#and she was so gentle and just as curious as me

[bueckersworld]

can you write reader x paige where it’s the first time reader has used strap? p and r have been dating a while but have never used it. one day paige brings it out and reader tells her she’s never done it before and p takes really good care of her /being really gentle and sweet ?? thank you!

new with you

SYNOPSIS: in an intimate and tender moment, paige surprises you with a strap she’s been thinking about using, offering it as something new to explore together—not out of need, but trust. nervous but curious, you agree. the experience is slow, gentle, and full of care, with paige guiding you patiently and lovingly. afterward, wrapped in each other’s arms, you reflect on how safe and seen you feel. it’s not just about sex—it’s about growing together, sharing vulnerability, and choosing each other fully.

WARNINGS: smut — mdni, fluff, use of strap-on (r!receiving), intimacy, pet names (mama, baby), soft!paige, lowercase intended.

WORD COUNT: 1.5k info. masterlist. taglist.

the box is small. unassuming. resting casually in paige’s lap like it belongs there.

you hadn’t noticed her pull it out from under the bed. you were too busy folding her sweatshirt neatly over the back of a chair, too distracted by the faint sound of bon iver playing through her speaker, the kind of music that makes everything feel slower, closer, quieter.

now, the air is heavy.

she doesn’t say anything at first—just looks at you from where she sits on the bed, legs folded under her, hands brushing the cardboard like she’s nervous.

you raise a brow, unsure. “what’s that?”

her lips twitch into a smile, sheepish and a little crooked. “something i’ve been thinking about for a while.”

she opens the box slowly, carefully, like she’s giving you time to say no. inside, you see it—sleek, black, and neatly folded. not intimidating, not even loud, but it still makes your heart skip because of what it means.

a strap.

you blink at her. she watches your reaction like she’s reading every twitch in your face. “you okay?”

“i’ve never…” you pause. “i’ve never done that before.”

there’s a beat of silence. paige tilts her head, her hand brushing over the edge of the box.

“yeah?” she says gently. “that’s okay.”

you chew your bottom lip, fingers fiddling with the hem of your oversized shirt—hers, really. “i mean, we’ve never needed it. you always make me feel good, it’s not like—”

“i know,” she cuts in softly. “this isn’t because something’s missing. i just thought… it could be something new. something we try together. if you want.”

you look at her then, really look—her calm eyes, her steady hands, the soft patience in her voice. she’s not pushing. she’s not asking because she needs it. she’s asking because she wants to share something with you.

and god, the trust in that.

your voice is quieter when you speak again. “what if i don’t know what i’m doing?”

paige’s smile is so tender you could cry. she reaches for you, tugging you gently down onto the bed beside her. “then i’ll take care of you.”

“you always say that.”

“because i mean it every time.”

you laugh softly, nerves knotting in your stomach, but not in a bad way. you let yourself melt into her side, feeling the warmth of her palm against your thigh.

“i want to try,” you murmur.

paige presses a kiss to your temple. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

and when she looks at you again, it’s like she’s seeing something sacred. not just want—but care, and love, and something deeper than both.

she kisses you once, then twice, her hands steady as they cup your jaw. “we’ll go slow,” she promises. “you’ll tell me everything you feel, okay?”

you nod, the nerves still fluttering, but your heart steady under her voice.

“okay.”

⸻

it started slow. gentle. measured in the way paige always is when it matters most.

she kissed you with intention—tender, warm, like she meant it. and she did. she always does.

she eased you onto your back, settling above you as her lips deepened the kiss. nothing rushed. nothing rough. just the soft, steady rhythm of care in every touch.

her fingers slipped beneath the hem of your t-shirt, the contrast of her cool skin meeting your warmth making you shiver just slightly. she kissed your cheek, then the curve of your jaw, her hands gliding over your stomach as she gently lifted your shirt up and over your head, tossing it behind her.

“you’re so pretty,” she murmured, almost like a secret, her smile blooming sweetly as her eyes roamed over you.

and you smiled back, your heart swelling with all the quiet love you felt for the girl above you.

she kissed your neck, soft and slow, before her hands moved lower, tugging down the waistband of your shorts and underwear in one motion. she paused.

“are you sure?” she whispered, her gaze locked on yours.

you nodded, fingers brushing her cheek. “yeah. i’m ready.”

paige nodded once, almost like a promise, before turning to the sleek black box resting on the nightstand. she slipped the harness around her hips, adjusting the straps until it fit just right. there was nothing hurried about her movements—just quiet focus, steady hands.

she knelt between your thighs and gently guided your legs upward, her palms caressing your skin as she massaged along your calves and thighs. her lips pressed a soft kiss to your knee, her right hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together.

then slowly—so slowly—she eased the strap inside you. you gasped at the stretch, your body tensing on instinct. paige stilled.

“shh, it’s okay, baby,” she cooed, brushing her thumb over your knuckles. “i’ll wait. just breathe for me.”

you did. and when you nodded, giving her the okay, she began to move—pulling back gently, then sliding in again with the same soft, deliberate care.

your quiet moan met her ears, and she smiled, her voice a warm whisper. “there you go, mama.”

her pace stayed steady—deep, but tender. every movement was filled with purpose. she watched your face, studying every shift in your expression: the way your brows knit, the way your mouth parted, how your eyes shimmered as you looked up at her, trusting her completely.

you were beautiful. so painfully beautiful.

she held your hand the whole time, her thumb sweeping gently over your skin, grounding you. her thrusts weren’t fast, but they carried depth—reverent and steady, like she was learning you, honoring every inch of what you were willing to give.

“paige…” you whimpered, squeezing her hand.

“yeah, baby?” she murmured, leaning down to kiss your cheek, her breath brushing your skin.

“fuck—it feels so good…”

her smile was soft, sweet. “good. didn’t wanna hurt you, mama.”

she moved just a little deeper, a little more sure, the bed creaking faintly beneath you both. the moment wrapped around you, heavy with intimacy.

“paige—i think i’m gonna come,” you breathed, your voice shaking with every exhale.

her pace picked up just slightly, her hand slipping between your legs to draw slow, delicate circles over your clit. her lips kissed whatever part of you they could reach—your cheek, your nose, the corner of your mouth.

“come for me, baby…” she whispered.

and you did. your back arched, your jaw went slack, and her name spilled from your lips in a breathless, trembling moan. the warmth washed over you slowly, like honey spreading under your skin.

she held you through it, whispering praises in your ear.

“yeah… that’s it,” she soothed, her hand rubbing over your thigh. “did so good for me, baby…”

she slowed down gradually, finally stilling. her eyes searched your face, and her smile softened at the faint grin playing on your lips.

“was that okay?” she asked quietly. “i wasn’t too much, right?”

“no,” you said instantly, squeezing her hand. “that was… really good, paige.”

she leaned down, kissing you again. not to start something new—but just to stay close. just because she could.

⸻

you don’t know how long you’ve been there—skin to skin, limbs tangled, the sheets barely covering either of you. the world feels distant. muted. like it’s just the two of you suspended in something soft and warm and completely quiet.

your body still aches, but it’s the good kind. not soreness, exactly—just the echo of something slow and deep that still hasn’t left you.

you shift a little, cheek pressed to her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart. one of her hands rests low on your back, her thumb moving in small, absent-minded circles.

“you okay?” she asks, her voice rough with sleep.

you nod, lips brushing her collarbone. “yeah.”

she hums, and for a while, that’s all there is. the sound of her breathing. the faint rustle of sheets when you breathe too deep. nothing needs to be said, but you speak anyway.

“i didn’t think i’d be ready,” you whisper. “not for that.”

“i know,” she murmurs. “you didn’t have to be.”

you close your eyes, let yourself be held. “i think i wanted to be. for you.”

paige’s arm tightens around you a little. not possessive. just close. grounding. “you don’t owe me anything, you know.”

“i know.” a pause. “but i still wanted to.”

she exhales slowly, nose brushing your hairline. “thank you for trusting me.”

you smile, a little crooked. “thank you for being so patient.”

her hand slips down to your hip, fingers splayed wide like she’s holding something fragile. like she knows how much you gave her, and she’s not about to drop it.

“you made me feel safe,” you say, quieter this time. like it’s the real thing you’ve been meaning to say.

she doesn’t respond right away. just kisses the top of your head and lets the silence hold it.

it’s not some dramatic moment. no sweeping declarations or promises whispered in the dark. it’s just two people, lying close, learning each other in the quiet aftermath of something new.

and maybe that’s enough. maybe that’s everything.

© bueckersworld

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ man i need me someone like this. 💔💔

𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝘩𝑢𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠, 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑟

taglist: @elswhore @private-but-not-a-secret @paigebaby5 @raimund00 @bravemode @d1paigebueckersglazer @evanpeterstoe @zi0nnnn @jadasogay @fuddaround @jaylie-bee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @mrsarnold @lol-12n @sayurireidotcom @iwasbored-okay @kl0verk @bqringtears @agnesblight @scarlett177 @syraxsbigfanfr @youmeandjennessey @asapeveryday @avvwritesstufff @rand0mmmgg

[chrissssssmut]

can i request a fic where, after the reader's girlfriend breaks up with him, his elder sister jiwoo (tripleS) comforts him and they end up fucking 🙏🏻🙏🏻

STILL THINKING ABOUT HER?

TripleS Jiwoo x Male Reader

AN: Surprise! Finished this super fast! Hope you guys could still wait for the others!

It started with the sound of your bedroom door creaking open—slow, careful, like whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure if they should be walking in at all.

You didn’t move.

The room was dark, but the faint hallway light outlined her silhouette perfectly: soft curves in an oversized hoodie, one hand clutching the doorframe, the other holding what looked like a can of Coke.

“Hey,” Jiwoo’s voice was low, casual, but laced with concern. “You good?”

You scoffed quietly, buried in your pillow. “What do you think?”

She stepped in anyway. No knock, no permission. Just Jiwoo being Jiwoo—your dad’s new wife’s daughter. Technically your step-sister, but you barely saw each other as family. You hadn’t grown up together. She moved in only a year ago.

And now she was in your room, sitting on your bed like it was hers.

“I heard about Seoyun,” she said after a pause. “She really broke up with you by text?”

You rolled onto your back, arm flung across your forehead. “Yeah. Just… three sentences. ‘It’s not working. I’m sorry. Don’t text me again.’”

Jiwoo made a sound—half laugh, half snort. “Wow. Cold bitch move.”

“She’s not a bitch,” you muttered defensively.

Jiwoo raised an eyebrow. “You’re defending her after that? Wow. You really were in deep.”

You didn’t reply. You hated how easily she got under your skin, but… you hated even more how right she usually was.

She kicked off her slippers and folded her legs, sitting cross-legged next to you. You could smell her perfume—light, citrusy, familiar from passing her in the hallway or brushing past her in the kitchen. She reached out and ran her fingers through your hair like she’d done it a thousand times.

You froze.

“You know,” she murmured, “not to make it about me, but… I always thought Seoyun was kind of boring. Pretty, sure. But zero personality. Like… if tofu were a person.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for the comfort.”

“I am comforting you,” Jiwoo said innocently. “Just… in my own way.”

Her hand didn’t stop moving—fingertips tracing your scalp, a gentle scratch at the nape of your neck. You hated how good it felt.

“Why do you care, anyway?” you asked, not looking at her.

She clicked her tongue. “Because you’re moping. And I live here. And it’s annoying.”

You huffed.

“And maybe,” she added with a smirk, “I like you better when you’re not acting like a kicked puppy.”

You finally glanced at her—and she was already staring. Her eyes locked with yours, and for the first time, you realized how close she was sitting. Her thigh was brushing yours, the hoodie slipping off one shoulder, exposing soft skin and the strap of her tank top underneath.

“What’re you looking at?” she teased, tilting her head.

You looked away quickly. “Nothing.”

“Ohhh, don’t lie,” she grinned. “Were you staring at my shoulder? That’s so scandalous.”

“Jiwoo…”

“Or was it the bra strap?” she whispered, leaning closer, lips inches from your ear. “You do know I’m not wearing pants, right?”

You swallowed hard. She wasn’t. Just a long hoodie. Maybe underwear under there, maybe not.

“I thought you came to comfort me,” you said stiffly, trying to control your breathing.

“I am comforting you,” she purred. “Don’t you feel better already?”

Your heart was racing. You sat up a little, leaning on your elbows, but Jiwoo didn’t move. If anything, she leaned in more—nose brushing your cheek.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said softly. “You’re just teasing, right?”

Jiwoo smiled. A slow, knowing, wicked smile. “Maybe I started teasing. But maybe…” Her hand slid down your chest, over your shirt, then lower, trailing along your stomach. “Maybe I got curious.”

You caught her wrist. “Jiwoo.”

She paused, but didn’t pull away. “Just say the word,” she whispered. “And I’ll stop.”

You hesitated.

Then let go of her wrist.

“…Don’t stop.”

She was on top of you in seconds.

Lips crashing into yours, warm and soft, her hands sliding under your shirt like she’d been dying to touch you for years. You kissed her back—hard. Months of frustration, heartbreak, loneliness—all pouring into the heat between your mouths.

Jiwoo moaned into the kiss, grinding against you. “Mmm. There he is. That’s the real you.”

Your hands found her thighs, bare and warm under the hoodie, and pulled her closer. She gasped when you pushed up against her.

“You’re already hard?” she grinned. “God, your ex was such a waste. Bet she didn’t even suck you properly.”

You groaned. “Why are you so dirty?”

She bit your neck playfully. “Because I know you like it.”

Then her hand was slipping under your waistband—fingers wrapping around you. You gasped, hips bucking into her palm.

“Fuck, Jiwoo—”

She licked her lips. “Shh. Let your big sister take care of you.”

That shouldn’t have turned you on more. But it did.

She slid down your body, tugging your pants down with one hand, her eyes never leaving yours. “Let me see how heartbroken you really are, baby.”

She went down on you slowly, deliberately—tongue teasing, lips curling into a smirk every time you gasped or cursed her name. She loved the control. Loved the way your hands tangled in her hair, the way your thighs tensed with every motion.

When you finally couldn’t take it anymore and pulled her up, kissing her hard, she only laughed breathlessly against your lips.

“You gonna fuck your big sister now, huh?” she teased. “Gonna cry on my shoulder and cum in me all in the same night?”

“You’re insane,” you muttered.

Jiwoo winked. “You love it.”

You did. God help you, you did.

Your hands gripped her hips like a lifeline as she slid down on you, inch by inch. Jiwoo gasped when you bottomed out inside her, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as her body trembled slightly from the stretch.

“F-fuck—Jiwoo—” you groaned, barely able to breathe. She was tight, hot, soaking wet. Every part of her clenched around you like she was made for this—for you.

Jiwoo opened her eyes again slowly, lips curled into that same smug, wicked smile. “Yeah?” she breathed, grinding her hips in a slow, devastating circle. “That good already?”

Your head tipped back into the pillow as a guttural moan left your throat. “You feel… so fucking good.”

Her nails scratched lightly down your chest. “You think your little high school girlfriend could take you this deep?” She sank down again deliberately, drawing another strangled moan from you. “Huh, baby?”

“Don’t talk about her—”

“Why not?” she whispered, leaning forward, her hands on your chest for balance. “You’re inside me now. Not her. She didn’t deserve this cock—I do.”

She started moving faster, hips lifting and dropping in a rhythm that sent lightning through your spine. The slapping sound of skin meeting skin filled the room—wet, filthy, intimate.

Your fingers dug into the soft flesh of her ass, guiding her movements now. She let you take over for a moment, panting, flushed, letting you thrust up into her. Her hoodie slid up, exposing her stomach, then her bare chest. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

You reached up to cup her breasts, fingers brushing her nipples, and she gasped—then laughed breathlessly.

“God, you’re desperate,” she teased, biting her lip as she rode you harder. “You gonna cry again? Or are you just gonna fill me up like a good little brother?”

You pulled her down into a kiss—sloppy, deep, tongues clashing. She moaned into your mouth as you rolled your hips up, fucking her deeper, harder.

Her rhythm started to break. Her body trembled again, this time not from teasing, but from the steady build toward release.

“Ah—fuck—you’re hitting so deep—” Jiwoo choked out, head falling to your shoulder. “Shit, baby, you’re gonna make me—”

You flipped her before she could finish the sentence—rolling her onto her back, still buried inside her. Jiwoo let out a surprised laugh, then moaned when you slammed back in.

“Whoa—someone’s getting bold,” she breathed, wrapping her legs around your waist. “So rough all of a sudden… is this how you fuck your ex in your head?”

You stared down at her, breath ragged. “No. This is all for you.”

That shut her up—for a second.

Her voice was breathless, high-pitched, whiny now. “Then don’t stop. Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

You didn’t.

You kept thrusting, harder now, the bed creaking beneath you, her nails clawing into your back as she got louder, more desperate.

“Jiwoo—fuck—I’m close—”

“Inside,” she gasped. “Don’t pull out—I want it. I want all of it.”

You slammed into her faster, your rhythm turning frantic as your climax approached.

“Jiwoo—!”

“Cum for me, baby—fill your big sister up, fuck—”

You exploded inside her with a growl, hips jerking as your release overtook you. Jiwoo cried out beneath you, arching her back, body shuddering as she came too—legs locked around you, holding you in as deep as possible.

You collapsed onto her, both of you soaked in sweat and panting, your heart pounding in your ears.

She ran a hand through your hair, laughing softly.

“Well,” she whispered, kissing your cheek, “I think I win Best Comforter of the Year.”

You kissed her again, dazed.

“…You’re insane.”

Jiwoo grinned.

“But I made you forget her, didn’t I?”

The smell of eggs woke you before the sun did.

You blinked, barely registering the mess of clothes scattered across your floor. Jiwoo’s hoodie was hanging off the corner of your bed, your boxers were inside out on the floor, and the faint soreness in your thighs reminded you that last night hadn’t been a dream.

Holy shit.

You really fucked your step-sister.

And she really enjoyed it.

You dragged yourself out of bed, tossing on sweats and a shirt, and padded barefoot to the kitchen.

Jiwoo was already at the stove. She was wearing your hoodie now — sleeves too long, hem barely covering the curve of her ass, and absolutely nothing else. She flipped eggs with one hand and sipped orange juice with the other.

She glanced at you with a lazy smile. “Morning, loverboy.”

You froze. “Jiwoo—don’t say stuff like that.”

“What? Too soon?” she smirked. “Should I have waited till after breakfast to call you that?”

You sat at the counter, rubbing your face. “This is insane. What if someone finds out?”

“Relax,” she said, sliding a plate in front of you. “Dad's on a business trip and Mom’s doing yoga in Jeju. We’ve got the house to ourselves for a whole weekend.”

“That’s not the point,” you muttered.

Jiwoo leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “You didn’t seem so worried about that when you were balls deep in me last night.”

You nearly choked on your orange juice.

“Jesus—Jiwoo.”

She giggled and pulled back. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

You glared at her. “You’re seriously not weirded out?”

She took a slow bite of egg, chewing with a thoughtful hum. “We're not blood-related. You’re hot. I’m bored. You needed to forget your ex. And I like making you squirm.” She licked her fork. “So no. I’m not weirded out.”

You said nothing. Just stared at your food.

“Still thinking about her?” Jiwoo asked softly.

You glanced up.

She wasn’t smirking anymore. Her eyes were darker now—watching you carefully.

“…Not really,” you admitted.

She smiled. “Good.”

You escaped to the bathroom after breakfast, needing to wash off the confusion—and the scent of sex still lingering on your skin.

You peeled off your clothes and turned the shower on, stepping under the spray. The hot water felt like absolution.

Until the door creaked open.

You turned fast. “Jiwoo?!”

She was leaning against the frame, arms crossed under her chest, wearing the same damn hoodie.

“What the hell—can’t I get ten minutes alone?”

Jiwoo walked in slowly, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click.

“You sure you wanna be alone?” she asked, voice low. “You looked like you were about to cry again.”

You stepped back as she approached the fogged-up glass.

“Jiwoo. I’m literally naked.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So? You think I didn’t see all of you last night?” Her fingers hooked under the hoodie and peeled it off slowly, dropping it to the tile.

She wasn’t wearing anything.

You swallowed hard. “Jiwoo—what are you doing?”

She stepped into the shower with you, not even blinking as the water soaked her hair and skin. She was glistening now—wet and beautiful and way too close.

“I’m helping you forget,” she whispered. “Clearly, one round wasn’t enough.”

You backed up until your back hit the tile. Jiwoo didn’t stop.

Her hand wrapped around your shaft before you even realized you were getting hard again.

“You say her name once,” Jiwoo murmured, “and I stop.”

You looked at her—completely soaked, lips parted, eyes burning into yours—and said nothing.

“…That’s what I thought.”

Jiwoo sank to her knees in the shower, water streaming down her face and breasts. Her lips wrapped around the tip of your cock and you nearly lost balance. The heat of her mouth, the suction, the way her tongue curled under you—

“F-fuck—Jiwoo—”

She moaned around you, fingers curling around the base as she took you deeper, slower, more purposeful this time. Her eyes never left yours. She was proving something—and you were losing the argument.

Your hands braced against the wall as your hips twitched. “I’m gonna—Jiwoo, I’m gonna—”

She pulled off with a wet pop and looked up at you, face soaked in water and spit. “Not yet.”

She stood and turned around, pressing her palms against the glass wall of the shower, her ass arching toward you.

“You’re not done making me forget, are you?” she asked sweetly.

You didn’t answer.

You grabbed her hips and slid inside in one thrust. Jiwoo let out a long, desperate moan.

“Oh fuck, that’s it—yes—just like that—”

You pounded into her, harder now, water splashing with every thrust, steam rising between your bodies. Her ass bounced against your hips with every movement, and the way she clenched around you made your head spin.

“You’re gonna wreck me,” she whimpered, voice trembling. “God, you’re gonna fucking ruin me.”

You leaned in close, grabbing her hair, whispering against her ear. “Good. Maybe then you’ll stop acting like this doesn’t mean anything.”

That silenced her.

For one second.

Then she looked over her shoulder with a wild grin. “Baby,” she gasped, “I want it to mean something.”

That was it. You grabbed her tighter, fucked her deeper, until the shower walls shook and Jiwoo was moaning your name like a prayer.

When you came inside her again—loud, breathless, bodies slick and shaking—she collapsed into your arms, dragging both of you to the floor of the shower.

You sat there, holding her, heartbeat against heartbeat, both of you panting under the rain of water.

After a long pause, she finally whispered:

“…Still thinking about her?”

You shook your head slowly.

“Good,” she smiled, nuzzling your chest.

“Because if you ever do, I’ll just have to fuck the memory out of you all over again.”

[idkyetxoxo]

Five | Breathing Room | Little Star

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2.9k

Warnings - Mentions of injuries

<- prev || series masterlist || next ->

I surfaced from the dark like someone breaking through thick ice—pain blooming faintly beneath my skin, dull but ever-present, like a wound that had forgotten how to close. 

My lashes fluttered open, heavy and dry, and I took in the quiet hush of the room around me, shadows resting in the corners like sleeping cats.

A warm hand was wrapped around mine. Even before I turned my head, I knew who it was.

"Rhys," I whispered, my voice raw with disuse.

He jolted upright in the chair beside my bed, blinking as if he'd been pulled from a dream, or perhaps a nightmare. 

"You're awake," he breathed, voice tight with relief and something else, something unspoken.

I nodded, the motion igniting a sharp flare of pain that rippled down my spine. I winced but didn't let it show.

"How long was I out?" I asked. The curtains were drawn tight, blocking any hint of time, morning, evening, night, it could've been any hour in any world, and I wouldn't have known.

"Two days," he said simply.

My mouth dropped open. "Two days?"

"Madja did what she could to heal you, but I... I insisted she give you a sleeping draught," he admitted, a flicker of guilt crossing his face.

"Rhys, you can't just—"

"I am your High Lord," he cut in sharply.

I raised a brow at him, ignoring the biting ache it sent across my skull. "And I am the sister of the arrogant High Lord who needed me to get him out of trouble more times than I can count when we were children."

A twitch of a smile ghosted across his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"You can't expect me not to be careful," he said, voice softening. "Not when Madja told me that the reason your body couldn't handle the damage is because... because you haven't let yourself heal. Not for years."

The words hung in the air like frost on glass. Fragile. Cold.

I didn't respond. Neither of us did.

Silence blanketed the room again, thick and humming with the weight of everything unsaid. It wrapped around us like the shadows lingering in the corners, waiting. Watching.

"Don't tell me you've been sitting here the entire time," I murmured after a while.

He didn't answer.

"Rhys," I said, sharper this time. When he still didn't meet my eyes, I knew. I just knew.

"You have a mate," I reminded him, my voice as firm as I could make it. "Go be with her. You don't need to play the overprotective brother right now. I'm fine."

"You're not—"

"I am," I snapped, more harshly than I intended. But my chest ached in a way no healer could fix, and I didn't want his pity. "Go. Be with Feyre. She needs you, and frankly, I want to go back to sleep. You're starting to irritate me."

He hesitated, torn, like his very bones resisted leaving. But he stood, slowly, and leaned over to press a kiss to my temple. His breath was warm against my skin, and the tenderness of it made something inside me crack.

Then he vanished in a shimmer of power, the room folding in on itself in his absence.

But I was not alone. Not really.

The moment Rhys was gone, the shadows came forward, silent and familiar. Azriel's shadows. They slipped through the cracks in the stone like smoke, curling around the bedposts, licking softly at the walls. 

I didn't need to see him to know he knew I was alone again.

The House seemed to know what I needed before I could ask. A warm bath waited, steam curling lazily from the open door of the bathing chamber. 

The shadows followed me, curling around my ankles as I moved, slow and stiff.

I peeled the bandages from my body, hating the way the scars mocked me in the mirror. I stepped into the water, the warmth swallowing me whole, and sank in until only my chin remained above the surface.

The shadows didn't leave. They never did.

They stayed—gentle, curious, as I let my head fall back, as the pain I had buried so deep clawed its way back up my throat. 

Silent tears slipped down my cheeks, warm as the bathwater that cradled me. The shadows traced patterns on my skin, whisper-soft, like they could feel what I couldn't say aloud.

I closed my eyes and let myself feel it all.

The exhaustion. The ache. The guilt. Because Rhys was right. I had done this to myself.

I dressed slowly, each motion deliberate, careful, as though my limbs remembered pain even if my mind tried not to. 

The House, kind as ever, didn't rush me. It laid out soft, worn clothes scented faintly of lavender and cedar, and as I slipped into them, it hummed quietly in the walls. 

I wasn't sure if it was content or concerned.

The corridor outside my room was bathed in soft, golden light, the quiet kind that only came with late morning. I barely took two steps before colliding face-first into a solid, immovable wall of muscle. 

I stumbled backwards, but strong, familiar hands steadied me before I could fall.

"You're leaving your room?" Azriel asked, not unkindly—just... concerned. Shadows coiled lazily around his shoulders, as if echoing the tension in his voice. With a quiet flick of his wrist, he reined them in.

I arched a brow. "Am I not supposed to?"

He hesitated. "Rhys said—"

"What Rhys doesn't know won't hurt him," I interrupted, breezing past him with a pat to his chest.

He sighed, falling into step behind me, but said nothing. The moment we rounded the corner and entered the kitchen, I stopped short.

"Mother above."

Cassian stood shirtless, elbow-deep in a massive sack of sugar, flour dusted through his hair like snow. There were streaks of what might've been butter across his cheek and batter smeared on the edge of his jaw. 

He looked like a war god who'd lost a battle to baking supplies.

Azriel made a choking noise behind me.

Cassian whirled around, eyes wide with outrage. "Az, your shadows are useless! How am I supposed to surprise someone with a pie if that someone walks in?"

A few of the shadows, clearly offended, whipped forward and delivered a soft, but precise slap to his bare chest before flitting away, some curling around me in soft, cool tendrils, others rejoining Azriel like reprimanded cats.

"They like me better than him," I said with a grin, letting one of them swirl lazily around my finger. It hummed, almost purring in delight.

Cassian glared. "Well, you might as well come help me then."

I stepped into the kitchen, already rolling up my sleeves. I paused mid-roll, eyes narrowing. "Why are you shirtless?"

Cassian glanced down as if just now remembering. "Well, the apron got dirty, so I took it off. Then my shirt got dirty. So I took that off too."

I blinked at him. "Cass, that's literally what an apron is for."

To his credit, he had the grace to look sheepish. "Well... yes."

Azriel leaned against the far counter, his arms crossed, lips twitching. He was barely containing himself, and Cassian shot him a scowl.

I shook my head with a sigh, glancing around for something to wear. 

"Alright then, what do I wear to help with this chaos?" I asked, tugging my sleeves higher—until the edge of a large, still-fading bruise peeked into view.

The room shifted almost instantly. The air quieted. 

I caught Cassian's expression soften, and Azriel's eyes darken just a shade. My fingers stilled for a second, then quietly I rolled the fabric back down.

Silence continued. But then—Cassian.

"You could always go shirtless like me," he offered with a grin, tugging playfully at the hem of my shirt.

I laughed, the sound quiet but genuine. It felt like something inside me had cracked open.

Cassian. Always successful in finding a way to defuse the tension, to keep the heavy things from settling too long.

"What kind of pie are we making, exactly?" I asked, slipping into the rhythm of the kitchen with surprising ease.

"Blueberry," he declared proudly, gesturing toward a bowl piled high with dark fruit.

I peered at it. "Cass... those are blackberries."

He paused. Looked again. "...Oh."

That was it—Azriel cracked. He laughed, really laughed. The kind of sound that you didn't hear often, but when you did, it was like sunlight cracking through storm clouds. 

He tilted his head back, one hand on the counter for balance, as the sound echoed through the kitchen.

Cassian glared at him.

Azriel simply shook his head, still laughing as he pushed away from the counter. He started to leave, but not before glancing back at me, his smile warm and familiar.

Later that night, the rain came.

It began as a whisper against the windows, soft, tentative, like it wasn't sure if it was welcome. Then it grew bolder, steady, insistent, a rhythm that matched the pulsing ache still lingering behind my ribs. 

I curled tighter beneath the blanket that the House had draped over me, the edges tucked close like an embrace, the fire crackling low in the fireplace.

The room was dim, cast in amber light and shadows, and for a moment, I let myself exist in that quiet. In that stillness. 

Until the door opened, not harshly and not suddenly but with purpose.

A cascade of golden curls burst through the doorway like sunlight cutting through a storm. 

Mor didn't hesitate. She crossed the room in seconds and dropped to her knees beside me, enveloping me in a hug so fierce I couldn't breathe but I didn't need to. Her scent, jasmine and citrus and something inherently her wrapped around me just as tightly as her arms did.

"Hello, Mor," I whispered into her shoulder, my voice muffled and worn.

She didn't answer immediately, just held me a beat longer, then pulled back and cupped my face gently between her hands, her eyes scanning mine like she needed to see with her own eyes that I was still here. Still me.

"Rhys told me," she said quietly, urgency softening into sorrow. "He told me everything. I came as soon as I could."

She brushed a strand of hair from my forehead and slid beneath the blanket without waiting for permission, as if she belonged there—because she did. 

Because Mor had always known when words were too sharp, when silence said more, and when all someone needed was warmth and presence.

"I know," I murmured, leaning my head against hers as she rested it on my shoulder.

For a while, we didn't speak.

There was no pressure to. The only sound was the steady tap of rain against the glass and the occasional crackle of wood settling in the fire. Her fingers traced idle patterns on the blanket, mine curled loosely in my lap.

Eventually, her voice broke through the hush.

She told me about her day. Some ridiculous thing Cassian had said, the colour of the dress she'd nearly bought but didn't, the way the shopkeeper's dog had followed her out into the street. 

Her words flowed like a stream, light, casual, healing in their simplicity.

She didn't bring him up. Not once.

Instead, she offered me pieces of her day, as if building a little world around me where the sharp edges couldn't reach.

The fire burned lower, the shadows lengthening, when the door opened again with a soft creak.

Azriel stepped inside, quiet as a breeze, his presence immediately shifting the atmosphere in the way only he could. He didn't say anything, just walked over and knelt beside me, offering a steaming mug with both hands.

"Madja said you should drink this," he said, his voice low, roughened with sleep or worry or both.

The mug was warm against my fingers. I looked up at him, and for a moment, our eyes met. His shadows curled gently around his shoulders, as if watching me too.

"Thank you," I whispered.

He nodded once, then glanced at Mor and stood, giving me a fleeting look of softness, one that told me everything he didn't say. 

Then he left, just as quietly as he'd come, the door clicking shut behind him like a secret.

I drank the tea in slow sips, the warmth of it unfurling something tightly coiled inside me. Mor didn't speak anymore. She just stayed there, shoulder to shoulder with me.

When the mug was empty, I set it down with trembling fingers and sank deeper into the cushions, the exhaustion in my bones finally winning out.

Mor moved then, gently pulling the blanket higher, tucking it around me with a care so soft it made my throat ache. She stood, brushing a hand once through my hair, and turned toward the door.

She didn't leave with the whirlwind she came in on. No, this time, she slipped out like starlight fading at dawn.

And I let the rain sing me to sleep.

Much later that night, long after the fire had died down to embers and the rain had softened to a gentle lullaby against the windows, a different kind of darkness entered the room.

It was quiet, slipping in without fanfare, without intent to disturb.

Rhys was there, seated in the same worn chair near the bed, elbows on his knees, chin cradled in his hands. He watched me sleep, not like a High Lord watching over his subject, but like a brother clinging to the sight of someone he almost lost.

A flicker of movement, just the shuffle of the blanket as I turned restlessly was all that broke the stillness for a time. That, and the slow, unsteady rhythm of my breathing.

The door creaked open. It was nearly soundless, but Rhys looked up anyway. He always did.

Shadows slipped in first, silent scouts of a master who followed seconds later, tall and cloaked in midnight.

Azriel.

He froze when he saw Rhys, like a stag caught beneath a hunter's arrow, startled and unguarded. 

His shadows had lied—no, not lied. They had simply missed the presence of the High Lord, wrapped as he was in grief and silence. 

Even the most loyal of spies could be deceived by heartache that didn't move or speak.

Azriel hadn't come to speak, hadn't come to confess or plan. He came to check, to make sure I was still breathing, still safe, still here.

That was all.

Rhys leaned back in the chair, not startled, not surprised. He just looked tired, tired in a way that power couldn't fix, that centuries of wisdom couldn't soothe.

"She's stubborn," Rhys said, voice soft as moonlight, laced with fondness and sorrow. "Not that I'm shocked. She is my sister, after all."

Azriel stepped farther into the room, his steps silent like always. "She was raised alongside three males who would raze the world for her," he said quietly. "And a mother who loved her more than the stars."

The silence that followed was heavy. It wasn't awkward. It was grief. Shared. Carried. Etched into the bones of both males like a scar that would never fade.

Azriel spoke again, his voice lower, the words hard-earned.

"We tried," he said, and already it cracked at the edges. "We all tried, Rhys. After you left... she unravelled. She smiled at first, for the others. Said she was fine. But then... she drank. She cried. Raged at nothing, at everything. Locked herself in her room for days. And then... she met him."

He paused, his shadows curling tight around his boots like living sorrow.

"She fought him at first. I know she did. She fought the charm, the lies, the abuse. Because she's—her. But then something in her just... stopped." His voice caught, and he glanced at me, at the slow rise and fall of my chest beneath the blankets. 

Relief flickered there in his eyes, but it warred with something else. Regret. Fury. Guilt.

"She blamed herself for everything," he continued. "For your absence. For Daeron's cruelty. She wouldn't hear otherwise. We told her over and over that she wasn't the one to blame—but you know how she is. Once she believes she deserves the pain... there's no pulling her back."

Rhys's eyes closed. His breath was steady, but his fingers clenched into his knees.

"She's always carried more than she ever should have," he said after a moment. "She did it when our mother died. Took the blame like it was hers to bear. And after... after what Tamlin did—there were pieces of her I never knew how to put back together."

Azriel's shadows twitched, agitated, as if remembering, as if tasting that memory on the air.

"She never told me everything," Rhys said softly. "About what happened when she visited that last time. But I saw her after. The way she wouldn't let me hold her, even when she was sobbing into the floor."

Azriel's fists curled at his sides, his wings shifting behind him like restless thunderclouds.

Both males let the silence return for a while. Not cold now just quiet. Shared.

"Daeron?" Rhys asked at last, though his voice was already laced with dread.

Azriel didn't flinch. He just clenched his jaw. "At the Court of Nightmares. Where he'll stay. I'll keep him there until she tells me what she wants me to do."

A pause. "And I'll do it."

Rhys nodded turning back to watch me, his fist curling and uncurling on his lap.

"Go to Feyre," Azriel added softly, gaze never leaving the bed. "She needs you. I'll stay."

A heartbeat of hesitation, and then Rhys leaned down, pressed a kiss to my temple, and vanishing into the night.

The moment the soft echo of his magic faded, Azriel moved. 

He claimed the empty chair like it had been waiting for him all along, wings folding neatly behind him, shadows wrapping around his ankles like loyal hounds lying at their master's feet.

He didn't touch me. Didn't speak. He just watched. Watched as I slept, still, at peace for once.

Azriel finally let himself breathe. His brother was safe. His family was healing. 

And the female he loved beyond reason was here, alive, asleep, still whole, even if she didn't believe it.

A/n - So, we've got some normalcy—yay! I really wanted to write a struggling Cassian baking, because honestly, I feel like that's canon... at least to me :)

We've got Azriel being a mother hen, caring as always, but the real heart of this chapter is the ending, where he and Rhys finally sit down and talk about everything. Some parts are still a bit elusive, but don't worry, it's all for good reasons!!

The next chapter is cute and fluffy (for a bit), but it definitely goes downhill after that, so consider this your pre-warning x

I also have finished writing and editing this whole story completely so i might post updates every 3 days, idk if that’s something you’d prefer?

As always, I hope you enjoyed it! <3

(i’m also insane so over the last week i have written a whole other Azriel story 👀 daughter of autumn, accidental pregnancy but it’s still in early editing stages, just thought i’d let yous know 😝)

Little Star tag list - @jaybbygrl @writtenbypavani @fall-winter-heart97 @coeurdeveea @lilg101010 @krazykangaroo712 @moonlitlavenders @lil-lupa @jasmineee05 @pinksnowtiger @yourdarkrose @nerdybee123 @bookwormysblog @thoughtfulcoffeeflower @suspicious-stain-in-spain @anainkandpaper @theflowerswillbloom @queenoffeysand @historygeekqueen @lexi-in-wonderland @tele86 @saamanthaag3 @whydohumansss @xlosttdreamss @bookishwondersworld @plants-w0rld

[ceyanabbiolo]

CONTRACT // C.S [15]

Summary: Christopher Sturniolo, a 26-year-old billionaire CEO, agrees to a strategic marriage with Aurora Devereaux, the 21-year-old daughter of his rival, to save his company during a crisis. Raised in a cold, arrogant environment, Chris is used to control and detachment. Aurora, a final-year fashion student, is forced into the arrangement by her powerful father and struggles with the fear of losing herself. As the two navigate their unexpected marriage, they begin to confront emotional walls and develop a connection that challenges everything they thought they knew about love and trust. But with their families’ influence looming, will their bond be strong enough to survive—or will it fall apart?

Warnings: kissing.

wc: 5734

Chapter 15: I Wanna Be Close To You

It had been a week since we left Greece, but the ease of that quiet escape still clung to me like the scent of saltwater on my skin. Back in the city, everything moved faster—emails stacked up, meetings ran long, and the winter chill had fully settled in, sharp and unforgiving.

The glass walls of my office overlooked a steel-gray skyline, the clouds thick and heavy as if mirroring the pressure inside this building. I sat behind my desk, a blazer tossed over the armchair hours ago, sleeves rolled up, fingers tapping mindlessly against a closed file.

Work demanded my attention, but my mind refused to stay here.

A soft knock at the door pulled me back to the present.

“Come in,” I said, expecting one of my assistants with another update I didn’t ask for.

But it wasn’t an assistant. It was my fiancé.

Aurora stepped inside, her presence so effortless, so grounding, that I felt the breath I didn’t know I was holding ease from my chest. Her hair was half-tucked into the collar of her coat, cheeks flushed from the wind, and she had two warm drinks in her hands.

“I figured you might still be alive in here,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips as she closed the door behind her.

I stood slowly. “Barely. This place doesn’t exactly inspire rest.”

“Good thing I brought reinforcements,” she said, holding up the drinks.

She crossed the room and placed one on my desk before sliding her arms around my waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was because she belonged here, with me, in this life.

“I missed you today,” I murmured, dipping my head so my lips brushed the top of her hair.

“You saw me this morning,” she laughed softly into my chest.

“I know,” I said, eyes closing for a moment. “Still.”

I pulled away from her reluctantly, already feeling the loss of her warmth as I moved back to my desk. But the moment was over, and work was still calling. I couldn’t ignore the pile of documents and emails that needed my attention.

Aurora settled onto the couch by the window with her drink, her legs tucked beneath her. I couldn’t help but glance over now and then. She always managed to make even the simplest moments feel easy, and there was something so calming about her presence. She picked up a magazine from the table and started flipping through it, her brow furrowed in concentration.

I buried myself in paperwork again, but the sound of her gentle humming reached my ears, and I felt my focus slip.

“What are you doing over there?” I asked, still facing my computer, my voice curious.

She glanced up, grinning. “Just browsing.”

“Browsing for what?” I asked, turning around to see her staring at her phone now, tapping through something. “You seem pretty into it.”

Aurora made a small, almost embarrassed noise. “I’m looking for photographers.”

“Photographers?” I raised an eyebrow. “What for?”

Before she could answer, the door swung open without a knock. I knew that sound.

Matt strolled in, acting like he hadn’t just interrupted the one peaceful hour I’d had all week. Papers under one arm, coffee in the other.

“Traffic was hell,” he said casually, dropping into the chair across from my desk. “And I stopped at that French bakery you like. You’re welcome.”

“Appreciated,” I muttered. “But next time, knock.”

Aurora giggled softly from the couch, and I immediately forgot Matt existed. I turned back to her. “Sorry, baby, you were saying?”

Aurora smiled softly but seemed unfazed by Matt’s sudden appearance. “I need a photographer for my fashion show,” she said, her voice calm and determined. “It’s next month, and I want to make sure it’s perfect.”

Matt’s eyes lit up, and he leaned against the doorframe, clearly interested now. “You need a photographer, huh? I know someone who could be perfect for it,” he said, coming to sit on one of my chairs. 

Aurora’s gaze shifted to Matt, curious. “Really? Who?”

“I’ve worked with her before—she’s good, and she’s got an eye for design,” Matt said, a grin creeping onto his face. “I can get you in touch with her.”

I shot Matt a smug look, I knew this girl he was talking about. I didn’t question him at the moment, though. 

Aurora thought for a moment before nodding. “That sounds great. Thanks, Matt.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You didn’t just come here to steal my fiancée’s creative team.”

Matt gave me a look.

Matt held up the folder with a lazy grin. “I’m here for the shareholder agreement. You know why I’m here, you just forgot.”

Right. I did forget. I’d been too wrapped up in everything else lately—Aurora, work, Greece... her in Greece.

Aurora sat up straighter on the couch. “Wait—wait, what?” she blinked. “You’re becoming a shareholder?”

Matt gave her a half shrug. “Yeah. Started the process a while ago.”

Her brows shot up. “Whoa, that’s huge.”

“Wait, I thought you were a model?” she added after a few seconds. 

He smirked. “I mean, I still model here and there—but I’ve been focusing on some other projects.”

“Like?” she pressed, clearly intrigued now.

“A car line,” he said, looking back over at me. “The one with Porsche. We’re launching something next year”. 

Aurora blinked again, her surprise still all over her face. “Okay, I didn’t expect that. Good for you, though.”

Matt gave a small smile, the cocky kind only he could pull off without being annoying. “Thanks, Aurora.”

The two of them moved to the small table across from my desk, where the documents were spread out. Aurora helped him stay organized—because, let’s be honest, Matt could get distracted by a paperclip if left alone too long. For the next half hour, they went over contracts, signatures, and a few financial overviews that I only glanced at. I was still on my laptop, answering emails while half-listening to their banter.

Eventually, Matt stood, stretching his arms and yawning like he’d just run a marathon instead of signing papers.

“Alright, I’m out. Call me if you want to test drive that Porsche prototype,” he said with a wink to Aurora, who just rolled her eyes.

Once the door clicked shut behind him, the office quieted again. Aurora stood and dusted her jeans off.

“I should head home,” she said softly, walking toward my desk. “I have some editing to finish—and I want to sketch out a few more designs before I lose the idea.”

I turned in my chair to face her fully. “You sure you don’t want to just hang out here a little longer? Be bored with me while I stare at spreadsheets?”

She leaned down and kissed me, her hands on either side of my face. “You’ll be working for a while, and I’m just going to end up distracting you.”

I smirked. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“Chris,” she said in that voice—the one that was half stern, half teasing.

“Fine,” I muttered, standing up and kissing her again, slower this time. “Text me when you get there.”

She smiled up at me. “Always.”

I watched her leave, then went back to my screen, sighing at the list of tasks still waiting. I barely made it through two emails when my office phone lit up.

It was Victor, from building security.

“Yeah?” I answered.

“Mr. Sturniolo, you’re gonna want to come down to the security room,” he said. His voice was low, clipped. Seriously. “We’ve got an update… on the money trail connected to your uncle.”

I sat up straighter. “What kind of update?”

“Location. Some movements flagged the system. It’s coming from a property registered under an alias. Looks like a warehouse or office on the edge of this like…sketchy part of Boston.”

My heart dropped.

“I’ll be right there,” I said, already leaving the room. 

The elevator ride down felt longer than usual, the hum of the floors passing only making my thoughts louder. My jaw clenched as I stepped into the dimly lit security office. Victor was already there, standing in front of a bank of monitors, his arms crossed and face unreadable.

He turned when he heard the door shut. “Thanks for coming down so fast.”

“What’d you find?” I asked, moving beside him.

He pointed to one of the main screens, then tapped a few keys. A paused feed appeared: a blurry image of a dark brick building with rusted metal siding and a barely legible sign that said Fenwood Storage & Freight. The timestamp was from earlier this morning.

“This place popped up after a flagged transaction was traced here,” Victor explained. “One of your uncle’s shell accounts made a deposit two nights ago. Small enough to fly under the radar, but consistent with previous laundering patterns.”

I narrowed my eyes at the grainy footage. “Where is this?”

“Just outside Dorchester. Pretty run-down industrial area. Mostly storage units and shipping companies. Half of them are probably empty or abandoned.”

I exhaled sharply, my fingers dragging through my hair. “Have we confirmed the properties linked to him?”

Victor nodded. “Not directly. It’s under an alias—J.R. Management—but the account that paid for it ties back to a business your uncle once listed as a silent partner on. It’s all buried in layers of fake owners, but we’re peeling it back.”

“Damn,” I muttered.

This was more than breadcrumbs—it was a full trail.

“I’ll send someone out to do a quiet sweep,” Victor added. “Unmarked, no alerting anyone. But I figured you’d want to know first.”

“Yeah,” I said, voice low. “Good.”

For a moment, I just stared at the screen. I didn’t like not knowing how deep this ran, or how long it had been going on under my nose. If this place really was connected to Michael… it might be our first solid shot at exposing everything.

Victor shifted beside me. “You want me to notify the board or wait until we’ve got more?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. Let me handle it.” 

As I left the room, my phone buzzed in my jacket pocket—Aurora. A simple home safe text with a little white heart. My chest softened for a moment.

I liked her message and put my phone away.

I didn’t wait. I didn’t even tell anyone I was going.

By afternoon, I was behind the wheel. The further I drove, the more the polished buildings turned into cracked sidewalks and rusted-out signage. The kind of place people forgot existed just outside Boston’s heart.

I pulled up to a storage unit, or what was left of it. The place looked like it hadn’t been touched in a decade. The lot was half-filled with busted crates and rusted containers, some tagged up, some just rotting. A chain-link fence surrounded the building, the padlock half-broken.

I parked along the side and got out, keeping my hood up and my jacket zipped. My footsteps echoed against the concrete as I approached a side entrance, the door slightly ajar like someone had forgotten to lock it, or wanted it that way.

Inside, it smelled like mold and oil. 

I walked slowly through the dusty corridors, my phone ready in my pocket just in case. Boxes were stacked haphazardly, and shipping containers lined the back half of the warehouse. What caught my eye was the small side room with a cracked window and a faint light on.

I opened the door.

A desk. A laptop. A receipt printer was still warm, and a stack of papers was shoved into an old filing cabinet with a sticky note that read JR Transports—Q4 Accounts. The names didn’t matter—but the account numbers did.

I recognized one of them.

It was one of the accounts I’d flagged two months ago—the ones I thought had just been outdated corporate ghosts.

This place wasn’t abandoned.

It was very much active, and Michael had kept it quiet until now.

I snapped a few photos with my phone, heart pounding in my ears, then backed out of the room, careful not to touch anything else. If I stayed longer, I’d risk being seen—or worse, tipping someone off.

Back in the car, I sat for a moment in the driver’s seat, staring at the cracked windshield of the warehouse office.

Uncle Michael wasn’t just laundering money. He was using one of my company’s shell accounts to do it. Quiet. Strategic. Hidden in plain sight.

This wasn’t just betrayal.

This was war. 

I started the engine and peeled away from the lot, the warehouse growing smaller in the rearview. My jaw clenched as I reached for my phone, ready to call Victor.

If this was the first layer, I needed to know how deep it went before it got worse, but that was a problem for my security team.

I stepped through the door, the familiar scent of home grounding me for a moment. It had been a long day—longer than most. The drive back from that sketchy part of Boston was quiet, but my mind hadn’t stopped racing since I left the security office. There were too many unanswered questions, and I hated not having control.

I loosened the buttons at the top of my shirt and set my keys down on the counter.

The living room was dim, lit only by the soft flicker of the TV. Netflix was still running — some movie playing quietly in the background. And there, curled up on the couch like she didn’t have a care in the world, was Aurora. Sound asleep.

Her head rested against the throw pillow, one leg tucked under the other, hair slightly messy, and lips parted just a little. She had a blanket half-on, half-slipped off her legs, the remote loosely in her hand, like she was trying to stay awake.

I paused in the doorway, something in me settling just looking at her. I didn’t want to wake her. She looked peaceful. She deserved that peace.

Quietly, I walked over to the linen basket and grabbed the big cream blanket she always liked. I unfolded it gently, then leaned down and draped it over her. She shifted a little, murmured something under her breath, but didn’t wake.

I brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, just lightly enough so I wouldn’t disturb her, then straightened up. My chest felt tight. Not in a painful way. Just... full. The weight of the day mixed with the softness of this moment, and I didn’t know where to put it all.

I needed air.

I stepped onto the balcony, sliding the door closed behind me. The city stretched in every direction, lights twinkling like everything was fine. But it wasn’t. Not for me.

I pulled a cigarette from the pack in the drawer we kept by the grill and lit it, letting the first drag burn in my lungs before exhaling slowly. I didn’t smoke often now, only when I was extremely stressed. 

Michael. Money laundering. Secrets. I hated this. Hated that there were things I couldn’t tell her yet. Hated that the people closest to me were the ones stabbing me in the back.

By the time the cigarette burned down to the filter, the night air had cooled my nerves just enough. I flicked the stub into the ashtray and stepped back inside, sliding the balcony door shut behind me with a soft thud.

Aurora was still out cold, curled up like she hadn’t moved an inch. I gave her one last glance before heading into the kitchen. I grabbed a cold can of Pepsi from the fridge, cracked it open, and took a long sip — the carbonation biting just enough to keep me grounded.

I made my way toward my home office, needing to clear my head before tomorrow’s meetings. The moment I sat down behind my desk, a knock echoed at the door. I glanced at the time. Almost 8 PM.

“Aurora?” I called, assuming she’d finally woken up.

The door creaked open, but it wasn’t her. Ana stood there, her expression unreadable, hands folded neatly in front of her.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir,” she said gently, “but there’s someone downstairs in the lobby asking to see you.”

My jaw tightened. “Who?”

“Thomas Devereaux.”

The name hit like a weight in my gut. Of course. The one person I didn’t want to see tonight.

“Tell him to leave,” I said flatly, turning slightly in my chair. “I don’t want him here.”

“Security already tried,” she said carefully. “He’s... refusing. Said it’s important.”

I let out a slow breath, staring at the blinking cursor on my laptop screen.

“Let him up,” I muttered finally. “Might as well get it over with.”

Ana gave a small nod and quietly stepped out.

I leaned back in my chair, sipping from the can again, jaw tense. I didn’t know what the hell he wanted this late, but I wasn’t naïve. It wouldn’t be good.

A soft ding echoed through the apartment.

I stood and walked toward the front of the penthouse, just as the private elevator doors slid open.

Thomas Devereaux stepped out like he owned the place — pressed suit, slicked-back hair, that same calm, entitled air he always carried. I didn’t offer a handshake. Just turned.

“This way,” I said, voice clipped, leading him toward my office.

I stepped into my office, the quiet click of my shoes against the hardwood floor echoing in the space. The second Thomas crossed the threshold behind me, a knot formed in my chest. My mind immediately flashed to the last time he stood in this very room — to the sound of his voice raised, to the way Aurora’s face crumpled just seconds after he struck her.

My jaw clenched instinctively. I hadn’t forgotten. I never would.

I stayed standing, hands tucked into the pockets of my sweats, posture rigid.

“What do you want, Thomas?” I asked, keeping my tone even but firm.

He took his time, slowly wandering toward one of the chairs across from my desk like this was some casual drop-in, like he hadn’t crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. His presence alone made my skin crawl.

“I heard you and my daughter went on a little vacation,” he said, settling into the seat with a smug smile. “Greece, wasn’t it? How... romantic.”

I didn’t sit. I didn’t smile. I leaned against the edge of my desk, arms folded across my chest, staring him down.

“Cut the bullshit,” I said coolly. “You didn’t show up here unannounced to talk about Aurora’s vacation.”

His smile faded slightly, but he kept his composure. That was the thing about Thomas — always polished, always pretending he was three steps ahead, even when the ground was cracking beneath his feet.

“You’re right,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t.”

“Then get to the point,” I snapped. “Because the last time you were in this office, you acted like an asshole, and I haven’t forgotten.”

His eyes narrowed just slightly, but he didn’t flinch.

“That was... an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“No,” I cut in sharply, “it was fucking abuse and you’re lucky she asked me not to press charges.”

The room fell silent for a beat, the tension thick between us. My hands were balled into fists at my sides, but I forced myself to stay steady.

“So, again,” I said, voice low. “What do you want, Thomas?”

I didn’t move from where I stood, my arms crossed tightly across my chest. The tension in the room was thick, like a storm just waiting to crack.

Thomas leaned back in the chair across from me, legs crossed like he owned the place. Like he hadn’t disrespected everything and everyone that mattered to me.

“I’m here to make amends,” he said finally, his tone calm, rehearsed — too polished.

I didn’t say anything. Just stared at him, waiting.

“I know things… got out of hand,” he continued. “What happened here, It wasn’t right. I was angry. I let things escalate, but I’ve had time to think.”

I scoffed under my breath, shaking my head once. “You hit your daughter and then acted like it didn’t matter.”

His jaw twitched, but he held his fake composure. “I’m not proud of it.”

“You don’t get points for admitting it, Thomas,” I said, my voice sharp now. “You think coming here and saying a few careful words is going to undo shit? You’ve hit her for years. So don’t fucking tell me your sorry”

He raised his hand slightly, like he wanted to ease the tension. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. I know I have a long way to go. I just thought… Maybe it was time I started. And I figured the first step was coming to you. Man to man.”

“Man to man?” I echoed with a dry laugh. “You laid your hands on Aurora. I don't think we’re anywhere near ‘man to man.’”

His expression stiffened. For the first time, the cracks showed.

“I love my daughter, Chris.”

“You have a funny way of showing it,” I muttered.

Thomas looked up at me and blinked. 

“What?” I spat. 

Thomas looked up at me and blinked slowly, like he was watching me closely, measuring every breath I took. 

Then he said, calm as ever, “Do you love my daughter, Chris?”

The question hit harder than I expected.

I stared at him for a second, caught off guard — not by the question itself, but by the nerve of him asking it. After everything he’d done, after the way he treated her. He had no right to ask me that.

But still, my jaw tightened.

“I care about her,” I said firmly.

Thomas tilted his head slightly. “That’s not what I asked.”

I let out a low breath, jaw still clenched. “Love isn’t something you say, just to say it,” I replied, voice low. “It’s what I do. I’m here. I show up. I protect her, even when it’s from you.”

His expression shifted — not surprise, not regret. More like irritation veiled behind politeness. “So you’re saying you don’t love her.”

“I’m saying I’m not going to stand here and spell it out for a man who hit her,” I snapped. “I don’t owe you that.”

For the first time, Thomas didn’t have something smug ready. He just stared, lips pressed into a tight line.

“She trusts you,” he said finally. “That’s… rare for her.”

I leaned forward a little, voice razor sharp now. “Yeah, and you broke that trust when she needed it most. You’re lucky she even speaks to you.”

It was clear I resented Thomas. He knew it too.

Thomas stood up slowly, smoothing down the front of his expensive coat. “Maybe I am. But I’m still her father.”

I stood too, taller, my voice calm but solid. “And I’m the one who’s going to marry her.”

His eyes flicked to mine — there it was, that brief flash of resentment. Then he masked it again.

I let out a sharp breath, jaw clenched as I stepped back toward my desk. “You’ve said whatever you needed to say. Now get out.”

Thomas didn’t even flinch. He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve and gave me a slight, smug smile. “Alright,” he said, turning toward the door. “But just remember, whether you like me or not, I’m not going anywhere. You’re marrying my daughter, Chris. That makes me family.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. The thought alone made my stomach twist.

He opened the office door—and right there, standing just outside, was Aurora.

She looked surprised, almost frozen, like she hadn’t expected to see him.

Thomas’s expression shifted in an instant. “Aurora,” he greeted smoothly, voice warm, familiar—too familiar. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Aurora blinked. “Hi… Dad,” she said quietly, her voice cautious, uncertain.

His smile widened. “Did you have a nice vacation? I heard Greece is lovely this time of year.”

She nodded once. “Yeah. It was.”

“You look well,” he said, his tone too casual, too forced. “Busy with your fashion show, I imagine?”

“Yeah… I’ve been working on it,” she said slowly, eyes flickering between him and me, clearly trying to read the tension in the air.

Thomas gave a small nod, then turned to me with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Take care of her.”

He walked past her, brushing her shoulder ever so slightly as he exited. I watched Aurora’s face shift—confusion, unease, that flicker of old wounds resurfacing.

I crossed the room and gently touched her arm. “You okay?”

She nodded slowly, still staring at the now-empty doorway. “What was he doing here?”

My jaw tightened again. “Trying to play nice.”

Aurora didn’t respond right away. She just leaned slightly into me, and I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. Because I knew, deep down, both of us were thinking the same thing: Thomas Devereaux never just “played nice.”

“Did you smoke today?” she asked, gently pulling back, her nose scrunching just a little.

I glanced down at her. “Yeah? Why?”

She hesitated. “Oh… I thought it was my dad. He always reeks of cigarettes—tries to cover it up with cologne, but it never works.”

I nodded slowly. I remembered how much she hated that smell. Without saying a word, I shifted back, putting a little space between us. Her nose twitched again, and I could tell she noticed.

She looked up, her voice quieter now. “You don’t have to move away.”

Almost under my breath. “I don’t want you flinching every time I’m near.” 

“I like hugging you though”. 

I kept my chin resting against her head, arms loosely wrapped around her waist, when I murmured, “Have you eaten yet?”

Aurora pulled back just enough to look up at me, her expression soft. “No, not yet.”

I gave her a look. “You’ve been home since noon and didn’t eat?”

She shrugged with a guilty little smile. “I wasn’t that hungry earlier…But I am now.”

“Alright,” I said, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Come on, let’s go out. You wanna get dinner?”

Her eyes lit up a bit, and she nodded. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

I leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Good. Go get ready, baby.”

She turned toward her room, and I headed to mine. I didn’t waste time—showered fast, got the smoke off me, and changed into something clean. I wasn’t about to sit across from her at dinner smelling like her worst memories.

Twenty minutes later, we were in the car, Aurora in the passenger seat, humming quietly to a song playing on the radio. She looked relaxed, her fingers tapping along to the beat on her knee.

“Where are we going?” she asked, glancing over at me.

“You’ll see,” I said, a small smile playing on my lips.

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Is this one of your surprise places again? Because last time you took me to a steakhouse even though I said I wasn’t in the mood for meat.”

I laughed under my breath. “No, don’t worry”. 

I pulled into a quiet side street and parked in front of a warm, cozy Turkish restaurant tucked between a bakery and a flower shop. Soft golden lighting spilled from the windows, and the scent of grilled spices drifted into the night air as we stepped out.

Aurora paused, then turned to look at the sign. “Wait… this is that Turkish place you said you’d never try.”

I smirked. “Yeah, well, I’ve watched you order Turkish food often a week for months. Figured you’d like this place.”

She blinked, a slow smile forming. “You remembered?”

I just chuckld, softly. 

Her smile widened as we stepped into the restaurant. She didn’t say anything, but the way she leaned into me just a little more said enough.

The inside was pretty packed, but we found a booth at the far back, away from everyone. 

The restaurant was bustling, the warm lighting and soft chatter wrapping the space in a cozy atmosphere. We managed to find a booth tucked in the far corner, away from the noise and close enough to the windows to catch a bit of the streetlight outside.

Aurora carefully studied the menu, pointing things out to me and giving her honest reviews—what to avoid, what was worth trying. I didn’t bother picking for myself. I just let her decide. She knew what she was doing.

Once we ordered, we sat back and waited. She looked at me with that familiar little smile, the one that made everything else fade for a moment.

“I swear, you always know when I need to get out of the house,” she said, her voice soft but amused.

I leaned back, eyes still on her. “To be fair, I needed it too. But if I don’t say anything, you’ll go all day and forget to eat.”

She laughed lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah… that’s true.”

The food arrived not long after—steaming plates of Turkish manti, chargrilled kebabs, and warm, buttery flatbread. The smell alone was enough to make my stomach growl.

I took my first bite of the manti, then glanced over at Aurora. “Okay,” I said, pointing at my plate with my fork. “This? This is really good.”

She grinned, already halfway through a skewer of lamb. “Told you.”

“I might need to come here without you next time.”

She playfully narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

I chuckled, then caught her watching me. Her fork had stopped mid-air, and she was just… staring.

“What?” I asked, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

She shrugged, smiling gently. “Nothing. I’m just…really happy.”

My hand paused on the table, and I tilted my head slightly. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

She shrugged, smiling softly.

“I don’t know…I mean, I have good food, good company…it feels calm. Like my heart isn’t racing for once. I think I feel at peace for the first time in a while.”

My chest tightened a little, but in a good way. I didn’t say anything right away—just watched her for a moment, the soft restaurant lighting catching in her eyes.

I cleared my throat and smirked. “Well, not everyone agrees I’m good company. You might want to keep that to yourself.”

She laughed quietly, leaning back in her seat. “That’s their loss.”

I continued to watch her eat, wondering how the hell I had convinced this woman that I was some sort of sweetheart, when no one else except my mother, would describe me as such. Though even my mom only said it cause she was my mom, I doubt she mean it.

When we got back to the penthouse, the place was still and quiet, the kind of calm that only settles in late at night. Aurora looked drained, her steps slower, her voice soft as she murmured something about changing before disappearing into her room.

I slipped off my clothes, leaving just my boxers, and sank into bed. The weight of the day pressed into the mattress with me. I stared at the ceiling for a while, letting the silence wrap around me, until I heard the soft creak of my bedroom door.

From the corner of my eye, I saw her—fresh out of the shower, skin dewy from her skincare routine, her long hair braided over one shoulder. She wore one of her usual nightdresses, simple but elegant, the kind she always wore to bed. Familiar. Comforting.

She stepped into the room with a teasing smile. “Put some pants on, sir,” she said lightly, her tone playful as her eyes flicked down at me.

I didn’t bother moving, still lying out against the pillows. Instead, I reached out my hand toward her and gently tugged her down, pulling her into my chest like muscle memory. Her body fit perfectly against mine, warm and soft, and I held her there without saying a word, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Our bodies rested against each other, comfortably entangled in the quiet of the night. With Aurora, it was never about needing anything physical—just having her close was enough. The warmth of her skin against mine felt like something sacred, like her place had always been right there, beside me.

I ran my fingers through her braid, gently unraveling a few strands just so I could twist them around my fingers. It was something I always found myself doing when she was near—soft, absentminded, tender. There was a kind of peace that only came with her. A kind of closeness that made everything else fade. 

Aurora shifted beside me, settling into the space between us until we were facing each other, just inches apart. Her eyes flicked down to my lips before meeting my gaze again, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.

“Hi,” she whispered, almost shyly.

“Hi,” I murmured back, closing the short distance between us.

Her lips were just like I remembered—soft, warm, a little hesitant at first. Kissing her always felt like pressing pause on the world.

“You know,” she said gently, pulling back just enough to speak, “you were my first kiss.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—what?”

She giggled at my reaction, biting her lip. “Yeah… that day in my studio. When you kissed me. That was my first.”

A strange weight pressed down on my chest—guilt, maybe. The memory of how I’d handled things after that kiss came rushing back, the way I shut her out, told her it was a mistake, when all it did was scare me.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

Her brows drew together. “Why would you be sorry?”

“I didn’t know. If I had… I wouldn’t have acted like that. I wouldn’t have been so cold.”

She reached for my hand, her touch light. “It’s alright… it was a different time. We were different then.”

If someone had told me six months ago that I’d be this invested in a woman, I’d have called them crazy. Especially if they said she was Thomas Devereaux’s daughter. Here I am, holding Aurora close like she’s my whole world—like protecting her is all that matters. In this moment, I understood that I wasn’t the same man I used to be. Not anymore.

“What have you done to me?” I teased softly, brushing her hair with my fingers. 

I waited for a response, but none came. Looking down, I saw her eyes gently closed, her breathing calm and even.

A smile tugged at my lips as I carefully tucked us both in, placing one last kiss on her forehead.

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS NOW!

[a/n: who's telling Aurora she ain't going to be at peace for long. Also, who got the trope hint to the Matt fic, tee hee. Thank you for reading, everyone. Your comments motivate me. Like and reblog. mwah] –Ceyana

tags: @loser41ifee @bluestriips @mattsfrenchtoast @slvtf0rchr1s @courta13 @emeraldsturns @mattscore @chriss-slutt @chrissturniolodailysluts @pip4444chris @oopsiedaisydeer @y3sterdaysproblem @sagesturns @prettyingreen4chris @ilovenicksturniolosblog

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[tarotbyjam24]

Pick a pile : Your future spouse\lover 's 4 am spicy thoughts and advice for you mdni [LGBTQ friendly]

pile 1 pile 2 pile 3 pile 4

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Hi there! Hope you found the readings helpful.

Your likes, reblogs, and feedback are so important to me 🩷. Which pile did you connect with? 🫶🏻 I'm curious to know! These are general, so take what resonates.

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While channeling these thoughts I felt as if I was being a chicken when you two were talking 😭 because like tell me why am I here while you two are talking in your bed cuddling eachother and laughing dearly 🫠

Pile एक

I think every woman wants a man to look her in the eyes, caress her cheek and tell her to take her fucking pant*es off...

You know you're fuc*ed when their voice turns you on.

When you're so turned on that you can't even think or talk.When all you want is to feel that body against yours.

Date someone you can have rough s*x with and deep conversations with whether it's two in the morning or two in the afternoon.

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Pile दो

Getting fu*ked to sleep every night by the love of my life is what I deserve tbh.

When their gentle side makes you weak & their dominant side makes you w*t.

Casual s*x is dead.I wanna fu*k you and feed you and care for you and support your goals and do shit with you and help you out and nap with you dammit!

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Pile तीन

I like that "morning baby" kinda relationship. The no games, great communication, lots of s*x, lots of ki*sing, lots of cuddling, lots of flirting, lots of being goofy kind of relationship. That makes you want to run 100 miles, read books, clean up your bad habits kind of love.

Every person deserves to wake up in bed next to a man\woman that is happy to see her\him\them beside him\her\their , that kisses her\him\them in spite of morning breath, and can't get out of bed before making love to her\him \ them again.

It's easy to take off your clothes and have s*x. People do it all the time. But opening up your soul to someone, letting them into your spirit, thoughts, fears, future, hopes, dreams... that is being nak*d.

I'm sorry but s*x will never be enough just for me to stick around. I need my soul fed. Spiritual growth. Teach me. Mold me. Guide me. Talk to me. Love me. Connect with me and UNDERSTAND ME

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Pile चार

Intimacy is such a huge fucking turn on. Not just physical intimacy but the kind where someone lets you in their mind. The closeness of being mentally, emotionally and energetically connected is hot.

I like that "morning baby" kinda relationship. The no games, great communication, lots of kissing, lots of cuddling, lots of flirting, lots of being goofy kind of relationship. That makes you want to run 100 miles, read books, clean up your bad habits kind of love.

Forget about sleeping together. The real question is, can you still love her\him\them when she\he \they is\are overthinking, sending you 10 messages in a row because she\he\they need(s) reassurance? Can you support her\him\them when she\he\they is\are anxiously making sure she\he \they still wanted, and that you won't leave her\him\them when times get tough? Real love is about being there through her\his\their insecurities, calming her \him \ them fears, and proving that your commitment is strong. It's about showing her\him\them that she\he \they is\are loved and valued, even when she\he \they feel(s) most unsure and vulnerable.

You can be a genuine, loyal, and good-hearted person. AND YOU CAN ALSO BE A DIRTY, H*RNY, LITTLE S*X MONSTER. They are not mutually exclusive.

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Thanks for being here and allowing me to share. Sending good vibes your way! Love, jam

[gullemec]

Patchwork

Golden Ruin - Epilogue

series masterlist ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: It's here - your happily ever after.

Warnings: nothing really, just sappy fluffy fluff <3, butcher being a great dad :')

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 2.3k

I'm very very sorry for going MIA! I hope you enjoy this little epilogue.

From the back porch of your small stone cottage, the English countryside looks like a vast sea of green and gold rolling hills.

Stretching wide all around you, the late summer sun casts it all in a dreamy haze. A breeze stirs the tall grass surrounding your garden and it feels like peace. You think that’s what you’ve found here.

Some strange semblance of peace.

Butcher steps out onto the back porch with you, settling down onto his favorite chair beside you. He hasn’t quite adjusted to this odd quiet either. No distant sirens, no constant noise from outside your window, no urgent phone calls thrusting you back into chaos. Just the wind, the chirping of birds, and the tiny cry of your newborn daughter from inside the house.

He smiles despite himself. The sound tugs at his heart.

Katherine Lenore Butcher. Named after your late mother, and Billy’s late brother.

Little Katie, you’ve started calling her. Just a few days old, and already she has her old man wrapped around her tiny, perfect finger.

You step inside and a moment later he hears your soft footsteps back on the porch. You have the baby cradled against your chest, your hair loose, face glowing in the golden light. He thinks you look like something out of a dream. Not one he’d ever imagined for himself, but not one he didn’t want. One he thought he didn’t deserve. Still thinks he doesn’t deserve, if he’s honest, but one he wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

“She’s hungry again,” you say with a tired smile, brushing a kiss against Katie’s downy-haired head.

“She’s got my appetite, that’s for sure. Poor kid.”

You laugh and sink into the old wooden chair beside him. Katie stirs in your arms, her tiny fists waving in protest as you settle her. Butcher leans over, brushing a gentle finger across her cheek. She lets out a little grunt, then calms, blinking up at him with wide, curious eyes.

“She’s bloody perfect, isn’t she?” he murmurs.

“She is,” you agree, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I still can’t believe she’s ours.”

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while, watching the sun sink below the distant hills. It feels like the world has finally slowed down, allowing you both a moment to breathe, to just be.

Occasionally, your thoughts still drift back to the others. MM, Frenchie, Kimiko, Hughie, and Annie. They’re still out there, still carrying the torch, continuing the fight against Vought’s insidious grip. Every now and then, a letter or a carefully encrypted email finds its way to you, an update on their progress, or lack thereof.

Homelander and your father’s disappearances remain an unsolved riddle, a ghost haunting the edges of your otherwise idyllic life. But neither of you dwell on it much. There’s no use worrying over what you can’t control, not when there’s so much to cherish here and now.

Butcher reaches over, his hand finding yours, threading your fingers together. His grip is warm, steady, a silent promise that he’s there, that this life, this quiet, blissful existence, is as much for him as it is for you.

“Y’know,” he says after a while, “I never thought I’d get this. A second chance.”

You look up at him, your eyes soft. “You deserve it, Billy. We both do.”

His eyes drop to Katie, who’s fallen asleep against your chest, her little face relaxed and smushed in milk drunkness. A tiny snore escape her, and Butcher can’t help but grin.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Yeah, maybe I do.”

~~~

About a year in, Billy started to notice it, the subtle way the light in your eyes had dimmed, just a fraction. The sparkle he’d always loved had faded, not gone completely, but dulled around the edges like a blade that hadn’t seen a whetstone in too long.

You were happy, there was no doubt about that. Watching Katie grow from a tiny, helpless bundle into a lively, curious toddler filled your days with joy. She was everything to you both. Her first steps, her first words, the way she looked at the world with wide-eyed wonder. Every milestone felt monumental. She was the smartest, most extraordinary little girl in the entire world, and neither of you would dare trade a second of it.

But happiness didn’t erase longing. It didn’t quiet the part of you that missed the buzz of adrenaline, the intoxicating thrill of a successful mission. The rush of chasing something dangerous, the satisfaction of catching it. It had been a part of you for so long that its absence left an ache. An ache you buried under nursing schedules, playdates, and the constant demands of motherhood.

Billy saw it even if you tried to hide it. He didn’t say anything at first, waiting for the right moment. When he finally broached the idea, you fought him on it. A babysitter? Even for just a couple of hours? You scoffed at the suggestion, shaking your head with all the stubbornness he loved about you. But he was patient, prepared for your tears when the day finally came.

Tonight, Katie sleeps soundly in her crib, the babysitter curled up on the sofa with a book. Butcher drives you into town, promising you a proper date night, the first since Katie was born. You were hesitant, nervous even, but he assured you everything would be fine.

When he pulls into the top floor of a parking structure, you frown, shivering against the crisp winter breeze as you step out of the car.

“Baby, what the hell is this?” you ask, wrapping your arms around yourself. The city below buzzes with nightlife, neon signs flickering against the cold night air. “If this is your idea of a romantic evening, we need to have a serious talk.”

Billy chuckles warmly as he rummages through the backseat. “Just be patient, love. Trust me.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes as you wander to the edge of the structure, peering down at the streets below. The sounds of car horns and distant laughter drift up to you. Behind you, Butcher appears, slipping his jacket around your shoulders. You lean into him instinctively, his warmth chasing away the chill.

He holds up a pair of binoculars, grinning like a kid about to share a secret. “Can I show you somethin’?”

You raise a skeptical brow but nod.

Butcher positions the binoculars in front of your eyes, his hands steadying them. “See him there? Fella in the red jacket, leanin’ against the hotel pillar?”

You squint, adjusting the focus until you spot him, a man in his mid-thirties, maybe, wearing a burgundy sports coat and puffing on a cigarette.

“The guy smoking?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Butcher’s lips brush against your ear as he speaks. “That’s him. An MP. Married bloke. Only, not to her.”

Your stomach turns as a young blonde woman strolls across the courtyard toward the man. She doesn’t hesitate, throwing her arms around him as he grabs her ass, pulling her into a deep kiss.

“Classy,” you mutter, wincing. You pull away from the binoculars, turning to Butcher with a raised brow. “So… Your idea of a romantic date night is spying on some sleazebag’s affair?”

Butcher chuckles, but it fades quickly, his voice growing serious. “What if I told you his wife’s willing to pay good money for proof of this?”

You freeze, staring at him.

“I didn’t say yes,” he adds quickly, sensing your hesitation. “Not without talkin’ to you first. But I thought… maybe it’s somethin’ we could do. Together. Just til you’re ready to take Mallory up on her CIA offer.”

You blink, your mind racing.

“We could get our PI licenses,” he continues. “Make it legit. No dangerous shite, just… cases like this. Couple hours here and there, get a babysitter to watch Katie. We’d be careful. And if you don’t want to, that’s fine.You say the word and  I’ll drive you to a nice Italian place right now, forget I ever brought it up.”

His voice wavers a bit at the end, like he’s nervous you won’t like his proposition.

Tears wells in your eyes, spilling over before you can stop them. You step back from the binoculars, turning to face him fully. His expression softens as he reaches up to cup your cheek, brushing away a tear with his thumb.

“Why are you cryin’, love?” he murmurs, his brows furrowed with concern.

You take a shaky breath, trying to find the words. “Because… I didn’t realize how much I missed it. And because I love you for knowing me well enough to give me this.”

Butcher’s lips curve into a small, tender smile, his hands steadying your shoulders. “That’s a yes, then?”

You nod, letting out a watery laugh. “Yeah. That’s a yes.”

And just like that, the spark that had dimmed begins to glow again.

~~~

It’s a rare sunny day in rural England. The kind of day that warms your face and your soul. Outside your cottage, birds chirp in the distance, and Katie’s laughter rings out as she toddles through the garden on her chubby little legs.

Inside, you pour two cups of tea, the amber liquid pooling into your favorite ceramic mugs. As you grasp them, allowing the heat to seep into your palms, you pass the photo shelf next to the kitchen. Torn and worn, but housed in a new frame, sits that old photo of you and your mom. It strikes you how much Katie looks like you as a baby, and yet somehow so much like Butcher, too. There are the old photos, salvaged from your New York apartment; the candids of the Boys, a selfie of you and Annie on a night that feels like it was from a different life. And there are new additions, too. A clear, head-on photo of Butcher you’d insisted he let you take, despite teasing you about forcing him to take glamour shots. You didn’t care. You never wanted to live with the possibility that he might disappear one day and you’d be left without a scrap of him again. A picture of Butcher in a suit and you in a white dress, the two of you caught in an embrace. And, at the forefront, a photo you’d asked a nurse to take. You, lids drooping with exhaustion, Butcher, arms encircling you, eyes red with tears, beaming smiles painted on both of your faces. And tucked between you a tiny bundle, your baby’s impossibly little face looking utterly disgruntled but oh so perfect.

Family. In every way it’s taken shape for you.

You walk out onto the porch, passing one mug to Butcher and keeping the other for yourself. His hand finds yours, calloused fingers intertwining with your own, as you watch your toddler with quiet pride.

It feels like eons have passed since the whirlwind of chaos that defined your old lives. The Boys have carried on the fight without Butcher, though their work is never really finished. Homelander and your father still haven’t resurfaced, the uncertainty convoluting your already complicated grief. 

The Boys visit occasionally, bringing stories of their battles, triumphs, and losses. They’re all enthralled with their new little niece, and you made good on making Annie and Hughie her godparents. It wasn’t easy letting go of the fight, but with each update, you find a strange sense of peace in knowing you’ve passed the torch to capable hands.

This life, your quiet little corner of the world, wasn’t the one you’d envisioned for yourself years ago. But it’s everything you didn’t know you needed.

Butcher changed in ways you never thought possible. The anger that once consumed him has softened, replaced by a cautious hopefulness. He’s  poured himself into being a father, a husband, and, against all odds, a man who believes he deserves happiness.

Katie stumbles, her little legs giving out beneath her, and Butcher is up in an instant, scooping her into his arms. She squeals in delight, her tiny hands tugging at his beard.

“Daddy’s gotcha,” he says, gentle in a way few have probably ever seen from him.

Watching them, your chest aches in the best possible way. This is your family. A patchwork of love and second chances, stitched together by resilience and a refusal to give up on each other.

Later, after Katie is asleep in her crib, you sit with Butcher by the fire. The soft crackle of the logs and the warmth of his presence make the small living room feel like the safest place in the world.

“I’ve been thinking,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Dangerous thing for you,” he teases, but his smile was warm.

You nudge him with your foot. “I’m serious. I think… Maybe we were looking at it wrong the whole time. Life, I mean. Maybe it’s not about what you fight against. It’s about what you fight for.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the flames. Then, after a moment, he nods. “I think you’re right. Never thought I’d have somethin’ worth fightin’ for. But I’ve got it now.”

You reach over, resting your hand on his. “And we’re not alone. The Boys… they’re still our family. No matter where we are, or what we’re doing.”

Butcher’s thumb brushes over your knuckles. 

“A bloody mess of a family, but yeah. They’re ours.”

In that moment, you realize that you found your meaning. Not in revenge, not in missions, but in the connections you’ve made. In the people who make life worth living.

As the fire crackles and the stars shine brightly outside, you lean into Butcher, his arm wrapping around you. Whatever the future holds, whether it brings peace, chaos, or something in between, you know you’ll face it together.

Because family isn’t about blood. It’s about choice. It’s about love. And it’s about living for the people who make you whole.

[marleysfinest]

calibernus ryomen sukuna x reader (fem!reader) chapter: 8/? word count: 5,071 cw: depictions of violence, blood, mentions of vomit, suffocation

also available on AO3

SUFFOCATION

The bed sheets that engulf you are cool and soft, wrapping you tightly like a present and soothing your tired body. Even as you slowly wake you feel as if you're floating in a dream-like state, safe from the world and free to bask in the cool morning breeze from the warmth and safety of your duvet. Consciousness grips you fully but gently, and you slowly prop yourself up against the headboard. The window is cracked open enough for you to hear the morning birdsong and a church bell toll in the distance, and if you listen carefully enough you can make out the quiet hum of conversation as the ton takes its morning stroll through the streets of Mayfair. The sky is a clear and rich blue, the morning sun already hot and drenching London in unrelenting light. There's a sense of peace that's suddenly alien as you recall the sight of Haruto Kamo slumped lifelessly in the chair.

As the memory of what unfolded in the orangery fully comes back to you, your inner peace is shattered. No longer do the sheets feel inviting and comforting, but restraining and irritatingly present. Your heart rate quickens ever so slightly but you don't fall into a full panic. The image is distressing but not overwhelmingly so, despite the fact that it is suddenly everywhere in your mind's eye. But why aren't I feeling… more? It's less horror or terror that you feel - as you had felt only last night - but more discomfort, like you simply want to squirm your way out of the memory. You wish desperately that it had never happened but feel oddly accepting that it did; all you want is to learn how to never do it again.

You're about to climb out of bed and prepare for breakfast when there's a gentle knock at your door, and you pause. After calling for the guest to enter, you're surprised to see your grandmother, still in her nightgown and house coat, wearing a solemn expression.

"Good morning, my dear," she says softly.

"Good morning, Grandmama," you reply, instantly curious as to why she's not waiting for you at the breakfast table as usual.

"Might we speak in private?"

Panic strikes you. "Of course. Forgive me, I've not long been awake."

"No, no, you must stay as you are."

She steps into the room and closes the door gently behind her before perching at the end of your bed, and it's only then that you realise how distressed she looks.

"Haruto Kamo was found dead at the Walton residence in the early hours of this morning," she says bluntly, "murdered."

Bile rises in your throat as the panic you'd been searching for just moments ago awakes fully, and your hand flies to your mouth.

"I know," your grandmother says sympathetically, "it has sent… quite the shock throughout London."

"How… how awful," you feign, battling every instinct in your body that might let it slip that you are the reason Haruto Kamo is dead. "What happened? Are there any suspects?"

She shakes her head.

"No. The police will do what they can, but I fear they will not catch the culprit."

You lower your hand as the urge to vomit subsides.

"Why not?"

She sighs with a hint of reservation.

"I wish not to interrogate you. However, I feel it is my duty to ask, given your company at the Walton ball. Did Lord Sukuna, at any time, mention the Kamo clan?"

Your heart rate triples as you realise that she has correctly deduced that Lord Sukuna had something to do with Haruto's demise.

"N…No," you respond, "he never mentioned them." Until he put one in front of me at the end of the night. This doesn't appease your grandmother.

"Hm."

"You believe… you think that he has something to do with this?"

She meets your eye finally, looking genuinely lost.

"I no longer know what I believe," she sighs, "but I fear so, yes."

"Why?" you ask, immediately chastising yourself for sounding defensive, albeit by accident. It's not lost on your grandmother, whose brows twitch.

"There is much you do not know about Lord Sukuna," she says gravely. There's a wholly inexplicable twist in your stomach as she says this; for reasons you cannot fathom, you're suddenly irritated.

"There is much I do not know about many things," you reply, the anger bleeding through in your voice.

"Do not take that tone with me," she hisses.

"Then do not take me for a fool," you hiss back. The two of you fall into silence as neither is willing to back down. You maintain your steely and agitated exterior while, inside, trying to figure out where this anger, this confidence has come from.

"Tell me what you know if my ignorance displeases you," you continue, "otherwise you may leave me to make my own mistakes."

You cast the duvet off and swing your legs out of bed before marching towards your dressing room, silently dismissing your grandmother in a way you have never done before. The way she remains at the end of your bed suggests that you've stunned her into silence for the first time in either of your lives. You remain still, out of sight, until you hear the sound of her closing the door behind her as she leaves, wherein you let out a heavy sigh. You lean on your dressing table and take a deep breath, trying your hardest to ignore the beads of sweat forming on your forehead.

Feeling bruised black and blue from bouncing between guilt and grief and fear and anger, something snaps in your stomach and you decide that one answer through bloodshed is not enough. Accepting being treated like a child is a thing of the past; you will accept clear answers from now on, and nothing less. You hastily dress before calling for the footman to prepare the carriage, and sweep downstairs as you hear the approach of hooves from atop the staircase. With tunnel vision you head straight out of the door, ignoring your grandmother's cries behind you. Before slamming the carriage door shut, you instruct the driver to take you to the palace.

*

The carriage barely pulls to a stop in the courtyard when the door swings open, and Sukuna's frame fills the doorway. He tosses in a satchel before ordering the driver to head for Hampstead Heath while climbing into the carriage. The driver hesitates.

"Ma'am?!"

Despite feeling as stunned as the driver, you maintain steely eye contact with Sukuna, who glares at you smugly.

"Go." Your instruction is curt and to the point, and the driver prompts the horses onward to leave the palace behind.

For several moments the two of you remain locked in eye contact. You glare at him with all the anger you can muster but failing to suppress your fear, while he stares down at you with an entirely neutral expression.

"Why are we going to Hampstead Heath?" you ask, kicking yourself both for asking such a trivial and idiotic question and for breaking the silence first. You'd travelled to see him with the sole intention of demanding answers but instead, you'd let him take charge of the situation.

"Because it's time for you to stretch your wings and expand your mind."

Your eyes narrow. I like the sound of that. But I do not like you. I don't think.

"The last time I expended my mind, a man died. Haruto Kamo's body was discovered this morning," you say, changing the subject. He doesn't flinch at the news, he doesn't even blink.

"And?"

"Why leave him to be found?"

He shrugs. "I was tired."

Before you can stop yourself, you scoff in his face.

"You were tired? You kidnapped that poor man and stood idly by while I drained the life from him, only to leave him in that state for another poor soul to find him? Because you were tired?"

Instead of offering any argument or retaliation, Sukuna maintains his silence. There isn't a waver in his expression at all as you rant at him, which only riles you more, a frustration that quickly turns to embarrassment as you realise you've said all you wanted to say, and the words have dried up.

"Are you finished?" he asks. Immediately you recoil back to the coy, pathetic version of yourself that he'd been presented with so often, and feel foolish for your outburst.

"What was the point in letting him die?" you ask through gritted teeth. Sukuna sighs tiredly, and glances out of the window.

"If I had intervened, it was unlikely that you'd have been able to stop the absorption, thus I risked losing some of my own technique if I'd touched you. Similarly, I had no way of knowing whether interfering with the process would cause you any harm; letting the sorcerer die was the simplest option, not to mention the easiest way to prove your technique."

You slump back in your seat, finally realising that Sukuna genuinely does not care about Haruto Kamo's death, nor does he particularly care for your distress over the matter. It was a means to an end for him, nothing more. Accepting that there is little you're going to get from him in terms of remorse, you swallow the rage you'd had in reserve and push past the need to see him apologise or explain anything about the night before. With a deep breath, you regain your composure and turn your attention to the passing city out of the window, all the while feeling the heat of Sukuna's stare on your cheek. The buildings gradually begin to thin, and eventually the landscape blossoms into greener pastures as you finally approach Hampstead Heath.

The carriage slowly pulls to a stop, and the footman comes around to let you out. No sooner have your feet touched the ground does Sukuna instruct the driver to leave and not return until the evening. The driver looks to you for approval which you provide by way of a nod, and you are left alone.

Once the driver is fully out of sight, Sukuna looks to the near distance and you follow his line of sight to see Uraume, ready and waiting for their directions. How long have they been waiting here for? They remain still even with Sukuna's arrival, and their presence unnerves you not least as you'd expected to be alone with him. Sukuna shrugs off his haori and reveals his true form, stretching his four arms in the free air - it's a sight that still makes your stomach twist in a multitude of ways - and you notice he's clinging to the brown satchel in one hand. After limbering up he throws it at you and you fumble to catch it, and only then do you realise that this is your satchel.

"Change."

With your eyes flickering from the bag, to him, and back again, you open the bag to see a shirt and britches folded inside.

"A pretty dress does not lend itself well to what we're about to do."

"These are mine," you say indignantly, "how did you get them?"

Sukuna rolls his eyes.

"No more questions. Change."

Resisting the urge to act petulantly and refuse to do as he says without answers, you begin to pull the clothes from the bag when you realise you're in the middle of an open field.

"How do you expect neither of us to be noticed? How - "

"Emerge from the darkness, blacker still. Purify that which is impure."

Uraume's gentle tone catches you off guard, as you hadn't heard or notice them approach. You look to them, not sure what to expect and notice they have one hand raised in front of their face, with their forefinger and middle finger only raised to the sky. There's a gentle rumble in the sky above you, and as you look up, you see a grey aura emanating from a single point, like a drop of oil into water.

"There. You and I - and Uraume - can come and go as we please but nobody else will see us. Now, if you're finally satisfied, change."

Registering that Sukuna's tone had shifted, you do as you're told. He turns his back as Uraume helps you out of your dress and you hastily don the clothes. It's much more comfortable; you've always been fond of the comfort and ease of movement that trousers offer and frequently curse that you're not able to wear them more often. Uraume neatly folds your dress and slings the satchel over their shoulder, their work seemingly complete for now.

"What about shoes?" You wince as you fire another question at Sukuna, but did he expect you to keep on your heeled boots?

"You'll go barefoot." I shouldn't have asked.

Thinking better of risking an argument with yet another question, you do as he says and leave your boots neatly to one side, letting your feet sink into the grass. Your toes instinctively wiggle as they embed themselves in the blades; it reminds you of when you were little and would play outside with your brother in the countryside. It's a distinct and ironic sense of innocence.

"Air manipulation is the ability to control and contort the molecules of oxygen around you however you see fit," begins Sukuna, starting to pace around you like a caged tiger, "it's time to see if you can wield the technique as well as you can extract it."

Without as much of a second passing, Sukuna is no longer several meters away. He's immediately in front of you with a hand around your throat, and in a split second throws you into the air with as much effort as one would throw a stick into a river. The cavern of difference between your weight and his strength means that, while he hasn't hurt you, he's launched you very high. Before you can fully register what's happened, you've got a birds-eye view of the lush green heath and the city beyond, and no sooner have you reached your peak do you feel your stomach left behind as you start to plummet back towards the ground.

You flail helplessly as the air rushes past you, feeling simultaneously weightless and heavier than a sack of bricks. The ground approaches faster and faster and even in the throes of panic and screaming, you wonder what it'll feel like. Will it be instant? Will you feel yourself hit the ground, your brains splatter across the grass and your bones disintegrate? In a feeble, instinctive effort to break your fall, you hold your hands out in front of you and feel the air speeding between your fingers and around the palms of your hands.

Amongst the panicked thoughts, however, you're able to pluck out one - how you had extracted the technique from Lord Kamo. Intent.

There's a sudden pressure where the flow of air used to be, almost as if your hands are plunging through sand. You manage to focus and see a purple sheen outlining your hands and fingers, and you push harder against the sand. It grows more and more dense until you realise that your lower half is overtaking you; your hands are clinging on but the rest of your body is not. Like you're hanging from a ledge but still slipping towards the earth. With a rush of effort you push the energy around your whole body, and stop just a few feet from the ground.

Your concentration breaks, along with your cursed energy, and you thump onto the grass with a cry. As you roll onto your back your head lolls to one side, and you feel the blood in your body run cold as you see Sukuna already heading towards you - at speed. With teeth bared and a grin on his face, he plows towards you with two arms outstretched as he charges a hit. There's an entirely new layer to him; a beastly enjoyment coupled with an insatiable appetite. He's going to kill me. He's going to devour me. With your back still flat on the ground you hold up a hand in a feeble attempt to stop him and brace for the impact. The inevitable contact with his body, your arm snapping backwards, and his teeth sinking into you.

"NO!"

Your hand flies out and you turn away, squeezing your eyes closed, and you feel a pulse of energy boom from your palm. When there's no impact from his fist or his teeth you dare to look for Sukuna, and see him skidding backwards with his feet tearing up the earth, apparently having been knocked back.

"Impressive!" he calls, regaining his footing, "try to repel me on purpose this time instead of relying on accidents."

He slams a foot on the ground and there's a crack that rattles your bones, and you watch as the earth splits in front of you and begins to crumble. You scramble to your feet and hastily pick a side to stand on, but no sooner have you steadied yourself do you sense Sukuna coming for you again, and this time there's no opportunity to stop him.

His fist collides with your stomach and knocks the air clean out of you, the force sending you flying backwards until you land hard on the ground again. Winded, you writhe on your back unable to breathe. There's a blossoming pain in and around your stomach and the metallic taste coating your tongue suggests that you're bleeding. You roll onto your front and spit out a mouthful of blood onto the green grass, and grip your stomach as it radiates pain. You shakily try to bring yourself up onto your knees, but you've barely propped yourself up when you feel Sukuna's grip at the back of your head, and you're pulled to your feet by your hair. He brings you to his level, and puts his mouth to your ear.

"I've been wanting to do that ever since I first laid eyes on you," he growls, "your blood smells every bit as delicious as I thought it would."

A shiver ripples down your spine, and you feel as if you're about to break apart at the seams when he places a hand on your stomach, and you tense with anticipation of another hit, but instead, the touch is gentle, almost soft, and a warmth overcomes you. In seconds, the pain is gone.

"Again."

With agonising repetition you continue; he smacks you down, heals you, you get up, and the cycle goes on. You can't seem to find a rhythm or repeat your control of your cursed energy, and take blow after blow trying to do so. Blood pours from your nose and leaks from the corners of your mouth, but for all of your pain and bleeding you'll walk away without even a battle scar to show for it. Why can't I do this? After yet another bone-shattering landing it's Uraume who has emerged from the sidelines to heal you, and Sukuna pauses his onslaught while you regain your breath. You notice that he's barely broken a sweat.

"I expected more," he says, "such a pathetic display from the jewel in the Wellington crown."

You discard another mouthful of blood and scoff. As you pull yourself up onto your knees, you wipe the stray hairs from your face and look up to him.

"Where did you get that idea?" you ask, heaving your breaths. He glares down at you with indifference. "I am not the only child nor am I the eldest, or male. What makes you think I am worth anything to my family?"

A flicker of something you swear is confusion crosses his face just for a second, and he pauses his pacing.

"Your mother and grandmother really did choose to condemn your entire family, didn't they?" he ponders out loud. With weak and trembling legs you return to your feet.

"If by 'condemn' you mean sealing me off from this world of horrors, then yes," you hiss as the breath fills your lungs, "I doubt very much that they wanted this affliction for me, and instead thought that by sparing me of its knowledge, they'd spare me from it entirely."

Sukuna flashes his teeth as he barks a laugh, throwing his head back in glee.

"Ignorance!" he cries, "they have the key to power in the palm of their hand and yet -"

"ENOUGH!"

The scream scrapes your throat on its way out.

"Enough of the veiled information, of treating me like an infant who cannot understand nor manage what's happening to me! I have been told in no uncertain terms for years that I am growing too old, do not treat me now as if I am too young. Speak with me plainly, or do not speak with me at all."

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued.

"Is that so?" he purrs, "then tell me - why do you still handle yourself like a child?"

Anger wells in the pit of your stomach as Sukuna angles himself, and instinctively you brace yourself - in a blink, he'll be upon you.

"I am a child in your eyes because I've not been gifted the knowledge I deserve. Because everyone around me is too preoccupied with wasting their breath on telling me how inferior I am," you spit, "perhaps they know that if they give themselves yes another reason to gossip then the words might suffocate them."

"Or," says Sukuna calmly, "perhaps you just aren't worth it."

It's the last thing you hear before Sukuna kicks off again towards you. Your stomach hardens as it prepares for a blow, but you also bring an arm up in an attempt to block him, and in doing so send another sweeping gust of air in his direction which knocks him off course. Instead of losing your focus to surprise, you attempt to throw another one. It hits. It isn't stopping him from moving, but it's catching him out just enough to give you time to think. You really focus on the sensation; your cursed energy thrumming evenly throughout your body, the clear vision of what the air around you will do at your will.

Sukuna has already become accustomed to the gusts of wind as he avoids the next two attacks, and you realise it's time to change tactics. You remember how you were able to hold on to the air as you were falling and attempt to recreate it - but focusing the energy on your feet.

You begin to step backwards and, maintaining your focus, are able to ascend on the air like a staircase, manipulating the air in such a way that makes it like brick and mortar beneath your feet. Standing on the particles feels like being on a beach, the air itself like sand. Soon, you're in the air six meters above Sukuna.

"Finally!" he calls, still heading in your direction, "results at last. You've yet to impress me again, however."

He speeds up and suddenly leaps into the air to bring himself level with you.

"At least honour yourself with some effort," he says through gritted teeth, baring his claws for another strike, "give yourself a reason to knock the breath out of that old hag you call a grandmother."

Fuelled by fury you swipe at him first to send another gust at him, but at the last moment you steady your hand as it hovers over him and focus on just his air. For a split second his eyes go wide enough for you to see the entirety of his scarlet iris, and he pauses his attack and falls back down to the ground. You lower yourself, not for a moment letting your focus waver, watching in awe as he crouches on one knee, and the faintest sound of a struggle escapes his lips. Just as the colour in his face starts to change to a hue more resembling his hair, you release, and he can't stop the loud inhalation that follows. You had focused solely on the air in Sukuna's lungs, dragging it out of him like sand through an hourglass, and in that moment not even he could do anything about it.

Having watched everything from the sideline, your feet are suddenly frozen in place as Uraume reveals their technique to break your focus and release Sukuna, running towards you both at full speed. The skin on your shins begin to burn from the enormous shards of ice suddenly protruding from the ground, and you watch as they summon another attack only to be stopped by Sukuna raising his hand. Through heavy breaths, he begins to chuckle.

"Well, well. Look who woke up."

It's the first time you've heard him speak with any hint of strain or breathlessness, and you note how odd it feels to see a more human side of him, despite knowing the opposite. Uraume's ice holds you firmly in place as you watch Sukuna get back on his feet with a look of genuine enjoyment on his face. You'd started to suffocate him and he'd enjoyed it? He assumed his familiar position of towering over you and looks down, seemingly less disappointed than when you'd started.

"Do that to me again and I'll make sure it's you who draws your final breath," he warns, lowering his voice severely despite his expression softening. "But… I'm impressed."

He scratches his chin as the colour returns to his face.

"We're done for today. You've proved that you might just be as valuable as I'd hoped in securing what I need. Uraume, dismiss the veil. And the ice."

Your muscles remain tensed as you suspect he's lying in an attempt to catch you off-guard, but he turns his back on you fully with his attention now on Uraume who greets him holding out his neatly folded haori. They flick their wrist and the ice around your shins disintegrates, while Sukuna returns to his more familiar visage with his additional arms hidden.

"What exactly is it that you want?" you ask, feeling your fingers begin to tremble. He cracks his neck from side to side and rolls his shoulders as he considers his response.

"Your family has something of value to me," he replies, and for a moment you're surprised that he's actually telling you anything. "Or, rather, you have access to it through your lineage."

Your confusion deepens. "How do I have access to it if I do not even know what it is that you seek?"

Sukuna turns his attention to you once again and makes his way nearer, eventually eclipsing the sun.

"Your ancestral home sits west of here and somewhere within its grounds, or at the very least its jurisdiction, is an object I will claim for myself."

His arrogance is repulsive - he's so certain that he'll take this supposed heirloom with your help. The distaste clearly shows on your face, and Sukuna smirks.

"You think of me as rude, how sweet. I hand you the keys to your freedom and still you are repulsed by my conviction."

As much as you try to suppress it, the heat rushes to your face at his assessment.

"You admit to your desire to rob my family home. How would you have me react?"

"I'd have you be grateful, for a start," he answers quickly, "but that is perhaps beyond your remit as a Duke's daughter."

"You are rude," you spit immediately, "your tongue is foul and your actions moreso."

Sukuna raises an eyebow as his smirk grows.

"I've heard quite the opposite about my 'foul' tongue."

Your stomach flips as you have a visceral response to his quip.

"Do not mistake my disgust for ungratefulness," you argue, "you have taught me more in these last few days than my grandmother has in my whole life, and for that I am grateful. But if you wish for my further cooperation then you must also play your part. And to do so you would do well to cease tormenting me with your vulgar quips."

Sukuna rolls his eyes. "So sensitive."

"I mean it," you insist, "trying to claim this object you speak of through brute force will work, I'm sure, but there is an easier way. You may enjoy the thrill of the chase but it is not I who can extend an invitation to our country home; only my father can do that."

Finally, you've fully captured his attention.

"And… at present, he is less than enamoured by you."

Sukuna's growing smirk alone is enough to tell you that he'll wear your father's dislike as a badge of honour.

"Tell me, then, how shall I secure this much coveted invitation?"

Harnessing whatever bravery you have left in the pit of your stomach, you brace for what you are about to propose.

"It… it will have to be through a courtship," you stammer, "the pretense of one, anyway. My father may not like you but he will not argue the matter if he believes your intention is to…"

You want the ground to swallow you whole.

"To marry you?"

A fist grips your stomach as you hear the words, wishing not to dwell too much on the proposal but knowing it's the safest route forward. There is no doubt in your mind that Sukuna already knows where your family home is, and it was true, if he wanted to get his way through force, he could. But knowing that he's willing to do anything to get his way, this is the one way you can think of that leads to the least bloodshed. In theory, anyway.

"Yes," you whisper, attempting to regain your composure, "your social standing and prospects are not something he will refuse. He will swallow his pride, I am sure of it."

Sukuna observes you carefully as he deliberates. While he had preferred finding a more direct route to his goal, he cannot deny that this is certainly the more interesting path. Never had a victim of his attention ever attempted to bargain for their or their family's lives using courtship before. From what he could see, time is on his side, so why not play with his food a little while longer?

"Very well," he agrees with a grunt, "gird your loins, little dove. You've enticed me enough into having some fun."

18+ divider by @/cafekitsune

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MASTERLIST

[soulremained]

Howard knew that Polly would always try to overpower him. It was one of the things that impressed him about her. She always seemed so in control, and she was no different during sex. They were both strong and dominant, and it seemed that they both had an urge to overpower the other. But he could sense something in her this time, something different, it seemed dangerous. Howard couldn't stop a smirk from curling onto his lips, curious to see just how far she'd go. It was evident that neither of them wanted gentle, this was only made more apparent as Howard's fingers pressed harder into either side of her neck.

"You feel this?" He whispered, leaning in until his breath was hot against Polly's ear as his lips grazed over the shell. His hips thrust slightly into her hand, pushing her hand further over his clothed erection. "This is what you do to me every time I see you dance... Darlin' you drive me wild..." As he finished his words, he slowly suckled the lobe into his mouth. He couldn't stop a groan from escaping his lips as she rolled their hips together, not even wanting to hide how much he needed her at this point.

An idea slipped into his head, an idea he found too tempting and delicious to refuse. His free hand slowly slid into the slit of her dress, fingertips dragging over her soft skin until two fingers slipped back over her clit. The bundle of nerves still wet and still probably sensitive from a few minutes ago. He pressed his middle and index finger over the nub and kept them still. Using his fingers, he managed press hard against the nub to apply pressure on her clit. However, he didn't apply any friction - he wanted to see if she'd make any effort to chase the friction she probably needed.

Polly’s back hit the wall with a thud, but her body didn’t recoil — it welcomed the impact. Her smirk lingered as Howard’s mouth crashed into hers, and she kissed him back with a heat that didn’t beg — it demanded. Her nails scraped into his scalp as she gripped the back of his neck, dragging him closer, owning the kiss like she was claiming territory. His hand around her throat made her breath catch, but not from fear. She exhaled slow and deep, letting her body melt against him, hips grinding just enough to let him feel how ready she was — not soft, not sweet, but sharp and burning, a storm under skin. “You really think I came in here for gentle, sweetheart?” she whispered against his lips, her breath hot and her voice laced with challenge.

Her hand slid between them, fingers curling over the thick line of him straining against his pants. She didn’t stroke — not yet. She just held him there, firm and possessive, like she was reminding him that whatever power he thought he had, it was borrowed. Polly’s lips broke from his with a soft, dark laugh that ghosted against his cheek. She didn’t speak — she didn’t need to. Everything she wanted was written in the way she looked at him: steady, sure, and fucking dangerous.

Then she leaned in and bit his neck, her teeth dragging along his skin before she released him — not playfully, but like she wanted to mark him. Her other hand raked down his chest, catching on the buttons of his shirt before slipping beneath the fabric, pressing flat against the heat of his skin. She rolled her hips against him again deliberately, her free hand dropping to squeeze his length once more. “How insane do I drive you, daddy?”

[seeyouonsaturn]

294 selfship questions

ORANGE 🧡

part 2/3

🥭 - What do you and your F/O consider a symbol of your love?

Hmm, well, once I finally get my ring I'll have that (come onnn shipping). We don't really have anything else physical beyond that though. Our love is in the things that bond us together. I feel it when I stop on a walk to watch a bird hop along the branches of a tree, or when a shy cat I meet lets me say hello to it without running away. I can feel him with me in those moments.

🍑 - Do you or your F/O shave? Do you help each other with it?

Not applicable. Unless you count my one(1) beard hair that periodically grows on my chin regardless of how often I pluck it. I don't think I need help with that. It is a singular hair. Also, Prowl's giant hands might not find it that easy to hold the tweezers lmao.

🥕 - How do you and your F/O feel about farming simulator games, like Stardew Valley? If you play together, what kind of roles do either of you take on (i.e. farmer, forager, etc.)?

I've never played any of those games, so I can't really answer this. Prowl's not much of a gamer though, he'd probably prefer to go outside and do things for real.

🌰 - What kind of things can you and your F/O do together to feel particularly cozy?

Deck me out with an oversized soft sweater, a stuffed animal, and possibly a cup of tea or hot chococate, and let me sit on his lap (preferably with a bunch of pillows and a blanket). I love to cuddle, but Prowl's body isn't exactly very soft. Having him hold me in his arms would still fix me though I think. Put my cat on my lap for extra comfiness (I am indeed doing this exact thing minus Prowl rn).

🍂 - What are your and your F/O’s favorite seasons?

Mine is summer! I've always loved it most. Prowl is particularly fond of spring, when everything starts growing and the planet is "waking up" after winter.

🪐 - Have you ever said “I love you to the moon and back” to each other? Have you tried to one-up each other on that? How far has it gone?

Ouwwwh my mother used to say that to me and read the book to me a lot,, If Prowl ever said that to me unprompted I'd probably just break 🥺

The distance to the moon from earth is nothing to him though. He's been to the moon. Casually. I love you to Cybertron and back. And farther still.

🌋 - Do you consider you or your F/O to be dangerous? Why or why not?

Certainly not to me. Not to anyone who hasn't done anything to him or his friends either. But he does know how to handle himself in a fight, even against much larger Decepticons, and especially with his team backing him up. And if you're a human, Prowl is a giant robot, so he's technically dangerous to us by default, although he'd never truly harm a human beyond at most detaining them if they're a danger to themselves or others. Basically, he can and will be dangerous if he wants to be, but he really prefers not to cause any harm.

🔥 - What are you and your F/O passionate about?

Nature! Learning about nature, of life on earth, how it works and how to preserve it, all those things are what brought us together in the first place. Prowl is even more dedicated than me, I have no problem admitting that. He loves every part of nature, and while I do as well, my heart lies especially with animals (though, shamefully, most bugs gross me out no matter how hard I try to love them more).

Prowl also cares deeply for his cyber-ninja training, and practices his moves or meditation very often. I'm not very sporty, but I'd love to sit with him. Ideally with my cat there too.

🐚 - Do you and your F/O do any sort of “penguin pebbling”? What kind of trinkets do you give each other?

Oh, definitely. I love pretty rocks and little seashells and stuff. Give me one day off with that man at the beach and all my pockets and his entire subspace are going to be filled to the brim with pretty little trinkets from the ground.

I also love little figurines and stuff in general. No need for them to be special or expensive; all my shelves are packed with just little guys. I have several dozen little porcelain cats. I will never reject a fucked up little plastic toy I find in the dirt. There is always space for one more.

🐯 - You and your F/O go to a zoo. What are your favorite exhibits?

I'm obviously going by the assumption that it's a good zoo that treats its animals well, and also that it's Cybertronian-friendly.

All my life I'd have said the big cats, because that's just me. I'm the cat guy. But then last summer I took myself to a little zoo, and met the little squirrel monkeys (google translate don't lie to me) and they were so special. Their enclosure was weirdly hidden, I almost didn't find them at all and only stumbled upon them by pure chance just when I thought I'd gotten lost, so there were no people around aside from me. And one of them came right up to me and held my hand through the bars. It was incredible. Seeing its hand holding mine, the very same hand as my own but so tiny in comparison, changed something in me I think. Magical moment. I keep wondering if that's what Prowl and the other bots feel like when they hold a human's hand. There's just something about meeting a tiny little animal and realizing how much it looks like me.

Prowl meanwhile would likely not have a favorite. Any one creature he sees is more fascinating than the last. There's unique beauty in every one of them; and I so very much agree with that. I do think he'd enjoy the enclosures that let you interact with the animals, like a petting zoo area or one of those huge open enclosures you can walk through. I've seen them for birds, small primates, or kangaroos where I live. And of course butterfly houses. Prowl is perfectly content just observing from a distance, but still, getting to touch the animals is a whole other experience.

[orcelito]

When a cat gets her claw stuck on something and just tugs at it pathetically while looking at me so I have to just grab her and maneuver her claw free. Because she's so stupid that she doesn't understand that Tugging doesn't free something that is hooked onto something. You must Push.

[secretgcrdens]

the sound of carriages on the cobblestone outside rang through the shop and a flurry of patrons filed inside as if everyone in mayfair decided to arrive at the same time, but the noise and the sudden chaos didn’t tear kit’s attention away. the interaction was utterly beguiling. try as he might, kit knew there was no decoding acelya — her smile in and of itself was a cipher, never mind what she hid behind her eyes and the truth her artfully chosen words veiled. ‘that tells me more than you realize’ the words echoed in his mind. “i find, as humans, knowing where the exits are can keep us safe,” a shrug and a gentle grin. the truth was, the war had taught kit that if he didn’t have an escape route, he and his comrades would perish — but he’d carried that mentality with him to human connection and relationships, especially after having his heart broken. whilst he took note of exits, he’d never been brave enough to escape through them — a fact acelya didn’t need to know. “hmm,” he mused, a curious grin on his lips, “might i be so bold as to ask…what does that tell you about me?” another cautious step led him towards the table and he placed a gentle hand on the spine of the empty chair across from acelya. fragile, sensitive — words that had been used to describe kit, himself. though — he didn’t know if he’d survive it and if he did, he’d never be dangerous. running his free thumb over his lower lip in thought, “would it be wrong of me to assume you’re one who survived a moment that made you feel fragile?” he knew the question was leading him across a precarious precipice in learning more about acelya, but she carried herself as if she’d overcome difficulties and still stood tall — perhaps taller and stronger than ever. the change in her tone made kit shift on his feet. “i’ve been guilty of holding delicate things at a distance, believing i was caring for them — told myself i was being gentle. but i was truly just terrified.” his gaze fell to the floor — his open admissions might be used against him, but kit had never been one to hide his emotions or feelings. after a beat, his gaze lifted up to find hers again. “i worry if i hold something delicate — i might wrap my hands around it too tightly hoping to keep it safe, but break it in the process.” a pause — not one of fear, but one to let his words sink in, a realization he’d never thought of himself. his eyes scanned her face like she might offer some sort of map through this moment. he didn’t look away, not this time. but something in his expression shifted—like he was bracing for a blow that might not come. there was a tug on his heart as he tried to decode her words, “perhaps we could explore what this treasure you speak of is.” as her softened eyes met his, he felt time stop — had they dove deeper? had the walls come down just a little bit? “i have an obnoxious need to keep things safe — to make sure nothing slips through the cracks,” he admitted, a self-deprecating chuckle falling into the space between them. her next words sunk into him — into his very veins. how was it that she could see right through him? as if he were a ghost? “do you think it would be wrong to forget oneself in order to make sure others are seen, heard, and protected?” he asked, a smile tugging on his features, curiosity dancing in his eyes. he didn’t mind putting himself by the wayside if it meant his loved ones were safe. pressing his lips together, his eyes squinted as he thought. “sometimes, i’m not sure if i want to be found — but when i do want to be found, perhaps in my study.” a brow raised, “and yourself?”

the breeze slipped past them like a whisper, gentle and gold-touched, carrying with it the scent of roasted beans and something faintly sweet — cinnamon, perhaps. acelya remained still, composed in that way she always was, as though nothing could disrupt her equilibrium. but her gaze softened, fractionally, as kit spoke. not with sympathy. not with pity. but with interest. dangerous, attentive interest. “so,” she murmured, voice like velvet over steel, “you don’t run. but you watch the exits.” a beat. “that tells me more than you realize.” she didn’t look away, not even when he smiled, not even when he said the word resilient. instead, her fingers traced the lip of her coffee cup — not nervously, not idly, but as if the action kept her tethered to the moment. to him. “i do agree,” she said at last, her words deliberate. “fragile things must learn to be resilient. they bend, or they shatter. and those who survive—” a slight tilt of her head, “—are far more dangerous than they first appear.” a pause stretched between them. not heavy. not hesitant. simply full. “but don’t mistake preservation for connection,” she added, tone dipping into something closer to caution, “some people collect delicate things not out of reverence, but out of fear. they protect them because they’re afraid of what would happen if they truly touched them.” her gaze flicked briefly to the handkerchief. then back to him. “i believe something here is treasure,” she allowed, a faint curve to her mouth that could’ve been a smile or a dare. “though i’m not yet certain whether it’s the thing passed between us… or the person holding it.” then came his answer — gentle, selfless, hopeful in a way she hadn’t expected. and something about it made her expression still. quieter, somehow. “you don’t search for what’s lost to claim it,” she said, more to herself than him, “but to ensure it isn’t forgotten.” another breath. deeper, this time. “you’re not a thief,” her eyes met his. this time, with something steadier behind them. “you’re a witness. a keeper.” then, with something unreadable in her gaze, she leaned forward slightly, not to close the distance but to remind him — subtly, absolutely — that she was not something to be observed from afar. “just be careful,” she said quietly, “that in remembering everyone else… you don’t forget yourself.” a moment passed. then another. “so,” she said, voice light again but laced with intent. “tell me. when you are lost… where do you go to be found?”

[harrysfolklore]

christ-max -mv1

summary: you invite your boyfriend max to spend christmas with you for the first time, however, your family doesn't quite believe you're dating a formula 1 world champion. wc: 5.8k

folkie radio: HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OF YOUUUU! i hope you're having the best day ever with your loves ones. this fic ended up being longer than i intended but i hope you like it!

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

You're nestled into Max's side on his couch, wrapped in the soft throw blanket he keeps specifically for these quiet moments together. The afternoon light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his Monaco apartment, casting a glow across the room. Your feet are tucked under you, and you can smell the lingering scent of the coffee you both made earlier.

The Netflix show you'd put on - some random documentary about deep-sea creatures - has become mere background noise. Max's fingers are threading through your hair in that gentle way that always makes you melt, occasionally stopping to massage your scalp. .

"I can't believe the season's actually over," you murmur, tracing lazy patterns on his arm. "Feels weird not having to plan around race weekends anymore."

Max chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head rests. "Yeah, but now we have to plan around all the end-of-year events instead. Did you see how many galas and ceremonies are coming up?"

"At least those don't involve you flying halfway across the world," you tease, tilting your head to look up at him. His hair is slightly messy, free from its usual styling, and you resist the urge to reach up and run your fingers through it.

"True," he agrees, then glances at his phone on the coffee table. "Speaking of events, I can't believe it's already December. Christmas is going to be here before we know it. Guess time flies when you're busy winning championships."

Your heart skips a beat. This is the opening you've been waiting for. You've been thinking about this for weeks, planning how to bring it up. "Actually… I wanted to ask you something about Christmas," you start, sitting up slightly to face him better.

Max's blue eyes meet yours, curious. "What's on your mind?"

"Well…" you bite your lip, suddenly feeling nervous despite knowing there's no reason to be. "I was wondering if you'd want to spend Christmas with me and my family this year? I know we've kept things private, but I really want them to meet you, and-"

"Wait, really?" Max interrupts, his whole face lighting up with that boyish excitement that made you fall for him in the first place. "You want me to meet your family?"

You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "Of course I do. We've been together almost a year now, and they keep asking why I'm always smiling at my phone." You playfully poke his side. "Which is your fault, by the way."

He catches your hand, intertwining your fingers. "My fault? I'm just being my naturally charming self," he grins, then his expression turns slightly more serious. "But are you sure? I mean, won't they be surprised when you show up with, well…"

"With a four-time World Champion?" you finish for him, laughing. "Actually, my dad might pass out. He's been watching F1 since before I was born. He has no idea I've been dating his favorite driver."

Max's eyebrows shoot up. "I'm his favorite driver?"

"Don't let it go to your head," you warn playfully. "But yeah, he's got your merchandise and everything. It's actually kind of embarrassing how much he talks about you during race weekends."

Max throws his head back laughing, and you can't help but join in. "Oh God, this is going to be interesting," he says, wiping at his eyes. "What about the rest of your family?"

"Well, Mom will probably try to feed you until you burst - she's like that with everyone. And my little sister Ruby, she's seven and she's going to have so many questions. She's in that phase where she wants to know everything about everything."

"I can handle questions," Max says confidently, then hesitates. "What kind of questions are we talking about?"

You pretend to think about it. "Oh, you know, probably things like 'How fast have you ever driven?' 'Have you ever crashed?' 'Do you want to marry my sister?'"

Max nearly chokes on air at the last one, his cheeks turning slightly pink. "You're joking, right?"

"About Ruby? Nope, she has absolutely no filter," you laugh, then soften your voice. "But seriously, they're going to love you. Just be yourself - the you I know, not the racing driver everyone else sees."

He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I'd love to spend Christmas with your family. I can't wait to meet them." He pauses, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Should I wear my race suit when I meet your dad?"

You swat his arm, laughing. "Don't you dare! He'll actually faint." You settle back against his chest, feeling warm and content. "Thank you for saying yes. It means a lot to me."

"Thank you for asking me," he murmurs into your hair. "I love you."

"I love you too," you respond, smiling as his arms tighten around you. The documentary continues playing, forgotten again as you both start planning for Christmas, trading ideas and jokes about how to break the news to your family.

You're sitting cross-legged on Max's bed while he's in the shower, your phone propped up against a pillow as you FaceTime your family. Your mom's face fills most of the screen, with your dad peering over her shoulder and little Ruby bouncing around trying to get a better view.

"Honey, we can barely see you. The lighting is terrible," your mom critiques, and you adjust your position slightly.

"Better?"

"Much better! Now, what's this important thing you wanted to tell us about Christmas?" Your mom asks, while Ruby shouts "Is it presents?" in the background.

You take a deep breath, trying to contain your smile. "Well, I wanted to let you know that I'm bringing someone with me this year… my boyfriend."

There's an immediate explosion of excitement. Ruby starts jumping up and down, your mom gasps dramatically, and your dad's eyebrows shoot up with interest.

"Finally!" your mom exclaims. "We've been wondering when you'd introduce him. You've been so secretive about this boyfriend of yours."

"What's his name?" Ruby pipes up, her face suddenly taking up half the screen as she pushes closer to the camera. "Is he nice? Does he like Disney movies?"

You laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yes, Rubes, he's very nice. And his name is…" you pause, knowing what's coming. "Max. Max Verstappen."

There's a moment of silence before your dad bursts out laughing. "Good one, sweetheart. Now, what's his real name?"

"I'm serious, Dad. I'm dating Max Verstappen."

Your mom is trying to hold back her laughter now too. "Honey, isn't that the racing driver you and your father are always watching? The one your dad has all those caps and shirts of?"

"Yes, and I'm actually dating him," you insist, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Ruby's face scrunches up in confusion. "The fast car man? From TV?"

"The very same one, Rubes."

Your dad wipes tears from his eyes. "Come on now, what's next? Are you going to tell us you're best friends with Lewis Hamilton too?"

"Dad!" you groan, running a hand over your face. "I'm being serious! We've been dating for almost a year. I'm literally at his place right now!"

"In Monaco?" your dad asks skeptically. "Prove it."

You swing your phone around to show the familiar view of Monaco through the windows, but your dad just shakes his head. "Could be any apartment in Monaco."

"You're impossible!" you huff. "Fine, don't believe me. You'll see at Christmas."

Ruby presses her face closer to the screen again. "Will he bring his race car?"

"No, Rubes, he can't bring the race car," you say, softening your tone for your little sister. "But I promise you'll love him."

After a few more minutes of your family teasing you about your "imaginary Formula 1 driver boyfriend," you end the call with a mix of frustration and amusement. Just as you flop back onto the bed, you hear the bathroom door open and Max walks out, his hair still damp from the shower.

"How'd it go?" he asks, noticing your expression.

You let out a laugh. "They think I'm making you up. They literally don't believe I'm dating you."

Max raises his eyebrows, looking amused as he sits next to you on the bed. "Really?"

"Really. Dad laughed so hard he nearly cried. And Ruby, my little sister, just wants to know if you're bringing your race car for Christmas."

"Sorry to disappoint Ruby," he grins, then looks thoughtful. "You know, maybe we should've waited to tell them in person. The looks on their faces would've been priceless."

"Oh, don't worry," you sit up, wrapping your arms around his neck. "They'll still be priceless. Dad's going to lose it when he realizes all those times he was rambling about you during races, he was actually talking about his daughter's boyfriend."

Max laughs, pulling you closer. "What else should I know before meeting them?"

"Well, Ruby's seven and obsessed with Frozen. She'll definitely make you watch it and probably sing along too."

"I can handle that," he says confidently.

"And recite all the lines?"

"…Maybe not that."

"And act out the scenes with her?"

Max's eyes widen slightly. "What have I gotten myself into?"

You kiss his cheek. "Too late to back out now, Verstappen. You're stuck with us."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he murmurs, pulling you in for a proper kiss. "Even if it means playing Olaf the snowman."

"Oh no, you'll definitely be playing Elsa. Ruby's very particular about casting."

The look of horror on his face makes you burst out laughing, and soon he's joining in too. As your laughter dies down, you can't help but think about how perfect this feels - being here with him, planning to spend Christmas with your family, even if they don't believe you yet. You can't wait to see their faces when you show up at their door with Max Verstappen himself.

"Hey," Max says softly, breaking into your thoughts. "What are you smiling about?"

"Just thinking about how Christmas is going to be interesting this year."

"Interesting is one way to put it," he grins. "Should I wear my race suit when we arrive?"

"Don't you dare! Dad will actually faint."

"That's kind of the point," he winks, and you grab a pillow to hit him with, both of you dissolving into laughter again.

"Let me guess, another text from 'Max Verstappen'?" your dad teases from his spot at the kitchen counter, making air quotes with his fingers. He's wearing one of his many Red Bull Racing shirts, completely oblivious to the irony.

"Actually, yes," you reply, rolling your eyes. "He'll be here soon."

Your mom chuckles while peeling potatoes. "Honey, you can just tell us who your boyfriend really is. We won't judge, even if he's not a Formula 1 champion."

"Mom, I've told you a million times-"

"LOOK!" Ruby crashes into the kitchen, pointing at the TV in the living room where they're showing highlights from the last race. "It's YN's boyfriend!" She dissolves into giggles, clearly in on what she thinks is a funny joke.

"Very funny, Rubes," you mutter, but check your phone again when it buzzes.

Max: "Just turned onto your street. Nice neighborhood 😉"

Your heart starts beating faster. "He's here," you announce, heading toward the front door.

"Oh, we're still doing this?" your dad calls after you, amused. "Should I get my Max Verstappen cap for him to sign?"

"Actually, Dad, yes, you should," you shout back, slipping on your boots.

"Sweetie," your mom starts in that gentle voice she uses when she thinks you're being ridiculous, "you don't have to-"

The sound of a car pulling up interrupts her. You open the front door and step out onto the porch, watching as Max's car comes to a stop in your driveway. Your family has crowded behind you in the doorway, probably expecting to catch you in your "lie."

Max steps out of the car, looking unfairly handsome in his dark winter coat and scarf. His face lights up when he sees you, and you don't hesitate to run down the steps toward him.

"Hi," he grins, catching you in a tight hug and lifting you slightly off your feet. "Missed you."

You hear a loud gasp behind you, followed by what sounds like your dad choking on air.

"Missed you too," you murmur against his chest before turning to face your family, keeping one arm wrapped around his waist.

The scene on your front porch is priceless. Your dad's mouth is hanging open, his face pale except for two bright red spots on his cheeks. Your mom has both hands pressed to her face in shock. Ruby is the only one moving, bouncing up and down with excitement.

"IT REALLY IS THE FAST CAR MAN!" she shrieks, breaking the silence as she barrels down the steps toward you both.

Max laughs, crouching down to her level. "Hi Ruby. Nice to finally meet you. Your sister has told me a lot about you."

"You're real!" she exclaims, poking his arm as if to make sure.

"Very real," he confirms, looking thoroughly amused.

"I… you… but…" your dad stammers, still frozen in the doorway.

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. LN," Max says, standing back up and guiding you and Ruby toward the porch. "Thank you for having me for Christmas."

Your mom seems to snap out of her shock first. "Oh my goodness, please come in! It's freezing out here. I… oh dear… the potatoes… I should… more food… I need to…"

"Mom, breathe," you laugh, as Max follows you inside.

Your dad hasn't moved an inch, still staring at Max like he's seeing a ghost. "You're… you're actually… the Brazil overtake…"

"Dad, no F1 talk yet!" you warn. "Let him at least get his coat off first."

"Right! Yes! Coat!" your dad says frantically. "I'll take your coat! And then maybe… could you… would you mind signing my…"

"Collection?" you finish for him, smirking. "The one you thought I was making up?"

Max raises his eyebrows at you, remembering your conversation about your dad's merchandise collection.

Ruby tugs on Max's hand. "Do you want to see my Frozen dolls? And can we watch the movie? Sissy said you've never seen it!"

"Ruby, let him settle in first," your mom calls from the kitchen, where she appears to be panic-cooking. "Oh God, is the food good enough? Do Formula 1 drivers have special diets? Should I-"

"Mom, the food will be perfect," you assure her, then turn to Max. "See? I told you they'd be cool about it."

Max tries to suppress his laugh as your dad continues to stare at him in awe, your mom stress-cooks enough food to feed an army, and Ruby continues pulling on his hand.

"Very cool," he agrees, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Though I think your dad might need to sit down."

"I'm fine!" your dad squeaks, then immediately sits down heavily on the nearest chair. "Just… just give me a minute to process that my daughter is actually dating Max Verstappen and I've been accidentally talking about my future son-in-law during every race and-"

"DAD!" you exclaim, feeling your face heat up while Max chuckles beside you.

"What? I'm just saying… all those times I said 'that Verstappen boy would make someone a good husband someday' and it turns out-"

"Okay!" you interrupt loudly. "Who wants coffee? Max, come help me with coffee!"

As you drag a laughing Max toward the kitchen, you hear Ruby start explaining the entire plot of Frozen to him, your mom muttering about needing to buy more food, and your dad still talking to himself about racing statistics.

"Still think this was a good idea?" you whisper to Max.

He pulls you closer, grinning. "The best. Though you might want to tell your dad to breathe before he passes out."

"Can we build a snowman after coffee?" Ruby calls out.

"Only if Max gets to be Elsa!" you shout back, earning you a playful glare from your boyfriend.

Looking around at your slightly chaotic but loving family, and seeing how naturally Max fits into it all, you can't help but smile. This is definitely going to be a Christmas to remember.

The initial chaos has settled into a cozy scene in your living room. You're curled up on the couch next to Max, who has Ruby practically attached to his side. She hasn't stopped talking since everyone sat down, and Max, to his credit, is giving her his complete attention.

"And then Elsa makes this huge ice castle," Ruby explains, using elaborate hand gestures. "Can you drive as fast as Elsa runs up the mountain?"

"Probably faster," Max answers with a grin, making Ruby's eyes widen.

"Even in the snow?"

"Even in the snow."

Your dad, who's finally regained his ability to form complete sentences, sits in his armchair trying very hard not to bombard Max with racing questions. He keeps opening his mouth, then closing it again when you give him a warning look.

"It's okay, Dad," you laugh. "You can ask him one race question. Just one."

Your dad looks like he might cry from happiness. "The overtake in Brazil-"

"Which one?" Max asks with a playful smirk, and your dad launches into an enthusiastic discussion about racing lines and grip levels.

Your mom returns from the kitchen with a tray of hot chocolate and cookies, having finally accepted that she doesn't need to cook enough food for an entire F1 paddock. "Here we go. I hope it's okay, Max. YN mentioned you like hot chocolate."

"It's perfect, thank you," Max says warmly, accepting a mug.

Ruby immediately reaches for a cookie, then pauses. "Do race car drivers eat cookies?"

"Only the fast ones," Max whispers conspiratorially, making her giggle.

"Ruby, give Max some space to breathe," your mom says gently, noticing how your sister is practically in his lap.

"It's fine," Max assures her. "I have nephews. I'm used to it."

Ruby beams at this information. "Really? Do they like Frozen too?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure they'd love to hear your explanation of it," he says, and Ruby launches into another detailed plot summary.

You catch your mom watching the interaction with soft eyes, all her earlier panic forgotten. She meets your gaze and mouths 'He's wonderful' when Ruby isn't looking.

Your dad has moved on from Brazil to discussing tire strategies, but stops himself mid-sentence. "Sorry, I'm probably boring you. You live this stuff."

"Not at all," Max says sincerely. "It's nice talking about it with someone who understands racing. YN usually just tells me to stop being a nerd when I talk about tire compounds."

"Because you spent two hours explaining the difference between C3 and C4 compounds!" you defend yourself.

"It's fascinating stuff," your dad says eagerly, and Max nods in agreement.

"Oh no, there's two of them now," you mutter to your mom, who laughs.

Ruby tugs on Max's sleeve. "Can we watch Frozen now? Please? You promised!"

"Ruby, let Max rest a bit," your mom starts, but Max shakes his head.

"A promise is a promise," he says solemnly to Ruby. "Should we watch it now?"

Ruby squeals with delight, jumping up to get the remote. Your dad looks slightly disappointed that his racing talk is being cut short, but you can see him hiding a smile at Ruby's excitement.

"Fair warning," you whisper to Max as Ruby sets up the movie, "she knows every word. And she will sing along."

"As long as she doesn't expect me to sing," he whispers back.

"MAX!" Ruby calls, patting the spot next to her on the floor where she's arranged pillows. "You have to sit here! It's the best spot!"

Max obliges, settling down next to her while you stay on the couch, exchanging amused looks with your parents as Ruby starts the movie, already mouthing along to the opening music.

Your mom leans over to you. "I'm sorry we didn't believe you," she whispers. "He's lovely. And so good with Ruby."

"I told you," you whisper back, watching as Ruby explains to Max why Elsa has ice powers.

Your dad joins in the whispered conversation. "Think he'd sign my mug collection later?"

"Dad!"

"What? I'm just saying, Christmas cards would be sorted for the next few years…"

You're about to respond when Ruby shushes you all loudly. "This is the best part!"

Max catches your eye and winks, clearly enjoying himself despite being roped into a Disney movie viewing with a very enthusiastic seven-year-old commentator. Your heart swells watching him with your family, how naturally he fits in, how gentle he is with Ruby.

"Do you want to build a snowman?" Ruby starts singing along with the movie.

"Later, Rubes," you promise. "Let's watch the movie first."

She nods seriously, then turns to Max. "Pay attention to this part. It's very important."

"I won't miss a second," he promises, and Ruby beams at him before turning back to the screen.

Your mom reaches over and squeezes your hand, giving you a knowing look. Even your dad has stopped thinking about racing long enough to appreciate the moment – his youngest daughter sharing her favorite movie with your boyfriend, who happens to be the F1 driver he's been fan-boying over for years.

It's perfect, you think, watching your family and Max together. Different from how you imagined telling them, but perfect nonetheless.

"Shh!" Ruby whispers loudly. "Elsa is about to sing Let It Go!"

Max shoots you a slightly panicked look as Ruby starts to stand up, clearly ready to perform the whole number. You just grin and shrug. After all, you did warn him about the singing.

Later that evening, you finally manage to steal a moment alone with Max. Ruby had fallen asleep during the third replay of Frozen, and your parents took her up to bed before retreating to the kitchen to finish some Christmas preparations.

You find Max on the back porch, leaning against the railing and looking up at the stars. The winter air is crisp, and you can see his breath forming little clouds in the darkness. Quietly, you step out and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back.

"Hey," he says softly, turning in your arms to face you. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer. "Needed a little break from being Elsa?"

You laugh quietly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. "You were amazing with Ruby today. I think you're officially her new favorite person."

"She's a sweet kid," he smiles, then adds with a playful glint in his eyes, "Though I didn't expect to watch Frozen two times in one day."

"Just wait until tomorrow. She'll probably want to act it out."

He groans dramatically, but you can see the fondness in his expression. "The things I do for you."

"Mmm, and I appreciate every one of them," you murmur, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him softly.

Max responds immediately, one hand moving to cup your face while the other pulls you even closer. The kiss is gentle and unhurried, full of unspoken emotions. When you finally pull back, he rests his forehead against yours.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"For what?"

"For being so perfect with my family. For watching Frozen multiple times. For not running away when my dad started his racing commentary."

He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. "I like your family. Your dad's racing knowledge is impressive, your mom's trying very hard not to mother me to death, and Ruby…" he pauses, smiling. "Ruby reminds me of Victoria at that age."

You snuggle closer, seeking his warmth in the cold air. "I was so nervous about telling them, and then even more nervous when they didn't believe me. But this… this is better than I imagined."

"Even with your dad asking me to sign his entire Red Bull merchandise collection?"

"Hey, at least he waited until after dinner," you laugh. "Though I'm pretty sure he's in there right now planning which items to bring out first."

Max wraps his arms more securely around you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I love you," he says quietly, and your heart skips a beat like it does every time he says those words.

"I love you too," you reply, tilting your face up for another kiss.

This one is deeper, more passionate, until you hear the back door creak and quickly step apart.

"Oh!" your mom exclaims, looking flustered. "Sorry, I just… wanted to ask about breakfast preferences… but it can wait… carry on!"

She disappears back inside, and you both burst into quiet laughter.

"We should probably go back in," you sigh, though you make no move to leave his embrace.

"Probably," he agrees, but instead of letting go, he pulls you back for one more kiss. "Five more minutes?"

You smile against his lips. "Five more minutes."

In the quiet of Christmas eve, wrapped in each other's arms, you can't help but think how perfectly he fits into your life, into your family, into your heart. Tomorrow there'll be more Frozen, more racing talk, more of Ruby's endless questions, but right now, it's just the two of you, and it's everything.

The winter sun is just beginning to peek through the curtains of your childhood bedroom, casting a soft golden glow across the room. You're wrapped in warmth, nestled against Max's chest with his arm draped around your waist. His steady breathing tells you he's awake before he even moves.

"Good morning," he murmurs against your neck, his voice still rough with sleep. His lips brush against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"Morning," you whisper back, feeling his hand slowly slide beneath your sleep shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"Sleep well?" he asks innocently, but his actions are anything but innocent as he presses closer, leaving a trail of kisses from your shoulder to your ear.

"Max," you breathe, caught between wanting to lean into his touch and knowing you should stop. "We can't… my parents…"

"Then we'll have to be very, very quiet," he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. His hand travels higher under your shirt, making your breath hitch.

You turn in his arms, ready to either give in or properly protest - though the way he's looking at you, eyes dark with desire and that signature smirk playing on his lips, makes you lean heavily toward the former.

"You're trouble," you murmur, reaching up to run your fingers through his disheveled hair.

He leans down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. "You love it."

Just as his hand starts to wander again, a voice pierces through the quiet morning:

"IT'S CHRISTMAAAAS!" Ruby's excited scream echoes through the entire house, followed by the thundering of small feet running down the hallway. "WAKE UP! WAKE UP! SANTA CAME!"

Max drops his forehead to your shoulder with a frustrated groan. "Your sister has impeccable timing."

"Welcome to Christmas with Ruby," you laugh, pressing a consoling kiss to his cheek. "I tried to warn you."

"YN! MAX!" Ruby's fists pound on your door. "GET UP! There are presents EVERYWHERE! And it SNOWED!"

"Five more minutes, Rubes!" you call back.

"NO MINUTES! NOW!" she insists, continuing to knock. "Mom said breakfast is ready and Dad made hot chocolate and I SAW A HUGE PRESENT WITH MY NAME ON IT!"

Max chuckles against your shoulder. "I suppose we should…"

"PLEASE!" Ruby calls again. "I promise I'll let you drink your coffee first!"

"That's quite the offer from her," you tell Max. "She usually doesn't allow any delays on Christmas morning."

"We're coming, Ruby!" Max calls out, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. "Give us two minutes to get dressed."

"TWO MINUTES! I'm counting!"

You can hear her dramatically counting down in the hallway, making Max laugh. "She's serious about this, isn't she?"

"Oh, you have no idea."

The living room is a festival of color and chaos when you finally make it downstairs. Ruby's bouncing by the tree in her Christmas pajamas, while your parents are settled on the couch with steaming mugs of coffee.

"Finally!" Ruby exclaims. "I counted way past two minutes!"

"Sorry, princess," Max says, accepting a coffee mug from your mom. "But I'm here now."

"Max, sweetheart, you really didn't have to get us anything," your mom says, noticing the pile of presents he'd arranged under the tree last night.

"Of course I did," he replies warmly. "It's Christmas."

Ruby's practically vibrating with excitement as your dad starts distributing gifts. "Can I open mine from Max first? Please?"

At your nod, she tears into the elaborate wrapping paper, gasping when she reveals a beautiful wooden chest with golden details. "It's like a treasure chest!"

"Open it," Max encourages, smiling.

Ruby lifts the lid carefully, her eyes widening. Inside is a complete collection of princess dresses, each one a perfect replica from different Disney movies, along with matching accessories and a tiara for each one.

"The chest is magical," Max explains, kneeling beside her. "Every time you open it, there might be a new surprise inside. And look at this…" He reaches in and pulls out a small envelope.

Ruby opens it to find a letter with the Disney castle letterhead. "Dear Princess Ruby," she reads aloud, her voice getting more excited with each word. "You are cordially invited to spend a royal weekend at Disney World, where you will have a private breakfast with all the Disney princesses…"

She doesn't even finish reading before launching herself at Max, nearly knocking him over. "Thank you thank you thank you! Can I try on the Elsa dress right now?"

"After presents," your mom laughs. "Let's see what else Santa brought."

Your dad opens his gift next, finding an envelope that makes him pause. "Son," he says, voice thick with emotion as he reads the contents. "This is…"

"VIP passes to the British Grand Prix," Max confirms. "Including garage access, grid walk, everything."

Your dad has to sit down, clutching the passes like they might disappear. "This is… I can't…"

"And this," Max hands him another package, "is just a little something extra."

Inside is a vintage racing jacket from your dad's favorite driver from the 80s, signed and authenticated. Your dad actually tears up.

Your mom opens her gift next, despite protesting again that Max shouldn't have gotten them anything. She unwraps a beautiful pair of earrings.

"Oh, Max," she whispers, "This is beautiful."

Ruby, who has been surprisingly patient, tugs at Max's sleeve. "Can we do my princess breakfast now?"

"After we finish presents," you laugh. "And maybe we should have real breakfast first?"

"But I'm a princess now," she declares. "Princesses have special breakfast times."

Your mom shakes her head fondly. "How about pancakes fit for a princess?"

"With chocolate chips?" Ruby negotiates.

"With chocolate chips," your mom confirms. "Max, honey, how do you like your pancakes?"

"However they're made is perfect," he assures her, but your mom is already heading to the kitchen, muttering about making sure she has enough chocolate chips.

Your dad finally finds his voice again. "Max, this is too much…"

"It's not," Max says firmly. "You're… you're family now. Or at least, I hope…"

He glances at you meaningfully, making your heart skip a beat.

Later, after pancakes and multiple princess dress changes from Ruby, you manage to steal some time alone with Max in your favorite spot on the back porch. The morning sun has warmed the air slightly, but there's still a crisp winter chill that gives you an excuse to stay close to him.

"Your turn," Max says softly, pulling out a small wrapped box from his pocket.

Your hands tremble slightly as you unwrap it, revealing a velvet jewelry box. Inside is a delicate silver necklace with two intertwined pendants - a heart and a tiny racing helmet.

"Max," you breathe, touching the pendants gently. "It's beautiful."

"Look at the back," he says quietly, his voice carrying a note of nervousness you rarely hear.

You turn the heart over to find an engraving: "You're my biggest victory. -MV"

"I love you," you whisper, pulling him down for a kiss. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as if you're the most precious thing in his world.

When you finally part, you hand him your gift - a wrapped box that makes him raise his eyebrows at the weight.

Inside, he finds a handmade scrapbook filled with your personal moments - sneaky paddock kisses, quiet mornings at home, victory celebrations, and candid moments no one else has seen. The final page holds a photo from yesterday - Max on the floor with Ruby, both laughing during their third viewing of Frozen.

"This is…" he starts, voice thick with emotion.

"Wait," you say softly, reaching into your pocket. You pull out a key on a simple keychain. "I thought… maybe… if you wanted…"

"Move in with you?" he finishes, breaking into that brilliant smile that never fails to make your heart race. "Yes. Absolutely yes."

He pulls you into another kiss, deeper this time, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other holds the key carefully.

"MAX!" Ruby's voice carries from inside. "I need help with my Cinderella shoes! And then we have to build a snowman! A FROZEN snowman!"

You both laugh against each other's lips.

"Duty calls, Elsa," you tease.

"Only if you'll be my Olaf," he grins, pressing one more quick kiss to your lips.

"Always," you promise, letting him lead you back inside where Ruby waits, already changed into her third princess dress of the morning.

Your dad catches your eye as you pass, "If you don't marry this boy," he whispers, "I will."

"Dad!"

"I'm just saying," he shrugs, then heads outside to join the snowman-building committee.

Your mom appears at your other side, wrapping an arm around you. "He's right, you know. He's perfect for you."

You lean your head on her shoulder, watching Max let Ruby direct him on where to place the snowman's arms. "I know," you smile. "I know."

"Best Christmas ever?" she asks softly.

Looking at your family, and Max in the middle of it all, belonging there like he's always been part of it - you smile.

"Best Christmas ever," you agree.

[hermidetta]

if yuri is ever 'cruel', she will stake everything she has on it being a product of necessity, a product of a cruelty wrought onto them first, and for so many reasons she knows of, too. that's why she doesn't shriek, doesn't run, doesn't take criminal at face value like she would with just about anybody else. it's already clear she's poisoned people for less.

... but now they might really be a criminal for this. that grin. that look. that sentence in that voice. and maybe she is doomed, maybe she always was. the blood in her face rushes back with a vengeance, and right when she'd finally shooed it away.

it's almost just too easy for them to mess with her. bernadetta slaps her hands back over her eyes with a tiny squeak, fingers spreading opened and closed just as they had earlier. the mousy stare behind them is not affronted, so to speak. and not scared, never scared. scandalized? maybe. uncertain? well... curious?

"t-tea," she stammers, "tea, teacher?! about crime things, right? c-crime... things..." that's right. yuri has to mean teaching her about crime things. nobody in their right mind would have implied the other option. just look at her—scrawny, scared of her own shadow, creepy and just plain ugly. (and unmarriageable, and unlovable, and all of the other things trained into her head.)

yet much to bernadetta's own horror, her gaze accidentally falls again to their lips. the fingers snap shut. "crime things!" another squeak. "y-yeah, i bet! that you're a really great teacher. the best there is. a-about those criminally, criminal crime things!"

and somehow despite all of her floundering, one thing strikes out to her, an unanswered sentiment that bernadetta abruptly drops her hands and perks up for with so much earnestness, too much earnestness. always only earnestness.

"wait! don't feel bad, yuri!" because that would be the absolute worst. worse than a thousand years of jail. she splays a hand over her chest, professing to them as openly as she can, "um, that's right, i'm not lonely anymore! because, because unkissable degenerate bernie has her best friend here who's going to teach her all about crime things! or whatever else they might want to, but only if they want to because nobody actually wants to kiss bernie. so..."

it's then that she shrinks again, fidgeting where she sits, shoulders swaying idly with her nicked fingers picking at each other in her lap. her gaze falls to it, doubly sheepish from her outburst. there's a gentle concern in gray eyes that doesn't even need to be there, but she can't help it. when will she ever not care for them? "so... are you okay? not feeling bad? and, just now... you were just picking on me, right? i-it's okay if you were."

it seems she will always flip the blade in their hand as long as she can help it, even guide it up to her throat and show them just where to cut. she can do that for yuri. all she's missing is permission to bleed, after all.

*⚘ crimes one and two

⠀ continued. ⚘ ethereal ball 2025 ⠀

[4-the-l0ve-0f-art]

“The Captain’s beloved…wait, what?!”

Capitano x Gender Neutral Reader one shot

Work count: 2.2k

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship

Rating: General Audiences

Trigger Warnings: none

Summary: The fatui discover that their Captain does, in fact, have a life outside of work and gossip between the ranks ensues. (Cue silly fatui shenanigans)

Ao3 Link

Capitano, the Fatui’s first lord and harbinger, contrary to popular belief, was respected and admired by his platoons rather than feared. There was a widespread misunderstanding both in and outside the organization that the Captain was a harsh and dangerous leader due to his mysterious nature. However, the people who worked under him knew better as they had grown to admire him the more they interacted with him.

He held himself with pride and treated his soldiers the same way he wanted to be treated: with respect and dignity. And in return, they learned the depths of this man’s strategic genius and strength. His strength was unmatched in combat and led his people well with good decision making and training. They could only hope to be as good as him in his various fields of expertise.

He was strict, and quick to discipline unruly fatuus, yes, but that did not stop others under his command from admiring him. And to emphasize this even more, it was clear that his fellow harbingers and even the Tsarista respected him, whether their goals and morals aligned with his or not. However, this made the people around him curious about aspects related to him outside of his work and title. He was a revered public figure and people were naturally curious about his personal life.

This is where you came in. You, his one and only beloved, the only person who held his whole heart in your hands. Not many people knew of this, but the Captain was a gentle man at his core, and you had somehow managed to uncover all of his being and see him fully as himself, without his title, without his strength. You knew this man inside and out, just as he had come to know you. It was a mutual love, one which even he did not know he was capable of feeling, and that made him all the more enamored with you.

This, however, people did not know. So you can imagine the surprise on their faces when you, an ordinary civilian, came to the Zapalyarny Palace and asked for directions to the Captain’s office. The clerk at the desk looked at you blankly, as if she were staring at an anomaly. This prompted you to try and explain yourself.

“..I’m here to drop off his lunch. So, if you don’t mind..?” You asked.

No response. The blank stare continued.

You already knew that you looked out of place in this grand palace with no Fatui uniform or mask on. But you were determined to make sure your beloved got his lunch, which you had specifically decided to make for him that day as a special treat for how hard he had been working while preparing for a business trip to Natlan.

“Excuse me..?” You said a little louder this time. That seemed to snap her back to reality.

“You cannot enter this place, only authorized personnel are allowed inside. If you’d like to meet our lord, please book your appointment accordingly.” She replied on autopilot, as if she’d rehearsed the same sentence multiple times.

“I’m sorry, I know you have your duties, but I’m here just to drop off his lunch. You can check with him yourself if you’d like..”

“He’s busy at the moment, please leave your package here and we will deliver it to him.” She replied. It seemed like you were being studied like a suspicious person who was attempting to sneak in.

Fair enough.. you thought. I was hoping I would get to spend a few minutes with him and see how he was holding up at work but that can wait till he’s home. And she’s not wrong, I did drop by without notice, so it makes sense for them to be suspicious.

Fatui soldiers passing by had also been glancing at the ongoing conversation at the front desk, eyeing the lunch box wrapped in patterned cloth in your hands with raised eyebrows. You decided to leave the food there, getting one last word in before leaving.

“If you could, please make sure it reaches him soon. It’s his favorite meal and I would prefer it didn’t go cold before he ate it.”

And then everyone watched as your ordinary self left, unaware of the number of eyes on you.

…

A pyroslinger skirmisher stationed near the entrance asked dumbfoundedly, “Did..did they just say that was the Captain’s favorite meal? Our lord harbinger?”

A cryogunner skirmisher who had also watched the whole thing go down as he clocked in asked another question right after, in the same state of confusion as the previous fatuus. “..Has anyone seen them around before? They don’t look like someone who would be seen standing next to Lord Capitano.”

And as the just as confused clerk left the scene towards his office with your goods in hand, excited chatter filled the halls.

Chaos would be the right word for it. You had left chaos in your wake with a simple visit to his workplace.

…

That night, as you and Capitano settled in to relax in your shared home after a long day of work, you asked him how his lunch was.

“It was delicious, my love.” He replied, gently caressing your face with his hands while looking down at you through his mask. “It felt like a treat to have your home cooked meal at work. You didn’t have to, but thank you. It made my day.”

You smiled and took his hands in yours as you nuzzled into his touch. “I’m glad you liked it. I was going to give it to you myself but I couldn’t enter the place.”

“You should visit more often. I’ll let the security personnel know to let you enter so you can come and go as you like.” He paused, clearing his throat. “..Seeing you in the middle of a long day would bring me relief.”

You felt slightly flushed at his straightforward choice of words. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you being so..open with me. But I like it, of course. I would like that as long as I’m not disturbing you at work.”

Capitano chuckled. It was like the angels decided to bless you today, really. “I will always make time for you, my love. Just as you do for me.”

You beamed. “Okay, okay, let’s get some sleep now, Mr. Loverman. We still have work tomorrow in case you’re forgetting.”

A kiss on the forehead and the rustling of sheets was all you heard before you were whisked away to dreamland.

…

Unbeknownst to you and Capitano, however, word about you spread like wildfire across the next few days between the excited fatui soldiers. Some from even the different departments under the other harbingers might’ve heard. The person who looked like a civilian, dropping lunch packed in pretty cloth for their Lord did not go unnoticed.

This was the only time someone unrelated to work had been seen asking for their Captain and questions about your relation to him were on the tip of everyone’s tongue during break times.

Two fatuus gossiped as they watched the Captain spar in training with his fellow soldiers, admiration evident in their eyes.

“Someone dropped off lunch for him? I thought he would be too busy having meals with high rankers from across Teyvat.”

And after a short pause the other replied, “Dude, hold on, does he even eat? I thought he was superhuman or something.”

“I know you’re dumb, but I didn’t know you were that dumb, my guy.”

“Hey! Just saying… anyway, are we even sure the people weren’t hallucinating when they saw the person drop lunch off for him?”

“I heard it was his favorite meal, freshly cooked, apparently. Who knows, man? Maybe it was a fan or something. Our lord does have a pretty big following, y’know.” The fatuus stated proudly.

Their lively chatter continued until they were called back into training.

…

A few days later, as soon as you found the time, you decided to visit Capitano at work with yet another home cooked meal. You wanted to make most of your time with him before he traveled to Natlan and having meals together would be a good way to wind down a little.

You entered the palace yet again, determined to meet him this time. It should be fine, right? He did say he would inform them..

And as you had hoped so, he did, in fact, inform them. As soon as the same clerk from before saw you, it seemed like her eyes were bulging out of her sockets. All you had to do was reach the desk and she confirmed your name and led you to the training grounds, where he was currently working. It seemed like some sort of training session was in the works, with all kinds of combat taking place between the soldiers in the distance.

Before you could ask her if you were even allowed to enter this place, she bowed and hurried back in the direction of the front desk. The strange behavior didn’t go unnoticed by you but now you had to find your way to Capitano across the opposite side of the field. Since you were here at last, why not just see things through?

The middle of the field was the most densely occupied with various people fighting in different groups, while what you recognised as skirmishers were practicing their aim at dummy targets on the right side. The soldiers were hard at work even in the harsh everlasting winter of Snezhnaya. The left side of the field, however, seemed less crowded compared to the rest as people seemed to be setting up their gear or resting. Your Captain, opposite to you across the field, was busy conversing with a group of soldiers who seemed to be listening to him attentively.

You decided your best option was to take the left side. It would be easier to walk through the calm atmosphere over there.

As you made your way through the crowd, people started to notice you. They were pretty intimidating with their weapons and muscled bodies at display so you decided to be extra careful to not bump into anyone and quickly made your way across, and as you got closer, Capitano’s voice became clear.

“The heat in Natlan will be unbearable. You will be stationed in the wild all day, so make sure you have the appropriate supplies to get you through the day. It is of the utmost importance that...what, what is it? Why are you all staring at me like that?”

The group’s attention shifted from him to you, as you stood behind him and tapped his shoulder.

“Capitano, do you have a moment..?” You asked as he turned around, his armor clinking from the movement.

“Oh, my love!” He exclaimed in a soft voice. “What brings you here? Hold on, let's get you back inside. You’ll catch a cold here.”

The group (and everyone nearby) watched in complete awe as his demeanor from before completely switched from authoritative to somewhat… joyfull? Was Lord Capitano being affectionate?

“I brought you lunch, but I can leave it in your office if you’re busy right now.” You said hurriedly, not wanting to keep him busy.

“No, that won’t do, my love.” He took the package from you and placed his hand on your back. “Eat with me inside.”

He then turned back to the group, who jolted straight up at his sudden change. “Finish the supply preparations once you’re done training. All of you are dismissed.”

“Y-yes, my lord!” They replied in unison and bowed. And yet again, they watched in awe as he guided you back inside the palace, ever so gently, one hand on your back and the other carrying a box wrapped up in a floral patterned cloth. A stark contrast to his all black and blue outfit.

…

As soon as both of you were out of sight, chaos erupted yet again, more loudly this time, with multiple voices talking over the other.

“”My love?” Did he just call them “my love?” Did I hear that right?!”

“What was that? What did we just witness?”

“That was so romantic, holy shit! Was that the same person we take orders from everyday? What the hell?!”

“DID THE LORD HARBINGER JUST… GET VISITED BY THEIR SPOUSE?”

“I thought that ring on his finger was for fashion…”

And that is how they found out that their beloved Captain, who seemed to have no soul outside of his work, was a married man with a loving spouse.

This proceeded to be the hottest gossip in the Fatui for the rest of the month, until they discover more about you from another future visit.

…

BONUS:

Sitting in the privacy of his office, you enjoyed your meal together.

“..You seem to work with very strange people, Capitano.” You said to him.

“Do I? How so?” He asked before you fed him a bite.

“Hm.. actually, nevermind. It would be even stranger if they weren’t strange, considering they work with you.” You chuckled.

You enjoyed your time together and went back home, leaving your beloved in confusion from your conversation, and the sight of you fondly feeding him for him to think about for the rest of the day.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Golf day || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: INSPIRED BY THIS TIKTOK

Warnings: pure fluff hehehehe

Word count: 497

A/n: if anyone has any tiktoks that they want me to turn into a Rafe fic, send them thru pls!!!! I love finding random vids on my fyp that are so Rafe coded. ALSO BEGGING FOR MORE DAD!RAFE REQUESTSS

MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

“Do you think she’ll enjoy it?” Rafe questions, turning his head to you, his eyes lingering on Mabel, comfortably nestled on your lap. He looks genuinely concerned, his brow furrowed with worry.

“You know she loves watching you do anything,” you reply with a reassuring chuckle, trying to soothe his anxiety. As you adjust the tiny hat on your daughter’s head, you can’t help but smile at her innocent excitement.

It was Mabel’s first time at the golf course, and Rafe had been on edge all morning. He’d peppered you with questions like, “Don’t you think it will be too hot?” and “What if she gets bored?” His nervousness was palpable, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor.

You had spent the morning reassuring him, reminding him repeatedly that Mabel would be perfectly fine. You knew she would be thrilled just to watch her dad play golf, her eyes following his every move with awe and admiration.

“Do you think she’ll like this spot?” Rafe asks as the golf cart comes to a gentle stop under the shade of a large oak tree. “Babe, you’re the one playing,” you giggle, enjoying his overprotectiveness. Rafe laughs softly, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Mabel, do you like it here?” he asks, his voice tender as he tickles her chin. Mabel responds with a delightful giggle that melts your heart.

You adjust Mabel on your lap so she’s facing Rafe, her wide, curious eyes tracking his every move as he unloads his golf clubs. The sun casts a warm glow over the course, and you can’t help but admire how handsome Rafe looks in his golf gear. “Doesn’t Daddy look so handsome, Bels?” you murmur to Mabel, pressing light kisses on her rosy cheeks. She giggles uncontrollably and tickling sensation.

Rafe turns at the sound of her infectious giggles, a broad smile lighting up his face. “You girls doing alright?” he calls out, his eyes sparkling with joy. You chuckle, giving him a thumbs-up and lifting Mabel’s tiny hand to wave at him.

Remembering that Rose wanted a video of Mabel’s first time at the golf course, you quickly pull out your phone and aim the camera at Mabel’s expressive face. She’s watching Rafe intently, her anticipation palpable.

As Rafe lines up his shot, you can see the concentration etched on his face. The moment the club makes contact with the golf ball, sending it soaring through the air, Mabel flinches in surprise. You can’t help but laugh, immediately clamping your hand over your mouth, feeling a bit guilty for laughing at her reaction.

Rafe shields his eyes with his hand, squinting into the distance to see where the ball landed. Satisfied with his shot, he turns back and walks towards you and Mabel, a broad smile lighting up his face. “Daddy’s pretty good, isn’t he?” Rafe chuckles as he reaches you, gently lifting Mabel from under her armpits and pressing a loving kiss on her round cheek.

You quickly snap a photo of the sweet moment. Their joy is infectious, and you can’t help but chuckle as you send the video and picture to Rose. Mabel’s earlier reaction to the sound of Rafe hitting the ball plays in your mind, making you smile.

Rafe notices your amusement. “What’s so funny?” he asks, his curiosity piqued as he sees you smiling at your phone. You glance up, grinning, and show him the video of Mabel’s startled reaction to his golf swing.

“Aww, I’m sorry, babygirl,” Rafe says with a laugh, his eyes softening as he watches the video. “I’ll let you know when I’m going to hit the ball next time.” Mabel, already captivated by her dad’s presence, giggles and reaches out to touch his face, her earlier surprise forgotten.

Rafe’s heart melts as he cradles Mabel in his arms, swaying gently. “You’re my good luck charm, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice filled with love. Mabel coos in response, her tiny hands grasping at Rafe’s shirt.

[no-144444]

new meetings- o.piastri

summary: oscar is terrified for you to meet his family, funnily enough, you already know a few of them...

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! famous! reader

a/n: PRAYING FOR AN OP81 WIN TOMORROW

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Mae was a very convincing person when she wanted to be, and being her big brother, Oscar genuinely wanted to give her whatever she wanted. But meeting you? That was something he was dreading. 

He’d made the mistake of leaving his phone on the counter unlocked when he was making dinner, and she saw your messages in his phone. What followed was a very awkward explanation that you two had been seeing each other for the past few months, but he wasn’t going to introduce you to his family yet, he just… wasn’t ready. Which was fair. But Nicole protested, and so did all of his sisters, so he had no choice but to offer you a paddock pass for Australia, and hope you were busy. 

You weren’t. And you were much too supportive of him to not attend. So he was, in simple terms, fucked. 

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“You can’t be weird,” he sighed as he walked his sisters through the paddock. “Just be… normal.” 

“We are being normal, you’re the one sweating right now,” Hattie chuckled. 

Oscar pulled at the collar of his team kit, and genuinely prayed hiss otters wouldn’t be so awkward with you. He didn’t want to scare you off. 

“Come on Osc, we’re cool!” Tim chuckled, clapping a hand on his back. “Jesus, you are sweaty,” he mumbled as he wiped his hand on his shorts. 

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath. 

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You sat with Alex Dunne, one of the development drivers who was in F2, just chatting casually. 

“Osc, hey,” you smiled easily, wrapping your arms around his neck, then grimacing. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, but his voice was much too high, and his grip on your waist was much too tight. You raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry about what’s going to happen now,” he whispered and kissed your cheek. 

You turned your head and saw his family, but also your great Pilates buddy, Nicole. Your jaw dropped as hers did at the same time. “Nicole? Shut up!” You clapped a hand over your mouth, a soft laugh coming out. She walked up to you and wrapped her arms around you in a gentle hug. “How are you?” You asked, hugging her back. 

Oscar looked between the two of you, shocked. 

“I’m great! How are you sweetheart?” She asked, looking you over. “You look beautiful.” 

“Thank you,” you smiled brightly. “You look gorgeous, by the way,” you smiled. 

She pulled you in again. “When are you coming back to Pilates?” She begged and you giggled. 

“Soon, I promise. I just finished filming in Toronto so I’m back in Australia for the foreseeable, lest Oscar needs my support at races,” you beamed, looking at him with all the pride in the world. His face was contorted into one of confusion and mild disgust? You stared at him and cupped his cheek, curious. “What’s wrong?”

“You know my mum?” He questioned. 

“Of course I do,” you shrugged. “We do Pilates together.”

Again, he was perplexed about the fact neither of you had mentioned it. “I know I’m bad at telling people things, but this is next level.”

Nicole scoffed. “Who didn’t tell me they were extending their contract?” 

He was pretty quiet after that. 

“I’m Mae!” She interjected, walking up beside you and Nicole. “I’m a huge fan.”

Oscar face-planted. So cool. 

“Nice to meet you Mae, I’m Y/n,” you smiled, pulling her in for a hug. 

“I’m Hattie,” she smiled, greeting you. “I got you this,” she handed you a sticker of Oscar as a sonny angel. You gasped, taking it from her hand. 

“I love it!” You beamed. “It’s so cute, thank you so much!”

Never did Oscar ever think he’d see himself as a sonny angel, but he did know it was right up your alley, and some of the anxiety in his chest eased as he watched you effortlessly mix with his family. 

“I’m Tim,” he stepped forward. 

“Fuck off Tim,” you chuckled, pulling him into a hug. “How are you?”

Oscar was once again confused. 

“I'm great, Bug, thank you,” he smiled. “How are you?”

“Bug?” Oscar commented, but it was drowned out by the conversation flowing freely, Eddie joining in. 

He watched for about 30 minutes with a bright smile on his face as you mixed in perfectly with his family. 

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His hands trailing up your shirt, exposing skin as the sun set outside the window. The way his lips were moving against yours, the way his hands felt on your body, the way he reacted to the things you were doing. He was addictive. 

“How do you know my stepdad?” Oscar questioned as he pulled back from kissing you. You looked up at him, unimpressed. You propped yourself up on your elbows. 

“You think about Tim when we’re making out?” You questioned and the look on his face was enough to tell you he didn’t. You chuckled. “I’ve worked with him before.”

“Where?”

“On a film,” you explained. “When I was really young.”

He nodded, and lay beside you. “How didn’t I know this?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, Ithink I would’ve mentioned it if I thought it was important.”

“And you know my mum?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded and kissed his cheek, trying to get him back into the mood. “Pilates.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist as you lay on top of him, pressing kisses to his neck. “And I didn’t know this?”

“Evidently not,” you smirked. “Did you feel the need to?”

“I don’t know,” he huffed. “I was just so…-”

“Nervous? For today?” You stifled a laugh. He shot you a dirty look and you chuckled. “I didn’t notice, actually.” 

He huffed and nodded. “It was pretty obvious,” he sighed, burying his head in your neck. “I don’t know, maybe I would’ve just… been a little less stressed if I knew you knew them already,” he shrugged. “I just… maybe wouldn’t have been so-”

“Anal?” You offered. “Militarial?”

“Worried,” he finished for himself as he shot you yet another dirty look, making you laugh, yet again. 

“Why would you be worried?” You questioned, cupping his cheeks. “I love you.”

He rolled his eyes, trying to stop his heart beat from racing and attempting to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. “I love you too,” he admitted. “But I’m afraid I’m going to scare you away.” 

You stared at him with a raised eyebrow, and sat up (aka you straddled him which meant this conversation was going to be a lot harder to keep his mind on. Also, harder- did you see what I did there 😝). “Why would you scare me away?” You gently pulled a hand through his hair. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I don’t have a regular job, I’m weirdly famous, I drive very dangerous cars, I’m extremely awkward at all of your events, I’m-“ 

“I love you, Osc. Anything you say won’t change that,” you shook your head. “I love you.”

It hit him deep in the chest, so much he was sure it would’ve made him double over, had he been standing. A soft smile crept its way onto his face and he pulled you down to kiss him again. Your hands traveled under his shirt, and the kiss was back. 

“I love you too,” he mumbled against your lips. You pulled back and tried not to notice how beautiful you looked with swollen lips and smushed lipstick, but it was pretty hard not to. “So fucking much.”

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