#because i’m still in disbelief i know it happened i know it’s been confirmed but my god i’m just sitting here like? what the fuck?

[theday]

moonbin talk in tags

[lovebugism]

istg that “just because you’re beautiful and a good kisser does not mean i forgive you.” “you think i’m beautiful?” is sooooo eddie coded.

i'm picturing a sorta enemies to lovers with eddie pulling yet another prank on reader (we all know this boy has the emotional maturity of a five year old when it comes to making a move on the girl he likes) but he really does hurt her feelings this time so he tries to make it up to her and they end up kissing.

from what you've written before i think you could put a great spin on this sorta scenario, if you feel like it <3

hope you like it! :D — you're eddie munson's biggest enemy. and, yes, you're also his soulmate. (enemies to lovers, secret relationship, 0.9k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

You storm into the bustling lunch room, having traded your pretty corseted blouse for a piece of oversized Corroded Coffin merch — definitely not by choice. “Do you have a death wish?” you ask when you reach the Hellfire table at the very back of the cafeteria, zeroed in on its leader at the head of it.

Eddie turns slowly, blinking up at you with innocent button eyes. His chews through the hamburger wadded in his cheek. “Potentially,” he answers, muffled before he swallows it down.

You huff, too easily frustrated. It isn’t any wonder why he likes to mess with you so much. “Where are my clothes?” 

“The ones you left on my bedroom floor last night or…?”

“No, you idiot— The clothes you stole from the girl’s locker room. Which makes you a total perv, by the way.”

“Oh, that sexy little number?” he croons, turning in his seat to face you more. “It’s in my locker, actually.”

“Well, get it out,” you say with gritted teeth.

He thinks for a moment, pursing his lips to the side. “Hm… I don’t think I will.”

Your jaw tightens. “Why?”

“‘Cause it’s a little revealing, don’t you think?”

“Well, yeah, that’s kinda the point, Munson.”

He smacks his lips against his teeth, then scrunches the bridge of his nose. He wags a sarcastic, ringed finger at you. “See— Those aren’t the values a nice girl like you should have—”

“God, you’re infuriating,” you groan and stomp off again.

Eddie smiles to himself while he watches you go, cheek tilted lazily to his shoulder. The only thing he likes better than seeing you come (in more ways than one) is watching you leave.

He sighs a deep, contented sigh and turns back to the rest of the table. They’re all wide-eyed and silent, still musing on the sudden interaction with the disbelief that it had happened at all.

Eddie only grins, wider this time. “Ah… She’s obsessed with me.”

—————

By the end of the school day, your blouse hasn’t yet been returned to you. You’re still stuck in the stupid shirt Eddie had left for you — all black, too big, and obviously his. You know it belongs to him because you’ve worn it thousands of times while sleeping over at his place. It smells just like him, like weed and cologne and boy.

You’re heading towards the exits when a hand pulls you into an abandoned classroom around the corner — pale, ringed, and lanky. As if you needed any further confirmation it was Eddie Munson. 

You stumble in, and he locks it behind you.

“Don’t you think you’ve bothered me enough today?” you squint.

“Oh, so you don’t want your shirt back?” he teases, waving the thing in his free hand. You reach for it, and he snatches it back, smirking softly down at you. “Uh-uh. What’s the magic word, sweetheart.”

“Give me my shirt back,” you answer in a monotone.

“Not even close, but I’ll give you a kiss for it.”

You sigh like it’s a chore for you and lean in to kiss his cheek. Your lips just barely graze his stubbly jaw. Eddie shrugs. “You missed, but I’m feeling nice today, so—”

You snatch it from him when he hands it to you. “You can’t keep doing this, Eds. We’re supposed to hate each other.”

“Well, one, we do hate each other. Obviously,” he scoffs and leans back on one of the desks. It shifts under his weight, and he stumbles. He decides to sit on it completely while you laugh. “And two, this was, like, a genius prank on my end. I made my arch nemesis walk around in my shirt all day— you’re not giving me enough credit for this, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, except I got called the freak’s girlfriend all day.”

“By who?”

“Who do you think?”

He ponders for a moment. “…Jason?”

You nod, all slow because it’s obvious. The only one who hates Eddie more than you do is Jason Carver. You wonder if he’s secretly in love with the town freak, too.

“Well, it’s about time he knows who you belong to,” the boy says with a laugh. “He’s only been trying to get with you for two years.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t belong to anyone— I’m not a toy.”

“Well, yeah— only when you wanna be,” Eddie teases, reaching out for you. His ringed fingers curl around your wrist to pull you closer. You sigh in annoyance but walk between his thighs anyway.

“You’re so annoying.”

Eddie grins, pink and boyish. “But you like me anyway. So who’s the real loser?”

“I thought we hated each other,” you quip with narrowed eyes.

“I was kidding— Just kiss me.”

You giggle quietly and lean in to peck his lips. He tastes like nicotine and spearmint, mouth soft like flower petals. You get lost in him too easily. One peck becomes two — then three — then a longer, languid, and more drawn-out thing.

You feel Eddie smile against you, knowing he’s won now that you’re melting for him. You pull away with a smack when you regain your senses.

“Just because you’re pretty and a good kisser, doesn’t mean I forgive you, by the way. You know that, right?”

“Mhmm,” he hums mindlessly, already leaning forward to kiss you again.

You pull softly back. “And that I’m totally getting you back for this?”

“Yep.” He pecks your lips once, with a lot more self-restraint than you’d had. “So… When are you coming over to get the clothes you left at my place last night?”

[ithebookhoarder]

It's completely fine if you don't do this but I loved your Colin one, so can you do how the other brothers would react if they found out you were pregnant??!?!?!?!

Unexpectedly Expecting (Anthony / Benedict Bridgerton x AFAB!reader):

A/N: Thank you for sending this in! I'm combining this with another request - I hope that's ok? 👇 As both were on a similar track, but I can always do more later on this because who doesn't love imagining the Bridgerton boys with little ones?! 🥰

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, mentions of childbirth, references to doctors and medical professionals, pregnancy symptoms like nausea and morning sickness, mentions of trouble conceiving a child, sex references, swearing, blood (let me know if I missed any!).

Masterlist:

Anthony Bridgerton:

As Viscount Anthony would likely be expecting to have children and heirs of his own and yes, it would be a concern if you weren’t falling pregnant as a couple. However, I think it upsets him more than anything because of how upsetting it is for you. He loves you and seeing you beating yourself up and making yourself sick with worry is heartbreaking. 

He has so many siblings and they have children so the Bridgerton estate and line will continue, he soothes, hoping it would take some pressure off of yourself. If you fall pregnant then that would be a blessing, but you weren’t a failure. In fact, for all he knows, he could be the issue. It’s impossible to be certain either way and he would never let you take that on yourself. Any arguments you’d have would be about that and nothing else. 

“If you think I will sit here and allow you to abuse yourself in such a way then you are sorely mistaken, my love-“

“-You don’t understand, Anthony! This is my fault. Even if you do not agree. To society, to the rest of the world, the blame will lay solely on me! That’s all that matters!” 

“No! You are all that matters and I will not allow you to keep torturing yourself this way. We will stop, do you hear me? No more talk of heirs or blame or anything to do with the subject. Let us just enjoy our life as it is for now. The future is unimportant.” 

Violet would side with Anthony, as would all his siblings. They love you too and want you to be happy - even if Violet does offer some tips and insights on ways one could assist with falling pregnant, but only at your request.

Still, when you’re not with child months later you start to lose hope. 

It gets worse as more of the Bridgerton siblings start getting married and falling pregnant. They would never rub it in your face, but it doesn’t make it any less painful when you see them or their partners caressing their bumps or discussing what names they could choose.  

You’d wish them well, obviously, but inside you feel like you’re dying. Even Anthony holding you close and pressing a comforting kiss against your cheek does nothing to raise your spirits. 

With each passing day you become just a little more certain that you’re not destined to have a child… which is why you’re utterly stunned when you miss your monthly bleed - not once, but twice… 

You didn’t say anything at first, obviously worried that it was just delayed from your recent stress. However, when it happens again you start to dare to hope for the impossible and you’re all but racing to get a physician to confirm the diagnosis. 

As soon as you do, you’re racing straight back to your husband to share the good news. You don’t care if he is in a meeting, at his club, with his family or even in the middle of the street. You still sprint to his side and blurt the news for everyone to hear.

The tears are instantaneous, as is the cheer of delighted disbelief he gives, throwing his arms about you and spinning you around until you’re both dizzy. “This… this is the greatest blessing we could have received, my love. I’m so happy… we’re going to be parents? We’re having a child?… oh, lord. We’re having a child.”

This man has been acting as a father to his siblings for so long you have no problem imagining him taking to the role like a duck to water. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be scared out of his mind to think of the responsibility of raising a child of his own. 

You can expect this man to be badgering his mother with a never ending list of questions - heck, he’d even swallow his pride and ask Simon and Daphne for advice if it came to it. After all, ‘if Hastings can do it, it can’t be too difficult’.

You’re laughing too hard to even try and correct him.

This man would be so protective of you whilst you were pregnant - especially after the troubles you’ve had getting to this point. 

“I really think you ought to have a maid accompany you when you journey to and fro. I should hate for something to happen to you."

“Anthony, I’m only going for a walk around the garden!”

“But still-“

Anything you could possibly need he has already bought three of them. No expense is spared for you and your unborn child - including summoning doctors from their beds in the middle of the night if you even think something might be wrong with either you or the baby. 

Speaking of doctors, he would fight anybody who tried to banish him from your side when the time comes. He and his mother, should you wish her there, would be at your side the whole time. They would be your biggest cheerleaders and would do whatever they could to ensure you were cared for and supported, whether it be mopping your brow, holding you as you pace around, or advocating for you against any doctor who tries to violate your wishes about the birth. 

And when you are finally handed a crying, wrinkled, cherub with Anthony’s eyes… well, it’s all worth it. You have never felt a love as pure as this, except for when you met Anthony, and nothing can ruin such a perfect moment. 

Benedict Bridgerton:

Benedict would be so calm about possibly having children with you. If you do have children, then they will be loved and adored - obviously. But if you don’t? Then that doesn’t matter. It means you two can continue your adventures together for a while longer, travelling wherever your heart desires, visiting galleries and indulging in your bohemian lifestyle with all your friends.

You have your freedom - even more so now that you’re married. Society doesn’t care what you do now that you’re no longer on the marriage mart. It’s liberating, and any pressure to produce heirs comes from only you or your loved ones, so it’s non-existent.  

However, if you did want children then Benedict would be more than eager to help create them… and get creative about doing so. 

“Benedict! That is not how a child is conceived… no wonder you’re a student of the arts. The academy of science would never admit you with such a lack of understanding about basic anatomy!”

“You’re right, my dear, but you have to admit - this is a hell of a lot more fun.” 

He would be nothing but supportive of you and so gentle every time your monthly bleed approached, especially if nothing happens. He understands how your hopes rise and how hard it hits you when you realise it hasn’t yet worked. He’d never insult you or diminish your feelings. 

If anything, he would be quick to shoulder any possible blame, refusing to let you even begin to suggest that it has anything to do with you or your body. You are perfect. End of - and he’ll fight anyone who suggests otherwise. 

“You can’t rush things, angel. After all, the best things are worth the time and effort. Michelangelo took over four years to finish the Sistine Chapel, and Da Vinci sixteen years to paint the Mona Lisa. Some things are worth the wait… and if it doesn’t happen how we wish, then we’re already creating something so beautiful between us. Our family will be perfect, no matter how it looks, how it comes about, or even when it does.”

And when it does? Well, then you’ve never seen him look so happy, tears pouring from his eyes as you confirm the good news.

You also fear for a moment that he’s about to swoon, he goes so pale and he even starts to breath heavily as he paces back and forth, muttering ‘I… I’m going to be a father? A father? Me?’. His imposter syndrome would hit him with full force and it would take several weeks for him to process it enough to calm down and be excited rather than terrified. However, he’d never have been anything other than positive towards you. You know it’s his love for your unborn child that makes him panic about being a good father.  

Also, he would be SO supportive once you are expecting. He would be there holding your hair back if you felt nauseous and bringing you endless cups of tea without you even asking. 

He wouldn’t complain in the slightest about staying in with you, rather than going to whatever social events his family had organised. As he argued, it gave him ample time to finish whatever piece he was working on next and he got to keep you company in the meantime. 

I just feel he’d paint something for the baby, whether it be a piece to hang on the wall of the nursery, or the wall of the nursery itself. You’d find him stood in front of the nursery wall, covered in paint, but beaming ear to ear. 

“It’s beautiful, Benedict.”

“Well, our baby should be allowed to enjoy the full beauty of a spectrum of colours, rather than just ‘white’ on the walls - and the sooner they begin to understand the art of composition, the better in my opinion.”

You would also be receiving gifts from all your artistically minded friends, which is heart-warming. They’d crown them their newest ‘little liberal’ and would devote themselves to ensuring your off-spring would have a well-rounded eduction about the higher arts of life - something Benedict is keen to endorse.  

“When are they not ‘too young’ to have an art tutor?” 

“Maybe wait till they can hold a paint brush first, Benedict.” 

“What about poetry?”

“Again, I think they should probably learn the alphabet before we try them on Wordsworth or Donne.” 

Given what he says in his book I know he’d secretly want a girl but you know that as long as it’s happy and healthy then that would be enough. After all, it would be yours, made from your love in a living, breathing creation greater than any painting or sculpture. 

He would be awe struck when you hand them to him, afraid he might break them somehow. He would just sit and stare at them for hours, admiring them like the finest sculpture.

“I promise to be the best possible father you could ever want, my love. I will do whatever I can to protect you and make you, and your mother, feel cherished. I won’t let you down… even if you turn out like most of your Uncles and have no idea what the difference is between a sonata and a sonnet.”  

[xxblairexxss]

Belief

Pairing : dad!Charles Leclerc x mom!reader

Theme : Angst, fluff

Still felt like something’s missing with this one 😩

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“Y/N, listen–“

“No, Charles, I’m done.” You brushed past him with your duffel bag that you had prepared days before because you knew he would still keep on denying everything.

“What do you mean you’re done? Y/N, please listen to me.”

“Let’s go, baby.” Taking your baby girl’s hand, you pulled her up to her feet as she threw her toys on the floor.

“Where are you going? Y/N, you can’t do this to me.

“I’m going home. I’m not coming back until you set your priority straight.” You took little steps while your daughter trailed after you, constantly checking back, wondering why her daddy is not coming along.

“I told you she’s a new physiotherapist ! Please, don’t do this.”

“Physiotherapist won’t be in your room all cuddled up like that! You think I’m a fool?” You wiped your tears with the back of your hand, eyes still looking at your husband in disbelief as you felt every trust you had for him far gone.

“I don’t know what the news said but those didn’t happen, baby–“

“Don’t call me that.”

He breathed in, hand on his forehead as he squeezed his eyes shut and took a step back. “Y/N, none of the things happened. Yes, she was in my room but nothing happened. You need to trust me!”

“Dada not come?” Your daughter asked as she stood up after you put on her shoes. Her little hand goes back into yours.

“Dada’s not coming, sweetheart. Dada has work.” You tugged on her little hands and turned around to leave but she refused to follow, pulling you back the the little force she had.

“But I want dada.” She yanked her hand from your grip and ran back to hug Charles’s legs. “Dada follow?”

Charles then crouched down and gave his little girl a kiss on her forehead. “Dada can’t come, princess. Take care of mommy for dada, alright?” His arm went around her little frame when the circled her arms around his neck, hugging him.

“See you later, dada!”

“Y/N.” The soft tone of his voice nearly knocked down the wall that you were trying to build in your heart. When you turned around, you saw he took few steps closer to plant a kiss on your forehead, mumbling the words “I love you” as he pulled away. Both you and Charles had made a promise on the early stage of your dating life that both of you would never go a day without an I love you because tomorrow wasn’t confirmed, regardless of how bad the arguments would be. “And I’m sorry…”

You didn’t look at him when you pulled away to make your way to your car. You didn’t want to ignore the words, but you also didn’t want to say it back so you just mumbled the words back under your breath. Your little girl had her half body turned sideways jusy so she could kept on waving to her dad, unconcerned with the problems going on.

If it wasn’t for the constant tagging, you would have been left in the dark. Checking your social media had always been apart of your wind down activity but you weren’t expecting to have over 100+ notifications one night, people tagging you on a screenshot of news article about your husband exposed to be having a short “intimate break” with a new woman. The articles were supported heavily with a blurry picture of your husband and the woman walking out of the driver’s room after which was what they assumed as a quickie before the race in Hungary. People started making fun of your marriage, saying that you tricked Charles into one by getting pregnant on purpose or you got pregnant as soon after the wedding because you wanted to secure the bag and some of them even assume Charles was forced to stay in the marriage not because of love but because of the child and his image.

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Though you had been living separately for nearly a month, Charles would always came by. Sometimes it would a short 5 minutes where he just dropped by to give his little daughter a new toy or just a short cuddling session. You felt guilty of course, because your daughter had always been daddy’s girl but you couldn’t be in the same house with him without thinking about the pictures so you had to continuously tell her that Charles was busy with his fast car.

“Don’t go!” Your daughter cried out and tugged on her dad’s hand, dragging him back into the living room. “Dada can’t go!”

“I need to go, princess.” He drew his lips back, squatting down to level his face with hers. “We spent half a day together, didn’t we?” His arm was stretched out again as she kept on trying to pull him back.

“Can dada stay?”

He looked up and caught your eyes on him with your arms folded. “I’m not sure mommy wants that. Why don’t you go and ask mommy?”

“Can dada stay tonight, mommy? Please please!” She ran to hug your legs and pulled on your shirt to get your attention.

“Sleep on the couch. I’ll get a blanket for you.” You left those two together shrieking with laughters and came back with blanket to find both of them cuddling on the couch. “Are you gonna sleep with dada on the couch tonight?”

“Yes! Mommy too?” She scooted aside and pat on the empty space. “Mommy too!”

“Mommy will sleep in the room, okay?” You bended down to peck on her forehead and looked at Charles who has been staring at you. “Make sure she sleeps by 9.”

“Thank you.” He took your hand and you snatched it back before matching to your room.

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“Baby, what are you doing with my phone?”

You had just done putting on your skincare and walked out of the bathroom to see your little girl looking sullen as she was holding your phone. “No answer?” She raised the phone up as it shook a little from the unbalanced weight between the phone and her little grip.

“Answer? Who are you calling?”

“Y/N, is there–“

“Hi dada!”

“oh, hi, princess!”

You froze when you heard Charles’s voice. When did she even learn how to call someone or more specifically, her own dad.

“Dada! Hello!”

“Hi, I miss you so much.”

Your daughter squealed and clapped her hands, bringing the phone that was larger than her hand closer to her mouth. “Miss you too!”

“Where’s mommy? Is mommy okay?”

Your lips were pressed into a thin line. Sure, you can still acted all fine in front of your daughter but that doesn’t mean you could play pretend with your feelings. I miss you, Charles.

“Mommy is okay. Mommy was putting cream on face.”

“Oh, yeah? Mommy always takes a long time in front of the mirror, right princess?”

“Yeah, very long time! Mommy always goes dab dab.”

You heard him chuckle and continued the conversations until he had to end the call. “Princess, dada has to go. Listen to mommy and be a good girl. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Bye, dada! I love you.”

“Bye, princess. Tell mommy I said I love you.”

She stood up and ran to you, handing you back the phone with the brightest smile, which had everything to do with the little time with her dad.

“Dada said I love you mommy!”

“I love you too.” She giggled in your arms as you poked on her waist. “Who taught you how to call dada, hm?”

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You were sitting at the living room, leaving Charles and your daughter having their own time. Faint giggles and maffles could be heard filling the silence.

“Girl secured the bag but still got cheated on.”

“Proof that a child is not enough to make a man loyal. Good try, girl.”

Though it had been more than a month since what happened, your social media was still full of unpleasant comments. Your life had been in a downward spiral, even more when Ferrari’s official account had posted a few photos from the weekend and you saw the woman who was in the picture with Charles months ago in the background of the photos. The comments were quick to jump into their own assumptions and speculations, making you felt more oppressed within every minute you spent on your phone.

“Where’s she?” You asked when you saw Charles in the living room, no longer hearing her squeals and laughters. Your phone was no longer in your hand as you turned it off. Charles had took a seat on the couch, afar from you since you kept on shutting him out so he just knew you wouldn’t want him close to you this time as well.

“She’s asleep.” He grabbed your hand as you were walking trying to walk pass him to get yourself a drink. “Bab– Y/N, can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Charles.”

“You can’t keep on doing this.” He was now standing only a step away. “I miss you. I don’t want to come home to an empty house. Please, tell me what you want me to do.” His fingers softly traced your cheek, making your heart beat faster, yearning for more of his touch. “I’ll fix the mess. I’ll speak up about this, let the news clear out my name, your name. I need you, Y/N, please.”

You wanted to give in. You were so close to give into his wishes, his plead but you couldn’t. Never once in your life would you imagine yourself to be in a situation where your husband got tangled up with another woman that people started making fun of your innocent child.

“You need to leave.” You paced back, feeling his touch leaving an imprint on your skin.

“Y/N,”

“Leave, please. I’m not doing this tonight.”

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The scream of your daughter took up the house as she saw Charles walked through the door. You had told Charles you wanted to do a small birthday for her and he had set everything up that you didn’t have to lift a finger. A day before a group of people came by to start putting on balloons and ribbons in your house. The food and drinks started ti arrive a few hours ago so you were only left with a few task when you had to dress her up and prepare a few starter and dessert. The guests were not a lot. You had invited your friends, their kids, family members and of course, Charles.

“Hey, princess! Happy birthday!”

Charles immediately picked her up and attacked her chubby cheeks with kisses, causing her to squirm while giggling. “You are so pretty, princess. Did you wear mommy’s lipstick?” He laughed and wiped the smudge at the ends of her lips.

“I stole mommy’s lipstick!”

“Knew it! You should have asked mommy to help put it on you. Where’s mommy?” She had ran to join her friends back to the small backyard garden, leaving Charles’s question left unanswered as he ambled to the kitchen to see you were preparing a cheese board for the guests.

“Do you need help?

“Oh, yeah. Can you help me open the pack of crackers and just plate it nicely on this serving board? You handed him the board to which he took it and started opening crackers that you had placed on the kitchen counter while you went back to cutting the cheese.

Both of you were doing things in silence so you didn’t bother to check up on him as you only asked his help for the simplest task ever. One that even your daughter could do.

You had realised it wasn’t as simple as you thought it was when you looked at the board which was supposed to be filled with crackers, were only filled with a few ones while the rest went into his mouth.

“Charles!” Charles’s hand stop moving as he looked at you. “I asked you to put them on the board, not eat them!”

“It’s addictive. Give it a try.” He offered you one and you took it, chuckling as you chew. “Right? I told you! It’s tasteless but it’s good. Do you want more?”

He moved closer to put the cracker to your mouth when you declined, making you laugh as you tried to move your face away. “It’s not that good. I don’t want it!”

He cackled along, arm finding its way on your waist as he pulled you close. “God, I missed you so much.”

“Hello?”

“Yeah–” The smile on your face ceased as your eyes landed on the owner of the voice, the same woman who was caught in a gossip with the guy standing in front of you. “Oh, hi.”

“Y/N, this is Leah. She’s–“ Charles tried to grab your arm as you tried to walk out of the kitchen. “Baby, wait–“

“I need to check on my daughter.”

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“Isn’t that the girl that was in the picture? Did you invite her?”

The drink in your hand tasted somewhat bitter. “No, she came with Charles.” You replied, eyes locked on your daughter as she played with her dad and Leah in the backyard.

“Is he trying to introduce you to his new girlfriend?”

“I don’t know.” You stretched out your arms as your little girl came running to you. “Did you have fun with dada?”

“Yes! Can mommy play too?” She jumped and tugged on your finger to get you off the couch. “Please please!”

“Alright, alright. I’m coming.” You patted her head, giving your friends a glance as you trailed after her to the backyard where Charles was on the grass, joining by your daughter after.

“Dada, let mommy be the tagged!”

“You asked me to join you only for you to gang up with dada? Come here!” You gasped dramatically and chased after her while she waddled to the end of the backyard. “Oh, tag.” Charles had just stood on his feet and stopped by your side as he saw you focusing on the little girl when you tapped on his arm.

“Oh, come on! Really? I thought you were chasing after her.” Charles groaned. He barely had a 5 minutes break and thought you were chasing after the little one instead of him, which was why he wasn’t running away.

“I can’t catch her!”

“Okay, then I’ll just tag you back.” He poked on your cheek, laughing when you clicked on your tongue, thing that you always do when you get annoyed.

“Charles, can I borrow you for a second?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.” He left your side when Leah called out for him, both of them seemed to be engrossed in a discussion. Leaving you alone while your daughter had found her way back into her group of friends. You saw your friends’ sympathetic eyes on you as they called you out to join them back.

You felt pathetic.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

For the rest of the birthday party, you tried to ignore Charles and his partner though you could feel his eyes on you the whole time. Every time you caught a glance of both of them, exchanging conversations and smiles while she kept on showing something on her phone, tears would welled up in your eyes and you couldn’t cry, not today. Today isn’t about you.

“Baby, can you please stop ignoring me?”

You bumped into Charles as you tried to head to to kitchen and he had gripped on your arm, forcing you to stay as you were trying to get away from Charles again when the front door opened as you saw a man with 2 kids around your daughter’s age walked in with a birthday present nicely wrapped in his hand.

“Happy birthday!” The kids shrieked and handed the birthday present to your daughter as they ran to join the kids outside.

“There you are! What took you so long?” Leah exclaimed as she pulled the man into a hug. “Y/N, this is my husband and my kids. I hope you don’t mind three extra guests?”

“No, not at all.” A soft smiled creeped in as a mask to hide your true feelings before you made your way into your room with Charles chasing after you.

You felt so dumb. First you had to see your husband’s new “girlfriend” then having to constantly see your husband played with your kid while his new girl a step away as she laughed and smiled along, one when your husband left your side in a blink the second Leah called out for him, only to find out that all of that was just an act and that she actually had a husband and kids. You felt your throat tighten up as you breathed in a short intake. “Did you try to make me look like a fool because you aced it.”

“No, that’s– no, not at all. Y/N–“

“I feel so woeful and pathetic. If this– if this is your payback because I took your daughter away, I’m sorry.” You sobbed into the palm of your hands.

“Baby, no. No, that– that’s not it. You got the wrong idea. I brought her along because I had a scheduled medical checkup and she had to tag along. I thought she could be the one to explain to you what actually happened since you refused to listen to my explanation.” Your trembling hand in now in his while he cupped his free hand on your left cheek, thumb wiped off the fresh tears that rolled down you cheeks. It had been a week since the last time he touched you, month since he hugged you and there was a hole in his heart from your absence. You didn’t reject him, not this time so he continued. “Yes, she was in the room with me but I was asleep and she was looking for my stuff. Something that she wanted to borrow. We didn’t cuddle or do anything at all. Not like how the news portrayed. She came in with Joris because he had the access to my room but they didn’t catch that moment so it just seemed like there was only both of us.”

Your tongue was tied, your head was in a shamble. You didn’t know know what to do, what to react, what to respond. If what he was saying was true, then why did he seemed so close with her. Why would he go to his daughter’s birthday party with her. Why would he left you just because she called out for him.

“You know how much I love you, Y/N. I would never do anything that would break your trust on me. I was asleep. I would have asked Joris to not allow her inside my room if I was awake. I didn’t know there were pictures taken.”

“I don’t know, Charles. I’m just– “ You tilted you head away as you felt your throat closing up. “Everything I saw earlier didn’t make it seemed as if nothing happened between you guys.”

“What did you see?” He leaned in, tugging on your hand in his just so you would look back at him. “Tell me, baby, what did you see?”

“You came to the birthday party with her looking like a happy couple as if you tried to shove that in my face.”

“We didn’t. We didn’t come together, Y/N. She drove her own car but we came from the same place, remember? Her husband wanted to buy a last minute birthday gift, just before they came here so she had to ask for my opinion since they didn’t know what they should give.” You felt his thumb kept on stroking the back of your hand, he wanted to pull you in his embrace but he couldn’t afford getting rejected again. He didn’t know if you wanted him to touch you but grateful enough that you didn’t retract your hand away so he wouldn’t ask for more if your weren’t comfortable just yet.

“I am such a fool…” Your voice trailed off with tears streaming down your face.

“No, you are not a fool. You needed reassurance which I failed to give.” Charles then surrendered to his own wish and eventually engulfed you in his arms. “Is this okay? Can I hug you?” He didn’t get your response but he felt your arms on his back, returning the hug.

“I’m sorry…” You tilted your head to look at him with swollen eyes.

“We are both at fault here.” He drew in his arms tighter around your frame. “Will you come back to me? Come back home?”

“Do you still want me back?”

“I will always want you back, baby. Always.” He pulled away and pecked on your cheek, chuckling when you started having hiccups from crying too much.

“Dada?”

He pulled away and turned to look at his little girl walked in with a lollipop in her hand. You stayed behind Charles so you could pat your eyes dry before she noticed.

“Is mommy okay?” She slanted her body to peek on you as Charles continued to cover you with his back.

“Mommy’s fine, princess. Mommy’s eyes just hurt a little.”

“Give mommy this!” She offered Charles her lollipop, making both of you laughed.

“Charles took the lollipop and extended it to you. “Would you like a lollipop, baby?”

✧.* general tag list! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @love4lando @shinrjj

if your usernames were crossed meaning I can’t tag you 😭 let me know if you would like to be removed or added to the taglist! or if I missed anyone!

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Cherry Lips.

Summary: You spend one night with world famous musician Remy Lebeau and everything changes.

Warnings: Daddy kink, Choking, Spanking, Swearing, Smut. 18+

“It’s not you, it’s me.”

You roll your eyes, and there it fucking is. The most useless sentence in the history of humankind. Right up there with, “We’ll call you right back.”

You glance over at him—his pale blue eyes darting everywhere except toward you as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat at the tiny, cramped café. The table between you feels like a mile-wide chasm, and yet, somehow, not far enough. You raise an eyebrow, half in disbelief, half in disgust.

“Oh, I know it’s not me,” you say, letting your voice drip with a sarcasm you don’t bother to mask. “It’s Hannah McCoy down the road, isn’t it?”

Six years.

Six whole fucking years boiled down to cheap coffee and a line. One goddamn sentence.

He shifts again, more uncomfortable than before, his hand fidgeting with the napkin as if it’ll give him some kind of answer he’s too much of a coward to say out loud. You can see it—he’s stalling. Trying to find a way to make himself look less like the asshole that he is.

“It wasn’t meant to happen,” he says finally, his voice weak, like he’s trying to convince himself just as much as you. “She was just... there. And she gets me, you know?” His words are lame, hollow, and all the more infuriating because he actually thinks they’re enough.

You laugh—a short, humorless sound that feels more like a release of pent-up rage than anything else. “Oh, she gets you?” you echo, your voice rising a little. “What am I, a fucking puzzle you couldn’t solve?”

He flinches, but he doesn’t deny it. Instead, he stares at the table, his fingers still twisting that stupid napkin into knots. “We’re just... not compatible,” he mutters, as if that explains everything. As if that suddenly makes it all okay.

You narrow your eyes at him, feeling the heat rise in your chest. “You mean I’m not compatible with your bullshit,” you snap. “Just admit it—you’ve been trying to fuck her for months. Did you think I was too stupid to notice?”

He doesn’t answer, and that silence is all the confirmation you need. Anger burns hot and fast in your veins, but underneath it, there’s something else—a deep, bitter ache. Six years. You gave him six years of your life, and now you're sitting in this shitty café as he offers nothing but weak excuses and even weaker apologies.

“Look,” he says, clearing his throat and forcing himself to meet your eyes for a fleeting second. “Those tickets to the concert tonight... keep them. Go with Nat or someone. She’d probably love it.”

You almost laugh again, but this time it’s too absurd to even entertain. “Oh, I’m going,” you say, voice sharp as a knife. “Whether you’re there or not. I paid good money for those tickets, so don’t act like you’re doing me any favors.”

You take a sip of the coffee just to do something with your hands, but it’s as bitter as you feel, and you pull a face. Of course. Even the fucking coffee is shit.

He nods, like this conversation is some kind of negotiation that’s finally being settled. Like you’re both just two rational people agreeing to part ways, when in reality, he’s ripping apart everything you’ve built together. There’s nothing left to say, except—

“I’ll organize a trailer to come get my stuff tomorrow.”

You raise your eyebrows, the expression on your face saying everything: Yeah, you fucking better. You don’t want to see him again, don’t want to hear his voice or catch even a glimpse of his blond hair in the doorway. Tomorrow, it’ll all be gone. And good riddance.

Pushing back your chair, you stand up and toss a few bills onto the table, more than enough to cover your coffee. You grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder, and then lean down just slightly, enough so he can feel the gravity of your words.

“And by the way,” you say, your voice low and cold, “the coffee here tastes like shit.”

Without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and walk out of the café, your footsteps steady and sure, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you falter.

Tonight, you’ll go to the concert—Remy LeBeau live at the old warehouse downtown. The tickets you bought months ago, back when you thought you’d be going together, back when you didn’t know your relationship was already on its slow, agonizing descent.

But now, it’s just you. And you’ll go. And you’ll scream the lyrics if you have to. Because you paid for those tickets with your own damn money, and there’s no way in hell you’re going to let him ruin the one thing you’ve been looking forward to for months.

The door to the café swings shut behind you, and for the first time in a long time, you feel something close to freedom. <><><><><> "So he really just did that, huh?" Nat says, almost incredulous, as she runs a straightener through her fiery red hair. Each strand falls smoothly over her shoulder, contrasting sharply with the black band tee she’s wearing. Meanwhile, you sit on the edge of the bed, focused on pulling your black fishnet stockings over your legs, the faint snap of the fabric a sharp punctuation to the conversation.

You nod, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. "Yep. Pulled the whole ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ bullshit too."

You stand up, reaching for the pair of black booty shorts lying on the bed next to you. The cool fabric slides easily over the stockings as you adjust them, making sure they sit just right. You catch Nat’s eyes in the mirror as she pauses, mid-straighten.

"Hannah McCoy," she says, her tone flat, almost clinical, as if she’s diagnosing an obvious problem. "She’s the blue-haired girl on your corner, right? Goes to college in town?"

You let out a humorless laugh. "That would be her," you reply, grabbing your eyeliner and starting your makeup routine. Your reflection looks back at you, the same you, but tonight’s different. Tonight, you want to look like someone who’s ready to burn the world down. Or at least, burn away the memory of your ex.

Nat’s phone buzzes on the dresser. She picks it up, scrolling through her feed with a frown before tossing the phone toward you.

"Take a look at this," she says, her voice laced with a kind of cautious sympathy. "Looks like she’s going to be there tonight with ‘someone special.’" Her finger hovers over the image, zooming in on a guy’s hand. "Whose tattoo does that look like?"

Your stomach twists as you glance down at the screen. The photo shows Hannah McCoy, grinning ear to ear, her lips pressed against a man’s hand. But it’s not just any hand. It’s one you’ve held countless times. One you’ve traced with your fingers. And that tattoo, the one in familiar looping script? You had paid for that tattoo on your second anniversary.

Your ex’s tattoo.

You feel a surge of anger rise in your chest. “Oh, the universe fucking hates me, I swear,” you mutter, tossing the phone back toward Nat. “The audacity of knowing I’m going to be there and still taking the woman you left me for is... ballsy.”

Nat shrugs, but there’s a glint of anger in her eyes on your behalf. "I’m more impressed he managed to get tickets this late. I thought they were all sold out."

"Obviously planning this one for months then," you comment, rolling your eyes as you start blending your eyeshadow. Months. Months of fake smiles, distant conversations, and a growing gap you both refused to talk about. It wasn’t that you were heartbroken over the breakup—you’d felt the relationship fizzling out for a while now. The spark had died sometime last year. Maybe even earlier than that, if you were honest with yourself.

But this? This was an entirely different kind of hurt. The fact that he had the nerve to not only break up with you but to bring the woman he cheated with to a concert he knew you were going to be at? It felt like a slap in the face. Like he wanted to gloat, to show off what he’d traded you for.

It wasn’t the breakup that stung. It was the sheer gall of how he was doing it.

"Does he think I’m just going to sit there and pretend they don’t exist?" you mutter, applying a deep red lipstick with more force than necessary. "Like, what, I’m supposed to be okay watching them together? He’s really trying to rub this in my face."

Nat finishes her hair and turns to face you, her expression softening. She walks over, picking up a bottle of perfume from the nightstand. With a gentle hand, she sprays a light mist over you, the scent filling the room as she leans in, resting her chin on your shoulder. Her reflection in the mirror grins mischievously.

"Well, you scrub up damn fine," she says with a wink. "And you know what they say, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else."

You laugh, rolling your eyes but feeling a little lighter. "Yeah, because that always works out perfectly," you reply, but a small smile tugs at your lips. You’re not looking for a rebound tonight. You’re not even looking to get over him, because deep down, you already are. What you’re looking for is to reclaim something for yourself.

You glance over at the concert tickets sitting on your dresser, the cheap paper so full of promise just a few weeks ago. Remy LeBeau, live in town, the rock concert you’d been excited about for months, back when you thought you’d be going with your ex.

But now? Now it’s just you and Nat. And maybe that’s exactly what you need.

"Fuck him," you say, standing taller and adjusting your shirt as you finish the last swipe of mascara. "Tonight isn’t about him. It’s about me. And damn it, I’m going to have a good time."

Nat grins, stepping back and giving you an approving once-over. "That’s the spirit. Let’s make tonight one to remember."

And as you grab your jacket and head for the door, you know one thing for sure: whatever happens tonight, you’re walking in there on your own terms. <><><><><><><> Crowded.

That was probably the only word that could remotely describe the scene in front of you. A shoulder-to-shoulder sea of leather, fishnet, black band tees, combat boots, and patches sewn onto worn-out denim jackets. The crowd seemed endless, bodies moving in rhythm with the heavy bass thumping through the massive speakers. It was as if the entire city had poured into this venue, all drawn to the electric energy of the night. The air was thick with the mingling scents of sweat, alcohol, and the faint burn of cigarette smoke from someone sneaking a smoke break in the corner.

The venue itself was a cavernous, industrial space—an old warehouse repurposed into a music hall. Exposed beams crisscrossed the ceiling, and metal railings lined the second-floor balcony where people leaned over, drinks in hand, watching the stage below. The walls were painted in dark, muted colors, and the dim lighting only served to heighten the sense of anticipation. Neon signs flickered above the bar, casting a ghostly glow across the crowd, while the stage at the far end of the room was bathed in deep reds and purples, waiting for the main act to start.

Nat held your hand tightly as she wove her way through the throng of people, her grip a lifeline in the chaos. You followed closely behind her, trying to keep pace, though your eyes kept darting over the crowd, searching, whether you wanted them to or not. It was ridiculous, but you couldn’t help yourself. You were scanning for that familiar flash of blue hair—her hair.

You hated that you were doing it. Hated that even here, in the middle of what was supposed to be your night, you were still thinking about them. About him and her. And of course, Nat knew. She always knew. She didn’t even have to say anything; she just gave your hand an extra squeeze, her silent way of telling you she understood.

She always understands, you think. Nat knows you better than you know yourself most days.

Finally reaching the bar, Nat let go of your hand and flagged down the bartender. The music was loud- Someone’s voice already blaring through the speakers as the opening band wrapped up their final song—but even over the noise, you could hear Nat’s shout. "Two shots of tequila!" she ordered, not bothering to ask if you wanted one. She knew you did.

You leaned against the bar, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that had been gnawing at you since you walked in. It was stupid to let him—and her—invade your mind like this. It wasn’t like you were heartbroken anymore. The relationship had been dead for months, and you knew it. But here, tonight, knowing they were somewhere in the crowd at the same concert you’d been looking forward to for weeks? It felt like a sick cosmic joke.

The thought made your stomach twist. You wanted to have fun tonight, to let loose and forget about him. About them. But all you could think about was the fact that they might be here, just a few feet away, holding hands like you used to, maybe even in the same spot you and he had planned to stand.

"Here," Nat’s voice cut through your thoughts as she handed you a shot. "To assholes who don’t deserve your energy," she said, raising her glass.

You couldn’t help but smile at that. "To assholes," you repeated, clinking your glass against hers before throwing the shot back. The tequila burned its way down your throat, but it was exactly what you needed. A little fire to match the one brewing in your chest.

The music shifted as the opening band finished their set, and the energy in the room changed. The lights dimmed, and the crowd began to buzz with anticipation. You turned toward the stage, watching as the roadies scurried around, setting up for Remy LeBeau. You could feel the excitement building, the air practically vibrating with it.

And then, the lights flashed once, twice, and a single spotlight hit the stage. The crowd erupted in cheers and screams as Remy himself stepped out, swaggering to the microphone with a confidence that could only belong to a rockstar. His presence was magnetic—dark hair tousled just enough to look effortlessly cool, a leather jacket slung over his shoulders, and his voice... oh, his voice.

Deep. Gritty. Raw.

It thundered through the venue, shaking the very walls as he belted out the opening lines of his first song. The crowd surged forward, bodies pressed even closer together, arms raised, hands reaching for the stage. The bass pounded in your chest, the drums a steady heartbeat that seemed to sync with the pulse of the crowd. You could feel the music in your bones, vibrating through your skin, drowning out every other thought.

Nat handed you another drink, this time a beer, and you took it gratefully, letting the cold liquid wash away the heat from the shot. You both stood there at the bar, watching the stage, the music wrapping around you like a cocoon. For a moment, you forgot about him. You forgot about her. It was just you, Nat, and the music.

"God, he’s so fucking good live," Nat shouted over the noise, her eyes wide with excitement as she sipped her drink.

You nodded in agreement, feeling the corners of your lips tug upward. Yeah, he was good. Really good. And for the first time tonight, you felt yourself relax, even if only a little.

But still, there was that nagging thought in the back of your mind. You glanced around the venue again, scanning the crowd. It wasn’t that you were upset about the breakup itself. You’d moved past that. What pissed you off was that he had the nerve to bring her here. To the concert you were supposed to go to. It felt like a deliberate move, like he wanted you to see them together, to rub it in your face.

Nat caught you looking around and rolled her eyes. "Stop it," she said, nudging you with her elbow. "They don’t matter. You matter. And tonight is about having fun, okay?"

You took a deep breath and nodded. She was right. She was always right.

"Okay," you said, offering her a small smile. "I’m done. I swear."

"Good," she replied with a grin, taking another swig of her drink. "Because tonight, we’re here to get drunk, scream along to some killer music, and remind you exactly who the fuck you are."

As Remy’s voice echoed through the venue, the music engulfing both of you, you decided that maybe—just maybe—you could let yourself enjoy this. You were here for you. For Nat. For the music. Not for him. Not for her. It was halfway through the fourth song, the chorus echoing through the packed venue, when you saw it. That unmistakable flash of blue hair cutting through the crowd like a knife. Your heart, which had been pounding with the rhythm of the music, suddenly felt like it had missed a beat.

And there he was—right behind her, laughing, his flushed cheeks glowing under the stage lights. His arm was casually draped around her shoulder, the same way it used to rest around yours, and the sight of it sent a wave of nausea rolling through your stomach. The tequila and beer you’d been enjoying just minutes earlier suddenly felt too heavy, like a stone sinking in your gut.

You and Nat had been singing along, swaying to the music, your voices blending with the hundreds of others around you. It had been a good moment. No, it had been a great moment. You were finally letting go, letting the music take you somewhere far away from him, from them. But now, that bubble had popped, and the reality of seeing them together, in your space, shattered the fragile sense of peace you’d been clinging to.

They were making their way toward you, pushing through the mass of bodies with casual arrogance. You could see the flicker of recognition in his eyes when he saw you—his steps faltering just for a moment before he leaned down and whispered something in her ear. She paused too, her gaze finally landing on you, and for a brief second, you could see the hesitation in her face. But then they kept moving, like they had every right to be in your orbit.

You raised your drink to your lips, taking a large, deliberate sip, trying to calm the surge of anger rising in your chest. It hadn’t even been a full day. Not even twenty-four hours since he’d sat across from you in that dingy café and called it quits. And now here he was, parading her around like some kind of victory lap.

The audacity, the fucking audacity of it all, made your blood boil. You weren’t heartbroken—no, that wasn’t it. You’d been ready for the end. What you weren’t ready for was this. Him, swinging her around like a prize, like he hadn’t just destroyed six years of history and walked away like it was nothing.

Nat saw it too—the way your grip tightened on your glass, the way your jaw clenched as they got closer. She didn’t say anything, but you caught the look she shot you out of the corner of your eye. She knew that glint in your eyes, knew what it meant. It was the same look you got right before you were about to do something reckless. Or, more accurately, something that was probably going to get you both kicked out of the venue.

"You okay?" Nat asked, her voice low, but she didn’t need to. She already knew the answer.

Before you could respond, they were standing right in front of you. Him and her. The blue-haired girl who had been a shadow in the background of your life for months, and now was front and center, arm-in-arm with your ex.

"Hey," he said, because of course he would. His voice was casual, like he wasn’t standing there with the woman he’d emotionally cheated on you with, like he hadn’t just blown up your entire relationship less than a day ago. "Didn’t think I’d see you here."

You stared at him, your lips pressing into a thin, dangerous line. Didn’t think I’d see you here? The nerve of him acting like this was some kind of chance meeting, like he hadn’t known exactly where you’d be tonight. The tickets had been your idea in the first place. He knew. He fucking knew.

Nat shifted beside you, her hand subtly brushing against your arm like a warning, but you were already too far gone. That anger, that bitterness, it was bubbling up faster than you could control it, and there was no way in hell you were going to let this slide.

"Really?" you replied, your voice sweet with an edge of venom. "Didn’t think you’d see me here? At the concert I bought tickets for? The one we were supposed to go to together?"

He had the decency to at least look uncomfortable. She, on the other hand, just stood there, her blue hair framing her face, her expression unreadable. You weren’t even mad at her, not really. This was his mess.

"Look, I didn’t want it to be weird—" he started, but you were already done.

Without saying a word, you lifted your drink, the cold condensation dripping down your fingers, and poured it over his head. The liquid splashed over his blond hair, soaking into his shirt, and for a split second, the entire world seemed to go silent. His mouth dropped open in shock, and the people around you gasped, some even laughing as they realized what had just happened.

Nat’s eyes went wide, but you could see the admiration behind her surprise. She knew this was coming, and honestly? So did you.

"Oops," you said, your voice dripping with mock innocence. "Guess I didn’t see you there."

You didn’t wait for him to respond. You grabbed Nat’s hand and spun on your heel, pulling her away from the bar, away from them, and into the thick of the crowd. Your heart was pounding, adrenaline rushing through your veins as the two of you practically sprinted toward the back of the venue, weaving your way through the sea of people.

By the time you stopped, both of you were breathless, and Nat was laughing so hard she had to lean against a nearby wall to catch her breath. "Holy shit," she gasped between giggles, wiping a tear from her eye. "That was... that was fucking epic."

You couldn’t help but laugh too, the tension in your chest finally releasing as you leaned against her, the two of you a giggling mess. It felt good. It felt really good. For the first time all night, you felt like you had control over something. You weren’t just reacting. You were choosing how this night was going to go. And if that meant getting a little messy, so be it.

As your laughter finally started to die down, you glanced back toward the stage, still riding the high of the moment. And that’s when you saw him—Remy. He was looking straight at you from the stage, his dark eyes locked onto yours. A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face, like he’d seen the whole thing, like he knew exactly what had just happened.

For a second, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you—his grin, your flushed cheeks, and the thrum of the music vibrating in the air around you. There was something in his gaze, something that made your pulse quicken again, but not in anger this time. No, this was different.

Nat nudged you with her elbow, a knowing smirk on her face. "Looks like someone’s got an admirer," she teased.

You rolled your eyes, but the grin on your own face was impossible to hide. Maybe this night wasn’t so bad after all. The concert had ended, but the adrenaline from the night still buzzed through your veins like an electric current. You and Nat were stumbling out of the packed venue, laughing uncontrollably, replaying the entire night’s events in your heads. The music still echoed in your ears, and your bodies still thrummed with the energy of the crowd, the lights, and that moment when you’d dumped your drink over your ex’s head. It had been perfect—like something out of a movie—and you couldn’t stop laughing at the sheer audacity of it all.

"Did you see his face?" Nat cackled, leaning against you as you both pushed through the departing crowd. "Like, I don’t think he’s ever been so shocked in his life. You actually—" she paused, wiping a tear from her eye, "—you fucking drowned him!"

You were still giggling, the satisfaction blooming in your chest. "I mean, he deserved it. Who brings the girl they cheated with to the same concert as their ex? I did him a favor, honestly." Nat was about to respond when you both noticed the man pushing his way through the sea of people toward you. He was hard to miss: a burly, balding guy in a black shirt, wearing a lanyard and an earpiece, the telltale signs of venue security. The sight of him was enough to send a jolt of panic through your body, and you instinctively grabbed Nat’s arm.

You exchanged a look—both of you wide-eyed with matching oh shit expressions. There was no way this wasn’t about what had just happened at the bar. Shit, shit, shit.

"Uh, what do we do?" you whispered under your breath, trying to calculate your chances of slipping away unnoticed. But it was too late. The security guard had already spotted you.

He stopped in front of you, his eyes narrowing as he sized you up, clearly annoyed but not quite angry. He exhaled sharply and jerked his head toward the back of the venue. "Come with me," he said, his voice gruff, leaving no room for argument.

You and Nat exchanged another glance, this time your heart sinking. Oh, great. Here we go. You opened your mouth to protest, trying to play it cool. "Uh, yeah, I don’t really go anywhere with strange men. Learned that one a long time ago."

The security guard rolled his eyes so hard you worried they might get stuck. "Mr. LeBeau wants to see you," he said, his voice low but firm, like he had better things to do than argue with you.

That stopped you cold. "What?" you said, blinking, any thoughts of running or playing dumb immediately evaporating. Your brain tried to catch up with the words, but they didn’t make sense. "Mr. LeBeau" as in... Remy LeBeau? The Remy LeBeau who had been up on stage not twenty minutes ago, singing his heart out, making the entire venue lose their minds?

Nat’s eyes widened as she grabbed your arm. "Wait, wait, wait," she said, clearly as stunned as you were. "Like, Remy Remy? The guy we just watched? Wants to see... us?"

The security guard gave a curt nod, clearly unimpressed by your confusion. "Yeah. He saw what you did at the bar." He smirked a little, like he couldn’t help but be amused by the whole situation. "Said it was the highlight of his night."

Your heart was pounding now, but for an entirely different reason. You could still picture Remy’s face from earlier, that moment after you’d drenched your ex. He’d been singing, but he’d seen you—grinning down from the stage with a mischievous glint in his eyes, like he was in on the joke. And now he wanted to see you. You.

Nat was already tugging at your arm. "Holy shit, we have to go," she whispered, her voice barely containing her excitement. "Are you kidding me? The man himself wants to meet you!"

Your mind was spinning, a dizzy mix of excitement and disbelief swirling in your chest. You couldn’t help but feel like this was some kind of fever dream. A few hours ago, you’d been sitting in a café getting dumped by your ex, and now... now you were about to meet a rockstar. The rockstar.

You swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts. "Okay," you said, your voice shaky but determined. There was no way you were going to pass this up. Not after everything that had happened tonight. "Okay, let’s go."

The security guard turned on his heel and led the way, weaving through the last remnants of the crowd as you and Nat followed closely behind. You could feel your heart racing, your palms slightly sweaty as you tried to process what was about to happen.

"Remy LeBeau," Nat whispered, half to herself, half to you, as you walked. "Dude, what the hell is even happening right now?"

"I have no idea," you muttered, glancing down at your outfit, suddenly feeling both excited and self-conscious. The adrenaline from earlier was still humming through your veins, but now it had turned into something else. Nerves. Anticipation.

The security guard stopped at a door near the back of the venue, nodding to another guard who waved you through without hesitation. You stepped inside, and the noise of the venue faded behind you, replaced by the quieter, more intimate hum of the backstage area. The walls were lined with posters and equipment cases, and there was a faint smell of cigarette smoke and sweat lingering in the air.

And then, there he was.

Remy LeBeau.

He stood near the back of the room, leaning casually against a table as if he hadn’t just performed in front of hundreds of people. His dark hair was still damp with sweat, and he had a half-smile on his lips, that same mischievous look in his eyes that you’d noticed from the stage. He was just as magnetic up close as he had been from afar, his presence filling the room without even trying.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice smooth and rich with a hint of amusement. "Th’ girl who made my night." His eyes flicked over to Nat, acknowledging her but clearly focused on you. "An’ her partner in crime, I assume?"

You couldn’t help but smile, a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling up inside of you. "Uh, yeah, that was... me," you said, trying to play it cool but knowing full well you were probably failing miserably.

Remy chuckled, the sound low and warm, and pushed off the table, walking toward you with an easy confidence. "I got’ta say," he continued, "I’ve seen a’lo’ of crazy shit in my time, but tha’..." He shook his head, grinning. "Tha’ was somethin’ special."

Nat nudged you, her eyes wide with excitement, and you could feel your face flush with a mix of pride and embarrassment. "Thanks," you said, your voice a little breathless. "It felt pretty damn good."

Remy raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "Y’re a firecracker, aren’ y’?" He glanced between you and Nat, then back at you. "I like tha’."

For a moment, you just stood there, not entirely sure what to say. This was surreal. You were standing in front of Remy LeBeau, who had not only witnessed your dramatic confrontation with your ex but had actually enjoyed it. And now he was talking to you like you were the most interesting person in the room.

Nat, as usual, broke the silence first. "So, uh, what now?" she asked, grinning from ear to ear.

Remy tilted his head, still watching you with that same mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, I wa’ thinkin’," he said slowly, "y’ two seem like the kin’a girls who know how t’ have a good time. And I’m not quite ready for the night t’ end." He flashed a grin. "What do y’ say we grab a drink? My treat."

Your heart skipped a beat. This night just kept getting more and more unbelievable. You glanced at Nat, who was practically vibrating with excitement, and then back at Remy.

"Yeah," you said, a smile spreading across your face. "We’d love that." The night had a dreamlike quality to it, a hazy mix of laughter, music still buzzing in your ears, and the steady pulse of alcohol warming your veins. You and Nat found yourselves sitting with the band long after most of the crowd had cleared out, the afterglow of the concert still lingering in the air. Empty bottles were strewn across the table, and the conversation was flowing easily, Nat animatedly explaining something to the drummer and bassist, her hands gesturing wildly, drawing out laughter from everyone around her.

But even amidst the easy banter, the shared stories, and the laughter, you could feel it—him. Remy’s eyes on you. The weight of his gaze was almost tangible, like a heat that lingered on your skin. You were talking to the guitarist about some band you’d both seen live a few years ago, your conversation relaxed and casual, but every so often, you’d glance up, and there he’d be. Watching you.

Remy LeBeau.

There was something about him that pulled people in, a quiet magnetism that didn’t demand attention so much as command it. He wasn’t the type to shout or make a spectacle of himself, but when his eyes locked on you, it was as if everything else in the room faded away. He didn’t need to do anything more than smirk, that small, knowing curve of his lips, and it was enough to make your heart skip a beat. It wasn’t just because he was a rockstar—though that certainly didn’t hurt. No, it was something deeper. Something in the way he carried himself, like he knew exactly who he was and didn’t apologize for it.

And now, he was watching you, that same smirk playing on his lips, like he knew something you didn’t. You tried to focus on what the guitarist was saying, but it was impossible to ignore the heat creeping up your neck, the flutter in your stomach every time you caught Remy’s gaze.

It wasn’t long before Remy made his way over to you, slipping into the seat beside you with a kind of effortless grace. The guitarist gave him a nod and, sensing the shift in energy, excused himself to grab another drink, leaving you alone with Remy.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The room was still buzzing with energy, Nat’s laughter ringing out from across the table as she leaned into the drummer, her legs now casually draped over his thighs, his thumbs tracing lazy circles along her calves. You smiled at the sight of her, happy that she was enjoying herself. But when you turned back to Remy, your breath caught in your throat. He was closer now, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering hints of sweat from the concert.

He wasn’t looking at anyone else. Just you.

"Y’ having a good nigh’?" he asked, his voice low and smooth, like velvet brushed against your skin.

You nodded, trying to keep your voice steady despite the sudden rush of nerves. "Yeah. Better than I expected, honestly."

"Tha’ so?" He smiled, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. "Didn’ think y’d end up backstage with a bunch of rockstars, huh?"

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "No, definitely didn’t see that coming. I thought I’d spend the night drowning in cheap drinks and bad memories. Maybe even getting arrested for assault after the bar incident," You glanced briefly at Nat, still lost in her own world, then back at him. "But this... this is way better."

Remy’s eyes softened for a moment, his smirk giving way to something a little more genuine. "Good. Y’ deserve better th’ bad memories and shit ex-boyfrien’s."

There was something about the way he said it that made your heart skip a beat. You weren’t sure if it was the tequila or the way his voice wrapped around the words like a promise, but suddenly, the room felt smaller, the space between you and him charged with an undercurrent of something unspoken.

You took a sip of your drink, trying to calm the rush of emotions swirling inside you. "So, you always invite girls backstage who pour drinks on their exes?" you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Remy chuckled, leaning back slightly, but his eyes never left yours. "No’ always. But y’... well, y’ caught my attention."

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a spark of boldness rise within you. "Oh yeah? What was it? The drink? The fishnets?"

He grinned, his eyes darkening slightly as he tilted his head. "Maybe it was the way y’ didn’ let him get th’ last word. Or maybe it’s th’ way you carry y’self, like y’ve got fire in y’." His voice lowered, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "I like that."

The air between you shifted, the playful banter giving way to something heavier, more charged. You could feel the tension, thick and palpable, hanging between you like a thread waiting to snap.

You glanced down at your drink, suddenly aware of how close he was, how his leg was brushing against yours under the table. The room was still full of people, but it felt like the two of you were in a bubble, separate from everything else. Your pulse quickened, and when you looked back up at him, you could tell from the look in his eyes that he felt it too.

There was a moment of silence, the kind that stretches out endlessly, where you’re not sure what’s going to happen but you know something is. You could feel the question lingering in the air—unspoken, but loud enough to drown out everything else.

And then, as if the decision had already been made, Remy leaned in just slightly, his voice low and rough. "Y’ wanna get out of here?"

It wasn’t a question so much as an invitation, one that hung between you like a challenge. Your heart was pounding now, your palms slightly sweaty as you held his gaze. You knew what he was asking, knew exactly where this was going. And despite the chaos of the night, despite the whirlwind of emotions that had started with seeing your ex, there was no hesitation in your mind.

You wanted this.

You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah. I do."

Remy’s smirk deepened, and without another word, he stood up, offering you his hand. You glanced over at Nat, who was still wrapped up with the drummer, her legs now fully draped across his lap, lost in her own world. She caught your eye for a brief moment and gave you a knowing grin, mouthing, Go.

You took Remy’s hand, letting him guide you through the backstage corridors, the noise of the room fading behind you as you walked. The air felt cooler as you moved away from the crowd, but the heat between the two of you only intensified with each step.

By the time you reached the door to his dressing room, your heart was racing so fast it felt like it might burst out of your chest. Every step you took down the corridor had been charged with anticipation, your pulse quickening with each second, each unspoken word between you and Remy. You could still feel the lingering heat of the room you'd just left, still hear the faint hum of voices and music filtering through the walls, but it all felt so distant now—like the world outside had shrunk, leaving just the two of you in this bubble of heightened energy and unspoken desire.

Remy opened the door with an easy grace, his hand lingering on the handle as he gestured for you to step inside. The room was dimly lit, just the soft glow of a lamp in the corner casting warm, golden light over the space. There was no harshness, no coldness—it felt intimate, like a place where secrets could be shared and moments could stretch into forever. The air in the room was cooler than the heat of the venue, but it was thick with something else, something palpable between you, something that had been building all night.

As you stepped inside, you could feel the weight of the moment settling over you, a bittersweet mix of nerves and excitement surging through your veins. The door clicked shut behind you, and the faint sounds of the distant music were muted, leaving only a soft hum in the background. It felt like a cocoon, a space where the outside world no longer existed, where the chaos and noise of the night couldn’t reach you.

You turned to face him, and that fragile tension—so carefully held in check since the moment you had caught him watching you from the stage—finally snapped. The charged atmosphere between you suddenly ignited, and in the span of a breath, Remy closed the distance between you. His movements were deliberate but urgent, a man who had been waiting for this as much as you had. His hands, strong and sure, slid around your waist, pulling you close, the warmth of his body pressing against yours.

Then, his lips found yours.

The kiss was soft at first, testing, as if both of you were feeling out the boundaries of this moment. But it didn’t stay soft for long. The urgency that had been simmering beneath the surface began to rise, like a flame fanned by a gust of wind. His lips pressed harder against yours, and your hands instinctively reached for him, fingers tangling in his dark hair as you pulled him closer, needing him closer. His breath hitched as your fingers slid through the strands, and you could feel the way his body responded to your touch, the way his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him.

And just like that, everything else fell away.

The music, the crowd, the chaos of the night—it all melted into the background, like a distant memory that no longer mattered. All that existed was the heat between your bodies, the taste of him on your lips, the way his hands roamed over your back, exploring, wanting. Each kiss, each touch, sent sparks of electricity shooting through you, lighting up every nerve, every inch of your skin. It was overwhelming in the best way possible, like the night had been building to this moment all along.

You weren’t thinking about your ex anymore. He had been nothing more than a brief, bitter distraction, a fleeting shadow that had been erased by the intensity of what was happening now. You weren’t thinking about the way his arm had been slung around her shoulders, or the way they had laughed as if you didn’t exist. That whole mess, that entire chapter of your life, felt miles away—insignificant in the face of what you were feeling now.

All you could focus on was Remy—the way his hands moved over your skin, the way his breath came in short, shallow bursts between kisses. His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then down to your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it against his chest, but you didn’t care. You had never felt so alive, so seen, as you did in that moment, with him.

There was something intoxicating about the way he touched you, like he was both savoring every second and barely able to contain himself. His fingers slid under the hem of your shirt, the warmth of his skin against yours sending another jolt through your body. Your breath caught in your throat, and when his lips found yours again, it was like the world tilted on its axis, spinning faster, pulling you deeper into the gravity of this moment.

Time seemed to stretch, to bend around you, making every second feel heavy with possibility. You could feel the weight of his desire in the way he kissed you, in the way his hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, closer—like he couldn’t get enough. And the truth was, you didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want this moment to end.

Your back hit the wall gently, and before you knew it, his body was pressed against yours, his hands framing your face as he kissed you with a hunger that matched your own. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his chest rose and fell in time with your own ragged breaths. It was all-consuming, the kind of connection that made everything else fade into oblivion.

For the first time in a long time, you felt free—untethered from the weight of your past, from the pain of your ex, from the expectations you had placed on yourself. With Remy, it was different. It was easy. It was exactly what you hadn’t realized you needed.

And as his hands slid lower, his lips brushing against your ear, whispering something low and full of promise, you let go completely, surrendering to the moment, to him. “Fuck,” Remy muttered, his voice thick with lust, dripping with raw desire. His accent was heavier now, his words rolling off his tongue like a prayer, one meant only for you. “Y’re so fucking beautiful.”

The room around you seemed to fade, the dim lighting casting long shadows along the walls, isolating the two of you in this moment. His words sent a shiver down your spine, your pulse quickening as heat pooled low in your stomach. Your breaths were shallow, your heart pounding in your chest, but before you could even muster a response, Remy’s hands were on your thighs.

Strong, calloused hands slid up your legs, pushing them apart with deliberate ease, his touch firm but gentle, like he was savoring every second. Time seemed to slow as he sank to his knees before you, his body lowering gracefully, and the sight of him—Remy LeBeau, on his knees for you—made your heart stutter in your chest. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of hunger, lips parted slightly, and you sucked in a breath. There was something primal in his gaze, something that made you feel like you were the only thing in the world he wanted at this moment.

You gasped as his fingers found the edge of your shorts, teasing the fabric aside as he slipped beneath the hem, his fingertips brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The touch was light, almost teasing, but it sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core, your body responding instantly to his proximity, to the heat of his breath against your skin.

"Remy," you breathed, your voice barely audible, strained and shaky, trembling with need. Your eyes locked onto his, and the way he looked up at you—kneeling before you like a worshipper at an altar—made your knees weak.

He grinned, that familiar, wicked curve of his lips that drove you wild, and without breaking eye contact, his fingers dipped further, tracing soft circles along your inner thigh, inching closer to where you needed him most. Your breath hitched in your throat, anticipation running hot through your veins, every nerve ending in your body attuned to his touch.

With one swift motion, his fingers slid beneath your shorts and into your underwear, finding the wetness between your legs, and you gasped at the sensation. His touch was confident, practiced, knowing. He pressed his fingers against your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you cry out. Your hips jerked involuntarily toward him, your body desperate for more, for everything he was giving you.

"So wet," he murmured, his voice a low growl, the words vibrating against your skin. The sound of it sent another wave of heat coursing through you. His head tilted slightly as he watched your reaction, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “So ready for me.”

You couldn’t even find the words to respond, your mind lost in the haze of pleasure as his fingers continued their slow, deliberate rhythm. His thumb circled your clit in torturously slow strokes, each movement sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. You could feel the tension building inside you, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. Your hands flew to his shoulders, fingers gripping tightly, nails digging into his skin as you tried to ground yourself against the overwhelming sensations.

Your body was trembling, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. You were right on the edge, teetering there, your thighs trembling against his hands, your entire body aching with the need to come. You could feel it building, that sweet, aching pressure deep in your core, and you moaned, your voice a broken plea.

But just when you were about to tip over into bliss, Remy’s fingers withdrew, leaving you gasping, your body trembling, your mind reeling from the sudden loss of contact. You opened your eyes, half-lidded and dazed, your body still throbbing with need, and you stared down at him, your chest heaving.

"Please," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desperation, your hands tightening on his shoulders. "Don’t stop." You could barely form the words, your body crying out for more, for him.

Remy’s lips curled into a wicked smile, his eyes dark with amusement and promise as he slowly stood, his body towering over you now, casting a long shadow in the dim light. His fingers, still slick with you, brushed against your lip for the briefest moment before he wiped them on his jeans, never once breaking eye contact. There was something predatory in the way he looked at you, something that made your pulse quicken all over again, your body aching for him to finish what he’d started.

“Oh, I’m far from done with you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with sinful promise, each word sending shivers down your spine. He reached down, his hand brushing your cheek for a moment, the touch strangely tender considering the hunger in his eyes. Then his fingers slid down your jaw, tracing the line of your neck, lingering there as if feeling your pulse race beneath his fingertips.

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as his hand moved lower, over your collarbone, down the curve of your chest, before settling at the hem of your shirt. He tugged at it gently, his eyes flicking to yours, silently asking for permission. Your breath caught in your throat, but you nodded, your body already aching for more of him, already craving the feel of his skin against yours.

In one fluid motion, he lifted your shirt over your head, casting it aside without a second thought. You were bare before him now, and the way his eyes roamed over your body, dark and intense, made your skin flush with heat. He stepped closer, so close that you could feel his breath, warm and heavy against your skin.

His hands, large and sure, moved to your waist, pulling you toward him, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was deep and demanding. His mouth was hot against yours, his tongue sliding between your lips, and you moaned into the kiss, your hands gripping his arms, feeling the muscles flex beneath your fingers as he held you close.

The kiss deepened, turning more urgent, more desperate, as your bodies pressed together, the heat between you growing unbearable. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel how hard he was through his jeans, his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh. The friction sent another wave of desire crashing through you, and you arched into him, your body begging for more.

Remy broke the kiss, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "I’m gonn’ make y’ scream my name tonight." His voice was a low growl, full of promise, and the sound of it made your core tighten with anticipation.

You were already lost to him, already craving everything he had promised. Your body trembled with the need to feel him inside you, to have him everywhere all at once. You could barely think, barely breathe, as he guided you backward toward the couch, his hands never leaving your body, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, over your chest, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

When your legs hit the edge of the couch, you sank down onto it, your body trembling with anticipation. Remy stood over you for a moment, his eyes raking over your body with a look that was nothing short of ravenous. He made quick work of his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside, and your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him—his chest broad, his muscles taut, every inch of him exuding raw, masculine power.

He lowered himself onto the couch, his body pressing against yours, his lips finding your skin once more. The weight of him, the feel of his bare skin against yours, sent another wave of desire crashing through you. His hands roamed freely now, exploring every inch of you, and you arched into his touch, your body aching for more, for everything he had to give. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve, every dip, with a possessive intensity that made your heart race and your breath catch in your throat. There was something about the way Remy touched you—like he was memorizing you, staking his claim with every brush of his fingers. His palms slid up your sides, tracing the lines of your body, before cupping your breasts. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, slow at first, teasing, until they hardened into tight peaks beneath his touch. The sensation pulled a low moan from your lips, your back arching involuntarily as you pressed yourself against him, craving more.

His mouth was on yours again, hungry and insistent, his tongue moving against yours in a dance that was equal parts dominance and submission. It was a battle for control, one you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to win. The heat between you was palpable, thick in the air, making it hard to think, hard to breathe. Every kiss, every touch, was like gasoline poured on an already roaring fire, and you were both more than willing to let it burn.

"Y; taste so good," Remy murmured against your lips, his voice rough and gravelly, thick with desire. His breath was hot as it ghosted over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

His words made your pulse quicken, a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your stomach. Before you could respond, his hand began its descent, sliding down your body with deliberate slowness. His fingers skimmed over your stomach, teasing the waistband of your shorts, and then dipping beneath it, his touch featherlight but full of promise. The anticipation made your thighs clench, your body aching for him to touch you where you needed him most.

When his fingers finally slipped beneath your panties, finding your slick folds, you gasped, your hips instinctively lifting toward him. The sensation was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core as his fingers began to move, stroking you with expert precision. He found your clit almost immediately, circling it with his thumb in slow, deliberate movements that made your breath hitch and your body tremble.

"Remy," you gasped, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, your voice trembling as he touched you. His fingers pressed deeper, probing, seeking out the most sensitive spots, and your body responded instantly, arching into his hand, desperate for more.

He watched you as he worked, his eyes dark and filled with lust, taking in every reaction, every gasp, every moan. There was something almost predatory in the way he looked at you, like he was savoring the sight of you unraveling beneath him. His thumb moved faster now, circling your clit with a pressure that was both perfect and overwhelming, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge, your body trembling as the pleasure built higher and higher.

"Please…" you whimpered, your voice breaking as you felt yourself getting closer, your entire body taut with anticipation, teetering on the edge of release.

But just as you were about to tip over, Remy pulled back, his fingers slipping away, leaving you gasping, your body aching with need. Your eyes flew open, wide and desperate, and you looked up at him, your chest heaving, your pulse pounding in your ears.

"Beg f’r it," he commanded, his voice low and rough, filled with a dark, commanding edge that sent a shiver down your spine. His gaze was intense, his lips curled into a wicked smile, and for a moment, your pride flared up, making you hesitate. But the need was too strong, too overwhelming, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out of you.

"Please, Remy," you whispered, your voice trembling, your body trembling. "Please, make me come."

There was a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes, his smile widening as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin. "Tha’ my girl," he murmured, his voice dripping with approval, and then his mouth was on you.

He slid down your body, positioning himself between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs as he removed your shorts, leaving you fully exposed to him. You barely had time to catch your breath before his mouth descended on your throbbing clit, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves with a speed and precision that made you cry out. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the dark strands as you held on for dear life, your body trembling beneath the onslaught of sensation.

Remy devoured you like a man starved, his tongue working you with an intensity that bordered on desperate. He alternated between long, slow licks and quick, precise flicks of his tongue, driving you absolutely wild with need. Your hips bucked against him, your body moving on its own as you chased the pleasure, the tension inside you building higher and higher with every stroke of his tongue.

"Fuck," you gasped, your voice barely coherent, your body trembling uncontrollably as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. It was too much, too intense, and yet you didn’t want it to stop. You were desperate for release, your thighs shaking, your nerves singing with pleasure as his tongue moved faster, pushing you right to the brink.

"Remy," you whimpered, your voice high and desperate, your grip on his hair tightening as your body tensed. "I’m gonna—"

He didn’t let up. His tongue continued its relentless assault, flicking over your clit with a speed and precision that left you gasping for breath. He was merciless, pushing you closer and closer until finally, with a shuddering gasp, you came. The orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing over you and pulling you under, your body convulsing as the pleasure ripped through you in uncontrollable, shuddering waves.

You cried out, your vision blurring as the intensity of it overwhelmed you, your entire body trembling beneath his touch. But Remy didn’t stop. His tongue kept moving, softer now but still persistent, drawing out every last bit of your orgasm until you were left gasping, your chest heaving, your heart pounding in your ears.

You were barely aware of your surroundings as you came down from the high, your body still trembling, your thighs slick with sweat and the aftermath of your release. Remy’s hands slid up your legs, soothing now, his touch gentle as he kissed his way up your stomach, his lips soft and warm against your skin.

When he finally reached your mouth, he kissed you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours in a lazy, unhurried way that sent a new wave of heat through your body. You could taste yourself on his lips, a reminder of what had just happened, and it made your already racing heart pound even harder.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath, his eyes dark and full of desire as he looked down at you. "I’m not done with y’ yet," he murmured, his voice low and full of promise.

You swallowed hard, your body still humming with the remnants of your orgasm, but the hunger in his eyes sent another jolt of anticipation through you. You knew he meant every word, and as he leaned in to kiss you again, you realized you didn’t want him to stop.

Not tonight. Not ever. He held your gaze, eyes dark and unyielding, the weight of his presence suffocating in the most delicious way. His body was close, too close, the heat rolling off him in waves that made your skin prickle with anticipation. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, gravelly growl that sent shivers racing down your spine.

"Tell me what y’ wan’."

The command hung in the air, thick and heavy, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Your heart thundered in your chest, the words you desperately wanted to say caught in your throat. But his gaze was relentless, pinning you in place, demanding your confession. You swallowed hard, your breath shaky as you finally gave in to the desire burning inside you.

"I want…" you hesitated, the flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck, but the raw need in his eyes pushed you forward. "I want you to spank me," you whispered, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I want you to be my Daddy."

A slow, predatory smile curled at the corner of his lips, sending a thrill of anticipation through you. He moved closer, his body pressing into yours, pinning you against the soft cushions of the couch. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes made the air feel thick and heavy.

"Tha’s my girl," he murmured, his voice rough but filled with unmistakable pride. The praise wrapped around you like a warm blanket, making your skin tingle. "Y’re going to be such a good girl fo’ Daddy, aren’ y’?"

Your throat was tight, but you nodded, barely able to get the words out. "Yes, Daddy." His smile widened, a dark, possessive gleam flashing in his eyes as his hands slid slowly down your body, fingertips grazing your skin with deliberate intent. Each touch sent a ripple of anticipation through you, the tension between you growing thicker by the second. He pulled back just enough to take in the sight of you, his gaze roaming over your body as though you were his to command—and you were.

“Bend over,” he ordered, his voice low, authoritative, and laced with a hunger that made your pulse quicken.

You stood up, the cool air brushing against your skin, making you feel exposed in the most thrilling way. But there was no hesitation in your movements. You held his gaze, a small, teasing smile curling at the corners of your lips as you obeyed, the desire in his eyes only fueling the heat pooling deep in your stomach. The intensity of his stare, the hunger he didn’t bother to hide, made your body hum with anticipation.

"You ready for Daddy?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that made your core tighten with need.

You nodded, your breath coming in short bursts as you braced yourself, your hands gripping the cushions beneath you. The tension coiled in your muscles, every nerve on high alert as you waited for the first strike.

The first slap landed with a sharp crack, the sound echoing through the room. The sting of it spread across your ass, sharp and hot, and you gasped, your body jerking forward from the force. But there was no time to adjust, no time to catch your breath—his hand was already coming down again, harder this time.

The rhythm he set was punishing, each slap harder than the last, the sharp pain blending beautifully into the growing pleasure. Your skin burned where his hand struck, the heat blooming in waves that spread through your entire body. You moaned, your hips lifting instinctively, pushing back toward him, craving more.

"Such a good girl," he murmured, his voice soothing but firm, like he was rewarding your submission even as his hand came down again. "Taking it so well for Daddy."

The praise made your chest tighten with something heady and warm, your core throbbing with need. You could feel the wetness between your thighs growing, the ache there intensifying with each slap. The mix of pain and pleasure, of his control and your willingness to submit, was intoxicating. Your mind was spinning, lost in the haze of sensation as your body trembled beneath him.

You whimpered, your skin tingling with every strike, the heat radiating from your ass as his hand continued its relentless assault. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, punctuated by your gasps and moans. The pain was delicious, sharp and biting, but it only fueled the fire burning inside you.

Remy’s hand finally stilled, resting against your heated skin, his fingers brushing over the marks he’d left. The gentleness of his touch after the punishment made your breath hitch, sending another wave of arousal through you. You could feel your body trembling, teetering on the edge of something raw and powerful.

"Turn around," he commanded, his voice low and rough, leaving no room for argument.

Your legs were shaking as you obeyed, turning to face him on the couch. Your heart raced, your body still buzzing from the spanking as you looked up at him. His eyes were dark, filled with an intensity that made your chest tighten. He looked down at you like you were his possession, something precious and fragile but also something he could break if he wanted to.

"Daddy’s proud of y’" he murmured, his voice soft, almost tender. The words sent a ripple of warmth through you, making your skin flush with pride. But then his expression shifted, darkening with a hunger that made your breath catch in your throat. "But Daddy needs to hear y’ beg."

Your breath hitched, your body trembling as you looked up at him, your mind spinning with the mixture of fear and anticipation. The weight of his command hung heavy in the air, and you knew there was no escaping it. You wanted to beg. Needed to.

"Please, Daddy," you whispered, your voice trembling with desperation. "Please, make me come."

A slow, wicked smile spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he stepped closer, looming over you. His hand reached out, fingers brushing over your cheek before trailing down to your throat. His grip was firm but gentle as his fingers curled around your neck, his thumb brushing over the rapid pulse at your throat.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice low and filled with approval. The words he spoke made your heart swell, a warmth spreading through your chest that left you feeling both vulnerable and powerful at the same time. You were his, completely in this moment, but knowing that you still held the reins—that he was listening, that he would stop if you asked—made your body tingle with anticipation. His grip tightened ever so slightly, just enough for your breath to hitch, and the sensation sent a jolt of electricity through you. Every nerve in your body was alight, your skin buzzing with the promise of what was to come.

"Just let me know if you need me to stop. You double tap if you need me to stop," he said softly, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through you. The reassurance grounded you, a reminder that despite the intensity, this was still your choice. The control you had over the situation only made your submission all the more intoxicating. You wanted this, craved it, and he knew it.

The sensation of his hand around your throat was overwhelming, the pressure making your pulse race beneath his fingers. It wasn’t just about the physicality of it—it was the power in his touch, the way it made you feel utterly exposed and completely his. Your body responded instantly, a flood of heat pooling between your legs as his thumb brushed over your pulse. The world felt smaller, quieter, like nothing existed outside of this moment, outside of the way his hand made you submit so completely.

His breath was hot against your ear, his voice a low, commanding whisper that made your stomach tighten with desire. "I wan’ta see those pretty eyes on me when you beg, baby."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, your body trembling at the raw hunger in his voice. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension thick in the air as you struggled to catch your breath. His grip on your throat tightened just enough to make your vision blur at the edges, and your eyes fluttered open, meeting his.

"Look a’ me," he growled, his voice low and demanding, and the way he said it made your heart lurch in your chest.

Your gaze locked with his, and the intensity in his eyes made the air feel heavy, like it was pressing down on you. His eyes were dark, filled with fierce possession, and the look he gave you made your entire body hum with need. Your breath came in short, shaky bursts, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggled to hold his gaze. It was almost too much, the way he looked at you—like he owned you, like he wanted to consume you whole.

The pressure of his hand around your throat made your head spin, a dizzying mixture of fear and desire swirling inside you. You gasped, your hands instinctively flying to his wrist, but you didn’t want him to stop. The sensation was overwhelming, the heat between your legs growing unbearable as your body throbbed with anticipation. The world outside felt distant, unimportant, as you focused entirely on the feeling of his hand on your throat, on the way your body responded to his touch.

"Beg," he growled, his voice thick with authority, the single word sending a wave of heat crashing through you. "Beg Daddy to make y’ come."

You whimpered, your voice barely a whisper as you struggled to find the words. The need inside you was overwhelming, consuming, and all you could think about was how much you wanted him, how much you needed him. "Please," you gasped, your voice shaking as his grip tightened just a little more. "Please, Daddy… I need you. Please make me come."

The satisfaction in his eyes was immediate, unmistakable. His thumb brushed over your pulse, feeling the frantic beating of your heart beneath his fingers as he loosened his grip just enough for you to breathe again. His mouth curled into a dark, satisfied smile, his gaze never leaving yours as he watched the way you trembled beneath him.

"Oh you beautiful girl," he murmured, his voice dripping with pride and approval. The praise sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, your body reacting to his words as much as his touch. His hand moved from your throat, trailing down your body, his fingers brushing over every inch of bare skin with deliberate slowness, like he was savoring the way you shivered beneath him.

He sank to his knees between your legs, and the anticipation made your breath catch in your throat. You barely had time to process the shift before his mouth was on you, his tongue flicking over your clit with a precision that made your body jerk in response. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers curling into the dark strands as you held on, desperate for more.

The way his tongue moved—deliberate, intense, relentless—was driving you wild. Each flick, each stroke, sent you spiraling higher, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you struggled to hold yourself together. Your body was trembling, your thighs shaking as he worked you with expert precision, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place as you squirmed beneath him.

"Remy," you whimpered, your voice high and desperate as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. "I’m gonna—"

But he didn’t stop. His mouth continued its assault, his tongue flicking over your clit with unrelenting speed, pushing you closer and closer to the edge until, with a final flick of his tongue, you came undone. The orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing over you with a force that left you gasping for air, your body convulsing as the pleasure tore through you.

"That’s it," he murmured, his voice soothing, grounding you as you came down from the high. "Take it, baby. Take everything Daddy gives you."

Each word was like a balm, softening the sharp edges of your pleasure, grounding you as the intensity began to fade. But your body was still trembling, still humming with the aftershocks of the orgasm, and you could feel the heat between your legs still pulsing with need.

Your heart was still racing, your body trembling from the echo of the last orgasm, but the hunger in his eyes told you this wasn’t over. Far from it. The kiss he gave you was searing, possessive, but it was also a promise—one that left you breathless and aching for more. His hands still roamed your body, slow and deliberate, as if he was mapping out every sensitive spot, every place that made you tremble. You could feel the intensity radiating off him, the way his touch lingered with purpose, pushing you closer to an edge you weren’t sure you were ready to face—but you wanted to, needed to.

He drew back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and filled with something almost predatory. His thumb brushed over your swollen lips, his gaze flicking between your eyes as if searching for a sign. A brief flicker of hesitation crossed his face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same, unwavering confidence. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he was going to take it.

"Y’ can take more," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "I know y’ can. Y’re such a good girl, and I’m not done with y’ yet."

Your breath hitched at his words, the heat in your stomach flaring to life again as your body responded to his command. You nodded, but it wasn’t enough. His grip on your chin tightened, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice firm but laced with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. "Tell me y’ can take it for Daddy."

"I can," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation. "I can take it for you, Daddy."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face, and his grip loosened, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip once more before sliding down your throat, lingering there for a moment as if to remind you of the control he held over your body. The pressure was light, but it was enough to make your pulse quicken, enough to remind you how easy it would be for him to take you further than you’d ever gone before.

"Good girl," he murmured, the words sending a ripple of heat through your body. "Now get on your knees."

His command was simple, but the weight of it was overwhelming. Your legs were still shaky, your body trembling from the intensity of what had just happened, but you obeyed, sliding off the couch and sinking to your knees in front of him. The feeling of the cool floor beneath you contrasted sharply with the heat radiating off your skin, grounding you even as your mind spun with anticipation.

Remy towered over you, his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. He looked down at you, his eyes filled with dark desire, and the way he watched you—like a predator watching its prey—made your heart race even faster. You felt small beneath him, vulnerable, but it only fueled the aching need inside you. You wanted to please him, to give him everything he asked for.

"D’y know what I want, baby?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you.

Your mouth felt dry, your voice barely a whisper as you answered. "No, Daddy. Tell me."

He chuckled softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "I wan’t see how far I can push y’," he said, his tone dark and full of promise. "I want to see y’ break for me, but y’re going to ask for it. Y’re going to beg me to take y’ there."

The words hit you like a wave, the meaning behind them settling deep in your core. He wasn’t just going to push you—he was going to make you want it, make you beg for it. The thought made your stomach twist with anticipation, the ache between your legs growing unbearable as you knelt before him, waiting for his next move.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, his grip firm but not painful, as he tilted your head up to meet his gaze. "Open y’ mouth," he ordered, his voice soft, but the command in it was unmistakable.

You obeyed without hesitation, parting your lips as you looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The vulnerability of the position you were in, the way he was looking down at you as though he owned you, made your entire body burn with need. You wanted him to take you further, wanted him to push your limits in ways you’d never imagined.

He slid two fingers into your mouth, pressing them down on your tongue as he watched you intently. The taste of his skin was intoxicating, and you closed your lips around his fingers, sucking gently as you gazed up at him with wide, pleading eyes. His grip on your neck tightened slightly, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he watched you.

"That’s it," he murmured, his voice thick with approval. "Such a good girl for Daddy."

Your body responded instantly to the praise, a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you as you sucked harder on his fingers, your tongue swirling around them. His eyes darkened, and you could see the satisfaction in his gaze, the way he was reveling in the control he had over you.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth, leaving you gasping for breath as your lips parted with a soft, wet sound. His thumb brushed over your chin, wiping away the moisture before he tilted your head back further, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Y’re going to beg for this," he said, his voice low and commanding. "’nd y’re not going to stop until I’m ready to give it to y’."

The heat between your legs was unbearable now, your body trembling with need as his words sank in. You wanted to beg, wanted to give him everything he asked for, but your voice felt trapped in your throat, the intensity of the moment making it hard to breathe.

"Please, Daddy," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you looked up at him with wide, desperate eyes. "Please… I need you."

His smile widened, dark and predatory, as he stepped closer, looming over you. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating in the best possible way, and the way he looked down at you made your heart race even faster.

"I know y’ do," he murmured, his voice soft but laced with authority. "But y’’re going to have to work for it, baby. Show me how much y’ want it."

With that, he unzipped his pants, his movements slow and deliberate, giving you just enough time to process what was about to happen. Your heart pounded in your chest, your body trembling with anticipation as he freed himself, his cock hard and thick, the sight of it making your mouth water.

He stroked himself once, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched the way your breath quickened, the way your body responded to the sight of him. Then, without warning, he gripped the back of your neck again, guiding you toward him.

"Open," he commanded, his voice a low growl.

Your lips parted instantly, your body moving on instinct as he guided his cock into your mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, the weight of him heavy on your tongue, and you moaned around him, your body trembling with need as you took him deeper.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with approval as he watched you. "Take it all for Daddy."

You did your best to obey, your throat constricting as he pushed deeper, the sensation making your eyes water. But you didn’t stop—you didn’t want to stop. You wanted to please him, to show him how much you could take.

His grip on your neck tightened as he began to move, thrusting slowly into your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of the moment, the way he was using you, made your body burn with need, the ache between your legs growing unbearable.

"Look at y’," he growled, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Such a good little slut for Daddy."

The words sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your body responding instantly to the degradation. You could feel your pussy throbbing, the need for release consuming you as he continued to thrust into your mouth, each movement pushing you closer to the edge.

You moaned around him, your hands gripping his thighs as you tried to take him deeper, the pleasure and pain blending together in a way that made your head spin. You could feel your body trembling, your vision blurring with the intensity of it all, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

"Beg for it," he growled again, his voice a low, commanding rumble. "Beg Daddy to let you come."

You pulled back just enough to speak, your voice shaking as you looked up at him with wide, desperate eyes. "Please, Daddy," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper. "Please let me come. I need it."

His eyes darkened, his expression filled with satisfaction as he watched you. "Y’ll come when I say y’ can," he growled, his voice thick with authority. "And not a second before."

The words sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you, your body trembling with the need to obey. You didn’t know how much more you could take, but you trusted him to push you to your limit—to give you exactly what you needed, even if you didn’t know what that was yet.

"Now," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low growl as his grip tightened on your neck. "Let’s see how far I can take y’." Remy’s presence loomed over you, dark and intoxicating, his eyes gleaming with something primal, something that made your heart race and your body ache with need. His grip on your neck tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of the control he held over you. The way he looked at you, like he was savoring every second of your submission, sent shivers down your spine.

"Ah, cher," he murmured, his deep Cajun drawl thick and dripping with honey, "you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. You think you’re ready for more, but you gon’ have to beg me real sweet. I wanna hear how much you need it."

His accent wrapped around you like a sultry summer night, the smooth cadence of his voice making the air around you feel heavy and thick. The sound of his words sent a jolt of heat straight to your core, your body reacting instantly to the way his voice dripped with authority, with promise.

"Please," you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked up at him, eyes wide and desperate. "Please, Remy, I need more."

He chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through your entire body. His thumb traced a slow line down the side of your neck, lingering over your pulse point, feeling the frantic beat of your heart beneath his fingers.

"More?" he repeated, his accent lingering on the word, making it sound almost like a tease. His eyes were dark, filled with a hunger that made your stomach flip. "I don’t know if you can handle more, cher. But you gon’ prove it to me, non?"

You nodded quickly, eager, your breath coming in short, shaky bursts as you fought to hold his gaze. Your body was trembling, every nerve alight with anticipation, with the need to be pushed further, to see just how far he could take you.

Remy tilted his head, his smirk widening as he studied you, his thumb pressing a little harder against your throat, just enough to make your breath catch. "Y’ gon’ beg me. Beg me proper. Tell Daddy exactly what y’ need."

Your heart was pounding in your chest, the heat between your legs growing unbearable as his words coiled around you like a snake. The way his accent made every word sound like a command, left you desperate, aching for whatever he was willing to give.

"Please, Daddy," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please push me. I need it. I need you."

His eyes darkened at your words, satisfaction flashing across his face as he released your throat and let his hand trail down your body. His fingers were slow, deliberate, as they traced the curve of your hips, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Bon," he murmured, his voice low and full of approval. "That’s my good girl. Y’ wanna be pushed till y’ can’t take no more, hmm? Y’ wanna see how far Daddy can take y’?"

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as his hand moved lower, teasingly slow, inching toward the heat between your legs. The anticipation was unbearable, your body trembling as you waited for his touch, for him to take control again.

"You gon’ ask for everythin’, cher. Every. Damn. Thing," he growled, his voice thick with his Cajun drawl, each word dripping with dominance. "An’ you ain’t stoppin’ till Daddy says so."

His fingers finally brushed over your clit, and you gasped, your body jolting at the sudden contact. But it wasn’t enough—not nearly enough. You needed more, craved more, and you knew that he was going to make you beg for it.

"Remy," you whimpered, your voice high and needy, your body shaking as his fingers continued their slow, torturous movements. "Please… more."

His lips curled into a wicked grin, his accent thick as honey as he leaned in close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You want more? You gon’ have to work for it. Show me how bad you need it."

He began to circle your clit with maddening slowness, the pressure just enough to drive you wild but not enough to give you relief. The frustration built inside you, your hips instinctively bucking up toward his hand, but he held you firmly in place, his grip on your waist unyielding.

"No, no, cher," he drawled, his voice a low purr. "You don’t get to move till I say so. You gon’ take what I give you, and you gon’ be a good girl while you do it."

The dominance in his voice, the way he controlled every movement, every sensation, made your head spin. You could feel the heat building inside you, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter, but he wasn’t letting you have anything more than a taste. Your body was desperate for release, but you knew he wasn’t going to give it to you without making you beg for it.

"Please," you gasped, your voice breaking as you struggled to keep still beneath him. "Please, Remy, I’ll be good. I’ll do anything—just, please, I need more."

He chuckled again, a dark, rumbling sound that made your skin tingle. "That’s better. But I don’t think y’ beggin’ hard enough, non? I wanna hear y’ cry for me. I wanna hear that desperation."

His fingers pressed harder against your clit, the pressure sending a wave of pleasure through you that made your legs tremble, but still, it wasn’t enough. You needed more, needed him to take you over the edge, to push you further than you’d ever been before.

Your breath hitched, your hands flying to his wrist, but he didn’t let up, didn’t give you an inch of control. You were his, completely, and the knowledge of that made you tremble with need.

"Please, Daddy," you whimpered, your voice trembling as you looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Please make me come. I need it. I need you."

Remy’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched you squirm beneath him. "Ah, there she is," he murmured, his voice thick with approval.

Without warning, he slid two fingers inside you, his thumb pressing hard against your clit as he began to thrust with a relentless, punishing rhythm. The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure building so quickly that it left you gasping for air, your body arching up against him as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

But even as your body trembled, even as the pleasure threatened to consume you, he didn’t let you have it. He kept you right on the edge, his movements precise, controlled, designed to keep you teetering on the brink without ever falling over.

"Y’ feel that?" he growled, his voice low and rough, his accent thick with desire. "Y’ right there, but you don’t get to come till I say so. Y’ gon’ take everythin’ I give y’, an’ y’ gon’ thank me for it."

Your body was shaking, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as you fought to hold on, to stay in control, but it was impossible. The sensation of his fingers inside you, the pressure on your clit, the sound of his voice—it was all too much.

"Please," you cried, your voice breaking as you begged him for release. "Please, Daddy, please let me come. I can’t take it anymore."

Remy’s eyes darkened, his grin widening as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Then come for me, cher," he growled, his accent thick and commanding. "Come for Daddy."

And with that, the coil inside you snapped, the orgasm crashing over you with such force that it left you gasping for air. Your body convulsed, trembling violently as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, leaving you utterly undone beneath him.

"That’s it," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the intensity of your release. "Good girl, bébé. Y’ take what Daddy gives you."

Your vision blurred, your entire body trembling as you rode out the orgasm, your mind spinning with the overwhelming intensity of it all. You barely registered Remy’s thumb brushing over your swollen lips, or the way his grip on your waist tightened, steadying you as you came down from the high.

But even as your body began to relax, even as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through you, you knew that Remy wasn’t done. Not yet.

Remy's eyes burned with a heat that almost made you shy away, but the pull between you two was undeniable. His Cajun accent was thick, dripping with lust as he let out a low, rumbling chuckle that sent a shiver straight down your spine. You knew you were walking on the edge now, and he was about to push you over.

"Ah, cher," he drawled, his voice thick like molasses, rich and smooth, "y’ been beggin' so sweet, but now you gon’ really see what it means to be mine." His hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you close until you could feel his breath ghosting over your lips. "Y’ ready for Daddy to fuck you like you need?"

Your answer came in the form of a ragged breath, your body pulsing with anticipation. Every nerve in your body was alive with the need for him, for the way he controlled you, the way he made you feel like no one else ever could. You nodded, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to hear it from you.

"I asked y’ a question, cher," he murmured, his lips brushing just against the corner of your mouth, teasing you with a kiss he hadn’t yet given. "Tell me what you want."

"Please," you gasped, barely able to form the words as your body trembled under his touch. "Please, Daddy… I need you inside me. I need you to fuck me."

Remy’s eyes darkened, his grip on you tightening as a feral smile tugged at his lips. "Bon," he growled. "That’s what I like to hear."

Without another word, his hands were on you, strong and commanding. He grabbed your hips, pulling you against him with a force that left you breathless. Before you could process it, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you toward the dresser with a confidence that only made the ache between your legs worse.

"Y’ feel that, cher?" he whispered, his voice low and rough, his accent wrapping around you like a caress. "You feel how hard I am for y’?" He ground his hips against you, and you could feel the thick length of him pressing against your core. The sensation made you gasp, your body arching into him as your need for him grew unbearable.

"Remy," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, I can’t wait anymore."

He let out a low, rumbling laugh, his grip tightening on your thighs as he pressed your back against the wall. "Oh, cher, you ain’t gotta wait no more. Daddy’s gon’ give you exactly what you been beggin’ for."

His hands were rough but reverent as they trailed up your thighs, spreading you open as he pinned you against the dresser with his body, completely at his mercy.

"You so wet for me," he murmured, his voice thick with approval. "Been wantin’ this, haven’t ya? Wantin’ Daddy to take care of y’?"

"Yes," you gasped, your body trembling as his fingers brushed over your slick folds. "Please, I need you."

"Shhh," he whispered, his lips grazing your ear. "I got y’, cher. I’m gon’ take care of y’ real good."

With that, he gripped himself, pressing against your entrance. You could feel the heat, the wetness. The anticipation, the need, was almost too much to bear, and you could feel your body trembling with the sheer intensity of it.

"Look at y’," he murmured, his voice low and full of pride as he lined himself up with you, his cock teasing your soaked entrance. "Y’ ready for Daddy, bébé?"

"Yes," you whimpered, your voice breathless with need. "Please, Remy… I need you inside me."

That was all he needed to hear.

With one powerful thrust, he buried himself inside you, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, the fullness of him stretching you in ways that made your head spin. You cried out, your fingers digging into his back as he began to move, each thrust slow and deliberate, designed to push you to your absolute limit.

"Ah, cher," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "Y’feel so fuckin’ good wrapped around me. Y’ were made for this, weren’t ya? Made to take Daddy’s cock."

You could barely form words, the pleasure too intense, too all-consuming as he picked up the pace, his hips slamming against yours with a force that had you gasping for breath.

"Remy," you moaned, your head falling back against the wall as your body arched into him, your legs tightening around his waist. "Oh god…"

"That’s it, bébé," he murmured, his voice low and rough as his hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he thrust into you harder, deeper. "Take it. Take all of me."

The sound of his voice, the way his accent dripped with authority, with ownership, only fueled the fire burning inside you. Your body was trembling, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. The pleasure was overwhelming, every thrust sending shockwaves through your body, bringing you closer to a release that you could feel building inside you like a storm.

"Please," you gasped, your voice trembling as you clung to him. "Please, I’m so close…"

"Not yet, cher," he growled, his grip on your hips tightening as he slowed his pace, teasing you, keeping you right on the edge but not letting you fall. "Y’ don’t come till I say. You gon’ wait for Daddy, you hear me?"

You whimpered, your body trembling with the need for release, but you nodded, knowing that you were his to control, to use as he saw fit.

"Good girl," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "I’m gon’ make y’ scream."

And then he was fucking you in earnest, his pace rough and relentless, each thrust harder and deeper than the last. The sensation was almost too much, the pleasure so intense that it bordered on pain, but it was exactly what you needed. You could feel every inch of him inside you, stretching you, filling you completely, and it was driving you wild.

"Remy," you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body began to shake, the pressure inside you building to a breaking point. "I can’t… I need to come…"

"Y’ gon’ come for me, cher?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous as he pounded into you with a force that had you seeing stars. "Y’ gon’ come on Daddy’s cock?"

"Yes," you gasped, your voice breaking as your body trembled violently, the pleasure too much to hold back any longer. "Please… I’m gonna come…"

"Then come for me, bébé," he growled, his voice thick with command. "Come for Daddy."

With a final, shattering thrust, your body exploded, the orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you breathless, your vision going white as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. You cried out, your body convulsing against him as he held you steady, his hips never stopping as he fucked you through the orgasm, prolonging your pleasure until you were a trembling, gasping mess.

"That’s it, cher," he murmured, his voice full of pride as he watched you fall apart in his arms. "You did so good for Daddy."

Even as the aftershocks of your orgasm rippled through you, Remy didn’t stop. He kept moving, his pace relentless, and you could feel the tension building again inside you, another orgasm already creeping up on you. You didn’t think it was possible to come again so soon, but with Remy, anything was possible.

"One more, bébé," he growled, his voice thick with lust as he thrust into you harder, deeper. "Give me one more."

Your body was trembling, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as he drove you toward another release, his cock filling you completely with every powerful thrust. You could feel the pressure building inside you, the pleasure so intense that it left you gasping for air.

"Remy," you whimpered, your voice trembling as your body began to shake again. "I can’t…"

"Yes, y’ can, cher," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "Y’ gon’ give Daddy one more. Come for me again, bébé."

And just like that, the coil inside you snapped for a second time, the orgasm tearing through you with even more intensity than the first. You cried out, your body convulsing violently as the pleasure consumed you, leaving you breathless and shaking in his arms.

Remy let out a low, rumbling growl as he thrust into you one final time, his body tensing as he found his own release, filling you with a warmth that left you trembling. He held you close, his breath hot against your skin as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm, his grip on you tight and possessive.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the sound of your ragged breathing, the both of you still trembling from the intensity of what had just happened. Remy’s hands were gentle now, soothing as they ran over your skin, grounding you as you came down from the high.

"Y’ did so good, cher," he murmured, his voice soft and full of pride as he kissed your temple. "Daddy’s so proud of y’."

You smiled weakly, your body completely spent but utterly satisfied. You were his, completely, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

"Y’ mine now," he whispered, his Cajun drawl thick with satisfaction. "All mine." <><><><> Remy leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, watching with a lazy smirk as you slowly dressed. His jeans were already on, though still unbuttoned, hanging low on his hips. The room was dimly lit, but he could see the faint redness around your neck, the way your makeup had smudged slightly under your eyes. His gaze lingered for a moment on the torn fishnet stockings you were rolling up, defeated, before tossing them into the wastebasket.

"So, is this what you do?" you asked, a teasing edge to your voice as you glanced at him. "Find girls who amuse you and fuck them into submission?" You arched a brow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Remy’s smirk widened as he stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey. "Only the ones I like," he replied smoothly, his Cajun accent thick and lazy. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he continued, "What about y’, cher? Is this how you normally spend your nights? Pour drinks on your ex and fuck like a rockstar?"

You shrugged, pulling on your shirt and noticing a button missing. With a sigh, you muttered, "Haven't fucked like a rockstar in a while." You tugged at the shirt, frowning at the missing button, and whispered to yourself, "Fuck it."

Without a word, Remy reached over to the floor, grabbed his own shirt, and handed it to you. "Here," he said, the smirk never leaving his face. "They're all used to seein’ me shirtless anyway."

You glanced up at him, a little surprised, but took the shirt, slipping it on. His scent lingered on the fabric, and it felt oddly comforting. As you adjusted the shirt, your eyes trailed over the scratches on his back, the marks you’d left in the heat of the moment. "Sorry about those," you said, your voice softening slightly.

Remy shrugged it off, his smile easy. "Don’t worry ‘bout it. Battle scars, cher. Comes with the territory."

There was a beat of silence, the air still thick with the remnants of your shared passion, but something more serious lingered beneath the surface. You glanced at him, chewing on your bottom lip before speaking again. "It’s funny… me and my ex—we were always trying to match each other’s crazy. But we never really did." You paused, pulling his shirt tighter around you, as if it could shield you from the vulnerability of the confession. "We tried, you know? But it was like… we were on different wavelengths. My crazy was too much for him, and his was never enough for me. We just didn’t fit."

Remy’s expression shifted, the playful smirk fading into something deeper, more thoughtful. He leaned back against the dresser, arms still crossed, but his eyes were locked on yours. "Mmm, I get that," he murmured, his voice low and reflective. "Ain’t easy findin’ someone who matches y’r crazy, cher. Most people, they don’t wanna go there. They don’t wanna dive deep into the wild parts of themselves—or y’. They wanna keep it safe, keep it easy."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. "Exactly. It’s like… they want the thrill, but not the risk. They want the passion without the storm that comes with it."

Remy let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as if he’d heard that story a hundred times before. "Yeah, well," he said, his tone dripping with a mix of amusement and something darker, "I ain’t met anyone yet who could handle my storm. Ain’t found no one who could match me, not all the way."

He paused, his eyes locking onto yours again, and for a moment, the lazy smirk returned to his lips, but there was something different behind it. Something more serious. More real. "That is… until tonight."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you could feel the air between you shift, thickening with something unspoken but undeniable. You didn’t say anything at first, the weight of his gaze holding you in place as the realization of what he was saying sank in.

"Until tonight?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper, not quite sure if you were asking a question or just echoing his words.

Remy’s smirk softened into a smile, his eyes never leaving yours as he closed the distance between you again. His hand found your waist, fingers trailing lightly over your skin as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "Yeah, cher," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "Tonight, I think I found someone who can keep up."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to the quiet intensity in his voice. There was a challenge hidden in his tone, a promise that this wasn’t over—not by a long shot. You could feel the fire between you two still smoldering, waiting for the next spark to set it ablaze again.

You turned to face him fully, your body brushing against his as you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. "You sure about that, Remy?" you asked, your voice soft but steady. "You think I can match your crazy?"

Remy’s eyes darkened, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly as he leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I think you might just be the one to burn me alive."

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with a challenge, with desire, with something neither of you could quite name but both of you could feel. You didn’t need to say anything more—there was no need for words now. The look in his eyes, the way his body pressed against yours, told you everything you needed to know.

Whatever this was between you, it wasn’t over. Not even close.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you’d met someone who was ready to dive into the storm with you, no matter how wild it got. Remy shrugged casually, his eyes still glinting with that lazy, mischievous smile as he leaned back against the dresser. "I’m in town for a few more nights," he said, his voice easy, like he hadn’t just turned your world upside down. "Then I gotta head off to Europe for a tour."

Your brow furrowed, unsure where he was going with this. Before you could ask, he glanced at you through half-lidded eyes, a hint of something more serious behind the playful exterior. "Y’ should come with me."

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head as if you hadn’t heard him right. "Wait, what?" you asked, incredulous. "Are you serious?"

Remy chuckled, that low, rich sound that seemed to rumble from somewhere deep within him. "Yeah, cher, I’m serious. I like y’. A lot." He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours as he continued, "And I think it’s somethin’ I wanna explore."

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you were frozen, unsure how to respond. Your heart skipped a beat, and a million thoughts raced through your mind all at once. Was he really asking you to come with him? To leave everything behind for a whirlwind adventure across Europe? The idea was insane—completely reckless. You barely knew him beyond the fire and intensity of the past few hours. This was Remy LeBeau, the enigmatic Cajun heartthrob who probably had more women than he could count falling at his feet. And yet, there was something in his voice, in the way he was looking at you now, that made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he meant it.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little guarded. You’d heard stories like this before. Men like Remy didn’t just meet girls at bars and whisk them off on romantic tours across Europe. Was this just another game to him? Another notch on his belt?

As if sensing your hesitation, Remy crossed the room to the dresser, pulling out a pen and a small scrap of paper. He scribbled something quickly before handing both over to you. "Here," he said, his voice softening just slightly. "Give me y’r number, cher. Ain’t no pressure, but I’d like to see y’ again. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. Maybe you’ll think about comin’ along after all."

You took the pen, still processing his offer, your fingers brushing against his as you grabbed the paper. A light, teasing smile tugged at your lips as you met his gaze. "What, you got one of these little scraps of paper for every woman at every port?" you quipped, the words coming out more as a joke than an accusation, though you couldn’t help the tiny hint of curiosity behind it.

For the briefest moment, Remy froze. His usual easy smile faltered, and something unreadable flickered in his eyes. You watched as the playful mask he usually wore slipped ever so slightly, revealing something more vulnerable beneath it. Then, after a beat, he shook his head slowly, his expression serious now.

"Nah, cher," he said quietly, his voice losing some of its casual tone. "I ain’t got a woman in every port. I ain’t like that." He paused, his gaze holding yours, searching your face as if trying to make sure you understood. "Yeah, I fuck ‘em. Sure. But I don’t let it get further than that. I don’t… ask for numbers. I don’t ask them to come with me. Never done that before. Y’re different."

You felt your breath catch in your throat as he spoke, and for the first time since you’d met him, you saw a glimpse of something real—something raw in his eyes. He wasn’t playing a part right now. He wasn’t the charming, reckless, devil-may-care musician. He was just Remy, standing there in front of you, telling you the truth.

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you found yourself studying him carefully, searching for any hint of deception, any sign that this was just another well-rehearsed line. But there wasn’t. His eyes were steady, his expression open in a way you hadn’t seen before. He wasn’t lying. You could tell.

For a few long seconds, you just stood there, staring at him, the pen still in your hand, the paper resting against your palm. The silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of everything unsaid.

"I don’t know," you finally whispered, your voice hesitant. "I don’t usually do this either…" You trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. What were you even saying? That you didn’t hook up with guys like him? That you didn’t let yourself get swept up in the moment? Because here you were, standing in his shirt, your legs still shaking from everything that had just happened, and your mind was spinning with the possibility of something more.

Remy took another step toward you, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was soft, careful. "Y’ don’t have to decide right now, cher," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "Take your time. But know this… I wasn’t playin’ tonight. I meant every word. Y’ got me thinkin’ ‘bout things I ain’t never thought ‘bout before."

Your breath hitched in your throat at the sincerity in his voice. This was more than just a fling to him, more than just a momentary distraction. He was offering you something real, something uncertain and wild, but real all the same.

You glanced down at the pen in your hand, then back up at him. His eyes were still on you, watching carefully, waiting. Slowly, you uncapped the pen and scribbled your number down on the scrap of paper he’d handed you. "Okay," you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you handed it back to him. "Here’s my number." You took a deep breath, glancing at Remy as you pulled his shirt tighter around you, the scent of him still lingering on the fabric. It was tempting—God, it was tempting—but you knew better. You shook your head softly, feeling the weight of reality settle on your shoulders. "But I can’t do Europe, Remy," you said, your voice steady but quiet. "I can’t just up and travel with you. I have a life outside of all this." You laughed, trying to lighten the heaviness you felt inside. "Knowing my luck, I’d probably end up on TMZ or something."

Remy’s lips curled into a small smile, but there was a softness in his eyes now, something understanding. He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly over your arm. "Yeah, I get it, cher," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I know the lifestyle—paparazzi, the chaos—it ain’t for everyone." He paused, watching you carefully. "But that’s kinda why I think it’d work with y’."

You blinked, surprised by his response. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged, his expression thoughtful as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "Y’ ain’t lookin’ for fame or attention. Y’ just… get me. Most people wanna be around me for the wrong reasons. But you? You’re different. That’s why I’m askin’." He stepped a little closer, his fingers lingering at your waist. "But if you’re not lookin' for all that, we can keep it casual. Just see where it goes, you know? No pressure."

You swallowed hard, feeling the pull of him, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the room. It was insane—completely reckless—but there was something about him that made you want to take that risk. Still, you nodded, keeping yourself grounded. "Yeah… casual," you agreed, offering him a small smile. "We’ll see where it goes."

Remy’s smile widened, that familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "Good," he murmured, leaning down to brush a soft kiss against your forehead. "I’ll call you, cher. Ain’t no rush."

With that, he took a step back, his hands dropping from your waist as he led you out of the room and toward the exit. The night air was cooler than you expected, and the city was still buzzing with life outside the venue. Remy walked you to the street, his hand briefly resting on the small of your back before he gave you one last lingering glance. "Take care, bébé," he said softly, before turning and disappearing back inside.

You stood there for a moment, trying to process everything that had just happened. Your heart was still racing, your mind spinning with the weight of his words and the possibilities they held. But before you could get too lost in thought, Nat appeared, practically jogging up to meet you.

Nat’s eyes widened the moment she saw you wearing Remy’s shirt, and a sly grin spread across her face. "Oh my God, what the hell happened?" she asked, not even bothering to hide her amusement.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. "It’s… it’s a long story," you muttered, tugging at the hem of the oversized shirt self-consciously.

Nat raised an eyebrow, her grin only widening as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Uh-huh. And that shirt? Did you steal it right off his back or…?"

You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. "He gave it to me, okay? My shirt was missing a button." You paused, glancing away for a moment before deciding to tell her the rest. "Remy asked for my number."

Nat’s eyes practically bugged out of her head. "Wait, what? He asked for your number?"

"Yeah," you said slowly, biting your lip. "And… he asked me to go with him on tour. In Europe."

Nat stared at you in disbelief, her mouth hanging open for a few seconds before she finally found her voice. "Are you fucking kidding me? Remy LeBeau asked you to go on tour with him in Europe?" She shook her head, laughing in astonishment. "What the hell are our lives right now?"

You couldn’t help but laugh too, the absurdity of the situation finally sinking in. Just last night, you were at a bar with your best friend, trying to forget about your ex and blow off some steam. Now, you were standing outside a venue, wearing a rockstar’s shirt, having just turned down an invitation to travel across Europe with him. It was surreal.

"I know, right?" you said, shaking your head as the two of you started walking toward the subway. "I don’t even know what to think anymore."

And with that, you descended into the subway, your mind still swirling with thoughts of Remy, of Europe, of everything that might come next.

[durgetavoc]

Yes I really want to know the horrors of the shit bucket. I’m quite surprised that he isn’t obsessed with cleanliness. He always struck me as the type but then again… I guess I’m wrong.

Oh god, here we go then.

SPOILERS FOR THE HOUSE OF HOPE

(CW for...The Shit Bucket Guy, obviously)

So, if we ever decide to go steal the Orphic Hammer, we can go visit The House of Hope, there, we obviously find Raphael's collection of artifacts, his eternal debtors, and one of them is… This guy.

You should know that all eternal debtors are condemned to a certain task/action. It's difficult to know if this has anything to do with their contract with Raphael, if it is a distortion of an already existing trait of their personality (for example, the Perfect Eternal Debtor, the Theologist Eternal Debtor or even the Voyeur Eternal Debtor) or if it's a way to completely dehumanize them (Loyal Eternal Debtor…My beloved :( ). It seems to be a mix of everything, that wouldn't be surprising if Raphael did what seemed most entertaining to him.

But let's focus on the Shit Bucket Guy, since he's the one that interested us today.

As our affectionate nickname for him indicates, we find him in front of a chamber pot with a visible green odorous cloud above it, which confirms us that it has been used (when you interact with the pot, here what the game says : "An overpowering stench singes your nostrils. Nothing good happened here."). The debtor doesn't appreciate us getting closer to it, and if we ask him if he is its guardian, this is what he answers:

His "name" in the game is "Unclean Eternal Debtor" and if you're taking a look at his face... Yeah, I guess he's not just guarding the pot. When we observe the animation of the character, he walks around the pot, makes a hand gesture to smell it, and that's it.

It has become a running joke in the fandom, particularly for us, little mouses. Those who have been to the House of Hope know about the Shit Bucket Guy... But nobody talks about him.

(Yeah I couldn't help it.)

It's not really surprising, the presence of the chamber pot, and not just any one, RAPHAEL'S, raises other questions. One might wonder if it's not a little OOC coming from someone like him.

Let's take advantage of this question to dig... A little deeper.

Here's, imo of course, why it's somehow relevant to show Raphael's chamber pot and what this tells us about him.

Shall we?

1. Don't be fooled by appearances, he POOPS like us!

Raphael. Raphael. Raphael who embodies sophistication, intellect and danger... Alluring and at the same time fearsome, a fascinating mix. Goddamnit, he's a suave motherfucker, and he fucking knows it.

In video games, it's part of the suspension of disbelief to not talk/show toilet, unless you're in a life simulation game like sims. It's not just taboo since it's one of the most private aspects of our life, but it's also... Not relevant to the intrigue most of the time.

Showing us something that intimate about him disintegrate his mysterious aura. We learnt that Raphaels shits. Yeah, absolutely astonishing. Reminding us that he's exactly at the same level as us. Like the title said, despite his charming manners, his eloquence, his theatrical gestures... He's still human, hells, part human.

2. In the Devil's house.

The first time we meet Raphael, he wastes no time in bringing us to his home, on his own terms. We only see one room, and this is what we see:

Luxurious place, lavish displays of food, ordered furniture... Promising, right? This is how Raphael wants to give as a first impression. I think this scene is perfect as a metaphor. Remember what Gale said? He's taking us to dinner! Like a date, he wants to impress us, seduce us.

But when we're back to this place during our improvised visit, what do we see?

Rotten food. Blood. Skeletons. Mess. Remind me of my room before I have to rush to clean everything because a friend comes over.

By choosing to enter Raphael's home, into his privacy, the game takes us on a tour of his home: we discover what is hidden behind Raphael's character. It is of course expected that we discover his secrets and/or aspects of his personality that he would not wish to reveal, at least not before we make a deal with him.

Haarlep, his incubus, also participates in this demystification. Through them, we can learn about Raphael's sexuality (I'll be quick on this since @bitethedevil did some really good analysis posts about it):

Raphael is only attracted to himself (hence Haarlep's appearance)

He is a bottom pillow prince

And he doesn't last in bed (a valuable information that can be used to anger Raphael later)

Once again, this is another very intimate aspect that is revealed to us. I'm sorry to say it, but Haarlep basically plays the same role as the chamber pot to accentuate the intimacy of the place and also to ridicule Raphael, thus revealing to us what he really is.

3. Raphael hates his father.

Our favorite cambion is having daddy issues, and the chamber pot seems like a nice response to the statue his dad gave him. It's a "blink and you'll miss it" kind of detail, but it's funny to point it out. Show don't tell as it's finest.

4. How bad it is to sell your soul to Raphael.

This one is easy... The Shit Bucket Guy is an example of Raphael's cruelty : "This is what could happen to you if you make a contract with Raphael."

Sure, it's funny because the whole thing is ridiculous: "Guardian of his chamber pot? Seriously?", but it's hard to really laugh at it if you take into account the other eternal debtors. The whole place is designed to make you uncomfortable, because it's not treated as a joke. They had a life, had to ask Raphael for help, and are now reduced to doing something degrading until the end of time. They don't even have a name anymore. They could be your Tav/Durge or your companions...

Suddenly, the temptation to make a contract with Raphael is less appealing after seeing all this, isn't it?

Conclusion : Now the question that burns our lips : What could this guy have done to him to be reduced to this? And why?

My first instinct when I met this character was to think, "oh boy, you must have really pissed off Raphael..." let's be honest, it's the kind of torture you could imagine to your worst enemy or at least a very annoying one.

It could be that, or maybe, mayyybe...

Remember Mephistopheles' statue?

What if Raphael was SO annoyed by this gift that he woke up one day thinking "fuck my dad, fuck his gift" and decided to literally shit on him by putting a chamber pot in front of this statue to express his thanks. And just like any narcissist/paranoid guy, he named a "guard" to be sure no one would spy on him through this (it sounds delirious, but again, we learn that Haarlep was send to distract Raphael, so why not?)

Sure, maybe Shit Bucket Guy annoyed Raphael in the past, but wouldn't that be kinda fucked up that this guy didn't do anything that would justify this treatment? He's just a dude, and Raphael is just a pissed-off daddy's boy (and a very mature one).

Or maybe, Raphael just thinks it's funny. And who are we to discuss a devil's sense of humor?

In any case, sorry Shit Bucket Guy, but it wasn't your lucky day.

PS: Hush, I can hear you wondering "do you think Raphael is scat???" and on this subject I would say: I don't think so, his narcissism is there after all, but he also seems really into humiliation. So maybe it's for the best we don't really know the answer to this question.

After all, only Haarlep can judge him (so the bar is already on the floor).

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[Simon Riley, Will You Marry Me?]

F!Reader proposing to Simon, let’s see what happens :D !!

The breeze touches your cheek tenderly, bringing you a sliver of coolness, just what you need now to calm down your anxious yet excited mind.

Everything is just as you planned. A nice dinner with some wine, you suggest going for a short walk just like you two always did. You watch Simon walking beside you, left hand engulfing yours in his warm and calloused one and looking in front of him, so you tuck your hand in your pocket.

The little box is there, and you sigh in relief, the whole date tonight you’ve kept checking its presence while making sure Simon doesn’t notice.

You two stop by the lake you both love. The stars shine dazzling in the sky, with the moon accompanied their beauty.

Everything’s perfect. Now it’s the time.

“Simon.” You take a deep breath, and watch your lover turning his head to meet your gaze.

“yeah, luv?”

“I have something to tell you.” You let go of his hands, shifting your body so you’re face to face with him. You can see his eyes dancing across your face with curiosity inside, but he just stays silent, waiting for you to continue.

“Simon Riley, I might not be the most beautiful person among others, might not be the smartest person that can help you the most, but I’m the luckiest person, because I found you in the crowd.”

You clenching hard at your skirt, under Simon’s wide eyes, you continue your words.

“Just like I said, I may not be the smartest, but I’ll always be by your side, holding your hands when you’re unsure of yourself, hugging you when the world is cruel and you need warmth. You are the person I wish I could spend my whole life with you...”

With wobbly knees, you lift your skirt slightly to kneel, and you can hear people standing by and gasping, but all you can see is the man you love with your entire life, eyes sparkling with surprise and the love you have in yours too.

“Will you marry me, Simon Riley?”

The box you have been checking along the whole night is now placed directly in your palm, the diamond on the ring shines majestically just like the stars above you two.

“Of course.” You can sense the difference in Simon’s voice, his voice is shaking too, but the happiness and touch inside is undoubtful. “please stand up, love.”

You let out a sigh of relief, steady your legs and start to straighten your legs.

“ahh!” the sudden relief doesn’t stop your trembling legs, and your body waddled, causing you to stumble onto the ground.

“Lovie!” Simon drops to his knees, your knees hurt, but you don’t care about it when you watch the ring box roll out of your hands and drop into the lake.

“the ring!” Crying out, you stumble to your feet and run into the lake. You know the lake is shallow, you can still find it, you need to find it—

A splash comes in your ears. Through your watering eyes, you see Simon step into the lake with you. His left hand steading you while his right arm swirls inside the water.

“It’s okay, love, it’s here, I found it, don’t worry.”

Finally, the white box appears in Simon’s hand when he retrieves his arm from the lake. Fortunately, besides some dirt and grass, the ring lies safely inside the box.

You don’t have a single energy to speak, letting Simon lead you back to the ground, both of your clothes are damp, and you're still recovering from the fright, but Simon’s chuckles bring you back to reality.

You stupidly watch him burst into a low laugh, a smile blooms on his scarred yet gorgeous face.

“You really aren’t the smartest person.” He hugs you closely until you can hear his heartbeat, faster than usual due to the accident, yet soothing just like you always listen to when you snuggle with him on the bed.

“thank you for confirming, Simon.” You pout, but a grin spread on your lips too.

“but you’re the bravest person, and I’m the luckiest man.”

Raising your eyebrow, you lift your head with disbelief, which vanishes when you look into his eyes.

There’s affection. immovable. unquestionable.

“Let’s go home and take a shower, yeah?”

“Sounds amazing”

Simon reaches out his hand, and you take them into yours. They’re wet this time, but it doesn’t affect the heat radiating and sharing through the connected palms.

“But next time don’t jump into the lake immediately, it could be dangerous. ‘kay?”

“Okay. I'm a dork I admit.”

“yeah, a cute dork.” He squeezes your hands playfully. “My little dork.”

[ghostbustting]

Hiiiii !!

How are youuuu???

I was wondering if you could write something for early 2000s James Hetfield where reader is in her mid twenties but haven't lost her virginity yet because she is waiting for the right person and James just so happen to be the right person.

But like really fluffy too you know

You don't have to right it if you don't want to, I completely understand

HAVE A GREAT REST OF YOUR DAYY 💕💕

HIII I'm so sorry I haven't found a lot of time to finish the requests, I promise I'm trying to find as much freetime as possible to finish em all 🫶 over here stressed out by competitions 😭 ALSO THIS IS SO SWEET❗️

╰┈➤“𝑾𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑵𝑬𝑪𝑻„ ๋࣭

James Hetfield x Reader

Contains Smut.

“Okay let me get this straight..”

James looked at me with a raised eyebrow, his eyes slightly widening as he leaned over the small shitty dinner table I had in the kitchen of my flat, his hands placing down the metal fork and knife he was previously holding onto the plate where his food was still halfway done from being gone.

I chuckle to myself as the man in front of me ask me, "You haven't lost your virginity?" The tone of his voice and the look on his face shows a genuine hint of disbelief at the unanswered question itself.

”No..” I answered with a small sigh, a smile still on my face, faltering a little while I look down nervously. The answer that just slipped out of my lips itself has been something I’m not fully proud of, feeling rather embarrass of still being what they would call “pure” at my current age. Even though I have my own reasons behind it.

The way James’ eyes widened even more and his jaw dropped a little, I could tell that he himself did not believe my answer.

It was just another Saturday night, James had asked me to have dinner together in my rather small flat, what I thought would’ve been a big contrast to what his usual preference. I had only been dating him for almost a year now, and that fact alone still made me stay awake at night, wondering what the fuck I did to have him right here in front of me.

He and even his exes were everything I’m not.

Yet he made me feel like I’m everything he needs.

James leaned back and ran a hand through his short blond hair, his other hand taking the glass of water as he slowly sip on it, he sigh as he place it back down, his eyes gazing back up at me. “..But you’re—”

”Old enough? I know.”

He paused for a moment and furrow his eyebrows, head tilted. A small chuckle leave his lips while his head shook a little, “I was about to say a wonderful human being.” He spoke, his shoulders shrugging. “You’re seriously telling me no guy has ever tried it with a woman with a personality like yours?”

Looking down, I can feel my cheeks heating up— no doubt they’d be red at the moment. His words seems to be so simple, yet so genuine. I didn’t quite expect him to make a comment on my personality when I felt like finding a person like me was something not hard to do.

There never was much to comment about myself anyways. I always found myself to be someone predictable.

Chuckling softly, I look back up at him, “No, I just.. I don’t feel ready yet.” I slowly confessed, my hands fiddling with the hem of my shirt under the table, feeling the slightest bit of nervous with the topic.

”Scared?” He asked, in a way of asking for a ‘confirmation’.

”I..” I trail of and took a deep breath, letting it out in a heavy breath as I smile softly at him, my answer coming out in slow soft voice, “I’m waiting for the right one.. the right person.”

His head nods slowly as a sign of understanding, a small smile on his face as he look at me. "What um.. what about me?" He starts, a hint of hesitant in his voice, I could tell he was going to ask something he might think was rather 'risky', my guess was answered when he spoke up again, "Do you think.. I could be.. the one..?"

The question struck me like lightning. I look down, processing his words in a loop inside my brain. I think about my answer again and again, the urge to say yes consuming my heart, making it thump slightly faster, meanwhile my brain told me to think wisely with my answer.

Before I could answer anyways, James spoke up. "—It's fine." He say, making me raise an eyebrow as he snap me out of my train of thoughts. "You don't have to answer it." A genuinely soft smile was on his lips as he look at me with those kind blue eyes, a different gaze than the one I usually see him use onstage.

"Just know.." His hands slowly reach over the small table and hold both of mine, "I really.. really love you." As the words leave his lips, it hits right into my heart instead, filling my stomach with butterflies when I can hear how genuine his voice sounds.

"Like.. I'm totally definitely absolutely obviously one hundred and one percent infinitively serious about this."

A small soft laugh leave my lips, my fingers wrapping around his own hands, holding each other's hands tightly as our eyes meet. I can help but feel a sense of warmth and love taking control of my body, the actual love held in his eyes becoming even more clear as daylight as time passes.

He then stood up and took our plates and glasses, his intention of washing the dirty dishes and eating utensil obvious.

I quickly stood up and hold the stacked plates and glasses from his hands, placing them back down on the table between us. "No need. I'll wash them myself later." I smile softly at him.

The man in front of me returned the smile and nod, "Then I best be going." He spoke, walking away from the table to grab his stuff, his shoes leading his way to the door of my flat, my own steps follows close behind.

We stood in front of each other for awhule, just sharing sweet smiles. My neck started to hurt a little from how I had to tilt my head up to look at him from his tall figure, but I could care less if it means seeing that smile of his he probably knew would melt my heart.

He took a step closer to me and lean down, his lips meets my pinkish cheek in a simple yet sweet peck, his voice gently saying, "See you tomorrow, sweet one."

I look up at him and smile slightly wider, my eyes never stops admiring the man I was granted with, "Goodnight, James."

His body slowly turned around from me, the door handle now being held by his hand as he pull it down, unlocking and opening the previously closed door, being greeted by the empty hallway.

At the same time, something was itching in my heart. Something that needed to be relieved but I just couldn't place what is it that my heart needed so bad.

It wasn't until his shoe lands a single step outside of my flat doorframe when my mind brought all my thoughts back to his question earlier, the question if I think he could be the one for me. Then, to the way he confessed his love for me, the way his eyes gaze at a deep layer in me that no other man have ever discovered, the way he touched and cared for me.

I couldn't help it.

"James!" I yelped out, flinching ever so slightly as I was shocked myself by how sudden and loud my voice came out.

The man turns around quickly, a look of concern plasteres on his face, "What did I do?!—"

His sentence failed to come out as I cut them off quick by wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him down, my lips attatched onto his while I drag him back into my flat, my leg kicking the door closed behind us. "I'm ready.." I mumble against his lips.

It must've took him awhile to process what's happening, but then I feel his arms wrap themselves around my waist, tight, pulling me flushed against his body as our lips move against the other's, the warmth of our bodies mixing in a lustful heat.

Our bodies moved on their own, his legs leading mine to walk further into my flat, all while still locked in the passionate kiss.

Every now and then, my back would bump into several walls we passed along the way to my bedroom, our lips never faltering in their move, the heat only increasing between our bodies.

It wasn't long until we reach into my bedroom, his feet kicking the door shut behind us as he gently lay me down on my bed, his bigger body hovering over my own as his lips slowly leave mine.

James' blue eyes gaze upon my body, my chest heaving up and down from how much breath he took from me just by one passionate kiss that felt like it lasted a century, which however still isn't long enough.

His hand held mine close to his face, his lips now pressing onto the skins of my palm, the facial hair covering his chin tickling my palm a little. Nevertheless, my eyes are fixated on him and distracted by how beautiful he look, taking care of me so gently.

My hand slowly cup his cheek and stroke his skin with the pad of my thumb, my eyes meet his as he press one last kiss to my other hand.

“You sure you’re ready, baby?” He ask in a soft voice, a big contrast to the one I usually hear him use to sing on the radio and records. “We really don’t have to..”

With deep breaths, I slowly exhale a shaky breath and force a soft smile for him. “My heart long for yours, James.. as much as my body long to be close to yours forever..”

A small happy grin appear on his lips as he sit up straight again, “Whatever you want, sweet girl.”

He whisper as his hand reached up and touch my red and warm cheeks, his face inching close and closer by second as his lips slowly find it’s way to mine, our lips locking and rubbing against one another in yet antother soft kiss.

Although this time, his other hand was busy travelling down my body, reaching the end of my shirt and slipping his hand in, his palm laying flat on my stomach, the feeling of his cold fingertips sending goosebumps on my arms.

"May I?" He asked, now holding the hem of my shirt and tugging on it lightly.

It only took one nod from me before he slip it off my body in a swift action, the sight of my bare body now in full display for him, the only thing covering my torso being my bra.

Which later on I find him unclasping as well, leaving my breasts to be revealed.

I never knew people's eyes actually do this in real life until I saw how his eyes actually sparkles with admiration towards my revealed torso, the blue in his eyes becoming slightly darker. "Shit.. you're a goddess.."

He mumbled as his hand caress the new revealed skins, my back arching ever so slightly at the feeling of his rough hands.

"Please don't stop.." I whined out, as embarrassing as it is to let out such noise like that. After all, I doubt I won't be letting out even more embarrassing noises later tonight.

His fingers then took a trip down to my pants, two of them hooking around the waistband while he gazes back up at me again, searching cautiously for any look of hesitation or regret in my face in case I wanted to stop.

Which of course, I didn't.

Seeing through my eyes like a window to my heart, he knew he was doing the right thing when he slowly pull down my pants along with my lace panties.

The lump in my throat became hard to swallow the moment the two last fabrics covering my body was tossed aside to the floor, abandoned and revealing my thighs along with my virgin cunt, not touched by any man at all. At least, until tonight that is.

Slowly, both of his hands place themselves on my knees and spreads my thighs apart, giving him a full sight of what he'd be taking care of tonight, my glistening folds enchanting him to take this further.

But he knew better than to rush me on my first time.

"Can I touch you?"

The way he ask for permission warms my heart, cause he knew damn well by the way I was already squirming a little that I was desperate for him.

"Please do.."

And so he did.

His fingers took a trip up and down my thighs, his lips pressing a kiss on my thigh, dangerously close to my heat that I can feel his fucking heavy breath right against my folds, sending a wave of shock up my body.

Yet the shock was nothing compared to when his fingers lightly graze up and down my folds, the light yet intimate touch only increasing the arousing feeling of lust that's burning in my heart like a flame.

His thumb was on my clit by the time he start rubbing gentle circles on it, a gasp leaving my lips at the feeling. I never knew it would feel like this. Yet it was all only his thumb, let alone what it would feel later on..

While his thumb continued to give love to my clit, two of his fingers find their way up and down my folds before slowly slipping past them, his digits entering my tight pussy.

I gasp even louder, my hand flying to my mouth to prevent any more sinful noises leaving my lips. But the way his fingers slowly pump into me did not help. At all.

"Fuck, you're so tight... so.. wet.." He muttered out, his fingers moving deeper yet gently into me, stretching out my insides as he knew just how to move his fingers properly, making the sweetest noises come out of the back of my throat every single time. “You doing alright up there? Does it hurt?”

My eyes look down at him, his lips on my thigh while his hand takes good care of my pussy, “A- a little but.. it feels..” I gasped out a moan, cutting myself off before continuing my words, “..good… so good…” I breathed out, my head thrown back as my eyes flutter close with how much pleasure those devils of fingers he have can make.

Those two digits of him moves so slow yet so nicely, my squishy walls hugging his fingers tightly, there’s not a single doubt they’d be soaked with my wetness by the time they leave my pussy. Not to mention how much wetter I got from the circles he’s rubbing on my clit, only going faster as time fly.

”James..”

Just then, he actually did slip those two damn fingers out of my pussy, causing me to be a whining mess, in need to release the tight knot in my stomach, my body squirming around and grasping onto the bedsheets.

My whines stopped the moment I see him take off his shirt, the toned torso he owns becoming visible to my eyes, encouraging that same flaming lust in me. I can only watch as he start unbuckling his belt.

Our eyes met when he toss his belt aside, "Listen.." He started in a quiet voice, "If you want to stop... just tell me, okay?" The genuine care in his voice was no doubt.

With a nod of my head, he took it as a permission to continue. That's when both his pants and boxers fall to the ground, leaving me with the sight of his hard cock, standing proudly before me.

A small gasp leave the back of my throat, my lips parting open in amaze of his not-so-disappointing size, my mind cannot comprehend how something like that would fit my hole.

"...You trust me?"

"I do, I really do.."

James smiles softly at me as he slowly gets on the bed, his bare body hovering over mine as his hands gently runs up and down my skin, which soon stops and fixated on holding both of my hips, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on my skin while his lips press a soft kiss upon my forehead, my cheek, and my shoulder.

One of his hands went down to grab his cock, leading it towards my folds. My breath hitched the moment I feel his tip brushing against the entrance of my pussy.

His eyes yet again meet mine for what felt like the hundred times tonight, then... I feel him slowly enter me.

I yelp, my hands flying to his back. A wince was pulled out of me when he slowly push more of his length into me. The width of his cock was stretching out my walls, causing more wince to escape me.

"Hurts?" He whisper softly, kissing my hair.

"The fuck do you think..?" I winced out, nails digging into the skin of his back. "B-but.. don't stop.. please.."

A soft chuckle leave his lips as he slowly pushes more of his member, all while holding my body in his arms, chest to chest. "I'll be gentle.. promise.."

By the time he starts filling me up with all of his length, the aching in me starts to fade away, being replaced by a nicely overwhelming sense of pleasure. My winces turns into moans when my body relax and give in to his thrusts.

James stayed still in me for a while, letting my walls stretch and adjust to the new feeling of his cock in me, his lips never stopped kissing around my face, making me feel as loved as possible.

After awhile, I softly whisper into his ear, "James..?"

"Mm?"

"Please move..."

I never thought two simple words like that would be able to deliver even more pleasure towards my way. Cause the moment he slowly starts thrusting into me, a gasp leave my throat and my legs wrap themselves around his waist.

James grunted as he feel my walls clenching around his girth, his thrusts were slow and gentle, yet enough to pull out the dirties sounds from us.

My nails were digging real deep into his skin, no doubt leaving marks later. But I just had to hold onto him, or else I'll most likely crumble into pieces from how good he makes me feel.

His hands guided my hips to move against his own, accelerating his thrusts ever so slightly, but not too fast. "Fuuck... so tight.." He muttered out, shaking his head, causing a single strand of his blond hair to fall out of place and in front of his eye.

The new speed was gentle enough for me, but fast enough to make me lose all the dignity I had just a second ago.

"James..!" I moaned out, my back arched while my head was thrown back, endless cycle of moans coming out of me.

"Too much?—"

"More!"

"You- you sure—"

"Please!!" My fingernails scratched down his back, causing him to let out a loud groan from the somewhat pleasuring pain my nails caused him.

My eyes widens when he actually did fasten his speed in his thrusts, but still somehow able to keep it gentle.

When I look up, I see how much James was enjoying this, how much love he put into his thrusts, how genuine he is with me. His eyes gazes right into mine.

My walls starts to clench around his girth while that same knot returns to my stomach, "I.. I think I.." I couldn't find the right words to utter out of my trembling lips.

"C'mon, princess.. release with me.." He whispers, his hand reaching back to hold mine, his lips yet again placing sweet kisses on my skin. I watch as our hands fit perfectly well together.

Then, with one last final thrust of his cock.. I let out a moan of his name, my eyes rolled back while I feel liquid gushing out of my hole.

James pulled out of me quickly all of a sudden, his hand flew to his cock and start pumping up and down his length, groans and curses of his filling my ears. "F-fuck.. shit.. fuck fuck!"

White streaks of cum shoots out of the tip of his cock, flying straight to my stomach while he lets out all of his release, my own cum gathered on the sheets underneath my legs.

My chest rises up and down, I look up at him with wide eyes as I grab onto his body and pulled him close to me, wrapping every limbs of mine around his bigger body, breathing heavily into his ear while his own heavy breaths fills my ear.

"I love you. I love you so so much. Don't leave me.." I whisper into his ear, a slight panic in my voice as I realize the man I'm holding actually is the right man for me. The man that have a deep connection with me, our hearts and souls tied together in an invisible string all these years we haven't met each other.

"My heart is yours."

His voice whispers into my ear, a melody of love I'd cherish forevermore.

[lethalchiralium]

since you've been on an angst train with the happiness aus lately, could we possibly see a little more of Simon and misuss' interactions after she lost the baby? you wrote it so well, and so raw. it was very heart breaking, but beautiful to watch them grieve and grow together.

More Than I Could Ask For | Happiness Series

a/n: i got you homie

warnings: mentions of miscarriages, medical jargon, trauma, grieving. mentions of not eating. mentions of breastfeeding.

summary: Losing a baby is difficult, Simon knows that. But as he takes care of you, all he wishes for is for you to not feel the pain anymore.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

It was hard, Simon couldn’t deny that.

He hasn’t felt pain like this since he was a boy, being reprimanded for helping a girl on the playground when she had fell. He really liked her, but his father had beat him to a pulp for even looking in her direction. That’s when he grew scared to even make friends, to make connections because his father had beat into him that everyone will leave him. Everyone.

But, as you rested your head on his chest, he knew that you wouldn’t. The television was playing one of your favorite drama series, one you used to watch all the time when you were just Winnie’s nanny. He would be lying if he said that he wasn’t grateful for you loving him too.

The doctor appointment today confirmed that the tissue was dispelled and you were no longer pregnant, now came the recovery period. He had drove you home in unwilling silence, trying to get you to laugh or talk or something, but you kept your eyes fixated out your window. It was normal for you now, for the past four weeks since he found you in the bathroom. Short answers, barely talking to him but still conversing with your daughters normally, like nothing happened.

Was he tired of it? Yes. Did he understand that you needed space? Yes, but only after he talked to Price about it. He was close to ripping his hair out because you wouldn’t talk to him, but Price had pulled him from the edge. She’ll talk when she’s ready.

He was going to have to start having Soap and Gaz check on you during the day, more issues were coming up and his deployment was getting closer. Unfortunately, it would be only him, Price, and König - a friend he hasn’t seen in a long time. It wasn’t that he hated his friends, it’s just that he had the urge to stay at your side no matter what. Melt his bones down and create a physical tie from him to you, just so he could be around you. He noticed that your hair had grown out, you would have gone to the hairdresser by now to fix it. He still brushed it gently in the mornings, one less thing you would have to worry about.

You were a shell, haunting him and he couldn’t emotionally handle it. He needed you back, he needed you to smile again.

He noticed way too much of your change. Sleeping more, trying your hardest not to eat, sick - it was like you were ashamed.

That’s when it clicked.

His fingers curled through your hair, his other hand coming to rest on your cheek.

“I’m sorry.” His words were the first spoken in the room since the morning, you stilled on his chest. Your head moved so you could look up to him, tears in your eyes.

“It’s not your fault, it’s mine.”

His head moved to the side. “No, it’s not.” His thumb gently rubbed your cheek, “This happens. Miscarriages happen, you shouldn’t be ashamed.”

Your head turned back around, you whispered, “I just want to watch TV.”

“No, baby, please talk to me.” His hand kept running through your hair, trying to keep your attention. “Honey.”

Another few moments.

“Are you hungry? I can go make you something.”

“No.”

“Baby, please, you’re starving yourself.”

“It’s what I deserve.”

Simon paused, eyes widened in disbelief.

“What you deserve?”

You nodded, eyes gazing down at your lap.

His hand moved to your jaw, forcing you to look at him. His eyes were dark. “No, it’s not.” Tears fell from your eyes, his hands slipped for your face to your hands, cradling them with a soft grip. “You don’t deserve pain. You don’t deserve to starve yourself because you think you failed me.” He squeezed your hands, more tears fell from your eyes. “I just want you to feel better, I need you to feel better. Losing the baby hurts, I know it does, but you have two little girls who wouldn’t know what to do with themselves if they lost you.” He brought your hands to his chest.

“Simon…”

“They wouldn’t know what to do because I would be gone too.” He murmured, his voice small. “I can’t live without you. I’d lose myself, they’d lose me too.”

You lurched forwards, diving into his chest and letting go of his hands to wrap your arms around his neck, sobbing. “I-I can’t stop feeling-feeling like this-“

“I know, love.” His warm arms were instantly around your torso, fingers curled around your waist and carded into your scalp.

“Don’t-Don’t be mad at me.”

“Why would I ever be mad at you?”

You hiccuped over your breath. “I-I’m starving myself.” Your hand held his head closer to yours, you were trying to calm down but your heart kept racing. “You’re right. I’m starving myself and I could die and leave my babies.”

“Your feelings are what makes sure you’re still human, you were scared. Scared means shutting down, shutting down means forgetting to do anything for yourself. That’s why I’m here.” His fingers twisted a lock of your hair between them before he gently pet your head, a kiss settled right behind your ear. “Let me take care of you, let me help you, let me hold you and fix you.”

If you could express the way your heart seemed to beat without being there, you would. If you could describe the disappointment that doused your insides like gasoline, the way your pain struck a match and was burning you, you would. You pressed your forehead into his shoulder, hiccuping from your sobs, “You were so excited.”

“I was, but I was scared too.” The waves Simon fought so hard to keep above kept crashing over him, pain striking his chest like lightning. “I was so scared that I would lose you.”

“Simon…”

“You don’t need to be ashamed about losing the baby. It wasn’t meant to be, I’ve come to terms with it.”

A loud sob left you, your eyes squeezed shut so tightly that it was painful. “I wanted my son.”

“I know, my love.” I wish I could take away your pain.

He held you for a long time, letting you sob your broken heart out. He kissed your head before he went to his daughters, cooking and feeding them, bathing them, and then putting them to bed. He warmed up some of dinner, planning to eat with you.

But when he came back to the dimly lit room, he found you in the center of the bed - his pillow held against your chest with an iron grip. He settled the plate with your favorite pasta on it on your nightstand before he quickly ate his portion, he’d clean the plates in the morning.

He discarded his plate on the dresser before he got back into bed with you, his arms tucked underneath the pillow so he could hold your chest, letting his fingertips faintly feel your heartbeat. His forehead settled on the crown of your head, he felt you subtly shift in your slumber.

He let tears of his own fall down his face in silence.

He woke up in the night to you crawling back in bed, he could hear the soft cries of his youngest daughter in your arms. Your lamp was turned on, it didn’t phase his eyes as he watched you nurse your baby. Your arm held her up as you gently patted her bottom, observing your sleepy and sweet girl. A tune came from your lips, quiet as he believed you hadn’t noticed he was awake yet.

“Young men dream and old men ponder,” Gentle fingertips traced Mellie’s eyebrows, the apple of her cheeks as you quietly sang a song to her. “But what of the in between?” Mellie’s brown eyes flickered up to your face, little lashes fluttered as she blinked. Simon didn’t have to move to know that you were smiling at her. “You look more like your father.” Gently brushing her hair back with your hand before you cradled her head. Her little hand smacked against your breast, you chuckled as softly as you could as you continued, “In this life, if you should falter,” A gentle brush of her cheek had Mellie kicking her legs, eyes still watching you. “Remember these words I sing.” Simon felt the current of the ocean in his body calm, your soft voice brought him a comfort he never knew he should have been looking for.

Mellie unlatched from you, whining and whimpering. You pulled your shirt back down and moved her onto your shoulder, gently patting her back - but she pushed backwards, wanting to look at your face.

“Don’t like Mama singin’ to you right now, huh?”

Little Mellie cooed, little hands resting on your chin.

“You’re such a sweet girl. Mama loves you so much.” You brought her face towards you for a kiss, your daughter squealed with delight as you gently shushed her. “Dada’s still sleepin’, baby. He’s doing so much for us, gotta let him sleep.”

He wanted to pull you into his chest right then, to kiss your head and hold his baby to his skin. He needed nothing more than to hold his girls, all three of them. He almost moved his hand before you moved out of the bed, your footsteps silent as you made your way back to the nursery. Simon’s eyes flickered to the food he left on your nightstand hours earlier, food eaten up and fork left on the cleared plate. His chest warmed, knowing that something got through to you. That he could help you with one little thing.

When you came back to bed, he sat up - which made you jump. Your hand flew to your chest as you huffed out a breath. “Jesus, Si, you scared me.”

He held out his hand, your eyebrows furrowed with confusion but you stepped closer to your bed and took it. He gently pulled you up as you got into bed, he wrapped his arms around you wordlessly. His warm heart had a steady beat he could finally feel after so many weeks, his arms held you tight as you melted into his embrace. He held you like that until he laid you both down, his arms cradling you until morning light.

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Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [CHOICELESS HOPE] ❞ — three. need in the devotee.

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader. summ.: the moment leading up to the kiss, the drumroll, is as good as the kiss itself. it's certainly more innocent. it's completely harmless. cw: canon divergent. emotional cheating. right person wrong time. no use of y/n. wc: 1k+.

previously

    First cases were always an awkward matter, getting to know new people, having them wonder if you were nice or not and wondering the same thing about them. You thought maybe having Dave around would make it less clunky. Irrevocably wrong you were, as you had to explain the divorce from your cheating husband when he asked how the bastard was.

    Everytime you thought about your divorce it made something in your brain twitch, it had been finalized four years prior but it still hurt, and you got mad at yourself for being hurt, not only because it was a hit to your gut, your non trusting nature decided to trust this one man and he broke it so easily. But it hurt more as deep down you felt like you deserved it. Like it was your karma. 

    “I watched you speak about the importance of profiling for crisis negotiation once. You seemed very passionate about it, almost like Hotch–” You held in a sigh as the genius boy possibly every unit had heard of spoke. You were an expert. A leader in your field. It just happened that your field was the one Hotchner literally wrote the book about. You would have to deal with the comparison constantly now. “Why did you transfer?” 

    “Not the pay, that I can assure you.” That earned you your first group laugh, some of them looking over at Rossi, possibly understanding now why he looked so enthusiastic about your transfer, or because he was the one who mostly talked about the fact the pay was shit. 

    “She was the only one available with experience, and she was forced to.” Aaron clarifies from his seat on the jet, having thoroughly read your paperwork by now. You nod in confirmation, not caring that it wasn’t the best look to have been forced into their unit. It was yours first anyway.

    “Familiarity with the way Hotch works was a factor too, it seems.” Some things don’t come written on paper, only the influence of being one of the unit’s founders, like Dave, guaranteed that type of information, or at least you thought so, as that fact didn’t come to you as reasoning. Still, you wouldn’t lose the opportunity to tease Aaron, even if only a bit. 

    “Familiarity is a way to put it, huh? Most of his methodology was created with me.” Scoffing loudly was his response while he shook his head in disbelief, the rest of the team glancing from you to him in curiosity. 

    “Maybe write a book about it then.” Two hours into the first jet flight and you could possibly punch him in the face to get that little shit eating grin out of it. Or maybe kiss him. 

    “I thought working with you two together would make me feel young again. It doesn’t. I’m too old for this now.” Dave points to you both and looks back to the files, bringing the conversation back to the case in hand. 

    First two months he tries not to favor your presence, sending you off with Derek, Dave or Spencer to check crime scenes, talk to suspects, witnesses, but like magnets you two always ended up beside each other, too close, shoulders touching while reading files and completing each other’s thoughts for the profiles. 

    You do try to keep your distance as best as you can as well, favoring sitting alone on the jet, talking to Emily or losing to Reid at chess, bonding with the team was an important part of what made any work the best work possible. And it’s not as in better workplace, but better at the job.

    Connecting with the team made profiling better, faster, that was why you and Hotch were quick to make connections, quick to see holes, patterns, when you were together. 

    Still you catch his annoying glances that he makes no effort to conceal when you lock eyes with him, instead he smiles with his teeth and waits for you to look away. And you usually do. 

    Las Vegas being the final destiny though, you had your mind set on not looking away when he did his well known dance of glancing and waiting for you to look back, instead getting up to your feet and walking over to him, savoring the soft, almost shy smile he gave you as he took in your every move, from your seat to the one by his side.

    You take a spray bottle out of the pocket of your FBI jacket and hand him without a word, trying to ignore the way he makes it his job to linger the soft brush your fingers against his as he read the information. 

    “Sunscreen? You know I don’t–” 

    “Don’t like the feeling on your skin, yeah, that’s a spray one, not sticky, not liquidy and it dries out completely.” Aaron listens to you intently, but still has his suspicions, being shown clearly by the way he furrowed his brows even though his heart was skipping several beats by your actions. 

    “What about the smell?” He’s properly fiddling with the bottle as if he was a kid with a toy, taking the cap off and trying to smell it through the sprayer, you roll your eyes and extend your arm to him. 

    “It’s unscented, touch and smell my arm, I’m wearing it.” You’re not really thinking it through when you almost shove your forearm on his nose, he obliges it and takes a deep breath, you feel the air leaving his nose in your skin and get suddenly shy. 

    His cheeks flush in warm pink, the product might be unscented but your skin smells like… You. He could recognize it from a mile away. He thinks to himself for a second and realizes that maybe if sunscreens had your scent he wouldn’t mind using them. And when his fingers softly touch your wrist, getting hold of it to lower it down, he is reminded of how soft you feel so he has no choice but to drop it or else he would be holding onto it for as long as you’d let him.

[mikedfaist]

Do you write Dodge x Reader? If yes, could you write one where Reader gets hurt during a Panic challenge and Dodge helps her?

DODGE, MY BOY.

I first want to apologize because it has been several sleeps since I’ve watched Panic completely through, so I don’t remember all the details, but I will try. So, this would happen when they have to break and enter into that one man’s house and steal something. If you want a little recap of their relationship, you can read this.

Her and Dodge are a team. If it’s not a solo challenge, he will be by your side. So, I imagine the two of you found something to take, and as you’re escaping through a window, that’s when you hear the first gunshot. You two freeze, but Dodge is quick to push you along. You’re out the window first and running through the cornfield when you hear a second shot. You stop in your tracks when you notice Dodge isn’t behind you, and the only thing you can hear is the sound of the man yelling.

You don’t want to think about it; you’re shaking your head in disbelief and begin to run back to the house when a third shot echoes through the air, and you feel the pain rupture into your leg. You scream out, falling down into the grass, clutching your thigh. You can hear your name being called out, and there’s a rustle by your head where Dodge crawls out from the stalks forward you.

“Fuck—fuck, fuck.” He presses down on the wound, which only sends waves of pain through your entire leg. “I’m sorry—fuck…”

“He got me.” You lay down, covering your face with your arms, as Dodge removes his shirt to make a tourniquet.

“I know, baby.” His voice cracks. “I think it just grazed you but…I don’t know, it looks deep.”

“It hurts,” You wince out, choking back tears. “Make it stop.”

Dodge feels defeated. Can he even take you to the hospital without stirring questions about a gunshot wound, and not mention Panic?

“Come on,” He bites his lip. “We’ll get you taken care of.”

His mom.

He carries you back to his car and lays you down in the backseat. “Hold tight for me, okay? We’ll be there soon.”

Dodge squeezes your hand and jumps into the front seat. The pain is subtitling into a rooted throb, and you raise your head to speak.

“Dodge…it’s not hurting so bad now.”

“Might be the adrenaline…or shock, I don’t know. We’re almost there.”

When they arrive at his house, his mom’s care is thankfully still seated in the driveway.

“My mom’s going to take care of this, okay?” He bends down to pick you back up in his arms. “It’ll be over soon, just trust me, okay?”

When he enters the house, his mom shoots up from the sofa. He tries to explain what happened, but he can’t quite focus on anything but the sound of your whimpers.

“I need to cut your jeans off, sweetie. Need to see what all happened.” She’s always been so gentle with you. She cuts a long strip from the ankle to your thigh, exposing the wound, confirming Dodge’s suspicions. “Okay, it was just a graze, which is good. Still nasty though.”

You lay down on the kitchen floor, Dodge sitting up by your head.

“Okay, honey, we need to clean it out… Dodge, can you grab a towel for me?” She takes a wet paper towel and gently cleans off blood around the wound. “Okay, hon, I need you to bite down on this, okay?” She holds the towel to you, and you stare back at it in bewilderment. “I need to clean it, so it doesn’t get infected, okay? It’s going to hurt.”

More than it already is?

“Dodge,” She warns, signaling to hold me down. “Okay, hon, one-two-three—”

It pierced through you, your screams grating your throat as you bit down on the towel. Dodge held you in his lap, one arm wrapped around your front to keep you still. Your eyes burned with tears as she scrubbed away at the wound, the pain nearly pummeling you.

“You’re doing so good, baby.” Dodge leans down to whisper to you, taking your hand into his. “She’s almost done.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” She stresses, “Any little bit of debris can cause an infection… Just need to make sure it’s all out.”

“What the fuck is this?” Dayna declares, appalled.

“Not now—”

“No, actually, what the fuck? What happened?—”

“She got hurt doing a challenge—it’s okay—” Dodge meets his sister’s piercing gaze from across the kitchen.

“She’s literally bleeding all over the floor—it’s not okay! Take her to the hospital!”

“We—” Dodge bites his tongue. The one place he wishes he could take you right now, he fears would result in the end of the game. “You know we can’t, Dayna—they’ll ask questions—"

“At what point is it worth it? Your girlfriend is hurt, Dodge. Is the money really worth her not getting actual help?”

And he knows it.

“I’m going to wrap it up, okay, hon?” She presses a towel back down on the wound; you wince instinctively. “Dodge, grab the dressing from the first aid kit.”

You pull the towel from your mouth, your hairline littered with beads of sweat. The worst is over, you think. You stay the night with Dodge that night, his mom coming in to check on you every so often. Dodge carries the guilt heavily on his chest, wishing he would have chosen differently. How could he ever choose the game over your wellbeing? Was the money really that important to him, that the moment your safety is on the line, he still tries to protect everyone else?  

[gay-dorito-dust]

*The story would be like *Unter the red hood* where Jason sees the reader when he fights Bruce and Dick… I don't know what to add srry

This song got me into the headspace whilst writing this along with Mr Loverman. 🦦also I’m adding the fact that reader knows Jason during his time as Robin cuz I can.

Jason had taken many things into account with his plan but the one thing he didn’t however was seeing you again, and god were you still as beautiful and or handsome as the least time he saw you, a little worn and tired and yet you were still you; Fierce, powerful, kind, sweet, loving, generous, you.

His Achilles heel, now and forever.

He still remembers the times where he would always go to you whenever he got himself injured from crime fighting with Bruce and was too stubborn to accept medical treatment. He always did prefer your approach to patching him up, scolding him for his sheer recklessness whilst still being tender with his wounds, telling him with sarcasm that you much prefer to have him alive rather then dead at your fire escape.

To which he laughed despite it hurting his fractured ribs. ‘You worry too much about me, buttercup. If I didn’t know any better I would start to think that you care for me more than a friend.’ He teased, nudging you in the side with his good arm. You scoffed but you neither denied nor confirmed that you did in fact care for him more than a friend because you genuinely thought at the time that you would have enough time to tell him.

You were wrong…Jason died not long after.

You grieved hard and for so long afterwards, always sitting on rooftops by yourself whenever you missed him more then most days, only to feel your heart break even harder and before you knew it you were crying, crying your heart out in pain, anger and loss at the very city that ruthlessly took him from you until your throat went hoarse or your eyes had no more tears to shed. You didn’t want to believe that Jason was gone, never to come back and greet you on the fire escape with that cheeky smile despite being conceded in cuts and bruises.

Even now you still look out towards the fire escape whenever you heard a peculiar noise coming from there, thinking that this was the one, this was the moment where everything went back to normal, that you would see Jason again and that everyone was lying to you. Only to be disappointed every single time.

So to be stood here now, across from the man known as RedHood, something about him strikes familiarity in you but yet felt forgein at the same time.

‘Buttercup?’ RedHood asked in disbelief and your eyes widened. Only Jason called you that nickname and when he did, it felt like home. So when RedHood said it, it made you feel the exact same way. ‘Jason?’ You whispered tentatively, almost as though you were expecting for that small glimmer of hope that you desperately held onto to be shattered into a million pieces. ‘You’re alive?’ You added.

‘Came just as a surprise to me too.’ He replied strongly, only for his voice to grow soft when he then said, ‘I’m sorry that we never got enough time…I just thought-‘

‘That we would have enough time?’ You interrupted, smiling at him bitter sweetly, already having had similar enough thoughts yourself. There wasn’t a single moment in your life after his death did you think about whether or not things would’ve played out differently had you told him, or how his death would hurt you even more then it already did had you told him that night.

Now that he was right in front of you, it felt as though far was giving you that chance to find out but you were frozen to the spot. You knew this man was Jason, he was practically telling you with his body that he was but he was too different from everything that had happened to him, he’s been through things that you could only being to imagine.

He was your Jason but he also wasn’t.

‘Yeah.’ Jason said defeatedly, wishing to go back to the night where you first met, two young and naive kids who had no clue of what the future held for them and how it would tear them apart in the worst ways, only to bring them back together in the most unlikely circumstance but this time on opposing sides.

Silence befell you both, allowing for everything to sink in but it didn’t prove in making anything that happened before your fated reunion any better, it didn’t take away the hurt and the grief you felt nor did it take away the pain and the anguish that Jason felt. Seeing each other again didn’t magically heal either of you, if anything it made you incredibly numb to anything and everything that could possibly come next.

‘Nightshade, any visual on the RedHood?’ Bruce asked through the intercom and just like that the peace was shattered and the reason why you were here in the first place was revitalised. ‘Negative Batman. I lost him after he blindsided me.’ You replied, eyes still locked onto to Jason as you headed Bruce’s next chain of command before switching off your intercom, consequences be damned, you’ll deal with what’s to come later; As for now all you wanted to do was ingrained this version of Jason to memory before you were destined to part ways once again.

‘You should go, I’ve given you a brief window to escape but it won’t be long before he figures out somethings amiss.’ You told the vigilante, just about getting ready to leave when he desperately grabbed at your arm. ‘That’s it? You’re just going to leave after finding out I’m alive? Do you even care?!’ Jason roared and it was enough for you to snap because how dare he think that you didn’t care about him when he was all you ever thought about after his untimely death. ‘I always fucking care about you Jason!’ You exclaimed. ‘No! I fucking loved you but you died! You fucking died. I told you that you’d get killed one day and but you didn’t listen! You never listen! Do you know how much i grieved for you, mourned for you!? I became a vigilante IN YOUR MEMORY! So go ahead and claim that I don’t care for you when all I ever done was care for you, you stupid boy because I was stupid enough to fall first!’

Jason froze. You loved him? Since when and why didn’t he know? Why did you tell him? But most importantly, why him? He’s broken, he wasn’t worth your time.

You smiled weakly at his silence and quietly slipped from his grasp and left to meet up with Bruce and Dick, knowing it was for the better. Silently hoping that you would get to see him again but you weren’t exactly holding onto any form of hope.

[lucienarcheron]

Spirit Meets the Bones XXIV

Genre: Angst/Romance/Drama Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse. Author's Note: anddd we're finally starting with the new chapters! I hope you all enjoy :)

shoutout to @abruisedmuse for being part of this journey with me!!

tagging: @climb-the-mountian / @vanserrass / @zenkindoflove / @animezinglife / @readthelastpaage / @teddyhoneybear / @positivewitch / @krem-does-stuff / @clockwork-ashes / @carolynmezzosoprano / @carnythian / @runningwiththeoceans / @secret-third-thing / @readychilledwine / @goldenmagnolias / @thedarkinmansfield / @mali22 / @maidr-00 / @electromagnetic-waves / @eastofatlanta / @moobell55 / @bibliophiliaxvignette / @devilsfoodcake22 / @moonfawnx / @weesablackbeak / @ladywhilemia / @alohaangels / @eachies / @feysandfeels / @thelovelymadone / @corcracrow / @dawneternal / @sinnerrsworld / @gracie-rosee / @stormycleric / @queenoftheworld1998 / @wolvesnravens / @theeternalstruggle / @the-midnightwriter / @illyrianvalkyrie / @that-golden-lyre / @ladystarrynight / @rityrooroo / @thewilderheart

Find it all here.

Hearing the words from her lips – it was like a boulder dropping right on his chest. 

But the confirmation made up for whatever else had happened during this day. It set what was left of his wretched soul on fire and the need to claim her nearly had him drop to his knees.

She wasn’t repulsed. She wasn’t running. She stood in his arms, hands at her sides as she stared at him and all Eris wanted to do was taste every inch of her.

“When — how did you know?” she asked.

“I’ve sensed something different about this relationship with you from the very first night we spent together.” he said quietly. “It wasn’t until you were with your father and I felt you. Like an invisible string being pulled.”

“Like a thread.” she said quietly. 

“A thread,” he confirmed. “And it dragged me right to you.”

Iris swallowed and she opened her mouth to speak then closed it once more. Her mind had gone blank as quickly as her heart rate had increased. She couldn’t stop staring at her husband who had always been so much more than she had anticipated. She saw the hesitation in his eyes, the slight panic that hadn’t left him since.

One kiss had changed the trajectory of their relationship.

And this was going to be the one thing that unraveled them both at the seams. 

“You’re my mate.” she whispered again, still in disbelief and Eris nodded. 

His throat bobbed as she said the words once more and the flame that had engulfed them finally disappeared. “Yes.” he confirmed again, watching her chest rise and fall, her beautiful eyes blinking rapidly as she processed. 

“You’re — you’re —”

“Yes.” he said as his thumb caressed the column of her neck softly. “It seems you and I were always destined to meet… and be a little more.”

Iris couldn’t help but think about how much of an understatement that was. She could only think of everything he had just told her, of the loneliness they had both drowned in for years. Only to find their way to each other in a faith-forgotten land — in a place meant to snuff them both out. 

“You knew for hours,” she finally found herself saying. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

She watched his expression dim at her question and after everything he had already shared, Iris hadn’t expected the uncertainty on his face at this.

“I wanted to. I was going to before Finn interrupted.” he said quietly. 

His words from earlier flashed in her mind. 

“I’m terrified to tell you.”

“Because…you are something I had not anticipated. Because you never wanted this. You never wanted me.” he had said quietly. “And I am…overwhelmed by this thing between us.”

And all at once, Iris felt herself soften and a deep, painful ache unfurled in her chest. 

“Of all the things that happened today, this is what you’d been most hesitant to share with me?” she asked quietly and the ache intensified when his throat bobbed again.

“We’ve barely started being something close to… normal.” he said tightly and slowly pulled back from her. “Everything between us has already been moving so fast. You’ve only started to feel safe with me and people don’t feel safe around me. But you —” His fists clenched at his sides. “You do.”

“I - I do.” Iris said softly. “And this seems to be worrying you more than anything.”

“Because now this is another thing I’m shoving at you.” he said through clenched teeth. “Tying you to me and this fucked up family forever —”

Her brows went up as she watched him. “Eris —”

Eris couldn’t look at her as he shook his head and then quietly said, “I have spent my whole life guarding all that I am from everyone. And you came into my life and made me…crave. Want.” He waved a hand almost helplessly. “Being mates is just another thing thrown at you. And I don’t have it in me if you don’t…want me this way. If it’s only a bond making you stay. Tolerating me.”

Iris wondered if he could feel her heart break at the confession. Had no one ever seen how afraid he was? How alone?

“You seem to forget,” she began gently. “That I had nothing before you.” 

Eris glanced at her as she took a step toward him. “This may not have been a choice for either of us in the beginning but…we made a choice to try together,” she said. “You and I decided we wanted to make this work and that was before any bond came to light.” She shrugged her shoulders almost helplessly. “I’d like to think I’m not still here because you’re just tolerating my presence.”

“No.” he said immediately and Iris tried not to smile at the scowl that followed his quick response or at the way the tip of his ears turned red. “I — I —”

Iris mustered a small, teasing smile. “You have so many feelings for me, don’t you?”

His scowl deepened. “If you haven’t picked up on that by now, I’m going to open the window and fling myself out of it.” he snapped, and Iris bit back another smile. “Obviously I like you.”

“Ah, a swoon-worthy confession if I’ve ever heard one.” she said as color bloomed on her cheeks at his reluctant confirmation. “Having feelings must be so difficult for you.” 

“I hate every single thing that is happening to me at this moment.” he said through clenched teeth and Iris couldn’t help the strained chuckle that escaped her. 

“Really?” she asked and moved in front of him again. “Even if I tell you that I… obviously like you too?”

Eris pursed his lips, his face heating. He knew his insecurities had nearly suffocated him today — especially at this moment. But those words sent a warm feeling fluttering in his chest. Eris knew Iris…liked him. And yet. 

Very few people openly claimed to enjoy having him around. He needed to hear her say these things.

“You seem surprisingly calm about all of this.” he said, his shoulders tensing as she watched him, pink coloring her cheeks. 

“Shocked and calm are two very different things.” she said with a knowing look and Eris couldn’t help the way his lips twitched at the words. “I’m still…processing. So maybe I’ll lose my mind tomorrow and you can be shocked and calm about it then.”

He snorted. “Should I offer you my condolences?” he added and though it was a joke, she heard the tension in his tone. “That I’m the one you’re fated with? That you’re truly stuck with me now?”

Iris shook her head and with a breath, her hands grasped his. This male who was burdened with so much, whose deep-rooted fear of remaining alone in it nearly suffocated him. Of being left alone in this life. He had been expecting her to react differently. 

And had it been a few weeks ago, Iris would’ve run. She would’ve done anything not to be tied down to the Eris everyone thought they knew. 

But now? It was…a sense of relief that Iris felt. She was relieved that the person who cared, who made her feel was the one fate wanted her to be with. That the person she may not have initially chosen as a partner was the only partner she wanted. Iris was certainly calmer than she expected because of how right it felt. How much it made sense. 

Any resistance Iris had felt towards him in the beginning, had been chipped away long before a mating bond changed anything. And he felt the same way. He wanted her. And he wouldn’t leave. 

“I’m afraid I should be offering you my condolences.” she said with a small, sad smile and Eris’s brows furrowed.

“Why would you say that?”

“I don’t have much to offer you.” she said quietly. Especially as a mate. Especially if she thought about who he previously wanted to wed; how could she compare to the power of the Morrigan or what Nesta Archeron had offered him? What could she, who had nothing, give to someone who already had everything? 

She glanced away from him. “You’ve given me so much in the time we’ve been together and I don’t know that I — 

But Eris had cut her off by firmly gripping her chin to force her to meet his gaze. “Do not finish that statement,” he said. “You’ve offered me more than you already know.”

She had offered him companionship and soft hands. A relationship where he wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop. Where understanding and a little room for kindness were the only requirements.

He forced himself to swallow and hold her gaze as his hand dropped to hold hers. “You offered me a space to be something more than what I’ve been obligated to be for years.” he continued softly. “You have no idea what you’ve offered me.” 

“And is it — am I enough?” came her whispered question.

“Am I?” he asked in return. “Even if staying with me — being my mate, would likely never bring you peace?”

Husband and wife shared a glance and without saying a word, the answer stood between them and a slow, steady tension filled the room: the confession, the realization hanging heavy between them.

Iris glanced down at their hands. “Eris,” she said softly then let out another breath as she glanced back at him. “Being with you is the first time I’ve ever known what peace could look like.”

Eris scoffed weakly, his voice tight as he asked, “How can you say that living here? With all that you know now? With everything to come?”

Iris shook her head slowly, her expression almost helpless. “You bring me ease. You make me feel safe.” she said, flushing deeply at her confession. “Anything outside of us…I think we can manage that together. As best as we can, we can fight for that peace.”

Eris felt that ache of self-loathing in his chest. “How can you say I bring you peace when already, we have to fight so hard for it?”

Iris hesitated, her expression cautious.“Aren’t all the important things worth fighting for?” she asked quietly, and when Eris’s expression tightened, she continued, “You have shared so much with me today and I know that hasn’t been easy. I know everything between us hasn’t been easy either and while I don’t know if I’m ready to fully accept a mating bond yet…” She licked her lips and met his gaze, the flush on her cheeks giving away the shyness she felt. “I do know that I want whatever this is with you. I know that I have accepted you.” 

Eris’s head dipped at her words and he tried not to let the visceral relief he felt show, tried not to let it bring him to his knees. They could work on a mating bond. They still needed time for that and Eris would give her all the time in the world as long as she accepted him. As long as she wanted him.

“I know there’s much we have to figure out together,” he said, a slight edge to his tone. “And I know we will need more time but —” 

“Tomorrow.” She said, silencing him with a hand to his lips and his brows furrowed as he watched her. Iris gave him a small smile and slowly, without taking her eyes off Eris, she walked him back to their bed and gently pushed him to sit. “It’s been a long day. Let’s worry about everything else tomorrow and instead focus on just you and me tonight.” 

“Just you and me.” he repeated and Iris nodded as she stood before him.

All the panic, all the hurt and pain and anger that they had dealt with tonight, all of it seemed to deflate at the simple words. All of it faded away. 

She let a finger gently caress his face and wondered if Eris could hear how wildly her heart was beating as he shuddered beneath her touch. That she, of all people, could make Eris Vanserra shudder — could make him feel.

Her husband had many faces and played many roles but in the end, the most important one was the one that looked at her like she held his world in her hands. The face that was begging deep, deep down to be seen and loved.

They may not have been each other’s choice in the beginning, but they would be each other’s choice from now until they were no more. He was hers in a way she had never dreamed anyone would be and Iris would take care of what was hers. She would take care of his bleeding heart. 

There was so much left to discover between them, so much to see but tonight would be a new start for them both. 

“You and I are used to hands that beat down. That break.” she started quietly. “And maybe everything we went through was so that when we met, we’d understand.”

Eris felt his chest threatening to cave in at the way she looked at him, as though she could see right through him. “Understand what?” he forced himself to ask and the corner of her mouth ticked up.

“That there are hands that hurt and hands that heal. That soothe.” Iris continued, her voice a whisper. “That those hands can be your person and your peace, if given the chance.”

Gods, he was going to throw up. And Eris tried not to show it – tried not to make it too obvious what this day, what this conversation was doing to him. 

“Is that what I am now?” he said, attempting humor that didn’t last when he continued, “Your person?”

Iris gave him a half-smile, feeling her heart spasm at the tiny crack in his voice she hadn’t missed. “Among other things apparently,” she said, her thumb grazing his cheek. “If that doesn’t affect your delicate sensibilities, of course.”

A small chuckle escaped him. “Of course. As long as you being mine doesn’t affect yours.”

“Is that what I am now? Yours?” she teased gently and he shot her a look that had her chuckling. “Careful now, husband, it sounds like you’re very enamored with me.”

Eris forced himself to roll his eyes, feeling heat spread through him at her words – her gaze – her touch. “Oh wife,” he said and sighed without taking his eyes off her. “I am so very enamored.” 

Her lips twitched and Iris leaned in to place a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth then held his gaze as she slid to sit next to him.

And a thrill went through her at the way Eris watched her, his gaze curious, possessive — with a hunger that Iris felt deep in her soul. It overwhelmed her. This feeling of being wanted. Needed. 

Nobody had ever needed her. But Eris did. 

They were starved for a safe touch, for a connection that was only theirs. 

She wasn’t sure how much he needed but if the ache in his gaze matched the depth of her own, Iris wanted to give what he needed – what she wanted. A kiss to soothe. A gentle touch of a hand. To see and be seen. 

“This is strange.” she whispered. 

“Very.” Eris agreed. 

“I’m not quite sure where to go from here.” 

Eris watched her lovely face, clocking the slight hesitation – the little space between them. He opened his palm and the corner of her mouth ticked up as she slid her hand in his. 

“That depends.” he said and she furrowed her brows. “Are you feeling dramatic or tired?”

“Dramatic?” Iris asked with an amused expression and Eris couldn’t help the twitch of his lips.

“Elain didn’t speak to Lucien for three years when she found out they were mates. I’d like to prepare myself if that’s the route you’re planning to take.” 

Iris snorted then nodded to her right. “I was thinking more so to take your suggestion of leaping out of the window instead.” 

And after everything this day had put him through, it should’ve shocked Eris that he could laugh. Even if it was a quiet chuckle. It should’ve rocked his world that he felt lighter sitting here next to the female who had been a stranger to him not too long ago than he had ever felt in his life.

His hand found its way to her cheek and the cracked pieces of his heart shook when she leaned into his hand, her hand wrapping gently around his wrist to hold him, to anchor them both to this moment.

Mates. Mates. Mates. Mates.

It was a melody that wrapped itself around them – a symphony of emotions, too many to process.

Where did they go from here? He swallowed. If it was up to the carnal desires coursing through him at the sight of her and the bond chafing at his skin, Eris would’ve already been buried in her. They would be sharing the pleasures of being mates.

But he couldn’t. Not when he wasn’t in full control of his emotions. Not when he could hurt her in his greed. Not when the thought of his skin touching another person made him want to set himself on fire.

The version of himself before Iris might’ve succumbed just to feel something. Who he was trying to shape himself into now needed more.

Eris licked his lips, hesitating for a moment. He was not used to asking anything of anyone —  did not like the feeling of needing anything from anyone but…

For the second time in a matter of hours, he confessed what he usually kept buried. 

“I am so tired of all this.” he murmured. “Being in this place. Dealing with everything outside of this room.”

Iris’s expression fell, her chest tightening at the words. “I know.” she whispered. “Let’s rest easy. Let me be here with you.” 

Eris licked his lips again, the heat of embarrassment coursing through him at the way he wanted to sink into her words, sink into her arms, and allow just that.

He’d allow himself to sink into her kisses. Neither of them had to say anything. His eyes held the question and Iris answered by leaning closer. 

Holding her face with a tender touch, he kissed his wife. His lips brushed hers in greeting and slowly, Eris let himself go. He kissed her and let every other moment of this day wash away, focusing only on the feeling of her lips, the heat of her body next to his, and the soft noises she made.

“Eris.” she whispered against his lips and Eris couldn’t help but deepen the kiss as she opened for him, a hand running through her hair and down her back. His mouth moved to taste more of her, kissing her jawline and sliding to her neck, his tongue darting out for a taste then back to her teasing mouth to swallow those little noises he loved so much.

 He wanted — he needed —

Turning his body into hers, his hands tangled themselves into her hair, a noise he could only describe as hungry slipping from his mouth into hers and he shuddered when he felt her fingertips skimming across his skin and up his arms. 

A hand slid from her hair and wrapped around her throat, his grip tightening gently and Eris intended to pull her closer, devour her further — but Iris had stiffened beneath his grip and so had he when he felt her fingers dig into his back. A snarl slipped from his throat as a sharp breath slipped from her lips and Iris ripped his hand away and pulled back, nearly shoving him off the bed as he pulled away from her.

“No.” they snapped in unison and then froze, his hands raised away from her as Iris’s own hand covered her neck, their breathing shallow. 

“Not — don’t — don’t hold me like that.” she stuttered.

A tense silence stretched between them, anxiety skating down Eris’s spine and his chest tightened at the expression on her face. At the slight panic she was trying to hide that mirrored his own. At the tense caution, waiting for him to react. As if he’d be upset. As if he didn’t immediately understand why she reacted that way. As if he hadn’t reacted the same way snarling at her like an animal. 

And it crushed him because he could hear the fast beating of her heart in line with his own. He didn’t realize it would bother him. He – he liked her touch. Gods, he wanted her to touch him but not – not –

He straightened, his hands falling to his lap as guilt and embarrassment tore at him. This was exactly why he wouldn’t let himself go further tonight. “I didn’t realize it would bother you.” he finally said quietly. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”

“It’s — it’s okay.” she managed, her face flushed and Iris tried to hide her own embarrassment at the moment being interrupted by her hands and her reaction.

“No, it’s not,” Eris said firmly, a muscle feathering in his jaw as he watched her. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t like or touch you in a way that makes you uncomfortable. You are always safe with me.” 

She felt her heart flutter at the words. Safe. Since that first night together, she had wondered if safe would be her reality with him. 

“I know.” she said then swallowed, slowly bringing both hands back to settle in her lap and calm her breathing.  “I’m – I”m sorry for touching your back. My hands just slipped. I didn’t think.” 

Eris shook his head. “It’s – it’s fine.” he muttered. “I told you, you can always touch me…I didn’t think I would…react that way.” 

Iris bit her lip. “I – I didn’t expect to feel that way either.” Her gaze dropped to her hands. “You’ve held me by the back of my neck before and I — I liked it. And I like it when you kiss my neck.”

His hold never hurt. His lips were always so soft on her skin. It made her forget her father’s hand. 

“But no hands wrapped around your throat.” he confirmed gently. 

“Not – not yet.” she whispered and Eris’s mouth curled softly, causing Iris’s flush to deepen.

“Not yet?” he asked and carefully, slowly, raised his hand to brush a strand of her hair back.

She licked her lips. She had thought a lot about his hands and what she’d imagine he’d do with them. Her flush deepened as he gave her a knowing look.

“I…like the idea of your hands on my throat.” Iris confessed shyly. “But for now…”

“Kisses only?” he suggested and after a breath, she nodded, watching his face. 

She hadn’t meant to react that way, hadn’t even thought it would bother her. Until he squeezed and it triggered another hand on her throat. A hand she hated more than anything and Iris wished she had let Eris wipe him from existence so her father wouldn’t ruin more moments for her. 

Her husband only watched her calmly and as he did, Iris felt her shoulders start to relax, her body calming. Eris gave her a small smile.

“Kissing is one of my favorite things to do,” he said. “Especially when your skin tastes like heaven.” 

Iris couldn’t help the weak chuckle that escaped her lips and leaned in to rest her head against his shoulder gently. His hands immediately tightened around her and she felt her chest ache.

A few moments of silence passed before Iris sat back and met his gaze once more. 

“I’m sorry for ruining the moment.” Iris said quietly, her fingers tracing the scattered freckles on his shoulder. 

Eris’s expression flattened and he gave her a hard look. “You ruined nothing,” he said firmly, his hand sliding down her back and back up absently, soothingly. “We were both caught up in the moment.”

Iris shook her head gently. “It’s alright. We’re…figuring it out.” she said quietly then slowly leaned in to shyly kiss the corner of his mouth. “Is your back the only place I shouldn’t touch yet?” 

He felt his wretched heart skip at her question and Eris was already on the edge of a heart attack just with this conversation alone. He wanted her to touch him everywhere. Every surface of his skin to replace any touch before hers. 

“For now.” he only said and she nodded slowly. She watched him as he watched her and Iris would never get over how she had the power to make the Prince of Autumn blush. 

He seemed to struggle with his next words and Iris waited, knowing just how hard this night had been for him.

“Will you lay with me?” he finally asked quietly and Iris blinked at the request, then nodded with a small smile, a light flush in her cheeks.

They let go, their hands reluctantly separating as the two moved to rest on their respective sides of the bed but they couldn’t keep their eyes off each other. There was something in the casualness of the movement, in the routine of them shifting around their bedroom that built a sensual tension between them. 

Until Iris clocked Eris’s stiff movements as he tried to get comfortable on his stomach. He tried to hide how worn out his body was — didn’t want to see the way her expression dropped again even if it made his stupid heart skip a beat, to know that he had someone who worried about him like this. Who could ease these moments for him. And Eris tried not to break when instead of saying anything, Iris silently moved a pillow for him to place it beneath him.

He could only nod in gratitude, color marking his face as he slowly settled in and glanced at her, silently lifting his arm, waiting for her to slide into the space next to him. 

Iris glanced at him for a moment as a silly sense of shyness crawled its way into her chest and she bit her lip. 

“Are you sure?” she whispered and Eris quirked a brow at the question. 

“I like it when you’re close,” he murmured and Iris heard the unspoken sentence to follow those words, saw it in his eyes, what he really wanted to say, I need you close.

A heartbeat passed, and then Iris allowed herself to sink into his side with that small, shy smile. 

Eris pulled her into him and a shuttered breath slipped out of her lips at their closeness, at the careful way he held her, and gods, she knew her heart was beating so fast. 

All of the other times he had held her or touched her…she knew that this time, it felt different. A new awareness sat between them; the hands of fate rested over them. She wished now more than ever the earlier touching hadn’t caused such a panic.

Iris adjusted herself, turning on her side so she could watch him as he always watched her. 

Mate. Her mate. 

The revelation made her skin tingle as they sat in silence and she still, to this moment, wasn’t sure it was real. “Are you feeling alright?” she asked, scanning his expression for any signs of discomfort. “Do you want me to get you more of the healing ointment?”

Eris only gave her a short smile. “I’m fine.” he said but Iris shot him a look that made the corner of his mouth twitch. “Exhausted. But fine.” His brows furrowed as he watched her face. “Are you alright?”

“I’m more worried about you.”

Eris grunted in response, the hand wrapped around her waist moving to slide slowly up her back. “I’ll be fine. So stop looking at me like that or I really will fling myself out the window.” he said and Iris pursed her lips.

“I’m not allowed to be worried about you? You’re my husband.”

“And a little more than that too.”

As it fell silent between them once more, Iris felt her heartbeat speed up at his tone. That low, sultry tone. 

What was going to happen now? Clearly, things had escalated. Where did that leave them? What did that mean for them outside of this room? Do they tell anyone? How long would they wait to solidify their bond? How soon did she want to? 

Her eyes fell to his bare shoulder, the arm wrapped around her feeling heavier. His shoulders bore such a burden and now she was another one added to the list. Another person he had to protect. How could she help him? How could she ease his struggle instead of causing more of it? 

How long would it take him to start resenting that, even as her mate?

“Iris?”

She blinked and met his gaze as he assessed her. Iris let her eyes roam, focusing first on his bare chest, then resting on his collarbone. She let a hand tentatively slide to trace the bare skin of his shoulder carefully.

“Maybe…Maybe I am being too calm about this.” she whispered and Eris gave her an amused look.

“Are you going to run away screaming now?” he said. “I’ll be a gentleman and give you a headstart.” 

Iris snorted softly. “Chase me until the bitter end, hm?” she said and met his gaze, the look he gave her heating her skin. 

“Oh, absolutely. The chase is the fun part.” 

She tried to chuckle but her expression fell instead. Now that they were mates, tied in a way that couldn’t be changed, that mattered more than anything else…the weight of it all grew heavier. Iris realized how she’d tensed when his hand had slid from her waist to brush up and down her back, soothingly.

“A question for a question.” he murmured and Iris glanced at him, the corner of her mouth curling up.

“A question for a question.” she repeated.

“Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“That’s less of a question and more of a demand, husband.”

“What’s on your mind, oh smartass wife of mine?” he corrected with a teasing tone.

Iris looked away with a small chuckle before sighing softly. “Too many things, if I’m being honest.”

“Such as?”

Iris bit her lip again then frowned. She didn’t want him worrying any more than he already did. They’d – they’d take it day by day. It would be fine. They were in this together.

And yet, she couldn’t help her question.

“Don’t you think this is…crazy?” she said quietly. “A few months ago we were complete strangers…what are the odds of us meeting the way we did?”

Eris gave a slow shrug. “Fate is a funny thing. It is the one thing we cannot escape,” he said. “I barely thought marriage was for me and yet…here we are.”

Iris hummed and then silence fell once more between them. There were so many thoughts swirling in her mind. She wasn’t sure which to ask first. 

“Will we…tell anyone?”

Eris’s expression hardened, his grip tightening on her waist briefly. “I would rather we kept it between us for as long as possible. I can only imagine how much worse my father will make things if he finds out what you are to me.”

Iris bit her lip. “What about your mother?”

She watched as Eris stiffened slightly then let out a sigh. “I’m sure she’s sensed it for a while. I wouldn’t put it past her.” he said but glanced at Iris. “But yes. I do want to tell her.”

“I’m alright with that.”

Eris paused for a moment, glancing away from Iris before clearing his throat and shifting slightly to meet her gaze once more. “Lucien knows.”

Iris blinked. “He does? Since when?”

He nodded, hoping his fidgeting wasn’t too noticeable. “When we visited them…outside, during our conversation,” he said. “I may have been overwhelmed and shared more than I intended.”

Iris blinked again. “I see.”

“Does that bother you?” he asked quietly and Iris bit the inside of her cheek as she watched him, thinking it over before shaking her head.

“No. If you trust Lucien, I trust Lucien.” she said and Eris nodded, swallowing his relief. 

“He’s one of the very few people that I do.” he continued. “That's why I’m glad I  told him. I wanted…I wanted to make sure you had somewhere safe outside this place. That should anything happen, you could go to him.”

Iris felt her expression soften. “Eris…”

Though he shrugged, Eris knew the heat rising on his face gave away his true feelings. “I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t have a plan for everything.”

Iris chuckled softly. “You had a plan for everything except me.” 

His chuckle echoed hers. “You did throw a very big wrench into my plans.” he agreed and she flipped him off half-heartedly, earning her another chuckle. “I never said I was complaining.”

“How could you? I’m so lovely.” she said with a polite smile that made him snort. 

“Yes, especially when threatening to stab me. What else could I have asked for?”

Iris couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “This does seem awfully convenient for you.” she mused. “Wife and mate all in one package.”

“For you as well, I’d wager.” He said with a smirk. “I am very rich and well-endowed.”

She swatted his chest gently. “Not to mention incredibly humble. Don’t be crass.” 

He couldn’t help the chuckle and squeezed her waist again, marveling at the fact that he could laugh at anything after this day. “We are well past me being crass. You should know better by now.” he said sagely. “So if you’re thinking about leaving me, it’s too late I’m afraid.”

Iris sighed playfully. “Who knew you’d be so clingy? I mean, one kiss sent you into a spiral, who knows once we’ve done more what you’ll be like? I’m never going to get rid of you.” Her cheeks flushed in delight at his laugh and she couldn’t help her own chuckle.  

“Thinking about doing more with me, are you?” he asked, his voice dropping in a way that made Iris’s heartbeat quicken. 

“Maybe.”

He sighed rather dramatically then deadpanned, “And the saga of maybes continues.” 

Iris’s laugh was muffled as she hid her face. And maybe it was his hand resting against the silk of her robe or his teasing words or the now acknowledged mating bond between them that she remembered his earlier request and met his gaze shyly again.

“Do you remember what you requested before you left?”

Eris quirked a brow, the corner of his mouth curling up. “I do.” he said quietly. “Don’t tell me this is the one time you’ve decided to listen?”

Her chuckle was a little breathless and Iris could only bring herself to nod. Eris groaned, closing his eyes and Iris couldn’t help her soft laugh.

“I did say it was under consideration.” she said. 

His hand seemed heavier on her back and Eris opened his eyes once more, his gaze unreadable as he watched her. 

“Do you remember our first night together? When you helped me with my dress?” she whispered. 

“How could I forget?” he murmured. “I think about my hands touching your bare skin too often for my own good.”

Iris flushed. “I – I think about your hands touching my bare skin all the time.” she said. 

“Do you now?”

“Unfortunately.”

“What a disgusting habit you picked up there, wife.”

“I did learn from the best, husband.” 

  Eris’s lips twitched at her response and without looking away, his hand slid down her curves to settle on her upper thigh, his thumb toying with the slit of her robe. “Oh, the things I want to teach you, mate.” he said, his voice velvet sin, and Iris couldn’t help but shudder, heat pooling low in her belly at his tone, at the way the word mate tugged deep inside her. 

Gods, she wanted him to touch her so badly. They could handle brief, light touches, could they not?

And he must’ve seen the desire in her gaze because slowly, as if giving her room to protest if she wanted to, Eris slid his hand beneath her robe, making contact with the smooth skin of her bare thigh.

Eris heard her intake of breath and tried not to tremble stupidly as his thumb caressed her skin. He tried to breathe easily, his gaze not wavering from hers as he squeezed her upper thigh gently. 

“If this day had gone differently,” he began, his voice low. “My reaction to this conversation would have a different outcome.” 

“Oh?”

His only confirmation was a grunt as his hand squeezed her thigh again then greedily slid up to the curve of her ass and Iris bit back a moan when he slid his hand over her lace undergarment and squeezed again before sliding back down to her thigh. 

“Do you – do you want me to take off the robe?” she whispered and his gaze turned molten.

His mind had already conjured image upon image of how quickly he’d rip any layer between them. How he’d feast on her and gods, would he fuck her. Too easily could he picture how she’d look coming all over his cock. How’d she feel over him and under him and touching him. He could almost taste her. And every time he thought about it, it was everything they both wanted and more. 

But he also knew what trying to have sex right now would be like for him. It would be rough and hard and ruin anything they had built between them because he knew he’d lose control. He was still too tense and for years, sex had always been something empty for him. Something that made him feel meaningless – a moment of fleeting pleasure and nothing more.  He didn’t want that with Iris. His wife — his mate deserved better. 

And if anyone else knew that Eris had hesitated at her question, they’d consider him ill. He had half a mind to get his head checked anyway but knew deep in his tired bones that tonight wouldn’t grant either of them justice. This bond was delicate between them. It was sacred and he’d be damned if, at this significance of a moment between them, he ruined it by thinking with the wrong head. By accidentally hurting her in his haste. Especially after her earlier reaction.

He could be patient. His self-control was a practiced art. 

 So Eris shook his head and chuckled when Iris narrowed her eyes at him. “I can’t take what I want from you tonight, even if you’re willing.” he said.

“Who are you and what have you done with the male I married?” she joked and his lips twitched once more.

“He’s still very much here, plotting sinister and despicable things to do to you,” he replied and Iris bit back a smile that faded when his own expression sobered. His fingers continued to skim her bare skin beneath the robe. “I don’t have it in me to handle more tonight,” he muttered, feeling his face heat at his confession. “So you’re safe with me. This…this is enough.”

And because they were two sides of the same coin, Iris understood. She understood that his skin needed only the softest of touches the way hers did for a while, that he could only tolerate so much of it in one night. 

Iris nodded and then bit her lip, assessing his expression as they glanced at each other. He had laid all his armor at her feet today but he had been giving her pieces of him from the moment she met him. 

She would do the same. She wanted all of him the way he had always wanted all of her — piece by piece.

“You’re safe with me too, you know that, right?” she said and Eris’s brows furrowed. “I’m on your side. I’m here with you.”

Eris felt his insides crumble, his expression falling. What had he done to deserve such a statement? 

“Don’t – don’t say things like that to me.” he whispered and Eris felt himself near a cardiac arrest when her expression softened and she pulled him even closer to her. 

“Why not?” she whispered back, and slowly, as if giving him time to protest if he wished, she brought his body to rest half over hers.

And Eris watched her face as his body rested over hers, drinking in her expression and the trust he found there. The shy caution. Every inch touching and the frantic beating of her heart threatened to send his own heart into overdrive. He felt himself about to burn from the inside out. As though being touched and kissed by her lit a fuse inside him and he couldn’t take his eyes off her as Iris’s hands grazed the back of his neck. Gently. Tenderly.

Gods. Was this what he’d been waiting for his whole life? Were these feelings what had been missing? 

“Iris.” he whispered her name, a plead. A prayer. 

Iris gazed at him, her expression filled with an emotion he couldn’t place. An emotion he couldn't even handle to think about. 

“What do you need to make tonight easier for you?” she said, repeating her question from earlier in the evening, her voice a whisper.

Eris blinked and then he barely could get enough air in his lungs. His mouth parted and the Prince of Autumn couldn't understand why the question knocked the wind out of him. After everything that had happened today, his needs were the last thing on his mind. It…it surprised him to be asked. For a second time, his wife, whom he’d only known for such a short amount of time, asked him what he needed. 

No one ever asked Eris what he needed. He was…he hadn’t been in the right headspace when she asked him earlier but now…to be asked once more…he was touched by her question.  

No one has asked him so bluntly before. No one focused on what he needed. 

And what did he need?

Her.

Need was too light of a word when it came to her. It was a want — a depthless craving to have her everywhere. Her scent overwhelmed him, her body pressed into him with his arm draped over her just like this. The answer was simpler than he had anticipated. Simply…Iris.

Gentler than Eris had ever thought to touch someone before, he brought a hand to her cheek. 

It was dangerous to admit his needs, especially to the person who now held his world in the palm of her hand. And yet, he couldn’t stop the words as they slipped out, “Just you. Right here.”

The corner of Iris’s mouth curled up, flushing at the words. She shifted slightly so their legs were now tangled as he settled comfortably over her and she held him. 

“I think that’s doable.”

Eris’s chuckle slid against her skin as gooseflesh erupted on her skin and she held her breath when he leaned in closer, his nose brushing hers.

“We can decide what to do with this mating bond between us and discuss it to death tomorrow and on,” he began and Iris shifted as his voice dropped. “But come what may, Iris, as of tonight, I am yours. And you are mine. Do you understand?”

The world around them seemed to halt at the words and Iris could feel the shift in the air at his claiming. She felt herself flush deeper and the bond between them went taut as her husband stared at her and she at him, watching, feeling his chest rise and fall. 

There would be no going back to dancing around their feelings after tonight.

“I am yours. And you…are mine.” she repeated, her grip tightening around him and Eris nipped at the corner of her mouth as he whispered,

“Mine.” 

And they sank into each other with slow kisses, the touch of their hands reverent. Every thought, every moment outside of their lips touching slipped away and husband and wife were left with only each other. The weight of tomorrow and everything after pushed away for this one night.

A night where the only thing tethering the Prince of Autumn to this world, was her.  

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 15

I can't believe we're at 15 already :O

MASTAPOST

Danny looked at Damian. Damian looked at Danny. They looked at the smoldering remains of the Atlantean barracks, the scores of soldiers whose feet were frozen to the floor or to each other, bearing incredibly precise scorch marks from the wrist ray (maybe he should take confiscate that soon). They looked at the retreating soldiers, some of whom were openly sobbing. Danny looked at the helmet Damian acquired from their poor Atlantean victims, and the bow and arrow strapped over his chest. He looked at the overflowing satchels full of plant-based food they had plundered from the town. The unluckiest of them sported Damian-shaped bite marks on their exposed skin, a very painful reminder to not enter the kid’s personal space.

“You said we were just gonna get a map.”

Damian crossed his arms and honest-to-god pouted. Or scowled. It was a scowly pout. “It was not my fault you lost control over your powers.”

Danny’s face went blank. “Who was the one who demanded to see the seahorses and stick around even after we got what we needed?”

And you know what? Danny could honestly admit the seahorses were pretty cute. Was it worth risking their lives? Probably not, even if with Danny’s powers, there wasn’t much risk to them at all. It was the principle of the thing.

Damian at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed. “Is it truly my fault if I wish to admire our planet’s marine biodiversity up close?”

“Yes, Damian. Absolutely.”

“It matters not. Besides, the Atlanteans deserve what happened to them.”

Now that excuse wiped the deadpan off Danny’s face, leaving him in open-mouthed disbelief.

Damian continued. “We have done nothing to them, and yet they regard our mere presence with fear, and take up arms despite there being no hostility from us.”

Danny looked back to smoldering ruins. Granted, it was just a barracks and a few watchtowers, but still. The Atlanteans fear of them was starting to feel a little justified. Did the first settlement Damian raided yesterday suffer a similar fate?

He ran his hands down his face. Scratch the bloodthirsty theory. He was beginning to think Damian intentionally got them caught to have an excuse to wreck the Atlanteans. Then there were the weapons. One look at Damian’s satisfied face as he looked over the destruction practically confirmed it.

Man, kids really were menaces, weren’t they? Maybe he should’ve thought more carefully before agreeing to travel thousands of miles alone with this chaos kid. Was it the siren instincts? Youngblood was similarly unhinged. Maybe it just released his inhibitions.

His distress must have been visible, because Damian tutted once his silence went on too long. “I was being merciful to them. With my skills, I could have easily gut them like the fish I very reluctantly eat, but no longer have to thanks to having plundered their food stores.”

“You know what? I’m not gonna even try to unpack all of that. That’s a job for my sister.” The elder siren patted his shoulders. “Get on, we’ve got places to go.”

Damian beamed as he swam around Danny and latched on, head held high. And honestly? Danny would be an absolute hypocrite if he said he didn’t absolutely enjoy whooping the high and mighty bigots a new one.

“Hey B.”

Bruce could hear the strain on Tim’s voice. Even now, the boy was clacking away at the Batcomputer. He probably hadn’t taken more than a five-minute break.

“Tim.” Bruce said. He considered his next words. He was never one for talking much. It had become difficult to emote strongly after that night in Crime Alley.

“Still hacking into the GiW, and going over missing person cases. Haven’t found anything. I’ll post you when I do.” Tim said, all in work mode. Bruce sighed.

“Thank you, Tim, but I know it’s getting late at home. When was your last break?”

Tim didn’t say anything, but Bruce could practically hear the pout.

“I know you’re worried. I am too, but the Batcave will still be there in the morning.”

Tim hummed, still defiant to the last. “We’re losing valuable time. I can handle it. I handled Damian’s… everything. This is nothing. I’ve only been awake for sixteen hours.”

And wasn’t that half the issue.

Bruce took a deep breath. Countless hours of miming with Alfred, and talking to cardboard cutouts of his children.

“I’ve been worrying, Tim.” Just calmly. Just ease into the words. Don’t freak Tim out or scare him away.

“All you ever do is worry, and now it’s Damian so you’re worried even more.”

“I’m…” The lump in his throat grew. It felt like breaking glass to push through. “I’m worried about you.”

Silence on the line.

Bruce continued, stumbling into dark. “H-How are you feeling right now?”

A chair scraped on the other end., followed by retreating footsteps. “Nope. Nope. Not doing this.”

Bruce’s stress hiked. “Wait, Tim!”

The footsteps stopped, although Tim remained silent. Words, words, words, words. What did his manual say about this kind of situation?

“Thank you. I know you and Damian haven’t been on the best terms. But it… It’s…”

Bruce rapidly flipped through his manual, before deciding on the right word, before Tim could get away. “It’s… I’m proud of you. I always have been. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

The footsteps resumed, twice as fast as before. Bruce could barely make out muttering about coffee hallucinations. That was good, was it? Bruce looked over his checklist over and over again. Surely he hadn’t missed something?

Maybe he needed to review his notes before talking to Dick…

Arthur Curry, better known to the world as Aquaman, regarded the messaged sent to the palace from the Pacific frontier. The kingdom had benefitted immensely once the zeta system and advancements in instant communication allowed for him to easily communicate with every corner of the country in seconds.

The contents were worrying. Very worrying, in fact. He would almost have dismissed it as impossible, if he weren’t keenly aware of how much damage a clever enough child could do. Memories of the various Robins’ exploits around the Watchtower flashed through his mind, giving him goosebumps.

Never again.

It was a luxury which appeared unable to be afforded to him, as an attendant entered the room and handed him a second message, bound in twine and seaweed. Arthur thanked her, and opened the letter.

Another raid by the same child, this time accompanied by a young teenager. A young teenage siren. The local barracks destroyed, several watchtowers toppled, and food stores plundered. The two sirens fled soon after. About thirty injured personnel, but no casualties, and no civilian injuries either, thank goodness.

It was one of the strangest raids parties he’d ever seen. Usually siren pods descended on vulnerable border towns like a landslide, bringing dozens or hundreds of warriors charging through the countryside, pillaging farmland and razing whole buildings to the seafloor. Arthur transitioned to the archives to continue his research, pulling thousand-year-old records from their carefully preserved cases. His earliest predecessors had seen countless deaths to these war parties, before the Atlantean military was formalised and modernised.

The raids also occasionally took hostages. Sometimes adults or the elderly. Usually children. Arthur’s heart ached at his most vulnerable subjects being stripped away from their families. Those hostages taken were often never seen again, even as Atlantean forces made repeated incursions into siren territory to search for them. They would always be repelled back before finding any.

But one pattern was always clear with the raiders. Although those barbarians took Atlantean children for whatever sick purposes, they never brought their own children to fight. Some of his people believed they didn’t even have children, that they spawned spontaneously as fully formed spirits of destruction and rage.

It looked like those theories were untrue. But what circumstances could produce such a strange result? The first report only described a single siren child, who looked to be about five years old or so by Atlantean standards. The second report confirmed the reappearance of that child, now in tandem with a teenager who still appeared very young. Were they brothers? The reports stated the older one had translucent white and black skin, almost like glass, to the point where even his internal organs were faintly transparent. The younger siren sported a dark green coat, and golden fins and highlights. Neither before or after they struck did the soldiers ever catch a glimpse of an adult.

Could they be orphans? Arthur’s heart panged. Even if they were technically his enemies, he hated the fact that children were the victims of this continued conflict. Despite attempts to work out a peace treaty between his kingdom and the sirens, it could never work out. Atlantis was one kingdom with one king, but the siren pods spent as much time squabbling between themselves as with Atlantis.

Outside of their age and lack of supervision, the children also sported another deviation: Their choice in weaponry. While the capital invested in preferred to traditional weapons, favoring especially polearms like the spear, trident and javelin. Siren war bands in the past favored the bow and arrow, using their superior speed to outmanoeuvre and outrange Atlantean soldiers. Many men and women were lost to their feigned retreat tactics, to the point where every new recruit had to be drilled again and again to never pursue ‘retreating’ sirens.

The elder of the two raiders fought with only his magic, firing icy beams and throwing spears of ice. This was where the duo was most similar to typical siren warriors, contrasting against the disciplined and measured sorcery taught to Aqualad and others his age.

What was alarming was how the younger boy fought. He slashed at one poor soldier who got too close with a sword in his first attack. Mauled six others with his teeth in the second. At ranged he wielded a strange contraption on his wrist, capable of rapidly firing concussive energy beams that let him suppress and disrupt soldiers triple his size.

The sirens were never interested in technological development in the same way as the Atlanteans did, and never had they possessed a weapon even close to as advanced as the one sported by the tiny child.

Arthur’s eyes furrowed. Could it be that some third party was supplying Atlantis’ enemies? How long before another army gathered, before the kingdom faced another existential threat like Pariah Dark had once posed?

Arthur’s Justice League communicator vibrated. The king of Atlantis picked up the call.

“Arthur.” It was Bruce. “This is urgent.”

“What do you need?”

“What information has your kingdom got on sirens?”

“What a coincidence, because I’ve just received two new reports from the Pacific frontier…”

“… As for this Phantom character, the culprit of the attack seems to match your description perfectly.”

Bruce furrowed his eyes. He marked the location where Phantom had last struck. The boy was heading south, along the California Current. For what reason? Was he migrating according to his needs as a species, or was he searching for another haunt? Was he going further south or would he turn west once he neared the equator and follow the current there?

Six months of stalking a human town, fighting off other sirens, only to abandon it once the GiW came out in force, and then start marauding Atlantean settlements out of nowhere? Something extraordinary had to have happened. According to Arthur, Phantom had never been seen by his soldiers before. Perhaps Phantom had completed whatever goals he had in Amity, and was transitioning to his next move on Atlantis.

Phantom was young, or at least appeared young. Likely no older than fifteen. The fact that no records show any similar pattern of behaviour ruled out the possibility of it being some kind of coming-of-age ceremony. It seemed Phantom was an outlier among his species.

If sirens travelled in pods, then where was Phantom’s?

“It’s funny you mention that, since he wasn’t alone. There was a tiny child with him. I think he was about five years old or so. The boy carried weapons like a warrior, and blasted my soldiers with energy beams from a futuristic wrist gun. I’ll sent you the sketch the commander sent me.”

Bruce confirmed his receipt of the sketch. His eyes widened.

Emblazed on the gun’s side was a very familiar logo, a flaming blue F for Fenton.

The conversation ended soon after, with Arthur promising to forward him translated copies of the reports.

Bruce clasped his hands, holding them tight as he pondered (not brooded, despite what Dick insisted).

It seemed Phantom’s lack of morality couldn’t sink further. He had manipulated Amity Island teenagers into assisting him, and now he was leading what was basically a toddler half of Damian’s age into dangerous battles against trained soldiers.

Bruce’s will hardened with righteous anger. This Phantom was barely fresh off his last crime before preying on another child. He had to be stopped.

Suddenly he had three children to save now.

Please be ok, Damian…

[theamityelf]

(Sorry, you can ignore me, but I do have to write some Toxic Kamuegi here just for fun. Also, this isn't anime-compliant, because the information the second game gives about Izuru Kamukura fascinates me.)

He'd expected the answer to be no. He'd thought that Junko had just been telling a really inappropriate joke. But now...Makoto had pulled his boyfriend aside to ask, and he'd gotten a confirmation with no hesitation. It was true.

"But...How could you do something like that?"

Izuru was staring in that way he did whenever he believed he stood to learn a lot from a conversation. The air in Makoto's room felt as dense as a solid. "You're upset."

"Of course I'm upset!"

"With me?"

"If you murdered the Student Council, then yes, I'm upset with you!"

Izuru looked bothered, and then he seemed to reject the feeling, his expression clearing.

Makoto shook his head in disbelief. "How...Why would you do that?"

"Are you asking because my answer will matter to you? You're already upset." His tone had flattened into a facsimile of indifference that Makoto could see right through.

"Yes, it matters! I want to understand what happened! Why aren't you answering me?"

"It wasn't Enoshima's place to tell you. You didn't have to know it was me. You didn't know those people well enough to care about them; I wouldn't have done it to someone you cared about."

"Izuru!"

"You only care because I'm the one who did it. You wouldn't be thinking about them now, if the culprit had been a stranger."

"What do you mean I wouldn't be thinking about them?! It happened yesterday!"

"Plenty of your friends are murderers. It's unfair that you're upset with me."

"How is this your reaction-?!"

"You're not supposed to be upset with me. It's not fair."

They were not talking about the same thing. Makoto took a breath to steady his head; the situation itself, the idea that Junko had just casually told him that his boyfriend had murdered a bunch of students and then his boyfriend had corroborated the claim, was already so surreal, but the fact that he wasn't even able to get a straight answer about what happened because his boyfriend was fixating so hard on...what? How much of a slight it was to him, that Makoto cared about the transgression at all?

"It's not fair?" he repeated.

Izuru dipped his head, maintaining, "You aren't looking at me the way you're supposed to. I don't like it."

"Did you actually kill someone thinking it wouldn't matter to me?"

"I killed someone thinking you wouldn't find out. Enoshima chose to be underhanded to upset you, thinking it would affect our relationship."

"You think it doesn't affect our relationship?!"

Izuru's head lifted, and his eyes seemed to focus in on him even harder than before. "What does that mean?"

Makoto just sent him a half-bewildered, half-helpless look.

"Tell me what you mean," Izuru insisted, walking closer.

"Tell me why you killed them," Makoto replied. "Was it self-defense? Were you-?"

"They don't matter; they weren't a part of what we had before, so they can't start to factor in to what we have now."

"They don't matter? I..." Makoto felt his expression falter, and he saw a responding flicker in Izuru's face- albeit subtler. "I don't understand how you can act like this. You always...You were nice. I mean, you weren't...always nice, but, you were peaceful. You were-"

"There's no reason to speak in the past tense; I still am everything I was." He'd never heard Izuru sound desperate before, but the agitated pace of his words, the hard, decidedly toneless voice with which he tried to correct Makoto, emanated a subtly frantic aura. "You promised me you wouldn't let anything someone else said about me change your mind about loving me."

"I do love you. But if you really killed someone for no reason-"

"You can’t break up with me. It’s not allowed. I’m not bored of you yet."

"Izuru, you killed the Student Council!"

"You will not leave me."

Makoto had barely noticed the movements while they were happening, but now it was clear that Izuru had gone to stand between him and the door. "Izuru-"

"I’m the Ultimate Hope. What greater purpose could you have in life other than making me happy?"

"What are you saying?!"

"My teachers don’t understand why I care about you. I can’t explain it. The only thing special about you is the fact that you make me happy. You’re as beholden to that talent as I am to mine. We don’t get to forfeit what makes us special."

"I'm not special. I don't have a talent. And I'm not beholden to anything."

They held eye contact for several seconds. It crossed Makoto's mind that he was confronting someone who he knew had just killed a bunch of people, and that he was alone with him now, vulnerable, but...but it was Izuru. And no matter how intimidating he was acting, it seemed important not to show him any weakness right now. Izuru was the one who broke eye contact, averting his gaze with the passionless observation, "We're both angry. We can continue this conversation later." As he turned away, he added, "...after I murder Enoshima." He exited the room and shut the door behind himself.

Makoto was chilled at the way he'd said what might otherwise have sounded like a wry joke. He hurried to the door, throwing it open and finding an empty hallway beyond. No sign that his boyfriend had just left the room barely a second ago, and no sign of which way he'd gone. "Izuru?!" He picked a direction at random and took off, hoping for good luck.

[sequinsmile-x]

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Seventy Seven

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi friends <3

So glad you enjoyed the last chapter <3 As always, your love for this version of them makes me so happy.

I...will probably get yelled at a little for this chapter. And I deserve it...

As always, let me know what you think!

-x-

Words: 3k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily huffs out a breath as she turns sideways in the mirror, her hands plucking at the material of her dress in an attempt to make it lay differently. She groans as it gathers in the same way again, hanging over a curve that looks obvious to her as she runs her hands over her bump.

“How do I look so pregnant already?” She asks, her eyes meeting her husband’s in the mirror, “I’m only 13 weeks.” 

He smiles as he steps up behind her, his hands on her belly as he encourages her backwards, his lips pressed against her temple as her back meets his chest, “Remember what Doctor Gibson said” he says, his lips still against her skin, “It’s normal for a second pregnancy,” he smiles as she rests her head against his shoulder and looks up at him, “Your body already knows what it’s doing.” 

She hums, turning her head to kiss his jaw, “I just don’t want her to notice immediately.” 

It’s a reminder of a moment from almost 2 years ago when they originally planned on telling Elizabeth that Emily was pregnant with Lily. Aaron knows her anxieties are born from that, from the reminder of what had happened to her relationship with her mother during her first pregnancy and not because she’s worried about how she looked. She loved being pregnant, he knew that, and she’d feel better once she was past this final hurdle of telling her mother. 

“She won’t be able to tell,” he says, stamping a kiss against her lips.

She hums in disbelief, “Spencer asked if we were having twins when we told the team,” she deadpans, raising an eyebrow when he laughs, her smile widening when he clears his throat to try to cover his reaction. She’d been strangely relieved when the doctor confirmed she was only pregnant with one baby at her 12-week scan. She didn’t want her pregnancy to be any more complicated than it needed to be, her hope to have the birth she wanted this time still burning bright. 

“That’s because for a genius he rarely thinks before he speaks,” Aaron replies, his hands on her hips as he turns her in his embrace, his smile encouraging before he leans in to kiss her, “You look beautiful.” 

She beams at him and shakes her head, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, “If you keep this up you’re so getting lucky when we get home,” she scrunches her nose up, “As long as whatever Mom’s chef has made for dinner doesn’t make me sick.”  Overall her nausea was better since she’d tipped over into her second trimester, but there were still certain triggers, mostly food related, that would make her feel like she’d been hit by a truck. And she’d once literally been hit by a truck. She leans forward and rests her forehead against his chest, breathing him in, grateful that she could handle the smell of his cologne again, and she sighs, “Can’t we just stay here?” 

He chuckles and kisses the top of her head, his hand on her back as he runs soothing circles up and down it, “Come on, sweetheart,” he says, kissing her head again, “The sooner we get there, the sooner we can come home.” 

She groans, “You’re right,” she pulls back to look at him, fake irritation in her eyes, “Why do you always have to be so damn reasonable?” She smiles when he winks at her, “You’re right,” she sighs, stepping away from him and looking herself over in the mirror again, “Plus, she’s cancelled on me a couple of times recently - I want to make sure she’s okay.” 

He feels concern lick at his insides, a brief flame of worry and pre-emptive anger at the mention of Elizabeth’s recent flakiness. It reminded him too much of when she started drinking again when Emily was pregnant with Lily, and a part of him he couldn’t ignore was worried she’d relapsed. He hadn’t verbalised his concern to his wife, not wanting to do anything to damage the already tenuous relationship between mother and daughter, the foundations still shaky from when they’d got back on speaking terms only a few months ago, and he hoped more than anything that he was wrong. 

Their relationship wouldn’t survive it this time. It would finally pull it under, break Emily’s resolve to try and fix anything, her desire to put her family first, their children, the most important thing to her. 

He shakes it off for now and wraps his arm around her shoulders as he leads her towards the bedroom door, “If you can’t eat whatever she serves I’ll take you to whatever fast food place you want on the way home.”

She smiles gratefully, “You know what sounds so good right now?” She asks idly, linking her fingers through his over her shoulder, her smile widening when he shakes his head, “Those huge pickles you can get at the farmers market.” 

He furrows his brows as he thinks of every time they’d ever eaten burgers together, how she’d pick the offending topping off of hers and slip them onto his plate without comment, “You hate pickles.” 

She scoffs at him, “Yeah but the baby doesn’t,” she says like it’s obvious, as if she hadn’t once refused to kiss him until he brushed his teeth after he ate one of the pickles from the farmers market in question, “Maybe they get it from you.”

She smiles at him, and he knows he’d fill their fridge with the damn pickles if it makes her happy. 

___

Aaron’s concern peaks the moment they arrive. 

Elizabeth looks tired. Sick almost. For the first time since he’d met her, she looked her age, older in fact, and he knows Emily sees it too. 

Her shoulders get tighter the moment she hugs her mother, picking up immediately on how she seems to have lost weight, her frame almost delicate as she hugs her daughter back. She tries to ask if she’s okay but Elizabeth brushes her off, claiming she’s just tired after a long day at work, and she decides to leave the matter alone, well aware that her desire to not talk about something until she is ready had come from somewhere. 

They talk about Lily and Jack as they eat, Emily’s focus switching back and forth between her nausea and her mother’s own barely touched dinner. Aaron’s plate is the only one that is empty when they are cleared away and Emily turns down dessert, the idea of the rich chocolate cake she’s offered enough to turn her stomach. 

She waits her mother out, hoping that she’ll tell her whatever is going on, but in the end, her curiosity wins out, her joy about her pregnancy stuck in her throat. Her happiness feeling nothing short of misplaced in the atmosphere around them that she can’t name. 

“Mother, what’s going on?”

Elizabeth’s shoulders visibly tighten, along with her grip on her glass of water, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She sighs, her eyebrows raised as she tries again, “Mom.”

There’s a beat of silence and Elizabeth nods, sighing herself before she starts, “I haven’t been well,” she says, her eyes fixed on the table for a moment before she clears her throat, a look on her face that was the closest she’d ever been to vulnerable, “And there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it,” she presses her lips together, her jaw tight, “I’m in kidney failure.” 

Emily chokes on a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob before she can stop it, the pressure of it cracking her ribs from the inside out as she shakes her head. She covers her mouth with her hand, only aware of the way her mother was looking at her across the table, and Aaron’s hand sneaking onto her knee, a reassuring squeeze that brings her back to herself. 

“What…how?” She chokes out, even though she already knows the answer, the anger she thought she'd buried over her mother’s alcoholism rearing its ugly head, burning her from the inside out as she clenches her jaw tightly to keep it in. 

“My doctor says that the alcohol caused irreversible damage,” Elizabeth says, something Emily would call shame if she was looking at someone else flickering in her eyes, “I’ve started dialysis already. But the only solution is a transplant.” 

It feels like the air is sucked out of the room, the weight of expectation familiar and overwhelming as it lies on her shoulders. The unasked question lingers between them, and she feels Aaron tense next to her, a much-needed reminder that she wasn’t alone this time. She looks at him, sees the way he’s holding himself together, and she knows it’s taking all of his self-control to not tell her mother off for putting her in this situation again. She’s grateful that he keeps his long-standing promise to not get between her and her mother, that the only thing he does is tighten his grip on her leg under the table.  

She feels like she’s been thrown back in time, like it was half a lifetime ago and she’d just made the decision to give up a lobe of her liver because what other choice was there. This time it’s not that simple and Emily was sure it wouldn’t be even if she wasn’t pregnant. She can’t allow herself to wonder if it’s selfish or not, if she should feel bad that even if she knew she could she wasn’t sure she would give a part of herself to her mother again. 

She always gave her so much. So much patience. So much room and so many allowances for her behaviour that she only let fly because she was her mother. She’d given her a piece of her liver and she’d even thrown that away by doing the one thing she’d promised she never would.

Emily wasn’t sure she had anything else left to give. 

“Mom-”

“I know it’s a lot to ask-”

“I’m pregnant,” she blurts out, none of the finesse she’d practised in the announcement anywhere to be seen. Her words hang heavily in the air between them, thick and cloying and entirely the opposite of how she’d wanted it to be. She clears her throat and looks at Aaron, linking her fingers through his on her knee, “That’s what we wanted to tell you tonight. We’re having another baby.” 

She knows she doesn’t have to say anything else, that her implication is clear, that she can’t help this time, and they fall into silence again.

___

He isn’t surprised when he finds her in the nursery. 

When they got home he’d left her to it, the silence of the car journey home awkward and heavy, everything he wanted to say to comfort her stuffed back into his lungs. The moment they got in the house she’d walked upstairs, a half-hearted excuse that she wanted to change into her pjyamas thrown over her shoulder as she barely looked back at him. He hears the door he knows to be the nursery, the squeak of the hinges he keeps meaning to oil giving her away immediately. 

He gives her time before he follows her up. He takes his time doing chores and cleaning up the kid's toys before he finally heads up the stairs. He makes sure he’s quiet when he pushes the door to the nursery open and he smiles softly at his wife when he sees her sitting on the love seat they kept in there, Lily fast asleep and content in her arms, her cheek squished against her mother’s chest. 

“Hi,” Emily says quietly, shifting so her cheek is on top of Lily’s head, her eyes drifting closed as she breathes in the scent of her shampoo. 

“Hi,” he replies, staying in the doorway, “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

She smiles at the offer, love for him chasing away the ache in her chest, and she shakes her head, “No,” she says, opening her eyes, “I don’t want you to leave me alone.”

He nods and closes the door behind him, wincing at the squeak of the hinge, his lips pressed together as his wife raises her eyebrow at him, “I will fix that tomorrow.” 

She hums as he sits next to her on the love seat, their thighs pressed together as she moves towards him, seeking him out without even thinking about it, “Sure, honey.” 

There’s nothing malicious in her tone, nothing but gentle disbelief, but he makes a mental note not to put it off anymore. To fix something that could be fixed. He turns his head and kisses her temple, “I promise.” 

She lets herself sink into the comfort of Lily against her chest and Aaron’s arm around the two of them, the thoughts that had been tumbling around her head finally coming to a stop, “I thought she was drinking again.” 

She’s spoken so quietly he barely hears her and he shifts so he’s looking at her, his finger hooked under her chin as he encourages her to look up at him, “What did you say, sweetheart?” 

“I thought she was drinking again,” she says again, sighing as she shakes her head, “She’s been acting strangely lately and that’s the first place my brain went.” 

“Mine too,” he admits, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger on her cheek, “I didn’t want to say anything because I hoped I was wrong.” 

She nods, her smile sad as she thinks about how similar they were, how perfect he was for her in so many ways, “It might sound insane, but this feels worse somehow,” she admits, swallowing thickly as she says what she’d been thinking since her mother’s revelation, “If she was drinking again I’d know what to do. I’d know where we’d stand going forward. It would be…”

She trails off, her jaw tight as he watches her eyes get shinier. He strokes her cheek again, catching a tear the moment it falls, “Easier.” 

“Yeah,” she jokes out, a hysterical laugh caught in her chest, “It would be over. I wouldn’t be able to have a relationship with her anymore, but it would be easier, “This…” she shakes her head and laughs dryly, “This is so complicated,” her eyes meet his and her chin tremble, “She could die, Aaron. And the worst thing is even if I wasn’t pregnant I don’t know if I’d do it,” she wipes her cheek as another tear falls, “And I know addiction is complicated,” pausing when the familiarity of the conversation makes her momentarily breathless, a memory of the conversation they had when her mother relapsed hitting her with full force, “But I’m so angry at her for doing this to herself, for putting us all in this situation.” 

“It’s completely normal to feel that way, sweetheart,” he assures her, his smile encouraging as he continues to stroke her cheek, “You’re allowed to be angry. You saved her life once before and she did the one thing she promised she wouldn’t. And not only that, she threw what you’d done for her back in your face like it was nothing,” his lips quirk up into a half, sad, smile, “Even if you could do it again and wanted to I’m not sure I’d want you to. I know it’s your body and your decision…”

She smiles at him as he drifts off and she leans up to kiss him, her lips soft against his as she holds Lily still against her, “I know what you mean,” she blows out a breath, “When will everything just be less complicated?” 

“Probably never,” he replies, smiling when she groans, “But at least we have each other.” 

She nods, stamping her lips against his again, “Always.” 

“Always,” he repeats, kissing her once more before he encourages her to snuggle up against him, tucking her and Lily against his side, “I could always get tested. See if I’m a match-”

“No,” she says firmly, her tone surprising him a little, “The last time you were in the hospital was after everything with Foyet…” her voice catches, her emotions and hormones getting the better of her like they always did these days, “I can’t go through you being in the hospital again and everything it will bring up if I can avoid it, especially not when I’m pregnant. I just can’t-”

“Okay,” he assures her, cutting her off as she starts to sound like she’s pleading with him, the sound of her desperation a physical blow to his chest. He kisses her temple, his grip on her arm tightening, “Okay, sweetheart. We won’t go down that road.”

The breath she lets out is shaky and she nods against him, her forehead against his shoulder, “I love you for even thinking about it,” she says, “But this isn’t your issue to fix. Or mine,” she swallows thickly, “We’ll help where we can but…this time I draw the line at donating body parts.” 

He hums and they fall into something close to contented silence, the only sound in the room Lily’s breathing. Eventually, Emily yawns, the emotional toll of the evening catching up with her, and Aaron kisses the top of her head.

“Do you want me to put her down for you?” He asks, his hand over hers on Lily’s back. He isn’t surprised when she shakes her head. 

“Not yet,” she says, tilting her head to look up at him, “I want to sit her with her for a bit if that’s okay.”

He nods, unable to deny her anything, “We can sit here as long as you want.” 

She smiles, “I love you. I…I wouldn’t want to do any of this, the good or the bad, with anyone else.” 

He kisses her forehead, then her nose and then her cheek, smiling when it draws a genuine laugh out of her like he knew it would. “I love you too. I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else either.”