#and they take you to court and fine you if you refuse to pay it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

woodle-isbae · 7 months ago

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Say Yes

Art.D x Black!Reader

Warnings: love sick! Art , cowgirl , choking, spit play , voyeurism, humiliation, Patrick is a jealous perv , Sub! Art , Dom!reader ,

Kinktober Masterlist! ♡

The IT couple.

When people think of the most Dominating and powerful couple , They'd think of all the relationships Art Donaldson has been in, and you'd easily be the winner.

Being the blondes confident and bold girlfriend was a strong title you held proudly at Stanford. Nobody daring to bother art as you would easily catch word of this , tormenting the rat who so even dared spew your boyfriends name.

That didn't mean he wasn't gonna fight for you. Nearly cutting off his long lasting friendship with Patrick when he spoke about you , trying to see if you'd sleep with him. Luckily a few shoves from Art had him apologizing right in your face and never speaking about you unless brought up.

You two were the best fit , constantly bring seen with eachother in public , him glued to your hip like he was attached to you. People envying the way you had him wrapped around your finger , constantly obeying any request you believed was fit for him to do.

"Artsie , please get my..."

"Art , would you be a dear and..."

"Sorry to bother you darling , but can you..."

He never even objected , going to do what he was asked with a smile and faint blush dancing across his skin. He would often ignore the complains he would get about how he was so submissive , Patrick refusing to belive that Art was actually tapping that with the way he was being so....Art?

"You sure she isn't the one wearing the pants in the relationship?"

"Yes , I'm sure..it's my relationship."

They were discussing over some tennis practice, Patrick comming over to see Tashi..and attend one of the frat parties being hosted.

"I mean...it sure looks like she pegs yo-"

"Patrick!"

Art threw a ball at his head , getting annoyed with the pestering he was faced with and the things the brunette was spewing.

"Sorry!...jeeze , you need to let loose!"

"And what is your idea of letting loose?"

He held a ball in his hand , stopping mid serve to give Patrick a bored stare , one hand on his hip to show how he was getting tired.

Poor guy

Patrick making his way across the court , comming extremely close to his ear as if they weren't the only ones there. Taking in a breath before whispering something and backing up.

"You should say no.."

The moment those words left his lips , you would swear Art saw a Ghost, his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

"No fucking way dude."

"C'mon man , just for tonight...it's that party ,I'll pay you a hundred bucks too and I doubt she would care."

Patrick persuaded Art into doing it , trying to have their relationship (in his eyes) be normal. The two stood in silence for a while before Art began nodding.

"Okay...fine , just for tonight."

"There ya go!"

He tackled him and lifted him up , swinging him around like a doll until he was placed down. The situation Art was about to place himself in not dawning apon the duo.

"You should take me out for drink ,since I gave you this big idea."

"Uh...No."

"Oh? She doesn't get a No but I do!?"

He huffed and pushed himself away , going to get the tennis balls that sat in diffrent areas of the court before heading out for some lunch.

Time skip 😛

You were currently getting ready for the party , it wasn't anything formal so you wore a simple outfit that wasnt too heavy, expecting it to get warmer with all the dancing. You headed over to arts Dorm to go with him. Making your way in as he was still trying to find a shirt to put on.

"Let me help y-"

"No...uh I just found it!"

You frowned a little but decided to ignore it , heading out to the party with art in your car, instantly being met with the smell of alcohol, weed and Sex.

"Art dear..would you please get us drinks.?"

"Uh...N-No..?"

You were taken aback , never hearing him say No to you. You stared at him for a brief moment, mabye he would change his mind, but when he didn't say anything you huffed and walked off to find the drink bar.

You came back a few minutes later to him with a drink already in hand. When did he get that? Nevertheless, you downed the cup that was ment for him and approached him with only one cup.

He barely even noticed you were here , if it wasn't for him glancing your way. There was definitely something going on and it pissed you off.

The whole night , he kept denying request from you, shrugging and mouthing 'no' whenever you asked even for the simplest things. But he'd be so quick to agree with anyone else? Was there something wrong?? Had you said something that made him fed up.??

You were making your way back from the drink bar, slipping through people until you spotted something you weren't sure were for your eyes.

Patrick slipping Art a twenty.

You waited for the Brunette to walk away so you could approach, tapping art on his back, making him jump up. He turned over and gave you a smile, you copied his actions to make it seem as if you didn't know anything.

The night continued on as usual..but you didn't ask him anything, dancing and drinking with him but never asking him to do a thing. He must've not noticed until he glanced to the side and saw Patrick.

"We should get a room Artsie."

He nearly complied, the use of that nickname had all the blood rushing south. His mouth opening to mutter yes ,until a figure bumped into him. Patrick wrapping his arm around Arts shoulder, looking at you with a smirk.

"Heyy you twoo! I..wanna speak with Art!"

He mumbled the last part , pulling your boyfriend away for a brief moment until the came back , Arts face still flushed and bulge even more prominent.

He nearly lost the bet because of You. You only smiled and gave him a quick peck to the cheek, dissapearing off into the crowd, leaving him a mess.

You were avoiding him for the whole night , knowing he was right after you, and Patrick following suite to try stop him. You slipped into the darker areas of the place , finding yourself in a dimly lit bedroom, lit up by only the moon.

You made your way in and stood by the door , shutting it once Art came in.

"Y/n! I..uh-"

He stumbled over his words , all he wanted now was for you to bounce on his swollen cock until he could barely walk straight.

"You need me..hm?"

You whispered into his ear, sending shivers down his spine. He eagerly nodded , whimpering a slight bit.

"Words , Art. I need your words."

He sighed, giving in to your request since he knew he could simply lie and say he never said yes ,right?

"Yes..fuck yes please."

That was all you needed to hear , smashing your lips onto his while he lifted you into his arms , laying back onto the neatly done bed behind you two. You straddled his lap , kissing at his while grinding onto him, stopping your movements whenever he began getting loud.

"But-"

"You don't want Pat to find out you broke off a bet?"

He let out a whine , muttering a soft no while you made work of both your clothes , your cunt so slick he could slip in easily. Your hand snaking its way around his throat as you bounced up and down his cock, squeezing softly.

"You really thought you could listen to Patrick? Fucking stupid."

He choked out a whine , getting light headed from to lack of oxygen flow and stimulation down south. You brought your face closer to his , slowing your movements briefly

"What would he say now huh? You can't even keep a fucking bet, cause your so pussy whipped."

His eyes rolled to the back of his head , his fingers dug so deep into your hip, you were sure they'd brush up. You let go of his neck , opening his jaw to spit into it, just as you did that someone barged in and let out a defeated sigh.

"C'mon Art? Not even for a few hours!?"

Patrick stood at the door , arms crossed and shaking his head in dissapointment knowing he would have to take back his money. Although he seemed to be dissapointed, he was purely staring at you two go at it, the moon making a silhouette of your figures moving against eachother.

"F-fuck off Pat-!"

Art managed to speak out , flipping his friend off as he walked out and shut the door.

"Your own friend can't believe you're this weak over me?"

He let out a deep whimper , grabbing your hips to position himself properly, fucking into you like a jack rabbit. Your moans luckily muffled by his mouth and the loud music that played behind the thick walls.

The drive back home was silent, Art passed out in the back seat while you drove and Patrick sitting in the passenger seat next to you.

"Don't ever pull that dumb shit with him ever again."

"What- what do yo-"

"Don't fucking play dumb with me Zweig."

"Yes ma'am."

The silence filling the car back up, if you don't count the blonds soft snores behind you and the cool air of the night flowing through your window.

#art donaldson smut #azana #chubby!reader #x black reader #black plus size reader #art donaldson #art challengers #art donaldson x black! reader #challangers #challengers smut #chubby reader #challengers #patrick zweig #patrick zweig smut #x black plus size reader #kinktober

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sleep-i-ness · 10 months ago

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Maybe They're Born With It, Maybe It's Trauma

Summary: You make a new friend at rehab.

Content Warning: Drugs, rehab

TUA MASTERLIST | GENERAL MASTERLIST

“I hoped we wouldn’t be seeing you back here so soon.” The dour face of Dr Hartleben greeted you as you waltzed into the rehab centre, a grin splitting your face in two.

“How could I stay away? I simply adore the early morning yoga sessions and going around in a circle after lunch explaining why we’re all so fucked up.”

Dr Hartleben’s pursed lips and sour expression conveyed all she had to say on the matter as you turned sharply on the ball of your foot. She took large strides down the corridor, and you had to jog to catch up, your scruffy trainers squeaking on the shiny linoleum floor. This place was like a second home to you, having been in and out every few months for the past 7 or so years.

You’d tried to hold down a steady job, really, you had. But all you had to show for it was a place as a flautist in the local orchestra, which did not pay, and a spacious but surprisingly cheap apartment in the dodgy part of the city. That you’d bought with money from your past life, when everything had been fine and on track to at least a minimal amount of success. But all in all, you’d decided that there was no point in trying to regain some semblance of normalcy in your life when all you ever did was try to escape the ghosts from your past.

Dr Hartleben pushed open the dull aluminium door with your foot, a shaft of sunlight illuminating the room. Ah, home sweet home. The stale scent of iodoform and sweat wafted out and you breathed deeply. This was the one thing that never changed, no matter what.

“You know your way around, the top bunk on the far left is vacant. I expect to see you adding your name to the duty rosters and coming to group therapy this afternoon,” Dr Hartleben was itching to leave you in the confined patient dormitories, barely even standing on the faded doorstep of the room. “Your stuff will be brought to you as soon as it has all been checked.”

You scoffed. “I’m always a model patient, I’d never jeopardise my spot in this wonderful place by bringing shit in with me.”

“Then why are you back again? I’ll leave you to get settled and make your bed. Your sheets should be on the end of your bunk. The others are in the garden, one of the nurses will be round in 10 minutes to escort you.”

With that, the door swung closed, and you were left standing in the dank and poorly lit room. The frosted windows were too grimy to let much light in and the bulb in the lamp buzzed a faint yellow. At least this time you had a top bunk, which was clearly the superior spot.

That was the problem in having so many drug overdoses on your medical record; every so often you’d be sent back into rehab, with or without a court order to stay. You had forgotten the strict rules that had to be followed and the lack of freedom; you didn’t need a babysitter. At least in rehab you wouldn’t be quite so lonely, you had roommates to keep you company now. And everyone had their own demons to face, otherwise they wouldn’t be here. There was no room for judging.

The crisp sheets smelt of starched linen, over washed and firm to the touch. No more comfy bed sheets, you mourned. The mattress was lumpy and had a suspicious dark stain on the plastic that you straight up refused to touch, choosing to flip it over instead and hope that the other side was less grimy.

“Y/N?” A knock sounded at the door and a nurse popped his head round the door, clutching your overflowing crochet shoulder bag. It was a face you hadn’t seen before, and you quickly plastered on your friendliest grin.

“Hi, yep, that’s me. Is my stuff all okay for me to take?” All there was in the bag was a change of clothes, some toiletries and spare underwear. No point bringing anything too nice, someone was bound to nick it otherwise.

“Yeah, yeah.” The nurse returned your smile, holding out the bag for you to quickly grab and sling over the end of your bed. He was quite young, you would guess late 20s to early 30s. You pitied the poor guy, having to deal with them all the time. Well, he had chosen this.

“Dr Hartleben said that the other patients were all in the garden, can I join them?” You skipped over to the door, your colourfully patterned skirt swishing round your ankles. You hadn’t been quite sure that your outfit was particularly fitting for the centre; it had felt a bit too bohemian but seeing the drab and dreary walls reminded you that a pop of colour would do this place some good.

The garden was a bit of an overstatement really. It was more of a paved courtyard with weeds growing between the cracks in the slabs and a couple of small flowerbeds, one of which had been a vegetable garden the last time you had been here but now appeared to have been taken over by weeds. It was the space for the newest patients, who couldn’t be trusted to go into the slightly more expansive grounds yet. It was depressingly barren, and you eyed the patients morosely milling around with a grimace. How boring.

“What’s growing in the beds at the moment?” You turned to the nurse, whose name you hadn’t learnt yet, with a dazzling smile.

“I don’t think there’s anything particular being grown.”

You pursed your lips. How sad. Any life or nature in this place really was stifled and stamped out in the end.

You trudged into the group therapy room, eyes following your feet as they left scuff marks on the shiny floor. You slipped into a spare seat, barely making eye contact with anyone else. If you could get out of this without a single person trying to become your new bosom pal, you’d count it as a win.

“Hi, I’m Ella and today we have someone new joining us, so I’d like everyone to go round in the circle and introduce themselves by saying their name and why they’re here. Louisa, if you wouldn’t mind starting off for us.” The irritatingly cheery voice of the therapist was grating on your nerves, you hated these sessions with a passion. What was the need in sharing the same stories every week?

“I’m Louisa and I’m an alcoholic.”

“I’m Mark and I’m a heroin addict.”

“I’m Susanna and I’m a drug addict.”

“I’m Brent and I’m an alcoholic.”

The droning of voices soon became a wave of background noise that washed over you like a sea of calm, each introduction as monotonously boring as the next. The person to your left spoke and you yawned softly, daintily lifting a hand to cover your mouth. “I’m Y/N and I’m an addict.”

There was something so tiring about rehab. Between the withdrawals and the endless therapy and need to be in touch with emotions, it was draining both physically and mentally. You couldn’t wait to get out; you only had a couple more weeks to go.

“And, our newest member, would you like to introduce yourself?” You could practically hear the beaming grin in Ella’s voice, and you rolled your eyes. Bit much.

“I’m Klaus and I’d like to say I’m a tortured soul-” Your head snapped up to look curiously at the newbie. Heavily eyelinered brown eyes stared back at you, a mischievous twinkle shining in them. “But to stick with the same pattern as everyone else, I’m an addict.”

He lifted a ringed hand to wave to the circle, winking at you. And you felt yourself flush, ducking your head from his intense gaze.

Group therapy had never felt so long as today, not that you could recall anything discussed, not when your eyes kept straying towards Klaus. And boy, did he notice. Every time his eyes met yours, he held the eye contact, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and you flushed redder and redder.

How unfair that someone this gorgeous was at rehab; how were you meant to even attempt to recover when he kept looking at you!

It wasn’t until the end of the session, as you all shuffled out, that he properly made his way over to you, a cheeky grin on his face. You glanced at him, turning your head back to the door with a small smile which you tried your hardest to fight back.

“Hello, Y/N,” he murmured, voice so low it felt like a conversation that was only for you. And you bit at the inside of your cheek to squash the blush crawling up inside you.

“Hiya,” you whispered, hoping you didn’t sound quite as excited as you felt.

“Come here often?”

You giggled, hating how much like a schoolgirl you sounded, and finally plucked up the courage to make eye contact with him. “Yes, unfortunately.”

“Court mandated as well?”

You nodded, picking at a stray thread on your skirt.

“Well, we’ve got each other now.”

And you chewed at your bottom lip, beaming grin splitting across your face as a heady rush of giddiness filled your chest. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

“Want to go see the garden with me?”

You nodded, a little too quickly and eagerly, and he just chuckled at you.

Maybe rehab wouldn’t be as bad this time around.

#klaus x y/n #klaus x you #klaus x reader #klaus #klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves x you #klaus hargreeves x y/n #klaus hargreeves x reader #number 4 x reader #number four x reader #the umbrella academy #tua

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dreamsteddie · 3 months ago

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WIP Thursday??

I'm in a bit of a writing drought, not for lack of inspiration but for lack of time, so I thought I'd share a little snippet from my WIP for day one of @stmarchmm's March Mating Madness. The prompt is "Courting."

Thank you very much to @popmilky for creating the divider I am using

“Hey Buckley,” Eddie says sliding up to the girl where she’s packing up at the bleachers after practice. She gives him a scrutinizing look and clearly finds him lacking, squinting her eyes at him like he’s a little bug landed on her shoulder. Irritating and suspicious. Which, rude. “I was wondering if a fine lady like yourself would happen to know what one Steve Harrington might be hoping for in a courting” Robin clearly wasn’t expecting him to come right out and ask, her blue eyes going wide.

“What the fuck, Munson!” She crows, clearly embarrassed by his lack of tact.

“What!?” He fires back, not understanding what the big deal is. He wants to court Steve and Robin is the best source of information on how to go about it.

“You can’t just ask that, you doofus,” she hisses, lavender scent going smokey like brush fire.

“Why not? I want to court him, like, publicly. Everyone’s gonna know in a couple weeks anyway. Shouldn’t you be glad you’re the first to know?” He huffs. He knows it’s not exactly the done thing to go around telling people you’re going to court someone. You’re supposed to be delicate. Hint at it and build up little courting gifts and don’t look anyone in the eye. It’s dumb as hell and Eddie wants no part of it. Besides, so far as Eddie has seen, that method hasn’t worked on Steve anyway. Eddie may as well go about this in his own way, which includes getting insider information.

Still clearly not impressed, Robin says “You? You want to court Steve? Resident anti-conformist, jock-hating, Eddie Munson wants to court Steve Harrington. Why?” Her tone is clearly disbelieving, which, again, rude.

“Uh, I mean, have you seen him with those kids? He’s wicked hot with that whole mom thing he’s got going on.” At that, Robin gags. “And, I mean, I know he’s a jock but he’s also an Omega and he pretty much said fuck it to Hawkin’s High when he presented and refused to give up his position as captain. That was super fucking metal,” he says all earnest.

“And I like the way he smells, like a fresh cinnamon roll. And we shared an English class once and he asked me about the doodle of a Beholder I worked on instead of taking notes. And I know I’m not exactly a prime Alpha but I don’t think that really matters. At least not to me. I want to kiss him and make sweet love to him and have babies with him and -” Robin cuts him off with a hand over his mouth.

“Ok, I get it. You like him.” She says that, but she’s still looking at him like she can’t figure him out. “Alright…I don’t know if I like you Eddie but I’ll throw you a bone. Just one, got it? And if you fuck it up, I’m not helping you again.” She says, waiting for him to nod before removing her hand from his mouth.

Eddie takes a deep, overdramatic breath in like he’s just breached water. “Got it.”

Robin takes a deep breath of her own. “Steve’s been propositioned for courting 12 times since he presented and he’s only said yes to one. One-off dates not included.” She hasn’t stopped looking him straight in the eye, making sure he pays attention. “Nancy gave him a set of handwritten notes for history because she noticed he was struggling. All the other Alphas got him fancy jewelry, useless house stuff, and generic valentine's day crap.” With that, she gives him one last, long look before grabbing her trumpet and leaving, the sound of metal clanging under her feet following in her wake.

“Thanks, Buckey!” He calls out, waving his hand wildly at her retreating back. She ignores him.

Well, no matter.

He’s got a courting to plan.

#steddie #omegaverse #alpha eddie munson #omega steve harrington #WIP #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #dreamer speaks #fanfiction #robin buckley #not stated directly but #Alpha Robin Buckley #Robin you will always be an Alpha to me #I will not let them pigenhole you into being a Beta #no hate to those who make you one tho

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lazycats-stuff · 2 years ago

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Hey, I love your fics. I wanted to request a bat!bro reader who’s 16 where Bruce has split custody with his mum (he grew up with his mum and wanted split) but it turns out his mum was just using him to get money from Bruce and is kind of neglectful? And he always gives it to her bc he’s a mamas boy?

Stay safe and don’t forget to stay hydrated <33

Thanks anon, you stay hydrated too.

Summary: (Y/N) lives with his mom, but it's not going well.

Warnings: Bruce is protective, neglective mom, brothers are worried for (Y/N), Clark is investigating too, emotional (Y/N).

Bruce noticed something about his son (Y/N). He had split custody with his mother because (Y/N) wanted to be with both of his parents equally. Bruce respected that wish and made an effort to work with his mother.

At first, his mom has agreed too and the two of them worked together to make sure that their son is happy. Bruce's other sons were happy with the results and they loved spending a week with the brother.

But now, there is something that has been going on, but Bruce couldn't quite pinpoint it on anything. He noticed that his former fling had much more nicer clothes. Bruce has sent a very hefty sum in child support for (Y/N), knowing that she is a single mom and she is not as rich as he is.

There wasn't anything wrong with buying new clothes for yourself, but he keeps seeing (Y/N) in the same clothes all the time. Bruce has tried to see it in a logical way, but there was a paranoia in his mind.

He knew that there were stories about women using men's child support to pay for themselves, especially if the men are rich and the sums are very hefty.

Just like in Bruce's case.

He didn't want to be paranoid because it would seem like he was crazy, but what if he was right about (Y/N)'s mom? (Y/N) seemed more anxious and more withdrawn. And when he wasn't in that mood, he became clingy, almost like he was deprived of love at home.

He wasn't clingy before and Bruce found it to be suspicious. He thought about involving CPS and other organizations, but he didn't have any official evidence. Just because someone starts being clingy, doesn't have to mean that they are neglected.

However, it is weird.

Bruce made sure to observe what was going on with (Y/N). The others agreed that something was off with their brother. (Y/N) has always been a happy kid, outgoing and loved to hang out with his brothers, dad and unofficial grandfather, but now, (Y/N) has completely changed.

Sure, you could argue that teenagers change and it was true. But not this quickly and not this drastic.

Bruce has officially decided to get involved, deciding to ask Clark for help. Clark is an investigative journalist and he would be able to do this unnoticed. And Clark would do anything do help his nephew.

He just adored (Y/N) and would do anything to make sure that he is okay. So, he has decided to see what (Y/N)'s mom is doing. All of this looked like a case of neglect and Clark could only hope at this point.

Hopes dies last.

But he knew that the chances are slim of that. He made sure that he followed his mom without her noticing. At first, everything was fine. Until he saw that she was rarely home. She spent her days shopping, hanging out with her friends, spending nights with random men...

And amidst all of that, (Y/N) was all alone. He had become an adult. He had to make himself meals, he had to do everything in the house. Not to mention that he had to pay the bills himself.

And recently the heating got cut off because the mom didn't pay it. Now, that was something that Clark couldn't take. His nephew doesn't deserve this.

He told Bruce that and Bruce has called CPS. Those sums are for (Y/N) and not for her. He got a lawyer too and now he had to wait. Now, she refused Bruce to see his own son.

And now she has messed up.

Bruce quickly filed for full custody, not allowing her to use his son as a weapon. Not going to happen. Absolutely not. The court hearings and preceding's were quick and efficient and Bruce was happy that (Y/N) was finally in his custody.

And it was discovered that his mom committed financial crimes and FBI was looking into her. (Y/N) didn't need to know that and he didn't need to be involved in that.

He really didn't need to be involved in that. But the one thing that makes Bruce mad every time he thought about it was the fact that she used his love and manipulated it.

(Y/N) has always been a mama's boy and she used it as a weapon against her own son. And despite (Y/N) being happy that he left that home behind, but there was this... Weird feeling.

He felt guilty and happy at the same time. He shouldn't be happy that his mother is going to jail soon, but at the same time he shouldn't feel guilty that he is now going to have a better life.

But she wasn't a bad mother at first. She was a great mom, but he knew that money has changed her. Those hefty sums were for him and yet, he gave her the amount every month.

He knows he shouldn't blame himself for it, but in the end he does. How he didn't see the manipulation of his love and adoration for her? How could he have been so blind?

So stupid too?

Bruce knew that he had to talk with (Y/N) about the situation. He started living with them full time a little over two weeks ago. It has not been easy for (Y/N), knowing that his mother was a criminal now and completely changing the way he lived.

He was still withdrawn and Bruce knew that he had to talk to (Y/N). He needed to make sure that (Y/N) knows that he is not at fault. Not happening.

He went to his room where (Y/N) was reading and Bruce gave him a smile as he entered the room sitting next to him. (Y/N) marked the page and put the book down.

It has been silent and (Y/N) couldn't really look at Bruce. And what does Bruce does? He brings (Y/N) into his lap, allowing him to finally find some comfort. (Y/N) didn't want to be clingy anymore, but he wanted comfort.

" Now, I want you to just listen and not talk, okay? " Bruce said and (Y/N) nodded.

" None of this is on you. She didn't take good care of you and none of this is on you. Whatever you might see in the media, is not true. You don't have to, no you shouldn't feel guilty. " Bruce has started, gently rocking his son.

He loved to rock him, even when he was a baby he rocked him. (Y/N) loved it a lot and it would always calm him down.

" Now, you mother made her own choices and now she has to answer for them. I know that you feel guilty and once again, you shouldn't feel guilty. You are going to have at least 3 warm meals with us, you won't have to do any chores anymore, you won't worry about bills and more importantly, " Bruce paused, glancing down at his son who was softly shaking while sobbing.

" Now, if you ever need something, do not hesitate. We are all here for you. All of us. From Damian to Alfred. All of us. " Bruce has said, giving him a soft kiss to the side of his head. He nodded to his sons who were waiting outside of the room.

They have entered and hugged their brother tightly, making sure to let him know that he is not at fault. Damian was the one who was the most vocal about it.

(Y/N) was so overwhelmed with emotions, but was happy to have so much support in his life. He didn't really have that support with his mom and all of this has made his head spin. All of it.

But he was happy none the less.

" Thanks guys. Love you all. " (Y/N) said so quietly and Dick openly cooed at (Y/N). Everyone felt their heart bursting from the sheer happiness.

Now they had their brother back. With a little bit more time, he is going to be his old self.

#dc x male reader #dc comics #x male reader #batfamily #bruce wayne x male reader #jason todd x male reader #batman x male reader #batkids #red hood x male reader #tim drake x male reader #red robin x male reader #damian wayne x male reader #robin x male reader #dick grayson x male reader #nightwing x male reader

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blueicequeen19 · 2 years ago

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Charter ch. 3

Warnings: banter, toxicity, oral, protected sex, dirty talk, age gap, talk of drug use & addiction

Why did I always fucking do this? Why did I always get involved with the girls with the big fucking mouths? Sure she had a heart of gold and a laugh that had me dying to hear it at any moment and her body.. fuck. Plus she’s my employee and five years fucking younger than me.

I remember how stupid I was at her age. How I got someone pregnant from a one night stand. How she led me to believe it wasn’t mine even after the baby came out looking just fucking like me.

My gut churned at the thought of the worst nine months of my life. The not knowing. How I let her mother use me for money over and over again only to find out that she was doing drugs. It took months in the NICU on the mainland before Summer got to come home and another year to prove that her mother was unfit. Court systems tend to do everything they can to keep children with their mothers even with plenty of evidence against them.

How was I supposed to let someone else into Summer’s life when her own mother failed her? I refused to let it happen again. That’s why I didn’t date. That’s why my father didn’t know her. I knew a thing or two about absent parents and I wasn’t about to let it hurt my daughter the way it had me. She deserved happiness and that was all I was going to give her.

The Charter is closed on Sundays and Mondays so that gave me two full days with my girl. Those are always my favorite days. We spend it at the beach, at the Chateau, at the Wreck, and wherever else we can get into. All while singing every Disney song she’s ever heard.

When Tuesday rolled around, I was anxious. I wanted to see Y/N again but I couldn’t let it be known that there was anything between us to anyone else. People will take anything and run with it and I didn’t need Summer’s mother finding any ammunition against me. But seeing Y/N bent over at the counter, flipping through our supply magazine had me stiffening in my shorts. I wanted to take her right then and there.

Her eyes darted up at the sound of the bell from the door being opened but she quickly glanced away when she realized it was just me. I did a quick scan of the shelves to make sure no one else was in the store before stopping in front of her. She didn’t look up as she flipped the page.

“Do I pay you to read on the clock?”

“Yep. And you fuck me on it too.”

She didn’t look up at me and I was glad because I had to wipe the stupid grin off my face. I hated how hot she was when she was mad.

“Would you rather me make you clock out?”

“For thirty seconds? It wouldn’t be worth it.” She didn’t miss a fucking beat and I didn’t bother to stifle my laughter.

“It’s at least forty-five seconds.”

Silence.

Fine.

“Truck came today.” I change the subject to work and she nods.

“Yep and I put 90% of it away already. The rest is too heavy for me to put on the racks.” Which was fine. I did that part anyway.

“Have we been busy?”

“Check the register.”

“Y/N.”

“JJ.”

I sighed, pulling out my phone and going to my pictures. I turned my phone to face her, letting her see the picture I’d taken of Summer and I yesterday. Her blonde curls hung around her face in a happy smile, looking every bit my twin. She was in her pink princess dress and I was in my pink shirt. Her favorite shirt that I had to wear so we matched. Y/N’s eyes darted to my phone and she couldn’t fight off her beaming smile. Seconds passed before she straightened and took my phone. I let her flip through the pictures, mostly all Summer and me.

“She looks just like you.” Y/N cooed, pinching her fingers as she zoomed in. I wasn’t sure how far back she’d gotten in the albums but I could probably guess when her face fell.

“She was so tiny.” She whispered, no doubt looking at the picture of Summer in the NICU hooked up to wires and machines.

“She was nine weeks early.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, holding out my hand for my phone back. Her glassy eyes met mine and I knew she was fighting back tears as she handed me my phone back.

“What’s her name?”

“Summer Rain Maybank.”

The shop bell went off and the conversation ended. Back to work we went.

I couldn’t tear my eyes off her tonight. Usually she was the one always watching me. My blood always ran hotter knowing she couldn’t take her eyes off me. Why did she think I wore these cutoffs everyday? I liked that she was constantly checking out my body and I wanted her to. Now she could hardly stand to glance in my direction. If this was a game of hard to get, she was fucking winning.

“I brought extra shrimp and grits if you want some.” I called around break time and she just waved me off.

“You can go ahead and head out if you want. I can close up.” I offered, thinking maybe she’d want to get home an hour or two earlier but she just shrugged and continued stocking shelves.

“How’s your dog?” I asked at one point and she grumbled a “fine” in response. I’d just about fucking had it when the sun was setting and we were going through our closing routine. I not so gently put the cash drawer down and stalked towards her as she made her way to the work bench. She didn’t see me coming, wasn’t even paying attention, until I fisted her shirt and yanked her against me. Her eyes widen in surprise for a moment before they narrowed to a glare.

“Out with it. You want me to apologize? Fine. I’m sorry. You want me to fuck you until you can’t walk to show you how sorry I am? Fine. But you will acknowledge me. You will look at me. You will say more than two words to me.” I bit out, my body shaking with something I didn’t quite recognize. My cock was so hard I could hardly breathe as those defiant eyes stared back up at me. She pressed her tits against my chest, her fingers hooking in my belt loops as she leaned in, her breath hitting my mouth.

“Or. What.”

I tore her shirt down the middle making her gasp in surprise before shoving her back against the work bench and ducking my head to suck her pierced nipple in my mouth.

“Oh god.” She moaned, yanking on my hair as she bowed over the work bench. I grabbed her ass with both hands after ripping her bra off next and throwing it behind me, her nipples at my mercy. When she was trembling and crying out, I pulled away and flipped her so she was face down on the work bench. I slapped her ass hard before yanking her shorts and panties down.

“You fucking caveman.” She bit out, arching her ass out for me anyway as I kneeled behind her.

“It’s your fault.” I snapped before burying my face in her dripping pussy. She cried out, lifting one leg up onto the work bench to give me better access. I licked and sucked like my life depended on it. She was moaning like crazy and trembling, her hand reached back to fist my hair. When I plunged my tongue deep inside her she all but screamed as she came on my tongue. I didn’t stop until she was whimpering and as I rose to my feet, she spun around and pushed me to sit at the desk chair.

I nearly came right there just from the pure hunger in her eyes as she tore open my shorts and freed my cock. I dug a condom from my pocket and she ripped it open with her teeth before rolling it on.

“I’m still mad at you.” She bit out, straddling my waist and positioning me at her entrance.

“That doesn’t go away.” I start to smirk but she sinks down on my cock and I throw my head back with a groan, her hands fisting my shirt as she starts to ride me.

My hands find her hips as I thrust up into her, hitting so deep our eyes nearly cross.

“God, it’s too deep.” She whines breathlessly, her lashes fluttering with every bounce of her hips.

“I can get deeper.” I taunt, lifting her in my arms and putting her back on the desk. Her legs find my shoulders then I’m fucking her like my life depends on it. My hips keep hitting the desk but I’m too fucking close to care. Her cries pierce my ears as she grips her own tits, pinching the piercing nipples as I tighten my grip on her waist. I move one hand to her stomach and push down, her entire body tightening as she bows off the desk with a choked scream.

I came right along with her, filling up the condom until I’m wrung dry and panting. I have to carefully pull out so she doesn’t rip the condom off inside her with the way she’s still clamped down. I can’t take my eyes off the way her body is shuddering as she comes down. Her flushed body and her raspy breathing. Her hard nipples begging for my mouth again. This girl was going to get me in trouble.

“I need more.” She whispers, finally opening her eyes to look at me. I smirk after throwing away the condom and fixing my shorts. I run my hands up her thighs and she shakes harder, her eyes pleading.

“Greedy.” My fingers glide over her glistening swollen clit making her jerk and whimper with need.

“That’s what happens when you piss me off. I need a way to release that pent up aggression.” She breathes, her hips bucking with every feather like touch to her clit.

“So I take it you don’t want me to be gentle when I finger fuck you?” My voice is lower and hungry as I tease her entrance with my finger. She growls in warning.

“No. Never.” She breathes, palming her gorgeous tits again.

“You don’t want me to ease in slowly as I fill you?” I murmur as I do just that, sliding two fingers inside her desperate cunt and she moans low and long.

“No.” She pants. I smirk as I start to pump my fingers slowly, too slowly for my own liking. I curl my fingers to find her G-spot and her eyes pop open, her hand reaching for me.

“Oh god.”

“You don’t like when I do that?” She only whimpers. I chuckle darkly as I give her what she wants. We don’t leave until she’s dripping on the floor and I’ve fucked her again.

We walk out together as usual, only she’s wearing a shirt from the shop instead of her own, a small smile on her face as she twirls her keys around her fingers. It’s not until we’re half way across the street that I stop dead in my tracks as I take in who’s leaning against my truck.

“How’s my daughter, JJ?” She calls, my good mood instantly fucking gone.

#smutwarning #outer banks smut #jj maybank smut #jj maybank fic #obx2 #jj maybank imagine #rudy pankow #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x you #jj obx #outer banks x reader #wattpad #tw dark content #blueicequeen19 #jj maybank #outer banks fanfiction

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rosanna-writer · 1 month ago

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we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (29/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~6k

Some text in this chapter is lifted directly from A Court of Mist and Fury.

Read on AO3 or you can find the twenty-ninth chapter below the readmore.

I hadn't felt properly home again until Rhys was buried inside me to the hilt. I chased the feeling until he'd whispered, "Take what you need, darling," rolling us over to put me on top.

I'd gained strength and endurance in my thighs from years of hauling deer carcasses for miles through the forest. It was so much sweeter to put it to use riding my mate instead—I could tell him to sit back and enjoy it, then go and go and go until I'd wrung every last drop of pleasure from him.

When it was done, I ended up on my back with him sprawled half on top of me. His massive wings took up most of the bed, and he'd rested his head right on the crook of my shoulder. Gently, I raked my nails along his scalp. Though I needed to be careful not to tug—Amarantha had liked to yank and pull hair—this always got him to relax properly, until he was boneless, his guard down in a way it could only be with me.

In some ways, the afterglow felt like a hard-won victory.

He'd been quiet long enough that I thought he might have fallen asleep. I was also close to it, though I'd missed touching him so much that I couldn't quite stop paying attention to the feel of his skin against mine long enough to drift off. If the visit to the Day Court had kept us apart any longer, I might have worried for both our sanity.

Despite all that research Amren conducted on mates, I still wasn't sure how anyone with a mating bond got anything done.

After a while, Rhys's voice drifted into my head, as if he was too worn out to speak aloud. By the way, I have business to discuss with you before we consult with the rest of the Inner Circle tomorrow. Better to do it now while we have time alone.

"Business?" I said.

Regarding strategy for getting the Book of Breathings. Ideally, we'd meet with the mortal queens at your family's estate. Neutral territory, where humans have invited us in. But of course, that will require Nesta's cooperation. How should we proceed?

I sighed, my breath fluttering his blue-black hair. I'd considered that very same question for days now but still hadn't come up with an answer. Nesta wouldn't allow me in the house, lest any word of my involvement with the fae get out. My family had already had their lives ruined once; they would not survive it again.

They wouldn't survive a war, either. That much was obvious to me, but Nesta's stubborn defense of Elain meant that she'd dig her heels in and refuse anything that might risk our family's social standing. It was horribly short-sighted. But if Nesta could position herself as a buffer between Elain and any faeries, she would, even if it meant all of the human realm would burn down around them.

And if I had any idea how to convince Nesta to do anything she didn't want to, my life in that cabin would have been far easier.

"I think it's a lost cause," I said.

Ultimately, it's your decision, but we might have more success if we asked Cassian to speak to her.

"Because you think they're mates?" The words were out of my mouth before I thought them through.

For a moment, Rhys was silent. Then he picked his head up to look at me, as if he knew avoiding my gaze was cowardly. "Yes," he said aloud.

Perhaps the idea should have bothered me more than it did. But I knew how easily Rhys and I were inclined to agree with each other—I could never find it in me to judge his choices too harshly when I knew I'd make the same ones in his position. Whether that was because the mating bond primed us to think the best of each other or because the Mother matched individuals who saw the world the same way, I didn't know.

If anything less than the life of every mortal were at stake, I might not have been able to stomach manipulating my family. But the possibility of war brought more hard choices with it, and I'd stopped hesitating to do the necessary, unpleasant thing a long time ago. "I'll ask Cassian about it tomorrow, then."

"I can handle it if you'd rather not."

I saw the offer for what it was—not merely him trying to shoulder my burdens, but a willingness to step in and allow me to keep my own hands clean. As High Lord, Rhys would take full responsibility for a decision like this. But I wouldn't let him.

I was his mate before I was his subordinate.

"You don't need to," I said, and it was a testament to how relaxed I was with his body curled around mine that I didn't snap the words at him.

For a long moment, he studied my face. I waited for the reminder that I could lean on him, that I didn't have to go it alone anymore, but it never came. He just leaned down and kissed me gently.

I let myself fall into it, hooking a leg around his hip to draw him closer as I parted my lips. It was a strange tightrope to walk—Rhys's mate and the High Lord's emissary, a member of a ruler's Inner Circle of advisors and a member of a tight-knit family—but I was managing to balance without falling.

But as Hybern inched closer, I doubted it would always feel quite so easy.

Our conversation wasn't over; after a few minutes of lazily kissing each other and getting tangled in the sheets, I pulled away again. "What happens if Nesta refuses? We should have another plan in place."

"You sound like you have an idea," Rhys said, propping his chin on a fist as he studied me.

"There are two halves of the Book and two of us. While you're in Summer, you could send me to the Continent to speak to them. I'm human—they might agree to hear me out."

The bond pulled so taught that for a moment, I thought my rib might have cracked. My hand flew to my chest as darkness flooded the room.

Then, as quickly as it tightened, the bond slackened. Enough light to see by returned. Rhys was still on top of me, but his wings were flared wide, no longer drooping on the sheets. Something dark flickered in his eyes.

"I don't think it would be prudent to put an ocean between us. Especially not if we were both undertaking dangerous missions. It wouldn't end well for either of us."

He wasn't wrong. Even if I took a bodyguard, the distance was too great for anyone but Rhys to winnow. We'd both be out of our minds with worry, and even if we avoided danger, I doubted we'd manage to get our hands on both halves of the Book that way.

I reached up, brushing a thumb along his cheek. "Then we'll make sure it doesn't come to that."

Rhys said nothing, just leaned into the touch. His eyes fluttered shut, and he angled his head until his nose rested against the pulse point on my wrist. I watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed my scent deep into his lungs.

"How are you planning on getting the Book from Summer, then?" I said, bracing myself to be told I'd need to stay behind in Velaris.

Instead, Rhys said, "To be decided tomorrow with the rest of the Inner Circle."

I nodded. "And that's all the business we need to take care of for now, then?"

"Not unless you have something pressing."

I kissed him in answer, tipping my hips upward—the only pressing thing on my mind was pressing my body against his. One brush of my fingertips against his wing, and we were ready to begin another round of making up for time we'd just been apart.

After the too-bright sun in the Day Court, I welcomed the steady rain beating down when I returned to the training ring the next morning. A chill was already settling into my bones, the first cool early morning that signaled autumn had arrived. Fog blanketed Velaris, and as Rhys flew us up to the House of Wind, I could hardly see anything but mist.

I spent most of the warm-up avoiding the water droplets that flicked off the Illyrians' wings each time they moved. But still, I didn't complain, not when I knew that each raindrop that landed on the sensitive membranes of their wings sent a jolt of cold through their bodies. My leathers, at least, kept out the damp.

Cassian and Rhys had immediately begun sparing, and the clashing of their blades broke up the steady pattering of the rain. Azriel, as close to cheerful as he ever got, pulled me aside to work on properly gripping a knife in slippery conditions. We'd only been at it for a few minutes when something made his head whip towards the door. I glanced up, though the sound of steel-on-steel in the distance continued.

Mor had arrived.

Since I'd returned from Under the Mountain, she hadn't joined us for training. All her recent trips to the Hewn City had eaten up her time. But war was on the horizon. She needed to prepare just as much as the rest of us.

"You're late," Cassian called over his shoulder. "Rhys and Feyre managed to get here on time, and they probably spent all morning fu—"

A thud cut off the rest of that sentence. Rhys had knocked the sword out of Cassian's hand, and there was a blur of arms, legs, and wings as the fighting devolved into grappling. Next to me, Azriel made a low, disapproving noise.

"Not all of us get up as ridiculously early as you do. I didn't even sleep in," Mor said smoothly. She walked over to us, plucked a knife from the sheath on Azriel's arm, and sent it sailing into the target. She threw with perfect form, and it landed directly in the center of the bullseye.

"Not a bad start," Azriel said.

When Mor turned to him, her face was grave. "Returning to it is easier than I thought. I wonder if you ever truly forget what it's like."

"It's not the sort of thing you could ever forget."

Some sort of shared understanding seemed to pass between Mor and Azriel. I was acutely aware, again, that everyone here but me had already fought in a war once. It was a wonder they didn't view me as a child.

Mor's gaze flicked over to where Cassian and Rhys were still attempting to pin each other to the ground. Despite Cassian's massive bulk, Rhys had wriggled out of his hold multiple times. His limbs were free, but Cassian had dodged each one of his blows.

"It's been a while, cousin," she said, "but unlike Cassian, I think I could still beat you into the dirt without any trouble."

Rhys answered with a growl, and just that split second of distraction was enough for Cassian to twist his arms behind his back. The fight ended. Cassian leapt to his feet.

Rhys took Cassian's proffered hand and stood, glaring daggers at Mor. "Back it up if you're going to talk like that."

Mor unsheathed the sword at her hip. Rhys picked his own up off the mat; she stepped into the ring, and they began to circle each other. For a moment, I stood and watched; Mor had always moved differently from the Illyrians. They'd trained her in combat basics themselves, but eventually, she'd sought teachers elsewhere, learning techniques that didn't assume a fighter had wings. She was a far smaller target, more nimble on her feet in a way that made her nearly impossible to hit.

I set the knives aside after that, running through drills where Azriel knocked me over or grabbed me while Cassian observed and corrected my form. I'd improved, if a bit slowly, over the past few months. My best chance of survival was still running away, but I was better at staying on my feet and instinctively sinking my teeth into the soft skin at the crook of a would-be attacker's elbow or tearing at a High Fae's pointed ears.

When we were all finishing up, my heart returning to a normal rhythm as we ran through our last few stretches, the door to the stairwell swung open again. An umbrella emerged, the same soft grey color as the storm clouds above us. Below it, I caught a flash of black hair and a pale hand wrapped around the sapphire-encrusted handle.

All five of us froze in place.

A long raincoat swished around Amren's feet as she stepped carefully around the border of the sparring ring, then sank onto the chaise in the corner. "Since I was the only one not present, I decided to join you all today," she said, answering the question that none of us had dared ask.

Cassian's grin was positively wolfish. "It's been a while since you've come out to play."

He wasn't wrong. Before I'd gone Under the Mountain, Amren had occasionally come up here to pick at her nails while the rest of us trained. I hadn't seen her here since Rhys and I had returned, probably because she was off making sure the Night Court kept running smoothly.

"We have much to discuss, and I believe all of us—yes even you, Cassian—are capable of multitasking," she said, resting the umbrella on a slim shoulder.

Rhys must have agreed; he waved a hand, and a familiar tang of magic hit my nose as a privacy shield closed around all of us. "I intended to meet with you all this afternoon, but now is a good a time as any," he said.

Right. The Book. We'd planned to make a plan for that in the afternoon, but it was only a small sliver of time. It was difficult, these days, to get the entire Inner Circle in the same place for very long.

Mor had been sitting, leaning over with her face against her knee and her hands around her foot. She straightened and said to Rhys, "I assume you already have a plan then?"

Perhaps it was just me, but there was a sharpness in her voice that sounded almost…accusatory. Rhys snapped his wings in tight, the movement sharp enough to send another spray of water into the air. Despite his obvious agitation, his power didn't slip its leash.

"I've decided that we'll steal the Book of Breathings from the Summer Court," he said.

For a long moment, the only sound was the rain against the windows of the House. Despite the silence, however, no one's face betrayed a hint of surprise. I'd half-expected this, too. Tarquin hadn't been High Lord long enough for us to build up enough trust to ask for a small favor, let alone a powerful artifact his court had been trusted with safekeeping.

Rhys's gaze swept over all of us as he continued, "I'm interested to hear your thoughts on how to best accomplish that."

"I’ll contact my sources in the Summer Court about where the half of the Book of Breathings is hidden," Azriel said.

"No need. I don’t trust this information, even with your sources, with anyone outside of the Inner Circle."

“They can be trusted,” Azriel said with quiet steel, his scarred hands clenching at his leather-clad sides.

“We’re not taking risks where this is concerned,” Rhys merely said. He held Azriel’s stare, and I could almost hear the silent words Rhys added, It is no judgment or reflection on you, Az. Not at all.

But Azriel yielded no tinge of emotion as he nodded, his hands unfurling. It was Cassian who set down his glass of water and said, "Then how the hell are we stealing it if we don't know where it's hidden?"

"I'll have to pluck that information from Tarquin's mind," Rhys said.

"You think you can manage that undetected?" Amren scoffed. "It's your funeral, I suppose."

"Amren's right. You might as well sign your death warrant if you try and invade another High Lord's thoughts," Mor said.

Rhys's jaw tightened. "I would have succeeded tunneling through Amarantha's shields at that damn party if I hadn't gone alone. At least some of you will be accompanying me on this trip. I refuse to make the same mistake again. This time, I— I'm asking for help."

Guilt gnawed at Rhys every single time he delegated a task to the Inner Circle rather than complete it himself, even as he recovered from a fifty-year long ordeal Under the Mountain; he was, as Amren had said, a self-sacrificing idiot. Admitting he couldn't do this all himself cost him something.

But he'd managed it. That might be the reason we had a shot at survival.

Amren crossed her legs, the jeweled buckles on her rain boots glinting as she moved. "I've been telling you for centuries that all the magic in the world doesn't preclude you from needing assistance, boy. Late as it is, I'm glad you've finally learned that lesson."

Rhys bowed his head. His wings drooped just a bit, and for a moment, he looked less like a High Lord and more like a pupil who'd just gotten a verbal lashing from a teacher. I wondered, not for the first time, exactly how young he'd been when she'd taught him to control the immense power that thrummed through his veins.

"Are you asking for bodyguards," Azriel said darkly, "or a distraction?"

"One of each, I think. Though I'm open to suggestions," Rhys said.

Across from me, Cassian's wings rustled. "The Summer Court is full of hotheaded fools and arrogant pricks. I should go."

"Bringing a male who wrecked a building last time he visited is a horrible strategy. Or have you forgotten that you're banned for life?" Mor said. The surprise must have shown on my face because she looked to me and added with a wink, "Remind me to tell you the story next time I've got a couple glasses of wine in me."

Cassian had been unwrapping his hands when Amren arrived, but now, I noticed that he'd stopped. As if he was remaining prepared for another fight. He opened his mouth to speak, but Rhys cut him off, violet eyes flashing dangerously.

"I'll need you in the human realm, Cassian. If I'm unreachable in the Summer Court for any reason, then I don't trust anyone but you to keep watch on the Archeron manor."

"Then don't take Azriel, either," Mor said, her tone brooking no argument.

"Agreed," Rhys said, "bringing my spymaster would send the wrong message and put them on their guard."

That left Mor, Amren, and me. On the rare occasions Rhys left the borders of the Night Court, he preferred to have either his Second or his Third stay back and guard Velaris.

And I certainly wasn't powerful enough to do that. Or to protect Rhys from another High Lord, either.

"Mor would be the better option if you wanted to appear friendly. She's built a rapport with Cresseida as they've corresponded since Amarantha's death, and if we're stealing the Book, that will blindside them more effectively," Amren said.

Cassian sighed. "Robbing another court blind could blow up in our faces, even if we're not trying this around the Summer Solstice. Are we sure we need to steal?"

I wasn't quite sure what the time of year had to do with it, but Cassian had said it so matter-of-factly that I must have been the only one who didn't know. Despite living in Prythian for months now, I still didn't understand faerie holidays. Summer solstice in my village had been nothing more than some donated ale from a local tavern and a few half-hearted line dances before most of us returned to tilling and planting.

This seemed more serious, and that left me with a faint sense of unease.

"Yes," Rhys said tightly. "As much as I'd like to avoid making an enemy of the Summer Court, we can't risk the possibility that Tarquin will say no then sell the information to the highest bidder."

Keeping our true motives hidden protected the Night Court. Rhys saw that clearly, even if he didn't relish the thought of stealing. It was yet another tough call he wasn't shying away from.

I just hoped it didn't end with blood on his hands, like it had with the Summer Court faerie Under the Mountain.

With the entire Inner Circle here, I didn't want to draw him into a lengthy mind-to-mind conversation. I merely sent an image down the bond, of my fingers interlacing with his. He sent a pulse back, a feeling I couldn't quite identify.

"Are you hoping they just won't notice, then?" Cassian demanded. "Because that's bullshit."

"Presumably, Rhys is banking on the assumption that he'll be gone by the time they notice," Azriel said, disapproval evident in his voice, too.

They were right—no surprise there, considering they were both strategists. The situation left us with no options that didn't come perilously close to ending in disaster, and just the thought of it made my chest tighten. War, perhaps, was an inevitability, and the real question was merely of how much damage we could mitigate.

I hadn't truly considered the possibility that I might go to the Summer Court. As a human, my role had seemed lie primarily in obtaining the other half of the Book. Now, I reconsidered and wracked my brain for the scraps of information that I'd read about the Summer Court in the history books the priestesses had recommended.

An idea struck me. "Would we have a better chance of pulling this off if we had someone else we could pin the blame on?" I said.

Rhys's voice became a lethal caress, sending shivers down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold rain. "Say more, Feyre."

"The Summer Court doesn't involve itself in conflicts," I said, "We could ask if they'd be willing to serve as a neutral meeting place, now that Under the Mountain has been sealed off."

"After fifty years together underground, it will be at least a few centuries before the High Lords agree to convene in one location," Amren said, shaking her head.

"It doesn't have to be all of them. What if we told them we wanted to meet with Tamlin and observers from a neutral court, so I could finally provide some answers about the time between Calanmai and Amarantha's death? If I told them a few half-truths, that could be enough of a distraction for Rhys to get into Tarquin's mind undetected, and when the Book turns up missing, we blame Spring."

"If Feyre is coming, then I'm bringing Amren. They're all utterly terrified of her," Rhys said. Amren frowned—annoyed, perhaps, that he'd made a decision without asking her. But he added, just a bit too casually, "There is also a great deal of treasure to be found in the Summer Court. If the Book is hidden, Amren, you might find other objects to your liking."

"Very well," she said, "I'm in."

I didn't exactly relish the thought of facing my kidnapper again. But if I was doing it flanked by Rhys and Amren, no one would dare lay a hand on me.

Azriel said, "If that's the plan, then we should limit the attendance to three per court. Tarquin will likely want Cresseida and Varian there, and I assume Tamlin will bring Lucien and Ianthe. Feyre, that's—"

The sound of her name sent a wave of white-hot rage coursing through me. For a moment, I could think of nothing but the need to see her guts spilling out of her. My hand curled around handle of the knife strapped to my thigh.

"I know exactly who that bitch is," I ground out through clenched teeth, "and what she tried to do to Rhys."

Gods, if we really needed a distraction, then I could certainly provide one by severing Ianthe's head from her body. But perhaps that would be too quick, too painless—

A gentle tug on the bond interrupted my train of thought.

"Cauldron, Feyre. That was at least a hundred years ago," Rhys was saying aloud, shaking his head in disbelief. "Who even told you about it?"

"You were still mine back then, even if I wasn't born yet. She had no right to breathe the same air as you, let alone bear you a child. The priestesses know that and told me when she returned to Spring."

Someone made a noise that sounded like a snort—either Cassian or Mor, I couldn't tell. Not when I was too distracted by the feeling of Rhys's arms wrapping around me. He'd moved too quickly for my eyes to follow, but in an instant, the scales of our leathers were scraping against each other as he pulled me to him. My anger disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by the contentment that flooded me each time I got near my mate.

One word floated through the crack in my shields. Yours.

His lips brushed my cheek; I wanted more, to tear his clothes off and leave a few bite marks on his skin, but we couldn't exactly do that in front of the rest of the Inner Circle. I merely smiled and relaxed against him.

"Ianthe can't fight. Feyre could probably kill her if she wanted to," Cassian said.

At that, a flicker of lust warmed Rhys's end of the bond. I pressed my legs together, resisting the urge to drive my ass back like a cat in heat.

Mor groaned, "Please try to get the Book without any casualties. And don't stink up the place either, you two."

Rhys just smiled and kissed me again.

The Inner Circle didn't linger much longer after that. Once I changed into dry clothes, I spent most of the day in the library, where I claimed one of the leather couches near a fireplace and began working my way through a stack of books about the Summer Court.

Cassian, to my surprise, had readily agreed to speak to Nesta. Even after I'd warned him that she wouldn't like what we were asking of her, he'd only grinned at me and said handling it would be "an honor and a pleasure." Perhaps it was merely because he liked a challenge, but I wondered if Rhys was indeed correct that a mating bond might snap between them.

It would certainly explain why Cassian was the only person I'd ever known to be so eager to speak to Nesta.

Even after a few hours of reading, however, I still didn't understand exactly what he'd meant about the Summer Solstice earlier. I didn't work up the courage to ask. So far, Calanmai had been the only holiday I'd experienced in Prythian, and that had been...well, eventful.

It wasn't until that evening, when Rhys and I were alone in the townhouse, sharing a quiet dinner, that I said, "Why is it for the best that we won't be in Adriata until after Summer Solstice?"

Rhys studied me over his wineglass, probably wondering why I'd asked out of the blue. I tried not to squirm as I waited for an answer—now that the words were out of my mouth, it seemed silly to be afraid of a holiday.

"Superstition," he said eventually. "The solar courts are the only three that experience a change in seasons. The Summer Court doesn't have any particular sway over Night during the summer season, but with the stories about how magic waxes and wanes, I'll confess it would worry me to attempt to steal from them on the shortest night of the year."

I kept eating as I considered that and attempted to ignore the violet eyes boring into me. Rhys was quiet, but he didn't have to say anything—his expression alone was an obvious request to say what I was thinking.

But in truth, I felt like a bit of an idiot for not having considered the connection between the seasons, the length of days and nights, magic, and the courts of Prythian. A part of me was glad I hadn't asked in front of the Inner Circle. They probably thought me naive enough as it was.

It did beg another question, though. One I'd have to ask carefully. "Do we....do anything for the Winter Solstice? Here in Night?"

"It's one of our most important days of the year."

Of course it was. I scowled. "That doesn't actually answer my question, Rhys."

"There are services in the temples, but few people actually attend, in all honesty. It's time off spent with family, feasting and exchanging gifts."

"That's all?"

Another feline smile. "Did you want there to be more?"

I stilled. Rhys couldn't know. I hadn't told anyone, and my shields were secure and had been for months now.

"Out with it, Feyre," he said. I started to tell him that there was nothing at all, but Rhys just rolled his eyes. "I'm not reading your thoughts, but it's clearly written all over your face that there's something you haven't mentioned."

"Promise you won't do anything with the information."

"No."

We glared at each other over our plates. A talon ran down my shields—playful, somehow. Not a threat at all.

"Rhysand..." My use of his full name was an obvious warning. He just smirked, and I realized I'd inadvertently turned this into a game for him. I sighed, unwilling to prolong the conversation when he'd find out eventually. I mumbled, "I was born on the Winter Solstice."

He blinked in surprise. "You were born on the longest night of the year."

"Yes, but there's no reason to make a fuss about it." I knew Rhys, though. He'd fuss anyway.

Predictably, he said, "There's every reason in the world to make a fuss about it."

I shook my head. My family had forgotten my birthday often enough that I'd lost interest in celebrating it well before we'd lost our fortune. And now, I didn't see the point in counting the years as an immortal.

Unwilling to talk about it, I merely pushed my peas around my plate. We went quiet. But I could still feel the weight of his stare, even with my own eyes cast downward, so I made sure to take a few bites of food before I gave Rhys another reason to worry.

"Mine is exactly two months before yours, and I hardly celebrate it, either," he added.

My brow furrowed. "Why not?"

"It's uncomfortable to receive birthday gifts as a High Lord. Solstice is a bit different—it's an exchange. But otherwise, there's enough bowing and scraping to me every other day of the year, and I hate the thought of anyone feeling obligated."

I hadn't considered that. But even as a trainee in an Illyrian war-camp, I supposed Rhys couldn't avoid the strangeness that came with being a crown prince, long before he'd become High Lord. Most of the Night Court probably remembered the announcement of his arrival into the world.

Of course he hated attention just as much as I did.

"Can we agree to forget each other's birthdays, then?" After all, we'd made it this far as a mated pair without knowing. It clearly wasn't important.

"No," he said flatly, and I glared. More softly, he continued, "I used to mark the occasion with a night out with the Inner Circle. Dinner, drinks, dancing. No gifts."

Before Amarantha, I realized. Rhys had fifty years of celebrations to catch up on, and I couldn't begrudge him that. "That sounds…nice," I admitted.

"If you'd rather I didn't buy you anything, at least allow me to make you climax twenty times on Solstice."

He tossed it out so casually that I was sure he was serious. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time he'd wrung more pleasure out of me than I'd thought possible, his relentless hard thrusts reducing me to a trembling, mewling mess.

But even as my cheeks heated at the thought, I found myself balling up a napkin and chucking it at his head. "Your cock is not a gift."

By now, I'd thrown enough objects at him that Rhys wasn't caught off-guard. In one smooth movement, he dodged and used a wing to smack the crumpled paper, sending it sailing back in my direction. I caught it deftly in one hand.

He winked. The napkin dissolved into mist—and me into a fit of laughter.

A letter from Nesta materialized next to my plate. Odd—I hadn't expected to hear back from her so quickly. Cassian wasn't due back at my family's manor for another few days. Ignoring Rhys, I opened it immediately and began to read.

Dear Feyre,

Cassian has explained the situation regarding the Book of Breathings to me, and there's no use mincing words—I do not want any more faeries in my house. That said, I recognize that it would be unwise to ignore the threat posed by a potential invasion by Hybern. I am considering hosting this meeting with the Queens of the Realm. In return, I would ask for your assistance in a matter regarding Elain.

A lord's son has been courting her, and I do not approve of the match. His name is Greysen Nolan, and his father has devoted himself to hunting the fae when they cross the Wall. Even though he is kind enough and clearly smitten with her, I have my doubts she would be safe if he one day discovered his wife's sister is married to a High Lord of Prythian. This makes him an unacceptable choice of husband for her.

Unfortunately, Elain is falling in love with him. As such, my attempts at warning her away from him are falling on deaf ears. Father is in Neva, but even if he were home, he's too eager to see us married off to do anything about it.

I'd appreciate it greatly if you or Rhysand could intervene before the situation gets out of hand. Whatever it takes to get him away from Elain with as little emotional upset and damage to her reputation as possible. This seems, if I'm not mistaken, like the sort of thing that could be accomplished with a glamour or your husband's ability to manipulate minds.

Please let me know if you're amenable to this. If so, I will make the necessary arrangements to contact the Queens once Greysen has been taken care of. For Elain's safety, I insist that you continue to allow her to believe you're staying with that fictional Aunt Ripleigh, and that you and your court continue to keep quiet about our family's involvement.

Best,

Nesta

I read the letter twice, then relayed its contents to Rhys. Nesta's request seemed so…well, feasible. I'd expected there to be much more of a fight to get her to agree. But then again, her first priority had always been Elain, no matter how badly I'd needed her, too.

And Cassian was, perhaps, a miracle worker.

"You can tell Nesta that it's no trouble, of course," Rhys said, waving his hand in a gesture that looked painfully aristocratic. "Scrambling one boy's mind is a small price to pay to keep us all safe."

That was all the discussion the matter needed. I sent a quick response to Nesta, letting her know, and then Rhys and I returned to our meal. The next day, letters went out to the Summer Court and, later, the Queens, each with a careful request for a meeting.

For a while, we could do nothing but wait for a response and hope they agreed.

#feysand #feyre archeron #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home

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twistedbyfate · 1 year ago

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haikyuu boys: how you met <3

this includes hinata, kageyama, sawamura, sugawara, kuroo, tsukishima, and kenma. let me know if you want any more added and i'll do a part two! this is also going up on my wattpad under the same username ^^

shoyo hinata

you were a distance runner on the karasuno track team. when the gym had a leak, coach ukai told the volleyball club to take a beach trip and play beach volleyball instead as a fun activity. when the team reached the beach, they realized the track team was having a bit of a beach hangout to celebrate their successful season. at first you weren't with the group, out jogging on the shoreline. after a few minutes you came back, having ran to the pier and turned around.

while tobio spiked a ball to him, shoyo had been put off by the sand in his shoes and missed the ball. chasing after it, he grabbed it... only to realize the ball had rolled right to your feet.

"oh, sorry!" he apologized for getting in your personal space. you assured him it was fine and told him that he was good at volleyball. "why don't you watch me for a bit?" and so you did, tanning on your beach towel and listening to spotify while you watched a ginger play volleyball.

tobio kageyama

tobio wasn't the most studious guy. he struggled in school, particularly in english. it wasn't his native language, so why was he required to learn it? "kageyama. if you don't stop failing your exams, you're not going to pass the first year." his counsellor warned. tobio's eyes widened. not passing first year would mean he would be cut from the volleyball team. he opened his mouth to say something before his counsellor interrupted him.

"i know volleyball is important to you, so i've gotten you a tutor so she can help you on your days off. she's the top in your year." damn, he had to have a tutor and it's a girl? how much worse could this get?

he soon found out that it could get much worse.

"yeah, but why are they spelled the same if they mean different things?" he groaned, staring up at you. you sighed. he was quite stubborn, and refused to listen to a word you say.

"look," you started, "my goal is to get you to pass english. try and work with me here."

he glared at you. this would be the start of quite the entertaining relationship.

daichi sawamura

it started one day when you ran into the gym to talk to kiyoko, the manager. you were rosy-cheeked, with pom-poms shoved under one arm and a glittery bow in your hair. you had a cheer uniform on, identifiable by the short skirt and tight top.

daichi didn't pay much attention to you at first, but when he glanced over to see what the giggling was about, he dropped the volleyball.

"who's that?" he asked koshi sugawara, his co-captain.

koshi smiled. "that's (y/n). she's the captain of the cheer team. kiyoko-san is her best friend." he said politely.

"oh." was all daichi had to say. he was starstruck by the cheerful look on your face and the way you laughed. he hated to admit it, but he was disappointed when you dashed back out of the gym.

koshi sugawara

koshi and you had been friends ever since he moved next to you in kindergarten. you had a treehouse in your backyard, and once you became friends you had your parents attach a second ladder that dropped down into koshi's backyard so he could climb up.

"(y/n), i brought snacks from my kitchen!" koshi would exclaim every time you guys hung out after school. he loved the way your face would brighten up when he brought snacks or a game to play.

"let's play knights and princesses, (y/n)." he suggests one day.

"who's gonna be the dragon?" you questioned, seeing as that was how that game worked.

"uhh... i could get my little brother to be the dragon." koshi replied, looking at the knight helmet he had brought up from his room.

"okay!" you agreed, and put on a plastic tiara.

from then on, you were his princess.

tetsuro kuroo

stuck-up on the court and friendly on the streets, tetsuro wasn't the type to even go looking for a girl. he'd rather let them chase after him, which they had all been doing.

except for you, of course. you didn't even spare him so much as a glance. he stared into the back of your head in class, asked your friends about you, with no response.

it was getting annoying how you wouldn't pay attention to him, and frustrating how much he wanted it. it was starting to affect his schoolwork, even.

his eye twitched as you laughed and talked with your friends, careless about the volleyball captain's feelings.

"hey, (y/n)." tetsuro called out, giving up and just asking for attention. "did you do the notes?" he asked after, coming up with a reason to talk to you.

"oh, yeah." you said calmly.

"can i copy them?" he asked. he had already done his own notes, but...

"sure." you handed him your notebook. "bring it back to me tomorrow, k?" then you skipped off with your friends, ignoring when they teased you about him wanting your attention.

he opened the notebook and stared at the handwriting on the page. it was neat and bubbly, with doodles on the edges and all through the paper. dang it, even your notes were cute.

kei tsukishima

it was absolutely stupid how the second you walked through the door all eyes were on you. it was dumb how every guy thought about how cute you were all the damn time. it was definitely ridiculous how rosy your cheeks were and how you always seemed to trip over stuff. how short you were. how you always skipped through the halls. how you always gave that closed-eye smile when you were happy. it was all stupid.

kei hated that he wanted to talk to you so badly. he never thought he'd ever be interested in a girl, let alone one as popular and extroverted as you.

"do you have a pencil i can borrow?" his thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice. (y/n).

"uh, yeah." he handed her a pencil, slightly flustered that you had asked him of all people for a pencil.

"it's just a pencil. don't freak out." kei muttered to himself, trying to calm his racing heart. this was so dumb.

after class, you walked up to return the pencil to him. "thanks for letting me borrow it. hey, your name is tsukishima-kun, right?" you said with a warm smile.

damn it.

kenma kosuke

in reality, he thought you were annoying. always talking, always laughing and smiling. what a bother.

[hey] he typed out in a message to an online friend he had met. this person was quite interesting and had a sense of humor, even though her username was ridiculous. it was something like theOGbackyardigans or whatever.

[hey beautiful roblox boyfriend <3 ] she typed back, adding hearts at the end. kenma snorted to himself. dumbass.

[whats up minecraft girlfriend] he hit send, before shutting off his phone and heading to practice. this girl he met on a video game was the only person he'd ever had that much fun talking to.

hey y'all thanks for popping in! send in some requests if you want <3 i'd love to make themmm

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the-garbanzo-annex-jr · 3 months ago

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by Ben Cohen

When histories of the war in the Gaza Strip are written—a war triggered by the Hamas pogrom in southern Israel on Oct. 7, 2023—the name of Alice Nderitu probably won’t garner more than a footnote at best. That’s an enormous shame because Nderitu’s courage in confronting the institutionalized obsession of the United Nations with the Palestinians takes us to the heart of the great issues wrapped up in this conflict—its purpose, the manner in which it has been fought and the manner in which it has been presented to the outside world.

The story of Nderitu’s ordeal as the U.N.’s Special Advisor for the Prevention of Genocide was the subject of an engaging piece by Johanna Berkman published last week by the online magazine Air Mail. Nderitu took over the unpaid position during the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020. She lasted for nearly four years in the post before U.N. Secretary-General António Guterres decided against renewing her commission last November following a sustained and often abusive campaign directed at Nderitu—a storied human-rights advocate from Kenya—for her refusal to label the fighting in Gaza as a “genocide.”

At the time, Guterres’s decision to effectively sever Nderitu was the subject of a scathing Wall Street Journal editorial that accused the international organization of a “new low” in its efforts to tarnish Israel as the worst offender among its member states, which include such human-rights luminaries as Russia, China and North Korea. But by and large, the scandal passed unnoticed among the chattering classes, despite their tendency to dip their toes into the Israeli-Palestinian conflict with agonized appeals on behalf of the “people of Gaza” from time to time. The same was true for the Air Mail piece profiling her; while the Free Press republished it, everyone else pretty much ignored it.

One key reason why was identified by Nderitu herself in her interview with Berkman. For nearly three of the four years of her U.N. tenure, she was incredibly busy but also mostly unnoticed. Her work took her to refugee camps in Bangladesh and Iraq, to the Brazilian interior to monitor the fates of indigenous tribes, and to Chad, where she saw firsthand the impact of the burgeoning ethnic slaughter that has raged, largely outside the media’s view, in neighboring Sudan. “For these other situations,” she said, “nobody seems to bother with what I say.”

The core point that emerges from the profile of Nderitu is that she desperately wants to make these forgotten conflicts a central topic of discussion and action. Reading her comments, I felt a distinct mix of disgust and shame when she related being told by Sudanese refugees: “Right now, nobody is paying attention to our country. If there is ever peace and the cameras go in, you will face the most shocking thing of the century, a genocide that was completely ignored.” That observation is unarguable.

But after the slaughter on Oct. 7, suddenly everyone wanted a piece of Alice Nderitu. They did so not to beseech her to call the Hamas atrocities, which she condemned, a “genocide,” but to compel her to apply the “genocide” determination to Israel, even before the Israel Defense Forces launched its campaign to destroy the Hamas rape squads in Gaza.

This is a good juncture to note that Nderitu is not an advocate of Israel’s side in this war. Nor is she, as far as I am aware, a supporter of Israel more generally. And that’s fine because as a consummate professional, she understands that her personal leanings are not relevant to her work as a genocide prevention expert. As she says, a genocide determination can only be made by a court of law, and no court—despite the efforts of South Africa; Ireland; Karim Khan, the prosecutor of the International Criminal Court in The Hague; and sundry others—has done so thus far.

But in the eyes of those for whom Gaza is all-consuming, Nderitu’s determination to stick to the correct procedure was an unmistakable sign of collusion with the hated “Zionist entity.”

“Filthy zionist rat, you will burn in hell forever,” read one of the more unhinged emails that arrived in her inbox. Her other detractors essentially said the same, albeit in politer language.

These institutions are the concrete expression of a strategy that relies on maintaining the status of the Palestinians as victims by not integrating them into the Arab countries where most of them live—in marked contrast to Israel’s integration of thousands of Mizrachi Jews ethnically cleansed from the Islamic world—and by keeping alive the preposterous and morally reprehensible notion that they will one day “return home” and displace their “colonizers.”

That is why, despite many potential flaws on a practical level, U.S. President Donald Trump’s proposal to offer the mass of Gazans voluntary, assisted resettlement in other countries while the coastal enclave is rebuilt should be seen as another attempt to break this mold. Because for as long as the Palestinian question is understood as a purely Israeli creation—one for which the Jewish state alone must atone and pay the price, and one that the world must prioritize at the expense of everything and everybody else—there will never be peace. At best, we will have troughs and peaks of mostly containable conflict, as has been the case for the last century.

Many years ago, I read an interview with the Kurdish leader Abdullah Ocalan, who remains imprisoned in Turkey, in which he expressed hope for a resolution of the Palestinian issue since that would allow other issues that receive less attention, like Kurdish self-determination, to enter the spotlight. Neither the Kurds nor anyone else should be forced to wait in line anymore.

If Trump’s proposal compels a shift in how the conflict between Palestinians and Israelis is conceptualized and presented, along with the realization that the peace of the world doesn’t hinge upon it, then it will have been worth it for that reason alone.

#alice nderitu #hamas #gaza #united nations #israel #donald trump #un special advisor for the prevention of genocide

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nahisummerhold · 3 months ago

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Heard it on the Grapevine

Daily Writing Challenge February 2025 Day Four - Salty

The solicitor’s office was neat as a pin, books lined the built-in shelves, knots in the wood making for a more decorative look over standard milled lumber, the cabinets that held their files were burnished and warm, blown glass vases and bowls in blues and green decorated surfaces around the office. Ornate carpets in the same shades as the displayed artwork covered the floors. The office was opulence reined in to dance a fine line on being too showy for such a serious business.

The woman that walked in was wearing a tailored black knee length pinstriped skirt that hugged the curves of her hips and legs perfectly, a testament to the skill of her tailor. A long sleeve yellow-gold silk blouse exposed a vee of mahogany skin and a simple necklace in gold with a teardrop blue topaz. The one nod to her sometimes flashy nature were muted gold stilettos with ankle straps. She was in the colors of House Summerhold, a reminder that she was the heiress to the noble house, no matter that it was not much more than a mansion and some lovely lands with rolling hills, and just enough income to cover expenses. Smiling, Nahivli reached out to shake the hands of the woman and man that were waiting for her.

“You asked us to let you know if any odd charges came across the estate expenses,” a regal woman said as she led Nahilvi into the boardroom, gesturing for her to take a seat. “There have been unusual activity that need some attention, I hope you got our note that your uncle would be joining us as well?”

It was why Nahi had dressed as she did, even professional attire could be armor if used correctly, “I did, it will be interesting to hear what the estate manager has been doing since I last saw him and acquired his agreement in how the legalities of the estate were arranged.” She had actually blindsided him and his children who assumed she and her mother had died with her father when Kael’thas’ forced were defeated in Tempest Keep. Having walked in with a number of legal documents, she arranged for her mother and step-father to have a little house that overlooked the ocean, an formal agreement for her family to remain on the estate as long as they left her mother in peace and a reminder to them that they were not truly in charge of the estate, just managing it for as long as she would allow.

Really, she wasn’t sure she wanted the estate and title, but she also did not want to give up control of the home where her mother and stepfather were living and her uncle was untrustworthy at best. He had not been the author of the worst of her emotional torment when she was young, but he certainly had not helped with his insinuations that Nahilvi was not Mianos, her father’s, child, combined with picking at her when the chances arose. So, maybe she was a little petty, but everyone had their moments in that, right?

“What are these expenses?” She asked and before the woman could answer the door opened and her uncle Hoovanil and cousin Hamdil entered.

Her cousin walked over and kissed her cheek, “Nahi, you should come and visit, I would love to introduce you to my children.”

A pang of guilt hit her for a moment but her expression never changed, “I will have to see what I can do.” Then she turned her attention to her uncle, refusing to get up out of her seat, a small power play in making him come to her like a person having to pay respects in a court.

“Niece,” Hoovanil said as he walked into the room and taking a seat opposite her, “what is this about? I thought that all the arrangements were handled the last time you visited.” Hamdil took a seat next to his father, but didn’t look pleased to have to choose a side.

With an almost imperious nod to the solicitors, she wordlessly asked them to explain, “We are here because in the agreements that you all have signed, there was a level of oversight allowed to our office to make sure the estate was being handled in the manner that it had been in the past and recently we have noticed some large expenditures.”

Nahi tipped her head, and her jaw tightened, “What kind of expenditures are we talking about?”

“It seems that there are new agricultural changes being made,” the other solicitor said and flipped through some pages then turning them so Nahi could look at them, but her eyes had gone to her uncle and cousin. Hamdil, in turn also looked to the older man,

A smooth tone flowed with Nahi’s next words, her eyes narrowing, “Agricultural changes?”

Hoovanil sat up straighter with a glare and a small sneer, “I am trying to make the estate successful again like it was when my grandfather took possession of it.”

“What is your plan?” She was trying to be polite and calm, but even Hamdil was looking surprised at his father, so it was tough to allow her uncle to speak.

“A winery,” Hoovanil said simply, not saying anything else.

Hamdil sighed, “Dad…”

With a wave of his hand the elder Summerhold dismissed his son, which made Nahi tense. Hamdil had been her protector through much of her youth and to see him waved aside did nit earn her uncle any brownie points.

“We looked into the viability of your investments,” the first solicitor said. “It takes at least three years to grow vines to a stage where you can even consider bottling. Then it takes aging of the wine before you can consider marketing it.”

Hamdil continued to look at his dad then stood, “What the fuck are you thinking? Those hills can’t be planted, you know that.”

“It is a good plan, all the land on the hills is going without use.” Hoovanil replied just as angrily, “And if she…” he waved his hand at Nahi, “Isn’t going to support us, then I have to do something. Banictusia thinks it is a good idea too.”

“My wife?” “His wife?” Hamdil and Nahi said at the exact time.

Bringing her fingers up to press in front of her ears. “So, we now have the starting of a vineyard that the estate can’t support financially, so you and Hamdil’s wife can get back at me, for not just giving you money?” It was so difficult to get her the modulated, thank goodness for her voice lessons, Nahi could begin to feel actual rage starting to seep through, oddly enough that only seemed to happen when dealing with her family. Turning to look at the solicitors with a practiced smile, “How much did this drain the accounts?”

They looked at one another, “Nothing, when the charges came through we called this meeting and locked the purchases until we could get your clearance, Lady Summerhold.”

And this… this is why she paid them, even if her finances were tighter than she ever wanted them to be. “Thank you both.” Turning back to her uncle and her cousin, “Uncle Hoovanil, you are no longer the estate manager for the Summerhold property. Hamdil, are you willing to take on the responsibility?”

Running a hand through his hair, “I can’t Nahi.”

The three words stung, in the past three months now had two men she cared about say about the same thing to her. “Alright. If one of the family can not manage the estate, I will find an outside source.” She nodded to the solicitors and they returned it, Nahi really didn’t have the money for this but she would make it work somehow.

Turning to look at her relatives, she tipped her head to the side, “I need the two of you to understand something, I am on the edge of asking for you to leave the property, but I do not want to hurt you, or make a decision in haste.”

“You are not even our blood!” Hoovanil screamed, standing and knocking back his chair.

Hamdil stood too, placing a hand on his father’s chest, “Sorry Nahi.”

Continuing to sit still, with her feet planted on the ground feeling she needed that support. It is not like it was the first time she heard those venomous words.

“I will sue you, have the estate ripped from your hands,” he continued to yell at her.

Looking to the solicitors, “Can you make sure that the staff remains paid, but absolutely no financial support goes to my family?”

They looked at one another, it was a big ask and probably they couldn’t do it, but she needed to keep her head and think of things that had to be handled, but her money was limited. “We will see what we can do.”

Maybe what she saved on not paying her family would cover some of the costs. Looking back at her family, her face expressionless, “Hamdil, you know I love you, but your father and wife are out of control. This needs to be handled quietly, if it is not then I will have to ask you to move off the property, you understand that, right? You really need to understand that.”

The look her cousin gave her almost broke her heart, he couldn’t choose who his father was, but she was glad of it as she truly loved him. He nodded, “When you hire someone I will work with them Nahi. You are not in this alone.”

The logic part of her understood, so she nodded, “Thank you.”

His choice started her uncle in a new round of hysterics so she stood, completely ignoring him and smiled at her solicitors, “I will be in touch so we can go over the arrangements.” Smoothing her skirt she walked by her cousin and touched his shoulder, then walked out of the office, Summerhold colors on full display.h

@daily-writing-challenge

#februarydwc2025 #februaryday4 #nahisummerhold #nahilvi #Estate planning #vineyard

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evita-shelby · 9 months ago

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Strings of Fate

Thanks @justrainandcoffee for having the dream that inspired Forbidden and this happier au and happy birthday 🎂 🥳

Cw: smut, infertility, Tommy’s canon fertility issues, cheating

Rose Coldwell needed a husband to escape Lawerence Evertt and the Shelbys could use someone to help Polly and Ada with Finn and John’s now motherless children.

His marriage was one of convenience and no matter what they did, it just didn’t work.

“I cannot have children,” his wife had admitted when they held Ada’s baby and Tommy wondered if they could try and have some happiness of their own.

The Romani Gangster had never held that against her, he was fond of her and cared for her like he cares for all his family, and when he realized the place Alfie Solomons had in her heart, Tom supposed it was a blessing in disguise.

He didn’t stop her; it wasn’t as if he hadn’t resumed his visits to Lizzie nor dallied with Grace in hopes of filling that hollowness in his chest. The least he could do for her is to ignore her visits to Camden Town and believe her lies.

Once business is done, he will broach the topic of a divorce. Tommy would use his own affairs to place the blame squarely on his shoulders and make sure her reputation remains spotless.

He needs Camden Town, Alfie Solomons would have no choice but to ally with him and help him take London or he’d never set her free. It is the only reason he is taking on Sabini now that both Kimber and Evertt are dead and gone.

Alfie’s no fool, his own wife was a Smith whose grandmother lived in Small Heath. If Tommy wanted, he could hurt her, but he wouldn’t. He’s not like that.

She’s a beauty, he’s seen her in the neighborhood enough times to know Mr. Solomons is a lucky man. She’s friends with Ada, on good terms with Polly and Finn adores her. Had he met her sooner perhaps, Eva Solomons would be Eva Shelby.

“If my husband were a jealous man, you would be pushing daisies, Mr. Shelby.” The witch says in Rromani as she looks at the wares in the shop that makes his suits.

“Something you must thank my wife for, I suppose.” His words hit their mark as she stills for a moment before regaining composure. They speak of the matter in their shared tongue, and no one here would report anything but mere speculation to his aunt, Chester Campbell and Sabini.

She and Rose are friends, even if dear Rosie thinks Eva isn’t aware of her relationship with her husband. What her reasons are for feigning ignorance about their affair is something Tommy intends to find out.

“He goes his way, I go mine.” The woman answered his unspoken question and refuses to turn and look at him. “Same agreement you have with Rose.”

“Can’t fill the emptiness either, Mrs. Solomons.” Even the name feels wrong, just as Rose Shelby does.

Tommy looks at a bolt of fine black lace and suggests it to her with a calculated look on his face to sell the lie. As far as Polly will know, he is merely convincing Eva Solomons to convince her husband to free Arthur and claim Billy Kitchen’s death as his doing.

“If you wish to seduce me, Shelby, you should try harder. I like to be wooed.” The witch dismissed his words and before she could ring up the shopkeeper to buy it, he orders the man at the counter to put in on his tab.

He pays for his suits now. Never leaves a debt unpaid and tips generously, he even vets his whores after Grace took advantage of his weakness in the name of the Law.

Tommy Shelby should remember how that hurt him and his family as he courts the Witch of Camden Town.

But he cannot help it, there is something pulling him to her that he hasn’t felt since Greta. Like an invisible string connecting his rotten soul to hers.

“Your cousin, Wag, said your husband refused your tickets to Chaplin's party after what he did to my brother and my men at his Seder.” The Gangster wanted revenge, he had an ace up his sleeve to get Alfie Solomons to have the police sergeant in his pocket release Arthur and his men.

This was more than just a play against Eva’s husband and Rose’s lover, this was Tommy Shelby being led by his stupid broken heart to see where that string of fate leads him to. Not his cock this time, though the woman beside him ignited all sorts of want with that feel of magic about her.

“I want you to wear that lace for me and after that, we will go to my sister’s place in London, and we will fuck until we forget what our spouses are doing in that property they think we don’t know about.” He comes close enough to breathe in the soft rose water and vanilla and that touch of myrrh and frankincense left over from incense to enhance her supernatural abilities.

Tommy Shelby doesn’t know what he’ll do is she says no.

“Tell Ada to leave the lights on and the front door unlocked, I will be arriving there before you to keep Sabini off my tail.” Eva turns and looks at him over her shoulder with an enigmatic smile.

She doesn’t wear black lace.

She wears a jet beaded dress with a satin slip underneath with her dark hair curled and lips painted with the lipstick Rose will find on his collar tomorrow.

He shouldn’t want her, her husband could kill his brother for this, but Tommy Shelby cannot help himself.

He hardly remembers the party as the heady smell of witchcraft and roses stirred a fire within him he hasn’t felt in almost a decade. Grace had been there with her husband, but he had paid her no mind as he came to know the bewitching woman on his arm.

“You behave as if you were a man starved for love.” Her eyes are dark with want and her quiet laugh betrays how mutual this burning he feels is.

“As starved as you are, love.” Tommy cannot even bother to check the coast was clear as he kisses her hungrily at Ada’s doorstep.

Despite the need to sate the hunger they feel, they take their time, stumbling to the couch where they don’t bother removing their clothes. Any attempt to strip her of her fine clothes is met with a wicked grin, as he ran is hands up her silky skin and felt the lace he had paid for as she sank down on his hand.

“You said I had to wear the lace, you never said how.” The witch said against his mouth before kissing like a high-end whore.

“I need you.” He groans against the column of her neck as he kisses every freckle Solomons takes for granted and matches the slow pace she’s set. “Evie, I need you.”

Sex with Rose was good, a bit tame, but enough to scratch the itch. This was different, as if he’d known the witch before, as if he hadn’t been meant for anyone else except her.

“You don’t even know me, Tommy.” She pulled him back to her mouth as she rid him of his vest, gun holster and every item between her long black nails and his bare chest.

She could tear out his heart from his chest and he’d let her, just to fill that hollowness inside him.

They don’t stay in the couch, neither wanted the night to end and in silence decided they’d greet the dawn clad only in sin. The bed would be where they fuck in earnest, where he will take advantage of his own lack of fertility to ensure Solomons stays none the wiser.

Tommy takes his time peeling off the lingerie she wore only for him, kissing every inch of her and letting the sense of déjà vu guide and reward him with sounds he bets Alfie cannot string from her.

God was always cruel to him, to give him a soulmate and give her to a man who doesn’t worship her like she deserves. He tells her so when after feasts on her cunt like a man starved.

“Then show your goddess how a true believer should worship her.” She pulled him up and tasted herself in his tongue as he made love to her until she wept from the ecstasy.

Dawn paints her skin golden, and her eyes turn the color of his favorite whiskey, he wished he could wake every morning like this.

“Who knew Mr. Shelby was a poet?” the witch reads his thoughts and hears him use poetry to describe the naked goddess he's still inside of.

“Who knew soulmates were real?” their hands interlock as they lay together basking in the afterglow, pretending they don’t have cages to return to.

Tommy Shelby knows he must make her part of the deal: he will set Rose free only if Alfie does the same with Eva.

He can’t let her go, even if he’s only known her for a day or two, he knows he can’t live without her.

They all return home; Rose smells of Alfie and he smells of Eva. It is the first of many, they know it when Rose takes Ada’s old bedroom and Tommy’s in his own bed and both dream of their lovers.

Neither feel hurt as they did before when the guilt ate at Rose even if he’s never been loyal to her, the callous too thick to let them feel their sins burning against their conscious and damning them to hell once more.

“I hadn’t planned to tell you this until the Derby ended, but I will set you free. Our deal has been honored and you no longer need my protection in the form of a wedding ring and my last name.” It sounds cold and cruel to everyone but them.

Rose cries in relief and joy as she hugs him in gratitude. He’s set up the date with their lawyer, paid extra to have it done faster and even sought the Rabbi in Rose’s Temple to ask whether he needs a Get so his soon-to-be ex-wife can marry his lover’s husband.

Even if he does die today, he will die as Eva’s fiancé and not Rose’s husband.

“Rose and I declared our marriage over, and unless you do the same, I will blow your fine establishment up to marry your wife. The choice is yours, Solomons.” The gangster fears death and yet fears nothing today, but he trusts his witch. His witch who told him the grave he will dig is meant to show him how expendable he is to his new master.

Everything would fall into place and all would be right in the world…for them at least.

That night, still reeking of graveyard dirt and a man’s blood, he spends it in Eva’s arms in the sprawling house she will rule over as its rightful queen.

“How soon can we marry?” she holds on tightly to him as if they may wake up from this dream any moment.

“Before you start showing, I hope.” Tommy answers guessing why she’d even ask in the first place.

And so, they marry, in the last days of summer with a special license as their former spouses do the same in Margate.

Whether Charles Absalom Shelby is named for his uncle or Charlie Chaplin, is something only the new couple will know.

#eva smith shelby #tommy shelby x oc #evacore #alfie x rose #forbideen au #tommy x eva

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willtheweaver · 13 days ago

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Welcome to the first day! I hope you are all excited for this. So without further ado, here is some info on the first prompt:

Beltane- Halfway between the equinox and the solstice, the celebration of spring turning into summer has been passed down to us as May Day. While today we me dance around a maypole, Iron Age peoples would build bonfires to drive away bad luck and bring good fortune. And they would not just stand in front of those fires; people would dance and walk on the hot embers, and it was even said that sacrifices would be stuffed into a wicker man that was given to the flames.

-Alternative prompts-

The bog- Neither land nor water, marshland were considered sacred as portals between worlds. On holy days, and in times of great need, the people would give offerings in the form of weapons, jewelry, and sacrificial victims.

Raven- A bird associated with magic and death, the raven was traditionally a symbol of Morrigan and Bran the Blessed. Of the latter, it was said that his head was buried on the spot where the Tower of London now stands, and that his protection was passed down to the ravens that live on the Tower grounds.

Gold- Gold has always been associated with the fair folk. Think about the Court and their fine jewelry, the pot of gold a leprechaun hides at the end of a rainbow, and the gold coins a wandering fairy pays a kind soul. Just don’t get greedy. A good fairy will always have ways of making their hoard untraceable. There is also the fact that much ‘gold’ is actually the result of glamor; take your eye off those coins, and they will revert back to their true form (withered leaves, sticks, or even acorns).

Absinthe- The favorite of Parisian cafe goers was this potent anise flavored liqueur. As it contained wormwood, some cautioned against drinking absinthe as it was said to cause hallucinations, not to mention visits from the Green Fairy.

Henge- The earth and stone monuments that dot the British isles have always been places of mystery. In folklore, exposed tombs were believed to be portals to the Otherworld. Lone standing stones and rings were believed to be meeting places, or else unfortunate mortals turned to stone by magic.

Puck- Wherever mischief abounds, Puck will be nearby. From medieval romance to the stage of the Globe Theater, Oberon’s trusted underling can always be counted on to prank and trick those he comes across.

Time- Time moves differently for Fairies. An hour to them can be a month, or even a year to us. Those who stay too long find the hands of time have erased everything familiar…and when they realize it, time comes for them too.

Iron- This is the only metal that the denizens of faerie fear, and will refuse to touch. As such, people will place knives or scissors next to cradles to keep their babies safe. A nail, or any small piece of iron kept in a pocket would be sufficient to dispel fairy magic.

Offering- It is always a good idea to keep the Good Folk on your side. A bowl of cream for a brownie, blackberries for a phooka, fine garments and gold for a king or queen, they all serve to placate the neighbors who will then leave you alone. A word of warning though; fairies can be contrary and temperamental, and will take offense if offered the wrong thing. Some will also take offense if offered when none are required…so it may be best to ask first.

Oisin- Son of Finn MacCumhil, the warrior bard was the last of the Fianna. His survival was owed to the discovery of a portal to Tir na nÓg. There he stayed for 300 years before returning to Ireland. However, Oisin was warned not to touch the ground upon his return. The reason why became clear when he fell from his horse. Time found him, and he became quite old and feeble. It was said that before passing, he relayed the history and legends of ancient Ireland to St. Patrick.

- Information on the next prompt will be tomorrow at midnight, EST. Have fun and enjoy!-

Event taglist (let me know if you want to be added): @writingrosesonneptune @lefferon @jay-avian @harleyacoincidence @storycraftcafe

#faemay #art event #writing event

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rollinouttahere-writes · 11 months ago

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Hi, its me again 😀 I hope you be feeling well during and after your hiatus. Anyway I would like to request Letters A,E,J,K and L for Yandere Nami.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Nami is a quality time kind of girl. She enjoys having you in the room with her while she maps out sea charts, relaxing under the shade of her tangerine trees together, or having a shopping date. She loves picking out outfits and accessories for you. Don't worry about paying for any of it. She'll cover it and add it to your ever growing tab with her. She's very possessive of your time and monopolizes it. Her presence will feel suffocating because of how rare it is for you to not be in it.

She isn't the most touchy person, even with her darling. Her touches tend to be light and more casual, like holding hands while out shopping or leaning against you when relaxing. She's fine with giving you your own space most of the time, but she'll get very upset if you refuse her when she's trying to be affectionate.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Not very. Nami is a very private woman. What happened in the past, stays in the past. She doesn't like talking about what's happened in her life, and it could be years before she starts to open up. The most that you'll get early on is her reminiscing about Bellemere on the anniversary of her death, or the occasional childhood story about her and Nojiko. Nami isn't a very open person, and a darling that's resistant will only make her more tight-lipped.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

She has horrible jealousy issues. As mentioned in A, she doesn't like other people taking up your time because she feels like it should belong to only her. The best case scenario is that she'll just drag you away from them and bring you somewhere private. If it's someone that she genuinely dislikes, she'll whip out her clima-tact and use that on them.

Someone openly flirting with you really pisses her off. Does that moron not see the necklace with her name on it around your neck? She won't hesitate to use her weapon on them, and she'll spend the rest of the night bitching about the audacity of that person with you. You need to go along with it and shit talk them, too, or else she'll lash out at you next for being interested in the other person.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Her lack of affection can make it seem like you two are just friends when you're out in public, but she gets extremely irritated when people make that mistake. She fully believes that it's obvious that you two are a couple. You have a necklace with her name on it, and she has one with yours. That's clearly a couple's thing!

Outside of that, she treats you like her confidant. She'll gossip with you and rant about how over budget the Straw Hats are. Sometimes she'll ask for your input on something, but only if you're actually competent on it. She'll just roll her eyes and tell you to shut up if you don't know what you're talking about or give her bad advice. She largely tries to act as if there's nothing abnormal about your relationship and will pointedly ignore anything that says otherwise.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

First thing she'll do once she starts to get interested is try to recruit you into the Straw Hats. Luffy cares about her input, so it won't be hard for her to convince him that you'll make a good addition. Now that she feels like she has some time to assess her feelings, she starts trying to get close to you by insisting that you come shopping with her next time they dock somewhere. She does this partially for the sake of having one on one time with you, but mostly because she wants to get you in debt as soon as possible so that you're trapped financially. After she feels like you can't leave, she feels much more emboldened and declares that you two would make a cute couple. She won't accept anything less than an enthusiastic agreement as an answer.

#nami #cat burglar nami #nami x reader #one piece #yandere one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #yandere #yandere alphabet #x reader #reader insert #cleargalaxypeach

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roguerambles · 2 years ago

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By the Fire

The Witcher Fic - Geralt of Rivia x Male Reader

Warnings - 18+ Only. Some mild NSFW. Brief description of monster violence.

So, fun fact about me, the Witcher 3 is one of my favourite games ever and Geralt of Rivia is kinda sorta my ultimate weakness. Look at him. JUST LOOK AT HIM--

Toussaint is one of my favourite areas in the game, and I figured Anarietta could use a court mage to fall in love with the local witcher, oops--

Perhaps hiring the Witcher had been unnecessary.

The Duchess had been quite insistent, however, that her newly appointed Court Mage not go wandering the Marcescent Forest unaccompanied. Several of the Ducal Guard had volunteered to accompany you, but oddly enough it was Captain de la Tour who recommended hiring Geralt of Rivia.

“All manner of beasts stalk the region.” He had gruffly told you, ignoring the surprised expression Her Grace had given him. “A witcher would be a prudent choice for a travelling companion.”

You could not critique his reasoning, although you liked to think your magic could handle a few beasts. But your research could take hours, and a man familiar with killing monsters watching over you was reassurance enough to Her Grace.

You had heard of Geralt of Rivia, of course – you doubted there were many in Toussaint who hadn’t – but you had not met the man in person since his arrival to the region. When you had arrived at Corvo Bianco, dressed in your finest travelling cloak and a large pouch of coin attached to your hip, you had been somewhat embarrassed at the almost boyish excitement you felt as the majordomo – Barnabas – welcomed you to the estate and led you into the vineyard.

“Master Geralt, the Court Mage has come to see you.”

“Barnabas, you need to stop calling me that.”

Geralt of Rivia – the White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken – stood amongst the rows of vines, heavy with grapes, white hair tied back loosely, his chest bare, a fine sheen of sweat coating his skin from the blazing warmth of the summer sun. Your gaze was drawn to the patchwork of heavy scars decorating his skin, the toned musculature of his arms, the broadness of his shoulders, the handsome jawline dusted with silver. He moved with the easy grace of a warrior and it took you a moment to realise you had not spoken at all, even as he rose from where he had been kneeling and approached you.

“Damien de la Tour sent word. Apparently you need a Witcher.”

His voice was deep and pleasant to your ears, and found your tongue was refusing to form words in your mouth. You were staring like you had never seen a man with his tunic off before, and you saw the corners of Geralt’s lips twitch, his brows arching slightly upwards. You felt heat rush to your cheeks and you cleared your throat loudly, hastily reaching for your coin pouch and fumblingly explaining the terms of your contract.

“It’s only a few hours…and I can pay your handsomely. I mean, you are handsome. I mean, pay handsomely!”

You contemplated fleeing back to Beauclair on the spot. Geralt simply looked bemused, while Barnabas remained cooly neutral as you made a fool of yourself.

But the Witcher accepted your coin, and within the hour you were both riding towards the forest, the sun grazing the tops of the trees. You focused on examining the local flora, and tried to ignore how striking the Witcher looked in armour. You eventually settled into a companionable quiet, with Geralt occasionally asking about what exactly you were doing. You initially thought he was just being polite, but he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say. He even answered a few of your own questions about the various potions you’d spotted attached to his belt.

Even if he was only humouring you, it did little to quell the pleased flutter of butterflies in your stomach every time you coaxed a small smile or a thoughtful “hmmmm” from the man.

“It’ll be dark soon.” Geralt spoke up the nearby tree he leaned against, watching you work. “We shouldn’t be out much longer.”

You had been searching for a few hours, and while you had collected a few interesting specimens, none of them had been what you had been looking for. And aside from the occasional curious deer, no creatures had made their presence known. You sighed and brushed your hands against your cloak, smiling apologetically. “I am sorry. This must be rather dull for you.”

Geralt barked out a short laugh, shaking his head with faint amusement. “Don’t worry about it.” His eyes flickered over your shoulder. “I’m sorry you haven’t found what you were looking for.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Either that or your excited reaction is very understated.”

You laughed, prompting a subtle smile from Geralt that made your pulse quicken. You dipped your head slightly, turning back to gather your materials, when Geralt suddenly went still. Then he darted towards you, his hand reaching for his silver sword. “Move—!”

You startled in alarm, the earth shifting under your feet. Something screeched underneath you, high and shrill, and you stumbled backwards, claws long and sharp slicing at the air where you had been standing. Dirt and stone flew in every direction as something tore through the ground, and all you could see clearly rows of needle-like teeth snapping inches from your face.

You threw out your arms, panic burning fierce and bright in your chest as Geralt shouldered past you, a ripple of magic spilling from his open balm. The monster screamed as your magic clashed with his, sending it hurtling through the air and into the trees with a loud crack. Wood splintered as the creature writhed and wailed, blood spewing from a wound in its underbelly. Geralt swore loudly, before swinging his blade and thrusting it into the creature’s exposed stomach.

The ground continued to crack under your feet, soil and earth spilling into a deepening crevice. “Geralt—!” You willed your feet to move, but the crumbling earth was faster, and you found yourself being rapidly yanked downwards into cold, open air. “Geralt….!”

The Witcher dove after you, his large hands grasping your arms as you both tumbled over the edge. His arms circled around you, pulling you sharply against the metal of his armour so hard your teeth rattled, but you barely had time to register the dull burst of pain before plunging in the overwhelming chill of the river below.

You were curled under a blanket near the campfire, and you were hoping that if you prayed very, very hard, the gods would show mercy and simply kill you now.

After Geralt had dragged you out of the river like a bag of soaked vegetables, he had dove back in to fish out you and he’s scattered belongings before they were washed away. Your ankle throbbed painfully, somehow injured in the fall, and you had been forced to watch from the side-lines as Geralt set up your little makeshift camp, set up traps to ward off potential beasts, and cooked the fish he’d caught for you both over the fire.

You could not recall a time you had felt so thoroughly useless. You were a sorcerer, a bloody good one, but portals had never been your strong suit, and with how wrong everything had gone today you didn’t want to risk sending you and the Witcher halfway across the Continent into some carnivorous creature’s jaws. He probably already thought you were hopeless enough.

The sun was dipping lower and lower, but the Witcher insisted travelling through the forest at night was asking for trouble, particularly since you were struggling to walk. He had said this while stripping out of his dripping wet clothes, tossing them aside to dry, and encouraged you to do the same, and you had been far too flustered to muster much protest.

So there you sat, shivering under your blanket, guiltily watching as Geralt did everything, his leggings hanging distractingly low on his hips, the fading sun casting a warm, appealing glow against the glistening musculature of his scarred back and shoulders.

It was impolite to stare, but you could not help it.

You settled eventually, your clothes still to soaked to wear, and Geralt sat on the other side of the fire, seemingly quite at ease as you tried and failed to not follow a particular scar that trailed from his side and disappeared into his waistline—

“Bruxa.”

You startled, your eyes snapping upwards to meet his knowing expression. You flushed and stammered – gods you dealt with nobles and your fellow sorcerers with skilled eloquence, yet the Witcher reduced you to a clumsy wreck without even trying – as Geralt chuckled slightly, lifting his arm and gesturing at his side.

“This scar is from a Bruxa. In case you were wondering.”

He had clearly noticed your staring and you were seriously considering getting up and tossing yourself back into the river. You averted your eyes, your tongue useless in your mouth. “I did not mean to stare.”

Geralt peered at you thoughtfully. “They bother you? A witcher’s path is a dangerous one. War wounds are inevitable.”

“Bother me?” You nearly laughed. You had been counting every scar, wondering how they’d feel under your tongue; when you weren’t distracted with the strong, firm muscle of the Witcher’s body on such tantalising display. “No…not at all.”

“…hmm.” You could have sworn you saw Geralt’s lips twitch into a smirk for a moment, and began to fear that there was something to the rumours of Witcher’s reading minds. “You’re still shivering?”

Grateful for the shift in topic away from dangerous territory, you tugged your blanket tighter around your shoulders, smiling a little weakly. “I’m sure it will pass. I just need to stay near the fire.”

Geralt stared at you thoughtfully a moment, before shaking his head. “You’ve been sitting there a while. We need to warm you up.” He stood and began making his way towards you, and your heartbeat quickened.

“Oh! I…that isn’t necessary—”

Geralt shook his head again. “I doubt the Lady Duchess will be pleased if her Court Mage gets sick under my watch.” He sat down beside you, and patted his lap. “Come here. We’ll share body heat a while.”

For a few seconds, you completely forgot how to breathe. You stared at Geralt mutely, and his expression remained perfectly serious. You opened and closed your mouth several times, before finally finding the power of speech once more. “I…can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t. I’m offering.”

You swallowed thickly, offering a quick prayer to whatever god was listening that you weren’t about to make a complete fool out of yourself. You shuffled into Geralt’s lap, his thighs sturdy and strong underneath you, and he pulled your blanket around him, your back pressed flush against his chest. He felt hot and solid and strong, his toned, powerful arms sliding around you and sweet merciful gods you were growing hard—

“Better?” Geralt asked, his voice low and warm as honey and you squirmed, hoping he didn’t notice your reaction.

“Y-yes.” You choked out, your face burning. “T-thank you. Sir Geralt.”

“Hmm.” You could not look up at his face, but you swore you could hear a smile. “Don’t mention it.”

You sat in silence a while, Geralt’s warmth bleeding into you, the sounds of the forest humming all around. It was almost a pleasant atmosphere, but you found it hard to truly relax, considering how you had ended up in this situation in the first place.

“I am sorry.” You murmured.

Geralt’s eyes narrowed, his head tilting. “For what?”

“For…well this.” You gestured vaguely around you. “It’s not what you signed up for.”

“You didn’t plan for this to happen, as far as I’m aware. You have nothing to apologise for.”

“Still, I am sorry.” You mumbled softly. “This can’t be how you envisioned your day ending.”

Geralt was quiet for a moment, before responding in a soft murmur in your ear that made you shiver for reasons other than the cold. “Hmmm….A warm fire, and a pretty, almost naked man in my lap.” Geralt hummed, the sound vibrating deep in his chest and against your back. “That’s better than I hoped.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, your pulse quickening as though it had been jolted with lightning. You went rigid in Geralt’s arms, and he chuckled lowly, his tone turning apologetic.

“…I’m sorry. Too forward?”

“What?” You twisted around to face him, which was a mistake, because suddenly his face was directly in front of yours, and you fumbled as his strong jaw and striking eyes were right there. “No, I…I mean…” You stumbled over your words as Geralt laughed softly, looking terribly pleased with himself. “I-I just…pretty--?”

You wanted to combust.

Geralt chuckled, his voice a maddeningly delicious mix of rough and smooth as he leaned forward slightly, his eyes seeming to glow molten gold in the firelight. “Yes.” He murmured, lips quirking into a small smirk that somehow made him even more unreasonably attractive. “Pretty.”

He had lovely lips, you noticed, before you leaned forward and pressed your own against them. Geralt made a low, pleased sound in his throat, his large, rough palm sliding over your hip and pressing against your lower back, leaving a trail of tingling warm in its wake.

This was hardly behaviour appropriate of a member of the Duchess’s Court, you realised distantly as you twisted in Geralt’s lap, slinging you thigh over his waist as you pressed your hips together, enticing a groan from the Witcher that set your blood aflame. His tongue slid into your eager mouth, his free hand slowly roaming over your bare thigh appreciatively as he tugged you closer, your chest flush with his. Your hand stroked over the thick swell of his bicep, fingers fascinated by the feeling of smooth skin and scar tissue, his beard rubbing against your skin in way that made you wonder how it would feel rubbing elsewhere.

The blanket fell from your shoulders, but the chill of the night air was chased away by Geralt’s hands, stroking and roaming and grasping, and you heard yourself moan needily as you ground your hips against his, your flesh rubbing against his through the thin material of your undergarments. You wanted to feel the rest of him, and you stroked down his sides, reaching for his waistband.

Geralt grabbed your wrists, tearing his lips from yours with a reluctant hiss. “Wait.” He leaned back, his expression mournful as his gaze trailed over you, lust bright and gold in his eyes.

You felt dizzy and flushed and breathless and you wanted Geralt to keep kissing you. You rubbed your hips against his and the Witcher groaned, eyes fluttering closed as he grasped your waist to still you. “Not here.” He forced out, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “We shouldn’t make too much noise.”

Your face felt hot at the implication of his words, and as you took a moment to catch your breath you remembered you were in the middle of the forest. “Of…of course.” You inhaled deeply, struggling to keep eye contact as Geralt leaned back slightly, the muscles of his abdomen contracting distractingly under your palms. “We…I should…”

You tried to move, but Geralt’s hands cupped your waist, holding you in position. “Hold on.” He smirked up at you, eyes trailing slowly over your body. “I want to look at you a little longer.”

You flushed and cleared your throat loudly, ignoring his mouth and his eyes and his hands and everything else about him that made your stomach feel tight and hot. “You can look at me all you want back at Corvo Bianco.”

Geralt’s eyebrow arched. “Oh?” He leaned towards you again, lips tugging into a small grin. “Is that a promise?”

You shoved him and he laughed, deep and throaty, and you realised his laugh was yet another thing you could add to the list of things you liked about Geralt of Rivia.

Morning came eventually, and you both made your way to Corvo Bianco without further incident. You ankle still ached, but Geralt very gallantly carried you the last stretch of the journey, smirking as you flushed in his arms.

You sent word to the Duchess that you would be taking a few days to recuperate, and if anyone noticed that you spent the entirety of your recovery in the Witcher’s bedroom, they were polite enough not to say anything about it.

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