#but she is so palpably afraid and worried

[carefulfears]

the lung beetle episode means so much to me because it is arguably mulder's most unserious terminal injury but it really accentuates just how much scully suffers

[raven-dor]

come back to me

In which gwayne hightower leaves his wife asleep before the battle, and she worries over his return

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x reader, alicent hightower x PLATONIC!reader, rhaenyra targaryen x PLATONIC!reader

WARNINGS: allusions to nsfw, angst, old friends, hurt/comfort, arguing (not actual arguing, just reader letting out her worry), fluffy ending

WORD COUNT: 2,994

Her emerald green dress flowed with the wind as she stood on their shared balcony, staring at the town below. He always admired her from afar, she was angelic, Gwayne had come to realize over the years. He walked behind her, his arms snaking around her waist, a gentle touch that spoke volumes as to how much he treasured her. “Come to bed, my love.” 

She hummed, leaning her head back into his chest. “If I come to bed, this night will end, and that will mean you are leaving.” She shook her head, her resistance palpable in the air. “So I will not.” 

He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Will you deny your lord husband the pleasure of your company before he goes into battle?” 

She laughed, twisting in his hold. “Is this a request or a demand?” 

“It is a plea.” He leaned down, inches away from her lips. “I do not wish to leave on bad terms. This battle will be one for the histories.” He shivered, pulling her closer. “Indulge me.” 

She leaned forward, cruelly teasing him. Quickly, she pulled back, escaping his hold easily. She walked past him, smirking. “If we must.” 

He grabbed her wrist, spinning her back to him. She gasped, her knees weakening under his piercing gaze. Gwayne had always had a hold on her, even long before they were promised to each other, and she was just the Dowager Queen’s childhood friend. He was a good man; he always had been. “You know I would never force myself on you, my lady. But I must confess…” He leaned down, whispering. “If I do not kiss you, I will surely die.”

She giggled, reaching for his lips. “We cannot have that, can we?” 

He collided her lips with his, groaning. “My darling girl…” 

“Take me to bed, Gwayne.” She murmured, linking her lips with his once more. “Please.” 

“Whatever you wish, my love.” He grabbed her thighs, wrapping her legs around him with ease. “Whatever you wish.” 

 

The sun peaked through their wide-open curtains, stirring her from her otherwise peaceful sleep. She rolled over, reaching out for her husband. Her reach came up empty, his side of the bed still warm. She gasped, realizing what he had done. She sat up quickly, calling for her maid. “Help me dress.” 

The young girl nodded. “Which dress would you-” 

“It does not matter!” She snapped. “I am sorry, truly. Any dress, just do it quickly.” 

The maid threw on her frock, a simple green velvet slip that she typically wore when exploring the woods surrounding Old Town. Smiling gratefully, she raced through the halls, not caring for the looks that followed her. The doors to the courtyard burst open, and she scanned quickly for her husband. The Dowager Queen stood alone in the center, staring at the gate. Gathering herself, she approached, curtsying. “My Queen.” 

Alicent smiled lightly. “No need for such formalities. We were once friends, Y/N.” 

She ignored the request. “Has your brother-” 

The queen nodded knowingly. “He just left, I’m afraid.” She put a comforting hand on her sister-in-law’s shoulder. “He did not want to wake you.” 

“I-” Tears began to well, and she coughed. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

“Y/N, wait!” 

She had already dashed up the stairs, her tears now fully streaming down her cheeks. 

It had been over a month before she’d received word that the battle was over and the surviving soldiers would be returning home. In that month, not one letter from Gwayne had graced her room or, more accurately, her cell. The Red Keep was a prison now, though if Gwayne came back, she would not tell him. He loved his family dearly, especially his sister and learning of his wife’s distaste for them would surely cause a rift. 

She closed her eyes, trying to remember what had only been twenty years ago, when she, Alicent, and Rhaenyra would sit in the gardens, jesting about tutors and gossiping about knights of the realm. When Alicent left to attend to her father, Rhaenyra would look over at Y/N, teasing her about her budding crush on Alicent’s brother. 

She had not seen Rhaenyra in years. Now, her nephew by law had usurped her throne, and there was nothing Y/N could do but watch. She had no dragon, no power of her own. Which she had been contempt of before her husband had been dragged into this whole mess. Thanks to her nephew, he might never return to her. All she could do now was count down the days until the horns blew, and she stood in the courtyard, raking over the faces in the crowd until she found Gwaynes. 

A knock rang through her chambers, her guard's voice coming through the door. “My lady, the Dowager Queen, would like to see you.” 

She sighed, taking a deep breath. “I will be out in a moment.” 

Alicent rarely called for her anymore. The last time had been when Viserys had died, a letter arrived to Old Town not for her brother, the Lord Paramount, but for you. For you to come.

You had not; after all, you had just given birth to your second child, and you were too frail to walk. Gwayne had refused to even let you entertain the notion, insisting that your health came before his sister, even if she was the queen. 

Her chamber doors were wide open, and Alicent sat at her table, tea and two glasses in front of her. The Queen smiled, waving away her servants and guard. “Leave us.” 

“But my lady…” 

“My sister-in-law is no threat, Sir Rickard.” The older man nodded, ushering the servants out of her chambers and closing the doors soundly behind him. “Are you well?” 

“As well as I can be, my lady.” Y/N smiled. “And yourself?” 

“As well as one can be, I suppose.” The two former friends sat in silence, sipping their tea. The fire crackled behind them, and Y/N began to wonder what exact moment had caused a rift in their friendship. 

“I must tell you something.” Alicent looked torn like she was fighting herself to stay silent. “You must not tell anyone, not even my brother.” 

“Of course.” She nodded quickly. “Of course, Alicent.” 

“I made a mistake.” Her face was ghostly white. “Aegon–” She gasped, a sob wrecking through her body. Y/N froze, unsure of what to do. “He was never supposed to be king. I misunderstood.” 

“Misunderstood?” 

“Viserys, he was spouting nonsense about Aegon the Conquerer, and I thought-” She scoffed. “I misunderstood.” 

Y/N sat back in her chair, staring at the fire. “You mean to tell me that this entire war started because of a misunderstanding?” Alicent remained silent. “Alicent, you must tell Rhaenyra. Before it’s too late.” 

The queen laughed. “It’s already too late. Her son is dead; my grandson was viciously murdered in his own bed. She would not see me. You remember how stubborn she is.” 

Y/N knelt in front of Alicent, taking her hands in hers. “Alicent, for the good of the realm, you must meet with Rhaenyra and come to an agreement. Atrocities have been dealt by both sides, but if you tell her this…” She shivered. “It would save thousands. It would save your brother, Helaena, your…guard.” She tightened her hold on her old friend's hands. “Please.” 

“I-” She nodded, not trusting her voice to stay collected. Y/N stood, dusting off her dress and sitting back down. 

“Have you heard any word of your brother?” 

“None.” It was Alicent’s turn to hold her hand. “He will return to you, I am sure. He is a great knight.” 

She nodded. “He is; that is what worries me.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“He would never leave his men behind. Even if that meant…” She trailed off, sighing. “You understand.” 

Alicent nodded, her heart at the bottom of her stomach. Her old friend had always been melancholy since childhood. Her parents had perished in a horrible accident, and she had been a ward of the crown ever since. She could not bear to be the cause of her further grief. 

“How are the children?” 

“Well. Daeron writes that Arthur is practically as talented at the sword as he. Emma is still just a babe, but she grows larger by the day.” She murmured. “As far as I’ve heard.” 

“You will be back with them soon; I promise you that.” Alicent smiled. “I understand what it is like to miss a child.” 

Y/N nodded, but she knew Alicent could never understand. How could she? She had never been forced to leave her children to come and serve a usurper of a king. 

The horns had blown midday only two days later. Y/N’s worry for her husband had turned into anger over the past months, anger that he did not say goodbye to her before he went off to war. She’d been sitting on her balcony when the deep sound blared through the city, rousing her out of her stupor. Even if she was angry with her husband, that did not mean her heart did not yearn to be in his arms, to be kissed like it was the last moment they would ever live. Her dress billowed behind her as she ran, again not bothering to acknowledge the prying eyes that followed. She slowed, and two guards opened the doors slowly, slower than she would have liked. 

Walking down the staircase gracefully, she tried to keep her composure when she could not find Gwayne in the crowd below. Her heart dropped, and she clenched her fists, nausea bubbling in her stomach. She was too young to be a widow, too young to raise two children on her own, too young to- 

“My lady.” She turned around, almost sobbing at the sight. There stood her lord husband, in all his glory. His hair was dirty, his skin broken, but all Y/N saw was her love before her and alive. 

She bowed, making no movement to embrace him. 

“Lord Husband. I am most grateful for your return.” 

His eyebrows raised, a smirk gracing his delicate face. “How formal of you, my dear.” 

She huffed, turning on her heels and walking back into the castle. Gwayne followed behind swiftly, entirely confused as to why he did not have her in his arms. They walked in silence to their chambers, servants stilling at the sight of Gwayne. “Leave us.” He ordered, not sparing a second glance. They scurried out, the doors shutting loudly.

He stared at her curiously. “My Love-” 

“Let me dress your wounds.” She sighed, walking over to their wardrobe. “It seems you have many.” 

He nodded but made no movement to sit or remove his armour. “Darling-” 

“Turn for me, my lord. I need to remove your armour.” 

He nodded once more, turning as requested. The tension was palpable, but neither of them made any effort to break it. She quickly removed his armour, setting it delicately on the table. “Sit.”

She stood in front of him, leaning down to dress his wounds. His hands ached to reach out and pull her into his lap, but he made no effort; he simply stared at her. “Was the battle difficult?” 

He nodded, hissing as she disinfected a cut. She mumbled apologies. “It was quite the scene. A dragon’s fight is something I hope you never witness.” Y/N simply hummed, concentrating on the cut. “Did you fare well while I was away?” 

She tensed, nodding quickly. “As well as one can do when their husband leaves without a word.” 

Ah. So that is why she had not jumped into his arms when he arrived. Gwayne had wondered why he had not been making his wife sigh and gasp from his tender touch. “I thought it was best if-” 

“You thought wrong.” She murmured, walking over to the bowl of clean water. He couldn’t fight it anymore, reaching out to grab her hips. She gasped but made no effort to look down. 

“Please forgive me.” He tightened his hold, dropping his head against her stomach. “I did not want to wake you.” 

“So I was told.” He looked up, and she sighed. “Your sister.” 

“You looked so peaceful; I did not wish to see you cry.” 

She laughed humourlessly. “Who said I would waste any tears on you?”

He sat back, clutching his chest playfully. “You wound me, wife.” 

She scoffed, squirming in his hold. “You cannot charm me into forgiving you.” 

“I made no such claim.” 

“Yes, well.” She sighed, pulling out of his arms and rinsing the rag. “You thought it. Of that, I am sure.” 

He smiled. Her spirit had always drawn him in. From the first day they had met, she had not withered at the sight of a lord. She held her ground, staying as strong as she was. “Withering is for flowers,” she told him. “I am no flower.” He laughed, placing a daisy behind her ear. “No. But you are as pretty as one.” That had made her blush. How he wished they could go back to then when everything was much simpler. When the thought of dragon fire didn’t threaten their very lives, their children’s lives. 

She stood back in front of him, but this time, he put his hands on her hips, pulling her into his lap. Her cheeks grew red, and she looked down at his neck, tending to a rather nasty bruise. “My love, please look at me.” 

“I can’t look at you.” She shook her head defiantly. “I am angry at you.” 

“Y/N-” He cupped her cheek with his hand, caressing it with his thumb.

“Don't!” She yelped like she’d been burned, jumping up. “You left me. I woke up, and you were gone. No note, no kiss goodbye. What if you had died?” She scoffed. “But no, ‘I looked too peaceful to wake.’ That is a horrid excuse. You’re a coward, Gwayne Hightower. A coward.” 

Gwayne stood up, his eyebrows furrowed. “Now, wait just a moment-” She hit his chest, tears streaming down her face. “How could you? Do you know how worried sick I was? Do you?” 

“Stop this.” 

She shook her head, continuing to beat at his chest. “Don’t ever do-” 

He grabbed her wrists delicately, stopping her. “Stop this madness.” His voice was gentle, not a trace of anger or annoyance found.

She sobbed. “You mongral. Let me-” 

“I understand that you are upset, my darling. But surely you realize this is not the solution.” He lowered his head, their lips inches apart. “I wanted to remember my happy girl. No tears.” 

“I wouldn’t have cried.” She murmured, still fighting against his hold. 

“As opposed to what you are doing now?” 

She glared at his chest. “You are without a doubt the most-” Releasing one of her wrists, he brought his hand to her chin, raising her head gently. When she still refused to look at him, he leaned down, kissing her nose, cheeks, and forehead until she finally gave in to his love.

“I have to admit, I was rather disappointed at the reception I received.” 

“If only you had left a note.” She mumbled. “Never do that to me again. Promise me, Gwayne.” 

He nodded, kissing each knuckle gently. “I swear to you.”

She wanted to take him to bed, admire his form, and thank the gods old and new that he was with her and not dead on a battlefield, but the reality was he still had many cuts that needed to be tended to, and he desperately needed get the stench of battle off his skin. 

“You need a bath.” 

“Are you insinuating that I smell?” Gwayne tilted his head, a jesting look on his face. She nodded, giggling. 

“Terribly.”

He groaned, letting her out of his hold. “Very well.” 

Y/N couldn’t help but wince as she watched him peeled off his shirt. “Let me help you.” 

“I can do it-” She glared, and he gave in immediately. “Fine, fine.” 

She nodded, carefully untying the top before lifting his shirt. Her cheeks grew bright red, his torso still as muscular as the day they were married. Throwing his shirt on the ground, her breath caught. His eyes were piercing hers once more, drawing her in. She smiled, kissing a cut on his chest gently. “Does this hurt?” 

It was his turn for his breath to catch. He shook his head, words failing. Another cut, another bruise; she followed the trail until it stopped at a cut on his lower lip. 

“My noble boy.” She kissed his lip lightly, sending shivers down the brave knight’s spine. This time, when he gave her that look, she couldn’t resist it. She placed her arms around his neck, pulling his lips down to hers. “I missed you so.” 

He groaned, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him. “I’m so sorry, my darling. Please forgive me.” 

“There is nothing to forgive. I was acting a fool.” She sighed as he nipped down her neck. “Gwayne, the bath…”

“I promise you I will bathe, but if I do not have you this instant, I will simply combust.” 

They stumbled over to the door, locking it haphazardly. “Take me to bed.” 

“I will, I will, but first…” He turned her around, undoing her laces quickly. He groaned. “Good god, woman, how many laces can a dress have?” 

She laughed, throwing her head back. “Woman?” 

“Forgive me. My lady, light of my life, darling, love-” 

Now she was fully cackling, and turned around, smothering his face his affection. “Let us retire, please.” 

He nodded, the laces finally coming undone. She stumbled backward, drawing him in with her spell. He tapped his chin, tilting his head. “I was about to do something.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “I believe, lord husband, you were about to ravish me.” 

He grinned, stalking towards her. “Thank you, my lady, for reminding me.” 

[deebris]

The Mysterious Visitor 3

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Bruce begins to suspect that Damian is hiding something after the two of you finally see each other, and the father-son trust between them is shaken. Tim finally sees your face, and something strange happens. The meeting between siblings was not successful, and to their dismay, Bruce will need to confront Talia face to face once again.

Warnings: The reader is 13 years old and is Damian's twin sister; the tone of the story is somewhat sad; Bruce is intimidating; Hugo Strange mentioned; family discussion; maternal overprotection.

Word count: 3.6k

Note: I'm sincerely sorry if I didn't include someone on the tag list or if I made any mistakes. This part took longer because it's a bit longer.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

"Forgive me for not offering anything sooner, miss," Alfred said, watching you carefully pick up the hot chocolate he had given to you. He found it curious how you ignored the handle of the mug, instead holding it with both hands, making sure wouldn't spill it.

You diverted your eyes from the brown liquid and looked at the old butler, now knowing his name, licking your lips after the sip to clear the excess drink. "It's okay," you responded, unaware of the chocolate mustache that had formed.

Bruce, still in the room, watched the scene from the side while patiently awaiting Damian. He traced circles with his index finger on the rim of the whiskey glass he had poured for himself, trying to keep control of how much he drank. Bruce would never admit it, but he needed to calm down, and perhaps a bit of moderate alcohol might help. He knew it wasn't appropriate to drink in front of someone as young as you, but he couldn't stop himself.

He was caught looking at you with a suspicious gaze that didn't waver. The room was filled with a palpable discomfort, and you, embarrassed, went back to staring at your own drink again, focused on listening to the crackling of the fireplace.

"Here, take this," Alfred said gently, extending a napkin from the tray. You accepted it and wiped around your mouth, finally realizing you'd made a mess.

Your mother would have scolded you for your lack of manners, you thought to yourself. And, for the thousandth time that night, you worried about how she would react to discovering you weren't in your bed. Maybe she had already noticed and was preparing a furious speech along with your punishment.

"What are you thinking about, dear?" Alfred asked, noticing your quietness as you rested the hot chocolate mug in your lap and started staring into nothing.

You snapped out of your stupor upon hearing the question, fiddling with one of the charms on your bracelet, the "T" specifically, Bruce couldn't help but notice. His mind was in turmoil, much like yours, with a thousand different thoughts arising every second. He felt strangely betrayed, questioning how much more his son hadn't told him—important things like the fact that he had a sister.

"I was just thinking that..." you trailed off, swallowing hard as the nervousness grew. Letting out a shaky sigh and with visible tears forming in your eyes, you continued, "My mom's going to be mad at me."

"And are you afraid of your mother?" Alfred insisted, trying to sound gentle upon seeing your distress.

"It's not quite that," you replied, trying to ease the situation so he wouldn't jump to conclusions.

You weren't exactly afraid of her, but you knew that rummaging through your mother's belongings, stealing a letter, and sneaking out in the middle of the night would disappoint her. You worried about her reaction and, above all, about Damian's reaction. If he was still the same, he certainly wouldn't be happy with the circumstances.

You tried to calm yourself, convincing yourself that you had the right to be angry for the first time in your life, not them, even knowing that your family would see you differently. It was as if you were perpetually a five-year-old in their eyes, always needing to hear lectures about every dangerous step you took.

Even though you and your brother were the same age, he was more responsible, smarter, stronger, destined to be a leader. And it annoyed you so much, but no matter what you said, your mother wouldn't change her mind about your upbringing.

When Damian left, Talia had said he would spend some time in a different place to learn new things and improve himself. For the first few weeks, it was even liberating not having him on your neck all the time, but then you realized it was because of him that you could do simple things like take a walk around the neighborhood alone.

Without Damian at home, your mother had no one to contradict her decisions, and her constant protection began to suffocate you. Then came the longing, and what was supposed to be a few months turned into years, and you never saw him again. You never stopped thinking about him. Every day, every birthday, and every Christmas, you would wait near the entrance of your apartment before going to bed, hoping that he would open the door again.

"Where is your mother?" Bruce suddenly interrupted, feeling Alfred's cautious gaze on him. You hesitated to answer, after all, although Mr. Wayne was a very popular man with a good image, you didn't know him. "I don't intend to harm you, but I need to know to take you back home," he justified, looking directly at your face, but Alfred knew this was Bruce's way of telling him that he wasn't interested in Talia, but rather in ensuring your safety.

"I'm not dumb, I know how to get home by myself," you tried to defend yourself. And though the words might sound arrogant, you said it calmly, not wanting to offend him.

"The point is not that. This is Gotham City, you shouldn't have gone out alone in the middle of the night." Bruce tried to reason with you, and it seemed to have worked because you fell silent.

"You need to trust us, miss," Alfred tried to encourage you to respond, but you remained silent. Bruce turned the glass to take a big sip of his drink and both gave up, not wanting to pressure you further.

The following minutes were silent, interrupted only by the sound of you drinking the hot chocolate in a few sips. Unexpectedly, Titus, Damian's German Shepherd, seemed to have taken a liking to you. He entered the room from the kitchen and stopped by your side to smell the new scent in the house. The relatively gentle dog sniffed around you, appreciating the head pats he received while you were enchanted by the furry animal.

Bruce couldn't help but compare you to his son since he began to analyze you. Damian had his mother's cunning personality and an arrogance that Bruce couldn't deny he had too, but it was more pronounced in Talia. He clearly remembered the first meeting with Damian. The first thing the boy did was make a ridiculous joke about his height, and he never seemed shy when meeting Bruce or the other boys. Also, when he arrived at the mansion, he felt comfortable analyzing every tiny detail of the house, unconcerned if his opinions were unpleasant.

You, on the other hand, although in different circumstances, limited yourself to a small space on the couch, responding only when asked and gladly accepting the kindness of Dick and Alfred. Bruce wondered how Talia could have raised a daughter like you. She and her sister, Nyssa, were sharp women, trained to be natural-born assassins, despite having a traditional father like Ra's. It was hard to believe that you, an apparently ordinary and shy girl, could be her daughter.

"Do you like dogs?" Bruce asked, deciding to stop being grumpy.

"I do, but I think I prefer cats." You continued to stroke Titus's cheeks, who began to want to climb onto your lap. Unfortunately, he was too heavy, and you had to push him back to the floor. The animal seemed to interpret that as a game because he kept trying to climb several times. "Mom gave me one for Christmas last year."

"Titus." Bruce's voice caught the dog's attention, patting his right thigh, calling him to sit on his lap. His gesture, although meant to stop the animal from bothering you, made you a little disappointed that you couldn't pet his soft fur anymore.

"What a coincidence. It seems you and Damian share something in common." Alfred was smiling while talking to you, which was rare for him. "Last Christmas, he also brought us two stray cats. The black one lives with us, but unfortunately, I don't know what happened to the other one. Curiously, the cat has my name." The butler tried to make a face at you, pretending to be unhappy. A Cheshire smile spread across your face, followed by the most contagious laugh he had ever heard, and he couldn't help but widen his own smile.

"The cat's name is Alfred?" You asked incredulously, seeing him nod positively. "Mine is an orange cat. He's cute but very troublesome; he even scratched one of my ballet shoes." You commented, much more at ease in Mr. Wayne's presence.

"An orange kitten?" Bruce's eyes widened slightly, just like Alfred's.

An orange and a black cat, both mentioned on the same date. Your seemingly trivial confession revealed to both of them that Damian had indeed kept in touch with you. Perhaps not directly, but it showed that he hadn't forgotten your existence and cared enough to have given the other cat to his sister as a gift. Now, because of you, they both finally knew what had happened to the other furball.

"Your brother also raises a cow here on the property." The butler thought it would be of interest to mention the funny fact, given that Damian was too irritable to raise something like a cow. And it seemed to have worked, as you laughed with genuine surprise in your eyes.

Bruce couldn't help but let out a muffled laugh when reminded of the cow, and unlike how he had been so suspicious of you moments ago, he was now more relaxed. He wondered when was the last time he saw Alfred so cheerful with someone new here at the mansion. The butler was a man full of tenderness for the family, but he was difficult to deal with for outsiders, although he always presented himself in a polite manner.

But the pleasant moment was suddenly interrupted by a series of voices coming from the top of the stairs, making Bruce and Alfred frown. Both stood up to see better what was happening and saw Damian pushing and shouting at his three brothers while struggling to descend the steps without being hindered by them.

Jason saw that Bruce and Alfred had already noticed them, failing to prevent the boy from confronting you three, and let go of his arm. Dick and Tim followed suit, defeated. The events of the night were revealed to him by his brothers, who told him everything from you being here to the fact that you had had some sort of contact with Strange. Damian went berserk at the last part and stormed out of the room in a flash.

Seeing his son in the Robin uniform, Bruce thought of reprimanding him, knowing he had gone on patrol alone again, but decided that was a matter for later.

"Damian," Bruce called out, calming him down a bit from his excitement. "We have a visitor." There was no view of the stairs from the living room, so you couldn't grasp that Bruce was calling Robin by your brother's name.

Damian descended the steps slowly, as if it were a very difficult task for him, and then finally looked at you, then at Bruce, and back at you, completely ignoring anyone else. He took a deep breath, trying to process the situation. Dick had told him that his father didn't know anything about you being his daughter, but he was sure this secret wouldn't last much longer. And honestly, he preferred that both of you knew the truth, even knowing that his mother wouldn't be happy.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, surprise evident in his voice.

You slowly got up from the couch, gripping the hot chocolate mug tightly. The truth was, Damian hadn't realized he was still dressed as Robin, and that's why you didn't recognize him. You stood there, paralyzed, not understanding why he was in Bruce Wayne's house, and why would he talk to you? Or maybe this was some kind of joke, and you still hadn't figured it out.

Damian was silent for a moment, his expression serious. "You were supposed to stay with Mom. It's not safe for you here."

"Master Damian," Alfred spoke, signaling to the mask on his face. Damian quickly tore it off, feeling stupid for forgetting about it.

You almost let the mug slip when you saw him. Your brother had grown a lot since he was ten. His face was thinner, more defined, and his eyes smaller, plus his voice was deeper. That's why you didn't recognize him at first. Before, you would have known who he was just by the sound of his voice, but it wasn't the same anymore.

You were happy and surprised at the same time. That moment was shocking, and the bitterness you felt a while ago was forgotten. Your anger at discovering Damian ignored you for two years for the people in this house didn't cross your mind now, too busy trying to memorize each of his new features. The superhero world wasn't new, after all, but how could your brother be Robin? And if he was Robin, did he know Batman?

"I wanted to see you," you replied, your voice trembling. "I missed you."

Damian sighed, approaching. He wanted to argue but fought against it, knowing the last thing he should do was yell at you after so long. "I missed you too, but you shouldn't be here, S/n. Things are complicated here." He responded tensely, calculating his words and trying to find a way to get you away from Bruce as quickly as possible before something slipped.

Bruce watched your interaction, unsure of what to do. He didn't understand the depth of your relationship, wondering if he should intervene or let you talk alone. It seemed too personal to discuss in front of so many eyes.

In a brief exchange of glances with Dick, in a kind of silent conversation, Bruce signaled for him and the others to leave.

Understanding as always, Dick nodded, indicating they should leave but not before approaching Bruce with something. "Bruce, promise me you'll only read this card when you're in a clearer state of mind," he asked in a whisper, placing a piece of paper in Bruce's hand, careful to put the written part facing his palm. Dick rarely asked for promises, so Bruce reluctantly agreed.

"Can you at least tell me what it is?"

"It's a clue about Hugo Strange," was the simplest response he could give. "But let's leave that for another time," Dick emphasized, looking at you and Damian, who, to their surprise, were watching them.

"Let's go. This is no longer our business," Dick tried to pull Jason and Tim along, but Tim was stubborn:

"Did you give it to him?" Tim said just loud enough for Dick to hear.

"Yes, Tim," he replied, not wanting to give him more room to argue, going up the stairs two steps at a time, followed by Jason who climbed more calmly, holding onto the railing. Tim gave one last look at Bruce, then at Damian, Alfred, and then you, who was now watching the three. You already knew Dick, but the other two figures aroused your curiosity. How many more people live in the mansion?

The boy you didn't know was called Tim started staring at you with an intrigued expression. He hadn't managed to see your face closely before, but now, looking calmly, he couldn't avoid noticing how familiar you seemed. He felt he had seen you somewhere, but where? You examined him with the same perplexity, and for a moment he parted his lips to say something, maybe to ask if he knew you, but Bruce's voice made him jump:

"Tim, you should go to bed, just like your brothers." He asked in a gentle tone.

"Sorry, Bruce." He responded quickly, going up the stairs in same style as Jason.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you?" Damian took advantage of the fact that the three had left and angrily threw it in your face, but trying to disguise it at all costs to avoid sounding too harsh. His eyes were frantic, looking at every part of your face.

He wasn't sentimental, and he refused to go through the humiliation of showing any weakness at seeing your grown-up figure, even if it caused him heartache. "Why did you disappear like that? Mom's been worried for hours."

"I already told you. I wanted to see you." Your voice rose a bit, desperately trying to justify yourself. You wanted so much to hug him but felt too embarrassed to do so, finally realizing that the intimacy you had before no longer existed. It was as if he were a stranger.

"Let's go. I'll take you back." He grabbed your wrist, wanting to disappear from his father's sight at all costs, but you pulled away, surprising him.

"Why are you so eager to get rid of me?" You asked indignantly, trying to swallow the sob due to your wounded pride. The warmth in your heart rose to your head, finally feeling that old anger again. "I haven't seen you in years, and the first thing you do is want to keep me away again!" You were distressed, feeling rejected.

"Maybe it's because you only cause problems!" He exploded.

"I had forgotten how irritating you are!" You shouted at the top of your lungs, trying to push him back as you did in childhood arguments. Back then, you two were equal in strength, but now Damian was becoming a man, and he barely moved.

You didn't notice when you dropped the mug on the floor, which luckily didn't break as the impact was cushioned by the rug. But the little liquid left had spilled and stained it, and seeing Alfred pick it up to clean made you feel awful. You should have done it, but he stopped you when you made a move to bend down, saying it was okay. Alfred felt he shouldn't participate in this conversation and used the mug situation as an excuse to go to the kitchen.

"Stop." Bruce intervened between you two, separating both and giving his son a challenging look. He knew this kind of attitude was typical of him, but seeing how loyal and obedient Damian was to Talia, he thought he would at least show some sympathy to his sister. "S/n, why don't you go sleep a bit? It's late, it would be good to rest." He offered as a truce and also as a way to interrupt your meeting, seeing how bad it was going.

"Do you realize the danger she got into? Talking to strangers, no less." Damian spoke again, his voice dangerously calm, ignoring Bruce. "Do you have any idea who that guy was, S/n? Do you have any idea?!" His voice began to rise a few octaves.

A solitary tear rolled down your cheek, recalling the man who had helped you on the street. At that moment, he seemed like a good person, but the way your brother was talking, apparently he wasn't. "How many times do we need to tell you not to talk to strangers? Not to leave the house without telling anyone? It's always been like this since we were kids, you never change!"

You had no reaction. That single tear had turned into two, then into several others, as you shrank into your own shame. You felt ridiculous for coming here because of him.

"Damian, who are you talking about?" Bruce held him by the shoulders to stop him from continuing to spew anger at you. His voice was much deeper than the boy's, and although it didn't intimidate him, it was enough to make him look at him at least.

"Hugo Strange, Dad! Damn Hugo Strange!" Damian lost control of his own mouth, speaking without thinking and not realizing the slip he had just made. "Because she's too stupid to have the slightest notion about anything!"

"Hugo Strange?" Mr. Wayne asked out loud. You knew exactly who Strange was, just as you knew other villains, although you might not recognize them by appearance. But that didn't matter to you now, as you spoke right after:

"Why did you call him Dad?" You looked your brother in the eyes, expecting some kind of explanation, not noticing how his body hairs stood on end.

Suddenly, a realization hit you. This was his new family now, and this man was his father. That venomous jealousy returned once more, and you didn't know if it was because Damian now had someone to call 'Dad' or because it meant how close he had become to these people. Damian swallowed hard, sweating and standing still like a statue.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne. I didn't mean to cause trouble." You apologized, deciding to completely ignore Damian from now on.

"No need to apologize." Bruce felt uneasy, and like you, he drew a wrong interpretation from it. He thought Damian hadn't told his sister who his real father was, which was possible considering he also hadn't told her he moved in with him. The fact that you two were twins was also still unknown to Bruce. The most logical idea, though not spoken or thought, was that you were Talia's daughter with another man. "I'll ask Alfred to show you a room."

You looked one last time at Damian before disappearing into some wing of the mansion. It hurt to see him watching you leave without even saying goodbye. A 'good night' would have been hopeful, even though you hated him now.

"Come, miss." You felt Alfred's hands on your back, guiding you. "I'll show you the guest room," he explained, and you looked back, seeing Bruce watching the two of you.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," you said, trying to sound as grateful as possible, while wrapping one arm around Alfred's waist affectionately. Bruce gave you a slight smile, uncrossing his arms to wave goodbye, which you returned with your free hand.

"You and I now have a lot to talk about." Bruce's aura had become cold again. The trust he had built with Damian wasn't broken, but it definitely had a crack.

"Mom is coming," he said in a low voice "I called her as soon as Dick started told me everything," he confessed, knowing Bruce would be furious, watching him run a hand through his hair to relieve the tension.

Following his example, Damian also sat in one of the armchairs in the room, analyzing his father's movements. Whenever Talia and Bruce were in the same room, even if they didn't do it openly, they fought for some kind of dominance.

Bruce made a move to take out the card Dick had given him to see its contents and maybe pass the time while the second storm of the night was yet to come. The first had been you, of course. He ran his fingers along one of the edges of the card, without taking it completely out of his pocket, and then remembered his son's words:

'Promise me you'll only read this card when you're in a moment of clarity.'

The last thing Bruce had now was clarity. So he sighed heavily and pushed it back into his pocket, staring at the boy beside him. "Why do I feel like your sister should be a secret, Damian?"

Tag list:

@lafrone @sylum @mileskisser @belowbreadcrumbs @riddle-me-im-sirius

@rafa-the-beautiful @shehrazadekey @fairuzwhat @bedeater @arianapjs

@idonthaveanameforthisacc @azulawayne @nciolisa @lovelywritersgarden

@spideybv28 @faimmm @formula-space @cherry-peach-flavored

@godknows-shetried @randomrosie01 @whatsupstark @paastaboi @m3ntally-unstable

@masterradd-28 @justanormalpersin @6000-fandoms @fennecspage

@homan-oid @fluffy-strawberries @animegirlfromvietnam @tamsyien @ari-sama21

@kataraluvr @boatempollstriper @lokisgoodboy @enjisthings @thereeallink

@lumalesa-kadichizho @fyodorssimp1 @shintax-error @lara20aral @sulatsadark

@notahappystan @nebuluma

Credits for the divider: @cafekitsune

[bbydoll18xx]

She's Such a Good Girl (Part 3)

You get drunk off Paige, and confessions come out.

Paige Bueckers x reader

Word Count: 2k

Themes: mentions of self pleasure, idk thats really it i think, still prob 18+

Masterlist

Part 1 - You move in across the hall from Paige Bueckers. It doesn’t take long before she tries to shatter your innocent persona. And you just let her. 

Part 2 - Paige continues her assault on your innocence, leading you to spiral.

A/N: sorry this took longer than expected lol but we got here (also i wrote this while watching Shrek LOL) Let me know what you think. If you want a part 4 let me know but i think 5 parts total would work!

Also I just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who commented/reached out regarding me talking about my struggles with my sexuality on part 2. You guys are so kind, and as someone who never really talks about my feelings, I appreciate you giving me an outlet to do so :)

Here we goooo

~

The music was pounding in a way that would typically give you a headache, and the way people at the bar couldn’t seem to mind their personal space usually would’ve pissed you off. But you were floating on a cloud from Paige’s touch and the drink you’ve been sipping all evening, and all thoughts of worry had vanished from your mind. 

Your hips swayed in time with the music, moving in a way you did not think you were even capable of. You had done several things, though, the past few days that were completely out of character. You liked this new you. The newfound confidence was refreshing, leaving a satisfying tingle lingering on your skin.

Paige’s touch was fucking intoxicating, and in the moments since the electrifying kiss, the confidence you were feeling had grown substantially. Her hands had yet to leave your body, alternating between your hips and your waist, swaying alongside you as your butt grazes her pelvis. 

She spins you around, so you’re face to face once more. You attempt to avoid glancing down at that plush bottom lip of hers, pink and glistening with the sparkly lip gloss you had reapplied early in the night, but to no avail. Her mouth beckoned to you, lips turned in a smirk that made your knees want to buckle, and you grabbed onto her waist to steady yourself. 

The effects of the alcohol were palpable, and your inhibitions were nearly gone as you pulled Paige closer to you, desperately needing more. The tension was thick as you look up at her, batting your eyelashes with a coy look that had Paige’s stomach rolling with unquenchable want. 

Little did you know, though, that the second Paige had seen you tonight, she knew she would have to have you. Your innocence was intriguing, and she knew you weren’t putting on a show.

Paige always had to be a little wary about who she was letting into her life. People were freaks, and she had been burned before by people trying to take advantage of her fame and her kind persona. But your own disposition, one of pure goodness, made her believe that things were going to be different this time. 

“Hi,” you beamed, nose crinkling in a fond smile as you look up at Paige, who is unable to hold back a smile of her own. 

“Hey, yourself,” she answers, enjoying the closeness that you were initiating, finally feeling more comfortable around her.

“Not that I have much to compare it to, but that was a really good kiss,” you mutter before even thinking about the words that were now leaving your mouth, and a blush blooms across your cheeks as you hear yourself.

“Think I need a reminder,” Paige says seductively, pulling you in by your belt loops to connect your lips in another searing kiss. 

It was nearly impossible to hold back a moan from the pressure of her lips sliding across yours. And while the earlier kiss had been almost tentative, as if Paige was afraid to break you, this one was filled with unbridled passion and sheer want. Her tongue swipes across your bottom lip, causing you to slightly gasp, your mouth opening to invite her deeper into you.

It was raw, hands grabbing at her shirt to ground you, as you move your lips in unison with hers. Your belly is fluttering, and the neediness inside you ignites like a fire, the flames licking at your insides and sliding down to your most intimate area. 

You had been horny before. You were a perfectly healthy college girl, but this was something new, and the irrepressible want was taking control over your carefully curated image you had worked so hard to maintain. 

The two of you eventually pull away, chests heaving and heads spinning from lust and the alcohol. 

“Yeah, definitely good,” Paige affirms, pecking your lips once more, and you giggle. “What did you mean when you said you didn’t have much to compare the kiss to,” she asks, her head cocked to the side cutely.

Oh fuck. She hadn’t let that slide.

“That…was my first real kiss,” you mumble, looking down at your feet, too embarrassed to look Paige in the eyes.

She moves her hand to your jaw, gently forcing you to meet her soft gaze. “Hey, no shame in that,” she says, stroking your cheek soothingly. You lean into her touch, getting drunk on it, and nod your head. Of course she understood.

She guides you away from the crowded dance floor, seeking solace in the less congested perimeter of the bar and she sits down beside you.

Her hand never leaves your soft skin, and she rubs small circles onto your flesh. Her next question has your cheeks flushing in embarrassment once more, blooming down your chest in a not-so-subtle display.

“So if that was your first kiss, I’m assuming you haven't done anything else?”

You shake your head, not trusting your words at the moment. 

“That’s okay, baby,” she reassures you, her eyes boring into yours. “Have you just not met the right person or…” she trails, trying to gauge why a 21 year old as pretty as you was so inexperienced.

“I have a bit of a habit of liking people who are wildly unavailable,” you mutter, thinking back to your celebrity crushes and the wildly humiliating encounters with the football players at your high school.

“And I’ve always just been terrified of rejection. So it’s been easier to just keep to myself,” you explain. “But now I’m getting older, and the thought of dating when I’m so inexperienced makes me even more nervous.” You bow your head to avoid her gaze, playing with your bracelet to self-soothe.

Paige listens intensely, wheels turning in her head as she does so. “What if you had someone to walk you through it?” She asks.

Your head shoots up, eyes widening in surprise at her question, and your heart rate skyrockets.

What the hell was she even asking?

“Someone meaning…you?” You clarify, and she nods her head, a small smile stretching across her face.

“Why don't you think about it,” she says, not wanting to make you feel pressured. “And if you want to, you know where to find me,” she adds with a wink.

The rest of the girls of the team quickly flock over to join you and Paige, pulling you from your musings, and the night ends soon thereafter.

~

You had always prided yourself on being in control. You were in control of your grades. You controlled your environment to absolute perfection. And you certainly had control over your behavior and emotions. 

That was until Paige Bueckers came into the equation and sent you absolutely fucking spiraling. 

In less than 48 hours you had abandoned your previous stance of trying to remain rational and grounded, almost irritatingly logical in favor of floating on a mercurial high. 

You had skipped through your door after being dropped off by Paige, the taste of her chapstick still lingering on your lips. And you were still riding that high a week later.

Your roommates took great pleasure in your recap of Saturday night’s events, and the look of glee never left your face as you recounted Paige’s intoxicating touches and the effects of her kisses. 

You were programmed to be the tiniest bit cynical, though, so you had woken up Sunday morning, mentally preparing yourself to be let down easily by the tall blonde. You knew someone who was as adored as Paige had many options, so you were prepared for the worst. But it never came. 

She had welcomed you into her circle with wide arms, and that was becoming even more glaringly obvious as you checked your phone after your night out. Drunk messages littered your home screen, and your heart soared at the outpouring love you felt from your new friends. 

The week passes quickly as the new school year begins. The classwork is unrelenting, but it was a nice distraction. Your thoughts had been clouded with images of Paige’s eyes and her hands. You could close your eyes and almost smell her perfume, and you could nearly feel her touch, leaving goosebumps scatter across your sensitive skin. 

You consider Paige’s proposal for the millionth time. Was it completely ridiculous to want to give in and do it? You were worried that the friendship you had built with Paige and her friends the past week would get ruined in the weirdness that would inevitably develop, yet the idea was so gloriously tempting. 

Your mind floats back to the kisses you had shared last weekend, and a building ball of want stirs in your belly. You groan, flopping back into your mound of pillows, your hand resting on your bare stomach. You trail it lower, grazing over your panties, causing a jolt to run through you. Your hips stutter as your middle finger dances over your clit, experimenting with the pressure. You had dabbled in self-pleasure before, but typically avoided it out of embarrassment and a general lack of knowledge. 

Pulling aside your panties, you run a few fingers through your folds, gathering your slick and carrying on with tight circles. Pressure starts to build before you hear your roommates outside your door, effectively killing the mood. 

You sigh, pulling your shorts back on and head into your bathroom to wash your hands. As you dry them, you gaze at yourself in the mirror. You had decided. 

Paige Bueckers was going to teach you everything you needed to know. And while the thought absolutely terrified you, the temptation of Paige’s touch gave way to any fears. You knew that you could not continue being the shy, timid girl forever, and someone who you liked actually liked you. The thought of remaining innocent and untouched any longer was nearly unbearable. So before you could talk yourself out of it, you send a quick text to Paige, letting her know that you had finally decided. 

She quickly sends back an enthusiastic reply, sending a wave of butterflies through your belly in anticipation.

‘Of course, I will help! Aubrey will be gone tonight. Want to come over around 8?’

‘Sounds good :)’ 

Shit. Things just got real.

The day flies by, and before you know it, you are once more standing in front of Paige’s day, struggling to gather the courage to knock. You do so, hesitantly, and she wrenches the door open with a huge grin, pulling you into a hug. 

“Are ya ready?” She questions, waggling her eyebrows at you to lighten your nervous mood, and she takes your hand, pulling to sit on the couch. 

You sit down next to her, the warmth of her closeness clouding your senses. You bite your lip in anticipation and play with a lock of hair with your free hand.

“Hey,” she whispers, wanting you to meet her heated gaze. Her bright blue eyes were ablaze with desire and determination. “You still want to do this? We can go as slow as you want. You’re in control, baby,” she reassures, the tone of her voice lulling you into a calmer state of mind.

“Course I do, P,” you say, already moving forward to pull her in for a kiss. 

Paige’s eyes widen at your sudden boldness before she smirks and pulls you in, meeting your lips with the delicious fervor you had grown accustomed to. She lets you take control this time, and as you reach up to cup her jaw, she lets out a quiet moan. It adds fuel to the fire, and you detach your lips to place hot, open-mouthed kisses down the base of her throat.

“Fuck, baby,” she mumbles hoarsly eyes still closed in pleasure. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Books,” you giggle, hands covering your mouth as you laugh at the hilarity of it. 

She chuckles, shaking her head. “You gonna let me teach you all of my tricks now?” She asks smugly, fingers dancing across the exposed skin of your upper thigh.

“Please do,” you nearly whine, the build up leaving you breathless and needy, and Paige pulls you in, determined to show you the many benefits of being with an experienced woman.

And boy, were there a lot. 

~

Thanks for reading I love you guys!!! Hope you enjoyed :)

xoxo katy

Part 4

Part 5

[natsaffection]

Mafias Mistress pt. 5 | N.R

MafiaBoss!Natasha x CivilianYounger!Reader

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Age gap (Natasha is 32 = reader ist 22) BDSM STUFF - Restraints, spanking, flogging, vibrator use, nipple clamp use, edging, overstimulation, strap on (r receive), fingering, choking, rough sex

Word Count: 3,8k

A/N: Pure Smut below..we are slowly coming to the end🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️

You were startled awake by the sound of your bedroom door bursting open. You sit up, eyes widening, and see Natasha standing in the doorway, her expression a mixture of anger and urgency. The morning light casts long shadows in the room, making Natasha's presence even more imposing.

"What do you want?" you ask annoyed. You had hoped for some peace and quiet, but Natasha's sudden appearance dashed that hope.

Natasha walks into the room, her eyes flashing, "I have a high-ranking visitor today. Important people here for business. You are not leaving this room tonight. Do you understand me?"

You crossed your arms, your irritation growing. "And why would I ? Are you afraid of embarrassing you?" Natasha's eyes narrowed. "I'm not in the mood for games, Y/N. If you leave this room tonight, you will suffer the consequences. Serious consequences.”

You feel a spark of defiance flare up inside you. “We’ll see.” Natasha leans closer to you, her voice a deadly whisper. “I’m serious, Y/N. Don’t test me.”

As Natasha leaves the room and slams the door behind her, your mind raced. You knew this was your chance to get revenge on Natasha for the humiliation you endured last night. An idea began to form and a determined smile spread across your face. This time you will win, consequences or not.

As the evening came, the mansion bustled with activity, you made your move. You chose a short, form-fitting dress, the fabric shimmering in the light. It was provocative, designed to attract attention and elicit a reaction from Natasha.

You decided to forget underwear, knowing it would drive Natasha crazy. With one last look in the mirror, you take a deep breath and leave your room. The halls were filled with Natasha's men, their eyes widening in shock and fear when they saw you. You move purposefully, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Maria spots you first, her eyes widening in horror. "Y/N, what are you doing here?" she whispered urgently. "She kill you first and then me. Go back, I mean it."

You grin, your defiance only growing. "Don't worry, Maria. "Just look." As you walked through the mansion, you could feel everyone's eyes on you. The tension in the air was palpable, a mixture of fear and excitement. You finally reach the main hall, where the high-ranking visitors mingle.

Natasha had been speaking to a visitor, a man with a smug expression and a condescending tone. He leaned closer to Natasha, his gaze wandering around. "You know, Natalia, you always manage to keep things interesting. That girl over there," he said, nodding toward you, "looks like she's here to entertain us."

Natasha followed his gaze and her blood froze when she saw you. The dress was short, far too short, and every curve was provocatively accentuated. Natasha's grip on her glass tightened, the warning she had given you earlier ringing in her ears.

"Excuse me for a moment." Natasha walked toward you, handed her glass to a nearby waiter and stopped you in your tracks, "What the hell are you wearing?" Natasha hissed, grabbing your arm and pulling you to the side. The grip was firm, but not painful.

You looked up at her, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "A few thousand of your dollars," you answered casually. "The dress is so short, you don't even have to take it off."

Natasha's eyes sparked with anger and something darker, more primal. You took Natasha's hand and slid it between your thighs. Her breath caught when she realized you weren't wearing any underwear.

"You think this is a game?" Natasha whispered, her voice a mix of anger and desire. "You think you can just walk out of here like that?" Your heart raced, but you kept your composure, "Maybe I do," you answered firmly. "Maybe I wanted to know if it still meant something to you."

Natasha's hand tightened around your thigh, her breath hot against your ear. "Oh, it means something to me," she whispered, her voice full of promise. "But you're playing with fire." Your body shook with anticipation, your pulse quickened. "Maybe I like the heat," you whispered back, your voice barely audible.

Natasha's control wavered, her eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and desire. "You have no idea what you're doing," she said, her voice strained. You leaned closer, your lips touching Natasha's ear. "Then show me," you challenged, your voice a seductive whisper.

For a moment, Natasha's anger seemed to disappear, replaced by a burning desire. She pulled you closer, your bodies pressed together. "You want to play games?" she murmured, her voice a low growl. "Let's play."

You caught your breath as Natasha's hand slid further up your thigh, her touch possessive and tender at the same time. “I’m not afraid of you,” you whispered. “Not anymore.”

Natasha's eyes darkened, her grip tightening. "You should be," she whispered back, her voice a dangerous promise. "Oh, and when I'm done with you, you'll know exactly why."

Just as the tension between you reached its peak, Natasha pulled back abruptly. She signaled to two of her men who were quickly approaching. "Take her to my room," Natasha ordered, her voice cold and commanding. "And make sure she doesn't come out."

The men nodded with serious expressions as they grabbed you by the arms. You struggled against their grip, fear creeping into you as you realized Natasha was serious. The men were rough, dragging you through the mansion to Natasha's private quarters.

"Natasha, hey!" you shouted, your voice shaking. "You can't do that! Natasha!!" But Natasha's face remained a mask of anger and determination. "You wanted to play games, Y/N. Now you'll see what happens."

You were pushed into Natasha's room, the door slamming behind you. The men stood guard outside, their presence a reminder of Natasha's authority. Your heart raced, the reality of the situation sinking in. Shit..

In the silence of the room, you could hear your own heartbeat, fear mixed with lingering desire. You realized you had underestimated Natasha's anger and thought it was all an act. But Natasha's anger was real, and you were now trapped by your own actions.

As the minutes passed, your nervousness grew. You had to find a way to make things right, to maybe calm Natasha down after all. You approached the door and knocked softly. There was no answer, just the oppressive silence and the presence of the guards outside. You sank to the floor, your mind racing.

Hours had passed since Natasha had ordered you to be taken to her room. The villa had gone quiet, the high-ranking visitors gone, leaving an atmosphere of tension and unease. You sat on the edge of the bed, your mind racing with thoughts of Natasha and the consequences of your actions.

Outside, Maria approached cautiously, her voice gentle. "Natasha, you have to calm down. This won't help." Natasha's eyes flashed with anger. "She thinks this is a game, Maria. She doesn't understand the danger she's in."

"Then show her," Maria suggested quietly. "But not as you are now. Talk to her. Help her understand." Natasha looked at her and took a breath. She ran past Maria, "Not today."

The door squeaked open and your heart was in your throat. Natasha stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable, a dark intensity in her eyes. She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her with a soft click. "Natasha," you began, your voice shaking. "I-"

"Enough," Natasha interrupted, her voice cold and commanding. "You've gone far again today." Before you could react, Natasha grabbed your arm and pulled you to your feet. The grip was firm and unyielding, sending a shiver of fear down your spine. "Natasha, please, I'm sorry..." you begged, but Natasha's expression remained hard.

Without a word, Natasha led you down the hallway, never loosening her grip. You descended a staircase you'd never noticed before, the air growing cooler and more threatening with each step.

You reached a heavy wooden door, which Natasha pushed open, revealing a dimly lit room with an array of appliances and devices. It was Natasha's playroom. Bigger, redder and much more equipped than the room in Natasha's apartment.

Adrenaline rushed through you as you realized what was coming. "No, Natasha, wait," you begged, trying to pull away. Natasha's grip tightened, her eyes dark with determination. "You wanted to play games, Y/N. Now you'll see the consequences."

She pulled yourself in front of her so she could look at you. She paused for a moment and looked deep into your eyes. "Do you remember your safe word?"

You blinked, your confusion evident. "Yes," you answered, your voice shaking slightly. "Red." Natasha nodded, a hint of relief crossing her face. "Good. Remember, you can use it anytime. I won't stop otherwise."

She dragged you to a large, imposing X in the middle of the room that was equipped with restraints. With practiced ease, Natasha tied your wrists and ankles to the posts so that you stood stretched out and vulnerable.

Natasha paused, her eyes softening for a moment before she steeled herself. "You have to understand something, Y/N," she said with a low growl. "My world is dangerous. You can't just play games and expect there to be no consequences."

Your heart pounded in your chest, your fear mixed with a strange feeling of anticipation, and you remembered why you got into this situation in the first place. You have a goal.

"Maybe I'll enjoy the consequences?"

Natasha's eyes flickered with emotion, but she remained determined. "We'll see about that," she growled. Her voice held a promise that took your breath away with anticipation. With practiced ease and skill, Natasha leaned forward, running her fingertips along the curve of your arm and down to the soft curve of your chest. "You will learn to submit," she whispered, her fingers playing with the goosebumps that formed before her touch. “What you saw back at home is nothing compared to this."

Your pulse quickened as Natasha moved behind you. You felt the cool touch of a leather whip sliding down your back and couldn't help the involuntary trembling. "Oh, I like that trembling," Natasha cooed in your ear, biting your earlobes. "I'm going to enjoy this more than you..."

The scent of your arousal filled the air, an intoxicating aroma that Natasha didn't want to deny herself. She slid a hand between your thighs and rubbed your wet pussy lips, eliciting a gasp from you, the frightened but eager newcomer.

"Open your mouth," Natasha ordered, her voice rough and commanding. You obediently opened your lips and Natasha slid two fingers into your mouth, rubbing them firmly against your tongue and gums. "You do realize that you're not supposed to like this, right?"

You moaned, filled with a mixture of fear and desire as your body shook in response. With a cruel glint in her eyes, Natasha filled your mouth and with her other hand she pinched and pulled cruelly at your nipples.

"That's it, take it all," Natasha hissed, her voice almost a growl now. "Show me how much you want it." You moaned and your head fell back against the iron cross. You could hear the wetness between your legs dripping onto the smooth leather carpet beneath you.

The sound of the whip falling onto your skin sounded like a gunshot in your ears, sending shocks of pleasure and pain throughout your body. Natasha ran the evil instrument down your back, thighs and buttocks, letting its cruel spikes bite deep into your skin.

You struggled against your bonds, lost somewhere between agony and ecstasy. Natasha paused, her attention lingering on the delicate skin at the crease where your legs met her body. You tensed as you felt a soft feather tickle you, and you broke out in a cold sweat.

“shh,” Natasha whispered, “just feel.” She pulled the feather higher, reaching your quivering sex. Your head fell back in surrender as you squeezed your eyes shut.

You felt the sting of the feather disappear, replaced by the delicate caress of something softer, a feather-light touch just beneath your sex. You winced as Natasha’s lips found the sensitive underside of one of your breasts, sucking and nibbling hungrily.

“Fuck!” you screamed, your hips bucking toward Natasha’s mouth just as she felt the cruel bite of the whip on the exposed curves of your ass. Natasha grinned and dragged the leather instrument teasingly across your folds. “Beg,” she purred, tugging at one of your sensitive nipples with her teeth.

You whimpered and struggled against the bonds as Natasha’s harsh words sent waves of shame and desire through you. "Make me." You gasped, grinning in her face. Natasha ripped the dress off of you, leaving your stomach bare and trembling. Suddenly, cool metal closed around your nipples and a rush of pleasure ran through your body as the metal began to vibrate.

"W-What.." you gasped, struggling against the bonds that pinned you to the cross. Natasha's grin widened at your reaction and she twisted one of the clamps before another low hum filled the air.

"You should hold still while I do that," she purred as she moved the vibrating object over your sensitive clitoris, sending a shiver down your spine.

"No, Natasha! I-I- Too much..!" You tried to catch your breath as the sensations overwhelmed you. The clamps pulled on your sensitive nipples, increasing each touch. "Natasha...please, n-no more!!" you whimpered. But Natasha just laughed softly.

"Oh, my love, we're just getting started," Natasha teased, running her tongue over your heaving breast. She pressed the vibrating object harder against your clit, making your hips twitch helplessly.

"F-FUCK!" you screamed as you writhed in the leather restraints. Your body burned; all reason dissolved in the rush of pleasure. Your legs and chest twitched uncontrollably, seeking any friction to quell the pain that demanded release.

Natasha kept her eyes fixed on your writhing object as she played with the vibrating device, running it up and down your labia and teasing your throbbing clit. With each pass, she felt your desire grow as your resolve weakened. "I-I'm begging you! Ple-ase!" you gasped, your voice a hoarse plea.

Natasha stood there, enjoying the sight of the shaking, exhausted girl before her. For now, she was content to watch you tremble and pant with a deliciously dazed expression on your face.

Natasha growled deep in her throat as she slid her hand between your legs. "Oooh, God-d!" you cried out, your already flushed cheeks glowing even hotter. "You don't need him," Natasha chuckled darkly into the folds of your wet entrance. She enjoyed the way you tensed and writhed against her. "Just me," Natasha teased, pressing her fingers into your heated core in one quick, unyielding motion.

Your eyelids fluttered closed as Natasha mercilessly added a third finger, stretching you wide. Your heart was pounding wildly and your mind was reeling - a dizzying cocktail of pain and rapture.

Natasha seized the opportunity, her lips grasping the sensitive outline of your tight bud as she pushed her fingers deeper inside you. You cried out once more before your orgasm fully took hold, increasing tension gripping your entire body as the waves arched and crashed over you.

Natasha let you ride the wave before she pulled her fingers back. “Your pretty ass is about to be mine." With a quick movement, she ran her nails along the crack of your ass.

"N-No!" you cried, your body tense as Natasha stood behind you. "Relax or it will hurt even more," Natasha ordered, spanking your ass hard. Your body twitched violently, pushing the restraints further.

"Listen carefully," she said, admiring your shaking body from behind, "You will count out loud with each lash of my whip. If you fail, I will start over. Do you understand?"

You whimpered and nodded your head vigorously. Sweat ran down your forehead and you could feel the heat radiating from Natasha's body, the woman's skin seemed to burn. And then came the first lash.

"One," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the blood pounding in your ears. Natasha smiled, her eyelids drooping lazily as she raised the whip high above her head.

A wicked glint danced in her deep green eyes, and you could feel your breath catch in your throat as the whip came down again, landing hard on your trembling, flushed skin.

"Two..." you let out a sigh as a deep, painful throb raced through your body. You weakly struggled to find purchase against the shackles around your wrists and ankles, but it was useless. You had nowhere to go and you had no choice but to hold on.

Your breathing became shallower and more desperate as the seconds ticked by, your head a whirlwind of emotions. Natasha kept her eyes on your beautiful, trembling form as she mercilessly swung her whip, marking your flesh with each strike. Your body arched with each strike, your cries mingling with Natasha's own animalistic growls.

Finally exhausted, she lowered the whip and let it hang limply from her hand. The sickly, sweet smell of sweat and desire hung in the air as Natasha strode toward you, her gaze fixed on the exhausted subordinate's trembling physical form.

With a wicked, lustful grin, Natasha knelt before you and pushed your ankle shackles apart, revealing the pink welts that marked your bottom, still glowing from the cruel discipline you had just endured.

"Would you like to try counting again, my love?" Natasha purred, her voice dripping with malice. You shook your head, your exhausted body desperate and still shaking from the intense burn of the whip.

"I d-don't, I can't...anymore," you said exhaustedly. "We'll see," Natasha's voice sounded cold and threatening above you, as she released your bonds, your arms fell limply to your side and your legs had no strength to hold you up. Natasha caught you and carried you over to a bed.

She leaned closer, examining the marks she had left on your supple skin, then ran her fingers over the angry red lines. "Does it hurt?" Natasha whispered hoarsely in your ear, her warm breath causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. "Answer me," Natasha demanded, her voice harder now. "Do you feel pain?"

"Y-Yes," you whispered dejectedly. "Good." Natasha grinned wildly as she lowered her lips to your neck, placing hot, wet kisses and leaving little love bites. You whimpered softly, throwing your head back as you arched to meet Natasha's exploring lips.

With a harsh giggle, Natasha grabbed your thighs and opened them wide. You gasped as the cold air rose and hit your heated core. A deep blush flooded your cheeks as Natasha kissed your inner thighs, eliciting a moan from her submissive.

"Look at you," Natasha murmured in agreement, her voice sensual and deep, vibrating deliciously. "You want this so fucking bad, that tight little cunt is just begging for relief."

A dark shiver ran through you at the crude language. It sent shivers down your spine, your nipples poking out like greedy little peaks in her leather bralette. Your body needed to be conquered, craved the taste of domination. And who better to give it to you than Natasha?

"Are you ready, moya lyubov?" Natasha purred, her eyes dark and intense as she reached under the bed and pulled out a strap-on. "Yes," you breathed, unable to look away from the dominant woman. Without warning, Natasha thrust forward, filling you with a wild, animalistic hunger. She gripped your thighs tightly and held them still as she thrust into you with wild abandon.

You screamed in pleasure, the pain of your welts fading in the face of your overwhelming pleasure. Natasha leaned down to kiss you, swallowing your passionate cries as she continued to plunder your depths.

Your tongues dueled and parried, each thrust and retreat bringing you closer to the edge. "Cum for me," Natasha whispered hoarsely, pulling back just enough to meet your wide eyes.

The command sent a shiver down your spine, your core clenching around Natasha as you neared your release. "I'm... I'm going to...!" you screamed, unable to hold back the tidal wave of pleasure. Your eyes rolled back and your body tensed as you felt the orgasm rip through you. This time Natasha watched your body shudder in release, delighting in how you screamed and squirmed in surrender to her dominance.

She paused for a moment, staring hungrily at your flushed, sweat-covered features as she occasionally groped you as you screamed and squirmed. "So beautiful, so perfect. You can feel me deep inside you, feel you falling apart under my touch, brought to the edge." Then she increased her speed, her movements becoming more reckless; her eyes blazing with the intensity of her desire.

"Fuck N-Natasha, wai-it!" With each thrust, your cries grew louder, the bedposts clacked rhythmically against the wall as natasha desperately searched for release. You tossed your head from side to side, your breasts bouncing and jumping, your hair making a mess of the expensive silk sheets.

"Stay still," Natasha demanded, her voice low and threatening, but there was something whispered in that command that sent a shiver of anticipation through your body, making it impossible for you to resist. Your breath came in ragged gasps and your eyes fluttering shut.

"Stay with me, little one.” Natasha demanded, her voice deep and commanding. You obeyed immediately, your wide eyes meeting Natasha's. "That's better," Natasha said, satisfaction shining in her eyes. "I'm the boss here and you will do what I say. Do you finally understand that now?”

You cried out and arched your back as your body endured the hard thrust, your clit rubbing against the thick base of the strap-on with each thrust. Natasha bit her lip, her eyes on you as she pushed in deeper, hitting the spot that made your whole body twitch with pleasure. "Oh, God!" you screamed as another wave of pleasure raced through your body. "Scream my name," Natasha hissed. "Say it!"

You could barely form words at this point, let alone remember what Natasha had ordered, but you felt Natasha's hands close around your throat, cutting off your airway just enough to make your speech sound garbled and unintelligible. "Nn... ta...asha!" You gagged, your body writhing under Natasha's grip.

"Fuck Y/n!!" she breathed as she thrust into you one last time, the dildo glistening with your shared wetness. Your body froze beneath her, your eyes rolling back as you reached the peak of your orgasm. Your loud, throaty screams filled the room as you came for the third time, your body a limp, sated mess, sprawled on the bed.

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🏷️ TAGLIST

@kipitou @thalia-is-not-ok @queen2234 @sgm616 @dorabledewdroop @natsxwife @natashaswife4125 @loneliestafterparty @jenniferjareauwife @maggieromanov @doveromanoff @agent99galanzo

[mya-valentine]

Teasing in Silence

Synopsis: Wanderer’s usually teasing and confident girlfriend suddenly grows quiet, leaving him unsettled and worried that she no longer wants to be with him. As her silence stretches on, he steps out of his usual detached demeanor to give her more attention, only to discover she was afraid her teasing had pushed him away. In the end, they both realize their love doesn’t need to change, and they accept each other as they are.

The sun was setting over the rolling hills of Sumeru, casting a warm, golden hue over the land. Wanderer and his girlfriend had made it a habit to explore the wilderness together—him, ever the aloof and quiet presence, while she was the teasing, confident counterpart that kept things lively. She loved poking fun at him, playfully commenting on how stiff he was or how his expression rarely changed from its usual brooding look.

"You know, you should smile more often, Wanderer. Might make you a little less terrifying," she'd often say, a grin tugging at her lips.

And Wanderer, who had never been one to let people get too close, somehow found comfort in her teasing. Her confidence, her light-hearted jabs, the way she never took anything too seriously—it all balanced out the weight of the world he carried.

But today was different.

They were walking along a familiar path through the forest, the same one they'd taken dozens of times before. Normally, she'd be chattering away, throwing in her usual playful remarks, but today, she was silent. She walked a few steps behind him, her gaze fixed on the ground. There was no teasing, no quips about his serious expression or how he always seemed to be lost in thought.

Wanderer glanced back at her, frowning slightly. It wasn't like her to be this quiet. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice its usual calm, controlled tone.

She blinked, seemingly snapped out of whatever trance she had been in. "Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'm fine," she replied, but there was a tightness in her voice, a forced lightness that didn’t quite match her usual carefree attitude.

He didn’t press her further, deciding to give her space. But as the day went on, the tension in the air became palpable. She barely spoke during dinner, her usual teasing absent, and Wanderer found himself growing uneasy. It wasn’t like him to care so much about another person’s mood, but with her… it was different. Her silence felt like a weight pressing down on him.

As the days passed, her strange behavior continued. She wasn’t avoiding him, but she wasn’t herself either. Wanderer noticed the way she hesitated before speaking, how her usual confidence seemed to falter. He would catch her staring at him sometimes, a strange look in her eyes, but when he asked her what was wrong, she would just shake her head and smile that same forced smile.

The more she withdrew, the more Wanderer found himself unsettled. What if she no longer wanted to be with him? What if she had grown tired of his cold demeanor, his inability to express himself like a normal person? He had always been afraid of letting someone in, afraid that they would see the broken, hollow person he was and walk away. And now, it seemed like his worst fears were coming true.

He didn’t know what to do. Normally, he would shrug off feelings like these, bury them deep inside where they couldn’t bother him. But with her, it wasn’t that simple. He couldn’t just ignore the way his chest tightened every time she looked away from him or how the silence between them seemed to stretch longer each day.

Finally, after days of agonizing over it, Wanderer decided to act. If she was pulling away because she thought he didn’t care… he would show her otherwise.

The next morning, he sought her out. She was sitting by the river, her knees pulled up to her chest, staring out at the water. Normally, he would wait for her to come to him, but today, he went to her. Without a word, he sat down beside her, his shoulder brushing against hers. She glanced at him, surprised by the sudden proximity.

"You’ve been quiet," he said, his voice low but filled with an uncharacteristic vulnerability.

She blinked, caught off guard by his directness. "Yeah… I guess I have," she admitted softly, her gaze drifting back to the river.

Wanderer was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. This wasn’t something he was good at—talking about feelings, being open. But if he didn’t say something now, he was afraid he might lose her.

"I’ve noticed," he finally said, his tone a little more forceful than he intended. "You’ve been… distant."

Her eyes widened slightly at his words, and she turned to face him fully. "I—what?"

Wanderer clenched his fists, his usual cool demeanor slipping. "I thought…" He hesitated, his gaze flickering away for a moment before he forced himself to meet her eyes. "I thought you didn’t want to be with me anymore."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and raw. His chest felt tight, and for the first time in a long time, he felt uncertain. She was the one person he had let get close to him, the one person he had allowed to see beyond the mask he wore. The thought of losing her was more terrifying than he had ever anticipated.

For a moment, she stared at him in stunned silence. And then, to his surprise, she burst out laughing. It wasn’t a mocking laugh, but a genuine, hearty laugh that made her shoulders shake. Wanderer blinked, completely thrown off by her reaction.

"What?" he asked, his voice flat with confusion.

She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, still giggling. "I… I thought the same thing about you!" she admitted, her voice breathless from laughter. "I thought you were getting tired of me teasing you all the time, so I backed off because I didn’t want to push you away."

Wanderer just stared at her, processing her words. "You… you stopped teasing me because you thought I didn’t want you around?"

She nodded, her laughter dying down but a smile still on her lips. "Yeah… I thought I was annoying you. So I figured I’d dial it back."

He shook his head, a small, almost exasperated smile tugging at his lips. "You’re ridiculous."

"Hey, you’re the one who thought I didn’t want to be with you," she shot back, grinning now, her usual playful spark returning to her eyes.

Wanderer sighed, leaning back on his hands as he looked up at the sky. "We’re both idiots, then," he muttered.

She shifted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Maybe. But I guess it’s kind of sweet in a weird, dysfunctional way."

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the tension that had been building between them finally dissipating. Wanderer found himself relaxing, the familiar warmth of her presence grounding him.

"I don’t need you to change," she said softly, her voice more serious now. "I like you the way you are. Teasing you is fun, but I don’t want to push you away. I’m happy with you, Wanderer."

He felt something inside him loosen at her words, a weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying lifting off his shoulders. "I like you the way you are too," he admitted, his voice low but sincere. "Don’t… don’t change that."

She smiled, her hand reaching for his, their fingers intertwining. "Deal."

And just like that, the silence between them was no longer heavy with unspoken worries and doubts. It was a comfortable, peaceful silence—the kind that only existed between two people who truly understood each other.

For once, Wanderer didn’t mind the quiet. He had her by his side, and that was enough.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[anobsessedwriter]

𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑪𝒚𝒄𝒍𝒆ִֶָ࣪☾.

Rafe Cameron × reader (ANGST)

Warning: toxic relationships, manipulation, gaslight, just rafe being toxic.

๋࣭ ⭑✮˙⭑

˖⋆࿐໋

Rafe Cameron had a way of drawing people in with his magnetic charm and effortless charisma, not to mention his good looks. When you first met him at a summer party, the way he smiled and looked at you, made you feel like the most special person in the room. you were easily captivated by his charm.

In the early stages of your relationship, Rafe was the perfect boyfriend. He showered you with affection and gifts, constantly surprising you with dinners and weekend getaways. “You deserve the world,” he’d say, making you feel over the moon, These moments created a deep bond between the both of you, but they were also a smokescreen for the darker aspects of his personality.

As their relationship progressed, the cracks began to show. Rafe’s controlling tendencies started subtly. When you went out with friends, Rafe would text you frequently, questioning where you were and who you were with. “I just want to know you’re safe,” , "Can't you see that i'm worried",his frequent messages felt suffocating, as you couldn't enjoy a moment without him making you feel guilty for leaving him alone so you'd quickly return.

whenever you decide to attend a party with your friends, Rafe’s demeanor would immediately shift from affectionate to cold as soon as you mention your plans to him. he'd always say “Again with the parties?” or “I thought we had plans tonight.”, "they're more important than your own boyfriend?" you always try to explain that you need a bit of space, but Rafe’s disapproval was palpable. you were left with feeling guilty and ashamed for wanting to enjoy a night out.

During the next few months together, Rafe’s outbursts became more frequent and intense. He would criticize your appearance, and say things like “ why are you trying too hard” or "isnt that way too revealing?",One afternoon, as you were getting ready for a casual lunch date, Rafe snidely remarked, “Are you really going out in that? looking like a damn hooker.” The comment left you feeling self-conscious and hurt, despite your attempts to brush it off.

he'd constantly accuse you of cheating, whenever you don't text him instantly, when you don't pick up immediately or when you come home a bit late, he'd yell and break things, making you cry and flinch then he'd try to comfort you saying he's sorry and he just love you.

Rafe’s manipulation was psychological as much as emotional. When you tried to discuss your feelings, he would deflect or twist the conversation. “You’re too sensitive,” he’d say when you expressed how you felt by his actions and words. “I’m just being honest. If you can’t handle the truth, maybe this isn’t going to work.” you felt like you were walking on eggshells, afraid to express your emotions in for of making him upset or starting another argument.

The relationship became more toxic as Rafe started to slowly isolate you from your friends and family. Whenever you spent time with them, Rafe would accuse you of neglecting him. “You’re always with them,” “Don’t you care about us anymore?” The guilt he built in you led you to eventually distance yourself from those you loved, making you more reliant and dependent on Rafe.

you still remember the time when your friend kiara noticed the change in you, you never were this distant or this quite. When She talked to you about it,Rafe blew up with anger. “She’s just trying to control you,” “She is probably jealous of us, i dont want you talking to her okay?”, you just couldn't say no or disagree with him.

Rafe’s apologies were frequent trying to manipulate you into forgiving him, he would show up at your apartment with flowers and a box of your favourite chocolates. “I’m sorry for what happened,” ,“I love you more than anything. I’ll change, I promise.”

and if that doesn't work? he'll switch it up on you balming you for it all, "it's all your fault", "maybe this wouldn't happen if you just listened to me", you would forgive him, hoping that these sweet and caring gestures were a sign of change.

Despite these moments of sweetness, the cycle of toxicity continued. On one occasion, you discovered that Rafe had been secretly reading your messages, When you confronted him, Rafe’s reaction was defensive. “I just wanted to check, whats wron with reading my girlfriend's messges” he said. “why are you upset? are you hiding something?.”

The last straw was when Rafe had taken you to a dinner with his family and friends where he criticized you in front of everyone When you tried to defend yourself, Rafe would get angry “You’re embarrassing me you know?" , “Why can’t you just behave".

That night, as you laid in bed, you realized that the person you once were had been overshadowed by Rafe’s demands and criticisms. The realization was painful, but it needed to be acknowledged. you knew you needed to leave for your own well-being.

you got up and started packing things to leave. Rafe’s pleas for you were too hard for you to ignore. “im just trying to protect you,” he said, “We can work this out. I promise, I love you.” and you couldn't say no to him,you couldn't just ignore him and leave you were too far in love.

would he really change....probably not but you still had hope.

[joeliz99]

MET GALA- Joe Keery

Description: (Y/N) navigates her first MET Gala with Joe by her side. After the glamorous event, they both share a tender moment alone.

Warnings: None, Fluff, Established relationship

Word count: 1314

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For the first time ever, (Y/N) was invited to the Met Gala, donning an exquisite creation by Gaurav Gupta. It was the most elaborate and breathtaking outfit she had ever worn.

Relatively new to the public eye and experiencing this level of recognition, (Y/N) was both thrilled and petrified about what the night would bring. After all, being one of the few Latinxs at this exclusive event only added to the significance of the evening.

Joe, who had been on the verge of canceling due to a Heineken promo deal for the F1 races, managed to make it work. She had also been there as his plus one, so they both traveled from Miami to New York on separate days to beat the tight schedule.

While (Y/N) and Joe prepared in different rooms—given the numerous people involved in perfecting (Y/N)’s look—the moment of transformation was nothing short of magical. When she finally saw her reflection, she was left speechless, her heart racing at the sight of her stunning appearance. This transformative moment was captured for later promotional content on social media.

After expressing heartfelt thanks to the designer, Joe knocked on the door. His reaction was probably the highlight of her evening. Overwhelmed with awe, he struggled to find the right words, simply gazing in wonder at all the details of (Y/N)’s look. He hesitated to touch (Y/N), as if afraid to disturb the perfection before him.

“I’m absolutely floored,” Joe finally said, his smile lighting up the room. He took (Y/N)’s hand, his eyes never leaving theirs. “You’re going to be the star of the night, baby. You guys nailed it!”

They shared a few more quiet moments together, savoring the intimacy before heading out. As they approached the Met Gala, the swarm of paparazzi was already buzzing with anticipation.

In the quiet of the car before arriving, (Y/N) leaned in close to Joe. “I feel like I’m going to burst from nerves. Can you feel my heartbeat?” (Y/N) whispered, guiding Joe’s hand to her chest.

“You don’t need to worry about a thing,” Joe replied softly, pressing a reassuring kiss to (Y/N)’s cheek. “Just be yourself and enjoy every moment. Remember, this is your night. I’m right here behind you if you need me. You’ve got this.” (Y/N) nodded, sighing in relief, and gave him a tender peck on the lips. He returned the kiss as the car came to a stop. “Let’s do this,” he said with a grin.

The initial moments at the gala were as overwhelming as expected. With a team directing (Y/N) on where to go, who to talk to, and when to pose, she began to feel more at ease. The girl's charisma started to shine through as she smiled, waved, posed, and engaged in conversations about her projects, taking every opportunity to express gratitude for the chance to be part of such a special night.

Joe, as promised, stayed a few steps behind, allowing (Y/N) to bask in the spotlight while enjoying the evening himself. They did, however, carve out a few moments for themselves amidst the festivities.

In one particularly charming moment, Joe pulled (Y/N) close for a photo. With his arm wrapped securely around (Y/N)’s waist, he leaned in and whispered, “I could spend the entire night just admiring you.” The chemistry between them was palpable in every photo, their connection evident to everyone present. As they approached the final interviews, reporters turned their attention to the couple.

“Let me start by saying, Joeliz, you look absolutely stunning tonight.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” (Y/N) replied, her face lighting up with a genuine smile. “I really appreciate that.”

“So, this is your first time attending the gala together, right? How are you feeling?”

“It’s honestly surreal,” Joe said, his hand resting gently on (Y/N)’s waist. “We’re beyond excited to be here and surrounded by such incredible people.”

“Let’s talk about you two,” a reporter said with a grin. “We’re all thrilled to see you together tonight. Is this your first event as a couple?”

“It is, sort of,” (Y/N) chuckled softly. “There’s no one else I’d rather share this moment with than my husband.”

The reporters' eyes widened in surprise at this revelation. The fact that (Y/N) and Joe had been married for two years and had kept their relationship a secret until now was unexpected to many.

After a few more questions, they bid their farewells and headed to the official dinner. The dinner was pleasant but lacked excitement, so after it they decided to make a quick detour to their hotel for a change into more comfortable after-party outfits.

The after-party was in full swing, with upbeat music and lively chatter filling the room. The venue was beautifully decorated, and the crowd was a mix of high-profile artists and industry insiders.

Joe and (Y/N) were on the dance floor, surrounded by a sea of people. Joe, ever the social butterfly, was effortlessly moving through the crowd, introducing (Y/N) to various guests. The atmosphere was electric, but Joe kept glancing over to ensure (Y/N) was comfortable and enjoying herself.

With a mischievous grin, he gently tugged her away from a particularly enthusiastic conversation. “Come dance with me. I think it’s time for a little break from the mingling.”

(Y/N) smiled, allowing Joe to lead her to a quieter corner of the dance floor where the music was softer and more intimate. As they began to sway to the rhythm, (Y/N) rested her head on Joe’s shoulder, savoring the warmth of his embrace.

After a few songs, Joe excused himself to fetch some drinks. He soon returned and, having heard from others that the rooftop area was also available, decided it was the perfect place for a more private escape.

He guided (Y/N) through the bustling party and toward a discreet stairway. They climbed up to the rooftop, where the city lights stretched out below them, and the night sky was clear and serene. The rooftop was a tranquil haven, adorned with cozy seating areas lit by soft, twinkling string lights.

“Welcome to our little escape,” Joe said as he led (Y/N) to a comfortable couch set against the backdrop of the shimmering cityscape. He gestured to the inviting seating area. “I thought we could use a moment away from all the chaos.”

As they settled onto the couch, (Y/N) lay back against Joe’s chest, feeling the strength of his embrace. The quietude of the rooftop was a stark contrast to the party’s energetic buzz, allowing them to fully enjoy the serenity of their private retreat.

“I know it’s been a whirlwind tonight,” Joe murmured, his lips brushing against (Y/N)’s ear. “But I just wanted to say how proud I am of you. You’ve been incredible.”

(Y/N) sighed contentedly, resting her head on Joe’s shoulder. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you. Tonight has been magical.”

Turning slightly, (Y/N) faced Joe, their hearts beating faster as their lips met. The kiss was both sweet and passionate, a perfect blend of tenderness and desire. After a moment, Joe pulled back, looking into (Y/N)’s eyes with a warm smile. He reached for the champagne glasses they had brought up, handing one to her. They clinked glasses, enjoying the bubbles and the calm atmosphere.

“Here’s to many more nights like this,” Joe said softly, his gaze warm and loving.

Smiling, (Y/N) snuggled closer. “Here’s to us.”

As the night wore on, they reluctantly left their rooftop retreat, their hearts full and their spirits high. They returned to their hotel, eager to unwind and reflect on the unforgettable evening before heading home the next day.

[reggies-eyeliner]

OKAY AN EXTREMELY SELF-INDULGENT SENSELESS RAMBLE ABOUT JWCT REGARDING GRIEF AND EMOTIONS AND FOUND FAMILY AND COMPLEX CHARACTERS COMING UP AHEAD WOOP WOOP !!!

i cannot stress to you enough. how much i love the way they write processing trauma. like yeah trauma is all silly and angst and whatever but it's a real thing like genuinely and it's exhausting to see shows just dismiss it over and over again but THIS SHOW I SWEAR IT'S JUST. EVERYTHING IS DONE SO SO WELL AND I AM ETERNALLY GRATEFUL LIKE

and not to mention that the animation SERIOUSLY DOES IT JUSTICE like the expressions are SO GOOD OH MY GOSH LIKE IT'S I'M THEY'RE YEAH THE EXPRESSIONS. ARE INCREDIBLE. that looks darius got in his eyes when he KNEW the password to brooklyn's phone and kenji didn't??? so good SO GOOD and just the way their eyes all shine before they start crying is actually done so well that if you listen carefully you can feel my heart breaking

also i love how like emotional processing is also written so much. all of them aren't afraid to cry and i feel like that's just. yeah it's beautiful. they cry soft they cry loud whatever it is they're comfortable enough to do so and if they're not they at least know they won't be judged for it ARE YOU KIDDING ME I'M GOING TO BITE A TABLE?????

the characters have flaws. i love that so much. the characters are not perfect but they're still likable and it's executed so well. darius' grief is PALPABLE and kenji's anger, albeit sometimes annoying, is so understandable that you can't actually be angry or annoyed with him because the story writing makes you understand. that's incredible. yasmina struggles with anxiety and ptsd and she gets frustrated and that is !! okay !! sammy ignores her emotions and struggles with toxic positivity but we understand *why* she talks to yasmina that way (because she's worried and scared and concerned for her girlfriend, but she's also just as worried of truly addressing what she's been through) so it's so hard to get mad at her. ben is THANJ GOODNESS not mischaracterized as a cinnamon roll and is actually a complex character with complex emotions and i can't get enough of it. he's like a pain he's so annoying sometimes but it's endearing because he reminds you of that one classmate from elementary that makes you go ohhh yeah no it's him that's fine

okay paragraph was getting long but I do have more to say about kenji. the relationships in this show are executed SO WELL and I'm beyond relieved that Kenji and Daniel's relationship was written INCREDIBLY WELL

like. okay first off the asian rep YEAHGHH IT EAS GOOD !!! WOOP WOOP YRAHAHDH HONK HONK the part about kenji saying he should get his violin after daniel was like telling his sob story was SO FUNNY OH MH GOSH

and just. kenji and daniel kon. im. like his dad was never perfect. far from it and yet kenji just he loves him so much and wants to make him proud and it makes me sick because the writing helps you UNDERSTAND why

daniel keeps giving kenji ultimatums and kenji standing up to him for once just. yeah. that was done incredibly well. and then not even ten minutes after daniel started to change and gave his son something without expecting anything in return other than his presence daniel gets eaten alive in front of him.

okay now this show holy moly i was NOT expecting daniel to just. get ripped apart but um YEAH THAT HAPPENED and the grief was written so well I cannot stress this enough. I loathe in movies and shows when they skim past traumatic deaths and just act like the grief is just non existent and this show does an incredible job at showing that it is VERY MUCH STILL THERE and it makes people out there who are struggling feel a little less crazy and that's so beautiful

i've been a benrius enthusiast since day one and honestly at this point i just hope everything goes well for them moving on. brooklyn's death and Darius coping with her grief was done SO SO WELL and honestly okay as much as i love sibling-type dinostar i think rewatching scenes with the lens that he was in love with her just makes it hurt so much and it's just. yeah. it's written well.

I will say that I think the story could have gone on without Darius confessing his love to Brooklyn, and the scene where Kenji asked Darius about the voicemails could have been used solely as a chance to highlight grief. another way the scene could have gone was if kenji sifted through the voicemails and just heard Darius's voice shatter in a way he's never quite heard it or listened to darius blame himself and that could have been a moment for kenji to realize that grief isn't something people should deal with alone, that *he* shouldn't deal with grief alone

regardless i really do think the idea that Darius was in love with Brooklyn was done really well. I don't know a better way for kenji to have figured out the truth, and for that I am grateful :D!! I hope the hardcore shippers don't get too mad though 😭

also I absolutely loved the lady with the whistle. she's cool. her character design is terrifying and the way she treats the dinosaurs reminds me a of a queen that is very fond of her workers like 😭 she's cool but also i would never want her within a 100 mile radius of me

the found family in this show is actually. yeah. it makes me cry because it's just done so well because it doesn't idealize perfect relationships. there are awkward moments, there are sad moments, characters still feel broken and alone despite having people who've actively said that they'd go to the moon and back for them. it's realistic and it's written beautifully

I think Darius might actually be the character with The Writing ever. his grief and his nostalgia, his awkwardness and fascination with learning and his kindness are all things that exist together and I am so so grateful for that. he's allowed to laugh and make jokes while feeling constant, looming guilt. he is fascinated with learning while also struggling to feel like he deserves to be happy, he enjoys learning about dinosaurs while also being terrified of them on the worst days. he feels guilty and feels like a bad person. but he's loved and he's cared for. can you tell he's my favorite now because

enamored with yasmina and sammy as always. they are just the girlfriends ever and i love so much how openly they communicate with each other. sammy apologizes when she makes mistakes, yasmina doesn't hold it against her. they're always at each other's sides and their love isn't conditional. i love them SO MUCH

okay sorry im making this about darius again but this guy actually is The character ever. I don't think I've ever felt so seen in a character and i just yeah the writers are incredible because all of the characters are written to feel relatable, and if not that, to feel real. it was just a huge comfort to me to know that okay im not crazy for feeling this way because of a character, who was written and animated by dozens and dozens of creators was allowed to be written this way, i'm not messed up in the head, im just processing emotions and it's okay that I need help for that

THIS SOUNDS SO CRINGE I AM SO SORRY

but yeah i. i love this show.

[httpvomitello]

Hey!! Could I get a scenario with Leo x fem reader? He's on solo patrol and gets caught in a thunderstorm and crashes at her apartment. Finds out during the night she's afraid of thunderstorms and comforts her and maybe a confession...? 😊😁 hope that makes sense and isn't too much 🙏🙏 I just want some Leo snuggles

Hello, hello. Of course, honey! I hope you like it ♡♡♡♡

Thunderstorm Comfort *⁠.⁠✧

Leo had been out on solo patrol for hours, weaving silently through the dark streets of New York. The distant rumble of thunder was the first sign of the coming storm, but he didn’t think much of it at first. He had weathered countless storms during his time above the city. However, this one was different. The sky had turned a dark, ominous shade of gray, and in a matter of minutes, the storm unleashed its full fury.

The rain poured down in heavy sheets, drenching him instantly. The howling wind and sharp cracks of thunder made it hard for him to hear anything else. Leo tried to press on, but the rain was too much, making it impossible to see. He needed to find cover fast.

His thoughts immediately went to you.

You had become close over the past few months, but there was something deeper than just friendship between you and him. He wasn’t sure if you felt the same, but whenever you were around, he couldn’t help but feel more… grounded.

With the rain intensifying, he didn’t have many options. So, he made his way to your apartment, hoping you wouldn’t mind the sudden visit.

When Leo reached your fire escape, soaked to the bone, he hesitated for a moment. He hated dropping in unannounced, especially this late at night, but the storm was relentless. With a quiet sigh, he tapped gently on your window.

Moments later, the curtains shifted, and there you were. Your eyes widened in surprise, but the concern on your face was immediate. Without a second thought, you opened the window and helped him climb in, not caring that the rain dripped off him onto the floor.

"Leo! What are you doing out there in this storm?" you asked, worry lacing your voice.

"Sorry," he muttered, wiping the rain from his face. "Got caught off guard. I didn’t want to intrude, but—"

"You’re never intruding," you interrupted, offering him a warm smile that made his heart skip a beat. "Come on, I’ll grab you a towel."

You disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him standing in your living room, trying to shake off the cold that had seeped into his bones. He could still hear the storm raging outside, the thunder growing louder with each passing second.

You returned with a towel and handed it to him. "Dry off. I’ll make us some tea."

"Thank you," he said softly, his eyes following you as you moved around the apartment.

As you put the kettle on, a loud crack of thunder shook the building, and Leo saw you flinch. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for the tea cups, making him realize something... you were afraid of thunderstorms.

You tried to play it off, forcing a smile as you turned back to him, but Leo could see the tension in your shoulders. When another clap of thunder echoed through the room, you visibly recoiled, your breathing becoming shallow.

"Y/N," he said gently, setting the towel down and walking over to you. "Are you okay?"

You hesitated, clearly trying to keep it together, but when the next flash of lightning illuminated the room, followed by a deafening boom, you couldn’t hide it anymore. Your fear was palpable.

"I—I'm fine," you lied, your voice shaky. "I just… don’t really like storms."

Leo’s brow furrowed in concern, and without thinking, he reached out, gently placing his hand on your arm. "You don’t have to pretend, Y/N. It’s okay to be scared."

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, you felt the weight of his calm, steady presence wash over you. The storm outside was terrifying, but somehow, being near Leo made it a little more bearable.

"I’ve always been afraid of them," you admitted softly, your voice barely audible over the rain pounding against the windows. "I guess it’s silly…"

"It’s not silly," Leo said, his tone firm but kind. "Everyone’s afraid of something."

You looked up at him, surprised by the softness in his expression. The thunder boomed again, but this time, instead of recoiling, you instinctively stepped closer to him. Leo didn’t hesitate. He wrapped one strong arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a comforting embrace.

"I’m here," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "You don’t have to face it alone."

You relaxed into him, feeling the warmth of his body despite the cool dampness still clinging to his skin. The storm outside seemed a little less intimidating with him holding you like this, and you felt your heart rate begin to slow.

"Thank you, Leo," you whispered against his chest.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The sound of the rain and thunder was still present, but it was no longer as terrifying. Leo’s steady breathing and the reassuring beat of his heart grounded you, making you feel safe.

Then, almost without thinking, you said, "I’m glad you came tonight. I always feel better when you’re around."

Leo’s breath hitched slightly, and he pulled back just enough to look down at you, his blue eyes searching yours. There was something in his gaze that made your stomach flutter, a tenderness that you hadn’t seen before.

"I… I feel the same way," he admitted, his voice quieter now, as if he was afraid to break the moment. "Y/N, I… I care about you. More than I probably should."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Leo…"

"I didn’t mean to drop this on you," he continued, a hint of uncertainty in his tone. "But being here with you, knowing you’re afraid… I just want to protect you. Always."

The sincerity in his words made your chest tighten. He wasn’t just your friend; he was so much more. And now, standing there in the dimly lit room with the storm raging outside, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you.

"I care about you too, Leo," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes softened, and before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned up and gently pressed your lips to his. It was soft, tentative at first, but the warmth you felt in his arms made it perfect.

When you pulled back, Leo looked down at you with a mixture of surprise and happiness. His heart raced, but he smiled, a genuine, tender smile that made your heart swell.

"The storm isn't going away anytime soon..." he said. "How about we watch a movie?"

A smile returned to your face as you nodded. "I'd love to."

[rita-repulsa-ke]

scars

still on an agatha/rio kick, episode 8 give me backstory and lore or I will continue to make up my own. This one is a little bloody, very romantic and there’s kissing. Agatha tries a spell that goes wrong and learns some important things about Rio.

(feel free to comment/reblog if you like this sort of thing, it might inspire me to write more of it.)

Rio doesn’t scar (on the outside, in the flesh). Agatha learns this by unhappy accident.

“I can control it!” she says, fighting magic she clearly can’t control, jagged shards of crimson that swirl around her with increasing fury.

“I really don’t think you can,” Rio says, oddly peaceful, watching the maelstrom of violence from where she is lying on her stomach next to their campfire. She observes with interest as the storm of magic intensifies further, the edge of each shard lengthening, sharpening. She can see her own smiling reflection in them. “Sweetheart, I think it’s responding to your emotions.”

“Then stop making me angry!” Agatha snarls, fighting tooth and nail to keep her own spell from tearing her apart. She can master this, she will, she must. She did so many unpleasant things to gain control of this spellbook, to herself and others. She will not fail now, at the final hour.

“Right,” Rio says, slightly skeptical. “Any suggestions?”

Agatha voices a frustrated growl and one of the shards breaks free, slices her cheek almost to the bone, a sudden outpouring of blood that makes her cry out, as much fury as pain.

Rio is on her feet in an instant.

The spell quivers, hungry for more.

Agatha shuts her eyes, grounds herself, but she can feel her control slipping, her own fear rising, the throbbing pain in her cheek a portent of what is to come.

Then something enters the circle.

Her eyes snap open, meet Rio’s, far closer than they should be. “No!” she says, but the magic is so very hungry and she is scared and now there is another target within easy reach. It isn’t a decision, just an incremental loosening of tension, but it is enough. The system overbalances and the spell slips free, a whirlwind of crimson death slamming into Rio from all sides.

Rio staggers, pierced a hundred times over, remains upright despite the improbability, cups Agatha’s unmarred cheek and runs her tongue up the injured one, tasting her lover’s lifeblood, a heady mix of copper, magic and fear.

Then, of course, she collapses.

When she returns, from sleep, from the earth, from wherever such things take her, it is to chanting. She keeps her eyes closed for a minute, savors Agatha’s voice in her ears, the way it contains a shaky note of genuine concern. Agatha, afraid for someone other than herself.

Then she stretches, biiiiig stretch, opens her eyes to look up at Agatha, crouched above her, staring down. She’s in a circle, surrounded by herbs and flowers, including a few unlikely ones, things she might have described as ‘not from around here’, where ‘here’ was anywhere on this plane.

“Were you worried?” she asks, nonchalant, grinning.

Agatha looks down at her, eyes red, cheek caked with dried blood, she hasn’t even healed herself yet. She should get on that, it could leave a scar. “I thought—“ her voice has a rusty note, the creak of an unoiled door hinge. Rio wonders exactly how long she’s been chanting.

“Even knowing what I am?”

“I didn’t know,” Agatha answers, some of the tension slipping from her. “I didn’t know,” she repeats, rubbing a hand roughly over her eyes. “You could maybe have mentioned it.” There’s no bite to it, her relief is too palpable.

Rio sits up, slides her arms around the other woman, mouths her hair for a moment. “Surprise!” she says and Agatha manages a snort, but she’s slowly collapsing, falling apart, burying her face against Rio’s shoulder.

“I thought I’d killed you,” she whispers.

“Death can’t die,” Rio lies. There’s more nuance than that, but Agatha doesn’t need to know the ins-and-outs. A girl should have some secrets, even from the woman she loves.

Only now Agatha’s head is up again, studying Rio. There’s a worrisomely speculative look in her eyes. “Does it hurt?”

Rio shrugs. “Kind of tickles.”

Agatha catches her jaw, runs her thumb down Rio’s cheek, smooth, unscarred. “Not even a scratch.”

“Ags,” Rio says.

“Hmm?” Agatha says, her previous grief replaced by something more contemplative.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You are thinking, I could do a lot of really interesting magical experiments with someone who can’t die.”

Agatha’s eyes meet hers and her lips twitch, curl upward, a smile that could take on the world. One giggle escapes her, then another. “Okay, okay, you got me,” she says, with a small shrug. “So what if I am?”

Rio meets that smile with one of her own. Leans forward and puts her lips against the shell of Agatha’s ear. Opens her mouth and lets her true voice spill from her chest, from her throat, from the soil and the grave and the end of all things.

“Stop thinking that,” Death says.

Agatha goes rigid, hands clutching Rio’s sides. Rio pulls back, eyes sparkling, leans in to steal a kiss.

Agatha’s lips meet hers, fierce, impassioned, her fingers through Rio’s hair, dragging her closer, demanding, devouring. Her mouth makes promises against Rio’s, stakes her claim on what is rightfully hers and will not, cannot, be denied.

She’s also just a really amazing kisser.

Then she pulls away—Rio grumbles protest—and tugs Rio tight into her embrace, squeezing too hard. “Don’t,” she says.

“Don’t what?” Rio asks. She knows the answer, has known the answer for years, but it is a continuing quest of hers to get Agatha to actually say the words.

It still shocks her to her core when Agatha says them, her voice rough, emotional.

“Don’t leave me. Don’t you ever leave me.”

Rio is frozen in place and time as Agatha unwinds from her embrace, checks the look on her face and then begins to chortle. She leans in and pecks Rio on the lips. “Got you,” she singsongs, then stands, touches her own cheek and flinches as dried blood flakes away. “Ugh, I’d better heal this before it leaves a scar.”

Rio stays unmoving, watches her bustle around, chop herbs, make a poultice, always brimming with so much life and magic and avarice.

“Oh! I think I know what went wrong with the spell,” Agatha calls out to her

Rio falls backwards, looks up at the sky. It’s night and she can see the stars through the tops of the trees. “The spell that almost killed you?”

“That’s the one. I want to try again tomorrow.”

“You do remember that you can die, right?”

“But I won’t,” Agatha says, coming to sit next to her, her hand reaching for Rio’s. “Besides, why should I be afraid of Death?”

Rio can’t decide if that’s cute or arrogant, and which one she’d prefer. She rubs her fingers over Agatha’s palm, against the back of her hand, feels the skin move and all the interconnected bits beneath, blood and bone, tendons and muscle, the meat of a person, so easily disrupted. Contemplates the kind of pain that does more than tickle, the kind of wound that might yet leave a scar.

“I won’t,” she says. “I won’t leave.”

“You know you still say that like a threat, right?”

“No, I know you pretend to take it like that so we don’t have to discuss your issues around commitment.” It’s an old argument, comfortable in its familiarity.

Agatha doesn’t answer, her way of giving in. Instead, she shakes out her hair, lays next to Rio and looks up at the stars. “…Boring,” she says, less than thirty seconds later.

Rio rolls on top of her, looks down. “Better?”

“It’s a better view, but there is a rock under my ass and a beetle crawling up my arm, so the romance of the moment is kinda lost on me.”

Rio contemplates that. “Say romance again.”

“What? Why? No,” Agatha says, refusing seemingly on principle.

“You killed me. You owe me. Say it again.”

Agatha rolls her eyes, but obliges. “Rooomance. Ro. Mance. Happy now?”

“Ags.” She lays her head on Agatha’s chest.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t try the spell again.”

There is a long silence beneath her. “Is that prophesy or concern?”

Rio shrugs. “A bad feeling.”

Agatha groans under her. “I can master it, I swear. Do you know what I did to—“ she falls silent, because of course Rio knows. She was instrumental in most of it, one way or another. “Come oooon, give me something other than premonition.”

Rio shakes her head.

Agatha’s fingers slide through her hair. Her voice takes on a different cadence, sweet as honey, gentle, adoring. “Please? Come on. Do it for me?”

Rio gazes down at her, unimpressed, and Agatha drops her hand, she knows when her tricks won’t work. “Do not ask me.” Agatha opens her mouth to protest. Death speaks first. “Agatha Harkness, do not ask me to foretell the manner of your death.”

Lesser witches would recoil. Agatha only purses her lips in consideration. “I do kind of want to know, though. Honestly, I can’t believe you haven’t already. I would have, if I had to worry about it.” She touches Rio again, this time with real tenderness, fingers over cheek, through hair. “Glad I don’t, though.”

Sometimes, Rio is aware of how close Agatha is to being a fatal wound.

“I don’t want to know,” she says. She slips in another kiss, pretends disappointment when it doesn’t get her anything back. “Takes all the fun out of it.”

She comes to her feet, strolls into camp. Agatha levers herself up, makes rabbit and mushroom stew and they retire to a well-warded tent and in the morning, Agatha casually says, “Let’s get back to civilization, then.”

Her cheek has healed in the night. She doesn’t mention the spell again. At least, not for a very long time.

If you liked this, try out the wedding or the witch-hunter

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Memories [S. R]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 4k

summary: the case of the self-appointed Fisher King comes with too many sentimental implications and you discover that you and Spencer had more in common than you imagined.

warnings: mention of mental illness and some trauma

A/N: directly based on 2x01 of the series "The Fisher King" part 2

people who might be interested: @c-m-stuff @no-soy-fer @synthsescape @bella-fics @cynbx (if you want to be removed or added tell me!)

To say that you were worried about the case was an understatement, you were actually terrified of what might happen. An unsub holding a hostage, who was also her daughter, and who knew so much about each member of the team, was worrying in itself. But Elle being in a hospital dying, the case being so tied to Reid's life, and you being so stupidly far from knowing where Randall Garner was, was what made you want to throw up everything you'd eaten during your interrupted vacation.

The team, as always, had split up and throughout the investigation you had stayed with Spencer and Garcia to try to crack the riddle, using the man's brain, the woman's internet find-anything skills, and your vast knowledge of the world of codes and literature. During that period you never believed that the doctor's mother would be involved, much less did you think that she would find herself in the… condition she was in. Throughout the time she was there, he treated her sweetly and calmly, but you couldn't help noticing the discomfort that was palpable in the environment. Not that he was ashamed of her, of course, although you figured he didn't visit her very often and it was obviously not her intention for the entire BAU to find out that her mother was a schizophrenic who was in a sanatorium.

You remembered, hours ago, asking Garcia to let you tell the man that his mother was fine when he requested a plane to bring her to Virginia, and all day you had that conversation etched in your mind like a tattoo on your skin.

"Your mom it's ok" you had said, approaching her desk and leaning on it to look at it "Agents picked her up. She's flying here right now” you completed, although he seemed too amused with the piece of evidence that he had in his hand and then you felt the need to say something else “How are you?”

"I feel kind of dumb, to tell you the truth," he replied. Most of the time he avoided looking at you, but you had already gotten used to it “I forgot she used to always read me this poem. And I think that I should have realized sooner than that”

"Why?"

“Nobody knows things like the fact that JJ collects butterflies except for me,” he said, with a guilt-tinged shrug. “People tell me their secrets all the time. Think it's because they know I don't have anyone to betray them to… except… my mother. I... I tell her pretty much everything”

"It’s fine”

“Do you know that I write her a letter every day?”

"That's very nice," you said sincerely, for the idea of the man carefully writing a letter to tell his mother about the day was a sweet image to imagine.

“It depends on why I write her”

"What do you mean?"

“I write her letters so I won't feel so guilty about not visiting her,” Reid added. If it hadn't been for that case, probably you, or anyone, would have known that his mother was hospitalized and you thought it was completely logical that he didn't want others to find out about that part of his life about him, including that he didn’t visit her. Spencer was always available for everything, always working, always alone in his apartment and now that you knew about Diana you understood why. He waited a moment and then finally made eye contact with you, looking somewhat fearful “Did you know that schizophrenia is genetically passed?”

And when he mentioned that your world fell apart. You understood that this was the reason why he didn't go with her; because he was afraid. You didn't know how to react, at least not at that moment, and you just looked at him sadly, feeling your own heart tighten a little at unfortunate memories.

Although, for work reasons, the talk hadn't gone any further than that, you'd thought about it all along, even now that you were all gathered to put the last pieces together of what you hoped would be a successful puzzle.

"Nevada? So we don't even know what state he's in?” Hotch muttered, already quite frustrated at how fruitless the search was turning out. There was little time left and you all knew it.

“I'll search the tax records, see if he owns any property”

"Excuse me," Diana Reid intervened from the chair next to the blackboard and her son practically jumped to try and stop her.

"Mom, do you know we're..."

“Just before the agents got me from the hospital, a man delivered this to me” she continued, ignoring “It's a photo of a house with an address on the back”

After showing her direction she turned the image and you saw what was a house that looked just like a castle, with illuminated windows, trees around, and a night sky.

“Shiloh, Virginia?”

“That's only 10 miles from here”

"Well, there's no time to waste. Morgan and Reid are coming with me”

"I want to go too," you said immediately. Something about the whole thing gave you a very bad feeling and you wished you could help in any way you could, but you were surprised to see that Spencer was the first to oppose your request.

“We don't want anyone else to get hurt, Y/N,” Morgan added, his voice almost pleading for you to obey Hotch's orders. You were in no position to demand a ride and only agreed because you knew that an argument would only take away valuable time. “We have to get ready. Reid, let's go.”

"I'll be back soon, mom"

"I'll stay with her" you suggested, hastening to take a step towards him, in an attempt to continue your mission to help.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course," you said to reassure him. Diana already seemed quite satisfied with the fact that you were going to accompany her and you still didn't know why “Go. And be careful, please."

"I will" he nodded and immediately went after Morgan and Hotch, the three of them leaving the room to carry out the rescue mission. You had your heart in your hand for thinking about what could happen to them and only the woman's voice brought you back to reality.

"I'm glad you're the one who stays"

"Really?" you asked, somewhat flattered to think that she had liked you within a couple of hours of knowing you. 

"Spencer talks to me about you all the time" she confessed and both you and the other two women present widened their eyes in surprise “He said you like literature"

"Yeah, I'd say so," you muttered, trying to smile at her to hide the nervous wreck you were, partly because of concern for your partners and partly because of what she had just told you.

"He's going to be fine, right?"

By God you hoped so. You didn't know what you would do if he got hurt or… he just didn't come back from there.

"Yes, I promise" you managed to say, as serenely as possible to try to keep your companion calm "And if you tell me about your favorite book? I imagine it will be a good one,” you said kindly, taking her arm and leading her to a couch where the two of you could sit. You knew that part of suggesting the talk was to distract yourself from the bleak outlook and thus kill time until the team returned.

Waiting was all you could do.

Diana had talked to you for a while until she ended up finding it more interesting to write in her notebook so you decided not to bother her, although she left you silent and ready for anxiety to grip you tight. After about an hour JJ herself had come to tell you that Elle was safe after surgery and you swore you could have cried with happiness when you found out. So, the pain that stayed in your chest was just from waiting for news from the three remaining agents and when what felt like an eternity passed without receiving any reports you couldn't take it anymore and apologized to Diana to leave the room. with the excuse that you needed to go to the bathroom. You were confident that she would not be a suicidal or aggressive patient, but you still wanted to hurry to get back to her as soon as possible, and when you had barely walked a section of the corridor you met a gangly figure who was already on his way to look for you.

"Rebeca?"

“She's safe” was the first thing you said, making the knot in your stomach finally dissolve “But Randall died. He blew himself up,” he continued, and you thought you wished you had heard a better outcome, even if the man was a criminal “And my mom?”

"Calm. Writing” you assured him, taking a few steps towards him to get a better look at him. He was dirty and what would later be a bruise could be seen on the left side of his face, but other than that he seemed to be safe and sound. "Is everyone there okay?"

"Yes," he breathed out. It was a relief to know that, it was a relief that things were finally over and that no one had been lost.

“I'm so grateful to hear that, Reid,” you said. You stretched your fingers up to his side and ran the tips over the mark that was beginning to form. "Does it hurt a lot?"

"No," he assured you, with a tight-lipped smile.

"Your mother. It will make her happy to know that you're back" you murmured immediately, and tried to go back the way you had come to go tell him, but he held out a hand to stop you "What's wrong?"

"Do you think I could take a moment before going with her?" he asked you and you retraced your steps to face him, still not letting go of his hand. You nodded and he sat on the floor with his legs drawn up and his back leaning against the wall in an attempt to calm down a bit from the adrenaline rush of all the previous events. You dropped down next to him in the same position and looked at his profile, thinking that if you had something to say, now was the time to talk.

“She told me you talk about me all the time,” you ventured, and he bit back an embarrassed smile.

"You weren't supposed to have found out about that"

"So you say bad things about me?"

"She didn't tell you?"

"No" you answered kindly.

"It's a relief"

“So these are definitely bad things, huh,” you teased, pushing your shoulder against his and seeing him shake his head slightly, too embarrassed to admit what he had written to his mother about you. You were silent for a moment as it didn’t seem that he had any intention of getting up to cross to the meeting room, you spoke again "Do you really not want to see her?"

“It's not that I don't want to see her, it's just that dealing with everything sometimes is so… so hard. You wouldn't understand,” he told you, his voice threatening to crack at any moment. You took a deep breath before opening your mouth to reply and the lonely hallway muffled your words, which were barely a whisper.

"What do you know about Alzheimer, Reid?" saying this, he turned a little to look at you, just in case he had misheard, but he realized that now it was you who wasn't looking at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Alzheimer" you repeated.

"Huh, it's a type of dementia that causes problems with memory, thinking, and behavior," he replied, still not quite sure why you were asking, “It is progressive, which means dementia symptoms gradually worsen over the years, and it is also the sixth leading cause of death in the United States. Live an average of eight years after symptoms become apparent, but survival can range from four to 20 years, depending on age and other health conditions. There is currently no cure."

“Have you ever lived with someone who has it?” you exclaimed and he shook his head. It was easier to look directly at you when you were the one who looked away “There are experimental treatments that reduce symptoms, but none are totally effective, appearing early in life in only about 5% to 6% of people. Although there is no defined cause, the genetic factor can affect you if you had a direct relative who suffered from early Alzheimer's” you exclaimed. He wanted to ask you why you were doing this exchange of information, but he thought it impolite to do so, so he just kept quiet "You said earlier that people tell you their secrets because you have no one to tell them to, but I'm sure it's not because that. We trust you because you are kind, understanding, but above all a good friend who we know will never judge us" you took a moment to take a deep breath again, feeling the nervousness running from the tip of your feet to your head and also to gather something of courage "I personally tell you because I am very afraid of starting to forget them"

It all clicked in Spencer's mind in a split second and he wished he was misreading things, searching your gaze so he could identify something that indicated you didn't mean what he was assuming.

"You…?” he started to say, but the question died on the tip of his tongue.

“It was my father. He was barely 35 years old when it all started, it was with the time he forgot to come to his birthday party. I remember it perfectly, he hadn't been feeling well for weeks due to the stress of work and the company decided to run all kinds of tests on him, without finding anything to worry about, so we just ignored it. But the symptoms recurred: he was disoriented, discouraged, sometimes he became aggressive with the family and forgot plans or things that we had told him. When he almost crushed one of his colleagues with a machine that he forgot that he was working, the company decided to give him a permanent break and we began to worry.

»By 36 it was already a fact that it was the beginnings of dementia. The doctors were surprised by the diagnosis because it is not very common to find the disease in patients of his age and for more explanations that we tried to find, we didn’t find any other. They prescribed a treatment that only kept him calm and it got to a point where it felt inhuman to drug him daily, and about two years after he got the diagnosis my mom decided it was better to put him in a mental hospital.

I was only fifteen years old at the time, but I already understood everything perfectly. I went to see him every day, after school, talked to him, read my homework to him, and we watched movies together, which to a certain extent made his illness feel tolerable. The worst thing at that point was that he asked me to watch the same movie as the day before or that he asked me if I was nervous about the exam I had done a week ago" you looked at the man just to make sure he was following the story, which that you verified with the way he was looking at you; fully attentive.

“Anyway, the years went by and it got more and more complicated. Sometimes a nurse had to remind her of my name and at some point my mother just gave up, probably when my father completely disowned her and started yelling all over the hospital that a woman was harassing him in her room. I continued to visit him, but when I grew up and entered the FBI academy my hours were cut down considerably, so in recent years I only went to see him once a week.

»At 42 my father no longer knew that I was his daughter, he thought that I was a nurse doing social service by keeping him company. He talked to me all the time about his family and sadly told me that neither his wife nor his daughter had been to see him for a long time, but I assured him that they had both asked me to tell him that they loved him very much and that they would go soon” silent for a moment, careful not to burst into tears, and prepared to finish the story “He died during my first year as a BAU agent. I saw his decline over the years and even at the end I think he left thinking that his family had abandoned him. I don't talk to my mother anymore, because I think she feels very guilty about me for having left me all the burden of taking care of my father. But every day I feel at peace with myself because despite how painful it was to see him, I never left him.

»Many times I cried before entering the hospital and when leaving, thinking that I had to pretend to be able to spend a moment with the person I loved the most and who was now only a ghost of what my father once was. And it was terrible to look at it and think that this was my future, even to this day. They say that reading is a good exercise to reduce risk and that's why I always carry a book wherever I go, that's why I always want to do new things and that's why I strive every day to solve our cases because I don't know when the last. I have gone to specialists who have told me that there is nothing to worry about and that, if I have it, Alzheimer's could last until I am an old woman, but even so I am afraid every day.

If I really get sick and manage to get old, the most likely thing is that I will end up in a sanatorium, but right now what is worth it are the things I do every day. I'm scared, yes, but it's worth fighting for if I can help people in this job and especially if I can live with people like you.

I know you said that I wouldn't understand, but the truth is that of all the people in this building I can assure you that I am the one who can do it best. I know that you can't bear to see her because you are afraid of ending up with her like her and that at the same time you are so worried that you take the time to write everything about your life to her. I'm probably boring you with all this stuff that you never asked me to tell you, but I just wanted to tell you how important it is that you be with your mom. And more than doing it for her, do it for you.

I would only give you one piece of advice, which you can decide to take or not: don't waste your time, Spencer. Your mother loves you very much, go and talk to her, accompany her, listen to everything she has to tell you and forgive her faults if there are any. Because you don't know about her when it may be the last time you see her, either for your health or for hers”

There was total silence. You hadn't noticed until that moment that your cheeks were already wet from crying and you still didn't dare to look at his face. No person knew that part of you, because after your father got worse you had decided not to talk about it with anyone, so you could say that you were practically giving your heart to that man bruised by the mission a few hours ago. Suddenly you thought that perhaps you had talked for too long or that for him it had no relevance and he had only stayed to listen to you because he was not rude enough to leave you talking to yourself. But while your head was drawing the wrong conclusions, something you never expected happened: Spencer extended his hands to you and wrapped you in a hug.

It only took a bit of effort to make their bodies fit perfectly and he clenched the fabric of your knitted sweater in his fists, tucking his head into the crook of your neck to allow you to lean yours against his golden hair. It was as if all the time you had been destined for that particular moment, fused in that embrace that communicated everything that words could no longer express.

He wasn't the person who loved physical contact the most, all of you had noticed that, so hugging him was totally new to you. The feeling of peace that this brought you had no comparison point and the softness of his body covered you completely.

“I had no idea,” he murmured, the sound of his voice muffled by your skin. And Spencer was being completely honest, because he didn't even imagine that you could fully understand him after having lived through such a tragic story. He had understood many things thanks to your story and he was eternally grateful that he had felt the confidence to tell him something like this, so he also thought that maybe it was his turn to be honest with you "What my mom said is true, I always talk to her about you. I tell her that you are the sweetest companion I have ever had, that you always pay attention to me, and that you make sure that I feel comfortable wherever we go. I tell her that you are strong, that I want to be half as brave as you, and I also tell her that I have never felt affection and gratitude for someone as I feel for you, because you have made these two years different from any other time in my life” his words, whispered so close to you and drenched in so much love, only intensified your tears "And as long as my conscience remains intact, I assure you that if I need to remind you of all the secrets you have told me, I will do it"

That, more than a proposal, was a declaration of pure love that promised to reach many years into the future.

"Maybe we'll even end up in the same sanitarium, you and me, huh?" you exclaimed, with a slightly joking tone "And so I will have the opportunity to know your wonders again every day"

You felt on your neck that you managed to get a smile out of him and that made you smile too. That's when he pulled away so he could look at you.

“I think that… I will go with my mother back to Nevada. I guess we both deserve it, don't you think?" he told you and you nodded with a small smile. He didn't want to leave your side, but you got up first and held out your hand to help him do the same.

“She still has enough lucidity to tell me what your favorite food is. Maybe you should eat with her on the plane” you suggested. You didn't want to rob him of any more time he could spend with his mother, so you just wished him luck and started walking in another direction.

"Y/N, before you go" he called out to you. You were already a fair distance away, but it was enough for you to still speak in a small voice. "You know you're not alone, right?"

You smiled as he looked at you with those eyes that only showed sincerity, and you wished you could encapsulate that moment for eternity.

"I know" you replied calmly "And I trust that now you know it too"

[nomie-11]

Chapter 14 - Threads Unraveling

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December turns to January in the blink of an eye, but it’s practically spring wherever Genevieve steps. The dark vines and fragrant black flowers only come out in moments of high stress now, she can control it well enough to hold what harms her back. 

Violet has started to channel as well, joining the rest of the squad in Professor Carr’s class, and she’s continued to train with Imogen.

But the day in, day out for Genevieve is still the most tiring. Learning to control her grounding, finding her footing in the inner workings of her mind has posed the biggest challenge. With every passing day, the list of secrets she shared with Violet grew long, and the list of secrets she shared with Xaden got even longer. 

The third week of January is pure torture. Violet is catching onto discrepancies between the reports they get in battle brief and the ones she reads on library duty, and Genevieve has started to dream. 

At first, the dreams meant nothing. Faceless people dying, their threads snapping in front of Genevieve’s eyes, but then she started to recognize those that were dying. 

Every night, she would wake up with a start, cold sweat covering her entire body. At first, she would go to Liam’s room and just sit outside his closed door until he woke up in the morning, but then he started to worry. 

He would sit in her room the entire night, falling asleep in the rickety chair at her desk. He looked like he hadn’t gotten a decent sleep in months, and so did she, the guilt gnawing at her everytime he asked what was wrong, but she couldn’t bring herself to face him with the fact that she’d seen their friends’ death play out in front of her eyes and she could do nothing to stop it. With every dream, she saw more than just a thread—she saw faces, heard voices, and felt the weight of each loss press harder and harder on her chest. 

In the fourth week of January, Xaden stopped her. 

“Gen,” he called out as she slipped out of a particularly grueling training session. Her body felt like it was going to break into a thousand pieces, and it looked like it too. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

She crossed her arms, the black flowers blooming in the corners of her vision. “Neither have you.” 

For a moment, he didn’t respond, just watched her carefully, his expression unreadable. 

“Liam told me you’ve been having nightmares.” 

Her heart stilled in her chest. She hadn’t told anyone about the dreams, Liam didn’t know either, he just knew something was going on. She had barely even admitted them to herself. But she should’ve known better than to think her ever observant sentinel wouldn’t notice. He always noticed. 

“I don’t know,” she lied, the words feeling like lead weighing down her tongue. “It's just nightmares. Nothing real.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Xaden said, his gaze darkening. 

“I’m a terrible liar to you.” She clarified. “At least you know I’m not hiding anything.” 

Xaden stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. “That’s the problem, Gen. You are hiding something. Everyone can see it. It’s eating you alive.”

Her mind went back to her reflection in the mirror. Sunken in eyes and hollow cheekbones, loose flight leathers that were once almost skin-tight, gone was the sparkle in her eyes and the burning desire to fight. She shifted her weight, her ankles and knees aching with the foreign feeling of weakness. The tension was palpable, and the flowers bloomed brighter, bigger. 

Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest, and she couldn’t meet his gaze. She wasn’t sure what she was more afraid of—the truth he saw in her, or the truth she didn’t want to face. “What do you want me to say, Xaden? That I’m seeing people die every night in my dreams and I have no idea if it’s just in my head or if it’s some warning I don’t know how to stop? That I can barely function under the weight of it all and on top of it Violet is telling me that the numbers in battle brief aren’t adding up? Because I know you’re not going to tell me what’s happening on the front lines and then next year you’re going to the front lines and leaving me behind and I’m going to miss you so much.” 

Xaden’s expression shifted, softening just a fraction as she spoke. The words spilled out, tangled and raw, and for once, she didn’t hold them back. He closed the space between them, his hand lifting to cup her cheek gently. 

“You’re not going to lose me, Gen,” he said quietly, his voice low but steady, like a promise whispered in the dark. “Not to the front lines, not to this war. And certainly not to whatever is happening in your dreams.”

She flinched at his touch, not because she didn’t want it but because the weight of his reassurance felt like too much. The vulnerability she had buried so deeply with it herself had clawed to the surface since November, desperate for release, yet she wasn’t sure she could bear it. 

“But I’m already losing myself,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Every night, I see them die—people we know, Xaden. What if I’m supposed to be stopping it? What if I can’t?” 

His thumb brushed against her cheek, wiping away a tear she hadn’t even realized had fallen. The gentleness of the gesture was enough to shatter the last of her resolve, and she sagged against him, the light sobs she was once able to hide now too strong for her weakened body. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Xaden murmured, pulling her into a tight embrace. She felt the solidness of him, the steady rhythm of his heart east against her own erratic one, his own thread fortified against the fraying threads of those she had watched die. “You should tell Liam. And Violet and your friends.” 

“I can’t tell Violet,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. “I don’t even know how to explain it. And I don’t want them to worry.” 

Xaden’s arms tightened around her briefly before he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. His dark eyes were filled with concern, but beneath that, there was a determination that made her stomach twist.

“We don’t have to tell them,” his voice was firm, his tone measured. “But you need to start getting some sleep.” 

Genevieve’s eyes searched his, trying to find solace in his unyielding gaze. The warmth of his embrace was a stark contrast to the cold dread that had seeped into her bones. She wanted to trust him, wanted to believe that they could face this together, but she couldn’t. 

He was too secretive, too stuck in his own shadows.

He may say that they’ll figure it out together but she knows he’s hiding something from her. Something that Violet’s been slowly figuring out. Something that’s given him the incentive to get Imogen to train her, to teach her how to ground. 

Pushing off and away from him, she shook her head. 

“I’ll figure it out,” she said, her voice clipped as she moved to walk back into the training gym. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Gen-” he started, trying to get her back into his arms, but she was already around the corner and in the gym before he could ever say a word. 

How can I not worry about it when I’m sure I love you?

—————————————————————

“This is insanity,” Genevieve said, shaking her head. “You are not fighting Jack Barlowe in this challenge. Are you insane?” 

“I agree. This is insanity.” Liam said from beside Genevieve, his face was pale with nerves. “Please don’t fight him, Genevieve and I can get Xaden to step in and do something. I’ll fight him.” 

“You can’t protect me everytime something bad is happening, Liam,” Violet shrugged as they entered the gym where the challenges were taking place. “Let’s just do this.” 

Genevieve was dreading this fight. She had beaten up Jack Barlowe her fair share of times before, but that was before signet manifestation. She hadn’t been in a challenge since because people were afraid of her touch, and she had definitely gotten weaker. If Violet got in trouble during the match, she wouldn’t be able to step in. Neither would Liam. 

“Mat seventeen, Jack Barlowe from First Wing versus…” Professor Emetterios’s eyebrows rise, and he takes a deep breath. “Violet Sorrengail.” 

The blood drains further from Liam’s face and he looks like he’s seen a ghost. Sawyer and Rhiannon are off in their own matches, so they can’t see the way that Ridoc looks like he’s about to keel over with nerves and Genevieve looks like she might strangle Jack. 

“No fucking way,” Ridoc mutters, shaking his head. 

“Finally!” Jack throws his hands in the air like he’s already won. 

“Let’s do this,” Violet rolls her shoulders and heads for the mat. Genevieve, Liam, and Ridoc all follow. 

“Come one, Vi, tell me I can break the promise,” Liam practically begs, and the look in his eyes is all Genevieve needs to see that despite him being her guard, he really has been protecting Violet all this time. Oh my gods, her breath catches subtly. He loves Violet. 

“The third-years are off doing third year things,” she says, and then she glances at Genevieve. “Besides, it’s not me he wants to be protecting, it’s her. You can’t get him here in time anyways, but if you really want to, go ahead.” 

He looks from Violet to Genevieve to Ridoc. 

“Watch Genevieve like you’re me. And don’t let anyone touch Violet.” 

“You mean like I’m six inches taller and built like a bull?” Ridoc gives him a thumbs-up. “Sure. I’ll do my best. In the meantime, you’d better run.” 

Liam’s gaze finds Genevieves. “Don’t you dare try and hand Barlowe his ass.” Then his eyes land on Violet’s and his gaze immediately softens. “Stay alive.” 

“Working on it, and not just for my sake.” She gives him a smile. “Thank you for protecting me.” 

“Barlowe and Sorrengail,” Emetterio calls from the sidelines and they both step up. “Weapons?” 

“Whatever that puny girl can get in her grubby little hands,” he taunts, stepping into the center of the mat. 

She scoffs, but she grabs her two daggers, and steps into the mat with Barlowe, who takes one, in a clear attempt at scaring her into backing off. 

The match starts, and immediately he’s going for death blows. His fists slam into her cheeks, and he’s barreling towards her with a series of punches and kicks she’s not ready to face. He stabs a dagger dangerously close to her chest, but she dodges at the last minute. 

They dance on the mat, Barlowe throwing punches and Violet dodging. She’s waiting for an opening, a moment to strike as he tires himself out. She lands a blow to his balls, and he falls over onto the mat, his mouth open in a silent scream.

“Tap out,” she orders, picking up the dagger she had dropped, and holding it to him. “I can cut you open at any second. You and I both know if this were real life, you’d be done.” 

“If this were real life, I would’ve killed you the second you stepped on the mat,” he seethes through gritted teeth. 

“Tap out.” She demands. 

“Fuck off!” 

He shoves her down and throws his dagger, and it lodges in her left arm, blood spraying everywhere. Pain erupts from the open wound, but she knows better than to remove it. 

“No throwing!” Emetterio shouts from the sidelines, but Jack is already moving again, his knee forces the air out of her body as he rams into her stomach. She stays on her feet with all of her strength, but she can no longer dodge his hands that move to clasp her face. 

At the contact, Genevieve can see what looks like Jack Barlowe pulling apart Violet’s thread of life, in slow calculating moves of his signet, and Violet is practically vibrating with pain from the searing energy that runs through her like he’s cleaving ligament from bone. 

She screams as Genevieve watches. 

“He’s using his signet!” Ridoc shouts, as Violet reaches for something in her pocket. All Genevieve can see is the sadistic grin on Barlowe’s face and the red rim around his eyes, too obsessed with his prospective victory to see that Violet has stopped screaming, and started moving in retaliation. 

In a split second she shoves a vial against Jack’s smile so hard, one of his teeth breaks. 

He collapses to the floor, clawing at his neck as Genevieve watches what looks like his airways closing. She immediately runs onto the mat, trying to reach Violet as she clatters to the ground. 

Violet’s teeth rattled as pain surged through her, overwhelming her senses. She collapsed to her knees, her vision blurring, but through the haze, she could see Jack Barlowe choking, his hands clutching his neck, his face darkening to a purple hue. 

Ridoc was by her side in seconds, his face full of worry. “BReathe, Sorrengail. Just breathe. Genevieve and I got you.” 

A shout rang out from the crowd. “What did you do to him?” 

Genevieve, holding Violet’s bloodied arm tightly to keep pressure on the wound, hears her faintly whisper before her body gives out. “Oranges… he’s allergic to oranges.” 

Violet’s eyes fluttered shut, and panic surged through Geenvieve as she scanned the room, spotting Xaden and Liam rushing towards them. 

She saw it then—Violet’s thread of life, barely holding on. Whatever power Jack has wielded was devastating, unraveling his essence. Genevieve place her hands on Violet, willing her signet to work, to heal the damaged thread before it was too late. 

Power flooded her, but it was like grasping at smoke. Violet’s thead flickered wildly, fading in and out, it’s fragile silver light shrouded by the shadow of pain. Jack’s cruelty had torn it apart, and Genevieve’s signet faltered under the enormity of it. 

Strong enough, she grunted, pressing farther, trying harder. I’m not strong enough. 

“Come on, come on…” she muttered, desperation lacing her voice. Violet wasn’t dead, but the damage was deep. Genevieve had trained for this—if Violet were dead, she should be able to pull her back, but it was as though Jack had stolen away the very essence of humanity from her. 

She focused harder, envisioning the delicate strands of Violet’s life force, trying to weave them together. But the absence Jack had inflicted clung to them, suffocating her efforts. 

“Genevieve!” Liam’s voice cut through the chaos, filled with fear. “What’s happening? Is she–”

“She’s not dead,” Geneveive gasped, her voice strained as dark vines and black flowers sprouted around them. “But I can’t fix this…”

“You have to try!” Liam pleaded, kneeling beside her. “You’ve been training for this, you can do it!”

His words ignited a spark of determination in her. She was the strongest—she could do this. She should do this. But the darkness Jack had left behind clung to her too, seeping into her veins, threatening to pull her under. 

“Come one!” Liam’s panicked voice cut through her concentration, and she looked up to see him hovering over Violet, terror written across his face. “You never lose! You can do this!”

Closing her eyes, she reached deeper, focusing on more than just the thread. She focused on the connection between them, their bond, the interweaving of their threads together. 

Then it clicked. It’s a give and take. Sgaeyl’s words echoed in her mind, “This power comes at a cost—every life taken, every life restored, will demand something from you”. It will demand something from you. It will demand her own life. 

Amid the chaos, she grabbed Violet’s silver thread, and took hold of her blue one, finding the point at which they converged. She felt a flicker of warmth through her renewed resolve, and she pressed down, summoning her own life, and weaving it into Violet’s thread with a fortification it hadn’t had before. 

Flashes of their shared moments came to her—the times they had defended one another, the laughter, the pain. She poured it all in, filling in the gaps Jack had torn. 

Violet’s thread pulsed faintly, a glimmer of life returning. But just as Genevieve thought she had a hold, Jack’s tainted energy surged again, shadows surrounding her. 

With a final surge of will, Genevieve fought against the darkness, her powers swirling. Slowly, the threads of Violet’s life began to weave back together, stronger, more vibrant. 

“Come on,” Genevieve whispered, her heart pounding with what felt like… weakness. “Almost there…”

Violet’s eyes fluttered open, locking with Genevieve’s. In that moment, their connection surged, a rush of life passing between them. It was fragile, but unbreakable, and Geneviev clung to it, pouring the last of her strength into mending what had been shattered. 

The gym fell silent. The wound on Violet’s arm was gone, all of what seemed like Violet’s permanent bruises healed, not even a scar remained. Her life force, once tattered, was now whole again. 

“Genevieve…” Violet whispered, her voice soft but clear. “You did it.” 

Exhaustion crashed over Genevieve like a wave, and she collapsed beside Violet, her chest heaving. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, every muscle in her body trembling with relief. 

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she gasped, her heart still racing. 

Liam knelt beside them, his face a mixture of awe and disbelief. “You two are insane!”

Xaden, who now was towering over them, leaned down. “What the fuck just happened?”

But Genevieve didn’t have the energy to respond. She simply closed her eyes, thankful they had even survived. 

“I never want to do that again” she whispered, her voice barely audible, before darkness claimed her, and she passed out on the gym mats. 

—---------------------------------------------------

“How is this the second time I’ve had to come save you from burnout in the span of 2 months, Gen?” Xaden asked as he paced the length of her bedroom. “You need to get this under control, or at least figure it out better.” 

“Well, how do you suggest we do that? Because both times I went to burnout it was because I was trying to either kill or save a human, and last night I checked we can’t exactly grab random cadets for me to practice on.” She snapped back, despite being unable to hold herself up, relying on the sturdy wall behind her back to prop herself up. 

Xaden stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing in frustration as he took in Genevieve’s exhausted form slumped against the wall. “That’s not the point, Gen. You keep burning yourself out, pushing until there’s nothing left, and one day, you’re not going to come back from it. You can’t keep saving people.” 

Genevieve rolled her eyes, though the motion took more energy than she cared to admit. “You think I want to do this? That I like losing control? This power doesn’t come with a manual, Xaden. It’s chaos, and I’m barely holding it together.” 

He took a deep breath, clearly trying to rein in his temper, but his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. “And you think I don’t know what it feels like? To be drowning in power you never asked for, that you can’t always control?” 

“That’s not the point, Xaden,” she countered, her voice rising. “Look me in the eye and tell me that if Garrick, or Bodhi, or Liam were dying right in front of you, that you wouldn’t want me to give it my all to save them. That you wouldn’t want me to save your best friend, or your cousin, or your brother using everything I had.” 

Xaden’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with the frustration of her words. He crossed the room, leaning against the edge of the desk. “Of course, I’d want you to save them.” He admitted, his voice low. “But not at the cost of losing you, Genevieve.” “So you understand that I had to save Violet.” She countered, completely ignoring his last sentiment. “She’s my best friend, despite how much I hate her, I love her. And she was practically dying in my arms.” 

Xaden let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at her with a mixture of exasperation and concern. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t have saved her. I know you had no choice. But you can’t keep doing this, Gen. Didn’t Tairn and Sgaeyl say this would have consequences if you went unchecked?”

Genevieve pressed her lips together, her stubbornness flaring up. “I’ll get stronger. I can control it, I just need to get stronger.” 

“You don’t have time to get stronger,” his voice was harsh, but she could hear the underlying worry. “Everytime you push yourself like this, it’s like playing with fire. One day it’s going to burn you completely.” 

Her gaze hardened. 

“Then I’ll burn. If that’s what it takes to get stronger again, to protect the people I care about, so be it.” 

Xaden’s eyes flashed with anger, and for a moment, the air in the room seemed to crackle with tension. “You don’t get to make that choice alone anymore. We’re bound together in life and death and you’re not a weapon to be used up until there’s nothing left anymore. You matter. To me. To Violet. To Rhiannon. To Liam. To everyone.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “You can’t just decide that being suicidal for a ‘good cause’ justifies killing yourself, Genevieve!”

Genevieve stared at him, Xaden’s words slicing through the haze of exhaustion that clouded her mind. His anger, his frustration, they were all rooted in fear–something she hadn't wanted to face. She mattered to him. To them. And that terrified her. 

She looked away, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. “I’m not suicidal.”

Xaden scoffed, pushing off the desk. “Really? Because everytime you burn yourself out like that, it looks a hell of a lot like you don’t care if you survive.” 

“That’s not fair” she muttered, her voice quieter now. “I care, I just don’t know how else to do this. And wouldn’t getting rid of you solve me being a thorn in your side constantly? Didn’t you say it was a worse case scenario?” 

“And I regret saying that with every fiber of my being. This is not the worst case scenario, and I’m so sorry I ever told you that.” He said, practically begging. “This isn’t about you being a thorn in my side either. This isn’t about me. It’s about you realizing that people need you. That I–” He stopped, his jaw clenching as he swallowed the words he couldn’t say. 

Genevieve raised an eyebrow, her exhaustion leaving her, forgotten as she sensed the shift in his demeanor. “That you what?”

Xade shook his head, his gaze intense as it locked with hers. “You act like you’re expendable, like throwing yourself into danger is the only way to prove your worth. But it’s not. Everytime you laugh with Rhiannon and Violet, or play fight with Ridoc and Sawyer, you’re surrounded by people who care about you, but you forget that you have them. You have people who don’t want to see you destroyed because you feel like you have to save them.” 

She blinked, her mind devoid of ways to respond to the words that were spilling out of his mouth like vomit. 

He walked towards her from the desk, kneeling in front of her, his hand cupping her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You care about everyone else’s survival but your own. You’re ready to sacrifice everything, but you haven’t thought about what that would do to the people left behind.” 

Her throat tightened at his words, the intensity in his eyes making it impossible for her to look away. The vulnerability she saw there, the raw concern—it undid something in her. “Xaden, I don’t want to be weak. If I’m strong enough to protect everyone, maybe I won’t be.” 

His grip on her tightened slightly, frustration flaring again. “You’re not a burden, Gen. You’re not weak. But pushing yourself like this is going to break you. And if you break–” His voice caught, and he took a deep breath, steadying himself. “If you break, I don’t know if I’ll be able to put you back together.” 

Her breath hitched. She hadn’t realized until that moment how he had really felt. In some weird corner of her mind she had believed that this twisted ‘romance’ between them was one sided, but in this moment it was clear that he loved her the way she loved him, even if neither of them were ready to admit it out loud. 

“I forgive you,” she whispered, and his heart skipped a beat, the intensity of her gaze anchoring him in place. 

“What?” he breathed, his grip loosening as confusion crossed his features. 

“For saying that being tied to me was the worst case scenario,” she clarified, her heart racing as she met his gaze. “And for hiding the fact that our dragons are bound together, forever.” 

Xaden blinked, processing her words. “You… forgive me?” 

“Yes,” she said, pressing on, the weight of her own emotions now spilling out. “I know you didn’t mean it. You were scared, just like I am. I can’t keep doing this either, but I can’t pretend I don’t care about everyone anymore, about you.” she took a breath, the warmth of his hand on her chin grounding her. “I’ve always been afraid of being weak. But if being strong means losing everyone, losing you, I don’t know if I want that anymore.” 

His eyes softened, the anger giving way to something else in him. “You’re not weak. You’re brave, Gen. But you have to let us in. We’re a team now; we fight together. You don’t have to bear this alone.” 

“I just thought if I could get stronger, I wouldn’t lose anyone else,” she admitted, her eyes leaving his. “I don’t think I can handle losing you.” 

“Then don’t push yourself to the brink,” he said firmly. “You die, I die. We’ll face whatever comes together. Just promise me you’ll try to take care of yourself, too.” 

“Okay,” she whispered, feeling the tension begin to dissipate. “I promise.” 

Xaden smiled slightly, relief washing over his features. “That’s all I ask. And for what it’s worth, I’m not going anywhere.” 

She felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. “I’m glad,” she said softly, their gazes locking in an unspoken understanding. 

“I’m going to tell Liam that he doesn’t have to spend the night in your room anymore,” Xaden declared, a playful smirk crossing his face as he stood up. “I’ll be taking nightmare duty from now on.” 

Geneveive snorted, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten as she raised an eyebrow at him “Oh really? You think that’s going to fly with him? Liam’s made it his mission to get me to sleep through the night.” 

Xaden chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “I’m sure I can convince him. Besides, I think it’s time you got used to the idea that I’m sticking around.” His tone softened, a warmth lingering in his words. “And Liam needs some good rest. I’ll take his spot.” 

Genevieve felt her lips tug into a small smile. “He does need sleep.”

He stepped closer, reaching out to brush a strand of now longer hair behind her ear. “You should get some rest. I’ll be right here if you need me.” 

Her heart swelled at the simple gesture as he pulled the chair that Liam had been sleeping in out from under the desk. The realization that despite everything—the arguments, the misunderstandings—he truly cared. 

“You don’t have to sleep in the chair.” 

Xaden’s gaze flickered with surprise, but he didn’t hesitate. “You sure?”

Genevieve nodded, her walls crumbling at the presence of his unwavering loyalty. “Yeah. I’m sure.” 

Without another word, Xaden unlaced his boots and tossed his jacket onto the chair, taking a seat beside her on the bed, his back leaning against the same wall she had been resting on. For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the weight of their earlier conversation still lingering but less oppressive. 

It felt like a truce—an unspoken promise that neither of them would carry their burden alone anymore. 

As Genevieve’s eyes grew heavier with fatigue, she felt the warmth of Xaden’s presence beside her, grounding her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. 

Finally, he laced his hands in hers. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Xaden whispered, his voice a quiet vow. 

And Genevieve closed her eyes, her exhaustion finally winning as the words he spoke settled in her chest. She didn’t need to say anything in response—he already knew. The warmth of his presence, the steady beat of his heart, was enough. 

Her head fell to his shoulder, and she fell asleep. 

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Hey everyone!! What's up? How's life? My life right now is lowkey insanity (yay!)

This chapter was definitely somewhat of a filler chapter but also had a huge plot component which I was very excited to show you all. What do you think of this new development to her signet? was it what you were expecting?

i've loved developing her signet this far, Genevieve truly is a labor of my love, and she's growing up so much! from last chapter to this chapter, we definilety get more insight into her and her relationship with xaden (hehe)

anyways, thats it! let me know what you guys think, leave a like, kudo, or comment if you enjoyed, and as always, stay tuned for saturday's update! I have a taglist now, so lmk if you want to be added! bye bye~

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taglist: @awkardnerd

[isa-ghost]

qPhil & Other Egg Headcanons

Happy birthday original eggos 😭💚🎉

Note: Although I made these bc the og eggs are birth today, I've done at least one hc for each egg! They're a bit limited bc they're based off what I've seen through 3 POVs + osmosis through liveblog, but I included them all nonetheless. :D

qPhil headcanons masterlist

He thinks Leo has so much fucking swag. How does a literal egg look so fucking cool like at all times. How does she do it.

Secretly admires the shit out of Dapper. He's fucking brilliant. Hilariously unhinged. Insanely devoted to his collection habits. Adorably takes after Bad in looks and silliness. He's just such a badass little guy.

Pomme his fucking beloved. Brilliant just like her siblings, insanely perceptive, tough as nails yet still soft as flower pedals. He sees huge survivalist potential in her. He wishes she could shed some of the stress she's always seems to be under. He relates to her a bit too much sometimes. He hopes that poor girl gets a break.

He's absolutely gutted he didn't get to know Trump like at all. He saw little to nothing of him. He hopes he's at peace with Maxo.

GOD he wish he got more time with Flippa. She took him out like it was nothing. He would've loved training her alongside her parents. He bets she would've been an awesome pvper one day.

He wishes he could've seen more of Tilin. He was more familiar with her than he was Trump but still not enough.

Richarlyson makes it so hard not to pick "favorite eggs" besides his own. Richas is always on some wild ass shit, Phil fucking loves it. That kid's just high on life at like all times. Unreasonably funny on top of it all. God does Phil worry about him though, he's gotten way too into risking his life for the lulz.

Ramon practically feels like a third child to him (sometimes). Much like Dapper, he loves how brilliant he is and how cracked at his craft he is.

Bobby's death absolutely devastated him. He loved that little shit. And he loved how happy he made Roier and Jaiden. Seeing how severely his death broke them made his heart ache. He had nightmares about going through the same thing.

He's DETERMINED to get to know Chunsik further. Timezones are a bitch though. :( But he will be damned if something happens before he can get more familiar.

Empanada is unreasonably cute to him, and he loves seeing her take more and more after Bagi every time he sees her once more. He absolutely loves how close she and all her moms are. He genuinely fears the Pancake Mafia tbh, and he's convinced Empanada is the head.

He adores Sunny. She knows what she wants. They're not afraid to speak their mind as long as they're comfortable. She's silly and playful and sweet. Yet they still have this small, but palpable cool edge to them. Truly one spunky little girl. 😎

Phil is like 90% sure Pepito is just always going thru it, but has a sneaking suspicion that's just how Pepito seems at first glance, and maybe thats just what Pepito WANTS people to think. Either way, Pepito is just such a Creacher and Phil loves it. An absolutely loveable little guy.

He on/off considers commissioning Ramon or Dapper to make bombs to go fuck up a Fed building. He'd let them join him tbh.

He's so insanely afraid of accidentally hurting the eggs, but he'd love to spar with them and teach them more pvp skills so they'd be even better at defending themselves. He's only comfortable doing so with his own eggs.

God, he wants more times where ALL the eggs are together. He loves watching them interact, he loves their dynamics with each other and the chaos that unfolds when they're all in one place.

Phil: I don't want to build things bc technically that's doing the Feds a favor by making the island cooler. So fuck them. // Also Phil: *would build an entire city for these goddamn eggs if it meant they were safe and happy*

Watching the eggs all just talk and be silly together is literally Phil's favorite thing about their existence. Just watching them silently communicate in their Egg Ways, slapping down signs and punching each other. There's something so special and funny about their nonverbal communication.

He will NEVER be able to look at certain objects or accessories without thinking of the kids now.

He secretly has doodles of what he thinks each kid would look like if they hatched into dragons.

[suuuupernovaaa]

txopu si

txopu si [ˈt’o.pu ˈs·i] vin. be afraid

Anonymous Request: Could you pls do Neteyam x fem reader with anxiety please? Like she's been off all day and Neteyam had noticed but then she has an attack at some point and then he helps her through it and afterwards she just clings onto him? Bonus points if Jake is in it. Thank you!

You have a panic attack after a long day, and Neteyam helps you through it.

1,000 words

When everyone leave in the morning, Neteyam notices something is different. Y/N is always very observant and confident, but something is quite off today.

Instead of being observant, she seems neurotic. Instead of confident, she lags behind, as if cowering. She stays close to him, or his father, most of the day, as if afraid something is going to attack at any moment.

It's very unlike her, and he sticks by her most of the day, exchanging glances with his father, who also seems to have notice.

When the successful hunt is over, she leads the way back, and Jake and Neteyam walk a few steps behind her, out of ear shot.

"What's going on with Y/N today?" Jake asks his elder son. "She seems sort of nervous."

Neteyam shrugs, and both men watch her walk. Though he and Y/N are intended for each other, they haven't had much time to spend alone - he doesn't know her as well as he wishes he did, but he does know her behavior today is out of character.

Jake pats his son on the back. "Talk to her. Women like that."

Neteyam rolls his eyes, but jogs ahead as they return to home tree. The rest of the hunting party splits off, under the tree itself where they gather, but Y/N lingers outside.

"Y/N," Neteyam says, approaching her, and she must not have noticed him approaching, because she jumps at the sound of his voice, turning around quickly.

She sighs in relief when she sees him. "Oh, it's you," she says.

He reaches out, grabbing her arm, stopping her from pacing back and forth. "Tell me what's wrong," he says.

Suddenly, her nervous demeanor explodes. Her chest heaves up and down with heavy, quick breaths, and her eyes become wide and full of tears. She clutches at the beads hanging over her chest, pulling until they snap, falling to the ground in dozens of pieces.

Neteyam reaches out, gently grabbing her arms. He isn't sure what to do, so he lets instinct guide him.

"Y/N, please, breathe," he says in a tender voice that he used for Tuk when she was younger. Y/N looks at him, her eyes still as wide as they can be, her cheeks turning a deep blue. "In and out," Neteyam says, mimicking the pattern for her.

Inch by inch, he pulls her down until they are sitting on the ground. Neteyam crosses his legs, and pulls Y/N into his lap, so that she is practically cradled.

He can feel her heart beating erratically.

"Breathe with me. In and out. It's just you and me here," Neteyeam says, holding her tightly to him but not too tightly, afraid to make it worse. "You are safe with me, Y/N. You'll always be safe with me."

He repeats this, over and over, until her breathing begins to slow and her heart returns to a normal pace, and then the tears slow and come to a stop.

She looks up at him with tired eyes, and he smiles reassuringly.

--

All day, something felt wrong.

I couldn't put my finger on it. It just felt like... a warning. It started the moment I woke up, and continued all through the hunt. I was fixated on Neteyam and his father, worried something was going to happen to one of them, and the relief I felt as we approached Home Tree was palpable.

I have days like this sometimes, where I just know something terrible is going to happen, and even though it usually doesn't, I can't shake the feeling of terror and dread.

When we return to home tree, safe, something snaps within me. I get overwhelmed with returning safely, with being wrong again, and I spiral.

I can't breathe, or hear, or see, and my chest hurts with the pace my heart is trying to keep.

Encircling me, I feel Neteyam's strong arms, and he pulls me carefully down to the ground and into his lap. He whispers in my ear, telling me to breathe with him, telling me I'm safe.

It takes a very long time, but eventually, I believe him, and my body snaps out of the panic it's in.

These attacks exhaust me, and I lay in Neteyam's arms. Finally, I muster up the courage to look up at him.

I expect him to be repulsed, or ashamed, but he looks down at me with a smile, and the overwhelming feeling of gratefulness is enough to make me cry again.

He holds me tightly to his chest for a while longer.

"Thank you," I finally whisper. I crawl gracelessly out of his lap, and he helps me to stand.

"Are you okay?" Neteyam asks, reaching out once again to hold my hand, seeming reluctant to break physical contact.

I shake my head. "I'm tired now. I... that happens, sometimes, and I wish you hadn't seen it. I become sort of, overwhelmed with fear."

"Fear of what?"

I shrug, my lip quivering. "Of nothing, or everything. It's not rational. I'm sorry you had to see it."

He pulls me close to him, and in a swift movement, sweeps me up into his arms. "I am to be your mate. It's my job to take care of you. If you're tired, I will bring you home, and lay with you until you are safe and asleep."

The anxiety in my chest is replaced by a blooming, comfortable warmth as I wrap my arms around his neck and he begins walking to Home Tree. I press my face into the crook of his neck, and smile.

As he walks steadily, carrying me effortlessly in his strong arms, Neteyam presses a kiss to my forehead.

"I will stay with you every night, if you need," he says.

I hug him even tighter. I think I'm going to take him up on his offer.

[amournoir]

Hello, can you do a part 2 of Shattered Illusions, where time has passed since Klaus saw Y/N, and he worries about her but when he meets again he notices how she is engaged to another and he feels miserable and regretful for having pushed her away for that deep down he does love her.I just want y/n to be happy and for Klaus to suffer even a little and it would be a bonus if he crawled.

℘ prompt — “was any of it real?” & “it’ll never be me, will it?”

℘ warning — angst?

℘ pairing — klaus mikaelson x f!reader

℘ count — 1.3k

℘ a/n — yes, absolutely! part 1 didn’t do as well as i’d hoped but since you asked, here's the continuation of the story. enjoy :)

Years had passed since the tumultuous separation between Y/N and Klaus. She had navigated through the fragments of her shattered heart, striving to find solace in the remnants of their once-shared love. She threw herself into rebuilding her life, burying the ache Klaus had left in the depths of her being. Y/N had met a kind and compassionate man, Elric, whose patient demeanor helped stitch together the broken pieces of her heart. Elric was a gentle soul who understood the shadows that lingered in her eyes. Their love bloomed gradually, born from understanding and mutual respect. He cherished her, offering her the stability and security she craved after the storm Klaus had left in his wake.

One mundane day, Y/N and Mark strolled through the vibrant city market, the cheerful chatter of vendors and the fragrant scent of flowers filling the air. Y/N was busy sniffing all the flowers whilst her beloved kept a mental note of all her favorite ones based on how wide her smile was. She had a woven basket in hand, filled with jams, pastas, and fruits. Her eyes widened at the sight of a flower bouquet that looked like a rainbow, without a word Elric smiled as he reached in his pocket for his wallet. She stood on her toes and placed a sweet kiss on his cheek before happily moving to the next stand.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Klaus was in town, drawn by something in the city center. He knew it the instant his eyes laid on her, it had been an inexplicable need to see her, to check on the woman he had deeply wounded. He knew better than to approach her, he didn’t deserve anything from her let alone a second of her time. So from the trees, he kept his eyes on her as she and an unknown man walked with their arms entwined. He swallowed his jealousy and anger because he was entitled to neither. Their sights collided amidst the bustling marketplace, an unexpected meeting after months of separation. Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the sight of Klaus, emotions swirling within her like a tempest. The air crackled with unresolved tension as Klaus gazed at her, the weight of his regret palpable.

In a flash, Klaus stood before her, “Y/N” he softly said. The echoes of their past were etched in his voice.

She met his gaze, her eyes a whirlwind of emotions —pain, hurt, and the lingering tendrils of a broken heart. “Klaus,” she practically whispered, her voice laced with a mixture of surprise and caution.

Neither said another word. They were equally afraid of breaking the very delicate tension that hung around them, making them feel as though they were alone. Moments passed that felt like hours but were in reality a minute or two. A throat cleared and this snapped Y/N from her daze.

“Elric, this is Niklaus.” Y/N started, then turned to him and continued, “Niklaus, Elric.”

The tall dark brown haired man extended his hand out to Klaus and was met with a firm grip which he smiled away.

“It’s nice to meet you, Niklaus.” Elric said, his smile not reaching his eyes.

“Likewise Eric.”

Y/N cleared her throat, “It’s Elric.”

“That’s what I said.”

She sighed and just shook her head. She knew what he was doing and she wasn’t going to bite. She had to be the bigger person here if she wanted the day to get on without any issues.

“What brings you both here?” Klaus asked, almost rolling his eyes by the idea of small talk.

“We love the market and the weather is finally good to be out.” Y/N explained.

“And we’re out of fruits.” Elric added with a chuckle.

“Oh right, I did finish the last ones.” Y/N joins in with a light laugh.

“That’s okay babe, we’ll just get double the amount.” Elric placed a kiss on the back of her hand, his other hand rested subtly on the side of her stomach.

The gesture didn’t escape Klaus’s watchful eyes and he immediately tensed. He asked to speak to Y/N privately for a moment to which Elric accepted only after Y/N assured him she’d be alright.

The moment he was out of earshot Klaus confessed, “I've made a terrible mistake,” his eyes filled with remorse. “I see now what I've lost, and it's something I can't bear to live without.”

Y/N tried to contain the whirlwind of emotions within her, memories of their shared moments threatening to flood back. “It's too late, Klaus. I've moved on,” she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

His heart ached at her words, the regret gnawing at him. “Please, Y/N, give me another chance. I beg of you,” Klaus implored, his desperation evident.

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes, the turmoil of her conflicting emotions overwhelming. “I can’t. I have a life now Nik, I won’t go back.” she murmured, her heart torn between the love she once felt and the pain he had caused.

Their encounter was brief yet significant, reigniting dormant feelings in him and reopening old wounds in her. That unexpected reunion left Klaus grappling with the enormity of his past mistakes and a fervent hope for a second chance. As Klaus watched Y/N walk away with her fiancé hand in hand, the weight of his regret crushed him and instantly he made a silent vow to wait for her, for as long as it took.

Klaus remained rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on the fading silhouette of the woman he had loved and lost. His heart weighed heavy with the burden of regret, realizing the depth of the pain he had inflicted upon her.

Days turned into weeks, and Klaus found himself haunted by memories of Y/N. He couldn't shake the image of her: her smile, the happiness she had before he said hello, her small laugh, eyes filled with a whirlwind of emotions. He couldn’t let go of their conversation in the marketplace that echoed in his head day and night. Meanwhile, Y/N found herself utterly confused between the comfort of her newfound love with Elric and the lingering tendrils of her past with Klaus. How dare he ask for another chance after dismissing her so ruthlessly? How dare he have the balls to dream up the possibility of a future with her with her fiancé mere feet away? The man was nothing if not the thorn in her ass always but even still, she couldn’t pretend to feel nothing. Three years was a lot to her but Y/N knew better that it had been nothing to him. The encounter had stirred a whirlwind of emotions within her, leaving her heart restless.

Elric, sensing the unspoken turmoil within Y/N, offered his support and understanding. “You seem distant lately,” he observed gently, his eyes filled with concern.

“It's complicated,” Y/N replied, her voice laden with uncertainty. “I need time to sort things out.”

“It was him, wasn’t it?” It was less of a question and she knew it.

“Yes.”

“Whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’ll be here. I’ll wait for you Y/N.” Elric assured her, he knew how much she needed it without her saying it.

As time went on, Y/N grappled with her emotions, torn between the stability Elric offered and the unresolved feelings she held for Klaus. Her heart remained entangled in the web of memories, each thread weaving a tapestry of longing and regret. Similarly, Klaus found himself consumed by thoughts of Y/N, the ache of regret gnawing at his soul.

As he gazed at the moonlit sky, he vowed once more, “I'll wait for you, Y/N,” Klaus murmured into the quiet night, the promise resonating in the darkness around him. It was an unspoken commitment, a pledge to remain steadfast in his love, however long it took. Their reunion left both Y/N and Klaus in a state of introspection. The promise of a future together remained unspoken but palpable, a silent thread connecting their hearts across the distance. As their lives continued on separate paths, hoping to perhaps one day entwine.

🏷️ taglist:

⤷ @catmikaelson20 @elijahmikaelsontrash @hopes-wife @klaustopia @klausysworld @loverswillowed @moremaybank @miasmultifandomdump @mrs-maximoff-kenner @multiversediaries @mxacegrey @original-siphon @onlyfreds @panic-at-the-fiction @ranising @slinthoex @spike-and-angels-gf @spnandtvdudeservedbetter @thatfanficstuff @thatfictionalwh0re @wholoveseggs

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