#and he's more verbally frightening than anything else

[saburaito]

SABU did used to be a very good fighter in his youth, considering that his family used him in underground fighting rings ( prior to him becoming the heir to the family ). he knows some tactics to take people down, and he never forget them. HE IS A DIRTY FIGHTER, HE DOESN'T PLAY FAIR. but, when he is older, he does not prefer hand to hand combat. he's not necessarily the most physically strong person by any means. SABU is a skinnier man, & he doesn't rely on physical strength for most things. he relies on being manipulative & mentally straining for people to deal with. he likes to put on a front of being frightening to make people not want to get in a fight with him. there is a high chance that most muses can beat him when it comes to physical fights. all of his strength comes from the mental side of things.

[ddarker-dreams]

Could you do the current husband trio with cuteness aggression please? <3333

a request after my own heart ...

chrollo gets it out of his system by teasing you. his teasing comes in multiple flavors, some more subtle than others. for an immoral thief, his self-control is impressive. he likes to see where riling you up will go. especially if you reciprocate in kind. the verbal cat-and-mouse excites him as much as a heist. after denying himself long enough, he’ll pull you into his lap, chuckling as he says ‘don’t get so cross, darling,’ into your neck. good luck freeing yourself from his grasp. once he has you, you won’t be going anywhere until he feels generous enough to share. his visage remains relaxed, but his eyes betray the thrill you give him; they’re shining, with your reflection at the center.

satoru wouldn’t take his hands off you if his life depended on it. nope, you and everyone in the immediate vicinity get to witness how smitten he is. he’s mean though — he can’t just scoop you up and twirl you around. no, he has to creep up on you for the bonus of hearing you squeak. he’s grinning like a madman as you chastise him, peppering your face with kisses, each one accompanied by an exaggerated ‘muah.’ he gives the hand you’re halfheartedly pushing him away with the same treatment. it’s almost enough for him to burst at the seams when he puts you down (this step may require some begging on your part). especially because you’re fighting off a smile of your own so as not to encourage his mischievous behavior. satoru rectifies this by squishing your cheeks into a smile. if there’s anything he excels at, it’s getting what he wants.

scaramouche places heavy emphasis on ‘aggression.’ his sharp tongue directs no shortage of insults your way, although they lack their usual barbed nature. you get the sense that he struggles to know how else to interact with you. it’s humiliating! the sound of your name alone has him perking up like some mutt. he loathes what you’ve reduced him to. scara inadvertently perpetuates the cycle he claims he wants to be free from. he acts condescending, then finds your frustration so cute, that his brain temporarily short-circuits. the resulting embarrassment adds to his cruelty as a flimsy smokescreen. he’s mortified that your miffed expression made him so tempted to squeeze you. how could his pride ever recover from such a blow? then you’d know how fond of you he is, a most egregious notion.

blade denies himself until he can't. the phenomenon perplexes the poor man. he'd sooner endure every physical agony in the universe than harm a hair on your head, so why can’t he suppress these urges? and oh, when you stand on your tiptoes to kiss him, he almost goes feral. his hands twitch with the desire to just… hold you. right against his chest, tight enough that his ribs might break. it’d be so easy and he’s running out of excuses not to do it. he knows he’s intimidating; he doesn’t want to accidentally frighten you off. he really would be a dead man walking without you to breathe life into him. once you encourage him that he can take what he wants from you, then, well, you have an intergalactic criminal who is impossible to pry off.

[klausysworld]

Cg klaus x little babyspace reader where she is like 1 and pretty non verbal and Klaus is Busy so he get a babysitter bc his siblings are busy too but she get abused by the sitter and is now scared of something she loved like her crib and after that elijah babysit her and when he wants to put her in her crib she start crying and sobbing out something like "n-n-n-no-no 'Ib" and holds for her dear life on him. After he put her in klaus bed and Klaus was back again he told him about it.

How would he and his siblings react to it 💖

(Abuse mention, please don’t read if you may find this triggering and know you are not alone)

Too Perfect To Be Sorry

Y/n had never been able to keep her she regression a secret. She couldn’t help when she slipped into it and she never knew how young she could get. More often than not she was unable to do anything for herself, sometimes barely able to sit up or lift her bed so there was no chance of pretending it didn’t happen. If she felt safe, she’d slip. If she was scared, she’d slip. If she was upset, she’d slip. Almost every emotion was a trigger.

Thankfully for her, the Mikaelsons had been around for centuries and had first hand discovered most things, age regression being something they already knew of and had been apart of within a relationship.

Klaus in particular took interest in the dynamic. He enjoyed having full control over someone, and their willingness for it was what made it so much better. Knowing that someone felt so safe in his hold that they would let him care for them completely. It was a level of trust that he hadn’t been able to find anywhere else.

The hybrid had been with multiple littles over time, but often found that he moved around too much to actually keep them happy so began to pull away and succumb to your standard one-night stands instead.

However when he got to New Orleans, the place he had always loved most, he found that he wanted to stay again. Additionally, his siblings were all with him and he was in a joint rulership with Marcel, his son-like figure and favourite of hundreds and thousands of vampires he’d turned.

So when he came across a girl who was very clearly slipping into her little mindset, he was keen to sweep her away from any eyes and take her somewhere safe. Well…his home so somewhat safe depending on the day.

Y/n was barely conscious for the encounter and came out of her little space hours later.

She woke up from her nap to find that she was curled up on a man’s chest, in a bed she did not know, in clothes that weren’t hers but with a Disney film on that she definitely did know.

She looked around slowly, frightened as she carefully peeled herself off of the man. His eyes were closed and chest moving with ear deep breath so she knew he was asleep. She crawled to the edge of the bed and dropped down only to land on a pile of pillows making her smile and pull herself up onto her feet which were covered by the footsie pyjamas she was in. She could feel the confusion creep through her as she felt the babygrow, it was soft like a teddy and covered every inch of her body except her hands and face.

A gentle stirr sounded from Klaus making her startle and scurry toward the door, her steps making near to no sound against the soft carpet. Despite her lack of noise, as soon as she opened the door, arms were lifting her up. Without hesitation Y/n let out an ear piercing scream and her legs began to swing, her hands shoving at his forearms desperately.

Klaus’s eyes went wide and he quickly got her back to his bed, putting her down and reaching for the pacifier he had gotten. “Easy love, come here” he beckoned, holding out the object like one would hold a treat to tempt a dog. But Y/n wasn’t an animal and didn’t take his bait but instead scrambled with all her energy to get away from the stranger, resulting in a very serious game of hide and seek tag.

Klaus didn’t want to use his vampire abilities and terrify the girl and so chased after her at a more acceptable pace. Eventually she ran tied and he caught her in his hold but instead of harming her like she feared, his fingers attacked her with tickles. Her body lurched and curled as she giggled and squirmed against his hands.

Finally, when she began to scream that she would pee herself if he didn’t stoppit, he gave in and put an end to his torture. Once she calmed down and rest her head against the ground, she glanced up at him. Klaus was already looking back at her, ready for her to try and escape him again but she didn’t.

Instead she just stared and curled up though her body was much less tense now and she didn’t seem so stressed nor afraid. He smiled gently and rubbed her arm soothingly.

He stayed on the floor with her for a while, just petting her while she took him in. Only when the sound of a door slamming did he pick her back up but she didn’t bother struggling. He brought her back to bed and sat her down. “Stay here for me little one, I won’t be a minute” he whispered with a kiss to her temple.

Y/n watched as he left and was left with her thoughts once again.

Confusion was the most obvious feeling inside her but she couldn’t deny the comfort she felt when his hands stroked her soothingly and his scent filled her nose. And so she waited for him to come back.

When he did he was a little grumpy so when he sat back down with a sigh, she hesitantly crawled back over to him. He smiled at the gesture and pulled her into his lap, his arm wrapping around her body and his chin resting on top her head.

“Such a sweet girl, even when you’re not in little space” he murmured and she smiled shyly.

“I’m sorry” she whispered but he shook his head

“You’re too perfect to be sorry” he stated and she giggled. “I’m very serious little one, you mustn’t ever apologise for being so lovely. You’re a pretty little baby, you know that?” He muttered, encouraging a nod out of her. “That’s right my love” he smiled.

Y/n let herself relax against him and she took comfort in his hold.

And from that day, she spent more and more time at his house. Whether it was because she kept coming back or because Klaus never wanted her to leave was unclear.

Either way it was why Klaus ended up needing a baby sitter sometimes.

After finding that she was little almost always, which of course he adored, however when something overly important was happening that involved both himself and his siblings, he couldn’t risk leaving her completely alone in the abattoir.

To begin with the woman who came to look after her seemed nice. She was polite to the Mikaelsons and smiley. Apparently she only did that for the money.

As soon as they were all out, she was taking the piss. She’d raid their cupboards and snoop around. Y/n was left to care for herself while the ‘sitter’ did just that. She lounged around and made a mess only blame it on Y/n when Klaus came home. Klaus would just sigh and pick his girl up, her features would show distress so he would tell her he didn’t mind the mess and kiss her better. The sitter took advantage of this.

She could do whatever she wanted and just blame Y/n. Klaus wouldn’t ever hurt the little girl so it didn’t matter and Y/n wouldn’t dare tell the truth, not after she was threatened.

“You think he’s going to believe a freak like you?” She spat, giving Y/n a dirty look “you fucking dare tell him a thing and I’ll make sure that entire family hates you”

“They wouldn’t-“

“Not even if you were violent? Say you bit me? Or what if you weren’t pretty hm? What if I shred your hair and burn your face? You think that Klaus will want to look at that?” She laughed and Y/n’s eyes welled with tears.

The baby sitter would tell Y/n every time that she didn’t deserve someone like Klaus, that men like him didn’t really want girls like her and that the real reason he hired a sitter was so that he could go fuck real women and get away from her clingy self.

It made Y/n pull away from Klaus. She would hide in her crib that he deigned and pretend she was too little to sleep in bed with him. Often she would actually slip into her little space when she was in her crib, she would snuggle her teddies and eventually drift off.

But she wasn’t ever relaxed enough to go as young as she truly needed to be. Not when she was anxious that Klaus didn’t like when she behaved like that: “incompetent and pathetic” the sitter described it so Y/n tried to not go any younger than a toddler as of late. And when the sitter was actually there was even worse. She tried so hard to stay in big space but sometimes the stress and discomfort caused from the woman would cause Y/n to accidentally fall into her little mind.

That was when everything got worse.

The babysitter would treat her like an animal, installing more fear which only made her cling onto her little side to try and block out what was happening. But again this made things worsen. It was a viscous cycle.

The sitter had dragged Y/n by the wrist, ankle, hair or whatever else to get her out the way.

On the occasions the mikaelsons had the sitter stay over night, she would throw a party and force Y/n into her crib and put something big and heavy over the top so she couldn’t get out. Like a caged animal.

Y/n would scream and cry for hours, the sitters friends would laugh and poke fun at her until eventually she passed out from exhaustion.

But again she wouldn’t tell Klaus, she didn’t know how and she didn’t want to bother him. She knew of the sorts of things he dealt with and she didn’t think this would compare to life and death situations.

However that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try and ask for someone else to watch her if they could. Which was why Elijah was looking after her today.

He was more than happy to watch her, especially when Klaus spoke to him and was concerned with her recent behaviour.

“She’s been acting odd, she won’t sleep in her crib but she doesn’t want to touch me, she won’t drink from her bottle but can’t hold her glass stable enough. She won’t snuggle her teddies but won’t let go of a pillow instead and she won’t…she won’t call me Daddy. In fact she tries not to address me at all.” He whispered to his brother, his expression showing clear upset and confusion.

“I’ll look after her Niklaus, perhaps I can see if she’ll say anything to me? She might’ve done something bad and think you’ll be upset?” He questioned but Klaus shook his head

“She knows i wouldn’t ever hurt her, punish her maybe but it doesn’t hurt her. Somethings wrong, she won’t talk to me…she might trust you” he muttered, his voice broken at the thought of his girl trusting his brother more than him but he gave in and asked for help.

Elijah nodded and they spoke a small while more before Klaus went off out and Elijah went up to find Y/n.

She was dressed in some of Rebekah’s clothes though it was clear that she wasn’t comfortable in them and she kept her eyes on the floor even when he addressed her.

With a small sigh he came over to where she sat on the bed and squatted down infront of her. “Y/n?” He repeated softly, locking his eyes on hers “are you alright my dear?” He asked and she nodded silently. He gently cupped her hand in his and caressed the back of it “how about you put something a little comfier on today? We aren’t going anywhere this morning, it’s better to be warm and snuggly” he offered, going over to the drawers and pulling out some joggers and a pretty top that read ‘I 🩷 my Daddy’.

Y/n quietly did as she was asked and let him help her get changed, he frowned when he saw her wearing such an uncomfortable bra. She rarely wore a proper bra, it irritated her when she got little and they all knew it from times she would be out in public and would whimper to Klaus about it. It was why he bought her so many soft, wireless ones. But now she was subjecting herself to it when she was in her own home?

Elijah gently moved his hand round to unclip it, Y/n knew Elijah was safe and wouldn’t dare ever look or touch her in any way that she found uncomfortable so she didn’t react much though she couldn’t deny the little moan of relief when the item was removed and her top was slid on.

Shyly she look up at him, seeing him fold the other clothes and put them aside before turning back to her and lifting her up. He pulled her against his chest, ignoring how she tried to get down. He took her downstairs to the kitchen and got out her baby bottle, filling it with chocolate milk and sliding it towards her but she only stared at it.

He frowned and came back over to her. “Y/n, darling, what’s wrong?” He whispered, concern painting his face. “You aren’t yourself little one” he murmured, in response she only glances at him, her eyes showing an element of hurt.

Eventually he managed to get her to suck on the bottle and after many hours, he finally got her to slip fully. Which was how he ended up with her babbling in his arms as he made his way upstairs and to her and Klaus’s bedroom. “Such a good girl” he smiled as he went over to her once adored crib.

Just as he laid her down in it, a switch seemed to flick. Her eyes suddenly went wide and her breaking shattered. A cry left her lips and she clambered back up his body hysterically. Elijah let out a sound of surprise as she clung to him, shaking her head and sobbing. She begged him not to put her there, her poor body shook and she began to cry for her Daddy.

Elijah held her tight, quickly calling Klaus who hurried home but despite Y/n wanting him, she still wouldn’t go to him. Her mind told her she was embarrassing for him.

Klaus grew more distressed as he tried to make her look at him, to have her attention and provide her comfort.

It took far too long for her to get into his lap, still sobbing her apologies repeatedly.

“Baby girl” he whispered, his tone so gentle it broke her heart “you’re too perfect to be sorry” he uttered, a reminder of the first time she was with him. He rocked her soothingly, his hands all over as he tried his very best.

Slowly, her tears came to a stop and she settled against him. He kept her wrapped in his hold for a while before coaxing some words out of her.

With much effort he was able to figure out it was something to do with the baby sitter, he promised that nobody bar himself and his family would ever look after her again.

When she fell asleep in his arms, her face stained from crying and her clothes ruined from how much she had sweat from the panic, he cleaned her up and got her changed back into the same snuggly onesie as the first night she spent with him.

He didn’t put her down but instead carried her around, even when he went to his siblings and told them that he needed them to get the sister over immediately.

When the disgrace of a person arrived, Elijah quickly took Y/n into his hold while Rebekah also sat with them. She stroked Y/n’s hair comfortingly and listened closely to what was happening. Klaus and Kol had the woman by her throat compelling her her for answers on what she’d done to Klaus’s girl. After being forced to admit every horrible thing that she had done to Y/n, Klaus and Kol did their worse. Borderline maimed her.

Klaus then destroyed every last thing that the monster had used to destroy and ruin Y/n’s feelings of security and happiness.

He had to get rid of all her clothes, he refurbished his whole room and got her all new little things in an attempt to make her feel better.

Y/n appreciated the gesture but couldn’t just slip back into her ways. It took a lot of time from all the Mikaelsons. They cared for her as well as they possibly could and did everything possible to help her feel comfortable.

Slowly she felt safe enough to slip.

Klaus was ecstatic the first few times she went all the way. He wouldn’t ever let her go, he’d have her in diapers so that he could take care of everything and have her without an ounce or worry. He’d bounce her, rock her, feed and nurture her.

Klaus frequently reassured her that he loved her being little and that he never wanted to feel uncomfortable again. He just wanted to love her and keep her safe forever.

[serensama]

Head over Feet

I had to get a plot bunny out after playing DA:VG before I could refocus on my other story, but now this is done, I have another hundred stories I want to write. God damn it. Written as little vignette type scenes, just too lazy to split up into seperate parts. And yes, I listened to Alanis Morrisette's song whilst writing this.

Read on Ao3 Rook was a clutz. 

The biggest walking disaster he’d ever seen; but it was something that made her so quintessentially Rook, he worried he wouldn’t recognise her if she wasn’t tripping over or teetering over a cliff’s edge. 

Lucanis didn’t know how it happened. 

At first he was underwhelmed. Then concerned- but somehow it became funny. Suddenly, unbeknownst to him, it had become endearing. 

How could her falling- be a reason to fall in love? 

It made no sense. 

Neither did the way she looked at him. 

Like he was a fallen angel and not a rising demon. 

Mierda.

---

Everything about her was a surprise. 

From the moment that she had blasted into the Ossuary and into his life, he had been caught off guard. He had been taught from a young age that surprises and being unprepared resulted in death, so instead of gratitude he offered her suspicion. She took it in stride, her bright smile, clothes and jewellery shone like a beacon of hope he hadn’t dared to have since his imprisonment. 

That hope quickly lost some of its shiny veneer by the third time the woman- Rook- had gotten too close to a ledge, or lost her footing or fell too short from a run up and had to cling on for her life by her fingertips. Still, he gave her the benefit of the doubt, Caterina believed she could get him out of that hell and he knew the First Talon would not take any unnecessary risks if it meant getting him back … and back in line to inherit her title. Perhaps it was the magic of the Ossuary that meddled with Rook’s equilibrium and whatever was sustaining it affected her more than her companion, Bellara. 

When they returned to Treviso he still wished to give her a chance to prove him wrong. What with the change of pressure resurfacing from the depths of the sea and any lingering effects of Venatori magic… but after a week of travelling with their leader, he was certain it was more of a “Rook” thing than anything else. Still, hapless or not, he would not discredit her skills, if she was a contract, it would not be one he would take with confidence. Unless he could guarantee the fight was on a tightrope. Or required her to jump from place to place at great height, perhaps over a volcano. 

---

He had lost count how many times in Minrathous he almost had to swoop down to save her… he debated whether he should have forbidden her from doing anything but walking on the sidewalks whenever they were in Treviso, but decided against saying anything to their sometimes clumsy, but well-meaning leader. It was in Rivain, however, where he had wished that he had listened to his instincts.  

She leapt from rock to rock easily enough, her excitement at being back home clear from her joyous laughter; but he was far too invested in his ongoing verbal spar with Davrin, offering to shove the Grey Warden’s sword and shield where even the darkspawn would not go- when he heard the splash. 

And learned a frightening, little known fact about Rook.  

She did not know how to swim. 

A Lord of Fortune, who fearlessly flitted between cliffs, rocks and buildings like a bird- previously a Tevinter galley slave - could not swim.

This woman.  

He had not expected the fear that overcame him when he rushed to the ledge and found only bubbles and ripples. Her arm reached out to him as she pushed herself up from the water, eyes wide with desperation as she took her last gulp of air before sinking back to the depths of the sea. 

Lucanis had never heard spite scream in his head so loudly, not even in the Ossuary as they were both tortured endlessly. Both he and Davrin had followed her into the water, thankful that she was not yet out of their reach. 

After coughing up an alarming amount of water – she was nearly taken from us!- true to Rook form, she laughed it off. She said something glib and acted like it was no big deal she had almost drowned right in front of them. But it was a big deal. Instead of the scent of the lavender oil she wore, she smelled of saltwater and fear, and Spite did not like that. And for once, Lucanis silently agreed. 

--- He broached the topic with her after the third time he bore witness to her dangling on the roots and vines connecting Harding’s room, slowly pulling herself back onto the shockingly ‘perilous’ path. He understood that whilst their dwelling, courtesy of the Dread Wolf, accommodated their needs and served them well, he was not sure how safe they really were on the floating property. 

That was to say, if one were to fall off the edges (Rook… or perhaps Manfred), he feared that they would continue falling through the Fade with nothing to stop them. Lucanis could picture it clearly, Rook in a perpetual free fall, disappearing and reappearing every so often like some sort of screaming cloud.  “Do you hold such little regard for your life? You are a powerful mage, but it would do you good to be a little more careful, Rook. Maybe look a little closer before you leap,” he said when she ventured into the pantry. Like clockwork- always coming to him last after checking in on everyone. 

“I am careful, but I also have faith and I always need to try. Even if I end up looking stupid or get hurt, at least I tried,” she replied with a shrug, her attention caught by the new sample of cheeses he brought back from the markets. Lucanis clucked his tongue and shook his head, taking in the scent of the slowly cooling coffee in his cup.

“Careful? Careful she says!” he snorted incredulously, “how can you say that when I saw you jump from that third floor balcony a week ago after playing with those light beams- all for the sake of more treasure?”

“-I thought that it was a chance to learn more about Solas, not treasure!” “Or just yesterday when you slipped on Harding’s path and I flew down to catch you? It makes me wonder how you survived all these years without your own personal demon to save you?”

Rook paused and turned her head to survey him with a stunned expression. It quickly morphed into amusement and he could practically taste the sass she was about to deliver. 

“Are you my personal demon now, Lucanis?” Rook saw a flash of Spite at the back of Lucanis’ eyes as he peered at her from over the rim of his cup, taking a long sip of coffee, both question and answer hanging in the air between them.  Personal demon? I like that. Say yes!

“Why are you always so worried?”

“Why aren’t you worried enough?” 

“Falling is okay, you know, because it teaches us how to get back up again, Lucanis. I’m scrappy and used to not being perfect all the time. Maybe you should try it sometime. Fall with me- I’ll help you up, promise.” 

 “You want me to fall… with you?”

“Or for me. I’m good with either.” 

--- After an unexpectedly taxing fight to get rid of the gaatlok around Treviso, their team managed to make it back to the Cantori Diamond in one piece. Taash was nursing a dislocated shoulder from an Antaam who caught them unawares and Rook, with a gash on her head she hastily knitted back together for Emmrich to look at upon their return. He had tried to convince her to take his emergency healing draught he always kept tucked away, however she stubbornly refused “in case there was more trouble coming back through the city”, in case they needed it more than her. 

They were crossing the narrow walkway on the way back to the eluvian when Rook swooned mid-step and plummeted from the great height. He did not recognise the sound of his cry as he dove, catching her mere metres away from the marble floor. His voice echoed throughout the casino, alarming Crow and patron alike into silence. Teia and Viago were the first to collect themselves, smart enough to continue their conversation as if nothing had happened at all. Jacobus and Chance coughed awkwardly into their hands to hide the small smiles upon their faces, not game enough to offend the First Talon’s grandson. 

His reaction did not come as a surprise to those who had spent any time with both of them together, Teia had a running bet as to when they would finally venture into something more than friendship. She was currently in the lead, whereas Viago had already lost, believing his comrade would have already fallen and confessed to the jewel-clad mage. Lucanis however was mortified. Everyone knew his greatest weakness was his family, and with his public emotional outburst followed by his immediate exit through the eluvian with Rook safely in his arms, he all but confirmed that Rook was now part of that family- and probably in even more danger because of it. 

No matter, he would foil any harm that came to her whether it be from impact, or contract. 

---

Their team stumbled through the Eluvian, assuming they would be back in the Lighthouse but found themselves in the Hall of Valor instead. Harding looked up at Rook who had been the first to dart into the magical portal, influencing where they were all sent. “Why did we come here? Wouldn’t it have been better to perhaps have the Caretaker spirit look at it? Maybe it can fix-” “This is Rivaini armour Harding, I only trust my people to fix it!” she quipped, rushing through the tunnels with both arms clutching her loose breastplate to her chest. The dwarf shrugged at Lucanis and ran after their friend, both perplexed as to why she did not wish to go back to their Fade home and change into something instead of running around half naked... though being in Rivain not many people would have batted an eye at seeing an eye full of Rook. Lucanis could feel Spite bristle at the idea and could feel his demonic passenger’s wings ready to pop out at a moment’s notice to shield any prying eyes. Even his own. 

The Crow kept his eyes fixed upon the merchant who had not even noticed his customer’s predicament, just senselessly prattling on about how amazing Rook was during the last time she attended the arena with Taash and Neve, and how he had wished he could have been there to watch them take down a dragon near the coast. 

Lucanis stopped listening and focused on the broken straps that lay fallen on either side of her back. As talented as his... friend... was at the arcane arts, the real magic was in the way that armour had managed to stay on and protect her at all. It was just a leather strap and some scales placed in the most ridiculous places, how it managed to keep her alive with all the sentinels, darkspawn, Venatori, Antaam and dragons after her he would never understand. At least her other Rivaini outfit had a stylish cape. 

“... don’t forget Rook, we’re on our way back to Hossberg, you may want to find something a little more... more? Evka and Antoine said there were more blight cysts to take care of and-” “Yes Mother Harding, I’ll make sure I’m covered.” “Fine, get blighted, see if I care... oh no that was too mean. I don’t mean that, I don’t want anyone to be blighted.” “Relax Harding, I know,” Rook chuckled as the former scout visibly relaxed. “I’ll take that one Mateo, I’ve not seen it before.” 

The two women disappeared into a tunnel and had Lucanis guard the pathway so no one could walk in on the changing mage. When she walked past him to order a repair of her armour, he had to remind Spite to pick up his jaw from the floor. Indigo hued leather from top to toe, plumage around her shoulders to draw in everyone’s gaze to her very exposed decollete, the sash around her waist cinching her deliciously to encourage his eyes to wander down the curve of her hips...  She looked like a Crow. She looked like she belonged with him. 

“Well Lucanis, what do you think? Maybe in another life, I could’ve been a Crow?” she asked, exaggeratingly twirling around until a smirk lifted the corner of his lips. “Why not this one?” he replied. “Are you asking for my last name to become Dellamorte?”

Harding suppressed her giggle and looked up at him, her eyes twinkling expectantly.  “Well... I...” “I guess I could always be a Cantori, Teia has been offering since I met her. Or a De Riva, Viago was quite kind to me when we had dinner the other night-” “When… why… did you have dinner alone with Viago?” “Or maybe I can make a ninth house? The House of Rook!” she chimed happily, ignoring the deadpan stare of the assassin behind her. As well as the dip in the rocks which almost had her  falling down the stairs into the bar below. Lucanis was at her side in an instant, grabbing her by the wrist and tugging her back with practised ease. “Or maybe we’re just getting ahead of ourselves a little. First learn to walk in the shoes of a Crow, before trying to fly, eh Rook?” he grinned, pulling her closer to him. 

Like you, Lucanis. Two birds. Together. Same. 

“Well, I’ve already wriggled into the pants of a Crow today, it shouldn't be too hard to manage the boots.” 

---

“You’re more than what you’re going through and you wear it well.” 

She was breaking him down. Time and again, any walls she found, she broke them. Any doors in her way, magically opened by her whims alone. He had stayed away from her the moment that Spite had shown a special interest in her, convinced himself it was best for both of them... but who was he against the force of nature that was Rook? If Gods themselves took note of her, feared what she could do, what was one mortal man with a knife? He may not be able to kill a cloud-face god, but he may yet temper her.  “This isn't a good idea,” he cautioned himself more than her, unable to fight the pull she had over him any longer.  “Sometimes a bad idea is better,” she purred, one eyebrow cocked.  “You like to walk a little too close to the edge,” he grinned back at her, enjoying the way her cheeks lightly flushed in the dim lighting of his quarters. He had long imagined the pretty way her hair would fan across the pillow or the way her voice would sound crisper as they bounced off the stone walls...  “So do you,” she remarked, lightly skimming her finger over his vest.  “At least I know I’m doing it…” he continued, closing the remaining space between them, his heart pounding in his throat at the sight of her eyes shut and head tilted back to accept him, lips slightly open ready for... but what if she didn’t realise what she was doing? What if he was the only one who again knew that they were walking along the edge, and she didn’t realise the mistake she was making- and he was the only one who could save her? Lucanis pulled away just a breath away from the feel of her mouth on his and turned away from her in panicked shame.

“I need to clear my head, excuse me.”

The Crow let himself steal one more glance of her and felt the keen stab of regret in his gut from the way her shoulders fell in disappointment. Again.   ---

“Neve, in the Fade with Rook and Spite, you were there. I mean not you, but you know what I mean. You helped Rook. Sort of.” “Sort of? Well isn’t that flattering. At least I’m on your mind,” the detective replied, smiling at him. 

“You are. And not just then.” 

“I... oh. Well then.”

He was about to continue when a soft gasp caught his attention, snapping his head toward the sound. 

Rook had slipped on the fallen log-turned-bridge on their way back to the Veil Jumpers’ camp. She landed on her wrist and excused herself, violently pulling away from him and his offer to bandage up her hand. Citing that she was fine and that she could do it. 

‘Everything was fine’, even though she stalked ahead of them, never quite letting him or Neve walk beside her. 

“Let her cool off, Lucanis. She is probably feeling embarrassed by this all,” the ice mage said calmly. 

“I... I simply meant you were on my mind a lot since what happened in Minathous with the dragon. I always think, what if Rook hadn’t chosen to save Treviso and how I would have fared in your situation? I admire your strength and focus.” “I appreciate the sentiment... but I don’t think that’s how Rook took what you said. If I didn’t hear it that way...” 

“How did you take-.... Mierda.” 

Neve looked at him sympathetically. Traversing the crossroads or managing his relationship with the literal demon inside of him proved to be less befuddling than trying to navigate his path toward Rook. 

He did not fail to notice how she had remained quiet throughout the rest of the journey upon her return, nor did he miss the way that she stuck next to the Grey Warden and his gryphon, Assan doing his best to keep him a fair distance away from her.  I can kill the cat bird, Lucanis. And the muscle elf too. Make her listen. Understand.

No, Spite. She is allowed to speak to her friends. 

But she smells of tears and herbs. You hurt her.

She fell Spite, I did not push her or mean to cause her any harm, you know this. I would never.  

You hurt her. Because she fell for you. 

Lucanis allowed himself to slow down and watch her as she fought with herself not to look back at him. Her eyes were glassy and the skin around them a little red. He was not fool enough to believe that the pain from her wrist was enough to make her cry. 

You. It was you, Demon Crow. 

---

She had been calling his name- HIS NAME- when she was tricked into the Fade by that cursed Dread Wolf. 

He called back frantically, but she was already gone. 

The team searched everywhere on that fucking island but could not find her. He didn’t even have time or capacity to properly mourn the loss of Harding, he could only think of Rook being somewhere he couldn’t get to, screaming for his help. 

Spite had taken over more than he cared to admit, the demon doing its best to offer his host, partner, any respite he could offer. It was a boon at the start but he soon his mind reflected within the Fade to create his own personal torture chamber, tailored to his every regret. Everywhere were things that reminded him of Rook and every moment he wasted between them. 

It had been days. And then weeks. Bellara kept a daily count to remind them (him) of everyday they (he) continued to fail her. 

He could not save her, like she had for him. He had started to lose all the hope she had instilled into him, part of him bitter that she had done so at all. Angry at himself for thinking it may have been alright to dream of something more than what had been planned for him, that he could choose her and even a life without the Crows…  

But when the third week passed without hearing her voice, and he feared that maybe he had already begun to forget what it sounded like... Emmrich cried out excitedly and pulled her out, tired and scared. 

When she fell forward into his awaiting arms, he wanted to cry from relief. Grateful and thanking the Maker, he silently promised that she would never fall anywhere, in the Fade or in the physical world- without him there to catch her. 

---

She kept her promise. He helped her kill a god, and she waited for him in her bed with arms wide open, beckoning him to lay beside her. To sleep next to the woman he loved, without any fear, was more than enough reward for him. Saving the world was just a bonus. 

The sound of her breathing, the warmth of her skin against his, the strong and steady beat of her heart pressed against his back as she held him tightly. He didn’t care how battered and bruised he was, nothing felt better than being allowed sanctuary within her embrace. 

He slept deep and well, something he couldn’t remember doing since before his training as a Crow. So it was a pleasant surprise that for the first time since meeting him, Rook had caught him teetering too close to the edge of the bed and snatched him up before he fell on his face. He smiled as she tightened her hold on him, throwing a leg over him playfully, promising that he was safe and to go back to sleep through her own yawns. 

Lucanis was happy. Happy she was the type of person who could trip over air and fall freely, because all that time, she was trying to teach him how to do it himself. To fall back and know that someone was there to catch you. Just in a very different, wonderful, way. 

“It’s still early Luca… stop thinking too much and sleep love,” she murmured into his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to his skin before succumbing to her exhaustion once more. 

Luca? That’s new. 

I have been called many things, this one I like, but I have another title I like much more. 

Crow? Personal demon? Demon of Vyrantium? First Talon?

Rook’s. 

[flowerandblood]

The Doubt & The Delight

[ modern Frollo • Aemond x Esmeralda • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, smut, angst, description of physical and mental disabilities, remorse, depression, hysteria attacks, swearing, trauma, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt ]

[ description: After a car accident, his brother has to deal with the consequences of what happened, and he, as his protector, does not know how to help him. His sister comes up with the idea of hiring someone as his carer who will be able to cheer him up and occupy his mind. It turns out, however, that the girl he hired charmed not only his younger brother. Obsession, self-destructive behavior, verbal and physical aggression, sexual tension, dark, malicious Aemond. ]

Author's note: This story is a request, but I decided to freely use what I liked in the book and Disney film to create a new, disturbing story taking place in modern times. It is intended to be uncomfortable and will contain scenes that are at least morally questionable, in my version "Esmeralda" is not Romanian. This story will also include motifs from Jane Eyre, which was a separate request. My story will also touch on the problems of people with disabilities, so if these are sensitive topics for you, I advise against reading further. You have been warned.

Part 1 − The Knight & The Judge Part 2 − The Sin & The Penance Epilogue

Main Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

This is the last part of this story. Thank you all for such a nice reception of this entire mini-series, it was supposed to be a oneshot, but as usual it turned out to be something more! This is probably one of my favorite works here and I can't wait to hear your opinions.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous chapters: Masterlist

_____

That night, after what had happened between them, he sobbed silently for the first time since the day of the accident in which his parents died. He didn't know what else he could do − he felt helpless and couldn't sleep, despair completely possessing his heart and mind.

Don't ever touch me again.

We are even.

He clenched his eyelids, letting the tears run down the sides of his face onto the pillow lying under his head.

Some part of him wanted to go to her door, to fall to his knees and beg her to open it for him, to let him hold her close, to fall asleep in her embrace.

He needed her so much, but he knew he had no right to demand anything from her.

She was doing more than she had to anyway.

He shuddered as he heard the sound of the door opening; stupefied by the sedatives and painkillers for a moment he had no idea where he was or who he was − he raised himself up on his elbow and hissed, feeling his head ache incredibly.

He opened his eyelids and immediately closed them, blinded by the light from the windows − he gave up with a sigh laying back on the couch, trying to calm himself down.

"Daeron?" He called out loudly, trying to remember what had happened, whether he had drunk too much alcohol the evening before or overdosed on sleeping pills.

He heard someone's footsteps and froze when he saw her frightened face; she came towards him with her eyes wide open as if looking at a ghost, stopping at a safe distance.

"− I'm just helping him change, we'll come soon − God, how pale you are, should I call the doctor again? −" She muttered clearly genuinely horrified by his condition, but he shook his head quickly.

"− did you call the police yesterday? −" He asked lowly, thinking with horror that no one at the prosecutor's office could find out that he was still struggling with his trauma and had almost caused a car crash.

She shook her head quickly, playing with the fingers of her hand in a nervous gesture.

"− n-no − the man we almost collided with wanted to do it at first, but when we got out of the car and said you'd fainted he called an ambulance and let it go − he apparently decided you'd just had some sort of attack and didn't want to add to our problems −" She replied once looking him in the eye, once looking away − he could see that she clearly wasn't coping with the situation or what had happened between them.

He sighed in relief, running his hand over his face, thinking about the fact that securing Daeron's fate was now his priority and he needed to pull himself together.

"− I'm going to go help Daeron and we'll make something for breakfast soon −" She said quickly and turned away, moving down the corridor towards his little brother's room, disappearing behind the door.

The two of them had tried not to look at each other all morning, heartbroken and horrified by what had happened between them − they both felt that their lives had slipped out of their control and he resented himself for dragging her into it all.

The doctors advised him to stay at home for a few days and rest, so he called Alys to ask her to bring him his documentation.

"− sick leave? − something happened? −" She asked concerned, and he sighed heavily, tightening his fingers on the base of his nose, not having the strength for this discussion.

"− I've been overworking lately, I need to slow down − can I count on you? −" He asked matter-of-factly, hearing her snort of amusement on the other side.

"− sure − I'll be there in half an hour −" She replied calmly and hung up; he sighed heavily, running his hand over his face and put the phone down on the table top.

He glanced over his shoulder, hearing the sizzle of the pan and shuddered meeting her gaze − she lowered her eyes immediately as if caught in the act, concentrating on not burning the pancakes, Daeron wheeled around her in his wheelchair placing clean plates and cutlery beside her.

They ate breakfast together, both of them really only talking to Daeron, passing cups and juice to each other out of politeness only. He felt a pleasant shudder when his fingers touched hers, looking her straight in the eyes − her lower lip twitched a little, only a quiet, sad thank you came out of her mouth.

As they ate Daeron said he would do his own homework and then change her to look after him, as if he was now the one to take on the role of his caretaker.

As he left his Esmeralda stood up, picking up the dirty dishes from the countertop − he took his plate from her hand, swallowing hard.

"− no need, I'll do it − I'm better now, I don't want to force you to stay here any longer than necessary − thank you very much −" He said in a low voice, getting up from his seat and stepping around her, opening the dishwasher with a light movement, tossing in the cutlery and other dirty dishes she'd held earlier.

He felt her looking at him, his heart pounding like crazy, for some reason he wanted to cry again.

"− I'm sorry − for what happened yesterday −" She muttered in a whisper and he raised his shocked gaze to her, frozen still.

She stood in front of him covering her mouth with her hand, trying to silence the loud, ragged breath that shook her body along with the sob that wanted to break from her throat, tears began to fall from the corners of her eyes one after another.

God, she was remorseful.

"− no − no, stop − you didn't do anything wrong, I wanted it −" He said quickly, but she shook her head.

"− I couldn't sleep − I felt awful −" She uttered with difficulty, choking on her own tears, and despite her telling him never to touch her again he put his arm around her waist and pulled her to him in one sure movement − her body did not put up any resistance to him, her fingers tightened on his sweatshirt in a helpless gesture.

"− I-I'm sorry − I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you −" She mumbled out and burst into quiet sobs.

He thought with despair that he had broken this poor girl, brought her to a state where she felt like an abuser.

He embraced her tightly, snuggling his face into the hollow of her neck, stroking her back reassuringly − her wonderful scent and the warmth of her body had a soothing effect on him, he thought he wanted to remember this moment for a lifetime.

"− I'm the one who hurt you − I took something away from you and you tried to get it back − you asked me if I wanted it and I made it clear that I did − easy − breathe deeply − it's all right −" He whispered in a trembling voice, running his large hand through her back and hair. She snuggled into him so tightly that he felt tears under his eyelids himself − he pressed his lips together not wanting to let them flow out but it was no use.

"− thank you for everything − I'm feeling better now, I'll be fine by the time Helaena arrives − go home and get some rest − I'll think of something and explain to Daeron why you can't work for us anymore − I'll send you your pay by transfer so you never have to see me again − hm? −" He asked softly and she only nodded, her whole chest trembling in convulsion as she drew in a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

He wanted to tell her that he loved her.

He wanted to tell her that she was the most wonderful person he had ever met.

He wanted to tell her that if she ever needed help, she could always count on him.

He wanted to do that, but he only flinched when he heard the doorbell ring, reminding himself of Alys − they moved away looking at each other in pain, the sight of her wiping her cheeks red from tears broke his heart.

He realised that he was a monster.

As soon as he opened the gate for her, Alys walked into his house with thick folders of documents in her hands, looking elegant as usual in her jacket, long trousers and high heels. She smiled at the sight of his Esmeralda, and she pressed her lips together realising with horror that she stood dressed only in his hoodie.

"Good morning. We don't know each other yet." Alys said to her and held out her hand to her − she, not knowing what to do, herself embarrassed by the situation and how it looked shook her hand, squeezing it firmly.

"Good morning." She muttered and just threw to him that she was going to go see how Daeron was doing with his homework − Alys led her away with her eyes looking at her with a calm, curious expression on her face.

"Who is this beautiful little flower? In addition wearing your hoodie I think." She asked amused, a note of mock accusation in her voice, as if she had solved the equation. "Is it because of her that you can't concentrate lately?"

He threw her one warning, sharp look, which did not deter her, however − he sighed heavily and shook his head.

"She's Daeron's caretaker and she had to stay here to help me take care of him after I fainted yesterday. They were at a carnival ball together and she had nothing to change into." He replied coolly, wanting to end the subject quickly, frustrated.

"Is that why you both cried?" She asked lowly raising an eyebrow, the piercing look in her bright green eyes told him clearly that she felt the tension that hung in the air between them. He swallowed loudly, looking away, not wanting to look at her smile full of satisfaction.

"Thank you for bothering to come all the way out here. I'll be gone for a week, we're in touch." He replied dryly − she threw over his shoulder that if he needed her for anything he could count on her and smiled at his Esmeralda heading for the exit, saying it was a pleasure to meet her.

As the door closed behind her there was an awkward silence between them. He saw that she was wearing his hoodie and shorts that were too loose on his brother but on her they fit perfectly despite the manly cut, in her hand she held the bag with her costume.

She was leaving.

He will never see her again.

"Are you sure you can manage?" She asked uncertainly, not looking at him. She seemed pale to him, he thought that for some reason Alys' visit had saddened her, but he didn't even dare assume it might have had anything to do with him.

At most, she might have thought he was a bigger bastard and pervert than she suspected.

"Yes, we'll be fine. Thanks again." He muttered, trying not to look at her, but to poor effect, thinking only of how wonderful it was to hold her in his arms, how tightly she snuggled into him seeking refuge and comfort.

He realised that he craved such closeness from her as much as the touch of her naked body.

He wasn't just about sex.

She, however, merely nodded, raising her sad, tired, embittered gaze at him once more, and after a moment she turned and disappeared behind the door.

The hours leading up to Helaena's arrival he spent with Daeron, playing together FIFA'23 and other games that his brother thought would distract him from all the unpleasant events of the past weeks.

"Don't worry, everything will be fine. You just need to rest. It's good that you and Esmeralda have reconciled." He said clicking beside him on his pad, trying to win a race against him on the big space track. He swallowed hard, thinking with pain and shame that they hadn't reconciled at all, that they weren't even.

What she did was a desperate attempt by her to regain what he had taken from her, the feeling that she had power over her own body.

It didn't bring her any relief though − it seemed to him that it made her feel even worse.

She wasn't like him − she'd probably never behaved like this before, and she was horrified to find that she didn't recognise herself.

He had destroyed her, taken away her innocence, devoured her.

He pressed his lips together, trying to stop the burning tears that forced their way under his eyelids from flowing and grunted loudly, trying to focus on the game.

As he prepared the room where his sister was to sleep, and where his Esmeralda had previously spent the night, he noticed a purple cloth lying on the floor. He reached out and picked it up, realising after a moment that it was a scarf she had worn on her head in the form of a headband.

He pressed it to his face and closed his eyes, with a squeeze in his throat thinking that the material was permeated with her scent.

He kept it.

Helaena had arrived straight from the airport in a taxi for which she had paid crores − as soon as she stepped inside she dropped her suitcase, ran up to him and threw herself into his arms. He burst out sobbing, feeling her familiar, tender closeness.

He wasn't sure when was the last time someone had hugged him, stroked him, told him everything was going to be alright, that now he was the one being taken care of.

Taking the opportunity that Daeron was playing in his room on his laptop, they sat side by side on the living room couch to discuss what had happened.

"I think I've stopped coping. I'm slowly losing my self-control." He muttered, burying his face in his hands, feeling that he needed to at least partially throw off what was going on inside his head − he felt his sister stroking his back comfortingly.

"Me and Aegon left you alone with all of this, sinking into our own grief. We all focused on Daeron because we decided you were older and better able to handle it all." She said with pain and some kind of regret, as if she only now realised that he wasn't a fully formed adult then either.

He let the air out of his lungs, feeling like a small, clumsy child again, embarrassed that he wasn't coping, that he had chaos in his head, that he was stuck and unable to get out of the mess he had sunk all the way into.

"I thought it would be good for you to have a change. For you and Daeron to fly with me for a few weeks, get some rest, during which time we can work together to find you some sort of therapist, someone to help you get over all this." She said warmly, and he shook his head quickly, terrified of her suggestion, of having to reinvent himself somewhere, of not being in his home, of not having his things and activities.

"No, I can't do that. I need a rest, but here, at home. I do think, however, that it will do Daeron good to spend time with you, to get away from it all. Maybe when I have a bit of time to myself I can somehow…sort it all out." He muttered, feeling her worried gaze on him.

"You shouldn't be left alone."

"I haven't been alone with my thoughts for five years. I need this." He said regretfully, realising that he had devoted all his strength to his younger brother, leaving himself with nothing.

He felt empty.

"And he needs a change of environment. He sees me gloomy and tired every day. You will help me the most if you take care of him for a week or two so that I can get myself in order."

"You have to promise me that you will go to therapy. You're taking on too much on your shoulders." She said cautiously, and he nodded to her, wanting everyone to finally give him a break.

Daeron was at the same time happy about the sudden unplanned holiday, but on the other hand very worried that he was going to be left alone at home.

"But who will take care of you? Esmeralda?" He asked hesitantly, and he replied that he would manage on his own, that they would talk on the phone every day, that he just needed a bit of rest to think things over.

As they packed to leave he was with them in body, but not in thoughts which drifted far away to her, to what had happened between them.

Despite the fact that they had sex with each other twice, it was the memory of that morning in his kitchen when he held her in his embrace that he remembered most, the innocence and tenderness of that gesture, the warmth of her body, the smell of her hair, the fact that for a moment she had allowed him to get close to her.

He knew he would never see her again.

Waving them off, already seated in the taxi, watching them drive away he wondered what the point of living such a terrible person like him was.

He cleaned the whole house, sorted the papers in his office, put up the laundry and emptied the dishwasher, doing everything unhurriedly with complete silence all around him, only the sound of the wind outside the windows and the quiet pounding of raindrops against the windowsills.

He finally sat down on the sofa, staring dully ahead, before lowering his gaze to the small container of sleeping pills he'd been taking for days to get at least a few hours of sleep.

He wondered how many he'd have to swallow to not wake up.

He didn't know why his hand reached for his phone − his fingers tapped out a question on Google and, to his surprise, many different topics on forums about how to commit suicide painlessly popped up.

He read statements from some young, desperate, frightened people who couldn't cope with life and responses from others, some encouraging them to commit the act and explaining how to do it, others asking them not to do it, that they would be happy to talk to them, to support them through this difficult time.

He thought of Daeron, of how if he had done it, his little brother would have completely broken down, that it would only add to the pain of his whole family, and that Helaena would never forgive herself for leaving him alone.

That it would have been selfish of him.

On the other hand, his mind reminded him of his aggressive, merciless interrogations, the way he approached witnesses, the way he approached Alys, what he did to his Esmeralda when she recognised at once his malicious, dark nature.

How was someone like him supposed to continue to take care of Daeron? How was he supposed to pretend that he was a good man who could advise him on anything, be his authority?

He thought that his little brother should have stayed with Helaena − she was the calmest of them all, surely she would have handled his parenting much better, given him what he needed.

He reached for a small container of pills and stared at it, turning it between his fingers with a loud rattle, wondering dispassionately what he should do with himself.

He hummed as if he remembered something and slipped his hand into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out a thin, purple folded cloth − he looked at it, feeling the need to call her.

He didn't know why he would do that when he was sure she didn't want to see him and couldn't even look at Daeron, to whom he would have to explain why she would no longer be taking care of him upon his return.

He guessed that she would only pick up out of politeness, and he would again flood her with his problems, his suicidal thoughts, forcing her to worry about him, to feel sorry for him even though he didn't deserve her sympathy.

He didn't even know when he unscrewed the container, when he tilted his head and poured its entire contents into his mouth, taking a deep sip of water after this, letting his judgment of himself run deep into his stomach.

He seemed to regain his sanity only after a moment, staring at the empty vessel wondering what he had actually done.

Oh fuck.

God, what had he done?

No, no, no, no.

He went into a complete panic, his heart started pounding like crazy − he didn't know how much time he had before he lost consciousness, so in a gesture of helplessness he dialled her number quickly, wondering if she would answer from him this time.

He thought he was pathetic, but he was scared, there was no one else to turn to − his body was shaking all over from stress and terror, his breathing quick and raspy, tears of fear in his eyes.

Biip.

Biip.

Biip.

Biip.

Biip.

Biip.

Biip.

"− hello? −"

He heard her uncertain voice on the other side and drew in the air loudly, shocked, swallowing hard, taking a deep breath, running his hand over his face.

"− fuck − I − I − I did something very, very stupid − I took a whole packet of sleeping pills − I don't know what came over me − oh fuck, what have I done −" He muttered in a squeaky, high-pitched voice, like a helpless child who had broken a vase and realised what his parent would do to him when they found out.

"− what? − oh God − are you home? − I'm calling the ambulance −"

"− n-no − no, fuck, they'll kick me out of the national prosecutor's office − please −"

"− go quickly to the bathroom and try to induce vomiting − give me the code to your gate, I'll be right there −"

He seemed to act in an amok, as he rose from the couch everything around him swirled − she told him to take his phone to the restroom, so he did.

He fell to his knees in front of the toilet, shoving two fingers down his throat − after several attempts he finally threw up, whooping with his tears, coughing loudly, his whole body shaking in convulsions, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

How could he do this, how could he be so selfish?

"− I'm sorry −" He mumbled, sliding slowly to the ground, feeling his mind begin to envelope in a blissful peace and quiet, her voice coming from the speaker of his phone seemed to him only a distant whisper.

He thought he would take a nap for a while, rest and when he woke up everything would be fine.

It seemed to him that minutes, hours or years might have passed when he felt someone move his body − he shuddered as someone's fingers forced their way between his lips, his numb body powerless to resist.

"− come on, please − get it out of you − God, what have you done − please, please, come on −" He heard her crying beside him, the tips of her fingers pressing against the back of his tongue, until finally his stomach convulsed with a powerful spasm, and his body threw it all out with his throaty cough of exertion.

He heard her sobs, smelled her scent, her closeness, how her hands washed his face with water, how she stroked his head as she hugged him to her breasts, mumbling in despair that he was a fool, something warm and soft enveloped them.

He fell asleep, recognising that this was what heaven must have been like.

When he woke up he felt everything around him spinning − he muttered in displeasure, another cramp squeezing his stomach.

He pulled himself up, in the dark looking for the toilet, at the last moment leaning over it and vomited again, panting loudly, everything around him blurred, it seemed to him that it was morning.

He heard movement beside him − someone's hand touched his back and stroked him with a gentle, affectionate gesture as convulsion again shook his body, which was trying with all its might to rid itself of what he had swallowed the day before.

Nothing more than a mumble left his mouth, his head drooped involuntarily − he felt someone pull him back to keep him from sliding down onto the tiles. He lay down, something soft enveloped him again.

"− it's okay − sleep −" He heard her whisper and thought that the pills he had taken were causing him to hallucinate, that he was probably dreaming it all, and since he was and she wasn't really there he could embrace her, his arm grabbed her waist, his face snuggled between her breasts again with his loud purr of contentment and exhaustion.

He felt her hands embrace him, stroking his head and back − he thought, feeling the hard floor beneath him, that they were lying in the bathroom and she must have brought the duvet and pillows from his bedroom, sleeping in that room with him.

He fell asleep and woke up hearing someone walking around his house, once in a while someone touched his head − he heard her voice asking him some questions that he was unable to focus on − she was only answered by his frustrated sounds indicating that he just wanted to sleep on.

Finally when he opened his eyes he managed to see anything − the bathroom door was open, the light in the room was off. He had a perfect view of the corridor and part of the living room lit up in the sun − he heard someone's footsteps, his heart jumped into his throat when he saw her silhouette in the doorway.

"− hey − hey, how are you feeling? −" She muttered walking up to him and kneeling beside him, her loose hair in a slight disarray, she was wearing shorts and a plain white Tshirt. He looked away from her breasts when he noticed she wasn't wearing a bra, swallowing hard.

He didn't reply, feeling an overwhelming sense of shame, remembering what he had done, how disgusting and selfish he had acted, that he had forced her to help him again despite having caused her such harm.

"− I − I would like to talk to some therapist −" He choked out with tears in his eyes, not looking at her but somewhere in front of him, his breathing shallow and uneven − it seemed to him as if his lungs had completely clenched.

"− alright − alright, I'll look for someone nearby − okay? −" She asked tentatively and he just nodded, unable to look her in the eye. He heard her get up quickly, and a moment later she was back, sitting down next to him with her phone in her hand, typing something quickly on her screen, apparently scrolling through the accounts of doctors who had offices in the same town.

"− there's a Dr Smith, he's got a free appointment in two days at one o'clock in the afternoon, or a Dr Morgan, but he… −"

"− anyone − as soon as possible −" He said dispassionately, looking blankly ahead, heard her swallow hard and click something quickly, heard his phone vibrate beside him on the floor.

"− I've booked you an appointment and sent you details via message −" She mumbled, and he nodded.

"− thank you − you can −"

"− I spoke to your sister on the phone while you were asleep and told her everything − we agreed that Daeron will stay with her and I'll watch over you until your first appointment −" She said coldly with some kind of regret from which he felt a squeeze in his throat. He pressed his lips together, feeling his body tremble and closed his eyes, wanting to just disappear.

He shuddered, looking at her in disbelief as she slipped her purple scarf out of the pocket of her tracksuit shorts, the same one he'd found on the floor and kept. She tied her hair with it, combing it into a ponytail, staring straight into his eyes.

"I found this on your couch. Did you think of me before you did it?" She asked, with soft, sure flicks of her fingers arranging her curls as she saw fit. He swallowed hard at her question, feeling a burning sense of embarrassment.

"− yes −" He sighed. She let out a quiet breath at his words, placing her hands on her thighs.

"− are you able to get up? −"

With her help he managed to rise with difficulty − he brushed his teeth feeling the still disgusting taste of vomit and acid on his tongue and then lay down on the sofa, grabbing his head. He watched her silhouetted in the kitchen as she opened the cupboards one by one until she found his first aid kit.

He saw her throw away all the packets of sleeping pills he had.

"− hey −" He threw to her wrinkling his eyebrows, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep a wink without them.

"− you'd better not speak −" She said warningly, without giving him a single glance, so he gave in, sighing heavily and closing his eyes, figuring there was no point in arguing.

To his surprise she moved around the rooms as if this was her home, sat down next to him at the other end of the sofa with an apple in her hand and turned on the TV as if nothing had happened. He looked at her, wondering if she was really going to sit here for days, but then decided it didn't matter.

When he finally got the phone call from Helaena he listened to almost half an hour of a litany from her about how irresponsible and selfish he was, only to hear a moment later that she loved him very much and that he needed to start taking care of himself − he assured her several times that he already had an appointment with a therapist, and Esmeralda wouldn't leave his side.

"− is that what you call me? −" She asked quietly after he had hung up, looking at the TV screen on which the news had just been airing. He looked at her surprised, realising that it wasn't actually her real name after all.

"− yes −" He replied lowly, playing with his phone between his fingers.

They didn't talk much to each other apart from the usual basic politeness. After a couple of hours he felt well enough to get up − he was still dizzy and still had no appetite, but he drank plenty of water and thought with relief that the danger had passed.

Evening finally fell and, tired after all that had happened, he simply headed upstairs to his bedroom, wanting to give her some solitude and privacy.

Changing into his pyjamas, which consisted of a simple t-shirt and black tracksuit bottoms, he shuddered and looked in disbelief at the door to his room when it opened, her figure stepping inside as if nothing had happened, climbing on his bed, lying under his duvet, turning her back to him.

What?

He pressed his lips together, wondering if he should say something or not, but in the end he couldn't resist.

"What are you doing?"

"I want to sleep. I'm tired. Could you turn out the light?" She asked quietly.

He grunted and, as she requested, walked over to the switch, flicking it, complete darkness fell all around them.

The thought that she was going to sleep in the same bed with him, even if only to keep an eye on him, made him instantly hard.

He lay down at a safer distance behind her, looking at her back and neck, knowing that she could feel his breath, but not daring to touch her.

He wondered if she was punishing him this way, showing him that she was at his fingertips, but after what he had done there was nothing else he could do but watch.

It would have been enough for him if he could have just jerked off looking at her, concentrating on her scent and the fact that she was next to him, but he felt he had no right to bring himself relief after all of this.

He didn't deserve it.

That's why he was just dying in agony, writhing − without his pills despite his fatigue he could not fall asleep, on top of that he was too aroused, her closeness was driving him crazy.

"− will you stop squirming? − I can't sleep −" She muttered at last, raising herself up on her elbow, looking at him with furrowed brows.

He felt his lips part involuntarily in desire at the sight of her face, at the thought that she didn't have a bra under her shirt, that there were her lovely breasts under that material that he could caress all night.

"− sorry −" He just choked out, trying to calm his breathing, his cock pulsed painfully swollen under the material of his sweatpants.

He made big eyes and flinched, embarrassed as she pushed back the duvet that covered them both, her gaze going to his trousers and what was going on inside them.

A tense silence fell between them − he could feel his whole body quivering with desire, grief and shame.

He wondered if she would mock his state and his desperation.

"− we can do it if you want − like civilised people − I'd like to experience some sleep tonight −" She said softly and he looked at her in disbelief, the bulge in his sweatpants twitched hard at her words.

"− are you sure? − I wouldn't −"

"− make me feel good −" She said quietly.

He drew in the air loudly as she said this, grabbing the material of her t-shirt and lifting it, pulling it over her head, revealing her lovely breasts to him.

She sighed loudly when his face immediately pressed against her nipple, alternately sucking and licking it with the tip of his tongue, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her back. She moaned quietly, surprised when he pulled her to him, her palms sliding into his hair, holding him close.

They lay on their sides, embracing each other in a tight grasp. He wriggled in disbelief and delight, willing and eager to show her how much he regretted it, how much he desired her, how much he loved her − his hand grasped tentatively her other breast, kneading it with his fingers.

"− so soft −" He gasped, listening to her quiet sighs of pleasure. He felt her throw her leg against his waist, which he grasped confidently, clenching his fingers on her thigh and pulled her closer, letting her feel how much he wanted her, his manhood throbbed impatiently beneath his trousers, hitting her stomach.

"− how −" He asked between flicks of his tongue licking and sucking her hard, puffy nipple like a little child, stroking the soft skin of her hips. He slipped his hand under the material of her shorts, tracing his fingertips over her plump buttocks, wanting to be sure that this time he would do everything the way she needed it, give her pleasure and reassurance, at the pace and the way she wanted it.

She stroked his hair at his question and placed a short, warm kiss on his forehead − he murmured lowly as he felt her begin to rub against him, encouraging him to do the same, his lips letting go of her nipple with a loud plop to look at her.

"− you on top − but touch me down there first −" She whispered embarrassedly, turning onto her back, pulling his arm behind her, looking at him with a gaze hot with desire and affection.

He leaned in, letting his swollen lips brush hers, which responded immediately to his caress, her fingers cupping his neck, deepening the kiss.

"− mmm −" She hummed, squirming beneath him. He ran his hand down her body, in a tentative, unhurried motion slipping his hand under the material of her shorts, wanting to give her time to react, but she sensing this spread her thighs wider, easing his access, his fingers finally running over her swollen, hot, wet womanhood.

"− God, little one − I want to use my mouth here −" He gasped appreciatively, thinking only of the fact that he had been dreaming of this for weeks. He smiled involuntarily when he saw her nod quickly, her sweet, full lips parted in an accelerated breath.

"− okay −" She whispered quietly, letting him slide the material of her shorts and underwear off her − he marvelled at the sight of her naked body, thinking with some kind of emotion that he felt like crying.

"− so beautiful −" He whispered, placing a gentle kiss on her stomach, on her womb, on her hip, on her thigh, knee and calf. He looked at her and noticed that she was watching him intently, her breasts rising and falling in uneven breaths, her hands on either side of her head.

"− come here −" He murmured softly, in a gentle motion pushing her hips closer to him, spreading them in front of him − he heard her gasp loudly as he leaned over her bared flesh. He let his hot breath envelop her skin before his nose ran over her hot, soft womanhood, his lips lazily clinging to her folds, placing a lingering, sticky kiss on them.

He tightened his hands on her thighs when he felt her throw her head back with a sweet, surprised moan, her fingers traveling to his short hair, stroking it in impatient motion, pressing his face close to her body.

"− please −" She mumbled, and he huffed with amusement, trailing his lips up to her puffy clit, sliding then down to her leaking, swollen slit, teasing her barely, not giving her what she needed.

"− no − we're going to do this very, very slowly − with due respect to you −" He hummed contentedly, feeling some kind of pride that he could do it this way, could give it to her and be what she needed.

She whimpered softly, writhing before him, her breathing quickened and shuddered, her body trembling in his hands, thirsting for fulfilment.

"− don't be cruel −" She mumbled resentfully, as if she thought he was teasing and taunting her. He sighed quietly, placing a warm, hot kiss on her sticky skin − a surprised, loud moan escaped her lips as the tip of his tongue suddenly forced its way inside her, deeper and deeper with each stroke, imposing an intense, fast pace on her.

"− o-oh fuck, yes, lick me −" She mewled, clenching her fingers in his hair, bucking her hips against his face, trying to find a more intense source of rubbing. He smirked under his breath as he discovered after a moment between her fleshy muscles the spot he was looking for, her whines increasingly pathetic and helpless, her walls beginning to throb around his tongue.

He heard her whimper his name, her whole body tensed as if she was trying to break away from him, but he didn't stop, letting her come on his face.

He purred contentedly as he felt how much of her moisture flowed out of her tight entrance, determined to make sure he licked every drop and not let anything go to waste despite her cries.

He surprised her when he didn't pull away, but repeated all the steps from the beginning, slowing his pace again, merely teasing her with his lips, her body twitching at his every move, overstimulated and delicate.

"− n-no more − I want you inside me −" She mumbled softly, and he looked up at her, licking his lips with his tongue, feeling her words in his trousers.

Even though he planned to spend the whole night between her thighs, he couldn't refuse such a request.

"− it's okay − there you go −" He hummed, rising to his knees, slipping his sweatpants down just enough to release his swollen, hard erection leaking from his precum. He placed one hand next to her head, the other guiding the fat, pink head of his cock between her widely spread thighs.

"− such a good girl − hm? − my sweet little baby, am I right? −" He cooed and she nodded quickly, looking at him with big eyes hazed with desire − it seemed to him that she didn't recognise him, that she didn't believe he was the same man she had met then.

He didn't believe it himself, but it felt wonderful.

They both sighed loudly when, with one slow thrust, he opened her wide on his swollen length, leaning over her, pressing his forehead to hers, her trembling hand rising to stroke his cheek, her lips pressed to his in a warm, innocent kiss.

He murmured contentedly, forcing her to fit all of him inside her with an impatient thrust of his hips − he heard her quiet cry of discomfort and surprise and swallowed loudly feeling his manhood pulsing intensely inside her, so hungry for her closeness.

She closed his waist between her legs, crossing them over his back, and he lay on top of her, pulling his t-shirt off quickly, resting his weight on his elbows to keep from crushing her, feeling her little, puffy nipples on his naked chest.

She sighed sweetly, looking up at him dreamily, trailing her fingers down his face and neck as he slipped out of her only to sink into her again a moment later with a loud click of her moisture − she was all wet and warm inside after her intense orgasm, her muscles squeezing him wonderfully from all sides.

"− that's it − just like that - it's okay −" He whispered tenderly, letting himself sink into the taste of her sticky, plump lips again, her hands trailing down his sweaty, muscled back as he involuntarily sped up his pace, pressing his nose to her cheek, slamming into her with more and more sure, brutal thrusts of his hips, groaning low along with her.

"− oh, fuck, baby −" He gasped, listening to her moans of pleasure, her insides wonderfully warm and tight, quivering all over in sensation, soaking him wet. He began to root aggressively into her weeping cunt panting hard, all around them only the loud sound of their moist, naked bodies slapping quickly against each other.

"− please − please − please −" She mumbled out looking up at him with her mouth wide open, digging her fingers into the hot skin of his back − he could feel her walls clench around him tighter, sucking him inside. He shuddered hard at her words, focusing now only on rooting again and again into her warm, fleshy interior.

"− I don't know if I'm going to let you sleep tonight − I think I'd rather do this with you instead −" He breathed out into her mouth, pushing his tongue deep into her throat − he felt her body shake as she convulsed, her hands clenched painfully hard on his body as she came a second time with sweet mewl of effort, panting loudly as if she couldn't catch her breath, her muscles began to throb greedily around his cock, sucking him inside.

He tilted his head back and sighed in relief, a few sloppy, rough thrusts prolonging the inevitable − his warm cum spilled deep inside her, a hot wave of pleasure surging through his lungs.

He crushed her with his body, feeling their bodies quivering and twitching all over, both of them panting hard as if they had run a marathon, their hands running blindly over each other's naked skin as if they wanted to calm and soothe each other.

"− I love you −" He muttered, lying with his eyes closed, his nose snuggled into her hot, soft cheek. "− you know that, don't you? −"

"− yes −" She answered him quietly, and he sighed heavily, snuggling into her like a small child.

That much was enough for him.

He didn't expect anything from her.

He just wanted her to know it.

He spent that night as if in a frenzy, holding her close, embracing her from behind tightly with his arms, their legs entwined together in disarray. He fell asleep with his face pressed against her hair, completely overwhelmed by her wonderful scent, the warmth of her naked body, one of her hands placed on his making sure he didn't let go of her soft breasts.

They hadn't said much to each other after they awoke − when he turned her face towards him and he just sank into her swollen lips in a sticky, hot kiss. She purred sleepily at this caress, her fingertips running over his jaw.

She let him take her a second time then, from behind this time − she was so wet from their shared moisture that he slid into her without much difficulty, stretching her wonderfully tight walls with a sigh of delight.

He rooted into her with lazy, slow thrusts of his hips, making sure that each time the fat head of his cock rubbed her sweet spot, one of his hands playing with her puffy, little nipple, the other sunk deep between her thighs, teasing her swollen clit.

"− do you want me to stop? −" He whispered in her ear, and she shook her head, digging her fingers into his arm with which he embraced her at the waist.

"− n-no − it feels good −" She muttered in embarrassment − he kissed her hot cheek with a sticky click of his saliva seeing her lips parted in accelerated breath, her dreamy, warm gaze.

"− so I'm afraid I'm going to fill you a second time, sweet girl −" He hummed, running the tip of his nose over her pretty face. She moaned quietly at his words, feeling him suddenly speed up, slamming into her with more confident, brutal pushes − she tilted her head back, his lips immediately pressed against her neck.

"− d-don't − don't leave marks −" She mumbled out, quickly clenching her hand in his hair − she whimpered softly as she felt his fingertips dig harder into her fleshy folds.

"− I won't, baby − shhh −" He hushed her, running his lust-swollen lips over her soft skin, feeling her weeping walls squeeze him greedily at his words, forcing him to thrust into her more aggressively, his fingers sinking into her plushy thigh, holding her in place, panting along with her.

"− ah, G-God − She babbled, responding helplessly to his movements with rocking, both of them groaning in pleasure and relief as her muscles began to clench against him in a sudden orgasm, his thighs all sticky with her wetness.

"− yes, that's it − oh baby −" He muttered, letting go, with the last of his strength thrusting into her for a moment more before his seed filled her to the brim.

He hid the tip of his nose in her hair with his eyes closed, panting loudly with pleasure, holding firmly her body trembling in fulfilment in the tight embrace of his arms.

"− can I stay inside you? −" He whispered into her ear and she only nodded, falling into slumber again a moment later.

For the first time in many years he didn't have to get up at dawn, he didn't have to focus on work, on Daeron, on anyone or anything more than himself and her.

He couldn't believe it was really happening.

He lay thinking only of the fact that he was deep inside her, that he could feel her and smell her − he placed one of his hands over her heart wanting to feel how it beat, how her chest rose and fell in calm breaths.

The days before his appointment with the psychiatrist he had spent between her thighs.

She walked around his house wearing nothing but his T-shirt and it was enough for him standing behind her to lift its fabric a little to see her lovely, plump buttocks.

"− stop − we need to eat something −" She muttered as he knelt on the kitchen tiles while she was trying to prepare dinner for them, so that he could kiss her hot, soft skin with a murmur of satisfaction. His hand slipped lower, between her thighs, his fingertips collecting her moisture mingled with his semen, a reminder of what he had been doing to her all day.

"− I adore you −" He gasped, sliding his lips lower, placing warm, sticky kisses on her thighs and calves, he heard her quiet sigh.

"− does your friend know that you have a second lover? −" She asked quietly, and he froze, quickly lifting his gaze to her, understanding immediately that she was talking about Alys.

He didn't want to make a mistake and lie, but he also didn't know how to present it so she would know that it was a done deal for him.

"− I stopped seeing her after what happened between us −" He said softly getting up from his knees, looking down at her, putting an unruly lock of her dark hair behind her ear. "− I didn't see the point in it, because all I was thinking about was you −"

He confessed with a kind of pain and weariness, and she lifted her gaze to him, her bright eyes looked at him piercingly, warm and gentle. He leaned in placing a long, drawn-out kiss on her forehead.

She snuggled into his chest as if seeking refuge, and he embraced her kissing the top of her head devotedly, running his large hands down her back in a reassuring, tender gesture.

"− I can't promise you anything −" She said at last, and he swallowed hard, knowing what she meant.

"− I know − I don't expect it −" He whispered, cuddling his face into her fragrant hair, closing his eyes, her closeness and her scent calming him in some strange, incomprehensible way.

"− I will always wait for you −"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires

[oh-katsuki]

“hey, satoru?” you break the comfortable silence, your voice just barely rising over the sound of cicadas. 

“hm?” he hums, tilting his head toward you. 

you avoid looking at him, staring out over the walkway up to the school. everything is bathed in the cool light of the moon. it makes things glow like they’re alive. under it, the concrete shines like pearls. 

“can i ask you something?” 

he furrows his eyebrows, giving you a coy smile. “sure, you can ask me anything.” 

“it’s not really a question, though,” you chuckle a little. the sound doesn’t reach your chest, instead coming from the front of your mouth. 

satoru shrugs, leaning back on his palms. 

“you’re really hard to pin down, you know?” you mumble. 

“that so?” 

“yeah,” your voices pulls down like there is a weight tied to it. “i can’t tell if you love me or if you just like keeping me around. kind of like a pet,” you pull your knees to your chest and run your finger along the cracks in the concrete you’re sitting on. “you’re confusing, you know? but then again, i don’t know what i’d say if you said the same thing to me. i don’t even really know what to expect.” 

he sits on what you’ve said for a moment and you deliberately avoid looking at him. you don’t want to see the expression on his face. 

“it’s probably hard,” he says quietly, a little more considerately than he normally speaks, “to describe what it is i feel for you. even to myself. i’m not quite sure how to answer.” 

you nod and rest your chin on the tops of your knees, not offering a verbal response. 

“what would you say? if i asked you the same thing?” he asks. 

“i think i’d probably say that i love you,” you answer. there’s no hesitation, just the quiet admittance that comes so quickly that you almost don’t register that you’ve said it. “but i think i’d also say that i hate you.” 

satoru gives a flat chuckle, mirthless and somewhat empty. “that’s contradictory, but i think i get it.” 

you inhale, feeling exhaustion creep into your bones. “you just make me crazy. that’s all it is. i want you so badly but i feel like i can never have you.” 

“have me?” you can hear the grin on his lips. “what makes you think you never can? i’m right here.” 

“not that you wouldn’t,” you clarify, avoiding his gaze which you can feel against your skin, “but more like you feel so far away... you’re leagues ahead of us, you know? just by existing.” 

satoru considers this quietly and you turn to face him as he does. his expression, usually so carefree, is weighted. his lips pull down a little in the corners. when he catches you staring, you can almost see the way he puts on a mask, smiling lightly at you. 

“that’s just what it is to be me,” he says softly. “not that i want to be far away. 

after a moment, he speaks again, softer. it’s more of a confession than anything else. “what do i have besides strength?” 

“me,” you say, quietly but earnestly. 

“you’d choose me if i was weak?” he laughs a little. 

“in a heartbeat,” you answer firmly. “you could be the weakest man alive and i think i’d still want you. you could hate me and i don’t think i could ever give you up.” 

“i could never hate you.” 

you laugh a little, knowing that the statement is partially false. you think that, to some degree, the two of you hate each other just as much as you care for each other. maybe you’ve just confused it for love. 

“would you love me if i were so strong that i hurt you? what if you were weak? would you still want me then?” he asks. satoru inadvertently admits a fear when he says that. the fear of responsibility, of hurting those he loves. losing control and destroying both the good and the bad. 

“i am weak.” 

“you’re not.” 

“when it comes to you, i am,” you chuckle a little, sounding pathetic. “all you have to do is ask and i’d do anything. i don’t even think i’d hesitate. though, maybe that’s not weakness. maybe it’s strength. i don’t really know.” 

“sounds like love to me,” he laughs lightly.

“you think so? you think that’s love? how frightening.” you give a flat laugh, shaking your head a little. 

“if it’s not love, then what is it?” he says softly, trying to coax you to look at him. 

“violence,” you say, tilting your head to look at him. “i think it’s violence.” 

satoru blinks at you for a moment, like he’s letting what you’ve said sink in. under the moon, his white hair shines, reflecting the light onto his t-shirt and the concrete beneath him. it catches in his eyes, giving them an almost inhuman glint that you’ve come to recognize as satoru. 

“i love you,” he says quietly, so softly that you almost miss it. 

you laugh quietly, void of any real resonation, “how violent.” 

[olympeline]

(Oh dear, I wrote something from my omegaverse scotfruk scenario! 🫣)

The sudden clang and crash of metal on stone behind him made Alasdair start so badly that he upended his inkwell. Black splattered all over his desk and the papers covering it, and - just like that - an entire evening’s worth of work went down the drain. Alasdair swore and whirled around in his seat. Only to see a familiar culprit: staring stupidly at the tray of supper he’d just dropped as if he had no idea how it got there. Alasdair’s temper flared. A common occurrence around this particular member of his household.

“Arthur! You fucking dolt!”

Of course it was Arthur. Who else would it be? The Englishman had been a burr under Alasdair’s saddle ever since he’d found and dragged him out of the mud and blood of the battlefield. Back then it felt wonderfully amusing to sentence a high-born, sassenach knight to the life of a common house-slae. Yet at times like these it seemed Arthur was the one having the last laugh. His sheer ineptitude as a servant paired with Alasdair’s blood pressure might just end up finishing the Scottish laird off where a storm of enemy blades had failed.

“Can’t ye do the simplest thing? Is holding on to a fucking tray just too difficult a concept for your fine, Southern self?”

Alasdair expected Arthur to snarl back. Still feisty after all this time, even Alasdair had to admire his spirit. Threats, harsh words, nights spent in the stocks and the dungeon: none had tamed Arthur as they would most captives. Licks with the whip and crop to his back and backside had made him behave, but only grudgingly. Replacing quick fists with caustic words, Arthur still met Alasdair’s hot temper head on more often than not. Ordinarily Alasdair didn’t mind half so much as he let on. He was a fighter at heart who loved a good sparring session - verbal or otherwise - and there weren’t many who were willing to be sharp with a king in his own castle.

Today wasn’t an ordinary day, worse luck for Arthur. Alasdair’s temper was hotter than usual and his patience was stretched razor thin. It wasn’t anything Arthur had done to erode his laird’s nerves. Rather it was the scent that was bothering Alasdair. A scent that had been in his castle for the last few days: faint, elusive, and absolutely maddening. An omega was nearing their heat, probably their first for the pre-heat pheromones to be that strong, and Alasdair’s mood had been thunderous since he first noticed. It wasn’t the poor sod’s fault, whoever he or she was, but Alasdair felt like strangling them even so. It wasn’t his rut but he still needed Francis morning, noon, and night and had to consciously hold back so he didn’t hurt his husband during the frenzied lovemaking. Francis, bless his heart, had taken the trysts with enthusiasm and understanding but Alasdair’s conscience still pained him. He shouldn’t be reacting this strongly to an omega who he wasn’t mated to. Least of all one who was probably little more than a frightened stripling. Francis was a beta and Alasdair hadn’t bedded an omega since their wedding, but still. He’d thought his self-control better than that. The guilt and disgust on top of the pheromone frenzy set Alasdair’s temper fraying till it was threadbare.

So when Arthur didn’t reply and made no move to clean up the mess he’d made, Alasdair saw an opportunity for some much needed release.

“Arthur! Have you lost what little wits you have? Arthur - damn you - look at me!”

Still no response. Alasdair rose from his chair so violently that it toppled. The resulting crash was what got a reaction from Arthur at long last. He flinched and then finally looked up at Alasdair, blinking like a startled bairn caught with their hand in the sugar store. Alasdair squared up and braced for the bout he was sure was coming.

“I…sorry,” Arthur mumbled. “I didn’t mean to, Ala - Lord Alasdair. I’ll clean it…”

Alasdair stared at him. That was not the reaction he’d expected. Since when did his captive speak to him like an actual servant? Usually his tongue was more jaded than his eyes. Wrong footed, Alasdair watched Arthur sink to the ground with none of the grace expected from a trained fighting man. Watched and took in Arthur’s appearance. It was winter and the air in the study was chilly in spite of the fire roaring in the great grate. Yet Arthur’s face was flushed, his straw coloured hair lay damp and limp against his skull, and his skin glowed by the fire’s light. Scarlet cheeked and unsteady, he’d slurred through his short speech like he had a mouthful of marbles. As if he were -

Alasdair anger ratcheted right back up then carried on for another few notches.

“You little - ! You’re drunk!”

Arthur looked up and shook his head, moving sluggishly as if he were underwater.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are! Don’t lie to me!”

“I’m not drunk!”

Arthur glared at him for a moment, a spark of his usual fire on display at last. Then he shook his head once more, lowered his gaze again, and went back to listlessly cleaning up the smashed plates. Alasdair noticed he kept one palm braced against the flagstones through all this. As if worried the simple movements might overwhelm his balance.

“I’m not drunk, lord. Just - just tired. Let me work and I’ll leave you in peace. Be better tomorrow…”

Arthur was mumbling again by the end of his proclamation. He bowed his head further and Alasdair saw the muscles of his shoulders go taut. Trying to pull himself together? Alasdair wouldn’t give him the chance. Arthur had cheeked him like this once before. Early on in his servitude when their shared antipathy was sharpest and Arthur went out of his way to show Alasdair his contempt any way he could. One day he’d stolen a bottle of the laird’s personal stash of whisky and got himself legless just in time for some important guests to arrive and see one of their king’s household drunk off his arse. Alasdair had paid him back for the humiliation by waiting until Arthur’s hangover peaked, then whipped that arse raw in front of those same guests. Followed up by a night in the stocks. The message seemed to have sunk in since Arthur hadn’t tried anything like that again. Until now, apparently. Well, if he truly wanted a repeat of his first learning experience, Alasdair would be happy to oblige. He stalked across the room and seized Arthur by the bicep. Alasdair ignored the hiss of pain and curse thrown his way, and hauled Arthur to his feet. He gripped the smaller man and gave him a rough shake that made Arthur sway so dizzily Alasdair knew he’d fall flat on his face if he let go. The thought was tempting but Alasdair resisted.

“You shameless sot! I’ll teach you to lie through your fucking teeth to me in my own house!”

“Get off me!” Arthur yelled, voice hoarse.

He tried to shove Alasdair away but the attempt was pathetic. Alasdair made a noise of contempt and Arthur’s flush darkened even as he continued to struggle weakly, chest heaving with the effort. Alasdair watched a bead of sweat run down from Arthur’s face and pool at his collarbone.

“I’m not drunk, you - you fool! I haven’t touched a drop all day!”

“Ha! Bastard, don’t make me laugh! I can smell it…on…”

Alasdair frowned, suddenly perturbed. Arthur was still trying to escape and panting hard with it. Nearly nose to nose as they were, Alasdair was close enough to feel Arthur’s hot breath against his face. Feel it, smell it, and detect no trace of alcohol whatsoever. What the fuck?

“See?”

Arthur glared at up him, a note of triumph in his voice. Obviously he’d noticed just what Alasdair had.

“I told you, I’m not drunk. So let me go!”

Arthur wriggled and tried to pull back but Alasdair held on. He shuffled their positions - ignoring Arthur’s litany of protests, insults, and name-calling - so one hand was free. Then Alasdair pinched the corner of his leather gauntlet with his teeth and pulled it off. He laid a hand on Arthur’s damp forehead and felt his stomach plunge unpleasantly.

“You’re burning,” Alasdair said. “Fuck. You’re burning alive, you stupid fool. Why didn’t you say anything?”

He felt his temper spike once more but this time from anger born of worry. Alasdair wanted to shake Arthur all over again for being such an idiot. He loosened his grip and held him more gently instead. No wonder Arthur was acting so strangely: his wits had been half burned away by fever.

Arthur, for his part, grimaced and turned his face away from Alasdair’s accusatory glare.

“I said I was tired-”

“Tired?”

“For God’s sake, don’t take on so!” Arthur tried to snap but the ever present slur ruined it. “It’s nothing! None of your damn business, lord Alasdair. Like I keep saying, let me go and sleep and I’ll be right as rain by morning.”

“For fuck’s-”

Alasdair shut his eyes for a moment and tried again. He wouldn’t castigate someone when he wasn’t himself, even a someone as maddening as Arthur. It was beneath Alasdair as a man and a king both.

“You’re sick, Arthur. You’re not thinking straight. Come on, put your arm around my neck. I’m taking you to…”

The sentiment was destined to go unfinished. As Alasdair tried to change their positions again and get Arthur to lean on him - ignoring the blonde’s comical squawks of protest - he suddenly froze. Froze because he noticed, though “noticed” may not have been a strong enough descriptor. No, it would be fairer to say the abrupt revelation hit Alasdair like a thunderclap and sent his higher thoughts into a tale spin. The scent - that wicked, pre-heat scent that had driven Alasdair to distraction worse than his most potent rut - was back with a vengeance. Getting stronger as it finally tipped over and bloomed into the scent of full-blown heat. Alasdair’s breathing turned ragged and his cock stiffened painfully. He licked his lips and ground his teeth to stop them clacking together like a starving dog faced with a dripping lump of meat. It was all he could do not to drool. The elusive source of the scent, Alasdair had found them at last. Quite literally under his nose.

“Alasdair, what-?”

The voice seemed to come from a different world yet it still woke Alasdair up from his momentary stupor even so. Arthur yelped with a mixture of surprise and pain as Alasdair jerked him closer than ever, breath hot against the knight’s throat. He heard Arthur gasp and felt him buck and squirm as Alasdair licked him in that sainted, sordid place where neck and shoulder joined. Where alphas gave mating bites to their chosen omegas. Arthur’s skin was smooth and unmarked and Alasdair could taste the pheromones on him under the sweat salt. The alpha’s teeth chattered and he felt his cock twitch and throb, leaking a pearly bead to stain his smalls. The scent was stronger than ever and Alasdair wanted to devour its source alive. He licked Arthur again and then nipped him, making the blonde cry out and jerk.

“Stop! Stop it, damn you! You bastard, you’re married!”

It was about the only thing that could have broken through Alasdair’s haze. Francis’s face appeared in his mind’s eye and he shivered, desire coagulating with guilt. His grip loosened and Arthur seized the opportunity to bring a fist up and punch Alasdair as hard as he could. Which wasn’t very in his state but it was just enough to make Alasdair rear back and release him from the sudden sharp shock.

Arthur staggered back and slumped against the wall, struggling to stay upright on legs that shook like a newborn foal’s. Alasdair’s eyes bored into him and Arthur tried to glare back defiantly. Only to shudder and look away, submissively lowering his gaze as instinct got the better of him. Alasdair’s lust spiked higher still. When Arthur shifted, he could see how tight the front of his britches had become.

“S-stay away from me,” Arthur gasped. “What the hell are you thinking? Get back!”

“You’re in heat,” Alasdair said.

Arthur screwed his eyes shut and shook his head.

“You’re insane. You’ve gone mad, you bastard! I’m a beta!”

“You’re in heat,” Alasdair repeated. “I can smell you. You’re an omega, Arthur. A late bloomer.”

Arthur just went on shaking his head. He only looked at Alasdair again when the other man fell silent. When he did, Alasdair saw his pupils were so blown the green looked almost black.

“No, you’re wrong. I’m just…just sick today. You were right, I’ve got a fever. All right? That’s all it is!”

“Sick?” Alasdair snorted with disbelief. “Don’t be the idiot I know ye are, sassenach! You think you can fool an alpha’s nose? You are an omega. You are in heat!”

“Fuck you. I’m no fucking omega - hey! No! Don’t-! Nnngg…”

Arthur had no hope of escape when Alasdair lunged and grabbed him again. Wiry, strong, and deadly with a sword, Arthur was still no match for Alasdair’s raw strength on his best day. With his first heat hitting him like a South-bound runaway carriage, he couldn’t have broken Alasdair’s grip if his life depended on it. Leaving Alasdair free to palm the wicked spot on his neck and then pinch in a way he knew would undo any omega.

The effect on Arthur was instantaneous: he gasped and moaned, eyelids fluttering, lithe body going loose and sagging against Alasdair. Who massaged the spot long enough to make his point - long enough to be just a little cruel - then let go. This time Arthur didn’t pull away. Alasdair could feel him shaking. Smell the first slick starting to run down Arthur’s thighs. Which sent Alasdair’s already stretched self-control past breaking point. His cock throbbed and he wanted to throw Arthur to the flagstones and fuck him without mercy. Grind the Englishman down and wreck him till Arthur was incapable of anything other than sobbing Alasdair’s name and begging for his knot and his mark. In that moment, Alasdair wanted Arthur like he’d never wanted anything in his life. It would be so easy to have him too, whether Arthur wanted it or not. He was reeling from what his body was doing: drowning in heat and hormones, and so very vulnerable. Not to mention Arthur was no more than a foreign born house-slae while Alasdair was a king in his own castle. Who would stop him? He could do as he pleased.

“Alasdair…” He’d never heard such a begging tone from one usually so haughty. “Stop, please. Please, please…”

What was Arthur asking for by the end? Leaning into Alasdair’s touch, chasing the feel of his calloused palm against his spot even as he pleaded for mercy. The heat was getting stronger and Arthur’s wits would be gone soon. He’d be a mewling mess with all pride and inhibitions burnt away. But they’d return once the fire cooled. Alasdair shut his eyes and thought again of Francis. Forced his basest urges back under control through sheer strength of will. No, Alasdair would not do that to Arthur. He was no barbarian. When he next touched Arthur it was to soothe rather than ravish. Alasdair stroked his hair and rubbed his back, letting Arthur press against him and feeling him shudder.

“It’s okay. Breathe, just breathe. I’ve got you.”

“I’m not,” Arthur’s voice was broken, his considerable pride in tatters. “I’m not an omega, Alasdair. I’m not. I’m not…”

“Shh…”

Arthur’s breath hitched and he covered his face with a hand that trembled. Alasdair kissed his throat, then threw Arthur over his shoulder. The younger man didn’t protest. Which was good since Alasdair would not have heeded him if he had. There was no way in blackest hell he would allow Arthur near anyone else until all this was over. The very thought of him walking the palace corridors in his state and potentially encountering other alphas made Alasdair snarl.

He would take Arthur to the royal chambers and leave him with Francis. Francis, who would know what to say. Francis, who was better with these kinds of situations than Alasdair was. Francis, who was a beta and so no threat to Arthur while he was heat stricken. If nothing else, Arthur would be safe there in their bed until his heat was over. Safe from alphas who might do him harm.

“Come on, sassenach. I’ll take you to Fran.”

Meanwhile, Alasdair would spend the night in his study. Perhaps that ruined paperwork had been a blessing in disguise after all. He had little faith sleep would come to him after everything that had happened.

[a-libra-writes]

Rocky Rickaby x gn or fem reader who is really REALLY physically affectionate headcannons? Like i'm talking giving him a nice smooch on the lips from time to time for no reason, hugging and or cuddling Rocky when they or he wants sum and giving him small pecks and kisses on his forehead, cheek, sometimes nose and ALWAYS giving him compliments and words of reassurance when they see that Rocky's feeling a bit down in the dumps. While savagely telling or killing the person off.

I'm totally normal abt him bro dw

Okay so I got MANY requests for a Part 2 on the first Rocky HCs, so Im using this as a jumping off point! Lots of affectionate GN Reader in here, and i have. So many thoughts. So lets goooo

Obviously ... Rocky loves all this attention. When he initially started crushing on you, any attention was good and wanted, but especially the smiles and approving words. The best part in those early months was the fussing. Since he's always in some kind of state, you'd call Rocky over to smooth coat or tidy some leaves out of his hair.

He'd actually keep still, too excited and surprised to think of moving while your hands pawed over him - even if it just lasted a few seconds. At some point you'd clean dirt (or was that blood?) off his face with one of your hankerchiefs, and you better believe he always "forgot" to return it. Maybe if he knew you'd be at the cafe, he wouldn't fix himself up, hoping you might be inclined to do it instead. Maybe.

Anytime you initiated some closer form of contact - first the fussing, then maybe touching his face, then perhaps hugging - he always freezes for just a second, then immediately accepts and melts into it. And after that, he's more than happy to initiate the same kind of affection.

It's almost like Rocky needs to "wait" for permission, to have someone else cross that line first. Like he isn't allowed to, or rather - the wait is better than potential rejection. This is doubly so if you're more of a posh cat, or perhaps someone whose more closed off. Impulsive and adoring as he is, the thought of frightening you away or you being repulsed by him is too painful a thought. Once you make it clear that he can "cross" a new line in the relationship, he practically leaps over it. As time goes on he won't have these worries nearly as much. They're mostly subconscious, too - an anxiety he can't figure or name, and he'd rather not dwell on it.

Honestly, if you aren't a physically affectionate person, it'll be tough. Rocky really thrives off it and sees it as an affirmation of your feelings, though he soaks up the praise and loving words, being physically close, held and accepted just hits different. And ... combining both the physical and verbal affection? Yeah, he's just. Doe-eyed and lovestruck. It's both sweet and a little sad how desperately happy it makes him.

Your loving words don't even have to be anything effusive or overly romantic - simple appreciation for when he helps you out (or tries to), daily "I love you"s, complimenting something about him, expressing happiness at spending time with him, it all goes straight to his heart and his head. If he goes too long without it, Rocky will prompt you for praise and attention. Before you two were a couple, Ivy teased him about it - "You're always looking for them to pat you on the head!" Yes, and what of it? If you're someone whose older or at least seemed more mature and collected, your approval only matters all the more, as is his desire to impress you.

This also means if you're ever upset or cross with him, he takes it to heart as well. Icing him out, trying to do the silent treatment, etc seriously messes with him. Rocky will completely blame himself and spiral and it won't be pretty, so it's best to resolve the fights maturely and with a level head. Yes, he tries to act like he isn't hurt or terrified you'll leave. It's an act, and a poor one at that.

Since he's so noodly, it's easy to wrap your arms around Rocky's torso for a big hug! He loves it, of course, he'll return the favor and lift you right up (or ... try to, anyway). He'll even (try to) spin you around! If you let him, Rocky will just stay clinging and lean on you, inquiring about your day and what you're up to. He likes to rest his chin on your shoulder or your head, his tail happily whapping at your leg while he chatters.

He'd really love it if you just let him curl up in your arms on a couch or something - seriously, when's the last time he's had that? It's almost a novel experience, and even better if you're a bigger and floofier cat! He'll have moments of disbelief that this is real, that you're allowing it and you want the clingy sleepy snuggles. Sometimes he falls asleep because you're so comfy and warm. Again, when is the last time he's had a warm, safe and cozy place to sleep? When ??

(Semi-related note, he can fall asleep in the weirdest positions and places. Years of being homeless will do that.)

Oh! And the kisses. Kisses are good, they are great. Even the little ones on the cheek or his brow. He's not totally shameless so any lingering or deeper kisses in private (and ofc if you're masc, that's just safer). I mean he could just kiss and hug you forever, he just gets drunk on all the affection and love. Definiately the sort of person to just make out and be totally content; he'll get pretty cheeky and bitey, too. If you have a tickle spot, look out. It will be found. Also, if he's already in a manic-happy mood, expect random lines of poetry between the kisses.

(Zib always notices when there's lovebites or lipstick left on him and comments on it. Rocky almost never notices but !! It makes him oddly happy, even as he immediately covers/cleans up.)

Also if you go on bootlegging jobs with him, there's probably a "no PDA until certain danger has passed" rule because of uh, certain past incidents. If you two start getting touchy-feely then Freckle coughs VERY loudly and tries not to die of embarrassment.

Even when you two are in a situation where there can't be any PDA - maybe you're masc presenting, maybe you're in front of friends who don't approve or you're in a "business" meeting with some sketchy sorts - He still wants to stand very close, shoulder-to-shoulder. Rocky isn't aware how much he'll touch your shoulder, pat your head, pat your back, and so on.

Alas, he can't play his violin for you while smooching and hugging. He still likes to hum melodies to work on later. Looking at you just makes them pop into his head. That means cuddling isn't this serene quiet thing, you two are chattering or he's humming something against your skin. Oh, and he's great at remembering your favorite songs, whether they're folksy, jazz, classical - he has the range!

Since you're around him so often, you'll notice when Rocky's happy-go-lucky mask begins to slip. He'd try even harder to keep it up around you, not wanting to "scare" you off, but no one can keep that momentum up forever. You'll have to reassure him, many times, that he doesn't have to pretend around you. If he's troubled, he should tell you. It's going to take time (and probably a life threatening injury) before you get the full extent of his loneliness and fears. He's been burying it for years, after all. Slowly, he'll bring up bits of his past and his parents, but you won't get much unless he's under the influence or wounded.

It's been said before but, yes, it's obvious to anyone with a pulse how much he adores you. Some people he knows don't even know you're name because he always refers to you as his angel from on high, his auspicious muse, his grandest sweetheart, his Helen of Troy, so on and so forth. It's just. endless. If you're a more high-class sort of person, and/or someone whose very level-headed or serious, they don't hide their surprise to learn you two are together. There might be blunt questions, like what do you see in him. He won't admit it, but those inquiries do hurt Rocky's feelings, albeit he laughs it off. He's quite happy if you stick up for him and express that you're very happy with him, thank you very much.

So, yes. You have this particular bootlegging music-playing poetry-reciting man around your finger. Treat him well and don't let him go off and do stupid things for your sake. If you asked anything of Rocky, he'd do it in a heartbeat, but that sort of intense devotion isn't always in his interest. Maybe that devotion gets a little obsessive, especially on his insecure days. A more steady and mature partner would help pump the breaks on that, while someone more on his wavelength would uh .... Well, it'd be absolutely chaotic, but at least it'd be fun?

[lokisgoodgirl]

Loki Headcanon Question of the Day for you: what is his #1 go-to, no-denying-it-will-always-make-his-pants-disappear-everytime-it's-brought-up kink? It can be as broad or specific as you'd think, but show your math (aka why?).

Bonus points if you answer for every version of Loki in the MCU.

I mean, I know MY theory...

But I want to hear yours!

Right, friend - bet when you asked this weeks ago you didn't think this would come from it. LCM and I have...I'm not exaggerating been talking about this for like a day and a half. Without further ado - Loki's evolving, revolving door of sexual perversions and kinks throughout the MCU.

Thor 1 – King Kink - by @lokischambermaid

Loki is driven absolutely wild by one kink – when you bow to him and call him “Your Royal Highness” and, specifically… King. You treat him with the respect and reverence of a King while being in complete servitude to him – consensually lowering yourself and elevating him. The types of phrases that drive him absolutely feral with desire: • “Would my King wish for his feet to be cleaned?” • “Is there anything I can do for Your Majesty, undeserving though I am?” • “My King looks especially regal this evening. I am surely unworthy to be in the presence of the Sovereign.” Reasoning: Loki is the second in line to the throne and the thought of holding immense power arouses him like nothing else. Growing up in his brother’s shadow, he wants nothing more than to be admired, desired, revered and feared. (note: This is prior to him discovering his true lineage

Avengers Loki - Symphorophiliais and Piquerism by @lokisgoodgirl

Fresh from the void, Loki is all kinds of fucked-up. His old faithful regal praise kink is diminished, replaced by something far darker. He finds a strength and thrill from creating disasters and the sexual gratification from it; a consequence both of Thanos' influence and his mental state. Beneath the leather and gold, his cock is thick at the smell of destruction and the choking smoke of war that he brings in his wake. There is a concerning emergence of piquerism - penetrating the skin of others with sharp objects in a form of sexually sadistic control. When he turns his followers with the mind stone, it’s all he can do not to push that little bit further. And yes, he’s hard as fuck while he does it. Most likely to say:

“How quaint. Only a thin line of delicate flesh to yield beneath the press of my blade. How far, I wonder, can I bend you...before you break?"

“This I swear; that I will fuck you as the world burns beneath our feet. As the sky cracks open and rains fire and death to your mewling cries. Your world is mine. You are mine. And I will destroy you both.”

Thor The Dark World – Public Humiliation - by @lokischambermaid

Loki has an interesting relationship with his crimes on Midgard – he’s equally smug and ashamed. Smug because he wielded enough power to deeply concern and frighten the entire realm from civilians to governments, causing Midgard to mobilise a unit of six exceptional beings to take him down. And he’s also ashamed on a deep, visceral level for the person he has become and the hatred he feels for himself and his actions, and of course his true lineage. Because of this, Loki gets off on receiving public humiliation for his misdeeds. This kink doesn’t necessary require a partner – but rest assured he was hard beneath his leathers whilst he was cuffed by the wrists, ankles and neck, as ten guards led him into a the Great Hall like an animal. His heart pounded in his chest and he smirked as he was verbally ridiculed for the atrocities. A fantasy scenario he would repeat with partners in the future, once he claimed the throne after faking his death on Svartalfheim.

Ragnarok Loki - Stag & Vixen Kink - by @lokisgoodgirl

By Ragnarok, Loki has integrated his facets of sexuality into one persona. More confident in his ability to straddle both the vulnerable and dominant sides of his personality, he's discovered the thrill of being a ‘Stag’ – (not be confused with a cuckold) and finds sexual gratification in encouraging his female partner to have sex with other men/women. Loki has re-asserted his dominance by Ragnarok, and his confidence in the balance of his personality. He wants to share his partners. He knows they will always return to him, and him alone. Most likely to say:

“I think my vixen is getting a little complacent with her access to this cock of mine. Tonight, let’s get you fucked by a lesser man to the best of his meagre ability, shall we?”

“The only thing better than touching myself, knowing that you are thinking of me while I watch you get pounded by him, darling...is the knowledge that I do it so much better. And the look in your eyes that tells me you know it, too.”

So....what do you think? Agree? Disagree? Further thoughts? 😂 @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @gigglingtigger @mochie85 @superficialdomina @simplyholl @alexakeyloveloki @lunarnights95 @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @joyful-enchantress @lovelysizzlingbluebird @muddyorbsblr @holdmytesseract @fictive-sl0th @lunarnights95 @coldnique @kikster606 @michelleleewise @vbecker10 +++ :)

[glowingbadger]

I’m surprised there isn’t some spicy Jeritza content with a catgirl reader. Poor man loves cats but they run away from him due to his murderous/Death Knight aura according to supports. T^T Let him have his cat fix and love.

OKAY I need a headcanon break and no one ever asks me to write for Jeritza so it's time for me to treat myself lol

For reference, I've done catgirl!Reader posts for Seteth and Felix as well, if y'all wanna check those out :3

Jeritza (FE3H) x Catgirl!Reader

SFW & NSFW Headcanons

(NSFW under the cut - 18+)

Okay so first off, I don't often write about Jeritza pining, but what else could I possibly call it when he's just fixated on those cute, soft little triangular ears of yours and every time he sees you he can feel his hands itching to reach out and touch them? It's not even primarily a sexual urge, he just finds that the same corner of his heart that somehow opens for the monastery cats simply aches for the chance to stroke your tail or scratch your ears- and it's going to be agony for him to restrain himself until you two finally figure out this attraction between you. In a bizarre way, it's like an equal and opposite urge to his bouts of bloodlust.

Once you're actually together, he finds it very comforting that you have so many clear tells about your mood and responses to things. He appreciates cats' body language, the way they tense or how their eyes react, and so on- non-verbal communication that he finds less cumbersome and easier to parse. Seeing your tail flick around with contentment as you start to settle into his arms, or feeling the subtle rumble of your purring against his chest, things like this warm him through in a way he never thought he'd feel (and that he struggles to express- good thing your sensitive ears can hear his heart fluttering).

He feels incredibly conflicted knowing that you can so often smell the scent of blood and carnage lingering on him. On the one hand, there is an odd comfort to knowing that you come to him willingly even knowing what his scent means. On the other hand, he feels a sort of morose horror at the fact that being near him subjects you to such a thing so frequently.

As someone who deeply appreciates his own favorite foods and flavors, he takes immense joy in feeding you your favorite snacks, and it's one of the rare times when you'll actually catch him smiling a bit. He just can't help it- seeing your ears perk up and your nose twitch eagerly at the scent, it makes him long to protect you and be able to provide for you.

NSFW vvv

Jeritza is weak for seeing you in a cute little collar, or with precious little bows on your ears or accenting your tail. Anything that emphasizes how absolutely adorable he already finds you has his pulse racing immediately and his cock absolutely rock hard. The intensity in his gaze upon seeing you waiting on his bed like this is almost frightening at first- but you quickly realize that this is about carnal lust rather than bloodlust, and he simply has to touch you and please you so he can watch you squirm around and mew with pleasure while looking so dearly adorable just for him.

One might not expect it, but he's actually a fairly gentle and careful lover by nature. He has very little sexual experience prior to you, and he's well aware that indulging his more aggressive instincts might cause the Death Knight to emerge while you're vulnerable in his arms, and he could never forgive himself for such a lapse. So instead, he silently observes you like a man hypnotized as he carefully tests your pleasure- fingers firm but steady between your thighs, lips warm around your nipples while his tongue lightly flicks and circles them -and he's relieved that he can use the twitching of your ears or the swish of your tail to tell when something feels exceptionally good for you.

Once he's actually inside of you (and Goddess, his cock is thick and powerful as one would expect from such an overwhelming figure), it's the sounds you make that drive him absolutely mad. Without a word, he'll bring a hand to your cheek and make you look him in the eyes while you mew and whine with your face flushed and your ears lowered, and you feel his entire length throb inside of you with each helpless little "nyaahhh~~"

Because he loves your voice and expressions so much, it's not often he fucks you from behind, but when he does, he'll scratch and stroke the base of your tail, entranced by how its curve emphasizes the swell of your ass as he pushes deep inside of you. The way your spine arches when he plays with your tail is so charming, he can't help thrusting deeper and harder than usual, only barely restraining himself enough to avoid hurting you.

Of course, secretly his favorite part of fucking his precious catgirl is when he's satisfied you utterly and completely, and you curl up against him with your head on his chest as you both come down from the pleasure and exertion. In general, he's a big cuddler post-sex, though you'll never hear him say it outright. He rarely feels anything near the contentment he experiences when you nuzzle against him and purr happily with his cum coating your inner thighs.

[vulcan-bourbon]

// be careful, it seems to me there must be a CW for something, but I don’t really understand what exactly

— Tell me, hero, why are you so interested in me? — Scar hooks Grian’s chin with the tip of the blade, enough to lift someone else’s face, but not so much that it would leave a paresis on someone else’s skin. Hotguy's emerald eyes are reflected in the hero's morion eyes.

Cuteguy. The hero of the whole world, Mojang, who so often patrols his favorite part of Hermit City, so stupidly and absurdly fell into the clutches of his faithful enemy.

— Come on, don’t be silent, my dear hero. In battle, my dear bird, you usually don’t mince words. — The smirk on Scar's face makes the scar on his face look a little more frightening than usual.

The tension in the air feels so thick that it seems that if you light a match, the entire environment will ignite at the same second. Grian's throat is dry, there is not enough air in his lungs to breathe, his heart is pounding in his temples like crazy, preventing him from functioning normally. Why does this seem like a dream? But if this is a dream, then why does my chin ache so much after the dagger...

— You have an obsession with me, don’t you? — Scar chuckles, exhaling noisily and putting the dagger in his belt.

Xelqua can't hold back any longer and nods weakly. So weak that it might not even be noticed. Unless, of course, you're the world's greatest badass shooter. Scar continues to smile, enjoying what's happening and how his personal hero has finally admitted it.

— Good boy, — Scar laughs dryly, tilting his head to the side and pushing back the hair that was falling into his eyes. — And now, my sweet songbird, I have an offer that you will find difficult to refuse. — What about a date?

Grian shudders, as if rarely awakened, looking at his main enemy with surprise, if not shock.

— What? Where?.. — the eyes under the pink smear blink in surprise, as if trying to blink away the remnants of the dream from which he just woke up. Did he hear it? Has this villain gone crazy? Or did he decide to poison him during dinner? Will you need to eat hot dishes and beware of baked goods with almonds?

— Well, just, if anything, this umm, “obsession”, but I would prefer the word “interest”, is two-sided, so... You, me, a night park, the roof of a building, cute snacks, light chit-chat? I just ask you, don’t take anything sharper than your tongue with you on a date, I promise you, I’m not going to fight with you. Only if in verbal battles.

[kosmicsandshoes]

How susceptible are the 3p! Crew to Nogla's powers?

In the 3p! universe, Nogla's family was gifted by some old pagan gods long ago with the power of manipulation. With mere words, he's able to command most people to do anything his heart desires. Since he, obviously, uses his power all the time (mostly to his own benefit, or simply because he's bored), that means those around him fall to the powers too. But some members are more resilient than others, and here's the explanation for them, on a scale of 0 to 3 (0 being not at all affected, 3 being affected massively);

-3p! Vanoss: 1

3p! Vanoss, while starting out in universe as just a regular owl guy, was heavily experimented on by 3p! Basically. So much so that it caused his feathers to go black from stress, and killed any and all people skills he had, making him naturally distrustful of anyone and everyone. He gets frightened very easily, and as a result, lashes out by biting or clawing. It's extremely difficult to get him out of this frenzy, even for 3p! Terroriser (who's essentially trying to train him to be a guard dog), so Nogla's ability comes in handy. Like I said though, Vanoss is extremely distrustful of everyone, so he doesn't always calm down right away, but he can still be convinced to calm down regardless.

-3p! Terroriser: 0

No matter what universe he's in, Brian is 100% robot. Being a slightly more advanced model, especially a narcissistic one that's extremely susceptible to negative human emotions, you'd think he'd bend to Nogla's wills. But he doesn't. He can't. There's numerous amounts of code he was embedded with (even before his chip took a detour) that prevent any sort of verbal and emotional manipulation. That's why Nogla keeps him around, he tries to find ways of cracking the mechanoid's code so he bends over backwards for him just like everyone else does.

-3p! Basically: 3

While criminally insane and chronically evil, at the end of the day, Marcel is still human. Most humans are extremely susceptible to the powers of manipulation. That is how Nogla's family became so powerful in the first place.

3p! Wildcat: 2

Tyler is kinda in the same boat as Marcel, where he is only humane. The only reason he's not at a full 3 is due to his observant nature. He's able to resist the manipulation a little bit due to his ability to pick out when Nogla will attempt to charm anyone, and he can walk away before that even happens.

3p! Moo: 3

Same as Marcel, he is just human. He's a bit more easy to command, due to his habit of playing dumb to save his own skin.

3p! FourZer0: 0

3p! FourZer0 was once human, but not anymore. Not really, anyway. He's a zombie. Marcel reanimated the lifeless corpse of his best friend, only to find that his brain was alive just enough to keep his body alive, which in turn meant he was just alive enough to be able to learn basic tasks, like holding trays or standing on specific platforms. Without the ability to think for himself, this means Scotty cannot be manipulated by Nogla at all. At least until Marcel figures out a way to revive his brain, that is.

-3p! Delirious: 3

3p! Delirious is sort of an enigma. No one knows whether he's human or not, and he stays mute by choice. As such, we can only assume he's just as susceptible to Nogla's manipulation as everyone else is, or he just has no qualms with Nogla's suggestions (see- orders) and follows them to a tee.

-3p! Cartoonz: 1

3p! Cartoonz is an ancient demonic entity that dwells in a swamp and has been summoned and banished numerous times. It's a given that he's not very susceptible to Nogla's manipulation; but it's not impossible for Nogla to command him, it just takes a lot of time and charming.

-3p! Lui: 2

Lui is a chronic hypochondriac, and he automatically assumes the worst outcome of everything. He's similar to Tyler in that vein, where due to his cautious and paranoid nature, he can resist Nogla's manipulation a little bit. But, he's only mortal, and thus he can still fall victim to Nogla's will; when Nogla does catch him of course.

3p! Ms. Vixen

Considering her history with the 3 psychos across the hall, Lanai is naturally more mentally fortified against Nogla's power. She's snapped herself out of a command before, and she will do it again. However, being able to be manipulated at all lands her at a solid 2.

[cool-thymus]

can i get uhhh no3 and a no10 for the nart questions pls? (hi thymus!!)

Hiiii, Ard! thanks for being interested in my opinion xD I'll start with THE question hehe

10. OTP Who could that be...? 🤔😅 I'm going to use this opportunity to finally make a verbal statement about why i love my otp so much. I started watching Naruto as an experiment in 2022 (at the ripe age of 28) and the land of waves arc got to me: Haku's death (and the way Zabuza used him -yes, i have beef with that guy) got my empathy involved, and Kakashi-sensei charmed me by being incredibly cool AND mysterious. The mysterious part about the origin of his sharingan intrigued me the most: what do you mean "a friend gave it to him"??? who is this friend? where is he? are they still friends? All those questions needed answers. So i learned about Obito Uchiha (mostly through fanart). Then i cried my eyes out watching Kakashi Gaiden and stalled the war arc as long as i could because i knew what was going to happen, and by then i’d already fallen in love with them beyond reason.

Before anything else, this ship is so powerful because separately Kakashi and Obito are incredibly well-written characters. Yes, they complete each other and share their arc till the end, but nevertheless, each of them is autonomous, believable, complex, and deep. They are both the main dish. So the dynamic, the bond they establish between them feels true and natural. One has this sunshine personality, is kind, caring, tenderhearted, and fun; the other has too much to deal with for his age: being a genius will mess with your pride and sense of worth, but not with your tiny, pure, brave heart. Kid Obito and kid Kakashi are so precious, you wanna shield them from everything that is wrong with the world. And then tragedy №1 and tragedy №2 happen that push these two boys to realize they were supposed to be each other’s lifeline. Obito got a head start over Kakashi though. When Kakashi finally sees Obito for who he really is, the sacrifice is already made, leaving Kakashi attached to his lifeline that goes nowhere. 

Tragedy №3 crushes their souls one more time and marks the beginning of the horrendous paths they take: Kakashi drowning himself in guilt and the violence of ANBU missions; Obito being groomed, brainwashed and manipulated into a gruesome conspiracy that perverted his ideals. And despite everything that happens next, they still hold on to their lifeline (the shared sharingan serving as the visualization). They are loyal to each other in their own ways. Kakashi lets his memory of Obito guide him and help him live, while Obito never seeks vengeance or takes the eye back. He even goes beyond imaginable and saves Kakashi’s life one last time. 

They were written to be tragic, but they were also meant to be special. If only Kishimoto had more sympathy and allowed Obito another chance. Those two precious boys could start all over. And this time, post war, their respect, longing, sorrow, adoration, grief, regrets, hopes would be shared, and the love that had struggled to grow for so long would finally be in full blossom.

(and they’re both hot af)

3. Favorite villain

(No worries, sweet anon, i don’t consider Obito a villain xD) The key villains like Madara or Danzo remind me of middle-aged men who get hung up on conspiracy theories and start believing that they have the world figured out. So they are more annoying than scary to me. And a villain should be frightening, i think. In the ninja world this would be Orochimaru. He’s an egomaniac, a sensible madman, who is deceitful, merciless, and cruel. We were shown such atrocities, so much abuse, torture, and physical pain inflicted on innocent people. And for what? I’m not sure i fully understand his motives: was it out of fear of death? Or is this just him doing what he loves? He IS the worst, and yet, by the end of shippuden he turns into a comedy bit?! Seriously?! This is all kinds of wrong xD But the facts remain, he is a good villain, creepy and scary.

To lighten up the mood i'll attach this scene from Rock Lee and his Ninja Pals that shows the funniest wtf-ish way to defeat Orochimaru xD (now i wonder what else Kakashi can do with his water jutsu ..)

the nart questions

[teaandtoastandthyme]

“It’s ok. You’re with us. You’re safe now.”

These lines don’t appear in the books, but they are quintessential Lockwood lines nonetheless. Both times he travels to the Other Side, first with Lucy and then with the others joining, he is relentlessly encouraging:“We’re doing so well. We’re almost there. This is the last push.”

This, more than anything else, is what I think makes Lockwood a good leader. He provides motivation and assurance when others are too exhausted or frightened to do it themselves. And he means it, too. These words are not empty flattery or his classic charm but his verbal affirmation that he believes in who his team is and what they can do. This is a key way he shows them love.

[lewmagoo]

before the devil comes for you | robert "bob" floyd

chapter three previous chapter

summary: the year is 1975. robert floyd is a young reverend haunted by demons from his past. fresh out of seminary, he is led to take up a backwoods church in a small mining town. there, he meets a woman who is in the midst of questioning the very foundation of her faith. as their worlds collide, robert soon finds himself tangled in a web of temptation and lies. with the past he’s spent so long trying to outrun quickly closing in, he is faced with a decision, in which he must either condemn the woman he loves, or turn his back on his faith.

listen to the playlist here

pairing: robert "bob" floyd x oc (fairlight mackall)

warnings: 18+ ONLY, heavy religious themes, mentions of death, mention of gunshot injury, misogynistic idealism, verbal abuse (fairlight's father berates her)

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Reverend Robert Floyd wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting when the Lord had led him to the village of Backforty Gap. 

No matter how he pictured it in his mind, nothing could have prepared him for the reality of life in this place. He’d barely been in the village for three days, and he was already laying hands upon an injured man, beseeching the Almighty not to take him from his family. 

Bob quickly learned that life in this place could be frightening and arduous. In fact, it almost seemed that the people just expected life to be that way. They believed that God was testing them, and that everything that happened to them had a heavenly purpose. 

They believed it so deeply that Bob wasn’t sure they’d be willing to listen to anything else. He had to choose his words carefully so as not to upset the apple cart. Especially when Jed Allen’s children were asking him all these questions as he looked after them the night after their father was injured. 

Doc McHone had insisted that he wanted to keep Jed at his place overnight to see that he made it through the night. Their mother, Livy, refused to leave her husband’s side. The prospect of leaving him even for a few hours almost sent her into hysterics. 

It seemed that the only one who could calm her was Bob, just as he’d done in the beginning when Jed had first been brought to the doctor. Bob prayed over her and her husband, and it seemed to settle her considerably. 

She had reason to be so distraught. The thought of losing her husband was more than she could bear. She had only just lost her second eldest child to the war. Samuel Allen was only eighteen years of age when he died. Killed within the first few weeks of combat. His body had been shipped home, leaving the Allens to bury their son and brother themselves. 

There was no fanfare. No gun salute or folding of the flag. He’d simply been lowered into the ground in the middle of the local Pratt Cemetery, a soldier forgotten. The story had been relayed to him by Fairlight, who’d told him in hushed tones, so he knew what he was dealing with. 

His heart went out to Livy Allen and her children. The sight of her bent over her husband, whispering repeated prayers, was gut-wrenching. And the children broke his heart, too. Especially young Will, who’d been the one to witness his father sustain his injury. 

It was clear that this family needed all the support they could get. The responsibility to provide that support weighed heavily on the young preacher’s shoulders. He hoped he could offer them the comfort they needed. 

This resulted in him spending the night in the Allen’s weatherbeaten old house, dutifully watching over each and every one of those children. Zinnia, being the oldest at twenty years old, was responsible for the children in her mother’s absence. And she was perfectly capable of taking care of her younger siblings. But Fairlight had known Zinnia her entire life. And she knew when her friend needed help. She could see that the girl felt incredibly lost and alone. Although their friendship was not what it once was, she still cared about Zinnia, and wanted to offer help during a difficult time. 

That was how Bob and Fairlight had found themselves here, laid out on an uncomfortable, worn wooden floor, surrounded by sleeping children. There were a few bedrooms in the house, but the siblings were so shaken that they didn’t want to be apart. So everyone had fallen asleep on the floor in the sitting room.

Bob hadn’t slept a wink all night. He was too busy contemplating the weight of it all. Was he truly cut out for this? His mind kept replaying the events of the day before. The way he’d barely been able to handle it. Seeing that bullet wound in Jed Allen had awakened memories he thought he’d pushed aside long ago. It reminded him of the wicked things he had done.

He knew that his sins were covered by the Blood, but that didn’t mean that he still didn’t struggle with guilt. It made him wonder if becoming a preacher was the best decision. But then he thought of his mother, and how proud she’d been when he informed her he was going to seminary. 

When he graduated, he would never forget the gleam in her eyes as he presented her with the certificate confirming that he, Robert Nathanael Floyd, was now an ordained minister. She’d taken his face in her hands and whispered, “thank you, Lord, for bringing my Bobby back to You.”

How could he disappoint her by giving up so easily? 

And then he thought of Fairlight. He could still hear her melodic voice carrying out into the warm air, soothing his nerves, and bringing him back down to earth as she sang to the children. 

Here was a woman who’d lived in these mountains her whole life. She had faced great adversity and still remained the epitome of grace and strength, even in the midst of her backwoods community. 

And Bob admired that about her. He found himself inspired by her, and it seemed that her resolve had been just the push he needed to make the decision to stay here for as long as the Almighty would have him do so. 

So, he decided that sleeping on a hardwood floor all night was worth it, if it meant he was fulfilling his purpose here. 

He rose with the sun that morning, careful not to step on any sleeping children as he crept outside onto the porch, pulling the heavy wooden door shut behind him. It was time to talk to the Lord. 

He spent a few minutes praying and taking in the mountain air. The morning was warm, but it was comfortable. Birds sang above, songbirds rehearsing their chorus. The way the house was situated, one could see the sunrise from the porch. And that’s what Bob did. He watched the rays of light filter in through the trees, smiling to himself at the thought. This place was one of great beauty and splendor. He marveled at it all. 

But his tranquility was soon interrupted by the sound of the door sliding open. He turned, only to find Fairlight stepping onto the porch, her feet bare, as they often were. She smiled at him, a sleepy smile that was surely the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. 

He stopped himself before his mind could wander too far. 

“Morning’, Preacher,” she greeted him as she eased the door shut. “How’d you sleep?”

He shrugged, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Hardly a wink. But it’s alright, I can always catch up on sleep tonight. What about you?”

“Not any better than you. But it seems like all the little ones all got some sleep, which I was hoping for. Poor things went through a lot yesterday.”

Bob hummed as she moved to stand beside him, leaning against the porch railing. She’d let her golden locks out of the plait they’d previously been weaved into, and her hair framed her face. He thought it looked like a halo, of sorts. 

There it was again, that stubborn mind of his beginning to wander. He forced his thoughts of her beauty aside and continued speaking. 

“I was thinking I would pray with them before we leave today,” he remarked. 

Fairlight nodded. “They’d like that. Especially Zinnia.”

“Are you two close?” He asked, out of curiosity. 

The girl shrugged, her fingers running idly across a rough patch of wood. “We were, once. We grew up together. She’s a little younger than me, but she’s the only girl close to my age around here, so we were drawn to each other, I guess you could say. But lately, we’ve been growing apart. Mainly because she’s getting married soon and I don’t want any part of it.”

At her explanation, Bob’s brow furrowed. He knew he was essentially engaging in gossip by asking further questions, but he figured the Lord would forgive him, so he asked anyway. “Why is that?”

“The man she’s marryin’…I don’t like him. I think he’s no good for her. But she insists it’s the Lord’s plan for them to be together. But he acts like my—” she stopped herself, second-guessing the words she was about to say. My father. Instead, she said, “he believes all women are good for is getting married and popping out babies.”

Realization lifted his brow. “Oh, I see,” came his reply. 

“What do you think about that, Preacher? Do you agree with him?” She asked. He looked at her, and found that she was not trying to trap him with her words. She was merely curious, and he could see how conflicted she was. 

What did he think about it? He decided to be honest with her, simply to ease her mind. “I disagree. Women are meant for so much more than that.”

“You think so? Because my entire life, I’ve been told my worth is in my ability to bear children.” Fairlight lifted a delicate hand to her abdomen, just over the place where her womb would be. “I-I don’t want to have babies. I don’t want to bring them into this kind of life. Is that…is that wrong of me?”

Bob felt an ache blossom in his chest at her words. She looked so lost, standing there in her bare feet, her gray eyes filled with something akin to fear, or uncertainty. 

“No, it’s not wrong. From what I’ve seen already, life out here is hard. I don’t fault you for deciding you don’t want to bring a child into it.”

“Daddy says it isn't right for a woman to not want a child. Says there’s something wrong with a woman to think that way.” But Fairlight didn’t trust her father’s judgment about such things. He couldn’t even keep the wife he had. She had fled from his harshness, unwilling to bring any more children into their union. 

Fairlight would never forget the day she left, small as she was. Opal had wanted so badly to take her daughter with her, but Montgomery would not let her. He refused to allow her to even say goodbye. 

It was a scene that had been forever burned in Fairlight’s mind. And while Mont had done all he could to poison her memory of her mother, and insist that Opal was selfish and unloving for what she did, it hadn’t worked the way he’d intended it. 

Now, at nearly twenty-two, Fairlight was beginning to understand her mother’s reasoning for leaving. She had to, for her own well-being. It was either escape, or suffer at the hands of her controlling husband. 

Mont, however, insisted on telling people that she had died. Mostly because his pride was so severely wounded that she had outright left him. He couldn’t face it, not even now, almost sixteen years later. 

That was the story that Bob had gotten. But it wasn’t true. And Fairlight was itching to tell him that. However, she was afraid of how her father would react if he found out she blurted such a thing to the preacher. So, it was one thing she kept to herself. 

But now, as they stood there on the porch, and he gazed upon her with those deep blue eyes, she felt like she could tell him anything. It was an odd feeling, one that she hadn’t experienced with anyone before. No one ever bothered to truly listen to her. But here was Robert Floyd, a man she’d only known but a few days, who made her feel seen for the first time in her life. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said with conviction. His gentle voice pulled her from her reverie. “I don’t believe God intended you to only be good for reproducing. He gave you a beautiful, strong mind. You’re so much more than your ability to bear children. Don’t you ever forget that.”

His words struck her, and she felt tears well in her eyes. She’d never heard the men in her life, let alone a preacher, say such things. The old preacher, Reverend Daniels, had held the same archaic views as all the other men in this community. He strongly believed things should be done the old-fashioned way. 

Robert Floyd didn’t think that way, however. And part of her was concerned for how he would fare in this church. But in her emotional state, she could not utter anything more than a “th-thank you.”

Bob smiled softly. “I meant every word.” But he couldn’t fathom the fact that this woman, this kind, gentle, strong woman, had been reduced to something so one-dimensional. It made his chest warm with indignation toward the ones who’d made her feel this way. 

But he was getting ahead of himself. He needed to keep his emotions in check. Maybe, if the Lord allowed, he would be able to gently nudge the congregation into changing its views on such matters. But even he knew that was foolishness. A people set in their way will not easily sway. 

Even so, he hoped he could at least be an encouragement to the girl before him. She deserved that much. 

Unbeknownst to either of them, something changed between the pair that morning, as they stood on that porch. A bond had started to blossom, just barely beginning to take root in the rich soil. And it would soon flourish into so much more than they ever could imagine. 

Until then, they remained in a delicate push and pull, only just getting to know the other. Bob welcomed her friendship, in a land where he didn’t know anyone, and was trying to find his footing. Maybe he was letting himself become too familiar with her, after only knowing her for a short time, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

He longed to say something more, but the sound of the door opening drew both of their attention elsewhere. There stood the eldest Allen, Zinnia. She greeted the reverend, and while she spoke with him, Fairlight slipped away, intent on making breakfast for the children before she and Bob departed for the day. 

As the children awoke, the morning became quite hectic, but soon, they were all occupied with their food. Bob sat at the table with them and spoke to each of them, learning their names. 

There was the youngest, Imogen, who was only four. Then there was Isaac, who was six. Then eight-year-old Will, fourteen-year-old Silas, and of course, twenty-year-old Zinnia. Bob took the time to learn something about each of them so he could file it away in his mind to use later as a talking point when he saw them at church on Sundays. 

When breakfast was over, he said a prayer over the family, asking God to heal their father, and provide his family with comfort. 

Then, the flaxen-haired girl and the preacher were off, wandering out into the warm May morning. 

Fairlight knew the roads and trails like the back of her hand, so she had no difficulty leading Bob down the old gravel road, which was so worn down that it could hardly be called gravel anymore. 

As they walked, Fairlight was deep in thought, her feet, now covered with a pair of shoes, kicked at random stones along the way. Although the silence was comfortable, Bob could tell she was deep in thought. 

“Can I ask you a question?” She finally spoke. A stray rock flew with the momentum from her kick, landing in the nearby woods with a thud. 

“Of course,” Bob replied, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. He felt the coolness of his pocket watch, the one from his grandfather, against his fingers. 

“I’ve been thinking a lot of Jed Allen, and what happened. And I…I’m wonderin’, why would your God let something like that happen? He’s a husband and a father to six growing kids, who can’t get by without their daddy. Why would He try to take him from them?” As she spoke her words, she feared that maybe she was toeing a line that she wouldn’t be able to come back from. 

Bob was taken aback by a specific part of her statement. “My God? Is He not your God, too?” The moment he asked the question, he regretted it, because she shut down. 

Her cheeks burned as she shook her head. “I-I spoke wrong, I’m sorry.” She ducked her head and wouldn’t look at him. 

So he stopped, shoes crunching against the ground as he did. “Fairlight, wait. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted like that. You just caught me off guard.” 

Just ahead of him, she stopped as well. When she said nothing, he continued. “To answer your question, I don’t fully know why He allows these things. Personally, I think He allows them to test a person’s faith. To see how you fare in the day of adversity.”

His answer did nothing to give her peace. In fact, it only deepened the feeling of hopelessness that she’d had for a long time. “I still don’t understand why a God who is supposed to be merciful would allow things like this.”

“Some things aren’t meant for us to understand.” He tried not to let on that he was floundering. 

“To answer your question about him being my God, I don’t know. I struggle to have a relationship with Him after everything I’ve seen in these mountains. Life here is brutal sometimes.”

Her reasoning made sense to him. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I understand why you might. But for me, God is all I have. I’ve gotta trust in Him or I don’t have anything else to fall back on.”

But to Fairlight, that seemed more like blind trust. She wondered if the preacher had ever experienced any difficulties in life. If he had, maybe his outlook wouldn’t be so positive. “Do you even know what it’s like to suffer?” She didn’t mean for the accusatory words to come out, but they did anyway, and as soon as they did, she recoiled at her own boldness. 

Bob’s shoulders went tense. His face hardened. Gone was the tenderness in those cerulean irises. “Once upon a time I was at death’s door, well on my way to eternal damnation. But then I found Jesus, and He changed my life. Saved me from myself. So don’t you dare assume I haven’t experienced any hardships. Because you have no idea what I’ve gone through.” 

But did he really believe the words he spoke? Had he found Jesus, or had he simply found religion, and a way to ease his mother’s worries? Either way, he knew he was no longer the person he was before, and that was all that mattered. 

“I’m sorry,” Fairlight whispered. 

Bob softened. “It’s okay. I guess I got a little too hot under the collar. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just…I’ve been through a lot these last few years and now I feel like I’ve finally found some semblance of peace.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you found peace. I’m still lookin’ for it myself.” She envied him, and wished she could find it in herself to put blind faith in the Almighty. It would make life much simpler. But she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to do that. 

“And I pray you find it,” the preacher said. 

The conversation drifted off into silence, and the pair resumed their walk, deciding it best to move on from the subject. There would be time to revisit it later, if need be. Until then, Fairlight much preferred not to think about her feelings about the Almighty, and about religion. Facing her feelings was a difficult pill to swallow. And she could only imagine the way her father would react if he found out she was questioning everything he’d taught her.

No, she couldn’t speak of those things to anyone else. Bob had to remain the only one privy to them.

That conversation they had on the road was tucked away in their minds, forgotten as the week began to pick up speed. It wasn’t long before Sunday was quickly approaching, and along with it, a crushing anxiety that had begun to pressurize within Bob’s chest. 

He had been poring over his prepared sermon for three days. He spent most of those days at the river near the Mackall property, seated on a larger rock on the riverbank, his Bible open in his lap as he whispered prayers, asking the Lord to give him wisdom. 

He enjoyed solitude during those days. On the third day, however, a welcome distraction came in the form of Fairlight approaching with a basketful of lunch she had prepared for him. It was Saturday, the day before he was to give his very first sermon in Backforty Gap. His nervousness was palpable. But Fairlight didn’t judge him for it.

“Made y’ some tomato sandwiches with the tomatoes from my garden,” she said with a smile as she handed him one of the sandwiches, wrapped in a piece of cheesecloth.

Bob smiled gratefully. “Thank you, I really appreciate it. Was just thinking about how my stomach wouldn’t stop growling and interrupting my prayers,” he said with an airy laugh.

“You’re welcome, Preacher,” she replied. 

As he began on his lunch, he watched as Fairlight stepped forward, her perpetually bare feet dipping into the edge of the water. She was quiet for a moment as she gazed upon the water. But soon, she broke the silence. “You’ll do just fine tomorrow, I know it.”

He looked at her for a moment. He felt comfortable enough to be honest with her. The last few days, ever since the moment they shared on the walk home, a comradeship had begun to develop, and they found themselves talking to one another more and more. 

“I sure hope so. I can do all things through Christ.”

“Who strengtheneth me,” she finished. Even if she was unsure of her beliefs, she still knew the Scriptures from cover to cover. She turned, looking over her shoulder at Bob. The wind blew strands of hair from her braid, sending the tendrils around her kind face. “I reckon I should warn you about some congregation members while I’m at it.”

Bob raised a brow. “Oh?”

The women nodded. “Mm. Mainly, you should watch out for Verity McNeal. She’s the church busybody. And she will suck up to you like a leech. She’ll want to be in charge of all ministry social events. And she doesn’t like to take no for an answer.”

The reverend nodded, swallowing his bite of sandwich before replying. “Noted,” he said. “Anyone else?”

“Yeah, there’s a man named Hawk Neiman. He’s not a church-going man, but I know he’ll probably be curious about the new preacher. He’s mean as a snake, especially when he’s drunk. He doesn’t take too kindly to newcomers here. So, just be warned.”

Bob appreciated her warnings. It gave him an idea of what to expect. But it did nothing to quell his anxiety. He wondered just how he was going to handle these people. However, it didn’t matter. It was all in the Lord’s hands.

Come Sunday, he’d learn exactly why she’d chosen to warn him.

And Sunday most certainly did come. He was awake bright and early, much too anxious for what was to come. He said his prayers, dressed in his Sunday best, which was a plain brown suit he’d found at a thrift store because he hadn’t had enough money for a new one. 

He gazed at himself in the tiny mirror hanging from the wall. Did he look presentable? Did he look like a man of God? When he gazed upon his face, all he saw was a boy. Lost, afraid, lying to himself by trying to insist that everything was going to work out just fine.

But he wasn’t alone, for in the house nearby, Fairlight was in her bedroom, dressing for church. Or, rather, kneeling in the middle of the floor, frustrated because she couldn’t find a thing to wear. She didn’t have much at all. A few plain dresses for everyday, two Sunday dresses, one pair of good shoes, and one pair of everyday shoes. 

But she did know where a few other, nicer, dresses were stored. In her father’s room was a wardrobe, entirely untouched, filled with women’s clothing. Her mother’s clothing. Montgomery had forbidden Fairlight from wearing any of the dresses, but today, she was going to break that rule. 

Her father wouldn’t like it, but she was hardly thinking of the consequences. She supposed all she really was thinking about was her own vanity. Why did she even want to dress up in such a way for Sunday service? She’d never felt the desire to before.

But deep down, she knew why. There was a certain young preacher who would stand before the congregation that day. Foolishly, she wanted to impress him. She knew it was the wrong mindset to have, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care as she crept across the hall and into Mont’s room.

She opened the old wooden wardrobe, revealing the array of dresses. Running her fingers delicately over each one, she finally decided on a pale pink dress, one that would compliment her hair and complexion. Then, she scurried back to her room, and began the process of readying herself for church.

Soon, she stood before the small mirror that sat upon her dresser, admiring her outfit. It fit like a glove, and left just enough to the imagination to still be considered modest for church. She couldn’t help but beam. With her hair falling loosely down her back, she felt beautiful. 

Her smile didn’t leave her face as she descended the stairs, floating as if she were on a cloud. At that same moment, the reverend was just stepping into the house, ready and waiting for the Mackall duo so they could all head to church together. 

He lifted his head as he walked through the door, eyes widening as he saw Fairlight coming toward him. Suddenly, couldn’t find the words under his tongue. She looked like a vision in a sweet pink dress, her hair framing her face. 

She smiled warmly at him as she stepped from the last stair. Bob hesitated, considering whether or not he should compliment her beauty. He knew it was highly inappropriate for him to do, but he found himself saying the words before he could stop himself. “You look lovely.”

The apples of her cheeks went pink. “O-oh, um, thank you,” she said in reply.

But the delicate moment was soon interrupted as Mont walked into the house, screen door slamming shut behind him, his boots scraping loudly against the wooden floor as he made a beeline for the wash basin in the kitchen.

He hadn’t yet noticed Fairlight’s attire as he pumped the water with the manual pump, scrubbing down his dirt-marred hands. “Be ready to go in a minute,” he announced over his shoulder.

“We’ll just go ahead and get in the truck,” Fairlight quickly said, hoping to get out the door before he turned and looked at her. 

But it was too late. He turned around, wiping his hands down with a cloth. And then he stopped. Intense blue eyes looked her up and down, and his gaze hardened. “What are you wearing, girl?” He demanded. 

She blanched, and Bob noticed it. “J-just one of Mama’s old dresses,” she replied. She no longer felt the boldness she had before.

“You know you ain’t supposed to be wearing that. What’s the matter with you?”

“Daddy, please,” she said, her voice wavering. 

Bob was floundering beside her, unsure of what to do. She looked to be on the verge of tears, and the sight sent an ache through his chest.

“Go back upstairs and change. Now.”

“I don’t see the problem with her w-”

“This ain’t your concern, Preacher. I’ll handle my own daughter. Why don’t you wait outside?”

But Fairlight shot Bob a look. Please don’t leave me. So he didn’t.

“There’s no reason I can’t wear her clothes. She’s been gone fifteen years!” Fairlight tried to reason.

“I said go CHANGE! Or I’ll rip that dress off of you myself!” He bellowed.

Bob watched in horror as her stormy eyes welled with tears, and seconds later, she spun on her heel, rushing back up the stairs, sobbing as she went. Shocked, he looked at Montgomery. The man was heaving with an unfounded rage. 

With a groan, he pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself. “I told you to wait outside. But I sure am sorry about that, Preacher. I’ve got no patience for acts of rebellion.”

Bob bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself to remain calm. “A soft answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words stir up anger,” he quoted from the fifteenth chapter of Proverbs, staring pointedly at the man before him. “I know it’s not my place, but your daughter isn’t a little girl anymore. She should be allowed to make decisions for herself.”

Mont squared his shoulders. “I’d appreciate it if you stayed outta my family’s business and stuck to preachin’.” Then, he walked away, leaving Bob reeling.

He couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed. He longed to check on Fairlight, but he didn’t dare cause any more problems, so he slipped out the front door instead, opting to wait outside. This situation was more dire than he’d even realized. What respect he had for Mont, was now gone.

But there was no time to dwell on it. A few moments later, Fairlight came through the door, now dressed in a plain gray dress, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Bob tried to reach out to her, but she shook her head and simply climbed into the truck bed, taking a seat with her back toward him.

The preacher sighed softly and decided to climb into the passenger side. Soon, Mont was climbing into the driver’s seat, and then, they were off to church. Both men were silent as they went along, neither desiring to speak to the other. What a way to start his first Sunday as pastor.

When they pulled into the tiny gravel parking lot, which could hardly be considered as such, Bob was quick to jump out of the truck first, eager to put space between him and Mont. He whispered a prayer to the Lord, asking Him to calm his spirit and help him focus on his ministerial duties.

He pushed the argument to the back of his mind and put on the mask of the God-fearing preacher, preparing himself to greet congregation members. It wasn’t long before the first family arrived. He dutifully greeted them, introducing himself and informing them that he was eager to take on the helm of their new pastor. 

The Allen family showed up, sans Jed, who was still recovering from his injury earlier in the week. The children were happy to see Bob again, and he greeted them with a smile and told them to find a seat wherever they liked. 

Then, there was Verity McNeal, the woman Fairlight had warned him about. And oh, had she been right about her. She was incredibly forward, shaking Bob’s hand with vigor. “Reverend Floyd! So nice to finally meet you! You are a Godsend to our people! We’ve been lost little sheep with no shepherd this whole time. The Lord has sent us our shepherd at last!” 

“Oh, I’m just following wherever He leads me, ma’am,” Bob replied with a smile. Her hands were still clasping his. Her sharp green eyes unnerved him. 

“Well if you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask! I just live half a mile up the road, go south and my trailer is on the left. You can’t miss it! I’d love to meet with you and discuss your plans for the ministry!”

And then she was flouncing away, leaving Bob a little flabbergasted. However, the time to start the service was quickly approaching. So, he decided to make his way up to the pulpit to prepare. 

He could feel everyone’s eyes on him as he walked. He knew they were silently judging him, wondering if he would be everything they hoped he would be. He didn’t expect them to accept him right away, but he was willing to wait patiently for them to do so. 

Finally, he turned on his heel to face them all, and he offered a warm smile. He couldn’t help but let his gaze shift to Fairlight momentarily, who sat on the front row beside Montgomery. She did not return his smile. 

“Good morning. I’m your new preacher, Robert Floyd. It’s a pleasure to stand before you this morning. I’m really looking forward to getting to know you all, and leading this flock God has given me.” 

There were some echoes of good morning, nodding of heads, hummed responses. He took that as his cue to continue. “I’m from Indiana, born and raised. My mama raised me to fear the Lord and took me to church every Sunday.”

He continued on, recounting some more details, such as what seminary he graduated from. He got the sense the people didn’t care about that. They were just glad to have a preacher to replace the old one. 

“Well, enough about me. Let’s get on to the Good Book, shall we?” 

And so, his first sermon in a new land had begun. 

But he barely got ten minutes into it before all of the sudden, the church doors swung open, echoing through the quiet room. Bob trailed off, a little surprised. His eyes flickered to the back, where a lone man stood. 

He wasn’t very tall, but he had an intimidating air about him. His eyes were hard-set and calculating. A full beard covered the lower portion of his face. He was every bit a mountain man as they came. 

Bob knew who he was instantly. “Good morning, Hawk. I was told you might join our service today.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Just came to see what all the fuss is about. Y’ don’t look like much.” 

Bob ignored his insult. “You’re free to stay and listen to the sermon, if you like,” he said.

Hawk mumbled something unintelligible and then took a seat on one of the old wooden benches. Then, the preacher cleared his throat, and continued like nothing had even happened. The people marveled silently to themselves. If he was unphased by Hawk Neiman, maybe there was hope for him yet. 

After the initial interruption, the rest of the service went on without a hitch. Bob preached about loving thy neighbor, which he thought was a safe subject for his first sermon. He could focus on more hard-hitting topics later on, after he was established. 

Before long, the church hour came to a close, and he dismissed the congregation with a prayer. Afterward, he found himself standing at the door, bidding goodbye to each member as they left. 

“Beautiful sermon, Reverend!” Verity gushed, nearly scaring the daylights out of him when she popped up out of nowhere. “The Almighty really spoke through you!”

“Oh! Uh, tha-thank you. Praise the Lord,” he graciously responded. 

She babbled on about some church event coming up, but Bob found himself tuning her out when he caught sight of Fairlight, walking out through the church doors. 

“Yes, that all sounds wonderful. I’ll be in touch with you!” He said to Verity before he slipped away from her, intending to talk to pale-eyed girl. 

But then he saw her father was right behind her, and he thought against it. That didn’t stop Mont from catching him, however. 

“Great sermon, Preacher,” the man said, as he shook Bob’s hand firmly. Then, he hesitated a beat before he said, “about earlier. Would you be willin’ to agree to let bygones be bygones?”

Bob didn’t think he could let bygones be, but for the sake of civility, he nodded. The Lord did command His children to forgive, after all. 

“Now that your first service is out of the way, is there anything you need? Any supplies or help or anything like that?” Mont offered, as if everything was peachy keen. 

The reverend almost declined, but then, he thought of something. “Actually…I was thinking, with all I have to do, it may be a little difficult for me to keep up with making sure the church is clean and ready for Sundays. Do you happen to know of anyone who’d be willing to help?”  

Mont nodded, and without hesitation, he said, “Fairlight’ll do it.” He didn’t give her a moment to think about it, or answer on her own. 

Oh, um, are you sure?” Bob questioned, directing it at Fairlight. 

She opened her mouth to speak, but her father cut her off. “She’ll be fine, she’s used to cleaning. It’s what she’s good at. She can start tomorrow, if that’s alright with you.”

“Y-yes, that’s fine,” the reverend answered, taken aback. 

“Then it’s settled. Now let’s get home.” Abruptly, Mont turned to head to the truck. 

Bob fell into step beside Fairlight, waiting until her father was out of earshot to speak. “He shouldn’t have spoken for you like that. You don’t have to help me if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s better that I don’t shake the hornet’s nest any more than I already have. I’ll be here tomorrow to do the job.” 

“Fairlight, you deserve to be able to make your own decisions. He shouldn’t just decide things for you.”

“Preacher, just leave it.”

“But-”

“Bob, please. There are things you just…don’t understand. It’s best I do what he says.” And with that, she ducked away, making her way to the bed of the truck, leaving Bob staring after her. 

He only came back to himself when Mont asked if he was riding home with them. “Actually…I think I’ll walk. Need some time alone.”

“Suit yourself.” 

He watched the truck head off in the distance, and he breathed a deep sigh, his chest aching from all that had taken place that day. 

His heart bled for Fairlight. He hadn’t realized just how controlling her father was until now. He imagined how trapped she must feel, and he understood why she was questioning everything she’d been taught. If he had a father like that, he would question everything the man taught him, too. 

She had no say in many aspects of her life. As long as she was under Montgomery’s thumb, she could never be her own woman. Bob thought that it was a terrible tragedy.

And as he turned to close up the church for the day, he was struck with stark realization. Here he was, thinking he’d been led here to minister to the poor people of Backforty Gap. 

But now he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it wasn’t for them. It was for her. He had been called to this little mountain holler to watch over the flaxen-haired girl with the stormy eyes. 

And watch over her, he would. 

-

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[blackleatherjacketz]

The first night I saw you

Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Warnings: PTSD, Mentions of Infidelity, Pregnancy, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, My Own Personal Trauma 🫥, Trust Issues

Tags: @bullet-prooflove @skittle479

“It’s positive.” You fake a smile as your lip trembles, pointing at the pregnancy test with tear-stricken eyes as he enters your room, shutting the door behind him.

“You’re not happy?” He takes a seat next to you on the bed as soon as he notices your less than enthusiastic reaction, covering your hand with his in a gentle attempt to break your concentration.

You assume his words indicate that he is… happy about it. A stream of sorrow races down each cheek, blurring your vision before spilling into your lips as you finally relent and turn your head to face your patient lover.

“Hey,” he whispers, taking your face in his hands to gently wipe the tears from your eyes as his features contort in confusion. “What’s wrong? I know we didn’t plan this, but…”

“No, it’s not that.” There’s no way you could possibly verbalize how frightened you are right now without sounding completely insane. How could someone like him possibly understand that the last time a test like this came back positive, all the dominoes in your life seemed to fall until there were none left standing, leaving you there all alone to pick them up? How could you tell him that you willingly faced monsters and mercenaries without any fear because the only thing that truly scared you, the only thing that shook you to your core was this? The possibility of losing him because things had to change.

“I’m just… scared,” you start, not knowing any other way to put it.

You know that Steve is nothing like your ex, nothing like anyone you’ve ever met before in your life, but he’s still a man. Who’s to say that he won’t start seeking affection somewhere else once you begin to grow? Who’s to say that he won’t avoid your glances or shirk your touch after the weight of future responsibilities becomes too heavy for him to bear? Who’s to say what the two of you have together is strong enough to withstand something as disruptive and chaotic as a child?

“You’re gonna be fine, the baby’s gonna be fine.” His voice soothes you for the moment, his palms feathering over your face and hair as he tries to understand the reason for your tears.

“Yeah, but will we?” You sniff and wipe your nose with the back of your wrist, looking into his eyes as if a definitive answer to your question lays deep within their sapphire hues.

“What do you mean? Of course we will.” He presses his lips together and tilts his head to the side, eventually figuring out the root of your fear as a tender look of understanding somehow warms his features. “Do you remember the first night I saw you?”

You nod, unable to do anything else as your entire body shakes in his arms.

“I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and when I started talking to you, I knew that I was right.” He smiles and pulls you into his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin as the last of your remaining tears drip off your face and onto his lap. “Seeing you as the mother of our child will only make you more beautiful.”

You can’t quite process his reaction as his words settle into the air, shocking you into stunned silence as they begin to melt over you, warming your entire body with that secure feeling Steve always brought with him. He takes his time to cradle you, surrounding you with his massive arms, rocking you back and forth before kissing the top of your head. “Whatever you’re afraid of, we’ll face it together, okay?” He places his hand over your belly, holding it there until the streaks of saline dry onto your face in patterns of little white crystals.

“Promise?” You look up at him, your bones no longer vibrating at full intensity as he eases his grip on you.

“Promise.” He kisses you again, this time so passionately that you almost believe him.