”

The shock of Black’s hands on him, carefully keeping him from falling over, dispelled rationality. His mind scrambling, James lurched with the lift, still unable to find his footing; he felt Black curl fingers over his wrist to guide James’s hand back to grip the handle above him.

“Don’t touch me,” James hissed.

The damned lift jerked to a halt, and he staggered again into Black’s hard body. There was a low rumble of laughter in his ear as the doors opened, and people streamed in and out, all of them oblivious to the way his heart palpitated so loudly, the sound of it lost to the shuffle of feet and murmured greetings. He felt like a complete idiot. He was not some bumbling fool, but Black was directly behind him, breathing down his neck, the smell of tobacco leaves and bergamot suffocating and intoxicating all at once, and when the lift doors closed and more people pressed inside, James was shoved firmly against Black.

Heat pooled in his face as he stared at the back of a witch’s coarse, silvery head, pretending he did not notice or care that he could feel Black’s body flush with his. Around them, memos fluttered aloft, and people gazed dully at the lift doors, waiting for their turn to get out. Everything was so ordinary. This was simply another day at work. James pretended to feel the same even though Black’s heart was thudding against his spine.

It felt like provocation even though Black said nothing at all. Hatred and excitement were welling inside of James as he felt Black’s chest expand and release. Something about the soft, warm breath skimming the damp sweat above his collar made James tighten his fingers on the handle overhead. The body behind him was a comforting threat. It electrified him.

When at last the doors opened to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, James wriggled out between people, eager to leave the stifling lift behind. As he cleared the throng of people, he chanced a surreptitious glance at Black.

Black slid his gaze to him from beneath eyelids that seemed a heavy burden to raise as if looking upon James was an arduous chore. His clear, pale eyes swept over him with disinterest. Then the lift doors closed, and James hurried to find Moody and tell him the bad news, desperately trying to forget the brush of Black’s breath against his neck.

[just-a-fragment]

It's jung heewon's birthday and gosh her character arc still hits hard even after finishing the novel for almost a year now.

She was a "nameless background character" and when she was introduced it's implied she was a victim of one of the most cruel crimes someone can commit to another person(and yet its something that happens to most women).

In this scene, KDJ's commentary states that its a "cliche" or not an unexpected development that happens to "nameless" characters whenever a story has societal collapse. So it's very refreshing that not only did she turn out to be such an important character, but when she gained one of the more powerful attack skills, she was able to enact her vengeance and carry this righteous catharsis throughout the novel. But it doesn't stop there!

The skill actually contains a caveat. She wasn't the one who decided which "evil" is deserving of being killed. She has to constantly answer to a system that has to unanimously "vote" if the skill should be used or not. So while she's extremely powerful, there were times where she wasn't able to defend herself just because the system of good decided that her enemy wasn't worthy of punishment.

Except who are these constellations to decide if someone was worthy or not, especially when, aside from delighting in these spectacles, they weren't the ones affected by such grievances. She has seen how the so-called "good" abandoned her and her companions in vital times, that's why it was so satisfying when she finally gained full autonomy to enact her own judgement. She saw that the system doesn't actually adhere to morality but to an audience, to authorities who never cared for their own well-being in the first place. The best part about this arc is not just how her skill evolved from adhering to a shaky yet rigid parameter to the intrinsic desire to protect the ones you love but how it doesn't abhor the way she handled her trauma! It was never implied that the rage she felt was cruel/any less.

Her story arc is such a kind fate that most authors rarely consider for characters who suffered the same as her. It's established early on that aside from being one of the most powerful characters, she's also funny! she's very caring to the kids, she mentors jihye, she's very loyal to kimcom. She has one of the more consistent moral codes in the novel, she's justice personified. It's what makes her character arc so satisfying, her trauma never retracted any of this, because that's always been who she is.

Her character arc could've just been dissecting her trauma around men, but it's also how it's incredibly hard to maintain your sense of justice/sense of self under an oppressive system. How even the most capable people are held back.

She's not reduced to some brooding/tsundere combat side character, who not only overly relies on the male mc but experiences more trauma to further male mc / other male character developments, which unfortunately happens to characters that have the same fate as her.

Like she's incredibly loyal to dokja but she questions his decisions, she doesn't praise him as a god that goes through with all of his plans just because he saved her, Because she doesn't owe him anything and both of them know this! By the end of the novel she was the one who felt remorse, but her loyalty is still there.

Same thing can be said with Hyunsung who was consistently willing to be a tool for her catharsis, for her righteous anger, and this might be a controversial opinion, but I actually kinda liked that they broke up! In the brief/rare times we get their perspective, yeah we can see that they actually do care/love each other, we can't deny that their love story was born from the apocalypse. It was never confirmed but I wouldn't ignore the possibility that to some constellations, their relationship was a spectacle, people were supporting them, or egging them on(I mean we even see how HSY placed a bet on them)

It's a very refreshing or even realistic take to these kinds of storylines, yes Hyunsung helped her when she was broken, yes he helped her with her trauma, yes they loved each other. But the implication that Heewon, someone who was introduced as a person whose agency was taken from her, being able to decide that her "knight-in-shining armor" isn't her endgame, and being able to acknowledge that it isn't the right time, but the love existed, the love was still there(which is one of orv's main themes). Like that's such a powerful and important message!

I also like how the side stories addresses the argument on whether or not she deserves the backstory she got like!!! SS already proved that she was written with so much care, so much interiority, so much agency, so much love. I wish I could write more(even though this post is already long lol) but I haven't read the side stories.

So yeah HAPPY BIRTHDAY JUNG HEEWON WOMAN OF ALL TIME.